THE EARNEST PRINCE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20482, 6 February 1930, Page 18

THE EARNEST PRINCE.

BY ERIC LEACROFT.

CHAPTER XXlH.—(Continued.) . " You're not the first American gentle'Snaii that's been taken with the place," he gaid. " But you can take my word for it that it's no -ise. Yes, it's a gem of a place, and I've submitted an offer for it that would make the ordinary owner's inouth water. But Dr. Marcus isn't an tordinary owner. He's a wealthy man and h big scientist, they say. He likes the peace of the place and the freedom from disturbance. Oh, yes, there's a real drawbridge over the moat, and they say that ;when lie's bus;-' with experiments and what jiot he pulls if, up, and he's as safe from intrusion as if he were at the North Pole. iNow, I've ano'.her little place on my books jthat might interest you —" They allowed themselves I o be bored Jtvith particulars of a Tudor mansion with frontage to the River Avon, thoroughly modernised and equipped with every convenience. They even accepted an order to view.'

" But it's Grimstone Manor I want," (trawled Winfrey, " and when I want a thing I'm apt to get it."

"You won't get this," said the agent decidedly. " And, what's more, I couldn't horestly advise you to try. The last party •that- went to Grimstone Manor was sent feway without much ceremony. I never heard the lru> fr.cis, but there was some talk of an action for assault against the doctor. But that's only rumour. All I iuow is that thev wished they'd taken my stayed away."

" Then I guess we'd better forget it," Baid Winfrey, cheerfully, but they agreed among themselves that the news was encouraging. It added to their difficulties, .but it confirmed their suspicion that Dr. Marcus had something more to hide than the secrets of his own researches. Of course he might be just what he was jepresented to be—a man of science with b natural desire for solitude. On the Dther hand, the story of the drawbridge and the rough treatment that his visitors hud received hinted at a quite abnormal desire to discourage curiosity. ]n the end they decided to separate and make their recearches independently, meeting later to compare notes. " The trouble is," said Hilary, " that in r place like that, everybody knows everybody else, and if there really is anything shacly about this Marcus.and his house the mere appearance of a stranger in the neighbourhood, let alone three strangers, jwill put him on his guard. They pondered this difficulty long and earnestly. In the end they decided to devote a morning to discreet investigation. •Miss Smith was equipped with an easel and a box of oil colours. Nobody could quarrel with an artist for choosing Grimstone Manor for her subject, and the hillside below the stones would provide a suitable observation post. Hilary was to 'devote the morning to botanising in the surrounding lanes. A butterfly net and a tin vasculum slung on his shoulders would announce him as a humbler seeker for scientific truth. Winfrey could not preJtcnd to be anything but an American; but an American tourist complete with camera and guide book, could hardly be an uncon/mon spectacle anywhere in the neighbourhood of Stratford. They appointed a meeting place at which they would rejoin Winfrey's car for lunch and relate their experiences. To Hilary the morning passed slowly. He was n6t long in making the disappointing discovery that. from no point was the manor house visible from the public lanes. Four tirne3 he circled the property by shady ways. He caught several butterflies and disposed them neatly in his tin box, but he felt that he was wasting his time, for he met nobody, and, since lie could not see the bouse, he presumed that' the occupants of. the;house could not see him. On his' fifth circuit he paused at the iron gates between their .weathered/ pillars, each crowned with a coat of arms in lichened stone. They provided a view of twenty yards of drive, curving out of sight between a double row oi tall lime trees. The drive was well kept and free from weeds, but the •whole place seemed to be sunk in a profound slumber. Still, there had evidently been recent visitors, for he could distinguish the tracks of as many as five different cats on the soft gravel. One of the these soon seemed to be ex- I plained. The noise of a 4 car's engine shattered the peace of the morning, and a baker's vail swung along the lane and drew up at the gates. , The driver was preparing to jump down, but Hilary yaved to him to stay in his place. " I'll open the gates for you," he said. " Much obliged, mister. But I've got to get down, anyway. I've got to walk the rest."

" It would save bother if they Jeft the gates open," observed Hilary. " You're right, sir. But they won't have it. You should hear how they carry or. if I even forjjet to shut tlie wicket. [And they won't let me drive up to the house. Makes too. much noise, they say. i\Vell, you can't expect this make of car to be quiet as a Rolls, but it ain't no fun ,walking up a quarter of a mile of drive •when yoi.'re got the rheumatics like I have. J)idn't sleep a wink last night for the pain, I didn't." " That's hard luck," said Hilary. "If they knew that, they'd surely let you drive to the door."

"I'd chance it if the gates was open," Baid the old man. "Danmed if-1 wouldn't. 'But they keep 'em locked, all except the [wicket, so it's walk or nothing." He* slammed half-a-dozen loaves into his J)a:-ket. / , " That must ho pretty heavy," said Hilary sympathetically. The "man nodded. "Feel it," he said. [Hilary took the basket on his arm. " Look here," he said. " Jt's a damned fliarrie that, you should have to tote a Joad like this all that way when it's as much as you can do to walk. Suppose I take it up to the house for you." The man looked doubtful. " They're funny people," he said. "It hiight mean trouble." <

"I'll chance that," said Hilary. '' Here, mind I>v net, and box, an'd J'll lie back in no lime."

He ignored flic man's half-hearted pro- , Vests and Imrried off with the basket of bread on liis arm. The lovely front of tlio house came into view, reflected in Jhe Still waters of the moat. Evidently, there vns only one \v;iy of approach, but when lie had crossed a wooden bridge, lie found that the path forked, one way going to the front of the house and the nther to the servants' quarters. He reused the temptation to take the former v.uy, and strode whistling to the first door that he encountered at the back. After a moment ■> delay it was opened by an elderly maid, " You've come to the wrong door, J°" n K man, ?the said. hc v crelv ."Where the minsl baker?" ' " Rheumatics." /iaid Hilary. " Couldn't pet- a v/ink of sleep all laM night, he couldn't." " Oh, |>oor fellow," Mid the woman. "Well, f'll take the usual, Wait a minute, though. I'd ('Jlgolicn the young ladies. Better mak«; h one and ii small extra. That'll l*s bw ;»»id a-lialf in all." Hilary found his hftart beating painfully fast; " It it's ymiu% follies," lie suggested, perhaps you'd Wm a cake w two. [ can vuy K'> V x The vsowuu looked at him scurfy, " Keep ymr fitiggefttimix u, joutwlf. I can int&c oil the cakes thafc ;i?c v/ntitcJ in this hoiiw. Here,, you're goinjz the prrung v>vj

A ROMANCE OF LOVE. CRIME AND MYSTERY.

(COPYRIGHT.)

But ' Hilary walked on, whistling blithely. The woman's chance words had filled him with a new courage. His path led him round to the front of the house. He paused and deliberately scanned the long row of windows. Then he diopped his basket. Framed in tho upper window at tho west corner ho saw the faco that had lleen constantly in his thoughts since the evening when he had stood idly under the clock at Victoria station, wondering why nothing ever happened to "fie stood staring, and the girl looked calmlv back at him. She gave no si S n of recognition. She must have seen him. She must have forgotten him. But she made no motion. Then he sprang to one side as a shot rang out. An elderly man was leaning from a lower window deliberately firing at him. Hilary abandoned his basket and took to his heels. •\ whistle was blown shrilly as he approached the bridge. Then the bridge itself rose bodily into the air and barred his way. He turned to find three men running toward him. At the place where the three conspirators had arranged to be, the hour arrived and only one of them was there. Half an hour passed, and then an hour, and still Hilary and Clara had not appeared.

CHAPTER XXIV. Hilary could not swim, but he had resolved 'to jump into the moat at, the moment when he felt his arms pinioned behind him. Ho was marched roughly toward the front dcor. Ho protested that lie had a whole vanful of bread to deliver, but he knew that the pretence was useless. . " Keep that for the master, said one of the men roughly. They hurried him through the hall and .thrust him into a small room with barred windows. thev left him, locking tho door behind them. An hour passed in completo silence. Then the elderly maid opened the door and said: , " The master will see you in the He followed her across a sunlit hall into a room that was by contrast so dark that at first he thought it was empty. Ho stood looking round him, taking in the outline of tables and chairs in tho light that barely filtered through the sunblinds. He started when a gentle foice invited him to sit down. It came from the darkest corner of tho room. He could seo only the outline of a seated figure and a gleam of snowy hair. " I have given you a little time to reflect," said the voice. "If you are what you pretend to be you have nothing to fear. If you are what I believe you to be you have nothing to fear—provided that you speak the truth. If vou attempt to deceive me ir. the smallest particular, you will not live an hour. You understand me?'' Hilary nodded. And yet the words had made little impression on him. It was the voice in which they were spoken that moved him. It was the most beautiful voice that ho had ever heard. It stirred and soothed him, as he was stirred and soothed by great music. It seemed to set hidden chords of sympathy vibrating in his mind. That it had conveyed a promise and a threat was nothing. Ihe chances of his own life and death seemed suddenly important. The voice spoke again. " What is your name I " Hilary Wilkifis." " What aro you doing here ?" Hilary controlled himself with an effort. ' He had felt foi a moment as though the power of independent thought were leaving him, as though the owner of the voice had only to speak and lie eou d not choose but answer with the truth. His own voice came harsh and stammerlam here against my will. You have no right to keep roe. " Possibly I shall not keep you when you have answered my questions. You are looking for somebody. Is that not S °Hilary clenched his teeth. His whole being seemed to call to surrender to the magic of that- quiet voice. But he remained silent. "You would do well to answer me. You are looking for the Princess Armid of Estrania. Is that not so • A bead of sweat trickled down Hilary's check. But he remained silent. The danger of surrender was passing. He did not know by what trick c. sound or light the man in the library had so nearly charmed "liim into submission, but he felt hi» power of resistance returning. There was a note of disappointment m the voicf when it spoke again. " I scfTthat you are an obstinate young man. Let me show you how much know about you. It was you who impersonated the Crown Prince of Estran a in the Royal Box at Covent Garden. You d °" n ] ot don't y admit your right to ask," sai " Vcrv'well. But I will tell you something else. You arc fighting in a cause itt already lost. Vou aro servw«» wrong master. W.hat .» your re.ard . " f ask for none, said Hilaij. " Then you are even more foolish than I had thought. The man who calls himself Capoulade can do nothing foi you. She who was in name the Princess of Estrania will soon be so no have fought and lost, and you a.e on the losing side. But tlies: people are not ing to you. You are an Englishman, with voiir own life before you. Mme v, hy 'you have mi.Ned yourself up in these aivoice was irresistible. And an answer could do no harm. , " J haven't the least idea said Hilai.v. " Then I will tell you. It is becrfu.se you aro ambitious—not perhaps of weal h or power, but of life itself. lon want to live fully, to share in great to count for something in a world tlwt « outside the dull round ol youi own nodded. This chimed too well with his own thoughts to be denied. " Very well. I will be frank with vou. You are a man of courage and of vision. You arc willing, without hope of rewuuh to help in a groat cause. Awl >y happy chance you have , chosen a petty cause, a cause that is doomed in a few davs to be so completely lost that ever its* most loyal servants will abandon it in despair. Ido not want to see you wasted on such a cause. . . The voice was tender and melancholy. Hilary suppressed with difficulty the welling up of an immense self-pity. " You have chosen ill," went on the voice, " hut it is not too late. I offci Z a cause that is really worthy o the devotion of such a .man as you. it is a cause that-, is marching from triumph tc triumph. It has been reviled and misunderstood, as all great causes have been, hut the clay is coming when it will rule the world and when those who servo it tvill enjoy a power such as the WOild has never seen. 1 invito you toscrvc that ideal and to share that power." "■What is that cause?" asked Hilary, in spite of himself. " Anarchy," said the voice. "Do not misunderstand me. I do not speak of the wild theories of a few half-baked malcontents. 1 speak of a grander thing. Ihose whom I invito you to join aro tho world's greatest minds—those who have the courage, to understand that civilisation is rotten to the core and that we must destroy before we can build anew on grander foundations."

I here was a thrill of conviction in the '(Uiet words. Hilary's commonsenso told that he was listening to a fanatic. n maurnan whose grandiose dreams could never he fulfilled. But thev were not the conceptions of a small mind. They had

the authentic note of greatness, and in spite of himself he felt a thrill of admiration and enthusiasm as tho man behind the table unfolded his vision of a new world order. He ended on a note of triumph. " And all this," he saicl, is coming. It is as irresistible as the forces of nature. It is for you to decide whether you will join those who are opposing to it the petty traditions of a vanished ago or whether you will become one of the inheritors of the order. You shall choose now and here." Once more Hilary felt the kind of influence that he had supposed to possess those who sprang to their feet at revival meetings and proclaimed that they weie saved. He felt thai thrill of a new gospel, an almost irresistible desire to proclaim his faith and pledge his loyalty. But a residue of the old Hilary, a small stubborn murmur of cornnionscnse held out ' against the enchantment. He knew that I when he could at last escape from the i influence of that golden voice, that crush- ! in R enthusiasm, he would recognise these 1 doctrines for the poisonous folly that lie i knew them to be. Then he thought o I the princess, standing silently at her window. Could it be .that she too had I come under the infiuenc of this man s I dark arts ? The thought gave him a I sudden access of resolution. He was himj self once more. He spoke in his normal voice, contemptuously, j "It all seems pretty poisonous nonI sense," he observed. The man rose and pulled back a curI tain. Hilary could at last see his face. •It was a beautiful face, noble in its lines, with broad brow and sensitive, sensuous lips. And the eyes wore like the eyes of a snake. He'knew now, beyond tho shadow of a j doubt, that this was the man of whom ! M. Capoulade had said: " I would gladly shoot him dead in the s(reel." _ I "You're a stubborn fellow, said 1)1. Marcus genially. "I like a man who knows his own mind. I suppose you ve met the Princess ?" Hilary nodded. ( " Charming creature, isn t she . Hilary felt a wave of indignation. " We won't discuss her," he said. "Oh; but why not? You evidently | don't like my theories, so let's get down lto facts. The first fact is that Ive come ! t.T the conclusion that you can be useful to me All you have to do is to tell mo just what you know of the man Capoulade's plans and the names of the people ! that you've been working with. And in j return I'm prepared to make myself veiy agreeable to you. In fact, I think I can I promise that somebody else will make 1 herself agreeable to you." His keen eyes seemed to read Hilary's thoughts. " You've said that you don't want to ; discuss the princess. But suppose I tell you that the princess is in my power, and that I've only to drop her a gentle hint that she'll be only too ready to show her gratitude to anybody who is wise enough to declare himself my friend?" ~ ~ i All the nobility had gone from the old man's face. He leered and almost winked. ! He looked like an elderly rake. Hilary felt a sudden wave of disgust. > " You said just now that if I didn t fall in with your plans I shouldn't live twelve hours. Well, rather than help you bv so much as lifting a little finger, I'd die a dozen times. You're a poisonous reptile. Go ahead and bite." Dr. Marcus stared at him with unwinking eyes. |f " You are a very rude young man, he said benignly, " hut it shall be as you wish."

CHAPTER XXV. Di\ Marcus was well provided with servants. Three men appeared at his summons and led Hilary away. But they did not take him back to the little room with the barred window in which he had waited for an interview with the master j of the house. Instead, they took him ; down a flight of stone steps, pushed him through a doorway, and slammed the door behind him, leaving him in utter darkness. He stood still for a minute or two, waiting for his eyes to adjust themselves to the gloom. But no glimmer-came to reassure him. The darkness pressed upon him like a palpable weight. He felt suffocated, and lie had to fight against a panic terror that he was losing his orientation in space, and with it, his reason. Was it just this that Dr. Marcus had threatened ? Would his eyes never see again nor his ears never hear the sound of a human voice ? They had only to leave him here and it would be a matter of days before he died of starvaticm; but they would be days in which he would lose all sense of time and space. _ He forced the thought from his nund. He had friends outside who would publish his disappearance to the world. Whatever reluctance M. Capoulade might i feel to calling in the police, he knew that his friend Winfrey would leave nothing undone to find him. Ho did not weigh his chances too nearly. His first duty to himself ivas to go on hoping, in spite of the maddening pressure of the darkness on his eyeballs, in spite, of the memory of those inhuman eyes. He realised now that they were not the eyes of a sane man, and even at the memory of them he felt once more their challenge to his own sense pf reality and right. He had resisted that challenge, and to that extent he had triumphed over the forces of evil. It was better that he should die thus than that he should have yielded to the seduction of that wonderful voice that had so . nearly won him to the speaker's will. Utter darkness was better than that evil vision of powei' and grandeur that Dr. Marcus had invoked. He set himself to the single task of measuring his prison. It, was not easy. He had already lost all sense of direction. Moving cautiously toward where he supposed the door to be, his outstretched fingers encountered nothing. He .had moved, an inch at a time, over several yards of the uneven floor before at last his hand met the clammy surface of a wall. This brought him in time to the door which seemed to be of iron and resisted all his attempts to move it. Jfe continued his circuit of the cellar. It must bo large, for lie counted twenty paces from one corner to the next; but the mere act of measurement brought him a new confidence. He moved on more boldly, one hand in contact with the wall arid the other stretched out at arm's length behind him. He had passed the third corner when his free hand encountered something soft and warm, and piercing scream rang in his cars. The terror was infectious. It. v.as all that he could do not to scream m reply. Instead ho stood motionless, his heart beating furiously. " Who is it?" He had tried twice to speak before the words would come. A low sob from the darkness was the only reply. w ' l ' l fioUnc ' ' ,e covered his manhood. It was ;i woman's sob. It was a rriPSHapjc from one whose distress was greater than his. " Don't be afraid," he said. Im a prisoner here, like you. That means that we're friends." . He stretched out, his hand again, and this time it encountered another hand, which closed in his. A moment later she was in his arms, and lie was stroking her hair. i n He knew her, even in the darkness. I was the woman who had snt beside him at the wheel of M. Capoulade s car as they sped through the night towards Stratford It was the woman who had fired at him from the gallery at Covent Garden. And ho knew in that moment, with a sudden sweet pang at, Ins heart, that it was she who had been (he inspiration of his search for tho princess, that, it was her company that, had lent the adventure its duality of high ondoavour. "You should nover have come for me, j said Clara Smith. " T was a fool to let him talk mo over." " T didn't know you were lie con- ! fesscd. " Tell mo what, happened. I (To lie concluded to-morrow.)