AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LI, Issue 15521, 31 January 1914, Page 3 (Supplement)

AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS.

A NOVEL BY JOSEPH HOCKING, Author of " All Mori Are Liars," " Tha Scarlet Woman." etc., eto.

COPYRIGHT. PART 11. CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued.) Twenty years before Parson Wise must have been a good specimen of the foxhunting parson, and even now I could fancy him mounting his horse gaily at the cry of "Tally ho!" He was at least seventy years of age, and while somewhat lame and bent by rheumatism, showed that in his youth he must have been a Hercules for strength. His voice was somewhat quavering, but the fire of youth still burnt in his eye. "Dr. David Launceston," he said, " don't think I know you, do I? No relation of the Launcestons of Launceston, by any chance?" On my telling him that I was, his welcome became very warm. "Sit down, man, sit down!" he cried. "Have you dined? I've had my evening meal, but thank God there's something to eat in the house. You've had something at the Queen's Head, eh? But it's not too late for a glass of port and a cigar." He rang the bell furiously and ordered refreshments as though he delighted in doing so. "Don't talk about intrusion," he cried, as I made my apologies for calling. " I am glad to see you. It's a godsend in this benighted part of the world, is a man with whom one can speak on equal terms. I'm a lonely man, Dr. Launceston. That's tin saddest thing about growing old. It's I not that I feel my age so much, but I've had to bury my friends. Years ago there was a quartette of us, but now I'm'the only 0..d left —only one left;" and he sighed. "You're sure you wouldn't rather have a brandy grog?" he continued, as the servant entered, bearing a salver. "No? That's the worst of you of the younger generation—you are so—abstemious. Still, here you are. Oh, yes, as I said, in the old days there were four of us. There wis Monntleven, and Phillpot the doctor, and Sir Charles Tresize, and myself. It was always possible to get ,a rubber of whist in those days, and each one of us was a seasoned drinker. Not but whatPhillpot drank too much. I'll admit that. He suffered agonies with gout, and died before his time. He was three years younger than I, and yet he went first. But a clever doctor, mind you, and • a gentleman. As for the fellow * who's got his practice, he's impossible, sir, impossible. In the old days a doctor and a parson was always a gentleman, always,. but now well, anybody gets into the professions.' Here's this Education Bill, just passed. It's a sigh of decay, I say, and will ruin the country." I let the old man ramble on, putting to only a word now and . then, in order to keep him communicative. When presently lie discovered that I was at Cambridge with the sons of men he knew lie declared that he would not let me leave the bouse "before midnight. "Oh, don't tell me," he cried with . a laugh, "I'll send up word to Bouiidy. For that matter, why shouldn't, you sleep here ? I'm a lonely man, sir, and glad to see you." /: . ■ I Presently I led the conversation into the channel I desired. "I want to be very frank with you, Mr. Wise," I said. . " I want to know certain facts in connection vrffch a family that you have known intimately for many years." "What familv?" he asked. "Tile Mountleven family." ; . : f A shadow came over his face. ' "Ned Mountleven was like a brother to me, sir, just like a brother. When he was bedridden I hardly ever missed going to see him for a single day. Neither did - Phill- j pot, while up to the last three months be went over three nights a. week for a game i of cards. It was a good way for Tresize to go, but he always turned up. Ah, and Wasn't Ned keen too!- He played the soundest game of whist of ,any man i ever knew. But there, he's gone, sir, he's gone, and I' buried' him. I neatly broke down as I read the service. You see—" and the old parson took out his handkerchief. and mopped his eyes. "But what do you want . to know about the " Mounts levens, Launceston?". , ... " "I may seem inordinately inquisitive," I said, '"but believe me, Mr. Wise, I'm not so without reason. I can't tell you the reason I have for asking about the family, I'm under a solemn pledge not to do so. But the matter's serious. Can you tell me if ' there's something wrong with the family?" • ' ■ « "Wrong? Good Lord, sir, everything's wrong, everything! It's enough to break one's heart! But I'm not at liberty to betray family secrets, no, I'm not." "Not if by so doing you may help to right great wrongs'?" " "Look here, Dr. Launceston"—and the gentlemen of the old school appeared in every word— said just now that you could not give me your reasons for asking about them. A solemn pledge kept you. Bearing that in mind you can understand me. The honour of the Mountleven name is nearly as dear to me as that of my own. Ned Mountleven was my dearest friend, and as his friend and clergyman—well, you can see how it is." "Perfectly." I said, "perfectly, and I realise that I may seem to be breaking over the bounds of decency in prying into the matter at all. But there are serious reasons, Mr. Wise, very serious reasons. Some day I hope to be able to .-you all about them. But I can't do so now. All the same I want to right a great wrong. I want to free two people from a ghastly slavery. I'm a good deal in the dark, and I seem to be beset by insuperable diffi-} culties. Be that as it may, I've traced the matter to Mountleven, and I've come to you, because I judge that as a friend of the family you know much about them, and might without betraying any trust, let light shine on my darkness.' . - He looked at me steadily, and I thought his ruddy face became pale. I saw that his hand trembled too, and his lips quivered. "Look here," he said presently, "do you know anything about the family ?" . f ' Practically nothing,'' I said, "nothing but what Boundy and his wife at the inn yonder could tell me." "And—and you don't" know Leonard Mountleven—the present squire?" "No." " Ever saw him ?" " Not to my knowledge." "Nor that—that devil Prideaux, or whatever his name is?" "I've seen him; but I know practically nothing about him." He hesitated some seconds, then he burst out: By gad, I'll tell you all I dare to tell." CHAPTER VII. He poured himself another glass of wine as he spoke and then threw on more coals. I'm sorry you don't drink," he said, " ah, young men are sadly degenerating, but take another cigar. That's it. Now tell me exactly what you want to know."' " I want to know all it is possible to know about the late Squire Mountleven's two sons," I said after a moment's hesitation"Edward and Leonard —and also about the man Prideaux." " What about them he asked. "Tell me precisely what you want to know!" As the reader can at once see, this was not so easy. I was largely in the dark, and the reasons which led me to connect Avenel and her mother with the Mountleven family largely rested on surmise. I think that the real reason which led me to make inquiries about the Mountlevens. was that I hoped thereby to learn more about Prideaux. "Well, let me begin with Edward, I said presently; " he a dead, isn t he. Ho did not answer for some seconds, then he said slowly! " Yes, he's dead." , I did not understand the way in which he spoke. The hesitation, the peculiar intonation set me thinking. _ . , "Where did he die? I asked. " Abroad ?" "No;" and his voice seemed sepulchral, then ho added, " Let us say no more about him." , , „ t Why was he not & good fellow!" I persisted. , . ■ - "iJ

■ . " Good fellow! A better. lad neve? . breathed". ' AT. brilliant 'man ;■: too. .... Time was whenhis father—" ' -He stopped' 7 Suddenly . and mopped his forehead." ■:i •" '.i~ :'>'.'; " Was be married ?" Yes, and there—yes,' I can tell yon that. He married against his father's ■■■ wishes. She was the daughter of a boor proud fellow between whom and my friend Ned was a deadly feud. ' She was never • seen at Mountleven, although Ned was getting over it. Indeed, I believe it Would have been all right but for—but there, he's dead." Again that peculiar intonation. "What did he die of?" . - " Suicide!" I was silent for a moment, and then I was startled. The old man's eyes became suddenly bloodshot, and he rose to his feet. "Mind, I don't believe a word of it," he cried, " not a word of it. No Mountleven could do it. They are not that sort. Besides, I knew the boy Ned.. Straight as an arrow he was, and as brave as a lion. No, I don't believe it. But there, I'll not say another word about him not another word!" "Did you ever see his wife?" I persisted. " No, never." "Do you know anything about her or her family besides what you have told me?" " She was an Edgecumbe." "Do you know if they had any children ?" "I believe —yes, one childa girl." My heart beat wildly. Yes, my surmise rested on facts. I was discovering the truth. "How long ago was it since he died,?". I asked. ■ ...... ... " I told you I would not say another . word about him," he cried. "Why do you pain me ?" " Because I want to know the truth," I replied, "because I want to right si great wrong. When did he die ?" "About six years ago;" and he didn't seem to be aware that he was speaking. Yes, everything tallied. I believed I had found out the name and family of the two women I had found in the lonely house. But there was more to learn. "And Leonard, the present squire?"• I asked. "Of course you knew him ?".... "Very little. The two brothers were entirely different. Edward ..was open, frank, a British soldier every inch, of .him. Leonard was quiet, reserved secret as as oyster. Edward was a sportsman, every inch of him. Leonard never handled a gun, cared nothing for dogs .or horses. You see, although they had the, same father they had different mothers, that explains the difference. Of course, Leonard was made a magistrate for the county, but he's seldom in Cornwall. Ha leads a secret life. ,He was always a mystery to everyone.", . • .<«..-;%. -> - ■ Again my heart beat fast. "Can you describe his .. personal appearance?',.! asked. " '. V ,;■- ~....-..,.,. ..,,.. „£>■--..«♦ "Oh, a good-looking chap,, not .so. tall, as. Ned—indeed, he was cast ir. ■ a smaller mould altogether, but ' good-looking—yes, good looking. 1 Rather light' hair, and fair. He took after his mother in that.: He was very clever, dabbled ■■, in science .^ and all that, and what friends he had belonged to that class." ■■ • : ... .'.. ; ... t v . .",,., "And steady?"- ' ' ,' ■"."'.•*■. "Too blessed steady.. He hadn't ■ a'; single vice— is, that we knew of.", Arid were the brothers .friendly ?"■-..;,.. "As far as I know. But they had nothing in common—nothing. Of course, Edward after, his marriage was—well, banished. ;* But he loved Mountleveh jloyed-; every wood - arid field and hill i and dale onthe estate. Many's the ride I've had with, him. But Leonard was different ,; ( .He, seemed to care nothing about the place. ' _ "And that's all?" ; "Yes, -that's all, ' except "that he, had-; hardly ever lived at Mountleven since ha>. came into.possession. jWiy^he^sslei-it—; actually let it. -Fancy, a Mountleven let-; ting Mountleven. Ned would have starved first." ; ■ ■ „", r " He let it to this man Prideaux? " Yes, and do you know;the fellow cairid to see met" "What; Prideaux?" - ." Yes,' he cam* to see me! Fancy, th« cheek ■ of .him! ■ He said he was a> tem- - poraryparishioner of mine, and all tno» .sort of thing, as though'l' could welcome a stranger who actually : rented ■mj/oli friend' Ned ' Mountleven's >; place. ■-' -— him, I wanted to wring his neck .all th»: time he was here!" ;; " Did he impress you favourably?";: "Does a vampire impress a mas favourably? -■ A face.as pale as. ashes, a head like an ; idiot, eyes that, seemed to bum into.you, a ghastly grin, and a soft oily voice. "''But there, he's, just he sort of fellow that Leonard would .bo friendly with. ; He told me - that : he took.Mount-; leven out of friendship and. hinted that Leonard wanted money. He professed .3 be a scientist, and I.hear he makes all sorts of chemical experiments there. But I never go near -the place now. How could I?" • • ,■••_..-'... '.. .- "And does Leonard ever come there?" "I think he's been there'once or twice."' " And -'yon know • nothing "'_;*- ; about this Prideaux than" you've lis?" "Nothing." * --• -V: : -: ..,, ;,„, t I sat another hour with.. the old man, but beyond what I; have here -written down I learned nothing. ".' "If ever you are in this neighbourhood again, >be sura to come , and ■- see I me,'.' he cried as I left. ' "Much Jof -the: conversa-, tion has been painful to me, but dene■. me good to see you. I wish.l were freeto tell you more, but I am an old man, Launceston, and Tiavo old-fashioned ideas about friendship. and the'honour of old names. Besides—but never mind about that. If ever you Me in Cornwall againy; be sure to,look me up." . -, ■ We stood on the steps of the house, and looked across the grounds, which 1 were' i plainly to be seen in th.3 light of the moon. : . ''"'■■""'. ■- " How silent it is," I marked; "arid ; what a thinly-populated district. I sup- \ pose, you seldom see strangers here?'.' "Scarcely ever.. Why should they come " ' - ■...-.Doubtless I had the two. men I had seen, that afternoon' in my,"mind,, and J grasped. my heavy thorn cudgel firmly in* my hand as I strode- down I? the driven. I kept a sharp look-out too, and'listened for every sound. I had scarcely passed through' the lodge gates when ;I saw. twdSdark: forms leaning against the hedge. I might ■ easily have missed th'e'm;' as f they "were i beneath the shadow of. a thick bush. Giving them a keen glance to assure myself that I had not been mistaken,' I" walked on. '" ; ' Not being sure that they did hot mean mischief I held myself ready for any emergency. Unless they .had firearms I felt sure 1 could give a good account of myself. But I was unmolested; evidently it was their purpose' to remain ' in. the dark. When I had walked a few hundred yards I stopped suddenly. Yes, there could be no doubt about it: > they were following me."" I heard their footsteps plainly, and they were not far behind. ' >. : y," A few minutes later I reached the Queen's Head, where ;I , found Bouiidyj the landlord, awaiting me. , ,1 .''!•, . "I am sorry I have kept you,up,';.; said. ".I did not expect to be so late.", •-..." Doan't matter, a bit, sir.. . Dick Beard, that the passon's man, corned and tould me you was over there. C: He expected you'd make a night ov et, he said. Would ee like to 'ave anything then, sur. afore you go to bed?" v *"■ to?" 1 that my intimacy with Parson Wise had. made Bouhdy communicative, I stayed a few minutes talking with him; but I could learn nothing which seemed to me of importance. His stories about the. ghosts , which haunted Mountleven were scarcely worth considering. As I \. have before stated, the Cornish people are very superstitious, and haunted .houses, were, in those days, as thick ,as :A blackberries. y . Early the following jaiorningT left St. Levels. .1 think I should have stayed -a': day or two longer, -probably have paid another visit :to Mountleven,. but^l\: had> : promised to leave ; for France the following day, and ..needed to ride : hard -in- order to. catch the afternoon train for: London. • As; it was, I should not be able to get, to my house till nearly midnight. ' ' ir £iy Calling at the first telegraph office "on the road, I sent a telegram to my house-S keeper, telling of the time of-my arrival, and then pressed, oh- to Bodmin aS'-fast'. as my horse could' carry me. Nothing happened to me- on/the"way, arid I met but few people.' Indeed, ■my whole jour-. : ney to London was uneventful. (To he continued'daily.) '."."': '.■■'•■.'■•■" ■'■••' : '.'.' ;; ' ■" '■■££■& j ";- J . : ..-_. . :: V , ;.'■ .. W W':" . , : .::f : : - "■■:.:■■. -. ..'■'- ' ''■■.'■■-.y.1:-. .'.'... -';.'.-.■ .Ov : .'.'• \W:-. ; '.i''