PROLOGUE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7802, 5 September 1903, Page 1

PROLOGUE.

.With his hands at his back and a cigar in fihe corner of his month, Mr Dudley St John sauntered through, the rooms of Cnarlton Place—"that very eligible gentleman's residence situated on the Downs within easy distance of Brighton, to let, furnished, for the season, at twenty guineas a week." By an occasional nod he expressed languid interest in the many advantages pointed out to him by the accompanying caretaker. The saiantering pace facilitated exhaustive observation; the half-closed lids masked the searching glance that overlooked nothing and picked up many a valuable trifle unconsidered by tie caretaker. The house was. packed with valuable stuff; but beyond a ..few miniatures which might fetch a decent price in America and, some, knick-knacks . that th«: Amsterdam dealers would take at a reasonable price, there was nothing to tempt Mr Dudley St John. The best things ■wejire sail too cumbrous for his purpose, which . Uras simply robbery. •'For this man. was a robber, not of the V clumsy,.old-fashioned villainous type, but 7 quite the latest development and up-to-date pattern. He carried no bludgeon up a fustian; sleeve, bub a case of high-class Ha- ' vanas in the pocket of a coat which was a : credit to the Bond Street tailor who made at.' Dudley St John was his actual name, tod "no pretentious alias, and he—to Ms* greater shame—was a gentleman by birth and education. Lust for luxury and an inVincible', repugnance to the means of getting what ho wanted honestly, had brought him • by uneasy stages to this last desperate expedient.: "I must see the plate," he said, glancing at {"he newspaper cutting drawn from his ticket pocket, "but, of course, that's at the bankers'?" > \ „~> "Np^sir; it's in the store closet here," \ replied the caretaker, briskly turning to a closed door which had excited/ St John's X^^it^pand prompted the inquiry,' " but W^ter^lias iihe keys^ naturally." "Beyond the ordinary lock, which any child might pick with a skewer, there was a "brand new padlock on the door—a patent affair, not to be picked by any contrivance. St Jobii&neyr the thmg, and kne-w also of a' topi in the cyclists' "shop which would crush it up like a matchbox with three turns.of a screw. He turned on Ms heel -with that exasperating nod of indifference, and 'strolled towards the window. Good, old-fashioned "shutyrs i St John would have undertaken tor open, them from the outside with a centre-bit blindfolded. Nice old sash catch.! that would yield sweetly to the pressure of a thin driver. Height of ■window from the ground outside, three.foot six.. The job was oneiof the most pleasing simplicity. '■.' x ■: • . "I.wilHook round-the garden," said he. The caretaker bustled down a passage and opened a door. '"Wbx> lives there?" asked St John, indi- \ eating the detached house stanSding beyond tip garden walL•";.-.' ,: Sw*, r:* Well, sir, >^^.n:^osSi^t^O^^t\9lHthe caretaker, apprehensively. -.- v ••■• "A school?* " Yea, sir; but it's vacation now." ■ ." Holidays—that's why there's no row?" ." Yes, sir; but wheni the. ytfuog ladies ar» all ihffte you can scarcely notice tiheso,' they're so ihigh-class. Some people I kno*wf has objections, but master finds 'cmi so determent; says the sound of fcbeir yorangj voices is better than all the nightingales, and blackbirds—whidh we don't get here." " You caai shut up tihe house while I looita round," said St John, putting half a sove- " reign into the caretaker's ready hand. "Thank you, sir, very anicfa.. If yo<uM like to pick a few flowers for yoxnr buttonhole " Sfc John turned on his heel and strolled' down the path, tis eye everywihare, hefeud! upturned, measuring-/ tihe practicable ap* • preaches to the window of the room witib! the store closet in it. H tihe plate! wterei . in anything like relative proportion with the appointments of tihe bouse tihe? bag 1 musti be good. And the baiggan.g' presented mot difficulties. The. caretaker lived ayyay. fribimi I'J^^joJise',. in remans over the coachhouse,,- / and! tine proximity oif tihe school was not to be feared-^fchamks to "vacation." Had 1 the tpuse been full of hysterical girls, all ready to scream at the sound' of a> mouse starring, theme would! have been danger possibly.'.-. He paused beyond a. bank o>f Rhododendrons to survey the wihole theatre o>£ operation, comprehensively, A mKHnenibary fl^sh' of oolonir—pin!k cheeks .and brownt ta.ir-r-cauiS[hit, has eye as a girl bobbed! dWn, bahimdl the gaffden wall bc-twieeih a lilao and a labumaan. Dudley St Jdhn waited witlhout Baoving! a muscle fox the headi to xea>pjpear, as it oerta^ltoiy must if h& werei no.t altojotsthen oi* in Ms estimaste of feminine curiosify.i SVo, three manutes passed, and tihon a fringe of nut brown !hair shoine in tihe sunlight, after that a xim of white foawihebxJ and a pair of dark eyebrows rose into •ischt, followed by two ibrfg.h* eyes, amdi the aiotaien't; tbev ell upon Dudley St Jofh<n he vias advancing witHi a gesture thai mfldte tet'sction impossible. " As we are to be neighbours very,shortly," said be, in a tome of easy assurance* ,"I may as well introduce myself at onoe*." "I—l am only a pupil," replied) the; frightened girl, pkilk and -white by turns with the e'mbairrassnwfnit of her position, and only just sufficiently self-possessed to overcome the impulse to bob; down again) and take to her heels. "Only a pupil." edho«l St JoihtJ, raising 1 fcis eyebrows, " I thought yours was an otdanary jnrls* school." . "And nt>*w you think at must be a homel tar mcuTwbles. a- ■p&nijjpn&Aaxy- or a. Jw>us^ of detention," tie. girl flashed, anper taking the pdaoeof embarrs^smeaifc-—" seeing! me here—a .girl of eighteen, whan everyone else is making: holiday. And so ifc fc » house of detention so far as I am c«aoarned. Isn't it a shanie?" "I can't think so." "But all the rest have gone away," the sense of wrans berne uppermost, "eirls, teadhersjpd all the Misses Pridmore—save one w.b<oP stays as a sort c£ sheep-dog to keep watoh over me, and she don't like it, and snaps and snarls accordinaly." *' She may ieax you if you speak so loud"-' ly." " I don't care," sa.id tiw? girl. * Bi* I dio." "Why?" . " Because the sheep-do? may regard me as a kind of wolf and pen you up in a comer where I may never again find means &f seeing you." "Do you want to see me again V she asked,* dropping her voice. "I assure you I found no inducement to take this place till T saw you. Tell me to take it, and the thing snail be done this afternoon. . Not for myself, of course," he pursued, ■perceiving the conflict of per- , plexitv and pleasure in the -pretty eyes that twinkled down at him—"what could a single fellow do with* a house of twenty roomsT I should take it for my sister and her youngsters, with the condition that the .^ tfipm. bftfin* «h« fbert view; <>f tfa BJ9*

where you are now standing should be reserved for my use." j " But -what have I got to do -with it?" " All that a pretty girl has to do with a man's fate." '• You never saw me before to-day." • " Does !Miss Pfidmore allow sou to read Byron?" She shook her head. "He explains the matter in a line—' Whoever loved! who loved not at first sight ?' " "If you talk nonsense I shall have to go." But she lowered <he» voice yet more test Miss Pridmore might come andi end the nonsense prematurely. "We will talk of less pleasant things if you prefer them. How long have you been here?" "Four years — four years without one single break, without Eeeing anyone but silly girls and the hateful Miss Pridmore." "Have you no home?" "Oh, yes, a lovely home, but it's in Ceylon." "Don't you wish to go there f " I'd go anywhere io get Sway from this horrid place." ; _ . That passionate declaration sank into Dudley St John's mind and took root {here, and threw out a growth of ideas which were bo bear fruit with prodigious celerity. " I never read ' The Starling '—you know — ' I can't get out, I can't get out,' without comparing its lot with mine," the girl continued, her. eyes filling with self-sym-pathy. " Poor little soul. Well, if you're_ not a starling, you're something that rhymes uncommonly well with it." "Oh, don't, please." "Must stick to the disagreeable, eh? Have you no parents ?" "Oh, yes, mamma is awfully nice, -but j/hfe can't have me back because my stepfather is horrid, and he and the doctor say that I must stay here until I am twentyone — three dreadful years more." , . "Perhaps yout father's means will riot allow of any change," St John suggested^ the growth of ideas tending in the directioni of pecuniary advantage. "Oh, that's not it ; he is a tea planter and a .jewel merchant as well, and is ever so rich. Hush!" turning in alarm, "there's Miss Pridmore. I must fo." "Good-bye." He held up His hand ; she yielded hers. "-You Shave not given the decisive word yet— am Ito take this place?" he asked, holding her hand firmly. She nodded, flushing to the temples and making a faint attempt -to withdraw her hand. . " And will you try to be here about this time to-morrow if I come?" She nodded He drew her hand' down to his Hps and pressed! it. Then she (slid "away to press her burning cheeks against the cool lilacs that their colour might not betray the first dear secret of her womanhood, . I Vacillation, inseparable from moral weakness, had ruined Dudley St Join on tße turf, at the card-table, and elsewhere. It threatened now to spoil his chances even as a clever trarglaT. Here on one hand was a house to fbe burgled ; and on the .other a schoolgirl to be mimed. Weighing all probabilities it looked as if the latter wouM prove the more profitable undertaking. A friendly dealer had that morning warned him that he was a marked man, and that he would ihave to be very careful in future to escape the police. The danger of the game had lost its charm,, and the winnings were not commensurate with the risk — not worth the candle. The plate and gimcracks in Charlton Place might bring him at the outside a couple of hundred. Properly managed the schoolgirl might be made to, yield him a decent annuity. -The risk of burgling is a certain term ofpenal /servitude; .the risk of wrecking a girl's, future happiness is comparatively nothing. Ccrald you reasonably expect such a man ia such circumstances to stick to burglary ? Before a week bad passed he slipped a very pretty ring on the girl's second ringer ; a ring which she wore every night pressed close to her heart, and in less than a month he clipped another ring on iher third finger, before the Registrar at Rottingdene, duly making her Mrs Dudley St John. On the day of her marriage the little wife wrote home, telling her parents in a 'high spirit of independence what had happened. It was open for anyone to read between the lines : If you don't like it you, may do the other thing. But there was a warmer heart-glow in her description of Dudley — of his amazing good looks, of his wondrous generosity, andi other unbounded possessions, moral and 1 material. Before, an answer to that letter could reach her she was compelled to write another of a very different character, telling how 'her darliug Dudley, to oblige the ripe wantis of ji. friend, had involved himself in ,p«juniary difficulties which compelled him bo* leave the Metropole at Brighton and take humble lodgings in an Ease Anglian village, where he reluctantly permitted her to ask mamma to send a remittance to meet the absolute necessities of tiheir unfortunate position. Mr Magister at once smelt a> rat. The abounding confidence, admirable in a Merchant of Venice, looks suspicious in a fin-de-cieel© gentleman of London. A Lonj don agent was employed to look into the | matter, with the result that Mr Magieter offered his step-daughter a free passage to Oeylon and forgiveness on condition that she separated from her husband, whose true character should be revealed' to her. This proposal Mrs Dudley St John indignantly refused to entertain — her husband foreseeing that the game, though doubtful, might yet turn to; his advantage. Patience and cautious play might yet win the odd trick. But meanwhile, pressing requirement of hard cash bad to be met. Charlton Place was stall unoccupied, and the plate in the accessible store-closet' tempted him. He made a bold 1 attempt to get it, was caught m the act, "brought to trial, and sentenced to seven months' hard labour. ' Be came .out ' of gaol with a very small sum of ready money in his pocket. A modest lunch at Frascati's with half a small RWlerer and half a dozen decent cigars, ,amd his railway fare to the East Coast left him with something under half a crown in< the evening. But he knew that his wife was etill living there, and felt pretty confident of getting something or other out of her. So he proceeded to hunt her vp — that vs the proper term for it— with, a light heart. The door of the cottage wEere he had lived with her for a few days before his misadventure was fastened. Whilst he was wrenching at the handle impatiently, a woman with a shrieking baby in her arms came into the forecourt of the adjoining cottage, and bawled put, to be heard above the yelling of the infant; "There ain't no one at home," then recognising Dudley in the half light, "«h, it's you, sir; she didn't expect you back for another week." Exemplary conduct had' obtained for Dudley a slight remission of his sentence. "Where is she, then?" he shouted. "Up at Rowton Hall. There, there, my puppet, don't 'c cry. What do you think, of it, sir?" she asked, dancing the yelling* baby, and beaming on Dudley. i "I think it's a noisy brat, if you ask me," lie replied. " On, don't you say that, sir, for dtfs your very own." " Worse luck," growled 1 Dudley, chewing the end of his cigar savagely. And truer augury he never made for all concerned in the existence of the child. " And a. hard time Mrs Sinjins has had with it, and stoutiy she's stood through it too " "When ia she coming back?" Dudley was feeling peckish again. " Oh, I don't know when. Suttingly not to-night. You see^ air 4 Lady Rowton's anr- 1

ful bad ; and wanting a nuss, Dr Sturgess, i who has been wonderful kind to poor airs Sinjins, engaged mo to take care of your dear little baby while she went up to the hall, and many m pound it may put in her pocket, poor dear — oh, dt have got a temper, air, for I know it can't be oii'y wind," she said, trying to still the child's screaining by thumps on the back which, would have provoked aa, angel. But Dudley waited to hear no more. Theprospect of finding i" many a pound " in his wife's pocket had decided him to seek her at once at Bowton Hall. The hall lies a mile distant from the village. It was dark when Dudley reached the park entrance ; there was a light in the lodge. The gate stood open. With a burglars instinct, rather than from any necessity, Bt John passed the lodge on tip-toe. The same instinct led him to approach the house circumspectly. A buggy was pacing the- drive before the hall. It looked like a country doctor's turnout. Probably Dr Sturgess was in there doctoring Lady Rowton. Dudley had no wish to make acquaintaince with anyone who took a friendly interest in his wife's welfare. The demand to see his wife at this time might be met with an imperative refusal on tie part of the doctor to let her leave his patient even for a few minutes. So Dudley kept clear of the front door, and making a wide detour, worked round to the back of the house. Here there were many lights in, the upper windows — the patient lying there possibly that the sound of the wheels on the drive might not disturb her repose. A fresh light appeared in one of the windows on the first floor whilst Dudley was scanning the facade. A young woman, came to the window to draw the blind. Dudley fancied he (recognised her figure in silhouette ; but when she turned as if to speak over her shoulder the light fell uporn her face, and he knew she was his- wife. That might be her room. Had this kind doctor 6ent her to take half an hour's rest*j3fifore her night vigil while. he was with the patient? Likely enough. There would be no harm in proving the fact, and very little difficulty. For in working round Dudley had, passed some outbuildings and noticed a handy ladder which would just reach, the _yindow. He fetched the ladder and set it noiselessly against the ivy-covered wall. As silently he mounted by it to the window. It was & Tudor house. These back windows had leaded sashes with leafed casements opening out, secured on the inside, one by a bolt, the other by a drop catch — the (simplest .thing to open ever offered to a burglar. Dudley carried a strong serviceable clasp-knife in his* pocket, with a long, narrow blade. Slipping the blade between the bars he lifted the hitch, and drew the glazed leaf back as easily as it might have been done from the inside. Then he bent down and raising the blind a few inches peeped 1 into the room. He could see no one, but on the bed 'lay the very hat and jacket Madge wore when she ran away from school with him — the day, they were married. It was h^s wife's room beyond a reasonable doubt, and she must come to it sooner or later. Why should he not get in and) wait for her there? Safer than standing outside, and far more comfortable. In a big house like this there are always a lot of unconsridered trifle?. lying about worth picking up. If any other than his wife cam© in he had only to say who he was, and there would be scarcely any inquiry as to how he ihad come there j — ordinary .routine of the household : biting 1 upset by Lady Bowton's illness. He crawled through the window, closed the j window behind him, and setting his- h&tMm the table seated himself in an easy chair, crossed bis legs and Looked about him with those furtive comprehensive eyes.. His, j composure was so absolute that anyone ! coming in might have concluded that he had been waiting there for an hour. i " Oh ! that's what's the matter, eh?" said he to himself, catching a faint cry behind the door, "more babies." The door opened and his wife entered the room, carrying im her arms the whimpering child, wrapped in a thick, warm Blanket. She. saw her husband sitting there • and his raised forefinger and lowered brows suppressed the cry which was on her lips. ' Hurriedly she laid the baby upon the bed, and then, turning, threw herself wildly into Dudley's arms, he having risen from the chair. She kissed the villain passionately. Dudley didn't mind this sort of thing in its proper time and place — rather liked it in f act — but it irritated him now, being altogether out of harmony with the serious business which' had brought him there. " I want money," he whispered — his first words " beastly hard up." "Money, darling — I have none — not enough for your wants." "You're not doing this job for nothing, are you?" " No, I am to be well paid, and when I get the money you shall have it all — all .'" "I can't waitj I must have it now." She bethought) her of something saved for her baby at home, and quickly bringing it from her pocket she put it in his hand. "It will do to go on with, darling," she said. He opened the purse and turned over the coins inside. " What tin earth is the good of this to me — a- few 'beggarly sMllings- " Madge dropped her face in her hands and began to cry. Nothing maddtened himj mare than crying. "Dom't be a fool; dry Tip," ihe growled, shaikinig her rudely by the shouldter. He checked himself suddjemlv and whispered, "What's that?" His quick ear, evier on the. aiLert, Shad caught the distant crunch of wheels on tihe gravelled drive, the whispering of servants in tihe passage, the .hurrying patlter of feet descendiitisj stairs, and now came a man's authoritative voice calling " Nurse I" witibin <a. few yards. The little wife- dashed the tears from her eyes, turned to tfoe door int an; instant, raising her finger— an unnecessary caution. — and slipped into the corridor, drawing the door to behind her, to screen her husband from the eyes of Dr Sturgess, who stood at the door of the adjoining room. " Rowton has come 1" (from the Embassy at St Petersburg, where he haW neceived % telegram telling 1 of has wife's premature confinement and serious oan'ditjon). "You must do down and! see him — I can't leave Lady Rowton. — she is dying:. You must prepare him for ii — as only a woman can." said the doctor. "But tihe baby?" urged Mad^e. "Tha/fc's all right. If it cries I wiJl go in «nd ccc to it. Rum down quick. He 1 is on the stairs. Keep him away for a lew minutes." Sifoe obeyed. Dudley saw the advisabkiness of instant flight j but the prospect of leaving . the* house "with on^v a few shillings dieterred l him. He glanced round the 1 roomf— not a thiwtr there worth taking, as (he bad already assured himself. But there was a. door leading into amotlwfr chamber. He opened it ; it seemed to be a. bou'dtoip. The lig&t fr-oim the open door fell uptto a dlress-ing-ta.We on which stood an omaaanental) box- which mLsrfib contain Jewels. ." He dvpped In and lifted! it. It was piromisinjy£y heavy ; but "it was looked 1 , and! too cam* brons to tabet- from the house. He .oarrieid! it into his wife's roiom amd set it on tlhb ' table, in) the light of tlh© lamp. An ocrnamiential oase of that fcrad must contain sonttHjbAngj valuable. He whippfed out bss serviceable knife and tried to force thja lock. *It resisted the leverage. That wus the more conclusive t. the ttontentajgrosfc be '

I valuable, to bo so' securely fastened. But the resistauoe maddened him. At itihat moment the child upon the bed' began te» cry. That spoiled tiho game. The doctor haft promised to come if the child cried. Dudley's fury reached its climax. He turned) from the box, knife* ia hamd, audl«d!rove the blade savagely througin the soft m^ss upon the bed. ' He was sorry far it the next nuoiment, as he drew the wet knife trom the blanket—' the more sorry because the blow had* failed! to silence the brat. It gave a yet storper cry of pain, whdeh be quickly stifled witK ins left harnd as he shut the clasp knife with his right upon his knee and dropped! it in his pocket. The- enfld writhed! in the agony of .suffocation. flajd«r and harder he pressed —for his life now depend- 1 rd on. its silence —until the littie limiba be> neath the blanket ceased to 1 move, Tfoi9 ■wee thing could cry no more. Not a moment too soon. He hietomi t!i« doctor's voice again outside the dknor, callung "Nurse!" Plunder was foirgiotiten now. SaMy from the gallows was ajoue to be* thougiut of. Ho stepped to the window, got out «on to tiho lad'deir, and- be-gam to descend. Raising his eyes to the windlow, he saw\ upon tihe white blind the red jwint of hia own hamd. I Dudley St John had never before committed murder, and the first effect of hia crime was an appalling terror. ' . Conscience he had ncrae, so that had nothing to do with it. He would have taken human life with as little compunction as a sportsman shooting a bind, bat fox; tihe dread of retaliating laws. It was. the fear of being caught and put to the physical pain of death for the murder of Lord Rawton's child that paralysed him. He knew j there was no escape <for him if caught/ no \ possible remission of the capital punishment, Lord Rowton's position and ' the popular feeling for babies being consideredAnd that knowledge uranerved hiun —led him ; to omit the most obvious means of escape. He daired not go near the village of Rowr ton, dared not venture near the railway/ station for fear of being apprehended while waiting for a train. Moreover, lie iiaydf not suffioient money to pay his fare to London, where alone safety might be found. ■ He wajked 1 all night in the hope ol reach-: ing Norwich 'before daylight, ever seeking: safety by round-about ways. He over-v shot Norwich. When the snn rose he.' found his clothes white as a miller's with the dust of the road I—alll —all save a dark red smear on his wristband. He tore off his wristband' and thrust it into a rabbit hale; he went into a copse and shook the dust out of his clothes. The craven fear growing with physical exhaustion forbade Shim to retrace his steps to Norwich. He felt certain for the first time that his face would betray ihim. . In a village away from the main road he found a dirty inn. There he ate like, a, wolf and drank vile liquor till his last penny was spent and he wa;s fuddled. Tlbeto he fell asleep wjbh his Ihcad on his arms at the greasy table like a pig till the innkeeper woke him up and bade him turn out at closing time. The next day, favoured by chance.and desperate with 'hunger and necessity, he; stopped a lady cycling quietly along the .high road, took her purse and watch, gashed the tyres of 3ier machine with that jserviceable knife to prevent pursuit, and^g-ot off all right. -He gorged and guzzled away bhe rest of that dav. The next morning' he was stopped, on the outskirts of Ipswich by a policeman in plain clothes, who'said. to him civilly, "You must come along with J me, young fellow." . '...*, ;.: J > Dudley .saw that hia.'"' l!!!^*'. JWttg-«0BW^1 *hat the gallows stood now within measurable* ddstajncie, and he bolted. . B"ut< hie "was j flabby, and the policeman, as fresh as a j fouivyear-old, so they were soon at close quarters. Then followed- a struggle, the| two rolling; over and over in a cloud of dust. The policeman presently got Dudley on his back, with a knee on his chest. His right hand was well inside Dudley's' collar, knuckles grinding into his windpipe; with his left he got to his whistle, and blew a shrill blast. This was Dudley's last chance, and, as a forlorn hope, he whipped; out that serviceable knife and drove it home into ihis captor's side. " Nail him, Tom. It's all over with me. „Kiss the kids for me," groaned the poor fellow, falling backwards. Tom and others quickly nailed Dudley, I and he found the distance to the scaffold nearer than ever. To his bewilderment Dudley found himself charged with highway robbery and the murder of a police officer. Noi thjng more. Not a word was said about his [ crime at Rowton Hall. So he haid murdered a policeman merely to escape a month [ or two in prison for robbing tliat woman .piutho cycle. Decidedly he was an all-j round failure. ] He was tried at Ipswich in due course for the murder of the policeman, and sentenced to 'be hamged. But in consideration that the murder was not premeditated 'his sentence was at the last moment remitted to penal servitude for life —a. miscarriage of justice in the name of humanity. But what puzzled Dudley St John for twenty-one years was why, hearing as he must of this case. Lord Rowton had not impeached him for the previous murder of his child. Had the child by a miracle recovered? Even then the attempt at murder must be known, and being as surely traced to him would have prevented the Home Secretary doing a foolish tiling. The events of this prologue took place in 1879 ; the drama consequent to them began in 1900. ' ;