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diff --git a/old/53263-8.txt b/old/53263-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b80791b..0000000 --- a/old/53263-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19375 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mystery of M. Felix, by B. L. Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Mystery of M. Felix - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: October 12, 2016 [EBook #53263] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (The Ohio State University) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - 1. Page scan source: - https://books.google.com/books?id=qdw9AQAAMAAJ - (The Ohio State University) - 2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe]. - - - - - -THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX - - - - -BY - -B. L. FARJEON -AUTHOR OF "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," "MISER FAREBROTHER," -ETC., ETC. - - - - -NEW YORK -JOHN W. LOVELL COMPANY -150 WORTH STREET, CORNER MISSION PLACE - - - - - - -Copyright, 1890, -by -J. W. LOVELL CO. - - - - - - -CONTENTS - -Chap. - - - I. A CRY FOR HELP FLOATS THROUGH THE NIGHT. - II. THE SPECTRE CAT. - III. A THRILLING INCIDENT. - IV. A DISCUSSION ABOUT RED CATS AND WHITE SNOW. - V. DR. LAMB TELLS THE CONSTABLES AND MRS. MIDDLEMORE - WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH MR. FELIX. - VI. THE "EVENING MOON" INDULGES IN A BOMBASTIC RETROSPECT, - IN WHICH SOME VERY TALL AND VERY FINE WRITING WILL BE - DETECTED BY THE OBSERVANT READER. - VII. AN EXAMINATION OF CERTAIN DISCREPANCIES IN THE STATEMENTS - OF THE THREE PRINCIPAL WITNESSES. - VIII. A STARTLING PHASE IN THE MYSTERY. - IX. INTRODUCES SOPHY. - X. OUR REPORTER GIVES MRS. MIDDLEMORE SOME SENSIBLE ADVICE. - XI. THE "EVENING MOON" IS INUNDATED WITH CORRESPONDENCE - CONCERNING THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BODY OF M. FELIX. - XII. THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" MAKES A DISCOVERY. - XIII. THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" GIVES SOPHY A TREAT. - XIV. SOPHY IMPARTS STRANGE NEWS TO THE REPORTER OF THE - "EVENING MOON." - XV. A SINGULAR ADVENTURE ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT. - XVI. AT THE BOW STREET POLICE STATION. - XVII. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. - XVIII. HOW THE CHARGE WAS DISPOSED OF. - XIX. WHAT WAS FOUND IN THE RIVER. - XX. MRS. MIDDLEMORE IS VICTIMIZED. - XXI. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. - - BOOK SECOND. - A LIFE DRAMA: LINKS IN THE MYSTERY. - - XXII. THE HALF-BROTHERS. - XXIII. TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE. - XXIV. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. - XXV. LOST, OR SAVED? - XXVI. SLANDER'S FOUL TONGUE. - XXVII. LEONARD RETURNS HOME. - XXVIII. THE FALSE FRIEND. - XXIX. ON THE TRACK. - XXX. THE FLIGHT AND THE RESCUE. - XXXI. LIGHT SHINES THROUGH THE DARK CLOUDS. - XXXII. LEONARD MEETS WITH A FELLOW-SCOUNDREL. - XXXIII. A FOUL DEED. - XXXIV. DR. PETERSSEN EXPLAINS HIMSELF. - XXXV. EMILIA AND LEONARD. - XXXVI. "ONLY YOU AND I, DARLING, ONLY YOU AND I." - XXXVII. A GOOD WOMAN. - XXXVIII. CONSTANCE AND JULIAN. - XXXIX. IN ENGLAND ONCE MORE. - XL. DR. PETERSSEN REAPPEARS ON THE SCENE. - XLI. DR. PETERSSEN BRINGS M. FELIX TO BOOK. - XLII. EMILIA AND M. FELIX. - - BOOK THIRD. - WHAT BECAME OF M. FELIX, AS RELATED IN THE FIRST PERSON BY ROBERT - AGNOLD, ON THE REPORTING STAFF OF THE "EVENING MOON." - - XLIII. ROBERT AGNOLD TAKES UP THE THREADS OF THE STORY. - XLIV. EMILIA RETRACES THE OLD ROADS. - XLV. DR. PETERSSEN IS TRACKED. - XLVI. I ENTER INTO AN ARRANGEMENT WITH SOPHY. - XLVII. I RECEIVE A STRANGE VISITOR. - XLVIII. SOPHY ENTERS DR. PETERSSEN'S ESTABLISHMENT AS A FRIENDLY - PATIENT. - XLIX. M. BORDIER JOINS THE HUNT. - L. CLEVER SOPHY. - LI. SOPHY MAKES A STRANGE STATEMENT. - LII. THE GHOST OF M. FELIX. - LIII. THE PORTRAIT OF GERALD PAGET. - LIV. OBTAIN AN EXPLANATION FROM EMILIA. - LV. TREACHERY. - LVI. NIGHT IN DEERING WOODS. - LVII. THE CAVERN IN THE CLIFF. - LVIII. FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE. - LIX. FROM THE COLUMNS OF THE "THE EVENING MOON," UNDER - THE HEADING, "THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX SOLVED." - LX. ROBERT AGNOLD'S LAST WORDS. - - - - - - -THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -A CRY FOR HELP FLOATS THROUGH THE NIGHT. - - -"Help!" - -Through the whole of the night, chopping, shifting winds had been -tearing through the streets of London, now from the north, now from -the south, now from the east, now from the west, now from all points -of the compass at once; which last caprice--taking place for at least -the twentieth time in the course of the hour which the bells of Big -Ben were striking--was enough in itself to make the policeman on the -beat doubtful of his senses. - -"What a chap hears in weather like this," he muttered, "and what he -fancies he hears, is enough to drive him mad." - -He had sufficient justification for the remark, for there were not -only the wild pranks of Boreas to torment and distract him, but there -was the snow which, blown in fine particles from roofs and gables, and -torn from nooks where it lay huddled up in little heaps against stone -walls (for the reason that being blown there by previous winds it -could get no further), seemed to take a spiteful pleasure in whirling -into his face, which was tingling and smarting with cold, and as a -matter of course into his eyes, which it caused to run over with -tears. With a vague idea that some appeal had been made officially to -him as a representative of law and order, he steadied himself and -stood still for a few moments, with a spiritual cold freezing his -heart, even as the temporal cold was freezing his marrow. - -"Help!" - -The bells of Big Ben were still proclaiming the hour of midnight. If a -man at such a time might have reasonably been forgiven the fancy that -old Westminster's tower had been invaded by an army of malicious -witches, how much more readily might he have been forgiven for not -being able to fix the direction from which this cry for help -proceeded? Nay, he could scarcely have been blamed for doubting that -the cry was human. - -For the third time-- - -"Help!" - -Then, so far as that appeal was concerned, silence. The cry was heard -no more. - -The policeman still labored under a vague impression that his duty lay -somewhere in an undefined direction, and his attitude was one of -strained yet bewildered attention. Suddenly he received a terrible -shock. Something touched his foot. He started back, all his nerves -thrilling with an unreasonable spasm of horror. Instinctively looking -down, he discovered that he had been ridiculously alarmed by a -miserable, half-starved, and nearly whole-frozen cat, which, with the -scanty hairs on its back sticking up in sharp points, was creeping -timorously along in quest of an open door. Recovering from his alarm, -the policeman stamped his feet and clapped his hands vigorously to -keep the circulation in them. - -His beat was in the heart of Soho, and he was at that moment in Gerard -Street, in which locality human life is represented in perhaps -stranger variety than can be found in any other part of this gigantic -city of darkness and light. As a protection against the fierce wind he -had taken refuge within the portal of the closed door of an old house -which lay a little back from the regular line of buildings in the -street. Little did he dream that the cry for help had proceeded from -that very house, the upper portion of which was inhabited by a -gentleman known as M. Felix by some, as Mr. Felix by others. Well -named, apparently, for although he was not young, M. Felix was -distinguished by a certain happy, light-hearted air, which marked him -as one who held enjoyment of the pleasures of life as a kind of -religion to be devoutly observed. The lower portion of the house was -occupied by the landlady, Mrs. Middlemore, who acted as housekeeper to -M. Felix. It was the nightly habit of this estimable woman to go for -her supper beer at half-past eleven, and return, beaming, at a few -minutes after twelve. - -These late hours did not interfere with the performance of her duties, -because M. Felix was by no means an early riser, seldom breakfasting, -indeed, before noon. Despite the inclemency of the weather, Mrs. -Middlemore had not deviated on this night from her usual custom. She -was a widow, without responsibilities, and no person had a right to -meddle with her affairs. Besides, as she frequently remarked, she was -quite able to take care of herself. - -A welcome diversion occurred to the constable who was stamping his -feet within the portal of Mrs. Middlemore's street door. A brother -constable sauntered up, and accosted him. - -"Is that you, Wigg?" - -"As much as there's left of me," replied Constable Wigg. - -"You may well say that," observed the new-comer, who rejoiced in the -name of Nightingale. "It's all a job to keep one's self together. What -a night!" - -"Bitter. I've been regularly blown off my feet." - -"My case. I'm froze to a stone. The North Pole ain't in it with this, -and whether I've got a nose on my face is more than I'd swear to. -Anything up?" - -"Nothing, except----" - -"Except what?" asked Constable Nightingale, as his comrade paused. He -put his hand to his nose as he asked the question, his reference to it -having inspired doubts as to his being still in possession of the -feature. - -"A minute or two ago," said Constable Wigg, "I had half a fancy that I -heard somebody cry out 'Help!'" - -"Ah! Did you go?" - -"How could I? I wasn't sure, you know." - -"Who could be sure of anything," remarked Constable Nightingale, -charitably, "on such a night?" - -"Nobody. It must have been the wind." - -"Not a doubt of it. If anybody told me he saw Polar bears about I -shouldn't dispute with him." Then Constable Nightingale took a step -forward, and glanced up at the windows of the front rooms occupied by -M. Felix, in which shone a perfect blaze of light. "He must be jolly -warm up there." - -"Who?" inquired Constable Wigg, his eyes following his comrade's -glance. - -"Mr. Felix." - -"And who's Mr. Felix when he's at home?" - -"Why, you don't mean to say you don't know him!" - -"Never heard of him. I've only been on the beat two nights." - -"I forgot. He's a trump, a regular A-one-er. You're in for a good tip -or two. I was on night duty here this time last year, and he behaved -handsome. Tipped me at Christmas, and tipped me at New Year's. Half a -sov. each time. And at other times, too. Altogether he was as good as -between four and five pounds to me while I was here." - -"That's something like," said Constable Wigg, with something of eager -hope in his voice; "not many like him knocking around. But"--with -sudden suspicion--"why should he be so free? Anything wrong about -him?" - -"Not a bit of it," replied Constable Nightingale, blowing on his -ice-cold fingers. "He's a diamond of the first water--a tip-top swell, -rolling in money. That's what's the matter with Mr. Felix. Don't you -wish you had the same complaint? 'Constable,' said he to me, when I -came on this beat last year, 'you're on night duty here, eh?' 'Yes, -sir,' I answers. 'Very good,' he says, acting like a gentleman; 'I -live in this house'--we were standing at this very door--'and I always -make it a point to look after them as looks after me.'" - -"And a very good point it is," remarked Constable Wigg, with growing -interest, "for a gentleman to make." - -"I thought so myself, and I found it so. 'And I always make it a -point,' says he, of 'looking after them as looks after me.' Fact is, -Wigg, he comes home late sometimes, with a glass of wine to much in -him, and he knows the usefulness of us. Carries a lump of money about -him, and likes to feel himself safe. Never what you call drunk, you -know. Just a bit sprung, as a real gentleman should be, and always -with a pleasant word ready. So, whenever I met him coming home late, -I'd walk behind him to his door here, and give him good-night; which -he appreciated." - -"Much obliged to you for the information, Nightingale." - -"Ought to do these little turns for one another, Wigg. The man who was -on the beat before me gave me the office, and it's only friendly for -me to give it to you." Constable Nightingale looked pensively over the -shoulder of his brother constable, and added, "I behaved liberal to -him." - -"I'll do likewise to you," said Constable Wigg, "if anything happens." - -"Was sure you would, Wigg," responded Constable Nightingale, briskly. -"What would the force be worth if we didn't stick together? When I see -Mr. Felix I'll put in a good word for you. He took a regular fancy to -me, and told me if I got the beat again to come to him immediate. Once -you see him, you can't miss knowing him. Tall and slim, with hair -getting gray. No whiskers; only a mustache, curled. Speaks with a -foreign accent--parleyvooish. His clothes fit like a glove. Patent -leather boots always, except when he wears shoes; white tie generally. -I remember Mrs. Middlemore----" - -"Who's she?" - -"His landlady. A most respectable woman--made of the right stuff. Ah, -a real good sort she is! Goes out every night for her supper beer -between eleven and twelve." - -"I must have seen her half an hour ago." - -"Of course you did. If it was to rain cats and dogs or snowed for a -month, she wouldn't miss going. Has she come back?" - -"No." - -"She stops out as a rule till about this time; fond of a gossip, you -know. Most of us are. She'll be here soon, if she can keep her feet. -The snow's getting thicker--and listen to the wind! Let's get close to -the door. Well, I remember Mrs. Middlemore coming out to me one night, -and saying, 'You're wanted up there,' meaning in Mr. Felix's -rooms----" - -Constable Wigg interposed. "Just now you said parleyvooish." - -"So I did, and so I meant." - -"Speaks with a foreign accent, you said." - -"I don't deny it." - -"And you keep on saying Mr. Felix." - -"Well?" - -"Shouldn't it be Monseer?" - -"Well, perhaps; but not Monseer--Monshure." - -"I give in to you, Nightingale; I'm not a French scholar." - -"Let's call him Mr., for all that. Monshure twists the tongue unless -you're born there." - -"I'm agreeable. Call him Mr. if you like. Hallo!" - -The exclamation was caused by Mrs. Middlemore's street door being -suddenly opened without any preliminary warning from within, and with -such swiftness and violence that the policemen almost fell through it -into the passage. As they were recovering their equilibrium a man -stepped out of the house, or rather stumbled out of it, in a state of -great excitement. He had a crimson scarf round his neck; it was -loosely tied, and the ends floated in the wind. The little bit of -color shone bright in the glare of white snow. Its wearer pulled the -door after him and hurried along the street, looking neither to the -right nor to the left, and taking no notice of the policemen, who -strained their eyes after him. He walked very unsteadily, and was soon -out of sight. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE SPECTRE CAT. - - -"That's a rum start," said Constable Wigg. "Was it Mr. Felix?" - -"No," replied Constable Nightingale, "Mr. Felix is altogether a -different kind of man. Takes things more coolly. Walks slow, talks -slow, thinks slow, looks at you slow. This fellow was like a flash of -lightning. Did you catch sight of his face?" - -"He was in such a devil of a hurry that there was no catching sight of -anything except the red handkerchief round his neck. There was no -mistaking that. Seemed a youngish man." - -"Yes. Been on a visit to Mr. Felix, most likely." - -"Or to some other lodger in the house," suggested Constable Wigg. - -"There ain't no other," said Constable Nightingale. "Every room in it -except the basement is let to Mr. Felix." - -"A married man, then' with a large family?" - -"No," said Constable Nightingale, with a little cough. "Single. Or, -perhaps, a widower. No business of ours, Wigg." - -"Certainly not. Go on with your story, Nightingale. 'You're wanted up -there' says Mrs. Middlemore." - -"Yes. 'You're wanted up there,' she says, meaning Mr. Felix's rooms. -'Did Mr. Felix send for me?' I ask. 'He did,' she answers. 'He rings -his bell and says, "Go for a policeman." And he'll not be sorry it's -you, Mr. Nightingale, because you're a man as can be trusted,' Mrs. -Middlemore's precise words. You see, Wigg, me and her ain't exactly -strangers. I'm a single man, and I'm mistook if she ain't got a bit of -money put by." - -"You're a knowing one, Nightingale,' said Constable Wigg, somewhat -enviously, and it is not to the credit of human nature to state that -there flashed into his mind the base idea of endeavoring to supplant -his brother constable in Mrs. Middlemore's good graces. What should -hinder him? He was a single man, many years younger than Constable -Nightingale, and much better looking. All was fair in love and war. -The "bit of money put by" was a temptation from Lucifer. - -"That's what brings me round here now and then," continued Constable -Nightingale, complacently. "A man might go a good deal further than -Mrs. Middlemore, and fare a good deal worse. 'I suppose,' says I to -her, 'there's somebody with Mr. Felix as he wants to get rid of, and -as won't go?' 'I ain't at liberty to say,' she answers, 'but you're -pretty near the mark. Come and see for yourself, and don't forget that -Mr. Felix has got a liberal heart, and hates fuss.' Upon that, Wigg, I -holds my tongue, because I'm a man as knows how to, and I follows Mrs. -Middlemore into the house. I'd been inside before, of course, but -never upstairs, always down and Mrs. Middlemore had told me such a lot -about Mr. Felix's rooms that I was curious to see them. 'Furnished -like a palace,' Mrs. Middlemore used to say; so up the stairs I steps, -Mrs. Middlemore showing the way, and I don't mind confessing that -before we got to the first landing I put my arm round Mrs. -Middlemore's waist--but that's neither here nor there. She stops on -the landing, and knocks at the door----" - -But here Constable Nightingale was compelled to pause, and to hold on -tight to his comrade. The storm quite suddenly reached such a pitch of -fury that the men could scarcely keep their feet, and it would have -been impossible to hear a word that was spoken. It was not a fitful -display of temper; so fierce grew the wind that it blew the street -door open with a crash, and as the policemen were leaning against it, -the consequence was that they were precipitated into the passage, and -fell flat upon their backs. The reason of the door being blown open so -readily was probably, as Constable Nightingale afterward remarked, -because the man who had recently left the house so hastily had not -pulled it tight behind him, but the tempest was raging so furiously -that it might well have made light of such an obstacle as an old -street door. It was with difficulty the policemen recovered their -feet, and the strength of the wind as it rushed through the passage -was so great that the idea that they would be safer inside the house -than out occurred to both of them at once. To expose themselves to the -fury of the elements in the open would undoubtedly have been attended -with danger. Instinctively they advanced to the door, and after a -struggle succeeded in shutting it. That being accomplished, they stood -in the dark passage, mentally debating what they should do next. - -"There's something moving," whispered Constable Wigg, trembling. He -was not remarkable for courage, and had a horror of darkness. - -Constable Nightingale was made of sterner stuff. He promptly pulled -out his dark lantern, and cast its circle of light upon the floor; and -there, creeping timidly along close to the wall, they saw the -miserable half-starved cat which had shaken Constable Wigg's nerves -earlier in the night. It had taken advantage of the open street door -to obtain the shelter for which it had long been seeking. - -"It ain't the first time," said Constable Wigg, in a vicious tone, -"that this little beast has given me a turn. Just before you come up -it run across me and almost sent my heart into my mouth." - -But for a mournful, fear-stricken look in its yellow eyes, the light -of the dark lantern seemed to deprive the wretched cat of the power of -motion. It remained perfectly still, cowering to the ground. Even when -Constable Wigg gave it a spiteful kick it did not move of its own -volition, and it was only when the attention of the policeman was no -longer directed toward it that it slunk slowly and stealthily away. - -Meanwhile the tempest raged more furiously than ever outside. The -shrieking wind tore through the streets, carrying devastation in its -train, and the air was thick with whirling, blinding snow. - -"Did you ever hear anything like it?" said Constable Nightingale. - -"Never," said Constable Wigg. - -"It would be madness to go out," said Constable Nightingale. "We -should be dashed to pieces. Besides, what good could we do? Besides, -who would be likely to want us? Besides, who's to know?" - - -* * * * * * - - -There was a world of philosophy in these reflections, which Constable -Wigg was only too ready to acknowledge. - -"What do you propose, Nightingale?" he asked. - -"That we go down to Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen," replied Constable -Nightingale, "and make ourselves comfortable. I know the way." - -He led it, and Constable Wigg very cheerfully accompanied him. The -kitchen was the coziest of apartments, and their hearts warmed within -them as they entered it. Mrs. Middlemore, like a sensible woman, had -taken the precaution to bank up the fire before she left the house, -and it needed but one touch from the poker to cause it to spring into -a bright glowing blaze. This touch was applied by Constable -Nightingale, and the shadows upon walls and ceiling leapt into ruddy -life. - -"This is something like," said Constable Wigg, stooping and warming -himself. - -Having no further need for his dark lantern, Constable Nightingale -tucked it snugly away, and then proceeded to light a candle which, in -its flat tin candlestick and a box of matches handy, stood on the -kitchen table. They were not the only articles on the table. There was -no table-cloth, it is true, but what mattered that? The whitest of -table-cloths would have made but a sorry supper, and in the present -instance could not have added to the attractions which the lighted -candle revealed. There was bread, there was butter, there was cheese, -there were pickles, there was a plate of sausages, there was half a -roast fowl, and there was a fine piece of cold pork. Constable Wigg's -eyes wandered to the table, and became, so to speak, glued there. He -was now standing with his back to the fire, and was being comfortably -warmed through. Even a kitchen may become a veritable Aladdin's cave, -and this was the case with Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen, in the -estimation of Constable Wigg. - -"If there's one thing I like better than another for supper," he said, -meditatively, and with pathos in his voice, "it is cold pork and -pickles. And there's enough for three, Nightingale, there's enough for -three." - -Constable Nightingale nodded genially, and, with the air of a man -familiar with his surroundings, took up a piece of butter on a knife, -and put it to his mouth. - -"The best fresh," he observed. - -"You don't say so?" exclaimed Constable Wigg, not contentiously, but -in amiable wonder. - -"Taste it," said Constable Nightingale, handing his comrade the knife -with a new knob of butter on it. - -"It _is_ the best fresh," said Constable Wigg. "She lives on the fat -of the land." This evidence of good living and the cheerful homeliness -of the kitchen strengthened his notion of supplanting Constable -Nightingale in the affections of Mrs. Middlemore, but he was careful -not to betray himself. "You know your way about, Nightingale. It ain't -the first time you've been in this here snuggery." - -Constable Nightingale smiled knowingly, and said, "Cold pork and -pickles ain't half a bad supper, to say nothing of sausages, roast -fowl, and----and----." He sniffed intelligently and inquired, "Ain't -there a baked tatery smell somewheres near?" - -"Now you mention it," replied Constable Wigg, also sniffing, "I -believe there is." - -"And here they are, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, opening the -door of the oven, and exposing four large, flowery potatoes baking in -their skins. "Not yet quite done, not yet quite ready to burst, and -all a-growing and a-blowing, and waiting for butter and pepper. -They're relishy enough without butter and pepper, but with butter and -pepper they're a feast for a emperor." - -"Ah," sighed Constable Wigg, "it's better to be born lucky than rich. -Now just cast your eye at the door, Nightingale. I'm blessed if that -beastly cat ain't poking its nose in again." And as though there was -within him a superabundance of vicious energy which required immediate -working off, Constable Wigg threw his truncheon at the cat, which, -without uttering a sound, fled from the kitchen. "What riles me about -that cat is that it moves about like a ghost, without as much as a -whine. It takes you all of a sudden, like a stab in the back. It'll be -up to some mischief before the night is out." - -"Why, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, with a laugh, "you talk of it -as if it wasn't a cat at all." - -"I don't believe it is. In my opinion it's a spectre cat, a spirit -without a solid body. I lifted it with my foot in the street, and not -a sound came from it. I kicked it in the passage, and it crept away -like a ghost. I let fly my truncheon at it and hit it on the head, and -off it went like a shadder, without a whine. It ain't natural. If it -comes across me again I advise it to say its prayers." - -Which, to say the least of it, was an absurd recommendation to offer -to a cat. But Constable Wigg was in an unreasonable and spiteful -temper, and he became morose and melancholy when he saw how thoroughly -Constable Nightingale was making himself at home in Mrs. Middlemore's -kitchen; or perhaps it was the sight of the tempting food on the table -which, without lawful invitation, he dared not touch. However it was, -he was not allowed much time for gloomy reflection, his thoughts being -diverted by the violent slamming of the street door, and by the -further sound of a person breathing heavily in her course downstairs. - -"It's Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Nightingale, in a low tone. "I -never thought she'd be able to open the door alone with such a wind -blowing. We'll give her a surprise." - -They heard Mrs. Middlemore stop outside the kitchen, and exclaim, -"Well! To think I should 'ave been so foolish as to leave the candle -alight! I could 'ave swore I blowed it out before I left the room!" -Then she opened the door, and it was well that Constable Nightingale -darted forward to her support, for if he had not she would have fallen -to the ground in affright, and the supper beer would have been lost to -taste, if not to sight. It was as well, too, that he put his face -close enough to her lips to partially stifle a kind of a hysterical -gurgle which was escaping therefrom. It was, however, a proceeding of -which Constable Wigg did not inwardly approve. - -"Pluck up, Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Nightingale, cheerily, -"there's nothing wrong. It's only me and my mate, Wigg, who's on night -duty here. Everything's as right as a fiddle. Take a pull at the -beer--a long pull. Now you feel better, don't you?" - -Mrs. Middlemore--her movements being enviously watched by Constable -Wigg, whose thirst was growing almost unbearable--removed her lips -from the jug, and said: - -"Ever so much. But how did you get in?" - -"Didn't get in at all," said Constable Nightingale, jocosely; "we were -blown in." - -"Blown in!" - -"Yes, my dear. We was standing outside, Wigg and me, leaning against -the door, when the wind come like a clap of thunder, and blew it clean -open, and of course we went with it, flat on our backs the pair of us. -When we got on our feet again the wind was tearing so, and the snow -was pelting down that fierce, that I thought we might venture to take -a liberty, and we come down here to warm ourselves. And that's the -long and the short of it, my dear." - -He still had his arm round Mrs. Middlemore's waist, and now he gave -her a hug. She was a pleasant-faced, round-bodied woman, some forty -years of age, and she looked up smilingly as the constable--her -favorite constable--hugged her, and said, - -"Well, now, I declare you did startle me. When I opened the door, and -sor two men a-standing in my kitchen, I thought of burglars, and you -might 'ave knocked me down with a feather. - -"And now we're here," said Constable Nightingale, "I don't suppose -you'd have the heart to turn us out." - -"Turn you out!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, "I wouldn't turn a cat out -on such a night as this!" - -"More cats," thought Constable Wigg, with his eyes on the cold pork -and pickles. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -A THRILLING INCIDENT. - - -"The wonder is," said Constable Nightingale, while Mrs. Middlemore -shook the snow out of her clothes, "how you had the courage to venture -out in such weather." - -"It's 'abit, Mr. Nightingale, that's what it is. Once I get to doing a -thing regular, done it must be if I want to keep my peace of mind. -There wouldn't be a wink of sleep for me if I didn't go and fetch my -supper beer myself every night. I don't keep a gal, Mr. Winks----" - -"Wigg," said that gentleman in correction, with a dreamy look at the -beer-jug. - -"I beg you a thousand pardons, Mr. Wigg, I'm sure. I don't keep a gal, -and that's why my place is always nice and clean, as you see it now. -If you want your work done, do it yourself--that's my motter. Not that -I can't afford to keep a gal, but Mr. Felix he ses when he come to me -about the rooms when I didn't 'ave a blessed lodger in the 'ouse, -'I'll take 'em,' he ses, 'conditionally. You mustn't let a room in the -place to anybody but me.' 'But I make my living out of the rooms, -sir,' ses I, 'and I can't afford to let 'em remain empty.' 'You _can_ -afford,' ses Mr. Felix, 'if I pay for 'em remaining empty. What rent -do you arks for the whole 'ouse with the exception of the basement?' I -opened my mouth wide, I don't mind telling you that, Mr. Wigg, when I -put a price upon the 'ouse. All he ses is, 'Agreed.' 'Then there's -attendance, sir,' I ses. 'How much for that?' he arks. I opens my -mouth wide agin, and all he ses is, 'Agreed.' You see, Mr. Wigg, -seeing as' ow you're a friend of Mr. Nightingale's, and as no friend -of his'n can be anything but a gentleman, there's no 'arm in my -telling you a thing or two about Mr. Felix, more especially as you're -on night duty 'ere." - -"Here's to our better acquaintance," said Constable Wigg, laying hands -on the beer-jug in an absent kind of way, and raising it to his mouth. -When, after a long interval, he put it down again with a sigh of -intense satisfaction, he met the reproachful gaze of Constable -Nightingale, who gasped: - -"Well, of all the cheek! Without ever being asked!" - -"Love your heart," said Mrs. Middlemore, "what does that matter? He's -as welcome as the flowers in May, being a friend of your'n." She -handed the jug to Constable Nightingale, asking, as she did so, "Did -you ever 'ave a inspiration, Mr. Nightingale?" - -Constable Nightingale did not immediately reply, his face being buried -in the jug. When it was free, and he had wiped his mouth, he said, in -a mild tone--any harsh judgment he may have harbored against Constable -Wigg being softened by the refreshing draught-- - -"I must have had one to-night when I come this way, out of my beat, to -have a talk with Wigg, and to see that you was all right. The taters -in the oven'll be burnt to a cinder if they're not took out -immediate." - -"You've got a nose for baked taters, you 'ave," said Mrs. Middlemore, -admiringly. "Trust you for finding out things without eyes! But you -always can smell what I've got in the oven." - -Constable Wigg rubbed his hands joyously when he saw Mrs. Middlemore -lay three plates and draw three chairs up to the table. Then she -whipped the baked potatoes out of the oven, saying, - -"Done to a turn. Now we can talk and 'ave supper at the same time. -Make yourself at 'ome, Mr. Wigg, and 'elp yourself to what you like. -I'll 'ave a bit of fowl, Mr. Nightingale, and jest a thin slice of the -cold pork, if you please Mr. Wigg. It's a favorite dish of yours, I -can see. Mr. Nightingale, _you_ won't make compliments, I'm sure. -You're the last man as ought to in this 'ouse." Constable Nightingale -pressed her foot under the table, and she smiled at him, and -continued, "I was going to tell you about my inspiration when I got -the supper beer. A pint and a half won't be enough,' ses I to myself; -a pint and a half's my regular allowance, Mr. Wigg, and I don't find -it too much, because I don't drink sperrits. 'A pint and a half won't -be enough,' ses I to myself; 'I shouldn't be surprised if a friend -dropped in, so I'll double it.' And I did." - -"That's something like an inspiration," said Constable Nightingale, -looking amorously at Mrs. Middlemore, who smiled amorously at him in -return. - -Constable Wigg cut these amorous inclinings short by remarking, "We -was talking of Mr. Felix. Nightingale commenced twice to-night telling -a story about him, and it's not told yet." - -"Not my fault, Wigg," Constable Nightingale managed to say, with his -mouth full. - -"I'll tell my story first," said Mrs. Middlemore, "and he can tell his -afterward. Try them sausages, Mr. Wigg. Mr. Felix always 'as the best -of everythink. I buy 'em at Wall's. So when he ses 'Agreed' to the -rent and attendance, he ses, 'And about servants?' 'I can't afford to -keep more than one, sir,' I ses. 'You can, ses he; 'you can afford to -keep none. You'll find me the best tenant you ever 'ad, and what -you've got to do is to foller my instructions. 'I'll do my best, sir,' -ses I. 'It'll pay you,' ses he, 'to let me do exactly as I please, and -never to cross me.' And I'm bound to say, Mr. Wigg, that it 'as paid -me never to cross 'im and never to arks questions. 'We shall git along -capitally together,' ses he, 'without servants. They're a prying, idle -lot, and I won't 'ave 'em creeping up the stairs on welwet toes to -find out what I'm doing. So keep none, Mrs. Middlemore,' he ses, 'not -the ghost of one. You can wait on me without assistance. If I want to -entertain a visitor or two I'll 'ave the meals brought in ready -cooked, and if we want hextra attendance I'll git Gunter to send in a -man as knows 'is business and can 'old 'is tongue.' Of course I was -agreeable to that, and he pays me down a month in advance, like the -gentleman he is. Though I don't drink sperrits, Mr. Nightingale, -that's no reason why you should deny yourself. You know where the -bottle is, and per'aps Mr. Wigg will jine you." - -"Mrs. Middlemore," said Constable Wigg, "you're a lady after my own -heart, and I'm glad I'm alive. Here's looking toward you." - -"Thank you, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, "and what I say is it's a -shame that men like you and Mr. Nightingale should be trapesing the -streets with the snow coming down and the wind a-blowing as it is now. -Jest listen to it; it's going on worse than ever. Might I take the -liberty of inquiring--you being on the beat, Mr. Wigg--whether you sor -a lady come out of the house while I was gone for the supper beer?" - -"No lady came out of the house," replied Constable Wigg. "A man did." - -"A man!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "Not Mr. Felix, surely!" - -"No, not him," said Constable Nightingale. "A strange-looking man with -a red handkercher round his neck." - -"A strange-looking man, with a red 'andkercher round 'is neck?" -exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore. "'Ow did he git in?" - -"That's not for us to say," said Constable Nightingale. "Perhaps Mr. -Felix let him in when you was away." - -"Yes, most likely," said Mrs. Middlemore, with an air of confusion -which she strove vainly to conceal from the observation of her -visitors; "of course, that must be. Mr. Felix often lets people in -'isself. 'Mrs. Middlemore,' he ses sometimes, 'if there's a ring or a -knock at the door, I'll attend to it. You needn't trouble yourself.' -And I don't--knowing 'im, and knowing it'll pay me better to foller -'is instructions. For there's never a time that sech a thing 'appens -that Mr. Felix doesn't say to me afterward, 'Here's a half-sovering -for you, Mrs. Middlemore.'" - -"You're in for one to-morrow morning, then," observed Constable Wigg, -"because it was a man we saw and not a woman." - -"He won't forgit it," said Mrs. Middlemore, "not 'im. He's too free -and generous with 'is money, so long as he's let alone, and not pry'd -upon. What he does is no business of mine, and I'm not going to make -it mine." - -"Ah," Mrs. Middlemore, said Constable Wigg, emptying his second glass -of whiskey, "you know which side your bread is buttered." - -"I wasn't born yesterday," said Mrs. Middlemore, with a shrewd smile, -"and I've seed things that I keep to myself. Why not? You'd do the -same if you was in my shoes, wouldn't you?" - -"That we would," replied both the policeman in one breath; and -Constable Wigg added, "You're a lucky woman to have such a lodger." - -"Well," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I don't deny it. I never met with such -a man as Mr. Felix, and I don't believe there is another. Why, when he -took possession, he ses, 'Clear out every bit of furniture there is in -the rooms. Send it to auction if you like and sell it, and pocket the -money. When I leave you shall either 'ave all my furniture, or I'll -furnish the rooms over agin according to your fancy, and it shan't -cost you a penny.' I was agreeable. Because why? Because he give me -forty pound on account, to show that he was in earnest. Then he begins -to furnish, and if you was to see 'is rooms, Mr. Wigg, you'd be that -took aback that you wouldn't know what to say. All sorts of wonderful -woods, satings, picters, swords and daggers, strange rugs and carpets, -painted plates and dishes, 'angings, old lamps, and goodness only -knows what I don't understand 'arf of 'em. There! I've talked enough -about Mr. Felix for once. Let's talk of something else." - -"Do you keep cats, Mrs. Middlemore?" asked Constable Nightingale, -brewing another grog for himself and Constable Wigg. - -"I don't," replied Mrs. Middlemore. "Mr. Felix won't 'ave one in the -'ouse." - -"There's one in the house now, though," said Constable Nightingale. -"It come in when the wind burst open the street door, and Wigg and me -fell into the passage. He says it's not a cat, but a spectre, a -ghost." - -"Lord save us!" ejaculated Mrs. Middlemore. "If Mr. Felix sees it -he'll never forgive me. He 'as a 'atred of 'em. And the ghost of a -cat, too!" She was so impressed that she edged closer to Constable -Nightingale. - -"It was a spectre cat," said Constable Wigg, desirous to do something -to divert Mrs. Middlemore's thoughts from Mr. Felix, and also from her -leaning toward his comrade. "And then there was that cry for 'Help' I -fancied I heard." - -"What cry for help?" asked Mrs. Middlemore. - -"I thought I heard it three times," said Constable Wigg--but he was -prevented from going further by an incident which was followed by a -startling picture. Constable Nightingale, rather thrown off his -balance by the drink he had imbibed, and desirous to meet the advances -of Mrs. Middlemore, slyly put his arm round her waist, and to hide the -movement from the observation of his brother constable, made a clumsy -movement over the table, and overturned the candle, the effect of -which was to put out the light and to leave them in darkness. He was -not sorry for it, for the reason that he was hugging Mrs. Middlemore -close. But Constable Wigg started up in fear, and cried: - -"Somebody has pushed open the door!" - -In point of fact the kitchen-door had been quietly pushed open, and -the other two observed it when their attention was directed toward it. - -"What is it?" whispered Mrs. Middlemore, shaking like a jelly, "Oh, -what is it?" - -Constable Nightingale, for the second time that night pulled out his -dark lantern, and cast its light upon the door. And there, imbedded in -the circle of light, was the cat which had already twice before -alarmed Constable Wigg. They uttered a cry of horror, and indeed they -were justified by the picture which presented itself. The cat was -_red_. Every bristle, sticking up on its skin, was luminous with -horrible color. It was a perfect ball of blood. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -A DISCUSSION ABOUT RED CATS AND WHITE SNOW. - - -In a fit of terror the constable dropped the lantern, and the cat, -unseen by the occupants of the kitchen, scuttled away. - -"If you don't light the candle," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "I shall go -off." And she forthwith proceeded to demonstrate by screaming, "Oh, -oh, oh!" - -"She's done it, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale. "Strike a light, -there's a good fellow, and pick up the lantern. I can't do it myself; -I've got my arms full." - -Constable Wigg had now recovered his courage, and inspired by -jealousy, quickly struck a match and lit the candle. Mrs. Middlemore -lay comfortably in the arms of Constable Nightingale, who did not seem -anxious to rid himself of his burden. Stirred to emulative sympathy, -Constable Wigg took possession of one of Mrs. Middlemore's hands, and -pressed and patted it with a soothing, "There, there, there! What has -made you come over like this? There's nothing to be frightened of, is -there, Nightingale?" - -"Nothing at all," replied Constable Nightingale, irascibly, for he by -no means relished his comrade's insidious attempt to slide into Mrs. -Middlemore's affections. "You're better now, ain't you?" - -"A little," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, "a very little." - -"Take a sip of this," said Constable Wigg, holding a glass to her -lips, "it'll bring you round." - -Ignoring her previous declaration that she did not "drink sperrits," -Mrs. Middlemore sipped the glass of whiskey, and continued to sip, -with intermittent shudders, till she had drained the last drop. Then -she summoned sufficient strength to raise herself languidly from -Constable Nightingale's arms, and look toward the door. - -"Where's it gone to?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "What's become -of the 'orrid creature?" - -"What horrid creature, my dear?" inquired Constable Nightingale, -winking at his comrade. - -"The cat! The red cat!" - -"A red cat!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale, in a jocular voice; "who -ever heard of such a thing? Who ever saw such a thing?" - -"Why, I did--and you did, too." - -"Not me," said Constable Nightingale, with another wink at Constable -Wigg. - -"Nor me," said that officer, following the lead. - -"Do you mean to tell me you didn't see a cat, and that the cat you sor -wasn't red?" - -"I saw a cat, yes," said Constable Nightingale, "but not a red -'un--no, not a red un'. What do you say, Wigg?" - -"I say as you says, Nightingale." - -"There's lobsters, now," said Constable Nightingale; "we know what -color they are when they're boiled, but we don't boil cats, that I -know of, and if we did they wouldn't turn red. You learned natural -history when you was at school, Wigg. What did they say about red -cats?" - -"It's against nature," said Constable Wigg, adding, with an -unconscious imitation of Macbeth, "there's no such thing." - -"I must take your word for it," said Mrs. Middlemore, only half -convinced, "but if ever my eyes deceived me they deceived me jest now. -If you two gentlemen wasn't here, I'd be ready to take my oath the cat -was red. And now I come to think of it, what made the pair of you cry -out as you did?" - -"What made us cry out?" repeated Constable Nightingale, who, in this -discussion, proved himself much superior to his brother officer in the -matter of invention. "It was natural, that's what it was, natural. I'm -free to confess I was a bit startled. First, there's the night--listen -to it; it's going on worse than ever--ain't that enough to startle -one? I've been out in bad nights, but I never remember such a one-er -as this. Did you, Wigg?" - -"Never. If it goes on much longer, it'll beat that American blizzard -they talked so much of." - -"That's enough to startle a chap," continued Constable Nightingale, -"letting alone anything else. But then, there was that talk about a -spectre cat. I ain't frightened of much that I know of. Put a man -before me, or a dog, or a horse, and I'm ready to tackle 'em, one down -and the other come up, or altogether if they like; but when you come -to spectres, I ain't ashamed to say I'm not up to 'em. Its -constitootional, Mrs. Middlemore; I was that way when I was little. -There was a cupboard at home, and my mother used to say, 'Don't you -ever open it, Jimmy; there's a ghost hiding behind the door.' I -wouldn't have put my hand on the knob for untold gold. It's the same -now. Anything that's alive I don't give way to; but when it comes to -ghosts and spectres I take a back seat, and I don't care who knows it. -Then there was that cry for 'Help,' that Wigg was speaking of. Then -there was the candle going out"--he gave Mrs. Middlemore a nudge as he -referred to this incident--"and the sudden opening of the door there. -It was all them things together that made me cry out; and if brother -Wigg's got any other explanation to give I shall be glad to hear it." - -"No, Nightingale," said the prudent and unimaginative Wigg, "I -couldn't improve on you. You've spoke like a man, and I hope our -good-looking, good-natured landlady is satisfied." - -This complimentary allusion served to dispel Mrs. Middlemore's fears, -and in a more contented frame of mind she resumed her seat at the -table, the constables following her example. - -"May the present moment," said Constable Nightingale, lifting his -glass and looking affectionately at Mrs. Middlemore, "be the worst of -our lives; and here's my regards to you." - -"And mine, my good creature," said Constable Wigg. - -"Gents both," said Mrs. Middlemore, now thoroughly restored, "I looks -toward yer." - -Whereupon they all drank, and settled themselves comfortably in their -chairs. - -"What was in that cupboard," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "that your mother -told you there was a ghost in?" - -"What was in it? Now, that shows how a body may be frightened at -nothing. I didn't find it out till I was a man, and it was as much a -ghost as I am. But there's a lady present, and I'd better not go on." - -"Yes, you must," said Mrs. Middlemore, positively. "You've made me -that curious that I'll never speak another word to you if you don't -tell me." - -"Rather than that should happen, I must let you into the secret, I -suppose. But you won't mind me mentioning it?" - -"Not a bit, Mr. Nightingale. Speak free." - -"Well, if you must know, it was where she kept a spare bustle, and a -bit or two of hair, and some other little vanities that she didn't -want us young 'uns to pull about. There, the murder's out, and I -wouldn't have mentioned the things if you hadn't been so curious; but -it's a privilege of your sex, Mrs. Middlemore, one of your amiable -weaknesses that we're bound to respect." - -Mrs. Middlemore laughed, and asked Constable Wigg what he was thinking -of. That worthy had, indeed, put on his considering cap, as the saying -is; he felt that Constable Nightingale was making the running too -fast, and that he should be left hopelessly in the rear unless he made -an attempt to assert himself, and to show that he knew a thing or two. - -"I was thinking of the red cat," he said. - -"Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, in a tone of reproof, "I'm -astonished at you. When everything's been made smooth!" - -"For the moment, Nightingale, for the moment," said Constable Wigg, -complacently. "But there's by and by to reckon with. It ain't to be -expected that Mrs. Middlemore can have us always with her, though I'm -sure I should ask for nothing better. What could a man want better -than this? Outside snow and blow, inside wine and shine." - -"You're quite a poet, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, admiringly. - -"I don't see it," grumbled Constable Nightingale; "where's the wine?" - -"If this," said Constable Wigg, raising his glass and looking at its -contents with the eye of a connoisseur, "ain't as good as the best of -wine, I stand corrected. Did you never hear of a poet's license, -Nightingale?" He asked this question banteringly. - -"No, I didn't, and I don't believe you know where to get one, and what -the Government charges for it." - -"I'm afraid, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, beginning to feel the -effects of the drink, "that you've no soul for poetry." - -"Never you mind whether I have or haven't," retorted Constable -Nightingale. - -"Gents both," interposed Mrs. Middlemore, "whatever you do, don't fall -out. You're as welcome as welcome can be, but don't fall out." - -"I bear no malice," said Constable Nightingale, who was really a -simple-minded, good-hearted fellow; "shake hands, Wigg, and let -bygones be bygones. All I want you to do is to let the red cat alone, -or to stick to the point, and have done with it once and for all." - -"Very good, Nightingale," said Constable Wigg, assuming the lofty air -of a man who had established his claim to pre-eminence. "I'll stick to -the point, and if I don't make Mrs. Middlemore's mind easy, I'll give -up. Not easy as long as we're here, but easy when we're gone, as gone -we must be some time or other, because it don't stand to reason that -this storm's going to last forever. I'm only thinking of you, I give -you my word, ma'am." - -"You're very kind, I'm sure," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, inclining, -with the proverbial fickleness of her sex, now to Constable, -Nightingale and now to Constable Wigg. - -"It's the least I can do," proceeded Constable Wigg, addressing -himself solely to his hostess, "after the way I've been treated here. -Not for the last time, I hope." - -"Not by a many," said Mrs. Middlemore, smirking at the flatterer, "if -it remains with me." - -"You're monarch of all you survey, ma'am," observed the wily Wigg, -smirking back at her, "and remain with you it must, as long as you -remain single." - -"Oh, Mr. Wigg!" - -"It's nobody's fault but your own if you do; there's not many as can -pick and choose, but you're one as can. Perhaps you're hard to please, -ma'am----" - -"I ain't," said Mrs. Middlemore, so energetically that Constable -Nightingale began to think it time to interfere. - -"You're forgetting the red cat, Wigg," he said. - -"Not at all," said Constable Wigg, blandly; "I'm coming to it, but I -don't forget that Mrs. Middlemore has nerves. It amounts to this, -ma'am. I've read a bit in my time, and I'm going to give you--_and_ -Nightingale, if he ain't too proud--the benefit of it. You _did_ see a -red cat, ma'am." - -"Did I?" said Mrs. Middlemore, looking around with a shiver. - -"You did, ma'am, and yet the cat wasn't red. I thought it was red, and -so did Nightingale, if he'll speak the truth. I'll wait for him to -say." - -"I won't keep you waiting long," said Constable Nightingale, in a -surly tone. "As you and Mrs. Middlemore seem to be of one mind, I'll -make a clean breast of it. I thought it was red, and when I made light -of it I did it for her sake." - -He said this so tenderly that Mrs. Middlemore rewarded him with a look -of gratitude; but she kept her eyes averted from the kitchen door. - -"Now we can get on like a house on fire," said Constable Wigg. "When -you winked at me, Nightingale, I didn't contradict you, but I fell -a-thinking, and then what I read come to my mind. You've been out in -the snow, Mrs. Middlemore, and you saw nothing but white. We've been -out in the snow, ma'am, and we saw nothing but white. Not for a -minute, not for five, not for ten but for hours I may say. I remember -reading somewhere that when you've looked for a longish time upon -nothing but white, that it's as likely as not the next thing you see -will be red, never mind what the color really is. That's the way with -us. The cat's been haunting me, in a manner of speaking, the whole -livelong night, and what with that and the snow, and being all of a -sudden shoved into darkness, the minute a light shines on the wretched -thing it comes to me as red as a ball of fire; and it comes to you the -same, because the snow's got into your eyes and affected your sight." - -"Bosh!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale. - -"What's that you say, Nightingale?" asked Constable Wigg. - -"Bosh! I didn't want to frighten Mrs. Middlemore, and that's the -reason I wouldn't harp on it, but now you've raked it up again I'll -have the matter settled." - -So saying, Constable Nightingale rose from his chair. - -"Where are you going?" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "What are you going to -do?" - -"I'm going to find that cat," replied Constable Nightingale, "if it's -in the house. If it isn't red, I give in and apologize. If it is, I -shall take the liberty of saying for the third time, Bosh!" - -He walked toward the door, but started back before he reached it, and -pointing to the floor, asked, - -"What do you call that, Wigg? Is that a deloosion!" - -Constable Wigg advanced, looked down, rubbed his eyes, looked down -again, and answered, - -"I'm bound to say there's no mistaking the color. Have you got any red -ochre in the house, ma'am?" - -"Not a bit," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "as I knows on." - -"These," said Constable Nightingale, kneeling, and examining the -floor, "are marks of the cat's paws, and they're red. Look for -yourself, Wigg." - -"There's no denying it," said the baffled Wigg. - -"You're on duty here, Wigg." - -"What do you advise, Nightingale? You've been longer in the force than -me." - -"It's got to be looked into by somebody. It ain't for me to do it, -because I'm out of my beat, and I don't want to be made an example of. -Would you oblige me by going to the door and giving the alarm?" - -"What for?" - -"For me, being at a distance, to hear it. For me hearing it, to run to -your assistance. Do you twig? My being on your beat must be accounted -for. That will account for it." - -This ingenious suggestion relieved Constable Wigg's mind as well as -his comrade's. - -"That's a good idea," he said; "and it'll account, too, for our being -in the house, supposing anything should be said about it." - -"Exactly. Being here with Mrs. Middlemore's permission. You've got a -lot to learn, Wigg, and one of the lessons I'd advise you to take to -heart"--here he looked significantly at Mrs. Middlemore--"is not to -poach on a pal's preserves." - -Constable Wigg may have felt the reproach, but he took no notice of -it. "You may as well come to the door with me, Nightingale." - -"I've no objections." - -"I'll come too," said Mrs. Middlemore, nervously. "I wouldn't be left -alone here for anythink you could orfer me." - -The three walked upstairs to the passage, Mrs. Middlemore needing the -support of Constable Nightingale's arm round her waist; but the moment -the fastenings of the street-door were unloosed, it flew open as -though a battering ram had been applied to it, and the wind and snow -swept in upon them with undiminished fury. - -"Hanged if it ain't getting worse and worse!" muttered Constable -Nightingale, helping the others to shut the door, which was -accomplished with great difficulty. - -"Don't make a noise in the passage," whispered Mrs. Middlemore to -Constable Wigg. "Mr. Felix 'll 'ear it, and he'd never forgive me." - -"We'll take it for granted, then, that the alarm is given," said -Constable Nightingale, "and we'll go downstairs, and consider what -ought to be done." - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -DR. LAMB TELLS THE CONSTABLES AND MRS. MIDDLEMORE WHAT IS THE MATTER -WITH MR. FELIX. - -Arrived once more in that comfortable apartment, they shook off the -snow dust which had blown in upon them from the street. Then Constable -Nightingale assumed a judicial attitude. - -"In case of anything being wrong," he said, "we must all be agreed -upon what has took place before it's discovered." - -"Before what's discovered?" cried Mrs. Middlemore. - -"That we've got to find out." - -"It's ten to one there's nothing to find out," said Constable Wigg. - -"It's ten to one there is," retorted Constable Nightingale. "I go a -bit deeper than you, Wigg; but whether there is or there ain't, it's -always well to be prepared with a story. I've got something in my mind -that you don't seem to have in yours; what it is you shall hear -presently. Mrs. Middlemore, going out for her supper-beer at her usual -hour, about half-past eleven shuts the street-door behind her, and -does not return till past twelve. Is that correct, ma'am?" - -"Quite correct, Mr. Nightingale; but what are you driving at?" - -"All in good time, my dear. You leave the house safe, and you are sure -you shut the street-door tight?" - -"I'll take my oath of it." - -"It may come to that; I don't want to scare you, but it may come to -that. When you come back with the supper-beer you find the street-door -open?" - -"But I don't." - -"Excuse me, you do; it's necessary." - -"Oh!" - -"And I'll tell you why. When you come home you find Wigg and me here, -don't you?" - -"Yes." - -"You've heard how we got in, but it's a fact that we had no business -here unless we was called in. We must have been called in by somebody, -and whoever it was must have had a reason for inviting us. Is that -sound, Wigg?" - -"As sound as a rock, Nightingale." - -"Mr. Felix didn't call us in, and there's no one else in the house -while you've gone for your supper-beer?" Mrs. Middlemore coughed, -which caused Constable Nightingale to ask, "What's that for?" - -"It ain't for me to say," replied Mrs. Middlemore. "What you want to -git at is that there's only two people living regularly in the 'ouse, -Mr. Felix and me. If Mr. Felix makes it worth my while to keep my own -counsel, I'm going to keep it, and I don't care what happens." - -"I wouldn't persuade you otherwise. Gentlemen that's so liberal with -their money as him ain't to be met with every day. Very well, then. -There's only you and Mr. Felix living in the house, and he don't call -us in. It's you that does that. Why? You shut the street-door tight -when you went out; you find it open when you come back, and at the -same time you see a man with a red handkercher round his neck run out -of the house. Of course you're alarmed; Wigg happens to be near, and -you call him; he, thinking he may want assistance, calls me; and -that's how it is we're both here at the present moment. That's pretty -straight, isn't it?" - -Both his hearers agreed that it was, and he proceeded: - -"But we mustn't forget that we've been here some time already. I make -it, by my silver watch that I won in a raffle, twenty minutes to two. -Your kitchen clock, Mrs. Middlemore, is a little slow." - -"Do what I will," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I can't make it go right." - -"Some clocks," observed Constable Nightingale, with a touch of -humor--he was on the best of terms with himself, having, in a certain -sense, snuffed out Constable Wigg--"are like some men and women; -they're either too slow or too fast, and try your hardest you can't -alter 'em. We must be able to account for a little time between past -twelve o'clock and now; there's no need to be too particular; such a -night as this is 'll excuse a lot. I'll take the liberty of stopping -your clock and putting the hands back to twelve, so that you won't be -fixed to a half-hour or so. The clock stopped while you was getting -your supper-beer, of course. Likewise I stop my watch, and put the -hands back to about the same time. Now, what do I do when Wigg calls -me here? I hear what you, ma'am, have to say about the street-door -being open and a man running out and almost upsetting you, and I make -tracks after him. I don't catch him, and then I come back here, and -that brings us up to this very minute. Plain sailing, so far. You'll -bear it in mind, you and Wigg, won't you?" - -"I've got it," said Wigg, "at my fingers' ends." - -"So 'ave I," said Mrs. Middlemore. - -"But what are you going to do now?" asked Constable Wigg. - -"To find the cat," replied Constable Nightingale. - -"Going to take it up?" This, with a fine touch of sarcasm. - -"No, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale, speaking very seriously. "I -want to make sure where it got that red color from, because, not to -put too fine a point on it, it's blood." - -Mrs. Middlemore uttered a stifled scream, and clapped her hands on her -hips. - -"That," continued Constable Nightingale, in a tone of severity to his -brother constable, "is what I had in my mind and you didn't have in -yours. Why, if you look with only half an eye at them stains on the -floor, you can't mistake 'em." - -"Oh, dear, oh, dear," moaned Mrs. Middlemore, "we shall all be -murdered in our beds?" - -"Nothing of the sort, my dear," said Constable Nightingale; "we'll -look after you. Pull yourself together, there's a good soul, and -answer me one or two questions. I know that Mr. Felix comes home late -sometimes." - -"Very often, very often." - -"And that, as well as being generous with his money, he likes his -pleasures. Now, are you sure he was at home when you went out for your -beer?" - -"I'm certain of it." - -"And that he did not go out before you come back?" - -"How can I tell you that?" - -"Of course. A stupid question. But, at all events, he ain't the sort -of man to go out in such a storm as this?" - -"Not 'im. He's too fond of his comforts." - -"Does he ever ring for you in the middle of the night--at such a time -as this, for instance?" - -"Never." - -"Has he ever been took ill in the night, and rung you up?" - -"Never." - -"Do you ever go up to his room without being summoned?" - -"It's more than I dare. I should lose the best customer I ever had in -my life. He made things as clear as can be when he first come into the -'ouse. 'Never,' he ses to me, 'under any circumstances whatever, let -me see you going upstairs to my rooms unless I call you. Never let me -ketch you prying about. If I do, you shall 'ear of it in a way you -won't like.'" - -Constable Nightingale was silent a few moments, and then he said, -briskly, "Let's us go and hunt up that cat." - -But although they searched the basement through they could not find -it. - -"Perhaps," suggested Constable Wigg, "it got out of the house when we -opened the street-door just now." - -"Perhaps," assented Constable Nightingale, laconically. - -Then they ascended the stairs to the ground floor, Constable -Nightingale examining very carefully the marks of the cat's paws on -the oilcloth. - -"Do you see, Mrs. Middlemore? Blood. There's no mistaking it. And I'm -hanged if it doesn't go upstairs to the first floor." - -"You're not going up, Mr. Nightingale?" asked Mrs. Middlemore, under -her breath, laying her hand on his arm. - -"If I know myself," said Constable Nightingale, patting her hand, "I -am. Whatever happens, it's my duty and Wigg's to get at the bottom of -this. What else did you call us in for?" - -"To be sure," said Mrs. Middlemore, helplessly, "but if you have any -feeling for me, speak low." - -"I will, my dear. My feelings for you well you must know, but this is -not the time. Look here at this stain, and this, and this. The spectre -cat has been up these stairs. Puss, puss, puss, puss! Not likely that -it'll answer; it's got the cunning of a fox. That's Mr. Felix's room, -if my eyes don't deceive me." - -"Yes, it is." - -"But it don't look the same door as the one I have been through; it -ain't the first time I've been here, you know. Where's the keyhole? -I'll take my oath there was a keyhole when I last saw the door." - -"The key 'ole's 'id. That brass plate covers it; it's a patent spring, -and he fixes it some'ow from the inside; he presses something, and it -slides down; then he turns a screw, and makes it tight." - -"Can anyone do it but him?" - -"I don't think they can; it's 'is own idea, he ses." - -"See how we're getting on, Wigg. No one can work that brass plate but -him; that shows he's at home." He knocked at the door, and called "Mr. -Felix, Mr. Felix!" - -"He'll give me notice to leave," said Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm sure he -will. He's the last man in the world to be broke in upon like this." - -"Leave it to me, my dear," said Constable Nightingale, "I'll make it -all right with him. What did he say to me when I was on this beat? I -told you, you remember, Wigg. 'Constable,' says he, 'you're on night -duty here.' 'Yes, sir,' I answers. 'Very good,' says he, 'I live in -this house, and I always make it a point to look after them as looks -after me.' That was a straight tip, and I'm looking after him now. Mr. -Felix, Mr. Felix!" - -But though he called again and again, and rapped at the door twenty -times, he received no answer from within the room. - -"It's singular," he said, knitting his brows. "He must be a sound -sleeper, must Mr. Felix. I'll try again." - -He continued to knock and call "loud enough," as he declared, "to -rouse the dead," but no response came to the anxious little group on -the landing. - -"There's not only no keyhole," said Constable Nightingale, "but -there's no handle to take hold of. The door's for all the world like a -safe without a knob. Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix, Mr. Felix! Don't you hear -us, sir? I've got something particular to say to you." - -For all the effect he produced he might have spoken to a stone wall, -and he and Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore stood looking helplessly -at each other. - -"I tell you what it is," he said, tightening his belt, "this has got -beyond a joke. What with the silence, and the bloodstains, and the -man with the red handkercher round his neck as run out of the house -while Wigg and me was talking together outside, there's more in this -than meets the eye. Now, Mrs. Middlemore, there's no occasion for us -to speak low any more; it's wearing to the throat. Have you got any -doubt at all that the brass plate there couldn't be fixed as it is -unless somebody was inside the room?" - -"I'm certain of it, Mr. Nightingale, I'm certain of it." - -"Then Mr. Felix, or somebody else, must be there, and if he's alive -couldn't help hearing us, unless he's took a sleeping draught of -twenty-horse power. There's a bell wire up there; Wigg, give me a -back." - -Constable Wigg stooped, and Constable Nightingale stood on his back -and reached the wire, which he pulled smartly for so long a time that -Constable Wigg's back gave way, and brought Constable Nightingale to -the ground somewhat unexpectedly. Certainly every person in the house -possessed of the sense of hearing must have heard the bell, which had -a peculiar resonant ring, and seemed on this occasion to have a -hundred ghostly echoes which proclaimed themselves incontinently from -attic to basement. No well-behaved echo would have displayed such a -lack of method. - -"Oughtn't that to rouse him?" asked Constable Nightingale. - -"It ought to," replied Mrs. Middlemore, "if----" and then suddenly -paused, the "if" frozen on her tongue. - -"Ah," said Constable Nightingale, gravely, "if!" - -There was a window on the landing, and he opened it. The snow dust -floated through it, but in less quantities, and there was a -perceptible abatement in the violence of the storm. He closed the -window. - -"It ain't so bad as it was. Mrs. Middlemore, do you think I could -force this door open?" - -"Not without tools," said Mrs. Middlemore. "It's made of oak." - -"No harm in trying," said Constable Nightingale. "Here, Wigg, give us -a pound." - -They applied their shoulders with a will, but their united efforts -produced no impression. - -"It's got to be opened," said Constable Nightingale, "by fair means or -foul. Wigg, do you know of a locksmith about here?" - -"I don't." - -In point of fact Constable Nightingale knew of one, but it was at some -little distance, and he did not want to leave Constable Wigg and Mrs. -Middlemore alone. - -"There's one in Wardour Street," he said. - -"Is there?" said Constable Wigg. "I'm new to the neighborhood, and I'm -certain I shouldn't be able to find it." - -"All right," said Constable Nightingale, briskly, seeing his way out -of the difficulty, "we'll go together." - -"And leave me alone 'ere after what's happened!" cried Mrs. -Middlemore. "Not if you was to fill my lap with dymens! That 'orrid -cat 'd come and scare the life out of me!" - -"We can't all go," mused Constable Nightingale, with a stern eye on -his comrade, "and I ain't a man to shirk a duty; but don't go back on -a pal, Wigg, whatever you do." - -"Nobody could ever bring that against me, Nightingale," said Constable -Wigg, in an injured tone; "and I don't know what you're driving at." - -"I hope you don't," said Constable Nightingale, by no means softened, -"that's all I've got to say. I hope you don't. You'd better both see -me to the door, and shut it after me. And mind you keep your ears open -to let me in when I come back." - -Constable Nightingale, a victim to duty, was presently battling with -the storm through the deserted streets, while Constable Wigg and Mrs. -Middlemore, at the housekeeper's suggestion, made their way to the -warm kitchen, where she brewed for her companion a stiff glass of -grog. "What did Mr. Nightingale mean," asked Mrs. Middlemore, "when he -said never go back on a pal?" - -"I'd rather not say," replied Constable Wigg, and then appeared -suddenly to come to a different conclusion. - -"But why not? The last of my wishes would be to vex you, and when -you're curious you like to know, don't you, my--I beg you a thousand -pardons--don't you, ma'am?" - -"Mr. Wigg," observed Mrs. Middlemore, "I'm a woman, and I do like to -know. Oh!" she cried, with a little shriek, "was that somebody moving -upstairs?" - -"No, my dear, no. Keep close to me; I will protect you and proud of -the chance, as who wouldn't be? When Nightingale threw out that hint, -he meant, if I'm not mistook, that a lady should have only one -admirer, hisself." - -"Well, I'm sure!" - -"He's not a bad sort of fellow, is Nightingale--it ain't for me to say -anything against him--but when he wants a monopoly of something very -precious"--and Constable Wigg looked languishingly at Mrs. -Middlemore--"when he wants that, and as good as says it belongs to him -and no one else, he touches a tender point. There's no harm in my -admiring you, my dear; who could help it, that's what I'd like to -know? Thank you--I _will_ take another lump of sugar. Yes, who could -help it? Charms like yours--if you'll forgive me for mentioning -'em--ain't to be met with every day, and a man with a heart would have -to be blind not to be struck. There! I wouldn't have spoke so free if -it hadn't been for Nightingale and for your asking me what he meant. -But a man can't always restrain his feelings, and I hope I haven't -hurt yours, my dear." - -"Not a bit, Mr. Wigg," said Mrs. Middlemore, and the tone would have -been amorous had it not been for the mysterious trouble in her house; -"you've spoke beautiful, and Mr. Nightingale ought to be ashamed of -'isself." - -"Don't tell him I said anything, my dear." - -"I won't. I give you my 'and on it." - -He took it and squeezed it, and said, "What's passed we'll keep to -ourselves." - -"We will, Mr. Wigg." - -"Here's to our better acquaintance, my dear." - -"I'm sure you're kindness itself. Oh, Mr. Wigg, I 'ope nothing 'as -'appened to Mr. Felix." - -"I hope so, too. My opinion is that he's out, and that the brass plate -over the keyhole has got there by accident. But Nightingale always -makes the worst of things. That's not my way. Wait till the worst -comes, I say; it's time enough. You may worrit yourself to death, and -be no better off for it after all." - -In this strain they continued their conversation, Mrs. Middlemore -declaring that it was quite a comfort to have Constable Wigg with her. -She confided to him that she had a bit of money saved, and that Mr. -Felix had said more than once that he would remember her in his will, -which elicited from Constable Wigg the remark that he hoped Mr. Felix -had made his will and had behaved as he ought to; "though, mind you," -he added, "I don't believe anything's the matter with him, or that -he's at home. It's all through that spectre cat, and as for -bloodstains, they've got to be proved." A knocking and rattling at -the street-door caused Mrs. Middlemore to cling very closely to him, -and when she recovered her fright, they both went upstairs to let -Constable Nightingale in. - -"Is that you, Nightingale?" Constable Wigg called out before he turned -the key. - -"Yes, it's me," cried Constable Nightingale, without: "don't keep us -waiting all night." - -"He's got the locksmith with him," whispered Constable Wigg, with his -lips very close to Mrs. Middlemore's ear. Then he threw open the -street-door. - -Constable Nightingale had somebody else with him besides the -locksmith. Accompanying them was a tall, thin, gentlemanly-looking, -but rather seedy young gentleman, who stepped quickly into the -passage. - -"Has anything took place?" inquired Constable Nightingale, glancing -suspiciously from Constable Wigg to Mrs. Middlemore. - -"Nothing," replied Constable Wigg. "There ain't been a sound in the -house." - -"Just as we turned the corner," said Constable Nightingale, with a -motion of his hand toward the seedy young gentleman, "we met Dr. Lamb, -who was coming home from a case, and as there's no knowing what might -be wanted, I asked him to favor us with his company." - -Mrs. Middlemore knew Dr. Lamb, who kept a chemist's shop in the -neighborhood, and she gave him a friendly nod. It must have been a -trying case that the young gentleman had come from, for he looked -particularly shaky, and was rather unsteady on his legs. The locksmith -now made some sensible remarks to the effect that he had been awakened -from a sound sleep, and would like to get back to bed again; -therefore, had they not better get to work at once? His suggestion was -acted upon, and they all proceeded upstairs. - -"I'll give him another chance," said Constable Nightingale, and he -forthwith exerted the full strength of his lungs and hammered away at -the door, to as little purpose as he had previously done. "There's -nothing for it," he said, very red in the face, "but to force open the -door in the name of the law." - -The locksmith, who had brought a basket of tools with him, declared he -would make short work of it, but after examining the door was forced -to confess inwardly that this was an idle boast. It was of stout oak, -and to remove the brass plate and pick the lock occupied him much -longer than he expected. However, in the course of about twenty -minutes the task was accomplished, and the door stood open for them to -enter. Standing for a moment irresolutely on the threshold they were -greeted by a blast of cold air. Constable Nightingale was the first to -notice that the window was open, and he stepped into the room and -closed it. The others followed, and were treading close on his heels -when he waved them back, and pointed downward. There, on the floor, -was a little pool of blood. They shuddered as they gazed upon it. - -"I thought as much," said Constable Nightingale, the first to speak. -"There's been foul play here. Who opened that window, and left it open -on such a night? The cry for help you heard, Wigg, came from this -room." - -"But there's nobody here," said Constable Wigg. - -"That's his bedroom," said Mrs. Middlemore, in an awestruck voice, -pointing to a room the door of which was ajar. - -They stepped softly toward it, Dr. Lamb now taking the lead. In an -arm-chair by the side of the bed sat a man, his arms hanging -listlessly down. Dr. Lamb shook him roughly. - -"Wake up!" - -But the figure did not move. Dr. Lamb leant over the recumbent form, -and thrust his hand inside the man's waistcoat. Then, with his fingers -under the man's chin, he raised the head, so that the face was -visible. - -"Good Lord!" cried Mrs. Middlemore. "It's Mr. Felix! What's the matter -with him?" - -Dr. Lamb put his finger to his lips, and did not immediately reply. -When he removed his hand the head dropped down again, hiding the face. - -"If you want to know what's the matter with the man," he said, -presently, "he's dead." - -"Dead!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore. - -"As a doornail," said Dr. Lamb. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE "EVENING MOON" INDULGES IN A BOMBASTIC RETROSPECT, -IN WHICH SOME VERY TALL AND VERY FINE WRITING WILL BE -DETECTED BY THE OBSERVANT READER. - - -"In pursuance of the policy which we inaugurated some four years since -by the romance known as 'Great Porter Square,' we now present our -readers with a story of to-day, which we with confidence declare to be -as strange and exciting as that thrilling mystery, which may be -regarded as the starting-point of a new and captivating description of -journalism for the people. We use the term 'romance' advisedly, and -are prepared to justify it, although the incidents which we set before -hundreds of thousands of readers were true in every particular, and -occurred in a locality with which every Londoner is familiar. We -recall with pride the extraordinary variety of opinions which our -publication of that story of real life, and the means we pursued to -get at the heart of it, elicited. By many we were inordinately -praised, by some we were mercilessly condemned. There were critics who -declared that it was derogatory to the legitimate functions of a -newspaper to present any matter of public interest in the garb in -which we clothed it; there were others who, with a juster sense of the -altered conditions of society by which we are ruled, and to which we -are compelled to submit, declared that the new departure we made in -the Great Porter Square Mystery was, to the general mass of readers, -as wholesome as it was entertaining. Judging by results, these latter -critics were most certainly in the right. The public read with eager -avidity the details of that remarkable case as we published them, in -our own original fashion, from day to day. The demand for copies of -our several editions was so great that we were absolutely unable to -satisfy it, and we are afraid that thousands of newspaper readers were -compelled to pay exorbitant prices to the ragamuffins who vend the -daily journals in the public streets. We made strong endeavors to put -a stop to this extortion, but our efforts were vain, chiefly because -the people themselves were content to pay three and four times the -established price of the _Evening Moon_ rather than be deprived of the -pleasure of reading the tempting morsels with which its columns were -filled. Letters of congratulation poured in upon us from all quarters, -written by persons occupying the highest positions in society, as well -as by others moving in the lowest stations, and from that time the -success of the _Evening Moon_, as a journal which had firmly fixed -itself in the affections of the people, was assured. If any excuse is -needed for the system of journalism of which we were the first bold -exponents, we might find it in the trite axiom that the ends justify -the means, but we deny that any excuse whatever is required. It was no -sentimental experiment that we were trying; we had carefully watched -the currents of public opinion, and we started on our crusade to -satisfy a need. The present state of society is such that the public -insist upon their right to be made acquainted with the innermost -details of cases which are brought before the tribunals; the moment -these cases come before the public they are public property. There was -a time when seemly and closed doors were the rule, and under the cloak -of that pernicious system the most flagrant wrongs were committed; it -is not so in the present day, and it is right that it should not be -so. Public matters belong to the people, and so long as a proper and -necessary measure of decency is observed, so long as private -characters are not defamed, so long as homes and those who occupy them -are not made wretched by infamous innuendoes, so long as the pen of -the literary journalist is not employed for the purpose of scandal and -blackmail--too often, we regret to say, convertible terms--the -people's rights in this respect must be observed. - -"We point with justifiable pride to the manner in which our example -has been followed. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and, -we may add, also of approval, and the columns of numberless newspapers -with which we have no connection testify to the approval which our new -system of journalism has won. We mention no names, and have no -intention of complaining because the credit of initiating the new -system has been withheld from us; we accept the compliment which has -been paid to us, and we wish our contemporaries good luck. At the same -time we point out to our hundreds of thousands of readers that no -journal has, up to this day, succeeded in presenting public news in as -tempting a manner as we are enabled to do. The reason for this lies in -the extraordinary intelligence of our staff. Our writers are picked -men, who could earn celebrity in other channels than those of -newspaper columns, but who are content to serve us because they are -paid as capable journalists ought to be paid, with a liberality which -other newspaper proprietors would deem excessive, but which we do not. -This is one of the secrets of our astonishing and unprecedented -success. Our editors, sub-editors, special correspondents, and -reporters are zealous as no others are because they are devoted to our -cause, because they have regular and tangible proof that our welfare -is theirs, because they share in the profits of our enterprise. Thus -it is that we are now in possession of particulars relating to 'The -Mystery of Monsieur Felix,' which not one of our contemporaries has -been able to obtain, and thus it is that we are in a position to -present to our readers a romance as thrilling as any that has ever -emanated from the printing press. It presents features of novelty and -surprise which can be found in no other _cause célèbre_, and our -readers may rest assured that we shall follow up every clew in our -possession with an intelligence frequently wanting in the officials of -Scotland Yard. And, moreover, we have every right to maintain, and we -shall establish the fact, that what we do is done in the sacred cause -of justice. The wronged shall be righted, and the mystery clearly -brought to light, before we have finished with the case of M. Felix. - -"For a long period of time the term 'romance' has been misunderstood. -Romance was supposed to lie outside the regions of the ordinary -occurrences of everyday life. There was a glamour about the word, a -kind of lustre which lifted it above and beyond the commonplace -features of human struggle. It was, as it were, a castle built upon an -eminence, with spires, and turrets, and gables, whose points shone -brightly in the sun; it was, as it were, a species of ideal garden in -which grew only rare flowers and stately trees; or a land of -enchantment peopled by knights in silver armor, and by dainty ladies -flinging kisses to their lords and lovers as they rode forth to the -tournament or the battle. This was the bygone notion of Romance, the -false idea which, thanks in a great measure to our efforts, is now -utterly exploded. It has been found and proved that the truest regions -of romance lie in humble courts and alleys, where the commonest -flowers grow, where the air is not perfumed by odorous blossoms, where -people dwell not in turreted castle or stately palace, but in the -humblest homes and narrowest spaces, where common fustian and dimity, -not glittering armor and silken sheen, are the ordinary wear; where -faces are thin and anxious from the daily cares of toil, where the -battle is not for vast tracts of country worth millions, but for the -daily loaf of bread worth fourpence halfpenny. It has been found and -proved that the police courts are a veritable hot-bed in which romance -is forever springing up. When we contemplate the shattering of old -false idols and ideals, it would almost seem as if we were living in -an age of topsy-turvydom, but the sober fact is that the world is -healthfully setting itself right, and is daily and hourly stripping -off the veneer which lay thick upon what have been ridiculously called -the good old times. We were the first to practically recognize this -truth, and we have done our best to make it popular. It is from lowly -annals that we culled the romance of 'Great Porter Square,' and it is -from somewhat similar annals that we cull the present 'Mystery of M. -Felix.' The story will be found as strange as it is true. All the -passions of human nature are expressed in it, and there is one episode -at least--even up to the point which it has already reached--so -singular and startling as to be absolutely unique. - -"We draw special attention to the words in our last sentence, 'even up -to the point which it has already reached,' and we beg our readers to -bear them well in mind. It may be in their remembrance that when we -commenced to unravel the mystery of 'Great Porter Square' we had no -knowledge of its conclusion. We held in our hands certain slight -threads which we followed patiently up, and of which we kept firm -hold, until we had woven them into a strand which villainy and -duplicity could not break. We championed the cause of a man who, upon -no evidence whatever--simply from the officious and mistaken zeal of a -few policemen--was brought up to the police court on the suspicion of -being in some undiscovered way connected with a crime with which all -England was ringing. He was remanded day after day for the production -of evidence which was never forthcoming, and day after day we -protested against the injustice of which it was sought to make him a -victim. The slender threads in our possession we held fast, as we have -said, until at length we were rewarded with a gratifying success, -until at length we brought the guilt home to the guilty parties. We -ourselves were misled by the specious statements of one of the -miscreants, a woman, we regret to say, who was one of the two -principal actors in a plot which was very nearly successful, and -which, indeed, did for a certain time succeed. We are in a similar -position with respect to the 'Mystery of M. Felix.' The information -already in our possession leads us to a point of great interest, and -there strangely breaks off. But we pledge ourselves to pursue the -story to an end, and to unearth what is at present hidden in darkness. -Our agents are at work in this country and elsewhere, and we are -satisfied that they will succeed in removing the veil from a mystery -which is a common topic of conversation and discussion in all classes -of society." - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -AN EXAMINATION OF CERTAIN DISCREPANCIES IN THE STATEMENTS -OF THE THREE PRINCIPAL WITNESSES. - - -"The night of the 16th of January will be long remembered. For three -weeks the snow had fallen, intermittently, it is true, but for hours -together. The roads were almost blockaded, and traffic was carried on -under exceptional difficulties. The season, which in the early part of -December had promised to be unusually mild, suddenly vindicated its -reputation, and we were treated to an old-fashioned, bitter winter of -great severity. On the evening of the 15th of January the frost was -most severe, its intensity lasting until some time after daybreak, the -thermometer showing at eight o'clock A.M. close upon sixteen degrees -of frost. When it began to snow again people, congratulated themselves -that a thaw was setting in. They were mistaken. Had it been possible -the snow would have frozen as soon as it reached the ground, but it -fell in too great quantities for such a result. In the evening a -piercing wind raged through the thoroughfares, and the snow continued -to fall more heavily than during the day. In some places there was a -drift almost, if not quite, man high, and our columns on the morning -of the 17th recorded the discovery of three lifeless persons, one man -and two women, who had been frozen to death during the night. With -these unfortunates we have nothing to do; what concerns us and our -story is that on the night of the 16th, Mrs. Middlemore, a housekeeper -in one of the old houses in Gerard Street, Soho, very imprudently went -out just before midnight to fetch her supper-beer. Even the raging -storm did not prevent her from indulging in her usual habit, the -temptation of beer being too strong for her, and the prospect of going -to bed without it being too appalling to risk. She saw that the street -door was secure when she left the house, and was surprised, upon her -return, to find it open. These, and many other particulars which will -be duly recorded, are statements which have already appeared in public -print, and we are not responsible for them. At the moment of her -reaching the street door the circumstance of its being open was -impressed upon her by the appearance of a man hurriedly leaving the -house. He did not stop to address her, and she had no opportunity of -asking his business there, because he flew by her 'like a flash of -lightning,' she says. Naturally alarmed, she raised her voice and -cried, 'Police!' One, Constable Wigg, happened to be not far distant, -and he responded to her summons. Having heard what Mrs. Middlemore had -to say, he saw that there were two things to attend to--one, to -ascertain whether anything had occurred within the house; the other, -to follow the man who had escaped from it with such celerity. As he -could not fulfil these two duties at one and the same time, he in his -turn summoned to his assistance a brother constable of the name of -Nightingale. This officer pursued the man, and Constable Wigg and Mrs. -Middlemore entered the house. - -"Now, with the exception of Mrs. Middlemore, there was only one -regular tenant in the house, M. Felix, who had lived there for nearly -two years, and concerning whom, up to the night of January 16th, very -little appears to have been known, except that he was a retired -gentleman, living on his means, fond of pleasure, and of a generous -disposition to those who served him well. Mrs. Middlemore speaks in -the highest terms of him, but she judges only from one point of view, -that of a landlady who has a liberal lodger. Otherwise, she has no -knowledge of him, and cannot say where he came from, whether he was -married or single (the circumstance of his living a bachelor life -would not definitely decide this question), or whether he has any -relations in any part of the world. There are many gentlemen of the -description of M. Felix pursuing their mysterious careers in this -great city, a goodly number of them under false names. - -"M. Felix was a very peculiar gentleman. He paid for the entire house, -although he occupied only three rooms, a sitting-room, a dining-room, -and a bedroom. His stipulation when he first entered into possession -was that under no circumstances should any other tenant but himself be -allowed to occupy a room, and he went so far as to refuse permission -to Mrs. Middlemore for any friends of hers to sleep in the building. -Her duties consisted in attending to him and to his rooms, which she -entered and set in order only when he directed her, and for these -slight services she was extravagantly paid. Such a tenant was a -treasure, and she appreciated him accordingly, not venturing to -disobey him in the slightest particular. He had taken the greatest -pains to impress upon her that she was never, under any circumstances -whatever, to come to his rooms unless she was summoned, and from what -we have gathered of his character, M. Felix was a gentleman who could -be stern as well as pleasant, and was not a person who would allow his -orders to be disobeyed without making the delinquent suffer for it. -These imperative instructions rendered Constable Wigg's course -difficult. Mrs. Middlemore had left M. Felix in the house when she -went to fetch her supper-beer, and it was in the highest degree -improbable that he should have quitted it during her absence. He was -not a young man, he was fond of his ease, and the storm was raging -furiously. Nothing less than a matter of life or death would tempt a -man of M. Felix's disposition from his cosy fireside on such a night. -Constable Wigg suggested that he should go up-stairs to M. Felix's -rooms, and ascertain whether he was in and safe, but Mrs. Middlemore -would not listen to the suggestion, and of course without her consent -Constable Wigg could not carry his proposition into effect. In a -casual examination of those parts of the premises which Mrs. -Middlemore allowed him to enter he saw nothing to excite his -suspicions, and he decided to wait for the return of Constable -Nightingale before he proceeded further. - -"We break off here for a moment for the purpose of making brief -mention of one or two peculiar features in this singular affair, -leaving Constable Wigg and Mrs. Middlemore standing in the passage or -the kitchen--(_they_ say the passage, we presume to say the kitchen, -where doubtless a cheerful fire was blazing; policemen are human)--at -half-past twelve or a quarter to one in the middle of the night, -waiting for Constable Nightingale to report progress. Curiously -enough, the time cannot be exactly fixed, because the kitchen clock -had stopped, because Constable Nightingale's watch had stopped also, -and because Constable Wigg did not wear one. In an affair of this -description it is as well not to lose sight of the smallest details. -We arrive at the time, half-past twelve or a quarter to one, -approximately. Even in such a storm as was then raging through the -streets, Big Ben of Westminster made itself heard, and it transpires, -from a statement volunteered by Constable Wigg, that the great bell -was proclaiming the hour of midnight when, tramping half-frozen on his -beat, he heard a cry for help. Three times was this cry sent forth -into the night, and, faithful guardian as he was, according to his own -averment, he endeavored to ascertain the direction from which the -appeal proceeded. It may well be believed that, with the wind blowing -seemingly from all points of the compass at once, he failed to make -the necessary discovery; but it strikes us as singular that when he -was talking matters over with Mrs. Middlemore it did not occur to him -that the cry for help may have proceeded from the very house in which -he was standing. We make no comment upon this singular lapse of -memory. It strikes us also as by no means unimportant that in the -statements of Mrs. Middlemore and the two constables there is -something very like contradiction and confusion. Mrs. Middlemore gives -an answer to a question as to her movements in connection with those -of the constables, and presently, being pressed to be definite, says -something which throws doubt upon her first answer. She excuses -herself by saying that she was upset and worried, but to us this -explanation is not satisfactory, if only for the reason that her -subsequent correction throws doubt upon certain answers given by the -two constables to certain questions put to them. However, in the -present aspect of the matter, these contradictions may simply point to -some dereliction of duty on the part of the constables which they may -wish should not be known, and perhaps to some agreement on the part of -these three witnesses to an invented story which, believed, would -exculpate the constables from any such dereliction. This is mere -supposition, and we present it for what it is worth. - -"It is difficult to ascertain the precise time at which Constable -Nightingale returned to the house in Gerard Street after his fruitless -search for the man who had alarmed Mrs. Middlemore by his sudden rush -from the premises. Truly he must have had the greatest difficulty in -making his way through the streets. In explanation of our remark that -in the statements of Mrs. Middlemore and the two constables there is -something very like contradiction and confusion, we append their -answers to a few of the questions put to them. We will deal with -Constable Nightingale first: - -"'When you left the house in Gerard Street in pursuit of the man what -direction did you take?' - -"'I went in the direction of Oxford Street.' - -"'That is, you went to the right?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Why not to the left?' - -"'That would have led me to Leicester Square and Charing Cross.' - -"'Did you choose the Oxford Street route at haphazard?' - -"'No.' - -"'What induced you to take it?' - -"'I was told by Constable Wigg that the man went that way.' - -"'Did you meet any person on the road?' - -"'No one.' - -"'Absolutely no one?' - -"'Absolutely no one.' - -"'How long were you engaged upon your search for the man?' - -"'I can't exactly fix it.' - -"'May we say an hour?' - -"'That would be near the length of time.' - -"We will now deal with Constable Wigg. He was asked-- - -"'How did you summon Constable Nightingale to your assistance?' - -"'I blew my police whistle.' - -"'Many times?' - -"'Not many. He must have been very near.' - -"'But he did not make his appearance immediately?' - -"'No; not immediately.' - -"'Shall we say that two or three minutes elapsed before he joined -you?' - -"'About that.' - -"'You explained to him what had occurred?' - -"'Yes, with the assistance of Mrs. Middlemore.' - -"'You both explained it together?' - -"'Well, first one spoke, then the other.' - -"'Did you tell Nightingale that the man had fled in the direction of -Oxford Street?' - -"'No.' - -"'In point of fact, you did not see the man come out of the house?' - -"'No.' - -"'And? therefore, could not have given Nightingale the direction?' - -"'No, of course I could not.' - -"Now for Mrs. Middlemore: - -"'When the man rushed by you from the house, you screamed loudly for -the police?' - -"'As loud as I could.' - -"'How many times did you call?' - -"'I kep' on calling till Constable Wigg came up.' - -"'He did not come the moment you raised your voice?' - -"'No, not immediate. Per'aps in two or three minutes.' - -"'If we say two minutes we shall be within the mark?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Did you inform Constable Nightingale that the man ran away in the -direction of Oxford Street?' - -"'No; I was so flustered that I didn't see which way he run.' - -"These are all the extracts we need give for the purpose of our -illustration, merely asking the reader to bear in mind that each -witness was examined without the others being present. Is it quite -unreasonable to infer that, had they been examined in each other's -presence, their answers would not have been exactly as they are -reported in the public prints? - -"Constable Nightingale has since given an explanation of this -discrepancy by the admission that he must have made a mistake in -supposing that he received from Constable Wigg the information of the -route the man took when he scurried off; but we submit that this -explanation is not entirely satisfactory. - -"Another thing. Constable Nightingale states that he was engaged in -the search for an hour, and that during the whole of that time he did -not meet a single person on the road. How is that statement to be -received? He was hunting in some of the busiest thoroughfares in -London, and it bears the form of an accusation that he did not for a -whole hour observe one policeman on his beat. He was on his, he -declares, at the time he heard Constable Wigg's whistle. Constable -Wigg was on his beat, according to his own declaration, when he blew -it. Were they the only two constables in a thronged locality who were -faithfully performing their duty? Doubtless the other constables on -duty would indignantly repudiate the allegation, but Constable -Nightingale distinctly implies as much. We do not wish to be hard on -this officer, who bears a good character in the force. His movements -and proceedings between the hours of twelve and two on the night of -the 16th may have been innocent enough, or, if not quite blameless, -excusable enough on such a tempestuous night, but we unhesitatingly -say that his evidence is suspicious, and that we are not inclined to -accept it as veracious. - -"Still another thing. We have ascertained from persons acquainted with -Constable Nightingale, that he was very proud of his silver watch, -which he was lucky enough to win in a raffle, and that he was in the -habit of boasting that it never stopped, and never lost or gained a -minute. It is singular, therefore, that on this eventful night it -should have stopped for the first time, and at a time when it might be -most important to fix the occurrence of events to a minute. Perhaps -Constable Nightingale's watch stopped in sympathy with the stoppage of -Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen clock. - -"We are anxious to do justice to the parties, and we hasten to say -that at our request they have allowed a competent watchmaker to -examine Constable Nightingale's watch and Mrs. Middlemore's clock; but -this watchmaker reports that they are in perfect order, and that he -can find no reason why they should both have stopped almost at the -same moment. - -"If any of our readers consider that we are straining too hard on -trifles, we reply that the importance of so-called trifles cannot be -over-estimated. The world's greatest poet has said, 'Trifles light as -air are in their confirmation strong as proofs of Holy Writ.'" - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -A STARTLING PHASE IN THE MYSTERY. - - -"We hark back now to the point at which we left Constable Nightingale. -He had returned to Gerard Street without having found the man. During -his absence nothing further had occurred to alarm the housekeeper and -the constable who kept her company, and they were in doubt as to what -was best to be done. There was no evidence that the man had entered -the house with the intention of robbing it, but he might have done so, -and being disturbed before he effected his purpose, thought it -expedient to make his escape as quickly as possible. They were -debating this view when they were startled by what they declare was an -'apparition.' It was the apparition of a half-starved cat, which in -some way must have found an entrance into the house before Mrs. -Middlemore came back with her supper-beer. The cat did not belong to -the house, for M. Felix had a horror of such creatures, and would not -allow one to be kept on the premises. It was not the cat that startled -them, but the color of the cat, which seemed to have been rolling -itself in blood. They saw it only for an instant, and then it -disappeared, and has not since been seen again; but it left its marks -behind it. On the oil-cloth were marks of blood, made by the cat's -paws. These signs decided their course of action, and they proceeded -upstairs to the apartments occupied by M. Felix. They knocked and -called out loudly to him, but received no answer. By an ingenious -arrangement, devised presumably by M. Felix himself, the keyhole of -the door by which they stood was masked by a brass plate, the secret -of which was known only to M. Felix. The silence strengthened their -apprehensions of foul play, and they determined to force the door -open. To effect this it was necessary to obtain the assistance of a -locksmith, and Constable Nightingale issued forth once more, and -brought back with him not only a locksmith, but a doctor in the -neighborhood, Dr. Lamb, who was coming home late from a professional -visit. With some difficulty the door was forced open, and the first -thing that met their eyes was a pool of blood on the floor of the -sitting-room. They describe it as such, although subsequent -examination proved that there was a decided exaggeration in calling it -a pool, the quantity of blood which had fallen not being very serious. -M. Felix was not in this room, but when they entered the bedroom -adjoining they discovered him in an arm-chair, bearing the appearance -of a man who had fallen asleep. He was not asleep, however; he was -dead. The natural presumption was that he had been murdered, and that -the blood on the floor was his, but Dr. Lamb very soon declared that -this was not the case. M. Felix was dead, certainly, but his death was -produced by natural causes, heart disease. In this conclusion Dr. Lamb -was supported by other medical evidence which was sought on the -following day, and this being supposed to be sufficiently established, -the necessity of a post-mortem was not immediately recognized. The -body was lifted on the bed, and there lay, dressed, as it had fallen -into the arm-chair. - -"Accounts of these strange occurrences did not appear in the morning -newspapers of January 17th, and the first intimation the public -received of them was through the evening papers of that date. Even in -this initial stage we scented a mystery, and we despatched our -reporters to Mrs. Middlemore to obtain such information as would prove -interesting to our readers. Our reporters, however, were not able to -see Mrs. Middlemore; neither were they able to get access to the -house; some absurd orders on the part of the police were being carried -out, which converted the house into a kind of safe. But such -ridiculous methods are not difficult to circumvent, and we determined -that the public should not be robbed of their privileges. On January -18th, that is, some thirty-four hours after the death of M. Felix, we -inserted the following advertisement in the first edition of the -_Evening Moon_, and repeated it in all our subsequent editions. We -printed it in such bold type, and placed it in such a prominent -position, that it could not fail to reach the eyes of persons who were -interested in the case: - -"'The Strange Death of M. Felix in Gerard Street, Soho. Persons who -had private or other interviews with M. Felix between the hours of -eight in the morning and twelve at night on January 16th, or who are -in possession of information which will throw light upon the -circumstances surrounding his death, are urgently requested to call at -the office of the _Evening Moon_ at any time after the appearance of -this advertisement. Liberal rewards will be paid to all who give such -information, and the best legal assistance is offered by the -proprietors of this journal, entirely at their own expense, to all who -may desire it and who are in any way interested in M. Felix's death.' - -"Meanwhile, so far as the police were concerned, matters remained in -abeyance. They seemed to do nothing, and certainly discovered nothing. -One of our contemporaries, in a leading article, has suggested that -the insertion of this advertisement in our columns was an attempt to -tamper with justice, or, if not to tamper, to defeat its ends. We can -afford to smile at such an insinuation. There was no case before the -public courts, and no person was accused of anything whatever in -connection with the strange affair. The action we took was taken in -the cause of justice, to arouse it to action and assist it. In the -lighted torch of publicity there is an irresistible moral force. It -would be well if material light were thrown upon the black spaces in -this mighty city--upon the black spaces in which crimes are committed, -the perpetrators of which are enabled to escape because of the -convenient darkness in which they carry their horrible plans to a -successful issue. If old-time officialism refuses to stir out of the -old routine of useless and pernicious methods, forces which are not -amenable to red tapeism must take the reins, must take into their own -hands the plain duties of lawful authority, duties which they neglect -and evade to the injury of society at large. We do not preach -socialism, we preach justice--and light. - -"Thus far in our narrative we have brought matters up to the night of -January 18th. The house in Gerard Street is dark and silent; the body -of M. Felix is lying on the bed to which it was lifted from the -arm-chair in which it was discovered. - -"The night was unusually dark. The snow-storm had ceased on the -previous day, and the reflected light of white thoroughfares no longer -helped to dispel the pervading gloom. - -"The morning newspapers of the 19th contained no items of particular -interest in connection with the death of M. Felix. We were the first -to announce an extraordinary and apparently inexplicable move in the -mystery. In order to do this we published our first edition two hours -earlier than usual. - -"At nine o'clock on this morning one of our reporters, in the exercise -of his duty, was outside the house in Gerard Street, looking up at the -window of the sitting-room which M. Felix had occupied. He had -exchanged a few words with a policeman in the street. - -"'I am on the staff of the _Evening Moon_,' he said to the policeman. -'Is there anything new concerning M. Felix?' - -"'Nothing,' replied the policeman, quite civilly, and passed on. - -"Our reporter remained outside the house. Patient and persevering, he -hoped to pick up some item of interest which he might be able to weave -into a paragraph. - -"Suddenly the street door was opened from within, and Mrs. Middlemore -appeared. Her face was flushed, and in her eyes was a wandering look -as she turned them this way and that. The moment our reporter observed -these symptoms of distress he came to the conclusion that there was -some interesting item of which he could avail himself. He stepped up -to Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'What is the matter?' he asked. - -"'He's gone!' gasped Mrs. Middlemore, wringing her hands. 'He's -vanished!' - -"'Who has gone? Who has vanished?' inquired our reporter. - -"'M. Felix,' said Mrs. Middlemore, in a faint tone. - -"'My good creature,' said our reporter, 'you must be dreaming.' - -"'I'm not dreaming,' said Mrs. Middlemore. 'He's vanished. If you don't -believe me, go up and look for yourself. Where are the police. Oh, -where are the police?' - -"'Don't make a disturbance,' said our reporter, soothingly. 'Let us -see if you're not mistaken.' - -"Gladly availing himself of the invitation to go up and look for -himself, our reporter entered the house, and ascended the stairs, -followed by Mrs. Middlemore, moaning in a helpless, distracted -fashion. - -"The door of the sitting-room was open, and also the inner door, -leading to the bedroom. There was no person, living or dead, in either -of the rooms. - -"'Where was he?' asked our reporter. - -"'There, on the bed,' moaned Mrs. Middlemore. 'He was there last night -before I locked the door; and when I looked in a minute ago he was -gone.' - -"It was undeniably true. The bed bore the impression of a human form, -but that was all. The body of M. Felix had, indeed, disappeared!" - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -INTRODUCES SOPHY. - - -"Our reporter gazed at the bed in astonishment, while Mrs. Middlemore -continued to move her hands and eyes helplessly around, and moan for -the police. Our reporter is a man of resource, quick-witted, -ready-minded, and ever ready to take advantage of an opportunity. He -took advantage of this. - -"'My good creature,' he said, 'what is the use of crying for the -police? Have they assisted you in any way in this mysterious affair?' - -"'No, they 'aven't,' replied Mrs. Middlemore, adding -inconsequentially, 'but where are they--Oh! where are they?' - -"'What have they done already for you?' continued our reporter. -'Brought you into trouble with the newspapers because of their evidence -contradicting yours; and whatever other people may say, I am sure you -spoke the truth.' Our reporter observed something frightened in the -look she cast at him as he made this assertion. 'The best thing for you -is to confide in a friend who is really anxious to serve you, and -whose purpose is to get at the truth of the matter.' - -"'That's all I want. But where's the friend?' - -"'Here. I am on the staff of the _Evening Moon_, which is ready to -spend any amount of money in clearing the innocent and bringing the -guilty to justice. They haven't any interested motives to serve; they -didn't know the dead man, who some people say was murdered, and some -people say wasn't. If you are an innocent woman you would jump at the -chance I offer you; if you're guilty, it's a different pair of shoes, -and I wash my hands of you.' - -"The threat cowed Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'I'm innocent, you know I am,' she gasped. - -"'Of course I know you are, and I should like the opportunity to -silence the wretches who speak of you in a suspicious way.' - -"'What 'ave they said of me? What 'ave they dared to say?' - -"'What you wouldn't like to hear; but never mind them just now. We'll -soon take the sting out of their tails. Besides, while you are working -in the cause of innocence your time will not be wasted. You will be -well paid for the information you give.' - -"This appeal to her cupidity settled the point. - -"'I'll do it,' she said, 'whatever it is. I'm a innocent woman, and I -want the world to know it.' - -"'The world shall know it,' said our reporter, with inward -satisfaction at the success of his arguments; 'and when the whole thing -is made clear through you you'll be looked upon as a heroine, and -everybody will be running to shake hands with you. People will say, -"There, that's the woman that brought to light the truth about M. -Felix. If it hadn't been for her we should never have known it. She's -a real true woman; no nonsense about her." Why, I shouldn't wonder if -they got up a subscription for you.' - -("We have no doubt, when this meets the eyes of our contemporaries, -that some of them will be ready to take us severely to task for the -tactics adopted by our reporter. Let them. We are thoroughly satisfied -with the means he employed, and we offer him our sincere thanks. There -is not a move we make in this mystery which is not made in the -interests of justice, and that we are not ashamed of our methods is -proved by the absolutely frank manner in which we place before our -readers every word that passes.) - -"'What is it you want me to do?' asked Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'Merely,' replied our reporter, to answer a few simple questions. I -have my reasons for believing that the police have advised you to say -nothing to anyone but themselves.' - -"'They 'ave, sir, they 'ave.' - -"'What better are you off for it? Here are people ready to say -anything against you, while you are advised to sit in a corner without -uttering a single word in your own defence. It's monstrous. Upon my -word, my dear Mrs. Middlemore, it's nothing less than monstrous.' - -"'So it is,' said Mrs. Middlemore, all of whose scruples seemed to -have vanished. 'I'll answer anything you put to me.' - -"I shall ask you nothing improper. You say that you locked the door -before you went to bed last night. Which door? There are two, one -leading to the first floor landing, one communicating between the -bedroom and sitting-room. Which of these doors did you lock? Or did -you lock both?' - -"'I won't tell you a lie, sir. When I said I locked the door I thought -you'd understand me. I mean that I fastened both of 'em. I couldn't -lock 'em because the bedroom door key's been taken away, and the door -on the landing's been cut into.' - -"'That was done by the locksmith. Who took away the key of the -bedroom?' - -"'I don't know. Perhaps the police.' - -"'Without your knowledge?' - -"'I didn't know nothing of it.' - -"'How badly they are behaving to you! Anyway, the two doors were -closed?' - -"'Yes, I saw to that myself. I ain't in the house without company, -don't you think that. I wouldn't stop in it alone if you was to offer -me Queen Victoria's golden crown. My niece is downstairs abed, and -once she gets between the sheets she's that difficult to rouse that -it's as much as a regiment of soldiers can do to wake 'er.' (This, our -reporter thought, was comic, implying that Mrs. Middlemore had engaged -the services of a regiment of soldiers to get her niece out of bed -every morning.) 'Come up-stairs by myself in the dark,' continued Mrs. -Middlemore, 'is more than I dare do. In the daylight I venture if I'm -forced to, as I did a minute or two ago, because, though I shook Sophy -till I almost shook 'er to pieces, and lifted 'er up in bed and let -'er fall back again, it had no more effect on 'er than water on a -duck's back. All she did was to turn round, and bring 'er knees up to -'er chin, and keep 'old of the bedclothes as if she was a vice. She's -that aggravating there's 'ardly any bearing with 'er. So as I couldn't -get 'er out of bed, I come up 'ere without 'er. And that's 'ow I found -out Mr. Felix was gone.' - -"'You were speaking of what took place last night?' said our reporter. -'Your niece, Sophy, came up with you, I understand?' - -"'Yes, she did, though she had 'old of me that tight I could 'ardly -shake myself free.' - -"'Did she come into this room with you?' - -"'No, she didn't; she wouldn't put her foot inside it. I left her in -the passage while I peeped in. She ain't got the courage of a mouse.' - -"'Then she cannot corroborate your statement that the body of M. Felix -was here before you went to bed?' - -"'Ain't my word enough?' - -"'For me it is, but it's different with the police and the public. It -is a good job you've put yourself in our hands; there's no telling -what trouble you might have got into if you hadn't.' - -"'I'll do anything you want me to, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, in -great distress. 'It's a providence you come up when I opened the -street door.' - -"'It is. You are positive the body was on the bed?' - -"'If it was the last word I ever had to speak I'd swear to it.' - -"'I believe you without swearing,' said our reporter, opening a -cupboard door. - -"'What are you looking in there for?' asked Mrs. Middlemore. 'Do you -think a dead man 'd be able to get up and put 'isself on one of the -shelves?' - -"'No,' said our reporter, with a smile, 'but let us make sure the body -is not in either of the rooms.' - -"He looked thoroughly through the apartments, under the bed and the -couches, and in every cupboard. Mrs. Middlemore followed his movements -with her eyes almost starting out of her head. - -"'Even up the chimneys,' he said genially, and he thrust the poker up, -and then lit some paper in the stoves to see that the smoke ascended -freely and that there was no obstruction. - -"'The thoughts you put in one's 'ead,' remarked Mrs. Middlemore, in a -terrified voice, is enough to congeal one's blood.' - -"'My dear madam,' said our reporter, 'I am only doing what prudence -dictates, so that there may be no possible chance of your getting into -trouble. Suppose the body should be found in any other part of the -house----' - -"'But 'ow could it get there?' interrupted Mrs. Middlemore, excitedly. - -"'That is more than either you or I can say, any more than we can say -how it got out of this room; but out of it it has got, hasn't it?' - -"'Nobody can't say nothing different,' assented Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'This is altogether such a mysterious affair,' proceeded our -reporter, 'that there's no telling what it will lead to. I don't -remember a case like it ever occurring in London before. Where was I -when you interrupted me? Oh, I was saying, suppose the body should be -found in any other part of the house, what would the police say? Why, -that for some reason or other--and you may be sure they would put it -down to a bad reason--you had removed it for the purpose of concealing -it.' - -"'Me!' gasped Mrs. Middlemore. What would I do that for?' - -"'You wouldn't do it at all, but that's the construction the police -would put on it, and after that you wouldn't have a moment's peace. My -dear madam, we'll not give them a chance to take away your character; -not a stone shall be left unturned. There are rooms above these?' - -"'Yes, a lot.' - -"'We will have a look through them, and, indeed, through the whole -house. It's what the police would do, with the idea that you were a -party to some vile plot; it's what I will do, knowing you to be -perfectly innocent.' - -"He put his design into execution. Accompanied by Mrs. Middlemore, who -always kept in the rear, he made a thorough examination of the entire -house, from attic to basement, but, as he anticipated, discovered -nothing. The last rooms he examined were at the bottom of the house, -and it was there he made acquaintance with Mrs. Middlemore's niece -Sophy. - -"'Is that you, aunt?' the girl called out, from a room adjoining the -kitchen. - -"'Yes, it's me,' answered Mrs. Middlemore, irascibly. You're a nice -lazy slut, you are, to be 'ulking in bed this time of the morning.' - -"'I ain't abed, aunt,' said Sophy, making her appearance, 'I'm up; but -oh, I'm so sleepy!' - -"She came into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, and presenting a general -appearance of untidiness which did not speak well for her social -training. Her short hair was uncombed, her face unwashed, her frock -open at the back, and she had no boots on. She stared hard at our -reporter, but was not at all abashed at his presence. - -"'I'm a friend of aunt's,' said our reporter. 'You had better finish -dressing, light the fire, and give yourself a good wash, and then get -breakfast ready. You needn't come upstairs till you're called.' - -"He beckoned Mrs. Middlemore out of the room, and they proceeded -upstairs to the apartments on the first floor. - -"'It will be as well to say nothing before Sophy,' he said. 'Now, if -you please, we will go on. It is plain that the body of M. Felix is -not in the house; but it must be somewhere. The question is--Where, -and how it got there? These rooms were fairly secure before you went -to bed last night. Is there a chain on the street door?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Did you put it up before you went down to your bedroom?' - -"'I puts it up regularly every night.' - -"'And you did so last night?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'And turned the key?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Was the door locked and the chain up the first thing this morning?' - -"'Yes--no!' - -"'What do you mean by that?' - -"'I mean I can't remember. I must be sure, mustn't I, sir?' - -"'You must be sure, there must not be the possibility of a mistake; -this putting up of the chain is one of the points upon which a great -deal may hang. Do you mean to tell me that you have any doubt on the -subject?' - -"'I can't say for certain. I was that upset and bewildered when I -found M. Felix gone that I don't remember nothing till you came up to -me at the street door. 'Ow I opened it, or 'ow I got it open, I don't -remember no more than the dead.' - -"'Think a little; it is not longer than half-an-hour since I saw you. -Your memory cannot have deserted you in so short a time.' - -"'I've got no more memory about it than the babe unborn.' - -"'But you must try to have. It is a fact that the chain either was or -was not up, that the door either was or was not locked. Sit down and -think about it for a minute or two; I will keep quiet while you -think.' - -"But though the woman obeyed our reporter, and sat down and thought of -the matter, or said she did, she declared she could make nothing of -it, and had to give it up in despair. - -"'It is awkward,' said our reporter, 'to say the least of it. There is -no telling what construction may be put upon your loss of memory.' - -"'I'm a honest woman, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, looking imploringly -at our reporter; 'you'll put in a good word for me?' - -"'You may depend upon that, for I am convinced you are honest and -innocent, but it is unfortunate. If you _should_ happen to remember, -you had best let me know before you tell anyone else.' - -"'Yes, sir, I'll promise that. I don't know what I should do without -you.' - -"'Get yourself into serious trouble, for a certainty, Mrs. -Middlemore. You go out for your supper-beer every night?' - -"'Yes, every night; I can't do without it.' - -"'Beer is a wholesome beverage, if taken in moderation, which I know -is the case with you. Did you go out for it last night?' - -"'Yes, I did.' - -"'Before or after you paid your last visit to these rooms?' - -"'Before, sir, before. You think of everything.' - -"'It shows that I am doing the best I can for you. Before you came up -to these rooms, you had your supper?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Sophy had some with you?' - -"'Yes. She's got a twist on her has Sophy.' - -"'A twist?' - -"'An appetite. She eats as much as a Grenadier.' - -"'All growing girls do. How old is Sophy?' - -"'Fourteen.' - -"'Then, when you went downstairs, you and Sophy went to bed?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'You both sleep in the same room?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'In the same bed, most likely?' - -"'Yes, we do; and the way that girl pulls the clothes off you is a -caution.' - -"'Did you both go to bed at the same time?' - -"'No, I sent 'er before me, and when I went in she was as sound as a -top.' - -"'Are you a sound sleeper yourself?' - -"'I was before this dreadful thing 'appened, but now I pass the most -fearful nights.' - -"'Dreams?' - -"'Awful.' - -"'How about last light? Don't answer hastily. This is another -important point.' - -"Thus admonished, Mrs. Middlemore took time to consider; and no doubt -it was with a certain regret that she felt constrained to say, 'I -think I must 'ave slept better than ordinary. I was that tired that my -legs was fit to drop off me.' - -"'You slept very soundly?' - -"'I must 'ave done, mustn't I, sir?' - -"'That is for you to say. You see, Mrs. Middlemore, the body of M. -Felix could not have been removed without a certain noise. Now, if you -were awake you must have heard it.' - -"'I didn't 'ear nothing. I'll take my Bible oath of it.' - -"'At what hour did you wake this morning?' - -"'At 'alf-past eight, and I got up at once.' - -"'Isn't that rather late for you?' - -"'It is, sir, but I've got no one to attend to now.' - -"'You were not in any way disturbed in the night?' - -"'No, sir.' - -"'You positively heard nothing?' - -"'Nothing at all.' - -"'Did Sophy?' - -"'Love your 'eart, sir! Sophy wouldn't wake up if cannon-balls was -firing all round her!' - -"'As a matter of fact, has she told you she heard nothing last night?' - -"'I won't say that. I ain't 'ad time to arks her.' - -"'I'll ask her myself if you've no objection. Stop here for me; I -shall not be gone long.' - -"'I can't stop 'ere alone, sir. I'll come down, and keep in the passage -while you speak to Sophy.' - -"They went down together, and Mrs. Middlemore remained outside while -our reporter entered the kitchen. - -"His entrance aroused Sophy, who had been sitting in a chair, -apparently asleep, in the same state of untidiness as he had left her. -She fell on her knees with a guilty air, and began to rake out the -stove, making a great rattle with the poker. - -"'Fire not lit yet, Sophy?' said our reporter, much amused. - -"She looked up with a sly look, and seeing that he was not going to -scold her, rubbed her nose with the poker and smiled boldly at him. - -"'Not yet, old 'un,' she replied, making no attempt to continue her -work. - -"To be addressed as 'old 'un' must have been especially humiliating to -our reporter, who is a good-looking fellow of eight-and-twenty, but he -did not resent it. - -"'Wood won't catch, I suppose,' he said. 'Too damp, eh?' - -"'Soppin',' said Sophy, though as a matter of fact there was no wood -before her. - -"'What are you looking so hard at me for?' asked our reporter. 'You'll -make me blush presently.' - -"'_You_ blush!' laughed Sophy. 'I like that, I do. Look 'ere, old 'un. -When you wants to blush, you'd better 'ire somebody to do it for you. -_I'll_ do it for tuppence a time.' - -"'You would have to wash your face first,' said our reporter, entering -into the humor of the situation. - -"'I wouldn't mind doing that,' said Sophy, staring harder than ever at -him, 'if you'd make it wuth my while. As for lookin' at you, a cat may -look at a king.' - -"'I'm not a king,' observed our reporter, 'and you're not a cat.' - -"'Call me one, and you'll feel my clors. I'm reckonin' of you up, -that's what I'm doing of.' - -"'And what do you make of me, Sophy?' - -"'I sha'n't tell if you're going to act mean. 'Ansom is that 'ansom -does.' - -"Our reporter took the hint, and gave the girl a sixpenny-piece. - -"'I say,' cried Sophy, greatly excited, as she tried the coin with her -teeth. 'Stow larks, you know. Is it a good 'un?' - -"'Upon my honor,' said our reporter, placing his hand on his heart, -with a mock heroic air. - -"'Say upon your soul.' - -"'Upon my soul, if you prefer it.' - -"'Change it for me, then. I'd sooner 'ave coppers.' - -"Our reporter had some in his pocket, and he counted out six into -Sophy's grimy palm. A seventh, by accident, fell to the floor. Sophy -instantly picked it up. - -"'Findin's keepin's,' she said. - -"'I'm agreeable. And now what do you make of me?' - -"'Wait a bit,' said Sophy. Unblushingly she lifted her frock, and tied -the coppers in her ragged petticoat, tightening the knots with her -teeth, which were as white as snow. 'That's my money-box, and I've got -some more in it. What do I make of you? Oh, I knows what you are. You -can't gammon me.' - -"'What am I?' - -"'You belong to the _Perlice Noos_, that's what you do. You've come to -make pickchers. Pickcher of the 'ouse where the body was found. -Pickcher of the room where the body was laid. Pickcher of the body's -bed. Pickcher of the body's slippers. Pickcher of Mrs. Middlemore, the -body's 'ousekeeper. Oh, I say, make a pickcher of me, will you? I'll -buy a copy.' - -"'Perhaps, if you're good. But you must answer a question or two -first.' - -"'All serene. Fire away!' - -"'You went upstairs last night with your aunt after you had your -supper?' - -"'Yes, I did.' - -"'You did not go into the rooms?' - -"'No, I didn't.' - -"'Because you were frightened?' - -"'Gammon! It'd take more than that to frighten Sophy.' She added, with -a sly look, 'Aunty's easily kidded, she is.' - -"'Ah,' said reporter, somewhat mystified, 'then you came down and went -to bed?' - -"'Yes, I did, and precious glad to get there.' - -"'You like your bed, Sophy?' - -"'Rather.' - -"'And you sleep well?' - -"'You bet!' - -"'Did you sleep better or worse than usual last night?' - -"'No better, and no wus.' - -"'Did you wake up in the night?' - -"'Not me!' - -"'Then you heard no noise?' - -"'Where?' - -"'Anywhere.' - -"'I didn't 'ear nothink. 'Ow could I?' - -"'Thank you, Sophy. That is all for the present.' - -"'I say,' cried Sophy, as our reporter was about to leave the kitchen, -'you'll take my pickcher, won't you?' - -"'I'll think about it. I'll see you another time, Sophy; and look -here,' added our reporter, who is never known to throw a chance away, -'here's my card; take care of it, and if you find out anything that -you think I'd like to know about M. Felix, come and tell me, and you -shall be well paid for it. You'll not forget?' - -"'No, I won't forgit. Anythink about M. Felix, do you mean?' - -"'Yes, anything.' - -"'All right, old 'un. I'll choo it over.' Here Sophy dropped her -voice, and asked, 'Is Aunt outside?' - -"'Yes. Can you keep a secret?' - -"'Try me,' said Sophy, holding out the little finger of her left hand. - -"'What am I to do with this?' - -"'Pinch my nail as 'ard as you can. Never mind 'urting me. As 'ard as -ever you can. - -"Our reporter complied, and Sophy went audibly through the entire -alphabet, from A to Y Z. - -"'There,' said Sophy, 'did I scream when I came to O?' - -"'You did not,' said our reporter, remembering the child's game. 'You -bore it like a brick.' - -"'Don't that show I can keep a secret?' - -"'It does. Well, then, don't tell your aunt that I gave you my card, or -asked you to come and see me.' - -"'I'm fly.' - -"Giving him a friendly wink, Sophy went on her knees, and made a -pretence of being very hard at work cleaning the grate. The last words -he heard were: - -"'Pickcher of Sophy wearin' 'erself to skin and bone. Ain't I busy?'" - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -OUR REPORTER GIVES MRS. MIDDLEMORE SOME SENSIBLE -ADVICE. - - -"Rejoining Mrs. Middlemore, our reporter informed her that he was -satisfied that Sophy had heard nothing in the night. - -"'Of course she didn't,' said Mrs. Middlemore. 'Once she's in bed she -lays like a log.' - -"'She's a sharp little thing,' observed our reporter. - -"'Sharp ain't the word, sir. What's going to be the end of her is more -than I can fathom.' - -"'Has she a mother?' - -"'No.' - -"'Father?' - -"'If he can be called one. Drunk half his time, in trouble the other -half.' - -"'So that poor Sophy has to look after herself?' - -"'Pretty well. She does odd jobs, and picks up a bit 'ere and a bit -there. When M. Felix first come to live 'ere I'd made up my mind to -'ave 'er altogether with me, though she'd 'ave worrited the life out -of me, I know she would; but he wouldn't let me 'ave nobody in the -house but 'im, and wouldn't let nobody sleep in it a single night, so -I 'ad to disappoint the child. I did take 'er in once or twice when -she came round to me almost black and bloo with the way 'er brute of a -father had served 'er, but I 'ad to be careful that M. Felix shouldn't -see 'er--smuggling 'er into the kitchen when he was away, and letting -'er out very early in the morning--or I should never 'ave 'eard the -last of it.' - -"'You are the only friend the girl has, it seems?' - -"'She ain't got many more.' - -"'Mind what I tell you, Mrs. Middlemore,' said our reporter, with the -kindest intentions, 'there's capital stuff in Sophy. Now that M. Felix -is gone it would be a charity to adopt her, if you haven't any of your -own.' - -"'I ain't got none of my own,' said Mrs. Middlemore, shaking her head -dubiously, 'but since I arksed 'er whether she'd like to live with me, -and she said she would, she's got into ways that I don't think I could -abide. You see, sir, she wasn't so old then, and I might 'ave moulded -her. I don't know as I could do it now.' - -"'What ways do you refer to?' - -"'Well, sir, I've seen her selling papers in the streets----' - -"'That's not a crime,' interposed our reporter; 'especially if she -does it for food.' - -"'If you won't mind my saying so,' said Mrs. Middlemore, with -considerable dignity, 'I consider it low; but that's not so bad as -selling matches, which is next door to begging.' - -"'But she doesn't beg?' - -"'No, I don't think she goes as low as that.' - -"'Nor steal?' - -"'No,' replied Mrs. Middlemore, with spirit, 'she'll take anything -that's give to her, but's as honest as the sun, I'll say that of her.' - -"'All that you've told me of Sophy, Mrs. Middlemore, is in her favor, -and I have already a sneaking regard for her.' - -"'Lord, sir!' exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, misconstruing the sentiment, -'and you the gentleman that you are!' - -"'Yes,' repeated our reporter, complacently, 'a sneaking regard for -her. Hawking papers and matches is not the loftiest occupation, but it -is a form of commerce; and commerce, my dear madam, has made England -what it is.' - -"It was not entirely without a selfish motive, although he was -favorably disposed toward the poor waif, that our reporter wandered -for a few moments from the engrossing subject of M. Felix's -disappearance to the less eventful consideration of Sophy's welfare. -By one of those processes of intuition which come to observant men by -inspiration, as it were, he was impressed with the idea that Sophy -might be useful to him and to us in the elucidation of the mystery -concerning M. Felix. We will not weaken the interest of what is to -follow by divulging whether this idea was or was not justified by -results; our readers will be able to judge for themselves later on. -His views regarding Sophy had their weight with Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'I mean to keep Sophy with me,' said that lady, 'for a little while -at all events, and if she'll only keep away from the theaytres I'll do -what I can for 'er.' - -"'Does she frequent theatres?' - -"'Does she?' exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, and immediately answered -herself after a favorite fashion with certain of her class. 'Doesn't -she? Why she saves every copper she can get to go to the galleries, -and when she ain't got no money she hangs round the stage doors to see -the actors and actresses go in and out. I don't believe she could stay -away if it was to save her life.' - -"'Persons in a much higher social position than ourselves,' said our -reporter, turning every point to Sophy's advantage, 'are in the habit -of hanging round stage doors. The stage is a great institution, Mrs. -Middlemore, greater than ever it was before, and is courted--yes, my -dear madam, courted--by the highest as well as the lowest in the land, -from the Prince of Wales at the top to poor little Sophy at the -bottom. Every fresh thing you tell me of Sophy makes me think better -of her. But let us return to M. Felix. He would not allow you to have -any person in the house, you say. What was his motive?' - -"'I can't say, sir, except that he wanted to keep 'isself to 'isself.' - -"'Did you expostulate with him?' - -"'Did I what, sir?' - -"'Did you tell him you would feel lonely without a companion -occasionally?' - -"'Not me, sir. M. Felix wasn't the kind of gentleman you could cross. -He 'ad a way of speaking, when he was giving orders you couldn't -mistake. His word was lore, and he meant it to be. You ain't -forgetting, sir, that he was master 'ere?' - -"'No, I'm not forgetting that. His orders, then, were to be obeyed -without question?' - -"'They was, sir. He said to me, "When people don't do as I tell 'em, -Mrs. Middlemore, I get rid of 'em."' - -"'A very dictatorial gentleman.' - -"'Only when he was saying, "This is to be," or, "That is to be." At -other times he was as smooth as marble, and always passed a pleasant -word.' - -"'He had visitors occasionally, I suppose?' - -"'Oh, yes, sir, but I scarcely ever sor them. Nearly always he let 'em -in and out 'isself.' - -"'In a manner of speaking, then, he led a secret life?' - -"'Some might call it so. Gentlemen living in chambers do all sorts of -things.' - -"'So I believe,' said our reporter, dryly. - -"'And it ain't for the likes of us to question 'em. We've got our -living to make, and if it pays us to be mum, mum we must be.' - -"'I understand that. From what I can gather, Mrs. Middlemore, M. Felix -had no family?' - -"'Not that I know of, sir.' - -"'As to his visitors, now, were they mostly ladies or gentlemen?' - -"'Mostly ladies, sir.' - -"'Have any of them been here to see his body?' - -"'Not one, sir.' - -"'That is strange. He might almost as well have died on a desert -island.' - -"'Yes, sir. That's the reason why we've been all at sea what to do. -There was nobody to give directions.' - -"'It is certainly a perplexing situation, unprecedented in my -experience. Should you happen to meet any of the persons who were in -the habit of visiting him, would you be able to identify them?' - -"'I don't think I should, sir.' - -"'Supposing that he came by his death in a violent way--I don't -say it is so, because the medical evidence does not favor that -conclusion--but supposing that this evidence was misleading, -and was proved to be so, there is nobody to take up the matter -authoritatively, to take measures, I mean, to bring the guilty party -to justice?' - -"'Nobody, sir.' - -"'Only the police?' - -"'Yes, sir, only the police?' - -"'And all they have succeeded in doing is to make things uncomfortable -for you?' - -"'Yes, sir,' sighed Mrs. Middlemore, 'that's all they've done. I said -to Mr. Nightingale, "A nice friend you've been," I said. I couldn't -'elp saying it after all I've gone through.' - -"'Is it Constable Nightingale you are speaking of?' - -"'Yes, it is.' - -"'Is he an old friend of yours?' - -"'He was on the beat 'ere before Mr. Wigg.' - -"'Ah; and that is how you got to know him?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'He knew M. Felix, probably?' - -"'Mr. Felix made a point of being always friendly with the policemen -on the beat.' - -"'Sensible man. Tipped them, I daresay?' - -"'They'd best answer that theirselves. He never give _me_ nothing to -give 'em.' - -"'What did Constable Nightingale say when you made that remark to -him?' - -"'Nothing,' replied Mrs. Middlemore, with sudden reserve. - -"'Surely he must have made some remark, to the effect that he _was_ -your friend, or words bearing the same meaning?' - -"'He didn't say nothing.' - -"Our reporter gave up the point; it was his cue to keep Mrs. -Middlemore in a good humor. - -"'I'll have one more look in the bedroom,' he said. - -"At first his scrutiny was not rewarded by any discovery, but, passing -his hand over the pillows on the bed, he felt something hard beneath -them, and upon lifting them up he saw a six-chambered revolver, loaded -in every barrel. - -"'Lord save us!' cried Mrs. Middlemore, starting back. - -"'Did you not know it was here?' - -"'No, sir, this is the first time I ever saw it. I never knew he kep' -one.' - -"'Do the police know?' - -"'They didn't mention it, sir.' - -"'Well, we will leave it where it is. Don't touch it, Mrs. Middlemore; -it's loaded.' - -"Before he replaced it, however, he made the following note in his -pocket-book: 'A Colt's double-action revolver, nickel plated, six -shots, No. 819.' And, unseen by Mrs. Middlemore, he scratched on the -metal with his penknife the initial F. Then he looked at his watch, -and said-- - -"'It is nearly ten o'clock. My advice now is that you go and give the -alarm to the police that the body of M. Felix has vanished.' - -"'You'll go along with me, sir?' - -"'No, for your sake I had better not be seen. Give me two minutes to -get away, and then go for the police at once. I will come and see you -again, and help you in every way I can.' - -"Shaking her hand, and leaving half a sovereign in it, our reporter, -accompanied by Mrs. Middlemore, went to the street door, and left her -standing there." - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE "EVENING MOON" IS INUNDATED WITH CORRESPONDENCE -CONCERNING THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE BODY OF M. FELIX. - - -"As was to be expected, the news of the disappearance of the body of -M. Felix caused the greatest excitement. In small villages trifling -incidents are sufficient to create an interest; in great cities events -of magnitude are required to stir the pulses of the people; and in -both village and city, to arouse the public from their normal -condition of apathy, it is necessary that the incidents must have -local color. Soho was sufficiently central, and, it may be added, -sufficiently mixed and mysterious in the character of its population, -to fulfil this imperative condition of popularity. Every resident in -London knows the locality, and is to some extent familiar with it; it -is contiguous to the most fashionable thoroughfares; it is within a -stone's throw of theatres of magnificent proportions; it gives shelter -to foreign princes deposed for a time from their high estate, and to -foreign votaries of vice of both sexes who, being outlaws, cannot -pursue their infamous courses in their native lands. If we were asked -which part of London contains the most varied material for the weaving -of modern romance we should unhesitatingly point to the region of -Soho. A careless stroller through those thoroughfares little dreams of -the strange and wondrous life which beats beneath the apparently -placid, the undeniably squalid, aspect of this pregnant locality. The -elderly woman, poorly clad and closely veiled, who glides past him is -a prominent member of a Royal family who for a long period held the -reins of power in one of the greatest European nations; she lives now -in a garret upon dry bread and German sausage, and makes her own bed -and fire. Yesterday she wore a crown of diamonds, to-day she wears a -crown of sorrow. The attenuated man, whose worn-out garments hang -loosely upon his spare body, and who is now studying _carte du jour_ -in the window of a low French restaurant, nervously fumbling at the -same moment the few loose coins in his pocket, was, in years gone by, -one of the greatest financiers in the world; yesterday he dealt in -millions, had scores of carriages and hundreds of servants, paid -fabulous prices for rare gems and pictures, and provided funds -for mighty wars; to-day he is debating whether he can afford an -eighteen-penny dinner. The man with an overhanging forehead, who -strides onward with teeth closely set, and the fingers of whose hands -are continually clinching and unclinching, is the head of a secret -society whose members number hundreds of thousands, and whose deed of -blood shall next week convulse the world with horror. We could dwell -long upon this fascinating theme, but our business is with M. Felix, -and we must not wander from him. - -"As we have already stated, we were the first to give the public the -intelligence of his strange disappearance, and so intense was the -interest the news excited that our printing-machines could not supply -one-fourth of the demand for the various editions of our journal. The -letters we received upon the subject would form a curious chapter in a -new 'Curiosities of Literature.' - -"'Dear sir' (wrote one correspondent), 'you speak of the disappearance -of the body of M. Felix as an unparalleled incident. Allow me to -correct you, and from my own experience to furnish your readers with -an identical case. It is now ten years ago since I formed the -acquaintance of a gentleman of great attainments and peculiar habits, -and whose nationality was always a matter of curiosity with me. Once -or twice I delicately approached the subject, but he skilfully evaded -it, and I did not feel warranted in pressing it. He was a wonderful -chess-player, an accomplished linguist, and his knowledge of the -niceties of every new discovery in science was simply marvellous. He -had only one failing--he drank and smoked too much. In those days I -also was a free liver. We were both single men, I certainly, he -presumably; there are topics upon which it is good breeding to -preserve a friendly delicacy. We met frequently, and dined together at -least twice a week, at my expense. He was a good judge of wine and -liquor, and very choice in his food. Being much superior to me in this -respect, I invariably left it to him to decide where to dine and to -arrange the courses. Perhaps occasionally we took half a bottle of -wine too much, but that is neither here nor there. It was no one's -business but our own. He took a peculiar interest in all new -inventions, and was in the habit of throwing out hints of an -extraordinary invention of his own which one day was to revolutionize -the world. He told me very little of his discovery of which anyone -could make use, but he was so jealous of his secret that he bound me -down to solemn secrecy on the point; and I trust I am too much of a -gentleman to violate the confidence he reposed in me. I may, however, -without scruple, reveal that his invention related to combustion. One -evening, when we had arranged to dine as usual together at the Royal, -in Regent Street, he confided to me that he was in temporary want of -funds, and I lent him all the money I had about me, some fifteen or -sixteen pounds. Then we dined, and he paid for the dinner. Over the -meal he talked more frequently than he was in the habit of doing of -his invention. "It is near completion," he said, "and before I go to -bed I intend to make some experiments which I am in hopes will put the -finishing touch to it." Then he looked at me searchingly and -thoughtfully, and said I might accompany him home if I liked, and -assist in the experiments. Burning with curiosity, and delighted at -this mark of his confidence, I gladly consented, and we issued forth -and proceeded to his rooms, which, singularly enough, were in -Glasshouse Street, at no very great distance from the house in which -M. Felix lived. On our way he purchased two bottles of brandy, -remarking that even when the soul was in its highest state of -exaltation the body required nourishment and sustaining. I acquiesced. -He lived on the second floor, in two rooms, one his bedroom, the other -the room in which he conducted his experiments. There was no evidences -of the nature of these experiments visible, and he explained this to -me by stating that, distrusting his housekeeper, he kept them in his -cupboard. The first thing he did was to light a large fire; then he -brought forth a brass frying-pan, upon which he emptied a packet of -powder. "You must not be frightened at what I am about to do," he -said. "There is no very great danger in it, but it needs courage." -Being already primed with the wine we had at dinner, and with three -glasses of the brandy he had purchased, I told him I was prepared for -anything. Then he informed me that his experiments must be made -without light from candle or lamp; so that, with the exception of the -fire, we were in darkness. Then he put the brass frying-pan on the -fire, and a blue vapor floated through the room. I felt a little -nervous, but I would not confess it, and I helped myself to another -glass of brandy, and puffed away at a very large and very strong cigar -with which he presented me. He bade me sit in a particular chair by a -little table (upon which he considerately placed the two bottles of -brandy, one by this time half empty), and he drew around me upon the -floor, which was destitute of carpet, a circle with a piece of -billiard chalk, and said that as long as I did not move outside that -charmed circle I should be safe. "Help yourself to some more brandy," -he said, "and do not be frightened." I obeyed him as to the brandy, -but I must confess I was in great trepidation, more especially as the -dim objects in the room appeared to be going round and round. He threw -some more powder into the brass frying-pan, and this time the vapor -was green. He then asked me if I had anything in the shape of metal -upon my person, and I answered yes, of course; upon which he stated -that I might be in danger unless I divested myself of them, as he was -about to do. At a little distance from me, between me and the fire, he -drew upon the floor a smaller circle with his piece of billiard chalk, -and within it placed a trinket or two of his own. I handed him my gold -watch and chain, my diamond ring, my pearl and ruby pin, and a -valuable charm of gold which I kept in my pocket for luck. These he -placed with his own trinkets within the smaller circle, and said that -now no harm could befall me. The objects in the room went round more -and more as he muttered some cabalistic words, and to prevent myself -from being overcome by terror I took some more brandy. Then he threw -about half a dozen little packets of powder into the fire, one after -another, and all sorts of colors appeared, and filled the room with a -peculiar smell, which so affected me that I helped myself to brandy. I -must not forget to mention that he had locked the door and put the key -in his pocket. "If what I am doing alarms you," he said, "you may -close your eyes. You have great courage, and to prove my friendship -for you I shall present you with half the profits of my invention." I -tried to thank him, but to my surprise my words were not very clearly -spoken. Presently my eyes began to close, and I fell asleep. When I -awoke the room was in darkness. I called to my friend, but he did not -answer me. Fearful lest he himself should have fallen a victim to his -hazardous experiments, I rose unsteadily to my feet and felt around -till my hands reached the door, which, of course, was locked. Luckily -I had in my pocket a box of matches, and striking one I lit the -candle. My friend was gone; I was alone in the room; but upon the -floor was a small heap of ashes. Not only was my poor friend gone, but -all his trinkets as well as my own were also gone. But there upon the -floor was the fatal heap of ashes. I could arrive at but one -conclusion, namely, that the combustion which was the kernel of his -great invention had reduced him to ashes and destroyed him. There -could be no other explanation of the extraordinary occurrence, because -the door was still locked. Fearful lest I might be accused of his -death, I forced the door open and fled, and from that day to this the -affair has remained wrapped in mystery. This is the first time I have -mentioned it, and I do so now in the interests of justice, lest some -unfortunate person should be accused, as I might have been in the case -of my friend, of spiriting M. Felix away. May not his disappearance be -set down to combustion? Are there any charred marks upon the floor of -the room where his body lay? Were any ashes left? Was he given to -dangerous experiments? My own experiences may lead you, sir, to the -proper solution of the mystery which hangs around his fate. I shall -follow the further developments of the case of M. Felix with interest, -and am, Yours, etc.' - -"Another correspondent wrote: - -"'Sir--I am a Spiritualist, and I possess the power of summoning from -the Caverns of the Unseen and Unknown the spirits of any individual -upon whom I may call. There is but one way of arriving at the truth of -the disappearance of the body of M. Felix, and I offer to you the -exclusive privilege of revealing this truth to an anxious and eager -public. My fee will be five guineas. Upon your remitting to me this -sum I undertake to summon the spirit of M. Felix, and to ascertain -from his own lips what has become of his body. The power I possess is -worth considerably more than the sum I name, and you, with this -exclusive information in your possession, will obtain an advertisement -for your valued newspaper which you could not otherwise obtain for -five hundred times the amount. I enclose you my name and address, -which you may or may not publish as you please, and upon the receipt -of the five guineas I will set to work at once. If you decline my -offer the disappearance of this particular body will forever remain a -mystery. I urge you, in your own interests, not to neglect this -opportunity. - -"Another correspondent wrote: - -"'Honored Sir--I have been reading all about M. Felix, and now comes -the cruel news of his disappearance. Just as I was going to see his -body and identify it! Just as I was going to realize a life-long -dream! Will you allow me to explain, and will you render an -inestimable service to a poor widow? I feel that you will, for you -have a heart. Thirty-two years ago my husband left me suddenly. We -were having tea, and in the middle of it he got up and said, "I'm off, -and you'll never see me again." We had had a dispute about something -(I beg you not ask me what; it was a private matter), when he acted -thus. He was a most overbearing man, and I had enough to do to bear -with him. He left the house there and then, and I have never set eyes -on him since. His name was not Felix, but are you sure that was M. -Felix's proper name. I advertised for him, and said all would be -forgiven and forgotten, but he didn't turn up. I heard he had gone to -Australia, and no doubt he made his fortune there, and came home to -England to enjoy it; and as _he_ was a man who never forgot and never -forgave, he took the name? of Felix, and lived the lonely life he did. -It was only yesterday the idea flashed across me that he was my long -lost husband, and that, if he did not make a will disinheriting me, -his lawful wife, his fortune belongs to me by every legal and moral -right. I would put two or three questions to you, sir, to you who are -always ready to help the oppressed. Did the supposed M. Felix make a -will? If he did, where is it? Is there any portrait of him extant? I -have a portrait of my poor husband--alas! much faded--but it stands to -reason that it must differ considerably from the late portraits taken -of the deceased. Show me M. Felix's portrait and I am ready to swear -to my husband. I put only one more question. In the absence of any -evidence whatever, and failing the discovery of the deceased's mortal -remains, is it not competent for me to make oath that he was my -husband, and thus establish my claim to any property he may have left -behind him. In deep grief, I am, honored sir, your obliged and -obedient servant, A LONELY WIDOW.' - -"We could fill pages with letters of this description, but the three -we have given are a sufficient indication of the interest excited by -the incident. Among all these letters there was only one which offered -any suggestion likely to be of practical value, and that was the -letter we have printed, signed 'A LONELY WIDOW.' Her interesting -hypothesis that M. Felix was her long lost husband was, of course, -ridiculous, but she made mention of two subjects worthy of -consideration. The first was did M. Felix make a will; the second, was -there any portrait of him extant. If a will were in existence, it -would probably be in the care of a firm of lawyers who could have no -good reason for keeping it in the background. We set to work at once -upon this trail, but it led to nothing. No lawyers were found in -possession of such a document, and it was not forthcoming from other -quarters. Nor were we more successful with respect to a portrait of M. -Felix. Mrs. Middlemore had never seen one, and a private search -through his rooms was futile. Indeed, it is a further proof of the -strange secrecy in which M. Felix's life was conducted that not a -document or written paper of any description was discovered in his -apartments, not even a letter. Some important statements upon this -head will be presented further on. - -"In pursuance of the advice our reporter gave Mrs. Middlemore, she -communicated to the police the fact of the disappearance of the body -of M. Felix. There the matter rested, and would have been likely to -rest but for the initiatory steps we had already taken to throw a -light upon the mystery. It is all very well to say that nobody's -business is everybody's business; it is not the case. People talked -and wrote letters, but we acted. It must be admitted that the police -were not in a position to move actively in the affair. No definite -charge had been offered for their investigation; no person was accused -of a crime; it had not even been proved that a crime had been -committed. Conjecture was theirs, and that was all. The law cannot -move, cannot act upon conjecture; facts of a crime, or even of a -supposed crime, are necessary before the administration of justice can -be called upon to adjudicate. Suggestions were thrown out as to the -advisability of offering a reward for the discovery of the body, but -who was to offer it? Even in the case of a deliberate and ascertained -murder where the criminal is at large, the Government is notoriously -slow in issuing such a proclamation, and the full weight of public -opinion has frequently failed in inducing the authorities to offer a -reward. It was not, therefore, to be expected that they would do so in -this instance. Meanwhile there was one feature in the case which we -desire to emphasize, and of which we never lost sight. Between the -hours of twelve and one o'clock on the night of the 16th-17th January -a man with a red scarf round his neck was seen to issue from the house -in Gerard Street, in which M. Felix resided. The man still remained -undiscovered. It matters not who saw him, whether Mrs. Middlemore, or -Constables Wigg or Nightingale, or all three together. The fact seemed -to be established that he had been in the house for some purpose, and -had been seen to issue from it. - -"Where was that man, and what motive had he for not coming forward?" - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" MAKES A DISCOVERY. - - -"On the evening of the 19th our reporter paid a visit to Mrs. -Middlemore. Sophy opened the street door for him. - -"'Hallo, old 'un,' said the girl, 'it's you, is it?' - -"'Yes, Sophy,' said our reporter, 'here I am again.' - -"'As large as life,' remarked Sophy, vivaciously, 'and twice as--no, I -won't say that; you ain't arf a bad sort. What's yer little game this -time, old 'un?' - -"'Is Mrs. Middlemore in?' asked our reporter. - -"'Yes, aunt's at 'ome. Do you want to see 'er?' - -"'That's what I've come for, Sophy.' - -"'Who's that, Sophy?' cried Mrs. Middlemore, from the bottom of the -basement stairs. - -"'It's the old 'un, aunt,' screamed Sophy. - -"'Don't be absurd,' said our reporter, pinching Sophy's cheek. 'It is -I, Mrs. Middlemore, the reporter from the _Evening Moon_.' - -"'Come down, sir,' cried Mrs. Middlemore, 'if come you must. Don't -stop talking to that 'uzzy.' - -"Sophy put her tongue in her cheek, and whispering, 'Ain't she a -treat?' preceded our reporter to the kitchen. - -"'Good-evening, Mrs. Middlemore,' said our reporter. - -"'Good-evening, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, 'Sophy, 'ave you shut the -street door tight?' - -"'As tight as a drum,' replied Sophy. - -"'Mrs. Middlemore sank into a chair with a heavy sigh, and our -reporter took a seat opposite her. There was a jug of beer on the -table. - -"'Will you 'ave a glass, sir?' asked Mrs. Middlemore, hospitably. - -"'No, thank you; I have just dined, and I thought I would come and -have a chat with you in a general way.' - -"'Thank 'eaven it's about nothing particular,' said Mrs. Middlemore, -in a tone of manifest relief. - -"'It may lead to something particular,' observed our reporter, -genially. 'We're only on the threshold as yet.' - -"'Stop a bit, sir, please. Sophy!' - -"'Yes, aunty dear,' responded the girl, in a tone of simulated -sweetness. - -"'If I let you go out for a walk, will you come back in arf an hour?' - -"Sophy hesitated. Between her longing for a run in the streets and her -longing to hear what our reporter had to say, she felt herself in a -difficulty. - -"'Well, now,' exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, sharply. - -"'Oh, aunty dear,' said Sophy, pressing the bosom of her frock, and -pretending to be greatly startled at her aunt's sharp voice, you send -my 'eart into my mouth.' - -"'Will you promise not to stop out longer than an hour?' - -"Mrs. Middlemore's anxiety to get rid of her decided the girl. For -once she would forego the temptations of the streets. - -"'Don't want to go out,' she said, shortly. - -"'But you've got to go,' said Mrs. Middlemore, resenting this -opposition to her authority, 'or I'll bundle you out for good, neck -and crop. Promise, like a good girl.' - -"'Shan't promise,' said Sophy, rebelliously. - -"'Oh, dear, oh, dear,' moaned Mrs. Middlemore. 'What am I to do with -her? And after all the nice things you said of her this morning, sir?' - -"'Did you say nice things of me?' asked Sophy, of our reporter. - -"'I did, Sophy,' he replied, 'and I'm sure you will do as your aunt -tells you.' - -"'That settles it. I'll go. 'Ow long for, aunty?' - -"'An hour. Not a minute more.' - -"'I say'--to our reporter--'you might lend us yer watch. Then I -shouldn't make any mistake.' - -"'Get along with you,' said our reporter, laughing. 'The shops are -full of clocks.' - -"'Thank yer for nothing,' said Sophy, proceeding to array herself. -Spitting on the palm of her hand, she made a pretence of smoothing her -hair. Then she looked at herself in a piece of looking-glass that was -hanging on the wall, and turned her head this way and that, smirking -most comically. Then she shook out her skirts, and looked over her -shoulder to see that they hung becomingly. Then she tied a piece of -string round one yawning boot. Then she put on her head something in -straw that once might have been called a hat, but which had long since -forfeited all claims to respectability. Then she fished out a poor -little scarf, about six inches square, and pinned it round her -shoulders with a coquettishness not devoid of grace. Her toilette -completed, she asked-- - -"'Will I do?' - -"'Very nicely, Sophy,' said our reporter. But although he spoke gayly -he was stirred by a certain pity for this little waif, who was so -conspicuously animated by a spirit to make the best of things--a -spirit which might with advantage be emulated by her betters--and who -made a joke even of her poverty and rags. - -"'Much obliged,' said Sophy. 'Give us a kiss, aunty. Now I'm off.' - -"And off she was, but not without saluting our reporter with an -elaborate courtesy. - -"Mrs. Middlemore waited till she heard the street-door slam, and then -said, - -"'Did you ever see the likes of her?' - -"'I declare to you, my dear madam,' said our reporter, 'that the more -I see of Sophy the more I like her. What have the police done? -Anything?' - -"'Nothing, sir. I went and told 'em what 'ad 'appened, and two -policemen came and looked at the bed, looked under it, looked in every -room as you said they would, looked at me, and went away.' - -"'And they have not been here again?' - -"'No, sir.' - -"'Mrs. Middlemore, may I have another peep in M. Felix's rooms?' - -"'Certainly, sir.' - -"They went up together, Mrs. Middlemore breathing heavily, perfuming -the air with a flavor of beer. There was an escritoire in the -sitting-room, and our reporter examined it. - -"'I'll tell you what I'm looking for,' he said. 'I see pens, ink, and -paper, denoting that M. Felix was occasionally in the habit of using -them, but there is not a scrap of paper about with his writing on it. -There is not even a monogram on the note paper. If we could find -something, it might furnish a clue. He received letters, I suppose?' - -"'Oh, yes, sir.' - -"'And the presumption is that he answered them. Did you ever post any -of his letters?' - -"'Never once, sir.' - -"'Here is a waste-paper basket; there must have been in it, at odd -times, scraps of the letters he received and spoilt sheets of his own. -Has your dust bin been emptied this week?' - -"'No, sir, but you wouldn't find anything of Mr. Felix's in it. It was -one of his orders that whatever was in the waste-paper basket should -be burnt here in his own fireplace. I used to sweep this room in the -morning when he was in bed, and he always said I did my work so -quietly that he was never disturbed by any noise.' - -"'Look round the room, Mrs. Middlemore, and see if you miss anything. -You would be pretty well acquainted with everything in it. What is the -meaning of that gasp? You _do_ miss something?' - -"'There was another desk, sir, and I don't see it.' - -"'What kind of desk?' - -"'A small one, sir, that used to smell quite nice.' - -"'Ah, made of cedar wood, no doubt. Did M. Felix keep his papers in -this desk?' - -"'Some of his papers, sir.' - -"'How do you know that?' - -"'I've come into the room when he's rung for me, and saw the desk -open.' - -"'Ocular proof, Mrs. Middlemore.' - -"'What sort's that, sir?' - -"'Visible to the eye--_your_ eye, my dear madam.' - -"'Yes, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, dubiously. - -"'Now, Mrs. Middlemore, can you inform me whether those papers you saw -in the missing desk were private papers?' - -"'It ain't possible for me to say, sir.' - -"'Neither can you say, I suppose, whether M. Felix set any particular -store upon them?' - -"'Well, sir, now you bring me to it, things come to my mind.' - -"'Exactly.' - -"'Whenever I come into the room,' said Mrs. Middlemore, 'and the desk -was open, Mr. Felix used to shut it up quick.' - -"'Lest you should see them too closely?' - -"'I'm sure I shouldn't 'ave made no use of 'em; least of all, bad -use.' - -"'That is not the point. He closed the desk quickly when another -person was by, with an evident wish to keep all possible knowledge of -them to himself.' - -"'It looks like that. You _do_ push a thing close.' - -"Our reporter accepted this as a compliment, and continued: - -"'That appears to establish the fact that this desk--which probably -was brought from India, Mrs. Middlemore--contained M. Felix's private -papers?' - -"'It do, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, admiringly. - -"'And, therefore, papers of importance. The desk was inlaid with -silver, Mrs. Middlemore.' - -"'Lor', sir!' exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore, doubtless regarding our -reporter as a man who dealt in enchantments. 'How did you find out -that?' - -"'It was, was it not?' - -"'Yes, sir, it was.' - -"'When M. Felix had visitors, was this desk ever allowed to lie -carelessly about?' - -"'No, sir. At them times he used to keep it in 'is bedroom, on a -little table by the side of 'is bed.' - -"'Let us look through the bedroom, and see if it is there.' - -"They searched the bedroom thoroughly, without finding it. - -"'It is undoubtedly gone,' said our reporter. - -"'It do look like it, sir.' - -"'Mrs. Middlemore, when M. Felix was found dead in his chair, was this -desk in either of the rooms?' - -"'I didn't see it, sir.' - -"'You could not swear it was not here?' - -"'I shouldn't like to, sir.' - -"'The probability, however, is that it had gone when the door was -forced open?' - -"'Yes, sir.' - -"'The police could scarcely take it away without your knowledge?' - -"'They'd 'ave been clever to do it.' - -"'Had they done so, they would certainly have been exceeding their -duties. Now, do not answer the questions I put to you too quickly. -Were you in these rooms on the day before M. Felix's death?' - -"'I were, sir.' - -"'Was the desk here then?' - -"'It were; I can swear to that.' - -"'You saw it with your own eyes?' - -"'I couldn't see it with no others,' replied Mrs. Middlemore, -smirking, in approval of her small wit. - -"'Of course, you could not. Is there any particular reason why you are -so positive of this?' - -"'Well, sir, Mr. Felix wanted something, and rung for me; and when I -come into the room he was sitting at this table with the desk open -before him, and all the papers scattered about.' - -"'That fixes it. Did he seem to be searching for, or examining with -more than usual interest, any special document?' - -"'He seemed flustered and excited, sir. I can't say no more than -that.' - -"'He was not generally of an excitable temperament?' - -"'Not at all. He was easy going, and always with a pleasant word.' - -"'A model man. I observe that you call him Mr. and not Monsieur?' - -"'I can't bring myself to foreign languages, sir. My tongue gits into -a knot.' - -"'He _was_ a foreigner, I suppose?' - -"'I suppose so, sir. I ain't the best of judges.' - -"'A Frenchman?' - -"'So I thought, sir.' - -"'Or an Italian?' - -"'Perhaps, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, wavering. - -"'Or a Spaniard?' - -"'Perhaps, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, growing more undecided. - -"'Or a Russian?' - -"'How _can_ I say, sir?' said Mrs. Middlemore, now quite at sea as to -M. Felix's nationality. - -"'He spoke the English language well?' - -"'As well as me, sir.' - -"'So that, after all, he might have been an Englishman?' - -"'He might,' said Mrs. Middlemore, declining to commit herself, 'and -he mightn't.' - -"Our reporter did not press the point, as to which Mrs. Middlemore had -evidently disclosed all she knew. - -"'If we could find the missing desk, Mrs. Middlemore, it might throw a -light upon the mystery.' - -"Again did Mrs. Middlemore decline to commit herself; again did she -answer, 'It might, and it mightn't, sir.' - -"'I presume there was nothing in the desk that attracted your -attention besides the papers?' - -"'Only one thing, sir--a curious sort of knife.' - -"'A paper knife, most likely.' - -"'It was more like a dagger,' said Mrs. Middlemore. 'It 'ad a 'andle -like a twisted snake, with a' open mouth and a colored stone in its -eye. It 'ad a sharp pint, too?' - -"'How did you become aware of that? Did you ever try it?' - -"'Not me, sir; but once I come in when Mr. Felix 'ad it in 'is 'and, -playing with it, and all at once he dropped it like a 'ot pertater. He -pricked 'isself with it, and there was blood on 'is 'and.' - -"'You have furnished me with a valuable piece of evidence, Mrs. -Middlemore. Papers are easily burnt, and a desk broken up and -destroyed. It would not be so easy to get rid of that knife, which, -from your description, must be a foreign dagger, and the -identification of which would be a simple matter. For instance, you -could swear to it, and so could I, who have never seen it.' - -"'Anybody could swear to it, sir; it couldn't be mistook.' - -"'Did M. Felix keep this dagger always in his desk?' - -"'I should say he did, sir. I never saw it laying about loose, and -never saw it at all unless the desk was open.' - -"'Did you see it on the last occasion you saw the desk open, a few -hours before M. Felix's death?' - -"'Yes, sir, it was among 'is papers.' - -"'Have you any suspicion, Mrs. Middlemore, who at this present moment -has possession of the desk and the dagger?' - -"'Not the least, sir. 'Ave you?' - -"'I have. A suspicion amounting to a certainty. Have you forgotten the -man with a red handkerchief round his neck who escaped from the house -on the night of the eventful discovery?' - -"'I'm not likely to forget 'im,' said Mrs. Middlemore, and then added, -in an excited tone, 'do you think it was 'im as took it?' - -"'Him, and no other. Now we arrive at the motive of his visit; it was -robbery. Not a vulgar robbery such as an ordinary thief would have -committed, but one of a particular nature, and committed with a -knowledge that M. Felix's Indian desk contained a secret or secrets of -value, which no doubt he could turn to good account. We are getting -on, Mrs. Middlemore, we are getting on,' said our reporter, rubbing -his hands in satisfaction. 'In these affairs there is nothing like -patience.' - -"'You're as good as a detective, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, 'and -you've got the patience of Job. You won't mind my saying that I've -thought lots of your questions foolish, and only put for the sake of -saying something. I don't think so now, sir.' - -"'Thank you for the compliment. I assure you I have not asked you one -idle question. Recall to mind whether the man with the red -handkerchief round his neck carried anything away with him that looked -like a desk as he escaped from the house.' - -"'I don't believe, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, with evident -reluctance, 'as that will ever be known.' - -"'Oh, yes, it will. Answer my question.' - -"'I didn't notice nothing,' replied Mrs. Middlemore. - -"We pause a moment here to observe that it was these reserved replies, -when any question relating to this man was asked, as well as the -conflicting testimony of the constables Wigg and Nightingale, that led -us to the conclusion, already recorded, that the precise truth was not -revealed as to which one of the three witnesses actually saw the man. -Having committed themselves to a certain statement for the purpose of -exonerating the constables from official blame, they could not -afterward contradict themselves, because such a contradiction would -have thrown grave doubt upon the whole of their evidence. - -"'He could not,' said our reporter, 'very well have carried away an -article of this description without its being noticed by any one who -saw him.' - -"'Ain't it excusable, sir,' observed Mrs. Middlemore, nervously, 'when -you think of the storm and the confusion we was in?' - -"'Well, perhaps, but it is a pity we cannot obtain definite -information on the point. Isn't that a knock at the street door?' - -"'Yes, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, making no attempt to move from the -room. - -"'You had better go down and see who it is. I will remain here. There -is really nothing to be frightened at. It might be Sophy come back.' - -"At this suggestion Mrs. Middlemore left the room, and went to the -street door. Being alone, our reporter looked about him, and almost -immediately made an important discovery. Against the wall, on the -right hand side of the door as he entered, stood a massive sideboard, -a very handsome piece of furniture. The lower part of this sideboard -was close against the waistcoat, above which there was a space between -the back of the sideboard and the wall of about an inch in width. -Happening to glance at the back of the sideboard, the light of the -candle which our reporter held in his hand fell upon something bright. -Stooping, he drew the object out, and was excited to find it was the -identical dagger about which he and Mrs. Middlemore had been -conversing. There could not be the possibility of a mistake. Its -handle, as Mrs. Middlemore had described, resembled a twisted snake; -the mouth was open, and in its head was a ruby to represent an eye. A -dangerous instrument, with a very sharp point, the metal of which it -was composed being bright steel. But it was not the peculiar shape of -the handle, nor the bright steel of the blade, nor the ruby eye, which -excited our reporter. It was the fact that there was rust upon the -blade, and that this rust was caused by blood, of which there were -light stains plainly visible on the handle of the dagger." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE REPORTER OF THE "EVENING MOON" GIVES SOPHY -A TREAT. - - -"In the elucidation of a mystery there are facts which have to be -slowly and laboriously built up; there are others which need no such -process but establish themselves instantly in the analytical and -well-balanced mind. Our reporter is gifted with such a mind, and -certain facts connected with the case of M. Felix took instant form -and order. We will set these facts before our readers briefly and -concisely: - -"It is necessary to premise-- - -"First, that M. Felix kept a loaded revolver beneath the pillows of -his bed. - -"Second, that when Constables Wigg and Nightingale, Mrs. Middlemore, -and Dr. Lamb entered M. Felix's sitting-room after the door was forced -open, the window was open. - -"We now proceed to the sequence of events. - -"Shortly before his death M. Felix, being alone in the house in Gerard -Street, received a visitor. Whether expected or unexpected, whether -welcome or unwelcome, we are not prepared to state; nor are we -prepared to state how this visitor obtained entrance to the house. -Obtain entrance by some means he undoubtedly did, and mounting the -stairs, he knocked at the door of M. Felix's sitting-room. At the -moment M. Felix heard the knock he had his Indian desk open before -him, and it was in connection with a secret which this desk contained, -or to which a document in the desk could afford a clue, that the visit -was made. M. Felix, supposing that it was his housekeeper who knocked, -opened the door and admitted the intruder. A stormy scene ensued, and -M. Felix, throwing open his window, screamed for help. The appeal was -sent forth into the wild night more from the fear that he was about to -be robbed of this secret than from the fear that his life was in -danger. The hypothesis is strengthened by the fact that there were no -marks of personal violence on the body of M. Felix. The visitor laid -hands upon the desk, and as he did so M. Felix turned from the window, -snatched up the dagger, and hurled it with all his force at the -robber. The sharp point struck into the flesh of the intruder, and it -was his blood which was discovered on the floor of the room. The -agitation produced by the scene brought on the attack of heart disease -which caused M. Felix's death. The blind and momentary delirium which -ensued did not prevent M. Felix from thinking of the revolver beneath -his pillows; he staggered into his bedroom, but before he reached his -bed he fell lifeless in a chair. While this was going on the robber -had seized the desk, and, conscious that to carry away with him the -evidence of a dagger dripping with blood might lead to his detection, -he threw it swiftly from him behind the sideboard. He threw it with -his right hand, his back being toward the door, which accounts for the -place and position in which our reporter found the weapon. Then, with -the desk in his possession, he escaped from the house--ignorant of the -tragedy that had occurred, ignorant that M. Felix was lying dead -within a few feet of him. He left the door open, but the fierce wind -through the window blew it shut. It was while it was open that the cat -which alarmed Mrs. Middlemore and the two constables crept into the -room, became besmeared with blood, and crept out. - -"The departure of the thief was like the falling of the curtain upon a -pregnant act in an exciting drama. Imagination follows the man as he -flies with his stolen treasure through the deserted streets; -imagination wanders to the dead form of M. Felix lying in the chair by -the bedside. When the curtain rises again, what will be disclosed? - -"These thoughts came to the mind of our reporter with lightning -rapidity. Mrs. Middlemore had opened the street door, had closed it -again, and was now ascending the stairs. What should he do with the -dagger? - -"To retain it would be an unwarranted act, and might be construed into -a theft. To take Mrs. Middlemore into his confidence might thwart his -operations in the future. He put his hand behind the sideboard, and -let the dagger fall. It was now safely hidden from sight, and its -presence behind the sideboard could only be discovered, by any other -person than himself, by the shifting of that piece of furniture. - -"Mrs. Middlemore re-entered the room. - -"'It was a runaway knock,' she said, 'The boys and girls take a -pleasure in it. If I could ketch one of 'em I'd bang their head agin -the wall.' - -"'Did you see no one at all?' asked our reporter. - -"'Only some people staring up at the winders,' replied Mrs. -Middlemore. 'The 'ouse 'as become a regular show since that dreadful -night. What do they expect to see?' - -"'Perhaps the ghost of M. Felix,' suggested our reporter, with, it -must be confessed, a rather feeble attempt at humor. - -"'Don't mention sech a thing, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, piteously. -'It makes my flesh creep.' - -"'I only said it in joke; there are no such things as ghosts and -spirits.' - -"'Some people believe otherwise sir.' - -"'The more fools they. Well, Mrs. Middlemore, there is nothing more I -wish to ask you just now; I must get back to my duties. But I must not -waste your time for nothing.' - -"He pressed into her willing palm another half-sovereign, making the -second he had given her. - -"'I'm sure you're very kind, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, after -furtively glancing at the coin, to see that it was not a sixpence. -'Shall I see you agin?' - -"'Yes. Good-night, Mrs. Middlemore.' - -"'Good-night, sir,' she responded, as they went down-stairs. 'I 'ope -Sophy won't be gone long.' - -"'She'll be back soon, I daresay.' He paused in the passage. 'Mrs. -Middlemore, are you satisfied that I am your friend?' - -"'Yes, sir, I am.' - -"'Then, if anything new occurs, you will let me know at once.' - -"'I will, sir.' - -"'And if it should happen,' said our reporter, 'that you remember -anything you have forgotten to tell me, you will come and let me know -it?' - -"'I'll be sure to, sir.' - -"Wishing her good-night again, he left the house, and heard her close -the street door behind him with a bang. - -"It was not without a motive that our reporter had addressed his last -words to her. He had an idea that she had not been quite frank with -him respecting M. Felix's visitors feeling assured that she could not -be so entirely in the dark regarding them as she professed to be. His -visit had not been fruitless; he had become acquainted with the loss -of the desk, and he had discovered the dagger with its curiously -shaped handle. Two steps advanced in the mystery, which might lead to -something of importance. - -"He walked slowly on, revolving these matters in his mind, and -debating whether he could make any present use of them when his coat -was plucked by a small hand. Looking down, he saw Sophy. - -"'Ah, Sophy,' he said, 'what do you want?' - -"'I've been waiting for yer,' said Sophy. 'I've got somethink to -tell.' - -"'Good. Where shall we talk?' - -"Sophy's reply was a strange one. 'I know,' she said, where they sells -fried fish and fried 'taters.' She smacked her lips. - -"'You would like some?' - -"'Wouldn't I? Jest?' - -"'Lead the way, Sophy.' - -"'You're a brick, old 'un, that's what you are.' - -"She walked close to him, rubbing against him after the fashion of a -friendly cat, and conducted him toward the purlieus of Drury Lane. - -"'You're going to stand treat, ain't yer?' - -"'Yes, Sophy, to as many fried potatoes and as much fried fish as you -can comfortably tuck away.' - -"'No gammon, yer know?' - -"'I mean what I say, Sophy.' - -"'Then there's stooed eels?' - -"'All right; you shall have some.' - -"'Don't say afterwards as I took you in. My inside's made of injer -rubber. The more I puts in it the more it stretches.' - -"'I don't mind, Sophy.' - -"'You're somethink like a gent. I say, was aunty riled at the runaway -knock?' - -"'Oh, it was you, was it?' - -"'Yes, it was me; I was gitting tired of waiting for yer. She's close, -ain't she?' - -"'Who? Your aunt?' - -"'Yes; but I'm closer, I am. I could tell 'er somethink as 'd make 'er -'air stand on end.' - -"'And you are going to tell it to me?' - -"'Per'aps. If yer make it wuth my while.' - -"'You shall have no reason to complain, Sophy. Is it about M. Felix?' - -"'You wait till I've 'ad my tuck out.' - -"Burning as he was with curiosity, our reporter wisely restrained his -impatience. They had now arrived at the fried-potato shop, and Sophy -stood before the open window with eager eyes. The potatoes were -frizzling in the pan, and were being served out hot by a greasy -Italian. His customers were of the very poorest sort, and most of them -received the smoking hot potatoes in the street, and went away to eat -them. You could purchase a half-penny's worth or a penny's worth the -paper bags in which they were delivered being of different sizes. On -the open slab in the window were pieces of fried plaice, tails, heads, -and middles, the price varying according to the size. A few -aristocratic customers were inside the shop, sitting upon narrow -wooden benches, and eating away with an air of great enjoyment. - -"'Don't they smell prime?' whispered Sophy. - -"Our reporter assented, although the odor of fat which floated from -the pan left, to the fastidious taste, something to be desired. - -"'Will you eat your supper outside or in, Sophy?' - -"Inside, old 'un,' said Sophy. - -"They went into the shop and took their seats. There were no plates or -knives or forks, but there was a plentiful supply of salt and pepper. - -"'Can you manage without a plate?' asked our reporter. - -"With her superior knowledge of the ways of this free-and-easy -restaurant, Sophy replied, 'Plates be blowed!' - -"'But you will certainly want a knife.' - -"'No I shan't,' said Sophy, 'fingers was made before knives.' - -"With two large middle slices of fried fish and a penny's worth of -fried potatoes spread upon a piece of newspaper before her, Sophy fell -to with a voracious appetite. In his position of host our reporter was -compelled to make a sacrifice, and he therefore toyed with a small -heap of fried potatoes, and put a piece occasionally into his mouth. -His critical report is that they were not at all bad food; it was the -overpowering smell of fat that discouraged this martyr to duty. - -"'I say,' said Sophy, 'ain't yer going to 'ave some fried fish? Do -'ave some! You don't know 'ow good it is.' - -"'I am eating only out of politeness, Sophy,' said our reporter, -watching the child with wonder; she had disposed of her first batch -and was now busy upon a second supply. 'I have not long had my -dinner.' - -"'Ain't we proud?' observed the happy girl. '_I_ like _my_ dinner--when -I can git it, old 'un--in the middle of the day, not in the middle of -the night.' - -"'You eat as if you were hungry, Sophy.' - -"'I'm allus 'ungry. You try and ketch me when I ain't!' - -"'Doesn't your aunt give you enough?' - -"'She 'lowances me, and ses I mustn't over-eat myself. As if I could! -I ses to 'er sometimes, "Give me a chance, aunt!" I ses; and she ups -and ses she knows wot's good for me better than I do myself, and all -the while she's eating and drinking till she's fit to bust. She's fond -of her innards, is aunt. Never mind, it'll be my turn one day, you see -if it won't. There, I'm done. Oh, don't you stare! I could eat a lot -more, but there's stooed eels to come, I _do_ like stooed eels, I do!' - -"Our reporter had no reason to complain of Sophy's extravagance; -though she had disposed of four slices of fried fish and two helpings -of fried potatoes, his disbursement amounted to no more than tenpence -half-penny. Upon leaving the shop Sophy again assumed the command, and -conducted our reporter to the stewed-eel establishment, where she -disposed of three portions, which the proprietor ladled out in very -thick basins. The host of this magnificent entertainment was somewhat -comforted to find that although fingers were made before knives (and -presumably, therefore, before spoons), Sophy was provided with a very -substantial iron spoon to eat her succulent food with. As in the -fried-potato establishment there was a plentiful supply of salt and -pepper, so here there was a plentiful supply of pepper and vinegar, of -which Sophy liberally availed herself. At the end of her third basin -Sophy raised her eyes heavenward and sighed ecstatically. - -"'Have you had enough?' asked our reporter. - -"'Enough for once,' replied Sophy, with a prudent eye to the future. -'I wouldn't call the Queen my aunt.' - -"Our reporter did not ask why, Sophy's tone convincing him that the -observation was intended to express a state of infinite content, and -had no reference whatever to Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'Now, Sophy,' he said, 'are you ready to tell me all you know?' - -"'I'll tell yer a lot,' said Sophy, and if you ain't sapparized--well, -there!' - -"Another colloquialism, which our reporter perfectly understood. - -"'What will your aunt say?' he asked--they had left the shop, and were -walking side by side--'to your coming home late?' - -"'Wot she likes,' replied Sophy, with a disdainful disregard of -consequences. 'If she don't like it she may lump it. Don't frighten -yerself; she's used to it by this time. Where are you going to take -me?' - -"Our reporter had settled this in his mind. 'To my rooms, where we can -talk without interruption.' - -"'Oh, but I say,' exclaimed Sophy, 'won't they stare!' - -"'There will be no one to do that, Sophy, and you will be quite safe.' - -"Sophy nodded, and kept step with him as well as she could. It was not -easy, by reason of her boots being odd, and not only too large for her -feet, but in a woful state of dilapidation. In one of the narrow -streets through which they passed, a second-hand clothing shop was -open, in the window of which were displayed some half-dozen pairs of -children's boots. A good idea occurred to him. - -"'Your boots are worn out, Sophy.' - -"'There's 'ardly any sole to 'em,' remarked Sophy. - -"'Would a pair of those fit you?' - -"'Oh, come along. I don't want to be made game of.' - -"'I am not doing so, Sophy,' said our reporter, slipping three -half-crowns into her hand. 'Go in, and buy the nicest pair you can; -and mind they fit you properly.' - -"Sophy raised her eyes to his face, and our reporter observed, without -making any remark thereon, that they were quite pretty eyes, large, -and of a beautiful shade of brown, and now with a soft light in them. -She went into the shop silently, and returned, radiant and grateful, -shod as a human being ought to be. - -"'Do yer like 'em?' she asked, putting one foot on the ledge of the -shop window. - -"'They look very nice,' he said. 'I hope they're a good fit?' - -"'They're proper. 'Ere's yer change, and I'm ever so much obliged to -yer.' - -"The words were commonplace, but her voice was not. There was in it a -note of tearful gratefulness which was abundant payment for an act of -simple kindness. Utilitarians and political economists may smile at -our statement that we owe the poor a great deal, and that but for them -we should not enjoy some of the sweetest emotions by which the human -heart can be stirred." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -SOPHY IMPARTS STRANGE NEWS TO THE REPORTER OF THE -"EVENING MOON." - - -"The chambers occupied by our reporter are situated at the extreme -river end of one of the streets leading from the Strand to the -Embankment. They are at the top of the house, on the third floor, and -a capacious bow-window in his sitting-room affords a good view of the -river and the Embankment gardens. He describes his chambers as an -ideal residence, and declares he would not exchange it for a palace. -In daytime the view from his bow-window is varied and animated, in -night-time the lights and shadows on the Thames are replete with -suggestion. From this window he has drawn the inspiration for many -admirable articles which have appeared in our columns, in which his -play of fancy illumines his depiction of a busy city's life. - -"He let himself in with his latch-key, and Sophy followed close on his -heels up the silent stairs. On the third floor another latch-key -admitted them to the privacy of his chambers. - -"'It will be dark for a moment, Sophy,' he said; 'you are not -frightened, I hope?' - -"'Not a bit,' replied Sophy. - -"It may not be unworthy of remark that she never again addressed him -as 'old 'un, which he ascribed to the little incident of the purchase -of the pair of boots. It had raised him to an altitude which rendered -so familiar an appellation out of place. - -"In less than a minute he had lit the gas in his sitting-room, and -Sophy stood gazing around in wonder and delight. Our reporter is a -gentleman of taste, no mere grub working from hand to mouth. He -entered the ranks of journalism from choice, and possesses a private -income which renders him independent of it; thus he is enabled to -surround himself with luxuries which are out of the reach of the -ordinary rank and file of his brother workers, who one and all have a -good word for him because of the kindnesses they have on numerous -occasions received at his hands. - -"Sophy looked round on the books and pictures and valuable objects -with which the room was literally packed, and her appreciation--little -as she understood them--was expressed in her eyes. - -"'This is my den, Sophy,' said our reporter. 'What do you think of -it?' - -"As he spoke he applied a lighted match to a couple of bachelor's -wheels in the stove, and in an instant a cheerful fire was glowing. - -"'Well, I never!' exclaimed Sophy. 'It's magic.' - -"'No, Sophy, sober fact. Single life nowadays is filled with -innumerable conveniences to keep a fellow from the path of matrimony. -This little bachelor's wheel'--holding one up--'is a formidable foe to -anxious mammas with marriageable daughters. But I am talking above -you, Sophy; pardon the flight. Go to the window there; you will see -the river from it.' - -"He stood by her side while she gazed upon the wonderful sight, too -little appreciated by those who are familiar with it. The moon was -shining brightly, and the heavens were dotted with stars; long lines -of lights were shining in the water, animated as it were with a -mysterious spiritual life by the shifting currents of the river. It -was at this moment that Sophy gave expression to a remarkable effort -at grammar. - -"'I say, 'ow 'igh the Thames are!' - -"Our reporter was amused, and did not correct her. 'Yes, Sophy, the -river has reached an unusual height. And now, little one, as time is -flying, let us proceed to business.' - -"Sophy, brought down to earth, retired from the window, and stood by -the table, at which our reporter seated himself. He could not prevail -upon her to take a chair. - -"'I can talk better standing,' she said. 'Before I tell what I got to -tell, I'd like to know wot aunt said of me when you and 'er was up in -Mr. Felix's rooms this morning. You know. When I'd jest got out of -bed.' - -"'Nothing very particular, Sophy,' said our reporter, 'except that you -were a sound sleeper.' - -"'You arksed 'er that?' said Sophy, shrewdly. - -"'Yes, You see, Sophy, I was naturally anxious to learn all I could of -the strange disappearance of M. Felix's body. It was there last night -when you and your aunt went to bed; it was not there this morning when -you got up.' - -"'Aunt couldn't tell yer much.' - -"'She could tell me nothing. She went to bed, and though she has -passed bad nights this week----' - -"'Oh, she sed that, did she?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Meaning that she don't sleep much?' - -"'Yes, that undoubtedly was her meaning.' - -"'Well, go on, please,' said Sophy. - -"'Though she has passed bad nights lately, it was a fact that last -night she slept very soundly. Then the idea occurred to me to come -down and ask you whether you had heard anything in the night--because, -you know, Sophy, that M. Felix's body could not have disappeared from -the house without some sound being made. We do not live in an age of -miracles. The body could not have flown up the chimney, or made its -way through thick walls. There is only one way it could have been got -out, and that was through the street door.' - -"'Right you are,' said Sophy. - -"'Now, Sophy, I am sure you are a sensible little girl, and that I can -open my mind freely to you.' - -"'You can that. I ain't much to look at, but I ain't quite a fool -neither.' - -"'I am certain you are not. I cannot tell you how deeply I am -interested in this mysterious affair, and how much I desire to get at -the bottom of it. Whoever assists me to do this will not repent it, -and somehow or other I have an idea that you can help me. If you can, -I will be a real good friend to you.' - -"You've been that already, the best I ever sor. I took you in once -this morning, and I ain't going to do it agin.' - -"'How did you take me in, Sophy?' - -"'I told yer I didn't wake up last night, didn't I?' - -"'You did, Sophy.' - -"'And that I didn't 'ear no noise?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'They was crammers. I did wake up in the middle of the night, and I -did 'ear a noise.' - -"'Sophy,' said our reporter, repressing his excitement as well as he -could, 'I feel that you are going to do me a good turn.' - -"'Aunt's a awful liar,' said Sophy. - -"'Is she?' - -"'She ses she sleeps light, and I sleep sound. It's all the other way. -She goes to bed and drops off like the snuff of a candle, and she -snores like a pig. I sleep on and off like. I don't let aunt know it, -'cause I don't want to be rushed out of bed till I've a mind to git -up, so I pretend to be fast asleep, and I let her shake me as much as -she likes. I do not lay snuggled up; and I was laying like that last -night all the while aunt was snoring fit to shake the 'ouse down, when -I 'eerd wot sounded like somethink movin' upstairs. I wasn't -scared--yer don't know Sophy if yer think that. "I'll see what it is," -thinks I, "if I die for it." So I creeps out of bed, and stands quiet -a bit in the dark, without moving.' - -"'You are a brave little girl, Sophy, and I am proud of you.' - -"'I stands listening and wondering, and the sound of somethink moving -upstairs goes on. Moving quite soft, sir, jest as if it didn't want to -be 'eerd. "Blowed if I don't go up," thinks I, "and find out wot it's -all about." I wouldn't light a candle, 'cause that might wake aunt, -and I wanted to 'ave it all to myself. Well, sir, I creeps to the door -in my bare feet and opens it, and goes into the passage. Sure enough, -I ain't deceived; there is somethink on the stairs. Up I creeps, as -soft as a cat, feeling my way by the bannisters, till I git to the -passage that leads to the street-door. Then somethink 'appens to me -that upsets the applecart. I ketches my toe agin a nail, and I -screams out. But that's nothink to what follers. A 'and claps itself -on my mouth, and somebody ses, "If yer move or speak out loud I'll -kill yer!" If I sed I wasn't frightened at that I'd be telling yer the -biggest crammer of the lot, but I pulls myself together, and I -whispers under my breath, "Wot is it? Burgulers?" "Yes," ses the -voice, "burgulers, as'll 'ave yer blood if yer don't do as yer told." -"I'll do everythink yer want," I ses, "if yer don't 'urt me. My blood -won't do yer a bit o' good; it ain't much good to me as I knows on. Is -there more than one of yer?" "There's a band of us," ses the voice. -"Who's downstairs?" "Only aunt," I ses. "Ain't there nobody else in -the 'ouse?" arsks the voice. "Not a blessed soul," ses I, "excep' the -corpse on the fust floor." "Take yer oath on it," ses the voice. "I -'ope I may never move from this spot alive," ses I, "if it ain't the -truth I'm telling of yer!" - -"Now jest listen to me," ses the voice. "You do as yer told, or you'll -be chopped into ten thousan' little bits. Set down on the stairs -there, and shut yer eyes, and don't move or speak till you 'ear a -whistle; it won't be a loud 'un, but loud enough for you to 'ear. Then -you git up, and shut the street-door softly--you'll find it open--and -lock it and put up the chain. Then go downstairs without speaking a -word, and if yer aunt's awake and arsks yer wot's the matter, say -nothink; if she's asleep, don't wake her. When she gits up in the -morning don't say nothink to 'er, and don't answer no questions about -us. You understand all that?" "Every word on it," I ses. "And yer'll -do as yer ordered?" ses the voice. "Yes, I will," I ses. "Mind yer -do," ses the voice, "or somethink orful 'll 'appen to yer. You'll be -watched the 'ole day long, and if yer let on, look out for yerself. -Now set yerself down on the stairs." I did, sir, and though I was -froze almost to a stone, I never moved or spoke. It was that dark that -I couldn't see a inch before my nose, even when I opened my eyes -slyly, but I couldn't 'elp 'earing wot was going on. There was a -creeping, and a bumping, and the sound of the street-door being -unlocked and the chain being took down. Then everythink was quiet agin -inside, and all I 'eerd was a policeman in the street outside, trying -the doors as he passed on. When he'd got well out of the street, as -near as I could tell, the street-door was opened without as much as a -creak, and in another minute I 'eerd a low whistle. Then I got up; it -was all a job, sir, 'cause I was cramped, but I managed it, and I -crep' to the street-door, and shut it, and locked it, and put the -chain up. I was glad enough to do it, I can tell yer, and I felt my -way downstairs and got into bed. Aunt 'adn't as much as moved, and -nobody knew nothink but me and the burgulers. That's all I know about -last night.' - -"It was enough, in all conscience; a strange story indeed, and related -by such a common little waif as Sophy. Our reporter had not -interrupted her once, but allowed her to proceed, in her own quaint -and original way, to the end. - -"'And you have told nobody but me, Sophy?' asked our reporter. - -"'It ain't crossed my lips till this minute,' replied Sophy. 'I don't -know wot I might 'ave done if I 'adn't seed you this morning. You -spoke civil and nice to me, and I took to yer in a minute. Yer might -'ave knocked me down with a feather when I 'eered arter you'd gone wot -the burgulers' little game was, and it come to me in a jiffy that -you'd like to know wot 'ad become of Mr. Felix's body. "I'll wait till -I see 'im agin," ses I to myself, "and then I'll tell 'im all about -it." If you 'adn't come to aunt's to-night I should 'ave come to you.' - -"'I am infinitely obliged to you,' said our reporter, 'We'll keep the -matter to ourselves at present, and if there's any reward offered for -the recovery of the body, or for any information that may lead to its -recovery, it shall be yours, Sophy, every farthing of it.' - -"Sophy's eyes glistened as she said, 'If they arsks me, then, why I -adn't spoke before, I'll tell 'em I was too frightened by wot the -burguler sed he'd do to me if I sed anythink about it.' - -"'That excuse will do nicely. Did you hear the sound of many feet?' - -"'I think it was only one man as was moving about,' replied Sophy, -after a little consideration. - -"'How do we account, then, for there being more than one man concerned -in this singular robbery?' - -"'Per'aps there wasn't more than one,' suggested Sophy quickly, 'and in -course he 'ad to carry the body. It couldn't walk of itself, being -dead.' - -"'Quite so, my young logician--a compliment Sophy. Before you put up -the chain, did you look out into the street?' - -"'I didn't dare to.' - -"'Then you don't know if there was a cab or a cart waiting at the -door?' - -"'I don't, sir.' - -"'Did you hear the sound of wheels moving away after the door was -secured?' - -"'No, I didn't. Everythink was as still as still can be, inside and -out.' - -"'There must have been a vehicle of some sort, however, stationed -near. A man couldn't carry a dead body through the streets very far -without being caught. Perhaps he would not allow it to stand too near -your aunt's house for fear of suspicion being excited. The natural -conclusion is that a growler was engaged, and that it walked slowly to -and fro in a given direction till he came up to it.' - -"'That must 'ave been it, sir.' - -"'If I give you five shillings, Sophy, can you take care of it?' - -"'Rather! But you've done enough for me to-night, sir.' - -"'Not half enough, my girl. Here's the money.' - -"From the expression on Sophy's face she would have liked to resist -the temptation, but it was too strong for her, so she took the two -half-crowns, saying gleefully as she tied them in her money-box, I -shall soon 'ave enough to buy wot I want.' - -"'What is it you desire so particularly, Sophy? A new frock?' - -"'No,' she replied. 'I want a pair of tights.' - -"'In heaven's name, what for?' - -"'To see 'ow I look in 'em.' Sophy glanced down at her legs, then -stood straight up and walked a few steps this way and a few steps -that, in glowing anticipation of the delights in store for her. - -"'You would like to be an actress, Sophy?' - -"'Wouldn't I? Jest! I can do a lot of steps, sir. Would you like to -see me dance?' - -"'Not to-night, Sophy,' said our reporter, thinking of the -proprieties; 'I haven't time, and you had best get back as quick as you -can to your aunt. I'll see you part of the way. I don't know what -excuse you will give her for being absent so long.' - -"'Let me alone for that. It ain't the fust time, and won't be the -last.' - -"'Well, come along, my girl.' - -"They left the house without being observed, and our reporter saw -Sophy as far as St. Martin's Lane, and then bade her good night. -Before returning to his chambers he walked in the direction of the -Embankment with the intention of taking a stroll there. It was a -favorite promenade of his on fine nights, and on this night in -particular he desired it, in order that he might think in the quietude -of that grand avenue of the information he had gained. Elated as he -was at the progress he was making in the elucidation of the mystery, -he could not but be conscious that every new discovery he had made -seemed to add to its difficulty. What he wanted now was a tangible -clew, however slight, which he could follow up in a practical way. -Little did he dream that everything was working in his favor, and that -time and circumstance were leading him to the clew he was so anxious -to possess. - -"There was one thing in the story related to him by Sophy which -greatly perplexed him. The child could not have assisted him to a -satisfactory solution, for he was satisfied that she had disclosed all -she knew of the events of the night, and he therefore had made no -mention to her of the perplexing point. It was this. Sophy had told -him that while she was sitting on the stairs with her eyes closed she -heard the man unlock the street door and take the chain down. That -being so, the question remained--how had he got into the house? -Scarcely through the street door, for it was hardly likely that, -having got in through it, he would have locked it and put the chain -up, and thus created for himself a serious obstacle to his escape in -the event of his being discovered before he had accomplished his work. -Our reporter could think of no satisfactory answer to this question, -and it had to take its place among other questions to which, in the -present aspect of the case, no answers could be found. - -"He had turned on to the Embankment by way of Westminster Bridge, and -passing under the arch of the Charing Cross Railway bridge, was -proceeding onward toward Waterloo when he saw something that caused -him to quicken his steps in its direction. Fate or chance was about to -place in his hands the link for which he was yearning--a link but for -which the mystery of M. Felix might forever have remained unravelled." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -A SINGULAR ADVENTURE ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT. - - -"He saw before him, at a distance of some thirty yards, as nearly as -he could judge, the figure of a woman standing upon the stone ramparts -of the Embankment, close to Cleopatra's Needle. The light of a lamp -was shining upon her form, which was stooping forward in the direction -of the river. - -"It had already been mentioned that the tide on this night was -unusually high, and our reporter was apprehensive, from the position -of the woman, that she was contemplating suicide. If so she had chosen -a favorable moment to put her sad design into execution, for there was -no person near enough to prevent her had she been expeditious. She -looked neither to the right nor to the left, but down before her on -the rolling river. Our reporter hastened his steps, in fear least he -should be too late to arrest her purpose. - -"Unseen by them another man was approaching the woman, but not so -rapidly as our reporter. This was a policeman who had emerged from the -shadows of the Waterloo steps on the opposite side, and as, when he -started, he was nearer to her than our reporter, they both reached her -at the same moment. Each becoming aware of the other's presence, they -would have shown recognition of it had not their attention been -diverted by a sufficiently startling proceeding on the part of the -woman. Still unaware that there were witnesses of her movements, she -leaned forward at a perilous angle, and with all her strength threw -some heavy object into the water. The force she used destroyed her -balance, and she would have fallen into the river had not the -policeman and our reporter laid violent hands upon her, and dragged -her from her dangerous position on the ramparts. - -"'Just in time, thank God!' said our reporter. - -"'Just too late,' retorted the policeman. 'A moment sooner, and we -should have saved her baby.' - -"'Her baby!' exclaimed our reporter. - -"'Yes. Didn't you hear the poor thing give a scream?' - -"'No.' - -"'You must be hard of hearing. First a sob, then a scream. Now, then, -own up!' - -"He shook the woman roughly, but obtained no response from her. She -was cowering to the flagstones, her face hidden in her hands. - -"Our reporter is not the stamp of man to stand idly by while the life -of a human being is in danger. He stripped off his coat and waistcoat -with the speed of lightning. - -"'That's your sort,' said the policeman. 'I can't swim; you can.' - -"'Not a stroke,' said our reporter, and was about to plunge into the -river when the woman sprang up and caught his arm. - -"'For God's sake,' she said, trembling with agitation, 'do not risk -your life for nothing.' - -"'Your baby is drowning,' cried our reporter. 'Let me go!' He strove -vainly to extricate himself from her clutch. - -"'You shall not, you shall not!' said the woman. 'As Heaven is my -judge, I have done no wrong. I have no baby; I came out alone. You are -a gentleman. By all that is sacred I speak the truth!' - -"'The policeman says he heard a scream.' - -"'He is mistaken. I beg you to believe me. Oh, unhappy woman that I -am? Have I not one friend in all the wide world?' - -"It was not alone her words that carried conviction with them, it was -her deep distress, and the evident sincerity with which she spoke. -Moreover, now that our reporter had the opportunity of observing her -closely, he saw that she was not of a common stamp. There was a -refinement in her voice and manner which impressed him. - -"'I believe you,' he said, and slowly put on his waistcoat and coat. - -"'The chance is lost,' said the policeman, with a scornful smile; 'the -poor thing is dead by this time. A put-up job, my man. I wasn't born -yesterday.' - -"He had noted the dialogue between the woman and our reporter, some -portion of which had escaped him, and his suspicions were aroused. He -was not entirely without justification. Seeing upon one side of her a -policeman, and on the other side a gentleman, the woman, being -undoubtedly of the better class, had gravitated naturally toward our -reporter. Thus at once was established, without premeditation, a -conflict of interests in the eyes of the policeman. He represented the -Law, which is invariably more suspicious than sympathetic. Opposing -him were two strangers who might be in collusion. Hunting in couples, -one of either sex, was a common trick of the criminal classes, with -which every policeman is familiar. The officer with whom we are -dealing was not of an analytic turn; he jumped rather at conclusions -than motives; therefore, he pronounced the verdict first and examined -the evidence afterward, or left it to others to examine. All that he -was honestly concerned in was the performance of his duty. - -"'Did you not hear her say,' said our reporter, 'that she was alone, -and no baby with her?' - -"'I heard something of the sort,' replied the policeman, candidly, -believing it is another matter. 'I believe in my own ears. Are you a -confederate of hers?' - -"Our reporter laughed, and his laugh strengthened the policeman's -suspicions and excited his ire. - -"'Perhaps you will both deny,' he said, 'that something was thrown -into the river.' - -"'I certainly heard a splash,' said our reporter, and he looked at the -woman for confirmation, but she said nothing. - -"'We'll fish it up, whatever it is,' said the policeman. 'If it isn't -a baby--which I say it is, as I heard it cry--it's stolen property. -Pretty nigh as bad.' So saying, he blew his whistle. - -"The sound terrified the woman; she clung to our reporter. - -"'What need is there to summon assistance?' asked our reporter. - -"'I know what I'm up to,' replied the policeman. 'I'll trouble you to -come to the police station. - -"'I intend to do so. Are you going to charge this lady?' - -"A grateful sob escaped the woman, produced by the reference to her as -a lady no less than by the considerate tone in which it was made. - -"'If you're particularly anxious to know,' said the policeman, 'I am -going to charge you both.' - -"Much amused, our reporter asked, 'What do you charge her with?' - -"'First, with drowning her baby; next, with attempting to commit -suicide.' He paused in the middle of the sentence to blow his whistle -again. - -"'And what is your charge against me?' - -"'Aiding and abetting. Come,' he said to the woman, putting his hand -under her chin and attempting to raise her face to the light, 'let me -have a look at you. A hundred to one I've seen you before.' - -"He was so rough that the woman cried out. - -"'Be very careful,' said our reporter, in a warning tone. 'If you use -violence it will go against you.' - -"'It will go against you,' retorted the policeman, who was losing his -discretion. - -"'That is to be seen,' said our reporter, gravely, 'when we reach the -police-station. Meanwhile, you are acting outside your right in -compelling this lady to look you in the face.' - -"'Very well,' said the policeman, surlily, beginning to be shaken by -the temperate conduct of our reporter, 'I hear assistance coming; I'll -wait.' - -"The measured tread of another policeman was heard in the near -distance. Our reporter stood still, perfectly calm and self-possessed. - -"The woman, now sobbing bitterly, drew her handkerchief from her -pocket, and a piece of paper, which she undesignedly and unwittingly -drew forth with it, fluttered to the ground. Only the sharp eyes of -our reporter saw it, and he stooped and picked it up. He glanced at it -without attracting the attention of the policeman, and what he saw -both greatly astonished him and influenced his future course with -respect to the woman. He felt instinctively that he held in his hand a -thread, however slight and slender, in the Mystery of Monsieur Felix. - -"Our readers will remember that in certain editions of the _Evening -Moon_ we inserted an advertisement referring to the death of M. Felix, -but lest the precise terms of that advertisement should be forgotten -by them we reprint it here, to refresh their memory. The advertisement -ran as follows: - -"'The Strange Death of M. Felix, in Gerard Street, Soho. Persons who -had private or other interviews with M. Felix between the hours of -eight in the morning and twelve at night on the 16th of January, or -who are in possession of information which will throw light upon the -circumstances surrounding his death, are urgently requested to call at -the office of the _Evening Moon_, at any time after the appearance of -this advertisement. Liberal rewards will be paid to all who give such -information, and the best legal assistance is offered by the -proprietors of this journal, entirely at their own expense, to all, -who may desire it and who are in any way interested in M. Felix's -death.' - -"Up to the present time the advertisement had been productive of no -result of any value. A great many persons had called at our office -respecting it, but they knew nothing that was likely to be of -assistance to us; their aim was to obtain money without giving an -equivalent for it. That the step we took, however, was not useless was -proved by what our reporter now held in his hand. It was the -advertisement, cut carefully from our journal, pasted upon a sheet of -note-paper, and framed, as it were, in clear lines of red ink. Surely -it was not without reason that the woman had been thus painstaking -with this extract. Surely there must be some connecting link between -her and M. Felix, whose death and subsequent disappearance were still -enveloped in mystery. Thus thought our reporter the moment his eyes -fell upon the advertisement. - -"The approach of the second policeman afforded him an opportunity of -speaking to her concerning it. While the two policemen were talking, -the second asking for information, the first giving it, he exchanged a -few words with the woman. - -"'You have dropped something,' he said. - -"She put her hand hastily in her pocket and discovered her loss. - -"'I have it,' said our reporter. - -"'It is only a piece of paper,' said the woman; 'give it back to me.' - -"'You had better let me keep it,' he said. 'You will be charged and -searched at the police-station----' - -"She interrupted him, saying, in a pitiful voice, 'Will they not let -me go--oh will they not let me go?' - -"'They will not,' replied our reporter, 'and they are not to be -blamed. They are merely doing their duty. You have acted in a way -which throws suspicion upon you----' - -"'I have done nothing wrong,' she said, interrupting him again; and -that she regarded him as being well disposed toward her was proved by -her speaking in a low tone, notwithstanding her anguish of mind, -'indeed, indeed I have not!' - -"'I believe you; they will not. I will not ask you what you have done; -if you confide in me it must be of your own free will; but you may -truly believe that I am desirous and willing to be your friend, your -sincere and earnest friend. Something more; I may be able to assist -you in a manner you little dream of. The paper you have dropped is an -advertisement from the _Evening Moon_, referring to the death of M. -Felix.' She shivered at the name, raised her eyes, and dropped them -again. This gave him an opportunity of observing that they were of a -peculiar and beautiful tinge of blue, and the soft pathetic light they -shed touched him deeply. 'Be patient a moment,' he continued; 'I must -have a little private talk with you before we get to the police -station, and I think I can manage it.' He had seen and recognized the -face of the second policeman, who now, as he came forward, greeted him -respectfully. 'Your comrade here,' said our reporter, jocosely, -'believes that I am engaged in some unlawful conspiracy. You know who -I am. Set his mind at rest.' - -"It happened fortunately that this second policeman and our reporter -were old acquaintances, and had spent many an hour together in the -still watches of the night. A few words whispered in the ear of the -first policeman settled his doubts. - -"'I beg your pardon, sir,' he said, apologetically, 'but mistakes will -happen in the best regulated families.' A remark which denoted that -the worthy and zealous officer was not deficient in a sense of humor. - -"'A mistake has happened here,' said our reporter. 'I presume that you -do not now intend to charge me with aiding and abetting.' - -"'Not a bit of it, sir. It was only my joke.' - -"'You have a queer way of airing your jokes, but I cannot reasonably -complain; you had grounds for suspicion. And now about this lady.' - -"'Don't ask me to neglect my duty, sir. I must take her to the -station.' - -"'She denies that she has done anything wrong.' - -"'They all do that, sir.' - -"'Do you persist in your charges against her?' - -"'Well, sir, about the baby I won't be sure now; it's as likely as not -I was mistaken in thinking I heard it scream; but we'll try to prove -the rights of the thing. I don't give way, sir, in my belief that she -attempted to commit suicide.' - -"'I am a properly qualified solicitor,' said our reporter, 'and I shall -appear for her, and shall also offer myself as an eye-witness of the -affair. I shall support her in her statement that she had no intention -of committing suicide.' - -"'I can't help that, sir,' said the policeman, with respectful -pertinacity, 'I can only report what I saw, and I must do my duty. She -nearly fell into the river; I hope you won't deny that, sir.' - -"'I will not deny it. You are speaking now quite fairly and -temperately, and I hope to bring you round to my view.' - -"'To let her off, sir?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'I can't do it, sir.' - -"'But listen to reason. She accidentally lost her balance----' - -"'And,' interposed the policeman, 'would have fallen in had it not -been for us.' - -"'That does not establish a charge of an attempt at suicide.' - -"'It must be looked into, sir,' said the policeman, stiffly. - -"'It seems to me,' said the second policeman, 'that it all depends -upon what it was she threw into the river.' - -"Without asking permission our reporter stepped aside with the woman, -and spoke privately to her. She had listened to the conversation in an -agonized state of mind, turning her eyes alternately to her accuser -and her defender with the air of one who was being hunted down. -Helpless, despairing innocence was depicted in her face, and the -favorable impression she had produced upon our reporter was -strengthened. Had she not in his belief been connected in a manner yet -to be explained with the Mystery of M. Felix he would have been -inclined to champion her cause, and because of this belief he would -have ranked himself on her side even if he had supposed that the -charges brought against her were true. Without a shade of doubt she -was a lady; her attire, although it bore no indications of worldly -prosperity, her manners, her speech, unmistakably proclaimed the fact. -She was apparently a little over forty years of age, and there were -traces of long-endured suffering on her features. In her youth she -must have possessed remarkable beauty, which even now could not fail -in attracting attention; her figure was slight and graceful, her -movements gentle and refined. These signs rendered her appearance at -such an hour and under such circumstances sufficiently perplexing, but -our reporter was satisfied to trust to the future for a satisfactory -explanation of what at present, to a vulgar mind, was full of -suspicion. - -"In stating that he was a properly qualified solicitor our reporter -stated a simple fact. He had served articles in a solicitor's office, -and had abandoned that profession for one which possessed greater -attractions for him. - -"It occurred to him to test her, and he addressed her in French. She -replied to him in the same language, but with an accent which put his -to the blush. We shall, however, give what passed between them in our -native tongue, for the sake of perfect clearness, and in the interests -of those of our readers who may not be familiar with any other -language than their own. - -"'You have not deceived me?' he asked. - -"'Indeed, indeed, I have not,' she replied, earnestly. 'I have spoken -the truth. You will not desert me?' - -"'I will not. You may count upon me as a sincere friend; but you must -confide in me implicitly. I will serve you honestly and faithfully. -You have met with misfortunes?' - -"'Great misfortunes. I am a most unhappy woman!' - -"'Have you any other friends in London in whom you would confide in -preference to me? If you have and will give me their names and -addresses, I will bring them to you.' - -"'I have no other friend in this city in whom I can confide.' - -"'Not one who can assist you?' - -"'Not one.' - -"'Are you quite unknown here?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'But surely you are not entirely alone?' - -"She made an effort to speak, but words failed her; she raised her -imploring eyes to his face. - -"'Strive to master your agitation,' he continued, 'and bend your mind -upon the position in which you stand. You heard what the policeman -said?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Will you tell them what it was you threw into the river?' - -"'I cannot tell them. It might injure--it might ruin me.' - -"'Was it property of your own?' - -"'It was.' - -"'To which no person but yourself has a claim?' - -"'It was my own; no person but myself has a claim to it.' - -"'The loss or recovery of which would injure no one?' - -"'No one but myself.' - -"'Now, consider. You will be taken to the police station and charged.' - -"'But they will let me go until to-morrow?' - -"'They will not. If I, a stranger to you, offered bail, it would not -be accepted. You will be locked up till the morning.' - -"'My God!' cried the woman. 'What will become of her--oh, what will -become of her?' - -"'Of her? Then you are not entirely alone in this city?' - -"'I have a daughter,' she said, in a low, despairing tone. 'She will -be distracted if I do not return to her to-night.' - -"'As I have explained to you, that is out of the question. If you are -not unwilling, I will go to her and explain matters.' - -"'No, no!' cried the woman. 'She must not know the truth! What have I -done that this misfortune should fall upon me?' - -"'I feel deeply for you. If I knew how I could inspire you with -confidence in me I should be glad. Look at me and say whether you -cannot trust implicitly in me.' - -"They gazed at each other in silence for many moments. The policemen, -standing apart, did not interrupt them, and as they spoke in French, -could not have understood if they had heard what was passing. The -woman put out her hand timidly. - -"'I will trust you,' she said. 'It may be that the good Lord has sent -me a friend when I most needed one. By the memory of all that is -dearest to you, do not betray me!' - -"'I swear solemnly that I will not.' - -"The pressure of her hand seemed to instil faith in her. All the -earnestness of her soul was expressed in the words she now spoke. - -"'I give into your charge what is infinitely more precious than -life--my honor, and my dear daughter's happiness. May Heaven so deal -by you as you deal by me!' - -"'I am content,' said our reporter. - -"At this juncture the first policeman thought he had allowed -sufficient time for a decision. - -"'Time presses, sir,' he said. - -"'Then we had better go to the station,' said our reporter, 'if you -persist in your ridiculous charge.' - -"'There is nothing else for me to do, sir,' said the policeman. - -"'You have no objection to my walking by the side of this lady, -keeping yourself out of hearing. I wish to receive instructions from -her.' - -"'Give me your word, sir, that there will be no attempt at escape.' - -"'There shall not be.' - -"'It's all right,' said the second policeman, 'you may take the -gentleman's word for a good deal more than that. You won't want me.' - -"He left them, and our reporter and the woman, preceded by the -policeman, who occasionally looked over his shoulder to see that they -were following him, walked to the Bow Street Police Station." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -AT THE BOW STREET POLICE STATION. - - -"'We have but little time for uninterrupted conversation,' said our -reporter, still speaking in French, 'and must make the best of it. At -the station we shall not be private, as we are now. An explanation is -due from me first. I am, as you have heard, a properly qualified -solicitor, and can therefore defend you legally, although at present I -see little to defend. But the fact that I am your authorized legal -adviser should strengthen your confidence in me, for whatever -information of a secret nature I receive from you I am bound -professionally to respect. You see, therefore, that your interests are -safe in my hands.' - -"'I am truly grateful to you,' said the woman. - -"'Intended for the Law,' continued our reporter, 'I do not follow it -as a profession. I am a journalist, engaged upon the _Evening Moon_. -You start. The fact of my being so engaged should still further -increase your confidence in me. Now, perhaps, you can understand why I -am so much interested in the advertisement cut from our paper which -you carry about with you. May I accept it that you have read what has -been published in the _Evening Moon_ concerning the death and strange -disappearance of M. Felix?' - -"'I have read all that has appeared in the paper,' said the woman, who -was paying the closest attention to what he was saying, - -"'Thank you for the frank admission. To my hands has been entrusted -the task of clearing up this strange affair, and of bringing it -forward to the full light of day. That is only a portion of my -mission. I have taken it upon myself to so sift the matter to the -bottom, that, if any innocent person has been wronged, his innocence -shall be made clear, and also to punish the guilty. Where there is -mystery there is generally crime, and where there is crime the -presumption is that innocent beings have been brought to sorrow. -Whether right Or wrong, I have the firmest conviction that there is -some story of wrong-doing underlying this mystery, and if I am -right--which time and good fortune can alone establish--this -wrong-doing must have inflicted suffering upon innocent persons. In -opening my mind to you upon these issues I may be, in your estimation, -speaking at random of details of which you are ignorant, and indeed of -details which exist only in my imagination, and have no foundation in -fact; but I take the chance of that, believing that no harm can be -done by a perfectly open confession of the motives which are urging me -on in the elucidation of a mystery which has caused, and still is -causing, a great deal of excitement. You will now understand why the -discovery surprised me that you should have taken the trouble to so -carefully preserve the advertisement which slipped from your pocket. -It would scarcely have been done by one whom it did not in some way -concern, and it remains to you to enlighten me upon this point. Let me -assure you that the advertisement was inserted in good faith, and that -its terms will be scrupulously observed. Legal assistance is offered, -and will be given, and money will be spent if any good purpose can be -served by it. That is all I have time to say in explanation of the -interest, to you in all probability the singular interest, I have -taken in our meeting to-night. The whole of this evening I have been -engaged in following up a clew connected with the disappearance of the -body of M. Felix, of which, as you read the _Evening Moon_, you are -doubtless aware.' - -"'Yes,' said the woman, 'I have read of it.' - -"'I am on the track, and I venture to affirm that I shall eventually -succeed in my purpose. I have already more than one ally. May I hope -that I have gained another?' - -"'I do not know,' said the woman, and though they were walking now -through unlighted spaces and he could not see her face, our reporter -divined from her broken tones that she was crying. 'I cannot say. All -is dark before me; there is not a star in the future to light me on my -way.' - -"'Do not give up hope,' said our reporter. 'I am by your side to help -you. You and your daughter, two women, alone in London as I -understand, without a friend, can do very little, but an earnest, -willing man, who has influence and means to back him up, may do much.' - -"In his sincere sympathy our reporter pressed the woman's arm, and she -uttered an exclamation of pain. - -"Have I hurt you?' he asked, hurriedly. - -"'My arm has been injured,' replied the woman, biting her lip so that -she should not repeat the cry; 'it has been cut to the bone.' - -"'I am very sorry. Is it your left arm?' - -"'Yes.' - -"'Was it recently done?--but I beg your pardon for questioning you so -closely.' - -"'You have the right to question me. It was done a few days ago.' - -"'You are unfortunate in more ways than one.' - -"'Truly, truly,' sighed the woman. 'Your voice, your words are kind, -but I can think of nothing but my dear child. She is waiting for me, -expecting me, listening for my footsteps on the stairs. If I could -escape--if I could get away unseen!' - -"'You must not dream of it; you would plunge yourself into deeper -trouble; and my word is pledged.' - -"'Yes, yes, I forgot; I am ungrateful.' - -"'I will do all I can for you at the Police Station; if it is -possible, you shall in a few minutes go to your daughter; but I must -not disguise from you the chances are very small.' - -"'But you will try--you will try?' - -"'Yes, I will try; I will stand bail for you; I can do no more just -now.' - -"'You have done much, more than I can repay. If they are cruel enough -to detain me, how long shall I have to wait?' - -"'Till to-morrow morning. You will be brought up before a magistrate.' - -"'It is a terrible disgrace, a terrible, terrible disgrace! But they -cannot punish me if I have done nothing wrong?' - -"'No, they cannot punish you unless they can prove something against -you which will render you liable.' - -"'Can they upon suspicion?' - -"'Upon mere suspicion, no.' - -"'When I appear before the magistrate, will you be there?' - -"'You may rely upon me. I shall be there to represent you legally, as -I am willing now to assist you privately. We are near the station. -Have you nothing more to say to me?' - -"'Did you tell me that I should be searched at the station, or is it -only my fear?' - -"'It is almost certain you will be searched.' - -"'They must find nothing upon me; they must not know who I am, or my -daughter's happiness is wrecked.' - -"Hastily and stealthily she extracted from her pocket a key, a purse -and a handkerchief, and slipped them into his hands. As hastily and -stealthily he slipped them into his own pocket. The policeman had not -observed the proceeding. - -"'Will you not require you handkerchief?' asked our reporter. - -"'I must do without it. My initials are worked upon it, and it might -lead to my identification. They must not, they must not know!' - -"This remark would have seriously disturbed our reporter if he had not -made up his mind to believe thoroughly, for the time being, everything -the woman told him, and to leave it to the future to decide whether -she was or was not deceiving him. - -"'Should I be detained,' said the woman, 'you will go to my daughter -and assure her I am in no danger?' - -"'I will go with pleasure.' - -"'You will not wait till morning? You will go at once?' - -"'I will go straight from the station.' - -"'Heaven reward you! Believe a suffering, much-wronged woman, sir, your -confidence is not misplaced.' - -"They had not time to exchange another word; they were at the station -door. - -"The Inspector was within, taking the night charges, and our reporter -saw with satisfaction that it was an officer with whom he was -acquainted. - -"'Good-evening, Mr. Jealous,' he said. - -"Inspector Jealous looked up. 'Hallo,' he said, 'what brings you -here?' - -"'I come on behalf of this lady,' replied our reporter, 'against whom -a policeman on duty on the Thames Embankment has a groundless charge -to make.' - -"The Inspector's eyes wandered from our reporter to the lady. The -policeman came forward and laid his charge in a temperate manner. -Inspector Jealous listened in silence. - -"'I thought at first,' said the policeman, 'that it was a child she -had thrown into the river, but the gentleman here thinks the other -way, and he is as likely to be right as I am. Of her attempt at -suicide I am certain.' - -"'That is a distinct charge,' said Inspector Jealous, dipping his pen -in the ink. 'The bundle, whatever it is, can, I dare say, be -recovered.' He called a constable, and gave him some whispered -instructions; after which the man left the office. 'You can join him -presently on the Embankment. Do you know the woman?' Pinned to -formula, Inspector Jealous ignored our reporter's reference to her as -a lady. - -"'Look up,' said our reporter to the woman; 'you have nothing to be -ashamed of.' - -"Thus assured and comforted the woman raised her face, so that -everyone in the office could see it clearly. Tears were hanging on her -eyelids, and there was a piteous expression upon the trembling mouth. - -"'I don't know her,' said the policeman, honestly. - -"The constables in the office craned their necks, then shook their -heads. - -"'She's no better than she ought to be! She's no better than I am! I'm -as good as her any day of the week! Go to blazes, the lot of yer!' - -"The interruption came from a tipsy woman sitting on a bench. -Inspector Jealous made a slight motion with his head, and the tipsy -creature was taken away. Then Inspector Jealous turned to our -reporter. - -"'I have nothing to say against the constable making the charge,' said -our reporter; 'he has performed his duty conscientiously, only he is -mistaken. I was an eyewitness of the affair, and I say that there was -nothing thrown in the river that the lady had not a right to throw -into it--the property being her own--and that she did not attempt to -commit suicide. Under these circumstances I trust you will not subject -her to the indignity of being locked up. She will appear in the -morning; I will be her recognizance.' - -"Inspector Jealous nodded his head, and began to dissect. - -"'What was in the bundle?' he asked of our reporter. - -"'I have told you,' replied our reporter, feeling himself -immediately at a disadvantage; 'her own property.' - -"'What was its nature?' - -"Manifestly this was a question which our reporter could not answer. - -"'You must excuse my asking,' said the Inspector, 'how you come to know -it was her property?' - -"'She told me as much.' - -"This time, instead of nodding his head, Inspector Jealous shook it. - -"'I am afraid I cannot accept that. What is her name?' - -"Another question which our reporter could not answer. - -"'Where does she live?' pursued the logical and inexorable Inspector. - -"Our reporter felt the ground slipping from under him. These two or -three simple questions were like sledge-hammer blows, and he was -staggered. - -"'Surely,' he said, lamely parrying, 'you do not question my honesty -in the matter?' - -"'Not for a moment,' said Inspector Jealous, with perfect good temper, -'but you must see yourself how it stands. Here is a direct charge -made----' - -"'And denied,' interposed our reporter. - -"'Exactly,' assented Inspector Jealous; 'but it is usual, you know, to -deny such charges, and the authority to decide which side is right is -not vested in me. There is not only the charge of attempted suicide, -but there is that bundle that was thrown into the river. I am very -sorry, but----' - -"He did not finish the sentence, but there was no misunderstanding his -meaning. - -"'You must submit,' said our reporter to the woman, and then turned to -Inspector Jealous. 'I may have a few private words with her, I -suppose, out of hearing of the officers present?' - -"'Certainly,' replied Inspector Jealous, 'after I have entered the -charge; and although I shall be compelled to detain her here, I -promise to make her as comfortable as possible for the night.' - -"'Thank you,' said our reporter; 'I was about to ask you to do so.' - -"Only one charge was entered in the book, that of attempted suicide, -the constable's suspicions as to the bundle the woman threw into the -river being deemed of too vague a nature to frame an accusation upon. - -"'Your name?' asked the Inspector of the woman. - -"At this question she was seized with a sudden trembling; her white -face grew whiter; her hands wandered feebly, aimlessly around, and had -it not been for the support afforded her by our reporter, who held her -up, she might have fallen insensible to the ground. - -"'Do not give way,' he whispered, 'think of your daughter.'" - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. - - -"These words strengthened her, and she drew herself up. - -"'Your name?' again asked Inspector Jealous. - -"'Mrs. Weston,' she replied, with a certain hesitation, and a sudden -color in her face. - -"'Christian name?' - -"'Mary,' said the woman, with a similar exhibition of unreadiness and -confusion. - -"'Mary Weston,' said Inspector Jealous. The equivocal signs were not -lost upon him, but he made no comment. 'Married?' - -"'I decline to answer.' - -"Inspector Jealous merely nodded, and entered her reply in the book. - -"'Where do you live?' - -"'I will not tell you. You cannot compel me.' No defiance was -expressed in her tone; it was imploring and appealing. - -"'No,' said Inspector Jealous, 'we cannot compel you.' - -"Then she was taken away to be searched, the report being that she had -no property of any kind upon her person; 'not even a handkerchief,' -was the remark. - -"'That is all,' said Inspector Jealous to our reporter. 'She will be -brought up to-morrow morning. If you are going to appear for her, -eleven o'clock will be early enough.' - -"With his consent our reporter then took the woman aside. - -"'Tell me now what I can do for you,' he asked. - -"'You will find my address on a card in my purse,' she replied. 'It is -a long distance, two or three miles, think----' - -"'I don't mind that.' - -"'You need not knock or ring at the street door; the key I gave you -will open it. But the passage will be dark when you enter it.' - -"'I have matches with me. I shall find my way all right.' - -"'Our rooms are on the first floor. My daughter will be awake. Do not -alarm her by knocking loudly on the door.' - -"'I will tap very gently. Go on.' - -"'I do not know what you will say to her at first. A stranger--and at -this late hour of the night----' - -"'Do not agitate yourself. I will use my best skill and all my -kindness to assure her that I come as a friend.' - -"'I am sure you will, I am sure you will,' said the woman, taking his -hand and kissing it. 'Heaven has been good to me to send me such a -friend!' - -"'Look at it in that light. What shall I say to your daughter after her -first surprise is over? Do you not think you had better give me a few -lines to her?' - -"'Can I write them here?' - -"'I think so; I will ask the Inspector.' - -"He had no difficulty in obtaining permission, and was supplied with a -sheet of note-paper and an envelope. Then the woman wrote: - - -"'My Darling Child,--The gentleman who brings this is a friend, a true -friend, and I send this note by his hand to allay your fears at my -absence. I cannot explain now why I do not come home to-night, but I -will do so to-morrow when I return. Do not expect me till the -afternoon, and do not be in the least alarmed about me. All is well, -and there is hope in the future. God bless you, my darling. With -fondest love, - -"'Your Devoted Mother.'" - - -"She gave the note to our reporter to read, and then put it in the -envelope. On the envelope she wrote simply the name, 'Constance.' - -"'She will be certain to question me,' said our reporter. - -"'You have only to tell her that I desired you to say nothing, and -that I wished to have the pleasure myself of communicating good news -to her upon my return to-morrow. That will satisfy her. She loves me, -has faith in me. Good news! Alas, alas!' - -"'Keep up your courage. They will treat you kindly here for my sake, -and you will see me in the morning. The few hours will soon pass.' - -"'It will seem an eternity.' - -"Feeling that it would be useless to prolong the interview, and -anxious to go upon his errand, our reporter bade her good-night with a -friendly pressure of the hand, commended her to the care of the kind -Inspector, and left the station. He walked a little way into the -Strand before he stopped to look at the card in the woman's purse; had -he done so in Bow Street, a policeman might have seen him and reported -the action, as he had just left the police station. By the light of a -street lamp he read the address, 21 Forston Street, Kentish Town. -There was no name on the card, but as there was no other writing in -the purse he knew that this must be the address to which he was to go. -He hailed a cab, and bade the man drive quickly. - -"His compulsory examination of the purse had led to a knowledge of its -contents--a small key and two pounds four shillings in gold and -silver, in addition to the card. He thought himself justified in -looking at the handkerchief which the woman had given him. It was of -fine cambric, and in one corner were the initials E. B. According to -the woman's statement, these were the initials of her name which she -wished to keep from the eyes of the policeman, so that they might not -lead to her identification. Then the name she gave to Inspector -Jealous was false; she was not Mary Weston. - -"This discovery would have damped the ardor of a less sympathetic and -enthusiastic man than our reporter, and would have instilled in him a -feeling of distrust. But our reporter is made of exceptional stuff, -and the discrepancy did not weaken his faith in her. She had been -frank with him; she had told him that she desired to keep her name -from the knowledge of the police; the hesitation with which she had -given the false name in the police station proved that she was not an -adept in duplicity; and in addition, his brief association with her -had inspired him with so much pity and confidence that it would have -needed stronger evidence to shake him. The longer he thought of her, -the firmer was his conviction that she was a lady of gentle culture, -who had by some strange means been thrown into a cruel position, in -which she had suffered some deep wrong. This in itself might not have -been powerful enough to induce him to champion her cause, but what -wooed and fixed him irresistibly was the strong impression that there -existed between her and M. Felix a link which, found, would lead to -the clearing up of the mystery. - -"As the cab drew up at 21 Forston Street, Kentish Town, our reporter -looked at his watch. It was two o'clock." Paying the cabman and -dismissing him, our reporter paused a moment to consider his position -and its surroundings. - -"The street was very quiet; not a soul was visible. The houses in it -struck the mean between rich and poor; some were two, some were three -stories in height, and the rents (our reporter is a judge in such -matters) would vary between forty and sixty pounds a year. This was -sufficiently respectable, and he was pleased that his errand had not -landed him in a poorer locality. - -"But two o'clock in the morning. A strange hour to present himself for -the first time, and under such suspicious circumstances, to a young -lady waiting in anxious suspense for the return of her mother. It must -be done, however, and the sooner done the better. He took out the -latch key, opened the street door, closed it behind him, and stood in -the dark passage. He did not wait now; he knew that he must go -straight on with his task. Therefore he lit a match, and by the aid of -its light made his way to the first floor landing. There were two -doors, one a side door which he supposed led to the smaller room, the -other a larger door facing him, through the crevices in which he saw -the gleam of a lamp or candle. He knocked gently, and waited, holding -in his hand the purse, the latch key, the handkerchief, and the letter -which the woman had given him. - -"Expedition now did not rest with him; it rested with the occupant of -the chamber to which he desired admittance. But his gentle tapping, -repeated again and again, met with no response. What should he do? To -continue tapping, or to knock aloud, would arouse other inmates, and -would subject him to an awkward examination. There was nothing for it -but to try the handle. It turned in his hand, and the door was open. - -"Still he paused upon the threshold, and said in his softest tones, -'Miss Constance! Miss Constance!' He received no reply, but heard a -gentle breathing. Boldly he entered the room, and pushed the door -behind him, but did not quite close it. - -"There was a lamp alight on the table, and before it a book, the pages -of which were divided and held apart by a miniature in a gold frame. -Leaning back in a chair, one arm hanging listlessly down, the other -resting on the table, the fingers just touching the miniature, was a -young girl, the beauty of whose face was positively startling. Rather -dark than fair, with features cut in the Greek mould, and long -eyelashes veiling the sleeping eyes, with lips slightly parted, the -picture was one upon which an artist would have loved to dwell. Her -loosened hair, which was of a rich brown, hung upon her shoulders, but -did not hide the exquisitely shaped ears; her hands were small and -white, and the foot in a worked slipper which peeped beneath her dress -was as beautifully formed. In silence our reporter gazed and admired. - -"Truly puzzled was he how to act in a dilemma so bewildering. It was a -contingency for which he had not mentally provided. Here he stood, a -stranger, at two o'clock in the morning, in the presence of a young -and lovely girl whose eyes had never rested on his face. What on earth -was he to do? - -"Her age could not have been more than seventeen or eighteen, and her -likeness to the woman he had left in the Bow Street Police Station, -left no room to doubt that she was her daughter, the Constance he had -come to see. He coughed, and shuffled his feet, and shifted a chair, -but these movements did not arouse the sleeping beauty. She slept -calmly on, her bosom gently rising and falling as she breathed. - -"He ventured to approach close to the table. The book the young girl -had been reading was Scott's 'Ivanhoe,' and the miniature lying on the -page was that of a young man, presumably of the better class. There -was something singular in the aspect of this young man's eyes; they -were open, but there was a vacant expression in them which, upon -examining them more closely, led our reporter to suppose that the -possessor was blind. - -"As his movements were ineffective in arousing the young girl to -consciousness, our reporter, without any distinct idea as to how he -should proceed with his task, laid the purse, the key, and the -handkerchief on the table close to the girl's hand. He retained the -letter. - -"Every moment that passed increased the awkwardness of his position, -and he now ventured to touch the sleeper's arm. She moved slightly in -her chair, and shifted the hand that rested upon the table so that it -reached the miniature. Her fingers closed upon it. - -"Again our reporter touched her arm, and in a low tone he called her -by her name. The arm that had been hanging down was raised, and -clasped his hand. 'Mamma!' she murmured, and she held his fingers with -a tender clasp. - -"'Really,' thought our reporter, 'this is growing more and more -perplexing.' Presently, to his relief, her fingers relaxed, and he -drew his released hand away. By this time he felt that bolder measures -were necessary. Retreating to the door he overturned a chair, and -hastily stepped into the passage. The ruse was successful; the young -girl started to her feet, and called out Mamma! Is that you?' - -"The answer she received was a tap at the door. Timidly she approached -and opened it, but flew back into the room at the appearance of a -stranger. - -"'Do not be alarmed,' said our reporter, standing on the threshold; -'I come as a messenger from your mother.' - -"'As a messenger from my mother!' she stammered, gazing at him from a -safe distance in evident distress, 'I do not understand you, sir. Do -not come nearer to me, or I shall call for assistance.' - -"'I assure you there is no occasion,' said our reporter. 'I will not -move a step into the room without your permission. Let me assure you -that I feel my presence here as awkward as you must yourself; but I -come, as I have said, from your mother, who has given me a letter for -you. I am her friend, and she would be annoyed if you called -unnecessarily for assistance. I sincerely apologize for my intrusion, -but there was no help for it. Strange as is my appearance here, I come -only in your mother's interests and yours.' - -"'Indeed it is strange,' said the young girl, 'and I cannot help -feeling alarmed and distressed.' - -"'It is natural you should,' said our reporter, speaking, as he had -spoken all through in his most respectful tone, as a gentleman would -speak to a lady; 'but read your mother's letter. See--I throw it as -close to you as I can, and if you wish me to enter after you have read -it, I will do so; not otherwise, upon my honor as a gentleman.' - -"He threw the letter into the room, but it did not quite reach her. -With timid steps, keeping her eyes fixed upon our reporter, the young -girl reached the letter, and quickly retreated to the position she -deemed safe, from which she read what her mother had written. - -"'You may enter, sir,' she said, 'but do not close the door.' - -"'I will leave it open,' said our reporter, and entered the room, but -kept a little apart from the young girl, whom we will now call by her -proper name, Constance. - -"'I have been waiting up for my mother's return, sir,' she said, 'and I -cannot even now understand her absence. Where did you leave her?' - -"I may not answer your questions,' replied our reporter. 'It is at her -own request I do not do so. She desired me to say that she wishes to -communicate the good news to you herself when she returns to-morrow. -You see my lips are sealed, and I cannot, as a gentleman, violate the -confidence your mother reposed in me.' - -"'You have nothing more to say, sir, and will leave me now, I hope.' -Then she murmured softly, 'Good news? Oh, if I dared to hope it!' - -"'I will leave you this instant,' said our reporter, and was about to -do so when Constance's eyes fell upon the purse, and the key, and the -handkerchief which he had deposited on the table. - -"'A moment, sir, I beg,' she said. 'How came these here? They are my -mother's.' - -"'Yes, she gave them to me,' said our reporter, with pardonable -duplicity, 'to hand them to you, in order that you might be satisfied -I came from her, and that I am here only as a messenger.' - -"'Yes, I understand that, sir, but how came they here?' - -"'I must speak frankly,' said our reporter, smiling. 'After admitting -myself into the house by means of the latchkey, I came upstairs and -knocked at your door, but could not make myself heard. As I did not -wish to arouse other people in the house I took the liberty of trying -whether the door was locked. It was not, and I entered. Seeing you -asleep I endeavored by some slight sounds to awake you, but did not -succeed. Then I placed the articles on the table, and overturning this -chair, retreated from the room, to lessen any alarm you might feel at -my appearance. It is the truth, believe me.' - -"'I do believe you, sir, and I thank you for your consideration, but -it's all very strange and distressing to me.' - -"'It would be stranger were it not. And now, having fulfilled my -mission, I will take my leave.' - -"'Only one more question, sir,' said Constance, imploringly. 'My -mother is in no danger?' - -"'She is not. You will see her to-morrow, and I hope myself to see you -again, so that I may be justified in your eyes.' - -"'You are justified already, sir, and I beg you to pardon me for my -doubts. I must wait till the morning. My mother will come, will she -not, in the morning?' - -"'Does she not say in her letter that it will not be till the -afternoon?' - -"'Oh, yes, I forgot, but I am confused and troubled. Will you see her -before then?' - -"'Yes, I have an appointment with her.' - -"'Where, sir?' - -"'I must not tell you. Remember the injunction your mother laid upon -me. I have no alternative but to respect it.' - -"'You are right, sir. Pardon me.' She held out her hand, and our -reporter advanced to take it; but she withdrew it before he touched -it. Even now her doubts and fears were not dispelled. 'Good-night, -sir.' - -"'Good-night,' said our reporter, and turned to go. - -"But now it was his turn to linger. Something, in the room which he -had not before observed attracted him. It was a simple article enough, -a red silk handkerchief which might be worn around the neck. - -"'Good-night, sir,' repeated Constance. - -"'Good-night,' he said. 'Excuse me.' - -"Then he left the room. As he descended the stairs he heard the key -turned in the door of Constance's room. - -"He did not call a cab when he reached the street; he had subject for -thought, and like most men he could reflect with greater freedom and -ease when his limbs were in motion. - -"A red silk handkerchief--merely that. Why should it have made so -strong an impression upon him? The explanation might be far-fetched, -but since he had pledged himself to the elucidation of the mystery of -M. Felix, he had become microscopical in his observation of trifles -which might by some remote possibility have a bearing upon it. On the -night of the death of M. Felix a man was seen escaping from the house -in Gerard Street in which M. Felix lived; and this man wore round his -neck a red scarf. It was this coincidence which now occupied his -thoughts. The possession of a red silk scarf was common enough; -thousands of persons in London could produce such an article, and shop -windows abounded with them; but this particular scarf, in connection -with the exciting incidents of the night, and in its indirect relation -to the advertisement from the _Evening Moon_, which Constance's mother -had preserved with such care, suddenly assumed immense importance in -the eyes of our reporter. His thoughts wandered to the scene on the -Thames Embankment, and he felt himself becoming morbidly anxious to -know what it was that Constance's mother had thrown into the river. -That it had some connection with the mystery upon which he was engaged -he had not the least doubt. Would its discovery, by throwing direct -suspicion upon Constance's mother, assist or retard the progress of -his mission? To-morrow would show, and he must await the event with -patience. One reflection afforded him infinite satisfaction; his hand, -and his alone, of all the millions of persons who had no absolute -direct interest in it, was on the pulse of the mystery, and every step -he took strengthened him in his resolution to run it to earth without -the aid of the officials of Scotland Yard." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -HOW THE CHARGE WAS DISPOSED OF. - - -"On the following morning, at half-past ten, our reporter presented -himself at the Bow Street Police Court, and was allowed a private -interview with Constance's mother, whom we must for the present -designate by the name she had assumed, Mrs. Weston. She looked worn -and pale, but beneath these traces of physical fatigue our reporter -observed in her an undefinable expression of moral strength which -surprised him. He had yet to learn, as our readers have, that this -woman's delicate frame was ennobled by those lofty attributes of -endurance and fortitude and moral power which in human history have -helped to make both heroes and martyrs. - -"'You have passed a bad night,' said our reporter, commiseratingly. - -"'In one sense I have,' said Mrs. Weston, 'but hope and prayer have -sustained me, and the Inspector has been very kind to me. Tell me of -my daughter.' - -"He briefly related the particulars of his interview with Constance, -but made no mention of the red silk scarf. She thanked him with great -sweetness for the trouble he had taken, and said that she had been -wonderfully comforted by the belief that she had providentially met -with so true a friend. - -"'Time will prove,' said our reporter, 'that you are not deceived in -your belief, but the manifestation of this proof will depend greatly -upon yourself. To speak more precisely, in your hands appears to me to -rest the power of accelerating events and of setting wrong things -right. I am speaking partly in the dark, from a kind of spiritual -intuition as it were, but when I strike a trail I have something of -the bloodhound in me; innocence will find in me a firm champion, guilt -I will pursue till I track it to its threshold.' - -"The words were grandiloquent, it is true, but it was scarcely -possible to doubt their sincerity. - -"'In resolving to confide thoroughly in you,' said Mrs. Weston, gazing -earnestly at him, 'I am risking more than you can possibly imagine. I -am like a shipwrecked woman to whom a prospect of deliverance has -suddenly appeared. I ask for no professions; I will trust you.' - -"'You will live to thank the chance which has thrown us together,' -said our reporter. 'I do not hesitate to say that you have aroused in -me a strange interest; I devote myself to your cause heartily, in the -conviction that I am championing the cause of right and innocence.' - -"Tears sprang in her eyes. 'Shall I be released to-day?' - -"'I am confident of it. I want to say a word to the Inspector.' - -"To Inspector Jealous, who was standing near, he expressed his thanks -for the kindness he had shown Mrs. Weston. - -"'Well, you see,' said the inspector, in the first place it was enough -that she is a friend of yours; in the second place, it was enough that -she is a lady. I can read signs; she does not belong to the classes we -are in the habit of dealing with.' - -"'She does not,' said our reporter. 'The whole affair is a mistake, -excusable enough on the part of the policeman, but regrettable because -of the distress it has caused an innocent lady. I shall make no -complaint against the policeman, on the score of over-officiousness; -he was within his rights, and on abstract grounds is perhaps to be -commended for his mistaken zeal.' - -"It was a wise and prudent speech, and the Inspector, already kindly -disposed, conveyed it, before the case was called on, to the ears of -the policeman who had made the charge. Assured that no attempt would -be made by our reporter to bring him into disrepute, he toned down his -evidence considerably, and himself assisted in the dismissal of the -case, the brief particulars of which we extract from our police -columns: - -"Groundless Charge.--Mary Weston, a woman of respectable appearance, -was charged with attempting to commit suicide. Constable 382 C said -that he was on duty on the Thames Embankment last night, about twelve -o'clock, when he saw the woman standing on the stone parapet close to -Cleopatra's Needle. Drawing near to her he heard a splash in the -water, and the woman was falling forward when he seized her and pulled -her away. A gentleman in court laid hold of the woman at the same -time, and assisted him in preventing her from carrying out her -purpose. The gentleman referred to, Mr. Robert Agnold, one of the -reporters upon the _Evening Moon_, and also a properly qualified -solicitor, said he appeared for the accused, who distinctly denied -that she had any intention of committing suicide. He was himself a -witness of the occurrence, and was convinced that the constable, who -had behaved very well throughout the affair, had acted under a -mistaken impression. The magistrate asked the constable what caused -the splash? The constable replied something the accused threw into the -river. The magistrate: 'Did you see what it was?' The constable: 'No.' -Mr. Agnold: 'I should state that the accused admits throwing something -into the river, and that in the act of doing so she overbalanced -herself and so aroused the constable's suspicions. Whatever it was -that she threw away, it was her own property and presumably valueless, -and, although her action was open to an eccentric construction, it -could go no farther than that. She had a perfect right to do what she -pleased with what belonged to her.' The constable said that search had -been made for it, but it had not been found. The woman went quietly to -the station, but refused to give her address. She was not known to the -police, and there was no evidence of her having been charged before. -The magistrate, to the accused: 'Have you any trouble that urged you -to put an end to your life?' The accused, whose speech was -distinguished by great modesty and refinement: 'I have troubles, as -other people have, but none that could impel me to an act so sinful. -Nothing was farther from my thoughts than the attempt with which I am -charged. I have done no wrong.' Mr. Agnold: 'Apart from my position as -her professional adviser, I will answer for her in every way.' The -magistrate: 'She is discharged.' - -"It was half-past twelve when Mrs. Weston and our reporter issued from -the police court. They walked in silence toward Leicester Square, -which, in contrast to the thronged thoroughfares immediately adjoining -it, is at this time of the day comparatively quiet. Mrs. Weston looked -around inquiringly. - -"'Do you know where we are?' asked our reporter. - -"'No,' she replied. - -"'Then you are not well acquainted with London?' - -"'Not very well.' - -"'This is Leicester Square. We are not far from Gerard street, Soho, -where M. Felix was found dead.' A tremor passed through her, and the -hand which rested upon our reporter's arm pressed it convulsively. He -did not pursue the subject, but said, 'All's well that ends well. Your -daughter will see you earlier than she expects. You will go straight -home, I suppose?' - -"'Not straight. I am fearful of being followed. Heaven knows whether I -shall be able to accomplish the task that lies before me, but whatever -I do must be done without drawing notice upon myself. I will not -disguise from you that I have innocently placed myself in a false -position, and that I am in danger. I cannot explain my words at this -moment; I am anxious to see my beloved child; but I must repeat what I -have said to you before, that no sin or guilt lies at my door.' - -"'I understand that, and I will bide your time. You are afraid that we -are being watched. I see no one in sight that can be dogging us, but I -can provide against the remotest possibility if you will allow me to -accompany you part of the way.' - -"She accepted his services gratefully, and he hailed a cab, the driver -of which he directed to proceed in an opposite direction to Forston -Street, Camden Town. When the cab had gone a couple of miles they -alighted and walked the length of two or three streets, our reporter -keeping a sharp lookout; then another cab was hailed, which drove them -to Camden Town, about a quarter of a mile from Forston Street. They -walked together to within fifty yards of No. 21, and then Mrs. Weston -paused. - -"'You wish me to leave you here,' said our reporter. 'Shall I see you -again soon?' - -"'This evening, at eight o'clock,' she replied, 'if you will call upon -me.' - -"'I will be punctual.' - -"'I ought to tell you before you go,' she said, in a low tone, 'that -the name I gave at the police station is not my own. I was justified -in giving a false name; otherwise the knowledge of my--my disgrace -might have reached my daughter.' - -"'You use a wrong term,' said our reporter, 'no disgrace whatever -attaches to you. Good-by till this evening.' - -"He shook hands with her and walked briskly away. He had nothing of -importance to attend to in the office of the _Evening Moon_, but he -was expected to present himself there, and it was necessary that he -should arrange to have the afternoon and evening free. This being -settled, he turned toward Gerard Street, with the intention of calling -upon Mrs. Middlemore, to ascertain whether anything fresh had -transpired. He knocked vainly at the door, however, Mrs. Middlemore -was not in the house. At the bottom of Gerard Street he encountered -Sophy. - -"'Ah, Sophy,' he said, 'I have just been to your house.' - -"''Ave yer?' said Sophy, sidling up to him. 'Aunty ain't at 'ome.' - -"'So I discovered. Where is she?' - -"'At the perlice station,' answered the girl. - -"'Anything wrong?' - -"'I don't know.' - -"'But what has she gone for?' - -"'It's about Mr. Felix.' - -"'About Mr. Felix!' he exclaimed. - -"'So she ses.' - -"'But what is the meaning of it, Sophy?' - -"'I can't tell yer. All I know is I meets aunty with a face like -pickled cabbage, running and blowing and 'olding 'er sides, and I arks -'er what she's in sech a 'urry about. 'It's about poor Mr. Felix,' she -ses, as well as she could speak; she was that out of breath she could -'ardly git 'er words out. 'They've found out somethink, and they've -sent for me to the perlice station. You go 'ome at once and wait till -I come back.' 'Ow shall I get in?' I arks; aunty never gives me the -door-key; ketch 'er doing that! 'Ow shall I get in?' 'There's a gent -there,' ses aunty, as 'ill open the door for yer.' 'I goes and knocks, -and as no gent comes and opens the door for me, I takes a walk.' - -"'Is that all you know, Sophy?' - -"'That's all. I don't keep nothink from you--not likely.' - -"'Can you tell me the name of the police station?' - -"'Oh, yes, I can tell yer that. Bow Street.' - -"Our reporter did not wait to exchange any further words, but hastened -as fast as he could to the Bow Street Police Court. He was close to it -when a constable accosted him. - -"'I was coming for you at the _Evening Moon_ office, sir,' said the -constable. 'The Inspector sent me.' - -"'What does he want?' asked our reporter. - -"'They've fished up something from the river. He thought you would -like to see it.' - -"'I should.' - -"As he entered the doors his coat was plucked by Mrs. Middlemore. - -"'Ah, Mrs. Middlemore,' he said, hastily, 'I will speak to you -presently. Don't go away; I will be out in a minute or two.'" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -WHAT WAS FOUND IN THE RIVER. - - -"The Inspector conducted our reporter to a small room adjoining the -court, in which the previous day's charges were still being tried, and -pointing to a bundle on the table, said: - -"'This was found in the river, near Cleopatra's Needle. It has been -opened and tied up again, in order that you might see it in its -original form.' - -"'In what way do you suppose it concerns me?' asked our reporter, with -an assumption of indifference, but moving nevertheless to the table -and proceeding to undo the knots in the bundle. - -"'The presumption is,' replied the Inspector, 'that it was the bundle -which Mrs. Weston, your client, threw into the river last night.' - -"'Being found,' contested our reporter, 'close to the place of the -adventure, the more probable conclusion is that it was deposited in -the river some distance off, the direction of which might be -calculated from the flow of the tide.' - -"'Ordinarily, yes,' said the Inspector, 'but there are surroundings -not favorable to such a conclusion. In the centre of the bundle you -will find a large stone, which would prevent it from dragging far. -Then again, it was discovered caught in a snag, and our men say it -must have fallen plumb into its position.' - -"Our reporter shrugged his shoulders, and remarked, 'Evidence of that -kind is in my opinion absolutely valueless in getting at the truth of -a criminal charge.' - -"By this time he had untied the knots and the contents of the bundle -lay exposed. They consisted of a large stone and a suit of man's -clothes--trousers, coat, and waistcoat. - -"'Well?' he said to the Inspector. - -"'Well?' said the Inspector, in return. - -"'Do you seriously ask me to believe that a lady would deliberately go -to a lonely part of the Thames Embankment at a late hour of the night, -for the purpose of throwing trumpery articles like these into the -river?' - -"'What else can you believe?' - -"'Anything but that,' said our reporter. 'In the first place it has to -be proved that the clothes are hers--an absurd idea, to say the least -of it. In the second place, what motive could she have had in -disposing of them in such a manner?' - -"'You have hit a nail on the head,' said the Inspector. 'A motive she -must have had, and a strong one, too. It is a singular affair, and I -confess that I don't see my way through it. You see, the suit is new; -being but a short time in the water, that is not hard to prove. It is -of a rather good description of tweed, and must have cost thirty or -thirty-five shillings. To my eyes it has been worn very little, not -more than half a dozen times, perhaps not more than three or four, -perhaps not more than once. Supposing it to have been worn once only, -it must have been worn for a certain purpose, which being carried out -rendered its possession dangerous. Therefore it must be got rid of. -Now, why throw it into the river? Fifty shopkeepers in fifty -neighborhoods would be ready to purchase it for six or seven -shillings. Why not sell it, then? I answer, because it would not do -for the suit to be still in existence; because the person who disposed -of it might be traced. Then would come the question--"Why did you -purchase a new suit of clothes for thirty shillings, and sell it -immediately afterward for five?" But the clothes may still be traced -to the original purchaser. It happens that the name of the firm of -which it was purchased is stamped on the lining of each garment; we go -to that firm and make inquiries. Unfortunately the firm does a very -large business, and this will increase the difficulty of discovering -the purchaser.' - -"'Your theories are very interesting,' said our reporter, 'but I do not -see what they will lead to. Is there anything in the pockets?' - -"'Nothing; not so much as a scrap of paper, or a shred of tobacco, or -a morsel of biscuit. I mention tobacco because whoever wore the -clothes was not a smoker.' - -"'Is it possible to fix that?' - -"'Quite. Do you observe that the clothes are of a small size? They -must have been worn, therefore, by a person of proportionate build. In -these facts we have a starting-point.' - -"'A starting-point, I presume, in some important investigation.' - -"'There you have me,' said the Inspector, with a smile. 'I have been -merely airing my views. I know of no case which can possibly be -connected in any way with this suit of clothes, and we have too much -to look after already without making much ado about nothing. If there -were any grounds for supposing that it bore some relation to, say such -a mystery as that of M. Felix, we should set to work at once, of -course. No such luck, however. I sent for you really in the hope that -you could throw a light upon the bundle of rubbish.' - -"'And you see that I cannot. I refuse to believe for one moment that -it was thrown into the river by the lady I appeared for this morning.' - -"'Well,' said the inspector, 'there is no harm done.' - -"'Not the least. By the way, you made mention of the case of M. Felix. -Has any progress been made in it?' - -"'We're not a step more forward than we were. Rather the other way, I -should say, for in such cases every day in which an advance is not -made marks a point backward. The strangest feature in M. Felix's case -is what has become of the body. We have made every inquiry, and are -still making them, all over the country, and can't find the slightest -trace of it. Taking it altogether, it is about the strangest case in -my experience.' - -"'And in mine,' said our reporter. - -"'Oh, yes,' said the inspector, with a keen look at our reporter, 'we -know you have taken great interest in it, and I suppose have been -about as successful as ourselves.' - -"'Just about as successful.' - -"'Your amateur detective,' observed the Inspector, with a certain -scorn, 'considers himself a mighty clever gentleman, but he finds -himself compelled in the end to take a back seat.' - -"'As I shall have to do,' said our reporter, good humoredly, 'but, as -you say, there is no harm done; and you must remember that I am -working in the interests of a great newspaper. I had an object in -asking you whether you had made any progress in the case of M. Felix. -A person of my acquaintance informed me that there was something being -done in it to-day.' - -"'Whoever it was,' said the Inspector, 'must be dreaming.' - -"'Nothing has been found out?' - -"'Nothing.' - -"'And there is no inquiry in the police court relating to it?' - -"'None.' - -"'Thanks. Good-morning.'" - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -MRS. MIDDLEMORE IS VICTIMIZED. - - -"Outside the court-house our reporter found Mrs. Middlemore still -waiting. He took her by the arm, and led her unceremoniously away. -Stopping on the opposite side of the road, he said to her: - -"'Now, Mrs. Middlemore, what brought you here?' - -"'I was sent for, sir,' she answered. - -"'By whom?' - -"'By the magerstate.' - -"'Where is the paper?' - -"'What paper, sir?' - -"'The summons.' - -"'I ain't got none. The perlice orficer comes to me and ses, "Mrs. -Middlemore," he ses, "you must go immediate to the Bow Street Perlice -Station, and wait outside till yer called." "But what about?" I arks. -"About Mr. Felix," he answers; "somethink's been found out, and they -can't git on without yer. Yer'll have to wait a longish time per'aps, -but if yer move away till yer called it'll be worse for yer." "But -what am I to do about the 'ouse?" I arks. "Sophy's out, and there's no -one to mind it." "I'll mind it," ses the perlice orficer, "and when -Sophy comes back I'll let her in. Off yer go, and don't tell nobody at -Bow Street what yer've come about. It's a secret, and the Government -won't stand it being talked of. Yer'll be paid for yer trouble." So -off I starts, and 'ere 'ave I been waiting for nigh upon two hours, -and nobody's made a move toward me.' - -"'I've heard something of this,' said our reporter, pushing Mrs. -Middle more into a cab, and giving the driver instructions to drive -quickly to Gerard Street. It was not without difficulty he succeeded -in this, for Mrs. Middlemore, with the fear of the 'Government' upon -her, wanted to remain in Bow Street. 'I met Sophy before I came here, -and she told me you had been sent for to the police Station. Now be -quiet, will you? Have you not promised to be guided by me?' - -"'But the Government, sir, the Government! I shall be clapped in -prison!' - -"'You'll be nothing of the sort. The Government and I are friends, and -you are perfectly safe if you do as I tell you.' - -"'I must, I serpose, sir. There's nothink else for it, but I'm being -wore to a shadder. If this goes on much longer I sha'n't 'ave a ounce -of flesh on my bones. Yer sor Sophy, sir, did yer? Yer've been at the -'ouse, then?' - -"'Yes, I have been at your house, but it was not there that I saw your -niece. I met her in the street, and she informed me that you were at -Bow Street Police Station.' - -"'What was the 'uzzy doing in the streets?' - -"'I can't say, but in the streets she was forced to remain.' - -"'Why, sir, the 'ouse was open to 'er. I met 'er and told 'er to go -'ome and wait till I come back.' - -"'Exactly. And she did go, and knocked at the door, as I did, but she -was as unsuccessful as I was. She did not get in.' - -"''Ow can that be, sir? The perlice officer was there, waiting to open -the door for 'er. The lazy slut! She's been telling yer a parcel of -lies.' - -"'How about myself, Mrs. Middlemore? Am I telling you a parcel of lies -when I say that I knocked pretty loudly at your door, and that no one -came to open it.' - -"'I wouldn't dispute your word, sir, but I can't make it out.' - -"'I can, and I will explain it to you presently, inside your house, if -we can manage to get in. Here we are. Jump out.' - -"The cab being discharged, Mrs. Middlemore knocked and rang, but -knocked and rang in vain. - -"'Allo, anty!' said Sophy, coming up. ''Ave they found Mr. Felix's -body?' - -"''Ush, you 'uzzy,' said Mrs. Middlemore, clapping her hand on the -girl's mouth. 'What do yer mean by being outside instead of in?' - -"'What do I mean?' retorted Sophy, with an air of great enjoyment. -'Why, 'cause I couldn't git in. I knocked and knocked, jest as you're -doing of now, but nobody answered.' - -"'I understood,' said our reporter to Mrs. Middlemore, 'that you -generally carry your latchkey with you.' - -"'So I do sir, but I didn't 'ave it in my pocket when the perlice -officer come; it was downstairs on the kitchen table. I wanted to go -down and fetch it, but he wouldn't let me wait a minute. "If yer -ain't quick," he said, "yer'll git yerself in trouble;" and he bundled -me out of the 'ouse. That's 'ow it was, sir.' - -"'The question is,' said our reporter, 'how we are to get in. Is there -a back way?' - -"'No, sir.' - -"'Then we must get in by the front door or window. The window will be -the easiest. It is fastened inside in the usual way, I suppose?' - -"'Yes, sir.' - -"'The easiest plan will be for me to break one of the panes in such a -manner as to attract as little notice as possible, and then put my -hand through and undo the fastening. Then we can lift the sash, and -Sophy can get in and unlock the street door for us.' - -"I'm game,' said Sophy, to whom any task of this kind was especially -inviting. - -"Our reporter was about to put his plan into execution when Mrs. -Middlemore clutched his arm. He instantly withdrew it. - -"'Of course, Mrs. Middlemore,' he said, coldly, 'it is your house, and -I can't commit a trespass without your permission.' - -"'It ain't that, sir,' said Mrs. Middlemore, piteously. 'Sophy's a -plucky little thing, and though I do give 'er a 'ard word now and -then, I mean well by 'er, I do indeed, sir.' - -"'Yer a good sort, aunty,' said Sophy. 'I don't mind yer 'ard words, -not a bit.' - -"''Old yer saucy tongue, and let me speak to the gentleman. Yes, sir, -I mean well by Sophy, and I should never 'ave another minute's peace -if anythink was to appen to 'er.' - -"'What do you think will happen to her if I do what I propose?' - -"'There's been one sudding death in the 'ouse, sir----.' - -"'Go on, Mrs. Middlemore. Don't stop in the middle of a sentence; -finish what you have to say. Time is very precious just now.' - -"There's been one sudding death in the 'ouse, and now there's a man in -there as won't or can't answer.' - -"'You fear he might be dead. If so, he cannot do Sophy any harm. Eh, -Sophy?' - -"'Not 'im. It'd take more nor one dead man to scare Sophy. Jest you -open the winder, and I'll be in like a shot.' - -"'Have I your permission now, Mrs. Middlemore?' - -"'But if he shouldn't be dead, sor. If he was laying in wait with a -crowbar to knock Sophy on the 'ead----' - -"'Oh, you are beginning to think the man who called upon you was not a -police officer, after all?' - -"'I'm beginning to have my doubts, sir.' - -"'I never had any. He is as much a police officer as you are. He told -you a cock and bull story, and got rid of you. He was left in the -house alone, and, more for your sake than my own, I want to find out -what he has been up to. Decide quickly, please.' - -"'Do what you like, sir. You've been right in everything; but things -are getting more and more mysterious.' - -"Without wasting more words our reporter pushed his elbow into a pane, -and putting his hand through, undid the fastening and raised the -sash. Sophy climbed in like a cat, and the next minute the street -door was open. They entered and closed the door behind them. - -"'We will proceed systematically,' said our reporter. 'The man spoke -to you in the passage here.' - -"'Yes, sir; and sed he'd wait.' - -"'Did you tell him to wait in the kitchen, or the parlor, or in any -particular room?' - -"'No, sir; I left it to 'im.' - -"'Doubtless he has been into every room in the house. We will go into -the kitchen first.' - -"Nothing had been disturbed there; the key of the street-door was on -the kitchen table. Our reporter took it up and examined it closely. - -"'As I imagined,' he said. 'He has taken an impression of the key in -wax.' - -"'What for, sir?' asked Mrs. Middlemore, in great trepidation. - -"'To enable him to enter the house again secretly, if he wished. When -I am gone send for a plumber and a locksmith. Let the plumber put in -the pane of glass, and have another lock put on the street door. Your -visitor must have been in a hurry, or he would have cleaned this key -more carefully.' - -"From the kitchen they went into the parlor, and apparently nothing -had been disturbed there. Then they proceeded upstairs to the rooms -occupied by M. Felix. - -"'Look carefully round,' said our reporter, 'and tell me if anything -has been taken away.' - -"'Nothink, sir, that I can see.' - -"'But there may have been papers, or money, or something of which he -wishes to obtain possession, secreted somewhere, and it is quite -likely he may have found them.' - -"'I won't dispute you, sir. You see further than I do; but it don't -seem as if anythink's been took.' - -"'Or moved? The ornaments on the mantelshelf--are they all there?' - -"'I don't miss one, sir.' - -"'But they have been shifted. Here is this vase; observe the circle -upon which it stood. The vase has been lifted and put down again, but -not on the exact spot it occupied when he took it up. This proves the -object for which he came; he has been searching for something, and has -probably found it and taken it away. How could you have been so -foolish as to leave him in the house alone?' - -"Mrs. Middlemore sank helpless into a chair, and moaned. 'What else -could I do, sir, what else could I do? It'll be the death of me, I -know it will!' - -"'Not at all. It only proves that we have cunning persons to work -against. I am all the more determined to track this mystery down.' He -opened the bedroom door, and exclaimed, 'Here is direct evidence. The -fellow has not been so careful in this room. Chairs have been moved, -the bedclothes are disturbed. Why, where is the revolver?' - -"He referred to the revolver which he had found beneath the pillows, -and which he had replaced. It had been abstracted. Inwardly he -congratulated himself that he had not only taken a full note of the -description of the weapon, but had also scratched the initial,'F.' on -the metal. He took, out his pocketbook and turned to the page upon -which he had made an entry. - -"'Listen to this, Mrs. Middlemore, and be thankful that you have a -friend like me on your side: "A Colt's double action revolver, -nickel-plated, six shots, No. 819." I can swear to that revolver, and -moreover can swear that it was loaded. Are you satisfied now that you -have been imposed upon, and that the man who visited you came upon a -bogus errand?' - -"'Of course I am, sir, but what could 'ave been 'is objec'--'Oh, what -could 'ave been 'is objec'?' - -"'That has yet to be discovered, and discovered it shall be. The -abstraction of this revolver may assist us. The fellow does not dream -that I have its description here, and that it can be sworn to. Surely -he was not dressed as a policeman?' - -"'No, sir, he sed he was a private officer.' - -"'And you believed him?' - -"Again Mrs. Middlemore moaned, 'What else could I do, sir? what else -could I do? He spoke that confident and easy that an angel would 'ave -believed what he sed.' - -"'Don't be taken in again. Be just a little more careful in your -dealings with strangers.' - -"'I will, sir, I will.' - -"'I don't see that I can do any good by remaining here. I should like, -though, to take down from your lips a description of the man. You can -give it to me, I hope?' - -"'I can, sir. A tall man, very thin, with a long thin face and thick -black eyebrows.' - -"'Is that all?' - -"'All I can remember, sir.' - -"Our reporter wrote the words in his pocketbook, and asked, 'Can you -tell me how he was dressed?' - -"'Only that he had dark clothes on.' - -"'You would know him again if you saw him?' - -"'I could swear to him, sir.' - -"'Come, that is a satisfaction. You can swear to the man, and I can -swear to the revolver. Two direct pieces of evidence, if we can lay -hands upon them.' - -"Sophy unexpectedly presented herself as an additional witness. 'I can -swear to 'im too,' she said. - -"'Ah, Sophy, you are invaluable,' said our reporter. - -"'Didn't I say the slut was telling us a parcel of lies?' cried Mrs. -Middlemore, making a movement as though she were about to fall upon -the girl. - -"'Easy, Mrs. Middlemore, easy,' said our reporter, holding the -housekeeper back. 'Let us hear what Sophy has to say.' - -"But Sophy, firing up, diverged a moment. 'Jest look 'ere, aunty,' she -said, with spirit. 'Don't yer be so fast with yer sluts and yer -'uzzies. I'm gitting tired of it, I am. I ain't told one lie yet, and -if yer don't mind what yer about I'll keep my mouth shut.' - -"'No, Sophy, my girl,' said our reporter, 'you will do nothing of the -sort. You will tell me all you know about this man.' - -"'Jest you make 'er be civil, then,' said Sophy. 'She does nothink but -bully me day and night. She don't pay me no wages, and I ain't going -to stand it.' - -"'Be reasonable Sophy,' said our reporter. 'Your aunt is worried, and -you must make excuses for her.' - -"'Ain't I flesh and blood the same as she is?' continued the irate -girl. 'I've a good mind to run away from 'er, that I am, and never -come back no more. I'll do it. Tata, aunty, and thank yer for -nothink.' - -"Had it not been for our reporter, she would have run out of the -house. He laid his hand gently on her arm, and said: - -"'Don't forget your promise to me, Sophy.' - -"'I won't; I'll keep it, never fear. I'll wear myself to skin and bone -for yer--yes, I will, if it'll do yer any good; but I won't be bullied -by 'er no more.' - -"Sophy's threat terrified Mrs. Middlemore; the prospect of being left -in the house alone was appalling, and she straightway fell to on -humble pie. - -"'I'm sorry for what I sed, Sophy, and I beg yer parding, and I'll -give yer sixpence a week. There, now, be a good gal. But yer did tell -us yer couldn't git into the 'ouse.' - -"'No more I could. I knocked and rattled and kicked the door, and -nobody come. 'Ow should I know that a tall, thin man, with a long face -and thick black eyebrows, was the feller as took yer in?' - -"'You saw him, then?' said our reporter, observing that Mrs. -Middlemore's apology and, the promise of sixpence a week had mollified -the girl. - -"'Yes, I sor 'im before I got to the 'ouse, but I didn't know he come -out of it. He was jest what aunty sed he was, and what's more, he 'ad -large flat feet.' - -"'If you saw him again you could swear to him?' - -"'I'd pick 'im out of a thousan.' He run agin me, he did, and I sed, -"Who are yer pushing of?" He didn't say nothink, but walked off forty -to the dozen.' - -"'Looking as if he did not wish to attract notice?' - -"'Yes, he did look like that.' - -"'Was he carrying anything?' - -"'Not that I sor. He 'ad 'is coat buttoned up.' - -"'When he come to me,' said Mrs. Middlemore, 'it was unbuttoned.' - -"'Proving that he took something away with him. Anything else Sophy?' - -"'Nothink else.' - -"'You and your aunt are friends now, are you not?' - -"'Oh, I don't bear no malice.' - -"Mrs. Middlemore kissed Sophy, and her anger was entirely dispelled. -Once more our reporter, having made peace between them, attempted to -leave, but Mrs. Middlemore said, imploringly: - -"'Would yer mind looking all over the 'ouse fust? He might be 'iding -in it to murder us in the night.' - -"'Sophy saw him walking away,' said our reporter; 'but to satisfy you -I will go into every room; and I'll do something more, if you are -agreeable. Could you make me up a bed?' - -"'Yes, sir, I could, in any room you like.' - -"'M. Felix's bedroom will do for me. Don't look startled; I am almost -as brave as Sophy. Put the bed straight, and I'll come some time -between eleven and twelve o'clock, and pass the night here.' - -"Mrs. Middlemore was profuse in her thanks, and our reporter searched -the house from top to bottom. Assuring the housekeeper that she was -quite safe, he succeeded in making his escape." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. - - -"He had taken mental note of the name of the firm at which the suit of -clothes which had been found in the river was purchased, and he went -direct to that establishment in Tottenham Court Road. It happened, -fortunately, that business was slack at that time of the day, and as -customers were few and far between he had little difficulty in -obtaining an interview with the manager, who, when he heard that our -reporter was engaged upon the _Evening Moon_, gave him his entire -attention. - -"'It's the smartest paper in London,' said the manager; 'I take it in -regularly.' - -"'I should like you to treat the matter I have come upon as private -between you and me. We are interested in a certain case which may or -may not be made public, and in which, perhaps, you can assist us in an -indirect way. If it prove to be so your establishment will get an -advertisement for nothing.' - -"'We shall be glad to get it,' said the manager. 'A good word from you -gentlemen of the press is always acceptable. I dare say you notice we -advertise in your paper. Tell me what I can do for you.' - -"'I wish to ascertain, confidentially, under what circumstances a -certain suit of clothes was purchased in your establishment. All the -clothing you sell is marked with your name, is it not?' - -"'Yes, wherever we can get it in. There are some things that cannot be -marked, but suits of clothes can; coats on the bands they are hung up -by, waistcoats on the inner lining, trousers on the waistbands. What -kind of a suit was it, and on what day was it purchased?' - -"'I cannot name the day exactly, but say within the last two or three -weeks. It was a suit of tweed.' - -"'Can you identify the pattern?' - -"'Yes, if you will let me see samples of your stock.' - -"'I will show you what we have.' - -"They looked through a wonderful assortment of men's clothing, but our -reporter saw none exactly similar to the pattern he wished to -identify. - -"'Was it a suit for a large or a small man?' inquired the manager. - -"'For a small man; almost what you would call a youth's suit.' - -"'What you have seen is principally our new stock; we have some others -which our salesmen endeavor to get rid of; we don't like to keep old -stock too long on our hands.' - -"They went through other departments, and at length, on one of the -upper shelves, our reporter pointed to a pattern he thought he -recognized. - -"'That seems to be it. I shall know on a closer inspection.' - -"The suit was taken down, and our reporter saw that he had reached the -first stage of his inquiry. - -"'This is the pattern,' he said. - -"'It narrows the matter,' said the manager. 'There is only this one -suit left of this particular pattern. Three weeks ago there were two, -so that within that time one has been sold. The salesman in this -department is a man with a good memory.' - -"The salesman being called, our reporter explained what he wanted. The -man considered a little, and said: - -"'I remember something of it, because of a circumstance. I will look -up my sale book and compare it with the day book, to fix the date.' - -"He departed to make the investigation, and, returning, said: - -"'I can tell you all about it now. I served the lady myself.' - -"'The lady!' exclaimed our reporter. - -"'Yes, it was a lady who made the purchase. I served her first with a -suit which she paid for, and which she brought back later in the day, -saying it was too large. I changed it for one of this pattern.' - -"'Did she say for whom she required the clothes?' - -"'For a young man of about her own size. I supposed they were for a -son or for a brother much younger than herself.' - -"'What should you judge her age to have been?' - -"'Forty or so.' - -"'I told you he had a good memory,' said the manager, with an -approving smile at his salesman. - -"'You speak of her as a lady,' said our reporter. 'Are you certain she -was one?' - -"'She spoke and conducted herself as one. She was not a workingman's -wife, or she would have been more particular as to price, and might -have haggled a bit, though all our clothes are marked in plain -figures. I could see she wasn't used to purchasing men's clothing from -the remarks she made. All that she was particular about was the fit.' - -"'What did she pay for the suit?' - -"'Fifty-five shillings. She handed me a five-pound note, and I gave -her the change. Working women don't pay for their purchases in bank -notes. Would you like the number of the note?' - -"'Can you give it to me?' - -"'Yes; we always take down the numbers.' - -"Again he departed and returned, and gave our reporter the number of -the note, written on a bill-head. - -"'I am under a great obligation to you,' said our reporter. 'Is this -suit you have left the only one of the same pattern you have in your -establishment?' - -"'The only one, sir, and we are not likely to have any more.' - -"'I will take it with me.' - -"The account was made out, settled, and receipted, and our reporter, -thanking the manager, left the shop--which, in accordance with modern -ideas, was called an 'Emporium'--with the suit of clothes under his -arm. He had a distinct motive in making the purchase. The inspector -might take it into his head to make inquiries at the establishment, -and our reporter had removed the only evidence of direct -identification it could furnish. - -"It was now six o'clock. His appointment with Mrs. Weston in Forston -Street was fixed for eight. He had an hour and a half to spare, -sufficient time to take a chop and a pancake and to arrange his ideas. -Selecting a quiet-looking restaurant, he took a seat at an unoccupied -table, ordered his chop and pancake, and began to write in the -convenient reporter's book which he always kept about him. He did this -for clearness; he felt that he was approaching an important point in -the mission he had taken upon himself, and that his interview with -Mrs. Weston was destined to be pregnant in results. It would be of -assistance to him to set things down in writing instead of trusting -entirely to memory. The memoranda he made are now set forth: - -"Heads of circumstantial evidence which lead me to the belief that -Mrs. Mary Weston, otherwise E. B. (initials worked in lady's -handkerchief), is directly connected with the incidents which happened -in Mrs. Middlemore's house in Gerard Street, Soho, on the night of the -death of M. Felix. - -"First--On that night a man was seen making a hurried escape from the -house at the moment (presumably) M. Felix was drawing his last breath. -The only description, if description it can be called, that has been -given of this man is that he wore round his neck a red scarf. - -"Second--Last night, or rather early this morning, on the occasion of -my visit to Mrs. Weston's lovely daughter, I observed, before I left -the young lady, a red silk scarf. Query: Might not this red scarf be -the same as that which the man who escaped from the house in Gerard -Street wore round his neck? - -"Third--There was blood on the floor of M. Felix's room. There was no -wound on the body of M. Felix. The blood, therefore, proceeded from a -wound inflicted on the person of M. Felix's visitor. My discovery in -M. Felix's room of the dagger, with a handle resembling a twisted -snake and a ruby in its head to represent an eye, led to the -incontrovertible conclusion that it was the weapon with which this -wound was inflicted. The blood stains on the blade prove it. M. Felix, -snatching up the dagger, flung it at his visitor. - -"Fourth--Mrs. Weston has on her left arm a wound which is not yet -healed. When I inadvertently grasped her arm she cried from pain. -Inquiring whether I had hurt her she replied that her arm had 'been -cut to the bone.' Query: Might not this be the wound that was -inflicted by M. Felix's dagger? - -"Fifth--In that case Mrs. Weston must have paid a visit to M. Felix on -the night of his death. Query: Might she not have paid this visit -disguised in a man's clothes? - -"Sixth--The circumstantial evidence upon which this assumption is -based: In the first place, Mrs. Weston last night, believing herself -to be unobserved, threw a bundle into the River Thames. She refused to -state what this bundle contained. I asked her. 'Will you tell them' -(the policemen) 'what it was you threw into the river?' She replied, 'I -cannot tell them. It might injure--it might ruin me.' Deduction--that -if it were proved that the suit of clothes found in the river this -morning belonged to her she would be placed in a position of extreme -danger. The second piece of circumstantial evidence in connection with -this suit of man's clothing comes from the establishment in Tottenham -Court Road at which it was purchased. The salesman says that the -purchaser was a lady. Mrs. Weston is a lady. She paid for it with a -bank note, the number of which can be traced. The suit would fit a -person of her height and build. In the third place--She gave a false -name. This circumstance, supposing that she has committed a wrongful -act, would weigh heavily against her. In the fourth place--She carried -about with her an advertisement relating to the death of M. Felix, in -which the proprietors of the _Evening Moon_ pledged themselves to give -the best legal assistance to any person or persons who are in any way -interested in the death of M. Felix. Reasonable deduction--That this -lady, having taken the trouble to cut out and preserve the -advertisement with such conspicuous care, must be interested in his -death. - -"There are other items which I will set down and consider later on. -Meanwhile---- - -"Do I believe Mrs. Weston, otherwise E. B., to be guilty of any -wrongful act in connection with M. Felix? I do not. I believe her to -be a perfectly innocent woman. Upon what grounds? Upon the grounds of -sympathy--which would not count with such weighty circumstantial -evidence against her. - -"Do I believe that she paid a visit to M. Felix on the night of his -death, disguised in man's clothes? I do; and I believe that the visit -was paid without the slightest intention of doing him a personal -injury. She is delicate and fragile, destitute of the strength -necessary to carry out a deed of violence. M. Felix must have -possessed at least to some slight extent a man's strength, more than -amply sufficient to successfully oppose any design of violence on the -part of a lady of Mrs. Weston's feeble frame. - -"For what object, then, was this visit paid? To right some wrong which -Mrs. Weston was suffering at his hands. I declare myself to be her -champion, and the champion of her lovely daughter. - -"In conclusion: The most extraordinary feature in the case remains -still without any light being thrown upon it. Where is his body, and -for what reason was it stolen from the house in Gerard Street? - -"At eight o'clock precisely our reporter arrived at No. 21 Forston -Street, Camden Town, and was ushered into the room occupied by Mrs. -Weston and her daughter Constance. Lovely as had been the young girl's -appearance last night, she was even lovelier now. Then her face was -darkened with anxiety, now it was free from care, and the most -careless observer could not have failed to know that a perfect and -most beautiful love existed between the mother and her child. The -young lady blushed as our reporter entered, and rose and offered him -her hand. - -"'I beg you to forgive my rudeness last night,' she said. 'I did not -know then.' - -"'Your conduct was perfectly natural, he said, taking her hand, 'such -as I should have approved of in a sister of my own.' - -"She bowed gracefully, and retired to an inner room. - -"'It is my wish,' explained the elder lady, 'that our interview should -be private. What have you there?' - -"He had brought the new suit of clothes with him, and he had placed -the brown paper parcel on the table and was now untying it. Her face -turned to a deadly whiteness when the suit was exposed. - -"'You have nothing to fear,' said our reporter. 'I have brought this -with me to convince you how necessary it is that you should have by -you a friend as sincere as I.' - -"He then related to her what had passed between him and the inspector -with reference to the suit which had been found in the river, and also -the particulars of his visit to the clothing establishment in -Tottenham Court Road. - -"In the interests of our readers we withhold a categorical account of -the conversation which ensued. Sufficient for the present to state -that the lady placed in this reliable gentleman the most implicit -confidence. Our narrative now assumes another shape. A strange and -pathetic drama is about to be unfolded. The veil which enshrouds the -past will be uplifted, and we owe our reporter our grateful thanks for -the manner in which he has chosen to narrate as touching a story as -has ever been presented to the readers of fiction. It links the past -with the present, and it is true to the life. For a little while our -reporter and ourselves disappear from the scene. We may revert -hereafter to our original plan--indeed we may be compelled to revert -to it in this way because the matters of which we shall have to speak -are public property. What follows is a literal copy of the manuscript -supplied by our reporter; not an incident is exaggerated, not a -passion disfigured. Step by step, with unswerving zeal and untiring -devotion, the Mystery of M. Felix is being unravelled and brought to -light." - - - - - -_BOOK SECOND_. - -A LIFE DRAMA: LINKS IN THE MYSTERY. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE HALF-BROTHERS. - - -"It is better to be born lucky than rich" is one of the few proverbs -to which the lie cannot be given by a proverb in the opposite -direction. If Gerald Paget had had the choice, and had he been blessed -with wisdom, he would have chosen luck in the place of riches, but he -could not be credited with either of these conditions. He was born to -riches, and he was too amiable and easy-natured to ripen into wisdom. -When he first met Emilia Braham he was twenty-four years of age; she -was eighteen, and in a position of dependence; Gerald was wealthy, and -to a certain extent his own master. His father had died three months -before this meeting with the beautiful young girl, whose association -was to bring into his life both happiness and woe. He had only one -close relative, a half-brother, a few years older than himself, who -was then absent in Australia; the name of this brother was Leonard, -and it was he who was destined to hold in his hands the skeins of -Gerald's fate. - -Their father had been twice married, and Leonard was the son of his -first wife. She brought him no fortune, and he himself had but little. -Shortly after Leonard was born she died, and the widowed husband went -with his child to Switzerland, where he met with the lady who was to -replace the wife he had lost. She possessed a large fortune in her own -right, of which with her husband's full approval, she kept control. -Although they had met and were married in Switzerland, they were both -English, and to England they returned, and set up their home there. -One child blessed their union, Gerald, whom they idolized and did -their best to spoil. They did not neglect their duty to Leonard; they -performed it cheerfully and lovingly, but it was nevertheless the fact -that Gerald was the magnet to which their hearts more constantly -turned. The difference between the ages of the half-brothers was a bar -to that close and sympathetic association of interests which -frequently exists between children of equal age. The child of six and -the child of fourteen have little in common; still less when one is -twelve and the other twenty. But despite this disparity and these -unfavorable conditions, Gerald adored his big brother, and bowed down -before him as a being of a very superior order. Leonard's tastes was -for travel, and as a young man he spent much of his time on the -Continent, picking up foreign ways, and also foreign vices, which he -kept very carefully concealed from the knowledge of his father and -step-mother. When he came home from these Continental jaunts he always -brought with him remembrances for little Gerald, whose affectionate, -grateful heart magnified their value, and invested with rare qualities -the spirit which animated the giver. Leonard was supplied with ample -funds to indulge in his whims and pleasures, and he took life easily, -accepting it as his right that his purse should be always well filled. -Presently, however, a change came over the spirit of his dream, a -change which caused the evil forces within him to spring into active -life. His stepmother died, and left a will. Its terms were as follows: - -To her stepson, Leonard, she left an income of four hundred pounds, -and expressed a hope that he would adopt some profession or pursuit in -which he might attain fortune and distinction. His father was -empowered to further in a practical way any step in this direction. To -her son Gerald she also left an income of four hundred pounds, but -there was this difference between the bequests. Leonard's remained -always the same--four hundred pounds, no more and no less; whereas -Gerald's, when he reached the age of twenty-one, was increased to one -thousand pounds. Moreover, upon the death of his father, all that Mrs. -Paget devised to her husband was to revert to her son, whose income -would then amount to nearly four thousand pounds. Leonard, studying -the will, reckoned this up, and said, "I am the elder son, and I have -exactly one-tenth of the younger son's fortune." There was another -clause in the will. As upon the death of the father the income that -was left to him was to fall to Gerald, so, should it happen that both -Gerald and his father died before Leonard, the entire fortune would -fall to the elder son. In the event of Gerald marrying this would not -be the case; Gerald could devise to his wife and children, if he had -any, all that he possessed, thus, as it were, disbarring Leonard. For -the soured and disappointed young man there were, then, these chances: -First, that his father should die. Second, that Gerald should die. -Third, that he should die unmarried. These conditions fulfilled, -Leonard would become the master of four thousand pounds a year. It -occurred to Leonard that the sooner all this occurred the better, and -the thought having obtained lodgement in his mind, remained there. - -Safely hidden, safely concealed. He was not a man who wore his heart -upon his sleeve. He was one who could present a smiling face while he -was concocting the cunningest of schemes. He had but one view of life, -the pursuit of pleasure. There was a certain similarity between him -and Gerald; they were both easy-natured outwardly, but there was no -guile in Gerald's disposition, while guile was the very essence of -Leonard's. - -"I can't very well live on four hundred a year," he said to his -father, after the death of his step-mother. "You never led me to -expect that I should have to do so." - -"I will double it, Len," said the indulgent father; "but you are a man -now, and understand things. The fortune which has enabled us to -maintain our position was strictly my wife's and she had a right to do -what she pleased with it. Had it not been for her money you and I -would have been poor gentlemen." - -"That is all very well," said Leonard, "but the reflection comes too -late, father. To bring up a person in the expectation of fortune, and -then to suddenly let him down to poverty, is not what I call just or -fair. That is all I want--justice, and I have a right to it." - -"Every person has a right to it." - -"Then you agree with me that I am hardly treated." - -"Eight hundred a year is not a bad income, Len." - -"But, if you will forgive me for mentioning it, father--I am a man, as -you say, and can't help thinking of things--that is only during your -lifetime. Heaven forbid that anything should happen to you, but we are -all mortal, and down I should drop to a miserable seven or eight -pounds a week." - -"Gerald has the sweetest disposition in the world," said Mr. Paget; -"you can always depend upon him." - -"Depend upon him, depend upon him!" repeated Leonard, fretfully. "Is -it right, is it just, that the elder should depend upon the younger?" - -Mr. Paget sighed; he was not strong in argument. - -"I will make it a thousand," he said, "and you must look out for a -profession which will treble it." - -"I'll see what Gerald will do toward it," said Leonard; and he -actually went to the lad, who ran to his father, and said that poor -Len must have two hundred a year more; so that subtle Leonard managed -to obtain an income of twelve hundred pounds, a very fair slice of the -fortune left by Mrs. Paget. He did not trouble himself to look for a -profession, but carried out his view of life with zeal and ability. He -spent his money on himself, but he did not squander it. He generally -managed to obtain his money's worth, and he was wise in his -liberality. Nevertheless, pleasure ran ahead of him, and in racing -after it he came to grief, and had to mortgage his own private income -of four hundred pounds to such an extent that it presently passed out -of his hands and became the property of the money-lenders. His father -and half-brother never failed him; they were living quietly and -modestly in England, and every appeal Leonard made to them was -promptly and affectionately responded to. He was not thankful for the -assistance; there gathers upon some natures a crust of selfishness so -thick as to deaden the sentiment of gratitude for kindness rendered. - -Thus matters went on till the father died. Leonard, as has been -stated, was in Australia at the time. It was not a spirit of -enterprise that took him there, nor any idea of business; he was -enamoured of a pretty face, and he followed, or accompanied it, to the -antipodes--it matters not which. When he received news of his father's -death, the enchantment was over, and another chapter in his book of -selfish pleasures was closed. He cabled home for money. Gerald cabled -him back a thousand pounds. "By jove," thought Leonard; "he must be -richer than I thought." It was so. Mr. Paget had saved half his income -and had invested it well, so that, upon his death, Gerald found -himself in possession of a handsome sum of money in addition to the -income which now fell to his share. Leonard remained in Australia long -enough to spend three-fourths of the thousand pounds--it did not take -long--and then he took ship to England, with the firm resolve to milk -his cow, his half-brother Gerald, who received him with open arms. But -between the day of Mr. Paget's death and the day of Leonard's return -to England, Gerald met Emilia Braham. That made all the difference. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -TWO HEARTS THAT BEAT AS ONE. - - -There is no position in the world more cruel than that of a young -girl, born in a good condition of life and delicately brought up, who -suddenly finds herself bereft of means, of home, of love. Into this -position was Emilia Braham thrust on the day her father was carried -dead to the house in which he and his only child had passed many happy -years. A scaffolding, loosely constructed, had given way as he passed -beneath it, and he lay under the ruins with the life crushed out of -him. - -It had been a home of love, and the anxieties of the father had not -been shared by the gentle, beautiful girl whose presence brightened -it, whose pure spirit sanctified it. For it was indeed a sanctuary to -the loving father, whose only aim had been to provide for his -daughter, so that she might be spared the pangs which poverty brings -in its train. In this endeavor he would almost certainly have -succeeded had he been spared; but the fatal accident nipped his hopes -in the bud, and she was left penniless and alone. Mr. Braham had kept -up his head, as the saying is, and none who knew him had any idea of -the clever man[oe]uvring he had practised to keep him and his daughter -from falling out of the ranks in which they had moved all their lives. -A rash speculation had brought him to this pass, and for years he had -been struggling to extricate himself from its consequences. Another -year and all would have been well; but death came too soon, and his -daughter lived to reap what he had sown. - -Even the home had to be sold to satisfy the creditors, and when this -was done Emilia, a child of eighteen, faced the world with a shrinking -heart. She had in her purse barely £5; the few trinkets she had -possessed had been sold; she had set great store upon them, and was -amazed to discover that their value was so small. For the last, last -time she walked through the familiar rooms, and touched the walls, and -knelt by her bed; and then she crept out of the house and proceeded to -the two rooms she had taken in a street hard by. It would have quite -broken her heart to go out of the neighborhood in which she and her -dear father had lived. - -Upon the first news of the dreadful loss she had sustained friends -came and sympathized with her, but when it was known that her father -died a ruined man, the sympathy expressed proved to be mere vaporing; -those who had spoken so softly and kindly came no more. Emilia did not -appeal to them; when they met her in the streets, and passed by with -hasty nods, she did not stop and ask the reason why. Her heart was -sorely wounded, but her pride also was touched. The offence and the -slight were more against the dead than the living, and she suffered -chiefly for the dear lost father's sake. She went to her lodgings, and -looked around at the cold walls until she could look no more for the -tears in her eyes. - -She lived quietly and sadly for two weeks, at the end of which time -she had but a guinea left of her £5. A terrible fear took possession -of her. What would become of her when her purse was empty? She had not -been entirely idle, but had made some efforts to obtain a situation as -governess. She could speak French and German fluently; she could draw, -she could paint, she was a good musician, she could dance, and her -manners were refined. But with all these advantages she was -unsuccessful. And now she had but a guinea to her fortune, and the -future was before her. She took refuge in prayer; it comforted, but it -was of no practical assistance to her. Sunrise and sunset, sunrise and -sunset again, and again, and again; and now her purse was empty. But -she was saved from absolute despair. At the supreme moment a visitor -knocked at her door, and entered without waiting to be bidden. - -Call her a lady if you will, our business with her will last but a -brief space. Her name was Seaton. - -"I hear, Miss Braham, that you require a situation," said Mrs. Seaton, -unceremoniously. - -"Yes, madam," said Emilia, her hand at her heart. This hard-featured, -hard-voiced visitor had surely been sent from heaven to succor her. -"Will you be seated?" - -Mrs. Seaton took a chair without a word of thanks. "Have you been out -before?" - -"Out, madam?" says Emilia. Unused to worldly ways and idioms, she did -not catch the meaning of the phrase. - -"I suppose you have had other situations," explained Mrs. Seaton, with -ungracious condescension. - -"No, madam." - -"That is not encouragement. You have no character, then." - -"My character," faltered Emilia, "is well known. My dear father and I -have lived in this neighborhood many years." - -"I do not like evasions. You know the kind of character I mean. -Fitness to teach young children, capacity, willingness, experience, -cheerfulness, readiness to make yourself useful in any way." - -"I would be willing to make myself useful, madam, to do all I was -told. I think I could teach young children. Will you try me? I beg of -you to do so. I am in a dreadful position; I have not a shilling in -the world, and not a friend, I am afraid. Try me, madam. I will do -everything you wish." - -"Umph! Not a shilling in the world! And not a friend! Still more -discouraging, because, Miss Braham, we generally get what we deserve." - -"I think I deserve friends, madam," said Emilia, striving to keep back -her tears, "but I have been unfortunate. I think you would be -satisfied with me. I would try very, very hard." - -She held out her trembling hands; to a tender hearted woman the -affecting appeal would have been irresistible. - -"A lady," said Mrs. Seaton, "has to be careful whom she takes into her -home. I have six young children. What can you teach?" - -In timid accents Emilia went through her accomplishments. - -"I have only your word for it," said Mrs. Seaton. - -"I am telling the truth, indeed, madam." - -"People are so deceitful, and what is almost as bad, so, ungrateful. -I'll take you on trial, Miss Braham, will you promise to teach my -sweet children and do everything that is required of you?" - -"Yes, madam," replied Emilia, eagerly, "everything; and you will find -me very grateful--indeed, indeed you will." - -"I will wait to convince myself of that. When can you come?" - -"At once, madam. To-day, if you wish. - -"Not to-day; to-morrow, early. Servants invariably come at night, -which shows their unwillingness and the spirit in which they accept a -situation. Here is my address. You understand? I take you on trial -only." - -"Yes, madam, I understand, and I thank you with all my heart." - -"Of course, in these circumstances I can give you no wages for the -first month. If we suit each other we will arrange terms afterward. Is -that agreeable to you?" - -"Quite agreeable, madam. I will come to-morrow morning." - -"Very well; I shall expect you before twelve." - -That night Emilia went to bed without food; but her week's rent was -paid and she left her lodgings without disgrace. - -Then commenced a life of torture. The children she had to teach were -quarrelsome and vicious, and no taskmaster could have been harder than -Mrs. Seaton was to the servants in her house. Two had left; two had -given notice to leave. The consequence was that Emilia's mistress -called upon her to do every kind of menial office, and willing as -Emilia was, she found herself unequal to them. She sat up late at -night, and rose early in the morning, played the part of nurse, -schoolmistress, lady's maid, and housemaid, never receiving a word of -thanks, until existence became unbearable. Driven to despair, without -a home, without a friend, without money, she did not know which way to -turn. Delicately nurtured, a lady by instinct and education, refined -in her manners, and unused to menial work, no more deplorable position -could be imagined. It was while she was in this sore strait that she -made the acquaintance of Gerald Paget. - -Twice in each week she had the privilege of walking out alone for an -hour in the afternoon. Gerald, passing her, was attracted by the -gentle beauty of her face, and blessed his good fortune when he met -her for the second time. On this second occasion chance assisted him -to an introduction. She was crossing the road, engrossed in sad -thought, when warning shouts aroused her from her musings. There were -cabs coming one way, carts another, and between them she was in danger -of being run over. She slipped and fell, and Gerald, rushing forward, -caught her up and bore her to the pavement. But fright and weakness -had prostrated her, and she lay in his arms in a fainting condition. -He carried her into a chemist's shop, where she revived. The words of -kindness and sympathy which fell upon her ears when she opened her -eyes, the tender consideration expressed in Gerald's voice, -overpowered the suffering girl, and she burst into a passion of -hysterical tears. With difficulty he soothed her, but every word he -uttered rendered more profound the impression he had already produced -upon the young girl. The unaccustomed notes of tenderness touched -Emilia's heart, and that night as she lay in bed she recalled the -words and the voice and dwelt with infinite gratitude upon the image -of the young gentleman who had treated her with so much gentleness and -consideration. But he did not leave her before he saw her safely to -Mrs. Seaton's door; she would have had it otherwise, but he would not -allow her to have her way, and on their road he heard from her lips -the pitiful story of her misfortunes, He made inquiries, and learnt -that her story was true, and this increased his pity for her. As she -dwelt upon his image on that night, so did he on hers, and thus from -their first meeting was established a spiritual connection between -them. On the following day he called at Mrs. Seaton's house to inquire -how Miss Paget was after her accident, and as this was the first time -that lady had heard of it she was not in the most amiable of moods -when she next spoke to the young lady she had engaged, and whom she -was treating as a slave. - -"I cannot," she said, "have young gentlemen calling at my house after -my domestics." - -But Emilia's spirit had been roused by the adventure. The -consciousness that she was not entirely friendless gave her confidence -and courage. - -"It was not improper that he should call to inquire," she said. "He -would have done so had I been living at home with my father." - -"The cases are different," observed Mrs. Seaton, loftily. "Not -entirely, madam," said Emilia, with a certain firmness. "Mr. Paget is -a gentleman, and I am a lady." - -"You! A lady!" exclaimed Mrs. Seaton, in great astonishment. - -"Yes, madam. Poverty does not degrade one." - -Upon this Mrs. Seaton commenced to storm and use bad language, and was -so violent that Emilia was glad to escape from the room. From that day -the unkind woman practised a system of oppression which almost drove -Emilia mad. Had she possessed sufficient means to keep herself for -even a week she would have fled from the house; but although she had -now been in Mrs. Seaton's service for longer than the stipulated month -not a word had been said about salary, nor had she received a shilling -from her mistress. She remained because she was compelled to remain, -and because she was powerless. Had Gerald been a lady instead of a -gentleman she would have mustered courage to ask assistance from him, -but as it was such a request was impossible. Mrs. Seaton's character, -however, was well known to her neighbors, and from one with whom he -had a slight acquaintance Gerald obtained information which made him -unusually serious and grave. He had continued to call at the house, -and had contrived to meet Emilia upon her afternoon walks; but Mrs. -Seaton had received him with unbending stiffness, and he could not -fail to observe Emilia's unhappiness. He loved the young girl, and it -was not long before he made his sentiments known to her, but she, -contrasting their positions, hardly dared to listen to him. For this -he had partly to thank Mrs. Seaton, who, seeing that Gerald was -strongly inclined to Emilia, treated the young girl to long and bitter -dissertations upon the "infamy "--it was the word she used--of -encouraging his attentions. She declared that such conduct was -indelicate, unwomanly, disgraceful, and heaven knows what; there was -no limit to her vituperation, and the unhappy girl, conscious that she -loved Gerald and was not his equal, passed long nights in tears and -sighs. When he commenced to speak upon the theme which was nearest his -heart, she said, "I must not listen to you. I must not, I must not! If -you have any respect for me, do not continue." Having more than a -respect for her, having now a love as honest as it was profound, he -obeyed her for a time; but still when he parted from her at the door -he said, "Good-by, Emilia," as he pressed her hand, and she did not -chide him for the familiarity. This gave him what he lacked, courage, -and he did not lose hope. At length he resolved to put an end to this -uncertainty, and as she begged him not to speak, he did the next best -thing. He wrote, and entreated her to reply. But no reply came; and on -the next occasion of her hour's holiday he did not see her at the -accustomed place. What was the reason? Had he offended her? Had he -been mistaken in believing that she loved him? Why did she not write -to him? Why did she keep away from him? Lovers only who have gone -through the stages of doubt and uncertainty can understand what he -suffered. - -But on the next occasion she did appear. He hastened to her side. - -"Emilia!" he cried. - -"Oh! hush," she sighed. "It is not right--it is not right!" - -"It cannot be wrong," he said, tenderly, leading her to a sequestered -spot. "You are unhappy, Emilia." - -"Very very unhappy. And I am born to make others so." - -"I will not hear you say that and be silent. You were born to make me -happy, and can--if you only will, Amelia; if you only will!" - -His ardor, his impetuosity, his sincerity, made her weak. She clung to -him for support, and the next moment released herself and stood -upright, inwardly reproaching herself, for being so foolish. Had she -been the most artful of her sex she could not, all through, have acted -more cunningly to fasten the chains which bound him to her; but she -was only a weak and innocent girl, and when one such as she meets with -a genuine, honest soul like Gerald, love is more powerful than -cunning. - -"Emilia, why did you not reply to my letter?" - -"What letter?" she asked, in surprise. - -"The letter I wrote to you. Five days I sent it, and I have counted -the minutes. It is not like you, Emilia, to make me suffer so." - -She turned her sweet face to him. - -"I have received no letter, Mr. Paget." - -"You have received no letter from me--and you will not call me -Gerald!" - -"I have received no letter," she repeated, "and I cannot call -you--what you desire." - -"Well," he said, with hot impatience, "let that rest awhile; we will -speak of it again, and you will make me happy, I am sure, by doing -such a very little thing as that. But my letter? I sent it to -you--posted it with my own hands. Do you think I would entrust it to -another?" - -"How can I say? I do not even know what was in it. Five days ago! And -why did you write to me? Oh, Mr. Paget, have you no regard for my -helpless position?" - -"Can you ask me such a question, Emilia?" he said, reproachfully. "Do -you think there lives in the world a man who has a more sincere -respect and esteem for you than I have?" - -"No, no," she cried. "I did not intend to do you an injustice. I beg -you to forgive me." - -"Freely," he said, and spoke now with less impetuosity. "Whenever I -have approached the subject of my love for you--do not stop me, -Emilia; the words are spoken--whenever I have done that, you have -begged me to desist. Well, I obeyed you; not for all the wide world, -Emilia, would I cause you one moment's pain. But you did not tell me -not to write, and so I wrote--what was in my heart, what is in it now, -and I implored you to send me an answer soon. I am sure you would have -done so had you received it." - -"I do not know. The letter never reached me." - -"I addressed it to the care of Mrs. Seaton." - -"If it was delivered to her, she did not give it to me." - -"It must have been delivered to her; it must have been left at her -house, and to keep it from you is a crime. She shall be punished for -it." - -"Oh, Mr. Paget, do not make things harder for me than they are -already!" - -It was an involuntary confession, the first she had made to him, and -it opened his eyes. - -"You are not happy with her?" he asked. - -She did not reply. To have admitted it would have been almost like -asking protection from him. Her sensitive nature shrunk from such an -indelicacy. - -"I must go back now," she said, presently. "I have been away too -long." - -"I will go with you, Emilia." - -"I entreat you not to do so. It will subject me to further indignity." - -In this was conveyed a second involuntary confession; he noted it with -burning indignation against Mrs. Seaton, but made no open comment upon -it. - -"I obey you," he said, "in this as in everything else. You are -suffering, and I pity you from my heart of hearts. I am also -suffering. Will you not give me a little pity?" - -"I am very sorry for you, Mr. Paget; indeed, indeed I am. It would -have been better for you had we never met." - -"Can you utter such a heresy--you, the soul of truth and honesty? I -bless the day on which I met you; it will live forever in my memory as -the happiest in my life. Give me your hand. Why do you shrink? You -would give it to the commonest friend, and I am at least that. Thank -you. There! I merely press it, as an ordinary friend would do--only -you must feel the pulses of my heart in my fingers. That is not my -fault. I cannot help it beating, and beating for you, Emilia. May I -walk with you a little way?" - -"Not far. You will not come with me to the door?" - -"No, if you insist. I will leave you before we reach it." - -"Before we are in the street, Mr. Paget." - -"Yes, before we are in the street. But I give you fair warning, -Emilia. I must have an answer to my letter, and I must find out what -has become of it. Is not that right?" - -"I suppose it is." - -"It is not a matter of supposing. It is or it is not. Be as frank with -me as I am with you, Emilia." - -"It is right that you should ascertain what has become of it." - -"Of course. It is mine or yours. No one else's. We have something that -is ours, in which no other person has any business to interfere. I -shall think of that with satisfaction." - -"A simple letter, Mr. Paget." - -"A simple letter," he said, very gravely, "in which the happiness of an -honest gentleman's life is enclosed. There! Do not tremble. I am not -going to say anything more serious just now, but said it must be soon, -Emilia, and then I shall know what the future will be for me. And even -if I were dumb and that letter was never recovered, another can be -written which shall reach its destination. Why do you stop? Oh, yes, -you wish me to say good-by here. Well, good-by, Emilia!" - -"Good-by, Mr. Paget." - -"Will you not call me Gerald? Such a little word, Emilia!" - -She fled; but not before she had given him a sweet and timid look -which caused his heart to throb with hope, as it was already throbbing -with love. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -SLANDER. - - -Later in the day Mrs. Seaton was informed that a gentleman was waiting -to see her. Entering the room she saw Gerald Paget. She received him -as usual with a frown, of which he took no notice. By this time he was -hardened to the coldness of her receptions of him. Besides, he had -prepared himself for the interview, and knew pretty well what he -intended to say to her. - -"I thought, Mr. Paget," she said, "that I had made you understand it -is not my wish to encourage your visits to any of my servants." - -"I did not inquire for any of your servants," he said, very politely, -"but for you." - -"What have you to say to me?" - -"Something to the point--presently. First, however, I must correct you -in a misconception into which you appear to have fallen. My visits to -this house have been quite open, and have not been made to a servant." - -"Indeed! To whom, then?" - -"To a lady who accepted the position of governess to your children. It -is not usual to call these gentlewomen servants." - -"I decline," said Mrs. Seaton, "to enter into any argument with you on -the point. I know the exact position of persons in my employ and the -proper titles to give them. You are a young man, and have much to -learn." - -"I am aware of it, Mrs. Seaton; you, also, have something to learn. -But I would impress strongly upon you the fact that Miss Braham is a -lady, and--your equal." - -"By no means--but I shall not argue. Oblige me by coming at once to -the purport of your visit to me." - -"The purport is a grave one, Mrs. Seaton, and I shall be sorry if the -result is not satisfactory to you. A few days ago I addressed a letter -to Miss Braham, which has not reached her hands." - -"What has that to do with me?" Mrs. Seaton asked this question without -flinching. She had received the letter, read it, and if she had any -fear of consequences she did not show it. Her manner was rather -scornful than guilty. - -"A great deal I should say," replied Gerald. "It is no light matter to -purloin a letter addressed to another person." - -"Purloin, sir!" - -"That is the word I have used, and intended to use. I wish to know -what you have done with that letter?" - -"I have done nothing with it. No such letter was ever left at this -house to my knowledge." - -"What if I set afoot an inquiry which would prove that to be not the -truth?" - -Mrs. Seaton rang the bell. "I must request you to leave the house," -she said. - -"I will do so in a minute or two. I happen to know that your -letter-box is kept locked, and that no one opens it but yourself. I -regret to be compelled to say to a lady that it is a wicked and -cowardly action to appropriate a letter not addressed to herself. Of -such an action you have undoubtedly been guilty. May I inquire if the -letter I refer to is still in existence?" - -"You may inquire what you please, sir, but I shall make no reply to -your insults. I presume you have obtained certain information from -Miss Braham. - -"Yes, she informed me that she had not received a letter I wrote to -her." - -"She informed you," said Mrs. Seaton, with a venomous look. "When?" - -"This afternoon." - -"I understand. You and she are in the habit of meeting in secret -outside my house. Such conduct is infamous, and now that I have -positive knowledge of such proceedings I shall know how to act. Mr. -Paget, we are speaking here in private, with no listeners to report -what is said. Let me advise you to be careful as to what you say or do -about this imaginary letter of yours. The young person you refer to -may have a good name to lose, and it will be foolish on your part to -set a lady of my standing in society against her. Mud will stick, Mr. -Paget, never mind, by whom it is thrown, but when it is thrown by a -lady or gentleman of repute it will stick all the closer. I learn, too -late, that you have used my house as an assignation house----" - -"You are stating what is false," cried Gerald, indignantly. - -"As an assignation house," repeated Mrs. Seaton, with a malicious -smile. "Having discovered your baseness--for you are no gentleman, Mr. -Paget, and the other person implicated is no lady--there is only one -course open to me. That course I shall pursue. If you do not leave my -presence instantly I shall send for the police to remove you." - -With that, the venomous woman threw open the door, and Gerald Paget, -dismayed and discomfited, took his departure. - -"A nice mess I have made of it," he thought, as he walked ruefully -from the house, without venturing to look back. "What on earth made me -beard the lioness in her den? The lioness! Not at all. There is -something of nobility in that breed, and Mrs. Seaton hasn't a particle -of nobility about her. She is a serpent. Her fangs are poisonous. How -will she act toward Emilia? Mud will stick, she says. But what does it -matter if Emilia loves me?" - -He allowed himself to be carried away by his enthusiasm. He was young, -impulsive, honest, and straightforward. Grand weapons in honorable -warfare, but when is war honorable? The world, with its hidden snares -and pitfalls, lay before him and Emilia, in whose pure souls faith and -love shone radiant. How would it fare with them when pitted against -envy, greed, and malice? Here was Mrs. Seaton, ready to defame and -blacken; and travelling swiftly toward them was the beggar and -spendthrift, Leonard, the man of selfish pleasure. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -LOST, OR SAVED? - - -Some three hours after Gerald's departure from the house, Emilia was -summoned into the presence of Mrs. Seaton. When she received the -message she was preparing for bed; it was night, and a heavy rain was -falling. - -"I have sent for you," said Mrs. Seaton, gazing at the young girl with -pitiless eyes, "for the purpose of putting an immediate end to a -disgraceful state of affairs. On the day I consented to take you upon -trial, I informed you that I could give you no wages until I was -satisfied that you would suit me. Is that correct?" - -"You said," replied Emilia, "that you could give me none for the first -month, and that, if we suited each other, you would arrange terms -afterward." - -"You have been here nearly seven weeks, and no terms have been -arranged." - -"That is true, madam." - -"The fact being that we do not suit each other." - -"I fear it is so." - -"In which case--the basis of any terms whatever being suitability--no -wages are due to you up to this date. Legally you are entitled to -nothing." - -"You know best, madam." - -"I have allowed you to remain in my house in the hope that certain -doubts I entertained would be dispelled. I regret to say they are not -dispelled. However, I shall not charge you for your board and -lodging." - -Emilia bowed her head. Utterly inexperienced as she was, she had not -the least doubt that Mrs. Seaton was putting the case fairly, and that -she could really be called upon to pay for the food and shelter she -had received. - -"Ordinarily," continued Mrs. Seaton, "one would expect gratitude for -such kindness. I do not. Be kind enough to sign this paper." - -Upon the table lay a written document which, with Emilia's signature -to it, would free Mrs. Seaton from any possible liability. In the last -sentence of the artfully-worded release, Emilia acknowledged that she -left Mrs. Seaton's house and service of her own accord. The young girl -took the pen which Mrs. Seaton held out to her, and was about to sign -when the elder lady said, - -"I wish you to read and understand what you are signing. I shall not -put it in your power to say that I took advantage of your youth and -inexperience--for that is the way you would put it, I expect." - -Emilia's eyes were blurred with tears, and although she took the paper -in her trembling hands, she could not read what was written thereon. - -"It is perfectly correct, is it not?" asked Mrs. Seaton. - -"Yes, madam," replied Emilia, faintly, glad of the opportunity of -hiding her distress of mind, "if you say it is." - -"Of course. You will observe that it places you in an unexpectedly -favorable position. Leaving my service of your own accord will make it -easier for you to obtain another situation, if such should be your -desire. Wait a moment. I should like your signature to be witnessed." - -She rang the bell, and a maid appeared, a new servant who had arrived -only that evening. - -"I rang for you, Jane, to witness Miss Braham's signature to this -paper. You can write?" - -"Oh, yes, ma'am." - -"Miss Braham has read the document, and perfectly understands its -terms. That is the truth, is it not, Miss Braham?" - -"Yes, madam," said the helpless girl. - -"You hear, Jane? Now, Miss Braham, you can sign it if you wish." - -Emilia wrote her name, and Jane wrote hers as witness, proud of the -confidence reposed in her. Then Mrs. Seaton gave the new servant some -whispered instructions, and she left the room. - -Had Emilia's agitation allowed her, she could not have failed to -notice that while Jane was in the room Mrs. Seaton's voice was kind -and considerate, in striking contrast to the tone in which she spoke -when they were alone. - -"And now, Miss Braham," said Mrs. Seaton, folding up the paper and -pocketing it with an air of triumph, "you will leave my house at -once." - -"At once, madam!" exclaimed the bewildered girl. - -"This instant. I will not allow you to remain in it another hour. As -the mother of a family I have a duty to perform. Your presence here is -a contamination." - -"I will not answer your insults, madam," faltered Emilia, "but it is -night and rain is falling----" - -"That is not my affair. You are well known, and can easily find -lodgement with some of your friends----" - -"I have none. You surely cannot be so cruel as to drive me away at -such an hour." - -"I am prepared for anything you may say. The paper you have signed -fully protects me from any base statements you may make when you are -no longer under my roof. You have no friends? Why, there is Mr. Paget. -Do you think I have been blind to your goings on? Assignations, secret -meetings, under my very eyes. Go to him. I have no doubt you know -where to find him." - -"Madam!" - -"Oh, you may madam me as much as you like; it will not alter my -determination. Ah, Jane"--to the new servant who entered the -room--"have you locked the door of the room which Miss Braham -occupied?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"And brought her box down?" - -"Yes, ma'am." - -"Give me the key of the room. That will do, my good girl; I do not -require you any more. Go down-stairs and get your supper. Leave the -door open." The merciless woman waited until Jane had reached the -basement and was out of hearing; then she spoke again. "If you cannot -take your box with you to-night, you can send for it in the morning, -but once out of my house you do not enter it again. Go immediately, or -I will send for the police." - -She advanced toward Emilia, who retreated in affright; step by step -she hounded the poor girl to the street door, which she threw open. -The next moment Emilia was standing alone in the dark and gloomy -night. - -Dazed and horrified, she felt as if her senses were leaving her; she -pressed her hands over her eyes, and cowered to the walls for -protection. But a friend was near. - -Restless with love's fever, Gerald, heedless of the rain--for what is -so slight a thing to one who loves as he did?--was hovering about the -house in which his darling lived. He looked up at the windows, and -choosing one as the window of Emilia's room, gazed at it with fervor, -making of it a very heaven--a heaven to be glorified by her presence. -"To-morrow," he mused, as he paced slowly up and down on the opposite -side, "I will ask her plainly to be my wife. She is unhappy--she told -me so--and it must be because she is living with such a wicked woman. -Yes, I will ask her to-morrow. She loves me, I am sure of it. It is -only that she is poor and I am rich. What of that? It will make it all -the better for us--a thousand times better than if she were rich and I -were poor. Then we might never come together. Dear Emilia, sweet -Emilia, the sweetest, dearest, most beautiful on earth! I love her, I -love her, I love her!" - -Thus ecstatically musing, he saw the street-door suddenly opened and -as suddenly and violently shut, and a figure thrust forth, as if in -anger. He had no idea that it was Emilia; the thought was too -barbarous to be entertained; but out of curiosity he crossed the road -and went up to it. - -"Good God!" he cried; "Emilia!" and caught her up in his arms. - -"Oh, Gerald, Gerald!" she sobbed, and lay there, helpless and almost -heartbroken, and yet with a sweet sense of comfort stealing upon her -great grief. - -What mattered rain and darkness? She had called him Gerald, and he -knew for a surety that he was loved. He kissed her, and she did not -resist, but lay, sobbing more quietly now, within the sanctuary of his -loving arms. - -Ecstasy at being permitted to embrace her enthralled him for a time, -but presently he begged her to explain the meaning of her being thrust -at such an hour from Mrs. Seaton's house. Before she could render it -the street-door was opened quietly and slowly, and a woman's face -peered out--Mrs. Seaton's. - -"I thought as much," cried the stony-hearted woman, with a laugh. "A -pretty pair!" and then the door was closed again, and only the sound -of the falling rain was heard. - -With a feeling of burning indignation Gerald looked down upon the -white face of his dear girl. Her eyes were closed; her arms hung loose -at her side; she had fainted. - -He was thankful that the street was deserted and that there were no -witnesses near, for he had sense enough to know that Emilia's -reputation was at stake. - -"You fiend," he muttered, with a dark glance at Mrs. Seaton's house. -"You abominable fiend!" And then he called softly, "Emilia, Emilia! -Look up, my darling. We are safe now, and we will never part." - -His voice, but not the words he spoke, reached her senses. She opened -her eyes, and clung more closely to him, murmuring, - -"For Heaven's sake, take me from this place." - -"Come, then," he said, supporting her. It was not until they had -traversed two or three streets that Gerald began to feel perplexed. -Where should he take her? He had no lady friend to whom he could apply -and who would be willing to receive Emilia. It would be dangerous to -her character to go to an hotel. The hour, the circumstances, Emilia's -agitated state, were all against them. She was too weak to speak for -herself; upon him devolved the responsibility of providing for her, of -protecting her, and he was conscious that anything he might say to -strangers would do her more harm than good. There was already a danger -that she was being compromised. Some persons had passed them in the -streets, and dark as was the night, they could scarcely fail to see -that his arm was round her waist and that she was clinging to him. Now -and then sobs escaped from her overcharged heart. A few of the people -they met turned and looked after them, and Gerald heard one laugh. It -went through him like a sharp knife. If he could only get her safely -housed before she was recognized! But he was by no means sure that -this danger had been averted. Certainly two men who had passed them -were men he knew. - -As for Emilia, happily or unhappily for herself, she noticed nothing. -This terrible crisis had completely prostrated her, and all that she -was conscious of was that she was under the protection of an honorable -man, and had escaped from the oppression of a vile woman. - -Something must be done, and done soon. They could not walk the streets -the whole night. Every moment added to the dangers of the position. - -"Emilia, will you listen to me?" - -"I am listening, Gerald." - -It was as if she had called him so all her life; and, indeed, in the -purest innocence, she had often murmured his name in secret to -herself. He was thrilled with ineffable happiness. - -"You understand what I am saying to you, Emilia?" - -"Yes." - -"It is very late." - -With sudden terror she cried, "You will not leave me, Gerald? You will -not desert me?" - -"No, indeed. Do not be afraid. I am yours forever, in truth and honor. -But we must be prudent." - -"I will do whatever you bid me, Gerald. I have no friend in the world -but you." - -In his honor and honesty lay her safety. Well was it for her that she -had by her side a man like Gerald. - -"Where did you live before you went to Mrs. Seaton?" -She shuddered at the name, and answered, "In Grafton Street," and -mentioned the number. - -They were nearly a mile from the house, and in Emilia's weak state it -took them more than half an hour to get there, but weak as she was she -did not complain of fatigue. She was content so long as Gerald was -with her. There was no cessation in the rain, which still fell -steadily. - -There was not a light to be seen in any of the windows of the house. -Gerald knocked, but knocked in vain. In despair he turned away, and -Emilia walked patiently with him. - -Then it forced itself upon him that there was still the alternative of -endeavoring to obtain a room for her in a respectable hotel. To -conduct her to one of doubtful repute was not to be thought of. It was -close on midnight when they reached the hotel he had in his mind. He -did not venture to take her inside the building with him. Her swollen -eyes, her death-white face, her dishevelled hair, her clothes soaked -with rain, would have ensured failure. Besides, until he was sure of a -shelter for her, he did not care to expose her to the prying eyes of -strangers. - -He explained to her what he was about to do, but he was doubtful -whether she quite understood him. All she said was: - -"I do whatever you bid me, Gerald. I have no friend in the world but -you." - -She had spoken these words many times, and no appeal could have been -more plaintive. The pity of it was that every time she uttered them -her voice had grown fainter. - -"Wait here for me, Emilia. I will not be gone long. If anyone speaks -to you do not answer them." - -"You will come back to me, Gerald?" - -"Yes, surely, my darling." - -He was fated not to succeed. His lame explanations, his stumbling -words, his references to "a young lady in an unfortunate position," -his statement that it would be rendering him a personal obligation, -ensured failure. The lady manager of the hotel shook her head, and -said she could not accommodate his friend "under such circumstances," -adding that she was surprised he should ask her to do so. - -He rejoined Emilia, whose fingers tightened upon his arm as she -murmured: - -"You have come back!" - -They had not walked fifty yards before her strength gave way. Again -she fainted, and but for his support would have fallen to the ground. -Hailing a passing cab he, with the assistance of the driver, lifted -her into it, and gave the man instructions to drive to his house. With -a covert smile the man mounted to his box, and drove in the given -direction. - -The house in which Gerald lived was that his parents had occupied. He -had been loth to leave it until the arrival of his half-brother -Leonard, when he had decided to discuss their future movements with -him. He had had a sincere affection for Leonard, and relied greatly -upon his judgment. Most of the servants had been dismissed; only two -remained, a housekeeper and a maid, and these attended to the young -gentleman's wants. They were in the habit of retiring early to bed; -Gerald had a latchkey with which he let himself in when he came home -late. Thus, in the present emergency, a certain privacy was ensured. - -Under no other circumstances than these would Gerald have dreamed of -taking Emilia to his house, but he was driven to a course of which he -inwardly disapproved. He had no time now to consider consequences; -Emilia demanded all his attention. She was still unconscious when they -arrived at the house, and he was compelled to ask the assistance of -the driver to carry her in. This being accomplished, he paid the man -liberally and dismissed him. - -They had entered without being observed; the housekeeper and the maid -occupied rooms below, and Gerald supposed them to be both asleep at -the time. The room into which Emilia had been carried was his favorite -apartment, on the ground floor, and was somewhat daintily furnished. -From a sideboard he took wine and biscuits, and from an inner room he -brought towels and a basin of cold water. The fire in the grate had -burned low, but he threw wood and coals on it, and it was soon in a -bright blaze. Then he drew the sofa upon which Emilia was lying close -to the fireplace, and stood debating with himself what he should do. -Had the housekeeper been the only servant in the house he would have -called her in to attend to Emilia; she had been many years in the -service of his family, and he thought he could trust her; but he was -sure he could not trust the maid, who was an inveterate chatterbox. -Before he had decided what to do Emilia revived; struggling to her -feet she gazed around in stupefaction. In as few words as possible -Gerald explained what had occurred; she listened to him in silence, -then sank upon the couch, and burst into a passion of tears. - -"Are you angry with me, Emilia?" he asked, in deep concern. "I could -do nothing else. To have kept you in the streets any longer would have -been your death. Listen to the rain; it is coming down harder than -ever. Here at least you are safe for a few hours. The housekeeper is -asleep down-stairs. I will call her up if you wish, but there is -another servant who cannot be trusted, I fear." - -"If anyone sees me here I shall die of shame," said Emilia, in a low -tone. "What will become of me--oh, what will become of me?" - -"There is nothing to fear," said Gerald, "and no one need be aware -that you are in the house. Do you not know already that I love you -with all my heart and soul, and that by consenting to become my wife -you will make me the happiest man in the world? The position in which -we are placed has been forced upon us. No one shall have the power of -placing an evil construction upon it. I will see to that. Your -happiness, your honor, are in my keeping. Can you not trust me, -Emilia?" - -With these and other words as true and tender, he succeeded in calming -her. With innate delicacy he did not press her to answer him at such -an hour; he would wait till to-morrow; meanwhile he explained his plan -to her. She was to occupy the room till the morning, and to lock -herself in. He would find a bed elsewhere. Before the servants rose he -would return to the house and make a confidant of the housekeeper; the -younger servant should be sent upon a distant errand which would keep -her from the house till eleven or twelve o'clock. Before that time -Emilia would be settled elsewhere. Thus the secret would be preserved and -the tongue of scandal silenced. - -"And then, Emilia," he said, gazing upon her with ardent affection, "I -will ask for my reward." - -It was impossible, even if her heart were not already his, that she -should fail to be touched by his delicacy and devotion. Tenderly and -humbly she thanked him, and intended to say that she would give him -his answer on the morrow, but love broke down the barrier of reserve. -Involuntarily she held out her hands to him, and he clasped her in his -arms and kissed her on her lips, and said that the embrace was a -pledge of truth and constancy. - -"From you, Emilia, as well as from me!" - -"Yes, Gerald," she sighed; "I love you!" - -So through the clouds of this dolorous night broke the sun of faithful -mutual love. It might have been excused him had he lingered, but for -her sake he would not. - -"I shall wait in the passage," he said, "to hear you turn the key. No -one will disturb you. The housekeeper does not enter this room till I -ring in the morning, and I am not always an early bird. Good-night, -dear love." - -"Good-night, dear Gerald. Are you sure you will be able to get a bed?" - -"I can get a dozen. God bless and guard you!" - -They kissed each other once more, and then he left her. He waited in -the passage to hear the key turned, and with a lover's foolish -fondness kissed the door which shut his treasure from his sight. He -listened in the passage a moment or two to assure himself that all was -still and safe, and then he crept to the street-door, which he opened -and closed very softly. He did not seek a bed elsewhere, having come -to the determination that it would be a better security from -slanderous tongues that it should be supposed he slept in his own -house that night. So he made pilgrimages through the streets, ever and -anon coming back to the house which sheltered his darling. But once it -fatefully happened that he was absent for some thirty or forty -minutes, during which period a startling and unexpected incident -occurred, the forerunner of as strange a series as ever entered into -the history of two loving hearts. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -SLANDER'S FOUL TONGUE. - - -The young servant whose loquacious tongue Gerald did not dare to trust -was not asleep when he brought Emilia home. She was in bed, it was -true, but wide-awake, with a candle alight at her bedside. It was -against the rules of the house, but she did not care for that, being -deeply engrossed in a thrilling story which set rules at defiance and -drove sleep away. She heard the street-door opened and closed, then a -murmur of voices, like the distant murmur of the sea, and then the -second opening and closing of the street-door. The sounds did not -arouse her curiosity, she was so profoundly interested in the fate of -the hero and heroine that nothing short of a miracle could have -diverted her attention. So she read on with eager eyes and panting -bosom, long after Gerald had left the house, and would have continued -to read, had she not come to those tantalizing words, "To be continued -in our next." Then, with a long-drawn sigh, she turned in her bed--and -forgot to blow out the candle. - -Emilia had intended not to sleep; she would keep awake all the night, -and wait for Gerald in the morning--the morning of the day which was -to be for her the herald of a new and happier life. She bore Mrs. -Seaton no malice for the indignities she had suffered in her house. -There was no room in Emilia's heart for anything but love. With what -heartfelt gratitude did she dwell upon the image of Gerald, the -noblest man on earth. "I thank God for him," she sighed. "Dear Lord, I -thank Thee that Thou hast given me the love of a man like Gerald. My -Gerald! Is it true? Can it be real? Ah, yes; I see his dear eyes -looking into mine; his dear voice sinks into my heart. Make me -grateful for the happiness before me!" It stretched out into the -future years, a vista of peace and love and joy. Insensibly she sank -upon her knees and prayed, and when she rose the room, the world, and -all that it contained, were transfigured. How fair, how sweet was -life! She had prayed for Gerald and for herself, had prayed that she -might prove worthy of him, and might be endowed with power to brighten -his days. Then she sat before the fire, and clasping her knee with her -hands, imagined bright pictures in the glowing points of lights. She -felt herself sinking to sleep. "I will just close my eyes for a few -minutes," she thought. There were warm rugs about the room. Loosening -her dress, she threw herself upon the couch, and covering herself with -the rugs, fell asleep with joy in her heart and a smile on her lips. - -At half-past three in the morning Gerald, after an absence of half an -hour or so, was returning to the street in which his house was -situated, when he saw an angry glare in the sky, and heard sounds of -confusion in the near distance. Almost instantly A fire-engine raced -past him. He hastened after it, partly from instinct, but chiefly -because it was going in his direction. He had, however, no idea that -the danger personally concerned him. Long before he reached his street -he was undeceived. Crowds of people encompassed him, and he found it -difficult to proceed. Three or four fire-engines were at work; -firemen were risking their lives in the enthusiasm of their noble -work; policemen were keeping back the excited lookers-on. - -"My God!" he cried, as he turned the corner; "it is my house, and -Emilia is there!" - -Frantically he strove to force his way through the crowd, which would -not give way for him at first, but he redoubled his efforts, and -running under or leaping over firemen, policemen, and the men and -women who were surging round, he tore off his coat, and rushed toward -the burning building. He was pulled back, and escaping from those who -held him, darted forward again with despairing cries, and was caught -in the arms of one who knew him. - -"It's all right," cried this man to the firemen. "Mr. Paget has -escaped from the house." - -He who spoke thought that Gerald, instead of striving to enter the -house, had just emerged from it, and his idea was strengthened by the -circumstance that Gerald was in his shirt sleeves. One in authority -came up to Gerald and said: - -"We were getting frightened about you, sir. We got out a young lady -and your two servants----" - -"A young lady!" gasped Gerald, and inwardly thanked God that Emilia -was saved. - -"Yes, sir. There's some mystery about her, because your housekeeper -said there was no young lady there, but out she came, or was carried, -insensible----" - -"For God's sake," cried Gerald, "don't tell me she is injured!" - -"I think not, sir; but she was in an insensible condition, and some -people took her away. Your housekeeper said you were the only one -left. Now that we know no lives are lost we can get on with our work. -Your house is a wreck, sir; there'll be very little saved out of it." - -"Where was the young lady taken to?" asked Gerald, in a state of -indescribable agitation, detaining the officer by the sleeve. - -"I can't tell you, sir. Excuse me, I must attend to my duty." - -Releasing himself from Gerald's grasp, he plunged among his men. -Gerald, in his eager anxiety for information of Emilia, asked a dozen -persons around him, and obtained a dozen different answers. One said -one thing, one said another, and each speaker contradicted the one who -had previously spoken. At length he saw on the outskirts of the crowd -his housekeeper talking to a lady, and running toward them, he saw -that the lady was Mrs. Seaton. - -"I am glad you are saved, Mr. Paget," said Mrs. Seaton, with freezing -politeness. "I was just asking your housekeeper who is the young lady -who was carried out of your house barely half dressed, and she insists -that no such person was there. But as a hundred people saw her, there -is, of course, no disputing a fact so clear. Perhaps you can tell us -who she is?" - -A number of neighbors gathered around, some who knew both Gerald and -Emilia. - -"And I said, sir," said the housekeeper, "that their eyes deceived -them----" - -"Oh, that is very likely," interposed Mrs. Seaton, in her most -malicious tone. - -"Because," continued the housekeeper, "when we went to bed last night -there was nobody but me and that little wretch of a Susan in the -house. It was her who set the place on fire, sir, with her novel -reading. I hope she'll be put in prison for it." - -"But enlighten us, Mr. Paget," said Mrs. Seaton. "Who was the young -lady?" - -"You are a malicious scandal-monger," cried Gerald, and tore himself -away, feeling that he had made for himself and Emilia a more bitter -enemy in calling Mrs. Seaton by that name. - -He continued his inquiries for Emilia, but could obtain no -satisfaction. So many different stories were related to him that he -could not tell which was the true one. - -The truth was that Emilia, being aroused from sleep by the fire, -unlocked the door of the room in which Gerald had left her, and rushed -into the passage. The place was strange to her, and she might have -been burned to death had not a fireman, who was making his way past -her, pulled her into the street. There she was taken up by one and -another, striving all the while to escape the prying eyes of those -around her, until, overcome by the complicated horror of her position, -she swooned away. Two compassionate maiden ladies, sisters, pitying -her state, said they would take care of her, and conveyed her to their -home. - -There they tended her, wondering who she was, for she was a stranger -to them, as they were to her. But the terrors through which Emilia had -passed had completely prostrated her; the whole of the succeeding day -she fell from one faint into another, and the doctor who was called in -said it would be best to wait awhile before they questioned her too -closely. "She has had a severe mental shock," he said, "and if we are -not careful she will have an attack of brain fever." On the evening of -the following day she was somewhat better, but her mind was almost a -blank as to what had transpired during the past twenty-four hours. The -image of Gerald occasionally obtruded itself, and if he had appeared, -all would have been well; he was her rock, her shield, and, incapable -as she was of coherent thought, his absence weighed upon her as a -reproach, and she felt as if God and man had forsaken her. An -experience still more cruel was in store for her. - -It was night, and she heard a voice in the adjoining room that smote -her with terror, the voice of Mrs. Seaton speaking to the ladies who -had befriended her. More successful than Gerald, Mrs. Seaton had -hunted her down. - -"It's a neighborly duty," Mrs. Seaton was saying, "to prevent -kind-hearted ladies like yourselves from being imposed upon. I have -suffered from her artfulness and wickedness myself, and there was no -one to warn me; but if you allow yourself to be taken in by her you -will do it with your eyes open." - -"She is very gentle-mannered," said one of the two ladies who had -befriended her, "and we have a great pity for her. Surely she cannot -be so bad as you paint her." - -"Facts are facts," said Mrs. Seaton. "You do not even know her name." - -"She is too weak to enter into particulars," said the lady, "and we -forbore to press her." - -"Too weak!" exclaimed Mrs. Seaton, with a derisive laugh. -"Fiddlesticks! Excuse me for speaking so, but I hardly have patience -with her. Her weakness is put on; you are no match for the creature. -Of course if you do not mind being disgraced by association with such -a character it is no business of mine; but I ought to know her better -than you do." - -"You use strong words," said the lady very gravely. "Disgraced! It is -too dreadful to think of. What is her name?" - -"Emilia Braham. Her father died deeply involved, and would no doubt -have swindled his creditors if he had lived; fortunately for them he -died suddenly, and they were able to step in and save something from -the wreck. I will tell you the whole story if you care to hear it." - -"We ought to hear it." - -"You shall. After her father's death she came to me and begged me to -give her a situation. I took her out of pity. 'I will give you a -trial,' I said to her. So she came into my house, and I treated her as -a daughter. After a time I had my suspicions, and I do not mind -confessing that I set a watch upon her. Then I discovered that she was -carrying on a disgraceful intimacy with Mr. Gerald Paget, meeting him -regularly and secretly, and keeping out at all hours. When she found -that all was known she told her gentleman friend, who came to me and -bullied me. In return for his insults I showed him the door, and -forbade his ever entering my house again. Then in the evening I sent -for the creature and informed her that she must leave my service the -following morning--that is, to-day. The language she used to me was -dreadful, and she said she would go at once. I told her I would not -allow it; badly as she had behaved, I felt that it was not right for -her, a single girl, to leave the house at night. However, she -insisted, and I had to give way. To protect myself from her malicious -slanders, I wrote out a paper which she signed in the presence of -another servant, who is ready to testify that the creature knew -perfectly well what she was doing. Here it is; you can read it. The -other servant witnessed her signature, as you see. Then she left the -house, and I soon found out why. She had arranged a clandestine -meeting with Mr. Paget that very night--I saw her with my own eyes in -his embrace. An hour or two afterward they got into a cab--I can give -you the number of the cab and the name of the driver--and drove to Mr. -Paget's residence, he being a bachelor, mind you, and living alone -with only two female servants in his employ. When he took the creature -home he knew quite well that his domestics were abed and asleep, and -that there was no risk of his scandalous doings being discovered. But -he reckoned without his host. There is a Providence--yes, happily -there is a Providence. The fire occurred, and the creature you are -harboring rushed out of Mr. Paget's house. Ask her how she got into -it. In the middle of the night, too. I ask you, as ladies of -common-sense, what construction does it bear? No artfully-invented -tale can explain it away. You should be thankful to me for putting you -on your guard. Oh, you don't know these creatures!" - -"It is a dreadful story," said the lady. - -"I hope you will do your duty, as I have done mine. Have I put it too -strongly in saying that her presence here is a disgrace?" - -"No. We are obliged to you for the unpleasant task you have performed. -To-morrow, if she is strong enough, I will request her to take her -departure." - -"Too lenient by far. In your place I should bundle her out, neck and -crop. If you wait till she says she is well enough to go you will wait -a precious long time. I shall take care, for my part, that everybody -knows the truth." - -"Is it not strange," asked the lady, "that Mr. Paget has not called to -inquire after her?" - -"Not at all; he wishes to keep his name out of the disgraceful affair -if he can. It is perfectly clear that he is ashamed of the connection, -and wants to be rid of it. So long as it could be kept quiet he didn't -mind, but now that it is made public--I can't help repeating, in the -most providential manner--it is another pair of shoes. Why, the whole -town is talking of it. When the creature shows her face, if she has -the hardihood to do it, she will meet with a proper reception. I -shouldn't at all wonder if it gets into the papers. Good-night." - -Then there was a rustling of skirts, and Emilia knew that her cruel -persecutor had taken her leave. She pressed her hands upon her eyes, -and the scalding tears ran down her fingers. The horror of the -situation was almost more than she could bear. She could not think -clearly, but through her aching brain one conviction forced itself. -She was disgraced, irretrievably disgraced. Her good name was lost -forever. Nothing could restore it, nothing. If an angel from heaven -were to declare it, no man or woman would hereafter believe in her -purity and innocence. What should she do? Wait till the morning to be -turned from the hospitable house of these kind sisters? Go forth into -the broad light of day, and be pointed at and publicly shamed? No, she -would fly at once, secretly and alone, into the hard, cold world, far, -far from the merciless men and women who were ready to defame her. The -story which Mrs. Seaton had related to the maiden sisters was false -and malignant, but it was built upon a foundation of truth. If she -herself had to give evidence in her own defence she would be -pronounced guilty. She had been turned from Mrs. Seaton's house late -in the night, but she had signed a paper saying that she went of her -own free will. She and Gerald had been together in the streets--for -how long? She could not remember, but it seemed to be hours. And as if -that were not shame enough she had taken refuge in his house and had -accepted his hospitality at an hour that would make virtuous women -blush. He had pledged his faith to her, he had asked her to be his -wife, and now, when she most needed a defender, he was absent. It was -true, then, that he had deserted her. Had it been otherwise would he -not have sought her long before this, would he not have been present -to cast the malignant lie in Mrs. Seaton's face? She had believed so -fully in his faith and honor, in his professions of love! But he was -false, like all the rest of the world, from which sweetness and life -had forever fled. - -"Oh, God!" she moaned. "In your Divine mercy, let me die to-night!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -LEONARD RETURNS HOME. - - -A revulsion took place within her which, for a few moments, imbued her -with strength. Upon a piece of blank paper she wrote the words, "I am -innocent, as Heaven is my judge. God bless you for your kindness to -me--Emilia Braham." Dark as it was she managed to form the letters -fairly well, and she laid the paper upon the dressing-table. Then -despair overtook her again. What had Mrs. Seaton said? "The whole town -is talking of it. When the creature shows her face she will meet with -a proper reception." But she would not give her revilers the -opportunity of publicly hounding her down. - -With stealthy steps she crept into the passage. No one was near. -Softly she glided to the door. The next moment she was in the street, -flying she knew not whither. All that she was conscious of was that -the direction she was taking led her away from the town. It was her -wish; no person who knew her must ever look upon her face again. First -solitude, then death--that was her prayer. She reached the outskirts -of the town and plunged into a wood. A part of her desire was -accomplished. In her flight no one had recognized or noticed her, and -now she was alone with her shame and her despair. For the -consciousness of her innocence did not sustain her. Judgment had been -pronounced; she was condemned. - -Meanwhile the maiden ladies, believing that Emilia was asleep, sat in -their room overcome with grief. The revelation which Mrs. Seaton had -made to them was a great shock to these simple ladies, who were almost -as ignorant of the world's bad ways and of the worst side of human -nature as Emilia herself. They did not hear the young girl's footfall -in the passage, and Emilia had made no noise in opening the street -door, which she left open, fearing that the sound of its closing would -betray her. They were silent for many minutes after Emilia's -departure, and when they spoke it was in whispers. - -"It is a frightful story," said the younger lady. "Can it be true?" - -Her sister did not reply immediately; she was thinking of the sweet -and innocent face of the hapless girl, and of the impossibility that -it could be a mask to depravity. Presently she clasped her sister's -hand and said: - -"We will not judge, dear, till we hear what she has to say." - -"You are always right," said the younger sister, and both experienced -a feeling of relief. "Let us go to her; she may be awake." - -They stole into the adjoining room, and one said gently, "Are you -awake?" Then, presently, "We do not wish to disturb you." - -They listened in the darkness and heard no sound of breathing. - -"I will get a candle," whispered the elder sister. Returning with it -they looked around in alarm. "She is gone! Poor child, poor child! She -must have heard what the lady said, and would not wait to be thrust -forth. Oh, sister, is it innocence or guilt?" - -"Innocence, dear sister, innocence!" replied the younger lady, -snatching up the paper upon which Emilia had written. "See sister; 'I -am innocent, as Heaven is my judge. God bless you for your kindness to -me.--Emilia Braham.' She speaks the truth. She is innocent, she is -innocent!" - -"Yes," said the elder sister, solemnly. "She is innocent. Thank God!" - -Tears ran down their cheeks; their faith in goodness was restored. - -"But where has she gone? Oh, sister, so young, so sweet, so helpless!" - -They threw shawls over their shoulders, and ran to the street door, -observing that Emilia in her flight had left it open. As they stood -there, looking anxiously up and down the dark street, two gentlemen -approached and accosted them. They were Gerald and his half-brother -Leonard. - -In explanation of their presence a retrospect of a few hours is -necessary. - -Leonard, having been absent upon his selfish pleasures for the better -part of a year, had returned home upon the morning of the fire. It was -a startling reception for the wanderer; regarding Gerald's money as -his own his first concern was whether the house and furniture were -insured. Ascertaining that they were, and that there would be no -pecuniary loss, his next business was to find Gerald. But in his quest -he heard something more; "slander, whose edge is sharper than the -sword," was already doing its horrible work, and from one and another -he heard for the first time of the existence of Emilia and of her -having been found in Gerald's house in the middle of the night. "So," -thought he, "Gerald is no saint. Well, that sort of thing is better -than marrying. I must keep him from that, at all hazards. It seems I -have come home just in time." Soon afterward he met with Gerald, who -was striving vainly to discover where Emilia was. Despite Gerald's -agitation he greeted Leonard with much affection. - -"It is a stroke of good fortune," he cried, "that you have arrived -to-day. I need a friend. You will help me to find Emilia." - -"Emilia!" echoed Leonard, pretending not to have heard her name -before. - -Then Gerald began to confide in him, but his story threatened to be -long, and Leonard drew him away from the curious people who thronged -about them. They went to an hotel, Leonard insisting that it would be -best, for Gerald wished to continue his inquiries for Emilia in the -streets. - -"Be guided by me," said Leonard; "I can do what you want in half the -time that you would do it yourself. Can you not trust me?" - -"Yes, with my life, Len," replied the warm-hearted young fellow, and -allowed himself to be persuaded. In a private room in the hotel -Leonard heard the whole story, and saw that Gerald was very much in -earnest. This did not please him, but he said not a word to Emilia's -disadvantage; he was a cunning worker, and he knew which roads were -the best to compass any designs he had in view. He no more believed in -Emilia's innocence and purity than the worst of her detractors, but he -was not going to tell Gerald this. Gerald was trying to throw dust -into his eyes, but that was a game that two could play at. With his -own cynical disbelief in womanly purity he laughed at the idea of -Emilia innocently occupying Gerald's house for a whole night. - -"You must not be too angry with people," he said, "for speaking -against the young lady. We live in a frightfully ill-natured world." - -"I know, I know," groaned Gerald, "and it makes it all the harder for -my poor girl. It was I who thrust her into the position; she was -insensible when I took her into the house. Can you not see there was -nothing else to be done?" - -"I see it of course, my boy, and I am sincerely sorry for the pair of -you." - -"She must be suffering agonies"---- - -"Be reasonable, Gerald," said Leonard with affectionate insistance; -"it's a hundred to one she knows nothing of it. I must exercise my -authority as an elder brother over you, and as more of a man of the -world than you are. Now, what is it you want to do?" - -"To find out where she has been taken to, and to insist upon her -marrying me at once. That is the surest way to silence the slanderer. -I have done her a wrong--not wilfully, Len, you know me too well for -that--and I must repair it at the very earliest moment. Thank God she -believes in me, and knows that I am faithful and true. Oh, Len, she is -an angel, the sweetest, dearest woman that ever breathed! No man could -help loving her." - -"From what you tell me of her, Gerald, we must proceed carefully. A -nature so sensitive as hers must be dealt with delicately. You see, my -boy, there is no disguising that if people are speaking against her, -you are the cause of it. I was wrong in saying that it's a hundred to -one she knows nothing of it; I ought to have put it the other way. -Very well, then. Your Emilia is an angel--granted; I believe every -word you say of her. But she is a woman, nevertheless, and you are -responsible for dragging her name through the mud." - -"Good God!" exclaimed Gerald. "You put it strongly." - -"I am bound to do so, as the sincerest friend you have. I hope you -give me credit for being that, Gerald." - -"Len, if you were not here I should go distracted." - -"I am only too glad I have come in good time to assist you. To -continue about Emilia. What does such a woman as she value most in the -world? Her good name. You have jeopardized hers, Gerald, with the best -intentions I admit, but jeopardized it is. Hearing the scandal she -will naturally ask herself, 'Why did Gerald take me into his house -when I was in a fainting condition, and unable to have a voice in the -matter? Could he not have waited till I recovered? And now see what -people are saying of me? He has degraded me; I shall never be able to -look honest people in the face again.' Is it entirely unnatural, my -boy, that she should not rush into your arms when you present -yourself? Just think a bit." - -"I have not thought of it in that light," said Gerald ruefully. - -"Because you have considered it from your point of view, not from -hers. Answer me candidly. If she had been in possession of her senses -would she have consented to enter your house clandestinely with you at -such an hour last night--you, a single man, and her lover?" - -"No, I see it now. Wretch that I am! I deserved to be pilloried for -it." - -"Don't rush into the other extreme. You acted unwisely, but honestly." -(Leonard had no more belief in the professions he was making than Mrs. -Seaton would have had, but he knew the nature of the man he was -playing upon.) "Now, what you want in this crisis is a friend like -myself, who, a stranger to your Emilia, can explain everything to her -in a considerate, sensible way. Otherwise she may refuse to have -anything more to say to you." - -This suggestion frightened Gerald. "What do you advise me to do?" he -asked. - -"To place yourself entirely in my hands, and let _me_ bring this -unfortunate matter to a satisfactory conclusion." - -"I will do so, Len. Thank you a thousand, thousand times. I am -eternally grateful to you." - -"Nonsense. I love you, Gerald; our interests are one. Look at yourself -in the glass; you are a perfect scarecrow." - -"I have had no sleep since the night before last. - -"Is that a fit condition in which to set about a task so delicate? It -would be inviting failure. First, you must have some breakfast." - -"I can't eat, Len." - -"You must. A devilled bone and a glass or two of champagne." He rang -the bell, and gave the order, and ordered also a warm bath to be -prepared. "Now, Gerald. The bath first, the devilled bone and a pint -of champagne next, and then to bed for two or three hours. When you -awake, refreshed and with a clear mind, I will tell you all about -Emilia." - -"You will find out where she is?" - -"I will--if it is to be found out." - -"And you will explain everything to her?" - -"I will." - -"And you will tell her I love her more devotedly than ever?" - -"I will; and that your only wish is to hear the wedding bells ring." - -"You're a good fellow, Len. I can never repay you. You are my good -angel. But what a selfish brute I am, to talk only of myself and my -troubles. You cabled for money, Len, and it was sent to you. How's the -exchequer?" - -"Thank you for the inquiry, dear boy. It never was lower. I have been -deucedly unfortunate; plunged into a land speculation which I thought -was going to make my fortune, but which cleaned me out to the last -sovereign. How on earth I made my way home I don't know. I was -consoled by one reflection, that I was coming home to the dearest -brother an unfortunate devil ever had." - -Gerald took out his check-book and put his name to a check. - -"Here is a blank check, Len. Fill it in for what you like." - -"Good boy. I am in debt, Gerald." - -"Never mind; there's a balance of over two thousand in the bank." - -"May I fill in for a thou----? - -"And welcome. I've a lot of money in securities." - -"I won't thank you, Gerald," said Leonard, handing the pen to his -step-brother; "you know what my feelings are toward you. Write the sum -in yourself." - -Gerald wrote, and gave the check back. Leonard just glanced at it, and -saw that it was drawn out for twelve hundred pounds, payable to -bearer. He passed his hand over his tearless eyes, and turned his -head. A very skilful actor indeed was Leonard Paget; he knew to a -nicety the value of a light touch. The waiter entered and said the -bath was ready. - -"Don't bring up breakfast till I ring for it," said Leonard to the -man. "Off with you, Gerald. I give you just twenty minutes." - -Gerald gone, he looked at the check again. "It is only an instalment," -he murmured. "Every shilling he has belongs to me; and I mean to have -it. As for this girl--bah! They must never come together again." - -Upon Gerald's appearance from the bath he greeted him with a smile. -"You look twice the man you were. Now for breakfast. Tuck in, Gerald." - -In any other circumstances Gerald would not have been able to eat, but -with such a friend and counsellor by his side he made a tolerably good -meal. Then Leonard saw him to his bedroom, and did not leave it till -the honest fellow was in bed, and had drank another glass of champagne -into which Leonard had secretly poured a dozen drops Of a tasteless -narcotic which he was in the habit of carrying about with him to -insure sleep. - -"That will keep him quiet for six or seven hours," he said. "I must -have a little time to myself to settle my plans." - -The first thing he did when he went from the hotel was to cash the -check. He was a man again, his pockets well lined, and he was ready -for any villainy. He had little difficulty in discovering where Emilia -was, and in ascertaining the character of the ladies who had given her -shelter. This knowledge conveyed with it a difficulty; the character -for kind-heartedness which he received of the maiden sisters was not -favorable to his schemes, and he deemed it best to take no definite -step on this day. But he was not idle; he learned all there was to be -learned of Emilia, and, reading between the lines, found himself -confronted with fresh difficulties. It would not be easy to deceive -such a girl--a girl who might have committed an imprudence, but who -was not the artful creature he had supposed her to be. He came to the -conclusion that the love which existed between her and Gerald was a -genuine, honest love. "I must trust a little to chance," he thought. -In the afternoon he returned to the hotel. Gerald was still asleep; he -waited till the evening, and then heard Gerald moving. He went into -the bedroom as Gerald jumped out of bed. - -"At last!" he exclaimed, before the young man could utter a word. "I -have been trying these last three hours to rouse you. How thoroughly -dead beat you must have been to have slept so long!" - -Gerald looked round in dismay; evening was fast deepening into night. - -"What time is it, Len?" - -"Nearly eight o'clock. Do you feel refreshed?" - -"I'm a new man. How about Emilia? Have you seen her? Can I go to her?" -He dressed rapidly as he spoke. - -"I am sorry to say," continued Leonard, "that I can obtain no news of -her. Wait yet a little while; I will go out again and endeavor to find -her." - -"I cannot wait I will go with you." - -"I forbid it, Gerald. You will spoil all if you don't mind. I should -not be here now, but I was getting alarmed about you. I will return in -an hour." - -He hastened away before Gerald could reply. "What am I to do now?" he -thought. "If Gerald makes inquiries himself he will be certain to -learn where she is. I have twelve hundred pounds in my pocket. If the -devil would range himself on my side I would give him half of it with -pleasure." - -He little knew how near he was to the accomplishment of his wishes. At -that moment Mrs. Seaton was making her way to the house of the maiden -sisters. He himself was wending his course toward the house, moodily -debating how he could drive Emilia from it, and from the town forever. -He knew all about Mrs. Seaton and her animosity against Emilia; the -woman had been pointed out to him early in the day, and her face was -familiar to him. He walked slowly, she quickly; thus she overtook and -passed him, but he had seen and recognized her. He quickened his -steps, and paused as she paused, before the house of the maiden -sisters. With unerring intuition he guessed her errand. - -"Are you going to see the ladies who live here, madam?" he asked in -his most respectful tone. - -"I am, sir," she replied with asperity. "Who are you, may I inquire?" - -"I am a stranger in the town, madam," he said, speaking with the -greatest deference. "Is it not to this place that the young person was -taken who was found in Mr. Gerald Paget's house last night?" - -"It is, and my business is to expose her. Have you any objections?" - -"Not the slightest, madam. I think you are performing a Christian -duty." - -"I am not obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Seaton, haughtily. "I am in -the habit of doing my duty without being prompted. The creature who is -harbored there shall be turned adrift before many hours are over. She -is a disgrace to the neighborhood, and I will see that she is hunted -out of it." - -"Madam," said Leonard, "the whole town will be in your debt if you rid -it of the person in question, and I myself shall be deeply grateful to -you." - -He raised his hat and walked away, thinking, with a blithe laugh, "The -devil _is_ on my side and I have the twelve hundred pounds safe in my -pocket." After this agreeable reflection he idled an hour, singing -little snatches of song to himself, and then returned to the hotel -with a plausible tale which he had invented to put Gerald off the -scent till the following day, by which time he hoped that Emilia would -be gone and all traces of her lost. He was a keen judge of human -nature, and knew what effect Mrs. Seaton's calumnies would have upon a -young and sensitive girl. Her first impulse would be to fly from a -spot where she was known--to hide her face anywhere so long as it was -among strangers. With a strong, determined woman it would be -different; she would brazen it out, and, give back scorn for scorn, -and although she could not hope for victory she would have the -satisfaction of saying bitter things to her revilers. Emilia was not -this kind of woman; Gerald's descriptions of her had enabled Leonard -to gauge her correctly, and to forecast how she would act in the face -of an accusation so vile and degrading. Believing firmly in the -judgments he formed of matters in which he was personally concerned, -he had, therefore, reason to congratulate himself upon the course -which events had taken, and he skipped up the steps of the hotel with -a mind at ease. Its balance, however, was disturbed when he was -informed that Gerald was gone. - -"Did he say where he was going?" he asked. - -"No, sir," was the reply. - -"Nor when he would return?" - -"No, sir." - -"But he left a message for me?" - -"No, sir." - -"Can you tell me which direction he took?" - -"No, sir." - -These unsatisfactory iterations produced no outward effect upon -Leonard; he was a man who never showed his hand. With a pleasant smile -he left the hotel thinking, "Now where the devil has the young fool -gone? To make inquiries for his goddess, no doubt. Does that indicate -impatience merely, or that he cannot trust me? I must no lose my hold -on him. If it is necessary to humor him, humored he shall be. There is -more than one way out of a wood." As a measure of precaution he walked -in the direction of the house of the maiden sisters, and reaching it, -walked slowly back toward the hotel. This was done with the intention -of intercepting Gerald, and learning whether the young man had -discovered Emilia's refuge--in which event he was prepared to disclose -that he himself had at length discovered it, and was hurrying to his -dear brother to communicate the welcome intelligence. "By the Lord -Harry," he muttered, as he stood at the corner of the street, "here -comes the young fool! It is lucky I am prepared." He strode rapidly -toward Gerald, and almost upset him in his haste. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE FALSE FRIEND. - - -"Hallo, Gerald!" he cried. "I meet you by the most fortunate chance. I -have been hunting for you everywhere." - -"I could not wait for you at the hotel," said Gerald, "and had to go -out and make inquiries for myself. What is the name of this street?" - -"Never mind the name of the street," said Leonard, jumping at the safe -conclusion. "The house is the important thing, and I have discovered -it." - -"Where my Emilia is?" - -"Yes, where your Emilia is." - -"I also have been told where she was taken to, and I was hurrying to -her. Have you seen her, Len, have you seen her?" - -"I have not, and have not attempted to do so. You see, Gerald, it is -night, and I am a stranger to her and to the people who have taken -care of her. It will be best, after all, for you to go first, -especially as you are no longer the scarecrow you were, and will not -alarm her by your haggard appearance." - -"I am quite fresh now. Are we going to the house?" - -"Yes, I am taking you there. Oh, Gerald, how I have hunted for your -Emilia! If I had been in love with her myself, if she were my -sweetheart instead of yours, I could not have worked harder to find -her." - -"I am sure you could not. You are a true friend. Forgive me for -leaving the hotel; I could not bear the suspense." - -"You acted naturally, Gerald--as I should have done in your place. I -am something more than a friend, I am your loving brother, dear boy, -ready to go through fire and water to serve you." - -"God bless you, Len! Are we near the house?" - -"There it is, Gerald, on the opposite side, just beyond the -lamp-post." - -"Come, then, come!" - -They had scarcely started to cross the road when the street-door was -opened, and the maiden sisters appeared on the threshold, peering up -and down the street. - -"Which is Emilia?" asked Leonard, grasping Gerald's arm, detaining him -a moment. - -"Neither. Let us go to them." - -"It is hard to say to so devoted a lover," said Leonard, "but be a -little prudent. Any appearance of violent haste might cause them to -shut the door in our faces." - -Thus advised Gerald curbed his impatience, and crossed the road in a -more leisurely manner. The maiden sisters started back as the two -gentlemen halted before them. - -"I beg your pardon," said Leonard, raising his hat; Gerald was so -agitated that he could scarcely speak; "but we have been directed here -to see a young lady who was rescued from the fire last night, and who -found a refuge in your hospitable house." - -"We brought Miss Braham home with us," said the elder lady, "and are -now in great distress about her. I presume you are friends of hers." - -"We are her most devoted friends," said Leonard, "and have been -searching for her the whole of the day. My name is Leonard Paget; this -is my brother Gerald." - -The sisters were standing hand in hand, and at the mention of these -names their fingers fluttered, then tightened in their clasp. Gerald -found his voice. - -"Is she ill?" he exclaimed. "Do not hide anything from me, I beg!" - -The sisters looked nervously at each other; the elder was first to -speak. - -"Are you aware that we have received a visit from a lady well known in -the town?" - -"No," said Gerald. "Who is the lady and what has her visit to do with -Miss Braham?" - -There was a ring of genuine honesty in his voice, and it made its -impression. The elder lady touched his arm gently. - -"Tell me," she said, "In what special manner are you interested in -Miss Braham?" - -"Madam," replied Gerald, "I hope very soon to have the happiness of -calling her my wife." - -The sisters gave each other a bright look, and the younger lady said, -"It is cold standing here, and my sister is not strong. Will you not -walk into the house?" - -They accepted the invitation, Gerald gladly, Leonard with curiosity as -to what the sisters meant when they said they were in great distress -about Emilia. - -"Excuse my impatience," said Gerald, "but I implore you to allow me to -see Miss Braham at once." - -Their pity for him would not admit of Emilia's departure being -immediately communicated to him; it must be led up to gently. But -Gerald's indignation would not be restrained; before the conclusion of -Mrs. Seaton's visit was recounted he interrupted the maiden sisters -with the truthful version of Emilia's misfortunes and of the unhappy -circumstances which compelled him to take her to his house a few hours -before the fire. He blamed himself bitterly for the indiscretion, but -asked them what else he could have done; and they, completely won over -by his indignation and by the manifest honesty of his professions, -threw aside for once all reserve and hesitation, and boldly declared -that he could not have acted otherwise. - -"Sister," said the elder to the younger, "the sweet young lady -deserves our deepest pity, and is worthy of our love. Mr. -Paget"--turning to Gerald--"Miss Braham will find a home here, and if -she will consent, shall be married from our house." - -"You are angels of goodness," said the young man, "but do not keep her -from me any longer. If you do not think right that I should see her -alone, let me see her in your presence." - -"Alas!" said the elder lady; "she must first be found." - -"Found!" echoed Gerald, in bewilderment. - -"Do not alarm yourself. The dear child cannot have gone far. We have -not finished what we have to tell you. Listen patiently to the end." - -When all was related Gerald stood stupefied for a few moments, holding -in his hands the pathetic vindication of her innocence which Emilia -had left behind her. Leonard was secretly exultant. Emilia was gone, -and if he assisted in the search for her she should never be found. He -was confident that she had flown from the neighborhood, and that her -one desire would be to hide herself and her shame among strangers. It -was not in his nature to believe in womanly purity, and it was not -likely that he would make an exception in Emilia's favor. She was his -enemy; she stood in his path; she barred his way to affluence; let her -sink into the obscurity she was seeking. - -These sentiments were not expressed in his eyes, which were full of -sympathy. - -"Come, Gerald," he said, passing his arm around the young man's neck, -"be a man. As these good ladies say, it will not be difficult to find -Emilia. Let us seek her; in an hour or two all your troubles will be -over." - -"Your brother is right," said the elderly lady, "no time should be -lost, for the poor child must be suffering. We rejoice that you have -so true a friend to assist you. Do not desert him, sir; he is not fit -to be left alone." - -"Desert Gerald!" cried Leonard. "Desert my dear brother in the hour of -his distress! No, indeed. He will find me true to the last." - -The ladies pressed his hands, and gazed at him approvingly and -admiringly. His face beamed with earnestness and enthusiasm. He had in -him a touch of the actor's art; he was playing a part in a fine comedy -of manners and intrigue, and he thoroughly enjoyed it, and commended -himself for his masterly performance. - -The maiden sisters saw the brothers to the street door, and impressed -upon them that Emilia should be brought to their house at the earliest -opportunity, and that her room would be ready for her. - -Then commenced Gerald's search for Emilia, a search not only without a -clue to guide him, but with a cunning man at his elbow, suggesting -that they should go here and there, where he was certain there was -chance of finding her. There were times, however, when Gerald himself -said he would go to such and such a house and make inquiries, and -Leonard never opposed him. It was his one wish to keep Gerald in the -town, and he breathed no hint of his conviction that Emilia had flown -from it. Everything was against Gerald; it was late when the search -commenced, and at an hour past midnight he and Leonard stood in the -quiet streets, gazing at each other, Gerald helplessly, Leonard -inquiringly. - -"Where now, Gerald?" - -"God knows! I think I am losing my mind." - -"May I make a suggestion, dear boy?" - -"Yes, Len." - -"You will not think it treason; you will not blame me for importing a -little common-sense into our sad position?" - -"How can I blame you, Len--you, the truest friend that a man ever had? -Do not think me ungrateful. I have only one desire in life--to find -Emilia. I can think of nothing but her." - -"Then I may make my suggestion?" - -"Yes." - -"Understand, Gerald, that I make it entirely in Emilia's interests." - -"I do, Len." - -"Our best plan will be to go to the hotel and jump into bed----" - -"Len!" - -"There, I knew you would storm at me; but just be reasonable." - -"I can't be reasonable. I must find Emilia." - -"All right, dear boy. I'll stand by you till I drop. Which way shall -we turn?" - -Gerald, in response to this heartless question, led the way aimlessly -down one street, up another, and on and on, Leonard trudging by his -side, and neither of them speaking a word. At last Gerald stopped, and -gazed pitifully around; his eyes fell upon Leonard, who, conscious -that the gaze was coming, and timing it, closed his with an air of -pathetic weariness. - -"You are tired, Len." - -Leonard instantly opened his eyes, and said briskly, "Tired, dear boy! -Not a bit of it. What should make me tired? Come along, old fellow. -Let's be moving." - -"No, Len, I don't see much use in it." - -"It is not I who say that, Gerald." - -"No, it is myself. What o'clock is that striking?" - -Leonard put up his finger, and they listened to the chiming of the -bells. - -"Two o'clock, Gerald." - -"What is Emilia doing now?" murmured Gerald, more to himself than to -his companion. - -"She is asleep, I should say." - -"No, Len. I know her better than you do. She is awake, thinking of me, -as I am thinking of her. You are some years older than I, dear -brother; have you ever been in love?" - -"Yes, Gerald," replied Leonard, quietly. - -"And you are still unmarried," said Gerald, pityingly. "How did it -end?" - -"Do not ask me, Gerald." - -"Forgive me; it is a painful remembrance. She is dead?" - -Leonard did not reply, and Gerald repeated, - -"She is dead? I am sorry, very sorry." - -"You need not be. She lives." - -"How did it happen? You were true to her, I am sure." - -"For heaven's sake, Gerald, do not force me to answer you. Let us talk -of something else." - -"I open my heart to you," said Gerald, with sad insistence, "and you -close yours to me." - -"You cut me to the quick. Yes, I was true to her, but she was -not true to me. There is the tragedy or the comedy--which you like, -Gerald--related in less than a dozen words. It is a story which all -men live to tell--all men, I mean, with the exception of yourself." - -"I am a selfish brute, to compel you to expose your wounds. Poor Len! -If she had been like my Emilia you would not have had to tell the -tale. We can do nothing more to-night." - -"Nothing that I can see." - -"I am so full of my own grief that I forget to sympathize with yours, -but I am truly sorry for you. At this moment Emilia is thinking of me; -there is a spiritual whisper in the air which assures me of this. -Would it be really best to go back to the hotel?" - -"It would be wisest, both for your sake and for Emilia's. Early in the -morning we can commence again. Gerald, to stop out any longer would be -folly. You would not dare to knock at the door of any house at this -hour and inquire for Emilia; it would be the ruin of her. You have her -honor to guard, as well as your own happiness to look after." - -"I am blind, and utterly, utterly selfish. Heaven has sent you to -guide and counsel me. Yes, we will go." - -They returned to the hotel, and Gerald gave directions that he should -be called early in the morning. He and Leonard wished each other -good-night, and retired to their separate rooms. As Leonard undressed -he chuckled at the successful progress he had made. Everything had -worked in his favor, and would so work to the end. He had no doubt of -that, with his hand on the wheel. So he closed his eyes, and went to -sleep contented and happy. - -Gerald stood by the window and thought of Emilia. To-morrow they would -be together; to-morrow all would be well. He threw the window open and -looked out. Could his sight have reached the distance he would have -seen a pitiful figure staggering on through country roads, stopping -ever and anon to recover her breath, then starting feverishly on -again, with panting bosom and streaming eyes, mournfully grateful for -the darkness that encompassed her, and dreading the coming day. -Slander's foul work was being accomplished. Dark as it was, Emilia saw -the malignant eyes; silent as it was, she heard the hard voices. On -and on she stumbled, praying for rest. Gerald was false; she did not -care to live. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -ON THE TRACK. - - -As early, as practicable in the morning Gerald was astir, continuing -his inquiries for the missing girl. Leonard, of course, accompanied -him, with the pretence of being very busy and as anxious as Gerald for -the success of the search, but inwardly fuming at his step-brother's -activity. His spirits rose as hour after hour passed fruitlessly by; -his hopeful anticipations were being realized; Emilia was gone, never -to return again. - -At three o'clock in the afternoon Gerald came to a standstill. The -tortures he was suffering were reflected in his face. - -"Poor boy, poor boy!" said Leonard, in his gentlest tone. "I can truly -sympathize with you, Gerald." - -"I know, Len, I know," said Gerald. "Let me think quietly; don't speak -to me. Something must be done; something shall be done. It weighs like -a sin upon my soul that I have driven my dear girl to misery. What -must she think of me?" - -All at once an inspiration fell upon him; his face lighted up; he -spoke with hope and animation. - -"Fool that I am," he cried, "to trust myself. I am going to my -lawyers; if you care to come with me, Len----" - -"Of course I care to come with you," interrupted Leonard. "But why to -your lawyers? They cannot assist you." - -"They can," said Gerald, in a decided tone; and they proceeded to the -office arm-in-arm. - -In a private interview with the head of the firm, at which Leonard was -present, Gerald explained what he wanted. The firm was to set all -their machinery to work at once to discover where Emilia had flown to; -everything was to be done very quietly, and no expense was to be -spared. When the young girl was found she was not to be informed that -a search had been made for her, but she was to be carefully and -secretly watched, and Gerald was to be immediately communicated with. -That done, and Gerald conducted to the house in which Emilia had -sought refuge, the business entrusted to the lawyers was concluded. -Gerald left with the head of the firm a check for a large amount, in -proof that he was thoroughly in earnest; and it was arranged that he -or Leonard, or both of them, should return to their hotel and wait for -news. - -"If it is in the middle of the night," said Gerald, "let me know. Not -a moment must be lost." - -Then the step-brothers left the office and walked to their hotel. -Leonard inwardly gave Gerald credit for being much more practical than -he had imagined, but still hoped that his good luck would follow him, -and that the business would fail. To Gerald the misery of entrusting -the task to other hands lay in the necessity of his remaining inactive -himself; but although he would not leave the hotel for fear that a -messenger from the lawyers might arrive in his absence, he could not -endure to remain idle. He sent a note to the kind maiden ladies who -had sheltered Emilia, and received one in reply, to the effect that -they had heard nothing of the lost girl; and at least once in every -hour he despatched a communication to the lawyers, to which the -invariable answer was that the inquiry was proceeding, but no clue had -yet been discovered. Gerald did not undress that night; he slept -fitfully in an arm-chair. Leonard prepared for any sacrifice in the -furtherance of his own interests, took off his coat and waistcoat, and -made himself as comfortable as he could with wraps and rugs on a sofa -in the same room in which Gerald passed the night. Gerald urged him to -go to bed, but he would not. - -"It is not right," said the unhappy young man, "that you should share -my fatigue and troubles. Go and have a good night's rest." - -"I distinctly decline," replied Leonard, in an affectionate tone. -"Your troubles are my troubles, and I feel them almost as deeply as -yourself. My name is Thorough." - -"There is no other man like you, I believe," said Gerald. "I will try -and repay you one day." - -"You shall repay me one day," thought Leonard, "and whatever I get -will be richly earned." - -Aloud, he said, "The only repayment I ask, my dear boy, is to see you -happy with your Emilia. There, let us say no more about it. If you -want me in the night you have only to call me, you will find me ready -for anything." - -Gerald woke a dozen times before daylight, and moved gently about so -that he should not disturb his noble friend. He stole down to the -night porter. - -"No one has come for me?" - -"No one, sir." - -"If anyone calls send him to me instantly." - -"Yes, sir." - -It was a fortunate night for the porter, the tips he received from the -distracted young man making a very handsome total. Gerald was grateful -when morning broke. It would not be long before Emilia was in his -arms. He made an effort to repair the disorder in his clothes and -appearance, and long before the door of the lawyers' office was open -one of his messengers was waiting for tidings. Still the same answer, -always the same answer; no traces of Emilia had been found. He paced -the room with the restlessness of a wild animal. - -Once he stopped, and leaning heavily on Leonard's shoulder, whispered, -"If she should be dead! Good God, if she should be dead!" - -"So much the better for everybody," thought Leonard, as he passed his -arm round Gerald's waist and endeavored to soothe him. - -At noon the lawyer paid Gerald a visit. - -"You have brought me news?" cried Gerald. - -"None of a satisfactory nature," replied the lawyer. "We have -ascertained for certain that the young lady is not in the town." - -"But when she left the house in which she was sheltered," said -Leonard, for Gerald was too overpowered to speak, "someone must have -seen her." - -"If so," said the lawyer, "we have not discovered the person, who has -a good reason for coming forward, as we have offered handsome rewards -for definite information of any kind concerning her. However, we have -now taken other steps, and it is for the purpose of making Mr. Paget -acquainted with them that I have paid this visit." - -He paused, and Gerald motioned to him to continue. - -"Being convinced that Miss Braham has left the town, we have -despatched agents in every direction to track her down. These agents -understand that they are to pursue their mission in the most delicate -manner, and they are instructed to keep in regular telegraphic -communication with us. My errand here is to communicate these -proceedings to you, and to advise patience and"--with a significant -look at Gerald--"peace of mind." - -"I shall not know peace," said Gerald, "till she is found." - -"All that is humanly possible is being done; we can do no more." - -It was poor comfort, and it did not diminish the young man's distress. -The lawyer remained for a few minutes longer, and then took his -departure. The day waned, and the night, without any tidings, and on -the following morning despair seemed to have reached its height in -Gerald's mind. - -"Upon my soul," thought Leonard, "I think he is going mad. Well, that -would not be a bad ending to this insane hunt. I should be his -guardian, and should know how to take care of him--and his money. His? -No, mine, by the laws of nature." - -During this day copies of telegrams received by the lawyers were sent -to Gerald, but not one of them satisfactory. - -"She is lost to me forever," groaned Gerald. - -"Amen!" thought Leonard. - -Early the next morning, however, a telegram was handed in with these -words, "On the track." The lawyer hastened to Gerald. - -"It is from one of our best men," he said. "Something will be known in -the course of the day." - -But it was not till another night had passed that Gerald learned where -Emilia was. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THE FLIGHT AND THE RESCUE. - - -The terrors of the night on which Emilia fled to escape from her -traducers produced an indelible effect upon her mind. Often in -afterlife, when the brief gleam of sunshine she was destined to enjoy -had died away, did she reflect with shudders upon the experiences of -those few pregnant hours. From the moment of her departure until -sunrise flooded the land with light, but brought only a deeper anguish -to her soul, there was an interval of darkness lasting barely seven -hours, but it seemed to her that it might have been seven times seven, -so heavily charged were the minutes with black woe. Feeble as she was, -and fragile as was her frame, she travelled a surprising distance -during these interminable hours. When, compelled by exhaustion to -rest, she had so far recovered as to be able to proceed, she ran with -fleet foot to make up for lost time, until, breathless and panting, -she came to a standstill, and caught at the nearest object for -support, generally a fence or the branch of a tree. Sometimes she -caught at shadows and fell, and lay supine awhile, to rise again in -ever-growing despair and continue her flight; but moral forces are -powerless against the forces of physical nature, and shortly after -sunrise her strength gave way, and now when she fell she was unable -from exhaustion to rise. She might have been able to continue her -flight for still a brief space, had she not been climbing a hill, the -exertion of which completely overpowered her. The spot upon which she -fell commanded a view of a river. It stretched to the north and south -of her, and in its waters were mirrored the gorgeous splendors of the -rising sun. She did not see it at first, for it came into view only at -the point she had reached; lower down the hill it was not visible to -sight. - -Presently, opening her eyes, she saw the jewelled shadows playing on -the surface, and they so distressed her--yearning as she was for peace -and rest--that her eyelids drooped, and she turned her head to avoid a -picture which in happier circumstances she would have gazed upon with -delight. But she knew the river was there. - -For full half an hour she lay with her eyes closed, struggling with a -horrible temptation. Then she turned to the water, struggled into a -sitting posture, and gazed with wild eyes upon it. Not voluntarily and -of her own free will; some evil spiritual power within her compelled -her to do so. - -It was quieter now. The gorgeous colors had died out of the skies and -the river was in repose. "Come," it whispered, "come to my embrace, -and end your woes." But the strong religious instinct within her -enabled her to struggle with the frightful suggestion. "No, no!" she -murmured, feebly putting her hands together. "Help me, dear Lord, to -avoid the crime!" Her appeal did not banish the silent voices which -urged her to seek oblivion, and, in oblivion, peace. How the struggle -would have ended it is difficult to say, had not her fate been taken -out of her own hands. - -There came to her ears the crack of a whip and the sound of a human -voice urging horses up the hill. She bowed her head upon her lap to -hide her face from the stranger who was approaching her. - -He was an old man in charge of a wagon and a team of horses. The -cattle were willing enough, and fresh for their day's work, and it was -only from habit that their driver was shouting words of encouragement -to them. They reached the summit of the hill, and the wagoner, -merciful to his beasts, eased them a bit. It was then his eyes fell -upon the form of Emilia. He approached her and laid his hand upon her -shoulder. She shivered and shrank from his touch. At this human -contact, the first she had experienced since her flight from the house -of the maiden sisters, there seemed to come upon her a more complete -consciousness of the shame and degradation into which she had been -thrust. That it was unmerited mattered not. It clung to her, and was -proclaimed in her face. How, then, could she raise her head to meet -the gaze of any human being? - -"In trouble, my lass?" asked the wagoner, kindly. With but an -imperfect observation of her, he knew that she was young. - -Emilia made no reply, but let her shoulder droop, so that his hand -might not touch her. - -"Can I help you?" - -No sound, and now no further movement, from the hapless girl. He -lingered a moment or two longer, and then slowly left her. Giving the -word, his team began to descend the hill. But at the bottom of the -descent, with a level road before him, he pulled up his cattle again, -and turned with sad eyes to the spot where he had left Emilia, who was -hidden from his sight. - -This man had a history--as what man has not?--and it is probable that -Emilia was saved from suicide by the remembrance of the most dolorous -experience in his life. He was nearer seventy than sixty years of age, -but he was strong and lusty still, and his heart had not been soured -or embittered by trouble. The story of his special grief is a common -one enough, and can be narrated in a few words. He was a married man, -and his old wife was waiting at home for him, five and thirty miles -away. Children had they none, but thirty years ago they had a -daughter, who left them secretly upon the persuasion of a scoundrel. -The villain took her to London, and after she had enjoyed a brief -spell of false happiness she found herself deserted and friendless. In -her despair she crept back to the home of which she had been the joy, -but she had not the courage to enter it and beg for forgiveness. Her -body was discovered in a river hard by, and in her pocket a letter to -her parents, relating her story, and praying them to think kindly of -her. That is all. - -It was the memory of this daughter that caused the wagoner to turn -toward Emilia. Perhaps the poor girl was in a strait similar to that -of his own lost child. Had _she_ met a kind heart, had a helping hand -been stretched out to her, she might have been saved to them, might -have been living at this very day to comfort and cheer her aged -parents. He would make another effort to ascertain the trouble of the -lonely girl who had shrunk from his touch. Up the hill he climbed, -having no fear for his horses, who would only start again at the sound -of his voice. - -Emilia had risen to her feet, and her trembling hands were extended to -the river, as though to push it from her, while her form swayed toward -it. He saw her face now, and his heart beat with pity for her. It may -have been fancy, but he fancied he saw in her a resemblance to his -lost child. So engrossed was Emilia in the terrible struggle that was -raging in her soul that she was not aware she was observed until the -wagoner seized her arm, and said, - -"My dear, let me help you in your trouble." - -It was like the voice of an angel who had come to her rescue. She -threw her arms about him, and cried, in a voice of exhaustion: - -"Save me, save me!" - -"It's what I've come for, my dear," said the wagoner, holding her up. -"Where is your home?" - -"Home!" she echoed, hysterically, "I have none! I am alone in the -world--alone, alone!" - -"No father or mother?" - -"None." - -"No friends?" - -"None--not one." - -"What can I do for you?" - -"Take me from the river. Hark! Do you not hear what it is whispering -to me? I am exhausted; my strength is gone, and I can no longer -resist. If you leave me here I shall die!" - -"But you do not know where I am going." - -"It does not matter. Anywhere, anywhere, so that I can have rest. Hide -me--hide me! Oh, my heart, my heart!" - -Upon this she burst into a passionate fit of weeping, and the good -wagoner saw that she was not in a fit state to answer further -questions. Endeavoring to calm her, he assisted her down the hill to -where his team was standing, but before they reached it she swooned. -It was not an easy task to lift her into the shelter of his wagon, but -he managed it, and made up a bed of straw upon which he laid her. Then -he started his horses again, and was careful to avoid ruts, in order -not to jolt his fair guest too roughly. He had the whole day before -him, and it would do if he reached his home before night. Now and -again he mounted the wagon to look at Emilia, and was concerned that -he could obtain no coherent words from her. The poor girl's trials had -produced their effect upon her weak frame, and she was fast relapsing -into delirium. All that he could distinguish in her feverish -mutterings were the words, "I am innocent, I am innocent! I have done -no wrong. God will speak for me!" Even these pathetic utterances came -from her at intervals, and he had to piece them together. Her youth -and beauty deeply impressed the kind-hearted man, and he did not -regret the course he had taken. In the middle of the day he arrived at -a village, and gave his horses two hours' rest. He utilized these two -hours by hunting up a doctor, who, feeling Emilia's pulse and putting -his hand on her hot forehead, said, "She is in a high state of fever. -The only thing you can do is to get her home as quickly as possible." -He believed her to be the wagoner's daughter, and he gave the old man -a draught which Emilia was to be persuaded to take, should she have an -interval of consciousness before they reached their journey's end. The -wagoner's anxiety now was to get home as soon as possible, and the -roads being good he put his horses to a trot. At six o'clock in the -evening the journey was over, and the team stood at the door of his -cottage. His old wife ran out to greet him, and he rapidly explained -to her what he had done, and why he had done it. - -"Was it right, mother?" he asked. - -The tears rushed to her eyes. It was thirty years since he had -addressed her by that endearing term, and she thought, as he had -thought, of the daughter they had lost in the time gone by. There are -memories that never die. - -"Quite right, John," murmured the old woman, and together they carried -Emilia into their cottage and laid her upon a bed. There the wagoner -left his wife to attend to the young girl; he had his horses to look -after, and when this was done he returned to the cottage, to find -Emilia undressed and in bed, with the old woman standing by her side. - -"We must have a doctor, John," she said, and away he went for one. - -The report was not favorable; Emilia was prostrate, and now that the -strain was over a dangerous reaction had set in. The doctor gave it as -his opinion that she would not be well for weeks, and so it proved. -But long before she was convalescent Gerald, accompanied by Leonard, -made his appearance, and thus the unfortunate girl had near her one -enemy and three friends. Which side would triumph in the end? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -LIGHT SHINES THROUGH THE DARK CLOUDS. - - -Leonard cursed his ill luck, cursed Gerald for his infatuation, cursed -Emilia for stepping in to spoil his plans, cursed the wagoner and his -wife for their kindness toward her--in short, cursed everything and -everybody except himself, whom he regarded as the person who was being -wronged in the affair. But he wore a constant smile upon his lips, his -words were honey, and the consideration he expressed for Emilia was -perfect in its way. Sometimes when he spoke of her it was in a choked -voice, and he was certainly successful in deceiving everyone around -him. His one hope now was that Emilia would die, and could he have -done so without risk to himself, he would cheerfully have given her a -cup of poison to bring about that consummation. - -Gerald's great grief was that Emilia did not recognize him. Indeed, -she knew no one. Even when she was able to move about her mind was a -blank. She allowed him to take her hand in his, and to retain it, but -to the tender pressure of his fingers she made no response. They took -woodland rambles together, hand in hand, and she gathered wild flowers -which she arranged afterward in the cottage. She listened to all he -said, nodding her head gently from time to time in a manner which made -his heart beat with hope that she understood what he was speaking of. -Of course the subject-matter, when originated by Gerald, was personal. -He dilated upon his love for her, and explained again and again how it -was that he had not come to her the day after the fire; and when he -finished she gazed at him with a pitiful smile on her lips and a -vacant look in her eyes, which proved too well that his words had -fallen upon ears insensible to their meaning. Upon abstract matters -she was more intelligent. She loved the animals about the cottage, and -the dumb creatures loved her and obeyed her least motion; she loved -the flowers that were gathered, but Gerald observed with pain that she -tended with care only those she gathered herself. When he gave her any -she accepted them gently, but presently they dropped from her hand, -and she made no effort to pick them up. "I have wrecked her reason," -he groaned. "Monster that I am, I have ruined my dear girl's life!" As -for Leonard, he derived some satisfaction from what was transpiring. -"She is drifting into a confirmed idiot," he thought. "It is not so -good as getting rid of her altogether, but I am grateful for small -mercies." - -It had been arranged between Gerald and Leonard that a certain secrecy -should be observed in their proceedings. Leonard did not exactly know -how this would be to his advantage, but he had a dim idea that it -might be so turned, and that at all events it would be better than -making a full disclosure of all that had transpired. When Leonard -mooted the plan Gerald asked what would be the good of it, and Leonard -answered: - -"My poor boy! What a simpleton you are, and how little you know the -world. It is the publicity of the thing that has driven Emilia to the -injudicious course she has pursued, for I do not disguise from you -that it would have been far better for her had she remained to face -matters boldly." - -"It was impossible she should do so," said Gerald. "My dear girl's -nature is far too sensitive and delicate to cope with such snakes in -the grass as Mrs. Seaton." - -"Granted; but although there would have been suffering, I still -maintain it would have been the better course. I repeat that it is the -publicity of the unfortunate affair that has directed her movements. -Would she have run away, had she not been found in your house?" - -"No, she would have had no motive for doing so." - -"Exactly; and the motive that urged her on was the publicity of the -thing. You would only be adding to her unhappiness by making affairs -still more public. Scandal is a feminine bird with a thousand pairs of -wings, my boy, and she would fly here, and render Emilia's life -intolerable. There is nothing that people enjoy so much. Every man's -door flies open when she knocks, and if it should chance to remain -shut the jade creeps in through the crevices. Emilia would not thank -you if she discovered that it was through you she was being pursued by -the wretched innuendoes circulated by Mrs. Seaton. Let sleeping dogs -lie. And bear in mind that Emilia has made things a hundred times -worse by running away from her enemies." - -"How so?" - -"She has left them in possession of the field, and therefore in the -position of victors. I am not speaking from my heart, but with the -usual worldly tongue, which I most heartily despise, when I say that -Emilia's flight is in itself an admission of guilt. It is really so, -Gerald. She has piled difficulty upon difficulty, and you must not -assist her in the work. Her sensitive nature, yes, I grant you all -that, but it is for the man to be strong and wise, and to let his -actions be guided by a cool brain." - -"You are a true counsellor, Leonard. But for you Heaven knows to what -a pass we should be driven. Still it sounds cruel." - -"We must be cruel only to be kind, dear boy. The people in these parts -are like people in our own town, like people all over the world. There -isn't a pin to choose between them. So for your Emilia's sake we will -be mum." - -So it was settled. Had Leonard had his wish, their names would have -been concealed and they would have adopted others; but to this Gerald -would not consent. Leonard was secretly exultant, although, as has -been said, he did not exactly know how it would be of advantage to -him. But he did know that secrecy would make matters worse for Emilia -instead of better, and that when her acquaintances became aware of the -plan adopted--as become aware they should if the necessity arose--it -would place another weapon in their hands against her. - -Thus six weeks passed, and Emilia remained in the same condition. -Leonard wondered for how much longer they were going to stop. The -quietude of the place palled upon him; there were no amusements, no -society, and Gerald being with him, he was compelled to be on his best -behavior. He longed for the busy world and its pleasures and -excitements. He ventured to speak to Gerald about their stay. - -"I shall not leave," said Gerald, "until Emilia is better, or until we -are married." - -This staggered Leonard. "Surely," he said, "you have no notion of -marrying her while she remains as she is?" - -"If it were possible," said Gerald, very seriously, "I should not -hesitate. Leonard, my dear brother, you are my superior in every way, -but at least in this affair I know what is right. Leave me here to -myself, then. Why should I condemn you to a life which must be -intolerably dull to you? You have already assisted me in a manner -which no other man in the world could or would have done, and to my -last hour I shall be grateful to you." - -"I shall not leave your side," said Leonard, pressing his hand, "until -you drive me from you." - -"That will be never," said Gerald, affectionately. "Leonard, with your -worldly wisdom, can you suggest any plan by which Emilia's mind could -be restored to her?" - -"None, my dear boy." - -"The doctor who attends her," said Gerald, in a musing tone, "is a -worthy gentleman, but there may be cleverer than he to be found in -cities." - -"So far as I can see," said Leonard, much disturbed by this -observation, "he has done all that is possible in such a case." - -"There will be no harm in my having a conversation with him. I shall -go at once." - -"I am with you, Gerald, if you want me." - -"I always want you, my dear brother. Let us go." - -They found the doctor, an elderly gentleman, at home, and he received -them politely, but not exactly with cordiality. They fell immediately -into conversation about Emilia, but both Leonard and Gerald observed -that the doctor expressed himself with marked reserve. At length he -seemed to arrive at a certain resolution, and, with a significant look -at Leonard, he said: - -"Would you mind leaving your brother and me in private a while?" - -"Not at all," replied Leonard, somewhat startled. "If there is any -particular reason for it." - -"I have a particular reason," said the doctor, "or I should not -request it." - -"What do you say, Gerald?" asked Leonard. - -"The doctor wishes it," said Gerald. - -Leonard rose, and went to the door. Gerald ran after him into the -passage and whispered, "I will tell you everything that passes, -Leonard. You must not be hurt." - -"Nothing can hurt me that is for your good," said Leonard. "I will -walk up and down the street, and wait till you come out." He was -furious with the doctor. "Officious fool!" he muttered when he was -outside. "What mischief will he be up to?" - -"Now," said the doctor, when Gerald rejoined him, "I can speak more -freely. I have nothing whatever to say against your brother----" - -"Nothing can be said against him," interrupted Gerald, warmly. - -"It is pleasant to see the affection that exists between you," -remarked the doctor; "but he is not the young lady's lover." - -"No," said Gerald, "I am." - -"It is for that reason," said the doctor, with a slight frown, "that I -desire to confer with you alone. Young gentleman, it is my intention -to speak very plainly to you. You are the young lady's lover, you -declare. Her honorable lover, may I ask?" - -"Her honorable lover," replied Gerald, "as I am a gentleman." - -"Declared and accepted?" - -"Declared and accepted." - -"Have you any objection to my saying what is in my mind?" - -"Not the slightest." - -"You love her honorably. Therefore you would do much to restore her to -health?" - -"I would give all I possess in the world. I would sacrifice my life -for her dear sake." - -"You are rich?" - -"I am very well-to-do." - -"Have you a thousand a-year?" - -"Three, at least, and funds in hand besides." - -"What is the young lady's income?" - -"She has none." - -"She is poor, then?" - -"Yes." - -"And friendless?" - -"With the exception of ourselves and two good maiden ladies who have -known her only for a day, she has no friends." - -"Nor family--parents, I mean, brothers and sisters?" - -"She has none." - -"Your frank answers make my task easier, but at the same time do not -remove my doubts. I am taking the liberty of an old man, for I am old -enough to be your grandfather. The young lady interests me greatly, -and all that I know of her I have learned from the good people who, -perfect strangers to her, have taken her to their bosoms with as much -sincerity and almost as much affection as if she were a child of their -own." - -"God bless them for it!" - -"They have told me all they know. It is very little. Shortly after -being taken into their hospitable house, you and your brother present -yourselves. You are not related to her in any way--interrupt me if I -am wrong--and you at once place yourself on terms of loving intimacy -with her. You walk with her, hand in hand, you conduct yourself as a -lover toward her. Your behavior places her in an equivocal position--I -have no hesitation in saying so much--and I, an old-fashioned -gentleman, with old-fashioned notions of honor, regard your -proceedings with disfavor. The restoration of her health is placed in -my hands, and I, a physician of some experience, find in the patient -herself obstacles which it is out of my power to surmount. You two -gentlemen do not assist me in the least; you give no information -concerning her which may assist me in the duty devolving upon me as a -professional man. For there is here some mental disturbance, the -result of a severe shock, I judge to her heart and feelings, of which -I am in complete ignorance, and which renders me practically -powerless. Nevertheless, the interest she has created in me causes me -to make a study of the case, and I have a vague notion that I could -find a road to a cure if I were in possession of the particulars of -her history. Control your excitement." - -But Gerald was not to be restrained. He started to his feet, and -bending toward the doctor, said, in his most earnest tone: - -"Doctor, there is no fee you can name which I should deem too high if -you can restore the mind of my dear girl." - -"My fee," said the doctor, dryly, "is half-a-crown a visit, medicine -included, and the poor young lady is in no position to pay even so -small a bill." - -"I am responsible for everything." - -"From you, as matters stand, I should decline to accept a penny. You -are acquainted with the story of the young girl's life?" - -"I am." - -"I have no right to force your confidence. If you choose to confide in -me, I may be able to do as I have said." - -"I will tell you everything unreservedly," said Gerald, "on the -understanding that it does not pass your lips to another person." - -"Let it be so," said the doctor, after a little pause, "for the young -lady's sake." - -"It is for her sake," said Gerald, "that I exact the pledge of -secrecy." - -Then he began the story, and related it faithfully, down to the -smallest detail. It occupied him some time, but the doctor did not -once interrupt him, but kept his eyes fixed upon Gerald's face, his -own growing brighter and brighter as the young man proceeded. The -story finished, there was silence for a minute or two, during which -the doctor sat with his head resting in his hand. - -"Is there hope, doctor?" cried Gerald, the first to speak. "Tell me, -is there hope?" - -"There is," replied the doctor, removing his hand. "The road is open -to you if you will take it." - -"Does it, then, depend upon me?" exclaimed Gerald. - -"Upon you, and upon no other man. It is my firm belief that from the -moment you take her in your arms and whisper the word, 'Wife,' the -cure will be commenced. The windows of her mind, of her heart, will be -opened for the light, and it will shine upon her soul, which will leap -up exultant in the knowledge that she stands purified in her own eyes -and in the eyes of the world. The stain that now lies upon her, the -heartless, merciless, unjust degradation which has been forced upon -her, have weighed her down, have clouded her mind. And let me tell you -that God has been merciful in this visitation. Had she recovered her -reason, and with her reason, the consciousness of her shame, she might -have gone mad from the horror of it. She is in your hands now, not in -mine." - -He spoke solemnly, but no less solemnly than Gerald when he said, "As -I deal by her, may I be dealt by! how can I atone quickly for the -unconscious suffering I have inflicted upon her? Is a marriage in -church possible?" - -"In her present state I fear not," said the doctor, "and I consider it -vital that there should be no delay, for she is sinking into -melancholia, from which she would never emerge. The registry office is -open to you, and a marriage there is as binding as a marriage at the -altar." - -Gerald's joy at the suggestion was unutterable. All he could do was to -seize the good doctor's hands and press them convulsively, and mutter -incoherent words of gratitude. The doctor understood him, however, and -smiled brightly upon him. - -"One word more of advice," he said. "On the day you and my patient are -married, take her away immediately. Do not tarry here an hour. Have -all your preparations made, and start at once for France, or Italy, or -Switzerland. Let her move among new scenes--they will help her to -forget her misery, and will bring back memories of a happiness she -believes is lost to her forever. There, there. Go now, and see about -it. A gentleman offers you his hand." - -They shook hands cordially, and Gerald hastened away. - -Leonard banished the gloomy look from his face when Gerald came from -the house, but when he heard what Gerald had to tell him he was seized -with consternation. All his fine plans were about to be upset, and he -was powerless. He recognized instantly that nothing he could say would -stop the marriage, and that there was no alternative but to keep -Gerald bound to him, and to do whatever was required. But fair as was -his face, smooth as were his words, his heart was as the heart of a -demon, and he was already at work, scheming for the future, scheming -for the destruction of honest love and happiness. - -Gerald found no difficulties in the way. The doctor's assistance -rendered everything easy. In fifteen days from that on which he had -made a confident of the good doctor Gerald and Emilia were on their -way to the registry office. - -"You understand, Emilia," he said. "We are to be married this -morning." - -"Yes, Gerald," she said softly, "I understand." - -It was Gerald's wish that no one should accompany them to the office. -The witnesses, of whom there were three--Leonard, the doctor, and the -old wagoner--were to wait for the couple, and to make no demonstration -whatever. The ceremony was to be perfectly quiet, and the registrar -with a twenty-pound fee, managed this so perfectly that not a soul in -the place with the exception of those present at the marriage, was -aware that it was being performed. - -When Emilia said to Gerald, "Yes, Gerald I understand," he looked with -heartfelt hope and gladness into her face. There was already a new -note in her voice; her soul was struggling to the light. They passed a -poor woman with a baby in her arms and some withered violets in her -hand. Emilia turned and gazed at the poor creature and the infant. -Gerald took some gold pieces from his pocket and pressed them into -Emilia's hand. She gave him a sweet look. The light was coming. - -"Will you sell me two bunches of your violets?" said Emilia. - -"Take them, my lady; two bunches for a penny." - -The woman held out her hand, but Emilia, before she paid for the -flowers stooped and kissed the little child. Then she dropped the gold -pieces into the woman's palm. - -"Oh, my God!" cried the woman, with a bewildered look, her fingers -closing tightly on the gold. - -As they walked along Emilia gave Gerald one of the bunches of the -withered violets, which he put into his buttonhole, and she pinned the -other bunch to the bosom of her dress. Then she lowered her head and -touched Gerald's hand with her lips. - -"My darling, my darling," murmured Gerald, with moist eyes, "may I -live to brighten all your future life!" - -The ceremony was performed. Gerald placed the ring on Emilia's finger. -She caught her breath, and pressed her bosom with her right hand, -holding out her left. - -"Be brave!" whispered Gerald. "My dear wife!" - -The light had come: It shone in her eyes, in her face, it irradiated -her whole form. For the second time she lowered her head, and kissed -the hand of her faithful lover. - -In a sequestered spot, at some distance from the registry office, two -carriages were waiting, one for Emilia and her husband, one for -Leonard. There had been a brief parting between Emilia and the wagoner -and his good wife, who had kissed her and bade her farewell. Then came -Gerald's parting from those friends and from the doctor. He left with -that worthy man two checks, the first being for the exact amount of -the doctor's account, calculated at half-a-crown a visit--he would -accept no more--the second for a substantial amount, to be given to -the wagoner when the newly-married couple had departed. - -"You will join us at Interlaken to-day fortnight," said Gerald aside -to Leonard. - -"Depend upon me," said Leonard; and so for that brief space they -parted from each other. - -"My wife!" said Gerald, as they rode away in the bridal carriage, "my -darling wife!" - -She lay in his arms, quiet and happy. Heaven's light was never sweeter -than that which shone within her wakened soul. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -LEONARD MEETS WITH A FELLOW-SCOUNDREL. - - -The few months that passed were the happiest period in Emilia's life. -Gerald's love, his care and devotion, his wonderful thoughtfulness, -were in their effect something like divine revelations to the -tender-hearted and confiding young girl, who was enjoying a very -heaven upon earth. Leonard joined them in Interlaken, as had been -arranged, and accompanied them through the loveliest parts of -Switzerland and Italy. Gerald's plan was not to rush from place to -place, but to proceed leisurely from one scene of loveliness to -another, and to linger and dawdle wherever the fancy seized them. It -suited Leonard, who could make little detours to neighboring cities -which offered greater attractions to him, and he never went away from -them without making it understood that it was for their sake, and not -for his own, that he left them. - -"I know what young people like yourselves enjoy most," he said, "their -own society. I am like the fifth wheel in a coach." - -Gerald did not dispute with him on this point. Much as he loved -Leonard he loved Emilia more, and his greatest happiness was derived -from that delicious intercourse of soul and soul which can only be -made manifest when lovers are alone together. - -"Leonard is the dearest fellow in the world," he said to Emilia, "and -I don't know what we should do without him. You do not know what we -owe him. If it had not been for him I doubt if you would be with me at -the present moment." - -Emilia was only too willing to subscribe to this affectionate estimate -of Leonard's character; she grew, like Gerald, to have never one -moment's doubt of the sincerity of his affection. From this it will be -seen how thoroughly the villain had succeeded in deceiving them. - -Giving himself up entirely to the blissful enjoyment of the present, -Gerald, at the instigation of Leonard, had delivered over to him the -management of his monetary matters. Leonard thus became a kind of -steward to Gerald's estate, and so absolutely did he succeed in -getting matters into his hands that he now drew all the checks for the -current expenses of the tour, supplying Gerald with loose cash as the -young man required it. Ostensibly, therefore, Leonard, was the master -and Gerald the dependent. - -In this manner five months of happiness passed, and then it was that -Emilia, with burning blushes and a palpitating heart, whispered to -Gerald the solemn, joyful news that a new life was born within her. - -"If anything was needed to complete my happiness," said Gerald, -pressing his wife fondly to his heart, "it was this." - -Leonard, ever on the watch, knew that some fresh spring of happiness -had been found, and he wormed the news out of Gerald. It drove him -almost mad. If a child was born to them he might bid farewell forever -to every chance of stepping into possession of the fortune which -Gerald possessed, and which ought by right to have been his. "I must -find a way," he thought, with burning hatred in his heart, "I must -find a way, and soon, or it will be too late." - -"My dear boy," he said to Gerald, "I am overjoyed at the tidings. -Heaven bless you, and Emilia, and the little one--my nephew or my -niece, Gerald; which!--who is going to cheer our hearts!" - -It was evening when this confidence passed between Gerald and Leonard. -They had been travelling for a few days in the Valais, and were making -for the village of Vissoye, where they intended to remain a little -while if they could find accommodation, and make it the starting-point -of idle excursions in the romantic neighborhood. They had mules and -guides; Emilia was riding in front, alone for a few minutes, while the -step-brothers, walking in the rear, were conversing. Gerald was too -enamoured of Emilia to leave her long alone, and presently he was -walking by her side, with his hand in hers. The guides took no notice, -being well accustomed to these loving exchanges on the part of foreign -tourists. - -"Do you hear Leonard singing?" asked Gerald. "I wish he could meet -some one like you--but that, I think, is impossible, Emilia--to make -him happy as you have made me. He deserves everything that is good." - -While he uttered these words, Leonard, who was carolling a mountain -song to show how light of heart he was, gazed at the precipice over -which they were passing, and thought, even in the midst of his -singing, "If she would only topple over! Things would be so much -easier then. Such accidents have occurred. Now, if the guides were -absent, and Gerald had gone on a little ahead, just round that turn -where he could not see what was going on, I daresay it could be -managed. It would not take a moment. A bold sweep, a scream, and all -would be over." He stopped singing, to give full play to his thoughts, -and he mentally acted the tragic scene, from its initiatory stage to -the point where he stood with his arms round the distracted Gerald, -endeavoring to console him for the horrible loss. It did not appear so -difficult; he was a clever fellow, and he ought to be able to manage -it. But it would have to be done very, very carefully; no shadow of -suspicion must rest upon him. Corrupt as was Leonard's nature, he -would go only to a certain length; he stopped short where there was -fear of danger to himself. - -They found rough but clean accommodation in the village, and after the -evening meal Leonard left the lovers alone, and went out to smoke and -think. So far as a full purse and creature comforts went he was in -clover. He had plenty of money, and was enjoying the best of -everything. The cigar he was smoking was of the finest brand that -could be obtained; when they stopped at good hotels every luxury that -could be obtained was his; the largest rooms with the grandest views, -the most famous vintages, the most delicate dishes--nothing was -spared. But how long would it last? When the child was born a new -interest would be created which was certain to be injurious to him. -Curse them! He was but a pauper, after all, and what he enjoyed was at -the will of another, to be continued or taken away at a moment's -notice. And he did not trust Emilia. He trusted no woman. They were a -false, selfish lot, thinking only of themselves, with no sense of -justice. It was intolerable that he should be at the mercy of one of -the falsest and most selfish of the crowd. - -He was out of the village now, and stood smoking and musing, facing a -tremendous range. The evil thoughts by which he was animated were -expressed in his face; being alone, as he thought, there was no reason -for concealment, and although he generally kept perfect control over -his features, there were rare occasions upon which he indulged in the -luxury of frankness. This was such an occasion. - -He was mistaken in believing himself to be alone. A man, also smoking -a good cigar, was sitting on a jutting rock, observing him. Leonard -threw away the end of his cigar, and took another from his case. Then -he took another from his case. Then he took out his matchbox, and -found that it was empty. "The devil take it!" he muttered. "The whole -world is against me!" Low as was the tone in which the words were -spoken, the stranger heard them. - -"Allow me to offer you a light." - -Leonard started, and his countenance became instantly composed. The -stranger laughed aloud. Irritated by the laugh, in which there was a -malicious, if not a sinister note, Leonard turned on his heel. - -"Why so fast?" said the stranger, stepping to Leonard's side. "A match -is a very simple offering for a friend to make." - -"A friend!" exclaimed Leonard, and looked the stranger full in the -face. - -"Allow me to introduce myself anew," said the stranger. "Your memory -is not good. Dr. Peterssen, at your service." - -"What, Peterssen!" cried Leonard. - -"The same." - -"I should never have recognized you," said Leonard, taking the lighted -match and applying it to his cigar. - -"Small wonder. When we last met I was in low water, and my face was -bearded. You remember me now?" - -"Yes, I remember you now." - -"Voices do not change. Let me see. It is eighteen months ago since we -saw each other. Ballarat I think the place was. - -"Yes, it was on Ballarat." - -"A marvellous gold field, though we got none of the precious metal, -partly from indolence, partly from ill luck." - -Dr. Peterssen and Leonard had met in Australia, and had struck up an -acquaintance there. _Arcades ambo_. It would not have been to their -credit if some of their mutual experiences were known. Leonard was -painfully conscious of the fact, and could not just at this moment -make up his mind whether the meeting was one to be hailed with -satisfaction, or the reverse. He knew Dr. Peterssen to be ripe for any -villainy, and at this juncture it might be handy to have such a friend -near him; but how far would it be safe to trust the man? - -"What brings you here, Peterssen?" - -"Business, Royce, business. I have a mission." - -"You remind me," said Leonard, with an awkward smile. "When I was at -the antipodes I thought the name of Royce an easy one to go by." - -"But it was not your own." - -"It was not my own." - -"What I always admired in you," said Dr. Peterssen, "was your candor. -The soul of truth, upon my honor! I used to ask of myself, 'Can Royce -lie?' Excuse my sticking to the name till you supply me with another. -Yes, I used to ask of myself, 'Can Royce lie?' There was but one -invariable answer, 'No, he cannot.'" - -The laugh with which he accompanied his words was so distinctly -opposed to their sense that Leonard's face flushed, and Dr. Peterssen -laughed still louder when he observed this sign of emotion. Of all the -men whom Leonard had met in the course of his varied experiences Dr. -Peterssen was the only one whom he was conscious he could not deceive. -Peterssen spoke good English, with just a touch of foreign accent. He -was by descent a Dane, and was a past-master in every species of craft -and villainy. It would not have been easy to find his match in a -scheme of evil cunning. Leonard was smooth-spoken, suave, and -persuasive; Dr. Peterssen was brutally outspoken, calling a spade a -spade, and, if it served his purpose, something worse--never something -better. - -"Don't be a fool, Peterssen," said Leonard. "You are lying yourself, -and you know it." - -"True, true, Royce--but really this is awkward, addressing a friend by -a name he has no right to bear. What name do you pass by now?" - -"My own," replied Leonard, convinced that Dr. Peterssen would bring -him to the proof through other persons; "Paget." - -"Christian name?" - -"Leonard." - -"Mr. Leonard Paget. Rather nice-sounding. When did you arrive here?" - -"This evening." - -"When do you leave?" - -"I can't say." - -"You can, Leonard, you can." - -"I tell you I cannot." - -"Let us test it. I have something of the breed of your English mastiff -in me. Do you go away to-morrow?" - -"I think not." - -"On the following day?" - -"It is uncertain." - -"Your movements, then, do not depend entirely upon yourself? You are -not alone?" - -"Am I in the witness-box," demanded Leonard, beginning to lose his -temper. - -"You are. And when I have done with you, you shall place _me_ in the -witness-box, and I will be frank with you. It is best for men like -ourselves to be friends, Leonard. Who knows? We may be able to serve -each other. Allow me to remind you that you are in my debt. Our last -transaction in Ballarat was when we laid a snare to sell a man of -substance a golden claim. The price was five thousand pounds. The -stuff at the bottom of the shaft was salted--with gold purchased with -my money. At that time you had none--that is, you said you had none; -so I expended my last fifty pounds in the purchase of twelve ounces, -which we distributed cunningly in the wash-dirt below. The plant -almost came off, but it was discovered one moment too soon. We had -only to fly; and then we lost sight of each other. You did not wait to -pay the half of the fifty pounds--a shabby trick." - -From his pocket-book Leonard extracted twenty-five pounds in bank -notes, which he handed to Dr. Peterssen. - -"I am out of your debt." - -"Not at all. There is the interest, which I shall not exact to-night, -but in the future, from time to time. You pay so readily that you are -worth sticking to; you think so lightly of twenty-five pounds that you -must be rolling in money. Back to my questions. You are not alone?" - -"I am not." - -"Shall we say, a lady? Ah, fortunate man! Susceptible heart! Forever -putting itself into chains. There was a lady on the other side. And -there is a lady on this. I see it in your face.", - -"She is none of mine; she is one of our party." - -"How many in all?" - -"I am sick of your questions. Here is the plain truth. I am travelling -with my brother and his wife. They are on their honeymoon. There, you -have the whole thing in a nutshell." - -"Apparently. But how about the kernel? I have an odd idea there is a -maggot inside. How arrived at? Easily. It is you yourself who have -engendered the suspicion. You come to this spot to think and smoke, -leaving your brother and his bride to their honeymooning. That is -considerate, and as a tender-souled man I commend you for it. You -believe yourself to be alone, but I am here, communing with Nature. -Looking up, I see you, and on your face I see that which you would not -like your friends to see. There is a convulsive twitch in your -features. What is the cause? Do you love your brother's wife?" - -"No." - -"The tone in which you speak that little word convinces me that you -hate her. Do you remember we used to congratulate each other in -Australia that we could read men's faces and voices? Why do you hate -her? There must be a reason." - -"Peterssen, you are going a little too far." - -"Between friends? No, Leonard, I have not yet gone far enough. Give -ear, Leonard, to something analytical--not very deep, only in a -superficial way. You and I are alike in our aims but not in our -methods. We are both adventurers--why disguise it? The supreme -motive-power in our natures is self-interest. To serve that we would -go any lengths--except, perhaps, that I would go a little farther than -you. We have no honest regard for each other, it is only our -self-interest that draws us together. Why, Leonard, if I could profit -largely by it I would have no more compunction in pushing you over -that precipice than I have in flinging away this cigar. Give me -another, will you? I warrant yours are better than mine. Thank you. -And the compunction on your side, should it be to your advantage to -serve me the same, would be as small as my own. Commend me for being -an honest man, for I take it the quality of sincerity is vital to -honesty--and my sincerity cannot be disputed. What reason have you for -hating your brother's wife?" - -"Could not the agitation you observed in my face spring from some -other cause than love or hate?" - -"Yes, one--money; and you have proved to me that money is not the -cause by paying me the twenty-five pounds so readily. For really it is -a debt that I could not have enforced in a court of law." - -"Well, let the matter bide, Peterssen. Your searching questions have -exhausted me." - -"We will suspend it, then. There is time before us. Meanwhile I attach -myself, and with myself another, to your party." - -"Are you mad?" cried Leonard. "Why that would ruin all!" - -Dr. Peterssen's previous laughter was tame in comparison to the sounds -of merriment he emitted now. He made the echoes ring again. - -"So there _is_ work to be done," he said when his merriment ceased. -"Good. Two things to be kept always in view--personal safety and the -reward to be earned for the work. Still I attach myself to your party, -but now secretly. I follow you wherever you go, but I do not mix with -you. Our parties may meet, but it shall be in a casual, accidental -way, and there shall be no close intimacy. I do not affect disguise, -Leonard. I follow you for the purpose of making money out of you. I -have very little; I want some. I put a question to you, to which I -must have an answer. Without encroaching further on your confidence, I -wish you to inform me what the end you are scheming for is worth, -supposing I accomplish it in safety. I do not ask what that end is, -but how much it would be worth to me? You are silent. Shall we say a -thousand pounds?" - -"Yes," replied Leonard, slowly, "say a thousand pounds." - -"Much obliged to you. The subject is now dismissed. Have you any -questions to ask me? I put myself in the witness-box." - -"When did you come here?" asked Leonard. - -"Yesterday." - -"When do you go away?" - -"To-morrow if I like; the next day if I like; next week, or month, if -I like. It depends absolutely on myself." - -"Are you alone?" - -"I remember, you said you were here on business." - -"What business?" - -"Professional. I am a doctor: I have a patient in my care." - -"Male or female?" - -"Male." - -"The disease?" - -"Madness." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -A FOUL DEED. - - -Leonard gazed fixedly at Dr. Peterssen, doubting for the moment -whether the man was in earnest. There was no doubt of it, however. Dr. -Peterssen was speaking the truth. - -"I will enlighten you," said Dr. Peterssen, "I am not quite a -pretender. I am a doctor with a diploma, and I have practised in all -parts of the world. My specialty is diseases of the mind. I do not say -I am fond of the study, but when needs must, the devil drives. -Returning home--that is, to England, which I look upon as home--chance -throws me in the way of a patient with a rich father. The father -cannot keep his son at home, and he shrinks from sending him to a -regular madhouse. Can he find a capable man who, for a consideration, -will take charge of the young man and devote himself to him? I present -myself; I am ready to do anything for a consideration. Between -ourselves, my diploma is not exactly what it should be, and I could -not practise regularly in England; there would be difficulties in my -way, there are so many censorious people about. I have no difficulty -in convincing the father of my patient that I am what I represent -myself to be, and a bargain is struck. The young man, whose name is -George Street, is given into my charge, and away we go. One reason -that the father wishes to obtain without delay a guardian for his son -is that he himself is compelled to leave England for a year or two for -his health; another reason is that about twice a year he has a -dangerous fit upon him. It lasts for two or three days, and he has to -be carefully watched. While the father is absent I have to write to -him on the first of every month, acquainting him with the condition of -his son. I am to do what I like with the young man, to the extent of -indulging in foreign travel for the purpose of diverting his mind. My -expenses are paid, but I have to render a strict account, and though I -garble them a little I cannot make much out of it. Then I am, like -yourself, naturally extravagant, and I am also at heart, I am afraid, -a bit of a gambler. I have not been very fortunate hitherto, but my -turn will come. In addition to the trifle I make out of cooked -accounts--shockingly mild cooking, Leonard, my patient's father being -the soul of meanness--I receive three hundred a year. Of course, all -my personal expenses are paid, but what can a man do with three -hundred a year? It is a miserable pittance. My patient is now asleep; -he is perfectly harmless, and he sleeps fifteen hours out of the -twenty-four. I have no difficulty with him. He is as tractable as a -lamb. 'Get up.' He gets up. 'Come out.' He comes out. 'Read for an -hour.' He reads for an hour, or pretends to. 'Sit still till I -return.' He sits still till I return. Thus all is plain sailing, and I -have nothing to complain of except the salary. However, there is a -better prospect before me, perhaps." - -Leonard did not respond to the sharp look which Dr. Peterssen gave -him. He was revolving things in his mind, groping for a crooked path -by which he could reach his goal. - -"Well, friend of my heart?" said Dr. Peterssen. - -"There is nothing more to be said at present," said Leonard. "It is -time for me to join my friends." - -"I will go with you." - -"We agreed that you were not to intrude upon us." - -"I do not intend to. I merely wish to see where you put up. Don't try -to give me the slip, Leonard." - -"Why should I? You may be of use to me." - -They walked together to the little inn in which they had rooms, and -there Dr. Peterssen wished Leonard good night. - -He was not as good as his word. The next day he contrived that the -parties should meet, but he was clever enough to make it appear as if -it were an accidental meeting, and Leonard, being to some extent in -his power, did not quarrel with him. His patient, George Street, was a -quiet young gentleman, whom no person, without foreknowledge, would -have supposed to be mad. Upon certain subjects he spoke rationally, -but as a rule he was silent and reserved, with the air of one who had -some deeply-rooted cause for melancholy. He seemed to fear Dr. -Peterssen, and a dog could not have been more obedient to the least -motion of its master. He was of about the same age as Gerald, and -their statures differed very slightly. In accordance with the advice -of Dr. Peterssen, Leonard informed Gerald and Emilia that the young -man was not exactly in his right mind, and that they were to be under -no apprehension concerning him, as he was as tractable and docile as a -child. Emilia conceived a great pity for him, and occasionally walked -with him, accompanied by Gerald; for Dr. Peterssen evinced no -immediate intention of leaving their society. - -"The presence of a lady so gentle as yourself," he said to Emilia, "is -good for the poor fellow; he is benefiting by your kindness already." - -"He will get well, I hope," said Emilia, solicitously. "There is no -doubt of it," said Dr. Peterssen. "In less than twelve months his cure -will be perfect." - -Some three weeks passed, and they were now in the Engadine, located in -a comfortable inn in the valley of Roseg. For some reason of his own -which he disclosed to not one of the party, not even to Leonard, Dr. -Peterssen gave out that he expected from day to day to be called home -by his patient's father, and that he might be compelled to leave them -suddenly. His mind was busy with a diabolical scheme, which, however, -he might not have succeeded in carrying out had not circumstances -favored him. During the time they had been together he had extracted -cleverly from one or the other information relating to the positions -the step-brothers held toward each other, by which he learnt that the -fortune enjoyed by Gerald would revert to Leonard if Gerald were out -of the way. Leonard was annoyed by his pertinacious desire for details -and particulars, but Dr. Peterssen, with his hand on the plough, never -turned back. The fatality which assisted him to the cruel end he had -in view was the indisposition of Emilia, who, in the Roseg Valley, -exhibited signs of fatigue and depression. The local doctor prescribed -rest, and Gerald gave up the mountain excursions which afforded him so -much pleasure. - -"When you are quite strong," he said to her, "we will return to -England." And whispered, "Our child shall be born there." - -Emilia, whose head was reclining on his shoulder, kissed him softly, -and hid her face in his breast. - -"Before we leave these beautiful scenes, my darling," he said, "I -shall pluck some edelweiss for you with my own hands. That will insure -you good luck all your life." - -A woman in one of the villages had told Emilia that purchased -edelweiss lost its charm, and that its potency could only be preserved -if plucked and presented by the man one loved. Emilia had told this to -Gerald, and he had set his heart upon finding the white flower for -Emilia. Hitherto he had been unsuccessful. It was no secret between -Gerald and Emilia; the whole of the party were acquainted with the -wish of the loving couple; and it was this simple and innocent desire -which was to bring a woful tragedy into the lives of Gerald and -Emilia. - -It was afternoon, and Emilia was sitting at the window, gazing upon -the wondrous vista of snow mountains which lined the horizon. Gerald -came to her with excitement in his face. - -"Mr. Street and the doctor are below," he said. "They are going in -search of the edelweiss, and they know where it is to be found." - -"You wish to go with them," said Emilia, with a smile. "Go, love." - -"But you will be alone." - -"I shall be very happy and contented, Gerald. Go and pluck me the -magic flower with your own dear hands." - -How often in after life did these fatal words recur to her. "Go and -pluck me the magic flower with your own dear hands!" Ah, if the effect -of words were known before they were uttered, how many breaking hearts -would at this moment be filled with happiness! - -"I may not have another opportunity," said Gerald. "I shall be home -before sunset. Good-by, dear love. God bless you!" - -He was gone, and Emilia waved her handkerchief to him from the window. -He looked back and smiled, and waved his hand gayly, and soon was lost -to sight. "My darling!" she murmured, and leaned back in her chair, -and thought with ineffable bliss of the time soon to come when she -would hold out her babe to him for a father's kiss. One arm rested -upon a table which Gerald had drawn close to her side. Upon the table -was an open cedar-wood desk of Indian workmanship, inlaid with silver, -and Emilia's fingers touched a dagger which Gerald was in the habit of -using as a paper-knife, its handle resembling a twisted snake, the -mouth open, and in its head a ruby to represent an eye. For a few -moments she toyed with it idly, thinking of words Gerald had spoken to -her with reference to the desk. "There is a secret drawer in this -desk, Emilia, and in the desk something which concerns you nearly." He -had said it smilingly, and she had merely nodded, but now, between -sleeping and waking, she dwelt upon the words, and indolently resolved -to ask Gerald when he came home what it was the secret drawer -contained which concerned her nearly. With these thoughts in her mind -she fell asleep. - -George Street turned to Dr. Peterssen when they were at some distance -from the village. Dr. Peterssen nodded, and the four men--for Leonard -was with them--paused. - -"This foolish fellow," said Dr. Peterssen to Gerald, laying his hand -kindly on his patient's shoulder, "has a great wish to lead you -himself to where the edelweiss is to be found--you and he alone, and I -am almost inclined to humor him." - -"Why not?" asked Gerald, who had never yet detected any sign of -insanity in his young companion. - -Dr. Peterssen took Gerald aside. "He knows the road to take, but he is -in my care. Between you and me he is as sensible as we are, but still -I feel somewhat anxious. I am responsible for him to his father you -know." - -"We shall be able to take care of ourselves," said Gerald. - -"Then go. We will await your return at the inn." Away went the young -men, and Dr. Peterssen and Leonard were left together. - -"What does it all mean?" asked Leonard. - -"Simply that you can compass your wishes if you desire it." - -"I do desire it." - -"Come with me, then." - -They turned in another direction, but not toward the valley. They -continued to ascend the rocky ranges. - -"We shall get there half an hour before them," said Dr. Peterssen. "I -have carefully studied the route, and have traversed it twice--in your -interests." - -"Explain yourself." - -"I will, as we walk along. There is nobody in sight, is there?" - -"Not a living being." - -"We must be sure of that, as we proceed. Answer me, Mr. Leonard Paget. -If I remove your step brother from your path--he is, after all, no -relation to speak of--what will you give me?" - -"You said something about a thousand pounds," said Leonard, his face -growing white. - -"Not enough. Not half enough." - -"There is his wife also in the way, remember." - -"Rubbish! She may die; the shock will probably kill her." - -"But if it should not?" - -"If--if--if--!" exclaimed Dr. Peterssen, impatiently. "There is no if -in the case when two clever scoundrels like ourselves are in the game. -Has he made a will?" - -"I am sure he has not. - -"Make a clean breast of everything if you want to succeed. I know only -half the story. I must know the rest, and I will stake my future that -I show you a dozen ways to conquer her, even if she lives. Don't lag. -It is hard work mounting these ranges, but the reward is worth it. Did -you observe that they took the tracks to the left. We are taking those -to the right; and we are both making for the same point. Now, Leonard, -out with every detail of this romantic story, which is as yet only -half finished. It is your last chance, old fellow." - -Thus urged, Leonard related everything he knew concerning Gerald and -Emilia. Dr. Peterssen laughed, and instilled into Leonard's ear -certain counsel which Leonard was only too ready to follow. It was a -risk, but as Dr. Peterssen said, the reward was worth it. - -In a couple of hours they had reached the spot they had been making -for. They had not met a soul on the way, and they saw nothing of -Gerald and George Street. - -"They will come into view in half an hour or so," said Dr. Peterssen, -"and if not we will go and hurry them up." - -They had halted on a wild spot. They were surrounded by enormous -glaciers, and all around them lay dangerous precipices. At a dozen -points an unsuspicious man might be pushed without effort into abysses -where he would be almost certain to meet with death. It was this -infernal plan which Dr. Peterssen had conceived, and which Leonard -guessed at, but was too timid to ask about. Easy to carry out a bloody -deed in such a place, without a living witness to bring evidence -against them. - -"Sit down," said Dr. Peterssen. - -He pulled out a flask of brandy, and gave it to Leonard. The -treacherous friend took a long drink. Dr. Peterssen also drank, but -more sparingly. - -"If I don't mistake," he said, "you have a check book in your pocket." - -"What if I have?" - -"Everything. Answer my questions. You are acting as your brother's -treasurer." - -"I am." - -"With full authority, as I understand." - -"With full authority." - -"The bank in which his money is deposited has written instructions to -that effect." - -"It has--but what are you driving at?" - -"Easy, Mr. Paget, easy. Do you know that I am about to lose a -patient?" - -"Your own doing." - -"But for your ends. Now, I want a guarantee. I had a little private -conversation with your step-brother yesterday, in which I skilfully -pumped him. What do you think I learned? That you had been realizing a -quantity of valuable securities for him lately, and that there was a -very considerable balance at the bank to his credit." - -"You are an infernal meddler." - -"All in your interest, Leonard, and a little, a very little, in my -own. You will give me here, and now, a check for two thousand pounds." - -"You are out of your senses." - -"Most absolutely and positively in them, my dear fellow. What I am -about to do for you is worth ten times the sum, so I am not hard on -you. In brains, Leonard, you have the best of me--I am a very candid -and honest scoundrel, you must admit--but when the pinch comes you -lose your nerve. Take another pull at the brandy. Down with it, man. -It will bring some color to your cheeks, and perhaps some false -courage to your chicken heart. We--fellows like myself--are the real -men. If I had lived three or four centuries ago I should have been a -man of mark. Produce your check-book." - -"What is the use? I have no pen and ink." - -"Ha ha, my honest comrade, I have provided for that. I had just enough -brains to think of the contingency. Here are the requisites. Now, fill -in and sign. Date it two days ago." - -There was a brute ferocity in Dr. Peterssen which compelled and -overawed Leonard, and with a sullen look he wrote the check and signed -it. - -"I warrant," said Dr. Peterssen, examining the check narrowly and -carefully pocketing it, "that you have feathered your nest pretty -well. In the event of Gerald Paget leaving a widow behind him--though -that will not be so in this case, Leonard, for there can be no widow -where there was no wife--you could strip her of every farthing of -ready cash by drawing the entire balance from the bank, dating the -check yesterday, as a measure of precaution. Hush--they are coming! -Behind this rock--crouch down, and don't so much as breathe!" - -Almost breathless Gerald and George Street halted within two feet of -them, standing side by side on the edge of a precipice. - -"It makes me dizzy looking down," said George Street. "Does it not -you?" - -"No," said Gerald. "And we have not found the edelweiss after all. It -is a great disappointment to me." - -"It grows on the edge of the precipice," said George Street. "Let us -kneel and look over. I am sure this was the spot Dr. Peterssen pointed -out to me." - -The young men knelt down and looked over the precipice, Gerald keeping -tight hold of his companion. As they bent their heads there came a -fierce and sudden movement behind them, and with a loud cry the two -young men sank into the abyss. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -DR. PETERSSEN EXPLAINS HIMSELF. - - -"What have you done?" exclaimed Leonard, starting to his feet in -irrepressible excitement, but cooling immediately as Dr. Peterssen -turned to him with a smile on his lips. It was seldom, indeed, that -Leonard was taken off his guard, but the suddenness of this foul deed -startled him. When engaged in a scheme of villainy he was in the habit -of being more deliberate. - -"Be more careful with your pronouns," said Dr. Peterssen, inclining -toward the abyss, and putting his hand to his ear. "You mean what have -_we_ done?" - -"I did not stir." - -"You lie," said Dr. Peterssen, with a brutal laugh. "With my own eyes -I saw you hurl your step-brother over the precipice. In the attempt to -save himself he caught hold of my poor patient, but he was just one -little minute too late. Instead of saving himself he destroyed his -companion, and thus at one fell swoop I was robbed of three hundred a -year. I, with a record at least as spotless as your own--we are a fine -pair of white doves, you and I--am ready to take my Bible oath to this -version of the catastrophe; and I'll bet you a hundred to one, my -buck, that I swear you down in any court of justice you can name. A -likely thing, isn't it, that I should wish to get rid of my poor -patient, when by doing so I lose a sure income? You, on the contrary, -have everything to gain by your step-brother's death. Dying -unmarried--you understand?" - -"Yes." - -"You have only to be firm with Emilia and the point is carried. After -what she has gone through, and plunged into despair as she will be, -she can be made to believe anything, especially when she learns that -you are prepared to behave generously to her. To resume, Gerald, dying -unmarried, you come into all the property. Therefore his death is a -distinctly desirable event in your eyes. Do not, therefore, my dear -comrade, in this little affair, attempt to shirk your share of the -responsibility, or I will throw it all upon your shoulders, and send -you to the gallows. Mr. Leonard Paget, I should be inclined to call -you a fool if I did not know you better. What is done cannot be -undone, nor, with all your cant, would you wish it undone." - -"But," said Leonard, inwardly acknowledging the weight of his -companion's arguments, "we are in danger." - -"We are in none. Your step-brother Gerald, ardently desiring to gather -with his own hands some edelweiss for his lady love, is informed by my -unfortunate patient that he knows where the flower is to be found. -Unwilling that they shall go alone, we express our intention to -accompany them. Off we start with merry hearts. But we have not gone -far before the young gentlemen beg to be allowed to enjoy their -excursion without our society, and we, two fond and indulgent -guardians, yield to their implorings, and leave them to themselves. -Lured by the balmy weather, we stroll up the mountains, scarcely -noting in which direction we are wandering. We stop and dilate upon -the sublime beauty of the scenery, our souls exalted by the thoughts -it inspires, when our ecstatic musings are rudely interrupted by -screams of anguish. We hasten to the spot from which they proceed, and -see--nothing. But our ears, ever open to the calls of humanity, cannot -have deceived us. No, that is impossible. So we hunt and look about, -calling out all the while to the poor souls who may be in peril to -give us some indication how we can assist them. At length our -attention is attracted by signs of a disturbance at the edge of this -precipice, and kneeling"--he suited the action to the word, and -Leonard knelt by his side--"we observe marks in the soil which -engender the suspicion that a human creature has fallen over. We call -out loudly, and are answered by a groan and scarcely distinguishable -but undeniably pathetic appeals for help." - -"I do not hear them," interrupted Leonard. - -"Then you ought to. Are you quite devoid of imagination? Our hearts -are rent by these appeals. We are not practised mountaineers, and are -unable to render assistance. Therefore we hasten to the nearest -village, and return with men and ropes to the rescue. But by that time -it is too late." - -"By that time," said Leonard, in a questioning tone, "they are dead?" - -"By that time," repeated Dr. Peterssen, "they are dead. And"--with a -steady look at Leonard--"of this fact we must convince ourselves -before the introduction of other characters into the melancholy -scene." - -"How is that to be done?" - -Dr. Peterssen rose to his feet, and cast sharp glances around. - -"We are quite alone, I think." - -"Not a person is in sight," said Leonard, watching his ruthless -companion with curious eyes. - -"Be silent a minute or two." - -They stood perfectly still, all their senses on the alert. - -"There is no doubt," said Dr. Peterssen, "that we are the only -witnesses of the unhappy occurrence, and, thus far, safe. Now to make -sure." - -He divested himself of coat and waistcoat, and unwound a rope which he -had adjusted round his waist. - -"It is not very thick," he said, "nor very long, but it will help to -steady us. See, I wind and fasten it about this slim trunk which -providence has grown here to further our ends. Try it; you will find -it quite secure." - -"Yes, it can hardly get loosened of itself." - -"The descent, as you will observe, is not very difficult after all. -All that is required is steadiness and confidence. About 30 feet -down--I reckon it is not more than that--you see a broad plateau of -rock upon which half a dozen men can stand easily." - -"But neither Gerald nor your patient is there." - -"They have rolled over it, and we must ascertain their position, if it -is possible to do so. Descend." - -"Descend!" cried Leonard, retreating. - -"Descend," repeated Dr. Peterssen, calmly. "I will follow you." - -"But why do you not go first?" - -"Because, cherished idol of my soul, I do not trust you. You above and -I below, you might easily finish me off, and have the game entirely in -your own hands. You are quite safe with me, dear friend. It is to my -advantage to keep you alive; I intend to get money out of you in the -future. It would be to your advantage if I were in the same plight as -our friends below, for then you would save the money you will have to -pay me. Even as a lad I was distinguished for frankness. Descend." - -He was master of the situation, and Leonard was compelled to submit. -Steadying himself by the rope he descended, and reached the plateau. -Dr. Peterssen climbed down after him with the agility of a cat. - -"I see them," he said, "though not very distinctly. They seem to be -lying side by side. Luckily it will not be at all difficult to get to -them. Between being hurled down these rocks unaware and descending -them voluntarily there is a great difference. We will go together. -Careful, Leonard, careful; I must not have my milch cow injured." - -They reached the spot where the bodies lay. The violence with which -they had been dashed over the precipice had told its tale. Of the two -Dr. Peterssen's patient was the more injured. In his descent his -features had been so dreadfully cut and lacerated that they were -scarcely distinguishable. - -"My poor ward is done for," said Dr. Peterssen, adding, with eyes -sanctimoniously raised to heaven, "he is now in a better world." - -"And Gerald?" whispered Leonard. - -It was some time before Dr. Peterssen replied, and when he spoke there -was a strange note in his voice. - -"Gerald lives." - -"Then what has been done," cried Leonard, in a tone of mingled despair -and fury, "has been done in vain!" - -"Easy to finish the job," remarked Dr. Peterssen. - -But, hardened as he was, Leonard shrank from the ruthless suggestion. -Had he been alone he might have nerved himself to the desperate -expedient, but in the presence of a witness---- - -"Are you certain be lives?" - -"Quite certain," said Dr. Peterssen. "His head is badly cut, and there -is no saying in what condition he will be when he opens his eyes. He -has a long illness before him, which may terminate fatally." - -"But, before the end he may be able to assure Emilia that they are -legally married. Before the end he may make his will!" - -"He may. It would be bad for both of us" - -"Is there no road but one out of it?" - -"I have a strong gift of invention," said Dr. Peterssen. "There is -another road, a hazardous one, the risk and trouble of which will be -mine; but I don't mind, so long as I am properly paid for it, and you -will be rich enough to arrange that to my satisfaction." - -"Speak plainly, in the devil's name." - -"In the name of that august myth I will endeavor to do so. What -hazards and what personal inconvenience will not such a sacred -friendship as ours incur for a quid pro quo! The two men lying -helpless before us, one dead and one living, are about the same -height. Perhaps you have observed that?" - -"I have not." - -"I have. And not only about the same height but about the same build. -The color of their hair is not dissimilar, and it really seems to have -been ordained by fate that neither of them should wear mustache or -beardeek." - -"For the life of me I can't see your drift." - -"The quality of your mental powers is not generally opaque, but you are -remarkably dense at this moment. Dressed in each other's clothes, who is -to distinguish them? Thus attired, my poor patient, whose features are -battered beyond recognition, is carried back to the village as your -luckless brother Gerald. As Gerald he is buried; the tombstone you -lovingly erect over his remains proclaims it. Thus attired, he is -carried back to the village as my patient, and I attend on him; no one -else sets an eye upon him, though that risk might be run with safety. -To-morrow comes a summons from his father, which I invent, to take him -back to England. It grieves me to leave you in your grief, to leave the -bereaved Emilia in her sorrow--but what can I do? Duty is my watchword, -and I set it before me unflinchingly, and perform it. Without delay I -return home, bearing my patient with me. Do you see the drift of my -plan now?" - -"I do," replied Leonard, setting his teeth close. "But will you be -able to carry it out?" - -"To the bitter end--till Gerald is dead." - -They exchanged glances; the compact was made. - -"If he should recover consciousness while we are changing their -clothes!" whispered Leonard. - -"Accept my professional word. The injuries he has received are so -severe that he will not recover his senses until he is on the road to -England. Not even then, perhaps. Trust me to manage him. I am -responsible to no one, and there are potent drugs which I can use to -any end I wish. As a matter of fact my poor patient's father is -thousands of miles away, and will learn just as much as it pleases me -to impart, and at the time I choose to impart it. What kind of friend -am I?" - -"The best of friends. Let us set to work." - -Dr. Peterssen laughed internally; in this villanous scheme he saw what -was hidden from Leonard. - -An hour afterward they stood again on the edge of the precipice, and -the rope they had used was once more concealed round Dr. Peterssen's -body. He had forced down Gerald's throat ah opiate which insured -insensibility for many hours to come. Leonard hoped that his -step-brother would die under its influence, but Dr. Peterssen did not -share the hope. He wanted Gerald to live--at least for the present. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -EMILIA AND LEONARD. - - -On the evening of the following day a closed carriage was waiting at -the door of the inn to convey Dr. Peterssen and Gerald to the nearest -railway station. The plot he and Leonard had hatched had been cruelly -successful. Strangers in the little village, and living during their -stay upon terms of affectionate intimacy, their movements and actions -were absolutely untrammelled, and not a shadow of suspicion had been -aroused. Emilia, overwhelmed by the shock, was attacked with brain -fever, and was lying in a dangerous condition. Dr. Peterssen declared -it likely that she would never rise from her bed, and his opinion was -shared by the village doctor. Gerald's condition was not less -perilous. Dr. Peterssen had devoted the greatest attention to him, and -Leonard learned from his partner in villainy that there was something -more than a possibility that even if Gerald recovered his health he -might never recover his reason. Their simulation of grief was perfect, -and every person in the village spoke in praise of their devotion, and -sympathized with them. Leonard, of course, was to remain behind to -attend to Emilia, and to perform the last sad offices for his dearly -beloved brother. - -In a state of unconsciousness Gerald was carried out of the inn and -placed in the carriage, and Dr. Peterssen and Leonard stood a little -apart, conversing privately. The landlord and all the attendants quite -believed that it was Dr. Peterssen's patient, and not Gerald, who was -about to be taken to England. - -"Up to this point," said Dr. Peterssen, "there has not been a hitch. -We could not hope to have succeeded better, and should Emilia recover, -there is no chance of a mishap if you play your cards properly." - -"I shall not fail to do that," said Leonard, gazing at Dr. Peterssen -with a certain mistrust. "I am in hopes that I shall be spared the -awkwardness of an explanation." - -"Meaning that you are in hopes she will die. Well, there is an even -chance of that, but it is as well to be prepared. And now, friend of -my soul, you and I must come to terms." - -"We will leave all that till we meet in England," said Leonard. - -"There will be plenty to talk of there," said Dr. Peterssen. "We will -settle preliminaries here, before we part." - -"What do you want?" asked Leonard, with a dark look. - -"A clear understanding, and an undertaking in writing. You see, old -comrade, I am doing _your_ dirty work, not my own. I don't object to -your enjoying the lion's share of the spoil, but I must have some -guarantee of a sure and certain income." - -"It is already agreed that you are to have three hundred a year, which -with the three hundred you will receive from the father of your -patient, makes you very comfortable." - -"Not as comfortable as I ought to be," said Dr. Peterssen, placidly. - -"What the mischief do you want? You have got a check for two thousand -out of me." - -"A retainer, my dear Leonard, merely a retainer. I should have stuck -out for more, but I am always sacrificing myself for others. The three -hundred must be six. Don't look black; a heart-stricken expression is -advisable, with strangers observing us. The eyes of half-a-dozen are -fixed on us at the present moment, and there would be the devil to pay -if they suspected there was the smallest difference of opinion between -us. Remember the stake you are playing for." - -"You seem to hold the winning cards." - -"I never play a game without them, dear old chum, but you must admit -that my winnings are small in comparison with yours. Notice the smile -of sad resignation on my face, with which I cajole our friends the -simple villagers. Yes, Leonard, the three hundred must be six." - -"I carry your brother Gerald from the carriage back to the inn. He is -not in a fit state to travel, I say in reply to questions; I will not -risk his life. I nurse him into health, I restore his senses--quite -possible, I believe. I keep a watchful eye upon Emilia also, in order -that you shall play no tricks, and she, too, gets well. Then I bring -the two together, and leave you, noble captain, to your own devices. -All very beautifully arranged, is it not, sweet child?" - -"You shall have the six hundred, curse you," said Leonard, careful to -follow Dr. Peterssen's advice as to the play of expression on his -features. - -"A million million thanks. And now be kind enough to sign this paper -binding you to the arrangement. Go into the inn, and affix your -signature in a bold, clear hand. No arguments, Leonard, but do it. If -you delay we shall miss the train, and I shall have to return with -your brother to the enjoyments of your society." - -Leonard had no choice; he went into the inn and presently reappeared -with the document, which he handed to Dr. Peterssen, who examined and -pocketed it. - -"Farewell, old comrade, farewell," he said, with his handkerchief to -his eyes. "This is a dramatic moment; deeply do I feel the parting. -Adieu, till we meet in England. By the way, I have informed Father -Anselm, the good priest, that I have left five hundred francs in your -hands which you will give him in my name for the relief of the poor. -He blessed and thanked me. He will remind you of the benediction if -you need reminding, but your best plan will be to give him the money -soon, with a cheerful heart. Once more, farewell. Speak well of me -when I am gone." - -With profound sighs and melancholy looks he wrung Leonard's hand and -entered the carriage, bidding the driver to proceed gently. Leonard -and a few of the villagers watched the carriage till it was out of -sight, and then the remaining actor in the vile plot entered the inn, -enraged at the extortion--for so he inwardly declared it to be--that -Dr. Peterssen had practised upon him. But he felt that he was in this -man's power, and that it was advisable to submit with as good grace as -possible. What was done could not be undone, nor would he have had it -undone. The future was before him with all its possibilities of -pleasure; a life of ease was his when the scheme was carried out to -its bitter end. Even were he willing to forego his ruthless design he -had gone too far now to retract. In the event of Emilia's recovery to -health, his next move was to impose upon her and reduce her to -silence, and he did not doubt his ability to achieve his purpose. - -There were certain official formalities to go through with respect to -the fictitious death of Gerald. He testified that the body was that of -his brother, and he was supported by the independent testimony of -witnesses, who identified the clothes of the deceased. The official -record of the death of Gerald Paget was duly made, and in a few days -the funeral took place, Leonard being the chief mourner. Over the -grave was placed a flat tombstone, with the inscription--"To the -memory of my dear brother Gerald." Nothing more. - -Throughout the whole of these proceedings Emilia lay between life and -death, and consequently knew nothing of what was going on. But her -ravings proved that she was at least conscious of the fatal blow her -happiness had received. She called upon her dear Gerald in Heaven, and -implored to be taken to him; and then, and then--stirred by the -mysterious promptings of approaching maternity--she as earnestly -implored to be spared for the sake of her child yet unborn. For six -weeks she lay in a dangerous condition, and then youth and a sound, -though delicate, constitution triumphed, and her health began to -improve. Another fortnight, and she was convalescent. - -Before this took place Leonard, who was sedulously employed in earning -a character for charity and kindness, had succeeded in blasting her -good name. The simple priest of the village was shocked at the -disclosure that Emilia had no right to wear the wedding-ring on her -finger. - -"Alas," he said, "that one so fair should be so frail!" - -"Unhappily," said Leonard with a hypocritical sigh, "it is frequently -so with the fairest of women. Weak as they appear, they are strong in -vice." - -The priest nodded his head sadly. How could he disbelieve a man so -charitable and sweet-mannered as Leonard? How could he mistrust -one who consecrated the memory of a beloved brother by donations to -the little church and by constant benefactions to the poor and -suffering among his flock? In the total it was not a large sum that -Leonard parted with, but it was magnificent in the eyes of the -poverty-stricken priest, who had never experienced such free-handed -generosity. Leonard, was looked upon as a benefactor, and his false -benevolence gave weight to every word that fell from his lips. He -explained to the priest that the reason of his accompanying his -brother Gerald and the young woman who had led him into vice was his -earnest desire to break the guilty tie which bound them. "Death has -done that for me," he said, covering his eyes. "A good man," thought -the priest, "a good and noble man!" He inquired of Leonard how he -intended to act when Emilia regained her health. - -"I shall not desert her," replied Leonard; "Heaven forbid that I -should do so! She has sinned, but the door of repentance shall not be -closed upon her--she shall not lose the chance of leading a better -life. I will insure her a small income, sufficient for any woman's -wants, upon which she can live in comfort. She will be able to do so, -will she not, upon two thousand francs a year?" - -The priest raised his hands in astonishment. Two thousand francs! It -was affluence. - -"May your kind intentions be fruitful," he said. "May the erring woman -lead in the future a virtuous life." - -His flock were distinguished by a singular morality, and he, a -simple-minded man, regarded with horror any backsliding from the -straight path. On the following Sabbath he took the theme for his -text, and without mentioning names, referred to two strangers in their -midst, one distinguished for his noble deeds of charity, the other -degraded by her vicious conduct. Every one in the chapel knew to whom -he referred, and were prepared to receive Emilia with something more -than coldness. The first knowledge of this state of feeling came to -her on a day she was able to sit at her window to breathe the sweet -air. The innkeeper's daughter had grown fond of her, and had performed -many kindly offices for the hapless woman. The whole of this day the -young girl had not made her appearance in Emilia's room, and yearning -for female companionship she rang the bell for her. It was answered by -the innkeeper. - -"I wish to see your daughter," said Emilia. - -"She will not come," said the innkeeper. "She shall not come." - -"Why?" asked Emilia, in wonder at his rough tone. - -"Answer the question yourself," replied the innkeeper. "When you are -strong enough to leave my house I must request you to seek a shelter -elsewhere." - -He left the room without another word. - -There was a significance in his manner as well as in his words which -brought a flush into Emilia's face. "She will not come! She shall not -come!" What fresh misery was in store for her? A terrible fear stole -upon her. The undeserved shame she had passed through in her native -town glided from the past and hovered like a spectre over her. She -turned with a sob toward Leonard, who a short time afterward made his -appearance. He pretended not to notice her agitation, and did not -afford her an opportunity of opening a conversation with him. - -"Would you like to come into the open air?" he asked. - -"Yes, Leonard," she said, noting also the coldness of his voice. "Will -you assist me down?" - -He nodded, and she took his arm; but she missed the gentle and -considerate guidance which she had a right to expect. - -He placed a chair for her in front of the inn, and stood a few paces -from her. Not a soul spoke to her. Men and women whom she remembered, -whose faces she recognized, and with whom she was upon friendly terms -when Gerald was with her, passed to and fro, and exchanged cordial -words with Leonard, but did not address a single word to her. If by -chance their eyes met hers, which, after a little while, were turned -appealingly toward them, they turned abruptly from her, with looks of -displeasure and aversion which chilled her heart. Even the innkeeper's -daughter came near her, but did not approach close enough to speak to -her. Yet she spoke to Leonard. Emilia beckoned to him. - -"I cannot remain here any longer," she said. "I must go to my room." - -She did not ask for his arm, nor did he offer it. Weak, and beset with -torturing doubts, she clung to the wall as she ascended the stairs. In -silence they entered the room. Leonard stood mute by the door. - -"Have you nothing to say to me?" she asked presently. - -"Nothing," he replied, "until you are stronger." - -"I have borne so much in the past," she said, "that I can bear -anything you have to tell. - -"I will wait," he said, and left the room. - -Long did she ponder over the strange conduct of those who were once -her friends, but she could not account for it. She felt herself alone -in a strange land. Gerald was lost to her, and she was without a -friend. She did not give way to despair; she nerved herself to -strength and fortitude; another life would soon be dependent upon her; -for the sake of her unborn child it was her duty to keep up her heart. - -Some days passed, and not a friendly word was spoken to her, not a -friendly hand was held out. She suffered without remonstrance; dark as -was the present there was a sweet light in the future. She would have -her child in her arms before many weeks elapsed, Gerald's child. -Spiritual baby eyes looked into hers; spiritual baby hands were -stretched toward her. "For your sake, my darling, for your sake!" she -murmured. - -She was now able to walk alone, without assistance, and one day she -walked to the village churchyard, to visit the grave of her beloved. -She read the inscription, "To the memory of my dear brother Gerald." -Should not her name have been there? She was nearer to him than any -other human being. She resolved to seek without delay an explanation -from Leonard. - -On her way to and from the churchyard she met with many persons, and -was avoided by all. A woman and her young daughter, a girl of sixteen, -passed close to her; the mother drew her child away from Emilia so -that their dresses should not come in contact. She met the village -priest, who looked at her reprovingly, and then turned in an opposite -direction. Was she, then, a pariah? What crime had she committed? - -Once more in her room in the inn she forced herself to a practical -examination into a matter which had surprised her. Certain articles of -jewellery had been given to her by Gerald. They were gone. All that -she possessed in remembrance of her dear husband were her wedding-ring -and a ring set with diamonds, which had never left her fingers. -Possibly if these had been lying loose they would have shared the fate -of her other mementos. Quite as strange was the circumstance that -everything belonging to Gerald had been removed during her illness -from the rooms she and her husband had occupied. Her purse, too, was -empty; there was not a coin in it. She could not remember whether she -had any money before she received the terrible news of Gerald's death; -indeed, with reference to past events, her memory was in the same -state as it had been after the good old wagoner had taken her to his -home in England. During that period she was not in a condition to gain -any knowledge of her surroundings, and she did not even know the name -of the place in which she and Gerald had been married. Up to the -morning of that day her mind had been a blank, and Gerald, out of -consideration for her, had made no attempt to revive memories which in -their inception had brought so much suffering to his dear girl. The -only thing that was clear to Emilia was the memory of the shame into -which she had been plunged by Mrs. Seaton's calumnies, and when her -mind reverted to the experiences of those dark days she strove -shudderingly to thrust them from her. But there was something in her -present position which seemed, in some dread manner, to be connected -with that shame and with the horror of the slanders which had ruined -her good name, and strive as she would she could not banish the -remembrance. - -She sent for Leonard and he came at her bidding. - -"I have visited my husband's grave," she said. - -"My dear brother Gerald's grave," he said in correction. "I said my -husband's grave," she repeated. - -"And I replied, my dear brother Gerald's grave." - -There was a dark, stern look in his eyes, and she did not have the -courage to come straight to the point. - -"I believe you to be my friend," she said. - -"I did not wish to distress my poor brother," he rejoined. - -"Then you deceived me by professing what you did not feel?" - -"I have no explanation to give." - -"Yet you have remained here with me during my long illness." - -"I had a duty to perform." - -"Was it not out of love that you have stayed with me?" - -"It was not." - -She strove to look at him steadily, but her eyes wavered; his were -unflinching. - -"On the last day I saw my dear husband--What is the meaning of that -gesture?" For Leonard had put up his hand with scornful motion. - -"Your assumption of innocence and indignation does not deceive me; it -will deceive no one who knows you. Go on. On the last day you saw my -dear brother----" - -"I had reason to believe," she continued, "that I had won the respect, -if not the affection, of those around me, strangers though they were. -I passed through a dangerous illness, and have been mercifully spared. -I thank God humbly for it. Recovering, I am met with coldness -whichever way I turn. People avoid me. Why?" - -"Search your own heart for the answer." - -"I have questioned my heart, and find none. I have done no wrong." - -"You have singular ideas of morality. Is living with a man as his -mistress a virtuous act?" - -"Great God! How dare you speak those words to me?" - -"Because they are true. People avoid you because the truth is known. -Spare hysterics; they will not help you. You are not fit to associate -with virtuous women." - -"How dare you, how dare you? Gerald and I were man and wife." - -"You never were. You and my dear, fond brother--dear to me, weak -though he was--were never married. With his death ended your life of -deceit. You were Gerald's mistress, not his wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -"ONLY YOU AND I, DARLING, ONLY YOU AND I." - - -The horror of this infamous statement so completely overwhelmed her -that she lost the power of speech. The room swam before her; in her -excitement she had risen to her feet, and her slight form swayed like -a reed in the throes of a pitiless storm. Presently Leonard spoke -again, and his voice brought some clearness to her distracted mind; -but every word he uttered cut into her heart like a sharp knife. - -"If you are not sufficiently composed to hear what it is my duty to -say, I will leave you and come again in an hour." - -She motioned to him to remain, and her trembling hands then stretched -themselves toward a bottle of water on the table. He poured some into -a glass, which he placed close to her. Rallying a little she managed -to raise the glass to her lips, and to drink, the cold draught revived -her fainting senses. - -"Speak," she said. "Say what you have to say." - -"Had my brother lived," said Leonard, "the time would have come when -he would have been compelled to make the disclosure himself. Being -gone, the duty which was his devolves upon me. It may be that he would -have righted the wrong he did you, for he was weak and easily -prevailed upon. I do not seek to excuse him, and it is certain that he -acted as he deemed best when he deceived you. Are you attending to me? -Shall I go on?" - -"Yes," she gasped, "go on." - -"When you were lying at death's door in the village to which you had -flown, the name of which you probably remember--" He purposely paused -here, to afford her an opportunity of answering him. - -"I do not remember it," she said. "If I heard it, it has gone from me. -My mind was a blank." - -"He was informed by the doctor," continued Leonard, with guilty -satisfaction, "who attended you that there was only one means of -restoring your reason, and that was to make you his wife. It was then -he conceived the idea of a sham marriage ceremony. It must be clear to -you, as it is to every person gifted with common-sense, that it was -not possible for you to marry him or any man in your state of mind. No -minister would have sanctioned such a marriage, and you could not, -therefore, be married in church. It was easy for Gerald to devise a -mock civil marriage, and to carry you away immediately to a foreign -country in order that you should not discover the deception. You have -been witness of the love which existed between him and me; his death -is to me an irreparable loss. I endeavored to dissuade him from his -purpose, but he would not listen to me: weak and amiable as he was, he -had a soul of obstinacy when his mind was strongly set, and my words -of counsel fell upon ears which were deaf to all the arguments I could -use. I saw that there was a danger that the strong love we had for -each other might be sapped if I thwarted him, and I could bear -anything but that. My dear, dear brother! His spirit is with me day -and night, and I forgive him for the action, although many would -condemn him for it. Now, perhaps, you can understand why you are -looked upon with disfavor here in this place--with something more than -disfavor, indeed, with repugnance. They regard your presence as a -shame and a scandal, and young girls are enjoined by their parents to -avoid you. Since my dear Gerald's death the true story of your -relations with him has in some way become known. It is not unlikely -that he himself confided it to some person, perhaps to the village -priest; and, to speak plainly, your position here is a little worse -than it was in your native town in England, from which you had to fly. -It is out of a feeling of kindness to you that I tell you it will be -best for you to leave as soon as possible. The simple people will not -tolerate you among them, and they may show their feelings toward you -in a more practical manner than they have yet done. To enable you to -escape I have a proposition to make to you, if you care to listen to -it." - -To escape! Had it come to that? Was it to be ever her fate to fly from -unmerited shame, to be oppressed and hunted down? But it was not of -herself alone she thought; her unborn babe appealed to her. A life of -duty lay before her. It was merciful that this view of the position in -which she stood came to her aid; otherwise her great despair might -have driven her to the last desperate expedient of those wretched -mortals to whom life has become a burden too hard to be longer -endured. - -"What is your proposition," she asked, faintly. - -"My brother had a regard for you," said Leonard, "and when the time -had arrived when, supposing that he had lived, he would have been -compelled to separate himself from you, he would most likely have made -some provision for you. I stand in his place, and I do loving honor to -his memory by acting as he would have done. You shall not face the -world in poverty, and besides, you shall not have the power to say -that you have been first betrayed and then cast forth penniless. I -will provide for you, and will undertake to pay, through a lawyer whom -I shall appoint, a sum of two pounds a week so long as you lead a -respectable life and say nothing to my dear brother's hurt. You may -live where you like, but I would advise you to choose some other -country than England. There the story of your shame would cling to -you, would follow you everywhere. Away from England no one would know, -and life would be easier for you. Do you accept?" - -"Leave me to myself," said Emilia. "I will send for you presently." - -"I will wait below," said Leonard; "but do not be long in deciding, or -I may change my mind." - -Alone with her grief and her shame, Emilia, by a supreme effort of -will, forced herself to calmness. The solemn sense of responsibility -imbued her soul with strength. She was no longer a girl, dependent -upon others for counsel, for guidance, for love. Not a friend in the -world had she, but a helpless being would soon be lying at her breast -who would claim from her all that it was in the power of a loving -woman to give. A new life lay before her. How would she commence it? - -She strove for a few minutes to bring the past back to her mind, but -it presented itself to her in pictures so blurred and indistinct that -she relinquished the effort. Up to the point of her being driven from -Mrs. Seaton's house everything was clear, but her memory was gone upon -all that had occurred afterward until she found herself with Gerald in -a foreign land. The names of places, the names of people with which -and whom she had been associated within that interval were completely -blotted out. She did not doubt the base story which Leonard had -related. Had she and Gerald been legally married he would have placed -in her hands the certificate which proved her a lawful wife. The fatal -omission proved Leonard's story to be true. Not a word about their -marriage had ever passed between Gerald and herself during their -honeymoon. He, with his careless easy nature, living with Emilia a -life of sweetest happiness, left everything to the future; he had -thought it wisest, too, to allow a long time to elapse before reviving -memories which had brought Emilia so much sorrow; she would regain her -full strength, she would be better able to think of the past. This was -not known to Emilia; she could only decide upon her future action by -what was within her cognizance. - -She felt no bitterness toward Gerald. He had, no doubt, acted for the -best, and had imposed upon her by a mock ceremony of marriage, in -order that she might be restored to health and reason. Would it have -been better that she had died? No. Her child would soon be in her -arms, bringing with it hope, and light, and peace perhaps. But the -child must not open her eyes among those who knew her unhappy mother's -story. The duty to the unborn which Emilia had to perform must be -performed elsewhere. Gerald's brother was right in advising her to -choose some other country than England in which to reside. But she had -to think of his offer to provide for her. - -The moment she set her mind upon the subject she indignantly rejected -the offer. It was too late to remedy the errors of the past into which -she had been unwittingly led, but there should be no bridge between -the past and the future. Even had she been willing to entertain the -offer, it had been made in terms so insulting that no woman of decency -could have accepted it without covering herself with shame. "You shall -not have the power to say that you have been first betrayed and then -cast forth penniless." The provision, then, assumed the shape of a -bribe. And it was to be paid so long as she led a respectable life--a -tacit admission that hitherto her life had been disreputable within -her own knowledge. No, she would reject the offer, and would, with the -labor of her own hands, support herself and child. - -At this point of her musings the landlord of the inn unceremoniously -entered the room. - -"I wish you to leave my house to-day," he said. - -She smiled sadly. This was the second time in her young life that she -had been undeservedly thrust forth upon the world. But she ventured a -gentle remonstrance. - -"Give me till to-morrow," she pleaded, "and I will go. It is so -sudden, and I am not prepared." - -"I have nothing to do with that," he said roughly. "You must go -to-day." - -"If it must be," she said, resignedly, "I must submit. Will you kindly -ask Mr. Leonard Paget to come to me?" - -Needless to say that this cruel move had been prompted by the villain -with whom Emilia was presently once more face to face. - -"Have you reflected upon my offer?" he asked. - -"Yes," she replied. "I cannot accept it." - -He shrugged his shoulders, but not exactly at his ease. Did the -rejection mean that she intended to fight for her rights? This might -prove awkward. Her next words reassured him and made him jubilant -again. - -"I prefer to depend only upon myself, and to get my own living." - -"How? Where?" - -"I am well educated, and may be fortunate enough to obtain a situation -as governess in a family or school where a knowledge of English is -desirable. I thank you for your advice as to my future place of -residence, and I shall remain abroad. I have no friends in -England--nor, indeed, anywhere," she added, with a pitiful sigh, "and -I never wish to see it again." - -"The landlord informs me," said Leonard, "that he has given you notice -to leave the inn immediately." - -"He has been here with the same unkind order. Of course I must go." - -"Of course: He has a right to send people away of whom he does not -approve. What will you do? No one else in the village will give you -shelter. I have made myself responsible for the expenses you have -incurred since my dear brother's death." - -"That is hardly just," said Emilia, "as I have no claim upon you; but -my purse is empty. I must go away before night." She paused a moment -or two before she resumed. "Things have been removed from my room -during my illness which I might sell, and thus be enabled to take my -departure. I am not strong enough to go away on foot." - -"Everything belonged to my brother." - -"I do not dispute that." - -"Would it not be sensible on your part to reconsider your -determination. Accept the offer I have made to you." - -"I cannot." Her eyes fell upon the rings on her finger--the wedding -ring which Gerald had placed there, and the diamond ring which he had -given her. With a lover's extravagance he had purchased one of -considerable value. Leonard knew the price he had paid for it, one -hundred guineas. "These," said Emilia, pathetically, "are my own." - -"I lay no claim to them," said Leonard, ungraciously. - -"But they are really my own?" - -"Consider them so." - -She removed the diamond ring from her finger. "Is there any person in -the village who will purchase this of me?" - -"No one rich enough. I will do so, if you wish." - -"I humbly thank you. Give me what you like for it." - -"I will give you a thousand francs," said Leonard, with a sudden fit -of generosity. - -"But I do not want more than it is worth," said Emilia, with a joyful -flush. A thousand francs! It meant a safe escape from a place where -she was avoided; it meant sufficient to pay for a few weeks' board and -lodging. - -"We will say it is worth that." - -"You are most kind," said Emilia, giving him the ring. "And I can pay -what I owe the landlord." - -"You cannot do that out of a thousand francs. Try and be a little -sensible, and say nothing more about it. After all, it was Gerald who -brought you here, and the responsibility, which was his, is now mine. -Here is the money. You will give me a receipt for it? Otherwise I -should not be able to account for my possession of a ring you have -always worn upon your finger." - -"Kindly write out the receipt," said Emilia, "and I will sign it." - -Leonard wrote the receipt, which Emilia signed. - -"This will not do," he said. "You have signed it in a name which does -not belong to you." - -She had signed "Emilia Paget." She shuddered at Leonard's remark. - -"How else should I sign it?" - -"In the name which is your own," said Leonard, tearing up the paper, -and writing another; "Emilia Braham." - -He placed the fresh receipt before her, and with trembling fingers she -affixed the name, "Emilia Braham." Leonard exulted. Here was a proof -which he had not thought of obtaining. Being dated, it might serve as -an open admission that Emilia, living with his brother, was quite -aware that she was not his wife. The confession and the renunciation -were of her own doing. - -"Can I do anything more for you?" he asked. - -"Yes. Get me a carriage, and accompany me out of the village. I need -protection from insult." - -"You shall not be insulted. I promise it. How long will you be getting -ready?" - -"I shall be ready in less than an hour." - -Her preparations for departure helped to divert her mind from the -grief which oppressed it. Into one trunk she packed what belonged to -her. She would have liked to take the desk, inlaid with silver, of -Indian manufacture, which she had regarded as her own, but it had been -removed with other articles which she believed were hers. She made no -complaint; even to herself she did not repine; she submitted to -everything, her only wish being to find herself in a place where she -was unknown. All was ready when Leonard came to tell her that the -carriage was waiting. - -"Where do you wish to go?" he asked. - -"It does not matter," she replied, "so long as I am among strangers." - -He named a town at a distance of eighteen or twenty miles, and she -said it would do as well as any other. Soon they were at the door of -the inn, about which were assembled the usual idlers. The carriage -which Leonard had procured was a closed one, and he assisted Emilia -into it, saying that he would sit by the driver. She appreciated the -act, and believed it proceeded from thoughtfulness; it was her desire -to be alone with her thoughts. - -The driver was a long time starting; he fidgeted with his horses, with -his reins, with the harness, and then he fortified himself with half a -bottle of red wine. No one approached Emilia while he was thus -employed; no one breathed "farewell," or gave her a kind look. But -when at length the driver took his seat on the box, with Leonard -beside him, and was gathering up his ragged reins, the landlord's -daughter passed the open window of the carriage, and furtively threw -something in. It fell into Emilia's lap, and she, with eyes suddenly -overflowing, and lips convulsed with emotion, covered it with her -handkerchief, lest it should be taken from her. Then with a shout, the -driver set his horses in motion, and they commenced their journey. - -Emilia lifted her handkerchief. In her lap lay a little bunch of -flowers, tied together with string, attached to which was a piece of -paper, and written upon the paper the words, "From his grave." She -pressed the flowers to her breast, to her lips, and murmured a prayer -of thankfulness. The sense of the deep and irreparable wrong which -Gerald had inflicted upon her passed away, and she thought of him only -as one to whom she had given her heart and the full measure of her -love. He was her child's father; better to think of him with love and -kindness, which would soften her heart, than with harshness and -bitterness, which would harden it. It would help to smooth the roads -of the future she was to pass in the loving companionship of her -child. "Only you and I alone, darling," she murmured; "only you and -I!" - -How kind of the young girl to send her away with this token of pity -and sympathy. "Heaven bless her for it!" thought Emilia. "Heaven -brighten her life, and save her from misery!" Had Emilia possessed a -nature which would have hardened under such sufferings as she was -enduring, the young girl's simple offering would have humanized and -softened it. No wonder, then, that with a nature as sweet as ever -woman was blessed with, she looked upon the flowers from Gerald's -grave as an angel's gift, sent to her as a divine solace and -strengthener. "I _will_ be strong," she thought. "A duty of love is -mine to perform, and I will perform it in humbleness and gratitude." - -From time to time Leonard came to the door of the carriage and asked -if he could do anything for her. She gently declined his offers of -refreshment, and said she needed nothing. He did not press his -attentions upon her, and she gave him credit for a kindness of heart -to which he had no claim. - -It was ten o'clock at night when they reached the town to which -Leonard was conveying her. The carriage drew up at the door of at -hotel of some pretension, and there Leonard had no difficulty in -obtaining accommodation for Emilia. He told her he did not intend to -pass the night at the hotel, and she was grateful to him. - -"To-morrow I shall return," he said. "Shall I say good-by to you now -or then?" - -"Now," she replied. - -"Very well. Good-by." He hesitated a moment, and then offered her his -hand. - -She hesitated, also, before she accepted it. From him she had received -information of the blow which had dishonored her; could she touch his -hand in friendship? No, not in friendship, but why should she be -sullen and churlish? He had done her no direct wrong, he had even -shown her consideration and kindness. To refuse his hand would be a -bad commencement of the new life. She held out hers, and he took it in -his cool palm. - -"You are still resolved not to accept my offer?" he asked. - -"I am resolved." - -"I will not endeavor to prevail upon you, for I see your mind is made -up." - -"It is. You cannot turn me." - -He gazed at her in surprise. There was a firmness in her, voice, a new -note he had not heard before. - -"Is it your intention," he asked, "to come back to England?" - -"I shall never set foot in England again," she said. - -"Neither from that determination can anything turn me." - -"It is a wise resolve. I promise to keep your secret." She turned from -him, saying in a low tone, "I shall be grateful if you never speak of -me." - -"I promise not to do so. And you on your part should never mention my -name or my dear brother's." - -"I will never do so. He is dead to me. You will be, when you pass out -of this room." - -"I should tell you," he said, lingering still a moment, "that I have -entered your name in the hotel book as Emilia Braham." - -"I should have done so myself. It is the name I shall bear for the -future." - -"Being your right one. Well, good-by." - -"Good-by," she said. - -So they parted, to meet again--when? - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -A GOOD WOMAN. - - -As briefly as possible must now be sketched the story of Emilia's life -during the next eighteen years. To her resolution not to return to -England she remained firm during that period. Two days after Leonard -left her she quitted the town to which he had brought her, and twelve -months afterward she found herself settled in Geneva. It was her good -fortune to meet an elderly lady who required a companion. The name of -this lady was Madame Lambert, and she was attracted by the gentleness -of Emilia's manner. These two ladies happened to be staying at the -same hotel for a few days, and Emilia was enabled to render Madame -Lambert some slight service. Like Emilia, the elder lady was -travelling alone, and one evening Madame Lambert was seized with a -sudden faintness at the _table d'hôte_. Emilia, who was sitting next -to her, assisted her to her room, and remained with her during the -night, sharing her bed by invitation. In her situation Emilia was -compelled to register her name as Mrs. Braham, and Madame Lambert, -questioning her, was told by Emilia that she was a widow. Emilia did -not attempt to justify herself to her conscience; she knew that the -duplicity was necessary for the credit of her unborn child. - -"Are you quite alone?" asked Madame Lambert. - -"Yes," replied Emilia. "My husband died poor, and left me very little. -My intention is to seek a situation as governess." - -"In England?" - -"No, here in Switzerland. I shall be happier here. I have no friends -in England, and my knowledge of the English language will perhaps -enable me to obtain a situation more easily here than there." - -"You will soon," said Madame Lambert, in a tone of kindly -significance, "be compelled to rest a while. For a little time at -least you will not be able to fill a situation as governess." - -Emilia blushed and sighed. "I have thought of that," she said, "with -fear and trembling." - -"Because you are poor?" questioned Madame Lambert, speaking still with -the utmost kindness. - -"Yes," said Emilia, softly. Frankness was best under the -circumstances. - -"My dear," said Madame Lambert, "I am sure you are a lady." - -"My father was a gentleman," said Emilia. "He fell into misfortune, -and when he died I was penniless." - -"And you married a penniless gentleman. Ah, how imprudent is youth! -But I have been young myself, and have loved and lost. My dear, -neither am I rich, but I have a life income which is sufficient. It -dies with me, I regret to say. I have a reason for telling you this. -Like yourself, I am alone in the world. I was born in Geneva, and when -a course of travel, which my doctor recommended for my health, is -over, shall return there to live. Will you travel with me as my friend -and companion? I can offer you very little in the shape of salary, but -it will be enough to provide you with clothes, and perhaps a little -more. Then you will have a lady with you when your baby is born. What -do you say?" - -"What can I say," replied Emilia, in a voice of gratitude that -completed the conquest she had began, "but thank you from my inmost -heart for your kind offer? I can scarcely believe it real." - -"It is real, my dear. Heaven is very good, and sends us friends when -we least expect them. I am sure we shall get along very well together. -You accept, then?" - -"I accept with gratitude." She raised the hand of the kind lady to her -lips, and her tears bedewed it. "Yes, God is very good to me. I will -prove worthy of your kindness. You shall never repent it." - -"If thought otherwise I should not press it upon you, my dear. You -will really be rendering me a greater service than it is in my power -to render to you. It is miserable to travel alone, without a kindred -soul to talk to and confide in. So it is settled. We shall be true -friends." - -From that day Madame Lambert and Emilia travelled together, not as -mistress and companion, but as friends, until the time arrived when -Madame Lambert saw that it was imperative that Emilia should remain -for a few weeks quiet and free from the fatigues of a wandering life. -Thus faith and goodness were rewarded. - -In a picturesque and retired village Emilia's baby, a girl, was born, -and baptized in the name of Constance, Madame Lambert's christian -name. Sweet and profound was the happiness with which the young -mother's heart was filled when she held her baby to her breast. A -sacred joy was hers, in which she found a holy consolation for the -troubles through which she had passed. Madame Lambert was delighted, -and drew from the mother and child a newborn pleasure. She never tired -of showing them kindness; had they been of her own blood she could -scarcely have been more considerate and thoughtful. She called -Constance "our child," and was as nervous over the little one's trials -as Emilia herself. In such sympathetic companionship, and with such a -sweet treasure as she now possessed, Emilia could only be happy. She -never dwelt with sorrow upon the past. With rare wisdom she destroyed -the bridge behind her, and buried the memories which had threatened to -utterly wreck and ruin her life. Constance was a child of love, not of -shame. Emilia's pure soul exonerated her from self-reproach, and shame -could never be her portion now that there was no link, except the -loving link of a baby's hands, between the past and the future. -Wherever she turned she met looks of kindness; no longer was she -avoided and repulsed. The world once more was sweet, and bright, and -beautiful, and when she prayed to our Father in Heaven it was in the -happy consciousness that He knew her to be a pure and innocent woman. - -"Baby, baby, baby!" she whispered to the child in her "You have -restored me to life, to joy, to happiness. Oh, my baby, my baby! Can I -ever be sufficiently grateful to you? Dear Lord in Heaven, give me -strength and wisdom to guide her aright, to keep her from pitfalls, to -see her grow in purity and innocence to a happy womanhood! Do not take -her from me. Let her remain with me as a shield and protector. Through -her I see goodness and light. Oh, my angel, my angel!" - -She wiped her happy tears away, and sang and crooned and worshipped as -only a good mother can. Ah, the little fingers, the childish prattle, -the pattering of little feet, what would the world be without them? -Religion would be dead, and faith a mockery not to be indulged in -without a sneering devil creeping close to lay its icy hands upon -hearts in which sweet thoughts are harbored. Flowers of the human -garden, let us be humbly grateful for the light they shed upon the -dark spaces which at one time or other every mortal has to tread. In -the midst of the gloom which surrounds us shines a star illumining a -fair face and a head with flowing curls. In the midst of the stillness -by which we are encompassed steals a musical voice, with its divine -melody of childish laughter. What is that light in the distance? A -bright cloud shining on a little bed, by the side of which kneels a -small form clad in white. The pretty hands are clasped, and from the -lovely lips issue the words, "Our Father which art in Heaven, hallowed -be Thy name!" - -It was impossible that Emilia could forget Gerald, but her thoughts of -him were ever gentle and kind and forgiving. "You see our child, dear -Gerald"--thus ran her thoughts--"watch over her. I forgive you for the -wrong you committed. Do not trouble and sorrow over it. It is done and -gone, and only sweetness remains. You have given me a flower which -makes my heart a garden of love. God bless you, dear Gerald!" So from -the bitterest woe in which a human being could be plunged uprose a -heavenly light. - -"We must not spoil our child," said Madame Lambert. - -"We cannot spoil her," said Emilia. "Is she not beautiful?" - -"The loveliest baby that ever drew breath, my dear. You happy woman! -If I were as young as you are I should be jealous of you." - -The good lady was amazed at the new beauty which now dwelt in Emilia's -face. The young mother was transfigured. A holy radiance shed its -light upon her. Madame Lambert found herself presently worshipping the -mother almost as much as she worshipped the child. - -"If you were my own daughter, my dear," she said, "I could not love -you more." - -"You are the best woman in the world," responded Emilia. "Heaven -guided my feet when it led me to you." - -"Now it is time," said Madame Lambert, "to think of returning to -Geneva. There is our baby's education to be attended to." - -"Yes," said Emilia, gravely. "She must be taught everything that is -good." - -And baby was only four months old! But mothers let their thoughts run -ahead. - -They did not, however, return at once to Madame Lambert's home. They -lingered for two or three months in the valleys and mountains, and -gathered garlands and posies for their child, which they pressed and -preserved as though they were jewels of inestimable value. And, -indeed, there are no jewels to compare with memories so sweet and -pure. At length the happy rambles were over, and they were in Geneva. - -"Welcome home," said Madame Lambert. - -Her apartments, in a good position in the city, consisted of five -rooms and a kitchen. Two of these rooms Madame Lambert gave to Emilia, -one a sitting-room, the other a bedroom for her and the baby. During -Madame Lambert's absence the apartments had been taken care of by an -old servant, who acted as cook and general domestic, to whom Madame -Lambert had sent certain written instructions. When Madame Lambert -said to Emilia, "Welcome, home," she conducted Emilia to the rooms set -apart for her, and the young mother's eyes overflowed as they fell -upon the flowers which welcomed her and at the other evidences of a -loving friendship which the thoughtfulness of Madame Lambert had -provided. - -"How good you are to me!" she murmured. - -"We are going to be very happy here," said Madame Lambert. - -"I should be undeserving, indeed," said Emilia, kissing her kind -friend and putting the baby into her arms, "if I were not happy with -you." - -Madame Lambert was well known in Geneva, and had many friends there, -to all of whom she introduced Emilia. It was through these -introductions that Emilia was enabled to obtain employment as a -governess, which occupied her four or five hours a day, and her -sweetness and gentleness soon made her loved by all who knew her. In -this way passed five happy years, and then a calamity occurred. Madame -Lambert fell ill, and the doctors said that she could not recover. -When this verdict was imparted to Madame Lambert, she received it with -resignation. - -"I have only one regret, my dear," she said to Emilia, "that I must -say farewell to you and our child. But my spirit will be with you -always." - -"Dear friend, dear friend!" murmured Emilia. - -"It's a great comfort to me to know," said the dying woman, "that you -are well established here, and can get a living. You are so much loved -that I have no fears of your future. I am truly sorry that I cannot -leave you and our Constance a fortune. There is a little money, very -little, but it will be useful; and in my will I have left the -furniture of our home to you. Then I have been clever enough to pay -the rent in advance for the next three years, so that you will be able -to put by a little more. God bless you, my dear; you have brightened -the last years of an old woman's life." - -In a voice choked with emotion Emilia thanked and blessed the good -lady, who smiled and fondled her hand. She saw little Constance -frequently, but she would not allow the child to be saddened by -keeping her too long in the room of a dying woman. - -"Childhood should be bright," she said. "I want our child to remember -me in my cheerful moods." - -"She will remember and pray for you all her life," sobbed Emilia, "as -I shall, dearest and best of friends." - -The end came a little after midnight. - -"Do you think," she whispered, with a pause between each word, "that -you could let me kiss our dear child without awaking her?" - -"I will bring her," said Emilia. - -"Kiss me first, dear," said the dying lady. - -Emilia kissed her, and lay a few moments with her face nestling to -that of her friend. Then she went and brought the child in her arms. -Constance was asleep. Emilia had lifted her very lightly from her bed, -and now she laid her by Madame Lambert's side, and covered her with a -warm shawl. The child's fragrant breath flowed upon the dying lady's -face. - -"Our little angel is the sweetest flower the world contains," murmured -Madame Lambert. "Good-by, sweet one. Heaven guard and protect you!" - -She closed her eyes, and did not open them again. And so the good soul -passed away, with the child's breath fanning her face. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -CONSTANCE AND JULIAN. - - -The tide in Emilia's affairs which had led her to Geneva proved to be -most auspicious and fortunate. Her home with Madame Lambert was happy -and peaceful, and when that good friend had passed away there was no -break in the even tenor of her days. The connections she had formed -were lasting and endurable, and she was never without pupils. One -family recommended her to another, and she was constantly employed, -meeting respect everywhere. Her earnings were not large, but they were -sufficient for her modest wants. Blessed with the companionship of a -child whose loveliness and sweet disposition won the hearts of all who -came into association with her, the life led by Emilia and her -daughter may be likened to a peaceful lake nestling in a valley beyond -the reach of storm and tempest. The love Emilia bore for Constance was -deep and profound, and represented for the devoted mother the light -and joy of the world. So years passed until Constance was seventeen. - -All these years Emilia had heard no news from England, and had not -seen a face she had known in her youth. The past was buried in a grave -destined, as she believed, never to be disturbed, and there was not a -cloud in the horizon to warn her of a coming storm. It was the -happiest time of her life. - -Constance had many young friends, and among them, as was -natural--being a beautiful and accomplished girl, with winning and -amiable manners--an unreasonable number of young gentlemen who adored -her. Of these the favored one was Julian Bordier. - -M. Bordier, his father, was the head of an important watch -manufactory, a concern the reputation of which was world wide. -The name of Bordier was famous; his sign-manual engraved on the -back-plate of a watch was a guarantee of excellence. Consequently the -Bordiers--father, mother, son, and two daughters--were rich. - -Social grades are not so unfairly marked in Geneva as in other cities. -To have been well introduced, to be well educated, to live a reputable -life, to have good manners, form the open sesame to polite society. -Emilia and her daughter supplied all these requirements, and their -circle of acquaintance was large and reputable. It was through the -young people that Emilia was introduced to the house of the Bordiers, -and once admitted she was always welcomed with cordiality. In all -respects Julian Bordier was a gentleman and a man of refined -instincts; unhappily his sight was failing him, and the Genevese -specialists seemed to be powerless in their efforts to arrest the -affliction of blindness which threatened him. The effect which this -had upon the love which grew between Constance and Julian was to -instil into her feelings for him a sentiment of divine pity. Before -they were absolutely aware of it their hearts were engaged. - -Emilia watched the progress of this mutual affection with solicitous -eyes, but she did not speak of it to her daughter. It was for -Constance to introduce the subject, and that she had not done so was a -proof that there had been no love-making between the young people. -Constance believed her secret was not known, but the insight of a -mother's love is keen and strong, and Emilia knew it almost before her -daughter. The knowledge disquieted her. They were poor, the Bordiers -were rich. But it was not in her power to guide the current; she must -wait and hope for the best. - -One night Emilia and Constance came home later than usual. They had -been spending a musical evening at the Bordiers' house, and Emilia had -noticed for the first time that Julian's attentions to her child were -more than ordinarily marked. Now and again she looked apprehensively -at M. Bordier, who was sitting in his usual corner, and seemed to be -taking notice of his son's attentions to Constance; the father's face -was grave and observant, but there was no trace of disapproval on it. -This was comforting, but it did not remove Emilia's apprehensions. It -was a fine night, and Julian walked home with them. It needed not a -loving mother's insight to detect the newborn tenderness of Julian's -manner when he bade Constance good-night and held her hand in his. - -Mother and daughter derived delight from attending upon each other, -but on this night Emilia dispensed with Constance's services. She -brushed her own hair quickly, and then pressed Constance gently into a -chair, and busied herself over the abundant tresses of her beloved -child. With what loving care did she comb out the flowing locks, her -heart beating with infinite love for this sweet and only treasure of -her life! Then she coaxed Constance into bed, and knelt by the bedside -and prayed. - -"Mamma!" - -Emilia rose from her knees, and bent her face down to Constance. - -"Yes, dear child." - -"I am almost afraid to speak, mamma." - -"Is it about Julian Bordier, dear?" - -"Yes." - -"Tell me, my darling." - -"You will not be angry, mamma?" - -"Angry, darling--with you!" - -"He is coming to speak to you to-morrow, mamma." - -"He loves you, Constance." - -"Yes, mamma." - -"And you love him." - -The young girl hid her face on her mother's neck. - -"You are not sorry, mamma, are you?" - -"I think only of your happiness, darling. I have no other object in -life." - -"Oh, mamma, you are the sweetest, dearest mother in the world. It is -ungrateful of me; but, mamma, I cannot help it." - -"I know, I know, my darling. What does his father say?" - -"He dues not know--no one knows. Are you not surprised, mamma?" - -"I think I have seen it for some time past, my sweet." - -"And you never mentioned it, mamma--never even whispered it?" - -"It was for you to speak first, Constance, and I waited." - -"I can scarcely believe it. Oh, mamma, mamma, I love him, I love him!" - -"Dear child! When does he intend to speak to his father?" - -"After he has seen you. He did intend to speak to both of you first -before he said a word to me, but somehow, mamma--I don't know really -how it happened, nor does he--Mamma, you are crying!" - -"I cannot help it, dear. You are my only one, my only one----" - -"But, mamma, we shall still be together. Julian says so. We shall -never, never be separated." - -Emilia smiled sadly. "I have always liked Julian, dear, and if all -should turn out well I am sure he will make you happy." - -"He loves you dearly, mamma. I shall be glad when to-morrow is over." - -"It will soon be over, dear child. Time passes quickly. Now go to -sleep, my dear, dear child!" - -They kissed and embraced again and again, and then Constance's head -sank upon the pillow, and she fell asleep with her mother's arm -encircling her neck. Emilia lay awake for hours. Her daughter's -confession had revived memories of the past, and she could not banish -forebodings. Of all the young men whom she knew, Julian Burdier was -the one she would have chosen for Constance, but she dreaded the -coming meeting with his father. She could not explain her fears, but -she was haunted by threatening shadows. Daylight was dawning when she -fell asleep, and she rose unrefreshed from her bed. Constance, -dressed, was sitting by her side when she awoke. Never had she seen -her daughter look so beautiful; love made her radiant with angelic -loveliness. - -"I want you to look very, very bright, mamma," said Constance. "I will -help you dress." - -Engrossed in her own happy dreams she did not notice the tired -expression on her mother's face, which, after a little while, wore -away beneath the influence of Constance's gentle ministrations. - -"Julian will be here early, mamma," she said, when breakfast was over. -"I don't know what to do with myself. Shall I go out, or remain at -home? Hark! Yes; that is his step?" - -"Go to your bedroom, darling," said Emilia, with fond kisses, "and -wait till I call you." - -Constance obeyed, and Emilia admitted the young man, who entered the -room with flowers for Constance and her mother. She motioned him to a -seat; she was palpitating with emotion, but she succeeded in -preserving an apparently calm demeanor. - -"You expected me," he said, after she had accepted the flowers and -laid them aside. - -"Constance told me you would come," said Emilia, gravely. - -"Is she well?" - -"Quite well." - -Then there was an awkward pause, but soon the young man took heart of -grace, and in modest, manly fashion laid his petition before Emilia. - -"I cannot hope to be worthy of her," he said; "no man could be, but I -can promise sincerely to do all in my power to make her happy. I love -her very dearly. What can I say more? You will not refuse me?" - -"If it depended upon me," said Emilia, speaking very slowly, "I should -be contented to place my daughter's happiness in your keeping, for I -believe you to be worthy of her." - -"How can I thank you?" said Julian, impetuously. "It does depend upon -you. Then all is settled. May I see Constance?" - -She gently shook her head. "Not yet. I could have wished you had -consulted me before you said anything to Constance. I am not blaming -you--I know there are feelings it is difficult to keep in check, but I -think it would have been better if you had confided in me first. I -could then have advised you." - -"To do what? You have no objection to entrusting me with her; and -indeed, indeed, your trust shall not be misplaced. Perhaps you are -right, but it can make no difference now that I know you approve." - -"There is one," said Emilia, steadily, "to whom you should have spoken -even before you addressed me or Constance." - -"My father?" - -"Yes, your father." - -"Again, I daresay you are right. But I am sure of my father. He loves -me, and will not thwart me----" - -Emilia held up her hand. "Have you considered the difference in our -position?" - -"No--except that I have always felt that Constance is far above me, if -that is what you mean." - -"It is not what I mean. Parents are compelled to view such matters in -a different light. I can give Constance no dowry." - -"I want none. I want her." - -"And with your father's approval, you shall have my consent. It is my -duty to say this to you, and as you have consulted me first I should -wish him to know that I have so expressed myself, and that my answer -is in his hands." - -"Very well, I will go to him at once. There is not the least doubt of -his answer, and I have yours already." - -"No," interrupted Emilia, firmly, but with a tender inclining toward -the young man, "you have not mine already. I cannot give it to you -definitely until I have seen or heard from your father." - -"How precise you are," said Julian, in a gay tone; "but my dear -Constance's mother cannot be wrong in anything she does." He raised -her hand to his lips and kissed it. "You will not turn me away without -allowing me to see her?" - -"I will not turn you away at all, but I cannot sanction anything more -than kind friendship between you and my child till your father has -spoken. Julian, do you not see that I am striving to perform a duty -which I consider right?" - -"Of course I do, and I am greatly to be blamed for worrying you. But -let me see her for one moment. It is only to say good-morning and to -shake hands. You would not have refused me yesterday." - -"Nor will I now. I rely upon your honor, Julian." - -"You may, implicitly." - -She called her daughter, and turned from them while they spoke. They -exchanged only a few words, but Constance's hand remained in Julian's -and that was happiness enough for the present. Then Julian called out -to Emilia: - -"Good-morning. I shall be here again very soon." - -She accompanied him to the door, and sent him away with a bright -smile, but there was a fear at her heart which she could not have -defined had she endeavored to set it clearly before her. - -An hour afterward M. Bordier was announced. - -"Constance," said Emilia, "I think you had best take a walk while I -speak to Julian's father." - -Constance kissed her mother in silence, and was leaving the room as M. -Bordier entered it. - -"Are you going for a walk?" he asked, holding out his hand. - -His voice and manner were so affectionate that her heart was filled -with joy. Emilia's heart also throbbed with hope. - -"Yes, sir," replied Constance, raising her eyes timidly to his face. - -"It is a bright morning, my dear," he said. "I am glad for your sake -and for Julian's." - -She wiped away the happy tears as she descended the stairs and out -into the sunshine. - -"I thought I would lose no time," said M. Bordier to Emilia, "although -really it seemed as if I were not master of my own movements. Julian -was so impatient that he almost thrust me from the house. We will not -beat about the bush, my dear madam. Julian is my only son, and that -which affects his happiness affects me almost as nearly." - -"Then you have no objection to the engagement?" said Emilia, eagerly. - -"None. Julian has related to me all that passed between you and him, -and said you chided him for not coming to me first." - -"I considered it the right course." - -"Perhaps, but young people in love are impetuous, and do not reflect. -We ourselves were young, and can recall the time when we were in their -position." A shiver passed through Emilia at this allusion. "You made -some reference to Julian about the difference in our circumstances. I -intend to speak very plainly, you see, because I want the ground -cleared once and for all, for all our sakes. Well, there is a -difference, I admit, but it is not to be taken into account. You can -give your daughter no dowry. It is not needed; I am rich enough to -make the future easy for them. My son is a gentleman, your daughter is -a lady. I approve of her, and I shall be proud to receive her into my -family." Emilia gazed at him with swimming eyes; the fear at her heart -was fading away. "She is a great favorite in our home, and we are all -very fond of her. I am glad that the matter has come to an issue -before Julian leaves Geneva----" - -"Is he going away, then?" asked Emilia, startled at the news. - -"For a short time only, I hope, and I shall go with him. His failing -sight has caused us great anxiety, and the doctors here can do nothing -for him. We intend to go to Paris, to consult an eminent specialist, -and I trust he will come home quite cured. So that it is as well he -has spoken to Constance. Indeed I suspect his projected departure -caused him to open his heart to her earlier than he intended. Some -persons are opposed to early marriages; I am not; and to judge from -your looks you must be of my opinion. You married young?" - -"Yes," replied Emilia, faintly. Her fears revived; her undefined -apprehension of evil was beginning to take shape. - -"Your name Braham, might belong to any nationality. Was your husband -French?" - -"He was English." Her throat was dry; she could scarcely articulate -her words. M. Bordier looked at her in concern. "You are not well." - -"A sudden faintness, that is all," said Emilia, in a firmer tone. She -must not give way; her daughter's happiness was at stake. "It has -passed off now." - -"English? And you are English also?" - -"Yes." - -"I remember when the good Madame Lambert brought you here, that there -was some curiosity felt as to your nationality, but Madame Lambert -silenced it by saying that you would prefer not to refer to the past. -That was woman's talk, and it soon ceased. Your daughter bears Madame -Lambert's name, Constance." - -"Madame Lambert wished it." - -"Were you and she related--excuse my interminable questions, but now -that we are about to become closely connected we should know more of -each other's antecedents." - -"We were not related." - -"Ah, well. While I am away I may run over to England. I should not be -sorry for the opportunity of calling upon your friends there." - -"I have no friends there." - -"Some relatives surely." - -"None." - -"Well, your late husband's relatives." - -"M. Bordier," said Emilia, summoning all her courage to her aid, -"there are in the world persons whose past is so fraught with unhappy -memories that it is painful to revive them. Such has been my past, and -the simple references you have made have opened wounds I hoped were -healed. Pray question me no more." - -"I will not," said M. Bordier, kindly, but also with a certain gravity -which impressed itself strongly upon Emilia, "we will say nothing more -about it at present, and I ask your pardon for causing you pain. But -still, when the formal preliminaries to the marriage between Constance -and Julian are prepared--which cannot be done until Julian and I -return to Geneva--some necessary information of your past will have, -of course, to be given to make the contract legal and binding. Until -then we will let the matter drop. And now allow me to assure you that -I give my consent to the engagement with satisfaction and pleasure. -Julian's mother and I have often discussed the future of our children, -and shall be quite satisfied if they marry into families of -respectable character. That is all we ask, and all we consider we have -a right to demand. As to worldly prospects, we will make that our -affair, being, I am thankful to say, able to provide for our children -and the mates they may choose." - -He held out his hand to Emilia, and with old-fashioned courtesy kissed -her, saying, "You and your daughter will make our house your home -while Julian and I are absent." - -"How long do you expect to be away?" asked Emilia. - -"It depends upon what the specialists say of Julian's sight. But under -any circumstances we shall be absent for at least three months, I -expect. Of course the young people will correspond. The first part of -their courtship will have to be done by correspondence." - -Soon after M. Bordier's departure Constance returned, and was made -happy by the account of the interview. Emilia said nothing of M. -Bordier's references to the past, a theme which had only been dropped -to be taken up again when M. Bordier and Julian came back to Geneva. -The evil day was postponed, but Emilia would not darken the joy of the -lovers by speaking of it, or by hinting at her fast-growing fears of -what the final issue would be. M. Bordier had made it clear to her -that it was absolutely necessary that those who formed matrimonial -connections with his children must be persons of respectable -character. What was she? What was her darling Constance? Unknown to -all in Geneva, where they were both respected and loved, they bore the -maiden name of the mother. Let this fact be revealed, let the story of -her life be made public, and they would be irretrievably disgraced, -their position lost, their happiness blasted. Julian remained in -Geneva two days after Emilia's interview with M. Bordier, and now that -there was no restraint upon the relations between the young lovers, -Emilia recognized how irrevocably Constance's happiness was linked -with Julian. Was it to be left to her, the fond, the suffering mother, -to wreck the future of the child she adored? Was it fated that she -should be compelled to say to Constance, "You cannot wed the man you -love. He is a gentleman, with an unstained record. You are a child of -shame, and are not fit to associate with respectable people. Take your -rightful place in the world--in the gutters--and look at me and know -that I have put you there." Yes, this, in effect, was the judgment she -would have to pronounce. The agony she endured during those two happy -days of courtship is indescribable; but she schooled herself to some -semblance of outward composure, and successfully parried the -solicitous inquiries of those by whom she was surrounded. As to what -was to be done, she would not, she could not think of it till Julian -and his father were gone. They were to be away at least three months; -within that time much might be accomplished--she did not know what or -how--but she would pray to God to guide her. So she suffered in -silence, and kissed Julian good-by, and sat quiet in her room while -the lovers were exchanging their last words of affection. Were they to -be indeed the last? Were they never to meet again, to fondly renew -their vows of unchangeful love? It was for her, the tender mother, to -answer these questions. She was the Sibyl who held in her hands the -skeins of fate. It was for her to shed light or darkness upon the -future of her darling child. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -IN ENGLAND ONCE MORE. - - -The whole of that night Emilia spent in prayer and thought. She sought -for guidance, and her prayers were answered. With one exception the -events of the past came clearly before her. The death of her father, -her life in Mrs. Seaton's house, her first meeting with Gerald, what -occurred on the night she was turned by the cruel woman into the -streets, the kindness of the maiden sisters, her flight after -overhearing the vile calumnies which Mrs. Seaton uttered against her, -her meeting with the good old wagoner--and then a blank. She could not -remember where the wagoner's cottage was situated, and she knew it -would be impossible to find it without some practical clue. The -marriage at the registrar's office she now distinctly recalled, and -although she had never held the marriage certificate in her hand, she -was certain the ceremony had been performed. Then came the memory of -the happy honeymoon, and with that memory certain words which Gerald -had spoken to her with reference to the desk of Indian workmanship -which he had said was her property, but which his brother Leonard -retained with other articles which rightfully belonged to her. The -words were these: "There is a secret drawer in this desk, Emilia, and -in the desk something which concerns you nearly." It flashed upon her -with the power of a divine revelation that what he referred to was the -marriage certificate, which, if she could obtain it, would insure her -daughter's happiness and save them both from disgrace. She placed -credence no longer in the infamous statement made by Leonard, that she -had gone through a false ceremony; she had believed it at the time -because of her wish to escape from her persecutors and defamers, -because Gerald was lost to her, because she thought only of the -present. The image of Gerald, with his truthful eyes, rose before her; -she heard his voice, the voice of truth and honor, say mournfully, -"And could you believe that I could be so unutterably base and -infamous as to deceive you so shamefully, that I could plot and lie -for your ruin, whom I loved so faithfully?" No, she would no longer -believe it. Gerald had behaved honorably toward her, and she had -allowed herself to be tricked by the specious tale of a villain whose -object was to obtain possession of the fortune which would have fallen -to her. He was welcome to that, but she would at least make an effort -to rescue her darling child from despair. She would go to England and -endeavor to find Leonard. That done she would boldly confront him, and -tell him to his face that he had lied to her, and that she would -expose him if he did not furnish her with the opportunity of -establishing her marriage with Gerald. She would not confide in -Constance, for the present, and for as long as it was in her power to -do so, she would preserve her secret. Time enough when she was -compelled to reveal it. - -She acted as she was inwardly directed. The following day she told -Constance that business of a private nature necessitated her going to -England. Constance was to go with her, and they would be away from -Geneva probably some six or seven weeks. - -"We shall be back before Julian returns," said Constance, and then was -seized with consternation. "But his letters, mamma, his letters!" - -"We can leave directions," said Emilia, "that they shall be forwarded -to the London Post-Office. It will only be a delay of a day or two, -and you can make your letters to Julian longer, as a recompense." - -Emilia named London, a city she had never visited, because she had -often heard Leonard say that it was the only place in England worth -living in. With money at command that would be the most likely place -in which to find him. - -Julian's family were surprised at this sudden departure, but Emilia -easily explained it by saying that it was upon private business of -importance. By her directions Constance wrote to Julian at once, -informing him of their movements, and bidding him address his future -letters to her to the General Post-Office in London. Then Emilia made -arrangements for a lady to take her place with her pupils during her -absence, and all her preparations being completed, she and Constance -started for England. - -What would have embarrassed her had Constance been of a less sweet and -confiding disposition was the necessity of her conducting her -inquiries alone, without the knowledge of her daughter. She explained -this to Constance as well as she was able. - -"You will not mind being left a good deal alone, dear?" she said, -when they were established in lodgings in London. - -"No, mamma, if you wish it," said Constance. - -"It is necessary, darling. I have some business of a very private -nature to look after; if you were with me it would hamper me. I cannot -tell you now what it is, but it is for your good and mine." - -"And Julian's," said Constance. - -"Of course, and Julian's. You will not mind, will you?" - "No, mamma, not at all. I can get books, and I can write to Julian." - -"You think only of him, dear." - -"And of you, mamma," said Constance, reproachfully. - -"Yes, my dear, yes. I think I must be growing jealous." - -"There is no reason, mamma dear. I love you both with all my heart. -And Julian loves us both with all his. And you love us both with all -yours. So it is really equal all round." - -"Constance," said Emilia, "if it were ever to happen that you had to -choose between Julian and me----" - -"Mamma," cried Constance, "you frighten me!" - -"Forgive me, darling, forgive me," said Emilia, hastening to repair -her error by caresses, "but all sorts of notions come into a foolish -mother's head when she is about to lose her child." - -"Now, mamma," said Constance, forcing her mother into a chair and -kneeling before her, "I am going to be very severe with you. How, can -you talk of my choosing between Julian and you? Why, mamma, it is -impossible, it would break my heart! And how can you talk of losing -your child? You will never lose her, darling mamma. Instead of losing -me you will have another to look after as well as me; you will have -Julian, who loves you nearly, not quite--I will not have that--as much -as I do." - -"Never, Constance." - -"And you will never think it again?" - -"Never, dear," said Emilia; and she was careful from that hour to keep -a more jealous guard over her tongue. - -At this period of Emilia's life there entered into her soul a -surprising strength. She became strong, morally and physically. All -her energies, all her intellectual faculties, were braced up almost -abnormally in the momentous mission upon which she was engaged. -Feeling the importance of a starting-point, she determined to visit -her native town, and to visit it alone. She learnt from the -time-tables that a train started at 5 P.M. and arrived at 10. On the -following day a train from London started at 4 P.M. and was due some -six hours after, so that she need be absent from Constance for one -night only. It was her first separation from her child, but she nerved -herself to it, and instilled the same spirit into Constance, who -consented without a murmur. Constance was to have her meals at home, -to keep her doors locked and not stir out, and to wait up the second -night for her mother's return. - -"I shall be quite safe, mamma," said Constance, "and I shall not be -dull. Nearly all the time you are away I shall be writing to Julian." - -That night Emilia was once more in her native town. Eighteen years had -passed since she left it, and it was with sadness she recognized -familiar landmarks with which her childhood had been associated. She -had taken the precaution of effecting a change in her appearance. She -darkened her eyebrows and arranged her hair in a fashion so strange as -to be startled when she looked into the glass. Moreover, she wore a -thick veil. "No one will know me," she thought. But when she issued -from the hotel the next morning she was a little afraid, for among the -first persons she met was Mrs. Seaton. The cruel woman was but little -altered; her features were more pinched, her eyes more stern than of -yore, but Emilia knew her instantly. Mrs. Seaton, however, did not -recognize Emilia, although she looked at her sharply, as was her wont -with strangers. There was in the town a gossip who kept a small shop, -and thither Emilia went, and, entering the shop, was greeted by the -same woman who used to serve her in former years. Making some -purchases and bargaining for others, Emilia drew the woman into -conversation, and learned all she wished to know. Oh, yes, the woman -remembered the brothers Paget very well, very well indeed. They were -not brothers, no, they were stepbrothers. There was a fire in their -house, and it was burned down, how many years ago? Eighteen or twenty, -she could not quite say to a year or two; and a young lady, Miss -Braham--Emilia Braham, that was her right name--rushed out of the -house in the middle of the night while the fire was raging. There was -a lot of talk about it. Miss Braham's father died suddenly--was killed -by the falling of a scaffold--and Emilia was left alone, without a -shilling in the world. Then she got a situation with Mrs. Seaton--Oh, -everybody knew Mrs. Seaton; she had a sharp tongue, and had more -enemies than friends--and she left her mistress' house at a moment's -notice. Late at night, too. Mrs. Seaton said she had planned a secret -meeting with Mr. Gerald Paget--he was the handsomest and the youngest -of the step-brothers--and that was the reason of her going away so -suddenly. It did look suspicious, didn't it? And it looked more than -suspicious when she rushed out of Mr. Gerald's house in the middle of -the night to save herself from being burned alive. That is often how -people are found out in a way they little expect. But there were some -people afterward who took Miss Braham's part, and said she wasn't -guilty, though appearances were so much against her. That was because -two ladies--old maids they were, and sisters--stood up for her, and -went about saying all sorts of kind things about Miss Braham. What is -that you say? God bless them for it! Yes, they deserve all that; they -were kind-hearted ladies. They're in the churchyard now, and know more -than we do. Well, these old maids took Miss Braham home on the night -of the fire, when she was in a high fever, and no wonder, with what -was on her mind; and Mrs. Seaton went there and told them they were -being imposed upon by a shameless young woman. It was a hard thing to -do, and she might have held her tongue, but that is not Mrs. Seaton's -way. Once she takes a grudge against a body she don't let them alone, -not she. While she was, with the old maids talking against Miss -Braham, the young lady herself heard it, it seems, and she ran away, -no one knew where to. Mr. Gerald, who must have been very much in love -with her, was in a dreadful way about her, and the lawyers were busy -trying to find her; and his step-brother, Mr. Leonard, who had come -home from Australia that very morning, helped him, too. Then the two -brothers went away together, and nothing was heard of them, or of Miss -Braham, for months and months, till it got about that poor Mr. Gerald -had been killed by falling over a precipice in foreign parts. Then Mr. -Leonard came home, and took possession of the property, which all fell -to him. What did he do with it? He sold it all off, and went to London -to live, and that's where he is now, for all she knew. It was a lot of -money he came into; some say as much as five or six thousand pounds a -year, but he was just the sort of gentleman to make ducks and drakes -with it. That was the whole story of the two brothers and Miss Emilia -Braham. You would like to know something more! What is it? When Mr. -Leonard Paget came home didn't he say anything about Miss Braham? No, -not a word, so far as she knew, and she would have been sure to hear -of it if he had. No, she was positive he never said one single word -about her. She did not suppose he knew what became of her, and most -likely, after a time, he forgot her altogether. - -Then the garrulous shopwoman, having exhausted her budget, reckoned up -the purchases which Emilia had made, and having received payment, bade -her customer good day. - -Emilia's next visit was to a flower shop, where she bought some loose -flowers; then to the churchyard, where she was directed to the grave -of the maiden sisters. She knelt and prayed there, and left the -flowers on their grave. - -She had learned that Leonard was in London, and as there was no -occasion for her to remain any longer in the town she took an earlier -train than that she had marked, and arrived home four hours before -Constance expected her. Reflecting upon her situation during that -night, she felt how powerless she was. Leonard, she had every reason -to believe, was in London, but to look for him in that vast city in -the hope of finding him was scarcely within reason. And, indeed, had -she not been befriended by some strange chance she might have remained -in London for years without meeting the man for whom she was seeking. -But it happened so, and an important stage was reached in her inquiry. - -The weather was bitterly cold, and snow was falling heavily, but this -did not keep her at home. In a kind of fever she traversed the streets -of the city, selecting those which a man of fashion and fond of -pleasure would be most likely to frequent. On the fourth day of her -search she was walking in Regent Street, when she suddenly stopped -with her hand at her heart. It was as much as she could do to prevent -herself from screaming aloud, for walking leisurely before her, with a -light step and jaunty air, was Leonard Paget himself. By a powerful -effort she controlled her agitation, and set herself the task of -following him. She had caught a glimpse of his face, and she could not -be mistaken. He looked older and thinner, but his expression was that -of a man who was enjoying the pleasures of the world and making the -most of them. Having thus providentially tracked him down, Emilia -determined not to lose sight of him. Her desire was to ascertain where -he lived, and in the doing so to keep herself from his sight. To -accost him in the open street would be madness. No, she must speak to -him in a place where he could not easily escape from her, where he -could not thrust her off. "If he takes a cab," she thought, "I will -take another and follow him. If he walks all day and night, I will -walk after him. He shall not, he shall not, evade me now." No -detective could have been more determined and wary than she, but her -present task did not occupy her very long. The cold day was no -temptation to the man before her, and it happened fortunately for -Emilia, that his face was homeward turned. He walked to the bottom of -Regent Street, and plunged into the narrow tangle of thoroughfares on -the left. The numbers of people favored her pursuit, and she was not -noticed. True, the man did not know he was being followed, and only -looked back when a pretty girl passed him. Presently he was in Soho, -and in one or two of the streets through which she passed Emilia -feared detection, there being fewer persons in them; but still he had -no suspicion, and walked carelessly, gayly on. At length he stopped -before a house in Gerard Street, took a latch-key from his pocket, -opened the door, entered, and closed it behind him. - -Emilia drew a long breath. It was there he lived; but she would make -sure. - -A boy with a basket of bread slung across his shoulders had stopped at -the next house to deliver a loaf. Leonard Paget had passed the boy, -who looked at him while he was opening the street door. Then the boy, -having received some money, lounged on to the house which Leonard had -entered, and knocked and rang. The housekeeper, Mrs. Middlemore, -answered the summons, and took in a loaf. When the street door was -closed again Emilia crossed over to the lad, and asked him if he would -like a shilling, to which the boy facetiously replied that he would -like two, but would put up with one if he could not get more. - -"I will give you two," said Emilia, "if you answer a few questions." - -"Off we start," said the boy. - -"I want to know who that gentleman is who went into the house you have -just left?" - -"That gent as let himself in with his latch-key. Oh, that's Mr. -Felix." - -"It's not true," said Emilia. - -"Oh, you're going to cry off, are you? I call that mean, I do. I tell -you it's Mr. Felix." - -Emilia considered a moment. What more likely than that Leonard Paget -was living there under an assumed name? - -"Are you sure? Here is the first shilling." - -"Cock sure. Why, he's lived there years and years, and there's nobody -in the house but him. There's a housekeeper, Mrs. Middlemore; she took -in a loaf from me." - -"Does this Mr. Felix live there regularly?" - -"I see him regularly, so he lives there regularly. Anything more I can -do for you?" - -"No, thank you; here is your other shilling." - -"Thank you." And the boy walked off, whistling. - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - -DR. PETERSSEN REAPPEARS ON THE SCENE. - - -For the unexpected good fortune of this discovery Emilia was very -grateful, and her mind was now occupied in considering how to make the -best use of it. She did not linger in Gerard Street lest she should be -seen by Gerald's brother, but before she left it she ascertained that -he was known not as Mr., but as Monsieur Felix. For what reason had he -concealed his right name? For what reason had he assumed that of a -foreigner? It was perhaps because she had but one subject to think of, -but one supreme end to attain, that she mentally decided that she -herself was not unconnected with his motive for concealing his -identity. If that were the case it would be difficult indeed to obtain -an interview with him. If she presented herself in person, or sent up -her name, he would refuse to receive her; if she forced herself upon -him he would not listen to her, and the next time she went to him she -would find that he had flown. Thus her mission would be a failure and -the unhappiness of her daughter insured. It behooved her to be very -careful in her movements; the least slip would be fatal. - -The whole of that day and the whole of the next she bent her mind to -the consideration of the peculiar position in which she was placed. -She did not remain at home; she spent many hours in the vicinity of -Soho, making inquiries of M. Felix's habits and character, in such a -manner as to draw no suspicion upon herself. Small tradesmen of whom -she made purchases were the medium of these inquiries, and they were -able to give her much information because of the gossiping disposition -of Mrs. Middlemore, the housekeeper. It was at this time that she -developed a talent for intrigue. To insure that she should not be -recognized by M. Felix in a chance meeting in the streets, she took a -room that was to let midway between Soho and the apartments occupied -by herself, stating that she was an actress; and at one shop in the -Strand, and at another in a street running out of that thoroughfare, -she purchased a box of "make-up" and a wig of a different color from -her own hair. It was a short wig, and when her own locks were -concealed beneath it, and she had used certain pigments on her face, -no one who knew her as Emilia Braham could possibly recognize her. -These changes were made in the room she had taken unknown to -Constance, and she gave no person in the house an opportunity of -observing her. Independent, however, of these changes she was no -further advanced at the end of the second day than when she met M. -Felix in Regent Street, and she could think of no means of obtaining -the interview she desired. - -On the third day she went out again in the direction of Gerard Street, -drawn thither, as it were, by a magnetic current. But indeed all her -hopes, and the future of herself and child, were centred in the house -in which Gerald's brother lived under the name of M. Felix. Snow was -still falling heavily, but she did not shrink from the chill blasts -which swept through the narrow spaces of Soho. She had struck up an -acquaintance with the mistress of a shop in which foreign provisions -were sold, and she was now standing before the counter conversing with -the woman, and picking up further information of the domestic habits -which reigned in M. Felix's house. She learnt that it was Mrs. -Middlemore's custom to go out every night for her supper-beer at -half-past eleven, and that she was generally absent for not less than -half an hour. A wild plan instantly suggested itself; she felt that -something must be done, and that she must be bold. At eleven o'clock -this very night she would be on the watch outside the house in -Gerard Street, waiting for the housekeeper to go upon her usual -nightly errand. Then she would go up to her, before she closed the -street-door, and say she came by appointment to see M. Felix. She had -already ascertained that he occupied apartments on the first floor; -she had seen on the previous night the lights shining through his -windows, and she would know in the same way on this night whether he -was at home. If she played her part well, and controlled her voice so -that it did not betray her, the housekeeper would doubtless take her -word, and thus she would obtain entrance to the house without M. Felix -being aware of it. As to what she should do when she confronted him -she was as yet undecided, but certain unformed ideas loomed in her -mind which seemed to give her hope that this nocturnal visit would not -be fruitless. It would be necessary, however, that she should not -present herself to the housekeeper dressed as a woman, for that would -almost certainly bring suspicion upon her. In the disguise of a man -her story would be more credible. Well, she would buy a suit of male -clothing, and so disguise herself. The moral energy by which she was -supported caused her to accept any suggestion, however daring and -bold, by means of which she could attain success. - -She went out of the provision shop full of the scheme, but had not -gone ten yards before she made a discovery which occasioned her as -much surprise as her meeting with Gerald's brother a couple of days -ago. A man brushed quite closely to her, and this man was none other -than Dr. Peterssen. Another fateful thread in her sad story. What did -his presence in that locality portend? - -He took no notice of her as he passed, but lingered before the window -of the provision shop, looking through the panes, not at the goods -displayed, but into the shop to see who was there. Throughout this -series of adventures Emilia's senses were preternaturally sharpened, -and nothing escaped her which seemed to bear upon her sad story. -Presently Dr. Peterssen entered the shop, and without a moment's -hesitation Emilia followed him. - -He had already commenced a conversation with the mistress of the -establishment, who, saying to him, "I beg your pardon," went to -Emilia. - -"I have forgotten something I wanted to buy," said Emilia, in a low -tone, "but I can wait till you have attended to that gentleman." - -She took care that her voice should not reach his ears, and as the -woman stepped toward him she turned her back, with the air of a person -who was not in the least interested in his business. The first words -she spoke caused Emilia's heart to beat violently; but she still kept -her face from him. - -"Yes, sir, M. Felix lives very near here, in the next street." - -"Thank you," said Dr. Peterssen. "It was very careless of me to lose -the letter he sent me containing his address. Would you mind writing -it down on paper for me?" - -"Not at all, sir." - -The woman wrote the address, and Dr. Peterssen, thanking her, left the -shop. Then she asked Emilia what she wished; it was common enough for -people to come and ask the address of persons living in the -neighborhood, and she attached no importance to it. Emilia made -another small purchase, and again took her departure. - -Instead of leaving Soho, as was her original intention, to buy the -suit of man's clothing necessary for the carrying out of her scheme, -she walked slowly through Gerard Street. Dr. Peterssen was on the -opposite side of the road to that on which M. Felix's house was -situated, and he was gazing up at the windows with an expression of -triumph on his face. There had been a note of triumph also in his -voice when he had thanked the shopkeeper for the information she gave -him, and Emilia judged from those signs that he, as well as herself, -had been hunting for M. Felix. For what reason, and why, had M. Felix -hidden himself from a man he knew so well? Here again Emilia did not -stop to reason. In the selfishness of the task upon which she was -engaged she jumped at conclusions, and the conclusion she formed now -was that Dr. Peterssen's search for M. Felix was in some way connected -with herself and the husband she had lost. - -No detective could have acted more warily than she. With extreme -caution she watched Dr. Peterssen's movements. He stood for a few -moments looking up at the windows, then he crossed the road, and noted -the number of the house, and then, with an exulting smile, he slowly -walked away. Emilia was now more than ever resolved to carry out her -scheme on this night. - -She had observed that there were large clothing establishments in -Tottenham Court Road, and at one of these she purchased a suit of -clothes for a small-made man. Hastening to the room she had taken she -tried them on and found them too large. She went back to the shop and -exchanged the suit for a smaller one, which fitted her fairly well. -Then leaving the clothes behind her, she joined Constance, and -remained with her till eight o'clock. - -"Must you go out to night, mamma?" asked the girl. - -"Yes, Constance," replied Emilia, "and I may not be home till late. -You had better go to bed soon." - -"No, mamma," said Constance, "I will wait up for you." She went to the -window. "Mamma, you cannot possibly go out. The snow will blind you. -There is not a person in the streets." - -"I must go, dear child," said Emilia, firmly. - -"But, mamma, dear--look!" - -It was the night of January 16th, and a terrible snowstorm was raging. -For over two weeks now the snow had been falling in London, and many -of the thoroughfares were blocked with drift, which the efforts of -great numbers of laborers could not remove; and on this night the -tempest had reached its height. So engrossed had Emilia been in the -task which had brought her from her happy home in Geneva that she -thought little of the storms of nature which she had encountered as -she trudged through the white-carpeted thoroughfares of the city. What -physical sufferings was she not prepared to bear, and to bear -cheerfully, for the sake of her beloved child? Only when her strength -gave way would she yield, and she was sustained now by an abnormal -strength which enabled her to endure that from which on ordinary -occasions she would have shrunk. During this trying period of her life -her powers of endurance were astonishing. - -"You will not go out in such a storm, mamma!" - -"Do not try to dissuade me, darling, I must go. Do not fear for me; -God is watching over me. I shall be quite safe." - -"Let me go with you," pleaded Constance. - -"Impossible. You know, dear child, I always do what I believe to be -right; I am doing it now, and you must not thwart me, nor make things -more difficult for me than they are." - -"Are they difficult, mamma!" asked Constance, in a tone of tender -solicitude. This was the first time her mother had hinted at -difficulties, and the admission had slipped from Emilia unawares. - -"Yes, dear, but I cannot tell you what they are. Perhaps the time may -come when I shall tell you all, but for the present trust in me, have -faith in me." - -The solemnity of her voice had its effect, and Constance no longer -attempted to prevail upon her. - -"Are you warm enough, mamma?" - -"Yes, dear child, and my boots are dry and thick. God bless my -darling, and shield her from harm." - -Constance tied a red silk scarf round her mother's neck, who left her -with bright smiles and cheering words. Then Emilia made her way to her -other lodging of one room, and effected the change in her garments. -There was no other lodger in the house but herself, and she had a -latchkey to let herself in; she experienced little difficulty in -preserving the secrecy necessary for her operations, and she entered -and left the house always without being observed. - -She surveyed herself in the little bit of broken looking-glass which -rested on the deal chest of drawers against the wall. "It is not -possible for anyone to recognize me," she thought, and was about to -leave the room, when her eyes fell upon the red scarf which Constance -had tied round her throat. With a tender smile she took it up and put -it on. She looked at her watch; it was a quarter to ten. "I have still -a few minutes," she said, and she knelt by the side of the bed she had -not yet occupied, and prayed for strength and for a successful issue -of her dangerous errand. Then she went out into the streets. - -They were almost deserted; all the better for her task. On such a -night who would notice her? As she turned into Gerard Street the -church clocks chimed a quarter to eleven. She had three-quarters -of an hour to wait. But the hot blood rushed over her face and neck as -she saw, three or four paces ahead of her, the form of a man -proceeding in the direction she was taking--and that man no other -than Dr. Peterssen. He knocked--a peculiar knock seemingly by -pre-arrangement--and Emilia timed her steps so that she reached and -passed the door as it was opened by someone from within. She stooped -just beyond the street-door, and while she was pretending to tie her -shoestring heard what passed, which may fitly be given here in -dramatic form: - -Dr. Peterssen: "Ah, my dear friend, at last we meet!" - -M. Felix (starting back): "You!" - -(His voice, although it had spoken but one word, was to Emilia a -confirmation. It was the voice of Gerald's brother, Leonard.) - -Dr. Peterssen (airily): "I, sweet comrade in the shady paths, I, Dr. -Peterssen--nu ghost, flesh and blood. You received my note." - -M. Felix: "Written in a woman's hand, signed in a woman's name!" - -Dr. Peterssen: "I knew that was the best bait to hook my fish. And the -knock, too, that you yourself and no one else--no prying housekeepers -or servants--must answer. Still the same Don Juan as ever. But it is -biting cold here. Let us get into your cosy room and talk." - -M. Felix: "Not to-night." - -Dr. Peterssen: "I am not to be put off, friend of my soul. We will -have our little say to-night." - -M. Felix: "I have friends with me. I cannot receive you now." - -Dr. Peterssen: "A lie. You have no friends with you." (His tone -changing to one of undisguised brutality.) "If you keep me waiting -here one minute longer I will ruin you. Do you forget our pleasant -partnership in Switzerland nineteen years ago? Do you forget your -brother Gerald?" - -M. Felix: "Hush! Come in. Step softly." - -That was all. The door was closed, and all was still. - -Emilia stood upright, with a face as white as the falling snow. The -words with their hidden meanings, the voices with their varying tones, -the trick by which Dr. Peterssen had found it necessary to obtain -admission to the presence of M. Felix, the veiled threats, the -allusions to the partnership in Switzerland and to her dear -Gerald--what did all these portend? What but a secret plot, unknown to -her, unknown to all but its accomplices, a plot in which Gerald had -been involved, and therefore she? Oh, for some beneficent gift to -pierce those walls, to hear what those villains were saying! But it -was idle and might be hurtful to indulge in vain, impracticable -wishes. She summoned all her fortitude. Scarcely now could she hope to -obtain speech to-night with the man whom she believed had ruined her -life, and who could ruin it still further. But she would not desert -her post; she would wait and hope. She heeded not the bitter, piercing -cold; she seemed to be divinely armed against physical suffering. So -she tramped slowly up and down the street through the deep snow, -keeping her eyes fixed ever on the windows of the room in which the -conspirators were conversing, walking backward with her face to them -when she went from the house. Visions of the past rose before her; the -white snow falling even in this narrow street brought back the snow -mountains of Switzerland, where last she had seen the two enemies -within hail of her. "Strengthen me, oh, God of the universe!" she -murmured. "Endow me with power to fulfil my task, so that I may keep -shame and sorrow from my beloved child." - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - -DR. PETERSSEN BRINGS M. FELIX TO BOOK. - - -When Dr. Peterssen entered M. Felix's sitting-room he sank into a -chair, and gazed around upon the luxurious furnishings with an air of -scornful approval. A cigar-case was on the table, and without -invitation the unwelcome visitor helped himself to a cigar, which he -lighted and smoked in silence for two or three minutes. Meanwhile M. -Felix looked on and said nothing. - -"You are comfortably lodged here," said Dr. Peterssen, at length, "and -your cigars are very fine; but you were ever a man of taste in the -matter of your own enjoyments; the best were always good enough for -you. By the by, the friends you were entertaining? Where are they?" M. -Felix smiled sourly, and Dr. Peterssen laughed aloud. The next moment, -however, he became grave. "Let us proceed to business." - -"With all my heart," said M. Felix. "I shall be rid of you all the -sooner." - -"You will never be rid of me, dear comrade. I am curious to learn for -what reason Mr. Leonard Paget has transformed himself into M. Felix." - -"You are curious to learn nothing of the sort; you are acquainted with -the reason. It was to escape from your rapacity, which in another year -or two would have beggared me." - -"A good reason, from a purely selfish point of view, but you lost -sight of a most important element. You and I are one, sweet boy; our -fortunes are one; if I swim, you swim; if I sink, you sink. I am not -at all sure, as to the latter, whether I could not save myself and -bring you to destruction at the same time. Why did you cut and run -from the tender-hearted individual upon whom your safety depends? I -asked you now and then for a trifle of money to help me through -difficulties; you always objected, I always insisted. I put the matter -before you plainly. If I did not discharge certain obligations----" - -"Brought about by your mad gambling," interrupted M. Felix. - -"Granted, dear boy, but men with minds are never free from weaknesses -of one kind or other, and I freely admit I like a little flutter -occasionally." - -"You would have bled me," said M. Felix, with a dark frown, "till I -had lost every shilling of my fortune." - -"Of _our_ fortune, comrade, of _our_ fortune. It is in my power to -strip you of it at any moment, therefore, in common equity, the money -is as much mine as yours." - -"We made a bargain, and I adhered to it--have adhered to it up to this -day." - -"Quite correct. Every quarter-day I find paid into my bank the sum of -one hundred and fifty pounds. Woe to you if there had been a single -omission. I might have advertised for you, in terms which would have -drawn unpleasant notice upon you; I would have left no stone unturned -to unearth you. I think it is five years ago since we last met. It was -not an amicable meeting; angry words passed between us. You gave me -the money I asked for and insisted upon having, but you declined to -accept the view I presented for your consideration, that you were but -the treasurer of a common fund. We parted, not the best of friends, -and the next thing I heard of you was conveyed in a letter you wrote -to me from Brindisi--it was actually posted from there--informing me -that you had left England never to return, and that the six hundred a -year would be paid regularly into my bankers in quarterly instalments, -as usual. My dear friend, that letter naturally did not please me, and -I did not propose to submit patiently to the desertion. I was working -for you, for your ease, for your safety; I had an establishment to -keep up. My little private asylum in the country, with its patients -and keepers, entails upon me a great expense. I am getting tired of -it; it chains me down; I have to be very watchful and careful; I have -to wheedle and bribe, and, besides, I have to live. I knew that you -lied when you wrote that you had left England never to return; I knew -that it was the only country in the world you cared to live in, and I -set to work to discover your hiding place. For five years I have been -hunting for you; I have been in London a dozen times; I have searched -everywhere. Oh, the money you have cost me, every shilling of which -you shall refund. You shall; I have kept an account, and you shall pay -me not only what I am out of pocket, but so much a day for my personal -labor. But you are extraordinarily cunning, and it is only now I have -succeeded in tracking you down. And being tracked, I mean to keep my -hold upon you; I mean to have my due; I mean to share equally with -you. It was by the merest chance that I obtained a clue, and I -followed it up, until, behold, in the person of M. Felix, who passes -as a foreigner, I discover my dearest friend, Mr. Leonard Paget, a -partner with me in a conspiracy which, if it were made public, would -insure, for you, certainly, for me probably, penal servitude for life. -Now, what is it you propose to do?" - -"What do you want?" demanded M. Felix. - -"I have already stated--an equal share of the fortune for which we -both conspired." - -"What if I told you that it was pretty well squandered, and there was -but little left?" - -"I should not believe you." - -"It is a fact." - -"It is a lie." - -"Do you think I should be living in such seclusion as this if it were -not the truth?" - -"I think what I please. What more can a man desire than what I see -around me? You must be enjoying your days, Leonard." - -"I repeat," said M. Felix, "that I have lost the greater part of the -money. You can prove it for yourself if you like. I have speculated -unluckily; I have lost large sums at Monaco. You can't get blood out -of stone." - -"If you are the stone I will have either blood or money. Understand -me; I am quite resolved. You see, dear friend, you have unfortunately -roused a feeling of animosity in me by your bad treatment. I was to -have all the kicks, you all the ha'pence. Unfair, monstrously unfair. -Whose was the immediate risk in the conspiracy? Mine. Over whose head -has hung, at any chance moment, the peril of discovery? Over mine. Who -has done all the work? I. And you, living your life of ease and -pleasure, laughed in your sleeve all the time, and thought what an -easy tool it was who was doing all the dirty work for you, while you -posed as a gentleman of immaculate virtue. Leonard, do not mistake me -you will have to do as I command; I am not your slave; you are mine. I -hold you in the hollow of my hand. You have escaped me once, you shall -not escape me again." - -"You speak bravely," said M. Felix, with an attempt at bravado. "What -would you do if I defy you?" - -"What would I do if you defy me?" repeated Dr. Peterssen, musingly. "I -would have my revenge, most certainly. I would bring destruction upon -you, most certainly. I would make a felon of you, most certainly." - -"You forget that you would be implicated in these unpleasant -consequences." - -"I forget nothing; but you are mistaken, friend of my soul. There are -roads open to me which are closed to you. I could turn Queen's -evidence. I could do better than that. I could hunt up your brother -Gerald's wife, who deems herself a dishonored woman. I could say to -her that I was a tool in your hands, that you bribed me and played -upon my poverty. I could say that the tale you told her of a mock -marriage was false, and that she was truly Gerald's wife. I could -inform her that her husband was at this moment alive, and was to be -found at----" - -"Hush!" cried M. Felix. - -"Why? I am not afraid. Having revealed the plot to her I should -disappear. She would come to England, if she were not here already; -she would lose not a moment in ascertaining whether I spoke the truth; -and then, my very cunning and clever friend, where would you be, I -should like to know? Not only would you be brought to the bar of -justice, but you would have to make restitution. You would be beggared -and irretrievably disgraced; your life of ease and pleasure would be -at an end. As I am a living man, I would bring you to this pass; and I -have little doubt, when I wrote to Gerald's wife from my chosen place -of exile, that she would listen to the tale of pity I should relate, -and would reward me for restoring her husband to her arms, and for -restoring the good name which you filched from her by the basest of -tricks." - -"Enough of this," said M. Felix, "I capitulate. Nothing can be done -to-night. Come to me to-morrow, and we will make terms. I can say no -more." - -"Perhaps not," said Dr. Peterssen. "You will be here to-morrow?" - -"I will be here." - -"At noon?" - -"At noon." - -"Then we will go into accounts." - -"As you will." - -"Attend to me, dear friend. By my blood, by my life, if you deceive -me, if you attempt to evade me, if you try once again to escape, I -will make the story public through Gerald's wife! Then you may say -your prayers--which will be a novel thing for you to do." He raised -his hand and swore a frightful oath that he would do as he threatened -if he did not find M. Felix at home at the time he had named. - -"You will find me at home," said M. Felix, sullenly. - -"What noise is that?" asked Dr. Peterssen, as the sound of the -shutting of the street-door came to his ears. - -"It is the housekeeper going out for liquor. She does so every night." - -"She must have a passion for liquor to go out on such a night. An -obliging housekeeper, no doubt, dear friend." - -"She does as she is directed." - -"You have a commanding way with you which goes down with the weak. Are -there other lodgers in this house?" - -"I am the only one." - -"As I have heard." - -"You have been making inquiries of me?" - -"I have. So, we two are alone. Not a soul on the premises but -ourselves. One of us might murder the other, and have time to escape -before discovery was made." - -"It would not pay either of us to proceed to such an extremity." - -"It would not. You are not an affectionate brother, Leonard. You have -never inquired after Gerald." - -"He is still alive, then? - -"He is still alive." - -"You might be deceiving me. He may have died years ago." - -"That might have been, but it is not so. Would you care to convince -yourself? Come down and see him. He might recognize you." - -"No," said M. Felix, with a shudder. "I will take your word." - -"Do you not wish to know how he is?" - -"How is he?" - -"In bodily health, better than you would suppose; but his mind"--Dr. -Peterssen did not complete the sentence, but watched with some -curiosity the effect of his words upon his companion. - -"He is really mad?" exclaimed M. Felix, eagerly. - -"By no means. It is merely that he is plunged into a chronic -melancholy. He passes days in silence, speaking not a word. I give him -books, and sometimes he reads, but I am not sure whether he -understands what he reads." - -"No one sees him?" - -"No one but myself and those about me, who know him, as you are aware, -as George Street, possessed with an insane idea that he is somebody -else." - -"Street's father--does he not come to see his son?" - -"He does not. Long ago he took the advice I gave him, that it would be -best and most merciful for him not to attempt to see his son. Had he -not agreed with me, it might have been awkward. Once he came; and I -fortunately happened to have in the house a patient absolutely mad, -one given to loud raving. It was curious, was it not, that at the time -of Mr. Street's visit this patient was in one of his strongest -paroxysms? Mr. Street turned pale when he heard the shouts. 'Is that -my poor son?' he asked. 'That is your poor son,' I answered. 'I will -not answer for the consequences if his eyes fell upon you.' The father -went away, with sighs, saying before he went, 'Nothing better can be -done for him than you are doing?' 'Nothing better,' I answered. 'He is -receiving every kindness here. In another establishment he would be -worse off than he is with me.' He came no more, but I send him regular -reports, and occasionally go to see him." - -"He pays you regularly?" - -"Yes; he is a prosperous man." Dr. Peterssen rose. "Good-night. I will -be here at noon. I must make my way through this awful storm as well -as I can." - -"May you perish in it!" thought M. Felix. - -"It occurs to me," continued Dr. Peterssen, "that I ought to have some -guarantee with me. You have some money about you?" - -"Not much." - -"Give me what you have." - -M. Felix took his pocketbook from his pocket, which Dr. Peterssen -seized before he could open it. - -"You shall have it back to-morrow, minus the cash." - -He caught sight of the desk of sandal-wood which Emilia would have -remembered so well. It was open, and by its side lay the dagger with -its handle representing a twisted snake and its ruby eye. With a swift -motion Dr. Peterssen closed the desk and lifted it from the table. "I -will take this with me as a guarantee." - -"I will not allow you," cried M. Felix. - -"It is not for you to allow," said Dr. Peterssen, coolly. "With me it -goes, and to-morrow shall be returned. It contains private papers -perhaps; all the better." The key being in it, he turned it in the -lock, and threw it to M. Felix. "You cannot object now, and it would -make no difference if you did. My locking it proves that I do not -intend to pry into your secrets unless you force me. Good-night." - -He spoke with an air of fierce determination, and M. Felix felt -himself powerless. Sitting almost helpless in his chair, he saw the -man who held his fate in his hands pass out of the door, and heard his -steps descending the stairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - -EMILIA AND M. FELIX. - - -Emilia, watching in the snow-clad street, saw Mrs. Middlemore issue -from the house with a large jug in her hand. She dared not go up to -the housekeeper while Dr. Peterssen was in the house, and with a -sinking heart she recognized that the hope she had entertained of -obtaining entrance by means of the story she had mentally rehearsed -was lost. But she would not leave the spot until Dr. Peterssen -appeared. She had no intention of accosting him, for that she felt -would be disastrous, but she would follow him, if she could do so -safely, to see where he lived or lodged. It might be a point gained, -although she did not at that moment see how it could be used to her -advantage. She had not long to wait. About ten minutes after Mrs. -Middlemore left the house, the street-door was opened again, and Dr. -Peterssen appeared. He carried beneath his right arm that which would -have sent a thrill of passionate emotion to Emilia's heart, but she -was too deeply observant of his personal movements to see the desk -which he had taken away with him as a guarantee. He made no pause, but -plunged immediately into the snow, and Emilia was about to follow him -when she suddenly observed that he had not closed the door behind him. -Her attention was instantly diverted from the man. Here was the -opportunity for which she had disguised herself, for which she had -been waiting. Without thinking of the consequences, she glided into -the house and shut the door. Emilia would have scarcely known how to -proceed now had it not been that M. Felix, hearing the street-door -closed, rose to close his own, which Dr. Peterssen had left ajar. -Before putting his intention into execution he opened it a little -wider, and inclined his head to the stairs, as if in the act of -listening. The stream of light which this action threw into the -passage was a guide to Emilia, who, without hesitation, ran up the -stairs and confronted him. Startled by her appearance he fell back a -step or two, which afforded Emilia space to enter the apartment. - -"Who are you? What do you want?" gasped M. Felix, dreading at first -whether this was not part of a plot which Dr. Peterssen had devised -for his injury. But his doubts were immediately dispelled. - -"I am Emilia Paget," said Emilia, "and I want justice." - -With a face of terror he retreated farther into the room, and Emilia -followed him. His heart almost ceased to beat, and a singular numbness -of sensation came over him. - -"Through all these years," said Emilia, "I have left you in peace, if -peace can ever be the portion of a man like yourself. I come now to -force a confession from your lips. I want nothing from you in the -shape of money. All that you have, and that once was your brother -Gerald's, is yours, and shall remain yours. I do not desire it; if I -have any right to it I renounce it; I am here to demand justice." - -This speech gave M. Felix time to recover himself somewhat. Though -still conscious of a strange deadness of feeling at his heart, he saw -the situation, and asked in a faint voice-- - -"What kind of justice?" - -Emilia put a wrong construction upon the low tone in which he spoke. -Deeming it a sign of relenting on his part, the defiant air she had -boldly assumed gave way to one of imploring. - -"When we last met in Switzerland," she said, bending toward him, "you -told me that your brother, my dear Gerald--who, in my innermost heart, -I believe never did harm to woman--had imposed upon me by a mock -ceremony of marriage. At that time I was so overwhelmed by despair and -so persecuted by injustice, that I did not dispute your statement. I -thought only of the present; I wished only to escape from the cruel -eyes and tongues of those to whom I had been maligned; I wished only -to fly to a spot where I was unknown, and where I might live out my -days in peace. What I yearned for was accomplished. God was good to -me; He raised up a friend who took me to her bosom, and who conducted -me to a haven of rest. For eighteen years I have lived in a foreign -land, contentedly, even happily, with my child, Gerald's child. But -circumstances have occurred which render it vitally necessary for our -happiness that the proof should be forthcoming that I am a married -woman. To obtain this proof I have come to England to find you, and by -a happy chance have so far succeeded. I beg, I entreat of you, to give -me means to establish my marriage with your brother. That done, I will -leave you in peace, as Heaven is my judge. I will bind myself to this -in any way you wish. I will swear the most solemn oath, I will sign -any document you may draw up. Give me the means of preventing a -shameful exposure which will ruin my child's life and mine. Think of -what I have silently suffered, and have pity for me. I will pray for -you--I will bless you----" - -But her voice was broken by emotion, and she could not proceed. M. -Felix gazed at her sternly; as she grew weak, he grew strong. - -"I cannot give you what is impossible," he said. "You and Gerald were -never married." - -"I will not use hard words," said Emilia, restraining herself. "It may -be as you say; but give me at least the information that will enable -me to establish the truth. You cannot deny me this--you cannot, you -cannot!" - -"What kind of information do you desire?" asked M. Felix. - -"When I was ill and very near to death," she replied; "when reason had -forsaken me and I was lying stricken down, Gerald and you came to me -in the place where afterward a civil ceremony was performed which I -had every right to believe made me an honorably married woman. Tell me -the name of that place. It is little to ask, but I ask no more. If you -have a spark of compassion in you, tell me this, and I will go away -blessing you." - -"You do not remember it?" said M. Felix, with triumph in his eyes. - -"God help me, I have not the least remembrance of it, nor of the roads -I took which led me to it." - -M. Felix stepped to the window and threw it open. Then he cried in as -loud a voice as he could command: - -"Help!" - -"Why do you cry for help?" asked Emilia, advancing toward him. - -"Do not come nearer to me," he replied, "or I will strangle you. Why -do I cry for help? To bring the police here--to give you into -custody--to expose and brand you as you deserve to be exposed and -branded. How you forced your way into this house I do not know: -perhaps you have been in hiding until you were assured I was alone. -You come here to rob and murder. I will swear to it." Again he called -from the window, - -"Help!" - -Frozen with terror Emilia stood like a statue, white with the fear of -a horrible exposure which would blast her and her child forever in -this world. - -"You talk of ruin," snarled M. Felix. "It is upon you now. Disguised -as a man you steal upon me here for a vile purpose. You will go away -blessing me, will you? What do I care for your blessing or your curse? -I will make your name a byword of shame, as it has been made before!" -For the third time he sent out into the night his cry for "Help!" - -Emilia's strength returned to her; she was able to speak once more. - -"I will go," she said. "You shall not have the opportunity of still -further disgracing me. But I will not rest till the truth is made -clear to me--not with your help, but with the help of"---- - -"Of whom?" asked M. Felix, with a sneer. - -She had intended to say "with the help of God," but an inspiration -fell upon her which impelled her to utter a name almost as hateful to -her as that of Leonard. - -"With the help of Dr. Peterssen. If you can ruin me, he has it in his -power to ruin you." - -"Ah!" cried M. Felix, and in a sudden frenzy he snatched the snake -dagger from the table and hurled it at her. It struck her in her left -arm, and she caught it in her right hand. As she held it thus, dazed -with pain, for a moment, M. Felix was struck with partial blindness. -He saw, through the mist which fell upon him, the dagger with blood -dripping from it, and thought that it was Emilia's intention to use it -against him. He had a revolver in his bedroom. Blindly he staggered -thither, and fell, motionless, into a chair by the side of the bed. -The pain of the wound and the horror of the situation deprived Emilia -of her senses, and she sank to the ground. How long she remained in -that condition she did not know, but when she opened her eyes all was -silent. M. Felix was not present. Had he gone to carry out his threat -and to bring the police to his aid? The dagger was still in her hand -and the wound in her arm was still bleeding. Shudderingly she threw -the weapon behind the sideboard, and intent now only on escaping from -the shame with which she was threatened, she bound her handkerchief -tightly round the wound, and fled down the stairs. Constables Wigg and -Nightingale were outside the door as she threw it open, but she -scarcely saw them, although she knew that they were the forms of men. -Terror lent wings to her feet, and in a moment she was out of sight, -flying for her life. - - - - - -_BOOK THIRD_. - -WHAT BECAME OF M. FELIX, AS RELATED IN THE FIRST PERSON BY ROBERT -AGNOLD, ON THE REPORTING STAFF OF THE "EVENING MOON." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - -ROBERT AGNOLD TAKES UP THE THREADS OF THE STORY. - - -In setting forth the incidents narrated in Book Second of this story, -under its heading "A Life Drama--Links in the Mystery," I have had no -occasion to speak of myself, my acquaintance with Emilia beginning -after the 16th of January, on which night the Book fitly ends. In what -has now to be told, however, I played a not unimportant part, and it -is proper, and will be more convenient, that I should narrate what -followed in the first person. I think my name, Robert Agnold, has been -mentioned only once or twice in these pages, and it is not for the -purpose of making myself better known to the public, but simply for -the sake of clearness, that I depart from the journalistic method -(with which in other circumstances I am very well contented) in what I -am about to write. I do so with the full approval of the conductors of -the newspaper with which I have the honor to be connected. It is -perhaps unnecessary for me to state that in the preparation of Book -Second I have been guided both by what I have heard from the lips of -its heroine, Emilia herself, and by what subsequently came to my -knowledge; but it is as well to state this, in order to prove that I -have not drawn upon my imagination. - -I now take up the threads of the story. - -When Emilia made her escape from M. Felix's house on the night of the -16th of January, she was, as may be supposed, in a state of extreme -agitation. Her errand had failed, and she had nothing to hope for at -the hands of Gerald's brother, whom I shall continue to speak of as M. -Felix. She hardly dared to think of the future, and indeed the pain of -her wound and the personal danger in which she stood were sufficient -occupation for her mind at that juncture. As quickly as she could she -made her way to the one room she had taken unknown to her daughter, -and there she bathed and dressed the wound--throwing the stained water -out of the window, so that it might not betray her--and effected the -necessary change in her attire. In woman's clothes she left the house, -and proceeded to her lodgings in Forston Street, Kentish Town. She was -thankful that her daughter was asleep when she reached home; it saved -her the necessity of an immediate explanation, and gave her time to -make more plausible the story she had thought of to account for the -injury to her arm. Creeping into bed without disturbing Constance she -lay awake for hours, and sank into slumber only when daylight was -beginning to dawn. She slept till past noon; fortunately for her, -Nature's claims were not to be resisted, and she arose strengthened if -not refreshed, and with still a faint hope that she might yet succeed. -She would make one more appeal to M. Felix, this time in daylight. She -would go to him this very afternoon, and endeavor to soften his heart -by offering to bind herself to any terms he might dictate, if he would -but furnish her with the name of the place in which the marriage -ceremony had been performed. The echo of the statement he had made in -Switzerland that she and Gerald were never married, although it struck -a chill to her heart, found no lodgement therein. Most firmly did she -believe that she had been honestly and honorably married, and until -she was convinced to the contrary by absolute evidence she would -continue to believe it. If M. Felix failed her she would set a watch -upon Dr. Peterssen's movements, and endeavor by some means to gain her -end through him. She had not the remotest idea how she should proceed -with this man, but she trusted in God to guide her. - -Constance, as was natural, was in great distress at the wound her -mother had received, but Emilia made light of it, although it caused -her exquisite pain. It was an accident, Emilia said; she had slipped, -and fell upon some broken glass; and Constance did not dream that the -story was untrue. The young girl was very anxious on this morning; -she expected a letter from her lover, Julian Bordier, and she told her -mother that in her last letter to Julian she had given him the address -of their lodgings in Forston Street. Emilia could not chide her for -doing so, but she was inwardly distressed by the idea that the -Bordiers might present themselves at any unexpected moment. M. Bordier -would almost certainly make some inquiries as to the nature of the -business that brought her to England. How should she reply? He was a -penetrating man, and she could foresee nothing but calamity from a -renewal at present of close relations with him. She could do nothing, -however, to avert the dangers by which she was threatened. All she -could do was to wait and hope. - -She went to the post office for letters, and received one for -Constance and one for herself. She rode back immediately to Forston -Street to give Constance her lover's letter, and in the cab she read -her own. It was short but most affectionate and tender, and it -confirmed her fears. There was every likelihood that the Bordiers -would be in London within the next few weeks. - -Delivering Julian's missive to the eager girl, Emilia left her once -more with the intention of proceeding to Gerard Street. She rode only -part of the way, getting out of the cab at Regent's Circus. It was -bitterly cold, but in this city of startling contrasts there are -wheels that never stop. Though darkness enveloped the streets for -weeks together the newspaper boys would still perambulate the -thoroughfares with the last editions of the newspapers; would still -bawl out at the top of their voices the tempting news they had to -dispose of. Emilia had scarcely alighted from the cab when her ears -were assailed by cries from these venders of the afternoon journals: -"Murder! murder! Sudden Death in Gerard Street, Soho! Mr. Felix -Murdered! Escape of the Murderer!" The shock which these startling -announcements caused her was so great that she stumbled and would have -fallen had not a policeman caught her by the arm. - -"Be careful how you walk," said the officer. "The streets are awful -slippy." - -She murmured a frightened inarticulate expression of thanks and -staggered on, the iteration of the news-venders' dreadful cries -sounding in her ears like the clanging of a thousand bells proclaiming -her doom. Her terror was so great that she would have succumbed under -it if there had not risen in the white space before her the vision of -a young girl at home reading her lover's letter. She saw the lovely -lips form the words, "Mamma, listen to what Julian says." This fancy -was her salvation. Her daughter was in this terrible city, dependent -upon her, with no supporter, with no friend but the mother whose heart -was charged with woe and despair. She must be strong for her child's -sake. Her strength came back to her; the policeman who had saved her -from falling was still looking at her, and now, seeing that she had -recovered, passed on. Controlling her agitation, she bought a copy of -the _Evening Moon_, and walked mechanically toward Gerard Street. When -she was within a short distance of it she wavered in another -direction. Dared she go there? Dared she be seen there? Why not? It -was hardly likely that she would be noticed; it would depend upon -herself whether she attracted attention. She turned her face toward -Gerard Street. A magnetic current drew her on, and she could no more -have effectually resisted it than she could have changed day into -night by closing her eyes. She _must_ go and see for herself. - -The street was busy with people, drawn there as she was drawn, but, as -she shudderingly confessed to herself, with a different knowledge of -the truth. Outside the house in which M. Felix had lived there was a -throng of people gazing up at the windows. - -"That's the window of his sitting-room. Is he there now? Yes, -stretched out, dead and done for. He was a gentleman, wasn't he? Yes, -with heaps of money. He always kept a pile of gold and bank notes in -his room. What's become of it? Ah, what? When was it done? About -midnight, when there was no one but the murderer and the murdered -gentleman in the house. The housekeeper had gone out for her supper -beer. They forced the door open, and there he was, murdered. Who did -it? A man, of course? Maybe--maybe not. Just as likely it was a woman. -It doesn't matter to him now. He's dead, and won't come back to tell. -Have they caught the murderer? Not yet, but they've got a clew, they -say. Ah, they always say that. But it's true this time. They'll catch -him, never fear, and when he's caught, the Lord have mercy on him!" - -Thus the chatter ran, and for a time Emilia, glued to the spot, stood -and listened. Then a spiritual whisper fell on her senses and set her -in motion again. "The suit of clothes you dressed in last night. Get -rid of it. Destroy it." She walked swiftly from the street and -proceeded in the direction of her room. She did not waver now; -suggestions of a frightful nature came to her, but she walked on, as -if impelled by a hidden force. She reached the street in which the -room was situated. It was quiet and deserted. There was comfort in -that. Then the police had not been there. If they had there would have -been as many people there as in Gerard Street. With desperate courage -she opened the street door with her latch-key, and went up the stairs -unobserved. She turned the key in the lock and entered the room. The -clothes she had worn were in a corner, where she had left them the -previous night. She breathed more freely. All this time she had kept -in her hand the copy of the _Evening Moon_ she had purchased, and now, -in the solitude of her chamber, she nerved herself to read the -particulars of the tragedy in which she was involved. Gerald's brother -was dead; that was the end; all hope was gone. She no longer thought -of appealing to Dr. Peterssen; she felt instinctively that by so doing -she would be digging a pit for herself. She could throw herself on the -mercy of M. Bordier--that course was open to her. She could tell him -her story, strengthening her statements by most solemn assurances of -their truth, and leave it to him to decide. She had but little hope in -the result. She knew it was exactly the kind of tale which a guilty -woman would relate, and that, without a shadow of proof, few men would -accept it. There was no time, however, to determine upon any definite -course at present. The suit of clothes she had worn when she visited -M. Felix must be destroyed; until that was done her position was one -of extreme danger. She folded them carefully, and inclosed them in the -copy of the Evening Moon, and with the bundle under her arm proceeded -to Forston Street. She went at once to her bedroom, and locked the -clothes in her box. Already the plan had suggested itself of throwing -the clothes into the river in the dead of night, when she could make -sure that she was not being watched. After that she would come to some -decision as to her future movements. What transpired on the night she -made the attempt is known to the reader, and I now take up the -sequence of events of which I may claim to be the originator. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - -EMILIA RETRACES THE OLD ROADS. - - -After I had learned all that Emilia had to tell me, I informed her -that I would take a day or two to decide upon my plan of action. In -the meantime she was to make no movement whatever, but to keep herself -and daughter in absolute privacy. She placed herself entirely in my -hands, and promised not to deviate by a hair's-breadth from the -instructions I gave her. - -"Be sure of that," I said, "and I feel that I shall be able to further -your heart's wishes." - -On the third day certain ideas had taken some kind of practicable -shape, and I determined to set to work. I must mention that I visited -Mrs. Middlemore regularly during my deliberations, and had taken the -rooms which had been inhabited by M. Felix. She had no news of the -slightest importance to communicate to me although she was in the mood -to make mountains out of molehills. Nothing further had transpired in -the Gerard Street house; no person had called to make inquiries, and -she had not been upset by any more false messages. I saw my little -friend Sophy also. She was as cheery and sharp as ever, and she -informed me that "Aunty was ever so much nicer than she used to be," -and I expressed my delight at the good report. - -"But I say," remarked Sophy, "ain't yer got nothink to give me to do -for yer?" - -"Not just yet, Sophy," I replied. "Presently, perhaps." - -"The sooner the better," said Sophy. "I likes to be busy." - -"You will not go away, Sophy? I may want you at any moment." - -"I shall be ready for yer. I'll do anythink for yer, never mind what -it is." - -I explained to her on my last visit that I should not see her for a -week or so, as I was going out of London upon particular business, and -that while I was away she was to keep her eyes open. If she happened -to see the man who had sent her aunt on a false errand to the Bow -Street Police Court she was to follow him secretly and find out where -he lived, and upon my return to London she was to tell me everything -that had happened. Satisfied with her assurances of obedience I left -the grateful little creature, and an hour later was closeted with -Emilia. I had not yet informed her of the trick which had been played -upon Mrs. Middlemore, and of the disappearance of the revolver; I did -so now, and asked if she had any suspicion who the man was. - -"No," she replied, "I cannot imagine." - -"Describe Dr. Peterssen's appearance to me," I said, "as you last saw -him." She did so, and I continued, "It is as I supposed. He is the man -who gave Mrs. Middlemore the false message, and got her out of the -house to afford him the opportunity of obtaining what he wanted. -Money, of course, if he could lay his hand on any, but chiefly papers -and documents which might be valuable to him in the future--documents -probably connected with your story." - -"Why should he wish to obtain possession of such things?" asked -Emilia. "They can be of no use to him he dare not appear." - -"Publicly he dare not; privately he may. You know of his visit to M. -Felix; he does not know of yours. Say that he succeeded in obtaining -possession of something which would establish your marriage." Emilia -clasped her hands. "He would surely conceive the plan of discovering -where you were, and coming to you privately for the purpose of making -a bargain for these proofs." - -"I would give him anything--everything," exclaimed Emilia. - -"That is certain," I said, "and it might be worth while to come to -terms with him; but I should not allow him to rob you. M. Felix, so -far as we know, did not make a will. Doubtless he has left property of -some kind, and should your marriage be proved the property would be -yours. Indeed, in that case it would be yours if M. Felix were living -and in this room at the present moment." - -Emilia shuddered, and looked around timorously. - -"Have you any idea what can have become of his body?" she asked in a -whisper. - -"No; I can form no theory upon that mystery. I would give a great deal -to unravel it." - -"Is it possible that Dr. Peterssen can have taken it away?" - -"It is more than possible, it is probable; but his motive for doing so -is as great a mystery as the disappearance of the body without his -intervention. A deliberate act of that kind is done with a deliberate -motive, and I can think of none which would prompt him to carry into -execution a scheme so full of risk. And now listen attentively to what -I say. Setting aside the danger attendant upon your nocturnal visit to -M. Felix--a danger which I trust will in time entirely disappear--it -is of the highest importance to you that you should obtain proof of -your marriage with Gerald Paget." - -"It is all I desire," said Emilia. "That obtained, I should be content -to die." - -"It will be better to live, to draw happiness from the union of your -daughter and Julian Bordier. My plan is this: That you and I go to -your native town, and starting from the house of the maiden ladies who -were so good to you on the night of the fire, endeavor to trace the -road you took when you flew from the shelter they gave you. You -remember the river----" - -"I can never, never forget it," said Emilia, "nor the fearful thoughts -which seemed to force me toward it." - -"There will be little difficulty in ascertaining your route thus far -on your journey. From that point we will make inquiries, and it may be -that we shall succeed in discovering the road the kind old wagoner -took toward his home. That done, all the rest is easy." - -"Dear friend," she said, pressing my hand, "how can I thank you?" - -"Thank me when success crowns our efforts. Are you ready to take the -journey? We will start to-morrow morning." - -"But Constance!" she exclaimed. "She cannot go with us. She is -ignorant of my sad story." - -"Let her remain so. I have provided for her comfort while we are away. -I have spoken to my mother--a lady in whom you can place implicit -confidence--and she will be glad if your daughter will accept her -hospitality during our absence. You may trust her; your daughter will -be well cared for." - -"I know that, I know that," said Emilia, her tears overflowing. "But -what have I done to merit such goodness? What claim have I upon you?" - -"The claim of a helpless, persecuted lady," I replied, gently. "What I -do is willingly, cheerfully done. Accept my offer, and you will make -me your debtor. It will be ample reward if I succeed." - -"God is very good to me," she murmured. "Thankfully, gratefully do I -accept it." - -"That is well. You had better arrange to retain these rooms, and we -will leave my mother's address with the landlady, in case the Bordiers -should come and make inquiries." - -"You think it right that they should see us?" inquired Emilia. - -"You will be acting injuriously to yourself if you affect any secrecy. -Certainly they must see you and your daughter; their first inquiries -will be for you and you will lay yourself open to the worst -construction if you keep out of their way. Be advised by me." - -"I will, in all things." - -"My sister will accompany us on our journey. It will be pleasant for -you to have a lady companion, and it will leave me free to make any -inquiries that may suggest themselves." - -She appreciated the delicacy of the act and it was arranged that I -should call for her and Constance in the evening to conduct them to my -mother's house. This was done, and in the morning Emilia, my sister, -and I started on our journey. - -I will waste no words in a description of our proceedings. There was no -difficulty in finding the house in which the kind maiden sisters had -resided, and from the street in which it was situated there was but -one outlet to the open country. From the time occupied by Emilia in -her flight on that never-to-be-forgotten night I judge that she must -have walked some eleven or twelve miles, and at about that distance -from the town lay the river Arbor. There we halted on the second day -of our journey, and from that spot our real difficulties began. There -was the hill Emilia had mounted, on the crown of which she had fallen -in a state of exhaustion, with the river stretching to the left of -her. It was inevitable that my sister should be taken into our -confidence, and in the distressing reminiscences which the scene -recalled to Emilia she was a true solace to the poor lady. I gently -wooed her to describe the impressions of that terrible night's -wanderings, and had any doubts been in my mind as to the truth of her -story the pathos of that recital would have effectually dispelled -them. But I entertained no doubts, and more strongly than ever did I -resolve to champion her cause and not to relinquish it till success -rewarded me, or absolute failure stared me in the face. As Emilia's -suffering tones fell upon my ears I could almost hear the tinkling -bells of the horses in the wagon and the driver's kindly exhortations -to his cattle. He came in view, in my fancy, and spoke to Emilia, and -receiving no encouraging answer, passed down the hill with his team. -He returned and addressed her again, and she implored him to save her -from the river. Supported by him, she descended the hill, and was -lifted into the wagon, where she lay in a blind stupor of -forgetfulness and insensibility. I declare that I saw the pictures of -this human agony as if they were actually presented to my sight. As -for my good sister, she was continually wiping the tears from her -eyes, and when we reached the bottom of the hill, and Emilia said, "It -was here the wagon stood, I think," she pressed the unfortunate lady -in her arms, and they mingled their tears together. - -It was at this spot, I repeat, that our real difficulties began, for -at about a couple of hundred yards along the road the wagon must have -taken (there being no other) it branched out in three directions, -north, south, and east. Now, which road led to the wagoner's home? - -Emilia could not inform us. We took one, the broadest--though why he -should have selected the broadest instead of the narrowest I cannot -explain, all three roads being equally available for horse -traffic--and pursued it for a mile or so, and were confronted by four -cross roads, which multiplied our difficulty. I will not enlarge upon -the labor of this perplexing enterprise. It is sufficient to say that -at the end of the twelfth day I was compelled to confess that we were -as far from success as on the first day of our journey. Of course I -made innumerable inquiries, but I was speaking of eighteen years ago, -and I could not elicit the slightest information of a reliable nature -to guide me in the search we were prosecuting. I spared no labor, and -although I was greatly discouraged I did not allow my companions to -observe my despondency. At length I came to the conclusion that it -would be useless to employ further time in the quest, and I told -Emilia and my sister that we should return to London on the morrow. -Emilia looked at me mournfully. - -"Don't feel down-hearted," I said, with a cheerful smile. "This is the -smallest arrow in my quiver. I have a surer one to adjust when we -reach town." - -It was touching when we arrived at my mother's house, to see the -meeting between Emilia and her daughter. We left them to themselves -awhile, and when they joined us I conveyed to Emilia a pressing -request from my mother that they would stop with her as long as they -remained in London. It needed persuasion to induce Emilia to comply, -but she saw that Constance wished her to accept, and she did so with -much grace, but with a humbleness of manner which powerfully affected -me. Constance had some news to communicate. The Bordiers had arrived -in London, and had visited her. I was impressed by a certain -tremulousness in her voice as she spoke of them, but I made no comment -upon it, not feeling myself warranted to intrude upon her confidence. - -"My mother's house is open to your friends," I said. "They will be -always welcome here." - -She thanked me, and shortly afterward I was hurrying to the W. C. -district, first to present myself at the office of the _Evening Moon_, -and afterward to go to my chambers, where, in response to a telegram I -had forwarded from the country, I expected a visitor. - - - - -CHAPTER XLV. - -DR. PETERSSEN IS TRACKED. - - -The name of the visitor I expected, and who hopped up the stairs which -led to my chambers half an hour after I entered them, was Bob Tucker. -He is a friend of mine, with plenty of money at command, and has no -need to work for a living; but he has a fad, if I may so express it. -This fad lay in the detective line, and to give him a job in that -direction was to bestow a favor upon him. He entered upon it _con -amore_, and pursued it with a zest never to be found in the -professional, who works by the job, or the hour, or the day. He has -often said to me that if he were to lose his money he would start an -office of his own and lead a jolly life. Whether that meant a jolly -life to others is a doubtful point. Anyway, he is an enthusiastic -young fellow of about six and twenty, and is never so happy as when he -can adopt a disguise and hunt something or somebody down. He objects -to be called Robert, which he insists is not his proper name. He -distinctly remembers, he avers, being christened Bob, so Bob Tucker he -is to all his friends. So far as I am personally concerned, this is -convenient to me, my name being Robert, which I prefer to Bob. - -I had foreseen the likelihood of the failure of the search upon which -I had entered with Emilia, and the surer arrow in my quiver to which I -referred when I spoke to Emilia about returning to London was Dr. -Peterssen. It was my intention, if all else failed, to break a lance -with him, directly or indirectly, and with this object in view I had -instructed Bob Tucker to find out where he lived, what kind of -establishment he kept, what his neighbors thought of him, the -character he bore, and, in short, anything and everything about his -establishment which could possibly be learned. Bob was delighted with -the task, and undertook it eagerly. - -"Does he live in London?" he asked. - -"Don't know," I answered. - -This increased Bob's delight, and he said he would show me something -when he made report to me. Of course I told him all I knew of the man, -and that he had charge of at least one patient who was not in his -right mind. - -"Well, Bob?" I said, on this evening. - -"Give me a drink first," was Bob's rejoinder. - -I gave him one, and took one myself. We clinked our glasses and -emptied them. Then Bob lit a cigar, and so did I. - -"Ready?" said he. - -"Quite ready," said I. - -"Keeps a private madhouse," said Bob. - -"Queen Anne's dead," said I. - -"Has more than one patient." - -"Has three. A man, or gentleman, and two children." - -"Children?" - -"Children. Prefers them. Less trouble. Besides, longer expectations -with young 'uns. More time for them to grow old." - -"True," said I. It will be observed that it was a speciality of Bob's -to speak in short sentences. - -"Man, or gentleman," continued Bob, "harmless. Gentle as a dove. -Greengrocer's boy told me. Sees him sometimes. In the grounds. Pities -him." - -"How old is this poor gentleman, Bob?" - -"Forty, perhaps. Forty-five, perhaps. Not more than fifty at the -outside. Hair quite gray, but youngish face." - -"Where is this private madhouse, Bob?" - -"Sheldon. Forty-three miles from London. Population seven hundred and -thirty. Two beerhouses. Shut at ten." - -"Has the establishment a name?" - -"Tylney House. Enclosed. Stone wall all round it. Easy to get over in -one part. All the other parts, broken glass at top." - -"Character?" - -"Difficult to get at. Population has no opinions. I should say, damned -scoundrel." - -"Why should you say so?" - -"Impression." - -"Is Dr. Peterssen always at home?" - -"Seldom. Away for days together. Comes back. Stops for a day and a -night. Goes away again next morning." - -"Who takes care of Tylney House in his absence?" - -"Keeper, with only one idea. Liquor." - -"Does he take it at the beershops?" - -"No. Private stock. Keeps a dog. Savage." - -"Is anyone admitted to the house?" - -"No admittance except on business." - -"Do many people go there upon business?" - -"None. House like a prison." - -"Is it a large house, Bob?" - -"Largish. Room for more." - -"More patients?" - -"Yes." - -"Look here, Bob. I want to tackle this Dr. Peterssen in some way as -yet unthought of, but before I do so I should like to make sure of a -certain point. How is it to be done?" - -"Don't understand you." - -"Well, this is how it is. I am morally convinced he has something in -his house to which he has no claim, and which I would pay a good price -to get hold of." - -"Property?" - -"Yes." - -"Portable?" - -"Yes." - -"Any objection to say what it is?" - -"We're tiled in, Bob?" - -"Honor bright and shining. Unless you give consent, not to be -mentioned outside this room." - -"Thank you, Bob. The property is a desk." - -"Buy it of him. My opinion he would sell anything. His own mother if -he had one." - -"He would not dare to sell it. He would deny that he had ever seen -it." - -"Might bring him into trouble?" - -"Yes. There are a lot of things hanging to the possession of this -desk." - -"Spirit it away." - -"How?" - -"Get a patient in--a friendly patient. A child for choice. A sharp one -it would have to be." - -"By Jove, Bob, you put an idea into my head." - -"Glad to hear it. Act on it." - -"You wouldn't mind assisting me?" - -"Anything in my power." - -"You are a trump. But you have been making personal inquiries in the -village. If you went down again--supposing you consent to do what I -want--you would be recognized." - -"Not at all. Disguise. I'd take Old Nick himself in, much less Dr. -Peterssen and a parcel of clod-hoppers." (This was a long sentence for -Bob.) "Try me." - -"Supposing I could find such a friendly patient--a smart little girl -who knows her way about--would you go down and arrange that she should -be taken care of in Tylney House?" - -"Delighted." - -"You've not heard of any cruelties being practised there?" - -"No. Besides, I should be on the spot. Could arrange a system of -signals. Piece of white paper, with a stone in it, thrown over wall. -All's well. Piece of blue paper, with a stone in it, thrown over wall. -Getting frightened. Come and take me away. No paper at all thrown over -wall. Ring the bell and demand to see friendly patient." - -"Bob, you're a genius." - -"Thanks. When shall it be?" - -"Come and see me to-morrow at one." - -"I shall be here; to the minute." - -He gave me a wink, and after another drink took his departure. He -would have stopped longer had I not told him that I had business of -importance to attend to, to which he responded, "A wink's as good as a -nod," and hastened to say good-night. - -The idea he had put into my head was that he should take Sophy down to -Sheldon as a relative of his own, and arrange for her admission to -Tylney House, and the desk I wished to get hold of was the Indian desk -of sandalwood, inlaid with silver, which Mrs. Middlemore had informed -me was in M. Felix's apartment on the morning of the 16th of January, -but which was not there when we searched the rooms a couple of days -after. The housekeeper was positive that she saw it on the 16th, and -was almost as positive that the police had not removed it. If not -they, who? Why, Dr. Peterssen in his interview with M. Felix, on the -night of the 16th, leaving behind him the snake-shaped dagger which M. -Felix had thrown at Emilia a few minutes later. Emilia had repeated to -me Gerald's words to her with reference to this desk, during their -honeymoon in Switzerland--"There is a secret drawer in this desk, -Emilia, and in the desk something which concerns you nearly." What if -this should mean the copy of the marriage certificate? In my mind I -set it down as meaning it, and I thought, also, that there was a fair -chance of finding it in the desk even at this length of time. The -secret drawer was known to Gerald; Emilia, who had used the desk, was -not aware of this secret drawer until Gerald spoke of it. It might be -that Gerald's brother did not know of it, and that it had remained all -these years undiscovered. Granted that the chance was a slender one, -still it should not be neglected. I had no compunction in enlisting -Sophy in the plan I had devised. My moral sense was not blunted, and I -felt myself perfectly justified in fighting Dr. Peterssen with his own -weapons. Before I sought Sophy I thought it necessary to have a few -private words with Emilia, and I drove at once to my mother's house -for that purpose. - -"I can stop only five minutes," I said, in excuse of my hurried -arrival and departure; "I have a hundred things to attend to -to-night." I beckoned to Emilia, and she followed me to an unoccupied -room. "I wish you," I said to her, "to bend your mind most earnestly -on the night of the 16th of last month. Don't tremble; there is -nothing to be frightened at; I am hard at work in your interests, and -I am full of hope. Are you quite calm?" She nodded, and I continued. -"You saw Dr. Peterssen go into the house in Gerard Street; you saw him -come out of it. When he went in did he carry a parcel with him?" - -"No." - -"You are sure of it?" - -"I am sure I should have noticed it. I had perfect control over -myself, and nothing escaped my attention." - -"When he came out of the house did he have a parcel with him?" - -"Yes, now you mention it, I remember that he did. I attached no -importance to it at the time, my mind being bent upon my own errand." - -"That is all I wish to know at present. Keep a stout heart. All may -yet be well." - -So, with a bright smile, I left her, and bade the cabman drive to -Gerard Street, Soho. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - -I ENTER INTO AN ARRANGEMENT WITH SOPHY. - - -At the corner of the street I dismissed the cab, and hurried after a -familiar figure. It was Sophy, who seemed to be literally flying along -the pavement, now on one leg, now on the other, and had she not -suddenly wheeled round in my direction I should have had to run at the -top of my speed to catch her. Seeing me she pulled up, and, with her -face scarlet with excitement, greeted me boisterously. - -"Why, what on earth are you doing, Sophy?" I asked, laughing and -wondering at her. - -She lifted her feet, one after another, for my inspection; she was -skating on wheels. - -"I'm the champion skater," she said, triumphantly; "I shall git a turn -at the music halls before long. Look 'ere; I can beat the lot of 'em." - -Away she flew with marvellous swiftness for a space of fifty yards or -so, then wheeled round and round and reached my side by executing a -series of circles in the cleverest manner possible. I have no doubt -that there are technical terms to describe her feats, but I am not -acquainted with them. - -"There!" she cried. "What do you think of that?" - -"You'll break your neck if you don't mind," I said. - -"Break my neck!" she exclaimed. "Not me! That's nothink to what I can -show yer. I _am_ glad to see yer back, I am? Aunty sed you'd give us -up. 'Not 'im,' sed I; 'he ain't one of the giving-up sort.' You look -tired out; ain't yer been well?" - -"Quite well, Sophy, but, like you, very busy. Is your aunt at home?" - -"Yes," said Sophy, bursting into a fit of laughter; "she's down in the -kitching, with a pore man's plaster on 'er side. I got 'er to put on -the roller-skates--leastways I put 'em on for 'er--and the minute she -stood up in 'em she toppled over and fell agin the dresser. She ain't -'urt much, but she likes to make a lot of a little. I'm all over -bruises, I am, but I don't fuss over 'em." - -"You shouldn't play tricks on her," I said gravely; "she has been a -good friend to you." - -"Oh, I don't know about that," said Sophy, with a rebellious toss of -her head. "She makes me pay for it, nagging at me morning, noon, and -night. But there, I ain't going to say nothink agin 'er. She's got a -temper, and so 'ave I." - -"She has been greatly worried, Sophy; you must be gentle with her." - -"I'll do anythink _you_ tell me; you don't bully a gal, you don't. If -you told me to go and jump off the top of the Monument I'd do it--yes, -I would, though you mightn't believe me." - -"I shall not ask you to do anything so stupid, but you can render me a -service, if you have the will and the pluck." - -"Can I?" she exclaimed, eagerly. "I ain't much to look at, but I've -got the pluck of a big 'un. Only you tell me what it is." - -"It will first depend upon whether your aunt can spare you. We will go -in and see her." - -"She'll 'ave to spare me, and if she don't like it she may lump it. -Now I know yer want me, I ain't going to let yer off." - -"You appear anxious to serve me, Sophy." - -"I'm going to serve yer," she said, with emphatic nods. "There's -nothink mean about _you_. When a gent makes a promise he sticks to -it." - -"A promise, Sophy!" - -"Didn't yer promise yer'd give me somethink to do for yer--and didn't -yer say jest now it depends upon whether I've got the pluck to do it? -That settles it. I've got the pluck, and the thing's as good as done. -Nobody in all the world 'as been as good to me as you've been, and it -ain't likely I shall ever forgit it. You'll see. One day when I'm -Somebody," and here the grateful girl gyrated round me gently, and -really with grace--"yer'll be proud of 'elping me on, and then I'll -show yer I can remember." - -"Your aunt can't be left alone," I said, after a moment's -consideration. "Do you know of any girl or woman who would take your -place here while you are away for a week or two?" - -"I know twenty that'll be glad of the job. I'm to go away, am I?" Her -eyes glittered at the prospect of an adventure. "I'm ready this minute -Where to?" - -"I'll tell you all about it after I've spoken with your aunt. It isn't -an easy task I shall set you, Sophy." - -"The 'arder it is the better I shall like it." - -"Do you think you could play a part?" I asked. - -"On the stage?" she cried, eagerly. - -"No; off the stage." - -"On or off," she said, with a shade of disappointment, "it don't -matter. I'm game for anythink. Let's git aunty settled fust." - -Sophy, being now provided with a latch-key, opened the street door, -and taking off her roller skates in the passage, preceded me -down-stairs. Mrs. Middlemore was darning stockings, and seemed -cheerful enough, but when she looked up and saw us her face assumed a -colorless expression, and she pressed her hand to her side. Sophy -winked at me, and said, in a whisper, "She's putting of it on; she -ain't 'urt a bit, no more than you are." - -"Oh, good evening, sir," said Mrs. Middlemore, mournfully. "What are -yer whispering about, Sophy?" - -"Only telling the gent," replied the unblushing girl, "not to speak -too loud, 'cause of yer nerves, aunty." - -"It's all Sophy's doings, sir," moaned Mrs. Middlemore. "She made me -put on a pair of rollers that's going to break 'er legs afore she's -done with 'em. She's a double 'andful, sir; I can't manage 'er." - -"She has told me of the accident," I said, "and is very sorry for it. -Sophy means well, Mrs. Middlemore." - -"I won't dispute with you, sir, but she'll be the death of me if she -goes on as she's a-doing of now. You've been away a long time, sir." - -"Not so very long; I had important business in the country to attend -to. Nothing has happened, except your accident, during my absence, I -suppose?" - -"Nothink as I can think of, sir." - -"No more visitors in disguise; no more false summonses to the police -court?" - -"No, sir--only I've got my fancies." - -"What kind of fancies?" - -Mrs. Middlemore looked timorously around, and Sophy answered for her. -"There's a sperrit in the 'ouse, she ses. She 'ears it moving about, -and she's ready to swear in the middle of the night that it's -a-standing at the foot of the bed." - -"Do you also hear and see it, Sophy?" I asked. - -"Not me," replied Sophy, contemptuously. "It's a wide-awake sperrit, -and makes itself scarce when I'm about." - -"Ah, well," I said, "there's no accounting for fancies. Let us get to -business, Mrs. Middlemore. I intend to rob you of Sophy for a little -while." - -"Rob me of Sophy, sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Middlemore. "What on earth am I -to do without 'er?" - -"Oh, you will get along very well without her----" - -"But you don't know what a 'elp she is to me, and 'ow good she's been. -I've got that fond of 'er that I don't like 'er to be out of my sight. -You're joking, sir, ain't yer?" - -"Not at all," said I, smiling at this sudden display of affection. "I -have something for Sophy to do, and if she undertakes it she will get -well paid for the job." - -"Never mind about my being paid for it," interposed Sophy; "I'm going -to do it, whatever it is." - -"And leave me 'ere all alone!" whimpered Mrs. Middlemore. - -"You will not be alone. The first thing in the morning a girl shall be -engaged to keep in the house with you, and I will pay her wages; and -you shall have an allowance while Sophy's away. Remember what I have -done for you, and don't make any further objections." - -"I'm sure you've been very good, sir," said Mrs. Middlemore, her -trouble lessened by the prospect of gain; the virtues of golden -ointment are not to be excelled. "Might I take the liberty of arksing -whether it's got anythink to do with Mr. Felix?" - -"I cannot answer you," I said. "What Sophy will do will be a secret -between her and me for the present. By and by, perhaps, she will tell -you all about it." - -"You've got a way with you, sir, that nobody can't resist. You'll come -back to me, Sophy?" - -"Course I will, aunty," said the girl, "when the job's done." - -"And now, Sophy," I said "if you will come upstairs with me we will -have a little chat. Then you can decide." - -"I've decided already," said Sophy, and she followed me to the -sitting-room which had been occupied by M. Felix. - -Everything apparently was the same as on the night of the -disappearance of M. Felix's body. I was aware of only one article -which was missing after Dr. Peterssen's visit to the house, and that -was the revolver which M. Felix kept under his pillow. I had no doubt -in my mind that Dr. Peterssen had taken advantage of his being alone -in the house, on the occasion of Mrs. Middlemore's unnecessary visit -to the Bow Street Police Station, to appropriate other articles, but -only the revolver and the desk--which he had taken away on the night -of his interview with M. Felix--were within my knowledge. It is true -that even this knowledge was gained by means of circumstantial -evidence which would scarcely have been admitted in a court of law, -but I was quite satisfied on the point, and I had the strongest moral -conviction that time would prove the correctness of my conclusions. - -"Sit down, Sophy," I said, "and think of nothing else but what I am -about to say to you." - -"I'm a-doing of it," said Sophy, with a look of absolute concentration -that strengthened my confidence in her, and spoke volumes in favor of -her being, as she hoped, somebody one day. - -"You remember the day on which your aunt was sent to Bow Street Police -Court by a man whom she left in the house alone?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"You said you saw the man. Would you know him again?" - -"I'd swear to 'im." - -"On the night that Mr. Felix's body disappeared you were the only -person in the house who knew anything at all of the matter. You -behaved like a little heroine on that occasion, Sophy." - -"That's something good, ain't it?" - -"Something very good. There is no possibility, I suppose, of your -being able to give me a description of the man who, by some strange -means, got into the house on that night?" - -"I can't tell you nothink more about 'im. It was in the dark, yer -know, and when he spoke it was under 'is breath." - -"The question was an idle one, but I was bound to ask it. It may or -may not have been the same man who deceived your aunt. Sophy, the man -you saw and can swear to is an infernal scoundrel, and I look upon him -as my enemy." - -"That's enough for me; he's mine, too, and I'm 'is." - -"You can keep a secret, Sophy." - -"You tell me one, and wild 'orses sha'n't tear it from me." - -"You are a faithful little soul, and I put great trust in you. -Everything I am saying to you is a secret." - -"That's enough," said Sophy, touching her lips with her fingers. "Red -'ot pinches shouldn't git it out of me." - -"The man you saw was in this house, to my certain knowledge, once -before--while M. Felix was alive. Your aunt did not know it; M. Felix -opened the street door for him. It was the night M. Felix was found -dead, and when the man went away he took a desk with him that belonged -to M. Felix." - -Sophy nodded. "Aunty's spoke to me about that desk. She never could -make out, she ses, what 'd become of it." - -"I will describe it to you, Sophy." I did so, and she listened -attentively, nodding from time to time with surprising intelligence. -"If you happen to see this desk in the possession of the man whom I -look upon as my enemy, do you think you could identify it?" - -"Know it again? Yes, I should. But 'ow am I to git to the man?" - -"I have thought of a plan, or rather a friend of mine has, which -requires courage to carry it out successfully. It requires something -more than courage; without great good sense and coolness the plan -would fail. The question is whether you possess those qualities." - -"It ain't no question at all; I've got what you want, and can do what -you want." - -"There is something in the desk, Sophy, that is of the utmost -importance to me." - -"And I'm to git it for yer. All right. Smuggle me into the 'ouse, and -consider it done." - -"But you don't know what kind of a place it is, my girl. It's a -private madhouse." Sophy did not blench; she simply nodded, and fixed -her large brown eyes on my face. "The man's name," I continued, "is -Peterssen, Dr. Peterssen. If he wanted a young girl as a servant you -should apply for the situation, but I don't think there is a vacancy -in his establishment. He is ready to take more patients, though, and -he likes young patients better than old ones." - -"You're going to put me in there as a mad gal," cried Sophy, in a tone -of irrepressible excitement, which lasted, however, only for a moment. -She cooled down instantly, and said in her usual tone, "Crikey! That's -a good move. I'm game! It's a good part to play, and no mistake." - -"You'll do it, then?" - -"Do it? Won't I do it? Why, I never thought I'd 'ave sech a chance." - -"You will have to be respectably dressed, Sophy, hands and face nice -and clean, and hair very tidy. How long in the morning will it take -you to do that?" - -"You git me the clothes and I won't keep yer waiting. I'll give myself -a good scrub to-night." - -"I've only one fear for you," I said, "which you won't mind my -mentioning. Going as a girl in a respectable position, your language -might draw suspicion upon you. I can't see a way out of that -difficulty." - -"I can," said Sophy, with a merry twinkle. "Why should I speak at all? -Let me go as a dumb gal. It'll be more than ever they can manage to -git a word out of me if I was there for a year." - -I looked at her admiringly. Her sharp wits had solved a problem which -had greatly perplexed me. - -"You are sure you will not be afraid, Sophy?" - -"Not a bit afraid; I shall enjoy it. It'll be a reg'lar game." - -"Very well, then. You can sleep upon it to-night, and if you alter -your mind you can let me know. I shall sleep here myself, and shall be -up early in the morning. There will be a great deal to do, and no time -must be lost. Goodnight. Say nothing to your aunt." - -She nodded smilingly, bade me good-night, and left me to my -reflections. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - -I RECEIVE A STRANGE VISITOR. - - -Before I went to bed a little incident occurred which it may be as -well to mention. It will be in the remembrance of the reader that when -I discovered the dagger which M. Felix had thrown at Emilia on the -occasion of her visit to him, I placed it behind the massive sideboard -in the sitting-room, my purpose being to conceal it from prying eyes. -Curious to see whether the weapon had been disturbed I took a candle -and looked. It was still there, and I was about to move away when my -attention was attracted to another object which lay edgewise by its -side. This object was a photograph, which had evidently dropped behind -the sideboard, and had lain there neglected for some time. Thinking it -might be the photograph of M. Felix I managed to nick it forward, and -presently was able to reach it with my hand. It was covered with dust, -which I blew away, disclosing the picture of a young man with a -handsome, prepossessing face. "If this is a likeness of M. Felix," I -mused, "it proves how little the features of a man are an index to his -character." There was something peculiarly winning in the expression -of the face; and there was a smile in the eyes and on the lips. The -picture had faded with time, but was still distinct and clear in its -outlines. I determined to ask Mrs. Middlemore in the morning whether -it was a likeness of M. Felix, and I put it on the table and retired -to bed. I had had a long and tiring day, and I slept soundly. At eight -o'clock I jumped up, ready and eager to resume the task upon which I -was engaged. I had almost finished dressing when my eyes fell upon the -picture I had found upon the previous night, and I took it again in my -hand and examined it by the morning's light. Looking at the back of -the card I saw some writing there, the name of a man and a date which -fixed the time at nineteen years ago. The name was "Gerald Paget." - -I was inexpressibly relieved. The picture, then, was not that of M. -Felix, but of Emilia's husband. I was glad to possess it, and glad -also of the mute evidence it presented, denoting that the original -must have been of a frank and honest nature. I put it in my pocket -without scruple; intrinsically the portrait was of no value, and I -considered myself entitled to appropriate it. To make sure, however, -that the likeness was not that of M. Felix, I showed it to Mrs. -Middlemore, without informing her how I had become possessed of it. -She had never seen it, she said, and it was not a portrait of M. -Felix, who was a different kind of man. Satisfied on this point I went -out with Sophy to hire a servant to take her place in her absence. We -had no difficulty in obtaining one; as Sophy had said, we could have -obtained a score, and we picked out the nicest and most amenable, the -choice being Sophy's, upon whose judgment in this selection it was -safest to depend. The new domestic being officially installed in Mrs. -Middlemore's kitchen, I gave that worthy woman "something on account," -and bade her good-morning, and told her that Sophy and I would -probably be absent for two or three weeks. - -"You'll take care of 'er, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Middlemore. - -"You need have no anxiety," I replied. "She will be quite safe with -me." - -Before these words were exchanged I had asked Sophy whether she was -still of the same mind as she had been on the previous evening. - -"'Course I am," said Sophy. "I wouldn't give it up for nothink you -could orfer me." - -She had given herself "a good scrub," and had tidied her hair, and I -was surprised at the difference this made in her appearance. - -"Now, Sophy," I said, after I had bidden Mrs. Middlemore good-by, -"here are four sovereigns. Go to some wardrobe shop where you are not -known, and buy a complete outfit of second-hand decent clothes, -stockings, petticoats, boots, and everything you wear, and come to my -rooms in them at half-past one. Be careful that you choose neat -clothing, nothing showy or conspicuous; the way you are dressed the -next time I see you will prove whether you understand what it is I -wish you to do." - -"You sha'n't find fault with me," said Sophy, with tears in her eyes. -"I never thought I should 'ave sech a slice of luck as this." - -At noon I was in my chambers, having arranged with the editor of the -_Evening Moon_ for another absence from duty. Bob Tucker was to come -at one, and I employed the intervening minutes in setting things right -in my rooms. I should have liked to go to Emilia for the purpose of -showing her the picture I had found, and of receiving confirmation -that it was a portrait of her husband, but I had not the time. The -chimes of Westminster had just proclaimed the half-hour when I heard a -knock at the outer door of my chambers. "Bob is early," I thought, and -I went and opened the door. A stranger confronted me, a middle-aged -man, with sandy hair and light fluffy whiskers, and of a rather -ponderous build. - -"I have come to see Mr. Agnold," said the stranger. - -"He is busy," I replied, testily, "and cannot be seen." I did not know -the man, and the business I had to transact was too important for -interruption. - -"I will wait," said the stranger, coolly. - -"It will be useless waiting," I said. "Mr. Agnold cannot be seen -to-day." - -"I will wait till to-morrow," said the stranger, pulling his fluffy -whiskers, and gazing at me with more than warrantable attention. - -"Yes," I said, "call to-morrow, and unless your errand is urgent and -personal do not call at all. Mr. Agnold's time is valuable." - -I closed the door unceremoniously in his face and re-entered my -sitting-room. My behavior is open to an unfavorable construction, I -admit, but bachelors living in chambers in the houses roundabout are -much annoyed by persons who intrude at all unseasonable hours, and who -for the most part turn out to be commercial travellers desirous to -show you samples of goods you do not want. But there was another -reason in this particular instance for my unceremonious treatment of -the uninvited visitor. All the time he was speaking to me I was -conscious that he was observing me in a manner which I resented. There -was an intentional rudeness in his pertinacious scrutiny which aroused -in me a certain anger, which, reasonably or unreasonably, was a guide -in my conduct toward him. - -I resumed my employment, but my mind was disturbed by the incident, -and I could not drive it away. The man could not be a commercial -traveller, I reflected, for those individuals are models of pleasantry -and politeness, and do everything in their power to win your good -graces. What, therefore, could be his object in paying me a visit? Had -I done wrong in sending him away without inquiring its nature? - -"Confound the fellow!" I said. "He has got into my head and is likely -to remain there, a fixture. I suppose he has gone." - -I went to the door and threw it open. On a little bench in the lobby -outside sat the man, quietly and patiently. - -"Not gone!" I cried. - -"Not gone," he replied. - -"You heard what I said, did you not?" - -"Perfectly. You said Mr. Agnold cannot be seen to-day. Upon which I -replied that I would wait till to-morrow." - -"To wait here?" I exclaimed. - -"Yes, to wait here till to-morrow, or the next day, or the next. In -point of fact, to wait till I have had a few minutes' chat with Mr. -Agnold." - -"I am Mr. Agnold," I said, angrily. - -"I knew that all along," he said, with irritating politeness. - -"What is it you want with me? Will you detain me long?" - -"Not very long; it will depend upon yourself. I come on behalf of Dr. -Peterssen." - -My anger instantly subsided; I became as cool as my visitor. - -"Enter," I said, "and let us get it over. Who is Dr. Peterssen, and -what has he got to do with me, or I with him?" - -These last words were spoken when my visitor and I were standing face -to face in my sitting-room. - -"Oh, I am not here to answer questions," said my visitor. "I have a -commission to execute, and a question or two myself to ask on behalf -of Dr. Peterssen." - -"Which I shall answer or not, as I please." - -"Of course it is entirely within your discretion; I cannot force you; -I am merely an instrument." - -"I must know with whom I am conversing," I said, "before we proceed -further." - -He handed me a card, on which was printed, "Mr. Nettlefold, The Elms, -Ealing." - -"I never heard of you," I said, putting the card on the table. - -"I can't help that," he responded. "Perhaps it will expedite matters -if I inform you that I do not come from Dr. Peterssen direct. Before -presenting myself to you I paid a visit to Mr. Bob Tucker." - -I was confounded. Was the cunning scheme suggested by Bob, and to -carry out which I had enlisted Sophy's services, to be nipped in the -bud? - -"Mr. Tucker," continued Mr. Nettlefold, "refused all explanations, and -referred me to you, who, it seems, are the prime mover in this -affair." - -"In what affair?" - -"As you are aware, Dr. Peterssen resides at Tylney House, Sheldon. He -desires this fact to be widely known, having no motives for secrecy. -Mr. Bob Tucker has been prowling about this neighborhood lately, -making inquiries concerning Dr. Peterssen, and prying into his private -affairs in a manner to which Dr. Peterssen does not propose to -submit." - -"A nice mess Bob has made of it," I thought. "What a fool I was to -trust to him!" - -"I beg your pardon," said Mr. Nettlefold, "did you speak?" - -"I did not." - -"I thought I saw your lips move. To continue. Mr. Bob Tucker could not -have been aware that while he was thus clumsily playing Paul Pry, he -was himself being watched, and that all the information given to him -of Dr. Peterssen's affairs was false. When Mr. Tucker left Sheldon he -was followed and his address in London discovered. He paid you a visit -last night, and your address was discovered. I am commissioned by Dr. -Peterssen to inquire your motive for your proceedings?" - -"I shall answer no questions. Finish your commission, and go." - -"Very well. I am instructed to say that should Mr. Bob Tucker, or you, -or any person in your employ, come again to Sheldon for the purpose of -making injurious inquiries, he, you, or the other person will receive -a sound horsewhipping, and after that a ducking in a convenient pond. -That is all. Have you anything to say?" - -"Just one observation. You can tell Dr. Peterssen in the plainest -possible terms that I know him to be an infernal scoundrel, and that -it is my intention to expose him. I shall visit Sheldon very soon, and -he will have an opportunity of putting his threats into execution; it -will then be seen who has the most to fear, he or I. There is the -door, Mr. Nettlefold. Remove yourself quickly, if you do not wish to -be removed." - -To my astonishment, my visitor, instead of hurrying to the door, threw -himself into my most comfortable arm-chair, and burst into a loud fit -of laughter. I had not recovered from my astonishment before he spoke. - -"Capital. Capital. Settled my disguise last night. Carried it out this -morning. Took me about an hour. Altered my voice. Altered the way I -speak as Bob Tucker. Changed my clothes. And my hair. And my manner. -Rather good isn't it? Compliment me." - -And there in my chair sat, not Mr. Nettlefold, but my old friend Bob -Tucker, laughing and wagging his head at the trick he had played me. - -"Upon my word, Bob," I said with a feeling of great relief, "you gave -me a turn. I should never have known you." - -"Thought you wouldn't. When I looked in the glass didn't know myself. -Thought I was another fellow. Thought I'd try it on you first, to make -sure, you know." - -"Bob," I said, shaking hands heartily with him, "you're splendid. -Scotland Yard's a fool to you. I would trust you with my life." - -"You might. It would be quite safe with me. So long as you kept your -breath. Think I'm a match for Peterssen?" - -"For a dozen Peterssens. You're a gem of the first water. I've hardly -got over it." - -"Don't think any more of it. Plenty of time by and by. Always knew I -was cut out for this sort of thing. Let's to business. You see what -I've done. What have you done?" - -"I have got the girl." - -"Good. Sharp! Clever! Cool!" - -"You shall see her; she will be here soon." - -Then I related to him everything I knew of Sophy, and dwelt especially -upon her behavior on the night of the disappearance of the body of M. -Felix, which I could see made a powerful impression upon him. - -"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Got pluck, that girl. Seems just the article -we want." - -His admiration increased when I told him of the expedient suggested by -Sophy to keep her lack of education from the knowledge of Dr. -Peterssen's people. - -"She's a nugget," he said. "Take quite an interest in her already. -Possibilities in that girl. She will come through this affair with -flying colors." - -"That is my opinion, Bob. She will be a relation of yours, I suppose." - -"Step-daughter," he said, with a wink. "By my first wife. The girl in -the way then. Much more in the way now. Why? Her mother's dead, and -I'm married again. Conundrum. What relation is she to my second wife? -Work it out. Name, Maria. A perfect encumbrance. Dumb from her birth. -And silly. Horrible nuisance. No vice in her. Not dangerous in the -least. Therefore, friendly patient. No restraint or punishment. To be -allowed to go about the house and grounds. Do as she likes. Must sleep -in room by herself. Will give no trouble. Quarter paid in advance. -Make her happy, and she shall remain for years. Must be kindly -treated. Will programme do?" - -"It is excellently arranged." - -"I go down as Mr. Nettlefold, The Elms, Ealing. Cousin of mine lives -there. Should letters addressed Nettlefold arrive, will forward them -on to me wherever I am. As I say, go down as Mr. Nettlefold. Leave -Sheldon as such. Return to Sheldon as another man. To watch over -Sophy, otherwise Maria. Got danger signals ready." He produced a -number of small pellets, some blue, some white, weighted, and attached -to thin cords. "Sophy," he continued, "otherwise Maria, ties these to -underclothing. Stays. String of petticoat. Anything. Detaches one when -required. I'll instruct her. Every day one thrown over wall. None -thrown, go in and see her. Quite safe. Will she remain long?" - -I answered that I thought she would be able to get hold of the desk in -less than a week, and that under no circumstances should she remain -longer than a fortnight. If she could not accomplish her task in that -time it would be useless to keep her there. We continued talking about -the arrangements till half-past one, when my faithful and punctual -Sophy made her appearance. She looked the picture of neatness, and her -eyes beamed when I expressed approval of her attire. Bob gazed upon -her with satisfaction. - -"She'll do," he said. "You keep quiet. I'll take her in hand." - -I left it to him to explain matters and to teach her her lesson. He -could have had no apter pupil; in less than half an hour she was -proficient. - -"We start, the three of us," said Bob, "at three o'clock. Not for -Sheldon. Four miles from there is a large village, Nutford. We put up -there. Arrive six-twenty. Have dinner. Dark night. Walk to Sheldon. -Reconnoitre. Show you the wall, where you can get over. If you want -to. Show you where to throw pellets. Four o'clock every afternoon. -Convenient time. Dr. Peterssen probably away. Feel all right?" - -"As right as a trivet," said Sophy. - -"You're a girl--after my own heart. Have something to eat before we -start. Tuck away." - -At three o'clock we were in the train which was to convey us to our -destination. - - - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - -SOPHY ENTERS DR. PETERSSEN'S ESTABLISHMENT AS A FRIENDLY -PATIENT. - - -Having engaged comfortable quarters at the Bell and Horns, Nutford, we -had a tea-dinner, and started to walk to Sheldon. It was a fine night, -and Sophy distinguished herself as a pedestrian; the four-mile walk -was accomplished in an hour and twenty minutes by the watch. The one -narrow street of which the village could boast was still and quiet; -not a soul was to be seen in it. - -"After seven o'clock at night," said Bob, "place like a churchyard. -Sleepy Hollow a paradise compared to it." - -There was something inexpressibly depressing in the aspect of the -street; the two or three poor shops were closed, and neither in them -nor in the cottages was there a sign of life. The suggestion of a -grave came to my mind. - -"Remember Eden?" asked Bob, who was in the best of spirits. "Mark -Tapley would have grown fat here." - -At the end of the street we crossed a common, and then traversed an -avenue of mournful trees, bounded by a stone wall. - -"The outskirts of Tylney House," said Bob, with the air of a -professional guide. "House can't be seen from this point. Nor from any -point in particular. Lies in a valley. Observe the jagged glass at top -of wall. Just here there's a bare spot. Think you could climb over it, -Sophy, otherwise Maria?" - -"Git over it like a bird," said Sophy. The conversation was carried on -in low tones, Sophy's voice being sepulchral, in view of the part of -the dumb patient she was presently to enact. - -"Good girl. Prove yourself. There's a tree. Show us a climb." - -It was a branchless tree, with scarce a knob on its straight trunk, -and with nothing to hold on by, but Sophy tackled it unhesitatingly, -and was a dozen feet above our heads in a twinkling. There she -perched, peering over the wall into the grounds of Tylney House. -Presently she scrambled down, and nudging Bob, said, - -"Will that do?" - -"You've got the heart of a lion," said Bob, admiringly. "I've no fears -for you. Can you read?" - -"No." - -"Write?" - -"No." - -"Tell the time?" - -"Oh, I can do that." - -"That's a blessing. Here's a silver watch. A stem-winder. When we get -back to Nutford I'll show you how to wind it up. What's the time now?" - -"'Arf past eight." - -"Correct. That tree is thirty feet high. Or thereabouts." - -"What of that?" - -"I should say it could be seen by anybody inside that stone wall. By -you, when you're inside them. Now, Sophy, otherwise Maria, you have -peculiarities. One, that you're dumb." - -"Inside them walls," said Sophy, "I am. Dumb as a fish." - -"Another, that you've an unconquerable habit of shying stones." - -"I'm a dab at that," said Sophy. - -"As a friendly patient," continued Bob, "you must be indulged. When -you get it into your head to shy stones you're to be let alone. That's -one of the conditions of your becoming a friendly patient." - -"I twig. I'm to shy stones at that tree." - -"You are. At certain times of the day. At twelve o'clock by the silver -watch. At four o'clock by the same." - -"Crikey!" exclaimed Sophy. "Yer don't mean to say I'm to have the -ticker?" - -"I do. Bought it for the special purpose. And it's not to be taken -from you. When you shy stones at hours already stated I shall be -outside. You don't shy many. Three, or four, or five. One of the -stones is made of lead. I supply you with them. Here they are." He -produced the pellets. "I give you some paper that you'll keep in your -pocket. Lead stone wrapped in white paper means that you're quite -comfortable. Lead stone wrapped in blue paper means you want to be -taken away. Things not as they ought to be. That provides for your -safety. We'll see you're not hurt, Sophy, otherwise Maria. I shall -understand signals. An idea. Can you whistle?" - -"Rather." - -"Another of your peculiarities. As a friendly patient you're to be -allowed to whistle. At twelve o'clock and at four I shall be in this -neighborhood. I hear you whistle. I see the stones you shy, _and_ the -bit of lead wrapped in white paper. She's safe, I say to myself. -Sophy, otherwise Maria, is quite comfortable with her weather eye -open. Do you take all this in? Or shall I go over it again?" - -"I know it by 'eart," replied Sophy. "It's a reg'lar game, that's what -it is." - -Here I thought it necessary to say a word. - -"Suppose no stones at all are thrown, Bob?" - -"In that case," said Bob, "without one minute's delay I ring the bell. -I insist upon seeing my stepdaughter, Sophy, otherwise Maria. Leave it -to me. I'll undertake that she comes to no harm. Time to get back to -Nutford." - -We left Sheldon without having been observed, I a little doubtful now -that the adventure was to be seriously commenced, Bob very confident, -and Sophy very bright. Before we went to bed we had a great deal of -conversation, and Sophy convinced us that she perfectly understood -Bob's instructions; then the silver watch was delivered to her as a -prospective gift in the event of her success, and we retired to rest. -Bob and I had each brought a Gladstone bag down with us, and Bob gave -me another instance of his thoughtfulness by producing from his a -small handbag, furnished with certain necessaries for a girl of -Sophy's age, which he had purchased in London. - -"You have really no fears for her, Bob?" I said as we undressed. He -and I occupied a double-bedded room. - -"Not the least," replied Bob. "She's a gem. Of the first water. Wash -and comb her regularly--dress her decently--teach her to read and -write--give her two or three years to grow up in--and there's no -telling what she may become. Much obliged for the introduction. Much -obliged also for the business in hand." He said this with perfect -sincerity. Bob Tucker was in his element. - -On the following morning he and Sophy set off for Tylney House. By -Bob's advice I remained behind in Nutford. It would be best, he said, -that Dr. Peterssen should not see me. - -I waited in great anxiety for his return, and at three o'clock in the -afternoon he was with me again. - -"All arranged," he said. "Sophy is now a friendly patient in Tylney -House. Did not tell you, did I, that I telegraphed to Peterssen from -London yesterday afternoon?" - -"No," I replied, "I was not aware of it. You lay your plans well, -Bob." - -"No use undertaking a job unless you do. I sent him telegram--'Coming -to your establishment to-morrow with young patient. SILAS NETTLEFOLD.' -We arrive in a fly--ring the bell--man appears. I ask, 'Dr. Peterssen -at home?' 'Name?' inquires the man. 'Silas Nettlefold,' I answer. 'Dr. -Peterssen is at home,' says man. 'Walk in.' I do. Sophy slouches by my -side--good actress, that girl. Man eyes her. She doesn't notice him -apparently. All the same she sees him--and reckons him up. In the -grounds she picks up stone--looks at it--turns it over in her -hand--shies it over the wall. 'A way she's got,' I say to man. -Slip two half-crowns into his hand. He grins, and leads the way. -Peterssen--damned scoundrel--receives us. I introduce myself--and my -stepdaughter Maria. He shakes hands with me--no suspicion in his -manner. I was looking out for that. Puts his thumb under my -step-daughter's chin--raises her face. She gives a silly laugh, and -turns away. I explain matters, saying first, 'Can I speak plainly to -you?' 'I am a man of the world,' he says. 'So am I,' I respond. I -give him a sly look; he gives me one. I motion Sophy, otherwise Maria, -out of the room. He rings for man to take her into the grounds. 'Not -my daughter,' I say; 'my first wife's. Widow when I married her. Now, -dead. Six weeks ago I married again. Second wife wants her out of the -house. So do I. More comfortable for all parties. Dumb from her birth; -quite silly, but has, or will have when she's of age, property. -Meanwhile I am her guardian. Willing to pay well to have her well -taken care of. Must not be ill-treated. Am a Christian--so are you.' -Peterssen smiles; I smile. I continue: 'It is to my interest that she -shall be happy. I wish her to live a long life--in such an -establishment as yours--at so much a year, paid in advance. I should -like her to get fat. The longer she lives, the better for me. If she -died her property would pass out of my control.' And so on, and so on. -Peterssen comprehends--grasps the situation. Promises everything I -ask. Shall be treated as friendly patient, but of course the charge -will be proportionate. 'Quite so,' I say. Everything then is arranged. -She will have perfect liberty inside the stone walls. Will be kindly -treated. Will be allowed to walk freely about the grounds, and to -indulge her harmless habit of occasional stone-throwing. So far, all -plain sailing. Then comes question of terms. 'Two hundred a year,' says -Peterssen, rather stiff. 'We'll not haggle,' I say. Peterssen much -relieved. He's devilish hard up. Saw it with half an eye. His hand -stretched out to clutch the money. Took advantage of his eagerness. -Gave him twenty pounds on account of first quarter. Promise to pay the -other thirty in a month. After that, regular quarterly payments in -advance. Peterssen made lame attempts to hold out for larger sum down -on the nail. I stood my ground. Peterssen gave way. If he'd been flush -of money would have seen me further first. Interview terminated. We go -out to Sophy, otherwise Maria. Girl very happy, playing with two -stones. 'Let her have her way,' I say, 'won't give you a bit of -trouble.' I wish her good-by. She takes not the slightest notice of -me. Begins to whistle. Clever girl, Sophy. Gives me a silly look, -that's all. I speak to man, otherwise keeper, aside. 'Don't bother -her,' I say, 'and she won't bother you. Treat her kindly, and you get -a crown a week. Here's first fortnight in advance.' Keeper promises to -be good to her, and not to interfere with her. A crown a week buys him -body and soul. Sophy all right. Shake hands with Peterssen, pat Sophy -on the head, and make my way here. Not in a straight line. Hired fly -some distance off in another direction. Leave Bob Tucker alone for -putting people off the scent." - -There was nothing to find fault with in Bobgs description; all that I -had wished for had been cleverly carried out, and everything seemed -now to depend upon whether the desk of Indian wood was in Dr. -Peterssen's establishment and whether Sophy would be able to obtain -possession of it. But it was not without an uneasy feeling that I -thought of Sophy being at the mercy of such a man as the master of -Tylney House. Bob did his best to dispel my uneasiness. He was -positive that Sophy was quite safe. Dr. Peterssen was seldom in the -house, his inclinations and pleasures lying elsewhere, and the -management of the establishment was left almost entirely in the hands -of the keeper who Bob said he had bought for five shillings a week. - -"Doesn't get a tip once in a blue moon," said Bob. "That was evident -from his manner of accepting mine. It was such a novelty that it -almost knocked him over. Doesn't get too well paid, either. There's a -tumbledown air about Tylney House which made me think of a man on his -last legs. One thing is certain. Peterssen's heart is not in it. Mind -occupied by matters more engrossing. Generally savage look upon his -face. The fellow's ripe." - -"For what, Bob?" - -"For any kind of villainy, from pitch and toss to manslaughter. -Wouldn't stop short of manslaughter. Oh, I know my customer." - -"Did you see any of the other patients?" I asked. - -"No," answered Bob. "Kept out of the way, most likely. Looked about -for harmless patient green-grocer's boy spoke of. Didn't catch a -glimpse of him." - -We left Nettlefold that evening, and went to another village on the -other side of Sheldon. This was done to enable Bob to assume a -different disguise, in which he was to pay his daily visits to the -tree outside the stone walls of Tylney House, which was to serve as a -target for Sophy's stones twice a day; and he told me that he had -given Sophy explicit instructions how to reach us at our new address. -It seems that he had the removal in view when we were at Nettlefold, -and had let Sophy into the secret; and I commended and admired his -thoughtfulness. - -The change of quarters safely made, I had nothing to do but to await -the course of events. I considered it expedient to keep Bob company, -so as to be on the spot in case Sophy should make an unexpected -appearance. Bob's proceedings and methods afforded me some amusement. -At a quarter to eleven every morning he started for Sheldon, returning -at a quarter to two. An hour afterward he started again for the same -place, returning at a quarter to six. He was punctuality itself, and -his movements resembled those of a well-regulated clock. Every time he -returned he said, "Sophy quite safe. Three stones, and a pellet -wrapped in white paper. Whistling like a bird. Sophy getting fine -markswoman. Two of the stones hit tree. Capital exercise for muscles -this stone-throwing. Pity Sophy can't write. She would be able to tell -us news." He kept an exact record of all his proceedings, and devoted -a separate page, more than one, if necessary, to each entry. "In -matters like this," he said, "avoid confusion. Be precise. My diary -saves a world of trouble in deciding absolutely what was done at such -an hour on such a day." The time, I must confess, hung heavily on my -hands, and I would much rather have been an active worker in the task -upon which we were engaged. However, I had no choice. I wrote -regularly to my people at home and to Emilia, who thus became -acquainted with my country address, and it was to Emilia's knowledge -of my whereabouts which led to unforeseen diversions in the plans I -had so carefully mapped out. - - - - -CHAPTER XLIX. - -M. BORDIER JOINS THE HUNT. - - -On the twelfth day I said: - -"Bob, I think I shall run up to London." - -"By all means," said Bob, cheerfully, a sign that my society was not -indispensable to him, and that he was not wearying of his task. -"Should anything occur I will telegraph to you. To which address, -though?" - -"Repeat your telegrams," I said, "to my chambers and my mother's -house. I shall be back in two days, and if by that time things are -still in the same position I think you should pay a visit to Sophy, -and contrive somehow to speak to her. This inaction is intolerable." - -"You have no patience," said Bob. "The train is laid. What more do you -want?" - -"Movement, Bob, movement." I looked at my watch. "Mustn't lose the -train. I'm off." - -And off I was, and in a few minutes whirling toward London. It was -destined, however, that I should not reach there as early as I -expected. We were midway when the train slackened, crawled along a few -hundred yards, then came to a standstill. - -"What's the matter?" I called to the guard, thrusting my head out of -the window. - -"Engine broke down, sir," was the answer. "Can't get on." - -"Confound it!" I cried. "How long shall we have to wait?" - -"There's no knowing, sir. Not till to-morrow morning, perhaps." - -"But it is impossible for me to remain here all night." - -"Very sorry, sir. It doesn't depend upon me. Accidents will happen." - -Fretting and fuming would not mend matters, and I was compelled to -submit. It turned out as the guard had indicated. Something else had -occurred on the line which rendered it out of the question that -another engine could be sent to our aid, and we did not arrive in -London till the afternoon of the following day. I hastened at once to -my chambers, then visited the office of the _Evening Moon_, and then -proceeded to my mother's house, which I did not reach till six o'clock -in the evening. The moment the street door was opened Emilia ran into -the passage to greet me. - -"You have seen him," she cried, "and he has explained all." - -"Seen whom?" I asked, very much astonished, "and what is there to -explain?" - -"You have not met M. Bordier, then," she said, falling back. - -"No," I replied. "I left the country suddenly yesterday, and an -accident happened to the train. I was detained all night." - -"I sent you a letter also," said Emilia, "it was posted yesterday -morning." - -"That accounts for my not receiving it. It must have arrived after my -departure." - -I saw that she was agitated, and I led her to the sitting-room, where, -after exchanging a few words with my mother, we were left alone. Then -I learnt what had taken place. - -M. Bordier, it appears, had visited Emilia every day during my -absence, and had observed in her signs of suppressed excitement which -had caused him deep concern. At first he made no comment upon this -change in her, but at length he questioned her, and, receiving no -satisfaction, told her with delicate pointedness that he deemed it her -duty to confide in him if she were in any trouble. Still she evaded -his inquiries, and this with marks of such extreme distress that he -became more pressing in his desire that she should be candid and -straightforward with him. I will give what afterward transpired in -Emilia's own words. - -"He came the night before last," she said, "and asked to speak -privately with me. I could not refuse him; it appeared to me as if my -refusal to appease his natural curiosity had aroused suspicions which -might be fatal to my daughter's happiness. He spoke very kindly, but -very firmly. Considering the relations in which we stood to each -other, he had come to a decision which it was right should be -communicated to me. Before doing so he would ask me a question or two -to which he expected frank answers. He asked me how long I had known -your family. I replied, about two weeks. Had I any previous knowledge -of them? I said no. Through whom had I become acquainted with them? I -said, through you. He then asked who and what you were; I told him, -trembling all the time, because his questions were leading straight to -the secret I was hiding from him. Had I any previous knowledge of you, -he asked; were you related to me in any way? I answered that you were -not related to me, and that I had made your acquaintance only since my -arrival in London. Were you acquainted with the cause of my trouble, -he asked. I said yes, you were, and that you were endeavoring to -befriend me. He reflected a little before he continued, and when he -spoke it was in the same kind and gentle voice, but more firmly than -before. 'It amounts to this,' he said, 'that you have a secret which has -brought grief upon you, and that you confide this secret to a stranger -and deny it to me. I draw from this a reasonable inference--that you -have a trouble of a private nature which you are deliberately concealing -from those who have a right, if anyone has the right, to share it with -you. Is it a pecuniary trouble?' I answered that it was not, and he said -that he regretted it, as then it might be easily got over. He then -referred to the conversation we had in Geneva, when he came to speak to -me about Julian's attachment to my dear child, and to a remark he had -made that the time would arrive when it would be necessary that he -should become acquainted with certain particulars of my past life. My -heart fainted within me when he bluntly inquired whether my secret was -in any way connected with my past history. I could make but one reply, -yes. 'Do you not see,' he said, 'that you are creating suspicions in my -mind, and that I am beginning to ask myself whether I should be doing -my duty as a father if I allowed the engagement between our children to -continue? Be advised for your own sake, for theirs. Tell me everything; -accord to me at least the privileges you have accorded to a stranger. I -have the reputation of being a just man, and I know that I have none -but kindly feelings toward you. There are difficulties, I admit, in -many human lives which need the skill of a strong man to surmount. I -place my knowledge of the world and my goodwill at your service, and if -you refuse to avail yourself of them your conduct will inspire me with -very grave doubts.' Thus driven, what could I do? It seemed to me that -it would be the wisest course to confide implicitly in him, and I did -so. I laid bare the story of my life, from my earliest remembrance to -the hour the disclosure was made. The errand upon which I came to -England, my adventures here, my meeting with you, my interview with -Gerald's brother--nothing was concealed; I even searched my mind to be -sure that not a detail was omitted. And then I threw myself upon his -mercy. I swore solemnly to the truth of my story, and to my belief that -the marriage ceremony was genuine. 'To part from your son now,' I said, -'will break my daughter's heart. In mercy to her, have pity!' 'From my -inmost soul I pity you,' he said. 'I believe your story; I believe you -to be honestly married; but it must be proved; we must be able to hold -up our heads in the face of the world. You say there is a chance of -the copy of your marriage certificate being hidden in the secret -drawer of the writing-desk you have described, and that a scheme is in -operation which holds out a hope that the desk may be found. Julian -loves your daughter; his happiness is bound up in her; and because I -am his father and love him most sincerely I will do all that lies in -my power to set this crooked matter straight. I will go down to your -friend Mr. Agnold as your representative and champion. Give me a -letter to him which will confer upon me the right to act for you. -There are means in my hands which Mr. Agnold may not possess, or would -not naturally be willing to employ, by which we can attain our object. -I can go myself to this Dr. Peterssen, and offer to purchase the desk -from him, supposing it to be in his possession. To such a man a large -sum of money would be a temptation; I would not stop short of five -thousand pounds; and this, with a guarantee that he shall not be -molested, and time afforded him to reach another country, may be the -crowning inducement. Even if he has not the desk, he is pretty sure to -have learnt from Mr. Gerald Paget the name of the place in which the -marriage ceremony was performed, and would be willing to sell the -information for the sum I have named. The proof then would be easy. -Write a letter at once; I will start to-morrow.' His words, his voice, -gave me hope. I wrote the letter, and yesterday he left London to -present it to you." - -This was the story which Emilia narrated to me, and I could not blame -her for acting as she had done. Only I was angry with myself for -leaving Bob; had I remained I should have seen M. Bordier, and we -might have discussed matters and brought them to a head. In view of -what Bob had said of his impression that Dr. Peterssen was very hard -up, the temptation which M. Bordier was ready to offer would be too -strong for him. Five thousand pounds was a grand bait, and Dr. -Peterssen would have accepted it and fled the country. - -"You have done right," I said to Emilia. - -"How thankful I am that you approve!" she exclaimed. "It seemed to me -ungrateful that I should take a step so important without consulting -you." - -"You had no choice," I said, "and M. Bordier is a gentleman. Did his -son accompany him?" - -"Poor Julian! I do not know. I fear he is scarcely in a fit state." - -I inferred from this that Julian Bordier was ill, but before I had -time to make an inquiry my mother entered the room. - -"A telegram for you," she said, and handed it to me. - -I tore it open and read it. "I have strange and important news for -you. Sophy is with me. Come down at once. Bob." - -There was an A B C in the house, and I turned over the pages -feverishly. I had just twenty-two minutes to catch a train, the last -of the day, which would enable me to get to Bob at about eleven -o'clock. Late as it would be I knew that he would expect me. I rapidly -explained to Emilia the necessity of my immediate departure, and ran -out of the house. Fortunately a cab was passing. "Drive as if Old Nick -was at your heels," I said to the cabby, jumping in. "Treble fare." -The driver cracked his whip, and away we rattled. - - - - -CHAPTER L. - -CLEVER SOPHY. - - -Bob was waiting for me on the platform. He was smoking a cigar, and -did not appear the least flurried. His calm demeanor, being somewhat -antagonistic to the tone of his telegram, annoyed me. - -"Well, Bob?" I said. - -"Well, old man?" said he. "Knew you would come down by this train." - -"Of course you did," I said irritably. "Now for your news." - -"No hurry," he said, phlegmatically. "Plenty of time before us." - -"Don't trifle, there's a good fellow. Have you seen M. Bordier?" - -"I have seen a gentleman of that name. Introduced himself to me. -Showed me a letter from your lady friend. It was addressed to you, but -he made free with it. He had a right to do so perhaps, as it was in an -unsealed envelope. Who is the gentleman? Has he anything to do with -this affair?" - -"He is an important person in our inquiry, Bob," I replied, "and is -intimately connected with it." - -"Ah," said Bob, dryly. "If I'd been in your place I should have -mentioned him earlier. He came like a bombshell upon me, and vanished, -so to speak, like a flash of lightning. Any better, Sophy?" - -Then for the first time I noticed the girl. She was crouched up on a -bench, with her cloak over her head. The words Bob and I had exchanged -were uttered at a little distance from her, and she had not heard my -voice. I stepped close to her and removed the cloak from her head. - -"Sophy," I said, "are you ill?" - -She jumped up and took the hand I held out to her, but did not answer. -Her face was very white, and there was a look of fear in her eyes. - -"Good God!" I cried, with a pang. "Have they been ill-treating her? -What's the matter with you, Sophy?" - -"Not afore 'im," she said. Her throat seemed to be parched, her voice -was so choked. - -"No, they have not ill-treated her," said Bob; "I can answer for that. -When she came with the desk----" - -"You've got the desk!" I cried. Notwithstanding my anxiety for Sophy -the news excited me, and my attention was diverted from her for a -moment. - -"Yes," said Bob, with a laugh in which I detected a shade of -bitterness, "we've got the desk. For all the good it's worth. When she -hopped into my room with it she was as bright as a cricket. Later on -sent her to bed. Supposed her to be asleep, when she tumbled into the -room again with a face like--well, look at it. Thought she'd have a -fit. She'd had a nightmare." - -"I hadn't," gasped Sophy. - -"I'll take your word for it," said Bob. "Anyway, she wouldn't open her -lips to me. Very mysterious. She will to you, most likely." - -"Yes, I will," said Sophy, still clinging to me; she was trembling all -over. - -"Thought as much," said Bob, who seemed to feel this lack of -confidence in him very acutely. "There are things to tell. My -proposition--if I may be allowed to make one--is that we begin at the -beginning, else we shall get muddled." - -"It's the properest way," said Sophy. - -"Thank you. Even this slight mark of approval appreciated by yours -truly. Do I gather that we are friends, Sophy, no longer Maria?" - -"In course we are; but I ain't 'ad no nightmare, I've 'ad a scare." -She offered him her hand, and it really put life into him. He spoke -more briskly. - -"Let us get back to the hotel," he said. "Everything down there in -black and white--except Sophy's scare--the reason for which I shall be -glad to hear, if permitted." - -"If he likes," said Sophy, "he can tell yer everythink when he 'ears -it 'isself. It's best it should be led up to." She addressed these -last words to me. - -"For which purpose," said Bob; "march." - -I listened to all this in amazement, but I fell in with their humor to -have Sophy's scare properly led up to, and we walked to the inn in -comparative silence. - -"When did you have your last meal, Sophy?" I asked. - -"Two o'clock. Biled beef and cabbage." - -"You oaf," I said good-humoredly to Bob, "that's the reason of her -being so white. She has been ten hours without food." - -Bob clapped his hand to his forehead. "I am an ass," he said. - -"You ain't," said Sophy, promptly, "and it ain't what made me white. -But I shouldn't turn my back on a bit of grub." - -"And a bit of grub you shall have," said Bob, "the moment we are in -our room. I've got the right side of the landlady. Cold meat and -pickles always on tap for Bob Tucker." - -In the room Bob was as good as his word. A cold supper was spread -before Sophy, and a glass of weak brandy and water mixed for her. She -ate with avidity, and while she was thus employed Bob turned his -attention to me. - -"My diary comes in handy here," he said, and he pushed the book toward -me. "You will find everything entered, saves a world of talk." - -I skimmed through the pages till I reached yesterday's date, under -which I found my departure for London duly recorded, the brief entry -being: - -"Agnold restless. Gone to London. For no particular reason--but gone." - -Further on the record of the present day: - -"Six P.M. Just returned from Tylney House. A surprising number of -stones thrown by Sophy, otherwise Maria. She usually throws three or -four, never more than five, including pellet in white paper, denoting -happiness and safety. But this afternoon, quite a shower, including -four pellets in white paper. Counted altogether eighteen. Does it mean -anything? Wait till to-morrow. Logical interpretation, that things -going on more satisfactorily than ever. Something discovered, perhaps. -A thousand pities Sophy, otherwise Maria, cannot read or write. If the -latter, could obtain positive information. When this particularly -clever girl comes out she must begin to learn immediately. Talents -must have a fair chance. Cruel they should be wasted. See to it. -Singular no letter from Agnold. But did not promise to write." - -Following this was a revelation: - -"Sent telegram to Agnold, advising him to come down at once. This is -putting cart before horse--in this instance allowable. Begin now at -the beginning of exciting chapter. - -"At half-past seven was sitting alone, smoking and ruminating. -Door suddenly burst open, and Sophy, no longer Maria, rushes in. I -cry--'What, Sophy!' 'Yes,' she says, out of breath, 'it's me. I've got -it; I've got it. Where's the other?' (meaning Agnold). I briefly -explain that he has gone to London, but will return the moment -telegraphed for. 'Do you mean to tell me,' 'I said,' as excited as -herself, 'that you've brought the desk?' 'It's 'ere,' she says, and she -plumps it on the table, also a large door-key. She had carried the -desk wrapped in her cloak. There is no doubt about the article; it -exactly answers description given by Agnold. Remarkable girl, Sophy. - -"This is her tale--and glad she was to set her tongue going after the -lock it has had on it for so many days. At Tylney House one day is so -like another that a lengthy experience of it must be perfectly -appalling. Sophy says it is like a long funeral. As a friendly patient -Sophy had the run of the house, and she knows every room in it except -one--Dr. Peterssen's private apartment, which he occupies when he is -in evidence. He is seldom in evidence. Absent six days out of seven. -As there was no sign of desk in any other part of the house, Sophy -decides that it is in Peterssen's room, if in the house at all. She -was right. - -"Peterssen only been at home two days during Sophy's residence as -friendly patient. The first time last week. The second time, this. In -point of fact, this very day. Last week Peterssen stopped about two -hours in private room. Sophy passed door, through passage, while he -was within. Couldn't get a peep. Consequently knew nothing of desk. -Peterssen came out of room, locked door, went away. Most girls would -have been discouraged at the prospect of such small chance of success. -Not Sophy. She had made up her mind that the desk was there. There's -nothing like moral conviction. To-day at one o'clock Peterssen puts in -an appearance. After dinner, Sophy, on her way into the grounds, -passes private room. Door ajar. She gets a peep. On the table sees -desk, cedar-wood, inlaid with silver. Heart beats. Time not wasted. -Discovery made, but not yet utilized. Watches like a cat. Hears keeper -say Peterssen going to stop all night. Heart beats faster. Now or -never. But how is this to be accomplished. This explains meaning of -such a number of stones thrown over wall. Symbolical, but at the time -undecipherable to present writer. Quite clear now. - -"At ten minutes past five by Sophy's silver watch (her own property -now), letter arrives for Peterssen. Delivered to him by keeper. -Evidently unexpected. Evidently of an exciting nature. He reads it, -and hurries out of house. What has he done with the key of the private -room? Sophy hears a bunch rattle in his pocket as he rushes past her. -Almost despairs, but not quite. - -"Sophy creeps into passage again. The door is closed. She tries to -peep through keyhole, but it is blocked. By what? A key. The key being -inside, Peterssen in haste must have forgotten to lock the door. It -proves to be so. Sophy has only to put her hand on handle, to turn it -softly round, and presto! she is in the room. But the desk is not on -table. Where, then? Under the bed. Before you can say Jack Robinson -Sophy seizes it, creeps out of room. But first a stroke of genius. She -removes key of door from inside to outside, turns it in lock, removes -it from keyhole and retains it. Sublime! When Peterssen returns he -will find door locked. Will naturally think he has locked it himself. -Will feel in his pocket for key, without finding it. Will spend time -in searching for it. All in Sophy's favor. Bravo, little one! - -"Sophy reconnoitres. Keeper in grounds. Presently enters house, goes -up to his bedroom--for private nap, of course. Coast clear. Like a -shot Sophy is in the grounds. Like a shot she is over the wall, where -there is no broken glass. How she did it she does not remember.. She -does not know. Neither do I. But it is done. There she is, over the -wall, outside Tylney House, instead of inside, with the key of the -door in her hand, and the precious desk under her arm. It takes my -breath away. - -"Getting here to me takes hers away, She makes mistakes in the roads, -and comes seven miles instead of four. But she runs the distance, and -here she is. - -"'Sophy,' I say, 'you are a treasure.' - -"'I done it all right, didn't I?' she says. - -"'You did, my girl, and you deserve a medal.' - -"I formally make over the silver watch to her, and promise her a -silver chain to match. She is in ecstasies, but not quite happy -because Agnold is not here. I tell her he will be here to-morrow, and -then I examine the desk. An intense desire seizes me to open it. Right -or wrong, I determine to do so. I'll chance what Agnold may say when -he comes back. He should have remained. What made him go to London? He -had no immediate business there. His immediate business was here. - -"Not one of my keys will open the desk. But I can pick a lock, and I -have some delicate tools with me. For an ambitious man, in the line to -which I have devoted myself, they are necessary and invaluable. - -"I set to work, and very soon, without injuring the lock in the least, -the desk is open. There are papers in it, but no copy of a marriage -certificate. Agnold said it would be most likely in a secret drawer, -but no secret drawer could I discover. - -"I was so much engrossed in the examination I was making that I did -not hear the door opened. But open it was, and the shadow of a man -fell upon me. Sophy's eyes were closed. She was tired. I looked up. A -stranger stood before me." - - - - -CHAPTER LI. - -SOPHY MAKES A STRANGE STATEMENT. - - -"I had never seen Dr. Peterssen, and I imagined it was he who had so -unexpectedly presented himself. In that case I was in a quandary. The -desk had been stolen from Dr. Peterssen's house, and the clever little -thief was dozing in the room. I was implicated in the theft, and had -forced the lock with burglar's tools. Without counting the cost we had -taken the law into our own hands--usurped its functions, so to speak. -Bringing such a man as Dr. Peterssen to book might prove an awkward -fix for us. However, I determined to brazen it out. - -"The desk being open, the wood of which it was made and the silver -with which it was inlaid were not so apparent as they would have been -had it been closed. The stranger's eyes did not rest upon it, but -wandered to Sophy. My gaze followed his, and I was surprised to -observe that there was no sign of recognition in his face. But he may -be acting a part, I thought. - -"I soon discovered that all my conjectures were wrong. - -"'Am I right in supposing that I am addressing Mr. Agnold?' he asked. -He spoke with a foreign accent. - -"'No,' I said, 'my name is not Agnold.' - -"'Mr. Tucker, then?' - -"'You are right there.' - -"'Mr. Agnold mentioned your name in his letters to Mrs. Braham,' said -the stranger. 'Both you and Mr. Agnold are working in that lady's -interests. It is exceedingly kind of you.' - -"I stared at him. This was not the language that Dr. Peterssen would -have used, and my first doubts being dispelled, I saw that my visitor -was a gentleman--which Dr. Peterssen is not. But who could he be? I -thought it best to hold my tongue; I wished to avoid compromising -myself. - -"'I, also,' continued the stranger, 'am here in Mrs. Braham's -interests. My business admits of no delay. It is necessary that I -should see Mr. Agnold immediately.' - -"'He is in London,' I said. - -"This information appeared to discompose him; but only for a moment. - -"'You represent Mr. Agnold?' - -"'Yes, I think I may say as much.' - -"'Thank you. I have a letter here addressed to him, but it is in an -open envelope, and as Mr. Agnold's representative there can be no -objection to your reading it.' - -"I read the letter, and now in my turn I must have exhibited some sign -of discomposure. Without being able to recall its contents word for -word, I can sufficiently explain its nature. It was to the effect that -the gentleman who presented it, M. Bordier, was empowered by the lady -we were working for to join us, if he desired, or to take the affair -entirely in his own hands, and assume the direction of it. - -"'You are M. Bordier?' I said. - -"He bowed. 'I am M. Bordier. The position in which Mrs. Braham and I -stand to each other warrants my presence here at this untimely hour. -It is due to Mrs. Braham that I should say it was at my urgent request -she has given me authority to act for her. I am acquainted with all -the circumstances of your proceedings, so far as they have been -disclosed in Mr. Agnold's letters.' Again his eyes wandered to Sophy, -and he moved a step or two toward her with a look of sympathetic -eagerness. 'Is that the young girl who was taken to Dr. Peterssen's -establishment as a patient?' - -"'Yes,' I replied. - -"'Her task, then, is ended. She was in search of a desk. She is a -brave little girl, and shall be rewarded. A desk of cedar-wood, inlaid -with silver.' He turned suddenly to me, and approached the table. 'She -has succeeded,' he said, laying his hand upon the desk and raising the -lid. 'Yes, it is the desk. How did you open it? Did you have the key?' - -"'No,' I said, with a guilty glance at the tools with which I had -picked the lock. - -"'Ah, I see. There is a secret drawer in this desk, and you have been -seeking for it. Allow me. When I was a young man I had some knowledge -of this kind of thing, and was acquainted with the tricks employed by -ingenious makers to construct a receptacle in which important papers -might be safely concealed. This is no common piece of work, and the -so-called drawer may be merely a false panel, with little space -behind, but sufficient for the purpose. I will take the liberty of -making use of your tools. This dumb shape of wood, Mr. Tucker, may be -the arbiter of the happiness of human lives, may be the means of -bringing a foul wrong to light.' While he spoke he was busy measuring -the thickness of the sides and back and every part of the desk, -putting down figures on paper to prove whether any space was not -accounted for. He knew what he was about, and I followed his movements -with curiosity, learning something from them which may be useful in -the future. 'There is no actual drawer,' he continued; 'it must be a -panel.' He completely emptied the desk of its papers, and then began -to sound the bottom and the sides, listening for signs of a hollow -space. 'It is a clever piece of workmanship, but if there is a panel I -will find it. I would rather not destroy the desk, but I will do it -before I give up the hunt, if I do not succeed in a legitimate way. -Ah, I have it! There is a panel. A man might have this desk in his -possession a lifetime and not suspect it. See, it moves in a groove, -and there is a paper behind.' - -"Sure enough, M. Bordier succeeded in sliding a panel in a cunningly -made groove, and in drawing forth a paper which had been carefully -folded and flattened and inserted in its hiding-place. There was an -eager light in his eyes, and his fingers trembled as he unfolded the -paper and read what was written thereon. A long sigh of satisfaction -escaped him, and he murmured: - -"'Thank God! Poor lady, poor lady! But your sufferings are ended now!' - -"'M. Bordier,' I said, will you allow me to read the document?' - -"He folded it up again, preserving its original creases, and put it in -his pocket. - -"'Mr. Tucker,' he said, speaking with great politeness; but this he -had done all through; the document I have found relates to a private -matter of exceeding delicacy, and I cannot show it to you. It is, -indeed, a family secret, and none but those directly interested have a -right to see it. Thanks for your courtesy, and good-night.' - -"Before I had time to remonstrate with him for his high-handed -proceeding he was gone. I was dumfounded. It is not often that I find -myself unable to act on the spur of the moment, but M. Bordier had -deprived me of my self-possession. In a moment or two, however, I -recovered myself, and ran out of the room after my visitor. I saw no -signs of him. He had vanished. I made my way immediately to the -telegraph office, and sent Agnold a telegram--which brings me back to -the commencing words of this entry. - -"I returned to my room in the inn. Sophy was still dozing. I began to -be beset by doubts. What if the stranger who had introduced himself to -me as M. Bordier should turn out not to be M. Bordier, after all? What -if the letter he gave me to read from Mrs. Braham should be a forged -letter? I am greatly to blame. I deserve to have my head punched." - -By the time I came to the end of this strange story Sophy had finished -her supper, and now came nearer to us. - -"Well, Bob," I said, "you have made a mess of it." - -"Admitted," said Bob. "Take your share of the blame. You should not -have run away to London. Relieve my doubts. Was it, or was it not, M. -Bordier who came here?" - -"It was certainly M. Bordier," I replied. "The lady you call Mrs. -Braham gave him such a letter as you have described, and it is -scarcely possible any other person could have obtained possession of -it." - -"That is some satisfaction. All the same, I have behaved like a fool. -I ought not to have allowed him to escape me. I ought to have laid -violent hands on him, and detained him till your arrival." - -"You would not have succeeded, Bob. From the opinion I have formed of -him he would not have submitted, and you would have found yourself -worsted. If the document he discovered is what I hope it is, he has a -better right to it than you or I. And now, Sophy," I said, turning to -the girl, "what is this scare of yours which has taken all the blood -out of your face?" - -"Stop a bit," said Bob. "It is Sophy's desire that things should be -led up to. Let us lead up to this." - -Sophy nodded, and I said, "Go on, Bob." - -"Well," said he, "I woke Sophy up when I got back here, and told her -it was best she should go to bed. Her room was ready for her, and she -was dead tired. She refused, and said she would wait up for you--I had -told her I had sent you a telegram to come down immediately. I would -not let her wait up, but insisted upon her going to bed. She gave in, -and I took her to her room. Imagine my surprise. An hour before your -arrival she rushed into this room with a face as white as a sheet, and -fell down all of a heap into the corner there. I thought she must have -had a nightmare, but I could get nothing out of her. She was too -frightened to be left alone, and when I started to meet you at the -station she came with me. Tried to pump her on the road. Useless. -Offers of bribes thrown away. Not a word would she say of the cause of -her fright. She promises to be more communicative to you." - -"Speak out, Sophy," I said. "I have no secrets from Mr. Tucker, and he -must hear what you have to tell." - -"You'll never believe me," said Sophy, in a low, fear-stricken tone, -"but if it's the last I ever speak it's the truth, and the 'ole truth, -and nothink but the truth. I sor it as plain as I see you." - -"Saw what?" I asked. - -"The ghost of Mr. Felix," she replied. - - - - -CHAPTER LII. - -THE GHOST OF M. FELIX. - - -She put her hand on my arm as if for protection as she uttered these -words, and I took it in mine to reassure her; it was cold as ice. It -was clear that she had received a shock, and I was disposed to ascribe -it to the strain she had undergone during the past fortnight. But this -view was shaken when I thought of her courage and daring. - -"What did I tell you?" said Bob, sticking to his guns. "Nightmare." - -"That's somethink yer must be in bed to 'ave, ain't it?" said Sophy. - -"Yes," said Bob, "and asleep." - -"I wasn't neither," said Sophy; "I was as wide-awake as you are." - -"Oh, you didn't go to bed when I put you in your room?" - -"No, I didn't. I waited a minute or two, and then I went out." - -"What made you do that, Sophy?" I asked. - -"I don't know, 'xcep' that I wanted to go to the mad'ouse--outside, -yer know--to see if they'd found out about the desk." - -"It was a dangerous thing to do," I said. - -"Well, I didn't do it. I 'adn't got 'arf way there when a sperrit -crep' past me. I told Aunty I didn't believe in sperrits, but I do -now. I didn't think it was a sperrit at fust, I thought it was a man; -and I sed to myself, If you can creep, so can I,' and I crep' after -it." - -"But why, Sophy?" - -"I don't know why. I did it 'cause somethink made me. All at once it -stopped and turned, and the moon lit up its face. It was the ghost of -Mr. Felix." - -She was speaking more quietly now, and there was a note of conviction -in her voice that startled me. - -"Is that what you call a nightmare?" she asked of Bob, whose eyes were -fixed intently upon her. - -"No," he replied, "but you were mistaken. It was only a fancied -resemblance." - -"It wasn't nothink of the sort, and I wasn't mistook. I'm ready to -take my dying oath on it. There ain't two Mr. Felixes, there's only -one, and it was 'is ghost I sor." - -"What did you do, Sophy?" I inquired. - -"I stood like a stone, and couldn't move. But when it looked at me, -and when I 'eered its voice, and when I sor it moving up to me, I give -a scream, and run away. But I fell down over the stump of a tree, and -it caught 'old of me and lifted me up. Then it wrenched my face to the -light, and poked it's 'ead for'ard, and I sor clearer than ever that -it was Mr. Felix's ghost. I don't know 'ow I managed it, but I twisted -myself away, and run as I'd never run in my life before till I got -'ere." - -"Is that all, Sophy?" - -"That's all I can tell yer. Ain't it enough?" - -"If there is any truth in it, my girl, it is more than enough? You -cannot say whether it followed you?" - -"No, I never look behind. It was more than I dared do." - -"You heard it speak, you say. What words did it utter?" - -"It said, 'What the devil!'" - -"Nothing more?" - -"Nothink as I 'eerd." - -She had told all she knew, and it was useless to question her farther -upon the subject, so I put it aside for a moment, with the intention -of talking it over with Bob when we were alone. But I had not yet done -with Sophy; before I parted with her for the night I was desirous of -obtaining fuller information of Dr. Peterssen's establishment than she -had given Bob. She was perfectly willing to tell everything she knew, -and seemed to be relieved to have her attention turned to other -matters. - -"You had the run of Dr. Peterssen's house, Sophy?" - -"Yes, I 'ad." - -"How many servants are there in it?" - -"Only one--the keeper." - -"What is his name?" - -"Crawley." - -"Did no woman come to do the cleaning or cooking?" - -"Nobody come. Crawley did everythink." - -"You were not ill-treated?" - -"Oh, no." - -"Did you have your meals alone?" - -"No; the three of us 'ad 'em together." - -"The three of you. Dr. Peterssen, Crawley, and you?" - -"No; Dr. Peterssen never 'ad nothink with us. I mean the other -patient." - -"But there was more than one?" - -"There wasn't while I was there. There was only one." - -I turned to Bob. "You said there were children, Bob?" - -"So I was informed, but I may have been misled." - -"I 'eerd Crawley say the young 'uns were took away the day before I -come," said Sophy. - -"That explains it. So there was only one patient left?" - -"Only one." - -"A man?" - -"A gentleman." - -"How did you find out he was a gentleman?" - -"Yer can't be mistook between a man and a gent. You're a gent; Mr. -Tucker's another." - -"Much obliged, Sophy," said Bob. - -"What is the name of the gentleman patient, Sophy?" - -"He didn't 'ave none that I know of. I 'eered the greengrocer's boy -say to Crawley once, 'Ow's Number One, Mr. Crawley?' That's how I got -to know 'ow he was called, and what the keeper's name was. I couldn't -arks nothink, of course, 'cause I was deaf and dumb. 'Same as ever,' -said Crawley to the boy, 'mem'ry quite gone.'" - -"Poor fellow! There is no doubt, I suppose, about his being mad?" - -"I don't know about that. He never did nothink, and 'ardly ever spoke -a word. But he was very kind to me, and I was very sorry for 'im. He'd -put 'is 'and on my 'ead, and smooth my 'air, and look at me pitiful -like, with tears in 'is eyes which made 'em come into mine." - -"A case of melancholia, Bob," I said. Bob nodded. "Was no effort made, -Sophy, to bring his memory back to him?" - -"Nobody did nothink; he was let alone, the same as I was. I did want -'ard to talk to 'im, but I didn't dare open my lips, or I should have -been found out. I do wish somethink could be done for 'im, that I do. -Look 'ere, you're rich, ain't you?" - -"Not exactly rich, Sophy, but I am not poor." - -"Well, then. Crawley's to be bought." - -"How do you know that?" - -"I 'eerd Crawley say to 'isself, 'If I 'ad a 'underd pound I'd cut the -cussed concern, and go to Amerikey.'" - -"Ah! We'll think over it. A hundred pounds is a large sum. It's late, -Sophy. I've nothing more to ask you to-night. Get to bed, like a good -girl." - -But Sophy began to tremble again; her thoughts reverted to M. Felix. - -"I daren't go to the room Mr. Tucker took me to; Mr. Felix's ghost'd -come agin. Let me sleep 'ere, please." - -"There's no bed, my girl. I tell you what you shall do. There are two -beds in the next room--see, this door opens into it--which Mr. Tucker -and I were to occupy. We'll bring a mattress and some bedclothes in -here, and we'll manage for the night; I'll lie on the sofa. You shall -sleep in there, where no ghost can get to you. It would have to come -through this room first." - -Sophy busied herself at once in bringing the mattress and bedclothes -from the adjoining room, and after extemporizing a couple of beds for -Bob and me wished us a grateful good-night. - -Bob and I were alone. "Now, Bob," said I, "what do you think of her -story?" - -"There's more in it than meets the eye," said Bob. "Agnold, if any -other person had related it I should set it down to an overwrought -mind. But Sophy is an exceptional being; she is sharp, she is clever, -she is brave, she is clear-witted. Naturally it is a puzzling affair, -and I think it is worth arguing out." - -"Let us do so, Bob," I said. - -"It is always a mistake," said Bob, "in matters of conjecture, to pin -one's self to a fixed point. This mistake, in my opinion, has been -committed in all inquiries relating to the mystery of M. Felix. Having -accepted a certain conclusion every person privately or professionally -interested in the mystery started from that fixed point and branched -out in all directions, north, east, south, and west, utterly ignoring -the possibility--in this case I should say the probability--of the -conclusion they accepted being a false one, as misleading as a -will-o'-the-wisp." - -"Am I included in this sweeping condemnation?" I asked. - -"You are. The police I can excuse, but not a man of your -discrimination and logical power." - -"What fixed point, Bob, did I, in common with everyone else, start -from in wild directions?" - -"The fixed point," replied Bob, "that M. Felix is dead." - -"But he was proved to be dead." - -"Nothing of the sort. There was no post-mortem, there was not even an -inquest. He is said to have died of heart disease. He lies inanimate -on a bed for an inconsiderable number of hours, and then he -disappears. My dear Agnold, have you ever heard of such a thing as -suspended animation?" - -"Of course I have." - -"Have you ever heard of a person falling into a trance, and remaining -to all appearance dead for three or four times as many hours as M. -Felix lay before he disappeared? People have been buried alive in such -conditions; others have been happily rescued at the moment the lids of -their coffins have been about to be nailed down. I can furnish you -with scores of instances of this kind of thing." - -"There is no need; I know that they have occurred. Your theory opens -out a wide field of possibilities. Then you believe that Sophy was -right; that she did see, not M. Felix's ghost as she supposed, but M. -Felix himself in the flesh?" - -"It is my belief. Sophy is no fool; she has the nerve of a strong and -healthy man; she does not believe in the supernatural; she has a heart -susceptible of such kindness as you have shown her, but she is at the -same time practical and hard-headed. Agnold, M. Felix is alive." - -"Do you argue that he simulated death in the first instance for the -purpose of carrying out some plan?" - -"No. His apparent death was not a trick devised by himself. He had a -seizure undoubtedly, to which he was compelled to succumb. After a -time he recovered, and for his own ends resolved to take advantage of -the opportunity to disappear, whether permanently or not I cannot say. -He had a perfect right to do as he pleased with his own body, and he -had good reasons for the device. He was threatened on two sides. -Choosing for certain motives to drop his proper name of Leonard Paget -and to adopt that of M. Felix, he finds himself suddenly standing on a -rock with a precipice yawning on each side of him. A bold movement on -the part of his sister-in-law hurls him into one; a desperate movement -on the part of Dr. Peterssen hurls him over the other--either way, -destruction. Of the special power which Dr. Peterssen holds over him I -am ignorant, but it must be very potent. We are acquainted, however, -with the power his sister-in-law holds over him. Her marriage proved, -his life has been one long fraud, and he could be made to pay the -penalty. Her unexpected presence in London confounds him, and he sees -before him but one means of escape--flight. On the night of his -supposed death he has had two agitating interviews, one with Dr. -Peterssen, the other with his sister-in-law. She, waiting in the -street to obtain an interview with M. Felix, overhears words which -unmistakably prove that Peterssen has him at his mercy. Peterssen -threatens to ruin M. Felix; he refers to a pleasant partnership in -Switzerland nineteen years ago; he asks M. Felix if he has forgotten -his brother Gerald. Then he goes into the house with this precious -Felix, and when he issues from it he has in his possession the desk -which is now on the table before us. After that, the lady in whose -behalf we have been working obtains admission to the house and -confronts the villain who has ruined her happiness. We know what -passed between them; we know that M. Felix was worked up to -desperation. The excitement was too much for the plausible scoundrel, -who saw the sword about to fall upon him. He staggers into his bedroom -with the undoubted intention of getting his revolver; he presses his -hand to his heart; he sinks into a chair and becomes insensible. He is -to all appearance dead, and is so pronounced. On the following night -when he recovers his senses, he hails the mishap as a fortunate -chance; he resolves to disappear, and so put his enemies off the -scent. Now, follow me. Sophy is below in bed. She hears a noise in the -upper part of the house; the brave girl creeps up-stairs from the -basement as M. Felix creeps down-stairs from his apartments. He dare -not betray himself. He seizes her, disguises his voice, and works upon -her fears. Exit M. Felix; for as long or as short a time as he -pleases, he is dead to the world. It is a wonder he does not take his -revolver with him, but that is an oversight. In such a crisis one -cannot think of everything. It may happen--for there is work for us to -do, Agnold--that this oversight will work in our favor. I do not -despair of tracing the revolver, and you did a good stroke when you -wrote down such a description of the weapon as will enable you to -identify it. There is no room for doubt that the man who presented -himself to Mrs. Middlemore as a police official, and who sent her on a -false errand to Bow Street Police Station, was Peterssen. Alone in M. -Felix's room he appropriates the revolver; other things as well, -perhaps; but of the revolver we are morally convinced. What is his -object in going there? I will tell you. He has doubts of M. Felix's -death; he believes it to be a trick, and he thinks he may find -something in M. Felix's room which will put him on the track of the -man who had slipped out of his power. Reasoning the mystery out in -this open way is very satisfactory, Agnold. Mists disappear; we see -the light. How does it strike you?" - -"You have convinced me, Bob," I said. "We will pursue the matter a -little further. M. Felix is a man who is fond of pleasures which can -be purchased only with money. Do you think he would voluntarily -deprive himself of the means of obtaining it--for this is what his -disappearance would lead him to, so long as he chose to conceal -himself. - -"Not at all likely," replied Bob, with a knowing look. "I can -enlighten you on the point. It happens that I am acquainted with the -manager of the branch bank at which M. Felix kept an account. After -you had enlisted me in the present cause I became interested in -everything concerning M. Felix, and in a confidential conversation -with the bank manager I asked him whether M. Felix had a large balance -standing to his credit. I learnt that he never had a large balance at -the bank, and that he had certain bonds and shares of which he himself -was the custodian. Ordinarily one entrusts such securities to the safe -custody of the bank which transacts his business, but it was not so -with M. Felix, and this fact leads to the presumption that it was his -habit to keep himself personally possessed of negotiable property in -preference to entrusting it to other keeping. From time to time checks -from stock-brokers were paid in to the credit of M. Felix. In every -instance the money was not allowed to lie in the bank for longer than -a day or two. M. Felix invariably drew his own check for something -near the amount of the last deposit, receiving payment in gold and -bank notes. Two days before his supposed death a check for six -thousand pounds odd was paid in to his credit, and on the following -morning he went to the bank and drew out six thousand pounds in notes -of various denominations, the numbers of which of course are known. -Thus, unless he paid this money away, which is not at all likely, he -must have been in possession of it when he disappeared. I am of the -opinion that he had much more than the amount I have named, and if so -he was well provided for. The peculiar position in which he stood -would predispose him to keep always by him a large available sum of -money in case of some emergency arising; an emergency did arise, and -he could snap his fingers at the world, so far as money was -concerned." - -"This is a piece of valuable information, Bob. Do you know if any of -these last bank notes have been presented for payment?" - -"I do not. There was nothing to call for special investigation into -the matter." - -"But the notes can be traced." - -"Perhaps. The habit of a man to keep large sums by him is generally of -long standing, and Peterssen was probably acquainted with M. Felix's -peculiarity in this respect. The visit he paid to Mrs. Middlemore and -the plan he carried into effect for being left alone in the house may -have been inspired by the hope that he would discover one of M. -Felix's hiding-places for his money. I conclude that he was -disappointed; on the night of M. Felix's disappearance he left no -money behind him. Too old a bird for that." - -The earnestness with which Bob had set forth his views had caused him -to forget his cultivated method of speaking in short sentences. Now he -relapsed into it. - -"Adopting your theory," I said, "that M. Felix is living, do you think -that he and Dr. Peterssen have met?" - -"Should say not. To-night--when Sophy saw his ghost--was probably on -his way to Tylney House. For what purpose, to us unknown." - -"Bob, you said there was work for us to do. I confess myself at a loss -how to proceed. M. Bordier's visit to you and his appropriation of the -document hidden in the secret drawer have snapped the threads of my -plans. Have you anything to suggest?" - -"I have. Early to-morrow morning endeavor to find M. Bordier. Then -consult with him." - -"You do not propose that we should leave this spot at once?" - -"No. If M. Bordier not in the village do something else before -leaving. Pay a bold visit to Tylney House." - -"For what purpose?" - -"Confront Peterssen. Ascertain if M. Felix has been there." - -"Psha! We can get nothing of Peterssen." - -"Not so sure. He is hard up. Offer of a good reward too tempting a -bait not to nibble at." - -"Why, Bob, those are very nearly the words M. Bordier used to Emilia, -and your scheme is the same as that which he suggested." - -"Proves it a good one. M. Bordier a wealthy man, I judge?" - -"He is." - -"Wouldn't mind expending money to bring matter to a satisfactory -conclusion?" - -"He has said as much." - -"Word to be depended upon?" - -"Thoroughly." - -"Depend upon him, then, for the needful. Peterssen will bite." - -"And if he does not?" - -"Crawley, the keeper. Remember what Sophy overheard him say. If he had -a hundred pounds he would cut the cursed concern, and go to America. -Emphatic--and doubtless true. Two birds to shoot at. Peterssen missed, -Crawley remains. Aim well, bring him down." - -"To-morrow morning, early, we will resume work, Bob." - -"The earlier the better. Good-night." - - - - -CHAPTER LIII. - -THE PORTRAIT OF GERALD PAGET. - - -At nine o'clock next morning Bob, Sophy, and I breakfasted together. -Sophy's fears were abated, although she had not quite got over her -fright. During breakfast I succeeded in dispelling it completely by -imparting to her, in confidence, the opinion we had formed that M. -Felix was alive, and that it was his veritable self, and not his -ghost, she had seen on the previous night. She listened with her mouth -and eyes wide open. - -"You heard him speak, Sophy?" She nodded. "Ghosts can't speak. He -caught hold of you; he lifted you up; you felt his touch?" She nodded -again. "Ghosts can't touch; they can't make you feel them; they are -made of air, Sophy; you can walk right through them. Be easy in your -mind. If it _was_ M. Felix you saw"--she nodded again two or three -times--"then he is alive, and we intend to hunt him down." - -I gave her time to revolve the matter over in her mind, and conversed -with Bob while she went through the process. - -"Crikey!" she exclaimed presently. "What a game it is! Then it must -'ave been 'im as scared me in the night when I left aunty asleep in -the kitchen. I never could make out 'ow it was he knew 'is way about -in the dark as he did. He's a deep 'un, he is, and no mistake. Well, -of all the moves! But what did he do it for?" - -"It would take too long to explain," I said, "and then you might not -understand. We are going out soon, and you may as well come with us. -It would not be safe, perhaps, to leave you here alone." - -Bob and I had debated the advisability of sending Sophy back to -London, and had agreed to keep her with us, at least for a time, as -there was a likelihood of her being useful. - -Our first task when we sallied forth was to endeavor to obtain some -information of M. Bordier, but in this we were unsuccessful. Not a -person of whom we inquired could give us the slightest satisfaction, -and we were reluctantly compelled to abandon our quest. I discussed -with Bob whether I should write an account of what had occurred to -Emilia, and we decided I should not do so. - -It would take too long to give her a description of all circumstances, -and anything short of a full description would only agitate her. Then, -in all probability, M. Bordier had returned to London, and had seen -her. I dispatched a telegram to her, to the effect that if she had -anything of importance to communicate to us she had better do so by -telegraph. This done we walked to Tylney House. Our search for M. -Bordier had occupied us three or four hours, and when we reached the -gloomy-looking building it was two o'clock. To our surprise, the gate -was open. Without hesitation we entered the grounds, and there we saw -a van, and three men piling furniture on it. This furniture was of the -commonest kind, and the men appeared to be in a hurry. We looked at -each other in amazement. What did it all mean? - -"A break-up, I should say," suggested Bob. "Peterssen giving up -business." - -"There's Crawley, the keeper," whispered Sophy, pulling my coat. - -The man had lounged from the house, and was regarding the removal of -the furniture with dissatisfaction. Bob stepped to his side and we -followed. - -"Hallo, Maria," said Crawley; "you've been up to some fine tricks, you -have. But I'm hanged if I can make head or tail of it." Bob motioned -to Sophy not to speak. "Have you two gentlemen come on business?" - continued Crawley. "Well, you've come too late. The brokers are in, -and we're sold up." - -"Then we cannot see Dr. Peterssen," I said. - -"No, you can't," replied Crawley. "He's gone for good." - -"I owe you," said Bob, in a bland voice, "ten shillings. Here's the -money. Do you want to earn a ten-pound note, which might swell into -fifty? There's a gentleman friend of ours who would stand that, and -more perhaps, for services rendered." - -"What kind of services?" inquired Crawley, pocketing the ten -shillings. - -"Information. Truthful and accurate information. The ten pound note -sure. That much we guarantee, and wouldn't mind giving half on -account. The fifty-pound almost as sure. Here, let me speak to you -aside." - -They walked a little way from us, and I did not interrupt their -conversation, which lasted some twenty minutes. At the end of that -time Bob left Crawley to say a few words to me. - -"Go back to the inn," he said, "you and Sophy, and wait for me. Will -join you there in an hour or so. Crawley and I going to have a drink." - -I obeyed him without wasting time in asking questions, and Sophy and I -returned to the inn. It was a disappointment that a telegram from -Emilia had not arrived. But before Bob made his appearance an incident -occurred which profoundly agitated me. I was sitting at the table, -making, as was usual with me, a record of what had happened, in the -doing of which I had occasion to take some papers from my pockets. -Among these papers which I placed on the table was the photograph of -Gerald Paget which I had found in M. Felix's room, his name being -written on the back. While I wrote, Sophy remained quiet. The girl has -a discretion; she knows when to speak and when to hold her tongue. My -writing done I took up the papers to put them in my pocket, and in -doing so the photograph dropped to the ground. Sophy stooped and -picked it up, and was about to give it to me, when her eyes fell on -it. - -"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If it ain't the pickcher of Number -One!" - -"What?" I cried. - -"It is," she said, looking at it with absolute tenderness. "It's the -image of 'im, though he's older now than when it was took; but it's -'is face as clear as clear can be." - -"Sophy," I said, rising in my excitement, "are you mad? Do you know -what you are saying?" - -"'Course I do. It's Number One I tell yer. I'll take my Bible oath on -it!" - -"You must be dreaming," I said. "This is the portrait of a gentleman -who died many years ago." - -"If he's dead," she persisted, "he's come to life agin, like Mr. -Felix. It's Number One's pickcher, and nobody else's." - -She was so positive that I was confounded by the possibilities her -statement opened up, supposing her not to be mistaken. Nothing that I -said could shake her conviction. - -"I know 'is face as well as I know your'n," she said. "I can't be -mistook. It's the pickcher of Number One." - -At this juncture Bob entered the room. Anxious as I was to hear his -news I first explained the incident to him, and it was an additional -surprise to me when he ranged himself on Sophy's side. - -"I accept everything," he said. "No villainy too monstrous for -Peterssen. Corroborative evidence handy. Crawley!" - -The man was outside in the passage, and at the summons he came in. - -"Know this portrait?" asked Bob, handing it to him. - -"Of course I do. It's Number One. How did you get hold of it?" - -"Never mind. Are you positive it is his portrait?" - -"I'll swear to it." - -"That will do. Go and get something to eat, and be ready when I call -you. Mind, no drinking." - -Crawley gone, Bob turned his attention to me. - -"Before I tell you arrangements entered into with Crawley, finish -about this picture. Sophy says, portrait of Number One. Crawley will -swear it. I believe it--name of Gerald Paget back of picture. -Deduction--portrait of Gerald Paget. Further deduction--Number One and -Gerald Paget same person. Startling--but Peterssen and M. Felix, -damned scoundrels, pair of them. No villainy too monstrous for them. -In circumstance of Number One and Gerald Paget being same person, his -solution of Peterssen's power over M. Felix. What does lady we are -working for overhear? Overhears Peterssen threaten to ruin M. Felix; -overhears him refer to a pleasant partnership in Switzerland nineteen -years ago. Overhears him ask M. Felix if he has forgotten his brother -Gerald. Not idle words. On the contrary, deeply, darkly significant. -To my mind, quite clear--and convincing. Splendid links of -circumstantial evidence. Gerald Paget alive instead of dead, -additional reason for M. Felix's disappearance. Threatened not on two -sides, but on three. Peterssen--Gerald Paget--Gerald Paget's wife. -Desperate fix for M. Felix. Your opinion, Agnold?" - -"Coincides with yours, Bob. Light is truly breaking in upon this -mystery." - -"Right you are. Now to explain Crawley. Have taken him in our -service--for one month, certain--thirty shillings a week. Matters -brought to satisfactory conclusion, promise of passage to America, -with few pounds in his pocket. No doubt M. Bordier will do what we -wish, and indemnify us. If not, won't ruin us. Agreed?" - -"Agreed." - -"I come now to Peterssen and Tylney House. Briefly. Things been going -wrong for some time past. Peterssen in pecuniary difficulties. Dunned -on all sides for money owing. Tradesmen threaten to stop supplies. -Last night, Peterssen in frightful rage. Door of private room locked. -Key missing. Door forced open. Something stolen from room. Crawley -doesn't know what. We do. Sophy, otherwise Maria, nowhere to be found. -Row between Peterssen and Crawley. Peterssen accuses Crawley of -treachery. Crawley calls him another. At midnight Crawley hears bell -ring. Peterssen answers it--admits visitor. Crawley doesn't see him. -Visitor sleeps there--is there this morning--but Crawley can't catch -sight of him. Keeps himself dark. Crawley sent on bogus errand. -Occupies him three hours. Returns to find visitor gone, Peterssen -gone, Number One gone. Note left for Crawley from his master. Concern -burst up. In note, small sum for wages due. Not half what is due. -Crawley furious, but helpless. I have enlisted him. He is to assist us -to track Peterssen. That's all." - -"Bob," said I, "Peterssen must be hunted down and brought to justice." - -"He must," said Bob, "and shall be." - -"There is some fresh villainy hatching," I said. "If possible we must -prevent it. You will stand by me?" - -"To the end," said Bob. - - - - -CHAPTER LIV. - -OBTAIN AN EXPLANATION FROM EMILIA. - - -It was now between five and six o'clock, and we did not wait for the -night to pass before we commenced the task of hunting Dr. Peterssen -down. The immediate result, however, was unsatisfactory. Indefatigable -as we were we learnt nothing, and Crawley proved to be rather in our -way than otherwise. Dr. Peterssen's movements must have been cunningly -made indeed to so baffle us. We went to the railway station, but the -station-master was positive that three such men as we described had -not taken tickets for any place during the day. He could have -identified Dr. Peterssen; of Peterssen's patient or of M. Felix he had -no knowledge. - -"There isn't much traffic here," he said, "and we know pretty well who -comes and goes." - -"But strangers sometimes pass through," I observed. - -"That goes without saying," he responded. - -"They might have travelled separately," suggested Bob. - -"They might," said the station-master. - -"It is hardly likely," I said aside to Bob, "that this would be the -case. If Peterssen and M. Felix have come together again, Peterssen -would not lose sight of his villainous partner; and neither of them -would lose sight of the gentleman they have wronged." - -I consulted the time-table. There was no other direct train to London -that night, but a train passed through, without stopping, at 11.40. I -inquired of the station-master whether it was possible for the train -to stop a few seconds to take me up to London, and he answered that it -could be managed. Having arranged the matter with him I left the -station, accompanied by Bob and Sophy. Crawley lingered behind; he had -a flask with him, out of which he took frequent drinks. I had already -arrived at the conclusion that he would be of little assistance in -tracking Dr. Peterssen, but as his evidence might be valuable in the -event of our hunting Peterssen down I thought it advisable to keep him -about us. - -"What is your idea?" asked Bob, as we walked from the station to the -inn. - -"If I do not receive a satisfactory letter or telegram from London -before eleven o'clock," I replied, "I shall go on to London to see -Emilia." - -"For what purpose?" - -"To gain some information of M. Bordier. Something may come of it--I -cannot say what; but to remain inactive would be fatal to our -chances." - -"Peterssen has a good start of us," said Bob. "He has given us check." - -"But not checkmate, Bob. I have hopes that it remains with us to score -the game." - -Neither telegram nor letter had arrived for me at the inn, and a -little after eleven I was at the station, awaiting the train. It was -punctual to time, and stopped just long enough to enable me to jump -in. Then we whirled on to London, which we reached at three o'clock in -the morning. At such an hour a visit to Emilia was out of the -question, and I had perforce to bide till morning. The delay gave me -opportunity for a few hours' sleep, and at nine o'clock I was in the -presence of Emilia. Although she received me with signs of -perturbation I observed a change in her. Her eyes were brighter, and -there was a certain joyousness in her manner which I was glad to see. - -"You have had good news," I said. - -"I have," she replied, "the best of good news. But what brings you -again to London so unexpectedly, dear friend?" - -I thought of the secret in my possession which identified Dr. -Peterssen's patient, Number One, as Gerald Paget, whom she had mourned -as dead for nineteen years. But I did not dare to whisper it to her -lest I should inspire delusive hopes. The proof had yet to be -established, and until that was done it would be best and most -merciful to preserve silence. - -"I come entirely upon your business," I said, "and I wish to get back -at once." - -"How good you are to me!" she murmured. "Never, never can I repay you -for all your kindness." - -"We will not speak of that. But you can give me some return now. I -think I may truly say that I deserve your confidence." - -"Indeed, indeed you do." - -"I sent you a telegram yesterday." - -"Yes, I received it." - -"I expected one from you." - -"I am sorry," she said, "but I had nothing to communicate, and M. -Bordier desired me neither to write nor telegraph to anyone till he -saw me. I was bound to obey him with so much at stake." - -"Yes, I understand all that. He is aware that I am a reporter on a -newspaper, and he fears I shall make improper use of information. I -cannot blame him, but he is mistaken. Did not M. Bordier return to -London yesterday?" - -"No." - -"He gave you instructions, then, by letter." - -"By letter and telegrams." - -She took from her pocket a letter, and two telegrams in their familiar -buff-colored envelopes, and, after a little hesitation, handed me the -latter. - -"I cannot think I am doing wrong in letting you see them," she said. - -The first telegram ran: "I have good news, the best of news. Keep a -good heart. Julian unites with me in love to you and Constance." - -"His son is with him?" I asked. - -"Yes," she replied. "Poor Julian!" - -In my last interview with her, two days since, she had referred to -Julian Bordier in the same pitying tone. I had not then asked for an -explanation, and I had not time now. The moments were too precious to -waste in questions which did not bear immediately upon the matter in -hand. I read the second telegram: "We may be absent a day or two. -Meanwhile send no letters or telegrams to any person whatsoever. I -particularly desire to avoid publicity of any kind. To Mr. Agnold, who -has so generously and kindly befriended you, I will give a full -explanation when we meet. Our united love." - -For a moment or two I was nettled, but I very soon got over the small -feeling. Had I been present when M. Bordier surprised Bob Tucker in -the inn and found the document in the secret drawer of the desk, he -would doubtless have taken me into his confidence. It was natural that -he should look upon Bob in a different light, for the probable reason -that he supposed him to be a professional detective. - -"M. Bordier," said Emilia, "repeats the injunction in his letter. I -could not but obey him." - -She read from the letter words to the same effect as the second -telegram. - -"You infer," I said, "from these communications that M. Bordier places -no obstacles in the way of your daughter's union with his son." - -"Yes," she replied; "it is my happy belief. My heart is lighter than -it has been for months. I have endured what seemed to me an eternity -of sorrow, but that has passed, and Heaven's light is shining upon my -life." - -She was transfigured. There was indeed a heavenly light in her eyes, -and her manner was as that of one who had been raised from deepest woe -to supreme happiness. - -"I rejoice with you," I said, cordially. "Is it a breach of confidence -for me to ask from what part of the country M. Bordier has written to -you?" - -"His letter bears no address," she said. - -"Does he give you no information of what he has done and is about to -do?" - -"None." - -"Nor of any discovery that has been made?" - -"No." - -She looked at me wistfully; I took her hand. As to certain matters -there was on my part no motive for secrecy. Why should I withhold from -her even for an hour that which would strengthen the new-born hopes -which animated her? To a heart so sorely bruised as hers had been, to -one who had borne suffering so sweetly and patiently, it would be -cruel to keep back the least word of comfort, and I narrated to her -all that had taken place between M. Bordier and Bob. She was greatly -excited when I told her of the recovery of the desk, of M. Bordier's -search for the secret drawer, and of his subsequent discovery of the -hidden document. - -"It is the copy of the marriage certificate," she cried. - -"That is my impression, and now I can relieve your mind of another -discovery. It is our firm belief that the man who assumed the name of -M. Felix lives." - -I gave her our reasons for this belief, and made her acquainted with -Bob's theory of the seizure which threw M. Felix into a state of -unconsciousness and insensibility, and which was simply pronounced to -be death. She was profoundly agitated, and the grateful tears flowed -down her face. - -"I have been distracted by a horrible fear," she said, "that I was the -indirect cause of his death. Surely Heaven sent you to my aid on the -night we first met. Without you I should not have dared to move, and -indeed whatever steps I might have taken must have proved futile. -Through you and your friends, Dr. Peterssen is unmasked, and my honor -established. How I long to embrace that brave girl, Sophy! No reward -can be too great for her, and M. Bordier, I am sure will do all in his -power to advance her. Dear friend, dear friend! My words are weak--my -heart is full." - -She pressed my hand and kissed it, and she promised to let me know -everything upon M. Bordier's return. I did not tell her why I was -anxious to return to the village with as little delay as possible, but -I incidentally showed her the photograph which I had found in M. -Felix's rooms. Her tears bedewed it, she kissed it again and again. - -"It is my dear husband's portrait," she sobbed. "His name is in his -own handwriting. Dear Gerald! They would have had me believe you -false. Heaven forgive them for their treachery to you, to me!" - -She begged me to leave the picture with her, but I was compelled to -refuse; I needed it to track Dr. Peterssen and his patient. Of course -I kept my reasons to myself, and I promised her that I would only -retain the portrait a short time, and that it should soon be hers. - -"I do not exactly know," I said, "where I shall be during the next few -days; I may be travelling from place to place, but I shall continue to -telegraph to you wherever I am; in order that you may communicate with -me." - -"But why do you go away again?" she asked; "you have discovered what -you wished; nothing more remains to be done." - -If she but knew, I thought, how different would be her desire--how she -would urge me to fly, how she would implore, entreat, and urge me on! - -"Much remains to be done," I said, "Dr. Peterssen must be found; he -must not be allowed to escape." - -"Leave him to Heaven's justice," she said. - -"That will overtake him; but man's justice shall also be meted out to -him. Would you leave Leonard Paget also in peace?" - -"I would," she replied. - -"He has squandered your fortune, but there may be some small portion -left. It must be recovered; it will serve as your daughter's dowry." - -"She needs none. M. Bordier and Julian will be content to take her as -she is; and for me--has not happiness shone upon me in the darkest -hour of my life? Let both those men go their way." - -"No," I said, firmly, "my mission is not yet ended, and you, if you -knew all, would not seek to restrain me." - -She looked at me questioningly, and I accounted for my rash remark by -saying, "There are public as well as private duties, my dear madam, -and I should be false to my trust if I neglected the one for the -other. I should like to shake hands with your daughter before I go." - -She went from the room and returned with Constance, who received me -cordially. As they stood side by side, their lovely countenances -irradiated by thoughts of the bright future in store for them, I was -glad to know that I had had some small share in their better fortune. - -"It is something to have done," I said to myself as I hastened to the -station, "to have assisted to bring joy to the hearts of two good -women; this in itself is ample reward. Then, old fellow, you have -gained two earnest and sincere friends. One of these fine days you -shall go to Switzerland, and be witness of the happiness to which you -have contributed. And if you can restore to the one a husband, to the -other a father----" - -I rubbed my hands and stepped on gaily. The mystery of M. Felix had -engaged and engrossed me for a considerable time, but I was never more -interested in it than I was at the present moment. "I will not -desist," thought I, "till the end is reached. A bitter ending for the -snarers, a sweet ending for the snared." - - - - -CHAPTER LV. - -TREACHERY. - - -"News, Agnold!" cried Bob, when I joined him in the country. - -"Bravo!" I said, "out with it." - -"Three men answering to the description of those we are seeking were -seen yesterday on the road to Monkshead." - -"Where is that?" - -"Thirty-two miles from here, as the crow flies." - -"Who gave you the information?" - -"Crawley. The fellow is of some use, after all." - -I was not so sure, but when I questioned Crawley he was so precise and -circumstantial in his account that I saw no valid reason to discredit -him. He had received the news from a teamster, he said, who had passed -the men on the road. Were they walking? Yes. How did the teamster know -they were going to Monkshead? They were on the high road. How far from -Monkshead? About ten miles. - -"I have asked questions," said Crawley, "of every stranger who has -passed through the village, and this was the only one who could tell -me anything at all." - -"Did you describe Dr. Peterssen's appearance to him?" I asked. - -"Yes, and he said it was something like another of the men." - -"Did you describe the third?" - -"How could I, when I never saw him?" - -I had put the last question as a test of Crawley's truthfulness; if he -had answered otherwise, the doubts I had of his veracity would have -been strengthened. - -"You believe he is speaking the truth, Bob?" I asked my friend, -Crawley being out of hearing. - -"What reason has he to tell lies?" asked Bob, in return. - -"To show that he is doing something toward earning his wages." - -"That's cutting it rather fine," said Bob. "You are giving Crawley -credit for intellect; I think he is not overstocked in that respect. -Can't afford to throw away a chance, Agnold." - -"Certainly not, and this chance shall not be slighted. But we will not -risk everything upon the hazard. My plan is this. Crawley, Sophy, and -I will go to Monkshead on a voyage of discovery. You shall remain here -to take advantage of anything that may turn up. I will keep you posted -as to our movements; you will keep me posted as to yours. Blessings on -the electric telegraph. You will repeat all telegrams that arrive for -me to such places as I shall direct, retaining the originals in case -of miscarriage. Do you agree to all this?" - -"I must," said Bob, "though I would rather go with you." - -"There would then be no one left in command here, and we should be -burning our ships." - -"All right. You are welcome to Crawley. Must you take Sophy?" - -"I must. She is the only one in our party who is familiar with M. -Felix. If we hunt Peterssen down, M. Felix will most likely be with -him, and Sophy is at hand for the purpose of identification. Should I -have reason to believe we have struck the right trail, I will wire to -you, and you can come on to us. Say agreed, old fellow." - -"Agreed, old fellow." - -After that Bob and I were closeted together for an hour, setting down -all our arrangements in black and white; then I prepared to depart. - -"Good luck, Agnold," said the faithful Bob. "Send for me soon." - -"As soon as I can. I want you to be in at the death." - -I spoke these words lightly, with no notion of their ominous -significance, and a carriage and pair having been got ready for us, -Crawley, Sophy, and I took our seats in it, and bowled along to -Monkshead. We arrived there at noon on the following day, and at the -post-office I found two telegrams sent by Bob, one from himself saying -that stagnation was the order of things, the other a copy of one -forwarded from Emilia in London, in which she said that she had not -heard from M. Bordier, and expected that he was on his way to her. The -whole of the afternoon I was engaged in the attempt to discover -whether any persons answering to the description of Dr. Peterssen and -his companions had made any stay in Monkshead. I learnt nothing of a -satisfactory nature, and, thoroughly exhausted, I was discontentedly -refreshing the inner man, Sophy sitting at the same table with me, -when Crawley, who had been out making inquiries, came in with a man -who looked like what he was--a tramp. - -"Here's a fellow," said Crawley, "who can tell us something." - -"If I'm paid for it," said the tramp. - -"You shall be paid for your trouble," I said, giving him a shilling. -"This is on account. You shall have another if your information is -satisfactory." - -"He has tramped from Deering," said Crawley, "and passed the parties -we are looking for." - -"How far off?" I asked. - -"A matter of forty miles," replied the tramp. - -"Were they riding or walking?" - -"Two was riding, one was walking." - -"What was the conveyance?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"Were they riding in a carriage?" - -"No, in a cart; top of sack of hay." - -"What is the man who was walking like?" - -His description enabled me to recognize Dr. Peterssen; it tallied with -that given to me by Emilia, Bob, and Sophy. - -"And the two men riding on the hay?" I asked. "Can't be so sure of -them," said the tramp; but his description warranted the belief that -they were Dr. Peterssen's patient and M. Felix. As to the latter I -consulted Sophy, and she said it was something like M. Felix. - -"How do you know," I inquired, "that these men were travelling in -company?" - -"'Cause two of 'em--one as was walking and the other as was -riding--was talking to one another." - -"Did you hear what they said?" - -"No, I didn't." - -He had nothing more to tell me, and he took his departure after -receiving his second shilling. - -I turned to Crawley and asked him how he had picked up the tramp. - -"I was having half a pint at the Staff's Head," replied Crawley, "when -he came in. Seeing he was a tramp, stood him a pint, and asked him -where he'd come from. From Deering, he said. Then I asked him whether -he'd met anybody in particular on the road, and he said nobody; but -when I spoke of three men in company, and gave him an idea of what Dr. -Peterssen was like, he brightened up and told me what he told you. I -thought you had better see him, so I brought him along." - -I nodded and said we would start for Deering in the morning, and -Crawley went to the bar to refresh himself. Now, whether I was -influenced by my original latent suspicions of Crawley, or by the -non-success I was meeting with, one thing was certain. I was not -entirely satisfied with Crawley, and my dissatisfaction was not -lessened by the fact that I could find no valid reasons for -mistrusting him. Later on it will be seen whether I was right or wrong -in my impressions, but, as will also presently be seen, the trail I -was following up, whether it were true or false, led to important -results, the mere remembrance of which will abide with me as long as I -live. - -We did not reach Deering till late the next night. The post-office was -closed, and I could not obtain the telegrams which I had directed Bob -to forward till the morrow. As on the previous day, there were -two--one from Bob with no news, the other from Emilia expressing -anxiety regarding the continued silence and absence of M. Bordier. I -myself considered it strange, and I sympathized with Emilia's -unexpressed fears that she had been buoyed up by false hopes. Things -altogether were looking gloomy; we seemed to be drifting without a -rudder, and my experiences in Deering tended still further to -discourage me. There were no traces of the men I was seeking, and -after dispatching letters and telegrams to Bob and Emilia, I seriously -discussed with myself the advisability of returning to London and -awaiting news of M. Bordier. Sophy broke in upon my cogitations. - -"I've found 'em out," she said, with a flushed face. "That there -Crawley is taking of us in, you see if he ain't. He's been telling a -pack of lies with 'is 'ay cart and 'is tramp. He's got 'old of another -cove, and is bringing of 'im 'ere. I 'eerd 'im telling the chap what -to say to yer. I'm mum. 'Ere he is." - -Sure enough there entered Crawley with another tramp, who told me a -plausible story of having met Dr. Peterssen and his companions some -thirty miles off. The fellow played his part fairly well, and when I -refused to give him money, began to bully. I soon silenced him, -however, by threatening to give him into custody on a charge of -conspiracy, and he slunk away without another word, but with a secret -sign to Crawley, which I detected. Crawley would have followed him, -but I had got between him and the door. - -"You miserable sneak," I said, "your game's at an end. So, you've been -coached by your scoundrelly employer, Peterssen, to deceive us, and I -was fool enough to be taken in by you. What have you to say about it?" - -He looked at me slyly, but did not speak. - -"You are frightened that you may criminate yourself, but you have done -that already. I can prove that you have robbed us of money under false -pretences; I can prove that you have entered into a conspiracy against -us. Do you know the punishment for conspiracy? It is penal servitude, -my friend. You wince at that. Honesty would have served your interests -better, my fine fellow. Had you not behaved treacherously you would -have been made for life. And now you will find that you have fallen -between two stools. You think that Dr. Peterssen will reward you. You -are mistaken. He has promised you a sum of money for misleading us. -You will not get a penny of it. You fool! Better for you to have -trusted straightforward gentlemen who had the means, and had the will, -to richly reward you, than a scoundrel like your master, who has used -you as a tool. You are to report the success of your treachery to him -personally. Where? In London? Go to him there, go to the address he -gave you, and try and find him. As he has rogued others, he has rogued -you. Before you are many hours older, you will learn that honesty -would have been your best policy." - -The play of his features proved to me that all my shots were faithful -and had struck home. I gave him a parting one. - -"I will put the police on your track. You are a marked man from this -day, and you and your master will have to answer in the criminal dock -for the crimes of which you are guilty." - -I had moved from the door, and he, seizing the opportunity, darted -through it and was gone. - -"Fine words!" I exclaimed. "Much good they will do!" - -"Never mind," said faithful Sophy. "You gave it 'im 'ot, and no -mistake. You frightened 'im out of 'is life; he'll shy at every peeler -he meets." - -"It will not help us," I said, in a rueful tone. "We are at a -dead-lock." - -"Never say die," said Sophy, cheerfully. "That ain't a bit like yer." - -Upon my word her encouragement put fresh life into me, and I grew less -despondent. Determined to leave Deering as quickly as possible, I went -to see about a trap, and here I met with another disappointment. I -could not get a trap till the following day. - -"We shall have to wait until to-morrow, Sophy," I said. "So let us -make ourselves comfortable. I wonder if there's a local newspaper -about. I will read you the news if there is; it will help to pass the -time." - -Upon what slender foundations do momentous issues hang! A pregnant -proof of this truism was at hand. There was no newspaper printed at -Deering, but at Fleetdyke, the nearest place of importance, was -published a small daily sheet called the _Fleetdyke Herald_. The -landlord at the inn at which we put up did not take in the paper, but -it happened that a traveller, making pause there, had left behind him -two copies of as recent date as yesterday and the day before. These -the landlord brought in to me, and I sat down to entertain Sophy, who -prepared herself for an hour of great enjoyment. - -"What things in a newspaper do you like best, Sophy?" I asked. - -"Perlice Courts," she replied, "when I gets the chance of anybody -reading 'em out--about once in a bloo moon, yer know." - -"Police Courts it shall be," I said. "I have a fancy for them myself." - -So evidently had the Editor of the _Fleetdyke Herald_, who seemed to -make it a special feature of his paper to gather the police-court news -of a rather wide district around his locality as an attraction to his -subscribers. I had read aloud to Sophy four or five of the most -entertaining cases when I was startled by the heading, "Tampering with -a registrar's book. Strange case." I read the report under this -heading rapidly to myself, and Sophy, observing that something had -startled me, sat in silence and did not speak a word. The case was not -concluded in the paper I was reading from. The last line ran: -"Adjourned till to-morrow for the production of an important witness -from London." I looked at the date of the newspaper--it was the day -before yesterday. The other paper which I had not yet taken up was of -yesterday's date, and I found in it the conclusion of the case. The -first day's report, with its pregnant heading, startled me, as I have -said. The second day's report startled me still more. By the merest -accident my fingers were on the pulse of the torture of Emilia's life. -I ran down to the bar; the landlord stood behind it, wiping some -glasses. - -"Is the village of Glasserton at a great distance from here?" I asked. - -"Oh, no," replied the landlord, "about eleven miles. You can shorten -it by two miles if you cut through Deering Woods." - -I glanced at the clock--half-past four. "It's a melancholy walk -through the woods," remarked the landlord, "but to be sure the moon -will rise at ten." - -"Can anyone show me the short cut?" - I asked. "I wish particularly to go to Glasserton to-night." - -"My daughter will put you in the way of it." - -"Thank you. Ask her to get ready. I will give her half-a-crown for her -trouble." - -I called to Sophy, and asked her if she was ready fur a long walk. - -"I am ready for anything," she said, "along o' you." - -"Ten miles there, and ten miles back, Sophy," I said, for it was my -intention to return to the inn that night. - -"I'll walk all night if yer want me to." - -"Come along, then, my girl." - -I settled my account with the landlord before I left, and then, -accompanied by his daughter, a girl of fourteen, we walked to Deering -Woods. - -"There!" said she, "keep on this track and it will take you right -through the woods till you reach the road for Glasserton. When you -come to two tracks keep to the left." - -The directions she gave were clear, and I made her happy with the -promised half-a-crown. - -"How far do the woods extend?" I asked. - -"You'll have to walk six or seven miles," she replied, "before you get -out of 'em--and mind you take care of the cliffs. They're dangerous." - -"We shall see them, I suppose, before we come on them?" - -"Oh, you'll see 'em right enough, but nobody goes nearer to 'em than -they can help." - -She stood looking after us till thick clusters of trees hid us from -her sight. - -"Step out, Sophy," I said, "we've got a long walk before us." - -An explanation of the motive for my sudden visit to Glasserton will be -found in the following extracts from the _Fleetdyke Herald_: - - -THE FIRST EXTRACT. - -"_Tampering with a Register Book. Strange Case_.--M. Bordier and his -son, Julian Bordier, of Swiss extraction, were charged with erasing a -name, and writing another over it, from a marriage entry in the -register book of marriages in the parish of Glasserton. Mr. Hare, the -registrar, stated that the accused visited him yesterday afternoon, -for the purpose, as they said, of verifying a copy of a marriage -certificate which they brought with them. The marriage in question was -solemnized over nineteen years ago, and, according to the entry as it -now stands, was between Gerald Paget and Emilia Braham, The elder of -the accused made the examination, and professed himself satisfied. He -then requested the registrar to step out of the office with him, -saying that he wished to make some private inquiries of him. The -registrar consented, and the two went outside for a few minutes, the -questions which M. Bordier asked relating to the witnesses to the -marriage, Julian Bordier meanwhile remaining alone in the office with, -the register book. Mr. Hare, who has been registrar for nine or ten -months only, answered the questions to the best of his ability, and -then M. Bordier summoned his son from the office, and the accused -departed. In the evening Mr. Hare had occasion to consult the register -book, and as a matter of curiosity he referred to the entry which his -visitors in the afternoon had called to verify. To his astonishment he -discovered that the name of the bridegroom had been erased, and the -name of Gerald Paget written over the erasure. His suspicions fell -immediately upon M. Bordier and Julian Bordier, and learning that they -had left the village, he obtained a warrant for their arrest, and, -with a policeman, started in pursuit. The accused were greatly -agitated when told to consider themselves under arrest, and the elder -of the two commenced an explanation, to which, however, Mr. Hare and -the constable refused to listen. He then begged to be permitted to -write and telegraph to London for legal and professional assistance -which, he said, would establish their innocence, and his request being -granted, he wrote and despatched both letters and telegrams. The -registrar having finished his evidence, the magistrate said the case -was quite clear, and asked the accused what they had to say in their -defence. M. Bordier, who assumed the office of spokesman, his son -preserving a somewhat scornful silence, handed the magistrate two -telegrams he had received from London in reply to those he had -despatched. M. Bordier said that he refrained from putting any -questions to the registrar, giving as a reason that he was ignorant of -the procedure in English Courts of Justice. The magistrate, having -read the telegrams, remarked that the names attached to them were -those of eminent and renowned gentlemen whose time must be very -valuable. As they promised to attend the court on the following -morning and were anxious to return on the same day the accused were -therefore remanded till to-morrow for the production of these -important witnesses from London." - - -THE SECOND EXTRACT. - -"_Tampering with a Register Book. Strange and Important -Evidence.--Result_.--M. Bordier and his son, Julian Bordier, were -brought up on remand on the charge of altering a signature in a -marriage entry in the register book of the parish of Glasserton. Upon -the case being called Mr. Lawson, of the well-known firm of Lawson & -Lawson, St. Helen's, London, who said he appeared for the defence, -asked that Mr. Shepherd, the eminent expert in caligraphy, should be -allowed to examine the register book, and the application was granted. -The clerk read the evidence given yesterday by Mr. Hare, the -registrar, who stated, in reply to a question from the magistrate, -that he had nothing to add to it. Mr. Lawson then proceeded to -cross-examine the witness: - -"'You state that the register book was examined in your -presence?'--'Yes.' - -"'Was there any possibility of the signature being tampered with while -you were by?'--'It could not possibly have been done in my presence.' - -"'Was M. Bordier left alone in the office with the book?'--'No.' - -"'In point of fact, you did not lose sight of him during the whole of -the visit?'--'I did not.' - -"'Not even for a moment?'--'Not for one moment.' - -"'Then he could not have made the erasure or have written the name -over it?'--'He could not.' - -"'You do not accuse him?'--'Of actually committing the offence, no. Of -being an accessory, yes. He called me out of the office to give his -accomplice time to do what he wished.' - -"'We shall see. Only M. Julian Bordier could possibly have altered the -entry?'--'Only him.' - -"Mr. Lawson (to the Magistrate): 'This proves that M. Bordier could not -have made the erasure.'--Magistrate: 'Exactly.' - -"Cross-examination resumed: 'It is not important to the case, but are -you familiar with the record of the marriage of Emilia Braham and -Gerald Paget, or between her and any other person?'--'No, I never had -occasion to refer to this particular entry.' - -"'Were M. Bordier and his son the only visitors you received on that -day who wished to verify an entry in the register book?'--'The only -visitors.' - -"'After they left you did you leave your office?'--'For an hour in the -evening.' - -"'Before you discovered that the entry had been tampered with?'--'Yes, -before that.' - -"'Who was in charge of the premises while you were away?'--'The -servant, Jane Seebold.' - -"'When you made the discovery of the erasure, did you ask Jane Seebold -if anyone had called in your absence?'--'I did not.' - -"'Did you at any time inform her that the book had been tampered -with?'--'I did not.' - -"'You jumped at the conclusion that the gentlemen you accuse must be -guilty?'--'There is no other conclusion.' - -"'That will do. Call Mr. Shepherd.' - -"Mr. Shepherd stepped into the witness-box. - -"Mr. Lawson: 'You are an expert in handwriting?'--'Witness: I am; it -is my profession.' - -"'You have given evidence in many celebrated cases?'--'I have.' - -"The Magistrate: 'Mr. Shepherd's name and reputation are well known.' - -"'Have you examined the entry of the marriage between Emilia Braham -and Gerald Paget?'--'I have.' - -"'There is an undoubted erasure of the signature of the -bridegroom?'--'There is.' - -"'The name, Gerald Paget, as it now appears, has been recently -written?'--'Quite recently, within the past week. The state of the ink -in which the name is freshly written proves it.' - -"'You put a marked emphasis upon the words "freshly written." Have you -a reason for doing so?'--'I have. Upon a careful examination of the -entry I am of the firm opinion that the name erased is the same as the -name written above the erasure. The letters have been very cleverly -traced.' - -"The Magistrate: 'That sounds very strange.' - -"Mr. Lawson: 'It does; but it is a puzzle that may be solved. Say that -there is here a question of property which would fall to the Emilia -Braham who is married according to this entry. To become possessed of -this property, she must prove her marriage with Gerald Paget. Some one -interested on the other side gets hold of the register book, and -erases the name of Gerald Paget. What name shall be substituted in its -place? What but that of Gerald Paget? This opens up the suggestion -that a friend of Emilia Braham (speaking of her in her maiden name) -has also paid a visit to the register, book, has erased the -bridegroom's name, and written in its place that of Paget, to prove -the said Emilia's marriage with him. A formidable suspicion is thrown -upon her, and the very entry upon which she relies is weighty evidence -against her.' - -"The Magistrate: 'It is an ingenious theory, but I cannot see that it -has any bearing upon the present case.' - -"Mr. Lawson: 'It has an indirect bearing. I have here a copy of the -marriage certificate, which I must ask you to compare with the entry -in the register book. You will see in the copy that the name is Gerald -Paget, and you cannot doubt that the copy is genuine." - -"The Magistrate: 'There can be little doubt of that. The state of the -paper is a proof.' - -"Mr. Lawson: 'If the copy had been lost, it would have greatly -strengthened those whose interests are opposed to Mrs. Paget's. I have -nothing further to ask you, Mr. Shepherd. Call Jane Seebold.' - -"Jane Seebold was shown into the witness-box. - -"'Your name is Jane Seebold?'--'Yes.' - -"'You are in the service of Mr. Hare?'--'Yes.' - -"'Do you remember the day before yesterday?'--'Yes.' - -"'In the evening Mr. Hare went out for an hour?'--'Yes.' - -"'Was the office in which the official books are kept open?'--'Yes, it -was, and I was sweeping it out.' - -"'Did anybody call while you were so employed?'--'Yes, a gentleman.' - -"'Did he inquire for any one?'--'Yes, my master.' - -"'Well?'--'I told him he was out.' - -"'What did he say to that?'--'He said he would wait for him.' - -"'You allowed him to wait?'--'Yes.' - -"'In the office?'--'Yes.' - -"'What did you do while he waited?'--'I had work in other parts of the -house, and I went and did it.' - -"'For how long was the gentleman left alone in the office?'--'Half an -hour, perhaps.' - -"'Then you went in to him?'--'Yes, and he said he was going, and he -went.' - -"'Did you tell your master of the gentleman's visit when he -returned?'--'No, I didn't.' - -"'Why didn't you?' The witness hesitated. 'Why didn't you? Remember -that you are on your oath, and that if you prevaricate or speak -falsely you may get yourself into serious trouble. Why did you not -tell your master of the gentleman's visit?'--'Well, he gave me five -shillings, and told me to say nothing about it. I don't see that I've -done any harm.' - -"'You can step down.' - -"The Magistrate: 'Stop a moment. Where were the official books while -the gentleman was in the office?'--'In their proper place--the desk.' - -"Mr. Lawson: 'Was the desk locked?'--'The lock's been broke all the -time I've been in the place.' - -"'So that all a person had to do to get hold of the books was to lift -the lid?'--'Yes.' - -"The Magistrate: 'Your conduct was very reprehensible.' - -"The witness then left the box. - -"Mr. Lawson: 'We have brought the inquiry now to this point. Supposing -the erasure to have been made on the day in question, the commission -of the offence lies between M. Julian Bordier and the person who -visited the registrar's office in his absence.' - -"The Magistrate: 'Quite so. I think the registrar should keep these -important public books in a more secure place--in an iron safe.' - -"The Registrar: 'I am not supplied with one, your Worship, and I -cannot afford to buy one. My servant's evidence comes upon me as a -surprise.' - -"The Magistrate: 'I repeat what I said. These official records should -be kept in safer custody. The authorities should provide proper -receptacles for them.' - -"Mr. Lawson: 'I shall proceed now to prove that it is an utter -impossibility that M. Julian Bordier can be guilty of the offence with -which he and his father are charged. Call Mr. Wordsworth.' - -"This gentleman, whose name and fame are world-renowned, then gave his -evidence, which was short, conclusive, and surprising. - -"'You are an oculist?'--'I am.' - -"'You are attending M. Julian Bordier?'--'Yes.' - -"'Is that the gentleman?'--'That is the gentleman.' - -"'What are you attending him for?'--'For his sight.' - -"'Could he the day before yesterday have erased a name from the -register book and written another name above it?'--'It is utterly -impossible.' - -"'Why?'--'Because he was blind. He is blind now; His eyes are open, -but he cannot see. It is against my express wish that he left London. -If he does not return immediately and abide by my instructions, I -shall despair of restoring his sight.' - -"M. Bordier: 'May I say a word?' - -"The Magistrate: 'Certainly.' - -"M. Bordier: 'I came to Glasserton to compare the copy of a marriage -certificate with the original entry. My son's happiness hung upon this -proof, and he insisted upon accompanying me. He would not be -dissuaded, and although I feared there was a risk, I yielded to his -wish. When we were arrested I endeavored to explain matters to the -registrar and the officer, but they would not listen to me. Ignorant -of the methods of English courts of justice, I thought it wisest to -obtain counsel and assistance from London. That is all I have to say.' - -"Mr. Lawson: 'Is it necessary, your worship, for me to address you?' - -"The Magistrate: 'No. The gentlemen are discharged, and I regret that -they have had to submit to this trial. I trust, Mr. Wordsworth, that -you will be able to cure M. Julian Bordier.' - -"Mr. Wordsworth: 'If he will be guided by me, I hope to restore his -sight.' - -"The parties then left the court." - - - - -CHAPTER LVI. - -NIGHT IN DEERING WOODS. - - -I had a twofold object in going to Glasserton. In the first place I -wished to see for myself the original record of the marriage in the -register book; in the second place I wished to obtain from the -registrar's servant, Jane Seebold, a description of the visitor she -allowed to remain in the office while her master was absent from the -house. It was evident that she had no knowledge of the purpose of the -visit which M. Bordier and his son Julian paid to the registrar in the -morning; and it was equally evident that the man who bribed her to -silence was the man who erased the signature. I had no doubt that it -was either M. Felix or Dr. Peterssen, who by this artful trick hoped -to pave the way to a doubt of the genuineness of Emilia's marriage -with Gerald Paget. The scoundrels had no idea that the copy of the -marriage certificate had been found, or that M. Bordier and his son -were in the village on the same day as themselves. All that they -wished to do was to make some provision for a possible contingency in -the future. If, as was very likely, they read the case in the -newspaper, they must have been confounded by the conviction that they -were hoist with their own petard. Another thing, I was now satisfied -that when I left Bob I had started on a true trail, despite the -knavish devices of Dr. Peterssen's tool, Crawley. - -The walk through Deering Woods was a dreary one, but it would have -been much more dreary had it not been for Sophy, who was always -entertaining and original, and never more so than on the present -occasion. I let her partly into my confidence, and she was delighted -to know that she had been the direct means of throwing light on a -cruel injustice. We trudged along side by side, the most amicable and -agreeable of companions. - -"It'll wake aunty tip when she 'ears everything," said Sophy. "She'll -think me good for something now." - -"You are the best and brightest little girl in my acquaintance, -Sophy," I said. - -"I didn't take _you_ in, did I?" she asked. - -"No, indeed," I replied. "It was a lucky day for me when I first met -you." - -"Not so lucky for you as for me," she said. "I've got a silver watch." - -"It will turn into a gold one by the time you're a woman." - -"Will it?" she exclaimed. "Shan't I be proud!" - -About half way through the woods I saw the cliffs of which the -landlord's daughter had warned me. In the dark they would have been -dangerous indeed to one unfamiliar with them. At some time or other -there had been a great landslip, which had opened up a chasm of great -depth; in parts slight fences had been put up, but there were spaces -entirely unprotected, and I was thankful we had been warned of the -danger. It was half-past seven by my watch when we reached Glasserton, -and I had no difficulty in finding the registrar's house. He was at -home when I called, and did not receive me too cordially. He had been -upset by the trial, and it was with the greatest difficulty I -succeeded in obtaining a glance of the original entry of the marriage. -It was only by bribery and threats that I effected my purpose, and I -had to use extreme persuasion to induce him to grant me an interview -with Jane Seebold. I elicited very little from her in consequence of -the state of confusion she was in, but I was satisfied in my own mind -that it was M. Felix who had tampered with the book. From her -imperfect description of the man I judged that he must in some way -have disguised himself for the purpose of the visit, and I was -assisted to this conclusion partly by the height of her visitor, who -she said was not a tall man. Dr. Peterssen was not less than six feet, -and having to decide between him and M. Felix I decided unhesitatingly -in favor of the latter. The registrar had been in Glasserton but three -or four years, whereas Jane Seebold had been in it all her life, and I -learned from her that two of the three witnesses to the marriage, the -doctor and the old wagoner, had long been dead. At nine o'clock my -inquiries were ended, and Sophy and I started back for the inn. - -"Tired, Sophy?" I asked. - -"Not a bit," she answered, cheerfully, "I could walk all night." - -Still we did not get along so fast as in the early part of the -evening; it would have been cruel to take unfair advantage of Sophy's -indomitable spirit; the girl would have walked till she dropped, and I -had some consideration for her. Therefore it was that we did not reach -the middle of Deering Woods till past ten, by which time the moon had -risen. When I was not talking to Sophy my mind was occupied by the -task upon which I had been engaged. Since my first introduction to the -Mystery of M. Felix a great deal had been accomplished. The mystery -has been practically solved, although the public were not yet in -possession of the facts. Emilia's agony was over, as I believed, for -my wildest dreams would not have compassed what was to occur during -the next few weeks; she had been fortunate in gaining a champion so -noble and generous as M. Bordier, and her daughter's happiness was -assured. I could understand now her anxiety as to M. Bordier's silence -since his discovery of the copy of the marriage certificate, and I -divined his reason for it. With a horror of publicity, and out of -regard for her, he did not wish her to become acquainted with his and -his son's arrest until he himself informed her of it, and he -entertained a hope that the report of the case would not get into the -London papers. I also now understood her anxious references to M. -Julian's state of health; they bore upon his failing sight, to restore -which he and his father had come to London. The young man had been -imprudent, but I trusted to Mr. Wordsworth's assurances that he could -make a cure of him if Julian would abide by his instructions. I had no -doubt, now that Emilia's good name was established, that Julian would -submit to the guidance of this eminent oculist, whose heart was as -kind as his skill was great. - -So far, all was well, but I was not satisfied; I could not consider my -task accomplished till I had brought Dr. Peterssen and M. Felix to the -bar of justice and restored to Emilia's arms the husband she believed -she had lost in Switzerland. - -Sophy broke in upon my musings. - -"Is there a man in the moon?" she asked. - -"They say so," I answered, lightly. - -"I see 'is face," said Sophy, "as plain as plain can be." - -We were near the fallen cliffs as these words passed between us, and -before I had time to utter another my attention was arrested by the -sound of a shot. - -"What's that?" cried Sophy. - -"A gun or pistol fired," I replied, "and not far off." - -"I don't mean the firing," said Sophy, "I mean the scream. Didn't yer -'ear it?" - -"No, Sophy, no scream reached my ears." - -"It reached mine. I can 'ear anything, if it's in the next street." - -"Was it after or before the shot?" I asked. - -"About the same time, I think. They come both together." - -"Let us go and see what it is, if you're not afraid." - -"Me afraid," she said contemptuously, and she ran before me in the -direction from which the sounds had proceeded. We had not gone fifty -yards before we both stopped simultaneously, with an exclamation of -horror on our lips. On the ground before us lay the body of a man, -pressing his hand to his heart, from which the blood was flowing. He -struggled into a sitting posture, and was endeavoring to rise to his -feet, when he fell back with a groan, and moved no more. - -I rushed to his side and bent over him. - -"There has been murder done," I said. "He is dead." - -"Yes," said Sophy in a low tone, as she stooped over the body. "He's -dead this time, and no mistake. - -"Dead this time!" I repeated in wonder. - -"Don't yer see who it is?" she asked. "It's Mr. Felix!" - -M. Felix! This, then, was the end of the ill-spent life. The evil -record was thus suddenly snapped, and the man who was supposed to have -died in Gerard Street, Soho, on the night of the 16th of January, lay -dead before me in the lonely Deering Woods, his last breath but just -drawn. - -"Are you sure, Sophy?" - -"Ain't _you_ sure?" - -"I cannot be. I never saw him in life." - -"I can't be mistook. It's Mr. Felix--but oh, ain't it orfle! who could -'ave done it?" - -"Who, Sophy? Who but his companion in crime, Dr. Peterssen?" - -At this moment, from an unseen hand behind, Sophy was struck to the -ground. Her scream of pain was frozen on her lips, and she lay prone -before me. - -"You infernal villain," I cried, and turned. - -The moon was shining brightly, and by its light I saw the form of Dr. -Peterssen. In his upraised hands he held a heavy stake. I strove to -avoid the blow, and received it on my arm. Before I could recover -myself the stake was raised again, and again it descended upon me, -this time upon my head. The earth swam round. Again I was struck with -savage violence, and as I fell the last thing I saw was the moon with -a face in it which smiled upon me in the likeness of Dr. Peterssen. - - - - -CHAPTER LVII. - -THE CAVERN IN THE CLIFF. - - -I opened my eyes in darkness. How long I had remained insensible I did -not know, nor did I know where I was. All that I was conscious of at -first was a dull pain in my head, but presently I was sensible of -other facts. My hands were tied behind me, and my mouth was gagged, so -that I could only utter unintelligible moans. To my astonishment my -moans were answered by similar sounds at a short distance from me. -Pain and suffering are selfish and dominant qualities, and some few -moments passed before I thought of my brave Sophy. Then it occurred to -me that the moans I heard proceeded from her, and that she was in the -same condition as myself. My immediate feeling was one of thankfulness -that she was alive. In vain did I strive to free my hands; in vain did -I strive to speak intelligible words; in vain did I strive to pierce -the black darkness in which we were enveloped. I did not know whether -it was day or night, and I shuddered to think of the fate in store for -us. Soon I found myself forgetting my own peril entirely, and dwelling -only upon poor Sophy's. Bitterly did I reproach myself for bringing -her to this pass, for it was I, and I alone, who was responsible for -the doom which would surely overtake her. I had no doubt that we were -imprisoned here to die, and it was I who had sealed her fate. - -My thoughts did not flow steadily and uninterruptedly. Every now and -then I relapsed into unconsciousness, and when I revived it seemed to -me as if I took up quite naturally the thread of my reflections at the -point at which they were broken off. These intervals of insensibility -may have been long or short for all I knew. I was starving; I was -parched; I would have given the world for a drink of water; but I can -say truthfully that if water had been available for only one of us, I -would have set my lips hard and given the relief to my companion in -misery. I have read of exquisite tortures inflicted upon unfortunate -people by barbarous nations--aye, and by some civilized nations as -well--but no tortures could have been keener than those I endured. -Minutes were like hours, hours like days. It was impossible under such -conditions to keep count of time. - -There were sounds of movement outside our prison house, if house it -was, sounds of scraping feet and falling stones. I strained my ears. -Nearer and nearer came these sounds, until they were within a few feet -of me in my rear, but I was so securely bound that I could not turn my -head. One word was spoken in the form of a question: - -"Alive?" - -The voice was that of Dr. Peterssen. I had never heard it, but I would -have staked my hopes of release upon the issue. Not by the faintest -moan did Sophy or I answer this ruthless question. A match was struck, -a candle was lighted, and Dr. Peterssen stood between us, holding the -candle above his head: With malicious significance he put the candle -close to poor Sophy's face, then close to mine, and waved his left -hand as though he were introducing us to each other. I gazed at Sophy, -who was as little able to move as I was myself, and the tears came -into my eyes as I noted the absence of reproach in her observance of -me. Indeed, her expression was one of pity, and not for herself. - -"Touching, isn't it?" asked Dr. Peterssen, and then cried savagely, -"You pair of beauties! You reap what you have sown!" - -By the dim light I perceived that we were in a kind of cave, the -entrance to which was at the back of us, and I judged that the cavity -was low down one of the dangerous cliffs of which we had been warned. -After his attack upon us Dr. Peterssen must have carried us here and -buried us alive, as it were. I subsequently learned that my surmise -was correct, and that I had hit upon the exact method of our -imprisonment. - -Dr. Peterssen stuck the candle, in a niche, and approached me. - -"Would you like to be free to speak?" he inquired. "If so, move your -head." - -I moved my head. - -"You will not shout?" he continued. "You will not cry for help? Move -your head again, and I accept it as your word of honor. You are a -gentleman, and would not forfeit it." There was a frightful scorn in -his voice when he referred to me as a gentleman. - -I moved my head again, and he took the gag from my mouth. - -"Raise your voice above its natural tone, and I cut this beauty's -fingers off." - -He took a clasp-knife from his pocket and opened the blade. It was -sharp, it was bright, and I knew he would keep his word. - -"A drink of water," I murmured. - -"I have it here. Drink." He held an uncorked bottle to my lips. - -"Not for me," I said. "For her." - -"You will drink first," he said; "then she shall have her turn. If you -refuse neither of you shall touch it." - -I drank, and I saw that Sophy closed her eyes while I did so. Nectar -was never so sweet as that long draught, for he did not stint me. Then -he replaced the gag in my mouth, and removing Sophy's, went through -the same process with her. - -"That's jolly," said Sophy, faintly. - -"Yes," said the scoundrel, "you will be very jolly by the time I have -done with you. Listen to me. You clever couple are as completely in my -power as if we were on a desert island. Not a human being is within -miles of us. To show you how little I care for your cries, I free both -your tongues." Once more he took the gag from my mouth. "Only if you -speak too loudly, each shall suffer for the other. I will cut you to -pieces before each other's eyes if you disobey me. So my clever little -beauty, you came into my house as a dumb girl. _Are_ you dumb? -Answer--quick!" - -"No, I ain't," said Sophy; "you know that as well as I do." - -"But you played your part well--I will say that of you--and went -about like a sly mute, eyes and ears open, ready for treachery. If I -had suspected, you would never have got out alive. Answer my -questions, and answer them truthfully, if you do not wish to be -tortured to death. Did you steal the desk?" Sophy was silent; he laid -the keen blade of the knife he held on her face. "Answer!" - -"Answer him, Sophy," I said, fearing for the child. - -"Yes," she said, "I did steal the desk." - -"Who set you on?" - -"I did," I replied, quickly. "She is not to blame. Upon me should fall -the punishment, not upon her." - -"It shall fall upon both of you, and upon your comrade who brought her -to me, if only I can lay hands on him. There was a secret in that -desk, was there not? Don't keep me waiting too long." - -"There was," I said. - -"Did you find it?" - -"Not I, but another found it." - -"Your friend, and that sharp-witted gentleman from Switzerland. A copy -of a marriage certificate, was it not?" - -"Yes." - -"To think," he said bitterly, "that that fool should have had the desk -in his possession all these years, and never discovered it? He is -rightly served. He can play no fool's tricks where he is now. - -"He is dead?" I said. - -"He is dead. I killed him, as I intend to kill you, only yours will be -a longer and more lingering death. Do you think my confession -injudicious? You are mistaken. You will never more see the light of -day; you will never more set eyes upon a human being but myself. You -are here, in a tomb. This is your grave. I can afford to be candid -with you. Open speaking is a luxury in which I can freely indulge. -Here, eat." He fed us with hard dry bread, and we both ate ravenously, -he watching us the while with malignant eyes. "Am I not a merciful -jailer? But I don't want you to die just yet. You shall suffer still -more. Tell me why you have been hunting me down?" - -"I was engaged in befriending a much-injured lady." - -"You had better have looked after your own business, and left me to -manage my own unmolested. A much-injured lady? Christian name, -Emilia?" - -"Yes. I cannot injure her by answering you truthfully. She has -powerful friends near her who are capable of protecting her." - -"Doubtless. Something more was discovered through this little witch -here, was there not? Remember what I have threatened you with. The -truth I will have, if I have to cut it out of your heart. What more -have you discovered?" - -"To what do you refer?" - -"I had a patient--I speak in the past tense, because I have given up -business--concerning whom you entertained some curiosity. You know who -that patient was. His name? Quick!" He touched Sophy's hand with the -point of his knife, and drew blood. She never winced. - -To save the poor girl, I answered, "Gerald Paget." - -"Good. These compelling measures are admirable. But do not think you -are telling me news. I can find my way through a maze as well as most -people. It is in my power to give _you_ some interesting information. -For instance as to where this Gerald Paget is at the present moment." - -"You have not disposed of him, then," I ventured to say. - -"Oh, no. Another kind of death is in store for him. He is in prison -for the murder of a gentleman unknown to the law, but known to us as -Leonard Paget, to many others as M. Felix." - -I repressed the indignant words that rose to my lips. Dr. Peterssen -smiled and continued: "It is a remarkable complication. A man is found -dead in Deering Woods, shot through the heart. This man is Leonard -Paget, alias M. Felix. There is found upon his person nothing that can -lead to his identity. The murder is perpetrated at a distance from -London, and no one suspects there can be any connection between the -murdered man and the M. Felix who so mysteriously disappeared from the -purlieus of Soho. The last whose suspicions are likely to be roused -are Emilia Paget--I am courteous enough, you see, to call her by her -right name--and her friends. Wrapped up in their own concerns, a -murder so remote has no interest for them. And murders are common. -They occur all over the country. The housekeeper who attended upon M. -Felix would be able to identify him, but what should bring her into -this part of the world? So far, you must acknowledge, I have managed -fairly well, and if it had not been for your meddling I should be -safe. Curse you! But I am even with you now." - -"I do not expect you to answer me," I said, "but how is it that the -unfortunate gentleman whom you and your confederate have so sorely -oppressed has to answer for a crime which you perpetrated?" - -"Why should I not answer you? What passes in this grave will never be -known, and I can afford to be magnanimous. The fool you pity was found -near the body, in possession of the pistol with which the deed was -done. Give me credit for that little man[oe]uvre." - -"Does he not declare his innocence?" - -"He declares nothing. The small spark of reason which was left to him -is extinguished, and he utters no word. His silence, his vacant looks, -are proofs of guilt. They will make short work with him. He will be -committed for trial; the assizes are near, and he will be tried and -condemned. No living persons but ourselves can establish his -innocence. If you were free you could accomplish it, but you never -will be free. Fret your heart out. It will be a pleasure to me to -witness your sufferings." - -"Retribution will fall upon you," I said. "Your presence here -convinces me that you are yourself in danger." - -"I should be if I walked abroad, but I have disappeared. In this -charming retreat I propose to hide till Gerald Paget is done for. -Then, the interest of the affair at an end, I can provide for my own -safety. Meanwhile, I can manage, at odd times, to purchase food enough -to keep things going. Already I have in stock a few tins of preserved -provisions, a supply of biscuits, some bread, spirits to warm me, -tobacco to cheer me--to be smoked only at nights. Trust me for -neglecting no precautions. It is not a life a gentleman would choose, -but I am driven to it--by you." He filled his pipe and lit it. - -"Is it night now?" I said. - -"It is night now. I am fond of society; that is the reason I spare you -for the present. When you have served my turn I will rid myself of -you." - -"Have you no pity?" - -"None." - -"If we refuse the food you offer us, if we prefer to die, at once, we -can deprive you of the pleasure of torturing us." - -"You can suit yourself. My experience is that life is sweet; hope -lives eternal, you know. You can amuse yourself with the hope that you -have still a chance. Do so; it is immaterial to me. I know what the -end will be. Be silent now; you have talked enough." - -He examined our fastenings to see that they were secure, and then he -gagged us. Before he did so, however, I said to Sophy: - -"Can you forgive me, my dear, for bringing this upon you?" - -"There ain't nothink to forgive," she replied. "If I've got to die -I'll die game." - -Dr. Peterssen laughed sardonically, and did not give me time to say -another word. The spirit of the child amazed me; she was of the stuff -of which heroes are made. "If by a fortunate chance," I thought, "we -escape the deadly danger which holds us fast she shall be richly -rewarded." I saw no hope of escape, but I would cling to life to the -last. Dr. Peterssen was right in his conjecture; I would not hasten -the doom with which we were threatened, and which seemed inevitable. I -slept fitfully, and in my intervals of wakefulness I judged from -Sophy's regular breathing that she slept more peacefully than I. I was -thankful for that. Where our gaoler took his rest I do not know. He -did not disturb us for many hours. My eyes had grown accustomed to the -darkness, and when I fully awoke I could dimly see Sophy's face. She -could see me too, for when I smiled at her she smiled at me in return. -Clearly it was Dr. Peterssen's intention to keep us alive for some -time at least. He gave us bread and biscuits to eat and water to -drink. Days passed in this miserable way and if I do not dwell upon -them it is because I have little that is new to relate. Occasionally -Dr. Peterssen allowed us to talk, and bandied words with us for his -own malicious gratification. I asked him once whether we could -purchase our release. - -"You would give a large sum for it," he said. - -"All that I possess in the world," I answered. - -"If it could be done with safety to myself," he said, "I would -entertain the offer; but you know as well as I do that it could not be -so done." - -"Why not?" I asked. - -"You would betray me." - -"I will swear a solemn oath that your name shall never pass my lips." - -"An oath that you would break at the first convenient opportunity. You -are a man with a conscience, and you would hasten to prove the -innocence of Gerald Paget. How would you accomplish that without -mention of my name? Come, now--air your sophistry, and see if you can -persuade me to act like an idiot. As for money, I am well supplied. -When I am rid of you and this stubborn little witch I mean to enjoy -myself in another country." - -He pulled out a bundle of bank-notes, and flourished them before my -eyes. I thought of Bob's words that M. Felix kept always a large sum -of money on his person, and I knew that the notes had once been his. -Our gaoler took pride in such like acts of ostentatious candor, to -show how completely he had us in his power and how little he had to -fear from us. I cannot say at what period of our imprisonment I fell -into a stupor which would have lasted till the hour of my death had -Dr. Peterssen's fell intentions succeeded. It seemed to last for an -eternity of days and nights, and in the few intervals of consciousness -which came to me I prayed that I might not grow mad. Sometimes I heard -Dr. Peterssen's voice as he forced water and sopped biscuit down my -throat. I had no desire to refuse the food, but my strength was gone, -and it was with difficulty that I could swallow. I could have borne my -fate better had it not been that Sophy was never absent from my mind. -Sleeping or waking I thought of her, and my misery was increased -tenfold. I remember an occasion when I whispered to Dr. Peterssen: - -"Is she still alive?" - -"She is still alive," he said with a brutal laugh. "She has the pluck -and strength of a dozen men." - -Those were the last words he addressed to me, in my remembrance, nor -do I remember speaking to him again. Delirious fancies held possession -of me, and although I must have had periods of utter insensibility I -do not recall them. I could not now distinguish the real from the -unreal. I heard voices that did not speak; I saw pictures that had no -existence; I passed through experiences as intangible as the gloom -which encompassed us. All the people I knew, but chiefly those with -whom I had been lately associated, played their parts in my wild -fancies. The scene on the Thames Embankment with Emilia, my midnight -visit to her daughter Constance, my adventures with Sophy, the -episodes in the police court and M. Felix's chambers, my journeys to -and fro in search of clews to the mystery, the introduction of Bob -Tucker into the affair, all these and every other incident associated -with my championship of a wronged and injured lady, took new and -monstrous forms in my disordered imagination. I grew weaker and -weaker. Surely the end must soon come. - -It came. There were loud shouts and cries, and voices raised in -menace, terror, and defiance. These sounds conjured up a host of -confused forms struggling around me. A hand touched my face, an arm -was passed round my neck; my head lay upon a man's shoulder. - -"Agnold!" - -My mouth, my limbs, were free, but I could not speak, I could not -move. - -"Agnold! Don't you hear me? It's Bob--Bob Tucker! I've found you at -last--you're saved! Speak one word to me; move your head, to show you -understand me." - -I smiled feebly; I had had so many of these dreams; I did not open my -eyes. - -"Great God! Have I come too late? Oh, you black-hearted villain, your -life shall pay for it!" - -Gentle hands raised my head. My eyes, my face, were bathed with cold -water; a few drops of weak spirits were poured into my mouth, which I -swallowed with difficulty. Surely there was here no delusion! - -"That's right, Agnold; that's right old friend. We'll soon pull you -round. You are too weak to speak--I see that. But don't you want to -hear about Sophy?" - -Sophy? I strove to struggle to my feet, and fell back into the -friendly arms ready to receive me. I opened my eyes; they fell upon -Bob, who smiled and nodded at me. If this was delusion then, indeed, I -was mad. - -"For God's sake don't deceive me, Bob!" He must have followed my words -in the movement of my lips, for sound scarcely issued from them. "This -is real. You are my friend, Bob Tucker?" - -"I am your friend, Bob Tucker, who ought to be whipped at the cart's -tail for not having found you before. But I am in time, and I thank -God for it!" - -"You spoke of Sophy?" I did not dare to ask the question which was in -my mind. - -"I did. Your voice is getting stronger already. She's all right. Don't -you fret about her." - -"I want to know the solemn truth, Bob. She lives?" - -"She lives. It is the solemn and happy truth, dear friend. She is near -you at the present moment." - -"Bring her close to me. Let me touch her hand." - -It was placed in mine and guided to my lips. I kissed it, and a weak -voice stole upon my ears: - -"I am as well as well can be, Mr. Agnold! I'll dance yer a hornpipe if -yer like!" - -"My brave girl--my dear, brave Sophy! O God, I thank Thee!" - -Then everything faded from my sight and I heard nothing more. - - - - -CHAPTER LVIII. - -FRIENDS TO THE RESCUE. - - -Sophy and I were lying on two couches placed so that my eyes could -rest upon her face. A day and a night had elapsed since our rescue, -and I had gained strength surprisingly. With the help of Bob I had -dressed myself in the afternoon, and seeing that the exertion had -nearly exhausted me he insisted upon my lying down on a couch. I, on -my part, upon learning that Sophy had also with assistance dressed -herself, in "spick and span new clothes," as she afterwards informed -me, insisted feebly but firmly that she should be brought into my -room, so there we were, gazing at each other, and rapidly recovering -from the terrible ordeal through which we had passed. Warm baths, an -entire change of clothing, rest in a soft bed--surely the clean sheets -were the most delicious that mortal ever lay between--nourishing food, -and the blessed sense of safety, had done wonders for us. Bob had -refused with stern kindness to give me any account of his movements -until I was in a fit condition to listen to him, and it was not until -this day that he consented to place me in possession of the facts. His -statement, up to a certain point, will be best explained in his own -words. - -"Two days having passed," he said, "without hearing from you, I became -anxious. The last letter I received from you was written in Monkshead, -and in it you informed me that you were going farther on, but you did -not mention the name of the place for which you were bound. As you had -left Monkshead, it was useless my wiring or writing to you there, so I -was compelled to wait your pleasure. Of course, in these -circumstances, one always thinks that a letter has gone wrong, and as -no other arrived I inferred that you had given me some information of -your movements in the supposed missing letter, without which I had no -idea what to do. At length I came to the conclusion that you had -returned to London, and I determined to follow you. Even if I did not -see you there, I might learn from your family or friends something -which would enlighten me as to where you were, and what you were -doing. Your family had not heard from you, and as they did not appear -in any anxiety concerning you, I said nothing, you may be sure, that -would cause them alarm. Then I sought an interview with the lady whose -cause you espoused, and whom should I meet with her but M. Bordier. He -was the soul of politeness, and I could not fail to be impressed by -the radiant happiness which shone in the lady's face. I ascribed this -joyful expression to the document which M. Bordier had found in the -secret drawer of the desk, the particulars of which he had jealously -concealed from me. Neither he nor the lady had heard from you. 'We -hope to see him soon,' the lady said, 'to thank him for his wonderful -kindness to us.' Before I left them M. Bordier drew me aside, and -expressed a hope that I would do nothing to make public what had -transpired with respect to the purloining of the desk, and the -discovery of an important document in it. 'I assure you,' he said, -'that it is entirely a private matter, and that publicity would cause -the deepest pain to unoffending persons.' I replied that I should do -nothing of my own accord, and that the matter rested with you, and you -alone. He thanked me, and we parted." - -I interrupted Bob here. "Did M. Bordier make no reference to a trial -in which he had been involved?" - -"Nothing." - -"Have you read of no trial in which his name appears?" - -"No. Let me finish first; you will have plenty to tell me when I have -done. From M. Bordier I went to the office of the _Evening Moon_, and -was equally unsuccessful in obtaining news of you. Somewhat puzzled I -made my way back to the neighborhood of Tylney House, and thence went -on to Monkshead. I had no particular fears for your safety, but I -resolved, if possible, to track you. It was only on the second day of -my arrival at Monkshead that I obtained news which led me to believe -you had gone to Deering. Away I posted to Deering, and there I learned -that you had gone to Glasserton, on what errand was not known. The -landlord's daughter had shown you a short cut through the woods. I -took the high road, as less likely to mislead me: but I may mention -that before I started from Deering the girl who directed you informed -me that only you and a young girl had gone to Glasserton. What, then, -had become of Crawley? At Glasserton I heard that two persons -answering to the description of you and Sophy had been in the village, -that you had remained but a few hours, and had then started back -toward Deering. I immediately returned to Deering, but you had not -reappeared there. It was then that a fear of foul play flashed upon -me; it was then and then only that I began to fear for your safety. -There had been a mysterious murder committed in Deering Woods, and the -murderer was committed for trial----" - -"My God!" I cried. - -Strange as it may appear, I had not until this moment thought of the -murder which had been perpetrated in the woods. Heaven knows it was -not from indifference that this lapse of memory had occurred to me, -and I can only ascribe my forgetfulness to the intensity of my misery -for several days past, during which I had been completely and entirely -engrossed in the frightful sufferings I had endured. But now Bob's -reference to the foul deed brought Gerald Paget's peril to my mind. I -was so terribly excited that Bob caught hold of me in alarm, for I had -started from my couch and was swaying to and fro on my feet. - -"In Heaven's name," exclaimed Bob, "what is the matter with you?" - -"Do not ask questions," I said, speaking with feverish haste, "but -answer mine, and follow any instructions I may give you. The murderer -is committed for trial, you say. Has the trial taken place?" - -"It is taking place now," replied Bob, speaking as rapidly as I did; -the contagion of my excitement had seized him. "The Assizes are on." - -"What is the time?" - -"Five minutes past four." - -"When did the trial commence?" - -"This morning, I heard." - -"Is it over?" - -"I do not know." - -"Will it take you long to ascertain how it is proceeding?" - -"I might do it in half an hour." - -"Do it, in less time if you can, I am not mad, Bob; I am as sane as -you are. This is a matter of life and death, and, God forgive me, I -have allowed it to escape me. One more question. You have not spoken -of Dr. Peterssen. Where is he?" - -"In prison, under arrest." - -"That is good news. Go now, quickly--and send the landlord up to me -immediately, with some telegraph forms." - -He hastened from the room, and in a very short time the landlord made -his appearance. The vital necessity of immediate action had inspired -me with strength of mind if not with strength of body, and my mental -powers were quickened and sharpened by the crisis. I had settled upon -my plan of action, and when the landlord handed me the telegraph forms -I wrote the messages I wished to send with celerity and clearness. The -most urgent and lengthy of these telegrams was addressed to M. -Bordier, and in it I implored him to come to me without a moment's -delay, and to bring Emilia with him. I told him that the husband whose -death Emilia had so long mourned was now on a trial for murder of -which he was innocent, that I had been mercifully rescued myself from -a cruel death and held in my hands proofs of Gerald Paget's innocence, -and that my case would be strengthened by the presence of Emilia and -himself. I requested him to acknowledge my telegram the instant he -received it, and to say when I might expect him to join me; it was -imperative that there should not be the least delay, and he was to -spare no expense in attending to my instructions. In addition to this -telegram I despatched messages to my mother, to the editor of the -_Evening Moon_, and to Mrs. Middlemore. Without further detail I may -say that I did everything in my power to bring the persons to my side -whose presence I considered necessary for the work before me, and my -despatches were winging to London before Bob returned. He reported -that the case for the prosecution was not yet concluded, that it was -expected that the defence would be brief, and that the summing up of -the judge would occupy some time. It was almost certain that the -verdict would not be delivered until to-morrow. Counsel had been -deputed by the judge to defend the prisoner, who throughout the trial -had maintained a strange silence, which some ascribed to obstinacy, -and others to aberration of intellect. Having heard what Bob had to -say, I addressed a letter to the counsel for the defence, urging him -at the adjournment of the case, to call upon me immediately, as I had -news to communicate to him of the highest importance to the prisoner. -My letter despatched, there was nothing more to do for at least a -couple of hours, and I consented to listen to the completion of Bob's -narrative. When he heard that a murder had been committed in Deering -Woods fears for my safety flashed upon him, and he went to see the -body of the murdered man. He was greatly relieved to find that the -body was that of a stranger--(it must be borne in mind here that he -had never set eyes on M. Felix during that man's lifetime)--but it did -not dispel his fears. I had started back to Deering through the woods, -and from that moment neither I nor Sophy had been heard of. He -determined to remain on the spot and keep watch about the woods, in -the hope of discovering what had happened to me. The idea of foul play -between Deering and Glasserton had taken morbid possession of him, and -he did not attempt to banish it. Day after day he searched and watched -without result, until one night he saw a man walking stealthily -through the woods with provisions he must have purchased somewhere in -the neighborhood. The stealthy movements of this man aroused Bob's -suspicions, but although he followed him warily the man suddenly -disappeared. This circumstance strengthened Bob's suspicions, and, -with or without reason, he now came to the conclusion that the man, -whose movements proclaimed that he was engaged in an unlawful -proceeding, had something to do with my disappearance. He hired two -men to watch with him, and at length his efforts were rewarded. The -man was seen again at night creeping stealthily through the woods; -again he disappeared at the same spot as on the previous occasion. It -was at the edge of the fallen cliffs that this took place, and the men -Bob had hired, who were more intimate with the locality than their -employer, pointed out a downward track which bore marks of having been -recently used. This track was noiselessly followed, with the result -already recorded. Sophy and I were saved. - -"I did not come an hour too soon," said Bob, when he had concluded his -story. - -"Not an hour, Bob. I believe I could not have lived another day." - -A telegram was brought into me. It was from M. Bordier: "We shall be -with you to-night. Have not informed Mrs. Paget of the particulars. -Not advisable to agitate her unnecessarily. Decide when we meet." -Other telegrams were also brought to me, and I learned from them that -my sister, a friend on the staff of the _Evening Moon_, and Mrs. -Middlemore would also soon be with me. Bob had been thoughtful enough -to arrange for the despatch of news from the court in which the trial -was taking place. Seven o'clock, eight o'clock, nine o'clock, and the -court was still sitting. The Judge was summing up, and had expressed a -desire that the trial should be finished that night. - -"He is of the opinion," I said to Bob, "that the jury will not be long -in giving their verdict." - -"It looks like it," said Bob. - -"Does this strike you as guilty or not guilty?" - -"Guilty," replied Bob. - -A note was here delivered to me from the counsel for the defense: "I -cannot leave the court. The Judge will soon finish his summing up, -which is unfavorable to the prisoner. He anticipates a rapid decision -on the part of the jury, and a verdict of guilty. If your news is -really of importance and, advantageous to the prisoner, come to the -court immediately." - -I gave the note to Bob to read, and rose. - -"Sophy," I said, "are you strong enough to come with me? I am going to -the court." - -"I'm ready," said Sophy. - -"Yes, Agnold," said Bob, "you must go." - -He ran down, and by the time we reached it a trap was waiting for us. - -"Have a couple of traps in waiting," I said to him, "and the moment -the persons I expect arrive bring them to the court. Especially Mrs. -Paget, M. Bordier, and Mrs. Middlemore, and send also any telegrams -that may come." - -"Depend upon me, Agnold," said the good fellow. "Not a point shall be -missed." He waved his hand as we drove away, and called out, "Good -luck!" - -And now I must encroach upon the columns of the _Evening Moon_ for a -description of the events of this agitating night. A cooler head and a -steadier hand than mine have made the record, and all that I have to -do is to vouch for its accuracy. - - - - -CHAPTER LIX. - -FROM THE COLUMNS OF THE "THE EVENING MOON," UNDER -THE HEADING, "THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX SOLVED." - - -"The stirring incidents of a great city are so numerous, and so -pressing in their demands upon the space of the local papers, that it -occasionally happens that incidents as stirring and exciting which -occur at a distance from the Metropolis are either overlooked or -dismissed in a short paragraph at the bottom of a column. This -happened in a trial for murder which took place in the Midland -Circuit, and, were it not that this particular case bears directly -upon the mystery known as The Mystery of M. Felix, its remarkable -features would probably have escaped notice in the Metropolitan -journals. The circumstances of the case, so far as they were known to -the public on the day on which the trial took place, are as simple as -they are singular. A man was found murdered in Deering Woods. He was a -stranger in the neighborhood, and nothing was found on him which could -establish his identity. His pockets were empty, and his underclothing -was unmarked. He met his death by a shot fired from a revolver, and -the bullet was extracted from his body. In the same woods on the same -night a man suspected of the murder was taken into custody. He had in -his possession a six-barrelled revolver, and one of the barrels had -been discharged. Upon being questioned he refused to answer, but -looked vacantly about him. The bullet which was extracted from the -body of the murdered man fitted the discharged barrel, and was similar -to the bullets, with which the remaining five barrels were loaded. The -accused, who was properly committed for trial, was, like the victim, a -stranger in the neighborhood, and bore about him nothing that could -lead to his identification. His silence was a suspicious element in -the charge against him, and the revolver with which the deed was done -being found upon him, there was little room for doubt that he was the -murderer. What the motive for the crime could have been it is -impossible to say; if it were robbery the stolen property was -carefully hidden away, for no traces of it were discovered. The -evidence was simple, but appeared to be complete, and the accused lay -in prison until the Assizes, which were held soon after he was -committed. At the trial he preserved the same stubborn silence as he -had maintained before the magistrate. Asked to plead, he made no -answer, and a plea of not guilty was recorded. He had no counsel, and -one was assigned to him. The young barrister to whom the defence was -entrusted had a difficult task before him. He could obtain not the -least assistance from the prisoner, who stood in the dock apparently -unconcerned regarding his fate. But it is said that there could -occasionally have been observed on his features a pitiful expression, -which aroused the sympathy of the spectators. This expression has been -described by an onlooker as that of a man who had borne the cruellest -and bitterest of buffets in his course through life, and who had been -brought to a pass in which he looked upon death as the kindest mercy -which could be meted out to him. There were women in court who sobbed -as they gazed upon his sad and hopeless face, and yet could not have -accounted for their tears on any other ground than those of -unreasoning sentiment. That this mute and unconscious appeal had a -powerful effect upon the jury will be seen a little further on; it -certainly led them to act in a manner which is perhaps unprecedented -in a trial for murder in an English court of justice. It will be seen -that there were very few witnesses. The surgeon who extracted the -bullet, a gun-maker who testified that the barrel had been recently -discharged, and that the bullet was one of six with which the weapon -had been loaded, the constables who arrested the prisoner--these were -all that were called for the prosecution. The Crown counsel elicited -all the facts in a fair and impartial manner, and it was evident that -he considered the case conclusive. The cross-examination was skilfully -conducted, severe tests being applied to the evidence respecting the -bullet; but the witnesses remained unshaken. The cross-examination of -the constables was directed principally to the demeanor and conduct of -the prisoner. Did he make any resistance?--No. When he was arrested, -was he endeavoring to make his escape?--It did not appear so; he was -wandering through the woods. Was it, to all appearance, an aimless -wandering?--Yes. Did he make any excuses for, or give any explanation -of his presence in the woods?--He did not utter a single word. Did he -endeavor to hide or get rid of the revolver?--No. For the defence a -physician who had examined the prisoner was called. His testimony was -to the effect that the prisoner was afflicted with melancholia, and -that his mind was in such a condition as to render him irresponsible -for his actions. It was clear that the line set up for the defence was -that the prisoner was insane. The cross-examination of the physician -somewhat damaged the weight of his evidence. Did he base his belief -that the prisoner was afflicted with melancholia and was not -responsible for his actions on the circumstance of his refusing to -speak?--Partly, but only to a slight extent. Had he not met in his -professional experiences with cases in which persons accused of crime -preserved an obstinate and dogged silence for the express purpose of -being considered insane and irresponsible?--Yes, there had been such -cases. Scanty as was the evidence it occupied several hours. Counsel -for the defence made an eloquent and impassioned defence on the plea -of irresponsibility and insanity, and then the prosecuting counsel -addressed the jury. He dealt in hard and plain facts; he spoke coldly -and without passion; he refused to entertain the line of the defence, -and said it was more than likely that the prisoner's demeanor -proceeded from a cunning nature, and that he hoped by this means to -escape the consequences of a ruthless murder committed in cold blood. -The Judge, who said that there was no reason why the trial should not -be concluded that night, and that the Court would sit late to receive -the verdict, summed up dead against the prisoner. Following in the -train of the counsel for the Crown, he laid down the law in the -clearest manner, and he directed the jury to consider certain issues -and be guided by them, and to perform conscientiously the duty for -which they were called together. At a quarter to ten o'clock the jury -retired, and the Judge left the court, with directions that he should -be called when the jury returned. - -"It was at this stage of the inquiry that the case promised to assume -a new aspect. Our reporter, Mr. Agnold, with whom our readers are -acquainted, and to whom the public are indebted for the light thrown -upon the Mystery of M. Felix, entered the court in the company of the -young girl, Sophy, and immediately fell into earnest conversation with -the counsel for the defence. Their conversation lasted a considerable -time, during which the counsel took copious notes, breaking off -occasionally to put questions to Sophy, who answered them readily. -Once the counsel turned Sophy's attention to the prisoner, and she -moved toward him. He, turning, saw her, and greeted her with a smile -of much sweetness, to which she pitifully responded. This sign of -mutual recognition, indicating as it did an acquaintanceship between -the prisoner and the young girl, heightened to fever-pitch the -interest and excitement of the spectators, but before any explanation -of the incident could be given, the return of the jury was announced. -Almost at the same moment the Judge made his appearance. The names of -the jury were about to be called out, when the counsel for the defence -rose for the purpose of making a remark, but was desired by the Judge -to resume his seat until the verdict of the jury was given. - -"Counsel for the defence: 'If your Lordship knew the importance of the -observations I wish to make----' - -"The Judge: 'I must request you to be seated until we have done with -the jury. Then I will hear you.' - -"The jury having answered to their names, were asked if they had -agreed upon a verdict; whereupon the following conversation took -place: - -"The Foreman of the Jury: 'My Lord, the jury wish me to say that they -are morally convinced that the prisoner is not guilty.' - -"The Judge: 'That is not a verdict. It is not a question of being -morally convinced; it is a question of being legally convinced.' - -"The Foreman: 'But the jury have the strongest moral doubts, my Lord.' - -"The Judge: 'They would not be sufficient to lead to a verdict. The -doubts must be legal doubts. It is not for me to influence you one way -or another. I have put the facts of the case before you, and it is -upon those facts you must decide and pronounce your verdict.' - -"The Foreman (after a brief consultation with his brother jurymen): -'Our verdict, my Lord, is Not guilty.' - -"The Judge: 'Upon what grounds have you arrived at your verdict?' - -"The Foreman: 'Upon the grounds of moral conviction, my Lord.' - -"The Judge: 'It is my duty to tell you again that those grounds are -insufficient. Sentiment has nothing whatever to do with a criminal -case. I must request you to retire and reconsider your verdict.' - -"The Foreman: 'With all respect, my Lord, it is useless. We have -resolved to return no other verdict than the one we have given, and -upon the grounds I have stated.' - -"Several of the jury gave audible assent to their foreman's words. - -"The Judge: 'I cannot receive your verdict, accompanied by your -statement. You will retire and give the matter further consideration.' - -"The Foreman: 'If we are locked up all night, my Lord, we shall return -no other verdict.' - -"The Judge: 'I do not wish to be harsh or oppressive. Equally with -yourselves I have a duty to perform. If you do not rightly comprehend -any part of the evidence, say so, and I will explain it to you.' - -"The Foreman: 'We have no doubts, my Lord. We understand the evidence -thoroughly.' - -"The Judge: 'Oh, if you cannot agree----' - -"The Foreman: 'We are thoroughly agreed, my Lord.' - -"The Judge: 'You will retire.' - -"The jury were then conducted out of court. - -"The Judge, addressing counsel for the defence: 'I am ready to hear -you now.' - -"Counsel: 'My Lord, during your Lordship's absence from court, while -the jury were considering their verdict, the most important -revelations have been made to me.' - -"The Judge: 'Bearing upon this case?' - -"Counsel: 'Bearing directly upon this case. Two persons are present -now, who, if I had been able to call them, would have thrown an -entirely different light upon the case. One of them is personally -acquainted with the prisoner, the other does not know him personally, -but knows his name.' - -"The Judge 'The Crown is not represented. The learned counsel is not -in court. I cannot now hear statements from other persons; but you can -go on with your statement. His name is known, you say?' - -"Counsel: 'Yes, my Lord. It is Gerald Paget.' - -At this mention of his name the prisoner became violently agitated. -His countenance was convulsed, and he stretched forth his arms, which -trembled from excess of emotion. - -"The Judge: 'The prisoner appears to be ill. Is there a doctor in -court?' - -"The prisoner (speaking for the first time): 'I am not ill. I want to -hear what he has to say.' - -"Counsel: 'For nineteen years he has been supposed to be dead, and, in -pursuance of a diabolical plot, has been confined in a private -madhouse as another person. It is this cruel imprisonment which has -reduced him to the condition in which we now see him.' - -"The Judge: 'Your statement is an extraordinary one.' - -"Counsel: 'I shall be able, my Lord, to establish its truth, and the -truth of other facts as extraordinary. The strange story which has -been revealed to me is too lengthy and complicated to narrate at this -hour, but if your Lordship will adjourn until to-morrow I undertake to -prove the unfortunate prisoner's innocence, and also the guilt of the -man who should now be standing in his place.' - -"The Judge: 'Is the man known? Can he be found?' - -"Counsel: 'He is known, and is now in prison under another charge -which is directly connected with the murder for which the prisoner has -been tried.' - -"The Judge: 'If your statements are true the case is unprecedented.' - -"Counsel: 'It is, my Lord. The person who is guilty of the murder was -the prisoner's keeper. There has hitherto been no identification of -the murdered man; I am now in a position to prove who he was. He bore -the name of Leonard Paget.' - -"The Judge: 'Paget is the name of the prisoner.' - -"Counsel: 'They were half brothers. There is a question of property -involved.' - -"An officer of the court here presented himself, and said that the -jury wished to speak to the judge. - -"The Judge: 'Let them be brought in.' - -"Upon this being done, the Judge asked the foreman what he had to say. - -"The Foreman: 'It is simply, my Lord, that there is not the remotest -possibility of our returning any other verdict than that we have -delivered, and in the precise terms in which we have delivered it. -There is not the slightest difference of opinion between us; we are -absolutely unanimous.' - -"The Judge: 'As I have already told you, it is no verdict. Officer, -what is that noise?' - -"Counsel: 'Witnesses from London have just arrived, my Lord, who are -ready to prove the truth of the statements I have made.' - -"An extraordinary scene ensued. One of the newly-arrived witnesses was -a lady, whose eyes travelled round the court, and finally rested upon -the prisoner. In this lady our readers will have no difficulty in -recognizing Emilia Paget The moment she saw the prisoner a look of -incredulous joy sprang into her eyes. - -"'Merciful God!' she cried. 'Has the dead returned to life? Am I awake -or dreaming?' - -"The Prisoner, with a wild scream: 'Emilia!' - -"Emilia: 'It is his voice! Gerald! Gerald!' - -"She rushed to the prisoner, and no attempt was made to restrain her. -Throwing her arms round his neck she drew his head down to her breast. -Convulsive sobs shook their frames. - -"Counsel, solemnly: 'My Lord, the prisoner is this lady's husband, -whom she has mourned as dead for nineteen years.' - -"The Foreman of the Jury: 'My Lord, if anything was needed to prove -the justice of our verdict, the proof is now supplied.' - -"The Judge: 'You are discharged. The Court is adjourned. Remove the -prisoner.' - -"Counsel: 'My Lord, my Lord! May not this afflicted couple be allowed -a few minutes' intercourse?' - -"The Judge: 'I leave it to the discretion of the officers in charge of -the prisoner.' - -"Counsel: 'Direct them my lord. Say that it may be allowed.' - -"The Judge: 'It may be allowed. But all the persons not directly -concerned in this unparalleled case must retire.' - -"Slowly and reluctantly the spectators left the court in a state of -indescribable excitement." - - - - -CHAPTER LX. - -ROBERT AGNOLD'S LAST WORDS. - - -I resume and conclude the Mystery of M. Felix in my own person. What -transpired after the incidents of that exciting night is soon related. -Before Gerald Paget was released Dr. Peterssen was put on his trial -for the murder. The minor charge of his attempt upon Sophy's life and -mine was set aside, and was only incidentally referred to in the -evidence and speech of the prosecuting counsel. Guilt was never more -clearly proved than his. The revolver with which the murder was -committed was the same he had purloined from the rooms in Gerard -Street, when he sent Mrs. Middlemore upon a false errand to the Bow -Street Police Court. On this head Mrs. Middlemore's evidence was -valuable; but my evidence on the point was still more valuable. The -initial "F." I had scratched on the metal, and the entry I had made in -my pocket book, "A Colt's double-action revolver, nickel-plated, 6 -shots, No. 819," enabled me to swear positively to the weapon. -Peterssen's own confession of guilt to me when Sophy and I were -imprisoned in the cavern in Deering Woods was fatal, and Sophy, who -was one of the two heroines of this celebrated trial, won the -admiration of all England by the manner in which she gave her -evidence. It was imperative that Emilia should be called, and she -narrated with great feeling all the circumstances of her brief but -fateful acquaintance with Peterssen during the honeymoon tour in -Switzerland. There was found upon Peterssen a large sum of money in -bank notes, and the manager of the bank in which the murdered man, -under the name of M. Felix, kept his account, proved, by the numbers -on the notes, that they had been paid to Peterssen's victim across the -bank counter. Another witness called was George Street's father, upon -whom Peterssen had so long and so successfully imposed. He testified -that Gerald Paget was not his son, and said that on every occasion on -which he desired to see the patient, Peterssen had declared that a -fatal result would be the certain consequence of an interview. Gerald -Paget was brought into court, but he was so weak and ill that his -evidence could not be taken. The case, however, was complete without -him. There was practically no defence; the jury debated for a few -minutes only, and brought in a verdict of guilty; the villain was -sentenced, and he paid the penalty of his crimes. For Leonard Paget, -alias M. Felix, no pity was expressed; the fate he had met with was -richly deserved. - -Needless to say that the case excited immense interest, and it was -universally admitted that its sensational disclosures were without -parallel in the history of crime. I may mention that Crawley was not -traced; up to this day he has succeeded in concealing himself; but his -hour will come. - -After all was said and done, I think that Sophy held rank as _the_ -heroine of the mystery. A daily paper suggested that a subscription -should be got up for her; to this suggestion practical effect was -given, and money flowed in from all ranks and classes of people. Close -upon a thousand pounds were subscribed; so Sophy is rich. Fame has not -turned her head. She said to me but yesterday, "I ain't proud; not a -bit of it. Whenever you want me, Mr. Agnold, you'll find me ready." In -time she will improve in her language, and one day she may be really a -lady. - -The words Sophy addressed to me were spoken in Geneva, where these -lines are being written. The wedding of Constance Paget and M. Julian -Bordier took place yesterday, and we were invited to it. The father of -the bride was present. The rescue from his living tomb, the new and -happier life, and the care and devotion of his wife Emilia, upon whose -sweet face he never tires of gazing, has already brought about a great -change for the better, and confident hopes are entertained that before -long his reason will be permanently restored. It is pleasant to be -able to record that the kind and skilful oculist who had given -evidence in what I may call the marriage certificate case has made a -cure of M. Julian Bordier. He can see, and the terror of blindness no -longer afflicts him. - -This morning the oculist (who gave himself a week's holiday to attend -the wedding) and I had a chat about M. Felix, whose supposed death in -Gerard Street, Soho, caused so great a sensation. He has been hunting -up cases of suspended animation, and he read to me half a dozen, each -of which lasted for a much longer time than M. Felix's. Since -Peterssen's trial there has been a great deal written in newspapers -and magazines concerning these instances of apparent death, and wonder -has been expressed that, upon M. Felix's disappearance, no one thought -it was likely that he had gone through such an experience. My answer -to this expression of wonder is that it is easy to be wise after the -event. - -While we were engaged in our conversation, the oculist and I were -sitting at a window of the house which Constance and her husband are -to occupy when they return from their honeymoon. The window overlooks -a garden in which Emilia and Gerald are walking. - -"A good and sweet woman," said the oculist, smiling at Emilia, who had -looked up and smiled at us. "She deserves happiness." - -"She will have it," I said. "The clouds have disappeared from her -life. Her trials are over." - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Mystery of M. Felix, by B. L. Farjeon - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX *** - -***** This file should be named 53263-8.txt or 53263-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/2/6/53263/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (The Ohio State University) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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