THE SOLUTIONS OF RADFORD SHONE.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8983, 18 November 1907, Page 2

THE SOLUTIONS OF RADFORD SHONE.

BEING NARRATIVES BY OFFICERS OF THE CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION DEPARTMENT, AND OF THE PROVINCIAL POLICE, IN RESPECT OF DEALINGS WITH THE EMINENT EXPERT, MR RADFORD SHONE.

CuMVI-NICATKI) TO AN]) KDITKD BY HI2AOOM Hllili.

[Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Eeserved.]

chapter I. THE LION LADY. Ordinary misfeasances in this unimaginative country run in such welltrammelled grooves that anything like originality of invention in wrong-doing comes as a bracing nerve-tonic to us routine-wearied officials to whom is committed the duty o*f preventing and detecting crime. The case to which my editor has allotted the above title would, on its merits, as the most novel and daring bit of villainy I have ever had bifore-ma officially, <nip my memory tor all time; but it has a quite separate claim on my interest, inasmuch as it first brought me into touch with Radford Shone, the much-talked-of solver of mysteries. I had heard, by the side-winds that come to us, of the results gained by this marvellous man, who, from his bachelor rooms in Gower Street, reconciled dukes and duchesses over missing tiaras, used bloodhounds in the wilds of Devon for tracking murderers, and had his fingers on the secrets of kings and queens—always with such tactful finesse that justice was done without a policeman having to tighten his belt or a judge to don his wig. I was not incredulous— only curious, so I was well pleased when my old Eton schoolfellow's amazing story brought me'the chance of gratifying that curiosity, I had not seen Sir Angus Petrie for four years—since, in fact, he had disappeared into the South African war-cloud at the head of a troop of Imperial Yeomanry. When he was shown into the room which I occupy at Scotland Yard as an assistant commissioner of police, I hardly knew him. As years go he was still a young man; his gaunt frame and haggard appearance were those of a man past his prime. "My dear fellow, but you have indeed spent yourself in your company's cause!" I said, when we had gripped hands and he had sunk wearily into a chair. "You should have come home at the close cf th Q war, instead of staying out yonder gold-hunting, as I heard was the case." "I wish to Heaven I had come home, Bruce ! Ob, how I wish I had come home!" he almost wailed. "I might have been in time to prevent the most horrible thing. You remember Lettice Nuneham?"

I nodded, for the beautiful girl to whom he had been engaged was fresh in my memory, as, indeed she must have been in that of any man who had ever looked upon her fair young face. I remembered, too, that I had not seen her lately in the circles where she had reigned a radiant

queen. Petrie suddenly placed his elbow on my office table, and, leaning his head on his hands, burst into te*rs. His great irame was shaken with sobs. It was terrible to see the big, stalwart soldier all broken up like that. Presently he raised his head, defiantly unashamed of his grief. "It wasn't South Africa that wrecked me, Bruce," he said. "I was as fit as a fiddle when I landed a month ago. It was what lam goin j to tell you, and I am here to claim your aid officially, mind." I had to help out his halting sentences with many a question, sometimes suggesting the answer myself; but the story which I dragged from him piecemeal was as follows: On arriving in London he had gone immediate'y to call on Miss Nuncham a her house in Cromwell Road. The footman who opened the door had informed him curtly that his mistre3i was not at home, and Petrie had left his card, with a mesaage to say that he would call again at the same time on the morrow. But on his presenting himself the next day the servant had been still more explicit. Miss Nuneham was in the house, but had given orders that no visitors were to be admitted. Questioned as to whether she had received the card and the message, the man bad given an affirmative r2ply, and had practically shut the,door in my friend's face.

He had returned .to his hotel, and written a passionate letter to his fiancee, begging .her to see hirii ; if only to give him her reasons for thus treating a faithful lover who had come back to England in the full confidence that the pledge she had given him held good. 'He had waited ithree days, .and had received no reply to his letter. Petrie had thajv" sought ,out a mutual acquaintance—a lady at whose house he had often met Lettice before he went to Africa. The answer he got was as unsatisfactory as his own researches had been. It was weil-known that Lettice Nuneham had become a recluse, denying herself to everybody, and her withdrawal from the world in which she had lived had been a nine days' wonder. It had long since become an accepted fact, and people had ceased to talk about it.

Then bad ensued a period of watching ano >■,'iting outside the house in Cromwell in the hope that he might waylay the girJ, or at least gain sight of her at a window. A week passed thus fruitlessly, except that he learned that the visitors of the old days came and went no more. Once he had seen a man in frockcoat of professional cut descend from what looked iike a doctor's brougham, to be instantly admitted into ihe house; and the fear that Lettice might be ill had emboldened Petrie to inquire at the door. The footman had informed him petulantly that Miss Nuneharn was perfectly well. Once more Petrje had resumed his haunting of the outside of the house, and at last, late on a stormy evening, he had been rewarded with a discov-

ery, but one thai made his blood run cold. "I saw," he proceeded, raising his black-lustre eyes to mine, "a woman come from the front door, and walk rapidly away along the street. Her figure and graceful pose filled me with glad recognition, and I started off in pursuit, intending to have it out with her once for all I had no doubt that she was the girl •vho was to have been my wife, and who on the veldt and in camp had ever been in my thoughts. Purposely waiting till she was within the rays of a street lamp, I ranged alongside. "Lettice!" I said, "won't you speak to me dear, and explain what has nome between us?" "She turned to me with a startled cry, clutching at a veil folded round the rim of her hat, and frantically dragging it down over her face — not so quickly, though, *hat I did not catch a glimpse of her; and, oh, Bruce, that was the most horrible moment that I shall have to endure, here or hereafter. Her features bore only a faint resemblance to those of the girl I had known and loved. It was the face of a beast, with the leonine expression associated with the largest carnivora. But the dreadful part of it was that there was a resemblance, and that the voice in which she addressed me was her voice.

"'Angus,' she pleaded, 'I am so sorry for it all Angus. But you must go away and ntver come near me again. I shall kill myself if you do. Go now, at once.' "What could I do, Bruce, all unstrung as I was by the shock, but let her go? I turned away, and Heaven only knows how I got back to the hotel. I shudder now when I think of what that veil covered."

Sir Angus Petrie dropped his head into his hands again, and so remained till a tap at the door and the entrance of a detective-sergeant with a report reminded him that my time belonged to the public.

When the officer had retired he resumed his narrative in a calmer mood, ami related his subsequent proceedings. After a sleepless night at the hotel, racked with doubt as to whether the woman had really been Lettice Nuneham or someone who had taken her place, the doubt had prevailed; and having heard of Radford Shone's success in solving social mysteries, he had called a cab, and driven to the rooms of the eminent expert. "A marvellous man, Bruce," he said, his eye kindling at the reminiscence. "I was no sooner shown in than he told me that I had recently returned from Africa —knew it by the exact shade of tan on my face and by the crick in my fingers from using the barbed-wire snickers. He explained it all for my benefit, and for that o* a woolly-brained admirer of his who lives with him. But that ig neither here nor there. I stated the case to him, just as I have to you, and to-day I have his report "

"Well?" I demanded, somewhat impatiently, for the story had enlisted all my professional interest. I did not suggest that Shone might have seen his return in the newspapers.

"It is murder, Bruce!" Sir Angus groaned in reply. "Shone's inquiries leave no doubt that the woman in the Cromwell Road, living in LeUice's house and using her name, is an imposter. Shone proved it conclusively by very cleverly obtaining a scrap of her hand-writing, which he compared with letters written to me by Lettice in happier days. There was only a faint resemblance between the two."

My practical mind prompted the question, "How about her bankers?" I understand that Miss Nuneham was a rich woman, managing her own affairs? The difference should have been noted in her signatures on cheques if not on other business documents." "That is where Radford Shone has scored," replied Petrie decisively. "He ascertained that a year ago Letticj's bankers and solicitors were suddenly changed for no apparent reason. In fact they were highly indignant at losing a wealthy client, though as the transfer was quite in order, and confirmed by Lettice in person, they could do nothing but protest. But Shone's evidence of the murder, on which you will have to act, is the masterpiece. I will leave his report for you to read at leisure, but here is the gist of it: Lettice Nuneham was driven in her own carriage to a lonely farmhouse in Hertfordshire about the time of the change in the bankers and solicitors. She is supposed to have remained there six months, and then to have returned to Cromwell Road, again using her own carriage for the journey. But—and you will grasp the point at once—Shone has discovered, buried in the garden of the farmhouse, the body of a woman." (To be continued.)