Evening Star Newspaper, September 22, 1935, Page 91

agazine Section elt my anger rising. I swore I would 1ot rest until I had discovered the ruth. [ had the back-door key in my pocket; but before entering, 1 hought 1 would walk quietly round he place to see that everything was hipshape I continued along the path in front »f the house, and was about to turn the corner when I came to an abrupt halt. In one of the windows of the library, 1 caught a glimpse of a light, which suddenly went out. I made my way round to the back door, unlocked it, and hurried towards the library. The door was closed, but it opened o my touch. I paused for a moment o listen before entering the room. At first I thought I was alone; then sud- enly 1 heard a choking gasp. There was the sound of a struggle, and a woman's voice rang out in alarm. Lucille Paradene! That was my first thought, but somehow it was not like Lucille’'s voice. My heavy walking stick was still in my hand. I made a rush across the room, to be stopped short as 1 blundered into a small table and sent it toppling to the floor. Grasping my stick, I listened; but the noise of the scuffle had ceased. There was complete silence. That two people had been struggling to- gether I had no doubt, and one of them had certainly been a woman. I went forward again, this time more cautiously. And then I heard quick footsteps. I called out in the darkness, demanding to know who was there. As soon as | had spoken, I realized I had made a mistake. It would have been wiser to keep quiet. The footsteps stopped. 1 was about to go forward again when | was taken by surprise. Before | had time to defend myself, a man had hurled himself furiously upon me, and a pair of strong hands went around my throat. The impact was so0 terrific that I lost my balance and went down with a crash. I must have been half stunned. The fingers at my throat tightened; and I can remember noting, as I tore at them wildly, that the hands of my assailant were gloved. I thought he was going to choke the very life out of me, when he released his hold and leaped to his feet. For a few moments, 1 lay gasping Lor breath; then I began to scramble up unsteadily. I was still dazed, but 1 could plainly hear the voice that spoke across the library in a sharp whisper: ““I recommend you to clear out, Mr. Alan Irvine! You remember what hap- pened lo Mr. Paul . . ." Nearly a minute must have passed before 1 was able to pull myself to- gether. I am fairly well built, and I had little doubt that if it had been a fair trial of strength, 1 would have been able to hold my own. But the attack had been so sudden that I had gone down on the floor with force enough to leave me stupified. Molding a lighted match above my head, I found myself looking into the white face of Lucille Paradene. We were alone in the room, and I hurried out to the corridor. There was no sound to be heard, however, and when I raced along to the front door, I found it locked on the inside. How the intruder had got away 1 could not imagine, and I knew there was little chance of my being able to come to grips with him again. With- out further delay I made my way back to the library. Lighting two big candles on my grandfather’'s desk, I turned to Lucille Paradene. “Well?" I said shortly. As if to support herself, she gripped the back of a chair, and stared at me ®as though I had been a ghost. “I fancy I arrived just in time?” I remarked. She moistened her lips. “I didn’t know you had got back, Mr. Irvine.” “Did I hear you call for help just now,” I asked, “or was it my im- agination?”’ “It was true,” she muttered. Her glance fell, and she looked towards a cupboard door which stood open. Then she gave a slight start, and I saw that her gaze had fastened on something on the floor. Stepping quickly forward, I picked up a bunch of four or five small keys on a steel ring. The unknown man Falcon Castle Continued from page thirteen must have dropped them during our struggle. “This looks interesting, Miss Para- dene,” I said, flinging them down with a jingle on my grandfather's desk. ““The man who has just paid us a visit must be rather sick at leaving these behind him. Perhaps you’ll explain what’s been happening.” “There’s very little to explain,” she said breathlessly. “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I'd come down for a book to read. I noticed the cupboard door was open . . . I felt certain somebody else was in this room, and then the candle was knocked out of my hand.” “Do vou know who it was?” She shook her head. “I could hear him moving about, but I don't know what he was doing. Then you arrived — and somebody caught hold of me in the dark, and tried to stop me from calling out. That’s all I know.” The girl certainly looked scared. 1f she had been telling me lies, she had told them very cleverly. But her de- ception the previous night, when she had paid a stealthy visit to Mr. Roger Barnett at Falcon Lodge, was too fresh in my memory for me to be easily hoodwinked. I picked up the keys from the desk and examined them. One of them fitted the cupboard door; and when I inserted another in the top drawer of the big desk, th: lock moved smoothly. “‘Have yeu ever set eyes on these betore?”” 1 asked, holding up the bunch, and looking her straight in the eye. Lucille Paradene met my gaze for a moment, then turned away and dropped into a chair, covering her face with her hands. I thought she was going to break down altogether, but suddenly she recovered and raised her head. “Need I answer, Mr. Irvine?” she said in a curiously harsh tone. ‘“‘Even if I gave you my word of honor, you wouldn’t accept it. Why not say frankly you don’t trust me?” “‘Merely because it wouldn’'t be polite, Miss Paradene,” 1 replied slowly. “Polite — at a time like this?"” There was a faint sneer in her voice. “Yesterday I thought we understood each other. Were you making yourself s0 charming merely to — to trap me into giving myself away?"”’ “On the other hand, Miss Para- dene,”” I remarked, *“‘if you were try- ing to convince me of your childlike innocence, you succeeded admirably. But I've changed my mind on that doubt ful point.” “The reason?"” She flashed a quick glance at me. It took some presence of mind to prevent myself from blurting out that I knew of her visit to Roger Barnett the night before. Since 1 had made a firm resolution to keep this knowledge to myself until I had learned more, I held my tongue and turned aside her question by asking another. “You say you don't know who was in this room just now, Miss Para- dene. Are you quite certain it wasn't Mr. Roger Barnett?”’ The girl started. *“What makes you think so?” “I won't discuss that,”” I replied. “But one thing strikes me as rather odd. Everybody seems anxious for me to clear out of Falcon Castle. On be- half of a friend — real or imaginary — Mr. Barnett has offered to rent the place at aridiculously high figure. And you heard what was said in this room a few minutes ago. I was warned to get out.” Lucille Paradene sat without mov- ing. “I don’t think that was Mr. Roger Barnett,” she said in a dull voice. “Perhaps not,” I admitted with a shrug. “Anyhow, I've just been talk- ing over the affair with a man who is staying up the glen at the Falcon Inn. Roxburgh’s his name.” ‘“Roxburgh!” The girl gripped the arms of her chair. “What is he like?"’ ““Does his appearance matter? He strikes me as a man of common sense. He was a friend of old Felix Swin- burn’s, and what he told me confirms my own impression. There’s been something mighty queer going on at this house for the last twelve months THIS WEEK or so, and I fancy you know a good deal about it, Miss Paradene.” I went over to her and looked down into her big dark eyes. ““If you don’t choose to speak, then I warn you of this: In another day or two, the police will be here, and I intend to tell them every- thing 1 know. Is that quite clear?” “I understand, Mr. Irvine.” There was a defiant note in her voice, and she rose to her feet. “What do you propose to do now?” “Several things, Miss Paradene,” I said abruptly, picking up and light- ing the candle which she said had been knocked out of her hand. “As for yourself, you may go back to bed. I'd strongly recommend it. Good-night. ... Ah, one moment,”” I added iron- ically, waving towards the shelves, “didn’t you come down for a book?"” Her eves met mine contemptuously, and then she slowly walked from the library. I gave her time to get back to her own room betore I hurried to the upper floor where Dunstan slept. In answer to my knock, the old man turned out of bed at once. He came to his door, pulling on a faded, red dress- ing-gown which had evidently once belonged to my grandfather. “You're very late, sir! Is there any- thing I can do?” In a few words, I explained what had taken place in the library and told him to put on some more clothes. “Whoever the visitor was,” 1 said, as we went downstairs, ‘‘he took the precaution of wearing gloves. Evi- dently he's afraid to leave finger- prints. I'd like your opinion, Dunstan -— do you think anyone can have been concealed in thic house for the last few days?” ‘““We can’t be sure of anything, Mr. Irvine,” he said in an unsteady voice, “not after what’s happened.” ““Then there must be some hidden entrance,” 1 said emphatically. “I'm going to make another search. There’s no good waiting until morning.” We went down the steep cellar stairs, and 1 walked slowly around, examining the walls. Arched wine- bins covered with dust occupied most of the space, and a man could certainly not have got through the tiny grating that gave a little ventilation. Locking the cellar door behind us, we went carefully over all the rooms on the ground floor. The windows at the back had iron bars, and the others were securely fastened. Opposite the library was the little private chapel with its row of oak benches below the high stained-glass window. As we paused on the stone-flagged floor, I could not help recalling what Dunstan had told me about my grand- father — how, in the last week of his life, the old man had spent many hours alone in this tiny chapel. I smiled grimly. Had the old renegade been repenting all his sins — or was there some other explanation of those solitary hours? My eye fastened upon the narrow staircase that led up to Felix Swinburn’s bedroom. “We can go upstairs this way,” I suggested. But when I reached the top step I remembered that the door was locked on the other side, and I told Dunstan todescend. My fingers were already on the latch, however; and as I was turning away, I feit the door move to my touch. “Hold on a moment, Dunstan!” 1 called out. Stepping across the threshold of the room, I stood still. I can remember the curious feeling of foreboding that swept over me. It was the same sensation that had chilied me on the morning when 1 dis- covered that the dead body of Mr. Paul had been spirited away. It was an absurd fear, a fear of the unknown, and I braced myself against it. Then an odd fancy came to me. Was it from the satyr mask mirror on the wall that the strange feeling of evil emanated? I looked up at the leering face of the satyr carved above the frame, and I could not help shivering. All the vileness in the world seemed to have been captured in that ugly smile, and I resolutely turned away. Then I gave a cry, and took a few quick steps forward. The white sheet still lay spread out upon the big couch at the foot of the bed. T jerked it aside, and found my- self looking down at the dead white face of Mr. Paul. (To Be Continued Next Week) He ‘““Hired Out” as Governor Continued from page seven state were intolerable. Some 27 per cent of the people were on relief. Governor Murray was piling up a $20,000,000 state debt. The state constitution forbade his succeeding himself. Friends came again to “E.W."”” Why not run for Governor? The real fight would be for the Democratic nomina- tion. “E.W."” thought it over. He believed he could help his state back on its teet. He had definite ideas of what should be done. Well, he’d make the tight. He might do some good — and at least it would be another adventure. Night and day he toured the state, speaking in every city, town and cross- roads. He preached a broad doctrine of social security. ‘“‘Social security,” he said, ‘“‘means that every man and woman shall have a chance to earn an honest living and to live a decent, Christian life.” He pledged that he would build sub- sistence homesteads and carry through a great program of rural rehabilitation. He promised work in flood control that would help stop floods and at the same time build lakes and ponds. He would bring in new industries to take up the slack of the city unemployed; and he would raise adequate funds for the relief of the aged and un- employables. The great house on the hilltop was buzzing with activity. He won the nomination and was elected by the largest majority ever given a governor in Oklahoma. Then he called together his Brain Trust and mapped out his state needs. The Democratic platform had enumerated his pledges and de- mands, and now he and his lieutenants worked out the methods. His Legislature met the first of this year. The Lower House was filled with young lawyers, just graduated from the school of county prosecuting attorneyships. The Senate was filled with older and more experienced men. Governor Marland sent in his bills. He asked for authority to carry out the Democratic pledges; $5,000,000 for relief of aged and unemployables; authority and money to cooperate with the Federal government for flood control dams; $1,000,000 for a soil erosion program; money and power to create subsistence homesteads; an appropriation to bring in new in- dustries. But it was all easier said than done. Opposition began to develop. Certain sensitive toes began to get tramped on. Big special interests got busy with their lobbies. Jealousies developed. Some of Marland’s liaison men were said to have been a little too patroniz- ing with the youthful legislators. The net result was that the Gov- ernor's pet schemes were stymied. The Senate stood shoulder to shoulder with Marland, but the Lower House simply refused to play ball. At the close of the regular session in May they had chiseled the flood control appropriation from $1,000,000 to $150,000; reduced the $5,000,000 relief request to half that amount and given the control to the local county boards; cut the state planning bill from $1,- 000,000 to $50,000; killed outright the housing proposal, the new industries board, the highway appropriation to match Federal funds, the state police bill and the old age pension plan. “E.W.” was still mad when I en- tered his office in the noisy, boisterous state capitol building; he was a little cooled off when I had dinner with him that night in the Governor’s mansion; and he was quite calm about it all by the Saturday night we arrived at his million dollar palace in Ponca City. But even if he was cooled off he was none the less determined as to what he was going to do. He was simply going to take the fight directly to the people of the state. If their legislature, which had been elected on the definite pledge that it would carry out the Democratic program and pledges — which were Marland’s program and pledges — would not do the people’s bidding, then the people could do the 15 job themselves through referendums. “‘One by one I'm going to submit to the people the items the Lower House refused to pass,” Marland told me with a snap of his strong, determined jaws. “I'm going straight over the heads of the young gentlemen. And I'm going to try to do something that all the oldtime politicians tell me is im- possible; I'm going to ask the people to vote increased taxes on them- selves — not bond issues, which they're perfectly willing to do, but actual taxes to carry out this social program of ours. I'm going to tell them quite frankly that if they want to get the state back on its feet and to develop some real social security, they’ll have to pay for it here and now.” Twenty-seven years in Oklahoma has given Marland a slight southern drawl, and as he swings into political discussion it comes quite naturally. “I told 'em I'd hired out to 'em to do these definite things and that if they didn’t want me to do "em any more it was all right with me. I was only workin’ for "em.” Then he slowly unfolded his vision of his own great state. “Here in Okla- homa,” he said, “we produce enough food for ten times our population — yet each night 100,000 children go i0 bed hungry. A year ago 750,000 of our citizens ate the bread of national charity, and yet we grow enough wheat for 10,000,000 loaves of bread to be sold each day to people outside the state. Our herds give 4,000,000 quarts of milk daily for export. We grow 10 per cent of the cotton of the United States — yet our people are underclad. Our hens give us 5,000,000 eggs daily, and we have millions of head of cattle — but our families are undernourished and underhoused. It is ridiculous that in this state of abun- dance our. people should exist in scarcity.” Then he swung into his most cherished theory: ‘““The one permanent solution to the millions of unemployed in our cities is to get them back on the land. There are at least 3,500,000 city families in the United States that must be placed on small homesteads before they forget how to farm. They must be helped to return to the land as a way of life and not a way to fortune. It will take money to do this — and it is only one of the necessary steps to reach social security. I believe that the people of Oklahoma can be sold this whole idea, and that they’'ll be willing to pay for it.” This is the fight that he is taking directly to the citizens. He may lose, but he’ll go down fighting. 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