"THE SIGN OF SECRECY," Or, THE DARK HOUSE OF DACRE.

Auckland Star, Volume XL, Issue 17, 20 January 1909, Page 10

"THE SIGN OF SECRECY," Or, THE DARK HOUSE OF DACRE.

BY EDGAR PIGKERING, ~ Author 6f "A Bemoxseless Accuser,". ."A Witness-from the-Grave, "Was She. Guijty'f' "Murder Will Gut/- Etc. } Etc. •"

• ON SHOOTER'S HILL. «-In a quarter of an hour from the time Slark had quitted the flat in Victoria Street, he.aaiJlJ3_compa.njpn were,.speedSg along the Weqtmmsteff-Road.with the [amps of the Mercedes cap whichHMark was drivingat-a pace-whichVat any-oi>her time in£6. cori>E3ct with the police, casting a lurid light iar before"': r^WSaT^^SST^loWL' ' jS7a3 almost free from traffic, and as the car dashed onward Mark gave a glance once or twice at the figure sitting silently by his side. There was a wolfish look in the man's eyes, an expectancy of some eagerly Ringed for thing to happen, but not a word had passed his lips until Mark' broke the siience that had lasted until j they reached the broad thoroughfare of I tie" Old Kent Road. I '* "You mentioned a name in connection with Jacobs," he said—"Eglesias—what has he to do with this affair?" \ - "He advised Jacobs how to manage it," j implied his companion surlily. '"I can't iell you anything more. Eglesias would" Eave shared the profits, I suppose. I've 1 been only a tool—you've seen how I've been served." —He was evidently unwilling or unable to say more, and Mark decided not j io question him further, for after all, j if mattered nothing to him what interest Mr Guzman Eglesias might have had in the plot which Jacobs way engaged in. To wrest the papers from him and I return them to Mr Marchmont was' Mark's only concern, for although as yet lie could not have given a reason for..tbe. Confident belief "he felt; that the papers j were in Jacobs' possession at that mo-1 imentjbe was so convinced of the fact, j that come what might of that night's j wild drive, he would not return to j libndon without them. He was thinking of what Mr Marchmont had told him that evening, of the vital importance tlie papers were, and the generous recompense he was willing to. make for their recoveiy. Not that Mark meant ■to accept his money, for there' was something a thousandfold better than that to be gained. It was Mr Marchmont's | consent to Joan's engagement to> himself j tJiat had prompted Mark' to follow the fugitive clerk. | /The car was running quietly at a great! speed which Mark ha 4. nqt. checl:e4 once sftice turning into' the* Old Kent Road, a.nd as the lights flashed upem familiar landmarks for an instant, the excite•ujent of the chase began to grew on him. Every mile overpast was bringing 'himnearer to Mr Jacobs , and as they dashed through New Cross he glanced down again at the figure beside him, feeling the sharp sting of the Air as the car dilshed through it, with a fierce delight. _-*"We ought to overhaul Jacobs pretty 1 Boon, I think," he said. j -"If we are not smashed up first. Look I out! There's a string of market carts coming from. .rep1y..,.,,. 4 'see* soihe dim' obstructions iv the road, and the next_ moment as it seemed-the car was upon them, clearing first one and then another • of the heavily freighted carts by a few I inches only, and evoking a yell of angry remonstrance from their sleepy drivers. 1 Then Mark and his companion were flying once more along the unimpeded road, mounting at length on to the Heath with its stretches of flickering lights that spread; like, .a.-;network, gver the lonely expanse across which the car seemed to be gliding, its throbbing engine sending out a hum that alone disturbed the deael silence through which they were travelling. Shooter's Hili lay black against the;. clear sky, and Mark, bending forward,; keeping the car clear for the ascent,; spoke again to his companion. "We shall overtake Jacobs soon,I fancy. We've come at a very fair pace," he said. "Did you see that light % 1 There it is again— ;;trees." yonder," exclaimed the--others--*~— ** —«^ Mark growled out a response as the car lurched round a bend lifting its near wheels from the ground, and theß__settliag its,elf_,pnc& t moje into, the wrfirjsinjr- *pacer; 2jiis<i smeejje«tving* London? - •+* "Another half-milo'-and- we snail know what the lights mean," added M 3 companion." """Jacobi' ought to be about here, I fancy." ... , . Mark touched a lever'" atfd like a thing endued with life, the motor car leaped forward into the'darkness of some overshadowing trees, and he could see a hundred yards beyond the sheen of light on them cast from the laftips of a desg-.\ cart.

"There's ;saiij, ~.sb.aqfljx. "he's seen us; "too." The driver of the dog-cart-, who-could he plainly discerned as the vehicle~stoorll on the brow of the hill, had turned. | Mark could see the white face for a mo- j ment, and then the dog-cart had disap- I peared as the driver went down the j descent, at a head-long gallop. The next instant .the car had surmounted the top of the* lull,' and Mark, with the' shrill v.'md cutting his eyes like a knife, watched the swaying lamps of the cart' as it spun downward. He recognised Jacobs now, who was urging his horse onward as if a thousand demons were pursuing him, and then Hark was alongside the cart keeping pace with it, as he shouted to Jacobs to stop. "11l send you to perdition," he cried hetween his teeth, for. the excitement ofthe chase, repressed until now, seemed to be"overmasteTirig his usual 'coolness,'! "if you don't. The game's up. Mr. Jacobs—hand over the papers you've got in your pocket." "I'll give you in charge for highway robbery, you villain," retorted Jacobs, half beside himself with fury. Mark was withing touch of the horse's ! head. and. leaning over the side of the ' car. be grasped the bridle, causing the • spirited animal to swerve, and then camo ; an ominous sound of splintering woou-' ■work as the car thrust against the dogvart. He was conscious that his companion had risen in his seat, but beymi i this lie only knew that unless he could stay the maddened plunging of the horsy there would be a terrible smash. With all the strength he possessed he held the affrighted animaL that was. dragging cart and car along iri a "hideous conf u~ Sion, although Mark had shut off the motoi and jammed down his brake, and for a lew moments the two vehicles'were -Aim. a "' niercy. t- J x- Ther * a , scream »{'%e-aid pain caused H nun to ,ook round W-sSe' holding JacYTEs throat,' ■ BBtl Travelling nTs Hi

and- as. you have nothing to keep you in town, I hope you'll stay on at Dacre _„ . ___ __ . .. "Nothing-to do!" laughed Mark. "By Jove, I've more on my hands than most people, I fancy, but I'll go as soon as I've had a talk with Marchmont. De Vaynes is about hipped to death I should imagine, living alone in that outlandish . .p1ace.,',..,1/11. put in twenty-four hours with him." And taking up a Bradshaw hereonsulted tae trains, choosing one -whiehwould take "him to Newport-,whic£ "was" the station for Dacre Abbej'. The events of the last four and twenty, hours, and; the prospect of that, moaaectous interview with Mr. Marchmont haei driven the recollection of the strange message he had listened to in the little shop in Soho, from his mind for a time, but the letter he had received from Lord 1c Vaynes revived the rememberance of it. The connection btween the defaulting cleric ancl his' unknown associate, lays-; • teriousjas it-was, grew- more-puzzling; is she t,hought,and in some way-or. other i he woufiCnnditfut £he> meaning o'£ It, and | meantime he had to exercise what little | patience he possessed before putting his j fate to the test by asking Mr. March- j monts consent to Joan's engagement. "I'll make up for lost time when I come back," he muttered, as he quitted ihe studio. "It is impossible to settle to work at present, and. so it will have to wait "until I get Marchmont's answer. ! Anyway.'Plt;,Tun down, and'-see . what's amiss with De Vaynes, which won't keep mc away for long." He decided upon waiting until the evening before going to Park Lane. Mr. Marchmont would have returned by then, and Marks strolled along until he encountered a friend whom he had' not =een for some time. "We'll dine together, if you'll join mc " said the latter, as they reached the Trocadero. "I've just come across from Paris. Your old friends there have been wondering why you oon't pay them a visit —old Henriques' studio—you recollect?" "By Jove, I should rather think I do recollect," laughed Mark. "You remember De Vaynes who was dabbling in art for want of something better to do?" 'Yes; he was generally hard up, I remember." ■ 'He's Lord de Vaynes now; got an income of thirty thousand a year," went on Mark. * j "Ah! I read all about that affair of his cousin's." "Nobody was ever suspected so far as I know. Lucky thmg for Phil de Vaynes. You order the dinner, old fellow," replied Mark, as he stopped a moment to buy an evening paper as they entered the door of the restaurant. They had seated themselves at the table before Mark opened the paper, and as he did so he uttered a sharp exclamation. "Anything very startling?" asked his companion. "There's' he account of a trap accident somewhere beyond Shooter's Hill," replied Mark. "One of the men in it was killed, I see. I rather fancy I knew r him." "How did it happen?" "Their horse bolted —usual thing I suppose followed." And Mark put down the paper that contained a short description of the accidenut. No names were mentioned of the injured men, one of whom had died soon after his being found, and Mark was wondering whether the last had been heard of Mr. Jacobs. It was ten o'clock when he reached Park Lane, and he found Mr. Marehmont'had been home an .houx> entering the room where the financier •wa-s- sitting, Mark was saluted with an unusually warm welcome. "I've been expecting you, Mark," Mr. Marchmont exclaimed. "Joan told mc you had brought a package of papers for mc. They are the ones I was afraid I should never see again. And before I say anything more I want to bear how' you recovered them. You've done mc a service that I can't easily repay, but we'll talk about that later on." "I'm going, down to see Dacre Abbey to-morrow,'' replied Mark. "De "Vaynes isi ill and ,wants to.-see mc, but before I go I've something-to.asK. you. .. Something that I want settled now.' No—" and jhe stayed Mr. Marchmont, whose hand! had been oustretched towards his cheque-book that was lying on the table. "It isn't money I want, Mr. MaTchmont." "But I promised a reward for recovering the papers," laughed Mr. Marchmont. "Yes, I know you did:—l'm going to ask for it," replied Mark,'; .in a ..quiet voice. (To be continued .da ily.]

was. a, bulky...paekage-that.tlie|. next moment had come flying into the ' back of the car, torn from Jacobs' hand. Jacobs had seized his assailant, and the; two men locked in a deadly conflict were ! struggling for the mastery as Mark re-! lejasecf'jins hold on the horse's bridle. Thereywas the sharp cracJrlißg ing "wood work again, as the : _dogcart- was 1 ' wrenched free of the car, <slraiii-4 ing£"3ipr-f>."Kad sprung forwar^.. eaSEying*.' the-cafririto the darkness tfiat nteT'the"' sight of the struggling figures, whilst, with the reins which had fallen from Jacobs' hands dragging in the dust, they j were carried away at a mad gallop. | Mark watched the light of the lamp 3 I for a moment, and then it had disappear-' ed, but what the result of the runaway |; ! would be he could guess at. The dawn [ i was beginning to break as he turned for j j the drive home, and safe beside him-oaT*.' I the vacant seat was the package of papers which had been flung into the car. He was picturing Joan's face in his mind : I as he drove back to London, hearing her ! sweet voice as he told her the story of j thai eventful night, and, better than all, - was-the expectation of. ,her "father's re'-. -wardr - "111 ask him for Joan to-morrow," muttered. "If there's such a thing as gratitude in the world he will give hU consent to our engagement. 1 should , very much like to know what's happened I to Mr Jacobs, but it's no particul/r con- ! cern of mine to find out now that I've recovered those papers." I "He was back at the garage, where the man to whom he resigned the car, lookied critically at the traces of the hard ' usage it had received. One of the mud guards was splintered, and the step bent. "I'll see Mr Montague about that,!' ; said Mark, as he handed the man half a sovereign. "I've roused you rather early, I'm afraid." "Not a bit, sir," was the reply. "You've had a bit of an accident, I suppose?" "'Somebody else has come off worse than I have," answered Mark, "or else I'm very much mistaken. They won't b3 a loss to society if they've been killed, I should say."' And he turned out of the garage, hugging the package under his arm. CHAPTER XIII. MARK ASKS FOR HIS REWARD. One of Mr. Marchmont's many interests had demanded I his attendance at an important meting in. Newcastle the day following the evening when Mark had listened to the story of the stolen papers, j who, upon going to Park-lane with the i recovered documents, found Joan alone, j "The Pater will come back to-night," she told him. "Do you want to see him very particular!}'? What have you got your hand bandaged for?" j "The brute of a horse nearly wrench-; it off," replied Mark, as lie proceededIto tell her his previous night's adven- i ture. "But there are the papers your I father was bemoaning the loss of. I " Ohati'efe '-put""me in "thg way* of"ge'ttSn g. them back, and it's about the luckiest. -thing that ever happened for you-and* mc." 1 Joan sat resting her chin on her hand, , watching him as he described the scene • on the lonely road, and how it had ended. "I should say that the last has been seen of Mr. Jacobs," he went on. "He darn't show his face in your father's office jafter this. What are you thinking about,-my darling?" -~ "-'■ "Heaps of things," replied Joan. "I am wondering what the end of this is going to' be." "That you father will give his conour marriage," answered Mark. sa?d care "what SeT-gaid, i?;or 'something— to'that effectf if^.Jiejr-got [those thihgs". back.-1 fancy % hl't.pi'pers ! are more important than he cared to say. but anyhow, there they are safe and sound, and' I only wish he was here to know it." i and- Joan became very ', isetioui*; "efcfilj? suppose mind, if he refus-•eer-tW'-giv-e his Consent, what would happen, then, Mark?" "I think we'll •wait until I've spoken to him before we decide that," retorted , Mark. And Joan put her hand in his. "It would make a difference, of course, I shouldn't be able to come here for one thing, and so " "You needn't go on," interrupteel Joan, "I quite understand. We'll wait and' see what does happen." ' They sat talking'for some time longer, and then with a promise of calling at -the house- in- the-evening, Mark took has" leave.' ' "I've got to make xny peace with Mon'.'tkgu'e," 'he "for damaging hlsr car. I can't work with a sprained hand, so; I'm "going to'have a lazy day— the last for a long time, because I've neglected—my- -picture too long already, and I've a commission to paint the portrait of a man.—he's a chairman or something of the sort—nnd the portrait is to be presented to him, if I get it done. I'm rather beginning to doubt if it ever will be finished though." His visit to his friend Montague over, Mark returned home, and from thence to his studio, which appeared unusually lonely that afternoon. The light was beginning to fail, and the unfinished portrait of the chairman seemed to be looking reproachfully at lvm from an obscure corner. On the floor lay a letter, which had been dropped through the letter box some hours -before, and he took it up, going to the window to read lit.

The letter was from Phillip De Vaynes, written in a tremulous hand, begging him to come to Dacre Abbey as soon as nossible.

"I'm ill." wrote De Vaynes, "or I should not remain here, for the place is slowly killing mc. You will be doing mc a great kindness by coming down,