RIVEN ASUNDER. OR, BERYL GRAYSON'S ORDEAL.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8392, 8 April 1907, Page 2

RIVEN ASUNDER. OR, BERYL GRAYSON'S ORDEAL.

Svthor of "The "** the HofW "IVrHfc* of All "Stella Sterling," "Laurx limi/lon," etc.

A BOMANCE OF THE SAN FRANCISCO DISASTER,

CHAPTER XXIX. - Continued. "There is no need of money, dearestl Everything is lice u\ San Fran- i cisco-—even the ferries. But vol arc rich—rich in the know!e:'l;jfj that you j soon will be in the nr:nj of aim you love.'' I So Berdyne's "forlorn hops'' rea- j ched olio toward its pitiful coiuumirm- ] tion. Poor, hapless Beryl was caught in the web. Yet there were other contingencies which Bevdyncj'a evil plots must meet and overcome. For the present, however, and although he did not yet know it, his dt - signs had met with success. Beryl and Tonita, light-hearted as they had not been since that fateful marriagemorn, which seemed so far, far away, joined the trie of fugitives that flowed in the direction of the Market Street feiry. This was some little time before Neil, with the trembling lawyer at his side, had set his face in the same direction.

CHAPTER XXX

MARM KINNEY'S

Berdyne could not have found a place better suited to his wicked purposes than Marm Kinney's. It was a disreputable-looking frame building, far enough in the outskirts to have a solitary situation. There was a pampas plume ih the front yard; and back of this a tangle of lilacs and some eucalyptus-trees that made an effectual screen for the weather-beat-en old dwelling. It was late at night when Berdyne and Gorsline, catching a stray boat at the ferry, landed at the Oakland mole and pushed on into the squalid purlieus known as J Street. Marm Kinney's house was several blocks from a gaslight. Looking at it from the street, at that hour, nothing could be seen but a blot of trees and shrub - bery. Gorsline was well acquainted with the way, however, and pressed confidently on into the Stygian darkness. Once beyond the leafy screen, a light struck on their eyes from a curtainless window. Gorsline, with his usual discretion, diverged from the walk to reconnoiter through the window before entering. He tumbled over a heap of bricks—where the earthquake had paid its compliment to Marm Kinney by shaking down her chimney—and got up cursing. "It's a wonder," growled Gorsline, "that the old rattletrap wasn't shaken down about Marm Kinney's ears. But she was allers lucky. She is there," he added shortly, "but you'd better wait till I go in an' fix things." Gorsline was about fiftesn minutes getting things "fixed." Then he came back to Berdyne, who was smoking impatiently at the front door and congratulating himself on his surroundings. "It's all right, Berdyne," called Gorsline. "The old termagant has the place to herself, an' will do what she can to help. Come in.'" Berdyne entered, and his companion led the way to a point, where lamplight shone through afi open door. There was that ir.dascribable odour of Chinese quarters about the interior of the house—a sickening closeness reeking of sandal-wood and opium and stale cigarette smoke. The place would have been better for an airing. The room into which Berdyne was presently shown was littered with fallen plaster. There were a table and a meagre assortment of chairs; a cot covered with a Navajo blanket, near which stood a low table with an opium-smoker's materials, an old stove, and an open cupboard showing some cracked dishes. Then there was Marm Kinney. She was an angular old woman, with straggling gray hair, a beak for a nose, and faded, watery eyes. She sat in a rocking-chair by the table, smoking a cigarette. Berdyne was pleased. He was a reader of character, and he knew instinctively that, "for ways that are dark and tricks that are vain," the old woman could be relied upon—providing her palm was well crossed. "Marm's a night-bird," chuckled Gorsline. "Here she is, as snug as ye please, waitin' for some dope-fiend to come along an' hit the pipe." "Business is ruined," croaked Marm Kinney, surveying Berdyne furtively through her cigarette smoke. "This.here earthquake is a starvin' matter for a whole lot of us respectable people." She leered mawkishly at Berdyne. "I ain't askin' no names, but for a hundred dollars you can own this place for a week, an' I'll throw in my sarvices." Berdyne drew a roll of bills from his pocket. The old hag eyed the money greedily, and snatched the bank-notes which Berdyne handed to her. ■•<—■. "I do not know how long I shall want the place," said Berdyne, "but I don't think it will be for a week. There's your hundred, anyhow. While I am here we must have this place to ourselves. No one is to be admitted save those whom I shall tell you to let in." "That's goes without sayin'," replied the old crone. "This here's a fine place for gents as wants privacy. Even if the perlice should come, there's ways to shake 'em." She laughed cunningly. "The Chinks had the house afore I got it," she went on, "an' wherever you find Chinks, you'll find secret panels, hidden holes, an' underground burrows. The cops can surround the house, while others go through it from top to bottom, but one as knows the place can fade away as if

the 'quake had opened up an' took him in." "Shu's got it straight," seconded Gorsline; "this here's a rum old place. I've ducked away from the cops many a time in this old shanty. It's a piece o' Chinatown, when it ornea to ways for makin' a getawav." "Have you a comfortable room and a decent bed?" asked Berdyne. "Sure," shrilled the woman; "my customers ain't all from the alums. More than one of Oakland's and Berkele/'s upper ten comes here for a quiet -.nil at the pipe. How could I hold the bade if I didn't have the sort of accommodations'.' You've p;.id your money like a gent, and, as I says, the place is your'n for a week." "How abrut a bit of liquor and something to eat?" "I've that, too." "Show me the i-oom," said Berdyne, "and then bring up the food and drink. I'm tired out. I didn't sleep any last night, and a day such as I've had in 'Frisco would wear out a man of iron." The hag took another lamp out of the cupboard, lighted it, and piloted Berdyne back into the hall and up a flight of crazy stairs to the second floor. Here she unlocked and threw open a door which led into a roomy chamber, papered, carpeted, and furnished in a way that was really out of all keeping with the cheerless passage and the bare room which Berdyne had already seen. A glow of satisfaction pervaded him with the thought that, in carrying out his nefarious designs, he was not to be denied all the comforts to whichipie had been accustomed. "My name is Neil Preston," said he, as the woman was about to leave after setting down the lamp, "but sometimes I use the name of Berdyne. If any one should come ar\d ask for me, under either of those two names, let me know at once who it is." 5 "Sure," smirked the hag. "I'm used to dealin' with gents as has, sometimes half a dozen names. But what's in a name? Nothin', as I can see, but a little convenience an' safety. I'll bring the spirits an' the food right away" After he had eaten some food and fortified himself with strong drink, Berdyne crept into bed. He was very positive that if his treacherous schemes succeeded it could not possibly be before the following day. Perhaps two or three days might i pass before the net he had spread could snare its victims. And perhaps —he ground his teeth as he thought of it—all his plans might prove futile. If Preston should meet Beryl in the city then the forging of the notices would be at once known, and the clever plots would fall to the ground: But the narrow margin by which a meeting had been averted at the house in Sutter Street led Berdyne to feel that luck was with him. And he was a firm believer in luck. In the small hours of the morning Berdyne was awakened from a sound sleep by Gorsline. "What do you want?" asked Berdyne sleepily. "Hargreaves has shown up," answered Gorsline. "Did Trenwyck send him?" "No; I passed the word to some of my friends, who had seen Hargreaves, to be'on the look-out for him. One of them sent him over." "Send him here," returned Berdyne, instantly awake. Hargreaves, haggered and exhausted, came to the room and sank wearily into a chair. "What about that trunk?" demanded Berdyne. "Burned, Mr Berdyne," replied Hargreaves. "When the fire reached the hotel, a load of trunks was piled on to a dray, but before we got beyond the fire-lines the horses were taken off the dray, and I couldn't do a thing." "That's bad enough," muttered Berdyne; "but it might be worse. You're sure the contents of the trunk went up in smoke?" "I don't know, sir," replied Hargreaves, brushing a' hand across his forehead. "You don't know!" snapped Berdyne. Hargreaves described how masonry had fallen on the van, scattered the load of trunks, and broka some of them open. (To be Continued).