NOVEL

Alexandra Herald and Central Otago Gazette, Issue 410, 17 March 1904, Page 6

NOVEL

CHAPTER XVII—I MEETING. The train reached Puis, and in th e early awrning light the passengers, travel-stained and dishevelled, stood wsaWniiniha'don ane'for the examinaM of their 1-o.ggaga. Muriel, with nothing but her little handbag, which had been marked with the white mark of safety at Calaia, was free to leave the station at once; bnt she lingered amongst tha crowd, her eyea intent npon the tell figure whose aoremente ahe had watched all the journey through, and who, she was afraid, might eseape at the last. At flnr, alighting from the train, she had found it difflcnlt to identify him; the strape of bis cap were tied down over his earn, and a huge comforter was wound about his throat and the lower part of bis fate. But his figure was familiar to her now, and a glimpse of his face showed her the eyes she knew. She wafted in a corner till his portmenteau had passed through the hands of the cnatom-honse officers, and then, timid bnt determined, fearful alike of bong seen and of miming him, passed quickly out to the rows of cabs and oranibuaea. She beckoned to a coachman. •Wait!' she said, and stood by the door of the carriage watching. Presently the figure she awaited appeared, got into a cab, and drove away. As sotn as she saw him, Muriel touched her coachman on the arm. 'Look,* the said. 'That gentleman. We must follow him.' Tfce coafibwian eyed her curiously, and her colour rose under his glances but she thought, 'for Phillip's sake/ which had sparred her on hitherto, conquered her confusion and quickened her power of resource. 'Ten francs,' she said, 'if you do all that I direct.' In a minu'e more she was in the cab, tha coachman had mounted his seat, and Muriel had entered on afresh atage of her pursuit .Whither would it lead her? She drove at first through the jolting, roughly-paved streets which lie about the Gare du Nord, then over smooth asphalte to cjnieter ways, where the shops ceased ana there were only dwelling-houses. She was in the neighbourhood of the Champa Elysees, she judged, and she looked anxiously at all the corners of the streets, reading the names as she passed. All at ones the carriage stopped, and Muriel, thrusting; her head out of the window, saw a cab draw up about fifty yards bsfore her, aid the man she followed, with the bundle in his hand, get out and enter a house. 'Monsieur has alighted down there,' said the coachman. * Shall Igo nearer f 'Ho, no. Wait till the cab has gone.' Bnt the minutes passed and etfll the cab waited, and still tfce portmanteau remained on its roof. 'Drive slowly past," said Muriel,'and back again.* The coachman obeyed her, and just as the two carriages were abreast, the man came cat into the street again, spoke to bis coachman, entered the cab and drove away. As he reappeared, Muriel, whose head waa half out of the window, shrank back into the shelter of the cab, but it seemed to her that by one second she was too late, that the man on the pavement had seen her, had recognized her, and that the flash of recognition in his eyes was a danger signal, warning her to desist from her enterprise. For a moment Bhe felt inclined to take the warning, but when the coachman asked if he should still follow, she answered, ' Yea.' The hoiß3 was turned, and went at a sharp trot back down the street; the other cab had already reached the corner. As it turned, its occupant put his head out of the window and looked back, and Muriel saw that he spoke to the driver. Did he know that hs was followed P Hid his glimpse of her face awakened Ma suspicions and brought hia ingenuity into play P Assuredly it seemed so, for by the time she had reached tha corner of the next atreet, the first c b had disappeared, and her coachman, after some futile efforts at guessing the way it had taken, announced that he could not hope to fiad it again. Muriel got out of the carriage, paid the man his ten francs, watched him drive away, and then, when he was out of eight, slowly retraced the way she had just come. She kxew the name of the street \ and the number of the house in it which "" her tnuny had visited, and-in which he bad left the bundle, for—she had not noticed it at the time, but she remembered now—when he re-appeared, hia hands had bean empty. She had not lost all tracs of him, then; something she knew and could tell the inapecter as a starting-point, and she might fiad out still more by going back to the house he had entered. Ja a dingy little cafe she breakfasted on a cup of coffee and a roll, and by the a r d of the contests of her handbag, did »«sy with the traces of the night's journey. She sent a telegram to Mrs JUliaon, giving the note! of the Gare du Nord aa fcer address, and then Bhe went back to the atreet near the Arc de Trimiphe, where the man had left his bundle. She entered the house with quickly beating heart The concierge waa in her little rocm by the entrance. *I want to sse Mr——, lam not sure

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ot tne name,' Muriel said, 'the tall gentleman who comes here somelimeß. Is he here now V 'No, he is not here.' The woman eyed her .suspiciously. Munel made a last effort. 'Madame—the lady, perhap3f* B he hazarded. Her boldness served her. 'Madame is there,' the concierge answered. «If she receives—l know not' *I will see/ said Muriel. • Upstairs, I suppose f 'Tne second,* was the answer, and Muriel went on her way. On the second floor she stopped, hesitated a moment, then rang the bell. The door was presently opened by a ■ bonne' with demure and stolid face bordered by a white cap. *la Madame at horaeP' Muriel asked, her voice trembling a little, in spite of all her efforts. ' Madame is not yet up. Madame does not receive at this hour.' •Tell her that I come, have come all the way from England. 1 have something very particular to say to her.' ' Will Mademoiselle have the goodness to tell me her name ?' ' She does not know it. Say only a lady from England,' answered Muriel, and to herself she added: ' She will wonder, Bhe will fear, perhaps, and the two together will make her see me.* She waa right. In a little while the servant returned. 'lf Mademoiselle will follow me, Madame will be there directly.' Muriel, left alone in the salon, stood looking about her. 'What a pretty room,' she thought, 'and how peaceful and dainty. Was this the murderer's home ?' for to her the man she sought to trace was murderer, robber, traitor, and coward, all in one. * And this Madam, this woman——' The door opened, and a uoman, young and beautiful, not very many years older than herself, but with the indefinable touch which divides the woman from the girl, entered the room. She wore a loose gown of soft white floating Bilk, and her abundant hair half fell from the careless knot into which haste had twisted it. She bowed, and Muriel returned the bow, and then the two stood for a few instants and looked into each other's faces. The woman epofce first. ' Mademoiselle comes ?' Bhe said interrogatively. •I come,' Muriel faltered, 'to auk, to beg * The woman interrupted her uncertain speech. 'I understood,' she said, 'that Mademoiselle had news of importance* that it was to tell, not to ask ' In her turn she was interrupted. There was a sound outside, a footstep in the hall; the door opened, and a man entered and closed it behind him. Muriel's heart stood still as she looked at him: he was no longer her companion cf the night before, no longer the traveller who had alighted with mufti id, half, hidden face from the train at Paris, but the man with the recklem air* and the cynical smile whom she had sees in the Ratekeller at Pforzheim. CHAPTER X7HI.—AT CLOSE QUABTEBS. The man bowed. 'Ehbien!' he said; then turning hia eyes from Muriel to the woman: ' Mon amie,* he said, • leave ua for a few' minutes. The business of this youne lady is, I think, with me.' It was the voice which Muriel knew,' full and penetrating, but with a softer tone in it than Bhe had thought it possessed. «Whatiß itP' asked the woman. Ts there—* 'lt is nothing—nothing that need trouble you, Do not be afraid.' The woman crossed the room, but before leaving it, turned and looked back, her eyes travelling past Muriel to the man a pace or two beyond her. Muriel caught the look, and a great wave of sympathy and pity welled up in her heait. ' For ehe lovea him,' she said to herself, ' and as much aa I love Philip.' The door closed, and Muriel and the men were left alone. He came a step nearer to her. ' So you followed me P* he said. «Why P' The girl did not answer: fear and confusion made her dumb: she sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. The mau waited a minute, then spoke again. ' You must answer. You have foil iwed mo, spied upon my movements, f jrced your way into a house in which you have no business. You must give some account of yourself.' Then Muriel let her hands drop and looked up. 'I cannot answer you I can give no account of myself. You must do with me as you will.' ' You mean that ?' «Yeß.' Toeir eyes met: there was menace in the man's, and iu the girl's a miztura of supplication and defiance. 'Very well,'said the man, and turning from her left the room. She heard the key turn in the lock, and then his voice calling ' Claire 1' She heard the sound of an opening door, an

indistinct murmur of voices, and then ia a few minutes the click of the look again, and the man re-entered the room. 'Come!' was all he said, and Muriel, powerless to disobey, could only do his bidding. In the afreet he called a cab, and almost before she knew what had happened, Muriel was in it and driving rapidly through the now busy streets. ' Again we travel together/ the man said. Muriel made no answer. She was intent on considering bow it would be possible to escape, and looking steadily ont of the window, trying to gain some idea of the way she was going. Her oompanion seemed to read her thoughts. * Yon cannot get away,' he said,' and it is waste of trouble to -try and find ont where we are going. .But in any case I [will sare you the trouble of watching. I Turn round 1' I She die* not move, and he repeated his words, and this time she turned, for his tone was a threat. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and bound it across her eyes. •If you ever come back, you must find the way by another meaßs than Bight,' he said.

A chilled feeling crept over the girl, and she spoke for the first time since thej had left the house. ' Are you going to kill meP' she Baid, in a low voice. 'lt depends. If you were a man I should not hesitate; as it is—l shall see.' A curious little laugh came from the girl's lips; she wondeied as she heard it, if it wore from herself, that the sound came. 'And yet yon said,' and the laugh became more like a sob,' that yon could not bear to see a woman in distress,' 'lf * true; but when a woman gets in my w t v e'a no loßger a woman, but an obstacle, an must be removed.' Muriel began to tremble. ' And Philip will never know,' she thought, 'thatl tiied so hard to save him.' ' If you hadn't been a woman/ the man went on, ' I should not have helped you into the train. But if yon hadn't been a woman yon wouldn't have been such a fool. I don't know,' though,' he added reflectively. ' Most people are fools.' He did not speak again, and they drove on in silence; on and on for hours it seemed to the frightened girl, whose blinded sight added to her terror and suspicion; in reality the drive lasted only half-an'hour/ At last it was over; the carriage stopped, and her companion, having removed the bandage from Muriel's eyes, haßded her cut int) the street. It was a street she had never been in before; bo much one hurried glance enabled her to know; and then she was led out of the light into a small dark shop, two steps lower than the pavement. A locksmith's it appeared to be, but, dazed and trembling, she could take lit tie note of her surroundings. A man appeared from the back of the shop as they entered, and ber captor/, holding Muriel by the hand, said somje words to him in a sort of dialect she could not understand, The locksmith—if locksmith he were—appeared to demur, but , after short colloquy, ended the convert aticn by a nod of his head, and led the way through a door at the back of the shop, and up a narrow staircase which lay beyond. Mnriel was directed to follow him, and the man whom she was powerless' to disobey brought up the rear. The house was a high one, and they went, as it seemed, up to the very ton, and entered at last a small bare room with a sloping roof and a window which looked upon nothing but the tops cf other houses. ' Wi 11 this do ?' asked the locksmith. The other man nodded. 'Yes.' He turned to Muriel. ' For the present we will wait; you here, I—where it suits me best. But remember, if you soream or mak9 ny noise, you are lost.' He moved away, but when he had reached the door, Muriel called to him. \ ' Wait!» He turned. 'At your service.' The fear and horror, the almost despair in her heart, had been struggling- long for relief; avd they found vent now in a somewhat hysterical outburst. 1 ' You are a coward,' Bhe cried, ' and a thief and a murderer. I know you for what you are, and in the end you shall not escape. The death you give to others shall find you out and claim you at the last.' A curious pallor came over the man's face: there was a confidence of denunciation in the girl's strained, ezsited voice' that sounded like a note of prophecy. 1 No,' he answered, and he seemed to give the answer more to himself than to her, ' not if I play bold enough.' Suddenly his manner changed and he made a step forward. 'Beware,' he said, 'of urgieg me to boldness!' In another minute he was gone, and Muriel, locked into the miserable room, was left to wonder what would happen to her next.

CHAPTER XIX —THE ONLY WAT. The loom was email and bare, high up in the roof of the tall narrow house, and with no outlet save the window and the door. The dcor was locked and was firm and strong; no use for Muriel to pit her feeble Btrength against it. The windcw looked ont on to a forest of roofs, pointed, tiled, and seemingly unbroken by intervening spscas, except for a square, welllike opening a few yards away from the window at which she stood, and which formed, as she-supposed, the top of a tiny court.

Despair came close to the girl as she realised her position, wound its gaunt arms about her, and held her in its grip. That this should be the end of all her striving and her hopes; this miserable failure I this worse than failure, for had she only remained in London till the Inspector's return, she would at least have been of use in identifying the enemy, against whom she had fought with each futile effort; and now there was nobody who could point him out, for nobody knew him except herself. And tben the thought of wh-t might lie before her, of what means the man whose path she had croßsed might take to rid himself of the possibility of any harm she might do him, roae up in her mind, and made her girlish blood run cold. She was young, and death was abhorrent to the fall life that beat in her veins : she shrank from the shadow of it; and then the shrinking passed, first into an eager longing, and tben into a pißsionate determination to make her escape. (To be continued )