Was He the Man ?

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10219, 21 April 1911, Page 2

Was He the Man ?

OUR SERIAL.

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

CHAPTER XVl.—Continued

Before Fenton could reply tlio hall porter knocked on tlio door, and brought hi which 1-ad come, hy registered mail. 1 opened it jr.Kl ionncl a stamped document pos-sisthiß of three or four sheets of looVap, and a short note. Jho letter was dated, but bore no address, and ran thus:-

nothing to-night, and so wo will leave you at once. Good-night. " You look half asleep now; go to bed as soon as you can.'-'

<<j V , u . qj,. _Jly resolution has fail--1 ITI V and 1 dnr'j not face the ordeal of to-morrow's examination, at which ! intend—l to offer myself as a wit-n-s The enclosed affidavit contains iiTf could, havo told. Place it at oive in Mr Teuton's hands. For the cpko of or who was dear to your dead friend, do not make the content-: public, if you con possibly avoid doing so. I leave. England to-night. Do not .seek to trace me. Yours truly, . "Frank Harcourt (or Burton). "George D. Grey, Esq." .

It might' 1)0 thought that this letter would havo excited the keenest curiosity in me, .but, on the contrary I read it aloud in a listless voice, and, Without further comment, handed it with the enclorv.ro to Fenton. He took "it --'-il'ii ? '-"ok of undisguised as-to-iiolure-it and epnr.-oovsio't at me,' and rapidly scanned the affidavit. As ho reached the tignature, he gave a low whistle, and said: "Thus is important—vitally so, in fact. But you are evidently not fit to discuss; it to-night, so I will keep it until to-morrow. I must have an hour or two before the exmaination begins. I shall apply for a week^s,adjournment." "Denver told me to-day that he would apply for it >.o be put off until Thursday." I said. "That's a strange move. May 1 ask why?" . •

1 mado no objection. I really was almost asleep, and the voices of my visitors had been sounding further away every minute. When they were gone I went straight to my bedroom, undressed in slow, mechanical manner, and got into bed, with my mind almost a blank. In less than live minutes I was fast asleep. It was about half-past eleven when I went to bed. I awoke after a heavy, dreamless sleep, just as the littleclock on my mantel was chiming two. The room was in perfect darkness — "darkness that 'might bo felt" —so denso and oppressive was it. Those who possess high strung nerves will be able to understand the feeling of being suddenly awakened from a deep sleep, as I was -then, broad awake, and with all the faculties abnormally alert. When I awoke in the dense darkness of my room, my first consciousness was of release from the strange, overpowering influence that had so mysteriously possessed me during the previous afternoon and evening. I was once more master of myself. with this sense of relief came .the nameless terror which js a characteristic of worst form of nightmare.

"So as to.give time for Mrs'Mayhew and Miss Moore to get out of England." .■ . "Just so. -Out of pure consideration for their feelings, of course," returned Fen ton, in a peculiarly dry tone, tha,t jarred upon me strangely. "Of course," I echoed. "Any gentleman would do the same under the circumstances."

"Exactly. Any gentleman would. And Denver is, or was. whichever it is, a perfect gentleman," said Fenton, in the samo dry tone. Then he contimiccl. in his natural way: "I should like- to know what is the matter with yon to-night, Grey. You are not your self at all—excuse my saying er mentally or physically. Do you feel ill?" •':.'■ ' '

"No, not ill," I replied, speaking an though against my own conviction, "I hnvA felt a.bit queer all day. just a l -. I did after that • extraordinary dream which led to the finding of the button. But I don't think'it's anything more than the strain and anxiety of -|;his .dreadful business. And then I am upset by the fearful mistake I have made all along about Denver."

' 'Then you are really convinced that this man is Denver?"

"Yes, absolutely. I candnt conceive how I could ever have thought otherwise. It seems impossible to me now."

"A . most marvellous conyerspn " rejoined Fenton, once Tnore, in> his hard professional tore. ''r»iji we .will not discuss that now, though 1 you will proceed no t'urthot in the case?"

"Not a step I shall -3d my lies l to atone for my mistake by giving my testimony at the examination ior Him; '"fl'm. That brings in a curious complication. I uj longer represent ye;, but I am a'so retai .el by Morel en liehalr of the Frene > Government

and so, if y .11 give evideaoe for ilu» a'cI v sirt!l t. W to •"u I'wo'i. l s'KuV np my bnof. l:nt it is too late to do that. That is Morel, 'I suppose."

At the same moment we heard a double knock at the outer door, and the French detective bo.wed himself into the room.

chapter x^rr,

ON CHELSEA BRIDGE

On being told of Burton's disappearance, and my subsequent change of convictions, and subsequent intentions, Morel smiled almost pitifully, and said, with a deprecatory gesture of the hands:

"Alas, difficulties, like msifortunea, do not come singly, it seems. Rob* son, after all my trouble, has contriv-j ed to give r- T ' men the slip; my 001-; league vanishes, and now our strongest witness forsakes us to side with the eriemv. Are you quite convinced, Mr Grey?". , • "Entirely," I replied. "Then our task is almost' hopeless; for I am told that anthropometry is not yet admitted as evidence in an English court." "Yes, I expect that the counsel for ,tho accused will object to it," said Fenton, "and I believe this objection will be sustained by the magistrate; Still, I have received news tonight that will help us a good deal if I am not mistaken. Since Mr Grey is determined to give evidence for the accused, I shall take the liberty of withholding it from him, in the interests of justice. Monsieur Morel, I want you to go home with me tonight. Mr Grey, take my advice and go straight to bed; you are not, in good condition at all. You can do

And yet I was wide awake. I heard the clock ticking, and the lo x rumbling of a cart in some neighbour-. ing street. I sat up in bed and listened. The sound died away, and all was quiet again, but for, the monoton-' ous ticking of the clock. I tried to cry out, and break the horrid silence; but my teeth clave together, and no sound came fron> my dry, comm-esscd lips. At last, while I gazed into the darkness, it seemed to open, and beneath me I could see a dark, broad river, with darker forms of barges and smaller craft, and here and there a gleam of light from their lanterns and the lamps on the banks on either side. By the old wooden bridge spanning the stream, I recognised the \ scene as the Thames.at Chelsea.

I seemed now to be moving toward the bridge, and as I neared one end, a man passed close to me, skulking along, avoiding.the lamps as much as possible, and at last creeping toward the Chelsea side, under the parapet of the bridge. After he had passed without seeming to see me, the man turned and looked stealthily behind him. The light of a lamp fell for an instant on his face, and in lhat instant I recognised the sinister features of James Robson. . •

I made a step forward, and put, out my hand to seize him. I touched nothing. In fact, I never moved. I was still sitting "bolt upright, in my bed, and staring wide-eyed at darkness. It was not with my physical eyes I saw. / .

Robson crept on across the bridge, and I followed him. At last he passed along the footway toward the middle, but he never seemed to get further from me;

Suddenly I heard a firm, quick footstep coming from the Chelsea end of the bridge. Robson instantly" crouched down in the shelter of the parapet. The footsteps became slower and slower as they aprdaehed, ai\d as the newcomer's form emerged from the darkness and entered the circle of light cast by the lamp, I saw that it was Frank Harcourt, alias Burton, the detcetive.

What strange freak of fate had brought these two men together in the dead of night in the middle of that old bridge ? •

Harcourt stopped exactly opposite the crouching and invisible form of Robson. Then he turned and took a step toward' the parapet, as though to look over at the water. As he went forward his foot struck Robson. An oath and an exclamation of surprise came sinmltaneously from the two men. Harcourt stopped, saying: "Beg your pardon; but you have picked out a cool and airy place to sleep in." *•-,'■ The good-humoured words were ans-

wered by a muttered curse,' as Robson arose to his feet, and was moving ■off. ' Harcourt took a flask from his pocket, and said: 1 "Sorry I disturbed you. Have a nip of this to keep the fog out of your stomach." At the mention of drink, Robson instinctively turned round and held out his hand for the flask. Harcourt poured some of the spirit into the cup of the flask and held it out, raising his eyes to his companion's face as he did so. Before Robson could take the flask it had fallen from Harcourt's hand and the detective had sprung forward, seizing him by the throat, and rapidly twisting his fingers into the handkerchief that was knotted round it. At the same time I heard him say, in a half gasp, half whisper: "So it is you, Robson, and I have you at last!" "Have you?" hissed Robson, in a hoarse, guttural whisper, seizing Harcourt's arm with both his hands, and suddenly jerking his head violently back. The handkerchief gave way under the strain, and for a moment Robson was free; but before he could turn to flee, Harcourt had rushed at him, and closed with him again. (To be CcntmuedV