Silas Dennington's Money.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10684, 11 July 1912, Page 2

Silas Dennington's Money.

BY F. L.' DACRE, Author o£ "Held in Bondage," "A Piiantcre of thfc John's Heiress," "I'he Shadow of She.a:c. : - " Daughter of Mystery," eic.

OUR SERIAL.)

CHAPTER XVlll.—Continue!

Ho went over to his office, and within five minutes was back again, tho strip of paper representing more than three thousand pounds fluttering between his fingers. Mr Grant had secured the receipt, and the exchange was made-, both men glancing critically at the documents. "If convenient to you, sir, I'll have the things removed before nine o'clock in the morning," Jack suggested. "It will be so much easier before the heavy traffic begins in tho street." "Oh, make a rush of it if you like. I suppose," he added cautiously, "that the cheque is all right? You needn't flush up with temper. It's only business, and I don't really know very much about you." "You are infernally insulting, anvhow. 1 won't touch your goods until tho money for the cheque is in your hands. Good-night." He snatched up his hat from tho table, and left the house without another word.

Imbued with a sense of being unfairly treated, Jack was in an angry frame of mind. He had assumed heavy liabilities for the benefit of others, and was not even thanked for bis pains. His worries and disappointments were crowding fast upon him, and but for the appointment with Sir Peter Tempest he would have sought distraction at the music halls. Instead, he walked in the direction of the Embankment, heedless of the drizzling rain. He was hardly conscious of his movements until he found himself very near the Houses of Parliament. The hands of Big Ben pointed to eight o'clock, then the hour was boomed, sonorous and revergeratine.

Throwing off his depression (in part, at least), he got into a cab and told the driver to take him to a Piccadilly restaurant. His dinner occupied an hour, and be then told himself that he was ready for Sir Peter. That the meeting would be an unpleasant one was inevitable, and ho half suspected that the man who had been one of his closest friends was actuated by motives that were at one base and dishonourable.

He left the restaurant at a leisurely pace, and -was glad to find that the rain was ended for the present. Ho preferred to walk to Nether Street, and there was plenty of time. He could not think easily in a cab; his thoughts flowed rhythmically with the swinging movements of his limbs, and he wanted to keep Rosamund in his mind. He felt that he had spoken unkindly to her —that he had pained her sensitive and tender heart, but he had hurt himself far more.

Nether Street appeared to be quite deserted when he thrust his latchkey into the office door. He looked across at the Grants' house, and at the window over the sitting room, where Rosamund slept. There was no light there. The whole house was wrapped in slumber. '

,A quick step turned the corner from the Strand into Nether Street, and Jack recognised the tall slim figure of Sir Peter Tempest. Sir Peter was in good time. He had ever been good at keeping appointments when he hoped to get something substantial from them. Jack's lip with scorn.

"Hope I'm not tooearly," he said, apologetically. "Come upstairs," was the curt rejoinder. Jack switched on the light in the pasagse, his heart thumping his ribs. The very air seemed to be tainted by the presence of Sir Peter Tempest. A wonderfully strange world it was. A few months since he had been hand in hand with him; now he both hated and despised him. His room was furnished with three powerful electric lamps, and he turned on the lot. Sir Peter blinked for a moment, then gave a slight start. "You are daring. Jack, very daring." He motioned towards-his own chin. "Foolishly daring, I might add."

He took off his hat and the light waterproof he was wearing, opened his cigar case, and, with a perfunctory "No objection to smoking here," struck a match, and began to smoke. It required a keen observer to detect trat he was vastly ill at ease, and when Jack austerely motioned him to a chair his knees trembled under him.

"Now, then, Sir Peter Tempest, what have you to talk about?" "Why this hostility, my dear fellow? I am sorry for you from the very bottom of my heart. Do you forget what we have been to one another? Do you forget that my daughter is your brother's wife? I have a painful duty to face —a terribly painful duty. Oh, by the way, I have had a. letter from Madge since I saw you this morning—from Sydney, New South Wales. They will cruise about for another eight weeks and then start for home. Wonderfully kind of Lord Oirchester to have them with him. He was madly in love with Madge at one time. And Grantley is devilishly ill—all on your account —the disgrace and the horror of it have ruined the poor fellow's prospects. Letters will find them until the first week in August addressed to the Victoria Hotel, Sydney. Have you heard from them?"

"Not yet. I haven't opened my mail box since three o'clock. Well, Sir Peter?"

Sir Peter fidgeted in his chair, lit his cigar again, and glanced longingly

IRRITATION

CHAPTER XIX

Or» Txi Continued)

round the room. to"w„^^n, off i rafellowsom^i U g «('"., '• Brand .V or whisky ?" Pm, l o^T St , ro,,a ' i ni not a drinking man " Sir Peter made a wry face. Uiiat arc you going to do, Jack "» ho asked desperately ' - establishing a business, and I hone t n marry within the present year " defnerflT B ' aß .^ et .- h »'manner unC T control, and he looked steadily , nto Sir Peter's eyes J f C i k ' utterl y impossible w7on. T, be " Y0 " , mUSt llot this corner inevit *We is bound to "The inevitable—yes." "You know what yo„ aro—what you havo done?"

"Perfectly well. I am called a murderer and tho law wants to hang "Good Lord!' 'gasped Sir Peter, the fellow must be mad!" He turned to Jack, and the younger man's inscrutable smile irritated him to the verge of frenzy. "It can't go on—it shall not go on! I refuse to shield you—or be a party to it! The lives of your brother and my daughter have been spoiled .by your misdeeds! Two misguided, innocent people. Don' forget your duty to them, if to nobody else. And there's all tho money held up!" "A million," sneered Jack, "and every penny of it would be Grantley's if I were dead—and a good slice for yourself, perhaps." "I pass over your gross insult!" Sir Peter jumped up, and grasped his coat. "And don't say that I haven't warned you. I will give you reasonable time to put an end to this intolerable state of affairs. As a gentleman, your plain duty is to go back to the wilds of Nevada, and get shot—or pistol yourself! It's the only way."

"I think about it," Jack said flippantly, but his face was white. "Good night!" he laughed.

Sir Peter descended the stairs, not breathing freely until he was in the Strand. His frenzied fancy had magnified Jack's scornful laughter into the snarl of a madman.

That very night he wrote a long letter to Grantley, in whic occurred the following:— "Poor Jack is practic'ally out of his mind. The hand of impending fate is too much for him. He has declared his intention of shooting himself, so that the borrow of the awful affair may be lifted from all our lives. As his next of kin you will inherit vour Uncle Silas' money. Don't breathe r ■word of this to Madge."

A glorious morning after the mist and rain. Jack was up soon after the birds, and prepared to take his accustomed early walk. A cold bath, a cup of tea hot and strong, and th'«n he sorted his private letters from the hundred or more in the big letter box on the office door. The correspondence was very heavy, tho biggest proportion being from the readers of the boys', paper. Thede were several simple competitions for money prizes running in the paper. Only tivo personal letters among the lot—one from Tom Wayman. and" one from Madge Dennington. He tucked them into his pocket unopened, filled his pipe, and started off for his usual ! stroll. His objective was a particular seat on the Embankment, from which tehre was a long view of the river, and having carefuly mopped up the dew with his noeket handkerchief he settled himself to read is letters. Madge Dennington's was first opened, and came direct from her heart.