"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10232, 15 August 1911, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

THE MAN HUNT.

(By TOM GALLON.) Author of " Tatterly," " The Great Gay Road," Etc.

[All Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER XII A COOTESSION.

It is perhaps unnecessary to suggest that neither Murdoch Slade nor Litchfield went to bed that night. It was not exactly a, matter of conscience;, rather that there were so many things to be thought about and arranged—it was a sort of winding-up of a tragic business.

; Adams had gone off to his own room, after receiving instructions to have the par ready at an early hour in the morning ; and Slade and Litchfield prepared ; to make themselves as comfortable as possible for the rest of the night. More :than one© they were disturbed by Bounds above and started to their feet ,with a wild idea that the unfortunate man ? hidden, away to die, had in some fashion or other got out of his prison and was back again into the house. But Bxasperatingly enough it turned out to be only Mrs Litchfield, who could not sleep, and was quite certain that she peard noises. So the wretched, weary hight passed, and in the morning three Laded people at least met for an early breakfast, which had been prepared hurriedly by the startled housekeeper, who had known only that morning that the house was occupied by Mrs Litchfield and by Grace in addition to the first comers.

1 But little was said over that meal. The ladies looked furtively at each other, and Litchfield was in such a state of abject nervousness that he started at every sound, and once fairly leapt ont of his chair when the housekeeper inadvertently banged a door. Indeed, ■ he made a bad conspirator at the best, and, although he longed to Bay something to Slade, his fear of that inan kept him silent.

1 To 'Mrs Litchfield was left the unpleasant task of dismissing the two old servants and of seeing that they left the premises. There were a few indignant protests on their part, and some .tears on the part of the woman especially, but both had "nut by ; " and the amount produced by Slade m addition .to their actual wages was sufficient to serve as balm to their wounded feel£gs. So that at last their keys had ien delivered up and they were actually out of the house, with such luggage as they possessed piled on a fly that the man had brought from the station.

■' Are you going to leave the place to go to rack and ruin, Boyd?" asked Mrs Litchfield with some indignation. I " You don't seem to understand," he retorted testily, " that it has got to be Bold up—or something else done with it. Haven't I told you," he added in a whisper "that we're all in Slade's hands and that he can do what he likes with us? If we stick to him, we shall be all right, but we can't go against him. Above all tilings, we can't wait now, with the car at the door; any personal belongings can, I dare say. be fetched afterwards. There's Slade shouting now and wanting to know if .We're ready; pray come on." • So the lady took her seat, tearfully enough, *in the car, together with Grace; and Boyd Litchfield, after seeing that everything was fastened up, came out to join them. Slade, standing buttoning his gloves, looked at the car and at the party with the air of one who to the last has made up his tnind to dispose of everything and everyone in his own way, and issued his commands.

" Adams—you'll have to sit with the ladies; Mr Litchfield will be in front with me; I want to talk to liini." That was the arrangement which, above all others, Litchfield would hare been glad to avoid. He suppressed a. groan, and indeed turned it into a

cough, and climbed to his seat beside Slade, who was to drive. And so the journey to London was begun—and begun in silence. Despite Rlade's suggestion that he wished to talk to Litchfield, he scarcely opened his mouth during, the whole journey, and it is more than probable that he made the arrangement originally in the fear that Litchfield might talk imwisely to the others. It was only (vhen they were Hearing London that Litchfield, bending towards his companion, made a frightened remark.

Suppose anyone takes that house—or wants to look over it. Suppose after a tune they find him—dead—in that underground place? Have you forgotten that the houso is mine?" "I have borne that in mind," said Slade quietly as he turned, his head and looked at the shrinking man with a peculiar smile. " I bear everything in mind. But you needn't worry; I'll see you through this, and a great deal more besides." The starting of the car that morning had roused a certain poor prisoner from strange, uneasy dreams. Manners awoke, cramped and tortured, and faint and weak, and tried to move. It seemed as though heavy weights were holding him down, and that in some strange way the room in which he found himself had a ceiling very close* to his head and smelt unaccountably musty. For a time, ns he lay there, he tried to make up his mind 1 what it was exactly that had happened to him. He could remember nothing since that moment when, in the corridor of the house, he had seen Adams facing him, and. turning abruptly, had 6een a blinding flash and fallen where he stood.

After a time he managed to turn a little; the effort caused him to scream cut with sudden pain. A faint licht seemed to come from somewhere just beside him, and by it he made out that some of his clothing had been cut away and that his wounds had been bandaged. After a time he managed to drag himself to where the light was, and found that it came in through a low, unglazed window, with bars across it, near the roof of his prison, and giving on the outside straight nn to the ground. With a further painful effort he managed to reach one of these bars and to drag himself to the window and to raise a cry for help. That cry went echoing through the still, clear morning air, but found no response.

He fell again with a certain dread hopelessness beginning to steal about his heart, for he now began to remember things. He had a dim feeling that, as in a dream, he had been carried, swaying horribly and racked with pain, in men's arms through the cold night air, and that someone had walked in front, carrying a swinging lantern. He stretched up an arm painfully, and just contrived to touch the roof of his prison ; presently, with difficulty, dragged himself along the floor of it, until he found, in the growing light above his head, a tran-door. There were the steps up which he could crawl: he might yet be able to force his way out of the place in which he was.

But though, with what strength was left in him, he heavc-d and pushed against the trap-door, it would not move. He realised that in some fashion or other it had been fastened. With a groan of despair he fell back down the steps again and lay for a long time motionless and with closed eyes.

He w»is roused from a stupor by a curious sound that was going on near him, and that seemed in some unaccountable way to penetrate tho halfdelirium in which he was, and to bring back old scenes in him memory. It was a pleasant Sunday morning again, and he had put 011 an easy tweed suit, in place of the conventional frock coat, and was going for a walk through the pleasant street, with Rags, the terrier. And Rags was jumping and dancing all about him, whimpering and barking with delight. He could hear the sound of the whimpering quite distinctly now in his dream.

tie opened his eyes and looked about

him. The dream was over, but the sound was going on in his brain just the same. He crnwled again to the window, and laid hold of the iron bar to draw himself up to it, and suddenly found that the fingers locked round the iron bar were wet—licked by a lit Lie eager, feverish tongue. This wa-s something from the world outside. He drew himself up feebly close to the window and peered out. There was the dog, half mad with excitement, and striving hard to get at him through the bars. There was life and hope, in the mere touch of the little creature's head as he stretched a hand through to fondle it. " Good Rags ! Good boy ! What are we to do for ourselves now, I won 3 d-er?" he whispered feebly. '"1 can't get out.—arid you can't get in. I wonder if you can help me?" The dog bad lain down on the grass outside, with his muzzle just thrust through the bars, waiting. His mere stump of a tail was going rapidly, but he did not seem to understand tile situation at all. Manners lay on his back thinking of this thing, and of this one tiny scrap of communication between himself and the world that should help him. And after a time some of his old courage seemed to come back to him and, with a little laugh that was half a sob, he rolled over, and began industriously to search through his pockets.

A scrap of paper and a pencil! What wonderful things they were at a time like this—-if only he could depend on his messenger! With much labour he scribbled on the scrap of paper a mes- | sage, carefully giving the address of the house in the grounds of which he | was held a prisoner. And at the bottom he wrote: "Come to the old carpenter's shop in the grounds." He tied this scrap of paper into his handkerchief, and then, with much labour, dragged himself again to the window, and held out his hand to the dog. " Nearer, old chap, nearer/' he pleaded. "I can't reach you." But he reached him at last, and carefully fastened the handkerchief round the dog's neck. It took a long time, for Manners was weak and the little animal restless; but at last the thing was done, and knotted securely. And now came the supreme test. Often and often oil those Sunday morning jaunts Manners, with the masterful reeling of the man who will always be obeyed in the slightest things, had trained the doc; to obey his lightest wish, and to leave him at a moment's notico and go home. Often and often it had wrung his heart to do it, and to see the little animal, with ears pricked and wistful eyes, watching him, and yet obliged to turn away and leave him. Manners had little thought then how some day this might serve him. Gripping the bars now, he drew himself up painfully, and with what strength was left to him spolce with sternness to the dog. " Home, Rags, home," he cried. The dog sprang up. and with the instinct of obedience ran a few yards away, and then stopped, looking back. Once again Manners, with his face, close to the bars, called out that order: "Home, Bags, home!" This time the do2 turned, and set off j at a great rate across the grounds, not making for the house, but- for the open I country ; nor did he look back. Manners laughed softly and let go the bars and dropped back and fainted. Meanwhile, a very unhappy man was pacing up and down iviauuers's rooms in Bloomsbury ; that man wjis Ijrasnsus Jarman. Ordinarily the healthiest and sanest of men, ho had been driven almost to distraction during the latter halt of the previous day and the night that had gone before and the day that, followed tiiat. by reason of the fact that he had heard nothing of Robert j Marsh —that mysterious man who had set out to find a young girl, who had called to see him and had been repulsed by Jarman. A deadly fear had come upon Jarman that he had offend. ' ed that strange man with the dean- j shaven face that was so like the face of j the long-dead Arthur Manners; he i

could not rest cr sleoo for thinking of that tiossibility. Often and often during those hours he Trould think he heard a Round outside on the staircase, awl woukl hurry to. the hall door and OTtrtti it. and would .go out to listen. Bub nothing happened. and the big r.ir.ii had at last viwked himself into a Tery fever of anxiety. S f or, of flourse, it must 'or remembered that ,Tnr»S4) was working entirely in tho dftrk, save for the one faint clue hj? thought lie had concerning tho identity. of ill© man who called hnrndf Robert Marsh. For tho rest, the man Murdoch Slado and the little' pretty girl < in > black were but mere shadows, signifying nothing to him. So that now when Robert Marsh was gone, Jarman did not knotr what ta do, nor tvbp.ro to search for lihn. Jfc was towards tho evening of the day following Bobort Marsh's disappen ratio© thai Jarrosn wont out for the lc-.t time, as ha told himself, into the little hall, and stood there listening. Surely thero was a sound at last, though scarcely the one he had expected. A faint sniffling sound against tho bottom of the doer, cud thon the short, sharp bark of a dog. Surprised. Jarman. opened tho door, and locked out. There, crouched acainst the wall, was a am all and very dirty rough-haired terrier. It had evidently been running for miles, and was exhausted; its tongue was lolling out, and it seemed scarcely able to keep on its legs. Jarman stooped to touch it, and it drew bsjck from him suspiciously.' He was about to close tho door upon it, when a thought leapt into his mind: and lie stood staring at the dog, with his breath coming and going fast. The dead Rodney Manners had had

a dog, which he had bequeathed to the girl no was to have married! With a jerk Jarman pulled the door open, and snapped his lingers to the smali animal, in token that, it might come in ; Hags slipped past him, made straight for the hearthrug in fcho sitting-room, and lay down. Jarman shut the outer door, and got some water and food, and fed the little creature. And ail the tin'.o puzzled his head to know what this iitsw thing meant. The dog had finished his meal, and was lying with his chin on his paws, regarding Jarman with bright eyes, when the man noticed that the aniwith something tied about it. Ho with something tide a-bout it. He stooped and looked at this, and saw at last it was a handkerchief, knotted closely about the dog's neck. For a Jong time Hags Mould not let him touch it; but at last:, by dint of much coaxing, he managed to get it unfastened, and took it, to the table to oxammo it. Mo found that it was knotted in two other places; and, unfastening these, discovered the note twisted tightly in the. folds of it.

Ho took out the scrap of paper, and read it es.gc.rly; understood at last dimly what it meant. And as he read tiie note, startling; though it was, he almost cried aioud for joy at a new discovery. If or in that moment of lameness the man who had written it had told the truth, and had signed it in a long scrawl-Rodney Manners." Here was news at last, and Jarman could get to work. Be did not, of course, yet understand all that the brief note conveyed, his mind merely leapt to the thought that there was treachery of some sort, of which Manners was the victim. Nor could he, of course, know to whom the house mentioned in that scrap of paper belonged. While he hurriedly made preparations for departure, he talked to the small dog curled up on the hearthrug. "1 don't knew your name, young fellow—hut the fact that you belong to him is quite sufficient to make us friends. You've come a long journey, my little man—and I'm wondering if you care to take a long journey back again ; or if you'll stop here and wait for him. What do you say?". Hags seemed to understand what was said ; he sat up, and shook himself, and pricked up his ears. Mr Jarman left the matter to him to decide; but when presently lie had his hat and coat on, and was ready to start, he was glad to find that the dog came out of the place after him, ready to go also. There were no trains at that time of night; but that fact did not trouble Erasmus Jarman. Ho knew the power of his money; and, some half-hour later, with the dog curled up beside him on the cushioned seat, he,.-was speeding away from London in a hired motor-car for the house of Mr Boyd Litchfield. It was a. bright moonlight night, and he had told the driver to take all risks, and ha<l promised an exorbitant tip if the man hurried; they flew along the loads as though it were indeed a matter of life or death. * The house stood silent and deserted when they swung in at the gates and raced up to it. Under the circumstances Jarman had expected that, and it did not trouble him. Preceded by the chauffeur carrying one of the lamps, and with the dog darting ahead, and looking hack every now and then to see if tliey were following, Jarman came to the old workshop at the end of the grounds, and kicked open the crazy door, and called aloud. But there was no answer.

"There ain't nobody here, sir," said the chauffeur, turning the light this way and that.

But Jarman's quick eyes had shown him that the bench that had stood in one place ao many years had been displaced. He put his great strength to it. and pushed it back, crying out in excitement as he saw the trap-door. Flinging this back, he saw the flight of steps, down which the dog instantly rushed, barking and wimperin" excitedly.

" Give me the light," said the big man; and went down the steps, looking about him. The chauffeur, .kneeling at the top. was amaac-d to see the big man down cn his knees, supporting the head of someone lying in the gloom of that underground cellar, and muninring to the unconscious man as though talking to a. child.

Between them they got him up the steps, a.nd Jarman managed to get some life into the colourless face with the aid of a flask he took from his pocket. The chauffeur would have assisted. to lift Manners, but saw to his amazement the big man take him up, as though he had been a baby, swing him deftly over his shoulder, and go striding away through the grounds towards the motor.

" Stop at the first- decent inn yon come to; then you'll have, to go -011 for m doctor," said Jarman curth', ;is he set his burden down tenderly in the car.

/.leanwhile, that other party in Murdoch Slaae s car lisd reached London, and had made their Wiiy to Wedgwood Square. Slade, after seeing them deposited at tho hotiso, would have driven off ilieii _ar.d there with Adams; but .boyd liitchhfiid literally elmio: to ■Sladc-'s arm, and insisted that he should come into the house. Alter some little hesitation his request was acceded, to, and the. two men went in together. ou can t- you shan't leave thump like this " spluttered Litchfield, literally holding cm to his man. '• You wouldn't leave a man in the. lurch like this."

bJao.e, faring him. with his hands thrust, deep into tho pockets of his

h?nvy coat; "bow am I leaving you in

tlio lurch?"

■'Yon are leaving me utterly helpless." almost whimpered Litchfield. " I am in desperate straits. as yen know, and anything may happen at any moment to throw suspicion upon me. I'm quite innocent- " " Yes, my cowardly friend, yon're quite innocent," broke in Slade. with a laugh. " But I think you forget that I told von that in this matter we sink or swim together. Yon can't expect to benefit unless you do feme of the work and take pome of the risk;;. What do ycu want of me now?" '' I want to know what's going to happen?" answered Litchfield, striving to control his voice. " Are we to remain here—waiting: or are we making a bolt lor it. or what are we going to do?"

''Por the present, you're stonier to remain. here." answered Stode, without looking at him. "If you doubt me at. all, the best thing yn".; can do is to boar in mind the f;vot that in this mattor I do not stand alone; T have Grao-e to think oi. Am I likely to desert. ven all? .Keep your courage up. and hold your tongue- So far as money is concern c-d, you shall hove it so soon as I can sparp it._ Good heavens, man," he adoed, rallying] v, as hp struck the other man lightly on the chest,. •'• what is then l , to tear? Snr.iP in th° f 11 uiire- --months or yc.Vt'S perhaps—someone will' iind nil that * remains of a man that bears no name and has no record. T have the papers from his pockets, and I havo again that bunch of keys that was stolen from me, and that lets me into all his secrets. Sleep in peace, my friend, and don't worry."

So he went away, leaving Litchfield i ] \ anything but an en viable frame of mind. If by any chance Slade thought at all, as he must have done, of that poor prisoner, wounded and shut- away underground, he strove to dismiss the idea rrom his mind. For the present he was sale, and the present only mattered to him.

Lut- that night that had seen Jarman start of! into the country with the dog found Murdoch Sla.de in his rooms, restless and alraid. The man could faco anything in the light; darkness and silence wore him down. He looked out of his windows across the lighted streets, and fancied that he heard many things threatening him ; now the cry of a newspaper seller shouting strange news : now a man hurrying who might be hurrying in his direction. 'Unable to stand it any "longer, he went out, at something near to midnight; and his feet unconscious!.}' turned in the direction of those rooms wherein Rodney Manners had once lived, and which were now occupied by a stranger whose name he did not know. He had those keys in his pocket which would give him access to the rooms ; and ho stood for a long time in the street, fingering them and looking up at the dark windows. Those rooms held secrets he had not yet penetrated ; someone else was moving in this story, whose nam-? and position he did not yet know. If he could break down that last tamer which held him back from the very heart of the mystery he would feci more safe.

Ho took the keys out- of his pocket, and selected ' the one which should fH the lock of the outer door; after a quick gin nee to right and left he inserted it in the Jock, and opened the door and went in. TTp found himself at the foot of the stairs, leading np past many offices to the rooifis above: he to wonder !wt ho should explain his presence if, whpn lie reached the top of the. stairs, the door was opened and the strange man with the big heard should confront liirn. Nerort.hclcss, urged hv curiosity more than by anything else, he began to climb the stairs. Only when he was half-way up. and still hesitating whether to go on or not, did lie remember that lie had left that outer door leading to the street ajar. He was on the point of returning to close it when he reflected that circumstances might, occur which would render it necessary for him to [cave open his way of retreat, so lie went on until he reached the outer door of the flat.

The landing outside wa.s in darkness: from that lie arpTied that the stranger had rotired for the night. After hesitating for a long time he slipped the other key into the lock and softly opened the door ; and. holding it. wide at the length of his outstretched arm, looked about him, and listened. There was not a breath of sound : there was no movement anywhere. Cautiously he switched on the light, and, leaving the door of the flat open, advanced on tiptoe, looking about him warily as he did so.

He came to the room on tlio right hand of the hall in which tho manservant Kirby hud .slept ; ho opened the door of that in the same cautious fashion, and gently turned on the light. To bed was empty, and there was 110 ono there. So with tlio tiny kitchen and also with the sitting-room, both were empty. There, was onl\ one other room to \>e examined, and that was at the further side of the .sittingroom, Maimers's bedroom, from which a bathroom led out.

Somewhat to his astonishment lie found that that room also was empty : he stood still, looking about him, and wondering what had happened. Ifc seemed surprising that the stranger with the big'beard should have given up possession so easily ; he could only surmise that the man had gone away for a short time, and that good luck had attended his own inva.sio.ji of tho place. Ho laughed at the- ease with which the tiling had been managed, dropped the. keys back into his pocket ana began to look about him. it was possible that he might find something hero of use to him in the future. lie was actuaily whistling .softly io himself over hi« task, as tie raked anout amongst books and papers, when he suddenly sprang across I.he room, and switched out the light; he had heard a sound upon the stairs, lie cussed himself for his folly in leaving i!k ( ruti-r door of tiie flat open, but it was too late to rea.eh it and close it now. Ho felt for tho weapon in his pocket, and was glad to think that he had it at hand.

• jut this was no man's step that came hesitatingly in at tho door, and after a. inonioni reached the dour of the sittingroom ; fikido hear,"! t fie. light (hitter of a dress. Very quietly he moved a liiiie, until his hand was actually on the switch of the light, ami waited*. A voice bo know spoko out oi : the darkness tremulously. " Is anyone here?"

Pie switched on the !i;;ht then, and reend lum -rlf looking straight into i.he KlfMt'i«"j ijf'j c.i tic-M-r Wnke. She

stood for a moment, and then gave a shrill scream; but in a moment his hand was on her lips, and ho held her prisoner and silent. ''Bo quiet i" he whispered, as she struggled with him. " What do yen want here, creeping in like a thief?" She broke away from him, and got to the other side of the room ; she flung that question back at him. What are yon doing here?" she demanded. '' .How did you get in?"' "By the simplest, method in the world, my dear," he answered insolently. '' 1 have managed to recover tho keys yon stole from me; see, here they are." He dangled them before her eyes and laughed as lie spoke. " And what has become of—of him? ' she minted.

" l You can speak the name: it's quite sate,'' he retorted. " 1 got them from him in tho simplest fashion; 1 don ; t suppose he'll require them any more. St) that \ ou'll seo all your schemes have come to nothing, Miss Hester Wake.'' She looked at him nut of startled eyes. _ "You—you've killed him !" she exclaimed. " I know it; lam certain ol it. I can read it as clearly as though yon had to id me yourself. J know it, I know it !''

She liau raised her voire almost to a scream ; she was making straight for the door. The man overturned a chair in his rush to scizo her, caught her firmly by the wrists and dragged her away from the door, .striving to silence tier cries. fi© managed to get the outer door shut, and to drag her back into the sitting-room. anct "there she still fought .so desperately that hj« wrapped his arms about her." and liter, ally held her pressed close against- him i 1!, i e^'? r ' :s kp-rp her quiet And tuen suddenly she lay quite pas sivc in his arms, r,nd he thought for i moment that .she had far.ited. But she was still for another reason Looking down at her, he saw that shi held herself taut, like a person listen ing to something. In his surprise h. ' e t- her go, and s.he backed away slowb from hirn, looking at him wildly. lik, one understaifcling some dreadful thin< fully and clearly for the first time. "YV h?:t the devil's tho matter witl you?" lie demanded, startled in hi, turn by the expression of her face. " Once before—a long time ago i seems, she began in a low voice, " caught hold o! someone in a darkene< room and tried to hold him. He beanie off and ran, and got awav. but hi li.'ft oenind what I havo found again to. night.''

~ hat was it?" he asked hoarsely. " What are you tnlkmg about?" "Ho left behind the raemoi y of a scent, It is not many men who scent their clothes. When you helcl men moment ago that Ecent, was in my nor trils. I k now now'' h"r voice c

risen to a cry that was weird

—" and at lasfc i understand It was you that killed poor Arihu Bradshaw.''

H" looked at her for a moment sullenly; };:s face was white snd his lips were working. "Well, if it's any' sat-i-fiction to you to know, I did kill him," lie said brutally. " Fie was in my wny; he hud begun to have a conscience. and to talk of what he meant to do, and of what be meant to sav. You're such a poor thing, and of such poor account, that it doesn't matter whether you know or not. I silenced him, as I'll silence you if necessary." He made a swift movement across the room towards her : his vac-e was the face of a fiend. _ She waited until he had almost reached her, and then, darting aside, caught up a heavy book and flung it- with unerring aim at the one light in the room—a large readinglamp on the, table. The thing went over with a crash, and in a moment the room was plunged in darkness. lie felt rather than heard the rush of her skirts as she fled past him; heard the outer door open even while lie fumbled about to find the inner one. When he reached the landing at the head of the stairs h© "u as in time ixi hear t-he clooi' leading to the street _ slammed hard, with an echoing noise in the great silent house. (To be continued on Monday.)