THE SECRET FOR.

Otago Witness, Issue 3332, 23 January 1918, Page 54

THE SECRET FOR.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Arrangement.]

Br EDGAR PICKERING, Author of "The Falconhufst Mystery," "Love, the Conqueror," "Murder Will Out," etc., etc. [Copyright.] CHAPTER XXVIII.—/Continued). "And ,Mr Huncote knew that Miss Goodwin was a rich woman !". Peter ejaculated. "I havn't got it clear yet, but I understand enough to be sure that he's been living on her property, and if she had died nobody would ever have found him out. Now I know why he was afraid of Palmer." It was impossible to eat his breakfast after this discovery. It had completely taken his appetite away and the "meal was left untasted, greatly to the astonishment of the coffee-house keeper, whose customers always ate voraciously. But Peter's eagerness would brook no delay in seeing Sir Charles, who in some indefinite way, he thought, might be of assistance, and putting on nis hat, which had been damaged by some means he did not call to mind, he started for Nethercliffe. The hour was early, and on arriving at the hall the ancient butler received him with a supercilious air. "Sir Charles has not come down yet," he said, an reply to Peter's request. for an interview at once. "You'd best call again about twelve, if your business is important." "Tell him my name's Armstrong," answered Peter. "And tihat I've been in Mr Huncote's office." "I will inform Sir Charles," said the butler, giving another scrutinising look over Peter's dishevelled person. His visitor turned away into the park to beguile the time of waiting, sauntering beneath the trees with thoughts of such a conflicting nature that twelve o'clock struck by the stable clock before he could get his plan of action into order. Returning to the house, the butler, who was somewhat dubious about admitting him, would have known his business, but Peter refused to divulge it, and was at length ushered into the library where Sir Charles was sitting, wiho regarded him from under his slhaggy brows as he might have surveyed a curiosity. "Your name is Armstrong I believe, and you have been in Mr Huncote's office," he began. "What is your business?" "Private, Sir Charles," replied Peter impressively. "You'll kindly understand that it's quite private. At present." "Please do not be mysterious," answered Sir Charles, "I detest anything approaching secrecy." "It's secret only for a time, sir," and Peter moved his chair a few inches nearer the table. "Everything will come out. It's with regard to'Miss Goodwin." Sir Charles's manner changed suddenly, as Peter went on speaking rapidly. "Justice has to be done, sir. Miss Goodwin is being kept out of her rights. I've evidence as to that. Documents." ■"Go on," replied Sir Charles, for Peter had stopped for fresih breath. "What reason have you for telling me all this?" "Mr Huncote knows she has been defrauded, sir." "That I will not credit," answered the.old man. "As for Miss Goodwin, her affairs are nothing to me. It was through her that Mr Strange was unjustly charged with a crime." He was thinking of the wrong done to himself by a woman long years ago, and his face became grimmer_ than at first, and he rose from his chair. "I think you have said sufficient, Mr Armstrong," he growled out, putting his hand on a bell, but Peter got up also. "Stop." and he had the effrontery to arrest the old man's hand. "I meant to have waited before telling you, sir. You will thank me one day for what I am about to say." He had struck an attitude, and Sir Charles was convinced that ho was an escaped lunatic. "I am going, sir," he went on, "but before I go, hear me." Sir Charles did not reply. He had rung the bell, and in the brief interval before the footman answered' it .Peter remained statuesque. He had not said a tenth of what he intended to say, but he fired a Parthian shot. "Ask Mr Mortimer if he ever knew- a man named Gerald Williams," and with this Peter seized his dented' hat and walked out of the room.

CHAPTER XXIX.—A CALL TO LONDON. After Neville's curt adieu Amy returned home broken-hearted. The uselessness of attempting to vindicate herself robbed her of the wish to do so, and on reaching the house she went to her room to be alone. The tenderest would only have added to her misery as she sat with the memory of Neville's cold, indifferent words echoing in her mind. A letter lay on the table, and, with a listless curiosity which in some way came as a relief, Amy read the contents. It was from Peter Armstrong, and contained only a few lines, begging her to come to London at once, hinting at something that gave a new turn to her thoughts. Why should she go? Why trouble herself to hear what Peter told her Was of the greatest consequence? Nothing mattered now that Neville had gone, and she uttered the words to this effect with a helpless, little sigh. But the future had to be considered. Not that she cared what it might bring, although in a few days her money would be gone, and the stern truth of this influenced her. "I can't live on charity," she murmured, "and perhaps Mr Armstrong means to find me work." Her self-reliance was coming back with the courage to face whatever danger or difficulty might lie in her path. Nothing could be worse than what she had gone through whilst with Madame Lenoir, and the recollection of the night when she obtained Mortimer's pocket book came again. It had never bean forgotten—never would be, but the peace and safety she had enjoyed since that night had robbed it of its terror. Of Mortimer she had a contempt which made even thinking of him an affront. He had revealed himself in his true character, and- she shrank from the recollection of his hateful look and meaning words. It was he who had planned Neville's arrest; he to whom she owed the loss of Neville's love and faith. v Her good-hearted landlady heard Amy's decision of leaving her with honest regret. " It's not my wish to go," said Amy. " You've been very kind to me—kinder than anyone else would have been, I think. You gave me a shelter when I came here as a stranger." r< Didn't I tell you I was a good judge of people?" replied the landlady. "And I've not been mistaken in you, my dear. But I'd like to see you looking a little happier. You're young. It's too soon for you to know what sorrow means, and there's a world of happiness before you. Recollect I've said that";.but Amy only shook her head. She was in London that evening, coming out of the station into a misty rain that added to her depression, and, engaging a cab, she was driven to Featherstone Buildings, which in the murky light were only seen indistinctly. But the house in which Peter had lodged for years was easily found, and Peter himself was at the door to receive her. "I'm glad you've come, miss," he said respectfully. "I've made arrangements. You're to have the first floor for a time, miss, whilst I'm looking about," and he threw open the first floor door.

A cheerful fire was blazing on the hearth, and some flowers decorated the mantelpiece, the table being spread for a meal. The change from the gloom and drenched streets into all this comfort was delightful, and Peter noticed her grateful smile that made his withered old heart rejoice. " It's only until we've found a suit-able place, miss," he said, "and I've done my best for the time; but we shall have to look round." " I can never pay for these rooms, Mr Armstrong," exclaimed Amy. "I've no money." "Leave it all to me, mis»," he replied. " I've settled everything, and ordered dinner from round the corner. It'll be here directly." He positively shone in his new role of host, whilst Amy glanced round the room and then at him with a puzzled look. " I don't understand why you should do all this for me," she said. "You will soon," answered Peter. "You're tired now, for it's a goodish way from that place you've left, miss. You must rest." Then the dinner from "round the corner" was brought into the room, and, although Amy had little appetite, she did not like to disappoint him, and so ate it. "I'm staying in the next house," he told her when the meal was over. "Temporarily. It's convenient, you see, miss, for looking after the business." "What business have you to look after?" "Yours, miss. I've been seeing to it for some time, and I'll explain what it is." He did so, and Amy heard him with a belief that what he said was not true—• could not be true. "What I meant bv looking round," he went on, " was finding a place worthy of you, miss—a house somewhere in the west is my idea. You can afford it. And I'm going to make Mr Huncote pay every penny you've been kept out of—at least, I've 'taken the liberty of putting your affairs into proper hands for that purpose." " I don't understand in the least, Mr Armstrong," replied Amy, helplessly. " Your father left you a good property, miss, and Mr Huncote has been keeping you out of it. I've discovered that. He ought' to be struck off the rolls. Anyway, you re worth close on eight hundren a year." Amy tried in vain to realise this astounding statement. She was to be rich, independent, free to choose her own way in life; but the knowledge gave her no pleasure. What value had it when all that made life worth living had gone? She was thinking of Neville as Peter talked on, of their parting and his last words. "You've been very good, Mr strong," she said when he finished. " I

can't understand all you've said. IVt been thinking of something > else all the time. " About what happened at- Nethcrcliffe, perhaps. That's going to be cleared up, miss, and Mr Strange——-" He had paused for a moment. "It's very unfortunate, for Mr Strange is off to Australia, and if ho isn't stopped he'll go without knowing the truth of that affair. He'll never know that you've been the one to bring the truth to light and clear his name by getting the pocket-book from the man who calls himself Sir Charles's nephew, and that the police are after the scoundrel this very minute." " And is it too late for Mr Strange to be told all this?" exclaimed Amy, and her heart leaped with" sudden hope. " Unless he's found, miss, and I'm afraid he won't be in time," answered Peter. CHAPTER XXX.—MORTIMER DECIDES ON FLIGHT. On the morning following Amy's escape from the Priory Mortimer awoke late from his troubled sleep, and on descending to the room where Madame Lenoir was sitting his first question was about her. " You may w-ell ask," said Madame, crossly. "The girl has gone. Her window was found open when Judith went into the room, and that is all I can say." "Gone!" he exclaimed. "This is your fault, and she will have to be found and brought back." "Easier said than done," retorted the old woman jeeringly, and as to its being my fault that she lias run off, you are wrong." " Have you made any inquiries in the town? Of the police?" " No. That wouldn't do. You must see it would be a foolish thing to make a stir about the girl. People talk, especially people in a small town, and they would start wondering—asking inconvenient, questions."

Mortimer was silent for a few moments after this. He had discovered the loss of his pocket-book, and, coupling that with. Andy's escape, raised a host of disquieting thoughts. " So the best thing for me to do is to get back to London," went on Madame. "I am no use here. Perhaps you will find where she is hiding. You won't do that by quarrelling with me." "I've no intention of quarrelling, 'and quite agree that you should clear out of the place as speedily as possible," was the answer. Madame did not need his consent, for her plans had already been made, and an hour later she turned her back on the Priory, and was having her tin box wheeled to the station. Mortimer saw her from .the window as she trudged through the leaf-strewn path to the garden gate, and he gave. a muttered oath when he turned away. -The woman Judith had been paid, and was gone, and the gnome-like caretaker resumed his office, and hovered about" the deserted house like an uneasy ghost. A further search for his pocket-book detained Mortimer. That it had been taken did not enter into his thoughts. He must have lost it, and he cursed his carelessness. The book might fall into somebody's hands and cause him a great inconvenience. His search was> unavailing, and in an hour or two after Madame Lenoir's departure he quitted the house and was back in his luxurious rooms in London. He had been foiled in his carefullyprepared plans; but the disappointment did not affect him go much as his loss.. A new danger had opened in his path when everything was going well with him. He was the accepted heir to a fortune; but his belief in his safety began to fade as he contemplated the position. He would have done wisely to put the ocean between London and himself had he known that, as he lounged in his chair that evening, Peter Armstrong was going through the contents of the lost pocketbook, whose wonder that Mortimer should have retained such proofs of his imposture grew greater every _ minute. There was a photograph of him with " Gerald Williams" scrawled in the corner, a letter written in a woman's hand addressed to "my dear Gerald,", and in addition a torn letter from Mr Huncote asking something which Peter could only guess at, for the words to explain it were missing. " It's extraordinary! The foolishness of his having kept these things!',' muttered Peter. "And to think it was only by chance I knew of it. If Mr Huncote hadn't asked for the book I never should have imagined a man could have been so mad as to keep them in his possession." A dav later Mortimer went back to Nethei'cliffe. Mrs Templemore was giving a dance at which he had promised to be°present, and the dullness of his rooms, that he had not left during his stay in town, was beginning to be irksome. He was harassed by the novel fear of being recognised. There was no cause for

it, certainly, but it grew stronger as he realised that it might mean danger if he met by chance any one of his old associates in Sydney. And try as he would to shake off the recollection of Jacob Orme, it haunted him, becoming more vivid and threatening as time went on. He could see their laet meeting outside the park walls of Nethercliffe. heaivOrme's scream as he was struck down, and his dying groan. "I'll end this state of affairs," he told himself. " Huncote is very probably planning to expose me. He and I must have a reckoning before I go away." Sir Charles was not at home when Mortimer arrived at Nethercliffe, and, relieved by being told this, he went to his rooms to dress. The old butler had told him a rambling story about a visitor who had called at the house a short time before, and he listened inattentively at first. " We've had some curious people call before," said the butler, " but this, was the worst, and I've orders not to. admit him if he comes again. He gave the name of

Armstrong, and I understood he'd been in Mr Huncote'a office.'' \. "Armstrong!" and Mortimer's indifference vanished. "Did he say what his business was?"

"Not to me, sir." Mortimer went into his room without another word. That Pete- Armstrong should have been at Nethercliffe in some way confirmed the suspicion of Huncote's treachery. " Huncote shall explain what he means to do," he ground out between his set teeth. " But I can bide my time." An hour later he was on his way to Mrs Templemore's, and a stranger might have easily believed him to be one of the serenest-minded of all the guests she received that night. The ball was in progress when his car drew up at the hall door, and on entering he saw Adelaide. She stopped as he came forward. " Someone has been inquiring for you," she said, after a few words of greeting. "Did you expect anyone?" " I certainly shouldn't make an appointment at your house," he replied, "and I'm not aware that anybody knew I was coming here to-night. A very mysterious person evidently," and he tried to laugh as he changed the conversation.

" Sir Charles was not at home when I got to the Hall, and I rather wanted to see him. He hasn't engaged another secretary yet," he said. " Do von know what has become of Mr Strange!" she asked. "How should I? I heard that the girl 'he was to have married has disappeared, however. You've had an excellent revenge, Miss Templemore," he answered as they went into the ballroom. He showed no sign of the gripping fear Adelaide had aroused. There was not one in the gathering who shone more brilliantly than he that night, nor one more envied / but the dread of some danger awaiting him could not be shaken off. Who was the stranger who had come inquiring for him at Mrs Templemore's house? Had this unknown person been to Nethercliffe? Was he lurking about for him? What was Armstrong's purpose in seeing Sir Charles? Huncote! All Mortimer's conjectures and apprehension centred on Huncote, with a fierce desire to rid himself of the man "who had the power to destroy him, and possibly the intention to do so. Supper was over, and the ballroom became thronged with the returning dancers, whose laughter and confused voices filled it with boisterous merriment. The supper hour had been the gayest Mrs Templemore had ever enjoyed, and flown only too quicklv for her and her friends. " Mr Mortimer excelled himself in proposing my health,"- she told Adelaide, as they entered the room. "I really must thank him. Do you see him anywhere?" and she put up her tortoiseshell-handled lorgnette. Mortimer was not to be seen, however, and Mrs Templemore seated herself beside two faded dowagers. One of them was Mrs Berryby Smythe; who gave her a hard smile.

" If Mr Mortimer doesn't propose before long I shall be very much surprised," she remarked. "It would be an excellent match for Adelaide. I saw them chatting together when, he arrived," and Mrs Templemore appeared to be preening herself as she heard this prophecy. But Stephen Mortimer danced no more that night. He had gone out of the house unnoticed, and was in the garden with his gaze fixed on the ballroom. The windows overlooked a terrace, and he was watching in the shadow of a thick shrubbery two men who had passed along the terrace, one of whom was looking in at the dancers.

What was their business? Why had he been inquired for, and why were these men in the garden?

He needed no answer to the unuttered questions, and a fear such as he had never felt before held him m its grip as he saw the strangers go towards the hall door, and for a few moments he stood listen-

ingThen came the sharp ring of the bell, and he hurried away, keeping in the shadow of- the trees, and made his way to the lodge-gates, hearing the music of a lively waltz tune growing fainter as he went.

He had a vague idea of walking on to a neighbouring town, whence he would take atrain to London; but he dismissed it as his mind steadied. He would be safer in some place where ho was not known, and, later on, he would pav a flying visit, the last one, to NetherclilTe, and secure some valuable iewellery he had there.

Then he would get to a seaport and away to America. (To be Continued.)