THREE MEN AND A MAID.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9059, 19 February 1908, Page 2

THREE MEN AND A MAID.

[All Rioiits Reserved.]

CHAPTER XVl.—Continued

He found another visitor there before him. Davenport, the. butler, way assuring poor Jonas Neyland that he had >lO news of Mr Warren's ur Miss Marjorie's whereabouts, which was the non-committal answer Davenport would have given to an archangel if questioned on his master's business. The detective came to the tortured inn-keeper's aid. Jonas, for once, had let "the business" ''take care of itself. He, like the rest, lnd heard of bis daughter's probable arrival by the 8.30 p.m. train He could not face the boisterous mob, and he was too uneasy to remain at home, so, hoping the Vicar might be able to give him some comfort, he stole away without even his wife's cognizance.

"If you wait here, Mr Neyland," said Winter, "you will meet your daughter in a few minutes. And she will be glad to see you, because you cari take her home when the village has quieted down lor the night Have you heard how it became noised abroad that she was travelling from London this afternoon?"

"Why, sir, some one telegraphed fra? Grantham " "From Grantham. Are you sure?" "Sartin sure. I seed it. It was on f'pa&er. 'Grantham, 4.5 p.m.' Mr Smithers hisself showed it to me." "Any name of a sender?"

"Not a name. Just a short message aboot my girl an' Mr Warnm." "And why should any one wire to a man like Smithers? Was it in the belief that the village barber would spread news quickly?" "Happen you're right there, Mr Winter, but I've bin I'pset these last few days that I can't put two an' two together as I uspd to be able to do." -"Well, well, your daughter will soon be here."

"I'm main glad nn it. But that's not all. Hev' ye heerd aboot that blessed ring?" "Not the whole story. What was it?"

"It seems as how Marjorie got a ring from.Felix which Mr Warren lost .during that .dreadful affair in Lancault. Then. Marjorie accused Hannah of stealing it from her, an' my sister-in-law —a most cantankerous woman, Mr Winter, when she gets a thing into her head—took Marjorie's side, which she would do anyhow, for she fair worships chat lass. Well, so far as I can learn, Aunt Margaret, as we all call her, was Jeanin' over the bannisters night afore last when she heerd yju atellin' Hannah she ought to give back that ring " "The deuce she did!" broke in Winter. "The old Jady caught me tripping, eh?" "She said nowt aboot that, nor anything to anybody, but no sooner did Hannah gan out yesterday mornin' than Aunt Margaret goes rummagin' in her room, and dang me if Hannah has not bin sarchin' for that blessed ring everywhere, an' savin' she is sure Aunt Margaret took it." "Oh. Is that it? By gad, I must find a vacancy for the old lady on my staff. Well, here is the carriage* and lam very much mistaken .if your younger daughter is not inside, Mr JNeyland." Davenport threw open the door, :and seemed to be somewhat scandalised to find the two men standing in the porch. The Vicar alighted, and Philip; and then Marjorie appeared. She was ■overjoyed to see her father waiting there, and she ran to his arms with a glad cry. "Oh, dad! Have you come to meet we?" "Eh, ma lass! Ma bonny lass!" That was all he could say, but it sufficed. His eyes were dim with tears when she led him inside to the light and warmth, and, while she comforted him with loving assurance of her well-being, Philip drew his uncle and Winter apart.

"Can you tell me the hour when Mrs Richards brought my ring here?'? he asked.

"Yes," said the vicar, "it was 6.15 p.m." "And I arrived in London at that very moment. No wonder my fortunes changed forthwith, though, indeed, I did not think so at seven o'clock.".

"And you would not have thought ■so yet had I not sent a man fr jm the Yard to meet that train, Mr Warren," put in Mr Winter drily. "Rings are all right, and so are romances, in their proper places. But for success in a ticklish business like the investigation of Squire Courthope's death, give me a clear brain and a trustworthy staff." And when events were examined in the light of subsequent evidence, the detective was entitled to crow more than a little, because James Courthope's journey to London was the fatalest thing he did in a period crammed with fatality—and Winter alone knew why.

CHAPTER XVII.

MR WINTER CONSTRUCTS A PLAY. For the proper understanding of the later acts of the Hudston drama, it is recessary to imagine how Mr Inspector Winter occupied his time when Philip Warren went from Nutworth lo London. The detective took Mr Isambad by surprise when he announced his intentionto remain in Nutworth. The Vicar, of course, looked forward to his company for the homeward drjve, but Winter politely excused himself on the score of "a few minor inquiries." ■ During the next half-hour it would have been a difficult thing for any-

By ROBERT ERASER,

[Published By Special Arrangement.]

one to joerceive the form those unimportant inquiries would take. The detective lounged through the streets of the small market-town, gazed in at the shop windows, became so interested in a sweet-selling industry that lie entered the shop, purchased some peppermints, came out again, and lit a fresh cigar from the stump of an old one. It chanced, by accident, of course, that Mr Bennett, dapper and sharp-looking as ever, came out of his office just as Winter determined to buy sweets. Therefore Bennett did i.ot see him; possibly Winter did not intend that Bennett should see him.

It also chanced that Jeffry, Bennett's confidential clerk, who followed his master a few minutes later, met Mr Winter face to face in the High street, and showed a rather mystified face in response to a hearty greeting.

Mr Winter ±ace to tace in tne xiign street, and showed a rather mystified face in response to a hearty greeting. "What! You haven't forgotten' me, have you?" cried Winter. "I was at the Courthope inquest; represented Scotland Yard, you know." "Oh, yes! Delighted, I'm sure. I was only at the inquest one day. So busy, you see. Anything I can do for you?" "Nothing at the moment, thanks." "How goes the case?" "Simple. Too easy. I look on my stay here in the light of a holiday." "Rather bleak weather just now to my taste." "I don't mind it. It is a treat to a Londoner to be able to tramp along country roads. The long nights are the worst features of existence. I line! them dreafully slow." "Well, I must be off. Not much time for luncheon." "By the way," said the detective, genially unwilling to part from an agreeable companion, "do you play draughts or dominoes?" "Both. Why?" "I return to Hudston by the 5.15. It occurred to ine it might suit your convenience if you came with me, shared my cutlets, and smoked some of my cigars over a glass and a game. There is a train at a reasonable hour, and you will help ma to kill one dull evening."

Jeffry hesitated. He was suspicious by calling and by nature, but this Scotland Yard man ought to be entertaining. "It will be rather a rush to catch the 5.15," he said. "Come, now, try," cried Winter expansively. "Well " "But a word in your ear. Say nothing about it. I am not supposed to be amusing myself here,, you know. And people who don't know can't talk." "Evidently wants a social evening, " thought Jerffy, so: "Right you are," he said. "Meet you at the station." Then Mr Winter began his inquiries, which assumed a peculiar shape. He called at the police-station, received a telegram, wrote a long message, lounged out, asked v the way to a neighbouring village, walked there, inspected an ancient church tower with a tree growing out of the roof, sampled the beer in an inn, showed much interest in the landlord's prize pigs, and generally revealed himself as an accomplished ffansur. But he was at Nutworth Station in good time, and smiled affably when Mr Bennett's confidential clerk turned up not many minutes before the train arrived. "I did 'hope you might not be detained," said Winter. "Are you so busy? This is a slack time, isn't it?" "A firm like ours is always hard at it, Mr Winter." "Ah, yes. County families' estates, and that sort of thing. Dull work, but useful, and it pays well." Jeffry, feeling that his employer's reputation did not warrant this favourable estimate--as poor Robert Courthope's was the last estate remaining on Bennett's books since the death of his partner changed the subject. (To be continued.)