THE PLASTER SAINT.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 87, 8 May 1909, Page 3

THE PLASTER SAINT.

[ ANOTHER SPLENDID SEXTON BLAKE YARN. I. It was the same Father Benn who figured so prominently in the case of "The Blue Line." He had been called out, in the small liours of the morning, to administer the last rites of the Church to a dying member of his flock; and, at the time, he was on his way to the presbytery, situated on the outskirts of the little Yorkshire fishing village of Rocksby.

The time of year was mid-September, the hour a quarter to five. The night had been dark and sultry, without a breath of wind, and there had been a heavy shower of rain, aceoinpnnied by thunder and lightning, about half-past three. But it was gloriously fine now. Suddenly, in a narrow, deserted lane, about hah a mile from the presbytery, thp priest perceived the body of a man lying, face downwards, in the middle of the roadway. There was a scorched wound on the left side of the head, and he had evidently been lying there an hour at least, for he was literally soaked to the skin, and there had been no rain since half-past three. Th c man was an utter stranger to Father Benn. He appeared to be about twenty-right or thirty years of age, and was dressed in a rather shabby suit of dark-blue serge. A curious fact was that he had neither hat nor cap; and i still more curious fact was that there was lying by his side—as if he had dropped it when he had fallen— a plas-ter-oi-Paris imag e of St. Peter, roughly fashioned, and nine or ten inches long. There was a farmhouse at the end of the lane. Procuring help from this farmhouse, Father Benn conveyed the unknown man and his plaster image to the presbytery. He then sent for tire doctor and the police.

The doctor's verdict was that the man had been shot at close quarters, but the bullet had glanced off the bone, stunning the. man, but otherwise inflicting no serious damage. He opined that several days would elapse before the man recovered consciousness, but that he would pull through in the end. The police failed to find any clue to his identity, and there, for two days, the matter rested.

Shortly after midnight on the second day, a nun whom Father Benn had engaged to -nurse the man walked to the bedroom window, for no particular purpose, and drew aside the blind. No sooner bad she done so than, by the deceptive light of the stars, she saw the shadowy figure of a man in a howler hat climb over the ience which divided the presbvtery ground from an adjoining field.'

So suspicious were the movements of this man that the nun immediately hurried round to the door of Father Bcnn's bedroom, roused him from his slumbers, and told him what she had seen. And she had barely concluded her story when they heard a tinkle of broken glass. 1 Barefooted, and in his dressing-gown, the priest crept noiselessly downstairs. A feeble glimmer of light was streaming under the sitting-room door. Somebody was stealthily moving to and fro in the room. Scarcely daring to breath. 1 , the priest stole up to the outside of the door, then suddenly Hung it open. A sturdy, thick-set man. the upper half of whose face was concealed by a i black velvet mask, wasstaudimr in 'front of the fireplace, with an electric torch in his hand. He had evidently been searching for the plaster Image of St. Peter, which Father Tiemi had placed on the mantelpiece. He had just found it when the jiricst hurst into the. room. With a stifled cry of alarm, the man spun round on his heel and sprang to the open window. Quick as thought. Father Benn leaped on him from behind and tried to drag lifm down. Tn the struggle which ensued, tie- man lost his j howler hat and dropped the jila«(ej I image. Finally, with a vicious barkward kick, he forced the priest to release his hold on liim; then lie vaulted through the window an! was quickly out of sight. At daybreak Father Benn telegraphed for Sexton Blake.

The doctor happened to be dressing the man's wound when .Sexton Blake arrived. Being allowed to inspect the wound, the detective at once expressed his dissent from the doctor's theory. "This is no bullet-wound," he said. "Well, between you and me," said the doctor frankly, "I'm beginning to doubt it myself. Vet the hair all round the wound was singed, and the skin was scorched «nd 'blackened—exactly as if 'he had been shot at close quarters. Tf it isn't a bullet-wound, what is it?" "The man." said 'Sexton Blake, "was struck by lightning, and rendered unconscious." The detective then examined the man's clothes—a blue surge suit, a cotton shirt, a pair of woollen pants, a vest, and a pair of socks. Although they had been hanging up to dry for three whole '.days, they were still quite damp, and the fabric had a distinctly "sticky" feci.

o the surprise of the doctor and the priest, the detective put a corner of the coat into his mouth as !if to taste it. "It wasn't rain that soaked him tf the skin," he said. "It was sea-water You can both taste and I'eel the salt ii his clothes. He must hav ( . heen in th sea—and for a considerable time, toobeiore you found hiln." "But the spot ivhere I found him wa a good halt-mile from the sea." _ Can't help that," said Sexton Blah , •There's no disputing facts. Now, ma it I see that plaster image and that howle ls hat?" I The plaster image was soon dispose, !il j of. Although the detective examined i lei most carefully, he failed to derive an* fresh information from his examination it 1 The hat was a rather battered howlei and m the centre of the crown was i gilt-lettered label hearing the word? i- Best London Make." ° "Not much due about that." »aid Sex ton Blake. lie turned down the leather 'ham t ' winch ran round the inside of the hat and no sooner had lie done so than I folded piece of paper fluttered out. ~ He unfolded the paper, and found i s was the halt of 371 old envelope. Tin „ envelope was addressed, but th e uppe j I half containing the name and stamp . had been torn off. AH that remained 0 . the address was: "s.s. Pimpernel, 1 Queen's Dock, f Capetown." ■ Ten minutes later a telegram was 01 > its way to London asking for full par tieulars including present whereabouts of all ships registered at Lloyd's in tin - name of Pimpernel. , The answer came in about an hour' tune, there were three Pimpernel: registered at Lloyd's. One was laid 111 . at 'Hamburg; the second was on lie *ay home from Rio d« Janiero: tin ■ third, which was owned by Messrs Alar ' 7,w C °;' of had arrive, at that port from Capetown on Tuesdm morning! "No. 3 is our ship," said Sexton Blake showing the telegram to Father Bcnn -Now I must run up to Newcastle am interview Messrs. Marley and Co. And if youyo no objection," he added, «I'l take this plaster image with me." Fathe a rßS fo, ' me,,anytheorj ' ? ' ,askei "I have," said Sexton Blake. "If th Pimpernel arrived at Newcastle 0; Tuesday morning, she must have pnsse, this place on Monday night. That' clear, isn't it?" •'Quite," said Father Benn. ''Tory well," said Sraton Blake. " believe this man and this plaster ima« were both on hoard the Pimpernel 01 Monday mglit. I believe that, for som reason, this man was .bent on stealin the image; and I believe that, with tinobject in view, he quietly dropped ovei board ,vi„lst the vessel was ,pa S sin< Kocksby swam ashore, and was walkin down that lane, carrying the plaste image, when he was struck by lightnin, and rendered unconscious "I i-urther believe," he continuer that another man on board the Pim pernel was equally anxious to secure do-' session of the image. I believe thi second man-the man in the bowler ha -saw an account of your discovery i tie papers on Wednesday morning, an bus learned that the man who ha stolen the image was lying mieonsciou at your house. I believe this secon man came down to Kocksb'v on Wed nosday mght, broke into the'presbytery and was ,n the act of making off witl the image when you disturbed him 01,'fi 'M" y theor ' V '" he concluded; but why these two men should he « desperately anxious to get possession of a plaster image which isn't worth more than a few-pence, I must confess I can't imagine. Possibly Messrs. Marley and Co. may be able to enKjrhten me."

A quarter of an hour later h e was in the train, on his way to Newcastle. IV. "I understand that one of your steamers, the Pimpernel, arrived "here from Capetown last Tuesday morning,'' said Sexton Blake to Mr. Marley, the senior partner of the firm. "Was anybody reported missing?" '•yes," said Mr. Marley, in obvious ■ surprise. "When the shin arrived, Captain Winspear reported that the chief mate, Mr. Hancock, had mysteriously disappeared some time during Monday night. Have you any news oi him?" "1 rather think so," said Sexton Blake. And lie described the man who was then lying unconscious at Father Benn's.

''l understand that one of your steamers, (lie Pimpernel, arrived "here from Capetown last Tuesday morning,'' said Sexton Blake to Mr. Marley, the senior partner of the firm. "Was anybody reported missing?" "yes," said Mr. Marley, in obvious surprise. "When the shin arrived, Captain Winspear reported that the chief mate, Mr. Hancock, had mysteriously disappeared some time during Monday night. Have you any news oi him?" "I rather think so," said Sexton Blake. And lie described the man who was then lying unconscious at Father Benn's. "That's the man!" cried Mr. Marlev excitedly. "That's Hancock! Poor follow! He must have fallen overboard, swum ashore, and afterwards been stmck by lightning." "1 hardly think lie fell overboard." said Sexton Blake. And he told Mr. Marley of the plaster saint, and the attempt which had been made to steal it. "The burglar, you say. was a sturdy, thick-set many" said Mr. Marlev. "Jte wore a bowler hat, inside which was part of an envelope addressed to him at Capetown» Do you know, I'm afraid—in fact, I'm almost sure—the burglar | must have been Captain Winspear. Your I description exactly fits him; and I know for a fact that lie left Newcastle on Wednesday evening, and didn't return until yesterday afternoon. However, lie's coming here to-day, so vou'll be able to question him for yourself." "fn the meantime," said Sexton Blake, "you can throw no. light on the mystery of this saint?" "I can't," said Mr. Marlev. "At least " He hesitated, and wrinkled his brow. "About six weeks ago." he continued, "a Kaffir working in one of the mines near Barkley West, in South Africa, stole a very large uncut diamond, and made off with it.' H e tried to sell it in Capetown, but the man to whom he offered it detained him and sent for the police. Before the police arrived, however, the Kaffir managed to escape, and signed on as a fireman on the Pimpernel.

"The Pimpernel had sailed for Newcastle when the police made this discovery, and as she was not to call at any intermediary port, there was no way of communicating with her. Accordingly, the South African police cabled to .Scotland Yard, and wlrun the Pimpernel arrived here on Tuesday morning, a couple of detectives went aboard to arrest the Kaffir. "But, it appears that the Kaffir died a few days after the steamer left Capetown, nnd was buried at sea." "And (h 0 stolen diamond?'' "Nobody on board, of course, know anything about thv diamond; and. although the detectives searched every nook and cranny of the ship, they failed to find any trace of it." The detective pondered for a moment, then lie startled Jtr. ilarley by pulsing up the plaster saint and dashing it to the ground. ■Needless to say. tin.- image broke into a score of fragments. Embedded in one <,. the fragments was a small metal box. such as sailors use for -matches. Opening this box, the detective draw out a wad of cotton-wool. He unrolled the wool, and then, with a smile and a bow. lie handed llr. Mnrloy alargo uncut diamond. The next moment the clerk announced: "Captain Win»pcar!''

At the sight of the lirok«n image on the lloor, at the sight of the stone in Mr. Marley's hand, at the sight of .Sexton Blake, Captain Winspcar staggered back, with the low. despairing cry of a hunted animal at bay. Then his hand Hew to his pocket: but, even a* lie drew the revolver out—with intent, do doubt, to turn it on himself— the detective seized his wrist in a vice-like grip and wrcrdcd the weapon from his grasp. "Now. tell us all about it," h c said

quietly. Anil Captain Wiiisponr told them,

"The Kallir accosted Hancock unci me on the wharf one night,'' he said. "He told us about the stolen diamond, showed it In us. anil offered to share the plunder with us if we'd give him a liertli aboard the Pimpernel and take him to England, "We accepted his offer, and sicxt day he was hlgued on as a fireman, lie gave me the diamond to take care of until wo reached England. A week later he died, and was burled at sea.

"Hancock and I agreed to keep the secret to ourselves and to share th P proceed* of the sale of the stone between us. It was Hancock's idea to hide.il in that plaster image.

.".Just after'we had passed Rocksby on Tuesday morning I missed the image. Hancock had mysteriously disappeared. Then T knew what had happened. The scoundrel had stolen the image, dropped overboard, and swum ashore.

"Oil Wednesday morning I saw in the papers that an unknown man had been found unconscious near Rockby, and that a plaster image had been found lying in the road by his side. As soon as I read this, of course, I knew that the man was Hancock, and so—ami so —- But need I continue!"

"Xo," gaid >Sexton Blake; "we know the rest. And f.ve will hand this stone to the police for the present."—Answers.

I SYLVIA'S BURGLAR. Relating the Surprising licsult of a Lady | Journalist's Kuse to Interview a I Ketiring Celehrity. j -Miss Sylvia Brayue entered the presence of her editor with her neat little "head held defiantly high. Knowing how completely "The ' Telescope" depended. r upon her for those more or less impertinent iwrsoiialitios which had recently brought it fame and circulation, she felt that a certain amount of independence was not only justifiable but politic, The editor, however, was a man of insight. After he had bowed her with unusual civility to the chair of honor, ho folded his hands and sighed. "Another difficulty?" asked Sylvia, with a smile.

"It's Arnold Derring." "The author of 'The Gadabout'?" "Exactly. The man who wrote the book which in one month has run through three editions and supplied the sol c topic of conversation from Land's End to John o' Groats." "Well?" "What we want, what we must have, is an interview with him. He's the man of the hour, and nothing is known of him. It's absurd." , "Well?" *

"Unfortunately he's the most elusive individual in England. Imagine it, he apparently does not want to be interviewefl, either for "The Telescope" or for anything else." "What steps liav e you taken?" Sylvia's tone conveyed that whatever the steps might have been they were foredoomed to ridicule. But the editor pretended not to notice. ""Everything I could think of," he replied vaguely, "and all we can discover is that he lives alone in a flat in Burlington Gardens. But no one gets beyond the door." "So you've s'enJ for me as a last resource ?" "The best troops are always held in reserve," said the editor with a smile. He did not kuow whether it would hold water as a military maxim, but it certainly suited his own case. "And we go to press to-morrow." he added, Sylvia thought for a moment. ' "I'm very tired," she said. "It's six o'clock now, and 1 was dancing all night at the Duke of Fiaborough's (I've brought the copy with me, by the way). Can't it wait till next week?" The editor sighed again. "If it must—it mus't," he said, That settled it. Sylvia was not above using the ordinary wiles of her sex, and when, a couple of hours later, she made a frontal attack on Burlington Gardens, she was arrayed in a dress which would have softened the Sphinx. It encountered, however, no one more formidable than the house porter. By him Sylvia was informed .that Mr. Derring was out. She saw at a glance that he was speaking th'e truth, so it became necessary (-6 modify her plan of action. This did not take her long. | _ "Dear, dear,' she exclaimed, with a little frown of annoyance, "and I must sec him. It's most important, I will wait."

The porter looked uneasy and suspicious.

"But there's no one m at all, miss," he objected. "There's no servant even, Ale an'd my wife looks after Mr. Derring."

"I know, I know," said Sylvia kindly; "he told me."

Her features softened into a s'mile, and , when Sylvia smiled she brought into prominence an unsuspected but most captivating dimple. "I hope you look after him well ?" she added.

The man smiled back. It was an easy conquest.

"Wo Joes our best, miss." _ "Well, put me somewhere where I can sit down and wait for him. I am his sister."

The porter gav e vent to a sigh of relief.

"In that ease, miss, I ca-j let you in with my key." He led the way upstairs. "If you only \new» he continued over liis shoulder, "the job we've had since Mr. Dcrring's book came out!"

"You mean in keeping people from coming to see him?"

"Yes, miss; gentlemen from the newspapers, ay, and ladies, too. He won't see them on no account and we has to get rid of them."

"The impertinence of {hem!" exclaimed Sylvia indignantly. Then, as the man fiUed his key into a door on the first floor, her face softened again.

"Dear boy!" she said reflectively. "He always was shv."

"Come into the drawing-room, miss; there's an easy-chair by the window mid Hie illustrated papers." Once alone.. Sylvia jumped up and made a rapid survey of the siirronndng luxuries. Already she had penetrated farther Than anyone else had succeeded in doing, and she felt quite confident that when the man appeared she would lie able quite easily to slibdue him. Tier profession, in fact, very much resembled lion-taming, and everyone knows that a tamer with an ounce' of fear in him is foredoomed to failure.

Sylvia smiled ingratiatingly at herself in a mirror, h v way of'rehearsal, and straightened liei- hat."

Then she made a tour of the flat. The back windows, slip found, looked on to n pleasant private garden. ' For a few minutes she stood watching some of the residents playing tennis. But the light was' failing and llicy soon gave it up. Immediately below. an d only some twelve or fifteen feet down, was'n courtyard. How easy of access for a burglar sho thought. Fancy leaving so much valuable brie-a-Tivaf about in a flat which must often be empty for hours together, perhaps days. Willi a yawn sli« dropped into the chair again and made some notes. But she found a difficulty in seeing. It was a very cosy chair.

'"[ wonder," thought Sylvia, "if he would mind my turning the light on?" The switch wa s just beyond "her reach, and it was' such' a very cosy chair that she was reluctant to move. The Duchess of FinboTough's ball had been rather fatiguing. Oh, dear, what a long time Mr. Derring was! Sylvia yawned and closed her eyes, just to rest them. Sfic awoke with a start. Everything was so pitch dark" that for a moment she imagined herself in her own room at Chelsea. And the soft, grating sound in the distance must surely b<> her landlady's 1 cat scratching at the door. But there was a window there. Whevo the door should bo she could distinctly see Hip stars. Suddenly Ihe grating sound stopped, ami slowly, steadily, the window was raised. Then she remembered.

Tier first impulse was. of course. In fly. She would have given a week's salary fa fairlv respectable s'uni. by the by) to liave been at that moment within reach o> the front door. But, unfortunately, the window lay between her and the means of escape, and just then she distinctly saw the dark figure of a man raise itself against the starry back-

ground. The figure advanced steadily in her direction. When it was within a yard of her Sylvia swiftly thrust out'her hand and switched on the light.

The man started back with an oath. IT 0 was momentarily blinded by the sudden', unexpected glare, and Sylvia could probably have reached the door unmolested. " "Tint something he'.d her back. It was nol exactly that she was afraid to move, for the'man was not nearly so terrible in iho light as he had been in the dark. He was rather undersized and very pale and tired-looking, and his threadbare clothes hung loosely about bis spare figures. Tt is difficult to credit ii. but it was Sylvia's sense of the dramatic which kept her from running away. What an experience to write about, she thought; what admirable copy!

As the man recovered from his' astonishment, he made ail involuntary movement as though to take bis cap off. With her eagle eye for detail Sylvia noticed it. He had evidently fallen in (he sociil scale; once perhaps he had bee-j a gentleman. "What's your little game, anyhow?" he naked slowly. "f—l'm Mr. Derrlng's sister!" Her voice sounded strange to her, and she was not surprised that the burglar curled his' lip in contemptuous disbelief. He looked up ar.d down, rather critically, she thought, from the topmost tip of her hat to the pobt of her shoes. There his eyes rested for a moment upon he'' fallen notebook. "That's a lie!" he remarked bluntlv. "He lives by himself." "But be wired me (o com,, im ] sn , him. I expect him evcrv minute. Indeed I do." i "Tfia'l's another" said tlie mall. "AVliat do you mean?" Sylvia tried her best jo look butj't was a poor attempt, to cay tie The man wa« silent for a moment. Then he turned away as if looking for something. He made a div 0 for a. 'little

smoking-lnble and picked up an orangecolored enve'opc. "Read that wire," he said. Sylvia took it with trembling fingers. "Come without fail," she read, "expect yon by train arriving 8.30." She noticed that the telegram had been handed in that afternoon at a place the name of which was unfamiliar to

"Well?" she said. 'T sent it,'" said the man. "He'll have thought it came from his father. Don't you think he would have put you off if he'd asked you to come? Besides, .lie hasn't got a sister. I used to live with his family.'' Sylvia felt herself in a corner. "But he'll come back," she said desperately, "when be discovers " "He can't —not to-night. There's no train. And he can't even wire to the polite. Don't think' I'm a mug." "Oh!" said Sylvia. "Now, what's you game, miss?" A sudden, dramatic idea occurred to her.

"My game's the same as yours," she replied defiantly. The man chuckled. "I knew it from the first," he said. "I suppose you're Martha Dobbs, aren't you—her what the boys Call the lady cracksman?" "Yes," murmured Sylvia, A look of admiration crossed his features. " Ton my word," h e said, with a sinister laugh, "talk about competition! What'll women come to next?" "I think 111 go," said Sylvia meekly. The mail laughed horribly. "So, you don't," he said; "not till I go, anyway.'-' He took a canvas bag from under his

coat. "Hold that," he said; "both hands, mind, and don't leave go, or—it'll be the worse for you. Now, follow me round!" He' was more forbidding than she had at first imagined, and Sylvia was annoyed to find that she was Trembling violently. But she did as she was told. Jus't then a clock outside in the hall struck eleven. Heavens, what a time she had slept! What a situation! He was evidently not a new hand, for he picked out everything in the room which Sylvia had mo6t admired. A little silver Psyche was the first thing to he thrust into the bag. Then came a goldframed miniature. Other articles followed rapidly. Some, of apparent value, he piclted up and after an expert scrutiny thrust contemptuously aside again. "Now," he said, "let's try th e Bedroom."

Trembling more than ever, Sylvia followed into the passage. The man began groping about inside the bedroom door to find the electric light switch. Just then Sylvia I made a discovery. There was a light on the staircase outside. It shone feebly through th e stained-glass panels of the front door, and she suddenly saw that flie key o? the bedroom was on the outside. She caught her breath hysterically and nerved herself for the task before her.

In time the man found the switch, and the room was immediately suffused with light. But the blinds we're up and he crept stealthily across the room to draw them.

Sylvia seized her opportunity. In a second she had banged the door and locked it. From within she heard a stifled exclamation.

She dropped tlio canvas bag and made for tlic front door. Horror! Try as sh e would, it refused to open. It took her a minute to collect her scattered senses. From inside the room cumc a low mumbling, then all was qiiiet. Doubtless the man was escaping through the window, but for that she did not care. She rushed back to the drawing-room and looked anxiously out into the road. But no one was in sight. She could scream, of course, but what a position to lip found in. No, that would come in as a last resource, but not before.

Then a terrible thought occurred to her. The man might escape through the window and warn the police that the Hat iva s being burgled. With that incriminating bag in her possession it might mean—what might it not mean? —penal servitude.

If Terror-stricken, she fetched the bag from the passage and began hurriedly to replace the articles "in their original positions. Then she pushed the hag up tffc chimney and—burst into tears. It was another five minutes before she could control herself. Then she tried the front door again, with the same result. There was nothing left after all but to scream.

Suddenly a s'ound from the bedroom made her pause and hold her breath. The man was still Ire, then. A moment's silence, then th e sound again. She placed lier ear to the door and listened. There could be no mistake. Tlk' burglar -was snoring! He had actually gone to sleep. At that mom'ent she became aware that someone was opening the front door from outside, and before she could make up her mind what to do she was confronted by the porter. He was grinning." "It ain't much use waiting any longer, miss'. You won't see air. Dcrri'ng a«ah to-niglit." " "Again I" cried Sylvia. "Yes, miss, he's gone to bed. He told me through the speaking-tube to come and let you out in a quarter of an rour." "That—that wa s Mr. Derring?" "Yes, and mighty angry he was when I told him I'd let you iii. Says he 'asn't got any sisters and. I ouglit to have known it. And lip expected as you was one of those confounded reporters. So he fastens the door on the outside L like he does' when lie goes away, and borrows a suit of my eld clothes and——"

"Hut the telegram?" ejaculated Sylvia, "Mr. Derring was called away!" The porter scratched his head.

"Not to-day, miss. He did tell me as he had a wire calling him out of town to-morrow. But you'll excuse me, miss——"

"Let me pass!" cried Sylvia. "One moment, miss, if you don't mind. Mr. Derring told me through the tube as I was to fetch a cab for you and to apologise, with his "compliments, that circumstance!,' wouldn't allow him'to see you into it himself."

"Thank you." stammered Sylvia. "T I think I'll walk. The air will do me good."

Arnold Derring. Hie successful author, is still uninterviewed, nlthough he has written another book, the popularity of which Has exceeded even that of "Tho fiadabout,"—'By Tristram Crutchley, in the Novel Magazine.