THE SECRET FOE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3330, 9 January 1918, Page 48

THE SECRET FOE.

THE SrOVF.X.IST. [Published by Special Arrangement.]

Br EDGAR PICKERING, Author of "The Falconhurst Mystery," "Love, the Conqueror," "Murder Will Out," etc., etc. [Copyright.] CHAPTER XXll.—(Continued.) Amy had fled back to her own room, and, throwing a cloak over her head, remained listening for a few moments. Not a sound could be heard from below, and, descending the stairs, she went along a dark passage leading to a door opening on to the garden. Unlatching this she came out upon the tangled pathway to the gate. * A curious shadow was moved to and fro—Peter Armstrong's, and as Amy approached he came forward, shaking with excitement. "I thought vou hadn't had my letter, miss," he saicf without any preface. "I know the sort of woman you're with. I won't say what. You oughtn't to be told." "I'm afraid of her," whispered Amy. "She may be here at any moment if she finds I have come out. Mr Mortimer is in the house. I'm afraid of him, too." "You shan't stay, miss. Not a minute longer than's necessary, but there's something you must do before you go. It's difficult, and I don't know how it's to be done, quite."

"Tell me what it is. Hark! What was that?"- and she held up her hand ingsSomething had stirred at a short distance from where they were standing. It was like the tread of a footstep amongst the dead leaves, and Peter crept forward peering into the darkness; but all was still again. * "I don't think it was anything, miss," he said in an undertone, and Amy put her hand on his arm, thrilling him. He would have laid down his life for her at that moment. "I've found out that Mortimer carries some papers in his pocket-book," he said. "It's a long story, miss—there's no time for telling it now." Get Mortimer's pocketbook from him."

"Yes. I'll do that," she answered breathlessly.

"Then send the book to London," he 'went on. "Peatherstone Buildings is where I live. Here's the address. There's so much -to do, and Mr Strange has to be thought of. Have you any money, miss? Take this," and Amy felt a small bag being forced into her hand. "I have enough," she answered. "Two pounds." "Take it, miss," urged Peter. • "You may want more. Isobody can tell what may happen. Remember what I've aaid. The pocket-book—get it." Again Amy promised, and Peter, after a- few more words, for she dared not linger, disappeared into the darkness, and Amy hurried back to the house, unconscious that the gaunt woman servant had crept from her. hiding place close to the spot where Peter had stoocT, and was creeping stealthily after her.

CHAPTER XXIIL—MR HUNCOTE MAKES UP HIS MIND.

Mr Huncote pushed back his chair from the desk in his private room, and pondered with a troubled mind.

"Armstrong was an unprincipled dog," he murmured, "and it is quite possible that he has found out that Mortimer is really a. man named Gerald Williams. That may mean exposure. I must guard myself against that at all cost. It would be a judicious thing for me to do to accuse Mortimer of having murdered Jacob Orme. He committed the crime without a shadow of a doubt. He attempted my own life," and for the twentieth time he recalled the memory of that awful drive in Mortimer's motor car.

Trifles light as air, but in the aggregate a heavy weight, had been accumulating to distress Mr Huncote, and warn him of a possibly coming storm. Sir Charles had insisted on certain matters connected with the estate being cleared up. Palmer was troublesome, but he was of small importance. The crowning anxiety was Peter Armstrong.

"Who is a disturbing influence," muttered Mr Huncote, as he locked up the office a little later. "Mortimer ought to have murdered him instead of Orme," and the thought brought an uneasy smile as he walked down Bedford row.

He stopped with a startled ejaculation, for at a short distance ahead Peter had been seen hovering. At least that appeared to be what he was doing, and a sudden desire to conciliate him came into Mr Huncote's mind.

Hastening on, he called to him, and the insignificant little figure turned round. "I thought I recognised you, Armstrong," said Mr Huncote kindly. "Have you got another place V'""' "I've got work," replied Peter. "I am glad to hear that," continued Mr Huncote, "and I am glad to have the opportunity of saying how much I regret parting with you. I may have spoken nastily.'.'

"No. You didn't do that," answered Peter. . "You'd thought out what you had to say." , "And you felt hurt. Come, be frank with me. You thought I was harsh." "No. I didn't feel anything of the sort. Why .should I?"

"Just so," replied Mr Huncote. "I had no wish to you pain. I was irritable, perhaps. People are, sometimes, you know. The fact is Mr Mortimer had somewhat annoyed me, and, speaking of him, can you tell me where he is to be found?"

The recollection of that ghastly old house, the Priory, of the tangled garden, and his interview with Amy, which brought all his chivalrous devotion to her surging up in his heart, came before him as Mr Huncote asked the question.

"Mr Mortimer is a double-dyed villain," he exclaimed.

"Why this warmth of expression, Armstrong? Surely you have no cause for it" "I've proof of it," retorted Peter, vehemently, and then he checked himself. "You'll excuse me, Mr Huncote," he said, breathlessly, "but I'm busy, so I'll say good evening," and not waiting for an answer he darted down a turning before Mr Huncote could prevent him. "Now, what in the name .of goodness brought that fellow here? Yet I needn't wonder. He was spying on the office. It confirms my opinion that he is dangerous. He's perfectly right about Mortimer, however. My wisest plan is to make an end of Mr Mortimer and his infamous imposture. I'll think it out." Mr Huncote did think it out, calculating every chance, and how to ensure his own safety. Jacob Orme had described the robbery of the real Stephen Mortimer's credentials by Gerald Williams, who had taken the dead man's place as Sir Charles Mortimer's nephew and heir. Looking at the case from all points, it would be the wisest thing he could do to expose the imposture. He "Was alone in his room one evening, working late, for Peter Armstrong had not been replaced by another clerk, when the outer door of the office was heard to open. It was an unusual hour for a client to come, and he had leant back to receive his unknown visitor in his ordinary urbane manner, when Mr Huncote received an unpleasant surprise. "You are the very last person I expected to see, Mr Mortimer," he exclaimed.' l 'l thought you were in Paris. You said you were going there." "I say a good many things," replied Mortimer, coming to the desk, and his look caused Mr Huncote to shrink back in the chair. "I shall be going in a few days, however, and before I go there is somthing you will have to do. . I want some ready money." "Exactly what I want myself," answered Mr Huncote, as though the request amused him. "Two hundred pounds!" said Mortimer. "Two hundred pounds !" and Mr Huncote repeated the words thoughtfully. "Well, it will have to be managed, I suppose. I can't let you have it at the moment.- When do you want the money?" "I shall- be going down to Nethercliffe in a week from now. Meet me there. Brino; the cash." "In a week from now," Mr Huncote repeated again. "Why not come here?" "It would be inconvenient," and Mortimer seemed annoyed by the question. "Very good," replied Mr Huncote. "As it happens, I have to see Sir Charles, and can kill two birds with one stone. Are you staying at the Hall?" "You're infernally inquisitive, Huncote," and Mortimer became more disagreeable in his manner than ever. "Why do you wish to know?"

"It is quite unimportant to me," answered the other, "but it will be well for you to be careful. Jacob Orme was a danger. Fortunately, he has been got rid of, but " "Why do you bring Orme's name up? What do you mean by referring to him?" interrupted Mortimer, with sudden passion. "Haven't I heard enough of him already? Strange murdered him."

"Of course, of course!" exclaimed Mr Huncote, pacifically. "Who doubts that?" '.'You do," ejaculated Mortimer. "I can tell it by the way you speak." His face had turned livid, and Mr Huncote experienced a spasm of alarm as Mortimer glared at him. "If the charge against Strange had been properly handled," he answered, with a composure he did not feel, "they would have hanged him." "Enough of this talk," retorted Mortimer. "You introduced Orme's nam© for a purpose, I suppose." "Inadvertently. Quite by chance, I. assure you. With regard to the money, you shall have it when I come down to Nethereliffe," replied Mr Huncote, locking iro his desk as a signal to end the interview, and, without the ceremony of saying good evening, Mortimer quitted the room.

"Never again," murmured Mr Huncote, as he heard the outer door slammed. "Never again will I be alone with that

man. He has attempted my life once, and he shan't have another opportunity."

CHAPTER XXIV.—PETER ARM STRONG SEES MR PALMER,

The day for Neville Strange to say farewell to England was drawing near. In a short time he would be on his voyage to Australia, far away from the scenes of his brief happiness. The memory of them would never fade, although his heart' was steeled against Amy. .He would never forget that day in the court-house at Monkstown, nor the evidence she had given which told against him. He forgave her—his generous nature would not allow him to upbraid her, even in his thoughts, but an impassable barrier lay between them.

He would always be regarded as a criminal, and the consciousness of that added a bitterness to his recollections. He recalled Adelaide Templemore's sneering look as she passed him on his last visit to Nethercliffe. The insult had been impossible to be guarded against or resented, and it rankled in his memory. For Stephen Mortimer he had only the disdain of an honourable man towards a scoundrel.

"Thank heaven I shall soon be away from those people," he told himself. "Never hear of them again." His work in England was ended, and a new sphere of life and occupation lay before him. There was nothing to detain him in London, and he would fill in the few days that remained before starting on his voyage by going down to his native town. He had not seen it since leaving the place as a youth, and a sudden inclination to have a parting look at the old town prompted him. He had ample time, for Sir Charles had been bidden farewell, also Nethercliffe, and he found a pleasure in anticipating his "visit to the place where his school days were spent. He left London next morning, calling on his firm on the way to Paddington, and he had not been gone half an hour when the inquiry window of the oldfashioned sedate establishment was quickly thrown up, whereupon a youthful clerk stared at it in haughty surprise. Ordinary inquiries did not come in that noisy haste as a rule, but this one was in a hurry.

"If it's convenient I should like to see Mr Strange," he said, pushing' partly through the little window. "And perhaps you'll let him know at once." "Name," replied the majestic youth. "Armstrong," was the jerked-nut answer. "Mr Peter Armstrong. know it. The fact is I've only just found' out where he is, and my business is important—you'll say that—very urgent and important. I should like to see him at once."

"He's not in at present. I'll give him vour name when he comes back."

"When is he coming back?" demanded v Peter.

"In about ten years, so far as I can

say." "What d'ye mean?" shouted Peter. "This is a very serious matter, and I insist on being treated seriously." "Mr Strange is going-'abroad. Sails in a few days. He's on holiday now. That's serious enough, I hope?" "Oh, gracious!" exclaimed Peter. "Can you tell me where he's to be found?" "No, I can't." Peter fell back from the inquiry window with a groan, and the austere clerk paid no more attention to him. As an employee of an old-established firm he ought to have been treated with more respect in his opinion, and Peter stumbled down the stairs into the street, greatly perplexed. "If I'd only known where Mr Strange was before, this wouldn't have happened," he murmured. "He's going abroad directly, and I must get those papers from Palmer. He'll change his mind if I put it off. He's that sort of man, and I must strike whilst the iron's Jiot. or Mr Huncote may upset everything." He had spent several days, grudging every wasted moment, searching for" Neville, only discovering him at last by the merest chance, and now the reward seemed about to be snatched from his hand. But he would succeed better with Mr Palmer, and the thought of Amy goaded him to go down to Monkstown that afternoon. He was becoming accustomed to the journey, and on reaching the town he evaded the street in which Mrs Meadows lived, fearing she would hinder him, arriving at the farm as darkness was hiding its crumbling old walls and hoary roof. On his way he had met Mrs Palmer, who, after saluting him in a way intended to be polite, informed him that he would find Palmer at home.

"In the kitchen," she went on to say, "where he sits from morning to night neglecting the farm shamefully. It's no use my telling him to stir." "I'm sorry to hear that," replied-Peter. "I'll speak to him about it." "You'd best hold your tongue," advised Mrs Palmer. "He's drinking again." "Perhaps he'll listen to me," answered Peter. A

"Then it'll be more than- he does to me." she continued. "I'm tired of him, and am going to spend the night with a friend of mine in the town. It's safer when Palmer's like he is now."

Nothing daunted, Peter went on to the house, finding Mr Palmer sitting in his usual place before the fire, who received him with an unexpected friendliness. - "You've come again, then," he said, as Peter dragged a chair forward.' "Glad to see you."

"I told you I should come. I hope everything is going on well." Palmer did not .reply at once, but he got up and found a glass, which he filled with brandy, handing it to his visitor. "Look here, Armstrong," he said with tipsy gravity, "I've made up my mind to let things go their own road. The more I try to keep 'em straight the worse they go.' It's no use trying." "They'll better themselves before long, ' replied" Peter hopefully.

"They won't, and therefore the sooner I get my money from Huncote the better. You promised to get it for me." He was in an aggressive mood, having been drinking steadily for several days, and it was difficult to' bring the conversation round to the object of Peter Armstrong's visit; but he succeeded at last. "I'll be as good as my word," he answered ; "but nothing can be done without my having those papers that concern Miss &oodwin. I've come for them." "They're safe. I've put 'em away safe," replied Palmer. "Then if you'll fetch them it will save time," and Peter felt that the battle was won. "I want to get back to London as Boon as possible." "You shall have 'em," answered Mr Palmer slowly, "to-morrow. We won't bother about the papers to-night. You'll stop at the farm and " "You must excuse me, Mr Palmer," interrupted Peter, who would rather have walked the country roads all night than have passed it in this drunken farmer's society. "You really must. I'll come in the morning, and, as it's getting late, I'll say good evening." . Palmer shook his head ; but he made no other sign of objecting, and Peter sidled put of the kitchen, giving him a farewell glance. "I hope he'll be sober in the morning, ' he told himself on gaining the road, walking briskly towards the town, very much relieved by his escape. "I'm glad he didn't refuse to let me have those papers. He might, when he's intoxicated as he Is to-night," and he stopped to give a look back at the farmhouse. It lay a black blot merging into the lighter sky, gaunt, unlovely ; but Peter found a curious fascination in gazing at it. Within those walls was a secret, which to-morrow would reveal eomething that might have important consequences, and he was about to walk on when a strange alteration in the shape of the house made him stop again. It seemed to be changing its form and growing in "size—the chimney stack was hidden as though by a gauzy curtain, and a ruddy glow shone about the kitchen window. Then a tongue shot out that touched the roof, and Peter gave a wild scream as he ran back. CHAPTER XXV.—IN THE DEAD OP NIGHT. Amy swiftly regained- her room, after her interview with Peter Armstrong in the Priory garden, whilst the" servant who had watched them went to Madame Lenoir. "I heard Miss Goodwin go out," she said. "She met someone at the gate." Madame nodded, but did not reply. "They talked for some-time," went on the woman, "and I heard Mr Mortimer's name mentioned. They were planning something." "What was it?" "I did not hear, but I think Miss Goodwin is to run away." Madame laughed spitefully. "You heard that, eh?" she answered. "Did you see the person she was talking to?" "Not plainly. It was too dark to see." "And so the girl is to run off." And the old face wrinkled with a grin. "Where is she now?" "I heard her go to her room." "Lock the door leading to the garden and the others," said Madame. "If she tries to leave the house you will stop her." "I understand," replied the woman, and Madame bade her call Mortimer. He came downstairs after a little delay, and she told him what had occurred. . "There's some mischief a-foot," she added. "Who was it came here and talked about you?" "Plow should I know that?" answered Mortimer angrily. "Anyway, this must not happen again." "And suppose the girl refuses to stop with me?" "You're clever enough to deal with her, I fancy," and he gave Madame a meaning look; "I have business which will detain me for a few days, or we would go across channel to-morrow. I suppose you ( have taken precautions against her leaving the house." "The doors are fastened. I can do no more; but I warn you that the girl is dangerous. Who knows what may have been said?" ? The fear that Amy might, by some means unknown to himself, have discovered and betrayed him, overcame every other thought of her. He recollected that she had shown no surprise when he came to the house; that beneath her calm manner some plan to destroy him might be hidden, and the belief wrought a swift change in his purpose. "We may not go to Paris after all," he said abruptly. "The girl is dangerous, as you say, and as likely as not get you into serious trouble, Lenoir." "Pah! I have nothing to fear," retorted Madame. "I'm thinking ' what would happen to you if this stranger has found you out; but that is no affair of mine." Her sarcastic tone angered him and Madame thought well to alter it. "Leave the girl to me." she went on. "I will see she does no harm, and vou can trust the woman, Judith." "I'm beginning to distrust everyone," ho answered. "It wou'd be, safer 'to get rid of the girl for good and all. Where is she now?" "In her own room," replied Madame. "Come upstairs and satisfy yourself that she has not left the house." Amy could hear the stealthy footsteps upon the uncarpeted passage coming towards the door as she listened in her room. They had stopped, and a horror' that_ gave an unnatural keenness to her hearing came over her. She was at the mercy of two people who, if they knew her purpose and the meaning of it, would kill her. It was an unreasoning fear, but very real, chilling her like the clutch of an icy hand on her throat. The muttering voices outside the door had a deadly

meaning, and she heard Madame's quiet laugh that thrilled her with dread. Then the thought of Neville nerved her. It was for his sake that she would do the thing Peter Armstrong had implored her to do. She was to obtain possession of Mortimer's-pocket-book, and though the task might mean risking her life, she would carry it out. (To be Continued.)