A DEEP GAME. OR THE HONOUR OF THE TREVELLANS.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10561, 17 February 1912, Page 2

A DEEP GAME. OR THE HONOUR OF THE TREVELLANS.

OUR SERIAL.

By Mrs Da Winter Bakar, Author of "The Sin of Carina," "Sir Bkndford's Protegee," "For Weal or Woe," eto.

CHAPTER XXX—Continued. "Get Eric out <?f the way," suggested Oiner quickly. "It's easy enough —another telegram —and ho would rush off post haste. Then we coilld let the girl out and she would follow .him right away and leave us plenty 0-i timo to get away." _ "No —'we want something more definite than a signed paper. Lady Trevellan is no more use to us. I have got to make this brat marry mo somehow or other."

The woman shivered slightly. 'Then I wash my hands of tho whole business," she observed, "lou are going too far, Mark —you'll only como to grief. My plan is far safer. Eric believes that tho girl is in Paris. Wo have only to send another telegram and he'll leave for London at once. Get Lettiee to sign a warrant or a promise to pay —it will only mean a couple of years to wait. Sho is nineteen now."

"I will have to think it over," announced tho chaplain, rising. "We've got tho game in our hands.' Why should we spoil it by weakness?"

"It isn't weakness —it's common sense " Omcr rejoined. Jason left tho -room moodily. Waiting for a few minutes she then rose and went along to .the dowager's room, whom sho now saw huddled up in her chair. There was a vacant-expression in the old lady's eyes—sho stared blankly at her attendant without seeming to recogniso who it was. Then she fell to mumbling inarticulately to herself, 1 picking with trembling fingers at the jet trimming on her gown. Anon some semblance of Sense seemed to return to her brain —her mumblings became more intelligible. "I must get her off to sleep again," thought Omer. "Another dose of that I sleeping draught ought to do the trick. Then I'll get her to bed, and say that she is \inable to see anyone." ''Hush—calm• yourself please!", she said sharply to the old lady. . • Going to a small cupboard she poured some milk into a small glass and put in a few drops from a blue vial. She brought over the mixture and held it to the dowager's lips. Her ladyship drank eagerly, then sank into the deep chair with a sigh arid closed her eyes. In five minutes she was fast asleep. Omer rinsed the-glass with extreme care and wiped it witlx a cloth, __ and put it away in a little cupboard in, the well. Wheeling the dowager to her bedroom, .she put 'her to 'bed and looked the door upon her. Then 3he returned to the Black Room again. Crossing to the plush curtain she disappeared behind it. The smell otf cooking pervaded the underground tunnel some minutes later—an odour of hot roast mutton. ■ CHAPTER XXXI. I | A MESSAGE TO THE SKY. Lottrico had lost all idea of timo. She could toll whether it was day by peering up tho chimney. If she oould see tJio sky she knew at was —if ghe could not, sho know it was night. But how long sho had been imprisoned sho had not tho slightest idea. It might, have been a week or month. The foul, gas-impregnated air of tho underground region,? worn already begiiuiing to tell upon her, Vfta.DWfc oning Iher lungs. Her head ached, dreadiirTly. Her pretty faoe was colourless —she felt weak and limp—and 1 was hardly able to crawl from the couch on which she would lie for hours.

Moreover, the brain was refusing its —she remembered less and less of had .happened to b— ~ no , comings and S Ol f>f Offler with food a, n\ ...Vuj.ii- puiveUiaieA her existence a .t regular SJii&rvals, but passed unnoticed; _ Th(j.vei;y thought of food was i'ep'iusirfe to her— but she drank greedilyay hen thirst prompted her to stretch. ! out blindly to the table. : Her cheeks were sunken, throwing I her bones into high prominence. Her eyes were unnaturally bright, gleaming from purple, hollow pits. Once -or twice sho was conscious of being roused from her coma —food was thrust down her throat, nearly choking .-her. Dimly she recognised the taste of sponge cake. The gulp of milk that followed eased her parched throat Sho foil back, utterly worn out in mind and body and slept for tho best part of twenty-four hours. vShe woke to find herself in darkness. Someone had turned the gas out while she was asleep. The air seemed less heavy and stale in consequence. The long-sleep'had refreshed her brain—j her young blood coursed more freely j through her veins.

As she lay there with wide-open eyes staring through the darkness, her mind, now aroused to renewed activity, once more reverted to the old idea

01 escape. , If' only she could communicate with the -outside world —let- someono know that she was cooped up underneath the ground—hurled alii©. _ But how was she to do this ? Saving the door, there was but one outlet, the chimney, and that was far too narrow for her to climb.

Rising unsteadily from her couch she groped her way to liei' preciolLs lx>x of matches and lit the gas again. In despair she fell to her knees before the fireplace and looked up the black chimney, It must be night—she. could see 110 welcome gleam of light.

Stay—what was that? A little flash caught her eye—a star —a twinkling tiny star. Was it a message of hop® silie read in tluxt tiny, pinpoint of light awav millions of miles? She rose and stood gripping the bare table with

cold, bloodless hands. It was impossible for her to climb the chimney herself, but was it possible for her to get a message through it? Her brain, was working cool.v and calmly now. The view she could get by day of the sky, of the tiny star that sho could see now, proved that tho chimney was absolutely perpendicular. It would he ridiculous to attempt to throw a scrap of paper up the long vent. There was only one way of getting a messago up —a small balloon. .

Lettico smiled ruefully—she might as well have expected to find the door of her prison unlocked and Eric waiting outside, as to find such a thing as a small balloon in this underground dungeon.

Suddenly her: eye lit upon a paper bag lying upon the table. It was one of those thin, yellow bags used by confectioners, and bore the. name of a Bickleigth baker. She picked it up, and found that it contained a number of penny sponge cakes. Emptying the cakes out,she examined the bag closely It was intact—not a hole anywhere in tho paper. It was a childish game she was now thinking of —the game of filling one of these ibags and then bursting it. Would it be possible to fill such a bag with gas, she wondered? Supposing that she did this, however, the bag might float up tho chimney and miles and miles away and never be found. No —she must find some way of attaching it to a string and making it a captive balloon. She knew she must be a long way underground and the castle was a very tall building. Then the idea burst upon her in its fullness. She rushed to her portmanteau and took out her leather writing case. Dipping a pen into the little spring 'inkstand, She wrote in large printed letters upon the bag

' 'HELP—LETTICE LASCEM3SS —lmprisoned underground CHAiMBER OTHER END OF THIS STRING. SHOUT DOWN CHIMNEY, AND! SHALL HEAR.

[ This message written in her round, [ girlish hand, she stooped down and pulled off one of her stockings. Unravelling it to the heel, she broke off a short length of the yarn and left the rest on the floor. Then she approached tho gas jet, holding the bag in one [hand and the yarn m the other. PutI ting the match box close at hand, she [ turned out the gas. Now she waited for some minutes till her eyes had become accustomed !to the darkness. She then slipped the paper bag over the gas jet, tying its mouth up tigihtly over the burner. Then she turned on tho gas and felt the bag slowly fill and swell under her. hand. When it was as. full as she deemed prudent, sihe turned off the gas and tied tho mouth of the bag up again—above the burner this time. Pulling gently she detached the bag from the jet and held in her hand a ready-made balloon. Unthinkingly she placed it on the couch while she went to light the gas OttOS nwe ; and when she looked round for it, it was g'enw'j 7 up against the low brickwork ceT]ing .I )VerfieadlYfeh a-cry of ohiklifih delight LettieJ, jumped up and grabbed it. With' fev- j crish fingers she tied it on one end of loose yarn from her unravelled stocking, and again knelt down in front of the fireplace,

Craning her head up the chimney sho could still seo the little star '

Rightly above with her- • , a laJf-nmttered pray.'' tlw tip ImW-- sho wt tlK> begin .0 till' e Keirt ] v throuiigh her fingers. '

; ~ . dozen yards she payed out in p."is way, when suddenly it ceased to l run. Her heart beat wildly. Had the j balloon mot with some obstruction ?

Eagerly she gazed up the chimney — no longer was the star to bo seen, for the bag obseutyd l«jr view. Could it he' the weight of the yarn was too heavy for the "balloon to lift it? She pulled and jerked very gentry, and, with a sigh of relief, felt the yarn commence to pay out again. On and on sho let it run, and then once again she cast her eyes up the chimney.

Success! —the.little star was shining again—brighter than ever it seemed. Hoi 1 balloon had gone safely up, and must now be floating safely above the chimney pots of the castleCarefully Lettiee made her end of the yarn tight to the fireplace. It was much too small a thing ever to be noticed. She now picked up the remains of her ruined stocking and the unused length of wool that still lay on the floor, These things she now hid away in her .portmanteau, and put 011 another pair of stockings;'. Falling on her kneeS {it the (side o{ the couch, she prayed fervently. CHAPTER XXXII, MISS ADFIAIDE'S LETTER. Eric. Trcvellan paced the little station of Rickleigh and gazed eagerly up tho line. He paused to glance at tho station clock, and took a telegram out of his breast pocket, ''Thanks—arrive two-thirty-nine— Nor man Cole." ho.-read again, and at this moment a whistle heralded the approach of the two-thirty-nine. (To be Continued.)