A HERITAGE OF HATE

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 69, 22 March 1910, Page 8

A HERITAGE OF HATE

BT CHARLES GARVICE,

"-.' Author of 'The Mar _vis," "Lorrie," "A

Modern Juliet," "By Devious Ways," etc.

~:.y. CHAPTER ___VII. — (Continued:) - ■■-- As the>--drove to -Market _attoh,'-Ed--~'trard endeavoured to obtain a detailed ". — account* of the way-in which Rath'had T;:"spent._the evening;? Rath answered ***.. "his quest Tons readily 'enough, and with- •*;.;, out a sign of uneasiness. "It seems incredible that you, of all ■-'■ -' men, Rath, should lose your way in a ~ " wood," said Edward. "Oh": if I had only '."-.' not left you! 1 deserted my friend, and —" this is the result. I am punished for my .. - selfishness." _„ But Rath would not have this. —.-. '-"What does it matter?" he said, *-*_*; calmly. " - I did not kill the poor woman, ---■ Edward." ~- ; "No: but—but— don't want to alarm you. Rath, but don't you see that some i -""..persons may think, you did.?'P;_pu-' say ' — that the innkeeper at Terrin; .saw and re- ;_• marked upon the 'had there, J -__~_ you see';—and it was"'found near the' — body by which you were discovered by -• - Workley. You see— see?"' , »'"-- "Yes." assented Rath, quietly." "But I -X didn't kill her. Why should 1? I never ~_: saw her alive. I had no reason for kill- _.— ing her."' ._..-■- ---*"..' "Yes, that is in your favour," admitted . Edward: -but all sorts of motives will be - -supplied by those- whose duty it is to li- ■••• - the guilt upon you." — "But why should they want to make '■'- mc guilty?'"' asked Rath, in his ignorance ~.:. of our legal system. "Why don't they *' 'look for the man who did it? Why, if I *_.-,**. had thought of it, I could have traced - --him through the bush, or I could have done so if it had not been beaten down —T and the tracks crushed out by those men _*.. who attacked mc." Kdward stifled a groan. "There again! Of course, the footmarks could not be traced now. Who . could have done it? There must be some"one who desired the poor woman's death. We must have a good detective. Don't - be uneasy. Bath ; no stone shall be left ,' ' unturned." "I am not uneasy," said Rath, as - calmly as before. As they drove through the village, __ '.-Edward pulled up and sent" a pencilled m ote to the" Court, saying that his friend . had "met with an accident," and that be —Edward — not be home for .some hours. They reached the prison, at which tidings of the murder had already been received, and Edward found the superintendent awaiting him. He received them with official gravity. ' •*: "My friend will tell you all he knows . ci this awful business, Mr. Locke," said ." [Edward. -\« "Perhaps he'd better say nothing at present. Mr. Bryan," said" the superintendent; but Rath made his statement, ; and ii Locke took it down. "I shall have to search the prisoner, Mr. Bryan." he said. Edward bit his lip. "Certainly; Mr. Rayne will have no objection," he said. "Empty your packets Rath." Bath did so; but of course the superintendent "went over him." "There is something here,*' he said, touching Rath's breast. "Yes." assented Rath. "Let it alone, ' please." Mr. Locke looked surprised and a trifle 'suspicious. - -- - •' "I must ask you to give it to mc," he said. "Give it to him. Rath; whatever it is,' it will be quite safe," said Edward. "It is not mine; I am taking care of .it." said Rath. "Why should he have .it.? Will it be quite safe?'', . '-~... "Quite-—qui*—," replied Edward. Rath ripped up the lining of his coat, and taking out the small tin case, place-l-it on the policeman's desk. - "It is sealed," he said; "the seal must not be broken." "What is it?" -.asked the superintendent." .' -"T .' ,"T '-'.'' . "'I don't know." replied Rath. Mr. Locke looked at him very gravely, "x hat sounds strange/.' he said. "You io not know the contents of this case you take so much care of?" Edward looked at the bos with astonishment. What was this secret of Rath's this secret .which he had concealed from them a- who had been: his. constant and only companion, for so many weeks? "TheTe is no need to open it for the present. Mr. Locke?" he asked, earnestly. Mr. Locke considered for a moment. " "It might throw some light on this affair, Mr. Bryan. But I will hand it. sealed-g,- is,.to Jhe.magistrates." .., , Re-conducted thenr to a cell; and J Edward begged permission to remain with feis friend, for a short time, at any rate The turning of the key and .the .run vt the bolts affected him more than they did Rath, who _it down with a vesture of weariness, but no trace of despair or even fear. "I'm causing you a great deal of trouble, Edward," he said. "You came to the wood in search.of me.?' You have left your people, have left your newlyfound happiness. Tell mc about it. It was strange that you should meet her 60 soon." Edward, from whose' mind- the tragedy -io3. '.driven, ."for the -time, the sense of his" .own disappointment and grief, returned to the full* misery of it. "The luck has gone against both of OS. Bath,' he* said, with a bitter laugh. ■"While I have been" making my fortune I have been losing the woman I loved! She has"—his voice broke — has jilted mc, left mc for someone else.. She .has ■broken her promise, and is goino*. to taiarry another man." "Then she is not worthy of your love," . said Rath, with his simpl<*r'*a-3~s'f*F ; philosophy. .".' ~. _ _ ,-. ",_*; ' Edward reddened. * '. _ ~_■' ■ "-so, no; don't say that, Rath.' I could not' bear, to say it to myself. She is the best, the truest—oh, what am I saying! And yet I cannot help feeling it, I . ■though—though ' she has broken faith with mc. If you knew her you .would be as loath to doubt her, id. condemn her, j as I am. But we -won.', talk-of-my _i 3-' fortune, old fellow; th_ trouble of yours 'is far -worse, far more-serious." '. Rath!shook his head. "' '''', "They .will find _.c _iaa who did it," &c snid, with- assurance. "I am not afraid. I don't understand why they have taken mc, why they don't believe _ac"; hut it does not! matter. I shall be free in a little while. And now you go back to your people,^Ed-ward, and don't be anxious about me,*" ,-,,:■- Edward looked round .*—c , cell reluctantly. ' That-Rath, the nohlest.ieh_.racier Edward, _id ever met," should.-'.' be "charged with the awful crime' of .murder, and left . thus in a prison cell, .w.as'al-: •most unendurable. 'But;- Rath*- held out his hand,- shook Edward's, smiling grave' I .V, and flung Md_s.li -on the pallet, re'inarking,' r .4**.-' ..*'. * ''-;, -, ; ' *~ ...... : "I am 'very tired j .1. shall "?» . aaleep I SB,— _ir—.tea," ',. —-' v '-%hs- *-- =,^ '

• He sat up again as Edward slowly and reluctantly went towards the door. "That tin case, Edward? It will be safe,-he will not open it?" "No; rest easy on that point, Rath. Whatever it is it will be quite safe." He waited for a moment to see if Rath wanted to tell him .anything about the case; but he did not, and Edward still waited, until Rath's regular and steady breathing proclaimed, him asleep, before summoning the gaoler to open the door. CHAPTER XXXVin. Ralph sped through the wood, crouching instinctively andalready! —with the crouching attitude and furtive side glances of the criminal escaping from the scene of his crime. He Teachedthe Hall, and, bending still lower, entered by -the window of his den. Then he paused, and pantingly waited and listened. The house was perfectly quiet, and its quietude stilled his palpitating nerves. He went to the sideboard and got some brandy, and though the spirit seemed like water to his taste, it lent him a spurious-courage, and after a moment or two he stole cautiously up to bis 'bedroom, and pa—ng up and down softly, ■tried to realise his position. At first the horror of his crime held complete possession of his mind. - He was a murderer! He had killed a fellow-creature, and he would assuredly have to pay the penalty. He, Ralph, the Earl of Ratton, master of Ration Hall, would be hanged—would be hanged as if he were no better than a labourer or tramp who had committed a murder in a drunken fit. He: shook all over, and the sweat poured out upon him— cold sweat that struck like ice. To be hanged! It was i too hideous —•too absurd! He must be dreaming, must have drunk too much and be suffering from one of the, hallucinations of delirium tremens. Yes; that was it; he assured himself, and tried to laugh; but' the laugh died in his throat as he looked round the room and saw Nita's dead face floating in every part of it, in whatever direction his blood-shot eyes rested. . Then came another phase of feeling. The human being he had* killed was Kita, -vita, his wife, was dead. She was dead and he -was free. Free! That, is, he would he free to marry Lady Mary — if—his guilt remained undiscovered. If! "There is much virtue in an 'if.'" With the cunning of a criminal whose i brain is fighting for his life, he forced i himself to confront all the circumstances. No one had seen him leave the j ■house, no one had seen his -meeting with j her. No one had seen the dastardly, fiendish blows which he had struck her.

How could, the crime be traced to his hand? Why, the very knife -with which he had done the awful deed was not his —had only been in his possession a few minutes. Whose was it? Surety, if it were found, suspicion ■would attach to its owner?

Then suddenly his eyes fell upon the red stains, scarcely dry, on "his coat-" sleeve and shirt-cuff. He shuddered, and tore the shirt and coat off him. They were the only damning evidence against him, and he must get rid of them. But | where? He looked round with feverish eagerness; but a modern room furnished •with every obvious luxury offers few hid- j ing-places which would be secure from a detective's eye.* Besides, if he disposed of them, however cleverly, Parkins his valet would miss them, would be curious, suspicious. He could not hide the clothes; he must remove the stains. Witn trembling hands he sponged away the damning spots, and placed the shirt and the coat under the coverlid of the bed to dry. The sponge he tore in pieces and burnt in the fire, which was still alight. Then he undressed and crept into bed. like Ma-ebeth, he had effectually murdered sleep but he closed his eyei and tried to still his tortured and* torturing nerves, and, of course, the moment he shut his eyes, the panorama of his crime unrolled itself before his mental vision.

He saw it all as plainly as if he were re-enacting* -the horrid tragedy; but though fear thro'— in every vein of his body, there -was no pity, no remorse in his heart. He had hated the unfortunate woman to whom he was tied; he hated her still, even now that she was dead. She had* stood between him and his social ambition; he had cut and slashed this barrier down -with the knife with -which he had hacked out her life, and he felt no remorse. He lay awake going over the -murder again and again, and listening intently. Would some gamekeeper, poacher, find the body and -would they come -up to the Hall with the tiding 3? While he was asking himself the ques- j tion he heard a ring at the bell. His ' heart leapt, then sank heavy as lead, and he shook in every limb as he heard , voices in the hall, and presently the ] sound of Parkins' footsteps descending the stairs. He listened with ears that , seemed preternaturally capable of de- | tecting every sound. The voices died : away, Parkins ascended the stairs, and J all -was quiet again. Had they found the body already? | The dawn came cold winter dawn j which struck a chill to his very soul as he saw the light from the shroude.l I window. If his guilt -were discovered, how many, or, rather, how few, such I I dawns would he see? | (To be continue-*, dally.) /