DESIGN for BLACKMAIL

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20990, 18 December 1939, Page 10

DESIGN for BLACKMAIL

CHAPTER XIV (Continued) It was undeniable, but dinner that night was a much cheerier meal than it might have been had McKnight been present. Everyone seemed easier and lighter, and conversation flowed more freely than it had done for the last couple of days. Colhoun, indeed, was the quietest of the party and Ewart could scarcely resist a smile as he observed the Commissioner glancing now and then sharply at one or another of the diners. Was he “detecting” in McKnight’s place? One thing was curious and that was the absence of Bates. Whether he was in the house or not, Tony did not know, but he did not put in an appearance in the dining-room. He wondered if Colhoun had noticed that. Lord Archerfield seemed to have recovered his usual good spirits, and he and Wilber force, who was not abstemious, seemed to be getting on very well together. After the meal was over, Tony took Gerry purposefully by the arm and led her to the music room. “Why are you leading me here?” she asked him, and without a word, he piloted her to a settee before the fire. When they were seated, he took out his case and handed her a cigarette. Lighting it for her he was forced to admire her coolness and spirit. “I met you just three days ago, Gerry,” he began, leaning back and thrusting out his feet to the fire. “Much has happened in that, time to all of us in this house. It has not been an ordinary house-party for any, of us. Something has touched each one of us, but Gerry, I know and feel sure that with you, there was something troubling you before you came here. I have sometimes thought that you came down here to escape something, that your coming here did not accomplish that purpose, but that something that happened this afternoon has brought ease of mind to you.”

“Have you too turned detective, Mr Ewart?” she asked coolly. “Surely not Mr Ewart,” he protested. “You called me ‘Tony’ before. I know it seems frightful cheek, but you know, Gerry . . .” his voice "thickened a little and he leaned forward in his seat, so that she should not see his face. Then he went on, his words coming out in a rush. “Oh! Dash it all, they say these things are easy, but I can’t find the words to say. It sounds so bald and so ... so deuced modern. In the old days it must have been delightfully different and romantic for ...” “For what, Tony,” her voice camp to him like the tinkling of bells. “For lovers, Gerry,” his voice trembled a little and he turned to face her, the firelight lighting up his strong firm profile. “Gerry,” he said in a low voice. “I love you. I’ve lovecx you from the first minute I set eyes on you. I love you and I want you to marry me, so that I can protect you from whatever it is that’s . . .”

His voice trailed off into silence, a silence that continued for what seemed to him like a century. The girl did not move and the smoke from her cigarette ascended in a straight, column into the air. He was still, fearing to move and break the spell that seemed to have come over them both. He glanced at her face but it told him nothing; her eyes were fixed on the glowing coals in the grate. Her features gave him no sign. Suddenly he stirred heavily and, reaching into his pocket, he charged and lit his pipe. “Well?” he said at last.

“What do you want me to say?” she replied as though her words came from a long distance and her voice seemed to vibrate. “You tell me you love me. I like that. Every girl wants to be loved. Every girl would be honoured by a good kind man asking her to be his wife. I suppose I have been proposed to as often as most girls these days, but never before by a man like you, Tony. It’s different now, though. You know nothing about me, you scarcely know who I am. And I know nothing about you. I met you only three days ago and w T e have not spent a great deal of our time here together. You say you love me, but you do not ask me if I love you. I am not one of those women who love lightly, Tony. If I were to say I loved you now, I would be lying and I would be doing you a great injustice.” He showed his dejection and she looked at his profile with tenderness for a moment. Then: “But I didn’t say I didn’t love you. Tony.”

by J. L. MORRISSEY

He looked at her with delight in his eyes and in an instant his arms were round her. But she pushed him away gently. “Not too quickly, Tony,” she said with a smile. "You work fast, don’t 3 r ou? I don’t think I’ve C(/.nmitted myself, have I? This whole affair has been so abrupt and so . . you used the right word . . so modern, that it leaves me slightly gasping.” He laughed a little constrainedly. “A man often dreams of the words he'll say when he comes to piopose: he plans out all he’ll do and say and then . . . when the time comes, he’s like a fish out of water and just blurts out what he feels.” “In some ways I think it’s better, Tony. The pretty speeches are very nice and romantic, but words from the heart are sincere.” “Then you think you might be ab-e to . . .?” his voice was husky. “Nothing is impossible, Tony,” she murmured gently and leaning forward she lightly brushed his forehead with her lips. Then she sat up quickly and the glowing coals fell in the grate. The sound broke the spell and both laughed. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, Gerry,” he said quickly, to change the subject. “It’s something I wouldn’t have dared to ask you before tonight, but now—well perhaps I may dare. What was your connection with Powell? Why did you let him into your room? What is the trouble that is behind the frown I see now and again on your forehead?” She drew back from him suddenly and looked at him wide-eyed. But he held his ground doggedly. “I’ve got to know some time, Gerry. Why not tell me now when I can help you? After all, you told your uncle and that detective, McKnight. Why can’t you tell me?” It was a random shot, but it went 1 home. She gave a little laugh. “Why not? Why shouldn’t I tell you? It isn’t a secret any longer. Besides ...” “Let there be no secrets between us, Gerry. Tell me all about it, whatever it is, and perhaps there may be something I can do to help. At least, it may relieve you to get it off your chest.” “Then I’ll give you by confession, sir,” she said demurely and in a very few words retold to him the story she had told her uncle and McKnight that afternoon. During the telling Tony sat mute, marvelling at the pace of the life she must have led that she could take such an occurrence in her stride. Such a thing happening to a dozen girls of his acquaintance would have driven them to the veronal bottle, but she—it might have been a bridge debt that had been worrying her. “Is that what McKnight went to London about?” he demanded, and when she nodded he went on vehemently: “Do you think you were right to confide in him so thoroughly? After all the man’s a detective and you have no guarantee ...” “He’s more than a detective, Tony. He’s uncle Maurice’s friend. And somehow, I trust him. I feel there’s a sort of quiet strength about him that will get us all out of this frightful mess.” “Maybe you’re right,” he mused for a moment. “But, Gosh, supposing when he gets to this Silver Dragon —supposing he finds—my Lord, what will you do then?” “Time enough for that when we come to it, Tony.” She rose to her feet with a forced smile. “That reminds me,” he said slowly, pulling from his pocket the envelope he had found outside her door. “I found this by your door after our stormy interview with the late lamented Powell. Has this a part in the case?” She took the envelope from him with a pucker of her forehead. So that was where it had got to. “A small part, Tony, a very small part. Still, who knows, it might one day figure as Exhibit A.” She made a movement to throw it on the fire, then remembered and slipped it into the bosom of the frock. “And now, my Tony, enough of nightmares for tonight. Switch on the radio and let’s dance. The ogre is away; while the cat’s away we must make merry, for tomorrow the shadow of the gallows may overcloud my young and misspent life.” For a moment he was aghast at the flippancy of her tone, then his native shrewdness saw that she was wearing a smiling mask, that she was hiding her real emotion behind lighthearted laughter. Had his clumsy blunderings opened wider the wound in her? Ruefully he went over to the radio and switched it on. With her in his arms, he felt better and as they fell into a waltz, he murmured into her ear: “Remember, after this, no secrets from Tony,”’ and in. a tone as low as his, she gave answer: “No secrets, my Tony.”

CHAPTER XV The Silver Dragon j McKnight gazed up into the face of j his assistant in silence for some ; moments. | “Burned —to—the —ground!” he repeated slowly, flicking the leaves | of the book with his fingers. Then ; he rose from his desk and went to I ‘.he window. Was this the long arm I cl coincidence or was it . . . could ! ; t be design? At the thought, he I stiffened and his jaw went out. | “All right,” he said briskly. “Mid- | night, you say? What’s the time i now—nine-thirty. Get me a car. I’m going down there alone, now, Allen.” “Alone, sir?” “Yes, there’s no need for anyone else to come along. This is something private. Now, look here, clid we j have a register of the club?—ah, yes | you brought it me. Let me see.” i He ran his eye down the page | that was headed Silver Dragon, i “Simon Simons, sole proprietor and I lessee. Mm! Twelve waiters, three doormen, two scullions and five in I the band. Five ” He glanced at the date of the last inspection. It had been just eight days ago and he smiled at the thought of Gerry's panic. Still, of course, there might be something in it . . . the man, Pierre, was that his name . . . might have died and if the blackmail was on the “square,” it might have been concealed. The buildings were still smouldering as he pushed his way through a crowd of sight-seers jammed in the dingy court at the back of Long Acre which housed the remains of the Silver Dragon. He had had to leave his car in Long Acre and proceed on loot through several narrow passages before he came on to it and along each passage snaked the hoses of the firemen. At last he arrived at the roped barrier and a

word to a constable lowered the rope for him. An inspector of police was standing by watching the firemen hacking away still smoking fragments of the ruins. McKnight tapped him on the arm and the inspector spun round sharply. “Wei l , sir, fancy seeing you down here?” he said with a smile, for there ! was scarcely a man at the Yard more i popular than McKnight. “I sup- | pose you're here as a sight-seer, (To be continuedi