THE LAVENHAM TREASURE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20977, 14 September 1931, Page 15

THE LAVENHAM TREASURE.

(COPYRIGHT.)

By OTTWELL BINNS. Author of " Diana of the Islands," "the Trail aj // "The Mystery of the Atoll," et c '<L° f Adventure '

A STORY OF TENSE AND DRAMATIC ACTION BY POPULAR WRITER.

h ' S , own , self a g a 'n, and structions IVB a,^is fc necessary in-

diffi^H 6 - S " le J l . ctter - You Will have no difficulty in finding the lady to whom it is addressed. The house is well known and no more than half a mile from the inn at Notanam. I think if I send the message to The Times to 'Name-Twin.' to use your own phrase, it will be secret enough. Secret as the grave, except for vou and me. '' Then we will let it go at that." An hour later, in a night black as pnch with a suspicion of fog adding to 10 daikness, Charles Lavenham steered the brown touring car out of the gate and turned down the rough road. He had tho head-lights on, but not the little lamp on i lie dashboard, so that his face was piactically invisible to anyone watching across tho road. His namesake, for obvious reasons, remained in the house, and as the artist changed gears and accelerated he was conscious of the kindling of excitement that goes with the opening of adventure. That excitement quickened as a little way down the road, in the darkness that was not banished by the glare of his lamps, a tiny flame appeared. Someone, he guessed, had struck a match; and as he drew nearer the place, in the penumbra of tho car's lights, he dimly glimpsed a man stooping over something—a motor-cycle, as lie guessed. " Well—" he said to himself. "A stern chase will be exciting." A little way on, he threw a swift glance backward, and saw a light flare brightly and then go out. "Having trouble with his lamp!" he chuckled, and pressed the accelerator a little more.

The engine purred sweetly as it quickened, and the car went on at a good rate, bumping now and again in a pothole and once skidding a little on the loose surface. But he kept the pace going, up-hill, down-hill, until, looking back from an elevation in the road, he caught the star-like gleam of an acetylene lamp at least two miles away. " Left him at the post," he laughed. " I shall be in Notanam by the time he tops this hill." But three minutes later, in a bottom where there was a water splash, he ran into a bank of fog, which forced him to go dead slow, and he was still creeping along, his eyes on a stone wall on his near side, when out of the grey blanket of vapour in front came a suddan cry. He pulled up dead, with screeching brakes, and a second later saw a girl step from the side of the road full into the glare of the headlights, and, shading her eyes with a gauntletted hand, move forward with the clear intention of speaking to him. CHAPTER 11. As the girl came forward, Lavenham noted that she carried a switch and was in riding kit. A second later, when the shading hand was lowered, through the mist ho visioned a face of gleaming loveliness; with clear-cut features, spit curving lips, and eyes that were frank and innocent as a child's. Throwing open the door, he slipped out of the car. " I am sorry to trouble you, ' began the girl apologetically, " I am stranded. My horse has broken his neck out on the moor there. I wonder if you could give me a lift in the direction of Notanam ?" " With all the pleasure in the world. I am going there " A.s he spoke. Lavenham glanced back up* the road. The fog blanketed everything, and he could s§a nothing of the motor-cyclist whom he knew to be on the way; but he thought he caught the sharp tuck-tuck of his machine. Then hj« spoke 1 ""I am in something of a hurry, ) so we will not waste time. Excuse me. He slipped back to the driver's seat, and took his place behind the wheel. The girl followed him, and as they started she gave a little laugh of reliel. " Your coming was a god-send, she said. " This road is usually empty at nipht. I was afraid that I should have to trudge the whole way, and already I have walked miles." Her voice was cool, matter of fact, DUo with a'ring in it that caught the ear very pleasantly, and which stirred the artist in Lavenham as her face had done. Encraned in driving, the mist offering dimcuftv, he could not look at her, though he would have liked to do so; but he could encourage speech and did. "Your horse?" he said tentatively. " Do I understand that it was killed . " Yes. Ho is dead. We took a stone wall on the moor, and he fell. His neck was broken and he died at once—poor chap. I am glad it was like that,. If it had been a leg I could not have left hnnand we were miles from everywhere. " You were fortunate not to be hurt, said Lavenham, with some feeling. " Yes " The girl gave a shudder. Uut Jhcre one might lie for days. I fell into thick heather and haven t a scratch. was silent for a little time, and as he mist thinned Lavenham quickened the pace: but before doing so he looked back through the little window in the rear of the leather hood. The girl caught his are looking for something V she laughed. "For a motorcyclist. I am racing him. N° d°abt shall get the glare of his head- amp through the window when he is out of the f °" Racin*!" the girl cried. "On a night like this, and a road that is like a gutter. But no doubt it is for a wager . "No' Just a whim of nnne. I don t know the man. We chanced to start. together, and I have an amotion to keep in The n girl laughed. " I know the feeling. It is the obstinacy which makes one accelerate when someone is going c> pass vnn I suffer from it. Hei Jaugnter sounded again. " The safety-first people call it names—nasty ones; but it is human m.ture to refuse to be beaten. She looked through the back window. Not in sight. I hope you will win, Mr. Mr. tho name the artist saw her start, then look at him a little curiously. A second later, she asked: " Did vou say Lavenham ?" " I did," laughed the young man, adding, " You seem surprised ?" " With occasion," replied the girlis really a very odd coincidence. " Of which I have no idea " he answered, hoping that she would eluc.da e But the girl did not respond. Indeed, she shook her head smilingly. "No Mr. Lavenham! I shall keep the little mystery to myself until we meet again." j# " There is hope of that ? " Why, yes," she said. " It is likely unless you change your mind. Lavenham saw a glimmer of light. His companion, it appeared, was acquainted with the name, and no doubt mistook him for the man upon whose errand he was eoinir He wondered, for a moment if he should enlighten her; then, dec.dmg against it, laughed cheerfully. " I shall not change my mind." They ian into tho village without once catching a gleam of any following light, and there, despite Lavenham s olfej to drive her to her destination, the girl insisted on being set down. "Thapk you! I have but a little way to fro. I will descend here. But I am glad you did not your race, Mr. Lavenham. Good-night." (To be continued daily.)

Hard times mean more work for women. Work will not spdil your hands if yon ase Sydal This is ft wonderful «km cleanser and healer. <

SYNOPSIS

t rHnrles L'aveubam, an itinerant portrait- / •»«r whilst tramping along a by-road P,*T-lUses a desolate moor, is overtaken by nlor-car. from which a letter is blown. * *, D L«a been opened, and is addressed to «r Charles Lavenh am at The Three ' " As it bears his name, be is to reiid the contents, but decides ! cD {o find bis " name-twin." As be 1:11 Miches The Three Feathers, lie observes aP £„n crouching behind a stone wall watcli- ? inn through field-elapses. The man inf Lna away, and Charles enters the inn, as he does so. that he is being •tinned through a window. Charles adscr" 3 "this/second watcher as " Mr. Lavenu i to his obvious surprise and agitation, h informs him that be has found a letter ? rintr a name common to them both. Durw their conversation the artist tells him (bat a man has been wntchin B the inn.

CHAPTER I.—(Continued)

"But they'll be there!" The man made , despairing gesture. " All round the house, I'H swear. There isn't a dog's chance. And I thought I'd shaken the fiends off, and was clear of—" He broke o jf and gnawed his slack underlip, whilst ]j e stared at the artist as if considering some idea that had occurred to him. lavenham, agog with a very lively curiolity, ventured to express it. »gat, rtian, you don't mean that the fellow I saw will attempt to do you an injury 1" " There are four others with him. There isn't one of them but would knife, or shoot, or hang me if he got half a chance." groaned the other.

"Oh, but come," protested the artist. "This isn't Chicago. Things like that aren'tdone in England. The police—" •'Police!" the man laughed mirthlessly. " Met squad of them up the road, I tuppose ?" "No; bnt —" The man waved a hand towards tho window.

" On this God-forsaken moor anything might happen. These devils could burn the house and who'd be the wiser?" A despairing look came into tho man's eyes, " I thought when I came to this place I'd be safe as a.badger in his hole, and . »» now—

He broka off with an abruptness that was more significant than words, and rising from his chair, almost staggered to the window, where with a hand on the sill to steady himself, he stared forth on the bleakness of the moor. Charles Lavenham watched him, divining that he must be looking for the watcher with the fieldglass; and at the same time wondered into what strange business he had stumbled. The man's very real terror, the hint of desperate trouble, the manifest hopelessness, all implied some grave danger he had cause to fear ; and that he believed his peril- was imminent was very certain. For a full minute he stood considering whilst the man continued to stare out on the moor, then he spoke tentatively. " Look here, I might help you." The other swung round at the words, gnd demanded tersely. "How?" " Well, J could walk on to the nearest police 6tation and — "No use! This is not a business for the police. You might as well fetch a parson."' Lavenham had his doubts about the first part of the statement. It seemed to him that there was something that, really shouted for police activity; but he kept his thought" to himself, and the other, who now seemed to be considering some matter closely. After a lithe time the man spoke again, tentatively. " I don't say that you couldn't help me. if voti would in a friendly way. jXou . . . (i i " Well," replied the other slowly, do 30U know Notanam • " I have stayed at the inn there

oiten." , The man iairly jumped at the words. " Man," ha cried. " \ou're a god-send. The inn-folk'll know you personally and by name, and, by George! there are rooms engaged/and waiting for you there at this moment." . " The deuce, there are?"

" Yes. I was going there to-morrow. But if you took my car—" He broke off and asked anxiously. " "iou can drive .' The artist grinned. " I have driven a taxi in London in unhappier days." " Good! Then if you took my car and drove there to-night you'd draw off the pursuit, and. I'd get clear away. Oh. for God's sake, don't refuse, man! JSo harm would happen to you; those fellows would just think they'd blundered pretty badly, and 'tisn't as if you _ weren t known at the inn. An inquiry there would settle their hash in no time at all, and they'd never trouble you for a. minute. I'm their game—. And there s a thing besides that you could do—a thing that would be money in your pocket." Lavenham laughed. " Money and my pocket in these days have scarcely a nodding acquaintance." " It might be worth twenty pounds to yon." "A fortune!" cried the artist. "How am I to earn it ?" " It's as simple as eating cake. You've but got to take a letter to an address that will be on it, receive what is given you, and bring it to me to—to—" " Not here ?" " Lord, no man. But if you watched The Times agony column I could give you instructions where to come —yes. That would be dead easy." " Dead easy!" agreed the artist a little ironically. " Then you'll do it. You'll do it—to help me?" cried the other excitedly. " I might take the risk," laughed Lavenham. "Risk! There'll bo no risk for you. You'll merely draw the hounds away on * false scent, which they'll abandon as loon as they discover the truth." The artist laughed again. " When do I start ?" The other fairly jumped at the question und cried, "My dear chap, will go? Somehow I knew you would. \ou re the adventurous type —" "An adventure at the end of which lies twenty pounds is not to be despised, broke in Lavenham. " But I shall want money for immediate needs. Ihero will be tiie bill st the inn; and the truth is that my purse is suffering from slimBess—'' Don't mention it. Of course, it is up to me to pay for the rooms I engaged. Here yo.uare." The man drew out a wallet as he spoke, and counted five pound notes on to the table. " That will see you through, and provide the rail fare to the place of our meeting when you have done the business." The artist picked up the money and thrust it carelessly into a coat pocket, then inquired—

" The letter ?" " I give it you before yon go. But you cannot start until dusk. That man "with the field glass might spot you." Ho looked apprehensively toward the window, then laughed a little nervously. Thank heaven, the dusk is falling. Wo will have the blind down and a lamp brought in. I will call for the lamp while you draw the blind." He picked up the poker and rapped B pon the panel. While understanding quite well the reason for the task allotted to him, the artist moved tn the window, *nci, reaching a hand for the blind- . iord, looked forth. Dusk, as his narnetwin had said, was beginning to fall, but the length of dry wall at the other side of the road was still clearly visible, and thirty yards away, above the crest of tho Wall, ho made out the crown of a trilby hat. The watcher, it appeared had returned. He pulled down the blind, and turned toward the fire, and as he did so wie other asked quickly: See anyone?" . " Yes! There is a man behind the wall, flown the; road." A spasm of fear twisted the other's isk W ace >- but he said nothing, and l Wiea the girl came in with the lamp he