THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3315, 26 September 1917, Page 48

THE NOVELIST.

THE PRICE OF - - ÜBIRIY. By T. C. BRIDGES, Author of "Whoso Sheddeth," "A Fight for a Fortune," etc., etc. [All Rights Reserved.] CHAPTER XXVI.—WHEN THE SMOKE ROSE.

How Rendle lived through that day ho hardly knew. His head was in a whirl, he felt dizzy and confused, and for the first time since he had come to Moorlands he was reprimanded for failure -to do his work properly. Fortunately for him, his good character saved him from a report; but the escape was so narrow that it terrified him.

Had he actually been reported he would probably have not been allowed out on the following day, and thus have lost the chance whatever it was, that was being arranged for him.

At any rate, the shock braced him sufficiently to keep his mind on his work for the rest of the day, and he did so well that the warder who had warned him went out of his way that evening to give him a word of approval. That Monday night was awful. He could not sleep a wink. Yet the worst of it was that he had to lie stall and pretend to do so. A convict cannot pace his floor as a free man may. The nig] it warder who peeps through the "judas" or spyhole at frequent intervals will soon put a stop to anything of that sort. The evening had been clear enough, though cold, and the red sunset had given every promise of a fine -day to follow. Yet Rendle was listening all night long, jumping at every sound, terrified lest it might be rain on the roof. But the morning, when at last it did come, was fine and bright as the previous day, with a light air from the nor'west.

Rendle was tired, his nerves throbbed, and his eyes ached. But Clandon made no objection to his drawing a full bucket of cold water, and a sluice dowai with the icy fluid pulled him together. Clandon did not speak to him at all, but once gave him a significant look, which told Rendle that he had not forgotten the incident of the previous morning. Rendle, knowing that if his mysterious plan came off, he would certainly be called on for violent physical effort, forced himself by a powerful effort of will, marched out with the rest to chapel.

The service was very short; then cam© parade with his party in the "yard, and the usual rubbing down or searching of each prisoner. This latter was a degrading business to which use never accustomed Rendle, and as he stood, cap in one hand, handkerchief in the other, while the warder's quick hands passed over him, he prayed devoutly that this might be the last time he would be forced to undergo the ordeal. His party, No. 14, comprised twentythree men, and their work at present was the clearing of a "newtake." That is to say, a piece of open moor was being reclaimed and fenced in.

The ground, in its- natural state, was covered with thick heather and gorse, and dotted with huge boulders of granite. The growth had to be grubbed out by the roots, while the boulders were split with wedges or—if too large for that—blown up, and the pieces used for building a huge and massive six-foot wall around the new field.

As Rendle began to swing his heavy hoe he glanced around, and it came to him that, surely, no place or time could be less well suited to escape. True, the road —the main road from Moorlands to Taviton—ran at the top of the newtake, and only about eighty or a hundred yards from the spot at which he was working. But, on the other hand, there was no cover tall enough to hide a man; and as for the weather, nothing could have been more clear or perfect. They were near the top of the hill, close on fifteen hundred feet above sea level, and the view before him comprised the whole of the low country right away to .he Cornish moors, with a glimpse of the sea itself, fifteen miles to the southward.

More and more the conviction forced itself upon him that the whole thing must be a hoax, and a feeling of Serce indignation began to succeed the strained expectancy of the early morning. He felt a burning desire to discover who was responsible, and began to regret bitterly that he had not taken the note straight to the Governor instead of destroying it. He might have suffered, but someone else would have smarted too.

" 'Ere—what are you a-doing of?" came "a growl from the next man in line. . "Swinging, your 'oe like that," complained the fellow as Ren die looked round at him wonderingly. ''You'll be a-brain-ing someone afore you knows. There ain't no call to work like that, x anyways." Rendle realised that he had been treating the go.se roots before him as though thev had been Clandon's head. He smiled grimly, and moderated his blows. Next moment his neighbour spoke again. "Blime, what's up? Be they a-going to burn the blooming gorse " Rendle glanced up sharply. A thin spiral of smoke was rising from the heather half-way between the working party and the road. Next moment the drv stuff flashed into flame.

It was mysterious to a degree, for no one had" been nea% the spot so far as any of them knew. A warder, noticing the fire, gave a sharp exclamation, and walked quickly over towards it. Before' he had got half way a second

curl of smoke rose from another spot a few yards distant, and then all in a moment a dozen fires were burning in a dozen different places. Rdndle stared in amazement. All the men, in fact, had stopped work and were gazing at the strange phenomenon. ''Lumme, but it's a blighted volcano!" observed Rendle's neighbour in a tone of extreme surprise. If not quite that, there were at any rate the makings of a first-class conflagration. The breeze, which at these heights is hardly ever still, fanned the little fires until, with an incredibly short space of time, a line of gorse and, heather a hundred yards long was one mass of leaping, crackling flame, while the smoke, bellying out into a rolling cloud, rapidly covered the whole top of the hill with a stinging smother. The warders, of whom, including Clandon, there were three in charge of the party, seemed quite mazed with this startling outbreak of fire. Then Clandon spoke to the principal warder, and the latter suddenly ordered the men to go forward and beat it out.

It was as the order came that light suddenly burst on Rendle. "If fine and•dry." The words burnt themselves on his brain. Here was the explanation. The gorse could not have been fired unless dry, and it was his unknown friends who, in some mysterious fashion best known to themselves, had fired it.

His heart began to race. He could feel the scorch of the dancing flames upon his face when, from the road beyond, came the long, .weird moan of an electric horn. _ Instantly Rendle realised the whole situation. He dropped his pick, made one leap through the belt of flamie, and tore towards the road at a pace he had not equalled since lus football days. The old boundary wall still remained between the moor and the road, a rough, dry stone affair, barely tiliree feet high. Shielded by the smoke, he had almost reached it before anyone of the warders so much as saw him go. Then, above the crackle of the blazing gorse, came a shouted challenge, and almost instantly a charge of buckshot whizzed harmlessly over his head. Rendle hardly noticed it. He had eyes only for the long-snouted, gray, two-seater that was crawling on walking pace along the road. Before a second shot could be fired he had leaped the wall and hurled himself into the empty seat beside the driver. As he reached it again came the sharp crack of the" carbine, and this time the aim was .better. The heavy shot screeched viciously close above the car. But neither Rendle nor the driver was touched, and as the latter pressed down the accelerator, the car shot off with a rapidity which was proof both of her condition and her power. Instantly the wind was screaming past Rendle's ear. There was another shot, but it sounded no louder than a popgun. Then the car reached the brow of the hill, and went swooping down it like a swallow on the wing. Like magic, the shouts, the crackle of the fire, and all the sounds of pursuit were blotted out. At a speed of well over fiftv miles an hour, they fled down the mile-long hill into the valley below. ""- CHAPTER XXVII.—A TRANSFORMATION. For the first few moments Rendle could only lie back in his seat, breathing hard. The desperate dash, £he equally desperate excitement, had drained his strength. But presently he began to revive, and the first thing he did was to glance at his driver.

The glance told him nothing except that he was a man, and presumably a young man. The upturned collar of his big driving coat hid most of his face; the rest was concealed by heavy goggles and a leather cap pulled down right over his eyes.,. Rendle did not attempt to speak. He realised very clearly that the other—whoever he was—would need every atom of his energies and attention to keep the car on the curving road at this deseperate speed. The' man had nerve at any rate. The sensation, as the car dropped bullet-like down hill, was like that of volplaning in an aeroplane. Within little more than sixty seconds they reached the bridge over the Wallcoombe brook, and the driver braked a trifle to negotiate the narrow and dangerous passage. But the moment they were across down went the pedal again and the long, low car fled, like a scared cat, up the oposite slope, with never a change of gear. At the toD Rendle looked back. Far in the distance two civil guards falloped madly. Next moment the car opped the slope and they vanished abruptly. All along the level beyond the speedometer was notching- sixty; then came the great hill leading down over the rim of the Moor, and here in a narrow, twisting, dangerous passage speed was slackened a trifle, and the driver, with a sharp vesture, indicated a coat on which Rendle was sitting. He slinped it on at once, found a cap in the pocket, and tearing off his hideous Glengarrv, donned that Instead. Now Taviton showed up among its tall elms in the valley below, and Rendle wondered uneasily if his driver meant to chance passing through it. He knew that the town was in direct telephonic communication . with the prison, and dreaded that the police micrht be already warned. • But soon the driver showed that he had no intention of anything of the kind. At the bottom of the hill was a cross road, the left'-leadinsj down towards Plymouth, the to some upland villages on the edge of'the Moor. Without an instant's hesitation Rendle's rescuer took the hand turn, and went off at hardly abated speed up through a series of steep, narrow lanes. Where be was g-ointr, what was his destination, Rendle had no idea. Clearly the man knew his way, and Rendle was content to sit still and watch the hedges swirl past. Cleverly avoiding the villages, the

driver worked gradually up into a lonely stretch of country on the western edge of the Moor, and presently, having covered 'some twenty miles, drove suddenly up a mere track into a thick coppice, and brought the car to rest. "Get out, please," he said briefly. His voice was strange to Rendle, and as he slipped out of his heavy coat Eendle saw that ho was a complete stranger. Ho appeared to bo a man of about thirty, with a sharp, rather pallid face, but the glasses still hid so much of it that little of his real appearance was visible. Rendle sprang out quickly. The other followed, and, flinging open a locker at * the back, pulled out a large bundle. "Change into -these," he said curtly. "Sharp as you canl There's a wig as well as clothes."

Rendle took the bundle, hurried in among the trees, and, opening the bundle, found a complete suit of. clothes, with socks, undergarments, boots, everything complete down to collar-studs. There was also a razor, a shaving brush, a tin of liquid shaving paste, and a small mirror.

He tore off his convict garments. He felt as though he could not get rid of them quickly enough. Then he began to dress with equal rapidity. The clothes, which fitted him excellently, were cut in a curious style. They were of dark, plain material, and might have been made for an old-fashioned gentleman of sixty. Then he saw that the wig was grizzled, and realised that the outfit was meant to add thirty years to his age. - The shave was accomplished with equal speed. It was sheer delight to get rid of the horrible crop of bristles which disfigured his cheeks and chin. He adjusted the wig, put on the square, hard felt hat, and, regarding himself in the glass, laughed naturally for the first time for months.

Not a warder in Moorlands could have recognised this staid, clean-shaven, elderly gentleman for the convict of ten minutes since.

He picked up his convict clothes, rolled them m a tight bundle, and searched for a hiding place. A hollow under a gnarled old beech provided their tomb, the entrance to which he closed with a stone and a pile of dead leaves.

Then he went back to the car. As he came out of the trees the driver looked up. He nodded approvingly. "You'll do," he said. Rendle hardly heard. He was staring at the car.

How it had been done he could hardly guess; but during his short absence the appearance of the vehicle had been completely altered. The bonnet was different in shape and colour; the body, too, was changed—black instead of grey. What was most extraordinary was that she was no longer a two-seater, but a four. By some ingenious arrangement, the back had been opened out into a sort of tonneau. The driver saw Rendle's amazed face and gave a dry chuckle. "Side flaps, a second bonnet cover, and a collapsible tonneau. Smart, ain't it?" "Extraordinary! No one would know her," Rendle answered. "Just as well," said the other significantly, and, turning, inspected his tyres. "But who are you?" asked Rendle impulsively. "I never saw you before, and I can't imagine what good angel sent you to my rescue." The other laughed harshly. "Never you mind who I am. All the better you shouldn't know. I'm paid io get you clear, and I'm going to do It. That's all you've got to worry about." Rendle felt slightly indignant for the moment. But next moment hei realised that there was sense in what the man had said.

"Very well," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "Then the only qnestion I'll ask is where you are taking me." "To your best friend," answered the other curtly. "But as we're not due before dark we're going to make a bit of a round. Get along in and we'll push ahead. You'd better get in behind." "And, see here," he added. "If we get stopped anywhere don't you get rattled. Your name is Henry Hardcastle, and you're a gentleman from London touring in Devonshire. You'll find cards' and letters in your pooket. I'm Harvey the chauffeur."

Now Rendle realised that his versatile driver had also changed his appearance, and as completely as the car. He-was in chauffeur's uniform and cap, with a long holland dust coat over them. A minute later the car, at a much more sober pace, was rolling down into the valley, and soon was on the high road, leading to Ashampton. As Rendle _lay % back in his seat, and gazed around him, K he had a curious sense of unreality. The prison suddenly seemed a thing of the past. He was unable to believe that he himself was the convict of -yesterday.

Then his thoughts, turned to Meg. What had the man said? That he was taking him to "his best friend." Who else could that be but Meg ? Then had Meg arranged all this? Was she responsible for his escape? He felt a sudden throb, half terror, half exultation. That she should be capable of such a daring plan sent a thrill through every nerve; yet at the same time he was terrified to think of the penalties to which she had laid herself open. If it was not Meg, who else could it be? The thought of Denison flashed through his mind. Denison, apart from* Meg, was certainly his best friend, yet after a moment's consideration he dismissed the idea. Denison, a lawyer himself, would never have recourse to such, utterly illegal methods. The car rolled leisurely into Ashampton, a bare little town Iviner on the north-west of the Moor, and the driver pulled up in front of a small hotel, and got out. "Will you lunch here, sir " he asked in the most* matter-of-fact tone imaginable. Rendle almost gasped. It seemed mad' ness, yet a moment's consideration proved

that boldness was probably the wisest policy. “Very well, Harvey,” he answered. “Will you put the car up, and get your own dinner, and 1 will come round to the garage when I want you.” This w T as for the benefit of the boots, who was on the step. He got out, and walked sedately into the hotel. There seemed to be hardly anyone about. Indeed;, it was too early in the season for any visitors but fishermen. An appetising smell of cooking reached his nostrils and made him suddenly realise how hungry he was. The prospect of a real, civilised meal swept away all his scruples, and he took his seat at a table in the coffee-room with an assurance which surprised himself. It was early, and he was the only man in the room. He picked up a newspaper, the first he had seen for six months, and was deep in it when the waiter, a tall, melancholy looking individual, arrived with his order. The food was not startlingly good noor particularly well served, but Handle, as may be imagined, was not disposed to be critical. After bis long regime, of skilly and tinned beef, the meal was delicious. It was all that he could do to show a deep restraint in devouring it. The waiter hovered in the background, and presently ventured a remark that it was fine weather for that time of the year. Rendle agreed, then the man dropped a bombshell. “They do say, sir, that a convict escaped this morning.” CHAPTER XXVIII.—THE MAN WITH " THE TORCH. Rendle jumped. He could not help it. “Where—from?” he managed to ask. “Moorlands, sir. The big prison on the Moor.” Rendle collected himself. “How did he get away. I thought it was only in foggy weather they could bolt.” “I don’t know no details, sir. ’Twas the constable told me. They got it by wire at the station. They’ll have all the police out for miles around.” “Then I suppose they axe sure to catch him?” said Rendle. It was at this moment that Rendle suddenly realised the state of his hands. Rough, brown, calloused, with broken nails, it came to him with a sudden shock that they were utterly out-of keeping with the rest of his appearance. Had the man noticed them —that was the question, and he stole a very anxious glance at the waiter’s face. But the latter did not seem to have noticed anything particular, and presently suggested rhubarb tart. But the shock had spoilt Rendle’s appetite, and he sent the waiter for coffee and cigarettes which he said he would have in the lounge. To this room, he made his way at once, and carefully chose the darkest corner. jThe coffee was thin and poor, but a cigarette was the greatest luxury imaginable, and soothed his shaken nerves to a wonderful extent. Even so, he was still anxious, and as soon as he possibly could, he paid his bill, put on his hat, and went out to the garage. To his great relief Harvey was waiting. He touched his cap. “Heady for the car, sir?” “Please,” said Handle. He felt happier when they were once more under way; but a fresh shock was in stfore for him. On the bridge over the river a policeman was waiting. , He held up his hand, and the car stopped. “Sorry to trouble you, sir, but our orders are to search all cars. A convict escaped this morning and went off in a car.” “I don’t think you will find him hidden here,” replied Rendle with a smile. “I hope not, at any rate.” He got out as he spoke. Having now fot a pair of gloves on, he felt happier, lis hands, at any rate, would not betray him.

The constable made a perfunctory search. “All right, sir,” he said, standing back, and once more they drove on. “There’ll be more of that,” said Harvey briefly, as they turned a corner. Then he chuckled. “That bobby will never forgive himself if it ever comes out,” he added. “Let’s hope it won’t,” Said Eendle sharply. “It won’t if you keep your head as well as you did then,” replied the other. AH the same Eendle found that long run around the Moor was very trying. The distance in all was about eighty miles, and they were stopped four times. v Eendle refused to go to an hotel again for tea, so Urey bought some food at a Eastrycook’s In the village of Coombe arton, and ate it by the roadside. At last the sun began to drop low behind the tors to the -west, and Harvey turned in his seat. “We can slow along now,” he said. “It’ll be dark in an hour.” Ho turned in a southerly direction, and they dropped down through deep lanes towards the coast. Eondle’s heart began to beat hard again. He recognised the fact that they were nearing the sea, and although he did not know the country so well as the driver he was fairly certain that they were heading in the direction of Awnemouth. Then it was to Meg that he was being taken, and in spite of all his anxieties every pulse thrilled at the thought that he -would soon see her again.

~ — v o As the dusk deepened his driver Blackened speed again. Hen die noticed for the first time that day that he seemed a trifle anxious. It became so dark that the head-lights had to be switched on. and Rondlo could see little of his surroundings. But a tang of salt in the air told him that they were very near the coast. The road entered a thick coppice, and speed slackened to a mere crawl. Rendlo asked no questions, but his excitement grew almost painful. Then a light flashed. Just one gleam from an electric torch, and at once the car pulled up. Harvey turned.

“You get out here,” he said. Eendle sprang out. As he did so he caught sight of a figure standing in the middle of the narrow road. “He’ll look after you,” said Harvey. “Then I leave you now?” questioned Eendle. “You do and I reckon you’re not sorry,” returned the other. “On the contrary, I shall never forget you,” replied Eendle warmly. “And I can never tell you how grateful I am.” “Don’t you worry,” answered the other drily. “I’ve been paid for what I’ve done.” “That makes no difference,” replied Eendle quickly. And at that moment the man with the torch came up quickly, took him by the arm, and without a word led him in among the trees. He did not speak, and he was wearing a long coat and muffler and had his cap pulled right down over his eyes; Eendle had no idea of his identity. They went fifty paces, and stopped in a small open space. Eendle’s conductor flashed his torch again, and another figure glided out of the thick shadow. It was a woman, and Eendle started forward. “Meg!” he cried in a low, tense voice. Next moment she was in his arms. (To be Continued.)