A DESPERATE GAME.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10124, 21 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 XXV. —Continued.

"Then for whom are you working,' he responded, his first air of puzzled wonder returning to him as if he were struggling with some undefined undercurrent of thought. Perhaps he recognised an inflexion in my voice, perhaps there was something familiar in the pose of my figure; but it was evident he thought he ought to know me, and was searching in the corners of his mind for a clue that might aid his faulty memory. The realization of this attitude 011 his part engendered a certain caution on mine ,until gradually the shadow passed away, and ho appeared to satisfy himself that 1 was the total stranger I claimed to be. "For whom are you working ?" "For Andrew Casterman," 1 responded, quite on the impulse of the moment. The effect of my words was unexpected and a little amazing. My cousin rose slowly from his seat with a slow, almost automatic, apparently voluntary movement, and stood with both hands on the desk, peering at me with wide-open eyes set in a fitce that had turned suddenly white. "I am acting for Mr Andrew Casterman," I repeated. "Mr Vanneck, you know was one of Mr James Casterman's trustees." He continued glaring me as if he doubted either my sanity or the evidence of his ears, or both. "Andrew Casterman," he hoarsely said at length; '.'Andrew Casterman ! But what has he to do with this, and why do you come to me about it." "As to that", I replied lightly, "Andrew Casterman is the late James Casterman's son. And lie is interested in his father's trustees because—he is innoceut of the crime for which he was disinherited." He fell limply back into a chair, with a shrill cackling laugh that was evidently nearer hysteria than amusement. "Innocent! He is innocent! He as well aS ——" "As well as Ronald Normington," I coolly put in. "Yes, it seems to run in the family. But that doesn't interest me, ' nor does the other. Their innocence or guilt does not matter to you so long as you have the money." "It is futility," he huskily replied, still in evident agitation. "Oh, that all depends," I rejoined. "Of course, it is futility trying to prove what is non-existent, and in any case innocence is a negative sort of thing. I am not interested in anybody's innocence, but in someone's guilt—that of the man who murdered Mr Vanneck."

"Just so; but wliv do vou come to me?" That ,oi : course was an important question. The death of Mr Vanneck was an excuse, not a reason. "I comb to you," I said, "because you were Vanneck's employer, and can, if you will, answer some questions." "If I will—yes." "Of course, you must please yourself, though you can have no reason for withholding information. The matter on which I wish to question you is very simple. You succeeded to the late James Casterman's monej'. Andrew Casterman and i Ronald Normington have forfeited it through their criminal courses." "Well?" "If I err, you will no doubt correct me. You do but enjoy the interest;' the capital is invested in three trustees, of whom Mr Vanneck was one." "Well?" "I want to know," I began sticking fast a little there, for indeed I had not the slightest idea what I wanted to know beyond perhaps a confirmation of Andrew Casterman's story. "I want to know " I said again, and then I hesitated as there came a swift illuminating inspiration fraught with vital issues. Almost as if a Voice had whispered it in my ear, came a sudden recollection of Constance's story of the scrap of conversation she had overheard between her father and his mysterious visitor on the night of the murder. "I want to know," I said for the i third time, "how the late Mr Vanneck came to .be mixed up with the plot against Ronald Normington, and why he should have been murdered because of that knowledge." Again my chance shot hit a mark of some sort, although I was still too much in the dark to see where it lay. But the effect of my words on my cousin was indubitable. Nor was hi sappcaranco that of one surprised merely, for if there ever was deadly fear written on a man's face, it was on his. And it was the realization of that which carried iny thoughts a step further. "In searching for the murderer of Mr Vanneck," I said, "I have learned one thing, that the murder arose out of a quarrel over Ronald Normington. His innocence or guilt is a side isue, but as tho ultimate cause and inspiration of the crime, it interests me." "He—he was the murderer! He—lie was there at the time," my cous- | in stammered. j "Possibly," I rejoined. "T do not know about that. If he were, it is intelligible that be should quarrel with Vanneck over the Coyton robI bery, supposing Vanneck to know l the real truth." "The real truth!" Ephraim cried gaspingly.

I CHAPTER XXVI. I NORA ~i,ES THROUGH THE DISGUISE. . I stood for a minute or two half dazed with this sudden recognition ; but to find Nora Hardcastle was a matter of such vital importance to me that I dared not let the opportunity slip. She did not go to the front door but pa sod along bj4 the side of the house, and disappeared from view. My first impulse was to follow her, but the fear that Ephraim might be looking from one of the windows deterred me. I crept from my present hiding place and crosed the, road, taking my seat on a low block of stone, in such a position that I could secure a sight of the gates ,but at the same time could remain concealed, not only from any of the occupants of the house who might come out, but also from chance passers-by. Fortunately the gates opened into a new side road, and not on to the highway from London to Portsmouth, which was a continual rattle of motor-cars, bicycles, and various vehicles. But I waited in vain for the exit of Nora Hardcastle, and when, towards the end of the hour, I saw a trim, sprucely dressed maid coming along the drive, I determined to question her. It was not a difficult matter. She was' not a country girl, but of London breed, pert, quick-witted, and sharp-tongued. I stepped up to her and asked her if the house belonged to Mr Turbutt. It was a foolish question as I realized a moment after I had littered it. If she had seen me enter the house, or while I was in it, she would become instantly suspicious. Fortunately she seemed quite innocent of any such knowledge, and readily answered my query in the affirmative. 1 took out a coin and hold in in mv hand fully in view. "I wanted to ask a question," I said. "Will you answer it for mo and earn half a sovereign?" "It all depends," she portly replied. "Let me hear vour question first." "A young woman dressed in black and wearing a thick veil went into the house a little less than an hour ago. Do you know who she is ?" (To be Continued.)

"I mean the truth according to Ronald Normington. And now can you answer my question ?" "It is a lie! It is all a lie!" tie replied. "What is a lie?" "I tell you that it is a lie!" he cried in tones that almost rose to a scream. "Normington took the jewels and Normington murdered Vanneck !" "You believe that?" "I am sure of it—quite sure of it." My only desire now was to end the interview. Many thoughts—curious thoughts, amazing thought*!, too—wewe crowding my brain, and I wanted quiet, quiet and solitude, so that I might marshal them in order and see whither they led. The game I was playing here, the game of disguise and subterfuge, was too strenuous and exacting to admit of dear thinking, and whatever came of it I must get away and he alone. "I will call on yon again, Mr Tnrbutt," I said, rising from my chair. "We are a little at cross-purposes just now. Your blunt accusation of Ronald Normington and the reasons you adduce have changed the current of my thoughts. I did not know he was at Hampstead on that night." "He was—he was!" "Do yon know he was there?" "I know he was expec——" "It seems to me," I broke in, "that T must find that Hardcastle girl. She must have let him in. She would know him." "Yes," he assented hoarsely, him in. It says so in the papers, "she let him—she must have let She must have let him in. Do you know where she is?" I paused rsmilingly. "I—l am interested in this—this tragedy. Where is she ? I would give a-—yes, a thousand pounds—in the interests of justice—to know just where she is." I remained silent, still smiling. "I would give a thousand pounds," he repeated, moistening his white lips with his tongue. "I will consider it," I responded, and without further ceremony or farewell, I took my leave. I pascd out into the drive, the c'.or being opened to me by the footman, and walked slowly towards the li; s i - road pondering deeply. As I passed through the big gates a. curioas :.nd to me startling incident met ire full in the face. As I went oat, I saw a woman coming towards r-ie, a woman youthful in form, but 'ipi-jSiil in black, and wearing a veil. Nevertheless, I recognised her, whorher bv instinct or intuition, or fome j-bunoivy prompting of recollection, ' Oo lot know, but I was in no doubt. As she reached the gates she raised her veil, and for a moment I salight a glimpse of her face. It was Nora Hardcastle.