THE HORNED CAT.

Evening Star, Issue 8529, 30 May 1891, Page 2 (Supplement)

THE HORNED CAT.

By J. Mmuarkn Cobban, Author of 'The Missing Partner,' 'Master of His Fate,' etc. CHAPTER X. HATJ.KSS AND BOOTLESS. "Really, Oioely, now," said Townshend la reply, firmly screwing his glass in his eye and steadily regarding her, " I might say «Am I your father's keeper!' But 1 won t aay it" " You have said it," she retorted. " But Sir Ralph," said he, " so often goes away, and comes back in his own good time." , " I have never known him go away, she continued, " without your knowing where he went." " But he has been sometimes away witnout your knowing it, Cicely." To that she had nothing to say. But presently she resumed: "You must know why I am anxious this time.' "I don't," said he promptly. " Do you mean to tell me that you haven t read about that murder in the papers, and haven't guessed that the name in the dead man's hand was my father's ?" "Oh, you've guessed that, have you, Cicely?" , . „ ~ , " I went to the police people in bcotlanl Yard, and saw the bit of paper, and recognised my father's signature." " What a very energetic young lady you are. Cicely !" was all he said. She looked at him as if she would say more; but she repented, and swept past him into the house and upstairs, while I followed bearing her little portmanteau. There were two things struck me in that little brisk conversation they had held : that she never addressed him by name, and that he had not given her one straight answer. ; " How dreadfully dirty everything is ! she exclaimed, pausing at the open door of a room which, 1 supposed, it was her wont to occupy when she was at home. Then turning and observing me, she said: "Oh, Mr Halliday, I did not think you were troubling to carry that for me. Thank you very much. And would you mind letting Betsy know—you have seen Betsy, of coursetelling her that I'm come, and that I waut my room made clean an tidy." I looked at her and hesitated. It was •vident that she intended to take her place in the house, just as if her father were there to keep her in countenance. " You think," said she, with a beautiful blush and a Bmile, "that is strange of me to take np my quarters here ? But I am used to taking care of myself, and Betsy will come and stay with me." I had nothing to Bay. Her innocence and courage provoked my admiration; but I resolved that I would occupy the room Betsy had prepared for me, so that I might be at hand in case of danger. On my return from the lodge, after delivering the message to Betsy, I encountered Townstend. , "Well," said he, "Mr Halliday, have you made up your mind yet about the subject of our conversation ?" "I have," said J. "And your decision?" he asked. " Is to remain until I am released from my engagement by Sir Ralph." ' " Oh! I presume you have carefully considered tho point ?" " I have; an2 I am fixed." His only reply «s an elaborate geßture, like that of a French fencer when he salutes his opponent—a gesture (he was always free and graceful in action) the significance of which did not then occur to me. But I felc even then that that was the moment of a new departure. I viewed Townßhend now not merely aB probably a murderer, but also as an unwelcome pretender to intimacy with Cicely herself ; and in that latter regard, I am fain to admit—absurd though it ojust aeem-I considered and resented him more than in the ether. And I mav here aay that, in looking back, the coming of Cicely, besides precipitating certain discoveries and events, had the beneficent effect of "making a man"" of me—to use the vulgar but expressive phrase, i became occupied more with another than witu myself, interested more jn the dangers and anxieties of another than in my own ; and, m a consequence, I became more slsrt, more resourceful, and more self-reliant. Such is the tonic effect of love on a man. " Mr Halliday," said Townshend, after a few minutes returning to me where I Btood meditating at the open hall door, "it's about Mme we were thinking of lunch. Miss Grimston must be hungry, and I m sure you will agree with me we ought to try to make her comfortable." " Certainly," said I. " But what can we " Well," said he, " you know she has no cook to grill her chop, no maid to lay her cloth. It would be shameful to let her do these things for herself with her own fair hands while there are active and capable men about. Now, I'll engage to cook her lunch if you will nndertake to Jay her " With pleasure," said I. " Where shall I lay for her?" ••The dining room," said he, "is too large and gloomy, I think, though I don t suppose it would frighten or depress her. But Sir Ralph's study seems to me best. The centre table will be large enough for her, and it can aasily be cleared; we, as befit us, shall takt. our meal in the kitchen." After rummaging I found a clean tablecloth, and all the articles necessary to set it forth. I even went out into the neglected garden and gathered a few belated roses and other flowers which the unusual warmth of those days had deluded into bloom. When I had done my part I went into the kitchen and observed with surprise, and something like envy, the skill and quickness of Townshend as cook. He had already fried some mutton cutlets, which were keeping hot in a dish in the oven while he prepared some sauce of a most appetising savor. " the devil," he exclaimed. " I shall never do myself justice in this kitchen. I can't even find a Bilver dish to serve my cutlet* upon, and that's all I have been able to do by way of a menu." He pointed to a half sheet of notepaper, on which he had written, in a strikingly ornate hand— LCNCHKON (September —). Cotelettes de mouton, sauce plqaante. Chops k i'Anglalse. Entremets: Omelette aux confitures. .Omelette *ax fines herbes. Apple fritters. "Would you mind,-" said he, "taking that to Miss Grimston, and asking her what the would like to have ?" I found Miss Grimston in the drawing room, standing by the window, with an air of loneliness and sadness, and I hesitated about showing her the paper. She might think we only meant to play a joke upon her. I considered, howaver, that she probably knew Townshend's ways; and I went to her. . " Lunch is laid for you, Misa Grimston, aaid I, " in the study, and " "Who laid it?" she demanded quickly, '• Betsy has not come, has she ?" " No," I answered ; " I laid it, and Mr Townshend is cooking it." " You are very good," she said with •emething like apathy. "And this," I said, "is the list—the menu— of the dishes he has to offer you to choose from." She looked at me with wide eyes of amarement, and then, taking the paper, burst (in spite of her sadness) into such a wholesome peal of laughter as did one good to hear. She at once tell in with the humor of the thing. She asked me what Mr Townshend had already cooked. I answered "the cutlets"; then, sba faid, she would have outlets. While I returned to the kitchen, •he went to the Btudy. Presently she appeared at the kitchen door. "Excuse my intruding on yon," she said, (' but I find I cannot sit down alone to lunch,, and I wish you gentlemen to join me." " We are flattered, Miss GrimatoD," said Townshend, "but really to sit down with you straight from the kitchen—well, yon know, it'e not the thing. I beg to be excused." " And I," said she, taking the matter as aeriously as he, "beg to insist. I venture to request Mr Halliday to lay for two more." So we sat down together to eat and drink, with Gloots unconcerned and inscrutable in the chair opposite his mistress. It was the .first time I had seen him in the house since

the arrival of Townihend. Townshend was opposite me, with the light on his face, so that better than I had yet done I could observe his varying expression as the meal went on and the accompanying conversation. Under his marvellous self-possession I oould see that his nerves were at a high pitch_ of alertness and attention, and I judged that he was carefully playing a careless partthat he was under oonstant apprehensiveness. Once only, however, did be betray his anxiety, as I shall relate. We had talked for some time of nothing particular—of Townshend's faculty aB a cook and what not, when Cicely sprang the subject that was evidently filling her mind. "Both of you," Baid Bhe, "have been so kiud to me that I wish to ask your advice about my father. You say," continued Bhe, looking at Townshend, "that you don't snow where he ia. The police say they don't know where he is." "Why should they know?" asked Townßhend. "What have they got to do with it, Cicely ?" " They want to clear him from Buspioion of having had anything to do with that dreadful man that was killed in the tavern." "That's nice and gentlemanly in the police," said Townshend.} |" And I auppoie they asked you, Cicely, if you knew where he might be ?" "They did," she answered, "And I said that I did not know where he was if he was not at home; but that I thought you would."

" And I suppose you gave them my name and address ?" he said. " Of course," said she. His eyeglasß dropped from his eye, and hia faced assumed a singular expression of anger, less manifested in hia eyes than about his nose, which became curiously pinched and cadaverous. But it passed almost as soon as I observed it.

" Really, Cicely," said he, resuming his eyeglass, " You must permit me to say your simplicity is charming. It would never occur to you that a man might not wish to give his name and address to the first person that asked for it ?" " Have I done wrong, then ?" she asked, blushing, and looking a little alarmed. " Oh, no," said he ; " it's of no conse. queuce."' "But, surely," said she, considering, " you are not afraid of the police ?" " Oh, dear, no," he answered promptly, " but a gentleman has such things as debts, and the publication of his address might be awkward."

"Then," said Cicely, "I daresay you won't like to see the detective that's coming ?" "Ah," said he, "I thought there was a detective coming. No, that won't disturb me. Do you know the detective's name ?" "Bygrove," she answered. "Bygrove? It seems to me I've heard the name."

" He's been here already,'' said I, without thinking whether I ought or ought not to reveal the fast.

The effect of my words was curious. Cicely looked at me in simple surprise, while Townshend turned the light of his eyeglass on me with a gaze which, I thought, intimated convinced suspicion, " Really," was all he said. "Yes," I stammered, wishing I had held my tongue; "but he was only here about half an hour, talking to me. That was the first morning I was in the house." " This is getting quite interesting," said he. "And when is he coming back, Cicely ?" "I don't know," she answered, "but soon, I expect." "Soon, I hope," said he, And thus the matter dropped, though I bad an impression Cicely looked aa if she had more to say, and we rose from the table and went our several ways.

All the afternoon, in that thick September heat, I wandered in and out, considering the mystery in which I was becoming more and more involved, and yet baffled by it, woaderiDg at the way in which the lines of interest were converging to that house, and yet uci; perceiving the point to which they tended. All the afternoon I saw nothing of Townshend, and I began to think he must have carried out his intention vf going to town; and all the afternoon Cicely wee shut in her room with Betsy. At length Betsy o&cifl out, while I stood in front of the house observing the haze creeping and gathering among the trees in silent, ghestly shapes, and approaching the house as if to beleaguer it. She waddled swiftly up to me, and then glancing furtively this Way and that, said in a quick, low voice : "She tells me he's here. I didn'know, and taiiit 30 business 0' mine if I did. But I ha' took to you ; as I told Miss Cicely, an' I oould never tak' to him- Mind your eye wi' him; he's a hugly, bad man. An' I aay, aint she in a takin' about her father—as if 1 could help it. But I mun go, and come back later on. My sakes ! won't Sir Rafe go on if he knows Tve been here 'cepto' mornings ! But not a word."

She nodded with tight-closed mouth, looked sharply about her, and waddled away. I did not try to detain her, for I thought if Townshend were about it might be unwise to be seen in conversation with her. I entered the house, my footsteps in the hall ringing strangely solitary to my strained attention. I began to think, half with pleasure and halt with dread, of the likelihood of being alone in tha house with Cicely to attend upon and to protect her, when a cry, as of distress, rang on my ear from Sir Ralph's study. I entered in haste, but there was no one there, At the farther end of the room, however, was an open door, and to that I went. I judged it to be Sir Ralph's bedroom. In the Hgbt of a tall, narrow window stood Cicely with her hands elapsed before a dark oak v/ardrobe Bet open, "Look at that!" sue exclaimed, when she saw me, in a voice thrilling with norror.

I advanced, dreading what I might see. When I looked within the wardrobe I saw nothing but coats and batß above, and boots and shoes below. I turned on Cicely a puzzled look of inquiry. "There," said she, pointing to a soft, grey felt hat, " that is the bat my father usually goes out in! I know every hat he wears—he has not had a new hat for years; he would sever buy one, I have counted them all over and over again from the time I was a little girl, and they are all there! And his boots, too; look. I have reckoned them all! People say he is mad. But is he mad enough to go away without hat or boots?"

She turned to me with horror and grief, and the red westering sun shining through the tall window illuminated her face and figure, "I have feared," said she, "that some dreadful thing had befallen him in London, and have tried to put away the fear ! But this is more dreadful than anything I have thought of! He cannot have gone from home of himself bareheaded and barefooted ! What can have happened to him ? Oh, the poor, dear old man," shs cried, sinking into a chair, and putting her hands to her face. " Poor solitary father! And there is no one to think of him or regret him but me i No one to see what is become of him but me !" \ "Misß Grimston," said I, all trembling j with excitement and compassion, " please to command me in whatever you wish to be done,'' CHAPTER XI. OAUGHT. " You are very good," she said, rising and frankly giving me her band, " and I have no, ioubt you can help me. And you see " (this she es.il •■ '■'■' ■- smile that had a suspicion of tears) ■* iua.i I need help. My brother is far away, and Mr Townshend—well, I oan't tell you why I can't quite trast him." "I don't think, Miss Grimston," said I, "that I am very clever at unrayelling mysteries. I may be, but I don't know, for I have never tried. But I hope I may be of U8e : " We left that lugubrious room and sat down in the study, and I related to Cicely all the circumstances of my ooming to The Wytches—not omitting my vision from the window of the train, my interview with the detective, and the arrival of Townßhend. Why had he come a£ that particular juncture ? Neither Cicely nor I could make a satisfactory guess. One possible reason that holered in my mind—that he was, hoping to escape detection fpr his Bharein! the CamberweJ murder, I could not impart; to her. Silence lei* between us; Binee I wafl! desirous not to embarrass her at all, I went out to relieve my feelings by walking. I 1 closed the hall door behind me, and tramped

away among the trees through the gathering haze and the deepening dusk. I lighted my pipe, and set myself to think all through the matter, and to consider what I could do. I was thus tramping along when I oaught my foot against some soft living thing that squealed and leaped away. My heart leaped into my mouth with the shook, but, on standing still a moment, I saw in the dusk a small black shadow approaoh and then felt a creature rub itself against my leg, and I guessed it was Cloots. ClootS, I now bethought me, had never shown himself to me indoors since Townshend's arrival, except that day at lunch, when he had sat over against Cicely. I wondered why—and I wondered also why I always met him on that same track on which I then waß ; and, most of all, I wondered I when I had turned to come baok) why he should always go with me but would not return.

As I thought of Townshend, I felt I oould not associate with him any more ; but as I grew calmer I perceived there would only be disadvantage iu that. It would, I saw, be much more to the purpose to talk and eat and drink with him as I had done until now—to accept him aa being what he seemed, an agreeable, polished, and versatile gentleman. I was somewhat surprised, considering that I had thought him gone to town, to encounter him close to the house on my return. He met me with a genial smile and nod and a little sweep of the band, as if he meant to smooth away all difficulties of temper and confidence between us. " I'm sure," said he, " you will agree with me that we must make Miss Grimston oomfortable" ; which I interpreted to truly mean " We must keep her (for some reason or other) in a good temper." " Certainly, said I. "Well, I think," said he, "it's very likely she will not want to leave her room again. What's your opinion of preparing her a nice tray and handing it in to her ?" He was, iu short, full of ideas for dinner, which we proceeded to carry into execution. Sitting contemplatively by in the kitchen while he cooked, I became interested in the large quantity of food he was preparing—much too large, it seemed to me, for three persons. I took a tray to Cicely's door, knocked, and left it on her mat. I returned and Bat down to eat with Townshend, still with my attention occupied with the quantity of food. We talked, but I observed that while there was still much unconsumed, he neither invited me to have more nor had more himself. Why was this notable quantity prepared and left ? For whom ? I suddenly revived my former lively suspicion that there was some one in hiding about the house. Could it be Sir Ralph? But for what conceivable reason should Sir Ralph hide in his own house? I judged that Townshend, however, would anon carry food to the person who might be in hiding, and I determined to watch. I knew he would make no movement while I remained in the kitchen, so, on the pretence of being very tired, I said I would go to my room. I yawned wearily, said "Good night," and went; and he did not evec pretend he wished me to Btay. I ascended to my room, put on a pair of tennis shoes, listening the while for a footstep on the stairs ; and then I left my room, locking the door. I descended swiftly to the hall, and waited within the drawing room. I expected that whoever was in hiding must bo hid somewhere in the upper regions of the house, to which I knew of no approach but the oommon staircase, I waited for Townshend to appear, and still I waited. My suspicion, or my calculation, was somehow wrong. I stepped noiselessly to the kitchen door. I tried to peep through the keyhole ; I listened ; but I neither saw nor heard anything. I peeped again, and it struck mo that the only light within was from the flickering flame of the fire. I opened the door gently, and put my head in. There was no one there, I crossed the floor (remarking on the way that the remains of dinner were gone), and then I saw that the door leading to the cellar stood open. I went on into the darkness, slowly feeling my way with foot and hand. Then I fancied I was in the midst of a draught of cold air. I pressed on, with my face to the draught, and presently I saw beyond me, at about the height cf my head a square grey patoh in the blackness. I pushed on, and came to a flight of ten steps with a small open door at the top. When I passed through the doorway I was in the open air. I was at a loss for a moment, but on looking about I saw a light on my right hand, well over my head, shining within the small window of a square kind of tower abutting from the mansion. Whoever was in hiding I was convinced must be there. I examined the base of the tower, and discovered in the angle against the wall a low-browed door—l wondered that I had not remarked it before—with a heavy iron-ringed handle, bespeaking a considerable solidity in the door itself, I turned the handle and pushed the door, which yielded with a horrible grating and grinding noise, I did not pause, however. [ pushed in, and saw a narrow, twißting staircase faintly before me. J had barely entered and urged the door back as nearly closed as I dared when a light appeared above, and a voice—Townshend's voicesaid : "I'm sure I heard it." I squeezed myself into a recess formed by the staircase, drew my revolver from my pocket, covered my white faoe and hands as well as I oould with my cap and ooat, and waited, while the light and its bearer descended. Townshend opened the door and looked out, and than with a mutter he returned upstairs. The iigbjb had but disappeared, and I had just oorrie from my nook, when it reappeared, and f saw two men—Townshend and another—ascend higher up the spiral stairs.

Without thinking of the consequences I slipped up the first flight, and looked into the room they had left. In the centre of the room was a small table, and on it—as I could vaguely see by the light from the window—were the remains of a meal. I had no time either to see more or do anything when I heard steps and voices approaching. There was no ohance of slipping away down the stairs unobserved, and therefore I looked and felt about me for soms place of concealment in the room itself. A cold perspiration broke out on me, for the room seemed completely bare and open. At last, just as their light began to show through the half-open door, I saw there was a curtain against the wall on one side, and I at once whipped behind it, The two men entered and set the candle on the table, and then to my horror I saw, I on lookiDg down, that the light shone upon my feet; The curtain was short of the floor by some four or five inches, and I might be discovered at any moment! I felt if ther,e was any f&y of escape behind mo s U there was a .door; but I could not make certain. It was woodwork; but I could feel no handle, no protuberance of any kind. I was in a terrible fir—exposed to I knew not what danger from two desperate men j but I resolved to maintain my self-posßesßion, and to see and learn what I could. "I didn't mean no barm—yer know I didn't—when I dotted Sir Rafe," said Townshend's oompanion as soon as they bad sat down. "And I'm sorry. There ; I can't say fairer nor that," "A niqe mesa you've got us into, William, said Townshend. tf You're a hot-headed, hot-handed young m&n. All Scotland Yard is looking for you on one count, and a little whisper would set them on to look for you on another." . I contrived to part the curtain sufficiently to see the person sitting with Townshend. A big. fair man he was, of the type that is commonly oalled a " bruiser." A /air, rosy, farmer-looking man; the description was running in my head, though ft was a seoond or two before I could remember its relation, It was used by the deteotives in speaking of the man who had hired the room in the Camberwell tavern, and it was used again in the newspaper report in describing " William Hine,'' against whom a warrant " on suspicion " had been Issued ! Moreover, Townshend had just palled hjm " William," and mentioned that he WM wanted by the oolice. But what could be the meaning of the man s allusion to Sir Ralph ? Could it really mean that tho brute had theßtains of two murders on his hands? "And who'll bloomin' well whisper?" said he. "Tell me that. Not you, markees." "Not I, of course," Baid Towmmend. "But you must He low, William, if I'm going to pull 709 through." "Ican't lie lowmaoh Jonger. I'm siok 0' this Bhop, I tell yer. Why oan'fc we collar the bloomin' swag 1 , and hook it ?.' , «« the Devil, man! have'nt I told!

you f I oan't find it. I oan'u tell where the old man has hid it."

"Whatl" oried the other, "not from that blessed letter?"

««Wo,-°- Bald Townshend. " The Utter wanta the key to it, and that the old man has lodged with his banker," "The blpomin' orafty old hunks I" exolaimed the other. "But I'll get at that Bwag if I pull the house down." "Don't be a noisy fool, William," said Townshend quietly. "We must move carefully with this young chap and Miss Grimston in the house." "Why don't you ohuok the cove? The gal I don't mind; she's a bloomin' fine gal." "Come, none o* that, William," said Townshend, "or I'll lay you by the heels." " All right, markess ! Keep your hair on. I ain't a-going to do nothing to the gal." The allusion to Cicely and myself agitated me, and I suppose my agitation was oommunioated to the oartain, "What's that curtain moving for?' I heard the man demand in a soared, husky voice. " Didn't you see it ?" j "Nevermind the ourtain," said Townshend. " Curtains have a way of moving in a draughty place like this. You've got the jumps, William." "Jumps be ! And look the-e I There's a pair o' boots at the bottom I Now I'm going to see if there ain't no feet inside them boots I"

My heart stood still a moment with the sudden agitation, and then thumped furiously. I set my back against the wall, and waited for what might happen. (To bt continued.)