The Gold Magnet

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 1, 23 March 1927, Page 21

The Gold Magnet

By

T.C.Bridges.

CHAPTER I.—THE NIGHT MAIL. X cold drizzling rain had made Plymouth a misery, and it was with a 3 j g h of relief that Bruce Carey exchanged the greasy, draughty platform of North Road Station for the v.arm, well lit comfort of a first class jompartment on the night mail for London. At first he thought he was going to have the carriage all to himself, but ust as the train was on the point 0 f itarting a man jumped in and dropped on the scat opposite to Bruce. He was breathing hard as if he had been running, and Bruce, glancing up at him, was startled at the expression upon his face.

“Scared,” said Bruce to himself. “And precious badly scared at that.” While pretending to read his magazine, he covertly watched his neighbour. wondering meantime what could possibly have reduced him to such a condition. It was hard to imagine any cause for such terror on the prosaic platform of North Road Station. Nor did the man himself seen? the sort to yield easily to such terror. Though slightly built and turning a little grey over the ears, he was anything but a rabbit. His features were distinctly good, he had a strong chin and nose, and he was quietly but very well dressed. Bruce noticed that his hands were well shaped, with long and rather delicate fingers. In his left hand he held a ■mall leather bag which seemed of particularly sturdy construction. To Bruces surprise, he saw that it was attached by a chain to a belt around his waist, like the bullion bag of a bank manager.

At last the guard's whistle sounded, and the long' train began to move slowly out of the station. As it did so the man's set features relaxed a little, and with a long breath he sank back against the cushions. The train gained speed and soon was running eastwards at well over fifty miles an hour. Bruce began to read in earnest. but the other sat perfectly still, with eyes half closed. Half an hour passed, the train was nearing Newton Abbot when at last the stranger stirred and sat up. “Can you tell me when we are due at Exeter?” he asked. Voice and manner were well bred tad pleasant, and Bruce, laying down his magazine, took a time table from his pocket.

“Ten past one,” he answered. “Thank you very much. I am wondering whether I shall have time to get some food there. There is no restaurant car on this train.”

Bruce shook his head. ‘‘l am afraid you won’t be able to get anything at this hour. The refreshment rooms will be closed. But as it happens, I have sandwiches—more than I can manage. I shall be glad if you will •hare them.”

“It is most kind of you. I should be really grateful. The fact is that I have had nothing since breakfast.” He smiled as he spoke, a smile which lit his worn face very pleasantly. Brace quickly opened his bag, ancl, taking out a large packet of sandwiches, began to open them. “You must be starved.” he said. “Please begin at once. No, I assure you that you are not robbing me. I dined at the Loekyer and did myself well. Incidentally these are Loekyer sandwiches.”

“A good restaurant,” replied the other with his pleasant smile. “They ire excellent.” The ice thus broken, the two men were soon chatting freely, and Bruce found himself distinctly attracted by his chance acquaintance, who was evidently a man who had travelled a good deal and kept his eyes open while he did so. The talk drifted to mining aid Bruce's new friend began to talk o! the Malayan *tin mines which he ■<?emed to know well, but he pulled up wuddenly. “I am afraid I am boring you,” he apologized. That you are not,” Bruce answered quickly. I am a miner myself. But not tin. My specialty is gold.” “Gold!” repeated 'he other, and suddenly the scared expression which had been so noticeable when he first «ot into the carriage crossed his face again. /

Bruce was puzzled but at the same time interested. “Yes,” he said, “I have been prospecting in New Guinea. Indeed lam only just back. I got in this afternoon on the Maraku.”

"And there ip gold there?” asked the other. “Any amount. A lot of placer, but also tremendous bodies of ore. Evidently most of them are low’ grade, 80 it is no sort of mining for a poor man.”

“I see. You need capital, of course.” “That is what I have come home * or —that and another reason.” As he, spoke Bruco Carey’s good-looking face grew suddenly grim.. "There is no reason why I should not tell you,” went on Bruce. ‘‘A relative of mine—my half-brother in fact— has got into an ugly mess, and its up to me to get him out.” M “I am sorry,” said the other gently. I hope that you will succeed. And now will you tell me about your gold mine? it happens to be a subject in which I am deeply interested. May I mention that my name :is Egerton ““Stuart Egerton.” "And mine is Bruce Carey,” said Bruce with a smile. “Yes, certainly HI tell you about my mine.”

Bruce talked well. He described those dripping forests into whose steaming depths the sun never penetrates, the terrific gorges which cut deep into the foothills of the great mountain chain of New’ '-'Uinea. He spoke of tribes of almost unknown savages and of t*he uppalldifficulties which beset the prospector in this vast and still almost unknown Island. As he talked his keen brown face J 1 * up, and he pushed his fingers through his dark, crisp hair with a curiously boyish gesture. There was no c.oubt. about Egerton's interest. He leaned forward, eagerly, and once in a way growing in quick questions which Proved his knowledge of the subject. ••The train had long passed Exeter, it was thundering across the wide of Somerset, and Bruce was still talking, when suddenly he saw’ Eger°n Was no longer listening. His eyes tlxed upon the door leading into corridor, and in them was the p*lame look of stark terror as when Q had. first entered the train at Plymouth.

Instinctively Bruce glanced towiirds thf d OO1 ’- A face was pressed against n« glass in the upper part. A man’s ace, with a big. aquiline nose, a jutn 8 chin, and eyes of a cold grey. It the hardest, cruellest face Bruce ever *ieen.

Author of * 4 The Whip Hand,'* “ The Price of Liberty " The Home of Her Father*, ** &c., &c.

“So he is here! *He is in the train!” gasped Egerton, and in his voice there was a note of absolute despair. Bruce was on hi» feet in a flash, and sprang towards the door. It S ,Vi ck \ a , and before he could j slide it back the face had vanished. Bruce strode rapidly first up, then uowri the corridor, looking into each compartment as he passed. But several were darkened by a cap over the lamp, and in the others he could see no one remotely resembling the watcher at the window. He came back. "You—you saw him?” asked Egerton, in a breathless whisper. “No. He has either reached another coach, or he is in one of the darkened carriages. I—l gather he is not a friend of yours?” “He is my worst enemy. He is a blackguard, a thief, a man whose God is rnortey and whose heart is stone.” Egerton did not raise his voice in the least, yet the deadly earnestness with which he spoke was proof positive of the terror with which this man inspired him. Bruce sat down again, waiting to hear more. “He is trying to rob me of my life’s work.” went on Egerton feverishly. “I thought—l believed that I had dodged him in Plymouth. But now he is on the train. Now I shall never escape him. See here!” He whipped his soft hat off and bent forward. On top of the scalp was a long, narrow bald patch seamed wdth the red scar of what must have been a terrible wound. • * T, hat is the relic of our last meeting,” he said. For the moment Bruce could find nothing to say. He realized that he had suddenly run upon stark tragedy. Before he could think of suitable words the steady roar of the ti*ain was interrupted by a harsh, grinding sound. There was a shock which hurled Bruce forward on to the opposite seat. The whole carriage seemed to lift under him. A tremendous crash, stars glittered in a dancing shower before his eyes—then for a time he knew nothing more. CHAPTER lI.—BRUCE TAKES CHARGE. Rain—cold rain splashing on his face was the next thing of which Bruce was aware. He stirred and opened his i eyes. His head sang like a kettle, he ' felt stupid and dazed, and though he j tried hard he could not imagine w r here he was or remember W’hat had happened. It was dark, yet the darkness was lit by a red glow’. Somewhere there was a steady crackling so-und. Bruce felt he knew that sound, and that there was danger in it, yet he could not place it. By slow degrees his brain began to work again, and he realized that he was lying flat on his back, looking straight up into the night sky, from which the rain fell steadily. There was a cushion beneath him, one of the seat-cushions. It lay across a mass of wreckage, and it came to Bruce that this wreckage was one end of 111©- compartment in w’hich he had been travelling. The carriage, shattered to matchwood, lay on its side at the bottom of a low embankment. There had been an almighty smash. That much became clear. With an effort he managed to sit up. He was still abominably giddy, and his head pained him. Putting up his hand, he found a cut in his forehead. But it was not a bad one, and it seemed to be his only injury. “My lucky day, evidently,” he said, half aloud. The crackling became louder. A puff of hot smoke blew’ down upon him. “Good God. the train is afire!” he said, and struggled to his feet. Through the crackling came a moan, and in a flash Bruce remembered his fellow traveller. A jet of flame lit the gloom and by its light Bruce saw Egerton’s tortured face not a yard away. Only his face and shoulders were visible. The rest of him was hidden —pinned under a mass of wreckage. The sight drove everything else out of Bruce’s mind, and flinging himself upon the broken timbers he began tearing them aside with his bare hands. It was time, too. That ominous crackling was louder every moment, and the ugly red glare grew stronger. The fire was eating fast through the wreckage. In the distance w r ere shouts, a crash of axes on planking, and presently shocking screams. Bruce hardly heard these sounds. All his e-.ergies were centred on the release of poor Egerton. After all the unfortunate man had suffered, to meet such an end as this seemed to Bruce too dreadful and pitiful. He worked with a set and savage energy, and at last, using a broken piece *of planking as a lever, managed to raise the mass of stuff which lay across Egerton’s body. He stooped, and got his arm around the other.

Egerton groaned terribly. “I can’t stand it,” he said, hoarsely. “Leave me where I am.”

"Man. 1 can’t. The fire is on us,” answered Bruce, and hardening his heart picked up the unfortunate man bodily, and with a great effort lifted him clear. Staggering away to a safe distance, he laid him down on the soaking grass by the edge of the line. The scene was grotesque in its horror. The wreckage was now blazing fiercely, and the criaison glow lit up the figures of men who toiled furiously to rescue the poor creatures trapped in the burning carriages, and of others who ran wildly to and fro seeking for lost wives or sisters, husbands or sweethearts. The screams of were terrible beyond description. , TT . Egerton lay like a dog. His eyes were closed, his face grey and ghastly. Only his slow breathing showed that he was still alive. .. . Suddenly Bruce remembered that he had a flask in his pocket. With difficulty he got a few drops of whisky down Egerton’s throat, and almost at once the unfortunate man’s eyes opened. “You are better?’ said Bruce

linxiuusi.v. . ~T Egerton smiled —a pitiful smile. I shall never be any better,” he answered quietly. “My chest is crushed.” Bruce’s heart ached. “My dear iellow.” he said gently, “you can’t possibly tell. Let me fetch a doctor.” Egerton stretched a thin hand. “No!” he said forcibly. “I cannot last many minutes. I am certain of that. Stay with me, Carey, I beg that you will stay.” Ho paused, gasping for breath. ‘I am not sorry,” he went on presently "Sot for myself, at least, faince my wife died. I have not cared greatly to live. Were it not for my daughter. I could go without a regret.” He stopped and looked hard at Bl “Carey,” he continued. “We are only •casual acquaintances, yet somehow I j feel that I can trust you. Will >ou do, something for me?” 1 -Of course,” Bruce answered quietly.

“Wait! This is a big thing that I am asking. It means that I leave you a legacy of great danger, yet at the same time one of immense profit.” “The danger that you speak of has to do with the enemy of whom you have told me?” “That is so. Listen now, for I have not much time. You have noticed this bag I carry. In it is contained an invention on which I have spent the best years of my life.” Again he paused. His voice was weaker, and Bruce dosed him again with whisky. “You are aware,” he said, “that an ordinary magnet attracts three metals, iron, nickel and cobalt. Twenty years ago it occurred to me that it might be possible to construct a magnet which would attract gold in & similar fashion. An American named Macarthy began experiments of this kind, and was on the right track, but he died, and I purchased his notes from his executor and went on with the experiments. I have no time left to explain the immense difficulties which I encountered, nor how I surmounted them. Enough to say that in the end I succeeded, and a few months ago perfected a new form of magnet which attracts gold, silver, copper and tin, exactly as an ordinary magnet attracts steel.” Bruce stared. The story was crazy, incredible. (To be continued to-morrow.)