The Man of Silence.

Waipa Post, Volume VII, Issue 342, 21 August 1914, Page 3

The Man of Silence.

(All Eights Bmftvro.)

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

CHAPTER XXIII.- (Continued*) ,Out of the darkness she answered him calmly. "Nothing, father dear. Good-night." -'Good-night," he answered, in a tremulous voice. And so drifted out of the room. Madeline, turning her face towards the pillows, cried a little bitterly as she thought of him, and of all he had meant to her before she found him out. The rather jolly little father, who had been lavishly kind to her when she was a child—she had only discovered that weaker, smaller side of him later on. And to-night, as she lay there in the darkness, she thought of him still, in quite another fashion—almost an absurd fashion. She saw him dressed in the new clothes he had,ordered, and waiting in the church tomorrow, and pulling his watch out with an impatient hand, and glancing towards the door. This was absurd, too, because he would know by that time, or long before that time, that she would not be there.' 4 If he kept up that pretence of expecting her, it would only be like all the other pretences he had keot up in his futile little life.

So she lay there wakeful, waiting fill the dawn should grow in the sky and should steal into her room. She was not afraid; a great peace had come upon her, a great gladness. Se was going out into the world to look for Vincent—Vincent, whom some cruel fate had field prisoner, and had kept away from her. It had been madness ever to wait »so long. Her first [bought had been the best—to stand shoulder to shoulder with him so that they might fight the unequal fight together. She was quite calm when at last she arose and dressed, and prepared to set out. She reckoned up the people to whom she owed some explanation, and again those people narrowed down to the solitary figure D f her father. Mrs. Westley would be merely shocked and surprised, and annoyed at the prospects of a scandal. Babs would be ready to shout with delight that her suggestion had been carried out; there was only her father to think of. So, with the dawn stealing in at the windows, she sat down and wrote a note to him:

"My Dearest Father,—l am cutting the knot of the tangled skein myself. 1 can't explain anything, because I couldn't hope that you would understand. If 1 went to the church to-morrow, I should Dnly have to cry out at the last moment that I couldn't do this thing—that I could not swear before Heaven's holy altar, to love a man that I hate. Therefore, this is the best way'. And now, when I am saying 'Good-bye' to you, I jwant to say, also, that I love you very dearly, and that I shall always jremember those days when I was a iittle mite, and you were all in all to me—something very fine and noble. Nothing will ever change that thought in my mind. Good-bye again. I am simply running away from something which I dare not even contemplate. Your Madeline."

■•" She simply folded the paper, .wrote his name on the outside, and ileft it on her dressing-table. Then ishe waited a little longer, until she could hear servants beginning to Smove about in the hotel.- She opened the door of her room, and went out. On the staircase she met a ismiiing, pleasant-faced housemaid, ,who, knowing the importance _ of the day for this particular visitor, beamed upon her, and gave her i'Good-morning." "Good-morning," said Madeline, with a smile. "I'm going out for early walk. It's such a delightful morning." , She went very quietly down the stairs. The outer door was opened for her by a man who scrambled up from his knees, where he had been doing some cleaning work, to perform that office. She thanked him with a smile, and so walked out of the place and into the free, clean morning air of London. ■ Lydia Murrell, peeping out throue:h a partially opened door, •saw Madeline go away. She heard that little, quick exchange of civilities betwen Madeline and the housemaid, and watched Madeline as she wen*: out through the outer door into the' street. Then she stepped quickly into the girl's room, looked about her, found the note, and unblushingly read it. It told her all she wanted to know. She read it again for the pure enjoyment of realising in her own mind that what would be said when presently that note should be found. Her own part of the ousiness was Bnished. There would be no bride to dress, and, indeed, no further need for Lydia's services. A little later on, she calmly rang her bell, • and ordered a light breakfast; this Jong before the family would be Then, neat and demure, as ever, she, too, walked out of jfhe hotel, with no intention of ever 'going back to it. Her business lay,

within an .hour or two, with Mr. Reuben Avondale. She had planned to reach his chambers at the moment he would be starting for the church. That would complete her present scheme of vengeance. She would be able to tell him that he had better remain where he was, because no Madeline would be at the church to meet him. There were things she had to say to Reuben concerning her husband— biting, bitter things, that would goad him to madness even in the moment of his defeat. Her mind was quite calm about the matter; she had her sentences neatly arranged in'the order-in which she would pour them out upon him. She sat quietly in a public park for quite a long time, hearing the clocks in the distance chiming the time, and knowing exactly the moment when she would get up and start off to find Reuben. And when that moment came she went off—a neat, attractive figure in black—upon her errand. But it had happened that tne man she designed to meet had escaped her. Reuben Avondale had detained Clarence Westley as long as possible in his rooms, for the sake of his company. He had got rid of Stark at the earliest opportunity, giving him a few pounds, and vague promises as to more that was to be sent to him. And then he had sat down to get through the hours as best he could, and to think of that helpless figure in the locked room. What was he to do with Vincent? For the moment he was safe enough. The ceremony would be performed that should tie Reuben to Madeline; but what of the future? True he could afford to snap his fingers at everyone directly Madeline was his wife; there could be no untying that knot. But Vincent would .be there to be reckoned with—a live, sane man. That was a problem that would have to be solved, and solved soon. He made no attempt to. sleep. The rest of the night wore itself away, and, haggard and afraid, and yet gloating over his triumphs, the man welcomed the morning and dressed, loag before it was necessary, in his wedding clothes. Hatch brought in his breakfast, which he left untouched; but that seemed a reasonable matter to Hatch on such a momentous occasion. Then, quite a long time before he could possibly be expected at the church," he left his rooms and went out into the streets. CHAPTER XXIV. Thus it happened that Lydia coming confident of finding him, to his chambers, found that he had goneStill, with those sentences neatly arranged in her mind, she rang the bell, and presented an inscrutable face to Hatch (who, knowing that his master was not returning, was surreptitiously smoking a cigar, which-he 'held behind him), and asked for Mr. Avonda'e. Hatch, recognising her as a person o- no importance, who had, quite a long time ago. come thee once or twice with her husband, immediately replaced the, cigar in his mouth, and shook his head at her. "Too late, Mrs. Murrell, much too late," he said. • "Mr. Reuben went off half an hour ago, being that impatient, I expect, that he couldn't wait any longer. What might you happen to want with him?"

"That's my business," said Lydia , sharply. "I particularly wanted to see him, and it's most annoying. You're quite sure he's gone?"

"There isn't a blessed soul in the place, except me," replied Hatch, "and I've got a little holiday while the honeymoon's on. If you'd like to come in, Mrs. Murrell, and rest yourself for five minutes, I'm always glad of somebody to talk to. Things have changed, Mrs. Murrell, since the days when you and your good gentleman used to come here." Lydia said nothing; almost mechanically she walked into the hall, and the man closed the door. She was disconcerted and annoyed ; her carefully-laid plans had come to nought. True, there was some satisfaction in the thought of Reuben waiting in the church, and looking at his watch, and wondering what had happened; and of the arrival of Clarence Westley, heated and excited, and carrying the tidings of Madeline's flight. But the keen edge of the business, so far as Lydia was concerned, had been taken off.

She walked into the sitting-room and sat down. With a mere shake of the head she declined Hatch's offer of a glass of wine. After a minute or two, as it seemed absurd for her to be sitting there, she rose a little petulantly and prepared to go. And just as she did so a strange muffled sound was heard in the place.

It was like the fall of some heavy body. Hatch cocked his ears, and opened his eyes and his mouth at the same time, and looked at Lydia. Lydia stared at him in return. "Now I wonder what that could be," said the man. "I thought you said there was no one here except yourself," said Lydia, susßicipusly,.

"Not a soul," answered'the man, "Since Mr. Vincent died there nevei] has been anyone except Mr. Reuben, and me Why, what in the world " , After that thud there had comi menced a series of the strangeslj sounds. It was exactly as though some struggle was going on, in a muffled fashion, and a violent struggle at that Hatch had run out in* to the hall, and was standing there, looking at a door from bfehind which those muffled sounds seemed to proceed. Lydia, following him, saw that his face had a curiously white, drawn expression on it, and that he seemed afraid of something. "What's the matter?" she whispered. "Mr. \ incent's old room," ha said, hoarsely, in reply. "No one's been in except to clean it since he died." "Well, there's someone in there now, at any rate," whispered Lydia, sharply. "I should almost say there's more than one, by the row that's going on." As a matter of fact, Vincent! Avondale, tired out with fruitless struggles to free himself of his bonds, had at last fallen into a deep slumber, that had lasted, for some hours. Waking stiff and cramped, it took him some time to realise what had happened and where he was; but the sunlight streaming in at tlje window woke him to the maddening" fact that he was a prisoner, and that this was Madeline's wed-ding-day, and that he could not help her to escape from Reuben. With a strength that seemed renewed by the thought of that, he began once again to tug at his bonds, and in doing so rolled over the edge of the bed with a crash on to the floor. That was the sound that had startled Lydia Murrell and Hatch.

Lydia stepped across the hall and seized the handle, and turned it; but the door was locked. This appearing more mysterious still, ' she turned upon Hatch, and demanded to know where the key was.

"I/ixpect it's on the inside of the door,-" said Hatch, through his chattering teeth. "Whoever s in there has locked themselves in*." "Or has been locked in!" exclaimed Lydia, with a new, suspicion dawning in her mind. She stooped and peeped through the keyhole. "There's no key in this lock," she announced; "I can see right into the room."

They stood looking ;. each other in perplexity, while the mysterious sounds still went on. Hatch was in a mood to run away; the woman, with greater courage, meant to have the door open. Hatch, in a state of terror, was at last persuaded to remember that the key of the other bedroom door also fitted that lock. It was Lydia who got the key, and Lydia who unlocked the door and Hung it wide. And there, on the floor, was a man, bound hand and foot, with a cloth tied over his face, struggling violently to get free. (To be Continued.—(M.S. 25.