The Scales of Justice

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8535, 13 September 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice

CHAPTER XXX.—Continued

"Oh, she has not been spirited £ away and robbed of any valuables!" ' D-'lamrre exclaimed. "You said just ' row that she asked for her sister a P oreat deal. Obviously, she has gone to seek her sister. I have no doubt that the police will find her in ttie > course of'he day." ... f, Delamere spoke calmly, but witn an irritating sense of failure upon £ him He wondered if Winifred had f» found her way back to the Moat ' House. But that was hardly to be - expected in her weak state of intellect and her slight knowledge of the locality. By the time that Delamere Jhad reached the Moat House he had * made up his mind what to do. The plan was arranged after a short discussion with his brother. He made " his way to the library, where Beard b •was busy writing something in the wav of a reward bill for the recovery * of "the body of Winifred Cawdor. P Delamere reached over and took the ' paper from Beard's hands, and tore £ it into fragments. "I fancy there will be no need for your literary skill," he said drily. * "I suppose nothing about the missing l girl has been ascertained in my ab"Nothing is likely to come to F light," Beard said gloomily. "We a shall never see the child again." "Oh. yes, we shall," Delamere re- J spondee!. "It is merely a maiter of l time. If I had been a couple of hours J earlier in my call at Breckland Lodge J I should have brought the young lady back with me. Unfortunately, Fate ' was too strong for me in that direc- - tion." . The shot went straight home to J Beard. His florid face grew pale, a J few stammering words rose to his lips. But the ready lie and cunning J artifice failed him. ' I "You are a very fine actor," Delamere proceeded. "So far you have J carried off the thing splendidly. But l we know you, and that makes all the difference. From the very first I had c an idea that you were playing some « trick to prevent us from getting to t the bottom of the paternity of that - poor child, and so we began to cast * our minds round as to the best and • most convenient hiding-place. What better than the residence of Madame ( Regnier—close, convenient, and ' safe! Hence my visit to the lady's * house this morning. She could not deny that Winifred Cawdor had been [ there." "Had been there!" Beard faltered. "You don't mean to say that " "That she is there no longer? Indeed, I do. You had better drop the mask for the moment and talk seriously with m?. You sent Miss Cawdor to Bieckland Lodge yesterday." Beard admitted the truth with words that seemed to be dragged from him. It was gall and wormwood to the scoundrel to find himself exposed like a felon caught redhanded. "That being granted, 1 had better get on with my story," Delamere resumed. "Madame Regnier made no effort to prevaricate. She told me Miss Cawdor had come there and that a nurse had sent to take charge of her. The nurse is a good creature, and had no idea of what was going on. Miss Winifred had had a bad night, and she did not fall into a sound sleep till long after daylight. Being left alone, with nobody to lock after her, £he woke up and vanished." "Why fchould she do that?" Beard asked with white lips. "I cannot understand." "1 think the reason is plain. The poor child missed her sister. She was asking for her sister all night. That was the uppermost idea in her poor confused brain when she awoke. That is why she slipped away with all the corfidffnce of a chili. She felt that she was being kept a prisoner, therefore she would take care to keep out of the way. It will be no light task to find her and bring her home again." Beard's troubled face showed this. People of weak intellect are often cunning, and Winifred would know that she would be brought back again if she were found. Therefore she would by a kind of instinct keep to the woods and the deserted bypaths whilst she looked for Mary. Behind the woods a long, desolate stretch of moors lay, and there it would be possible for anybody to wander for "days without being seen. "This is dreadful!" Beard burst out. "I could not stand this for long. I admit that I was wrong, that I made a great mistake in the way I pitted my cunning against yours, but I was thinking more of the child than anything else. I would rather die a hundred times than a hair of her head should be injured. We must be up and doing. The idea ot suicide must be abandoned; it must be suggested that Winifred has been seen wandering about, and a search party must be organised without delay. I will telephone to the police at Longtown and Castlef&rd. Night might fall, and that child " Beard hurried away, unable to say another word, nut dark was failing, and as yet th-<i* was no sign of the missing girl. V- ith a sense of guilt and shame upon bun- such a feeling as Beard had been a stranger to for years—he went in the direction of Marston's cottage. The poacher was just sitting down to tea. He had had one of his worst days. He had not been beyond the cottage, so that he had heard nothing of what had been taking place at Breckland Lodge or elsewhere. If he could be of any service to Beard he was ready for him now. The pain at his heart hid abated-he felt in the restless inrod of one who must be up and doing. "I want you to join the search," Beard explained. "The poor child was at Breckland Lodge, where she

By FFEB M. WHITH,

[Published By Special Arrangement.] [A.ll Eights Reserved.]

ept last night. Do not look at me 1 that way now, and don't ask quesions. She disappeared from Breckmd Lodge about eleven o'clock this lorning, and in spite of the large arty of seekers not a trace of her as been seen. Now, no living soul rows the woods and paths as well as ou do. It is possible that Winifred lay have seen some of us looking 3 r her, and hidden herself. But she ould not do that in the dark, trangs to say, I have more faith in ne search after dark than in the sarch in the daylight. Will you do 'hat vou can for me?" "I will do what I can for her and hose who care for her," Marston aid pointedly. He was wondering rhat Gilbert Doyle would say to all his. "But I am not going to be ampered with anybody else. lam - oing to conduct my search in my wn way. As soon as I have finished ca I will make a start. Get your arty on the moors between Breckmd Lodge and here. 1 shall find he girl before daylight if she is to e found at all." Beard departed, taking what com- • ort he could from this assurance. /Tarston slipped off an hour, later, elling Jessie that he would not be ack till very late. As the hours iassed the great woods grew darker nd the slence oppressive. A tranger would have been hopelessly ast after the first few minute 3, but flarston pushed his way softly on and without so much as disturbing a. , iheasant in his progress. He seemed o know the way with his eyes shut -his quick ears were alert to every ound. It was nearly midnight before he :alled a halt and partook of the >read and cheese he had brought with dm He lay quite still in a hollow ull of dead bracken, smoking his )ipe. A few minutes later and he was on he track again. He came at length o a cross road where the woods gave ipwards without a hedge. In the larkness something seemed to flit icross the road against the background of a cottage where a lamp •till burnt behind the drawn curtain, tfarston knew exactly where he was. ["his was the little cottage belonging ;o old Anna, where Gilbert Doyle was hiding. No doubt Doyle was sitting up reading, and had not yet ;one to bed. Still, the light was useful, for it nad shown up to Marston the flying figure of a woman as she darted noiselessly across the road. He felt no sense of elation yet, because he was by no means sure that she was the object of his search. There were many gipsies about on the fringe of the moors, and the figure might be that of a female Romany, who thought she had detected a keeper. Marston stepped back and headed the figure towards the cottage. He saw the shadow flit. He tapped on the window of the cottage, and surely enough Gilbert Doyle opened the door. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked quickly. "Are they after me?" "No; but I am after somebody else." said Marston. He felt that it would do no good to tell Doyle what had happened. "It is a poor, wandering woman. She is close here. Just step inside where you can see outside, and if she passes tell me. If t she goes along the upper path I have her. Understand?" Gilbert understood perfectly. He was to remain in the doorway and keep a quick eye for anybody who passed along the path leading to the woods. He waited there for some little time before there came a cry of distress, more like the bleatirg of a lost lamb than anything else. The cry was repeated a minute or two later; then it seemed to Gilbert that he could make out the outline of a slim figure, the figure of a woman, who was beating her hands together in an agony of distress and fear. His heart went out to the poor creaj ture with an impulse that he found I it hard to control. He opened the door of the cottage, and stood there with the glow of the lamp full behind him. "is there anything that 1 can do for you?" he cried. "Don't be afraid of me, please." Frcm close by came a hoarse cry of vexation from Marston, and a request that Gilbert should go back to the house and close the door But Gilbert heard nothing; he was only conscious of a slim figure tottering towards him. A line of light shone on the girl's face. It was pale and white and fearful in the glow. The girl staggered towards him with a hoarse cry. Gilbert caught her in his arms. "My darling," he cried, "my little Winifred." (To be Continued.)