SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 389, 14 May 1910, Page 9

SERIAL STORY

By PERCY BREBNER. J

A ROYAL WARD.

WS~" (Published by arrangement with Cassell and Company, Ltd., publishers. of London and Melbourne, the proprietors of the Copyright). CHAPTER XXVIIi. OTHER TRAVELLER OX THE ROAD. The crowd succeeded in dragging the coach from the ditch and putting it an upright position oil the roadside. Richards, the wheelwright, with his hands thrust into his pockets, looked at it and kicked the broken wheels with his foot. : "He won't go early to-morrow morn-1 ing, unless he walks," said he. "I've got something better to do than work just at present." "Can't you patch it up nohow, Richards?" '"I might." '•You've got a pair o' good wheel? at your place what would do, very like;'' "I may have, and I may not. What's certain is that there ain't no wort going to .be done to-night nor early to-morrow morning. Sir Rupert ain't been in any hurry to come down into Devon, so a little slow, going now won't hurt him." Some of his companions laughed ana applauded him, others tried to persiy.de him; but Richards took no notice of either. He thrust his hands deeper into ■his pockets, as though he were afraid that if he took them out he might be tempted to do the work, and walked away. Some lingered for a. few minutes beside the disabled coach, and then followed him. The road became deserted, not a sound echoed along it from either \yay. So it remained for an hour or more, and then far away -was the rythmic beat of horses' hoofs, drawing nearer rapidly. They came to the bend oi the road, and both riders pulled up sud denly. "The coach, Dubuisson—broken down.'

They walked their horses on to the grass by the roadside, and dismounted. "Two wheel| smashed," said Dubuisson. "And the traces cut," said Baxter. "This doesn't look like an ordinary accident. I shouldn't wonder if this infernal mob we've had the good luck to miss has had a hand in it." Dubuisson did not answer, as he stood trying to see into the darkness along the road. At Exeter they had not been able to get news of the coach. It was unlikely, they were told, that any private conveyance would attempt the journey for a few days. .Several people had been pretty roughly handled lately. It wasn't safe for them to go on. This warning, of course, did not stop them. The coach would probably avoid Exeter, as it had avoided other places whenever possible, they argued. .So they rode on, keeping a' sharp look-out for signs of tli£ mob, prepared to turn aside to avoid it if there were any chance of doing so. From a boy they* learnt presently that a coach had passed not two hours before. Only two hours in front of them! Surely this was the coach, broken on the roadside. smashed, perhaps, by the mob. What had become of the passengers? Victor remembered what they had been told in Etfeter—that several people had been handled brutally—and' shuddered,

a horrible picture of Betty in the hands of these scoundrels rising up before hirti. Yet here in Devon she might be safe, even from the mob. ' *'l think I know this place, Baxter," lie "said nuldenlr: "I am convinced I do.

When I first rode to London, we came to this point, and heard of soldiers on the road in front of us. Sir Rupert turned aside to an old coaching road. I remember the inn there. The path should go up through the plantation close here." The path was found, and they led their horses along it, ■whispering eagerly

together. This might he the end of the pursuit, and the end might require the greatest care of all. The result of their conference was that the horses were

tethered on a small green patch in the plantation, and the men crept silently amongst the trees towards the back of the house. They went a litt'ie out of their way. but there were soon lights to guide them. They dared not go rouna to the green in front, but they looked up at all the windows' at the I>ack, and stole carefully round to the side of the ■house. A blind there 'was awry, and Dubuisson approached stealthily and peeped in. He drew back, so quickly that Baxter, fearing a noise rather than hearing one, whispered "Hush!" ".Sir Rupert Ashton is there," said Dubuisson, 'his voice a little unsteady from excitement. "He is talking to someone, but I cannot see the other; I wonder " "Not whether you shall go into him boldly?" said Baxter. "No. Evertsen is not with LadyBetty, perhaps " "Perhaps Sir Rupert is; helping his relative, maybe. We must wait, Dubuisson; there are too mjiny people about for us to attempt anything yet." "Wait! wait!" exclaimed Dubuisson. "Yes; what else can we do? Chance may deal us a trump card. We will give her the opportunity, while we take our bearings of this /place. It may help us ■presently to thoroughly know our ground. First, in which direction exactly are our horses?" They examined the outhouses, rejoiced that a tub, lying on its side and held from rolling about, which had evidently been used as a dog-kennel, had no tenant to-night. By a woodshed lay a ladder, a longish one and sound, Baxter declared. So the minutes passed—long minutes they -were to both these men, whose natural inclination was to rush upon their enemy. "The furious driving is explained," Dubuisson whispered. "I have heard tales of his driving. It used to be a favorite sport of his." "A good many things are explained/ said Baxter. "The whole business is too clever to be Evertsen's arrangement." "But what is Sir Rupert's object?" "That I don't know; but I think we may fairly reckon him amongst our enemies." "I cannot understand it. I am as a child in the dark," and then Dubuisson felt Baxter's hand laid sharply upon his arm. There was a streak of light from an open door, and a serving-maid came out and hurried to the wood-shed. As she went in, Baxter seized her, his hands over her mouth. "This is chance's trump card, I reckon," he said. "Question her, Dubuisson. Have no fear, my girl, we are not going to hurt you. Nod for 'yes,' shake your head for 'no'; .but if you attempt to utter a sound 111 throttle you." "Are there two ladies in the house?" Dubftisson asked.

The girl nodded. ''Coach broken down?'' She nodded again. ''Can you give them a message?" She shook her head as vigorously as she could, with Baxter's hands about her. "Not for a guinea V" She neither nodded nor shook her head at this question. "There are dilliculties in saying 'yes' or 'no' to that," Baxter remarked. "Look here, my girl, are you in love? - ' She nodded, rather shyly, it seemed. "So am I. so is my friend here, with the ladies yonder. Will you promise not to scream if I let you go ?" She nodded. "If you do, it will be the Inst sound you will ever -utter." Then he released her. "Xow, my girl, why can't you deliver a message?'' Dubuisson asked. "Someone would see me." "Does someone always see you when you steal out to your lover?" asked Baxter. "Xo, sir." "I thought not. You wouldn't be a woman if you couldn't manage that little deceit; and you're no,t much of a I woman if you cannot manage to deliver j a message without being caught." "They're in their room, perhaps in bed." "Which room?" Dubuisson asked. "It's got a 'window round the side of the house yonder." "I'll write a message," he said; "you can slip it under the door. Will you do it? Here is a guinea, if you will." "I'll do it," she answered. The message was written in the dark —no wonder it was hardly legible—and, picking up the wood she had come for, the girl 'went quickly back to the house. "Will she do it?" whispered Dubuisson, when he told Baxter what he had written.

"I think so. We'll creep round and watch the windows." This side of the house had a doublegabled roof. In the front portion, on the ground floor, was the room in which I Dubuisson had seen Sir Rupert; there were windows above, but they were ] dark. In the rear portion there were no windows on the ground floor. It looked as if a room had at some time or other been enlarged, for a 'projection, with a slanting room, had been built out here. There was only one window above, curtains drawn across it, but there was a light in the room. "I hope they are there," Baxter whispered. "We may get a ladder against that window without being heard. Sir Rupert may hear us if we have to tackle those other ones." '•'We can wait," said Dubuisson. He was, perhaps, the calmer of the two now. So they waited, watching for the signal, hope and courage in their hearts. I On the ground-floor, where the blind was awry, Sir Rupert sia-t on one side of a small table, Captain Hyde on the other. The captain had entered the inn soon after the party from the broken coach, but for a time no .private conversation had been possible. There were too many customers about, all eager to have a word with Sir Rupert, chiefly to ask him questions. They were all men engaged in rebellion, brothers in a common cause, and many of them treated •Sir Rupert with a familiarity to which he was unaccustomed, but which lie did not resent just now. His thoughts were with the woman upstairs, and it was about her they Would talk and ask questions. Most of these men had heard of

Lady Betty Walmisley, of Abbots

Chase; soni? had seen toy perhaps', but no one had recognised her as she passed ed into the inn. They were eager to know who the lady was. "Brought a woman with him, has he?" said Hyde. "Aye, and a pretty one, too," was the answer. "Order drinks, Sir Rupert, and name •her." said another.

"The drinks by all means," Sir Rupert

answered, "but her name—that 3*o u must excuse me at present. You shall dance at the wedding, when I marry her; but we have a lot of worlj to do oefore that, lads, and the lady's najne is better kept out of such business as ours." "Marry her!" Hyde exclaimed, with a puzzled expression on his countenance. "Are you going to forbid it ?" laughed Sir Rupert. •"Maybe Hyde's a bit jealous," saxl one.

"So you've brought a. woman down into Devon," said the captain; and then the humor of the situation seemed to appeal to him, and he laughed aloud. "Well, you've conveyed the little craft into a queer haven, and if you ever get her over the bar again without ripping the lead off her keel, I've never footed it from a revenue cutter, that's all."

"Hush!" said Sir Rupert; "I would not have her frightened." As soon as posible he drew Hyde into the empty room, and closed the door. "Didn't I tell you to wait until you had word from me?" he said savagely. It was characteristic of Hyde to make sure that the door was fastened and. even to glance towards the window before answering.

"They'd cut the cables before I arrived," he answered. "I did what I could to let go fresh anchors even then, but the tide was running." "And the storm will drive us ashore," said Sir Rupert, falling into his companion's phraseology for a moment. "What happened in London?"

"Failure. The shots were fired. One ripped open a soldier's larm, the other did no damage at all." "Fired by our friend?" "No; but he was there, and they are hunting for him. Curse these fellows for rising so soon. It has ruined all my plans. I was ready for failure, ready to retrieve it. I should have turned failure into .success, and these impatient fools have thwarted me." "They are*in an ugly temper, most of them," said Hyde. •■[ saw that to-night." "What's the meaning of this craft in tow?" "The woman is part of my plan, which is now ruined," Sir Rupert answered. "In a few hours these fellows have undone the work of years. I have done with them. They can go to the devil their own way." Hyde glanced at the door. "They're inclined to have done with you," he said in a low voice. "They growled at my long delay in coming; some said even worse of you. 1 have been watching for you to warn you." "Out with it, then." "Thev sav you have sold them, or intend to do so." "Liars!"

"I know; but when these fellows get an idea into their heads, you can't get it out. It's like pumping water out of a leaking ship when the hole in her side is of greater capacity than the pumps." "Tefl me everything," said Sir Rupert. "What they are doing, and what they intend to do."

"They are following your advice, out after their own fashion." answered Hyde. "Particulars. Hyde, particulars. 1 wouldn't betray one of these fools, not for his cursed weight in guineas; out from now they must look after themselves, ai you and I are going' to do."

''And the woman upstairs?'' said Hyde. "Xaturally; lam not going to betray her, either," was the quiet answer. As liyde talked, eagerly yet secretly, as was his wont, marking his points by clothing them in sailors' slang. Sir Ru•pert did not move, seldom asked a question, even. If he saw more clearly every moment the utter ruin of his aims, no word or gesture betrayed his disappointment. If lie resented the familiarity with which the mob had discussed him, if .pride of birth and position made him contemptuous of the men he had helped and .befriended after his own fashion, his face wag no index to his feelings. Bather was there about him the air of a strong man who, having failed in one walk of life, plans to be successful in another.

"That's the lee shore we're on, and, as a skipper of some experience, I say that the sooner we get more sea room, the better," Hyde concluded. "You have the boat read}' in the creek?" said Sir Rupert. "Yes, and a couple of lads who know their business and are to be trusted."

"Make for the creek to-morrow, Hyde, and wait there. I shall come to you, or ] —I might, of course, have to change my I •plans at the last moment. "I shall not go without you," said the captain. "One staunch friend left, anyway," said Sir Rupert. "You shall not go alone. Hyde, you see this ring," and lie held out his finger. "A signet, naked daggers crossed, the motto, 'Finem respice"—look to the end—and surely to few of my ancestors has the saying applied more aptly than to me. If anyone comes to you bearing this ring, Hyde, do as he or she bids you. It is almost certain to be an order to put to sea without delay, and make for the French coast. If Ido not come myself, it will mean that I have found safety another way. Will you swear to this? Will you let this ring speak my wishes ?" "The beginning of another scheme, eh?"

"Yes; and a better one, Hyde—a much better one."

"My hand on it. A woman may bring it, you say—the woman upstairs?" "Yes," was the answer."

For some time past the woman upstairs had given little thought to the man who spoke of her with something like tenderness in his voice. She waited, listening, expectant, glancing quickly at her maid if she thought she heard a sound. A candle stood in the window, close to the blind, but would not seem a signal, except to those who had asked for it and doubtless were watching for it. Both women were dressed, even to their hoods and cloaks, and they were silent and did not move, lest their, enemies in the inn should wonder at their not being ! in bed and come to listen. Whatever was to happen could hardly be accomplished in perfect .silence; it would be folly to raise any suspicion beforehand. Many sounds they heard, born of fancy only, and then, surely, a knock, so low and uncertain that they did not move.

"Someone in the next room," Mary whispered. Then came another knock, quite different, this time—stealthily, but sharp against the glass.

Betty drew aside the blind. A face "was 'so closi?. to the window that she •was startled for one instant. Tien she unfastened the window with hasty, trembling fingers. A wave of cold air swept into the room. "Put out the light quickly " said a voice. "Victor!'' 5 she whispered.

He was in the room in an instant. He felt Betty's hand in his; he pressed it once, that was all. "Come, Mary, Baxter is below, fhe ladder inclines easily. Not a word. Hold my arm—so. Quickly." Then, aa Mary descended, he caught Betty in his arms: "Siafe so far, ray darling," he whispered, and kissed her. Then he helped her on to the ladder, held it until it eeased to vibrate and he knew that she was on the ground, then he went down swiftly himself. They took the ladder back with them, laid it silently by the wood-slied, and hurried through the woods to the horses. Someone would have found the ladder against the wall presently, and given the alarm, but now the flight might go undiscovered until morning.

A long start was necessary. They had only two horses, and these with men's saddles. The women were mounted upon them as comfortably as possible, the men walked beside them, and they went almost in silence. There might be lurking watchers in the dark, and it was well to listen attentively for any sound of the mob at some nefarious •work in the distance. Once a red glow showed in the far distance to their right, in the direction of Dartmoor—the glow of a great fire. The mob were probably there, part of it might be much nearer—on the road before them. Not since her childhood in the country had Mary ridden. She found it no easy matter to keep her seat, and Baxter had to steady her, and even held her in place for long periods 1 . It may be that his touch was not altogether unpleasant to her, apart from the fact that it made her feel safer. Baxter presently broke a long silence unexpectedly and in a queer manner.

"He's dead," said he. "Who is?" "Your husband —Jacob Pinfold." A short whispered exclamation came from Mary. "No; I did not ikill him;" and he told her the history of the Brazen Serpent as he had heard it. He knew the landlord had been a scoundrel, he did not know howi much of a coward he was. "Things have altered for you and me." he said, when the tale had been told, and Mary did not speak. Still she did not speak, but made no attempt to withdraw herself from the arm which held her firmly in the saddle. Accustomed to rifling, Lady Betty found no difficulty in keeping her seat. It was not for support that her hand ■was so often in Victor's. Much triev said to each other in silent pressures, and the history of the past few hours had more in it'of their anxious thoughts for each other than anything else. Their 'adventures had brought them to this, to be alone together in sweet companionship; of what account were they now? "I think I iknew that you would find me. Victor, and I was not afraid," she ■whispered, bending down to him. The dawn came, lighting a fair world •indeed —a world of love and beauty, across whose borderland this man had stepped, dreaming before. Now it was real. There was sunlight over the green downs, sunlight flecking the woodland path down which they came, and sun-

light touched the fair woman beside him and showed love in her eyes.

At the edge of a wood she stopped the horse suddenly and pointed downwards. "Look. Vet ol ': that is Totnes!" "We had best avoid the town." "Our ivav lies yonder," he said. "Let us hasten. The mistress of Abbots Chase longs to welcome you there, Victor." "And there, lady mine, I shall tell you a secret." "You cannot. Love has told me all," she answered. "Xot quite all." "Truly, Victor, it will bear re-telling, and vou shall take me in your arms to listen." So thev came wt last and looked down upon Abbots Chase, with its woods and widespread park. It lay under the /norning sunlight, quiet, peaceful, a restful haven. Here surely they would find safety. (To be continued on Wednesday). 1 ■■