THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9051, 10 February 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

[All Eights Reserved.]

CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued. "Well, you are telling me why .you thought—what shall ) say—that I "-as curiously unconcerned about my safety, presuming I were guilty of Courthope's death." "Yes, put it that way. You see, there were two places peculiarly bound up with this affair, Fennell's Tower and Luncault Churchyard. Yet you live in the one, and visit the other each night! And David Thompson, your devoted worshipper and huntsman of your pack of otterhounds, aaunters to the tower each day, carrying a can of milk and a full basket, yet returns swinging both empty. Really, it \va3 too easy, Mr Warren."

"Poor, loyal David! Does lie, too, think I planted that sword in a stormy heart?" "I suppose so. He believes you are hiding from the police. It was pitiful to see him trying to locate me before he set off for the tower." "Yet he said never a word! All I got from him was 'They'll never know where you are, Mr Philip.' 1 trust no harm will come to him for his staunchness. I have sat on the bench with my uncle often enough to imbibe some smattering of law. Ifthere is a coroner's warrant for my arrest, I must stand my trial, and David would be 'an accessory after the event' That i 3, if you were to cast your net so wide." "David will be left'severely alone, though I promise myself a few minutes' fun when I tell him to-morrow morning that you have left the tower so he need not bring his daily supply ■of provisions." "Thank you. When may I—endeavour to see Mios Marjorie Neyland?"

' "To-morrow, I hope." "Will it be impossible to-night?" "Yes, I fear so. Let me explain. Her sister has so.ne strange hold over James Courthope. Hannah Neyland hates you and Miss Marjorie in the ' most fiendish way imaginable. She is now torn by cunflicting emotions, joy at your imminent capture, rage at Courthope's avowed affection for the other girl, mixed pride and jealous love where Courthope and her own future are concerned. She may bubble over when so many passions are aetthing in the pot, but the slightest hint of your possible innocence arid the resultant triumph of Marjorie would stop her tongue and send her hot f'>ot to Courthope for advice. I will endeavour to see Miss Marjorie myself to-night, and it will be an odd thing if I don't manage to dry her tears by some consoling message. \ Be easy on that score, Mr Warren. But I must have a clear field during the next few hours. And now 1 have said a good deal more than I counted on. Here we are at the Vicarage. let me announce you. Above a'l things, treat Mr Isambard gently. He has aged as many years as he has lived days since you saw him last."

Winter was anxious that few or none of the Vicarage servants should know of Philip's return, so the two men entered by a wicket-gate which led through the shrubbery. The detective went on alone, and asked to see the Vicar, who was at home, and Warren waited a moment in the shadow of the trees, whence, across the intervening gardens and meadowland, he could see the windows uf the Greyhound Hotel. Marjorie's bedroom was situate in 'the front of the building; it was therefore invisible from his present standpoint, but there seemed to be some ariimatjon of lights in the back part of the house. Had Philip or the detective read their significance aright it is probable that Hudston would have been spared some of the thrills it was destined yet to feel •ere Robert Courthope's tomb saw its first border of spring flowers. But lights in the upper floors of a big country hotel are not prone to. carry occult messages to their observers, and Philip's mind was quickly drawn from them when the French windows of the library opened in the darkness, and his uncle, bare-headed, whitefaced, with hands outstretched, came towards him across the lawn. For the first time in their lives, those two were ,knit by a bond of sympathy never again to be relaxed. The cleric, cold, unbending, broadly dogmatic, felt that he had never striven to understand his romanticsouled nephew, while Philip was regretting that he had not tried to accommodate his high-flown theories of existence to the world in which he and all other men had to dwell.

They clasped hands with a little murmur of joy that they were met once more in friendliness. Within the library, with blinds drawn and lights on, it was easy to see that the younger man had suffered hardships. He laughingly explained that he had borrowed a shirt from David Thompson, while he depended on the rain and dew for washing. "But why not trust some one, my dear boy?" asked the Vicar. "If not me," he added pathetically, "you might have sent a message to Marjorie, or even to Davenport." "I'll tell you all about it, uncle, if you give me fifteen minutes' grace, the run of the bath room and some clean clothes-. I suppose Davenport can be warned that I am here?" he added, glancing at Winter. "Yes. He will hold his tongue, I guess. And what about eating? Some sandwiches and a glass of wine, if I may partake of your hospitality, Mr Isambard "

The Vicar promised cheerfully that all would be done. Within five minutes Philip, revelling in a hot bath, heard a tap at the door, and the butler's eager whisper: "Here's the clothes you want, Mr Philip, an' thank God you've come 'ome. Shall I put a fire in your room?"

By ROBERT FRASER.

[Published By Special Arrangement.]

"No, thanks, Davenport. That won't be necessary. And be sure that I, too, am glad to be home again." But the butler's question set him thinking. Would he sleep in the Vicarage or in the village lock-up? Winter had been discreetly vague in some respects. Behold, then, a wonderfully rejuvenated Philip, and a Vicar, from whose face the anxious lines were vanishing with each succeeding moment, seated with Inspector Winter i l the cosy library, where Philip, as is the failing of every human being, told his tale backwards, beginning with his trials and tribulations in Fennell's Tower, and ending with the real kerne] of all the trouble, the duel and its causes. Hence, he scon learned that Marjorie had recovered his ring from Felix, only.to have it stolen by Hannah, and he gave little heed to Mr Winter's expression of blank amazement that a man should live the life of a cold and hungry outcast during a fortnight simply for the sake of a heraldic ring. "I knew I was doomed when I lost it," said Philip, "and now I know it is coming back to me because my j evil fortunes are turning, and the reaction will be seen when I have the ring once more on my finger. I simply could not tear myself away from Hudston without it. I searched, during the long hours of darkness in every nook and crevice of* Lancault and was nearly caught twice, first by some unknown man, who might have been you, Mr "Winter," whereat the detective nodded acquiescence, "and 'again by Marjorie, from whom I had to fly as though she were a witch." "But why?" demanded the Vicar, spreading his hands in surprise. "Why fly from her, of all women?" "She, of all women, was the one whom I had sworn neither to see nor j speak to for five long years. One keeps an oath if one takes it, uncle, and I did not know until to-night that Robert Courthope was dead. So you see that I had no alternative but to hide, your door being closed on me, partly by my own pride and partly by misunderstanding." Mr Isambard smiled gently.

"You are more generous than Marjorie, Philip. She did not forgive so readily." "You forget, uncle, that she was the most cruelly used of any of us. 1 had to drive her from my sight on our wedding-eve, so to speak. That was bad enough. When there was added to private woe the pub,lic degradation of CoUrtbope's murder and the inquest, I wonder she bore the shame and sorrow so well."

"From what you say, and I believe every word of it, you could »ot have killed Courthope either wilfully or by accident," said the Vicar. "It is evident, so j far as human judgment can determine, that when you flung Courthope on his back on the slabs in the church, he was too spent to rise at once. Yon rushed away; he was at the very farthest bounds of exhaustion. While he was lying there, some one who had watched the duel, though unseen himself, leaped forward the instant you had gone, saw some movement which betokened life in the man on the ground, and made sure of his deadly hope by seizing your sword and plunging it into Courthope's breast." "That certainly seems to be the only possible solution of the mystery. I have already uttered some suspicion. But Mr Winter checked rne, and, as yet, of course, I am not in possession of all the known threads of evidence. "It is a maxim of common sense/' said the Vicar gravely, "that where a crime is committed, one should look to the quarter where benefit accrues from that crime." *"• "Good Heavens!" cried Philip, springing to his feet, "the only persons who benefited by Courthope's death were Marjorie and myself." "Explain that, Mr Warren," put in the detective instantly, though hitherto he had left the best part of the talk to uncle and nephew. (To be continued.)