Evening Star Newspaper, September 22, 1935, Page 86

£ O Magazine Section THE STORY SO FAR ‘ N 7}1[&\' Alan Irvine arrived at Falcon Castle in the Highlands of Scotland, he found that strange things had been happening. Through the death of his grandfather, Felix Swinburn, Alan had fallen heir to the place, and he tried to unravel the mystery of why the old man had been living like a hermit in this lonely house on a moun- tainside, with two elderly servants to attend to him. Also. old Swinburn was supposed to have squandered his fortune, and yet for some time he had been drawing a good income from squne strange source. In the midst of a winter storm, Lucille Paradene arrived at Falcon Castle with & middle-aged man called Mr. Paul. Thev appeared surprised at the news of Felix Swin- burn's death, but they refused to tell Alan the object of their visit. Thzt night Mr. Paul was murdered by an unknown hand, and by the time dawn broke. it was found that the body had mysteriously disappeared. Snow had been falling heavily and Falcon Castle was now completely cut off from the outside world. During the morning, a newcomer paid an unexpected visit to Alan. This was Mr. Roger Barnett, owner of Falcon Lodge, a small house near at hand. and he said he had arrived the previous evening, his object being to rent Falcon Castle on behalf of a friend. Although Lucille Paradene and Roger Barnett appearéd to be strangers, Alan suspected that they had met before, and the next night heactually saw Lucille going secretly through the snow to Barnett's house. Alan decided to keep his own counsel and closely watch events. On the chance that the snowplows had cleared the roads as far as the little inn some miles up the glen, he tried to make his way along the hillside, hoping to get in touch with the police and report the mur- der. To his surprise, he came across a stranger who was watching Falcon Castle through a field glass. Alan, who is the narrator of the story, tells in his own words what transpired. CHAPTER IV 00D afternoon!” As I called out to the man, 1 wondered what would happen. My footsteps had been silent in the snow, and I had given no sign of my approach. But he did not move. Either some sixth sense had already warned him of my presence, or else his ears must have been un- commonly keen, for several moments had passed before he lowered the field glass and turned towards me. **Afternoon, stranger,” he replied calmly. “Where did you spring from?” _ He was a short dark-haired man of about fifty, with a heavy, clean-shaven face and keen grey eyes. Dropping his glasses into a leather case that hung from his shoulder, he pulled out a tobacco pouch and began to fill his pipe. “Where did I spring from?” I repeated. “That's just what I was going to ask you.” The man gave me a sharp glance, then smiled. ‘“Roxburgh’s my name. Not that I suppose it conveys much to you. I've been staying down at Falcon Inn, and that con- founded snow storm at the week-end has held me up. Where on earth do you hang out?” “Falcon Castle,” I told him. He gave a low whistle. ‘“Then the place is still occupied? I thought the old man had pegged out — old Swinburn, I mean.” “Quite correct. He died last Tuesday. My name's Irvine, and I'm his grandson. But why.” I enquired, ‘‘are you surprised that the house is still occupied?” He lit his pipe before he answered me. *‘As a matter of fact,” he said slowly, ‘I was st having a squint down at the place to see { there were any signs of life. Macgregor hie’s the man that keeps the Inn — was won- dering if the old manservant and his wife (44 I'HIS WEEK alcon Castle A man finds it hard to believe a beautiful woman guilty. (ontinuing a new serial of love AUGUSTUS MUIR Author /{/. “The Riddle of Garth” and Other Best Seller. September 22, 1935 and mystery by {lusrration by Karl Godwin : [ found myself looking into the white face of Lucille Paradene were still there. He spoke about sending over food if they'd run short of it."” “Thanks, we have plenty.” I assured him. “1 was just making for the Inn myself. when I caught sight of you.” “Nothing wrong, I hope?'’ he said casually. “Nothing I care to discuss at the moment," I returned. “‘I'm rather keen to know if there’s any word of the snowplow coming to open the roads.” The man shook his head. “No word of it this morning when I left. We've been snowed in at the Inn since Saturday night. Not a hope of getting anywhere.” “Do you think I could find my way to the nearest town,” I asked him, “that is, if I kept on the higher ground?" “Good heavens, no!" he exclaimed. “*You'd be a lunatic to try it. Blairavon is a good fifteen miles away. Even if I knew every corrie in the hills, T wouldn’t run the risk. Unless it's something very urgent, 1'd sit . T MV T mat-tr tight and wait until the roads are cleared."” “How long do vou think that should be?” The man laughed. ‘‘Lord knows! I've never been here in the winter before. Why not come down to the Inn and see what Macgregor This struck me as good sense; and, making our way through the trees, we descended the hillside towards the east. Mr. Roxbuigh's previous track through the snow was clearly Continued on page 13 Mag mov mer rece “Yo all t I self. couj ness skin and cub mesz are clou trer 1 rea kee and mo! hat she Sere I out Ty fine tur 1k to