LOVE'S TWO-EDGED SWORD.

Otago Witness, Issue 3014, 20 December 1911, Page 68

LOVE'S TWO-EDGED SWORD.

THE NOVELIST.

[All Rights Reserved.]

By Christopher Wilson, Author of “ The Wings of Destiny,” ‘‘The Missing Millionaire,” “For a- Woman’s Honour.”

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued.) —ON THE THRESHOLD OF MASTER Y.

HERE was a tap at the door, and Emily, entered with the change of the five-pound note. “Ain’t the corfee all right, sir?” she queried, glancing doubtfully at the neglected breakfast tray. “Yes, thanks, Emily, I’m sure it is,” said Keston, as he thrust the mingled heap of gold, silver, and coppers into his pocket, without counting the coins. Keston finished his breakfast, with his eyes still riveted upon the column of the Daily Sentinel. Then, when he had carefully read the two columns from beginning to end, he gathered up the scattered notes which lay upon the bed, donned his hat and overcoat, a,nd sallied forth in search of a tobacconist and —a barber.

As be walked through, the streets the energies of his trained intellect were devoted to sifting and arranging the factors of the strange problem which had invaded his life. The facts which he had gleaned from the luxuriant verbiage of the Daily Sentinel were simple enough. It was the one supreme fact which was within his own personal knowledge that tangled the matter. Max Harden was an indulgent master who took most of his meals at his club, and it so happened that, upon one pretext or an'other, most of the servants' in the bachelor household in- Hill street had obtained permission to absent themselves on the night of the tragedy, in order to attend a select ball which had been organised under the august patronage of a Cabinet Minister's butler. And thus, from 6 o'clock on New Year's Eve till ? o'clock on the following morning, the only members of the domestic staff upon the premises were' Mrs • Morrison, an elderly housekeeper of unimpeachable respectability, who had been in Harden's service for many years, and Bridget Tooman, the cook.

On the night in question it appeared that the cook had retired to bed about 11 o'clock. Mrs Morrison, then made her customary round of the house, peeping into Mr Barden's empty bedroom and study, both of which were upon the first floor, as she passed. When she had completed her inspection, she returned! to her little sitting room at the back of the entrance hall, from, which, with the door ajar, s'he had a clear view of the front door. There she remained till the clock struck 1, when, laying aside the novel which she had just finished, she, too, retired to her room at the top of the house.

There was, therefore, ample proof that Max Harden, who had gone off to his club to dine, did not return to his house before 1 o'citock on the morning of Januaay 1, and probably not till much later, as" Mrs Morrison did not fall asleep _ till about half-past 1, and she was positive that if he had entered the house -in the meantime she would have heard his step in the hall or on the stairs.

Crooks, the valet, returned from the ball at 7 o’clock in the morning, and having been admitted by the housekeeper, who had risen about ho ( lf an hour earlier, made hie way upstairs towards his master’s bedroom. But at the open door of the study he paused, astonished to find the electric light still on. Then he entered the apartment, and Barlow, of the Daily Sentinel, who afterwards interviewed the terrified man, discarded his last verb and revelled in adjectives as be described the scene which met the horrified eyes of Crooks. “Shattered furniture! A rifled writing desk! Upon the magnificent carpet, a tortured tangle of torn papers! The debris of a veritable hurricane of savage violence! And then, upon the ccstly Oriental rug in front of the richly-carved fireplace, the prostrate figure of his master, already stiff and cold in death P’ Barlow’s style was not elegant. But it was grotesquely forcible; it was the stuff that the millions who read the Daily Sentinel craved, and it was cheap at a halfpenny. "One thing is manifestly evident,” he wrote —“namely, that this appalling crime must have been committed between the hours of half-past 1 and 7, a fact of profound importance to the police ohicers, who have lost no time in commencing their arduous and responsible investigations.” And as Richard Rest on lay back in the barber’s chair, staring dreamily at the ceiling, that newspaper paragraph, with its irresistible inference, haunted his thoughts Avith relentless persistence. For she knew that the writer’s deduction would also be the deduction of the police, and—that it Avas untrue. It Avas manifestly his dutv to communicate Avith the police authorities Avithout delay. And yet, even as the duty shaped itself within his brain, he Avas conscious that the horrible fears of the night still held him in their grip. The dead man had been robbed of his valuable watch, and also, as appeared from the neAvspaper report, of a large sum of in'oney in gold, which had been in his possession when he left his club. The starving wretch, who, on his c.Avn admission, had wandered to the Embankment Avith the desperate resolu-

tion to take Ms own life, might not find it easy t'o lull the suspicions of the police. And even if he escaped suspicion, he would be called as a witness at the inquest: the fuJJ measure of his own terrible degradation would be wrested from his lips and presented by the halfpenny press to a gloating public—and then? His hand tightened upon the bank-notes in his pocket, and as he rose from the chair, his resolve was taken. The money which Flynn had sent would give him another chance to win back his position in society. Much might be done with twenty-five pounds. No, he would not throw that chance away by courting publicity and scandal.

. CHAPTER lII.—A MYSTERY OF THE | >SEA. ! “A penny for your thoughts, Winnie. Wondering if the long voyage will ever come to an end, or wondering what the " Old Country will be like, eh?” John Grant stretched himself lazily in his deck chair, and glanced inquiringly at the pensive face of the girl by his side, who was gazing dreamily at the faint outlines of the distant Portuguese coast. She awoke suddenly from her reverie and turned towards her father, with a merry twinkle in her eyes, as she said: u No. I was only thinking about th© two passengers who came on board this morning' at Vigo. And in any event your guess was a bad one, for ever since we left Buenos Aires the voyage has been altogether delightful. ' I feel as if I would like to sail on in the dear old Cap Vilano for ever, and as for England, I know what it will be like. It will be like home.”

Grant smiled at his daughter's enthusiasm, and replied : “My dear Winnie, do try to be logical. If you were to sail on for ever you would never reach England, you know.” She threw out her hand with a swift gesture towards the blue waters that sparkled in the afternoon sunshine, and shnigged her dainty shoulders with a pretty affectation of impatience. “Logical! Who could be logical at sea?” “If it is a conundrum, I give it up. If it is an argument, I am too lazy to tackle it,” retorted Grant, adding with cowardlv evasiveness: “Well, what about the two new passengers? English, I should think.” “She is,” said the girl. “I was talking, to her in the reading saloon after luncheon. But I don’t know about him. He speaks German fliuently. When he came on board he had a long conversation with the captain on the upper deck. I happened to pass them two or three times, and they were talking German all the time.” She broke off abruptly and nudged her father’s arm with her elbow, glancing significantly at a lady who had just emerged from the entrance to the deck staterooms and was advancing slowly towards them along the promenade deck. As she passed the long row of deck chai: ranged side by side, the eyes of their cosmopolitan occupants followed her with onen admiration. John Grant was a man who interested himself but little in women, and yet there was a subtle charm about his new fellow-passenger that compelled more than a passing glance. Elegantly dressed, with the most exquisite taste, lithe and graceful in her every movement, and apparently unconscious of the scrutiny of admiring eyes, and lost in her own meditations, she was indeed good for the eyes to look upon. Her age was uncertain—possibly 30, possibly 35.

As she passed the place where the Grants sat she bowed slightly and smiled at the girl. For an instant her eyes encountered the searching glance of the man as he raised s his hat, and the bright smile faded suddenly from her l'ps, leaving her face cold and expressionless. Grant turned towards his daughter, -,as if to speak, but even as he turned his glance had wandered along the deck, and the words were checked on his lips. A man had come out of the smokeroom and was following the unknown lady in her promenade, making an effort to overtake her, but keeping steadily several paces behind her. At a glance Grant recognised him as the second passenger who had joined the at Vigo. He was tall, square-shouldered, well-groomed, and immaculately attired in a suit of dark blue serge. His upright carriage,, measured gait, and dapper neatness suggested a life of soldiering. But it was his eyes that mostly attracted the attention of John Grant. Grey eyes that at first glance seemed to travel along the upturned faces of the occupants of the deck chairs, with a dull, incurious gaze, wandering ever and anon to the figure of the woman, with the same indifferent look. And yet, as John Grant watched the stranger it came to him in a flash that the expressionless apathy of those grey eyes was but a veil behind 'which their owner scrutinised his surroundings with ceaseless vigilance so that no least detail was unnoticed. When the .interesting couple had passed round to the other side of the ship Grant turned again to his daughter. "An Englishman, or possibly an American, but certainly no German, whatever language he may"speak." He paused for a moment, and then added, "They are travelling together, aren't they?" "Yes, I think they are. But that is exactly the thing that puzzles me about them.''

The girl hesitated, and Grant glanced at her interrogatively with a sligtit upward lift of his heavy eyebrows. The girl went on:

■ "You see, when they were coming on board from the tender and while their luggage was being looked after, they were tafkina- to each other, apparently in the most friendly fashion. He had her ticket, and he arranged all about her stateroom with the purser. Well, from the time when the tender left for the shore this morning till now, I don't believe that they have ever spoken to each other,

although " She paused again, and Grant repeated: "Although "Well, he has been following her about all day, just as he is following her now. Wherever she goes, the man is always at her elbow, and yet they behave as though they were total strangers to each other." Grant wrinkled up his grows and emitted a low whistle from his pursed-up lips. Then he said laconically : "Know her name?" "Yes. Miss Tremayne." John Grant drew himself upright in his chair, frowning long and earnestly at the painted rail of the Cap Vilano, as he struggled with the fugitive recollections ■which the name had evoked. The last 25 years of his life had been spent in the Argentine, for from the gaieties of London society, but from time to time illustrated papers_ and magazines had reached him, and his memory for trifling details was tenacious. Suddenly he brought down his heavy hand upon the arm of the wicker chair with an exclamation. "I have it!" "Well?" asked the girl. "I felt sure that. I had seen her face before," he said. "And now I remember. Why, my dear Winnie, Stella Tremayne is quite a' famous personage, in her own line. She created a huge sensation, some , years ago, as a music-hall .dancer. Then she went on the-legitimate stage, in light opera, created the principal part in wingford's wonderful success 'The Golden Moon,' and since then has had all London at her feet." He paused for a moment, and then added meditatively: "And no wonder, beautiful." A tiny German toddler came running out of the children's dining saloon, gripping a piece of currant-studded Kuchen in his chubby hand, and vociferating insistently : " „ ' 'Mees Grant! Mees Grant! You haf pwomised to tell me eine fairy story, ven I feenish meinen Kaffee. Und now, i haf jneinen Kaifee feenished." He patted hie little stomach, bit a large half-moon out of his Kuchen, and added : "You vill tell me dee story? Ja, Mees Grant?" Then> just as Winifred Grant departed with her youthful admirer, the captain of the Cap Vilano came up and seated himself in the -vacant deck-chair. At the commencement of the voyage the blondbearded Teuton giant had held himself shyly aloof. from the cold reserved Englishman, who was reported to have made a colossal fortune in the Argentine. But by degrees the two men had drifted together till the occasional chat ripened into intimacy of f riendsKip ' and mutual respect. They were, both of them, strong men, men who had attained to success in their respective spheres by dint of hard fighting, and even physically there was much in common between the big-boned, .broad- shouldered Englishman, with his Bronzed features and crisp brown beard, and the stalwart seaman. "Well-, captain, this is wonderful weather for the Bay of" Biscay, at this time of year," said Grant. "Ja, ja. Eet ies all fery .veil in dee 'Bay,' und I tink ve vill haf eet goot till you and Mees Grant go ashore at Southampton, but den—-veil, you know dere is always dee ice in dee Elbe, and most likely "also mooch fog ven ve to Hamburg come." Captain Berg shrugged his shoulders and bit at a black cigar with vicious emphasis. For a moment there was silence. . Then Grant said ; tentatively: "You have got a very distinguished passenger on board, captain. I, mean the English lady from Vigo." Captain Berg blew a lusty whiff and nodded vigorously. "Ja, she is most disteenguishedly-beau-tifool," he ejaculated, mistaking Grant's meaning, and coining a new compound word, aiter his Teutonic fashion. "Aeh, Gott! She is so vundervoll lofely!" he added, with a deep sigh that made Grant glance at' him with uplifted eyebrows. "She is a famous actress," he said. - "So? I did not know dat," said Berg, adding, with curious irrelevance, "But she is nevertheless vairy lofeiy. Ja.' - ' Grant acquiesced, with a nod and a smile, and then he said : "What is the name of the gentleman who is travelling with her?" For a moment the German hesitated awkwardly. Then, as if answering some unspoken question, ne eaid slowly: "Ja, ja. He is trafelling with her. Ja, gewifs. His name is Schmidt —John Schmit." • ■ Grant glanced sharply at the speaker, and then said: "Ah! An Englishman, of course? S-m-i-t h is how he spells his name, isn't it?" "Ja, Schmit —I said Schmit," repeated the captain. Then, rising abruptly to his feet, he added: "And now, Meester Grant, you must pardon me I must to dee britge go, a new course to set." John Grant looked thoughtfully after his retreating; form. The course of the Cap Vilano bad been already altered off Finisterre. He remembered what Winnie had told him concerning the long conversation between Mr Smith and the captain and he began to suspect the existence of some mystery which Berg desired to hide, f For a few moments he lay back in his chair, with half-shut eyes. Then rising, he walked deliberately to -*the stem of the liner, where he remained for some time staring curiously at the eddies that were churned up by the twin propellers. , When he returned to his chair suspicion had ripened, into certainty, for the steamer's creaming wake lay stretched upon the sea in a perfectly straight line, as if .drawn by the side of some gigantic, invisible ruler. No new course had been set by Captain Towards nightfall the weather changed, and when the passengers emerged from the gwgeous saloon after ddnner they ■were greeted by chilly blasts of wind and a curtain-of driving rain that seirt them shivering back to the card-tables in the palm embowered lounge. John Grant

She is superbly

hated cards, and the strains which floated from the music ■ room, where the ship’s band was giving a Wagner concert, sounded to his ear discordant and unintelligible, so, donning a heavy overcoat and discarding his shoes in favour of boots, he lit a pipe and made his way out to the deserted promenade deck. Suddenly, from the uppermost deck above his head, came a sound of voices, which caused him to halt abruptly in his stride. •‘This is intolerable How dare you? How dare you?” The words rang out above the noises of wind and sea with a note of fierce challenge. In an instant Grant had gripped the rail of the staircase that led to the upper deck, and, as his foot touched the first step, there came to his ear the cold, passionless tone of a man’s voice in reply, and he paused. “You are Unfair, madam. You know that I have endeavoured as far as possible to show you every consideration. But I cannot pennH ” “Yen cannot permit!” The woman’s voice seemed to choke for an instant, with passion, and then she went on indignantly. “What right have you to-night? To-morrow— to-morrow I know it will be different, but —to-night ” Her voice broke, and Grant fancied that he heard a sob.

"Possibly I have no legal right; but I am accustomed to take risks, madame." Tlie man's tone was so calm and unruffled that Grant turned on his heel, unwilling to play the part of eavesdropper. But, even as he turned, there came from above the unmistakable sound of a physical struggle that sent him flying up the dark staircase, with hard-set jaw and clenched fist.

It was a strange scene that met his eyes as he gained the upper deck. In the shadow of one of the lifeboats a man and a woman were struggling violently, while from thfe open' doorway of the Marconi room the uniformed operator stared at them as if paralysed- by astonishment. The woman’s cloak had fallen back from her shapely shoulders, and as he sprang to her aid Grant’s keen eyes recognised the gleam of the diamond necklace which Stella Tremayne had worn at dinner. “What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed savagely, and without waiting for an answer his fist shot out straight for the face of the man, which was partly concealed by the shadows. But his adversary was on his guard.. Releasing the woman, he swiftly jerked his head aside and dropped his hand to his pocket. Then, even as his knuckles rasped painfully against the side of the lifeboat, John Grant found himself staring into the gleaming barrel of a levelled revolver. “Gott im Himmel!” ejaculated the startled operator. Grant glanced swiftly from the grimly resolute features of Mr John Smith to the pale, terrified face of •Stella Tremayne, and swore softly under his breath. Then, suddenly, Smith replaced the weapon in his pocket, and said: “I beg your pardon, sir. I think 'we have both made a mistake. You came upon me so suddenly that-"! did’ not know who you were, and then, you see ” He paused, and added, with an explanatory shrug of his shoulders, “You might possibly have been someone else.” His tone was absolutely calm and unruffled, and he tendered his extraordinary apology with an air of easy carelessness, as if threatening to shoot a stranger at sight was exactly equivalent to brushing against him accidentally in the street. Grant stared at him in speechless amazement, and then turned abruptly to Stella Tremayne with the question: “May I ask again, what does this mean?’’. She glanced at the speaker with an expression in ■which gratitude and apprehension were strangely mingled, but no word came from her quivering lips. Then Smith intervened, “I have already apologised to this gentleman, but he wants - more than an apology. He want an explanation.. Shall I explain, Miss^ Tremayne?” Her hands fluttered out in tremulous protest, and she exclaimed : “No ! no!”. Then, glancing with. pitiful entreaty at Grant she added, “Please, please, do not insist.” / Grant bowed silently, and for a few moments there was an awkward pause. Then Mr Smith resumed, in a quiet, halfapologetic tone : . . “As for the telegram, I assure you that I had no desire to read it. If I read it I could make no use of it, as you probably know. I snatched it from you only to prevent your sending it, and if yon had permitted me to explain matters to the operator as well as to the captain, this unpleasant scene would have been avoided. Then, as he noted the scornful incredulity that gleamed in her eyes, he walked across to the deck rail, tore up the crumpled slip of paper. which he had taken from her, and flung the fragments into the sea. Then, with a polite bow, he turned away, leaving John Grant and Stella Tremayne face to face. For a moment Grant hesitated. Then he said gravely: “The rain is very unpleasant, and I am afraid you will get a chill. May I take you down to the saloon?” Her dainty hand closed on his proffered arm with a clinging, nervous clasp, and as they went down together to the sheltered promenade deck John Grant was conscious of a strange thrill that seemed to pervade his whole being. His sympathies had been already awakened in the course of the strange scene upon the upper deck, but there was something in the physical proximity of the peerlessly beautiful woman, in the mere touch of her hand, that wrought upon his nerves like a made charm, awakening within him a multitude of unfamiliar sensations.

On the threshold of the doorway that led to the gaily-illuminated' saloon Stella Tremayne paused abruptly ae the mingled sounds of music and merry voices came to

her ear. Then, turning to her companion, she said in a low tone: "I think I shall remain on deck for a while. I am not in the humour for music and gaiety to-night. I want to be left alone with my thoughts." For a moment Grant lingered indecisively at hie beard, and then, as if ignoring her last remark, he said abruptly :

“I, too, am in no humour for Wagner j to-night.” * If he had asked for permission to accompany her Stella Tremayne would probably have refused it. But there was a strong, masterful ring in the man’s voice that seemed to compel her will, and she mutely bowed her assent to the unspoken request. Jb’or a few moments they walked silently along the sheltered promenade deck. Then Grant said : “One’s thoughts are at times the most dangerous companions in the world.” She glanced at the speaker, with an expression of startled attright in her eyes. But he was gazing absently seawards, and without noticing the effect of his words he went on : “Years ago in the rubber forests at Para and on the ranches in the Argentine I found out what it meant to spend weeks and even months, with no companion except my own thoughts, and I assure you that the experience was by no means healthy, either for body or mind.” She was still watching him intently, but the strained look of anxiety had vanished from her eyes as she replied: “But it is not always possible to escape from one’s thoughts; especially—when they are unpleasant.” They had reached the end of the promenade deck, and as he turned on his heel he glanced swiftly at his companion’s wistful face. Then he said slowly, and with emphasis: ! ,

"No, not always. Not when one is in the wilderness, for instance. But, under ordinary circumstances it is not only possible, but even easy." She shook her head moodily, hut Grant smiled and added abruptly: "Let us try, anyhow. Let ais talk about the general scheme of this silly universe of ours. When you come to think of it, that is always the, easiest subject for conversation. For, you see, every man, however ignorant and stupid concerning the details of which his own life is made up, cherishes in his inmost heart certain strong opinions as to the lines on which the universe at large ought to be run, and flatters himself that his ideas on the subject are well worth discussing." He was a good talker, and while* she listened to him .Stella Tremayne found that, as he had said, it was easy to escape from the thoughts which had hemmed her in. When the.time came for. her to retire, Stella Tremayne paused outside the entrance that led to the staterooms, and extended her hand with the words:

"Good-night, Mr Grant, and a thousand thanks for your great kindness." Grant bowed politely as he replied: "I assure you, Miss Tremayne, it is I who am the debtor. I hope that we may have an opportunity to-morrow of continuing our "

He paused abruptly as he noted the dark shadow that suddenly flitted across her face and the trouble that leaped into her eyes. Then she said, slowly and with painful hesitation: “No. I think it is best that I should remain in my stateroom to-morrow.” “But it is intolerable!” Grant exclaimed, repeating unconsciously the words which she had used earlier in the evening. “What right has this person ” “Please, Mr Grant!” She checked him with a swift gesture of appeal, and went on/ imploringly : “You promised that you would not ask me to explain.” Grant hesitated for a moment, knitting his heavy brows in wrathful Then, still holding her hand, he said: “Well, be it so. But when we go ashore, when you get to London, surely I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again?” The shadows darkened upon the face of Stella Tremayne, and she withdrew her hand from his clasp as she replied; “When I return to London —you will not wish to meet me again.” She paused upon the threshold of the doorway, and an unwonted softness stole into her eyes as she glanced up at the strong, earnest features of Grant, Then, in a low tone, she added: “The day after to-morrow you will know and understand everything that seems so mysterious to-night. "And then —when you understand —I hope you will forgive me for having—stolen this hour of happy forgetfulness.” Her voice faltered, and as she uttered the last words she turned swiftly away, as if to avoid further questioning. On the following day, while the Cap Vi la no was ploughing her way round the shoulder "of Ushant and through the waters of the English Channel, Miss Tremayne remained in the seclusion of her stateroom, and it was on board the tender at Southampton that the Grants met her aa-ain for the first time. It was late at night when the English passengers went ashore, and in the flurry of the transhipment of passengers and baggage John Grant did not see her as she went down the sloping gangway, followed by the mysterious Smith, who haunted her every movement like a shadow.

Then, when the ship's band had blared out a regimental march by way of farewell, and the tender slid from the sheltering side of the liner, whose prow was swinging seawards, Grant went in search of his fellow-passengers. In a dark corner near the stern of the tender he found Stella Tremayne, but she was engaged in earnest conversation with 'Smith, and the bow with which she greeted Grant was eold and formal. x Afterwards, at the railway station, he approached the carriage in which she had taken her place and spoke to her. But

there was an expression of keen di.str«ss in her eyes as she replied, and, glancing into the compartment, Grant saw the inevitable Smith seated in the opposite corner, apparently absorbed in the perusal of an evening newspaper. Acting on sudden impulse, Grant said: "Shall we take a turn up and down on the platform ? It "will be warmer than waiting in the carriage, and the train will not start for another 10 minutes."

As he spoke he laid his hand upon the handle of the door, and found to his surprise that it was locked, although a label upon the window showed that the compartment had been reserved. "No, no. Thanks very much. I cannot," she murmured in a low voice, glancing significantly over her shoulder at her travelling companion. "Cannot!" The exclamation rose to Grant's lips, but the agony in her eyes checked his speech, and with a bow he turned silently away. But. even as he turned, his swift glance had deciphered the inscription upon the carriage label, and while he walked slowly back to his own carriage his mind was filled with wild surmise concerning "Mr John Smith."

For the inscription ran: "Reserved for Mr .John. F. Oswald. Southampton (Town) to Waterloo." (To be continued.)