THE BARTONS SECRET.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 7286, 14 August 1893, Page 4

THE BARTONS SECRET.

LITERATURE-

.'CONTINUED I ‘You obierre,’said Dogdyke, addressing the waiter, ‘ that I have business with : General Mallard, and that this contains the latest information I have to give him up till now. 1 shall probably return 10-night; at least/ be added, with an involuntary shudder, * 1 hope so—l most particularly hope so—but i£ I should be delayed beyond the time I have specified, the letter must be delivered ; but on no account send it before Thursday. It you bear from me by wire to that effect, you will not deliver the letter at all/

The waiter, assuring Dogdyke that he understood the whole matter quite clearly, the little man made him recapitulate the instructions receiyed, and finding him perfect, took his departure with a lighter heart. Some not quite accura’ely formed notion in bis own mlod, to the effect that he would not willingly have sacrificed half if be had owned such a sum, to anybody under any circumstances without a desperate struggle to retain it, may probably have helped to frighten him for be could not tail to know that iha Count was a much more cunning and a much more courageous person than himself, and he could not help a certain dim, inward, half confession that, il he had Jared »o do it. he would rather have kil’ed anybody who threatened him than have parted with such a sum of money. Whst sort of personal danger he dreaded waa not quite clear even to himself.

The Count in a lonely place might stand over him and threaten him with personal violence, but be had his revolver, and he thought hysterically of having read a line somewhere, to the effect that firearms bad equalised 'he size of men all over the world. The little man with six lives in his hands was bigger than the empty-handed giant. Had he been less afraid of the weapon itself than he was, this reflection might have brought more solid comfort to him. In his day Dogdyke had done a good deal of reading, of the sort now described by American journalists as ‘wild cat.’ It had mostly been got through in his far-off youth, but now that he was himself engaged in a business so terribly romantic, many of hi« early reminiscences came back upon him, and be thought of abductions of important witnesses in criminal cases, of bauds of hired ruffians who spirited away tbe person who ought to have been the beneficent genius of the story, hiding him or her in caves.

In these narratives, long-forgotten and only recalled to memory by the strange conditions of the time, thebenefioent genius always turned up at the finish to fulfil bis mission. Possibly the sense m.Dogdyke'e mind that his own mission was not likely to have a beneficent result for anybody but himself may have subdued his confidence in the belief that the like happy fate would befall him. In any the foolish narratives helped him but littie, and, indeed, brought him vastly more alarm than solace.

Since he bad begun to share the Count’s good fortune he was considerably changed in aspect. He was eminently respectable now, in clothes of black broadcloth which fitted him with reasonable accuracy, in black bat, black kid gloves, black satin stock, and high collars. In tbe absence of the great cuffs with which be bad grown so familiar, his bands were a trouble to him, and he seemed hardly to know how to dispose of them; but to tbe casual observer be was no more than a rather qnaint and obviously nervous old gentleman. He travelled from Sydney to the point at which he bad been instructed to alight in a first class carriage, in company with a city business man and red faced, big bearded fellow who evidently represented the pastoral interests—a broad shouldered man in a pot bat, rough tweed flannel shirt, and sheepskin gaiters. Tbe two men—strangers to Dogdyke—bad som friendly knowledge of each other, and talked about the news in that morning’s paper. Amongst other items they discussed was one of a robbery-committed in tbe back blocks by a gang of ruffians, who, for a week or two, had inmltated with fair suocesa tbe exploits of tbe famous Kelly Kang, the notorious gang of bushrangers, the very thought of whom had often struck terror to Dogdyke’s heart in lonely places in the suburbs, as though he had not known the band to be dispersed, and the scene of its depredations to be hundreds of miles awav. 4 The fact is,’ said the pastoral : looking man, * the whole colony is full . of a lot of good for nothing blackguards, who’d as lief cot your throat ; as look at you. I’d dare undertake to ' say there are hundreds of escapes from Kew Caledonia here in the colony thin minute. Some of them are the 'most desperate blackguards unbung. Why. I heard of a case only the other day within ten miles of Sydney where one of them stuck up a George Street merchant, and frightened five and twenty notes out of him. We shall have a revival of the old business here if thq police don’t wake up.’ The pity man pooh-poohed this idea and prophesied the setting in of a universal reign of law and order. dear : dir, a repetition of the old cod’Muoh' of affaire ,1s absolutely imimpossible. .The condition, of things within the last five r completely.’ } was vehement in contradiction ‘.cited deeds of violence enough to have supplied a calendar for a whole assize. Dogdyke sat and

shivered. The conversation seemed as if it were actually personal to himself, and on occasions the pastoral gentleman made facial appeals to him, as if he would draw him into the converse, and bring him to bis own view of things. ‘ I trust, sir/ be sa d at last, egged on by his own fears, ‘ that you exaggerate. I assure yon I hope so sir, both for the reputation of the colony and the safety of its inoffensive citizens-’ ‘And I assure you, sir,' said th« red* complexioned man, turning upon him with a dictatorial certainty of manner and a booming voice— ‘ I assure you, sir, that I do not exaggerate. There are hundreds of men in this colony, at this minute, who’d be guilty ot any in fernaJ act of scoundrelism for a square meal and a long sleover.’ ‘I—I trust not, sir,’ Dogdyke stammered, and so subsided. He I pressed his gloved hand on the pocket in which the revolver he had purchased as a safeguard against the possible machinations of the Count lay concealed ; but be did it with a timorous and careful hand, lest he should fire it unawares. He was possessed by a ghastly uncertainty as to the nature of its mechanism, and had only the faintest notion as to the number of processes by which it might be fired. He was cea ain tbai, if the id*a had only occurred to him, the Count von Herder was fully capable of hiring a gang of such desperadoes as the pastoral gemfeman spoke of to carry him away, and if needs were to hand him bodily over to a tribe of those cannibalistic natives of whom he had many times heard wich shuddering. In short, there was no idea 100 grotesquely ghastly to present itself to the frightenud Dogdyke’s fancy, and before he had reached his journey’s end he had a score of times resolved to avail himself of the return ticket he bad purchased, and return to the city without having attempted to interview the Count. But every time his exaggerated caution established its claim his greed upset it. Thirty tbousand pounds lay waiting for him, and thirty thousand pounds meant much. At moments he was filled with a frenzied courage, and with the revolver in his hands, which he did not know how to use, and which frightened him more than it was likely to frighten anybody else in the world, he was ready to fight dragons. He ran away in fancy, times without number ; be fought numerous desperate combats j he won and lost them in orderly routine, and was landed at the little country town he had booked for in a state of uncertainty, He was before the time appointadj and could at least afford to look at the lay of the country.

(To be continued.)