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HLE ALES AND STOUT IN Jt&sfef IN 4. ^■B. STORES :—PENARTH-ROAD, CARDIFF. 1965c -===-

Tom laxtoits CRIME. A BY R. T. CASSON, U.tltor¡f The Doctor's Victim," A Modern Ishmael," lionnie Mary," &o. CHAPTER IX. THE MURDERER'S REMORSE, p the detective's quest, though diligently Uc<l> proved futile. Had lie but known on two occasions the man he was hunting 1ih;nactu.a.lly passed him in broad daylight, I self-eonoeit of Peter Darton would have a severe blo|w. When Tom Laxton l £ (ied away from hie old Portland acquain- after recognising Peter Dartori's voice, r>] Jumped on a passing 'bus and rode to %arf*n' £ Cross. There he alighted, and quickly into St. Martin's-lane, where ^ye caught a notice in a. shop window P;!XS'no: "Glass eves fixed here. oculist always in attendance." ■Uj glass eye? I've heard they can put ?! in so as they can't be detected. It's going in litre but I'll try it." glass eye. sir? Certainly; can be JJJ** «<t once, sir, provided your eyelids a-ie ij^abie. Please to come this way. Ht "experienced oculist, after an exami- u>n of the eyelids and socket of the missing y said there was nothing whatever to pre- yoi a ^ass eJe Pu;t in. "especially as eye is an easy one to match, sir," he 5 ,and a q uartBr of an hour after- ftfe* Toin Laxton wa-« leaving the shop, fttes with the idea that lie no longer ll«iwered the description of a one-eye'd man. has mack a wonderful improvement in "-4M f^>Peara*lce- siT," said the shopman, if you will pardon me for the sugges- Jj/11' a little of the flesh-coloured paint used actorb, would hide the scar on your cheek, ty-cotn.piete the transformation. You oan re it at the chemist's, a few dcors oourse. Laxton acted on the advice, left' l^^hg his soft fel't h;it well over the coff <SIdle of hIS face, he secured a bed at a I in fif use for the night, and ere leaving 4 morning had painted the scar in suoh ^atural and llife-like mamier that he was I ■r^ ed with liis handiwork. fcliat time the "hunted"' feeling that so long added to his misery began to pj £ away, though he still adopted the utmost ^ntwiK- But' though he no longer turned t], y his face when he mett a constable in ^.street; though he ventured out in the and begyji to experience a s-ense of itjtj Was still a miserable man. Sleep- })^ aQd waking, the upturned fa.ee of his y, «r> as he had seen it in the ruined house kiift6 /ng the grave, seemed to haunt S'ving him no rest from the remorseful jjouts of an awakened conscience. Was crossing Westminster Bridge one tho. Ing when a young girl passed him, and, be §h he only caught a, glimpse of her face. J"ecognised" Ettie Royle. The temptation abn °w" h-fcr and obta'in some information his mother was too strong to be re- her i' ai1^ unsuspected by Ettie he tracked A her lodgings. „ ilg- j. *e^v minutes after her entrance Ettie s «ha d?r enter^ the room, which the girl Per#6^ with another, and intimated that a s°n was in the parlour below and wished xtee her. He had asked for Miss Royle. ^ndering who her visitor could be, Ettie "Jll^d the stairs, and entered the parlour, ^^nger was seated in an easy chair, his hat on, a soft f< £ t, with the light uVr the window full in his face. J-w,011 don't know me. Ettie; I am Tom **kon. ]Rtt, "Ta Laxton He was drowned and ap^^turiied as though she would fly from an was not the man. Ettie. you go i;rvj aTri sometimes. How is my mother? ^'t you know ? She has been dead- sse—for six months." • a4? Then the hope he had been cherish- •ofi*80 'onK would never be realised. In his life in the little back bedroom, and campanion'ess, remorse had t hnm, and he had beeen longing for a of forgiveness from his mother. minutes he sat silent, his h})e siYfe.er^ng and his features working convul- sij^ J" with the anguish he vainly tried to 88 > aild, «is she watched him, wonder- Aether this could really lie the man oommitted murder for the sake of I oinf a feeling of pity for the wretched ^^t stole into her heart. -"id you hear anything about her death she happy ?"' he asked, in a subdiud ,"I was by her bedside when she died, and was not happy. How cotild she be, «*Jea sliif: thought of nothing, spoke of no- but her murdered son. She pitied tiíïi knowing you never dreamt you were "ng your own brother." !l1Jff Sio,p, Ettie Royle Bf merciful I have f0f a hundred deaths since I escaped. Jjq, •ght and day. asleep and awake. I am ^Vrl ^'e sh;idow of the scaffold. In breams I have been tried and sentenced. 6Bd:ured the horrors of the condemned of la,Ve been pinioned, and led to the place n^g^^ution. awnkina- at the dread moment "fe wra suddenly to cease—awakine: to sgg bathed in a cold sweat which to ooze out at every pore, tremblinsr Aoj '5rr limb, and v.ishing I were dead. ]i0rj,j,tf imairin:ition can conjure ur> suc'i g"6 scenes, what most the rea-Mty be?" }ip f *ns silent for a few moments. Then her bv askmg: t I di^ mother leave her money to?" J y^r°f • Wilson, the minister, in trust for? "tJ v<iv escaped to another country. | Qqj ren she must have forgiven me Thank j tro.,ki°r t1)at! Good night. Ettie I will not ■ A-vjf 70u again." I fei- fr<>m that evening Tom Laxton felt j •g™:s £ *a.ble. | out one evening, strolling along j thg ^smith Broadway, whei. he notipwj ^noement, in large letters, painted "If It were not for these bars." in black on a white board "Come and hear John Alien. the Converted Navvy All seats free, and no collection. "John Allen, the converted navvy? Can it be the man who once fought Bill Perkins at Waltham? I should not wonder, for he was a navvy, they said. What a miracle, if it is Nobody would ever dream of such a chap turning preacher." thought Tom Laxton. Drawn by irres:stible curiosity, he entered the meeting-room, and found about 100 per- sons assembled, the proceedings just about to commence. John AMen was one of the most remark- able of "Salvation" converts owning allegiance to "General" Booth. Tall in stature, with a well-knit frame, pleasing countenance, and piercing eves, his high forehead denoting an intellect above the common order. John Allen was just the man for the vocation he had adopted, and his influence over the people who flocked to hear him was extraordinary. His sermon that evening was a remarkable one. Taking for his text the words, "The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me," he said he had that afternoon had a visit from a man whom at one period of his life he regarded as his dearest friend, a companion of his drinking and prize-fighting days, who now taunted him with turning Methodist as an easitr '>vay of get-ting a living than handling easitr '>vay of get-ting a living than handling a pick and shovel. "I could stand all that," I said the preacher, "for it is nothing strange to me to be told that I am a hypocrite but. when my old friend charged me with having been the finst to lead him into wickedness. I i hung my head with eliame, for I thought of the awful words of my text. and for the first time realised that if that man dies uncon- verted the Great Judge of all may say unto me, 'The voice of thy brother's blood crietL unto me.' These remarkable words, as some of you may know. were spoken by God to Cam, after he had murdered his brother Abel." At this moment Laxton rose to leave the room; the preacher's words were torturing him beyond endurance, and he preferred having all eyes watching his departure to sitting there with the belief that John Allen was preaching at him. "Nay, sir; do not go. If my words find a responsive echo in your breast, then be assured that I am sent specially by God to you to-niglit. and you may yet have reason to bless the day you came to hear John Allen. Please bake, your seat again." And, yielding to the magnetic influence of the speaker, Laxton did as requested. Throughout that sermon he uuas powerfully agitated. The graphic pictures given by the preacher of the eternal misery of the uncon- verted were so life-like that anyone in the audtieirce acquainted with Dante's "Inferno' might well have inferred that John Allen had been studying it for that special occasion. Laxton was so profoundly impressed that on his way home he could think of nothing else, II and his spirit sank within him. "I must get out of the country before my I money is all ^pent. and in another land I oan try to leal a new life." he decided. "I should like to go and see the spot where mother I and poor George lie buried. I should be easier in my mind. It will be a risky journey, but I will venture it. I'll go this evening, and get there after dark. I wonder if Mr. Wilson would betray me to old Purdy if I called on him a.bout the property mother left? I dont think so; he is a Christian, if ever there ma.s one. one. It was nearly eight o'clock on a dark No- vemibe" night when Tom Laxton left the rail- wav station at Waltham Cross. He had seen and recognised several passengers, but no one took any notice of him, and as lie wa.ked D' to the town his mind went back to the n'ght of his escape, and to the misery, dread, and privations lie had since suffered.. "Ah There is Mr. Wilson letting himse.lt into his house. His daughter must be out. and it's just the time for me to see him. A minute after the minister had closed his door, Laxton rang the bell, and, a,, he ex- pected, Mr. Wilson answered the summons. i "Mr. Wilson, I believe? I wish to see ^(>u for a few minutes on important business. The minister eyed Laxton rather susp'- eiously tor a moment, but seeing nothing ni the stranger's appearance to excite alarm asked hini to walk in. "You don't know me, Mr. Wilson. < Tom Laxton." "Tom Laxton? Impossible He is tteaa. "It is true—this eye is false. and lie .xwk out the glass eye and replaced it. 'It not me as droumed myself.' "Then whv, in Heaven's name, have > "Ille, "Then why. in Heaven's name, have > come here? 'My duty to society will force me to deliver vou up to justice "And 's that, the way you will oarrv the trust my mother reposed in you. you wish to see me dead so that you may I keep her money—mv inheritance ? "No; God forbid. "Then give me the half of it. I tam Vo.)li1g to Australia, and you can send me the oti,er half after I am sett/ed there." I The nois* of a key being inserted in the look of the front door startled them botn. "Father, where are you? I've some start in# news for vou. One of the porters at the station says he saw Tom Laxton get out ot the train at the Cross, and Sergeant lur.-v I savs he has heard that it wasnt Laxton TOit was drowned in the squire's pond. All the foflks in the town are on the look-out for him; they 'would like to get the reward." For a few moments a battle raged in the ministers breast between avarice and right; between what he tried to persuade himself would be justice, and fear of the conse- quences. "I dare not give him up. He is a despe- rate man, and might, in his revenge, kill me," lie thought. So, leaving Laxton locked in his study, the minister went to his supper. It wa.s past ten before Jennie Wilson retired to her room. and then her father quietly unlocked the study door. "Now, Laxton, you must go "What? To M into the hands of the police as soon as I get outside the dftor ? No I'm going to stay here—in this room- for three or four hours. Then I may have a chance to get away. You neeedn't wait up; i I will let myself out of the window. Can you give me something to eat ?" The minister brought him a plate of beef and bread and a basin of milk, and then bad? him good night, hoping that the fugitive would escape, and wishing, as he went to his room. that he had declined thE trust Mrs. Leigh had reposed in him. Laxton sat in the dark room. listening to the .abbey clock chiming the hours. Two o clock had struck before he ventured to open the window, and, all bemg quiet, to drop into the street, without noise. hi<! boots being under his coat. He was passing' Conder Hall, and stopped for a minute to put on his boots, having safely deared the town. when a bright light shone out of one of the Hall windows. It was on fire CHAPTER X. EXPIATION. For a Mr moments Tom Laxton stood de- bating whether he should go to the Hall, and "I am Tom Laxbon." I rouse the inmates, or leave Squire Conder f aind his mansion to their fate. "No—I oan't do that. If it wa.s only the squire who wouild suffer I might hurry on. If it had not been for his meddling I should never have been found out. But there's the servants, and, as that navvy preacher said, the voice of their blood would cry unto God." Running as swiftly as he could to the Hall, he found that the fire was r,apidily gaining headway, for it was now bursting forth from two of the 'windows on the ground floor, from two of the 'wandows on the ground floor, and yet no one on the premises seemed aware, of it. Kicking at the front door with all his force, he shouted. "Fire Fire In the dead of night there is no sound more appalling than such a cry, and the affrighted servants, roused out of sleep by the thunderous kicks on the door. rushed franti- cally from their bedrooms, without waiting to clothe themselves, for they could hear the 1 dread roar and crackle of the flames. But escape by the staircase seemed impossible, for it was burning fiercely and as hot as a fur- nace. After the burglary that had so seriously fr;g!'t(ned his wife, the squire had a special door, lined with slieet iron, and with a lock of extiv), strength put- up in the corridor, to r-ihut off commwiKia&on U-tweevn the servants' and the other bedrooms, and that door now nearly oost the squire hds life. Since the death of his wife lie had renounced all his ambition and reduced his establishment, fo that he had new no male servants in the bowse. The affrighted women -stood nt the windows, imploring Tom Laxton to go for a ladder, and in their anxiety to save them- selves they never thought of the squire. Laxton hesitated. If he were seen bv any of the townspeople he would almost certainly be captured. But it was only for a few mo- ments the spark of humanity latent in his breast had been kindled into a flame by John Allen's preaching, and now burnt brightly. "Tear up your sheets: tie the slips to- gether, -one end to the bed-post, and let your- selves down,4" he shouted. "The fire will Ire.a.ch you before I could get a ladder. Don't be afraid; it is your only chance of escape." But fear seemed to have completely para- lysed them, and they stood at the window screaming and wringing their hands. The glare of the fire had been seen by a Waltham constable, who rang the alarm bell as quickly as possible, and then ran to the Hall. Numbers of men were > on the way, and when the first one, a youth, appeared on the lawn in front of the burning mansion, and saw nothing of the inmates, he ran round to the back. The moment he appeared the instinct of self-preservation caused Lax- ton quickly to hide himself in the corner of an open shed, behind a gardener's wheel- barrow. The fire was every moment coming nearer to them, a.nd the terrified servants, their peril being more apparent, and their chances of escape rapidly lessening, tried to do what Laxton bed counselled. But the sheets 'Here rull linen and would not tear: neither scissors nor knives could be found and, despairing of rescue, the cook dragged a feather-bed to the windbw, threw it out, and was about to drop on to it. "Stop a minute shouted Sergeant Purdy, who. puffing like a grampus, had just arrived. "Throw down a couple of blankets, and we will hold them for you to drop into." This was done, a.nd, fear having lent them courage, the five servants all successfully dropped into the outstretched blanket, only the oook, who '«<as somewhat hea.vy. s us tain- ing any injury. Her weight caused one of She holders to let go his corner, and her ankle was sprained. Suddenly it downed on the excited, obfus- cated brain of Sergeant Purdy tha.t he had not seen the squire. "Where, is the squire? Is he safe?" he asked. No one knew—lie had not been seen. "God help him if he is still in the building, for he must either lie insensible or dead, and nothing can sa.ve him," said the sergeant. "Don't say that until every means have been tried." said a Waltham tradesman. "Get somefthing to batter that side-deor in there is not mudli fire at that end." and a minute afterwards a heavy clothes-line post, easily lifted from its socket, in the hands of two men sent the door in with a crash. But it seemed madness for anyone to at- tempt ingress that way, for the servants' staircase and the oak-panelled corridor were burning fiercely, the smoke being thick a.nd stifling. There Were, doubtless, men in the cro'wd who under ordinary circumstances would not have hesitated to lirave almost any danger to save human life. But here the risk was a. fearful one, and fire ha.s peculiar terrors. The p,ossibility of saving the squire was like- wise very remote, and it thus appeared as though lie would be left to his fate, if lie were not already dead. In his place of concealment Tom Laxton heard all that passed, and a whirl of con- flicting emotions raged within him. If he saved the squire's life, what benefit would it be to him? He would be immediatelv arrested. Why, then. should 119 ".ri If idly, in a double sense, jeopardise his life? The squire bad been his enemy. Love your enemies! Who had said that? John Allen, the navvy preacher And as Tom Laxton thought of that sermon, he hesitated no longer. Dashing down the wheelbarrow that had hidden him. he rushed through the crowd, and before they could recover from their rstowishment he was up the burning stairs. He knew the squire's room, and through fire and smoke, scorched and ha^f-suffocated^, with liis head down, and his mouth shot, he reached it. The door was closed, but not locked. Ha.ppily, the fire had not reached that room, but it was full of smoke. Groping Irs way. Laxton nearly fell over the prostrate body of the squire, who was evideently insensible. "He is not dead—not even burnt: only half stifled with the smoke. How am I to get him back? If it were not for those bars on the window it would be es.sy enough to I drop him down into a blanket," Knowing that every moment would make his task more difficult, he wrapped a counter- pane around the insensible man, and, exer cising all his strength, lifted the body and bore it through the fire and smoke. He could not thr's time shield his face. and in ) going down the burning stairs the heat was so intense that he could scarce refrain from dropping his burden. Amid the frantic cheers of the crowd, he staggered fortt) into their midst, falling prostrate on the body of the man he had saved. "Stand back, vou fools, and let them both have 11.11' shouted Sergeant Pnrdy. f But the crowd was determined to see the ma.n who had done so brave a deed, and oresscd e".gerly round him as the police lifted { him up.. j "My God If it isn't Tom Laxt-on s;>i<! the sergeant. A great revulsion of feeling cwne over the bystanders. Five minutes previously they would have hunted Laxton as though he were « ra.b'd animal; now, expressions of sympathy were general, for. as one man said "He has saved the squire, but in doing | so he has given fcimself up, and wtfl lie j hanged, sure enough." j Laxton soon revived, but complained of j terrible pain in his tiuaoat. A doctor who

had been hastily summoned reported that the squire, probably when hurrying from his bed- room, had been seized with a paralvtic stroke, and was in that condition when found by his rescuer. The squire was removed to the nearest hotel, where- Laxton would also have been taken had not Mr. Wilson offered • to take him in. t "I have his inheritance in my keeping, and it is only right he should be under my roof," said the minister. Most of the crowd stopped to watch the burning house, but some few followed the podioe who carried the squire. What a horrible situation the squire must have been in when Laxton reached him," said Sageant Purdy to the doctor. "WiJJ he re- cover?" "It is somewhat doubtful. There will pro. onblv be a recurrence of the paralytic seizure, end the next one may be fatal. The shock to the system has beeen so serious that ha will never be thoroughly strong." "And Laxton—what of him ?" "I can scarcely tell you. I am now going a.g.ain to see him. But who would like him to reoover merely to be handed over to your keeping, and in a few weeks hanged like < dog? He has proved that he is not deficient in the stuff that heroes are made of. and, though his crime was a detestable one, it would be too bad to hang him now. Far better he should die. The striking change of opinion that had taken place in the minds of the inhabituts of Waltham as the result of Laxton's coura- gElous rescue of the squire was seen In tha sympathetic crowd that stood near Mr. Wil- son's residence, discussing the startling events of the night—men who on the previous even- ing would have thought they were doing a "0 righteous action if they could have "handed Tom Laxton over to justice now extolled his bravery, and were sincere in their expressions of pity. "He would very likely have escaped if ha' had let the. Ball burn," said one. "it's awful hard when we think what his reward will be for saving so many lives. It will be a. good thing if he dies now. Here's the doctor i; we shall soon know." The doctor found Mr. Wilson and his daughter doing aJll in their power to assuaga the suffering of their patient, who was quite sensible, but evidently in great agony. "Oh, doctor, give me something to ease this [Jain. My inside seems all on fire." I "Intmml inflammation." said the docfrir to himself. "A few hours and all will be over Having administered a strong opiate to re- lieve the pain, the doctor signalled to the minister to follow him out of the room. "He will not live till night; you had better tell him," said the doctor. "Poor fe-llow And yet why should we pit- him? It is better so." The grave face of the minister when he re- entcred the room was not unnoticed by Lax- ton. "I know what the doctor has told you: I'm not going to get over it. Thank God! He has been very good to me. Mr. Wilson," I he said, .with more energy than he had yeS f shown, "is it true a preacher, a nawv missionary, said one night in a meeting-rootti i in Hammersmith—that there is hope of s-alva- I tion for everybody—even for such as me?" es, Tom it is quite true, and the minister went on to speak of the mercy of God, even at the eleventh hour. !But the opiate took effect, and Tom f Laxton slept. I Only one of the London daily papers, the "Telegraph," gave a. report of the fire. The W a It ham correspondent of that paper, the moment the rescue of the squire had been effected, borrowed a fast horse and rode to London, arriving in time to get in his report. II Jack Grey was glancing down the columns of the paper <at the breakfast table when he noticed the heading: "Great Fire at Wal- tham Abbey: GaUluut Rescue." Not until he reached the end of the graphic narrative was he aware that Tom Laxton had played such a conspicuous part in the fire, and then his sifter thought he must be going mad. "Read that, MitHt- Hurrah The cloud has burst, and poor Sidney is completely exonerated. I must away to him, and go with him to Waltham." "And I,ii-ilt go with vou," said the faithful girl. after readiing the report. Sidney Conder was reading for the bar, at the expense of his uncle, the squire. He had refused to allow Peter Darton to go into the question exf his mother's position as it affected her eldest son, and the squire's affection for his nephew was increased thereby. Mil'lioent Grey and her brother found Sidney at the ohambens of the barrister with whom he was "reading." and the excited faces of his friends to'ld him that something "extra special" had brought them to the city. "Seen the morning's paper, Sidney ?""asked Jack Grey. "I glanced down the 'Standard' before leav- ing my lodgings," he replied. "And saw nothing to interest vou?" "No," said the wondemng Sidney. "Then read this. and get ready to oome with us at once to Waltham." In little over an hour afterwards the three ■H-ere a.t the door of Mr. Wilson's house, who, when he learnt their names, went up and asked Tom Laxton if he wouid see the young man who had bean arrested on suspicion of having murdered George Leigh. ""VeK-oh, yes: is he here?" replied the dying man, eagerly. "He has- made a formal confession of big guirltr-iti.s right, you should know that before seeing him. and he !s very penitent," said the minister. "You are the so aire's nephew. who was taken for what. I did 7" sa.' the patient, with evident pain "I mv. 6V" I ran away and left you to fa.ee it »,• Will you forgive*met' "I do forgive you. Larton. a,u my heart. Yml have saved t.iy uncle's life. and by tha.t »<% you have earned not only my forgiveness, but. mv trnatitudt 'Then there is c'xnly one tiling to be done now; I 'was almost forgetting. Ask the laryer to come again; I want to leave what Fw.efeilmeTht'> -SStSS Etta Royle. Then I shall be glad to die." t nmHerer had T3»e squire only lived » month a*f