SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 328, 2 March 1910, Page 6

SERIAL STORY

A ROYAL WARD. By PERCY BREBNER. (Published by Special Arrangement.) CHAPTER XII. THE ESCAPE. Victor- Dubuisson looked at the woman as she pointed to the opening and declared it to be the way of escape. It was hardly wonderful that he should be uncertain ■whether lie were really awake even now. He bent over to look down into the darknes's, and then drew back as a hurrying sound came up suddenly to him. "Rats," said the woman in a whisper, and in a voice which trembled a little; 'they are not so dangerous as those who keep the key of that door." The 'hurried drawing-back and the woman's words had a stimulating effect upon Dubuisson. Some of his wonted strength seemed to return to him, Lis dreaminess fell from him; lie became less conscious , of the hot throbbing in his head, and alive to the fact that there was something to be done —and done quickly. Again lie looked into the opening. "It smells evilly," he said. ' "It is the way of escape," she an- | swered, "and sfuch ways are usually perilous; we do not willingly take them until they are the only ones left open to us." "But' how do I go?" he asked. The woman took up the coil of rope and showed him a huge staple firmly fixed into the wall. "Fasten one end here," she said, "carefully and securely. The hole is not very deep, but no one in this place knows that it is the entrance to a burred pass'age." "How do you know it?" "A friend told me." Victor fastened the rope securely to the staple, tested it with his weight to see that the knots were tight and that the staple was as firm as it looked; and his thoughts were working quickly the while. How was it that only this woman knew of this secret passage? Was it likely that his captors would be in ignorance of such a way out of their stronghold? Might not this woman have been sent to tempt him to escape by a road which meant certain death? He came slowly back fo the hole and let the rope uncoil Its length into the darkness. Again there was a scuffling I sound from below. ! The woman shuddered a little as' she picked up the lantern and began to un- : wind the string fastened to the head of i it. The room became black as the lan- ' tern was slowly lowered into the hole, lit came to rest presently, a few feet of the string still remaining in her hands. "'My friend was right about the depth," she whispered, "almost to a font. I purposelv had the string a little longer in case of a mistake." "You were thoughtful," .Dubuisson answered; "but one thing yon seem to have forgotten." "What is that?" she asked quickly. "To tell m'e how you got into this room. The door is locked, you say, and others have the key." "Another time 1. will tell you that." j "And when they come to find me pre- , sently, they will find you; how then?" ! "Find ine! Ah, I see you do not understand; do not trust me, perhaps. This afternoon II crept ont to listen at , the grating there is in the wall yonder, ! and they found me there. I was afraid J ' you were dead; and they struck me for j my pity. That blow drove into me the determination to cheat .'them. Good i fortune has favored me, but I dare not I stay behind. They would kill ine. You must take Jtae with you." j Victor remembered that the sound of ] a blow and a cry had come into his I ; dreams, and he hated himself for doubting this woman who was risking so ; much. "I have wronged you," he s'aid; "my | wits have worked slowly since recovering from that blow on the head." I "Go first, and I will follow," she said. | "There is a better way. The rope is \ stout; we will go together. They might | come at the very moment when I was powerless to help you. Let that string i to the lantern go, and sit down on the I edge of the opening. Here is the rope, sit clos'e beside it, vaur feet hanging down. Now wait." He grasped the 1 rope firmly with hands and legs, letting himself down. "Put your arms 'round i my neck, clasp them firm/y—so. You ' are no weight. Hold tightly. Now, unless the staple gives—M" j I He did riot complete the sentence. 1 As he began to lower himself, a key I was put into the lock and turned. The . I 6'udden tightening of the woman's arms told him that she had heard it, too, but she did not speak as Dubuisson quick- j ened his descent, tearing his hands a . little. They had touched the ground, I and the woman had caught up the lan- | tern and crouched back into what ap- j peared a deep recess before another lantern showeS dimly at the opening above, obscurely illuminating a face muffled to the chin and with a hat drawn down to the eyes. Dubuiss'on, Jeaning against the angle of the wall I by the recess, was looking up, certain j that the light from that dim lantern could not reach him, but he could not recognise who the man "yas. It was of j smafl consequence; he would learn from i the woman presently. |

The man continued to peer down into j: the hole for some time. He could hear , nothing, not even rats. _ i' "They'll be busy enough with him . presently," lie said, with an oath, and , he laughed. "It could not have been | better °if I had thought of such a scheme. I didn't know there was any rope here, but he's found it and gone down to his death. I wonder how lon- ■ ago?" , He caught hold of the rope and pulled it up a few feet. i "Limp," he said. "Fell from the end of it, probably." He carried the lantern to where the staple was fixed in the wall, and, put- , ting it down there, began to undo the I knots. The loosened end. when he let | it fall, slipped like a snake across the. floor and disappeared down the hole. Dubuis'son had to jump aside to avoid; it as it fell in a heap at his feet. "So the prisoner escapes," said tliC'j man. "We're rid of a danger, and' there's no one to blame. Excellent! . Excellent!" and he shut the trap, letting it fall with a bang. ; "That cuts off ail retreat," said' Dubuisson. "We must go on, Give me , the lantern." | The recess into which the woman had . crept was' evidently more than a recess, j The hole down which they had descend- ( ed pierced, in fact, the roof of a passage some six feet high, which ran to right < and left. , j 1 "Which way now?" Dubuisson askad. j "To the left. I feel certain my friend : said to the left, Yes, it was the left-) I am suve." Dubuisson remembered the position or the man who had looked down. ' "To the left from the position of facing the hole?" he as'ked. "Yes; he' must have meant that." 1 "It is by no means certain, but we must try that way, and if it leads to nothing, retrace our steps and try the j other. We must be thankful there n J not a greater choice open to us." , The passage was about six feet high, I and the width a man might span with . his arms' outstretched. Ihe floor was j full of loose stones, and in some places i soft and muddy. The smell seemed less , foetid now than it had done when lean-1 ing over the opening. The passage was j probably an old watercourse or ditch, j | which had been built over, and in time i I the water had dried up. Now it was . the home of rats, and the slurrying 'sound of them was constant as Dubuis-; ' son and his companion went cautiously forward. Dubuisson led the way, relieved that the light continued to burn, and the. woman followed close upon his legs. Once or twice she uttered a low exclamation of fear as the rats 1 , rushed past her, and a louder cry when | one brute sprang savagely at the light, i ' nearly knocking the lantern from Du- [ buisson's hand; but that she braved such a journey as this at all was eloquent to Dubuisson of the fear she must j have of those they were escaping from. |

Their progress was slow, for in such a ! place there was no knowing what pit- . falls tjfrere might be, and in places j walking was extremely difficult, either ] on account of the large stones and rub- ' liisli or the thick, slimy mud. I "lit is a long way," said Dubuisson ' presently, as he held up the lantern to make sure that the mud through which they were wading did not lead to danger. answered, as though she wished to encourage him. "It is strange that the people in the house uo nor, know of this' passage." ; "I am sure they do not," she rs- . turned. | They might know of It. mouisson ■ argued, know that there was no exit from it, know that whoever endeavored to escape this way was doomed to certain death; but he did not speak of these fears to his companion. "And how did your friend find out about it?" he asked presently. "He is a Stonemason, and when old j houses are pulled down or rebuilt these kind of places are often discovered. My friend is an old man, and pitied me. I fancy he thought I might one day have to run away, and should only be abla to do so secretly. He spoke of this passage when I told him that they had threatened to lock me up in that cellar, where you were." ' ''Was that long ago?" j "No." ; "Because the exit to this' passage ca*-, not be very conspicuous," said Dubuis-' son, "or others would have found it." |

"We come out underneath some houses which are partly pulled down," the woman answered. "They have been in a state of ruin for a long time, and are boarded round. I know the place." "The ruins may have blocked our way out," Dubuisson returned; "we mus't not be too sure that we are Hearing tlie end of our troubles." He did not want to frighten the woman, but he did not want her to be too sanguine. She was splendidly brave, and would be less likely to despair if she were prepared for the worst. ■ She i was put to the test almost immediately, ] for the lantern went out, and they were in pitch darkness. "Give me your 'hand, 1 ' he said quickly. "There is excellent companionship in touch." "And, after all, it was a very dim light," she answered, placing her hand in his. ' ' • So they went forward warily, stumbling often, yet courageous for if the woman gained strength from the man, the man took heart from the woman. Dubuisson forgot to consider Tiow really desperate their adventure was. One thing was certain: s'omewhere there must be an outlet from this place, or the air would have stifled them. For a little while Dubuisson thought that

it grew more foetid and harder to breathe, but as they wont on it uid not become worse; lie fancied, even, that it got better. i "I. felt as if the whul were blowing j on my face just then," said the woman suddenly, her thoughts evidently running in a similar groove. "It was wind, 1 can hear it." | They stopped to listen, and, if the hearing were fancy, it was certain that a, cool breath touched their cheeks. ; Without a word they went on again, and at every step the cool air becam# more apparent. "Is it still night?" asked Dubuisson suddenly. I "It should be near the dawn." I "I was wondering whether there ' would be light sufficient to show us the opening " he said. "We shall feel it, if we cannot see it," she answered. Rats scuttled by them again, nrnirfag ' over their foct, and Dubuisson felt the I woman's hand tighten upon his. "A sudden rush from the ruined I houses, perhaps," he said. "Indeed, Ii ! think we must be very near to the open air." They would have seen the opening | long before, for a very dim light would : have shown clearly in such a place, but j a sudden turn in the passage revealed i it, only a little way beyond them, and l at a higher level. Their way began to . | ascend, but they could not hurry, They had to climb over I'ough stones and j broken masonvy which had fallen into I the opening. The ascent was a matter "of difficulty and time, and, in helping ■j the woman, Dubuisson slipped many i times, bruising himself painfully. But i the light was reached at last, and they i stepped out on to a mass of rubbish. I surrounded by gaunt, broken walls. The stars were gone, and a grey dawn had come, a mist of rain in it. Their • hands were still clasped, and for the i first time Dubuisson fc'aw the face of his J preserver clearly. j "Thank you," he said! "You are the 'second woman who has given me my j life. How shall I ever repay such ! debts?" I •It | "Was the other's name Lady Betty?" j "What do you know of her?" he ■asked sharply, letting go her hand. | "Nothing; but you spoke her name I when I roused you from s'leep in the ! cellar yonder," and, bending down, the • woman tore a strip from the edge of an ,under petticoat. "Will you help me?" :she said, holding out her arm to him, "and bind this up?" "Blood!"' "When the rats ran by us just now, and I called out, one sprang at me, and as I struck at it caught cne here just ' above the wrist. It is nothing; but rats in the dark make me afraid." ' "You are a brave woman," DubuTss'on Isaid, binding up the wound. "Yes; Lady Betty was the name of the one; what is the name of the other?" j "Mary." I "Yes " ' '

I "She has no other name, since she i has run away from her husband." | "Whose name is Y' | "If you owe me anything, you can I pay me now," she said. "Ask me no ! questions. It would seem you do not know who your captors were; I will not betray them. The man T married i* a bad man, but I will not speak against him. Sir, I beg you, promise me this." "I promise. I believe 1 could be persuaded to speak in his favor if you asked me, since I owe you so much. .What are you going to do? Have rou '<thought?" I "Not vet." I- "Then, for the present, I must think for you. 1 have a plan which may bring you to a place of safety. Come, let us' find our way out of this ruiD. There will be few about so early to notice us, and those who see us will take us, perchance, for mad lovers, who preler the early dawn for tlieir lovfl-making to the I moon and the stars." I The boarding rou"M the ruined bouses had become ruinous, tbo. and they had no difficulty in creeping through it. Dubuisson argued that it would not do to go to his' lodging in King Street—his ■enemies might watch foi him there as soon as they knew of his escape—and he determined to go to Finley Baxter's. Dubuisson heard the American indulging in sleepy oath's as lie unfastened the dcor. To rouse him hact l)P«n a work of time, and although Dubuisson had s'houted his name, it was evident that Baxter had not awoke to the fqct who his early visitor wa3. He opened the door, and stood looki'ag at them with sleepy eyes. 'Will you take two wanderers in?" asked Dubuisson, "Who is she?'" asked Baxter. "My preserver " "They're more often the other thing; ! but come in, and wait until I waKe up. You roused me out of the bestdream I've had for years.'." Baxter's means of waking fiimself thoroughly were simple. He took a bottle and a glass from the cupboard, and drank. He was putting them away again, when Dubuisson stopped him. ' "Two more glasses. Baxter, and the bottle. We want drink sadly after what we have come through. You may as well put your head in cold water and finish dressing, for there is no more sleep for you to-day." "Why, your head's bruised." said Baxter. "You shall have the whole story when you are thoroughly awake. Mary, drink some of this wine. We have come through things together which need strong medicine, Baxter." "Well. I never expected to be a tavern-keeper," said the American; "and it seems to me this is over earlv to begin a carouse—with a wench in it, too." \ . (To be continued in next Saturday's issue.)