THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER

Stratford Evening Post, Issue 81, 3 February 1928, Page 3

THE HOUSE ON THE RIVER

BY FRED M, WHITE. Author of "The Cardinal Moth," "The Crimson Blind," "The Man Called GiJrAy,". etc., etc CHAPTER. SKELETON AT THE FEAST. And so the hours dragged on wearily, till the Saturday afternoon ot the big golf dinner at the Leinster Rooms. .It wa s going to be a great night in the golfing world, and many ladie s . would be present in the gallery. It hadbeen arranged that if all went well, Ennie was to he one of them, and, indeed, Quint had seen to it that she was allotted a prominent seat. It was just before dinner lind Ennie had come down, changed for that meal, when there came a knock at the front door of the flat, and Quint's friend, Somerest, almost stumbled in. _ His face was white and wet, his lips unsteady, and he wined his hands nervously on a handkerchief. 'At the sight of him Ennie felt her heart sink within her. "Come inside, Ted," she said "I am afraid you have very bad news for me." Somerset groaned. He was. a tall, slender, young m>m, with all the alert keenness of the athlete, slightly marred by a rather weak, sensitive mouth, and a none too prominent chin. The sort of man, in fact, to fail at a pinch. But his eyes were clea'r iand honest enough, and Emnie's heart_ went out to him, not so much, for his own sake as for that of Margaret Quint. She knew the'bond of sympathy between them. "Sit down," she said. "Will you have—" Someresr waved the proffered cigarette aside almost imrjvtiently. "I couldn't," he groaned.' "It would coke me. Now, you know all about it, Ennie. Mike came to see me the night before last, and told me that you knew everthing. Well, the blow has fallen. There's a warrant out for our ia.rre.st, and it may be executed a'fc nnv moment. They may even have followed me here." Ennie pressed her lips together. It was no time for emotion, no time for any maudlin sympathy. "I am sorry, Ted," she mumured. "More sorry than I can tell you. But that you know. Now, what lire you going to do " Somerset laughed with a certain hitter helplessness. "What can J do?" he asked. "Ennie, those devils are too clever for us, we're like rats caught in n trap. Thpiv'll prove their case. and Mike and myself will <?o to ja'il for years. There is no other way of looking at it. It's the vilest conspiracy ever coucoted. And all my work for the last three years will go to those scoundrels."

"But wli.it are you going to do?" Ennie tasked.

"1? Nothing. I'm just going to take it ais it comes, and make the best of it. If Mike weren't in this tiling I should let those blackguards walk off with all my work, and cut my loss for the sake of my freedom-" Ennie looked at the speaker with a certftin pity that is not quite free from contempt. It was just as Mike had prophesied—Somerset had collapsed when the pinch came, and yet ho was iiot a coward. He was a fine sportsman who hid done fine things, and this strain of weakness was no fault of his. "I didn't want Mike to fight," lie weint on. "I wanted him t.u cut his loss. But I knew he wouldn't. He would rather fight it out to the hitter end. You see, old Mike's the sort of chap who never knows when he's beaten." "And he isn't going to 'be beaten now," Ennie cried. "But he must, my dear girl, ho must. Mike goes his wuy, and J go> mine. My idea is to go to my roo-ma and wait there till they come for ine." It wa's hopeless to argue with a man distracted and driven, and in. Somerset's frame of mind. "Doeis Mike know this?" Ennie asked. "No, ho doesn't," Somerset replied.. "And I can't find him. You'll have to do it, Ennie. I can't go to that accursed dinner to-night, I can't. But if they haven't a'rrested Mike c he will turn up—old Mike will bluff it out to the finish. Ho knows you'll be there in the gallery, and you must contrive to warn him. You can manage that, can't you?"

"I will mlam&ge it," Ennie "only I must do it in my own way. She sat there thinking for some time after Somerset had gone, with a weight at her heart, and a reeling almost akin to despair. Then her native coinage came back to licr, and she shook off the troubles that oppressed her, and 1 , having forced herself to eat something, took a taxi presently and went off to the Leinster Rooms. She found her seat in the gallery, a corner seat in the front row where she could look down into the hall, aind wUtch that brilliant array of sportsmen over their meal. It was some little time before she could make out the figure of Michel Quint, and her heart leapt in the knowledge that he was still at liberty. There were three long tables running down the room, a'nd about the centre of the second table facing her was Quint. Opposite him, with his hack to the gallery, Ennie could make out the slightly bald head and thin grey locks of Enderby. The man who sat next to him whs not unlike him in age and appearance, and Enme's nimble mind jumped to the conclusion that this was probably the capitalist, .John Claw. She was to learn later that she was right. The dinner had come to an cud and the speeches had begun before Ennie mannged to attract Quint's attention. He gave her a sign and a little later on rose from the table in a casual way and sauntered round to the gallery. The. few seats next to Ennie were unoccupied, so that they could talk without being overheard v by anyone near at hand, > "What is it?" Quint murmured. ] "It is bad news, Ennie. I can see it in vour eyes." _ J "The very worst," Ennie whispered "Ted Somerset came to see in,e Just "now in a terribl ° state - Tll ° warrant has been issued, and you miiy bo arrested at any moment.'' Not a muscle of Quint's lace changed(To be continued;.