Was He the Man?

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10195, 24 March 1911, Page 2

Was He the Man?

OUR SERIAL.

BY F. L. DACRE, o— r Author of "A Phantom of the Past," "Tronholme's Trust," "The Doctor's Secret," "A Loveless Marriage," "Sir John's Heiress," etc.

CHAPTER 1

until lielp came, although he wat bleeding from half-a-dozen knif; wounds. My own stab proved ori ous, and laid me up for a "few weeks. Denver nursed me until lie was dered to the front, lor the rest < the campaign we were as inseparai . as our duties would permit.

NEWS OF DENVER. /'Telegram for you, sir. Thanh you, sir." The waiter laid the envelope beside my plate with silentdeftness, pocketed liis tip, and almost before I had glanced at it, was attending to the wants of another diner two or three tables away. I had had'a hand day's work, in writing up some important foreign news which had come in during the morning, and had been given me as subject matter for my next day £•' leader, and also ■ < preparing a special edition of it for my weekly 'London Letter.' My work for the day -over, was dining at my club. Telegrams to s busy journalist are what letters are to a man of business, quite too commonplace to inspire feverish haste to learn their contents. So this one lay iinopehed beside my plate, while I divided my .attention between my .dinner and an evening paper which stood propped up in front of me. 1 I had only returned six weeks before ; .from Australia, where I had " spent upwards of a year as special .correspondent of a big provincial paper, so was still out of touch with Home affairs.

This lasted until Denver was badly wounded and ordered home. On his return he found that a distant cousin, whom he had never seen, had died, leaving a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds which had been accumulated in a soap-making business. He had quarrelled with his only son, and left both the money and business to Denver, who, however, declined to take the. whole of it, reserving to himself one thousand pounds, giving the remainder of the money and the business to the son.

When I returned from Egypt he had gone, by . his doctor's advice, and on his own choice, on a- voyage round tlie world. I had had letters from him from New York, San Francisco, Honolulu, New Zealand, Melbourne, Colombo, and Rome, all written in the best of spirits, and telling of restored health, and complete enjoyment. , I then left England, as I have said, 011 a mission to Australia. On my return I learnt the story of hi& arrest for murder, and his acquittal on an alibi.. Then, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky, had come his terribly laconic summons, and I was hurrying to his deathbed.

, Almost immediately after my retturn to England I osd learned from isoma acquaintances a most extraordinary story about a man to wliom 1. .was bound by the ties both of long ifri-end'ship and great obligation. Several montlis previously, on Iris return' from a short'visit on busines ,to England, lie had been arrested at Cherbourg, for a murder committed at St. Malo during his absence. The newspaper report had stated the ■murdered man was' the uncle of the "young lady whom the accused was on the eve of marrying, and, further ;that lie had been charged with the 'crime on the sworn statement of the ■murdered man, who had survived long enough to make a deposition.

Ail alibi had been proved, and m;> ' friend had v then disappeared from the jscene, leaving behind him th » wildest rumours.

■ Naturally, I had been, greatly per plexed and distressed bv this singular story, and, above all, by th t disappearance of a friend whom 1 -had looked forward to meeting wit), not a little. ..pleasure- All my effort? ' to trace- him had proved futile. ! I ippened.the telegram, and read.

"George Grey, Mastodon Club, Piccadilly. Come at once. Jui home! from Madeira. Dying. r " Denver, Ryelands, Gravesend. :

• Great Heavens ! . VVJuit had ' J done ? While I had sat there finish-

ing my dinner at my ease, and sipping my coffee and liqueur, the dearI est friend I had on earth, the mat: to whose unselfish heroism I owed my very life, was dying—perhaps had died—longing to see aoti speak ■to me.

I. "Ghark s," T shouted to 'h«. waiter',"' ruckle is alike of club e.iquette and dining room manners, a taxith < first you can filiu. ' ' Charles w.».s scandalized, hut lie w;ais prompt t« r obey, and m five Jirinjutes i was '"ng smootV * ap-ii-rap. Charing >j>s. I j':s« caught the "hi -h, > happily for mypeace j,f nun 1. was the first.iiu!l could/lave canght' The ma; 1 U> whose ieuohbc \ i Was , hastening, Kenry ver, and I had been schoolfellows at Henley nearly twenty years before, and there our, friendship had • begun ;with'the termination of a canoe rape, in which I was leading by a length, and Denver second: In the excitement I missed a stroke of | the paddle and capsized. I was a [ bad swimmer ,and Denver knew it. He headed his canoe for where I was struggling in the water, and in a „■ few seconds I had l overturned him as well. I remembered nothing more until I found myself on the bank, with my chum bending over me. We parted soon after, he to enter. Sandhurst, while I went to Oxford University, but our correspondence was regular, and we met aw often as possible.

Ten years later I stepped upon the quay a.t Port Said, whither I hac been sent as the war correspondent of; a' daily paper, and met Denver, who was now a major in the Rifles. Some days. after our [unexpected meeting, Denver again laid me under a life obligation to liim. We had got into a dispute with 'som© frequenters of the Arab quarter, and before many words had passed, I was down, stabbed in the side* from behind, by a cowardly

brute, whose head was cracked a few sceonds afterwards by a blow from Denver's blackthorn. For nearly half an hour lie kept them at bay

CHAPTER; 11. VENGEANCE AND A FORTUNE. After what seemed an eternity of crawling, the train drew up at Gravesend, and in a few minutes, more I had reached the riverside house, where, as I tried my best to hope, I should find my friend still living. The housekeeper, who received me took me, by Denver's orders, to his room. When I reached the bedside, and clasped in mine the thin nerveless hand, which,' when I had lasjb grasped it, had been so strong and sinewy, and when 1 bent over the white, drawn face, lit up so unnaturally by the big, bright eyes, my anxiety lost itself in unutterable grief, and in a moment I was on my knees, and the hand within my own was wet with the first tears I ha.! shed for years. "Come, come, old man, don't give way like that. Get. a chair and sit here and listen, for 1 have much to. tell you, and, I am afraid, not I much time to say it." .The words were spoken almost in a whisper, and I drew a chair up-to the bedside ,and sat there, holding his hand in qnine, only interrupting him once or twice to give him a restorative when it became necessary. I learned that his long silence, was due,, partly to the. loss of the mail boat Anubis in the straits .of Bonifacio, , some twelve months before, and partly to the fact that he had heard that I had gone to report the Melbourne Exhibition. And then, when almost exhausted, he laid his •band upon mine, and tui'ning his hollow, burning eyes .upon\me,. -he said: •,

"And. now, in the name of our long friendship, I want you to give me your word of honour to take up the task where I have had to leave it, and to carry it through, even if it takes the rest* of your life to accomplish it. It is a great deal to ask—too much, I am* afraid—but you are the only man on earth' to whom I can appeal. I have done all I can to make it easier for you ..,and there is nothing in it that a inari of honour may not do. Will you promise, old fellow ?" Though I only half knew the work he asked me to undertake, what I did know of it was more than enough to convince me that if* was my duty to my dying friend, as well as to others, and in justice, to perform it ,and so gave the promise without a moment's hesitation. About ten o'clock there was.a knock at the door, and the housekeeper came up to announce the doctor and "another gentleman." Denver told her to bring them up at once.

When they, entered the room, a glance told me that .the other gentleman was a lawyer. I asked whether 1 should retire, but Denver shook his head with a faint smile, and I remained. (To Be Continued.)