BURGLARY

New Zealand Mail, Issue 6, 11 October 1907, Page 7

BURGLARY

(By D. Conyers.)

Ruin. It seemed painted on the stillness of the Juno sky. It winked

from tlio changing advertisements, blotting out flaring red and yellow signs of somebody’s soap. Lumbering

muttered it in thunderous undertone; hansoms’ bells jingled it shrilly. Ruin—-so great a thing and f , th’h". n mere two hundred pounds. The hoy—he was little more—who heard and saw tho soft, word so incessantly, walked white-faced ib-«vicrh Ton Apr,, going through an endless network of streets and squares, ' -4f- 1 rAill nine! let thought rend him. Sometimes he peered into carriages, with their freight of-well-dressed men and women, wondering what they would think of his trouble tf they knew. Nothing to them: a new jewel’s price, a dress or two, an evening’s amusement, flowers for one room at a hall—while to him it was a gigantic tragedy; the earthkquake wave about to flood Atlantis. Neil Schofield was a young barrister, who, as foolish boys will, had listened to another bov’s careless promisee, and signed his name to a bill. The bor-. witm> fi-A i—”p nfii'oad. forgetful; the Jew money-lender, scenting out Schofield’s rich uncle, in-p.-jr.l l.j'! vm'tnd of fle'ih. To-mor-7*o tv vP ■M-.y-'v mnBATr \V q not fortliPAming, he threatened publicity, and Neil knew what, it would moan to him. The loss of allowance, and, consequently, of career, for he felt sure that liis hard old uncle woidd not forgive. He had given his promise never to run into debt, and without thought had broken it.

Five hundred pounds and a passage to Australia, instead of the life he had learnt to love.. Already men nodded at him a? he passed, whispering that, tiro new junior "would do:” hut tho bar is slow: it woidd be years before he cmtld keen himself. Neil had come out at seven to walk dinnerless on and on, trying to think.

cr, d-s-'a-a+olv -Wf. Tfe might have tried borrow from others but a strain of obstinate pride forbade that. Reaction followed the numbness o: despair: the rage of impotence seised him as he passed into the quiet streets beyond Oxford Street. He paused, faint and dizzy. There was a dance at one house, a woman, glittering with jewels, went in from an electric brougham as he pn.--v-.r-d; she held a tiara of diamonds in her hands. —-y nV'lt a d'-ffvU-IT-.n catch to her companion. Neil stared at her. his lirvs working; it would be a second’s act to snatch the glitering

•trim .-.1-i cy J Viir»ry V*.ov r»o vc\](Tl’pcpA and bo away before, she had recovered from the start: to dash round tho corner. and then step ouiet.lv into a cab.

Ho could get money for it, he knew that, for he had been.to a na.wn-s.hop that morning to be offered £9O on his watch and a parcel of other things. A dirtv place, in a noisome lane, which bis servant had directed him to, and tho proprietor, a half-shaven, dirty ■Tew had eved him with suspicious. had turned auicklv hack to ask for a a match, and, unwitting of pawn-shop etiquette, turned into the nearest box and heard the low word, lialf-whispcr-ed to a villainous looking ruffian with a bulky parcel, “Take ivhat we get. but we pay accordingly.” Neil had got his match, given to him with surly looks from receiver and thief, and, idly wondering what he had stumbled across, he left again.

“Take what wo get!” . . . He stood outside the house; the strains of tho Choristers waltz, the rush of foot, and tho swish of skirts drifting through the window. The girl with her winking orown was safe now, but if he had acted on the mad impulse which had stirred him, he might have gone .back with it + e that dirty shop, got his money, a third of the jewels’ value doubtless, and saved himself. Before morning could stir the police, he knew that the tiara would have been in pieces, Schofield walked on, his head swimming, his brain working on this new idea. He must sink while these people owned riches. There were treasures in. those quiet, closo houses which would pay for him many times, and scarcely bo missed by their owners. Ho came to Berkeley Square; on© side

was empty and still, another blocked by carriages. He chose the quiet side, devouring the sombre houses with greedy eyes, until he came to ■where a slit of white light poured across tho flagged steps, making him pause astonished -- Ho knew the house; it was Lord Cranberry’s, an old man who had recently married a pretty young wife, and whoso collections of treasures were x>ricoless

Why did the door stand open? Trotiblo and want of food have driven men mad before now. With a sudden reckless laugh. Neil Schofield, gentleman and barrister-at-law,, went up tho steps with tho lust- of theft in his ■heart.

He pushed the door open and went in. One small globe lighted the hall, but the rooms beside it were dark. He stood there listening, half wondering if anyone would rush out at him, and what he should say if they did so. Yet, even as he listened, he knew that he had expected to find it still/ burglary was being made easy to him. "The dining-room lay to liis left, but silver is a heavy load, and something within him rebelled at the thought of stealing -spoons; the drawing-room was his goal. He had heard of the collection up there.

He saiv the old prints on the walls, the marble statue of Apollo which poised its lender limbs on the landing, then he v'ent on, liis feet silent on the thick carpet. The drawing-room door stood ajar, but inside he could see tho gleam of the moonlight striking through the blinds. There vvas no one about then, some accident had left the hall door open; still smiling grimly, still upborne by madness, he walked in, turning to search for the srvitch of the light. But, as he did so, something clicked, a swift glare dazzled him, and he blinked at it, his heart throbbing heavily. “Your are early,” a woman rose, standing in the circle of light.

I’he sound of her voice broke the spell of madness upon the hoy, he stood dumb and stupid, cold with, a shamed fear.

The details of the long drawing-room seemed to burn themselves upon him, a veritable treasure-house; toys of silver and gold, a little table full of precious things.

Outside a big clock, chiming, struck one.

“'You are early,” she said again, in a young, tremukms 'voice. White-faced, he stared at her. Lady Cranberry, of course; she was welldressed in clinging white, her neck and arms bare.

“You can speak,” she went on. How her voice shook. “Lord Cranberry is away. The servants are asleep at the top of the house.” R

was evident that she mistook him for someone else, and for someone whom sho didn’t know by sight. “One,” he stammered foolishly, as another, clock boomed, and a jewelled figure on the writing-table pounded a single feeble clash on a gold anvil, appeared nearly to overbalance, and then recovering, itself, went to sleep. “And the hour was half-past,” she said, looking closely at him. “Come, Mr Hartly, let’s have this out,” but how her voice trembled. “You ask impossibilities, as, surely, vou must know.”

Schofield started then, for he knew a man called Hartly by reputation, and that an evil one. A hanger-on to Society’s fringe; a doubtful man to play cards with; a person without any known income, who managed to live well.

“Oh, do speak/’ she said unhappily, and as sho stirred he saw that she was a mere girl, a pale slender child, with masses of hair which, catching the light, made a red glory about her troubled face. Her eyes were dark, her eyelids pink from recc-nt tears. “1 asked you to eo.mo here,” sho twisted her hands, "because—oh, because I was afraid to meet you cut anywhere. I know whut you hold or cr me; but why ask what I cannot give?”

What he held over her? Child as she was she cowered before the baring or some guilty secret What bee’s nest had he stumbled upon, and wliat should he do? Common senso should have suggested flight, hut the evident trouble held him. ‘ See, I have sold ” Her voice broke. “At least that docs not matter. I have got hero notes for two hundred pounds. I cannot get you any more. Why, evon to-morrow my missing jewels may be asked for. Oh, sir, will you not take it,, and give mo what you wrote of—a promise of silence?” She took a step forward, holding out a little package. He could see her dress rise and fall as she drew quick, panting breaths; one band w; : pressed against her heart. Neil smiled then, He had omy to take this package, evidently made up for him by Satan himself, and he

could face to-morrow without a qualm. Face it and leavo this pitiful frightened child to meet Derek Hartly, a man who would make her pay again and again if sho treated him like this, trusting to a olaekmailer’s honour. Perhaps, after all, the powers of good a,nd not of evil had sent him there. “Lady Cranberry,” ho said gently, and noticed that sho started, “I am not Mr Hartly. Forgive mo for not saying so before, but your presence startled me.’’

“Who are you, then?” sho whispered.

“I am—in fact—l ”■ ho .stammered, his face aflame, “I am a burglar, a common thief.”

She sat down then, her cheeks snowwhite, but her eyes steady', . lie saw that she was not afraid.

“A ourglar,” she mutered. “I—oil, do burglars You look like'a gentlenan,” she said.

“And hoped up to an hour ago that I was one. I am selling you the truth. I am a mere Bill Sykes. But perhaps I can help you. At least, burglar though I be, I’ve not come to steal a girl’s peaeo of mind. We’ve got ten minutes Look on mo as what I am, a mere thief, bub Let me teach this man Hartly not to blackmail women. Only, I must know where I stand. I cannot work in the dark.”

She ran across to him then, touching his sleeve, looking intently into his face.

“You —you’d help me,” she cried softly. “You’d meet this man, frighten him away ” Her colour came and went. He raw that her ey'es were grey. “But—but —he knows that there is no one to help mo. Ho would suspect a plot.” “Have you no brother or cousin whom I could personate?” asked Schofield . “A brother 1 Oh! I’ve a brother Fred,” she cried childishly. “He’s in Australia, so no one knows him. Mr Burglar, you shall be that brother.’’ “But I must know the story,” lie said, end winced; it hurt him to think that this young wife should harbour a guilty secret. “There’s no time. Oh, what shall I do?” She held up her finger, listening to hansom bells, and switched off the light. The moonlight stole in. through the white blinds. “Wait! cou shall get behind the curtains and hear me tell the story to him. Only, only then ” she faltered. ‘‘You mean that two men w r ill know your secret. Trust me, Lady Cranberry, burglar though I may be.'' “1 trust you,” she whispered, and pushed him to the window'. Ho pulled out the chintz curtain, standing behind it Steps were on the hall below, then were lost on the stair-car-pet. The girl flashed on the light again, and stood in its circle, pale and young. Tho second man came stealthily. He halted in tho shadow by the door, striking his knee against a low chair as lie came on, aaid swearing softly. The light fell on him, a tall, ooarsa man, with shifty eyes and a hard mouth. Assertively well dressed, a,nd too gentlemanly to be a gentleman. He looked round the handsome room and name on, a sneer on liis face. He found his voico easily. “I don’t like this,” ho said. “Not half like it. Tlio servants ” “They sloop soundly,” she said in a lew voice, but it rang firmly. Her terrified manner w r as merged into one of quiet courage; she felt the proteoiou behind ho -flowered cumins. ■‘You see I wished to speak to you, and feared to meet you elsewhere. You’ve askod for high payment, Air Hartly, to keep my little secret.” “You may call ‘t little,” he said, sitting down and leaning back, his manner insolent. s “Well go over it.” said, coming i close to the window. “Yes-—I prefer it. A year ago i became friends with a certain man in Society, one specially disliked by my—by Lord Cranberry; in fact, he asked me not to continue tlio friendship. But 1 wms obstinate and foolish, " and continued the acquaintance Suffice it to say that phis—gentleman played on a young girl’s sympathies, and finally asked nio down to Brighton with him to meet his sister. Lord Cranberry w'aa away. You need not sneer, Air Hart—ly; that was the arrangement i left Victoria, and you, knowing me by sight, thought it worth your while to follow. You followed us to the Metropolo, found out that we were .alone, and apparently went away satisfied, having achieved a step in your profession What you do not know is that I returned to town in an hour, and have not known that person again.” “It seemed so unnecessary to go over it all. You know quite well how it would sound in Society. You are aware, also, that Lord Cranberry would never forgive you. Wo all

know what he is. I think Tin letting go indiscreet a young lady off rather cheaply. Como, I’ll take five hundred new and the rest when you can. ’ The curtains quivered; it hurt Schofield to hear this sneering wretch browbeat a mere child. -

“So pay me—or take the . eonsc quenoes,” said Hartly easilySchofield thought of what it would have been then, in his absence. The little useless bundle of notes, the child’s tears.

“I cannot,” she said. “I’ve no way of raising so large a sum.”

“I'll take it in instalments, my dear,” he said coarsely. “You ought to know some way of getting money. If not, why, who’ll miss a lew of these toys, and they’re worth a bit. 11l choose a few 7 now.”

He rose, going to the antique table close by her. >lt was locked, but he took a key out which turned easily. There were the small treasures down there which Schofield had thought of. Indian necklaces and bangles heavily set with stones, buttons of turquoise and emeralds, rare gold boxes, old lace.

“You—you’d make me a thief,” the girl whispered aghast. “Better than what people might call you. Why be melodramaticF They will put it down to the housemaids or the butler.” He bent over the table. And, all the time, Schofield was going over "he drama; if he had not come in to thieve, and this helpless child had boon alone!

“Oh, stop,” the girl cried, her silken skirts swishing as she sprang forward. “Put those down, sir! My brother shall talk to you.” “Brother!” Hartly swung round, dropping a necklace with a clatter. “Your brother is in Australia.” “There aro steamers,” she said, with strict truthfulness; and touched the curtains. “Fred,” she said tremulously. Hartley stood open-mouthed, his face white.

“You cur!” said Schofield, stepping out, but keeping carefully in the shadow lest Hartley might chance to know him. “You cur! A pretty stor} this, to come blackmailing a mere girl, and to try to steal in her house. I think, sir, even the clubs you frequent would close their doors to you if this were known. I’ve taken the only possible course. Lord Cranberry knows your trumped-up tale, and you were brought here to-night Vs see how far you would go. We scarcely thought you would stoop to breaking open cases of curiosities.” The fine contempt in Schofield’s voice avis well done—for a burglar. “Now 7, my good Mr Hartly, if you don't leave quickly, by Heaven, I'll help you on ynnr av 7 ay.” “Yon speak prettily—as a very Bayard,” said Hartly; but his teeth were hare, bis breath came quickly. Bullies aro generally cowards, and Schofield towered blackly over him.

“Cod’ said Schofield. “If it were not for my sister’s presence, I’d give you the thrashing y-on deserve. For your own sake, bury this night; let a breath of it stray abroad and I’ll have you whipped off the narrow shore of decency you stand on. More, I’ll track you myself, and— I’m a strong man and would be merciless.”

Years of card-playing and late hours had not hardened Hartly’s muscles; he sliiveffed and muttered.'

“Don’t whimper about the law 7 ,” said ■Schofield., “Tour story would sound lame in Court. Besides, having marked you, I’d pay the fine only too willingly.”

"Oh, fine words! Fine Avords!” sneered Hartly, unevenly. “All right; I see I’m beaten.”

The girl stood silent, her head on the table but now and again she drew quick breaths and her eyes Avere afire. “Go,” said Schofield. “And remember.”

. iTo blackmailer turned, a someAvhat pitiful figure. “We may meet later, Miss Bdon,” he said, “at other raih\ 7 ay stations.” Having shot a last bolt of spite, he bowed and left them. The shadows swallowed him, they heard his step in the hall, and by a common impulse darted to the windoAv. Outside they saAv Hartly shake lUs fist at the house, and dv'alk on, snarling, to his AA’aiting hansom. “That.” said Schofield, “is over.” He looked doAvn at the pretty face, glad that no black secret lay behind it. “But if I had been alone,” she Avhispeied “If you had not come in. What then? What would the coming months haA T e been?”

Neil drew in his breath. Ho thought ot_ her piteous shaking voice, her frightened manner, her little roll of noues, they Avould have had scantmercy from the blackmailer soft!- 3111 * G ° d 1 camc! ” said

She beckoned to him, flitting suddenly down the stairs, and took him to the dining-room, pointing to the decanters and syphons. Neil took a long drink gladly. There were sandwiches on a plate, and he had never tasted more welcome food.

“He’ll never trouble you again,” lie said munching. “But tell me, why did lie call you Miss Eden ?” “I am Lord Cranberry’s adopted daughter, she said simply, “not his AAite. A mere nobody in the establishment now that he has married. Her ladyship does not care for me, so you seo where. I stood. Also ” her voice trembled again, “Lord ’ Cranberry, though a severe man. has been very, very good to me, and the thought of causing him pain was not the least ot my trouble. And you, Burglar ” sbo Avheled on him, “I want the truth from you. Surely, surely, burglars are not quite so—well, so like Avliat you are,” she concluded lamely a f of str ange events, .-.ehofield told his story; the girl he had helped listened silently .watching uni closely. Outside the occasional hoot of a motor-horn or jingle of bells as the ball-goers Avent home, broke the silence. The clocks struck tivo, mi heeded .

The girl waited until Schofield had finished, then she took her little parcel thrusting it into his hands - \ ou 11 from me,” she said simply. ion see veu might have run away with it if you had chosen Even in your madness, though, you would never have stolen. And will you take my advice ? Tell this uncle of yours everything. He may be cross,_ but he is human. I shall bo surprised if you do not bring me back my loan in a day or tiA'o.” “Back?” he said, bewildered, holding tbo notes. “Back!”

*fJy friends are alloived to call upon me,” she ansivered steadily. “And you Avould number me- ' “Among them, if I may,” she said with childish dignity. “I think that I remember yonr face. Don’t hurt mo by refusing either mv loan or friendship.”

He saw fresh tears on .her lashes as ho bent over-her small hands and said good-night. The clocks struck three as lie wont out. The June skies were blue when he went away, wondering if it had all been a dream. “

It was certainly an odd proceeding for a burglar to call tAvo days later at the house which he had entered to rob. He carried a sum of tAvo hundred pound:< abo\ 7 o a light and happy heart.

Later, rising in his profession, lie married, and his gentle little wife is Avont to declare with gravity that she once met a burglar Avho came to steal the spoons and found him quite charming. What Derek Hartly said when, for curiosity’s said, he slipped in to see the wedding, Avas quite unfitted for the interior of a sacred building.— “Graphic.”