THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9053, 12 February 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

[All Eights Eeserved.]

CHAPTER XlV.—Continued. Feeling no active good-will towards Hannah, therefore, h°. hurried to the Greyhound, and the first person he encountered there was Hannah herself, bustling about with soiree" her old-time energy. The appearand of the detective seemed to startle her.

"Lor," she cried, "is that you? Haven't you heard the news?" "What news?" said he gruffly, with a sudden vnsolve to "bluff" her, as the police say when they flurry an unwilling witness into truth-telling. "Why, about Mr Warren." "And what of him?" "It is all over the village that he is hiding in Fennell'a Tower."

"Who says so?" "I heard it. It is the talk of the place." "Come, Miss JNeyland, who told you? Have you forgotten?" "Er—really " "What a dreadful thing it is to have a bad memory," he remarked, with a sarcastic sympathy which he was sure would annoy her.

"My memory is all right. Anyhow, my sister Marjorie knows, and she is not to be mistaken where Warren is concerned." Winter had not hitherto experienced Hannah's "lady of the manor" style. The cjrt allusion to "Warren" amused him.

"Did she see him there? Or does she believe all she hears, like yourself, Miss Neyland?"

"I don't understand you?" "You have always been ready to credit fairy tales where Fennell's Tower was concerned, you know."

Hannah drew back a' trifle perplexed. Winter was a man of the world, and his tone hitherto had invariably been most polite. "You are speaking in riddles," she snapped, venomously, "but plain English is good enough for me. My sister saw and spoke toMr Warren in that very tower this very evening, and so sure was she, at any rate, of his presence, that she has gone away from Hudston for ever."

"Gone away!"repeated Mr Winter blankly. For once, he was quite taken back. Hannah, presaing home an unexpected triumph, raised her voice a little.

"Yes, absolutely gone, sir. She left by the 9.30, and I, for one, think she is well out of it."

"Do you know where she has gone to?" he asked unguardedly. Hannah smiled. She was given the •opening she wanted. '.'l might guess," she tittered, "but you see I'm so ready to believe all I hear that I had better say nothing more."

To his credit be it recorded, Winter was concerned with Philip Warren's grief of the morrow rather {t than Hannah's present victory. Put stress of thought never controlled his tongue or his face. He'met Hannah's simper quite genially.

"Capital!" he said, "Now, if Mr Warren is really in <the tower, and you could manage to find that ring of his—the one your sister lost, you know and give it to him, he might follow her, and several most interesting people would be made happy." "Ring! What ring?" And Hannah became shrew'ish again. "Haven't you heard? I made sure Miss Marjorie would have told you. A plain, gold ring, with a seal—" "Oh, that? Y».s, 1 heard some fuss. But what nonsense you talk. Mr Warren will be caught, and tried for murder, unless you policemen bungle again."

"You never can tell. It's the queerest world, Miss Neyland. You are judging by the coroner's inquest, of course; but affairs might assume a very different aspect in a court of law. The law is an ass, you know, and I admit that we policemen do often bungle." "What a funny 3ort of detective you must be. .If Mr Warren didn't kill the Squire,, who did?" "That is a question I cannot answer. Suppose you put it to the better-informed person who told you was in the tower, for mtance. Then you might hear a good guess, if nothing more."

"I don't know what you're driving at," wan .Hannah's weak retort as she retreated. For once the wisdom of curbing her tongue became apparent. Winter gave her no further heed just then. He searched for Jonas, and found the innkeeper in the smoking-room, where some of the prominent people in the village had gathered. Jonas was purple with anxiety and success. The poor man had not only discovered that his almost unknown daughter had crept into hia heart, but Hudston was •drinking fabulous quantities oi liquor under the stimulation of the Squire's murder. So, not an unusual event with him, he was pulled two ways. "Well, sir, hev ye got him?" was the query which assailed the detective from a dozen throats.

"Yes," said he. "I suppose you mean Mr Philip Warren?" "Who else?" gasped one. "I might have had an eye on you," was the jocular reply, and every villager laughed. "I don't say as I'm much nf an angel," Haid the other man. "but I've had nowt to do wi' the Squire's killing, I can take my solemn davy." "And that is more than Mr Warren can *ay, eh?" "Well things do look black agin him, sir." "Yet many a man has been innocent of wrong-doing who had a harder case to explain. Mr Neyland, one word'in your ear." The canny Yorkshire folk looked at each other knowingly when the pair quitted the room. They could take a hint, these shrewd-eyed men, and their wits were busy to discover why the clever London detective should al-

By ROBEBT FRASEB.

[Published By Special Arrangement.]

most tell them plainly that perhaps the law might seek elsewhere than in Fennell'a Tower for the slayer of Robert Courthope.

Ip the porch Winter was speaking in guarded tones to Jones. "Where has Miss Marjorie gone?" he asked.

"To Lunnon. Her mother na' me couldn't hold her. Her fool of an aunt"—here Jonas looked around to make sure Aunt Margaret was not within earshot—"her fool of an aunt' gev her fifty pounds, an' away she's gone, never to come back. What'll become of the business?"

"Business seems to be all right for the time being, Mr Neyland. Did your younger daughter say why she was going?" "Not a word! She just came in wi' Hannah, went eryin' to her aunt, packed some things, cried a bit more, told her mother an' me not to ax her anything, 'cause she couldn't tell us if we did, and off she popped. Damme, she was gone before I fairly knew wot was happening. 'Wi' fifty pounds an' all." Neyland did not choose the living word, but the detective caught the sob in the man's voice. The despairing father was wondering, in dumb agony, why his child denied him her confidence, and Winter did a kindly thing when he said : "Cheer up, Mr Neyland. Keep my opinion a'secret, but Marjorie will be back in Hudston within a week, and you will see her a happy woman. That is all you want, I expect.?" "Why, yes, sir, an' bless you for them words. May I tell her mother you said 'em?" "No. Give that as your own view, and stick to it, no matter what hapnens. Just laugh, and bid people hail you as a prophet in seven days. Do you know Miss Marjorie's address in London?"

"If it's the old place, it'll be Turner's Studios, Pinchley road, sir." As Winter strode off towards the Hudston police station, it was in his mind to telegraph to Matlon or York and advise Marjorie to return. But he abandoned the idea. "Let Hannah tighten the reins," bethought. "James is a horse of mettle and he will begin to prance. I shouldn't be surprised if he, too, goes to Lor.don. Well, let him. I can handle him more easily there than here'., lam sorry for my romantic Philip, but I'm a detective, not a writer of novelettes, and unless I force James or Hannah to make a false move I can no more get the necessary evidence than I can fly; What I really . want now is a trustworthy burglar, who would ransack Mr Bennett's safe fdr me. What would he find there? I wonder!" His subsequent proceedings that night were peculiar. After bidding the local police disperse the villagers to bed by spreading the news that Philip Warren was under arrest, he went to the inn where he lodged, wrote several brief letters, posted them,; built up a good fire, obtained a fresh supply of cigars, and locked the door of his sitting-room. Then he took from a drawer a rough map of Hudston, embracing FenneH'a Tower, Nethefend Hill, Eaenhurst Court and Lancault. On the map he staged a number of small leaden figures, types of soldiers and army nurses which had served many purposes in their day. For these were Winter's puppets, when he tried to reconstruct a crime, and every little rnannikin had been labelled with names famous in the annals of Scotla: d Yard. Their present titles were familiar enough. Each leaden base was gummed to a piece of cardboard on which was Written "Philip," or "Robert," or "Marjorie," or "James," or "Hannah," as the case might be. (To be continued.)