MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

Waikato Times, Volume 128, Issue 21373, 18 March 1941, Page 8

MYSTERY AT MANBY HOUSE

BY PETER MANTON

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued) ■ The two women were sitting up 1 next to the driver, well wrapped up, I and both smiling. Mary waved as ’ j the Ford drew up. j “Are you riding, or shall we walk?” “We-ell—it doesn’t make much difference.” i Bill lound himself looking into the startling clear blue eyes of Anne Wilson. She was no longer smiling, but regarding him uncertainly, and with a suggestion oi' a frown. “Supposing Miss Wilson and I walk?” he suggested. “We’ve plenty to talk about—that’s if you're wearing gum-boots.” “Tne Horn motto being shoes for every purpose,” said Mary cheerfully, “she is. Suit you, Anne?” “It’s a good idea,” admitted Anne. It was obvious that the two women were now firm friends. Bill felt awkward as he helped the girl down, and they stood waiting while Jim climbed up, and the van—driven Dy a country youngster who had said no word—went off. • They kept standing, a yard from each other. Both were tongue-tied. Bill was remembering that pathetic black bundle in the snow. Could it have been this girl, tall, slim and I very straight, carrying herself perfectly and with a fine confidence, and—he told himself—looking a darned sight prettier with a borrowed beret on her dark, waving hair, ana the borrowed macintosh buttoned up at the neck? Bill broke the silence suddenly. “No ill effects?” The girl’s smile came, fleetingiy, lovely. i “None—thanks to you.” | “Fiddle-de-dee,” said Bill Arden, turning towards the house. “You owe more to Mary Horn than to me, I just happened along. Odd that 1

“Ye’es.” Her voice, now that it was normal, was husky and almost hoarse. An attractive voice. “Has anything—developed?” Bill scowled. Tfiey were walking sharply now, and the rain was tailing gently. The banks were still covered with unhappy looking snow, the whole countryside looked dejected. “Several things. Can you take it?” “After Monday I can take anything.” “Hum!” Bill shot a glance towards her, seeing the grimness in her expression and the way her small, square chin stuck out. She could take anything, and she certainly was not the type to want to avoid unpleasant facts. He told her what had happened, as simply as possible. She had no comment, except for an exclamation when the tale reached the bombing episode—enough, Bill admitted, to break anyone’s calm. He had finished at last, and they were within sight of the drive. “Well, what do you make of it?” she spoke evenly. “What can I? This man Pike seems to have hit the truth pretty well. Either Uncle Nick’s come-back put the wind-up others, or there’s another motive we haven’t touched yet. You’ve no ideas?”

She shook her head decisively. Almost too decisively. “No. Like Mann, I knew your uncle was being threatened, but I don’t know what with. I was working on the new company with him, and he seemed quite happy about it. The worry seemed something different. He would forget the work at times and start brooding. But it doesn’t mean the worry wasn’t connected with it.” “No. I ” Bill stopped. He was looking ahead of him, and saw the thing on the top of the bank, a high one on a level with his head. It was poking over the hedge, long and shining. It moved Bill roared: “The swine!” And as the words came, he grabbed the girl round the waist and swung her towards the hedge. As they moved, thudding against the bank, the shots came—one-two-three —in quick succession, loud and clear. Spurts of flame came from that shining barrel, the bullet stabbed the ground where they had been standing a few seconds before. The chief thought in his mind was that the gunman wanted to get the girl! (To be continued)