THE VAGRANT DUKE.

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 182, 1 August 1923, Page 14

THE VAGRANT DUKE.

By GEORGE GIBBS Author gf "The epWuiid Outcatt," " TM TeUoio Dove," "Tkt MemM WitHMt," etc

THIS BEGINS THE STOBY. refer Nlcholaevitch, Russian Grand Dnke, rxlled by revolution, goes to the U.S.A. as l'eter Nichols, and goes to work on the .■state of Jonathan K. McGuire. McGuire is being blackmailed by one Hawk Kennedy. Kennedy says McGuire murdered ■Ben Cameron In the Weet. McGuire saye Kennedy did the killing, and Peter, believing aictriiire. resobes to circumvent Kennedy. Cameron was the father of Beth Cameron, a girl with whom Peter hae fallen in love. He had found copper immediately before Ills death, and Peter wins McGuire 8 promise to give Beth a million dollars when Kennedy is silenced. Kennedy visits Peter , * ratiln nnd repeats his story. "If you play mc false I'll have your heart s blood, ne say". Peter laughed. "Save the melodrama f.,r XlrGuire." tie says. Tui not scared."' Thfi bluff worked and Kennedy relaxed. _ AND HERE IT COCTCHTOES. '"Oh, you're a cool hand. I Teekon you think I need you or I wouldn't be Lore. Well, that's so. I do need you. And I'm goin' to tell you the truth — evr-n if it givee away my hand." "Suit yourself," said Peter indifferently. He watched his old "bunkie" pour out another drink of the whisky, and a definite plan of action took shape in his mind. If he could only get Kennedy drunk enough. . . The whisky bottle was almost empty, so Peter got up, -went to his cupboard and brought forth en other one. ■Good old Pete!" said Hawk. "Seems like July the first didn't make much difference to you." "A present from Mr. McGuire," Peter ex plained. "Well, here's to his fat bank account. May it soon be ours." And he drank copiously. Peter filled his own glass, but when the opportunity offered poured most of it into the slop-bowl just behind him. "I'm goin' to tell you, Pete, about mc and McGuire—about how we got that mine. It ain't a pretty story. I told yon some of it, but not the real part—nobody but Mike McGuire and I 'know that —and he wouldn't tell if it ■was the hist thing he said on earth." "'Oh," said Peter, "something crooked, eh?" Kennedy Jaid his bony fingers along Peter's arm while his voice sank to an impressive whisper.

"Crooked as hell, Pete —crooked as ttiell. You wouldn't think Mike McGulre was a murderer —would you!" "A murderer !" Kennedy nodded. "We took that mine—stole it from the poor guy who Oiad staked out his claim. Mike killed him- " "You don't mean-f: —?" "Yes, sir. Killed .him—struck him in the rib 3 with a knife when he wasn'.t lookin'. 'Wftiat do you think of that!" "McGuire—a murderer-—!" "Sure. Nice sort of a boss youVegot! And he could swing for it if I didn't hold my tongue." 'This is serious- " "You bet it is—if he don't come acrosss. Now I guess you know why be Was ,S0 cut up when I showed up around here. I've got it on him all right." .. .

"Can you prove it?" - • Kennedy rubbed his chin for amoment.

"I could but I don't want to. You see—Pete " He paused again and >blinked 'pensively as his glass. "Well, you see—in a manner of speakin , —he's got it on mc, too."

And Peter listened while his villainous companion related the well-known tale of the terrible compact between the two men in which both of them had agreed in writing to share the guilt of the crime, carefully omitting to state the compulsion as used upon McGuirc. Hawk Kennedy lied. If Peter had ever needed any further, proof of the honesty of his employer he/read it in the shifting eye and uncertain verbiage of his guest, whose tongue now wagged loosely while lie talked of the two papers, one of which was in McGuire'e possession, the other in his own. Hawk'was no pleasant companion for an evening's entertainment. Trom the interesting adventurer' of the Bermudian, Jim Coast had been slowly changing under Peter's eyes into a personality more • formidable and sinister. And the drink seemed to be (bringing into importance potentialities for evil at which Peter had only guessed. That he meant to fight to the last ditch for the money was clear, and if the worst came would even confess, dragging 1 McGuire down among the ruins of both their lives. In his drunken condition it would have been ridiculously easy for Peter to have overpowered him, but he was nrt sure to what end that would! lead.

"You say there were two papers," said Peter. ."Where are theyT" ■

"McGuire'e got hia—here at Black Bock," muttered Hawk.

"How do yon know that?" asked Peter with interest

"Where would lie Keep it?" sneered Hawk. "In hie business papers' for 'zecutors to look over?"

"And where'e yours?" asked Peter: He hoped for some motion of Kennedy's fingers to betray its whereabouts, but the man ' only poured out another drink and leered at Peter unpleasantly. "That'sh my business," he eaid with a sneer.

"Oh. Is it? I thought I was to nave a hand in this."

Kennedy grinned. Tare. Your job is t' get th' other paper from McGuire's safe. And then well have fortune in—hie—nutshell." I see. I've got to turn burglar to i°rSr crinmal BOciety, sfcppow "V- won't. Why, Pete, it ougnt to X T ] £ b m world ' A few dropeb. in glass when you're talkin' business and he'd never know it happenedl 5 we W it,' y-understanoT V Ste lettersh—nice lettereh. One of 'emtn that swell daughter of hi s . That would do the business, pronto." "ouia "Yes, it might," admitted Peter ruminatively. *ei*r

"Sure it we'll gi ye him a chance. Are y' on?" he asked.

Peter was eilent for a moment. And then:

"I don't see why you want that paoer of he said. "They're exactly alike, you say—both incriminatinsr And if you've got your paper handy -•> Peter paused, but Kennedy was in the! act of swallowing another glass of whisky and he. didn't stop to answer the haT-formulated query. He gave a gasp of satisfaction and then shrugged. "2To .use, Peter," he said huskily «i said I: had paper and I have paper handy, but I've got to have McGuire'e paper, too I ain't got money and spotrep'tation like Mike McGuire hut I don't want japer like that floating

COOPYBKXHT.]

round universb with my name signed to it." "I don't blame you," said Peter dryly. Hawk Kennedy was talking thickly now and spilled the whisky in trying to pour out a new glassful. "Geo , whisky this —goo' old whisky. Pete. Goo' ole Peter. Say. you'll get pater, peek—l mean Peter pape—Oh, h Paper. You know." "I'll have to think about it, Jim." "Can't think when yer drunk, Pete," 'he muttered with an expiring grin. "Tomorr , . 'Nother drink an' then we'll jro sleep. Don't mind my eleepin' here Pete. Nice plach shleep. Goo' old s-hleep " Peter paused in the act of pouring out another drink for him and then at a sound from Kennedy set the bottle down I again. The man suddenly sprawled eideways in the chair, hie head back, snoring heavily. Peter watched him for a moment, sure that he couldn't be shamming and then looked around the disordered room. Hawk'e overcoat and hat lay on the bed. On tiptoe Peter got up and examined them carefully, watching the man in the chair intently the while. Hawk stirred but did not awaken. Peter searched the overcoat inch by inch. There was nothing in tie pockets but a tin of tobacco and a Philadelphia newspaper. So Peter restored the articles and then hung the hat and coat on the nails .behind the door. Hawk Kennedy did not more. He was dead drunk.

The repulsive task of searching the recumbent figure now lay before him. But the game had <been worth the candle. If the fateful. confession was anywhere in Hawk's clothing Peter meant to find it and yet even now he hesitated. He put the whisky bottle away, cleared up the mess and then bodily picked his visitor up and carried him to the Ibed. Hawk muttered something in his. sleep, but fell prone and immediately was snoring stertorously. Then Peter went through his

pockcte methodically, removing an automatic pistol from his trousers, and examining all liia papers carefully by the light, of the lamp—a hotel bill receipted, some letters in a woman's hand, a few newspaper clippings bearing on the copr per market, a pocketbook containing Mile of large denomination, some soiled business cards, of representatives of commercial houses, a notebook containing addresses and email accounts, a pass ! book of a Philadelphia bank, the address of which Peter noted. And that was all. Exhausting every resource Peter went over the lining of his coat and vest, inch iby inch, even examining his underwear and hie shoes and. etoekinjjß. From the skin out, Hawk Kennedy had now no secrets from Peter. The incriminating confession was not on Hawk Kennedy's clothing.

At last Peter gave up the seardi and went out into the air arid lighted hie corncob pipe, puzzled at bis failure. And yet, was it a failure after 4HT Hawk had eluded every attempt to diecuss his copy of the -confession. He had it "handy," he had eaid. A safe deposit box at the Philadelphia bank of which Peter had made record would be handy, but somehow Peter thought the chances were much against Kennedy's having put it there. Men of his type usually carry everything they posses about their persons. Peter remembered the ragged wallet of the Bermndian.

What if after all these years of harilshipe the paper had been worn so that it was entirely illegible, or indeed that in. Kennedy's many wanderings it had been loet! Either of these theories was plausible, ,but none provoked a decision. So after a while Peter went indoors, and, opening all the windows and doors to cleanse the air, sat in the big chair, and bundling himself in a blanket, fell asleep.

CHAPTER XVTH. PACE TO FACE. We aTe told, alas, that at the highest moment of our expectations the gods conspire to our undoing, and therefore that it is wise to take our joys a little sadly, that we may not fall too far. But Beth, being wholesome of mind and ibody and an optimist by choice, was not disposed to question the- completeness of her contentment or look for any dangers which might threaten its continuance. And so when Peter wenv home through the forest she took her kerosene lamp to her room, there to smile at her joyous countenance in the mirror and to assure herself that never eince the 'beginning of the world had there been a girl more glad that she had been born. All the clouds that had hung about her eince that evening in the woods had been miraculously rolled away and she knew again as she had known before that Peter Nichols was the one man in all the world for her. Their evening together was a wonderful thing to contemplate, and she lay in bed, her eyes wide open, staring towards the window beyond which in a dark mass against the starlit sky she could see the familiar pines, through which was the path to Peter's cabin. The stare twinkled jovially with assurance that the night could not be long and that ibeyond the night were to-morrowe still more wonderful than to-day. And praying gently that all might be well with them 'both, she fell asleep, not even to dream. * Early morning found her brisk at her work around the house, cleansing and polishing, finishing po her satisfaction the tasks which Peter's impatience had forbidden the night before. All of Aunt Tillie'e blue china set was carefully restored to its shelves, the napery folded away, the shiny pots hung upon their hooks, and the kitchen carefully mopped. Then, with a towel wrapped about her head (for such was the custom of the country), ehe attacked the dining room and parlour with broom and dust-cloth,

singing arpeggios to remind herself that everything was right with the world. It was upou the plush-covered sofa where she and Peter had sat the night ibefore that Beth'e orderly eye espied a square of paper just upon the point of disappearing in the crease between the seat and back of Aunt Tillies most cherished article of furniture, and of course she pounced upon it with the intention of destroying it at the cookstove. But when ehe drew it forth ehe found that it was an envelope, heliotrope in colour, fchaf it bore Peter's name in a feminine handwriting, and that it had a strange delicate odour with which Beth was unfamiliar. She put her 'broom aside and walked to the window, her brow puckered, and scrutinised the postmark. ■ "London!" Of course—London wae in England, where Peter had once lived. And Peter had drawn the letter from his pocket last night with some other papers when ha had shown her the last communication from "Hawk" Kennedy. It was lucky that she had found it, for it might have slipped down behind the plush covering, and co have been definitely lost. Of course, Peter .Had friends in London, and of course they, should wish to write to him, but for the first time it seemed ■curioue to Beth ..that in all then-con-versations Peter had never volunteered any information ac to the life that he had lived before he had come to Black Rock. She remembered now that she had told him that -" whatever his past had been and whoever he was, he was good enough for her. But the heliotrope envelope with the feminine handwriting and the strange odour immediately suggested queries along lines of investigation which had never before entered her thoughts. Who was the lady of the delicate script and. the strange perfume? What was her. relationship to Peter? And upon what topic was she writing to him? . (To oe continued daily.)