THE GRIP OF GOLD.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3579, 19 July 1912, Page 3

THE GRIP OF GOLD.

By ROBERT HALIFAX.

(Author of “The Drums tof Fate,” “The House of Horror,” “A Woman in Their Web,” “Law Society,” ect., etc.} (Copyright—All Rights Reserved.) CHAPTER XXI. COME ALUNG! Wan fingers of dawnlight were feeling their way past the blind. The briefest, yet strangest, night in Spurr’s experience had come to its end. He had lain with closed eyes, but without further attempt at sleep. In that hour every incident of the past ten days was lived anew. He was pacing the white, decks of the ocean liner again, wondering ever and ever what could be waiting at the end of that haphazard quest. He was flying southward to London in the boat express and now pushing open the inner door of the solicitor’s office. He heard, once again the latter’s cold, surprising words: “I know little more than yourself of Mr Spartan Loder’s private affairs. What Ido know I am expected to keep to myself. Wisest for me to simply hand you his address, and to let you know that he is not expected to live.” And then ho was whirling southward yet againrumbling along the dark Barrowdene road in a fly—and leaping . down to learn that, after spanning two continents, lie had missed his object. Death and that sinister “double” had cheated him of it by a hare few minutes.

And yet—and yet—something was telling him insistently as ho lay that he had rushed to England to meet his fate.

And ever and again he found himself unconsciously trying to frame upon the wall the face of his uncle’s ward as he had first seen it—that sweet, pale, oval, out of which shone two great velvety, appealing eyes. Sheba! It wffs just the name lie would have'given her; soft, womanly, dignified, tender—Sheba !

Five o’clock! He was up and dressed, watching the sky out there. Some invisible artist had been tinting its blue-blackness with broadening streaks of silver and saffron. Now the sun itself shot up and threw a golden glory over all. The dew glistened like a frost of diamonds. A lark sang high and richly, rooks cawed back from a clump of giant elms, and beyond all was the muffled thunder of a tide heating against its cliff boundaries. Full day had dawned, and there might be stern work before him. Bir. the ways of the still silent house were an unopened hook to him as yet; he must wait a little longer. “Sheba’s ill,” he kept saying to himself. “I shall not see her for a week. A week of these davs!”

Ho sat at the open window, seaborne air fanning freshness upon his tiled, tanned face. Daylight thought gave it all a curiosity different aspect. The keen edge of the horror was taken off: he could sift out details. But no solution!

No one in England—not even the lawyer—had ever set eyes on him until yesterday. He had no papers or credentials whatever in his possession. In the event of an enquiry, there was nothing on this side the Atlantic to prove him his uncle’s nephew. Felcote might conceivably be whispering of him as a second masquerader on the scene, drawn by the rumors of Spartan Loder’s vast hoards. Not that he minded for himself—but his thoughts always veered back to Sheba St John. Had she taken this woman’s refuge in orcler to avoid coming face to face with him ? ' It was an indescribable flash-thought, and a word rose up in swift answer—No !

That clock was striking again. Six times—nay, seven! He sprang up, drew on a cap and his ulster, and stepped quietly out and down the stairs. His fingers were drawing the hall-door bolts, when a little cough behind made him turn. There stood the stately housekeeper, pointing smilingly to an open doorway from which stole the aroma of new-made coffee.

“Not a word!” she whispered, waving back his protest. “I smelt the cigar—and guessed the rest. Come along!” He hesitated, then obeyed. He would not, could not, lot her know just now what it was that had broken his chance of sleep. He sat dow <, sipped the coffee, and made a bra -'e pi of once of eating. He was telb’ng himself that this must be the diningroom. across which that imposter had taken his fevered rush. - Presently, as Mrs Saxon rustled out to answer the servants’ bell, -he set down Ins cup Next moment he had dropped lightly from the balcony railing. He could explain later. Nov !

His pulse quickened at once. Just at this point there was a distinct furrowing of the gravel surface, as if eomeeme had sprung blindly, heavily, scored the ground in falling, and then careered wildly away across the lawn. That lawn, fortunately, was newlycropped. For the first few yars the mark of those toe-tips was thrillingly distinct; flic could follow them at a run. Then they became less definite ; a gossamar of dew-webs had in parts all but effaced them; it was only by crouching low and staring hard that he could say where the grass-blades had been recently bruised. And here

it was that his partly developed backwood instincts enabled him to forge forward where an everyday police officer would have stood at a- loss. He had wan a hard way across two- I thirds of the green stretch, and was straining every faculty to the utmost, anxious to get beyond 'sight of the house. Just once the strong sensation of - being watched made him glance backwards. From an upper window—lie could not be sure in which corridor—he saw a face intently peering down at him. A woman’s face, withdrawn almost instantly. It was nothing, and yet some queer connection of ideas made him straighten up and clap a hand to his waistcoat pocket.

; A grim look tightened In’s strong jaws. He would not turn back—could not pause now to think it out; but a partial light had broken in upon him. There was just the bare possibility that that fragment of gold chain had fallen from the pocket, hut it was not there now. And the waistcoat had hung from the foot of his bed during the nightHe drew a deep breath, and went doggedly on, with a care- and acumen that would have done credit to a professional detective. These footmarks might be obliterated in twelve hours more. When at-last he paused, it was because he found himself brought up at the thick dark patch, green in this sunlight,. which Mrs Saxon had called the maze. In fact, trie narrow, pillar-box-like slit of an entrance, with its fantastic arch of close-cut privet, faced him. Bar or gateway there was none. And, a* he stood, the maze seemed to rustle and call to him from its deep recesses. \ He dropped the footprint clue, without knowing why. Through him rushed the thought that that flying man had made straight for tins lybyrinthine refuge in case of close pursuit. It seemed so feasible —it seemed to fit the moment’s uncertainty exactly. It might have struck him ns barely probable that his “double"’ should have known of the retreat at all; but it did not—not at the moment. He gave a hasty glance hack at the house windows, now dwindled to tiny, shining squares, and plunged straight into the narrow path. The effect was startling. A sensation of being cramped for apace — the- sunlight almost blotted out—a cathedral-like twilight and solemnity ■—the strong scent cf the pinewcod mingled with faint steam from soil scarce over reached by kglit- Spinning round he saw that the entrance had apparently closed up behind him. He tiptoed back. It was a trick entrance. obscured by a double pillar of th-a privet, and not obvious to anyciv3 inside the maze. He noted the fact with a little laugh to himself. (To he continued daily.)