THE OSSINGTON MYSTERY.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 1 May 1914, Page 7

THE OSSINGTON MYSTERY.

By Hedley Richards, Author of "The Millionaire's Last Will," "The Day of Reckoning," etc., etc.

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED )

SYNOPSIS OF' PREVIOU3 PARTS. Detective Brown, of Scotland Yard, --r- has been called upon to investigate the murder of Viscount Bewley, only son and heir of the Marquis of Troncastle. It comes out in evidence at the inquest that Blanche Latimer, the beautiful niece of Sir Thomas Latimer, a near neighbour of the mar- . quis, ' had received on the day of the f murder an offer of marriage from Lord Bewley, and his cousin, Captain Neville, which she refused. In the course of his investigations the detective learns that an intimacy had existed between the murdered man and Mary Hirst, the daughter of a woo^aqan. Her brother Tom deeply resented this, and has been heard threatening vengeance upon the Viscount. Posing as an artist, the detective visits the aottage of the Hirsts. PART 6. CHAPTER VI. A REVOLVER. After dinner at the inn, I took out my note-book and jotted down all I had heard about the case, and then carefully studied it. Firstly, it was evident that as far as motive was concerned, Captain Neville had a strong one—jealousy. TKen, again, by his cousin's death he became heir to the title and estates—a circumstance which he might think would influence the lady. He was accustomed to shooting at that spot, and knew every bend of the path, and exactly when to fire ; and, further, he had admitted there had been words between them in the afternoon. So far, the evidence against the captain was pretty strong. In his favour was the general esteem in which he was held, the universal opinion that a deed of the kind was inconsistent with his character ; and so far as I could iudge from his bearing a t the inquest, public opinion was right. But then, men did inconsistent things every day ; brave, honourable men did mad acts under a sudden impulse. Still, there was not sufficient evidence on which to arrest him. The thing was to find the pistol. It was just possible some country lad, jealous of Lord Bewley's attentions to Mary Hirst, had been clever enough to do the deed. If so, he would probably have bought the weapon recently. Anjway, I would visit the gunsmiths and pawnbrokers in Troncastle next morning. . As regarded the father and brother of the girl Mary Hirst, it seemed l pretty certain that they were in their own home at the time ; but she had been out, and I was positive had told a lie when she said she had returned from Bewley by way of the road. The man next door had seen her piass, and said she was running ; "fc- and it was impossible he could be ■ ' mistaken—he knew her too well. Then the piece of print I had found on the gate matched the torn dress of which her mother had spoken, as being torn that nighct, and which the girl had disputed. All this was pretty conclusive evidence that she had been in the dene at the very time the shot was fired, presuming the report heard was from > the weapon that killed his lordship, and that the doctor was right in thinking) that the death occurred about that time.If so, was it not likely she had seen the murderer, unless —and here I paused, feeling half sorry for the suspicion which faintly arose—unless she had done the deed herself ? As for motive, she was jealous of the lady who had taken her place in his lordship's affections. The old man next door had testified to the rage expressed in her face while watching them shoot. It v s true, it was said—she lov^d Lord Bewley ; but I knew there were plenty of women who would father kill a mau than let him belong to another. She knew the dene well, too, and the 'path his lordship would take on his way home. But could she shoot ? —that was the question. Still, unskilled as she was, revenge and jealousy might have enabled her to fire with an exactness equal to a trained marksman. I felt quite certain she had been in the dene that night ; then, if she had not done the deed, she would probably have some know{p.'A&fot who had. Her whole manner in speaking of the affair had given me the impression that she knew more of the murder than she cared to tell. I remembered how she had scorned the idea of the captain's guilt. If Ifec^ she had no hand in it, was she screening him ? I doubted that. It was just possible she might, in jealous anger, have done it herself ; but if she saw another do it, all her tenderness would be aroused, and she would most likely turn on the murderer. There was cause for grave *-r suspicion as regarded her, but that was all. All at once I remembered the old man's boast in the tap room the previous night—that he could tell more than most folk about the murder. The man had spoken of strolling along a path near his garden, and I recollected that Mr. Newton had shown me a path above the dene leading past some gardens. It might be worth while looking that man up, and I resolved to do so. After this I put my note-book away, and spent the remainder of the afternoon smoking, my thoughts wandering to the ztely funeral that wns then taking

place—as Lord Bewley was to be buried that afternoon—from which I had purposely absented myself. j That evening I remained indoors, \ listening to the conversation in the tap room ; but I heard nothing to help me, though there was plenty of J talk about the funeral. As soon as < the house closed I went to bed, as I wanted to be early astir tht next day. In the morning I told my hostess I should not return to dinner, but should dine in Troncastle, and then left the house in time to catch the nine o'clock train into that city. On arriving there I visited numerous gunsmiths' and pawnbrokers' establishments, but could not hear of any weapon, having been recently sold to any one who would be likely to com- \ mit the murder. By noon I felt it was almost useless inquiring further, and resolved to dine. Feeling refreshed after the meal, I began to take a more hopeful view of the matter, and (determined to visit a few more places. At the third —a pawnbroker's—l heard that they had not sold any pistols for some time, but that a small revolver of highly-finished workmanship had been pawned on Tuesday night. On inquiring, I found the man who pledged it wai evidently a working man —a pitman, they thought. He had given the name of Paul Jones, of Bent House, near Weighton—which, if my suspicions were correct, was a false address. He was described as a tall, bony man, about sixty, with keen, ferrety eyes and a large hooked nose. He had a big mole on his cheek, and a small quantity of grey hair. I had previously informed them who I was, and had no difficulty in obtaining possession \ of the weapon. Then, cautioning, them not to mention the matter, I left the shop, and made my ; way to the station. During the short return journey I was cogi-] tating on the still further development of the affair, which rendered it more mysterious than ever. If the man who had pledged the revolver warn the man who, had bragged in the tap room that he could tell more of the murder than most folk, I felt sur e he had not done it, but at the same time he probably knew who had. The question was—how had the weapon come into his possession ? I hardly thought he was an accomplice or he would not have boasted as he did. Drawing the revolver out of my overcoat pocket, I examined it curiously, and felt satisfied that it was not such a one as a working, man would purchase. On reaching Old Bewley, the nearest station, I had a couple of miles to walk, and reached New Bewley about four o'clock. As I entered the village several pitmen passed me, returning from their work. Just as I reached the inn a man came down the steps, a nd on looking at him I started slightly. He was the fac-simile of the man described to me, who had pawned the weapon. Recovering myself in an instant, I resolved to make the jmost of my opr portunity, and, speaking pleasantly, observed it was a nice day for walking. "Yes, it is," he replied. "So nice that I will walk with you a bit, my friend, that is if jou will let me." "Yes, if you like. I reckon you're a stranger about here. I heard the missis there"—pointing to the' inn— "say she'd got a hartist staying with her. I s'pose it's you ?" "You are a good guesser, I see." ! As we walked on I added : "I think there are some very pretty bits in the dene. It is a pity a murder should be associated with it." "I don't know as it'll hurt the dene ; but murder is a bad thing anywhere." When we reached the turning/which led to the dene, he said : "This is my way." "Do you live near the dene ?" I inquired. "In one of the cottag.es in a field above it at the other side." "Does your way lead past the placel where the young lord was shot ?" "No ;' I go along the top, or I should have found the body, as I go very early to work." "It is strange no one seems to have been seen about, and that there is so little clue." "Well, you see, folks wouldn't be hot about saying anything, even if they'd anything to tell." "Why not, unless they thought what they bad to say would tell against Captain Neville ?" I remarked, meditatively. "That's just it. I wouldn't tell anything—that is, if I know'd any- i thing—and I don't say I don't or I do ; but folks that stroll about smoking often see a bit. Mind, I don't say I did see anything ; butif I did, I should keep it to myself." By this time we were in a lonely part of the dene, and, pausing, I laid my hand on his arm, at the same time drawing the revolver quickly out of my pocket. I held it up and said : "Paul Jones, you will have to tell all you know." He turned deathly white, and gasped out : "That isn't my name ; it's Ralph Jacques." "Very, well, Ralph Jacques—or Paul Jones, whichever you like—you pledged this revolver in Troncastle on Tuesday night. It is no use denying it ; I have a full description of you, and the pawnbroker's assistant is prepared to swear to you. Now, I warn you to be careful what you say. I am a detective, and anything you state may be used against you. At the same time, unless 5011 can give a satisfactory account of how this pistol ca,me into your possession, I may be obliged to arrest you, do you understand ?"

"Arrest me «'• he ejaculated, white to the lips. ' "It will be my duty unless you can clear yourself of suspicion." "Hftja??en help me ! I am as innocent e»h an unborn babe." "Innocent men have been, hung, before to-day, if they could not prove their innocence — and it looks dark against you," I said, resolved to frighten him into a confession of what he knew, as I fancied I detected an unwillingness to speak in spite of his terror. "Well, what must be must be, I s'pose," he said, wiping the drops which stood thick upon hie forehead. "I warn you again to. be careful what you say." "Man alive, do you think I killed him ?" he asked, almost savagely. "It looks suspicious," I said, very gravely. "What good would his death do me do you think ?" "I don't know," I continued, quietly, "but it is my duty to caution you." "Well, I didn't want to speak ; but my own neck's more to me than the captain's, so I s'pose I must. But come up the bank and I'll show you where I was walking." "It's not a ruse to get away ?" I said, looking steadily at him. "No, it's not. I • should only put my head further into the noose if I tried." . "You're right there," I said, as we crossed the stream by some steppingstones, and, mounting the bank, came to a footpath which led past some cottages. "That's where I live," said the man, pointing to the furthest cottage. Going through a gate we came on to a footpath leading past some cottage gardens close to the edge of the dene. Passing these, we arrived at the spot where Mr. Newton and I had descended the bank. "I was walking here on Monday night smoking my pipe, when I saw what I'm going to tell you." "What time was that ?" "It was five minutes to seven when I left the house." Here he paused, as though unwilling to proceed. "You'd better go on," I said, qnietly. "I told you I'd tell you all ; still, I'm sorry for the captain." CHAPTER VII. THE TREE ON THE BANK. "Well, "added my companion, "as I told you, it was five minutes to seven by the clock when I left the aottage, and I come along slow, enjoying a smoke. I had just got here, when I heard a shot ring out as clear as a bell on the night air. It was just, one sharp report, and no more. I wondered who was shooting by moonlight, for there's not been many poachers in the dene lately." "Then it was moonlight ?" "Clear as noonday, you might almost say. Well, I stopped a minute or so, then went on slowly—it was a warm night—to the end of the path, as we are doing now. Do you happen to know there's a stile there ?" I nodded. "Very well ; I leaned against it a bit, smoking my pipe. After a while .1 turned back, but by that time the moon had gone under a cloud, so I walked a s far as the cottages, intending to go in, when she comes peeping out again. So then I thought I'd take another stroll, and went gently back towards the stile, and when I got nigh as far as I'd beon when I heard the shot, I saw some one coming up the bank, and as che moon was getting brighter then, I could just see it was the captain. He seemed in a mortal hurry, and never heard me as I came along the path. When he got to the stile he went quickly over it. 'You're in a big hurrj,' I thought, as I walked slowly to the end of the path. At the stile I stood a"'minute to fill my pipe — I'd got the baccy in my pocket — and as I let the match fall I saw something bright lying in the grass close to the stile, and when I picked it up, it was the revolver you've got. It must have fallen out of his pocket as he got over the stile. I know he seemed to jump over it. I put the pistol in my pocket and went home, saying nothing to anybody, and intending to give it to the captain the first time I saw him. Then the next morning I heard of the murder, and I guessed if I took it to the captain he would say it wasn't his ; and if I told what I'd got to the police, it was like putting the rope round his neck. I didn't want to do that, for he's far away a better man than the young lord was ; and if he's shot him, he's been driven into it, I dare swear. So I just pawned the pistol out of the way, never expecting it would be so easy found. And now I i have told you all I know, and I can ! take a Bible oath i it's true." \ "Why did you pawn it, man ? It i was the very way to have it traced, and was sure to get you into trouble of some sort." i '.'I never thought it would, and ij i mew I could make a bit of money ' by it." j I was silent for a few minutes, ; then I said : j "I believe you are speaking the ! truth, and I shall not meddle with ' you while you remain here ; but if you attempt to leave the neighbourhood, I shall take you into custody. Also all you know, and what has passed between us, you must be perfectly silent about. Remember, no hints at the Black Bull about what you know. You must be silent as the grave. When you see me, or speak of me, I am Mr. Brown, the artist ;no one is to know I am a detective. And not one word about me or the revolver to the captain. (Now, you fully understand, I hopc\ that your

freedc.i depends on how you observe the conditions I have stated." "I'll do as you want ; but I don't see as how I can be made answerable for the murder, particularly if the revolver is proved to belong to the captain." "Very likely you don't, but at the least you could be arrested as an accomplice, the weapon having been traced to you ; and it might be dif-' ficult to make a jury believe your tale." "You do, and you're cute enough." "I may be cute, but it often takes more to convince twelve men than one." "Well, I shall stay here, and I'll k»ep a still tongue." "Then don't g,o too often to the Black Bull, friend Jacques, or you may find yourself lodged at her Majesty's expense." "I shall- go nowhere till I'm clear of this mess. But I say, sir, do you think the captain done it V' "I cannot say. All I can do is to find out more. But I want to ask you a few questions. How long was it from the time you heard the shot' to the time the moon passed behind a cloud ?" "About four minutes, I should say." "And how long did It remain under a cloud ?" "I should say another ten minutes, sir." "Can you account for the captain not hearing your steps ?" "Yes, that's pretty easy, as I'd my old carpet-slippers on. I'd taken off Imy boots, intending to stay in, and when the moon was so bright I went out for a stroll. It's a way I have to walk up and down there in my slippers. Then, besides me walking softly, he went so quick." "Very well. Remember my warning, and, above all, mind you speak of me as Mr. Brown, the artist." "All right, sir ;" and as I descended the bank into the dene, I left Mr. Jacques looking glum and ill at ease. Going past the scene of the murder, I again crossed the steppingstones and walked leisurely along the path at the other side. All at once a stone falling down the bank attracted my attention, and as I looked I saw that Mary Hirst was standing by a large tree half-way up the bank. She appeared to be stooping towards something at the side of the tree. Wondering what she was after, I sprang quickly up the bank, intending to surprise her, but my foot displacing a large piece of earth, which fell on the path below, she looked quickly round, and sprang away from the tree as if bitten by an adder. "Have I startled you ?" I asked, as I reached her side. "Rather ; I am getting nervous," i she said, with a sickly smile. j "The murder is enough to make I you so. I almost wonder at you wandering here alone now it's getting dusk. But perhaps you came to meet your sweetheart ?" I said, in a jok- ' ing tone. |"I want nothing to do with men," she replied, in a pitiful voice. "I am afraid the young fellows won't agree to that. You will excuse me saying you are too pretty , for an old maid." i "You don't know, o r yon wouldn't i talk that way," she said, wearily. "Well, a t any rate, you, will let me see you home. It is too late for you ,to be wandering here." "I'm not a young lady," sne said, scornfully. "Village girls go when and where they want, and never think of what folks will say ; but fine ladies study all that, while thsy . break poor girls' hearts." j "Why, has some fine lr ly been ill- ; treating you ?" I asked, carelessly. I "Oh, no. I'm too hum' le for a fine 'lady's notice." and she 1 tughed hysterically. j While we talked we v. r ; re walking j towards her home, but I could see i she was very unwilling to have my i company. When we reached the path . leading to the cottages she stood , still and said : : "Don't come any furttrr out of your way, sir. There's nothingi to fear here." j "Let me see you home," I persisted. "I wish to ask your mother to jdo me a favour." ! She looked surprised, but said noj thing. !"I was in Troncastle this morn- , ing," I said, wishing to get her to , talk. "Were you ?" she replied, in a tone ; ; that showed me her thoughts were ,on some other subject. lln a few minutes we reached the , cottage door. Opening it, she turned ito me, saying, rather shortly : i "Do you wish to see my mother?" i"I think I won't come in now, as !it is late ; but I will call some other I day— probably to-morrow." J j "Do as you like," she answered, I I coldly ; and without wishing, me I good afternoon, entered the house. ! I waited until, by the bright firelight, I could see her in the kitchen. Then walking rapidlj I soon reached ! ! the part of the dene where I- had sur- J j prised her. Climbing the bank, I came | to the tree by which she had stoo-d. ' It was now almost dark, and I could ' i not possibly have distinguished it I but for the size, as I had noticed it ' was a large old oak, while those ! around were much smaller, some be- j ing mere saplings. Then, remember- j ing the girl had been stooping, I ! knelt down and felt among the dead ' leaves at the foot of the tree ; but after spending some time in sifting ; them with my fingers and finding no-> ■ thing, I rose and passed my hand up and down the trunk of the tree. All at once it slipped into an opening. Striking a match I discovered a hollow in the tree about a foot deep1. ! Plunging my band into it, I felt j somethmo- so ft a t the bottom, which I

\ I grasped firmly as I withdrew my hand. Again striking a match, I saw that I was holding a mass of soft, dry moss, and hidden in it were two envelopes, I scarcely knew wbat I had expected to find, but certainly not what I had found. Had Mary Hirst been flirting with some humble lover, while she also encouraged the young lord, and was this a trysting-place ? I wondered ; but in an instant the improbability of such a thing struck me. One in her own class would have wooed her openlj ; unless he was involved in the murder there would have been no need for secret letters ; but as the evidence pointed conclusively to the captain, that was improbable. Would it turn out that the captain and Lord Bewley had been rivals over the poor girl, as well as the rich, I thought, as I descended the bank ? If so, there would be a double motive for the murder, and it was possible she might be mixed up in it. I \ fervently hoped not,, as I went quickly on with the letters and moss safely stowed in my pocket. ! On reaching the inn I found my tea ' ready, and anxious as I was to know what those envelopes contained, I thought it better to wait until the meal was over. Then, when the tea things had been removed, I placed a little table by the side of the fire, and drawing a chair close to* it, I opened a sketch book, that if my landlady approached she might think I was occupied with my work. Next, I took the moss out of my pocket and examined it closely. It was perfectly dry, and I could see had been gathered some time. Placing it in another pocket, I drew out the envelopes. They were not addressed, and were of good quality, such as a lady would use. Opening one, I took out a letter written on good, me-dium-sized note-paper. The writing was in a woman's hand tolerably large and clear, but evidently not written by an educated person. It was dated .October 27, 19—. I paused —"To-day is the 2nd of November ; then this was written last Saturday, just two days before the murder," I thought. Straightening it out, I laid it on the book in front of me, and read : "Dear George,—l beseech you to be true to all you have promised. I am nearly, driven mad with all I hear and see. You once thought me beautiful —now. you have only eyes for that proud, scornful girl who cares nothing for you, and would have nothing to say to you if you were a poor man. I have watched you together when you little knew I was near. Is it right, after all I've borne for your sake, to treat me so ? Think how lightly the folks speak about me--even my father and mother think ill of me—and you kjnow I could by two or three words have set myself' right with every one, but I didn't for your sake. And what have I got in return? Coldness, and been left to see you regret what has been done, which I never tried to lead you into doing. I could stand the coldness,and hope it would all come right ; but I cannot and won't stand you courting that girl. If 3ou only knew how mad it makes me when I see you together you'd be mere careful. I may do in one moment what I shall regret all my life if you go on as you are doing. I went to meet you at the old place on Wednesday night, and waited nearly an hour, but you never came near, after promising you would. I heard afterwards that you had been at the Grey House. Now, what would you say if you found me jaunting with the captain instead of you, and walking the dene with him ? I fancy you wouldn't like it. And what if we laid our heads together to serve you out ? He's a grudge against you, and would help me to be revenged ; so listen when I say— Beware ! I shall be in the old place to-morrow night, and you must meet me ; I won't be put off. So remember.—Yours, divided between love and hate, .. "Mary." The other letter was dated 29th, the day of the murder, and ran as follows : "Dear George,—l waited over an hour to see you last night, and you never came, so early this morning I came to our post-office, and found my letter still lying under the moss. You must have known it was there, for I put the branches on the step-ping-stones, and I saw you'd kicked ■ them out of the way, and never gone to fetch the letter. So I came home, : and am writing this to tell you 'it j will be well for you to turn back to- 1 night when you find tbe/n in youST way, as, if you go on, I will have my revenue —a revenge you will have j j goaded me into. But if you read this i I you will have gone back, and when ' you know that if you do not meet ! me I will take the bitterest revenge ' it is in my power to take, I feel sure ' you will come to the oM place to- ! niftfvt. If you do not get this letter, i it will be your own fault, as I shall take care the branches are thick in your path. I shall be waiting-, near to ! see if you turn back ; and if you ! don't, I shall be so beside myself j that I know there will be no further ! chance for you. You used to say every branch laid across the stream was like a little bird whispering of ! me, and saying I had something to ! tell you. God grant it may seem so to-night, as I have a feeling it will be one I shall always think of, for weal or woe. I feel half mad with all I have had to bear lately, and if one jot of pity remains in your ; heart, meet me to-night.—l am, : your heart-broken and desperate "Mary."

"P.S.—ln those happy days at j Newlam you vowed you'd love me all my life, and now Oh, dear ! I of- ; ten wish I'd never set foot in York. ; Now I'm gmno; to put this in the ' tree. I dare not write any longer,

as mother's calling that it is eleven o'clock." By the time I had finished reading this last letter my breath was almost taken away. A few hours since : I had thought I held conclusive evidence against Captain Neville ; ; now I had what appeared equally strong against Mary Hirst. True, the I pistol in my possession had dropped i out of the captain's pocket or else ihe had flung it away ; but that did j not say he had fired the fatal shot. | Still, the time he had been seen comi ing up the bank was about the same !it was surmised the murder had taken place. But so far as that went, the evidence was just as much against the girl—the old man in the adjoining cottage having spoken to seeing her coming running up the path which led from the dene about the time. Her mother had incidentally corroborated that, and I myself had a piece of the torn dress found on the gate. Then, again, her evident desire to conceal the fact of her having been in the dene that night told against her, and I remembered how she had stoutly denied it. I was In a flx. The evidence was as strong against on e as the other, save that the captain had dropped a revolver. Of course he might be able to account for having the weapon on him, or it was just possible it might have been lost earlier in the day. But I confess I did not believe that ; the path was too much frequented for it to Rave lain there unnoticed. The motive in both cases would have been jealousy ; but I was disposed to think a jealous woman would be more desperate than a man in her revenge. It was just possible they were accomplices, and I re-read the letter©. As I did so, the impression that they were grew on me. To be Continued.