Novel

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 405, 11 February 1904, Page 2

Novel

CHAPTER XIL-(Continued.) Ha produced a pearl of unusual size and beauty. Willow looked at it carefully. 'lfa a remarkable one,' he said. 'Do yon often come across this kind of thing V Hie was thinking an he spoke of a description of certain jewels which he had lately read. 'I must tell my friend of Qua/ he west on. 'Perhaps it might suit him instead of the emerald.' 'Tone fnend would be wise to possess himself of it. I have not had an fine a pearl as this for years.' ' May I measure it ?' asked Willow. 'By all means.* The inspector made a little drawing of the pearl, accurate an to rise and shape, then: 'Ton don't know where he was going when he left this, I suppose,' he said, carefully, 'your friend o! the emerald and the pearl?' •Ho.' ' Hot his permanent address ?' 'Ho. Eennbtum,' called the jeweller to an assistant,' have yon the card of that gentleman who waa here not long ago, who brought the big emerald? Mr. what is his name. I forget.* He turned to Willow. 'Maynard?* hazarded the inspector. ' Maynard ? No, that waa not the name. What was the name, Bannbaum? Not Maynard, hein V 'Here is the card.' said the assistant, coming up. The inspector took it and looked at it. On it was written: Eiginald White, for Messrs. Miller and Guggenheim, Calcutta. 'lt can't be the man I know,' he said; to himself he added: 'He has plenty of aliases, then.' 'Well,' he went on out loud. 'I am much obliged to you, Mr Keicheabach, fox showing me so large a choice, but I think I must tell my friend to come and choose for himself. I feel that I cannot take the responsibility of deciding for him.' Willow returned to bis hotel in a brown ■tody. It was curious. The emerald he had seen at Monte Carlo was, he had no doubt in his own mind, tne same stone which he had Been in Mr Bmnie'a private room; a real, not a false stone as the latter had represented it to be-; the very stene, he believed, which he had carefully but vainly sought for less than two years ago. How had it come into Mr Binsie's poapession? And how—this was the most important point of the moment—how had it left it again? For be had seen it after the murder, which meant, presumably, also after the robbery of the secret recess; and the man who had sold it to Beickenbach waa the man whom Muriel Fate had seen on the night of the murder, near the scene of the murder, and whom she had afterwards recognised as Pforzheim; whowaa, therefore, it would seem, both the murderer of Mrs Bart and the thief of Mr Binnie's property.- 'lf the emerald had been in the recess/ thought Willow, 'it would have been plain sailing enough: but for this White, Maynard, whatever his name is, not to have got hold of the stone till after the robbery ! That the Yienna man and the Pforzheim one are the same, there seems little doubt, for the writings in the different hotel books are the same—there's alwayß soma little thing which these fellows are not quite careful enough abtut—but ' At this point his reflections were put a stop to by the arrival of a telegram. It was from Muriel Fale, to whom, on getting to Yienne, he had telegraphed his address, and it contained these words: 'Heis in London. Come at once.'

CHAPTER XIII.—MURIEL SEES A FACE BHE KNOWS. Muriel Fale, after the inspector had left London found it very difficult to get through the days.- The time both dragged and fiew; dragged because of the enforced inaction, the sense that she was doing nothing, towards saving Philip; flew because «aeh evening, as they dawned and died, brought nearer and nearer the dreaded triaJL It was to take place in October, and the days were passing, and still there was no evidence that could be of any avail. It was a wet morning, and Murial sat by the window of the little dining-room, trying to occupy herself in mending some of the household linen. It was a vain attempt, for, though her fingers were busy, hex thoughts would not be held captive, and concentrated themselves, as they always did, upon the one painful sut ject which shadowed all her life. She ■at and sewed till it seemed to her that ■he could sit no longer, and at last, having finished the task she had set herself, the gave up the effort of keeping s:iil, and sought to ease the restlessness of her pain by wandering from one room to another. After lunch it cleared, and early in the afternoon Muriel left the house, and set cut for one of the aimless walks with which 'jhe beguiled part of each dreadful day. She walked, aa she always did, on and on, without noticing whither she went; the mere movement waa a sort of relief, and so en and on till she was tired out was all that she decked. Mire than once she had lost her way in the course of her rambling?, but it was always easy, by dint of inquiry, to find the road home again, so that she never troubled to ob* eerve tie streets through which ehe waa going. To-day ehe suddenly remembered tk at she had promised Mrs Ellison to be in by four o'clock; and, turning to go home wards, found that she was in a neighbourhood which was quite strange to her, and that she would have to do aa ■he had done more than once before, and •ak one-of the paa-erg-by which way to take, She waa in a rather narrow street,

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL AEEANGEMENT.';. IN TMHIW-.

BY Henrv Dunn

H' OOPYBIGHT.

sordid and poverty-striken; the gloomy lines of the honsea were broken by an occasional Bhop front, and there was a public-house at each end, and one nearly in the middle. She waa near the middle one when she turned, and ehe repassed it on her way back, walking slowly as sho looked about for someone she would care to address. As she watched the faces of the people hurrying or sauntering by, her attention was arrested by a man who was coming towards her, but on-the opposite side of the road.. A strange sensation came over her, and she raised her hand, and pass ed it quickly over her eyes as though to make sure that they were not playing ber false. But no: the man was quite close to her now, and there was no room for dtubt: he waa the man aha had seen at Pforzheim, the man who had jostled her on the night of the murder, the man, in search of whom Inspector Willow had gone miles and miles away. Muriel's first impulse was to accost him; to denounce him there and then; to call on the bystanders to aid in bringing to justice) her second, as she remembered that she had no proof of his guilt, was to follow him, and see where he went to. She waited till he had gone by, and then turned, and as 'she turned, he crossed the road, and a minute aftewards had entered the public-house. What should she do P He wonld be sure to come out before long, she thought, and she paced up and down the street, never daring to go far away, and with constant glances towards the public-house, for fear that in an unguarded moment he shonld escape her. Backwards and forwards, up and down, and still no sign of the man she awaited. Once she thought Bhe saw him, as a tall figure of the build she watched for appeared through the swing door; but another glance meant disappointment; the .man who had just come out had grey hair and a grey beard, and his face wsb lined and old.

As the time went on people began to Eotica her, and Muriel shrank under curious and sometimes impertinent glances. What had happened P Could the man be living in'this house P Perhaps it might be so; it was the cortcf place she thought, that a murderer might choose to hide in. And, if eoP Well, then, were not her search and her suffering, Philip's suffering, nearly at an end P For if Bhe only knew where the man was to be found, the inspector would do the rest. But she wanted to be sure- quite sure—and as she stood still in the street and thought, her heart began to baat more quickly as she took what was to her a desperate resolve. She had never been in a public-house in her life,- the idea of entering one terrified her, for her imagination picture! it as the scene of perpetual drunken brawls and all kinds of appalling wickedness. But Philip it was for Philip's sake; and with a lightening of the hps and a rush of colour tw her pale cheeks the girl moved forward, pushed open the swing door, and went in. For a moment or two she eaw nothing; there was a cloud before her eyes; and she stood in a dazed state, half expecting to be seized and knocked down bv the drunken crowd she had thought to fiad fighting and swearing within. Bat it seemed quiet, and nobody touched her, ?w«ii m°* M wf waited ' a Toice e "a. • Well, Miss, whafß for you ?' Then her eight cleared, and surprise """gW witn relief as Bhe looked about her. There were only one or two people m the place; a respectably dresßed woman who was sippißg something hot out of a tumbler, two men in working clothes, talking quietly .over their pewter mugs of beer, and an older man, shaky and bleareyed, who was drinking neat whisky in gulps. * There was no sign of the man she was in search of. 'Then he must live here/ she thought. Th 9 potman was looking at her. 'Well M'ss/ he said again, ard Muriel, taking her courage in both hands, stepped up to the counter. ** * JI *??'* Wmt T "tfthing d.iak,' ehe sari. «Icame-Iwanted~l'm looking for J?Tl?r a gentleman—and I thought—at least I m sure I saw him come ia here about—oh nearly an hour ago, and-and do jou know where he is P' ' Qo ™ fit again, I suppose, if he ain't here still,' said the potman rudely • N( L he J? n ' fc h6re «' Mariel "id, her voice trembling,' and he's never come out; I've watched all the time. I thought perhaps he—he might live here.* 'No, we don't take no lodgers ia this ere business,' answered the potman, ■ and if yer mash ain't 'ere, why Vs give ver the bloomin* slip, thafß all.' g J •But do you know the one I mean?' Muriel went on, persistent in spite of her timidity and the sense of outrage with winch the coarse rudeness of the man inspired her. «A tall mas, with brown hair and a moustache aßd beard.' 'Not I. Dyer think IV e notbin' to do but ta*e notice of all the blokes wot comes 'ere for a drink ?' *u ßui J{ 7o ? did? ' Muriel Persisted. She put her hand in her pocket and drew out her purse, remembering that she had heard it said that money would sometimes prevail where nothing else would. 'lf you did and would tell me what yon know Jnd^iEi 1 "" 1 ""',- purse and looked sppealisgl, in the potman's ™w B et , T il ? n g wi thyer,'he said, very roughly. 'lam'ta bloomin'spy, adit am t none of my busiHcea to take notice of who comes and goes 'ere. If , er don't want a drink ycr-d better get out of this. 1 ve had enough 0 f crosE-sxamination.' ™r ,? ed * wa * oishtartened and mortified. It was all no good then, her attempt to trace this many he had escaped her again, slipped paat her in some mar-

vellous way to be swallowed up in the great sea of London life, whose waters were two vast and rough.for her fe«ble strength to explore, .>■ •' , As she oame ont into the street again, she. felt a touch on her shoulder, and turning quickly saw that the woman who had been .drinking the hot mixture was close behind her. ' J heard all you was saying,' she said, 'and I know the man you're after. Jenkins his name is, aud he's axeal nob, I can tell you all about him.' 4 . ; .-

'Oh, if you could 1' Muriel'exclaimed, and again her hand went to her pocket.' ' No, no, my dear,' said the .woman, 'l'm not that sort. * I wouldn't take money. You walk alongside of me, and I'll tell you about him as we go along.' ' Oh, thank you!' Muriel's heart warmed with gratitude at the unexpected help and .kindness, and she stepped., forward with renewed hope by the woman's side. •Just wait a minute,' said the latter, suddenly. * I see a pal of mine oxer there, and I must have a word with her before I goon.' She was across the street in an instant, and Muriel watched her as she threaded -her way through the stream of people on the pavement. Presently she lost sight of her, and as she stood awaiting her return, she thought with triumph that her efforts were going to be rewarded after all. How tho inspector would praise her 1 and how Philip—What a long time the woman was 1 ' I'd better give her some money aHthe same,' Muriel thought, 'just to make sure.' She put her hand once more into her pocket, and as she did so she started, and a cold feeling ran all over her: her purse was gone. She understood it all now; the woman had followed her and spoken to her only to rob her. She turned sick with disappointment. Just when her hopes had begun to rise, jußt when she had been thinking that the world she had often heard spoken of as cruel and false, held much kindness after all. But there was nothing to be done, nothing except to find her way home again. She did so, weary and despondent, and as soon as she reached her aunt's house, provided herself with some more money, and going forth once again sent away the telegram which Inspector Willow received soon after his vißit to Mr. Beichenbacb.

CHAPTEB XtV.—THE ELDEBLY GENTLEMAN.

Mr Binnie sat in his private room in B jßi Street. He was in a cheerful mood: things were going well with him. One after another the financial cards he had played had turned up trumps, and if the luck continued with him, he would soon be able to realise his ambition. For this austere, simply living man cherished a curious dream which he had set himself through many laborious years to turn into reality: no high ideal or lofty ambition, merely the desire to be a money kin?. Years ago. in his youth, he had read Dumas'' Monte Christo/ and the story of the hero's wealth and princely way of living had touched his imagination in a way that nothing else had ever done, and kindled in him the only sense of romance, of which, perhaps, he was capable. To be rich, not moderately rich, as many men were, but with the superlative wealth of the very few, and then to startle the world with the wonderful ways in which he would spend his riches, this was his ambition; and to realise it he had sacrificed love, comfort, leisure, and God and his own conscience alone knew what besides. An anomaly superficially speaking, he was perhaps more consistently human by reason of this rery inconsistency than if no incongruity had lurked behind his common-place demeanour; and the baldness of his financial enterprises was a feature in his character which nobody who knew him only by his daily life would have Buspected. Everything had gone well with him lately, except that one disaster of the robbery, and that had been of a magnitude known only to himself and the thief. And if the thief were Philip P And if Philip should confess P Mr Binnie moved un easily in his chair. He did not want Philip to confess. Philip had been dear to him once, dearer perhap3 than anybody else had ever been, but the sffaction had been not so much a personal affection as one of ambition and circumstance. He had looked on Philip as his heir, as the one who would continue to dazzle this world with his uncle's wealth when his uncle had gone to another; and when Philip had refused to fall in with his wishes and gone his own way, Mr Binnie had withdrawn his affection almost ae easily as he withdrew his favour. Bu yet he would rather that the thief bad been anyone than Philip; for Philip—he knew him of old might repent—and repentance At this p;int in his reflections Symes entered the room after a prefatory knock, and announced that a customer who seemed rather- hard to please desired to see Mr Binuie himself. Mr Binnie threw away his cigar—cigars were the one expensive luxury he allowed himself—and went into the Bhop. An elderly gentleman, tall, and with a grey beard and moustache, was standing by the counter engaged in inspecting the the jewels which lay spread out before him.

' Ah, Mr Binnie ?' he 6aid, looking up, as the j aweller approachei him. Mr Binnie bowed. « What can Ido for you?' • I am on the look-out for an opal necklace,' answered the customer. He put his hand into bia pocket. ' Ab, did I drop my handkerchief P' he exclaimed; then turning to Symes, who stood bj his employer's side: * Would you mind looking over by the door ?» ha said. ' I almost think I felt something drop as I ca re in.' As the man turned away, the stranger bent over the counter and said in a low voice one word, a strange one: 'Pialaya'; and then, picking up a pendant and examining it: 'Yes, about the size of this,' he went on. *An opal necklace, each stone about the size of this centre one.' At this moment S/mes returned. .' I can see noeignof the handkeic'aief, sir,' he said. •No matter,' returned the old gentleman, affably. 'Why, bless my soul, 1 declare here it is, is my pocket after all.' * If you wouldn't mind stepping into my private room,' said Mr Binnie, ' I have some stones there I should like you to see, and I can &how them to greater advantage there than by ha7iag them brought in here.' (To be continued.'