Читать книгу The Shadow of Larose - Arthur Gask - Страница 5

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The day seemed endless, but when darkness came at last, so great was my nervous tension that I burst into tears. I sobbed as I had not sobbed since my childhood days, and then, utterly worn out and spent, I sank into the sleep of pure exhaustion and the whole world was blotted out.

The sun was well up when I awoke, and I awoke to find a man watching me.

For the moment I thought it was only the breaking of a dream and waited for the man to fade away, but he smiled gravely at me, and I knew he was real.

I went sick with fear. The man was sitting on a rock not five paces from me, and he was nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. He was a man about middle age and had a pleasant face, with big, calm, grey eyes. He was clean shaven, with a strong chin and a firm humorous mouth. He was dressed in a shabby, well-worn suit.

I sprang tottering to my feet, and grabbing up my rifle pointed it directly at him.

But he appeared to be in no wise concerned. He remained seated, and just carelessly nicked the ashes from his cigarette.

"Tut, tut!" he said lightly, "there are no cartridges in it. I've emptied the magazine." He frowned. "But never point a rifle at anyone, my friend, unless you mean to shoot. It's clownish and the action of a fool, and you ought to know it."

"But who are you?" I gasped hoarsely. "And what do you want. What are you doing here?"

"Three questions, young sir," he laughed; "and you ask them, like a woman, all at once." His voice became grave. "I'm just a friend, whom Chance or Fate or Providence, or just sheer cussedness, whichever you will, has sent to give you help. Now, now," he went on sternly, "put down your rifle and have some sense. If my intentions had been unfriendly I could have clubbed you hours ago as you lay asleep. Besides, I've been watching you now, on and off, for the greater part of two days, and last night, particularly, I had my eyes upon you." He waved round his arm. "My own bivouac's not two hundred yards away behind those rocks, and I wonder you haven't smelt the wood of my fire before now."

"But what did you watch me for?" I asked still hoarsely, "and who told you I wanted help?"

He took the cigarette out of his mouth. "My friend," he said quietly, and there was no mistaking the kindness in his tones, "I watched you because anyone would naturally be curious about anyone else who came to a desolate spot like this; and as to your requiring help—well!" he shrugged his shoulders, "physically you are a wreck and mentally, too; save that your sleep has now done you some good, you are not in a much better way." He smiled sadly. "From my knowledge of life you are in trouble. I heard you crying last night, and tears in a man spring generally from a deeper source than mere bodily fatigue." He spoke quite casually. "I shall be pleased to help you if I can, and, believe me, I have no axe to grind. I am no spy and——" he smiled whimsically, "I'm not connected with the police."

I caught my breath sharply and steadied myself to speak. "Police!" I said slowly. "What do you mean by that?"

He looked at me very gravely. "There was one cartridge missing from the magazine—your rifle has not been cleaned since it was last fired—you have bloodstains down the front and upon one sleeve of your coat—you have come a long and unexpected journey, for you have come unprovided with food, you have motored part of the way, for you have grease on your face and hands, you have hairs from a bay horse on your breeks, and, lastly, your boots are scratched all over from long tramping through the salt-bush." He smiled whimsically again. "So I deduce that you must have had urgent reasons to make you come hurriedly to this wild range where, year in, year out, no one comes. Therefore you are here to hide."

I had listened with horror to his recital. So it was so easy, after all, for everything to be found out, so impossible to escape when suspicion had been once aroused!

But the man before me must have read something of what was passing in my mind, for he lifted up a hand as if in protest and went on at once.

"But don't think, please, that everyone would see what I see, or imagine either what I imagine." He smiled as if he were very pleased with himself. "It is a hobby of mine to be inquisitive everywhere, and I have trained myself to observe. I am a pupil of a great master, the great detective, Gilbert Larose."

I felt dazed and giddy and a dreadful mist rose up before my eyes. Oh! into what a hornet's nest I had fallen, and what ghastly misfortune had overtaken me now! This man, a friend of Larose, and Larose the last of all men of whom I wanted to hear! Larose, the superman in the detection of crime, the greatest detective the Commonwealth had ever known, the man who would follow his prey to the end of the earth if need be, and to whom no trail was ever cold.

"Yes," went on the stranger, "I have learnt everything from this Larose, I have——"

But I heard no more. Coming upon the fatigue and privations I had so recently been through, my emotions were too much for me, and I swooned away.

It was nearly an hour, I learnt afterwards, before I finally came to. I and was able to look about me and take an intelligent interest in my surroundings, and then I found I was no longer in the spot where I had lost consciousness, but had been carried to the stranger's bivouac.

Stretched upon a blanket, I was lying before a fire in a small, clear space upon the mountain side, with all the impedimenta of a comfortable and even luxurious little camp about me. Behind, and on two sides rose big rocks shutting off all view in those directions, but in front a magnificent vista of the plain below rolled before me.

Not ten yards away a strip of canvas was stretched across two rocks, and to my astonishment there was a horse tethered underneath.

The strange man who had interfered so masterfully in my affairs was close near me too. He was busy stirring the contents of a saucepan upon the fire, but he looked up presently and caught my eye.

"That's right," he said smilingly, "a cup or two of hot soup and you'll feel a hundred times better. It's food you want and plenty of it. You look half starved to me."

A little later I was certainly much more myself, and I reclined propped up against a rock, curiously regarding my companion.

"Yes," he said, "it was very thoughtless of me, and I ought to have given you a drink and something to eat, before I started telling you what a clever fellow I was, but I didn't realise then how really weak you were." He looked at his watch. "But I must leave you now for a couple of hours. I've got a little matter on hand." He came close and regarded me very gravely. "But, look here," he said solemnly, "set your mind straight away at rest upon one point. I give you my word of honor that no one shall know through me that you are here, and, more than that, when you have gone from here, I promise you it shall be as if you had never been. I will never speak of you, and so far as any mention of you, you will have completely passed out of my mind. I take this attitude because I regard you as my guest, and, besides, you don't look like a bad man to me." He laughed lightly. "And I don't want any confidence, either, that you may feel disinclined to give. I only mentioned about helping you because I am a much older man than you are, and——" he hesitated a moment—"and in my life's work I am brought into contact with many stricken souls."

I spoke with an effort. "I'm very grateful to you, sir," I said weakly, "but I'm afraid I've given you a lot of trouble."

"No trouble at all, my boy," he said; "and now I'm off for the present. Oh, by-the-by, there's no mystery at all about what I'm here for. I'm after a pair of eagles that are doing a lot of damage to some lambs. No, I'm not in sheep myself," he smiled, "but I've an interest in a station near-by and being on holiday, I've promised to do my best to get the birds." He shook his head. "But I haven't had any luck yet, although I've seen them several times. Their eyrie is in this end of the range right enough, and I think I know, too, where they go for water, now. But, unfortunately, they spot me long before I spot them, and I get no chance with the rifle. However, I've got a new idea, and the next twenty-four hours may see something happen." He untethered his horse and began to lead it away. "Well, don't worry. Just take things easy, and if you feel inclined for anything more to eat before I come back, help yourself to anything you can find."

I lay back and closed my eyes with a beautiful feeling of contentment stealing over me. I felt like some storm-tossed vessel that had come safely into harbor. I had found a friend, for although I knew nothing about this man, he instinctively inspired confidence, and I had absolute trust in his word.

I dropped off to sleep presently, a long, refreshing sleep, and the sun was well off one side of the mountain when I awoke.

I felt much better, and got up at once to replenish the fire. The wind was coming from the south now, and at the elevation where we were there was a chilling feeling in the air. I took a long drink of water from the big water bag, and then, feeling hungry, I looked round, as my host had suggested, for something to eat.

I reached for a biscuit tin across some other tins, and in doing so upset one of the latter. The lid falling off, I saw that it contained a few apples and some grapes. Hesitating a moment in my choice, I selected one of the apples, and then, with a handful of biscuits, returned to the fire. But the fire was burning badly, and for a few minutes I had to coax it to function at all. At last, however, I got it to a blaze, and then, with a sigh of satisfaction turned to my biscuits and the apple. I proceeded to eat the biscuits first, and was just on my second one, when I heard the sound of the stranger returning.

"Hullo!" he called out genially as he turned the corner. "Feeling better, eh? I thought you would. No, I've had no luck with the eagles yet, but I've got a bit of luck in another way," and he held out a fine big hare for my inspection. "Now, it isn't cold yet, and we'll put it in the pot straightaway. Then it won't be tough. It's just the thing that you want."

He jumped off his horse and then noticed for the first time the biscuits I had taken. "That's right," he said. "I am glad you foraged for yourself. I was away much longer than I intended or you wouldn't——" A startled look came into his face. "But where did you get that apple from?"

"From one of the tins there underneath the biscuits," I replied. "I happened to knock the lid off and saw there were apples and grapes there, shouldn't I——"

But with a hurried exclamation be stepped forward and kicked the apple fiercely from my side.

"Don't touch it," he said sharply. "Don't touch it again, even with your hand." He stood over me and regarded me with a grim smile. "Your luck's in, my friend," he went on, "and what ever you may have done, you're not going to suffer for it, evidently. That apple's poisoned, and those grapes, too. I put strychnine in them this morning, with gloved hands. They're for those eagles I was telling you about." He drew in his breath "Good God! But what an escape you've had."

I felt a horrid feeling in my stomach, and I regarded my hands as something unpleasant in their way.

"Yes, go and wash them," said the stranger, "in that bucket over there." He frowned angrily "But what a jape I was. It's inexcusable my not thinking to warn you."

"Well, never mind, sir," I smiled shakily, "I'll take it as a good omen, as you say."

It was quite a merry meal that we had that evening, and I saw my strange friend in a most attractive light. I soon found that he was a highly educated and well-travelled man of the world, and had thought out for himself his views of life. So entertaining was he and so inspiring was his conversation that long before the meal was over, I had thrown off all feelings of depression and when so inclined, was disagreeing with him in a spirited and animated way.

"You had me at a disadvantage this morning," I laughed, "but I'm not going to agree with you in everything you say now."

"I don't want you to," he laughed back, "although I think you are quite wrong when you ascribe everything to Fate. Fate is the excuse of the weak man when he has failed. The strong makes his fate for himself." He looked at me thoughtfully. "But I admit our actions in this world and our line of conduct during all our lives, are to a very large degree determined before we are born. As we are bred, as our parents have made us, and as to a greater or a lesser degree they have endowed us with their dispositions—so we are born good or so we are born bad. The handicap is too great to be overcome and the men born cruel and the men born kind, no matter what their education and environment may be, cruel and kind they will remain until the end."

"So you are only being kind to me now," I laughed, "because you can't help it. It is no merit on your part?"

The stranger shrugged his shoulders. "Boiled down to nothing, it means that in everything we all try to do exactly what we want to. Confronted with a certain opportunity, I resist temptation whereas you fall to it, but—we both derive a like amount of satisfaction from our actions. I give myself as much pleasure in resisting the temptation as you do in yielding to it. We both please ourselves." He laughed. "But come, you're an invalid and no more arduous disputations to-night. As your spiritual adviser, I insist on your going to rest."

The next morning and it was only faintly light when I heard the stranger stirring and putting on his boots.

"Don't get up yet," he whispered when he saw me leaning upon my elbow, "and don't make a fire until its quite light. I'm going off to lay my baits. I shan't be long this time, less than an hour."

But I felt so much better that directly he had gone I rolled myself out of my blanket and watched him down the mountain side. He led his horse part of the way and then the incline becoming much easier, he mounted and cantered briskly away. I watched him through my glasses until he had become a mere speck in the distance, and then he abruptly disappeared.

I got up and walked about to keep myself warm. The air was chilly and I was glad when the sun came out. I kindled a fire and put the kettle on to boil for coffee.

Yes, I certainly felt much better. I was still stiff and sore, but the terrible feeling of lassitude had left me and I no longer ached in every limb. Mentally, too, I felt much brighter, and although there was unpleasant qualms in the pit of my stomach whenever my mind harked back to the events of the preceding days, still I was no longer without hope, and indeed, had already begun elaborating plans to slip through the meshes of the net that I believed to be surrounding me.

The stranger was back as he had promised, well within the hour, and we breakfasted without much conversation, together.

The meal finished, and he drew me to the open side of the mountain.

"Now we must have a quiet morning," he said. "I'm hoping to get those birds to-day before noon." He pointed with his arm down across the plain. "You see that brown smudge there against the red earth, about three miles away. Well, that's the wall of a dam and there's still water in it, although it's very low. That's where my birds have been coming for a drink lately and both times when I have spotted them, they have come before noon. They were there both yesterday and the day before. I've seen their imprints in the mud. Well I've put the poisoned fruit there. I've artistically stuffed the skin of that hare we ate last night with earth to draw their attention first, and then when they swoop down, I'm hoping they'll go for the grapes. I remember throwing grapes to the eagles in the Zoo, as a boy and they ate them up quickly then, right enough."

He took a pair of powerful Zeiss glasses from their case. "Now, if you'll oblige me, we'll watch by turns this morning. The birds I am sure are both over seven feet from wing to wing, but that's a deuced small mark at three miles. I'm hoping, however, they'll fly along the range here towards the dam, and if so, we'll be able to pick them up easily enough with the naked eye. We must keep quiet, however, and lie close to the rocks, for they are darned suspicious birds, and anything out of the ordinary may send them off on a different course altogether for their water."

I got out my own little glasses and we lay down close together and conversed in low tones.

"A foul business altogether this strychnine," he said presently, "and I hate to think that I had to put it down." He sighed heavily. "Just imagine what's going to happen to those majestic birds if my plans succeed and what an awful thing to them the few grains of those white crystals will mean. Free, vibrant and pulsating with life, their kingdom these beautiful blue skies and—in less than two minutes they will pass through gates of agony to become nothing but a heap of rumpled feathers and carrion flesh." He shook his head sadly. "There is nothing more regal in all the world than the sight of an eagle, nothing more symbolic of power than the proud disdainful sweep of their wings, and yet, I—I am to destroy all this grandeur and humble all this majesty—for a small matter of pounds, shillings and pence. Put crudely, they are killing our lambs and so lessening the profits of our station."

He seemed anxious to put himself right and went on, "Of course, there is another side to it. It's a ghastly business when they get among the lambs. They inflict dreadful agony then, and the suffering is terrible."

There was silence for a few minutes and then suddenly he spoke again.

"Ever seen a poison cart used, young man," he asked, "when we are after the rabbits, when they've got too numerous and are eating up the feed?"

I shook my head. "No, but I've heard it's none too good."

"None too good!" he replied warmly, "why its fiendish. Look here. A plough is drawn along making a single furrow and a little cart behind drops a ball of poisoned meal into the furrow at regular intervals. The poison is of a most diabolic kind, phosphorous. It burns up the insides of the rabbits—burns them up slowly and sometimes takes a couple of hours to kill. The squealing of the poor creatures is terrible." He shuddered. "It shames my humanity to think that phosphorous is used but there—" he hesitated a moment, "it's the only effective poison and it's our welfare or theirs."

For two hours we lay talking, with no appearance of the eagles on the horizon, and then suddenly he grabbed my arm. "Look, there they are," he whispered in tones of great excitement, "and they'll come close by, too. Now whatever you do, don't stir."

In two minutes at most the huge birds were right before us flying with slow languid strokes and yet speeding with great swiftness through the air. They flew one closely behind the other, and I imagined I could see their cruel heads sweeping round to glimpse their prey.

"They're making for the dam," whispered my companion. "Keep your glasses steady and focus them upon the wall. It'll be decided one way or the other very quickly now," and there was a look of anxiety on his face that I had not seen before.

In a magnificent swoop the eagles swept down. They circled twice over the dam and then they both dived together and disappeared.

"They saw the hare," whispered the stranger, "and now's the critical moment." He took out his watch and spoke with a tremor in his voice. "I give them five minutes and then—then if they don't rise up again, they're dead. The strychnine will kill in two minutes."

One—two—three—four—five minutes passed and then with a quick movement he lowered his binoculars and thrust them into their case.

"They're dead," he said laconically, "their sufferings are over now," and without another word he untethered his horse and led him round the rocks.

I watched him down the mountain and all the way towards the dam, and I imagined there was a reluctance with each yard that he progressed the nearer to his goal. He was only out of sight for a few minutes and then he reappeared. I saw that he had got the eagles with him. His return to the mountain, as I told him later, was like a funeral march, and there was no elation on his face when I greeted him.

"I feel like a murderer, my friend," he said, "and, as I expected, I gave them a horrible death."

He laid the birds down and spread their wings out to take the measurement from tip to tip. They were magnificent creatures, and both exceeded by several inches the seven feet that he had expected. Even in death they retained something of their grim majesty, but I shuddered to think of the havoc their cruel beaks and dreadful talons could inflict.

The stranger spent the best part of the afternoon in preparing the skins, and alternatively watched his skilful fingers and his strong masterful face. Speculating idly, I tried to place his occupation in life, but with no satisfaction, although I was convinced he was a master in whatever calling his work lay.

Presently he looked up and caught my eye, then he smiled as if he had read my thoughts.

"We don't know much about each other, do we?" he said, "and we've both shown a lot of trust?"

"You, more than I," I replied, and I shrugged my shoulders, "that is if I'm anything like what you think."

"Which means?" he frowned. "What do you imagine, I think?"

"Well," I said slowly, "you have befriended a man whom you as good as said you believe to be a fugitive from the law, a criminal in fact. And you have let that man have the run of your camp and have slept by him when you knew he had a rifle and the cartridges to load it, too."

"Pooh!" he laughed lightly, "you are no criminal, except perhaps, upon great provocation or upon the lightning temptation of some unhappy chance, and in both these respects——" he sighed deeply, "if the provocation or the temptation were great enough, we might all fall."

"But you think I've done something wrong," I urged.

"Oh, yes," he replied instantly; "I'm sure of it, and I think, also, you're mighty remorseful about it, too. For two pins the other night you'd have blown your brains out. That's why I took your cartridges away."

I made no comment for a few moments, and then I spoke huskily and with a lump in my throat.

"I'd like to tell you something of what happened, sir," I said slowly, "and you might advise me, if you would."

"All right," he said lightly, "but you needn't mention any names."

"But I don't know any," I replied, shaking my head. "One of the dreadful things is, I don't know any of the people who are involved."

"Well, let's hear," he said. "You needn't necessarily particularise, you can just give me the general outline, if you prefer."

It was quite a minute before I spoke, and then my words came quickly and without any hesitation. I wanted to get it over.

"Three days ago," I said, "by chance I saw two men commit a dreadful murder, and then rob the man they had killed. I saw everything too late to interfere, but afterwards I followed one of the murderers and meted out the same punishment to him. I shot him. I had to do it or he would have killed me. Then I lost my head and myself robbed the spoiler of his gains. Then, I fled away, not realising what I had done until it was too late to return and put things right. Now, it seems I may be held responsible for the crime these men committed, and I may not be able to clear myself if I am caught. At any rate, I am a thief." A catch came into my voice. "Can you wonder then at the distress that I am in?"

But the stranger seemed suddenly to have become a different man. All the light and careless bonhomie had slipped off him, and he sat up stiffly, and regarded me with stern, cold eyes.

"And you deliberately killed one of the murderers," he said slowly, "upon the scene of his own crime?"

"No, not upon the scene," I replied. "Some hundreds of yards away, quite half a mile, I should think."

"And you killed him?" asked the stranger, "because he attacked you?"

"No," I explained, "but I had followed him to a lonely place among the saltbush, and I had told him that I had seen what he had done."

"And what did he say?"

"He didn't say anything. He never spoke. I never heard his voice. But I saw he was going to spring upon me, and so I shot him at once."

"And no one was by you when you shot him?"

"No, it was a very lonely place. So lonely that I don't suppose his body will be ever found. It lies in a little hollow in the salt-bush, far away off any track."

"But the other man?" raid the stranger sharply. "You said there were two."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know where he went. He ran off in a different direction, towards Whyalla, directly they had committed the murder. He never saw me. He doesn't even know that I exist."

"And the man they murdered," came the next question, "will it be known about him. Will his body be found?"

The sweat burst on my forehead in the remembrance of it all. "Oh! yes," I said bitterly, "he died on the open track, mid-way between Port Augusta and Port Lincoln, and by now, if we only knew, every policeman in South Australia is looking for the murderer."

"How did they kill him?"

"With the jack of his motor car," I explained, "and a heavy spanner. They were passengers in the car with him, and it had broken down. I was watching in the scrub."

"How did you happen to be there?"

"I am on my holiday, and I was touring on a motor cycle. My machine had broken down, and I was leaving it hidden in the scrub until I could return with a new valve to make it all right."

There was silence for a moment, and then the stranger rapped out——

"You saw them rob the murdered man?"

"Yes, I saw the man I killed take his wallet."

The next question came at me with the swiftness of a bullet.

"And you followed him because of that, because you knew that he had what the murder had been done for?"

"No, no," I protested. "I never thought of it. I think I went after him because when I ran up to the murdered man, I saw the head had been cloven nearly in two with the jack and he was the one I had seen use it. I was furious."

"And did the man see you coming after him?"

"No; he ran on until he came to this little hollow, and then he stopped there to open the wallet. When I came upon him he was counting a wad of bank notes that it had contained."

"And then?"

"I shot him as I have told you."

"And at once took the notes?"

I shook my head, "No, not at once," I said. "It hadn't then entered my mind. I was dazed at having killed him, and stood over him as if I were in a dream. Then I saw a bank note for a hundred pounds lying on the ground. I didn't take in anything for a moment, and then I realised the note must be one he had dropped when he had hurriedly thrust the wad into his pocket when he first caught sight of me. Then it came to me like lightning that perhaps all the other notes were of a one hundred pounds' value, too, and, if so—then it was a fortune he had upon him." I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. "Then I had no thoughts for anything but the notes. I took them off him and within two minutes was running away."

"And the value of the notes—what did it amount to?"

"Eighteen hundred and fifty pounds." I replied. "They are hidden in the rocks, close near where you found me the other day."

"And what kind of men were these assassins?" asked the stranger.

"The man I killed was well dressed, he wasn't a working man."

"And the other one—should you recognise him?"

I shook my head again. "Hardly. I'm not quite sure. I didn't see him close enough." I hesitated. "But I seem to remember now that he was slim and dark, and wore a blue suit. Also, it keeps coming back to me, that he ran in a peculiarly restrained kind of way, as if he knew he had a long journey before him, and was conserving his strength."

For a long time then, there was silence, and then the stranger turned to me and spoke in a very quiet tone of voice.

"Well, I'm glad you've been frank with me," he said, "although your story is a very much worse one than I expected to hear." He sighed heavily. "But, come, let's try and put things in their proper perspective, and see what we can do." He looked at me very solemnly. "Now, I'm not prepared to blame you about the man you killed, and if your interference had stopped there it would certainly have been praise rather than blame you would have earned. From all you tell me, it would have been a service you had been rendering to the community, and apart from that, through the identification of the one murderer which would have followed, undoubtedly the identity of the second might have been known. Well, so much for that, but now about the money you took from the dead man." A note of sternness crept into his voice. "Of course, you did very wrong, and as you've realised now yourself, it was a criminal act." His face brightened a little. "Still, to anyone who takes a broad and human view of the matter, there are explanatory circumstances that put things in a much less criminal light. When you took those notes, as I look at it, you were in an atmosphere of lawlessness, and your own actions were perhaps only responding automatically, as it were, to the environment. You had seen dreadful murder done—you had been in peril from violence, and you had taken life yourself. Everything about you was abnormal, and it is quite understandable, in the emotional stress you were in at the moment that you should have acted as you did. Mind you, I am not condoning your action—I am explaining it with the intention of taking away something of the sharpness of the sting that I know you feel. When you have made restitution, which, of course, you will do at the first opportune moment——" he paused, as if to let his words weigh in—"I would not hold you as a worse man that if you had never taken the notes at all."

He smiled kindly. "Well, what are you going to do now? That's what we must consider." He hesitated a moment. "You see the sad aspect of everything is that if you are brought into a court of law over this, there is no doubt you will have ruined your life. I don't suppose, of course, if you make a clean breast of everything that any severe sentence will be imposed upon you. Allowance will certainly be made for all the circumstances I have mentioned, and the suddenness of the temptation that assailed you will be taken into account, but, still—still, you will suffer a great deal in other ways. Your friends will drop you, your reputation will be gone, and if you are working for any firm or employer you will certainly be sent away. You see that, of course, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," I replied miserably. "I've thought of all that." And then I smiled grimly. "I work in a bank."

The stranger started. "A bank!" he exclaimed. "Good gracious, it couldn't be worse."

For a moment we stared solemnly at each other, and then suddenly some strange fancy struck us both at the same moment, and we both burst into a hearty laugh.

"A bank!" the stranger choked, "and you purloining eighteen fifty in notes. Oh! how interested the customers would be!"

A minute later, however, and we were serious again. "Well, sir," I said, "you see the trouble I am in. To free myself from participation in one crime, I must confess to another."

The stranger looked very thoughtful. "But, why," he said slowly, "should they happen upon you at all? What is there to suggest to anyone that you were near the scene of the murder?"

"The number-plates upon my motor cycle," I said grimly. "They will pick me up at once through them."

"Ah!" ejaculated the stranger, "I understand. That looses the avalanche then."

"Yes," I explained, "the machine is barely a hundred and fifty yards away in the scrub, and directly they search——"

"But why should they search?" he interrupted suddenly. "They won't expect the perpetrators of the crime to have been hiding a hundred and fifty yards away from the car."

"Then, you don't think!" I said hopefully, "that they'll search the surrounding scrub?"

"No, I don't," he replied. "I don't——" He stopped abruptly, and, then, in a moment, went on in a very different tone of voice. "Unless they get Larose." He shook his head. "Larose thinks of everything."

A long silence followed. I felt there was nothing more for me to tell, and I waited anxiously for what he would say. But he seemed in no hurry to speak again. Instead, he was looking out across the plain, and there was no particular expression upon his face. It was calm, placid, and emotionless as that of a graven image.

At last, however, he turned.

"How old are you?" he asked, and his voice was very gentle.

"Twenty-four," I replied.

"My son was that age," he said musingly, "when I lost him in the war. He was something like you, too, and that is why I think I wanted to help you yesterday." He smiled sadly. "He was all I had, that boy of mine, and when he went, all the bottom dropped out of my life. Now—now my line will end with me, and there will be no blood of mine in the hands that close my eyes. I shall die alone."

Again, there was silence, and then he laughed lightly. "But I apologise. I am telling you of my troubles instead of dealing with your own. Now what advice can I give you?" A humorous smile lit up his face. "It is a strange position for me to be in. If I advise you as I feel inclined to, I'm compounding a felony."

"You don't advise me when to give myself up?" I asked.

The lines of his face grew grave and stern. "Look here, my boy," he said slowly, and he fixed me with his calm, grey eyes, "lest we should ever meet again, we must promise each other solemnly now, never, under any circumstances, to betray that we have spoken together on this wild mountain side. Never to remember that we have talked together as man to man; never to remember that we have ever seen each other. You understand?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, "and I promise."

"Well," he said, he spoke briskly and in a businesslike tone, "this is my advice. Give your good fortune a run. Make restitution at the earliest possible moment, and then do your best to keep yourself out of the mess. Take your courage in your hands, remembering that the coward never wins. If you are in danger—well to a brave man danger is always the incentive to triumph and overcome. Weakness is always the unpardonable sin." He stretched out his arm and pointed out across the plain. "There lies the track to Adelaide, take it tomorrow and make haste whilst the going's good. I don't think for a moment that they will have found your motor cycle yet."

We talked for a long time over our camp fire that night and as far as my own affairs were concerned our conversation was of an intimate nature. The stranger showed his interest in everything I told him and over and over again was insistent that I was wasting my life.

"You've no go in you," he said laughing, "and you'll miss all the good things. The plums on the tree are for the climber and not for the lazy one who loafs upon the ground."

I say our conversation was intimate, but it was intimate only as far as I myself was concerned. He told me absolutely nothing about himself and with all his free and easy manner, and with all his absence of side, there was still something about him that made the very idea of questioning him, to me, a matter of the grossest impertinence.

"Well, to-morrow, we'll both go on our own ways again," he said at last, "and so we'll have a drink now to our mutual good fortune. It's going to be bitter to-night and I'll give you a little rum to keep out the cold."

Almost the moment then that I wrapped myself in my blanket it seemed to me that I dropped to sleep. I slept heavily too, and remembered nothing until the daylight was strong and the sun even hot upon my face. Then I awoke with a start and sat up quickly.

I was quite alone.

Yes, there was no sign anywhere of the stranger and all the equipment of his camp was gone, too. The fire was, however, burning brightly and a billy-can of coffee standing there ready to be boiled.

I jumped up at once and ran to look down over the plain but all the wide expanse was empty. My companion had completely disappeared.

I returned to the fire with an aggrieved feeling at my heart. So, he had not trusted me after all. He had gone off secretly so that I should not learn in which direction he was going.

Then I saw a sheet of paper pinned to the blanket which I had thrown off and I comforted myself at once that at any rate he had left me a message of farewell.

"My friend," I read, "forgive me if I made your sleep a little heavier than it should have been, but it is best we should part with the conversation of last night to remain the last memory in our minds. Courage—have courage and all may yet be well. Hope for, and expect victory. Go back to your life a conqueror, but if through mischance the battle goes against you, comfort yourself—I may come to your help again. But remember—remember your promise. Burn this."

I read the note carefully three times and was about to commit it to the flames when I noticed some writing on the reverse side of the paper.

"For goodness sake, shave yourself," it ran. "You look worse than an assassin with all that beard. I would have left you my razor but I saw you had one in your kit. Good-bye."

I laughed in amusement and then drew myself up and threw out my chest. "Good," I said grimly. "Then if I am to live under the shadow of the sword I will enjoy my life until the sword falls. I will take risks and go down fighting to the end."