The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1908-11-01
Ole King Of Diamonds

tuated their recital by occasional COM
ments that showed ne appreciated ev-
cry point. He examined with interest
Il specimens of their work, for they I'M
derstood both the stitching and the
stamping of leather and once he found
himself duly specializing as to what
career he would have carved out for
himself were he given in boyhood the
opportunities they rejoiced in.
! But throughout there was in his sur
charged brain a current of cunning
/ purpose. First, there was Grenier,
away In the north, robbing a dead
man and plotting desolation to some
girl. He must be dealt with.
Then he, the slayer. must be slain,
and by his own hand. He would spare
his sons as much pain as might be
| within his power.
| He would not merely disappear leav-
ing them dubious and distressed. No.
They must know he was dead, not by
suicide, but by accident. They would
mourn his wretched memory. Better
| that than liye with the abiding grief
of the knowledge that he was Philip
Anson's murderer.
He was quite sure now that the dead
would arise and cgall for vengeance if
he dared to continue to exist. Yes
that was tia life for a life-a prayer
that his deeds might not bear fruit
in his children-and then death. speedy,
certain death.
Some reference to the future made
| by Willie, the younger. who favored
his mother more than the outspoken
John. gave Mason an opportunity to
pave the way for the coming separa-
! ton.
81 don't want you two lads to make
any great changes on my account" he
said. slowly. 1T is far from my in
tention to settle down here, and let all
your friends become aware that you
are supporting a ticket-of-leave father
Yes. 1 know. You are good boys. and
| it won't be any more pleasant for me
| toto live away from you, than il
would be for you-under-other condi-
tions-to be separated from me. But
I am in earnest in this matter. I will
stop here tonight just TO feel that
I am under the same roof as you. 1t
| is your roof, not mine. Long ago
lost the right to provide you with
shelter. Tomorrow ] go away. I have
some work to do-a lot of work. It
must be attended to at once. OF course
you will see me often. We can meet
in the evening-go out together-but
live herewith you'll can't"
His sons never knew the effort that
this speech cost him. He spoke with
such manifest hesitation that Willie.
who quickly interpreted the less-pro-
nounced signs of a mans thoughts,
winked warning at his brother.
He said. with an optic signal:
Not a word now, John. Just leave
things as they are"
Under any ordinary conditions he
would be right. He could never guess
the nature of the chains that encircled
his father, delivering him fettered to
the torture, bound hand and foot, body
and soul.
| At last they all retired to their rooms,
the boys to whisper kindly plans for
keeping their father a prisoner again
in their hands; Mason to lie, open
eyed. dry-eyed through the night.
mourning fer that which might not
| be
The rising sun dispelled the dark
phantoms that fitted before his vision.
He fell into a fitful slumber, dis
turbed by vivid dreams. Once he was
on a stOrn1-swept sea at night. on y
sinking ship, a ship with a crew of
dead men, and dead captain at the
| helm
Driving onward through the raging
waves. he could feel the vessel settling
yawning caldron- Suddenly. through
the wreck of flying spindrift, ne saw
smooth harbor, a sheltered basin, in
which vessels rode in safety. There
were houses beyond, with cheerful
liehts. and men and women were
watching the doomed craft from the
firm security of the land.
But. strain his eyes as he would. he
could see no entrance to that harbor:
naught save furious seas breaking over
relentless walls of granite.
Even In his dream ne was not afraid.
He asked the captain, with an oath:
us there no way in?''
And the captain turned corpselike
eyes toward him.
1t was Philip Arson. The dreamer
uttered wild beasts howl and shrank
away.
Then he awoke to find Willie stand
ing by his bedside with soothing words
1T is all right, father. You were
disturbed in your sleep. Don't get UP
yet. 1t is only o'clock"
At that hour a policeman left his
cottage in q village on the Yorkshire
coast, and walked leisurely toward the
Grange house.
He traversed four miles of rough
country. and the sun was hot, so he
did not hurry. About half-past six he
reached the farm. There were no signs
of activity such as may be expected
in the country at that hour.
He examined three sides of the build
ing carefully-the sea front was mac
eessible-and waited many minutes be-
fore he knocked at the door. There
was no answer. He knocked again more
loudly. The third time his summons
would have aroused the Seven Sleep
eTs. but none came.
He tried the door. and ratified it;
peered in at the windows: stood back
in the garden, and looked up at the
bedrooms
"a queer business" he muttered, as
he turned unwillingly to leave the
place.
'Ay. a very queer business" he said.
again. 81 must go on to Scarsdale. an
make inquiries ABBOTT this DR.. Williams
afOre I report L super
CHAPTER XXI.
THE RESCUE