THE GREEN SHADOW

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 955, 24 April 1930, Page 5

THE GREEN SHADOW

By

HERMAN LANDON

Copyright by Public Ledger

CHAPTER XIII. —(Continued.) Summers shrugged. "Here’s another little thing that puzzles me. Why did the Picaroon change his card?’’ “It’s a poser, Summers. But wait— I have an idea. It’s just possible that when the Picaroon took the pearls he didn’t know they were Ferryman’s property.” "Eh?” The captain gasped. “What kind of rot are you talking? Why wouldn’t he know? He took them off Mrs. Ferryman’s neck, didn’t he? Anyway, why should it make any difference to the Picai'oon who the pearls belonged .to? I don’t see—but you ought to know, Dale.” "No, frankly, I don’t. It was just a fugitive thought.” Summers gazed at him, his brow puckering. "You’re a deep one, Dale. Can’t make you out.” “Oh, it’s simple. The quickest way to establish a reputation for profund ity is to talk drivel with a mysterious air. “If people can’t understand you they are sure you are a genius. Well, too bad you missed your chance last night, old top. You had the Picaroon in a corner, with the pearls in his pocket. If you had only mussed him up a bit, stripped him of his false guise, then the my'stery of his identity would now be solved. But it’s too late now% of course.” “The mystery is solved, as far as 1 am concerned,” said Summers positively. “So you think, but where is your proof?” Summers merely squared his jaw and gave his companion a black look. A waiter appeared and placed a package in front of him. “For you, sir. It came by messenger.” Summers gazed narrowly at the package. That it should have been addressed to him here was not particularly strange, since he often took his luncheon at this establishment. Slowly he loosened the string and unwrapped the parcel. A small sheet of paper fluttered out. He read the typewritten lines: “My Dear Captain Summers, —You are at liberty to claim full credit, for the recovery of the enclosed article. I trust Mr. Ferryman, your superiors in the police department and the newspapers will duly appreciate your brilliant detective work, and that this appreciation may partly console you for the disappointment you suffered last night—THE PICAROON.” The captain stared at the note a moment longer, then at Dale. Hastily he unwrapped something enclosed in tissue paper. “The Ferryman pearls!” he exclaimed. “Of all things!” said Dale. Quickly Summers put the pearls back in the wrapping and slipped them into his pocket. He picked up the note again and glared at it. “ ’Full credit! Duly appreciate your brilliant, detective, work!’” He tore the note. “Isn't he a sarcastic cuss?

Monumental gall, is what I call it and nothing less.” “You're hard to please, old growler. Try one of these cigars. You are doing the Picaroon an injustice. He is merely trying to rub soothing ointment into 3 r our wounded pride.” “Soothing ointment?” Summers snorted. “Vinegar!” “Maybe he made a mistake and grabbed the wrong bottle. We all make mistakes. How is the cigar?” “Not bad,” Summers, his face dark and flushed, studied the label. “A Verona, I see. By the way, thanks for tlie box you sent me. I like your taste, Dale.” ITe puffed appreciatively, liis bad humour gradually leaving him. “Tell me this. Why in darnation should the Picaroon go to the trouble of stealing a bunch of pearls and then hand them back ? Where’s the sense in that?” Dale appeared to reflect. A little smile tugged at his lips. “It’s some little riddle, isn’t it? I don’t know, unless it ” He paused. “Weil?” “It’s just possible my little theory was correct —that the Picaroon didn’t know the pearls belonged to Ferryman when lie stole them.” Summers pondered heavily. In the end he shook his head. too deep for me,” he confessed. He fixed his small, gritty eyes on Dale. “But you ought to know.” Dale paid the check and rose. “You will live and learn, Summers.” With that he walked airily away, the picture of a carefree and easygoing soul whose life had been cast to a bright pattern. But outside, as he swung down the sidewalk, some of his jauntiness suddenly deserted him. On the opposite side of the street a lackadaisical idler had stirred himself into inconspicuous activity and was now paralleling his course. Summers was having him shadowed, naturally. He had expected that. It was something else that troubled him. For a while last night he had thought himself in a position to bargain advantageously with Dr. Moffett. Then he had discovered that the pearls were Ferryman’s property 7. That had made all tlie difference. Now He turned quickly into a cigar store, entered a telephone booth, and called the Castle house. Miss Castle’s voice, usually so clear and bright, was heavy with depression. “This is Mr. Dale.” He spoke in a low voice, out of respect for the neutrally garbed person hovering outside the booth. “Any news?” . Her answer came after a little pause. “Yes —an ultimatum from — but you know. He has given me twenty-four hours. After that ” “I can guess the rest,” said Dale. His face clouded while he reflected briefly. “Did you—er —hear from him by telephone?” “Yes, this morning.” Dale reflected again. At the other end of the wire he could picture a brave, lovely girl beset by tribulations. “He will probably telephone you again during the afternoon. If he should do so, ask him to call back

at 9 o’clock this evening for your definite answer.” “At 9? What shall I tell him?” “I'll see you in the meantime. 9’hen we’ll decide. Cheerio!” “Twenty-four hours,” Dale thought as he stepped out of the booth. “Dr. Moffett is getting anxious. CHAPTER XIV. PLOT AND COUNTER-PLOT. From the telephone booth Dale taxied to his bank, arriving there just before closing time. In exchange for his personal cheque he received two 1,000-dollar notes and 48 one-dollar bills. The accommodating bank clerk selected fresh, crisp currency, and snapped a rubber band around it, forming a compact bundle about as thick at Dale’s middle finger. With a careless air Dale dropped the bundle into his inside coat pocket and went back to his taxi. His next stop was 262 Bank Street, and here ho paid and dismissed the driver. Without expecting a too-cordial reception, he ran up the steps and rang the bell. it was a new face that answered his summons—the face of a man considerably younger than Axelson. He was dark and lithe, and slim, with sharp features and a cautious expression. “Is Mr. Ferryman in?” ire inquired. “You will find him in the next house, sir—26o.” Dale studied the fellow for a moment. He reflected that Ferryman was not particularly fortunate in his selection of servants. “You are new here, aren’t you? What’s become of Axelson?” “Axelson is no longer here, sir—lie left this morning.” The servant started to close the door in Dale’s face. “I doubt if Mr. Ferryman will see you, sir. He is not receiving callers today. But you might try—oh, here he comes.” A tail, bareheaded man appeared on the stoop of the adjoining house. “Wish to see me?” he asked. “Oh. its you, Mr. Dale?” A chill crept into his voice. "I saw someone from the window, and I wondered. I can spare you a few minutes.” He came down the steps, crossed over to 262, and with frigid politeness motioned Dale to enter. They walked into the library'. Ferryman was holding himself a little more erect than -yesterday, but traces of shock and grief remained in his fine face. “Be seated, Mr. Dale. I am rather surprised to see you after what happened here last night.” Dale smiled genially. “I saw Captain Summers at luncheon. Queer sort, Summers, physically and mentally. Efts head is too large, and there are too many crazy notions in it. He gave me a vague idea of yvhat occurred in this house last night.” Ferryman regarded him suspiciously'. “You were here, weren’t you, in the role of the Picaroon?” Dale laughed. “That’s one of Summer’s refreshingly original ideas. Well, when a man has a head as big as his, he has to fill th# blank spaces with something.” * Ferryman’s eyes were still full of distrust. “Captain Summers telephoned me an hour ago. He had a very' astounding report to make.” A frown of perplexity gathered on his forehead. “The pearls have been recovered.”

“Congratulations,” Dale murmured. "Oh, I didn’t care greatly about the pearls. They are valuable, to be sure, but of what use are they to me

now? My poor wife will never wear them again.” His voice broke, but in a moment it gathered strength again. “There is only one thing I live for now, and that is to see that the murderer is properly punished.” Dale inclined his head sympathetically. “That's a natural sentiment, Mr. Ferryman. But tell me, you don’t really believe that the Picaroon murdered her?” The other man hesitated. His face showed a conflict between stern emotions and gentle ones, between grief and vindictiveness. “I am not convinced,” he murmured. “It is strange that the Picaroon should have returned the pearls. And there are many other incongruities that complicate the matter.” He raised his head a little. “I didn’t like the way Axelson acted last night. In a twinkling, as I looked into his face, all my former feelings with regard to him changed. All at once I was iilled with distrust. This morning I discharged him. I don't know whether or not I was .justified.” Dale looked about the room which had been the scene of Miss Castle’s interview with Dr. Moffett and of his own exciting encounter with Captain Summers last night. Something seemed to have disturbed jts former state of order and neatness. Things were scattered about, the furniture had been disarranged, there were signs of some one’s hurried departure.

“Yes, I noticed it this morning,' said Ferryman, following his glance, “I called Axelson’s attention to it, and he acted sullenly and discourteously. Then I discharged him. There is no longer any doubt in my mind out what certain persons have been making improper use of my ' ouse, possibly w’ith Axelson’s connivance. If so, I hope they are gone for good.” He sighed. “You were inquiring about a certain Dr. Moffett the other ! day. Lately I have been thinking that perhaps such a person exists.” “You have learned something?’ ! Dale asked quickly. Ferryman hesitated. For just a moment he seemed inclined to take j Dale into his confidence, and then j his face closed up again. “No, nothing definite. In fact, 1 i have only the vaguest sort of inkling. » Besides” —with a glance over the confusion in the room—“all that appears to be happily ended now.” Dale frowned a little. Last night’s excitement, together with the subsequent discharge of Axelson, had evidently prompted Dr. Moffett to make new arrangements in great haste, j Tliis development was not to Dale’s ! liking. His task had not seemed so 1 difficult as long as he knew where the enemy could be reached. Now’ he would have to trace him to his new quarters. Doctor Moffett had added elusiveness to his other formidable quali- ! ties. That would mean a new problem to solve and consequent delay. In the midst of his reflections he found Ferryman regarding him with an intent puzzled expression. “You are a bewildering person, Mr. Dale,” he now murmured with a faint, uncertain smile. “I should distrust you, perhaps hate you, even abhor you as a murderer, but as I sit here looking at you I somehow can’t feel that w r ay toward you. Either I am a very poor, judge of character, or else”—he paused, his eyelids drew together, a frown came —“I don’t know’,” he finished lamely. Dale laughed. “Afraid to trust your instincts, Mr. Ferryman? Well, that’s natural. I’ll make you a promise. Inside of a few days—within a week at the most —the murderer of your wife will be brought to justice.” He rose, wondering if he had made too rash a promise. Ferryman rose also and followed his caller to the door. There, with still a trace of reluctance in his manner, he offered his hand. Dale shook it. He could see that, although he had not won the older man’s confidence, he had made a good impression. Half an hour later he was again in a telephone booth. “Yes, he called only a short while ago,” Miss Castle told him. “He is going to telephone again at 9.” “Splendid!” Dale glanced across his shoulder through the glass panel in the door. A lanky person in a shabby gray suit was dawdling at the nearbv counter. He lowered his voice. “I’ll call at half-past 8, if I may. That will give us half for deliberation.” “Oh, do come!” said Miss Castle eagerly. “I’ll go mad unless I can talk to some one.” (To be continued on Saturday.; The Earl of Birkenhead, in his book, | “The World in 2030,” prophesies that j agriculture will be superseded by food chemically made; every town selfj feeding; beefsteaks made by the ton !in laboratories, etc. But in the mcan- | time, A.M.C. quality meats are the ! choicest procurable, and you don't pay