BANK CLERK

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20222, 5 February 1934, Page 12

BANK CLERK

Author of “Goovge,” “That Man fit C'averton Manutons,” etc.

By

HOLLOWAY HORN

(UHAPTER IX.—Continued.) He was not dead, but to the frightened girl lie seemed seriously hurt. He appealed to breathe with difficulty; his eyes were closed. She wiped away the blood from his forehead and then watched him. for she had no idea what to do next. There was no water in the spinney, she knew. He appeared to be struggling for his breath, and impulsively she unfastened his tie and the khaki sports shirt he was wearing. As she did so her fingers touched something that seemed rough, and she glanced more closely. The blood drained from her face as she realised in one awful flash what it was her fingers had touched. With a shudder that shook her whole frame she turned back the shirt so that the hideous mark was covered. A terrifying thought came to her and she looked round her like an animal that is cornered. No one was in sight. They were alone. He stirred and she heard him groan slightly. Gravely she watched him—waiting, like i woman in a dream. Slowly'- his eyes opened, but for seconds there was vacancy in them. Then consciousness returned, and he sat upright to find her kneeling by his side, her eyes level with his own. "Xina!” he said, in a dazed, uncertain tone. She was silent, watching him. “I—l was thrown from my horse. Where is he?” "He's gone.” she said. "He rushed by me. I thought you were killed.” Then he realised that his tie and collar were undone and she 6aw fear, stark and merciless, his face. He looked into he* ayes and saw that she knew. Confession. "Are y r ou badly' hurt?” she managed to say. "I don't think so . . . worse luck. I was stunned. My head is throbbing, that’s all.” He looked into her eyes as he added: "So you know . . . .” "Yes,” she said. "What are you going to do?” "Do?” she asked in a.wondering tone. "Y'es. Do. Aren't you going to tell the police that William Chester Bullard is the man with the purple claw?” "Don’t!” she cried, and he saw that her eyes were full of tears. He attempted to rise to his feet, but sank back-with a groan: “It’s only my head,” he%aid. "Oh, my God! That you of all people should have found it out.” "I’m sorry,” she said. "But don’t you . . . loathe me?” “Xo,” she 6aid, calmly'. "You are not ... a murderer. I. remember the case well. You never meant to kill him. It's absurd even to think of you as a murderer.” "I’m afraid that doesn’t make any difference. I did kill him.” "Do your collar up,” she said, sharply, for the distant sound of voices had reached them. Mechanically he did so. "*ou know that your secret f» sure With me? I needn’t, ask that,” she said. “Xina!” he said brokenly'. "I’m . . . I’m most desperately sorry for you, dear.” "But surely . . . Ob, God! My head!” "Don’t talk," she said, in a quiet tone. "Just sit still. Xn one will come. The voices I heard were Over there on the golf link 3.” "You see now, why I . . . why I couldn't ask you to marry' me ?** "But your wife?” "I have no wife,” he said bitterly. “I see,” she said quietly, after a silence. Her arm waa round him, supporting him. "You believe me, Nina, when T tell you that all I meant to do was to rob "the bank? Everything else bad piled itself up on top of ine. Xo one would have been a penny the worse off for the robbery. You (lo see that, Xina? So long as you don’t shrink from me with loathing, I don’t mind what happens. I could bear anything else.” "Surely y r ou can feel that I don’t,” she said simply'. "If it hadn’t been for this cursed mark J>n my chest. . "Will you marry me?” she asked almost in a whisper. "Xo, I daren't ” "Why not? You love me. And I love you. Besides, I'm most desperately sorry for you.” "Yes, I love you. But I dare not marry' you with the shadow of the gallows over me. It’s dragging you into the same shadow; For me to marry y r ou-—or any'one —is a greater crime than . . . murder.” “We could live in Rose Cottage. Who could find, out?” she urged. "There’s illness to be thought of for one thing. I may even yet be recognised. I haven't dared to go to London. No, my dear. You must help me to do the decent thing for once.” He attempted to rise and she assisted him to his feet, standing uncertainly, her hand on his arm. “You need me a thousand, times more than John does!” she said so quietly that he barely caught the words. “I know, Nina. But whatever happens, I shall have the knowledge that I played fair with you. In all the world there is nothing I want as much as I want you . . . but it is hopeless. ‘The Brand of Cain,’ the papers called it.” "But . . . she began, the words dying as she watched his face. It was strained, taut. His hands, she saw, were clenched. "My dear . . . you are ill. You must go home,” she urged. But still he stood there. She little knew what was passing in his mind. He was fighting down the craven fear that surged up in him. As in a* flash he understood that Inst to kill which had overcome him in that Wat ham flat. It was simply hideous fear—fear, the stepmother of all damnable things. That was his crime, his unforgivable crime—cowardice! "Lean on me if you are faint,” she sai<i. "Xo,” he gasped. "I must go. I’m sorry', Nina, but I must go.” And to her complete amazement he turned away from her almost roughly and set put’unsteadily for the break in the trees which gave on to the Common, lurching like a drunken man. For a moment she watched his retreating figure before she started to follow him. But after a y'ard or so she stopped and watched him until he had passed through to the Common and was hidden from her by the bushes beyond the beech trees. The memory of the awtul fear she had seen in liis face appalled her; she had no idea of the danger she nad been in, of the tremendous effort he bad made to regain the self-control that terror had unseated. An hour later, on her way home, she passed the cottage. There was no sign of Bullard, but his Aberdeen terrier ran to the gate, whimpering, as she passed. At the cut ranee to the little town she met Trollop©

“Have you seen Bullard, my dear?” he asked. "Yes, on the common. He was thrown from his horse.” “He passed me on the way to the station. Either he wouldn’t or lie didn’t recognise me.” "I’m afraid he was badly shaken.” "Queer card altogether, if y ou ask me. X'ina. He was carrying a suitcase and striding out as if the devil himself was after him. He looked . . . most awfully queer. Gave me quite a turn.” "I don’t think we shall ever see him again,” she said quietly. "I hope it didn’t upset you ?” he asked anxiously. "Xo, I’m all right,” she said. "Anyway, my darling, I’ve great She looked at him and waited. "I’ve sold the practice. At the top price!” "Good. I’m pleased, John.” He had turned and was walking by her side. They came to the bridge under the railway as a train slowly rumbled overhead. "That’ll be the train he was catching,” said Trollope. "The four-fifty to town.” "Very likely,” she said, thankful that if it were so, his last memory would not be of her with John Trollope. Whatever fate held for him, he would think of her as he had left her in the beech wood spinney on the common, where she had helped him, had tried to be kind to him. "I’m glad you’ve sold the practice. John,” she said suddenly. "I shall be glad to get away from Mossford.” CHAPTER X. Back to London. Bullard had staggered from th* shelter of the beech trees into the winter sunlight of the common, a lost man, a prey to the emotion and terror in his own soul. His one idea was to get away* from Xina, from the girl he loved; never again, he knew, could he bear to look into her brown eyes, never dare risk that surging fear that had nearlymastered him. Deep down he knew that she would not betray him, yet fear held him in its foul grip. His dog slunk round to the back oi the cottage when he entered the garden. There was no sign of Mrs. Spagctt, and for this small relief lie was thankful. He bathed the abrasion on his forehead and hurriedly packed a suitcase with a few necessaries and the bulk of the stolen notes. He had a vague idea of returning later on in a car to recover such of his possessions as he wanted to take away, but, at the moment, his overmastering desire was to avoid another meeting with Nina. From his bedroom window he could see the path by which she must come from the common; there was, so far, no sign of her. His brain was acting without volition, almost as if he werei in a dream, and with the same detached’ ejantry. He could catch the four-fifty. He might get out at Watliam or at some other station on the way to London. He stared at Trollope with unseeing eyes as he turned into the road that led to the station and, since he had no definite destination in view, he booked to the terminus—Fusion. The train was late, but at length it came. Alone in a first-class carriage he sat looking in front of him with a fixed 6tare at nothing, whilst it rumbled out of the station and over the bridge beneath which, mercifully unknown to him, Nina Warren and her fiance were passing. For a moment he was within a few yards of her, but the train rumbled on as relentlessly as fate, taking him away from Mossford and her. Presently it stopped, and started Still he looked at the empty' seat in front of him with wide-open, unseeing eyes. Again the train stopped. And again. He looked up suddenly to find that they' were leaving Willesden Junction; the next stop, he knew, was Euston. Danger! He shrugged his shoulders. * He cared nothing for that, danger; the thing he dreaded was behind him. Besides, he was too clever for them. Even if they arrested him that night he could slip through their fingers — under their very noses, if necessary’. For a moment the grin touched his lips, but only' for a moment; the grim, hopeless expression came back to his face. Euston. An.v one of the people hurrying along the platform might recognise him. It was unlikely after such a lapse of time, but the possibility brought his mind back almost to its normal state. He had to decide what to do. He glanced at the clock. Six o’clock. There was very little chance of any of the bank officials being there. They would all be sitting in their suburban homes. Lucky devils! The realisation of his envy chilled him, for he knew that the whole thing—the robbery and all that it had led to—had failed. Was He Betrayed ? "Taxi, sir?” a porter asked. "Yes.” The porter took the suitcase, little dreaming what it contained, and led the way' to the station entrance. “I want a quiet hotel,” Bullard said to the driver. "Yessir! Can’t do better than the Windsor on the Embankment. Verywell spoke of indeed, sir.” "That’ll do, then.” Bullard gave the porter a pound note as a tip; it caused that functionary to stand with his mouth open almost as if he had struck him. "Any special route you’d like to go sir?” the taxi-driver asked, for he had noted the munificent tip. "Xo. There’s no hurry.” “Very good, sir.” Ultimately they reached the hotel, ano again Bullard gave away a pound note “A blinking millionaire,” the drive! whispered to the hall porter, with the result that William Chester Bullard was most cordially welcomed in the hotel that was so highly spoken of. (To be continued daily.)