THE DAUGHTER OF A PRODIGAL

Gisborne Times, Volume XXIX, Issue 3242, 12 June 1911, Page 3

THE DAUGHTER OF A PRODIGAL

[Published by arrangement with Messrs Cassell and Company, Limited, of London, the proprietors of the copyright.]

BY BERTHA M. CLAY.

Authoress of “The Ironmaster’s Dauahter,” Etc.

CHAPTER XXXII.

They smoked: in siience for the space of seven or eight minutes, each watching the other.

“This move,” Tredcroft said at last, “is one of Barker’s master strokes 1 should imagine, and it is directed against me.” Then he laughed softly. “Barker is shrewd, but he is young. His wisdom wants developing and mellowing. All my dear Bussell, I see that I am mystifying you, and it is now my wish to clear up all mysteries. Permit me to say at once that Frank Marchpane, alias Julian Tredcroft, is wanted by the police of several countries for murder and pillage, and that Mr. Barker is keen upon the scent. He. is in reality a Secret Service man, who wormed his way into my house.” He snapped liis fingers and chuckled. “Ana I knew who and what he was all the time! Look here, Russell, I don’t care a brass button for the combined detective force of the whole world; I’m not Frank Marchpane—never was —never can be.” It was John Russell’s turn to jump up now, and his face was ablaze with wonder. “Then who are earth are you? I can understand that Marchpane, or Tredcroft, had reason to hate Jabez Corston but you —you.” Tredcroft waved his arms with pleasurable excitement.

“Pray be seated, and you shall hear my story. lam forced to tell it a full twenty-four hours before maturity, but I must tell it again to those whom it concerns. I shall' have an audience of twenty or more to-morrow, and after the bomb-shell —peace ! Now, my dear Russell, I have two tit-bits for you—two tiny iittle revelations which will change your life’s gloomy waste—into a garden of perpetual sunshine and love.”

“You’re getting on my nerves,” said John. “I don’t know which of us is the madder, because I am fool enough to believe >ou.”

“I am going to take over Corston’s wines, my lad; I’m going to pay Jabez Corston just as much money as he has sunk in them, and you and I will go into partnership, and work the concern on a proper husiness-like basis. My cash against ycur inventions. I can get a hundred thousand pounds for the patent rights in the United States.” John Russell nearly danced in his joyful excitement.

“1 vonder where that ass of a Corston has gone to!” he shouted. “Wait a bit, wait a bit,” interrupted Tredcroft. “And I’m going to see you married pretty soon, my lad, to the finest, most lovable girl- ” “Stop that,” interrupted Russell, hastily. “Now you’re- out of your reckoning, sir. There’s only one woman on God’s earth for me, and she is impossible.” “There is no obstacle to your marriage.” Tredcroft’s tones became cla-rion-like. “The woman who claimed to be the wife of her father’s unhappy youth— I understand her name was Carradice—was a pitiful sort of liar. She was the bosom friend of that wife, and it occurred to her, when her fortunes were at a very low ebb that money might be got out of Harry Lynn. I have sifted the affair to the bottom, and her signed confession is in yonder safe.”

“Good heavens, man!” cried John, laughing and crying in a breath. “Am I hypnotised—or dreaming? Why, Vera!” .

The girl was standing in the doorway, her face eager, radiant; her hands clasped together, her eyes shinging as Tredcroft bad never seen them shine before. Then she . was being held tightly in her lover’s arms. “I’ll leave you two together for a Tredcroft said softly. He moved across the room, and met the butler at the door with another telegram. He tore it open. It was from the manager at the Birchill’s Colliery, and told the news of the rescue of Corston and Barker. Tredcroft stood like a man spellbound.

“Wonderful! Wonderful-! ’ 5 lie murmured. “Some day I may know what the ill-assorted couple were doing down there. I must invite them here —they must be liere to-morrow. I’ll wire now. Williamson, tell the messenger to wait. I must reply.” Ho looked backi into the library. John and Vera had forgotten his existence —forgotten everything. “I say, Russell,” shouted Tredcroft, “Jabez Corston and Barker are all right. Just got ei wire.” He laughed. “They can’t hear nie. A bombshell wouldn’t disturb them now!” (To be Continued.)