The Double Chance.

Waipa Post, Volume VIII, Issue 364, 6 November 1914, Page 5

The Double Chance.

fr. BY J. S. .FLETCHER, Author of " The Golden Hope," &c.

(Published by Special Arrangement.)

* CHAPTER XVllL—(Cuirtinncil.) replied the doctor. ■§&! temporary loss caused by some Ijji'dden violent shock." k £t Do you think that fail over the Quarry caused it?" asked the inspector. "I don't Know, because the injuries to his head were slight, very slight indeed," replied the doctor. "It may have been the result of a great mental shock." "In either case," asked the inspector, "do you think his memory will come back to him?" "Yes, certainly," replied Dr. Hibbert. "1 fully expect that it will come back iust as-suddenly as it went. A sudden shock might possibly restore it. But it will come. ' "Then see that these women keep a strict watch, and make them see that they must communicate with you and" me immediately he shows any sign of the return," said Inspector Cortelyou. He then said good-day to the doctor and set off towards the village. But he had scarcely crossed the waste land on which the cottage stood, when he saw Perrett running towards him. At a few yards' distance Perrett cried his news— —

"Come to the station as quick as you can, sir!" he exclaimed. "Stead's made his escape!"

CHAPTER XTX

Mr. Marshall Stead, left to himself and his own thoughts in the solitude of a not too spacious or comfortable cell, felt that the situation in which he now found his hitherto confident personality placed was one which had great disadvantages. Until that moment he had never upon any occasion known what it was to be 'nonplussed; full of resource all his life (or, at any rate, since his schooldays), he had invariably converted every situation to his own good. He was sure now that he could make something out of this, if only he could regain his liberty. But the walls of his cell were as thick as those of the old Castle, to all appearance; the window was a mere pane of dull glass covered with iron bars; the door looked as if it would never open again under any circumstances. Obviously, Mr. Stead was in what <s vulgarly called a tight place; but being philosophic, he sat down on his stool—which was all that was provided to sit on—and considered matters.

And, after all, he reflected, with a species of interior mirth, they could not get at his money. He had always had too much sense to keep any considerable sum of money in any local bank, beyond a sum of about a hundred and seventy pounds lying at call in the bank not twenty yards away from where he was sitting a captive; all his worldly wealth was in London and elsewhere —in other names. If he could only get out and get away from Mannersley 1 He felt inclined to curse or to kick himself for not clearing off immediately after the scene with Phillipa.- But how could he know what was coming? Even now he could not understand —understand, at any rate, how these confounded people had found out. While he sat there meditating, the door of his cell, after the loud turning of a key, was suddenly opened, and a youngconstable, whom Stead remembered as a boy, looked in upon him somewhat shamefacedly. Stead saw that this youthful person was full of amazement and wonder to find the cashier of Mannersley Mine, the churchwarden of Mannersley Church, locked up like any common drunk or casual criminal. Indeed, from force of habit, the policeman touched where his helmet should have been.

"Beg pardon, sir," he said, "but the superintendent he said as how I was to ask you if you'd like some 'dinner ordered in from somewhere. I.could slip across to the Grapes, sir, and get you a chop or something, if you like.'" "Yes," answered Stead. He put his hand in his pocket, in which they had left him such cash as he had about him, and drew out half-a-crown. "Yes, I should like ■•. chop and potatoes and a little cheese and a glass of ale- Get yourself a drink with the change." "Thank you, sir," said the officer, taking the money. "Sorry to see you in this place, Mr. Stead," he added, with a clumsy attempt at Sympathy. : "It's all a foolish mistake, for Which somebody will have to pay heavily," replied Stead. "By the i Bye, i s Mr- Ulingworth anywhere ' frbout?" j "No, sir," said the offi "r. ! ('There's nobody about just now !>••' ' Hie and Police-constable Stevens i.i , fhe office—they've all £orc to cJ;--1 Her. Is it anything Stevens could 00, sir?" Bwered Stead. "I only wanted to §sfi""Mr. Illingwor'h a question- I'll gee him this pHtto--"." \ The young oflr'-r went away, promising to briny ,u ■ choo as soon as bbssible. n-id Mr. St en J resumed Bfs mediations What a thing it 'Sras, he H-.r; ;ght, to be near liberty and vet so far from it, and I

what a difference a locked door made! If only he could get outside that door!

And then a sudden thought came to Mr. Stead, which made him jump Prom his stool and begin to pace me narrow confines of his cell with rapid strides. He knew the exact geography of the police-station, for he was friendly with the architect who built it, and had often been over it with him in the process of building, lie knew that the cell in which he had been placed was the last of a series of four in a passage which terminated with a door at the back of the police-station; if he could once get out of his cell into that passage the opening of the door would be a simple matter. And once outside

The thought of liberty, even though he had only lost it for little more than an hour, was so alluring that it braced his nerves like a strong tonic. He buttoned up Irs coat and prepared for action, reckoning up his plan of campaign. To leave that cell was the thing, but to leave the young constable within it was the step to be achieved. Once out of the cell he would be safe—for a while. Police-constable Stevens in the office in front would know nothing and hear nothing—for a while. He would try. The young constable was coming back at last—Stead heard his feet on the flagged floor of the passage. He took up a position behind the. door, and braced up all his nerve and strength. He heard the rattle of glass and silver on the luncheon tray; he heard the key turned in the lock; he knew that the officer was leaving the key in the lock, and that, being encumbered with the tray, he was pushing the door open with his knee. In another instant he appeared—and in that instant Stead leaped upon him, sent him and the tray rolling in hopeless confusion on the floor of the cell, darted out, turned the key in the lock, and in another minute was outside the rear of the police-station. He stood for a moment to regain his breath, and then, pulling himself into his usual cool and' calm manner, and following out the plan which he had determined upon, he deliberately turned the corner of the police-station, and, emerging into the main street, walked boldly into the little local bank, which occupied the next building. Just as he had surmised, there was nobody there but a clerk, who greeted him in ail innocence.

Good-day," said Stead, replying to the youth's salutation, "i want some gold, and I find I've forgotten my cheque-book. Just give me ;. blank form, please."

Mis hand was quite steady as he. wrote out a cheque for one hundred and fifty pounds, and he chatted pleasantly to the clerk as that sum was counted out and handed over. He dropped the two paper bags into which he had directed the gold to be put. into his pockets, and with a quiet farewell walked calmly out of the bank and into the main street again. "Lucky for me it's dinner-time," he thought. "That's step number two. Now for number three." Mr. Stead's step number three was to walk round the corner of the bank, and to make a sharp turn into a cul-de-sac of red-brick cottages which lay at its rear. There was not a soul to be seen in the forlorn little street, and without a moment's hesitation he went

straight to one of the first houses, and, dispensing with the ceremony of knocking, opened the door and walked in.

This cottage was one of several which belonged to Stead in Mannersley. It was a typ'cal miner's cottage, having a living-room in front, a kitchen at the back, and two sleeping chambers upstairs. Such a cottage, in the hands of home-loving and careful tenants, not overburdened with children, could be kept neat and clean, as was the case with the great majority of the cottages in Mannersley. i>ut this cottage was tenanted by one of Mannerslcy's greatest ne'er-do-wells —a miner who was known by no other name than Dogger Tandy, probably because, whatever the state of his worldly affairs might be, he could always show a good greyhound, which he fed on mutton chops, while his unfortunate wife munched a dry crust. And Dogger Tandy was in Stead's debt, and was a desperado, and his cottage was handy, and Stead was a firm believer in the saying that if you want to hide the best hiding-place is next cioor to the man who is seeking you, and so to Dogger Tandy he Came. When Stead walked in, it was to survey a scene which, if not absolutely squalid, was sordid in . the extreme- The carpctless livingroom, though not destitute of furniture, was nearly so, and there was scarcely an article which had not

suffered such primitive repairs as can 1.)2 effected by tying up broken limbs with string or driving a nail though parts where nails should not ]).• required. A primitive meal

of bread, cheese, and pickled onions was set out on a clothless deal table, and was flanked by a can of ale. There was an odour of onions, of cheese, of acrid tobacco smoke in the r.kice that smote keenly on Stead's nostrils. For one moment a sense of degradation in having to

I seek shelter in such a house smote | him, but it left him just as quickly. He closed the door behind him and ' faced the occupants of the cottage.

Dogger Tandy, a big, bony, r. ..'.• haired, sharp-eyed, sharp-nosed man, with a thin beard and ragged moustache, through which protruded ugly yellow fangs of teeth, sat on one side of the table with a greyhound at his knee. He was eating bread and cheese with a clasp-kn:fe, and every now and then applying his moustache to the rim of an ale can. His wife, a poor, washed-out, down-trodden-looking creature, whose face bore more than one mark of her lord and master's first, appeared to be chiefly solacing herself with dry bread and weak tea, drawn from a pot which had doubtless stood on the hob since breakfast time. Both started at Stead's abrupt entrance. It was not his practice to collect his rents in person, and they could not think of any reason for his presence there. And the man scowled, and his scowl was very suggestive of the way in which a vicious dog shows his teeth. He half-rose from his chair, and- regarded Stead with anything but friendly eyes. "If so be as you've called aoout that bit of rent, master," he begaOi "It's not "•

Stead stopped him with a lifted hand "I've not come about any rent," he said. "You're welcome to what's owing. I want to talk to you. Send your wife out of jth'q room for a few minutes."

"Get outside!" commanded Dogger Tandy to his spouse, pretty much as he might have ordered a cur to its kennel.

But Stead barred the way. "Not outside," he said. "Can't she go into the back place,.or upstairs?-'-' Mrs. Tandy retired hastily into the back place and closed the doorj Stead glanced at it suspiciously. "There's no way out of that, if there?" he asked.

' "As they're your houses, guv'nor, you ought to know there's no door in 'em except such as you're astanding against," answered Tandy. "'Course there isn't!" Stead came further into tne Kitchen and took a chair close to the miner's, who continued to watch him furtively.

"Look here," said Stead, eyeing Tandy keenly, "do you want to earn some money? Not a pound or two, nor twenty pounds, but a nice lump." Dogger. Tandy regarded him witr the eyes of the naturally suspicious man. He kept silence for a minute. "What's the game, guv'nor?" he asked. "You can speak free—she'U not hear."

Stead explained matters, not caring in his present predicament to mince them. He knew his man — knew that Dogger Tandy's cupidity and greed would make him keep a still tongue in his head; he also knew Tandy was not a drinking man, so would not talk,in his cups; he also knew him to be a master of craft and ingenuity. And he told him everything, while the miner listened in silence.

"Now listen, guv'nor," he said, when the fugitive had made an end of his story; "this here is a ticklish job, but you've come to the right man to do it. It's a thousand to one against their ever looking foi you here. You did it smart in coming next door, as it were. Bui they'll set all their wits to work oi< you, d'ye sec? They'll watch the station and the roads. Now, I'll te', you what must be done. Do you stop here quiet this afternoon while I go out and about and keep my ears open and my mouth shut. That's the ticket. And then we can see what to do."

"But supposing anybody comes in?" said Stead. "And then, what absut your wife?.-' Dogger Tandy smiled at these difliculties with great contempt, '*•-.•; solved both a few minutes later I ;• interviewing his wife in the bu .*• place and locking her up there, aflcj which, bidding his guest help himself to the bread and cheese, ?.nc further producing a bottle of stout for his delectation, he took his gre? hound and locked up' the house b<* hind him, leaving Stead a prison:! for the second time in one day. It was dark when Dogger Tandy returned, bringing with him some eatables which, he thought Stead might fancy. He looked grave, and he shook his head.

"It's a bad look-out, gov'nor," he said. "I thought they'd kick up a rare shine over it. They've got the bills out already, and they're watching the station here and all around. There only one thing I can see of."

"What's that?" asked Stead, eagerly.

"Well, guv'nor, it's this," replied the miner. "You know the old Wellington working, what hasn't been used for a couple of year? I know a way into that from our seam, and you could lie snug there for a day or two in the old underlooker's office, with plenty of grub and so on. I can rig you up like a collier, and get you down there with me on the night-shift—they'll never dream of looking for you there. It's the only way, guv'nor—you'll have to hide below ground for a time."

And Stead saw no other alterna tive.

(To be Continued.)—D.C. 17.