ROMANCE IN A WINDMILL

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21278, 3 September 1932, Page 12 (Supplement)

ROMANCE IN A WINDMILL

Bv CAMILLA CARLISLE

CHAPTER Vm.—(Continued) Before Mrs. Fletcher could uncork the | vitds of her ridicule upon the too-imagina- J tive Peggie, Nigel reappeared and joined them at the foot of the stairs. "Well?" said Joan, hopping from one leg to the other in excitement. " Have ! yon seen Peggie's ghost?" " No," he replied gravely. " 'lhere is no one to be seen —now." " And never was," scoffed Mrs. Fletcher. " Peggie, are you satisfied, or would you like to go up and prove to / yourself that you were merely the victim of too many thrillers, or too indigestible a cupper, or whatever it may have been that caused you to evoke a ghost from i moonlight and" shadows ? Perhaps now, you will take Mr. Richardson's word for it that your ghost was sheer imagination." " I did not say that," put in Armitage, before Peggie could reply. What I said was—please, do you mind if I repeat it, because it is rather important—there is no one to be seen—now." " And what exactly do you intend us to gather from that?" asked Mrs. I'letcher tartly. " Just this. Miss Peggie was light. .'Someone has been in that room to-night, fcboogh whether it was a human being or a ghost, I cannot say. I incline to the belief that it wasn't a ghost, though." " What in the world do you mean ?" I 1 " I mean I think that it. was not a 'ghost, because I have never heard of ■ghost*!, who lit candles and shied tho /match-ends about. Nor have I heard of a ghost sticking up curtains in front of tJie windows. They may inake a practice of hanging curtains and lighting candles," added Nigel, in the tone of one "who is willing to he convinced, " but all TI say is I have never seen a ghost that did- And whoever was up in that room to-night has had a candle and has dropped j a match-end. Also, he has hung curtains across all tho windows, so that his light does not show outside." Nigel held out a small stump of candle. It was ill smouldering. ' _ I *' Good Heavens!" exclaimed Mrs, Fletcher. "Why, the ghost, must have been there not many minutes ago." I CHAPTER IX SYI.YIA DAWSON CALLS I Sylvia Dawson had been at school with Joan and Peggie. She was the only child of a country doctor, and lived within easy cycling distance of the Windmill. Dr. Dawson was, indeed, the nearest _ doctor, hut he had been away for a while, and a stranger had been taking his practice. Ho had therefore heard little of the cx- . citements at the mill. Life in a country village bored-Sylvia to tears. She had been delighted when Joan came to live near, at. the mill, but was disappointed when she found that tho highly original occupants of highly original dwelling had, so far, given no big entertainments. To Joan, her mother'u %ld mill was like a gigantic doll's house, 6he loved planning out its rooms and its rough grounds, which she announced her intention of converting into a lovely garden. Both Joan and her mother revelled in country life, and were perfectly contented with simple homely- pleasures. So poor Sylvia found them dull. On her' first visit, she had not seen Peggie, and Joan had not mentioned her, so tnat when Sylvia called again and Peggie answered her ring, in her best cap and apron (which she did not always •wear), Sylvia got the shock of her young life.' For the space of half-a-minute she gaped helplessly at the parlourmaid, and in that half minute she completely readjusted her former estimation of Peggie Bummerleigh. She began to put out her hand; then she drew it quickly back. claimed, in a high-pitched and rather affected voice, " what on earth are you doing here in that servant's get-up ?" For an instant an impish grin slid /Across Peggie's piquant little face, but- it passed at once and she replied with becoming propriety. " I am parlourmaid to Mrs. Fletcher, Miss. Won't you walk in, please ? The mistress is at home."

Joan was struggling hard to givo no indication of tho fury that was raging in her loyal little soul. Nothing but a petty quarrel could come of letting herself go. So she bottled up her wrath, and reminded herself that Sylvia Dawson was her guest, and had offered her ungrudging hospitality at a time when she needed it badly. But all the same she was appalled to think that this girl was her former friend. They had talked over their plans, their hopes, and their ideals together. If Sylvia, was shocked to see the depths to which Peggie Summerleigh had fallen. Joan was even more astounded that Sylvia should have fallen much further. For Peggie's was a material fall, but Sylvia's was far more serious. *" It was frightfully lucky for the girl that you were able and willing to have her," remarked Sylvia. "An inexperienced slavey!" "On the contrary," rejoined Mrs. Fletcher, seeing that her daughter was bv this time speechless. " I consider myself most fortunate. Peggie is tho sort of girl who throws her best energies into whatever she undertakes. Having undertaken—quite temporarily—to act in the capacity of my parlourmaid, she has made herself into a* perfect model of a parlourmaid. How is your mother, Sylvia? Peggie was bringing in tea and Sylvia had tact enough to follow Mrs. Fletcher's change of subject. " Quite all right, thank you," she answered. " Pho loves living in an out-of-the-way hole of a country village, you know. I suppose she has got beyond the age of boredom." "That is unlikely. My experience is that one never gels beyond the age of boredom, but that, as one grows older, one becomes more expert in dodging tho things that are most boring." Mrs, Fletcher began to busy herself with tho tea, and then Armitago came in and was introduced to Sylvia, who was extremely gracious to this big, presentable young man. Ho discussed golf and tennis- with her, noting the while with alert interest Joan's manifest effort to bo friondly , and Pegcie's complotn relapse into parlourinaidism. The two girls were si fascinating study. Joan had sclf-control than her maid, but it was plain to Nigel's amused observation that Miss Dawson had somehow " put her foot in it " rather disastrously with both girls. Mercifully Teggie was visualising the. funny side of it, as she usually did, and she seemed to have no difficulty in changing backwards and forwards from parlourmaid to friend of the family. Nigel certainly preferred her in the latter capacity, but her present part was played with a zest that proved—whatever Sylvia Dawson might have said or done—Peggie was not deeply hurt. After a call prolonged almost to tho limits of Joan's endurance, Sylvia rose to take her departure, and Armitago naturally walked with her to the gate. " Do come and see us one day soon," she invited him. " I don't know what bee Joan has got in her bonnet to-dav. She's as mum as a funeral mute. It must he cheerful for you, if she is often taken that way. But any time you care to cycle over to us I know mother and dad would be delighted to see you, and we haven't a bad tennis court."

" It is awfully kind of you," answered Nigel politely. " Thank you very much indeed. But 1" am afraid I must not accept your invitation, as I am here chiefly on business, and may have to return "to town any day." "Of all the detestable little snobs!" Joan was declaiming when he re-entered the mill. •

" I don't know th.it you can blame Sylvia," objected Peggie as, tea tray in hand and head on one side like a ruminating sparrow, she gave the matter dispassionate judgment. . " Any girl would find it embarrassing to meet—all unawares —one of her old playmatos acting in & menial capacity to another of 'em." " What, would you yourself have done in Miss Dawson's place?" asked Armitage, addressing Joan. Although he had not been present during Sylvia's remarks concerning Peggie, he had gleaned a fairly correct estimate of what had taken place. "Me? If I went to pay a call on a Grand Duchess and' found Pegs cleaning boots and knives in a basement, I'd say: ' Cheerio, old bean! Whcn's your afternoon off? Let's have a busto.' What does it matter what your friend happens to be doing, as long as she is your friend? Yet. from Peggie's point of view, her profession has drawbacks. I don't know whether her father would approve. When he conies home, like a giant refreshed, he'll soon have you out of this, my dear Pegs, and set you up in life a.'s a lady again." " I refuse to admit that I cannot be a lady and a parlourmaid simultaneously," said Peggie, argumentatively. " And it will be time enough to talk about daddy coming homo again when I hear he is safely at his journey's end. Ido hope I shall soon get a reply to that cable." Unhappily, the reply brought no comfort. L)r. Summerleigh had not arrived at his destination, nor had any tidings of I him been received there.

Sylvia Dawson hesitated. She was remembering a hot summer afternoon not so ■rery long ago when she was an angular, over-grown, and far from brilliant member of the lower fourth, and Peggie Sunimerleigh, of the Sixth, had discovered her in the form room, weeping forlornly over her maths. Peggie had flung aside her racquet, and, sitting down beside her, proceeded to unravel all her hopeless tangles, finally sending her out to the tennis courts with a smiling face. / In those days Peggie had been somebody. Sylvia wondered now _ whether she onght to condole with the girl upon having fallen, so far in the world ag to be .reduced to domestic 6ervice. But—reflected Sylvia—that, sort of thing was so frightfully unpleasant. After all, Peggie gummerleigh was now merely a servant to Sylvia's friends, the Fletchers,, and must therefore be treated, as a servant. Sylvia was invariably scared to death lest, by ■being friendly to those she classed as her Inferiors, she might lose some of her own dignity. So she hastily formed a plan of •action with regard to her treatment of her former schoolmate. Inclining her head with stately condescension, she allowed Peggie Summerlcigh to announce her, Joan and her mother received her with friendliness, and begged her to stay to tea, but Peggie interchanged a quick glance with Joan and withdrew to tha /lean-to pantry to cut wafer-like bread-and-butter. / "So you are still here, Joan," remarked Sylvia, languidly, unfastening her furs. " Living in a windmill hasn't lost the charm of novelty yet, apparently." I' " Ye—es, I think the novelty is be•ginning to wear off, but the charm, no. T don't think I shall ever want to live in a mere house again," said Joan enthusiastically. " How's the world been using you, old dear?" " Rottenlv." said Sylvia. She opened a dainty bag and began to powder her »nose, saying: "I'm a freak after cycling ' in the sun. I tried to get Dad to drive * me here in the car, but he said cycling ■was good for me. Brute! The world. Joan, dear, has been treating me as it. always treats me. It's too deadly dull for anything. However, I suppose that, Jnstead of grumbling, I ought to be /thanking my lucky star* I haven't yet. •come down to the level of poor Peggie •;6ummerleigh." Ij Joan Flf.'xher suddenly sat up very straight and was about lo speak when she "caught her mother's warning eye. and refrained. It was' Mrs. Fletcher who asked tranquilly: / " You think Peggie has come down >ery low, dp you ?" "Well, rather, Mrs. Fletcher! I should well think she has. She has fallen about as low as a girl can fall without going to the bad altogether, 19 asserted Miss Dawson. "I don't think Peggie is va bad girl, but she must have made a pretty ghastly failure of her life-to have come" 1o being a maidservant after being /at. school with us. She used to be rather a sharp kid. too. She was always in ;i form of girls much older than herself, and that made her rottenly conceited, ■didn't- it , Joan ?" "No," replied Joan, with unnatural .quietness. " I never thought her in flic least .conceited." " Oh, but she was," persisted Sylvia. if fjhe thought, no end of herself, because she-was quick at her work and her father •vas a professor of mechanics or something frightfully learned. . . . What's becom« of the old man; he was a bit mad, wasn't, he? What does he say to his daughter's choice of •work ? Or. is he dead ? I recollect that Peggie had to leave school in a great hurry because ho was awfully ill." " No, he. is not dead," said Joan .slawly, " nor is he mad, but he was very ill, as you say, and recently be lias been very ill again, and after a long fight for life" he was ordered away to Switzerland by his doctors. It was in order lo pay for /this journey and the natural expenses of a prolonged illness that Peggie got the idea of coming to us as parlourmaid."

" Very, wpll, my dear," said Mrs. Fletcher, " you must go to London and have a heart-to-heart talk with your former landlady. It is possible she. may have omitted to post on some of your letters.. It is worth an inquiry—and a personal inquiry—l think." So Peggie, being anxious not to fail in her duties as parlourmaid, rose at daybreak the next morning and worked like a nigger in. her desiro to leave all the work done. Consequently, when at hist she was hustled away by the united -efforts of Joan and Mrs. Fletcher, she had left it too "late. She stood in the road outside tho wayside station and gazed ruefully at a puff of white steam beyond the railway bridge, which was all' that was left of the London train. " Hard luck, indeed, Miss Summerlcigh ! " said a man's voice at her side. " Can't 1 help you somehow ? " And Christopher Weaver, in a long, low two-seater, slid to a standstill at the kerb. " Ovv! You startled me," said Peggie, who was blinking back two silly tears. She was tired and her father's long silence was preying on her mind. "It's very kind of you to offer to help, but—sihort of runuing after the train and telling it to stop for me, I don't see what yon con do. I allowed too narrow <1 margin for getting to the station, and therefore I missed the horrid thing, and I havis no ona but myself to blame." What a vivid little person sho was, Christopher was thinking. With her dark green costume, the tell-tale moisture on her long lashes and her shining eyes, she was a proper match for an April morning of showers and sunshine. lie patted the vacant seat in his car as lie said invitingly. " Tho railway company might be slightly annoyed if I tried to stop their train now, but trains aro not the only way of reaching London. lamon my way there, for instance, and would be grateful for yotir company." " What !■ In your fairy chariot of crimson and silver! How perfectly topping!" Never depressed for long together, Peggie's mercurial spirits soared immediately at the young man's offer. " To be .strictly truthful, I nrn afraid it, isn't, my fairy chariot, and a s to its silver and crimson, that is merely gaudy paint splashed on to hide the defects. It isn't, anything like as wonderful as il looks." said Chris apologetically, " but it, can travel. Our firm has been overhauling it, and i|, is my job to run it up to town lo the owner. So, do come." Peggie ti ended no more persuasion. Hastily depositing her bicycle in the station office, she clambered into the smart, car and drew a long breath of ecstacy as thev shot along the sunshiny road toward London. Chris might, be little the car, but, there was no doubt that, in h|s hands, it, travelled fast and smoothly. ""After watching him for some time, however, Peggio catne to the, conclusion that Christopher would almost' make any car travel well. Ho was one of those who find their greatest enjoyment in the handling of mechanical powers and by his skill forcing them to

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become almost human—or even superhuman. How Peggie knew this after watching him for so short a time, is one of those wonders which are often to be found in the relations of young men and maidens. Anyway, she had no doubt of it, and was filled with admiration ns she studied his intent face and noted the delicate way he played upon the mechanism of the shoddy car, as a musician will draw lovely sounds from a poor instrument. The interposition of a dangerous crossroad, a steam roller and two frightened horses, afforded her further proof of his skill. When these were passed, he half turnd toward her, and his dark eyes laughed into hers in sheer content. " I never wish for anything jollier than a well-tuned car, a spring morning and a right companion to share it with me," he announced. " Thanks very much," Peggie Said with somewhat heightened colour. "If you'll slow down I will rise and bow." " Oh, don't trouble to do that. It. wasn't a compliment, merely a statement of fact," said Chris. " And you don't call this fast going, do you ? I was just wondering whether I shouldn't let her out a bit on this quiet stretch of road." •' Please do," said Peggie, taking the precaution of holding on tightly. She was glad she did. The next few miles were covered at a speed which precluded conversation. " It's a rum go," remarked Chris meditatively, as he. slowed down to enter a village. " but somehow, Miss Summerleigh, I feel as though wo knew one another quite intimately. Of course, wo don't But that is how I feel about it. I suppose you haven't by any chanco got the sort" of " We've been boyhood's chums " fooling?" " Yes, I have," replied Peggie frankly. " Tho first time I saw you, you did mo a good turn. The second and third time, 1 hated you, because T felt you wore working against us in some underhand sort of way, and yet—e,ven then—l had tho oddest feeling that, if we ever talked to one another we should find we both liked the same things. It was an absurd feeling. What are you likely to havo in common with a house-parlourmaid ?" " What are you likely to havo in common with a bloke wot cleans engines?" retorted Chris instantly. "It would bo an even queerer world than it is if everyone was labelled with tho type of work they did. and then put in shut-up pigeon holes."

" There has to ho some way of classification hasn't, there? And if onn is lucky one's work harmonises with one's tastes. 1 honestly love housework." " And I love engines," agreed Chris. " My idea of heaven is an e—nor —mons workshop, with ever more and more work of a congenial sort to be done." " Perhaps you are not so far out." Peggie spoko soberly. " Anyway, if that is your heaven, you will certainly meet my father there someday, for it is his, too!" "By jove, is it? What typo of work will he want in his heaven " The same as yours, I think." "Why? Is he a mechanical engineer ?" " He was a professor of mechanics, only his health broke down and ho had to resign. I say, look out! I thought you were going to tip us into the ditch." "No fear. I was only taking a corner. Sit tight. You excited me. Your father is not the great Professor Noel Summerleigh, by any chance, is he?" " That's him," said the great Professor Noel Summerleigh's ungrammatical daughter. " Have you heard of him?" " Have I heard of him ? Have I heard of Newton or Boyle ? I'd say I had heard of him!" Overjoyed thus to meet with somefcne' who appreciated her father, Peggie now related to the sympathetic Christopher all her miseries concerning the apparent disappearance of the talented but ab-sent-minded man, and finished by explaining the object of her journey to London. " I hope you'll get some good news from your landlady," said Chris, when she had made an end of the story. "If you will allow me. I'll run you to your rooms first. We have made good time on the road, and there will be plenty of time for me to deliver the car afterwards." Peggie accepted gladly. Not that she feared travelling about the city alone. She would unhesitatingly have embarked alone on a journey through Delhi or Hong Kong had she had business in either of those unfamiliar places, and she knew London fairly well. But if, when a man's afraid, a beautiful maid is a cheering sight to see; when a girl's afraid, an energetic and friendly young man. who is obviously eager to serve her, is more cheering still. And Peggie the courageous was afraid. She dreaded the news which might be awaiting her, and .she did not want to be left alone with her thoughts until she knew the worst. Chris snaked carefully in and out of I lie London traffic, dodging constantly out of the main thoroughfares in order to avoid congestion, and thus saving time. II seemed to Peggie that they 3iad hardlv left the suburbs behind before he turned into the old-fa'shioncd square where the houses, shorn of their former state, were now let in flats and apartments to people who could not afford a more fashionable quarter.

This old square had suited tho Summericighs, because it was quiet, and near the Professor's work. At first, they had rented a small flat. Later, tho house having been purchased for apartments, they had agreed to stay on in rooms, retaining their own furniture. When Professor Snmmerleigh was obliged to go away, lue and Peggio talked long of ways and means—that is to say, Peggie spent much valuable time in endeavouring to blind her father to the worst of their poverty—and it was agreed by both that some place must be kept on for the housing of their possessions and his books. He hoped that his absence would not have to be prolonged. Meanwhile, as Peggio had declared her determination to go away to work, they stored their things in one room, in order that the others could be let, and arranged for Mrs. Denton, tho landlady, to receive and forward letters until Peggio had another address lo send to her father. The house looked familiar and homelike, and Peggie fell tho inevitable pang of homesickness, her thoughts going back to many pleasant times spent here in tho only home sho had known since childhood. The ring fetched Mrs. Denton herself, a little shrew of a woman, immaculately clean and neat, with fuzzy, dark hair, quick darting eyes and a long tongue. " Why, Miss Summerlcigh, dear, this is a pleasant, surprise," sho exclaimed warmly. "Do conio right in, and you too, sir. I'm all in my morning muddle, but I know you'll excuse it." " This is Mr. Weaver "who kindly drovo me up," Peggie responded to the questioning glances of the sharp eyed landlady. " And thanks very much, but wo wont come in', as I know you are very busy in tho mornings, and we only camo to ask—" " Why, it, is true 1 am always busy. There's never a moment, but, what 1 i',an find some work crying out to bo done. Bui, .1 am never Ino busy to make you, and any friend of yours, welcome, Miss Peggie. I've missed you badly, that I have. The place doesn't seem the samp. Arid how is the Professor, miss?" " That is what. 1 hoped to find out from yon," said Peggie gravely. " Mrs. Denton, haven't you had any letters tor mo ?" "Letters, miss? Not one." In four words the cheerful woman demolished Peggie's last hope. "Oh, dear, what, shall I do?" she cried, unable any longer to hold back tho tenra. "My father must be dead."

CHAPTER X CAPTAIN BROWNE ON THE WARPATH Captain Browne had by no means lost interest in the machinations of Christopher Weaver at the Windmill. He was just as determined as ever to get to the root of the mystery, whatever it was. Ho was convinced that young Weaver's secret was a dishonourable one, and probably illegal as well. Otherwise, why should he go to so much pains to keep it a secret ? Ho thought it quite possible that the young man might be working some kind of plant for forging notes, up there at the top of the Windmill. Whatever it was, Captain Browne was set upon finding it 01lt > an( ' *' lcn f° rc ' n S young Weaver, by means of threats of disclosure, to share the profits. This bad been a favourite game of the gallant captain's upon former occasions. It was less risky than indulging himself in criminal practices. Captain Browne's experiences of a life longer than most of his acquaintances guessed from his smart and youthful bearing, had taught him that, in the long run, it is character which counts, though sometimes brains may out-manoen-vro force of character. 110 had made a comfortable livelihood without entailing undue exertion simply by aiming his attack at the weakest characters in any given situation. Tho weaker character in the Windmill mystery was undoubtedly Mr. Tobias Sharp. • Whatever Toby knew of the matter, Browne was pretty sure that he would bo able to find out, and he did not overlook tho fact that Toby lived in the saino small cottage as Christopher Weaver, who might bo regarded as tho villian of tho piece. One by one the persons involved were ticked off by the captain on his long, thin fingers, and either dismissed as unproductive or set aside for immediate investigation.

Young Weaver was no good as a source of information. He had been tho captain's first objective, but tho sole result of an endeavour to cultivate that impish youth had been a series of falso clues loading to absurdity, which began by deceiving Browne and ended by making him Christopher's bitter enemy. To put it vulgarly, tho captain had had his leg pulled, and so little did ho relish the process that it was as much for tho sake of getting his revenge from tho young engineer as for the sako of possible gain, that ho continued his offensive. He was going to bo revenged upon Christopher Weaver. Thus, his mind being fully made up Captain Browne was quita pleased to see Toby Sharp shuffling past the Cat and Fiddle with a wheelbarrow one afternoon. He strolled outsido and wished the roadman good-dav. Toby replied to the greeting nervously. His wife had made it plain that she disapproved of him gossiping to the captain. It was rumoured in East Brarnbling, too, that when Rachel Sharp disapproved of her husband's actions she was in the habit of enforcing her arguments with the handle of a broom. Whether or not this wars true, Toby showed no eagerness for the society of Captain Browne. But Browne opened the conversation by asking him inside to quench his thirst. Poor Toby would have liked nothing better, but ho shook his head.

" I only wish I could, sir, but I got mo work to do," he responded virtuously. " All these 'ero pot-'oles in the road 'as got to bo filled up with this 'ere gravel beforo me mate comes along with the tar. See?"

Captain Browne saw. " You'll have a bigger thirst than ever after all this unaccustomed labour," bo remarked, " And you may spend the whole evening in the bar, if you've a inind to." He withdrew his hand from his trouser pocket and showed the wistful Toby a gleaming half-crown. Toby shied like a frightened pony. " If you want me to tell you things, I ain't got no more to tell you. I said too much as it is to you and your pal." " Matt Burley isn't my pal. And why do you think you have said too much?" " 'Cos I ain't, 'arf 'ad a telling orf from my ole woman over it." "Over what?" " Over talking 'bout her business and j Master Christopher's to—the riff-raff of | the village," returned the goaded Toby i maliciously. If he had hope to make Browne leave ! him in a huff he was disappointed. "Is that what your good lady said?" | queried the captain with interest. " Now | why ?" " Why—wot? I shan't never get this 'ere gravel—" " Why should she object so strongly to your discussing Mr. Weaver's affairs. She told me herself that he had nothing whatever to hide. She said the whole village might know everything he did, and welcome." " She said that to y° u > did she?" Toby cackled whcezily. "Oh, did she? Orl right!" He flung a shovelful of gravel into a hollow and moved his barrow on a few paces. Browne moved with him. " Wasn't that a correct statement, then?" " Now, look 'ere, sir, it's no manner o' use you talking 'cos I ain't going to say another word. I tell'd you more nor I ought about Master Christopher's business, and I shan't say nothing more." " Just as you like. lam beginning to wonder whether you haven't invented all that you did trl! me—or else Burley did. It was too full-flavoured a yarn to ring true." Toby, in the act of shovelling out more gravel, remained petrified with indignation. "Why, blime, wot'll you say next?" he gasped. " Invented it? Mo?" "Must have done, I think. It was a cuto dodge for petting an extra pint or so of beer. There doesn't seem to be any truth in what, you said. I have never seen Weaver anywhere near the Windmill." " You wouldn't," said Toby, leering. " ' E'd take care 'o that." " How could he ?" " S'poso 'e went in tho middle of the night ?" "What rubbish!" " Oh, is it?" cried the injured Toby. " Why, ho were there only threo nights ago, and tho li'l girl with 'im. I listened to 'em a-slipping outa the 'ouse as plain as plain, and, seeing as my winder looks out toward the Windmill, I 'opped from mo bed, without waking tho missus, and watched the pair of 'em go off in the moonlight. Why, I could tell you ! 'xactly 'ow they got into the Windmill—lor 'ow Master Chris did. But, of course, i it is all rot!" ! "Of courso it is. You were drunk, Toby." " Drunk yerself." Mr. .Sharp was growing more and more outraged every sec- ' o»d. " I watched 'em, I'm telling you i and I seo Master Christopher right on the top of tho mill —there!" | At this atsounding piece of news Captain Browne felt his pulses quicken, but j outward he managed to maintain his air of scornful incredulity. " My good man, you'll bo telling me next that, you saw him climb into tho top of tho Windmill like a fly into a milk jug." " And so I did. 1 saw 'im. I'vo got | damn good eyesight, I \iv." ! Browne laughed. "So you may have, ! Toby, hut you won't persuade me thai ! you could see a man climbing into an old mill more than a mile and a half away." " I seo 'im as plain jvs plain," persists! I Toby. " I fetched 'is own spy glasses J on I a 'is room, when I saw wot 'o were ' up to. and I could see 'im easy." j " You'll never convince mo you nre j lolling Iho truth, my dear Toby. Even ! if you (hough), you saw liiin climb into ! the mill you must have been mistaken. ! lie had no reason for doing such a perfectly mad thing." (To hi* continued 011 Satimlny neit)