THE TENANT OF CROMLECH COTTAGE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19658, 9 June 1927, Page 18

THE TENANT OF CROMLECH COTTAGE.

BY JOSEPH HOCKING.

I —— — CHAPTER Vll.—(Continued.) Gwithian was silent for a few minutes; be was thinking deeply. "And then?" he asked. " I didn't hear anything more under the house, and thinking everything was &11 right I plucked up courage and went into your bedroom."- " Why thereV " I hardly know, sir, except that it seemed to give mo confidence like. ; Somehow I didn't feel so much alone in your room." « " Well, did anything further happen?" " I went to the window, sir, and looked Out, and I saw something." "What did you see?" " A figure, sir, a figure all in white." "In white?" " All in white, sir. Oh, it was terrible,"

" What kind of a figure?" " I can hardly tell you, I was too frightened. I think I lost my head, sir, for I called out, 'P'lice! P'fice! P'lice,' and then the figure faded out of my sight. That was all the first night, sir." Gwithian, who had been sitting in his arm-chair while Cradock had been speaking, got up at this, and began to walk excitedly around the room. The man's narrative was somewhat reminiscent of his own experiences. He did not doubt that Cradock told him the truth. Even now he was trembling with fear, and conviction was in his every tone. " I say, Cradock," he said, " are you sure you heard the word ' Roger ' ?" " I can't swear to it, sir: but that was

what it sounded like to mo. It was repeated three times, sir: 'Roger, Roger, Roger.' Not said as I am saying it exactly, but a kind of cry, as "though the person who spoke wanted only one person to hear, if I make myself plain." " Well, you say that was all that happened on the first night. What happened last night ? Did you hear any rumbling noises?" " No, sir." And then Cradock hesitated. " What did you hear then ?" " I took a great liberty, sir. I daren't try to sleep in my own bedroom again. I 'simply daren't. I nearly went mad at the thought of it. You "see, sir, I was in the house alone, all alone! And pardon me, sir, but for the love of you j I would have run away and never como to ' the accursed place again. But you had j sent me a wire last night, sir, saying 1 you would be home to-day, and I felt I I couldn't leave you. All the same, I daren't sleep in my own room." " What did you do then ?" " I took a great liberty, sir. I took out the sheets -from your bed and put them in my own. I said, ' I will sleep in Mr. Gwithian's bed.' I don't know why I did it, sir, except that it gave me a kind of confidence. If vou are offended I can't help it. Anyhow lam going away to-day." Nonsense, Cradock, you are going to stay, and we are going to see this business through. In fact, I am already beginning to see a light. There may be a lot of devilry in it; but there are no ghosts." " Oh, sir, -but you didn't see what I saw." " What did you see?" " Well, sir, I got into your bed, and if you will forgive me saying so, I was quite comfortable. I didn't go to sleep; I couldn't; but I felt better, and although God didn't answer my prayers on the: previous night I kept on saying: 'May no ill dreams disturb my rest, No powers of darkness me molest.' ! " How long I lay I don't know, but a goodish while. Then I heard an 'orrible cry, simply 'orrible, sir, and it was out- . side the 'ouse." "Outside?" ( " Yes, sir, outside, but close to. I don't know how I did it, for I was shaking like a man sick of, the palsy, but I jumped out of bed and went to the window. As . you know, sir, the moon is nearly full. | It has only been waning three nights, and as I looked out of the window I could see its light shining through the trees. But it wasn't that, sir," j " What do you mean ?" " I saw an 'orrible face, sir, simply ! 'orrible! It wasn't the face of a man, ' it was the face of a devil. Then I saw the figure of a man beneath the face creeping up to the house, creeping up to the front door." " What did you do then ?' " I didn't do anything sir. I suppose | I fainted, for when I came to myself I I was lying on the floor close to the window." "Well, and what happened then?" " Nothing, sir, everything was as quiet as the grave. Not a sound was to be heard save the ticking of that old eightday clock there *' "You heard it, did you?" " Yes, sir, I heard it—everything was that quiet." Gwithian reflected a few seconds. "Tell me, Cradock," he said, " when you saw that figure creeping toward the front door, do you remember crying out, or j anything of that sort?" i Come to think of it, sir, I did—l gave an awful yell, so to speak. The j thought flashed through my mind of what | would happen to me if that 'orrible thing got into the house. But I remember nothing of what happened afterwards." " And, of course, you don't know how long you were unconscious?" " No, sir." " And have you heard or seen anything since ?" " Nothing, sir, and I pray God I never may again. Come to that, I don't mean to. I wouldn't spend another night in this house for all you could give me." "Then you will leave me alone?" "Don't "put it that way, sir. But I can't! I simply can'ti I will leave at once if you don't mind, sir. Everything is ship-shape." " Very well, if that is your state of mind, you must go. But I thought you had more pluck, Cradock. Anyhow, lam . going to see it through." "What, sir! do you mean to say you . are going to stay here alone?" , "I am going to see this thing through, j Cradock. As I told you, I am going to get at the bottom of it." j "But there is no bottom!" gasped f Cradock, " no more than there is a bottom to hell." _ . ' " Don't talk nonsense, man. What it r means I don't know yet; but I am going to know. Perhaps I am on the wrong j; track, but in spite of everything I be- ( lieve I see a light." t " Then you don't believe it was a j ghost?" v " I believe there is devilry somewh'ere, j Cradock, and I am old-fashioned enough to believe in God; and a man who beiieves in God is not afraid of the devil. You must go if you want to although I 7 hope vou will stay. But whether you go : or not I run going to stay; and I am going to get at the bottom of this busi- I £ ness if it takes years. I believe there is more in it than you think." "There is, sir!" wailed Cradock; "the 1( spirit of evil is in it! lost souls are in w *!, and the curse of the Almighty is on , Don t talk nonsense, and try to be a P man." is "It isn't nonsense, sir. And it's not sa only for myself that I am afraid; it's for vv you. lou will come to harm if you stay, ol I am sure of it." " Now, Cradock, listen. I will ma k e a " bargain with you. You don't, believe I would deceive you, do you ?" cc " Not willingly, sir." ' c ] Tnen I will promise you this No ■ w barm shall come to you, no harm of anv ' 01 sort , mind that, lor another thing I'• H will promise hat I will not sleep out of ' I the house for the next month, and if at the b; end of the month I cannot give an ex- & planaticn I will leave the cottage for i E ever. That's my side of the bargain g ITSTS yIT | de^ BU L.'' an Cannot flght against tlle , E a . P - as " age in the Bible 't] ,he devU - i 5 - 1 think there is, sir.'* '

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" Well then, you needn't be afraid Anyhow, is it a bargain ?" " I expect it is, sir. Come to thinl of it, I don't believe when *the time ac tually came that I x could go away and leavi you here alone." And the tears trick led down Cradock's face. "That's right; we must stand by eacl other." " But, sir," cried Cradock, " you taJLt about seeing a light. Did you reallj mean "it 1 Have you any explanatior to give, sir ?" 1 daren't tell you yet, Cradock. Whal I have in my mind may bo all worth nothing; but, by George, I am going tc get to the bottom of it! That'll do; you can get away to your work now." But Cradock did not leave the room. He kept moving things from one place tc another, and then moving them back again as though looking for an excuse to remain. " Cradock, is there anything else?" asked Gvvithian, noting his actions. " No, sir—that is, yes, sir. I only wanted to say that I hope you don't think I meant to leave you. I didn't, sir. I only said what I said because I wanted to make you go away, sir. But seeing as 'ow you 'ave determined to stay nothing shall make me go until you go yourself." And again Cradock's lips began to tremble. When at length he had left the room Gwithian began to reflect on his story. There were two things upon which his mind fastened. One was the word,

" Roger," which Cradock thought ho heard. Of course lie might have been mistaken, bat the name intrigued him, haunted him. Roger was the name of four generations of Pendragons. Roger was the name of the boy who, with his sister Karenza, had been driven from their home years before. Roger was the name of the man whose vault he had seen in the old Pendragon Church, and who in his dream he had seen after that visit. But why had Cradock heard it ? Whv should the ghostly figure of a woman have uttered it ? Then again Cradock had heard noises coming from underground. He said they sounded as though they came from under

that very room. He did not believe thero was anything supernatural about it, but if he was right, how had the sounds come ? Putting on his cap he went out into : the garden, and into the little coppice | behind, and examined all the ground carefully. When Cradock rang the tea bell hi« | young master was nowhere to be seen, and when at length he appeared, he was very quiet, very thoughtful. •> " Cradock," said Gwithian when he came to ask him whether he required anything more before going to bed, " I ' have been thinking a good deal about what you told me." " Yes, sir." " Have you made any acquaintances since you came ?" "The old man they call Gran'fer Crowle has called once or sir; and, of course, Susan Jory comes every day." " Have you told them anything about your experiences ?" " I have told them what happened thf night after I came, sir; about that refectory table being moved." " But nothing that took place while I was away in Plymouth ?" " Not a %vord, sir." " That's right. Don't." " Very good, sir." The next day Doctor Borlase called to I see him. | " You will soon beat Chirgwin's rei cord!" "He stayed a week, didn't he?" laughed Gwithian. " I think I shall beat that." I " Nothing to report?" queried the doctor curiously. "Did you think there would be?" "I have been wondering. I can't i drive that story you told me out of my j head. I have heard that you met the J young Trounces and drove them up to the Hall," he added. " How did you ' like them ?" ■ j ; "I wasn't much impressed with the ! young fellow. I like the girl very much. Look here, doctor, are you sure you didn't give me a jaundiced account of Mrs. Pendragon ?" I " Why do you ask that ?" j " She struck me as a very kind-hearted : woman; one who could never be guilty of such a thing as you have in your mind." " You met her then ?" " Only for a minute," and he gave an account of his visit to the hall. " I am dining there on Saturday," he added. " Whew!" exclaimed the doctor. " You must have made an impression, my dear fellow. She is very chary about inviting strangers to the house. Or perhaps the girl was struck with you. Is it that?" " I am not a woman's man," replied Gwithian. " All the same, I am looking forward to Saturday night." CHAPTER VIII. THE PICTURE OE ROGER PENDRAGON, " I can conceive of nothing more beautiful than this," said Mrs. Moss, who, sitting by the side of Gwithian at the dining table, was looking through the window over the broad expanse of park. "I agree with you," assented Gwithjan. " If the ancient Pendragons had searched the county all over they could have found nothing more, perfect. It is to ail intents and purposes an inland house. Yet just over the hill yonder is the Atlantic. I think I am right ?" and ho turned toward Mrs. Pendragon at whose, right hand he sat. " You have evidently studied the geography of the district, remarked that lady. " And I think you are right.. The situation of the house is well-night perfect." Do you know I have great svmpathv with Becky Sharp," went on Mrs. Moss. She said sho could be virtuous on ten thousand a year, I am sure I could be happy in such a place as this—with all that it means, oi course," she added. The vicar looked uncomfortable. He was not sure that his wife's remark was in good taste, and as it had been said that ho had married beneath him, he was anxious that, his wife should neither say or do anything to confirm the general impression. " I don't fancy that money has much to do with happiness," he remarked, sententiouslv. " Nonsense, William," retorted his wife: - " money has everything to do with happiness. It is all very well for you to quote your Saint Theresas who lived in poverty, and yet declared themselves happy; they didn't live in the twentieth century. I told the Archdeacon so the other day. He was admiring the Vicarage and saying what a beautiful house it was: but what is the good ot a beautiful house when you haven't the means to keep it up ? In fact," she added, launching on her favourite topic, " the church is only a genteel form of pauperism. I told the Archdeacon so plainly. He was telling us about the decrease in the number of-our clergy, and the difficulty in getting sated young men to become candidates for Holy Orders, and I said to him, 'What wonder ?' I said, How can you expect young men to bo candidates for starvation ? ' It isn't as though there wasn't jlenty of money in the country. There s. And yet curates have to live on a lalary which mechanics would sniff at, virile such people as my husband are worse >ff than farm labourers." " Come, my dear," objected the vicar, ' it isn't as bad as that." "It is, William, and you know it. Of otirse, in the old days when living was it wasn't so bad; but since the war vhen the price of everything is doubled >ne ought to be a Hottenot. I am sure hat but for the allowance of my people, [ shouldn't have a decent frock to my sack. Now, I put it to you, Mr. Pentagon: ought my husband.to devote the Easter Offering, which has always been a jift to the vicar, to a fund for the re>toration of the church ? Of course, I snow that tho church needs restoring, bvery one does. It's falling rapidly to aecay a "cl it's a shame, for it's one of « historic churches of the country: j ut flesh and blood comes before granite { pillars, that's what I say." \ (To bo continued daily.) *