For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8359, 15 February 1907, Page 2

For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

CHAPTER XXXl.—Continued. "That's where you've been, then," interpolated the cab-driver gloomily. David Garth assented. "I changed n:y name to a French one," he said, I "and took to writing up i J aris news | for the American press. A clever j rascal of an English newspaper fel- • low 1 met over thcve put me on to it, j and took me into partnership. That j and the cards helped me to live with- J out challenging the attention of the j police. But tell me, how is the j youngster?—has anything come out about him?" Peter Crimple picked up a half- | filled glass from the table, looked j into it, and emptied it. "The kid's been gone a week," he j answered. "Your wife brought her J lawyers and claimed him. Gave me plenty of fair words, and wanted to give me money, but I flung it back at her." He poured " out an inch of brandy, neat, and swallowed it. "The house hasn't been like the same place since," he said. "I loved him like my own." David Garth held out his hand, and clasped the cab-driver's. "You're a good fellow, Crimple," he murmured; "one of the best. But, if it wassail to come out, she's his mother, and I dai-e say she'll make a better job of rearing him than you or I should " Crimple shrugged his shoulders, and re-lighted his pipe; it had gone out. His visitor studied him for a moment. '"-

CHAPTER XXXII.

"I suppose it's all come out 'about me," he said, "how I was the nurse that called at Lavenden House and the fiat."

The cab-driver bent his head. "Everything's out," he responded, '"cepting that you .called round on me, and I've a notion that's suspected. You were seen that night close to here by Sister Ma y, a friend of my blessed parson lodger. That's why you were a fool to come into these parts again, unless you want to be arrested." David Garth smiled grimly. "They would never look for David Garth," he said, "in the skin of M. Laurent' the I Frenchman. My beard and foreign cut are not the sort thing to suggest the escaped convict." "Perhaps not," growled the cabdriver, "to long as you don't associate yourself with me. So you can't do better than get out of here a t once. But I'm really glad to see you, and to know you're doing well. But I'd rather you didn't get yourself copped, and make fresh trouble for me and Tilda."

The disguised convict rose, a little unwillingly. "Oh! very well," he said, "if you put it like that. But tell me, is chance of poor little Winnie cheating the—the -" He left the sentence unfinished, and added hastily: "She must have been mad, poor child, to risk it." ~ Peter Crimple rattled his glass on the table. "Of course, she'll get off," he exclaimed "Didn't she confess herself,'., and say it was an accident, and can they prove anything else? Of course, she'll get off." y

He laid a trembling hand on David Garth's shoulder. "Now be off, David," he advised him. "I can't have you caught here, you know. Winnie Lavenden came to *me when she ran away that night, and a lot of trouble we had to keep it dark where I hid her. I don't want any more bother."

David Garth yielded irresolutely, and the cab-driver hurried him along the lobby to the front door. Opening this with great caution, he allowed the disguised convict to slip out, shut the door behind him with eager haste, and turned to regain the kitchen. Before he could do so a key sounded in the lock, the door reopened and Matilda Crimple stepped in. She recoiled fromjthe dark figure in the passage, then recognised it. "Oh, dear, how you frightened me?" she said, as she followed him through "Is Mr Ingram in yet?"

Her father answered her in the negative. |Tilda was placing a tall, paper-wrapped bottle upon the table. "I got the brandy,;dad," she ob-

served; "but oh! I wish you wouldn't drink so_much. It isn't like you a bit." Peter Crimple seized the fresh bottle of brandy, stripped it, and started to draw the cork.' . "I must, Tilda," he said; "I—l

can't do without it. It—it keeps me from thinking about Boysie." He bent forward, holding the bottle by the.neck. "And yet I have been thinking. Tilda," he added; "thinking to some purpose. We'll not let her rob us of Boysie like this; he's half our lives to us. He is ours, and we'll have him back yet, we'll have him back yet.'' Tilda gazed at him and began to cry. "Oh! dad," she sobbed, "don't think of it. :. He—he isn't ours, and it would only mean more trouble." The cab-driver scowled. "Chuck that, my girl," he growled; "I say I'm going to have him back, and mean it And when I've got him I'm going to put the sea between this hole j?of a country and us. I've had it in my mind for some time, and now I'm going to sell those stones and put some cash in my pocket, for I .shall need;it:" He poured out sonr? brandy, swal- , lowed a mouthful of it, and took up the lamp. , "I'll pack • those stones off to s-Holland to-night," he said. "'Come on; we'll get 'em while the parson's out." Suiting the action to the word he mounted the stairs and entered the sitting-room at the head of the first flight. Tilda had followed him. He put the lamp into her handa, and, orenißg;'the^cupboard, ; *released'^the

By R. Norman Silver, , Ihor of "A Double Mask," "A. Daughter of Mysli.' /, "Held Apart,' ■_ "The Golden Dwarf," etc.

"For Her Sister's Sake " was commenced on December 20th.]

A NIGHT AND A DAWN,

bolts of the secret vault, slid it back and passed in. , ; Crossing to the work-bench, he called to Tilda to bring the lamp in. She obeyed, and by its light he commenced to gather up the contents of the paper-covered trays of gems, putting parcel after parcel into his. pockets. While they were thus absorbed a step sounded in the room without. Peter Crimple stuffed the last package out of sight and turned "On the threshold of the secret chamber, regarding its interior and its occupants with equal interest, stood the Reverend Charles Ingram.

While the curate peered into the dusky recess whose existence had been so unexpectedly revealed to him, Peter Crimple caught the lamp from his daughter and advanced toward his lodger. "Hope you'll pardon us making free with your room for a moment, sir," he said coolly, "but the is there's a leak in the kitchen ceiling. It struck me to poke ground up here a bit and see if I could trace it. However, all is dry and sound enough in this quarter." He passed out into the room, and held the light for Ti'da to step clear of the lumber in the deep cupboard. Then, as if with an afterthought, he thrust his arm and hand back again through the opening left in the panel, and raised the lamp to cast its rays hither and thither above the loft beyond. "It's only a sort of attic, sir," he added. "The folks who were here before had it made for some reason or another. We don't use it for anything, especially as it can only be entered through your room." He stooped and closed the panel in the back of the cupboard. Charles Ingram watched him closely. "'lt might almost have been contrived as a secret hiding-place," he said. The cab-driver shrugged his shoulders, and moved so that the lamp threw his shadow over his ! daughter's face. It had suddenly became pale. "You're right, sir," he allowed; "indeed, though I wouldn't tell any one but yourself so, it was in yonder I put Miss Lavenden when she came begging me to hide her from them she thought were following her." The curate's, face clouded with sadness. "Poor Miss Lavenden!" he said; "and so she lay concealed within an arm's length of me, and I never dreamed of it." # Peter Crimple looked down at the loose carpet and traced the pattern with his boot-toe. "I—l hope you don't blame me, sir,'' he murmured. Charles Ingram shook his head. "No, Crimple"," he said; "you acted as your heart prompted you, and, though I trust I am a law-abid-ing citizen, I believe I should have been tempted to do as you did." "Thank you, sir," responded the cab : driver, and he struck a match and began to light a second lamp on the table of the curate's room. Tilda went to lower the blind. The curate stood by the mantel, his elbow resting on it, his glance abstracted. "The—the trial commences fitomorrow," he observed. "How terribly she must be suffering now!" Crimple took up the lamp he had momentarily set down. "She'll get off," he said hoarsely. "Three isn't twelve Englishmen living that would find her guilty. She told 'em it was an accident, that she only meant to frighten him. Let her lawyers stick to that, and 'she'll Charles Ingram sighed. "I hope so, Crimple," he replied; "I hope so. Yet, at the best, it is a shockzing ordeal that lies before her—before us." The cab-driver did not offer to pursue the conversation, but, carrying the kitchen lamp, went out of the room. Matilda Crimple lingered. "Will you want any supper, sir?" she inquired. The curate shook his head. "No, Tilda," he answered; "I ran in to say that I shall not need any. I am going to see a friend, and may not be back until late. In any case, I [have my latch-key, and no one need'to wait up for me." Tilda acknowledged the instruction absentmindedly, and slipped away. As she descended the staircase she felt the upward draft of the night'air and saw that her father had opened the street door below. Just entering the little lobby was the young mis-sion-mirse, Sister May. Peter Crimple shut the door and called up to his 1 daughter. i (To be Continued).