THE FORTUNE HUNTER

Auckland Star, Volume LII, Issue 258, 29 October 1921, Page 22

THE FORTUNE HUNTER

BY RUBY AYRES Author of "The Dancing Master," "The Story of Ninette," etc.

The Fortune Hunter sat at the top ot" a five-barred gate, his hat at the back of his head, idly tapping his rather shabby brown boots with a rough stick which lie had pulled from a hedge. It was his cight-and-twentieth birth-1 day, and he had exactly eight-and-twenty shillings in the world. Perhaps it was this fact that was responsible ior the pre-occupied look on his fact and his total oblivion to the fact that the; top of the gate was bordered withj barbed wire to the exceeding danger ot his already well-forn suit. It was a warm evening in early September. The trees all around were beginning to be faintly tinged with autumn colouring, and a faint grey mist was rising from the bed of the river which flowed by on the other side of the field at his back. Eighl-and-twcnty shillings. The Fortune Hunter took the coins from his pocket, looked at them, laughed ana jingled them back again. He had been in many tight corners during the past ten years of his roving life, and had always managed to struggle out of them, but to-day somehow his usual optimism seemed to have failed him. l'erhaps it was the silence all around that depressed him, for at any rate he sighed—a most unusual thing for the Fortune Hunter to do—and passed a hand wearily across his eyes. For a fortnight now he had tramped England, waiting for something to turn up, for he.was a firm believer in his luck, and this was the first time he had allowed himself even to oonsider the possibility that it might be going to fail hiin after all these years. To begin with, he was hungry, and hunger makes a man a pessimist more quickly than anything 011 earth; but there was a sort of unwillingness in his > heart to break into that last eight-and-twenty shillings until lie was absolutely forced to do so. When things were at their worst, something always turned up—or such, at least, had always been the case with him, and with the sort of feeling that ho must get away from his thoughts and shake off his growing depression, the Fortune Ilunter jumped down from the gate, ami started walking up the road again. \ He was a tall man, and he looked like j a gentleman in spite of the fact that his clothcs were shabby and his boots wanted heeling. 1 ct there was an undeniable air of breeding about him, and he walked with a line, athletic swing, despite his weariness. His hair was short-cropped, and showed touches of grey here and there, and his face was burnt by exposure to sun and weather. For a fortnight he had slept in woods or barns, or out in the hedges; anything served him for a bed; he had roughed it in all four corners of the world, and never quarrollel with the pillow provided hv circumstance. A little further on the road forked; one way leading straight along, was evidently the main road, and the other, turning into a narrower path, ultimately ending in a shady wood. The' Fortune Hunter hesitated, then turned into the wood, where neither heat nor dust had penetrated and everything was cool and fresh. He took off his hat and let the soft air heat on his forehead, walking mechanically along until suddenly he tripped and' almost fell over an obstacle half hidden in that thick 'bracken overhanging the narrow footpath. The Fortune Hunter recovered himself and swore good naturcdly, glancing down to see what had tripped him, then his face changed and lie caught his breath on a muttered ejaculation as he saw the huddled form of a man lying face downward amongst the green undergrowth. "Drunk!" was his first thought, and lie half moved aside to pass on. Then some inexplicable instinct restrained him, and, stooping down, he pulled the tall bracken aside, peering more closely at the prostrate figure. Another second and he was on his knees beside it, his deft urown hands feeling under the coat for a heart beat, his tanned face pale with horror. For the man was dead. The Fortune Hunter had seen death ( too many times to be mistaken, but it gave him an unusual shock to have ! come across it here in the heart of a shady English wood. ! Turning the dead man gently over on 1 his back, lie looked into his face. Quite a young face it was and not unlike his own, he thought vaguely, with its clean- 1 shaven lips and smooth skin, from which even death had not teen able to 1 obliterate the tan. He wore a rough tweed suit that ■ looked rather colonial in cut, and a soft grey hat lay a little distance off in the bracken. ' The Fortune Hunter rose to his feet and stood looking around him with a ' feeling of helplessness. What ought he ' to do? Inform the police, he supposed. He turned his eyes again to the still ! form at his feet. 1 Whatever the cause of death, it had 1 come peacefully enough, for the face was quite calm and unlincd by pain, and the 1 lips a little parted as if in sleep. • If only someone would come along! ■ The Fortune Hiintcr had 110 idea how far ] he wa.s from the nearest village, but he 1 was turning to retrace his steps to the 1 main road, when he caught sight of a bulky package lying almost at his feet. He stooped and picked it up. It was a shabby leather pockct-book, held to- 1 gether by an elastic band and bulging 1 with papers or letters. The Fortune Hunter turned it over uncertainly; then, with a little shrug of 1 the shoulders he pulled off the band and ' glanced through the contents. 1 There were a lot of pencil notes that 1 seemed to relate to nothing in particu- ' lar, and jottings of various sums of money; a few. letters, all in the same ; writing; an old photograph of a girl ' with hair tumbling about her shoulders; < and on the fly-leaf of the pocket-book a name, evidently the name of the dead man, written in a sprawly hand— 1 "John Smith." ! The Fortune Hunter smiled grimly. He 1 had known many "John Smiths" in his '<■ wanderings, but seldom had it been the rightful name of the man who claimed it; ; and it was with the idea of finding some further means of identification that he 1 unfolded one of the letters and glanced < ■casually through it 1

Jt was obviously writteu by a woman, and bore a date four months previous. "Jly Dear John,—l know you will think that I have been a long time answering your last letter, but now you will so soon be home again I am beginning to be afraid. "Ten years is a long time—and I was only IS when you went away. Supposing you don't like me any more? Sup- ! posing I don't like you? Oh, 1 i know there has been nobody else for ' either of us since, but I am afraid all the same. I was a child when you went away, and now I am a woman, though I don't feel so very much older, except when I look back 011 tile days with you and realise how far away they really are. "You must be patient with 111 c, won't you? Don't cxpcct too great things from me at first, although in spite of the fear I am longing to see you, and somehow in my heart I think—l feel sure—it will be all right. ... I sha'n't write again—you will be home before you could get another letter. So it's just au revoir, dear. Annie." The Fortune Hunter shrugged his shoulders and glanced again at the heading on the paper: "Cherry Lodge, Somerton-on-Thames." Not so very far away then! lie had a vague idea, that he had seen a signpost to Somertou as he had tramped the last weary mile. He thrust the letters and shabby case into his pocket and turned on to the main road. '■'Somehow, in my heart, 1 feel sure it will be all right " The words echoed through his mind rather piteoiislv. Well, whoever "Annie" v.as, the dreaded meeting with John Smith would never take place now, for John Smith lay dead in the silent wood, with the tall bracken bending above him. Odd how deserted the road was. It stretched before the Fortune Hunter, dusty and empty, as he quickened his tired steps, anxious now to be rid of the responsibility of his discovery. But in half a mile lie had failed to meet one pedestrian, though the road had curled 1 about until it had brought him parallel! with the -river, flowing silently by, bathed in the late evening light. j Some distance ahead the figure of a I girl in a punt was clearly silhouetted 1 against the sky, and the Fortune Hunter | j gave a little growl of satisfaction as he j realised that he could not now be far, from a village. He watched the girl with a curious sense of satisfaction; she and the quiet I river scene were so typically English, and | he felt all at once how good it was to be! home again—if 0110 could call a country home wherein a man had neither friends nor money. The girl wore a white frock with short sleeves, and the rays of the sinking sun glittered 011 her hair, turning it to gold, as her slim body moved with slow grace, propelling the little punt up stream. There was someone with her—a man or a boy. The Fortune Hunter could not be sure which, for the figure was stooping over the side of the punt, watching something in the water; and across the silently-flowing river the man on the roadway could 'hear their voices distinctly through the still evening. '"If you'd only sit still, Tommy. You can't reach them—do, please." And then came a shrill scream and a stifled cry as the punt seemed to lurch violently. " The girl swayed dangerously, only' recovering herself with a tremendous effort, but the other figure tumbled headlong into the water, without apparently making the least attempt to save itself. "Serve him right!" thought the Fortune Hunter grimly, and stood still for a moment waiting for it to reappear. But the seconds passed, and beyond a sort of swirl where the boy had disappeared there was 110 sign. The girl was on her knees in the punt now, screaming helplessly, and all at once the Fortune Hunter seemed to realise that the matter was serious and that the boy was in danger of drowning, He ran along the road till he was almost abreast of the drifting punt, then he kicked off his shoes, flung his jacket aside and plunged into the river. The girl saw him and stretched agonised hands to him. "Oh, save him —save him! He can't swim—he's a cripple." The Fortune Hunter was a powerful swimmer and the distance was nothing to him, but when ho reached the bov — a lad of about 17—it was not such au easy matter to bring him to shore. But lie managed it at last, and clambered out with the weed in his hair and water dripping from him. The girl had regained her self-control j and brought the punt to the bank, but . she was very pale and her voice shook , as she knelt down beside the exhausted boy. "Oh, Tommy! Oh, arc you all right? Oh, Tommy—l was so terrified. .." 1 She tried to put her arms round the , boy's drenched figure, but he repelled j her almost roughly. "Shut up!" he choked. "Leave me ' alone. It was your fault; you oucht , to have balanced the beastlv boat < better." He looked a miserable enough objcct • as he sat there in the long grass, - shivering and shaking, and the Fortune " Hunter felt a wave of contempt as lie j picked up the coat he had flung aside t and calmly proceeded to put it on over , his wet shirt. j The girl gave a little cry of horror. "You're not going! You can't go like that! You'll take your death of cold. f Oh, please! We live quite close—you must come in and get dry." The Fortune Hunter laughed. , "I don't take cold easily—" his care- 1 less gaze wandered over the girl's con- , cerned face, and, realising its attraction, he added more graciously: "You're very 1 kind—at any rate, I will help you homu 1 with . . . your brother?" 1 "Yes. I am sure we can never thank you. You saved his life. Oh, Tommy, 1 what should we have done if nobody had 1 come along?" " . The boy laughed harshly. 1 "I should have drowned, that's all.". He began to hoist himself up : from the grass with difficulty, and the Fortune 1 Hunter put a strong arm Tound him, ' and lifted him to his feet. c "Lean on me," he said," "I can carry you if you like, but .-. ." * 1 "Thank you, I can walk," was the 1 ungracious response. But he was glad 1 of a helping hand before they had gone 1 very far, and presently, without a word, r

, the Fortune Hunter picked him up bodily and carried him the remainder of I the way, the water running from both of 1 them in uncomfortable little rivulets, 1 leaving a trail along the dusty road. The girl followed silently. From time to time she kept looking at the l'or- • tune Hunter with queer, half-scared ; glances, and when they reached the ■ house she ran ahead and opened the gate, standing aside to let him pass. It ' was an old-fashioned house, with ivyI coloured walls and a garden sloping down to the river. Tubs filled with ivy geraniums bordered the terrace, and striped sun blinds were drawn over the 1 windows of the house. The Fortune Hunter cast a swift ; glance around him and wondered if this 1 was the turn in his luck for which he : had been waiting. ' He followed the girl into the hall. It '' was cool and shady and rose scented, 1 and he put his burden down gently. "You'd better have a hot bath at once," he said casually. "A duckittjf doesn't hurt me, I'm used to roughing ' it, but you . . ." The hoy limped away towards the 1 stairs without answering; he was an un- [ gracious sort of youth, and his thin, delicate face was fretful and ill tem- , percd. i The girl looked up at the Fortune 1 Hunter as he moved to the door. "[ cannot let you go like this," she • said decidedly. ''You must change, too, ' and my uncle will like to see you and thank you, 1 ' "Tommy—my brother—is very dcli- ' eate, you know"—she paused—"but, of course, you don't know," she added slowly. The Fortune Hunter did not answer. He was a little puzzled by the girl's manner: and when presently he was shown into a bathroom and given a suit nf dry clothcs which, even if they were slightly 011 the small side, were a welcome change from his own damp ,gar- | ments, he found himself wondering | whether by any chance in his wanderI ings lie could have met this girl before. There was something in her eyes ' j when she looked at him. He knit his ' 1 brows. After all, he had known so many women. Ho dismissed the thought . I casually. ' It was when he was trying to wring out his own soaked garments and pull ' them into some semblance of shape again '' that he came across the pocket-book ho \ | had taken from the dead man in the _ woods. For the moment lie had forgotten that ' gruesome discovery, and it returned now to his memory unpleasantly. "Cherry Lodge, Somerton-on-Thames." 1 It must be somewhere near here, at ' all events; perhaps the girl downstairs ' could tell him where it was. "lie opened the door and went to the 1 The house was beautifully furnished, and the Fortune Ilunter looked around him with envious eyes; it was many months since he had been in such surroundings. He was standing at the bottom of the staircase, uncertain which way to go, when the girl came from a room on the right. "Please come in," she said. There was a hint of nervousness in her voice, and the Fortune Hunter followed her with a faintly amused smile in his eyes. She was very beautiful, he thought; and he liked her white frock and shoes and stockings and the pretty waves ol her hair. There were wine and biscuits 011 the table, and she pressed him to take some. "My uncle is out," she said, "or I know he would make you welcome. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done. If you had not been there Tommy would have drowned;" "I am glad I was there then," he answered, smiling. There was a moment's silence; the girl was fidgeting nervously with her handkerchief; then, quite suddenly, she raised her eves. "Will you—will yon tell mo your name?" she asked. The Fortune Hunter hesitated. He had answered to so many different names during his lifetime—few of them his own—then he half shrugged his shoulders. After all, what did a name matter? 1 "My name is John Smith," he said deliberately, with cynical memory of that moment in the woods when he had taken the pocketbook from a dead man. But he was totally unprepared for the stifled cry which broke from the girl's lips or for the little eager steps she took towards him, her hands outstretched. "I knew—l knew it was you," she said with a sobbing laugh. The hot blood beat into the Fortune Hunter's face and for a moment he stood helplessly staring at her; then mechanically lie took her hands in his and hold them fast. "I knew it was you," she said again, with tremulous happiness in her voice. "And you always said that I would not recognise you." She held back from him at arm's length, scanning his hot face, smiling through her tears. "Why, you haven't altered so very much!" she declared. "How jould you tell me that you have! Oh; and to pretend that, you didn't know who I was. Oh, John! It seems like yesterday after ail, now that you're hero again." She was 100 excited to notice his silence, and she went on; "You were coming to us, of course, weren't you?" The Fortune Hunter hesitated for a moment, groping for the words that would leave him free to make his escape and yet not hurt her feelings. I "I wanted to see you at once —" ho 1 began, then stopped ab-yptly, as a deep, vigorous voice called from below interrupted him. Anne! Anne!' called the man below, who evidently had just entered 1 the lower hall. Tlie'girl whirled around and ra.n down the stairs, her face alight with joy, exclaiming. "Oh, it's Uncle Clement!" But the Fortune Hunter, following ; more slowly, ielt 110 such exultation. 1 Tilings were beginning to be a bit difli- • cult to manage. The Fortune Hunter was a shrewd 1 man. During his roving, eventful life ! he was proud to feel that he had seldom made a mistake in his summing up of a ! man or woman. But ho made one now 1 as he shook hands with Clement Har- |

i ding, and believed that he knew exactly j f the type of man with whom be had to I f deal. j j An inoffensive old country gentleman | who took the obvious for granted, and 3 troubled 110 further; so the Fortune - Hunter would casually have described ; i him. But for once iu his life he was j wrong. The twinkling eyes that peeped out j t from the rosy, wrinkled face were the j • shrewdest eyes in the world, and the ! hearty manner, and simple, almost boyish f laugh were but a disguise provided by 1 nature, for the wonderful gift of instine--2 tive foresight and understanding. "So you're the wonderful John t Smith," Clem Harding said, as he wrung j 3 the Fortune Hunter's hand. 2 Well, well! 1 never believed in your j existence. Many's the argument Anne| t and I have had over you. Why only j; , last night—wasn't it, my dear?—l bet! her £5 that' none of us would ever see j you in the flesh; that something would r keep you away from Somerton at the J last moment. Ha-Ha! 1 was wrong, ' and I'll pay by debt gladly." He stood back, hands thrust into his, " pockets, and looked the Fortune Hunter up and down with kindly, expansive gaze.! ' "My clothes don't fit you very well, 1 do they? We must send for your own luggage wherever it is. Meanwhile, help, ' yourself to my wardrobe. A bit short \ ill the leg, eh? And a bit too big round ; the waist? He laughed again infec- , tionsly, and the Fortune Hunter laughed | 1 too. ; "llhey might be a worse fit," he, declared, stretching his long arms to j j show the absurd shortness of the coat- j I sleeves. "It was unfortunate, Tommy j tailing into the river." He brought the j name out boldly. "But I'm glad I was 1 ' there, and able to be of use," lie went I °"' i t "I'm more than glad," Clem Harding!' , said gravely, "if anything had hapj pened to that boy—well; we could never . have filled his place, eh, Anne?" t "I've been trying to thank John," : I the girl said shyly. The old man touched her cheek affectionately. "You'll do it better it* ; I'm out of the way," he said. He turned . to the door, looking back when he! u reached it to ask: "And your luggage? It's at Somertou Station, I suppose?" 1'

The Fortune Hunter hesitated, and 1 in spite of himself, the colour deepened 1 a little in his bronzed face. 1 "As a matter of fact, I only came down for the day," he said at last. 1 "You see, I—l wasn't sure what might 1 happen. Everything was so strange." ' "Quito so, quite no. Well, we must send for your goods and chattels, be- j cause you'il stay with us, of coursc—eh, Anne?" j : He did not wait for a reply! he c merely laughed and •went out of the : room. a There was an awkward silence. Tlie girl stood by the table, her eves! downcast, the sunset glow from tfic ■ d wide-open window all about 'hex, hcr;r fingers nervously twisting the loose sashjf at her waist. i The Fortune Hunter looked at hcr,t helplessly; he had never felt sit such a g loss in his life. Twice he clcared Msjli throat before, with a dcsipcrate effort, •he said rather hoarsely: a " We shall have a great deal to say to one another—you and I." s "Yes." She looked up swiftly, her i a eyes radiant through the tears that misted them. Then suddenly she took t a little run towards him, laying both e her hands on his sSioulders, her ■pretty.t face strained in sudden anxiety. j" "Oh„ are you really—really glad to . t bo here with me?" j' l The Fortune Hunter looked past her, I and swiftly round the room; glad to 0 bo in such comfort and luxury, even if 11 only for a short while, after the months .0 of discomfort and hardship. ! His eyes wandered to the open win-' t dow; to the sloping garden beyond and the silvery river, and he drew a deep I breath. ', "Glad! That's a poor word," he said ])' fervently. j" He looked down a.t her Hushing face, * read the thought in her eyes, and for a I moment he hesitated. Then with a little t half-shamed laugh, he tent and kissed her lips. She returned tho kiss with soft eager- fi ness, whispering brokenly as they drew apart again: "And no man has cvcr.F kissed me—since you went away." The Fortune Hunter flushed scarlet; | an intolerable sense of shame scorned to! ' choke him. He walked away from her, tl and stood looking out over the river 1 with hot eyes. P He had done many questionable things ir in his life, and l'clt little compunction. 'Many times in his wanderings lie had h, walked 'boldly into a restaurant, eaten a si hearty meal," and got out of the place « without paying a cent .'for it. ftfore than »; once he had thrown the bag containing hall -his worldly belongings out of his lodging window, and followed it doivn a J water-pipe into the street in ordor to w avoid the impossibility of meeting his w bill, and it had all eecmed more or less el sport. But this —somehow this thing, which ( t\ gave promise to bo the greatest advcn-jl" lure of all,- went sorely against the grain. * Ist

The Fortune Hunter found his voice rith an effort. "Yes; we've just been talking about it. 'oirnny shall 'have his skin all right." He looked around desperately. "I liink if iny clothes are dry " he egan. ".My dear fellow, you're not tliinking f going?" ilr. Harding broke off in onccrn. "Why, we've seen nothing of ou; you arc going to stay with t.s. I bought it was all arranged—didn't you ell me so, Anne, my dear?" ''Yes, I—'l thought so, but—if John oes not want to stay " "It's not that I aun't want to stay, e said in a rough sort of voice. "But— 'vc no tilings with me. I—l left all my iggagc in London, and I'm not—l've oughed it so—-' He broke off, tammering. .Mr. Harding thumped him on the hack, nd laughed. "Pooh! That's all right! We're nly too glad to have you as yon' are. 1 nil you, my 'boy, I'd begun to worry bout you, and that's the truth. "Hut now—well, I could find it in my cart to forgive you anything, just to ee my little girl here looking so happy I'onsense, my dear," a.s she tried to in-c-rrupt. ''You are. looking 'hnippy; and t is because he's here, so why shouldn't aav it, may \ ask?" He slipped a hand through the arm ol aoh of them, and hcgan„to stroll hack to lie house. '"You're seeing Somertou at its besi nd prettiest, John," he said. ''Wc ion't stay here in the winter; it's tm amp, you know. The garden's undo! rater half the time,'but just now," his lerry eyes rested fondly on the house efore him. "well, it's -rather a nice little pot, isn't itV" he asked casually. Tiie fortune Hunter laughed. '•A man could ask nothing better," he aid. "Hullo! what's tho excitement?" They wore -passing the garden gate hat opened directly on to t-he main road, long which an excited crowd of people -'cro hurrying, hustling together and nlking ceaselessly. Anne gave a little cry. "Oh, look! They're carrying someone, 'here must -have 'been an accident. Oh, ear! Uliat can it 'he?" The Fortune Hunter took a quick step srwaril, and caught her iby the arm, winging her round away from the gate Imost roughly as she would have run jrward. "If it's an accident, you don't want i) look. I'll go and see what it is. 'lease, stay where you arc." She was too much surprised to disboy. Site stood with fear in her eyes nd her hands pressed agitatedly to her pa, as the Fortune Hunter went uickly forward and out into tiro road. He caught the arm of a man hurrying J keep up with the little crowd and poke to him sharply. "What is it! What's the matter?" The man looked over his shoulder, !icn stopped. "'Someone they've found in the wood— iran." * "Dcatl?" The question came with the lanpncss of a pistol shot. "Yes; .been dead -for hours, so they iv. They sent for a doctor and the olice." "'Who is the man? "Do you know!" •A Shake of the head was the reply. !\o — a stranger here—sha'bby-loofci.ng lan, too." The Fortune Hunter relaxed his grip n the other man's arm. "But there must have been piypers on im—letters, something? " he asked. Another shake of the head. "Xo, that's tho odd thing, there's nothisr. not oven a mark" on his clothes. We id a similar case here years ago—a ia.n found- in the river." "And did they never find out who he as?" "Xo, never: and it's years ago—l 2 niro, T should think." The man went on down the road, and :e Fortune -Hunter turned round slowly ml looked hack at the garden gate, here Anne stood waiting for him. She made. a. very charming picture raiust the background of trees in her i ..bite frock, and the Fortune Hunter's j heart quickened with a little heat of j excitement, I Was his luck going to hold, after all? He went back to her with slow steps. "'Was it an accident?" she asked anxiously. "\\ ho was it, John?" He could not meet her eyes. "A man; some poor devil they -found in the woods. He was dead." "Oh, how sad! I wonder who he was." "They don't know—there were no papers or anything to identify him." -She half-turned, looking down the road, where tho tragic little procession was disappearing. ''Poor man!"" she said gently. "1 expect there is someone, somewhere, who hived him." J he I'ortime Hunter made no answer, and it to with the excuse that he must "lake some attempt to tidy himself for dinner that lie presently escaped to the room allotted to him and sat down ou the side of the bed to think things out. Iff angry with himself because he was failing to enjoy tins adventure. Three hours before, when he sat on the live-barred giUe and wondered what on earth v;n.s to become of him, lie had hoped for something—anything— no matter how wild and -preposterous, that would for the time, being, at all events, land him in comfort again. He. had longed for a hot faith and a peaceful night .between clean sheets as lie bad never longed for anything on earth, 'but now that he had -had the"one, and there was every prospect of the Jtherjic was wishing .himself back home hi the stile again, footsore a.nd home-! 'exilic hospitality which the Fortune Hunter had received at Cherry Lodge 'lad made him ashamed. They had iceepted him without question', and taken him into the -family circle, not merely as a friend, but as'the lover of the girl whose 'blue eyes seemed to =eorch him with their faith and happiHow long could he stand it? Even mpposing the dead man in (.he wood eld no tales, how long could he stand t? he asked himself as he sat on the ;ide of the bod and stared round the lainty room with moody eves. It was a very charming room, like ill the others in the house which he lad seen. It looked out on the garden a.nd the •iver, and there was an old-fashioned •ellow rose climbing the wall and ipeopng its scented inquisitive head in at he window. But he iiad sever thought to sleep in ■uch a room—never imagined that in he future such a freak of fortune [waited him. How long could it last, even without lir.covery? How long could h c lie to ■his girl, and take her kisses without >e:ng driven by sheer shame to betrav limself? He had no money, and the luggage I'iiich he had told Mr. Harding hc"had eft behind in London was a myth—he uad no luggage. His only suit was drvng in a hot cupboard In the bathroom, nd 28 shillings represented the sum otal of his capital.

"It will have to end," he told himself grimly, as he stood and stared at the v river. ... He had taken many a kiss in his life, 'j and thought nothing of it, but this girl was different. She loved 'him; or at least she loved the man whom she be- j lieved him to be. . j And a little breath of coolness swopt £ through the heart of the Fortune Hunter c as he thought, of the man lying dead in the woods with the bracken bending [ above him. . t The whole thing was madness. Discovery was Ibound to come. jj For an hour or two perhaps he might carry the situation with a high hand— | ( long enough to get a good meal and y fresh courage with which to face his ] wanderings—-but there it would have to , end. Is | He had meant 110 harm; he had been j [carried off his feet, and the girl herself, a 1 was responsible for the mistakes in the 1 I first place. »She ought to have had l ( more sense; women were so seutiuicn- f tal! _ l ; , j ilCven supposing there, was a. faint re- j Isem'blance between himself and the dead j man! After all, theirs was an ordinary f j type. But lie was conscious of keen x j curiosity to know what story lay behind it all, and from what ten years nf exile;, the dead man had been 011 his way home. | The giri touched his arm _ gently.j "John, is it—-all thLv—anything like you. (i pictured it? 1 tried to describe it ' 0 j, you, but it wasn't easy, is it at all i !iiike you thought it was?" she asked. . The Fortune Hunter pulled himself. ( together with an effort. j, "It's all much more beautiful" lie said isttnnbiing'ly. "1 can't—" lie turned ;! |and looked down at her. "Bu't I can't ; | istav here," 'he went on with a sort of ; . rush, "your uncle—" ■Her eyes opened wide. i "Why uncle will just love to have you," | f she said. "Poor dear! lie's 'been so j 'worried. He never thought you would. ; t really come at all; lie always said that |I was wasting my time. Ife was ever , v so angry when 1 would not look at any j —aJiy of the other men who—who—" | She laughed. , j "Well, 1 did tell you that there were'.j other men, didn't I?'' she appealed. He echoed her words slowly. i "Yes—oh, yes. You did tell 1110 " But jjI lie 'hardly heard. He was wondering 'how on earth ho could explain to her, a ■w'lmt excuse he could make to get out of j I the house and away before the fraud j | was discovered. :. j She seemed quite unconscious of his j agitation. 'She went on eagerly: "And 1 is Tonany like what you thought he c | was? Poor Tommy, lie's been longing n for you to come. I've always read him [] bits of yoi.'r letters, and since you said 'you had a hear >.'kin for him he's talked .. altout it every day. You have brought' it haven't you?" | s The Fortune Ilunter opened bis mouth j to speak, and shut it again with a little 1 snap. J There was a grin of ami/sement in his 'blue eyes. I "Ob! he shall have his bear skin all' n right," ho said after a moment, ami 1 !wondcrcd hew it was that if John Smith : P

liad known this girl so well and intimately ho had never 'before met cither her uncle or the boy Tommy. It was obviously a situation from which to escape as soon as -possible. The | only wonder was that he had not already given himself hopelessly away. Wdiy, he did not even know the girl's surname, or the place from which he himself was supposed to have conic. lie ran a nervous finger roi.'nd the inside of his collar, 'lie felt as if he could not breathe. "Can't we go out in the garden?" he asked abruptly. "This room is so hot. . . ." lie knenv it mas not; the room was delicitmsly cool and' filled with the soft | river breeze, ibut it felt like a prison I from which he longed to escape. She led the way on to the lawn, and the Fortune Hunter followed; he ' glanced down a.t his ill-fitting suit and laughed. "\Vill t'ho, neighbours be shocked?" lie asked. Anne turned and laughed. "Xo one can see l.'s: Ibis house is very secluded. See how 'lovely the trees arc." Her voice softened shyly. ".Tolm thqje willows"—she pointed' to a clump of graceful willows bending their branches down to the flowing river— "what remind you of? Aren't they She broke oil', waiting for him to supply the missing word. The Fortune Hunter bit his lip. With every step lie knew he was treading on a mine. The sense of danger and discovery angered him. Wha.t a fool he had b?en to carry things so far; it was unlike his usual foresight and cautiousness. He echoed her words with an cfTort. "■Aren't they like ?" Tin slipped a hand suddenly through her arm, drawing her close to his side. "You tell me what they are like," he said. 'Her head dropped a little and he had to bend to catch her shy words. "It was in a place like that—near some willows just like that—when you first kissed me.' There was a little silence; then the Fortune Hunter said, rather shakily: "Well, supposing I kiss you again." She gave a little laughing protest. "Oh, someone will sec us. Oh! ami that's une'e calling— The Fortune Hunter released her with a little vexed lau'gh as Mr. Hard- j ing came across the lawn towards them, j "I've told them to have dinner early," he said, beaming upon them both. "I'm >ure you must he hungry, John—mav 1 I' all you John? We're talked about you . by your Christian name for years liavn't we, Anne?" * ' She nodded, flushing sensitively. , "And I've been telling Tommv that he 1 ivas pulled out of the river bv his future i jrother-in-law," the old man went on j' 'hcerily, "and he's so cxcited he can j , hardly contain himself." His eves ' 1 ;winkled as he looked at the man stand-! i ng silently besido Anne. • "Let mo see, wasn't there to be a bear j . ikin?" he a6ke<L j.

d There were twinkling light* Jr on .■ d! houseboat on the opposite bank, n.nd fl, e tj muffled sound of a other, d j wise the night was perfectly still, are c f° r the lap, )a,p of the water against tie e bank. t The Fortune Hunter looked up at the c misty moon, and his thought slipped 'back along the chain of years that were gone, with a half wistful, half cvnkj] amusement. • 1, Who would iare thought that fate would ever land him here? Id an English home, amid every comfort and (1 luxury—lie, a vagrant fortune hunter . who had run the gamut of life, and who q hore its scars on bis very soul. _ wondered what the girl at his eido was °j thinking; what she would say if could titko her with him in his thoughts I Step by step, and show her the dark d ; places of his life through which he had \ struggled, lie felt her shiver and ) turned quickly. "You are cold —" '• "Yes. I should like to go in." Her t voice, was strained and hurt, and the Fortune Hunter frowned heavily m the darkness and bit bis lip. lie put out his t arm and would have drawn her into its cj circle but that she resisted. M "I don't understand you; you are so I strange! J thought—after all your . j letters. . . . Her voice broke on a sound I i of tears, and she stopped for a moment, I I trying desperately to recover herself. '*j Then she went 011 quietly, suppose, in spite of everything, I must seam a '"Igreat deal changed to you; but I did 1 j warn you, and yon said it would make jno difference. And I thought when 1 j saw you that we were just going to 0 take tilings up where we left off—that's s how it seems as if it ought to ibe to mo, 3 ibut. , . The Fortune Hunter made a passon- | ate gesture of helplessness; the pain id e her voice angered him, and lie took too 0 only way -he knew iby which to soothe her doubt and fear—he put his anas round hor and held her fast to his heart c "I. suppose I'm afraid of you," he said, L and his agitation was real enough. "1 suppose all the time I'm wondering why it is anyone so—so—sweet as you are '; could even look at a —a man like me. 5 j I'm not worth caring about. If you 01117 knew I. . I She laid her hand on his lips, silencing r !him. M "Wc said we would never speak ot it [again, it's all done with and forgotten. s I You're here and—l love you." j Hor voice sank to a whisper, and site J,hid her face on his -breast. ; i For a moment the Fortune Hunter ' 'stood silent, then he deliberately put his ! jliand beneath her chin; he raiMd her | face and bent his head, kissing her again 3 land again passionately. 5 1 "I love you, too," he said. "I love 1' yon, too." ?j There was a little rapturous silence, L then she looked up at him in the moon- | light, her face radiant once more. "Kovr 1' I'm quite, quite liappv again," she said. s ."John, arc you happy, too?" ■j He pressed her head down to his : , shoulder so that she could not see his face as he answered: "Happier—God knows—than I deserve ■ to be." And then presently he sent her back. ' to the house. •i "You'll take cold out here, and I can't ' have that. . . Yes, I'm coming pre--1 sently—" He laughed rather nervously. 'i"l've got to face the music with your : uncle to-night, you know, and I want to ; make up my mind what to say to hSn." '.She caught his hand. '| "Nothing Uncle Clem says will make ' any difference to' me." I She laughed happily, and ran awa? 'Ifrom him up the sloping lawn. I The Fortune Hunter watchod till ho ! | saw her disappear into the house, then »j he left the garden and walked out along | the road. His face was hot, and the memory of ■ her kisses .burnt his lips. He felt as if a lifetime had passed since the moment > when lie sat 011 the side of his bed and ■made up his mind to escape from the i, house. I I He no longer wanted to go, he wanted to stay more fiercely than he had otci 'I wanted anything in his life. And now it was not for the sake of .'yet another adventure to add to his | long list, not for the 'hope of any material gain to himself, but because of a girl whoso arms had clung round his ' neck, and whose voice had whispered, "I love you. ... I love you." The darkness seemed to have deepened very rapidly, the Fortune Hunter I thought, as he strolled slowly along the | road towards a mass- of twinkling j lights which indicated the village. The little village seemed very quiet, land the thick river mist hung over every- ! thing like a grey veil. It was rather j chilly, too, now the sun had gone in, anil | the Fortune Hunter shivered a little as j more from force of habit than anything ; lie turned his steps towards a light , that shone, invitingly behind a red Win" 'of the village inn. I He pushed open the door and onterffl, called, for a glass of beer, and found a seat 011 a long bench in an unobserved corner. It was only when lie had picked up a& evening ipa.per lying at his elbow and was /beginning to feel ipiite comfortable that, jhe realised the mistake he had made in I entering the place. ! Xo doubt the Cherry Lodge people |and their interests were well known to ; the landlord here and the few lounge' s | who talked together at a centre table|The Fortune Hunter glanced appTclitfi" sivelv round him, but everyone seemed , bent 011 their own concerns, and not a | glance was turned his way. j Ife finished his drink hurriedly, an" il l .ad risen to leave the place when his [attention was caught by the mention of I a name tha t had in the past few hours ! grown to mean a great deal in his life j "So Miss Anne's got her young man back, after all?" I The Fortune Hunter looked up sharply j his face (lusfiing; but he sat don 11 j quietly near to the speaker, and, taking | up a paper, held it so as to screen hi® i while lie listened further. It was quite possible that he might 'pick up some user:! information here, jhe thought, even while, be was ha! I ashamed of the. hope. | The landlord, who leaned over the 'bar, was the man who ha 1 made the remark, and it seemed to be addrcssc to the company in general, though on® of them—a sharp-faced, rather rat-eve (man in corduroy breeches and a coat [with frayed sleeves—was the one answered:— , "I'm! 'So (ley say! But I've heard them sort of reports many times, and it's never come true." "It's true this time, though,'' the land* lord insisted quietly, refilling a that had been banded up to him. seems that he was "!! the way to t e bouse and that it was he who pulh Mr. Tom out of the water. The sharp-faced man sneered. "That's two events for -Somerion 1" one day," he said. "What with the dea'i man in the wood, and Mr. Smith tumWa up. after ali, wcr'e getting along." "What's the story of this Mr. SmiS" someone else asked interestedly. (To ho continued dailj4

The Fortune Hunter got up and ldoked out of the window to the ground below; it was quite an easy drop-it would he the easiest thing in the world to take it and get away before anyone saw him. He leaned his elbows on the sill and looked down, and it was at that moment that someone tapped at the door behind hijn, and opened it. "Can I eomc in?" The fortune Hunter turned siinrply; Tommy fitood behind him, his peaked, fretful' face, half eager, half embarrassed. "Can I eomc in?" he asked again, and the Fortune Hunter said with an effort: "Oil, yes, come in—l've been trying to make myself look more presentable—it's not, very easy with my limited wardrobe." Tommy closed the door and limped forward; he was very lame, one foot dragged painfully, and his whole bod) looked frail and unformed. "Wo can fetch your things tomorrow," lie said. He leaned against the bed and looked at the Fortune Hunter with glowing, interested eves. "I've got a car—Uncle Clem gave it to me because f can't get about like other fellows. To-morrow, if you like, I'll drive you up to London and fetch your things." He hesitated, adding half shyly, half roughly, "1 wasn't going to thank you in front of Anne and all of them, but .... I didn't want to drown." There was something infinitely pathetic about him, and"'the Fortune Hunter was painfullv conscious of it. "If you're John Smith," Tommy went on, without giving him time to reply, "I'm glad you've come. I always wanted to meet John Smith. I always knew I should like him; he's a sportsman." The Fortune Hunter coloured; the boy's way of alluding to him as if he were a third person was rathe!' disconcerting. "I'll t-ell you some fine talcs, some day," lie said, rather hurriedly. 1 He was wishing with all his heart that he could question this boy, and find out something of all the many things he would have to know if lie stayed 011 in the house. "If I'd been big and strong like you," Tommy went on, "I'd have gone all over the world, too, and killed bears and things." "I am sure you would." The boy's face flushed. "We shan't be friends if you're going to talk to me. in that tone of voice," lie said, almost angrily. Everyone talks to me like that. Anne keeps a special voice for me, and I hate it! "She's never angry with me, like she is with other people: she never answers me back and . . lie drew a hard breath. "Sometimes I'd give anything in (he world if only people would let mo have a good old row with them. The Fortune Hunter laughed. "Well, you shall have a good old row with me some day," he promised, cheerfully. ".15ut in the meantime we might be friends—eh?" Tommy held out his hand. j "I'm glad you've come," lie said. "But," he went on frankly, "I shouldn't j have thought you were a bit the kind of chap to write those letters to Anne.j •She didn't show them to me," he went on quickly. "But now and then, when she felt very unhappy—like girls do, you know—she used to read me little bit.; here and there." He grinned apologetically. "You don't look the sort of. man to write sentiment, of that sort,"j iis added. The Fortune Hunter! coloured. | "'Don't I?" he said helplessly. "When; a chaps abroad lie's often driven to doing all sorts of queer things he wouldn't do if lie was at home in sane,' normal old England." j Tommy nodded. j '"Humph! I dare say; and. of course,' she was a brick to you, wasn't she?" "She had lots of other chaps, after her, you know," Tommy went on, with a' kind of pride. "One of them had a title, and Uncle Clem was very angry with j her because she wouldn't have liini." "Yes," said the Fortune Hunter vaguely. j "I'lcnty of girls would have jumped' at the chance," Tommy averred. j Tliere was a little silence. ; "I suppose you'll be getting married' soon now you've really come?" Tommy, asked interestedly. The Fortune Hunter looked horriblv embarrassed. "Good Lord, no! At least—l mean I haven't thought about it—there's been' no time. I've hardly seen your sister | yet." The boy looked slightly offended. | The dinner gong ringing through the! house mercifully put nil end to the conversation, and Tommy limpingly led the' way downstairs. j 111 the hall he paused a moment to! look back and say, "I hope you don't' think I was rude—asking so many qnes- j tions; but you see, she's my only sister." ' His voice was earnestly apologetic. The Fortune Hunter smiled -broadly, in spite of his attempts to he serious. ■ "1 quite understand," he said dryly. "Please don't mention it." 1 hey "went on into the dining room together. 0 | In spite of the fact that lie had! dreaded it, the dinner passed oft' with | perfect ea.se and friendliness. The con- i (creation was kept to general matters,: and 110 unexpected questions were' asked. i, Anne was very silent, but the Fortune ' Hunter was conscious of her eyes often upon him, and for the life oi' him he \ could not meet their gaze. [ He was thankful when the meal was-' ended and Mr. Harding said: "You! young .people would like a little stroll in the garden, I expect, .but don't stay i out too long. It's September, you know".j and there's a river mist rising alreadv." | Standing up, lie touched the Fortune Hunter's arm as he passed. "Later on, 1 eomc to the study, and we'll have a little !, chat," he said in a friendly fashion. The Fortune Hunter followed Anne into the hall; he would have given a gTeat deal to avoid this tete-a-tete, but)., it was so obviously expected of him'that ] !:c dared raise no objection. But she seemed instinctively to feel his unwillingness, for she turned and ] looked up at him with a little hurt look , ill her eyes. J "Perhaps von would rather not cro , out." h ' He answered hurriedly:— ' "Xo, no. I should like it; the house , is so warm." 'Jlie garden was palely moonlit, but | as Mr. Harding had said," the river mist!; was already rising, and everything looked as if it were veiled in gossamer ] grey. The Fortune Hunter glanced down a t t the girl beside him. "You ought to j have, a wrap. You'll take cold," he said. •, She answered mechanically. j "My cloak is in the hall, if vou will fetch it." " He went back without a word, took r the cloak from a chair and brought it to her. She let him fold her in it silently, and they walked on, down the 6 sloping lawn, till they stood by the water's edge.