THE GRIP OF GOLD.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3613, 28 August 1912, Page 3

THE GRIP OF GOLD.

By ROBERT HALIFAX. (Author of “The Drums of Fate,” “The House of Horror,” “A Woman in Their Web,” “Law Society,” etc., etc.) (Copyright—All Rights Reserved.)

CHAPTER LV. “STOP! I’LL PROMISE!” And there was silence. Terrible silence. A

“You cannot !” she whispered,''leaning back. “You were desperately afraid. Twice you searched the room. But it is. only now that you hear of a wire-covered ventilator that open ;<I into the next apartment—my own room. Just opi>osite his bed! I wr.'• died you. I had used that ventilator before. I hoard every word of hi*—' or all that I wished to hear to give me that inspiration. a And i saw!

She had discarded for ev- r tb ». five grey garb of the nurse; but the atmosphere and memories of the calling still seemed to cling about her. At moments her voice was as soft as though she were stooping in imagination above a helpless patient. Strange, awful it seemed to hear a woman—the woman whose deft fingers had so often lain across a fevered brow, whose eyes had remained tireless throughout many a midnight. watch—giving the recital in that calm, deliberate way. It was like a person watching a critical surgical operation, and feeling never a tremor as the knife worked its slow way along the line dividing life and death.

Steeped in scheming as ho was, deep as he has descended in his bid for the hidden hoards of Spartan. Loder, his father’s partner at the mine, Manisty listened in stupefaction. This was a phase he had never yet grappled with in his experience—and a development he had little counted upon. Ho was still in the dark upon many points; but bo saw bis chance, and was quick to grip it.

“Then—then,” he rattled, pointing at her, “if you say what you sav, 1 charge you with being a passive accessory to the act. You fully realised, but made, no attempt to prevent it, or to bring the criminal to book!” Across the table bis eyes stared defiance into hers. For that one moment, and that only, she lost a measure of her wonderful self-possession--

or, maybe, sickened at the thoughts in 1 hCy own mind. Every day she had t told herself that—she must strike her ; blow soon, or not at all. There* was ; ever that menacing fear of insanity! s “Fool!” she breathed quiveringly. i “Fool! I did not realise the meaning ,< of it in time, or it would never have , happened. I could no more prevent ] what passed in that moment’s darkness than I could force my lips to cry out. T could do nothing without compromising myself. You-are forgetting! Till that moment, when your stealthy movements stirred iny quick suspicions, I was thinking you the real and only Wilfred Spurr! All I had wanted was to hear his revelation—to know for a certainty how she stood in his will. The instant my suspicions of you took place, and I knew Sheba. St. John was to marry the heir to that fortune, all my plans changed. I formed another, and acted upon it simultaneously. You think me a witch, a wonder, no doubt; yet thero is nothing wonderful in it from beginning to end. I have succeeded so far simply because I cared litile foT the consequences to myself. I played the spy from time to time, and the threads came to my hand in quick succession. From Spnrr’s own lips I ! heard all the story of your scheme; j I had only to connect it with what I knew already from Mr I .odor’s own talk. In tlie same hour I obtained your real name and address here through a card of yours lie left lying ] upon the table. While he hunted for me—the spy—l had returned by another door and got what I wanted. Because, you see, it suddenly occurred to me what use, as a last resource, I could make of a man of your stamp! There was only the fear that lie might

employ his detectives to trap you here. But ho had forgotten the address; and, again, he shrinks from publicity on her account—his heart is as sensitive as yours is black! But, mind, he will work slowly on; his moment will come; ho is not a man to be baulked of his rights. Shall I tell you something? Ho was here, in Brixton, only a day or two back. I saw him—passed him ! On every hand there are the wheels working within wheels. And so, time presses! You shall leave Brixton at once, and hide ✓ until the moment comes to act. And, in return, I hand over to you the deeds of Spartan Loder’s Nevada silver mine! The deeds of which, now that Loder is dead, and wo alone possess his secret, nothing can dispossess you!” “The deeds!” He looked beyond her, whispering it incredulously. “She lias them—hero! The deeds that my father wasted years of his life to discover; the deeds that I swore to him I would ggt hack, if only I lived longenough! . . \Vhat—what is it I am to do?” “I have told you, in pi gin. words. To prevent her marriage with Wilfred Spun-—to make her feel what I have felt!” “Marriage? Is that all? No, there’s some prioe, the price of your silence! You want money raised to carry this out ?” “Money! Don’t utter that word to me, Don’t deceive yourself! I pro-

pose to use you just as I should sol a rat-trap— a trap to catch that proud smiling dove! Yes, you stare; you are not likely to understand the agony that can grow and grow in a woman’s mind till death itself is the only alternative to revenge. I live for that— I must have it! . . I’ll ask you this! Have you ever cared for a woman—and lost her, because another man came between you and her ?” He could not, or would not, answer it. That flicker in the fathomless eyes held him spell-bound ns by the stare of a” serpent poised to strike. Hate so deep, so abiding, that she would keep this silence and put half a million of money into his hands —for revenge upon another woman! Her slow voice reached him again. “You have not, I see I’ll tell It may nerve you to be sure of me, when you shrink from your task. Once in my colorless life, not long ago, I loved a man. Ido not say that I would have died for him —I am scarcely that type of' woman; but ho had won my whole love. And then, he drew himself away— cold, sneering, loveless] Another woman had dawned upon his artistic comprehension. Yes, Sheba I—Sheba1 —Sheba St. John. I watched; I found out, too late. She had refused him, spurned him; hut that could not alter the living fact that she had blasted my life. t did not want him then; it was-the secret humiliation of it that has worked my ruin. Ho will forget me; he is a man —he will marry some other woman ;he can go. But she —she shall know! To-night I exist only to prove that a woman’s hate for another woman is the one thing on earth that never dies!”

“Stop i I’ll iiromi.se!” He bent across to her. “I understand. I’ll promise wliat you like. Give me the deeds, and you shall have your payment in full. Whatever is in your mind, you can trust me.”

“Trust you?”- Judith Cottrell laughed, without seeming to relax a muscle of the hard, passionless face. “I trust no one now, save myself. No; you shall trust me!” “How? What do you mean Speak cut!”

*T moan that these papers remain in my possession until I am satisfied. And, moreover, knowing the man you are, I make a stipulation. No harm is to come to her —and none to this Wilfred Spurr, who stands in the way cf your object still. I played the Delilah with him, but be was too keen to be caught by that bait. He may be too keen for you, -unless you are careful. You may prove him dead to the American authorities for your own purposes; but it shall be one more lie, and a lie only. Now!. I have w asted a week already in trying to sec you. I shall be in Loudon foi a few days more, maturing my plans; and then —yes, I shall dare it. I shall go down to Felcote, and demand my boxes —demand the cheque for my services there. Spurr may have gone biv then; even if not. he can do nothing. He can prove nothing against me —knows nothing as yet of what the papers really contained. And ho is still in fear of a scandal that must bring dear Miss Sheba into the wit-ness-box ! I will have my boxes, and and I. 'till have the pleasure of tearing the cheque to atoms and throwing them at her feet- I want to look once again into her eyes —once again. Iveep this card; if there is anything you must say to me before four o clock on Wednesday afternoon—the time ol my train down —you can do so by— ’ (To be continued daily.)