Amends for All.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 139, 13 June 1911, Page 8

Amends for All.

BY E. R- PUNSHON. v '('Author of "The Choice," "The Spin- of the Coin," etc, etc.)

CHAPTER V.—(Continued.) Thorold did not speafc. or take any notice of this hut just gat still as before in his previous attitude of exhausted indifference. Slowly Mayne seemed to remember, his expression changed and he shivered slightly. ''Hut, Thorold," he said, "this,is terrible news, terrible news." Thorold did not answer, but he gave Mayiie just one glance that made the little poet feel how words were foolish things. • ■ "VVhat have you done?" he asked sharply; "poor Frank, poor Frank, poor, dear ]ad! But what have you done, Thc--old? What have you done? Does your mother know? What will you do?" "Mother does not know, and must •never know," answered Thorold slowly. "AsVfor what I have done, I have burned down the house where the murder, was committed, and I have destroyed Frank's ibody in the (lames. As for what I have to do —I have to preserve Frank's honour, Jet our mother think he has died by some accident, and avenge his death." "But—but—burnt down the house?" The somewhat timid and nervous little poet could only stare in blank amazement. "Oh, what a man," he muttered, unconsciously echoing the escaped convict Green. ".My dear Thorold," he repeated in utter bewilderment, "do you mean —burnt down the house?" "Aye," said Thorold, wondering why lis friend should make him say over again what he -had told him once. "But —but," Mayne stammered again,his mind revolving "round the' two concrete __ct3 that ThoroM had mentioned. "Frank murdered? Tin house burnt id-own? But, my dear Thoiold, the police; •there are the police?" "The police know nothing," Thorold answered in the same harsh tone; "they [Will know nothing." Mayne sat back in his chair and was silent. The news of Frank Thorold's death had touched him profoundly, the tidings of the burning of the house bewildered him —and there was something in Thorold's grim manner and lierce eye-s that suggested other thoughts. "It is chiefly," Thorold continued, "to ask for your help in concealing what has happened that 1 have come to you." "But," cried Mayne, "do you mean to let poor Frank's murderers escape all punishment? Why, it's your duty to bring them to justice; why, as wicked, as dangerous a gang as exist in the world, and they have murdered your own ibrother, and you talk of letting them go free?" "I do not," answered Thorold quietly, and Mayne gave him a look still more troubled and disturbed. "But," stammered he, "you mean " "That 1 shall take their punishment into my own hands," Thorold answered. "Under the circumstances, how can 1 appeal to the law? .Let all the world know what we believe poor Frank had been guilty oil Break mother's heart witli shame as well as sorrow? Besides, what could we prove in a court of law? Suppose they brought it in suicide, imagine mother in the witnessbox! No, 1 have two tasks—to guard Frank's honour, and to preserve our mother's pride in him, and to revenge his death!" Mayne rose and walked up and down tho room once or twice and then seated himself again. He was greatly disturbed and shaken, and there was that in Thorold's manner that filled him with a deep fear. He knew that Thorold was exercising an immerse restraint upon himself, and it seemed to him that when the break-up ot this restraint took place, it would be frightful. "Revenge is poor business," he said suddenly. "Very like," agreed Thorold, "but it happens to be the only thing in life that I retain any taste for." "My dear fellow," said Mayne, very gravely, "have you considered 1" "Everything," said Thorold. "If you went to the police " began Mayne and paused. "Everything would become known, and Frank would he branded as a thief," eaid Thorold; "if I was too late to save ihis life, I will guard his honour. We used to think it the more important .thing." "Then," said Mayne hesitatingly, ••there was a deficiency?" "I have paid three thousand pounds into his account to-day," Thorold answered, "that will cover everything." "Thcee thousand pounds," ht-peated Mayne, startled at the magnitude of the gum; "was it so bad as that?" "I judged it best to be on the safe fcidc," tvnswered Thorold. "My story }s that (Frank and I went together for ?ome deep-sea fishing, and that I came Jshore but he put out again. I have iaken steps to make sure that the boat jhall be found capsized; and I trust it will be assumed that it was capsized and he was drowned. It is wonderful what jmay he done when one has money behind one." "It is a daring scheme," said Mayne thoughtfully, after Thorold had added 5, few explanatory details. "That is why it has a chance of succeeding." answered Thorold, "and because I have spent a good deal of money—mcAuVy smothers suspicion as it does everything else." "But to burn down the house," re- I peated Mayne, to whom this act seemed alarming in the extreme, "I can't make out why you did that." "What else could I do?" Thorold answered. "I could not bury or hide Frank's body in any surer way, and it would have been fatal for it" to have been found. Besides. I » he stopped with a sudden choking in his throat; "ah I hated it," he stammered, "yon cannot imagine how 1 hated that house, for being the scene of the lad's mur- I der. I was glad to destroy it. I think ! it was m my mind, too, that destroying so utterly the house would be a sign and a symbol to his murderers that I would destroy them in the same way. the same way!" Wilton Mayne 'loosed at Trig f riend in silence. In truth, he was somewhat surprised at the depth and strength of the feeling shown by Thorold, for his own emotional and excitable nature hnd been apt to mistake the other's reserve for coldness and indifference. Of course be had always, known that va^A Thorold loved his young brother^. but Frank-but jflSftfe? \_f_\ "So, you see, the t help in," Frank was drowned i n<thiß ____±™ pedition. Imitjw.t, _._££§ «

j points I have mentioned. His accounts will be found irregular, but there will be more than enough standing to his private account to cover any deficiency, and there will be no proof of anything worse than carelessness. I have sen Lord de Mullover. Whether he has any suspicion or not I do not "know, but I am sure from what he said he will do Ms best to back niy story up — for mother's sake. He knows as well as I do that any hint of such a thing would kill her. His new town agent in Frank's place will be Mr. Tomlinson, and we can trust him to be discreet." "Poor Frank! poor Frank!" Walton Mayne sighed, " it is a dreadful affair. When I wrote to warn you that he was in bad company I never dreamed things could have gone so far. To what an end have high play at cards and an infatuation for a pretty face brought him. Why, I thought a few sharp words from you would bring him to his senses, and now " " Now he has been murdeTed." said Thorold harshly. " Such :t dear, good, bright lad," Mayne went on dreamily. " and once 'he had sown his wild oats and settled down, he would have been all the better for having had a past. I am sure I am all the better now for mv follies as a boy in Paris." 1 don't agree with you." answered Thorold; " poison remains poison whether you die of it or not." Mayne did not answer. There were episodes in hi- past that he did not often refer to. In his youth he had lived in Paris anil tli -re had Become mixed up with a set who professed a ,r.reat admiration for Baudelaire and i he decadent school of pt.etry, and who did not always rest content with merely talking. Most of those with whom Mayne had at that time consorted had come to untimely and miserable ends, but Wilton .Mayne himself seemed to have issued from "the pit of destruction unharmed and even tinsoiled. He would sometimes, indeed, argue that it was tiie wild days of his yoiilih that gave his poetry whatever of truth and passion it had, though as » general rule it was. a time of his life that he did not care to think of over tmich. It was even said by some that he had been initiated as an adept in the ritual of "devil worship," so called, but this he always denied—with anger. That time had loft marks about his eyes and at. the corners of his mouth that seemed sometimes scarcely visible, and that other days were quite plain, hut on the wiholo these excesses and wildnesses of his youth appeared to have been swallowed up in a forgotten past. "There is another thing," Thorold continued, and described his meeting with the escaping convict, Green, and how he had enlisted his help. "He is to come for the money I promised him to help him out of the country," Th.OTold concluded his story, "and I want j-ou to give it to him. He does not know who I am, and I do not wish him to find out. My luck in discovering the silver mine in Brazil during my last travels has had the disadvantage of making mc unpleasantly well known. Also, I do not wish it to be known that I was motoring in that neighbourhood when my story requires that I was out deep-sea fishing the same day. I was using Charley Eaton's motor, you know. Eaton sails for India to-day, which is fortunate: and I have seen him and explained sufficient to get him to hold his ionjrue. He had the ear down for sale, so he has informed the people at the sale-room that he has got rid of it privately to an American, while the car itself I have destroyed. The polic will not be able to trace it very easily, even if there is any suspicion, which I do not •much anticipate." " But there is this policeman you speak of—this Inspector Lock," said Mayne; " he may cause trouble." "I must take my chance,"" Thorold answered; "if my identity is discovered the time was just sufficient for mc, on a fast motor, to get from where he saw mc to the point of out supposed fishing expedition. My safeguard is this, that as Frank's body will not be found, I hopo to avoid all official investigation. One thing more." He took from his pocket that photograph he had found in his dead brother's hand. "Do you know who this is?" he asked. "Is it .loan Durand?" asked Mayne slowly. " I do not know. I have heard of the Durand gang, but I have met none of them. But this is a good face." "A good face," said Thorold bitterly; " all the more deadly, then, when the mask of goodness hides such evil—a devil's face." "A sad face, too,'' mused Mayne; intolerably sad—a brooding fate in those deep eyes and that melancholy mouth." "What are you talking about?" growled ThoTold angrily. "Nonsense. 1 have copies made of it—here is one. 1 want you to keep it to see if you can hit any trace of her. Who will that be?" he added as a bell rang. " Dora and her aunt, I expect," said Mayne. " I was expecting them this morning." "Then I will go," said Thorold. "I am not up to society at present. I will look in again this evening." m He shook hands and went out hurriedly, and a moment later a young and very charming girl danced merrily into the room. " Oh, Wilton," she otjied, all in a j breath, " 1 met Mr. Thorold on the stairs. and I don't like him a bit, and I do wonder what you see in him; ugh, he is so grave, and I just hate grave people, and I am sure he hates mc, too, for he always looks at mc like a kind of embodied east wind. Oh, dear, why can't people always laugh like I do, and, oh, Wilton, where did you get that photograph from?" "Why, do yon know who it is?" asked Wilton Mayne, eagerly and rather fearfully. ' ' "My dear Wilton, what a question!" laughed DoTa with a peal of delicious) I merriment. " How can I help knowing Joan Durand when you made such a point in your letter of auntie and mc calling on her; but you are joking," and she laughed again. (To _c continued dairy.)