"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9210, 13 April 1908, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

rHE SCALES OF JUSTICE.

(By FRED. M. WHITE.)

: , (Axx. Rights Reserved.] j CHAPTER XVI. _v ■ TO THE RESCUE. George crossed over to the French rtndow and pushed it open. He felt (hot lie would like to be alone for a ifctfo while and collect his thougnts. to if t(> oheok them, Beard followed Mm. Directly he was gone, Flora rose and rang the bell. "Bring the little girl in here,' she Sirected the footman. "Miss Drumtnxmd, I see your brother has already confided in you as he said lie pould. You also ccc how pressing lhe danger is*. Dr Beard suspects everything, his subtle mind has pieced fcb all together. In a day or two it Would not matter so much, but Mr boyle must remain free for some hours bo <*)&!&■;''. We must find some way of • getting him to a place of safety. If Jou cannot think of a way.. I must try '■ little scheme of my own." "I could manage it after to-night, Bybit said thoughtfully. "There is fn old nuree of mine wiio would do anything for me. But she is old, »nd j&e lias to "be prepared. To-mor-W — " , c "To-Taxxrrow may be too late tor my purpose. I believe that I hold tne me to tie whole villainy in my hands. kill, the idea of your old nurse and var cottage may come in very useful. in. the meantime, I am going to use the child. Jessie 1". t Jessie Marston came demurely into She room. She was sorry to trouble Miss Flora, but she had promised to lend her a copy of " The Wide, "Wide world," which she wds anxious to read. Her father had been talking to her About it. "I expect I have been too busy over other things," Flora smiled. "But you shall have my copy of the precious took, and I will go and fetch it for you from the library. And, after that, I want you to do something for me, Jessie.' Jessie responded bravely that she ftrould do anything in the world for Iftiss Flora. Flora's eyes were glowIng now with the light of inspiration. Bhe vanished from the room and cam© back presently with the coveted volame inharhand: ■. ■' •"J want you to take this home, and come back again. But/ you are not to come to the house-. It is a sort of game we are playing, but nobody is to know' anything about it. You must come back and stay by the clump of trees opposite the lodge gates, where you can^aee the house. Then a man, will ©am© out with a letter in his hand, wad you are to speak to him. Say »bu are Jessie, and he will come with you. Then I want you to take him fend hide him in the woods, so that inly you can find him. Then you are io ehow\ the^man your cottage, so that le can find his way to it after dark, nhere is nothing more I can think of Bessie, except that you will stay in j£he house and not leave it again till to-morrow morning." Jessie was listening to all this wi^b dilated eyes. She. was quite sure there was nothing wrong y in the little game. Or Miaa Flora would never have suggested it. Besides, the child had the feeling that she was helping her benefactress in some way. "I'll do it," she said. "I'll do Anything that you ask me. Do .we bepn nowP" • "We begin at once, Jessie. rake tour book home, and then return to the beech-trees, from whence you can ste fee house. Now run along, little prL" Jessie departed obediently after a kiss from Fiona and a large handful rf preserved fruits. Sybil turned Mgerly-to Flora for details. But there pere no details forthcoming for the prejent, as George, followed by Beard, came back into the dining-room. George jbad a carefully assumed expression of indifference; Beard's face was almost boyish in its gaiety. v " We have been carrying the mystery of the looked bedroom and the concealed convict a little- further," the fatter said. " I fancy I have convinced Captain Drummond that I - ihould have made an excellent detective. My theory is that the # bedroom Aoox dirt not lock itself accidentally, but that somebody else climbed through the window before the captain was compelled to follow suit. It seemed to me that I could point out where the ivy had been pulled down by_the convict on his way to the bedroom." " And what Would the object be?" Flora asked. '" My dear child, your knowledge of the ways of convicts is primitive. What is the very first thing that a oonviot requires when he regains his liberty P A thoughtful Government has provided him with a that does not permit of disguise. A Chinaman might pass without comment in the street, hut not a convict in his full dress. Therefore, he needs clothes. A Change of garments is absolutely recesKuy,' especially if he hopes to keep his liberty. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred the first thing the escaped convict doe* is to steal a suit of clothes. Tim Gilbert Doyle Well, what is kf" The intruding footman extended a shabby-looking note, written in pencil, tai a tray. He was understood to 6ay that a boy had brought it. 'There was no answer, only a request that the letter should be handed to Dr Beard withfeat delay. ■ "That being admitted beyond all bhadow of dispute," Beard went on, leisurely opening the letter, and ap- ; barently enjoying the sound of his own voice, "we will proceed to our next Ueduction, which is — which is Good ■leavens! You don't mean to say ■ The man paused, white and shaking. George could see that there were only ■ |kalf-a-<lozen words pencilled on the note. But the effect of them on Beard bad been extraordinary. He seemed to gollapee and shrivel up like a pricked >lodder, his shoulders fell away, he coked half his natural size. He staggered across the room to the fireplace

and dropped the letter into the blaze. George watched I;he dramatic change with a certain grim amusement. "Are jou ill, sir?" he asked. "I hone there is no bad news in your note." Beard did not seem to hear. He turned his starting eyes upwards, as if seeking for new strength and assistance that were denied him. All the man's assurance had gone out of Mm. He tottered to the sideboard and poured himself out a glass of brandy. After he had swallowed this a little natural colour crept into his fat cheeks again. "It was a shock," he muttered— -" a terrible shock. The sudkien death of an old friend." George nodded grimly. He knew perfectly well that the man was lying — and, indeed, Bea.rd was aware of the lameness of his excuse. There had been no time to invent anything plaupible. He had to utter bis sbcddy falsehood on the spur of the moment.' "Thave to go over to Castleford," he said. " I shall have to go at once. That will prevent me from having the pleasure of driving you to the station. Flora, you will see that there is a trap to take Captair. Dntromond to the station at the proper time." Flora, intirniaied that she would <!lo all that was necessary. In spite of his shock, Beard had not forgotten his intention to get George out of the house as soon as possible. With a muttered anolosrv for his enforopd absenc&. Beard left the room. A little later he was seen striding down the drive," a large stick in his band. /- " Fortune has played into our bands with a vencrfwnce this time." George exclaimed. " "What a wonderfully clever man that is ! He seemed almost to divine exactly what had happened. Now that he is out of the way, cannot we act at oneeP" "Fortune always comes to the side o f truth and' honour at last," Flora said thoughtfully. " But do not bo too hasty. You have only a faint idea of the cunning cleverness 1 of that man. He may be acting all the time. I don't think that he was, but one never 7 cap tell with a man of hie marvellous ability. Let me put my plan into execution." Flora slipped out of the room £ she did not return for the best part of half an hour. When she did her cheeks were glowing and her eyes sparkled. " I think I have managed it," she said. " I started the scheme a little time ago by sending one of the footmen into Castleford for me. Look down the drive and tell me what you ccc." There .was nothing to see for some little time, till the figure of a servant in livery, who carried a letter in his hand, emerged into sight. The figure walked jauntily along, looking neither to the right nor left. As he approached the chimp of beeches by the lodge gates he stopped, apparently to tie up a shoelace; and then there appeared a child, who spoke to him. "I see it alii" Sybil cried. "How wonderfully clever you are! You have borrowed the dress of one of your footmen — the man you sent to Castleford — and dressed Mr Doyle up in it I By the time your footman returns his lost livery will be restored to his room. If Dr Beard is on the look-out he will never see that." George was warm in his congratulations. He could go to London now with an easy mind, he- said. But he had made his mind up to one thing — he was coming back again. Was ther© anything in which he could be useful? Flora smiled as she held out her hand. " There are many ways in which, you can be useful," she said: " Before you go I will give you the address of an old family solicitor. I want you to see him and tell him what has happened here. And then I have some detective work for you to do also. And when the time comes, and you are free to hold up your litead again " ' Flora said no more, but her glorious dmile wae enough for George. He did not realise the fact that he was still holding the girl's two hands in 1 his. Here was a beautiful and noble girl, who believed in him when all the world had turned against him. For her sake he would fight the battle out to the bitter end. And when the truth was declared, and he could hold up his head again, he had made up his mind to ask Flora the question which a good man should ask only one woman, and that woman once in a lifetime. Meanwhile, Doyle was making his | way safely to the lodge gates. He knew pretty well what he had to do, for Flora had told him all in the hall when he had smuggled himself downstairs. As he stood in the hall he would have passed anywhere for a respectful servant; he stood quietly listening to all that Flora had to say. ,: " You will do exactly as you are told," ehe said. " I daresay you are puzzled to know why I should take such an interest in your case, and why i I have interfered like this. But there is no time to go into that nojw. I must see you later. It is arranged that you shall go to the cottage occupied by the poacher Marston, as you did last night. Marston will be out of the way, I know. Therefore I shall come and see you to-night at ten. I shall have news that will surprise you. Do you quite understand?" " I quite understand that you are an angel of goodness and mercy," Doyle said huskily. "You are Miss Cameron. Of course, I have heard of you in the notes that Mary has sent me and smuggled into my possession by my faithful servant, Juan Garcia. But Mary seemed to hint that you were not interested in their misfortunes." "So it appeared," Flora said. " But until very lately Mary had, not con>fidence in me. I expect she looked upon everybody in the household in. the light of an enemy. It was only when I found out certain things, and to a certain extent forced her confidence, that she gave me the details. But I had to be careful and discreet; I had to deceive Mr Beard. He -does not know that I am on your side ; he thinks that I only interest myself in my own affairs. And then I made a, discovery that told me it was time to act. What that discovery is I. will tell you when I see you to-night. Now you had better go." The pseudo-servant touched his hat respectfully as he passed out of the house into the drive. By the clump of beeches he found Jessie awaiting

him. Despite his disguise she recognised him, as her face testified. "So we are going to play a little game together again." she said. " Miss Flora told me that. ft seems a funny game, and I don't see much point in it; only if Miss "Flora says it is all right, why then, it must be, don't you thinkf " : " I' m certain of it," Doyle said gravely. " Miss Flora is goodness and beauty itself. And our little game is only innocent hide-and-seek. Now, little girl, you are to take me to some pretty bowejr in the woods and hide me j there. Then you are to go to the house and fetch a parcel, and take another back again. You see, I don't feel quite comfortable in these clothes, and I want my own again. But you will say nothing to anybody." I Jessie promised gravely to observe all ; these things. She brought Doyle at length to a dark recess in the wood, where there were the remains of an old charcoal burner's hut. Soon Doyle was once more in the suit of clothes he had borrowed from George, and the footman's gaijb was on its wav back to the Moat House again. There were two or three papers in the pocket of the coat, and a packet of cigarettes, to say nothing of a small basket of food. Nothing had been omitted for his comfort. " The long day dragged on, the dark fell, the boom of the clock in the village church told of the sullen passing of the hours. It was nearly ten o'clock now, and there was no sign of Jessie coming back to take her friend to the cottage. He felt at last that he must try and find the cottage Tor himself. • Perhaps something had happened to Jessie. At any rate, he could not stay there any longer. More by good fortune than anything else, he blundered on the cottage. There was a light in the little sitting-room, and the sound of somebody unmistakably sobbing. Doyle ventured to look in. Jessie sat with one boot off, and a great swelling round her slim ankle. Her pitiable look changed as DoyJo came in. " Oh, I am so glad you came — so gladl" she said. "I slipped and feil I can't put my foot to the ground. And my father has met with an accident too. He sent a message by a boy to say so — a message on a scrap of paper In the big wood by the keeper's lodge And if my poor father is found there they will send him to prison. Oh, my dear kind, sir, can't you think of any way to help my poor father?" Doyle stooped and kissed the pretty. quivering little face. " I can," he said pithily. " Keep your oourage up. I'll go to your father myself." v - chapterTxvii. . THE UAfcSE OP HUMANITY. The child's eyes sparkled, and a little April smile crossed over her dark face. Gilbert's heart went out to her. It was plain, too, that Jessie was keenly anxious about her father. "It was very unfortunate," she said. "I ought to have been more careful. I should have thought more about my father. He is everything that I have left, you see." Gilbert bent and kissed the trembling lips of the child. His own case was sorry enough, but that of Jessie seemed to be worse, tied as she was to the dissolute scoundrel called Marston. And yet there must have been good in the man, or Jessie would not be. so concerned. "My father has these attacks," the

girl went on, with the air of a middleaged woman. "He has cancer, and will never be any better.* The pain affects his heart, and sometimes he will He for hours without moving, so great is the pain. And fif he is caught by the keepers in. the woods he will go to prison." " How did he manage to send the message?" Gilbert asked. "By a boy. I expect he dragged himself to the edge of the wood, and then back to the place that we both know of. If I was all right I could go there on the darkest night. My father taught me all about the woods and how to feel my way in the dark. And now I have hurt my foot, and I cannot do him any good at all." And Jessie's tears began to flow again. It was perhaps a foolish thing on Gilbert's part, but he could not behold the little one's distress and do nothing. Heaven only knew how important his meeting with Flora Cam* eron was, but he decided to risk missing that. A man could not, however abandoned, be out in the woods all night. " Don't cry," Gilbert said. " I'll do what I can for you. If Miss Cameron comes here to see me, tell her what has happened, and if she can't wait for me, perhaps she will leave a message. Only I don't know the woods as you do. Will you tell me the way to go P I knew a lot about woods and forests in Mexico, so I don't suppose that an English thicket will puzzle me." "But the woods are very thick," Jessie replied. "There are swamps that even the keepers do not go near at night. Sometimes cattle stray into them and get suffocated. You will give my father the cry of the nightjar, like this " — imitating the call of that bird — " then, if he is near, he will know that it is a friend, and direct you how to get to him. You start (rom the little white gate and go through straight down the big ride where they shoot the pheasants. Half-way down is a pile of hop-polefc, and you take the path by them till you come to a hut. Then there is a path down hill that leads you to the edge of the swamp. You will see a broken old boat there. Then stand still and give the call. Now, I am going to repeat that again till you get it by heart." Gilbert had it by heart at length, and was ready to start. The night was darker than he had expected, and by the time he had reached the big ride he began to have an uncomfortable idea that he had lost his way. He could just make out the faint outline of the bare tree^tops against the skyline, afar off he could hear the bleating of sheep. Holding his hand a little distance off, he could not see it at all. He blundered on anon, looking in vain for'' the pile of hop-poles. He was about to turn back and begin all over again when he faintly discerned the pyramid of sticks. He almost wished he had not come. Why should he risk his freedom and I happiness, to say nothing of the happiness of an innocent girl, for the sake of a poacher who was a pest to society ? And yet, in the cause of humanity, Gilbert told himself that he must persevere. Well, here was the pile of hop-poles at last, so that up to the present there had been no mistake. And suddenly Gilbert realised the fact. that he had another danger to contend with. What if he should stumble across a keeper or two and be arrested on a charge of poaching? If; that happened he would be back at Greystone before many hours were over his head. The reality of this danger stimulated Gilbert's sense of hearing, and he strained his ear for sounds. And presently the sound came — a peculiar, dull humming, as if a swarm of angry beesAwere close by. Something was coming heavily along, and a second later a brilliant light illuminated the ride on either side. Gilbert looked at the light in astonishment. What was the great humming motor doing on such a bad roadP He was standing in front of a powerful Mercedes, and as his eyes grew accustomed to the light he saw that two men were inside. They were both swathed in furs, with goggles and peaked caps. The car was creeping along like some monster that had strayed from its lair. Doyle could see that the thing was painted a dead-black, not a speck of brass being 1 visible. He ( 6tood in the broad lane of blazing lifrbt, \forgetfiil of the fact that he was nicked out in full view of the occupants of the car. The big Mercedes stopped altogether. / " Say, can you put us on the rip-ht track?" the man next the driver asked. "We've gone by a local guidebook, and that's let us down badly." Gilbert recognised the accent at once. He had not travelled in Mexico and the Southern States of America for nothing. The speaker came from the State of Virginia, and Gilbert wanted nobody to tell him that. It was a pleasant voice, with the faintest trace of a nasal drawl; indeed, few people who had no knowledge of the South would have recognised it, but the voice spoke plainly to Doyle. " Where do you want to go?" he asked. These must be some wealthy Americans, with their national idea that* all roads are public nroperty.' " You're off the main track altogether. There is a right-of-way for the publio through the ride., but not for wheels. How did you get here?" " Through a gate that was off ite hinges. We concluded from the guidebook that we were making a- short cut of it. Can we get out at the other end?" " Ohj yes, if you keep straight on, n Gilbert explained. " It's about naif a mile to the lane proper. Turn to the right and you'll strike the main road." " Thanks, very much! And. how far is it to Castleford?" " Upon my word, I don't know," Gilbert stammered. "I am a stranger in these partSi and " " Haven't the bump of locality very well developed," the questioner said, with a short laugh. He started his hand to the guiding wheel of the machine, and Gilbert saw that the hand was smaller than a man's hand usually is, just as if it had been shrivelled by an accident, and badly hurt, many

I years before. " You don't know how far it is to Castleford, and. here you are wandering about this wood as if it were Piccadilly with the gas on. Well, I guess it is no business of ours, and I thank you kindly for your information." There was something gay about the speaker's tones that was utterly devoid of offence. Still, the point was 1 neatly made, as Gilbert was bound to admit. He laughed in reply, and the great Mercedes began to move again. It hummed and boomed, then it seemed to Gilbert as v it had stopped again, i for the lights vanished, and there was j no more sound beyond the scatter of a frightened rabbit or two. But all this was taking time, so Gilbert pressed on again till he came to the spot where the broken boat lay, and found it, and with some little troubue. He lifted up his voice, and gave the ory of the nightjar. He called out again and again before any reply came. The reply was faint, but more like the call of the bird than his imitation was. He hesitated to speak ; it was possible that keepers were lurking near. But at length he uttered Marston's name in a low voice. The response seemed to come from close by. " You need not be afraid, of keepers," the faint, shrewd voice said. " I have taken care of that> and sent them on a wild-goose chase to the far side of the home spinney. Who are you?" "Perhaps I had better know who you are first," Gilbert said. "If you are James Marston " * " Oh, I am James Marston, right enough. I can venture to tell you that, because you would never find me, although you are close by. Only blunder a few steps forward in the dark, and you would never live to see the outer world again. Yes, you are talking to James Marston, who is down on his back, with the eagles preying on his very vitals. Who sent you to me?" ■ . . It was a sstrange, weird conversation in a strange, weird place. The full force of it was not lost upon Doyle. He shuddered to . think what a false step might do for v him. "Your little girl sent me," he said. " I went to your house to meet a lady. But that has nothing to do with the matter at ail." " Pardon me if I venture to disagree with you. You are speaking of Miss Cameron?" " As you know so much, it would be foolish to deny it. Miss Cameron- " " Is an angel, if ever there was one," Marston groaned between his spasms of pain. "God bless her always, if it is only for the goodness to my little one. And if she picked out my co tage to meet you, then you are not a very bad man, or she would not me** you at all. She felt pretty sure thu I should be out. It would have been all the same if I had been at home. I would do anything for Miss Cameron, though 'she scarcely deigns to speak to me. I should like to know y<>"T name, if you please I" "Doyle," Gilbert said unthinkingly — " that is, Doyle will do as well as any other ior the present." "Of course it will. And for the /uture, too, seeing that you were -born to the name. You are the man who escaped trom Greystone Prison last night, and found your way into the Moat House by the corridor window. I was out on professional business, and saw all that. I waited with some curiosity to see what was going to happen. But when I saw that you had friends in the house, I understood that it was all a planned thing. At that moment I did not know that you were Mr Gilbert Doyle, but I guessed it this morning when I %vas told that a convict called Doyle has escaped. I dareBay you wonder how I know all these things, but everything will become plain presently. So you came of your own freewill to take this poor body of mine home? Why did you come?" " Because your little one has hurt her leg," Gilbert explained. " She has just received your message, and was in a great state as I reached the cottage. I may say that I was hiding near your cottage last right, but that is another 6tory. I had to come — I should have been inhuman if I had not.'" " Ay, and it's going to prove the best hour's work you have ever done in your Hfe," Marston said in a hoarse voice. " I'm a great blackguard, but I have a sneaking liking for a good man yet. Stoop down by the side of the boat, under the locker. You'll find a lantern there. Light it, and I'll tell you how to get to me." Gilbert found the lantern and a box of matches as well. He could see little patches of green grass dotted here and there across the pool like steppingstones. But they were not all safe ones t Marston told him. He carefully ! indicated the different patches that would bear the weight of a man's body. There was a hollow of hard earth in the centre of the swamp, and here Mareton lay on a mass of dry straw. " It's no use," the latter said, as he essayed to rise. " With your help, 1 daresay I can manage to reach the other side of the mere, but I am too exhausted to get home. Give me the lantern, and take me on your back. I'll tell you which of the green patches to land on. Once we are on the other side of; the water we can develop the plan of campaign." The other side of the mere was at length reached, and then, utterly exhausted, Marston fell off the back of his supporter. Gilbert picked up the lantern, and let the rays of it play on the poacher's pale and drawn face. " This is the worst attack I have ere> had," he said feebly. "If only I had my medicine here, or a glass of brandy. If I don't get home I shall die. A little time ago I wanted to, die, but not since you came. There is work for me to do yet." " And for me also. In the first place I have to get you home." "Which is improbable, in the ordinary way. They don't feed you up for athletic exploits yonder, and I am a big man. You must fetch my pony. He is at the edge of the wood, tethered to the side of the road — a ragged little b-ay, without saddle or bridle. I always keep him like that to avoid suspicion." Gilbert did not wait for further directions. He was anxious to get Marston homo, and not to keen Flora Cameron waiting longer. With the lantern in his hand he felt pretty sure lie would not lose his way. He had only to find the pony and take him back to Marston. Gilbert flashed the rays of his lantern from side to side, as if seeking for suspicious objects. Then suddenly the rays touched a mass of black metal pushed into a ditch that seemed to be more or less filled with water. Gilbert forgot Marston for the moment. He had not the least hesitation in guessing what the name of the metal was. "Now, I wonder what this means?" he asked himself. " This is close to the spot where the Americana stopped me. Why have they hidden their car in that ditch?" (To be continued.) The first needles _ that were made in England were fabricated in Cheapside, ; in the time of Mary, by a negro from Spain ; but, as he would not impart the secret, it was lost at his death, and not recovered again until 1566, in the reign of Elizabeth, when Elias Growse, a German, taught the art to the English, who have since brought it to the highest degree of perfection. <