Was He the Man?

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10196, 25 March 1911, Page 2

Was He the Man?

OUR SERIAL.

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

CHAPTER ll.—Continued.

though in very sad circumstances,, but I am as far from matrimony as I am from South Africa. Have you dined? Then sit down and have some dinner with me. "You are the very man I wanted to see."

Then he called us all ttiree to his ; bedside, and asked the lawyer to read the will which he had brought with him. It-was only a few lines, but those few lines bequeathed to me, George Dallas Grey, a fortune, and a legacy of vengeance. When it had been signed and witnessd in duplicate, for safety's sake, Denver j told me with some significance, hetold me to open his travelling trunk which- stood at the foot of the bed, and take out a japanned iron box, then he took 'a bunch of keys from under his pillow, and gave them to me, saying: "In that box you will find all I have told you about; put your copy of; the will ..in with the and keep the keys." ! I didso. Then he continued! . , : "Thank you old. man, thank you! Andlyou, too,'doctor, aiid.Mr Mprtonj Now it' is all-'dorie, ; and I v cah die* "in peace." '•-■ ■ .-..•''■■.'.-■■;.■.. ■• •■ " Half an.hour later they took their leave, Denver saying: "Good-bye, doctor; you won't for- ' Set?"'I He lingered through the night, now talking a little in spite of my entreaties, and now dozing, until the light of dawn began to steal into the room. As it grew brighter the dying man beckoned to .me, and whispered: "Let the light in. I didn't think I .should see it again." , I pulled back the curtains, and drew [ up. the blinds of the two end windows j of ;the room, which looked toward the river. It was a lovely summer dawn, and from where he lay Denver could see the brightening sky! When the -light fell upon his white, worn face, his dim, half-closed eyes opened, and his lips moved slowly under his big moustache. I hurried to his side, and from his parted lips heard, faint as a sigh, |, tlie words: I ;'"Good-by;" then a short, feeble gasp, and "Kathleen —my " ! And I was alone. Shortly after nine o'clock the doctor I arrived. I knew what had to be done in fulfilment of the dead man's last injunctions, so, after taking one farewell look, I left the house, and wandered, down to the riverside to think over the events of the last twelve hours, and to estimate as far as I was able the"tremendous change, which those events had wrought.-in my own fortune and future;-'

CHAPTER 111

THE BROKEN DAGGER.. Denver had, of course, left it to> me to decide whether I should undertake alone the task he had bequeathed' tome, or share its difficulties and possible dangers with an assistant. I had come to the conclusion that it was; next to impossible for me to proceedwithout help from some one skilled in detective work.

I decided to iayt-necas© 1 "before Fenton, anct get Bis assistance if he would giveitV Dunh£ dinner I Mdhim of Denver*'&■ antf* the' petition; in; which.! stood in consequence, . The meal over, to a quiet corner in the smoking room, and there, over our coffee and cigars, I laid' the outlines of the- casebefore- him, and he became so interested that he anticipat:edi my request, and offered' me his- services there and then..

"We have hot p un pur fox to earth yet" I said, smiling at the young counsels professional gusto. "We have> But the faintest of cluesj and' there is no scent whatever."' • , . . "

"My dear fellow," he said, "though your metaphors are a- little mixed, the meaning is. exactly my own, and it is just that very weakness of clues, and' absence of scent, that makes tlie case so interesting.""

i We agreed to meet again atf my chami bers in Victoria Street at ten o'clock that night, and go as thoroughly as we could into the known facts of I 'the case, and planour operations. It was then* only a little after eight, and since the night was fine, and I had nothing to do for the present,'! let a fresh cigar, and wandered off in the direction' of Westminster, my favourite stroll being' along tlie Thames Embankment. Perhaps some dreamy mod causedby therecital of the^story,led niev there, but' certainly my apparently aimless walk that evening was not without a considerable effect tipon the work that was absorbing my mind' to the excliision;.of all other topics. I was possessed by th eid'ea of hunti ing down a man whom I had never t seen, and' lived'only for this object', tintil my purpose was effected. I stood idly puffing my cigar, and looking- vacantly over the river bo- \ neath mc. There were few •u----bout, no one within fifty yards, far as I could see. Presently I begni to walk again, but stopped 'close to • ".o'patra's Needle, and'leaning up iigain&t the-parapet,,,gave myself up tn profound thought, Wtil roused by the sound of voices near me. Half imroisoiously I found' myself listening with-, out any intention of playing '.he eavejdrcppor. I gathered i hat the speakers were men of very diff 3r-«iit socials stations, which was evilenc from the varying tones of their voices.. After a time they moved, and one of 'the*ri' said, with an unmistakable Cockney. -.twang: "' , ■; - ; ■"";'. : "No, Mr F., that won't do for James Kobson."

L Truly .the change was no slight one. Only the day before I had had no aims or projects beyond success in my prpfe&sion, and the earhihg : of a.compet'eiice.in the present, and a formidable provision for the future. Now I was a man with a fortune and a mission—a : mission of vengeance which would he fulfilled only when I had called down the: last awful penalty of the human law upon a man whom I had never seen before in my life. : yThe fortnight which followed Denver's death was a very busy one for me.; I had.first to make the necessary arrangements for the funeral, and. aiwas oyer, to arrange my own 'affairs so that I cOuld follow my friend's request without trouble. .• i ■Denver left no near relatives, for he wa»-)>he only son of an only son.' His mother, had died in giving him birth, and his father had been killed by a cannon shot before the batteries of Baladlava, when he was but two years old. |With the exception of the second I cousin lief did not,, as far as I' knew, > leave-; a single relative. At the funeral i this cousin; the; doctor, the lawyer and myself, were the only mourners. Nptice of his death was inserted in the leading London papers, but no one claimed relationship with the dead man, and I was justified in coming to the conclusion that Eis name and race had died with him. On the twelfth night from that on which I had received the momentous telegram, I was seated at my usual table at the Mastodon, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, and a familiar voice say:

The name acted. like a galvanic shock upon me, for that was the name mentioned in the manuscript that'was locked up with Denver's will. I sprang up from my leaning position, and as I did so the two men walked swiftly out of the shadow of the obelisk into.,the light of the lamps. One brief glimpse only T had caught of their faces, but that look was enough to send me:reeling.back,to th-. parapet, and my whole body trembling ; for there, within a few feet of me stood, hale and well, the man an whose deathbed 1 had knelt a fortnight before.

*• "Why, Grey, old man, is it really you? What has become of you during the last fortnight? Rumour has been *t :*" . ..,...•...■■ stating variously that youv have just married, come into a fortune, and gone to South Africa. A thousand pardons, my dear'fellow*-';-1 didn't notice that you were in mourning." 1 I looked up. It v?m Arthur Fenton, ah old Oxford chum, and now a successful lawyer ..who had made a decided mark in two or three very complicated cases. While we shook hands I said: .. '% "Well, I have come into a fortune,

When I recovered from the shock f looked eagerly round for the two men. They had disappeared, and a hundred yards away a hansom which had driven up a few minutes before was rattling away toward Charing Cross. (To Be Continued.)

"It is the most singular sfriry I have ever heard; I think,"' he-said, in conclusion, "and I have had' a little; exr perience of the seamy sidb of life during the past five' years. -What an infernal scoundrel that fellow must ioe, and what an interesting case! I think when we catch him, I shall take a-trip to Paris myself, audi see. him in the fond embrace of Madam la Guillotine; ''