DESIGN for BLACKMAIL

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20986, 13 December 1939, Page 12

DESIGN for BLACKMAIL

by J. L. MORRISSEY

CHAPTER XIII. A Minor Mystery is Solved Pritchard, waiting in the hall, was ' surprised by the irritation of manner with which McKnight greeted him and, being already in considerable awe of the great man from the Yard, i was even more humble than he had > been on their previous meeting. “This is a complete, transcript of your questions and all the answers, j Mr McKnight,” he said, tendering a \ bulky envelope. McKnight almost snatched it from ■ him. “Thank you,” he snapped. “You’ve been prompt. Read them yourself? ” “Well, yes, I must admit I did.” said Pritchard hesitatingly. “Get anything out of them?” “Wh£, no—er—how could I, Mr McKnight? I haven’t been staying here. You know all the people here . . . .” “Never met them before,” snapped McKnight. “Didn’t know them from Adam a few days ago. You live in the village. What d’you know about the family?” “You mean their lordship’s—l mean his lordship and her ladyship, sir? Well, I’ve known them, of course, ever since I came to this division.” j “Know anything about the but- j ler?” “Very little, sir. He’s been with his lordship for a good many years —he was here before I came There’s nothing much known about him in the village—he scarcely ever goes off the grounds, though I believe he has been seen once or twice catching the : London train.” “Hm! Well, all right, that’ll be all. Thanks for these reports. I don’t , suppose I’ll need to see you again to- 1 day. in touch with you when I want you.” And McKnight turned moodily away and walked into the library. | The room was empty and he sat down in a deep leather chair and for the next hour deep silence reigned in the room. Then he rolled the papers together again and with a deep sigh, loaded and lighted his pipe. Leaning back with his hand behind his head, he reviewed the statements in the reports and for the first time since his encounter with Bates, he felt a sense of contentment steal over him. For the battle was joined. He knew that he was engaged in a battle of wits with a subtle and a dangerous opponent, an opponent who had so. far left him no single strand of evidence to identify him—if the detective was to exclude the blackmail letter found on the murdered man. This was, after all, the sort of case he liked, a battle in which he could glory, in which he could create out of nothing the whole solid structure of a prosecution and, by subtlety matched against subtlety, unmask the deeds of the criminal. ’He jumped to his feet and walked to the bell. The butler answered his summons and received McKnight’s 1 order for tea with a calm face. McKnight gave him back smile for : smile and watched him sardonically as he turned to go from the room. “Oh ! —and Bates, you might find Colonel Colhoun, Miss Gower and Mr Ewart, and say I invited them for tea with me here, now.” “Very good, sir,” was the response ! and if any emotion other than normal passed through his mind, he was giving McKnight no sign of ?t. The detective chuckled as he ; watched him go. Colhoun was the first to arrive 1 and to him McKnight explained his ; purpose of there and then tackling Gerry on the matter of the letter. “She’ll be here in a moment, with young Ewart. I am forced to bring him into it as he also was implicated in that affair,” he replied to Colhoun’s agitated protests. “Look here, McKnight, I think you’re taking altogether too much on yourself dragging young Ewart into 1 this. I demand that you leave him out. After all, so far, this is a family affair and until we know what Gerry’s trouble is, I don’t want any outsiders to be let in on it.” ‘T don’t think he looks on himself as an outsider in Gerry’s affairs,” said McKnight, “but to please you, I will leave him out at least for now, but mark my words, one of these days, he’ll know all about it. Here they are now.” He turned to greet Gerry and Tony Who had appeared in the doorway. They looked slightly puzzled. This invitation received from one who was only a fellowguest seemed odd to them. “You wanted us,” said Tony bluntly. “Miss Gower only, Mr Ewart,” replied McKnight blandly and Ewart blinked in astonishment.

“Bates told us you asked for us both,” he blurted out. “Isn’t that so, Gerry?” “I certainly understood you were included in Mr McKnight’s kind invitation,” she said, and the detective noticed a certain understandable irony in the girl’s tone. “Nevertheless, Mr Ewart,” he went on, politely but firmly, “Bates must have misunderstood me or else heard me incorrectly. My—er-my invitation was for Miss Gower alone. This is in the nature of a family talk and . . . er . . .” “You don’t want me to stay, I take it, then,” said Tony with a glint in his eye. “I’m not accustomed to be made a fool of. Either Bates is a fool or else you are a damned badmannered chap. I’ll go and find Bates and see what he has to say about it.” “I should if I were you,” McKnight said gravely, and he considered Ewart’s retreating back with impish amusement. This would at least give Bates something to think about. There was still Gerry to consider and he turned in her direction. “Mis Gower,” he said to the girl casually, “there are just one or two things I’d like you to amplify in the answers you gave to my questions this morning. I’ve asked your uncle to be present, so that he can see that I don’t browbeat you. Sit down, won’t - you, and could I prevail on you to pour out the tea?” She seemed a little surprised and a faint flush came in her cheeks. He knew that it was perhaps bad policy to put her to a certain extent on her guard, but in view of the fact that she was the Commissioner’s niece, gentle handling was necessary. “Why, certainly,” she said coolly, and sitting down, began to officiate at the table that Bates had brought in. “Didn’t I tell you sufficient this morning about my sinister connections with the crime?” Handing him a cup of tea, she smiled at him. “To be quite frank, Miss Gower,” replied McKnight, “you didn’t tell me half enough. You know, I don’t think you people quite realise that a murder has been done and that a

i body has been abducted and that all ! the probabilities point to one of us jas the —er —shall we say, culprit, j You told me nothing about this, Miss Gower, but something I know myself, tells me that you were probably the last one to see Hugh Powell alive.” i He watched her narrowly over the I rim of his cup and he did not miss i the violent start she gave at his words. ’ ! “Easy, McKnight, easy,” muttered j Colhoun. “The girl isn’t in the witi ness-box, you know.” ; “Perhaps I’d better come straight ito the point,” said the detective. “Miss Gower, a certain little incident happened last night in the corridor outside your door that you did not see fit to tell me about. This incident ! was shared by Hugh Powell and Mr Ewart. Powell I cannot interrogate, but you and Ewart I can. Why didn’t you tell me this, Miss Gower?” “Oh! That.” He did not miss the relief that flooded her voice. “Well —” and she gave an embarrassed little laugh—“you know, I didn’t think it was really necessary to mention it. It was one of those unfortunate things that will happen in a girl’s life, it was none of my seeking and it was soon over. What has it to do with Powell’s death?” j “It might have a great deal to do ! with it,” replied McKnight gravely, | for the girl’s slightly flippant tone 1 told him that there was more behind this thing than he suspected. He decided to unmask all his batteries at once. He reached into his pocket and drew out the letter he had found on the body of Powell. i Holding it out to her, he shot the , question at her: | “How many of these letters have you received lately?” I She gave the letter one glance and then all her false composure gace way. Her face became white and haggard and she turned wildly from McKnight to her uncle. I “Uncle Maurice,” she cried. “Why do you let him speak to me like that? Am I suspected of the murder of Mr Powell? Where did you get that letter?” “Steady now, Gerry,” said Colhoun, and he moved over to her and putting his arm round her shoulders attempted to soothe her. “You admit then, that this letter is yours?” persisted McKnight and the girl nodded her head apathetically. “I suppose so,” she murmured. “Where did you find it? I lost it this morning?” “Are you sure you lost it this morning, Miss Gower?” “Well, either this morning or last night—l don’t know which.’” There was no further need of caution. Now that this letter had been found, she would have to let the whole sordid business out. “I found it in the pocket of the suit that Hugh Powell was wearing on the night he was murdered,” said McKnight and the girl’s eyes opened wide. “Then he must have found it when he was in my room last night,” she said. “What did he come to your room for?” “He came about that very letter,” she answered, and now it was McKnight’s turn to start. “You mean—he delivered this letter?” “Oh, no. That came through the post like all the others.” “All the others? How many were there altogether?” “I’ve had five before this; this makes the sixth.” “Why didn’t you tell your aunt and I about all this?” asked Colhoun reproachfully. “How could I?” the girl replied miserably. “The whole business was so ... so rotten and I didn’t want you to know that I’d ever been there, let alone about the hideous thing I did.” Her tears had been withheld for a long time, but at her last words, she gave way and dropping her head on her uncle’s shoulder, she burst into a storm of tears. Colhoun waved McKnight to silence and for perhaps five minutes he held her in his arms in wordless sympathy. “Now I’ve got to tell you all about it,” she said at length, disengaging herself and drying her eyes. “I’ve stood it too Tong already and I must dear myself of this suspicion, even if I can’t of the other. I couldn’t stand being suspected of two murders. For a moment her hearers wondered if they had heard aright. Then they both sat upright and gasped in unison: “Murder!” “Let me tell it from the beginning,” she begged. “You must know everything now that you know so much. It happened one night three weeks ago. I was at a night-club called

the Silver Dragon with a party. Towards two or three in the morning it, got very rough and I contributed my share. You see, I’m not sparing my feelings or yours—you’ve got to know the whole truth about this. I wasn’t drunk in the ordinary sense of the word, but I was —well, I -was merry. During an interval one of the members of the band came over to our table and spoke to me. I don’t remember what he said but the boy who was with me took exception to it and pushed him away. But he wouldn't go and it looked as though things would develop into a fight. Then he put his hands on me and . . . well, I think I saw red. I wasn’t drunk enough to stand that and I picked up the nearest thing to my hand and hit him. He fell sprawling on the floor and I looked at the thing I held in my hands. It was a bottle. All of our crowd huddled round him and our table, so that the other people couldn’t see and the manager came running up. He looked at the man —I think his name was Pierre—and he looked at me. ‘He’s dead,’ he said to me. ‘You’ve killed him, Miss Gower.’ I sat where I was, dazed and looked at him. Then a whistle blew and someone cried ‘Police.’ All my crowd scattered and the manager grabbed me by, the arm and hustled me through the back rooms and into a car. The next thing I knew I was standing on the corner near my home and the manager was telling me it would be quite all right and that I wasn’t to worry but to leave everything to him and that he would let me know later how things stood.” “Did he let you know?” ’interjected McKnight as the girl paused. The narrative had astounded him for the girl’s part in it seemed so out of keeping with what he could make of her character. (To be continued)

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