The Innocent Accomplice

Taranaki Daily News, 14 April 1932, Page 12

The Innocent Accomplice

BY.

ETHEL F. HEDDLE

CHAPTER XXlll.—(Gontd.).

No, she felt she could not go to bed. She asked herself if it was possible Ted had not got off?' That he was wounded! They had found nothing—no clue to his whereabouts. But, of course, they all knew the thief was Belton. No one had seemed to suspect her of any knowledge of the affair. She had not been questioned. Mrs Trevor, she understood, had answered for her. She said her maid had been with her. Mrs Trevor, of course, . would as soon suspect the Admiral. 'Peggy ate the biscuit and then took her little hat and slipped out. of the «ide door. She was privileged, and no one would say anything. Mrs Trevor had hade her go to bed—she was sure Peggy had a headache, she looked so pale. But is was lovely in the park under the trees, and the girl strolled on and on, and into the coppice near the road after she left the Admiral’s grounds. The moon sailed .in a sky of exquisite ultramarine, on which were little.flecks of filmy white.’ It was a silvery globe of argent light. The girl looked up and envied the peace of the sky, and the glittering stars. How would it end? Would Ted be caught? Imprisonment? And If they; found-out’ he got away from' her room—and implicated her? Her mother—her poor mother! Peggy was “taking counsel with her fears." Her father had said not to do that, to “take counsel with hope.” But how could she hope? She would—try. She started then. She heard something like a low whistle. It came from a big bush at the side of the coppice. Standing there, beside a grey, lichen-clad boulder, was the figure of a man—an old man apparently—he wore a white beard. Behind on the road—deserted now—there was the outline of a dark car—: i two-seater.

The man advanced . and Peggy looked up, scared and white, into Chips’ eyes. She knew him at once. He had many disguises but Ms eyes were always the same.

“This is luck,” he said in his soft voice. “And good luckl Fortune favours the brave—'that is me—and the fair—that is you, Peggy! To think' of meeting you 1 Here, and, Hone!” '

"I came out," Peggy faltered. “I love the woods.” 1 “Hoping to meet Belton? Wherei to' Belton, Peggy?” “I don’t kflow,” she cried. “I< don’t know. What are you doing! here? Why didn’t you help him? Don’t you know where he is?” She almost wrung her hands. He leemed «o cool,- so indifferent. “Of course I don’t know,” he said scornfully. “Or do you think I’d be lurking about here putting my valuable head into the lion’s mouth? I; came to look for him, and try end find oiit facts. Look here, Peggy, let me get at the hang of this. Wnai ijs the last you know? Ted got off with , the case of pearls when that cursed alarm went off. I had to slip away. What happened; then? He paid at the worst he’d, get down by the',ivy under your room. . Now, put me wise as to ■what. happened. I had to make for the woods and heard nothing—pretty quickly, too. Bui Ted'had just time to say he’d follow with the last case." : “He—he got shot, they . say,” Piggy wailed. “That boy, Neil, had his gun, and saw a figure, and shot, and said he ‘winged’ the thief. But I’ve heard and seen nothing, and it is driving me mad 1” “Oh, drop that I He probably did get away. Ted’s clever, and he’s plucky. He’s, hiding somewhere, no doubt. Lying low, with the pearls. < “There Is no place here to hide him,” Peggy cried. “No one would hide him. They all know he did it. They would give him up.” “He must be hiding,” Chips said coolly, “for he’s in none of our places. No one has seen him. And if he’s been seriously hurt—l don’t believe the little fool got him—he’d have been found. I came here because 1,, fancied he might be somewhere in these woods. There’s an old ice house that might have come in handy. I took a look—” he did not tell Peggy that he had seen blood-stains in the corner. She would probably weep and call out. “Look here, what are you doing and saying at the house? They haven’t got any idea that you knew him?” He looked at her consideringly for a- moment. “If there is any chance of that you’d better get away. I cbuld send you a wire from town saying your mother was ill.” She shrank away from him. She would take no suggestion of Chips. Seen to work with him; accept his aid!

... “No, I shall not go,’’ she said. “After all, he may he here—somewhere—and I might help him still.” "Pious little Peggy! Help the thief!" “He was never a thief till he knew and met you," she, cried passionately. “You got him in your toils and ruined him- Ted was a dear before he knew you. Only a little wild and fond of adventure, hut not wicked-— or criminal.” ' “Oh, of course, a mother’s darling!" he jeered. “And with such a father —hadn’t he? Why, his father was one of the cleverest crooks in the country! Deceived his own wife, they say. Your precious father didn’t realise he was marrying the widow of a crook, did he? Or did she tell him. Well, never mind that, but you keep your tongue civil, Peggy. Alison, and he grateful to me for ©omlng here to look after him. I’ll be off now. I disguised myself a bit, but I daren’t stop here. That girl at the Angler’s Rest has got her knife Into you all right, and she’ll do you a had turn If she can. She’s sure you had a hand in the affair at England’s.” He laughed softly. •‘♦And so you had, Peggy, you know, so you had! Ted told me about it. Nicely scared you’d been if we’d found you instead of Ted!" He laughed softly again, Peggy stared at him with a kind of hoc- ' “Well, I’ll go now,” he said. But, look here, I’ll give you a safe address you can write to if anything happens. Let me know if he turns tin and is in any hole. They’ve got that chap Blake down, and he knows me and would give his ears to nao me. So long, Peggy! Write there |f you want me—and keep your pecker gjpi” He put an envelope into her hand and walked off rapidly, getting into the car. In a few moments Peggy could hear the soft whirr as it sped down the road to the village. She felt eick and cold; Chips always terrified her. He was like a malignant snake. ■But she was thinking of something he had said about looking in the' old lee house. Was it possible Ted could have gone there? She remem-

bered a. conversation one night at dinner in the servants’’ hail, and someone speaking of the old ice house, and how it was said to be haunted by the ghost of the Admiral’s grandfather. Ted had listened.. Someone—Southgate, she thought—had said he wouldn’t near the place after dark, no one would! Suppose he had crept, or would creep back there? Remembered the conversation? She knew where It was and walked up and went in. Bright moonlight flooded the door, and the green steps leading down, and Peggy stared at something she suddenly espied, half hidden behind a stone In one corner—a little bit of an old handkerchief, stained with blood. She took it up to the door and examined it, pale and trembling.

If—if Ted had been there? Was wounded? But, if so—-had he escaped? Where- Oh, where? She knew it was late, and thrusting the piece of rag in her pocket she got back to the park, and then home. The side door was 'still open and she slid in meeting Miss Pendreth, the housekeeper, in the passage. The good woman was going to bed with a tumbler of hot milk in her hand. “It’s late, my girl, to be out alone,” she said rather curtly. “Madam said you’d gone to bed. 'Sometimes odd characters, gipsies and such-like are about in the woods. I don’t think you should go out so late. It doesn’t look well.” •

- “I won’t—go again,” Peggy falter-, ed timidly. f She went up the back stairs to her room, and there sat down toy the open ; window and looked again at the stained rag. Then she put it in the grate; and burnt it. She could see Chips',! wicked face and hear his mocking' voice. She could not sleep. |; Blake was strolling down the village' street very late. He had been reconnoitring the little country town, and had made rather a long call on Briggs, the glazier, who had not sent a man to .the Manor to repair the broken pane. “That .was Chips’ work,” the detective said to himself ruefully. “I know his glazier touch. He’s done it before —and gone off with all the maids’ savings, including the cook’s, as he went downstairs. Chips does up very well as a glazier;"and does the work well, too. • He’s clever as paint!” He even smiled as he thought. Then a sound attracted him from the ductor's house. Two men at the door, talking, one a tall man. The house was in the centre of the street. Blake was a little curious, and he slipped up on the other side of the street, then crossed, and walking very softly took his stand behind the creeper-covered porch which abutted on the pavement. He liked to hear everything going on. One never knew when one picked up an odd clue. “Sure you won’t like me to come in and take a look at your friend?” the doctor’s pleasant Scots voice said. “Not yet!” the other-shook his head. “He’s cranky about doctors. I’ll ’phone up, if necessary. Thank you tor the draught and other things. And—you won’t mention my call, doctor?” “Certainly not!”

“Bodley is a talkative place,” the other said lightly. “Well, goodnight, doctor. Sorry if I disturbed you over your toddy.” He laughed and stepped on the path. “That’s all right, Mr England. I take it ■coldl” “Mr England!" Blake cocked his ears.

What was “Mr England” doing at the doctor’s so late? A “friend" was ill, apparently—at the Maze—a f‘lend I But why come like this, himself? Why not send for the doctor? Michael England was rich enough, and his generosity was well known. It was odd. There was something secret about it.

He considered the matter, and half hesitated. Should he pump the doctor? Go In with some chimerical disease? Or tell the truth—that he was pursuing his case and was %in deep water? He shook 'his head.

He knew 1 Spence, had met him before. A hard-headed, taotiturn, dour Scot, who would tell him nothing, and would see through any chimerical disease. Probably snub him fiercely. Scots had no manners! Blake shook his head and went on back to the inn. He must go up to the Manor next day and report about the glaiier, see if they had heard anything. Belton’s disappearance Avorried him, for all the London haunts were known and watched, and both Belton and Chips seemed for the present not to be there. He went in to bed, and the village fell' into silence. But the doctor, closing the door of a medicine cabinet, was shaking his head also.

“A queer cage 1 Why doesn’t he let me go up ? ‘A friend’ ? Odd 1' With anyone but Michael England—he’s such a good fellow—'l’d say it sounded fishy! Real-fishy!” Then he, too, went to bed. CHAPTER XXIV. “The Girl He Loved.”

“Look here, Rosemary. That fellow Blake has been up, and I—l wanted to tell you something. Consult you!” Rosemary looked up from her novel. It was the hour she “rested"—when, she said, the guests liked getting away from her— and she from them. The Admiral’s tone was odd—it was troubled, and his keen old eyes, as they rested on her, seemed worried and anxious, almost afraid.

"All right, dear old hoy!” she -said, and stretched a white hand towards him lovingly. “Come and sit down here, and tell me all about it. But if it’s the pearls, don’t you worry. Mrs Silas P. doesn’t! 'She says 'her ‘old stick,’ as she calls him, has made I don’t know how many millions of dollars In a new deal, and will give her more pearls if these don’t turn up. It’s nothing to rich people—a few pearls. I don’t want you worried, or to lose a night’s Sleep." t (To ua co.-ynuea.)