"Found Dead"

Daily Telegraph (Napier), Volume 58, Issue 56, 8 April 1929, Page 11

"Found Dead"

BY FRED M. WHITE

COPYRIGHT PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

Author of "The Shadow of the Dead Hand," "The Price of Silence," "The Golden Bat," etc.. eto.

SYNOPSIS OF PRE-VIOnS CHAP- I TERS. CHAPTERS I & II.— Oue fine Sunday morning in Jate Jun-e Sir John Mortmain, seated on tlie terrace of his country residence, Mortmain's, is rekecting on the events of the past two years. The death of his two cousins in a motor accident, and the consequent speedy death of their heartbroken father, had made him heir to tliis fine estate on the north coast of Devon. By the same post conveying news of the motor tragedy Sir John had also received a cnrt note from AJargaret Debenljam, his sweetheart severing the engagement, without givjng any reason for his disrais&al, After trying to communicate with her and failing, for she had left her lodgings, he heard that Wargaret had married a Richard Grimsha w, a rich Australian. After that he settled down to a life of loneliness. He is now living quietly in Devonshire. Farthing his butler, comes to tell him luncheon is ready. Sir John arranges to go on a prawning expedition in tlie early hours of the following morning and gives Ftirthing his instructions. But the pest day he oversleeps himself, and before lie is awake the butler sees something so gruesome that he sends Charles, one of the men servants, to ask Sir John to come downstairs. Charles wakes his master, who descends in his pyjamas. In the library Farthing points to the figure of -a man lying on the floor. Mortmain asks whether he is badly hurt. "Dead," Farthing says, "Murdered." CHAPTERS III. & IV— Sir John Mortmain discusses the situation in the library with his butler, who was the last man to see the library before ietiring for the night. The dead man was evidentlv a hook thief, for a copy of a rare edition of Boccaccio's "Decan eron" is lyiug beside him. Sir John orders Farthing to call in Dr. Hartley Peacon, and the local constable. He himself 'phones to the superintendent at Instaple. s The doctor pronounce the deatli to he due to a fractured skull. Inspector James Gore arrives, and, after investigating, arranges to ree the coroner with regard to the inquest. Dr. Deacon examines with a magnifying glass the congealed hlood at the base of the skull. He feels that he is on the heels of a discovery, hut refuses to commit himself. Inspector and doctor clepart. Sir John retires to the morning. room, where Farthing finds him to meution that a ladv, who will not give her name, is waiting in the drawing-room. Sir John, at sight of his visitor, exclaims "Margaret!" i "Jack," the woman murmurs. "Why i this Jionour. Mrs Grimshaw?" Sir John i inquires icily.

CHAPTER VI. "QTRANGELY ENOUGH," Marga- ^ . ret went on, "I found that letter, which I thought I had destroyed, the morning I came away from London. So I slipped it in my bag, heaven knows wliy. ' I suppose it' was fate. It was found amongst the poor gii'l's belongingg. hfter her. death, and lianded over to me by someone wliom I neecl i-qt name just for tlie moment. But if you would like to see it •" "Biko "t° see it?" Mortmain cried. I would give half I possess for a sight of it. Now, please !" The letter was hancled over in silence, and Mortmain read it carefully twice. There was no address and no date, ancl not more than a few lines in a handwriting strangely like his own. ^ And as Alargaret liad said, it was, indeed, a brutal letter — the sort of letter a certain type of man writes to a certain type of girl when he wishes all relationship to cease.

"So this is the cause of the troublo; is it?" Mortmain aslced. "I am going to tell you, with all the earnestness in my power, that that letter is nothing more nor less than an impudent forgery. I admifc that the handwriting is very much like mine, and I suppose the scqundrel who was responsible for this effort must liave borrowcd a specirnen of my handwriting with a view to the forgery. Now, did you ever know me to write a letter without an address and without a date? It is a strange fate that lias bvought tis together liere again to-day, but it will be a fortunate one for me or the fault is altogetlier mine. I tell you again that tlie girl you speak of was never known to' me, and that I never put pen to the paper on which that was written. I don't know how I ain going to prove • it, but if you had given me a chance at the time, I could have cleared myself easily enough, As it is, two years have elapsed, which makes all the difference. But vou can see for vourself that this matter lias aot to bo thrashed out, utiless you dishelieve me, in which case, thcre is no more to be said." « • • '•"OUT I DON'T DIRBELIEVE you," Margaret cried. "I think 1 would have taken your word in any case. Oh, what a headstrong, silly fool I was not to have given you the opportunity. Evcn when I wrote vou in the torms I did. I felt that it couid not he true. But j was deeply wound-c-d, lieart-brokcn almost, and I hardly lcnew what I was doing. And I am very much afraid, -Jack, that I have wrecked two lives." "Looks verv much like it," Mortmain said sadly, "It is good in a way to .see you again, Margaret, but I almost wish you had not come. Now, tell me, who gave you that letter?" Margaret replied under her breath. Tt was almost a whisper, hut it carried clenrly enough to Mortmain's ears. "Mv liusband," she said. "Whatl — the man Grimshaw? Do you mean to say that he it was wlio gave you that letter? Oh, come, there is a grent deal more here than meets the eye. Why should he do such a dastnrdly thing? He and I were not even acquainted. I never heard of him till some time after we had parted for good. And then a friend casually mentioned that my old Pqime, Margaret Debenham, had married an Australian called Grimshaw." Margaret sat there for a moment or two with her head in her hands. She was crying gently. Then she looked up into Mortmain's face. a • • "T AM NOT GOING TO ASK you to forgive me 3:et/' she murmured, "That will come presentl.y. Perliaps, in the first place I liad better tell you all there is "to know about my husband. He was an Englishman who had travelled a good deal and finally came back England where he began to write abcrat all sorts of strange happenings for the London papers. I met him two or three times in the cnurse of my work, and it was not long before I hegnn to see that he found me attraetive. I am not hoasting— that is the sort of thing that every vromBn knows hy instinct* And then

vhen he asked me to marry him, I told him that I was alreadv as good as engaged. I never mentioned tlie fact to vou, because I thought it would not he quite fair. He seemed to take my refusal calmlv enough and in a few davs had, apparently, forgotten all about it. 1 was always meeting him in odd places and we were quite friendly. And then. when v'ou were takuig your holidavs two years ago I went \ ut with him on sevcral occasions. He was interesting and nmusing, and you know how casual we used to he in that old Bohemian set of ours. Then, when 3 got to know him better, he told me th.e sad story of Violet Graham. He told it very woll indeed, and [ was ,rery much moved hv what lie had to say. And then, oue dav, when we were on the river at Hampton C'ourt, hc hrought up the subjcct of the girl ngaiii and, after warning me that 1 must prepare for a great shock, produced the letter that is lying thcre on the table. * * * WHAT AN INFERNAL scoundrell," Mortmain muttered. "'You can imagine what a blow it was to me," Margaret went on. "There was vour writing plainly before me and in the back of my mind was the story of that poor girl. You must remember that I liad heard it more than once and I believed it implicitly. 1 was so furious against you that wlien I got back to my rooms, I sat down and wrote you that letter." "Yes, in which you mentioned no woman vliatever," Mortmain smiled sadly. "You hrought no accusation against me, you merely said you never wanted to see me again. Anc]_I suppose you regnrded Richard Grimshaw ap a chivalrous gentleman wdio was doing his best for a poor girl that I •had heen making love to hebind your back. And because manv a heart is eaught on the rehound vou thought it would he just as well if you marn'ed Grimshaw. But, my dear, a marriage like that could never be a happy one." « • • IT WASN'T," 1MARGARET said with tears in her eyes. "In fact, I may say that it was no marriage at all. WeTiad nrranged that the cereinony should be private in the circumstanoes, and there was nobody present except ourselves and the verger of the church and the pew opener. And when we came into the street, a woman was standing outside. Directly rny husband caught sight of her ho changed colour and tried to liicle himself hehind a taxi that was crawling down tlie street. But the woman would have none of it. She was not noisy. hut still very determiaed. And I wanted to liear what she had to say, because she looked like a lady, despite the shabbiness of her dress it was easy i(, see that she had seen better times. Oh, it was dreadful." "Don't go on unless you feel up to it," Mortmain said. "I can quite understand .wliat your feelings are." "But I must go on," Alargaret said firmly. "Slie told me the lgost terrible things whilst the man stood by my side, wliite and shamefaced and uflering never a word. And wlien the woman had turned away quietly after telling her story and warning me of the character of the man I had married, I made up my mind there and then wdiat to do." "You left liim, of course," Mortmain said. (To be Continued.)