THE STOLEN MASTERPIECE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20593, 18 June 1930, Page 20

THE STOLEN MASTERPIECE.

By T. C. BRIDGES.

CHAPTER V.—(Continued).

Pip laughed. "Business! My dear Miss Tremayne, I never had any business in my life, except making vain attempts to sell iny pictures. And as for Jim here, I'll swear ho hasn't any for tho next fortnight. If you really want us wo aro both very much at your service." " Pip is perfectly right, Miss Tremayne," said Jim. " Only if we do stay you must make use of us." His heart warmed at Nance's look of relief. " You aro tho two kindest men I ever knew," she vowed. " And you mako it easy for mo to ask the favour I was going to ask. Will one of you go to Budo and send t!:e cable to Mr. Vanneck V "Of course. I will," Jim answered readily. " Give it to mo and I will bo off this minute."

" But we have no car," Nanco said, " and it's a long way." " Your cousin's bicyclo is here, and I'm quite a decent cyclist," said Jim. " I will be there and back before lunch."

" Wliero do I como in V asked Pip, with an injured air.

" You'll go and pick up tho creel full of trout I jettisoned last night," Jim told him. " After that you can watch till I come back."

Pip grinned. " All right. After all, your long legs will do the journey quicker than my short ones. And bring sonio baccy when you come. I haven't a pouchful left."

" I will writo tho cablo," said Nance. " It will be in cypher, Mr. Coryton,. so you need not be afraid of anyone else knowing what it is about." " Right," replied Jim, " and meantime I'll get tho bicycle." The machine seemed none the worse for its tumble on tho previous'night, but Jim went over it and oiled it carefully. As he wheeled it round ho found Nanco waiting with tho form. " I wish it were not so wet," she said regretfully. "But hero is Maurice's fishing coat which he hopes you will wear. And—" She hesitated. " What about taking Maurice's pistol, too ?" " You mean in case I meet the gentle Midian," smiled Jim. " Well, it might be a good idea." " I have it here," said Nance, handing him a small but useful-looking automatic. " He says that you must remember it goes on shooting as long as you keep your linger on the trigger." " All tho worse for Midian," laughed Jim. "Tell your cousin that, if I do meet Mas)or Midian I shan't take my finger off tho trigger." Ho jumped on the machine and pedalled away, and as ho reached the road and turned to tho left, saw .Nance still in tho porch watching. He waved his hand, then tho trees hid her, and he was riding slowly up the long, steep slope down which he had wheeled Maurico on tho previous evening. It was not a nice day, for the rain fell steadily, and though Maurice's coat kept Jim's body dry it failed to protect his knees, which were soaked until the water ran down his legs into his boots. As he reached higher ground he found himself in tho clouds. Tho mist was so thick he could not see ono telegraph post from the next. Little streams gurgled in the heather, puddles splashed under his tyres. There was only ono consolation, which was that if Midian or any of his precious gang was watching they would have their work cut out to see him. But the road was deserted, and for tho first three miles ho did not meet a living soul. Then ho struck the main road and turned north, and after that met an occasional car or lorry. He plugged along steadily,'and in little moro than an hour later he found himself in the straggling town of Bude. No doubt there were holiday-makers About, but they were not visible. Streets and window-panes streamed alike, and the usually bright little resort was in a state of complete eclipse. Jim found the post office and sent his cable, then he visited the nearest hotel and sampled the favourite West Country drink, gin hot with sugar and lemon. After that he bought -Pip's tobacco and a box of really good chocolates, which ho had wrapped carefully against tho rain. Inside 20 minutes he was ready for the road again. There was no let-up in tho rain; if anything it wai heavier than before. No wind, and it fell straight from tho lowlying clouds. Tho water sloshed in Jim's shoes, and, as ho turned at last into the branch road leading to Rabb's Roost, he thought with longing anticipation of dry things, luncheon and, perhaps, tho company of Nance over a fire. All down hill here, and he put on the pace. He was a milo from the turn and on tho steepest of the slopo when ho caught a suspicious gleam 011 the wet road ahead t and swerved quickly. He avoided a nasty, jagged piece of glass by a matter of inches, only to hear a sharp pop and a quick hiss which told that he had hit a second. Braking, Jim hopped off in a hurry, but the front tyre was hopelessly gashed and completely fiat. " Damn !" said Jim, very loudly and distinctly, and paused lo wonder whether it was worth while attempting a mend or whether it would be quicker to walk the rest of the wnv.

He was not given time to decide, for a shadow that lurked behind a gorso bush leaped, and before Jim could straighten himself, let alone null his pistol, something heavy as lead fell across the back of his head and stretched him senseless on the wet road.

CHAPTER VI. BUTCH.

When Jim struggled back to life all he was conscious of was tlio worst headacho lie had ever known. His head felt as big as two, il throbbed in the most dreadful fashion, and, when lie tried to move, the pang that shot through it made him giddy and sick. He closed his eyes again and lay perfectly still. Jiy degrees he realised that ho was lying on a pile of dry leaves or bracken in a place that was nearly dark, but how he had got there ho could not remember, and any effort to do so brought the pain to an unbearable pitch. He was cold all o<?er his body, but his head was burning. His mouth and throat were like parchment and "his tonguo felt swollen and stiff.

Someone moved. He heard the soles of boots grate on stones, and became vaguely sonscious that a man was standing near him, but ho dared not open his oyes. " Ye dog gone fool!" came a sharp voice." You coslicd him too hard. You'vo done him in." " His head ain't that soft, Butch," retorted a second voice. " And anyways, I owed him one fcr near drowning mo last fall."

"Yon better remember the boss don't pay you to work off your own grudges." said the man called Butch cuttingly. " Another thing, this ain't Maurice. Not if what you told 1110 yesterday about getting him with your rod was true." " If it ain't Maurice Tremayne it's his twin brother, so it's all in the family," replied the other speaker, with a brutal laugh. " You'll laugh the other sido of your face if this bloko don't como round," threatened Butch.

In spite of the pain in his head Jim was listening keenly, and had already realised that it was Midian who had " coslicd " him. Butch, by bis voice, was American, and it was clear that these two ruffiians had got him away to somo hiding placo and meant to hold him there for purposes of their own.

" You leave him bo and he'll come round all right," said Midian, and Jim hoard him turn on his heel and tramp away. The other man did not follow, and Jim, who was suffering agonios from thirst, decided to appeal to him. He stirred slightly and opened his eyes. " Water," he gasped, and the sound of his own voice almost frightened him, for it was like the croak of a frog.

(COP?RIGHT.}

A THRILLING STORY OF ENTRANCING INTEREST.

(To be continued daily.)

" Ain't dead, anyways," remarked Butch, speaking rather to himself than to Jim. 110 turned away, and Jim saw him pass out through a doorway opposite. Now that his eyes wore open, Jim say that ho was lying in a bare, ruinous place, built of stone, with a slate roof and a roughlypaved floor. With his knowledge of the Cornish moors, ho recognised it at once as an old mine building.' Thero are scores of deserted, disused mines scattered over the length and breadth of the Cornish moors: gaunt, dismal relics of long-past prosperity. No better hiding place could bo imagined for a gang of criminals, for these places remain unvisited from one year's end to another. Not oven a tramp or a tourist comes near them. Tho risk is too great, for shafts of unknown depths drop down through tho granite rock into pits full of cold, dark water. Where ho was, Jim could not even guess, for he had no idea how long he had been unconscious after Midian's brutal blow. He might bo five miles from Rabb's Roosi or ho might be twenty. He could not even tell what timo it was, for the only opening high in tho wall gave upon a grey sky from which tho rain still poured down ceaselessly. As for his ears, all they could tell him was that water was running somewhere near, for he could distinctly hear tho splash and tinkle of a runnel.

He wondered whether they had missed him at the Roost, and there drifted back to his mind a remembrance of the box of chocolates ho had bought in Budo to give to Nanco. A spasm of anger seized him at the thought of theso falling into the filthy hands of Midian. Theso vague thoughts were interrupted by tho opening of a door, and the man, Butch, returning with a tin mug in his hand. Butch, Jim saw, was a very different typo from Midian. He was middlesized, squarely-built, and wore a rough, blue serge suit and square-toed boots. At first sight ho might have passed for a gobd-class artisan or mechanic. But his mouth was oddly straight and thin-lipped, and his eyes were pale blue, with a cold bleak look in them, which told its own story. " Drink this," ho said, as he gave Jim the mug. The effort of lifting his head made Jim groan with pain, but Butch did not offer to help him, only looked at him in a cold, detached way, and remarked, "I thought he'd done you in when I first seed you. But thero—Midian always was a food." The mug was full of hot tea, black, strong stuff, with no milk, and a good deal of brown sugar. The sort of drink that Jim would ordinarily have refused to (ouch, but now—now it was exactly what ho wanted. He drained it to the last drop and fell back with a sigh of relief. Butch looked at him critically. " Aye, you'll do now. Better take a nap, then you'll be all right."

" I'm too cold to sleep," Jim told him, and now ho spoko in a more natural voice. Butch grunted. "Wo ain't got no blankets, except what we uses ourselves, but I reckon there's a oouplo o' sacks. You can bavo them." Ho fetched them and flung them down and Jim managed to pull them across his soaked legs, and presently grew warmer and dropped into sleep. It was grey dawn when he woke again, and although his head still ached, the pain was nothing like so bad as it had been. The rain had ceased, and outside all was quiet, except for the tinkle of the rill. A less pleasant sound was of heavy snoring, and looking round Jirn saw that Midian had made up a bed in the other corner, and, rolled in an old army blanket, was sleeping soundly. Ho could see nothing of Butch.

Jim's first idea was escape, and he felt for tho pistol Nanco had given him. He was, however, hardly surprised to find that gone. His pocket-book, too, had vanished and so had everything of value, even to the packet of tobacco he had bought for Pip. Midian, of course—for Butch, bad man rts he undoubtedly was, did not strike him as being a sneak thief. Jim glanced at the sleeping Midian and wondered whether he could tackle him. He sat up cautiously and was horrified to find how shaky ho was, and how his head swam. Actually, he had only just escaped concussion, but that he did not know.

Being, however, in possession of his full senses, he realised clearly that in his present state his chances in a tussle with this long ruffian would be exactly nil. He was not even quite sure whether he could walk, but meant to try. Giddiness seized him again as ho got softly to his feet, but this passed, and with one eye on Midian ho made for the door. Ho had been so sure it was locked that it was a real shock when it opened easily, ft was a worse shock when he found Butch outside, leaning against the bare wall of tho building with a half-burnt cigarette between his thin lips.

" Better ?" remarked Butch, without moving. " And where are you going, mister ?"

" For some water," Jim answered calmly. Butch nodded in the direction of the little loat which brought water from tho hill above, and Jim, kneeling beside it, drank, then washed. The water, clear as crystal and cold as ice, was extraordinarily refreshing, and Jim spent nearly five minutes splashing it over his bruised head. Ho got up, dripping, to find Butch alongside. "Know whero you are?" asked that gentleman, is his faintly nasal voice.

Jim looked about, but the mine-house was in a deep basin, with high, heathery hills on all sides. A black swamp occupied tho bottom of tho valley, with a broad ring of white cotton grass around it. Tho old mino.road, now grass-grown, skirted this and wound away up the far hill. There was not a singlo landmark of any kind in sight. " No," said Jim frankly. " I haven't a notion."

Butch chuckled softly. " It, wouldn't do you much good if you did know, mistor, for you ain't going to leavo hero till wo gets our price." 'And what may that bo?" asked Jim, with an air of innnocenco.

Butch chuckled again. " You know as well as I do. It's that thero picture." ft was Jim's turn to laugh. "Then I'm afraid you'll have to keep mo a long timo. Tho picture is not niino and my name is not Tromaync."