THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 166, 7 August 1909, Page 3

THE STORYTELLER.

THE MARKED HAND. SEXTON BLAKE MAKES A SEASIDE CAPTURE. Blake had run down to Marstinghain for a week-end holiday. He had put up at the Norfolk, and was just enjoying his first mouthful of lunch, when a waiter came over and whispered in his ear that the manager would like to Bee him at once. Blake followed the man out, and found Paillard, the manager, looking very pale and excited. "This -way—this way!" he said, clutching Blake's sleeve and dragging him out ot earshot of the attendants. "It is; terrible—terrible! And in the busiest part of the season, too ! What shall 1 do?"

"My good Paillard, if you were to start to tell me what someone else has done—l suppose someone ha 6 done some-

thing—we might be able to get on!" "What has someone done? They have

died—here, in my hotel, in the busiest month in the year! There will be enquiry; scandal; my customers will go!" "Died?" said Blake. "Well, then, you must send for a doctor."

"I have sent—yes, he is here waiting. Jt is the poor Mrs. 'Fotheringay—very handsome lady,, very rich. You shall see!"

"But what can I do?" "You can arrange so that there shall be no leak'out, no scandal!" As he spoke he beckoned to a young man who -was. awaiting them farther down the corridor—evidently the doctor—and then proceeded to unlock a door.

They entered a fair-sized room. At a table near one of the windows was seated the huddled form of a woman. She had evidently been writing!, and had fallen forward across the table. One arm —the left —was folded beneath her; the other lay limply on the table, the pen close to the nerveless fingers. She was dressed as though ready to go out; a splendid sable coat lay loosely across ner shoulders. The doctor laid a slim finger on the nerveless pulse, tried the flexibility A the wrist, and shook his head. Then he stooped to examine the down-drooping face; and Blake, seeing him arch his eyebrows involuntarily in surprise, looked also. Mrs. Fotheringay had been an undeniably handsome woman of about thirtyseven; hut now the features were drawn and distorted, as though by some terribly sharp spasm of pain, the mouth ralf open and twisted, and the nostrils pinched and drawn. The doctor examined the eyes, and looked .puzzled. "When was she first discovered?" he asked. "Barely five—six minutes ago. A servant came in, found her—thought she was in a faint, and ran to me. I send at once for you, monsieur, and for Monsieur Blake; for! I touch her on the shoulder so, and know she is dead. Then 1 lock the door and wait till you come." "She was just like this?" "Yes; no one have touched her but I, just lightly on the shoulder so." The doctor looked at Blake. "This' is rather queer," he said. "I don't believe she has been dead more than a quarter of an hour at the outside. It looks like a case of heart failure, and yet there is something in the face the distortion of the features." Blake nodded.

"Well, there will have to be a postmortem, of course," the doctor; "so the sooner we can move her upstairs, whilst people are still at luncheon, the better."

'tPaillard is anxious to avoid publicity as far as possible," asserted Blake; and gently raised the bowed head and shoulders.

As he did 60 he exposed the left hand to view. The back of it was uppermost, as it lay along the edge of the writiagtable. Probably she had been using it to steady the paper as she wrote, for there was a .half-finished letter and a ready-directed envelope on the table. Woman-like, she had addressed the envelope before completing the letter. But it iras the hand itself which attracted Blake' 6 attention; for, deeply impressed on the back of it, there was a livid, indented mark, of a peculiar shape, so clear that every detail was easily traeeable.

He passed hi 9 finge r lightly across it, ttared at it again more attentively, aad then began making an examination of the front of the dead woman's blouse.

"You say that you are positive that no one touched the body after death but you yourself, in the manner you described, Paillard?" "Certain, monsieur!"

"Well, then, I can tell you that the body has not been only touched, but it has been robbed since death." "Robbed! But how—of what?"

"There are valuable rings on her fingers," said the doctor; "and, if I'm any judge of stones, those pearls round lier neck are worth a couple of years of my practice, to say nothing o'f her earrings and sables!" "All the same, I repeat that she has been robbed, and there is the proof of it," said Blake? pointing to the hand; "and if she has been robbed, why not worse—why not worse?" He fingered the dead woman's sables absently; it struck him as curious that she should have been wearing them. Outside, on the sea front, as a protection against a sudden chill wind, yes;

but here, in the room, surely she would tiave flung them over the back or arm of her chair till she was readv for her walk? T

Acting on a sudden impulse, he re-1 moved them, and as he did so Paillard and the doctor cried out. Blake alone remained silent, for he had half expected what they saw,. Well below the left shoulder was an' angry, dark blotch on the creamy lace—a stain no larger than half-a-crown; but it told its own tale. Blake ripped the lace with the Wade of his pocketJmife, and probed with his finger. It touched the jagged end of metal. . "She was stabbed from behind with a

long, finely-tempered stiletto, hardlv thicker than a woman's hatpin," he said; •'and Ihe blade was broken oft* short to staunch the bleeding. It must have teen to penetrate well into ■the heart, for death was instantaneous. 1 Paillard, you must send for the police at once: the doctor and I will attend t" what has to hj« done here. Above all <hin»s. let there he as little fuss as no-ufble, and no one must know that a crime has been committed. Make out .<ha> it is a seizure or something. The •'""*'•- will back you np for the lime V •'•«••'■' •'Hard hurried a'wav, and Blake locked the door behind him. Then, taking a piecp of paper and a pencil, he made detailed measurements of the indented mark on the woman's hand, and lirew a diagram of it to scale. "The crime," said Blake, "was committed by someone in the hotel—by , someone who had had an opportunity of studying Mrs. Fntherininv closely, and who, I fnncv, knew something of her history, whatever that may be." "Why?" "The windows face the front, which i* crowded; ti'id, in anv case, they are iniiece«*>lilp. The murderer must have /•om- in bv the door. Thi« is a small lintel. The corridors are .ilwavs under observation, the one leading into this

f soeciallv so, for Paillard and some of ', thp waiters were hanging about there. A ntrange face would have been noticed instantly, even supposing a stranger ''"••* ' have passed* tTie hall-porter un- «-- "-tied. ) "'■■ t« the noor woman's history, the : •"■••<» on this envelope may enlighten '•«. Tlie unfinished letter is to a woman Wend. a"d is merely full of trivialities. .Tli- o ••'•Mope, as yon se& js addressed *■■ do Castillon, Eue Pouquot, :'*r>s.' I Hii.il: I'p leave you in charge, aim gn round to the telegraph-office. T have several wirr* to send, and in this rase everv hour saved may he of importance."

' Neither Paillard nor the doctor saw Wake ji"-iiti tPI dinner-time: in. fact, after visitin<? the teleijruph-nfTice he had pone straight to town, irad retnrned 'tily lust, m time to dress for the evenin" meal.

He asked, on his war to the restaurant, whether anv telegram hnd ar"vd fn r him. n"id wns hnnderl rather a Tiulkv, orinw-eolored envelope. Thf /nntents of this he read nvc- twice carefnllv: then he stuffed the flimsy she*'

""to an Inner pocket, and went in to dine.

He ocounfed. ct h's own request, n fmall tnhle renr th« finm. nml enmmindi""" " friir view of the room, and fron' hilt'nd OTainef n sr/inll bottle nf win", he took

fp'rtfnl stock of hi* fellow-diner=. IT" i»*s sfill sittini tWc wn»n thp la=<- of *Jii? visitors trooned out to enjov their 'flniiftiM on the terrace. Then, and not t'T then, he rose and sought out Pail-

\ "T ""*nt von to send for Dr. Ua:isom." p* sold: "also for. the sergeant in chir?" "f the enW. nwl two nlain-clothes men. VUm ,f \ lom j„ f nn j inner room there. ttriUciive Jhe door ajar. JJeanwhile, 1

want the key of ltoom 35, or your ] master-key. 1 suppose you have one?"

Paillard handed over his master-key, and signified his readiness to carry out the further orders implicitly. Blake merely nodded, and announced his intention of returning in a few minutes.

I As a matter of fact, nearly a quarter of an hour elapsed before he put in an appearance, and Paillard was a. fidgety heap of nervous agitation. Blake handed him back bis masterkey and produced a silver cigarettecase, which he placed on the table.

"P.iillard," be said, "send a waiter to the occupier of Room 35. Tell him to say that a cigarette-case has been found which is believed to be his, and that you will be glad if he would come and sec if he can identify it. I'll return as soon as he arrives.

I And he slipped out of the room. Three minutes later there came a tap. at the door, and a small, dark man entered. He walked with a slight limp of the right leg, and, though wearing pince-nez, it was evident that his left eye was slightly defective. "You have found a cigarette-case belonging to me ?" he said enquiringly. "It was brought to me," said Pailiard; "and if you, monsieur, would examine it, and tell me it is yours " He completed the sentence with an expressive shrug. The newcomer glanced at the case and made as though to feel in his pockets. "I was sure-—" he (began; and stopped abruptly as the lock of the door behind him clicked sharply. Blake had entered unperceived, turned the key on the inside, and withdrawn it.

I "Good-evening, Bompard!" he said quietly. The man so addressed drew in a little hissing breath, and glanced at him evilly. "I beg to inform you that my name is Raphael!"

"And was Bompard—quite so," said Blake pleasantly. "Ransom and the lest of you," he added, raising his voice, "come in, please. Sergeant, you will arrest this man Bompard on the charge of this morning murdering Mrs. Fotheringay!"—Answers.