The Sin of Judas.

Auckland Star, Volume XLIV, Issue 127, 29 May 1913, Page 10

The Sin of Judas.

By Derek Vane.

CHAPTER XIU. Ja.=ppr Heame had tikn a house at TaSins called "The Grey Bungalow." His doctor had told him that he would he J better in the country, but a= he firmiy to so 50 far he had r-ompromised riatu-r- by going half-way. At Jialmg b< , would be K-ithin easy reach of town i rwj •:■-■■. better air at the same time. [ The llungslow suited him, as there were j ro stairs, and it was enclosed in a charming £2rden. Xow the weather was ■warmer he had his invalid chair put on the verandah, and there, covered -with j rags, he troul-l lie nearly all day long. | Hf lying there one morning when fisher Dunt came out to see him. ."Jiny news ve±7"' Hearne inquired. "I'm impatient. We dont seem to be moving on.' "'There's something, but I don't know if it will lead to anything more." Dunt said. ?!owly. "it's euriou=—l don't quite understand it—it* a clue and vet it isn't" " Well ?" Hearne said, impatiently. -Out wish it! iTevet mind the explanations." -The friend T told you about, who is in tin , police, gave.me the information." the detective went on. impexturbatrfy. '•He found it out yesterday. It appears tiiat the hundred pounds—the reward offered for Horton's capture, you know — was never paid.' , - Never paid ?' Hearne echoed, in amazement. " No. At least, it was sent, but never received. Tt came back after some months through the Dead-Letter Office." Heame stared at him without: speaking, his brows knit in thought. "" What can that signify ? " he asked at last. "1 don't understand it." " Nor 1. But it seenis to mc that it may mean one of two things—either the person who gave liorton up was pre.vented in some way from fetching the letter containing the money, or he or she may hare repented wb«n too late and refused Ihe reward. You will know —-better than I—which is the more likely."

- Mrs. Brooke isn't the woman to turn hark once she had made up her mind," Heirne said. "She's not a wea-k, shillyshailvrnsr cn»atnre. She had no feeling of kindness for Horton —there was no 7Pasnß t*"Wv sfit* should nave, "woultl not be likely to repent at the iast moment. If she had decided to betray him. she would go through with the whole business and pocket the reward." .

" You hsT* , quite made up your mind it was tbe lady ? '"■ Hesnie made oil impatient movement. " TbeTe is nobody else to suspect.'' he said—" nobody else who had such a grudge- against him. But I don't understand why she didn't take the money— she wanted it badly enough a,t the time."

"She may have been prevented by lllne.«. There must have b?en some hiteii which v.t don't know about yet. If yon ■weren't so sure it were she, 1 should be half iru-iined to Think that the man or woman —whichever the informer was — had died suddenly, as the whole affair ended 50 abruptly and mysteriously.

"•vithont leaviug a trace."' ■" Where w.i* the iettrr sent ? '' Hearne a.'ked. ebarply. '" You said it had to be iftohed. What was the address ? Surely tkat ought to help us." " I was coming- to tiai. I understand it aas not addressed to any ordinary name or initials, but merely to ' L/aduaeaA.' care of a newspaper shop m toe Tottenham Court Road. I have been to the =hop, but they don't remember anything about it. They could only suppose that, finding nobody called for the letter, they gave it back to the postman after a certain time. It is part of their biseiness to receive letters in answer to advertisements, etc.. so, of course, they would not take any particular notice ot fins one." ~ ' L-udmEad '1 " Hearne repeated. " VV-oat does it mean ? j≤ it the name of a place, or a person, or what ? It sonnds familiar somehow." '■ You may ha-ve seen it on the signposts round here; it is abont twenty miles out. It is a rhaj-miTig village ol ttre 'sweetly pietty' type, fit for a Christinas card; bnt what it has to do -with the case I have no idea at present." " Mrs. Brooke may have lived there ones and remembered the name." " Possibly; bnt I don't see how that hekps us. I can understand that she .Tcoiiid very naturally give a fictifcioas same and am accommodation, address — she wouldn't want to be known perhaps even to the police—bn± if she carried out iier plans up to that point, what hindered, her from fetching the reward ? That is the stumbling-block. As you say, she ■was poor and in want of money, and she had no scruples." Hearne shook his head; he was puzzled too. "Perhaps," the detective eugges-ted, coTLbcfully. "you don't feel quite co bitter against the lady now you know 6he didn't tatae the money?" Heanre langhed. '■Wba* difference 3oes Tiat make' , " he aeked. "Did he suffer one jot the less? What use was her repentance to him —if ehe did repent? •It came too late- No, she won't get of! Khz.z way. Go on, we'll find it all out sooner or later; well get to the bottom of the myebery. Pur your friend on his metde; offer hhn any bribe you like; tell hhn every risk shall be paid for." That afternoon, when Hearne went for nis customary motor ran, he toid the chauffeur to drive to Ludmead. He had fa at the inn. and then went for a stroll round the Tillage. He found it much Tvhart the detective had described; pretty piKiugh for a picture—sleepy, scented, j'orgotif-n. He' made a few inquiries at tbe inn and the post office; but nobody TeuiP7nher<»d a jady of the name of :Brook?—noboriv" i tm-emfoexeei anytainor. It easier to <shake one's bead than To irv xri remember. Hearne gave it up in despair. V.-> r; rw-xl a few minutes by th<» old ■wrd! a: the oroes-Toade, looking round. 1' whs a long step from this idyllic epot to the Tottenham Count Road, and a strange place for a spy and informer to ceroe from. One end of the chain was iV nTi>. or>e here; and he had to find most of ?!ie links in between. It was not an | tisk. H"arae had a few friende to dinner thai night—a curious, rather incongruous gathering. He had called it a house■narminfr. and spoke of it in terms halfjocular, half-mocking; but though every onp of the invited gueste would have preferred not to come..and made excuses, ip brushed them all on one Bide, and' ■="uM take no refusal. They urast come. He had set his heart on this little a Y~f? fiTEt,of U * kind ' and Probably ""-.w the dra'^nng-roonu.

SciJKjr of "Tie Three D*ogirte» of alight," Tie «te.

""Miss Waldron must totss him," he said. ''They are snch friends."

"Tes. they play all tbeir games together ; they are great chums." Was she fencing -with him, Glenconne.r wondered, but he went on imperturbabry.

'"It's a happy time of liie when you've no responsibilities and your ltandicap at golf means niCTo than most of the headlines in the papers.

There wer-e Madge Waldron and Mise Moee-iManson. Viola Brooke, Ha-rk Glenconnor (whom Hearne had met at Madge's house and treated •wrEh unwonted respect and deference), Mr Fisher Dunt, introduced as a friend, and his lawyer, Mr Studley. "I'm sorry Tm one lady ehort," Hearne said, with a laugh, "but I'm afraid I don't know many ladies—-they've not been much in my line. Never mind, I'll be the one to go without/ . He sat a little apart from hie guests in a big armchair—a curione, impressive figure, which repelled even more than it excited pity. He looked like the death's head at a feast—hi 3 sallow skin, drawn tightly acro&s hJe high e'aeek-bom*, the mocking smiie on his lips contradicted by the glare in the sunken eyes. Everybody wae conscious of a. certain constraint: they did not feel at honie or at ease. They knew so little of their host, or he of them. They had nothing in common. "Why are we here?" Gleneonner asked Viola, in a low tone. She shrugged her ehouldens. "I have-been asking m3«elf thart question ever since I came. I suppose because one does not Hke to oppose a man in his condition, he ie so Insistent. But it was a strange fancy of his. I don't know -why be wanted us." "■He has a, queer kind of mordant humour. I believe he ie inwardly chockling ov«r our diecorofitirre, no doubt he knows we none of us ■wanrted to come. By the tray, how is it Luttrell isn't here? Sorely he should hay« been included in the family paTty/ , "He's a-way. He went off 6nddenly to Paris to see a client. I beHeve. and I suppose he stayed , on for his own enjoyment. But he said he would probably be back at ihe end of t-be "week." "You have lieard from him, then?' "Yes, I wanted him to come to dinner one night, and the invitation vras sent on to him." Gleneonner had asked the qnestion a little suspiciously, bat the answer, given in cool, careless tones, disarmed him. He was wry observant, and he had been a little uneasy once or twice at something in Viora's manrjer when she talked to Geoffrey. But he wouldn't give way to the feeling. He had made up his mind to win her sooner or later, and he deliberately shut his eyes to ariT obstacles.

"Don't be sarcastic. Mr. Lnttrell can take quite an intelligent interest in most things. I assure you. and he isn't such a boy as you seem to think. He must be thirty at least." "And I'm over forty, and look it, whereas he doesn't look Ida thirty. Tic's never had anything to trouble him. I should say. He's a boy at heart still, hoping and expecting ail things." "*How nice! Don't you envy him? I do." •"I shan't envy anybody—neither kings nor emperors —if I get w-hat I want."' ' "And what is that?" "1 hope to tell you some day when you are ready to listen." He turned the conversation, before she could answer aud the next minute their host had called Viola's attention to something. Dessert was on the table, ivnd the servants had left the room. CHAPTER XIV. "This is Cape fruit," Hearne was paying, ac he pointed to the plums and peaches, "ripened outdoors in the =un, not in your steamy hot-houses. What a sun it was! 1 only wish I conld feel it now!" with a shiver.

"You ought to go out again, it might do you a lot of good." He shook i)is head.

"I'm past it now, past help, though if I could have chosen how I would die it should have been on the open veldt, with the warm earth under mc and plenty of air to breathe. 1 feel -half-stifled here sometimes." He pushed his chair nearer hers, so that they could talk without being overheard.

"But why shouldn't you do anything Ton fancy? What keeps you here? Doctors make mistakes very often. You might be a new man over tberp. get a fresh lease of life. That wonderful climate has worked miracles before now."

"It's too late. It's not only wh*it the doctors tell mc; I feel it myself. I'm done for. It's a rotten life. I should hay« let myeelf go. and slipped oat of it but lor one thing."

She listened, a little interested in spite of herself, wondering -what tie was strong enough to hold him here against his inclinations.

"You don't understand. I will explain. lam just living till I get my revenge, that's all. I'm putting up with the damp and cold and confinement and all the other things I ha-xe —as I would put up with them if they were a thousand times worse— juet to get even ■with the person who has made mc what I am."

Viola shudders. The hate and passion in the low tones was terriWe. All the more terrible perhaps becausp Jiearne was keeping them under. He sat as still as though he were discussing any trivial subject, and he never raised his voice.

•* vVTiat do you mean?" she =.aid. "Who has done you any harm ?*'

"You don't know , ; Neither do I, but I am going to find out—oh! be sure of that. I couldn't die till I have. 1 couldn't Test ia my grave. To think that I migrht be strong , and- -well now. spending my money, enjoying myself, making up for all tie hard years, if 1 hadn't been sold for a hundred pounds!"

She looked at him in amazement. Had he gone out of his mind? He returned the 100k —steadily, probingly. with a sneer on his lips. "You don't understand yet? 1 think you must have known: but such a email matter may well have been forgotten. There was a reward of £ 100 on my head, and somebody eaxned it. by betraying , mc to the police." "I did not know that,"* Viola said, more gently. "Who wa« it? I suppose you have some idea?"

"I suspect, but I don't know. I am trying to find out now. That is what is keeping mc 'here—what will keep mc alive till I know the truth. When my enemy and I stand fiK-e to face I shall be satisfied—not before."

Viola turwd away nbruptly: she cou!d not tear to look at him. What a terrible thing it would be to have euch a

man on one's track, waiting and -watching, using op his last strength, his last energies and thoughts and hopes, in compassing his vengeance. Who eonJd hope to escape hirni "I'm sorry for yon," she said, "but I should still be more sorry for your victim, if you shonW ever find him. Candidly, I hope yon won't." He laughed. "But I shall," he. said; "make no mistake aiout that. Already the clue is in mv hands."

She carried it off bravely; but he would put fear in her heart and the sickening burden of suspense, which wears out the courage of the strongest.

iia<ige was sitting next to Mr Dunt, and she thought him a very curious litt'.e man. He asked so many questions, and all of them were of a more or less personal nature. She tried, to introduce the usual topics between strangers—the last play, the newest book, what the Government was doing; but Mr ©unt soon edged array from these general subjects, and got back to herself and her doings, or to their host. "So you've known -him quite a long timef he said, when. Madge had given him more information in reply to his clever questions that she had any idea. "Ifs a pity he can't take things more easily, isn't it? He wears himself out thinking and worrying." "He isn't accustomed to ilhness," she returned, evasively. "'I don't thmk his health troubles him as much a-s his anxiety on his friend's behalf.'' Madge looked up in some surprise. She could not imagine Heame in this selfsacrificing light.

"I mean"—answering the }ook-'-"he is very mnch upset aiont a man named Horton who got iirto troiiWe some time ago. Mr Hearne nrust have been very much attached to him, for h<- is most anxious to punish the person who injured him. I hope I am not betraying my confidence—of course, you have heard about it?"

'""Yes —no," Madge stammered. '"Though I krrew Mr Hearne some years we were never intimate —never friends. 1 feel very sorry fur him now, that is aH." "I beg your pardon—l am afraid 1 hav-e been indiscreet." Mr Dunt said, humbly. "I have let my tongue run away with mc. IMay 1 ask you to "overlook it— to say nothing to our host? He might be vexed. I should be very grateful if you will forget and forgive my indiscretion."

"Certainly; say no more about it." Madge ?aid, confusedly. Wha was this funny, irrepressible little man? she wondered. It was not very good taste on Hearne's part to have "asked him. lie was not the equal of anyone else there— that was evident, though he might have pa»<ed muster if he bad kept uuiet. "I thought, or course, that yon knew all about it—ibai you rttp iio old friend —or I should have been more careful." h<? went on. "I could nj-t help noticins Mr Heime's manner to you. how much he seems to think of you," how "

"He is grateful for some lit-Ue 'eervk-e I was able to rejider him years a"o.' - Madge, said, interrupting him without ceremony—-nhnt i< all. His gratitude is quit<» out of proportion to what I did— which was nothing—but I suppose it happened to take his fincy." The.n slie turned her back deliberately on. Mr Dunt, and began to talk to her otier neighbour.' The detective was not sensitive; he did not mind; he had not wasted hiri time: he had found fresli matter for cogitation. Jasper Hearne lrad shown himself in a new lig-ht to-nigh;. He w:u< evidently devoted to taw pretty girl, who as evidently did not appreciate his devotion, though she .vas careful not to hurt hiri feelings. What, did it mean? What had ehe done that could have made such an impression on a man of his kind? Mr Dunt determined to find out.

He had bepn asked (hat in order that he might have Viola under observation, and possibly obtain some information that might help him; but he had not kept strictly to hie employer's irtstructrone. He had not watched "one. but all. of the sruest.S and he had taken a special interest in Madge when he saw how llearue singled her out. He was a little aamoyed that Hearne should still try to keep him in the dark—that he was not thoroughly trusted. (To oe continued daily.)