ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9064, 13 April 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN HASTKBM. or of " Nina's Repentance,'* " OlvilaV Love J>roain." " Kc-r Soldier Lover," " For Love of Mnrjorie," " The 'Mystery of Woodcrol'l, " etc.

CHAPTER XXXII. UPTON WARREN VISITS CHARLIE EASTWOOD. "Yon ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself, Miss Lirdey." Upton Warren suoke half-reproach-fully, lialf-angrily. "This meddiesome parson! 1 feel like thrashing the man. After all, he is the meresf; puppet in your hands, and you alone are to blame." "How dare you?" she panted. "A common detective—a —a.- " "Oh, lot's have it." He regards! her sternly. "I dare not utter what 1 think or vou, sir!" "I'm sorry for that. I should like to know just how depraved you really are. Your thoughts about my self are quite immaterial to me. lam concerned about my friend, Allan Berrington, and the unhappy prisoner at the Priory—a prisoner in his own house. And now he must suffer the abominable indignity of being marched off to the police-station upon the flimsiest information;" he made a savage gesture; "but I will put a spoke in your wheel if 1 can." "The unhappy gentleman is the murderer of my guardian," Kate said. Her eyes bhzed—her face was as white as paper. "And if the dead man's son is so utterly lost to—to " She sobbed. "You are malicious you are wantonly malicious. You don't care a penny about your guardian, and your barbarous spite is directed wholly against Miss Miriam Eastwood. Don't you realize how pitifully small you appear in the eyes of those who understand?" I "Iwill'iiofc.be lectured by you. Will you leave the room?" "No; the library is ".ommon to Allan Berrington'3 guests, and I have h letter to write." "You are a brute!" Kate rose, and walked to the door. "I h&te you! You—you--have dared to smalce love to me, and this is your revenge, because I despise you." "Never mind, Miss Linley, you've got the parson in leading-strings," ho said flippantly. "If you wiil be so good as to leave me to a little quiet, I will write my letter, and tnm I intend warning Mr Eastwood—if I'm not too late." He saw her go, and then he sighed. He 'oolceri fondly at tha space where she had been, and ho kissed the book sho had tossed aside in her anger. "I spoke plainly and severely," he reflected; "perhaps too severely, but she deserves it. I thought better of •her—-but she's only human, after all. Breathes there a man or woman whose every action will bear the honest light" of day? No! We are all humbugs, more or less, and one cannot be too charitable towards one's fellow creatures. ... I must hide this from Allan if I can." He bent over the library table, and scribbled away for a few moments, as if for dear life; then he looked at his watch and jumped up. It was five o'clock, and he heard the automobile at the door. He slipped through the open French window, and jumped into the car. Away it flew along the drive, and out into the wide road, and down the 1 "hill to the village. "We're going at a lively pace," Warren remarked to the chauffeur. "Forty miles an hour, sir. You told me to drive like Lucifer." "I didn't know that his safanic highness went so fast ." The chaff eur grinned. "You'll exonerate me if we're summoned, sir?" "We are on our own ground. Village policemen go for strange cars —and'strangers generally." Flash went the automobile through -Castle Stanford, but the people had ceased to wonder. So much had happened within the last two weej<s that they were getting curiously apathetic. Their senses were completely dulled; and Tom Parlws, of the Castle Stamford Arms, had been heard <o sweat" that he was content to let the automobile go at any speed. Whiz it went past the crossroads, .■and dashed up the white hill to the Priory. Obeving a previous order, the chaffeur brought the machine to a halt when within a hundred yards of the South Lodge. "Excellent time!" exclaimed Upton Warren. "Don't hurry quite so fast on the return, and call here for me in sixty minutes." The automobile swung round, and started homeward, and Warren walked swiftly in the direction of the lodge. His keen eyea swept the drive, and he smiled. ' "I believe that I am in luck, unless these trees hide the parson." He assumed a leisurely pace until within view of the house; then he slid like a atreak to the door of the tower, and rapped upon it absurdly. It was like beating time to the first line of a popular song. Then he waited, but hia usual calm was a bit ruffled. ... "Coming!" he muttered, with ■ exhilarations. His car wan glued to the door. "Oh, do hurry! I can . hear footsteps in tlio drive. There was a very faint sound from within—the turning of a key in the lock. How well the locks and bolts had been oiled! Then the door ■ opened a few inches, and Upton Warren dashed it wide, shot through it, and shut it again with almost lightning spee-d. "That was a remarkably near thing," he said. "Please excuse me, Miss Eastwood." He inhaled a deep breath. "Your father is, er—well?" . Miriam was staring at him, her ■eye*, wide with fear. "Don't be alarmed," he went on rapidly. "I am a friend—your

Father's friend' Allan Borrington's I'rii'iide. Sh-sh!" I lis manner, his words, were infomprohensibk' In Miriam; and when Mi'.' fionr was a;.;ain rapped, precisely os ho had rapped it, she turned upon him swiftly. "Open it ulon!•■<■■!" "'No. Miss K-'i.Htwood, ao enemy is at, the j-ato. (jo in advance of me, and toll your father that I have news —tirgon!. ilfy name is Warren; I am Allan chum; wo were comrades at eoiieee." The knocking was repented, and both (lew up the spiral .stairway, where Charlie Has [.wood was glooming ovov his tea. lie rose in anger and a. triage when lie saw a stranger; thou he listened with sullen eyes, and now and then interjected ravage word?. "Pish! So the curate i-:< partly responsible for this," he growled. "Why .should J not admit Ihcso men? Why should 1 not let (he curate feel the weight of this right, hand of mine?" "There's a police cell at the other end .of the argument," IVarivm reminded him. "You are charged with the crime of murder. Don't dream of obtaining bail. Look!" He opened a pocketbook and displayed some finger-prim's, cunningly reproduced, and developed. "These belong to the man who struck down John Berrington with your blackthorn stick, and these sam'c finger-prints were made by an old criminal named George Markham. "I am glad that Stella was innocent of that," thought Eastwood. He breathed hard. "Its very wonderful," he said. "And," proceeded Warren. "1 might be able to demonstrate a few telling facts to the minds of the policemen at the door, but I am not prepared to run the rink, unless it is your wish." He opened his pockotbook at another page, and displayed a tiny leaf of sensitized paper. "Press your finger upon that, Mr Eastwood —gently—so. Thank you !" He examiner] the imprint through a powerful glass and laughed. "As different as chalk from cheese. Our man is flying to .Southampton as fast as triple-expansion engines can carry him. Once he is in the grip of the police, the suspicion surrounding you, Mr Eastwood, will vanish like mist in a whirlwind." Charlie swiftly estimated his chances, and snapped his fingers. "I will not suffer the indignity of being haled before the justices of Castle Stanford. An army captain in hia dotage, a brewer of bad beer, and a provision man who has made money out of potted sausages. By Jove, no! These men are all enemies of mine, Or no warrant would have been issued. Money won't bridge the social gulf which divides us, and I refused to sit on the bench with snobs. By the Lord, I'll make 'em smart for this! Now what's to do, Mr Warren?" The detective was puzzled, and glanced helplessly from Mr Eastwood lo his daughter. The knocking below was becoming insistent. (To be continued.) Send the documents of vour nupor tations to MESSRS J. J. CURTIS & CO. LTD., Customhouse shipping and Forwarding Agents, Customhouse Quay Wellington, who will quickly clear, pass and forward the goods to you. Moderate, charges.