THE BARTONS’ SECRET.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 7267, 21 July 1893, Page 4

THE BARTONS’ SECRET.

LITERATURE.

.* CONTINUED I * I told Benton nothing,’ Whateley answered. * T stuck him out point bUnk that he was wrong; I told him it was a point of honour. He laughed at that, grinned all over, the old Cheshire eat; but I made him see I wouldn’t tell, and I swore to him, through thick and thin, that yon bad no more to do with the affair than he had. Of I told him I was io it, and in it op to the neck; bat the Count Von Herder, •aid 1, may be just as shady as he likes bat he had got nothing to do with that job. 1 swore to it on my word of honour.’

* Tes,’ said the Count with excessive dryness, * and what did be think spout your word of honour V * Well, to tell you the truth, Yon,’ said Mr Wbateley, *he didn’t seem to think much more about mine than I should think ol yours.’ He was a little nettled by the in* quiry, for it is a curious and noticeable fact that of however little value a man’s word ot honour may be, be does not ears to have it depreciated from outside. Mr Whateley was io the act of confessing that be had lied with a complete effrontery in Yon Herder’s defence, and it seemed to him ungrateful, and even monstrous, that Yon Herder should depreciate bis reputation for truthfulness at such a moment.

1 Fery well,’ said the Count. 1 Fery well. It is not fery profitable to tiscuss that question, and I am in the humour for vork. Have you locked the toor ?’

* Tee,’ said Whateley, * that’s all r;gbt. ‘ Ton don’t mind my smoking ?’

* Not at all/ the Count responded. ' Smoke avav, but toa’t disturb me, I want to catch to-morrow’s mail, and the first attempt may not succeet/ He had provided himself with a great •heaf of pens and pen-holders of ever/ size and quality, and he began to search amongst these, trying the nibs of many on bis thumb-nail and holding them up to the light to sorntinise them with a look of professional accuracy. He chose one at last and made a start: threw it aside after a moment’s trial, and took another, with a new sheet of paper. He bad before him a quire of the letterpaper of the Union Club. He made two or three false starts, but at last, suited to bis own satisfaction, he got to work in earnest.

Whateley, lighting a cigarette, set bis heels on a chair in front of him and balanced himself lightly in his own, sending out slow puffs of smoke through bis nostrils, and watching the busy Von Herder with an unfailing interest. The Count squared his shoulders to the task, and his forehead and the little bald spot on the top of his head perspired. Sometimes be consulted the mosaic page before him through a big monocle, and then be turned aside from the sheet on which he was writing to imitate a word before him over and over again until be was certain of the surety of his own hand, and finally put it in its place. A certain peculiarity in the *£ ’ employed by the General cost him a good deal of trouble. He drew it with a painful care, examined microscopically the original and bis reproduction of it: drew it with a freer hand, dashed it off with a flourish, and repeated' it many times until he was ■are that he had mastered it. Finally, after an hour and a half of unremitted labour, he pushed (he patched original and bis copy of it across the table, and rose with a leonine yawn and stretched both arms high in the air. Whateley took the two documents, one in either hand, and with a puff expelled the cigarette be held between his lips into the fire-grate. He made a long and oaretul comparison of tbe two, and little by little a smile crept from bis lips to bis eyes, sod illuminated his whole countenance.

* I say, Von H., there’s no mistake •boot, it, you’re the king of tbe crowd of them. It’s worth while to travel from London to Sydney to look at a piece of work like this. Credit where credit’s due, Von H. You’re the king of the crowd. It’s perfect; now let’s have the envelope.' * I’ll lake a little rest first, my yonk frient,’ returned the Count. ‘ This kind of think, though it must pe confessed that it yielts an excellent return for Ispour, is still laborious. My eyes, my band, my back, are all aching. Give roe a cigarette.’

W bateley offered him a silver ease, which be accepted with his common burlesque flourish of politeness, and extracting a cigarette from it he struck a match on the under part of the marble mantelpiece, and threw himself m*o the arm-chair with a shook wbioh made the whole room quiver. * I think,’ he said, ‘ that it will to* Hant them both over. Grive me tbe monocle; le’ me he quite sure.* Lounging hack in bis arm-chair with an air of complete fatigue after labour, he compared them aide by side, and occasionally nodded to express bis own sa'isfaction. Finally he arose and laid them on the table. ‘That will to,* be said. ‘ That will to very nicely iotee'. Now,’ he added * I will fake a class of wine, and then 1 will write the attress; then ws will taken little mouthful of something to eat, and you sbal 1 walk down to the post-office aad recbister this.' II notice, Von,* said Mr Whateley, ‘that you contrive to keep yourself pretty clear.’ ‘ Oh; yes’returned the Count, smiling,‘l do that. But, my tear yonk firiebt there is no risk ;you will simply reehiatsr a letter to E Boston. E a q., of Ely Place, from Smith or ‘Williamson or Jones ot Sytney. Your name is not known at tbe post-office.’

‘ Oh, all right,’ said Whateley. ‘ I don’t grumble, only I notice that you don’t run into danger. Von.’ ‘ I nefer do,’ the Count responded. ‘There are two rules in life, my dear yonk frien», ths which you would do well to ponder. Never get into tanger if you can help it ; when you are in tanger never be afrait. I have followed those rules all my life, and have found opedience to them useful in more ways than I could tescribe to you in a minute. Weigh them, my tear yonk frient; observe them ; you will find them ol great falue to you; they include, believe me, the experiences of a life which has not been altogether wasted.’

The Count’s programme was carried out in its entirety. The pint of champagne was called for and consumed. This done, and (be Count’s cigarette smoked out, be sat down once more et the table, and, after half a dozen attempts in practice, produced a facsimile of G-eoerai Mallard’s address to his agent so striking that the writer of the original would have been compelled to acknowledge its accuracy. Mr Whateley, with renewed expressions of admiration for bis companion’s talent, himself enveloped the letter and placed it carefully in the inner pocket of his coa?, and accompanied the Count to lunch. First of all, however, every scrap of paper which had been employed in the wicked imitation was carefully burned and reduced to actual powder. When ibe last red spark bad died out in the gra'e, the Count took up the hearthwhich brush stood beside the mantelpiece and scattered the feathery calcined contents ol the grate until a mere sooty dust was left. ‘ And now,’ he said, ‘we will baf luncheon, and you can take your letter to the post. Don’t neclectto rechister it. The risk is nothing, and we must make as certain as possible of its arrival.’

To this Mr Whateley assented, and they descended together to the coffeeroom, where they partook ol the best tbe bouse provided. The room was fairly full, and tbere were one or two people there who were already known to the Count. He recognised them all with his unfailing and cheerful foreign affability, and charmed many of toem who thought him a distinguished personage.

(To be continued .)