The Man of Silence.

Waipa Post, Volume VII, Issue 340, 14 August 1914, Page 3

The Man of Silence.

All Rights Bishivxd.)

By TOM GALLON. Author of “ My Lady of the Ruins,” “ Fate's Beggar Maid,” etc.

CHAPTER XX.- (Continued.)

“What are you going to do, fyladeline?” askew Babs, wide-eyed and frightened, on the night before they left Wood End Ferry.. “Has it all been a blunder —or has he forgotten again, and is wandering somewhere, with his memory gone?” “I don’t know,” answered Madeline. . “I’m almost afraid to think. He will come, even at the last moment; of that I am certain. Don’t be afraid, Babs dear,” she added, with a forced laugh. “If necessary, you and I will join hands, and run away together out of the church.”

“It’s no laughing matter,” retorted the girl. “Why don’t you run away now —somewhere where they can’t find you. I’d come with you; we should rub along somehow, and manage to live.”

“He will come, even at the lass, moment,” said Madeline. But she began to doubt whether, after all, he would be able to keep his premise.

Very early on the following morning, Madeline left the house, and once more.took that hopeless journey to the hut by the riverside. Surely she-' would find . him there now; he could not be so cruel as to keep her in -suspense any longer. Presently, when she would open the door, she would step straight into his- arms, and all would be well. So, with hope high in her, she came to the hqt and pushed open the door, and Went in. It was empty.

She took a face of tragedy to London with her; Clarence Westley looking at her oncp or twice during the journey, begad to wonder what would happen whesi the momentous occasion arrived ; that was to see her joined to Reuben Avondale. Also, he tried vainly to dismiss from his mind all that/'Reuben had told him; to shut out .front his mental vision that ever-present picture of the two brothers going down to the river, and the one returning alone. An old story—dead arid done with; why would it keep chopping up in. his mind?

The eve of the wecfding-day! The last moment had arrived, and hope had left her; the time had come for her to act for hersq.f. Her mother had been busy all day over final arrangements; Retaben’s purse had been very literally a± the disposal of Clarence Westleyj for all that was necessary. Babs, greatly daring, had urged that npw was the time —the last time —when the sisters couid disappear, behind them a scandal to- be cleared up by others. What diijl that matter, so only Madeline whs not sacrificed ?

“To-morrow will be too late,” urged the younger girl. “‘To-mor-row you won’t’ have the- courage, and the words will be said, and you’ll be tied to that brut£ for the rest of your life/’ “He will come; I know: that he will come,” was Madeline’s only answer. / j

Reuben dined with them that night in their private rooiii»at the hotel, and how'-the manner of the man had changed. He was insolent and overbearing; surd of his prize, he no longer took- pains to conceal life triumph. Indeed, at the last moment, when he .was returning to his rooms, he suddenly and roughly took Madeline': into his arms before she had realised what he was about to do, and kissed her quickly on the lips. He laughed as she struggled and shook: herself free, and went off to get his hat and coat.

The only one present at the moment had been Clarence Westlev. The girl turned to him with a quick little cry, as if for protection. “Father, I can’t do it! I won’t do it!’’ she cried, sobbing.

“My dearest girl, it’s a bit late for that,” he said, feebly. “Everything arranged, and the presents displayed and very much admired. Whatever- would people think? You’re naturally a little upset; anyone would be before such an important event. Run away to your mother, and mind that you get to bed early.” It was hopeless; no appeal would be listened to. She turned away dejectedly, and went off in search of Babs, who meant more to her then than her mother could possibly be. Clarence Westley, for his part, went off down the stairs, and caught Reuben just as he was leaving the hotel.

“I’ll walk with you if I may,” he said. For, in truth, he had no desire to see Madeline again that night. “Charmed, I’m sure,” said Reuben. “It isn’t far, and the night is fine. You musn’t stop long, because I have to be up early in the morning.” They strolled off together, smoking their cigars; there seemed to be a very perfect understanding between the two men that night. That business of the two brothers and

the river Had been thrust as far back into the mind of Clarence Westley as was possible. After all, the future was ironed out very nicely, for his special benefit. Arm-in-arm with the man who was responsible for his future good fortune, Clarence Westley strolled through the streets of London towards the Albany.

That night a ragged man came out of Crow’s Rents, Lambeth, and with a set, determined purpose turned in the same direction as that taken by Clarence Westley and Reuben. He had waited, as he had suggested, until the last moment; had followed, day by day, the various paragraphs in the newspapers; until to-day he had looked upon the pictured face of his brother and of the woman he loved, and had seen it announced that to-morrow was her wedding-day. The hour had arrived ; to-night he must act. It must not be imagined that during that week he had been idle. Apparently the same listless being, pleased with the sunlight, and fully contented with the coarse food with which he was fed, he had in reality listened to much talk between the two men, and had learnt a gteat deal. He had not quite penetrated to the depths of the mystery yet. He had not quite understood the vague talk between the two men concerning a change of clothing in the hut; he could not understand where they had got the body of the man who had unconsciously taken his place. All that he might discover later; for the moment he knew enough. He had played the game so well that they had 1 spoken together pretty openly before him, and had no knowledge of the fact that they spoke to the eager listener, who understood the purport of everything they said. They had let him come and go as he liked. They felt secure in the fact .that he would come back to the only home he knew with each nightfall. And he had waited until, at the last moment, he could snatch from his brother’s hand the cup he was lifting to his lips. On this last evening he had waited about near the hotel in which Madeline was staying, and had seen Reuben go there. He knew that he would in all probability dilre there, and return later to his chambers. Therefore, with plenty of time to spare, he made for the .Albany, remembering a little bitterly as he went the many occasions on which he had walked these streets before, or driven through them with his brother —happy days, with no hint of tragedy in them. He came to the place at last ,and stood there,' waiting and watching, guessing that Reuben would walk on so fine a night, and knowing by which entrance he would come into the place.

Clarence Westley, quite pleased with himself, and, indeed, humming a tune and stroking his long grey beard, turned with his friend Reuben Avondale towards the entrance to the Albany. It was quiet here, and there was no one about, save a man lounging against a wall, with an old cap pulled down over his eyes. Not the sort of man by any means that should have been in that place ; probably there for no good purpose. Something of his purpose, however, w r as shown when, as they came near him, he carelessly pushed up the front of his cap, and at the same moment struck a match on the wall beside him and held it to a cigarette that was between his lips. So, with bright eyes showing in the light of that tiny taper, Vincent Avondale stood looking quietly at the two men who had stopped stock still in front of him, and were gazing at him with white faces.

CHAPTER XXI. Standing outside the entrance to the place that had once been his home, Vincent let the match burn down to his fingers and dropped it, and so stood again in semi-dark-ness, and, w” 1 ' the going out ~ot that match, a simultaneous sigh of relief came from the two men who watched him. For, of course, the thing was incredible —a mere momentary vision of a face that had been something like that of a dead man, but could not by any possibility be the face of that man himself. So much was that the thought in both their minds that Clarence Westley caught his companion’s’ arm, and would have drawn him on through the gateway, and have left that vision behind, but Reuben held back, in a half-frightened, uncertain way, and seemed unwilling to pass that figure standing there leaning against the wall, with the tiny glow of light from the cigarette he was smoking half-illumining the face. “Come along,” urged Clarence. “It’s nothing—nothing but a mere fancy.” “Wait,” replied the other. “I want to know—l want to understand. It’s impossible, of course; but you saw the face? He stands there so_ still that one might almost believe in the old, mad tales of ghosts, and such nonsense as that. I’m going to speak to him—l must. I want to find out who he is.” “Much better leave him alone,” urged Clarence, nervously. “It’s only an accidental likeness, and we’re both of us a bit overstrung. Let’s go upstairs; I want something to pull me together.”

But, as if fascinated, Reuben Avondale moved towards that ragged, lounging figure, going slowly and as though uncertain as to what would happen. And as he came nearer it seemed that the cigarette the man was smoking required relighting, for another match was scratched upon the wall, and the tiny flame held for a moment or two-in front of the man’s face.

“Vincent” gasped Reuben

The man let the match burn out as before, and dropped it. He looked up with a smile at the startled face before him, grotesquely enough touching his cap. “Did you wish to speak to me?’’ “Who are you?” half whispered Reuben- And Clarence Westley crept a little nearer, and gazed awestruck.

Smilingly, Vincent used the phrase he had used so often before. “I don’t know,” he said, quietly. “Only a poor fellow, glad of a copper—glad of anything that shall give him food 4rrd lodging. That is all, sir.” “What is your name?” asked Reuben, completely mystified. “I don’t know,” said Vincent again, with his bright eyes fixed upon his brother. “I have forgotten—l have been ill, sir, a long time.”

A policeman silently sauntered in from the direction of Piccadilly, and made a fourth in that little conclave. To the official mind this was a man begging from two welldressed strangers, and it was a matter that must be looked into. He stood for a moment or two regarding the three, then addressed Reuben.

“What’s the matter, sir?” h$ said, with a suspicious look at Vincent, who did not change his lounging attitude against the wall. “Begging, sir?” All sorts of possibilities flashed through the mind of Reuben Avondale. Vincent dragged into the publicity of a police court—there, perhaps, by some odd chance to be photographed or to be recognised by someone who happened to be there; Vincent Avondale, .so strangely come back to life, telling some part of the hideous story. Scarcely knowing what he did, he spoke quickly and smilingly to the constable, even while he slipped a coin into the man’s hand.

“No; it’s all right, constable,” he said. “This is a poor fellow who has come down in the world a bit—old college friend of mine. It's all right, I assure you. I came upon him quite by accident; I’m just going to take him up to my rooms. Thank you for your vigilance, constable; but it’s all right.” Somewhat reassured, the policeman moved slowly away, with a backward glance at the lounging figure against the wall. Reuben stood staring stupidly at that figure, not realising yet anything of what had happened, and only seeing in this something weird and uncanny something not to be reasoned about. For the life of him he could not touch that man lounging against the wall and regarding him with bright and smiling eyes. It was too horrible. He spoke jerkily to the man, conscious of the fact that the constable had stopped some yards away, and was watching them. “Will you come up to my rooms?” he asked, huskily.. The man against the wall moved, shrugged his shoulders, and looked about him, as though wondering why these people took such an interest in him. Then he moved slowly -after Reuben, while Clarence Westley, wide-eyed, and shaking in every limb, followed them. They came to the staircase leading to Reuben’s rooms; and there Reuben went up, with the ragged man following. The leader found it necessary to look back over his shoulder from time to time as he went. And with each step he took he told himself that this was an accidental likeness, and that in the fuller light of a room he would be able to reassure himself on that point, and to dismiss the man, and to laugh at his own folly.

For reasons of his own Vincent kept his cap pulled down over his eyes when he walked into the place —so familiar now, and so well remembered —so that Hatch, the man-servant, appearing when he heard his master enter the place, saw only, with a mild feeling of surprise, that Mr. Reuben Avondale and Mr. Clarence Westley were accompanied by a man who looked like a tramp, and who wore an old stained, ragged tweed suit. Further than that the estimable Hatch ,was not interested, and merely expressed whatever surprise he may have felt ..by a slight lifting of his eyebrows. “If you’ve set everything out, there’s no need for you to wait, Hatch",” said Reuben, quickly. “You can go to bed.” The manservant disappeared, and the three walked into Reuben’s sitting-room, and closed the door. Reuben made a dive for the little table on which stood decanters and syphons and glasses, poured out some spirits hurriedly, and drained the glass. Gripping the back of a chair, he stood gazing with an ashen face at Vincent, who had pulled off his cap and was looking at him smilingly. (To be Continued.)—M.S. 22,