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PURlJJD BY THE LA W,

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[PUBLISHED BT SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT] I PURlJJD BY THE LA W, Br J. MACLAREN COBBAN. Author of "The Red Saltan," "The Aveng. c of Blood," "Wilt Thou Have this Woman ?" Her Royal Highness's Love Affair," The Tyrants of Kool-Sim," The White Kaid of the Atlas," The Burden of Isabel," he., &c. [ COPYRIGHT.] ._ø CHAPTER XIV.—BEN KNOTT'S LAD. It was counted wise by both Graham and his sweet- heart that they should content themselves for the present with seeing very little of each other, so that the tramp should have as little opportunity as could be given him of making his discovery. Graham therefore called seldom during the next week or two at his mother's lodging, and when he did call he entered by the back door, which was opened for him by Nelly at a given signal. Then it was discovered that the tramp, after haunting the street for many days, had disappeared—dis- appointed, and it was hoped never to return again. Meanwhile, Nelly, finding thought and idleness unendurable, had sought occupation—the rather that she might add something to their resources. To get pupils in music would be a slow process in a strange city and so she reminded herself of a forsaken aptitude. When she was younger she had learnt telegraphy, and practised it under the patronage of the Post-office. She now resolved, therefore, to seek a place as telegraphist in some Milchester Post-office. She applied, was found proficient, and, as luck would have it, she was sent as temporary telegraphist to Kershaw. About the same time also Graham, being found constant in duty, efficient, and clever beyond common, was advanced by Mr Poynting, unsolicited, to that con- fidential position for which he had at first applied and that brought him in about a pound a day in place of six shillings. Then he told his employers about his valve, and showed them his plans. They listened with eager- ness, and readily agreed to buy from him the working of his invention when it was perfected and patented and so he was engrossed with work, and in that he found his chief est consolation. And all this while nothing more was seen or heard of the tramp. The furtive sense of being hunted and liOught for died from Graham's mind—although still in the dead of night he would dream sometimes (as he had constantly done in the earlier weeks) horrible dreams of pursuit and capture, and he would wake in an awful damp, trembling with the terrible sensation again of gyves upon his wrists. But all these horrors fell away from him with the night, and by day he was cheerful and busy. Thus the time passed, and ample occupation began to breed a chastened kind of contentment in both Nelly and her lover for not even in the worst circumstances that ever were known can mortal creatures incessantly pine and long, and go wretched and terrified. Nature protects the workman's hand by thickening the skin and Nature also shields the much-tried soul by deaden- ing it to a sense of danger. Nothing happened, except in the ordinary round of life and duty the days grew longer and warmer, and even in flat, ugly, industrial Kershaw the spring made itself felt, and stunted trees and bushes, and bedraggled hedgerows opened out in greenness and bloom. Everything tended to lull Graham into an agreeable sense of peace and security when suddenly he was startled awake, and watchful again. There came to him a short, significant note from Mr Townshend, with whom he had corresponded since his settling at Kershaw, and to whom he had already repaid the money given on his account to the tramp. This is what Townshend wrote: I expect our friend, the owner of the burnt scar, will do his utmost to resume the pleasure of your acquaintance. Rather more than a week ago, having evidently blewed the .£10 I sent him at your request', he sent me another demand. I begged him to do me the favour to call on me. He does not seem to have appreci- ated the invitation for I have not seen him, nor heard any more from him. His letter bore the Milchester post-mark so he must be near you. He is a mean, cowardly hound, but hunger (or thirst) may give him courage and ferocity, and also scent. He may find you out.' Graham was almost tempted to ignore that warning. The tramp had evidently been about Milchester all these weeks, and yet had not found him. Perhaps, however, he would have a sharper spur to effort; his money was probably now all spent, and (as Townshend said) hunger and thirst might urge him to more enterprise and acute- ness than he had yet shown. What if the man should set himself to a systematic observation of all the iron works about Milchester. Then Graham saw something of the disadvantage of beingmore than an undistinguished workman as a workman he might escape discovery in such a search for a twelvemonth and a day as what he was he could not hope to escape a month. But,' said he to himself, forewarned is fore- armed.' And he determined to renew all possible precautions against discovery and yet discovery came, like a shower of rain, when least expected. One morning he went with Mr Hepplewhite into Milchester on business. The old ironmaster was a familiar figure in the business streets of the city, and at every turn he was greeted with a smile or a nod, or a handshake, or (by the humbler passer-by) with a doff of a hat, while he lightly passed on with a How do, John ?' or an Art tha, Joe ?' He was a great talker, and he hardly ceased all through the streets talking in a voice as open and generous as his mind, and as little subdued or reserved as if he were talking in his own dining-room, leaning his hand the while on Graham's shoulder, who was shorter by half a head than he. Suddenly he stopped in one of the busiest business streets, and pointing openly across the way said in a voice loud enough for all passing to hear :— Dost see that man—th' young chap in th' spats and eye-glass—over there ? He's Ben Knott's lad. Ben Knott kept a rag and bottle shop i' th' drew gate,— and there was summat o' a suspicion he was a fence,— receiver o' stolen goods tha knows. But Ben was a Radical—as hot a Radical as ever was known but that lad o' Ben's is a Conservative. I always say if you want to find a regular, out-and-out, high-toned Conservative—a kind of nonpariel and ne plus utra chap o* that persuasion—look yo' out for the son o' a ragged- breeched Radical.' Then he walked on amid the smiles of those who had overheard him, serenely saluting as he went wj £ h his How do, John ?' and his Art tha, But amusement died down in Graham's breast. On the other side of the street he saw a shabby man with a burnt scar on his cheek—a man whom he recognised without difficulty and with a horrid sinking of the heart—saw him look attentively across, and then quickly turn to a passer-by as if to ask a question. Graham guessed what the question must be who was the tall, oldish gentleman who was talking so loudly as he went along ? He could not but believe that the man would be answered readily enough that that was the great and odd Mr Hepplewhite, the famous ironmaster. Graham's first instinct was to disappear down an alley and escape; but a moment's reflection showed him that, disappear- ing and dodging would be of no avail if he had been recognised, and if his companion's name and condition were known. Still, precaution is prudence. It's th' very same in religion,' continued Mr Hepple- white, as he paced along. Ma feyther and ma mother was Primitives, but my lasses is all for curates and High Church—and what I am, in between, I doan'tknow,' he laughed. Would you mind turning in somewhere at once, Mr Hepplewhite ?' asked Graham. There was no mistaking the anxiety and urgency of his tone. Eh ?' ssid Mr Hepplewhite. Dost feel bad r" No,' said Graham. Only I've seen someone who knows me—the tramp I've told you about!' Where cried Hepplewhite, turning boldly roilnd. He's gone But I doubt he saw me. Let us turn in here.' they plunged into a great corner building—a kind of club and reading-room, to which Graham knew that Mr Hepplewhite belonged, and to which he also knew there were several doors. Once within the building he explained to Mr Hepplewhite how he had seen the man look as he was pointing out Ben Knott's lad. It's a bad job,' said Mr Hepplewhite. But if he comes upon tha, thou'd best pay up again, till we can hit on some gate o' getting rid on him.' Graham thought so too but, since their business was done, he convinced there was just a remote chance of escaping the man's notice by slipping away by him- self, and turning to Kershaw alone. As for deserting his post and fleeing away into the unknown again— that notion never entered his head. But all he did was only like the wriggling of a hooked fish. Next morning he found he was caught. As he passed into the works at six o'clock, amongst the row of depressed and anxious men waiting for a chance to be taken on as labourers, he saw the sinister visage with the burnt scar, on the cheek. As he passed, he could not help letting his eye light on the man, and the man palpably winked at him., When he went home to his lodging to dinner, he found the man lingering outside the door. He entered without taking any note of him, but he was barely in when his landlady came to say that a man wished to speak with him. The man was behind her, and came in, and Graham closed the door. He looked at the scoundrel a moment without speaking, and he could not have guessed how much of hatred and mischief his look expressed, had he not remarked the uncertainty and furtive and fearful watchfulness depicted in the man's ugly countenance.' The table was laid for Graham's dinner, and in absence of mind he began moving about —placing, and shifting, and replacing the knife a disturbing action which made the man hold himself carefully together. I have no time to wait,' said Graham, suddenly. You want more money, I suppose.' hit it, mister,' said the man. 'Ten quid don't pan out much, and I'm a misfortunate bloke wot can never get a job that's worth a cuss.' Never mind excuses. How much do you want ?' A tenner will do, guv'nor.' Impossible,' said Graham. I URYGII t got one.' And again hs busily moved the knife on the table. Ain't yer, mister ? You seems to be all right in there,' jerking his thumb towards the Locomotive Works, and you're just proper and chummy with the old boss, I could see yesterday morning. Yer must be on the make, guv'nor five or six quid a Week, I bet, if a tanner. S'welp me, some coves is lucky AJI' a pore bloke like me—'ard-workinrr when I get a chanst, if ever there was a 'ard working bloke —I can't git not a bloomin' job no nor a bloomin' bob give me Do you want a job ? naked Graham. Course I do Not a labourer's job, tho', mister I'm a mechanic, I am—not a labourer—never mind if I 'ave lost my Union ticket! I daresay you ain't got your Union ticket, neither, if the rights of it was knowed If you come to the works again to-morrow morning I may be able to get you something to do.' Thank ye, guv'nor. Your favour to 'and. But, fust, wot about that tenner I told you, I haven't got so much.' You can borry, I daresay, mister.' Graham shook his head. All right. I'm keeping your grub waiting. I'll just take a walk down to the police-station, and by the time you've finished your grub there'll be a copper or two knocking at the door.' Graham stood, strung tense with hatred and despera- tion, and- putting all the while a fierce restraint upon himself. You low, mean scoundrel he growlea through his set teeth, while he gazed fixedly at the man. And how long is this to go on P I give you what you demand, and in a week or two you come back for more. When that's spent, you come back again. How long, do you think, can I stand that ? I believe I'll end yet by killing The man fell back a step, ghastly pale, and cast a fearful glance over his shoulder at the door. Look 'ere, mister,' said he. I'm not a 'ard chap, when all's said and done I'll take a fiver-on account Come here, then, to-night about nine o'clock, and I'll give it to you.' Oh, no, mister said he, laying his finger to his nose. Not for Joe As you come home from the works this arternoon you just slip the fiver into my hand; I'll give yer the chanst.' Very well,' said Graham. Now you can go.' I don't think much o' that Mr Townshend, Esquire, for a friend,' said the man, pausing with his hand on the door. E wouldn't stump up the oof again with- out my goin' to see him. Not me, I've 'eard too much on him. E's in with too many coves of all sorts. Everybody knows Townshend, Esquire, the Markis.' P'r'aps you knows him well; p'r'aps yer don't. 'E's a swell bookie—that's my belief. And I fancy he's a bit barmy on the crumpet. He's a devil. I ate him.' And he opened the door and went. When he had gone one half of the folding-door com- municating with Graham's little bedroom was softly opened, and there stepped out Mr Townshend. Don't trouble yourself about that fellow,' said he, while Graham looked at him in silent amazement, I'll settle him for you.' CHAPTER XV.—A LADY FAIR To SEE. Where do you come from P exclaimed Graham. From going to and fro on the earth, and walking up and down in it.' That's quite a proper quotation for me, being a kind of devil, according to our friend who has just gone.' So saying, Townshend sat down at the table, and cut himself a piece of bread from the loaf set ready. You're going to have lunch, aren't you ? Ybu won't mind letting me have a morsel, I'm sure. I'm ravenous. Let me begin with a slight hors d'oeuvre. He thickly spread with mustard the slice of bread he had cut, folded it, and ate. That certainly looks very fiendish,' said Graham, with a smile. It must be devilish hot.' Wholesome,' said Townshend. A slight stimulant to the stomach to prepare for what may follow.' Graham tinkled a little hand-bell on the table. I'm afraid,' said he, there's not much.' Anything will do,' said Townshend. Bacon and eggs, or bacon without eggs, or eggs without bacon.' Graham's landlady entered, and set on the table a dish containing two fried chops. This,' said Graham, is my excellent landlady, Mrs Talkington.' I've seen th' gentleman already, sir,' said the landlady. Yes,' said Townshend, with a bow to her, and his singular flutter of a smile beneath his moustache, Mrs Talkington let me in, and on my saying I did not wish to see the person who was interviewing you she put me into your bedroom. She did not act up to her name, though she said very little.' The landlady did not perceive the joke, but solemnly laid for him a knife and fork, and withdrew when her lodger had asked her to prepare another dish of some- thing. Your excellent landlady,' said Townshend, eyeing the chop on his plate, would be more excellent if she did not fry chops. The chop is an admirable institution, handed down by our fore-fathers, but it was meant to be grilled. A fried chop is an abomination.' Won't you wait, then for something else ?' said Graham, somewhat put out. Oh, thank you, Leighton,' said Townshend, non- chalantly, I can eat it. I only feel bound to protest as an Englishman, who is sorry—dev'lish sorry—to see his country on the downhill grade.' Downhill ?' said Graham. How ?' My dear fellow, the worst sign of decay in a race is its neglect of cookery and when a country has good and abundant food, and is too stupid or too careless to treat it properly, it is fast rushing towards degradation and subjection. We can't work well nor fight well when we don't eat well.' Graham glanced at his companion and smiled; he certainly was very odd. I never trouble about what I eat,' said he. I'm sorry to hear it,' said Townshend you make a great mistake. Now you shall come and dine with me to-night, and I will present you with some things to eat.' If I'm not in the hands of the police,' said Graham, with an anxious smile. Don't anticipate such a contingency,' said Town- shend, lightly. I'll dispose of your friend for you.' Something in the tone and the use of the word' dispose' alarmed Graham. Let me ask how you mean to dispose of him. I can't be a party to violence,' said he, 'or foul play. I refuse to benefit by it,' he protested with energy. It's that low cur that's playing foul,' said Town- shend, pausing in his meal, and looking straight across at Graham, while his eye-glass flashed. 'The easiest and shortest way with him would be something of this sort., He was balancing the knife on his little finger. But you don't like it, I can see.' I have a horror of taking life said Graham. I almost took his—on the moor—and since—but I repented of it.' And he shuddered at the recollection. Ah murmured Townshend. A pity I have no compunctions that way. Why should I ? I would kill a rat or a cockroach without thinkidg any more about it. That man is a human rat or cockroach, and I would get him put to a painless death without qualm or scruple.' 'He is a rat,' said Graham, but he's human and he has a soul Perhaps,' said Townshend. But we won't discuss theology. And since you don't like it, I won't get him put an end to in fact, I did not mean to do that. But he shall be disposed of and made quite harmless. No violence,' repeated Graham. Very well, no violence.' Then it struck Graham as singular that he should accept Townshend's easy offer of deliverance without question. What extraordinary faculty of suggesting his power and influence was it that he possessed ? What will you do ? he felt impelled to ask. I have come down here on business for a few days,' said Townshend, with two or three people. They are not of a very scrupulous sort. and they are quite at my service. They will manage the affair under my direc- tions. Don't you give a thought to it or to him any more.' Graham felt the odd attractiveness and power of Townshend, but yet he was anew invaded by wonder and doubt. Townshend had been an extraordinarily good friend to him, but after all, what did he know of him. Marquis '—' Swell bookie '—' in with too many of all sorts.' These words and phrases of the tramp came back upon him, still he wondered who Townshend could be. And again with fresh insistence the question arose in his mind Why on earth should Townshend take such trouble to befriend him ? In a little while the warning scream of the siren made Graham rise from table to prepare to return to his duty at the works. He saw Townshend slip away from the house by the back entrance, lest he should be seen and recognised by the tramp, and then he himself set out. Trusting to the fulfilment of Townshend's promise, he left the works at the end of the working day with no money in his hand and he passed on his way to his lodging with a great and lurking anxiety. But neither in the more public, nor in the more lonely, parts of the road did he see anything of the tramp, and he reached his own door with a devout Thank God When he entered he found Townshend with the landlady, gazing sympathetically on a fearful and wonderful portrait of her deceased husband. He must have been a fine figure of a man, Mrs Talk- ington,' he was saying. And that he was, sir,' said Mrs Talkington, 'though I say it what shouldn't. He was bed-rid for three year, and when it came to the end he just slummered off in my arms like a babby The blessed man said Townshend with sym- pathy. But now I mun get th' tea,' said she, when she saw her lodger. 4 For heaven's sake, Mrs Talkington, no tea—or only a weak cup exclaimed Townshend. Mr Leighton is coming up to town with me to dinner.' 4 Sakes alive exclaimed the woman. Didn't he have his dinner ?' 'He's going to have another,' said Townshend. Then, when the astonished woman was gone, he said, 4 What a people we are We think ourselves the pink of commercial wisdom, and we let the Germans steal our trade, and we ruin the digestion of the whole nation with cheap tea and cheap bread And all in the name of commercial wisdom 'Ah,' said Graham with a smile,—a new smile of relief—41 can't follow you into these matters. But you're not in Parliament, I think ? Graham said that quite seriously; but Townshend would regard it as a joke. He looked closely at Graham, and his moustache lifted with his characteristic smile, while he tossed his drooping crest of black hair back with his hand. better, I can see or you wouldn't have said that; it's too funny and he laughed aloud. You didn't meet our friend, the tramp. No.' He pulled out his watch, 4 Thanks to you,' said Graham, fervently. 4 By this time,' said Townshend, looking at his watch, Our friend the tramp, who has been very drunk, indeed, is waking up in a place quite strange to him, but not very far off and in a little while he will be very much astonished. Don't trouble about him.' 4 I am much obliged to you,' said Graham. Your acquaintance and your influence are both wide and wonderful. If it is a fair question I would like to ask how you have so much influence i" I may, perhaps, answer you to-night we'll see. At leiist,' lie continued, I shall introduce you to a very interesting acquaintance of mine,—who has heard about you and wishes to see you.' Oh,' said Graham. May I ask--P' 4 No, you may not exclaimed Townshend. Don't be always asking something And he laughed again, with some loudness he was clearly in a very good temper. In half-an-hour they were travelling together into Milchester, in a first-class cltn-iage-a. luxury in which the hard-living Graham had never indulged himself- and some hour or so later they were set down to dinner in one of the best-appointed but not the most gorgeous of the Milchester hotels. It was a well-chosen feast of Lucullus which Town- shend arranged, and Graham was more than pleased he was dazzled. The meats were excellent, but he pre- ferred not to look d the menu to read their outlandish names it was better, he thought, to remain ignorant on that score. But what interested and amazed him most of all was the flavour and variety of the drinks. He first drank a glass of wonderful sherry with his soup next he drank white wine with his fish then came red wine-some kind of claret, Townshend said- with some following meats and after that iced cham- pagne flowed and frothed in a stream. Last of all came coffee and a cigar, though he refused the cigar, because he did not smoke, but accepted the liqueur cognac to go with his coffee. Then with an active brain, in which all binds of brisk and tripping tunes seemed to go to and fro' he felt expansive and genial. Mr Townshend,' said he, for the life of me I can't make out why you go to all this trouble and expense for me-besides the other things you have done of the most friendly kind. But for you I should be- y6u know where-eating my heart out and wearing a horrible livery that's a fact. Now, you know, it seems to me a most extraordinary thing-most extraordinary! —that though you have done so much for me, I don't know in the least who you are I don't really I am a Master,' said Townshend with that por- tentous manner which he knew how to assume, 'in search of a Worthy Disciple you appear-have always appeared-to me such a disciple, if I could only win you. I wish to win you.' Riddles again, Mr Townshend,' said Graham- conundrums.' Townshend considered him; and Graham, whether from a merely lively imagination or from the potency of the wine, laughed softly; for the appearance of Townshend seemed to change from moment to moment-now being most distinguished indeed-absolutely the most dis- tinguished and commanding person he had ever seen- a truly eagle head and crest; and again seeming with- drawn a long way off and become grotesque-the fell of black hair tossing disordered, the nose lengthening, and the neck elongating and growing thinner, till he looked like a strange kind of fowl! I am compelled to talk in riddles,' said Townshend in parables—because I don't know how yon would stand the bare, naked truth. Do you like this dinner ?' he asked, suddenly. Very much, thank you,' said Graham, Well, I can put you in the way of enjoying such a dinner every night, if you like, and of having the finger- ing of thousands of pounds-four or five thousand a year-if you will put yourself in my hands-join me- be my worthy disciple! All these things will I give you, if you will fall down down and worship me,' quoth Graham. I believe, Mr Townshend,' he added, with a laugh, you are really the Devil.' Well, what then P' smiled Townshend. I will only say, Let me get my Valve out, and then I'll answer you.' Oh, your Valve!' said Townshend. That Valve will let in Ruin upon you But come,' he added he had finished his cigar I want to take you to the theatre to see someone.' Townshend took a cab to the theatre. When they got out Graham recognised it to be the same theatre as he had passed on the first morning of his acquaintance with Milchester, when he was ragged, unkempt, desperate and forlorn, and in possession of only a few pence. Within the theatre he presently made another dis- covery. Townshend marched in in very lordly fashion, pre- senting no ticket and paying no money, and bestowing merely a How-de-do' on a very superb gentleman who bowed graciously to him and conducted him to the stalls. The play, a comedy, was in progress before a fairly full house. There came upon the stage an actress who was received with great applause. She bowed her acknowledgments, and Graham noted her. She was tall, fair, handsome, thirty or thereabout, what many men would call' a fine figure of a woman '-and when she spoke her voice was as clear and pleasant as a silver bell. Well, what do you think of her ?' asked Townshend, when the act was ended. She seems to me very good—though I don't know much of acting.' 'Oh, acting I mean what do you think of her looks F' She is very good-looking. I think she is the hand- somest woman I've ever seen.4 4 Well, that's her.' 4 Her ? Who?' 4 The lady who wishes to know you. She has fallen quite in love with you, with all she has heard about you. Oh, don't be alarmed; it is just a friendly, Platonic attachment. She will not embarrass you with her attentions.4 41 am very highly flattered,' stammered Graham. After the performance he went behind the scenes with Townshend, and was introduced to the lady, named Miss Bolsover. He saw her in her walking dress, and then he recognised she was the same fashionably arrayed lady as had looked on him with interest from the steps of the Theatre on that first morning in Milchester. Townshend, it appeared, had invited her to supper, and the three departed together. Over the oysters and Chablis Graham was almost silent. He was constrained by what had been told him of Miss Bolsover, and left the conversation to her and Townshend in the main. But she continued to look at him, and to refer questions to him. 4 You are a kind of Tubal-Cain, Mr Leighton, are you not P' she said at length. I mean you are like the first worker in metal; you can do anything you like with a bit of iron, I suppose-make anything of it. It would be very good and sweet of you if you would come and look at my iron curtain.' Ho ho ho laughed Townshend, while Graham looked bewildered. 'For heaven's sake, Fred,' begged Miss Bolsover, don't laugh like Sanger's hyena at Margate. Do cul- tivate a more human and becoming laugh, there's a dear P I know why you laughed,' she went on quickly. You don't understand what I mean, Mr Leighton, by by my iron curtain. It's the pride and joy of my life as lessee of the theatre, you know, but I can't do any- thing with it. It's like a monkey up a tree it won't be reasonable and come down, and if we have a fire we might as well not have a beautiful iron curtain for all the good it will be.4 Oh, I understand,4 said Graham, 4 the iron curtain is on the stage. Of course it is, child!' exclaimed Miss Bolsover. 4 Where did you think it was ?' 4 Ho ho ho again laughed Townshend. 'Please don't begged Miss Bolsover. Then, turning again to Graham, she said/ Do come and look at my Iron Curtain for me 41 will with pleasure,' said Graham. It was arranged that he should go to 'look at' the Curtain the next evening by six o'clock. And then they saw her into a cab and bade her Good-night.' I should like your company for half an hour longer,' said Townshend to Graham. 'I have something else to show you.' He called a cab, and they were driven into a part of the city which Graham had not yet seen. In about a quarter of an hour Townshend stopped and dismissed the cab, and walked on a little way. He halted before a large, solid, old-fashioned house, and rang the bell in two quick jerks. The door was speedily opened by a man, and Townshend entered and passed him without a word, taking Graham along with him. He sprang up the wide, heavy-balustered staircase, and opened the door facing him on the first floor. There was revealed a well-lighted, well-furnished drawing-room, where lounged five or six men smoking and talking-while in a corner, bound in a chair, with one arm exposed to the shoulder, sat a wretched, frightened creature, whom Graham recognised readily as the Man with the Burnt Scar. LTo BE CONTINUED.]

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