THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3523, 20 September 1921, Page 46

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Abbangement.] Door, % '■ B. II ARRIS-BURL AND. Author of “The Black Moon,” “The Poison League,” “The White Rook,” etc., etc. CHAPTER XIX. Richard Peiling was too old a soldier to make a tool of himself. It would have ueen easy enough to have cried out,' struggled with the unknown enemy that lad gripped him by the wrist, and have roused ins landlady. . j sut , h "'°Yd " have been obviously ucuculous to have done anything of the sort. A man who has a secret to hide cannot do that kind of thing. And in a struggle he might easily have got the wor.A °f it, even if his opponent were armed. The grip was that of a strong man, who hud all the advantage of the position. J ■ T-n * • V ° U eail out >” the man whispered, ill just wipe you over the head, and tlicit 11 ug an end of your Id tie story I don't want to hurt you. You’ve just mat to come along quietly.” I m not a child,” Felling replied. “I suppose you’re Sam Felton.”’ "No-Peter Woolf. And I’ve a gun in my pocket. But I don’t want to hurt you, my lad. H’s just this. We’re in a

bit of a hurry, and we’ve got to fix up a deal with you before we clear off.” ( }} “ can fix it up here—right away.” ‘No, we can’t. The others have not. to have a say in it. You dress and come right along.” Peter V oolf closed the window, drew down the blind, and struck a light. Took sharp, he said. “We've a lonoway to go to-night. And don’t get it into *om head that you can hand me over to the first policeman you meet. There’s a letter written and the envelope’s stamped, and if I clou t return with you up .to time, it’s going to be posted' to Scotland Yard.” * Peiling shrugged his shoulders and put on his clothes. He talked freely. The storm had burst overhead, and the noise of the thunder and the wind and the pouring ram would have drowned the voices of a dozen men. ‘ A nice night for a trip,” he said, an< 3 my overcoat isn t exactly waterproof. How did you get in?” “Oh, there’s a dustbin under the window. Ready, are you !” . Ales, but Id like to know where I’m 1 going.” _ “Into the sitting room to start with. '■ You've got to write a letter. Lead the i way.” ] I eiling knew a dozen tricks by which 1 he could have got the better of this scoundrel in a stand-im fight. But the worst of it was he could not light, it was not just a question of smashing un Peter Woolf. ° 1 “Scribble _it in pencil on a sheet of

paper, said Peter \\ oon, when they were in the sitting room—“just a few lines to your landlady, savin-r that you have been suddenly called away on business, and will be back in a day or two. What time does she go to bed?” j “About half-past nine.” I “Well, put ‘lO p.m.’ at the top of it. Hurry up.” Dick Felling wrote the letter and smiled grimly as he put the time on it. There was one person at any rate who would know that he had not left the house at 10 o’clock. That might come in useful if these brutes murdered him. He signed his name, and looked up at Peter Woolf. “Supposing I refuse to come,” he said. “Oh, then the letter will be posted to Scotland Yard. You can’t hurt us, my ijov; we re all right. Lead the way. You won’t get very wet.” They left the house, and strolled down 'the street together arm in arm. At the corner of the road a big car was waiting. Peter Woolf opened the door. “It’s snu«* enough inside,” he said. They seated themselves, and the car crossed the Fulham road. “I’m afraid I must bandage your eyes,” said Peter Woolf, “for a little while at any rate. Do you mind?’' “Not in the least?” laughed Richard Polling; and then, after a pause, “By - Jove, Peter, I didn’t think you c-ould run to a fine car like this. Who's driving?” “A very careful driver,” Peter Woolf replied. Half an hour later, when the bandage had been taken from Dick Felling’s eyes, there were no lighted street?—no sheet of rain athwart lamps and glittering pavements. Save for the fan of light thrown ahead hv the car it was a world of darkness. The storm still growled and rattled overhead, and there was an occasional flash of lightning. But it showed nothing

save a patch of dull brown road and , hedges on either side. ! “You had better sit with your back to Hie engine,” said Peter Wolf, j “It will make me sick!” “Then it nniat make you sick,” Peter 1 answered curtly. “Come along. Look sharp.” | Dick Felling moved bis position, ami ' now he could see nothing at all. lie I asked permission to smoke, and lit a : cigarette. His hands did not tremble. This was an adventure after his own j heart. The vague conflict of intrigue w as over, and he was near to the final battle field. The hunters were being hunted in their turn, and they would have no ; time to waste in talking. As likely as not it would come to a fight for life j itself. When they found lie could no I longer be of any use to them, and there ; was nothing to he .-queezed out of him,

they would try to put him out of the way. Though he could give no definite evidence against them, lie was a possible source of danger. J lour atfer hour the ear rushed through the darkness, and it seemed to Polling as though the storm were being left behind them. The rain poured down incessantly, and the thunder had died away in the distance, and the lightning was no more than a feeble reflection in the sky. He lit cigarette after cigarette and the light of the match showed Peter Woolf in the opposite corner with an automatic pistol on his knee. A swift movement and a struggle, and Peter Woolf might get the worst of it. But the time for violence had not yet come. That would have to be a last resort and only to save his own life. The gang still held the winning cards. Dick Peiling did not know where he was going, nor did he very much care. He might have been going east or west or south or north. In all probability he was being taken to the east or south coast—some point from which the others intended to escape by sea from England. ’lhe absence of great ridges of bill, like the Downs, rather pointed to the east coast. At last the car came to a standstill, and the bandage was again fastened across Polling’s eyes. “Ton have nothing to fear,” said Peter A oolf , “but we do not wish vou to recognise the house again.” “Of course not, ’ said Felling with a laugh. “Besides, you must cl, the thing properly—in the good old-fashioned style.” He alighted from the car and counted his steps as he was led forward. .Six steps and they passed through a gate which swung to behind them. Twentyfive steps with wet shrubs brushing against his hand, and his feet on a gravel path. “Doorstep,” said Peter Woolf warningly. Then there was the opening of a door and a short passage floored with stone. Dick Polling noted the smallest details. Put together they might enable him to find the house again. They paused and Woolf knocked on a door. A few seconds later a bolt was shot back, and a cold draught of air struck Peiling in the face. “Twelve steps down,” said Woolf. “Go carefully.” They reached the bottom of the staircase, arm in arm. Peter heard the sound of the bolt being shot back in the lock. Then the bandage was taken from his eyes. Ho found himself in what appeared to be a cellar. It was about fourteen feet square, and the furniture consisted of two old benches, some casks, straw, and several empty wine bins. One of them had been made into a kind of table. Two candles stuck into bottles burnt with a feeble yellow glow. The air was cold and stuffy. There appeared to be no window. The walls were of stone and dripped with moisture. It was a wretched hiding place even for a., hunted man. Jim, who had bolted tlie door, and followed them down the stairs, was a horrible object with his white face, and a week’s growth of beard, j “Hello, Jim!” said Peter cheerfully, j “Nice old dug-out this, isn’t it?” Jim did not- answer ; he looked at Peter ( Woolf with hungry eyes. “Got food?” he muttered. “Croad’s bringing it down.” “Ain’t Croad with you?”

!“No —he didn't turn up; he’ll get down later ou.” Jim gave a growl like a wild beast. “I’m pretty well starved, T am,” he said. “Dry bread and water—that's wot I’ve ’ad. You done yourselves pretty well in town, I’ll lay.” “I was only teasing you, .Jim. We've brought the food.” “And drink, eh? I could do with a good drink.” Peter Woolf shook his head. “Couldn’t get a drop,” he replied. Jim swore an oath and seated himself cn a small upturned cask. “D n Sam Felton,” lie said. “Why don't ’e ’urry up?” “He’s putting the car in the stables—or the ruins of ’em. He’ll be round in a minute. Tie up the Boy’s hands, will I you? He’s got a nasty look in his eve.” I “Oh come, I say,” laughed Peiling” “I cannot hurt you. And I don’t want to j hurt you. I’ve come here to talk over I matters.” "Tie up his hands,” said Peter Woolf, j “and give him a cask to sit on. He’s our | guest, .and he shall have the best we can I give him.” Dick Felling offered no resistance. Jim i tied his hands behind his back with a ! piece of thin rope, and turned up a cask, i “A nice little place you’ve got,” said j Polling, as he seated himself. "To let,” laughed Peter Woolf. "You’d j see that on the board outside. But no j one will ever take it until the landlord j spends about a thousand pounds in re- i pairs.” “Can I smoke?”

“No-—we can't none of us smoke,” ! growled Jim. "We'd choke to death if j we did. Those as wants to smoke ’ave I got, to go outside.” He turned to Peter j Woolf. “Sure Croad’s coinin’ down?” he j queried. 1 _ | “Fes—l reckon lie'll be down. If he \ don't come he’ll be left behind." "Why have you brought me here?” said j Peiling sharply. “We want a nice talk with von," Woolf j replied, “and, as you know, we can't - walk about London just now.” ”W ell, 1 1! have to make terms with - you. And you're talking as if 1 were an enemy.” • lim laughed, took a clas-p knife from his pocket, and cut a piece off a loaf of dry bread. "Wait, Jim, old boy,” said Peter Woolf. “There’s better than, that coming. Cold sausages and a nice ham and new bread, and some tinned stuff.’’ There was a knock on the door at the top of the stairs, and Jim went to open the door, two stops at a stride.

"He's hungry,” laughed Peter Woolf. "I cum t suppose you've ever known what it is to be hungry.” Sam i-elton came down into the cellar carrying a large basket on his arm. Good evening, Boy!” he said. "Sorry to have to bring you down here. But you’ll understand.”” Jim pounced upon the basket and began to eat greedily. The others laughed at nun. They had had a good meal in London the first proper meal for more than a week. Easy on there, Jim!” said Sam Felton a few minutes later. “That’s got to last all of us for a good while.” Jim drank deeply from a bottle of water and made a wry 'face. “I'd give all that fodder,” he said, “for a drop of whisky—now then to business, lou do the speaking, Sam.” CHAPTER XX. Sam i-elton seated himself on a wine bin. It s like this, Boy,” he said. “The

s.tuation has changed since we last met. i rillick has identified me and Peter Woolf. Jim's safe enough, but he’s in with us, and he’s going to stick to us. I don t say we haven't made a mistake about Jim. He ought to have stood his giound, and no one could liave touched him. But he’s in with us now, and you're in with us. You got that?” (i ’Of course,” laughed Dick Polling. ‘ And you re all sick beeause you’ve got all the blame and none of the diamonds. Y\ ell, I m going to put you on to the man who has the diamonds. But I’m not going to do it until I know I'm safe.” “Safe?’’ queried Peter Woolf. “\es, from you chaps. I don’t like the look of you to-night.” _“Not quite tidy, perhaps,” suggested Woolf. “We've had a rough time. We clon’t look like gentlemen.” “It s your actions I don't like,” Peiling continued. “All this melodrama, and there’s not even a kiiiema operator to take the pictures.” “Jhe fox,” said Felton, slowly, “seeks the nearest hole when it is hunted. Boy, we don’t believe this yarn of yours about the diamonds. We've talked it over, and we’ve come to the conclusion that you’ve fooled us. \\ e can’t look on you as a pal. And you know too much. You’ve just got to quit.”

“Quit:” queried Felling. “Aye, peg out—unless you can hand l us over those diamonds.” Dick Peiling had been in many a tight corner, but never in one which offered so small a chance of escape. But he was going to fight—up to the last minute. “Do you think I’ve got ’em in my pocket?” he said. “I came here to tell you where you could find them.” The three men looked at each other. Sam Felton and Peter Woolf moved away into a corner, and whispered to each other. Jim regarded Peiling with a sullen scowl of hatred. "Toil don’t like me, Jim, eh?” said Peiling. Jim laughed. “You think Susie Croud’s in love with you,” he said in a low voice. | “But don’t you reckon on er gettin’ you j out of this. She ’ates you like poison—i just because you’re married—l knows all j about it. You think she’s been tryin’ Jto keep our ’ands off your throat. And I all the time she’s been settin’ us on to

j you—like a man would set dogs on a badger.” “Oh, you’re quite foolish about Susie,” said Felling, with a smile, and he called out to Sain Felton : “Look here, Sam,” he said. “You’re an honest fellow in your way. Jim’s just been telling me that Susie's been in this j ail the time. And she told me herself that she was doing all she could to stop this nonsense of yours.” Peter Woolf laughed out loud. Sam Felton did not smile. “Susie had to look after herself,” he said quietly. “If you’d known she was with us all the time, you'd have put the police on to her.” “You’re a liar !” shouted Peiling. “I’d trust Susie as I’d trust my own wife.” Sam Felton took a letter from his pocket, opened it out, and held it before i Dick Felling's eyes. There were only a i few words in the letter, but the instruc- | tions were quite explicit. He, Dick Pel- ! ling, was to be forced to give up the I diamonds, and if he failed to do so the j police were to be put on his track. Richard Felling's eyes were dimmed with a red mist, and ail the colour left his face. This had hit him more hardly ! than any of the events of that night—- ! that he should have allowed himself to j be fooled by Susan C'road, and that he I should have struck at his own wife in j defence of a worthless woman, i “It doesn’t matter your knowin’ now,” | snarled Jim, shaking his fist in Felling’s | face. “You won’t never git a chance to j give our Susie away.” I “Stop it. Jimmie!” said Sam Felton, I curtly. “You talk too much.” j The mists cleared from Dick Felling’s | eyes, and he saw the room quite clearly j again. .Jim’s brutal words had had the j effect of a shower of cold water on the j flames of Polling’s fury. His mind was i alert and active once more. These brutes i meant to kill him. Well, he would have j to be very cunning. Nothing would happen until Croad arrived. Polling’s mind moved very quickly, as j the three men talked together about their j plans of escape. He did not listen to i them. He had other matters to think ; about. A few moments laler there was the I crash of a heavy fist on the door at the j lop of the stairs. Sam Felton hurried | uj) the steps to open it. "Be careful, sir. ’ lie said. “Take my arm, sir.” “A dirty hole,” growled ('road, “a nice place to bring me to. God knows if I’ll ever get up the stairs again.” The enormous legs came into view, then the body, and lastly the huge, bearded face. Dick Felling scanned it narrowly. And then suddenly lie wondered why Croad had come to this place at all. No

danger threatened Croad, unless one of the gang betrayed him. "Unless one of the gang betrays him, said Dick Felling to himself, and he let that idea sink into his mind. Then he smiled said, “Hello, young chap. Brought those diamonds for us to play with, eh?”

“1 know where they are,” Felling replied. “Good,” growled Croad. “Good.” He seated himself on a. wine bin that creaked and sagged under his huge weight. Then he thrust his hand in his enormous coat pocket, and took out a bottle of whisky. Jim gave a cry of joy and stretched out a grimy hand. “I ain't tasted a drop, guv’nor,” he eaid—“not for a bloomin’ fortnight. I world for that there bottle, guv’nor.” “If they would only get drunk,” thought Felling, “I’d have a chance.” But hope died away as he looked at Croad’s face. Croad was not the sort of man to allow anyone to get drunk where there was work to he done.

'■Stand off,” said Croad sharply, and there was a curious look in his eyes. lor the next few moments, as the man talked about the smack that they were going to commandeer for their escape, Dick Felling studied that massive face carefully—as steadily and as carefully as a man lost in unknown seas studies the chart and the compass, and the stars above his head. And again and again he wondered why Croad had taken the trouble to come down to this remote part of the world. Certainly there was something odd about Croad —the slowness of his voice and that curious expression in his eyes when he glanced at the others and believed himself unobserved. For a little while the men talked in whispers, and Felling could not hear a word they were saying. Then Jim laughed, and picked up the bottle of whisky, and pushed in the cork with his powerful thumb. Sam Felton turned to Felling. “Well, who has got the diamonds?” he queried. Felling smiled. “One o? you heroes,” lie said. “You think I don’t know? Well, I didn’t. But now I clo.” There was a shout of angry voices. But Croad did not speak. He poured some of the whisky into a large empty jam jar, and filled up the jar with water. A dozen questions were asked, hut Felling answered none of them. The clamour of sound died away into silence. He had made his plans—the last defence of the weak—the hope of dissension in the camp of his enemies. “Arthur Crcad has the diamonds,” he said. “I don't suppose he’s brought them with him, but he knows where thev are.” The three men turned and looked at Croad. “We’d better do him in now, guv’nor.” said Jim. “ ’Avin’ a joke with us, ’e is.’’ But neither Sam Felton nor Feter Woolf spoke. The poison of the arrow was in their blood. Thev knew well enough that Dick Felling had been an intimate friend of Susan Croad. There was just a chance —that this extraordinary statement was not a, lie. “What answer have you to make to* that, sir?” said Felling. Croad laughed. His huge body shook with laughter like a jelly, lie thrust his hand in his pocket, took out- a chamois h ather bag, and, tilting it upside down, poured cut the contents on the “table.” There was a tiny shower of light—white, blue, and red fire of a most amazing brilliancy. The diamonds twinkled on the wood and rolled towards the edge of the wine bin. Two or three fell on the floor. “The Boy,” said Ci’oad slowly, “is one cf those who’d back a hundred to one chance and pull it off. He knew nothing about the diamonds. I didn’t know myself till yesterday. He thought he'd just make bad blood between us. And I came down here to share out —like a gentleman.” “My Gawd!” muttered Jim. But Felton and Woolf looked at Croad with a question in their eyes. Croad stretched out his great hand and drew the diamonds together into a little heap. Bit of luck, boys,” he said. “I reckon you'll never guess who took these diamonds out of the safe.” "Trillick,” said Peter Woolf. “Our friend here. ’ said Sam Felton, pointing at Dick Pelling. “A bloomin’ ghost!” snarled Jim. Arthur Croad laughed. “You wouldn't gtiesti if I gave you a dozen tries a-piece,” he said. “Old Sir William Blindon took them. He’s an absent-minded old fellow, and he must have slipped them into his pocket without thinking about it, and have locked up the safe. ' “1 believe you’re right,” said Dick Felling, anxious to get on good terms with Croad. “I was in the office the day before yon chaps broke open the safe” He took out the bag of stones, and gave me one—a very little one—worth five pounds perhaps.” Arthur Croad beamed at Felling. “It very likely happened then, he said. “And how did they come to you?” said Feter Woolf coldly. “Sir William’s valet found the diamonds in Hi- master’s coat pocket. The temptation was a bit too much for him. He held on to them.” “But how did von know he’d got them?” queried Sam Felton. "He tried to sell one of them to me in Paris. | bluffed him untii he was nearly dead of flight. We came to terms, lie’s kept- a quarter of the stone.-. There are the rest. ’ Feter Woolf stirred the little heap of glittering stones with his finger. dim Leader and Sam Felton watehed the play of light, and their eyes glittered. Only Bichard Pelling looked steadily at Croad’s face. The month was set in a hideous grin. “Here’s luck to all of us,” said Croad, and, gripping the jar of liquid with both his hands, he drank, and set it down on the table. (To be Concluded.)