The Japanese Parasol

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1015, 4 July 1930, Page 5

The Japanese Parasol

COPYRIGHT

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

A Powerful Mystery Story, Superbly 1 old.

CHAPTER X The adjourned inquest on the unfortunate Violet Chichester had resulted in a formal verdict of death from natural causes. Examination had proved that the state of her heart, aggravated by her hectic mode of life, was sufficient to cause death at any moment. Had her end not come when it did. it was almost certain to have done so within a very few weeks. Moreover, it transpired that some time before her own doctor had warned the actress of her state of health, only apparently for her to resume her butterfly existence with the recklessness of despair. So much for Violet Chichester, Lucas thought grimly—but there still remained the problem of that £SO note concealed in the cigarette concerning which the police and coroner had again been discreetly silent, the mysterious disappearance of the Japanese parasol, and finally, but not least, poor John Milton’s terrible end. That these were not isolated and unconnected incidents Lucas was as certain as ever, but the links that connected them remained to be discovered. Working back through all the circumstances of the case in his mind, he found his thoughts recurring again and again to one incident which at first sight appeared to carry little importance —the missing book in Milton’s library. Why they should do so Lucas himself would have been hard put to explain, and it was indeed with some irritation that he found the mental image of that immaculate room with its one lapse from perfect tidiness constantly returning to him. Yet, return it did —the remembrance of those rows of well-bouud books, and the sudden gap like that of a missing tooth. “Confound it,” he muttered at last, “why on earth can’t I concentrate on the main aspects of the case? It’s time I took a holiday, and handed over to someone else, if I allow a red herring like this to put me off the trail!” Nevertheless, still grumbling to himself, he rang up Hugh. “Tell me,” he said, when the young man came round in answer to the call, “your friend Milton was evidently a methodical soul—do you think it likely that he had an inventory of his possessions, especially a catalogue in his library?” Hugh nodded. * “Yes; he had an inventory, I know. I remember him making it out for the purpose of fire insurance. It’s more than likely that he had catalogued his books, too.” Lucas rose. “Then we’ll go round and see the estimable Mrs. Merrill again,” he declared. Hugh glanced at him curiously. “Thinking about that missing book?” he inquired. “Funnily enough, I have been, too. Can’t imagine why—l suppose because it was so noticeable with everything else in its place. But it’s, hardly likely to lead to anything if we find it.” “Almost certain to prove a wildgoose chase,” Lucas growled, but for some reason or other his tone lacked conviction while he made the statement. Strange, he reflected, that Monro should have thought about the matter also. Their first step was, as a matter of fact, somewhat fruitless. All Milton’s papers, the housekeeper told them, had

been taken possession of by her master's lawyers, and to the offices of the latter —Messrs. Penn and Praling—the Inquirers at once proceeded. They were received by Mr. Praling, a courteous old gentleman of a bygone school Mr. Penn having been gathered to his fathers some years before —who promptly proceeded to set their minds at rest. “Yes,” he said, “1 have a catalogue of the late Mr. Milton's books, which I will willingly allow you to see. Inspector.’’ “I should like to take it away with me for an hour or two, if I might,” Lucas answered. “That, too, can be arranged, if you will sign a receipt for it,” the solicitor replied, in the somewhat precise manner of his calling. "I am only too pleased to be of assistance to the cause of justice. Poor Milton was a good fellow, and I shall rejoice if those who so wantonly destroyed him are laid by the heels. “Here is the list of books,” he went on, “and with his usual attention to detail you will find that my late client has so arranged it that the titles on tiie list read in order from left to right along the shelves. You should have no difficulty in tracing any given volume, or of finding which of them is missing.” It was as he said. Back in Milton’s library, Lucas wasted no time on the volumes there, but, from the nomenclature of those which had once stood right and left of it, be quickly ascer tained the one that wasn’t and when he verified its title from the list he uttered a sudden exclamation. “Well?” Hugh asked, the C.I.D. man’s evident excitement communicating itself to him. For answer, -Lucas handed him the list, his finger marking the title in question, and for a moment . Hugh failed to see the significance that the other’s trained brain had jumped to at once. Even when enlightenment did begin to come to him it was in nebulous fashion, lacking all claritv and form. He looked at liis companion inquiringly. “This conveys more to you than to me. Lucas,” he admitted, “but I think I see something of what is in your mind. What’s the next step to be?” “The British Museum,” was the prompt reply. “Had that in view all along—if I could only manage to discover which book had been removed. 1 mean to read this book Monro—and if there is only one other copv in the world it is at the British Museum that it will be found.” That afternoon saw Lucas put liis intention into operation. lie had little difficulty in obtaining what he wanted, and as a rather bored librarian handed the volume—which bore the very ordinary title “Ancient Homes of England” —to the soldierly-looking man, who, the librarian noticed with disapproval, appeared to be a devotee to chewing-gum, he had do idea that he was taking an important step in the solution of a particularly dastardly crime.

Lucas turned first to the index, and as his eye glanced down the alphabetically arranged columns he gave vent to a little murmur of satisfaction. Then he settled down to read certain pages with an absorbed interest which culminated in his producing a pencil and note-book and copying those pages worcf for word. He even made a rough, but sufficient drawing of various plans. When he

handed hack the book, his eyes were ! bright, his bearing more alert than i usual, and his jaws were working over- j time. Observing the latter fact, the libarian, when he had gone, examined the volume with a pessimistic thoroughness. It would not have surprised him in the least to find a piece of chewing-gum sticking between the pages! CHAPTER XI. The dusk of evening was falling as Gwennie Bourne walked slowly through the fields. The girl was find- ; ing life something of a problem these days. In the first ! place, Hugh’s apparent faithlessness had cut her to the core, and she found it impossible to forgive him for a flirtation—if it was nothing worse—in which she believed he had been indulging while actually, by his actions if not by his words, paying court to her. That the very photograph he had given her should be found in Violet Chichester’s possession was of all things the least she could condone. Tears welled into her eyes at the thought as she crossed the grassland. And now had come this second complication. Believing that she would find in him the friend she needed, the sympathetic recipient of her troubles, the sage and world-wise counsellor, she had approached Colonel Winthrop —only to meet with the most staggering surprise of her life. The remembrance of that scene in his study haunted her still. Not for one moment had she suspected the feeling for her he had kept hidden in the depths of bis secretive nature, and its sudden revelation more than discomposed her. Without her knowing why, it frightened her. It was not. the total unexpectedness, not the fact that he was old enough to be her father, but something nib re subtly disturbing than either of these. That glimpse of unleased passion, quickly curbed and controlled as it had been, had been sufficient to show her Colonel Winthrop in a new light. Her quick woman’s instinct warned her that under certain circumstances he was a man to be feared, a man to be avoided. That same instinct caused a stirring of a deeper apprehension to which at present she could put no name. But one thing she knew well enough, and that was that he could now never be the friend and confidant she hoped he might have proved, and this distressed her not a little. She would have given much for such a friendship at the present juncture. Having set out to gain the colonel’s advice regarding Hugh, sire now found herself regretting, rather illogically, that she could no longer consult the latter concerning this latest development. Immersed in her thoughts, she walked moodily on, and unconsciously her footsteps led her toward the copse, which had been the centre of so much that bad happened lately, and—though she was not aware of this —of much that was yet to come. She approached it from the opposite side to Grange Hall, the same neighbourhood. that is, in which she and Hugh had found tho punt with its grim burden. (To be Continued Tomorrow.)