The Splendid Sacrifice

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 227, 14 December 1927, Page 5

The Splendid Sacrifice

By

J.B Harris-Burland.

Author of: The Half-Closed Door," “ The Black Moon," " The Fetgale Taint." *' The Poison League." *c.. 4c

CHAPTER XI. (Continued) Mary smiled and made no answer. This was an Arthur Britton that she had not seen before—a stern-faced man with a hard voice. “An old lover, perhaps?” he queried. Mary knelt by the rire and held out her hands to the blaze. She was very cold, but her brain was hot with fever. She could not think clearly. Then she felt her husband’s hand on her shoulder. “Mary,” he said quietly, “there’s something wrong—l don’t understand —what is it?—You are keeping something from me.” How easy it is to make plans and adhere to them when one is in a normal frame of mind. But once let the balance of the mind be shaken, and the plans are blurred, and there is nothing to take their place. “Come, Mary,” he said, “there must be no secrets between us.” He knelt by her side and took her in his arms. “Mary, dear,” he whispered, “we are one—in the sight of God. Your face —I can't forget it—the sorrow and fear in your eyes—the way you looked at me. Mary, I love you so much that I must share all your troubles. Who is this man?” “A blackmailer,” she answered in a low voice, and it seemed to her that some power was forcing her to speak against her will. “A blackmailer?” queried Britton. “But, Mary, dear, what on earth—What do you mean. Mary?” "I have tried to keep it all from you,” she continued in a curiously level voice. “It was before 1 married you —I should have told you all about it. But I was a coward —and now I must tell you, or I shall ruin you—l want your help.” She paused, and then suddenly she cried out passionately, “Oh, I have wanted your help all along, and yet I dared not tell you.”

“But now, dearest, you w r ill tell me everything.” he said gently. Mary was silent. Her mind was calmer. Though she had confessed nothing, she felt as though she had confessed everything. Her mind swung back to Its even balance, and she suddenly saw the whole situation clearly —as one sees things clearly after rain. She saw that she would either have to tell him the whole truth, or nothing at all. To accuse herself of the theft would be to inflict upon him a most horrible punishment—to strike down the man she loved with a lie. And yet she could not tell him the whole truth. Even to her husband she could not give away Joan’s secret. She struggled to free herself from his arms, and he let go of her. She sprang to her feet, and cried out: "Don’t ask me—don’t ask me. I can’t tell you—l can’t —I can’t. It’s no good asking me. I’ve been mad to say anything.” He did not move. He still knelt there by the fire. His hands were flasped together on his breast. His head was bowed. His lips did not move, but she fancied that he was Praying, as she saw him kneeling there. She was tor- between tlie defire to set his mind at rest —to find her own peace and happiness—and the instinctive feeling that it would be mean and dishonourable to give away her sister’s secret.

Arthur Britton rose to his feet. "I want to take this burden from your shoulders.” he said simply. Mary shook her head. “Not now Pot yet.” she faltered: “I was mad—l have been talking nonsense.” "You’d rather I went and got the truth out of this—this Mr. Smith?” A quirk gleam of hope came into her *Ves. That would be the best solution. after all. She would not be forced to tell her husband a lie. This Mr. Smith would not mention Joan. As for herself, she would not have to confirm or denv the statements of a blackmailer. It' would be easy enough for her husband to verify them. "I can tell you nothing.” she said, af ter a long silence. “You must do you please about Mr. Smith.” She left the room, and Arthur Briton pressed his hands to his eyes. It "as almost as though his faith in God lad been shattered? , “Her lover?” he said to himself, and

then aloud: “Xo, no—not that—not that.’ 1 But the poison was In his blood. He left the house, and walked mile after mile, until at last he flung himself down on the wet grass of a field, and buried his face in his arms. He did not return home until after midnight. CHAPTER XII. Sir Richard Pynson heard the loud whirr of a bell—heard it in his sleep, as part of a dream in which he was driving a motor-car fiercely through a crowded street. It was the alarm of a tram bell, and the great bulk of the tram was bearing down on him, threatening to crush him between its own tall side and a tremendously high stone wall. He gave a cry of terror, and awoke. And the bell was still ringing —a small bell close to the head of his bed. There were a few moments of inacton —while he was still dazed with sleep. Then he sprang out of bed. The bell was an alarm, connected with numerous fine wires buried in the floor of the library, and joined up with the interior of the safe. It was

only necessary for a burglar to stand near the safe, and touch it with his hands, for the circuit to be completed. Sir Richard touched the mechanism of the bell, and the sound ceased. He had no wish to rouse his wife, who was sleeping in the adjoining room. The door between the two rooms was closed, but it was a thin door —a modern piece of work. Sir Richard did not hurry himself. There was plenty of time, for the most expert burglar in the world could not have opened that safe in less than two hours unless he had the keyword to the combination. Sir Richard put on a sweater, a coat, and a pair of trousers. He even put on his socks and boots, for he had heard stories of a barefooted man being absolutely at the mercy of a burglar who had escaped from the house. One cannot cross open country with bare feet or even in a pair of bedroom slippers.* So Sir Richard put on his boots of white buckskin, soled with indiarubber, and fastened the laces tightly. Then he opened a drawer, and took out an automatic pistol and an electric torch. He tested the light of the torch, and pulled out the clip from the pistol to see if there were plenty of cartridges in it. He remembered a very notable burglary where the owner of the house had been killed,

because an accomplice of the burglar, a servant in the house, had previously removed all the cartridges, and rendered the pistol useless. It was characteristic of Sir Richard Pynson that he went so deliberately to work when there was no need for haste. Some men would have .rushed downstairs in their pyjamas, and placed themselves at a disadvantage. But Sir Richard knew that he had plenty of time, and ho had not even forgotten his braces. He poured a little whisky into a tumbler, added an equal amount of water, and drank the mixture. He was not in need of Dutch courage, but it was a cold night, and the chase might take him far from home. Then he rang the bell for his valet, and a few minutes later the man appeared, very sleepy, and wearing one of Sir Richard’s old dressing gowns. “There is a burglar in the library, Simpson,” said Sir Richard, speaking as quietly as though he were giving orders about a suit of clothes. “You will rouse the butler, and all the footmen. You will kindly dress yourselves, and look sharp about it. You

will make no noise, and wait in the hall, behind the oak screen. I may not want your help, but if I do you must be there to come to my assistance. Look sharp, and put on rubbersoled shoes, if you have them. If you have not, go down in your socks.” Simpson, a thin, sallow-featured man, with black hair, shivered. “What about defending ourselves, sir?” he asked. “Oh. take a stick, a poker—anything. But don’t worry about that—l am armed. The man can’t escape unless he shoots me, and if that happens one of you can pick up my pistol.” Simpson took his departure. Sir Richard Pynson smiled as he thought of the burglar working so swiftly and carefully on the great steel mass of the safe. Perhaps there were two, or even three, of them. He would get them unawares. Of course, they would have locked the door. But there was another door, concealed behind one of the book shelves. He could open that, remove a few of the books, and watch them at their work. The.re would be a light in the library. They could not work in darkness. It would take them at least two hours to open the safe, and not until they had opened it would they see the wires that had given the alarm. iTo be Continued.) j