[All Rights Reserved.] A Race With Ruin.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXII, Issue XIII, 26 March 1904, Page 6

[All Rights Reserved.] A Race With Ruin.

By

HEADON HILL.

Author of “Guilty Gold,” “The Queen of Night,” “By a Hair’s Breadth,” “The Peril of the Prince,” Etc

CHAPTER XXXV. A SOFT-ROED BLOATER. “Any nice dried fish this morning, mem ? * \d licks, kippers. blotters, al! fresh.” The tempter deposited his basket on tlie doorstep of 17, Beaker-street, and surveyed Airs William Tidmarsh with I he insinuating smile of the itinerant hawker. The lady was large and well-favoured, albeit for the moment not in the best of tempers after being brought by a resounding peal of the bell to answer the door while her hair was not yet in curl papers. They were not early risers al No. 17, and it was scarcely nine o’clock. ‘‘No. thank you; I deal at the lish mongers,” snapped Airs Tidmarsh. and would have shut tin* door in the haw ker’s face if he had not adroitly given his basket a twist so that the handle prevented the manoeuvre. “Just a relish for your good gentleman's breakfast, mem. Come, I'll put you in two of these 'ere bloaters, warranted soft-roed. for three-ha’pence. You’ll never regret it." And with the patient persistence of his class the vendor selected a couple of lish and held them alluringly close to the lady’s nose. “I tell you,” she was beginning, when from the inner regions there rang out the male command—“l could do with a soft-roed 'un for breakfast, my dear. I'm partial to 'em that way.” That settled the matter, and, grumbling to herself, Mrs. Tidmarsh took out her purse, and. finding nothing smaller, tendered a florin in payment. The hawker gave her a shilling and some coppers in change, and. shouldering his. basket, proceeded down the street, crying his wares. By the time Mr. Tidmarsh descended from the bedroom the succulent ‘‘softroed ’un’’ was ready for him, done to a turn, but his wife noticed that he was strangely preoccupied, and paid more attention to the vendor of the fish than to the dainty itself. The man was still in the street, coming back on the opposite side, and every now and then the bookmaker would rise from his seat to peer at him from behind the window curtains. ‘‘That chap won't eat you, Bill; why don’t you get on with your victuals?” said Mrs. Tidmarsh severely. Mr. Tidmarsh. who had kept the secret of his intended revenge locked in his own huge bosom, shot a cunning glance at his wife. He dared not tell her of the work he hoped to accomplish that day, yet he wanted her assistance in a little project that had been germinating in his brain during the last five minutes. For he thought, without being positively sure, that the voice of the fishhawker was the voice of Inspector Croal —the very last person with whom tie wished to be troubled during the next twenty-four hours. His project was aimed at bringing the detective to confusion. so that he might pursue his blood feud in peace. “Sue,’ he said solemnly, “it’s my be lief that that hawker's a tec.” The modicum of truth doled out to he’ was more than sufficient to command Mrs. Tidmarsh's interest and co-opera-tion. Since the raid by the local police had caused her husband to abandon his calling for a while, money had been “tight,” and she had to abandon those Sunday excursions in a hired trap, which, as opportunities for the display of gorgeous raiment, were the chief delight of her existence. Consequently sh ? was consumed with a pious hatred of all detectives. “You don’t mean it!” she gasped. “Hang me if 1 don’t,” responded her husband. “Now, see here, Sue; I’ve got

to best that cove. You paid him in silver; 1 heard from the top of the stairs. What change did you give him? A bob and some coppers, eh? Well, go up to the bedroom and find that bad shilling 1 took a while back. You'll find it on the mantelpiece.” Mrs Tidmarsh not unnaturally jumped to the conclusion that her husband was still under surveillance for betting, and obeyed with alacrity. While she was gone, Mr Tidmarsh took another pee]) from the window and saw that the hawker was sitting on the kerb a little higher up. Just as Mrs Tidmarsh returned and handed her husband an unmistakable ‘'duffer” the man rose an I got on the move again in a direction which would bring him past the, house once more. Tidmarsh strode to the front door and Hung it open, holding the base coin in the palm of his hand. "You thieving rogue!” he thundered as the hawker came up. ''You’re a pretty feller to be passing bad money on the missus, and I’m going to lock you up. Here, you nipper (to a gaping shopboy), run round into Upper-street and send along the first p’liceman you meet.” Mr (Toal. for the hawker was indeed Mr (Toal. by being surprised into his natural facial expression for the fraction of a second, gave away the first trick in the game he was destined to play that day. Mr Tidmarsh was sure of his man now and realised that he must 'vin a duel of wits with a keen antagonist before he could. unwatched, reach the lonely house at Mitcham where his prey awaited him.

Mr Croal was in the painful predicament of not knowing whether he hail inadvertently passed a bad shilling or not. It was (piite probable that he had. done so; <>n the other hand he did not overlook the chance that Tidmarsh had recognised him and was taking thi< course in order to get rid of him. For the moment he was nonplussed. but he thought it advisable to sustain his assumed character. “J aint passed no bad money—knowingly at least.” he replied, feigning the requisite whine. “You can tell that to the magistrate.” stormed the bookmaker. “Here, constable,” as the officer arrived, “I give this man in charge for passing bad money—a reg’lar old hand. I expect.” The policeman examined the pew ter shilling which had been reposing or the bedroom mantelpiece for six months, and shook his head wisely as he pulled out his notebook <lo take the prosecutor’s name and address. j»:»t Air Tidmarsh waved it aside. “Never mind that,” he said; “I’ll come along to the station with you am! charge him myself.” For he knew that the moment Croal was alone with the constable he would make matters right for himself by producing his official card, whereas so long as he desired to preserve his incognito he would not divulge his identity in Air Tidmarsh’s presence. The latter meant, if he could, to get his shadow badly “left” in the attempt to follow him. So Mr Croal was duly taken into custody and Air Tidmarsh marched close at his heels so that he could have no opportunity of whispering to the constable. It was not till he was half-way to the station that the bookmaker remembered that this early commencement of hide-and-seek with the inspector had relieved him of one unpleasantness. He had been sorely dreading saying good-bye to his wife that day, all ignorant as she was of his homicidal intentions. Now that awkward farewell would not be necessary. He would

not go home again till after he had “wiped out Hooligan.” Croal accepted the position with resignation, confident in his ability not to lose sight of his man- His investigations during the last day or two, especially Skinner’s meeting with Tidmarsh at the Union Jack on the previous evening, had convinced him that Tannadyce was playing a deep game and using the bookmaker to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. In fact he had

gained a shrewd inkling of the truth — that Tidmarsh’s private vendetta against the slayer of his sister had

been seized on by the moneylender to terminate an association that would be inconvenient in the event of Hooligan being brought to trial. The inspector had ascertained that the dissolute peer had completedly vanished from his usual haunts, and all his efforts to connect Tannadyce with the fugitive had failed till he hit on the idea of watching Tidmarsh as well as Tannadyce. Though he had been unable to overhear much of the interview with Skinner, he had learned enough to guess that the bookmaker would lead him straight to his quarry and enable him not only to prevent the law being taken into private hands but to execute a certain document in his possession.” The document was a warrant for “wilful murder.” against Henry Augustus Vansittart Blundell, Baron Hooligan of Hooligan, in the County of Waterford. Arrir ed at the police station, the constable quickly put his prisoner and the prosecutor through the usual formalities before the inspector on duty. Croal refused to give any name or address. and having been measured and charged was hustled off to a cell, from which, after a hurried explanation and exhibition of his card, he emerged exactly 40 seconds later —in time to catch s'ight of Air Tidmarsh’s broad back descending the station steps. Air Croal had won the second trick and started in pursuit. He would have been glad of five minutes to do a “quick change” into a fresh disguise, but all he could do was to leave his basket of “soft-roed ’uns” with the respectful and sympathetic, but highly amused, local police. Then began a chase which was diversified by varying fortunes, Tidmarsh’s object was to kill time, for he did not waul to go down io ATitcham till the evening, when

the pugilists mentioned by Skinner would have left him a clear field. He wandered .down to the Strand,, stared at the shops, lunched at Gatti’s, and, finally, about 4 o’clock when leaving the Grand Hotel buffet after a drink with a chance-met sporting acquaintance, became aware that Croal was not shaken off after all.

He smiled grimly to himself as he noticed the absence of the fish-basket and the ragged garments of the “hawker.” Somehow, a basket, or a handful of bootlaces, L ,or a bunch of grounsel ■seemed necessary to the inspector’s make up, and Air. Tidmarsh rejoiced at the incompleteness. He must have put his shadow to considerable inconvenience to hustle him into such a lack of consistency in his disguise.

Well, the game would have to begin all over again—that was all. The bookmaker said good-bye to his friend, hailed a hansom, and gave the word in a loud voice for 17. Beaker Street. But Croal was not deceived by the ruse. Jumping into another cab he soon perceived that the bookmaker was instructing the driver through the flap, with the result that the cab turned up the Haymarket, crossed Regent Street and finally pulled up at the Northern entrance of the Burlington Arcade. Mr. Tidmarsh was down and into the -Arcade before Croal’s eab had stopped, and then the inspector realised that he had been “done on the post” again. • lust as Tidmarsh had artfully calculated, Croal’s disreputable appearance did not find favour with the beadle on duty at the gate, and it was nut until after a lengthy explanation that the detective was permitted to pass in. By that time the man he was pursuing was ensconced in a tobacconist’s shop half way down the Arcade, bending over the counter, and pretending to make an elaborate choice of a cigar.

His idea was, that Croal, on being allowed to enter, would dash straight t hrough and out at the other end, in the supposition that he himself would have done the same. But in this respect his cunning had overreached itself. Croal certainly made all speed to the southern exit, but there he introduced himself to

the second beadle, and quickly ascertain ed that no one answering to Tidmarsh’s description had gone out that way—no

difficult matter, owing to the showy suit worn by the bookmaker.

So presently Mr. Tidmarsh, who had lighted his cigar and seated himself in the shop to await developments, had the chargin of seeing his antagonist slowly repass, and he was not at all sure that the inspector’s sharp eyes had not caught sight of him in the dark interior. After that it became a battle of Croat patrolling the Arcade, and Tidmarsh smoking cigar after cigar while maturing a fresh plan.

He hit on one at last, and none too soon, if he was to catch the train to Mitcham he had decided on —the 6.45 from Victoria. The afternoon had slipped away apace in all these dodgings to and fro, and it was already past six. His move was also expedited by the fact that the tobacconist had begun to eye him askance, despite his profuse pur chases.

He rose and walked from the shop, and knew long before he was out of the Arcade that Croal was close on his tracks. Disregarding him entirely, he hailed a cab in Piccadilly, and bade the man take him to Victoria Station. There he swaggered into the first-class booking office and asked for a Pullman car return for Brighton. The express was drawn up at the main-line departure platform, and Mr Tidmarsh ostentatiously seated himself in the drawing-room earThe third-class carriages were in front of the train, and a minute later he saw Croal go by the car towards them. Once again he was trading on the unfortunate detective’s make-up, for he told himself with much satisfaction that his pursuer’s present style was hardly “classy’ enough for the Pullman. And this time his simple-hearted cunning was crowned with success.

The whistle sounded, the train began to move, but not till it was well in motion did he step from the platform of the car on to the platform of the terminus and wave a parting hand to the fast receding face of Mr Croal, who was leaning out of one of the third-class carriages, peering back. “Yah! What price soft-roed ’tins?” resounded the bookmaker’s jubilant shout.

Croal tore frantically at the doorhandle of his compartment, but the train had gathered too much way for a safe descent, and those within restrained him from making the attempt. With a sigh of relief Tidmarsh ran round and jumped into the suburban train, which started almost as he sank into his seat. CHAPTER XXXVI. “VENGEANCE IS MINE.’’ That night, as the lengthening shadows grew to dusk, Mr Tidmarsh found himself in a maze of country lanes in the neighhourhod of Beddington and Carshalton. He had not lost himself by any means. Skinner’s directions had been far too explicit for that. But he was eking out the remaining daylight by prowling in ever-narrowing circles towards his prey. Suddenly, as he was traversing a cross-road that ran over a low hill, he came upon a labourer’s cottage nestling just under the brow. Adjoining the cottage was a strip of garden-ground separated from the road by a thick hedge and running some fifty yards down the hill. Walking on the soft turf at the roadside his footsteps made no noise, and he was passing the garden when he heard voices on the other side of the hedge. One of them seemed strangely familiar. “Don’t ask questions, old man, and you won’t be told any lies. You’ve got a quid for allowing me to use your gar den. What more do you want’’’ Yes, there could be no doubt about it, Mr Tidmarsh told himself. The speaker was Mr Tannadyce’s groomcoachman —his informant of the previous night. There was no mistaking Skin ner’s level tones, and he crept closer to the hedge to listen. “Dunno as iver I’ve seen fireworks since forty years ago at the Christian Pallidge, when I were a boy,” after a pause came the tones of an unmistak able rustic. “Well, you’ll see one in a few min utes,” returned Skinner shortly. “The stick won’t drop in the thatch of my cot, will ’e?” the anxious proprietor inquired next. “Hanged if they ain’t firing a rocket.’’ muttered Tidmarsh, and suspicious of everything that might affect his purpose, he found a thin spot in the hedge ami

peered through. His surmise proved correct. It was nearly dark, but he could just discern Skinner engaged in adjusting a big conical rocket On a hurdle, while the old man in a smock frock hovered around. “It’s time now, I think; give us the matches, gaffer,” Skinner was heard to sajr. A moment after the match flared up, and the bookmaker saw, too late to stop him, that the groom’s inexperience in pvrotechny had led him to the brink of disaster. Instead of applying a light to the rocket from a distance by means of a long stick, as a piece of such size demanded, he held the match directly to it. The tremendous rush of fire from the tube as it shot upwards struck him fyll in the wrist, so that the roar of the_ ascending rocket was mingled with his scream of agony as he fell wrichi ig to the ground. "Oh, heavens!” he cried, wild with pain. “Oh, heavens! But this is retiibutton. Bessie Beckford’s murderer is to die to-night, and I, who aided him in the mock marriage, have to suffer tor ments.” Mr Tidmarsh, whose humanity bad prompted him to run through the ga” den gate to proffer assistance, paused thunderstruck, as he stooped over the injured man. “What do you mean by that ?” he said. But Skinner, in his anguish, could only groan and mumble inarticulately, “I was the registrar—the sham registrar—master’s orders.” “You don’t take back what you said last night? Lord Hooligan was the man?” asked Tidmarsh, bending low. “That is true enough, but best leave him alone Mr Tidmarsh, and inform Croal. I will atone all in my power. This is a plot of Tannadyce to keep himself clear of the business,” the scorch cd wretch murmured, and put an end to further questions by quietly fainting. Some relatives, male and female, of the old rustic had come into the garden, so Mr Tidmarsh was not called upon to remain. “Best send for a doctor.” he told them, and went out into the lane, puzzled but in no way turned from his purpose- If he could get his hand on Hooligan’s throat it was no matter’ to him whether he was playing Tannadyce’s game or not. Whatever the moneylender’s guilt might be. he had not actually murdered his sister, ami he could get square on him after he had settled with the prime culprit-

He was anxious now to reach the Rook’s Nest with the least possible delay, for he could not fathom the deep waters in which he was plunged. The rocket might be a warning for all he knew. He suspected everything and believed nothing after Skinner’s confession. “That cursed Jew. Tannadyce, goes and puts up the job and then betrays his pal. Hanged if I can make head or tail of it—except that I’ve got to even the book with his lordship tonight,” he growled, as he passeil through the Rook's Nest gates. A moment later he stepped from the drive into the bushes, as a brougham, rapidly driven, swung by and out into the road. “Them’s the bruisers,' he reflected as he resumed his course. At the bend in the drive he got his first view of the house, of which, in the gleaming, only the skeleton outline and the lighted dining-room windows were visible. He could see a man sitting at one of the windows, and he clenched his teeth as he told himself that it must be his enemy. The distance was too great for recognition. Mr Tidmarsh had brought no weapon with him. He had thoughts of arming himself, but on reflection had decided that that sort of thing was “unEnglish.” Above all. the burly bookmaker prided himself on being a Briton. No: he had learned to reply on his fists as a lad. and his fists should do the business- If Hooligan could meet him at the game he would go under with the best grace he could, but he trusted in a clean cause to give him the victory, and then God help his adversary- It would be a fight to a finish, but not under Queensberry rules- So sure as he got in a knock-out so sure would hie fingers complete the job—by squeezing my lord’s life out. His heart beating with fierce joy, he stole towards the house, keeping in the shelter of the shrubbery. As he neared his goal the objects in the diningroom grew clearer. He noted the ’egs

of the solitary occupant protruding from the French window; he made out the table with the lamp and the decanter; he could almost recognise tue Hushed face of the notorious peer. He saw his intended victim sudden ly rouse, and half turn to the table and then he saw no more. For with the rapidity of a transformation scene the whole vision was blotted out; the window and the room behind it were plunged in darkness black as the pit. The black gloom that had so unaccountably enveloped the dining-room where Lord Hooligan was seated was not of more than two seconds’ duration. It was succeeded by a Hash of dazzling light as startling by its suddenness as had been the swift swoop of darkness. Mr Tidmarsh, who had halted in amazement, began to move forward again, but he had not moved many steps when he perceived that a great change had taken place in the scene at the window. The man in the chair was no longer visible, nor, indeed, were any ot the objects previously observed. The first clear Hash had given place to a vibrating dancing mass of blurred light that obscured rather than illuminated. And then a scream as of a lost soul pierced the stillness of the summer night, and volumes of smoke rolling from the window proclaimed the horrid truth. The room was on lire, and its occupant was overcome by the Hames. For one brief moment the bookmaker stopped again—from sheer fright of the supernatural. It was as though for the second time that night an unseen hand had intervened to wreak the vengeance he sought, and again by the dread agency of tire. But, mastering the feeling, he ran on. remembering that if Skinners tale were true Nancy Beauchamp also must be in the burning house. The bookmaker’s vast bulk was not conducive to tleetness, and long before he. neared the now blazing window he saw that the fire had got a firm hold on the room. At the same time he became conscious of running footsteps behind him —footsteps far speedier than his own. A phantom form rushed past without a word, and was already busy at the win (low when at last he panted up to the house. Gruesomely busy was that stranger who had passed him in the drive. He had just seized a pair of boot.; that stuck out of the window, and by t hem had pulled from the raging furnace within the charred and smouldering body of a man. The blistering features of the corpse were only recognised by the sav-

age scowl as those of Lord Hooligan. Then the stranger looked up at fidmarsh, who saw that he was no stranger at all, but Inspector t’roal, still in the guise of a fish-hawker. The detective gave a rueful little laugh. ’Well, we’ve had a good race, Mr fid marsh, but neither of us is to pass tue winning-post, it seems,” said he. “There lies our man, stone dead, ami safe from both of us.”

Mr Tidmarsh, trembling like an aspen, peered into the blazing room. “He must have upset the table with the lamp, and the lamp burst,” he faltered. "That was it, undoubtedly. lit fact. I saw it as I was hurrying to catch you up to save you from yourself,” replied Croal gravely. "He was drunk, most likely,” said Tidmarsh. "Aye, made so on purpose, so that you should have an easy job of it,” was the detective’s comment. And then, after dragging the smoking body further from the window, he exclaimed suddenly—- " Curious that he should have been here all alone; yet if anyone else hail been in the house they'll have shown up before now. You’re better posted about that than 1 am, I expect?” "Lor’ lumnie, but I’m forgetting,” said Mr Tidmarsh, half dazed. "There was the gal that lodged at Bremner’s, in Beaker-street —her from the tipster’s in Red Lion Court —along with him here, so I was told.” "Then, by heaven! she must be locked in somewhere,” cried Croal. "We can’t get in this way through the tire. Let's try the doors and search for the girl, for the place is well alight and the roof will be down inside half an hour." (To be continued.)