"Whoso Sheddeth-"

Auckland Star, Volume XLVIII, Issue 36, 10 February 1917, Page 20

"Whoso Sheddeth-"

SY T. C. BRIDGES.

SYXOPSI3 OF PREVIOUS CTIARACTEItS. COASTERS I and- ll.—Colonel Keeling, 3.:s daughter Given, and liis son-ln-lav.* Licet, Kit Willouglihy, ln-ctnlge in a little spirited conversation, and then (Jwcn turns through tile eiLri]Utn>ries and emenres on rtie β-ank of the .Strane. She comes upon Gerald Swantou, fisiliing. s-Tlie snubs him royally, informlne him that she and Mr. ■\\ i;:ougtbby are Riiiragpil lo l>e married. A Irani p bejrs pitifully. b-,;t Swanton sends liim roughly aiboirt his business. Owen re--I.roves him, and helps tile mendicant. Swantoc saunters hack to tlie house, ana ••neouuters Nick, l/oloael Keeling* sob, who asks him for a loan. Swauton owns he is hart up himself, and Nick says he will as* Wiilougiiuy. Swanton seizes Uie opportunity to sow see<!s of discord. Nick eui■oraees the first chance of insultiu" , his lutiire brother-in-law. There is a scrap n«nt. <yn-cn comes upon them anil acts as peacemaker. later on she gets her to promise to accompany 'Nick ou a snipeshooting expedition, in order to keep Mm jrorn Influence. Although the two men agree to ignore Mi- misunderstanding. Fate holds the threads of it for future "weaving. '' , CH-i'PTERS 111. AND IV.-H,,bhs. the outler. and Swanton's valet Slade discuss the quarrel between young Keeiln™ ami illousbby. elude observes "Mr WI lou-mJt coming home limnln- I|o!,l K 1 ~i? WfUougtoby informs Gw'u andl Swantfn that .Nick stayed to shoot, but hp does not return. Coles, from WiM Tor Farm -brings news that the colonel's son hai bi-pn murdered; that lie had seen the i,0.1v n the spinning Pit. and recognised the clothes that Nick was wearing. They organise i search party. and mi tn the ult Tiw.v n-i, for the body .wi tl ,\, r apn uV to J Who ( S CHAPTER V. TUB INQUEST. It -was about eleven o'clock on the ■following morning that Mr. Bowden the coroner, arrived. He was an elderly man ■with a smooth-shaven face and eleok grey hair. Cleave, the constable, had already empanelled a jury from the village, and after viewing.the body, coroner and jury took their seats in the dining-room, where chairs had been set in a double row. The first witness called -was Colonel Keeling. He was looking terribly white and broken, but he had regained his composure, and gave his answers in a firm voice. He identified the body by the pattern of the euit and the ring, also by the keys, purse, knife, and pips found in the pockets, and by the marks on the undergarments. There was. as the coroner admitted, absolutely no other means of identification. "Do you know if anyone bore your son a grudge, Colonel Keeling—if he'had any enemy?" asked Mr. Bowden. "So far as I know—none at all," -was the answer. "Then I T.von't trouble you with any more questions for tho present. Call JVIr. Willoughby.—l understand that you and Mr. Nicholas Keeling went shooting together yesterday, Mr. Willoughby?" began the coroner. '"That is true, sir- He and I went out together about ha]f-pa6t ten to shoot snipe on the moor. We went alone and took our lunch in our pockets. ' About three o'clock, as we were coming down across Wild Tor, I slipped on a looee stone and fell, cutting my face and bruising my knee. As I felt rather shaken, I told Mr. Keeling 1 thought 1 had 'better go home. "He. offered to come with mc, but 1 knew he was keen on shooting Callington Mire—there are generally some teal there —so I persuaded him to go on alone. That was the last 1 saw of him." "You parted on good terms?" "Perfectly," replied Kit in some surprise. "I understand you met Abner Coles on tho moor?" "Quite true. We passed close to •where he wa3 cutting turf, and Mr. Keeling spoke to him." "What time would that be?" "I hardly know. Soon after we had eaten our lunch." "After your fall did you go straight home?" "As straight as I could- It was beginning to rain, and, as you know, the mist makes it difficult to 1 -* steer a 6traign; course over the moor." •'One other question. Did you meet anybody on your way?" "Not a soul. I cut across the fields when I left the moor, and saw nobody until I rea.ched the house." "Thank you. That will do," said Mr. Bowden, and Willoughby bowed and left the room. The next witness was Abner Coles. Coles was a man -who would have stood well over six feet, but for the crook in his spine to which he owed his nickname of "Humpy." He was very powerfully built, and his best suit of dark stuff hung clumsily on his huge frame. He was about fifty years of age, and hi 3 thick hair and beard were both beginning to grizzle. He came in awkwardly and glanced round with little suspicious eyes eet deep under shaggy eyebrows. "You live at Wild Tor Farm, Mr. Colee?" began the coroner. "I dv," answered the man. Hie voice ■was very deep, and he spoke with a strong Devonshire accent. '"Yesterday you were cutting turf on the hillside near your farm?" "I reckon 'twere a goodish bit away. My turf ties be over the hill from my place." "I believe that Mr. Willough,by and Mr. Keeling passed you?" "Aye! I seed 'em pass. They were ashooting." '•\Vbat time was that?" "I reckon 'twere along about half-past two."' "And what happened then?" "Mr. Nick, he passed the time o' day, and then they went along over towards Callington Mire." "Did you watch them?" "No, I didn't watch; I'd got summat else to do." "Did you hear any shots?" "Are. I heard 'em ehoot twice ot three times" "You didn't ccc Mr. Willoughby fall?" "No, I didn't see him fall." ."'Please tell us what happened afterwards.' Coles scratched his rough head. "It began to rain, and I got up out o' the tie to see wiiat 'twas a-going to dv. I seed 'twere setting in for wet, co I took the shovel and started along home. IM' got so far as the Roundle etoae-jwhen 1 happened to look down, end: there was two chaps a-figntirg long by rtheTiyer." " One moment!" interrupted the coro« ner. "How far off were tieyt" "Couldn't Bay, I'm-sure. They was down by Hurdle Pool." " That , s nigh on a quarter ot a mile from the Roundle' Stone," put in one of the jurors. ■ * -- . "Thank you," ««id Mr. ; Bowuen* -Please continue, Mr. Cole*. The men, you cay, were fighting. Did yon j{o to■ouds than!"

" I watched 'em a while first. Then I seed both fell over, and I took and run towards 'em." He paused a moment. Every soul in the room was watching him. " The ground was terribly rough, and I couldn't go very fast. When I got to the place where they'd been fighting, there wasn't no sign on neither on 'em. But the bank was all broke away, and first I reckoned they'd both fell in, so I started on down the river to see if I could find 'cm. Just them I seed a chap running up the hill left handed from the river." " You mean to your left as you faced down stream?" broke in the coroner. " Aye, that were it." " But why hadn't you seen him before?"' "He were going up a gully, like. The ground hid him till he were pretty well up the hill." " I see. I take it, Mr. Coles, that you presumed that he was one of the pair who had been fighting?" " Course I did," responded Coles. " In that case you must have realised that it was he who had thrown the other into the river. Why did you not chase him?" Coles pave a grunt of disdain. '" Chase him," lie repeated scornfully. " Why. he wore half way up the hill when I seed him. 1 couldn't liave catehed him to save my life. 'Sides, 1 reckoned 'twere better to get t'other chap out if ho weren't dead a'ready." Mr. Bowden nodded. '" Your decision was probably right. Xow tell us, Mr. Coles, did you recognise tho man who ran away?" Coles hesitated. The silence in the room was absolute. Xo one moved. They hardly eeemed to breathe. " I ain't rightly certain," said Coles. " I couldn't see his face." '• How far off was he?" " I couldn't say. But I could show you easy enough if I took ye to the place." " That may be necessary, later. Meantime, was there anything by which you could identify the man?" " He'd a gun in his hand," said Coles. " What clothes was he wearing?" " A coat with a belt round it, and breeches and gaiters." " What colour was the suit?" •' Sort o' gray." " Had you seen anyone wearing a similar suit?" " Aye," said Coles. " WiiO was it ?" " The pent as was with Mr. Nick afore. Mr. Willoughby." CHAPTER VI. THE VERDICT. A curious 6Oiind followed Coles' last sentence. It se;med as though everyone in the room drew a long, gasping breath. Jlr. Bowden took off his glasses and wiped them. "Are you sure of what you say?" he asked. " I bain't telling you no lies, if thatH what you mean," returned Coles with* a touch or truculence. " I implied nothing of the kind," said the coroner gravely. " But you will understand the significance of the statement which you have made." " I be willing to say it again before anyono." declared Coles. " That is' all then for the present," said Mr. Bowden. " Call Mr. Swanton." Swanton's face had the exact touch of gravity suited to the situation as he took the oath. His evidence too was given very quietly, but did not at first seem to contain anything of moment, until the coroner asked: — '• On what terms were the deceased and Mr. Willoughby?" Swanton hesitated the fraction of a moment. "" Usually most cordial," he replied. " Usually—why do you say usually 1" asked Mr. Bowden quickly. " W T as there any difference recently?" Again Swanton hesitated. " You will understand, sir, that this 13 a very difficult question for mc to answer." " But it is your duty to answer. Do you know of any qtiarrel between them?" " I believe," said Swanton deliberately. " that there was some Blight unpleasantness on the evening of the day before yesterday. Mr. Keeling and Mr. Willoughby remained together in the diningroom after dinner. Strolling outside in the garden, I heard high voices, and the sound of breaking crockery. But as 1 passed straight on I caught nothing of what was actually being said." " And was any crockery broken?" put in Mr. Bowden ehrewdly. " I don't know, sir. But no doubt the butler "will be able to tell." " We will call him. One more question. Was there any trace of strained feeling between Mr. Willoughby and the deceased next morning?" " None whatever," replied Swanton, decidedly. Hobbs, who came next, was questioned about thb broken crockery, and admitted that a plate had been smashed; but, catching the drift of the Coroner's questions twa& insistent that it was just a " lark." " Mr. Nick was aiwaye one for playing tricks," he eaid, "and trying feats of strength and that eort of thing. But as for him and Mr. Willoughby quarrelling, why, they were always the best of friende, sir." On the wfaoie Hobbs* evidence produced a good impression, and this woe decidedly strengthened by that of his young mistress. Mr. Bowden's questions to her were more carefully framed than any he had yet put, but it was at once evident that ehe had not the faintest suspicion that Kit could be in any way implicated in her brother's death. She had not, of coudse, heard any of the previous evidence. At last Mr. Bowden was driven to put it plainly. "Mies KeeKng, Mr. Willoughby, as we know, was the last person of the household at Combe Heriot who wae in the company of your brother before hie death. In the couree of the evidence, we 'have learnt of some disagreement between the two on the previous evening. Can tell uh anything of thia?" For the moment the 'full significance question did not down on Gwen. "Disagreement," ehe repeated. Then her face went quite white. "It 6s true that there wae a aligbt disagreement between my brother and Mr. W'Maagbby on that evening in the dining-room. I came into the room while it was in progress." "Will you tell us exactly w?-U you saw?" Baid the Coroner. "The two were struggling together. Mr. Willoughby had hold of my broth- . erfe wrists. The moment I came in, they dropped apart." "And thta!" "Aftenmrds I artad Mr. W«begM.y -wfcat -araa the matter. &» told mi tact

Nick—that my brother—eeemed upset about eometUiing, but he did not know ■what. Hβ asked mc to epeak to my brother. I did bo, end he apologised to Mr. Willoughby. Later that evening the two were playing billiards to- . gether, and next morning they -were ac 'good friends as ever." " Are you aware of any similar dieagreement on a previous occasion?" " TheTe has never been anything of the sort. They have always been tho best of friends." That ended Gwen's examination. Then one of the jury requested that Willoughby should be recalled. Willoughby looked a little surprised as he mas ushered back into the room. The Coroner went straight to the point. " Mr. Wdlloughby, we have heard that there was a disagreement between youreelf and the late Mr. Keeling the evening previous to hiis death. Is that a fact?" If Willoughby gave a start, it was so slight as to 'be hardly perceptible. Hie only feeling at tho moment was one of I surprise as to how the fact had leaked out. Gwen, of couree. would never have mentioned it, and he could not conceive how else the quarrel bad come to light. But his answer was prompt and frank. "It is true. There was a quarrel. Mr. Keeling was rude to mc, and I resented dt. He tried to etrike mc, and I seized his hands. At that moment Aliss Keeling came in and the incident was over. Later that evening ilr. Keeling apologised to mc, and asked mc to have a game of billiards." " What ivas the cause of the quarrel?" asked Mr. Bowden. " Tiheie was no catiee. Something— what 1 don't know—had. upset Mr. Keeling. He ate hardly any dinner, and spoke to no one. Afterwards, when we were sitting together, I asked 'him if he minded my going out. He swore at mc, and 1 resented it. That is. all." Mr. Bowden was eilent a moment. " One other question occurs to mc. Was Mr. Keeling under the influence of liquor at the time of this upset?"' '•He had had rather more port than he usually took," answered Willoughby, "but he certainly was not drunk" " Thank you. That will do," eadd the coroner. Willoughby, ac he walked out through the ihall into the garden, was so deep in thought that he never even saw Uwen, who was waiting for him, until he was quite close to her. "Kit what did they call you back for? she asked anxiously. '•They wanted to kno"w about that silly squabble between poor Nick and myself." "They asked mc too, said Gwen quickly. "Who could have told them?■• He shook his head. «I have not a nouon. " Xo' more have I—unless it wae Mr Swanton." " ' "He said co," replied Gwen significantly. "But he did not go at once/ At least, there was no li R ht in his room wiien I went out into the garden that evening." "He might have been -writing in the library" b '•No, there was no light there, cither. JUt, 1 feel as sure as possible that he was prowling about, listening." "Dearest, haven't you got Swanton on the brain a little?" remonstrated Willoughby. "Perhaps I have. And yet somehow ) feel convinced, as I told you that night, that it was he who somehow stirred •Nick up to quarrel with you." ||You have nothing to go on, Gwen." "I have my own intuition, Kit. Women have a sense of that kind, you know." Willoughby was eilent while ihey two, side by side, strolled the length "of the long gravel walk above the tennis courts. Under the great cedar of Lebanon at the far end he came to a standstill. "Gwen," he said deliberately, "I was the last person in Nick's company. It is unfortunate that this : quabble has come to light." "Don't!" said Gwen tensely. "Don't!" "I hate to cay it as much as you to hear it. But facts must be faced. You .know what Coles said when he brought the news—that Nick had been murdered If he hae given the same evidence before the jury it is entirely possible that 1 may be suspected." "No—no! They could not! Oh, Kit!" With the wonderful courage which was her heritage, Gwen pulled herselt together. "Kit, this is terrible! And yet from the way in which Mr. Bowden questioned mc, I had already almost suspected it. But—but there is not one atom of evidence against you." "Not much, certainly," answered Willoughby, trying hard to consider the matter impartially. "Still, lawyers do build up caees out of circumstantial evidence, and—and the mere shadow ot such a suspicion would bo disaster. Think what it would mean to you and mc." ' Gwen turned and faced him. "Kit," she said, firmly, "it is not right to talk like that. Nothing shall inter fere between ve —nothing, do you hear? If everyone else in the world were against you I should still believe in you." Willoughby'e face lighted up. "I know you would dearest," lie said softly, and bending forward, kissed ncr on the lips- < At that moment came a aoond of footsteps crunching on the gravel. "It's Mr. Swanton," whispered Gwen. "Go and meet him, Kit. I can't apeak to him." Kit got up and vent forward. "Oh there yon are, Willoughby," eaid Swanibn. "The inquest ie over at la*t." "And what is the verdict!" asked YVUloughby. Swanton eyed him oddly. "Murder," he said elowly, and paused. But Willoughby was unmoved. "The usual thing, I ■upposeT" h* said quietly. "Yea," answered Swanton, "person or 'persona unknown* Where ie-Mie* Keeling?" he added. "She is under the cedar. But eh* wished mc to say that ehe is very tired and does not ,wish to see anyone." Swanton bit hie lip. For a moment lie looked very black. But hie powers of self-control were equal to the occasion. "Then perhaps you will make my adieux for mc," he said. "After an event of this eort the house is hardly a fit place for anyone outside the family." If the laet part of the sentence were intended to convey a hint, it wm lost on Willoughby. "I wfll do as you ask," he replied, formally. "Good-bye!" Swanton did not offer his hand. '"Good-bye!" he said, and taming abruptly, went back through the house. Willoughby turned to Gwen. "Swanton is leaving," he announced. Gwen gave a High of nlief. "I can't tell you how glad I am to see the last of him. Is the inquest over, Kit?" "Yea. The jury, have brought it in murder against soma pentan or persons unknown." ▲ look pf relit! rroptd Qwca's lace.

"It makes no difference, dearest," Willoughby explained. "A coroner is not a judge. It is hie duty to discover the cause of death, not the guilty person. The reet ie in the hands of the police. Gwen, I've been thinking. I ought to follow Swanton'e example. I ought to be moving." - She looked up sharply. "No, Kit, no. You must not. 1 could not bear to be left alone now." "But your father, Gwen. What will he think? And then you will be having relatives here for the funeral." "Father is not fit to do anything, Kit," Gwen anewered. "He badly needs someone to help him with the arrangements. And as for relations, well surely, Kit"— she smiled faintly—"you may count yourself one of the family." "Very well then. Gwen, I will stay for the present. And you muet make as much use of mc ac you can. Afterwards I shall go to John Wharton for a while at Endsley. I shall be near enough to ride over and see you." "Miss Gwen! Mies Gwen!" The voice was Hobbs', and iU tone wae euch that Willoughby and Gwen sprang up at once. The butler came rushing along the gravel walk towards them. His face was grave and drawn. "What is it, Hobbs!" asked Willoughby. "The Colonel, sir—the Colonel. Will you come, if you please." He turned and hurried bade to the house, and the othere, full of diemay, followed. Hobbe led the way to the study. Colonel Keelinir was seated in his big leather-covered arm-chair by the window. His head lolled forward on hie chest, his face was darkly flushed, and the veins on hie forehead stood out like cords. Hio breathing was heavy and stertorous. Gwen, white to the lips, ran forward. "Daddy, oh daddy," ehe cried piteously. But Willoughby was before her, and reaching the Colonel picked him up bodily out of the chair and laid him fiat on the floor. '•HoM>3, send for the doctor. Send the car. Don't waste a moment. Tell tho chauffeur to cay that every minute counts." Aβ Hobbs fled to obey, Willoughby turned to Gwen. "It's a stroke, Gwen—an apoplectic seizure. the windows, while I loosen his collar. That is all that we can do for him until the doctor comes." (To be continued Saturday next.) Dover Old-Age Pensions Committee allowed eixpence increase weekly to an applicant. They received the following B&rcas*tio refusai: "To cave th-o Committee from getting into disgrace by making the fabulous advance of Chreefartihings a day to mc at the age of sevonty-eight, I much prefer to tighten my belt and so save them from further trouble."

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