In The Flashlight

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 626, 1 April 1929, Page 5

In The Flashlight

By

Bernard. Rowthorne

Author of “The Jewels of Sin.” “The Shadow of the Yamen," Etc.. Etc.

CHAPTER XXII. (Continued >. “No!" answered the footman, flashing a meaning glance at Margaret. ‘They’re there all right, where they should be.” “Don’t feel as if they were,” stammered the man, a, puzzled look on his face. The footman looked at the man's legs, then, quite deliberately, he pinched one of them. Tae owner of the leg gave no sign. The footman tried the other, and still the iujured man did not move. Again the manservant shot a significant glance at Margaret, then he spoke to the man again. “Have a little more brandy, will you?” “Don’t mind—if I do!” said the mau, speaking a little less clearly than he had previously done. Taylor administered the brandy, little more than a drop at a time. In a few minutes the man asked suddenly, "Do you think I’ll —I’ll—set over this, Miss?” Margaret, whom he addressed, was in a quandary, not knowing what to say. and the footman came to her rescue. “We don’t know, chummy, till we’ve got you to the doctor. Where did the car get you?” “In the hack. I reckon.” “And you can’t feel your legs?” *‘N—o!“ There was a look of dawning comprehension on other s white face. He tried to lift himself as if to look at his legs, and failed, while a groan was torn from him. Then he looked at the footman, and there was horror in his eyes. “I say.” he whispered hoarsely. “Has my back gone?” “1 wouldn't be sure.” said the footman. “But I’ve seen fellows like you —in France; an’ when they were moved ” “Then don't move me yet—l won t take no risks—l must —clear my soul -‘-first.” To Margaret it was clear that the man recognised that he was well within the shadow of death: but he spoke with an extraordinary compos-

ure, though there was a tinge of bitterness in his tones as he resumed a little gaspingly. “It's rough luck —just when 1 Imd my hands on a fortune . But maybe it's because I had that this has happened. T had money coming—pots of it. An’ I'd been celebrating—an’ ’’ He interrupted himself, and his eyes sought Margaret. “I say, Miss, do you know this young swellthat's to be tried for his life?" you mean Noel Mayhew?” asked Margaret, a sudden eager light of anticipation in her eyes. “Th»t’- the man. Well—l guess he isn't due to he hung, now—l can’t have that —on my conscience—for five thousand pounds—that I’ll —never handle, an - that —that’ll do me no good.” He spoke to Taylor. “Say, chum, just feel in this money belt —of mine. I guess—l can't reach it.” Taylor stood over him and as he did so the mau spoke again. “It’s a key with a brass label—in the leather pocket.” The footman found the key, and held it before the man's eyes. “Yes. That’s it. Only to think there's a—a man in the world —in this parish who'll give a fortune —-for that bit of steel. Give it to the young lady.”

With a look upon his face that expressed quite plainly his belief that the man's mind was wandering, Taylor handed the key to Margaret, who took it wonderingly. “There, Miss.” the man whispered hoarsely, “you’ve a—man’s life —in your hand: an' my soul's clear of the —the great transgression. Take that —to —to the Chief of Police —or to that young—-young swell’s lawyer—an' they won’t —hang him this time.” “'But " Margaret began, looking at the key bewilderingly. “I don't understand how ”

“Chancery Lane Safe Deposit. That’s ; a ir e y ” said the man with a sudden spurt of strength. “Do what I I tell you—-an'—an' that young swell's ! a free man in the morning.” Margaret did not understand, but j the man’s earnestness convinced her. i “I will take it.” she said, “and if you I are right my gratitude is yours till I die.” “That's all —right!” said the man hoarsely. “How about —the —stirnu- I lant?” Taylor gave him a little more brandy; aud then spoke to Margaret, j “If vou'll excuse me. Miss Melford. I ! think it would be as well if you were j to take the car and go for help, and for the doctor if he’s finished with Mr. j

Donald. I wouldn’t like to take the responsibility of moving him —as he is.” “I will go at once," said Margaret, and immediately went to her car, and started for Mayhew Court, the key, which, as she was now convinced, meant so much to Noel Mayhew, inside her glove, pressing against her palm. CHAPTER XXIII. Having reached the court once more Margaret encountered the doctor just | as he was descending into the halt 1 and when she had given him news of the other patient awaiting him, asked about Donald. “He came off lucky,” said the doc tor. “Deft leg fractured, and a nasty cut in the head, but nothing tc worry about, if he cau keep a- quiet mind. The trouble is that he is sc concerned about his brother that I’m afraid he won’t be able to do so. 1 gather that he had a very consider able shock when lauding from the African boat this afternoon, he found that Noel was charged with the mur der of the woman whom he is sup posed to have married. He ——” “But Noel never married the poor woman. He never even saw her tin til the other day- ” “That is his story, of course, out many people will be disinclined tc credit it.” “Thee- will have to, 1 think,” said Margaret exultantly. “You know’ something. Miss Mel ford?” asked the doctor, quickly. “Yes —enough to convince any jury I have found the letter that Noel said the woman wrote to him, and I have seen her father ” “Her father?” “Yes. He is at the Mayhew Arms j having read in the newspapers of the murder of his daughter, and hurried here. He has seen the letter, .and he will testify that it is his daughter's handwriting.” “That is great news!” cried the doctor. “And for Noel's sake I am delighted.” “There is another thing—rather mysterious as yet —but which I gather is itself sufficient to save Noel further trouble. But I think that must not be mentioned as I do not know what it is yet, and it is better, whatever it is, that it should come as a surprise.” “I understand,” said the doctor. “So there is no need for Donald to worry abcrtit Noel. I think if I were to see him " i “Do! It will set his mind at rest, though at first it may prove a little exciting. You won’t stay long?” “Five minutes —ten at the most.”

} ‘•That will be long enough. I shall 3 trust you not to make it longer. I must hurry away now to that other , poor fellow, though from what you 1 tell me, I’m afraid it won’t be very , much use. Good-night, Miss Melford.” “Good-night, doctor.” Accompanied by the housekeeper, r the girl went upstairs to Donald Mayhem’s room. She found him looking very white and shaken, the band-

i age round his head making him look ' even worse than he was, but his eyes lit up with pleasure as he saw her. “You are not to talk,” he said, “and I am not to talk to you long. But I have news so good that the. doctor thought that it would do you no harm to hear it.” “About Noel?” he asked quickly, j “Yes.” And forthwith she launched into a brief account of her finding of the | note, of her visit to Freedlam, and I of the mysterious key given to her

by the man who had been knocked down by the car. “I don't know what is the secret this key will unlock; but the owner of it is that What this key holds secure will exonerate Noel. He spoke of a fortune that It had meant for him, but just how that fortune was to come to him I don’t know.” “Sounds as if there was someone behind the business who was willing to pay him handsomely to keep that secret.” “Yes; t thought of that. But. you mustn’t talk. It is enough to know that within a day or two at most Noel will be back here with this stigma completely removed." “I shall be jolly glad to see him,” said the young man with conviction, “though, of course, his return will knock all my poor chances on the head.” Margaret’s face flushed rosily. She understood his reference, and she did not deny the implication. “You must not talk,” she said. “And you must not worry. I am going now.” “Home?” “No! I am going to Mr. Strickland, your family solicitor. I was ou my way there when I found you by the wavsi(le.” “Rather an unusual hour for a professional call, isn’t it, Margaret?” “Yes; but the circumstances are unusual.” “True! And Noel’s a lucky fellow; but. after all he’s gone through, he deserves his luck, ail of it—even you, Margaret." Margaret flushed again. At that moment she recalled Noel’s face when she had struck him with her whip, and she grew hot with shame. Then, telling herself that now she was atoning, she rose and turned to the door. “Goodnight, Don!” “Good-night, Margaret! And luck he with you.” Four minutes later she was in her \ car and gliding down the road, and in ; a very short time she had reached the ■ scene of the accident, where she drew , up to find the village constable aud j the footman receiving directions from the doctor. She did not look at the j still figure lying on the grass, where i it had been removed from the further j side of the hedge. She knew instinctively that the man was dead, and the doctor’s first words were almost unnecessary. “As I expected, Miss Melford, I was of no use. The man died the moment we started to more him. We’ve just been going through his pockets. There’s not much there, only au old letter or two from which it appears that he Is some sort of a naturalist, and the constable has an idea that he has been staj-ing at one of the farms hereabouts. When the news is known, no doubt the police will soon find out all about him.” A sudden thought came to Margaret. “Doctor,” she said in a low voice, “do you think the news ought to get about --yet?” The doctor stared at her in some surprise. I'm afraid 1 don'-t under-

stand what you’re driving at, Miss Margaret.” “No, of course not. I .was forgetting j that I had not told you all that hap- j pened. But you remember what I ; told you about another thing that j would help Noel ” “Of course! Something ‘rather mys- j terious,’ you said. 1 ’ “Yes; and it has to do with that poor man there.” As succinctly as she could she gave l him an account of the mysterious key, . and the doctor listened in growing wonder until she had finished, then he i offered comment. “By Jove, Miss Margaret, 1 believe i you're right. The news of this man s I death must not get about yet, nor even I his name be mentioned un.il that key has unlocked his secret. I’ll talk to the constable ” “And to the footman, please. He was there when the man gave me the key. He heard him tell me that a man's life hung on it. It is just the i kind of thing to furnish exciting gos- j sip for the servants’ hall.” “And for the more exalitd places,” j

said the doctor. “But I will talk to Taylor. I happen to be a J.P., and I think I can impress upon both the constable and him the need for silence until the ban is removed. I’m glad you thought of it, otherwise the real criminal, whoever he is, might have heard and, forew-arned, have made good his escape.” “Yes! That is what I was thinking. But I must push on now. Good-night.” Once more she resumed her way. and in a little over 20 minutes drew up at the private house of the Mayhews' family lawyer. The hour was late for a country town, and a surprised maidservant answered her ring, while a more surprised lawyer heard the announcement ofjher name, and hurried to meet her. "My dear Miss Melford,” he said, “this is an unexpected pleasure ” “You mean that it's a shockingly late hour for me to call, don't you, Mr. Strickland?” she said, with a smiling glance toward the clock. (To be continued daily.)