A DESPERATE GAME.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10123, 20 October 1910, Page 2

A DESPERATE GAME.

(OUR SERIAL.)

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

CHAPTER XXlV.—Continued

;• "Just so; you were liis sister's son, and, alter me, his heir. But lie was a just man, as I have said. Having disinherited me, it. seemed to him only in accordance with the most elementary notions of justice that you should bear a character beyond "reproach. So his instructions to the trustees ran that they were to pay you the money, provided you had never been imprisoned for crime. Otherwise, they were to seek the next of kin, and to pay it to him, with, of course, the same proviso. Failing this, within five years they were to hand over the cash to a university in Melbourne. These instructions were contained in a schedule to the will; the money was left absolutely to the trustes, who had the power, if not exactly the right, to impose what conditions they chose. Well, they came to England seeking you, and so far from finding you to bear a character above reproach, they discovered that you were actually a convict, and so they went further and lighted on our cousin Ephraim, who fulfilled all the conditions and therefore collared the cash!" There was' a long silence broken first by Andrew. "Well," lie said, "what do you think of it?" "It is a marvel," T replied, "I can hardly grasp it yet." "And you mean-to say you have heard nothing of it?" "Not a glimmer. But it clears up one Doint.' ' "Yes." "The real reason why Ephraim was so anxious to get ine out of the country. I had told him with some,emphasis that I meant to prove my innocence, but if I succeeded " "He would have lost the moneyyes, that is so. He has only a interest on it during your lifetime or mine. I forgot to mention that. He enjoys the income of it until I die or untii something turns up to prove my innocence. One of the trustees was a good friend of mine, and has believed in me all through. His daughter was my good angel—is yet, for she is my wife—and he persuaded the others—for they had the power —not to hand the cash outright to Ephraim, but to let him enjoy it subject to my rights should I be able to clear my name. They never dreamed, of course, that you might be innocent, but they inserted your name as well, really to cover mine. So it stands that if you prove vour innocence Ephraim loses the money. Yes, I dare say the suggestion would frighten him. But what did he do?" I hesitated again. How far could I trust my self-styled cousin ? Was he my cousin at all? "How did you know me?" I asked. He threw himself back in the chair and laughed softly. "I penetrated your disguise," he said mockingly. "A real beard, a! gray wig and spectacles, are good, but I should think the cotton wool with which you padded your clothes makes them hot and uncomfortable. It is good enough for Maynard Drew and Joel Hudspith, and that Ileckitt chap was thinking of something else. It's not a bad disguise, but, I know where you got the wig and the padded coat. Mr Ronald Normington left Camden Tovfn and went to Poplar, where he disappears. And there arises in his stead a certain Mr Chibnall." "You have been spying on me," I cried, half-angrily, ' "Perhaps—perhaps not. But you were never cut out for this sort of thing. There is little enough of the conspirator in your composition, and even less of the detective. Let me put it plainly. I kept my eye on Maynard Drew, and through his wife located you in Camden Town. Then you disappeared, but did not cover your tracks. Yon had spent three weeks growing that beard, and you had bought that wig. One night you said your final adieus to Camden Town and walked to Poplar. That is the whole story."

as a foe and make my escape from him at the earliest possible moment. It was a perplexing alternative to a man whose sole environment of late had been perplexity. "What is your answer?" he asked again. "Why did you come here?" I questioned in my turn. "What did you want of me?" "I wanted to tell you that story," lie replied. "That is strange, too," I said, "seeing that on the whole you were rather astonished that I did not know it." "That looks like a strong point," lie responded, laughing, "but it is not. As a matter of fact I wanted to see whether you did know it. I thought, you did, and I thought you didn't, and I wanted to make sure." "H'm!" "But has the story, now that you do know it, taught you nothing at all?" "Taught me? I do not understand.'" "Let me put it another way But come out and have dinner w ;th me. I have eaten nothing since eight o'clock this morning. Konsence man," he added, as lie saw me hesitate ; "that can be no trap. 1 believe you think that I am a police spy; but if I were I should arrest you here—l should not invite y.v- to dinner. If I had only a means to convince you! What is it ou fear?" "I will tell you," I said, "I do fear that you are a spy, whether of the police or somebody else, I cannot say." "But why should I invite you to dinner?" he argumentativelv urged. "Possibly because I have, not said as much as you want me to say, or exactly what you want me to say." "It is awkward," he admitted, "and I cannot prove my identity. But you can probe my story of my father's will—you can see your cousin Ephraim and find out from him. That will be one step." "That would be one step—yes," I assented. "Very well, take that step. You have faith in your disguise; see him and sound him. And now I will go. I have achieved one part of my purpose—l have told you a story—a true story of something you did not know, of something vitally important if you read it right. 1 will call here again this day week. I will not take you to dinner now, because we can only work in double harness, supposing that confidence between us be complete. Beware of the police and beware of Ephraim Turbutt, arid await me a week from to-day." He rose from his seat and went towards the door. On the threshold he paused. "By the way," he said, "I told you that two of my father's trustees were men of probity, above suspicion. The third was Richard Van neck." And with that he vanished.

CHAPTER XXV. THE SHAM DETECTIVE. The next day I caried out a project which had for some time been simmering in my mind, and from which the visit from my counis had developed into resolution; I went to see Epliraim Turbutt. Despite, the disquieting knowledge that my disguise had proved itself not impenetrable, I had sufficient faith in it to risk upon Epliraim. I know my cousin's address at Hindhead, and L found it without much difficulty—a handsome new brick building standing in four or five acres "of private ground, a good third of which was virgin moorland. I went boldly up to the front door, only to be told that, although my cousin was in, he was engaged; I had no chance of seeing him unless I had an appointment. Money was not very plentiful with me, but I risked half a sovereign. "Give him my name," I said, handing the man one of my Chibnall cards, with the coin, "and tell him T have come on business relating to the late Mr Vanneck." The charm worked, and three, minutes later I was seated in a handsome ornately furnished room, part library, part office, face to face with my cousin, who still bore, as I was not entirely unhappy to observe, the marks of our last encounter in the house in Essex. He was a little puzzled, I could see, and glanced from niv fact to my card and back again to my face, as if wondering what one so apparently a stranger could pos- j sibly have to do with his late man of business. "I am interested," I began , "in elucidating the mystery of Mr Vanneck's death." "A detective?" he queried with a quick, upward lift of his eyebrows, which denoted both curiosity and watchfulness. "We may put it so if you choose," 1 replied. "The police—do you come from the police?" ho asked in nervous, staccato accents. I hesitated a moment, and then replied in the negative. - "Then for whom are you working —whom?" he responded. (To be Continued.)

I was thunderstruck at tlie simplicity of tlie tiling. For some reason this man, calling himself my cousin, had shadowed me, and despite my change of identity, had successfully kept me in view. Could not the police have done the same thing ? "And now," lie went on with his ready smile. "I suppose you are meditating a second disappearance, and a new disguise?" I started a little, for, indeed, some such thought had crossed my mind as lie spoke. "You must not do that," he continued earnestly, "without letting me know. It may be vital to both of us. What do you say?" "How do • know that you are my cousin?" I demanded. "Ah, of course, I had thought of that. But there is not a soul in this country that knows me. I am a stranger here, and you must take ino on trust. What do you say?" He waited with an air that was half anxious, half doubtful, only apparently careless for my answer. The problem I now had to solve was one the most difficult and dubious that had yet confronted me. True, it seemed simple enough ,and 1 had met with episodes which appeared on the surface to be more exciting. But this, quiet and trivial as it looked, might easily be vested with issues of life and death. What was my best course ? To accept him as a Mend, and make of him a confidant ? Or to treat him