Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2598, 4 September 1909, Page 3 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

By Fergus Hume

I “Ttie Jew’s ffmase,” 1

*|* Author of the “ Mystery of a,Hansom Cab, ” “ The Yellow Holly, ” “ The 4* Mandarin’s Fan, ” “ The Sealed Message, ” etc., etc., etc. nj« ►!< ►!< >]< >X< ►£< ►!« sj* »>Ja t>J< >£<i sJ< »£« ►)[< >J« >!•< >J< >jjs tft >J> s%> >J< >J« >I 4 ’

v CHAPTER 1.. THE MURDER IN THE FOG. Few "people know that there is a rising suburb, called Bruntlea, in the direction of Harrow, which is reached from Baker-street by the. Metropolitan Extension Railway. Even with its trifling existence of 15 years, it has an agreeable reputation in the City, since many clerks find it possible, by reason of speedy communication between office and home, to combine semi-rural pleasure with urban work. Populous in the morning and evening, when its inhabitants go and return, the suburb presents the aspect of an Adamless Eden during the day. Then the place is given over to the female belongings of the clerks, and these shop, gossip, wrangle and visit with great assiduity. But after office hour's and during week-ends, Bruntlea hums like a beehive, for then its inhabitants enjoy their idle moments and get what minor pleasures they can out of a somewhat narrow existence. But such leisure can scarcely be, called idle, filled as it is with lawn tennis games, golf competitions, musical parties, small and early dances, bridge-drives and debating societies. The clerks bring home the news of the world and the evening papers, while their wives and daughters, sisters and aunts, 5 detail the doings of the day. Beyond the collection of brandnew villas and shops gathered round the spire of the brand-new church, stretch corn-fields, waste lands and picturesque woodlands, so that Bruntlea stands, as it were ou the verge of accentuated civilisation. With these undeniable advantages, this latest created .suburb of London considers itself to be in the forefront of the times. Had its inhabitants dwelt in Babylon or Rome, or even in the West End, they could have entertained no higher opinion of their particular locality. But of these things a middle-aged journalist, stumbling along the Highstreet in a thick November fog, was entirely ignorant. And even had he known all about them they would have given him no pleasure, for he was hungry and footsore, and—as was natural —extremely cross that a man who had travelled over a considerable portion of the world should have lost his way in so petty .a district. But there was great excuse for him, since it was 8 o’clock in the evening, and the fog, as the saying goes, could have been cut with a knife. Also, Barrington Wain was a stranger in the land, having arrived at Bruntlea only six hours before for the purpose of writing it up. The proprietor of his paper, the Midnight Sun,” wished the place to be advertised, and it Was shrewdly suspected by the reporter that the gentleman in question owned many of the waste acres surrounding the town. Wain s mission was to explore the vicinity and glorify its advantages in print. He had set out for a walk almost as soon as he had put up at the brand-new hotei; sut by reason of the fog, he might as wel have lived in the Cloud-Cuckoo land of Aristophanes for all the advantages he had gained. Wain had certainly emerged into the country earlier ,in the flay, as was apparent from the muddy roads and dripping hedges ancl forlorn haystacks But as he could see nothing around him but clouds, he stumbled back to the town, and thus lost himself in a network of lanes. After some hours of mistakes and bad language, be manage ed to strike the High-street—at least, he believed it was the High-street, from its great width and many shops. These latter were closed, as it was the usual Wednesday half-holiday, so he could not inquire as regarded his w e f e abouts. Nor did he particularly wish to, since he hoped to run against a well-informed policeman in the dense .mist. But here again Ins luck was a - sent, as he met no one, and had senou. thoughts of banging at the nearest dooi to ask for shelter. ~ In very modern, brassy tones the clock of the brand-new church struc ' eight strokes, and gave Wain, some i ea of his whereabouts, for he knew that his hotel was within sound of the bell. Ho hurried' forward eagerly, and y some chance-rwhich he afterwards cribed to Destiny-turned down a side lane narrow and winding. Also, when Le arrived at the end, he found it was a cul-de-sac, for in the fog be aim • crashed Sgainst a aoubte-valflxl gate of ornate ironwork, nmch gdded ‘ licrh+ins? of a match revealed. Ihe gates swung between massive storm p,llars surmounted by heraldic < ’ who gripped oblong shields in then forenaws. It seemed strange to find such an old-world portal in the middle of a brand-new suburb, and, m spite of his disagreeable, position, Wain pans. od to think why it should be there. It suggested adventure. / ' . 'A second match-for he wished to, see ’ the' escutcheons showed, by its feeble glimmer,, a smaller gate set m the right-hand valve <****%£%£ This was open, so with vague idea that if he went on he might arrive at the House and there gain , TcrliGro2ibotite of his * £Hi£ £:raiTihe at 4"mui

drops suggested that he was in an avenue where the tree-branches met overhead. The ground Was strewn with leaves and sodden with rain, so that ■Vain’s footfalls made no poise as he walked cautiously onward, ignorant of his whereabouts. But a few moments since arid he had been in an aggressively modern suburb of the most modern city in the world; now he seemed to be pacing through a fairy wood, towards the unknown.

Wain felt that nothing would surprise him amid such surroundings. Yet lie started and stopped and strained his ears as the sound of an angry voice was heard. The voice was high and lean in quality, with a rasping tone suggestive of bad temper. Listen as he would, Wain could hear no other voice but this one, so it was apparent that the owner of the voice was talking to himself. Yet why should a man rage in the fog, and walk in the wood, as this man was doing? Wain scented a romance, or rather “copy,” with tee trained instinct of a journalist, and plunged forward to precipitate the adventure. He ran full into the arms, not of the approaching man, hut of a fir-tree, as he judged from the lowgrowing branches, and fell half-stunned on the soaking ground. There he lay, half-conscious, while the thin, angry voice shrilled through the darkness. Sc high was the voice, and so vehement the abuse, that Wain fancied the speaker might he a woman. But what woman would risk such solitude and gloom and disagreeable weather? ,

“Damn him!” said the unknown, who was moving swiftly towards the gate —as though he knew the locality well—and by this time Wain became certain that the speaker was a man. “Tie’ll have to give in. I must have this place. I believe he was on the point of- yielding when I left him. I was a fool to go. I have a great mind to turn back arid force-him to consent. , Hang the beastly Jew! He would\have killed me, I believe, when I. told him what I knew'of his past. But I’ll not be beaten —I’ll.not be bested!”

The man passed swiftly, almost brushing the feet of the fallen journalist. Wain guessed, rather than saw, that he was stout .and short and bulky, by the exercise of that sixth sense which materialists scoff at. He was about to calk out, but, as he had not yet collected his wits, did not do so. Or perhaps the sixth sense warned him that he was not to interfere with the doings of Fate. But whatever might be tlie cause, Wain held his peace for sixty ticks of his watch. Then he heard returning footsteps, and the bulky, squat form hurled itself past him again, this time up the avenue.

? “I’ll go back; I’ll go back,” said the man, so distinctly that the words might have been breathed in Wain’s ear. “I believe he will yield after all. I know too much about him. He’ll have to sell the place, or. leave the town. I’ve set my heart on getting this place, and—Damn!” The man stumbled, fell, and then, picking himself up, -walked more cautiously along the avenue, still using very bad language.

Wain put his hands to his throbbing head, for one of the fir-tree branches had struck him fairly on the forehead. What did it all mean? Of whom was this angry little, man talking? Why had he turned again to face his enemy, and who was his enemy who wished him ill, and whom he was trying to force into doing his will?; The journalist could not reply to these, questions,- but, having a keen desire to hear the answers'from the very oddity of the.circumstances, he struggled to his feet. Binding his handkerchief over the cut on. his forehead, he spread out his hands and followed the trail of the angry little man. Just as he took a step forward', he heard a merry tune whistled, and became aware that someone was entering the gate. On the impulse of the moment, Wain turned hastily and «tepped forward. This time he did run into the arms of a man, and the man was a constable. “Hullo!” said the constable, immediately grasping the journalist, “who are you, and what aro you doing here?”

“I’ve lost my way to the Princess Hotel in this infernal fog!” explained Wain, hastily. “A likely story,” retorted the constable, gruffly, “when I find you in Tanbuck Park.”

“It’s the first time I ever heard the name.”

“Oh, I daresay,” remarked the policeman, sceptically; “if you don’t know the Park, how did you climb over the gate?” . y, “I didn’t. I found the- gate open — that is; the smaller gate. ” , ; . “So it was,” muttered the man, still keeping a firm grasp "on his prisoner, for so he seemed to consider the journalist. “First time I ever found the gates, great or small, open at this, time. Old MoseS-in-Egypt generally keeps them tightly closed. You left the gate open,” he said, directly accusing Kis prisoner; “how did you get the key from old Aaron-on-the-Rliine ?” “I didn’t get any key, and I don’t know the Jew you are talking about.” , “How did'you know as I’m talking of a Jew?’-’ asked the policeman, giving his victim a shake. •• ...

“Because of tlie names you call him —fancy names, I suppose.”

“Never you mind” —with another shake; “what are you doing in Mr Benjamin Ezra’s park?” ( ‘ B en-Ezra !” cried Wain, sudden!y enlightened; “why, he is the proprietor of the newspaper I work for—the “Midnight Sun.” I jiave copie down here by his orders to write the place up, and in this fog I left my hotel, to lose my way. I found that small gate opened, and came in to see' where I was.”

“A likely story. If you—” “See here, constable,” interrupted Wain, highly exasperated, “you have your bul’s’-eye with you. Why not use it and see if I’m the tramp you evidently take me for?” “I don’t ask you to tell me my duty,” grumbled the officer, but nevertheless hitched round his belt and turned the light of the lantern on Wain’s face. “Whatever you say will be used in evidence against you,” he concluded, so evidently he still mistrusted the journalist. In the lantern light, Wain appeared as a tall, slim man, with a tanned, moustached countenance, and looked as though he had been a soldier, so alert and military was his bearing. He wore a loose; grey overcoat, brown slices, and a tweed cap, this, last being pushed back to afford room for the binding of a handkerchief over the wound inflicted by the branch of the fir-tree. The constable, not wanting in native wisdom, saw that Wain was a gentleman, and released him with a satisfied grunt, ate though he saved his official dignity by a mistrustful speech. “I’ll walk back with you to your hotel,” he said, adjusting his belt, “and see if yon are what you say you are —sir,” this last coming out doubtfully. “I shall be very glad if you will guide me to the hotel,” said Wain, good-humoredly, and slipping his hand into his pocket; “take this, and do so. I am confoundedly hungry and tired, as I’ve been wandering round in this fog for the last few hours.”

Being purely human, the sight of half-a-crown vanquished the last scruples of the policeman. On the principle of the cook, who knew that a certain doubtful personage was a gentleman because he wore evening dress, the Bruntlea guardian of the peace was certain that Wain was honest because ho handed over two-and-six. “But you’ll excuse me if I’ve been sharp, sir,” he said, saluting, and now entirely respectful. “Mr Benjamin Ezra told mo to keep a good look-out on his gate, in case of thieves.”

“Very naturally. But the gentleman’s name isn’t Benjamin.”

“Gentleman?” grunted the officer, contemputously. “Why, he ain’t nothing but- a measly money-lender, sir. And he says his name is Ben.” “Quite so, hut it isn’t short for Benjamin. Ben-Ezra means the son of Ezra.”

“Live and learn; live and learn,” said the constable judiciously;, “but I don’t think much of him, anyhow, though I’m sorry to say so, sir, if lie’s a friend of yours.”

“He owns the newspaper for which I work,” said Wain, easily; “iny acquaintance begins and ends with him there. What’s your name, constable?” “Dawkins, Sir. Jim Dawkins.”

“Very well, Mr Dawkins, take me to the Princess Hotel, and on the way tell me all you know about Bruntlea. I promise you that I have not come down to commit a burglary, but to get information so as to write in the “Midnight Sun” ahoirt this place.” “Will you give me a lift up, sir?”

“Of course; I’ll mention you as a highly efficient officer, who nearly arrested me as a tramp.” “You will have your joke, sir,” said Dawkins, grinning. “What a judge of character you are, se'eing you have known me only ten minutes,” said Wain, dryly, “but I see you respect the power of the Press.!’ “I want to.be made a sergeant, sir,” said Dawkins, bluntly, “as there’s a girl I could marry on better pay.” ■

Wain laughed., “Always the inevitable woman,” said he, lightly. “Well, I wish you luck, Dawkins, and will do my best to further your ambition by the power of my typewriter.” “Of the pen, sir.”“Don’t use one. The type-writing machine to-day is greater than the pen. But come along. I’m dying of hunger, and a drink s of the best awaits you at the Princess Hotel.”

“Beg pardon, sir,” said Dawkms, increasingly respectful, now that he knew Wain could glorify him in print; “but would you mind my going up to the hall, which ain’t/far away? I must see why the gate was open.” “T?Te smaller gate?”

“Small or big, sir, Mr Benjamin Ezra don’t like the Park left open to casual tramps, sir.” . “Such as myself, eh, Dawkins?” “You will have your joke, sir,” said the policeman again. “And you’ll excuse me, sir, if in the execution of my duty—” “There 1 there I That’s all right, Dawkins. You'are right to seize every opportunity of making yourself known as a zealous officer. Perhaps some day you’ll capture a burglar or a murderer; ancL then proiriotion will come.” “Never ■ have such luck, sir,” said Dawkins, • gloomily shaking his head'; “there never is any crimes worth talking about in this place. I never saw such a virtuous set of people, sir,” he ended in disgust. “Including Mr Ben-Ezra?”

“Well, he has got a name, sir, as a screw and a scraper, which is natural, he being a lop-sided Jew of sorts. Sold up a cousin of mine, sir, as borrowed thirty pounds and had to pay fifty in interest. But beg pardon, sir,” said Dawkins, switching on to another subject,'“you’ve hurt your head.” “What keen eyes you. Have, only to

see that now,” said Wain ironically. “It’s a mere nothing. I ran my head against the branch of a -tree and scratched it a trifle. But I. can’t stand here in the fog and; the damp and the darkness any longer. Come ujj to the Hall, and seo Ben-Ezra.” “We won’t find him there, sir—it’s Wednesday.” “What do you mean by that?” “Well, I can hardly , tell you, sir. It’s rum all round, to say the least of it, sir. Mr Beniamin Ezra keeps the Hall up in first-class style, and has Mrs Jorvin as housekeeper to lock after it. But he doesn’t live at the Hall, and only comas Saturday to Monday. Why he keeps it up no one knows, sir.” Wain listened with a puzzled air. The angry little man had evidently come from seeing Ben-Ezra, since his language—his soliloquy, in fact—stated that plainly. Yet Dawkins, who knew the town and the doings of its inhabitants, seemed to be certain that BenEzra was not at the Hall. “I am sure you are mistaken,” said Wain, after a pause, as the two walked cautiously up the avenue through the my'rky atmosphere, “Ben-Ezra. has just had a , visitor.” Dawkins started. “No, sir; you are wrong, sir. Mr Benjamin Ezra never, never crimes to Tanbuck Hall during the week—and it’s Wednesday.” Dawkins appeared to be very emphatic, and Wain felt more- puzzled than ever/since an element of mystery was now apparent. “Then who was the man I saw —or rather felt—passing me in the darkness when I was lying half-stunned under the fir-tree?”

“What’s that, sir?” Dawkins pricked up his official ears, always on the alert to seize any chance which might lead to his promotion arid marriage. “It’s an adventure,” explained Wain "carelessly, and proceeded to tell all that had happened to him since he had entered the park. “Of course, I could not see the maifj in the gloom,” he ended, “but I got in some way an idea that he was stout and short and very bad-tempered.” “With a high-pitched voice, rasping like a file?”

“A very good description, Dawkins,” said Wain, approvingly ; “that is exactly the kind of voice I heard.” “It sounds like Sir Giles Dove,” muttered the constable, drawing a loud and meditative breath; “but bless you, sir, he wouldn’t come hero and see Mr Benjamin, when he hates him, as everyone else does, likei poison. And then Mr Benjamin would see anyone at his office; he never sees anyone here, especially,” ended the officer, “when this is Wednesday, and he ain’t here.”

“Who is Sir Giles Dove?” asked Wain, seeking for information. “A rich gentleman, sir, though he isn’t truly one. They do say that he made his money out of eggs and butter in London. Then lie..became the Mayor of some Midland town, and was knighted when tho King passed through. After that he came here with his money and his title and family, to settle down and be a swell. Not that I think he ever will sir,” said Dawkins, in disgust. “Rich or poor, I like a real gentleman born. You’re one, sir, as I can see; but Sir Giles, isn’t. No, nor his son, Mr Reginald, either, for all liis clothes and university education. Then there’s the governess —she’s a caution 1 I shouldn’t like to —” Here Dawkins, aware that he was talking too glibly, ‘suddenly stiffened and became pointedly official. “You’ll excuse me, sir, but I must attend to my business.” And he stalked up the avenue. The officer apparently knew all the gossip, great and small, of the neighborhood, and was exactly tho man to question. But Wain was too weary to trouble about such information, and resolved to inquire from Dawkins the next day. Meanwhile, stumbling in the wake of the constable, he wondered over the enigmatic speech of the little angry man, and whether he was indeed the wealthy knight spoken of so disparagingly.-: If so, he evidenify had .10 great loye for, Ben-Ezra the Jew, arid seemed anxious; to get the better of him income bargain by threats. Wain to see the Hebrew, who was so. hated. Although BenEzra was the proprietor of the “Midnight Sun,” the reporter had never come face to face with him, as all negotiations had been conducted -by the editor.

Under the trees the fog was denser than ever, and Wain felt as though he were forcing his way through cottonwool. Dawkins swung liis bull’s-eye lantern to right and left, and the two men picked their steps as best they could. No sound broke the impressive silence, save the dripping of moisture from streaming leaves, and there was not a breath of wind. For some moments, which seemed years in List nightmare atmosphere, Wain followed the policeman, and unexpectedly found himself walking on turf instead of gravel. By the comparative thinning of the fog. he became aware that they were crossing a largo open space. Evidently, as Wain thought; they had reached tho wide spread of the lawns, immediately encircling the great mansion. Suddenly—“ What’s that?” questioned Dawkins, sharply and halted, with abruptness. He might well ask, for it was the sinister crack of a shot in the near distance. The two men, paralysed for the moment, held their breaths. A secorid ! shot rang out tersely,. and, as though] released "from a spell, 1 * they simultaneously sprang forward. In their haste one jostled against the other, and both came to the ground. As they fell, there came a third and final shot. “Poachers,” gasped Wain, struggling to his feet. “Not in this-viog, and so near the house,” growled Dawkins, getting on his lege; “old;'Abraham’s in trouble; lie’s been threatened- often enough,, Some along, sir, quick. I may havd •

to ask you to stand by me in the King’s name.”

But, owing to the thick fog, the goal was not easily reached, and the two blundered aimlessly! about. Suddenly Vvv.in crashed against the steps of a terrace and sprang up these with a shout. His cry was echoed by a powerful, mellow voice, raised with great vehemence. “Help! Murder! Police! Murder 1” A dull yellow light, radiating from an open French window, glowed mistily through the murky air' and blacknes&. The next moment Wain found himself face to face with a tall man holding a revolver. At his feet lay a motionless figure, blocking the entrance into the room.

(To Be Continued.)