THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9034, 22 January 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

CIIA ITER VII. —Continued. 'You now know that your poor 'vuhew was guilty neither of the one :ort of mortal obliquity nor the '[her?" "So it seems now." "Wo'jl l it not have been sheer ■Jhrislian charily, sir, to believe him v.'hsn hf. assured you that the toweiloor had b:ien locked upon him?' "Gentlemen, I admit that I was wrong," said the Vicar- words which We then used for the first time in his ! ue probably; and a hush of sympathy with the strong man's bowed \ead pervaded the court during a brief space. "Looking back now over all the ijircumstinces, did Mr Robert Courthope, on meeting you in lane, fCi v e you any grounds for thinking chat it was ho who had locked the tower-door upon the pair?" Mr Hardinge next asked. "None." answered the Vicar; "he lid not even imply in any way that the tower-door was locked. Otherwise, I must have listened to my unhappy nephew's explanation." The Vicar returned to his seat on he platform by the coroner, and as Tames Courthope rose and walked to r.he spot where the witnesses were "•worn, Hannah Neyland's face went slowly white to the hue of death and .-•he hastily dropped her veil. Courthope told of that night before his cousin's last, how he, James, was sitting up far into the morning when Robert came home rather and stormy, saying that he had seen Miss Marjorie Neyland and Mr Warren on FenneU's Tower, and uttering n few threats. Robert had then ordered a meal, had di'unk rather deeply, had flung himself on a horse, and had galloped off to the Vicarage to confront Warren. While he was gone, Warren, evidently also in a rage, had come to seek him. He, James Courthope, had counselled Warren to lie low awhile, but Warren, on hearing that Robert had gone to the Vicarage, had himself started back for the Vicarage, had again missed Robert, and had again returned to the Court, yet very eager to get hold of Robert. But the witness had ■ put him off wth some excuse that Robert was out, though Robert was really then at home, and Warren had then left a message for Robert that he was to be found at Lancault, and had actually gone there, by which time the day was breaking. Inspector Winter, of Scotland Yard, at thisrioint whispered to his lawyer, Mr Whitaker, who, standing up, made the remark to James Courthope: "You spent a sleepless night that night'."' "A habit of mine," answered Courthope, ever courteous and selfreliant, sifting between his fingers the ends of his pointed blonde beard. "Did you in the morning give to the deceased Warren's message that he was to be found at Lancault? "No, of course not. I didn't want to help forward any disagreement between them." "Now, on coming home in the angry humour which you have described. did the deceased suggest tu you any means by which he thought that that tower-door could have become locked?" "Yes, he mentioned that he himself had locked it."

"He did? And did he mention his motive for conduct so singular?" "I think he said that he had been informed that the two people were there on the tower, that he had gone and seen them, and I assumed that from some motive of spite he then imnrisonel them."

"But," said Mr Whitaker. "we know it was near midnight when he saw, them, and it was soon after eight, Miss Marjorie Neyland says, when she found herself locked in, at which hour we know that the Scjuiie was at the Greyhound, expecting her return. How, then, could the Squire have locked her in?"

"I'm sure I car.'t explain it," said James Courthop?, "unless he locked them in by the hand of an agent." "But —could he have expected her with so much impatience—'at the Greyhound, knowing all the timet that she was locked in?" "I only repeat, sir, what he told me, and I say that I can't explain it —unless his impatience at the hotel was a pretence to cover the act that he had locked them in." "Was that very like your cousin, Robert Courthope, whom we all knew? A long hypocrisy? Was he of that sort? ' "No, certainly. But perhaps the young lady is mistaken as to the houi when she found herself locked in—a likely mistake, for love eats up time." . "Yes, love eats up time—but, though love affects a lady s heart, and even her brain, can it ever be so powerful as to influence her watch also?" , , "They wear their watches very near their hearts, I believe," said Courthope; "and even if the watch escapes the palpitation, the eyes which read the hour may see double. "Well, you are no doub". an expert in these matters," said Whitaker. "So, then, let ud assume that the lady's watch did go pit-a-pat; let us assume that at some time the deceased, cither by his own hand or an agent's, did lock the two people in the tower. In that case, how comes it that Mr Robert Courthope, some time after returning and refreshing himself at his own home, hurried off to the Vicarage to seek Warren, when he knew that he had imprisoned Warren in the tower, and could not have known of the chance by which a passing boy had released Warren? If it was he who had imprisoned Warren, or even if he had onJy known that Warren was a prisoner on the moor, he would hardly have gone to the Vicarage to seek him, I think?"

By BOBEIIT ERASER.

' [Published By Special Arrangement.] [All Eights Reserved.]

At this, before answering, James Courthope weighed Inspector Winter of Scotland Yard deliberately, with a steady, calculating look. Then he said: "No; that seems true." "Shall we assume, then," asked Whitaker, "that the Squire did not know that these two people were locked in the tower? —That is to say, that he never did lock that towerdoor upon them?" "It would seem not," admitted Courthope, "though in that case I can't divine his motive for telling me that he had." At this the room gave forth a murmur —as perturbing a sound in its way as any under heaven, because it tells a man who is lying that his lie is suspected. "So you still take oath that the dead man did tell you this thing?" asked Mr Whitaker.

"Still, yes, surely, since I have once said it," answered Courthope. "But does no explannation of the miracle suggest itself to you?" "I can only think that in galloping off from the Hall to find Warren, Robert went first to the moor, and seeing Warren no longer on the tower, then went on to the Vicarage." At this the court breathed as it were a sigh of relief, for the tension had grown oppressive, and Hannah Neyland, with glee in her heart, breathed to herself, " What - a man! He would find a way out of a prison of brass!"

By this time the short November afternoon had worn on toward evening, and the air of the room had become stale and stuffy. Some gasjets, long since lit, gave forth too much heat, and men sat with the chin propped forth on the hand, waiting for the outcome. The reporters looked back over their crowded leaves; but when the groom, Archibald, had given his evidence, telling how he had watched the Greyhound for the Squire that night of the tower incident, how he had reported to the Squire Miss Marjorie Neyland's going to Lancault in'the morning, and how the Squire had followed to Lancault, the court suddenly closed, the police demanding an adjournment, and Hudston streamed out into the street, breathing deeply the fresh air, its head all inja whirl at the maze of wonders which spurred, yet mocked, its wit to unravel.

CHAPTER VIII. THE LADY OF THE MANOR. Marjorie Neyland was glad enough of her sister's arm to support her in the pasasge from the inquest to the Greyhound. Her head so ached, her tortured thoughts were so overwhelming, that, as they paced through the crowd, Hudston gave Hannah its blessing for the sisterly loyalty which proved so staunch in spite of the stain now besmirching the fair fame of the younger girl. Near the Greyhound arcade the sisters passed by James Courthope, who, standing there, as if awaiting some one, lifted his hat, and looked after them until they disappeared. Within stood Aunt Margaret, on the alert to receive Marjorie with hot tea, and kisses, and murmurs of "Never mind," and "He's never so black as he's painted." Meantime the good old soul led Marjorie to her room, whereas her own father and mother stood severely aloof, with the agitated nether lip of lowered pride. Since the affair of the tower they had hardly been on speaking terms with her; though even they were awed and inclined to reient when, that evening, r.o less a ■person thai' the Vicar called to see Marjorie.

She, lying half dressed on her bed, had to rise hurriedly and went into his presence with her hand over her throbbing temples, at the sight of which the Vicar bent sympathetically, saying:

"I did not know that you were so ailing, but I could no longer rest without coming to ask your forgiveness."

~ "For what, sir?" she asked, with the vvistfulness of a wondering child.

(To be continued.)