OUR SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, 4 December 1926, Page 7

OUR SERIAL STORY

“ Lotfe in the Saddle ”

(By

J. C. LOCKE.)

(All Rights Reserved.)

CHAPTER XIII (Continual.) “Only three months since, but what changes’” Harry muttered. ‘•Since what, Hawkshaw?*’ ‘‘Since it got it’s name—Farewell Thorn.” “Ah’ I ■see.” Tommy looked sympathetic. “Changes, indeed! Best rename it Meeting Thorn or Greeting Thorn or something, now that the last change is coming and all’s well.” Hany shook his head soberly. “No; we'll leave it at Farewell, just to remind us of bad times and keep us humble. You’re inclined to get beany when you’re on the crest of the wave, and then the Fates are mighty apt to hand you out a swipe. Come on. Chuggo. No rats there now, you fat-head!” The Downs -spread before them in hard black outline as they dropped over the edge and took the downward path. The hidden sun made a coppery edging to the heavy dark clouds, and one shaft of his light had burst through and slashed a bright bar across the far end of the southward valley, A distant feather of smoke showed white and pearly for an instant as it came into that radiance. “Our train; step out. I used to watch ’em coming in and going out from up there, and wonder when I’d be- in one. going to Toozle, or if I ever would; and now I’ll be in one in a brace of shakes. Tommy dear, I’m happy, I tell you!” “All right, all right! . So am I, but I don’t make a song aJbbut it. Seems like some kind of mascot, that old thorn, wasn’t it there you met Fradgeley that night?” “Yes. By Jove, he was lucky to us!” “He was,” agreed. “Dobby and Miss Barter would have had a deuce of a long hunt but for that tip about Nelly Tuke’s and that all came out through Fradgeley.” “Rum how things have worked out. Start one wheel and the cogs lock and al’, the others go round too. Odd chance Fancourt planting his little trouble with the same firm as the old boy.” “Expect old Ringland put him 0n.,t0 it. I can imagine his cynical amusement. Ah, good-morning, Air. Oruurmack ’’ Air. Crum mack stood meditating in the arched passage-way that led to the stable-yard of the Blue Bull. “Morning, Mr. Dawson; hope I see you well. I’ve a fresh parcel of rare old sherry inside IT like you to try a drop, of next time you’re by—put a power o’ ginger into your lawyerin’ it would, sir. So you’ll be just off. Mr. Hawkshaw. Wish you joy, sir, an’ a soon'an’ prosperous return tp your own folk. Glad to have you among us again.’’; “Thanks, Mr. Crummack. I’ll be glad to see your good faces once more. It's a kindly place, home.” “’Tis that; though I do find my own a morsel lonesome with Annie away. Be pleased to give Lady Nunlash my respectful . duty, Mr. Hawkshaw, , an’ 1 thanks, ’Twas a kind touch of her ladyship, that.” “It was decent of Aunt Matty to take the girl away as companion,” said Harry. “She looked happy about it, too, when I saw them off that morning. She was blooming away like a rose in a corner of the carriage. There’ll be great doings among the swains at the Blue Bell when she’s home again.” “And more on your account. Hawkerboy. There’s our luggage. Plenty of time; they're coupling up horse-boxes. What about Chuggo?*’ harry looked about the bustling little station, and beckoned to a red-polled urchin who was watching the train. “Hi, you, young Bill Durr! When we’ve gone, you take Chuggo back to Chase Cottage and Mrs. DobsohTl give you a shilling, see?” “Yessir,” said young Bill Durr. “And no gallivanting about after rats or rabbits, mind! I know your games, you young devil. Cop hold of him tight when we get Id. else he’ll try to come too. Serve you right if he bites you.”

The freckled face grinned broadly. “He wun't, sir. Chuggo knows me, he do.” said young Bill Burr. Sure enough, Chuggo filled the station with desolate yowlings and ferocious snarls as the train slid out. but there were no bites for young Bill Durr. “Poor little chap! It’s a shame to leave him. ibut he’ll soon be consoled. Dobby and he are. as thick as thieves, really, though she’s always slamming things at him. Talking of thieves, what game’s this you’re making me waste a day over, Tommy? I thought we’d cleaned up our little bunch of felons.” “Your thoughts are too mushy to interest me, you blooming old eopc-r. No, shut up; don’t start scragging. Remember I’m a respectable barrister,'and you’ll damn soon be a respectable married man.” “Oh, well, you must have your little tin-pot mysteries, I suppose,’’ said Harry resignedly, settling himself into his corner. “What’s my orders, anywa y ? ’’ “Orders is, that you ship your baggage over from Waterloo io Victoria when we arrive and leave it in the. cloakroom there —you’ll only want your washing-kit and so forth for to-night. Then you’ll have lunch and kick about and amuse yourself the best way you can till you turn up at my chambers at 3.30 sharp. Sharp, mind! Don’t go gandering along and getting lost and run over or kidnapped; all the bunch-steeerers are hungry for rustics just now—this wind’s making ’em bite. If you scrag me I’ll pull the emergency chain!” The orders were faithfully performed. Harry successfully avoided the perils of London till 3.30, and just on the stroke of the hour he got to the Inner Temple ai d hammered on the time-battered door of Tommy's chambers in King’s Bench Walk. A dry and dusty young man opened to him. “Afternoon. Nottidge. I’ve duly delivered myself, you see. And now what?” “Pleased to see you again, *Mr. Hawkshaw,” said Nottidge. with a parchmenty smile. “Step this way and I’ll put you in a good place for the performance.” He took Harry to a. little severelooking, book-lined room with a bright fire making it cosv. ‘Won’ll be snug here, Mr. Hawkshaw. The other door’s ajar, you’ll notice; I’ve steadied it with a wedge of paper. If you’ll put your eye to the crack when the time comes you’ll be able to see Mr. Dawson at his desk. Please to watch and listen—but don’t make a sound or touch the door. I’ll leave you now. the curtain will soot? <ro no.”

lie slid out and left Harry niariell.n'g. Performance I Curtain-‘lWhat in the world was Tommy up to now? A rustling in the next room sent him with his eye to the erack. There was Tommy, seated at a desk with his back to the wondow, busily shuffling papers, lie- looked up as some unseen person entered. “All right; show them in, Nottidge,” iie said. As Iris keen face allowed its bold curves against the light the watcher thought of a hawk about to pounce. He rose to his feet and bowed as an indistinct mutter of voices came from the unseen side of the desk. “Pray be seated, gentlemen,” he said. “My business with you? Your time is doubtless extremely valuable, so I will state it briefly, Mr. Fancdurt. I wish to arrange the sale of Norden and to receive your cheque for fifteen thousand pounds.” Harry jumped. Luckily he did not shake the door. Norden! What the deuce was this? He held his breath for the answer, but the unseen Mr. Fancourt seemed to be holding his breath, too, for there was dead silenee in the other room. Then the answer came in an angry roar that made Harry jump for the second time. “Cheque! Sell Norden! What’s this about?” rasped a voice, with rising fury. “What damn nonsense is this, 1 say? What’re you driving at, you, Dawson? What’s your infernal game, hey? Blackmail, you pettifogger, is that it, hey?” This was no voice that Harry knew. He saw Tommy’s eyes flicker to a cold stare. His voice when he’spoke was vitriol and cream, about equal parts. “What a quantity of ‘whats,’ Mr. Fancourt,” he said. “Let me add another. What dou yon know about Cardington Drift. .What? No answer? That’s another ‘what.’ Then I will sup. ply one myself;. I know a great deal about Carrington Drift—l do, my very own self. Does that make you think, what? Beally, this ‘what’ game is infectious. Does it you, you swindler ? I think ‘swindler’ is a fair return for ‘pettifogger,’ don’t you. Mr. Fancourt? And now what which ‘what’ concludes my little piece.” The roar broke out again with spluttering® and Chokings. ’ There seemed to be a blustering note in it this time. Harry wondered if that meant scare. “What the hell!”, it said. “I mean to say—what the —oh, blast it!—what do you ” “Can’t get away from the ‘whats,’ can you, Mr. Fancourt?” Tommy broke in, while the voice continued to splutter and gasp and gurgle. “Do let me help you out, I will put it this way. I mention two things that I want to discuss with you—and settle,” he interpolated. “And settle. Kindly remark shall we say,?—uncivil. I then mention those two words. You become rather— Carrington Drift. .You become incoherent. ‘Now I ask you to use your excellent brains and put two and two together, and I feel sure, we shall soon get somewhere.”

“I’m getting into the street, for one—and pretty damn quick,” said another voice (Harry knew this one) with a furious snarl in it. “You come along, too, Father; don’t sit listening to this funny fool.” “Steady on, boy; steady on,growled the first voice. “Let's think a bit.” “Thank you for your pacifism,” Mr. I'ancourt,”, -said Tommy. “As for you, Mr Gerald Fancourt, I agree that my present form of humour is deplorably feeble; possibly even vulgar. I can only remind you that I did not begin the funny business. We will pow become entirely serious, and, as a commencement, let me tell you that you will certainly not quit this room till I give you leave.” “I won’t, won’t-1? And who’s to stop me?” ‘■Well, I might say that I would try, but I really don’t know that I could do it. You're rather large. I have, however, made other provision.” Tommy looked for the first time towards Harry’s door. “Come in, will you, Hawker!” Harry took his cue and stepped into the room. Gerald Fancourt—not at all improved by the livid hears that patched his face or by a broken nose—blanched at sight of him. His father had a great fleshy beak of a nose, a gross purple face swollen with wrath, and a lumpy, obese body. His bulging yellow eyes glared malignantly at Harry. ' “You know who these people are, Hawkshaw,” said Tommy. “Be kind enough to sit over by the far door. I will leave you to deal as you please with anyone who attempts to leave this rcom until I am ready. You .may sit down, Mr. Fancourt.” Gerald Fancourt sat down. His eyes were cowed. He licked his dry lips ai.d had some difficulty with his breathing. His father turned round and fixed his glaring eyes on Harry, who had seated himself obediently by the farther door. ",So you’re the hound that messed up my son,” he growled venomously. “If I'd been him I'd have stamped your insides out; I would, by God!”

Tommy snapped a knuckle sharply on the desk. "lour attention, please, Mr. Fanccurt!” he rapped out. “We waste time, and I have little to spare.” Fancourt senior jieaved himself round with a start. ‘'Thank you. I will remind you that I wish to discuss Norden and a cheque; Carrington Drift I do not wish to discuss, but I will do so if you force me to it. You are a millionaire; to be that you must possess, a very excellent brain'of its sort. I suggest again that you had better use it in putting two and two together. You will find they make a very obvious four.” - 'For certain that coarse head carried a big brain, and the crafty vulture eyes showed it was working at top speed. When they lifted to Tommy’s there was nc anger left ill them, only astute, cold caution. “What’s your four?” said Fancourt . senior. “I will show you,” Tommy answered. At the clash of the bell he struck. Mr. Nottidge entered at the door by Harry. Tommy waved his hand towards a third door, closed till now, and he crossed the room and opened it. Harry could not see, but the others saw. They saw Mr. Ringland seated tranquilly before the fire and Mr. Fradgeley standing behind him. Mr. Fradgeley had a look on him very much suggesting a rattlesnake, and it seemed as if the Fancourts were the peOple he’d like to stick his poison-fangs into. The Fancourts looked unhappy. (To be Concluded.)