The Rider of Waroona Part 21

"Haven't you a lamp?" Durham asked. "I cannot see what I am eating."

"Make the fire up--that's good enough for me," Dudgeon replied without raising his head.

On the shelf over the fire-place Durham had noticed a kerosene lamp, a cheap, rickety article with a clear-gla.s.s bowl half-full of oil. He rose from the stool, reached for the lamp, put it on the table and lit it.

"Here, that oil costs money," Dudgeon snarled as he looked round. "Half a crown won't cover luxuries--you'll pa.s.s over another bob if you're going to waste my oil."

Durham resumed his seat without heeding.

"Do you hear?" Dudgeon exclaimed. "If you ain't going to pay, you ain't going----"

He stood up as he spoke, stood up and took a step towards the table with one hand outstretched to lift away the lamp.

Durham, looking round as he moved, saw his eyes suddenly open wide and stare fixedly at the door.

At the same moment a voice rang through the room.

"Hands up, or you're dead men!"

Springing to his feet Durham faced towards the door.

Standing in it were two figures, one the yellow-bearded man he had seen at Waroona Downs, the other a man of slighter build whose face was entirely concealed by a handkerchief hanging from under his hat and gathered in at the throat, with two holes burned for the eyes. Each man held a revolver, the masked man covering Durham, the bearded man covering Dudgeon.

"Hands up!"

There was the sharp ring in the voice which betokens the strain of a deadly determination. The eyes which glanced along the sights of the levelled weapon, aimed direct at Durham's head, were merciless and hard.

Unless they were the last words he was ever to hear, Durham realised there was only one course open. He raised his hands above his head. A side glance showed him Dudgeon standing with his arms up.

"Turn your back, and put your hands behind you," he heard the bearded man say, and Dudgeon shuffled round.

A double click followed, a familiar sound to Durham--the click of snapping handcuffs.

"Now, Mr. Detective, it's your turn," he heard the man say. "Put your hands behind you."

The eyes behind the mask wandered for an instant from their aim to glance at the shackled Dudgeon.

On that instant Durham acted.

Straight at the face of the man beside him he hit, and as his clenched fist came in contact with the bearded face, he ducked.

A shrill cry came from the man he had struck, almost simultaneously with the report of a revolver-shot.

Durham heard a scream of pain from Dudgeon, but before he could know more there was a cras.h.i.+ng blow on his head, and he fell senseless to the floor.

CHAPTER X

"FOOLED"

In the dining-room of the bank Wallace, Harding, and Mrs. Eustace sat.

"I have no alternative," Wallace said. "My instructions are peremptory on the subject. If, after investigation, I considered the suspicion against your husband as well founded, I was to request you to leave the bank premises without delay."

"You believe my husband stole that money?"

"I believe your husband stole that money, Mrs. Eustace."

"You may live to change your opinion, Mr. Wallace. My husband is as innocent as I am. He has acted precipitately, I admit, and more than foolishly in going away as he has done; but that does not prove him guilty."

"I am afraid I cannot discuss the question with you," Wallace replied evenly. "I can only carry out my instructions. I have told you what they are, and what my opinion is. I am sorry to inconvenience you, but I have no alternative."

"Do you wish me to leave at once?"

"Scarcely to-night; but I must ask you to get away as soon as you can."

For a s.p.a.ce there was silence.

"I would like to speak to Mr. Harding, if you don't mind," she said presently.

"Then I will leave you, for I have been steadily travelling all last night and to-day till I arrived here, and shall be glad to get to bed,"

Wallace answered. "Any arrangement you can make, Harding, to a.s.sist Mrs.

Eustace, I shall be pleased to hear about. You will quite understand, Mrs. Eustace, that in asking you to vacate the premises the bank is merely actuated by ordinary considerations and is in no way acting vindictively or harshly."

She inclined her head slightly in response, but otherwise made no sign as Wallace left the room.

For some time after he had gone she remained silent, Harding waiting for her to speak. Raising her head, she looked him steadily in the face.

"I suppose I ought to call you Mr. Harding now," she began, "but I can't, Fred, I can't."

"As you wish," he said.

There came another silence, the woman unable to trust herself to continue, the man fearing to begin.

"How life mocks one," she said, half to herself. "Surely it is punishment enough that I should have to turn to you in my distress, humiliating enough even to satisfy your desire for retribution. I do not blame you, Fred. I deserve it all. I treated you vilely."

"Is there any necessity to refer to that now?" he asked. "I told you the curtain had been rung down for ever upon that. I have no wish either to punish or humiliate you. I don't think that I have given you reason to believe that I do. If you think there has been any reason, I can only say you are mistaken."

She started impulsively to her feet and stood in front of him, holding her hands to him.

"Fred, I must say it. I cannot bear this longer. It may make you hate me--detest and despise me, but I must say it. If you had only shown resentment or anger or spite for the way in which I treated you, it would not have been so hard to bear. Oh, don't you see? Don't you understand? Oh, isn't there one sc.r.a.p of pity left in you for me? I was trapped into marriage, Fred. I never loved him, never, never! He--oh, have some pity on me, Fred, some pity."

She sank into a chair and buried her face on her arms on the table as she gave way to a storm of weeping.

To the man it was agony to see her, anguish to hear her, more bitter after the confession she had made and while the grip of suspicion still held him. Scarcely knowing what he did, he stepped to her side and laid his hand gently upon her head.

"I have pity, more than pity for you, Jess," he whispered. "Don't think----" He caught his breath to check the quiver in his voice, and so remembered. "I beg your pardon--Mrs. Eustace I should have said," he added as he drew back.