(COPYRIGHT STORY.) THE BLACK MOTOR CAR.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIII, Issue XXIV, 10 December 1904, Page 6

(COPYRIGHT STORY.) THE BLACK MOTOR CAR.

By

J. B. HARRIS BURLAND,

Author of " Dacobra,” “The Unspeakable Thing,” Etc., Etc.

CHAPIEK XXX. •\’EXGEAKCE IS MINE. ’ 1 uuiy ask two things 01 you, ’ said Jordison, ‘ and then you shall both go nee.” lie was standing by the iron gate al tiie end oi the tunmi. Aiiiiur Holme and Eady Chile bom laeed nun. lheir wrists were still bound, out their laces glowed with the light 01 a great joy. ihey had been very near ueath, but now liie, and all that me to them, was within their giasp. suddenly, and lor no apparent leason, me man who had held them in his cruel grip, had bid them both go tree, ine night was over aim the day was at hand. ine sun itself, now rising from the Cast and turning the wide expanse oi wet sand into a glory ui gold, was not so resplendent as the light oi needom llial had suddenly Hash eil up Horn the dai'K horizon of pain and death.

"1 only ask two things of you, ' repeated Jordison, "but you must swear on the holy cross that you will do them, tn the first place, you must both swear never to reveal either directly or indirectly, this hiding-place of mine, nor give any assistance, either direct or indirect, io those who desire to capture me.” "1 will swear that, replied Holme, sternly, "though God knows what evil 1 shall do the community. ’ Eady Agnes mui mured some words to the same effect, and Jordison produced a small bone cross.

"'Ulis cross,” he said, "was found in these caverns, in the bony Ungers of a man who perhaps med tor his faith in the time of the Romans, ft is, without doubt, a most holy and sacred relic. You will each swear the oaths i desire by your God and the hope of your future salvation, and you will each kiss this symbol of your faith to seal the words you have spoken.”

Holme swore the desired oath and kissed the little cross. Then Lady Agnes did the same, repeating the words in a faint and faltering voice, and shuddering as her lips touched the bone symbol of early Christianity. “Now,” continued Jordison, “you must each swear to me a separate oath. You, Arthur Holme, must swear that you will tell Lady Agnes Clill'e the true story of your life, and that you will marry her before a year has passed. You, Lad;, Agnes Clill'e, must swear that you will marry the man you love in spite of all opposition on the part of your parents, there is nothing disgraceful in his past history. He is a true and sterling man. 1 have done him a great wrong, and 1 intend to repair it. Do you both agree to swear these oaths?”

The two young people looked at each other in bewilderment. They could hardly believe their ears. Jordison had attempted both their lives, and now, as an alternative to death, he asked them to swear to fulfil the dearest wish of their hearts. They could understand the necessity of the first oath, but the second one was incomprehensible. “Why,” began Holme in a stammering voice. “Don’t ask any questions,” broke in Jordison savagely and abruptly, “for I sha’n’t answer them. Will vou swear?”

“I will, so help me God,” Holme said fervently, “if Lady Agnes ” and he stopped and looked enquiringly at the woman he loved. “Yes, Arthur.” she said faintly. Her white face flushed with crimson, and there was a tender light in her eyes. They both swore the oath, and once more they kissed the cross.

“The hardway goes round to the back of the island,” said Jordison. “Keep close to the land till yon come to a white piece of rock. Then strike across the sand in a straight line between the white rock and a black post on the shore beyond the salt marsh. You will then find a road and have no difficulty in reaching home. Be sure and keep

the straight line between the points 1 have named. On either' side of you lies an enemy that will not be so merciful to you as William Jordison.”

With these words Jordison took out a knife and cut their bonds and they were free. Without another word he unlocked the iron gate, and swinging it back on its hinges, stood aside to let them pass. They went out together without a word. Jordison watched their figures disappear round the end of the tunnel. He closed the gate with a crash and locked it. Then he turned abruptly on his heel and picking up a lamp from the ground, retraced his steps into the tunnel. And so William Jordison went back into the darkness, and his son went out into the light.

Twelve hours later the black car stood in the centre of the cavern ready for its last journey. Jordison had decided to run it to within a few miles of Liverpool before daybreak, and to make his way from that port to America. He had shaved oil' his beard and moustache, and his gaunt face looked wolfish and hideous in its nakedness.

Lipp had packed such tilings as they required for the voyage in two trunks, and placed them on the car. Concealed about their clothes, sewn here and there in linings, scattered singly so 'as to escape the notice of the most diligent Custom’s oflicer, were £ 50,000 worth of jewels. They had been picked from then' settings and occupied an amount of space that was ridiculously small compared to their value.

Lipp lit the lamps, and the two men took their seats in the car. Then Jordison started the engines, and a few seconds later they glided through the open door and slipped down the long narrow passage to the sea. When they emerged into the open the moon was shining brightly over the waste of sand and water. Jordison steered slowly round the island till he reached the white rock, then he turned oli at right angles and made straight for a twinkling speck of yellow in the west. The black post was invisible at night, but this light, which shone from the West Ray lightship, lay some ten miles beyond in the same straight line. They crossed the dangerous sands in safety, though every now and then a sudden sinking of the wheel warned the driver that he had run over the edge of the track. Then they glided up a gentle slope, passed over the edge of the bank which kept the tide out of the low lying land, and went slowly westwards over the marshes. The road was execrable. It was little more than a grass track, and the stones that had originally formed its foundation protruded through the thin layer of soil. It ran parallel to the road leading to the Red House, some eight miles north of it, and joined the old Roman Causeway. It had been originally constructed to bring up sand and shingle from the beach, but had not ben used for many years. Where it joined the Causeway it had sunk several inches, and was submerged for a hundred yards in a shallow lake of water. On either side of it lay many miles of desolate marsh land. When the motor reached the main road Jordison turned to the left and went southward. Lipp pointed out in picturesque language that this was not the way to Liverpool. “I am aware of that, Lipp,” Jordison replied grimly, “I have to call at Heatherstone Hall first.”

Lipp pointed out the ri'sk and broke into a torrent of oaths at Jordison’s fool-hardiness. But the latter intimated that his servant could leave the car (hen and there if he liked, and Lipp relapsed into sullen silence.

Shortly after 11 o’clock the car glided under the shadows of the overhanging trees in the park. Jordi'son alighted, and told Lipp to keep his eyes and ears open. If anyone discovered the ear he was to run straight back to the cavern. He, Jordison, would understand what had happened, and could make his way to their hiding place on foot.

When he had given these final instructions, he climbed over the wall and made his way through the plantation into the park. His gaunt face looked horrible in the moonlight. The loss of his beard and moustache laid bare all the evil lines of his features. The head of a vulture, peering round for the dead carcase of man or beast was not more loathly to look upon. And Jordison’s errand that night was death. He had resolved to kill Marie de la Mothe before he left England. Then, at last, his life-work would be accomplished. He had found his son ami provided the young man’s future happiness. It only remained to pay the debt he owed to the woman who had made him the thing he was.

His unbalanced mind, no longer able to distinguish between right and wrong, saw no evil in the thing he was about to do. The cold-blooded murder of a defenceless woman had assumed the appearance of a splendid act of justice. Jordison compared himself to an executioner, who carries out the sentence of the law. No criminal, he argued to himself, was more worthy of death than this woman. She had taken no life, but she hail ruined that which was more precious than mere physical existence —the soul of a man who might have done much good, but who had sunk lower than the beasts that perish. Jordison saw nothing of his own free will in the matter. He only saw that all the misery and crime of his life lay at the door of Marie de la Mothe, and for that he had sentenced her to death. He crept slowly through the park, moving on all fours from tree to tree, and crawling slowly to the great white house that glistened in the moonlight. He was but a small black patch on the grass, to the eye of his God no more than a wolf advancing on its prey, but to himself the stern shadow of impending gloom, resistless. glorious in his purpose, inevitable. In either pocket lay a heavy loaded revolver. and he carried a dozen spare cartridges. But these weapons were only to be used in case of discovery, when hs might be cornered and have to fight for his life. For the purpose of his mission

he trusted to a pair of muscular hands, the primeval weapons of man. When he reached the house he was surprised to see that it was in darkness. Not a single light appeared in the long line of windows, save that which the glass reflected back from the moon. As a rule the Heatherstones entertained largely while they were in residence, and had guests at dinner nearly every night in the week. But to-night they had evidently gone to bed early, and Jordison was grateful for the good fortune which had smiled on his enterprise. It was, in Ins own mind, but one more proof that he was a chosen instrument of justice. He crept cautiously through the shrubberies and made his way to the north side of the house. He effected an entrance through one of the windows of the servants’ hall, and, taking off his boots, groped his way to the foot of the big staircase. He ascended this, and found himself in a long corridor, dimly lit by two gas jets, turned down to small bluish tongues of flame. He walked along it on tiptoe, and came into another and wider corridor, thickly carpeted, and leading to the principal bedrooms of the east wing. Here he was on known ground, and had no difficulty in locating the door of the Countess’ bedroom. It was, as he nad ascertained many months previously, the third door from the end of the corridor.

He placed his fingers on the handle and turning it softly, opened the door. Once again good fortune was on hi i side, for after the burglaries at Heatherstoue Hall it was more than probable that it would have been locked. The room was in total darkness. He ent. red quickly and closing the door behind him, turned the key.

Once in the room and out oi th? light of the passage he breathed more securely. He leaned against the wall and listened. There was absolute silence. His hand touched the switch of the electric light. Then he hesitated. Though he knew that heaven would applaud his deed, he had no wish to see the thing he was about to do. No, she should die there in the darkness. It was a more fitting end to her life.

He held his breath and listenid again. He thought it odd that he could not hear the sound of her breathing. The sudden thought struck him that he had perhaps, after all, mistaken the room, or that the family had left Heatherstoue Hall, and that Lady Heath rstone, departing from her habits of over two years, had gone with them. Once more he placed his hand upon the switch, and once more he hesitated. Then he crept stealthily from the wall and as he moved across the soft carpet to the bed, he suddenly noticed that there was a strange smell in the room, a sweet siekly smell like perfume, or the scent of hothouse flowers. For some reason or other it brought back a vivid memory of a scene in his past life—the first day he had ever kissed Marie -de la Mothe. He remembered it well. She was pinning a gardenia in his buttonhole. When he reached the edge of the bed he stopped, and again listened. Then ho passed his hand lightly over the coverlet

and discovered that there was someone lying beneath it. Then he moved his Ungers along the recumbent form and across a pair of folded arms, till they touched the outline of a face hidden beneath a piece of velvet. He Knew then that it was the face of the Countess of Heatherstone. He passed his hands un der the edge of the mask, and suddenly gripped the throat. But directly his fingers closed bn the neck he whipped his hands away and staggered back from the bed, with difficulty’ suppressing a cry of horror. The flesh was cold as marble, and the chill of it went through his whole body from head to foot. He crept through the darkness till he found the switch by the door. Then he turned the light on and looked towards the bed. There lay the Countess of Heatherstone with her arms folded across her breast, and a cross of white flowers at her feet. William Jordison went over and looked at her long and earnestly. The white hand .of death had hidden the ravages of disease, as sn*> hides the ugliness of a devastated land. Then suddenly he stepped forward, and replacing the velvet mask on her face, erept from the room like a beaten hound. God had taken her punishment into his own hands, and William Jordison knew that his Maker had discarded him. as a man discards a broken knife. (The End.)