The Error of Her Ways

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20954, 6 November 1939, Page 5

The Error of Her Ways

(By FRANK BARRETT)

CHAPTER XLVl.—(Continued) “When I have deserved,” replied Psani, withdrawing his own hand and bowing. “Madame,” turning to Sibyl at the door, “I send you letter by liddler boy; you send me back letter, eh?” “If there is nothing in your letter, how shall I reply?” “Same way—give me liddler bit hope too,” pointing to the room above. There was one Italian resident in Sevenoaks, and, of course, Psani had made the acquaintance of this compatriot, Antonio Feraldo—vendor of ice creams, roast chestnuts, plaster casts, and grinder of piano organ, ac - cording to season. Feraldo 'having small means had naturally a large family, and his eldest boy, Giuseppe, had won the admiration of Psani, who had a discriminating eye both for beauty and talent. Giuseppe had the face of an angel and the devilry of a monkey. This being the season for roast chestnuts, and Sevenoaks not particularly keen on luxuries of that kind, the Feraldo family were blue with cold and pinched with hunger, and Psani found no difficulty in engaging the services of Giuseppe, who was straightway dressed in his best, furnished with a bundle in a red cotton handkerchief, and as a particular mark of distinction the family umbrella—a green apparatus almost as large as himself. Psani took the boy round by Falconrest, and stopping before it said in his own tongue:— | “Now, piccino, you will know this '.house again, even in the dark.” | Giuseppe cast his beautiful eyes | round, taking a mental photograph and fixing it in his memory, and nodded. “You may have to take a letter to the lady who lives there, even in the night.” “Will she give me soldi?” “If she doesn’t I will when you bring me her answer. You may have to walk a long way—the road we are taking now; mark it well. You will not fear?” “I know how to dodge the policemen.” “Good boy. If it is very late the lady may ask you to stay all night, and then you will sleep in heaven and get a breakfast like a feast of kings. Can you understand English?” “No; but if she asks me to stay I shall know, believe well.” “That is well—much well! With intelligence and fidelity one may become a great man.” “Great as Cristofero Colombo?” “Great as Victor Emanuele!” On this text Psani gave his small companion a lecture on the advantages of fidelity, which only ended when they reached Whitham; but at every turning they passed Giuseppe carefully picked up a stone and put it in his pocket, left or right as the turning lay—a sign of intelligent

Enthralling Serial Story

! forethought which Psani observed , with satisfaction.

| It was dark when they reached the Red Lion at Whitham. The highbacked seats round the fire were i packed tight with villages, all listen- | ing agape to the landlord, who, fac- ! ing them and with his back to the i fire, was going over—possibly for the hundredth time—the incidents of the tragic event, and seeking by contra- ! versy to elucidate the mystery that surrounded it. Entering by the side door and closing it after him with his habitual caution, Psani took a seat at the back of a settle unperceived and, drawing the boy down beside' him with a sign to be silent, lent eager ear to the discussion. “I tell you,” said the landlord, “it don’t matter two straws what became of the woman Mr Clifford locked up in the coach-house. Being locked up there till after he shot himself, she couldn’t have anything to do with it. But how about those parties with the carriage? They ought to have known something about it, and if they did, why ha’n’t they come forward?” “P’raps they was in a hurry,” suggested a wiseacre. “Hurry be blowed! Why, they set agen the window over there a good hour, and the Lord knows what for, before they started.” “It was snowing pretty thick—” “Yes, and looked like goin’ on for ever. Yet they wouldn’t have the horse took out, though old Jimmy came in and ast ’em, didn’t you, Jimmy?” “Yes,” piped a thin, old voice; “I told the gent, him with the freckles that it was cruel to keep him out there, when a sieve of corn Wouldn’t cost him but a sixpence. I wanted him to have that bit o’ corn, because I see it was your ’oss, Cox.” “I tell you it wasn’t my horse, Jimmy. What an old fool you are. How could it ha’ been my ’orse when Mrs Irving’s son-in-law had it out all day a-taking the old people who are dyin’ over to Basted Mills.” “All right, John Cox, don’t be wild. One’d think you was afraid of gettin’ your license marked again.” General hilarity at this home thrust. “I tell you,” continued the piping voice, “I ain’t lived sixty-five years, man and boy, among ’orses but what 1 know one from the other as well as I know your mug from my face in a pewter pot. And all I say is if that ’oss wasn’t yours it was his twin brother.” At this point Psani drew one of the envelopes from his pocket, put it in the hand of Giuseppe, silently opened the door, and made a sign. With a nod of comprehension Giuseppe slipped out into the night, followed by Psani. “Take that to the lady—Mrs Harrowgate; repeat the name, for it must not be forgotten,” said Psani.

I Harrowgate, Harrowgate, Harrowgate,” the boy repeated. | “Good. Give it into her own hand. Be here by nine tomorrow morning. Do you comprehend?” “Yes.” “Good. Go, piccino, and Saint Joseph be with you!” “Adio, my patron!” and Giuseppe stretched out his little legs briskly in • the direction of Sevenoaks, with animating visions of sumptuous enter - [ tainment and soldi. | CHAPTER XLVII Preparing For a Siege ’ Stutter had so far loosened the rust on the hinges that he could turn the , 1 great door nearly home to the lock j when the rapid pat of a running foot j caught his ear, and, turning his head, ’ he perceived in the grey snowlight Mai com crossing the bridge. Unreasoning panic had seized the guilty wretch. “There’s someone coming!” he , gasped. “Out with the light!” Stutter extinguished the lantern in a minute. “What’s up?” he asked, catching terror from Malcom, as he bent forward, peering through the drift across the moat. “It can’t be only | Hemma. P’lice can’t a got on to us f yet. Howsever, caser accidents, we’ll : j Ist get inside and ‘pear as if we don’t \ know nothing against anyone drop- \ pir in. Give us a shove with the ! door—right back—that’s it. Now , then, in we go!” They entered their common sittingroom and closed the door, where a wood fire smouldered on the hearth, and quickly ripped off caps and over- ; coats. Then as Malcom raked the embers together with his foot Stutter lit a lamp, and both seated themselves, holding their breath and stretching their ears to catch a sound. It was scarcely more than an hour since Tom had been shot: the chances of their being hunted down already were a million to one, and they knew it, yet both men were grey with fear. The reign of terror had begun. The first sound that reached them was the sharp click of the latch. They turned with a sudden start to find Mrs Stutter stamping her feet and shaking her cloak charged with snow. “What did I say!” exclaimed Stutter, relieved yet exasperated. “I told you it was only Hemma. But you was in that funk you made me feel quite uneasy.” Malcom rose and flung a log on the fire. “Well, we ain’t messed it this time, Hemma,” pursued Stutter in a tone cf irony. “Oh, no, we ain’t. Jest go in there and take your things off, and when you come back we’ll have a cup of tea to celebrate the occasion. Jest go in there and take your things off.” At this mark of unusual solicitude Mrs Stutter glanced suspiciously at her husband and at once turned to the door of her room. 1 “Don’t go in there,” said Malcom , sharply, not seeing the point of Stut- j ter’s joke. “She’s in there.” “She—who?” asked Mis Stutter | sharply. “Why. Mrs Clifford,” said Stutter, j as Malcom made no reply. “Our | noble friend here hadn’t the sense to 1 look behind him afore he fired; con- i sequently she saw him do it—and we !

had to bring her here.” **l did turn; but who could see through that blinding sleet?” (To be continued)