"The Hidden Enemy”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 25 June 1936, Page 9

"The Hidden Enemy”

COPYRIGHT. , PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER XXV (Continued)

“That’s nonsense! If Lanyon’s car got there, mine can. I shall be ready to start at nine to-morrow morning, and you must come with me.” “But the risk—think of the risk, Miss Vidal. By to-morrow they will have informed the police. The hunt will be up. Any car going in that direction may be held up and questioned.”

“Never mind the questions;—l can answer them, ’ ’ said Judith, firmly. “My mind is made up, and you veil please remember, Mr Scrafford, that I am finding the money.”

Serdafford scowled. “It’s madness!” he insisted, but Judith paid no attention. “Nine to-morrow morning,” she repeated, and getting up, walked back to the hotel.

Scrafford had 1 to take her, for he knew that if lie failed to obey her orders, Judith would close the purse strings, and he and Lanyon were at present equally hard up. At the same time, he knew that Lanyon would be furious, and he was afraid of Lanyon. He was also very nervous about meeting the police. Altogether he was in a sweet temper when at nine the next morning he took the.wheel of Judith’s car.

They drove out past Glenfarne, which looked as peaceful as usual. In point of fact, all the men were scattered far over the hills, vainly trying to find their mistress. But not one had any real idea of where to look. Scrafford was careful not to take the Tulla roadThere was another ten miles farther west, which led into the by-roads lie had to reach. He took a vicious pleasure in the way the car bumped and jolted over the rough track, but Judith paid no attention to the discomfort. She sat silent, wrapped in her own thoughts; and presently Scrafford, fearing for the springs', was forced to slow up. • It was just after twelve when they came to the top of the high pass above the great flats in which lay Cuilrain. As they went slowly down the steep, Serafford began to feel a little happier. So far they had not run into any searchers, and now they,were pretty well beyond the likely radius of search. They reached the wood to find the way blocked by Lanyon’s car. Scrafford told Judith that they had to walk the rest of the way, and she got out and picked her way across, the boggy ground. Clear of the wood, she stopped short. “Is that the house?” she asked abruptly. ‘ ‘ That’s it, ’ ’ said Scrafford. ‘ l l told you it was pretty lonely.” Judith shuddered. .

The building stood, grim and desolate, on a bare slope running up from a marshy burn and, behind it, was a row of ruinous outbuildings also smothered in nettles. There was not a tree or a bush anywhere near to relieve the hideous bareness of the place. To the north of the house the ground sloped to a desolate expanse of yellow sand through the centre of which curved a small river. The tide was just turning in and from the distance came a confused sound of breaking waves and a harsh screaming of gulls. “You tell me you have lived here?” said Judith. Scrafford tried to meet the scorn in her eyes but failed. “Take me in,” she ordered. “I wish to see Miss Grant. ’ ’

They crossed the burn by a plank, and Serafford rapped at the door. Judith noticed that it was a peculiar rap, no doubt an agreed signal. After a short pause the door was opened by a middle-sized man with the worst squint Judith had ever seen. He had a thick, flat nose and, to add to his beauty, all his lower front teeth were missing. “Where’s Mr Lanyon, Cooney?” Serafford asked. Cooney looked doubtfully at Judith. “Outside, somewheres,” lie answered in a thick lisp. “This is Miss Vidal,” said Serafford. “She’s conie to see Miss Grant.” Cooney frowned doubtfully. “Better wait fer the boss,” he advised. “No.” For once Serafford was definite. “She must see her at once. I’ll be responsible.” Cooney grunted and, turning back through the bare, dirty passage, led the way upstairs. Judith shuddered again. Bare boards creaked under her ,feet, great stains of damp made ugly patterns on the wall. On the upper landing Cooney thumped on the door and “Come in” came the answer in a clear and perfectly composed voice. Judith waved the men aside and stepped into a room which was certainly cleaner' than the rest of the house, but just as bare. A cheap cot, a taible, a chair—these were all the furniture. Judith closed the door and found herself facing Christine. “How do you do, Miss Vidal,” said Christine in just the tone she might have used if she had been welcoming Judith to Glenfarne. But—and Judith noticed this: —Christine did not offer to shake hands. It took a good deal to embarrass the imperious Judith, but for once she felt at a loss. She did not know what to say or do. Christine took charge. ‘‘Take the chair, Miss Vidal,” she invited. “I’ll sit on the bed. As you see, accommodation is limited.” Judith did not sit down. She stood opposite Christine. She was nearly a head taller, yet the physical advantage did not help her. Christine’s composure was not assumed; it was real, and Judith suddenly felt she was losing hers. “Why did you do it?” she burst out. « “Do what?” Christine asked gently. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand,” Judith retorted. “Why did you take Peter away from me?”

BY T. C. BRIDGES. (Author of “A Seven Years’ Sentence,” “Better Than Gold,” “The Other Man’s Crime,” etc.)

Christine took no offence. ‘ ‘ But that is just what I did not do, Miss Vidal.” Judith flamed.

“What—you dare say that when you have had him with you at Glenfarne and would not even allow him to come and see me! ’ ’

“You are mistaken,” Christine’s voice was level as ever. ‘ ‘ Peter has been staying at Costello with Captain Norman, and the only reason he has riot been to see you is that he has been in bed with a chill. ’ ’

Judith came a step forward. She was white with anger. “Why do you lie to me? I saw him with my own eyes., lying on the sofa in your drawing-room the day I called last week.”

“But that was not Peter Hastings; that was Dirk Warden,” Christine answered.

Judith glared at the smaller girl. “What is the use of telling me a tale like that? Do you think I don’t know the man 1 am engaged to?” “Others besides you have made the same mistake,” said Christine, still unruffled. “The two are so alike they might be twins.” ‘ ‘ I suppose you will tell me it is this Warden who owns Glenf arne?” sneered Judith. “No, Glenf arne belongs to Peter Hastings. He left me to manage it because he was busy with your affairs. ’ ’ Christine’s unshaken composure began to have its effect on Judith. “Do you really expect me to believe this preposterous story?” she exclaimed in a sort of despair. “You will find it perfectly true when you see the two together. Tell me, Miss Vidal, did not Peter ever speak to you of his double in Malay?” “The man who swindled him?” “Yes, that was Dirk Warden. He is at Glenfarae now and Peter at Costello. You have only to see them together to realise that they are doubles.” “I want to see. I want to believe you, Miss Grant,” cried Judith impulsively. “Come, let us go back. My car is in the wood over there.”

Without a word Christine picked up her hat and put it on and followed Judith out of the room and down the stairs. Cooney met them. “’Ere, where are you going?” he asked roughly. Judith turned on him in a fury. “Be silent. This is my house and, Miss Grant is my guest.” Cooney was silent. A man of his type had noi chance at all with Judith. As Judith and Christine left the house Lanyon and Cadmore came round the south corner, dragging between them a third man Who seemed the worse for wear. Judith stopped shordt. An expression of horror came upon her face. “It’s Peter,” she cried and sprang forward. “What are you doing with Mr Hastings?” she demanded. “Let him go at once.” CHAPTER XXVI—PRISONERS It took a good deal to surprise Paul Lanyon yet the shock of seeing Judith in this place staggered him for a moment. But lie recovered quickly and with his unoccupied hand lifted his hat. “Good morning, Miss Vidal,” he said ironically. “This is an unexpected pleasure. ’ ’ Judith hardly glanced at him. Her eyes were on Dirk and filled with a strange mixture of pity and anger. “Let Mr Hastings go at once,” she repeated. Lanyon smiled. ‘ ‘ This is not Mr Hastings, Miss Vidal. This gentleman’s name is Warden —Dirk Warden. If you don’t believe me Miss Grant will do doubt confirm what I say.” Judith gazed at Dirk as if she could not believe her eyes. Poor Dirk! He had spent the night in a shed behind Cuilrain; he was unshaven, unwashed and had had nothing to eat or drink since tea the day before. It was Cadinore, going out to fetch peat from the shed, who had spotted him and come back to tell Lanyon, and Lanyon had wasted no time to collecting him.

“Yes, he is Mr Warden,” said Christine to Judith. “I told you of the resemblance, Miss Vidal.” “It—it’s incredible,” said Judith under her breath, then recovering herself. “I don’t care who he is, Mr Lanyon. I will thank you to let him go at once.” Lanyon shook his head. “I couldn’t do that, Miss Vidal. This man is a criminal who has been robbing you and the Vidal Company for a long time past.” “And what about you?” remarked Dirk with a smile on his dry lips. “Does the pot call the kettle black?” Dor a moment a vicious look showed in Lanyon’s eyes. “The evidence of a thief doesn’t cut much ice,” ho sneered. “I have ordered you to let this man loose,” said Judith. “Do so at once.”

Lanyon looked at her. “ Sorry to seem disobliging, Miss Vidal,” he said, “but it can’t be done. We are holding him until he can be handed over to the police. ’ ’

“Police,”'said Dirk. “You’d run a mile if you saw one. ’ ’ Lanyon’s temper cracked. “Shut your mouth,” ho snarled and struck Dirk across the lips. In a flash Dirk broke loose and swung his left at Lanyon’s jaw. With a growl Cadmore flung himself on Dirk, and catching him off his balance knocked him down. The two rolled among the nettles, but Dirk was underneath and Cadmore pommelled him fiercely. “That’ll do, Cadmore,” said Lanyon harshly. “This comedy is finished. Help mo shepherd these ladies inside.” Judith faced him.

'“What do you mean, Mr Lanyon?” she demanded. “Wo are not going inside that filthy place again. We are going home. ’ ’ (To be Continuedl.