ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 9053, 31 March 1908, Page 2

ONE IMPASSIONED HOUR.

By OWEN MASTERS.

or of " Nina's Repentance," " Clyda's Love Dream," " Her Soldier i-ovtT," " For Love of Marjorie," " The Mystery of Woodcroft," etc.

OL-lAPTER XXll.—Continued. He walked Ins rather jaded horse up the hill to the Red House, his minn crowded with thought. The difficulties at the works were tided <>ver for a week or ten days, and much might happen in the meanwhile. 'lhe last Jinserinj? doubt respecting Charlie Eastwood had been swept away, and he would place no bar to the fullest investigation. . . . There _ was no proof that the blood on the silvermounted blackthorn was human blood, and he ha'J seen innocent men convicted upon the evidence of scientists and experts. As for the fingerprints—well, of course, they did exist, no doubt, and it was equally sure that these same finger-prints would be proved to be Charlie Eastwood's. Everybody knew that the stick was his, «ind he had generally used it when tramping about the estate. He turned into the drive at the same easy gait, and, when half-way along, a bend revealed to him the unwelcome sight of Miss Linley, Upton Warren, and Mr Forrest, the curate, drinking afternoon tea on the lawn. It was the curate he objected to. He was rather surprised, too, that Warren should hobnob with Forrest. He rode past with a wave of the hand to Kate, and unnecessarily took his horses to the stables 'himself. In ■so doing he occupied ten minutes. Then he lounged back to the house, saw that the ourate was gone, and stalked over the lawn. Upton Warren greeted him gravely, whi'e Kate's face showed distinct signs of disapproval. He felt that there was .thunder in the air. "Give me some tea, Kate," he said, irritably. "1 am very tiredi And, for pity's sake, where are your pretty frocks? This isn't a house of mourning. There were tears in ths girl's eyes, and Upton Warren flashed a warningglance at Allan. "Operations almost at a deadlock at the works for the mere sake of a j little ready money. It meant ruin. | Some of the penalties are a hundred pDiinds a day. /These government contracts can't be monkeyed with." Upton Warren raised his eyebrows. : "You surprise me. How much do jo a want?" ".Oh, I've borrowed the money—eight thousand —from Mrs Eastwood the Second. She appears to be quite ■an amiable woman." There was a painful silence. "Why didn't you tell me?" Warren asked, at last. 1 "I never thought of you, old chap. No matter, I'll keep you in mind for future emergencies. Now, whose funeral are you plotting? I saw the curate here just now, and I suppose he ia looking for a job !" "Your jests are ill-timed, Allan," Warren said. "Don't get angry ; I Mve ugly news." With a gasping sob, Kate rose and flew toward the house, with a look in her eyes, that Allan had never seen before. "Don't be melodramatic, Warren., Out with your story —built, I doubt not, upon the vaporings of that—that "

planned scheme. He ordered , the damage to the chape] to be made good at once and at this point I believe his heart failed him. He went to London, visited Scotland Yard, and became irightened. He bolted abroad, but is coming back, cleverly disguised, and in the name of George Lockyer. He is evidently under the impression that the bloodhounds are completely baffled, but the police are already waiting for him at Southampton. Let me finish, old chap, and then we must act —ast—act! One of the workmen sent to repair the cell went down in a bucket to find bottom. I The ddpth was something like thirty feet. He picked up a meerschaum pipe. That pipe Miss Linley identified immediately. It is here." Allan gasped, his face was white as paper. Everj nerve was tense, "Poor old father's pipe!" "The curate has travelled a hundred miles to find this man. These well-sinkers work all over the kingdom. He questioned the workmen adroitly, and discovered that the bottom of the cave-in glided in a deep, slanting away to the Eastwood colliery. He has since procured rough plans of the mine, and it was worked from No. 4 shaft, which has been out of business for years. Now, do you begin to comprehend?" "GoQd heavens—yes! There is a chance—a chance in a hundred. How long—how many days?" He counted them. "Thirteen! Men have lived longer than that underground. What's to be done next? Let me think; I am unnerved." "Everything has been done, Allan. The curate again! The man's a born general. Workmen are fixing a new frame over No. 4 shaft, and early tomorrow a descent will be made. Until then nothing more can be done." iioth men looked into each other's eyes, and breathed hard—both faces were white and drawn. "My carelessness seems almost crim'nal," Allan said. "It's all so simple, and yet I've been a beast to Forrest." "Oh, he doesn't mind, if M?ss Linley approves," was the bitter rejoinder. "I believe Kate wanted me to kick him." "You are treating her shamefully," Warren said. "Can't you see— — Pshaw. I've no patience with you! For vary decency's sake you must keep away from the Priory now, «md that money ought to be returned at oice. Charles Eastwood will be in England within a week, and very promptly put whei'e he ought to be. No sentimental considerations must stand in the way. I shall expect to see the woman in the dock with him. I want that blackthorn, Allan." "Come with me, and you shall have it," wa3 the dazed reply.

"How shall I tell Miriam? How shall I tell Miriam?" These were the thoughts racing through Allan's mind, with painful iteration. How longer? Why, the evidence was sufficient to hang a dozen men! But there was that one chance—that one little chance in a hundred. Oh/how fervently he prayed to heaven that his father might yet be alive. "Here's the stick, Warren," he said. "I've taken care not to touch the silvered part of the handle. Of course, it's a foregone conclusion — —" He broke off with a groan. "Sit down, Warren, and I'll tell you something. Here, just pass that liquer brandy this way; I am shaking like a leaf. How can I live through the night? I have visions of my poor old father—visions—visions. Good heavens! He may have been lying there, disabled, and slowly starving to death—or groping about and fighting for his life. You know what the rats are like in the mines? Hundreds of them gaunt, ferocious brutes. I went down that very shaft when I was a youngster, and I saw the devilish things." (To be continued.)

Warren held up his hand. "Hear what I have to say. While we hsive been doing practically nothing, Jtfr; Forrest has elucidated the mystery, and there isn't one chance in a hundred that we shall see your father alive again. lam rather ashamed of the part I have played in this case, but I have r/ot followed my own judgment altogether. You know why?"

"Go on. We'll talk abaut the whys •and the wherefores later," Allan said impatiently. He had set down his tea untasted, and was waiting apprehensively—fearfully. "My i*ear fellow," Warren continued, "I hate to have to tell you that Charles Eastwood is your father's murderer! The whole plot was ;a diabolical conception in cold blood! He and your father had quarreled that woman" —he jerked a hand in the direction of the Priory, "and it is certain that Mr Berrington had some darning evidence regarding her past, in black and white. Eastwood lhad either gone too far, or was determined to brave it out, and he had conceived a violent hatred for his friend. We have absolute proof of the row between them". He practically turned your father out of the .house one evening. He then pretended sorrow, and sent an apology. Would Beriington come back to the Priory with the bearer of the letter?" "The poor old gentleman went, and .Eastwood risked his life " "I've heard that yarn, and properly discounted it," interrupted Warren contemptuously. "If there was any real danger, this artist in crime could not afford to see his plans upset. He wanted some papers about his victim's person, and he was resolved to see an end to that victim, without risking chances. Mr Berrington and he went on to the Priory, arm in arm. They had a long talk there, and the old differences were renewed. The servants are witness to that. At a late hour, Eastwood and your father left the library together, and Eastwood grabs the blackthorn a murderous weapon. They went to the old ruin called the chapel. What -could be Eastwood's object other than murder? The gruesome hole had been shut up for years. He inveigled his friend inside—at midnight, mind you—struck him on the head with the blackthorn, robbed him of , the incriminating papers, and threw his body into the cell below, the trapdoor of which had been purposely opened some hours before. The bottom of this cell had already caved in— —" Ho paused to wipe the moisture from his forehead, and shivered. "It is horrible— horrible! Then ' follow his cold-blooded and carefully-