THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 153, 24 July 1909, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER.

THE BLUE CARNATION. A VERY DRAMATIC STORY. The mystery surrounding the trag;< death of Mrs. Blatchford appealed will irresistible force to the newspaper-read iag public. No romantic detail wa> lacking. The unfortunate woman wa: comparatively; young about fivc-and forty—exceedingly good-looking, and ob viously accustomed to the usages ol high society. Her flat in Denhain Gar teas was exquisitely appointed, ami none the less costly because it was laid out expressly for the purpose of dispensing with hired labor. This handsome, beautifully-dressed woman, who occupied one of the prettiest flats in London, kept no servant! A charwoman came every morning for just one hour, Mrs. Blatchford getting ter own breakfast, with the aid of a small electric stove in her bedroom. The rest of her meals she obtained at this or. that fashionable restaurant. During the two years she had occupied No. 10, Denham Gardens, she had never received a single visitor, 1 so far as the lift-boy and the hall-porter knew. She had been found dead in her sit-ting-drawing-room, and the cause of death was obviously strangulation. A silk scarf, or something of that kind, had been knotted about her throat and held there till she died. There .was no trace of anything about the room with which the crime might have been committed. The unfortunate woman had been found lying there by the charwoman; who, becoming alarmed at being unable to make anybody hear, had summoned the hall-porter to her assistance. Nothing appeared to be disturbed; there was not the slightest sign of a struggle. The dead woman was wearing an evening dress of black lace; a small collar of diamonds was fastened round the throat. There -were valuable jewels in her bedroom; her purse was full of gold. Evidently robbery had no part in the crime. Mrs. Blatchford appeared to be an artist, for the big sitting-room was fitted up in part as a studio. On an easel was a partially finished portrait of a beautiful girl posing as Flora. She was surrounded by a bower of blossoms, consisting in the most part of carnations, and a large bunch of them were painted resting upon the shining, white bosom of the girl. These latter blossoms were painted blue to match the wondrous azure of the girl's eyes—an artistic conceit, no doubt, but wonderfully effective. Still, this was a minor matter, and only one of the papers commented on it. No florist in London had ever heard of anything in the way of blue carnations. • But if Mrs. Blatchford never entertained visitors or sitters, who was the original of the painting? Surely the pretty girl could throw some light on the tragedy! But this was no part of the police theory. The portrait was' an ideal one, the kind of face one sees on expensively original Christmas cards, and probably it had been inspired from a number of photographs of popular ttage beauties. There were scores of these scattered about the flat. Three or four days passed, but no fact Of the slightest moment came to light. Mrs. Blatchford had taken the flat as a -sub-tenant from a lady now dead; she always called on the landlord's agent and paid her rent in gold. She appeared to have no banking account, and she certainly had no debts. She seemed to have paid everybody regularly, and invariably in cash. She was well konwn , at more than one of the exclusive restaurants, but never had she been seen dining with anybody. The same report came from the theatres and leading con-

. cert halls. From all accounts, Mrs. Blatehford' . had been a fashionable and well-dressed recluse. So" far as it was possible to ascertain, she had not a single friend in London. Her character was apparently' beyond suspicion. The ball-porter wasi ' under the impression that Mrs. Blatchford was a foreigner. She spoke certain words with an accent, and her beauty undoubtedly was of the Southern type. But, on the other hand, she was quite English in her methods, and her tradespeople had no theory on this score. Here, then, was a mystery that completely baffled the police. It was one of the crimes destined from the first to remain unsolved. For three days Scotland Yard, under the direction of Sir Oarl Heaverson himself, worked night and day. Inspector Greensboro had the case in land, and he was not sanguine. To begin with, there was. absolutely nothing in th«. shape of a clue. Nobody had come forward to claim relationship with the murdered woman, which was all the more extraordinary as the jewels and belongings were of considerable value. Besides, by this time everybody in the kingdom who could read had heard of the Denham Gardens Mystery. . And still nobody came forward to identify the dead woman. Surely there was somebody who knew all about her financial affairs? She had evidently teen possessed of considerable means; she must have a banker,' or lawyer, or trustee Somewhere who could throw Some light upon her nationality, at least. But, though the papers were crammed with more or less ingenious theories nothing practical came the way of the baffled police. The mystery was absolutely complete. •"This is a case for. reconstruction, Sir Carl," Greenshore told his chief. "We must tftart some pure theory. It seems to me altogether a matter of imagination." "That's a quality not usually encouraged here, Greenshore!" Sir Carl smiled. "I know that, sir. But it's useful enough sometimes. I thought of going to see Mr. Brodrick Earle, the novelist. You remember how he helped us over ' that Yarmouth Jetty affair. It was j

pure theory on his part, of course—j what you call analysis of motive—but it enabled us to hang Joseph Molyneux, you will remember. But for Mr. Earle, Molyneux would be walking about today!" "Well, a chat with Mr. Earle can't do any harm," Sir Carl admitted. "Go and call upon the distinguished novelist by all means, Greenshore. I dare say he lias a i-jory. According to the papers, there must be about a million theories to select from!" Greenshore went off thoughtfully in the direction of Hampstead, where Brodrick Earle lived. He was going to call upon one of the most popular sensat'Onal novelists' of the day. But Earle Wus something more than a mere writer <>! exciting romance. He was a profound criminologist and student of charse;«-. One of his pet theories was that zl"t* •ris a motive for everything. He «o;i\l detect at a glance the difference between mere commonplace crime and the promptings of the lunatic mhd. Anything out of the common in this direction arrested his close attention. Saturally, he was profoundly interested in.the Denham Gardens affair. He had offered his remarkable analytical mind to Scotland Yard more than once, with admirable results, and, therefore, he was pleased to see Inspector Greenshore. The latter found himself in a library, ihe walls of which were completely lined -with books. There were two large winflows, opening into a magnificent conservatory filled with flowers. Though the time' was winter, the mass of Mooraa had a suggestion of summer . shout them. This was one of Brodrick Earlc's hobbies, and not the least exjfmiHe of them. He was tying up an ' tSjuisite clove-tree carnation as Greenshore came in. "Glad to see you!" he said. "Sit ri» aiid take a cigarette. I hope the I •-.o..phere'of this place is not too ■ •.. ■ ! -i ft>r you? I am half exotic myK (lf,'anfl I revel in it!"

Earle trnly enough. He was *!»!■» I! ■'■■ nil B%ost painfully slender; he s>-opwied to 'be » mass of nerves. His ' liiia, sensitive, intellectual face twitched Testlessly; a pair of dark eyes glistened iefcind gold-rimmed glasses. come to see me .atwut the Benlmm Gardens' business?" he said. ■"That's right, sir," Greenshore replied. We're tea ten. We haven'fr a clue as large as a pin's point to go on! We can discover nothing about the dead woman. She does not seem to have a relative or friend in the world. It is impossible to tnd out where she got Uer money from. fOe wag not robbed of anything." Earls fussed into a chair and took a •Sgaiette. He puffed for a moment, and then toswd the little white tube aside. A moment later he picked up another cigarette, a third smoked, from the Soor, and repeated the same performance. "Aro you sure she was not routed? le asked • "Well, iiot so far as we know," Greenshore said. "Nothing had been taken away. Look at the quantity of jewels ana mwey left behind!" Earlc waved his cigarette—his ferortu imnatientlv "I wasn't thinking about money,' lie , vaid. "To one class of thief there is - -something far more valuable than •money. I was thirfking of papers, com'prismg documents and the like. Remember, the woman herself was a mys- * teryt 8 ~. . » "■'■• "We have discovered nothing against »«"'' ;)wr dimeter, Mr, Earle."

"For the simple reason that thci*| was nothing to discover. You can dismiss that line of deduction altogether, Greenshore. If we avo to get to the, bottom of this thing we shall have to: start the .building up of a pure theory. (There is just one little point that oc- | curred to me after reading the story of the murder.' It is merely a conceit 21 of mine, like the germ of a short story,' i lout it was just such a conceit as that .) which hanged Joseph Molyncux. I may j be altogether wrong; but, on the other s I hand, that whimsical idea of mine may x . be sound. Still, the carnations spoken' - ° f —" j f Earlc's voice dropped into an inco-! - lierent muttering. He rose, and, cross-1 I fog the conservatory, stooped over a' I pot of brilliantly-tinted carnations', and • examined them long and earnestly. He ■ picked up another discarded cigarette i and lighted it. 1 "I should like to go as far as Dcnham Gardens with you," he said abruptly. '•I suppose nobody has been allowed there besides the police?" "I'll go with yoa at once," Greenshore with alacrity. "The flat remains in our possession for the present, and is just as it was when the crime was discovered." "Good! Nobody has been there besides the police?" "Certainly not, sir. There was the constable who found the body, my assistant, and myself. Of course, there was Sir Carl llcaverson once or twice, but, naLurally, you do not include turn! I am sure there was' nobody else." '•Nobody else but the doctor, you mean. I suppose Sir Carl did not Jake a friend there? Lots of people are curious about this kind of thing. Sir Carl is a society man, and it occurred to me that perhaps some curious memoer of the smart set or another might feel a desire " "No, sir; I don't think so," Green shore said. "Sir Anthony Letchforth came with Sir Carl yesterday; but they were lunching together afterwards, so there is nothing in that particularly. Sir Anthony seemed rather bored, I thought." Earle nodded absently. Evidently his thoughts weie ■very far away. "Did they leave you in Denham Gardens, or did you go first?" "I left them there," Greenshore ex-'j plained. "But it's of no consequence. Perhaps you would like to go as far as Denham Gardens now, sir?" "Precisely," Earle said. 'ls the mysterious portrait still there?" Greenshore explained again that nothing had been touched. The self-con-tained flat in Denham Gardens was closely locked and guarded, but Greenshore had .the key in his pocket. He led the way into the studio where the crime had been committed. Everything appeared to be absolutely in order. There was no sign of a struggle; the flowers in the vases were a little withered and drooping for want of water. A mass of dead blossoms had been tossed carelessly into the grate. Earle moved about the room, evidently immersed in deepest thought. He came presently to the beautiful presentment of the blue-eyed girl on the big easel. It was quite a work of art in its way, and it seemed to fascinate the novelist. He laid his forefinger gently on the bunch of carnations on the glowing pink-and-white breast. "There is really no trusting what one 6ees in the newspapers," he. said. "Now, my pet journal contained a very graphic description of the picture. A great feature was made of the blue carnations on the girl's breast. A florist like myself knows that there are no such things of yet as blue carnations. It was merely a conceit on the part of the unfortunate artist. All this was set out carefully. But there are no blue carnations. These are pink." A startled exclamation broke from

JGreenshore's .lips. "Why, bless my soul!" he said, "they I are pink! And they were blue right II enough a day o r two ago! I am prepared to swear to it, Mr. Earlc! Wrightson, of the Record, did the doJscription of this room from which you are quoting, and I was by his side the whole time. It was he -who pointed out the blue carnations to me. It was a small matter, of course, and hardly worth noticing. But the carnations were blue, I'll swear!" _ A strange nervousness seemed suddenly to have gripped Earle. His slender fingers worked convulsively. .The .man's whole body was quivering. He bore some resemblance to a pointer in a field ,of roots. He turned to his companion. "It isn't a small matter," he said. "It's big enough to put a rope round ihe neck of a murderer. Don't speak for a moment!" stood quietly aside whilst Earle proceeded to search everywhere. He seemed to find what he needed presently behind the stove that stood in the empty grate. From a maS6 of withered flowers and dead foliage he produced a tiny band of narrow paper with gilt edges, something like the maker's mark on a cigar, only on a much larger scale. There were words printed in red on the paper band. ■ "Do you know what this is?" Earle asked. ''Came from Margarette et Cie, of Taris, apparently," Greenshore said. "They are the noted florists, aren't they?" "The same," Earle, said curtly. "I'll take care of this paper for a little time, if you don't object. It may be important. Anyway, you can trust it in my bands. And as there is' nothing more to be done for the present, I think I'll get back home. I want to ponder the matter over, Greenshore." "You've got a clue?" Greenshore asked anxiously. "I've got the -whole story," Earle said, m a thrilling whisper. "At any rate, 1 have the inspiration as clear as if t were pne of my own ibooks. All the same, the puzzle has to be worked out. .. With this »cryptic remark) Earle ['know why. And when I know why, it

will not be a very difficult matter' to know whom." )Vith this cryptic remark, Earls turned his baek on the inspector, and proceeded abruptly in the direction of the lift. Greenshore felt no annoyance; he liad seen the novelist in this strange, secretive mood ibefore. Doubtless by this time he had forgotten the detective's very existence. As they shot down to the level of the 6treet, his lips moved as if he were holding converse with some unseen person. He strode off presently without taking the faintest notice of Greenshore. He pulled up suddenly presently at a post office, and consulted the paper in his hand. There was a date stamped upon it, and this seemed to afford him considerable satisfaction. He despatched a telegram to Paris, and then for the next hour or two he returned to his own literary work as if nothing had • happened. It was just before dinner when the reply to the telegram came. ;The contents seemed to afford Earle the deepest satisfaction, for his eyes gleamed, and he immediately rang ithe bell for a cab. The midnight hour had struck before he returned to Hanrpsbead with a mass of information. The whole of the next day he was exceedingly busy, so that it was nuite late before he reached home, and for the first time in twentv-four hours he turned to his food with zest and enjoyment. After that he went to bed immediately, and Slept the sleep of one who is mentally and physically exhausted. He-was sitting over his breakfast of rolls and coffee, together with an omelette and a little claret, when Greenshore arrived. The meal was Berv?3, &9 Usual, in the conservatory. A copy of tie Record fey on the table. "Good-morning. Greenshore!" Earle said gravely. "Have you Seen this—- ' Sudden death of Sir Anthony Letch-1

forth'? Tt appears that the baronet was found dead in his ibed at a late lionr last night. I see no inquest will be necesstary. as Hartley Craven is prepared to testify as to a. heart trouble of lon<* standhsr. It's a curious thin", all the same, that Letehforth had no idpa that anything -was reallv wrong till be had occasion to consult Hartlev Craven some days a-po. T know this is so. because T was with Letchforth last f-Twiiiir." and be told me so." "\ dare say." Greenshorc remarked indifferently. "These things will happen. ■Rut 7 came here in resioonse to yont postcard, because you promised to tell me " "Alt about the Denham (iardens' affair." EaTlc interrupted. "Well, I am tellin" vn\i now, thon"h not in a very artists- fashion. Pon't von remember that Sir Anthony visited the flat with yon- chief the dav after the murder?' ' "They Tvere going to lunch together, Mr. Earle." "Precisely. The lunebpon was an inOration nn the shut of the moment cot up 'bv Sir Anthonr. Put let that pns« T see von are frankly puzzled, so T will begin at the beginning. Tt is onl" n met»er of a few ivd" I '." ' RaTlf nicked up one nf bis balf-con-s,i«-ed cigarettes, and lighted it. "X hnvc to thank the Ticird for wW suawn enthusiast*' call .th" first light.'" he said, pacinc nn .tn-1 dowr the library restlessly. "A« to + bc '«rnations, you know. Now. why *•*-- somebody anxious to ravnt on* the ii"i«* : canations and substitute pink ones in-, ttUlt'' H Bosfieß across my mind thit

I tiro real bluo carnations had been found, I and that somebody had sent the dead woman a bunch. If so, they could -only have come per favor of Margarettc, of ; Paris. I looked for the label of the linn, and found it. I telegraphed them, and, surely enough, they had consigned the first blue carnations ever produced to an address in London. ' "It became quite clear to me that the person who had sent these blue carnations to Mrs'. BlatcMord must know all about the crime. He was so afraid , that the blue carnations would be traced , to him that he had to do something desperate directly he read a certain ! paragraph in ,the Racord. lie managed to get into the flat with Sir Carl I Heaverson, and when the latter's back was turned rapidly touched up the | flowers with pink. '•'As he was quite a good artist himself, this was not dillicult. Besides, everything—brushes and oil colors—was ready to his hand. You see, he would feel that the matter of the blue carnations was only of interest to him; it concerned nobody else, lint, all the same, it was necessary to make the change, and he did it. The blue carnations themselves were dead and forgotten, so that avenue was closed." "Then you mean that the murderer was Sir Anthony Letchfort'n?" (Jr'jenshore aa'ked.

"Certainly I do. Mrs. Blatehford was bis wife. She was an Italian artist, and he married her in Rome years ago. when lie was studying art himself, and before he had any idea of coming into the title. It was a most unhappy marriage, and they separated years ago, after the woman had tried to kill her husband and child. The secret 'was well kept, and Sir Anthony's daughter, to whom he was passionately attached, did not know that her mother was alive. It was only by giving the woman all «hc asked that Sir Anthony kept his secret, and she always told him that if he died she would reveal her identity to her daughter. "Sir Anthony found out the other day that his time was come, that he might see the end of it at auy moment, and he was frightened. He went to try and make terms with his wife, and they ' had a violent quarrel. He killed her in a fit of passion. He got clean away; he did not notice the .portrait with the blue carnations at all. It was only when the ■ Record spotted it that he recognised his danger. The blue carnations had 'been a gift from him to try and propitiate his wife. Mind you, Sir Anthony told me all this. And now he i 6 dead—of heart disease. Personally, I feel quite sure that he .poisoned himself, well 'knowing that the doctor could certify death from natural causes. So, after all, the public will be deprived of a solution of the Denham Gardens Mystery. It would be a pity to publish the scandal,'don't you think?" Greenshore thought so, too, as also did Sir Carl Heavcrson. And now, for the first time, the true history of the Blue Carnations is told, as it was made clear to Scotland Yard from the lino of Brodrick Earle.—By F. 11. White" in Answers. '