The Scales of Justice

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXX, Issue 8542, 24 September 1907, Page 2

The Scales of Justice

CHAPTER XXXVl.—Continued. "I took the box with me. It seemed to me that that box was a sacred trust concerned in some way with something that I had to do.And vet, at the same time, the box seemed to be empty. Also I had forgotten how to work the secret spring. But I know now; I have opened it." "Ard found the missing papers inside?" Beard asked hoarsely. "Is that what you mean?" "One of the papers," Winifred said. "I have it with me now. I expect I must have dropped the rest out on my way here to-day. You see, I did not attach any importance to the contents of the box at the time, because I had not recollected I placed ' the papers in there. And now I cannot remember that I ever did put the papers there; but I must have done so, or the"single one now in my possession wouldn't have dropped out."

Something that sounded like a suppressed groan came from Beard. "You hai better make sure," he said. "Better make sure. Let me see it." Mavy could hear the crackle of the paper as it shook in Beard's hands. The listener was beginning to feel easier in her mind now. Winifred was carrying out her part quite naturally, and without the slightest idea how every word she said meant ano thev mesh in the net that was slowly closing, in upon Bernard Beard. Another minute or two and she would be able to maKe some excuse to enter the dining-room and take Winifred away. . "This is one of my papers right enough," Beard was saying. "The other But you say that you have only quite recently remembered the secret of opening that box." "That is so," Winifred replied. "It is only a matter of hours—to-day, in fact." "Then the great bulk of the papers were in the box only a short time ago," Beard exclaimed. "They are not far off; probably in the woods somewhere. They fell out as you came along. But do not worry about that, my child. Don't tell anybody. And don't imagine that 1 blame ynu in the least. Oh dear, no!" It was quite time to interfere, Mary thought. Winifred had told Beard all that he was to be told, and in her pretty, engaging way she had played the scheme of thosa who desired to bring Beard to justice. It would be a thousand pities to spoil the whole thing now by a chance error—an allusion to Mr Delamere, for instance. And Beard could not get •any further information. Winifred had-told him everything. "You are not angry with me?" Winifred asked. "My daar child, how could I be angry with you?" Beard said. The tone was very tender, despite the rng of disappointment that filled the voice. "You have managed to recollect everything.' The only pity is that you did not look at your box as you came along. Still the truth has come out so quickly on the top of the disaster, that the lock can easily be repaired. What way did you come here to-dayY" Winifred explained the route taken from the cottage to the Moat House. She had hardly finished when Mary came in. The girl's face was white. As she dared not meet the keen eye of Bernard Beard, she kept outside the range of light on the dining-room table. But Mary might have spared all her anxieties, for Beard did not look at her at all. He had quite enough to occupy his own ai xious mind. He had risen again, and was buttoning his dinner-jacket with the air of a man who had adventure before him. "Don't you think that Winifred ought to go to bed early?" Mary asked. She repeated the question twice before Beard seemed to be aware of the presence of a third person. He looked at Mary as if he did not see her at all.

"Of course; most assuredly," he said presently. "I had almost forgotten that the poor child was an invalid. She has been so bright and clear to-night. Her memory seen s to have actually come back. Still, a good night's rest, you know! Take her and put her to bed." "And if we should happen to want you?" asked Mary, greatly daring. "My dear child there will be no need for me," Beard said. "Make your mind easy on that score. I am going out. I may not be back for some time."

With a deep sigh of thankfulness, Mary helped Winifred upstairs. Winifred must undress, and Mary would come back to her by-and-by, she said. Mary stopped at the corridor and looked furtively over the bannisters into the hall below. Presently she saw Beard come from the library. He Jiad exchanged his dinner-coat for a rough jacket; he had something ir his hand that looked very like a dark lanterr. Then he opened the fn nt door and disappeared into the "outer i- .rkness. Mary flew the corridor towards the little loom where Flora frequently sat at nights. | Flora was there, waiting. Her I da'*k eyes looked at Mary. "It is all right!"' the latter burst out. "Flora, I listened —I listened to every word. I could not tear myself away. And Winifred came out of it splendidly; not a single question was asked that was likely to arouse Beard's suspicion. And he ha» gone out of the house di'essed in rough clothes. He has a lantern with him." j "Everything is going for us tonight," Flora whispered. "Go to the housekeeper's room and bring little Jessie Marston to me. There is not a | moment to lose." i

By FRED ». WHITE,

[Published By-Special Auk-ngemekt.] [All Eights Resekyf ;..].

CHAPTER XXXVII. SETTING THE TRAP. Little .Jessie came up from the housekeeper's room, where she had been made much of. The smile vanished from her face as she looked at Flora. Perhaps the child recognised her actual importance, for she became quite gra'■«:;, "I am going to ask you to return home at o;;oe, little one," Flora said. "In any case, it is quite time you were at home. I want you to take a letter to your father, and see that he gets it without delay. If he is away from home can you find him?" Jessie smilingly confessed her ability to find her father in most circumstances. She had not been free of the woods all this time for nothing. But her father was not away tonight, she said. He was sitting at home with the nice gentleman who was staying at old Anna's cottage. Flora had no difficulty in recognising Gilbert Doyle from that description.

"Then sit down for a minute or two whilst I write my letter," she said. The letter was speedily completed and sealed. "Take it, and get home as poon as you can. And mind that nobody is to see that letter but your father." Jessie promised and vanished. Flora turned with the least suspicion of a sigh to Mary. "It is all very hateful," she said. "Here am 1 depending to a great extent on the hospitality of Bernard Beard and yet J am plotting against his liberty. I should like to accuse him to his face, not s'.ab him in the back like this." "It is dreadful," Mary agreed. "Our position is worse than yours. Dr. Beard has been a great friend of ours. I could tell you lots of kind things that he has done. lam certain that, in spite of his extraordinary conduct, he is passionately attached to Winifred. And I am helping to bring about his downfall. But we could not do anything else." "Ho," Flora said simply, "We could do nothing else. Only. I hate to fight with this kind of weapon. Still, the innocent must be saved, and Winifred's happiness secured. We are compelled to use the kind of weapons Dr Beard uses himself." Meanwhile Jessie was speeding on her way to the cottage. It was a pitch dark night, with no suggestion of a moon. The great forest trees loomed like phantom shapes against the sky. Any stranger would have been hopelessly lost in a moment. But Jessie plunged into the wood with perfect confidence and not the semblance of fear. She could have found her way home blindfold. She was filled, too, with the subtle importance of her mission. She felt sure the letter was of great moment. She had the air of being a party to the conspiracy as she handed the letter to her father.

"It is from Miss Cameron," she said. "I was to be sure to give it to nobody but yourself." Marston smiled as he took the letter and broke the envelope. But the smile faded from his face, and a keen expression took its place. There was a suggestion of pleased triumph playing about the corners of his mouth. "This is good hearing," he said. "1 shall have to go out presently. In fact, wa shall both have to go out. There's a little time to spare, Jessie, my dear. You must go to bed. I have not the smallest idea when I shall get home again." Jessie nodded obediently. She never questioned anything her father said. In his wisdom he had decided that she must go to bed, and there was an end of the matter. She kissed Marston, and made her way quietly up the stairs. Marston vanished, too, returning soon with "the news that Jessie was already in bed and fast asleep. "I wonder she is not afraid to stay here alone." Gilbert said.

"The little one is not afraid of anything," Marston said with some pride. "She would go into the heart of the woods at dead of night if I [ asked her. The love I have for my child is the one "'hite spot in my life. It is good to know that she will be well cared for after I have gone.'* "I will do that if nobody else does " Gilbert replied. "That is very good of you, Mr Doyle. Miss Cameron has already undertaken the task, but that does not lessen the generosity of your offer. This is the second time you have proffered aid to the one who has been your passive enemy. Still, it was a good night's work for you when you came to me in the wood. But lam forgetting. 1 have a letter of the greatest importance from Miss Cameron. T have already told you about those bonds in the little'red box. It seems that Delamere's scheme succeeded beautifully, and I hope before long to be in a position to prove that Madame Regnier and Beard were the real thieves. I want you to go as far as the farm where the Delameres are staying." (To be continued.) .