THE WELL AND THE WAY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14223, 20 November 1909, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE WELL AND THE WAY.

BY BERNARD CAPES,

Author of "The Secret in the Hill," " A :.':. Rogue's Tragedy," "The Green Par- - ' rots," "A Castle in Spain." .", A. -. Jay i of Italy," .. " The .... Lake of Wine," ■'.'/'"- Etc.. Etc. ':''■'■:■;;

tCOPYBIGHT.I

CHAPTER VIII. i FACIXIS DESCENSUS AVEBNO.

The simile ending 1 the last chapter would seem, on the face of it, a: somewhat inverted one, considering the relative bulks of the stoat and the poor bunny it attacks, which may be as one to five or six. These two men were, oh the contrary, fairly of a size, though physically there was no comparison between them. Practical hard work had toughened the one; sedentary and >,* selfindulgent ways had softened the other. Nor does the moral analogy hold; for, if Le Strang was tenacious of purpose, Redding was, in that respect, not so much as an inch or two behind him. If it came to a struggle between them—for which, it must be confessed, there seemed . at present no adequate grounds— it would be just a question of puli devil pull baker. But what excuse could offer for that test of strength? , Well, Le Strang, if it is to be presumed that he foresaw one, kept his reasons characteristically to himself. Not until near the end did the other come fully to realise the persistence and relenUessness of the enemy who had bee* following him down to, his doom, with scarcely a movement in the grasses or the crackle of a dead leaf to betray him.

There had been, with the hunter, more than one provocation to this pursuit, as the sequel showed—loyalty to a dead friend, devotion to a trust confided to him, suspicion of the*, adverse pressure brought to bear upon the recipient of his appeal, a deep and ever-growing concern for the victim, as he was obstinate in believing her, of that coercion. His interview with the girl at the Academy had left him oddly moved. Such passionate self-depreciation as she had shown could hardly have been a pretence. Fanciful young women, he knew, would sometimes affect the Byronie-Manfredian pose, making themselves out, for the sake of a romantic reputation, much worse than they really were. To figure as a little soul-worn in .knowledge of evil was a coquetry characteristic of the day. But he was convinced that .there was no sucfi attitudinising here. Petted children of fortune were, of all people, the least at pains to affect sentiments or emotions which they did not feel. No, this tragedy of self-disillusionment, to whatever cause it owed, was as real and poignant as it was mysterious.

His heart was touched, his chivalry, his soul of justice. More than all, perhaps, his instinct, like a sensitive seism* graph, recorded the presence of villainy somewhere and somehow in his neighbourhood. Such things may be with the fine in sympathy, and such was the case here. Le Strang felt a sense of wrong in the air about him, and at first he was only uneasy and undetermined in that sense. It was something said by the exchaperon which had given his suspicions a definite direction. From that moment Mr. Luke Bedding was a marked man to him.

Villainy is a comparative term. It is inherent only in the same sense that a man may. have phthisic conditions in his blood which circumstances may develon. A first fall from self-respect in the one constitution, a neglected cold in the other, may spell equal disaster. Henceforth the disease becomes progressive and irreclaimable. On the other hand, a man mav possess the germ of villainy in him all his life, and nothing occur to betray it. Temptation lacking, he may die in the odour of sanctity. Luke Redding, unfortunately, was not so favoured. "„'■'■

He was ambitious, and the ostentation of his age aggravated his state he was popular, and he bid for recognition beyond his means. A misappropriation of trjust funds, perilously restored at a crisis, marked his first fall from grace;; Thereafter, it was only a question of time and

opportunity. He had parted with hif ;r self-respect. The opportunity was sure to come— and; -i it came. He justified it to himself, of course, on human grounds — just bor- \ rowing to repay, or the smelling at aa". orange in the terms of, the fable. He owed someone a bad turn; it would do no harm to keep the trump card in his own hand for a little ; ho would restore at the psychologic moment. Even while he thought, the situation developed in his mind at an alarming pace. A difficulty which he had not foreseen struck his purpose lame. But possession once realised was not easily foregone. In a moment of desperation he threw for security, and was henceforth lost for ever.

Then, claimed wholly to evir, its issues enlarged themselves to him by leaps and bounds. Luck so far had favoured him admirably; but luck, like heaven, helps only those who help themselves. He began, by degrees, to contemplate a stroke of • master-villainy, before which all his other sins had paled. ..-;■.-.

Yesthere was something wrong, no doubt. Le Strang's instinct had not recorded a local disturbance for nothing.

CHAPTER IX. ',"./.' LE STRANG SPENDS A WEEK-END IN THE COUNTRY. '".''' ,v >". The estate of " Scars""stands well away from the road among the flattest of South-East Essex pastures. Two miles westward lies Long Wyecombe,, a respectable market-town , owning a station, a parochial hall and library, a handsome church and vicarage, a broad street flanked by good shops and staid old residential houses, a hotel, the " Red Hand," where the assembly balls are held, an* ihe police-station, accommodating a sergeant and v five constables. In the last place is epitomised, according to its own estimate, the local' shrewdness which , has made Long Wyecombe a byword for clever dealings with its neighbours. And, indeed, Sergeant Roper is a knowing man of his inches, which are many. i ';•:;.

At Long Wyecomße station there alighted, bag in hand, one Saturday afternoon in mid-May, a tall, 'rather square, and exceedingly resolute looking gentleman, by name Mr. Robert Le Strang. It was coldish weather, and he kept his coat collar turned up and his hat a little pulled down over his eyes, for he desired to attract no more attention to himself than was compatible with the arrival of a, perfectly unpretending stranger. Dismissing, with a wave of his arm, the importunities t of the " Red Hand" omnibus conductor, he hurried down the station yard, past a siding on which some trucks were standing, and out at the gates at the bottom of the slope, which ' discharged him i upon the outskirts. of the town, arid; as' is usual' in the case of station* environments, a congeries of mean and ugly tenements representing life at its dullest and most unpic- 1 turesque.',.: But, observation being the last thing he courted, he was gratified to ; find his exit into Quarters so suburban, and in a little he had" left behind him the? last 'of the sorry ■ villas, and ; was out, walking at random, along an uninhabited country road. And then he 1 paused to reflect.

He had come, purely on his own initiative, to look about him and make a fewinquiries, that was all. There' being 'no engagement to him on. this day of the" week, he hod chosen it for the expedition, since it left him a free hand until the following Monday evening. And what of ; that It was a custom with many townwearied souls, having rural hankerings, to spend their week-end in .remote village, chance or fancy guiding their choice, and cheap, taverns" being plentiful; and ■' he hid been in the mood-for such a mild adventure. Presently, <a. country fellow coming towards him, he advanced) and asked the man for the information he desired. >' ' . '"'-•.';'•''■' -.' i » ."•'•'' "'_ •• Yes, 'said the native; there '< was ■, an; inn the "Five Alls," a mile and ';av'arf,' or' maybe 1 two miles furdcr along the road (which, if appeared, was - the -Southend turnpike)rand*readily f to be identified from the ; fact of its, standing within twenty yards or so of the private road to "Scars," where it turned -off the highway—a superfluity of information, perhaps, to one who had eyes and could read, but welcome here , . nevertheless. Le Strang, betraying nothing of his gratification over the chance which had directed his footsteps, ventured to ask another question—Did his informant hap* pen to know where a. Mr! Ambrose Sharp lived ? The man scratched' his headi "What !" he asked. " The doited old gentleman with the pit in his.skull?" Le Strang opined that that was the individual he referred to. The man pointed in the same direction. .»> >,-i.-r ■■■ " Take the next turning," said he, waving his hand to the right, ""and'yon'm see 'ft— > white cottage rwi skeps—he _ lives there wi' his- married darter;-a widder. '||| But you'm get nowt of reason out of 'the old man."

i Le Strang, aiming, at adventure, said he wanted' honey. •- ' '. : r ' "Oh, aye,,'''answered the native. ''Plenty of that—you can't miss it.'* . .

He continued to call directionsassuring his accoster; that the place was- impossible, to miss—for. long after Le Strang had gone on' his way. That is the excess of plebeian politeness, and must be excused for the real hospitable feeling it displays.-

'■; Le Strang,- after his nature, took his good luck with as little, excitement and as much philosophy as he would have any dour stroke' of fortaae.,: A strange feeling of destiny was beginning to overtake him in this matter. : Providence,;, he could ..have thought, was just making use of . him - for its retributive ends. He had' need to exercise no more than his natural strong' intelligence, and things would • shape themselves to - him without effort. •

As he passed by the turning he saw the cottage plainly enough,; but, as it,lay away from his present purpose, contented, himself- with observing its (situation before he proceeded. He found the "Five Alls'" —a pleasant roadside tavern of the smallest pretensions—-bespoke a bed there, and issued forth to reconnoitre. A few yards further along the road he , came, as he had been led to expect, upon, the private way, and, going down it, into present view of the house of " Scars." He knew it at once,; from old descriptions given him by his dead friend. It ; stood out in the quiet fields, in the still, cold evening, as placid an antiquity as ever ( recorded the loves and crimes of forgotten, ages. The falling sunset tinted its. gables cattle cropped and lowed beneath its' gardens ; it seemed a very habitation *of peace.'' -■:'-' ■"'■•'■ ' : -'.". •rv--/-:- "• .* .

Now, as Le Strang regarded it, standing somewhat distant from him, over the hedge-row, not the ghosts and Sittings of dead days became associated with it "in his mind, but the spirit figure of a girl, its present, though absent, mistress, looked, to his imagination, from its windows, descended its steps, moved along its walks, and, in the very thought, was gone. -He became conscious of the phantom presence only in its vanishing, and laughed half vexedly to himself. „ " *' -

" What is in all my mood and purpose but to oust her from that unfair possession?" thought. "I am a fool, wasting time and daylight." y

He was curious to examine the building closer, if possible, and presently, prowling ' hither and thither, discovered a little green lane which actually penetrated to near its western wing. Here, looking over a low " wall in the shadow of. trees, he found he could command a much nearer view of the building, the whole back of which, with y its lawns and gardens. 6tood extended bub - a hundred yards or so away from him. He leaned his arras on, the coping and 1 sank absorbed in contemplation, his eyes especially canvasing. the range of largest windows, which were long and low, and easy of access, the turf runnirig up to the very walls beneath them. ,'■ •-;>•-!. \ "'A simple job for a burglar •'■'■ he actually and very foolishly murmured aloud ; ~ but not Saturn in his wood, "quiet a stone," could have.seemed to himself more V solitary and remote from observation thai* . 1 he seemed. "It must have soured plaus- : 1 ible enough, whoever was. the first to sug- . . gest it," he added. "Ah!" said a voice behind him, and a . '■ hand alighted on his shoulder. I (To be continued daily). 1 .