The pioneer express. [volume] (Pembina, Dakota [N.D.]) 1883-1928, 1909-07-23

ward the grim stone that stood senti.
mel by the Cross Ways, where an evil
life had come to an evil end.
How often Stephen Ruthen had re.
traversed that road in his thoughts.
waking and sleeping! 1t was bright
spring day; the hedgerows were
green. the trees almost in full leaf;
but this man never thought of the
place now except as he had seen 1t on
that wild, snowy night when this
monolith had flung its deep shadow,
like a pointing finger, across the
white, wintry roadway at figure ly.
Ing there with the last darkness seal
ing its eyes-a figure in whose stiff
ened clutch was playing-card, blot
OF crimson against the white paste.
board and the winter snow-a mark
ed" ace of hearts, that was like the
undecipherable key to a riddle no
man could read. And even now, on
this spring day, with the birds twit-
tering cheerfully on hedgerow and
Dough. the horror of the place-the
atmosphere of dread that seems
strangely to linger like a tangible, in
visible presence about the scene Of
an evil deed-strucll upon Stephen
RutEen like child in the broad sun
light.
Down one of the roads that radiat-
ed from the sentinel stone stood the
small house, shattered and empty
now. that in Philip Hume's lifetime
had been occupied by Bonholt and his
man, Matthew Bland; the only other
house in sight was the great rambling
old place. shut in by wide grounds and
trees. where the man who was dead
had lived.
Stephen had only once been within
those walls since Bonholt had become
its master; he had noticed then the
blank space on the wall where hung
the portrait that the new tenant hal
caused to be removed.
The rector thought of it now as he
passed the Hall-another seed of
suspicion to terminate among that
swift growth of suspicion filling his
mind. Bonholt Hume protested to
have regarded the man who was dead
almost as son: but he had shrunk
from looking on the white, still face
had shrunll from being confronted by
that pictured face from the wall.
More than ever it was his duty to
inform the police what he could tell
them about the revolver-that belated
confession which should have been
made long ago, which yesterday he
had at last determined to make as
soon as he had seen Olive and &C
quainted her of his intention.
He had kept silent so long for the
sake of the woman he had once
loved; he would keep silent little
longer till he had seen her, warned
her, questioned her. He would fine
| out Anthony Strangways' address to
day and write to him at once, de
handing information respecting Olive
Vanstone. No time should be lost
| And Strangways must tell him.. I'm
| til his confession had been made ht
| would not know a moments peace.
AS he was walking along the sount
! of wheels made him turn.
1t was the chief inspector of police
driving away from the Hall. The
rector paused, and as the man APP
preached him he put question:
perhaps l have no right to ask, in
spector-but has Mr.. Hume made vi
| his mind whether it is his revolver OF
not?'
Yes, it's his revolver; Mr.. Hume
admits now that it must be HIS" said
| the inspector, in non-committal
tone.
| But even before that first shaking
| denial of Bonholt Hume's the rector
had known that the revolver was his
the revolver that in some inexplica
BILE way Hume had learned was in his
Stephen Ruthen's. possession.
He walked back to the rectory. He
found Hilda in a restlessly excited
mood after the news of Jack Lathom
The white, troubled face struck at
him like reproach.
o.