"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 14 October 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER XXL i (Continued >- I Putting this aside, with such dim 3 speculation as came to his mind. ■ George left his rooms intending to al- ' lay without more ado his anxious mis- ' givings about the cottage at Tooting. If he hesitated, it was with a lurking i hope that he might come upon Detective Hardy, in whom, it appeared, an interest in Rumely had been inspired. This hesitation sent him to the Trust offices to drop in a word; and thence he was inclined to present himself at

Dodsworth Chambers for a brief interview. Before he turned into Long Acre, however, he observed the very man he was wanting to see, hurrying towards him from the direction of the Strand. "I was hardly hoping to find you, Mr Parmitter,”. the detective greeted him; “You have been like a needle in a | haystack the last few days. I want a talk with you.” / “And I.” said George, “want a companion as far as Tooting. You, in fact. Can you come?” “I was about to suggest the same' thing.” , So they set off together. | On the way, Hardy explained how he had been put on the track of John Rumely of Bristol by Headley Barling,

who knew something, and had mentioned other names; and he told the sequence of inquiries to which the trifling note about a man named Markham had' given rise. Those inquiries had been met with strange answers here and there. But the most singular light on things had been thrown by Miss Cordery, when she indicated that

Rumely was moving in a secret affair with. which the lawyers in Cursitor Street had to do. An affair that seemed to him, Hardy, fantastic—absurd. The lawyers had refused either to talk, or to produce a bit of Rumely's writing. They would do nothing without the sanction of their client, George Parmitter, whose private affair it was. And what had George Parmitter to say to that? It was a question of joining one link to another in a chain of evidence that should bring crime to justice, in' the name of the law. George Parmitter had this to say to it:

’ “I know what Miss Cordery told you, t much in the same way as she told Mr i Barling. I don’t disagree. But as for • me, the lawyers are quite too considerate. It was my father’s affair, not ■ mine. The lawyers were concerned to : keep me out of it.” “Oh, indeed?” “And look at this!” George produced the letter he had opened at his rooms. Hardy’s expression grew shrewd as he read the letter. “Think of that, now.' I should like to have this, for the 1 present.” ! "Take it,” said George.

Hady resumed: “I’m not asking you to enlarge on Miss Cordery's confidence. But it’s a good axiom never to conceal anything from the police, .1 however, private it may be. You see, it was not so private that Rumely’s share in it had nothing to do with your , father’s death.” “How so?” “Through Markham. Markham’s il-

licit interest in' jewels. Dealings in stolen stuff from the hands of crooks working under all sorts of names. Complications I have to get through. We'll go into it later. That is where the connection is established between your private affair and John Rumely of Bristol. Jewels are a link in the chain. As for treasure in London, Mr Parmitter —never heard of such a thing. Treasure of. that sort is always where it was originally buried, and nobody ever knows exactly where that is.”

“You’re wrong this time.” Hardy shook his head. “It won’t be found.” “Those lawyers didn't think so. We shall see.” The urge to privacy was still in George Parmitter. He could not bring himself, at any rate, to reveal how desperately Rumely had pursued his quest. The idea of publicity daunted him, even admitting that Rumely was unfit to be at large. But Hardy had already in his hands all the materials of a flaring sensation, whether George Parmitter reserved anything or not. “Now,” he said, “I’ll tell you something. We have found out that John Rumely of Bristol is a perfectly respectable, gouty old gentleman of sixtyfive,. who is now .spending a week or two with his sister at Torquay.”

George stared at him. "What's that?" “We thing—or I think —that someone else got his letter and is impersonating him. That wouldn’t have occurred to you.” “Certainly it did not.” “Furthermore, don’t forget, Reed, Price and Torkney have a peculiar practice. Their cases are nearly all criminal, and they are always for the defence. Civil cases almost nil. Law-

yers with an extensive criminal practice like theirs are as familiar with the underworld as the devil himself is. Something else—and you'll begin to see things. My chief at the Yard told me this morning that when he inquired of Leicester about Ephraim Diggs yesterday, he got a reply that Mr Diggs was just then burying a town councillor. Quaint, isn’t it? And Arthur Boxwith, the clerk, lies in the Manchester infirmary at present with a broken leg." “Good Lord —are you telling me that my father’s lawyers were in collusion

with people of the underworld, to defeat his intentions? Miss Cordery’s mother had an idea that they somehow had a finger in the business, some secret bargain with the men." "Mrs Cordcry made a good guess. There isn’t a deal of difference between t her guess and mine. But here we are!'' The cottage on their approach presented no unusual features. Walking c round to the back, the first thing to 1 greet their eyes was a complete up- z heaval of the garden, which had been j ruthlessly turned over, soil, plants, and

grass indiscriminately, to the depth of a foot or so. as if in view of an entirely new lay-out.

From this, they saw that the window to the cellar had been boarded over from the inside, but the door was unsecured, while the steps leading down were thick with soil and grit. Inside the cellar was a floor of mingled earth and bricks, as if they had been tipped in loosely from a cart. Hardy ripped the timber- from the window to let more light in. “Well?” he said to George as they faced each other in brief wonder. “Is this what you expected to find?” “Something like this. It looks as if it’s all over.”

"Do you mean that treasure hunt? Anyone would rather suppose that you're going in for a renovation.”

In a corner a portion of the wall by the floor had been pulled out. George Parmitter stooped to examine the spot. ’See,” he said, “there was new mortaring here at some recent time. It has been scooped out of here like a cupboard that has hidden something. What about that?”

“Yes?” said Hardy. “I see. Our men looking in. as they would, of cousre, would think nothing about the garden being turned over. Something may have been said at the station to that effect—but we can make sure of that, when we call there. Shall we see if anyone’s inside?”

They went up the inner staircase,, finding that the door at the top was' not secured. That nobody else was about was soon evident. In every room some disturbance had taken place, even to the floors.

“Well?" said Hardy again, as they stood after another silence. “It doesn’t follow that any such thing as treasure has been found.” “I wish I could think so.”

“The question is, Mr Parmitter, do you want anything done about this?”

’ “I want to avoid reference to this treasure you don't believe in,” George replied. “That is easy enough, of course. But really, I had no other ' reason for expecting the place to be in ’ such a mess, and nothing else explains it. I was thinking, when I asked you to come, there might be something here that would help you to trace ’ Rumely.” “Now you’re talking,” Hardy said, ; approvingly. “I must say, though, if something has been found which has got into the wrong hands, I’m quite in ’ sympathy with you. And I admit that, ' if valuable jewels can be stolen from

' here as they have been, it’s a reasonable assumption that there might be more on the premises for the seeking. But my business is to lay hands on ’ the spurious Rumely of Bristol. If there’s anything more to come to light, it will come out then.” CHAPTER XXII. Detective-Inspector Hardy's inquiries

at the Tooting station elicited that the police superintendent there had accepted notice from Mr Torkney, who had paid a personal visit the day before, that the lawyers had arranged to have a caretaker at the Parmitter cottage, in view of the need of someone to be in constant charge of the premises. This had not interfered with the police routine. If simply accounted for anything that might have been taking place, in a normal way, .when the constable’s call occurred.

As the digging up of a garden, which presumably was to undergo a change, had not been reported as abnormal, the inference was that the job, though it may have been carried through in the night, had not been started surreptitiously. The information and the upheaval gave Hardy his cue to see Torkney on this question. There were no signs at the house that a caretaker had been in. “It’s really nothing against Torkney,”

he said to George, as they went back to the City, “if his caretaker didn’t turn up. But I should like to know who the intended caretaker was, and why he failed to come.” “And whether,” Parmitter suggested “he intends to come.” “Exactly,” Hardy agreed. ' “Too late,” George added significantly. “No,” protested the detective, “you can’t establish complicity like that. It won’t wash.” “Torkney’s too clever, you mean?” "Do you see a loophole against him? I don’t yet. Wait till we have seen him. We are going there now.” “Are we?” “I’m taking you. I want you to give your consent to tneir answering one or two questions while you are there. I

want you to say that you have no objection to any writing from Rumely—a letter, or anything—being handed over to me for examination. It is the simplest way through at the moment. Will you do it?” "Of course 1 will do it,” Parmitter said very promptly. “I can ask Torkney. why he should be making this fuss about my importance all at once.” “You can, if you like. But Torkney has a lawyer’s answer to that, at least until you agree to your affairs being

taken over by Thorgood's in Long Acre. There'll be fuss enough without that, or I'm mistaken.” It happened that Hardy was mistaken. For there was no fuss at. all. The typist at Cursitor Street informed them that Messrs Reed, Price and Torkney were not in. “Sorry," said Hardy. "How soon will they be back?” “I couldn't say,” was the answer. “Are they coming back?" "I'm not certain." “Mr Shrey in?”

“No.” “Can you tell me where I might find any of them?” "I cannot." Hardy looked at the girl with a jocose admiration. “Good for you. miss!” he said. “I’m in the law. too. If you are likely to be losing your job. I'm i pretty sure I could find you one.” | (To be Continued).