CHAPTER XVIII.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2128, 29 February 1908, Page 2 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XVIII.

“You really ought to do something, Newby,” said Air Clair, on the third day of Sir John’s stay a l tho Alanor; mid ho spoke testily. “Unless you offer a reward, people will think it strange.” “Let them,” said Sir John, gruffly. “Aly business has nothing to -do with anyone.” “But litis business concerns the safety of tho public,” -argued the squire, earnestly. “It is wicked io permit a murderer Lo be at large.” "How can 1 help it, Clair?” “|ly tracing tho man. Offer a reward—set those clever wits of yours to work, and hunt him down.” "That is easier said Hum done, ’ replied Newby, drily. 1 1 ain not a heaven-bom detective.” "Swanson may be. Tntsk may be. Stimulate their brain-power by giving a reward. Upon my word, I cannot understand you, Newby. You seem to have changed."’ Sir John -shifted uneasily in- his seat. “-Such a shock -as I have had would change anyone,” ho remarked, quietly. “Yes’—iu a way. But you used to be so practical, and determined, and so bent upon having your own way. Now you scorn to bo undecided how to act, aiid .appear to bo content to stay hero and do nothing.” “L don’t want to go to town and bo tormented by reporters-anil interviewers,” said Newby, augrilj. I remain here for the soke of quietness, and until I can. got over the shock I have sustained. Then, I’ll return and set (to work—perhaps.” “AYhat do you mean by perhaps?” asked Clair,'singly. Sir John twiddled his thumbs, and looked at the ground. "To tell you the truth, Clair,” he said, slowly, and in a tired voice, "I fear to -search for the assassin of Richard, lost my name should bo dragged in the mud. As I told you, and as you know from personal observation, my brother was a scoundrel, who could not run straight. Ho forged my name to several cheques, and was connected with that Vowel Society of which Bezkoff spoke. Judging from that-letter sent to me, -and which Bichard intercepted, -someone, or some people —perhaps members of this society—knew things about- him which were shameful. H I hunt down the murderer, or murderers, I may hear of things which would cover me with shame -and my name -with mud. And,-in a case like this, to do justice I should have to make all -these things —-whatever they may be-—public. Can you wonder, then, that I shrink from stirring up muddy water?” “No,” said Clair, after a pause. “And yet i-t is unlike you, Newby. At one time you would have done justice regardless of wh-ait the public thought. I always deemed you too strong a man to be influenced by what people said or did. It seems, ’ added Air Clair, with a touch of sarcasm. “that I am mistaken.” “I’ll think over the matter,” said Sir John, quietly. “And when I -feel quite able to deal with tho subject of Bieliaril’s murder I’ll see what is best to be done. Personally—it may seem callous of me to say this—-but, personally, I am quite sure that Richard deserved his fate. He was a bad lot, and a curse to everyone who knew him.” “Airs Broil would not say so,” said Clair, significantly. ■'YMartha is prejudiced.” “One thing strikes as strango iu what you say,” remarked the squire, musingly. “A r ou talk of murderers in -the plural. Do you, then, think that more than one person killed Richard?” “Afore ctlian one person kidnapped me,” said Sir John, grimly,' “and more than one person must have taken the body to tho vault under tho tower.” “H’m, yes. It might be so. But how did these -persons know where the vault was?”

"I can’t say.” Newby shrugged his massive shoulders. “Find out who stole that plan from the hook, and you may learn.” "I can’t find out who tore the page out,” said Clair, in vexed tones; “although I have questioned all tho servants. Of course, many peoplo have been in the library. Archaeologists who oame to see the ruins, and neighbours, and suchlike people. But I know of none who would take the plan.” “An archaeologist might,” said Newby, with interest, “if only to trace the windings of these catacombs. Indeed, I think it is very likely. Think of the names of tho archaeologists you have had hero, Clair, and you may learn who tore out the drawing.” “Pooh! Pooh! Pooh! These archaeologists are all respectable, ” said Air Clair, with contempt. “I would not insult them by such questions. I think, Newby, you had better begin at the other end. Go to London and find out, if possible, till© number of the house in iSoho where you were held prisoner. Then question those who live in it, and gradually the truth may come to light. You owe it to society to discover the assassin of your brother. Also,” added Air Clair, with emphasis, “you owe it to me. I don’t want this disagreeable mystery to continue hanging over the house of my ancestors. It is most unpleasant.” “Well,” said Sir John, slowly, “I’ll go to London to-morrow, since you think it best.” “I do think it best,” said Air Clair very pleased. “And I am glad you are willing to take my advice. This is tho first time you have done so, often though I have offered it before. I really think, Newby, that this murder and kidnapping have a very softening effect on your too hard character. You are not so—pardon mo — pig-headed as you used to he. That is an improvement.”

Newby surveyed the weak face of the man who spoke thus with a grim smile. “I may recover my hardness," he said, quietly. “I told you that t was waiting my time to trap this ■Vowel Society.” “I don’t understand.” “There is no reason that you should until the time conies,” said Newby, quietly. “Aleauwhilo, 1 shall go to London to-morrow, as I have stated. But- before I go I must see Dorothy, and slio miicfc accept me. If she refuses —” He hesitated. “Yes?” said Air Clair, in an apprehensive voice. Sir John rose, and stretched his big body. “I need not explain what will happen then,” lie said, grnfily; “it wouldn’t he polite, since I am your guest.” And he strolled away, leaving the squire to digest the threat at his leisure. Air Clair knew perfectly well that the millionaire alluded to the mortgage, and that if Dorothy still proved recalcitrant the home of his fathers

would know him no more. This being The case, and Newby being a man of his word, it was necessary to induce the girl to sacrifice herself on the (family altar. Clair sought out Lady Pauwin, in the hope that she would .assist to halo Dorothy to the stone of sacrifice. Ho explained himsoll' at full length. “And ..you must- insist on Dorothy coming to dinner to-night,” said Mr Clair, looking haggard, as Well ilio might. “Newby goes back to town to-morrow, and she must accept him this evening.” “I’ll have nothing to do with it!” said Lady Dan win, looking as grim as Hha dam until us. “.Selina! You shook niel”

“Hotter that than to shock my own sense of what is right. It is a shame to make a pretty girl like my niece marry a fat, red-faced old vulgarian like Sir John Newby.” “Ho is vulgar, I grant you. But since Ins kidnapping ho is not redfaced, and certainly ho is less stout.” “Francis,” said Lady Panwin, sitting up very straight, “before all this trouble began I admit I was in favor of ttho match, as I did not entirely dislike Sir John and I know that we want money. But Dorothy is now in love with Mr Halloa, who is a most estimable young man, while Sir John appears to have changed for the worse.”

“Ho has changed, I admit, Selina, but his money has not diminished. And, to save this house, Dorothy must marry him. Argue with her and—”

“And waste my breath 1 Certainly not 1 I shall tell her to come down to dinner, and you can argue on your own account.” Thus it camoabout that Dorothy appeared in idle dining-room, looking pale, but as pretty as ever. Nor did slie seem to resent Sir John’s tender behavior, ias formerly she had done. Mr Clair argued from this that she was coming to her senses, and would sacrifice herself gladly to save the tumble-do-wn home of her ancestors. Had ho known that Dorothy’s appearance at the meal and changed manner were due to a hitter from Willy, smuggled in by the butler, lie.might not have been so pleased . Willy wrote mysteriously, saying that the marriage with Sir John could never take place, and that at the eleventh hour it would be prevented. Dorothy did not know what Willy meant, but she bad every ca.-i----fidence in her friend’s judgment and belief in her word. For this reason she issued from her seclusion, and accepted Newby’s attentions with some complacency, waiting for the bolt from the blue which would shatter him. (So Dorothy behaved very well, both at dinner and after. Mr Clair was delighted, and mentally thanked Heaven that his child was worthy of him. '

In the drawing-room. Sir John began to pay -10-ver-liko attentions to Dorothy, while Lady Pauwin took up her tatting and worked with a set mouth, and a fierce determination. Mr Clair read his morning paper, which he invariably kept until this late hour. Everything was calm and peaceful <and dull, until the butler appeared with a card for Mr Clair. “A lady to see monsieur,” said Jules, carrying his silver salver across to the squire. “At this hour!” Mr Clair took the card and murmured the name to himself: ‘Miss Amy Sanding. I wonder who she is?” “You had better ask lier l” - said Lady Panwin, pausing in her patting. “'Show her in here, Jules.” “No!” said Mr Clair, with .a reproachful- glance at his sister, and an inclination of his head in the direction of tile elderly lover. “Show her into the library, Jpies.” “She is there now, monsieur.” “Then I shall go to her,” said Air Clair, and took his departure. Sir John, busy with compliments, did not attend to this little comedy. Lady Panwill went on with her work, unconscious that the hour was big with Fate. She thought that some person had called to see Mr Olair oil business, as he had several lady tenants. Perhaps it was Air Folks, whom Air Clair had seen on the evening of the murder. Airs Folks was always wanting her cottage repaired, and Lady Panwin sighed to think that it might be this pertinacious person. Francis could spare no money to improve his property, unless— She glanced in -the direction of the lovers, and was secretly surprised to See the composure with which Dorothy received Sir John’s . advances. “Can it be that sbe is willing to •marry him?” thought Lady Pauwin ; hud all the romance within her revolted at such a union of Alay and 'December.

Quito ignorant of this unamiablo opinion, Newby murmured explanations to the girl about his lonely life, ’and 'deep love for her, and his ardent desire to give her a largo income and a .title. “You shall ho a queen!” said Sir John, softly. “Queens nowadays do not- have a very happy life.” fenced Dorothy. “Then you shall be as happy as a butterfly.” ‘‘And as usoloss.” “With the money .1 can give you there will be no need for you to do ■anything useful, save love me.” “What a strange way to clnracteriso love,” said Dorothy, her lip curling. “I really must decline.” “No! no I’\urged Sir John. “Think over things.” And ho began to explain liow devoted he could and would be. 'Mr Clair returned to the drawingroom looking very white, and with an angry gleam in his eyes. Lady Fanwin looked at him quesfioningly. Hut, taking no notice of her, lie walked •across to Newby.” “How dare you make love to my daughter!” was Clair’s unexpected address, “llow dare you deceive me!”

Sir John rose, looking aghast, and •so did .Dorothy and her aunt. All •three thought that the squire had it iken leave of his senses. “What do you mean?” demanded Newby, in an astonished voice. Mr Clair walked to the door, and opened it again to admit «. tall, tiling Washed-out-looking lady, fashionably dressed, and with a defiant manner. She raised a lorgnette, and looked at the millionaire indignantly. “Permit me,” said Clair, samiaticallv. “to introduce you to vour Wife!”