The Dark Mill Stream E-Book

Arthur Gask

• Herausgeber: Librorium Editions
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

A large sum of money was stolen from a London bank and hidden in an old mill in a lonely and unfrequented part of Essex. It is found by two men already deep in crime, and the dreadful murder of one of them follows.
Gilbert Larose, the one-time great international detective, when discovery seems well-nigh impossible, nevertheless, picks up the trail—almost from what he hears in the whisperings of the wind—and it leads him to an important country gentleman living in an historic mansion in Norfolk.
A story packed with thrills and surprises from cover to cover, featuring that most famous of all investigators Gilbert Larose at his brilliant best.
 

Leseprobe

THE DARK MILL STREAM

BY

ARTHUR GASK

1947.

© 2022 Librorium Editions

ISBN : 9782383832676

Table of Contents

CHAPTER I.—THE TRADER FROM HOICHOW.

CHAPTER II.—THE OLD MILL.

CHAPTER III.—THE SECRET OF THE MILL STREAM.

CHAPTER IV.—DEEPER IN CRIME.

CHAPTER V.—LAROSE TAKES A HAND.

CHAPTER VI.—AN OLD DOG FOR THE TRAIL.

CHAPTER VII.—THE TRAIL OF MURDER.

CHAPTER VIII.—A THIEF IN THE NIGHT.

CHAPTER IX.—THE PERIL OF LAROSE.

CHAPTER X.—THE SPIRITS OF THE DEAD.

CHAPTER XI.—THE VENGEANCE OF MAN.

CHAPTER I.—THE TRADER FROM HOICHOW.

AT eight and thirty years of age Chester Hardacre was a well set-up, good-looking man, with good features and large, fearless blue eyes. The general impression of his face, however, was not altogether a pleasant one, for it was hard and grim, giving the idea, and quite rightly, too, that he would be relentless and without any scruples whatsoever in getting all he wanted in any way and at all costs. There was certainly no appearance of sympathy or pity about him.

Of strong personality, he was a well-known character in Hoichow, the chief seaport of Hainan Island, only a few miles distant from the mainland of China, where he had been a trader for fifteen years. He carried on quite a successful business in his large store and, indeed, would have been a rich man but that gambling was the ruling passion of his life. He had left many thousands of pounds on the racecourse of Hongkong, only a day and a night’s journey away, and he was reckless, too, in the amount of money he risked at cards.

A man of most violent and uncontrollable temper, he was a master to be feared, and once, for some trifling offence, had so badly beaten up one of his house-boys that the latter had died two days afterwards. The Chinese population were furious and it had required all the influence of the white community on the island and the passing over of a considerable sum of money, to hush up the matter and stay the authorities from taking action.

From a strictly moral point of view, Hardacre, too, was hardly what purists would have called a good man. He was unmarried, but his big bungalow above the harbour was never without its chatelaine. His male friends, when they were calling upon him accompanied by their wives or daughters, made it a matter of routine when approaching his bungalow to honk loudly upon the horns of their cars in order to give warning so that the ruling favourite might be discreetly spirited away into one of the back rooms.

Many women, native, of course, had flitted across his life, for he was always changing them in a casual, off-hand way. Undoubtedly, however, of all who had ever taken his wayward fancy he had been most partial to Winna Mee, and that, probably, because as a new acquisition, contrary to the usual meekness of her race, she had furiously resisted his advances.

A lovely Chinese girl, beautiful as a just-budding rose and dainty as a piece of rare porcelain, her small body was lithe and beautifully proportioned. She was sold to him somewhat late in her life, as she was nearly fifteen when he bought her from her parents for the equivalent of £20 English money. She was not disposed, however, to be so casually handed over to a stranger so many years older than herself, particularly as she already had a lover in her own village.

So, when the £20 had been paid over and she had been deposited in the bungalow like a load of sugar-cane or a consignment of cotton, she had, at first, been as difficult to handle as a wild cat. Only amused, however, at her furious attempts to repulse him, the trader had quickly shown her who was master and, her nails closely clipped so that there should be no more scratching, in a few days she had seemingly become resigned to her fate. Still, it was a long while before Hardacre allowed her to prepare any of his food. He had no wish to wake up in the night in the dreadful agony of bamboo spines piercing through his intestines.

However, he came to trust her at last, and that was after one night when he had caught her old lover prowling round the bungalow with a most business-like looking Gurkha dagger naked in his hand. The man was a sailor and, just returned from a long sea voyage, he had learnt only that day that his lady-love had been so callously disposed of. He was no weakling and for some dangerous and thrilling moments the trader had fought him with bare hands. In the end, however, he had succeeded in getting his dagger away and had then given him a severe thrashing, sending him off with a contemptuous kick and not deigning to hand him over to the police.

Winna Mee had been an interested spectator of the struggle, trembling as to what would be the outcome, but when the trader returned victoriously into the bungalow her eyes glowed in her excitement and she looked at him as she had never done before. Then, suddenly, she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him passionately in the way he had taught her. A veritable child of the jungle, she had been won in the jungle fashion and would be faithful to him henceforth, without any reservation. After that night she was his devoted slave, all her coldness disappeared and she was ardent and ever ready with her caresses.

For nearly two years she reigned in the bungalow and, such was her fascination for him, during that time Hardacre’s affections never wandered. Her flower-like beauty seemed to grow upon him and he thought he would never be tired of looking at her. His happiest hours were when he was with her.

Then the great catastrophe occurred and at once all his obsession for her turned a complete somersault and he became most unjustifiably and unreasonably angry.

She told him she was going to bear him a child.

Now in the circles in which Hardacre moved, in the white man’s club and the general social life of Europeans on the island, it was of no account for a European to live with a native girl. Indeed, it was considered as quite the natural thing for an unmarried man to do. It became, however, a very different matter if the girl had a baby by him. Then it was regarded as letting down the whole white community and bringing discredit upon their class.

So when the trader found what was going to happen, his fondness for Winna Mee vanished at once, and with no delay he prepared to bundle her out neck and crop, hoping the matter would not become generally known to his friends and acquaintances. At first, the girl was all tears and frenzied lamentations, but, upon learning that Hardacre was going to endow her with twice her purchase price, she speedily became in part consoled. Forty pounds was a tremendous sum to her and she would return to her village as a queen with the spoils of victory thick upon her. Not only was she going to bear a white man’s child, but, with the money she possessed, she would be able to acquire property which would go a long way towards keeping her in comfort for the rest of her life. Added to that, she knew her prestige would soon enable her to get a husband agreeable to her choice.

So Winna Mee went out of Hardacre’s life, as he thought for ever, and in a few weeks another girl reigned in her place. The time passed on, and then, when Winna Mee had been gone for nearly years, happening to pass through the village from where she had come, in mild curiosity he made inquiries about her. To his intense horror, he learnt that, only a few months before, she had shown signs of leprosy, and was now an inmate of a leper settlement.

His reaction to the news was, at first, only one of intense sympathy for the girl, and a great wave of tenderness surged through him as he recalled how lovely she had been in those first days when she had come to him. With a dreadful pang he thought of the ravages the hideous disease would in time make upon her beautiful young body. He had seen many lepers since he had come to live on Hainan Island, and some of them had been so loathsome to look at that for days afterwards they had haunted his dreams.

Then, suddenly, a most terrifying possibility avalanched itself into his mind and his face went ashen-grey with fear. Why, for nearly two years he had been in actual contact with her day upon day, and night after night she had lain in his arms! God, the awful disease was infectious! She might have had it in its early stages when she had been living with him! She might have given it to him and, perhaps, for months and months the dread bacilli had been coursing through his arteries and veins!

He almost choked in his consternation. It was common knowledge that one might contract the disease and yet show no sign of it for as long a period as seven years. Seven years, and it was only just two since he had sent her away!

The next night at the club he got into conversation with a young doctor, and inquired, as casually as he could make out, about leprosy. The doctor had not been long in the East, but for all that he seemed to know a lot about the disease. “A damned nasty business,” he said, “and if I got it I think I’d shoot myself. Oh, yes, you can catch it by contact. You get the leprae bacilli from an infected person on your skin, and then, with the smallest scratch, the bugs get underneath and you’re booked. You can get it in another way, too, for the bugs can enter through the mucous membrane of the nose and throat.”

Hardacre’s hands became cold and clammy, and he furtively wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.

In the months which followed, the trader became intensely nervy and irritable. He lost weight, and his friends kept telling him he didn’t look well. And in time he began to feel anything but well. He was thoroughly out of sorts and had dreadful sleepless nights. He lost all pleasure in his food, but made up for it by drinking spirits by the bottle. He was always thinking about leprosy, and half a dozen times a day would strip himself and search for a white spot somewhere upon his skin.

His temper became worse and worse, and he was always making out people were insulting him. His friends and acquaintances took to avoiding him as much as possible, and there were even whispers that he was going to be asked to resign from the club.

A climax came there one evening when another member accused him of cheating at cards. Quick as a flash of lightning, Hardacre picked up a heavy decanter and struck his accuser straight in the face. The decanter broke and he jabbed at him with the broken stem, severing one of the big arteries in the neck. Notwithstanding that the man was obviously mortally wounded, Hardacre threw himself upon him and gripped him fiercely by the throat. It took all the efforts of four men to pull him away and, struggling violently, the trader had ultimately to be bound hand and foot to prevent him doing further mischief. The man he had attacked passed away during the struggle.

Of course there was no chance of the matter being hushed up, for the dead man was an important official of a big trading concern, and so Hardacre was at once handed over to the authorities for trial and punishment. But while there was not the slightest sympathy for him and everyone would have liked to see him decapitated in the Chinese fashion, it was realized what a dreadful blow it would be to white prestige if that happened. So the two British doctors on the island, much to the trader’s fury, certified him as insane and recommended he be put away in an asylum.

That, however, did not satisfy the authorities and they were adamant that he should stand his trial. Seeing that there was no help for it, certain members of his one-time friends then started to make arrangements for him to escape from custody and be smuggled out of the island.

Under a power of attorney given by the trader, his business was sold for £2,000 and part of the money used in bribes to further his escape. One night the bars of his cell were filed through for him and the next morning found him well out to sea in a small fishing boat and heading for the coast of French Indo-China. He reached there without mishap and some weeks later had made his way round to Rangoon. From there it was not difficult to get to Calcutta and finally, travelling third class, he took ship by a P. & O. liner for England.

The voyage undoubtedly unproved his health but, a most unusual thing for him, he found himself suffering a lot from headaches, and though there were certainly no outward signs of the dread disease upon him, he was still worried, thinking he was in its early stages.

He had decided what he would do and was determining to consult the best authority upon tropical diseases in London. He would not tell him he was terrified he had got leprosy, but would approach him in the ordinary way, as a man who had just returned from the tropics and was feeling very much off colour. He would let the doctor find out for himself what was the matter with him, giving no help to diagnose any possible complaint.

Arriving in London with just over £1,400 and intending to husband his resources as much as possible, he put up at a cheap coffee tavern in Theobald’s Road. The neighbourhood was poor, but the coffee tavern had been recommended to him as being cheap and clean by one of the stewards on the boat. It was called “Benson’s Hall” and, ashamed to be staying at such a place, he registered under the name of George Hunter. Chester Hardacre, he prided himself, was a high-sounding name and, he thought, it would be ridiculous in such surroundings.

From a London directory he learnt that a Dr. Humphrey Monk was the chief consulting physician of the School of Tropical Medicine in the East End, and he decided he would be a good man to go to, arguing that the doctor must be of high standing to be occupying such a position.

Accordingly, after having had to wait a couple of days for an appointment because the doctor was out of Town, one morning he was ushered into a beautifully-appointed consulting room in a big old-world home in Cavendish Square.

Dr. Monk was a smallish man of slight build, but for all that he looked brimful of dynamic energy. About sixty years of age, he had a high forehead and big, very shrewd grey eyes set deeply under big bushy brows. Waving Hardacre to a chair, he seated himself at a desk and, taking an index card from a pigeon-hole, at once asked him for his name and address. Hardacre gave his name as Charles Henson and, somewhat awed by his surroundings and surmising from them that the doctor’s charges would be very high for all who could pay them, flushing slightly as he did so, said he was staying at the Theobald’s Road coffee tavern. He was hoping a smaller fee would then be expected of him. The preliminaries over, the doctor asked what the trouble was which had brought Hardacre to him.

The trader had many times rehearsed the story he was intending to tell and he told it straightforwardly and with no hesitation.

He said he had but recently returned from equatorial Africa where he had been living for a few years. He had been feeling seedy for a long time, generally run-down and suffering a lot of headaches. His body also ached a bit, chiefly in his bones.

The doctor listened attentively and asked him several questions. Then he told him to strip to the waist to allow of his examining his heart and lungs carefully. Afterwards he made him take off the rest of his clothes, and minutely went over every inch of his body.

At length, pointing to a small spot on one of his shins, he asked him how long it had been there, and Hardacre replied he had not noticed it before, adding it was probably a bite from an insect. There had been plenty about in the boat and they had annoyed him a lot.

Making no comment, the doctor took a bottle out of a cupboard and proceeded to drop a minute quantity of the liquid it contained first upon the spot itself, and then upon the adjoining skin an inch and more away.

“I shan’t hurt you,” he said. “You won’t feel anything,” and with a needle he made two little pricks where he had dropped the liquid. He wiped drops of liquid away, and for a long minute stood intently regarding the skin. He motioned to Hardacre to resume his clothes.

A couple of minutes or so of silence followed, before the trader, fully dressed again, was back in his chair. The doctor spoke very quietly. “I don’t want to distress you unnecessarily,” he said, “but I want to know if, within the past few years”—he spoke very slowly—“you happen to have been brought into contact with anyone known to have been suffering from leprosy?”

Hardacre’s heart almost stood still. A dreadful mist arose before his eyes and his mouth went dry. So his awful fears were confirmed. This doctor was diagnosing leprosy when he had not been given the slightest pointer in that direction. It was many seconds before he found his voice, and then he whispered hoarsely: “Yes.”

The doctor frowned. “Then you had that trouble in your mind when you decided to consult me,” he said. He nodded. “Still it was a good thing I had the opportunity of making an independent diagnosis without any help from you.”

“But have I leprosy?” faltered Hardacre through his dry lips. “Do you think I am infected?”

“Oh, I can’t say that for certain yet,” replied the doctor quickly. “There will be nothing definite until I find the actual leprae bacilli in you. I shall have to see if there are any in that little spot you’ve got there on your shin.”

“But I thought,” said Hardacre tremblingly, “that leprosy began with a white patch somewhere on the skin.”

The doctor shook his head. “Not always. It can first show itself in a brown spot or pimple such as that one you have.” He spoke impressively. “Now, tell me when you were actually in contact with this leprous person, and how close was the contact.”

“It began as long as nearly five years ago,” said the trader, “and it lasted for not quite two years. I have not been near the person for getting on for three years.”

“But three years does not make you safe,” commented the doctor, shaking his head. “We have no certain knowledge as to how many years may elapse between acquiring the disease and it beginning to show itself, but there are well-authenticated cases where the time has been over ten years. Who was this person you may have got it from—a native, of course?”

“Yes, a native woman,” replied Hardacre huskily.

“A servant?” queried the doctor.

Hardacre hesitated. “More than that,” he said. He spoke almost defiantly. “She was living with me in my bungalow.”

“Ah, and if she were infected herself,” nodded the doctor, “that would have given ample opportunity for her to infect you. Did you get rid of her because you found out she was sick?”

“No, for other reasons,” was the reply, “and it was not until two years afterwards that I learnt she had recently been taken ill and put in a leprosorium,” and he went on to explain how he had come to find out what had happened to Winna Mee. “But do you honestly think, sir,” he concluded with his voice shaking, “that I am really a leper?”

“I’ve already told you I can’t tell with any certainty until I’ve dealt with the contents of that spot,” said the doctor a little testily. His voice dropped to a more sympathetic tone. “Still, I can’t hold out much hope that you are not, for undoubtedly you have some of the symptoms of early leprosy. Besides, that little test which I made just now makes things look very ominous.”

“But nothing happened,” frowned Hardacre.

“No, that’s exactly it,” nodded the doctor. “Nothing did happen, and if it were certain you were leprosy free, something should have happened. It was histamine, which comes from ergot, which I put on your skin and, after I had pricked it, within a few seconds I should have seen a pronounced reddening of the skin. But, as you saw, we didn’t get any reddening at all and that’s what makes me suspicious.”

A few minutes later, after he had obtained some of the contents of the spot, he dismissed Hardacre, enjoining him to come back in two days’ time. “Then I shall be able to tell you for certain,” he said, “and we shall have to decide what we must do.”

They were a miserable two days for the trader, and he was white and shaky-looking when he returned two days later to Cavendish Square. Directly he entered the consulting room he saw by the expression upon the doctor’s face what the verdict was going to be.

Grave and unsmiling, the doctor said very quietly: “I am sorry to tell you that we found leprosy bacilli in the specimen and——”

“Then I am a doomed man!” choked Hardacre. “There’s no hope for me!”

“No, no, you mustn’t say that,” protested the doctor quickly. “Indeed, there is a lot of hope for you if you take things in the proper way. I won’t deceive you by saying we know of any specific cure, but I do assure you the disease is distinctly amenable to treatment and only a very small percentage of sufferers actually die of it. It is recognized now that it is a self-healing disease, like small-pox and typhoid fever, but while typhoid burns itself out in, say, twenty-one days, leprosy may take twenty-one years. So, if you never actually get rid of it, if you follow directions implicitly and keep up your general health, you may hold it at bay for the remainder of your life.”

“I’ll do anything,” said Hardacre miserably, “but what is there to do?”

“Lots of things. Firstly, you must hypnotize yourself into the belief that you’re not going to get worse, but, instead, you are going to get better. So you mustn’t brood over it, by no means an impossible attitude of mind when you carry out the routine I am going to lay down for you. You must build up your health and strength in every possible way, and you must live a good out-door life and get plenty of exercise and fresh air. You must take up some hobby or occupation strenuously, to occupy your mind.”

“But aren’t you going to give me any medicine?” asked Hardacre, a little comforted by the doctor’s words.

“Certainly,” replied the doctor. “I’m going to put you on strong doses of potassium iodide. They are getting splendid results from it in India, better than from anything else. I’ll give you a prescription at once.” He regarded the trader curiously. “Now are you pretty well off?”

Hardacre frowned. “If I were should I be staying at the address I gave you?” he asked bitterly. “No one could surely imagine a man of means would be stopping anywhere near Theobald’s Road.” He shook his head. “No, I have not much money and I shall have to earn my living like most other people do. But why do you ask?”

For a few moments the doctor hesitated. Then he said thoughtfully: “I am wondering what can be done in your particular case, for of course segregation will be imperative to prevent you passing on the disease to others.”

“Then am I infectious?” exclaimed Hardacre in a horrified tone. “Can I infect other people?”

The doctor nodded. “Most assuredly you can. In the first instance you probably became infected by that native girl from a spot no bigger than the one you have now on your shin. Apart from any spots, too, the secretions from the mucous membrane of the nose and throat can infect as well.” He nodded again. “Yes, the early stages of the disease are considered the most dangerous of all.”

“Then what am I to do?” asked Hardacre, dreadful possibilities of what might be going to happen to him avalanching into his mind.

“Well, that depends upon what you can pay,” replied the doctor, “but, anyway, things will be arranged for you. You see, in this country leprosy is not usually a notifiable infectious disease but it happens to be so now, as several cases have come to light recently in the Port of London. So, I shall have to report your case at once to the Health Authorities and they will deal with it according to your circumstances. That’s why I asked you if you were a man of any money.” He spoke in business-like tones. “You say you have a little! Well, if you could run to six guineas a week, then there is a very exclusive little colony in Wales which you could join. It is on an isolated part of the coast in most ideal surroundings, and there would be plenty to occupy your mind. You could fish and golf and there is good shooting. At present there are about twenty men and women there, all of a better class, and there’s a good doctor in attendance.”

“But do you mean to say there is a leper colony in this country?” asked Hardacre aghast.

“Certainly! Indeed there are several of them, but this one of which I am speaking is the best. Now could you afford six guineas a week?”

The trader could hardly find his voice. “For how long?” he asked hoarsely.

The doctor shook his head. “That I can’t say. It might be for some time.” He nodded. “So we shall have to wait until you are lepra bacillus free before you can mix with the world again.”

He repeated his question. “Can you run to six guineas a week?” A thought struck him and he turned to pull open one of the drawers of his desk. “Ah, wait a moment! I have a photograph of the place somewhere here and it may help you to make up your mind, for you will see the surroundings are well worth the money.”

His search gave Hardacre time to think and his face puckered up into an ugly scowl as he thought furiously and hard. Damn, he had fallen into a trap and this doctor was going to hand him over to a leprosorium, bound hand and foot! But he wasn’t going to have it. Blast it, he wouldn’t! He would hide away somewhere on his own and give himself the treatment the doctor was prescribing! Hell, but he mustn’t let the doctor know! He must pretend to agree with him and cut off quick!

He forced a smile as the doctor, finding the photograph, handed it across. “See, it’s quite a nice place, well-appointed and as comfortable as a hotel. Now, what do you say? You must decide quickly, for you must go somewhere straightaway. We can’t have you left as a possible course of infection to others an hour longer than can be helped.”

Hardacre nodded. “All right, I’ll go there,” he said. “I can at any rate manage it for two or three years and then hope for the best.”

“That’s the spirit,” exclaimed the doctor. “That gives you the best chance of keeping it under. Now, I’ll ring up the Health people and they’ll pick you up this afternoon. I’ll arrange it for, say, three o’clock. They’ll put you up somewhere to-night and have you motored down into Wales to-morrow.” He wrote rapidly at his desk. “Now here is the prescription for the iodide of potassium, and you must start taking it at once.” He rose briskly to his feet. “And that’s all now. I’m very pressed for time. I’m off to Scotland directly after lunch for a consultation.” He smiled. “I shan’t be seeing you again, and my fee is seven guineas.” Then, seeing what he took for a look of astonishment upon the trader’s face, he added: “That includes the laboratory fee for making a culture of the bacilli.”

Hardacre cursed under his breath. Seven guineas! It was an extortion! It was barefaced robbery! Why, that morning he hadn’t been with him much more than ten minutes!

He paid over the money, noticing with some resentment that the doctor handled the notes gingerly and put them at once into an envelope by themselves. Also, to his annoyance, he ushered him out of the consulting room without offering to shake hands.

In the depths of depression at the doctor’s verdict the ex-trader made his way into the hall, but yet another, and an almost greater shock this time, was to come to him, for, as the street door was opened by the nurse attendant for him to pass out, he came face to face with a young fellow who had just arrived on the doorstep, and to his consternation recognized him as a man he had known on Hainan Island. God, it was young Burton from the British Consulate at Hoichow!

The young fellow did not seem to notice Hardacre at first and addressed himself smilingly to the butler. “If my uncle is very busy, Nurse,” he said, “I won’t stop. I’ll come another——” but happening to glance in Hardacre’s direction, the words froze on his lips and he stared as if he could not believe his eyes.

Hardacre had gone a sickly colour, but his face was expressionless and he looked straight before him as if he had not recognized the young man. With no hurry he passed out into the street. His legs, however, were shaking under him and he was trembling in his fright. What a most damnable piece of bad luck! And this Burton was the doctor’s nephew, too! It couldn’t be worse, for of course he would tell him everything and the police would be upon his track at once!

Turning into the first public house he came to, two stiff brandies did a lot towards steadying both his limbs and his nerves, and he began to take a much more hopeful view of the situation. After all, young Burton might not be quite certain he had recognized him, but, if he had, what was there to back up his word to convince anybody else? The police were not likely to start upon an extensive search without having something definite to go upon. Anyhow, extradition was always a lengthy business and, besides, the Hoichow authorities might not be willing to move in the matter. After all, the man who had been killed had been a European and not a Chinese and that would certainly not incline them to disturb themselves unduly.

Also, there was do doubt they had connived at his escape, or it would not have been managed so easily, and any searching inquiries would certainly bring to light that bribing had been going on. The £500 he had paid would not have gone to only minor officials. Undoubtedly someone high up had had his whack out of it too. No, he had plenty of time to get away and hide, if he did not panic and lose his head.

His thoughts reverted to the doctor and he sneered contemptuously that he had deceived him all right. The fool was certain he was going to allow himself to be segregated without any protest, and he was equally as certain he was not. Long before three o’clock he would have started for where no Health Authorities would find him. It was only just after noon now and so he had a good three hours to get clear.

As it happened, however, the trader was very much mistaken about his having kept his real intentions from Dr. Monk. On the contrary the latter was highly suspicious that his patient was not intending to accept segregation so readily as he had tried to make out, for, when searching in the drawer for the photograph he had shown Hardacre, he had chanced to glance up for a moment and in doing so had caught a fleeting glimpse of the trader’s face reflected in a mirror on the wall. Hardacre was scowling sullenly, with something of the terror, the doctor thought, of a trapped animal. Then, when the doctor had turned round again with the photo in his hand, Hardacre’s expression was as quiet and resigned as before. The sudden change in the expression had given the doctor a warning.

Accordingly, the moment his patient had left the consulting room, the doctor phoned up the chief medical officer of the Port of London, and told him all that had taken place.

“And I’m more than half inclined to think,” he concluded, “that he’ll try to make a breakaway. He looks just that type of man, accustomed to having his own way and impatient of all restraint. So, I think you’d better pick him up as soon as you possibly can. Good-bye, I can’t stop. I’ve got to catch the one-thirty from Euston and I’ve a lot to see to before that. I’ve a consultation in Edinburgh to-night.”

All unaware of the danger threatening him, Hardacre made his way back to the coffee tavern, intending to pack his suitcase and leave the place at once. The appetizing odour of roast pork, however, assailed his nostrils directly he walked into the place, and he decided to have dinner first. Strangely enough, he was now quite hungry, and he felt very pleased with himself at the way he was starting to stand up to his misfortune.

He made a good meal and was quite leisurely about it. Indeed, it was well after one o’clock when he made his way into the place to get his bill from the girl at the desk. Two men who had come in quietly through the street door, however, reached the desk just before him and, standing behind them, to his horror he heard the name he had given to the doctor mentioned.

“We want to speak to Mr. Henson,” said one of the men. “Is he at dinner or will you give us the number of his room?”

“Henson!” exclaimed the girl. She shook her head. “There is no Mr. Henson staying here.”

“Oh, but there is,” protested the man. “We are quite sure of it. We were to meet him here. We have an appointment.”

The girl shook her head. “There’s a mistake somewhere. There’s no one of that name staying here.” She pushed a big book across the counter. “Here’s the register. Look for yourself.”

A very short survey of the book brought a frown to the man’s face, and he turned to his companion and whispered: “He’s diddled us as the doctor thought he would. He gave him a wrong address.” He turned back to the girl and asked sharply: “Anyone come to stay here lately who’d got a fair bit of luggage with him, as if he’d just arrived from abroad?”

The girl shook her head. “People with much luggage don’t usually come here,” she said with a smile, and Hardacre was devoutly thankful he had left his two big leather trunks in the cloakroom at St. Pancras Station.

“Well, phone up and get his description,” growled the other man to his companion. “He may be staying here but under another name,” and the first man at once walked over to the telephone cabinet and shut himself in.

Hardacre had heard everything and, controlling himself with an effort, sank weakly into a chair. The second man, waiting for the result of the phone call, moved over across the hall and, seating himself, took out a cigarette and commenced to smoke. Then, his eyes happening to fall upon the trader, he proceeded to stare hard and frowningly at him.

“The devil,” muttered Hardacre in dreadful consternation, “he sees I’m brown and look like someone from the tropics! He’s suspicious!”

And certainly the man did seem suspicious, for he kept his eyes fixed on the trader. An idea, however, coming into Hardacre’s mind, he pulled himself together with another effort and, rising leisurely to his feet, moved back to the desk.

“Give me a couple of your prospectuses, Miss,” he said quietly and, upon her complying at once with his request, he strolled over with them in his hand to the man who was continuing to regard him so intently.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said with a polite bow, “but will you accept these little tariff cards of ours. You might, perhaps, be able to recommend us to your friends.” He smiled pleasantly. “I am Mr. Benson, the proprietor of the coffee tavern.”

Instantly the frowning expression upon the man’s face relaxed. “Certainly,” he said, “and I’ll give them to anyone I think they may interest.” He lowered his voice mysteriously. “But I say, Mr. Benson, are you sure you’ve not had a man here lately who looks as if he’d just come from abroad? I mean a man who’s been living in equatorial Africa.”

Hardacre considered. “Not lately,” he replied with a shake of his head, “at least not within the last few weeks.” He winked knowingly. “Police work, is it?”

“Not at present,” said the man. He nodded. “But it might turn out to be.”

They chatted for a couple of minutes and then the first man came out of the telephone cabinet. From his expression it was plain his telephoning had not brought much result.

“No good,” he said disgustedly to his companion, and not troubling to lower his voice, “the doctor’s gone off to Scotland and his damned nurse has got two days’ holiday and cleared out. They don’t know where to get in touch with her.” He swore angrily. “Come on, it’s no good stopping here any longer,” and to Hardacre’s intense thankfulness, they went out and got into a waiting car.

An hour and a half later the trader, having recovered his trunks from the cloakroom of St. Pancras Station, was taking a ticket at Liverpool Street for Burnham, a quiet little town on the banks of the River Crouch.

Two days later, upon his return from Scotland, Dr. Monk rang up the chief medical officer of the Port of London again to inquire how things had gone with his patient and was most astonished to learn what had happened.

“As I told you,” he said, “I was half expecting he would try to get away, but I can’t understand why you didn’t find him at that coffee palace. I am almost certain he was stopping there, because the first time I saw him, when he took off his clothes for me to make an examination, a card fell out of his jacket pocket and, as I picked it up to hand back to him, I saw it was one showing the tariff charged at Benson’s Hall. It may be, of course, that he was there under a different name, and I should say now that that is very likely, as he was a proud sort of man and seemed rather bitter at having to put up at a cheap place like a coffee palace.”

“It was a mistake I didn’t ask you for a full description of him,” said the medical officer. “It was very careless of me. Let’s have it now.”

“Well, he was tall and well-built,” said the doctor, “and not at all a bad-looking fellow. Clean-shaven and bronzed, though not as sun-burnt as most people would be who had lived in the tropics, as he stated, for ten years. Still, you could tell he’d been living abroad. By the by, a nephew of mine happened to run into him as he was leaving my house and at first was very positive he was a man he had known on Hainan Island just off the mainland of China. He says the chap had been arrested some six months ago for killing a fellow-member of their club in Hoichow, but had bribed his way out of prison and escaped.”

“What—wanted for murder?” exclaimed the medical officer.

“Something like it. The other man was killed in a brawl over a dispute at cards.”

“And did he know your nephew had recognized him?” asked the medical officer sharply.

“My nephew isn’t certain,” replied the doctor. “At any rate the man didn’t show it and that makes my nephew not so positive now.” He laughed. “Or at any rate he says he’s not so positive, though I’m half inclined to think his uncertainty is because, if this fellow is the wanted man, the white community in Hoichow would not like the scandal of his being brought back. In fact, I believe my nephew is sorry now he mentioned anything about him to me.”

“Hum,” remarked the medical officer. “Well, it’s nothing to do with us, but I’ll send my men again to the coffee palace, although I think it’s quite hopeless now.”

The two men duly arrived at Benson Hall and asked to see the proprietor.

“Want to see Mr. Benson,” demanded the elder, planting himself in front of the desk, where the girl clerk had smiled as she recognized them.

“Mr. Benson?” she queried, looking rather puzzled. “There’s no Mr. Benson staying here.”

“I mean the boss,” said the man sharply, “the proprietor of the Hall.”

“But there’s no proprietor,” explained the girl. “It belongs to a company. Mrs. Williams is the manageress. Shall I fetch her?”

The man frowned heavily. He indicated his colleague. “But this gentleman spoke to Mr. Benson when he came here the other day. He gave him two of his tariff cards.” He spoke angrily. “Where is Mr. Benson? What’s the mystery about him?”

The girl looked rather frightened. “There’s no mystery, sir,” she replied, “but the Mr. Benson who once owned the place has been dead more than twenty years.”

The other man stepped forward. “Look here, Miss,” he said persuasively, “we want that gentleman I was talking to the other day, the one who came over to you and got those tariff cards to give me. He was a Mr. Benson, wasn’t he? He told me he was.”

The girl smiled all over her face now. “No, no,” she said quickly, “he was just one of the gentlemen staying here. His name was George Hunter.”

“Hell,” exclaimed the first man, “then where is he now?”

“Oh, he left us a few minutes after he’d given your friend our cards,” said the girl. “He went up and got his suitcase at once, and was gone almost immediately.” She wanted to smile but was afraid to, because, the truth beginning to dawn upon them, the two men were both looking so angry.

A short hard silence followed and then the girl added timidly: “Yes, and he may have been the very gentleman you came to inquire about, although he had given his name here as Hunter. We believe he must have come from abroad quite recently, because the chambermaid who did his room tells us now that his pyjamas had a tag on them with the name of some firm in a foreign country.”

For many moments the two men were so dumbfounded in their anger at the way they realized now they had been tricked, that they did not speak. Then the elder said hoarsely: “Thank you, Miss. We are much obliged. That’s all we wanted to know,” and without another word they turned away and walked out into the street.

“We’ll never catch him now,” said one of them as they were driving off in their car. “He’s too damned clever for us.” He laughed mirthlessly. “The blasted impudence of him! But why the hell didn’t the doctor think of giving us his description in the first instance?” and his colleague shrugged his shoulders disgustedly.

CHAPTER II.—THE OLD MILL.

IN the meanwhile Hardacre was settling down somewhat uneasily in a little inn just outside Burnham, right on the muddy banks of the River Crouch. Of all places in which to hide away he had chosen Burnham because, as a boy, he had once spent a holiday there, and it had always remained in his memory as one of the quietest places he had been in.

Surrounded in every direction by boggy Essex flats, except in summer and then only for a few weeks, the district was as lonely and unfrequented as anyone could wish, the only permanent inhabitants being a few fishermen and some farmers with very small holdings.

He had remembered, too, a lonely little inn which stood all by itself about half a mile out of the town on its seaward side and, when he had been driven there that cold and misty evening, his heart sank in dismay at its desolate appearance.

Inside the inn, however, everything looked comfortable and clean, and the man and his wife who kept it were delighted when Hardacre informed them that, if the accommodation and the cooking were satisfactory, he might be staying for some time. He said he had but recently recovered from a serious illness and, a writer by profession, he wanted perfect peace and quiet.

The inn-keeper assured him with a grin that he would have all the quiet he wanted, as in the winter, from one week’s end to another, no customers except an occasional fisherman and an odd farm-hand or two came in for refreshment.

That night, after a well-cooked and nicely served meal, washed down by two bottles of good beer, Hardacre took stock of his position, and, but for the fear that the Health Authorities might be putting detectives after him, he would have been by no means’ in a depressed state of mind.

A shrewd, intelligent man, he had fully taken in all that the doctor had told him regarding his complaint, and that leprosy, like tuberculosis, would not flourish in healthy and well-nourished bodies. So he was confident then that he would be able to keep the disease at bay and had even hopes that in time he would throw it off altogether. As for what the Health people would do, well, he would just have to chance things there. If they were, indeed, to start upon an intensive search for him, he was hoping they would have expected him to have hidden away in some crowded city and not for one moment have gone to a little country town so near to the great Metropolis.

Anyhow, he would keep himself as much out of sight as possible and, when out for exercise and fresh air, take his walks where he was not likely to meet many people. He remembered there were nearly five miles of lonely and almost uninhabited country along the river bank towards the sea, and so there would be many chances against him coming upon any curious strangers. Also, he would grow a beard and that would soon make his appearance very different from any description which might have been given about him.

As to how he was going to earn his living, that would have to wait a while. He had nearly £1,400 in good English bank-notes sewn up in his belt and, at any rate, living economically they would provide for him for three or four years. Of an enterprising and go-ahead disposition, long before the money was spent he was certain he would have thought out some profitable occupation to follow.

In the days which followed, time did not hang nearly so heavily upon his hands as he had been expecting, and after the first rather anxious weeks, he became confident he was safe and would not now be discovered. The innkeeper and his wife were an unlettered incurious couple, and the few strangers he encountered upon his walks, after wishing him polite good-days, seemed to take no further interest in him.

When January came and the trader had been at the inn three months, he was satisfied with his condition of health, and quite sure the drug he had been most religiously taking was doing him good. Certainly, two more little spots had come out on his shin, but they were very small ones, and the first spot did not seem to have grown any bigger. In himself, too, he was feeling much better and his appetite was good.

With the coming of early spring, however, he thought it would not be safe to go on staying in Burnham much longer. Certainly, the rough bearded fellow he looked now was very different from the well-dressed patient who had consulted Dr. Monk. Still, he was not intending to take any chances, and he remembered having seen a large stuffed trout in a glass case in the doctor’s consulting room. So it might be the doctor was an enthusiastic fisherman and, the million to one chance eventuating, he might one day come down to Burnham to fish in the Crouch.

Besides, he felt there was another reason why he must leave the place. Although the charges at the inn were very moderate, he was not living anything like as cheaply as he had expected he would. He found he could not do without luxuries, and had taken to sending up to Town for expensive delicatessen foods and cases of good champagne, with a dozen bottles of the wine often not lasting him a fortnight. Also, he must have the most expensive Egyptian cigarettes, and he could easily get through from thirty to forty of them in a day.

So he realized he must start earning money, but in exactly what way he had no idea until one came to him from a poultry-farmer whose place, about three miles from Burnham, he used to pass on his lonely walks in the direction of the sea. He had often noticed the man at work, but for a long while nothing more had passed between them than a wave of the hand. Then one day the man came running up to him to borrow a box of matches and, after a short conversation, asked him to come and look at his birds.

Rather bored, Hardacre complied with his request, and to his surprise, found himself interested at once. The poultry farm was small, but most methodically kept and, even to the trader’s inexperienced eyes, contained some magnificent birds.

The man appeared to be delighted to have someone to talk to, and said he was doing well, very well and—with a grin—much better than he would like the Income Tax people to know. He said he had been there six years, but had only just learnt the secret of success and that was to sell his birds at a high price.

“You know,” he explained, “I came to realize it is much easier to sell a live bird for a guinea than a dead one for three and six. So, I go in for stud birds now and breed from only the very best. I sell no hens under a guinea and ask five for my roosters. I am beginning to get known and people from all over the country buy from me. These Indian Game are my speciality. Lovely birds, aren’t they?”

“They are indeed,” agreed Hardacre. “They look quite up to exhibition standard.”