AT BAY.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 15986, 31 January 1914, Page 2

AT BAY.

[Pi.' lishod by Cpccial Arrangement.]

BY RALPH RODD. Author of "Tlio Searchlight," "Whisper ing Tongues," "A Step in the Dark," "A Marriage by Capture," etc., etc.

(COrTBtOHT.) SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I and ll—Tho Right Honourable Oswald Kcnyon, Secretary for Foreign Affairs, calls on Christopher Vonablos, an impecunious lawyer, and asks him to report on " the application to prcsumo death of Cyril Claverton," which is to be hoard that afternoon. Whilst ho is with Chris a lady is announced. Mr ICcnyon leaves, and Chris, on going to sec tho '&dy, recognises her as Mr Kenyon s wife, oho bogs him to take her socretly to the court to hear tho case, and this ho does. Dunng the cvidonco of Cyrilla Claverton, daughter of tho deceased, Mrs Kcnyon leaves the Court, and a man who takes her place loaves shortly after, laughing loudly. _ CHAPTERS 111 and IV.—When leaving, Chris encounters the man who laughed m court. Tho latter gives his name aa Wiffy Peters, and declares Cyril Claverton to be J "as doad as a nail." Next day Chris takes his report to tho Right Hon. Oswald Kenyon who when he arrives is engaged. Suddenly Chris hears strange sounds, and rushing to Mr Kenyon's room sees Peters making his escape across the lawn and Mr Kcnyon on tho floor. The latter tolls Chris that he is in Peter's power. ; Chris dccides to help him, promising to meet mm at tho Athenieum that night. On going to the door Chris finds it ajar, and seeing Mrs Kcnyon nearby begins to distrust her. CHAPTERS V and Vl.—Mr Kenyon and Chris leave the house together, and shortly after Mrs Warkworth calls on Mrs Kenyon. The former urges her sister to tell her sccret to her husband, and Mrs Kenyon promises to do eo next day. That evening Chris receives a letter from Mr Kenyon, asking him to go to his country house m Surrey instead of tho A then scum. Chris docs eo, using Mr Kenyon's motor car for the journey. On his arrival he is shown into the presence of Mrs Warkworth, and learns from her that he has been tricked from keeping his appointment. He also receives a telephone messago stating that Mr Kenyon has had a seizure in London.

CHAPTER VII. "Who says that Mr Kenyon is ill?" Chris asked tho question quickly. He was determined to accept no statement without testing it. Of course she was trying to hoodwink him, and yet even as he told himself so he found it difficult to believe that the signs of suffering were not genuine. Helen Warkworth s ■was white and boggard; more than that, there was in her eyes absolute terror. It was not until the man repeated his question that she seemed to hear it. "The message, is from my sister,, sne answered. " Sue says that Mr K'etnyon had a seizure at some official. reception. A ' seizure,' that is the word she uses. And the man thought she repeated the word a third time, almost as though she found in it something of consolation. "It seems almost impossible, Ghns said. " Why, I was with him ' But she interrupted. "Impossible? Why? What do you mean? What else could it be but a

seizure?" , , , In spite of all that bad happened ne was taken aback by her distress. "I spoke carelessly," he admitted. As a matter-of-fact I don't see anything very extraordinary in Mr Kenyon s seizure, sad as it. is. He's getting an old man, he has worked very hard, and — his eyes were on her face —'' he may have things to trouble him which few know He saw her wince, and instead of being pleased he was ashamed of his little triumph. The thrust had told him that Mrs Kenyon's sister knew something; ho was quite sure she knew. The woman for an instant covered her eyes. The gesture was entirely unstudied. '' Better the hand of God," he heard her murmur, then she stopped suddenly as she got to her feet. Chris moved nearer. " Mrs Warkworth, what are you saying ?"

The other started. " What did I say?" she demanded passionately. " What should one say when the best man in the world is struck down like this!" No, it was not acting; he was sure it was not make-believe. "Listen to me," he pleaded. ' iou know something that makes you afraid for Mr Kenyon, something, I mean, apart from his illness. Why shouldn't you and I join forces?" . "You and I," she repeated, " strangers." ~ " But comrades in the same cause. Chris 'wondered what he could have said to bring that expression to her face, it was an expression almost of horror. His words, instead of acting as he had hoped they would, recalled her to the significance of the position. To Helen Warkworth it was as though she and this stranger had been on the point of entering into a compact against the sister she would never abandon. She wondered how she could have contemplated such a thing for an instant; she was actually ashamed of having done so, and, watching her, the man saw her face grow hard. The momentary fear that Dorothea hud taken some unspeakable means of preventing the meeting she so dreaded had gone. It was true that Dorothea's one cry had been that her husband and this man roust not meet that night, yet that was not to say that she would take a criminal's way of preventing it. Besides, why should she, since the plain in which she, Helen Warkworth, had perforce played a part, had succeeded so perfectly ? "You will forgive me, Mr "V enables, if I remind you that my brother-in-law has many friends." Her tone said so much more than the words. It told Chris that what he had dared to hope for an instant was not to be, it made him realise the folly of having imagined that Mrs Warkworth would either assist him or accept his assistance. " So rich in friends," he observed, "as to require no more." She had recovered her composure; it enabled her to conceal the antagonism which for a moment had betrayed itself. "You mustn't say that," she returned graciously, "only, of course, there are times when even the most ardent friends must stand aside." She had moved towards the door while she was speaking. " You will excuse me for a moment," she added, and before he could interpose she left the room. Chris plunged his hands into his pockets, and he stood for a moment staring down into the fire. There was nothing to be done. That was the bitter thought dinning in his brain. He might tramp to the station, might find some way or other of reaching London, but it would all be to no purpose. Even if he had been tricked down here the proposed interview would not have taken place; the old man who had stirred [his loyal enthusiasm was in all probability beyond his help now. It might be that ho would never . need him again. Chris turned quickly as the door opened, and he just caught sight of the maidservant with a big fur cloak over her arm. The next instant she had gone, the door was closed once more. But that glimpse awoke the man from his despondency. After all it was just possible that the story of Mr Kenyon's illness was false, while in any case he might not be as ill as Mrs Warkworth implied. The thoughts flashed through Chris Venables' mind as he moved quietly, almost stealthily, towards the door. Having reached it, Chris did the most undignified thing; he put his ear to the keyhole and listened. The house was very silent it seemed to him. Then he distinctly heard a whispered word. What it was he could not catch, only the sound, slight as it was, fired his determination afresh. Footsteps now—cautious footsteps stealing across the parqueterie floor. Chris nodded quickly, then as the footsteps died away 41 he opened the door. The place was deserted. The man snatched up his coat and hat, and without an instant's hesitation crossed the hall and plunged down a long passage. He was quite sure that was the direction in which the footsteps | had gone. A breath of cold air made him walk faster, and the next instant he knew that lie had guessed aright. At the end of the passage.a door stood open;through it he could catch sistht of a brightly lighted motor car. The chauffeur who had driven him from London was holding the door open; Mrs Warkworth was being assisted into her fur cloak. " I hope I havon't kept you waiting," he said quietly, as he stepped into the glare of light, and if his mind had not 3een full of a greater matter he would have enjoyed the petty triumph. As it was he put on hat and coat deliberately— motor cars do not dash off at a word like fiery steeds. "So the breakdown was not as bad as you feared ? Lucky I" The chauffeur said nothing; even Mrs Warkworth was for the moment at a loss. There were the servants there to hear if she lied; she could not bring herself to do so, and her antagonist admired her well-assumed composure as she made some remark about false alarms where doctors were concerned. Then Mrs Warkworth got into the car, and without waiting for aa invitation Chris Venables took the seat next to the chauffeur; at least he would not intrude upon her privacy. "I suppose it is London?" he asked. • " Yes, sir.'' The man felt the position a little difficult. "Then the quicker the better." And turning his collar U'j) Chris settled down for the journey which was so different from the one of an hour ago. All sense of pleasant adventure had now gone. As the suburbs were reached Chris stopped the car to buy a paper. Though he scarcely dared hope for such a thing, during the last half-hour he had been asking himself whether by any chance he might not have accepted the story of Mr Kenyon's illness too readily. One glance at the paper was sufficient to dispose of that doubt. The great statesman, always a popular favourite, was receiving a large amount of notice from the evening press; to-morrow all England would be waiting breathlessly for the bulletins which Londoners were reading eagerly to-night. No public mail was more beloved nor more trusted, and each fresh proof made Chris Venables realise how much hune upon the mysterious task he hoped to begin that ni<?ht. The personal honour of most men is°a subject for a limited number of friends and acquaintances; anything which affected Oswald name would be the one absorbing topic for the whole country. There was a lengthy description •of the function at which the sad event had occurred. Mr Kenyoii had been in conversation with a group of ambassadors, when, with awful suddenness, he had been observed to stagger and fall. The great man had recovered sufficiently to be moved to his own house, which was quite close. The highest specialists were; botii in attendance but as yet were not in a position to offer'any statement for publication beyond the fact that the seizure was grave, though the patient was suffering no pain. Chris put the paper into his pocket with growing despondency. There was 110 hope of doing anything now, he could only await events. The motor crossed the bridge. The uninvited passenger asked the chauffeur tc stop. He had no wish to go to Mayfair Crescent now, to intrude at this point could do no good, and without attempting to sneak to Mrs Warkworth. he raised his hat and walked away. It was more from habit than anything else that he made his way to the Derelict Club, instead of going straight to h.u Ta.ther bare little rooms, two flights above his professional chambers in Plane Tref Court. Somehow he dreaded being alone now that 110 amount of brooding ovei what had happened could do any good lie was rather hungry, too, though lie wai a little ashamed of the fact. The Derelict Club was much busier thai it had been when Chris had left it. II pot renowned for its dinners, the supperj to be obtained there were quite above re proach. The Derelicts revelled in grilloc 'bones, Welsh rabbit, and other homely delicacies; nobody drank champagne al the Derelicts, but the stout and the bitter: were considered quite unique. As Chris entered the narrow little hall Brooks, the porter, caught eight of him and he hurried out of the glass box ii which he spent weary days. " Thero's been a messenger for you, sir He wanted to know your private addres; or anywhere you were to be found. Lei this note, sir."

Chris held out his hand. Could this be another move on the part of Mrs Kenyon Perhaps she had feared lest her other plan might go •wrong. She need not have been afraid, it had been answered well enough. He—Chris Ycnablcs—had been the victim of a very modern, yet highly successful, method of kidnapp'Ag. " When did it come, Brooks?" " It was less than an hour ago, ear." The man's hand shook a little as he tore at the envelope. An hour ago Mrs Kenyon must surely have known that there was no longer any need to fear his interference The envelope was one of the club envelopes, it' vras addressed in pencil. Inside was a visiting card bearing the name " Archibald Wilberforce." Chr's remembered the name at once, it was that of Mr Kenyon's secretary, the secretary who had come into the room that morning. Across the card was written : Come to Mayfair crescent as quick as you can. Very urgent. To Mayfair crescent, and that though its' master lay very neaT to death! Mr Kenyon would be surrounded by his family, he was in the hands of the most skilled doctors in London, but the card said " Come. Very urgent." CHAPTER VIII. Late as the hour was when Chris reached the great house which had suddenly be-' come so familiar, he found himself in the centre of a strangely animated scene. The. crescent was full of cars and carriages, yet none of them was actually in front of the house, for an inspector of police and a number of his subordinates stood in the roadway, directing the traffic so that no noise might reach the inmates of Number One. Chris got out of his cab and moved nearer. He was .realising afresh both the importance and the peTson<d popularity of the old statesman. There were men ard women in evening dress in the cars and on the pavement, there were members^ of the diplomatic service wearing glittering orders talking in little groups. Thick felt covered the steps of "Number One, a strip had been Tolled along the pavement as well. At the top .of the steps wm to be seen the dignified figure of Mr Kenyon's butler, answering inquiries, while by his side was a tall footman with a book in which the names of the inquirers were written. . Chris Venables, the impecunious dweller in Bohemia, hesitated. He felt out of place in that throng of notables. As he did so he suddenly saw the police in the road stand aside to allow a small, neat motor brougham glide up to the - door itself. The men saluted, while the butter himself hastened down the steps, everyone present removed their hats. And then it dawned, on Chris who the occupant of the unpretentious car was, and it gave him a certain unreasoning satisfaction that the King himself should come in person to hear the latest news of the man who had served him and his family so faithfully and so long. ... It was an impressive little scene, impressive in its extreme simplicity. The elderly butler receiving the great Sovereign who would not allow the sick man's family to be disturbed in that house of trouble. And then the car glided on, the Taisea hands of the men'in uniform fell to their sides, bared heads were covered again. " I call that awfully decent of his Majesty,'' a young soldier in uniform re marked to his companion approvingly. The man addressed stroked his mouSt "°lt isn't every king has such a servant as Oswald Kenyon," he remarked gravely. " There are a good many people won t sleep sound to-night; this may mean war."' i_ xi Chris went up the steps. The butler had resumed his place at the top of them; he, at any rate, retained his digmhed 011 "Sir Basil Blackmore and Sir John Duckworth are still in the house, sir. They say there is no cause for immediate alarm, though the case is serious. Would you sign your name in the book, sir. The visitor took Wilberforce s card from his pocket, and he held it out to the man who had repeated his set phrase so glibly at his approach. " Look here," Chris said almost humbly, " just read that; I don't know what to ' do. My name is Venables." _ Without so much as glancing at the card, the servant stepped aside, and his voice was no' longer fomia , it vibrated with unexpected feeling. ' Thank Vjoq you've come, sir. We've been searching ■ London for you." The next moment Chris found himself in the hall, and his eyes fell upon a little 1 group by the fire. Mrs Kenyon, more 1 beautiful than ever in the exquisite gown 1 she had worn at the reception, sat in a high-backed chair, her long fingers, blaz- ■ inn- with gems, grasping either arm. ' Surely a queen on her throne had never looked more imperial. Her face was i white, but her eyes, vVhicti noted every • movement around her, outshone the dia- > monds in her hair. • Standing near her was her sister, while 1 on a settee, his hands clasped and his - head bent, sat a famous politician, and ; bv his side stood Wilberforce, Mr Keni von's chief secretary. There were one or . two others Cln'is did not recognise; if the . occasion had been different he must have ! realised that he was in very exalted comi panv indeed. As it was, he only knew 'that all in that house were conscious ot . the levelling presence of his grim Majesty 5 King Death. I Archibald Wilberforce came forward Auickl.y. «

( "Mr Venables?" he said. Then: "The ' diief has been asking for you; he ■won't 1 be moved till he's seen you.'' t " I came the moment I got your mes- I sage," Chris returned simply, and he never even noticed the curious glances with a which the others were regarding him; he 1 was too much occupied with vyhat he had e just heard. In 6pite of everything, Mir < Kenyon still meant to have the interview i others had tried so hard to prevent. 1 The little group by the free saw that the newcomer was a gentleman, and that he had rather a clever face, yet neither c fact accounted for his presence. Oswald c Kenyon had so many assistants, he was slow to trust even those of the ripest , experience. What could he want of this young stranger ? " Of course, I knew you were with the ! chief this morning," Wilberforce went on; " and I gather there was an appointment ! for to-night at the Athenreum. I sent j there, but they said you hadn't been." . Chris Venables was standing on the edge \ of the rug, facing the others. " I was to have met him there, but I | was the victim of a " he hesitated ■, deliberately, and his eyes were on the two women. He saw Sirs Kenyon's eyes nar- ' row; it was the other who flushed—" of a ' misunderstanding,'' he concluded. "I ( need not explain just now how it oc- . curred." .That "now" was both a warn- , ing and a threat. "It was not my fault; ■ I only hope that I'm not too late." j " I'm very glad you've come now, at any rate," 'Wilberforce returned. " I'll go and tell the doctors that you are here. It was Sir John Duckworth who insisted on you being sent for. I thought he must be mistaken at first." For the first time Mrs Kenyon spoke. " Yes." she said, "there must be some mistake.'' " Do you-really think-so?" Chris said quietly, but the man on the settee shot a quick glance at the speaker. The question itself was natural; the tone was noncombative, then where did that faint suggestion of insolence come in?" " Mistake or not,'' the great lady returned haughtily, " it is preposterous that my husband should be disturbed in his present condition. He is so ill that even I may not see him, yet he is to be troubled by the merest strangers." The grave-faced secretary looked embarrassed. "Sir John said "he was- beginning, when Chris interrupted. " Precisely. Sir John Duckworth wished me to be sent for, because he thought it ( good for his patient that he should see • me. Apparently, however, Mrs Kenyon does not consider that Sir John knows what he is talking about." The old eyes of one of the watchers gleamed approvingly. This unknown vouncr man was not one to be put aside lightly. ' > The secretary glanced from the speaker to his chief's beautiful wife in some perplexity. As a future diplomat he wanted to smooth matters over so far as possible. " I think Mrs Kenyon means that the chief should not be allowed to talk business," he said Chris was looking full at his enemy— the masks were off—he knew she was his enemy. . .... . " If Mrs Kenyon thinks it advisable 1 will tell you as much as I j know of the matter that brings me here." It was a mere threat; he knew so well she dare not accept the challenge. He was quite certain now that his earlier suspicions had been right. It had been Mrs Kenyon who had got him out of the way, only her accomplice had made the mistake of releasing the prisoner too soon. Now Mrs Kenyon was still fighting, tooth and nail, to prevent the interview with her husband taking place. She dreaded inexpressibly lest any should learn the secret the latter had to tell. That secret concerned the statesman s honour, snd Oswald Kenyon's honour could only b* attacked through his wite. Before Mrs Kenyon could rejoin, a door was opened, and two men came into the hall. Chris guessed who they were at once. ■ , , , " Well," said the older and the shorter of th°*n, as they joined the group, well, can't you find him?" "This is Mr Venables, Sir John, Wilberforce' said quickly. "Then what an earth are you keeping him here for when you know he ought to be in there?" The speaker jerked his thumb in the direction of the door through which he had just come. Sir John Duckworth's brusqueness was Tenowned; there were irreverent people who suggested that it was as effectual and, originally, as artificial as Sir Basil Blackmore s suave " sickroom" manner. It was the latter who laid a detaining hand on Cliris Venables' arm. "Just one moment, he said gently. " er—Venables, wo look to you to administer the medicine Mr Kenyon needs —peace of jnind." _ I " It's a pretiy big order, ' Chris returned. " I'd give a good deal to be able to carry it out." The touch on his arm was almost a caress " Oh, I think you will do it, Mr Venables, I think you will do it, even if you have to promise a little more than you can see your way to fulfil." Sir Basil made an expressive gesture with his carefully tended hands. "In cases of this sort. Mr Venables, promises are scarcely binding, a little exaggeration " "Lies. That's-what Blackmore means," Sir John broke in, " only he's squeamish about giving them their right name. Lie to our patient if necessary, and don't ha't do it either. Oswald Kenyon's life's worth iC

And with that unorthodox injunction m Ms 'ears, Chris "Venables for the second time that day entered Oswald Kenyon'i presence. The great man lay on . the couch in hi* study, it was not till later that Chra learned how strenuously he had fought against being taken anywhere else. _ No one knew why he should have insisted upon being carried there; what_ they did realise was that, in sickness as in health, Oswald Kenyon was to be obeyed. ' There was a nurse in the loom, and she crossed over quietly to the newcomer without betraying surprise. " Mr Venables." she said. Chris started, his attention had been held by the eyes of the- sick man. Mr Kenyon could not rise to greet him, could not even speak hi 3 name, but the eyes' fixed on his face were trying to say as much: They were amazinriy eloquent, ye* he could not read their message. Now he turned to the nurse helplessly, annealingly. He didn't want her to go arid leave him alone with anyone who looked so ghastly ill as that; he had all a healthy young man's horror of sickness. Sickness? this was death—he could feel death's presence in the room! He had come there charged with the injunction to give back to Oswald Kenyon his peace of mind. How could -he? How could he do anything when he was still in the dark as to what the trouble was, and while the man, who lay there with those piteous eyes fixed on his face, could tell him nothing? If she did not" know the reason, at least Nurse Ainley realised the young man's embarrassment.

" I am glad you've come," she said, " because Mr Kenyon wants to speak to vou before he goes to sleep." Speak? The poor dumb lips never even moved. " The doctors do not wish the patient to tire himself by talking to-night," the pleasant voice went on tactfully, " they hope you will be able to do most of it. If you ask questions it -will perhaps fatigue Mr Kenyon less than conversing in any other way." She spoke as though there was nothing unusual in such a mode of conversation. " I shall be in the next room; if vou want me, you havo only to touch that bell." And then she went through the door into the library, and she did not leavq it ajar., Chris Venables walked over to the couch, and he Stood looking down on ita occupant. He felt ashamed of his youth and strength, it contrasted too cruelly with age "and sickness. Great Spirit of Pity, what should he say! That he was .sorry? The expression was ridiculously inadequate. That he would endeavour——• Chris dropped on his knees bv the improvised bed. As he did so ne forgot social distinctions, difference ~.n age, the fact that up to yesterday he and this old old man had been practically strangers. "I've come, sir," he said, and he touched the hand on the coverlet pitifully, tenderly. " Heaven knows I'd have come before 'if I could. I'm ready to do anything in the world you want; there isn't a thing I won't do. Only get well, sir." The eyes spoke their silent answer, and Chris Venables felt a lumn in his throat which had not been there for 20 years. " We all want you to rest, sir, but, of course, you can't if there is anything you want to tell me first. You've instructions for me; I wonder if I can find out what they are." . He stopped in sheer embarrassment. JLnis was not the way to ask questions which a sick man could answer by a sign. Chris Venables was at his wits' end; he was disappointing the old man who looked to him for help; he was about to disappoint all those to whom Oswald Kenyon's recovery meant so much. He was crushed by the weight of his responsibility. The stricken man glanced up at the strong voung face above him, then his eyes turned away. Chris frowned in perplexity. Again Oswald Kenyon looked up at him patiently, persistently; again his eyes sought some object opDOsite. Still on his knees, Chris turned his head in the direction in which the other was gazing so fixedly k and suddenly he understood. (To be continued.)