The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 10, 1907, Page 10

CHAPTER 2 you as ne v takes time to get them ¥ arrived at that posi- ¢ en immediate employment, it . reaker of stones upon the to me She Aig Ny fo xill offer you & pPost she ea Nov are & real Sameritan, Lady A I only hope that 5 ected mone of my en 3 clusions” she sald ou know that the o8t ™ . hick will, be able to 1t father offers it to me” 1 nfide he must take her speech—per- ¢ € I was an “Hon- ar eptional linguist, and not seem likely was any post which . which, on the score rate, 1 should ot she said, look- on to the sands { aceept it. I am nware aimed ould find you those continyed. “If I ay aside for ade de ou to which 2 mén seams to his nat very Tt of I equipment, P must ex- nke me E . s, Lady annot,” she - That is what I can never L] ompie bewildered now She = looking seaward, her face steadily averted from mine. As to her de toward me, I could make £ of 1d not even decide #chethe vas friendly or inimical e w post for some one e ely her influence with oule ng enough to . She ha yken to me kindly air of reserva that y with ber every- upled with a certain deportment, appeared to people around to indicate ese few minutes at any ed. She had col nd e down spoken to me as ¥ other man. up by throw- hopeless bewil- sald, “T think that expl#nation. If you can t is in any way against f you will give iffe the reason why I should re- has yet been offered teo do it I will do it 15t starve.” reed smile parted her lips. at me kindly T have sald a great deal more than t to, Mr. Ducaine. T think that been better if I had left said. You must go your I only wanted to guard you disappointment eppointment! You think, after that I= not what T meant,” she nterrupted. “I am sure that you will be offered the post, and 1 am sure that ou will not hesitate to accept it. But, neverthelese, I think that it will bring with it great disasppointments. T will ell this. Already three young men knew very well have held this post, end each in turn has been dis- misstd. They have lost the confidence employers, and though each, I was ambitious and meant to areer, each has now a black nst his pame” re very mystérious, lady An- d, doubtfully. necessity,” she answered. take rather a morbid view but ome of * great friend of mine, and at he has lost his reason. There are peculiar and painful @ifficul- ties onnection with this post, Mr. e, and I think it only fair to give j& warning. are very kind,” I said. “7 enly at the whole thing was clearer vish to me. She smiled a little sadly. At Teast,” she said, “let me give you one word of advicee You. will bde nrought into contact with many people integrity will seem to you a positive and certain thing. Neverthe- ess, treat every one alike. Trust ne one. Absolutely no one, Mr. Ducaine. t s your only chance. Now go.” Her gesture of dismissal was almost mperative T scrambled down the path and gained the sands. When I looked up was still standing there. The wind blew her skirts around her slim young limbs, and her hair was streaming behind her. Her face seemed like & plece of delicate oval statuary, her steady eyes seemed fixed 'pon some point where the clouds and sea meet. She took wo heed of, she aid even see, my gesture of farewell. ft her there inscrutable, a echild with the face of a Sphinx. She had set me a riddle which I could not solve. CHAPTER VI Colonel Ruy's Ring =2~ HE ring lay on the table between us. Colonel Ray had not yet aken it up. In grim silence he istened to my faltering words. nished he smiled upon me as upon a child that needed said, slipping the ring upen s finger, “you have saved me from the hangmean. What remains? Yeur eward, eh?” way seem to you,” I answered iy, am sorry fitting subject for jol 1 that my sense of humot is sch with yours. You are a great traveler., and you have shaken death by the hand before. For me it is & new thing. The man's face haunts me! T cannot sieep or rest for think- ing of it—as I have seen it dead, and as T saw it alive pressed against my window—that night. Who was he? What did he want with me?” How do you know,” Ray asked, “that he wanted anything from you: "He looked in at my window.” ‘He might have seen me enter.” Then I told him what T had meant keep secret. He e asked for me in the village. Ray had been filling his pipe. . His to wae directed to my cottage.” them was the - Sl & % i fingers paased in their task. He looked at me steadily How do you kuowi that?” he asked. The persor illage toid " to whom hie spoke in the Thefi why did (hat person not ap- pear at the Ingue; \ 43 her not to” I toid given evidence the been a different n said quietly, acted foolishly. 1f that over she may be, the truth later on you wikward position.” 1 the truth yesterday." position would have d enough. Let that »w who that mgn quite awkw want answered sarn 3 k was, what he wanted with me.” ne! Ray shrugged his shoulders. voung friend,” he said, “have ome from Braster to ask lzmt My you questior “To give you that question “How 4o you know mine?” “I saw it on vour were giving me wine.” “Then veu believe kilied him?” “it is no concern of mine,” I cried hoarsely. I do not want to know. I do not want to hear. But I tell you that the man's face haunts me. He asked for me In the village. T feel that he came to Rowchester to see me. And he is dead. Whatever he came to say or to tell me will be buried with him. Who was he? Tell me that?” Ray smoked on for a few moments reflectively. “git down, sit down!” he said gruffiy, “and do abandon that tragical aspect. The cresture weas not worth all this you the ring and to ask that the ring.is finger when you he said, “that ¥ agitation. He lived like a dog, and he died llke one ‘It is true, then?” I murmured. 1f vou insist upon knowing~’ Ray said coolly, I killed him! There are insects upon which one's foot falls, reptiles which one removes from the earth without a vestige of a qualm, with a certain sense of relief. He was of this order.” s “He was a human being,” I answered. “He was none the better for that. Ray declared. “I have known animals of finer disposition.” “You at least,” I said fiercely, “were not his judge. You struck him in the dark, too. It was a cowardly action.” Ray turned his head. Then I saw that around his neck was a circular bandage. “If it interests you to kmow it” he remarked dryly, “I was not the assail- ant. But for the fact that T was warned it might have been my body which you came across on the sands. I started a second too soon for our friend—and our exchange of compliments sent him to eternity E “Jt was in seif-defense, then “Searcely that. He swould have run away if he could. I decided other- wise.” “Tell me who he was,” 1 insisted. vy shook his head. for vou mnot to know,” he remarked reflectively. “Much better.” My cheeks grew hot with anger. “Colonel Ray,” T sald, “this may yet be a serfous affair for you. Why vou should assume that I am willing to be a silent accessory to your crime I ecannot imagine. I Insist upon knowing who this man wae.” “You have come to London,” answered quietly, “to ask me this?” “I have told you before why I am here” T answered. “I will not be put off any longer. Who was that man, and what did he want with me?” For a period of time which I could not measure, but which, seemed to me Ra of great duration, theré was silence between us. Then Ray leaned over toward m “I thin he said, “that It is my turn to taik. You have come to me like a hysterical schooiboy: you seem igno- rant of the primeval elements of justice. After all it is mot wonderful. As yet you have only looked in upon life. You look' im, but you do not understand. You have called me a coward. It is only a year or so since His Majesty pinned a little cross upon my coat—for valor. T won that for saving a man’s life. Mind you, he was & man. He was a man and a com- rade. To save him I rode through a hell of bullets. It ought to have meant death. As a matter of fact it didn't. That was my luck. But you mustn't call me a coward, Ducains. It is an insult to my decoration.” “Oh, I know that you are brave enough,” I answered, "but this man was a poor weak creature, a baby in Four hands” ' “S0 are the snakes we stamp beneath our feet,” he answered coolly. “Yet we kill them. In Egypt I have been in more than one hot corner where we fought hand to hand. I have killed men more than once. I have watched them gailoping up with waving sords and their fine faces ablaze with joy of battle, and all the time one's re- volver went spit. and the saddles were empty. Yet never once have I sent a brave man to his last account with- out regret, enemy and fanatic though he was. 1 am not a bloodthirsty man. When I kill, it is because necessity demands it. As for that creature whom you found in the marshes, well, if there were a dozen such in this room now, I would do my best to rid the earth of them. Take my advice. Dis- miss the whole subject from your mind. Go back to Braster and wait. Something may happen within the next twenty-four hours which will be very much to your benefit. Go back to Braster and walt.” “You wiil tell me nothing, then?’ I asked. “It is treating me like a child. T em not a sentimentalist. If the man deserved death the matter is between you and your comscience. But he came to Rowchester to see me. 1 want to know why.” “Go back to Rowchester and wait,” Ray said. “I shall tell you nothing. Depend upon it that his business with vou, If he had any, was evil business: He and his whole hrood left thefr mark for gvil wherever they crawled.” “His name?" T asked. “Were there”no papers upon him?" Re) demanded. “None.” “So much the better,” Ray declared grimly. “Now, my voung friend, I have given vou all the time I can spare. Beyond what I have said I shall say nothing. If you had known me better—you would not be here still” So I left hing. His words ve me no loophole of hope. His silépce was the silence of a strong man. and I had no weapons with which to assail it. 1 had wasted the money which I could ill afford on this journey to Lon- don. Certainly Ray's advice was good. The sooner I was back to Braster the better. From the station I had walked straight to Ray's house, and from Ray’s house I returned, without any devia. tion, direct to the great terminus. For & man with less than fifty pounds in the world London is scarcely a hos- pitable city. I caught a slow train, and after four hours of Jjolting, cold and the usual third-class miserie: :g-ud at Rowchester Junction. A ¥y 1 had started on the three mile tramp home, my coat collar twrned u, as some slight protection against thg p 0 e P Q drizzling rain, when a two-whesled trap overtook me, and Mr. Moyat shouted out & gruff, greeting. He raised the waterproof apron, and I clamberéd in by his side. ¥ “Been to Sunbridge?” he inquired cheerfully. “I have been to London,” I answered. “You haven't been long about it,” he remarked. “T saw you on the eight- twenty, didn't 1?” 1 nodded. h “My business was soon over,” I said. “I've been to Sunbridge,” he told me. “Went over with his Grace. My girl was talking about you the other night, Mr. Ducaine.” “Indeed?” I answered. 1 started. » “Seemed to think,” he continued, “that things had been growing a Bit rough for you, losing those pupils after you'd been at the expense of taking the Grange, and all that, you know.” “It was rather bad luck,” I admitted quietly. “I've been wondering,” he continued; with some diffidence, “whether ‘you'd care for a bit of work in my office, just to carry you along till things looked up. Blanche, she was set upon it that I should ask you anyway.. Ot course, you being a college young gen- tleman might not care about it, but there’s times when any sort of a job ig better than none, eh?” “It is very kind of you, Mr. Moyat,” I an ed. “and very kind of Miss™ Blanche to have thought of it. A week ago T shouldn’t have hesitated. But within the last few days I have had a sort of offer—I don’t know whether it will come to anything, but it may. Might I leave it open for the present?”’ I think that Mr. Moyat was & littl disappointed. He flicked the with his whip, and lookeéd straight ahead t. as you say,” he declared. “I ain’t particular in want of any one, but I'm getting to find my own bookkeep- ing a bit hard, especially now that my eyes ain't what they were. Of course it would only be a thirty-bob-a-week job, but I suppose you'd live on thet all right. unless you were thinking of getting married. eh 1 laughed derisively “Married, Mr. Moyat!" I exclaimed. “Why, I'm next door to a pauper.” “There’'s such a thing,” he remarked thoughtfully, “if one’s a steady sort of chap, and means work, as picking up a girl with a bit of brass now and then,” “I can assure you, Mr. Meyat,” I said as coolly as possible, “that anything of that sort is out of the question 'so far as I am concerned., I should never dream married till T had a home of my own d an income.” He seemed about t6 _say something, but checked himself. We drove on in silence till we came t6 a dark plle of buildings standing a little way back from the road. He moved his head toward it. “They tel} me Braster Grange Is took after ;all,” he remarked. “Mr. Hul- shaw hold me so this morning.” T was very little interested. but was prepared to welcome any change in the conversation. “Do you know who is 1 asked. colanl: there?” ~ “An American lady, I believe, name of Lessing. 1 don't know what strang- ers want coming to such a place. I'm sure.” o I glanced involyntarily over my shoulder. Braster Grangeé was & long grim pile of buildings, which had been unoccupied for many years. Between it and the sea was nothing but empty marshland. It was one of the bleakest spots along the coast—to the casual observer nothing but an arld waste of sands in the summer, a wilderness of desolation in the winter. who have dwelt in those parts are able to feel the fascination of that great empty land, a fascination potent cnoug] but of slow growth. Mr. Moyet's remark was justified. ‘We drove into his stable yard and clambered down. “Youwll come in.and have 2 bif of supper,” Mr. Moyat insisted. I hesitated. I felt that it would be wiser to refuse, but T was cold and wet. and the thought of my fireless room .depressed me. 8o I was ushered into the long, low dining-room, with its old hunting prints and black oek furni- ture, and, best of all, with its “log fire. Mrs. Moyat greeted me with her usual negative courtesy. I did not think that T was a favorite of hers, but what. ‘ever her welcome lacked in Wfi- ness Blanche’s made up for. . m looking at I should remember our common ) More than once I was I had not let her “Yowve had swall of ever thinking of getting . Mr. Moyat declared appreciatively. “A clever chap, too. He's Al in politics, and a t class bueiness man, chair- man of the great Southern iway Company, and on the board of several other city companies.” “I can’t see what the gentry want to meddle with such things at all for, Mrs. Moyat -said. “There's some as says as the Duke's lost more than he can afford by speculations.” o ‘“The Duke's a shrewd man” Mr. Moyat declared. “It's casy to talk.’ It he hasn't 108t money,” Mrs, Moyat demanded, “why is Rowchester Castle let to that American millionaire? Why doesn’t he Hve there himself?” “Prefers the BEast Cosst" Mr. Moyvat declared cheerfully. “Meore_ bracing, \and suits Bis cons!ituulo!n better. I've rd him say so himself.' h“?'r?\st is very well,” Mre. Moyat said, “but 't see Rowchester is a fit country house for & nobleman. What do yoll think, Mr, Ducaine?” 1 was more h\leroit,b%‘*l: t:: ldnt:; fon than anxious to be dra: ;nu':o 1 returned an evasive teply. Mrs. Moyat nodded sympathetically. 2 “Ot course,” ‘she said, “you haven't seen -the house except from the road, but Uve heen over it many a time when Mrs. Felton was housekeeper and the Duke didn't come down ®mo often, and I say that it's & poor place for a Duke.” _ “Well, well, mother, we won't quarrel about it” Mr. Moyst declared, rising from the table. “T must just have a Yook at the mare. Do you look atter Mr. Ducaine, Blanche.” To my annoyance the retreat of Mr. and Mrs. Moyat was evidently planned, and sccelerated by a frqwn from their daughter, Blanehe and I .wers left glone—whereupon I, too, ross to my foet. “I must be going,” I said, leoking at the clock. ' Blanche only l.\: hed, and bade me down by her sl 'm so'glad dad brought yeu in to- night,” she said. “Did he sty anything to yod?’ “What about?” £ ‘Never mind,” shé answered archly. “Did he say an¥vthing &t sii?” “He remarked Ofl?“flz.}"lci that it . t night,” 1 4 i !:’I;‘!" m’? exclaimed. “You know what T meéan.” - “He dia make mé & very kind offer, I admitted. She looked at me sagerly. “Well?” “1 told him that I am expscting an ofter 6f work of some sort from the Duke. Of courss it may not eome. In e it was very kimd of Mr. loyat.” She drew a little clowsr to “It was my ides,” she Wh put it into his hesd.” = “Then it was very Kind of you, tos, 1 answered. She was apparently dissppointed. We sat for several moments in silence. Then she looked uréund With &n air ot mystery, and whispered still more softly into my esr— “I haven't said & word about that— to anybody.” 5 “Thank you very much,” I anewered. “1 Wllhqullo sure !i'lt you wouldn’t, 48 you had promised.’ v Again thers was silence. Sh¢ leoked 4t me with some return of that half fearsome curiosity which had first come into her eyes when I made my réquest. “Waen't the inquest horrid?’ she said. “Father ssys they were five ding—and L [ hours _deel | there's old Joe Hassell; even now he won't beliave that —that—he ceme from the sea.” “It {sn't s pleasant subject,” I said ‘Let us telk of something very much Only those o, voice, just like a foreigner. It was in the shadow of the market hall there. I wish I'd never seen Irim.” A note of réal fear seemed .to have crept into her voice. Her eyes were straining through the darkness. I forced a laugh as I lit my cigarette, “You mustn’'t get fanciful” I de- clared. “Men die every day, you know, and T fancy that this one was on his last legs. Good night.” Her lips parted as though in an answering greeting, but it was inaudi- ble. As 1 looked round at'the top of the street I saw her still standing there in the little flooa of yellow light, :.l.lm' across toward the old ‘market all. CHAPTER VII A Wesderful Offer N my little table lay the letter 1 expected, large, square and White. I tore it open with trembling fingers. The hand- writing was firm and vet delicats, I knew at once whose it was. “ROWCHESTER, TUESDAY. “Dear Mr. Ducalne—My father wishes me to say that he and Lord Chelsford Wwill call upon you tomorrow morning, between ten and eleven o'clock. With best regards, I am. Yours sincerély, “ANGELA HARBERLY.,” The letter slipped from my hands on to the table. Lord Chelstord was a Cabinet Minister and & famous man. ‘What could he have to do With any ap- pointment which the Duke might offer mé? 1 read the few words over and over again. The handwriting, the very faint perfume which seemed to steal ut of the. envelope. 2 moment's swift retrospective thought, and my fancy d conjured her Into actual life. She was there in the room with me, slim and shiadowy, with her quiet voice and movements, and with that haunting, doubtful look in her dark eyes. What had she meant by that curious warn- ing? What was the knowledge or the fear which inspired it? If one <o only understand! - 1 sat down in my chair and tried to remd, but the effort was useless. Direotly opposite to me was that black, uncuttained window. Bvery time I looked up it seemed to become once mere the frame for a white, evil face. At last I could bear it no 1 rose and left the house. I wandered capless across the marshes to where the wet seaweed lay strewn about, and the long waves came rolling shore- ward; & wilderness now indeed of gray mists, of dark silent tongues of sea water cleaving the land. There was n6 Wind-—-no other sound than the steadfast monotonous lapping of the Waves upon the sand: Along that road he had come; the faintly burning light upon my table showed where he had pressed his face against the win- dow. Then he had wandered on, past the storm-bent tree at the turn of the road pointing landward. A-few vards farther the creek from which we -had dragged him. The events of the night struggled to reconstruct them- selves in m¥ mind, and I fought against ::efl, slow l:ultm:nfig. I did not wish rémember—to bellfeve. In my heart 1 telt that for some hidden reason Ray was friend. This visit of the Duke's, with whatever it might por- tend, was without doubt inspired by him. And. on the other hand, there ‘was the warning of Lady Angela, so earnestly expressed, 8o solemn, almost sad. How could 1 see light through all these things? How could I hope to understand? 4 The Duke came punctually, spruce and debonalir, a small rose in his but- tonhole, his wisened cheeks aglow ‘with the smart of the stinging east wind. With him came Lord Chels- ford, whose face and figure were fa- miliar eénough to me from the pages of the illustrated papers. 'k, spare but I felt and tall, h & ATl the-sehile the mercitess avestise: tion of his searching eyes. - Temerve, e &t greater I and with more freedom than I had heard hi ng: :h.nhvlv‘: .‘:‘:52'.:{:. ht.’.r: o! Kis “mvm\ point of view, which is possidly an advantage. I have in my pocket & close .record of your days since fou entered the university. I know those who have been your friends, vour tastes, iew you have spent your time. Don’t be” foolish, young sir,” he added sharply, as ha saw "the color rise in my ¢heeks; “you will have & trust re- posed in you such as‘few men have ever borne before. This prylag into your life is from no motive of private curlosity. Walt untll you hear the importance of the things which I am going to say to ¢ 1 was impressed inte silence. The Duke eontinued— “You have heard, my young friend.” he said, "of the committee of national defense “I have read of it.” I answered. ‘“Good! This committes has baan formed and sanctioned by the War Office in consequence of the shocking revelations of inefficienty which came to light during the recent war. Tt occurred te the Prime Minister. as I dare say it did to most of the think- ing men in the country, that if our unreadiness to take the offensive was S0 obvious, it was possible that our defensive precautions had also been neglected. A board was therefore formed to act independently of all ex- isting institutions, and composed chiefly of military and naval men. The commander in chief, Lord Chelsford, Colonel Ray and myself are among the members. Our mandate is to keep our attention solely fixed upon the de- fenses of the country, to elaborate dif- ferent schemes for repelling different methods of attack, and, in short, to ourselv: responsible to the country for the safety of the empire. Every harbor on the south and east coast is supposed to be known to us, every yard of railway feeding the sea- ports of London, all the secret forti- fications and places south of Lenden capadlé of belng held by inferior forces. The mobilization of troops to Any one point has been gone thorough- ly inte, and every possidle movement . and combination of the fleet. Thess are only a few of the things which have become our care, but they are sufficient for the purpose of illustratfor. The importanee of this board must be ap- parent to you; alse the importance of absolute secrecy as regards its doings and movements.” 1 was fascinated by the greatness of thé subject. However, I answered him as quickly as possidble, and emphati- cally. .“The board,” thé Duke continued, “hes been meeting in London. Ior the last few months we havée had business of thé utmost impertance on hand. But on January 10, that is just six weeks ago, we came to a full stop. The com- mander in chief had no alternative but temporarily to dissslve tha assembly. We found ourselves in a terrible and disastrous Pposition. lerd Ronald Matheson had been aciing as secre- tary for us. We met always with locked doors, and the names of twelve members of thé beard are the most honored in England. Yet twenty-four hours after our meetings a verbatim report of them, with full particulars of Al our schemes, was in the hands ot the Frénch Seeret Service.” n“Go:d 0.01"” 1 .t:d-llm startied for the omeént out ol tiul silence. i g .~Tha Duke himsalf seemed affectad by the revelation which he had made. He sat forward in hig chalr with puck- ered brows and bent head. FHis voice, whi¢h hed bsen growing lower and lower, had sunk almest t6 a whisper. 1t seemed to ma that he made a sign to Lord Chelsford to continue. Almost for the first time the man who had done little since his entrance save ‘watch me, ¥ “My own political career, Mr. Du- caine,” hé said, “has_been & long one, but I have never befors found mysslf confronted with such a situation. Even you can doubtless realize its effect. The whole good of sur work is undons. It we cannot recommencs, and with different resuits, I am afraid, an Englishman, to say what mey happen. War between England and France to- day would be like a great game of chéss bstween two monsters of equal strength—oné having a%secret know- ledge of his opponent’s each ensulng move. You can guess what the egd of that would be. Our only hope a8 once to reconstruct our plans. We are hard at it now by day and by night, but the time has arrived when we can go no further without a meeting, and the actual committal to paper and dia- gram of our new schemes. We have discussed the whole matter most car fully, and we have come to the follow- ing decision. We have reduced the number Jf the board by half, those who have resigned, with certain exceptions, having done so by ballot. We have declded that mstead of holding our meetings at the War Office they shall take place down here at the Duke's house, and so far as possible secretly. ‘Then, as regards the secretaryship. No shadow rests upon Lord Ronald any more than upon his predecéssors, but, as you may have read in the newspa- pers, he has temporarily lost his rea- son owing to the shock, wnd has been obliged to g0 to a priva‘s home. We have decided to engage some one abso- lutely without political connections, and whose detachment from political life must be comp] You have had a warm advocate in Colonel Mostyn Ray, and, subject to some stringent and ab- solute conditions, I may say that we have decided to offer you the post.” 1 looked from one to the other. I have no doubt that I looked as bewill- dered as I felt. “I am a complete stranger to all of you,” I murmured, “I am not deserv- ing in any way of such a positio ‘Lord Chelsford smiled. “You underrate yourself, young man,” he sald dryly. “or your college profes- sors have wandered from the truth. st {Ofll‘ surprise is natural, I admit. I will explain a little further. Our fifty names were pro- posed, all of'them of young men of the highest character. Each one, however, had some possibly doubdtful relative or association or custom in life. It Is evi- dent that there is treachery somewhere in the very highest quarters. These young men were sure to be brought iate contact with it. Now it was Ray’s idea to seek for some one wholly outside the © diplomatic world, living In a spot re« Londan, with as few friends detectives. You appear to us to be suit- able.” STt i wondarful offer!” T sxclaimed. T o it 1s,” Lord Cheistord con- Tuseit may ok may g you will live all The San Francisco Sunday Calk A I spoke “1 accept, Lord Chelsford.” T said. “I shall count my life a small thing indeed against my fidelity.” He drummed idly with his forefinger upon the table. His eyes were wander- ing around the room absently. His face was cgim and expressionless. “Yefy well, then.” he said. “my busi- ness here is settled. I shall leave it with the Duke to acquaint you with the practical detalls of your work, and our arrangement.” He arose to his feet. The Duke glanced at his watch. “You have only just time f the train,” he remarked. “The shall take you there. I prefer to w 1k back, yeie =ford took leave of me Iy, and the Duke, after acce ¥- ing him oltside, returned former seat. I ventured-upon coherent attempt to express m tude, which he at once waved the table and upon me. he leaned over his eyes steadfastly “I am-able now,” he said you a question postponed frot other day. It is concerning who was found dead in the His merecilese eves noted m “ANI" he continued. T you know something. I piclons_about this man. You can now understand my interest when T hear of strangers In the nmeighborhood 1 do not beljeve that he was a dereliot from the sea. Do you?” “No," T answered. He nodded. - “Am I right." he sald. “in presuming that you know he was not?” ave my “] know that he was not ade mitted. His fingers ceased their beatinx upon the table. His face became te and maskiike. “Go on,” he said “ know that he came through Bras- ter and he asked for me. He looked in through the _window of my cottaga when Colonei Ray was. with me. T saw him no more after that until T found him dead.” “Ray left you after m s face at the winde had’seen “The wounds about the man's head and Body. If he was not thrown up by the sea, oan you explain thein”” “No,” T answered with a shudde “At the inquest it was not memmna“ I think. that he had been scen in the village?” “It was not.’ T admitted. “Most of the people were at Colonel Ray's lecd ture. He spoke to one girl. a Miss Moyat.” v he did not give evidence. T thought,” [ said in a low tone, “that she had better not.” “Did you hear anything after Ray left? he asked sudd I could have c¥ed o ¢ In my t was a sound.” “l fancred that it was a could not tell. The w and the sea and rain' but my tongue T muttered. cry But I A was blowing, No, T could not tell.” He rose . “You a T, he saiqd ¢ “to have @giseretion. Cultivate it is a xreat gift. I shall look for you at 11 o'clock in tne morning. I am having a large house party this week [and among tHem will ba our friends.” He left me without any further fare- well and turned siowly homeward. When he reached the bend in the road he paused and remained there for sev- eral moments motionless. His eyes were fixed upon the small creek. He seemed to be measuring the distande between it and the road. He was still llagering there when [ closed the doer. CHAPTER 1X Treachery HE sunlight was streaming through the windew when at last my pen ceased to move .q’ rubbed my eyves and looked out in momentary amazement. Morning had already broken across the sea. My green-shaded lamp was burning with & sickly lght. The moon had turned pale and colorless whilst I sat at my desk. I stretched mysel? and. lighting a cig. arette, commenced to eolléct my papars. Tmmediately a dark figure rose from a couch in the farther corner of the room and approached me. Can I get you anything, sir™” I turned in my chair. The man ser- vant whom the Duke had put in charge of the “Brand.” my present habitation, and who remained with me alwavs in the room while T worked, stood at my elbow. T would like some coffee, Grootom,” I “I am going to walk up to the house witli these papers, and T shall want a bath and some breakfast di. rectly I get back.” “Very good, sir; it shall be ready.™ I folded up the shests and maps, and placing them in an oliskin case, tied them round my body under my waist- coat. Then I withdrew all the car- tridges save one from the revolver which had lain all night within ecasy remch of my right hand and slipped g inte my pocket. “Coffee ready, Grooton?” “In ome moment, sir." 1 watched himr bending over the stove, pale, dark-visaged, with the sub- dued manners and voice which mark thé aristocracy of servitude. My em- plover’s confidence in him must be Im- mense, for while he watched over me I was practically in his power. “Have you been long with the Dulse, Grooton?’ I askeq him. “Twenty-one years, sir. T loft his Grace to go to Lord Chelsford, wheo found me some work in London.” “Secret service work, wasn't e, Grooton?” = “Interesting “Some parts of It very Interesting, sir.” T nodded and drank my coffes. Greo- ton was Watching me with an alr of respectful interest. “You will pardon my remarking ft. 8ir, but 1 hope you will try and get some sleép during the day. You are very pale this morning, sl I looked at the glass€nd was start- led at my own reffection. This was only my third day, and the responsi- ::Hll of my work were heavy upen My cheeks wers sunken and thers were black rings around my eyes. “I will lie down when I come back, Grooton,” 1 answered. Outside, the fresh morning wind came 1ike & sudden sweet tonic to my jaded 1 paused for a moment to face the rush of it from the sea. 1 there, drinking it in, I be- T R Hahe ap- e one was cottage from the parl 'I..t not immediately turn my h.X stiften every nerve in my body seemed into quivering curiosity. The was a private one leading the house oanly to the “Brand,™ . down the cliX to Braster. It was 7T o'clock, and the footsteps no laboring man’s. I thfnk that T very well who it was that cama down the cone-strewn path. (To Be Continued)