[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] LOVERS THREE.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 3804, 15 April 1913, Page 3

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] LOVERS THREE.

BY ARTHUR APPLIN (Author of “Robert Ailes’ Wife,” “The Stolen Heiress,” . “The Chorus Girl,” Etc.).

j CHAPTER, XVII. A RIDE THROUGH THE XIGHT Ei'v. Without a word Gate sat clown at tlie table again within the circle of light and worked. iSin apparently slept in the armchair; once he glanced at the clock. At last Gate rose, collected the papers, put them in his pocket, locked the cupboard and tile writing table, and switched out the centre light. Sin lazily opened hs eyes. ‘‘Well, what do you make of it, Gate ?” No one had ever dared to treat the great man as this wastrel was treating him. Gate experienced the first shock of surprise lie had known for a long time. In his heart of hearts he despised htimanity, its weakness, its stupidity, its short-sightedness, its cupidity. Men and women feared him, even those who employed him. It occurred to him at this moment that, Phyllis Carlyle had as yet shown no fear of him. And this wastrel, this ieLow who had not a penny in his pocket or a. decent shirt to his back, treated him almost a.s an inferior. Gate was not annoyed, he was interested. I 1 or the last half-hour he had been working out tiic puzzle of Aaron Ichbert, fitting together the. few pieces of the puzzle lie possessed, leaving out imagination and supposition and oven possibilities, lie always went to work the same way—it was slow, but it was sure. Other men might get ahead of him, but other men made mistakes. Besides, he worked now for amusement as much as for profit. Moreen or, in this gigantic jig-saw puzzle of real life there was hidden the heart and sold of ,a remarkable woman. At present lie had little more than the framework. That was something more than .Buhner had. Buhner worked from the centre; gate started from 1 tin' outside. He was quite satisfied aith liis frame, but it was a very large 1 one. .and ho knew the imnginarv oan'as oI his picture would be crowded. And there always rose un in the centre of the great blank yet to be j " hi led the face of Phyllis Carlyle. It j ' annoyed him, it irritated him. She j ; completely filled the framework, until she bee ame the picture. j 1 Nothing seemed to matter but this i woman's face. 1

“Well, what do you make of it? Sin .asked again.

Peter Gate straightened himself, and. folding his arms, looked down on the man lie hid housed and sheltered, and who was not grateful. "I think you’ve shown some aptitude m this business, but you’ll have to ho careful. 11l engage you on this case with tlie option of your services for the nexs twelve mouths. I’ll give you five pounds a week. How will that suit you,”

smiled. “I wish the police- j man, Bulmer, could hoar that.-” Gate smiled too. £; You'l! have to i obey instructions and remember you can’t play the fool with the law.” ■>Sin rose and yawned. -I’ll think it over, and let you know to-morrow. But I don’t (relieve anything in the world would induce me to accept your ofier. As far as this case is concerned —well, I'm interested. Where do I sleep—same room?” Gate nodded. ‘‘And before you go to bed I want your word of honor that you won’t run away or leave the house.”

“Is my word enough?” “Yes.” Sin held out his hand; “Thanks Gate. What time is breakfast?”

Peter Gate laughed, though laughter was most rare with him. “By Jove! I’m beginning to remember von,” lie said easily. “Do you recollect that trick wo played on old Dane, the head of your house? It was awfully smart. Of course we were found out, but you took the blame on.your own shoulders.”

Sin nodded. “A .servant girl helped n;; there was danger of her getting into trouble. Breakfast at S, eli? I promise that you shall see, me at breakfast at S o’clock to-morrow morning, and I shall he at your service the" whole day. I won’t leave the house to-morrow without your permission. Is that enough ?” “Quite enough,” Gate said, slowly, “unless you care to tell me ” He touched the breast pocket of his coat where the live-pound note and the finger-print clues were hidden. “Mot now,” >Sin replied.

And without another word Gate conducted him to his bedroom. Then lie turned in himself and in half an hour’s time was fast asleep. The hall clock had just struck mid-

night when the door of Sin’s room opened, arid he crept stealthily out. Step by step lie descended the staircase. He carried no light ; his eyes were wide open as if piercing the darkness. He reached the hall door and opened it without difficulty, examining the lock by the light of the street lamp.

A few minutes later lie walked slowly through the square until he readied the street.

He turned, apparently inconsr quentIv, first to the right, then to the .left, then to the left again, until lie came to a cab rank near a tube station. He called a taxi-cab and commenced to bargain with the chauffeur.

He was a considerable time striking the bargain. The journey lie intended was evidently', a long one, but at last tho chauffeur grudgingly came to terms. Sin entered the cab and it drove away. And the chauffeur gradually let out the car on her top sspoed.

THE DETECTIVE LOVER. Peter Gate awoke somewhere in the middle of the night. As a rule when lie went to bed he slept until the hour struck at which Ire had mentally arranged the previous night lie should rise. ,\, Lika most people he had the power —though many are unaware of its ox-

istance—of calling himself at any hour ho chose. In the utter abandonment of sleep he was like a child, and doubtless it was from his sleep that lie derived liis clear, steady brain, his iron nerve, and the reserve forces of vitality he possessed

He wondered what had awakened him at this strange hour before dawn. He switched on the light and looked with annoyance at the little clock facing. He lay quite still listening for some thirty seconds. Not a sound •save for the occasional distant rumbling of traffic. No, lii.s sub-conscious self had purposely awakened him to consciousness. „

Another man would have turned over and gone to sleep. Not so Peter Gate. It was no use ignoring the fact that something was wrong. Nothing from the outer world had disturbed him. His friend Sin was not walking in his sleep, nor where there any burglars in the house. The cause was not physical; he had hut taken of the lightest meals the previous day, and there was not the least trace of indigestion. Getting into liis dressing gown he slipped his feet into a pair of-morocco slippers and walked quietly up and down his bedroom. ' Then lie opened the window wide and lea.net! out., care-' less of the keen, rather cold. air. 'i lie night always appealed to him ; it was so far removed from his day, from his profession, from himself. In a sense he was fond of ignoring it. as he often ignored pictures and music and other things which pricked

sentiment and awoke memories. He had become so steeped in his proefssion, the whole of life to him was little more than a gigantic riddle. . The pale moon was riding lower in the sky, hiding behind a little niaisma of mist; she would soon drop behind the belt- of trees that outlined tlie park. ' Even the countless houses with their stacks -of chimneys were t ransfiguved—softened and heapt-ifiee. by the night and the moonshine.

Gato turned his head from the west towards the north, and wondered how the wood surrounding Phyllis Carlyle's cottage looked when it was Lathed in moonlight.

Ho closed the window with a sudden quick movement and drew the curtains. Then, lighting a cigarette, he flung himself into ail arm-chair. A thief had followed him home, entered his house, and wakened him up! Whit was tho use of denying it? He laid bare the; secrets of other people's lives, dissecting their hearts, spying upon their actions—he must do the same with himself.

A woman had wakened him at the dead of night and set his thoughts dancing to the tune she played. fc’ho was none other than Phyllis Carlyle. •The clean-cut, rather ascetic face hardened ; the eyes, instead of growing tender at tho thought of a woman, became hard and almost cruel. Sice].', which had rubbed out the lines from his face and taken away the steel mask, was cheated newThe detective was on his guard. He was watching himself, probing into his own secrets, stealing like a. spy iir-

tho locked, and hidden chamber of Lis heart—opening the doors quietly, peering round with a sarcastic; little smile upon his lips.

So he was weak like tho rest of humanity! He thought. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how securely lie hid away behind his armorplate of indifference, one woman had found a weapon and a weak place in his coat of steel. Contemplatively he. puffed little rings of smoke towards the ceiling. It was as well to he on his guard. Even men who could not be fooled often fooled themselves.

Peter Gate rose impatiently and commenced to tramp up and down again. Was this love? He almost laughed aloud.' Love—the fruit of which was found in the police court, the divorce court, and the broach of promise, cases—the folly of mankind on which lie had fattened! He sat down by' the little table at the Hoot of his bed, and, picking up a. pencil, commenced to make hieroglyphics on a sheet of paper, out of which presently evolved the face ofPhyllis Carlyle.

He tore it up, threw it into the waste-paper basket, and commenced to draw again. This time a sketch of Hertford. He took some pains with tins, and regarded it critically. It was a weak face. 4! ate knew tho type well—the kind .of man who, with good luck, would go through life decently and successfully;, but if luck were- against him—Gate shrugged his shoulders. . ,

Leaning back in Ins chair, ho set his thoughts free to wander where they chose. A rare luxury. Yes, the casual obsorver, the amateur detectivo would instantly suspect

Robert Hertford. He was in love with Phyllis, and was jealous of a rich and powerful rival. He was poor, and the woman he desired was in debt. Ho had been over-anxious to accuse Sin, and ho had done so before Phyllis hersekl Also, his behaviour the

previous night, when he had shown them the way through the wood, had been peculiar. Sin had been peculiar, too. But Gate began to realise a method, in liis madness.

Peter Gate was letting his thoughts run.riot now, rising suspicion and imagination when fact failed him. And eventually imagination suggested tho prisibilitv—the almost probability —of Hertford and Phyllis Carlyle being in league together. Gate winced at that. Tho mere idea hurt him, Supposing it were true, and Bulmor, bungling and suspicious, took up the clue and proved his client to be an adventurer, a thief—if not worse!

A good many men would rejoice at Peter Gate’s discomfiture. They would say lie had hoen fooled at last, and l>v a woman. Yet she seemed so young, so innocent, so straightforward.

Peter Gate stepped into the passage and stood outside Sin's bedroom door.

The gentleman-tramp perhaps already held the key to the mystery. He had half a mind to enter, wake him up and force him to speak. His fame was at stake—his name, and perhaps his honor. He could safeguard all three by handing Sin over to Buhner in the morning, and by fanning the latter’s suspicions to flame.

in short, his duty to himself and society lay in the. possible betrayal of his client, Phyllis Carlyle. Bulmer had given an entirely now aspect to the case. In less than twelve hours secrecy would be at an end; everyone in London would know about the lost jewel, Ichbert’s visit to Miss Carlyle

and his subsequent disappearance, and the large sum of money involved. Gate did not see how ho was going keep Bulmor quiet. He was like a rat who would gnaw his way through any difficulty, burrow through any probability in order to get where he desired and make a case. Gate returned to his room, and, turning off the light, got into bed again. But ho did not sleep. He had found a now problem, the most difficult of his whole career.

He had discovered the problem of a woman. And it looked, too, as though it might resolve itself into the eternal triangle. But at present lie was face'd by a fairly simple fact and a. straight question. Was lie going to risk his own reputation, or sacrifice a woman who was probably fooling him ? She was.-t clever woman or she would not have' dared come to him in tlm first instance.

Daylight was stealing through the curtains before he finally fell asleep again. He knew, though ho was too proud to confess it, that he had fallen in love for the first time in his life.

The. knowledge which had made Sin glad made Peter Gate ashamed. The clock had only just chimed sev-en-thirty when ho entered the diningroom. Directly the letters wore brought ho went through his private correspondence; then he rang up Scotland Yard and "got a message through from Kramer. As soon as this was done he made the coffee. There were two things he never trusted* his wellifained servants to do—one to make the morning coffee, the other to dust his bureau. As soon as ho was ready he sat down and commenced his meal without waiting for Sin. 'The butler brought in tho newspapers, a big bundle which Gate always went through methodically, starting with the “Daily Mail” and finishing with the “Times.” The first told him the news in a couple of minutes, the last- bo did not search for news in that.

Ho had just propped the “Morning Post” iii ilront of'the coffee pot when the front door hell rang. His head went up and he listened. .Bulmor! He swore under his breath. Ho wanted to interview Si it before h e had another meeting with the Scotland Yard man. Buhner entered, treading heavily, a coat under his arm and a bowler hat at the hack of his head.

“Just sent you a message. Suppose it arrived too late. Sit down and have some coffee,” said Gate, stonily. Buhner shook his head, and planted himself before the rfieplacc. “Thanks, I have breakfasted—cup of tea and a kipper. Well?” , (To he continued to-morrow.)