THE MAD TREMAYNES

Otago Witness, Issue 3594, 30 January 1923, Page 52

THE MAD TREMAYNES

_THE NOVELIST. (Published by Special Arranuehext.}

A SERIAL STORY OF LOVE AND SPORT.

By

E. C. Buley.

CHAPTER, XIII. Francis Tremayne turned over the httle document, knitted his brow as the incriminating slip of paper twisted in iiis hands. “Yes, Sloggett, we have him,” he repeated. “Almost before I was ready, but we have him *tll the more surely for that. Bring him to me here as soon as you can; lie will not he able to refuse to come. And have him watched until Derby Day; he must not be allowed to bolt, as no doubt he intends.’’ >Sloggett, by an unlucky chance for Bernard Durant, caught him m the little room where bis letters were addressed, lhe man was inclined to bluster at first, but, as Tremayne had foreseen, the threat of immediate proceedings was a very potent one. If everything is in order, as vou s-av,” •Sloggett remarked drily, “you can have no objection to reassuring a client who is deeply concerned in your operations, in any case, you must come with me or take the consequences. Better come with a good grace, Mr Durant. I have a car Waiting.” Assuming his most nonchalant air Durant consented to go, and was driven to Sandcot without any further delay. His bravado did not desert him until bioggett ushered him into the library and he faced krancis Tremayne. “You!” Durant gasped, his hands shaking, and his fallen chin betraying his surprise and fear. ”Y~ou may leave us, Mr Sloggett,” iremayne ordered. “Yes, it is I, Durant—that name will do as well as any other, since you have disgraced it for so long. Did you imagine vou were going to escape the punishment I promised you?” ‘That—that was so long awo,” Durant stammered. “11 have naicl the price for anything I may have done.” And gone on from bad tilings to worse,” Tremayne said sternly. “You are very near the end now: if I choose I could throw you into prison to-morrow. I prefer to wait, until vour ruin is quite complete; and T prefer that, you shall understand what agencies have brought it about. This boxing match and the race for the Derby represent your hopes of' escape from punishment ; come to me when they are decided, and I shall show you how wrong recoils upon the doer. “What do vou mean? I do not understand you,” Durant said sulkily. “Time enough. T see relief in vour eyes: vou are thinking there is still time to bolt, perhaps. Put the idea front you, for at the first attempt you will be arrested. Now go, and remember what I have said. You must come here again on the morning after Derby Day ; I’ll deal with you then.” After Sloggett had taken the swindler away, Francis Tremayne sat for a long time wrapped in gloomy retrospect. Finallv he rang for his man Trevor. “I know that you can tell me where this boxer Croll is training, Trevor,” he said. “I fancy to see him ; kindly order the car and ' accompany me there, to arrange the matter for me.” Trevor, with uplifted eyebrows and a hesitating manner, registered the surprise he did not dare to translate into words; but he hastened away to obey orders, nevertheless. As it happened, the drive from Sandcot to Croll’s training quarters was not a long one, for his trainer Westwood was finishing his preparations for the great match in a quiet country village not far distant. Frank had finished his morning’s work, and was loafing in a deck chair in the sunlight when his unexpected visitor was brought to him. Westwood having consented without hesitation to the request of so well-known a man as Francis Tremayne for a few words with liis charge. In fact, Westwood himself conducted Tremayne to the sunny porch where Croll was idling. “Mr Francis Tremayne. Frank,” he said. “I knew you would like to see him, when he called for the purpose of a little chat.” Frank sprang to his feet as though he had received a mortal affront; and even Westwood, accustomed by now to his mood of reckless unhappiness, was appalled at the fury that distorted his face. “I would like to see Mr Francis Tremayne,” Frank repeated with bitter mockery. “Yes, I would like to see him dead: as every man who bears his name ought to be. Go away now, Mr Francis Tremayne. while you are safe. I might be tempted to killing you myself!” Francis Tremayne bowed, looking at him with steady eyes devoid of offence or fear. “You seem to have made an admirable choice of a profession. Mr Croll, he said, with his sad, whimsical smile. “What I had to say will keep until you are as proficient iti manners as in boxing.” Attended by the unspeakably shocked Trevor, he went awav as he had come, while Westwood set himself to the task of calming the furious passion of his charge. “What's biting you, anyhow, Frank?” he asked. “Do you know vou threatened to murder an inoffensive elderly stranger, and you looked as if you meant every word of it, too, by gum. That sort of talk is no good to anyone: but coming from a man like yourself might land you in serious trouble one fine day.”

“What made you bring him here? ’ Frank asked savagely. "1 do not want to see anyone. Can I make you understand that?” "All right, old son,” Westwood soothed. “You shall be left alone until the fight is over, I promise you. No more distinguished visitors shail get past me on any pretext; I'll tell the world.” Consequently the final week of Croll’s training was surrounded by a mystery which served the purpose of advertisement as admirably as other circumstances which had combined to excite public interest in him and in the match in which he was to appear. His opponent, the hard-hitting Duck Colby, represented the old type of pugilist, a man of brawn rather than brains, and possessed none of the attributes which make for popularity in the modern boxer. He was courageous to a fault, as his capacity for enduring punishment had proved , but he had none of the faculties for exciting interest and sympathy. Consequently seventy-five per cent, of the . great gathering which assembled in the. Albert, Hall on Derby Eve went there in the hope of seeing the English champion beaten. It was a result which they desired rather than expected; for on the strength of past performances Colby was a strong favourite in the betting. The gamblers, sensitive to every touch of the unusual, drew their own inferences from the seclusion in which Frank Croll had finished his training; and it was even rumoured that he would not appear in the ring at the last moment. All doubts on this point were set at rest on the morning of the match l>v an official declaration that both men were in the finest condition for the contest. Never had the great hall been so crowded, - for there was not a vacant seat nor an inch of standing room from boxes to gallery when, the preliminary bouts having been decided, a buzz of anticipatory conversation announced that the real event of the night was about to be staged. Tn the ringside seats most of the prominent sportsmen of the day could be seen. On one side of the ring Alfred Mathieson and John Baird sat together, with a strong contingent of Lancashire men and sportsmen from farther north clustered about them. It was the North of England against the South, as usual ; and all the North rallied loyally to the support of the Liverpool lad. Lionel. Tremayne sat with Sir Ralph on the other side of the ring. From time to time Durant came to him with the final reports of the mau they had engaged to promote the match. , From that point of view their enterprise was already an assured success, for the profits of promotion would be very substantial, after all expieiises had been paid. Lionel Tremaynes confidence was now thoroughly restored. He knew that Colbv had continued the steady improvement which had carried him to the position of English champion; and counted on the value of his long experience and unquestioned gameness. He could only be beaten by a knock-out blow; and that fate had only befallen him at the hands of the American holder of the world championship. Tremayne agreed with the expert opinion that Croll’s' on.lv hope of victory was to out-box the "champion through the whole twenty rounds, a very unlikely contingency. The wait before the big fight was mercifully a short one. Colby appeared first, followed by his numerous seconds, and there was loud applause for the champion as he walked to his corner. The dark scowl, which was part of Colby s fighting outfit, was never more noticeable, and, as usual, he paid no attention to his surroundings. Buck Colby boasted he had no nerves, and his bearing on this night was certainly that of a man supremely confident of doing all that was expected of him. Frank Croll followed him into the ring half a minute later, and now the clapping and shouting lasted a, full two minutes’ It was a demonstration, an insistent expression of the public hope that the newcomer might win. It only ended when Mr Dangle, the referee, held up his hand in an appeal for silence. CHAPTER XIV. The gloves had been fastened on the hands of the two men when the referee called them to him, for a word of admonition and advice. The night was a warm one, and both boxers had already thrown off their long dressing gowns, so that it was possible to contrast them as they stepped from their corners to the centre of the ring. Colby was a familiar sight to patrons of big boxing matches, and all agreed he had never looked better trained than for this match. He was typical in build of the old-time boxer, who relied upon endurance, hard hitting, and stubborn defence—three fine qualities in a big man II is close-cropped bullet head, flat nose, and beetling brows were not attractive, nor was the thickness of his limbs, especially in the forearm and the calf. They gave him an appearance of stockiness and clumsiness, which many an opponent had found entirely deceptive. As he stepped forward, scowling hideously, it was possible to note the unusual length of his arm, which gave a man of five feet ten inches the reach of one four or five inches taller. Buck Colby was very sparing of any display of the possibilities of this deceptive reach ; it was a card lie kept up his sleeve for use in rare emergencies. His whole system of ring strategy was based upon the hidden circumstances that he could hit at longer range, when, he cared to do so, than most of his lighting ever ; suggested. Frank (’roll, though nearly a stone •lighter,’’. overtopped him by at least two inches; His build suggested the flashing speed which had set him head and shoulders above all amateurs of the day. His broad shoulders, clad in rippling muscles, that played with every movement of his frame, added to the taper effect of his well-moulded limbs. He moved like a black panther, agile and soft stepping, and the suggestion was of

some being incredibly graceful and swift. And fierce, too. Buck Colby’s scowd was a bit of theatrical effect, worked up deliberately by a man credited with being surly by nature. The cold fury ot Liofi was another thing entirely ; it blazed in h>s blue eyes and asserted itself in the rigiu set oi the chin. He seemed unconscious of the breathless house and the wonderful ovation he had received ; all his attention was concentrated upon the man he was to oppose, whom he regarded relentlessly mui without a sign of mercy. " A handsome young desperado,” ‘commented Sir Ralph Tremayne. "Whoever ma.y have suggested that any good nature would prevent him from beating his man was woefully astray. How did that theory arise, Lionel?” He s a changed man, ’ Lionel answered sullenly. "He used to pose as the verv sporting amateur.” vi expect a fid l ' fight and a clean light,” All Dangle was saying. "I know vou bodi, and you know me. When I ‘say break let it be break’; and don’t let me have to say it twice. Shake hands, ana go to your corners.’’ lhey shook hands with him, and with one another, measuring with hostile eves each other’s tough form. Then they strode to their corners, and at a word the seconds trooped from the ring. A perfect silence fell upon the house, in which a woman s shrill giggle sounded like an offence. Then the gong sounded. lhe men sprang from their corners to meet larriy m the centre of the riu» Colby was trying for his old effective body blow, with all the force of his rush and his massive strength behind it, Croll •struck the quicker, a correct left, which brought him almost tiptoe as it landed square!v on the shorter man's mouth. Yet his well-trained feet, carried him back as nT" lle biow had reached its mark, lhe following rush Frank side-stepped, shooting his right lightly to the back of Lolby s neck. “Pretty boxing, but no good,’’ muttered Lionel Iremayne, with obvious relief. Buck stuck to his man, moving with amazing speed and sure purpose; and, h.s back to the ropes, Croll stood fast, and shot: the p.ston left again. In reply, Colby landed both hands in his body o nnYdl f ot a cleverl - v - chanipmu had hit much harder than the novice v. ho came dancing forward with an angry led mark on his white torso. Colbv went m again, and found Frank’s elbow with clinch followin S "’hich there was a They C ame out of holds with a simultaneous movement, both beautifully on the defensive; and there was cashing applause for _ rather more spectacular boxing than is usually seen in a fi<dit between tog men. Before the clapping ceased, Croll struck, and there was real power behind the blow this time. With arms widespread Colby hit the floor, and as he did so automatically urne o\ei on his hands. The referee waved Croll back as he began to count but a very novice would see that the champion was ready to soring up when he wished. At the call of six he did so, and Croll gave ground before his untiring assault, taking body punishment as his. quick feet wove dancing-masters patterns about the canvas. In the end he stood firm-footed and offered blow for blow. He swung his right, and as he did so seemed to open the way for the blow Colby launched. There was a loud cry as Croll went to the floor, but in the same instant the clang of the gon# arose louder than the cry of apprehension. Four out of five spectators breathed freelv again, as Croll rose readily and slipped'into hi s chair. “Colby's round,” said Sir Ralph. “The other man seems a bit uncertain.” “A fighter against a boxer,” replied his son contentedly. “It is turning out just as I expected.” There was a babel of discussion while the seconds fanned their men; but the music of the gong stilled it to silence again. Croll was opeulv on the defensive now, drawing his enemy about the ring, covering up against vicious jabs at his body, his chin well down, and his right arm everywhere it ought to be. He clinched and dodged, and kept the champion on the move all the time. Only once did he shoot the lightning left hand to the face, where it got home with as much effect apparently as a fly alighting upon a locomotive engine. The red blotch on either side of his ribs looked angrier than before when he went back to his corner at the end of the round, and Colby’s seconds exchanged smiles of anticipatory triunmh. The round had been all the champion's. “I’ll bet two to one on Croll,” shouted a big voice. “Here, I'll bet ninety pounds to forty that Colby wins.” A babel of voices arose at the offer, some calling for silence, others offering the same odds. Again the clang of the gong stopped the racket, and once more the tight was on. Colby came in swiftly again, and this time Croll side-stepped deftlv and shot his right to the side of the head. Quick to follow his advantage, he drove the champion on to the ropes, where Colby graced himself and fought his man gallantly. There was a rattling exchange; and it ended bv Croll drawing back. Eagerly Colby followed, fearing for his favourite body punch ; but the left shot out harder than ever, and the champion’s head went back as his hands came wavering upwards. Frank swung for the chin, but one glove was there to -deflect the blow. .which crashed hard against Colby’s cheek, and he went over in a heap. “One.” cried Mr Dangle, pointing dramatically to the writhing heap of brawn and bone at his feet. “Two.” Men were drawn upright from their seats by the tenseness of those fleeting 'pleasured moments. Lionel Tremayne, biting his lip in an effort to preserve his composure, found his eyes resting on Durant, who sat collapsed in a chair not far awav. Deadly fear was in the swindler’s face, and his clutching hands tore at his collar,, as though he could hardly breathe.

“Three.” “Four.” The inexorable voice counted steadily onwards. If he had guessed all that was at stake, the measurer of time would not have faltered. Joyce Winter, walking restlessly about her room, may have caught some of the suspense of those speeding moments. She paused bv the table, tw'isting her hands, and glancing at the clock on the mantel shelf. “Perhaps it is over now," she said, unconsciously speaking aloud. “Why should. I concern myself about these things? Oh, why?” lhe pictures of Frank (Toll, which Tremayne had given her in ironical compliment, lay upon a little table. Her hand reached tor the sheet of cardboard, and she seized it as though about to tear it across. Hesitating a moment, she changed her mind, and gently turned it face downwards. “1 must know,” the girl whispered. “There must be some way of finding out." She hastened down the stairs to Lady Carfax, who greeted her with a smile of maddening calm. •‘Nine,” counted Mr Dangle; and the thousands in the great hall roared as one man when Buck Colbv scrambled to tim feet. CHAPTER XV. Two men in that building there were, at least, who knew' that the champion was not in the extremity he wished to be supposed. One of them was Westwood, Croll’s trainer, and the other was Croll himself. Frank had been a critical spectator of Colby’s fighting, and his own intimate knowledge of the game had'told him that Buck was always keeping something in reserve. Wliat it might be he could not actually determine, but he felt he was about to know. As the champion reeled backwards, throwing both gloves before his face to protect his vulnerable chin, Croll altered his game. Footwork and body were behind the terrible merciless rib jolts he landed, bringing Colby's arms automatically down in protection. Buck could have clinched to gain time, but he was playing a different game. The champion hoped, nay, he was sure, that his less experienced opponent would dare all in blind confidence, and then his hidden three inches of reach would effect a telling surprise. He was taking a surprising amount of punishment now; blows viciously launched at him, not with the intention of knocking him out, but of wearing him down by painful punishment. It was clever, ruthless work, and all the time Frank Croll never took a risk. Time sounded, with Colby desperate. He tottered to bis corner amid a racket which surpassed anything which had vet been heard. There were confused shouts offering wagers—any odds against the champion. There were bawled comments, noisy cheers, cries for silence. The two principals, everv muscle ' relaxed, silently accepted the attentions of their seconds, and the hurried advice of their advisers. “It's still a fight, Lionel,” grimly said Sir Ralph, as he marked Colby rise to the gong with gallant courage, his face dark with cunning and rigid with determination. He came cautiously forward so that Frank advanced three parts of the way to his corner to meet him. And then began such a furious onslaught as Buck Colbv had never before known, even at the hands of the world's champion. The hammer blows rained upon him, beating back his guard, anticipating his move to retaliate, dazing him with their fury and their force. He clinched, and was thrown off like a feather-weight. He tried to slip the avalanche which impended upon him, and received such punishment, as he was wont to give, right and left to the bodv, so that he shrank from the pain of it in spite of the strong hold he tried to keep upon himself. Buck Colbv knew, even as his wincing body threw his head forward, that the chance for which Croll had been waiting offered now. He hardlv made an effort to save himself : had he done so it would have been useless. The crashing blow to the chin was delivered by a man as fresh as though he had ilist stepped into the ring : and. as Colby fell forward, like a felled tree, his knees bending, not one of the thousands who roarded applause doubted that a new' champion had written his name large upon the boxing record of old England. , The lips and' hand of the referee could he seen moving, but the din would have prevented a stentorphone from being heard. It reached its climax when Mr Dangle laid his hand on Croll’s shoulder, and" Westwood. followed closely by Mathieson and Baird, rushed congratulate the new champion. Colby’s seconds lifted his limp form to his corner, and more than one .among them turned to stare curiously'at the victor. Croll remained in the statuesque attitude he had taken after the winning blow was delivered. He had not a glance to spare his gallant opponent, nor a snnle for the men who were patting him wildlv on the hack, and shouting their incoherent congratulations. HD eves rested on the two Tremaynes, until Lionel lifted his, to stare in surprise at the cold, triumphant look he encountered. Frank threw out- his gloved hand with a gesture that conveyed menace and warning ; and then allowed his friends to conduct him to his dressing room. “What particular devilment- have yon been up to with that fellow?” Sir Ralph asked, turning sharply upon his son. “All the implacable ferocity "'as for your benefit.” “How should I know, sir?" Lionel asked irritably. “Excuse me. I must go and look after Durant. He hardly looked himself. I fancied." ‘'Nor do you,” retorted his father. “You are taking it well, but I should say you were in a mess again.”

“It might be worse,” Lionel answered with a shrug. “Good-night, sir; 1 mean to look in on Joyce to arrange for tomorrow.” He hurried away to the dressing room, concerned for the moment with nothing so much as Bernard Durant. He had seen the face of his confederate as the referee was counting, and he knew what to expect when he lound the man. He was not wrong in his guess, for Durant was gulping down halt a glass of raw whisky, witn the bottle still held in the other hand. “Thanks, Durant; I don't mind if I do,” said Tremayne, possessing himself of the bottle, and selecting a tumbler. “Well, we got a real cutting up. Brace yourself, man; it is not so bad as all that. The gate money ought nearly to cover everything.” “The wolves are howling, Tremayne,” Durant answered. “They didn’t get their rations last week. You’d better know.” ’“What do you mean?” ‘l’ve been playing the fool. Listen : that infernal cousin of yours is on my trail.” “Durant,” said lremayne compellingly, “just tell me in as few words as you can what all this means. Quick, man, I have to know.” Difrant told him. He told him of Mr Sloggett, and of his own circular letter delaying payments; he even told him of his painful interview with Francis Tremayne. “So, dear man,” Durant concluded, with a pitiful attempt at light recklessness, “every brass farthing I can raise goes on old Scapegrace to-morrow —jolly old Scapegrace, I always liked the name. ■ If lie wins I can keep inside the law for a week or two longer. If he loses ” “He’s not going to lose,” said Tremayne harshly. “Get home and to bed now, Durant; you’ll need all your wits and all your nerve to-morrow. I might have expected this of you; but I must drag you out of it, just as you dragged me into it.” h He compelled Durant to rise, and saw him swagger into a taxi cab, and then, with a grave face, drove himself off to pay an arranged visit to Joyce Winter. Joyce, while she knew the fight was in progress, had sought the society of Lady Carfax in order to regain the grip of herself which she felt she was losing. She sat down to the piano, and presently- her aunt was moved to protest firmly against the discords which proceeded from the unoffending instrument. Moving restlessly about the room, fluttering the leaves of a book here, and re-aTranging the flowers in a bowl the •next moment, Joyce presently attracted the serious attention of the old lady. “What is it, my dear?” Lady Carfax asked. “Aunt, wouldn’t you like to know who won the boxing match?” “1,. Joyce?” If -.it were possible that Ladv Carfax could Tie offended by any suggestion made by her niece, her tone conveyed that this question had achieved the practically impossible. "I should,” Joyce declared recklessly. "I never wanted to know anything so much; I’m simply aching to hear.” *->■ "Then I’m very sorry to hear you say ■so,” declared her aunt emphatically. ’ I ' keep- my opinion to myself as a rule, but I’m bound to say that I had begun to hope you saw the mistake you were making with Mr Tremavne. Now I find you distressing yourself over a boxing match, because he is interested in it. If ■you are capable ” “But, auntie, dear,” Joyce interrupted impulsively. “It is just because I want him to lose ” ; "Aha!” The old lady’s chin resumed its natural angle, and there was triumph in her eye as she rang the bell. Grieg, .her ancient Scottish butler, answered the summons. “I hear you have been betting on this boxing match, Grieg,” said Lady Carfax most unjustly. “There is no need to deny it; vour manner this evening is quite enough for me. You may use . the telephone to ascertain the result—the sooner you know the ouieker you will be able to spare thought for your duties.” “Thank you, my leddie.” They heard the telephone bell ring, • and they heard the butler’s voice raised •in question and exclamation. Presentlv Grieg pussy-footed through the room with the air of a mourner, “Well, Grieg!” said Lady Carfax sharply. “Colby was knocked out in the third round, mv leddie,” said Grieg with deep offence. It was easy to see that the butler’s investment had gone astray. When he had left the room Joyce ran to her aunt, and, burying her face in the old lady’s lap, gave way to wild weep-

ing. (To be Continued.)