"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 27 September 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

i CHAPTER IX. tContinued>. The constable shook his head rather gravely. “No, sir,” he said, "not here. Nowhere about here.” "Funny,” said George; “there’s a mistake somehow.” -And you’re hurt too,” the constable remarked " —eh?” "Nothing much, 1 think.” George replied, conscious that some blood from an abrasion on his head had dried about his forehead. He knew, too, by his sensations, that he had been dosed with a drug of some sort. “Never mind, officer; perhaps I had better get home.” “Far to go, sir?” "Brompton Road.” “It’s early—but take the second turn up there, and you'll get a taxi. ’ “Thanks.” George gave him half-a-crown, and moved on. But after a few steps he looked round upon the constable, who had seen all sorts of early morning sequels to adventuies of the l night, and had no idea that he was m I this case drawing wrong conclusions., “You don’t happen to have heard the j name of Diggs round here?” • ‘No, sir. No one round here name of Diggs.” I George had reached the corner of the first street before he conceived at all j clearly what his procedure should be | The officer was now out of sight, so he began to look for the marks of wheels turning in by the pavements. He found none but middle tracks. “The wrong street,” he said to himself. “It’s strange.” • Then, struggling against his giddiness, he found his way into a parallel street of similar houses, and Continued his search for the tracks. Here again he was disappointed. Further survey however, revealed that there was still another street —if not more —-of the same type, and in this he found what he was looking for. Here were two vehicular indications at about fifty yards from each other. At the second one George stopped. This was the house. He noted that even at this early hours a languid blue smoke curled from one of the chimneys. Determined to get at something, he turned at tne gale, buttoned up his coat, and prepared to pull hard at the bell.

Then he stepped back. This bell had no handle. “Wrong again?” he muttered. “Can’t be. It’s a trick.” He knocked peremptorily. Almost before he had ceased, the door opened. He stared at an anxious and trembling old man, with a white beard and watery eyes, .who peered searchingly at' him. “You’re not the doctor?” he said. “I am not,” George replied. “I called here last night inquiring for Mr Diggs, and —” “Mr Diggs? Not here. Don’t know him. I thought you were the doctor. I can’t talk to you, sir—my wife is dying. You’re at the wrong house.” “Isn’t this a private club?” George demanded despeiately. “No —there’s no club here. You've got wrong. Please go away.” And the frightened old man closed the door. CHAPTER X. George Parmitter, sickly as he was for some time, found a good deal more on his mind, later that morning, than he could easily or clearly cope with. Topmost, the persistent riddle of Ephraim Diggs, 'it seemed, might have been simplified for him had he bul noted the name of the avenue to which he had followed that elusive person. That he had somehow followed the wrong man he could not believe. Then there were obligations contingent on the tragedy at Tooting (it is not necessary here to obtrude details of the brief inquest and adjournment); and. again, there was also the chance to consider of a response at any time from Boxwith to his call for him through the morning papers. Not only all this: that topmost worry about Diggs made it necessary to verify the man’s assertion that he would be found at Abinger’s Hotel. George eventually went there quite prepared to find that the man from Leicester had not been seen at Abinger’s at all.

Inquiry at the office at once dispelled that suspicion. The lady at the window believed that Mr Diggs was actually in at the moment. She instructed a pageboy to call over, or go up to number 104. In a few minutes the boy reappeared, asking George to accompany him above. Mr Diggs was there. George certainly felt astonished. But he had no time to speculate on what this apparently simple issue meant. The boy retired, and, as the door closed, Mr Diggs —who appeared to have found a passing attraction through the window —turned to face his visitor. And it was not Mr Diggs. “I beg your pardon.” said George: "it is Mr Ephraim Diggs from Leicester, I am looking for." "Quite right. Mr Parmitter. Won't you sit down?" "But I —l don't understand. You are not Mr Diggs.' “If you will sit down. I’ll explain." The speaker, coming leisurely towards him, stood by an opposite chair. In age and build he was similar to the man George was seeking, but in face was totally unlike. He had a calm, calculating, resolute —yet somehow friendly—expression, as if he would be forging ahead and doing the beneficient thing with another reflected on it. 'After missing Mr Diggs as you did last night,” he went on, “it was expected you would come here. Will you be good enough to let Mr Diggs know through me the nature of your business with him? He could not come. I am here to answer for him.” “One moment." said George, in his perplexity; “before we go any further, I should like you to say whether you have come into this hotel as Mr Diggs

only this morning. “To be quite candid, that is so.” “So it would have been useless my calling last night?” “You are perfectly correct.” “I am presuming you are aware of what has brought Mr Diggs to London?”

The other ignored this query. “What,” he said, “do you want Mr Diggs for?” George braced himself. "I want to explain to him that there are some important rights which have been overlooked, a quite definite claim which cannot be ignored. I want to bring the matter between us back to a basis of common sense. In short, I want to reason with Mr Diggs, to cancel the whole matter in its present form.”

“This is something outside reason,’,’ Mr Diggs’s deputy observed unsympathetically. “No,” George protested, rising; “I can move in no other way.” “Yes, you can,” was the cold rejoinder. “But I think it will save time, Mr Parmitter, if I say at once that I am not here to argue the question, but to warn you it will be better if you do not move at all.” “What do you exactly mean by that?”

“I agree with Mr Diggs that you had much better not interfere.” “But my mind is made up to interfere.”

"It must be at some risk, then.” “Is that your decision on behalf of Mr Diggs?” “It is practically, allowing for all preamble, my first and last word, Mr Parmitter.” George turned white under this audacity. “Oh,” he said. “I have not asked your identity—who you are?” “I am John Rumely, of Bristol.” It was as if he had fired a shot. “Rumely of Bristol,” George repeated in his astonishment. “Then collusion is here? How is that?” The man half smiled, and his tone sounded almost good-natured as he replied, “Is it so wonderful that < two men, charged with the same idea—such an idea —within the same area —should meet and recognise each other’s interest —should even seek to recognise it?” “Perhaps not. It is a low breach of faith.” “But it is strange they should throw their chances together, instead of following out those separate charts with the risk against both? Breach or not, it is strange?”

“No—no,” agreed George. “So far as you two are concerned, an idea worthy of you, a good, dishonourable idea.”

George was on the point of adding something about the third man, but checked himself. “You decline to listen to me?” he said. “Sorry—yes. The thing is done, and you had better keep out of it. That is all I can say.” “It’s a dangerous threat—it may react on you.” “It is just a warning,” said the man from Bristol, as he walked to the door and opened it. George stepped into the corridor, repressing an urgent impulse to stay — for some purpose or other —where he was. He turned round on Rumely. “Dangerous, remember,” he said. “‘So look out!” Rumley of Bristol softly closed his door.

Ten minutes after this staggering rebuff, George Parmitter was in Cursitor Street, discussing the situation as quietly as he could wth Mr Torkney The lawyer listened very patiently, showing not much belief in the Diggs episode of last night, and venturing at last to express his doubt. George wasted no words about that. He went on to recount his interview with Rumley. Torkney remained patient, listening as if he merely sensed trouble for the firm, after all their business detachment from the venture. He sighed, and nodded slowly several times, as George went on with his disclosure.. “And,” George concluded, “I don't like this Rumely at all, and if I were Diggs I should think more than twice about trusting him.” “He struck me,” Torkney said, “as a man of exceptionally firm and decisive character.’ He folded his arms, and threw his head back in reflection. His brown face stood out conspicuously above a pallor that was creeping upward from his neck. “It's very unfortunate. Still —I hope ” “That I will not complicate matters, do you mean?’’ “That matters will not be complicated. Our course is fixed. Your own undertaking in writing is against you. Why trouble? Really, it is net your affair, you know.” "Suppose we don’t discuss that. I shall take it that a breach of faith on their side lets me in on behalf of Mrs Cordery. I feel she has a claim which my lather himself might have sanctioned.- ’ Mr Torkney got up, shaking his head, his lips shut tightly togethei in fine lines. He put on his hat rather carefully. looking towards the door, while the blood rushed back to his neck and face. "Anyway." he said. "I’ve got to go. It won’t hold water, Parmitter. Won't hold water. We can't do anything—at least not now. It must go at that.” George realised the aloofness resentfully. But he did not go deeply into his feeling in relation to the firm — Torkney did not seem to reflect what his relation might be. A few more words, and he departed from the office in front of Torkney. who bestowed upon him as he went a crooked sort of smile that was meant, no doubt, to be friendly. Hurrying back to his office in Tottenham Court Road, George was joined on the pavement by the plainclothes officer, Hardy, who had interrogated him at Tooting' yesterday. They went up the stairs together, and Hardy explained: (To be Continued).