LOVE'S TWO-EDGED SWORD.

Otago Witness, Issue 3018, 17 January 1912, Page 86

LOVE'S TWO-EDGED SWORD.

By. Christopher Wilson, Author of " The Wings of Destiny," "The Missing Millionaire," " For a Woman's Honour."

THE NOVELIST.

[All Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER IX.—THE ECHO OF A CRIME. £a|g2fe~'. fIE morning was dull and foggy, KOOZZZj£ and when .Mr Rodney Elwood entered the court and took his seat upon the Bench the gas jets had already been lighted. The atmosphere was oppres£sfc2u&lj} si ve > a "d ni the garish yellow light the faces of spectators JSfejiKJa* " and actors in the Police Court drama seemed strangely pallid and unreal. But Rodney Elwood, like Gallio of old, "cared for none of these things." With a quick impatient gesture he smoothed out the paces of his magisterial note-book, then lay back in his chair and said expectantly : " Now, Mr Keston." There was breathless silence as Richard. Keston rose to his teet. His opening words were disappointingly brief and simple, although, indeed, by virtue of these very qualities they did not wholly lack in dramatic effect.

" I think it is unnecessary to criticise the evidence which has been given on behalf of the Crown, as I am prepared to admit that it is substantially accurate. I propose to call my witnesses now, without any preliminary observations." The first witness for the defence was a clerk in the employment of the Royal Mail Steam Packet Company, who deposed that Miss Tremayne had engaged ■her state room for the passage from Southampton to Madeira on the 21st December, more than a week prior to the departure of the steamer, which sailed from the docks of Southampton on the morning of the Ist of January. He also eorroborated the evidence of the prisoner's housekeeper as to the luggage having been forwarded in advance.

"So much for 'the sudden flight' on which my learned friend has placed so inruch reliance," said Keston, with a challenging glance at Montagu Strong. The next witness was Rudolph Thoma, Kin Austrian, who was employed as night porter at the new hotel which the London and South Western Railway Company had recently erected at their terminus in the Waterloo road.

In reply to Keston's questions, he stated that the prisoner arrived at the hotel early on the morning of New Year's Day in a cab, and that she engaged a room, giving .instructions that she was to be ■called in time to catch the 6 o'clock ,train to Southampton. He was unable to swear as to the exact hour of her arrival, but was positive that it was between half-past 12 and 1. Asked by Keston if he could identify the cabman, the witness glanced ►slowly round the court, and then, pointing to a man who occupied one of the seats at the back of the witness-box, said decisively:

"Yes; that is the man." Keston called his next witness, James Bond, the cab-driver. As he entered the witness-box there was a thrill of excitement and suspense in the crowded court. It was manifest to everyone present that the issue of the trial really depended upon the evidence of *his witness, who had been unearthed by the .skill and indefatigable exertions of Stephen Welby, and whose existence had been hitherto unknown to those who directed the prosecution. As the man proceeded to give his evidence Montagu Strong lay back in his seat, gazing at the papers on the table before him with moody and anxious eyes. For the most 'skilful workman cannot ■make bricks without straw, and the bald, convincing narrative told by James Bond was destitute of any tag or excrescence on which the subtle 'intellect of the great cross-examiner could fasten. Even Keston himself seemed somewhat ■shy of dealing with his witness, and after one or two preliminary queries had been answered sulkily and reluctantly he said : "Well, now, Bond, just go on and tell ijs in your own way what happened." " It was this way. I was driving along Piccadilly towards the Circus —I wasn't ' crawling,' but at the same time I wasn't what you might call flying, either —when a gentleman hailed me from the porch of the 'Friv.'"

"The porch of the '!" Rodney Elwood looked up from his writing with a puzzled expression as he asked the question. Bond went on : " Well, the Frivolity Restaurant, if your Worship wants its* full name. When I pulled up alongside the kerb I saw that Miss Tremayne was talking to the gentleman. I knew her because I had feen her on the stage, and once I had driven her home to her place at Hampstead after a matinee. I did not know who he was then, but when I saw his picture in the papers afterwards, I knew that it was Mr Harden who had hailed my cab that night. For a minute or two they stood there talking, and although I could not hear what they were saying, it seemed from the look "on their faces as if they were having a bit of a tiff. Then the lady turned away from him suddenly, without as much as bidding him good-night, got into the cab, and told me to drive her to Hampstead." "What o'clock was it then?" Keston asked.

t: Just 10 minutes to 12. I noticed the time on the clock at the corner when I was driving across the Circus."

Bond paused and glanced truculently at Montagu Strong, as if to invite eontradic-

tion. Then, as Keston nodded, he went on :

"When I got as far as the Camden Theatre, Miss Tremayne called to me to •stop, and then told me to drive her to the South-western Hotel at Waterloo. Said she had just discovered that she had forgotten her latch-key, and that she didn't want to rouse up her housekeeper in the middle of the night." He paused again, and Keston said, "Weirr

" Well, I drove her straight to the hotel. She gave me half a sovereign, and wished me a happy New Year, and —that's all I know about the affair."

Keston resumed his seat, and James Bond squared back his shoulders, folded his arms, and glanced grimly in the direction of Montagu Strong, as if awaiting attack.

But whatever apprehensions may have troubled the mind of James Bond they were unnecessary. For Montagu Strong was beaten, and he knew it " For a moment there was a whispered consultation between him, his solicitor, and Inspector Oswald. Then, turning towards the magistrate, the Treasury counsel said : "I do not pntycse to cross-examine this witness."

The significance of this statement was manifest to everyone in the court. The sympathies of the excited crowd were with the woman in the dock, and as Montagu Strong sat down these sympathies found expression in a murmur of approval, which was only suppressed when the magistrate threatened sternly to clear the court. Meanwhile Welby had hurriedly left his seat, and was engaged in earnest conversation with his client. Rodney Elwood lay back in his chair, impriosive and inscrutable as ever, but he had laid aside hie pen and had closed his note-book. Then Welby returned to his place and whispered a few words into his counsel's ear. In an instant Keston was on his feet. " I think, sir," he said, addressing the magistrate, "it is really unnecessary for me to tender any further evidence, having regard to the attitude taken up by my learned friend, Mr Strong. But as certain insinuations have been made in the course of the proceedings yesterday, Miss Tremayne wishes to have an opportunity uf contradicting them publicly, en oath." "Very well, Mr Keston. Take your own course," said Mr Elwood curtly, as he reopened his note-book. Then Stella Tremayne passed from the dock to the wit-ness-box and was sworn. Keston asked only two questions. "Had you any hand, act, or part in the murder of Max Harden ?" "No." You have heard it suggested that you quarrelled with Mr Harden because you were jealous of his attentions to some other lady. Is there one particle of truth in that suggestion?" "No. ft one whatever. It is absolutely untrue."

Her voice rang out, clear and emphatic, in indignant protest. She paused for a moment, and then added, in lower tones : "It is true that I had a quarrel with Mr Harden, and I am very sorry for it now, for I think I was to. blame. But it was over a purely business matter that we quarrelled, and at no time were our relations other than those of ordinary friendship."

She paused again, and, glancing at themagistrate, 6aid: " May I explain? - ' " If you please, Miss Tremayne," said Elwoocf. "Mr Harden' was the first person to give me a real chance upon the stage, and when success came I was sincerely grateful to him for his kindness. Afterwards ho offered me a contract to appear exclusively under his management for a period of two years, and I accepted the offer. He was a shrewd business man, and after I had signed the contract I discovered that its terms were more advantageous to him than to me. Then, in a rash moment, I threatened to repudiate it,'and so we quarrelled. On New Year's Eve I received an urgent message from him, and in response to that message I met him at the Frivolity Kestaurant. He knew that I had arranged to go to Madeira for a holiday, and he was anxious to have our dispute'settled before I left England. The vest of the story you have heard already. I lost my temper that evening, and "when he threatened me with an action for damages I delied him to appeal to the law. And so we parted in anger. I was so much excited that I did not realise how late it was till I was actually in the cab. Then, when I found that I had left my key at home, I decided to drive to the hotel. All my things, from my travelling bag and jewel case, had been already sent on to Southampton, and I did not care to arouse my housekeeper and the servants at that hour in the nij;ht."

Every word was listened to with breathless attention, and when she had finished Montagu Strong rose, with the words : "I am not going to ask you anything, Miss Tremayne. I only wish to express my sincere regret for the mistake which has been made." " And I," said Rodney Elwood, "desire to express my entire concurrence with the course which Mr Strong has adopted. The evidence before rne is absolutely conclusive, and no person who has heard it can have the slightest doubt but that a most unfortunate and deplorable mistake has been made, and although, under the peculiar circumstances of the case I cannot say that any blame attaches to the police 'authorities, it is cmite plain that my duty is to " The concluding words of the magistrate were lost in the volume of cheering which came from the vast crowd which had assembled in the street without. Popular excitement was at fever pitch, and when the news that Stella Tremayne had been discharged percolated to the street, the wild enthusiasm of the waiting multitude knew no bounds.

The fog had become denser, and when Keston emerged from the tangled network of small streets behind the courthouse into the broad thoroughfare, he halted for a moment at the corner and glanced about him irresolutely, as though the sense <-f

direction had failed him for the moment. And as he stood there a man, who had apparently been following him, went on, turning to the right, and almost brushing against Keston as he passed. Something in his gait and figure seemed familiar to the barrister, and then just as the man disappeared in the surrounding mist ho remembered. It was Lord Dereham. But the incident did not long occupy the thoughts of Richard Keston as he strode through the gathering gloom. He was conscious of an overmastering elation, a buoyancy of spirit which repelled the attack of of minor worries. Even the part which he himself had plaved in the events of that fatal New 'Year's Eve had for the moment vanished from his thoughts. He was lost in his dreams—dreams of the coming success and fame, the beginnings of which were already within his grasp. Absorbed in these imaginings, he was deaf to the muffled sound of footsteps that followed him like an echo of his own. Suddenly there was a crash, as though the heavens had been cleft asunder. Then a fierce, tumultuous, rushing sound as of many waters ; a blinding blaze of light, which was instantaneously shattered into a million twinkling stars; and then —a horrible darkness that closed in upon the stricken man as he pitched forward silently upon the flagged pavement, and lay there with outflung arms, motionless as a corpse. And when the ambulance drew up at the gates of St. Luke's Hospital, and the bearers carefully bore the stretcher into the room where the house-surgeon was waiting to receive his patient, Richard Keston was still unconscious.

For a few moments the surgeon busied himself with scissors and probe as he bent over the prostrate figure. Then without looking up from his work he jerked a question at the police sergeant who had accompanied trhe ambulance: "Have you found out who he is?" "Yes, sir. Mr Richard Keston, the barrister who defended in the Tremayne case. He must have been attacked on his way home from the court."

The surgeon worked on in silence for a few moments. Then he said -. "Well, whoever attacked Mr Keston meant business. Nurse, will you please ring up Sir Godfrey Westlake, and say that I should be glad if he would come over as soon as convenient." "Is it as serious as it looks, doctor?" asked the sergea*nl, with a glance at the form that lay prone upon the operating table. "Quite," was the laeonac ; reply. "Couldn't bo more serious, in fact." Later on came Mrs Sibbet who was hysterically tearful, John Grant, who made arrangements to have the patient transferred to a private ward, and telephoned to Scotland Yard- offering a huge reward for the capture of the murderous assailant, and Inspector Oswald, who said little but thought all the more. Accompanied by the eminent visiting surgeon, Oswald entered the ward where Keston lay. They were discussing the weapon with which the injury had been inflicted, and Sir Godfrey Westlake expressed the opinion that it was probably a heavy stick or a loaded cane. Oswald looked thoughtfully towards the bed, and said: "And* you think, Sir Godfrey, that he will probably recover consciousness?" . '.'Yes, I think so. But only temporarily, and he will certainly not be fit to undergo any questional;;." And at that moment in fulfilment ot the surgeon's prophecy, the patient moaned feeblv and opened his eyes. Then, as Sir Godfrey bent over him he whispered faintly: ' "My clothes—l want my clothes. "Yes—yes. You shall have them after a wk'ile, but you must rest now," said the surgeon soothingly. But Keston's hand clutched at Sir Godfrey's arm, and he-repeated insistently: "Mv clothes—please—l want them now —to see if I have lost anything." The surgeon shrugged his shoulders, and turned to the attendant nurse with the whispered direction : "You may let him have them. It will ease his mind." When the clothes were brought, Keston whispered hoarsely. "My pocket-book? Is it there?" The" nurse nodded as she took the book from the breast pocket of his coat and placed it in the hands that were outstretched to receive it. Sir Godfrey Westlake and Oswald watched the patient curiously as his fingers fluttered tremulously about the open pocket-book. Then, suddenly, the surgeon stepped forward with a sharp exclamation of dismay as the pocket-book slid from the hands of Keston, who lay back among his pillows with closed eyes and bleached cheeks. , "You can see for yourselt that ne is unfit for the least excitement," he said to Oswald in a low voice, and the threadVke fluttering pulse died beneath his fingers. But the excitement for which Richard Keston had in truth proved unfit was none other than that caused by the discovery that the broken hatpin was missing from his pocket-book. CHAPTER X.—CONFESSIONS. "Well? And how are we to-day? Feeling stronger? Eh? Wanting to be up and doing? Sick of the sight of a thermometer?" As Winifred Grant spoke she came tripping across the sunny lawn (in front of the° left wing of Furandenc Manor House and seated herself in the chair which had been vacated by Sir Godfrey Westlake. Then she leaned forward, resting her chin upon her clasped hands while "she went on, mimicking the gruff mannerisms of the distinguished surgeon : "Come —come! Have we nothing to say for ourselves this morning? Tut, tut, Mi- Keston. this will never do."

Richard Keston glanced at the speaker, and in response to the compelling laughter in her eyes, his compressed lips re-

laxed into a faint smile. But before he had time to speak, Winifred Grant's quick intuition had divined the troubled thoughts that Jay behind the smile, and she said, in a tone which had suddenly become serious :

,; Do tell me what he did say, really." "Well, Sir Godfrey himself called it goad news; but I am not sure." He paused, and for an instant he ventured to steal a glance at the girl, who was watching him with puzzled eyes.

"You are not sure? What do ycu mean? Does Sir Godfrey not think that you aie steadily improving?" There was a note of anxiety in Winifred Grant's voice as she asked the question that thrilled Richard Keston with a strange sensation of iningled happiness and pain.

" Yes. That is just it. He says that I have imrjroved so much that —I can go back to town this week. Back to my work was the expression which he used. For days Keston had lingered in the shadows of that dark, mysterious boun-dary-land that severs death from life. Then, when the skill of the surgeons at St. Luke's had plucked him back from the verge of the abyss, and the battle had apparently besn won, those evil days of privation and misery during which he had starved and shivered in the cheerless room at Wrexam street claimed their toil from his bankrupt constitution, and pneumonia supervened. Once more the issues of life and death wavered in the balance, and once more the doctors won.

Then, while the patient was still creeping slowly back along the path of convalescence, there was a brief consultation between John Grant and Sir Godfrey •Westlake. followed by an interview with Keston, and within 24 hours the invalid found himself a guest in the beautiful old Manor House which Grant had purchased. All had happened swiftly, inevitably, as events foilow each other in a dream. John Grant had been masterful and urgent, and Keston, worn out and enfeebled, had no longer the will to resist. Then came days of dreamy peace and rest, when he was content to lie back against his soft cushions, listening to the melody of Winifred Grant's voice as she read aloud, or watching the rippling laughter in her eyes, as she waged that mock-heroic wordy warfare in which her soul delighted. And even when the days lengthened into weeks, even when his strengthening grip began to tighten more firmly upon the realities of life, still he clung to the sweet illusions of the passing moment with a fondness that he did not dare to analyse.

And so, when the end came, and when Sir Godfrey Westlake had abruptly and unexpectedly announced that his patient was fit to take his place once more in the fighting line, Ke6ton had been rudely awakened from his dreams, and the awakening had not been pleasant. And as Winifred Grant silently watched the gloomy shadows that darkened upon his rigid features, a tender light of sympathy stole into her eyes. " I suppose lawyers are like women."

Keston glanced swiftly at the speaker, and noted that there was a serious expression in her eyes, which contradicted the levity of her tone. Winifred went on :

" Inconsistent, I mean. With us inconsistency is an instinct. With you, an effect of professional training and habit. One can hardly expect consistency from men who are accustomed to argue on one fide or the other with equally strong convictions. What do yon think?"

Keston hesitated for a moment, and then said : "Have I been inconsistent?"

" Yes, amazingly so. Why, only a fewdays ago you were-grumbling at Sir Godfrey, accusing him of over-caution, and fretting because he would not allow you to go back to your work. And now, when lie tells you that you are fit for work, you are discontented and despondent."

She paused, as if waiting for his reply; but Keston gazed moodily into the distance, avoiding the reproach in her eyes. For a moment he wrestled with the sudden temptation to tell her all —to tell her the secret of his own cowardice. For it was the prospect of. parting from Winifred Grant, and naught else, which had plunged him into an agony of fearful despondency. Trite, in the ordinary course of events they would meet again. He knew that in the house of Joljn Grant he would be always a welcome visitor; but everything would he different, and he felt that somehow the cherished intimacy of the past weeks was drawing rapidly to a close. In the end he might carve out a career and win laurels fit to.bs laid at her feet, but in the meantime others would come into her life, and Winifred Grant would soon forget the struggling barrister whom her father had befriended in the hour of need. " Yes, 1 admit that I am a coward," he said dreamily, as if in reply to the accusation which she had not expressed in words. " Hut nut in the way that you mean." He hesitated for an instant, and then swung round in his chair to face her inquiring gaze. " I am afraid to tell you how grateful I am for your kindness to me. That is the extent of my cowardice, Miss Grant." " Please do not be absurd. As long as you choose to entertain me with mysterious riddles about good news that is bad news, and bad news that nmst be good news. I am willing to listen patiently : but if vou insist on proposing ridiculous votes of thanks—well, I must really lock myself up in the library to prepare a suitable replv." She rose to her feet as if to fulfil her threat, and -.danced mirthfully at Keston. Hut there was no answering merriment in his eves, and his voice was low and earnest a- he went on : I " No, Miss Grant. You have mistaken mv meaning. I did not intend to refer to my gratitude to you and your'father j for your kind hospitality. But—there are : other things "

He paused abruptlv, and Winifred Grant, wondering at his sudden embarrassment, glanced at him curiously.

" Such as ?" " Such as forbearance, sympathy, encouragement. Drawing a fretful, peevish, foolish invalid out from the depths of his own wretched self, and tempting him back from the shadows into the sunshine of life. Taking the trouble to understand a. man who ha* failed to understand him.seiC Gifts that to the giver may seem of trifling value, and yet are priceless." There was a note of paction in his voice, and as he paused again Winifred's readiness of speech had suddenly deserted her, and there was silence. The colour had deepened in her cheeks, and the pointed toe of her tiny shco tapped pestkssly upon the grassy sward. She was conscious, amid the confusion of her thoughts, of a growing impulse of anger. And yet she was not angry with Keston, for she had bidden him speak, she had bidden him explain. But she was wrathful with herself because she coiild find no reply now that he had spoken, now that his meaning was unmistakable.

'"Westlake is for ever preaching that fresh air and sunshine are better than nil the tonics in the pharmacopoeia, but there are other tonics, better than even the fresh air and sunshine."

It was Keston who thus broke the silence. If he had only remained silent, or if, having the courage to speak, he had ventured further, anything might have happened at that moment. But his halting timidity instilled new courage into the fluttered heart of Winifred —the courage to seek refuge in evasion. And thus, though her cheeks were still aglow, her voice was even and under control as she replied:

"Yes, I know. Work is the best tonic of all."

"You know thnt I do not mean work. When I go back to London I shall always have my work, but I shall have left behind me the fresh air, the sunshine, and —which is better than either. And—l shall be sorrv."

This time Winifred Grant did not ask him what he meant. Even as his lips uttered those simple words "I shall be sorry," the mists which obscured her mental vision had suddenly rolled away, bearing with them a thousand confused and conflicting fancies and leaving her face to face with one abiding fact —that when Richard Keston went back to London, she, too, would be sorry ; yes very sorry indeed. In a voice which seemed curiously distant and faint she murmured: "One would really think that you were going to the end of the world, instead of "•

"And —if I were? What then?" interrunted Keston.

He had caught a glimpse of the halfvealed secret that peeped shylv from beneath the drooping lashes, and the man was no longer master of himself. His poverty, the uncertainties which menaced the future, his unworthinees, all those prudent considerations which had hitherto restrained him were forgotten in the glorious flush of hope. He had risen to his fee.t .and as he turned towards Winifred he flung out his hands with a passionate gesture and went on : "If I were in truth going away to the end of the world, never to return, never to sco you again, would it matter? Would vou care? Tell me!"

His tone was vibrant with passion, and as Winifred Grant encountered his burning gaze she was conscious of a" thrill of admiration mingled with owonder ; for the touch of the enchanter's wand had suddenly transformed Richard Kestoru No longer the timid suitor, fearful of even slight adventure, he was now the masterfid lover, fiercely insistent, challenging his fate and claiming his answer from her ■trembling lips.

Nor was that answer delayed. With a simple gesture of unreserved surrender, she laid her hands in his, and whispered softly : "Why do vou a6k? You know that I should care."

For one brief moment incredulity battled with the happy love-light in his eyes. Then, as the tender pressure of her little hands answered to his nervous clasp, he drew her towards him. murmuring brokenly: ''Winifred—dear—dear ! Ts it true?"

And then, ere the swift reply of her fluttering heart could find utterance, her upturned lips were sealed by the divine, passionate, first kiss of love.

Suddenly the voice of John Grant broke in upon their raptures. '■Keston! Keston! Are vou there?"

When Grant passed through the wicket gatewav of the fence and approached to meet his guest the two empty chairs were far apart, but his keen eyes were swift to interpret the new light that shone in the eyes of his daughter, and there was a sudden hardening of the lines about the angles of mouth and chin a he irlanced rapidly from her face that of Richard Keston. For a moment there was an awkward pause, then Keston said :

"If you have a few minutes to spare, there is something about which I should life to "

"Certainly, with pleasure." It seemed as though a new note of unaccustomed formality had ci*et>t into the voice of the elder man, and Winifred Grant glanced with vague uneasiness at her father as he went on:

''l suppose the matter about which you wish to speak to me is not urgent, and in th> meantime, perhaps you will come to the librarv and have a few words with a person who is vcrv anxious to see you. I happened to meet him in town, and as he. said he was coming down by train this afternoon I drove him back with me." He paused, and then his oyes rested upon the nale features of Keston with keen scrutiny, as. in renlv to the young barrister's glance of interrogation, he added quietly : "It is—lnsoector Oswald." (To be continued.)