SIR GREGORY'S SILENCE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13874, 7 October 1908, Page 10

SIR GREGORY'S SILENCE.

rUBUSIIED • BT SPECIAL I ARRANGEMENT.

BY ARTHUR W. MARCH-MONT, Author of "The Man Who Was Dead." "By Right of Sword." etc.

CHAPTER XX.(Continued.) Urox Bulmer the conversation with his father bad other effects. If Bostoek were really the scoundrel he was described, way had Mrs. Caul field vouched for him? To Sr? Gregory, Biilmer had accounted for it on' the supposition that she nad been imposed upon by him, but after consideration, and the recollection of her words and mannov on the night of I.olla s engagement, be felt very far from satisfied. This uneasiness ' began .to harden into doubt when ho heard from his mother, to whom lie went after leaving Sir Gregory, what- Mrs. Gaul field had said to her. " I have been asking Beth all about Mr. Bostoek, Buhner," she said. All roads lead to Bostock just now, mother. I have just been talking to my father about him. hat does Beth say , about hill)?'' " She speaks well of him. He is a man of sfime prominence in California, or Colorado. or whatever it is." "1 wish he had stopped there, then, instead of coming to. trouble us," exelamed , Bulmer irritably. ! "She told me you didn't like him. Are you sure you have any grounds for such prejudice? You young people are so quick t > trust first impressions. Don't- forget, that he is your father's friend, you know. "Sir Gregory says he, is little better than a scoundrel. He knew him years ago, it seems, in the old days out in the States. Do vou remember him at all.' " No, indeed. You, surprise me. Your father never said anything of the kind to me; but then he's so altered, isn't. he?" and she sighed. ; Then Bulmer reflected that the change iii Sir Gregory had dated from just about the time when Bostock had .first come to the Chase, and recalled his words that day that he had not wished to quarrel with Bostock. " Yes, he is a good deal altered," he agreed, after a pause. " Do you think he is ill, Bulmer, and trying to keep the fact from us? 1 get very uneasy sometimes when I think of —very troubled." . • . „ ' ' "No, mother; I don think that. " But there must be some reason for such a change. We have often said that, you know,, in talking about him." . "He has been better lately. Out more riding,' and so On. Much better." "Not better in health. He is so aged. But he has been much more with mO since your engagement to Beth. He is very anxious for your marriage. And so. am 1, Bulmer. I wish you could fix the date— and let it be soon." ■ "He stooped and kissed her. "11l speak to Beth about it. If it will please you to have it 150011, it shall be. • As well at once as l Inter." "He still cares for Helen," she, murmured to herself when lie had gone. ".Poor, boy! But marriage will, do more than anything to help him forget." Buhner's talk with Mrs. Caulfield served to allav his rising doubts in regard to her knowledge of Bostoek. She was quick to perceive them, and saw. at once that they must be removed. ' She saw her double danger, also—that if ' she threw Bostock over, lie would retaliate by telling what he had done in regard to Helen at her instigation. It was no case for. half measures. "I don't believe Mr. Grainger, Bulmer," she i replied,', when he had told her $11" he had'heard. ?' " His motive is on the surface. He. is angry. that Mr. Bostoek lias won Lotta away from him and has -said this in spite. It is a slander. I should not hare trusted Mr. Bostock with any affair of mine, if I had not been sure of him.",; " Is he a. rich ma.ll and a senator?" "Yes." It was hard to have to lie to the man she loved but she answered firmly and unhesitatingly. If she faltered it meant losing him. " You are quite sure. ho could not. have imposed on you ' "I am quite "sure, Bulmer. I have known him for years. .I am "trite sure; but, after what you, have said, I will have the most searching inquiries made in Denver. I'll' cable my people'out there and set them to work at once. Ah, I want you to see my Colorado home," she declared, with a winning smile, intending to turn him away from the dangerous subject. "My mother;.would like me to see it soon, Beth," he said meaningly. Her reply was a sigh and a tender glance of love. No acting was needed for that. Her heart was in her eyes its she looked up to him. •

"Would you like it' to be soon, Beth?" "It is for you to say, not for me, Bulmer; but I think you know." ' "Shall we say in about a. month, then?" Passion seized upon her' at the near realisation of her long-deferred hones, and yielding 'to it, she threw ; her arms about' him and) pressed her lips to his. But before a > week of : the month had passed, an event occurred which . altered > everything and changed her throbbing hopes intoeea r "again. ! ;- i : .'[." '' ; : v ■•;. Letta had taken the interference of the others very badly. Bostock was away in Manchester, doing his ugly work there, and could.not get; back to 'V the Chase. Lotta chafed and fretted; at his absence, and her temper, always hasty and impatient, became passionate and ungovernable, venting itself in - violent,-outbursts upon the slightest occasion. She, spent many hours in the saddle, riding wildly and furiously, punishing her horses unmercifully at the least show of disobedience. |. ■'.-.- '-«■ • •'• • ..'..•.•.'.- v , : '~

Out with the hounds one day her 'horse refused » jump. It was due to her own fault,.the fault of which Bulmer had bo often told Her.. . In a frenzy of passion she lashed the animal, and again and again plunged the spur into his side. A struggle for mastery followed. She put faim at the leap again; and again he refused. Another a tempt ; followed, and -this time he reared and fell- back upon her, and in falling crushed- th©; life out of her. ■ ; There was not one, even among the servants at tho Chase, who»mourned her death, 'there was the shock, inevitable where death comes so suddenly and swiftly. But a* soon as the effects of that had passed, the verdict of, all i was :■ Hummed up in the words ;of (one of them * "It ) was' all for the best, and only right and > proper that the young master should have the Chase.' But there were two who regretted itr- 1 - Bostock, to whom;it (meant the loss of the fortune he coveted; •; and; Mrs. Caulfield, who shed bitter tears, not of grief for the dead girl, but of selfish, heart-stabbing dread as to what Bulmer .would do, now that the reason for his making her his wife Was thus so tragically removed. ..">.

■ CHAPTER XXI. THE MANCHESTER. CAMPAIGN FAILS. • 'Boetock heard of Lotta's death from Mrs.' Caulfield while he was still in Manchester, where he had found many more difficulties in his plans against Helen than he had experienced in London. He had easily been able to discover the life she led and where she lived ; but having no ally in her homo, had been unable to do anything against her there. He had resorted to his former device of sending disreputable people to ask for her both • at her house and at Mr. Stevenson's office. ■ But the result had been worse than . failure. • Bostock had no knowledge- of Mr. Stevenson's feelings for Helen, of course; . but he had heard what occurred to his emissaries; .... • The first had simply been ordered out of the place; but when a second and a third came, one a flashily-dressed woman of obvious,, occupation, and the other a loafer with ' drink written all over his V. blotched puffy face, Mr. Stevenson began to question them, and both had mumbled some excuse and hurried away. • The coincidence that they always came "•'"- when Helen • was- out -struck him; and - . when a fourth put his ragged head inside - the door just as Mr. Stevenson chanced to be in the outer office alone, he collared the.fellow . and . walked him into his own ;■;. room, determined to bottom the thing*

. ".What do you know about Miss Powell?" lie asked, with his back 'against the door. "That's her business and mine. I want to gee her, not you," replied the fellow, a surly bulldog out of the slums. " Well, I'm going to make it mine, too. Now. out with it.' " No, I sha'n't. • Lot me go. You can't keep mo here." "You'll fit-ay here till you tell me, my man. Now, what do , you know about her?" " She's one of us, that's all," was the replv with an oath and a laugh. "You lving dog. What do you mean by that?"* "She told me to come here. If she ain't in, you can tell her that I came for her all right. She'll know who it is. We don't use no visiting cards." "Who sent you here?" "Don't I keep tolling you? She did." You've made a blunder, my man and you've got hold of the wrong man to tell lies to. How much have you been paid to do this?" " No one ain't paid me anything." "You infernal scoundrel,' cried Mr. Stevenson, furiously. " You dirty, lying (log. you don't understand what you have been " bribed to do. I know your sort, and I'll have the police here. I'm the wrong sort for you to try and fool. I'll —' "Let. me go," broke m the man with an oath, showing fight. Mr. Stevenson snatched up a heavy ruler. " Stand off. or I'll split your head open with this. Now, I'll give yon one minute to tell me who put you on to this, and if you don't toll me, I'll send for the police." . ; "All right, guv'nor; .there ain't no need for anything of that. I don't mean no harm," said the man, cowed and alarmed. , .. ,

"Time's nearly' up, and I'm a man of my word." "*' I duuno who it was. I'll tell you all I do know. A chap met me in the street and gave mo a drink and a bob, and promised me a couple more if I'd come and ask for her. That's straight, on my word, guv'nor;" "Where is he?" " Waiting for me, watching outside probably to see I don't sell him. I'm to meet him at the corner." " I'll go and meet him with you," declared Mr.- Stevenson readily; "and I should like a word or two with him myself." ■'-.-■•■.. ' .•■ They went out together, but Bostock was on the watch, and, seeing that things had gone wrong, he hurried off. . The man looked about for him, and, not seeing him, remembered the threat of the police, and drawing his companion's attention to one direction, ran off in another, aud was soon lost to eight. Mr. Stevenson returned to his office profoundly puzzled by the affair. He had not. said anything to Helen about the former visits, but now he considered it necessary to put her on her guard. j ;. When she returned that afternoon \ he, was surprised to observe that she was both agitated and alarmed. There was cause for this. When Bostock had rushed away from the prospect of trouble through having sent the man to the office, no had been in too great a. hurry to notice the people he passed in the street. Amongst them was Helen. She had seen him, however, and was quick to connect his presence in Manchester with the recent" recognition by Mr. Garwood, and to augur trouble. She had promised Sir Gregory to keep silent, but had made it a condition that all persecution should cease. If he broke that condition she was at liberty to speak. " I am very sorry to be eo late," she said, as she sat down to her desk in his room, "but have been worried." "Would you like to have holiday this afternoon, and run down to Blackpool for a breath of fresh sea air s ,::-" Oh, no, thank you. You seem to think that a breath of sea air is a necessity for anyone living in Manchester. You suggest it so often: but you do not use your own prescription, ,: I notice."V ,■ ' "Oh, I'm different. " Case-hardened, I suppose.- Let's get to work, then." ; They "worked for about an hour, but Helen found it difficult to concentrate her attention on the task. "I am very sorry, Mr. Steverison, but I can't keep my thoughts from wandering. May we stop?' " He looked across with his usual kindly smile. '"I have been waiting for this," he said. " You are not quite yourself this afternoon," and he put his papers together and closed the portfolio. . She shut up the typewriter and arranged • her own ' papers, and sat a; moment in thought. ■:"I think,l should like to tell you , something," she said slowly. "I am afraid there is some trouble in store for me." "I am afraid you are right. : I haven't spoken to you about your affairs for 'some time, you know, but that doesn't mean that I have not thought about them, or that I shall not listen to anything you wish to tell me with great sympathy.' "You think I ought to have explained more about what was behind Mr. Garwood's recognition of me?" ; "If I have wished you to do eo, it has been on your own ( account, not on mine. 1 should have welcomed a chance of helping you. That is all." "I know that. I know what a true friend you are. If .it had been only, my own matter I should have told you everything, but there is a secret which concerns someone else, and I hoped that I should have been left in peace. I'm afraid no.w, however, 'that what occurred in London is to be tried again" here. It seems selfish only to turn to you when I; mav need help." "I think you had better tell me. You may think it selfish, if you wish, but I shall not, and whatever you say shall never pass my lips." "I was Mi-. Garwood's typist for a short time, and while there I was accused of having stolen some jewels. I have never understood it. The jewels were entrusted to him by a client and he kept them in a safe. -One of them, a ring, was found in the drawer of my desk at the office, and Mr. Garwood and a detective, named Simpson, came that same evening to my little flat and made a search among my things. To my horror they found in one of my trunks two .more rings and a duplicate key of the safe. I assure you on—" "Doft't bother to do that. I know you," he interposed. "Go on with the story." "I don't' know who actually put the robbery upon me, nor how it was done, but I had been cruelly persecuted before going to Mr. Garwood, and all who had employed me were set against me," and she described the interview with Mrs. Chancellor and the latter'e reference to the visit of a woman of ill -repute. "I can only conclude that in all the other cases similar means were adopted," she added. "But whatever the means were they succeeded, and I was in great distress." "How did this Garwood hear„of you?" •''From one of the firms who had employed me as typist. He wrote and offered me a situation.' "And'that did not strike you as curious?" '■ ■'- '.■-'•.■

"Not at the time. I was getting very anxious to find work and jumped at the offer. My money was nearly gone." " You were meant to jump at it, of course. This Garwood "He was no party to anything, Mr. Stevenson," she interrupted, quickly. "I am sure of that. After the rings had been found in my rooms, I had a talk with him and he declared his belief in my innocence, and said that nothing more should come of it. I was to seo him the next day and tell him everything about myself in order that together we might try and find out the truth." : ; "And when you saw him, what passed?" "I did not stay to see him. I left London the next day. I had already made all my preparations to do eo—and something happened which made it necessary." . " Also part of the same scheme, so that you.might appear to have run away from, the charge. It is an infamous story. And who ie behind it? Do you know?" " I—l am afraid 60," replied Helen reluctantly. " Well, whoever it is, he has found out that you are here in Manchester, and has begun the same game. I have been considering whether I ought to tell you," and he described what had occurred. " I met the detective, Mr. Simpson, in the street this afternoon; and it was that which worried me." " I wish I could see him," exclaimed Mr. Stevenson angrily. "The thing'*, as plain to see as blight on a cotton plant. Whoever's behind this is going to do what was done in London. I'll run up to town and interview that Garwood." (To fee continued on Saturday, next.)