THE SECRET FOE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3333, 30 January 1918, Page 48

THE SECRET FOE.

TT-IK bio-v?:i»ist.

[Published e? Stecial Arrangement.]

By EDGAR PICKERING, Author of "The Falconhurst Mystery," "Love, the Conqueror," "Murder Will Out," etc.,-etc. [Copyright.] CHAPTER XXXI.—WHAT PETER READ IN THE NEWSPAPER. Viewed in daylight, Featherstone Buildings do not present a vision of beauty, and Amy decided on returning to Monkstown. Peter Armstrong heard her decision with something very like dismay. "I had planned out a sort of holiday for you, miss," he said (regretfully. ''There's a number of things to be seen in London. Places that will interest you. You'd like to have a look at the Monument and St. Paul's." "I would rather see Mrs Meadows's house," replied Amy. "Then I won't try and persuade ybu, miss; but why not have a house of your own, and let Mrs Meadows live with you?" "I don't think anything would make her leave Monkstown.'' "Well, perhaps not—perhaps not," answered Peter. "Still, you might mention it to her." "Is it really true that I'm rich? I've been trying to believe it, but I can't yet." "You are, miss," said Peter impressively, "and Mr Huncote will have to render what is called an account. .It's a professional term. Your case is in good hands, ancL I've just looked in to ask you to come with me to their office. Then," and he put himself into one of his dramatic attitudes, "then we will see Mr Huncote. It's not necessary, but it will be a satisfaction." Amy was soon ready to accompany him to the solicitor's office, and they came out into Kolborn together. "I think you would rather walk, miss," said Peter. "We will' take a cab if you wish; but to anyone not used to London the streets are interesting. I've not seen anything else for years, and there's always something fresh in them in my opinion." Amy glanced down with a smile into his face that glowed with pride. He was the guide and guardian of a queen, or at least he regarded her as one. The fact of being rich—she was trying again to accustom herself to it—brought no pleasure. True, there was the thought of what she could do for Mrs Meadows, who had been such a steadfast friend; but her mind was busy with those ceaseless thoughts of Neville, and as they walked along the busy street its life and bustle were unnoticed.

Peter was thinking of Neville also, bufc» for a very different reason. He had spent long hours in searching for Neville, and had at last discovered where he was lodging ; but the landlady could give him no information about her tenant.

"There's his boxes packed and ready," said the woman, "and I am losing one of the best lodgers I ever had, although queer in some ways. He may come in any minute, and he mayn't until the cab's at the door. It's uncertain, and you'd best call again, mister," and she had closed the door on Peter.

Afterwards he had gone to the shipping office, and had another interview with th'e austere clerk.

"From what I hear," said the youth, "Mr Strange is to sail in the Orion. I'm hot sure, and I don't know how soon; but that is all I can tell you." "Perhaps he'll call here before he goes?" suggested Peter. "That," replied the clerk, "is more than I can say. I don't see why he shouldn't, though."

"I'll leave a letter for him," replied Peter. "You will be sure to give it him.'-'

"Certainly," was the lofty answer, and Peter wrote a note which the clerk put on his desk, to be overlaid and forgotten. Finally he had kept a watch on the house where Neville lodged, intending to intercept him, but, happening to be hindered one morning, he missed seeing him leave.

Peter's thoughts concerning his failure to meet Neville came to an abrupt termination.

"Here we are, miss," he said, on their arrival at the office, and it seemed to raise his spirits. "You're not really wanted, but they expressed a wish to see you. The people who have your business in hand, I mean."

Amy followed him into the office, where a kindly-middle aged gentleman received her with a fatherly greeting. She. was so young, so pretty, so innocent of the \voi'ld, that he could not resist feeling drawn to her, and although, as Peter had said, her attendance was not important, the lawyer was delighted at being introduced to his new client.

"I should not be surprised in the least," he said laughingly, "if you are not wanting to buy a heap of pretty things. I have three daughters who seem to have endless wants of that sort, so I can speak from experience. You would like an advance. Now how much shall we say?"

Amy turned to Peter with a puzzled look.

"Money, miss," he whispered, behind his hand. "It's always useful."

"I have some," Amy whispered back. "Nearly thirty shillings. Why should I want more?"

"You had better take his advice, miss," replied Peter, and in due time Amy left the office with a cheque for fifty pounds in her little purse. Then there was the

operation of changing it for go'.d and notes; but these brought no gratification, wonderful asHhe possession of such wealth was to her. During their walk the v placard of an evening paper attracted Peter's notice. "Extraordinary tragedy," went the big letters of the scare line; but lie paid no attention to the announcement. He was thinking that Amy ought v to be told the truth about Mr Strange —that she would never-see him again; but he had not the heart to make her unhappy. They parted on reaching Featherstone Buildings, for he had some trifling business to attend to. "I shall be back soon, miss," he said, and Amy went into the. house. Half an hour later he was on his way back, having executed his errand. Another edition of the evening paper was being shouted out, and he could not help

listening. " Canal mystery. Further particulars," yelled a newsboy; and Peter bought a paper, reading it' as he went along. Then it seemed to the passers-by that Peter Armstrong had been seized with sudden madness. He was talking wildly to himself, and gesticulating, finally diving into a telegraph office and nearly upsetting somebody who was coming out. He had forgotten his promise of going back to Featherstone Buildings, forgotten everything, except the 'urgent need for him to get to Liverpool, and hailing a fe taxi he found himself at Euston before the astounding effects of what he had. read in the evening paper had subsided, and was on his way northward. CHAPTER XXXII.—IN MONKSTOWN AGAIN. The day closed and another night passed without the re-appearance of Peter Armstrong in Featherstone - Buildings, and Amy found a score of reasons for his not returning. There was nothing to kegfp her in London, however, and by the afternoon she was in the train on her way to Monkstown. She had no desire to remain, but vrae sincerely sorry not to have had an opportunity of saying goodbye to her friend, for so she had come to regard him. , He was someone in whom she had every trust. It was to him that she owed her altered position, the full meaning of which was only dimly perceived. It was he who had preserved her from Madame Lenoir and Stephen Mortimer, and she had never thanked him. What had happened td prevent his coming back she failed to understand; but they would meet again one day, and with that hope she quitted the gloomy house. Mrs Meadows was overjoyed to see her, and once more they were seated in the snug little room together, as they had been.so often in the days that had been the happiest in Amy's memory. But the joy of life was gone now, and the future would only be one long regret and sorrow.

As she looked round everything reminded her of Neville. There was the chair he used to sit in—the- book on the table, was his gift, and the sight of it brought memories that neither time nor change would dim. "I'm more than glad you've come back, my dear," Mrs Meadows was saying, and Amy looked at the grey old face, which seemed to have lost some of its brightness. "Truth to tell, I've been lonesome without you." "I shall never go away again," replied Amy, "never. And now you've to listen to something more interesting than hearing about the people I've been with. You mayn't believe it. "I don't, yet."

"It won't be the only news to be heard," answered Mrs Meadows. "There's something happened at the Hall. I don't know what it is, for I've not been out of doors for days. A neighbour told me, but was not certain of the rights of it. The police have been at the Hall, and .Sir Charles is terribly put out, I'm told. Go on, my dear, with what you were about to tell me."

Amy considered for a minute. "Suppose," she said at last, "suppose I asked you to come and live with me. In a house much bigger than this, and finer. What would you say?" "I'm too old for changes, my dear. There'll come one before long, though—the last one, and I shan't be asked whether I want to po or not. And I'm very comfortable where I am now you have come back with me."

"Still, I might ask you to move," continued Amy. "You would never have to work any more, or do anything, but just what you cared to do. And I should pay for it all."

"Dearie, I don't like to hear you talk like this about things that can never be."

"But suppose I told you I was rich? That I had nearly a thousand pounds a year to spend?" Amy went on, not heeding Mrs Meadows's remonstrance. "I should say you ought to be one of the happiest people in the whole world." "It's true. I am to have all that money. "I've a right to it," she paused. "I would willingly give it all up if I could be as I was when I came to you." she added: "For I shall never, never, be happy again." . Mrs Meadows got up, putting her trembling hand on Amy's shoulder. "I know: —I know," she said softly. "Not that I understand about the money, for I don't; but I know you've been badly wronged, dearie. Badly misjudged, only you mustn't blame Mr Strange. You've an enemy, Amy, who's done all that, and Providence doesn't forget. They'll meet with their reward." Amy brushed away her tears and looked up with a sad smile. "Neville is going abroad," she said. "We met once, and he told me that. He didn't know that it broke my heart, nor how I love him. We won't say any more. Let me tell you what happened in London," and then the story of Peter Armstrong, his discovery and success in proving Amv's rights was told, and Mrs ° (T,

Meadows heard it with an awed astonishment. "But you and I won't leave this dear little house," said Amy. "I didn't mean it when I asked you if you would . come and live with me somewhere else. It's my home, ami everything in it is dear to me for Nevill's sake, although he will never know." . . They sat talking until long past Mrs Meadows's time for going to bed. The quiet of the town remained undisturbed, although not far distant, something was happening which was to have more important consequences than anyone could have dreamed of. There was * going and coming of strangers at Nethercliffe Hall, whilst a long way off the ship Orion was preparing to carry Neville Strange to Australia. CHAPTER XXXIII.—ON THE CANAL SIDE. Now that he was about to say farewell to his old life, and the scenes amid which it had been passed, Neville experienced a feeling of isolation as he called to mind the people he had known and associated with, who would speedily forget him even if they had not done so already. There was x no bitterness in his heart nor self-pity; but it was impossible to forget how unjustly he had suffered, and as he stood looking from the window of his room he was visualising his last meeting with' Amy and her imploring look as he had turned away and left her. It brought a pang of grief, for although he believed her to be faithless, his love for her remained strong and steadfast. There came a longing to 6ee her again, to hear her voice; but he put the thought away sternly and quitted the room. "I'll go and say good-bye to Huncote," he muttered. "It will pass the time, and I've nothing better to do." He had no great liking for him, yet Mr Huncote formed a link, as it were, with Nethercliffe, and possibly he would, hear some news of Sir Charles, for whom Neville had a sincere regard, and in a short time he was at Bedford row. Mr Huncote received him with unusual cordiality.

"I'm busier than ever," he said. "Armstrong has left me, and I haven't found another clerk yet." "Why did Armstrong leave?" "I had my suspicions of him. I won't say what they were, but I fancy he was an eavesdropper. An inquisitive* man, in fact." "From my landlady's description Armstrong has been inquiring for me. What possible motive could he have had?" "Have nothing to do with him," exclaimed Mr Huncote. "He is a. dangerous, man. Take my word for that." is not at all likely I shall have anything to do with him," replied Neville. "I am off to Australia directly," and Mr Huncote appeared relieved by hearing this. "I suppose you've heard about Palmer," he said. "He lost his life when the farmhouse was burnt down." "It is news to me," answered Neville, and the memory of his first meeting with Amy came vividly. "A shocking affair," continued Mr Huncote ; "but Palmer was a man 1 never liked. He is dead, however, and P-will say no more about him." Neville would have asked some further questions, but Mr Huncote's manner did not encourage him, so he changed the conversation. ■ / "I shall have to see Sir Charles," he said. "Can I take him any message from you? He ails sadly, I'm sorry to say, and .between ourselves, Mr Strange, he is not at all satisfied with Mr Mortimer." i

"That does not surprise me," replied Neville, and he got. up, holding out his hand.

"Good-bye, my dear friend," said Mr Iluncote with fervour. "I wish you every success. lit is a changing world. We are here to-day and gone to-morrow, as the old adage has it," and he had never, in the course of his professional, life, spoken so truthfully. He was glad when Neville had gone. Glad that they had seen the last of each other, and he started for Nethercliffe with the conviction that everything was going remarkably well with himself. On arriving at Monkstown he decided on taking a circuitous route to the Hall. There would be less chance of encountering Mortimer if he went by the. canal side instead of the usual road to Nethercliffe, and of all people Mortimer was the last he wished to see. He would be certain to make himself objectionable when the promised two hundred pounds were not forthcoming, and Mr Huncote had not the slightest idea of parting with his money. He also remembered that ride in Mortimer's car, which had nearly been fatal to him. "'The scoundrel will be in custoay before many days," he murmured. As he went along the towing path a, comforting sense of having played his cards exceedingly well made him unusually bland. -He could see a boat coming, and the plodding horse with its driver, whereupon he drew to the side of the path, giving the bargee a pleasant good evening as the horse went past, and he watched the boat disappear round a bend before resuming his walk. He might have been in an uninhabited country for any signs of life to be seen after this, and the loneliness became oppressive. Dusk was creeping over the landscape, changing the canal from brown to black, and the gloom and stillness caused him to hasten his pace. The canal took another turn a few yards beyond, and on reaching the bend Air Huncote could see a lock in the distance and someone coming towards him, at sight of whom he uttered an ejaculation with an impulse to go back. There was a hedge gate he recollected passing, and

a path leading somewhere, and he would have given aU he possesed if he had gone along it. . . , ■ He had not much time to think of that, for in a few moments Mortimer had been met, and Mr Huncote tried to greet him in his usual maimer. "You don't ordinarily come this way, Huncote," he began. "It makes a change from the road, I suppose." "It does," replied Mr Huncote. as they went on; "but it's not the pleasantest road in the world." He wa3 conscious that Mortimer _ was looking at him. Not openly, but with a furtive sideway glance which was very disconcerting, and there was a, marked changa in his appearance. His features Were haggard and his usually clean-shaven face had a growth of beard and moustache that gave him a distinctly ferocious look. This was the first time he had ventured out of doors since leaving Mrs Templemore's dance, not wishing to be seen in broad daylight. It was the last evening of his stay at Nethercliffe, for his preparations for flight were complete, and. at the time of his meeting with Mr Huncote he was making for a distant railway station, choosing the canal path in order to evade being noticed. "It's lucky you came this way," he said. "We might have missed each other if you had gone the other road," and Mr Huncote devoutly wished he had. "I should have seen you at the Hall," he answered. "I'm not going back to Nethercliffe," continued Mortimer. "You may as well be told that. You'll hear in good time that I've disappeared. It won't be a surprise." "Do you mean this?" "I should not have said so unless I did mean what I say. Anyhow, you- know the reason quite well." "Indeed, I do not. Why should you go?" Mortimer gave another look at his companion. There was a savage' glare _in those blood-shot eyes and a grim setting of the thin lips which caused a sudden chill to pass over Mr Huncote. "I'm sorry to say I have not been able to get it; but you shall have a cheque to-morrow," replied .Mr Huncote. "I trust it won't inconvenience you." Did Mortimer suspect? The thought flashed through Mr Huncote's mind. If not, 'why should he be leaving cliffe?""I don't think you care whether I'm inconvenienced or not," -answered Mortimer, and his tone caused his companion to widen the distance between them. "But I like a man to keep his word." "I have kept my word hitherto," was the reply, "and you shall have the money to-morrow." ." • .': "When I want it now? Not your cheque. That wouldn't be of any use to me. /'You shall have notes immediately v I go back to town. I can't say more than that," retorted Mr Huncote. "For a very good reason. You've no more excuses to make," and it seemed as though Mortimer's irritation had passed off. He was sullen; but Mr Huncote took no notice of that, as tjiey Avalked on until the lock was reached. If Mr Huncote had but known what was in Mortimer's mind, the sudden resolution to rid himself of the man who had the power to destroy him, and the intention of doing so, lie would have turned and fled. The time and place gave opportunity which might never come again, and the canal would keep its secret long enough. Mr Huncote had tripped. His foot had caught an iron ring in the ground, and Mortimer put out his hand, saving him from a fall; but the hold, was not released. "I've reasons for believing that you mean to give me away, ITuncote," he said very quietly. Mr Huncote gave a sudden wrench to release himself, and ihe grip on his arm tightened. "You've no right to say that," he exclaimed in alarm. "I don't know why you should have played the traitor," continued Mortimer, "but the time has come for us to have a reckoning. Never mind about the money you promised and haven't brought —that. is of no importance now; but I think you've put the police on my track." He said this with a composure that struck terror into Mr Huncote's breast. If he had been angry or shown resentment, or even violence, it would have been not nearly so alarming as this deadly coldness with which Mortimer spoke. "Do you dare to say I have betrayed you?" and Mr Huncote tried to be indignant, but he was too frightened to succeed. "This is monstrous, Mr Mortimer." .whereat the other gave a growling laugh. "In plain English," he answered, "the detectives are after me. That is why I am not going back to Nethercliffe." His pent-up rage burst out as he spoke. He had seized Mr Huncote by the throat, whose mad fear gave him a strength that, with all his power, Mortimer could not readily "overcome, and the two men in their death-struggle reeled closer and closer to the edge of the black lock, the sound of their tramping feet upon the rough ground alone disturbing the silence. Then Mortimer was holding his victim over it, there was a momentary pause, and, with a yell_ of despair, Huncote fell backward, retaining hold on his murderer, and they disappeared together, striking heavily on the wall of the lock; there was a splash, a muffled cry, and silence came again. (To he Concluded.)