A PRIOR CLAIM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume L, Issue 15482, 13 December 1913, Page 3 (Supplement)

A PRIOR CLAIM.

BY EDGAR PICKERING, »„(W of "The Vanishinc of Cornelius Druce, " Righted at Last." " Janet Deeds." " Nada.' 'At the Eleventh Hour, ' etc.

CHAPTER I. g x Elphece- was thronged with fashionable women that bright day in June when Cynthia was to be married, and a subdued chorus of admiration greeted her as E he walked up the aisle leaning upon her father's arm, a picture of youth and almost ethereal loveliness in her bridal dress such as St. Elphege rarely saw for ill it* weddings. She was Lord Severno's only child, and his "rev. handsome face Hushed with pride a the 'recognition of Cynthia's welcome. The match was one which promised every rood he could wish her. Launcelot Devereux bad no title, certainly, but he was one of the richest men in London, whilst Lord Severne's broad acres were heavily mortgaged, and he had been able to make only a small provision for Cynthia. Therefore Lard Severno had ever reason to congratulate himself; and the "merry bolls rang out in unison with his calm happiness as he reached the altar rail. Moreover, it would bo the union of true love. Cynthia's pure heart had never responded to a lover's pleading until Launcelot, had won her blushing answer to his passionate avowal. From that moment the world had seemed tilled with a glorious brightness she had never known before. }(or were they only girlish raptures which she cherished, but the assurance of a happiness that time could never change nor dim. "' or Cynthia Soverne possessed a mind which enabled her to take a clear ie« of life-one that in a man would have been described as a judicial mind, and coupled with it was the sweetest, tenderest nature ever vouchsafed to a daughter of Eve. She was twenty that day which was to crown her happiness, B n'd her beautiful face was radiant with the jov within her breast. Devereux was the elder by five years, a stalwart, manly figure, and, if his features lacked regularity, there was that in them which more than made amends for it. A frank, outspoken man, to whom a roving life had given more tliarv one opportunity of showing what an English gentleman'was capable of in moments of difficulty or danger; and more than one story had drifted homeward of Launcelot Devereux's strange adventures abroad. But there was not a shadow on his life as he sat at luncheon that glorious day which was to see his union with tho woman he loved devotedly. His suite of rooms, which overlooked the Green Park, were furnished with a plainness that had suited his taste. On tables and in bookcase were trophies won in many a hard-fought contest, and upon the wall, by the thick curtains dividing the room, was the tiger's skin which reminded him of the fiercest fight he had ever engaged in. Close to it hung the . trooper's accoutrements he had worn in Mexico during an insignificant revolution, and a curious look passed over his face as lie caught sight of the jagged hole in the dusty old tunic. " I'll get lid of these rags," he muttered, as lie got up from the table. "They're rather too reminiscent," and he laughed quietly. "By jove! it's one o'clock, and I'm due at the church at two. There's plenty of time, though. My wedding day! The happiest time of my life! I don't seem able to quite realise it yet. My wedding day— Cynthia's! She is to be my wife—my sweet young wife!"

Someone came into the room, and I Devereux uttered a hearty greeting at - seeing him, for the newcomer was to be his best man, and they were old college, . chums, moreover. -.■ "You needn't indulge in one of your cheap jokes, St. Ledger," laughed .Devereux. " And please don't look at me .'as though I were a doomed man." Sir Alurcd St. Ledger repudiated any I idea of his attempting even the feeblest badinage, and accepted a drink in a serious manner. "You're a lucky fellow," he remarked, presently. " One of the luckiest, in my opinion. Here's health and happiness to you and your wife to be," and he "emptied the glass. V "If there's anything you want done, • say 60 now," he continued. " We've ■; ample time before starting for St. ; Elphege, and I'm entirely at your service, old fellow." ."There's nothing I can think of," rer plied Devereux. " Unless— it's hardly worth while to bother you, only I've a pensioner who's ill, and I should like to know how he is. I'm so happy . that I want everyone else to be, and Stevens was a faithful servant to me out ,' there." ' He nodded towards the well-worn belt and tunic upon the wall. " Stevens saved ay life. He'd swear ho did nothing of the I the sort, but I know best about that." "You've mentioned him to me before," answered St. Ledger. "A good fellow, you say'/" , More than that. Stevens is-a dependable man, and there are not eo many of that sort as you'd suppose. So if you don't mind going to Seymour Street and giving him this little packet, you'd be doing me a real service. He's laid up at present—ill. Number ten is where he lodges."/ The packet contained banknotes for fifty pounds, and Devereux had been unwilling to entrust them to the post. St. Ledger's offer of doing anything came opportunely, and in a lew moments his car bad vanished round the corner of the street. "I'll be ready before you come back," Devereux had said, as lie went to the door with him. "And you needn't hurry." Left alone, Devereux began pacing tho room slowly. He was thinking deeply, recalling to memory that until then he had resolutely tried to forget : the days when he had shared in a futile insurrection out of a pure love for fighting, and of the time that followed. Ail that was threo years ago. and the recollection was thrust away as if it were disagreeable to him. Tho clock on the mantelpiece chimed the half-hour, and Devereux rang his bell, which his valet answered. To him he gave some directions. "And if anyone calls," he said, "you will say I am unable to see thorn, Charles. I don't expect anybody, but it's possible —you understand clearly that I don't wish to see them." " Someone has asked for you, sir," replied the man. " Did they give their name ? " "No name, sir, and I said you were engaged. It was a man I took to be a foreigner." "You did quite right, Charles," and the valet quitted the room. Devereux resumed (his slow walk to and fro, beginning to think again, but his thoughts lacked continuity. 'Die approaching ceremony for which he ought to be starting was the main thing in his mind, and he had a vision of Cynthia's loving face before him as he sat down at a writing-table. He had forgotten a ; : rather important letter until that moment, and it should be written at once.

As lie gazed thoughtfully at the curtained part of the room one of the heavy draperies was pushed aside, and a mail stopped forward—a man whoso white face wore the look of a famished beast of prey, and his dark eyes gazed steadily at Devereux, who had' started from his chair. "At last, Mr, Launcelot Devereux!" The stranger's bearded lips hissed the words. " We've met at last. Your servant said you would not see me. I can believe that." Ho moved towards the table where Devereux was standing. The newcomer spoke with a foreign intonation, and as though he were agitated by some powerful emotion which ho tried to overcome. Devereux had not moved a muscle nor uttered a word, but his face Had darkened ominously. "It is well that I came," continued his straiißo visitor, subduing his voice and erecting his spare frame to its full height. "Senor Devereux, to whom I have the honour to present myself after a long time. Three years, is it not?" "And now you have presented yourself, Jose Eglesias, perhaps you will let mo know your uusinoss," replied Devereux, coldly, as ho glancel beyond the man's shoulder at the curtains. St. Ledger would be returning at any moment, and his coming would complicate the little scene. That was his primary thought amid a tumult of rising anger. "My business!" and the man addressed as Jose Eglesias shrugged his thin shoulders. "It is easy to be guessed." "It is what wo in* England call blackmail, I suppose?" replied Devereux. "Any way, whatever it is, you've chosen about the worst time for coming." "Pardon, senor," retorted the other. "Ono hears, and to-morrow would be too late. Is it not so?"

Devereux had glanced at the closed curtains again, Eglesias watching him with a glitter in his dark eyes and taking another step forward. "It is well your friend does not come," he said, in a snarling undertone. "That no one overhears us." And he whispered something which caused Devereux to recoil from him as from the thrust of a weapon.

"Good heavens !" he ejaculated. "You're lying, Eglesias." At which the other shrugged his shoulders once more, extending a pair of grimy hands expressively. • • • • • ■

Meantime, in St. Elphege Church, Lord Severno had consulted his watch half a dozen times, and the look of annoyance on his face had deepened into anger. Devereux ought to have come long ago — lie should have been the first to arrive at the church, and now the time was passing so qihckly that unless he camo at once the canonical hour would have sped. ' The idea was impossible, however. Devereux would not dare to put such an affront on his bride, to say nothing of Lord Sevorno himself, and he beckoned to one of the men who were whispering uneasily together near the vestry door. Cynthia was within, with two of her bridesmaids, who tried to appear unconcerned as they waited ; and the murmuring talk of the people gathered in the hot church grew loud. "I cannot understand this delay, Latimer," said Lord Severne. taking his companion aside; and Sir Fulke Latimer, a bachelor of fifty, agreed that the thing certainly was incomprehensible, not to say infernally bad form on Devereux's part, and most annoying for everyone. "What do you suggest?" asked Lord Severne, in a troubled voice. "The only thing I can suggest is to send someone to Devereux's chambers, and find out why he doesn't show up. St. Ledger is—"

Severne did not wait to hear tho conclusion of the remark, but had addressed a younger man who was near him. "You'll be doing us a kindness, Mr. Mellish," ho said, "by going to Mr. Deveroux's house, and reminding him that my daughter has been waiting here since two o'clock. He may perhaps be able to give me a satisfactory explanation for hi« delay." There was no heat displayed in the words, no sign of tho intense rage burning within Lord Severne's breast, and the request might have been for some unimportant thing; but Mellish realised what was likely to happen, and in a few moments he had passed down the aisle amid 'the meaning glances of the assembled spectators, and was driving at a furious speed to Devereux's chambers. There was nothing to do after this but for Lord Severno to await his messenger's return with as much patience as remained with him, and he went into the vestry. Cynthia had gone apart from Iter two companions, and was standing at the table, verv pale now, but without permitting her anxiety to be noticed. Like her father, she was disguising her feelings, but hers were very different from his. There was a dread of something strange and unexpected having happened—something that was to change the tenor of her life and demand all her pride and courage to face. But never for an instant 'did she doubt her lover's faith and honour. For her the brightness of the day had changed into gloom, the very jewels she wore became a mockery, but sho fought against the dread in tier heart bravely. "Have you any reason to account for Devereux's extraordinary conduct?" asked Lord Severne, almost fiercely. "What reason could I have?" answered Cynthia. "None that I can imagine," he continued. "And I prefer not to express any opinion at present—that can wait; but I must refuse to allow you to remain hero any longer, Cynthia." , There had come a confused sound from the assembled guests outside the vestry, and someone was standing at tho door. Lord Severne turned sharply. It was Mellish, very white-faced and agitated, viho beckoned him, and then Lord Severne was holding a crumpled sheet of notepaper in his hand. 'I found that on Devereux's writingtable," said Mellish. "His man could give mo no information. It seems that he had gone out upon some errand, and when ho came back Devereux had disappeared. It was no earthly use my waiting | after that. The letter was lying opon—" and he paused whilst Lord Severno read the hastily scrawled words which bore no signature, and a sudden silence seemed to dull him as he read : "To Cynthia.— not judge mo yet. Wo shall meet again. Until then, think of mc as one who loves you dearer than his life. Forgive—" The writing broke off abruptly, and was stained with blood at the last word. Lord Severne crushed the letter in his hand as he crossed to Cynthia. "You have heard something?" she said, in a steady voice, her hand going to her bosom instinctively, as though to quell tho wild throbbing there. "Yes," ho replied. "I'll ask Latimer to get rid of these people, and you will wait , for thorn to go." "Tell me!" she cried, regardless of tho wondering faces around her. "Launcelot! He is not ill—not dead?" "It will be well that you forget such a man as Launcelot Devereux ever lived," her father answered, with chilling precision. "Let this be the last time hisnamo is ever uttered between us, Cynthia." "Forget!" There was a wail of anguish in tho word. "I loved him, father! I was to bo his wife—and you ask mc to forget! I can never, never do that, for he loved me !" And sho sank down, weeping silently.

CHAPTER 11. Vera Cruz was simmering in the fervent heat of the afternoon. Porfirio Loreto roused himself from his siesta and propared to mil a cigarette. He was a slimwaisted, agile little fellow, some five and thirty years old. keen-witted and smiling, the- son of a Filipino. Loreto perc had schemed and trafficked in a crude fashion, with sufficient success to enable him to spend the evening of his days more, or less tranquilly, and give Porfirio an education of sorts, who eventually budded into a notary public, to scheme and traffic upon more precise lines, yet none the- less nofariously. For in all Mexico not a cleverer or more unscrupulous notary public could have been found than Senor i'orfirio l/>reto, nor one so plausible, and for the past ten years ho had carried on his calling in, a quiet corner of Vera Cruz that seemed to shrink from notice beneath the shadow of Sant Marco. Lying back in his comfortable chair, clad in spotless white linen, Porfirio Loreto presented rather a picturesque figure, and for some time he remained supine, watching the blue smoke • of his cigarette j circling upward. The room was pro- | foundly still, and. Vera, Cruz appeared

sleeping that afternoon until a footstep sounded outside the half-closed door. The sound caused the notary to rouse himself aud listen. Ho had made enemies during his career, and, being naturally cautious, he stretched out a long-fingered, thin hand to lay it upon a revolver which flanked a bottlo of pulque) on the table beside him. But the next moment he sprang erect as a tail, well-built man came into the office. The white-clad Loreto, whose beady eyes were aglow with animation, gazed astonished. " Mon dicu!" he exclaimed. "It is Senor Devereitx ! " "I'm glad you haven't happened to como to grief, Loreto, the Panic as some others you and I knew in the old days. ] never expected to see you agnin, however." "The wonder of it!" cried Porfirio "That you should return." " I'm here on business," went on Dovcreux. " Otherwise Vera Cruz would never have seen me more." loreto raised his brows and placed a chair for his visitor. "Was it wise to come to Mexico?" he asked. "One remembers, and you left thoso who remember also." "Do you suppose I'm hore for pleasure?" replied Devereux. "I had to come." The notary lifted his black brows again. "It must be serious business that, brings you to Vera Cruz," ho said. " Possibly you may need my services, as in the past." Devereux eyed the keen, saffroncoloured face before him reflectively. " Vera Cruz is the last place on earth I ever expected or wanted to soo again." he answered, after a little pause; "that and the Casa Pueblo." Loreto became suddenly interested. " The Casa Pueblo," he repeated. " But you have heard?" "Yes, I've been told that old Durango is dead," replied Devereux. "That didn't concern me.."What I want to find out is whether bis daughter is living." " Is it worth while? " asked the notary. "You'll know when I'vo told you my reason for coming back to Mexico. I was on the point of being married in England some time ago—in fact, I was starting for the church— .lose Eglcsias forced his way into my room." Lorot'o nodded, and his eyes twinkled, but he did not interrupt. "Look at that." Devereux held out his hand, showing a recently-healed wound on tho back. " Eglesias was not quite quick enough. He aimed badly as I was writing." The notary bent forward, hiding a smile as be looked at the scarred hand. "And Eglesias ? " he asked, inquiringly " What happened to him? " "I don t know," replied Devereux. "There was no time to waste. I was

expecting a. friend to return at any moment, and dared not wait. I had to go away at once. I hadn't the pluck to face the consequences of what Eglesias told one, and for a whole week I was in hiding. Then I crossed to Paris, and have come a roundabout way to Vera Cruz. I don't imagine for a moment all this interests you, 60 I won't say more. I want some information before going on to the Cas;i. Pueblo, and you're about the only person who can give it me." "It will be a dangerous visit." "Do you think that's a consideration to me?" replied Devereux angrily. "I've nothing to live for—nothing to hope for. I'm in the position of an outcast, Loreto. But again you won't understand." "I understand that you must proceed very cautiously, Senor Devereux," answered Loreto. But you are safe whilst under my roof. You may trust me." " I'm trusting myself," retorted Ins visitor. " I'm going to satisfy myself about a matter which means life or death to me. Now answer my question: Is Don Durango's daughter living?" "I cannot say. It is a lone time sinco

1 laillLUb DOY. il IS « IV/UJJ WIIUB 31U1.U I saw Jose Eglesias. I do not dosiro to see him again—he was a liar always. Still, if Donna Marie is not dead, it was well that he warned you," " I believed she was dead. I've said nothing about a warning.'' " You were about to marry, however," smiled the notary, urbanely. "Eglesias demanded money, possibly?" "The scoundrel thought he would get it, I fancy. Money! As if that mattered to me, or could clear away the bar to my marriage." "Money can do much. There are few things it cannot buy," and the yellow face puckered into a, smile. Devereux considered for a moment, during which the little notary rolled another cigarette. He was thinking also. The Englishman was rioher than most men, and evidently more reckless. Throe years ago some peons had carried Devereux to Poriirio's house, where Donna Marie Durango nursed him back to health and strength after he had been desperately wounded in a brawl. And a, month later he had gone through a form of marriage with her. A woman of magnificent physique and fitriking beauty, Donna Marie Durango possessed the passions of a wild animal. Her anger and jealousy were easily aroused, but her voice could be gentle enough, and her manner had a power of fascination that Devereux found irresistible. Senor Durango, a typical Mexican, was poor, and his son-in-law's money was a very welcome addition to the old man's income. The Vera Cruz notary, Porfirio Loreto, with whom Devereux had become, acquainted some six months before, undertook the management of the young Englishman's business, and to all appearances there was nothing to trouble about. Devereux ignored the occasional appearance of a young ranchero as ho did the whispered talk he might chance to near in reference to the maestizo, who was named Ernest Jaurez, a former lover of Marie Durango. One dark night he liad returned lot: « Casa, and, crossing the grass before the door, he suddenly stopped at hearing voices proceeding from the blackness ol the trees not far from where he stood. One was the voice of the maestizo ranchero. " A word from me, and this Englishman would spurn you," came the hissoJ words. "Think before you answer me.' - "I have spoken," and Devereux recog nised his wife's voice. " You threaten me, then? But I have no other answer. I am risking much in meeting you lonight. It is for the last time." Devereux had moved away, disdaining to listen longer; but he decided to warn Ernesto Jaurez against being seen .iear the Casa for the future. Marie must he protected, for the fellow had clearly held out a threat of some sort which Devereux knew might be followed by something worse. Next morning, however, the ranchero was found" stabbed to the heart, but in that oft-disturbed- district a murder was neither surprising nor uncommon, and Ernest Jaurez was buried alter a perfunctory inquiry as to his death. Devereux did not accuse his wife of the deed, or allow her to suspect him of believing her to be guilty of it, but he knew that his life at tho Casa Pueblo had to come to an end. Perhaps the predominating thought which haunted him was one of pity for his wife; there was no anger in his decision to part, and the proud, passionate nature of ft Mexican woman i was not to be judged too harshly. Revenge and desire for self-preservation, the environment and examples amid which she had been brought up, were amongst the excuses he found for her; and with all this was th< certainty that, as tune went on, their union would become a galling yoke to both. So a separation was agreed 10, and Devereux left Mexico after arranging for his wife's maintenance by entrusting tho sum of ten thousand pounds with Porfirio Loreto for her benefit. The notary undertook to guard it as he wot/Id have protected his own daughter's property, besides promising better interest for it than any other lawyer in Mexico could have done; and Devereux believed him. Perhaps if he could have known the anguish of Mario's soul when she and ho said good-bye to each other he would have hesitated to leave her. It was as though she did not realise that they would never meet again, for the eyes were tearless, and returned his last look with a patient, pathetic gaze. But chance of happiness id the Casa Pueblo was over, and ho had turned from tho house knowing nothing of the-agony she suffered. Her stoical pride and strength of will ■ prevented her from breaking down or pleading for him to remain, and it. was

pride that held her back from taking a peseta of the money Devereux had i dowered her with. A year ago news had i reached him that his wife had died. Such was the truth of Lancelot Devereux'e life in Mexico, and he ha. . felt an honest grief when he learnt that he was a free man again. Mane Duraago had loved him, and if his brief passion for her had changed to coldness, all tin manhood in him arose in £%£&** her dauntless courage and steadfast forth fulness. He had never really torritag vet now that she was dead lie "•{JJJJ her memory and forgot her »• '>' f ™ with all the inconsistency of hi.goner nature. Love as he had come to Inow * -the Mcrcdnwa and purity it-™* understood only when Cynthia Severne and he had plighted their troth. ■ The thought of what had happened to destroy all his plans and the impossibly of ever regaining Cynthia's outraged heart made him bitter. He had fled like ft coward instead of meeting a danger boldly, as he had done a score of times when his life was in peril, and the consciousness of being an outcast from society galied him as he sat watching the notary those few silent momenta. " I want to satisfy myself," he said at last. "Jose Eglegiaa may have told me a lie. I want the truth, from you, Lore to. "Naturally." And the notary smiled again. "It is not much ; Durango was an ailing man aiways-of great age also. One could not be surprised that he died. Devercux looked up sternly. "What I wish to know is whether my wife js living," he replied. " Never mind about old Durango." " His death occasioned changes at the Casa Pueblo," went on Loreto. "It is for that reason I spoke of him. Of his daughter I know nothing, except—" "Well, go on!" exclaimed Devereux, impatiently. "Let me hear what you do know." . . "It was a week after her fathers burial that your wife came to me," continued the other, demanding that I should give into her keeping the money you had entrusted me with. What was Ito say? What else could Ido but resign my trust? In two weeks the Sonora Devereux was in possession of ten thousand pounds. I expostulated. I proved how dangerous such a sum of money would be to her; but when did a woman ever listen to reason? I was powerless." Devereux was watching him with a lowering look. "I'm not asking about money," he growled. " Patience, senor, I come to my answer quickly," replied Loreto. "The senora came no more to my office. I heard nothing of her, although many inquiries were made; I believe she is dead." He spoke with conviction, and Devereux

got up from his chair. " Eglesias was fairly explicit, and I had nothing to prove my wife's death, beyond a letter which an old companion of mine wrote me about twelve months ago. He was a man named Fernando Lopez. Perhaps you've heard of him?" " He was shot by order of the President ten months since. A brave man was Fernando Lopez, but unfortunate," answered the notary, casually. " I believed him, anyway," went on Devereux. " Like a fool, you'll say." Loreto repudiated the suggestion with his eloquent, thin hands. "Be that as it may," continued his visitor, "I dared not disbelieve Eglesias, and I must find out the truth about my wife." Porfirio Loreto was thinking. If Senor Devereux found out all the truth of what had happened since separating from hie wife matters would certainly assume a serious aspect. The whole affair promised to be unfortunate for Porfirio, because he had misappropriated the ten thousand pounds. He confessed this to himself at that moment; and Devereux was an angry

man at times—had he not seen the Englishman's mad rage? The senora had refused to accept even the interest of the money, therefore she would never have demanded the capital. Everything had been so placid hitherto that lie resented Devereux's unexpected appearance on the scene. "Jose Eglesias is a great villain," he remarked. "I don't require to be told that." i " A dangerous man." "I rather fancy that's what he found me to be." replied Devereux, grimly. "I'm afraid I hurt him." " One who never forgives," said the notary, not heeding tho answer. " A sly fellow also." Devereux turned impatiently, for the futile conversation irritated him, and ho crossed to the door. , " Where do you go, 6enor?" asked Lorcto,' quietly. "I'm going to the Casa Pueblo at daybreak," answered Devereux. And he strod* out of the office, leaving the notary rolling another cigarette absent-mindedly. 'I hen he had thrown it away, and, sitting down at his desk, he scrawled a letter hurriedly. "It will be good if Senor Devereux never returns to England." he muttered ; " but one must act with caution," and he quitted the office with the letter in his hand, sauntering out of the pleasant shade Devereux ignored tho occassional appear(To be continued on Saturday next.)