The Unspeakable Thing

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXI, Issue VI, 8 August 1903, Page 367

The Unspeakable Thing

By

HARRIS BURLAND,

Author of “ Dacobra," Etc.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS This weird story opens on an island in the South Pacific, which is reached by Ermys Tredegar, the hero, and the rest of a shipwrecked crew. They find the place infested with myriads of spiders of all sizes, from huge to small. Gradually Tredegar’s companions disappear mysteriously, till there are only himself and one Hughes left. Wandering in the bush they happen on an immense spider web, hanging to which are several of their late shipmates. At night these two are attacked by some frightful creature, and Hughes is killed. Tredegar fixes himseii a stronghold in a cave, and has another encounter with the creature, which escapes after a desperate struggle, but leaves in the white man’s hands a small metal disc, certain markings on which drive him to the conclusion that the horror which has taken the lives of his companions, is, or had been human. Tredegar is left alone in helplessness and horror. CHAPTER IV. Twelve months have elapsed since the events summarised above. We are now introduced to the heroine, Mavanwy Morgan, daughter of John Morgan, the ruined owner of Lynglas, an ancient Welsh country seat. Mavanwy is 'thinking of her absent lover, who has never been heard of since he left England a year back, and who is supposed to be dead. No student of fiction needs to be told this lover is Ermys Tredegar. She is called to dress for dinner by her father and told to make berse.f specially cordial to one of the guests invited, namely, Cyrus Wahroyd, an American millionaire, who has recently bought up a place in the district. He is, her father reminds her, in love with her, and Is about to urge the young man’s suit when his arrival with his brother brings the conversation to a close. After dinner, however, Walroyd proposes and is refused gently. Upon this he bursts into a violent passion, and informs Mavanwy that he has bought everything her father owns, his mortgaged land and the very house they live in, and that he could turn them out to-morrow. Mavanwy reiterates her refusal with contempt, and ho returns this refusal by saying she shall marry him whether she likes ly. or net. She answers him furiously, and would have struck him had she been able. Cyrus Walroyd laughed. This was a woman after his own heart, and he loved her all the more for this outbreak of passion. But a second later a look of horror crossed his face, his jaw fell, and suddenly loosing her wrists he struck savagely at something that was running across one of his own hands. It was only a little harmless spider. But he had struck, as though it had been an adder. Nothing remained of it but a small blotch of blood. He rubbed his hand vigorously with his handkerchief, and removed all traces of it. Then he looked up quickly to see if Mavanwy had noticed his action. But she was several yards away from him. He hesitated for a moment, and then turning sharply he walked up the path, and re entered the house. CHAPTER V. * Tredegar, given up for dead, turns aip at this juncture. He drops like a bolt from the blue. Seated by his sweetheart’s side he tells his story in the firelight. Tells how he was rescued by a passing ship and how he reached home, but one thing h<* withholds. He cannot tell of such horrors before Mavanwy. He does not tell of the horrors he saw on the island When he shows them the metal disc, which proves to be gold, Morgan pronounces the markings on it to be early Welsh, and strangely enough they are similar to those on a ring given to him by Cyrus WaJroyd. Walroyd wants to secure the disc, but Tredegar will not part with it. Just as Tredegar and the two Walroyd brothers are taking their departure, a horrible face appears at the window. They give chase but are unable to solve the mystery, the object of their curiosity escaping them. CHAPTER VI. The Walroyds are renting Tredegar’s old home, and propose to buy it from him, but he refuses. Our hero becomes the guest of the Walroyds nt Tredegar Bias, and while there learns that Cyrus had proposed to Mavanwy, and insulted hei when she refused him. Tredegar is drug ged, and when he wakes up in the middle of the night, he hears some one in bls room. He pursues, but the midnight visitdr escapes. The place is in darkness, and the hero remembering that there were matches on the library table, gropes his way there. To his horror, when be obtains a light, he sees on the floor the dead body of Cyrus Walroyd, grasping In his hand the letter written by Mavanwy to Tredegar, warning him of Walroyd’s hatred. On the floor glittered the mys-

terious half of the golden disc. Tredegar puts this In his pocket. Sounds of people are heard at the door, and the whole situation dawns upon him at a glance. He is sure to be suspected of the murder, so he flees and hides in London, changing his name to John Edwards, and letting his beard and moustache grow. CHAPTER VII. Introduces us to a seller of gems who has a daughter of great beauty. They are examining gems in the old man’s office or den down by the Thames, when suddenly the door opening on to the river bursts open, ard in the doorway stands Emrys Tredegar Seeing from his pursuers. CHAPTER VIII. These people take him in and he rails sick with rheumatic fever, through which he is nursed by Cynthia Cantrip, who falls in love with him, and vows to win him even after she has heard that he loves Mavanwy. While here, Emrys reads in the papers of another murder in Cardiganshire. Like Cyrus Walroyd, the second victim was crushed to death in some mysterious manner. As soon as he is well enough, Emrys, oppressed by Cynthia Cantrip’s love, steals from the house, leaving as a memento for the woman who has been so kind to him, the only thing of value which he has about him—the gold disc. CHAPTER IX. Emrys steals down into Cardiganshire to see Mavanwy, and tell her that he must leave England in a few days—perhaps forever. CHAPTERS X. and XI. More murders are reported, and the country-side turns out to hunt down the perpetrator — Emrys as they think. After bidding his lover farewell, Emrys steals over the marsh to elude his pursuers, and makes a horrible discovery. Up in the wood, near an old worked out lead mine, he stumbles in the darkness on a rope. He strikes a match and. horror of horrors, he finds strung between the trees a replica of the terrible web or net that he found in the weird island! The “creature” must have followed him to England! When he recovers from the shock this discovery gives him, Emrys sees a man appear from the shaft Of the mine. The stranger makes off in the direction of Tredegar Plas and the sea. Emrys follows stealthily, and is more than surprised to find that the man is John T. Walroyd, brother of the murdered Cyrus. Tracking his man down to the beach and along the shore, Emrys observes a boat pull in towards the laud. It ’s manned by three persons—two at the oars and the third crouching in the bows.

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued.

The crunch of Walroyd’s feet on the shingle beneath had grown fainter and fainter as Tredegar had proceeded on his way, till at last it died out altogether. But, looking over the edge, he saw Walroyd trudging slowly along the beach, a mere speck in the moonlight. He lay down and watched him. Then he suddenly started. Some three hundred yards behind Walroyd another figure moved stealthily from boulder to boulder, and as he watched it he noticed that it moved in a very curious manner, not upright as a man, but on all fours, like a beast. And yet not altogether like a beast, for every now and then it would move swiftly forward on two legs and decrease the distance between itself and John Walroyd. The latter appeared to be entirely unaware of its approach. Tredegar’s b!ood ran coid at the sight. He had seen that ungainly movement once before. If John Walroyd did not turn and see his danger, he was a dead man. Tredegar picked up a stone and sent it Hying on to the rocks below. Walroyd tinned round sharply, and the pursuer sank Hat on the ground behind a small reck. And then for the first time, Tredegar saw that something else moved on the beach nearly a quarter of a mile behind the thing crouched among the pebbles. After a pause of two or three minutes, Walroyd continued his journey, but the thing still remained motionless by the spur of grey rock, and the newcomer ciipt nearer and nearer in the shadow of the cliff. Tredegar rose to his feet and

ran as hard as he could over the brow of the ascent.

Three hundred yards further on the cliff sloped down again to a height of one hundred and fifty feet, and at this point a narrow winding path led to the beach. He ran as though the devil were 't his heels.

In less than five minutes he had reached the beach, and was moving slowly and softly over some ridges of slate to the projecting corner of the cliffs which hid iverything from his sight. When he reached it, he saw that the boat was close inshore against a small platform of reek, and that Walroyd was talking to the man in the bows. He looked carefully along the beach to the north, but could see nothing of the other two figures.

A high spur of rock ran down almost to the water’s edge from the place where he was standing. He looked at it enquiringly; the top was broad and even, and if he could reach it. he could crawl •' ong it to within a few yards of the boat. He tried two or three places, but with no success. He could not afford to risk a fall on the shingle. He knew that Walroyd was armed and would not hesitate to fire on him. He would be shot like a wild beast, and the whole countryside would applaud his murderer. He could not therefore attempt any ascent where he could not be certain of a sure foothold. A+ last, however, he found such a place, and, reaching the summit, crawled along to the end of the ridge.

He looked over the edge, and saw that Walroyd was still talking to t..e stranger. The latter was standing now on the rock, and his back was towards Tredegar. He was a small man, and his head did not reach to Walroyd’s shoulder. Then he suddenly turned, and Tredegar drew in his breath sharply, and could scarcely prevent hinrself from giving vent to an exclamation of surprise. The little man was Mr Cantrip. Tredegar puzzled his brain to think rf any possib'e connection between the two men, but in vain. He leaned forward to catch their conversation, but they were speaking in low tones, so that even the boatmen could not hear them. The whole thing was so unexpected and incredible that Tredegar could think of •ui solution to the problem. He had only seen Mr Cantrip three or four times, and knew nothing about him. hut it seemed an inexplicable circumstance that this little old man from River-street should have a midnight appointment with a millionaire in Wales.

But he guessed now that there was some mystery in the past life of the Walroyds, and he had a vague feeling that he was being drawn against his will into a strange web of circumstances, and that even the horrible creature that had followed him to England was weaving some of the threads that would ultimately entangle his life. But he could not see into the darkness before him, and now, when a few words might have explained everything, he could only listen and hear nothing but the low murmur of voices.

In less than five minutes Cantrip stepped into the boat, and the men pushed out from the shore. Tredegar could see that Walroyd no longer had the bundle at. his waist, and that the old made was fingering something lovingly in the bows. The boat made straight out from the shore into the west, and for the first time Tredegar noticed a light twinkling on the horizon, and knew that a ship was waiting in the bay. In less than a quarter of an hour the boat had vanished in the haze upon the sea. But John Walroyd still stood upon the ledge of rock and gazed out across the waters.

Then suddenly a terrible scream broke the silence. There was a sound of pebbles flung up by a man’s feet, and a second or two later a figure emerged from the shelter of the cliff—the figure of a man running as though for his life. A few yards behind him came a huge brown form, moving swiftly in leaps and bounds. Tredegar rose to his knees as they neared the rock, and looked round for some missile, but the surface of the ridge was bare as a billiard-table. Walroyd’s hand went sharply to his pocket, and the barrel of his revolver glittered in the moonlight. He raised it, but dared not fire. The two men were ccming for him in a straight line.

Then the foremost man fe.il on his faee with a crash. Quick as thought Walroyd seized the opportunity and fired at the pursuer. He missed and the bullet spattered against the rock behind, and before he could fire again the two forms rolled over and over on the ground, and there was a sound of snapping bones and a long, terrible wail of pain. Walroyd was no coward. He knew' when he fired that the murderer of three men was before him. He ran hastily towards the struggling mass of limbs so as to get in a shot without hurting both of the combatants, but fortune was against him. His foot slipped on a piece of wet seaweed, and he went crashing

to the ground. His revolver flew out of his hand.

He rose to his feet, but before he could regain the weapon he was seized from behind and flung down in a heap among the pebbles. He did not stir. The creature leant over him, and then stooped and caught him by the arms, but before it could do anything further, its throat was seized in a powerful grasp, and it was forced slowly backwards from its prey. Tredegar had been watching the whole proceeding from the top of the cliff, and this was the moment he thought fit to interfere. He had no reason to love John Wairoyd, but he had every reason for saving him from this adversary. He had slid down swiftly from .the rock, and thrown himself headlong into the combat.

The creature loosed Wairoyd. All its energies were required for this new foe. It seized Tredegar by the collar, and literally tore off one side of his clothes in a single sweep of its claws. Coat, waistcoat, and shirt hung in shreds from Tredegar’s waist, and his bare side was streaked with long red lines of blood. He winced with pain, and drawing back his right hand, struck the animal so fearful a blow in the face that the blood spurted from it, and its hair was crimson in the moonlight. But before he could strike again the creature broke from the grasp of his left hand, and lied. Perhaps, with dumb, brutal instinct, it had recognised its adversary. Perhaps it realised that it had Tredegar sprang to the revolver, which lay shining on the pebbles, and steadying the weapon with his left arm, fired every barrel at his retreating foe. At the best of times he was not a good shot, and in the darkness and excitement of the moment, every one of his bullets went wide of the mark- He flung the revolver on the beach with an oath, and turned to Wairoyd. The latter opened his eyes and stared up at the sky. Then he saw Tredegar, and quickly reaching out across the pebbles for his revolver, he aimed it at the latter’s face and pulled the trigger five times in rapid succession. There was no report, and his hard keen face grew pale. He rose to his knees, and swung the weapon back to hurl at the man he thought to be his adversary. Tredegar quickly caught hold of his wrist and gripped it so tightly that the revolver fell on the stones with a clang. “That will do, Mr Wairoyd,” he said calmly, “I don’t know- why you should want to shoot me. I have just saved your life. If I had been a minute later you would have been a dead man. I have not come off Scot free myself.” Wairoyd did not answer, but stared wildly at Tredegar’s face. The gigantic figure of the latter looked weird and terrible in the moonlight. His side was red with blood, and the shreds of his clothing hung down in festoons from his waist. A braver man than John Wairoyd might have quailed at such an apparition. “You recognise me, I suppose,” Tredegar continued. “Yes,” replied Wairoyd, “I recognise you ” His face was white as death. Another man might have prayed for mercy, but Walroyd’s quick brain was

only searching for some means of escape. He glanced quickly to right and left, then suddenly sprang to his feet, and swerved out of the reach of Tredegar’s arm. Tne latter picked up a heavy stone from the shingle and hurled it at the legs of the flying form with such force and accuracy that Wairoyd gave a cry of pain ana dropped on to the beach. Tredegar came up and caught hold of his arm. "What’s this nonsense,” he said sharply- “I have just saved your life, and you are flying from me as if I was trying to take it. I suppose to-morrow you will tell everyone that you have escaped from the mad Tredegar. You contemptible fool,” and his voice rose with passion. “You will find out before long that you are after the wrong man. Why, I could kill you now, as easily as I could kill a rat. Perhaps if 1 spare you, you will understand that I am no murderer. But I will ensure your silence till I have left the neighbourhood. You unutterable idiot, if you only knew 7 what it is you have to fear, you would pray every night on your knees to God and thank Him that Emrys Tredegar was at hand to-night to save you.” Furious with anger, Tredegar wrenched some strips off his clothing, and bound Wairoyd hand and foot, so that he could not move a limb. Then he carried him farther up the beach, out of reach of the highest possible tide, Wairoyd did not speak a word, but he foamed at the mouth with impotent rage. “Do you know,” Tredegar said, as he set him down on the stones, “that I have given you two lives to-night. You will repay me by hunting me down to the death. But if ever I meet you again. Mr John T. Wairoyd, I will let you know the sort of man I am to deal with.”

Wit., these words he left Wairoyd and walked over to where another form lay motionless on the beach. He turned the body over so that the moonlight fell upon the face. It was a stranger, a keen, thin, foxy faced man with red hair. Tredegar searched his pockets for some clue to his identity. Among the half dozen letters addressed to — -fames Wright, Esq., The Red Lion, Llanfihangel. he found one in a hand that he recognised. It was brief and to the point. "Dear Sir, “I enclose you a further £ 10. 1 hope you will soon have news of what vou seek.—C.C.” Tredegar crumpled the letter in his great palm, and rising to his feet looked with contemptuous pity on the face of the dead man“A detective,” he muttered to himself. “In the pay of Cynthia Cantrip. I wonder if she means me well.” CHAPTER XII. BY THE SARN OF CEFYN. Tredegar ran towards Garth as fast as he could make his way over the rocks and shingle. Then he climbed the cliffs and doubled back swiftly to the South. As he passed the place where he had left John Wairoyd, he peered over the

edge and saw that the latter had not moved. Fifty yards away another form lay motionless. It was the body of the stranger, crumpled into a little heap like a dead insect.

Tredegar passed the highest point of the cliff and descended a long slope to ,a tiny bay. Then he crossed this and began to ascend the next ridge of hill. A little way inland a farmhouse stood white and bare in the moonlight. He looked at it, stopped a moment doubtfully, and then walked boldly up to the gate. A sheep dog began to bark and rattle his chain.

Tredegar flung himself upon the animal and strangled it. He felt as though he had murdered a friend, for he was passionately fond of dogs. But it was no time for sentiment. Whatever stood in his path that night had to be silent or to die.

Five minutes later he had broken into the house and secured every piece of food he could lay hands on, together with an old coat and a flannel shirt. He left nothing that could possibly be eaten, and he emerged with a small sack of loaves, hams, flour, butter, cheese, etc. He gave one glance at the dead collie, patted him tenderly on the head and fled up the hill.

He had decided on his hiding place. Two miles south of Garth there was a small hole in the face of the cliff. It was about fifty feet from the ground, and not more than four feet in diameter. Twenty years before the date of this story a mining engineer from London had spent his summer at Garth. In the course of his wanderings along the beach he had picked up a piece of gold quartz, and his practised eye had detected a reef on the slaty face of the cliff. He returned to London, had an assay made, and found that it ran about six ounces to the ton. On the strength of this he obtained mining rights, floated a small company, and they commenced boring an adit in the wall of roek. They took out sixty tons of quartz, and obtained

about 250 ounces of gold. For two or three months Wales boomed like Australia in the palmy days of Ballarat. Mines sprang up like mushrooms, and miners in far-off lands started to pack up their goods and book passages to England. Then one fine day the reef disappeared, and the company dug through yards and yards of slate in the hope of finding it again. But never another pennyweight of gold did they take out of the concern, and the only asset of the company when it was wound up was a tunnel some 200 yards in length. It was for this place that Tredegar was making. He had explored it often as a boy, and had been whipped more than once for returning home with torn and dripping garments. It was one of these incidents that had flashed across his mind as he hurriedly east about for some place of refuge. The miners had struck a tiny spring in their efforts to find go'd, and at the bottom of the adit was a minute stream of trickling water. It would be useful in ease of a siege. He passed over the brow of two more hilis, and descended a small valley to the beach. Then he returned towards Garth till he reached the mouth of the adit. It looked black and dismal in the moonlight.

The ascent was a difficult one for a man laden with half a hundredweight of food, but he accomplished it in safety. As he crawled in at the narrow entrance, the cold chill of water struck through the knees of his trousers, and he could hear it dripping from the roof. It was a miserable place for even a wild beast io shelter in.

When he had gone a few yards down the tunnel he struck a match. The walls were green with slime, and they glistened in the light. He moved on rapidly, striking one match after another till he reached the end of the tunnel. Here there was a cross-cut, running twenty yards each way into the walls. It had been bored a foot above the bottom of the adit, and was comparatively free from

waler. He put down the sack of provisions in a dry place, and returned to the mouth of the tunnel. The dawn was breaking over the mountains in the east, and the smooth sea glimmered coldly in the twilight. The tide was low, and at this point a long, narrow stretch of shingle rant out for more than half a mile into the water. It was the famous Sarn of Cefyn.

Tradition has it that in the far past this part of Wales was originally joined to Ireland, and that the Sarn is the last connecting link between the two countries. For ten miles out it is visible under the water, though fifty yards on either side of it the sea-bed lies eighty fathoms deep. The fishermen say that in low tides and clear waters they can see the ruins of a city at the far end of it. And more than one has told tales of strange dim shapes that swayed and moved and glided in the green water, of faint music chanted by ghostly voices, of the clear notes of a bell ringing slowly in the distant depths. Tredegar had heard all these tales in his boyhood, and he idly recalled them as he looked out across the sea. He even thought that he could hear the voices calling to him across the waters and urging him to fly from England. Then on the distant hills he saw the dark woods round Llynglas, and knew that he could not go. and that he must watch over Mavanwy till this foul creature had been killed or captured, and that he must risk his own life to be near her. As the sun rose, and the whole panorama of the bay was flooded with light, he retired to the cross-cutting and laid down to rest. For he had to sleep by day. and go forth at night, when the thing he was in search of was abroad. Then he closed his eyes and lay down in the darkness, and listened to the dripdrip of water from the tunnel roof till he went to sleep. For a whole fortnight Tredegar lived in bis burrow. He never stirred from it by day. but every night he would creep stealthily inland and make his way by a long, circuitous route to the woods round Llynglas. Here he would watch and listen through the hours of darkness, always on the alert in case Mavanwy needed his assistance, yet never showing himself or attempting to communicate with her. More than onee he saw her dear face, and was so close to her that a whisper would have reached her ears. But he was silent. They had said the last word —-“Good-bye!” And though he suffered agonies from his silence, he had resolved not to speak again till his name was clear from dishonour.

And all through these dreary days he never heard the sound of a human voice, save in the distance; nor could he find any trace of the thing he sought, save only that strange web in the Tredegar woods. Hour after hour on his journey homeward he would sit among the trees at the foot of the mound and watch for the creatine to appear. But he never saw it, though he knew it was still alive and in the neighbourhood, for fresh animals were fastened to the web each time he saw it. He saw John Walroyd twice again in these nightly vigils. Once on tiie lawn of Uynglas with Mr Morgan, and once going through the Tredegar woods with another small bundle. He puzzled his brain for any solution to this new mystery. He once more followed Walroyd, and once again saw the boat run into the shore and Mr Cantrip land from it. But he gathered no information about their business.

He slept most of the day, but at early dawn and evening he would sit near the month of his tunnel and drink in the sunlight on the shore and sea. He rarely saw anyone pass along the beach. An occasional fisherman with a prawn net, poking about in the pools and crevices of the rocks; an old woman and her little grandson gathering driftwood for tiie fire; now and then a small party of summer visitors. But visitors were few in Garth that year. The terror of the place had been noised abroad in every newspaper in England, and the landladies waited in vain for the money that would keep them in comfort during the winter.

Tredegar waited and watched from the side of the cliff like an eagle perched on a crag. And in the long hours of silence he tried to find some solution of the things he could not understand. But he tried in vain to pierce the veil. All was darkness.

Then one evening in August a dazzling flash of light broke across the gloom, and left behind it a horror that was

more terrible than all the blackness of the night.

It was nearly nine o’clock, and Tredegar was just starting on his nightly journey to Llynglas. There was still a faint glow of crimson in the West, but it was dark enough for him to escape observation. The moon was not up, and the whole land was wrapped in grey shadows. A few yellow likhts twinkled along the shore by Garth. He slid over the edge of the entrance, and descended slowly and silently to the beach. When he had reached the bottom be crept along close under the cliff towards the south. It was high tide, and in the other direction the sea washed deep against half a dozen points between him and Garth.

He had nearly reached the little cove where the cliffs ran down to the level of the shore, when suddenly the grey figure of a woman moved out of the shadow of a rock and stood in his path. He stopped, and crouched low to the ground. She advanced towards him fearlessly. At that time few women in the neighbourhood would have dared to come out after nightfall, and the appearance of a man would have sent them away shrieking with terror. They were all afraid of meeting the madman. Emrys Tredegar. But this woman walked up close •to him. She was evidently a stranger. It was he .who turned to flv.

But before he had gone a couple of yards a voice called his name, and he stopped. “Mavanwy!” he said, in a low voice, “Is that you?” The woman did not answer, but came to his side, and laid her hand upon his arm. A silk scarf muffled her face. “Emrys,” she repeated, “I want to speak to you.” And then he recognised the voice, and knew who it was. “You here, Cynthia!” he cried, in astonishment. “What brings you here? At this time—now?” “What should bring me here?” she broke in, passionately. “I have come to save you! I have come in time! I have tracked you to Garth. One of the detectives is dead. They say von killed him! Tiie news in the papers brought me down. For a fortnight 1 have searched and watched and waited. I have run you down at last! You must leave hero at once! This very evening a fisherman caught sight of something moving in your hiding-place. They are going to hunt the beach to-night. Emrys, you must leave at once! Here, I have money! Take it, but go at onee!” And she pulled out a thick wad of banknotes and thrust it into his hand. “You are generous. Cynthia,” he said, handing her back the notes. “But I cannot L'o.”

“Ah! ’ she cried, in a hard voice, “that other woman! You cannot leave her! Then stay here and die—— Oh, no, Emrys, forgive me! I only want to save you! Leave -this part of the beach before they eonie here. I implore you!” “Yes,” Tredegar replied; “I must find another lair for to-morrow. But you—l cannot leave you here! Even men are afraid to go out alone at nights.” “I am not afraid of you, Emrys,” she said, with a smile. He laughed bitterly.

“No. no, of course not,” he replied. “But there is real danger abroad—something too terrible to contemplate! If it is not caught soon, I shall probably suffer for its crimes. But I will see you home to Garth. You are staying there, I supnose?”

“Yes, with my father,” she answered. “He knows Mr. Walroyd, and has business with him. I wanted a rest, and persuaded him to bring me here. It was only a short time ago that I found out that be knows this place.” “Why did you come!” Tredegar asked, abruptly. “What should bring you to a place like this?” “I wanted to speak to you.” she said, stopping and clutching him by the arm. “I had forgotten for the moment. Your danger overshadowed all else. I did not come down here to follow you because—because I care for you. I have some pride loft. But the present you left me— I have not thanked you for it—and—• and . Oh, where in God's name did you get it?” He hesitated. He had no wish to tell her from whence it came.

“I picked it up,” he said, after ft: pause, “on the coast of a desert island, where I was wrecked.”

The grip of her fingers tightened on his arm.

“Yes, yes!” she said, hastily. “Go on! ” “That is all," he replied. “Why do you ask ?” She loosed his arm and walked a few paces away from him. Then she returned swiftly. “I will tell you," she said, in a low voice. ••Then, perhaps, you will tell me all you know. I have never seen the half disc before, but the piece of bracelet —it was once mine. My initials are on it still —and I gave it —to my husband.” "Your husband?” cried Tredegar, in astonishment. "I did not know that you were married?”

“I was married,” she replied, with averted eyes; “but my husband left me eight years ago, and he is now dead. He was drowned at sea. I resumed my maiden name. He had covered his own with infamv.”

Tredegar stood as though he had been carved out of stone. Every trouble of his own was forgotten. The woman’s words swept over his brain like a flood of fire, obliterating everything but the one central fact which glowed like molten steel. The horror of it was inconceivable. “Her husband!” he muttered to himself. “Her husband! Oh, my God!” She could not see his face in the darkness, but she heard his muttered words, and peered up at him inquiringly. “Yes, my husband,” she said, slowly, and with an effort. “Tell me where you found the bracelet. The truth, mind you—the truth!” He was silent for a moment. Then he said in a low tone of pity: “I found it—on the body—of a dead man.” “Thank God!” she said, with emphasis. “I thank God that he is dead!” Tredegar shuddered, and roughly shook her hand from his arm. “Ah!” she said, “you loathe me! You think I should be sorry. He ruined my life, and left me. I have thought him dead for eight years, and to-night I say thank God—-—. Ah! what is that? Quick, Emrys! We have been talking—■ wasting time! Quick! Hide or run! Oh, it is too late—too late! I—— —. Leave me, quick—leave me! Oh, what have I done?” Tredegar swung round on his heel, and saw half-a-dozen lights moving between him and the pathway up the hill. At the same time there was the sound of two boats grounding on the shingle, and the rush of a small body of men from the other direction. He was surrounded!

CHAPTER XIII. | IX THE TOILS OF THE Ht’XTER. For one brief moment Tredegar stood irresolute. He was thinking not of himself, but of the woman who had come out to save him, and who would be compromised for life. He turned. and grasped her arm roughly. “Scream!” he said, in a whisper. “Loud, so they can hear you! Quick!” She was silent. “Scream, damn you!" he said, hoarsely; and he gripped her so tightly with his powerful fingers that she give a piercing shriek of pain. Then he ran swiftly from her side, as though he had been surprised in an attempted murder. It did not matter which way he ran. On one side there was the cliff, on the other the sea with two boats on it. Before and behind him the dark figures of his pursuers. He nnoved rapidly up to those who had landed from the boats and stopped. “What do you want?” he said, quietly. “Let me pass!” Half a dozen guns were levelled at him, and struck aside by the more prurient who saw that the other party was in the direct line of fire. None of them moved forward. “Let me pass!” he said. “I am Emrys Tredegar, and you had better not stop me!” "We will stop you all right!” said the voice of John Walroyd; and some of the men laughed. Tredegar's blood boiled. He could only remember that a fortnight ago he had saved this man’s life. "You fools!” he cried. “You are after the wrong man. Let me pass!” Again they laughed. Then he clenched his fists and went straight for them. He knew the game was up. and that escape was practically impossible. Some of them were armed, and though they would mt dare fire whi'e he w.is in their midst, they would loose a volley directly he got clear of them. It would, indeed, be a miracle if one of them did not hit him. He realised to the full that, they would kill him rather than let him escape. And so he dashed into their midst for a last good fight, every muscle of his frame strung up for a contest that would leave its mark on more than one of his adversaries. If they had not been so close together they would have moved aside to let him pass and trusted to their guns. But very shame kept them in position.

The first two went spinning to the el. ingle, and then half a dozen leaped upon him and tried to tear him to the ground. He tore o!T two, one with each hand, and shook the others with such violence that they swung off their feet and fell heavily from him, taking pieces of cloth off in their grips. Then another lot sprang upon him, and he saw the ugly flash of a knife. He had restrained himself till then. His great strength had been almost a handicap, for he knew that a blow from his fist might possibly be mortal, and then he would be a murderer indeed. But the blue glitter of steel roused him to a sudden burst of fury. He caught the man’s wrist with one hand, and dealt him so terrific a blow on the arm with the other that the bone snapped, and the fellow shrieked with agony as the knife went tinkling to the stones. It was a great fight, but it was over in less than five minutes. Tredegar was overpowered by numbers and bound hand and foot. His faee and bends were red with blood, and he trembled in every limb. Then he looked at the crowd and smiled. He had marked a dozen of them, and four had broken limbs. It was a great fight, he thought to himself, one worthy of Samson and the Philistines. Three figures had stood apart from the combat—two men and a woman. They now approached. Walroyd came forward to meet them with a lantern in his hand. As he saw the woman’s faee he started. "You, Miss Cantrip'” he cried in amazement. “What —” “We were only just in time to save her,” he father broke in. “Ah, the scream.” said Walroyd. “I thought it sounded like a woman, but we could not see from this side. Well, he’s safe enough now. I am glad we did come in time. Yet, how on earth did you come here. Miss Cantrip?” For a moment she hesitated. Then she saw that she was bound to continue the lie. "I fell asleep round by the rocks this afternoon,” she said, faintly. “When I woke it was getting dark, and I was cut off from Garth by the tide. So I had to come along this way. Then a man grasped me by the arm.’ I did not see his face, but I was frightened and screamed. That it all.” “The scoundrel!” said Mr Morgan. “Thank God. we have got him. He’ll swing now.” “Let’s look at him,” said Mr Cantrip, swinging his lantern and peering to where Tredegar stood surrounded by his captors. “A strong fellow, eh? Done some damage, eh? Yet I wager I once saw a man who could have downed him. eh? Cynthia? I should like to look at him. You’d better stay here with Mr Walroyd,” am! he blinked his little eyes as he saw- a flush of pleasure cross the American’s face. For John Walroyd was never insensible to the beauty of a woman, and Mr Cantrip had more than once during the mist fortnight noticed the American’s admiration for his daughter.

“No, I will come with you,” she answered, firmly. An idea had flashed across her brain. She had yet another part to play in this tragedy.

“Yon had better stay here,” Mr Cantrip answered, coldly. “This is no sight for a woman.” and he moved towards the crowd. She turned her back on Walroyd and followed. The latter bit his lijws with vexation, and then walked rlc.w 1 v after her.

As they neared the group of men they saw by the light of the lanterns that several of them were hurt, and that four were stretched out on the ground. The old man chuckled. •

“By the Gods,” he said, “a pretty fight, a pretty fight! Where is he? I should like to see him.’’ The crowd opened out, and they pushed Tredegar a little forward, forgetting that his feet were bound. He fell forward with a crash. Cynthia’s face whitened and a look of fury shot from her eyes. The men laughed, and half a dozen of them hauled Tredegar to his feet again and set him up. as one sets up a fallen pillar. His forehead was streaked and stained with blood, and it trickled down his dirty, unshaven cheeks. The old man came close to him. and, raising the lantern, peered up into the ghastly face. He started, and a keen observer might have noticed that the hand which held the lantern trembled. Then his daughter.

who was behind him, suddenly sprang forward with a cry of surprise, and snatching the lantern from his hand held it up within a foot of Tredegar’s face.

“Father,” she cried, “who is this? Surely there is some mistake. This is Mr Edwards, the man who was ill at our house. Don’t you remember him? There is some awful mistake here. Why, at the very time the second murder was committed this man was ill. I read the account of it to him myself from the newspaper,” and she turned round and faced the crowd that was pressing close to her to hear her words. Mr Cantrip looked sharply up at her excited face, and in a flash he read the whole truth. His daughter had come to the beach that night to meet Emrys Tredegar, to warn him of his danger to . He blazed with fury, but restrained himself, and pretended to closely scrutinise the young giant’s faee. “Well, Mr Cantrip,” said Tredegar coldly. “Do you know me?” “Yes,” the old man answered. “I recognise you. Your name was then Edwards. You doubtless changed it for an excellent reason. I did not know we were entertaining a murderer.”

“Rut, father,” the daughter cried eagerly, “he could not have committed the second murder. He was with us.”

“I think your memory plays you false,” the old man said quietly. I distinctly remember reading of the second murder five days after he left us. You are distracted with all yon have gone through, Cynthia. We will go home,” and turning away from Tredegar he began to move across the shingle with feeble steps. For a moment Cynthia Cantrip stood looking at his retreating figure with scorn and loathing in her eyes. Then she saw that Walroyd was keenly watching the expression of her face and she laughed nervously. “Yes, I think I will go home,” she said in a calm voice and then swayed as though she would have fallen. However, she quickly recovered herself, and looked once more at Tredegar. “Come along,” said her father, roughly. “Mr Walroyd. can we go back in one of the boats. I am an old man. and I don’t think I can manage the walk tonight. I daresay you can find room for us.” “Certainly,” replied ’Walroyd abstractedly, still keeping his eyes on Miss Cantrip’s face. “We have to take Tredegar by boat. But perhaps you would not care to go in that one.” “Oh, yes,” the old man said, with an evil smile. “We will certainly go in that one if you are in it. We shall be quite safe.” Cynthia Cantrip clenched her hands. “Safe,” she said to herself; “aye. if Emrys Tredegar could but be free for a moment, you would be safe.” Then she felt in her pocket for a small knife she usually carried there. “Perhaps,” Walroyd said. “Miss Cantrip would not care to— —” “Thank you, Mr Walroyd,” she broke in. “I do not mind who is in the boat.” Walroyd left them and gave orders to the men. The wounded were carefully lifted up and laid in one of the boats. Half a dozen sailors got in with them, and then another half dozen ran the craft off the shingle, and leapt into it, as it went gliding from the shore. Then another batch picked up Tredegar and placed him in the second boat. Walroyd. Mr Morgan. Mr Cantrip, and his daughter took their places, and no one noticed that the latter skilfully contrived to be near the prisoner.

Then the boat was launched and headed towards Garth. The remainder had to return by the cliffs, and looking back, Tredegar saw the waving line of yellow lights moving along the shore, and heard the strain of the Welsh hymn sung by the sailors. He could scarcely resist a smile, as the harmonies carte across the water to his ears.

There was little light from the sky overhead, and only a single lantern flickered in the bow of the boat. Cynthia drew out her small pen-knife, and felt cautiously for the cords that bound Tredegar’s feet. Then a thrill of horror ran through her, for she encountered the cold touch of steel. They had substituted manacles and handcuffs for the cords with which they had first bound him. She shut up the knife, and, replacing it in her pocket, clasped her hands in silent agony. In half an hour they reached Garth. Long before they touched the shore they could see a dense crowd of people, and the continuous moving of lights along the beach. When they were fifty yards

from the ripples at the edge, a chorus of voices greeted them. “Have you got him?. Have you seen him?” “Aye, aye,” the answer came back from the sailors in the boat. “We have him right enough.” Then they landed, and lifted Tredegar on to the beach. A dense crowd swayed round his prostrate form, and the air rang with shouts and jokes. “You curs!” he said, quietly, “lift me to my feet.” They seized hold of him and set him upright. Then he suddenly snarled like a wild beast, and lifted his manacled hands above his head, and the crowd shrank back. The chains clinked on his trembling wrists, and murder was in his soul. A single blow from the irons on his hands would have dashed out a man’s brains. All at once there was a stir in the crowd, and a woman forced her way through them to Tredegar's side. It was Mavanwy! As he saw her, all the lust of blood died out of his heart, and his great hands sank down before him. Then, without shame or hesitation, she threw her arms round his neck and kissed him, and when she had moved her lips from his her face was stained with blood. Then she turned on the crowd, and tried to speak, but the words would not come, and she sank senseless to the ground. The crowd stood in silence. But far on the edge of it, almost where the waves rippled to the shore, another woman buried her head in her hands and wept bitterly.

CHAPTER XIV. THE SACRIFICE. There was no prison cell in the little village of Garth, and the back parlour of the policeman’s house generally served for the trivial offenders that brought themselves within reach of the law. It was felt, however, that a man of such gigantic strength and ferocity as Tredegar, arrested, moreover, on so serious a charge as murder, required a more secure confinement than the four walls of an ordinary room. Walroyd suggested one of the cellars of the Has Tredegar, and the idea was eagerly seized on by the more brutal of the crowd. It amused their coarse natures to think of a man being locked up in his own house. The two policemen were more impressed by the facts which Walroyd put before them —namely, that the cellars were without windows, that the walls were part of the solid rock itself, and that the doors were made of six inches of oak, clamped with iron, and furnished with modern Bramah locks. Morgan and Walroyd—the latter of whom was an Englishman, in spite of the many years he had spent in America—were both Justices of the Peace, and after a brief consultation they ordered the prisoner to be taken up to the Bias Tre-

degar for the night, and to be removed to the county gaol on the following day. Several men placed Tredegar on a cart, and set off slowly down the village. Walroyd then insisted on both the Morgans and the Cantrips coming home with him to spend the night, giving as the reason for the invitation that Miss Morgan was too ill to stand the long drive to Llynglas, and that Miss Cantrip would be required to keep her company. Both the fathers acquiesced willingly in the suggestion; Mr Morgan, because his daughter was still faint and weak, and it would be impossible to take her baric to Llynglas that night, and Mr Cantrip because he saw the way Walroyd had looked at Cynthia as he issued the invitation, and guessed that the American was seeking some opportunity of seeing his daughter alone. Mavanwy was too ill to offer any opposition and Cynthia, for her own reasons, was silent. She was working out a plan in her subtle brain, and the invitation supplied the one link she required to join the various parts into a perfect whole. They got into Walroyd’s waggonette, which was waiting in a street, and calling at the Cantrips’ lodgings for a few things necessary for the night, drove rapidly down the long street. At the foot of the hill they passed the slow procession taking Emrys to his prison. Cynthia looked back on it with tightened lips. Mavanwy sat with closed eves and saw nothing. The three men smiled grimly at each other. When they reached the house they all had supper, and directly afterwards Mavanwy went up to bed. It had been arranged that Cynthia should sleep in the same room with her. and though the latter now loathed the very sight of her rival. «he could not with decency refuse this little comfort to the siek girl. When Mavanwy had left the room, Walroyd touched the bell. “Send one of the policemen here.” he said, when the footman entered. The man returned, and in a few minutes afterwards the heavy step of P.C. Davies, the village constable, was beard outside, and there was a loud knocking at the door. "Come in!” cried Walroyd. The door opened, and a large, grizzlybearded man stood sheepishly in the entrance. “Well. Davies,” said Walroyd, “how is the prisoner?” “Quiet, sir, aye. indeed, very quiet.” Walroyd laughed. “What do you think of the prison, Davies ?” “Very strong, sir. and not too comfortable. We’ve given him some straw to lie on.” “I’ll come down and look.” Walroyd said. "Perhaps yon had better come, too. Mr Morgan, and you. Mr Cantrip. I am sure Miss Cantrip will excuse U 3.” She smiled sweetly. “I think I will come with you,” she

aid. “I am afraid of being left alone.” And she gave Walroyd a warm glance of affection that made him tremble and wish that he could stay behind with her and get rid of the old men. “Very well,” he replied. "‘We will all go. I am sure Tredegar ought to be flattered.”

They made their way through several long corridors, and then down a flight of stone steps. At the bottom of these there was another passage, terminating in a heavy door. The policeman went on in front with a lantern; Walroyd and Cynthia brought up the rear. Under cover of the darkness she laid her hand upon his arm, and a thrill went through his whole body. He raised the hand to his lips and kissed it silently. She did not resist.

The party stopped on the threshold, and P.C. Davies unlocked the door and, entering the cellar, cast the light of the lantern round the walls, so that they could see everythin?. It was a cold, dreary spot, to spend the night in. Floor and ceiling were both of stone, and the walls seemed to have been planed out from the solid rock. A few wine-bins ran along on one side, but they were empty. A heap of straw had been thrown in the centre of the floor, and Tredegar lay on this, with his face buried in his arms. “Has he had food and water, constable?” queried Walroyd. “Yes. sir. We fed him like a baby. Daren’t free his hands.”

At the sound of the voice, Tredegar raised himself, and the chains rattled on his limbs. He blinked as the yellow light shone into his eyes, and tried to peer into the darkness beyond. He was a pitiable sight to look upon. His hair was caked and matted with blood; his eyes blazed like two live coals. He showed his teeth through his half-open lips like some wild beast.

Then, for a brief second, the lizht from Davies’ lantern fell on the little group bv the door. He saw the faces of the three men. and behind them, almost in the shadow, the red-gold light of a woman’s hair. He tried to rise to his feet, but only succeeded in struggling to his knees, and his chains clanked heavily as he shook his great arms towards the door.

“Leave me,” he cried, “or by God. I will eome closer to you than you care for.” and he shuffled along on his knees towards them.

Davies sprang forward, and seizing him by the shoulders, hurled him off his balance' on to the straw. Cvnthi-’s hands clenched so tightly tnat the nails drew blood from her soft white nalms. Tredegar lay quite still, and Davies backed cautiouslv towards the door.

•'•'Excited, eh!” said Walroyd. “I think we will close this interview.” When they were all outside he shut the door, and taking the key from the constable, turned it in the lock. In the old days a heavy mass of iron would have accomplished this task, but Walroyd had had patent locks put in all over the house.

Then they returned to the smoking room, and again in the passage Cynthia’s hand contrived to touch Walroyd’s. He grasped it fervently in his strong fingers, and then tried to place his arm about her waist. But she moved a little away from him. When they'emerged into the light, their eyes met, and she blushed and looked away from him. He burned with passion and longed to clasp her in his armsThe men finished their cigars, and then Cynthia and her father and Mr Morgan went up to bed. Walroyd re-

mained behind. He had, so he said, certain matters of business to go into, and certain accounts to make out before the morning. He lit a fresh cigar, and going over to his desk, pulled out a mass of papers and began to sort them. Cynthia looked back at him as she left the room and smiled. He had squeezed her hand very tenderly as he said good-night. She went up to her room, and closing the door, walked over to the bed where Mavanwy lay asleep. The girl's dark hair flowed in rippling waves over the pillow. Her face was white, and her lips parted. She stirred uneasily in her sleep. Cynthia looked at her careworn and beautiful face, and then walking over to the cheval glass, gazed for a minute at her own self. Then, returning to the bed, she looked again at the sleeping form, as though comparing notes with what she had seen in the glass, and her face grew hard and bitter as she looked.

“You are younger,” she said softly as though addressing the sleeping girl, “but you do not love him more, and you are not more pleasing to look upon, and you would not do more to save him.”

Then she turned out the light, and opening the door, quietly made her way back to the smoking room. The house was wrapt in silence, and even her soft footfalls on the velvet pile carpet seemed to sound alarmingly. She opened the door, and then drew baek as she saw the light still burning inside. “Who is there,” said Walroyd, quickly shuffling some papers over a glittering object that lay on the desk before him. Cynthia held the door half open, but did not show herself.

‘Tm so sorry, Mr Walroyd,” she said softly; “but Mavanwy left her smelling salts somewhere about, and she wants them. Could you give them to me.” Walroyd pretended to look about the room. The salts were on a small table close to where Mavanwy had been sitting. He glanced at them with a smile, and put them in his pocket, but continued to search somewhat ostentatiousIv.

“I can’t see them.” he said in a tone of vexation. “Will you come in and look for yourself.”

She opened the dew a little wider and stood irresolutely in the doorway, as though half afraid to enter. Walroyd looked round from the corner where he was searching diligently and his face flushed. Barely had he set eyes on so glorious a vision as the one he gazed upon. The white beautiful faee. the crown of copper hair, the diamonds flashing on her hands and throat, and something indefinable that he had not seen before —a look of passion in the violet eyes, a faint glow on the cheeks, like the flush of coming dawn, the slight parting of the lips that almost seemed to tremble with expectation. Walroyd advanced a step or two across the room. “Please come in. Miss Cantrip,” he said. “You needn’t be afraid.

She laughed nervously, and entering the room, began to look round for the bottle of salts. It was needless to say that she did not find it. Walroyd chuckled to himself. He did not know that she had mapped out the whole game, and was going to play it to the end. Then, as they were both searching among some odds and ends on a table, their hands chanced to touch, and WaJroyd seized her cold white fingers in a warm clasp. She tried feebly to withdraw them, and then laughed. “Plea=e, Mr Walroyd,” she said, “I can’t look for anything if you do that.” He seized her other hand and raised

both to his lips. Then he drew her elose to him, and loosing her hands, clasped her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. “Cynthia,” he cried hoarsely, “I love you. My darling, I love you.” A shudder of loathing passed through her body, and she could hardly restrain herself from crying out in horror. Then she burst into tears, and he let go of her. “Cynthia,” he continued eagerly, “I have not offended you. I could not help it. I love you so much. Will you be my wife?” “Your wife!” she said slowly, “your wife!” She had not dreamt of this. She had hoped to gain her point with a few kisses. But his wife—that would be too horrible a sacrifice. “I do not love you, Mr Walroyd,” she said simply. “I will make you love me,” he answered passionately. “I am rich and can give you all you ask for. You love jewels, do you not!” and he glanced at the gems sparkling on her fingers. “See here.” He strode over to a steel safe let into the wall, opened it, and taking out a box poured its contents on to a velvet cushion. Every gem of the earth was there, and the heap sparkled with every colour of the rainbow. Her eyes glistened, and she turned the jewels over with trembling hands. For the moment she forget even Emrys Tredegar. “These are mine,” he said, “and more a hundredfold. Your father is selling off my collection. Perhaps you have seen some of them.”

Her mind went back to the dingy parlour in River-street, and then by the association of ideas to Emrys Tredegar. She turned her back on the glittering heap and was silent. Walroyd eame close to her and tried once more to take her hand. She moved away from him.

“I must think.” she said in a low voice. “Please let me think.” For two minutes neither of them spoke. Walroyd busied himself with replacing the jewels in the box, and Cynthia stood with her eyes fixed on the window, as motionless as though she had been turned to stone. At last she made up her mind, and turned her beautiful face to Walroyd. “I will marry you. Mr Walroyd,” she said slowly, “but only on one condition. I want you to give me something.” “Name it,” he said, striding towards her. “If it is in my gift, you shall have

“I want,” she continued, “the key of the cellar in which Mr Tredegar is confined. I want also a key to the handcuffs and manacles. Mr Tredegar must go free to-night. These are my terms.” (To be continued.)