CHILDREN'S COLUMN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLII, Issue 12856, 3 May 1905, Page 3 (Supplement)

CHILDREN'S COLUMN.

"YOUR WORD, OR YOUR DEATH!"

MURK WYKEHAM'S TERRIBLE ORDEAL.

•'Mr. WykElUM's your father! What extraordinary thing. Why. it's Mr. Wykeham we've come to meet. We expected to find him here already, but apparently he won't arrive until to-morrow. We sha'n't be sorry to see him, eh, Osborne? A -real responsibility, a great responsibility!" Mr. Gould, a, fussv, red-faced little man, said the last few words to himself rather than to his companions. / "He'll be here early to-morrow," said Mark Wykeham. " He's gone upoountry, shooting, "and hasn't been able to get back to Cecil Port in time We found a letter waiting for US when we arrived. We've just come in by boat, you know, from Capetown." "Ah,"we travelled by tram. Quicker, and loss risk, eh, Osborne*' Pt'ss the wine. Are you three lads brothers, then':" "jack and I are," said Mark, indicating one of the little party. "This is L'iet Kotze ; he's our cousin. We are all at school together in Capetown, but we're going homo to Saltertou fur the holidays. I'aler told us lie hud some business in Cecil Port, ami ho would meet us here and travel the rest of thrt way with us."

"He told YOU he had business in Cecil Port, eh'' '"'• yes. Very important, business, too—most important. Well, we'll be glad to see him. It'll be. a great relief to me to hand over—

"Be careful, Mr. Gould." said Osborne, a younger man. dark-haired, with very thin, sarcastic-looking lips which shut tightly together directly lie had finished speaking. " Careful"' Tut. tut! There are only these lads here." He looked round the smokingroom of the hotel where they were staying. At the far end of it a waiter was moving noiselessly about his work.

"The waiter might hear you," said Osborne, "and we can't be too careful. '

"You seem to forget," said Mr. Gould pompously, "that I'm responsible, not you. 1 must ask you to remember that. Mr. Osborne. The bank appointed you to assist me in carrying the gold safely to Cecil Port, but it is my duty to deliver it over for Government purposes —for Government purposes"—he repeated the last words with relish—"to Mr. Wykeham."

"Did you have a pleasant voyage from Capetown?" asked Osborne abruptly, turning to the three boys, who had got into conversation with them during dinner.

" Oh, splendid." said Mark. '* Ever so much jollier than a stuffy old train. I think. We had tine weather—"

"Too tine," interrupted Jack. "I like it a little rougher. The water was quite smooth except just near Capetown." •"Smooth, do you call it?" said Piet. "It was quite choppy enough for me. I say, Mark, what was that big bird we saw?" "Oh, an albatross." said Mark. "There were three or four of them about, but one followed us for miles, quite close to the ship. Some old German on board wanted to shoot it, hut the captain wouldn't let him. I suppose he hadn't read the 'Ancient Mariner.' and didn't know it was unlucky. Not that I believe in superstitions of that kind. it seems a shame to kill a bird, though, when it looks so friendly."

' "It was Mark who really saved the bull," put in Jack. "The captain only interfered when he heard Mark asking the German not to shoot, it. Well, I suppose we must go to bed. Are you coming up now?" The boys said good night to the two gentlemen whose acquaintance they had just made, and left them to their cigars and wine.

Jack and Piet were sharing a room that night, while Mark had a smaller apartment to himself. He had nearly finished undressing when ho remembered that he bad left his field-glasses in the smoking-room. They were a present, from his father, and it did not seem quite safe to leave them downstairs until morning. He slipped on some clothes again, and, without troubling to put on his boots, ran downstairs.

The door of the smoking-room 'was open. Opposite it was a sideboard with a glass back; the waiter had been busy here, arranging some decanters and tumblers, before the boys went up to bed: but he had now retired. Mark was just entering the room when he saw something that sent his heart to his mouth with horror and excitement.

The reflection showed Mr. Gould bending j over a notebook, in which be was making J entries with a fountain-pen. He had pushed his wineglass aside; it. was nearly full. Mark, watching eagerly and breathlessly, saw Osborne lean cautiously forward and pour the contents of a, tiny bottle into his companion's wine. What was to be done'/ Mark could scarcely believe the evidence of his senses. If Osborne were attempting to poison, his friend, it would be necessary to give Mr. Gould warning at once. If. on the other hand, Mark had made any miftake, his interference would put him in a most difficult and awkward position. Before he could decide what to do. Mr. Gould lifted the glass, and drank down the wine at a gulp. Everything happened so quickly that there was no time to interfere. And "now the mischief, ' if there were any mischief, was already done. . IT- ■* Mark Wykeham stood stock-still, struck dumb with horror and amazement. He watched the mirror to see if Mr. Gould would show any signs that he hud been poisoned, and expected every moment, that he i would fall from his chair in agony. To his surprise, the pompous little gentleman continued quite calmly jotting down notes, and exchanging scraps of conversation with his companion who answered for the most part in monosyllables. Mark could not. decide whether he ought to give the alarm or to fetch a doctor. He was still hesitating, and wondering whether he could have made any mistake, when Mr. Gould rose from his seat, and put the pocket-book away. '• I'm going otf to bed, Osborne," he said. "The journey's been rather exhausting. Dear, dear, I shall be glad to get the responsibility of all that gold off my shoulders. I've been in a flurry ever since we left Capetown. Those men in our carriage struck me as looking decidedly suspicious—decidedly suspicious. It's a" mercy we arrived in safety." ""They did look rather curious customers, certainly," agreed Osborne. A sarcastic smile, which Mr. Gould did not observe, flickered for a second on his face. "It is lather nervous work escorting so many thousands. Still we're at the journey's end now. and there's no longer anv occasion for apprehension." "I hope not —I sincerely hope not." said Mr. Guild fussily. '•.Still*. I shall keep the money close to my pillow to-night, and have ray revolver handy. You're sleeping in the next room. If you hear any alarm, be sure and come at once." Certainly," answered Osborne, rising to his feet. Mark, seeing that they were about to retire, ran noiselessly upstairs. He darted into his room and "closed the door. When they had passed he came out again, and rapped softly at the door of the bedroom in which Jack and I'iet were sleeping. "Why. what's the matter, Mark?" exclaimed his 'mother, who opened tin' door. '"You look scared to death." "Enough to make me, 1 reckon, - ' he gasped out. " I've seen something awfully queer, and 1 can t make head or tail of it." He told his story, while the two boys listened open-mouthed. "But Mr. Gould seems all light''" asked l'iet. "He- walked up to bed all right. And you say he kept on writing and talk- :. ing as before, when he had.drunk the stuffs " Yes. but poisons don't always act at once, you know. Ought we to tell the hotel '•i. people, or fetch a duel I don't know what to do." . "There'd be a frightful row if you made - a mistake." said Jack. -.Slander action, and damages, and all sorts of things. Besides, you oniv saw if in the, mirror. 1 erhaps it was fane: v. One ought, to be quite ■■■--. certain before accusing a man of attempted r , murder. Why should he poison Mr. Gould. .' They're both* in the same bank, and they ■■:. seem to be quite friendly. Besides, they re (l, to meet the pater to-morrow, and that s a £.•:sort of guarantee," r <■'■'■'•. "Well: but there seems to lie a lot of ;,•;>- money in question." said Piet doubtfully. :'- "Yes; but if there were any loul play " Osborne would be found out to a certainty. | i I don't like the look of him much, but I - should sav he's no fool. T expect you ye ;-' found ano'thei of your mare's nests, Mark. I'll tell vou what. I'll So to Mr. Goulds '* door, aud listen to hear if he s still all ' light."

He crept on tiptoe. Mr. Gould was making noise enough in his preparations for bed. He's as right as rain,' Jack reported. " You're nearer his room than we are, Mark; if you hear any row in tlie night let us know.''

Mark was not quite satisfied, but lie tried to persuade himself that he had been mistaken, or that, at all events, no foul piay was going on. He lay awake for some time, straining his eats to catch any sound from his next-door neighbour. Mr. Gould's room was between Mark's and Osborne's. The fussy little gentleman seemed to take some time to undress, bub at last a great thud and a deep sigh of satisfaction announced the fact that he was between the bedclothes. Before very long lie began to snore loudly. Mark, too, dozed off.

The creak of an opening door in the corridor woke him some hours later. He sat up in bed and listened. Footsteps passed his door: he heard the stealthy noise of someone descending the stairs. Mark struck a match, and looked at his watch. It was too early for any of the servants to be about. Hi's next thought was the curious incident he had witnessed before going to bed. Putting his ear to the wall. Mark listened for the sound of Mr. Gould's breathing. He was still snoring loudly. Young Wykemau opened his door, and peered out. Curious sounds came from below ; 11 was quite evident, however, that the person who caused them was making as little noise as possible, and was anxious not to alarm the noiwe. Mark slipped 01 his clothes, and, without putting on boots or shoes, crept noiselessly down the stairs. HI. The sounds came from the smoking-room, and he peered in. He began to think that his eyes must really be playing him tricks. Mr. Osborne was within, with Ins back towards the door. Mark wondered whether he could possibly be dreaming when he saw that Osborne was quietly and carefully disarranging the contents of the room. He pulled over one 01 two of the chairs; he thing aside some mats and rugs; he stood for a minute or so, dropping grease from a candle which he carried on to he handsome Turkey carpet. What did it all mean'' There were some drawers in the sideboard ; the bank official turned out their contents ■on the table in a heap, and abstracted a few spoons, which he put in his pockets. It was impossible that lie should wish to steal articles of so little value.

The man gave a look round, and seemed satisfied with his work. Mark slipped behind a screen just in time as he passed out of the smoking-room into the passage..and then into the saloon, which he treated in the same way. In the bar he allowed some of the taps to run for a few minutes. Mark, creeping after him, watched all his movements with growing bewilderment. At last Osborne came to a window in the passage. He had a- diamond ring on his linger, and cut out a portion of the glass, just large enough to enable a hand thrust in from the outside to move back the patent fastening of the window. But it was Osborne himself who slipped aside the catch, from within. Then he crept softly upstairs. Wykeman followed at a safe distance, hiding in doorways and dark corners. The lighted candle which Osborne carried made his every movement distinct, but gave Mark, outside the immediate ring of light, additional security. Slipping a hand into bis pocket, the man took out a skeleton or duplicate key, and fitted it to the lock of Mr. Gould's room. Was he going to see if the poison had done its work? And, if not, to murder his defenceless victim in cold blood? But what was the meaning of his strange behaviour in the rooms below? These, and a dozen other questions, flashed through Mark's bewildered brain.

Osborne closed the door behind him, with the key still in the lock. Wykeham's first impulse was to turn it, make a prisoner of his man, and then alarm his friends and the hotel people. But that would mean shutting in the unconscious Mr. Gould also, and no doubt his own key was in the room, lying somewhere within Osborne's reach.

Mark discovered a spy-hole in the door, where there had once been a small knot in the wooden panel. He peeped through.

Mr. Gould lay on his back in bed, very red-faced, and snoring as loudly as ever. Near the pillow were a couple of leather bags, and on a little table, within arm's reach, a revolver was lying. The pompous little gentleman evidently did not mean to run any risk of theft. It was curious, though, that he should sleep so soundly. Osborne went softly about his work; but it was impossible to avoid some noise, and, thought Murk, only a very heavy sleeper would remain undisturbed while his door was being opened and his room entered in the dead of night. ; Osborne approached the bed. For a moment Mark's heart beat wildly. He got ready to rush in directly if any attempt were made on the sleeper's life. But murder was evidently not in the man's mind. He caught up the two heavy bags, and crossed the room again to the door, so quickly that Mark had to beat a hasty retreat. Indeed, there was not even time to enter his own room ; his only chance of escaping immediate discovery was to slip quietly flown the stairs. He remembered suddenly that there were a number of ugly-looking Zulu weapons in (he hall. "I'll lake one of those knobkerry tilings." he thought, "and then sound the gong for all I am worth. That'll bring people out. and in the meantime I reckon I can keep the fellow at bay with the club." He thought with relief of the heavy, spikestudded weapon as he slipped softly down the stairs. To his otter astonishment and dismay he' ran full-tilt, in the darkness, into a man's body. "What an age you've been," he growled in a muffled voice. "I thought—hullo!" The man's bands, groping perhaps for the money, found out that some mistake had been made. Before Mark could cry out a rough palm was thrust over his mouth. "Keep quiet, unless you want your neck broken," hissed the stranger in his ear. IV. "Is that you, Temple?" whispered Osborne a second later. "What is it? Whom have you got there?" " I don't know. I'm going to sec, though," growled the second man. "Got what we want, eh? Let's get out of this, then." Osborne opened the front door of the hotel; they passed out into the deserted street, dragging the boy with them. He was almost choking, but all his struggles to get away were useless, It was just before sunrise there was no one in sight. " Let's take him down to the shore," muttered Osborne. " Yes, yes; I've got the stuff all right. What made you come into the hotel, though?" " 1 got tired of wailing outside, sol slipped in through the window you left unfastened. Jolly lucky I did, too. This boy's evidently been spying on you without your knowing it. Now, my lad, if you make a. noise here it's not likely anyone will hear you ; but I wain you that you'll stand a good chance of our knocking you on the head. What, were you prowling about for in the hotel at dead of night? No lies, now." " I'm not in the habit of telling lies," said Mark Wykeham indignantly. "If you want to know, I suspected some villainy, and—" "And you spied on me, did you?" put in Osborne calmly. " Well, that was a dangerous thing to do. You'll have to take very good (are that you don't remember anything you saw. Understand? I want your oath that you'll say nothing." "What's the good of that?" growled the other man. He was a short, thick-set fellow, a good deal older than Osborne, as bis closely cropped grey hair told. To Mark's surprise he spoke English quite correctly, and almost with the accent of a, gentleman. •What's the good of that?" he asked. " His promise won't be worth a snap of the fingers." ■•Whatever it's worth," said Mark defiantly, "J won't give it. Leave go of my collar. I won't give my promise, but I'll think about keeping silence if you take the money back, and if Mr. Gould has come to no harm." " Impudent young wretch!" muttered Osborne. "We'll give you another chance. Will you promise to keep silence?" " No, 1 won't," said Mark stoutly. " Shoot him, and chuck him into the sen," said Temple angrily. "If we waste any more time you'll find the hotel astir, and I'll lie run down before I've got twenty miles from Cecil Port." Shoot him? And bring the police about our ears, I suppose?" said Osborne contemptuously. "There's a better way of bringing him to his senses than that." They were on the beach, and, as lie spoke, Osborne ran a small boat that was lying near down into the water.

•' Bring him along, Temple," he said. " Here, I'll give you a hand. Keep your fingers ready for his throat if he makes a, row. That's it. Never mind the time. I know what I'm about. I'm going to run no risks."

•' No; you're precious careful of your own skin," grumbled the other man, "but what about mine?"

For all that, he pulled steadily at a pair of sculls under Osborne's direction, until they were some distance from the shore. "This'll do," said the younger man. " Now I'm ready to trust your word. You must' swear to tell no ono of this night's business. If you won't promise, you'll go overboard. That means death, either by sharks or drowning. They're not likely to find your body. The gold will be missing; the hotel disturbed. Perhaps they may imagine you the thief. Which will you choose?* V. There was no help in sight. Day was just breaking; but there was not another boat on the water, not a sign of life on the distant shore. "Come, we can't waste time," said Osborne grimly. " It's only a. case- of giving your word and keeping it. I'm trusting you, but 1 know what I'm about. Of course, if you did break your oath your life, wouldn't be worth many hours' purchase. I'll ask you twice more, and give you a minute alter each question." Osborne took out his watch. "Will you swear?" he asked. "Remember, it's your word or your death •No!" said Mark. " Very well." The man waited until sixty seconds* had ticked themselves out. " Now I'll ask you again," ho said ; "you have only a minute more." Mark sat stock-still, with pursed-im lips. Was no help coming '! He fancied he saw some black figures running down the street leading to the beach. He looked up above at the sky, now growing blue, save where the bright colours of dawn still lingered. At such moments of intense excitement it is strange how details catch the eye and his mind wandered for a second to some great birds flying high overhead. "The albatross again," he thought, and wondered whether they meant good or bad fortune. (

Osborne made a movement towards him, and Temple, shipping the sculls, prepared to assist bis companion in Hinging the boy into the sea. Quick as thought, Mark seized one of the bags of gold. " You sha'n t have the money, at all events," lie shouted. "Kill me, if you like: you can't make me a thief, or as bad as one!" He flung the heavy bag overboard, and, before he could touch the other, the two men threw themselves upon him. In their hands he- was powerless. After a moment's hopeless struggle he was hurled over board, and sank.

Mark was a good swimmer, and struck out directly he reached the surface. The shore was too far away for him to attempt to reach it. Fortunately, he had not his boots on. or he might have stood no chance. He made for the" boat. As he caught the gunwale Temple struck savagely at his hand. Osborne was peering into the depths, but the water was too deep at this point for him to see the bag of gold lying somewhere at the bottom.

Mark eluded the man's stroke, and swam round the boat, hoping to overturn it and save himself by clinging to the hull, while the two occupants were busy with the effort to save themselves. Temple, however, was too quick for him, and kept him at bay with one of the sculls.

" Take an oar, and pull back quickly," he growled to Osborne. " Never mind that bag. We have half the money. We'll be caught if we hang about here any longer."

"We must get some tackle, and come out again for it," muttered Osborne, tearing up some' paper, and flinging the scraps into the water. "That'll tell us roughly the place." He threw a cork after the paper. It won't take us long to come back and haul it up. The paper and cork won't drift far away." "Much better be satisfied, and get clear away." answered Temple. They began to pull desperately for the shore, soon outdistancing their victim. Already Mark was 'becoming exhausted. Osborne's hint at sharks suggested a fate more terrible even than drowning. He turned towards the shore, thong! he despaired of ever reaching it. The sight of a boat just leaving the oeach gave him renewed courage. He could just make out the forms of Jack and Piet; they, seeing his danger, ignored the boat, which was making for another part of the shore, and rowed at desperate speed towards him. Would they be in time? He tried, in vain, to drag off some of the sopping clothes that were pulling him under with their weight. He was sinking lower and lower in the water.

Just as lie was sinking one of the great birds lie Lad already noticed swooped down curious, perhaps, the dark object in the sea. With the despair of the drowning, Mark stretched out his hands, clutching at the air. One of them closed on something solid ; he was dragged a little way above the surface. He had caught the albatross by the leg. and now hung for dear life to the struggling, frightened bird. A new danger presented itself; the albatross, finding its effort to shake itself free useless, bore down upon the boy with wings and beak. He ducked his head just in time to save his eyes from its attack.

A moment later friendly hands dragged him into the b.at. The rest of the story is soon told. Mr. Gould, waking at last from his drugged slumber, missed the money, and in agitation at. his" loss roused the, whole hotel. To their alarm the boys noticed that Mark was missing. Mark's own field-glasses showed them what was happening in the boat, tar out at sea. They went at once to the rescue, and in the meantime Mr. Gould and the hotel people waited with a posse of police for the capture of the criminals.

Osborne, it was learned at the trial, had lost a large sum of money by speculating; and had arranged with Temple a fictitious burglary at the hotel. But for Mark's discovery he would, no doubt, have handed the money to his accomplice, and gone back to bed, with the intention of sympathising with Mr. Gould in the morning about the loss of which he himself knew the secret. The sunken gold was soon brought to the surface, and the whole o' the money was handed over to Mr. Wykeham when he arrived, and taken safely to Salterton, where it was to be used for Government purposes. Mark Wykeham did not miss his reward.