EXPLOITS OF THE ONE-EYED MAN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13421, 25 February 1907, Page 3

EXPLOITS OF THE ONE-EYED MAN.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY EDWARD TOWLER.

CALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]

V.—THE THEFT OF THE DAN BY

MURILLO.

Tin; city of York, like all other cathedral cities, has always been an object of interest to American visitors to England. Its churches, its wails, and, above all, its magnificent minster, have placed it upon a high pedestal with those to whom these English, old-world cities are still things of beauty, and not to bo lightly passed over-

The Greaser was staying at a hotel in Coney-street as "Mr. Eduard Rising," a quiet and unostentatious American tourist, the while he was prosecuting inquiries as to the possibilities of annexing a famous painting known as the Danby Murillo that hung in Danby Hall, which stood in extensive grounds outside the city. The owner of tiic Estancia Mercedes, Para, S.A., had become very Importunate for the possession of an old matter, and the OneEyeu Man, knowing of this, determined, if it was in any way possible, to aunex the Danby Murillo. Hence the visit of the Greaser as Mr. Eduard Rising to York, doing, as a tourist, the sights of the 'ancient city. \ The day that Danby Hall was thrown open to the public found the Greaser, in company with some half-dozen others, inspecting its beauties and its treasures. Ihey were going through the rooms when a foot trod upon his own. •' Say, I'm sorry," said the owner of the offending foot. The politeness of the Greaser was always a commendable feature, as, indeed, it is with most Southern races, and he replied, " Mademoiselle is needlessly concerned." A pair of laughing blue eyes met his, and under the battery the handsome Mexican surrendered.

" Say ! now, did I hurt you''" " Vurry slight, miss. I guess it was worth while coming to ' Yurrup' for to be trodden on by you," he drawled out, in perfect American.

" Why, you are American, aren't you? Weil, tins is strange. Name the spot,'' she cried, laughingly. "The Hub of the Universe," he said.

"Boston, dear old Boston!" she replied. " I know it well. I'm here with a friend of mine. When we've heard Hie lecture upon this gentleman in tin" —she pointed irreverently to a knight in armour that the housekeeper was dilating upon—"l'll introduce you, MV.—" " Fduaiu Rising," he answered, raising his hat. "And I have the honour to address—

" Mamie T. Chessleridge," she replied. Further conversation was impossible for the time being, for they were in the picture gallery, where hung the celebrated Murillo, the object of the Greaser's visit. Its intrinsic, value may have been only a few pounds, but age and its painter had placed a fabulous sum as its worth.

The Greaser noted every door, window, and passage, the position in which the picture hung, and how far from the door. He noted that ornamental brass rods ran across the windows to guard against an entrance being effected from the outside. He took ■exhaustive mental notes, and as he was blessed with a retentive memory he stored his knowledge safely. After this, he-persuaded his fair friend to see something of the grounds with him. Her companion was safely attached to an elderly gentleman with two daughters, who expressed a mild surprise that her friend should stroll off with a casual acquaintance like the Greaser.

Mamie's friend laughed merrily. "Why, she's all right; it's a long day since Mamie was in leading strings." Meanwhile, the Greaser and Mamie strolled through the delightful grounds, and hero he put crime away from him, and lived in Paradise. lie had known many women— women to whom he had been more than friend. The gambler may love with a passing fancy Marie or Jeannie, for they know his life, and he knows theirs; but the passion must ever be a fleeting dream, no more. To the gentleman criminal it may not even be that. The Greaser, looking into the face of his companion, saw his fate in the blue heaven of her eyes. They were like the quiet ocean on a summer's day, deep and unfathomable. He turned his face away, and remorse, deep and great, was in his heart. If" know at last that lie had met the woman he could have loved—the woman who, had he known her sooner, might have made him a different man. ' A woman had sent him headlong to perdition; but here was the woman who might have saved him—nay could have.

He spoke lightly, though the effort cost him much. "Glorious grounds, are they not?"

' Splendid. Mr. Rising. Now if poppa was here he'd want a canning factory on it. He's been in pork. Dear old Chicago!" "I know," laughed the Greaser. "Pigs one end, sausage the other."

" You know the routine, Mr. Rising. Have you been in it?" "For journalistic purposes only, Miss Chessleridge. Headlines, half a "column, 'per example': 'Senator Thomas J. Moggridge says Pig-killing in Chicago Barbarous'— From Farm to Sausage' Down the Shoot of —'Porkers' Plaintive Cry' —' Our Reporter as an Abattoir Man.' " He stopped, breathless.

" Say it again." she cried; "say it again. I declare, I smell Chicago !" The walk was soon over, but to the Greaser it was a glimpse of a heaven he might never enter. The gates were closed to him for ever.

As he pressed her hand at parting she told him the Majestic. Harrogate, was their centre, and thev would be there a month. " Would Mr. Rising call if he happened to be near?"

And Mr. Rising, knowing he was a fool, promised. That night the One-eyed Man received full details ot Danby Hall.' and resolved to attempt the stealing of the canvas. A week later the Panhard. with the Oneeyed Man. the Greaser. Bresci. and Rimini, stood upon the by-road that ran down by the side of the park. It had apparently broken down. Upon the road lay one or two spare parts and the bonnet,"together with a few tools.

"That's all right," said the One-eyed Man. "If anyone comes you look a legitimate breakdown, and you can be overlooking the spare batteries,* Simini,.while we go forward. Now, my friends, go ahead." They scaled a low fence, and in ten mimites were at the wall of the house near the picture gallery. " You said the sixth window was the nearest and most accessible?" whipercd the Oneeyed Man. The Greaser nodded. At that moment a loud bark sounded on the nisjht air, and a huge hound slipped through the trees and made for the group. With a low curse the One-eyed Man drew his pistol, and ere a second warning bark came from its lips it lay dead upon the turf.

For a few moments they listened, but the hound did not appear to have disturbed the house, so they made for the sixth window. Producing a. paper thickly smeared with bird-lime, it was clapped over the glass, and the Greaser, with a diamond, cut the square clean out. There then remained the brass bar. A tiny yet powerful file quickly removed these obstructions, and one by one the men slipped through and stood before the Dar.bv Murillo.

lor a moment they gazed at it. then came the low. sharp command of the One-eyed Man : " Q. ick ! Cut it out and let us clear. ' A cabinet stood near, and the Greaser, removing the bric-a-brac from the top. stood upon it to reach the picture. He had cut it through, and was lifting it out of the frame, when a report sounded and a bullet splashed the plaster out of the wall within two inches of the Greaser's head, and the Oneeyed Man got another through the forearm. So engrossed had they been that they had not heard the butler, who, being disturbed, had armed himself and entered the room unobserved. Bresci was on him in a moment, and stifled his half-articulated call for help with a couple of lace antimacassars, which ho stuffed into his throat, while the Greaser tied him up with tho velvet curtain cords. J

j They waited no longer, but pushing ft I heavv oak cabinet against, the floor, the trio, •carefully taking the Murillo, . hurried l through the open window into the park.as cries resounded through the hall, for the butler's shots had aroused the household A handkerchief, knotted above the bulletwound of the One-Eyed Man, served until more efficient aid could bo given. Figures showed through th ■ trees in pursuit, but the trio reached the Panhard safely and were soon beyond the reach of their pursuers. A significant fact was that whereas when they | came the number read A.M. 251 it «*as now S.H. 611. So, even if it had been I noticed, the new number would hide its identity. They carried a number of fictitious plates and" numbers that fitted a speci-allv-i.uiUrivcd slot. The car was run through Riscall to Selby and on through Howden and Ferriby to Hull. At Ferriby its number was again changed, in case it had been noticed in the early morning passing through Selby. The Greaser was dropped at Hull with his precious burden, which was simply rolled tin in a piece of oilcloth, so that there, was absolutely no attention called to a man who carried "such a package. The disguise was admirable. He took the first morning train from the station to Hornsea, arriving there about a-quarter to seven a.m. Leaving the station, he walked briskly along the cliffs, keeping a bright lookout seaward. He had not long to wait, for soon a speck showed upon the water, and with his glass he descried the Submarine. A fewminutes later the collapsible boat was shoved off in answer to his signal; then, hurrying down to the shore, he was met by two of the crew.

Handing them the roll of oilcloth, he bade them be careful, and complimented them upon being in such good time. " We were ordered," said the leading man, " to be a mile and a-half east'ard of Hornsea at seven a.m., Wednesday, the 19th, and, being orders, we're 'ere." "Good!" said the Greaser. "You shall be well paid." The man grinned. "We saw you coming, sir, so was all ready. This is good!" He pointed to the oilcloth. " Yes," said the Greaser; "a roll of canvas would attract attention, but a roll of oilcloth can easily pass muster." They got in the boat and were rapidly rowed to the waiting Submarine. " 1 wish to be landed at Robin Hood's Bay," said the Greaser. "I am going to Whitby, and prefer to walk in." This'was done. The Greaser was dropped ashore at a quiet spot, and by ten a.m. was in Whitby.

The Panhard had a successful trip south, and the Greaser went to Harrogate the next day. He was a fool, he knew, to play with lire, but he went, and had spent a happy fortnight in the company of the fair American when a message arrived asking him to repair at once to Paris-, as important business was under discussion.

That night he bade his final adieu to Mamie Chessleridge. That she cared for I him he knew, that he cared for her he knew i only too well, but Ik- shut his lips and told I her only that his holiday was oyer. He crushed his hopes under his iron will. " i'ou are sorry?" he said, quietly. ; " Yes," she murmured ; " but I am sure to I see you age ; n. You must see us in the States. After these pleasant days, Mr. RisI ing, we must not close so happy an ac- | quaintanceship." ' "You are more than kind, Miss Chessleridge, but I'm afraid we must say our adieus permanently. Igo abroad at once, and my return is not even conjectured." " I had hoped" She stopped, a trifle nervously. &■ "I may not." he said, "I may not. It is because of this I go, Mamie." He used her name for the first time, and the colour ran red to her hair. " You must find a betI ter man than I, and I pray you to forget Eduard Rising. .Forget he. lived a mouth in your life. Forget his memory even." i. "Why?" she whispered. "If I—if I will not?" %

" Listen," lie said. " I dare not, for your sweet sake, link your life with mine, j am not a good man, I am a desperately wicked one. This is my confessional." w " Hush !" she cried. " Hush! Ted, you are good enough for me." She smiled in an innocent triumph that cut him to the heart. Never had he seen himself so black, never so hopelessly lost; ■-■ _-..<-'»

"I am wicked, Mamie, wicked. I have .sown the wind, and now I reap the whirlwind. lam a criminal."

For the moment she swayed, then shelooked at him tenderly. Ted," she said, sweetly, " there is always hope. I love you.. Come with me. If I am willing who elso should mind? See, take mo with you." She held out her hands imploringly. " I am a criminal, Mamie, hut I am not a villain. No woman has ever suffered through me, and none shall. I wrong no girl, no woman. You do' not know me—l am one of the worst."

j She shuddered violently, but her hands j still clasped hie, and her tears fell silently. >- i "I have broken your heart," he said, I hoarsely—"l have' broken your heart." i " Ted," she whispered, " may I reclaim i you?" 1 The passion in her voice shook his will. . Cut himself adrift from all, from the gang, ; his crimes, and bis evil ways? Start with a new world before him in some quiet place abroad? Ah! there was a path opening inI deed. Then, like a flash, there came before i his mind the deaths that lay upon his soul— : ; a river that might not be bridged by love ! itself. No, he could never bring her to 1 that. Criminal and worse lie might be, but villain and blackguard never—to a girl. . "Mamie," he said. "I mav not, T cannot. Forget me. Some day another and a better man will stand with you as I stand to-day. Pray for me, if you can, for your prayers should avail much. Adieu, sweetheart, adieu." '.

He kissed her gently, then, turning swift-' ly, he left his heaven behind him and walked on to the road he had cut out for himself, and which he must tread alone.

Strange to say a smile was on his face, and his step was light and free; his heart was full of joy. He had been sorely tempted, but the last spark of human kindness in his nature had been wakened to life. Ho had fought and won, and for once the Greaser was a gentleman in the full sense of the word.

Next week: "THE PERIL OF THE ' 'TUNE," a thrilling tale of a midnight chase in the Channel.