The Black Motor Car

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVI, Issue 30, 4 February 1905, Page 14

The Black Motor Car

By J. B. HARRIS BURLAND.

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CHAPTER XXX. "VENGEANCE IS MINE." "i only ask two things of you," said Jordison, "and then you shall both go free." He was standing by the iron gate at the end of tne tunnel. Arthur Holme and Lady Clitl'e both faced him. Their ■wrists were still bound, but their faces glowed with the light of a great joy. iiiey had been very near t« death, but now life, and all that life me-vnt to them, was within their grasp. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, the man who had held them in his cruel gTip, had bid them both go free. The night was over and the day was at hand. The sun itself, now rising from the east and turning the wide expanse of wet sand into a glory of gold, was not so resplendent as the light of freedom that had suddenly flashed up from the dark horizon of pain and death. "I only ask two things of you," repeated Jordison, "but }ou must swear on the holy cross that you will do them. • Iv the lirst place, you must both swear never to reveal eilher directly or indirectly, this hiding-piaee ol" mine, nor give , ■my assistance, eilher direct or "nduecc, to those who desire to capture mc." •I will swear that," replied Holme, sternly, "though God knows what evil 1 shall do the community." Lady Agnes murmured some words to the same effect, and Jordison produced a small bone cross. '"This cross,"' he said, "was found in these caverns, iv the bony fingers of a | man who perhaps died for his faith in the time of the Romans. It is, without iloubt, a most holy and sacred relic. You will each swear the oaths 1 desire by your God and the hope of your future 'salvation, and you will each kiss this symbol oi your 'faith to seal the wordo you have jken." Holme swore the desired oath and kissed the little cross. Then Lady Agnes did the same, repeating the words in a faint ami faltering voice, and shuddering as her lips touched the bone symbol of early Christianity. "Now," continued Jordison, "you must each swear to mc a separate oath. You, Arthur Holme, must swear that you will tell Lady Agnes Cliffc the true story of your life, and that you will marry her before a year has passed. You, Lady Agnes Cliffe, must swear that you will marry the man you love in spite of all opposition on the part of your parents. There is nothing disgraceful in his past history. He is a true and sterling man. I have done him a great wrong, and I intend to repair it. Do you both agree to swear these oaths?" The two young people looked at each other in bewilderment. They could hardly believe their ears. Jordison had attempted both their lives, and now, as en alternative to death, he asked them to swear to fulfil the dearest wish of their hearts. They could understand the necessity of the first oath, but the second one was incomprehensible. "Why," began Holme in a stammering voice. "Don't ask any questions," broke in Jordison savagely and abruptly, "for I 6ha'n't answer them. Will you swear?" '"I will, so help mc God," Holme said fervently, "if Lady Agnes " and ho stopped and looked enquiringly at the woman he loved. ■ "Yes, Arthur," she said faintly. Her white face flushed with crfmson, and there was a tender light in her eyes. They both swore the oath, and once more they kissed the cross. "The hirdway goes round to the back ©i the island," said Jordison. "Keep close to the land till you come to a white piece of rock. Th«n strike across the sand in. & straight line between the white rock and a black post on the shore beyond the salt marsh. You will then find ft road end have no difficulty in reaching home. Be sure and keep the straight line between the points 1 have named. On either side of you lies an enemy that will not be so merciful to you as William Jordison." With these words Jordison took out c, knife and cut their bonds and they xeexe free. Without another word be unlocked the iron gate, and. dwing in** it back on its hinges, stood aside to let them pass. They went out together without a woTd. Jordison watched their figures die appear round the end of the tunDel. He dosed the gate with a crash end locked it. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and picking trp a lamp from the ground, retraced hia steps into the tunnel. And so William Jo-rdison went back into the darkness, and his son went out into the light Twelve hours later the black* car Btood in the oentre of the cavern ready tfor its last journey. Jordison had decided to run it to within, a. few miles of Liverpool before daybreak, and to mak-e his -way from that port to America™ He had shaved off his beard and moustache, and bis gaunt face looked wolfish, and hideous in its nakedness. Lipp had packed such things as they required for the voyage £n two trunks, and placed them on the car. Concealed about their clothes, sewn here and there an linings, scattered singly so as to escape the notice of the most diligent Custom's officer, were £50,000 worth of jewels. They had .been picked from their settings and occupied an amount of space that was ridiculously small compared to their value. Lipp lft the lamps, and the two men took their seats in the car. Then Jordison started the engines, and a few seconds later they glided through the open door and slipped down the long narrow passage to the sea. When they emerged into the open the moon was shining brightly over the waste of sand nnd water. Jordison steered slowly round the island till he reached the ■white rock, then he turned off at right angles and made straight for a twinkling speck of yellow in the west. The black post was invisible at night, but this light, which shone from the West 35ay lightship, lay some ten miles beyond in the same straight line. They crossed the dangerous sands in Bafety, though every now and then a sudden einking of the wheel warned the driver that he had run over the edge of the track. Then they glided tip a gentle slope, passed over the cd"v of the bank which kept the tide out of the low lying land, and weat slowly westwards over the marshes. The road was execrable. It was little »ore than track, and the stones 2?Ln ro^ u4ed thro «efc the thin tayer ? .\, ran parallel *<> tt» road leading to the Red House, some eight »il« north of it, and joined tb* old Roman Causeway. been originally conmmmoi to bring up sand and ehingle

Antkar ef " I>aeobr»," "The Unepea&able Thiag," Kie,, Eta.

from the beach, but had not bea usod for many years. Where it joined the Causeway" it had sunk several inches, and was submerged for a hundred yards in a shallow lake of water. On either side of it lay m&nj miles of desolate marsh land. When the motor reached the main road Jordison turned to the left and went southward. Lapp pointed out in picturesque language that this was not the way to Liverpool. "I am aware of that, lipp," Jordison replied grimly. "1 have to call at Heatherstone Hall -first." Lipp pointed out the risk and broke into a torrent of oaths at Jordison'a fool-hardiness. But the latter intimated that his servant could leave the car then and there if he liked, and lipp relepsed into sullen silence. Shortly after 11 o'clock the car glided under the shadows of the overhanging trees in the park. Jordfson alighted, and told Lipp to keep hi 3 eyes and ears open. If anyone discovered the car ha was to run straight ba-ck to the cavern. He, Jordison, would understand what had happened, and could make bis way to their hiding place on foot. Whin he had given these final instructions, he climbed over the wall and made his way through the plantation into the park. His gaunt face looked horrible in the moonlight. The loss of his beard and moustache laid bare all the evil lines of hia features. The head of a vulture, peering round for the dead carcase of man or beast was not more lcrathly to look upon. And Jbrdison's errand that night was death. He had resolved to kill Marie do la Mothe before he left England. Then, at last, his life-work would be accomplished. He had. found his son and provided the young man's future happiness. It only remained to pay the debt he owed to the •woman who had made "him the thing he was. His unbalanced mind, no longer able to distinguish between right and wrong, saw no evil in the thing he was about to do. The cold-blooded murder of a defenceless woman had assumed the appearance of a splendid act of justice. Jordison compared himself to an executioner, who carries oat the sentence of the law. No criminal, he argued to himself, was more worthy of death than this woman. She bad taken no life, but she had ruined that which was more precious than mere physical existence—the soul of a man who might have done much good, but who had sunk lorrer than the beasts that perish. Jordison saw nothing of his own free will in the matter. He only saw that all the misery and crime of his life lay at the door of Marie de la Mothe, and for that he had sentenced her to death. He crept slowly through the park, moving on all fours from tree to tree, and crawling slowly to the great white house that glistened in the moonlight. He was but a small black patch on the grass, to the eye of Ids God no more than a wolf advancing on its prey,, but to himself the I stern shadow of impending gloom, resist- i less, glorious in his purpose, inevitable. In either pocket lay a heavy loaded revolver, and he carried a dozen spare cartridges. But these weapons were only to be used in case of discovery, when hj might be cornered and have to fight for his life. For the purpose of his mission bo trusted to a pair of muscular hands, the primeval weapons of man. When he reached the house he was surprised to see that it was in darkness. Not a single light appeared in the long line of windows, save that which the glass reflected back from the moon. Aβ a rule the Heatherstones entertained largely while they were in residence, and had guests at dinner nearly every night in the week. But to-night they had evidently gone to bed early, and Jordison was grateful for the good fortune which had smiled on hia enterprise. It was, in his own mind, but one more pr#of that he was a chosen instrument of justice. He crept cautiously through the shrubberies and made his way to the north sids of the house. He effected an entrance through one of the windows of the servants' hall, and, talcing off his boots, groped his way to the foot of the big staircase. He ascended this, and found himself in a long corridor, dimly lit by two gas jets, turned down to small bluish tongues of flame. He walked along it on tiptoe, and came into another and wider corridor, thickly carpeted, and leading to the principal bedrooms of the east wing. Here he was on known ground, and had no difficulty in locating the door of the Countess' bedroom. It was, as he had ascertained many months previously, the third door from the end of the corridor. He placed hie fingers on the handle and turning it softly, opened the door. Once again good fortune was on bis side, for after the burglaries at Heatherstone Hall it was more than probable that it would have been locked. The room was in total darkness. He entered quickly and closing the door behind Mm, turned the key. Once in the room and out of the light of the passage he breathed more securely. He leaned against the wall and listened. There was absolute silencj. Hia band tonehed the switch of the electric light. Then he hesitated. Though he knew that heaven would applaud his deed, lie had no wish to see the th'ng he was about to do. No, she should die there in the darkness. It was a more fitting end to her life. Ho held his breath and listened again. He thought it odd that he could not hear the sound of her breathing. The sudden thought struck him that he had perhaps, after all, mistaken the room, or that the family had left Heatherstone Hall, and that Lady Heatnerstone, departing from her habits of over two years, had gone with them. Once more he placed his hand upon tb.e switch, and once more he hesitated. Then he crept stealthily from the wall and as he moved across the soft carpet to the bed, he suddenly noticed that there was a strange smell in the room, a sweet sickly smell like p?rfnm?, or the scent of hothouse flowers. For some reason or other it brought back a vivid memory of a scene in his past life—the first day he had evpr kissed Marie d° la Mothe. He remembered it well. She was pinning a gardenia in his buttonhole. When he reached the ed»p of th° bed he stormed, and listened. Hp passed his hand Hsrhtlv over the coverle f and discovered that there was someoae lying beneath it. Then he moved Ws fingers along the recumbent form and across a pair oi folded arms, till t>ey touched the outline of a face hidden beneath a piece of whret. Hs knew then

that it was the f»ee of the Countess of Heatherstone. He passed his bands under the edge of the mask, and suddenly gripped the throat. But directly, his fingers dosed on the 1 neck he whipped bis hands away and staggered back from the bed, •with difficulty suppressing a cry of horror. The flesh vras cold as marble, and the ctart of it went through his whole body from head, to foot. He crept through the darkness till he found the switch by the door. Then he • turned the light on and looked, towards . the bed. There lay the Countess of i Heatherstone with her arms folded t across her breast., and a cross of white . flovrers at her feet. William Jordison i went over and looked at her long and earnestly. The -white hand of death had , hidden the ravages o-t disease, as snow [ hides the ugliness of a devastated land. i Then suddenly he stepped forward, and ; replacing the velvet mask on her face, crept from the room like a beaten i hound. God had taken her pnnishnien t ; into his own hands, and William Jordison knew that his Maker had discarded j him. as a man discards a broken knife. 1 (The End.)