THE PRISONER AT THE BAR

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 16406, 3 April 1919, Page 8

THE PRISONER AT THE BAR

PABCINAUNG STORY OP MYSTERY „ AND LOVE.

By RALPH RODE.

Author of “Whispering Tongues,” “Little Lady Mystery,” “Under False Colours,” “A Marriage by Capture,” “A Step in the Dark,” etc., etc. CHAPTER XXII. Peter Lane bit back an exclamation of astonishment and of triumph. “Made Jane!” Lady Shirley had let out more than she had intended doing, a careless ' word from him now would put her on her guard and complicate matters afresh. “I see,’- he said slowly. “Of course she was to burn tho place in order to destroy the evidence of the class of work old Smyle had been carrying on.” At last ho knew the motive of which Jane, had never been ashamed. “Well that is what he said in his letter,” Lady Shirley returned. “There was to be a fire about tho time of his* death, but he was very anxious that 1 should understand that, even if ho had given in to the girl’s entreaties, and had Jet her do what she had always wanted to do ever since she found out how ho got his money, I was not to imagine that the paper which meant so much to me had gone with all the rest. He said it was lunch too valuable, and that it-

was all he had to leave Jane Quariey.” '“Rather a senseless thing to do,” objected Peter j'ealously, “since she didn’t know how to use it and wouldn’t have done if she did. May I ask how you suggest she was to employ it?” Lady Shirley made a little sound of amusement.

“What a tremendous advantage it is,” slio said, “tor a girl to bo young and pretty!” . , “As I'think you remarked once before,” Peter retorted. He was furious. “I should have thought it a bit Into myself to waste time on sneers. Won’t you tell me how you suggest Jane Quarley was to use this precious secret?” “She wasn’t to do anything so long as I befriended her, that seemed to be the idea. 1 was to take her under my protection, give her a homo and obtain what I wanted as bost,l could. But if I refused to help her—it wasn’t very likely—she was to take the formula to John and try, to sell it to him." “Then 1 don’t sco why you didn’t help her, your part was clear enough.” “I went to Mon liopos at once. I went the very morning after Smylo’s death and I tried to get the girl away. I was too late, the police had already arrested her.- But that wasn’t all. Coiliuwode made no secret of trying to got the girl into his own hands, she was terrified of him, and so was 1. 1 came to the conclusion that the best thing for both of ns was that she should ho put beyond Jus reach until 1 had time'to mature my plans.”

It was no good td rail against her callousness, her utter selfishness—Peter supposed that was the “Ycarsley way!” In spite of her charm, in spite of her genuine love for husband and child, she was Wfally indifferent to what happened to the' rest of the world so long as she went unscathed.

‘‘Yon have Smyle’s Jotter, of course?” “You have ifrat paper you mentioned, of course?” she returned. He saw her moaning. , “Certainly I have.” “Here?”

“No, on the whole I thought it safer to leave it in my dispatch box. Lady Shirley, bring mo Smylo’s letter to-mor-row, and you shall have the formula in exchange for it. No, I am-"not going to discuss what I intend to do. I’ve surely shown you pretty clearly how kf'en I am on keeping your name out. You will have to trust mo to do the best I can for you.”

■ Was Sho know tbat ho was right. She had no choice but to trust him. Besides there was no lime for further discussion, she must got back to the house beloro John missed her. ‘Very well,” she said, “to-morrow afternoon. And then without so much as a formal good-night she left him. Peter felt lor his pipe. It would bo as well to let her got clear before ho started off for the village, tie was more than satisfied with the night’s work. Ho already saw his chance of saving Jape. Ho had failed her once, but now

A strangled exclamation! From behind a strong pair of arms had been flung round him!

•The realisation of his momentary impotence was humiliating. Just now ho had pictured himself as Jane’s champion—a champion powerless as a child 1 He was fairly strong himself, bat bis assailant had taken him quite unawares. Ills arms were tightly pressed against his sides—a man without arms is badly handicapped. Peter tried every dodge he knew. Ho tried to hook his leg round those of his opponent, but against all the laws of sport the other kicked his shins. Peter made a feint of leaning hack against his opponent, then suddenly he bent forward m the hope of jerking him over his head—a wrestler’s trick. Ho very nearly succeeded, but not quite. For an instant Fate hung in the balance, then 1 eter know that his unseen antagonist had recovered himself. Tho next instant he was dragging his captive backwards, tiio latter s heels wore bein" .dragged along the ground. Peter was conscious ot a sense of bitter humiliation, his only consolation was that neither Jane nor Shirley was there to witness his defeat.

I l or it was defeat. He was as powerless us a child. He felt,himself bumped ruthlessly against projecting masonry.' Jt had grown suddenly dark. Then tho gup on his arms loosened. H© was on the ground and his assailant was kneel*' mg on him.

. There was something uncanny in tho silence, rotor’s pockets were being To do that Peter’s captor had to relax .is vigilance a little. The captire braced himself for a spring, i ~ T-? s 011 llis feot now - The other had deliberately set him free. His fists were clenched, his hands up, guarding us face. He stood with his head back, ms knees_a little bent, as a prize fighter stands. Once let him see where to plant lus blows—

Fiom out of the darkness two hands £P" e 1“, contact with Peter’s chest, ihey did not strike him, they just pushed him away. He fell back a stop, the ground beneath his feet seemed hi fail mm. Now he was falling. He fell hfm anS ° f Wat6r seemod t 0 eloso over

Peter scrambled out, then in the darkness he felt for his matchbox. It was one of those thin affairs for wearing with evening clothes, it only held some half-dozen vestas, but it was water tight, for after drying it carefully. Peter extracted a match and struck it. By the light of the thin yellow flame he surveyed his surroundings.

; The old boathouse in which he stood alone was quite a commodious building. A few square yards of shingle edged with a stone coping, two wooden platforms running down either side, and between them the water on which iloatod a couple of boats, the water from which ho had just emerged. Another match showed him the door. It was deeply set fn the old masonry and fastened from the outside.

A third match was burning now, there was only the other left. He had groped his way to the other side of the boathouse before ho lighted it, going cautiously (loan the miniature wooden pier. Ho bent doiyn and, as he had expected, he found a strong iron grid which reached to the surface of the water, a sort of miniature portcullis, which, so long ns it remained in position, kept the boats safe. It had been placed there to shut trespassers out, not, assuredly, to keep prisoners in. but it served the double purpose, for Peter was a prisoner, a prisoner encircled by stone walls and iron bars—stone walls and iron bars 1 Fate was showing a lamentable lack of originality. Ho and the girl he loved were both of them experiencing tho bitterness of captivity. Ho had been bent on winning freedom for her, now ho must win it for himsolf first.

“ ‘And hero's a pretty kettle of fish—her ladyship sotting her face against strong language,’ ” Peter quoted. It took a good deal to crush Peter Lane. He felt in his pockets. His watch was there all right. So the thief had not accepted his invitation. The notes were safe as well. So was the loose cash iic carried. Then nothing was missing. He wont through his pockets again. Nothing was missing except a small hunch of keys.

Peter’s faeo was grim. Watch and notes and matchbox might all have gone and left him less disconcerted. Their loss could have merely suggested the pilfering fingers of a common thief. The less of keys suggested so much more. The latch-key—ho had told them not to sit up for him at his rooms—the key of his portmanteau, his kit hag—they did'not matter at .all. The key of his dispatch box ! Peter stepped deliberately into the water. The grid was too secure for him to move it, but tho bottom bar only reached a little wav beneath the surface. He felt with his submerged hands to make sure that the space beneath it was clear, he pushed the boat back to give himself room for action. For'an instant he stood up to his waist in water, looking out across tho lake in which there sparkled the reflection of myriads of stars. Then he plugged beneath the surface. (Continued daily.)