LITERATURE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5287, 19 June 1895, Page 1

LITERATURE.

THE THIRD VOLUME.

BY FERGUS HUME, Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "The Lone Inn," " The Chinese Jar," &o.

(All Bights Reserved.)

' Chaptbb XXVII.

▲ GLIMPSE OF THIS PAST.

Hillieton remained a oonaiderable time with his friend, and it was not until sucsefc that he left the house. He had a satisfied look on his face, aa though the interview bad answered his expectations ; and so lifted up in spirit did he appear that he stopped oat into the lane as jauntily as though he were quite a young man. It m* over three miles to the railway station, and he would be obliged to walk back; but the prospect did not annoy him in the least; on the contrary so great a load had been removed from his mind by the late conversation that he felt fit to walk twice the distance. Yet such unusual lightheartedness might have recalled to his mind the Scotch superstition regarding its probable reason.

As he walked smartly to the end of the lane, the sun had just dropped behind the hills, leaving a trail of red glory behind him. Against this crimson background rose the gables and chimney of the Manor House, and the sight recalled to Hilliaton the fact that young Larcher was staving ia the mansion. He paused doubtfully, Hot certain whether to go in or pass on ; for in his many aohemea the least slip might prove prejudicial to their accomplishment.

"If I call in I can say my visit here was to do so," he thought ; " but it is too late; and though Claude might believe me, the little man would certainly be auepicious. Besides they are sure to find out from Jenny Paynton that I have neen her father. No ! I shan't go in, but to-night Twill write a letter stating that Paynton v a client whom I called to see about business. I have made it all right there, and it will take a cleverer man than Tait to upset my plans this time." ' Hib meditations were interruped by tire rattle of wheels, and he turned to see Kerry driving a dappled pony in., a small chaise. The old man distorted his withered face into a grotesque grin of welcome, and jumped out with extraordinary alacrity, when he came alongside Hilliston. "Augh! augh, sir!" said Kerry, touching^ his hat in military fashion. "It's a right for sore eyes to see ye. Mies Jenny told me yon had walked over from the. station, so I just borrowed the trap of his riverence, the Vicar, to take you ba«k." '".That ia very kind of you, Kerry," replied Hilliston, in his most genial manner; "lam glad to accept your offer and escape the walk. You drive and I'll, sit beside you."

Kerry did aa he waß told, and in a few minuteß the trap containing the pair was rattling through the street at a good pace. Shortly they left the village behind and emerged into the open country, The road woundi^to right and left, past farm houses, tinder bending trees, between hedgerow*, and occasionally, passed over a stone bridge spanning a triokiing brook matted with. orsßses. All this ,time neither of them had spoken, as each was seemingly wrapped up in his own thoughts ; but aa a matter of fast they were thinking of each other. Kerry wished to Bpeak to Hilliaton, but did not know how to begin; while Hillißton was in the same predicament regarding Kerry. .;• . Ifewaßthe latter who finally began the conversation, and he did so in a way which would have startled a lees brave man than the lawyer. At the moment they were crossing a rather broad stream with a swift current, and Kerry pulled up the pony mid way between the parapetß of etone which protected the sides of the rude bridge. Bather astonished ac this stoppage, (or which he could assign no reason, Hilliston roused himself from hie musings and looked inquiringly .at Kerry. The man's eyes, significant and angry, were fixed on him in anything bnt a friendly manner. ■

"i>o you know what I'm thinking, sir ? " he said, coolly flicking the pony's back with the whip. . "No, Kerry," replied Hilliston, with equal coolness. "Ib it of anything important P" "It might be to you, Bir," replied Kerry, drily. "I was just thinking whether it wouldn't be a good thing to send horse and trap and you and I into the water. Then there would be an end to your black heart and your black schemes."

" That is very possible, Kerry," said Hilliaton, who knew his man, " but before going to extremities you had better make certain that yon are acting for the best. Without me your master is ruined."

"We'll talk it over, sir," answered Kerry, and with a smart flick of his whip sent the pony across the bridge. When they were over and were trotting between hedgerows he resumed the conversation.

"Why have ye come here again, BirP" he asked, abruptly. "We were quit of you five yeara ago, and now you come to harry the maßter once more."

"I come for Mb own good, Kerry."

' "Ah, now don't be after calling me Kerry. ' There's no one here, and it is Denis Bantry I am to yon, Mr Francis Hilliston."

- The lawyer winced at the satirical emphasis placed on the name, bat judged it wise to humour the old man. Kerry, as he called himself now, could be very

obstinate and disagreeable when he chose, co knowing his powers in .this respect Hilliston wisely conducted the conversation on as broad lines as was possible. Nevertheless, he carried the war into the enemy's camp by blaming Kerry for not taking better care of the bundle of papers which, through his negligence, had fallen into the hands of Jenny. "And how waa I to know, sir?" retorted Kerry, querulously. "The papers were safely put away in the garret, and Miss Jenny had no call to go there." " Well, Kerry, you see what it has led to. The account of the tragedy is all over London."

" And what of that sir. Wasn't the account of it all over Horrwton twenty-five years ago ? " " No doubt," said Hilliston, coolly, "but that is all over and done with. It is useless to dwell on the past and its errors. But now Captain Larcher's son is bent on finding out the truth." " And why shouldn't he, air P " " I don't think you need aak the question, Kerry," replied the lawyer in bo significant a tone that the old servant turned away his head. "It is not desirable that Claude Larcher should be enlightened. We know what took place on that night if no one else doeß, and for more reasons than one it is advisable that we should keep our knowledge to ourselves."

" Angh," said Kerry, gruffly, "yon don't want ib known that you were in the garden on that night, sir." "I do not," answered Hilliston, with hasty emphasis. "I spoke, falsely at the trial to save, Mra Larcher. I rather think you did so yourself, Kerry." " For thelmaster's sake— for the master's sake. As for the mistress Bhe brought all the trouble on our heads. I lied, Bir, and you lied, but she wasn't worth it. But is there to be trouble over it now, Mr Hilliston n

" No ! Nob if you baffle the enquiries of those young men at the* Manor House. They will meet you and question you, and get the truth oat of yon if they can. Whether they do or not all dependa upon yourself." " You leave it to me, sir/ aaid Kerry, confidently. " I'll manage to send them away without being a bit the wiser. And now, Mr Hilliston, that this is. settled, I would speak to you about my sister Mona." , . . ! Hilliston changed colour, but nevertheless retained sufficient composure to fix hiß eyes on the man's face with a sad smile. "What of her, Kerry ?" he asked, in a melancholy tone, " yon know ebe is i dead and gone." ••Augh! Augh.! Bat her grave, sir. Yon must tell me where it is, for I have it in my mind to go and see it." " What would be the good of you doing that," aaid Hilliaton, disapprovingly. •" Because I was harsh with her, sir. If she did wrong, she suffered foe it, and it was wicked of me to let her go as I did. Where is her grave, sir P " " In Chiswick Cemetery/* said Hilliaton, as the chaise stopped at the railway station, "if you come up to London and call at my office I Trill tell you where to find it." Kerry was prof use in bis thanks, and touching his hat gratefully accepted the shilling which Hilliston put into his hand} but when the train containing Hillidton started for Eastbourne, he .threw away. the money, and shook his fist after the retreating carriages. Not a word did he say, but the frown on his face grew deeper and deeper as he got into the trap attain, and drove slowly back to Thoraton. Evidently he trusted Hilliaton no more than did Tait or Jenny. j It was now quite dark, for the daylight and after glow had long since vanished rom the weacern skieß, and the moon waa not yet up. Only the stars were visible here and there in .the oloudy sky, and finding their light insufficient to drive by, Kerry trot down and lighted the carriage lamp. Heaven only knows of. what he was think* ing as he drove along the dusky lanes. The past unrolled iteelf before his eyes, and what he saw there made him groan and heave deep sighs. Bat there was no use in so indulging his memories, and thinking of bis master, Kerry braced himself up, to see what could be done towards meeting the dangers which seemed to threaten on all sides. When he delivered the trap again to the groom of the vicar, he hit on an idea which he proceeded to carry out. Instead of going back at once to Eoso Cottage, he borrowed a piece of paper and a pencil from the groom, and laboriously traced a few lines by the light of the stable lantern. Putting this missive in his pocket, be went off in the direction of the Manor House ; but leaving the public road he Bkir ted the low atone wall which divided it from the adjacent; fields. Kerry knew every inch of the ground, and even in the darkness had no difficulty in guiding himself to his destination. TMb wae a vantage point at the end of the wall, whence he could see into a sitting-room of the house. In a few minnteß Kerry was perched on this wall, busily engaged in tying his letter to an ordinary sized 6tone.

Almost immediately below him the mansion stretched in a kind of abrupt right angle, in which was set two wide windows overlooking a bed of flowers. Theae were open to the cool night air, and the blinds had not been drawn down, so that Kerry from his lofty hiding-place could see right into the room. A tall brass lamp stood at one end, and under this sat Claude Larcher, smoking and thinking. The glare of the lamp fell full on his fresh coloured face and light hair, so that Kerry felt as though

he were gazing at a phantom out of that dread past.

" He's as like his father as two peas," muttered Kerry, devouring the picture with his eyes, " a fine boy and an hone&t gentleman. Augh ! augh ! To think that I have nursed him on my knee when he waa a bit of a lad, and now I'm here telling him to go away. But its better that than the other. A curse on those who brought him here and put sorrow into hie heart."

Thus muttering, Kerry threw the stone lightly through the window. It fell heavily on the floor within a few feet of Claude, who sprang to bis feet with an exclamation. Not waiting to Bee the result, Kerry hastily tumbled off the wall, jumped the ditch, and made off in the darkness. By a oircuitouß route he regained Rode Cottage, and entered into the kitchen worn out in body and mind. He had done his doty bo far as in him lay, and mentally prayed that the result might tend to remove the threatened danger.

Meanwhile Claude had picked up the atone and tin to the window. He could see nothing, for Kerry was already half* way acroia the fields; he could not even gness whence the stone had been thrown. All waa silent, and though he listened intently, he could not hear the sound of retreating footsteps. With some wonderment he untied the paper from the stone and smoothed it out. It was badly written and badly spelt, and ran as follows : " Bewar of danger, Claude Larch er. tak a frind's advise and go quick away." There waa no signature, and the young man waa looking at it in growing perplexity when Tait entered the room.

" What did yon Bhout out about P " he asked carelessly. " I heard you in the next room."

•' You would have shouted also," replied Larcher, holding out the paper. " Thiß was flung into the room tied round a stone."

• • You don't aay so. Who threw it ?"

" I can't say. I rushed to the window at once, but saw no sign of anyone. What do you think of the hint therein contained P"

Tait read the anonymous communication, pondered over it, and finally delivered hie opinion by tittering a name, "Hilliston," he said confidently, " Hillißton." "Nonsense 1" said Claude, sharply, " why should he deal in underhand ways of this tort. If he wanted me to go away, he could have called and urged me to do so. But this— l don't believe Hillißton would condescend to such trickery."

"When a man is in a fix hell descend to anything to get himßelf out of it," replied Tait, placing the paper in his pocket-book. " I'll keep this, and, perhaps, before many days, are over I'll have an opportunity of proving to you that I epeak truly. Who else wants; you to go away besides Eilliaton."

" Kerry— Denia Bantry might 1 " "I doubt whether Kerry knows that yon are here. Yon.muafc give matters time to develop themselves, as the inmates of Bose Cottage can't know all about us within twenty-four hours." "What between your confessions to Jenny, and Hilliston's own knowledge, I think they'll know a good deal in one way or another."

" They can know as much as they like," said Tait, quietly, "but we know more, and if it cornea to & tug of war I think you and I oan win , against Hilliston and Company. But come outside and let us examine the top- of tne wall." "Do yon think the Btone was thrown from there P" asked Claude aB they went out into the garden.

" I fancy so from your description. Light this candle." .

The night waBSo still that the flame of the candle hardly wavered. Tait gave it to Claude to hold, and easily climbed up the wall by thrusting the toes of hid boots in among the loose Btones. • He examined the top carefully, and then getting the light tied it to a piece of string and lowered it on the other side. In a few minutes he came down again with a satisfied look.

" As I thought," he said, blowing out the candle, -" Bomeone has been on that wall and thrown the stone from there. I ■aw the marks of feet on the other side. The man who delivered the letter jumped the ditch and made off across the fields."

"You don't think it is Hilliston P " said Claude, doubtfully. "No, but I think it is an emissary of Hilliston. Perhaps Denis Bantry." "Tait!" said Larcher, after a pause, "from Hillieton's viait to Paynton, from the way in which Paynton persistently seoludes himself from the world ; and from the knowledge we possess that the formation for Linton's book came out of that cottage I have come to a conclusion."

"What is that!"

"I believe that Ferdinand Paynton is none other than Mark Jeringham, who killed my father." (To be continued.)