"3 STRANGE MEN"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 15 October 1940, Page 10

"3 STRANGE MEN"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

C. T. PODMORE.

(Author of “The Fault,” etc.

CHAPTER XXII. (Continued i. “But I’m not.” “Then you’re not dissolving? Mr Parmitter had an idea that you were; judging by a letter he has received. “I don’t know my employers’ business,” the young lady rejoined, with a half-smile of recognition at George; “but I'm sure that Mr Torkney and Mr Shrey would want me to remain here. I’m awfully sorry they are not in. “So am I miss. Good day.” When they got outside Hardy remarked, “I won’t detain you, Mr Paimitter—l must get along further. Say ,where I may find you pretty quickly if I want you.” George told him that his time would be divided between Brixton and Tottenham Court Road, until he went home to his rooms, which would probably be at a late hour. He would be at this office a good deal on the morrow, and at Hardy’s service. With that they parted.

It occurred to George Parmitter, then, that he might have had something to say to Hardy about Headley Barling. Barling was missing, it seemed, and might be a casualty. But Hardy would not take the same line of interest, and was busy enough in his

way. George had an uneasy feeling that Barling was in some trouble. While the feeling was strong in him, he did the only thing possible. He made inquiry about him at Abinger’s Hotel. He was told there that Mr Barling had been called away suddenly for a day or two,,and had given up his room for the time. He was expected back. Just business —nothing unusual. This relieved George of his misgiving. It was in a far, from cheerful mood that he returned to Brixton with the news.

Notwithstanding that he had been prepared for the enemy’s success, the issue filled him with a terrible disappointment. Though no absolute proof of success was visible, the circumstances carried such conviction to his mind that he could not harbour a doubt. The chance of recovery was remote, if the treasure had gone. The channels by which the spoils might be disposed of were those of the criminal underworld, obscure, intricate and difficult to explore. At Brixton the news was received with similar dismay. It was after nine o’clock when, putting away many papers over which he had been working and brooding on his desk at Tottenham Court Court, a tap on his door preceded the appearance of Hardy looking in with a grim smile.

“I’m saving myself .the trouble of looking you up in the morning,” he said. “Going home? You look about all in.” «

“Short of sleep,” said George. “H’m. You’ll be sleeping better soon, I daresay. I’m going toward Euston Road. Coming?” George, assenting with a tired sigh, locked up, and joined his unexpected visitor. They went out together. “It is quite astonishing,” observed Hardy, “how one small ray may illuminate quite a large area of darkness. I want to arrange with you to meet me tomorrow noon —not later than one o’clock —somewhere about Dodworth Chambers, in Long Acre, for a purpose of identification. If you’re not too tired, would you be interested in ■ coming with me to find a person who, I think, is going to throw some more light in the darkness? It might wake you up a bit, too. You may come if ycu like —of course on your absolute discretion.” t “Euston Road, did you say?”

“Near by. A club. Rather a shady place, but generally straight enough to the police.” “I’ll come.”

“I’m not expecting you to identify anyone now. But there just might be someone you may have occasion to recall at some time or other. One never knows.”

From Tottenham Court Road they reached their destination through a number of side streets, and Hardy, without a pause, led the way up to the entrance of a house on the window of which was inscribed the name “Martin’s,” showing conspicuously against a light within. - A man immediately challenged them, but fell back on a word from Hardy, who, followed by George with an air as if he shared the investigation professionally, stepped boldly into the first room he came to, and looked round. A number of men were playing cards and drinking. They paused at the interruption. But none of them interested Hardy, and he stepped out again. In the passage they were met now b.y Martin himself, a pale, elderly person, who had probably been summoned by the pressure of a bell. Acknowledging acquaintance with a nod, he asked the visitor whom he might be looking for —if anyone? “I want a word with Freyne," Hardy replied. "Not here," responded Martin, decisively shaking his head. ,

“I’ll have a look round, anyway." rejoined the detective; and the proprietor, with a shrug, immediately walked in front along the passage.

Farther on, two rooms had been made into one, and here the principal business of the club appeared to be centred. Several young and sociable girls were in attendance, and George noted several very well-dressed young men among the rather flashy crowd. Here again activities underwent a kind of suspension, and again Hardy was disappointed in his survey. “We’ll go upstairs," he said. “You won’t find Freyne," repeated Martin, “he hasn't been here for days.’’ “We'll just glance round, nevertheless," the detective insisted; and once more the prprietor took the lead. Upstairs was a larger room still, with a polished floor and containing a piano, which stood on a little platform. Here also a few men were congregated con-

vivially, though now they fell into an observant silence. “Ah,” said Hardy, as he crossed the threshold “there’s my man.” r Martin, observing the direction of . Hardy’s gaze, said: “That’s not Freyne over there.” “1 know,” Hardy drily responded, and he crossed the floor, Parmitter at . his heels, to where a man sat alone oy one of the windows overlooking the street. The proprietor followed a little way, hesitated, and drew back. Hardy’s quarry watched his approach with narrow, steady eyes. He did not move. “Good evening, Markham! Don’t be r alarmed —I’m not wanting you, only for a few words. A question or two, that’s I all. But, understand, your answers must be straight.” ( ‘Well?” said the man, only doubtfully relieved. ' George followed Hardy’s example and sat down, so that Marknam was penned in his place and obscured from others’ observation. He was a man of heavy features, bitten deeply by smallpox, and verging on middle age. A tough customer if ever he got in a tight corner, George thought. “I’ll make it short. You went to i Abinger’s Hotel a little time ago to see aMr Diggs. Don’t evade that —we knew it. The point is, did you get the stuff?” “Honestly I didn't. I know nothing more about it.” “How was that? Only the truth is good for you.”

“He sent me word it was going abroad.” “He wrote you, did he?” “I can prove it, if I have to.” Markham without more ado produced a typewritten note from among his his papers, and handed it to Hardy, who murmured it out conversationally: “ ‘The deal, I find, is inadvisable. As I am going abroad very soon I shall be obliged to do the business myself. E. D.’ —You do keep bits of documentary evidence sometimes, Markham? It’s as well, for this great occasion. “I’d be a fool if I hadn’t done, wouldn’t I?” the man said. “I wipe my fingers with that, don’t I?” “Quite so. I’ll mind it for you, Markham; don’t worry. Now another question; who told Freyne to send you there?” “Can’t tell you that—honestly. I don’t know.” “Honestly?” “Honestly, I said. We don’t touch the principal, and not often near him. You know that. Freyne wouldn’t get it direct.” “All right. One question more. You saw the stuff?”

“That’s clear, ain’t it?” ' “Well —what was it?” j “A handful of pearls and a single emerald—a beautiful stone. All beau- ■ ties, in fact. Worth ” ’ “How much?” 1 “Oh —thousands. I’m not in this, you said?” ’ “Nothing to hurt, take my word. You don’t get in trouble for assisting ■ the police. That’s what you’re doing, Markham. Thanks. That is about all I want to know.” And with that the detective arose, nodded a genial good-night to the man, and retraced his steps to the staircase, where the proprietor of the club was waiting to conduct his visitors from the premises. «■ As they went down, the latter remarked touchily, “I could have brought Markham to you, if you had asked for him.” “My dear fellow,” Hardy responded, “you seem to retain your native simplicity, in spite of all your experience. I wonder how you manage to keep your childish footing in the place. Markham won’t blame you because I preferred to ask for someone else.” “Ah, you don’t trust me, Mr Hardy!” “Well —not with secrets, my friend.” 1’ When they got outside, the detective walked on for some time without speaking a word. He was leaving comment to his companion. „

George Parmitter, however, was so impressed by the fatal nature of what he had been privileged to hear, that he could scarcely find a word to say. His thoughts were careering round the fact thqt this means no less than the discovery and arrest of his father’s murderer; that this tremendous issue was coming quite simply through this man beside him, who had suddenly seen light in the darkness, and who knew, in his commonplace, deadly way, exactly what to do to ensure the achievement of his purpose. “That,” said Hardy at last, as George continued silent, “is how things fall into place, when once you have the right clue. I need hardly impress on you again, Mr Parmitter, that what you have been a witness to is strictly between ourselves.” George acquiesced in that. “You will see that nothing remains, now, but to find the man who has been posing as Rumely. I fancy I could put my hands on him at any moment, but I want your personal recognition of the man. You are going Bronipton way, so I'll leave you here. Don’t forget, about one o’clock in Long Acre tomorrow." (To be Continued).