THE EDGE OF THE SWORD.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13397, 28 January 1907, Page 3

THE EDGE OF THE SWORD.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY FRED M. WHITE. Author of " The Nether Millstone," " The Corner House." " The Scales of Justice," " Craven Fortune," etc., etc. [COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER IX. TICK HUGE OK THK SWORD. A SOLEMN' footman admitted Lionel into the great house- in Cardigan Place, and escorted him in a stately way as far as the library. Harvey was duly impressed by the signs of wealth that he saw around him. The pictures and the carpets, the gleaming marbles ami the great spreading palms spoke eloquently enough of the position of the owner of the house. And yet the gorgeous setting was merely the frame for an abject atom of suffering humanity, a thing almost, without a. brain. It seemed to Lionel that there was something tragic about, it. He had not long to wait before Ada Moberlev came in. ' Her face looked deathly white in the strong sunshine, the blue veins stood out on her temples, and her dark eyes had a tired expression in them. "If "was very good of you to come bo soon as this," she said. "I am sure it is fortunate for us that we found to true a friend in you." Harvey murmured something appropriate. He wondered at the stillness and silence of the house; it might have been a chamber of de.ith by the want of sound. _ £ "I came' as soon as possible," he said. "How is vour patient to-day?" "Oh, he is much the same." Ada replied. , "You think that lie is suffering from some : accident or hurt of some kind. Physically ! speaking, Lord Manningtree is as well as either of us."

"1 am 'afraid that 1 don't quite under stand, ' Lionel said.

"Then lot 1110. make (lie thing plain to you. There are occasions when we are inclined to rebel against the decrees of Fate. W'e regard our misfortunes as terrible disasters, never realising that Providence is behind even the most trivial incident in our lives, and that the thing." we call troubles may be the greatest blessings in disguise. It is not very long ago since a friend of mine was bewailing the missing of a train, which prevented her seeing Iter relative oil to India. The relative in question was rich, and inclined to bp eccentric. My friend ' was quite sure that she would never be for- { given, and that her carelessness was likely j Ito cost, her a fortune. And vet, when that train me* with a serious accident and a great many people were killed, my friend j was not in the least grateful, and still looks j upon herself as an taggiieved person." ' I "1 know exactly what you mean," Lionel said, smiling. "One of the most prominent j men J know always says, when misfortune ! overtakes him, that iie is going to turn it i to the host advantage. So far as I am perj sonally concerned, one of the greatest misI fortunes that ever happened to me pioved j to be the source of my present prosperity. I 1 had an appointment on a small paper, on ! which 1 practically lived, and I had not ! pluck enough to cut myself adrift from 't | and start in my present line as one or two j people strongly urged me to do. I was j terribly upset .vhen that paper ceased to 1 publish; but, you see, alter all, it was ; the best- thing that could have happened to : me. But why am i talking in this egotistical way when tlieie is so much to do? I You were saying just now that physically , Lord Manning! is as well as either of us, to which 1 responded that 1 did i not- in the least understand what von meant by that remark.'" " I had quite forgotten that. There are I dramatic periods when misfortunes, as I ! said before, are blessings in disguise, ami : this is one of them. Nobody attacked j Lord Manningtreo in the study, nobody : made the slightest attempt to rob him; at I lean. nobody but me. Hut. 1 need not go j into the business of those emeralds again. j As a matter of fact, my illicit* foil and j injured his head. He had had one of his | worst fits of alcoholic craving. 1 let j the thing go as an act of violence, because i it was absolutely necessary that Loid .Manningtree should attend some important business meetings this week. Usually lie manages to keep himself in good condition for ] that kind of thing. I»tit I suppose that j the craving was too strong tor him. Now there can be no suspicion of the real cause of his- absence." "Still, it must be very awkward." Lionel murmured. "Awkward! Thai is a mild way of putting it. A! the present moment it nivalis something like. ruin. I lute and dotes! i what is called business, but during the | years 1 have b.<■ n with my uncle I have |of necessity learnt something of it. (Hi, I you have no conception of the anxieties that | beset, a very wealthy man. | Lionel glanced around the magnificently I appointed, room. th« contents of which j would have been ,i fortune to the average j man. | Ada smiled sadly. " I can see what you j are thinking of now." she said. " But I every rich (nan has bitter enemies. There | io only a. certain amount of money in the world, and when one man gains an 'abnormal proportion of it others have to suffer. You see what 1 mean. When Lord Man ning! started he was very poor. now apparently lie, is worth millions. And where, have those guilty millions come from? Wliv, from others who have not been so successful in the race. In the city the war goes on. here are no dead bodies, no wounded lying j in the streets, but it is war, terrible and j merciless, all the same. There is no ques- | tion of clemency, no mercv ior the man who has been beaten to j the floor. My mule lias fought his way to the top, although every companv he has floated has been bitterly opposed. He has bad to guard against the wrecking of many a splendid enterprise. There are scores of men even now who are waiting for a. chance to catch him tripping. They would not care what happened, they would not heed the ruin of thousands, so long as they could drag Manningtreo down. And more than once they have nearly succeeded. 1 have seen my uncle here in the last stages of despair, ready to sell los soul for a few thousands in money. I have known the nights when he has paced his bedroom unable to sleep. Oh, it is a dreadful burden this wealth, believe me. And, with all his faults, I am fond of my uncle. It is just possible that Lady Manningtree took you into her confidence last ! night—" " 1 should say that she told me everything." Lionel replied. " Yes? Then you know something of the danger that I have to face. Let, me t ike you into my confidence in turn. A crisis has come when the master brain is quite incapable of grappling with it. The enemy is taking advantage of the situation. 1 sent for you because I needed your assistance. You ma.v naturally ask why T don't go to the big firm of city solicitors who advise my uncle. I dare not, tell them how things stand. There is one. man "whom I might have consulted —- the cashier to the great parent trust that i.-> at the head of all my uncle's ventures. All the money goes through this trust, it comes in a golden stream to water all the branch undertakings. Mr. Wilmer is a power under my uncle. 1 lwlieve that he has been bought over by the enemy. | That is why 1 sent for you to advise me. I If vou could devise some means of obi taining one hundred thousand pound?—" "I can promise that if necessary," Lionel , said, boldly. | Tie spoke oil the sour of the moment. ; recollecting what Lady Manningtree had said. Ada looked at him with a profound | amazement. "I am not boasting," he hastened to sav. " But why do you suspect this ; Wilmer?" " Because he is keeping out of the way," Ada went on. "He is supposed to be conlined to the house by a had illness. I went down to his place and was told that he could not see anyl>ody. ft was night when I got there. I had to wait for my train some time in the station, and 1 saw Krnest Wilmer, muffled up to the eyes, enter a train that was bound for Kensington. I recognised him by a little limp he has. After that you cannot, wonder that my suspicions are aroused." "It certainly looked bad." Lionel said, I grimly. But if there is nothing the mat-

tcr -with Lord Manningtree why does he keep—"' That brings me to the point. He is all right physically. He has seen some of the most eminent specialists in London. They all say that the fall has caused some mysterious injury to the brain. My uncle lies in bed. and looks at them stolidly without saying one single word. The surgeons talk about an operation in a day or two. But they arc all wrong ; that man has deceived them all. There has been no injury to the brain ; it is going, getting soft and useless, and my uncle knows it. That is why he will not speak, he is afraid of betraying the truth. A chance word or two may do it. He has just enough sense left to know that his mind has nearly gone. He does not wish to spend the rest of his clays in an asylum with keepers about him. When the doctors had gone this morning ho implored me to keep them away from him. He rambled on in the most painful way -with intervals of clear lucidity. It. was very distressing. He wants to tell me something, and he can't recollect what it is- - something to do with the business. And people are beginning to call, private people whose money is invested by my uncle. One girl has been to-day, and she is coming back presently, as I asked her to call again. I want you to see her, to tell me what you think of her. As a novelist yon can read character. She is quite an innocent little blue-eyed thing, but my instinct tells me she spells ""danger. But. then, I have learnt to be suspicious of anybody."

And Ada turned away -with a little gesture of weariness. Before Lionel could reply the door of the library opened, and a footman came in, followed by a visitor. Lionel recognised her from Ada's description —a little, timid-looking girl, blue-eyed, and pathetic. She half drew hack as' she saw that a man was there.

"This is Miss Cromarty." Ada said. "Mr. Harvey. You can speak before him."

" — am very sorry," the girl stammered. " hut my need is so pressing. What is to become of me I really don't know. "You see. this little sum of money—"

The speaker paused, and her blue eyes filled with tears. There was something very pretty and pathetic about her. She held in her hand an oblong strip of pink paper with which she was nervously playing. Altogether she appealed to Lionel.' "I hardly like to," the girl went on. " This lis more or less private business in connection with some money which 1 had invested in one of the companies with which Lord Manningtree is connected. You see, 1 know so lit lie about this kind of thing, and Lord Manningtree was so good as to —"

The girl paused, and her pretty blue eyes filled with teats. She looked'so innocent and childlike that Lionel's sentimental heart was touched 111 once. It always distressed him to see women and children in trouble; and yet. I hough the gill looked so innocent, so young, and so utterly unfit to cope with the world, there was something about her which the novelist would have, found it hard to describe. It was not exactly cunning that he could see in her face, but some-thing more in the nature of impish mischief which had 11 sting of malic- in it. Lionel felt pretty sure that here was a girl who would have done very well on the stage, had she chosen to adopt [hat profession for a living. All the same In- repressed his feelings, telling himself that his suspicions were unduly severe. Hi- died to compter his prejudice.

'* Come, come, don't be upset," he said, kindly. •'There is not the least occasion to he nervous or frightened in the presence of this lady and myself. I am quite sure that it (here is any trouble we shall be able to settle it for you. so please dry your eves and try and tell me what is the matter."

"This is very good of von." tin- girl sobbed " hut." really. 1 don't, like 'to trouble you with my silly little affairs."

Once more Lionel saw Ihe fleeting exj pression of mischief on the girl's face. j Once mure he fought down his prejudice. I "You can speak freely to me." he said. I "As you are probably aware Lord Manningtree is very ill. I—l am looking alter . his affairs for the present." The girl looked tip swiftly, and a smile I played over her baby face. Then per- | haps you can settle the difficulty about j this cheque," she said. "You see, I am an orphan, with nobody to look after inc. Lord Manningtree was so kind as if-o undertake the investment of some money that came to me a year or so airo. It was an understanding that I could <:ei the 1 money when I pleased. And .1 had a cablegram from my only brother in Aus- ] tralia, urgently asking for £2000. T am ' afraid that he is in dire need of ii.it I money. Arid 1 got a cheque from Lord ! Manningtree. I went down to his place j in Kssrx for the purpose, and when I look j the cheque to (lie bank to-day they would j not give me tin l money. If 1 could only 1 see Lord Mannimrtro"

j There was an impressive silence for a j moment. Ada Moberlcy hid turned Iter j hack, and was drumming with her fingers jon a table. There was no mistaking what 1 this innocently afforded information meant. j It "was some little lime before Lionel j began to see hies way.

I "May 1 ask when this was'.'" he sic gested.'

"Three or four days ago." the girl said. "The same day I got Ihe cablegram. jmi see. I wauled to send the money to my brother at once—"

"Yes, yes. Pet me look at the cheque. 1 daresay I can explain why— Ah! yes, if looks all right. But there is one little piece of information that I shall be glad to have from you. my dear young lady. If you were in all that hurry to send the money to your •unfortunate' brother why did you not cash that cheque the next day? Why wait" four days? Pardon me if my question suggests idle curiosity, but as one who has some small knowledge of business matters"

The girl's expression changed for a moment. Her face grew hard and defiant. She seemed to be angry about something, she had the air of one who has been led on by another and then deceived as to the stability of her position. The innocence and sweetness vanished; onlv for a moment, but that sufficed for Lionel. He had iniido up his mind exactly what to do. His keen imagination saw the danger that, lay behind that innocent-looking piece of paper. He crossed over to the open window with the cheque in his hand. Then suddenly he tore it into a. hundred pieces, and allowed the fragments to float in the breeze.

"That's done with," he said, genially. " I expect the signature was not quite in order. If you will come here again this evening I shall be able to do better for you than a, badly-drawn cheque. It is a great shame that a pretty, simple little girl like you should be bothered in this unnecessary way."

(To be continned daily.)