"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 1 October 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER XI. <Continued>. “Two written documents relating to some maps on my bed. They are documents of the greatest value and importance. I want a search.” “Just a moment,” said the manager, gently. “Be careful Mr Diggs. Miss Cordery has, of course, denied what you say?” “I have never,” said Sophie, “had such a charge against me in my life before.”

Rumely shot his gaze at her. “Cordery!” he repeated. “I knew I was right. Cordery!” He shewed his teeth, and yet it was a kind of smile. “Come —I must have my papers. Out with them.”

The manager looked from one to the other for a meaning of this recognition. “Now what am I to do?” he said. “Are you willing. Miss Cordery, to satisfy this gentleman’s demand?” “Certainly not,” replied Sophie. “This young lady," Rumely insisted, “has an interest in my papers. She shall not leave this hotel until I have them back.” “Very well, Mr Diggs,” the manager rejoined. “I am sorry, but in the face of Miss Cordery's denial it is you who must take the responsibility: there is only one thing to be done. I regret it extremely—it is most undesirable and inconvenient for us —but if you insist on a search we shall have to send for,the police.” He looked-at Sophie. “I can’t help that, Miss Cordery. You need not mind it. I feel sure.” Sophie inclined her head and said nothing. Trouble was imminent now. And now Rumely looked from one to the other, and slowly—very slowly —an expression as if a fundamental streak of good nature in him, somewhere below all this, had been piqued, stole over his face. “The police?” he said, reflectively.

“If a person had these papers,” the manager observed, “and were willing ’ to give them up in face of such an alternative —” “Yes —yes,” Rumely interrupted, “that would be simple, that’s all I ) want. But you see she’s not willing.” “Don’t misunderstand me. lam suggesting she is the wrong person. What will you do Mr Diggs?” Rumely fidgeted and breathed for ' some moments as .if he would have liked to cut out that streak of kindness that lay deep in him, but the sour smile - persisted as he replied. “No —we will » do without the police, I think. I don't . care to be mixed up with police. And • in any case I wouldn’t care to prose- • cute.” - “Then,” said Sophie quickly, “I may consider myself at liberty when I „ please?” Rumely looked at her, and his look t dwelt strangely. He did not reply.

, Then in a moment he turned his back, i passed swiftly into his room, and noisily closed and locked the door behind • him. Thus suddenly the incident seemed closed. ’ “That’s strange,” said the manager softly. “Very strange,” agreed Sophie, breathing freely again.' “He’s a man from Leicester. You don’t know him, of course, Miss Cordery?” “I never spoke to him before in my life.” “Well —there is nothing more I can do. Sorry you have had such an unpleasant experience.” Five minutes later, having accompanied the manager below, Sophie passed quietly out of the hotel. Not a minute had she left the portals when, from the door of his private room, the manager observed Rumely go out also, and fell to wondering. At any rate, it was a relief that the police were not to be called in. Sophie walked as swiftly as she could towards Leadenhall Street. As she went she glanced round now and then, for she remembered Rumely’s last look with an apprehension she could not ignore. Sure enough, she saw at last that he was bn her track. The.strcets were crowded, yet the fear of mischief was in her, and she knew that he was gaining on her at every stride. She dreaded even what he might want to say. Suddenly she saw a figure she re- ■ cognised sauntering a little way ahead. She almost ran to it. It was Headley Barling. "Please,” she said touching his arm, “take me into the post office here, Mr Barling, will you? Quickly—please.” He obeyed in undisguised astonishment. She led him through a sprinkling of busy people to the far end of the office, and placed some folded papers in his hand. “Now will you,” she - said, “post these for me to the Tottenham Agency, 99a. Tottenham Court Road? I will stand here while you get a stamped envelope and post it in the box.” Barling with no words but of acquiescence. did as -she asked. “And now," she said gratefully, with a sigh of relief, “will you take me as far as my office, Mr Barling? lam so much obliged to you.” "Don't mention it,” vzas all he said. She had a glimpse of Rumely loitering on the other side of the street, and that was all she saw of him before Barling, acknowledging a delightful smile of thanks, left her in safety on the threshold of the Trust buildings.

CHAPTER XIII. George Parmitter was more concerned than he cared to show, when he learned at Brixton in the afternoon how Sophie had gone to Abinger’s Hotel on a vague scheme to help him against Rumely. Back in the City, he made for the offices of the Trust. To his astonishment, he learned there that Sophie had not returned since, he, George, had sent a taxi for Ijer, very urgently, at about two o’clock. The departmental manager informed him that Miss Cordery was allowed ample freedom, and had, in fact, previously telephoned that she might not appear

at her desk until noon. Miss Cordery would be coming in later. To avoid filling the official mind with sensational imaginings, George checked an impulse to deny knowledge of the call he was supposed to have made, and withdrew under a fear that something had occurred at Abinger’s. Thither he hastened. From the manager there he learned the outlines of what had happened to the occupant of room 104. Both Miss Cordery and the occupant (referred to as Diggs, who, by the wall, still retained his room) had left the hotel at close upon twelve, the one immediately after the other. “I am anxious to find Miss Cordery,” George explained; “she seems to have disappeared since two, and the circumstances are, as you suggest, peculiar.” The manager noted a gentleman who came just then by the swing doors, and who paused curiously as he was about to pass on. George followed the manager's glance. There was recognition. “You are Mr Parmitter, I believe? I am Headley Barling—l missed the pleasure of an introduction to you the other evening.” “Yes, I missed the pleasure too,” George responded, as the manager discreetly fell back. He added at once, “I am inquiring for Miss Cordery, at this moment. I must find her —somewhere.” “It was a'bout noon when I saw Miss Cordery. She was on her way to Leadenhall Street.” Mr Barling told what had happened. “You seem very anxious. Is there anything wrong?” “What you say tells me that she knew she was being followed.” “Is that so? May I suggest that perhaps her letter will enlighten you; or rather, I should say, the papers. I did not see her write anything.” “The papers! Yes—l must go there at once. They may be at my office by now . . . must be.” “Can I help you in any way?” “Thanks, Mr Barling. But I don’t quite see how you can.” “But you’re in trouble, and I’m at liberty. Come along. I will go with you to Tottenham Court Road, if I may.”

George had no objection. But how far to confide in Mr Barling was a . matter of perplexity. Mr Barling made no inquiries, but his interest ran to a very .definite air of concern, lest something untoward had resulted from the incident of the morning. George did not want to enlighten him. Yet somehow this romantic-looking business man, whose business seemed so leisurely, had stepped in like a hint of Fate. Having allowed him to come so far, it could not quite end at that. A fleeting notion that Mr Barling might be useful at Abinger’s crossed.. George’s mind, as he inserted the key into his office door. The key did not turn; the door was already unlocked. The post-box behind had been rifled. Several opened letters lay on the floor; the envelope addressed by Barling was not among them. “Was that letter destined to be stolen?” Barling asked after a pause. “If possible—yes.” “Seems to have met its fate.” , George was studying the time-mark on one of the 9 empty envelopes. “Must have done,” he said, with a shrug. Barling had perched himself on a corner of the desk. “Perhaps I had better tell you about it,” George added, “in case anything comes under your

eye at Abinger’s which you think may , link up with the matter. If it does . Barling, alive with wonder, nodded.” What George told him began with Sophie’s departure from home last night, arid covered the whole episode of her adventure as he heard it from the manager of the hotel. To the inside significance of the papers concerned he did not allude, farther than that both Miss Cordery and himself had moral claim to them, over a fantastic claim of two men to retain possession. It sounded purely adventurous. But orthodox procedure would not do at all. More adventurous still it sounded to Mr Barling, whose eyes glistened with interest, when he heard that the two men had came on the same business, ' one from Leicester, and the other from ( Bristol, and that neither lived in Lon- i den. George paused at last for his I listener to draw his own conclusions, < and Barling stood up. ( “Why,” he said, “this is a case for 1 the police.” 1 George shook his head. “We don't 1 want the police." £ “Neither do they, it seems,” said [ Barling, “which is their convenience, J not yours. What, then, will you do, I Parmitter?” 3 “I think.” replied George, “I shall S have a good look round Golders 1

Green, I think,” George mused. “Her detention, somewhere, would quite cripple me just now.” “I see,” said Headley Barling. “Golders Green sounds to mo as cryptic as the North of Scotland, but you evidently know something to be going on with. For my part, I shall be all eyes and ears; I will play a subsidiary role of spy or eaves-dropper in the crowd at Abinger’s Hotel.” “Good of you, Barling—” “No, no. You may have very little to thank me for. But this is something, really, after my own heart.” George thought afterwards, regarding Barling's obvious good nature, that his tendency to a romantic or dramatic view of life came—as Sophie had suggested—from his flair for the stage, which peeped out in his style and personality. He seemed a man who could imagine himself performing exactly the sort of part which the circumstances of the moment might impose on him, and making unconsciously a kind of show of it. No less obviously, however. he was a man of resolution and unusual keenness. Those quick eyes shewed it; and the strong jaw, along with the grim lines tint deepened be-

tween the eyes when an idea came to him. looked even dangerous. Precisely what was Mr Barling's business did not concern George. Perhaps Sophie could not have told him precisely. even if he had been curious to know. Mr Barlings’ time seemed to be entirely his own, so far as his movements indicated. (To be Continued).