GRAND SERIAL STORY. JUDGMENT.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 6, 23 April 1920, Page 5

GRAND SERIAL STORY. JUDGMENT.

The Most Arnazin^ Story Ever PennecS.

FOE NEW READERS. SIB JOHN MILLBANK, a successful, f . but stern judge, quarrels with his onJy son, JACK, who leaves his father's house to fight his own way in the world ; and whilst serving with the Australian contingent, under the name of Dick Foster, he meets, and falls in love with KITTY, the adopted daughter of Sir John. However, Sir John has arranged for her marriage with LORD HAVERHAM. In a moment of despair, Kitty writes to Dick, asking him to meet her in the Blue Room at Rivercourt Mansions. At the appointed hour, Eord Haverham goes t-o the Blue Room to write sorne letters, and, nnbeknown to the guests^ Sir John meets him Mhere. An altercation arises between the two men, resulting in the aocidental death of Lord Haverham. Later, Dick arrives in the Blue Room, is carght and aeeused of murder, and found guilty. Whilst paSsing the sentence of death, Sir John recognises the prisoner as his own son Jack ! A few days later, Sir John interviews the prisoner at his private residence under escort of the warders, and tells him he will i bave to serve at least three years' im- ' prisonment. Just as they are leaving, Dick with the assistance of Kitty makes his escape, and tliat night they decide to drive into Winnerleigh; but the car breaks down, and they are forced to accept Ihe hospitality of BEAUMONT CHASE, a millionaire. The following morning, Dick's host informs him that Sir John had ealled during the night and taken his daughter awa-y. Dick, believing this story, leaves that morning for Winnerleigh. Kitty goes down to breakI,: fast, and is cross-examined by Mr Chase, but on his promise of assistance tells him the wbole story. At a fabulous price Mr Chase engages the services of MR PELHAM WEBB, a clever but imserupulous detective, to find Dick Foster, and extracts a promise from Kitty not to attempt to see or write to her lover until a vear has elapsed. MR PELHAM WEBB RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS. Mr Beaumont Chase wrote out a cheque nnd handed it to the little man, who was watching him expectantly. "c "That's it, I think," he said. ' \ Mr Pelham Webb, prodnced a pair of gpectacles from his pocket, carefully adjusted them on his nose, and then examined the cheque. Having done this he neatly folded the precious slip of paper, and thrust it into bis waistcoat pocket. . "It is perfectly coiTeot," he said. "I ibank you, Mr Chase. I will not deny that in all my experience I have never before met anyone quite like you. There is a generosity, I may say, a lavishness, about your methods which appeals to me. It will give me very great pleasure to work for you, and I have now only to ask you to give your instructions. Whatever they are, 1 will carry them out." V . The millionaire nodded. ■ "That is what I expected you to say, ^Vebb. if I mistake not, you are a man who will serve well tliose who pay you well. Well, you need not fear that I shall keep you idle. One ihing 1 must warn

you against— don't jurnp to conclusions. I will tell yrou what to do. Don't act on ycuv own judgment." The little detective flushed. "I thought you wished to make use of r.iy detective skill, my traiued intellect, my gift of following up the faintest clue and going straight to the heart of the mystery," he said, a little resentfully. "No, my dear sir — no," r,eplied the millionaire coolly. "Frankly I don't think much of your trained intellect. You are painstaking, and a careful observer, but as soon as you begin to think you go wrong. Don't think; let me do that.' "As you please, sir," replied the detective stiffly. "You are paying. All the same, I would remind' you that my. habit oi thinking, which you despise, has not been altogther unprofitable to myself. Without it, I should never have got on tr.o track of Dick Foster. " "Are you sure you did get on his track ?" "Well, I found out he was on board your yacht, the Flying Spray, didu't I?" "Are you sure he is on board my vscht ?" "Eh?" The milionaire laughed. "My dear Webb, you must give me credit for not being quite a fool. When I found you were following me I arj rarged a plant. Y ou discovered just i what I meant you to discover, and no | more. I reaJly wonder you did not suspeet, something. At a time like this, just after the war, with peace not yet signed, dc you think the authorities would allow | me take an escaped convict out of the country on board my yacht? Not so likely. Dick Foster is in England hiding with friends. I don't exactly know where he is. That is wliat I want you to find out, When you have found him, I want you to bring him here." "Here ?" "Yes, I want to keep him here in hiding for a year. Actually, he will be a prisoner; but I shall pose as his protector ; and friend. I want to be in a position to ! prevent him from holding any communication with Miss Kitty Millbank. For one year he must disappear utterly, and no one must know of his where-abouts." And at the end of the year?" The millionaire shrugged his shoulders. "At the end of th.e year Miss Millbank 5! ili marry. On the day she becomeg 3, wife you can hand Dick Foster over to the police. Now go and find him. I can give you a clue. Miss Clara Clarke, the actress, may know something about him. Make your first inquiries " of her, but he discreet. She is a friend of Miss Millbank. Tell her nothing about me." "I undestand, sir," said the detective. "There is one question I should like to ask." "Well?" "This man, Dick Foster, is in your way ?" "Very much." "He is only a convict, convieted of murder." "Yes." "His life is forfeit." "Well?" "If any accident should happen to him it might be best for all concerned." "Possibly." "At any rate, it would not clistress you very greatly?" The little detective was now speaking in a very low voice, and a strange, sinister look had come into his face. "On the contrary," said the millionaire slowly and thoughtfully, '-it would suit me very well."

Webb dreamily. "Mysterious are the wa'ys of Fate, Mr Chase. I will now get to work at once, and in a day or two I hope to make a report which you will not find unsatisfactory." "Ah, well! Who can tell?" said Pelham There was a grim, cynical smile on Beaumont Chase's face when he was left alone. - "Horrible little worm," he muttered to himself ; "but in a game like this one must make use of every instrument that comes to one's hand. Life certainly begins to be more amusing." CLARA CLARKE AT HOME. Clara Clarke, nearly the most popular actress in England, was a woman of tifty though in private life she passed for thirty-six, and on the stage looked even younger. She was very well-preserved, had kept her figure, and was an artist in make-up. Moreover, she had a heart of gold, and this help,ed to keep her young. Whenever she could she got away from the glare of the footlights and buried herself in her little cottage and lovely garden on the Essex coast. It was a warm, wet evening in spring, and the surrounding country looked dreary enough ; but the interior of the picturesque little cottage, standing alone on the very edge of the low cliff, was very bright and cheerful. Miss Clarke helieved. in bright colours, £ . . atid the chief living-room — a fair-sized apartment — was gay with flowers and many tinted draperies and bright lights. The actress — a tall, slim woman with hair skilfully dyed to a beautiful shade j ci old gold — now wore a white over all I which, in spite of its plainness, had a suggestion of style in its cut and in the way it was worn. Standing on a chair was an oil-paint-ing the portrait of an old man, in a heavy gi.lt frame. Miss Clarke was standing in front of thi ; and gazing at it critically. It was the portrait of a rather distinguished-looking man, whose age it would have been difficult to guess. Ilis long, curly, black hair, with 110 stieak of grey in it, and his bright eyes, su.ggested youth, and only the lines and wrinkles on his face indicated that he was a man past sixty. While the actress was looking at the ! pk ture the door of the room opened and a young man entered. It was Dick Foster. He was rather curiously dressed. He wore a velvetine jacket, a sealskin waistcoat', a pair of light check trousers, and a turn-down collar and flowing tie of black silk. As he entered, the actress gave him a quick glance. Then she laughed. It was a frank, hearty laugh of pure fnn and amusement. "Excellent!" she exclaimed. "To the vrry life. Now sit down, and 1*11 make up your face." The young man seated himself on a chair beside that on which the portrait was standing. "It is awfully good of you, Miss Clarke, but I can hardly think you can make me iook like an old man. It is all very well on the stage, but — "You wait, my lad. It is easier to make the young look old than to make the old look young — I can tell you that. Let me work at that handsome face of yours for half an hour, and if I don't make you look like the exact double of my dear departed dad, then I am not the artist in deception which I flatter myself I am. The wig, ioo, will help a lot. Dad always worn a wig. Thank goodness I kept it!" She opened a case of theatrical make-up which stood on the table, and busily set to work. With astonishing delicacy and skill she applied herself to her task, an^ gradually under her hand the young face seemed to fade away, and a face, bearing a startling resemblance to that of the man in the portrait-, appeared in its place. When she had finished she stood back, and clapped her hands gleefully. • "Now look in the mirror!" she cried triumphantly. The young man rose and approached the fireplace, above which was a looking-glass. yvs he gazed into it he ut-tered an exclamation, and then, swinging round, stared at tbe paintinq. "It is wonderful!" he declarecl. 'I should think it was. I could almcst ask you for your blessing, you look so like mv dear old departed dad. Henceforth you are Daddy Clarke, father of the most famoua of living actresses, Only (Continued on page 6.)

JUDGMENT. (Contired fr»m Page 6.)

you muri learn to totter a bit and spcak i • a squeaky voice. " Ai that moment theaai v*®# ft discreet tap at the door. "Come in," said the actress, . . A neat little maid appeared. "Three geritleir.cn to see. you, ma'am," she said demuieiy. "Three?" "Yes, ma'am." ' 1 Who are they ? What do they want?" "i don't know, ma'am. But they eome from London, and they say they must see you." "Oh, tell them to write or to call in the mc.rning. I cannot see anyone at this hour. If they come from the Press, and want to interview me, you can give them a glass of wine and a biscuit, but I can't see them — not to-night." ! "Yes, ma'am; but — " Before she could say any more she was gently pushed aside, and three men sidled into the rbom. Clara Clarke drew herself up to her full height. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" she demandgd. Her tone was that of a tragedy queen. The leader of the three men, a solid, thick-set fellow, with a square, bulldog face, did not permit himself to be overwhelmed, liowever. "I'm sorry, mum; but business is business and dooty is dooty. "We are looking for Riehard Foster, an escaped convict, ara we have reason to believe he is concealed in this house!" (Ari other thrilling instalment next week.)