The Crowned Skull | Page 8

tumbling amongst the black jagged rocks. Bowring knew the landscape well, and troubled himself very little about the beauty it took on under the changing hues of the western sky. He was thinking of many things--perhaps of his past, which rumour said was not all that could be desired. But of one thing he certainly was thinking, and that was the firm face of the fairy-like creature who had defied him. He wondered that so frail a form could contain so brave a spirit. Dericka was the very wife for the half-mad Morgan, and would bring good blood into the family. Then he, John Bowring, millionaire, could die in peace, leaving the firm foundations of a county family.
So the old man dreamed, while the car buzzed along the smooth road, swooping into hollows, soaring up ascents, and, spinning like a live thing, sped along endless levels. About three miles from St. Ewalds came a long downward stretch of road, which afforded Donalds the chance of letting his machine go. And go she did, with a roar and a rush like a live bombshell. The keen air cut sharply against their faces as they hummed down the long descent. At the foot the road took a sharp turn under some high banks, above which stretched the purple of the moorland. With Bowring dreaming, and Donalds exulting in the speed of the powerful machine, the car swept round the curve at a tremendous rate. But once round, and with another short road descending before her to a second corner, she had scarcely darted forward a short distance when right in front loomed up a huge mass of granite in the very centre of the roadway. With a cry of horror Donalds put on the brakes. But it was too late. The Hadrian met the mass of granite full, and the two men were hurled into the air, above a smashed mass of steel and iron, smoking and hissing.
It was like a nightmare. The chauffeur was tossed like a cork down a bank and fell on a soft bed of purple heather, narrowly missing a mighty stone, which would have killed him. Dazed and confused, and not knowing how time was passing, Donalds painfully climbed up to the road again. He saw, as in a dream, the broken motor-car, vague and doubtful-looking in the twilight, and saw also his master struggling to his feet. As Bowring straightened himself, swaying to and fro, a man leaped down from the high bank, and without hesitation, put a revolver to the old man's ear. The next moment Bowring fell as the report rang out, and Donalds, gasping with horror, weak from loss of blood, and confused by the shock, fell fainting down the bank, to all appearances as dead as the old millionaire.
But the shot had attracted attention. The murderer heard a shout, and without hesitation regained the top of the steep bank and vanished amidst the purple heather. Scarcely had he done so when round the corner came several labourers at full speed. They were quarrymen employed in breaking stones in an old quarry which belonged to Trevick Grange. These ran forward, exclaiming at what they saw. The whole appearance of the wreckage told a story--the broken car, the insensible man, and the great mass of granite in the centre of the road.
'But the shot?' said one man, picking up Bowring's body. He dropped it with a cry of horror. 'Look!' he cried, and pointed to the head.
'Murder!' said several voices, and the quarrymen looked at one another in the fast gathering twilight.
The sounds of wheels were heard rattling furiously, and round the second corner, whence the quarrymen had appeared, rushed a dog-cart bearing Penrith and Miss Stretton.
'What is the matter?' they asked. 'We heard a shot, and came back.'
'Bowring's dead,' said a man with a civilised accent. 'Shot!'
'Dead! Shot!' cried Penrith, while Miss Stretton shrieked, and he leaped down with a horrified face. 'Let me see.'
While he examined the body Anne Stretton, with a white face and trembling lips, alighted also. Near the body her quick eye caught sight of an envelope. Picking this up she tore it open.
'It might contain something likely to say who killed him,' she said shaking; 'perhaps the assassin left it here.'
'What does it say?' asked Penrith, while the quarrymen crowded round and one struck a match for her to read the letter by.
She read slowly: 'You will be killed before you reach home this evening!'
There was a dead silence, and all looked at the body. The prophecy had been fulfilled.
Chapter III
Queer Evidence
The violent death of John Bowring caused, as was natural, an immense sensation in the district. Not only because crime was comparatively rare in those sparsely-inhabited parts, but also on account of the position and great wealth