THREE MEN AND A MAID

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9043, 30 January 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID

CHAPTER X. "IF ONLY HE WERE HERE." That night Marjorie wrote to Inspector winter, giving him thu news. She did not know at which hotel he was staying", but addressed ic to Nutworth, sure it wouid reach him, and, in writing the n&me of the town she wondered what he was doing there. N atwoith was the nearest town of any size, and it contained the offices of Carruthers and Bennett, the Squire's solicitors. Did that fact account for the detective's presence there? Marjorie ran out herself to post the letter, leaving the ring locked in her work-basket. She laughed to>herself, thinking-of the detective's surprise, wondering 'how much weight he wouid attach to her discovery. She had not been able to kejp from adding slyly in a postcript: "It seems rather a mercy that I did not take myself away to London as you advised." It was a restless night that she spent, impatient at her inaction, at the loss of time, feeling that when day broke she would work rague wonders. The thing now necessary for hejr peace of mind was by any means to bring Warren and the ring together. But, when morning dawned, which she had expected to bring light to her raind as to her eyes, it left her still blank, and Philip as lost as ever. She could think of nothing to do, except to hurry with the news to her new friend, the Vicar. At once, after breakfast, she was off, met Felix on the path between the Greyhound orchard and the Vicarage shrubbery, made him rich for a month, told ham with a ls*ugh that she would not want him any more to go with her to Lancault, and went on up through the shrubbery to the Vicarage, where the Vicar received her with both hands, and led her into the study. On the Vicar's face sat a great gravity in those days. Davenport,, his old butler, was saying that his master had aged five years in a week. Mr Isambard placed Marjorie's easychair near the fire, for winds of November were moaning outside. Sitting near her at the table, and resuming his interrupted breakfast, the Vicar said :v "You teem with good news, one can see, but I always first insist upon cotfee for my morning visitors " This came as a calamity upon Marjorie, meaning delay. She pleaded to be excused. "Well, then, let me just mend the fire, and I will hear" —he rose, and before he could sit again all her tale was told. "You have found his ring," said the Vicar slowly, for he had trained himself never to exhibit surprise. "Well, that may prove a matter of some moment." "May, sir? I say will and must!" "Well, so I, too, say. I, too, am glad. It seems to tend towards the view that there was a duel." "It.proves it!" "Well, since you say so —yes. I personally never doubted it, and you and I are quite at one, be assured, in the belief tha Philip Warren is not a knave." "The thing now, sir, is to get the ring to him and him to the ring! I come to you to tell me how." "To him?" said the Vicar. "Why to him? It is for the authorities, it senms to me " "Ah, sir, I hope you are p-oing to tryst to my instincts in this. It is for Philip to have the ring, believe me. It is his mascotte " "I sue you are quite a convert to do Warrenno traditio s," said the Vicar somewhat dryly. "That is easy, seeing that Philip taught me. Ye' it is not a question whether his separation from the ring really means calamity for him, but that he, irom his youth, has believed it. I "think that if he once had the ring again, his panic would vanish, he would give himself up to the police, and would then make such a statement of facts as must clear his character, and free him from all fear of the law." "0 woman, great is thy faith!" cried the Vicar, laying his hand upon her shoulder in a kindly way that was new to him. "But is it so great?" asked Marjorie. "I do not see that. Since there was really a duel, as the broken ring .seems to prove, what follows next? That there were two s"words, surely. And where is the other? Removed and hidden —by whom? Not by Philip, apparently, for one can't conceive any motive for such conduct, so it follows that someone else must have been there, some third person—--17 The Vicar almost aPowed himself to start, those three words, "some third person," were so electric in their effect. But long practised restraint came to his aid, and he said, in.an everyday tone: "Almo3tyou persuade me. Yet, if it was not Philip Warren who did the Squire to death m the course of a duel, how can the human mind account for—his flight?" "That is beyond the wit of man to divine, Mr Isambard. Let us at least be sure that there is an explanation, one which your nephew alone can give. In which case, do you not see that the thing now is to get this ring to him?" The Vicar meditated it, and then suddenly, shaking a finger at her, said: "1 believe you are right! You have forgiven me Marjorie, for having once spoken—er—lightly of you? Of late I find it hard to forgive myself." "Pray forget it wholly," she replied. "Let us rather remember that it is Philip alone who is in question, and that lamof no importance. We have to find him, and quickly, before

By ROBERT ERASER.

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

the authorities; for it will be far better if he gives himself up to them than that Ihey should take him. But how, in Heaven's name, to find him?" Mr Isambard rose from his chair, walked through the room, looked out upon his window-garden all nipped with frost, and finally announced his decision as though it were a text: "I will this day advertise throughout the kingdom the words: 'Your uncle has your ring'—or something of that sort." Then Marjorie laughed with a touch of her old merriment. "It will sound awfully like a pawnshop advertisement," she cried, whereat tha Vicar stared at her, then suddenly had a shock of quiet amusement which turned his face all red. "Unfortunately, he hardly ever reads a newspaper," sighed the girl, yielding again to the difficulty of the problem which perplexed them. "Pity, pity," was the Vicar's comment. "I have often impressed on him the duty of a modern man to read and know what is taking place in the world about him, but Philip was ever locked up in the past, and in his own dreams. Surely now, however, when he is so personally concerned in the death of Robert Courthope, he will search the papers daily to see if anything new has cropped up—don't you think so? You know his mind far better than I, I regret to admit." "He may," said Marjorie, "he may now—l am not sure—probably he will." "Then, I will advertise persistently—l can think of nothing else, except that there is a young man in London who was a close friend of his at Oxford —a dreamer like himself, I fear—and to him I might write. It is just possible he may know where Philip is hiding." This, then, was arranged between Marjorie and Mr Isambard. That very day the Vicar wrote to an advertising agent, meaning to spend a large sum 'on the enterprise. Marjorie, after [ an almost affectionate leave-taking, I started back homeward. To her surj prise she found Hannah, up and well, talking alone with James Courthope jon the path at the bottom of the ; shruhbery. Courthope received as cold a bow as had ever frozen him, and no word was spoken as Marjorie passed on her way. But she had hardly entered her room, and was still taking off her hat and beaver stole, when Hannah came to her, saying casually: "Been to the Vicarage?" "Yes," answered Marjorie; "but I don't like secret meetings." "Don't you? Really? After Fennell's Tower, and all? Ah, Marjorie, you do fancy yourself—you do!" "Don't be absurd. I mean, of course, anless you are quite sure that the maiv is henest, and I don't think James Courthope is honest." Hannah dropped ir.tD an easy-chair, and slinging a knee between her clasped fingers, said tauntingly : I "Don't you think so? Dear me, you are far off the mark this time. I hope you are not always so wrong. It's to be on the 17th of February, Marge, within three months from today for I'm not one for long delaj s, you see. Father and mother and all Hudston will be hearing about it in another few days. Can't you see their round eyes!" "I hope it-is true," was Marjorie's quiet answer. "How much do you hope?" asked Hannah. "Look here, Marjorie, yuu know that 1 threatened father and mother to clear out of the house, if you stayed in it. But I shan't go now, for I know that, if I did, they'd turn you away, not me, and I want you to stay, just to see you eat your little heart out with envy that day " "Oh, please go away," murmured Marjorie. "You are quite horrid." "Yes, that'll be a bit of a shock for you, eh? And if you had only behaved yourself differently, I would have been good to you in the days of my grandeur and wealth. But you shouldn't have taken that letter out of my pocket, you never should, nor made it public to try to shame me—you shouldn't " (To be continued.)