CHAPTER XXXVI. ANOTHER POINT MADE.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLII, Issue 7395, 22 February 1902, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XXXVI. ANOTHER POINT MADE.

Mr Gregory and Theo returned late that night, and poor, burdened, lone,ly Josephine greeted them as if in them lay her only hope in the world. "My brother is lost!" she cried in despair, after relating to them all that had transpired during the last day or two. "My dear, it certainly does look very dark for him, but I do not give up hope," the lawyer answered, thoughtfully. "Somebody must have put those things in your brother's writing desk," he resumed. "That they could not have got there without hands is evident. It is also evident that they were put there by someone who was familiar with, or had a knowledge of, that false bqttom; and you say that neither you nor Guy knew anything about it?" "No, sir; we have always supposed it a very ordinary desk. We thought it quite a clumsy one, but believed that was occasioned by its being built so strongly. We could remember our father using it when we were children, and since it had been particularly mentioned that Guy was to have i it we brought it with us a"s a sort of souvenir of our home." "You say that you were gone all day yesterday?" "Yes, sir; from eight in the mbrn- j ing until after six in the evening." "There was ample time, then, for someone to enter your rooms and conceal those articles there?" Mr Gregory said. "Now, I have a theory about it; it may not be the correct one, but it appears reasonable to me. Someone — we will not call any names, for we can prove nothing as yet — has doubtless been plotting to do this thing for some time — has had ! those articles in his possession, watching his opportunity to secrete them among your belongings, with a view to increasing the evidence against Guy. Learning by some means that j'ou were to be away for some hours, this person, by means of skeleton keys, entered your rooms with this purpose in mind, saw the desk, and having seen one like it before, knew about the secret compartment, and concealed these articles j there. He could not have hit upon a more cunning device if he had been the — the — his Satanic Majesty himself," Mr Gregory concluded, bringing his hand so heavily down upon the table 'before him as to make both girls jump nervously. "However," he resumed, "do not be entirely disheartened, for no sentence can be passed until we have proof positive that Herbert Knight is dead. His body or his bones must be found and identified before a jury can bring in' a verdict of guilty." • Both Theo and Josephine looked greatly relieved at this intelligence. "I know that was said at the time of the other trial," Josephine remarked; "but I feared, having found that handkerchief with those stains upon it, and the sleeve-button, they I woxild • consider them evidence enough, and take it for granted that a murder had been committed.". "They may take so much 'for granted' upon that ground that they may keep your brother imprisoned for an indefinite .period^ but they can never pass sentence upon him until the body or bones of Herbert Knight are found. That much I know, and the more time we can have the better it will be for us." , "What dt> you suppose those keys ivill prove?" Josephine queried. ' "I do not know," Mr. Gregory replied, with a very serious face. "Evidently it was intended that they should prove a great deal, or they would never have been put in that ! desk. I'm afraid that through them I will come the 'tug of war.' " ! He subsided into a brown study after that, and the two girls, seeing he

did .not appear inclined to talk any more on the subject, retired to their room to comfort each other as best they could.

The next morning Josephine, accompanied, by Theo — for she insisted upon going with her — went -to visit Guy, according to her promise. As soon as they were gone Mr.. Gregory packed a few articles in his hand-satchel, and leaving word with Mrs. Carleton that he was going out of town for a Bay or two, hurried away to the station to catch his. train.

Guy was made as happy as it was possible for him to be under the trying circumstances by the unexpected" sight of Theo's lovely face.

"This is more than I had any right to oxpect," he said, with an unsteady voice, as he clasped the hand which she frankly extended to him.

"Then you did not exercise all the rights to which you are entitled," she answered, with a shy smile, while thf» rich crimson suffused her face.

"Bless you, my darling!" Guy whispered, bending low over her and' drawing- her for an instant to him. "I surely ought to take courage with two such faithful adherents," he added, with a fond glance from her to Josephine.

"You must take courage, any way,"' his sister returned, with more of cheerfulness than she had shown before since his arrest; and then she wont on to tell him what Mr. Gregory" had told them the night previous.

"I knew that before," Guy said, gravely; "I knew that they could not condemn me without more positiveproof than the finding of those keysfind other things in my possession. But what I have feared, and do still fear, is — that the keys will lead tothat positive proof. I am afraid that they will lead to the finding of — a. body!"

"Oh, Guy!" Josephine cried aghast; then turning to Theo she asked:

"Do you suppose that was what Mr. Gregory meant last, night when hesaid that he feared through them■would come the 'tug of war?' " -, "It must have been," Theo ■breathed, all her lovely colour gone. "It is dreadful for you, girls, to be so tortured; I ought not to havespoken of it," Guy said, regretfully, as he saw their horror-stricken faces; "but," he added, "we shall be obliged, I fear, to look some very Fcc-rn facts in the face during the next few weeks. Ido not know what those keys may unlock, but I have anidea that they may lead into — a tombof some kind."

"And that he — Bertie — may be found there?" Theo questioned, breathlessly.

"I am afraid so. I would like you to tell Mr. Gregory this, Josephine, and get his opinion about it. When will he come to see me?"

"Very soon, I am sure," Theo said, eagerly; "I hoped he would come today, but he may have some particularbusiness to arrange first; and now, please, let us not talk any more about these dreadful things; let us think of something- pleasant," and 1 forthwith she began giving them an account of her sojourn at Mentone.

She was so chatty and interestingthat the hour allotted to them sped all too quickly, and they were rudely recalled to themselves by the turnkey coming- to warn them that their "time was up.V . "You will let me come again*' The.opleaded, as Josephine, after bidding her brother "good-bye," withdrew tt> the door, leaving them together for a moment. "This is no place for you, I an* afraid," Guy said, sorrowfully. "My 'place' is wherever I can do the miost g-ood," the fair girl responded, earnestly, "and if I can contribute in the least degree . to- ■ your comfort or happiness, if I can cheer and encourage you ever so little by my presence, I hope yoiv will not forbid my coming." He regarded her with intense- v= yearning. "You Shatter all my resolutions," he said, greatly agitated. "I had a seal upon my lips, but you make me break it. in spite of ' myself. Oh, my beloved, I did not mean to allow mj'self the delight of telling you how fondly I love you until I could do so in a way that should honour . you; , but, you tempt me beyond my strength.!" "The love of a true man' honours any woman," Theo said, with great gravity, and lifting her flusned, earnest, face confidingly to him. "I ■know that you love me — you know that I love you; wEy should any false ideas regarding your 'worthiness* prevent us from acknowFedging it? Why raisje, any barriers where none should, exist?, The force of circumstances, alone has placed you where you are, not your own misdoing, and if I should disown my 'allegiance to you from the fear of public opinion, or until you are acquitted before the world, when I know that you are innocent, I should not be worthy even of your respect." . He clasped that small hand in botlr • of his. , .

"My~Theo,"^he whispered, with a look which told her morje than words could have done, "ho^v Kind, how generous,,/how * noble you ar y e! Oh! if I might be spared to- bring to you but a tithe of the happiness' which you have bestowed upon me To-day, I could ask no greater joy in life." "Good-bye," she said, reluctantly ■tearing herself away, and leaving a light behind Her which made all the long day which followed the brightest which Guy had known ior many a, weary month. Mr Gregory remained away from home two days, and appeared very thoughtful upon his return. He appeared indisposed to talk about his "trip, and seemed averse to holding any conversation regarding Guy's condition or prospects. He visited him the day following las return, and had a long conference. He assured him that everything should be done for him that could be done, and urged Kirn to exercise all the courage and patience which he could command. And thus tEe day and weeks went by, until the assizes drew near, and | with them the tim,e for further investigation regarding the. Welfleet ■tragedy. One evening shortly after Mr Stewart sailed upon his yachting trip, Sylvia Houghton sat reading in lier room. The day had been very sultry, and she had felt far from well, while a •sensation of sadness and loneliness had oppressed her. Suddenly the hall-bell rang with an authoritative soxind. A moment after she heard a man's voice making some inquiry of the servant, then there came a step ■upon the stairs and a knock upon her •door. Rising to open it, she found a stranger without — a tall, whitehaired, ' venerable-looking person, with mild, blue eyes, and a very benevolent cast of countenance. A second look at him told her that she had seen him before, even if his -voice had not assured her of it by .asking, blandly: "Have I the honour of addressing Miss Houghton?" "That is my name, sir," she said, in reply, while to herself she thought -with a strange heart-sink-ing: "It is the man who rode in the car with me from Welfleet. What •can he want?" "You will excuse me, I trust. Miss Houghton,". her visitor continued, '"for taking the liberty of calling upon you without- an introduction, but .•as long ago I rode to London with _you — doubtless you remember the occasion of which 1 speak — I was Impressed with something familiar with j your features. I afterwards learned your name, and then it came to me that you must be the daughter ot any old friend, Rev. Nathaniel Hough--ton, • who was formerly rector at Allendale, Kent County. Am I right?" - '-Yes, sir," Sylvia responded) her .self-possession returning at once up--on listening to this simple, straightforward statement, "my father's name was Nathaniel Houghton, and he had charge of the parish of which .you speak for many years. If you -were a friend of his, I am very glad to meet you." •She then invited him to enter and be seated. '"Thany you," replied Simon Dodge, ".blandly, for it was he. "We were at Eton together," he continued, "and were very friendly; but after he left there I lost sight of him for several .years, during the time he had charge of the parish at Bridgton, which was previous to his going to Allendale, I ".believe." "Yes; he remained only three or four years at Bridgton, and was then -settled permanently at Allendale, where I was born, and where m.v mother died," Miss Houghton concluded sadly. "Ah! That was a great trial, -truly," remarked Mr Dodge, sympathetically. "I heard something from .-a mutual friend regarding your life there, and I also learned that you .gave great promise of attaining musical renown. Have you continued to cultivate your voice since your father's demise?" "Yes, sir; up to the time of my leaving Allendale I was under instruction," Mis Houghton responded, with .downcast eyes. Although she did not now entertain -any tenderness toward John Knight, she could not recall those old days without much of pain. "I believe we now have at Welfleet the music-master who used to conduct the services at Allendale." observed Mr Dodge, directing a keen look at rSylvia's downcast face. "Yes, Mr Knight used to have *charge of the music in my father's church,". Miss Houghton answered, :soraewhat coldly. She did not care to •discuss the gentleman. "Then doubtless you know him -well." "Yes; I was under his instruction for years." "You found him superior in the of a teacher, did you not?" "He has remarkable musical ability," Miss Houghton responded, hriefly. "Somewhat peculiar as to his moods, isn't he?" inquired Mr Dodge. "That might be said of a givat many people, might it not?" she •asked, evasively, but smiling slightly. "Aha!" Simon 'returned, with a *harp look, as if he was not quite

sure -but that her retort -might have contained something personal in it, ."doubtless it might; but did. it ever strike you that Mr Knight— might Je — aheftj! to— to a habit which "would be liable to occasion these moods? I refer to the habit of using opium?" A spasm of pain swept over the girl's face— a circumstance which Mr Dodge's observant eyes "did not fail to notice.

"I have met Mr Knight only occasionally during the last two or three years, therefore I know but very little regarding him, and I certainly could not be expected to know much about his habits of life," she said, stiffly.

"Do you visit Welfleet often?" pursued Mr Dodge, thinking it wise to vary the conversation somewhat. "No, noti often."

"It is a beautiful place — a great deal of interest, about it, especially connected with the cathedral. I have given a great deal of, time to the study of archaeology during the last few years, and I find much to engage my attention in that direction in Welfleet — particularly in the crj r pt. Ever been down in the crypt, Miss Houghton?"

She shivered at the question, and her face grew very pale as she answered, with evident agitation:

"I — no, sir; 1 never, have."

Then, remembering that he had asked her that same question the day that thej r rode up to London together, she raised her eyes and gave him an earnest, searching glance.

"Well, now, if any one had asked me if you had ever visited it, I should have said you had," Mr Dodge returned, innocently, but with a cunning gleam in the mild eyes which met hers; "and a very simple circumstance led me to that conclusion. I found one day, not long ago — by the way, now I think of it, it was that day when I saw you examining the entrance to the crypt — I found, I say, a lady's handkerchief embedded among some leaves which had blown together there, and then become matted by the rain and dampness, and it was marked with your initials. It was very, much discoloured with dirt and mildew, and must have lain there a long 1 time — I should say six or seven months. I have it with me — my landlady has made it as presentable as possible, but it is still badly stained. Since I was coming up to London, and hoped to find you, I thought it best to bring it along."

He drew il forth as he ceased speaking, and laia it beside her, with the initials uppermost.

"Am I right? Does it belong to you?" he asked, with his blandest smile.

"Yes, yes, it is mine; but it was of no account — not worth returning," she replied, in a startled tone, while a look of horror came into her eyes as she regarded it.

"Speaking of losing the handkerchief so long ago," resumed her visitor, as if she had confessed to the time, "reminds me of the so-called Welfleet Mystery. That was a very sad affair. Were you personally acquainted with Mr Knight's nephew?" "No---that is — at least I did not know him very well. I met him a few times when he was a boy and used to come to Allendale to visit his uncle," Sylvia explained, with an evident effort.

"They were said to be very fond of each other before he was — murdered."

Miss Houghton bowed an assent to this remark, but her visitor could see that she was trembling".

"Ie seems a trifle singular — to me, at least," he continued, "that a man of Mr Knight's — Mr John Knight, 1 mean — temperament, should be so demonstrative in his affection as the people of Wemeet say he was; he is usxially so self-contained, so exceedingly reserved about everything, that I think I should be a little — a — suspicious of it."

"Why do you say this to me, Mr Dodge? Why do you talk so much about Mr Knight to me? What can I be supposed to know about the Welfl.et Mystery?" Miss Houghton abruptly asked.

*"C-l oh! I beg your pardon, miss; you must excuse an old man's parr rulousness. I have been in Welfleet, you must remember, where this strange affair is much talked of, and, I, suppose, it was natural, upon finding that you knew Mr Knight, that I should run off on that track; a mystery always did have a strange fascination for me. But I will not weary you any more with it, and, believe me, I am very glad to have found the daughter of my former esteemed friend," he concluded, with great heartiness.

He conversed a while longer with her regarding her father, questioning her about his sickness and death, and appearing greatly interested in what she told him, although her answers were quite reserved and brief, while her manner was cold and rather forbidding. At length he arose to go, thanking her for her courtesy, and telling .her he hoped they would meet again. He, shook hands with her heartily, bade her a bland and smiling "good-evening," and bowed himself out with all the politeness of tne "old-school gentleman."

He had hardly closed the door after him when Sylvia threw herself upon her knees, laid her head on a chair, and burst into a passion of tears and sobs.

Mr Dodge gaVe a series of satisfactory nods as he Stepped out upon the street after leaving her. "Smart girl,*that! Handsome, too!" he muttered. My— a— old friend must have been very proud of her. Middling keen she is, also; don't mean to be quizzed on any dangerous subjects; but, however, I'm of the opinion, that she knows John Knight better than any other person living; so we'll 'tick that off' for furmer use," he continued, lifting his left hand and counting off one with the forehnger of his right.

(To be Continued.)