A WOMAN'S HATE,

Lake County Press, Issue 2636, 15 June 1916, Page 2

A WOMAN'S HATE,

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

By A. RENDEL POPE,

Author of “Redcairn’s Redemption,” “The Wager, of Sin,'' &c., Ac

fOOPYRieBT.i

CHAPTER Xll.—Continued. Holland and Judith hesitated a second; -then, without another word, passed down the steps and out of the door. “Confounded impudence!” murmured Gerald, moistening his parched lips. : . Mary touched him on the arm. “He looked frightfully angry,” she said timidly. “I wonder—l wonder if he means to do anything!” CHAPTER XIII.—JUDITH CONFESSES. However Gordon Holland may have looked, he was, at heart, both humiliated and exultant. It is probable that the latter feeling predominated. As they stepped out into Piccadilly Circus, he turned almost triumphantly to Judith. “Do you believe me now?” he demanded. For the encounter, its personal aspect notwithstanding, suited him to a nicety. Even his own ingenuity could not have furnished a better climax. Judith’s face was stonily white. Her lips' quivered with indignation. “I want to go home, at once,” she said imperiously. “Do you believe me now?” Gordon Holland repeated. She shrugged her shoulders, a little, bitter laugh escaping her. “Oh! yes,” she admitted. “I believe you now. I might have known earlier that what you said was true. But it doesn’t matter a great deal, does it? Do you mind seeing me into a taxi ?” “Look here, Miss Shelford,” Holland announced, “now that little affair has transpired, there are several things I want to tell you. Will you allow me to see you to Baker Street?” He was a firm believer in striking the red-hot iron. It was evident to him that he would never have a better opportunity to press his case. Judith., regarded him irresolutely. Had he given her time to think, she would scarcely have taken the course she did. But her brain was aflame, her pulses beating wdldly. “You can come, if you like,” she conceded. “I suppose I’ll tell you all I know—now. Not that it amounts to a great deal.” “It may amount to more than you think,” returned Holland gravely. “Gerald Tankerville has reached a crisis in his life. Whether you assist me or not, you will not be able to stay the current of events.” He helped , her into the cab, telling the driver to proceed slowly to Baker Street, by way of Hyde Park and the Marble Arch. He had a somewhat long story to narrate. “I told you;”, he began, “that I had been to Qxwold, and had made certain investigations of my own down there. Well, you may scarcely believe it, but I had practically decided not to pursue this matter further. In the first place, 1 ain getting rather sick of crime. the second, there is trouble brewing' in the Near East, and my chief has invited me to go to Constantinople at once. Unless I drop the Tankerville business, I shall have to decline. That’s why I have written nothing further about the case. I had almost arranged to go to Constantinople.” “And you mean to say that this episode has caused you to change your mind ?” “Strange as it may appear, it has. I’m a man of ridiculous impulses. I shall throw away my chances in the East, and sift this mystery to the bottom. The change in my plans may mean a good deal to me. 1 shall want all the help 1 can get now. That’s why I appeal once more to you. “The story of my Oxwold adventure is a tedious one. 1 shall not worry you with details. 1 will merely give you the gist of the thing. “I have discovered, beyond any reasonable doubt, that Gerald Tanker-

ville was with his father the evening the tragedy occurred. He look a taxicab down to the village, and the evidence of the chauffeur who drove him is only needed to complete my indictment. That link will, I hope, be forged in the course of the next few days. “Tankerville took with him one hundred pounds in gold, in a small chamois bag. I have ascertained that he drew this sum from the Law Courts branch of the Metropolitan Bank the same morning. He also took tthei typewritten slip jof paper that was found in the room. In his chambers he has a Blickensderfer typewriter. You will remember that the police-sergeant at Oxwold mentioned at the inquest that the message was typed with a Blick.” “But what became of the money?” Judith inquired, vastly interested in this recital of facts. “It was not found in the major’s house, was it?” “It was not,” replied the journalist, “and I must say that that incident gave rise to considerable speculation in my mind at first. I discovered, however, thanks to an intimate acquaintance with a cashier in the Metropolitan, that the hundred pounds were restored by Tankerville within a week. The day after the inquest, he paid in sixty pounds of it; a couple of days later, thirty pounds, and then another ten pounds. In each case the deposit was made in gold. It is evident, therefore, that the cash was never given to the major, only the fatal slip of paper being left behind. The theory of murder, after his departure from the cottage, for the sake of the sum of money, is therefore discounted. Now, why did Tankerville take down this gold, bring it back with him, and pay it into the bank again in such a manner as to avert suspicion P What hapened at Oxwold to make him alter his plans?” “It is most extraordinary,” Judith breathed, regarding Holland with almost awestruck eyes. “It’s more than extraordinary; it’s absolutely damning. During the time he was in the house, something occurred. What was that something?” “What do you think if was?” Holland shook his head. “I don’t believe in arriving at premature decisions,” ho answered. “1 merely regard two conclusions as feasible. One is that Tankerville entered the house to find his father already dead, and bolted in a fright from the scene of the tragedy without announcing the event. The other is—well, simply that he was instrumental in causing his father’s death.” “Surely,” suggested Judith, “the first is the only solution you would care to entertain.” “My hospitality,” he responded, “is, in this case, generous. It seems incredible to mo that any man—and especially a lawyer—would be so foolhardy as to place himself deliberately in so compromising a position. What would he stand to gain, anyway? He had a chauffeur outside. It would have been the simplest matter conceivable to have summoned him into the house at once, thus clearing himself of any suspicion. I am very much afraid the theory is not tenable. He would find it uncommonly difficult to impress upon a jury, anyway.” “Then you think ho—he killed the major?” “You know what your father said—that it is possible that the shot was filed by another party? Beyond that, I do not care to go. I simply want to know why Gerald Tankerville lied at the inquest, and why that old housekeeper has been telling lies ever since. That discovery will be the gravamen of the mystery. And it is here, perhaps, that you can assist me.” Judith was silent. In the few minutes that had elapsed since the scene at the Criterion, her feelings towards Gerald had inclined dangerously in the vicinity of haired. lie had acted towards her in a manner for which there was not a shred of justification. He had demonstrated plainly

that she and his cousin lived in different worlds; that the old ties were cut asunder; that he meant to have no more to do with her, bringing their acquaintanceship to an end abruptly and even vulgarly. She was a woman \)l strong passions. Had ho boon fair to her, she would strain every endeavour to protect him from Holland’s enmity. But ho had abrogated his claim to consideration. It was surely the barest justice that ho should he made to suffer as she had suffered during the past few weeks —and was suffering twenty-fold now! “What do you want to know?” sho ventured at length. “I want to know,” he said slowly, “why, on the evening of the murder, you inquired at Groystoko station if Taukerville had left by the London train.” Again she was silent staring ahead of her at the lights which studded the darkness of Hyde Park. That darkness seemed somehow to have closed in on all her life. “I inquired,” she said,’ in tones she scarcely recognised as her own, “because 1 bad reason to believe that Gerald Taukerville would be in Oxwold that evening.” “What was the reason?” insisted the remorseless voice beside her. “I saw him the previous day. He told me he was coming down the following afternoon, to see his father. Ho made an appointment to meet me near the cottage. Ho failed to keep his appointment.” “A habit of his, evidently! Was there anything else?” “He once told me that, if he could do so without fear of detection, ho would cheerfully shoot his father. He said his bare existence was injuring his prospects in life.” “Do you think he meant it?” “Ho was certainly very savage about it. The threat occurred to me at onco when I heard the major was dead.” She was speaking in a whisper now. Her hands were tightly clenched in her lap. “Will you go into the witness-box and repeat what you have told me?” asked Holland. “I suppose so—if you want me to.” It suddenly occurred to her that even now, if she chose to do so, sho could dissuade Holland from pursuing his grim purpose. He' was clearly anxious to undertake his commission at Constantinople. She felt sure that a few entreaties from her would bring the whole situation to an end. Indeed, Holland himself indicated as much. “What do you think?” he asked. “Do you think it’s worth our while to go any further? Or shall we let the thing slide?” As ho spoke, the recollection of Gerald’s treatment of her flooded her soul with bitterness, extinguishing the spark of charity momentarily kindled there. Suppose she intervened—what then? Would Gerald Taukerville beleive that she had been instrumental in redeeming him, or have any gratitude to extend to her? She felt instinctively that he would not; that, for all time, their paths lay in opposite directions. He was not worth saving! Let him pay the penalty of the crime he had apparently committed. “If I were you,” she said deliberately, “I should go ahead. It’s a duty you owe to society and your newspaper.” He smiled at the phrase—a favourite one of his own. “You’re right,” he agreed. “It’s a duty I society and my newspaper. I will faithfully discharge it. I should like to have gone to Constantinople. But the dual obligation is too pressing.” Ho glanced at her face, in the vivid glare illuminating the Marble Arch. Purple rings lay beneath her eyes. In the ten minutes through which she had lived, Judith Raven had sounded the depths of misery. Her consciousness was stabbed by the knowledge that she it was who had determined Gerald Taukerville’s fate. Sho felt as Pilate may have felt! “What will bo the next move?” she inquired, with simulated indifference, as the cab pulled up at Excelsior Mansions. “I don’t know yet,” Holland replied. “It depends on circumstances and Scotland Yard. But I take it that affairs will move pretty swiftly. I am seeing Barrington, the chief of the Criminal Investigation Department, • to-morrow. You had better keep your eye on the “Recorder.” Good-bye! And thank you so much for your invaluable assistance.” When, some hours later, he returned to his chambers, having, in the meantime, declined the offer to proceed to the Near East, bo found a brief note awaiting him. Dear Sir (it read), I understand you are inquiring for the chauffeur who drove a gentleman down to Oxwold on October 7th. I may say that I am the chauffeur in question, and shall be pleased to give you the information you want for the sum of five pounds, as proposed. I will call and see you to-morrow morning, at nine o’clock. —Yours, etc. Jas. Blair. Holland scanned the note wearily. “I guess that about disposes of Mr Gerald Taukerville,” he murmured. CHAPTER XIV. SHADOWS AND SUNLIGHT. The'night, before the trial of Agnes Callanan, Gerald dined with Hubert Shafto, in order to consolidate the scheme of defence and weave into one unbroken labric the scattered threads of evidence which bad been so laboriously collected. The young barrister was in a state of acute excitement. He bad worked hard and intelligently on

the somewhat complex ease, giving every aspect of it the most studious consideration. The charge against the girl was obviously founded on circumstantial evidence. He had a very shrew idea that a successful issue was Olll.V lo l>e compassed Ly ilie iorce and conviction ho was able to instil in his final address to judge and jury. Shafto himself was inclined to agree with the belief. “It will,” be said, “be a battle of wits between you and Wasterley Smith. Smith is a very cool hand at conducting a prosecution. You will need all your ingenuity and eloquence if you are to discount the impression he is likely to make.” So Gerald turned up at Cromwell Street primed to the last letter. Ho had decided—should things look black against bis client—-to adopt a bold course. He had mapped out for himself a final form of conduct which he was disposed to think would be distrinctly effective. He decided to make no mention of it in advance. He had. perhaps, an idea bis uncle would endeavour to persuade him from following it. Mr. Spragg was also duo to dine at Cromwell Street, but though, as be approached the house, he saw Gerald on the point of entering it, he made no attempt to attract his attention or to overtake him. For so genial a personage, he seemed to bo uncommonly depressed. His first action was to seek out Shafto in his study. He found the K.C. immersed in Parliamentary papers. “Look here, Shafto’” he began abruptly, “have you heard any more of that Oxwold business lately?” “You mean the death of my respected brother-in-law, I take it?” Shafto returned. “1 do. 1 saw Barrington, of Scotland' Yard, a day or two ago. Your name cropped up in the course of conversation. Ho looked at me in a curious sort of way. He said: ‘1 wonder if Hubert Shafto is aware that he may be unonviably prominent before long.’ ” Shafto’s interest was betrayed by the sudden, upward glance he shot at the solicitor. But ho made no reply. “I asked Barrington what ho was talking about, and ho said something to the effect that, as the late Major Taukerville was your brother-in-law, it was obvious that the two names would ho linked. ‘ln what connection?’ 1 isked. ‘Oh !’ he replied, ‘in tho matter of the uncertainty surrounding the man’s death.’ I tried to pump him, hut lie was not inclined to be communicative. But lie gave me to understand that developments were afoot. What set me thinking was the persistent manner in which he linked your name with tho affair.” “My name?” Hubert Shafto laughed incredulously. “Not to its disadvantage, I hope?” Spragg regarded his steadily. “You know Jjcffcoat, tho attorney down at Greystrokc? Yon have heard of him. anyway? He was up seeing me yesterday, and ho told me that the district is sort of seething with anticipation of what may happen. Jeffcoat observed, in a tentative manner, that, as far as he was able to see, you wore the only person who was likely to benefit by the major’s death. He made the remark in the most casual manner possible. But it, combined with Barrington's comment, set mo thinking. They cannot possibly be mad enough to associate you with the affair!” “The first presumption,” observed Shafto. “is that they intend to re-open the ease. This will probably he due to tho enterprise of Gordon Holland. J am very sorry to hear it—more for Gerald’s sake than my own. Your fears, as far as 1 am concerned, are ridiculous. Y'on can dismiss them from your mind at once.” “I’m delighted to hear it. I hope you won’t think me impertinent. J merely decided to lot you know, in ease you were iguoraaut of what was going on.” “Much obliged!” returned Shafto drily, as he rose from his seat. “1 was ignorant, as a matter of fact. Between ourselves, I am not surprised that they intend to pursue their investigations. I was always of opinion that there was more in the thing than appeared to the naked eye. I’m sorry we were unable to stop Holland in time, though. The news will probably he upsetting to—well, to one or two members of my family. As for Barrington’s solicitude on my behalf, he needn’t worry himself. I shan't lot it disturb mo, you can take my word for that. By the way, don’t mention this to Gerald. He will want all his nerves to-morrow.” Curiously enough, however, the same subject was under discussion in the drawing-room upstairs, where, in tho pink glow of the shaded lights, Mary was holding an informal reception, with Gerald as a solitary devotee. Since their joint penetration into that most delectable of adventures, the tea-party a deux, a new relationship seemed to have sprung up between them. How these occur it is extremely difficult to say—almost as difficult as to define them when they ensue. But there they are—absorbing and ever vital in tho lives of men and women. “Von know that girl we saw with Gordon Holland in the Criterion?” Mary was saying. “I met her yesterday morning in Bronipton Road. She looked awfully ill. Didn’t you say she was an actress?” “Something of the sort, 1 believe,” Gerald admitted. “She comes from Oxwold, you know. Her father is a doctor down there. I used to know her fairly well when we were youngsters.” “Sho’s unusually pretty; don’t you think so? I’m rather surprised yon let tho acquaintance drop. She stared at me very hard, as if she was going to speak to me. I wish she had. i like actresses.” (To bo continued.)