The Dark House at Highgate

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10676, 24 July 1912, Page 2

The Dark House at Highgate

OUR SERIAL.)

BY DERWENT Ml ALL.

CHAPTER 11. Continued

T'iio young man with the frightened oyer;, hoivevor, forced himself upon my notice by his excessive singularity, of manner, and it- seemed to me that Hn and his companion were listening—listening for something they dreaded to hear, the elder man with an outward appearance of perfect tranquility, the other with beads of sweat constantly breaking out upon his forehead, which he wiped ever and 'again with his handkerchief. The appearance of Mr Mott was a positive relief. and I ordered a pint of port with a desperate resolve to restore myself to my customary equanimity. I was beginning to find that nervous disquiet was infectious. The wine was brought; land then something occurred, simple in itself, that threw us—a glum, uncompanionable trio —into momentary confusion.

There was a sudden clatter and clash at the window, and instantly the youngor man sprang to his frvt mid grippe:! t : ho edge of th: \ l.ir. fr.co ashen, his mouth gayinpr. "What's that?" he gasped, and I felt my flesh creep at the note of terror in the outcry. Positively this young man was becoming uncanny in his wild uneasiness of spirit. All that happened was this: Mr Mott had gone outside and slammed, lioisly shut, the blinds of the window behind my chair, according to his nightly custom, little suspecting that tho clatter would sound like the crack of doom in tho ears of one o| his guests. For a moment it seemed as if the frightened man 1 would faint, but his companion, who had risen when he called out, pushed him back in his chair, and roused himself into hiVc"lf from taHturnitv.

"Ooni". come," he said. "this won't do, Mr Cluny. A tabloid is what require. Bromide. I reckon," and he took a case containing several small phials from his breast pocket. There w>as business with a. glass of water, a knife handle, and something that looked like a peppermint drop; The young man drank peevishly, and the American sat down and looked across the table at me. "My friend's in <a bad wav." he said

—"a verv peculiar on.se. When touring in WaJes fall he was so unwise as to go avd lw-ar n. rovr , * ~l 'V. prpaeh-et*. and lie's n n ver been .rightly tho .'{t.'iio man since." "T.thlppcl." I fit id. looking, no doubt, rather puzzled.

"T''» pvpnplrpr was n ve'-y cV""" man," continued th<-> Americ°n, there was n 1-!ttlo too nveli stono m h'"s dKvou,r«e. no that at the end of half an hour he'had a do;'"' 1 • vnin°n in «nnvw v . : nns. and (my friend Mr Cluny frit as if he'd been taken by tb" neck and ivw the i*->frT-nal regions. Si»-p then he has been, as vfii see him."

"Hill]2 it. talk of something elno." intornosed tlio yinrm-a: man, who had miderrn-ie this di.souieting experience. Ho spoke with shriU vehemence, and nvi'lo a motion o« if to stop bis oars with .my Imid-s. T felt more rHr-twist* thnn over for his company, although 1 could pity him. rmv thri T V">" •" him for n soul sick rn>n,n. who prob.-iWv. evp'i then, was by terrible visions such as Bunvmi saw in nri'so-i. I ooukl have wished for more cheerful after d'.ivTM' company thai' >n victim of melancholia, and resolved to 'T-cnno to the bar parlour, taproom, kitchen —anr pilace that offered asylum—as possible. But for the present rood .m»innors seemed to oblige me to listen to t.ho heavy square-jawed man who sat bulging in the armchair at the top of the table.

"Mr Chmy's friends have put him in my care," the monotonous voice went on, "thinking change of scene and proper medical treatment may work well together for a cure, as they certainly will. And when 'ho is big own self again, 1 have advised that lie "shall stick to orthodoxy, as formulated by your venerable church, and not go and hear dull preachers."

The doctor —for I inferred from his remarks that he was a physician — spoke .of his suggestions toward a cure gravely and with no suspicion of Irreverence ; and he seemed to have a high respect for the eloquence of the preacher who had brought ihis dharge to the verge of madness —"a very successful preacher," he called him. "Ah! there's the rain at last," he broke off; "you'll have a wet journey, isir, unless you have decided to stay here the night." "That reminds me," I said. "I must go and see .about a room." To tell the truth, I was glad to be out of the room, out of range of those despairing, frightened eyes; and, finding Mr Mott in a cheerful, red-tiled kitchen, asked leave to finish my wine there.

Mrs Motfc, who had l>een in and gone out again for the night to nurse a sick neighbour, had left a bedroom in readiness for me, so I sat down for a leisusely ohat with Mr Mot-t, firat of ali filling two glasses with the port which had been brought out of the diningroom .

The landlord drained a glass and lit his pipe. Finding the wine sweet, and not to my taste, I sipped it sparingly .a.ixcl put down the glass when it was still half full. The rain was drumming heavily by this time on the thatch overhead, and the monotonous

Author of "Lady Rosalio's Lunacy," "Bellamy's Warning," "The Strange Case er Yincent Hume," "In t!ic Wco. " Etc Etc.

,ss r ' r! ' :1K tlio comfort of tho '. 1 ir. I»«d the ofFoct of mak::ig: mo verv drowsy, so that conversation- flowed j.OOll after it had commence!. In rouse myself. I felt in mv poc.cet for a „>nr, and then remem->e:-wl tnat 1 had left, my cigar cr.se on a corner cf tho dining tabic. I rose—my conversational efforts r:oe,med nirowly to have minced Mr aiott to somhilenco— and I wont quietly hack to t.ho dining room. As I softly pushed the door open, I heard the two strangers talking together in husked, incisive tones. My memory may deceive me, but it seemed to me know that the words [ overheard by cnance filled me with sudden prestage of future evil, with a vague dread ot earning events—« dread that time too surely justified. "I can'tr— can't go on," Clunv was saying. Then the American's voice sounded, full of tense passion. "Yoy'll go right-on now," he replied, or you'll turn aside to your lasting sorrow. The sting of remembered cowardice is a li-eav.v burden to bear; and you'll bear it all your life so surely as you flinch now from your plain duty." "Duty!" Mid Chiny, with a groan, and with some bitterness.

"Duty to one who waits, imprisoned in that dark old house at Highgate." the American went on remorselessly, "tormented by the ghosts of a nast made black by treachery and injustice, and who looks to you—to vou —to wrest amends from unkind fa.te "

Then 'ho snw ine at th© door ard broke off. Ho wined his moist brow, and changed his tone to one of atterontcd nonchalance. "The storm holds off. sir," he said, "but it's coming, sure." I made some light reply, recovered inv cigar care, and returned to the kitchen. Mr Mot't was talcing a nap. I was strangely curious about that "dark old house at Highgate," and its prisoner. The American's words kept repeating themselves in my head. Cluny seemed a pitiful knighterrant "to wreste amends," from any one. Drowsily, drowsily, I went over the American's speech again. Xo business of mine, after all; and so I resigned myself to .sleep. "When I woke I found myself in the , grasp of a ruddy-faced rural policeman, who was gently shaking my arm to rouse me.

"Hello?" I taid. not a little tstonished, "what's wrong?" "Nothingmuch, sir," said the man slowly; "but Mr Moot —look! lie won't wake up, and its half an hour »a-t the time for closing his house." I fflancod at the clock; it was 'halfpast ton. "I've been aslcm for a couple of >onrs myself," Tobsprved, yawning, and rising from my chair.

"Tf you're staving in tlio house, sir. w-rd vr" - tho 'WiiI go <u>t?" suggested the policeman.

"Certainly not," T said. "Have a. of wi»io before vin go." The policeman smiled a meaning

"Thank" you, sir," he replied, von se.; l'/u on mv bea.t, and it is against regulations."

"Oh. we know all about that," T laughed, half fillinsr a. 'tumbler with the remainder of the port. "On a y dnmp night like? t'ns it is a sola re. A d alien te ynun.fr fellow like you mustn't mi the risk of >i chill." I yawnpd attain as "I spoke; the oflficer smiled 'm-ojk l1 *'. a' 1 el tho glass at a draft. Then I followed him to the street door and stood outside for a minute or two 011 the front porch. 1 The storm was rattling 1 and rumbling awav somewhere in the distance; it had come and gone while I slept. The air wa.s fresh and cool now, and more fragrant than ever, and nightingales were singing bard'by in the inky darkness. I went indoors sleepily, wrestled In still blacker darkness with massive bolts and bars, and made one more strenuous effort to rouse Mr Mott, shouting his name in his ear. but getting only indignant grunts in reply. Finally I gave it up, went to ,my room, and crept between lavenderscented sheets with much sleepy satis-, faction.

It l is one of the beautiful ingenuities of nature that the gallinaceous order of birds which contribute so largely to our breakfast table should also Ire able to warn us of the approach of the breakfast hour. The only unfortunate part of the arrangement is the faevfc that, in modern times, their notion ofj the proper hour for breakfast differs so widelv"from ours.

In the city I can generally sleep on undisturbed by motor car, or milk wagons; but I was roused next morning by a crowing rooster under my window, and, after an ineffectual attempt to get to sleep again, resolved to go d'own to the beach, which was about half a mile away, and bathe. (To be Continued.)