A DEEP GAME. OR THE HONOUR OF THE TREVELLANS.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10557, 12 February 1912, Page 2

A DEEP GAME. OR THE HONOUR OF THE TREVELLANS.

OUR SERIAL.

By Mrs Da Winter Baker, Author of "The Sin of Carina," "Sir Blandford'a Protegee," "For Weal or Woe," ©to.

| CHAPTER XXV—Continued. I The more ho realised how lie had buoyed himself up wiih false hopes, tho'morc did his despair give way to apprehension. Ever .since Lcttice's departure so unexpectedly, he had simply existed for some message from her clear hand, and now hkmk, bittor disappointment v.-as staring him in tho face. Presently apprehension developed into ahsolnto fear within his breast—fear that sonic accident might have befallen .his darling girl. His distraught bnain now conjured up a hundred visions of Lettico lying mangled and maimed among the splinters of a train wreck, Lattice the victim of a cab accident in London', Lettice lying in tho hospital, Lettice —ah, no, the thought was intolerable. He put his band to his eyes, as though to shut out the horrible picture. What to do ? That was tho question that presented itself to him. What could ho possibly do? Lettico had not written ; he had not the. slightest idea where sho was. Should ho wire to his sister Adelaide, and ask her if Lettice had returned home? What was the address Lettice had mentioned? Something, Lexingham Gardens, Bayswater. What number, though? Ah, yes, nineteen, of course. He rememlbered row that Lettice had laughingly referred to the coincidence between the number of her residence and tho number of her years. The breakfast gong of the castle appealed all in vain to the anxious lover that morning. In ten minutes Eric had changed from flannels to riding kit, and was tearing along the country lanes, his heart aflame, his brain a-whirl. Lost in his own anxious thoughts, he passed the familiar turning that led to tihe village, and rode on farther. Ho stopped at length at a rural post office some distance from Bickleigh. Leaving the mare, hitched to a post pvvtside, ho entered and dashed off a vigorous /.message with vicious digs of the pencil. He toro the paper from the pad, and looked in his pocket for a eoim ■'■'. '■'.'-'■' '•■ - : "-.."; -.•/' •'•" " . "•■■-."';.:' : " The sternness of his commands as ho pushed the telegram-form over the counter almost frightened the little Cornishwoman out of her wits. "Get that through to London at once please, and send a 'hoy out with tho answer as soon as it comes." Scarcely heeding the tremulous reply of the startled woman, he strode out to the mare again and set out for a long country ride to pass the time away until an answer could reach him. An hour late a semiclerical figure cautiously cycled into the same village. Having satisfied himself with a careful reconnoitre of the adjacent street, and that the little post office was empty, Mark Jason propped his machine aainst the outside wall and entered. He went to the counter and took up the pencil attached to the pad of telegraph forms. Suddenly he peered forward closer, and a smile flickered on his lips. The inhabitant's of the villago were not frequent users of the wires and it was therefore scarcely .surprising that tJho marks made by Eric's frantic digs were plainly discernible on the pad.

Bending low over the counter, Jason appeared to bo in deep contemplation of the message he was about to compose. As a matter of fact he Was deciphering Eric's message, and this is what he read:

"Miss Adelaide- Lascelles, 19, Lexingham Gardens, Rayswater, London: "Lettice gone London leaving no address. Ls sho with you? ERIC TREVELLAN, "Trevellan Castle, Cornwall."'

An angry frown puckered the chaplain's brow as he fingered tho stump of tho pencil. Presently he began to write a message himself, but was careful to tear a sheet off the pad before doing so. v The little Cornish postmistress came in at his summons and took the telegram with no small trepidation and surprise. 'Co receive two messages for dispatch to London within an hour of each other was an event unprecedented in Mrs Carcw's existence. Slowly sho read out the message to herself as sho counted the words

"WILLIAM OMER, 10, Pigeon Alley, Aldgate, London : "Vi'ire in;: ui'iate'y as instructed.

GRACE."

"Twelve words—sixpence, please, Mr Jason. And shall I send the answer out to tho castle if 'eo do not send for it? There'll be wan comin' for young Sir Eric, and my Albert can take bot.li of them out to wanst." Mark Jason elevated his brows ever so slightly. "So Sir Eric is expecting a wire, is he?' ho observed. "Iss—or come in an hour back. Er seemed worried er did, and never stopped to pass tho time o' day. Just popped the. message cross the counter and asked for hanswer to bo sent out long to the castle." "Oh, indeed—and what was the message about?" Jason put the question with indifference.

"All, you gaw on, Mr Jason. Yowm too inquisitive. Us hain't allowed to tell sech things, as you dew know vuriy wulll' Mrs Oarew shook her hand in playful disapproval. 'A thousand apologies, Mrs Carew," Mark Jason spoke in tones of deep contrition. "I am ashamed of myself to a sic such a question. Mero inquis-

I itiveness on my part. That is a failj ing of a good many of us, isn't it? [ Just neighbourly inquisitiveness. I About my own telegram—no, lam not i expecting any answer. Tn fact, it is I not a message at all. Mrs Omer—who, by the way, sends her good wishes and | hopes your rheumatism is bettor—asked me to wire her brother. Sho wants him to wire to New York about some shares, I believe. Purely family affair you know. I tell you this to show my trust in you as a servant of state, Mrs Oarew. Of course, you must never divulge official secrets. Good morning—good morning." "Good morning, sir." With an effort she beat down a desire to ask the chaplain about Miss Lascelles, of 19, Lexingham Gardens, Bayswater—and why Eric had sent such a strange message about someone called Lettico. With inward pride she remembered Jason's reminder that she was a servant of the state, bound to official secrecy. Nevertheless, she could not restrain a little sigh as presently she retired to an inner apartment and sat down to a keyboard. There was romance in the air—die felt it plainly—it was as clear to her as the battery of Leyden jars above her head. Her convictions were further confirmed, when, a few hours later, two messages came back for Sir Eric. One was tapped out as follows : "ERIC TREVELAN, Trevellan Castle, Cornwall "Lettice not herein Do not understand. Who are you? ADELAIDE LASCELLES." The second mesage ran as follows: "SIR ERIC TREVELLAN, Trevellan Castle, Cornwall: "Going, to Paris to buy trousseau. All love. Will write soon, LETTICE." CHAPTER XXVt JASON'S TRUMP CARD.. -. :. . With a start Lettico awoke to find herself in darkness. There was a bitter taste in her mouth. She seemed to have been asleep for years. Then, like some pent-up dam that bursts and sends its volume down, sweeping all before it, the memory of wliat had happened buret in upon her numbed and bewildered bruin. Rushiug'to the door she turned and twisted handle, and flung her weight against it. All to no avail. She was trapped—trapped like a rat—and 0mer and Jason had trapped her. What could their object possibly be? Indignation and wild anger seized her. The very fact of her imprisonment made her blood boil. She could not bather to ask herself why she had , been trapped. It was monstrous —she | told herself —unheard of, that she, an unprotected girl, should be treated like this. Who were these two fiends ! who seemed to rale Trevellan Castle? What right had they to shut her up in an underground chamber, luring her on to her fate by a cruel, heartless lie ? Ah {—but wait till Eric heard it! This thought consoled-her wonderfully —she no longer felt afraid. Her breeding manifested; itself in her defiant attitude. She : peered through the gloom to see if she could find any- I thing to be converted into a weapon | of attack. :

Despite the strange dizziness in her head, the blood ran riot in her veins. She sat down like a young tigress ready to spring at the first person entering tho cage.

Yes—wait till Sir Erio heard of all that happened to her! How sho wished now that she had told him of Jas.-n's abominable behaviour in fch? corridor. Ho would have given the chaplain tho chaplain tho thrashing that ho so rich ly deserved. Ten times more would ho dp so now, however.

•But how to communicate with him ? How to let him know whero she was, when she did-not know herself? She rose from the couch and began to feel her way round the damp, gloomy chamber. Her outstretched hand knocked against something protruding from tho wall. She felt along it, and made it out to be a gas bracket. Turning the tap sho- placed her finger on the outlet, then sniffed it. Yes, there was a flow of ga.s. _,"

Now for matches and sho would soon be able to seo what sort of a place she was in. Sho stumbled on around the room, and camo to what seemed, to be a fireplace with a mantelpiece abovo it. Eagerly she passed her hand along it, but it was bare. Onward sho proceeded, and tho r.ex: moment almost fell headlong- over some heavy obstacle. Stooping she let her hand wander over it, and. with a thrill of SMrprise recognised the shape of her leather portmanteau. Her hand went lower and vouched the cold Canvas e.'ve.ri'ig of her w.cker dress basket. Eagerly she unstrapred the portmanteau ly sense of touchthere were niatci.es inside—slio always carried a !>>x when travelling, R'ir-w exactly where to lay her hand on them. (To be Continued.)