"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 2 October 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER XIV. At the door of Room 104, Mr Barling coolly let himself in with a key of his own, and closed the door behind him. It was as easy as if he had used the proper key. This key of Barling's was a wonderful one; it was like a thin tube. One end drew back like a pencil case, and by pressure he could produce from quiescent metal shoots exactly those which were demanded by the lock into which the tube was inserted. He had an interest in “Keys, Amalgamated,” but this one, invented by himself on a 'whimsical inspiration, could never, of course, be put on the market as a boon for burglars. It suited himself. Looking about the room, he saw that several of Rumely’s things were on the dressing-table, a newspaper lay awry on the bed, and his closed bag was on a chair. He had no compunction about opening the bag, on the outside of which the initials “J. R.” were stamped. As the only odd thing that struck him, he picked out and pocketed a piece of crumpled paper. Then Mr Barling left the room, locked the door again, and passed to the the transverse corridor where his own room was. Afterwards he went down and dined. For a man cannot courageously contemplate adventure on an empty stomach. Later on, watchfully clinging to chances which he know how to make for himself, he was at hand in the entrance hall, prepared for an instant move, when a man who had called to pay Mr Diggs’ bill was given possession of that dubious person’s bag, and shown out again by the hotel manager. This messenger Mr Barling, with a nod to the manager, followed as alertly and as furtively as the man had passed into the dusk.

The latter neither paused nor glanced aside, but went along at a quick pace on foot by Ludgate Hill, Fleet Street and the Strand, until at length he turned down one of the quiet side streets into one of those comparatively deserted areas into which only those who have rendezvous there in the evenings are wont to stray. There are small but perfectly nice hotels tucked away here and there, known to habitues who want sanctuary'from the noise of casual trade. The dusk was banking up in corners. Grey buildings looked sombre, and a dark stone frontage where the messenger at length pulled up, featured as it was by a Gothic entrance. had almost the aspect of a church. A small light within a clearglass medieval lantern hung over the doorway. Mr Barling watched the man go in—he knew ths place. It was The Pilgrims hotel. A few minutes, and the man came out without the bag. Barling kept close upon his heels. He got close enough to be able to follow him on to a bus going to the East End. He sat in grim patience until, some distance along Commercial Road the man got off and plunged in his businesslike way into a labyrinth off the shadowy streets of Stepney. One behind the other they walked a long time by devious ways which now and then gave Mr Barling anxiety. It was a bad quarter. At length, however, the man let himself into a dingy house at the corner of a street almost in darkness, and the gentleman-adven-turer found himself alone. He loitered a long time by the corner. The man did not come out again. This house, like all the rest, was mean and decayed. There was no light save a dim one on the second floor. Down the area an open basement lay in heavy darkness; he descended, peered through the dingy window, where he thought he saw dark shapes like furniture, and gently tried the door. It was locked.

Mr Barling calmly produced his key, unlocked the door, and passed within, He would find out what bearing Rumely’s messenger hud on the position. He closed the door behind him and trod softly forward, one hand feeling the way. With each step, outlines became more defined. He came to another door which opened into a narrow passage. From this he found his way to a bricked ascent to a black corner of the passage that led to the street door. There were no audible sounds. The house seemed deserted, save by the occupants of the second floor front.

Mr Barling now saw to his means of self-defence, if that should be necessary. He had no firearms, but, producing from an inner pocket a stumpy sort of bludgeon, which looked as if it knew its job, he slung it by a leather loop upon his wrist, and went coolly for the stair case leading upward. More than once he thought the creak of his approach must be heard. As he neared the top he saw light beneath a door. There was no sound of voices. Was the man alone in the house.? He had barely wondered, when a woman's tones broke the silence, in a quick, shrewish burst of words that had a note of protest. A man’s voice answered viciously, and there was silence again. But only for a few moments. A loud peremptory knock sounded on the street door.

Barling stepped for a recess—none too soon, for the opening of the door where the light was must otherwise have revealed his presence. He saw the man he had followed go down the stairs.

After a minute he came up again, accompanied by Rumely. Both went into the lighted room, and the door was swung back, but remained very slightly ajar. Barling went and stood there.

“Well?” said the voice of Rumely. “She ain’t got no papers on her,” the woman answered.

“I know that, now,” was the rejoinder. “But is she quiet?” “Quiet enough,” the woman said, “and she’ll be quieter yet. I’m thinking. If she’s got nothing, why don’t you let her go?” “There is something else. She knows too much, at present.” “Too much of what? What business

is it?” “I’ve told her/’ the man put in rancourously, “to fear the law, ain’t it?” “Well, do you forget that the law need not always be feared?” Rumely said, soothingly. “Your husband might have been doing ten years, but he isn’t.” “Oh, I know you can beat the law sometimes, but it’s always to be feared.” “I can’t shut her up,” the man said; I never could." “Look here, my good woman,” said Rumely, “there’s no harm to you. The lady is simply ill.” “HI? Not she. What sort of a cure do you call this?” Rumely coughed gently. “I think,” he said, with a change of tone, “we had better get a doctor here, and have her removed. You can find a doctor, I have no doubt.” “Yes,” the man agreed, “I can fetch a good doctor from the West India Dock road.” The woman made a sound of hateful execration. “Doctor!” she cried. “Yes —Lensky. He'll cure her in the river!” “ ‘Sh —dear me,” said Rumely drily) “Your wife seems obstinate. She will be getting you those ten years, if she goes on like this.” “No,” growled the man, angrily; “I’ll swing for her instead.” “What sort of scruples has she,” said Rumely, “at this time of day? Are they more to her than money? Come, now. She knows nothing—has seen nothing—has not even been seen.” “Oh, yes—this girl has seen me,” the woman said. “Well —she won’t remember.” “No, I s’pose not, poor thing.” Barling thrilled at this note of sympathy. But he had no time to dwell on it. Perhaps the fact that the door had been left slighthly ajar had attracted notice, though they were not likely to be overheard if the house was, as it seemed, otherwise deserted. Suddenly the door was opened in his face, and the man who had opened it sprang back. Barling at once stepped into the room. “Who the devil are you, sir?” demanded Rumely. “What are you doing here?” Barling softly pushed back the door, and stood against it. “I have called for Miss Cordery,” he said. “I have come to take her home.” Rumely, struck dumb by the cool audacity of the intruder, glanced at the man who had drawn aside on Barling’s right hand. From him, he looked at the woman, who sat in a crouching posture near the fireplace, and whose lips were parted in astonishment. Mr Barling’s gaze was on this man Rumely, whom he must not forget, whatever the name he used; but he noted also the poorly furnished room —chiefly that there was nothing in the nature of a weapon convenient to the hand of either man. Rumely’s glance came back to him. “By heaven,” he said, “you’re impudent, whoever you are. Who are you? I don’t know you.” “You will know me well enough,” replied Barling,” if there is any nonsense. What do you mean by this wicked business? There was a vile look in Rumely’s face; his brows almost abscured his keen, hard eyes, and his lips were drawn inward. He had pulled up after a first impuse to approach, but his posture remained like that of a man prepared to spring. “Are you—the police?” he said. “Ask yourself,” answered Barling, “whether you’ve been inviting the police.” “Show me,” returned Rumely in a sharp tone. Barling waived that. “I want Miss Cordery,” he said. “Where is she?” “Miss Cordery? What should I know about a Miss Cordery? You won’t find her here.” “That’s a lie, Mr . What is your name here? Are you a Bristol crook? There’s some link here, with these very strange associates; what are you doing in a hole like this? I’ll root you out if this is your pastime. Come —no more playing for time.” There was the merest flicker of a sign from Rumely, and the man on Barling’s right leapt suddenly. In what way Barling moved was not noticed. But the bludgeon had lain this while to his sleeve, and, without so much as a glance at the fellow, he struck a half-negligent side blow that dropped him to the 'floor. Then his left at short range shot to Rumely’s jaw, and he stood up alone, for a few moments upright and motionless as before. The woman rose, trembling. “I knew it would come,” she said; “I knew it.” “Don’t worry.” Barling answered. “Tell me where the girl is. You had better.” But the woman was afraid to reply. She saw Rumely lying ungainly where he had fallen, and the sight of her husband, in a sitting posture, with his lower jaw dropped, against the side of the doorway gave her another spasm of terror. “You’ve killed him. have you?” she whispered. “No fear. Be quick—where is she? Won’t you speak?” . The woman only stared. Her husband's eyes were open, and it was obvious that she dreaded the consequences of an answer. “Very well,” said Barling. “I am going to lock you in while I find the girl for myself. If you don't want serious trouble, be quiet.” The woman made no sign that she even heard. While he locked the door' upon them and threw the proper key into a corner of the landing, he heard her go to the window, lift up the sash, and call down to someone in the street. (To be Continued).