A DESPERATE GAME.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10131, 29 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 XXXlL—Continued

"Is Maynard Drew in the house?" he cried breathlessly. "I want Maynard Drew."

"He has gone out—he is in the garden," Margaret replied. "You are Mrs Drew—l want your husband. We can save her if he comes now--in ten minutes it may be too late."

"Constance—is it Constance?" Margaret asked. But the man made no reply. He left her without another word, and ran along the side path to the garden. She' followed close behind him. For a dozen yards or so they went thus, Margaret no more than three or four feet behind, when all at once the man before her uttered a loud cry and fell with a crash. Margaret hesitated instinctively, but before she quite realized what had happened, the man she had been, following had risen again ~u his feet, and with a pocket electric lamp was bending over something lying in the path. She pressed forward to see, but the man turned swiftly and stood facing her. "Go back," he hoarsely cried; "go and fetch " But he was too late . Margaret had seen what lay there, and, with a low moan of utter terror and despair had fallen on her knees by her side.

It was the body of Maynard Drew, lying motionless, with face upturned to the sky, covered with blood from a ghastly wound reaching from high up on the forehead to exactly midway between the eyes.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

TURBUTT'S DESPERATE SCHEME.

Upon some women the presence of an actual and unrecognized danger exerts a bracing effect, and Margaret was one of these. The wave cf dread and terror which had all but engulfed her when she saw her husband lying there, ebbed rapidly, leaving her . whitef-aced, but collected and resourceful. Her companion, meanwhile had turned to a more close and detailed examination of Maynard's from which he arose with a little grunt of satisfaction. "Only stunned," ho said, "and that smash looks worse than it is." •. He took from his pocket a flask, and unscrewed the top. "Lift his head up," he said to Margaret; "yes, like that, and I'll got some of this into him." Three or four minutes later, and Maynard Drew was standing dizzily on his feet, leaning heavily on Margaret's shoulder. "Come into the house,' 'said the other man, "and I'll bind up your face for you. Luckily, I know how." "Was "it you that hit me," Maynard hoarsely asked, beginning to grasp realities. I "It was not I," the man replied. "But don't talk now; we can discuss all that afterwards. Bring him slowly along, Mrs Drew, while I go on ahead and get some water and bandages." The stranger was awaiting them in the sitting room, and he set about his semi-surgical task with a deftness, that bespoke some practice. "It isn't very bad," he said cheerfully, when he had finished. "You'll need a bandage for a day or two, and sticking plaster for a' day or so longer. Did you fall over?" "Somebody hit me," Maynard replied. "I was running along the garden path towards the trees, when I saw a light iii front of me—a circle of light as from a lantern, and in that circle I saw the face of Constance."

"That is his present plan and intention—that was what he meant to do before, but for the accident of Ronald's escape.. And now," the strange)- went on, "we must bo going. They may want her help, my friends. I mean her friends. The others are. three to one, and " "But who are von. Tell ws—who "

The stranger reddened quickly, and hesitated.

"I will tell you," he said at length. "I did not mean to tell you, but I will. lam Nora Hardcastle." "A woman!"

"Yes, a woman; but I have done a man's work often enough before now, and may have to do it again., I may have to do it to-night. Are you strong enough to help me?" "I am all right." "Another sip of this," the other went on. "No, it isn't brandy—it is a cordial my husband brought from A medicine man in Gambia, west Af- ! rica. It is more fiery than brandy." i "You husband!" Maynard cried. [ "You are married! I thought you were a—a servant—to—to —Mr " The woman laughed softly. "I am. married," she sadi. "My husband's name is Andrew Casterman, Ronald's cousin. Ephraim Turbutt is our enemy, as he has been Ronald's. But no more talking. Have vou your revolver? Good! Then let us be off." Their guide led them rapidly through the dark lanes of Hindhead to the gate of Ephraim Turbutt's grounds, into which they turned without slackening pace. She took thqm, however, neither to the front door or that generally used by the servants at the back, but to a small side entrance, unlocked s-'n-parently, for their conven'o'i :c, which opened into the heating chamber of the conservatory. She sren-

"That is, Miss, \ anenck'a-lace, yen mean?"

Ed to know the house well, for she did not pause but led them straight on by various corridors and passages, and at. least one flight of stairs, coming to a halt eventually in a small, plainly furnished apartment at the back of the house. There they found a man pacing up and doAvn the floor, who welcomed them with an evident air of relief. "How long you have been!" lie said. "Why, what is the matter?" —as he noticed Maynard's bandage. "Have you had an accident?" "It is that which has delayed us," Nora explained, and in a few words she told him what had occurred.

"Yes, and then " Maynard paused, and gazed rather dubiously at the stranger. 'You can trust me," the stranger said, smiling. "I am a friend of hers and Ronald Normington as well."

"When I saw her I called out," Maynard continued, "called her by name; and then, almost simultaneously, indeed, a man sprang out of the darkness on the left and hit me in the face. I had no time to evade the blow, no opportunity of grappling with him. Indeed, I must have tumbled like a tenpin, because I recollect absolutely nothing more until I came to, with you and Margaret bending over me."

"Lucky it was no worse," said the man. "It might have been easily.

But I don't suppose they want to kill you. Did you recognize the man who bit vou?"

"Did you see the man who hit you -—to know him, I mean?"

"No." "H'm! Now listen to me. Where is Miss Van neck?" "I do not" know. I went out to seek her, and I saw her face once. Where is she? Do you know where she is?"

-<ot in the slightest degree," Maynard responded. "In the first place it was too dark; and in the second'! had no time.. And now, where is Constance?" "She is here—she is all right." "Are you sure of that?" "Oh, I have made certain of that. He intends to poison her, but I——" "Poison her!" exclaimed Maynard. ' - "Poison her!" exclaimed Margaret. "That was his idea." "Whose idea?" "Ephraim Turbutt's." "Ho again—that man again!" (To be Continued.)

"I remember now," Margaret shrilly cried.' "You said wo could save her, but that in ten minutes it would be too late. Where is she? Let us go to her." "She is. in the hands of those who mean her deadly, harm!" the stranger went on. "Cannot you guess who that may be?" "Deadly harm," Maynard exclaimed. "But she went out to meet Ronald Normington." "Ronald Normington! He is in in orison."

"If I were sure I could trust you," Maynard murmured.

"You can be sure of nothing in this world," the other man replied, with a rather dreary smile. "You

liavo to risk a little Don't you think that in this case you had hotter chance it, seeing how tilings are ?"

For answer Mnyuard took from his breast pocket the little piece of crumpled paper signed "Ronald I\ Tormingtou," and handed it to the

J stranger. "We found that in her room," he. ' said. "We went up for her,, but found the window wide open, and that scrap of paper on the table." The stranger read the note through twice with knitted brows, then held the papei - between his eye and the light. His face, cleared suddenly. "Ronald Normington never wrote this," he said. "I know the book from whence this page was torn. Yes, it is the same. That was merely a trick to decoy her outside." i "It is Ronald Normington's writing," iYL'iynard suggested dubiously. "A forgery—not the first time Ronald Normington's name has been forged." "But who would play this trick? Who can have a design noon Constance? Who?' "Who biit the man that carried her off from Coyton?" "Ephraim Turbutt!" i "Who but the man whose con- I versation she heard on the night of the murder.-" "Ephraim Turbutt!" "Who but the man that committed the murder?" "Ephraim Turbutt!" "Kplirann liiroutt, ana none otner. He is making the last move in a long and desperate game—a game played with wonderful sKUi and success, in which, so far, he Has Jieiu the master cards, if «e can silence Constance Vanneck, he will thwart his foes still, or thinks he will. If he can kill her—" "Kill her!"