A GIRL’S MONEY.

New Zealand Times, Volume XL, Issue 8981, 2 March 1915, Page 8

A GIRL’S MONEY.

[Fdblubbd bt Spioul Akeimcikwit.]

BY MARGARET HAMILTON. tUIPIRIGHT.j Author of “At the Eleventh Hour," "A Bird of Evil Omen," “Love—the Conqueror,” "Confessions," Etc. CHAPTER XXV.—Continued. On the seventh day Douglas did not see Croswaite at the depository. The two men had not attempted to address I each other; but, like strange cats, had waited for the other one to spring. On inquiry he was informed that the new man was at home sick. Pinkerton’s agent, however, reported that he was not at the tenement. Late that evening Kinnoul had demonstration of the fact. He was struck on the head from behind as he turned the corner of the street. The blow missed the full force—he dutked in time—but it was hard enough to send him staggering. He caught sight of Jim’s face, and raised a “Halloo.” But he could not continue the chase; the blow made him sick, and ho, suddenly doubled up. A friendly chemist dressed the hurt and put him in acab. It was dose on midnight when he reached the hotel, and the detective ‘ reported that Jim had not been home. Kinnoul appreciated the significance of the news. It meant that Jim would try to break the safe that night. The ordinary and proper course was, of course, to give notice to the Safe Deposit people, and the police, and. if possible, to catch Jim red-handed. .But that was no part of Kinnoul’s plan. If he could get possession of the contents of the safe Peggy’s chances of winning the case would become practically a certainty. He proposed relieving Cros- ; waite of the valuables he had stolen, and to make such terms with that ex-, pert thief as would win him into a ' witness for Peggy and against Melliman., It 4 was a risky game, and by no means a lawful one; but it had the great merit of being a swift and sure methid of restoring Peggy the fortune —if successful. He dared not have assistance. An ally would of necessity be a witness, and would know that Douglas had held up Jim as surely as Jim had burgled the safe. It was a tough' job to take on singlehanded. but Douglas rather gloried in the risk. Was he not .fighting for Peggy?, Was he not risking his life for her dear sake ? ; He dismissed Pinkerton’s man, arranging that he* should be within telephone call all night should he be want,ed, and left careful instructions in the hotel office that he had. gone to bed, and must not be disturbed. The information, duly given to an emissary of Jim’s, reassured the latter. He had given Kinnoul a knock-out blow, and now the coast was clear. “A silly fool like that to think he could do me!” he ejaculated to the Kipper. He had long since found the lady, who, on: hearing'* as much of Jim’s .story as he chose to tell her, made up her mind to sell her evidence to the highest bidder. In other words, she decided to go to England, and swear she was Bessie Hartley if Melliman would pay her more than Jim, or to remain in New York and take an affidavit to the effect that Margaret of Hampton Court was another and very different person, if Croswaite put her services at a higher figure than Melliman. She cabled the solicitor to that effec* —in the code peculiar to the gang. But Melliman at that time had left England, and the Kipper, incensed at such discourteous, treatment, decided to go in with Jim. She it was who inquired for Douglas, and took the glad news of his collapse to her partner. “All the same” —the Kipper, was Cockney born and bred—-“all the same, you’d better Hike another feller wiv yer, Jim. It’s a tough, job on your lonesome.” . “Shut your head,” retorted the housebreaker. “How am I to smuggle in a pal? You' forget that I’m a workman on the premises, and have to finish a special job.” She did not argue further, but .left him outside the Safe Deposit buildings. . . The night porter sleepily opened his eyes as Jim passed. He was known there as a smart workman, and, in spite d£ his short service, a trusted one. ■ , ■ . • “I’m going to finish setting that new safe,” Jim explained; .and, shouldering his tools, went along the passage down a long flight of stone steps, and so into the cavernous gloom of a deep basement. He was at work in an annexe to the building, where as yet there were no occupied safes. He put his tools down, and for half an hour worked, or pretended to do so. At the end of that time, just as the clock was, striking two, ho made his way towards the corridor in which was Russell Gordon’s safe. He fitted a kev of his own make into the massive iron door. It swung hack noiselessly, and was immediately re-locked. Croswaite switched on the electric light, and peered down the long, wide corridor that stretched before him. On either side, at a distance of some fifteen feet, were steel doors, each bearing a 11 umber, and in some cases initials. He lit his lamp carefully, then switched off the electrip lamp, and, with only the single ray of light to guide him, went forward swiftly and with noiseless feet. He, reached at last No. 52—the safe that held the Gordon million. His heart heat a thought quicker, and a faint colour tinged his sallow cheeks. He had not been in the corridor before; his work lay in another part of the building, and his imagination had free play round the wealth that lay behind those massive doors. It was useless to attempt to pick the lock; his only chance was to out. through the steel. In the dim light of the lantern he insered his drill —a wicked little instrument that would cut anything but granite—just above the lock,. and, stooping over his task, set to work. The perspiration rolled off his forehead in great beads —steel is tough, even to a burglar’s drill—his breath came quick and quicker, and a certain tremor about his knees made them shake. • The dim light got on his •nerves. His imagination played him tricks; he saw dim, shadowy forms emerging from the blackness beyond the round red eye of the -lantern’s glow. He heard soft, stealthy footsteps —whispering voices, felt ghostly fingers at his throat—until the sweat poured off him as it does in a Turkish bath. With shaking hands—they were steady as a rook while working—he took a flask from his bag and poured half the contents, the best French brandy, down his throat. The bogeys took flight immediately, the pitter-pat of catlike feet resolved into the legitimate creak of inanimate things in the early morning, the ghostly fingers went at the loosening of his collar-hand, the whispering voices stopped with the singing in his ears. , Nearer and nearer home, the wicked little drill worked like a beauty; the dexterous, guiding wrist faltered never; the brain of the craftsman was

behind the force, informing and controlling itThrough now! The circuit completed, the lock fell out into Jim’s hands as a ripe plum falls in a schoolboy’s cap on the shaking of a tree. He laughed and coughed, and all but cried—every craftsman feels hysterical relief at the successful completion of a difficult and dangerous task. The door open, ho raised the lantern, and viewed the contents; then, with eager, anxious fingers') laid them on the floor. (To be continued.)