Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 November 1898 — A dangerous Secret. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A dangerous Secret.

By FLORENCE MARYATT.

CHAPTER XXVH. As Delia reaches the second window she tells Jane to re-enter the house and watch the deeping man for her. As soon as ever the girl disappeared, she is on the sill and through the open casement Yes, here is the same room in which her last interview was held with the old clerk of Chilton; and there stands his bed, with the immortal package on the top of it. She sits down, and, taking out a pair of scissors provided for the purpose, commences to unrip the stitching of the wrappers. She has never calculated on the difficulty of her task. The box, or books, or whatever the contents may be, have been stitched and restitched with thick twine, so that the old man appears to have spent days over his task. At last, by dint of blunted implements and bruised fingers, Delia' has succeeded in removing the outer wrapper of American cloth, when she finds herself confronted by a second one of drugget or baize, as hard to work through as the first. She tries to cut right through the center of the package, but some hard substance resists the scissors; she must have patience and proceed by degrees. As she has half unripped the second covering, however, she is startled by a noise upon the uncarpeted stairs—the sound of approaching footsteps stumbling up the narrow gangway. What can it be? Is it possible that Strother can have awakened from his slumber and had his suspicions aroused by her absence? She flies to the casement which looks out upon the front. It is true! He has left his chair, and a key is already grating and twisting about in the keyhole of the door. Delia has no time for consideration—no tilfe to do anything but to escape by the way she came, so leaving the “paircel” in the state to which she had reduced it, and not waiting even to recover her fallen scissors, she leaps to the window sill, and is down the steps and standing on the gravel path below before an eye had seen her proceedings. Her next effort is to place the steps where she found them, and thence to proceed, flushed and panting, into the front kitchen, where Jane is quietly seated, shelling broad-beans, with her half-sov-ereign laid on the table beside her. “The old gentleman’s gone through up to his room,” are the first words with which she placidly greets Deb'a. “My goodness! what’s that?” She alludes to a loud scream, like the note of an angry ape in pain, which proceeds from Strother’s chamber. Delia knows full well what it is, and prepares to fly from further questioning. But the old man’s ravings reach them but too distinctly. “Wha’s been in my room?” he cries. “Wha’s daured to touch my paircel? Let me find the carle and I’ll wreeng his neck for him. I’ll ken wha’s daured to sash me. I was anely i’ the gairden takin’ a wee drap o’ whusky, and naebody hae been i* the house but Jean. It maun be that huzzy Jean. Here, Jean, Jean!” “You had better go to.the old man and quiet him, Jane,” says Delia. “Tell him no one has been in his room. How could they, with the door locked? I’m afraid I may have given him a little too much whisky. Do what you can with him, and Til go and tell Miss Patsy, whom I see coming up the garden, all about it.” Miss Patsy does not think anything of the affair. Mrs. Manners is “main” good, she says, to trouble about “the old hunks,” but one never dreams of attending to anything he says or does. He’s as “daft” as any lunatic in the county asylum. “And where have you been, Patsy?” “I’ve been to meet my young man, ma’am,” says Patsy, with a blush and a smile; “for, you see, it is our harvesthome supper to-night, and if he was to miss it all the fun of the evening would be gone for me.” “Naturally. Where is your supper to be held?” “Up at the big barn in the poplar field. I suppose it would be no use asking ye to join us, ma’am. Likely parson will be there. He mostly looks in at the harvesting suppers.” “No, Patsy, thank you; I am too tired to-day. Besides, Mr. and Mrs. Bond are in London and I have the cottage to look after. But I hope you will have a very pleasant evening and that your young man will be sure to be there.”

She gets away as soon as she can after that, for she is disappointed at the failure of her afternoon experiment and fears lest she may have marred her chances of success by her precipitancy. But as she sits alone in the evening thinking over these things it suddenly occurs to her that in all probability old Strother will have gone up to the harvesting supper with his friends and the coast be once more clear. She never thought of asking Patsy Kennett whether her grandfather would be included among the guests, but it is worth going up to the farm to see if it is the case or no. As soon as this idea strikes Delia she puts it into execution. It is ten o’clock; but what is ten o’clock for a walk along a country lane, with the harvest moon lighting up each object as bright as day? When she has traversed half its distance her eye is attracted by something that glitters in the hedgerow. Delia stoops to pick it up and finds, to her astonishment, that it is the same glass flask she presented to the old Scotchman that afternoon. It is like the old man’s surly ingratitude to throw it away, she thinks; but how on earth did it come here? She holds it in her hand as she walks on wondering, but can come to no better conclusion than that Strother may have commissioned some child to fetch him whisky in it with the money she gave him, and the messenger, cognizant of the old man’s weakness of intellect, has been unfaithful to his trust. But as she reaches the farmhouse another light is thrown upon the circumstance. She is met by the servant Jane, howling loudly, after the fashion of the lower orders when in distress, and wringing her hands. “Gracious heavens!” exclaims Delia, “what is the matter?’

CHAPTER XXVIII. > The matter was that old Strother had taken his bundle and gone off with it. As soon as Delia hears the news she says rapidly to the servant: “You must stay here and I will go in search of him and bring him back with me if I can.” As Delia hurries along, her thoughts are all in confusion, and she is only sure of one thing—that she must follow after that parcel, if the quest takes her to the other side of the world. One precaution only will she observe, to scribble a few lines in pencil on the back of a card, and give it to the purblind housekeeper at the ’rectory, who she knows cannot read, to deliver to Mi- Le Mesurier as soon as he returns. She walks so quickly that she has arrived at the little town of St. Alders before she thinks she is half way there. The railway station is on the outskirts of the town, and the state of activity it appears to be in emboldens Delia to go straight there and make inquiries for the object of her search. She finds the narrow platform quite crowded with passengers, and a truck full of luggage bars ber entrance for the space of half a second. It is evidrat a train is momentarily expected. As

she enters the booking office, a clerk thrusts his face out at the ticket office. “Now, then, miss—where for? Winchester, Basingstoke, Waterloo?” “No, thank you! I only came to ask if an old man, very bent and decrepit, and shabbily dressed, with a large parcel, has been seen here this evening? He has left his home, and his friends are very much distressed about him.” “Don’t know nothink about it, miss; better ask the station master,” says the ticket clerk, abruptly, as he bangs down the window. “Oh! where is the station master?’ exclaims Delia to every one within hearing. “Do you think the lady can mean the little peddler looking fellow who carried a box, or summat, on his back, and spoke such broad Scotch, Bill!” demands an official, who has overheard her conversation, of another.

“Yes, yes! that is he!” replied Delia, eagerly. “An old man, with his hair half red and half white, and with a freckled skin, and velveteen suit. He is mad. I must find out where he’s gone to!” “Well, if so be this was the old gentleman you’re in search of, miss, he booked hisself by the 8:10 for Winchester, where he must have been landed full an hour ago.” “When does the next train leave for Winchester, then ?” “Why, this here’s the Winchester train as is alongside now! Last one to-night, too—the eleven express to London. She won’t stop again now, except at Winchester and Basingstoke, till she’s run through to Waterloo.” ‘■'Put me in a carriage! I must follow that man at all risks!” "You’ll have to look sharp if you want to leave by this train. Have you got your ticket?”

“I’ll pay at the other end!” cries Delia, as she leaps into the carriage, the door of which is just about to be closed with a bang, and finds the train at the moment moving off in the direction of Winchester. In three-quarters of an hour she finds herself at her destination. As she pays her railway fare, she tries to extract some information from the ticket collector. Her best plan, he says, guessing her station in life, will be to put up at the George Inn, in High street, and place her inquiries in the hands of the parish authorities in the morning. The night porter receives her in the hall of the George Inn, although the house is not yet shut up. She sleeps well and peacefully. She is up with the morning’s light. As she sits at breakfast a curd is put into her hand, which is inscribed to her surprise, with the name of “Le Mesurier.” In another moment the friends are together. “Is it really my business that has brought you over here!” cries Delia. “How good and kind of you! I never thought my message would have such an effect.”

“What other effect did you anticipate, Mrs. Manners? When I returned home last night and received your card I considered it my duty to follow and offer you my protection. What can you mean by running about the country ut dead of night, in this harum-scarum way? What good did you expect to do by It?’ “I don’t know; but I traced Strother to Winchester, and I felt that I must follow him. How did you ascertain that I was here?” “As soon as I got your message I walked after you to St. Alders; but the station was closed. So I sat there till the morning, and came on by the first train. The porters told me all about you and the ‘Scotch peddler* you were inquiring after; so I knew I was on the right track. And once at Winchester it was easy to guess I should find you at the George Inn. Everybody who comes to Winchester goes to the George.” “Oh! Mr. Le Mesurier, do you think we shall find him?” “Sooner or later, there is no doubt we shall; but I question whether we can do much in a day. What are your plans?” She tells him of her desire tp consult a magistrate, and he considers it the best thing she can do. “But be advised by me. Let me save you the trouble of walking all over the town for nothing. Rest quietly here, and I will go out and make the necessary inquiries. Then if your presence is required I will return and fetch you.” (To be continued.)