THE PRICE OF – – LIBERTY.

Otago Witness, Issue 3313, 12 September 1917, Page 48

THE PRICE OF - - LIBERTY.

THE NOV Bit I ST.

By T. C. BRIDGES, Author of "Whoso Sheddeth," "A Fight for a Fortune," etc., etc.

[All Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER XX.—THE PLOTTERS

Thei'e was a heavy scowl on the face of Mr Denby (senior) as he sat in his den at the flat. An unlit cigar was between his teeth, and a financial journal in his hands. It seemed to be something in the paper that had upset him, for his own frown deepened as he read the paragraph over again. Then with a muttered exclamation which was anything but a blessing he flung the paper to the floor, and getting up went across to his writing-table. He took a sheet of paper, picked up the fountain pen, found there was no ink in it, and hurled it into the fireplace. Clearly, he was in a very evil mood. He took a steel pen, dipped it in the ink-pot, and began to write. But the letter did not please him. He tore it up savagely, and began again. It was at this inauspicious moment that the door opened, and Gerald Denby strolled into the room. He wore a suit of tweeds that could by no means be described as quiet, his soft hat was on the back of his head, and the cigar in his mouth was—unlike his father's —in full blast.

"Morning, father," he observed casually. Mr Bertram Denby swung round upon him, and if his face had been dark before, now it was positively black. "Why the devil don't you knock? Can't you see I'm busy ? And take your hat off, you mannerless young swine." A momentary look of surprise crossed Gerald's face, and he obeved in so far that he removed his hat. But he was well accustomed to his father's moods, and soon recovered himself. "Markets down?" he queried, with a glance at the paper on the floor. "Markets down?" repeated the elder man fiercely. "W'hy, you fool, the Minerva Deep has gone up." Gerald crave a low whistle. "The deuce! Do you mean they've stormed payment?" "Stopned payment! Thev did that long noro. I've had no dividend for over a year. Can't yon understand me? Tnev've crone up, T tell vou—gone smash—thov're done for." Gerald did not even whittle, and for once his narrow face lost it* casual exrirs"ion completely.' He looked actually serious. "That's bad." he said briefly. ''How much had vou in it?" "Evervthincr." wa<* the bitter answer. "Every pound I could scraoe. Tsarrinsr a ronnle of hundred at the bank, and those few shares, there isn't a s<rve**p'rr-n left. "Thii'* awkward." allowed Herald thoun-htfullv. "especially as T was coin"- to a«k for a hundred to oav Baddley. I've had a rotten sue l ! of hick this past week. Didn't spot a single winner."

"I'ou fool!" cried his father, raging again, "iou infernal young fool! Haven't I told you again and again to leave racing alone V

"Don't get excited, father," rejoined Gerald quietly. "It's shocking bad for you. Besides, you can't think if you're angry, and we've got to think pretty hard if we are going to save ourselves from Queer Street..'' "What's the use of thinking?" demanded the other sourly. "You can think from now till next month, but you won't see any money back from that cursed mine.''

"Perhaps not. But if it doesn't come from the mine it will have to come from somewhere else. Money we've got to have, wherever it comes from.

"We shall have to have another shy for the necklace," he continued. "If. you'd clone as I said before, we'd have had it by now."

Preference to the necklace made Denby senior more angry than ever. "What —sued for it? You infernal young idiot, you know very well we couldn't. The Avhole business would have come out."

"Not necessarily. If we'd had good counsel we should have been all right. We could have kept private affairs out of it. As it is, you wasted no end of money and time, and then that fool, Wilsher, let us down."

"Bendle's in quod. That's one good thins," said Bertram Denby viciously. "Quite so. And, as you say, it's the one point where we have scored. Now that he is out of the way, we have a clearer field and a better chance of getting the necklace out of Meg." "If you knew Margaret as well as I do you wouldn't be quite so cheerful," sneered his father. "The N girl's as obstinate as a mule —worse than her precious husband. You'll be a darned sight cleverer fellow than you've ever shown yourself yet if you can get the necklace out of her. "Why, you don't even know where she is." he added. "She's let the house in Sheffield Gardens, and even her mother doesn't know her address."

"But Denison does," replied Gerald, shrewdly. ''You'd better go and ask him for it," said the other bitterly.

Gerald took no notice of the sneer; he was silent a moment.

"T'll washer I can guess pretty closely where she is," he said, presently. "I have found out that Rendle has been sent to Moorlands. The chances are that Mee has eone to live somewhere in the neighbourhood."

"Whv should she?" growled his father

"Because of seeinc him, of course. They let visitors in occa e ionallv—once in three months to he-Wn with. I believe."

Denby, senior, looked np quickly, and there was a gleam of real interest in his face.

"I didn't know that. Would there be any wa.v of finding out when she would be likelv to pay him a visit?" "T've no 'doubt it could be done," said Herald, thoughtfully. "The thing would be to pet hold of some chap who knows the rones.

' c Gad TN'p <*n+ it!" he exclaimed, suddenly "Hallard !"

"He's a bookmaker's clerk, but he used to be a stores clerk in the_ prison service. He had some money left him, chucked his job, blued the lot, and now he'd sell his soul for a fiver." "And you know him?" "You bet I do—know him well. Give me ten quid, father and I'll have the whole thing out of him inside twenty-four hours."

The elder Denby took out a pocket-book and reluctantly drew forth two five-pound notes. Then he paused. "But what's the use?" he growled, relapsing into his former sulky attitude. "Even if we do find out where the girl is we are no forrader. As I said before, she'll never give up the necklace." "The first thing is to discover her where abouts," replied Gerald', coolly.. "Wher we have done that we can lay our plans for trettincr the diamonds. You trust me. father. I'll find some way." The confidence in his tone seemed to encourage his father. The latter was in the state of mind to clutch at any straw-. He handed over the notes, which Gerald slipped at once into his waistcoat pocket. "Now." said Gerald, almost briskly. "You sell those Geldenberg shares, father, and bank the money. Fix things up so that we can keep soing for a few months, and I'll lay we'll be in Easv street before the money's all gone. The necklace is worth thirty thousand, if it's worth a pennv." "But, see here." he added, raising a. warning finder. "I'm goinsr to play this hand, and I don't want vou to interfere until I ask vou. You ran that last business off vour own bat, and look what hapnened. T alwavs told you that a noor, miserable, weak-kneed cur like Wilsher was no use to us. Lord ! —he hadn't the nerve to burble a toy-shop !" So saving, he nicked tin his hat, lit a fresh cigar, and went straight off. CHAPTER. XXX— * TTTTLE RUSE DE GUERRE. • Denison was a man who worked hard and nlaved hard. That is. he put in a rrood ei<rht hours at his office daily, and dined out or ioined a theatre party most evenings in the week. B"t as he wa° too wise to burn the candle at both ends, he did not riseat too e*-i-lvs> an hour, and he was still in bed when, at "ine o'clock of a raw February morning "Rond, his man, brought him' his tea and letters. There were about- a dozen of fie latter, mostlv invitations, hills, or advei-themnnts : but as h« ran thrmiirh the bundle he enuqht si<iht- of a writing he knew well, a firm vet. diotinctlv feminine hand, and drorrmno- the rest, he hastily tore open the PTivpline.

Thp address was "Mourae Oottaare, Awneiionth." and the date "February 21," Tt wn= as follows : Dear Mr Denison, I told you that I

would write when I was settled, and am now fulfilling my promise. 1 moved in. here a week ago. and already feel that I have shaken down for a Jong stay. The cottage is small, but capitally built and most comfortable. I have a splendid view of the sea from the windows of my little sitting-room, and early as it is, the daffodils and primroses are already in bloom in the garden, while the birds sing gloriously. I have a maid. She is called Amy Treasure, and her name does not belie her worth. She is a treasure, being quite a good cook, and far more tidy and energetic than the general run of women. I like her and the place and the climate, and feel that I can be content here—so far as content is possible—until the time comes for Alan's release. I have not seen him yet. I shall not be allowed to until about the end of next month. But I have heard from him. As you know, he was sent to Moorlands just after New Year. He has been put in a farm party, and says that he is well, except for a slight touch of rheumatism. He sent his love to you As he is allowed to write only one letter a month you must not expect to hear from him directly. I hope you will not be jealous. I can send any messages from you. I am less than an hour by train from Moorlands, and T have been strongly tempted to run up on the possible chance of catching a glimpse of Alan at work outside. Yet I have resisted the temptation. Even if I did see him, it would be too dreadful not to be able to speak or even sign to him. No, I will wait until I am allowed to pay my visit, and I can hardly tell you with what a mingling of dread and longing I look forward- to that day. Seven years and one month, now. It is a terrible vista of time. Sometimes I wonder if I can have the patience to endure to the end. But I must not complain—least of all to you who have alwavs been such a friend to us both. It would not be fair. T f you. answer this, address me as "Mrs Austin.'' I nose here as a widow. I dislike the deception, but as you have told me, and I fully realise, it is necessary. Yours verv sincerelv. Margaret Rtcxdt;e. P.S.—The necklace is in a safe place. Tt is not in a bank or in the cottasre. I have found a hiding nlace which, I think, is perfect. I will not even tell you where it is, but in case of accidents, I have left a letter at Alan's bank, addressed to vou. where it is to be found.—M. It.

Denison's face was very thoughtful as he read this letter. "The poor dear!" he said as he folded it again and replaced it in its envelope. "Seven years and one month ! She is counting the very days.

"Hang that woman Holmes!" he muttered with a sudden fierceness very foreign to his usual nature. "And hang Denby ! He's at the bottom of it, I'll swear. If I could only get proof against him, gad I'd go and watch him over the prison wall. Aye, and enjoy it, too. Please God, I will some day." He got out of bed and began to dress. All the time, while he made his toilet, his thoughts were full of Margaret Rendle.

"I wonder if she would like me to go down and see her," he said thoughtfully, as he began to lather his chin. "I'll write and ask anyhow. It must be soon, if I do, for I've promised Marsden to take that Swiss trip with him at Easter." It was a long and gossipy letter that he wrote, full of odds and ends of London news, and Meg answered it by return, telling him she would be charmed to see him at any time. He wired her to expect him on Friday afternoon following, and next morning set out in a taxi to catch the 10.30 express from Paddington. He was a little early, and had plenty of time not only to take his ticket, dug to purchase some literature at one of the book-stalls.

There were plenty of people about. As Denison made his way slowly through the throng to a carriage in the front part of the train, he caught a glimpse of a face that seemed vaguely familiar, and saw, moreover, that "its owner was watching him.

Too clever to take any immediate notice, he. got into his carriage and sat down. Opening a newspaper to shield his face, he kept covert watch from behind it, and presently saw the man pass his window and glance in. "So he is following me," he said to himself, faintly amused. "Now, who the deuce is he ? "

Still sheltering himself with his paper, he saw the man, who was young and rather tall, move on a little way, then turn and saunter aimlessly back. As he passed the second time, Denison contrived to get a good look at his shadower. All of a sudden he recognised the face as one which he had seen in court on the day of Alan's trial, and knew that it was Gerald Denby's. In a flash he understood the position. Somehow, the Denbys had sot wind of his journey south, and this fellow, trusting that Denison did not know him by sight, meant to follow him, no doubt in the hope of discovering Meg's whereabouts. Denison smiled grimly.

"So that's your little game, my young friend," he said to himself. "Well, if I can't beat you, I'll kick myself hard before I eo to bed to-night." He lay back comfortably in his seat, and paid no'more attention to the tracker, and soon the train started, and rapidly gathering speed, went hurtling south-westward through the level Thames valley. Reading was 'passed in forty minutes, another twenty, saw Newbury vanish and soon afterwards an attendent appeared, to ask Denison whether he would take first or second lunch. "First, please," Denison answered, and later, when the meal was announced, and he made his way to the dining-car, he saw. as he had fully expected to see, Gerald

Denby take a seat at a table not far off. The 10.30 does not stop until it reaches Exeter, where the engine is changed for the heavy gradients, between the Cathedral city and Plymouth, which latter town was Denison's destination.

The moment the train pulled up at Exeter Denison jumped out, and hurried into the telegraph office, where he seized a form and began to write. "Rendle, 3, Western Villas, St. Austell, Cornwall," he put as address, and then—perhaps it was clumsiness, perhaps something went wrong with his fountain pen — at any rate, a huge blot splashed on the form. With a- muttered exclamation, he crumpled the sheet and flung it aside, and taking another wrote a quite unnecessary message to his own head clerk, and passed it through the grating. While he waited for change he kept an eye lifting to see if his bait took. Sure enough, there was Gerald Denby at the self-same compartment at which he had written his own wire, and as he watched he saw the fellow rapidly secure the crumpled form and thrust it into his coat pocket. . Denison could have laughed outright as he strolled quietly out of the office and took his seat again. The train was almost moving when Gerald Denby reached it, and sprang into his compartment, which was m the carriage just behind Denison s Denison read quietly until the guard came by to inspect tickets. _ "Guard," said Denison in his quiet, wellbred voice. "Will you do something for me?" ... ~ j "I shall be very pleased, sir, replied the official. . _ "That suit-case on the rack is mine. _ It is the only-luggage I have. I am getting out at Plymouth. I want you to take the case and leave it in charge of a porter who is to wait for me on the down platform. You can tell him he will get a shilling. "Very good, sir," said the guard. bnaJl I take the case now?" _ "Yes, please. Only I want it taken forward, not back through the carnage behind. , ~ . » "And perhaps yon will accept this for your trouble," he added, and the crown which he slipped into the others hand completed the transaction to their mutual satisfaction. Arriving at Plymouth, where the tram BtoDped for five 'minutes before going on into Cornwall. Denison got out, and went straight to the refreshment room, where he ordered a whisky and soda and watched the train throne* the window As he had hoped and expected, Gerald Denby sat tight. Feeling certain that Denison was bound for St Austell, and had merely got out for a drink,- he did not trouble to move Denison watched the clock, and at the end of four minutes and a-half reappeared on the platform. He bought an evening paper from a boy, and, m finding change, somehow dropped a shilling which the boy recovered for him. "All aboard!" cried the guard, and Denison began to walk towards his carriage. , He timed it perfectly. Just as he reached it, the train began to move. He made no effort to jump in, but stood quietly while the long line of windows glided past. Next moment he caught a glimpse of Gerald Denbv's agitated face as he sprang from his seat and made for the door. Denison took off his hat. "You're a little late, Mr Denby." he called loudly, then, smiling broadly, walked off to reclaim his bag. (HA.PTER XXII.—THE MAN IX DRAB. V branch line took Denison to Awneniouth, and he arrived at Mourne Cottage about five o'clock. He found Meg busy in the garden in strong gloves and a big aprpn. She came quickly to greet him, and he war- relieved to see how well she looked. True, she was thinner than formerly, and her grev eyes looked larger than before. But' both they and her pretty complexion were clear as ever, and the smile with which. she greeted him did him good to see. She took him in and rang for tea. which was brought by Amy Treasure. The girl was a typical daughter of Devon, tall and strongly built, with very fair hair and blue eyes. She seemed capable as she was sturdy, and was evidently devoted to her voting mistress. The two sat and chatted for a long time. Denison, however, did not mention his little adventure with Gerald Denby. He did not want to make Meg nervous. Meg took him all over the cottage, which was "all she had painted it. Though small, it was extremely comfortable, and the view out to sea was really magnificent. He stopped to supper, and it was past nine before he returned to the little hotel where he had left his bag. Next day he again spent all the morning at the cottage, and did not leave it •until it was time to catch the afternoon train back to town. "I am going back more cheerful than I came," he told her as he bade her goodbye. "So long as you keep busy and cheerful. I have no fears either for yon or Alan." "And you have done me goocl, too," she answered frankly. "You will come again." "Indeed I will. I am going to Switzerland for Easter, just for a week or ten days. But after that, any week-end. You have only to ask me." "I shall. Be sure of that. And—and I Shall then be able to tell you about Alan, shall have seen him." "Give him my love," said Denison warmly. "And remember, if anything is wrong, if you have trouble of any sort, just wire me." "That is very good of you," she said with a smile, "but let ns hope the occasion will not arise." She watched him out of sight, then

turned back to her gardening. This was her great resource. She knew but few people, and went about very little, and, though she had plenty of books and music, time might have hung heavily on her hands but for the oonstant interest of her flowers, vegetables, and fruit. As it was, the days melted one into another with wonderful swiftness, and each brought nearer the date of her first visit to the prison. At last it came, and with it a bright sun and a cold, east wind. Meg found her heart fluttering oddly as, very quietly dressed, she made her way afoot to the station. She changed at Plymouth, and then a panting engine drew her train up the tremendously steep gradients by which the winding line climbed the edge of the moor. The views were magnificent. Half Cornwall and a great section of Devon's richest lowlands lay beneath her eyes, and beyond, the sea glimmered against the pale blue horizon. At last they pulled into Moorlands station, where a closed carriage, for which Meg had telephoned, awaited her. The village itself shocked her. It was so utterly bare and treeless and desolate. Ugly granite houses stood up starkly on either side of the long bare street down which the wind whistled with a winter's edge. In corners lay the remains of drifts of snow, still unmelted. The prison stood at the upper end of the street, dominating the whole place, and if the village was bare and ugly the prison itself was ten times worse. Meg shivered as her eyes rested on the huge, many-storied halls which radiated from a common centre, like the spokes of a wheel, and on the rows and rows of narrow iron-barred windows, each of which marked a separate cell. In spite of the bright sun, the place looked dreary beyond belief, and her heart sank as she regarded it. This was Alan's home —the only home he could know for seven long, terrible years; and there he, a man of education and refinement, a man, moreover, guiltless of any crime, was forced to herd with the very scum and off-scourings of the earth. Opposite to a monstrous granite arch the carriage pulled up and Meg got out. "You go through there, Miss," said the driver, 'down to the gate lodge, inside. The chap there—he'll tell you." Meg thanked him and asked him to wait. She went forward with such a sense of nervousness as she rarely remembered. But the elderly warder at the gate lodge took her arrival quite as a matter of course. He merely asked for her card of appointment and got her to sign her name in a book, then called through the telephone. Another blue-tunicked official appeared. "This way, please," he said, and Meg was conducted across the court and up some stairs to a large, bare, airy apart ment. A long table ran down the middle of it with a couple of chairs on either side. There was no other furniture. "Your husband will come in at the door opposite, Mrs Rendle," explained the war der. "He will remain at that side of the table; you at this. You will have twenty minutes for conversation, and I must ask you not to speak in any language but English." Meg promised. In spite of all her efforts at self-control, she was trembling so that she was glad to drop into a chair. The door opposite opened, and a man appeared—a man with thin brown cheeks, hollow eyes, and hair cropped bristle close all over his head. He wore badly-fitting breeches, canvas gaiters with black broad arrows stamped broadcast upon them, and a blue-and-red slop jacket over a sleeved waistcoat. Meg stared wide-eyed. , "Meg!" said this strange apparition. (To be Continued.)