A WOMAN'S HATE,

Lake County Press, Issue 2635, 8 June 1916, Page 2

A WOMAN'S HATE,

Author of “Uedcairn’s Redemption,”

[Copyright.]

CH AFTER X 1 -Continued. Holland plied her with question after question, hearing on tho identity of the major’s creditors, and of those who were in the habit of visiting him. But no information of any value was to be extracted. The moment Gerald dropped out of the conversation, the woman became surly to a degree. She had nothing to divulge and nothing to hide, she protested. , “Where was your nephew at the time of the murder?” demanded tho journalist, by way of a parting shot. Mrs. Moriarty’s red-rimmed eyes flashed anger and menace and fear. “He was down at Greystone with me,” she cried, “as I’m willing ana able to prove to tho satisfaction of anybody whose business it is.” And with this Parthian shot, she turned into the cottage again and slammed tho door behind her. Holland retraced his steps towards Greystone, quite dissatisfied with the events of the day. Facts bearing on the case were not so easily procurable as ho had hoped they would be. He tried to tap Dr. Raven, with similarly barren results. In spite of his genial allusion to the fact that he had had the pleasure of meeting Miss Raven in London, ha found the doctor uncommunicative. “I saw the paragraph in your paper,” said the latter, as with more ceremony than politeness he ushered his visitor out. “If you will allow me to say so it was absolute nonsense. There is no doubt whatever in my mind—and being summoned to the scene of the occurrence so soon I claim to bo in a position to know—that Major Tankerville committed suicide. The location of the bullet and the range of fire could not possibly point to anything else to a man of more than rudimentary intelligence.” “What about the coroner?” Holland inquired. ‘‘l hope you don’t imply that he, as well as I, was in the witlass condition you so delicately allude to.” Dr. Raven laughed. “Coroners ask strange questions sometimes,” he observed; “especially when they are floored for something to

say. But that’s no reason why journalists should emulate them.” And, with a cold, professional bow, he retired into his consulting-room again. For a moment Holland was nonplussed. His case against Gerald Tankervillo was scarcely so black as he had hoped by now to paint it. Everything seemed to hinge on his being able to prove that the barrister had visited the major on the fatal evening—for that that visit had been paid, ho was well assured. It was written almost on Gerald’s face on the night that he had called at the “Recorder” office. The man’s evident embarrassment had been

the cause of the surmise which had leapt into tho journalist’s mind, and which, on inquiry, had seemed so surely to be correct. . As he pondered, a thought struck him. Midway between tbs major’s cottage and Mrs. Moriarty’s now home was a level crossing, controlled from a signal cabin. On the way out, he baa exchanged the time of day with the signalman, whose duties did not appear to overwhelm him to any great extent. The main business of the signalman seemed to be to watch the road. Swinging suddenly around, Holland retraced his stops, proceeding in the direction of the signal-box. The man inside saw him coming, and, in re-

sponse to a beckoning wave of the hand, strolled down to the crossing. “Were you on duty the evening Major Tankerville died?” Holland asked abruptly. ‘Aes, sir,” was the somewhat startled reply. “It’s all rigl t.” Holland laughed, bis tone as re-assuring as lie could pitch it. “I’m only using tin* occurrence as a sort of landmark. I was motoring along this road that evening in a London taxi-cab—you know a taxi by sight, don’t you? and 1 lost a small bag—somewhere, 1 fancy, in this vicinity. I suppose you didn't hear of its being found, by any chance?” The signalman shook his head. “I didn t sir,” he said decisively. “There’s no hag been found about here,

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

By A. RENDEL POPE,

‘The Wages of Sin,” Ax;., &c.

to my knowledge. I remember your taxi-cab passing over twice that afternoon. If you remember, you had to wait for a goods train tho first time." Holland nodded. "I remember," he said. "I imagine I lost the bag when I came backabout six o'clock it would be, wouldn't it?" ''Something like that," the signalman agreed. "I'm sorry I can't get on tho track of it," Holland proceeded. "Not that it's valuable. Still, it has some things in it I'd like to recover. Do you get many taxi-cabs along here?" he added, as casually as he could. "Very few indeed, sir. Greystone is rather too far out of town for that. That's why I noticed your taxi. It just occurred to me that I hadn't seen one for some considerable time. Between ourselves, sir, I rather associated it with Major Tankerville'o death, until I heard ho had committed suicide." He burst out laughing at the absurdity of his own idea. Holland joined hi, with unwonted heartiness. "Ridiculous, wasn't it," protested tho signalan, his lean, brown face wrinkled with mirth. "Absolutely preposterous," Holland agreed. But his merriment was reaHy a tribute to his own perspicacity—and to the daylight which he began to sco ahead! CHAPTER XII.—AN UNWELCOME ENCOUNTER. In his daily consultations with Hubert Shafto and Messrs. Spragg and Spragg, Gerald Tankerville Gradually divested himself of the fears ho had formerly entertained. There was no further news from Ox wold; the columns of the "Recorder" had contained no more surmises or innuendoes bearing on the death of Major Tankerville. The cloud seemed to have blown over. Security from further trouble appeared to be assured. Meeting Malcolm Stanger one evening, Gerald made a few tentative inquiries as to Gordon Holland's whereabouts. The journalist was taking a holiday, he was assured. Where had he gone to? Really, Stanger had no idea. But, presumably, he was racketting around Paris or Vienna or some other frivolous spot peculiarly suited to tho indulgences he choso to cultivate. The news was eminently re-assuring. Gerald knew enough of Holland to be fairly certain that, if ho had any

scoop in hand, he would not desert his paper at this juncture. Evidently, the man's threats were merely malicious. There was nothing to cause any serious perturbation of mind! On this score, however, he might have felt less secure had ho noticed that, at the precise moment when ho was chatting with Stanger, Holland himself drove swiftly by in a taxi-cab. For reasons best known to himself, the unofficial detective was making the acquaintance of innumerable London chauffeurs. He was disbursing many odd half-crowns in tips. The pursuit was expensive, but fascinating. He already had some couple of dozen drivers looking out for the colleague who had taken a gentleman down to Oxwold a fortnight previously. Hut of all this, Gerald knew nothing. His

enemy was out of roach, misbehaving himself on the continent! That was quite sufficient to calm his apprehensions. Meantime, the ease for Agnes Callanan's defence was proceeding satisfactorily. As had been expected, Shafto had turned it over almost exclusively to Gerald, acting himself mainly in an advisory capacity. One important fact had already been elicited. Lord Affaric, the girl's prospective fiance and her unswerving lover, had cabled from Cape Town, whence, after a somewhat serious ill- ! ness, he had just proceeded for London, that he had been acquainted at once !>y Miss Callanan that Ami.rose Callanan had "come to life" again, lie himself supplying the funds to satisfy the old man's extortions until he could

return to England to dispose of him in a. more satisfactory manner Lord Affario had expressed his intention to make a statement to this effect in the witness-box. The information was particularly valuable because it disposed of any motive for the crime attributed to tho girl. The explanation of the arsenic poisoning, by which the blackmailer had met his death, evaded the most minute investigation. Odd bottles of the lnodicinc which Agnes Callanan had administered to her father were recovered and subjected to analysis. Every chemist in the vicinity of Soho had been visited and questioned. What the, prosecution were doing, on the other sido' of tho hill remained, of course, a secret. But it seemed fairly evident that no very incriminating accusation could bo levelled other than that which had already been made. As tho day of trial approached, public interest in the affair waxed exceedingly high. The newspapers printed resumes of the police court proceedings, embellished with photographs of the prinicipal participants. The mystery and romance surrounding the caso made Gerald Tankerville's position all the more prominent. Should he bo successful in gaining the acquittal of his client, his future was assured. Such an advertisement would await him as would invigorate the opportunity which thousands of briefless barristers spend the best part of their lives in endeavouring to compass. Should he fail—well, even then he would have the glamour of Hubert Shafto's name to protect him! Amongst the various reasons which inspired his actions, encouraging him to work his faculties to the fullest extent, one was paramount. His affection for Mary Shafto had become the great passion of his life. He loved her with an intensity of feeling of which he had hitherto deemed himself incapable. The vision of her was radiant in his eyes. He was well aware that, so far, his conduct towards women had little to commend it. To Judith Raven, for instance, be had behaved with a callousness and even brutality which caused him to wince whenever the thought of it assaulted his mind. But now he intended to start afresh. He would redeem his character in his own eyes by a perfect chivalry towards Mary, such as had seldom been extended by man to maid. Her fresh and winsome beauty, her dainty graces, her unspoilt, unsullied charms, made such an attitude not only easy but ennobling. She should find that she had won a lover in whom every attribute which women most value was centred! And, despite the gloom which sometimes overswept him, he had considerable reason to hope that his suit was likely to prosper. Mary's demeanour was perceptibly changing. Whenever the two met, a curious, unfathomable shyness seemed to overtake her. She encouraged his presence only to avoid it. She transported him to heights of bliss by momentary accesses of favour, only to reduce him to tho icy depths

of despair by sudden transitions which his lack of experience made inexplicable to him. She smiled on him radiantly one moment, and, the next, became so coldly formal that his dreams were shattered like a castle of cards. But she always atoned. It was in her atonements that ho found his most delirious happiness. Hubert Shafto, looking on, laughed grimly to himself. He held his nephew in high esteem, and was perfectly willing to strengthen the bonds of relationship between them. But when Gerald, confused and inarticulate, made so bold as to sound him for approval, the barrister shook his head. "You have your career to carve

before you ran think of marriage," he reminded him. "Win tho Callanan case, and 1 may hoar what you have to say. Apart entirely from ourselves, my daughter chooses. If she chooses wisely, there will bo no opposition on my part." So Gerald, freed, as he thought, from tho Oxwold incubus, summoned to his aid all the ingenuity and eloquence which would convince any judge and jury that Agnes Callanan was as innocent and unstained as the evening star. His speeches were carefully rehearsed, with special exercise of the emotional passages with which he hoped to stir the humane feelings of

those in whoso hands tho fato of the girl and Lord Affaric for tho time being resided. Some little time after tho unfortunate interviews with Holland and Judith, a moinimental piece of luck lay in store for the advocate. He was calling at his uncle's ehamhers, to find Shafto immersed in work. "Look here, Gerald," remarked the K.C.. "you might do me a slight service, will you? I've not seen a great deal of Mary tho last few days, and I promised this evening to take her to the Criterion to tea. I've got an appointment I can't escape. The little girl is here now ; she'll he frightfully disappointed when I tell her. You might run along with her to the Cri, will you?" Gerald's usually impassive face lit up with pleasure. "Most delighted," he replied: adding ingenuously, "It's really awfully good of you, you know." So the pair set off, in bewildered excitement. Dusk was giving place to dai-kness. The flare of light, in the autumn haze, the swirl of motors, the ceaseless passage of vehicles and people, exhilarated them with the throb and joy of life. It was an evening for pulsating adventure. London became a fairy city. Romance was in its roar and movement. Tho very atmosphere was charged with the current of love and youth and splendid daring. They took a hansom to Piccadilly Circus.

"I like hansoms ever so much inon than taxis," Mary explained. "Yoi soo more, 'and it takes longer. W< are not in a hurry, are we?" "In a hurry." Gerald laughed riotously almost. "Time has stoppec as far as I'm concerned," ho tolc her. "Do you know," she proceedec gaily, "that this is the first time you have ever taken mo out anywhere?" Tho hansom swayed a trille, and lie slipped closer to her side. "For my own part," he breathed "I hope it will bo tho first of ver\ many. There's nothing on earth TYi sooner do than try to give you a good time." They proceeded onward, through the golden mists. The air was cool and bracing. They chose to consider themselves alone in the world. The keen lawyer had given place to the elemental lover. It is at moments such as this that mankind is reduced to a common denominator, controlled by a single purpose and behaving in the one and only fashion that has found favour since men became suppliants and women responsive. They found the Criterion crowded with their own kind, and wore only able to secure a table near to the door. But it commanded an excellent view of the laughing throng, and, from this standpoint, was perfectly satisfactory. Mary, young enough to be enthusiastic, found the scene enthralling. The vivacity of their surroundings seemed to bring tho two into closer companionship than they had hitherto known. "For the first time in my life," Mary confessed, "I'm not sorry that lather was busy this evening." Gerald's heart leapt with exultation. "Why?" he inquired daringly. "Well—er—l rather like coming out with you," the girl admitted. "Father always meets someone he knows, and starts talking politics, or something." Gerald found his chance, and seized it. "I'd sooner bring you out than anyone on earth," he repeated fervently. "Before very long, I shall hope to have prescriptive right to take vou out to tea." "But you have a sort of prescriptive right now," argued Mary judiciously—though, nevertheless, her checks were faintly flushed. "Your relationship confers that privilege on you." "It's a privilege I want to develop," Gerald insisted. His tone had become suddenly grave. There was a meaning in his words it was impossible to ignore. He gazed at the girl before him with lovo and reverence in his eyes. The crowded salon was obscured to his sight. He only saw a rosy, dainty face—a pair of lips just sufficiently parted to suggest rather than to reveal the delicious teeth which gleamed in every smile flashed upon him. His head was whirling. His hands trembled at his own temerity and bis own astounding good fortune. "May I come and see you soon?" bo pleaded, in low tones. She laughed lightly. "You told me just a few minutes ago that you are coming to dinner tomorrow," she temporised. "Of courso I am. I've been coming almost every other day for the past fortnight. But I want to come as your particular guest. And \ want an opportunity to speak to you alone. Whenever I see you, your lather or old Spragg seems to be there." "Vou should come a little earlier, while father is dressing," Mary suggested, "then, perhaps " She stopped suddenly, the colour streaming out of her cheeks. "Oh! Gerald!" she whispered, "there's Mr. Holland over there. I do believe he's coming to speak to us." The sound of the name recalled

Gerald to a souse of his surroundings and his danger. He wheeled around, in the direction in which Mary was looking. There, sure enough, sat Holland, clear of complexion and tanned of skin. He had an air of characteristic alertness. His eyes were fixed on Tankerville and his companion. For a moment, Gerald regarded him steadily. Then, to his horror, ho saw that the journalist was not alone. With him, an xinfathomablo smile on her lips, was Judith Raven. She, too, was staring at the table beside the door.

"Don't look at them," said Gerald, almost savagely. "Wo had better {jo, before they make any attempt to speak to us." Ho rose to his feet, beckoning the waiter who had attended to them. That functionaryi who was occupied at the moment, failed to respond to the signal. "Who's that with him?" Mary infill i red. "She's an actress, 1 believe—a Miss Raven, from Oxwold. She goes under the name of Miss Sholford. Her father's the doctor down there, you

know. Hang that waiter! I wish lioM hurry up." "film's an awfully pretty girl," derided Mary comprehensively. "She seems to bo very much inturosted in lis, too. They're coming over here. What, do you think 1 ought to do, CoraldP" "Take no notice of them," lie in-

structed. "Ho putting your gloves on or something of thtit sort." Ho turned deliberately as (ho pair approached, stooping to pick up liis hat. Mary, embarrassed and guilty of countenance, bout hor head, stndiouslv averting her eyes. "Good evening, Tnnkorvillo," said Holland's cool, ponotrnting voice. The l>.i nisi el- calmly ignored the grooting and Iho man. "1 want, my hill," \\a said as the waiter drew near. (To bo Continued.)