Rhyl Journal

(Copyright.) 4' HIS GRACE,I ¡;, By MRS. C. N. WILLIAMSON, Author of "The Barn Stori-ners, "The Woman in Grey," "Fortune's Sport," "The House by the Lock," A Man From the Dark," Lady Mary of the Dark House," Her Royal Highness," &c* CHAPTER IX. The court-room buzzed with excitement. Many who knew the Duke had risen. Lady Mary Blandon had sprung from her seat and joined the new-comers, oblivious of publicity, crying out with joy. It was of no avail for the dumbfounded coroner's officer to repeat his cry of "Order I" Nobody listened. The dead had come alive. "It's true what he says, sir," whispered the foreman of the jury to the utterly bewildered coront-r. "I know the Duke well by sight, and I'd swear to him. 'Twas of me he bought his house-boat, and if that there tall young gent ain't the Duke of Leicester, why, I'll eat my hat." Events followed quickly upon one another, crowding, treading on eaeh other's heels. There was the hero of the moment—handsome, smiling, debonair in his smart grey travelling clothes—rtcciving the congratulations of fifty acquaintances, who rushed upon him and questioned and exclaimed with no more regard for the un- fortunate coroner or the proprieties of the occasion than if they had suddenly gone mad. And tht re—strangest of all-was Randal Palgrave, still in the witness-box, his evidence flung back into his teeth. He stood like one frozen. Even his brain might have been on ice for hours, so paralysed was hia power of thought. "For Heaven's sake, what does it mean ? he repeated over and over to himself. But no answer came. For the moment he was forgotten, even by the coroner, who had turned away in the midst of his interrogations. If they would only leave him alone a little longer he might pick up the shattered fragments of himself, piece them together again while no one looked or listened, and be ready when the crisis arrived, with something to say. But would they give him time ? Suddenly, as he stared, and moistened his dry lips, and dully concerned himself with the wheels going round in his head, and the hammer-like poundings of his heart, instead of taking thought for the future, as the choked voice of his soul bade him do, Blandon slid close to him and handed him up a tiny wisp of twisted paper. He snatched at it, and concealing it in his hand- kerchief hurriedly read, his senses coming back as brain and eyes were forced to work in unison. "For our lives, be careful what you say" (he drank in the words hastily scribbled in pencil on a leaf torn from a small note-book). "By some devilish trick, S- may have found his way down below. If so, we're lost. We can't tell till we get home. But, for Heaven's sake, let them take the initiative. Don't play your cards till they've let you see theirs, and we may get out of this yet." Until now, it had ever been Palgrave pere who had schemed and directed, Palgrave fils who had grumbled and followed the elder's lead. But the look on his father's face had told its own story. Blandon, knowing all, knew why this quick change in the kaleidoscope might mean ruin so irremedi- able that both must be buried beneath it, to their death. His father's failing cunning needed a fillip, and he had given it just in time. for scarcely had the man in the witness-box crushed handkerchief and note together in his pocket, when the coroner turned to him once again. "Mr. Palgrave." the helpless servant of precedent said, limply, "presHlllahly you knew the Duke of Leicester more intimately by far than the majority of those present. In the face of this extraordinary, most unheard-of occurrence, do you still adhere to your former statement as to recognising the dead body of the Duke ? Savernake, whose ears were quick as those of a fox, had heard the question, and had turned his liead to fix the witness with a glittering eye. It had (-oiiie-tl)e crisis—and lie was still un- prepared With gruesome incongruity, the trial scene from "The Bells" arose before Palgrave's eyes, dim, grey, and unreal, even as on the stage -—only the torlured figure, and the white awful hands above its bent head, alive. Perhaps he too was in a dream. It seemed easier to believe than the reality. If only Savernake would call off those confounded eyes. If only he, Palgrave, could claw forth the mystery hidden behind that eagle face of his Had his ancient enemy torn out the dead secret of the Moated Grange, or-was there just the one chance which Blandon had suggested, that they could do the trick even yet ? "I—don't—know what—(o say," he stammered. "You don't know whether you recognise the Duke or not ? You are still on oafh, Mr. Palgrave." Was lie mistaken ? or did the fellow speak less respectfully than before, even with a ring of suspicion in his voice ? "I repeat, I don't know," he said more steadily. There came a certain courage from the mere fact that he was at bay. "If I must speak out what is in my mind, it seems to me there may be some fraud. Certain of my cousin's friends lose much with his death—as much as I gain. And how is ifc possible for the dead to "rise from the grave ? "Does not this gentleman exactly resemble the Duke of Leicester? There are others here who feel no doubt." "The resemblance is certainly marvellous. I would not doubt myself, except that—that—I have always been accustomed to trust my own reason, not to believe in magic. Let him prove that lie is my beloved young cousin, that is all I ask, and I, more than anyone else, will welcome him with open arms, Because of niv very love for him, I must ifsure that it is he. before I speak as my heart prompts me to speak." The coroner turned to the jury. "Gentlemen," he said, "we must admit that the hesitation of the witness is to be understood, in the circumstances. This inquest has been, and is still being, held for the purpose of ascertaining whose body was yester- day found in the Thames, dressed in the clothes and carrying about it certain articles indubitably belonging to the Duke of Leicester. We can doubt- less best continue our inquiry by means of interro- gating the gentleman who has, it is now claimed, a right to that title." Somehow, Palgrave got out of the box without disgracing himself (though there was a feeling in rael his knees as though they had been struck by a mallet), and before he knew what was happening to him the young man in the grey travelling clothes found himself summoned as a witness. 0 He had been prepared for a good deal, but he had not been prepared for this. Of legal ways he kr. ew naught (save such few details as he had gleaned in the course of getting himself behind prison walls) and Savernake had not seen fit to warn him of this contingency. FA When they had agreed upon theirjstory, on ship board, Savernake had thoroughly coached and rehearsed his pupil, but had carefully refrained from saying that, if they carried out their pro- jected coup at the inquest, Maynard might be called upon to get up in the witness-box and swear to his Satanic Majesty alone knew how many false oaths. It was one thing to be an actor, to play a part well, to have presence of mind and tact, and use one's bump of observation to the very best advantage to act a lie, with a smile, a shrug of the shoulders, a repartee or an evasion. It was quite another thing to blurt out one's falsehoods in so many plain, uncompromising words, swearing to the truth of every one of them as they left, one's lips, given no licence to evade or "whip the devil round a stiff postor so. Perhaps Savernake had known all along what his proteqe would be called upon to do, yet discreetly had kept silence. The veteran campaigner had more than once had cause to see that his new- acquisition was not precisely a puppet whose strings could be pulled at will and it had very possibly occurred to him that though Maynard did not stick at trifles, he might incline to draw the line at false oaths. If so, Savernake would doubt- less have told himself, sudden necessity would be the only sure driver, and that Jack, having burnt his ships behind him. had better be taken unawareS. The young man realised this, as lie stood in the box, and lie resented it. Yet there was a certaia humour in the situation, too. and it was in his nature to feel it. He was like a baited bear, but if these people were going to have sport with him he would I ave a little of the same with them. Savernake, had eagerly promised to take all the "dirty work off his hands," yet here lie was, with the prospect of wading up to his ears in mud, and nobody to help him out of it. At all events, then, he must make a portion of it fly about. So closely had lie identified himself with the Story Savernake had invented and put into his moutl hat he was almost ready at times to believes himself in reality the Duke of Leicester. But now fiat h 1 mu t be alertly ready to vouch fo.t every detail that lie knew, and perhaps a good many that he didn't, the play in which he had lightly engaged became a labour. He felt some- what as an actor must feel who makes his first appearance on the stage. He had got his cue could he not only speak, but deliver well, his lines ? Deftly he kissed his thumb when the Testament tvas given him. This was a "post" for the devil .to run behind, with a vengeance But then it was a post which afforded a certain, if superficial, moral support. Somehow he got through the Duke's names, were a rouud half-dozen of them. assl he cursed the other man's sponsors in baptism, as ne desperately strove for the proper sequence with histongue. He had a good deal to think of. He had to remember to be English," to keep up the ducal drawl, to forget that in moments of past excitement he had occasionally made use of extremely forcible cowboy jargon. He had to hold his mind upon every trifling detail of his story, and at the same time never lose sight of the fact that his adversaries would slily be laying pitfalls for him. "Fire away!" he had almost said, as the coroner appeared to hesitate over his first question. But he checked himself in time, waiting in an attitude of creditable dignity, his arms folded across his chest. This position served two pur- poses. It lent a certain statuesqueness worthy of the occasion, and it prevented anyone from seeing the quick pumping of his heart. He raised his head, defying himself as well as his enemies, and then (just how he knew not) his eyes happened to fall upon the uplifted face of a girl. So few minutes had really passed between the announcement of his presence in the court-room and his summons to the witness-box that not only had he not thought it strange Lady Anne O'Neill did not come forward to greet him with the others, but, after the first few seconds had actually for- gotten her existence. She had gone up into the witness-box shortly after their entrance, and Savernake had whispered: That's Lady Anne—your Lady Anne, my bov But her voice had been too low for him to hear her words, she had kept her back towards him, or nearly so, and had sunk out of his sight into a chair the instant she had been allowed to step down. Then, during the brief interval when he had focussed the attention of the room, she- (being too greatly shaken by excitement and sur- prise to move, perhaps) had still remained invisible. Thus, wi-th plenty of occupation for his thoughts, he had ungallantly forgotten the lady he was to take over with the ducal titles and estates. But he had seen the grey dress, the grey hat with its softly drooping feathers, and now that the face beneath looked suddenly up at him he knew that it belonged to Lady Anne O'Neill. Recognition of her came first with a sense of shock that he could ever have regarded her as an encumbrance, to be got rid of as soon as possible. He was instantly hateful to himself, because he had harboured llie vile thought. She was incomparable —as high above him and his deserts as Heaven—yet there was, even in that moment, a deadly sweet thrill in the knowledge that he was to have her for his own. If he carried this piece of devilry out to the end, and made no false step. that fair revelation of gracious womanhood might be his wife. She had the eyes of a saint, but the mouth of a loving woman and a perfume of exquisite personality seemed to surround her, as she sat among her friends. The memory of Netty was gone like a bubble, in that flashing second. There never had been a Netty, there never would be a Netty again, or any other crystallisation of the eternal feminine save this one. Jack Maynard's blood sang in his veins—a new song. Not yet that of love, perhaps, but of a curious, passionate exultation. It was only the fraction of a moment that the dazed, humdrum old coroner had paused between the kissing of the book, the request for his name, and further questioning but it had given Maynard time to throw off something of his old self, which he would never find again. He stood braced for the coming ordeal as though by a draught of wine from some rare vintage. CHAPTER X. "Please tell the jury," said the perplexed official, "exactly what happened after you left Mr. Palgrave's house, on the night of July 10th." "A good many things happened that night," the young man prefaced nonchalantly, by way of collecting all his forces. "Begin, if you please, then, with the accident to your boat." "There was no accident to my boat," said Jack "at least, not while I was in it." As he delivered himself of this remark, which caused a stir among the spectators, his eye was on Randal Palgrave, who had been listening to catch that particular answej as one might listen for the crack of doom. But when it came he remained as much in the dark as ever, asking himself, over and over, what was the game these two men were playing. And would it ever be over, this long drawn out strain of breathless anxiety, so that lie and his son- confederate might be away on a search which must clear up the blackest spot in the whole black mystery. "Was not your dinghy upset, between the Moated Grange and your house-boat, on the night in question ? "Not on that night, nor any other night, while I was there to see." This at least was true—so far as it went. And Jack refreshed himself morally upon it. "Did you ifnish your journey to the house-boat tindistiirbed ? "No, I didn't.. I haven't been there from that day to this. I've almost (under Savernake's anxious gaze, he could not resist this extra touch) forgotten what the thing is like." "What interrupted your trip in the dinghy?" "A cry for help from the right bank, about half way between the Grange and the house-boat. I thought it was in a woiiiaii's voice." His nerve was coming back to him now, and the protection of folded arms was no longer needed to hide the tumultuous agitation of his breast. But Lady Mary Blandon leant back in her chair, sick with a great terror. "What is all this story?" she whispered to Savernake, who now sat next her. Can lie go on --can lie get through it ? ?' Qui en ."ffhe 1 he answered, provokingly, for he was still vexed that, though she had been ill, Lady Mary had sent him no laudatory telegram at Queenstown. "IIe knows his lesson, I can vouch for so much. For remainder—we must hope for the best, and trust in Providence." It would hardly have seemed to a carping critic that Providence would be likely to interest itself on the side of fraud. But then Savernake's ideas on Providential dispensations were peculiar, if not wholly original. When things turned out fortu- nately for his plans lie patronised Providence by attributing the arrangement to its agency. If otheri%rise-otlierNs-ise Maynard had stopped to be further questioned, and the coroner prodded him on. "What then, if }rou please ? What action did you take, when you lad heard this cry for help ? "What any other man worth his salt would take. I sculled to shore (lie hoped it was English to say "sculled," but it was difficult to remember every- thing !), "ran the dinghy upon land, and observing 11 several figures apparently scuffling under the trees, I proceeded to see what was the matter." "And what was the matter ? > "That is just what they never gave me a chance to find out." "Did they disappear ? "Not they, but they tried to make me do so. Somebody eame up behind me, gave me a tremendous clump on the head, and—though it was moonlight at the moment—I saw nothing but stars for some time after." "About how long a time after, should you say ? "Well, as it turned out, it was about a week." "That is a very remarkable statement. I do not quite know how to understand it." "Neither did I at the time I had to get at it, just as you are trying to do, by asking questions. Perhaps you 11 thinK JL must nave Deen better at that than I am at answering them." You certainly might explain a little more clearly What questions did you ask, of whom, and under what circumstances ? "Said I ( as nearly as I can remember) How came I here ? '—' here being a bare-looking bed- room I had never seen before, and wasn't particu- larly anxious to see again. An old and exceedingly unattractive female, whose mission seemed to lie in wetting a bandage I had round my head, kindly informed me that I was in America. I afterwards discovered that she had taken the trouble to tell me the truth." "You were in Ainerica. ? How had you been Conveyed there without your knoivledge ? "If I answer you that, it must be from what I now know, not from what I knew then, which was nil. It appears I hd, the gentleman who had caused me to see the stars together with a trusty pair oi friends, had not only relieved me of numerous articles of clothing, leaving certain of these to float about with my boat (which they overturned), but conveyed me to a gipsy caravan, and bestowed me Within. 11 "I was then taken to a place of safety (for the ), clad in a simple and inconspicuous way, and trans- formed forthwith into an interesting invalid, whom they were engaged—as professional nurses—to escort to the land of his birth across the Atlantic. I was kept under the influence of drugs from start to finish, so that their task was comparatively an easy one. When I came to myself, as I was telling you, I was in the city of New York, U.S.A." From time to time the mendacious one indulged himself with a downward glance in the direction of Lady Anne O'Neill. She was sitting bent eagerly forward, her elbow on her knee, her chin in the dainty hollow of her dove-coloured suede palm, one foot balanced on tip-toe, and a foam of lace frilling just visible under the edge of her grey gonn. The rapt interest and unquestioning belief on her perfect face pricked Maynard to remorse, even while they goaded him onward. As for the stricken coroner, he was more than ever out of his depth. This was the Duke of Leicester (for he said he was), and it was easy to see that the onlookers accepted him. Yet in the adjacent outbuilding lav that unaccountable dead body. And from this man's living lips was glibly flowing one of the most remarkable stories the coroner had ever listened to in the course of his uneventful life. It was difficult, after fifty odd monotonous years, suddenly to accustom himself to living in a fairy story. "Are you able to explain these people's motives for such extraordinary behaviour ?" The poor fellow dutifully pushed on. "I am able to do so now, from their own con- fession, just as I have given you the last particu- lars of 1113 transaction. I had got two or three blackmailing letters, during the winter and spring, evidently written by the same hand, with the object of extorting money from me. But I wasn't to be got at that way. I consulted my friend and man of business, Mr. Savernake (now present), and with his help we gained a pretty good idea who the scamps were, and were able to threaten them with the police. "Partly through motives of revenge, partly through their obstinate determination to see the colour of my money at any risk, they decided on a grand coup. It seems a queer thing, in these civilised and enlightened days, but they actually succeeded in it, too! I was kidnapped, taken to America, and a letter written to Mr. Savernake demanding a ransom of ten thousand pounds. You can get all the rest out of him, if you like. "For the present, if you please, I would prefer to continue my questioning of you. Pray go on with your statement." "All right, then. If the ransom was refused, or if steps were taken to trace the conspirators, I wa" to be immediately wiped off the face of the earth —killed. Unfortunately, the wretches were in a position to dictate terms, and as Mr. Savernake and my aunt, Lady Mary Blandon, who was at once taken into his confidence (as you can assure yourself by questioning her), were weak enough to care a good deal more for me than they did for the ends of justice, they promptly forked out the money. "Part of the stipulation was that nothing should be said in public about the affair till the ransom had been paid, and the chaps had got safely out of the way, leaving me to be claimed by my friends. You can understand, therefore, why Mr. Savernokc was only vaguely able to say (when I was thought to bo dead) that it was a mistake, which should be cleared up by-and-bye. He went to America, despatched the required sum to the address men- tioned, and I-still more like a drunken man than anything else after my long diet of drugs — was obligingly left at his service, like a bale of damaged goods. "We caught the first steamer home, the sea voyage picked me up no end, and, after all, I Iru-t that at present I'm none the worse for wear." As Maynard finished his sentence, with- a characteristically jaunty glance, inviting Savernake's approval, Randal Palgrave followed his son's late example, and caused a folded paper (on which he had been making notes from time to time) to be passed up to the coroner's table. "May I venture to suggest for your consideration a short list of certain question* which in my opinion might advantageously be put to the wit- ness ? the official read. If he be the Duke. as we all must devoutly hope, his identity will thus be the more satisfactorily established before all present. If not, the sooner an impostor is unmasked, the better for all concerned." Beneath was appended a small catalogue, num- bered line by line. The coroner glanced care- fully down the page, and then laid the paper, writing uppermost, on the table, as though for future reference. The thing had been quietly done, but both Lady Mary and Savernake had seen it, with quickening pulses. The young fencer was handling his foil well- miraculously well, it seemed to these two who watched him—yet he had his vulnerable points, and now, if ever, they would be reached with his adversary's blade. Savernake might have protested, had lie chosen, at the interference of an outsider, but it was not his metier to do this. He must appear to be at his ease, good-naturedly scornful of all doubts, secure in the strength of his cause to confute them, every one. So he sat still, with a curious tightness in his throat, his eyes half shut, while Lady Mary had recourse to her smelling-salts, and Anno O'Neill watched the Duke with a keener interest than she had ever felt before. After a parting glance at the documentary sugges- tions of Palgrave, the coroner fastened a keen gazo upon his witness. (It was really a much more entertaining case than the most sanguine among the spectators had bargained for !) "Have you any of the blackmailing letters you mentioned in your possession ? Maynard shrugged his broad shoulders. I turned them over to Mr. Savernake," he said, with a twinkle of humour in his eye. "If he has kept them, he has a more prudent turn of mind than I." We will inquire into that matter later. Mean- while, what was the name of the ship in which vour kidnappers spirited you across the ocean ? (ii, ? "Do you think they were fools enough to tell us that? They were willing to gain credit for their sharpness by letting out such details as couldn't lead to their capture. But, beyond that, they didn't give us much information." "At least you can tell me the number of the house and name of the street in which you regained consciousness in New York, and were found by Mr. Savernake ? "I could, but I won't," returned the witness, after an almost imperceptible pause, during which the tips of his ears grew pink. "They were awful scoundrels, of course, but tliit doeRTi,*t, dn all-y with the fact that before I was released from their clutches I gave my word of honour not to mention one single fact which could lead to their identifica- tion by the police authorities, either of this country or the other. Mr. Savernake put his name to the same covenant when he sent my ransom, and as we are both gentlemen, we'll keep our agreement to the end." "Even if, by so doing, you should lose credence, and be considered guilty of contempt of court ? "Even then. Though sufficient for the day is the evil thereof." "I am sorry to hear that. But, of course, you will make no difficulty about submitting your hands to the examination of our police surgeon for any scar or other peculiarity which may be found there They had taken him unawares at last At least, so thought Savernake, with eyes that burnt under the yeil of their lowered lid. He had thought himself very clever in preparing his pupil for "all possible and impossible emergencies, but—as most of the cleverest murderers forget one clue to their guilt—this test had slipped his mind. What would Maynard do or say ? The badgered witness was smiling, thuugh a strong colour had risen under the bronze which the sun's caresses had given his handsome face. Perhaps, after all, lie was not at the end of his tether even yet. It seemed to be one knock-down blow after another. No sooner did lie get up from under one than he had to take the next. He had no second waiting the end of the round, with cooling water in a sponge, but lie had the stimulant of Anne O'Neill's glorious eyes, and though he could not deserve the trust thai they revealed, lie could do his desperate best to justify it. "He shall have my hand, with all my heart," Maynard said, with no abatement of his levity. "But he'll find no scar there, for the best of reasons. There is none, and never was. I hap- pened to catch my cousin, Mr. Palgrave's, evidence as to the trophy of a football game, otherwise I • 1/3 novo. l' T». BMOUJU IU tR nave nearu or it beiore. My cousin doubtless saw the broken joint on the hand of the corpse, and persuaded "himself, in his natural agitation, that I had one to match it. "I'm sure nobody else ever saw it but he, not oven my valet, who is now lamenting fly death and wearing my old clothes on board my deserted house-boat. Perhaps his evidence would be as valuable in thi3 instance as Mr. Palgrave's." "We will waive the broken finger," remarked the coroner, with dignity. And then wondered why it was that the Duke laughed. "Once more, however, I must beg to trouble you," he went on. "Oblige me by writing your full name on this piece of paper." Maynard's hand was not steady as he took the pen which was offered him, and dipped it in the ink. One of the first lessons which lie had had from Savernake in what he called the "art of being a Duke" had been in imitating the dead man's penmanship. It had gone against the grain, but he had accepted the necessity, with other distasteful ones, and had on several occasions achieved a signal success. But now he was afraid of himself. In the first, place, the ordeal he had gone through had not been precisely soothing to his nerves, and in the second place, too much depended upon the result of his effort to make the task as easy as it had seemed when practising on shipboard. A drop or two of ink spattered upon the paper. Gritting his teeth together, he dashed into battle, flinging down the array of names, and finishing with the scrawl underneath the usual shorter signa- ture of" Leicester," that he who had gone had affected. Then, without looking lit the page, he pushed the paper from him. He had done his best. The thing must stand on its merits. (To be continued.)