The Scales of Justice.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8510, 14 August 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice.

CHAPTER XII. ENTANGLED. With a glow at his heart, and a tightening of his pulses to which he had long been a stranger, * George crept silently down the stairs. Aftei all, it was no pleasant and conventional thing that he was doing. As j an officer holding his Majesty's cornmission his duty .was plain. He should have put personal feelings aside, roused the household, and handed the convict over to the authorities. In the eyes of the law his present action was a misdemeanour. Bat what man would have done tne riijht thing m the circumstances? In the first place George was smarting under the lash of a false accusation. He felt reckless and desperate. He knew that Gilbert Doyls was the victim of a similar misfortune. Anyone who realiv knew Doyle would deem him incapable of crime. He was the victim of a scoundrel who had deliberately planned _ his ruin so as to get a beautiful girl and her fortune in his grasp. That scoundrel was Bernard Beard. And Beard, though he might have set out with the sole intention of making himself master of Winifred Cawdor's fortune, undoubtedly had come to love the girlThe house was dark and silent now, and very cold. Probably Beard was far from the house just now. George could feel the cold air on his face, as if a door were open somewhere. But these old houses were very draughty, and an ill-fitting witidow might account for the stream of icy air. It was a little stronger in the din-ing-room, where the wax match in George's hand flickered and flared. He lighted one of the candle 3 on the old oak buffet, and a stream of wax gultered down. There were the provisions that he needed. George was making up his mind what to take when suddenly somebody seemed to lean over him and the candle went out. Not for a moment did he lose his presence of mind. <His right hand shot out and touched the fabric of a woman's dress, his fingers closed on a woman's arm. If George had expected an outcry, however, he was mistaken. The round, plump arm remained in his clutch. No effort was made to tear it away. The unseen woman was no enemy. "Why did you blow out the candle?" George whispered. "And who are you?" "I might retaliate with the samequestion," a steady voice said. "It was not polite of me, but there was no time for ceremony. You are Captain Drummond?" George admitted it. "I am Miss Mary Cawdor. Miss Cameron told me you were here. Besides, I happened to see you in the hall as you entered. I —l was a little struck by your pale face and look of illness. You will pardon the curiosity which impels me to ask you a few questions. Captain Drummond, dare I ask your sympathy for a woman desperate and in trouble?" The passionate, trembling plea was enough for George. By way of reply he pressed the plump arm. "I thank you," Mary Cawdor whispered. "I came down here on the desperate chance of seeing somebody —somebody I was prevented from meeting earlier in the evening. When you have a clever and unscrupulous scoundrel to deal with' " "Meaning a certain doctor, who shall be nameless, Miss Cawdor?" "That is the man. I was afraid that he had found something out. And I know .ny friend is still trying to see me. I came down here because there are French windows in this room leading to the lawn. My idea was to go outside and give my friend the signal. Judge of my surprise when I found the windows already open, and somebody else outside. I nearly betrayed myself before I discovered that Dr Bernard Beard was standing there. I stepped back to watch him, and then you struck that match. I did not know what to do. I had to decide on the spur of the moment; so I came across the room and blew the candle out. We must wait here till Dr Beard comes in." There was nothing else to do, as George was forced to admit. There was some moonlight now, and the gigantic frame of Bernard Beard could be seen looming against the snowy back ground. The figure moved a little presently, and two other figures in uniforms and carrying lanterns came from the direction of the lawn searching the ground as th«y proceeded. There was no need to tell George who these men in uniform were and what they were doing. "You know who these men are?" Mary Cawdor faltered. "Warders from Greystone Gaol," George said. "They are searching for a convict who has escaped, but the convict is safe in my bedroom, Miss Cawdor. I'll explain presently. I hope they have no clue, but there are plenty of snug hiding-places about this oldhouse, and it is too bitter for a thinly clad convict to lie out in the open. Of course, they cannot know that Gilbert Doyle £is in my bedroom." "This is a night of surprises," the girl gasped. She was shivering with cold and excitement. "Indeed it is, Miss Cawdor. So you expected Mr Doyle as well as Miss Cameron? And it turns out that I have known poor Gilbert for years. Fate directed him to my room. And, as an instrument of Fate, I am going to do all I can to help him." George heard the girl's hysterical gasp; he could feel her shaking from heaa to foot, for his hand was on her arm still. It was an unconscious case of mutual protection, the girl

By FRED HI. WHITE", [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Eeserved.]

feeling that she had «-v and selfreliant man on her George, alive to the knowledge' that if they had to retreat in th.:> Oaric the girl's knowledge of the h. would save him from disaster.. "I begin to Mary whispered. "You I . ; -iir.ner when you reached here, or a very late supper, shall we call i; ? 1 uU'efore, it was not for yourset' J.hnt you came down for Kcmethin;.?; t > <:nt. I was stupid not to und. ; • -•uv.l at first. You have come dovv: ,or food for Gilbert Doyie. It i* very good of you to do all this fe comparative stranger." "I was at school wi!h Gilbert Doyle, as I told you jus:. now; we were in the same at Eton, ' George said in a whisper. "Poor fellow, he seems to hnvv had bad luck and been cruelly used, tnl ——" "But you don't ihir-k that he is guilty? You will take a great weight off my mind if you say " "That Doyle is innocent. Of course he is innocent! I should have known that without to his story. Gilbert more .ir less burgled the house to see you. He found his way into my room when I way absent for the moment, and locked ihe dev-r on me. You see, this house vi.sed to be occupied by my grandmother Lady Drumj mond, and I recollected a great deal the ways of it. As I had left my window; open, I judged that the draught had banged the door to; so I went outside and climbed into my room by means of the ivy. Imagine my disgust to find myself hotly attacked by an escaped convict, who might have done me serious injury had not we mutually recognised each other. And now you know why lam here and what my designs on the cold meat mean. If chose fellows outside only knew what I could tell them!" Mary Cawdor shivered again. The warders with their lanterns had come close to the window by this time, and Beard hailed them. His manner was grim, his tone sarcastic. "That sheep of yours- still failed to come home?" he asked. "That's it, sir," one of the warders said. He dropped the lantern, and beat his frozen armj together for a little warmth. "Seems to have got clear away." "Well, you hardly expect to find him in this house, I suppose?" Beard laughe'd. "Same old story? A warder attacked, and the prisoner bolts in the broad light of day, eh, my man?" "Well, sir, it wasn't quite like that. The warder was standing upon the top of a grassy mound where he could see the gang at work. All of a sudden somebody creeps up and pulls him backwards by means of a cord. Down he goes over the edge of the mound, where he lies half strangled, and not a man there is a penny the wiser. When we found him a few hours later he had not recovered full consciousness, and there where those convicts at work never knowing that nobody was looking after them. Most queer affair." "The gentleman in the striped uniform who took French leave must have had more foresight than the rest," Beard chuckled in his oily way. The warder was fain to admit that such was the case. As far as the listeners could gather, the unfortunate warder had the daziest idea of what had tSken place. But at the next question from Beard they both stood rigidly to,attention. It was seemingly an idle question, but a deal depended upon the answer. " Who was the very clever gentleman who managed to get the best of you all?" Beard asked. Mary fairly gasped. George was conscious that his heart was beating faster. His grasp stiffened on the girl's arm; she sought his other hand as if safety lay there. The warder with the lantern seemed to hesitate. "Well, sir, I can't tell," he said. "There are over fifteen hundred of them up there, and we merely know them by number. Makes no difference to us so long as they wear the prison uniform. It's only when those poor fellows manage to elude capture for a day or two that we allow their names and their convictions to get into the pap,ers." The man was not telling the exact truth, and the listeners divined it, but they inwardly blessed him all the same. The warders moved farther along with their lanterns, and Beard followed them. Perhaps he expected to see a little sport—a successful man-hunt appealed to the innate cruelty of his nature. There were one or two hiding places, the ins and outs of which were known to him, and the convict might be lurking there. "Possibly I can help you," the listeners heard him say. "Try the' summer-house yonder." (To be Continued.)