Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2676, 4 December 1909, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

. |, , “The Jew’s House,” fXf §L * . By Fergus Hume. : : : Author of the “ Mystery of a Hansom Cab, ” “ The Yellow Holly, ” “ The Mandarin’s Fan, Tho Sealed Message, ” etc., etc., etc. ' ’*J< (All Eights Eeserved)

fjs >l< >J< <%< *s* 3 *J< ►!< CHAPTER XIV. ' ' THE LION’S DEN. ' Next clay Ashton did not go to Lor don as usual, for his mind was so pei turbed that he could not give his at tention to his work. The conversatioj with Judith and her foster-father hac puzzled him strangely, and all th< night he lay awake, wondering wha was hidden behind the conduct of Ben Ezra, the- Jew. He .seemed at onc< cruel and kind, gracious and morose, a: soft as milk and as hard as flint. The key to the riddle seemed to be that ■ Ben-Ezra did as lie was done by—tlial •he was kind with the kind and liarst •with the harsh. In a broad sense this •xplained much, but not as regarded his treatment of General Ashton or bis grandson, or, indeed, the dead Daxley. ' The old owner of Tanbuck Hall had been kind, and Ben-Ezra had repaid him with cruelty, by reducing him before his death to the condition of a beggar. Lancelot and Daxley had both been hostile to the Jew. and yet he had helped the first to begin a career, and was looking after the daughter of the second. It was this contradictory behavior which puzzled the young barrister. At least he would have thought Ben-Ezra a consistent man; but it appeared that he was not. Lancelot did not tell Miss Merten what he had learned, since, in spite' of her kind heart and honest practice of the Christian faith, she detested the Jew, and could not be brought to speak civilly of him. From a human point of view her attitude was natural, since she had seen the downfall of the Ashton family, and, moreover, had been cast out to suffer penury for many years in a place where she had- been a great lady. In the old General’s time "h Miss \ Merton had been the hostess of the Hall; now she occupied, and had for many years occupied, a tiny cottage, on a perishing income. If she was not Christian enough to forgive the Jew, she was at least sufficiently good to afford a shelter to the General’s grandson, and to help him along in life. Of course, the distant relative, Randall, had supplied the educational fees, but Lancelot thought less ■of this —seeing that Randall, whom he Fad never seen, was reported rich — than of his cousin’s self-denial in making him comfortable. Many and many a time had Susan Merton gone short so that the growing boy might have ample food when he came back to the poor home. Lancelot repaid all her kindness with a deep love, and was anxious to spare her all the pain lie could. He, therefore, said nothing about the Jew, knowing how the very mention of the name hurt her. And, indeed, he did not even say that lie was not going to ' London, lest she should ask questions, and learn that lie intended to see their mutual enemy. The mere thought that her boy ypnJd lower himself t-o such a visit, would have made Miss Merton recklessly angry. , In 'her own way —such was the conflict between her humanity and he? Christianity—Miss Merton was as great /a- puzzle as Ben-Ezra. But being hti- ■ man .himself, Ashton understood hexbetter than he did the Jew. After breakfast, then, Lancelot left ostensibly to proceed as usual to Clock Inn, but instead, of going to the rail way station, lie turned down the Highstreet, and at ten o’clock found him- . .self in the outer office of the money- j lender. An old clerk with white hair, j with a shrewd, wrinkled face, not un- j . kindly, started when the young man I gave liis- name, and asked to see BenEzra. This was not to be wondered at, , as everyone in Bi’untlea knew the enmity that existed between Ashton and the man who had robbed him of his an--cestral scat. And there vas another cause to embarrass the ancient clerk, as Lancelot speedily discovered. ; “Mr Ben-Ezra is not in just now,” stammered the old man, wondering inwardly at the visit; “he has gone —he ‘lias gone —” he hesitated. “Where has he gone?” asked Lancelot, kindly, for, after all, the clerk was not to blame for the Jew’s iniquities. “To—to—to Tanbuck Hall,” gasped -the clerk, scarcely able to get out the word; and then, to cover his edniusion, -proceeded hurriedly: “He will not be 'back -for five or six hours. If you will . leave a message—” • “Thank you; I’ll go to the Hall and .‘see him,” said Lancelot, quickly. The clerk gaped. He had hesitated to pronounce the name of the young -man’s lost heritage, yet Fere was young Ashton himself proposing to en- - ter the forbidden house, and to sec the .man who bad cheated his grandfather, -out of the same. “You will not leave ' any message ?” was all the clerk could .say. . ' . . .. ■ ; Ashton could not help smiling, as he . saw well enough what was m the old creature’s mind. “No. If I see Mr Ben-Ezra at the Hall, there- is no need . for me to leave any message. Good- , day 1” and Lancelot turned on his Feel to - tramp down the stairs. The an-. - cient clerk, looked after him with- widely open eyes and a gaping mouth, then . returned, to his work with a- shaking -head:' NeverimalLhis experience had 'so singular a, thing happened. ...And ;in ~ - the course of his work ’ as' Beii-Ezra’s „ ♦ clerk he had beheld weird happenings,

since that work dealt with the seamy side of human nature. ' “I hope,” muttered the clerk, as he bent over his desk; <£ l hope that there will not be another murder at the Hall.” x Quite unaware of this kindly-expres-j sed wish, Ashton turned down the lane } which led to the mansion of his fam- . ily> or as lie contemptuously termed it, after the popular name, the Jew’s H<puse. The gates on this occasion > were fast locked, as they always were ’ by Ben-Ezra, whether he was within > the Hall or out of it. But there was a bell—an electric bell—with the button set in one of the stone posts, and this Ashton touched with an uncomfortable feeling. He had not entered the Hall since he was a child of ten years of age, and it was with mingled emotions that he returned to look on the. old familiar scenes. But perhaps, as he thought, they would not be familiar now, since it was probable that BenEzra had changed everything. And the young man found himself wondering idly whether the bell communicated with a lodge-keeper’s house close at hand, or whether Ben-Ezra himself would hear the summons of the gate in his library. It seemed that the wire of the bell ran directly up to the . house, for Lancelot waited for quite ten minutes before there was any sign of the gate being opened. He had half a mind to go away, but curiosity prevailed, both as regards the state of the Hall and the actions of Ben-Ezra. At the ena of ten minutes he heard a slow, firm step approaching, and; shortly a key was slipped into the lock of the smaller gate. J.'t opened, and Ben-Ezra appeared, calm and composed as usual. He did not even seem to be surprised .on .seeing the young man, yet surely, if any tiling could have bewildered him, the sight of his swoi’h enemy would have done so. Lancelot quickly took in the dark bearded face of the Jew, with its aquiline nose and large black eyes. He felt their mesmeric, influence so strongly—and not an unpleasant influence either— that he hesitated to speak—could not collect his scattered wits, as a matter of fact. "You wish to see me, Mr Ashton?” said the Jew, seeing that the young man was confused, and speaking with a mellow, polite voice. “If—if —if you please,” stammered Lancelot, flushing, and inwardly annoyed that he should exliibit such signs of confusion; “but your office—” “I shall not be at my office for some hours, Mr Asliton. If your business is pressing I can see you at the Hall—cr here/ if you prefer it.” He held the gate open as he spoke, and liis looks seemed to invite Asliton to enter. As silently as the invitation tvas given, .as silently was it accepted.. Lancelot entered into his lost heritage, and the gate was locked. In another minute they were proceeding up the avenue, hut neither of the men appeared anxious to open what could scarcely prove to be other than an embarrassing conversation. Ashton was' much less composed than Ben-Ezra, and employed bis eyes in looking round the domain. He felt surprised to see how perfectly :t was kept from gate to house; avenue, lawns, flower-beds, terraces, hotlouses —everything was as neat as a lew pin. Ben-Ezra, observing him out >f the tail of his eye, smiled quietly. “Yes,” he said, graycly, “the old place lias not suffered in my hands, you ;CC.” . : Lancelot stared, and turned livid. ‘Let us say as little about the old place is possible,” lie replied., trying'to conn’d his hot temper. “You no doubt icquired it in the way of business, so 'here is no more to be said.” Ben-Ezra bowed his noble head, quite inmcved. “Then let us say no more,” ie remarked, as they mounted the terrace steps. “Will yo.u please enter by :iii.s.window, Mr Ashton? I came down n a hurry to the gate when I heard :ho bell, and took this short cut.” “Is it the window through which —” “•Yes, Mr Ashton, this is the window, vhich was broken; but you will see that [ have had it mended. Sir Giles’ "body ay exactly, where you now stand.” Lancelot hastily moved* into ..the room, not caring to remain on so uncanny a spot. From liis childish recollections he strove to piece together a picture of the grand' drau mgroom, and, >o far as his memory served him, no-; thing had been changed. Ben-Ezra, tv ho seemed to read liis thoughts in ;omo odd way- —perhaps guessing what tvas in the young mail’s mind by the curious - looks he cast around——smiled again. “There is no change,” he remarked, and again quietly; “everything is at it used to be in the General’s time. I have simply kept everything in repair.” t < It was on the tip of Laneefot’s tongue to. make a • rude speech, for it struck^'hard at his/ heart -to see this man .master of tlio property acquired by a .long line of ancestors. But good sense came to liis aid, and an innate feeling of 'good* breeding. After all; lie had-voluntarily called to see the Jew; and, whatever might haye been the method of securing the Hall, it undoubtedly was Ben-Ezra’s own house.

“The place, both inside and out, doe! you credit,” he. saidj with some stiffness; but Ben-Ezra saw -that a concession had been made, and secretly a£m mired the young man for so far un*f* bending. “Did l you -come hero to tell me so?” he asked, gravely. kfr “No. I came to see you for several I things. No doubt you are surprised at my visit, Mr Ben-Ezra?” “On the I expected you daily,” was the unexpected reply. “Why?” Lancelot was startled. “I did you a good turn, and, although you are hostile to me, goodbreeding has brought you to thank me.” Ashton flushed. “I am afraid it did not, Mr Ben-Ezra. However, now that I am here, I thank you.” He said this with groat difficulty, but managed to get it out, nevertheless. “I thank you for employing me as your counsel. I am glad that things turned out as they have done.” “Thank you, Mr Ashton; that is handsomely said. Then you do not believe me to be guilty?” “No. In the first place the true criminal confessed, and in the second I did not believe that so clever a man as you are would commit such a foolish crime in so clumsy a manner.” “Thank you,” said Ben-Ezra again. “That I am innocent is quite certain; but that Simon Daxley was guilty is doubtful.” “But he confessed—” “I see,” said Ben-Ezra, sardonically. T see that you have heard the rumor vhich says that I got Daxley to take ay fault on this shoulders, provided ' looked after liis little girl.” “I have heard the rumor, but I do tot believe it. And permit mo to renind you, Mr Ben-Ezra, that I have ust expressed my unqualified belief a your innocence. At the same time, know that you are looking after the hild.” “How do you know that?” “Judith Verily showed me the child sleep, and told me what you had cringed with the farmer and his wife.” “Humph!” said the Jew, leaning aek, and folding his arms; “it wouldH>m that the gossips are right after 1. Why—unless Daxley took my guilt l liis shoulders —should’ I lock after is child ?” I . “Why, indeed!” said Lancelot, dry- I ; “and the mere fact that you make , ich a speech shows me clearly that ] >u are innocent.” “Perhaps I made it to impress you. j that way, Mr Ashton.” The Jew’s sharpness annoyed the ; ung mail, who moved restlessly, bet us leave the question of your in- M cence or guilt on one side,” he said, y th marked impatience. “A wellned confession, whether true or false, v s set you free, .so there’s no more to he said. But I have come to see ] you about several matters.” ~ “Yes?” Ben-Ezra composed hirr.^rv,l jfo listen. “And the first?” c “Miss Cashell called upon me and a declared that she undertook to find the real criminal, if you gave her the S( refusal of the Tlall when you sold it. a As she has carried out her part of the bargain, you should certainly carry p out yours.” v, “ Do you really think so?” inquired y the Jew, politely. “I have the name u of being a hard man, remember.” n “According to Verily, that name is ..j not entirely deserved,” said Lancelot, u quickly; “but a promise is a promise.” w “There is no promise in business, save n, signed and stamped one, and s , that Miss Cashell has not got. How- r( ever, I will leave the decision to you.” -jy “I am not your lawyer,” said Ashton, stiffly. _ c ] “Never mind. You are clever, as I saw from your speech and methods of ij examination in court. I had an excellent seat, remember,” said Ben-Ezra, with his dry chuckle. “Well, sir, n should I keep my premise ?” w “Yes,” said. Lancelot, promptly. w “Miss Cashell did her part; you must, f£ if you are an honorable man, do y yours.” - sa “I don’t think I was ever called an If honorable man in my life, Mr Ashton,” ]j said Ben-Ezra, grimly'“however, it is never too late to mend, so Miss Cash- 0I ell shall have my promise in writing. se Then no doubt she will be able to get Lady Dove to look favorably on a mar- sc riage with Sir Reginald. Whether he rr will take the same view as his mother I doubt,” it “That'is the second thing I wish to speak to you about, Mr Ben-Ezra. Last s . night, as I say, I was at the- farm, and t j heard there several—£> “I know what you heard, inter- I rnpted Ben-Ezra, serenely; “only the I dread of losing Judith would have in- p duced you to set foot in- my house - that is, in the house which I hold in £ trust for another person.” C£ “What do you mean?” ; n “What I say, Mr Ashton. This Hall j is called the Jew’s House, .but the Jew a does not live in it, and the Jew keeps it up a.s you see. I am the trustee for another person.” k “Who is that?” Lancelot had a faint .<< hope that he himself might be named, u although ho could .not see how such a tl naming could be brought about. jr “No matter,” said the other, quietly. n “I might ho married, you know, and might be saving'up this'residence for , t ] my children. It’s a private concern.” n Lancelot frozo again. ■ “I ask your g , pardon,” he said ceremoniously, “but I always understood that you were a A bachelor. However, it is none of my v business. But what is m y business, Mr ■ Ben-Ezra, i s to ask.you ivliy you have f( induced the farmer to favor Sir Reginaid’s suit.” /“ j\ “That also is a private concern,” re- a ; joined Ben-Ezra., I knew Judith’s , c ] parents, who are both dead, .and I h placed her .with the farmer and liis wife n to bring up. . Naturally, as I hlavc'dier h; interest, at heart, I wish to see her well s ]

. married. Sir Reginald has money an ; a title and a certain position.” Lancelot: stared aghast, and bcgr.: to realise that this grim old man hel his life’s happiness in his grasp.' “Bu I love her,” he gasped in dismay. ■■ “The feeling, does you credit, fo Judith is worthy to he loved.” Ailiton felt nonplussed. “She l'Ove me,” lie ventured to say. • , ■‘Ah 1” Ben-Ezra:.sat up in his ..chair and looked more’ alert. “That is i move serious matter. I do not wisl Judith to be unhappy.” “She will be if you force her tc marry Sir Reginald.” “I will never use force with Judith, said the Jew, gravely; “and, aftei all, she is more or less free, as I an merely a self-constituted/ guardian. 11 she chooses to set my will at defiance, she ean marry you when and where she likes. 1 have no power over the girl.” “If you had that power,” said Lancelot, impetuously, “are you sure that you would compel her to marry Sir I lleginald? Verily hinted that you merely wished him to pretend”—Ashton emphasised the last word—“to act the stern father.” “There may be something in that>” said Ben-Ezra, calmly. “Will you tell me what the something ip?” “No. You are trenching on my private affairs, which do hot concern you.” “Pardon me,” said. Lancelot, with the fiery persistence of a lover, “but anything which concerns Judith concerns me. Through Verily, you insist that Judith should become Lady Dove.” “And I have no power to enforce such insistence, Mr Ashton. I only pointed out to Verily that you arc poor, while Sir Reginald is rich. He is the better match for the girl.” “But who made me poor?” demanded Lancelot, stung into blunt speech. “Your grandfather,” rejoined BenEzra, as bluntly. “Ob, 1 know that you think I was a had lrlend to the General, hut you are wrong. He-stood by me when I was an outcast in your Christian land, and .many and many a time did I aid him with advice and money. But he was extravagant and tvilful, and I could not prevent him from squandering liis estates. At his r>vn request I took over the Hal], and |ave him a larger price for it than lie itherwise could have got. It was all nisiness.” “It was not all business when lie promoted you in Bruntlea village,” said Isliton, bitterly, and somewhat unustly. ‘•’l agree with you there,” replied he Jew, smoothly, “but I may remind cu, sir, that I showed my gratitude y helping the General in many, mail] •ays, as he would have been the fir si o acknowledge. But you could scarce y expect me to beggar myself out o: ratitude. Had I not done what I did lie General would never have beer omfortable until the end of his days she was. After his death I took ovei lie Hall, since I owed you, liis grand>n, no gratitude. And remember. Iso, Mr Ashton, that out of regard foi our grandfather, who was my good •iend, I offered to help you- when you ere a lad of ten years of age. On mr behalf your cousin, Miss Merton, ho hates me blindly, refused to allow :e to assist -you. And if I remember glitly,” ended the Jew, sardonically, you also, biassed by her, declined .my ell-meant offer with insults.” “I was a child then, and perhaps iid more than I ought to have said,” ‘joined Lancelot, with a flush; -lit [iss Merton assured me that you ga’ i--1 jxnver over my grandfather, and leated him out of the Hall.” “Let her prove that. I ask no more lan that she should prove that.” Ashton shrugged his shoulders. ‘lt rather too late to do so now, after So any years. She may have teen rong. But as it turned out, there as no need for us to accept your ofr. Mr Randall, of Coombe Hay, Rem.shire, as a relative, paid all necesry fees for my education. He is dead )iv, and I am sorry, since I should Ire to pay him back.” “Perhaps lie has left relatives—sons daughters,” hinted the Jew, looking archingly at his visitor. “No. He had no relative save myIf, and now ho is dead, leaving his oney elsewhere. However, I owe m a debt of gratitude, since through m I was enabled to become a barrisir. But this is all beside the mark,” id Lancelot, impatiently ; “the queson is, do you want Judith to marry r Reginald Dove?” “Yes,” said Ben-Ezra, unhesitating- “ Verily seems to bounder the im■cssson that I wished him to pretend i get Judith to accept such a match. \c is wrong, as .1 want the girl to be imfortably settled in life. Aiid you ay take it from me, Mr Ashton, that shall Use my best endeavors to bring jout the marriage.” • Ashton was nearly losing bis tem?r at this peremptory speech, but apt it with commendable self-control. In that case,” he said, sarcastically, you had better not give Miss Cashed le refusal of the Hall, since by such eans she intends to secure the barojt .to herself.” . e “I shall deal with Miss Cashell -when ie time comes, in--a way which will bo ore satsifactory to m© tliaii to her,” .id the Jew drily, and rose to his feet. I am sorry wo cannot be friends, Mr shton; take .such a wrong ew of my character —” By this time Lancelot ; was on his et also, and fuming with anger. “A rong view-; a wrong view,” he interipthd, /scornfully ; “what, iptber yiew n I to • take ? I aim much, more inihed to. believe my 'cousin’s views; ol >w. you got ibis Hall than the explaition you have, made/ Miss Merton is done everything for me, and I know le would scorn 'to tell a lie. - But I

let ttio fact of 'your getting the property alone. There may be excuses for you, or there may not bo. But in this instance of Judith there is no excuse.. You .are aware that she loves mo, that she has been engaged to me for years; yet, because of some fancied 'hold you have over her, you would force her into a wealthy marriage with a man she cares nothing about. You have taken my heritage, and now you would take my promised wife.”

l Ben-Ezra listened to this outburst quite unmoved. “On the face o£ it > the thing looks as you say,” he remarked serenely; “and I can make allowance for the hot blood of youth. But, ■ listen to me, Mr Ashton. I have no absolute power over Judith, as I said, unless she chooses to be grateful to one who rescued her from a life of penury and who has been a kind friend to her. But, knowing, licr parents, I have long since decided’ to give her a substantial dowry should she. marry with my approval. A match with you does not meet with my approval, and should she become Mrs Ashton she will, not have one penny of my money.” “She does not want it; I do not want it,” said Lancelot, striding to the still open window. “The lack of a dowry Avill not bias Judith.” “Gratitude may, Mr Ashton. 1 shall harp on that string.” “No doubt,” cried the young man, scornfully turning as he stepped on to the terrace; “you are a cunning devil.” “You have not got Ithuriel’s spear,” retorted the Jew, “and therefore cannot be .sure if I am devil or angel.” “Never the last, I swear.” “Don’t prophesy until you know, Mr Ashton. However, there is no more to be said. You have had your answer.” “Yes, and I swear that I’ll marry J udith.” “Hot blood; hot blood,” shrugged Ben-Ezra, smiling blandly. Lancelot clenched his lists. Tlie sole way in which he could thwart him was relying on Judith’s love to agree to an early marriage. That way Lancelot intended to take, so swallowed his useless anger. “But there is one thing to he said, Mr BenEzra,” he remarked, pointedly; “if you did me a good turn in asking me to he your counsel, you are trying to do me a had one now. Mo are quits.” The Jew spread out his hands and shrugged his shoulders. “Let it- stand at that by all means, sir. We are , quits.” < /To be Continued.) j