When Love Rules The Heart.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 9574, 21 August 1909, Page 2

When Love Rules The Heart.

CHAPTER XXll.—Continued. Arn.itage flung the paper aside. A man of his acquaintance strolled toward him, and suggested a game of cards. "By Jove, Armitage, you are out of sorts! What is wrong,.dear boy? Have a brandy and soda? No? Have ' some coffee, then, if you are not going home? What do you say to a game at cards? Eearte? You are going to Goodwood, of course?" "I do not wish to be disturbed, Seaforth," was the impatient reply. "111-tempered brute!" remarked Seaforth playfully. He was a tall, fair young 1 man, with a vacuous countenance. "I am going to order coffee fox two, even if you supplement the order with pistols. If you won't be civil to a ffclluw, you may go to the deuce! Come now, you shan't quarrel with me." Duncan Armitage glared angrily at Seaforth, and Seaforth coolly ordered coffee and brandy for two. "Do you ro end of good, old man! I've had two nights out myself, you know. Afraid to face the governor. Abominable Hebrew money lender has written to him about a trifling couple of thou'!" Armitage was silent, The attendant brought the coffee and some brandy, Seaforth chattering rapidly meanwhile. "Here's to you, old man!" He held his cup aloft. It contained considerably more brandy than coffee. '"And may the tears from your j eyes never wear out the toes of your boots!' Capital toast that! Here's another, 'Here's to the health of those who love us; and may the gods turn the ankles of those who don't bve ue, so that we may know 'em when they walk!' Oh, don't go away, old man!" "Idiot!" growled Armitage, rsing. "Thank you," said Seaforth serenely. "That complimentary appellation has long beoma mine by right —if my governor is to be believed. I have no wish to tread upon sacred ground, old man; but a certain set are discussing you and your affairs, and one can't but hear. I saw Clarence Mountarbon to-night—a couple of hours since." Armitage swung round. In an instant his face was transformed. "Where?" he demanded in a strangely quiet tone. "At the Savoy Theatre." Armitage was silent. His hands shook, his teeth were clenched. "There is an air of estheticism about the Savoy which soothes one's ruffled feelings at times," resumed Seaforth. ' Charming operatic comedy, or comic opera —'Yeoman of the Guard,' you know." He fixed his eyes curiously upon Armitage's face, and hummed:

"'Oh, a private buffoon is a lighthearted loon, If you'll listen to popular rumor; From the morn to the night he's so joyous and bright, _, And he bubbles with wit and good humor! He's so quaint and so terse, both in prose'and in verse; Yet, though people forgive his transgression, There are one or\ two rules that all family fools Must observe if they love their profession. There are one or two rules, Half a dozen, maybe, That all family fools, Of whatever degree, Must observe if they love their profession.'" " "Hush! You have seen Mounfarbon at the Savoy? You may know why I hate him? People are talking! Bah! Be serious, Seaforth! That idiotic I grin of yours ymaddens me. Tell me if Mountarbon was alone." Armitage glared at his companion. He bent forward, his lips twitching. "No' Jove, you make me feel uncomfortable ! I tell you that he was with the Cassons—Casson , the milli naire, you know. Father, mother and uncommonly handsome daughter —Lorna, I think her name is—were all there. I hear that Mountarbon's chances in that quarter were off. You know why. Made it up again, I suppone? I spoke to him and to them. Your name cropped up as a matter of course, and 1 don't see any sense in your bloodthirsty piratical style of >• Armitage interrupted. He went into the street. The air was soft and balmy. A brilliant moon was shining in the heavens, shedding a soft radiance over all. Armitage strode along, caring not whither, the police eyed him curiously. Ragged waifs and strays wondered why so well-dressed a man should be wandering aimlessly at that hour about he London streets. He paused opposite to Trafalgar Square. How beautiful the playing fountains looked in the moonlight! An old woman begged for a copper, and he gave her a piece of silver. Miserable human beings were huddled together on every seat, but was there one among them half so unhappy as he? He turned away. Dawn was breaking palely in the east, but the hours between now ind day would seem endless. When the sprite and pleasure of the day had recommenced, Armitage, haggard, and weary, was admitted to the private detective's office. The detective wa3 late; he had a

BY OWEN MASTERS. Author of "Captain Ernlyn's Daughter," "The Woman Wins," "The Heir of Avisford," "One Impassioned Hour," Etc., Etc.

| number of important cases requiring his personal attention. Mr Armitage's matter was trifling—very trifling. In his heart he believed that he would be doing the young man a real kindness in withholding the little information that he had received. A peer's son and a singing I girl! He shrugged his shoulders while [ perusing his letters. Armitage paced j the floor in a suppressed fury. Above the roar of the streets the hour of ten chimed out from the city clocks. Still the detective read on. Armitage glared at him. "It is ten o'clock," he said impatiently. "I have been waiting for hours." The detective wasjsilent. He read half a dozen more letters, then wheeled round with a sudden quick movement. exclaimed. "Good morning, Mr Armitage! Let me see"— he picked up a report—"the convict Seton.* Disappearance of his daughter. Elopement or abduction? Yes we followed Seton's movements after his discharge from Bow 'Street. Clever fellow to hoodwink the police. No doubt he was in the job. Left London in the company of Mr Gus Etherington. Driven in a barouche by Etherington's coachman. Changed horses at the Ludgate Mews; first horse tired and blown, proving a previous long run. Ahem!" He paused and gazed reflectively at a huge fly buzzing fiercely against the dirty window panes. Armitage waited breathlessly. Mr Gu= Etherington ! He felt that there was murder in his heart! "It now resolves itself into a matter of ABC," the detective resumed. "A ridicuiously simple*affair! We followed the barouche—man and bicycle, do you see?" "Yes, yes—for Heaven's sake, go on!" "Etherington and the convict Seton went to an isolated house a mile or two beyond a village known at Perryhill, fifteen miles to the southweat of London. I have no doubt that the girl is there. The house is called the Cedars, and w«s given by Etherngton years since to a couple of old servants of the family. The case lies in a nutshell Mr Armiage. The girl is in the hands ox Etherington, and ner father. You are out of court. No illegal act has been done by anyone but yourself. Do yuu see?" "Your fee?" the young man curtly interrupted. "I am already well paid with the money you f>ave>to me yesterday. You are goiner on with the chase?" He smiled pityingly. "Well, ■ obtain a road map and drive to Perryhill. No trains. Good day!" I TO BE CONTINUED.!