"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 8 October 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER XVIII. (Continued >- “Five minutes may be long enough, ’ the detective replied; “it depends on how much you may feel inclined to say. As you know, I am on the Parmitter case, doing my best to get to the bottom of it. It has baffled me so far. But I heai' that you have had an odd sort of transaction with several strangers—presumably strange to London, mean —one in particular I am looking for, a man .named Rumely, from Bristol. Would'you care to make a statement about him? I am wanting help, you know, and I think you might give me some.” Torkney looked at Reed, as if he said, “Can we do it?” and Reed frowned at Torkney, as if he said “No.” Then Torkney gave ,a slow up-and-down glance at Hardy, and said, “It is Mr George Parmitter’s private business you are referring to; you realise we are his lawyers?” “Oh, yes," Hardy replied, “I know all that.” He thought he knew, too, that Torkney’s statement was somehow twisted; but it did not greatly matter. “Your informant, Mr Hardy—who was it?” Reed asked. Hardy told him; it had come about accidentally, and sounded, he thought, rather like news from Bedlam. ‘Ah,” said Reed, with a shrug, “and you might almost take if so. But what facts did the young lady actually give you?” “Only just enough to bring me here to ask a simple question or two, if you care to answer them.” Reed and Torkney again exchanged a slow look, and Torkney responded, "You may ask, certainly, but I don't know that we are free to answer, without Mr Parmitter’s consent. Really, we have done with it." “Well; I’ll put it this way," Hardy persisted: “Would this man, Rumely, strike one as a complete stranger in these parts, or was he like •one who had interests here before?” “What sort of interests?” demanded Reed. “Oh —shady, I should say —if I had to guess at it.’ "So far as we are concerned, he came from Bristol,” Torkney observed in his dry way. "And the others?" Torkney shook his head, with a faintly malicious smile. “Well,” Hardy rejoined on the instant “if you’ve had a transaction with Rumely, you’ve got some of his handwriting. Will you let me have it —just a scrap?—and I’ve nothing more to say.” “No,” said Reed, “nothing of that sort.” “Can’t do it,” said Torkney. “No?” sadi Hardy very timidly, as he rose to go. “See Mr Parmitter,” Torkney added —“it’s his affair.” “And where is Mr Parmitter, 1 should like to know? Seems to be missing this day or two.” “Can’t say. Men move about, you know.” Hardy moved across the threshold. “Sorry you can’t help me, gentlemen," he said. “Thank you. Good day.” He knew it could not end at that. CHAPTER XIX. It seemed a good idea to Mrs Cordery to follow up Barling's report on the position at Tooting by a visit of herself and Sophie in the early evening of that day. So she made arrangements accordingly, and mother and daughter went to Brixton after tea, intending to stay there at least until nightfall. That Barling had stayed there alone all the previous night was a detail he had left out, because the experience did not lend itself to pleasant discussion. The evening was heavy and dull. That lonely, lifeless air which had struck Barling struck Sophie and her mother, too, as they stepped into the cottage; neither met it comfortably, nor mentioned it. There would be rain again ere long, promising freshness, somehow. All they could contemplate doing was to put little finishing touches to the straightening-up which others had done after the funeral, and to let air into the house by opening the doors—such air as there was, under the slow, dense clouds. And then just wait awhile. At the end of the rutted road, this evening, a man stepped from a car, and walked to the garden gate where Mrs Cordery, with Sophie at her elbow, stood looking out. She recognised .the lawyer, with disfavour. What should he be wanting here? Torkney’s professional reserve in favour of the firm’s own side had already annoyed the lady. He expressed surprise, in his self-contained way, at finding visitors in a house still under police surveillance. "Well, but why not?” Mrs Cordery responded to that. "We have something to do with it, I suppose.” Mr Torkney, pausing on the brink of a retort, smiled instead. "Yes —yes. Strictly speaking. I have no personal business here. And it’s rather late to be seeking you. Bui as Mr Parmitter is away just now, and this cottage, with all its contents, belongs to him; and his interests, under his father’s will, are ours . . so forth . I have come after you for the purpose of proposing that we relieve him, and you, of any anxiety about this place, by providing a caretaker. We happen to have one we can put in tomorrow morning.” “Oh. I see. But how would the police regard that?” Torkney hesitated, as if the question surprised him a little, before replying: “There is no objection at the Tooting station to a caretaker being put in here by Reed, Price, and Torkney. "Mr Parmitter’s warning—” Sophie began, and caught her mother’s eye. ‘•Anxiety, of course,” Torkney said, when she paused; "he naturally wants no one trespassing on the premises, while the official back in turned." Ideas were clashing. "I mean." Sophie said, “is it worth while? We arc expecting Mr Parmitter very soon.” "Here?” Torkney’s eyebrows went up. "Well——”

“Not to live here, surely? And surely not tonight?” “No,” Sophie agreed. “Well,” Torkney looked from one to the other, "what do you say?” "Thanks, Mr Torkney,” Mrs Cordery put in: “My daughter will call and let you know in the morning. .Will that do?” “That will do,’ Torkney answered. "Would you care to come in?” “Not now, thanks,” he replied. “If you would like me to take you as far as Brixton. I have room in my car.” Mrs Cordery declined the courtesy. “We will stay here a bit longer —we are having a quiet look round.” “Very good.” They watched him go to the corner, and drive away. “We need not let the man suspect why we are here, Sophie,” her mother said then. “You nearly told him. That lawyer cares not a rap about our affair; he has not helped George a bit. When you call at Cursitor Street in the morning, you will say No.” “I fancy the lawyers will please themselves," Sophie said. As bearing upon the question, a telegram was delivered at their flat in Brixton first thing the next morning. It read: “Misunderstanding. Cottage all right. .Coming soon. George.” I It had been handed in at Bromley, iKent, the night before, at about the [ time of Torkney’s call at Tooting. “I don't understand why this was not delivered last night,” Mrs Cordery remarked. Sophie explained. “Only urgent wires are sent by messenger outside the city radius after a certain hour at night." "But surely this was urgent?” “Not in the eyes of the G.P.0.,” Sophie said. But, in one sense, it was urgent now; for this might qualify that need for a caretaker about which Torkney had been so concerned. It was not yet ten o’clock when Sophie turned into the office at Cursitor Street, and encountered there Mr Shrey, the managing clerk, to whom she explained the significance of the wire. Mr Shrey did not understand. Nothing of the matter had been mentioned to him, and Mr Torkney, who seemed to have expected no one, had but a little while ago gone out on business. The appointment of a caretaker was something entirely out of the firm’s routine for that day. “It ' doesn’t really matter,” Sophie said, and went away rather mystified. During that day it seemed in the air that George Parmitter might at any hour make a reappearance in London. Sophie was full of anticipation. But the day wore on, and nothing happened —not even a formal intimation from Cursitor Street that the matter of her call was receiving attention —until a few minutes before four. Then came a wire addressed to her at her office. “Come please to Town Hall, Croydon. Slight mishap, George.’ This she showed to her manager, who not only despatched her at once upon her journey, but arranged to let her mother have the wire by messenger, to explain Sophie’s delay in case she was late home. What her mother thought was that Headley Barling might have been a useful companion, and useful perhaps to George, if there had been an accident; but the man could not be at their beck and call. As for Mr Barling, he was busy, and had, in fact, already alluded to an early departure from London, not knowing how soon the occasion might arise. Having met his appointments, he had his own ideas about what he might do with himself during the time that remained. This Parmitter affair —the preposterous aggression of that maniac, Rumely—the menace to Sophie Cordery—that atmosphere of crime that enveloped it all —intrigued him mightily. Surveillance or not, Parmitter had sent his wire. Barling knew nothing of the wire from Bromley, and he would make shift to pass another night at Tooting, in touch with anything that might happen. What he had in mind certainly did not reveal itself in any urgency ol movement, for it was quite late when he entered the road leading to the quiet house. And this time, when he walked up the garden to the front door, he had to produce his own key to get in, for he had given the other back. Again he was met by that singular stillness of the interior: it was like a something that held its breath. Mr Barling could not but stand still and listen . . Someone, he thought, should be here. There had been a suggestion that someone should be here. He would like to know if someone was waiting to 'be discovered; and why the person should wait so quietly. It was as if there had been a funeral without the body being taken away. As a man of nerve, however. Headley Barling did not long remain still. He boldly opened a door and looked in; he went through much the same procedure as before, but this time there was no Hardy to challenge him down below. He got about himself the complete air ot a tenant of the house. Opening the cellar exit, he stepped up into the back garden that way. loitered about the little walks, calmly smoking his pipe, and even leaning over the front garden gate for a time, as if announcing his right to be there, hatless and at home. The moon had long ago transformed the night into silhouettes of light and shadow. At length, following a side path that skirted the fall enclosing the back garden, Mr Barling reached up and looked over this wall with some interest. He saw an expanse of open land, and far away the twinkling lights of still busy roads. Few signs of life round here. Back. then, to gaze once more over the garden gale. The moon this night was like an eye looking down on the cottage at Tooting. It saw Headley Barling go round again to the rear, and scat himself on the last step by the cellar door. A breath of wind moved his hair and dissipated the slow smoke from his pipe. It saw his face set in anticipation of a long vigij that should not disturb his patience. j (To be Continued).