AN ANXIOUS NIGHT.

Lyttelton Times, Volume CXX, Issue 14915, 10 February 1909, Page 8

AN ANXIOUS NIGHT.

(By CHARLES EDWARDES.) Author of “ The Luck of the Houso of Gover,” etc.” [All Rights Reserved.] “Hullo, it’s you, is it? Come in, my boy!” The Novertoil bank manager dropped liis gold-rimmed glasses, and rose to welcome the Novorton curate. “ Good evening, Air Veitch,” said the Neverton curate. He glanced about the pleasant roomi as if he expected to see someone else. And yet he had no such expectation. He knew Iris and her mother were at the Ledbury Hall concert. But it had become a habit with him when ho called at the Bank House, and there waa generally some trace of Iris discoverable; either the last novel trom the station book stall, her harp in a corner, or a dainty fragment of embroidery blessed a few minutes ago by the touch of hor dear fingers.

“ You didn’t find tho front door open, I hope, Toni?” asked the bank manager, spreading his coat tails to tho fire.

■ “ Oh, no, but I took the liberty of telling the girl I would announce myself.”

The bank manager smiled and swung his glasses. “No liberty at all, Tom,” ho said. “You know that. And—what’s it doing? Alore snow?” “ Frost and stars, sir. But——”

The Reverend Tom Grosvenor was a fine young fellow; a Corinthian forward, for one thing, and that, in foot-ball-loving Neverton’s opinion, uvas no small thing in his favour. As a rule, he was the most self-possessed of men. Self-possessed and stalwart, with a pair of brave blue eyes which aided much good work in the parish. But Mr Veitch had noticed, of late that his self-possession seemed to fail him at the Bank House. His wife also had noticed it. After that about the frost and stars, a, rich colour came to the curate’s cheeks as, idly enough, he picked up a German dictionary from the table. He knew it was Iris’s, and yet he opened it and read her name in it. “What’s the trouble?” asked the bank manager. “ Sit down and tell me. Want some money for soup and blankets this cold weather?” “ J -will tell you,” said the curate, abruptly shutting the book. “I wasn’t sure ten minutes ago that I would, but, hang it! you’ll excuse meI must, Mr Veitch.” He drew up a chair, and, sitting with his strong (and long) legs well extended, folded his arms and gazed resolutely at his host. “Do,” said the other. “It’s a wise thing to close an account in my business, when it looks like turning out bad for both the customer and the bank.” “1 don’t quite follow you, Mr Veitch.” . li Never mind if you don't. But is it about Iris?” “Yes,” replied the curate, sharply, with the straightforward challenging air of an honourable, yet surprised, duellist. “ How in the world could you hit it like that? I love her, and must quit Neverton because I love her. Yes, it’s a fact, I must. You don’t know what it does to me, Mr Veitch, seeing her every day, thinking of her and knowing I haven’t a. chance. I suppose it is so. Compared with Damlyn, that is ” The hank manager thought it was just as well Iris herself was not in the room at that moment. There was something splendid about the young man while he thus bared liis heart and flashed his eyes in thus mentioning the rival lie would no doubt have hated thoroughly if his Christian calling permitted. “My dear hoy, I'm downright sorry for you,” said Mr Veitch. “ I’m afraid Damlyn has to some extent—well, you know, he has had exceptional opportunities. But nothing is settled. He. is with the ladies at Ledbury to-night.” “I know he is,” said the curate, with rather a grim twitch of his lips. “ I happened to walk half a mile with him on the Wortham Road. I—suppose he didn’t say anything to you on that subject?” _ “ About meeting you f JNo. * 1 Did he appear all right ? Mr Veitch read the curate’s face with fair accuracy, and instantly associated the Rev Tom Grosvenor with the remarkable state of Rupert Damlyn 3 right eye and somewhat damaged no so ■when he presented himself at the Bank House that evening. “ My dear Tom, he exclaimed, in a. shocked tone of voice. “ you don’t tell me— ” , . _ . “I do tel] you. thougn. It as the other thing I called to-night on purpose to tell you. He sneered at religion, and inferentially said that all the churchgoers of St Patrick’s were hypocrites. I asked him if he included me Ja the mass, and he was obliging

enough to say ‘ Why not,P’ Now, I can’t stand being called a liar to my lace, Air Veitch, and so I requested him to withdraw that accusation or suffer some consequences. Ho preferred the consequences, and, parson or not, I administered them. Aiind you, I didn’t take a farthing’s worth of unfair advantage. He saw mo turn up my cuffs ana as I landed on his face, ho struck me’ a few inches below my watch-chain. I gave him another tap or two for that, and, wishing him ‘ Good night and better manners,’ left liim searching for his hat. You’d have done tho same in my place, Air Veitch, at any rate, twenty years ago. I’m sure of it.”

The bank manager made a reproving sound with liis tongue and palate. “I was penitent enough afterwards, you know," contimiecT the curate. “I-Vlien all’s said and thought, I oughtn’t to- have done it.” “You ought not, indeed. No wonder he seemed upset. He said had tripped over a plank in the road.” “ Well, then, he lied, and that’s more than I have done in telling you the circumstances. But he’s a rich persona grata, as they say, with Mrs Veitch, and therefore the most-to-bc-envied fellow in the world j in one respect. And now I’m off.”. He jumped up and took bis hat from the table. “Good night, sir, and of course you’ll keep this couple of secrets. 1 feel relieved to have got rid of them. But I shall be sorry to quit little Nevorton and this dear house most of all. Good night.” Ho was at the rcoin door ere the bank manager spoke again. - “ Stop a bit, Tom,” he said. Tho curate looked round, almost impatiently. . , “ Tkero’s nothing you can do, Mr Veitch.” he declared. “ I shall say not a word of it to Iris herself.” “No, I’d stake my salary on that, Tom. But, perhaps—l’ll confess it to you, my boy. There’s no one I would sooner give Iris to than yourself, other things being equal.” “Thank you, sir, but they are not equal, and i hope I can swallow a disappointment with decent grace. I bank you very much, and good night again. Tho bank manager would have liked to say more to comfort the young man, hut prudence was essentially one of his strong features. He went downstairs with him. talked a commonplace or two in the hall, and then, having seen him out into the starlight, returned to his quarters. . Here ho sat for many minutes apparently wrapt in meditation. A black marble timepiece ticked solemnly above tlie hearth. It punctuated, as it were, certain of bis reflections. . These all centred about, lus pretty grey-eyed daughter and the two men who wanted her. Neither of the men were natives of Nevei'tou, and theiefore he had to take them largely on trust. Of course there was less risk iu this with the curate than with Rupert Damlyn. But on the other hand there seemed no doubt about Mr Damlyn’a worldly advanagee. He had settled in Neverton the previous winter for the hunting, rented an expensive, though not large, furnished house two miles out of the town, and had lived accordingly for the last thirteen months. His credit balance at the bank was never less than a thousand pounds; and was maintained at Giat respectable level by periodical J.rn.ts from Australia. _ He bad made his money in Australia. , Mr Veitch estimated Damlyn s income at botwon two and three thousand a year. . It was only since tho summer that this dark-eyed, trim, and in all externals most gentlemanly customer had become intimate at the Bank House. It began with ordinary civilities, and had progressed to the present point. With his finger-tips joined, the bank manager contemplated Damlyn as a prospective son-in-law. “Yes,” ho murmured, I like the man in a way very much. And yet when his countenance is m reposethose hard lines about the lips ana forehead! Oh, rubbish 1 . Men who have fought the world single-handed like that, and won, are bound to carry a few scans. That’s all they signify scars—the mark of their strength. And then ho thought of Tom GrosVe it°had been so plain for a long time whv the curate had liked to drop m at the Bank House two or three evenings a week. So very plain ! And now GrMr Veitch*s quickened intelligence, so plain also why he had never, until to-night, told of his love. The poor lad had nothing but lus stipend. V hat right had he to think of a wife, with only £l3O a year to live on? Quite so. Quite so. Mr Veitch had not been associated for thirty-eight years with gold and bank notes • without acquiring an extravagant regard for rich men. He recognised the weakness, but couldn t shake clear of it. If poor Tom Grosvenor had a nestegg'of even a few hundreds, it might make a difference, but as matters stood he had certainly done tlie right thing in not giving him a, single word of encouragement. Yes, it were better for Iris’s sake that he should even leave Neverton. Both her mother and himself had seen the dear girl’s growing regard for him. She was the most dutiful of daughters, however, and her self-respect had kept her with striking success from leading poor Tom into anything like an impetuous indiscretion. From domestic concerns tho bank manager drifted to thoughts about business. It had been the Neverton cattle fair, and they bad been very busy at the bank.. A cattle fair day meant generally several thousand pounds more hard cash in tho strong-room than usual; and it was so on this occasion. Mr Veitch contemplated a journey to tho 'bead office in the morning with those bags of surplus gold. _ There were two or three topics he wished to mention to the general manager and—and

The warmth of the room, the stillness, and the comparative unimportance of these two or three topics gradually coaxed him to sleep. He did not even hear the door open, much less see his daughter raise her hand to her mother and then approach him on tip-toe and stoop over him. But the kiss roused him. “Gloves, papa!” said Iris. , The talk at supper was chiefly about the concert- Mrs Veitch was as musical as her daughter, and a rather severe critic. The bank manager sliced beef and listened without feeling deeply inter-

os ted. He was again preoccupied by Iris’s future. There was a, look now and then in the girl’s eyes which made him fancy something had happened to her that evening. Even as to Mr Damlyn, at the curate’s hand, and himseif as the recipient of the curate’s confession. It was besides significant that Damlyn had not come in with them to supper. He was expected. His plate and etceteras still faced Iris at tho table.

“He was tired, Alexander,” Mrs Veitch had said in explaining his absence. “ His accident hurt him more than he thought. His eye, poor man, was really quite a disfigurement before we left Ledbury.” Tho bank manager smiled just a little slyly as lie expressed his sympathy. It was then, glancing at Iris, before the ladies had disrobed, that he thought about her, and the “something” came to him. Her eyes had a sudden sparkle in them, and a smile like his own, though, of course, far more beautiful.

Supper over, tlie bank manager returned to the other room, and (she was a reckless creature) his wife went almost immediately to bed. “You won’t be long, Alexander ” she hoped.

“ An hour at the most, my dear.” “ I’m coming to get warm with you, daddy, first,” said his daughter. “ And to see you don’t have a little too much whisky in your water!” “ Do!” said the bank manager. But when she was with him, his greyeyed child, with a lovely colour in her cheeks now, seemed wholly heedless of tho paternal whisky-and-water. She nestled by the fire, and very soon contrived to'lay her pretty head on her father’s knee. Mr Veitch smoothed her hair, and thought again, inevitably, of the two men who aspired for the sweet heart in so sweet a body. A silence of entire sympathy lasted for about a minute thus. Iris broke it.

“ I suppose no one called, daddy, to —to keep you company?” “No; that is—not to keep me company, my dear.” “ Someone did call, then. Who?”

It flashed to tho bank manager that she knew.

“No one of any importance, my dear,” he replied with diplomatic intent. “ Only Tom Grosvenor.”

She looked up at him with a curious smile.

“Poor Mr Grosvenor 1” she said, slowly. “Isn’t he of any importance? Was he with you long?” “ About ten minutes.”

“Oh ! Was he in a hurry, then? Didn’t you ask him to supper?” “ Do you tfiink,” retorted her father, toying now with the situation, not altogether for the mere sport’s sake, “he would have stayed for the pleasure of meeting Mr Damlyn?” Iris kept her face straight to the fire. “ Perhaps,” she murmured, after a pause, “he might have thought Mr Damlyn wouldn’t come in to-night.” “ Why should he think so, you puss?” “ He might have, you know, daddy.” And then the bank manager felt certain that his instincts were justified. “Did he tell you be was coming?” lie asked.

Tho girl fidgeted a. little. “I bad an idea that he would.” “ Why?”

“ Weil, one can’t say always how such ideas come, but I saw him this afternoon, and he—he looked as if he might;” Iris’s left hand found its way into the bank manager’s while she spoke. Tlie gentle appeal touched him almost as much as the introduction, for example, of an immensely important new account dow-n stairs. He longed in that moment to be able to say to her that Tom Grosvenor was an altogether acceptable suitor for the little hand he was now holding, and that she might love him to her life’s content. But he said nothing; shook his head rather sadly at the fire instead. And then Iris sprang a new surprise on him.

‘Was Mr Grosvenor quite well, daddy? Not hurt at all—-like—like Mr Damiyn?” she inquired, with just a tremor to her voice. Mr Veitch sat up, and his hand tightened on Iris’s.

“ Did Mr Damlyn tell you about it?” he asked. “No. Of course not. He said he tumbled over something, you remember. He hadn’t the pluck to tell the truth. I wish—how Ido wish, daddy, he wouldn’t come here any more. I do so dislike him.”

She pushed lier hair from her brow with her free hand, and then rested her head in the palm of it. “ H’m 1” said the bank manager. “ This beats an earthquake. Who told you that Tom Grosvenor and Mr Damiyn had been fighting?” “ Gh, that little boy of the Gerrison's. He nudged me as we were going in, and said he wanted to speak to me. I thought it was about his mother, but it was that. He saw them. He said Mr Damlyn fought foul. I—didn’t really enjoy the concert a bit afterwards, for thinking about it.” “ And now I suppose it will be all over the town?” suggested the bank manager, indignantly. “That’s just what I thought of, daddy, when he assured me he wasn’t fibbing. But he said he had only told his mother, and she had boxed liis ears. I said. ‘ Serve you right.’ He promised not to tell anyone else.” “Ha! ha!” laughed the bank manager, in spite of his irritation. “ That’s one’s reward for telling the truth in this life.”

He realised his imprudence too late. Iris stood up, and, with her head on his shoulder and more beauty in her face than he had ever seen, called him to account. “Then it was the truth, daddy? Mr GroSvenor told you. I knew he would. What did they—fight about?” “Oh, you puss 1” said the bank manager, again smiling the wry smile of a defeated man. Y ‘ But it’s your bedtime. Good night, my Iris.’ She looked pathetic while the clock ticked twice. No longer. “Am I not to know?” she asked. n No; but you may guess, if you like. There! That’s quite enough nonsense! Go to bed, little Miss Inquisitive, and dream sweet dreams!” She kissed him resignedly after that. “It’s too bad of you, daddy, she said with the kiss. Only when she had been gone fully five minutes did the bank manager preceive that he had been imprudent again. “ It’s a pound to a penny she II think they quarrelled about it I 5 ’ he exclaimed. “What an idiot I am!” But he did not call her hack to tell her so. -

Presently he helped himself to a little whisky and water. It was eleven o’clock, and quite time he followed Iris upstairs. ' But he fell again into reflections about the satisfactory day’s business which had resulted from the Neverton Cattle Fair, and all at once remembered something. A certain Mr Abraham Flint, who dealt in horned beasts by the score on cattle fair days, had rung the private bell at six o’clock, and brought in no less than eighteen hundred pounds in notes and gold. Ho had come upstairs, and, by all that was oininious of a failing memory, the bag with the money in it still stood in the corner of the room. Mr Veitch turned and stared at it. He had intended to lock it up in the safe and—had forgotten it. “What a truly terrible oversight!” ho exclaimed, chilling slightly at the shock. Well, it was better to have remombered now than not at all. All the keys were in his pocket, slung there from the silver chain round his neck which ivas their safeguard; and in an-

other minute he was descending tlie stairs, caudle in hand, to the hank premises. The atmosphere below was decidedly bleak. The untenanted desks end stools in the office looked ghostly. To be sure, tho great bank clock swung its pendulum as if with sociable determination ; but in the circumstances its heavy voice was not particularly agreeable. It gave a quality to the general gloom and stillness which got on Mr Veitch’s nerves.

A rather mysterious > draught annoyed the candle ere the manager coilfronted the great steel door at the end of the passage from the bank offices; but in his haste to he rid of Mr Flint’s money he> didn’t think much about it. One by one lie turned the varipus keys and shot the various bolts until the door was bis very obedient servant, and 6wung its two tons of metal at a touch. Candle in one hand and bag in the other, lie entered the room, the strong boxes and ledgers and bags of bullion and trays of small cash in which all gave him an unemotional welcome. He set down the bag, and just for two or three seconds more than was wise glanced about him. He ought to have touched a spring in the great door to hold it temporarily rigid, but had not deemed that necessary. The door was of a very modern design, made to close automatically (though not rapidly) unless this spring was applied. Suddenly he heard the premonitory click. He turned and rushed. Too late. Another instant and the huge mass had adjusted itself to its sockets, and there he was a prisoner as safely secured for the night as the bank’s many treasures around him. “ Well, this is a pretty situation!” he cried, as he stood back. He put his candle on the current cash ledgers and frowned as he sometimes had to frown at customers of dubious integrity. “ What’s to be- ”

But, of course, there was nothing to be done. Nothing could be done until the morning, unless his wife woke betimes and searched the house for him. She was, however, a sound and considerable sleeper. The odds were all against her even stirring until the maid awoke her at eight o’clock and whispered about hot water. Eight o’clock! That meant nearly nine hours of extremely tiresome imprisonment. Nothing worse than that, certainly; but it seemed to him enough and to spare. There was further the absurdity of it. In all likelihood the first to discover liis plight would be Richards, the bank porter, whose daily duty it was to prepare the bank general office for occupation. Richards would stare at the keys in the door and—well, even he would be unable to release him. without the help of Mr Benson-, the cashier, who would not appear until nine o’clock. Those keys required expert management. Only the manager and the cashier understood their secret.

“Well, well, well!” exclaimed the bank manager, after due and quick estimate of things. “I must make the best of it, I suppose.” He mounted his glasses and was gratified to see two rolls of wax taper on an iron shelf. These And the candle assured him of light until the morning. And then he made a commodious seat of three fat ledgers and sat down with his back supported by a box of securities.

“ Matters might he much worse,” he declared; “ and,” folding his arms, “ I may as well sleep, if I can.” Sleep, however, was long ip coming to him in so unusual an environment. His mind got to wprk again, and the ledgers were hard? He looked at his watch twice, the second time at a quarter to one, and began, to fear that he was in for a bad as well as an unconventional night.

But by half-past one he was really fast asleep, the candle, now in its last couple of inches, as drowsy and still as himself in that still atmosphere. His chin was on liis breast, and he snored' softly. Bo it went on in tlie strong-room for nearly another half-hour, when without any fuss the candle died. Only two or three minutes after the death of the candle a subdued noise began on the other side of that huge door. Then a hissing as of something hot engaged with something which resisted in vain, and it wa,s to this faint music that Mr Veitch after a time awoke.

He had had a nightmare and awoke in discomfort, nor did lie immediately understand -where he was. And when he realised liis confinement he was still more puzzled by that persistent insidious pattering to his left. Were there mice in the strong-room, even rats ? But a match was soon now struck and'one of the tapers lighted, and turning towards the door the bank manager was in a moment like a stunned man. The noiso had ceased, but the door was riddled as by a host of woodworms. And even while he gazed, with startled eyes, lie saw the lock mass itself loosen, and this prodigy was followed by another in the gradual outward swing of the door itself. He stood thus, not at all sure that it was not another kind of nightmare, until a face looked round tlio edge of the door and into his very eyes. And then he knew it was no nightmare, but stern actuality. The taper dropped from his hand, but burned on where it lay. That face had withdrawn itself, yet not before he recognised it.

“ Damlyn !” cried the bank manager. “ Of all men, Damlyn 1” He heard the cloaked thud of feet in the corridor, pushed the door, was tripped by something just outside, fell heavily, and was several seconds in recovering himself. And then he "had another shock as he touched the battery which had set the carbon drill so successfully at work on the door of the strong-room, after a vain attempt to use the keys so mysteriously left at the service of all-comers.

He spoke mb word during his subsequent investigations. Having flooded the general office with electrio light he saw where the rogue (or rogues) had broken in. There was a yard outside his private room, the iron bars and glass of the window of which had been forced.

What remained for him to do, he • . ~ , ran S Hie bell communicating with the house, until both the terrified servants and Iris herself joined him And then he sent the gu-fe for the police and Mr Benson, and, alone with liis daughter as _ custodians of the breached safe, awaited the men.

Once- she was assured that be was not hurt, and that the bank had not been robbed. Iris was all curiosity about thh? astounding event. Mr Veitch told her tli9 circumstances, but did not at first mention Mr Damlyn’s name. “What a mercy, dearest daddy,'’ she said, solemnly, “ that you frightened the wretch away.” “ Yes,” said her father, “ and that 1 happened to forget Mr Flint’s bag like that. It is a;very remarkable series of mercies.” “Series, daddy?” “Well, your mother’s heart, yon know, isn’t strong. I’m thankful you didn’t rouse her.” Iris acknowledged that, yet seemed to wonder her father should think ot it. “ I might have been killed,” Mr Veitch added. “Ah,, yes,” sighed his daughter. “That is a mercy. “I could almost hope he won’t bo caught, daddy—for sparing you. Especially as he hasn’t taken anything.” “ Perhaps he will not be,” said Mr Veitch. , He was weighing the situation in his own mind.' Strict justice demanded that he should indict Damlyn. Unquestionably. But personal reasons were strong in opposition. And now, in the last minute that they were thus alone together, an impulse made him tell Iris the. truth. “My dear,” lie said, “what shall I do? The burglar was Mr Damlyn, our friend Rupert Damlyn. Shall I inform against him, or shall I not?” They were sitting on chairs in the passage, with the broken door before them. “ Mr—Damlyn, father! How terrible!” “ Yes. He must have schemed it a long time. Probably he is what they call a gentleman cracksman, and has lived for years on the proceeds of -such ill-gotten wealth; and yet I don’t like the idea of sending him to penal servitude.” Iris’s hand went,to her father’s. “ Don’t do it, daddy,’ she whispered. “But then again,” said the bank manager, “ think of his audacity in making love to you.” “Ha never did, father. I think he always understood that I couldn’t bear him—in—in that' light. It is ridiculous. I hoped you and Mr Grosvenor would see it, _ Mother is so very different; all for rich men. But you, daddy, you must know that I never can love anyone, except Tom Grosvenor, like that, and—oh, here they are! .Do let him escape, daddy, of you can,” she begged, finally. All things considered, however, it was just as well that justice took the matter into its own hands. Even before the bank was open for business that morning, Rupert Damlyn and a colleague were m custody. Damlyn Had been , under observation for several months, had' been seen out late that night and proofs enough of liis nefarious industry were discovered in the house itself. He was a much-wanted man, and nothing could save him. Ere then the curate of Neverton had given up his intention,of leaving the town. He was early at the bank to congratulate Mr Veitch on his rather mixed good luck. “ That’s all I’ve called for,” he said. There were three other oongratulators in the manager’s room at the time. But, excusing himself to the others, Mr Veitch gave the curate a private word or two. “ Yes, Tom, much to be thankful for,” he said. “And, by the way, Iris will be' glad to see you upstairs. You may tell her I said so, if you like; and tell her mother afterwards. You understand?”

The curate’s sudden flush and tho straightening of his generally pretty straight body showed that he understood.

“ Not really, sir?” he whispered. “Quite really, Tom,” said Mr Veitch, ■with a smile. “ And you needn’t come down to report your luck. It’s a certainty.”

As the bank manager said, it was a oertainty.

The “ Westminster Gazette” says it is rumoured that at no distant date the Jam-Sahib of Nawanagar (Prince Raniitsinhji) intends to resign the throne in favour of his nephew, and to take up his permanent residence in England. The nephew in question is the son of the Jam’s elder brother, K. S. Devisinghi, and he was educated at Gondal College. It is said that the popular “ Ranji ” is well satisfied to have realised his lifelong ambition to he permitted to mount the"Gadi of Nawanagar. The State ro- 1 venue is about £160,000 per annum.