"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 30 September 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER XI. (Continued’. “Sure,” agreed Boxwith; "and its yours within the half hour. Thereupon from an opening in the lining at the top of his coat sleeve, on the inside of the left arm, he produced a long, closely folded paper, and laid it out before George, his frail but sinewy fingers pressed upon it. This was Geoffrey Parmitter’s doing, right enough! There were many signs on it; crosses, squares, circles, arrows, single and parallel lines, all often duplicated; frequent inversions; indications of landscape, town and village, and objects against the sky, signs and figures .of the compass, too. A puzzle. George allowed Boxwith’s tense fingers to fold it up again. “O-kay?” the man queried, returning the chart to his sleeve. "Evidently,” said George, satisfied, as he rose from his chair. "Blimey, mister, worse ’n gaol cypner to me,” commented the clerk, rising too. "I daresay,” George agreed drily. As they left the office, he added, “By the way, Mr Boxwith, you are not entirely north-country, are you?” “Born in Hackney, sir—me, took away in childhood days to Manchester, where they got me refined in general speech and manners. Also done in—what I mean to say, married, Mr Parmilter. The courting millgirls up there are what the McGregors call bonny, and when they’re out for it you can’t hardly tell ’em from society girls, like what you see here up West. We’re living in a suburb, too; but that ain’t lucky neither. Still, I’ll get back there soon as I can. I keep feeling a bit of accent like Hackney coming to the tip of my tongue; and the wife, she never did like Cockneys—bar me, for once; and not always me, I can tell you. Lumme, makes me talk, this bit o’ luck!”

“Yes. I hope,” George rejoined, “it is not going to make you talk too much to anyone about it.” “No,” said the clerk, definitely; “nb. I’m pretty near my last words on the subject. When I’ve said ’Thank' you,’ mister, I’ve finished.’ And so the deal was completed. CHAPTER XII. This was a great climax to all that George Parmitter had to tell at Brix'ton that evening, and it seemed wonderful that such luck had happened to him in so short a space of time. But. considering the character of the opposition, even one was too many, if the gain from Number Three!was to be effective. Sophie Cordery grasped this situation with an interest that seemed more deeply speculative than usual. It has been mentioned that, through shrewd business contracts, her business faculties were well developed; also, that she could be resolute and daring to a degree not usual in women who are called upon to face only the simple social crises. And so, at this juncture. Sophie took counsel with herself, and decided that she could add something vital to what George Parmitter had done. Not the faintest suspicion of what she thought of doing could have entered the head of either George or her mother. , This was how she reasoned: Shut out from further attack at Abinger’s Hotel, George could do no more there. But it did not follow that the spurious Diggs would leave. Abinger’s might be just the place to find him, if wanted, because it was the last place where one would think of looking, after what had happened. It was not impossible that the real Diggs might visit there as well. Since Rumley and Diggs were in collusion, the two charts in their possession might be examined together in Room 104 at Abinger’s by either confederate or both. It was well within reason that Rumley—since it was actually Rumley who was there —should be studying both charts with the help of road maps (an obvious aid) while the real Diggs verified his tracings by going over the ground. They would act, not on both, but on the easier of the two. To be sure, they would be competing against Boxwith. But if points could be found on paper, a deal of time would be saved, journeying over much of the ground would not be needed. George had found that the chart obtained from Boxwith indicated a move S. E. What the other indicated remained to be seen. Anyhow, it seemed obvious to Sophie that these two men who had so soon broken faith might be operating, in the way she imagined, from the privacy of Abinger’s Hotel. Apprehensively it was in her mind that the secret .of those charts might suddenly be realised by some sign of convergence at their end. She did not lose sight of the fact that Diggs might have noted her overnight at .Tawney’s; nor that she had herself taken a definite impression of Diggs. Rumely, of course, she could know only by his false name or by his occupancy of Room 104. To him, she would not be known at all. It was late —long after George had gone —when she announced her intention to her mother. "I must have a taxi,” she said; "I am leaving home tonight.” Argument was useless. She packed a bag and went. And from Room 107 at Abinger’s Hotel she descended next morning to breakfast. It was not the first Qne she had put up here overnight after late business — nor was she a stranger to frequenters of the commercial room. Over there, for one, was Headley Barling. But Sophie did not notice him this morning, she had no inclination to talk. Whether Barling sensed that or not, he kept her under observation. He thought only of the one sinister topic that he knew must be lying darkly on her mind. What other could there be? What Sophie had to do was to retain her room and telephone an explanation of her temporary absence from the

Trust office in Leadenhall Street,

Later in the morning, traversing a quiet corridor bn the third floor, with the lift gone up behind her, Sophie paused by the door of Number 104 and turned the handle, humming a little snatch of melody. If Rumley was in, she was ready with her apology and her simulated shock of surprise at her mistake. The chance that he was not in and had left his door unlocked was one in a thousand. The door opened and she crossed the threshold. Rumely was not in. At a glance, it was simple. She had foreseen it like this. On the bed a newspaper was spread open, carefully covering something. Maps. They were sectional road maps, blue-pencilled here and there. Beneath them were two sheets of paper covered with strange signs and symbols. Sophie stood listening. Then she folded the charts and thrust them under her dress. She covered up the maps as she had found them. She made for the door. In another moment — Her tense ear caught the sound of voices. They were quite close, with a pausing cadence that alarmed her. They were outside the door. Swiftly—there was nothing else for it —she darted to the little wardrobe in a recess, and closed herself in. “We are quite private here,” she heard Rumely say to a companion who entered with him; “it was better to slip down and bring you up. Now you can tell me, Mr Markham, what your chances really are to dispose of what I want to sell. It must be absolutely secret, of course.” "Yes. Say what you want, when I’ve seen the stuff.” “I’ll show you.” There was a silence, broken by subdued movement of hands; it was followed by hushed sounds of wonder. The man who had been addressed as Markham said, “I’d like to know where you got these.” “No questions answered;” replied Rumely drily. “I’m no expert on jewels—l expect I shall know more about such things later on —but I want two - thousand for these.” “That's a big sum at percentagevaluation,” the other* said, “but something like it may come off’. Don’t count on it, though it looks exceptional enough.” And they went on talking, their tones rising, falling, and crossing now and then, while Sophie regained some feeling of relief that this was no attempt to sell any interest in the charts, as it had seemed at first. ' “And when do I see you again, Mr Markham?” “Say tomorrow, same time.” The sounds that ensued were suggestive of Markham’s going. Then Sophie, trembling a little, heard Rumely close the door and move about the bedside. He was humming low and pleasurably. She heard the rustling of the newspaper as he took it up and folded it before placing it aside. • How to get out of this was a question that might have tried the nerves of a stronger person than Sophie Cordery. That Rumely would not miss the charts now was beyond hope. For undoubtedly the concurrent examination of the maps and the charts was proceeding. She could hear the maps being moved about rapidly, and all at once more rapidly; and then Rumely’s voice: “They're gone.” There was silence. Sophie grew painfully conscious of the beating of her heart. Would he search the room? She was not long in suspense. Rumely suddenly made for the door, and closed it after him: would he lock it this time? Sophie listened with breath suspended. No, she could get out! She breathed again. Approaching the end of the corridor during the brief moment of Sophie’s escape. Rumely encountered a chambermaid. “Can you, please,” he said to her, “ask the manager to come at once to Number 104? Something has happened. Very urgent.” Then he strode back to his door, purposeful and desperate. He found the door slightly ajar. The significance cried aloud to him. Whoever had been in the room must have heard his conversation with Markham, too. He crossed directly to Room 107, and knocked smartly. Sophie answered the knock. “I think,” said Rumely bluntly, “you have just stepped over from my room —lO4. Isn't that so?” "Me?” responded Sophie. "Why do you ask such a question?” “I saw you disappearing when I looked round at the other end. There has been no one else in the corridor. Besides, I closed my door a minute ago, and it is now open. Don’t tell me you know nothing about it. I have sent for the manager.” Sophie stared with a fine air of indignation at Rumely. then closed her door in his face. She heard him tramp too and fro. talking lo himself with a fearful wrath. Here was a pretty mess, after all. It was going to be a bad thing for the hotel, if Rumely pushed his accusation to extremes. Cases like this were al ways bad for an hotel. It would be bad for her reputation too. As a responsible representative of the Great United Trust, it would be an ugly matter for the Trust to hear of. But she had no idea, at any cost, of giving up the charts. » And now she heal'd the manager approach, and Rumely knocked again. Sophie, responding stood with a desperate dignity on her threshold. Rumely repeated more virulently what he had already said to her. The manager looked profoundly upset and incredulous. “I cannot believe this, Mr Diggs,” he said. “You must be very sure indeed before making such a statement about one of our guests.” "I tell you I am sure.” declared Rumely—"l am quite sure.” “What is it you have missed?” (To be Continued),