THE LUCK OF THE DARRELLS

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXVII, Issue 8609, 20 December 1913, Page 10

THE LUCK OF THE DARRELLS

[Pcblisiifjj nv Special Arrangement. J

BY ERNEST TREETON,

Author of “Tho Instigator,” “Her Double Lite/’ ■■'iiie Saving _ oi Christian Svrgison,” “Tlio Coring Mystery,” etc., etc. COPYRIGHT. CHAPTER XXII. That Wedge was apparently an utter failure, in tho view of a, layman, was made manifest by the fact that Glyndale was beginning to lose faith in the infallibility of the police. Stafford had been to Cloister street; ho had last been soon alive there; and that-was all Inspector Wedge had to otter as the product of his talent. Rut Wedge had a way of his own, of saying so much, and no more. But ho confessed to himself that in the case of tho Luck of the Darrells he was wearing out his teeth on the hardest nut that ho had ever had to crack. Even Doris, who paid him tho compliment of regarding him as a, very clever man, could hardly believe that such a dismally blank failure must be accepted. With the fact proven that Stafford had been to the office of Slewth, it seemed grotesque to declare tho impossibility of continuing the search. “Rut did you not see signs to show that he might have stayed in the house?” she asked incredulously. “None,” Wedge replied. “But 1 will toll you this, Lady Doris—l would not tell it to everybody. If he is not dead, he is not a mile away from the Abbey. I can’t tell you how I know if, except by deduction. There is no way of finding him; at present the avenues are too closed. There is nothing that can be done, short of a housc-to-houso search; and you must obtain authority for that—if you can get it,” “Then, we must sit down in despair?” Doris cried. “I am afraid you must, for tho moment,” Wedge confirmed. “Never 1” said Doris, emphatically. But she did not say it aloud. When Doris spoke in that strain something was due to happen. Two more days passed in silence, and they brought her to tho limit of her endurance of inaction. She resolved upon a bold hazard. She herself would go to Cloister street. But it wao not an easy expedition to devise. Tho high conventions of her castlo besot her. She was unmarried, not a matron; and she was not accustomed to appear outdoors unchaperoned. But in the end fortune favoured her by assailing her mother with temporary indisposition. That somewhat voluable lady was keeping to her room with a prostrating headache. “Mother,” said Doris, venturing to disturb the sufferer, “1 want to mako a call, but 1 need not trouble the grooms. If I take Morgan and go in a cab, do you mind?” “No," murmured Lady Glyndale wearily, reduced now' to very few words. “Is your pater out?” “Yes,” replied Doris. “Very well,” her ladyship succumb-, ed, finding talk and a headache too much for her. Doris , gave time no opportunity for interposing a, cause to detain her. Tho house porter whistled a hansom cab to the door, and, with Morgan for her companion, Doris started on her adventurous journey to Westminster. Cloister street elio had never seen, and the ecclesiastical calm of Cloister street itself surprised her. In another moment the cab came to a, standstill before the, door ofNum- . her 4. Doris alighted, leaving her maid to wait in tho cab, and stepped across the pavement to the broad stone approach to the door of the fateful house. As she stood between the railings pathos, came tremulously to her. She felt morally guilty of, having sent Dick to his death—if, indeed, he was dead. Like other callers, Doris saw tho injunction to ring. She wondered that an answer was not immediate. But presently the door opened, and simultaneously she . started and shrank. Sloop was peering up at her, and she was looking at him. The calm, inoffensive character of the street at on.ee vanished from Doris. This crooked creature, looking like a living gargoyle, turned it into a sinister place. The humped figure made the doorway of the ho’uso appeal - like a threshold to unknown darkness and terrors. For a moment she.could not speak. . Perhaps tho coming' of a woman to his doorstop was so rare to th© hunchback that the vision of Doris startled him. Doris herself was too perturbed to notice the quickly changing look, itself a start, which came into his face with hi* first glance through the open-. ing door. But ho ordered himself into the manner which ho conceived to be required by the unfamiliar circumstances. A great deal of tho odd nurtness and manner in his eccentric character was subdued. “Yes,” he queried, piping his thintreble; “who did you want to see?” “If Mr Slewth, or Mr Laidlaw, has; not returned, I should like to see whoever is in charge?” Doris replied, a little faintly. “M’yes. Come inside—come ini” Sloop replied. ' ' For a moment Doris hesitated. But the next instant she‘recovered herself. Thought of the purpose for which she had come gave her courage, and for tho sake of Richard She dared the uncertainties of the strange house. She stepped jcross the threshold, and tho door closed behind her. But, then, as Sloop attended carefully to his lock and button, and she stood for a, waiting moment in the hall, a sinking weakness came to her. In his huddled way. Sloop led Doris into tho consulting room of Laidlaw, and placed a chair for her. “No,” ho began, giving his deferred answer to her question; “Mr Slewth and Mr Laidlaw are not back yet. Mr Slewth is very busy— very busy. He’s away iooking for the Darrell Luck. JMyesl Is it anything I can do far you ? My name is Sloop. Something in the hunchback affected her strangely. She found herself unable to withdraw her questioning gaze. It s that that I’ve come about," she replied, explaining. “Or, rather, I have come to inquire about one who was interested in finding it. His name is Richard Stafford, and he called hero to make inquiry. Can you give mo any information about him? I am Lady Doris Darrell ” “Oh! Lady Doris, eh?” Sloop piped, with the curious interest of his freakish nature aroused. “I have read' of you. Oh, Mr Stafford; I remember now. He came here to sq© Mr Slewth about the Luck—yes, I remember. But

I don’t know where ho was going. He didn’t say —no, he didn’t say —not a little word.” “Yes. But did he go? Or did he stay somewhere about here?” Doris pressed, unwilling to believe that she must pauso here, and get no further. Perhaps Sloop was chuckling with tho rarity of having a woman in his amusement, for tho faintest flicker of cunning flitted in his face. “There are no hotels in this street,” lie squeaked curiously. Doris looked hard at him. If she was not thinking him an extraordinary creature, she had a thought that was taking an -extraordinary shape, though, perhaps, not yet fully defined. It was evident in her face. “Does Mr Slewth, or Mr Laidlaw, know where he is?” she asked, revealing that her mind was regarding Sloop as a more comprehensive personality than circumstances made him appear. “Surely ho could not have come hero simply to vanish? He has never been seen since.” “No; they can’t know where he is—can’t know at all,” Sloop answered. “They must have seen the news in the papers —m’yes—and would have been sure to write—quite sure. Mr Slewth is at Penrith, and Mr Laidlaw is in Paris. So I can’t tell you—no I. can’t tell you.” All her woman’s intuition was now quick in Doris, and her thought and feeling were as fleet sparks of diviuation. . Inspiration came to her. one thought of do Brocas, and of Ins words: “How could I possibly know where ho is? But I confess. Liven if I could tell, don’t forget, Doris, 1 love you. lam afraid you would ask me too much." Wonder was added to her inspiration. De Brocas had said: “Could you be surprised, then, that I would banish him, it I could?” Do Brocas was a gentleman. She did not believe him to be capable of descending to the vulgar baseness of kidnapping. Yet he was a man of mastery, of stupendous confidence, and of compelling power to bend things to his will, and to bring them to his end. She wondered whether words let fall by him had set m motion the causes of Stafford’s “banishment.” “There is a gentleman—Mr Aubrey do Brocas —who has been much interested in tho Luck. Has ho ever been here?” she asked springing the question upon Sloop, and watching his face intently. The name of do Brocas seemed to interest .sloop, but in what manner there was no divining from his face. “If there is anybody I should like to seo it would be him,” he piped appreciatively. “He has never been here, but I have heard about him. Mr Laidlaw transacts all Mr Slewth’s legal business —m’yes—and X heara Mr Slewth say to him once that ho would like to see Mr de Brocas.”

Inspiration and wonder collapsed in Doris, and for a moment her senses were scattered. It seemed to her now thal she had gone as far as she could go, and that she must accept hopelessness as her portion. “But if ho has never been here, and is not known, why shpuld MrSlewtb like so much to see him?” she asked, formulating tho question almost mechanically. “I think I know,” Sloop replied, crinkling his face into a whimsically sly laugii. “Mr Slewth once did some clever detective work for Mr Remington, a friend of his at Manchester. M’yea. Well, when your Luck was lost Mr Brocas wrote to Mr Slewth offering him five thousand pounds to find tho Luck— —” “Five thousand pounds!” Doris exclaimed. Sloop’s revelation startled her. This was a new phase of tho Luck of which eho liad not heard before. She could now understand her father’s reticence. But the revelation quickened her senses Her intuition was again awake, and inspiration and wonder returned to ,her. “M’yes,” piped Sloop, in answer to iher exclamation. “Perhaps I can find 'the letter. I’ll go and see.” With the words he limped and shuffled upstairs to Slewth’s private office. Left alone in tho room, Doris looked around it. curiously. As once already, she seemed to feel the presence of Richard, now more perceptibly and more closely than before. But Sloop hobbled back into the room, and tho strange spell was broken. He handed her tho letter, and, with curious feelings, with de Brocas seeming to become almost a presence, she- read it. She acknowledged to herself the truth. The letter, if verging somewhat upon a liberty, was perfectly honest-seeming in spirit, generous in prompting, and frank, genial, and friendly in tone. “He never came himself,” Sloop squeaked in explanation, when he saw that Doris had finished reading. “Mr Slewth was very busy, aud couldn’t 'take it up. No, ho co'uldn’t, though he accepted. M’yes 1 It was only when Lord Glyndale came to ask him that he took it up. And then he (lid not do it for Lord Glyndale—no—but because ho admired Mr do Brocas 100 much to resist. I heard him telling Mr. Laidlaw.” “But why. admired him?” asked Doris, wondering strangely. Tho look of whimsical, confidential ■slyness came into the hunchback’s face again. “You shouldn’t bo so beautiful,” he replied, curiously, crinkling his face into a mysterious grin. Ft seemed almost like a toad croaking compliments to a rose, But Doris started. This was a strange echo of tho words of de Brocas to come from the crookback. “I believe you must know Mr de Brocas I” she exclaimed, spontaneously- “ Has ho told you those words, then?” asked the weird, knowing creature, almost alarming her with his uncanny perception. “I shouldn’t wonder —no, I shouldn’t wonder a little bit. If I were a do Brocas I should say them to you often —'m’yes 1” Doris stared at him, shrinking for a moment with aversion. “You speak very strangely,” she said automatically. “So did Mr Slewth,” Sloop rejoined, harking back to his explanation of the inquiry agent’s admiration for de Brocas. “When I heard him say, By gad, this man, de Brocas, is a sportsman, and ought to win her,’ 1 didn’t know what he meant. No, . not a scrap ” Doris winced. “ ‘He deserves to,’ Mr Slewth said; but it wasn’t till a day or two after that I understood him,” continued: Sloop. “There was a newspaper cutting on his table—in’yes—but I hadn’t troubled to read it. But when I did read it I could see why he admired do Brocas, and took up the Luck after Lord Glyndale came.” Inwardly, Doris quavered. “You arc not very explicit,” sba; murmured mechanically. . “Heo! hee' I thought you would understand,” piped Sloop, amusedly. "L

understood when I read the tale about tho baron and Lady Mary. Mr Slewth was crowded up with work, so it was just real sport that made him heap more on himself with the Luck. He s interested—that’s it. Ho admires de Brocas for ins fine bid for ” “No, no!” Doris broke out vaguely. She" anticipated that Sloop's coming word would be “you.” With her cry, and, perhaps, because of it. a strange change came into the manner of the hunchback. He peered at Doris intently. “M’ves,” he said queerly. “No doubt that was it. Air Slewth was attracted to help just for the sport of the thing—to see what would happen. That’s why I’d like to see Mr de Brocas. He must be a capital man—splendid ch? But don’t you like him?” Doris did not answer. She felt dumbly at war with the perverse forces that had thickened around her since the eventful night at Baylhurst House. Perhaps Sloop read her answer in her face. His freakish mind probably knew that if she had cared for de Brocas her face would have become self-conscious, even if she bad not answered “Yes.” “Heyl” he piped mysteriously. “Why do we marry before wo have seen all the women of the world? What blundering blindheads wo are —m’yes 1 If I wasn’t married already and wasn’t ugly!" ho concluded, curiously and significantly. Doris rose quickly from her chair. “How dare you!” she exclaimed warmly. “Are you master or man —partner or servant? If you are a servant, do you presume to take liberties with your master’s callers?” The crooked cooer answered unabashed. “You must forgive me — m’yes—you must forgive me for what I could not help. As to Mr Stafford, he’s not here, of -course; and you should know better than I whore he was most likely to go.” Doris conceded something to Sloop’s freakish nature and its - eccentricity, and recalled some of her calmness. “Then there is nothing more I need stay for,” she returned, a little wearily; and then, as she looked finally around tho room, she added casually, “These are roomy old houses.” “Yes,” Slooji replied, with o'dd appreciation. “Would you like to look over it?” Something prompted Doris, as a kind of realisation of the thing she had desired, and she nodded. Then, once again , Sloop possessed himself of his keys, and escorted her through the nous© from tho basement do roof. She saw all the things at which Inspector Wedge had looked. Like him, she looked into the cupboard over tho prison hole; but she saw nothing, neither there nor elsewhere. Presently she was back again in tho hall, only waiting for the opening of the street door in order to depart. Doris had removed her right glove. Before she could, realise his intention, Sloop bent his hump and kissed her hand. It was a kiss that stung, just as the kiss of de Brocas had burnt her. Impulsively she snatched away her hand, and hurried across the. threshold the moment the door was open. As die wont, the conviction was in her, strong and clear: Richard was alive and was not far removed from that house, if he was not in it; and do Brocas, in some guise or another, had been within its walls. Sloop stood on the mat in the halfopen door, bending his huddled body ih an awkward bow as the cab moved away. As she left the unrevealing house out of sight, a fresh flood of wonder came to Doris. Behind its door Sloop stood curiously, with the flicker of a strange, meditative smirk in his face. His grey eyes were large, as if they could see before them ripe, tempting, and rare fruits. CHAPTER XXIV. With tho passing of the hours in an broken silence tho weight of ill-omen settled upon Glyndale. The time thal passed without bringing tidings of Stafford was also as mute in other things, almost as mysterious. _ Slewth and Laidlaw might have been in their graves; and Inspector Wedge, though alive and visible, had less to say than the Sphinx. In tlie midst of these dumb portents, fie received a letter. It was datestamped at Sheffield. He knew nobody in the Yorkshire city, and opened it with growing interest, which culminated in tho letter itself, for he read:— 1 My Lord,—! have much pleasure in informing you that I have succeeded in tracing your historic iamily Luck, and have obtained possession of it; though not, I am sorry to say, of the men who stole it. Prom Loudon r traced them to Manchester; thence to Neweastie-on-Tyue, find to Glasgow. By some means they must have received icommunications, for it was evident that they knew that somebody was on their track. They hardly paused in Glasgow- For that reason 1 had some difficulty in picking up the trail; but presently I menaced to locate them at Penrith, where they were lying low. 1 had hardly arrived betore they were gone; but I traced them to Leeds, and thenco to Sheffield- This time 1 had better fortune. I found their lodgings in their absence; and, having a rather* simple landlady to deal with, I represented ra.vscif as a police detective from London, and demanded to search their luggage. At the bottom of one of ' their travelling bags I found the Luck, sealed in an Raster egg. But that discovery itself spoilt my opportunity for having them arrested. The Luck was too precious to be risked, and as it wae too liable to bo lost again, lying loose in my pockets, I hurried first to my hotel to secure it, intending afterwards to go to the central _ station to lodge the necessary information for their arrest. X was absent hardly half an hour; but in that time, apparently, they returned and “struck camp." They could not stay with Castle Have He'- and Dawkins behind them. From the window of my hotel I saw them rush into the station just in time to catch a south-bound train. I was too late to overhaul them, but I found that they were making for Grantham. From there, I expectj they will double back to tho north, trying to throw off the scent, perhaps, by making for Birmingham, Leicester, or Derby. Then they will probably try to make for North or South, Shields; or it may be Hull. But now I am at. their heels I mean to have them, even if I let even-thin- else go. I never let myself be “done.” 'Meanwhile, the Luck is perfectly sale. Will you let me know whether you would like to entrust it to the post, or whether you would prefer to run no risk of fresh loss by leaving it in my charge until I return to,town? You might convey' vour wish to Jasper Sloop, th© attendant at Cloister street. I shall try to wire my movements to him, and he may be able to catch me with a telegraph message. In any case, whether through the post, or by my own hand later. I will return the’ Luck direct to you. as per agreement: unless you and Mr de Brocas have nnited in some new j arrangement, in which case I shall be happy to comply with _ your joint wishes. 1 am writing to inform him of the recovery of the Luck, but as I t-ave- not the time for repeating all the details, perhaps you will be so

good -ns to give him a view of this 'etter. I was here only the day, and am now going to Grantham, whence, from information 1 have just obtained, I expect to have to make for Kettering. via Northampton. You would not wish the slavers of Dawkins to escape, and I don't intend to let them get shin to the Continent from Shields, or Hull, if I can help it.—l am, my Lord, your obedient servant, Luke Slcwth. As Glyndale finished lus reading of the letter, he permitted hnusett a tree breath. “Thank goodness for that!” ho said to himself. “i wonder what Mr Wedge will say to this;' Do Brocas was right. The man is a greater genius than, he looks. It would bo safer, i fancy, to let him hold the Luck until he is hack in town. I should have been much easier, and better satisfied, if ho could have come at once; but he is right, and I must give him a free hand. The Cains must be caught.” He had now to consider the peculiar relationship of do Brocas to the recovery of the Luck. Do Brocas was to him a power of unknown quantity in this new development of the romance of tiie Luck. Ho could not be sure, after all, that Sleuth’s employer might not put aside the repayment of the five thousand pounds, to which ho was entitled under the agreement, in favour of a recompense more acceptable to his sentiments. The thought increased his gravity. Tho legend of the Luck was as old as his family, and the tradition of the Lady Mary Darrell was nob to ho held lightly. The Lack had been lost, and what had happened once might happen again. But bo recalled the references of de Brocas to these “more modern days,” and he drew from them some reassurance. Lord Glyndale sat down to * his wri-ting-table, and wrote two notes. Both of them were brief. The first was addressed to the hunchback, Jasper Sloop, announcing the receipt of Slewth’s letter, and intimating a wish for the Luck to bo retained by the confidential agent until his return to town. The second was directed to Mr Inspector Wedge, informing him that Glendale wished to see him during the course of the morning. Both notes Glyndale dispatched by a footman; and then he settled himself in his chair to read his Parliamentary papers with greater ease and freer mind than he had felt since the receipt of the fateful news from Castle Haverley. In the course of a little more than an hour Inspector Wedge arrived, his somewhat meagre face looking the abiding place of curiosity and mystification. Glyndale had ceased to have news to communicate to him for some time; ho was therefore all the more filled with wonder by the note of the morning. “Well, Mr Wedge,” Glyndale began cheerfully; “I have interesting news for you. The Luck is found.” (To be continued.)