PUBLISHED BY. SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. PRISONERS OF THE COUNCIL

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12194, 20 July 1925, Page 12

PUBLISHED BY. SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

PRISONERS OF THE COUNCIL

BY

LEWIS RAMSDEN

Author of "The Word of a Somerleigh,” "Red Cavalier," "Mjr Comrade Frank,” "Under n Kingly Mask,” &c., &e. , [COPYRIGHT.]

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I. to lll—The story opens on Clifton Suspension Bridge. John Travis mediates putting an end to affairs. He is accosted Dy a man >vho fancies he can read some deeign of the hind in Travis's attitude. The stranger shows a certain fear of a motor-car and its occupants. He offers John Travis two hundred and fifty pounds, being the half of his present possessions, ir he v r ill' render him a service. John Travis, being in immediate need of funds, agrees. They retire to a wood. The stranger gives his name as, John Latimer, stating that spies are after himself and his wife. They change apparel, and John Travis agrees to adopt for the time being the personality of John Latimer, thus giving the latter an opportunity of getting away unobserved and joining his wife on board ship. Attired as Latimer, John Travis makes his way back to the Suspension Bridge. He sees once more the motor-car, also the motorists. Their behaviour fills him with suspicion, and he enagges a hansom to drive him back to the hotel. Arrived there, he goes to Latimer's suite, and has a wash and change. The attendant tells him Mrs Latimer has arrived. He goes to the drawing-room, and sees there a beautiful young girl, who does not appear to know him. She tells him she is Helen, and Travis remembers that Latimer’s wife ifras Marie. Helen inquires for Marie. Travis find# out that she is Latimer's sister-in-la\v. . They dine. Helen tells him that he is not like her sister's description of him. She says she has run away from the convent, end pleads to be allowed to stay. He says it is impossible. As Marie does not turn up, she jumps to the conclusion they have quarrelled. She lets him know she is the Countess Helen Fredro. He reveals to her that he is not her brother-in-law. CHAPTER V.—THE YELLOW DOOR. Frantically I struggled against this sudden and ignominious bondage; but my struggles were of no avail. Someone held me in a grasp so powerful that I had never experienced the like before. .1 tried to shout, but it was like those fruitless efforts one makes in a nightmare. Not only did the folds of cloth about me stifle my voice, but the embrace in which I found myself tightened about me in such a grip that the very breath watt squeezed out of my body. Then a stout cord was rapidly wound about my limbs. A more helpless condition than that in which I now found myself can scarcely be imagined. 1 was trussed, bound up like some living mummy,- and in this-state was borne by -Herculesn arms to some oonvevance which rhe throbbing engine told me was a motor-car.

The whole thing came upon m so suddenly that I was only now beginning actually to realise what had happened. Had it beeu only my own liberty at stake I could have laughed to think how much skill and cunning had been wasted upon the wrong person * but any such tendency to appreciate the humorous side of the situation was effectually subdued by the knowledge that my carelessness, my folly, my insular stupidity had brought upon the Countess Helen the fright and shock of this capture. But now I felt that some more wraps were being put about my body, and as I was wondering what this coqld mean, the covering which enveloped my head was somehow removed the cloth slit and pulled aside, I believe. For a moment or so this partial and unexpected freedom, this change from semi-suffocation and darkness to the fresh though- cold air, and to -some measure of light, bewildered me almost ks much as my capture had done. Then I- could take in the details. of my position. To my immense relief the Countess Helen really was sitting, beside me; she wore a cloak and a motor veil. A motorist's coat had been put about me, too, and a cap was now placed upon my head. The reason for this was obvious. AVe were on the outskirts-of the city, perhaps were going to pass through it, and although we were secured prisoners it was necessary we should present the appearance of ordinary motor tourists. The car was the same “60” Mercedes I had seen earlier- in the evening, and the three men who were its occupants beside Helen and myself were those I had seen also. The fur-coated chauffeur and the man beside him, the powerfully built fellow who sat in the oar at my right hand (the countess being at my left) were those I had met on and near the Suspension Bridge. Although the time during which my head had been enveloped in the cloak had seemed like hours, to show how short it really was, I m,ay say that the car, moving at a fair speed though it was, had not yet left the Downs.

As I looked at the Countess Helen’s lovely face I saw, even \hiough her motor-veil, that it was white, and she was looking frightened and bewildered, so the first attempt to use my comparative freedom was to try and reassure her. “Try not to be alarmed, Countess,” I commenced. “I feel sure when they find ” “Gardez le silence, Monsieur Latimer!” exclaimed the big man beside me.

“Vous vous trompez, monsieur, 99 I began.

“Gardez le silence!” he exclaimed again, this time with a menacing sternness; and I kept silence, not so much because it seemed dangerous to disobey (which I could, not doubt it was), as because of another difficulty which came to my mind, which was this: if I were allowed to explain now. and my explanation were accepted, I should be betraying my employer, the man whose money 1 had taken. Was it not my first duty to give him something like a fair start of his pursuers?But I was spared the necessity of making my own decision. The man next me addressed me again, and still in French. It seemed as though he had read part of my thoughts. ‘We shall soon be passing through some part of Bristol, monsieur,” he said. “Pray understand that any attempt to call for assistance will not only be futile, but will be instantly fraught with unpleasant consequences to yourself and to madame.”’

The light from a gas-lamp fell upon the speaker’s face as he uttered this warning. It was not the face of an ill-natured or an ill-tempered man, but it was decidedly that of a strong and resolute one. I could quite believe that the consequences he mentioned! might be exceedingly unpleasant. He also spoke across to the Countess Helen, but in a language I did not understand (Russian I rightly guessed it to be), and the import of his words was, I afterwards found, a warning also, to which she made no other reply than by a little nod. We sped through Redlaud and C olham suburbs of Bristol, and through

I will not attempt to describe rr\ impressions of the night-slnmi icl) scenes through which the silent chauffeur—ever alert, ever wate r i, -guided the car carefully, yet for it.,- most i.ait at that speed which seemed to me so amazing, so daring ,md so icekt-c-s ) will only say that, before I thought it could be possible, I fb'iruJ wo moving through the outskirts of London.

“Remember your oary.e d’hontieur monsieur.” ’

Again it seemed as though I had betrayed my thoughts in some look or attitude which Michael was observant enough to read. Possibly he was only Warning me because our necessarily slower speed .and our meeting with an occasional policeman, gave me a better opportunity than I had vet had of raising some alarm. But I had not foigotten my word of honour, and had no intention of departing from it. My word, however, only bound me for* so long as the present journey lasted; directly it was at. an end I should feel myself at liberty to make a dash, to seize the slightest opportunity which might present itself. Vngue ideas of what, with various opportunities, of imagined good luck, 1 might be able to accomplish, passed through my in hid. But these proved to be no better than mere idle fancies, since the chance of putting any one of tiiem into practice never came.

a network of poorer ways which belong to the East End of that city, avoiding the straighter road which would havo taken us through the heart of the town. It was practically my first experience of motoring, and the way in which the car slid and glided amongst the thick traffic of those arteries of commerce through which we had now and again to pass was to me amazing. I felt I could have thoroughly enjoyed it, but for the irksomeness of my bonds and my anxiety respecting the Countess Helen. Almost before I was aware of it we were on the Bath road (the older and upper road), and had left Bristol behind us. Here the big man beside me (I afterwards heard him called Michael, so I may as well speak of him by that name), again spoke. ‘‘lf you will give me your parole d’ honneur, monsieur, on madame’s behalf and your own, not to make any attempt to escape during the journey, it will give me pleasure to free you from those cords which you must both find very irksome.”

I hesitated before answering this proposal, whereupon he continued verv decidedly, though at the same time with n pleasant manner which had a fine flavour of courtesy. ‘‘Pray understand, monsieur, that it floes not really concern me whether you accept or refuse. It is my business to deliver you and madame to those who will judge you for the fault you have committed ; but I would willingly accomplish this task without causing you any more inconvenience than I can Kelp; that is all. You may mention this matter to madame, but you must .Speak in French, which I understand far better than 1 do the English.” 6

I turned to Helen to repeat what he had said, but she had heard, and said hastily : “I don’t think it would do the slightest good to revise, really I don’t, and —and this horrid rope is beginning to hurt me dreadfully.” After this I. of course, lost not an instant in accepting Michael’s offer, and without a word he pulled back the motor-coat from my shoulders, untied a knot in the cord which he then unwound. finally unfastening it at in. feet. I gave a sigh of relief as I shook the cord from me, and the big wrap which had enveloped me, and the blood onoe more began to circulate freely in legs and arms.

“Doubtless monsieur will prefer himself to unloose madame’s' bonds; but there must he no conversation. To allow that would be against my instructions,” said Michael, and the delicate consideration which prompted him to give this permission confirmed my opinion about his innate good nature. I gave him a word of thanks and. as quickly as my half-numbed fingers would allow me. unloosed the bonds of the Countess Helen. The man sitting beside the chauffeur evidently viewed these proceedings with no favour. He even addressed to Michael, in Russian, some- words which I took to be a protest; but our more kindly-deposed captor soon silenced ths fellow. As for liis sour looks I returned them with, interest, for it must have been' he who had secured the Countess Helen, and he had wound the cord ]ber wit}), a figjitgess which I considered unnecessary, so that her delicate arms *44' 'wrists 1 were bruised, almost cut. and her ankles must have been the same.

In spite of the prohibition against speech she whispered' her thanks, and the beautiful eyes looked at me with a gratitude wEich struck me to the heart when I felt how little I had done to deserve any such expressions. They made me more angry with myself thai. any reproaches could have done, and as I chafed' her numbed wrists and hands I silently, thougj. none the less heartily ' cursed myself for that careless folly of mine which had brought her te such a pass as this. By this time we had left Bath behind us. Hitherto, although the speed of the car had seemed to me great, it had, I believe, only now and then ar all exceeded the legal limit. But as we reached the more wild and open country, our lamps sending white shafts of light along the lonely deserted road, Michael passed some word to the chauffeur, who, pulling down his goggles, very deliberately moved a small lever on the steering wheel. At first ! could not quite realise wbat was .happening. A great wind seemed to rise, to beat upon my face, to fill my lungs, 'o swirl about my ears with continuous and deafening sound. In the glare if white light which our lamps cast along the road I could see hedges, gates, telegraph poles and other objects whirling by with confusing rapidity. Then it dawned upon me that I was travelling at a 6peed such as I had never experienced on any high road before. Seldom, even on a railway, in an express train, did the ordinary traveller lournev for any continuous time at such a rate as this.

There was a sensation of exhilaration. I could almost have thrown aside any care,, any anxiety, and have given myself up to the enjoyment of the swift motion.

There are rare circumstances wjich (tike the art of the Indian juggler producing it, it is said, in the signt of the watchers, from the seed, plant nil.) [flower and fruit), can bring to fell growth a friendship Which only numbs of ordinary intercourse could’produce. Such circumstances were th ise which now involved the Countess I! yen fuel myself.

We had turned into a, gloomy street of ordinary old-fashioned houses, big dull, straight and tall. I had an idea we were in the neighbourhood of Soho. This was scarcely more than a mere guess, /or not only was my knowledge of London small, but the hood of the car had been pulled up, so that I had only partial glimpses of the way. On our entering this street the motor horn Sounded a note which I took to he a warning to a solitary foot-pas-senger crossing the road, but which I now suppose must have been a signal.

The last house on the right-hand side of the street was taller and bigger than the rest. Adjoining it was a high wall running on to the end of the street and roofed; a covered yard, in fact. In this wall a big door stood open, and, before I was aware, the car had slowed, turned, shot in through this doorway, and come to a short, shuddering stop. Then the big door was shut quickly behind us. And unexpected as was this conclusion to our journey, one trifling detail made that odd kind of impression on the memory which, without seeming to specially strike one at the time, is afterwards recalled. The big door had one time been painted a kind of dirty yellow, n common colour called light stone. The glare from the acetylene lamp of the car flashing upon the door, had for an instant revealed to me a mark just about the height of n child from the ground. Jt was the imprint of a chubby hand, probably made by some youngster years before, when the paint was wet. And this mark hud still faintly survived in spite of the changes which weather, wear and tear. London smoko and erime. had wrought upon the. Yellow Door. iTo he Continued).' .