“THE SKELETON FINGER.”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 16417, 4 May 1921, Page 4

“THE SKELETON FINGER.”

By

HEADON HILL

*£« (Author of " Million* cf TVCipohiaf,' B I “ Tbo Crimson Hon«y»n n ori," hj* >. “ The Man from Egypt," j Efr- Etc.) 1

CHAPTER XX.XTl.—Continued. j Picking up the petrol tin and the j bundle of straw, he struck oat. at » good pace into the footpath through 1 the woods. His physical senses of sigh* and hearing hadoeen sharpened by the. ! liquor he had taken during the- day, \ but his brain, as to earlier happenings j 1 had been clouded by the same influence. i • He noted all the signs of night lire ! around him—the cry of the fern-owl, , I the distant bark of a fox, the flutter J of roosting pheasants. Ho perceived . that a gentle breeze was rustling ibt» , tree tops arid that frequent clouds flit- i ted over the moon. But. he failed to ! recapture the actual words used by j Kathleen in the morning when he bad j shown her how alone, she could spare hey lover the degradation of being flogged before he was burned- 11c had j tho haziest impression as to whether ! she had yielded to his ultimatum by j consenting to marry him. thereby in- , ridentally saving herself. He would , have to sec her again and assure him- , self on that point before the kineina j artists arrived. He found himself able to view mi her ■ eon tinge,nev with a strange indifference. Ho was not at all sure that, he wanted j io marrv his cousin now. except as a | means to silence her open enmity to | him. He had n dim recollection that ! he had admired Kathleen at some, period j which seemed ages ago. but he realised , in a bemused sort ol way that her hatred j and distrust was so intense that then: ; union could only end in misery for both, i The one insistent fact that kept ham- i mering at his brain as he strode along , the woodland path was that it would ■ be a pity to consign such a fine giri . to a horrible death. That, was his Ptmeipal reason For hoping that she would consent to save herself from the flames • an ,l Norm an Slater from the huntingI Cl Judging him by this frame of mind, | i it will be seen that m follow itig the , I steps of Sir Dudley Olcnister we are j i on the trail of a madman, originally oe i ranced bv fear, but now beading bn the j I final collapse of his intellect with the | j best part of a bottle of pre-war brandy ■ I inside him. . . - ; He readied tlie edge of the c.leaim to I and peered, first right and then eft ; ;l t the two buildings that loomed m , I tliß murk. In the keeper's cottage a J cheerful glow shone behind the led , | blind of the living-room, l'rom the old | mill house no rav of light vas visible. | i The watcher was vaguely gratified by j ! the absence of light in the upper clinm- ; I her. realising that it would have been j hard to explain its presence to the mountebanks if they aiwived before he [ had time to extinguish it. Still weird- ■ jv keen as to present emergencies, but | nebulous as to the past. Sir Dudley had j forgotten that he had instructed Judith | Grimes that the mill house must ho in I ' darkness that night. ! He had approached by a path that I brought him out. on the rail! side of the j stream, so that he did not have to cross the stepping stones. In n f©W rapid strides he reached the- bank of tho mill, race, and entered tho crumbling structure. Depositing the straw and petrol inside the entrance, he listened for a moment outside the locked grain-store and then continued his way up the rickety stairs. Me had duplicate keys j and with one of them, lie opened the j door of Kathleen’s prison. The faint j I moonlight showed him the figure of the j girl scaled at tho. casement, which was ' open. He stared at her stupidly, striving to collect his wits. Sho neither moved nor spoke. “Which is it to be?" his hoarse tones out, the silence at last. “ Which is what to be?” silvery laugh tinkled at him from the window. ‘ Oh. damn it. you know. Have 1 got. to burn you as w ell as that blundering ruffian below?” “ As a. wooer, Cousin Dudley, you ! ( are entitled to high honours. Possibly | I have, invself to blame for putting you | to this trouble, T cannot have ma.de j myself sufficiently clear this morning. | Pet mo do so now. T would rather die | bv more horrible means than any you 1 could devise than cave myself by the. I far more horrible alternative of marry- I ing the cruel devil who killed my bro- i thrr.” “ But T didn’t kill Ceorgn, the baronet protested dully. •‘How many more times are you. aoino- In tell that lief hook here ■Dudley,” the fresh young voice rang ; through the mouldy chamber, • the | f„ ar of paving the penalty lor I i your crime has, evidently driven yon i ! mad. Cannot you ace that if 1 con. , j seated to tins.insane scheme of yours ton would gam no security VV hat j Wtmld he easier for me than to accent, ■ , 01lT and* repudiate the/m as ; | soon as T had obtained my liberty?'' i There was a pause as it the baronet 1 ' W - G r© probing the question, j tt _\ff Pr all, 5 ’ be said thickly, "you i don't seem to core much for that fancy { boy of yours.” ! A gain tho silvery laugh tinkled. “ What’s sauce for the goose is sauce for tho gander.” came the gay rejoinder. “If X don’t mind being burned T am sure Norman won’t.'’ The provocation fanned Glenister's smouldering hate for the. man who had thrashed him into a sudden blaze. The girl at the window, taunting and reviling him. had never held first place in his thirst- for revenge, and if the scene in Lady Mar rabies’s draw-ing-room had not occurred he would have been content, io accept her rebuffs and defy her accusations. There ivor« plenty of other girls, well born and desirable, who would have whitewashed him. But Slater, who had made, him waltz round that beastly drawing-room arid kicked him, wa? a different matter. '■ I’ll burn you both all light: but. j first. T’ll rip Slater's hide off.” he, snarled, a.nd stepping back on to the landing he slammed the, door and turned the key on his prisoner. Using his electric lamp, he descended ! the stairs, and after gloating over the inflammables* he had dumped inside the entrance, he unlocked the. door of the. lower dungeon. Ihe far corner was beyond the range of his lamp, but something stirred in the darkness and n chain rattled. The owner of "Beechwood Grange chuckled as ho advanced, drawing from hi.s pocket the hunting-crop lie had brought. In the pleasure of anticipation he whirled the snake-like thong round his head and made it crack like a, pistol shot. "Now, my buck,” lie cried. 11 T’ra going to make you sweat. And when you’ve done sweating I’ll roast you to a turn.” 'To be '■ontinned L