. . THE . . WELFLEET MYSTERY.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLII, Issue 7389, 15 February 1902, Page 1 (Supplement)

. . THE . . WELFLEET MYSTERY.

By MRS GEORGIE SHELDON. Author of "Geoffrey's Victory," "Dorothy Arnold's Escape," "Brownie's Triumph," "That Dowdy," "The

Forsaken Bride," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXXIiI.

THE CHESS BOARD.

Simon Dodge had been very constant in his attendance upon the services of the cathedral during his sojourn in Welfleet.

Morning and evening, with a few exceptions, always found him at Ms ' ' post, sitting in the shadow of that pillar where he could see both choir and preacher with equal facility, without being conspicuous himself. His attention was almost invariably riveted upon the former, giving one the impression that he was extremely fond of music. Often, at the close of the service, he would linger about the door until the choir master made his appearance, when he would nod at him in a r'riendly way, or perhaps make some appreciative remark regarding the music. Sometimes he would even walk along with him to try to engage Mm in conversation; but he was not always successful in this, for John anight was > very taciturn and morose nowadays. Once he happened + o remark that music seemed to him sometMng like the game of chess. "How so?" queried the choir-mas-ter, with considerable curiosity. "Well," Mr Dodge, remarked, "I'm no musician myself, that is, 1 couldn't tell you a half dozen notes of the keyboard, though I could listen to you and your choir for hours. I couldn't read a note from a book to save my hair," lifting his hat and smoothing his voluminous locks with an air of pride, "but I've a notion that the notes which comprise what you call an octave are capable of as much variety of arrangement as the pieces upon a chess board, for I suppose there were never two games played exactly alike." "You are right; the variety of arrangement is endless," replied John Knight, with a show of interest. Then he asked, eagerly: "Do you play cnessV" "Yes, after a fashion, though 1 am neither a Staunton nor a Morphy. I like it better than any other game, however, though I used to be qtiite a dabster at whist, and that sort of thing." John Knight's dull eyes brightened a trifle.

"I like (.chess, too," he said; "and

I should like to measure you in a >, game or two, if you are agreeable." "All right, sir; I'm at j r our service," returned Simon Dodge, heartily, though a peculiar look flitted over his ruddy face, wMch, however, Ms companion did not see, as iris eyes were bent upon the ground. "Come up to my room after dinner," he added, "and I will do my best to checkmate you." John Knight accepted this invitation with evident pleasure; and a few hours later the two men faced each other, and were intently studying the fate of kings and queens, knights, bishops, castles and pawns. There was a marked difference m

them, however; one so dark, witn * raven hair, fierce, lowering black eyes and sullen face; the other so mild and suave, with Ms venerable white hair hanging upon his shoulders, his placid, 'benevolent blue eyes, and his ruauy face, which was always so bland and smiling. ■ In tlieir first three prames John Knight came off victor, and for the moment a smile lighted up Ms unhappy face, for he had seen at the very beginning that he had no mean antagonist. "Well, well, friend Knight," remarked Mr Dodge, "you have worsted me this time, that's a fact; but I've something of the bulldog in my nature"— a slight though peculiar smile flitted over Ms -face— "and I can't quite make up my mind to let this settle my reputation; say that we try it again some time?" "I am agreeable," responded the choir master, readily; "but my evenings, after the five o'clock service, are nearly all engaged, at least for the present; are you at liberty in the morning?" "Unfortunately my time is so much my own that it too often hangs heavily on my hands," replied Mr Dodge. . "I should say you were to be envied to have it so much at your disposal," said John Knight, with a frown, as he thought how he had k been tied all his life; "but since it is , "^so, I will run in again some morning

after service, as I have more leisure then."

So it came about that between the hours of nine and twelve these men might often have been seen deep in the intricacies of their favourite game.

At first John Knight alwaj r s came to Simon Dodge's rooms: but these were on the east side of the house, where the blazing sun struck full upon them, and one unusually sultry day the choir-master proposed that they repair to his apartments, which had a north-western prospect.

"Just as you please, friend Knight," said Simon, but there was a pleased glitter in his eye.

So the chess-board was transferred to Mr Knight's rooms, where it remained as long as they continued to play.

For a time •it became almost a mania with them, for, day after day, they sat there poring over their game, scarcely a word passing between them, excepting that low, monotonous "cheek!" "check!" until they were hardly conscious of the passing hours.

But one morning, after two or three weeks, their table suddenly gave out. It was a camp-table, made so that it could be folded together and set aside, and the screw or bolt, which held the legs in place, broke, tumbled out, and the table suddenly collapsing, sent their men rolling in confusion to the floor. John Knight replaced the bolt, but found it would not hold, a portion of it having rusted off, and something- else would have to be substituted.

"I'll have to tie it np with a rope until I can get it mended," he said, impatient at having their game so interrupted. He arose, went to a closet on the other side of the room, opened it, and began to hunt for a strong cord. "I don't believe I have an inch of rope in the house," he muttered, half angry over the fruitless search, while Simon Dodge's mild blue eyes were making a rapid but critical survey of that closet behind his back.

"Perhaps I can make this do," he said, detaching something from a hook and bringing it forth.

It looked life a black scarf, but as he drew it through his hands it stretched out long and narrow like a broad piece of tape. He took it to the table and began winding it around the severed joint, but his visitor noticed that his hands trembled in the act, while his face had grown very pale. "What kind of an article do you call that?" asked Simon Dodge,

looking at it curiously. "It is a black silk scarf which 1 used to -wind about my neck in the winter; I have a slight bronchial trouble, and am obliged to protect my throat, and I chose this because it is so light, and at the same time warm," he explained.

"It is rather a peculiar-looking scarf, is it mot?" Mr Dodge asked, taking up one end to examine it more closely.

"Perhaps; it came from India, I believe; I liked it because it was silk, and I could never bear anything woollen about my neck." "It is woven something like a silken purse; and how very strong it is," remarked Mr Dodge, stretching it firmly with his hands.

'Strong? Yes, it is," returned his companion, with a harsh, half-de-fiant laugh, but white to his very lips; "it is strong enough to han°- a man, if you choose." °

"Hum! Well, I hadn't thought of its being put to such a use," Simon Dodge returned, dryly, but flashing a steel-like gleam at his companion from his half-closed eyes, "though I have heard of such a thing as a hangman using a silken rope in executing some (high-toned criminals But if I were to choose a scarf I think I would not have such an ugly colour; black always makes one think of death!"

The man kneeling before him en< gaged in his efforts to mend the' broken table, gave a start that jarred tne whole room.

"It suits me," he said, half savagely after an attempt at self-control, and yet trying to speak lightly; "you know, I'm black by name and complexion, as well as by nature." "So much the more need of contrast, then," retorted his visitor, jocosely; adding, as he directed a keen look at him, "but the scarf is torn! did you know it?"

'■How observing you are!" cried John Knight, snatching the end almost angrily from him. "Of course I knew it; I caught it on something one night last winter, and being in a hurry, twitched at it and tore a piece out."

"Hum! What became of the piece?" Simon Dodge asked, lifting his honest blue eyes with a most innocent expression to the other's face. "I— don't— know." The words were uttered slowly, and

with lips which seemed almost incapable of performing thieir office, and then the table upon which he was at work came down with a crash a>qain.

"I think we'll have to give it up for to-day," he said, muttering something else which his companion could not catch, while he folded it together, and rising, stood it up against the wall with the silken scarf still hanging- to it. lie then stooped and began gatnering up the scattered men, but his face was startlingly white, while a beadlike perspiration seemed to ooze from every pore. "All right," returned Mr Dodge, obligingly, adding: "I'm afraid you do not feel quite as well as usual today, friend Knight. Perhaps we've been playing too much of late, and it has overtaxed your nerves, so we'll hold up for a while if you say so." "Perhaps it would be as well. I do feel somewhat weary," John Knight replied, passing- his trembling hand over his moist forehead.

'•I've been told," continued his companion, observing him closely, "that chess-playing is as trying to the brain as the most intricate mathematics. Let's see; how do we stand?" he continued, reflectively. "I believe I'm a little ahead of yon. When you've bact a season of rest, maybe I'll tackle you again."

These last sentences were simple enough in themselves, but there was something about them nevertheless that made the choir-master start and bend upon the man a searching S'lnnee.

But Simon Dodge looked the bland, fatherly old gentleman to perfection, and as innocent of any double meaning to what he had said as a little child, as he arose, bade the choirmaster a kind "good-night," and took

his leave.

But once outside the door his face grew sharp and fixed.

He went directly to Ms own room, shut and locked the door, and holding up his left hand began to count Ms fingers, as we have seen him do before, while his eyes looked like points of flame between his half-shut lids and his usually bland mouth was expanded in a smile of triumph.

Then he drew a huge wallet from his pocket, opened it, took out a little package of brown paper, unfolded it, and revealed a small piece of closelywoven black silk which had evidently been rudely wrenched from some fabric, and had been badly discolotired.

"That silken scarf may have hung a man. for aught that I know of, and figuratively speaking, and according to my way of thinking, it is likely to hang another, one of these days, Simon, my boy. I should saj r you were considerably 'ahead,' but it's been like the tug o' war, and only a step at a time.