The Dark House at Highgate

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10677, 25 July 1912, Page 2

The Dark House at Highgate

'OUR .SERIAL.)

CTIM-'TKiR, 11. Continued. I drowsed quickly, and, in passing out of the house, found Mr Mott 'sweeping the parage to the front door. Mr Mott, rallied on his somnolence overnight, confessed, with some 'iaughtir and net a little amazement at 'his sown exploit-, t'h'a.t lie had slept in Iris armchair until after four o'clock in the l morning. Me attributed Iks ihcavc'i.losG to tSio elcolwcxty in the air. Ten minutes later, when swinging along a pine-girt read! leading to th sea, I \v.is pulled up -Er.ddeai.ly by the sight of two legs protruding from a hedge by the roadside. I peered into the hedge, and tra® urpr-vsed by the gleam of silver buttkftiG. "Hello!" I said. "Ho'ilo!" And, stoopiujg, I caught hold of the muscular arm and s'he-sik it vigorously. A rubicund, dishevelled, fie* ilcicrcd po-lice-man heaved himself v.p Lito a sitting position, mi c!ti':.red with ludicrous astonishment i;/.o my face. "It's ctaly tit for tat," I said. "You <..pc>ilcd my nap last night, you know, and now I've spoiled yours." The ir.aa rc-se in haste, with alarm in his face, and hurriedly dragged r. large silver watch out c.if an inner pocket. He gave a s.igli of relief w3ien he saw '[hat the time was only a little after six.

"If you wouldn't mind, sir, 'I would take it kindly," he s\iid anx- •• orolv, "if yen could 'keep this quite between ourselves. I'm nruc'h obliged to you, sir„ for rousing me,* he added, brushing sum? earth from his clothes. 1

"I won't talk aboi:); it, I promise ycu," 1 laughed. "There seems to 'he a keeping epidemic i;i' the place. How long have you been there?" "It mig/ht have been an hour ago,'' said tUio policeman s'owly, and with 'tsr-anoparent unU'utihfulnes'p. "I just feait down ,for a minute, an dl must liiave dropped off suddenly. Funniiy I should have been so drowsy."

! "The electricity, no doubt,'' I suggested.

"Mrivfc have been that, sir," agreed the pbiiicemr.il, pleased with tlh,e sug"Wd'l— it's funny."

lit w:.ts; and I have a shrewd suspicion tjhht the man had been asleep in the hedge all night.

CHAPTER II!

ANNE KETTERING

Most people wil'l have observed that tragic tidings are not always her aided by a lowering rky, or. indeed, by any of the partemt,s wi'ih whicli our dramatic poets like to -usher them in. On the day of my arrival at Lone •0:*:O3 Form I was sunning myself contentedly, emoting an after-lmic'h pipe in the farmyard, and admiring the ourvi. ig rotundity of some black Berkshire pigs, v.'.lku the .lurnicr came tram, an ac'Cacont garden and introduced himself. A. kiuririrl-.l disquisition < ; a 'harvest <prf«*pceta fc-Mmved the introduction ; but Mir Yatcher—for- tihat v.-sre Is name—seonif.d preoccupied. He"-took no apparent interest in the weather, .and wa.s reticent concerning, pigs. IVeosnt-ly 3ie hlucted out:

"That's a terriUle thing tint's happened at Pc-lton." He was a cheerful man by nature, lmt was evidently full of eagerness to impart some gloomy piece of intelli•gonce. In country placets, one imagineo, a tr.igedy is not a tiling to be flighted in conversatie.n l . ''Polto 11?" Why, I si' pfc there 'last wight. Wha.t .laa.'s happened at Polton?" I a-plced. "A gout-lemon ha« 'sihot hinvself," he replied, with a nielianelioly sihake c.f his ihoad. Instintly my <mind reverted, to the sufferer from, religious mania. If over any man looked 'like a ptfssilble isuie\da, lie iliael elione '.so when reading the newspaper after dinner on the preceding evening. I had .made up my mind tlti.it it .wais .'he uiho snapped 'the thircid of life in tike is-trete of some unendurable trouble, w-hon the farmer tinned: "It was Mr Buswoitk Y'eu ":nay know him " My pipe dropped loom between my teetili, and lay in the straw at my foc-t. "Mr Bet's worth Impossible!'" I exclaimed, wifli the commonplace we are all apt t« 'drop into- in l easons of tragedy. I would very much rather havo .heard that was that most uncomfortable companion, the sou'lsiiok man—the .mysterious, unwilling cjitimpion c.f '-dme •my»t-ea , ioi:a -prisoner in a dark 'house—at Hialigate. That .-,1 kindly old (fellow, apparently in love with life, should wilfully destroy liitn'»e>lf geemqd ineredible.

BY DERWENT MiALL. Author of "Lady Rosalie's lo::acv," "Bellamy's Warning," "Tha Strange Case of Vincent Hume," "In the Wei?. " Etc Etc.

> 'Toes any one know how it ha.;} pen eel ?" I :;ihko:l.

"Xcfljody," .replied the fanner. "J.-; miifit 3iav© ibcen quite late at jiip-Jit. Probably the servants wouldn't hoar, owing to tho storm. He was fun.:! tin's mcii'iiiiig Jyiiig on iih-o floor cf h:s study with a p:,sto'i canity b."'d« him."

' "But is it quite certain tli.it it was suicide ?" I queried l . "Well, that c»n,'t be decided till tho inquest," Mr Yatoher admitted, but it looks like it. There's 'one tiling, though; the window wrt op?n —a Jons.'. Fren,:h window opening on to tho lawn, it was just ajar. Btu that might -have' (been owing :to the hoit. Mr Betsworth used to sit up over 1r,.. books very late at nigjht. and no doubt- lie would leave big window c-pen when the night was hot. He was a very quiet geaii'lenian, fond cf bookn and pictures—ciheerful, too; ibut nobody knows where the ishoe pinches except the man who wears it. There mutet have been something we don' 4 ntnv understand. Well, good afternoon—good afternoon, sir. I hop', we thill] make you comfortable he>ro.' ! And I was left again to the uudiiXurbed contemplation of pigs ami poultry, my spirits'unpleasantly affected by the propinquity of tragedy .

"He w.is a man i .should have like; to 'have kr.ovm better," 1 'thought And ,F remained for seme time, prowling moodily about the farm, v.ith nv reclaimed jv'p? empty between m; tooth, rernkded by tins swift am sudden tragedy of the mclanchol, fact 'that the barnc-r scpnrtaing m.;i from man :i:< 'inipaesable, and tha 1 no man ican ever rightly know the soul or maul of anotiher—not c-ve: though til .it- other bo his cicsect friend.

''lt scc-ir.-s .'i:<CT(iibio, vhea I tli'-.:*; of liia manner yesterday. But, <;■■! course, '[here's 'a diancc that it-.var-u't suicide," I told myself.

So the afternoon -wore on; hut when it neared ti-ie hour at which a man. may caM upon his friends o.ncl neighbours, I could not help bei'a-g cmnscious of a growing -in:jpvo venicc. in the state of my spirits, especially when at la.'vi I .sal-lied forth to th; highway, «-ft-er previous l !v Icmr.ys from Mr Vii.tchc-r the whereabouts (1 Ho,,y Lodge,

For I iiiacl not i;l:r. r ;-;n my n:o" quarters .'at random; the neighbour hood 'had drawn rue because frienc 1 .- of mine hiatl .some months eitfee conic to fcettf.e in. it—friends wiho-f/o absence from London had left a blank. A-t least, I had linked Anno rathe: b : (11 v.

I had first met Anne Kettering four ye-a-re •prev.:ou.s.y, whew, '.airrayeil in i largo blue apron, "g!he was ambitioufcly cf.pyh?.;; -ltembraiidts in the N;• t:o:ial G'allory-. 1 reniemib-er that, a 'severeen, Anne vras rat'her pathst-i> aily anv ; xt : :;vV:.

'•lt -was iiot primarily to or painting however, or liier ambit-bus, that h'.c" attracted me, but her dim,pies, which always eamra a>r.i the ciirnax of lie: slow, sweet smile. The poet's habi: of idc.al!s:r-'g women x o-:ie 6hat I d< not generally indulge; but I had ce-r taifily 'her dirophs, -ri , first .sight, that* A:me was "rather : dear," a.nd I Iliad never 'Sutaequently lmd occasion to modify this first imprecision, although masculine intuition some times errs .about f.uch matters . lint d:m,plcj wore not her only attriciio1 .'.', and from uia dote of our first meeting I had >perm : -:ted myself t-o fall a :jittle -b:t in 'love with her—only a little, so I persuaded myself. To do -more would have-,been ra.sh, f<a m-y future was very cloudy and uncertain, while ,A-nne 'herself was •scarcely more tha,a *a aliild, and ,in the ii' turaJ -course of event,s miM meet a numiber of clever, interestimig, ami weHito-do men.

But when she was expatriated—for London ,wa« 'h,er native heath— when her mother exchanged a flat in Kensington for a cotage in the coiln'try. .7 was 6'ud'den-ly perplexed bv the strength, of my admiration for Anne; ■it was not limited vo intellectual ,sympathy, tlia't wa,s certain, but what did it a-moiLn.t to ? There wae nothing for it,, after once I had begun to debate this question, but to - toot ray feelings iw her act*:-)] presence. And •hence my visit to Lone Gross Fawn. (To be Continued.)