"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 26 September 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER VIII. (Continued ■- The man looked up, decidedly startled. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. “I remember.” “Something has happened, Mr Diggs, which puts a completely different aspect on this matter which has brought you to London. I’m glad I have found you so soon. I want a talk with you.” “Yes?” replied Mr Diggs, watching George's expression. “Where?” “At the moment I have some ladies with me —it is not quite opportune. But certainly without delay. Where are you staying?” “Why—l shall be going to Abinger’s Hotel. But what do you mean? I understood there was to be no interference. I don’t think I ought to tolerate any interference. Why with me?”

“I simply must have talk with you,” George insisted. “And not you alone. Come, now, Mr Diggs—how soon over at Abinger’s? An hour? Or shall we go together from here? I can arrange that.” Mr Diggs looked hard at George, extremely dubious. “You may come 'over to Abinger’s in an hour, if you like,” he said. “I can listen, anyhow.” George stepped back to his table, and and explained. Singular, how chance had worked. “It means that I shall have to send you home alone,” George added, “and then follow.” It was obvious, within the next ten minutes, that George’s intrusion upon the undertaker from Leicester had interfered with the latter’s appetite, or. at any rate, had imposed considerable reflection upon it. He paused frequently in his movement; once or twice he stole a half glance round, as if to observe whether it was George's intention to escort the ladies from the restaurant, or to remain as they were. Another five minutes and Mr Diggs held communion with his waiter. Obviously, he had cut his dinner short and meant to go. It was an awkward move, and there was a hint of furtive urgency about it. George took the hint at once. It , was easy enough for Mrs Cordery to take over the situation here, if Diggs had some trick in mind. The undertaker had to pass George’s table. In doing so, he nodded and smiled slightly, as if aware of the dilemma. As he was slowly nearing, the exit, Sophie remarked, “Mr Barling, I think, is coming over for a word.” “Good —he may talk to you for a while. I’ll meet him some other time, if I don’t get back quickly.” Another minute, and Headley Barling stopped by the table, while George Parmitter passed along to the street. Barling wondered at George’s exit. Then, greeting Sophie, he made some reason for lingering, and was introduced to her mother. Headley Barling then adapted himself to a chair that was vacant at an angle between Sophie and Mrs Cordery—this at Sophie's remark that he might sit down and talk to them, if he had nothingbetter to do. “Nothing better in the world,” Barling replied. “But really I came over for an introduction tq Mr Parmitter— —?” “He will keep for another'time, Mr Barling.” “I suppose so. He looks healthy enough to keep for quite a long time. Has he left you, then?” “For perhaps an hour or so." “Ah. I was thinking I might have helped you to make a party of four at the theatre. Mother and daughter glanced at each other. Then the former whispered the explanation why it was not possible for them tonight. Mr Barling looked infinitely shocked. “Why, that's dreadful for you all!” he said. “But if you will stay and talk to us,” Sophie added, “long enough also to see us on our way home, when we decide to go.” “Indeed I will, with pleasure,” was Barling’s assurance. “It is ‘mere words’ to say that I wish I might help you in other ways. No one can do that.” “Why knows?” Sophie responded, not thinking of any point in her own words. “You may be able to.” CHAPTER IX. Surprise at this rencontre was George Parmitter's topmost feeling as he stepped on to the pavement outside. It was barely eight o’clock, and taxis were plentiful in the streets. Twenty yards from Jawney's door, where a fare was being discharged, he observed Ephraim Diggs stepping into a cab he had just hailed. Another cab was approaching. This, at a sign from George, was stopped for him by Jawney's commissionaire. He had just time to give rapid instructions to the driver when Digg's cab started off. Unless he had an intermediate call to make. Diggs was not going to Abinger s Hotel, for the taxi was speeding in another direction. By the left along Oxford Street, it turned into the Edgware Road. The idea which had apparently entered Mr Digg's mind in Jawney's bordered suspiciously on evasion. George scarcely wondered at the man's duplicity however, for he had enough incentive to this as a single unit of three with equal chances. He would naturally ask himself, “What game is this fellow up to?” Still, he must be made to listen. Passing rapidly through Marylebone. by Maida Vale, and along the Kilburn High Road, the car containing Mr Diggs turned off by Cricklewood Lane for Finchley Road. "Golders Green perhaps," thought George, intently watching the route. He had not much knowledge of this neighbourhood, and could not have named a single street they passed. The district was comparatively rural. When at lengths the Diggs's taxi turned down

a side road, threaded several avenues, and drew up at a house shaded by trees in a garden of its own, exactly resembling others in its immediate neighbourhood, George had but a dim idea of where he was. And by this time the dusk had deepened into dark. His driver pulled up at a house about fifty yards behind. From this distance George saw Mr Diggs discharge his man, pause to survey the read, and disappear along the path to the house. The driver of the taxi which had brought Diggs gazed hard, as he came by, at the one which had followed. George decided to pay off his driver as Diggs had done. The situation looked speculative. Then he went forward to the house Diggs had entered, and boldly rang the front door bell. There was no immediate reply, so he rang again. This time ne was anewered by a man who had somewhat the appearance of a butler, and wno stood in the aperture of the doorway like a screen, so that George had but a slight glimpse of a hall in darkness. “I wish to see Mr Diggs, please,” said George. “Mr Diggs, sir? There is no such person here.” “But haven't I just seen him enter?” “No, sir—not here, sir. No one here this half-hour.” “Strange!; ’ George returned. “I am positively I saw him come here three minutes ago in a taxi. May I ask who lives here?” “I do,” the main replied, “and my name ain't Diggs. This is a private club, sir, and I’m the resident steward.” George was nonplussed. But he returned to the attack. “I am quite sure,” he rejoined, “that I saw a gentleman com'e here three, minutes ago. Have you a side or back entrance?” “No, sir—front only.” “Are you in alone?” “Well—no. But there’s no Diggs. If jou like to step in, I’ll bring the secretary, and perhaps you’ll take his word.” George promptly accepted the invitation, and the man as promptly closed the door behind him. They were quite in the dark, George had observed that all the blinds were drawn. The steward’s hand was on his arm, guiding him gently but firmly to one side. Tn this little room, sir, please —if you don't mind being in the dark a minute —I’ll give .you a light.” George moved forward a little at the door softly clicked behind him. And then he stood still, hardly daring to grope forward lest he walked into something. It was an odd position to be in. But he knew something of the secrecy of private clubs, and, though tempted to feel for his matches as the moments went by, since ho light came, he waited and listened in patience. Footfalls sounded at last. How many he could not tell,, they were so commingled, blit he had an impression that they were shuffling and stealthy. Then the door was opened, just as he was about to put his hand upon it, and the voice of the man who had admitted him said, “Come this way, sir, will you?” Two persons were waiting for him to cross the threshold. He stepped out; and what happened afterwards seemed like the remnants of a dream. There must have been others on either side of the doorway. From one of them a blow fell that put resistance out of his power. From the two in front he remembered no movement at all. But he did not at once lose consciousness. He heard a short, grim laugh, like an ejaculation, and was aware of an impulse to launch himself into violent muscular protest. Then — nothing. But this muscular exertion seemed to be exciting him when he came round, though in reality he was almost nerveless. He was suffering from violent headache and nausea . . . And it was early daylight. He lay in the garden. They had put him outside. That was strange. How long had he lain here? He gazed round while struggling to his feet. The house looked quiet and ordinary; so normal, in fact, that he left like a trespasser. Anyone passing might imagine that his condition was the climax of a drunken escapade. That was how he felt —as if ne had got here by misdirection, and had merely dreamed the truth. What to do now? He shook himself, and flicked soil off his clothes here and there. He felt that Mr Diggs would not be here now. if he were to knock at the door. What mistake lay at the bottom of this? It was a mystery. Moving round to the back of the house, he was able to peer into a couple of the lower rooms, where the blinds had not been fully drawn. One was an ordinary kitchen, trim and lifeless. The other was a dining room, where cards had been played, some glasses were in evidence, and chairs stood out of place. Gathering his wandering and troubled wits together as well as he could, he moved back to the front gate, and, opening it, stepped almost in to the arms of a policeman. “Hallo!" exclaimed the latter curiously. “Who lives here, officer." George returned. “do you know?” “Gentleman name of Swayle. sir.” “It's a club, isn’t it?" “Club? Lord no. There’s no club round here.' “No private club, with a resident steward?" “No. Nothing of that sort. Have you been in a club?” “Yes.” “Where?” “Here.” (To be Continued).