The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8504, 9 August 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

CHAPTER Vlll.—Continued. George was in the garden at last, and that without disturbing anybody. He recollected his way quite welt now; he had only to iollow the path till he came to the side of the house which the window of the room overlooked. Ah, there it was, slightly open, and the grateful flames of the big lire making a glow on the blind. It was piercing cold, and George lost no time in climbing the ivy. He pulled the blind aside, feeling for the spring, and, with his hands on the sill, prepared to enter. But the night of'surprises was not quite over yet. At the same time a hand was laid on his shoulder and somebody inside was trying to force him backwards. Even then he did not recognise what had happened; he was so surprised that he nearly lost his balance for the moment. His theory had been that the door had blown to, and that the latch had caught; he had altogether dismissed the idea that anybody would be inside the room. And he was fighting for his life now.

Then it dawned upon him that he was not quite so strong as the man inside, and that he was certain to get the worst of' the encounter. By a dexterous movement he managed to lock his arm about the neck of the other man, determined that if he fell, his assailant should fall also. Their two faces were close together, and George glanced up to his room. Another lunatic patient of Dr Beard's no doubt. Then George gave a little gasp of astonishment. "Gilbert Doyle," he said, "Gilbert Doyle! Old man, you are murdering me!" The grip was relaxed, and a second later, George staggered into the room. The other man stood transfixed. "Georgie Drummo'nd," he said, "old Georgie of my school-house, and " The convict covered his face with his hands and burst into tears. CHAPTER IX. DR. BEARD. It was strange how still and silent the old house was through it alllike a troubled and tumultuous heart beating under a calm exterior. From the outside one might have taken it for some haunt of ancient peace, some favoured homestead that sorrow and tribulation had not touched at all. There had been no noise, no sign of struggle, and there had been no sign of Dr Bernard Beard after his study door had closed upon him. Perhaps he had other things to occupy his mind.

The big man sat there sucking moodily at his pipe after the two girls had left him. He no longer looked contented and masterful. The lines oh his forehead might have been drawn there by physical pain. He took some letters from a drawer in a little safe let into the wall of the room, and proceeded to read them. "Where is it all going to end?" he muttered. "How long can this last without a breakdown? And all these signs r.gain for the third time! How did those people get here, how did they manage it? If 1 could only meet them face to face, if I could only get my enemy in my grasp!" Beard tossed the letter back in the safe and locked the door. It was a bitterly cold night, but f.he perspiration stood on the man's broad forehead. With a gesture as of a man who needs air, he opened the window. At intervals came the sound of a gun from Greystone gaol. Beard smiled grimly to himself' as he saw the lanterns flitting about the garden. So the cmvict who had escaped had not been taken! The hunted, desperate wretch was still at large.

"I wonder-how he feels?" Beard muttered. "I wonder if he can see me from his hiding-place. Perhaps he is envying me and feels inclined to change places. The irony of it all! For I would give anything to c!:ange places with him. Ah !"

Beard drew a deep breath as lis saw a figure dragged by two warders into a circle of light caused by the lanterns. The man-hunting instinct which is common to us all was upon him now- he was going to watch the dramatic moment of the convict's recapture. Then, as the light fell upon the face of the poacher, Beard gave a sudden gasp.

"They have got hold of Mars-ton!" he exclaimed. "What a fool I am not to have thought of him before! I wonder what that fellow is loafing about lice for. Still, he has come at a most opportune time." Beard heard the quick passage at arms between the poacher and his captors; he saw the former slink away into the darkness. Then he extinguished his .light and found his way quickly to the drawing room, the long French windows of which he quietly unfastened. A moment later and he was in the garden, pushing the casement close behind him. It was the quickest and easiest way out, and there would be no danger for a little time. But Beard was not thinking of that; he wanted to find the poacher without delay. He had a pretty shrewd idea which path the latter would take. A match spluttered out presently, and a dark face appeared beyond the bowl of a pipe. Beard strode up and touched the smoker on the shoulder. The latter held up the expiring match so that he would see who his assailant was. A bitter smile crossed his face as he saw Beard. Yet there was no trace of fear or alarm on the dark features of Marston. "In the name of the fiend, what do you want?" he asked. "For two years we have been cheek by jowl as one might say and you have never | com§ near ine. Not that I wanted

By FRUB M. WHITE, [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Reserved.]

you, becauso your jiresence always means mischief to somebody else. I applauded yu>u - decision because it seemed to nu; that you were desirous to forgot the past. Heaven knows that i .should be glad to forget the past if I could " "You arc your best to try to obliterate it," Heard said meaningly. "Surely you can uo something better than your life over these trumpery poaH.;i.tg excursions 1" "Of course l could. I could become a City and make money. They soy the life is very exciting, and there is always the chance of getting into the meshes of the law. Our old existence was fairly exciting, for instance. But that is all done with; you have turned out quite commonplace and respectable." "The old life is .not quite done with," Beard said significantly. "You can never escape the full consequence of bygone sins. 1 had a warning to-day, Marston. My life is not worth a minute's purchase. They have found me out, and if they have found me out they are on your track also. What do you think of that?" Marston laughed contemptuously. Then he stopped to relight his pipe. "I daresay you are right," he said. "The long arm that reaches for you reaches for me also. It was a coincidence that I should retuin to tue scenes of my youth, and that by a kind of accident you should take up your quarters in this locality also. You have steadily avoided me for two years until to-night, though, of course, you must have wondered why so clever a knave as myself should be half-starving here. Well, I'll tell you. For three years now I have hardly ever been free from a pain that seams to eat my very heart away. I went to a doctor who told me that if I wished to live I must be in the country air and out of doors as much as possible. I was penniless, the old lot hs:d turned their backs on me. I was ready to do anything to | get rid of this pair. Then I asked what the pain was, and they told me. | Beard, I am slowly oing of cancer."

Beard muttered something that sounded like sympathy. "That is why I am not afraid," Marston went on. "I am afraid of nothing. The shadow of vengeance that hangs over us does not trouble me at all. lam too much of a man to rid myself of the torture that racks my life by suicide, but I shall welcome the end when it comes. I could have laughed aloud just now when you told me that the vengeance was upon us. Man, man, I would go half-way to meet it. Why should I fly from death when life is not worth living?" "Why, indeed?" Beard said gloomily. "But the case is far different with me. I tell you that I dare not die, at least, not just yet. There is something that must be done first. Come back to the house and have a chat with me." "No occasion to do that," Marston replied. "My little cot is close by, and we can discuss matters there quite easily. Mind that ditch on the right." The cottage was in pitch darkness as Marston lifted the latch and fumbled in his pocket for a box of matches. Then the feeble oil-lamp flared out and disclosed the poverty of the little sitting-room. Beard smiled as he looked about him. "Strange quarters for a man of taste like yourself,"-he said. "At one time nothing was good enough for you. And your ambition was only limited to your horizon." "I know, I know, but things have changed. My ambition is dead, this pain in my chest has killed it. All I want now is plenty of air and those little fishing and shooting excursions to give me a flavour of excitemert." The strong man suddenly groaned and placed his hand to his heart. His face had grown white and haggard, the dark eyes told a tale of dreadful suffering. Beard suggested brandy, but Marston did not seem to hear anything. Presently the spasm passed, the sufferer wiped his shining face, and a little colour crept into his cheeks. "Sometimes that lasts for two hours," he said. "Then -I am so exhausted that I can only lie still and pray for death. Now tell me what you want." "Well, I want you to do something for me. The source of the danger just now is in Paris. You know your Paris as well as I do, you speaic the language even better. I must stay here for the present; I have something that demands my staying in England. I want you to go to the old quarters over there and ask questions."

"In my state of health? My dear Beard, it is impossible. In the first place, extreme caution is necessary. How could a man who suffers as I do be cautious? It is only by luck as well as judgment that the keepers ave never taken me. Last week I had the worst attack I have ever experienced. I lay in a wood for twelve hours utterly incapable of getting awav, my gun by my side, and every pocket full of fine pheasants. Fortunately, nobody found me. And yet you suggest that I should undertake a delicate and dangerous mission in Paris." (To be Continued.)