THE PRISONER AT THE BAR

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 16379, 4 March 1919, Page 8

THE PRISONER AT THE BAR

FASCINATING STORY OF MYSTERY AND LOVE.

By RALPH RODD,

Author of “Whispering Tongues,” “Little Lady Mystery,” “Under False Colours,” “A Marriage by Capture,” “A Step in the Dark,” etc., etc.

CHAPTER V,

He was not a blustering bully ; blustering bullies are only bunglers, after all. Neither was Arthur Collimvode a particularly wicked man, but merely an unprincipled one who had somehow failed to make a success of life. His affairs were in a precarious state, ho needed money, if possible more than he had done at any period of his life before. And now, just when he thought he saw a chance of obtaining it, he was threatened with failure owing to the interposition of an insignificant girl. It was not even as though Jane Quarley had any right to interfere. The late Windovor Smylo’s affairs wore none of hers. He had paid her for such services as she had rendered, and, of course, she would expect his executor to pay her whatever was still owing. That executor was, for the time being, her employer, and yet she dared The man put a strong restraint upon himself. He had not lived with Amelia for fifteen years for nothing. “Now, just listen to me, .Miss Quarley,” he began in that tone of enforced patience men reserve for unreasonable women and sullen children. “Mr. Smyle, by making me his executor, paid the highest tribute he was able to my discretion—showed he trusted me, in fact.”

They both knew' that it was not so. One guessed, and the other was perfectly aware that .Mr. Smyle had but trusted his son-in-law with the shell after the kernel had boon extracted.

“Now, it follows,” the speaker went on “that the oid man intended mo to go through all his papers so as to get a thorough grasp of everything. He could not possibly know that the more valuable, or perhaps I should say the more intimate of his papers, were to be destroyed at the time of his death, by an unfortunate accident.”

Jane had returned to the contemplation of her shoes. She didn’t want to look up at his face, it frightened her. And she didn’t want to bo frightened, because that would inevitably sap her courage. She needed all her valour to go on with the task to which she had sot her hand.

“Well,” continued ColJinwode, smoothly, “it would seem that you, owing to your position as my late father-in-law’s secretary, can supply much of the information I require.” Jane did not know what to siiy, so she wisely said nothing. The man would much rather have had her make some sort of retort, because it is easier to argue with than to harangue an obstinate young woman.

“I’m sure you will see my point,” he continued, after the briefest of pauses. “Mr. Smyle always spoke highly of your sound commonsense. Como, Muss Quarley, ho' reasonable.”

“Not in the way you mean,” Jane returned. Then she added a most decisive “No,” accompanied by a little shako of her head which her companion found infinitely irritating. “I don’t think you know* what you’re saying.” Ho realised that she had not said much, and ho added: “I mean you don’t understand how utterly ridiculous the position you’re taking up is.” Jane re-crossed her feet. They wore rather shabby little shoos, somewhat rubbed at the toes.

“I’m not a bit of good at arguing,” she remarked, “and I’m not going to try. You needn’t go ou yourself, either, because it won’t make a bit of difference. I’ve told you all I’ve got to say.”

She got up as she spoke. She bad certainly not grasped the change in their relationships. She had for so long been to all intents and purposes the mistress of the house that perhaps she rather looked on the son-in-law as the interloper.

“I haven’t finished yet,” lie said. Amelia Collimvode would have known what to oxpet if he had spoken to her in that one. “You can sit down again; I’ll tell you when you may go.” She remained standing, her hand on the back of a chair. She wasn’t going to sit clown at his bidding. Ho came a step nearer. “I want to bo your friend,” the man said. It surprised her that he should still bo able to speak as quietly as that, “I want to bo your friend because I understand you are peculiarly friendless. Ton had not a very successful time of it before you mot Mr. Smyle; in rather low water wdien ho took compassion on yon, were you not?” She hated him for reminding her of that, not that it w'as a fact she ever shut her eyes to. She was friendless, she had not been successful, the w*ater in which she had tried to sail her little barque so bravely had run very low. But it wasn’t for this man to try to recall it all, and if 1m must he need not have done so with such ill-concoalcd satisfaction.

“There was, however, just one point m your favour,” the man ran on. “It was true you had no friends, but you had no enemies either.” She glanced up with a little frown. Enemies? Why should a girl who had done no harm to anyone have enemies ?—“Don’t force me to be your enemy.” He spoke so quietly that just for a moment it was difficult to realise that what he said was threat. “If you do, Miss Quarley, you will have cause to regret it to the very last day of your life.” Ho did not place lus hands on licr’s, but ho lot his clenched fist fall on the back of the chair where her hand lay. “I’m not a pleasant sort of enemy to have,” he said, “not one of the relenting kind. You’ll never got away from me. 1 will make it my business to see that you never succeed in anything you take up. I shall treat you as a thief who has run olf with valuables that belonged to me—and-by jeve! I shan’t be far wrong.” Threats. Just threats. No wise man or woman cares for threats. That was what Jane told herself. The pity is that the heart cannot always keep pace with the brain. Common sense—she had heaps of common sense, had little Jane Quarley—told her one thing, that hear; of her’s another. It was a battle between the two, and the heart was winwng—up to a point. Life had been difficult in the anti-Mon-Repos days, what would it he if Arthur Collinwode were to carry out his threat? In the girl’s . inind there stirred faint suggestions oi possible evil, most unpleasant to contemplate. “If y-- ; ,C finished I think I’d better be going.” The words just came. She had not had time to consider how best to make him understand that nothing would change her determination. But she had done so pretty well all the same, i “Not quite.”—A burst of anger would j

have been easier to bear than his suave tone—“ Not unless 1 have made you really see what all this means to you and to ■” (Continued daily.)