THE BATTLE OF THE GIANTS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18533, 18 October 1923, Page 3

THE BATTLE OF THE GIANTS

BY J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND. Author of: "The Splendid Sacrifice." "The Half-closed Door." ' • "Tho Felsate Taint." ■ ■'■•■. Etc..' Etc. .

(Copyright.)

CHAPTER XVlll.—(Continued.)

Tho door opened suddenly, and Conrad Humber came into the room. The approach of his. car to the other side of uie house had not been heard. Conoid Humber was wearing a heavy, leatherlined overcoat. His face was grim and hard, and he did not even smile as he .kissed his daughter and shook Mary by the hand. ■

Mother gone to bed?" he said to April; Yes," the. girl replied, and Humber turned to Mary Rixon. " I want to dictate some letters," he said, " if you wouldn't mind — late, I know, but they must go by the early post to-morrow. And there arc some documents I want copied— keep you up late, I'm afraid. April, my child, you'd better run off to bed." There was fear in April's eyes as she saw the deep lines in her father's face, oho had never seen him like this before. There had been many ups and downs iii lis, life, but never had he been like this. Ho was afraid, and it had always been his boast that there was nothing in the world that could make him afraid.

She flung her arms round him, kissed him, and said, " Father, dear, you won't sit up late, will you ? You look so dreadfully tired." " Oh, I'm as strong as a giant," he replied. " I could sit up all night, and walk twenty miles in the morning. Goodnight, little April." He kissed her, and she left tho room. Then he lit a cigar, and glanced at Mary Rixan who was standing by the fire, holding but her hands to the cheerful blaze. <

."I'm afraid you'll have to find a home somewhere else," he said, curtly. " But that won't trouble you, as you're going f o be married to Mr. Price. You may as vvell know that everyone . will know tomorrow the SaTigaya estates are worthless, and that the N.W. Finance Corporation is in for a. rotten time." "Oh, Mr. Humber, I am so sorry; b"t it isn't really as bad as all that, is it?"

"It'll very likely mean liquidation for the Company, and bankruptcy for myself. Well, we won't talk about that."

" Yes, please, I want to know. Perhaps I can help you." - "You? Look here, Miss Rixon, I'm not sure whether you're an or a friend. You've got, those papers of Rixon's. I- knew that when I found that playing-card in the grate at Price's lodgings.- Rixon was out for blackmail. Well, I'm not worth blackmailing now.'' v " What papers, Mr. Humber?" " It's not the time for any nonsense," he said, savagely. *" You know what I mean. You've .got, those papers— 'otter from Margesson to Rixon, the message on the envelope. Are you my j'riend or are you going to betray me?" "I am you're friend," she faltered. . " Then fetch those papers from your room and burn them here —in the grate." " I have not got them, Mr. Humber." " Bring them here to me and I -will Deli eve that you are my friend." "But I tell you that I have not got ; them." ! " What have youi done with them?" ho said slowly, and then he stepped* forward and caught hold of her arm. His fingers hurt her delicate . flesh. And as lie touched her he saw the malice and hatred in her eyes. "I am your friend," she whispered. "You're not the kind of friend 1 want." he answered, with terrible emphasis. Then he caught - her by the shoulder with his other "hand, and his lingers moved toward her throat. She did not swoon; she merely said, " I don't care if you choke the life out of me. In fact, I'd be rather glad. You'd get hung for that—-you thief and card-sharper." His fingers touched the flesh of her throat, but she did not shrink, or struggle or cry out.' Shs just smiled at him a,' though he were some little child. Why do you. hate me?" he asked "Have I not been kind to you ? Conic any man have 'been more kind to a; gir who passed as the daughter of hii inemy?" '% -

She _ did not answer Mm, ' and ho shook her violently, J gripping her by the arm and shoulder, as he asked her the question again. .yi ".. ) "I hate you,": she , answered, ''-because you nearly tortured Richard- Margesson to death. And Richard Margesson was my love/, and you killed his love for me, as you killed everything else that was good in him. You left him nothing but his life. And though I hate him now, it is you that I hate most." ' Conrad Humber laughed and let go oi her. The very violence of her outburst had acted as a sedative to his passions. "If it is a question of money," he said after a pause. "It is true that I shall not have much left, but. just now 1' could —" ■ .}■■ ' ■ ,;

. ' And defraud your creditors?" she sneered. " No, I have nothing to sell, Mr. - Humber. But I can give you some news for nothing. Richard Margesson, is alive, and he has destroyed you." .'■■■''l--Humber shrugged his shoulders. He did not believe that Margesson was alive. "He has destroyed you, and he goes down with you into destruction," she continued." " The lov.» of a woman might have saved him. But it came too late." Sho paused for a few moments and then sho' laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, much too late. And It wasn't the right woman; 1 Mr. Humber—your .own daughternow, perhaps, you' will understand." Conrad Humber -understood and was astonished at his own stupidity, as men often are, when they discover something that should. have been, according to their own opinion, obvious from .the ve'rv first; Conrad Humber did not allow for the fact that he had believed Margesson to -be dead and that he had- long ceased to look for Margesson. Now he 'remembered many ittle things about John Price, and he knew that this woman, who had ■ been scorned, was speaking the truth. "I-am sorry,* he said after a - long silence. ■ • •

"For yourself, eh?" : laughed 'Mary Rixon, moving towards the door. No, for you— for; Richard Margesson—and: most of all for my, little daughter. ; She at any rate, might have been spared." " By. meV.Why should I have spared her, or you?" • ■" By you, : Miss. Rixon— you are nothing. I was thinking of; Providence. No woman ever spares another. Well' you'd better'•. get.'.; along to bed, hadn't you I don't know th.it I bear you any ill will. Perhaps it was just as well that I should know the truth. And you— well, you have suffered." , A long pause and;., then, " Good-night," Miss Rixon, and when you think the worst of me, remember that I was kind lo you." He turned on . his heel and left the room. . Later, on, April, looking out from her window, saw him pacing * up and down the lawn, a dim., grey figure in-the star-light. Then he disappeared; and she went to bed and lay awake listening for his return.. , . . .

: ,;Iwo hours' later .she heard his footsteps and the closing, of his door. And she remembered that other night when sho had lain awake, waiting for .. him— tho night when William Eixon had died.

; CHAPTER XIX. "You may as well tell her yourself," said Mary Bison the next morning, when Humber 'drove her. to Bexhill station. "If you don't. I shall do so. >Shc. knows already that his name isn't Price, and that ho. is Richard Margesson'. ■ But she does not know that, Richard Margesson has got his own back, and that you have only got what you deserve. You must tell* her that, or I shall see that she- reads Margesson's. letter and the inscription on the envelope." • .." 1 shall 'tell her," Hum.bcr answered quietly. "I have often meant to tell her. But tin's other matter? You don't ; know that Margesso\*. has had any part lin the Sangaya swindle, and I shan't. : believe it of him." until I have proof.";V I You'll ; gel it very soon,*',, she; said ' with a i laugh. "Oh, yes—very .soon,' I : expect."

She would tell him- no more than this —would answer hone of : his -questions. He left her at i the % station and did TO . even wait until her train departed— her there just as ho might have lett a piece of luggage. And he drove straight back to the bungalow at Coodon, and told April everything. She was reading the morning paper when he found : her, and she already ; knew of the blow -thai had fallen. She flung her arms round his neck and j cried out, "Does this mean a terrible loss of money?" and he .answered, " I'm afraid so. my dear little April." ' .'• ''■' '- ; it / ' :.-., Arid then ho told her : everything—told her of. his own crime, and hinted at Margesson's revenge, .il, ..■■ <.'♦•» " The woman has no proof of that, ho said, " and I do not believe m it myself. But I promised her I would tell you everything. It's possible, of course, fit 'shouldn't wonder at anything that Margesson might do to me." t . " Mary Rixon has told you a he,' she said, after a long silence. But she knew that Mary Rixon had told the truth. She knew now why Richard Margessou had refused to eat a single mouthful of food in her father's house—why. save in that one moment of madness, he had kept apart from her—the woman he loved. She now understood all that happened that night by the little inn—why she had tempted him in vain.' This stood between them—this .terrible crime of the pasther father's Richard Margesson's ven-. geance. ' . . , • "I must try and. pub things right, April said to herself. . ' '■•" . That -was her simple creed. She believed that she could put things right, as she .called it. As yet she saw no way out of the cold and the darkness and .the misery. The loss •of the money would be the leas| evil that they would have to bear. For the moment she put aside all self. Hardly as yet could she realise that she was looking at the broken fragments of her two -idolsher kindly father! the man she loved! Broken and showing the clay from which- they had been made! Was that her father sitting there, his face buried in his hands, crying as though he were a woman like herself? She moved a • little forward and laid her hand on the table, just touching it with the tips of her fingers. She paused, and then moved a little nearer to him. Another step and she would be by his side. She stood motionless, and then, ! ashamed of herself and utterly wretched, she shrank back with loathing from a man who ihad cheated ano'ther of his life, though the man was her own. kindly father. ,r. '-~-' .'■■' . v. f Her .first. impulse had been to put her arms round his neck and say that his crime made no difference to her—that it was long ago—that Richard MargeSiion was alive—that he, her father, had- atoned by. years of repentance. All that«was what ' she had ' intended to say, and what she i ought to have said. \ : ; But she said nothing. Her resolution .to " try and put things right", ihad come to nothing. The higher part of her nature had failed miserably. The emotional part of it had made her. sick with horror. If she had touched her father on the shoulder, if she had so much as spoken a kind word to him, he would have caught her in his arms and kissed her; and she shrank from physical contact with him.' The story he had told her—his confession— had risen too vividly before her eyes. She had pictured it all, as though she had' been present. It had blotted out all reason, all _ pity, all her efforts to think only of that broken . man in the chair .by the table, and save him from his enemies.

Her father! Her own father! . She ■ sank on her knees by the bedside and then reeled to the floor. j , • The /sunlight came through the open window and touched her golden , brown hair. ; '.'. ' : '' .' ":'"'■ ':.:■:■:■ \h,- ; Conrad Humber did not go in search of his daughter. He heard the door close behind her, and he did not raise his head, It. seemed natural to him that she should have left him ;to bear his own burdens. He could well understand that, however much she loved him, she was bound to shrink from him at this moment. ■':.'. " He was glad that she had left (Ilia room. He wanted to .be alone. Nothing that either of them could have said to the' other would have altered the : facts. x Id was better indeed that they did not; see each other for a very long time. Various matters;. would focus themselves. arid seem plainer to both of them. It was horrible—this ■ thing ;';..' that had happened through the jealousy ;'of , a woman. And yet -he could make allowances for Mary Rixon, as she called herself. His thoughts turned to ; his daughter's love for Richard Margesson. No doubt that love had been broken, but riot perhaps beyond all mending. Hers was the double punishmentto know that her father was a mean criminal, and that the man she loved was capable of a mean revenge. ( - ' ;':- : -" ,; ' ( " s' ; - '.'.-" Yet that is not quite certain." said Conrad Humber to himself. '•" I have only Mary Rixon's word for that." • „•; ; His mind went back to the events of the previous day' when lie had been fa London—events that were now recalled in t>e newspapers. The eminent mining engineer who had reported on the Sangaya' properties had committed suicide, and had lefj behind him a statement to the effect that he had been bribed by Frayden '.toVriiak* a favourable report. - It' appeared that thj expert—so eminent that he was absolutely above \ all suspicion been ■ deeply in .debt, and that Frayden -{ had: paid him | £25,000 for his report. i,-, There > actually had been a small rich deposit of gold in the gravel bed of an old creek, but most of this had already been taken from tlm workings.' r;In:; various ]■ places Frayden himself had distributed ; the : gold. ■':, It was a fraud easily ; : seen through, : and] the eminent mining engineer had seen through it; But Frayclen had bought his silenco. And now the 1 expert was -dead, and ; had ' left behind him a" statement \ of the: facts. - And now? : Well, iso far as he, Conrad Humber, was \ concerned, £300,000 r hit been' flung into a bottomless .: pit. ! _ ' And never again\ would anyone believe in an,, scheme backed by Conrad Humber or his friends:? The "N.W. Finance; Corporation, was dead, so far as the outside public was concerned. ' -"' ; • ! : i- "I can savo nothing out of the, wrecu but April's happiness," thought the financier. ,And he thrust all thought of money aside. He must findillichardiMargessoiii make peace with him, go on his knees to He bore Margesson'rio ill-will. It wis not even certain that Richard Margesson had anything > whatever' to do ; with this crash of ruin. * .v,- > '

Before April had left her bedroom, Conrad umber was in his car on his way back to London. ~ When': he arrived at his house he" discovered that his secretary had not been there at all that day. 'He telephoned to the office and: spoke to Underwood. , He learnt incidentally that the N. W. Finance Corporation shares were at £4; There was to be -a hoard meeting of the company at five, o'clock. But there was no news of Richard Margesson. ■' Hnmber, after telephoning numerous instructions to Underwood.' drove round .10 Ma'-ccsson's new roOnn, and learnt that the. " voting gentleman" had paid a wee* s , rent instead of giving the proper notice, bad packed up his few belongings, and had taken his departure in a cab. He nad asked for all letters to bo, forwarded to him at Conway House, but had left,no other address. ' Under ordinary mcumstances this might merely have meant that Richard MargessonJiad quarrelled vvi h his landlady and had gone out to fedc for other anartment*. But Humber knowing all that: Mary;. Rixon had 'old him, could only come Co one conclusion— that Marv Rixonhad spoken : the truth Richard Margesson had done his work, and was never going to meet his j enemy again." ' "And he said," thought Conrad Humber, " 'I must. stay here and help to pull you through.' " Those: >; had : been his very words. We'll, the N. W.: Finance Corporation would have been glad of any help I at this time. It would take the strength i of'giants to help it to its feet again. And, above all. it would want money, not a few thousand pounds./ but W hundreds of thousands of /pounds if it was.i ever going to regain its place in the world ,of fin-J ance again. ' * ;, It was late when Conrad* Humber left the board meeting;;: at which his fellow-; i directors ; had laid i all the blame on his shoulders, and later still—very much later

!—when he left the restaurant., where W had dined off a < bottle "of; champagne and. : some grilled- cutlets, .and* returned to Con-f way House. It was ,then nearly, eleven o'clock, and George, the sentimental footman,, said that Mr. John Price callea. : . had waited) for an hoar Jin .:the •; dining ■ room, and had then taken his departure. ? 'ln the dining room?" queried too financier, ",''', " <in? " Yes, sir," "the man replied. _ ; Js. wished it. and I didn't see no arm in is. -. doin' so. ' -Would you,like some supper, "No, thanks. You" can go to bed. Did Mr. Price leave any message ? " No, sir—no message at all. < Conrad Huraber made his way into the library and sat there for an hour, filling sheet upon" sheet of paper with k figures, and notes of what he would say at. the general meeting of shareholders, .which had already been called. ■ ; His brajn was tired, and the figures 'became.:: like an avalanche <of little black snowflakes that, , threatened 'to overwhelm him. - He rose to his feet and drank a brandy and soda. And then it was that he remembered the picture in the dining : room v That must go, at any rate. : It must be cut to pieces and burnt—: picture , which;; had -so _. often formed the theme of an heroic story. He made 'his way into the dining room and switched on the electric lights. /From> a where he stood -.by the door he ';■ could ee|r that the figure of Richard Margesson had * oeen painted out —and not unskilfully— : with white paint. .':■'.. ',;;,'•■'■'■ .•'.•< He, Conrad Humber, stood there alone in the snowholding out his 'hand to—. nothing. , "■ ■ - : Was it a parable or, a prophecy? Did it refer to the past or to the future? What did it mean ? Did it mean anything > serious at all ? Or was it the mere brutal v jest of a man who could not even respect the shame of honest repentance ? - >•; ', _ The next four months, passed like a - whirlwind over the heads of the Humber family. Conrad Humber had staged his. . entire fortune on the success of the San- J I gaya Mines, and he had lost it. The ~,, shares of the N.W. Finance .Cor- ■; poration were only worth a few shillings a piece. He had even ; mortgaged Conway ' House to pay the calls on the new issue, and for some , ■ little time he had been living oh credit. : The expenses* of his household were enormous, and he ,was forced to sell.most of .:. his furniture, and works of art to pay : his . debts. And then followed an action for . ...

libel against a shareholder who stated openly that he, Conrad Huraber, ; had known all along that the Sangaya pro* position was .a swindle. The action, carried to , the Court of Appeal, cost him £8000, and he received a farthing damages. His financial iuin -was complete. Yet- perhaps never before had he risen to such heights of dignity and calm fortitude. ,Ho fought his Wattle .fiercely, and gave way inch by inch. And he never complained. It almost seemed as thoueh he were content with his misfortune: Ho

looked older, but ho smiled more often. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Richard Margesson was alive, and he no longer" owed Richard Marges-' son anything. ; And that was not the only new ; pleasure that had come into his new life. : April's first feelings of aversion: and \ horror had given place ;to admiration. v It. was no longer, her father who seemed to be the criminal, but Richard ; Margesson. : She bore her own sorrow in 'silence,'and kept it out of sight. ; She was a little' paler, a little more grave of -j speech than' che had : been before the catastrophe, but she made light '■ of all their -financial troubles, and did most of the work in the little house Conrad Humber had taken . in West Kensington. ":'■ %

(To be concluded to-morrow.)