MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

Waikato Times, Volume 128, Issue 21371, 15 March 1941, Page 12

MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

BY PETER MANTON

CHAPTER Xlll—(Continued; Aeroplanes flew over the house in the afternoon, dropping newspapers, magazines and food, in case of need. The papers gave the full story of the blizzard that had raged through Southern England. Dozens of remote hamlets were cut off, and a vast area of the New Forest was isolated. Bill Arden had to possess his soul in patience, but it was damnably hard. The story of the murder was brief, although the headlines of the inside pages—the front pages all carried stories of the storm—were filled with it. The S.O.S. for the Lancia and the telephone caller were there. Both solved, if only the outside world could have known it. Twenty-four hours It included a grim ten minutes. Bill went upstairs to the bedroom where his uncle was resting. Clark and his wife had laid the body out. Sir Nicholas looked peaceful. No one would have dreamed of the violent manner of his death, and there was one factor' of importance so far as the police angle of the affair was concerned. The expression on the dead knight's face was of surprise, but not of fear. Pike put the thought into words, late in the evening. “Whoever did it knew him, Court.” The Inspector, who had grown more human and less irritating—surprising, in view of the impasse at which he had been forced to come—agreed. “It looks like it, but it doesn’t clear the situation. He knew people in business, and he knew relatives. You don’t know where his will is, Mr Arden?” Bill shook his head. He had expected a copy of the will to be in his uncle’s study, but it was not there. There was, of course, the possibility of an entirely different motive from that suspected for the murder, but it was difficult to believe. “No. His solicitors will have it. Greene and Jason, of Lincoln’s Inn." “Yes, yes, of course,” said Court. “Ah, we ” It froze hard during the night, and heavy clouds were scudding across the skies, and the wind was blowing again. There was little chance even of a message from the air. The hours dragged by slowly, the same things were said time and time again. And the party at Manby House went to sleep that night heavy-hearted—-with the possible exception of Jonathan Pike, who amused himself playing solitaire when he failed to persuade the others to join him at poker. Bill Arden took hours to get to sleep, but he dropped off at last,

with vague, uneasy pictures of Anne Wilson and Lili Balluzzi in his mind’s eye. Horn knew of the project: Court, of course, had not been allowed to suspect what was being planned. The one bright spot in the dreary day had been Draper: the sergeant had recovered from a day of fever and delirium, and was conscious, and sane. There was little question now of his recovery. He had taken the knowledge of his lost arm well. Court showed exceptional regard for the wizened little man, and Arden grew to like both of them more. Now—sleep. He hardly seemed to have closed his eyes when the door of his room banged open. He was awake quickly, his eyes heavy with sleep. Pike was standing by the end of his bed, grinning down. Horn followed more leisurely. “What—the—deuce is this?” grunted Bill sleepily. “My boy,” said Jonathan Pike hugely, “it’s the one thing we wanted. We can’t get through snow, but we can through water, and it’s raining like the Devil. Has been for hours. Get moving, we’ve got a lot to do.” CHAPTER XIV. Rain! It was teeming down from leaden skies, and at half-past eight there was the gloom of dawn ovgr the land. Bill was wide awake quickly, the news reacting like a cold shower. Pike—who was __ fully dressed—and Horn were both smiling with the relief of the new trick of the weather. Bill pulled a dressing-gown from a chair next to his bed and stepped to the window. Where there had been nothing but the vast white blanket of snow there were now great lakes of water.

Here and there the snow remained, but in the gloom Bill could just make out the stile he and Horn had climbed, and the outline of the Lancia. “Is that good?” demanded Jonathan Pike. “Reasonably,” said Bill, “don’t you ever sleep?” “Occassionally.” Pike grinned. “I told Clark to get some tea up at once, and that we’ll breakfast in half-an-hour.” Bill had a quick shower, and he felt a new man as he went down to the breakfast room. He saw Horn, Court and Pike already at the table, and Clark was looking cheerful, and from the kitchen came a short giggle of laughter—silenced with a sharp order from the cook, but proving that feelings were better all round. Bill stepped towards the diningroom, and then pulled up short. The sound came very clearly through the hall—the harsh ringing of the telephone bell. He jumped towards it, hopefully. It was' the first time it had rung for three days, and it seemed like a month. “Manby double-one?” “Speaking.” “This is Superintendent Harley, of Scotland Yard. Is Inspector Court there, please?” “Oh, yes.” Bill put down the receiver, and turned about, to find Court coming towards him. “A man named Harley,” Bill told him, and Court obviously knew the name. Pike pointed to bacon and eggs as Bill reached the dining-room. “Start, my son, you’ve got to be on your way and it won’t take long. The first time,” he said to Horn, “that I’ve really enjoyed hearing the telephone. Did I hear you say Harley?” “You did.” (To be continued)