"SECOND CHANCE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 3 September 1940, Page 10

"SECOND CHANCE"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

HOLLOWAY HORN

(Author of “George,” “Two Men and Mary,” etc.

CHAPTER VI. (Continued?. ‘•The butler came in before he did. ’ ‘■The butler’s dead. He had been with old Murray for nearly forty years. It wasn’t Slim; and I don t think it was Murray. He’s a millionaire. Besides, he wanted them for his wife.” “And once more, and for the last time, it wasn’t I.” Ferguson rose at he was speaking. “My evening meal will be ready,” he went on.

“Let it wait. If you refuse to let me in on this—and I was in fifty-fifty with Slim remember —I’ll spill the beans good and proper.” “I’m afraid I can’t stop you if you want to. And I’m not going to be irritated into losing my temper and knocking you, down, attractive as the proceeding would be. You are me most contemptible swine I’ve ever run across, Sternberg.” “I give you till the weekend to think over what I’ve said. By the way. where are you living? I don’t want to have to come to the office again.” “Number five, Manor Street,” Ferguson replied after a momentary hesitation.

“I got a kind of right to those emeralds,” said Sternberg. “You? In what way?” "Old Murray got his money out of the insurance people, so they aren t his and I was in fifty-fifty with Slim. “They belong to the Insurance Com-

pany.” “Anyway, I want half of them. ’ “What you want is kicking. And it would give me the greatest pleasure to do it excepting that I. don’t want any trouble with the police just now.’ And with that he turned to the door. As he went along the corridor he heard the sound of music. The Revue was evidently under way. But he hurried on, anxious not to meet Lucia Desmund. The stage door at the Theatre Royal is in a dingy side street and as Ferguson emerged into it he came face’ to face with Inspector Garrod. "Good evening, Mr Ferguson,” the Inspector said. “Good evening.” - “Getting on all right?” “Yes, thank you.” “You’re not in any trouble?” “Not more than usual.’ “Been in to see Mr Teddy Wilson?” “Really . that is rather my business. I think I’ve complied with the regulations —at least I’ve endeavoured to do so.”

“I’m not speaking as an official, Mr Ferguson, but as a man. I’ve looked up the record of your case and . . and if I could help you I should be pleased.”

“Thank you very much.” “And as a proof . . Inspector Garrod held out his hand.

“That’s kind of you,” Ferguson said as the two men shook hands. “As a matter of fact, I’ve just come from the dressing room of the man you mentioned.”

“He looked a bad specimen to me,” said the Inspector. “He’s threatening to divulge my history to the people at Trevowe’s. That means that I should be practically forced to leave.”

“Why?” “I couldn’t stay on there if they knew I was a gaol-bird.” “You’re a bit morbid on the subject. Do you know anything about this man?” “Yes. He’s a crook —a waster. He thinks that I know where an emerald necklace that was stolen by a man called Slim Bailey is hidden. That’s what he’s after.”

“And you don’t?” “I do not.” “I’ll have a word with him, if you like.”

“It’s kind of you, but whether it will do any good I doubt. What he’ll do is to drop into a few of the pubs and mention casually who I am. It would be difficult to prove it was libel even if there would be any point in doing so.”

“I may be able to put the wind up him. I’ll ask for his papers. He’s a foreigner?” “His name is Sternberg. But I fancy he’s naturalised.”

“Leave it to me,” said the Inspector. “Good night.” He turned away and Ferguson saw that he had entered the stage door. It was already time for his evening meal and the thought of the little sitting room at Number Five was singularly attractive that evening. It seemed even more like a quiet harbour than it usually did. “I want to see Mr Wilson. Mr Teddy Wilson,” the Inspector told the old man who stood guard over the stage doors. “Certainly, Inspector. Come in this way. Mr Wilson is not appearing during the first house. He’s probably in his dressing-room.'’ He led him to. the room, knocked at the door and said: "Gent to see you, Mr Wilson,” and left the Inspector to his own devices.

“Teddy Wilson," was sitting in front of a mirror putting his make-up on. He swung round as the Inspector entered.

“Good evening. Mr Sternberg,” the Inspector said from the doorway. “Er . . good evening. What can I do for you?" “Several things. To start with. I should like to see your papers.” “What papers?” “Your passport." “I haven’t got one. I’m a British subject.” “Then your naturalisation papers —if you have any. I am a police official, as you see.”

“Here they are," said Sternberg. “Wilson’s my stage name.” "Yes. That seems in order,” the Inspector said after he had examined the papers. “Course it’s in order. Why shouldn’t it be? Think I’m a spy or what?”

“I understand that you called on a certain gentleman at his place of worK today —or was it yesterday?’ “What of it? He’s an old friend of mine. Did he tell you?” “He didn’t. But that’s my business anyway. And furthermore I understand you have made certain threats to him.” “Who says so?”

“I do. Do you deny it?” “Course I deny it.” Teddy Wilson was not speaking with quite the same confidence as when the Inspector came in first.

“The gentleman in question is entitled to the protection of the police as well as their supervision. And I’m going to see that he gets it,” the police official said slowly and firmly. “You got nothing on me, Inspector.”

“No. But I will have if you throw your weight about. Get me?” “What d’you mean? Who’s using threats now,?”

“I am. And I shall carry them out 1 shall take immediate steps in any case to get your record from the Yard. You know whether they have a record of you at all ...” It was a shot in the dark, but the Inspector saw that it had touched the mark: “They might be very interested to hear of the latest developments in your activities,’ ’he went on. “What is it you want out of the gentleman we’re discussing?”

“I’m not saying anything else,” the actor said sullenly.

“I think you may be wise not . to. You will be wiser still if you leave Ferguson alone.” “I don’t want any trouble,” Wilson began.

“No. I imagined you didn’t,” the Inspector said, meaningly. “We leave Mossford on Sunday. If I give you my word to keep away from him —will that do?” “Yes. At the moment that’s all I want.”

As he spoke the door opened and Lucia Desmund, in the dress and makeup she had worn on the stage came in. She pulled up short when she saw the Inspector. “Er . . this is my. wife,” said Wilson. “Is anything wrong?” she said.

“No. Your husband and I have had a friendly little chat and I’m just going,” Garrod said. “There is nothing wrong?” she asked again.

“There was a little misundertsanding but we’ve cleared it up. I’ll be saying good night.” And turning on his heel, Inspector Garrod left the husband and wife together.

“What did he want?” she demanded as the door closed.

“About your boy friend . . what’s he call himself, Ferguson.” “Did he complain to them?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think he did. But someone did. He threatened to get into touch with the Yard.” “About you?” “Yes.”

“Serve you right if he does. You coming on next house? That fellow Cox is just a stick. They’re as flat as dishwater in front.” He nodded. “I’ve promised not to see Ferguson, again while we’re here.” “What’s the good, anyway?” “The good? He’s got those emeralds. He must have. I pieced the whole thing together in front of him. Either they disappeared into thin air of he pinched them.” “He had plenty of time to sell them before he ran into that other spot of bother.” ■

“But he didn’t. Or he wouldn’t be in a hole like this.”

“He no more stole that necklace than he was guilty in that other business,” she said quietly.

“Old Murray thought he’d got them. Good as said so in court. He’s got them right enough, or he knows where they are. Besides, could he sell them? He daren’t take them to an ordinary jeweller. Only a fence would touch

them. And he probably doesn’t know one.”

“You mean he’s still got them?” “Yes. And they are worth fifteen thousand pounds. We’ll be on Easy Street if we could get hold of them. He lives at 5 Manor Street. “What are you getting at?” “It’s up to you. Lucia.”

“I should worry!" “If anybody could get the truth out of him you could. He was head over heels in love with you.” “I see. You really are a low swine!” she said, contemptuously. Her husband grinned as if she had paid him a compliment. “If we get hold of them I can sell them. And I can get seventy-five per cent of the value.” There was a knock at the door: "Miss Desmund!” the call boy said. “Coining. I’ll think it over,” she said to her husband, and turned to the door. After Mary Donovan had seen Ferguson and Wilson walking together towards the Market Square and —as she had assumed —the Theatre Royal, she hurried in the other direction. A short distance down the London Road is the big Public Library of Mossford and into this she turned. The reading room on the first floor was almost deserted and she ascertained from the girl in charge that they had a file of the “Daily Courier" going back for several years. The bulk of the accumulated copies however, made the job she ha,d in view appear to much greater magnitude than she had anticipated. “What was it you wanted?” the girl asked. “Er . . I wanted to trace an old law case —I’m not absolutely certain that there ever was one,” she added with a smile. “Do you know what year?” the girl asked doubtfully. “No. 1 don’t even know that.”

(To be Continued)