THE JEW'S HOUSE.

Otago Witness, Issue 2892, 11 August 1909, Page 77

THE JEW'S HOUSE.

By Pekgtjs HritE

CHAPTER I.— THE MURDER IN THE FOG.

Few people know that there is a risingsuburb, called Bruntlea, in the direction of Harrow, which is reached from Baker street by tbe Metropolitan Extension Railway. .Even with its trifling existence of 15 years, it has an agreeable reputation m the city, since many clerks find it possible, by reason of speedy communication between office and home, to combine semirural pleasure with urban work. Popu-lous-in the morning and even-ing, when its inhabitants go and return, the suburb presents the aspect of an Adamless Eden during the day. Then tbe place is given over to the female belongings of the clerks, and these shop, gossip, wrangle, and visit with great assiduity. But after office-hour and during weekends, Bruntlea hums like a beehive, for then its inhabitants enjoy then- idle moments and get what minor pleasures they can out of a somewhat narrow existence. But such leisure can scarcely be called golf competitions, Jiu-iical parties, small and early dances, bridge drives, and debasing societies. The clerks bring home tha news of the world and the evening papers, while their wives and daughters, sisters and aunts detail the doings of the day. Beyond the collection of bran-new villas and shops gathered round the spare of the bran-new church stretch cornfields, so that Bruntlea stands, as it were, on the verge of accentuated civilisation. With these undeniable advantages, this latest created subirrb of ondon considers itself to be in the forefront of the times. Had its inhabitants dwelt in Babylon or Rome ! or even in the West End they could have entertained no higher opinion of their particular locality. But of these things a middle-aged journalist, stumbling along the High street in a thick November fog, was entirely ignorI ant. And even had he known all about them they would have given him no pleasure, for lie was hungry and footsore, and — as was natural — extremely cross that a i iran who had travelled over a considerable portion of the world should have lost his way in co petty a district. But there was great excuse for bim, since it was 8 o'clock in the evening and the fog, as the eaying goes, could have been cut with a knife. Also, Barrington Wain was a stranger In th.3 land, having arrived in Bruntlea only six hours before for the purpose of writing it up. The proprietor of his newspaper, the Midnight Sun, wished the place to be advertised, and it was shrewdly suspected by the reporter that the gentleman in question owned many of the waste acres surrounding the town. Wain's mission was to explore the vicinity and glorify its advantages in print. He had set cut for a walk almost as soon as he had put up at the bran-new hotel ; but. by reason of the fog, he might as well have" lived in the Cloud-Cuckco land of Aristophanes for all the advantages he had gained. Wain had certainly emerged mto the country earlier in the day, as was apparent from the muddy roads and dripping hedges and forlorn haystacks. But as he could ccc nothing around him but clouds, he stumbled back to the town, and thus lost himself in a network of lanes. After some ! hours of mistakes and Dad language, he ! managed to strike the High street — at least he believed it was the High street, from its great width and many shops. These latter were closed, as it was the usual Wednesday half- holiday, so he could ' not inquire as regarded his whereabouts. Nor did he particularly wish to, since he hoped to run against a well-informed policeman in the dense mist. But here again his 'uck vms abeent, a.s he met no one. and had serious thoughts of banging at the nearest door to ask for shelter. ; In very modern, brassy tones the clock 'of the bran-new church struck eight strokes, and gave Wain some Idea of his 1 whereabouts, for he knew that his hotel ' was within sound of the bell. He hurried forward eagerly, and by some chance — which he afterwards ascribed to Destiny — turned dowi> a side-lane, narrow and winding. Also, when he arrived it the end, . he found it was a cul-de-sac, for in the dpg he almost crashed against a double- ' valved gata of ornate iron-work, much ! gilded, as the lighting of a match revealed. The gates swung between massive stone pillars surmounted by heraldic animals, i who gripped oblong shields in their forepaws. It seemed strange to find such an old-world portal in the middle of a bran1 new suburb, and. In spite of his disagreeable positio'i, Wain paused to think why it should be there. It suggested adventure. A second mateh — for he wished to Fee the escutcheon**— showed, by its feeble glimmer, a smaller gate set in the righthand valve of the greater one. This -was open, so. with a vague idea that if he went on he might arrive at the liou*e and there gain Information as to the whereabouts of his hotel, Wain stepped through boldly. The fog was thick and the nioht was dark, so he could see nothinf. but the sound of dripping water and the "feel of falling drops suggested that '< he was in an avenue where the tree branches met overhead. The ground was strewn with leaves and sodden with rain, I so that Wain's footfalls made no noise, as he walked cautiously onward, ignorant of his whereabout*. But a few moments since and he had been in an aggressively modern suburb of the most modern city in the world; now he seemed to be pacing through a fairy wood, towards the un- , known. I Wain felt that nothing would surprise him amid such surroundings. Yet he started and stopped and strained his ears a.- the «)und of an angry voice was heard. The voice was high and lean in quality. w ith a rasping tone suggestive of bad temper. Listen as he would, Wain could hear no other voice but this one, co it was apparent tha* the owner of the voice was talking to himself. Y-et why should a

man rage in the fog and walk in the ■wood, ' as this man was doing? Wain scented a romance, or rather "copy," with the trained instinct of a journalist, and plunged forward to precipitate the adventure. He ran full into the arms, not of the approaching man, -but of a fir tree, as he judged from the low-growing branches, and fell half-stunned on the soaking ground. There he lay, half-con-scious, wlule the thin, angry voice shrilled through the darkness.. So high was the voice and so vehement the abuse that Wain fancied the speaker might be a woman. But what woman would risk such solitude and gloom and disagreeable weather? "Damn him!" said the unknown, who was moving swiftly towards the gate — as though he knew the locality well — and by this time W/iin became certain that the speaker was a man. " Hell have to give in. I must have this place. I believe be was en the point of yielding when I left him. I was a fool to go. I have a great mind to turn back and force him to consent. Hang the beastly Jew. He would have killed me, I believe, when told him what I knew of his past. But I'll not be beaten — I'll not be bested !" The man passed swiftly, almost brushing the -feet of the faJlen journalist. Wain guessed, rather than saw, that be was stout and short and bulky, by the exercise of that sixth sense which materialists scoff at. He was about to call out, but, as he had not yet collected his wits, did not do so. Or perhaps the eixth sense warned him that he was not to interfere with the doings of fate. But whatever might be the cause Wain held bis peace for 60 ticks of his watch/ Then he heard returning footsteps, and the bulky, squat form hurled itself past him again — this time up the avenue. . "I'll go back; I'll go back," said the man, so distinctly that the words might have been breathed in Wain's ear. "I = believe he will yield after all. I know too much about him. He'll have to sell the place or leave the town. I've set my heart en getting this pkee, and — Damn!" The. man stumbled, fell, and then, picking himself up, walked more* cautiously -long the avenue, stall using very bad language. Wain put his hands to his throbbing head., for one of the fir-r.ree branches had struck him fahTy on the forehead. What did it all mean ? Of whom was this angry little man talking? Why had he turnedt aeain to face his enemy? and who was his enemy, who wished him ill, and whom he was trying to force into doing his will? The journalist could not reply ■to these question.*, but, having a keen desire to hear the answers from the very oddity of the circumstances, he struggled to bis feet. Binding hi*, handkerchief over the cut on his forehead, he spread out hi«s hands and followed the "trail of tiha angry little man. Just as he took a step forward, ho heard a merry tuna whist fed, and became awaie that someone was entering the gate. On the impulse of the moment, Wain turned hastily and steDped forward. This time he did run into the arms of . man, and the man was a constable. "Hullo!" s>a.id the constable, immediately grasping the journalist, "who are you, and what are you doing here?" "I've lost my way to the Princess Hotel '"n this infernal fog !" explained Wain hastily. "A likely story," retorted' the const abls gruffly, "when I find you in Tanbuck Park." "It's the first time I ever heard the name." "Oh, I daresay," remarked the policeman sceptically ; "if you don't know the park, how did you olimb over the gate?" "I didn't. I found the gate open— that is, the smaller gate." "So it was," muttered the man, still keeping a firm grasp on his prisoner, for so he seemed to consider the journalist. "First time 1 ever found the gates, great or small, open at this time. Old Mo=-es-Mi-Egypt cenerally keens th-eno tightly closed. You left the gate open." he said, directly accvein,g his pii«onei ; "how dlid you get the key from old Aaron-on- | the-Rhine?" "I didn't get any key. and I don't know the Jew you are talking about." j "How do you know as I'm talking of a Jew?" asked the policeman, giving his victim a shake. "Because of the names you call him — fancy names, I suppose." "Never yon mino?' — with another shake; "what are you doing in Mr Benjamin Ezra's park ?" "Ben-Ezra !" cried W?rin, suddenly enlightened. "Why, he is the proprietor of the newspaper I work for — the Midnight Sun. I have come down here by his orders tc write the place up, and in this fog I left my hotel, to lose my way. I found «bat small gate oiiened, and came dv to pee where I was." "A likely story. If you — — " "See here, 'constable, " interrupted Wain, highly exasperated, "you have your bull's-eye with you. Why not use it and see if I'm the tramp you evidently take me for?" '"I don't ask you to tell me my duty," oiumbled the officer, but iv>veithel«-<i hitched round hi« belt and turned the light of the lantern on Wain'> face. "Whatever you say will be u.-ed in evidence against you," he concluded, *-o evidently he still mistrusted the journalist. " ! In the lantern light Wain appeared a> i a tall, slim man, vi ith a tanned, moas- | tiched countenance, and looked as though he had been a soldier, so alert and military was bis bearing. He wore a loose, grey overcoat, brown .shoe?, and a tweed cap. this la.«t bein^ brushed, back to afford room for the binding of a handkerchief over the wound inflicted by the bram h of the fir tree. The constable, not wanting ip native wisdom, saw that Wain was a gentleman, and released him -with a satisfied grunt, although he naved his dignity by a mistrustful speech. "I'll walk back with you to your hotel," he said, adjusting his belt, "and. see if you

are what you say you are — sir," this last j coming oivt doubtfully. ] "I shall be very glad if you will guide : me to the hotel,"' said Wain good- | humouredlv, and slipping his hand into • his packet ; "hake this, and do co. I am confoundedly hungry - and tired, as j I've been wandering round in this fog | for the test few Jfc^r^." | Being purely hiur«t*.i, the sight of half- j a-crown vanquished the last scruples of j the policeman. On the principle of the ] cook who knew tha+ a certain doubtful personage was a gentleman because he nore evening drees, the Bruntlea guardian of the peace was certain that Wain was honest because he handed ovei two-and-edx. "But you'll excuse me if I've been sharp, sir," he said, saluting, and now entirely respectful. "Mr Benjamin Ezra told me to keep a good lookout on his gate, in case of thieves." "Very naturally. But the gentleman's name isn't Benjamin." "Gentleman:" grunted the officer contemptuously. "Why, he ain't nothing but a measly money-lender, sir. And he says his name is Ben." "Quite so, but it isn't ijhort for Benjamin. Ben-Ezra means the son of Ezra/ "Live and learn; live and learn," said the constable judiciously ; "but I don't think much of him, anyhow, though I'm sorry to say so, sir, if he is a friend of yours." "He owns the newspaper for which I work," said Wain easily ; "my acquaintance begins and ends with him there. What'v? your name, constable?" "Dawkins, sir. Jim Dawkins." "Very -well, Mr Dawkins, take me to the Princess Hotel, and on the way tell me all you know about Bruntlea'. I promise you that I have not come down to commit a burglary, but to get information so as to write in the Midnight Sun about this place." "Will you give me a lift up, sir?" "Of course ; I'll < mention you as a highly efficient officer, who nearly arrested me as a tramp." "You will have -your joke, sir," said Dawkins, grinning. "What a judge of character you are, seeing you have known me only ten minutes," said Wain drily ; "but I see you respect the power of the press." "I want to be made a sergeant, sir," said Dawkins bluntly, "as there's a girl I could marry on better pay.* 1 ' Wain laughed. "Always the inevitable woman," said' li 3 lightly!" "Well, I wish you luck, Dawkins. ancl will do my best to further your ambition by the power of my typewriter." "Of the pen, sir." "Don't use one. Th type-writing machine to-day is greater than the pen. But come along ; I'm dying of hunger, and a drink of the best awaits you at the Princess Hotel." "Beg pardon, sir." said Dawkins, increasingly respectful now that he knew Wain could glorify him in print; -"but would you mind my going up to the hall, which ain't far away? I must see why tsi>? sate was open." "The smaller gate?" ".Small or big, sir, Mr Benjamin Ezra don't like the park left open to casual tramps, sir." "Surh as myself, eh, Dawkins?" "You will have your joke, sir," said the policeman again. "And you'll excuse me, sir if in the execution of mv duty " "There! there! that's all right, Dawkiiis. You are right to seize every opportunity of making yourself known as a zealous officer. Perhaps some day you'll capture a burglar ov a murderer, and then promotion will come." "Never have such luck, sir," said* Dawkins, gloomily shaking his head ; "there never is any crimes worth talking about in this place. I never saw such a virtuous set of people, sir," he anded, in disgust. "Including Mr Ben-Ezra?" "Well, he has got a name, sir, as a screw and a scraper, which is natural, he being a lop-sided Jew of sorts. Sold un a cousin of mine, sir, as borrowed thirty pounds and had to pay fifty in interest. But beg pardon, sir," said Dawkins, switching on to another subject : "you've hurt your head." "What keen eyes you have, only to ?ee that now," said Wain ironically. "It's a mere nothing. I ran my head against the branch of a tree and scratched it a trifle. But I can't stand here in the fog and the damp and th< da.rkn«=s any longer. Come up to the hall, and see Ben-Ezra." "We won't find him there, sir. It's Wednesday." "What do you mean by that?" "Well, I can hardly tell you. sir. It's j rum all round, to say the le«n«t of it. sir. Mr Benjamin Ezra keens the Hall up in fiis-l-class style, and has Mrs Jorvin as housekeeper to look after it. But he rloo.*n't live at the Hall, and only comes Saturday to Monday. Why he keeps it up no one knows, sir." Wain listened with a puzzled air. fhe angry little man had evidently come from seeing Ben-Ezra, since his language — hL. soliloquy, in fa<-t — stated that plainly. Yet Dawkins. who knew the town and the d 'limps of its inhabitants, seemed to be certain that lien-Ezra wa^ not at the Hall. "I am sura yon are mistaken," .-aid Wain, alter a pause, as the two walked caution -ly up the avenue through the murky atmo«plipie. "Ben-Ezra ha<; ju^t had a vi^itoj.'' Dawkins started. "Xo. sir ; you are iwoiig, sir Mr Benjamin Ezra never, never com«s to Tanbuck Hall dunng the week — and Jt'b Wednesday." Dawkina appeared to be very emphatic, and Wain ielt more puzzled than ever, since an element of mystery wa» now apparent. "Then who was the man I .-aw — or rather, felt — pacing me in the daikne^s when I was lying half-stunned under the fir tree?" "What's that, sir?" Dawkins pricked up his official ears, always on the alert to seize any chance which might tead to his promotion and mairiage. i

"U's an adventure," explained Wain carelessly, and proceeded to i-sll all that had happened to him since he had entered the park. 'Of course, i could not the man ia the gloom," he ended, ""out I got, in some way, an idea that he was stout and short and very bad-tempered. "With a high-pitched voice, rasping like a file:" "A very good description, Dawkins,"' eaid Wain approvingly; "that :s: s exactly the kind of voice I heard.' 1 "It soundis like Sir Giles Dove," muttered the constable, drawing a long an-d meditative breath ; "but, bless you, sir, he wouldn't come here and see Mr Benjamin when he hates him, as everyone eke does, like poison. And then Mr Benjamin would see anyone at his office : he> never seas anyone here, especially," ended the officer, "when this as Wednesday, and he ain't here." "Who is Sir Giles Dove?" asked Wain, seeking for information. "A rich gentleman, sir, though he isn't truly one. They do say that he made his money out of eggs and butter in London. Then foe became mayor of some Midland town, and was knighted 1 when the King passed through. After that he came her© with his money and his title and family-, to settle down and be a swell. Not that I think he ever will be,, sir," s:iid Dawkins in disgust, "Rich or poor, I like a rea? gentleman born. You're one, sir, as I can see ; but Sir Giles isn't. No, nor his ©on, Mr Reginald, .either, for all his fine clothes and university education. Then there's the governess — she's a caution. 1 shouldn't -like to " Here Dawkins, awaa*e that he was talking too glibly; suddenly stiffened and became pointedly official.*' "You'll excuse me, sis, 'but I must Attend to my business." And he stalked up the avenue. The officer apparently knew all th« fossip, great and small, of the neig'hboufood, and was exactly the man to question. But Wain was too weary to trouble about such information, and resolved to inquire from Dawkins the next day. Meanwhile, stumbling in the wake of the constable, he wondered over the enigmatic speech of che angry little man, and! whether he was indeed the wealthy knight spoken of so disparagingly. U so, he evidently had no great love foi Ben-Ezra the Jew, and seemed anxious to get the better of him in some bargain by tihreaits. Wain felt quite anxious ta see the Hebrew who was so hated. Al* though Ben-Ezra was the proprietor of th« Midnight Sun, the reporter had neve* come face to face with him, as all nego«" tiations had beer conducted by the editor.' Und'ar the trees the fog was denser than ever, and Wain felt as though h« were forcing his way through cotton' wool. Dawkins swung his bull's-eye lantern to right and left, and the two men picked their steps as best they could. No' sound broke the impressive silence, save the dripping of moisture from) streaming leaves, and there was not a breath of wind., For some moments, which seemed years in that nightmare atmosphere, Wain followed the policeman, and unexpectedly found himself walking on turf instead of gravel. By the comparative thinning of the fog, he became aware that they were crossing a large open space. Evidently, as Wain thought, they had reached the wide spread of the lawns immediately encircling the great mansion. • Suddenly — "What's that?" questioned Dawkins sharply, and naked with abruptness. He might well ask, for it was the sinister crack of a ebofr in the n-aar distance. The two men, paralysed for the moment, held their breaths. A second shot rang out tersely, and, as though released from a spell, the> simultaneously sprang ior-waa-d. In their haste one jostled against the other, and both . cam© to the ground. Ac they fell there came a third and final shot. "Poachers !" gasped Wain, struggling to his feet. "Not in -thi« fog and so .near tHe house," growled Dawkins, getting on his legs ; "old Abraham's in trouble : he's beart threatened often enough. Come along, sir, quick. I may have to ask you to stand by me in the King's name." But, owing to the tHick fog, the goal was not easily reached, and the two blundered aimlessly about. Suddenly; Wain crashed against the steps of a terrace and sprang, up these with a shout. His cry was echoed by a powerful, mellow voice, raised with" creait vehemence. "Help ! Murder ! PoTice ! Murder !" A dull yellow Lijrht, adiating from an open French window, glowed mistily through the murky air and blackness. The next moment Wain found himself face to face with a tall man holding a revolver. Ait his feet lay a motionless figure, blocking the entrance into the room. (To be continued.)