WHAT HARGREAVES KNEW.

Hawera Star, Volume XLVI, 5 March 1927, Page 7

WHAT HARGREAVES KNEW.

CHAPTER X.

MES WEBLEY MAKES PLANS. James Fairfield caught the next train

at Floody Wyagutes. The attempts of a fcllow-pasDenger be facetious met with little response, for Jimmie was in no mood for levity. Being a man of light temperament, who so frequently saw comedy in tragedy, his depression, when in canto to him, was all the more intense. He sat in gloomy silence during the whole of his journey back to London. r Meanwhile Billie had returned to her home at Melton Grange. She almost raced up the wide oaken staircase, for ehe felt tears were close at hand—-as they were —for, no sooner had sue reached her own room, than she flung j| herself upon the aesthetically-fashioned four-poster bed and wept with quiet in tensity. In temperament she was not unlike Jimmie, and she was now Buttering the same grief as his. How different her state of mind now from what it was when, she had first met Jimmie, a few days ago! Subconsciously her heart was aware of Jimmie’s feelings towards her; yet hq had said nothing in so many words to make her think so. His action in taking her hand after the fatefm rabbit hunt, however, had brought it more clearly and definitely to her, anu she felt that had it not been for the appearance of Sir John, Jimmie would have told her then what she so wished to hear. The remainder of her story was one of the impulsiveness of a delicatelypoised and overwrought mind. Her midnight adventure at Beggar’s End 'had demanded from lier a great effort, &nd When, at the end of it, she learned that Jimmie was leaving on the following morning, as a result of his meeting with her, she decided to see him, regardless of propriety or anything blsje.

Momentarily the thofight flashed through her mind that she had rather thrown herself at James Fairfield, but ehe dismissed it as quickly as it came. It was not in her nature to restrain her feelings, and she could not bring herself to see that any, useful purpose was served thereby. She had, at least, the satisfaction of knowing that her action of that morning had shown her that Jimmie was in love with her —she had realised that in the exquisite moment when he drew her to him before she gave him her first and last kiss, so in that direction, therefore, what was there to regret? Otherwise her world had all gone wrong. Meanwhile the wily Hargreaves was congratulating himself on the general success of his plans. He was especially glad to have caught Billie at Beggar a End, and he meant eventually to use the incident to some advantage; at the present he could not quite see how. tfven so, it had yielded him twenty-five pounds, and he would be a poor man if he did not get more out of it before he was done. In many ways he was eorry he had not insisted upon Billie telling him what she had hoped to find in the desk; obviously it was something to do with the quarrel between her father and Sir John. And where were these papers now? She had failed to find them in the desk. Were they there, or were they not? It was quite feasible that, as she was making a hasty BeaTch with nothing but a small electric flash lamp to aid her, she had overlooked them. How wonderful if Hargreaves himself' should find them! Strewth!

Until now Hargreaves liad never been tempted to open Sir John’s private desk, as he had seen no reason to do «o, and, in any case, he had 'had no experience in breaking into desks. Then the thought came to him that Billie had simply walked into Beggar’s End and opened the desk with facility, but, of course, Billie was possessed of skeleton keys. Now why on earth hadn’t he made her give him that bunch of keys? "Sam Hargreaves, my lad,” he soliloquised, "you’ve got a bit to learn yet. If you’d got them keys there might have been no secrets in Beggar’s End which you didn’t know. You’ve got to get them keys, Sam.” Well, it was still possible to get them, and he would make his plans accordingly. He would have thpse papers—do or die. So much for his intentions. All that morning the mysterious papers occupied Hargreaves’ mind. He was deep in thought, whilslj polishing gome armour which stood in the hall, when Mrs Ellen Webley approached him. „ , - r | "You c&n’t think how grateful lam "to you, Hargreaves,” she said, "for telling me what you told me yesterday. You can be quite sure that I shall do all in my power to repay you.”

. This was rather a new attitude for Mrs Webley, for, on the preceding day, she had shown plainly that she could Bee into Hargreaves ’ methods. Hargreaves observed the chance, but, blandly ignored it. “Yes, madam,’’ he said, very fortunate.’’ A little later Mrs Webley said: “I understand from Sir John that Mr Reuben Gales called here yesterday. Of course he knows nothing about my good fortune!',’ “My sainted aunt, he doesn’t!’’ exclaimed Hargareaves, “and he mustn’t either. The whole thing depends on you saying nothing whatever about it to a soul. Why, if Mr Gales thought that you were the sole legatee, he’d be almost beside himself, for he’d sure to be expecting something of it. You see, it isn’t as though Sir John had left smaller legacies to anybody else, but it’s Ellen, Ellen. Ellen, and nobody but Ellen, as I’ve told you before. Of course, if he did change his mind, it would be in favour of Mr Gales.’’ “Really!’’ asked Mrs Webley. “Yes, really,’’ answered Hargreaves, “but you needn’t be afraid; I shall do nothing to make him change his mind in favour of Mr Gales —I would rather see .you have it than him. At the same ♦time Sir John, I am -proud to say, thinks a lot about my suggestions.’’ '“‘You mean,>you think you could persuade him!’’

“you're

. * * Well, it's possible.” said Hargreaves suggestively. * ‘ But you may be quite sure 1 sliau’t. ” For a few moments Mrs Webley thought quickly. Then she said: ‘‘Hargreaves, 1 should like to meet Mr Gales. As , you know, I was always rather friendly with him. ‘‘Quite right., madam, said Hargreaves, though he could not agree with her in reality. Mrs Webley’s only relations with Reuben Gales, so far as he hud noticed, had been a rather brazen attempt to make him her second husband. He had observed all this on a previous occasion when both been staying at Beggar’s End. Shrewdly, he saw that Mrs Webley s mind was working in the direction in which he intended it to do. “I suppose Mr Gales won’t be here for a little time now, will he? I should like to see him whilst I din here. There’s no chance of him running over to-day, I suppose?” ‘‘Very unlikely, madam,” murmured Hargreaves. ‘‘Most unlikely now, unless —> ’ and here he paused and whilst retaining the utmost gravity of countenance, gave himself up to much levity of mind. Strewth! She had fallen into it beautifully. He could almost hear her thinking what a good thing it would be to marry Reuben Gales, and thus ensure that if Beggar’s End did not come to her it would in all probability go to him. She was going to back it Loth ways, so to speak, l ‘‘Unless ?” Mrs Webley repeated Hargreaves’ last word. ‘‘Unless what?” she added. ‘‘Oh, I was just wondering,” said Hargreaves, ‘‘how I might have got him round here if anybody wanted to sec him particularly. It might be very difficult though—very difficult.” “I’m sorry about that,” said Mrs Webley, “because I rather wanted to see him. And that reminds me, I’ve left my handbag upstairs. I’ll see you again presently.” So saying Mrs Webley left Hargreaves to his task of polishing up the breastplate of a knight of old. WheD Mrs Webley was safely out of sight, he paused in his work and slapped the knight upon the shoulder. “Fitzbattlcaxc! ” he said. “You’ve been here many years and you’ll no doubt have observed, as Bumpus would say, that there are no flies on Hargreaves, or, if there are, they’re not dusty ones!” It was not long before Mrs Webley reappeared with her handbag. “1 suppose it’s the old question,” she said.

‘ ‘Meaning what, madam?” queried Hargreaves gravely. “You know what I mean,” she replied. “How much.” “If I fail to understand you, madam, I hope you won’t put it down to my having no brains. ’ ’ “I should never do that,” answered Mrs Webley, very truly. “Here is a pound note, and if Mr Reuben Gales comes to Beggar’s End before I leave there will be another for you. It’s a nice day, isn’t it?” “A very nice day,” agreed Hargreaves, placing the pound note in his pocket and breathing on the chest of the ancient knight. Nice as the day was, however, at that particular hour in the morningg, it was not destined to be quite tranquil toward its eve, for, during the afternoon, when Hargreaves and Bumpus had comfortably sat down to a little Martinez port, happy in the fact that 'Sir John was taking a siesta, there plainly echoed through the hali the imperative voice of the baronet, who, far from sleeping, was very much awake.

“Hargreaves, come hero!” he cried, and Hargreaves sprang from his chair. “Whatever’s the matter now?” he demanded of Bumpus. “Young man,” replied the latter rocking pleasantly in his chair, “I fear there’s trouble for you. Sir John never calls like that unless there’s something very wrong. I wonder what you’ve been doing?”

‘‘T haven’t been cloing anything,’’ snapped Hargreaves, though he felt himself looking a shade feeble in the eyes of the head butler.

“I am very glad to hear it,’’ murmured Mr Bumpus. ’’Perhaps beforo you go you’ll remove those wine glasses lest Sir John should come in here. There he is again! ’ ’ “Hargreaves, where the devil are you?’’ came Sir John’s voice again, and Hargreaves, hastily putting away the port glasses, dashed into the hall. “Coming sir!’’ he called, as he located Sir John in the room in which he had discovered Billie Romainc early that morning.

“Hargreaves, there’s some papers missing from my desk!’’ exclaimed Sir John irritably. “Be so good as to tell me exactly how they came to be missing.” “I—l can’t tell you, Sir John,” replied Hargreaves. “I—l had np idea that anything was missing from your desk.''

“Don’t lie!” snapped the baronet. “I’m not lying, sir,” said Har greaves. >

“Wejl, who’s been at my desk? Some important i>apcrs have vanished. I know they were here a week or so ago. ’ ’

“ I f ra exceedingly sorry to hear that, sir,” replied Hargreaves; “but I am sure. Sir John, you would not ask me to put the blame on anyone without reason. It is not my place, sir, to suggest such a thing about,anybody. You are as aware as I, sir, of what guests we have had a Beggar's End of late.” For a moment Sir John glared at Hargreaves, almost in stupefaction.

“Do you mean to tell me?” he thundered, “that you think a Fairfield would do such a thing? Hargreaves, if I hadn’t known you for so long I’d turn you out of the place!” “Well, if it isn’t a Fairfield, sir, it would only be one of the servants, and I am sure, sir, that we have been with you long enough not to be suspected of such a thing.”

Sir John snorted. “We will sec about it,” he said. “Leave me alone for a moment. I will speak to you later.”

With this Hargreaves left him, and went to the front door, where he stood for a. few moments in meditation. The atmosphere in Beggar’s End had suddenly proved too close for him. He wanted air. “The little devil!” he exclaimed to himself. “And she said she’d never got them at all! Strcwth, but I’ll tip her what’s what before so very long!’’ (To be continued.)