The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8504, 6 August 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

CHAPTER .Vl.—Continued. "Master Gilbert?" a voice asked. •'Dear Master Gilbert, is it really you? Really you at last. I had not dared to hop-. I had not dared to believe that it was possible for " "Garcia managed it, Mary," the convict replied. "He has not forgotten the use of his lassoo, as one of the warders iearnt to his co.-.t. But it cannot be for lone, Mary. They must take me some time to-morrow. I ctnae to see Miss Winifred, my little Winifred " "Hush, not quite so loud. lam running a great risk, because he may hear at any moment. And Alisa Flora does not knovf that you have come yet. Big as he is, he move.-: like a cat, you never know when lie is going to come upon you. You must wait and kill time till midnight, when I may manage to step out for a few minutes. And yet that fiend may be watching me: he may know already that it is you who has escaped. Can yon manage the big window at the end of the corridor? You will see the spot I mean if you turn to the right." "But you have not told me how Winnifred is," the convict asked, anxiously. "She is about the same. Some days she is quite .sensible, and others as bad as ever. And there is something going on that I can't quite get to the bottom of. Miss Flora is here, but you know that already, and Miss Flora seems as helpless as the rest of us. Perhaps they also are afraid of hitu If we could get away from here to the fresh, open country and see new faces 1 am certain that my dear mistress would recover. But he seems to have managed everything, and the trustees imagine him to be all that is desired. And yet lam sure "

The voice broke off suddenly, the window closed, and the room was in darkness. The convict ground his teeth together impatiently. All the same, he would have to possess his soul in patience till the midnight hour came. He crept across the lawn and hid behind a laurel bush. The thin wind was blowing nearly half a gale now, the snow cut like a knife. The man behind the laurel bash felt that he was gradually being turned to stone. He watched the lights in the windows of the Moat House, ligh.ts.that were gradually disappearing. He wondered if the hour of midnight would ever come. Then the stable clock boomed out its j twelve strokes. Almost simultaneously a light appeared in the window of the bedroom from whence the girl called Mary had addressed a few words to the fugi tive. But the window did not open this time, only a shadow crossed it, the shadow of a woman who seemed to be beckoning practically to someone unseen. What did it mean? The meaning came to the watcher in a flash of illumination. The girl was beckoning to him. She hoped that he would understand her. He was to make his way into the house. Perhaps the front door had been left open on purpose. Like one whose limbs are frozen, the watcher crept round the house, but the door was closely barred and bolted. Round the house he went again, looking upwards, till at length he noticed a room with a flickering light in it; the window was just opened sufficiently to admit fresh air. Here was the great casement in the corridor, the way into the house. The shadow of the leaden casement stood out against the blind. The watcher saw his way at last. "I'll go," he said between his teeth; "at any hazard, I'll go. Very thoughtful of those people not to cut down the ivy. Unless I have lost my power of climbing, I shall be inside that room in two minutes. Here goes." He was up at last, and in the corridor. The searchlight from the prison flared on him; he thought he could hear voices. And here was a door opened a little, a bedroom filled with light; but nobody was in the room. There was a'bed, which had obviously been occupied lately; a man's garments were scattered about; a kit-bag lay open on the floor. On the dressing-table candles burnt in silver branches; a great log fire roared up the chimney. The sight of it was as food to a starving man. He thrust his coldjhin hands almost against the but there was no feeling in them.

Evidently a man*s room, and evidently the man had just left hurriedly for some purpose or other. It seemed to the convict that he could hear footsteps outside. The man was coming back. There was no time to lose, no subtle plan to be thought out on the spur of the moment. The convict's ears were not deceiving him, and the occupant of the room was coining back again. What was to bo done? It was a desperate situation cryine for a desperate remedy. The fugitive swiftly crossed the floor, and turned the key in the lock. CHAPTER VII. FOR FRIENDSHIP'S SAKE. George Drummond stood in the corridor watching the movement of the slim hand on the casement. He had a feeling that he would wake presently and find that it was all a dream. And with it all was the horrible feeling that perhaps he was doing something wrong. Was he taking part in some crime? he wondered. Was this girl using him for some ignoble and unworthy end? Beyond doubt the hand clinging to the casement was thato* the escaped convict, and Flora Cameron was anxious for his escape. George stole a quick glance at the face of his companion and his heart

By FBrEB M. WHITE, [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Rights Reserved.]

lifted. It was impossible to look at those features and feel that anything wrong was being done here. The girl seemed to divine something of George's feelings, for she laid a tremblng hand upon his arm. "Try to trust me," she whispered. "I want you to believe that lam acting entirely for the best. I have thought the thing out carefully, and I feel that the angels are on my side. You guess that yonder hand belongs to a convict?" "It is obvious," George said. "Well, you are right. That man has broken prison. I have gone out of my way to help him do so. A dreadful charge hangs over you, but you are innocent." "You cannot tell what a comfort your opinion is to me," George whispered. "You are innocent—innocent. From your face and manner I guessed that. xMy woman 's instinct admits of no doubt of it. And, let me tell you with all the earnestness I can, that yonder poor fellow is as guiltless as yourself, Captain Drummond. lam going to ask you to help me." George caught the hand extended to him, and carried it passionately to his lips. His whole heart had gone I out to his companion. In the hour of his need she was the only one who stood by him, and believed his story. And she a stranger, too ! "I will do anything in the world that you ask me," he said. "I will do it, because you have proved yourself to be a good and noble girl, and because I feel that you are incapable of doing anything dishonourable. Pray command me." George could see the flash of tears in Flora's eyes. . Then suddenly the and the corridor wa3 left in total darkness. Apparently the searchlight had been turned in ano- , ther direction; anyway, the darkness was so thick that it could almost be felt. A moment later, and it seemed to George as if he felt somebody brushing past him; probably the convict had gained the shelter of the house. Another instant, and George dismissed the suggestion as a play of fancy. He could hear footsteps coming in his direction; there were people in the garden calling to each other. Evidently the prison warders were close on the track. There was the quick flash of a lantern and a command in a hoarse voice. "Oh, I do hope he has not failed," Flora whispered, "I must hide myself lest Dr. Beard should see me. He must not see me now, he must not know anything of this business. I will try to see you again presently. If you could only h<?ad those warders off the scent!"

"Show me a way," George said eagerly; "I will do anything that I can. But to do that, I must find a way of leaving tne house. Is there any door at this end?"

"Oh, yes-yes! The little door under the turret. You must remember that door, seeing that you were here so much as a boy. A little door with a spring bolt." George remembered the door. He pressed the girl's hand reassuringly, and then began to feel his way along the corridor in the direction of the stairs. Yes, this was the way, the recollection of it all was coming back clearly to him now. Many a time in the happy days of the past had he played hide-and-seek here. He had not the slightest difficulty in opening the little door and entering the garden. For some reason or other, it had been imperative that he should not be seen with Flora by Dr. Beard; indeed, he gathered that the convict business was to be concealed from that individual. But no suspicions need be aroused if Dr. Beard found him in the garden. He could easily answer that he had been aroused by the noise of the warders, and had come down to see what was wrong. The thing suggested prevarication, and George revolted against that. Still, the cause was a good one, and it seemed to him that the means justified the end. It was just possible, too, that the unhappy convict was already in the hands of the law. Not if George could prevent it, he told himself. He was determined on this point as he stepped into the outer air, and looked for any sign of the warders.

It was still bitterly cold, and a thin powder of snow had begun to fall again. For a few minutes there was nothing but silence and the desolation of the night. Then George could hear footsteps on the hard ground, and somebody in uniform came along swinging a light. The man stopped as he saw George standing there before him.

"Have you seen anything of a man about here, sir?'" he asked. George was thankful to be able to say that ho had not. He was also thankful to gather from the question that the warders had not as yet been successful in their search. It seemed to him that he could see footprints leading up to the big casement winclow that seemed to light the corridor, but the falling snow and the keen wind would very soon coverall traces. George stood there waiting for the next thing to happen. (To be continued.)