The Dark House at Highgate

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10691, 10 August 1912, Page 2

The Dark House at Highgate

'GUP SERIAL.)

CHAPTER XlV.—(Continued.) "I dont think I would do that. It might attract attention, and a detective does not want to make himself conspicuous," I suggested. But you'll have to keep a watch on the doctors office. If he docs not call there soon try at Doctor Rimington's private address in flighgate. Cluny may vi-ife him there."

The worried boy was eager, but tri.'d to conceal his eagerness under a blaso air. He was convinced that he would secure Mr Cluny's address very shortly.

"That's capita!," I said. " r Jnke what you want for expenses out of that sovereign, and keep the yourself. When you send nie Mr Cluny's address I'll send you another sovereign."

"Bully!" exclaimed the bof, doubly pleased at being set up in life as private detective and delivered from the bitter thrall of Evangeline at ono mid the same time. "If I don't run him down within the week my r. isn't Albert Bligh, the lynx-eyed boy detective."

• After further instructions I left the abode of the boy detective, with a lighter heart than I bad carried on entering it. Undoubtedly I had learned an important fact, and meant .to lose no time in telling Ton's lawyer , that two men, strangers to the place, ! had been at Polton 011 the night of Mr Betsworth's death, and that they had gratuitously a false account , of themselves. Such information could not fail, I thought, to be of va- • lue to the defense, and, communicated to the police, would lead to a fresh train of inquiries that might result in the abandonment of further proceeding against Tony. And with the help of Albert Bligh' I hoped presently to be able to give sustance to my story by furnishing the police with the names and addresses of both the men in question. Eager to get to Anne and to relieve her mind by an account of what I had done, I now hastened to Waterloo Station, arriving there a. full hour befqre the departure of the train. My first act was to buy an early edition of the Globe, which displayed[the words, "The Polton Mystery," on j its poster. The news given was simI ply to the effect that Antony Kettering had been conveyed to Stourmin- | ster on tho previous day, and arraignj ed before the local bench of magisj trates that morning. Merely formal, evidence had been given, and the prisoner had been remanded for a week. I Recollecting that I had not yet wirj ed the hour of my intended arrival j at Polton to Anne, I then turned in j the direction of the telegraph office. As I strolled through a shifting crowd [ across the broad platform, a wry-neck--1 ed man in a shiny blue suit hurried up to me, touched his hat apologetically, '•and said, "Mr Rcyroft, sir?"

j "That's my name," I said, eyeing < the shabby fellow with no favourable j regard. "What do you want?" j "I was to give you this letter sir." j ho said, "and to ask if you would be I so good as to send a verbal answer by • me —yes of no." j Mystified, I tore open the envelope i and read : !. "Dear Mr Rycroft: You asked me last .night some questions about Doe- ! tor Rimington. but I was unable to , tell you anything of importance, con- ! scious as I was of being watched. If ' you will come this afternoon to the little door in, the garden wall, and knock three timer, on it. .1 will let vou in. The windows are so screened that 110 one will see us in the garden, and I have much to tell you. Something very strange is going on, and I. thought from your maimer last night that you suspected thi sand were anxious to be informed about it. Forgive me if I was wrong, and destroy this. Our gardener will give you tlys. I Sincerely yours, CECILE CLAUDE." f looked at the man sharply. "How did you'know you would find nie here?" I asked. "The young lady heard yon remark at dinner, sir, that you were leaving for the country to-day; and I have been watching for you since ten o'clock," said the. messenger smoothly. "And bow did you know me.'" "The young lady, sir, described you to me very fully." I was not quite satisfied. "Haven't I. seen you before?" T. .asked. "I think not, sir." he replied suavely. I stared at the letter. It was hard, cruelly hard, indeed, to postpone my return to Anne —sweet, troubled Anne —and defer giving her comfoi-t and courage when she sorely needed both. But this letter promised help from an unexpected quarter —information that might he of the utmost benefit. L felt a thirll of excitement as T realised that perhaps Rimington was being delivered into my hands. Latent pugnacity awoke; this man who had baffled and puzzled me, upon whom I could get no grip, because I had no proof that he had done anything illegal, should feel the sharp ■sting of my enmity at last. I looked up at the messenger. "Go quickly," I said, "and tell Miss Cecile tho answer is 'Yes.' " CHAPTER XV. THE TANGLED GARDEN. In some of its aspects few places are

BY DERWENT MIALL,

thor of "Lady Rosalie's "Bellamy's Warning," "The Strange Case ")£ Yincent Hume," "In the Web. " Etc Etc.

(To be Continued.)

more capable of affecting one with a gentle melancholy than the London s " h »™- l«w, in a genera] way. no kton ed ~,Tt to lend it dignity j but in ho palmy days of the eighteenth century, when "merchant princes'' . ceased to live over their fcusiness prP . nii Sfs, loid i \ j)leu sure houses rose beside every rood outside of London—at a discreet di.sta.nce from the flying dust of the highways. Italian gardens were planned, ornamental towers topped the hills that overlooked the disi tant done of St. Paul's, and wealth 'and pride founded homes—withdrawn •from the hum of the citv, and yet j within an easy ride of,the coffeehouses | and Change Alley that were doubtless expected to outlive centuries. Then began the golden age of Suh- | urbia, that lasted down to the midj \ iefcorian epoch. Other times, other I manners; and, though some of the great houses still stand, they are oitlior put to base use, with blank windows and crumbled copings, thev await the non-distant day when they shall be toppled down and rows of shops and brick villas will be run through their quiet gardens. The road in which Madame Claude's house stood had once been a favourite quarter with city magnates who possessed a taste for rural quiet, and who like to boast in the metropolis of their wall fruit and their roses.' Big, solid houses, standing well hack' from the highway, behind walls topped with jagged bottle glass—for the bettor protection of the wall fruit aforesaid—were the feature of the neighbourhood. But here a nd there, boards announcing that this or that desirable family mansion was to let ■peeded over the high walls in a setting of pink May blossom, chestnut j ■boughs, and laburnum, to show that ' the ancient glory of the place had not been maintained. Consequent it was a. little-fre-quented road, and [ had the thoroughfare to myself as I made my way toward the little door in the wall that j was to admit me to private conference I with Mademoiselle Ceeile. [ It was a sweltering afternoon, absolutely cloudless, and high walls and | thick foliage effectually inclosed the warm air above the roadway, and kept out the lightest breath of summer wind. The place was silent, too, except that a piano, tinkling in one of the houses, broke the sultry stillness ,as I walked from the corner, where I j had discharged by cab, acutely sensible of the unusual nature of my er:rand. J What secret was I to learn from that pale-faced, listless girl behind the | mossy wall that inclosed the neglected old garden? A dark narrow passage separated Madame Claude's pardon from the I weed-grown garden of the adjacent I "desirable mansion." I turned down {this, between two high brick walls, , feeling very much like a conspirator jof old romance. {/Hence art! mystery j were the presiding geniuses of the , place,,and ! went forward toward my j adrcrttur? with a certain degree of

/.est. Here was the little door in the wall, e'd and substantial, and weatherstained. T had approached it nni'se- ■ lesslv, and unconsciously I held tut ! breath as T tanned on it thrice with 'my knuckle's. I speculated upon the ' probably of Ceciie's bcins quite able to i meet me openly in a public place; but i her mind wf!« row lively steeped in j Freivh remnntsc fiction, and the little ;door in the wall and the three knocks ,on it appealed to her sense of the dramatic. • I Thcj three knocks met with -no response. T tapped again, a little lojuljer ; still no sign from within. Expectancy rendered me impatient: 1 tried the latch and found that the door was unlocked and opened easily. Cautiously I passed through the wall. The garden was, a suitable place for the telling of secrets. As the letter had stated," the house was entirely screened by trees, untended for many a year. The bright sunshine that flooded the road scarcely found any way into this suburban jungle, where the paths were green moss, and where weeds had well-nigh .strangled plants of more attraction. A basin covered with green slime, in the middle of which stood an undraned statue, forever aimimr an imsped arrow at the door iri the wall, spoke of the classic taste of the longdead citv plutocrat who had planned the garden ; and a walnut ti'O" and a rmilberry tree, that had provided his hospitable mahogany tfith dessert, spread their arching branches above an ivv-smothrred summerhouse. I j felt that one's speaking voice would { instinctively sink to a whisper in the [solemn twilight of the place.