AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15504, 10 January 1914, Page 3 (Supplement)

AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS.

Author of " All Men Are Liars." " Tha Scarlet Woman," etc., etc.

A NOVEL BY JOSEPH HOCKING,

COPYKIGHT. PART I. CHAPTER Vl—(Continued.) It was evident that he believed every word I said. I saw his huge nostrils dilate, while into his pale watery eyes came a look of wonder and awe. "But I mean you no harm, Bill, and I'll be your friend if you promise to do what I tell you." He nodded his assent. "You must not tell Imla nor Bathsheba that you've seen me. You understand— you must not tell anyone. You promise me thi6?" He nodded. "If you break your promise, I shall know," I said. "Night or day, darkness or light, I shall know, and then—" " I'll never tell anyone," he stammered. "Not the man who came with Imla yesterday." "I'll never tell any one," he stammered. "That'll do," I said. "It may be that I shall want you to do things for me. I don't know. But you must be silent." I led him away out of sight of the house. " Bill," I said, " why were you wandering about with Satan .'" "Imla told me to." "Why?" "To watch." "To watch what ?" "I dunnaw. He tould me not to laive anvone get away." "Who is there to get away?" "I dunnaw." "How long have you been doing this ?" "I dunnaw." "Do you sleep here ?" "I slaip in the out 'ouse, in the straw. (Sheba do give me mait." "Have you ever heard noises in the house?" "Mustn't tell." "Who told you not to tell?" "Imla." "You mostly sleep through the day and watch through the night?" " ah." This was his word for yes, and he nodded his head as he spoke. "But you have-heard noises?" "Ghosts;" and he shuddered as the words passed his lips. "Have you ever seen them?" "No."

"BUI, you are not telling me the truth, ion have seen them. Remember what I said " "Only waunce. May I vail doun dead ounly wance." * "When was that?" "Dunnaw, long time gone. They corned 3? S arden > and Satan frightened 'em." «'? V d ' d y ° know thev were ghosts V t Imla said so. Aw there—l've tould ee, and Imla said I musn't zay nothin' to nobody." Beyond this I could learn nothing from am. tie had practically no powers of reasoning, and his memory was very vague There seemed to be out one fixed thought in his mental horizon; lie must blindly obey Imla. J I started my tour of inspection around the house and ere long was able to form a fairly good idea of the building One thing especially struck mtTdurmg the examination, and that w«« the narrow-, ness between the stone millions of the windows The. house was undoubtedly of considerable age, and although a fine specimen of Jacobean architecture might easily have been used as a prison. The walls were of granite and of immense thickness, and the mullions were so narrow that not even a boy of twelve could have squeezed his way through them In the centre of the building there were only two storeys, but the architect had i arranged for a third storey in the' two i wings. These, judging from the number ot the dormer windows, contained several rooms. As may be imagined the house was of consderable dimensions. Altogether, there must have been from fifteen to twenty rooms on tie upper floors Tlie Toom in which I had slept was situated in the smaller of the two wings and was a considerable distance from those in the other. Judging from the thickness of the walls it would' be impossible for me to hear anything that mieht take place at the other end of the house.

My investigations had made me bu little wiser I found my way around th, whole building, but neither heard no saw anything which at first sight seemec important. Several of the rooms wen closely shuttered, while others were s< overgrown with ivy and were so dark that nothing within was discernible. Silence reigned everywhere. Dawn wai breaking, but no one seemed awake 1 dared not do anything to attract attention, and ere long I found my way back to my room again. This I did Without difficulty or mishap. Indeed, I wondered at the ease with which I was able to get out and to return. It seemed to me that the natural thing for Itcla to do beside bolting the front door' would have been to have locked it, and to have kept the key m his possession, but concernmg this I learnt something later on On returning to my room I reflected on the purport of what I had done, and truth to tell I was very much dissatisfied. . I had exposed myself to no purpose. Possibly there was a wound on batan« head. At any rate, I felt; sure that he would he around like a thine dead for the rest of the day. If Iralf Jordan saw him, as most likely he would he would naturally want to know how it came to be. This would lead to the idiot being questioned, and although I had frightened him I was not sure that Imla might not drug the truth from him. Still, what was done could not be undone, and my investigations might hot be in vain. I had reconnoitred the position, and I had a good idea of the nature and dimensions of the house. Moreover, on carefully considering everything, 'one thine struck me as being important. I believed I had hit upon the part of the house most likely to be used for confining the prisoners. This was in the large wing at the opposite end of the house to that in which I had slept. The windows on the ground floor were all shuttered and those on the second floor were about fifteen feet above a piece of waste ground which was at one time a garden, but was now a wilderness of oversown shrubs. Beyond this piece of ground was a wall, almost hidden by trees and bushes, but still discernible. This wall was, I judged, twelve feet high, but by no means difficult to climb, on account "f the trees which grew in close proximity. i When I went down to breakfast at eight o'clock lima Jordan had not yet arrived although Bathsheba was there preparing for the morning meal. i! "Mr. Jordan not down yet?" I asked. She shook her head.

"He's late this morning." The woman went- on working, and did not reply. I thought she was in a. bad temper. A little later lima appeared, looking haggard and heavy-eyed. J "Slept well?" was" his greeting. "I dreamt a lot." I replied; "but I've had a good night." fr "Been up long?" "Nearly half an hour, I should think How are you ? Yon look seedy." He waited until Bathsheba had left the room before he replied. "I made a fool of myself after you'd gone to bed last night. * I was so excited about what y;a told me that I took too much grog. I slept like a log, but I feel half dead this morning." "A bad headache?" "Splitting:. But then, what can you J expect? I have been—" he stopped suddenly. ''When do you think you'll get ! those things." * ° "They'll be sent off this morning at the latest," I replied. "I should think they'll be delivered at St. Meryan to-morrow morning. If not, the morning after. Bv the way, do you get a morning paper" * "No. Brewer of Tanhillv has a morning paper, but no one else for miles around." "Where is Tanhilly?" "Close by St. Cormoran.'* . - -

"But there's an inn at St. ConnoraUr '' *- ' ?1 Won't they take one there?" - ; "I doubt it. Why in the world do you want a morning paper?" "I want to know what's taking place in. the world. , I think I'll walk over to St. Cormoran presently." "It's five miles, and most likely you'll not get it." "I'll try anyhow." "But you'll come back? Promise me that; promise you won't desert me." There was no mistaking the anxiety ini his voice. The man evidently believed that his only hope lay in me. "If I start right away i can be back bv one or two o'clock.'' "And you will come back, won't you? Promise you will." "Of course I will." He sat thinking a few seconds, ar.d then burst out suddcntly. "All right, I'll .show you the best way. Yes. yes, all right. Have you finished breakfast ? Yes Then you can start at once." I followed him into the hall, and we went together out into the courtyard. He gav e a shrill whistle, and I saw Bill the idiot coming towards us. "This chap isn't all there," he said, tapping his forehead; but he can do as he's told. I keep him to do odd jobs around the place. Bill, have you chained up Satan?" Bill looked at me furtively, and nodded his head. "It's all right," said Imla. "Come on." He led me through some fields, and presently pointed to a lane. "There, you. can't miss the way now. Get into the lane, and follow it till you get to the maim road. I'll lead you straight to St. Cormor«n.'* He spoke in an anxious, nervous sort of fashion, and from the way he hurried over the fields I was sure he was anxious to be rid of me. Something was working in his mind and I wanted to know what it was. "Look here," he said hastily; "you'll be sure to come back?" "Certainly." "That's right. Be sure to come back through these fields and you'll promise nob to tell anyone at St. Cormcran that you are staying at Trevadlock ! You'll not tell, will vou?' "No. I'll not tell, but why?" " Nothing, onlv you've promised not to tell." . Ho turned on his heel, and hurried back, while I made my way towards the lane. But I did not go far. His manner had made me suspicious. After following the lane some distance, I made a survey '." of the country-side, and then, taking a "'„" circuitous route, I approached the house - from another direction It might end in nothing i but the look in his eyes and his ..'" manner meant something. I approached the house by the sido where the wall which I have already mentioned was situated. I was completely hidden from view by the coppice which, grew in that part of the grounds and ';.. J without difficulty I made my way to the . :'| wall.' The trees did not grow so close \; / to the wall on this side as on the other, but I managed to climb it, although at

some distance from the point I aimed at. j I had therefore to make my way along J-' the coping, which was?sharp and pointed. Vl-, I was now at the nearest point to the " r windows I had marked, but-on account of - the leaves which had not yet begun to fall C I could' neither hear nor see anything. ■' ~ • I listened eagerly, so as to catch the '. ' slightest sound, but although it was " one - ■ of those silept days in early autumn, noth- " : ing reached me. Still' I determined to : 'f": : \z wait. I had convinced Lrtla Jordan, tnat '"; I had gone to St. Cormoran and that;! "%* should not be back until one "or two Jr'i o'clock, and I could not get rid of the ; -' v • idea that, although he was anxious that: ■ '•;_.. I should not return, he welcomett the : /3f 7 thought of my being away from the house. v Even after I had sat listening sin vain for £l If half an hour I believed there was something in his mind that' it wotu&adv&n- ' ;. I tage me to know; if I was; to help thai?" two women who" had paid me' spell a ■•'•"; strange visit during the night. ."'?*' -• : ■--''- Presently I came to the conclusion that - - I was acting the part of a madman. Prob>,. , ably Imla's anxiety to get rid of me was/ . because he himself wanted .'to get away,. ?/ that morning, and that my absence; would , give him his opportunity. My plafliihere- •.* • fore would be to raake-eertein of .this and ■~_■ then' act accordingly. ' _'T >I therefore quietly descended from the) wall and started in search of Bill, who,l. ."".' thought would be aware of Imla's.move- .',,. mentis. But he was nowhere to be seen.- _;.,.•■ I went into such ■of the outhouses as were "~ ';" open, but in vain. As I passed through,; .xtY' : a. yard I saw the dog Satan -euded ,up m ','.".. : a'' huge kennel. He bunked as he. saw nif, ■ ; „_. and gave a low whine; bat he made Jbu»'\.{„ 1; attempt to get at me, rather :he crept fijiv ,;, ther into the kennel I .went close to "- him and looked steadily at him. .'..,. ..-.lv'l?

" Silence, sir," I said in a- low .voiced'.,. 1';... J The dog ceased whining. . ',' _-, ... ~-,: ;,,;,' "Yob would like to be at my throat,;^ U yoa brute," I said; "but you are afraid . '.\ of me and you are afraid ot me because I ''■*..'.". r i am not afraid of you. Do you under-'. .1?= stand? I am not afraid of you." '„ ..._ .i I believe he did understand. He looked |at me out of his evil eyes, but lie made nal 1-. f sound. ' . -v I found my way to the stables, but the | 'A door was locked. There was a. sound of &.'',•'.'",--, horse's hoofs on the pavement, but that- , •" might mean nothing. Imla, might possess more than one horse. , V '\^-,;- : _ After a' further vain search --I-'saw-as - little gate which had escaped me during my early visit that morning. It was ■, ; locked, but I managed to.climb over .. and found that it Ted: to a port of the* gardens which I had not hitherto noticed; "' For that matter, it was another garden, ". divided from the main garden by a high wall, and was probably built with the intention of growing fruit. -I had not >> '■';■. gone a dozen yards when I heard voices* Looking between the leaves of;, a huge.. ~-"; rhododendron bush, I saw Imla Jordan,-\ - " while near to him was. the girl I had-seen ■■.-'•'-' during the night. ;.-''■■■ •,-. ' , - ( ~.j; Noiselessly! crept towards them, until ,-:, there was only a. few feet between,; is. I could both see, and hear, plainly, while I was completely hidden from their view. The girl wore an old shabby frock,;. at first glance might have been taken as - a maid of all work, but her bearing, iter look would have destroyed such a thought : immediately. Shabbily as she was--clothed, helpless as she seemed' to be, there was that in her appearance which drove all such thoughts away." In spite of everything, she might bo the owner of the old house and all the lands surrounding it, while Imla Jordan might be her servant. And yet there was a look of horror in her eyes, while her hands, coarsened by labour, clenched and unclenched themselves nervously. On the other hand, Imla looked at her with conscious power in his eyes. She might be a maid of high de» gree, while he. as, he stood by her side, looked like a clown. And yet the clowo had her in his power, the clown was has naster, and she was afraid of him. (To be continued daily.)