“THE EVIL THAT MEN DO”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 25 August 1936, Page 7

“THE EVIL THAT MEN DO”

CHAPTER VI (Continued). On Ms way back Ms whole thoughts, were of himself. He knew that to stay in Dundee would be perilous; for if suspicion were once directed to him he would of a surety be hanged. There was, therefore, no course left open but flight. He must return to England without delay. Having decided on liis course of action, ho proceeded straight to the place where the poor child Walter had been left. He was in bed, but Pycroft got him up and dressed him, and having given him some breakfast, he took him to Mark Wilson, who was surprisr cd but delighted to see Jim and the child. “Where’s your uncle?” he asked.

Jim knew that to toll the truth would be to place himself entirely in the power of Wilson, a thing he must be careful to avoid. I “Uncle? Oh, lie’s in his bed. He | got awful full last night, you see, and his head’s sore this morning. He’s wanting to get back to Glasgow to his business, and he bid me tell you that you are to send him ten pounds, and to keep the laddie.” This story astonished Wilson; he concluded at once that Jim was lying. He guessed that there was something wrong. “Look here, I don’t believe this story. I’m not to be hoodwinked so easily. It’s, just a trick of yours to get some money, but I am not to be caught in that way.” “May I die on this spot if it’s a trick,” exclaimed Pycroft with a great show of earnestness. “Maclaren will trouble you no more, and I’ll not trouble you again till you’ve got matters settled. Come, man, give me ten pounds, and let me go.” Now, for the first time, a sinister suspicion sprang up in Wilson’s mind, for there was a nervous agitation about Jim which told its own tale, and betrayed the fact that something was amiss.

“Have you murdered your uncle?” he suddenly demanded, staring straight ito Janies Pycroft’s eyes. “Those cuts and scratches about your face suggest foul play to me.”

Jim trembled. He felt that he was in a trap, and a deadly fear seized him lest the fingers of the law should seize him. Cunning as he was, he was barren of resource when suddenly run to earth like this.

“Maclaren’s dead,” he blurted out, “but I didn’t murder Mm. We both got full last night and lost our way, and when we got into a field he eomm nced to fight with me, and in making a blow he tripped up and fell with his head on a stone. I went to sleep in the field, and when I wakened this morning I found my uncle dead beside me. ’ ’

“Ah! And where’s the body?” asked Wilson coldly. “It’s in a ditch in the field, and there’s no fear of it being found for a long time.” 1 ‘ And what will you do ? ” “Go to England just as quickly as my legs will carry me.” “And you will leave the boy here?” “Yes; certainly.” “And you will promise not to interfere with me again in any way?” “I will.”

Wilson, without another word, stepping into an inner room, took ten pounds from a box. Coming back, he handed the money to the guilty scoundrel before him, saying, “There’s what you want. Now, the sooner you go the better.”

Pycroft counted the money, stored it away securely in liis- pouch, and remarked, “That will do for a time, anyway. Good-night, friend Wilson.”He put out his hand, the other man took it, and in another moment Mark Wilson was alone. His face was filled Avith an expression of intense satisfaction, for he felt that triumph was liis, and he said to himself, “Fortune favours me! The game is in my own hands!” „ CHAPTER VII. The coming of little Peter Maxwell to the camp of the gipsies had provided Peggy Scruddy with just the oppor- | tunity she had always longed for —the j opportunity to leave a brutal husband and a hated life. Besides, she felt convinced that her husband and Preach- j ing Jim were bent on mischief in con- j neetion with the child, and this was an , added inducement to take little Peter ( away from them.

Peggy had always known that she could not go far without money. Longago she would have left Bcruddv could she have possessed herself of the necessary means, because the idea, of getting a situation in London had become to her a dream; but then the difficulty was to get to London. Therefore, she deemed that the chance which now presented itself was one which might never occur again, and whatver the hazard was she made up her mind that she would risk it, even if she died in the attempt. Having obtained some money and the boy, she felt that she had gained one step in advance. Then old Dobbin, the horse, would help her considerably; He was a lazy, aged creature, used to swinging along at a jog-trot; but still he was capable of hastening in an emergency. Having settled this business, and mounted on Dobbin’s broad back, Peggy next bethought herself of the necessity of putting her husband off the scent; for she was perfectly sure that when ho discovered that she had gone he would i be furious and endeavour to bring her j back.

Keeping: this in view, therefore, the shrewd little woman turned the horse’s head north, and keep a straight course for six or seven miles; then she doubled baek by various bye-lanes which she knew well, pounding the ribs of the lazy old horse with her heels until it seemed to dawn upon the sleepy Dobbin that he was bound upon an important mis-

BY E. DONOVAN.

(To bo Continued.)

sion, and that therefore it was his dub, for once in his life to throw his heavy, shaggy legs about to the best of his ability. At any rate he had got into quite a respectable pace, and his rider urged him on so frequently that Dobbin became quite excited, sc far as such a thick-skinned, nerveless, shaggy, blear-, eyed, old animal could get excited. Thus hour after hour passed, and the miles lengthened, until Peggy breathed more freely, as she thought that danger had passed, and for that day, at least, she need not fear pursuit. When night fell Peggy found herself more than twenty miles to the south of Berwick. All day long Peter had been wonderfully good, for his, childish instincts had told him that in Peggy he had found a true friend. The fugitives thus held on their way for several days, until Peggy felt that all fear of being overtaken had passed; and so at length she reached the city of York. Here she determined to part with poor old Dobbin. She was forced to this, because she was anxious to get to London as soon as, possible, and she knew that from York a coach ran which would convey her very much more quickly than Dobbin ever could. With much real sorrow, therefore, she asked the landlord of the inn where she had put up if he would buy the horse; and five pounds being offered was accepted, Dobbin found a new owner. Then Peggy secured seats for herself and. Peter in the coach, and in due course arrived in London. She had imagined that once in London it would be the easiest thing in the world to obtain a situation, but in this she was sorely disappointed. Week after week passed, and she could hear of nothing. Then she began to despair, more especially as her stock of money was getting done. She had got lodgings in the house of a laundress in Islington, and this woman had promised to look out for a place for her lodger. One night when Peggy was getting very despondent indeed, the landlady came home with the joyful news that she had heard of something that might suit. So the ' next morning betimes Peggy went down to the, address given, which was a large house in the City Hoad, and here she was fortunate enough to obtain a place as a servant. The difficulty that now beset the poor girl was the disposal of Peter. She knew she could not have him in the house with her, and the question was

where was slie to place him? In. her

embarrassment she decided at last to seek the assistance of her mistress, who was a good and philanthropic woman. To this woman Peg represented herself as a widow, and said Peter was her son. Her mistress displayed great interest in the child, and decided at last that lie should be sent to school. This was done, and little Peter Maxwell, whose short career had been a strangely chequered one, found himself at last a schoolboy in the great world of London, and growing to love more and more the dark-eyed gipsy woman whom he now called mother.

It is unnecessary to enter into all the details of Peter’s career during the next few years. He proved himself an apt pupil, and made rapid progress till he had reached the age of fourteen, when circumstances: ended liis school life. At this period Peggy’s mistress died, and as this lady had paid a portion of the expenses of Peter’s school-' ing, his assumed mother took him away, and determined to put him to a trade or get him a situation of some kind. She herself was out of a place owing to her mistress’s death, but found herself rewarded by a legacy of a hundred pounds. After a good deal of anxious thought as to wliat was the best thing to do, Peggy came to the conclusion that she would take a small house, buy some furniture, and try to obtain lodgers.

With the aid of the solicitors of her late mistress she was fortunate in getting a very comfortable little house in the South of London, and by a judicious outlay of her money she was enabled to almost completely furnish it. And thus it came to pass that the gipsy Peggy found herself a respectable householder and citizen in London. Of Peter’s birth and connection she was still entirely ignorant. Nearly eight years had passed since she took him from the gipsy camp, and she had had no tidings of her old acquaintances since.

During these years Peter had developed into a fine, handsome boy. He himself knew that there was some mystery about his birth; he was always greatly puzzled when he remembered how his father had gone away never to return; but he never spoke of this to his foster mother, whom he loved devotedly. That period of his early life was a dead letter, for Peggy had requested him never to speak about it to a living soul,, and he had religiously obeyed her wishes. On coming to London Peggy had taken the name of Mrs. Watson, and her adopted son was, of course, known as Peter Watson. And so, at the age of fourteen, Peter “Watson” found himself entering upon a new epoch in his career.