“BURNT WINGS"

Hawera Star, Volume XLVIII, 16 January 1929, Page 7

“BURNT WINGS"

CHAPTER XL. Lady lloppcr could uot realise that her husband was dead. -She insisted that it was only one of his usual attacks, but the arrival of the family doctor confirmed the opinion of Peter and Betsy Tolworth that the old magnate had at last succumbed.

Lady Hopper was prostrated with grief and —it must be added—not a little genuine remorse. She had taken to her bed and relapsed into a state of semi-consciousness. .Betsy” Tolworth ministered to her needs naturally and with the quiet efficiency she had shown so long before. The position of Reggie 'Deauville be-

came one ';>f considerable difficulty. The news of his relationship to Lady Hopper had come at a most inopportune time, and he was candidly not happy. He blamed himself for his inability to realise that her .ladyship was his mother, but it could hardly be expected.

As a baby he had never remembered her. His only recollection of any parents was that of the circus proprietoi and his wife, and when they had put him to work they promptly forgot all about, him.

'He had obtained employment as a call-boy at one of the London theatres, where his hours were late if not long, and his education consisted of the ordinary- rudiments coupled with natural quickness and intelligence, and the .jargon and atmosphere of the theatrical profession. The war and the consequent slump in things theatrical drove him into a city office, as he was not fit for the Army; and. after various kinds of jobs when his temporary clerical work was over, he eventually secured the post at Hopper's mill. Jfis discharge from the office by .Jeremiah Weston had quickened his perception of the need for a settled .job—or, at least, a means of acquiring money—and the letter he had intercepted addressed to Sir Horace Hopper seemed an easy way to attain that object. Discovering that Smith liad known Weston practically all his life, and hated him with equal fervour, he conceived the idea of joining forces with his new-found friend to their common advantage and the ruin of their enemy. “They won't want me pottering around here,’’ lie said to Peter Brent. “You see, it isn’t as if I was ’’ “dust as you like, Deauville,’’ was the answer. “When my aunt is well again 1 daresay she will see that you arc properly ‘fixed up,’ as of course she would do, but ”

“Well, T’d rather." went on Reggie in a slightly embarrassed manner. “It •would be better—everything seems so different ’ ’

It was therefore arranged that he should go on as lie had been doing until Lady Hopper recovered sufficiently to make her own plans.

The wireless news of the issue of a warrant for the. arrest, of ißen [Dale was not long in reaching the ears of the gipsy. He was working as a handy man at a steam roundabout when one of the attendants at a 'cinema show came up and asked if he was Ben Dale. ‘'Yes,” was the reply. “Who wants me ? ’ ’ “My guv'nor says he’d like tor see you for a minute. ’’ Expecting an offer of further employment. the gipsy went without -any hesitation. “Are you Ben .Dale?” -asked the manager. “Yes; that's my name.’’ r “Well, there's just been a message on the wireless from London saying there’s a warrant out for you.” “For me? What for?” “For the murder of some woman at Kirkehestcr. ” “Good God! ” cried Dale. “Do they think I did it?” “Looks like it. Else they wouldn’t have issued a warrant, would they?” “Well, let ’em find me!” cried Dale, with an oath. “Let 'em chine over ’ere and do their dirty work themselves.” “.’Ear, "ear. Ben!” cried one of a little group, who was standing by. “ ’Ear, ’ear! Wodder we pay ’em for? ’ ’ Late that night Ben Dale slipped quietly away after the fair had closed down and took to the road once more—a fugitive from justice. Driven by hunger and thirst the next morning, lip entered a village inn a few miles further oil, regardless of the consequences. He had not eaten anything for some hours before lie left his employment the previous night and he was desperate. . The landlord- regarded him curiously, bur said nothing as he -brought him food and drink. Tired and undecided as to his route, the gipsy sat for a while smoking a clay pipe and endeavouring to make up his mind. •When at length he left the inn, two men met him outside the door. “I arrest von. Den Dale, for the murder of Ninon Esterel on Downmere Common,” remarked on of them as he dexterously slipped a pair of handcuffs on the surprised gipsy’s wrists. CHAPTER XLL ‘Ben Dale, the gipsy, made no attempt to resist arrest. He protested, howeve;-, that lie did not murder the woman and that it was only the previous evening that he had heard of the war-j rant being issued. j

By G Herbert Teague.

The journey by train back to Kirkchest er, was uneventful. Dale asked to have flic handcuffs removed while walking to the station, but the officers refused. In view of his previous violence, they considered it to be too great a risk. They sympathised with their prisoner on the necessity tor walking manacled through gaping groups of people on the station platform, but reminded him that if he escaped from their custody their jobs as policemen would most likely 'go with him.

The gipsy certainly looked the part of the complete villain. He had on heavy, muddy boots, corduroy trousers, supported by a thick leather belt, a blue jersey and an old cap. With the addition of his unshaven chin, huge bulk and slouching gait, it was not remarkable that his captors had refused to trust his word and release his hands. Certain it- was that they earned the gratitude of several old ladies who were waiting for the same train.

By some mysterious means, peculiar to many sinail towns, the inhabitants of Kirkohester —or those who were out and about during the morning—knew that an arrest had been made, in connection with the local tragedy, and a knot of idlers stood round the entrance to the station as the party arrived. Among these was Eppy 'Smith. He looked at the prisoner with interest. “So that’s the gippo bloke, is it?” lie muttered to himself. “ ’E don’t arf look a terror neither!” He followed at a discreet distance, while others did tli« same or crowded round so closely as to 'be neither distant nor discreet.

Not many people knew the captive by sight. To the ordinary person who went across Downmere Common one gipsy was very much like another; but when Peter 'Brent came upon the little group just before they reached the police station, the sight gave him something of a shock. A wave of pity swept, over him as lie noticed the miserable, agonised expression on the man’s face. He remembered the quarrel he had overheard on the common the night he was out with Mary Boone, and wondered how anybody could b t . so reckless of consequences as to place himself in such a terrible position. •“■Looks as if they’ve got ’ini this time, .Mr .Brent,” said Eppv Smith at his elbow.

“Yes, ’’ was the reply. “Have you seen this man before?”

“No; I ain't never seen 'ini. All I seen was the old woman. I speck this is that pore girl’s ’usband —eh?”

“It looks like it; but we 'shall know more when lie comes up before the .Magistrate.' ’

Jeremiah Weston felt considerably better when he heard of the arrest of the gipsy for the murder. When the excitement had died down lie strolled casually by the police station. “There’s no doubt about this being the right man,’’ he ventured to remark to tlio constable at tlie door. “I sawtile scoundrel as tie came from the train. L have seen him before,” he added darkly, “and am quite ready to give my testimony.”

“Yes, i think his number’s up.” was the reply, “but T mustn’t say it here.” When Reggie Deauville called at the Hopper residence to inquire after, the health of her ladyship (his mother) lie was told she was not so well and could not recognise anyone. He was hot invited into the sick room, as the doctor had forbidden anyone but Betsy to see the patient at present. I’cter, however, had a short chat with the somewhat bewildered young man and expressed his belief that liis aunt would be better in a few days.

“It’s- all these successive shocks,” he said. “Then on top of everything her husband dies.”

“I ’ve been thinking about this gipsy who's been arrested,” remarked Reggie. “D’you think T might pay for a lawyer—a solicitor—for him to sorter look after.his interests? You see, I have, a little bit o’ money now.

“That is very good of you,” said Peter. ‘.‘And if you’ll let me share I 'll see about it at once.

“Well. 1 don’t know. You see me and Epp.v—Smith and I—thought we might ” “Xo; leave it to me,” was the reply. “We’ll see what it costs later. I remember this chap who’s been arrested. A good man might get a verdict of

manslaughter for him. So leave if to me and I’ll go now and fix it up.” Richard Temple, one of the cleverest young- solicitors in Kirkcliester, was a friend of Peter -Brent, and lie was enthusiastic when the latter suggested, ho should act for the gipsy on his appearance the following (lav. Temple’s interview with Dale in the local lock-up lasted more than two' houTs, but during that time lie ;had obtained all the ’information he 'could possibly- need, and went home with great .hopes for the morrow. Bv flic night’s post Jeremiah Weston. Reggie Deauville and Epsom Smith each received a summons to -appear as witnesses in the case of Ben Dale, gipsy, indicted for the murder of Ninon Esterel. “ ‘Fail not at your peril,’ ” quoted Eppy as he read the archaic admonition on the summons. “ißlimc! Orf wiv ’is ’cad! Makes ycr feci like a liexecution, don’t it?” (To be continued.)