FROM PRIVATE TO PEER.

Cromwell Argus, Volume L, Issue 2649, 24 November 1919, Page 2

FROM PRIVATE TO PEER.

(COPYRIGHT.)

ISy Ralph Venour, Author of "Tales from an Old Cariosity Shop," etc.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS PARTS. The story opens with a prologue, in which is described the return of the North IJownshire Regiment to England, after some years' service in India. One of the officers, Lieutenant Viscount Clive, heir of the Karl of Isledon, makes a bet of one thousand pounds with Lieutenant Porterfield, that he will marry, within three months, the first woman he meets on landing. As Clive steps on the landing-stage his eyes fall on a young girl, the daughter of a local tradesman. They become acquainted, and within the stipulated time Viscount Clive is married to Susan Oldbury. Towards the end of the year a son is born to them. It is soon after this that Clive's wife learns from Porterfield of the wager. Being proud, she leaves her husband, taking- the child with her. And to tiie day of his death, Cuthbert Clive, afterwards Earl of Isledon, sees her no more. . . . The scene changes to India, where Private Mervyn Clive receives a letter from his mother, in which she tells him that she feels the end is near, and urges him to purchase his discharge, to claim his right to one of the oldest names in England, and to take vengeanca upon Colonel Esmond Porterfield, who so cruelly wronged them both in days gone by. Mervyn is instrumental in saving Sister Rose, one of the nurses, from the odious attentions of Porterfield, who is attached to the same regiment as himself. The next day Sister Rose is missing, and during an engagement with the natives Private Clive is wounded and taken captive. He is conveyed to a rude fort, where he finds Sister Rose also a prisoner. PART THREE. "Thank Heaven I heard your cry. If I had known how he was pestering you my blow would not have been so gentle." "Porterfield is a dangerous man," said Rose. ' "Strange I should meet that m a n when I had just heard of him from my mother." "From your mother?" "Yes, he has b«ea an enemy of hers, too." "How ?" "That Ido not know. But Time rill reveal that to me." "You interrupted me a moment igo when I was about to tell you who I really am." "You are you, Rose. That is quite enough for me." "Yes, dear boy, but you ought to ! now. And I blame myself for not lolling you before; but I have got ■o used to being Sister Rose that I have almost forgotten my name." "What is your name, then ? Whatever it is I shall love it. Oh, Ro s e, isn't it strange that here, in the heart of the enemy, with perhaps :mt an hour between us and death, we can sit calmly and exchange confidences ?" "Love conquers all circumstances, dear," she whispered. "But you're interrupting me again," she added. "Your pardon," he said, hurriedly, kissing her hand. "Well, my name is Haverfield. I am the daughter of the Marquis of Haverfield, and in Debrett and Burke I am known as Lady Rose Haverfield. But one da.y I shall be Lady Rose Clive, for you are the man I love and nothing shall ever come between us." CHAPTER IIT. JTie long arm of coincidence is responsible for many strange happenings in stories, and it is a term applied very often in scorn to things that occur in real life. Be not scornfid over the event I am about to describe, for it is actually true, again proving that Truth is stranger than Fiction, another time-worn saying. While Rose and Mervyn had been talking the short Indian twilight had passed and night had fallen. The Indian night is very black, and this night in contrast with the moonlight of the previous one was dark as the mouth of Erebus. Clouds had

gathered, and the moon was obscured.

Just as Rose had spoken the words that close the preceding chapter, the door of the sangar swung open and revealed two men entering, one of whom carried a torch. The men were the sentry and Colonel I'orterlield. Porterlield's eyes had a. strange v glare of madness in them, and his grizzled moustache bristled like that of a wild animal. Porterrield strode forward, and ignoring Rose, looked down on Olive.

"Well, my young cock-sparrow," he said, with ill-suppressed anger, "how do you like your prison ?" Mervyn looked him full in the face but said nothing. "And you, my lady. I hope your boudoir is to your liking." "I prefer it to anything you could give me," Rose replied, with freezing hauteur.

"Very good. We'll see how .you like it at the end of a week." Then ho turned on his heel, spoke a few words to the Pathan, pointing at Mervyn the while, and then strode from the place. The sentry called an order, two other Pathans entered anrl helped Mervyn to his feet. "I wonder what's going to happen /low," said Mervyn. "Nothing. 1 hope and pray," said Rose, earnestly. "But I fear I'orterlield. lie is an evil man." "Whatever betide, you know 1 lovp you," whispered Mervyn. as his gaolel's tied his hands behind his back. "Though I ought not to think 0 f that now —now that you are so far *l«lVtV too."

"Hush ! do not speak of that," said Rose, hurriedly. "This is not a time to talk of social distinctions. I love a man and not a title."

"Perhaps," said Mervyn, "I am going to my death." And strive as he would he could not keep a faltering note out of his voice.

"No, no. don't say that !" cried Rose, and she mads as though to throw her arms about his neck ; but the Pathans came between them and hurried Mervyn out of the door, before the lovers had time for a word or touch of farewell. Outside the door, and when it was fastened, the Pathans tied a cloth over Mervyn's eyes so that he could see nothing. Then they made him march about a hundred yards forward. They halted, and he halted, too.

In spite of the blindfolding cloth, he could feel that, he was in the centre of a group of men, for a murmur of voices rose on all sides, and the glare of many lights struck his eyes vaguely. He heard a conversation being carried on between Porterfield the voice was familiar to him now —and a Pathan. Though he understood not a word they said, he received the impression that an order was being given for his death.

Then by one of those unaccountable accidents the cloth that covered his eyes slipped down, and in the glare of the torches he saw a man standing by him whom he knew at a glance to be his executioner. The bare scimitar in his right hand was proof of that. His eyes looked for Porterfield. He was gone. But there stood the chief, who had ordered him to be confined in the sangar —the man whose face had been so strangely familiar. In a flash he remembered where he had seen the ma.n, and in a moment he had called out his name—"Shore Ali !"

Exactly a year before Mervyn had been at home on furlough from the depot at the capital of Bownshire. He stayed with his mother in Archel road. His next-door neighbour was a carpenter at Olympia, whore "the Greatest Show on Earth" was rejoicing the hearts of young London day by day. Wilby, the carpenter, and Mervyn struck up a sort of acquaintance, and on several occasions Wilby took Mervyn behind the scenes while the great spectacular tableau was being shown. The tableau was called "Our Indian Empire," and in the words of the gentleman whose imaginative eloquence furnished the guide-book to the show, "presented a faithful and realistic picture of all the multifarious tribes, sects, races, and peoples of the brightest jewel in the British diadem." There were fakirs, jugglers, and mechanics ; Af-

ghans, Rajputs, Assamese, Hen gal is, Punjaubs, Gonds, and so on. And among them was Shere Ali. He gave an exhibition of sword play as practised among the Pathans of.the border. Mervyn was so struck with this man's proud hearing and marvellous skill, that he got Wilby to introduce him, and was not surprised to learn that Shen? Ali was a chief who had cross-'d the sea only on payment of an enormous sum.This was the man who now, in answer to the cry "Shere Ali," turned swiftly round upon his captive. "Don't you remember me, Shere Ali ?" Mervyn asked, with some trepidation, for should the chief forget him his chances of life were but remote. "Bismillah it is Olive. Sahib." "Yes, truly it is T." "How came you here, Sahib?" "I am, like yourself, a. soldier. Ajkl where my Queen bids me go and light, I go." The chief gave an order, and in a couple of seconds Mervyn's hands were freed. Then Shere Ali strode forward a step, and taking Mervyn's hand shook it solemnly, in the. manner he had learned in England. "I am sorry that you are my prisoner," he said. "I can trust myself with you," said Mervyn, assuming a bravery and trust he did not greatly feel, but he felt his best plan was to inspire Shere Ali with confidence. "If I had known it was you 1 would not have kept you an hour in bonds." "You are but obeying the orders of Porterfield Sahib." "Hush !" said Shere Ali. Then with a motion of his hand he directed that Mervyn should be taken to the sangar again. This was done. Rose started up at the sound of the opening door, thinking had come to lead her to execution, but when she saw it was Mervyn she fell upon his neck and sobbed, half with laughter, half 'with tears, while Mervyn rapidly explained to her his escape from death. They sat down in the dark and congratulated themselves on having found a friend in Shere Ali. "In a few hours, I should think," said Mervyn, "it is quite possible we shall be back in camp. Shere Ali is a gentleman, even if he is a Fathan, and having eaten bread and salt with me in London he will .not break faith with me."

"Then you think it was Porterfield who had us brought here ?" "It must have been, though we

will learn more about that presently. I thought from the way in whic'i Shere Ali said 'Hush !' that he meant more than he could say. I think ho will come and have a talk in a short time. \"e-y likely I'ortcrfield was paying handsomely for our capture and tlie rest of the tribe, who would naturally share the reward, will require an explanation from Shere Ali" Mervyn had hardly finished speaking, when the floor opened and Shere Ali entered, carrying a torch. "Salaam, sahib ; salaam, mem-sa-hil) !" he said. Mervyn knew enough to make reply, "Ak'ikoum es salaam." "It is in your eye, Olive Sahib, that you expect me to help you. Before I cau do that you must Xeli me

why it is that Porterfield Sahib hates you."

"I can only find one reason," replied Mervyn, laying his hand on Rose's. "Porterfield has been making love to this lady. He knows that I love her. and that she loves me ; or, if ho does not know it he suspects it. This lady has rejected him. and this is his revenge." "You think that is all. sahib?" "Yes, J think that is the most protable reason."

•'Kismet !" "But, tell me, Shore AH, how do you come to know Porterfield ?"

"Wah ! that is a story that is long. Porterfield is in the service of the Croat White Queen, whom I saw at Win Sor, when I was amusing myself in London. But he is also in the pay of the Russian Bear, and

sends messages to them over the border. I, too, am in the pay of the Bear, and I have carried papers for him to the Russian posts. It is good Pay." Has this gone on long?"

"For very many moons. I have taken papers from Rawal Pindi, Feshawur, Juetta, Malakand—wherever Porterfield Sahib has been." "Then he has compelled you to capture this lady ?"

"He told me that the mem-sahib stood in the way of his getting some information for Russia. So I kidnapped her at his orders. You are different. You fell in the fight of this morning. My men, who had seen the mem-sahib, saw her face in your pocket. How do you call it '?" "Photograph!" said Mervyn.

"Photograph !" said Shere Ali, with triumph. "I, too, have been photographed in London. I will give you one."

"Well, go on." "They saw the mem-sahib's photograph and knew it for the picture of her they had carried off during the night.Then they thought that if you had her picture you must be Porterfield Sahib's rival. wSo they brought you here to bo able to hand you over to him and claim a bigger reward. Otherwise they would have slain you on the spot." "So I really saved you, dearest," whispered Rose. Mervyn pressed her hand. "And now what are you going to do with us, Shere Ali ?" "Wah ! Porterfield Sahib pays me money for this—much money—yes. it is good pay—but I have eaten your bread and salt in a strange country, and every child on the borher would spit upon my memory if I were unfaithful to you. You will go free, and Porterfield Sahib shall have back his money." There was a clamour at the door and they could hear Porterfield's voice raised in altercation with the sentry. After a moment the sentry began to undo, the hasp. Shore Ali started forward, caught Mervyn by the hand. and drew him into the darkest corner of the sangar, at the same time whispering to Rose to be brave and not to hint at their presence. They wore scarcely ensconced safely in their corner before Porterfield strode in, torch in hand. He walked up to Rose and looked down at her where she lay. "So, my Lady Rose, 1 hope you find your boudoir comfortable,'' he said, repeating his former sneer. Rose held her peace. "1 hope I find you in a more amenable frame of mind than 1 did last night. Arc you reads - to consent to what I proposed to von '?" "You beast, to insult a woman thus." "Oh. 1 don't mind hard names, as long as you say you will love me a little." "That I shall never do." "Oh ! we shall see. To-morrow I leave the British army for ever. I a.m going to pass over the border, through Afghanistan, and on to the Russian posts near Herat. 1 am to take service under the Tsar—he pays better. I want a nice travelling companion. You will do admirably, Lady Hose. We can be married according to the Afghan rites if you like." "1 wonder if you know what a villain you are,"' was Hose's impetuous reply. "Thank Cod, there are few like you in the British army, who are ready to sell themselves and their country to the highest bidder, and who insult helpless women."

"Helpless ! Yes, you are somewha.t helpless. Your Saviour of last night, the charming Mister Private C'liv*. — good heavens ! a common private and the daughter of a marquis ! the charming Private Olive has gone to that bourne from which no common private returns. So your last hope is gone." "Don't be so sure my last hope is go Tie. "Oh, yes, it is. Now, loo"; h?re, my dear Pose, do you know what 1 am going to do ? I am going to kiss you. You can call on your charming private and see if he will come to your rescue again." So saying he sprang forward to do as he said, but Mervyn, unable to control himself, leaped from his corner as Uose called his name : "Mervyn !" A swinging blow and Porterfield measured his length on the floor. Mervyn stood over him, and looking down, said : "Yes. I have Come to tbo rescue again, Colonel Porterlield." The light from the torch, which Porterfield had stuc!; between two stones in the middle of the floor, fell on his face and showed th"e spasms of ferocity which crossed his features in great waves. Tie moved his hand towards his belt and drew his revolver. But the Indian was upon him and kicked the weapon out of his grasp. but not before he had had time to pull the trigger. The bullet was meant for Mervyn \s heart : it passed between his head and Rose's. "What's the meaning of this, Shere Ali ?" he snarled. * "I thought you had killed him safely en o ugh." "Oh, no, lie hasn't," Mervyn, re-

plied. "Shore Ali and I are very old friends"

"1 compliment you on your friends, Shere Ali," said the fallen man, bitter as ever. , . , "He has eaten bread and salt with me and he refuses to execute your murderous orders."

"Bismillah ! that is true." i "You will pay for this, Shere Ali.' 1 Shere Ali's reply was to draw a knife, and bend over Portcrlkld.

i "No, no, none of that." said Mervyn, putting out his hand and clutching Shore Ali's arm. "We have had enough of fighting. Let this cur go. Let him go to his Russian friends if he wants to. I an account to square with him, but 1 must know what it is before I begin my settlement. Then, though he hide in the corners of the earth, I will find him, sooner or later."

"Haven't you account enough, sahib ?'' asked Shere Ali. "Yes, true. But this is a sacred command from my dea.rl mother, This man, she told me in her last letter, written when she was dying, wronged both her and me. And she laid it upon me" "I didn't know your mother, and I don't know you," snarled Porterfield. "You did know my mother. She said you did. And if you don't, know me, you will one day soon, I promise you that." "I don't understand, Mervyn," the ladv said.

"I wa.s about lo (ell you when Ih's man came to order mo to floath. I had a letter from my mother in which she tells me that I n m heir to one of the oldest names in England.. She bade me buy my discharge, return to England as soon a.s possible, and claim my position. There are proofs in plenty in London. My mother's lawyer, in Bedford-row, Abraham, has all the papers." A gleam of satisfaction leaped in Porterfield's eyes. "All is not lost yet !" he muttered to himself. "And, as "I said, she told me of this man and how he wronged her. Abraham knows of that, too. When I learn all the facts and when I have come to my own, this man shall suffer as he made my mother suffer." "Very pretty, young gentleman, masquerading !" Porterfield said. "May I ask the name of the lady who has you for her charming son ?*' "I told you last night, when I was able to save Sister Hose from you."

Mervyn replied. "My mother's name was Susan Clivc." ! "Never knew the lady. .She was the victim of an hallucination. Some other man of the same name, most | likely." ! "No. She said Colonel Esmond Porterfield. Is that your name '?'' 1 "1 have the honour to. answer to that." | "And my mother never lied." This Mervyn spoke proudly. Then silence fell on the group for a few moments. Porteriield began to rise to his feet. | "Ah, well," he said, "what a pity all delightful things must come to an end. This pleasurable conversation seems to have closed. Jf that is so. I will tear myself away from you." He adjusted his disordered dress, and then lifting his helmet. bowed and saying, "To our next merry meeting." passed out into the night, lie walked swiftly down the hill, and made for the British camp," where, as intelligence oilier, he could pass in and out al all hours freely and without question. Ife made his way to the telegraph tent and roused up the operator. "Send this at once," ho said. "It is very important." The telegram read : "Fngin, London. Isledon heir here. Cave. Letter follows. —Porterfield." "So, my young friend," he said, as he walked from the telegraph tent, "there's number one spoke in your I wheel. You don't know yet that you 'are heir to the Earldom of Isledon, and if 1 can help it you'll never find out. Abraham is too tightly in my grip to let out when I say keep in-" I CHAPTER IV. When Mr. Edward Abraham walked 'into his ollice in Hedford-i-ow, he hung his hat up, stood his umbrella jii the stand, and then went to the j lire and warmed bis freezing hands. ; Then he thrust the pokier into the •blazing coals and stirred them inco a fiercer flame. He whistled a few | bars of the "Dead March" in

"Saul," walked round bis office looking at the padlocks of the black deed-boxes that Idled the shelves, and then, his inspection having been satisfactory, he sat down in h's comfortable arm-chair and prepared to consider his mornings correspondence, carefully sorted o ut and arranged for him by his head clerk.

On the top of the chief bundle of letters lay a telegraphic envelope. "People who send telegrams," said Abraham, ''have too much money to spend. They are excitable, nervous people, and their business is generally of the sort that c a n wait. So'"— and he tossed the unopened envelope to one side —"you can wait, my good friend, until more rational beings rue served."

He went through his correspondence deliberately, stopping to light a cigarette as the clock struck the half hour after ten. At last he finished reading, and handed the bundle over to his clerk, giving general directions as to the replies to bo prepared. Then, going to a cupboard he refreshed himself copiously from the decanter, and with a sigh of satisfaction turned to the telegram. Calmly and deliberately ho opened the envelope, philosophically he took out the flimsy sheet, slowly he spread it out before him, cast his eyes upon the round-hand writing, whistled, jumped out of his chair, and remarked, audibly, "Well, of a'l the rum starts I" and then sank into his chair again with a look of bewilderment on his decidedly Hebraic features.

The telegram he read was as follows : "Chota Durga Khel.— Fagin, Lon-

! don. Islcdon heir here. Cave. .Letter I follows. —Porterheld."'

At the same hour at the other end of the telegraph wire along- which this message had been flash.d, a very strange scene was being- enacted. Half an hour earlier an orderly had announced to the Colonel of the Downshires that a party of Pathans were ncaring under a Hag of truce. The colonel hade it be seen to that every precaution was taken to guard against this being but a ruse. The orderly reported in a few minutes more that the Pathans had been stopped by the guard, who were detaining thorn until such time as the colonel gave his orders, and that with the Pathans were a. private of the Downshires and a e <' Cross Sister. The colonel ordered the party to be conducted before him, where he sat at the door of his tent with a pile of olhcia.l papers in front of him and a great cheroot, between his teeth.

A few words suffice to tell that the party consisted of Shere Ali and about a dozen of his men convoying Horse and Mervyn Clive.

As soon as Shere Ali had announced to the colonel that he had brought these "friends of his" back, and that all he desired in return was a sa/e conduct to the limit of the camp and respect for the flag of truce until he got half a mile off. when hostilities might again be resumed, the colonel gave his word, and Shere Ali departed with his men. Tie did not go, however, until he had bade a, hearty farewell to Mervyn, and pressed upon Jloso a plain gold ring, on the inside of which were cut some strange signs—a verse from the Koran they turned out to be.

This ring was destined to play a strange part in the drama on which the curtain had just been rung up. A.s his Pathan Mend was disappearing in the distance, his roya.l robes fluttering in the wind, Mervyn turned to the colonel and, saluting, begged to be favoured with a hearing.

"Well, my man, what is it. ? Want to tell me how you've got back"? I assure you I'm as eager to hear as you can be to tell." "Yes, sir, it's tha.t —and something else ns well." "Well, go on, my man." "11 you please, sir, it's so important that I'd rather speak to you in private." "This is most unusual,"- said the colonel. "Oh, sir," put in Hose, "grant Private dive's request—it's most important—not only to us but to the Government." "Upon my word there seems to be some mystery here," growled the colonel. JJut he turned and spo' c a few apologetic words to the major and lieutenant, who sat en campstools beside him. and they quickly betook themselves to other duties. "Now, you'd better come into the tent," he said, as he showed the way to Pose with a wave of the hand. Pose entered, the colonel followed, find then came Mervyn. The colonel gave Pose a camp-stool, took one himself, but left Mervyn t 0 stand. "Well, what's this terribly important affair you make so much mystery over ?" said Colonel Adams in a not unkindly tone. I-or reply Mervyn told the story of the previous night, omitting no detail. The colonel suppress >d his interest and excitement with diuMculty. When Mervyn had finished the colonel jumped to his feet and rushed to the door of Ihe tent. "Ask Lieutenant Towers to come to me ;it once." he paid to the orderly, waiting a few paces away. The lieutenant appeared in a few moments.

"Do you know where Colonel Porterfield is?" was Colonel Adams' first question. "1 believe lie left camp about four this morning on a reconnaissance, with half-a-dozen Curkhas." "He has not returned yet ?*' "I do not think so, sir, but I will inquire." "Do so at once, and report to me immediately." "Yes, sir," and saluting, the lieutenant left. (To be Continued.)