THE Great Emerald, OR The Tenant of Hill House.

Southern Cross, Volume 5, Issue 37, 18 December 1897, Page 13

THE Great Emerald, OR The Tenant of Hill House.

BY EDMUND DOWNEY f“ F. M. Allen ”), Author of “ A House of Tears , “ The Merchant of Killogue,” “Through Green Glasses ,” “ Captain Lanagan J s Log.” Bfc. [All Rights Reserved.] CHAPTER XXIX.

{Published-- by- Special-A^^

On the track oe Mosely. Neither date nor address appeared on the letter which the diamond merchant handed Mackenna. It ran as follows :

‘ My dear Blair, ‘ When you have read this letter you will think me the most fickleminded of men. Ten days ago I told you I did not want to get rid of Hill House. Now I do ! I ask you as an old friend (my only friend except Mackenua) to do the best you can about the place for me. You may guess why 1 no longer want the hou>e, but I will say no more on that subject. By this post I write my sister, apprising her of my intention regarding Hill House. As I explained to you, she is quite independent of me. I have no confidential solicitor, I enclose an order on my bankers for the documents connected with Hill House, and 1 leave all in your hands. 1 want to sell. Keep the proceeds until you hear again from me, and if I do not write within a year, and the money troubles you, lodge it to my credit. ‘ [ intend reverting to my old wandering life, and will send you an address when I have one. For the present I have none. ‘lf you see Mackenna tell him I will write him in a few days completing the transfer of ‘ The Wasp.’ ‘ With kindest regards to Mrs Blair and Miss Blair.

‘ Believe me, my dear Blair, ‘ Your sincere friend, ‘ Benjamin Mosely.’

‘ poor devel !’ cried Mackenna, going to the window and keeping his face away from his host. ‘ This letter certainly bears out your theory that his flight has been caused by disappointment respecting the future. But it does not help us to square up matters. Harry says the man in the fur coat was not Mosely, and Tandy says it was Mosely.’ ‘ And which of them, do you think, knows Mosely best ? asked Blair, with acerbity. ‘ Harry, of course. But then who flung Groom bridge from the window ?’ ‘What can be plainer? Why the man in the fur coat ! The disreputable friend of Mosely with whom he drove off. This history of the injured burglar exactly confirms my theory. My explanation no longer lacks any link. But there let us drop the matter. I’m sick of the mysteries pf it, and lam not a detective, and do not want to see or hear another detective while I live. I must be off or I shall lose my train,’ said Blair, testily, as he got out of his chair and shook himself, like a man getting ready for vigorous action. ‘ There is neither date nor address on this letter.’ ‘Ho.’

‘ Will you let me look at the envelope ?’ Blair handed it.

‘ It has the Leafield postmark of yesterday. X/eafield is in Kent, twenty or thirty miles away. Thank you, that is enough for me.’ He returned the letter and envelope. ‘What are you going to do ?’ asked Blair frowning. ‘ I will run down to Leafield, se6 Mosely, and tell him how things stand. I promise you I will not mince matters with him. I cannot allow my best friend’s reputation to be ruined by bis good-natured at-

v l ..' rrrr-q tempt : to -screen this T'ftir-COated-scoundrel, whoever he may bfl.’ : | i! .‘ My. dear Mackenna,'' take,tpy advice[ and, follow tke counsel of the proverb, ‘ Let sleeping dogs lie.’ ‘ You are a nice man,’ said Joe, hotly, ‘to give such, advice. Hid you sit down and let sleeping dogs lie and people talk as. they would when Harry’s reputation was at stake ?’

‘ Harry is ray son, and while he was disabled I was naturally his champion. ‘Mosely is my friend, and when his back is turned I am naturally his champion.’ ‘ Blair shrugged his shoulders. • I am afraid I did not show any great activity at the time.’ ‘ Well, such activity as you did display in sending for Tandy resulted in a discovery little short of miraculous, and I am not going to believe that my luck is worse than yours. I have been fairly fortunate all my life—but particularly fortunate of late,’ added Joe, parodying the words which Blair had uttered a short while previously. ‘ And you act on the Christian principle of returning good for evil,’ said Blair, pricking his ears, a smile passing across his face. ‘1 am vanquished. Well, be it so. Perhaps your sister and you will dine with us this evening ?’ ‘I am afraid not. lam most likely to be down the country, in Kent.’ ‘ Mackenna, I don’t dislike you. Good morning.’ Notwithstanding the attraction which The Nook had for Joe, he was out of it in ten minutes. In less than half an hour he had burst in upon Kitty at Olive Lodge and told her all the news in ten minutes as he crammed some clothes into a Gladstone bag. Then when he had carried his bag down to the hall it suddenly occurred to him that although he was quite ready for the road no railway company might have made arrangements to take him at that exact moment to his destination. Upon consulting the A.B.C. Railway Guide he found, that Leafield was in Kent, twenty-six miles from London Bridge, and that no train started for that place until twelve o’clock, and that Leafield. possessed a population of fifteen hundred souls ‘lt will be quite easy, Kitty, to find him in such a place as that, said Joe, confidently, as he pulled his coat and collar straight after his tussle with the bag. ‘ And when you find him what will you do ? Bring him back ?’ she asked, brushing some dust off his shoulders, to which she always felt .proud of being able to reach without any stretching—or with very little. ‘ Bring him back ! He is not a boy—a runaway fiom school—but a big man, bigger than I am, with a very clear notion of his own mind. ‘And,’ said practical. Kitty, ‘if he has such a clear notion of his own mind, how do you think you can influence him ?’

‘ I do not mean to try to influence him by argument or logic. I shall simply squat down before him, and tell him what they are saying about him in town.’

‘ And won’t that make him very angry ?’ ‘ With what ?’ ‘ Oh, I don’t know. With everything.’ ‘ With me ?’

‘ Perhaps.’ ‘ I don’t care about that. He may say what he likes, provided he takes steps to stop this abominable rumour. ‘ And you are not afraid ? Remember he was near killing you once.’ ‘ What are you dreaming about, Kitty, and when was he near killing me ?’

‘ That awful night he drove his brougham over you in the road under his own wall.’

‘ Oh, I forgot that,’ he cried, laughing. ‘ But then you must remember that Mosely does not drive his own brougham, and whoever did —Banks, I suppose —may not have seen me at all.’

‘ Well,’ said she, sighing, folding her little hands in her lap and look-

1n g at h i * I don’,t.Jike ,t|W going at all, an'<rl back as soon as ever you can.- v'What did Mr Blair think'of this expedition P’ ‘ Expedition ! Expedition ! Why do you call a railway journey twenty or thirty miles into Kent by such a fanciful name ? Blair did not think it likely I’d do any good.’ ‘ Neither dp I either, Joe, and if I were yon I’d stay at home. What did Milly say ?’ 4 She agrees with me.’ ‘ Oh, of course, she does ! ’ 4 Then if you knew why did you ask P’ 4 Out of a kind of desperate hope that she might have some sense and not be romantic. But there, there ! I don’t mean to annoy you. You look horribly cross. I wish you were home again safe and sound.’ 4 What absurd creatures women are, to be sure.’ 4 Not at all.’ As Mackenua went into town he turned over in his mind Blair and Kitty’s disapproval of his journey, and although he did not for a moment waver in his determination he felt less hopeful and enthusiastic. He got his ticket and took his seat in a smoking compartment and pondered the case over a pipe. For twelve months he had met Mosely once or twice a week, and though a fortnight ago he would have told any one that he knew Mosely very well he now found upon close examination that, consider mg the closeness of his intimacy, he was but superficially acquainted with his late proprietor. 01 Mosely’s past life he knew very little. The man had never taken him into confidence. He had no idea how he occupied his time. He had never learned the source of Mosely’s wealth beyond the fact that he dealt now and then in precious stones. Mackenna got no easier as he approached Leafield. As he came nearer to the interview he felt less sure about its issue. How would it be if Mosely heard what he had to say with a stare, rose and opened the door for him to go out ? How would it be if Mosely flew into a rage and demanded an apology, demanded satisfaction, demanded nothing at all but flew at his throat without a word of warning ! Here was the train slowing up for Leafield, and a few minutes, an hour anyway, would solve these questions and decide the fate of his 4 expedition.’ Leafield was a small, sleepy old village. A good number of the fifteen hundred people credited to it must, he thought, be in outlying districts. The one hotel of the place knew nothing of any person named Mosely, or of anyone corresponding with a description of him. He was not known at the Post Office or at any one of half a dozen shops at which Mackenna made inquiries.' Could he have disguised himself and changed his name P Nothing more likely. Or might it be that he had merely , been passing through the place and stopped to post his letter ? It might be he had come ten or fifteen miles and posted his letter here to prevent anyone tracing him to his hiding place. Mackenna wondered why he had not thought of all these things before, and began to fear he should not find Mosely quite so soon as he could wish. He had left his bag at the hotel. It was five o’clock before he had exhausted his inquiries. He felt tired and hungry and dispirited. He went back to the hotel to get some food. Having eaten and drunk he felt refreshed and brightened. It was now dark, and he went into the bar to smoke a pipe. All at once he slapped his thigh, and with a preliminary exclamation said, to himself, 4 What a fool I was not to think of that before !’ The landlady, a fragile-looking woman, was in the bar. Mackenna 1 said to her : ' 4 The gentleman I was asking about came to this neighbourhood in a brougham with a black horse and a

■'tall €h i n coae ffiSSifi—

Ob, indeed, that, sir I "Sou did not say anything about the horse and brougham. A strange gentleman, a Mr Mortimer, sold, a horse and brougham to Mr Atkinson, of Holly House.’ ‘And can you tell me where Mr Mortimer lives ?’

‘At Woodbine Cottage, Heronmere, about two miles from this on the toad to Fernshaw.’ ‘ Thank you very much,’ said Mackenna. * Will you be good enough to keep me a bed ? I shall sleep here to-night.’ CHAPTER XXX. At Woodbine Cottage. At the hotel door Mackenna met the ‘ boots.’ From him he learned that Woodbine Cottage, on the Fernshaw Road, stood on the left hand side, about two miles from Leafield, that he could not miss it, and that although there were trees at both sides of the road, Woodbine Cottage was half-way through Heron mere wood. ‘ Are you thinking of walking there this evening, or would you like a fly ?’ asked the boots. ‘ I shall walk, thank you. lam not sure at what houi I may be back. When do you shut ?’ ‘We close the bar at eleven.’ ‘I hope to be here before that.’ ‘ Mackenna turned into the street, and following his directions soon found himself striding along the Fernshaw Road. Xo moon shone, but the stars glimmered brightly in a clear sky. The words of Biair and Kitty had cooled his ardour before he set out from London ; the delay and disappointments at Leafield had produced a feeling of discouragement. In the solitude and quiet and darkness of the country road hope left him. However, he considered himself irrevocably committed to an interview, and he would go on, risking Mosely’s displeasure at his interference. For a time he went on between hedges with fields beyond them. His thoughts had such complete possession of him that he paid no attention to the road. All at once he became conscious that the sound of his footfall had changed. He looked around hastily and found himself closed on both sides by tall, gloomy trees, which stood up voicelessly in the still air. ‘ In the Heronmere Wood already !’ he muttered, with a start.

He pulled himself together, and began humming a tune ; but stopped at once. His voice sounded strange and unatural on that lonely road, and it brought back to his mind all the strange things which had happened since that night ten days ago, when he began humming a tune under the trees on the road between Olive Lodge and The Hook, after passing the mysterious man beneath the walls of Hill House. There was no sound but the beat of his feet, and—yes, he could not now ignore his excitement —the sound of his heart.

Once he thought he heard the crash of breaking branches. Once he thought he heard a roar or cry far off. On each occasion he stood still and listened. On each occasion he heard nothing more. It was with a shock and feeling of consternation he found himself at length abreast his destination, a large, plain, double-fronted cottage standing back in the wood twenty yards from the road.

A light in the room on the right of the door gave him some confidence. Re drew a long breath, gathered himself together, and opening the low wooden gate approached the house with firm step. Finding no knocker, he rapped with his knuckles. A loud exclamation came from within ; then the sound of someone bounding along the passage, and with startling suddenness the door was flung wide open.

Mackenna started back. A tall thin man in a state of wild

excitement stood before him on the threshold, and cried in a guttural ] voice, 4 Have you found him P Have killed him ?’ 1 ‘ Banks! la it you ? What’s the matter ?’ The man cn the threshold shaded his eyes with his hand, and peered into the darkness where Mackenna stood. The light from the candle at the bottom of the passage dimly illumined Joe’s figure. ‘ You ! Mr Mackenna !’ cried the butler, in accents of amazement. ‘ It is you, sir? I thought it was the master. Come this way, sir. I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.’ Joe and Banks were now in a large plainly-furnished sitting room, lighted by a pair of candles bn the chimney piece. On a‘ coimney piece lay a shining revolver. ‘ What on earth is the matter, Banks ?’ asked Mackenna, noticing then that the butler’s hair hung dishevelled about his face, that his clothes were torn, and that there were blood stains on his’ face, his shirt, and his hands. ‘ Oh, Mr Mackenna, this hoiror can’t go on any longer. This awful state of things must be ended to-night. I can, I will stand it no longer. It is more, sir, than man can bear.’ He wrung his hands and pushed his disordered hair out of his eyes, as he stood in front of Mackenna trembling and beating his chest, the full light of the candle falling on his ghastly distorted figure. ‘ What is the matter ?’ cried Mackenna, catching the infection of terror from the butler. ‘You look as if you were mad.’ ‘ I think I am mad—mad with dread. See me.’ He pointed at his torn clothes. He held out his bloodstained hands. ‘ What has happened ?’ shouted Mackenna, putting his hand on Banks’ shoulder, and shaking him fiercely. 4 Speak, man !’ 4 He has got away again, and the fury of blood is in him ! ’ ‘ Who ?’ Banks stared at Mackenna. For a moment he did not offer to reply. Then in a low voice he said : ‘ I thought you knew.’ ‘ I don’t know. Tell me.’ A sudden change came over Banks. All at once he seemed to regain some of his scattered senses. ‘ The master told me he had written all. When I saw you at the door just now I made sure he had sent what he had written to you, and that you had come here in answer to see justice done.’ ‘Mr Mosely has written me nothing. I have come without word or invitation. Who has got away again ? and what has happened F’ Banks pressed his head in both bis bands, making a desperate effort to calm himself, and to collect his thoughts. 4 1 ask you what has happened here ?' repeated Mackenna, shaking the butler more fiercely still. 4 It is not for yon to ask me. It is not for me to tell.’ Mackenna released Banks’ shoulder, and looked at the man. The bntler made a violent effort, and regained comparative composure. ‘Have you come down here,’ he asked, 4 to harm the master or to help him F’ ‘ To fcelp him with all my power.’ 4 Well, I’ll tell you how to help him. There is no use in your asking questions ; I will answer none. When the master himself comes back he may answer you. I have made a slip, and can’t take back what 1 have said to you. There is awful danger when the master’s—what shall I call him — companion gets away. The master is gone into the wood single-handed after him. I will go and help the master. You will stay here. If a stranger to yon comes back in here, and is apparently tractable, bind him with that rope on the chair. If he’s in his rage still, and tries to get nearer you than that table shoot him through the head —through the head, mind. If you shoot him you will do the master more service than if you made him King of England. There’s a revolver. It is loaded. Mind, through the head.’ He took the weapon from the mantel-shelf, and

handed it to Mackenna. ‘ What! Murder ? ’ cried Mackenna, springing back, and throwing the revolver on the table and staring in horror at Banks. ‘Are you mad?’ The butler dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Killing him will be no murder. You’ll shoot him in selfdefence. If he gets near you while the mad fib is on him he’ll kill you.’ Mackenna laughed scornfully, ‘ Why, you idiot, it would be just as much murder as though I shot a man in cold blood!’ ‘To kill him will be no murder,’, whispered Banks, with an intensity Q f meaning that made the young man turn cold withawe and glance furtively around him. Banks wrung his hands in despair and dropped on a seat, glancing furtively at Mackenna. After a long pause Joe broke the silence by say i n g : ‘ls the person you want me to shoot the same that left Hill House in the brougham with your master ?’ ‘I can’t speak. I can tell you nothing.’ But he nodded. ‘.Wearing a boat cloak ?’ Another nod from Banka, ‘ The same that threw Groomoridge from the window of the turret ?’ Another nod. ‘ The same that took up Harry Blair ?’ Another nod. Mackenna stretched out his hand slowly, drew the revolver from the table, and held it in his hand. 4 The man in the fur coat ?’ he inquired, replacing the revolver on the table, Banks nodded vehemently, At that moment an appalling roar shook the cottage. Mackenna bounded back electrified, and stood gazing with dilated eyes at the window opposite him. Flat against the window in the light of the candles lay a tall figure in a fur coat. Instantly, with a deafening crash, the whole frame of the window was burst in. One of the candles blew out as an enormous figure clambered into the room, ‘The madness is on him !’ shrieked Banks. The figure advanced, slowly and clumsily, beating his chest with both arms. ‘ Let him touch you and you are a dead man,’ shrieked Banks. ‘He won’t touch me. Stand back,’ ‘ A deadly chill of horror struck Mackenna. The figure advanced, came within a yard of where Joe stood, and then with another furious roar threw himself upon the young man. Joe felt himself gripped in a deadly embrace. Then he heard two swift pings. The grip relaxed, and the murderous intruder fell heavily to the floor. Mackenna stooped, almost mechanically, and stared at his assailant, The face he found himself gazing upon was not a human face. CHAPTER XXXI. Mabco. The time for breakfast at The Hook was half-past seven o’clock. It was served at the usual hour on Thursday, the twenty-ninth of September. Mr and Mrs Blair were at table, both in the best of spirits, for Harry had enjoyed a good night, and was rapidly recovering. Milly, too, was in good spirits, but she was experiencing a little anxiety concerning her sweetheart. ‘lf Joe hasn’t got back to Norwood, I suppose I shall have a letter from him this morning,’ she thought, as she saw the postman pass the window. There was, however, no letter for Milly. Jane handed Mr Blair the only one—a long, bulky packet, The diamond merchant put on his glasses and stared at the envelope, ‘ Bless my soul !’ he cried, ‘ What can all this be from Mosely ?’ The simplest way to discover what is inside the envelope is to open it,’ said Mrs Blair, Then he began :

‘ Heron mere, Leafield, Kent, ‘ Wednesday.

this desolate region, and I instantly lost all sense of danger. I ont to where the unknown creature had fallen and where the man knelt. ‘ The stranger was stooping overone of the largest apes I had ever seen. 4 The ape was not dead, but he wasbadly wounded in the head. A few swift words and I knew the stranger’s name was Jackson, and he knew my name and was relieved to learn I had’ some surgical knowledge. ‘ Jackson told me he had found theape quite young on the West Coast; had brought it up and made a friend of it. Marco, he said, was more gentle and faithful than a spaniel, and he begged me to do my utmost to repair the evil I had done. ‘ The bullet, I found, had lodged in the brain, and I had no means of extracting it. I promised Jackson toremain with him, and to do my best, though at the time I feared that would be little.

‘ My dear Blair, — ~,‘As my best and most valued friend in England, I wish to place before you certain facts of my life some three years ago before proceeding to explain certain events of the last fortnight in which you and yours are interested.

*I am not about to relate to you the story of my life, but I feel it will be impossible for you to understand my position unless I relate to you a portion of that story.

‘I have—for reasons I need not now explain—decided not to localise exactly the scene of certain incidents beyond saying that it was in an out-of-the-way place in South Africa. ‘ I had been for many years a wanderer and a bit of a misanthrope. You may, or you may not, have heard that I had at one time studied medicine and taken degrees in surgery, but that I had turned my back on ray profession, partly because of a roving fit which seized me, and which I found myself powerless to battle with, and partly because I felt that much as I might care for the higher walks of medicine, I could never have patience to plod through the lower walks, and that as a consequence nothing but disastrous failure would be my lot. ‘But to return to my narrative. I had, after a long and wearying tramp —a solitary tramp, too —decided one evening on a camping-ground. I had no companions. I was on foot. I carried no baggage save a knapsack, some provisions, my rifle and ammunition. My camping-ground was “ituated hard by a swiftly-rushing stream. I lit a fire, cooked some food, and had a hasty meal just as the sun went down. I was quite worn out by my day’s tramp, and I was about to settle myself <to sleep when I thought I heard a rustling in the bush close at hand. I stretched out noiselessly for my rifle, and kept my eyes fixed in the direction of the sound. ‘ For a while all was still. Then I heard the noise again—this time there was no doubt about it; my senses were playing me no trick. Some large animal was moving in the undergrowth about a hundred yards in front of me, parallel with the bank of the stream.

‘ I was in a part of the country in which I did not expect to find a man, and the larger beasts there were not to be despised or trifled with. The glare of ray fire was in my line of sight, so I dropped on my knees and moved to the right in order to have a clearer view. As I did so, something began to move forward directly towards me out of the bush.

‘ The light was not good enough to enable me to see by what kind of creature I was menaced. I could make out, however, that its size would make it formidable at close quarters. Therefore it must not come to close quarters. Had I been in Western Africa I should have felt almost sure the creature was one of a tribe of the larger apes ; but apes of no kind, large or small, inhabited this part of the country.

‘ As the beast—whatever it was—advanced, I raised ray rifle and covered it. Suddenly it occurred to me that it might be a man crawling towards me on all fours, and prevented by the darkness from seeing I was on my guard. ‘ I called out loudly. The creature in front of me did not pause. I still kept my rifle to my shoulder. Another moment and I saw it was not a man. I fired. The beast rose, stood upright for a moment, beating its breast with both arras and uttering terrific roars. Then it staggered and fell. ‘ Before 1 had time to slip in a new cartridge a man bounded from the bush holding his arms aloft, and shouting ‘ Don’t fire ! Don’t fire ! ’ ‘ The stranger advanced at a run, but did not come as far as where I stood. He stopped short beside the prostrate figure of the wounded beast crying out ‘ Oh, Marco, my poor Marco ! ’

‘ It .vas an intense relief, a pleasure almost, to near the English tongue in

‘ However, the wound healed, and I suppose owing to my careful tendering of the creature, Marco soon began to display the most extraordinary affection for one who had gone very near to putting an end to his existence..

Jackson and I soon became fast friends. He told me he had been prospecting for diamonds. I assured him I had always taken a special interest in precious stones, and he found 1 did know something about them. I was soon infected with the diamond fever which possessed my chum. We spent a good deal of our time grubbing in the bed of the stream, on the banks of which he had built his hut. He never told me hia history, but I gathered he was, for some good reason of his own, in no hurry to return to England.

* I remained with the man for about two months, during which time we explored the country for miles around—sometimes alone, sometimes together—but did not find much, in the shape of diamonds, to reward our labours. Jackson was a fine, stalwart, north-country man, of whose life one might reasonably have taken a lease ; but one evening, to my intense surprise and pain, I returned to the hut, after an absence of a few days spent in solitary prowling, to find him in the grip of a deadly fever.

‘ln his reasonable moments he seemed more concerned more for his, companion, Morco, than for anything else on earth, and I found it soothed him to promise, in the presence of the ape, that I would be a good master to Marco if rhe fever carried his first master off.

‘ One afternoon I was seated by the side of my dying chnm—l knew there was no hope for him—when he roused himself and vehemently implored me to swear I would never part with Marco. ‘ You know you nearly killed him in ignorance, as it were,’ he went on,. ‘ And then you saved his life, and he is fonder of you now than ever he was of me. Your task will be easy enough. For years I have had no companion but the creature.’ Jackson then wandered off' into ramblings, through the maze of which I could not follow him, but soon he returned to the old groove, and readily enough did I swear to protect the ape, for I had myself a great liking for the huge docile creature. ‘ I have no relative living—no one about for whom 1 care a straw,’ said the dying man. ‘ You are the only friend I possess, and as I am pegging out fast, I have something to tell you,, something to give you before I go. I told you we might find diamonds in this stream. Since you came we have found none ; I had been here a month before we met. The first week I was here I found slones. A lot, a fortune. They are not of much use to me now,’ he sighed. ‘ I buriedi them in the trampled sand at the doorway. Dig them up, they are yours. Yours and Morco’s.’ ‘ Under the sand of the doorway I found wrapped in a piece of shirt more diamonds than I could hold in both hands.’

‘ Jackson died that night. I buried him under the floor of the hut

And cleaied out with Marco for the nearest town.

‘For the greater part of my life T have been a homeless wanderer, and a lonely man. I never married. I have never had a close friend, ray dear Blair, except I may so regard yourself, and my chum Jackson, rny whole acquaintance with whom did not cover three short months of my life. I have never owned cat or dog —never had a single creature I could call my own or for whom I had any deep affection. ‘ Until I settled down in London ■within the last couple of years my sister had been a stranger to me since my youth. No living being had ■displayed any real affection for me until I met Marco, the ape. The affection the creature evinced for me over-whelmed my lonely nature, until his docility and his devotion began to be an exquisite pain. ‘I had never lost my interest in science, and I had kept fairly level with the enormous progress of surgery in our days ; and before 1 had reached the confines of civilisation I had made up my mind to attempt something which, so far as I knew, had never yet been attempted in surgery. I would try if, in removing the foreign substance from the brain and relieving the dullness and pain from which Marco suffered, and which appealed to me with such agonising pathos, 1 could perform such an operation as would increase his intelligence. It may be that the position of the bullet suggested the operation ; but, be this as it may, the idea grew upon me and dominated me.

‘ Well, my dear Blair, I find myself .getting on so slowly with my history that if I do not make some effort to condense what remains of it I shall become an intolerable bore. * At the end of three weeks’ tramp, Marco and I reached a large town. Here I was able to procure the instruments and assistance which I needed for my contemplated operation ; and it was at this time I fell in with Banks, and took him into my confidence.

‘ What the final operation was I do not say. Ido not intend now or at any future period to give any particulars. My secret is mine, and must die with me. For all the wealth of the world I would not place in the hands of any man the power of lifting the awful veil that hangs between the brute and man. Here I will content myself with saying that from a surgical point of view my operations were successful, and that when they were over, and when the wound had healed, Marco had crossed the mysterious borderland! ‘lf there is any pity in your soul, pitty me! ‘ On the fourth night after my final operation, I became aware for the first time of the awful change in the ape. I was watching him to see that he did not interfere with the bandages. It was past midnight, and we were alone.

‘ Marco was strapped down, for although perfectly quiet and obedient when awake, he would wriggle and writhe in his sleep, and his strength was so great that if he became very restless it was necessary to awake him lest he might burst the bonds and injure himself in his struggles. ‘ All at once, as I stood gazing at him, he began to twist and turn. I roused him turning the light of the lamp up a little. Marco opened his eyes slowly. I was struck with some peculiar sensation of indefinable terror as I watched the ape struggling to open wide his eyes. In a tew moments, I saw those eyes staring at me, a light in them I had never noticed before. Then with a mighty effort he snapped the leather straps which bound him, as if they were paper, sat up in the bed, and seizing my hand uttered the word ‘ Master ‘ At first I could not believe I had heard aright. I drew my hand away, affrighted beyond words. Some delirious whispering, I tried to persuade myself, was in my ears. But the ape slowly and cumbersomely seized my hand again, repeating the word ‘ Master ’ slowly. 4 From that moment to this I have

looked upon Marco as a human being, whom it would be murder to kill. From that moment I have felt a responsibility for him such as an affectionate father might feel for a beloved son whose reason was unsound, and who might at any time commit an act at which the world would stand aghast. ‘ In the wilds of Africa, I regarded the creature’s life as inviolable, partly because of my oath to my dead chum , in the town J regarded Marco’s life as ten thousand times more inviolable tham if 'it were protected by ten thousand oaths. Now his life was sacred by reason of the awful humanity he had acquired.

‘ I cannot tell whether I loved or hated him now ; but I feared him with a fear such as I had never before dreamed of, and such as I hope no other son of the race of Adam will ever know.

‘ Gentler and gentler he became, and when his wound' was healed I could govern him by a wave of my hand, a glance of my hand. It afflicted me beyond words that he was so gentle. If he had been rough, intractable, ferocious, I could have steeled my heart against the monster. I could only feel pity for him, and for my own part I endured such misery as I believe no human soul ever knew.

‘ The time at my disposal now and the anguish I experienced make it necessary that I should not dwell further on this period of life.

‘ Four months after Marco Banks and T landed at Amsterdam. I sold my rough diamonds for a large sum and returned to England. I left Marco and Banks in a quiet village on the Southern Coast, came on to London and took a house at Bloomsbury. I found my sister Rachel, told her I was going to settle down, and asked her to look after the place, Later as I need scarcely remind you. I took Hill House, and to it (unknown to anyone except Banks) I conveyed Marco and lodged him on the top room of the turret. The floor underneath, the third floor, I furnished as a library and study, and there I spent most of my time. I put a telescope on the roof to afford an excuse for visiting the turret at any hour of the night.

‘ Whether it was the close confinement in which Marco was kept in the turret ot not I cannot say, but very shortly he began at irregular intervals to break out into ungovernable fits ot fury, during which he would tear and rend everything on which he could lay hands. During the dreadful paroxysms Banks, with whom he was usually docile, and whom even in his mad moments he refrained from attacking, had no power over him. Nothing would on such occasions quiet him except my presence.

4 One night some months ago he escaped during one of these wild fits of fury. That night a cottage in Selfton Lane was broken into, and one of the dwellers in the cottage so fearfully mauled that soon afterwards he died. I knew nothing, but. I had a horrible surmise. Why did I not shoot or poison Marco then, you may ask P I have failed to impress upon you how I felt towards him, if you need any answer. I could no more harm him than I could a helpless child. Why did I not make public the fact that he was at large that night ? To what purpose ? It would only have been locking the stable door when the horse was stolen. Besides, remember, I knew nothing. I found Marco that night sullen and crestfallen in the grounds of Hill House. But I knew nothing.

4 Bat the breaking loose gave me a horrible shock. A new terror filled me. I tried to banish from my mind that Marco had anything to do with the affair in Seftou Lane. (Yoa may remember that it was thought the man Groombridge had died from the effects of a fall). Bat suppose Marco broke loose again and was seen about the place again, all kinds of rumours might be circulated. I did not want people to say Hill House was haunted or that evil things dwelt in the turret, for at the time I had other notions (to which I need not now refer)

about the future government of Hill House. I was in no fear that Marco could ever be captured for he had the strength of any five men, and with one blow of his arm he could breaka man in two. But if it did get about that such a creature was concealed in my house it might lead to all sorts of awkward consequences. I got a fur coat made for myself, as like as I could find to his coat in texture and colour, so that if there chanced to be any talk of seeing him I might come forward as the person seen.

‘On the nineteenth of this month you and Mrs Blair and Miss Blair dined with us. At dinner Banks whispered that Marco had again escaped. I don’t know how I bore myself, but I felt as if I were going there and then to shriek out my agonising secret.

1 Banks had my coat ready. I slipped into it, and with a prayer to heaven to guide my steps I set out in search of the fugitive. ‘ I went hither and thither in every direction, like one distraught, as indeed I was for a time. No trace of Marco could I find in the grounds. I struck off in the direction of Sefton lane, but found there. I came round by Olive Lodge. Nothing there. Towards midnight I was outside your fence, but could find no trace there. Then I went along the road from your place to mine. That was when Mackenna saw me. ‘ I wandered about the roads and the fields a little longer, more like a man in a dream than aught else. I thought I should have gone clean mad, but my reason did not give way. At last, almost worn out by the bodily and mental strain I had been enduring.’ I decided to return home. Perhaps, I thought, Marco has returned, and all is well, and I have been troubling myselt for little or no purpose. As I reached my gate the brougham was driving in with Banks on the box. He got down and told me his story. ‘ When you and your family left Hill House he went out into the grounds to watch, and he had not been long there when he saw Marco coming out of the shrubbery carrying a large burden —what the burden was he could not at the time make out.

‘ The ape made straight for the turret, and ascended by the waterpipe which winds up by the landing windows. To Banks’s horror he could now see that what Marco was carrying was a man whom he was holding by the legs. Banks darted into the turret, and flew upstairs.

‘ When he reached the fourth storey he found Marco sitting down quietly in his room, and by his side on the floor an insensible man. The fury of the ape had evidently spent itself. He allowed himself to be pinioned without a struggle. By the light of a match Banks saw, to his utter dismay, that the man on the floor was your son Harry.

‘ For a while he did not know what to do. At last he thought of the brougham which had taken you home. This seemed to him the best and easiest way out of the appalling difficulty. He carried your son downstairs, and when the coachman came back made some excuse for wanting the brougham for me, and secretly put Harry into it, drove to The Hook, and left Harry at his own hall door.

‘ 1 have read in the newspapers accounts of the finding of the emerald. Tt is, indeed, an unlucky gem. It must have fallen out of Harry’s pocket into the gutter as Marco topped the parapet. That is the only explanation I can give of the mystery —if there be any mystery now.

‘ When I went over to you that morning, believe me, my dear Blair, I bad no notion things were so serious as I knew them afterwards to be. I thought Harry had been stunned by being carried up to the top of the turret, |and I scarcely knew how on earth I was to go about giving you any reasonable explanation of my share, or ray suspected share, in the transaction; Marco being amenable

when Banks found him made me quite confident he had done no serious injury to Harry, for, as I have said, the creature's normal state was one of extreme gentleness. I did not know that Harry had been robbed, or that the emerald was missing. How he came to be attacked and robbed — for lam confident Marco did not attack him—is still a mystery to me. I most sincerely hope the injury to his head was not caused by my wretched Marco, and for all the suffering that has come to you through that miserable creature of mine, I most earnestly ask your pardon, ‘ When I saw you on the morning of the twentieth, I insisted on having my say first, for I felt sure the matter I wished to speak about would be unapproachable if once we discussed the affair about Harry. You know how headlong I am once I get an idea into my head. I decided before visiting you that morning to take Marco out of Hill House, but 1 found ray resolution to part from the creature wavering until I had some words with Mackenna on my way home. Then I made up my mind that the move should take place at once, so I rented a cottage in this out-of-the-way place. ‘ Some little time before setting out for Heron mere I got a letter from Mackenna announcing his engagement to your daughter. 1 wrote to him and to you before setting out. I had decided to travel by night, and with only Marco for my companion, and Banks for coachman I set out from. Hill House at ten o’clock. We had scarcely started when Marco showed peculiar and unmistakable signs of insubordination, and we were hardly clear of the grounds when, for the first time, he defied me. The more I tried to soothe him the more violent he grew, and finally, after a brief, fierce struggle, he escaped.

‘ For a while he eluded us. Then we saw him cleai the walls of Hill' House and make directly for the turret. We were after hi mas quickly as possible, but it took us a considerable time to reach the house and get to the top of the turret, into which he had apparently forced his way by breaking open the heavy door. ‘ And now, my dear Blair, I think I have told you all— ’ Blair was interrupted by a cry from Milly— ‘ Here’s Joe !’ There had been many interruptions previously, but this one, coming just at the end of Mosely’s long letter, and promising even later news than that letter contained, all rose to their feet, Blair dropping the manuscript as he turned to greet the visitor. ‘ You were reading his letter, I see,’ said Mackenna, pointing to the scattered sheets on the floor.

‘ I think with the exception of a postscript about something he had only just seen in the papers I had finished that most extraordinary communication,’ said Blair.

‘ I am the bearer of the real postscript,’ said Joe. ‘lt ought, of course, to be brought by a woman as it is the most important part of the communication : Banks shot the accursed ape last night . . . Don’t look so terrified all of you! ’

As two newly-married couples were on their way out of the porch of the little Norwood Church one blight morning in May, Joe Mackenna. turned away a moment from Milly, who was on his arm, and said to his sister Kitty, who was on Harry Blair’s arm :

‘You see Kitty,’ he said, ‘ I was a true prophet ’ ‘ What is he saying ?’ asked Harry. ‘ Oh, he once said something about Milly and me changing names the same day.’ ‘ But you signed Katherine Mackenna, and I signed Millicent Blair,* said Milly. ‘ Well, well,’ put in John Blair, with a smile. ‘ No one minds what girls do on an occasion like this.’ ‘lt may be forgiven now, girls,* added Mrs Blair; ‘ But it mustn’t occur again.’

(The End.)