A DESPERATE GAME.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10108, 1 October 1910, Page 2

A DESPERATE GAME.

(OUR SERIAL./

By OWEN MASTERS.

Author of "The Master of Tredcroft," "One Impassioned Hour," "The Deverel Heritage," "When Love Rules the Heart," "Captain Emlyn's Bride," etc.

CHAPTER VII.— Continued

But the horror of the fearful scene was not yet fully accomplished. 1 turned to the other figure, and there, lying on the low couch,.her beautiful face, ashen and drawn, lay Constance, unconscious, grasping in her right hand a revolver! My first thought was that she had killed him; and then at all costs I must get her away from there. If she were found lying as I saw her, with that murderous weapon in her hand, it would be the v first thought of the world to accuse her, however guiltless she might he. And I knew that I had good reason to know that innocence is no sure protection against the terrors of the law. I went toward her and tried to take the revolver from her. It might be that the real murderer had placed the weapon in.' her uncpnscious fingers. But one touch dissipated that theory. It was held in a grasp so strong and rigid that I could not relax it. Whatever the girl had done, whoever had killed the man opposite, she, at all events, had taken the revolver in her hand before she fainted. I looked about me for some restorative—water, wine, anything. On the corner of the table nearest me I saw a half filled glass—brandy as I very quickly discovered by the sense of smell—and this I was about to pick up when I noticed by its side a scrap of paper, roughly triangular in shape, not more than an inch and a half across, and with jagged edges, as if it had been torn from a larger document. As I had bent down to smell the contents of the glass, my eye had been caught by the name written on the fragment—my own name. I lifted the paper from the table and glanced at it with curiosity that was more dazed than eager. It was cryptic, amazing, unsatisfying.

Maynard Drew's cheek, or was it perchance the dead man's own blood? For me the mystery of the murder was solved. At that moment I did not doubt that Maynard had fired the shot that had brought Mr Vanneck down.

He crossed the room rapidly, just as I had done, and for a minute or two stood looking down at Constance as if he were debating his next move. I drew back into the deeper shadows of the night, for we were not more that six feet apart, and I dreaded that he should foist another of his crimes on me.

He arrived at his decision quickly. Bending down, he took the revolver fro* the girl's rigid fingers, though it needed, as I could see, some considerable effort to release it, and laid it on the table by the side of one of the plates—laid it there with care and precision, and evidently had some object in view. Indeed, he returned twice to rearrange it, and finally went round the table and bent down as if to examine the position of the-dead man's wound, after which he returned again, and, taking up the revolver once more, placed it at ■the other corner of the table. Even this did not satisfy him, apparently, for at length he took it away from the table altogether and laid it on the floor, purposely, after a moment of thought, overturning the chair that stood near.

" . . . aid Normington is inn . . . . "

Who had written that, and where was the rest of the letter? Was it the girl. The writing was evidently masculine. Was it Vanneck? The only note I had received from him had been typewritten. Was it the murderer? I thrust the scrap of paper into my vest pocket, and . bent my mind to the other and more pressing problems. I think it was at that moment that I fully realized how milch Constance was to me, how much I loved her, and the dark suspicion of murder that might surround her did nothing to cool my ardour or dim my love.. And it was my duty to save her. With a stronger effort I tried to take—to wrench, would be almost the proper word—the revolver from her fingers, but again I found it beyond my power, save at the risk of hurting her. Then I stooped, intending to lift the girl's unconscious form in my arms and carry her into that dainty little room on the other side of the hall. She should at all events have the chance.of -denying should she be accused. ■■<••■■.

Then I saw the reasons for his various movements. He wished to suggest that the murderer had dropped the revolver, had risen from his seat in such a hurrj that the chair had fallen, and had- There the story came to a "halt, and what tho murderer did next there was nothing to indicate; apparently, Drew had done all he had intended to do in that particular. His next move concerned the girl. Again he returned to her side, and stood looking down upon . her as if discussing in his own mind what he should do with her. Once move his decision was rapid. Leaning forward, he lifted her in his arms, and strode from the room, carrying her light, helpless form as easily as if it were that of a little child.

I think it was at that moment that 1 my hatred fcr him grew most bitter. He was doing what I had meant to do, what I had failed to do. He was removing her from the certainty of that suspicion' that would have gathered around her had she been found in that position. I was just about to turn away from the window when he entered the room again, but it was only in order that he might switch off the light and plunge the place into darkness. It was so unexpected, and withall such a curious thing to do, that I stood for a minute in helpless bewilderment. , Then the reason of it occurred to' me," He wanted to leave the house in darkness so that no attention should be called to. it, in order that he might obtain a long start, and, make good escape.

But before I could accomplish my project I heard a noise.at the front door as if some person or persons were entering; then fear, the craven fear of the gaolbird, canio over, me. If I, an ex-convict, a proved housebreaker, were found there, -nothing dould save me from the gallows. Perhaps the servant, a fellow guest, somebody, had gone for the police.

Without pausing to question wisdom of it, and acting entirely on the spur of the moment, I crept through the garden and round the house towards the front, halting in the shadow's of a dense mass of laurels as I saw Maynard staggering along the. path towards the gate, .still bearing" in "his arms the unconscious form of the girl.

Not two yards away from the couch on which Constance lay was a big French window, opening into the garden, and with a swift step or two t placed myself outside, closing the window softly behind me. Everybody to whom I have put the question said I acted; rightly. If it had been the police I could have done no more for Conctance than they would have done; while had I been discovered there, I should havo involved myself, and perhaps her as well, in immeasurable ruin. - But my flight was the result of cowardice not of calculation. And even as it was I acted foolishly, for instead of completing my retreat I paused" at the window to see what would happen, forgetting that if the police had come they, would haye looked at the* window first, and that J had "not been able to refasten it after I had stepped through. The disqovery of aii unlocked window would have brought them on my track at once. But it was not the police.

What was he going to do with her? Where did ho intend to take her ? Had he murdered the father in order that he might carry off the daughter? Should 1 follow him? Should I return to the house? While I stood thus in hesitation Maynard Drew had disappeared through the gates with his burden, and then suddenly I heard the steady, rhythmical throb of a motor car.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

For a few moments the newcomer stood in the door of the room, behind the heavy curtains in which it was draped. Nor could I see his face when he strode across the floor toward the table and bent down over the dead man. His investigation was but momentary, however, then lie straightened himself, and for the first time I saw him clearly and recognised him—to n>y dumb amazement, nqt unmingled with horror. I recognised him! It was beyond all doubt Maynard Drew in evening dress, his shirt front dishevelled and spotted with mud, and witli a great splash of blood on his left check, whether from a wound or not I was not near enough -to decide. He Wore neither gloves nor hat, and looked like a man who had just come in from,a rough and tumble street the table inflicted that wound on

Almost instinctively, almost involuntarily, but with a hazy recollection of the car I had seen as I entered, I ran to the wall some three or four yards on my left, and, clambering up, peeped over. Just above me was a street lamp, and close to the curbstone .was the car, going slowly by, though gathering speed ■ with every revolution of its wheels. But as it passed 1 had a brief, clear view of the interior and its occupants. These latter were two— Maynard Brew, with ; his ghastly blood-stained face tense and rigid, and by his side /half lying, half, huddled, 'the unconscious body of Constance Vaimcck. A minute later and they had dis- i appeared from view; three minutes and they were out of hearing also. Then occurred what, properly considered, was one of the most mysterious incidents of that night of strange events. As I stood with one foot in a tiny crevice of the wall, my body half overhanging the summit, my eyes peering viewlessly into the darkness that had swallowed up the car and its occupants, I felt suddenly the firm clutch of a hand upon my ankle. (To he' Continued.)