DESIGN for BLACKMAIL

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20989, 16 December 1939, Page 22 (Supplement)

DESIGN for BLACKMAIL

CHAPTER XIV (Continued) He shook off his fears and ran up to his room. Five minutes later, fie was making his way to the tennis courts. The tea-table was set under a large elm and Helen Archerfield was serving tea. Her husband was poring over a new book that had’arrived that day from London, a large book punctuated with illustrations of gaudy-coloured specimens of the entomoligist’s art. He was turning over the pages with one hand and absently eating strawberries and cream with the other. The Warren twfins had just finished their game, for their rackets stood against the tree and they were addressing themselves to muffins and maple sugar. Though the day was hot, not even the heat nor yet the tension that hung over them all was sufficient to daunt the healthy appetites of the Twins.

Kitty Wilberforce was sipping a cup of tea in silence, glowering upon her husband who was obviously regarding himself as an injured innocent. Not even Gerry’s arrival served to cheer him up. The two found themselves fairly evenly matched, Gerry if anything being the more finished player, and after Tony had won the first set 6—4, she replied with a disastrous 6—l. They were both in tip-top condition and when the next set lengthened out into 6 —5, Tony grinned his admiration of the girl’s skill. “You're too good for me, Gerry,” he said ruefully as he wiped his face and they made their way over to the tea-table. The Twins had finished their tea and were stretched out on the grass in the shade, so the pair took their places. “I’ve not had much practice since I came to England,” she said with a little smile. “But in India, I was reckoned pretty good.” “Had a good game, my dear?” asked Helen, and she raised the teapot. “I know you’ll be longing for a cup of tea . . . dear me, the pot is empty, I’ll send in for some more. Where’s Bates? Ah! there you are, Bates, another pot of tea, please ... oh, yes, and some more cream.”

“Yes, my lady,” murmured Bates from behind the tree, where he had been standing. “And—er—my Lord, I omitted to tell you, Mr McKnight

asked for a car to take him to the four-ten for London. I took the hberty of ordering the limousine for him ” "What!” Lord Archerfield looked up suddenly from his book and the

by J. L. MORRISSEY

words shot out of his mouth like a bullet from a gun. He closed the book with a slam and looked up at Bates. To Tony’s startled eyes it seemed as though a glance of understanding passed between them. But indeed everyone at the table seemed to have been startled by the butler’s announcement. The Twins had risen to a sitting position and were staring at the butler as though hypnotised. Jack Wilberforce and his wife exchanged a glance that might have meant anything or nothing. But, surely, thought Tony to himself, odd as it appeared, there was a secret understanding between Archerfield and Bates which seemed to his fancy more than that between master and man. “Why in Heaven’s name didn’t you tell me before man?” He rose to his feet with a stormy expression on his usually mild face and the suave sardonic Bates seemed momentarily to cringe befoi'e him. It so astonished Ewart that he sat gaping at the scene with his. mouth half open and he was only recalled to himself by the sound of a new voice. “I have to apologise for McKnight, Archerfield,” said Colhoun, who had that moment come striding across the lawn, rolling an unlit cigar between his teeth. “Apologise for him!” stuttered Archerfield. “I think you’ll have to do more than that. The confounded impudence of the fellow—making off like this without a word to me. his host.” “I’m sorry, but I had to send him to London on some urgent business of my own,” replied Colhoun. “Then, if youTe responsible for him I suppose I have to take your apology,” said Archerfield, slightly mollified, though his tone was still grudging. “Though I think it’s rather a pity that you have to introduce your . . . your lackeys into my house in the guise of guests. That fellow has caused more trouble since he came here than I thought was possible.”

Sticking his book under his arm, he walked stiffly across the lawns towards the house and Bates followed him without another word.

“How very upsetting all this is!” murmured Helen Archerfield. “You know, Maurice, I think Herbert is right. That Mr McKnight does seem to have brought a lot of trouble with him; ever since he came all these dreadful things happening , . Wher-

ever is it going to end? How much longer will he have to be here?” “That’s what we all want to know,” cut in the harsh voice of Wilberforce. “How much longer are we to be kept cooped up here like this ... on suspicion ... if you please. I notice he gives himself plenty of freedom of movement.”

“McKnight has my complete confidence, Wilberforce,” was Colhoun’s cold reply. “He will remove the ban on your going away, just when he sees fit.” “But Maurice . . .” Helen Archerfield looked up at him reproachfully. “Aren’t you being just the least little bit dictatorial and uncivil? After all, this is our house, you know.” “My dear lady,” Colhoun bent down to her courteously. “A serious crime has been committed in this house. A man has been murdered. Do you realise that if McKnight and myself had not happened to be here, you would have had the house filled by policemen and inspectors who would not have been one half as accommodating as Jim McKnight is?” “Oh! Well! I suppose you’re right, Maurice,” and she sighed gently then got up from her seat and, accompanied by Kitty Wilberforce, drifted across the lawns in her husband’s wake. “That’s all very well for the women, Colhoun,” barked Wilberforce. “But it’s not good enough for me. What do you say, Warren? Here we are, stuck in here like prisoners, with not a scrap of evidence to do it on. Why man . . . it’s . . . it’s illegal, dammit.” Colhoun did not even deign to answer him, but sat down and poured himself out a cup of tea. Wilberforce stag'd fuming in his seat for a moment and then got up and walked away in high dudgeon. With his mouth full of cake, Colhoun grinned after him. “ ‘Methinks he doth protest too much,’ ” he quoted mischievously with a wink at Ewart and Gerry. “What about you two?” he turned to the Warren twins. "Do you feel as he feels about this thing?” “I’m certainly not very happy, kept here as it were against my will,” Charles Warren answered for his brother. “But if any good comes of it, I’m all for it. Let him investigate to his heart’s content, if he can find Powell’s body and who killed him, it’ll be a load off my mind. I haven’t forgotten that I’m still under suspicion of shooting our host on the Twelfth.”

“Good Heavens, yes,” Colhoun opened his eyes. “I’d completely forgotten that. I -wonder if McKnight . . .” he stopped short and took another gulp of tea. “Shooting! My word, to think we came down here for a little quiet sport and get thrown mto this.”

“Is McKnight coming back?” asked Ewart. “Maybe,” was Colhoun’s guarded reply and Ewart knew from this that he was not entirely trusted. He reddened slightly and words rushed to his lips, but the touch of Gerry’s hand on his stilled' him. He was conscious of Colhoun’s eyes fixed on him and he felt very foolish.