BIG PETER.

Otago Witness, Issue 3148, 15 July 1914, Page 62

BIG PETER.

•" 1 ■*— Br JOHN.SHUTE, Author of “The Bullion Baby,” Etc., Etc.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published bv Special Arrangement.j

(Copyright.) CHAPTER VIII.—THE CHURCH BY THE BROAD. Peter went to bed, but he could not sleep. The events- of the day had been too exciting. For a time even the thoughts- of the girl who was sleeping not so far away from him were put out of his mind by the discoveries he had made. He had come to the end of his search; there could be very little doubt of it. The young man whose story the landlord had told him must have been his great "randfather, and no other. It was impossible to think otherwise. It was in Thaxted Church—the church on the Broad,—that he had been married. The next day he would ask permission to examine the registers, and get a certified copy of the entry he would surely find. His heart leapt with joy as he thought now of what he could ofter to the girl he so ardently desired to make his own. He rose and went to the window, and leaned out to drink in some of the deep peace ■which lay all about him. It was past midnight. The earth was lying in a deep sleep. The only sound to he heard was the rush of the weir, v. r hich seemed to fill the whole uurple vault of night with music. The sky was powdered with stars. There was no moon, but the dark masses of foliage and the misty white meadows could be plainly seen. bed of night-scented stock in the little garden at the side of the inn sent up to him wafts of sweet perfume. It was such a night as seemed to be made for lovers—such a night as that on v which sweet Juliet, leaning out of her window, had whispered her love to the stars, and young Romeo had breathed out his passion for her. Peter stood for a long time at his window, and his thoughts were filled .with the sweetness of his own love, which was so strong that it seemed to overflow his whole being, and to ‘be part of all the warm-scented splendour of . the night. He turned from the window and put on his clothes. Then- he stole downstairs and opened the door, which was not even locked, so little fea-r was thei'e of any harm coming to this quiet, sheltered spot, and went out under the stars. He walked down, the path by the river, and presently quickened his, footsteps. Almost without knowing it he had formed an intention. He would go and stand beneath the window of his love, and ease the sweet pain in his breast by his nearness to her. He made his way through the wood, and came out, treading softly through the wet grass in front of the cottage. The window of the room in Which be knew she slept was open. The thought thrilled him that if she were lying awake and he whispered her name, she would hear him. But it was a thought that brought him a certain amount of uneasiness, too. These secret adventures of the ardent lover must kept even from the beloved one. It would have covered him with confusion if she had suddenly appeared at the window and caught him standing there gazing up at it. v He withdrew on tip-toe under the shade of a great tree, and stood there for a long time, feeding his mind on sweet thoughts, and stirred by deep emotion when he thought that -to-morrow he would see her. A long time passed, and then at last, with one more look at the open Window, Peter moved softly away. But he was not yet ready for bed. It seemed to him that he was more wakeful than he had ever been in his life. His mind was in a ferment, and the beauty of the summer night seemed to make his thoughts still more tender and to sink into his spirit in a way he would never forget as long as he lived. He wandered on through the wood, hardly realising that he was going in an opposite direction to Hollow Weir, but taking rhat path probably because the idea of going prosaically home to bed was distasteful to him.

By and by he came out on to the edge of the Broad, and stood awhile looking over the still water, in which the innumerable stars were mirrored almost as brightlv as if they were shining there instead of up in that sky. There was just the faintest hint of coming daw'll in the east. It w r as hardly more than a gradation of light from deep velvety purple to a fainter touch of grey. But it show-ed up the dark mass of trees at the end of the Broad, and the square tower of the church above them.

Peter had wandered a lone; way from ■his inn, and had just turned to retrace his steps through the wood, when he turned round again sharply and stood looking in the direction, of the lonely church. He had thought he saw a point oJ light there; but, after standing for some time, came to the conclusion that he must have been mistaken. Perhaps, as he had turned away, the reflection of some star brighter than the rest in the water just below the church had caught his eye. Again he turned away, and again he caught the glimmer of light, and stood still.

This time there was no doubt about it. The light was not on the water; it was just where the dark bulk of the church itself would have been if it bad been distinguishable from the trees by which it was surrounded. It was moving, too. Someone was there carrying a livht, and perhaps tryiuo- to find a way into the church itself, though what could he be doing in the very dead hours of the night in a place removed by a mile or more from any other building it was difficult to imagine.

But Peter, as he had stood lookin'- over the water towards the church, had found

time to remove his mind for an instant from the subject that filled it, and to reflect that hidden somewhere in the dark recesses of that old building was the key to a problem of the most momentous importance to him, and before very long it would be in his possession. He' was not, therefore, disinterested in what happened in and about this old church, and thought he might as well investigate this mysterious occurrence.

The church was at least half a mile from where he was standing, and considerably farther by the path round the shores of the Broad. He set’off at a smart pace, and presently broke into a run. Supposing somebody should be trying to break into the church, to tamper with that very record which was of such importance to him! But presently he slowed down again, laughing at himself over his fears. The record had lain hidden there, .unknown to anybody concerned, for over a hundred years. It was absurd to suppose that anyone should be taking just this opportunity of tampering with it. Besides, who was there who could possible want to do so ?

Hei walked on, however, at a quick pace. Something odd was going on that he ought to know about, because his interest in this particular church at the present moment was probably greater than that of anybody else in the world. It was even a sort of proprietary interest, and he must see that no harm came to it. He reached the churchyard by the old lych gate, and, keeping to the grass, tiptoed round the chancel end to where the wall, jutting out on the north side, showed either a chapel or a vestry; and immediately he had turned the corner ly3 stopped abruptly and caught his breath, for the latticed window immediately in front of him was lighted up. The window which had faced him was just too high for him to look through without raising himself, and he would not do that for _ fear of being seen by whoever was inside. But another window, facing south, was lower, and as he came round the corner he ducked his head and then drew back to- where he could see through it without fear of being seen himself. The glass was half opaque, and all that he could see was _ a candleflame. But he heard sounds which seemed to show that whoever was inside had left open the door by which he had entered, and, without losing time, he went on round the farther corner and came upon a heavy oak door standing slightly ajar. Again he stood a little way off .and peered through the aperture, and was rewarded by seeing a man kneeling on the floor, engrossed in some task which there was neither light enough nor space enough for him to distinguish. But the man s back was towards him, and he crept closer up until he stood right on the threshold and could watch him as closely as if he had been inside.

He was kneeling in front of a great, old chest, closely bound with bands of iron, which stood up against the wall of the narrow chamber. By his side on the floor was spread an array of instruments, which it was not difficult to recognise as those of a locksmith, especially as he was working with one of them at an elaborate steel lock fixed to the lid on the chest. He did not look ike a burglar. He was well-dressed, in dark clothes; his hat, which lay on the floor by the tools, was a new felt one; the coles of his boots, of which Peter had a good view, were almost new. But there was no doubt that he was busily intent on an act of sacrilege, if not of robbery, and Peter did not wait long before making up his mind to stop him. ■Standing out of sight, he pushed gently at the door, prepared if it should creak to sten in boldly. But it did not creak. He opened it Avide enough to admit his body, and then crept in and stood right over the man, who had just impatiently thrown down one instrument and picked up another. Por a moment Peter stood there, so close to him that he could have touched him without taking another . tep forward. And still he worked on, and Peter watched him. • He rapped out an oath of disgust, and said aloud, “I don’t believe its to ne shifted without dynamite !” Peter waited, and then said quietly, “No; I don’t believe it is. I should drop it if I were you.” There was a,long-drawn gasp of agonised terror. The man crouched away from him and looked up with his eyes standing out of his head and a face so contorted by fear that it seemed hardly human. Everyone knows the painful shock occasioned by a human voice immediately peside one when one thinks oneself quite alone. Imagine that shock increased a hundredfold, and it is small wonder that the man Peter had surprised should suddenly have fallen over sideways and collapsed in a swoon of terror. “Here, I say,” said Peter. “ this won’t do. Sorry to have disturbed you; but if you set out to rob a church you ought to 'have a bit more nerve than that.” The man had not lost consciousness, and recovered himself quickly; but his face was still livid, his breath came in gasps and he could only stare up at Peter Avith the face of a fox brought to bay—perhaps it Avould be nearer to say with'the face of a wolf. The thin lips, drawn back, showed teeth like fangs; the eyes were bloodshot; the face seemed drawn to a point like that of a desperate animal. “ Hadn’t vou better get up?” Peter said nl la~l. “You may catch cold sitting on those stones.” Yes, this Avas Avhat he _Avanted. _ There was no mistaking the glint in his eyes. Still without speaking, he raised himself slowlv to his feet, and, the moment he stood upright made a dash for the candle, Avhich was standing on an oak table behind him. But Peter’s foot happened to, bs in the way, and he came down heavily, striking his head against the coiner of the table with a sickening thud. But he Avas up again in an instant, and uoav made a dash for the door. But Peter caught him by the shoulder, turned him about roughlv, and threw him against the wall, where he stood glaring ferociously. “No good fining on that'game,” said

Peter. “ I’ve got you, and I’m not going to let .you go until I know what you’re up to.” Now he had found his voice, and cursed Peter furiously, with a malevolence that was frightful to witness. ■.Peter took a step towards him. “Stow that,” he said roughly. ’Remember where you are. What are you up to? What do you want to find in that chest?” Again that blank stare of terror, real or simulated, which did not disguise the springing up of an idea behind it. “I have done mo harm to the chest,” he said. “ You can see for yourself.” He turned his eyes towards it, no doubt expecting Peter to do the same, as anyone not on the alert would naturally have done, and his hand went quickly behind him.

Peter sprang forward and grappled with him. There was a furious struggle for an instant or two, Peter using his enormous strength with a will, and his opnonent writhing and snarling with impotent passion. The struggle ended by his being thrown once more forcibly against the wall, and Peter standing back, holding in his hand a revolver which he had torn out of the thief’s hip pocket. “Now, I think that’s about enough,” he said. “ I think .you will have understood by this time that I’m a good deal stronger than you, and I’ve got m ,r wits about me. You had bettor come with mo without trying it on any more. Whatever you’re after here, you’re a dangerous character about a place, and I shall feel a good deal more comfortable when I see you locked up in the police station.” The man was, quiet now and looked half-dazed. He had-received some pretty rough treatment, and the blood was oozing down his face from a wound in his forehead where he had struck the table. He was not an attractive-looking spectacle. Rut still he was surprisingly unlike what one would expect a man to be who broke into churches at night. Peter blew out the candle and followed him. CHAPTER IX.—A LET-OFF. The dawn had stolen on, even in the short time since Peter had approached the church, and it was now .light enough to see everything outside without diificulty. The birds had already begun to sing loudly, and a light breeze was stroking the waters of the Broad,.which was spread out in front of them. In spite of his adventure and the seriousness of the matter in hand, Peter experienced a thrill of pleasure at this dawning of a new day—a day which was to bring him so much happiness. The tree-crowned cape, upon the other side of which nestled the cottage on which his thoughts had been exclusively fixed, until his dealings with the man by his side had for the moment changed their current, could be seen from the churchyard path down which they were walking, and not even the necessity of keeping an eye on his companion prevented him from turning his face towards it, and letting his thoughts follow. . The pleasure he experienced from his l6ok even softened his mind a little towards the man whose evil intentions he had frustrated. He had fought him, and he had got the better of him, and a man of Rig Peter’s character is apt to feel not ill-disposed towards another man whom he has beaten in a fair fight, even if the fairness has only been one-sided, as in this case. Perhaps his late opponent now walking dejectedly by his side regarded him with less goodwill. But he did not show any rancour when Peter asked him in a pleasantly conversational tone, “Come now, what were you up to? You don’t look like a fellow who is accustomed to robbing churches.” The man, perhaps encouraged by an inquiry made in a tone that was almost friendly, threw a look at him, and then said in a low voice, “ You have got the better of me, sir. I am completely in your hands. It will be _ a terrible thing for me to face the punishment you are. taking me to. You can. see for yourself I am not a common thief, and I swear to you solemnnly that I have never done a thing like this before, and never will again, if you will be merciful and let me go. You have handled me pretty roughlv, and you have prevented me doing the slightest damage. Can’t you let that be enough?” If Peter had looked at him he could again have seen that look in his eyes which betokened an idea springing up. Rut he was not looking at him. “ Well,” he sajd pleasantly, “I can quite believe that it’s going to be very awkward for you, and it’s quite true that you don’t look like an ordinary thief. Come now, what were you up to ? I don’t suppose you want money, and if you did you wouldn’t be likely to find it where you were looking. What do they keen in a chest like that that’s of any value?” Then at last the idea suddenly struck him that this was just the place where the particular thing that was of value to him would be likely to be kept. He threw a suspicious glance at his companion. “It isn’t papers you were after, is it?” His glance was returned. “Papers?” repeated the man, with an air of bewilderment. “What papers should Ibe likelv to find that would malm me take the risk that I was fool enough to take?” “ Oh, I don’t know,” said Peter, rather sorry that he had mooted such an idea. “I was only wondering what there could he of any value. Come now, what was it?”

The other appeared to be ready to answer the question now. “ Will you let me go if I tell you?” he asked. “ No. I won’t,” said Peter “ You seem to be about as desperate a character as they make ’em. I am used to prettv strong language where I come from, but I shan’t easily forget yours when I caught you. Besides, if I hadn’t bad mv wits pretty well about me, you wouldn’t have had any scruple in murdering me. That’s not a thing a man forgets in a hurry, or forgives either. You must have been up to some desperate game to come prepared in the wav you did.” Suddenly, as they were walking on side by side, the man reeled and fell against

Peter. Peter sprang quickly away, fearing a sudden attack, and then as quickly seized hold of him, for if he had not done so he would have fallen. No doubt the mingled emotion to which he had been .mrqecced, tne wound in his head, and the rough handling he had received had been too much for him. He had not exactly fainted, but he had gone very near it. At the side of the road just here there was a stretch of grass bordering the w r aters of the Proad, and on it was a fallen tree-trunk. Peter led his captive to this and fetched water in his cap for his refreshment.

He soon came completely to himself once more, and said in a sulky voice, “I don’t know that. I’ve ever fainted before in my life ; but what you’re going to do is enough to make anybody lose control over himself.”

“ Well, it is certainly going to be pretty awkward for you,” said Peter, regarding him with less aversion on account of the very natural weakness he had shown. “ Rut there’s no particular hurry. We’ll sit down here for a bit, and you can tell me what you were up to, though you mustn’t expect that you’re going to persuade me not to give you up to the police.” The man’s face was quickly turned away, and a gleam of satisfaction came into it He answered at once.

“ I don’t know whether you’ve ever heard of the collector’s mania,” he said. “It is a thing that takes people stron- 1 — and makes ’ them do all sorts of foolish things. If I were to tell you who 1 was —but nothing will induce me to -ive up my name to the police,—l daresay yon would recognise me, if you know anything about such things, as a man who is known to have one of the finest collections of church plate of a certain date in the country. Well, there is an old silver cup belonging to that church- It isn’t of much value in itself, but I would give- anything to possess it—in fact, my desire for it is so strong that I have got myself into your hands, and now r I suppose the whole of my life will be spoilt, and i shall never be able to hold up my head again.” Peter was the most guileless of beings where anything was concerned that did not come within the scope of life as he had had experience of it, and this story explained, as far as it went, why a man of this appearance should have been found robbing a church. Still, he was not prepared to accept it entirely without further question. Little as he knew about such matters, it did strike him that this man, although he did not look like a common thief, did nop look, either, like a man whose passion in life was art in any form.

“Well, that’s a pretty sort of thing to confess to,” he said. “What were you going to do with- it when you got it? If you had put it in your collection it would have been recognised ”

The man turned fo him eagerly. Peter had not spoken as if he entirely disbelieved the story. “Do with it?” he exclaimed. “Why, - keep it locked away to gloat over it. . You don’t suppose that a collector who loves these sort of things for their own sake wants to show them all about, do you? Haven’t you heard of famous pictures being stolen that couiuVt have been worth a farthing to the tnieves —that couldn’t have been shown to a soul ? That’s the sort of risk people will run to have things of that sort in their nossessicn. And I swear to you that that is what I wanted. I’ll swear, too, although you may not believe me, that I should have sent the value of the cup secretly when X got hold of it. Look here, sir, you stopped me committing this crime—for, of course, I don’t deny that it’s a crime, whatever my motives may have been,—and the cup is safe enough now. Naturally, I’ve had enough of trying to net hold of it. Can’t you let me go? Just think what it will be to a man like me to be charged -with robbing a church.” “ Well, you were robbing a church, you know,” said Peter. “If you like to run the risk of that sort of thing you must put up with the consequences. Besides, I don’t know much about the sort of people who have a passion for church plate, but I 'shouldn’t have thought they had quite such foul language ready to their lips as you. had when you found yourself baulked ; and I don’t forget that you wouldn’t have stuck at murder as well as robbery if I hadn’t been a bit too sharp for you.” Then the man began to plead with him with intense and painful eagerness. He had been almost mad, he said, with the fear of being caught and punished for this crime. He would not deny that in his passion he would have shot Peter if he could, and would not have cared until afterwards if he had shot him dead. He had been saved from that crime, and he should never think of that afterwards without thankfulness.

He told Peter that he was a man oi considerable wealth; that he had a wife and young children, and was looked up to in the place where he -ived with respect. If he was sent to unson his name was bound to come out, and the live;! of his wife and children would be ruined “ I love my wife,” he said pathetically, “ and it would kill her if this were to become known. If you are married yourself,” he said, “you must have pity on me, for her sake if not for mine. You can’t bring such disgrace and trouble upon ’an innocent woman.” Peter was undoubtedly touched by this. He cast his eve over the Broad to the place where that little thatched cottage was standing behind the trees, and thought what it would be to him if he were married to Margaret and had done something that would part them, and bring disgrace upon her. He began to waver, and the man who was pleading with him, his eyes fixed earnestly on hiS face, saw it—saw the soft look which came into Peter’s eyes fixed upon the trees far down the Broad, and redoubled the earnestness of his plea for mercy.

At last Peter got un and said gruffly, “I oughtn’t to let you off, but I suppose I shall have to.” The man covered -him with unwelcome expressions of gratitude, which he cut short without much ado. “ Ob, I am not doing it for your sake,”, he said.

“You’re a blackguard, whether your story’s true or not. Will you swear me a solemn oath that you’re not lying to me : that you have got a wife and children?” tie swore wim such icrvour that refer cut him short again. “ Well, all I can say is that I pity them,” ne said. “The more j took at you the less I like you. Como along with me now, and I will think w o r> clone a- walk airier. <£ l3ufc you wcn’t give me up,” nleaded man. ' iou said you wouldn’t.” “ Oh, I’m not going to give you up. I daresay I’m a soft tool; but, after all, you haven’t got what you wanted, and I shall be able to tell the parson here that he had better look after his treasures a little more carefully. I’ll take your name and address, by the by, so that if I ever hear of anything missing from the church I shall be able to tell them whom to suspect. Have you got a card on you?” Yes, he had a card in his pocket, and produced it, stipulating that it should not be used unless what Peter feared should come to pass, and assuring him that it wouldn’t. The card bore the name of J. W. Morgan, P.R.S., with an address in Hampstead. and it happened to be the only one he had about him. Peter took it and looked at it. “I don’t know what ‘ P.R.S.’ means,” he said, “ but I suppose it’s some honour you’ve had done to you. The people who gave it you would be pretty surprised if they knew what sort of a fellow you really were. Well, I’ll keep this for my own interest, and it will rest with you -whether it is ever used for any other purpose. I shouldn’t advise’you, Mr Morgan, to let it be announced at any time that you have come into possession) of something particularly valuable in the way of church plate. Now, I’ll see you on your way off the premises, so to speak, and then I’ll go and inform the parson of this church that he had better send and see what’s happened here. I take it that you’ll go straight back to Hampstead and tell your wife and family that your little walking tour in Norfolk has come to an end. I suppose you’re the man, by the bv, that was at the inn at Hollow Weir yesterday. The old landlord there would he rather surprised if I tolcl him that I had come across you. He said you looked rather like a gentleman’s servant, if I remember right. Gentlemen don’t keep men-servants to any extent where I come from, ahd I don’t know that I’ve ever seen one. But I think you do look rather more like that sort of thing than an ‘ F.R.S.’ Here. wTiat’s up? You’re not going to faint again, are you?” “I’m all right,” said the man, whose face had once more gone deadly pale. “It’s only that I’m so relieved at having got off, which is much more than I could have hoped for. I won’t say any more to thank you; hut if you will leave me now I* 1 ! make my way to a station, and get back home as soon as I can ; and you can go and do what you~said your were going to do. ’ ’ Peter looked at him with a quizzical air, and his eyes dropped. “I think if you don’t mind,” he said, “I won’t leave you alone in this particular spot. It is rather too early to call on the parson. I will set you a mile or two on your wav. I suppose you’re going to Heathsfde Station. I’ll take you as far as the high "round and see you well across the heath before I come hack.” So any idea that Mr Morgan may have had of being "left alone, within a stone’s throw of the church, either to take awaythe signs of his attempt, or perhaps even to carry it out, were destroyed. As they set off along the Toad Peter cast one look back at the church. “It doesn’t look as if anyone had been near it.” he said, “since last Sunday, and I think we may safely leave :t an hour or two longer.” Heathside Station was rather more than seven miles away. They trudged up out of the valley for three miles or so, and came to a high lying heath, crossed by a ribbon of road that could plainly he StrO Xj for the greater -part of its length. Neither of them had spoken a word since they had left Thaxted Church. “Now.” said Peter, “if vou will go on I will stay here until I. have seen you well out of sight; and you may thank your lucky star’s that you are not safely lodged in’ card by this time.” Morgan walked awav from him without a word. Peter stood watching him for a

few minutes, and then threw .imself down on the short grass by the roadside. Morgan went on without looking back for about half a mile. Then he turned and stood in the middle of the road. Peter s figure must have been hidden from him at that distance; but he probably remembered that he had announced his intention of staying there until he was out of sight, and if he had had any intention of returning he made up his mind to relinquish it. '. He turned round and pursued his way again, but not before he had passionately shaken his fist in the direction from which he had come. Peter laughed at this display of feeling. “Now, there’s gratitude for you!” he said. “ I’m not at all sure that I was right in letting you go, Mr Morgan, KK.S.” (To be continued.)