The Merafield Mystery

Evening Star, Issue 19788, 11 February 1928, Page 13

The Merafield Mystery

By R. A. J. Walling

(Author of 'The Third Degree;’ ‘Fatal Glove,’ etc.)*

Special Note.—All the names, characters, and incidents in this story are entirely fictitious.

Cl I AFTER XIII. Jo me, of course, the Mem field mys(ci'y had lor a long time been very little mysterious. There were points m it which 1 could not quite pick up, but the main outlines of the truth were clca r. Meralield had been killed, not by Overbury, but by somebody else who bad made three attempts upon him and •siieceeded at the third. That somebody else, for reasons which I guessed at, was protected by Overbtirv, by Quance, by Professor Newland, and by his daughter. He was the man whose deathly figure I had seen on the deck of the Belle Rose. Moratield’s murderer was now well on his way across Channel towards Prolossor Newland’s refuge on the coast of Brittany. Ilossiter lett me at the gale of Rosehank. 1 slept long. Before I was up in the morning, Mary Newland (I still thought of her as “ Mrs Briscoe”) had left.

other than these general terms, as the account between me and Richard Merafield is settled, and I desire that the memory of certain persons shall not be sullied by the revelation ol these facts 1 make this declaration in order (hat persons wrongly accused of being privy to the death of Richard Merafield may not suffer by my silence.

Given under my hand, in a settled and hopeless expectation of death, this 12th day of September, in the year of our Lord, 1925. Signed in the presence of Ronald Greene, Stanley Ncwland, Arnolplie Peticolas. R. M. Radley Vinson. The stunning effect of this surprise upon the court has already been sufficiently described in the newspapers. Greene added a few words to round off the official story. He said that the question of the motive for the crime might be gone into if the court pleased, but that neither he nor the prosecution thought it necessary unless the court wished. L wondered somewhat at (he attitude of the prosecution, for they might have gono on with the case for complicity after the event. But the reason subsequently appeared to be that if the full facts were made known no jury would convict, in spite of the undoubted evidence of complicity which existed. Greene went into the box and swore to the circumstances of the deposition. Counsel for the prosecution announced the withdrawal of the charge, and Lady Merafield and Quance were set at liberty.

'flic first consequence of the “ plant” was that Rossitor discovered the Belle Rose, as I meant him to do. In searching the estuary for Overbury’s body, he was hound to come across it, and lie did. 1 calculated that the finding nt the Belle Rose would have two results.

-. 0 V/lUUIUJ O ; he was hound to come across it, anti lie did. 1 calculated that the finding nt the Belle Rose would have two results. First, it would lend conviction to the theory that Ovcrbnry had been drowned. A cap found on the waterside was not much in itself. But add to it a motor boat waiting for the owner of the cap, who never turned up, and yon had an absolute presumption of fatal mishap. Next,_ it would start a now hare for the police, ft would not he long before the identity of the Belle Rose was disclosed; Lillicrap would tell his story, and a personage would be brought into the inquiry who could certainly not he Overbnry. It happened precisely ! ‘so. In two days the Merafield mystery was again the staple sensation of the newspapers. They learned that the murderer had been in hiding in the very house where he committed his crime. With the help of an accomplice (who could not he Qnancc, because Quance was in gaol) lie line! attempted to get away in a disguised motor boat, hut had fallen into the water and hem drowned. There wore lots of missing links in this story, but it was good enough, ft switched off the police to search for the missing accomplice, and it turned public sentiment in favor of Lady Mcraf.eld and Qnancc. Where there was so much cloud in the solution, the dogmatic certainty of the police about their original theory seemed stupid. I think it highly probable that, without the revelation of Overhnry’s innocence which came, Lady Mcraficld and Qnancc would soon have been set at liberty. But, as everybody knows, the revelation came in less than a week from the raid on Meralield Tower. When the case was called on Hie next remand date, there was something in the nir that promised unusual events. Grainger was full of an “ 1-told-yon-so ” sort of importance, Rossiler was glum and subdued. Beside Ronald Greene appeared a learned counsel who had been sent down from London by the Public Prosecutor, and there was much whispered consultation before Lady Mcraficld and Quance were ushered in. Lady Mcraficld had n higher color, and her eyes were brighter. There was a glint of amusement in the look of the imperturbable Quance. •The learned counsel for the Crown, as soon as I had read the charge, rose to say that he hoped the proceedings might ho much .shortened, and witii (hat purpose in view lie would ask the bench to allow his learned friend, Mr Greene, to make a statement at once. Then Greene produced his trump card, with the preliminary remark that he was going to ask the magistrates, with the assent of the prosecution, to discharge the prisoners that morning. Since the last hearing, he wont on, the real facts of this crime had_ come to light, and there was now evidence to show that both the prisoners were perfectly innocent victims of circumstances, and should not bo longer subjected to confinement or suspicion. The prosecution agreed that this was a correct view of the matter. The essential evidence was contained in the sworn depositions which lie handed in, and of which lie would read a copy. “They were,” said Greene, “taken under circumstances with which I need not worry the court, in my presence, before a judge d’instrnction of the District Court of Cro/.on, Brittany, and for legal purposes are in proper form. The reason why they were taken in that place and in that way is that the deponent lay at the point of death, and lias, in fact, since died. He was being cared for in that place by a friend of my own, and the deponent himself was well known to me. My Iriend. realising that the dying man wished to make this deposition, begged me to bo present in order that the matter might be made quite clear to this court and placed beyond the shadow of all doubt. I left London throe days ago for Brittany, and returned during last night. The deposition was taken yesterday morning, and 1 have learnt by telegraph that the deponent died at 4 o’clock yesterday afternoon, after I had left. I have satisfied the police, and the necessary documents will be forwarded in due course.” Everybody in the room followed Greene’s dry and formal words in dead silence and strained attention. “Tiie court knows, or the learned clerk will advise the court, that a dying declaration taken under even less formal circumstances than these may he admitted as evidence so long as the declarer undoubtedly entertained a settled and hopeless expectation ol death.” I nodded assent to this.

First, it would lend conviction to the theory that Ovcrbnry had been drowned. A cap found on the waterside was not much in itself. But add to it a motor boat waiting for the owner of the cap, who never turned up, and yon bad an absolute presumption of fatal mishap. Next,_ it would start a now hare for Hie police, ft would not be long before the identity of the Belle Rose was disclosed; Lillicrap would tell his story, and a personage would be brought into the inquiry who could certainly not he Overbnrv.

So far as public developments were concerned, that was the end of the Meralield case. 01' course, the public were not satisliod with the meagre revelations made in the court room, and the journalists gob to work and soon ferreted out a good many more or less reliable details of the story, including a version of the vendetta of Hadley Vinson against Sir Charles Meralield. Happily, however, for the peace of mind of Lady Meralield, and particularly of Newland and his daughter, they had to bo safislied with much less than a full account.

The explanation of such of tho facts as i had not been able to deduce from the events of the previous lew weeks was given to me by Monald Greene, who did mo the honor of lunching at Koscbank before bo returned to London. Ho asked me bow I got started on a career that might have led to my undoing—“ terrible fall of a respected family solicitor, horrible story of a magistrate’s dork,” and all that sort of thing. "Lady Meralield,” I said. "I did not think her guilty. Overbury—( did not believe lie was an ass. Qnance — I saw there was mystery behind Qnance. Of course, it was easy to get tho hypothesis of a fourth parly who had nut appeared in sight. In fact, tho hypothesis was necessary. But I could not deduce Vinson. 1 .never heard of him till yon produced his deposition. But I got very near him when I was last at Ghittlehampstcad. However, you’re going to tell mo all about it, Greene. Why is : t that half a dozen people, excellent citizens, and some of them eminent” (hero I. bowed to him) 11 lune been conspiring to secure the safety of a man whom they all knew to have committed a murder?” " You’re a dry-as-dust old lawyer, after all, Franks,” he replied. " Isn’t there any condition you can imagine which, in your opinion, would justify homicide?”

“I'm not arguing,” said J. "I want to know. Of course, there is justifiable homicide known to law, hut I. don’t think this comes under the legal heading.” “As a- lawyer,” said Greene, “I. agree with von. As a man, 1 tell yon 1 never knew of a homicide with clearer justification than this. Let me tell von the storv.”

“I can save yon some time,” I said. “ !, have guessed the frightful crime that Meralield committed—-the betrayal ami the desertion of Miss Vinson on the eve of his marriage, with the result of her death and the death of her child at Chittlchumpstead, and the subsequent serious illness of Miss Newland. I pierced through all r.his except the names ol the parlies some time ago.” “Then yon have practically the whole story,” said Greene. “ Blit yon can hardly know how it adectcd a little group of friends—-Newland, myself, Quance, and Vinson. Radley Vinson was a man in a hundred thousand, my very deal - iriend, almost a brother. His lovely girl was his only child. He was an artist ot genius and a scholar and a great gentleman. Ann Vinson went to school with Alary Newland and my daughter. Qnancc was in love with Alary Newland. When this reptile Merafield squeezed his way into the girl's acquaintance ho became tiic serpent in a paradise. Fortunately for her, my gin saw through him. Mary Newland had a narrow escape. Ann Vinson became his victim. “Then Vinson went beserker. He did not know the man who was responsible. The girl disappeared. Vinson’s whole life was darkened. Those ol ns who did know what had happened—we knew it through .Mary Newland—were afraid to toll him, especially when Merafield had married Mary Sheen. Mary Newland went to the distant nursing home to look alter her Iriend. We hoped we might save Vinson’s mind il his daughter eon Id be restored to him when it was all over; but she died, and lie had to he told of her death. Ho vowed his life to the discovery ol tiio man who had mined it.

“ Here,” Greene proceeded, “exists no doubt at all. Tlic deponent had been told by the doctors who attended him that he had not long to live, and ho actually died within a lew hours. The statements he made were therefore uttered under conditions of solemnity, which guarantee, if anything in this world can guarantee, the truth.”’ Then Greene read to his breathless audience the following deposition : I, Richard Manley Radley Vinson, of Id George street, in the parish of St. Charles, in the. district of P.addington, London, being in full possession of my mental faculties, butlying in settled and hopeless expectation of death, do make oath and say as follows: On the 20th of August, 1925, at or about 2.30 of the clock in the morning, at Merafield Tower, .in the , county of Devon. I shot and killed Richard Merafield of that place. 1 declare that no person had immediate cognisance of my intention to kill the said Richard Merafield, but I declare that I believe my intention was suspected by Bertram Quauce, and that the said Bertram Quanco endeavored by all the means in his power , to prevent me from killing Richard Merafield. I further declare that i had no accomplice and no agent or assistant, and that the act of killing Richard Merafield was my own unaided and deliberate act. I do not repent or regret my act. I believe it to have been a just punishment of the said Richard Merafield for a crime which the law could not punish. L declare that 1 deliberately refuse to state the motive o{ ms act in any

“ Newland, Quance, and i, could see awful tragedy staring ns in (lie face. Wi sent Quance to Meralield to tell him of the danger, and the scoundrel ■ frightened to death. Any one of us would have willingly killed him, but we did not want to see the horror of a trial of Radley Vinson for murder, and we were certain that as soon as he traced down Merafild ho would murder him. Then we heard that \Tnson was in Devonshire, and we thought it was quite time for somebody to be on tho ‘ qui vive ’ to prevent a tragedy. So the arrangement was made for Quance to go to Merafield Tower.” “It’s all quite clear, Greene,” said I. “except about Overbury.” “ Ovcrbnry had no business in it at a; 1 .. He was a complication. But the fact that he was in it shows the foul mind of Merafield. Yon can hardly believe, can yon, that at the very time when lie was warned of the danger he ran through his own beastliness he should be plotting to trap his own wife with Overbury? But he did; and he got down that Ponsonby-Fernside tiling—an old mistress of his own—to heln him in the plot. That man was the cause of four deaths, and the least of them was his own. Now, Franks, dose-tiled, what do you think? Was it an execution?”

"L think,” said 1 .‘‘it was an execution ; and I should like to know exactly how it was carried out.” “ Ah! there I’m afraid I can’t satisfy you. I have not heard the details. Poor Vinson was in extremis when I saw him. and it would have been cruelly to try to get anything out of him. But you’ll be seeing Quance or Overbury. You can get it all from them.”

-Haven't we had enough tragedy?” my wife asked. “ I was glad to help to get the.,popr executioner away. I am very sorry he has died. Rut now • . won’t that nice chauffeur and Miss Newland make a match of it?” I smiled, thinking of the little scene at Highcliff Farm between “Mrs Briscoe ” and her “ Boyo.” “And won’t Lady Merafield and Major Overbury be able to forget the past, and pick up their story where they left it in France?” she went on. 1 smiled again. “You’re an incurJ sentimentalist,” I told her. “ Yes.” said Groeiie. “ ladies do like everything rounded off. But I. think you know the answer to botli your questions, Mrs Franks.”

The rounding olf came a few weeks U er ; .Lady Merafield had left the district for a time. Miss Newland 1 gone across to join her father in Brittany. Quance had put off the character of chauffeur and returned to Gower street and' his algebra and his stinks.” ; ben I received a letter from Overhury, asking if I could spare a week to join a parly in Brittany, and bring back Mrs Franks with me, as Mary Newland won’t hoar of the reunion without Mrs Franks.” It appeared that Professor Newland had been rather badly off color since the trying experience of the trip across the Channel with the dying Vinson and the horror of his dtath. He was now recovered, but before ho left for home he wanted to have all the people auth him who had taken any part at all in the affair. “ Also,” wrote Overbury, “ [ think there’s going to be some, sort of celebration of the engagement of Quance and Mary Newland, and that’s why the girt wants Mis Flanks so specially.” So, during a long and golden day in October, f and my wife travelled from Cherbourg by a slow and jerky train through Sonnandy and Brittany to the terminus at Brest, and then took a ferry boat amiss the wonderful harbor, and an omnibus at Le Fret, anil late at night reached ifit curious little town of Crozon. Overbury mot us in the cobbled •uua ,, e by the church, and took ns on in * car towards the sea Ho had j:>i gMii.cd my hand and ‘aid, “Good ni■) Papa Franks'” Unit was all In a short drive we dm ended to the seashore and so along a sandy road ti where a big hold faced the Atlantic on the edge of the fishing village of Morgat. The season was over, and the vast place was almost empty but for Newland’s party. Nobody bad waited up lor us. “ Bed’s the order to-night,” said Overbury. “We thought you would ho exhausted with your journey.”

_ Both of us were grateful for the consideration. My wife told me the next morning that she had slept well. I could not rid my slumber of dreams. 1 was in the house whole the tragic Vinson bad died No doubt in the little harbor below lay the vessel in widely lie bad made that last voyage of which I bad seen the start We all met at breakfast—Lady Meralield, Miss Newland (making much of my wife), Quancc, Greene, Overhnry, and onr host, the Professor. As always mi an occasion of ceremony, it was a long time before ws got at the topic of the day. There was a certain strain. I came down last. Ovcrbury introduced mo to Newland, who shook bands and said, "Ah, well! all the law-break-ers are hero at last.” Newland was not a bit like my conception of a professor. He looked more like a well-preserved prize lighter, refined my ten years’ asceticism.

Dodging flic subject in all onr thoughts, be and Overbury got to discussing the ethics of chemical war. Newland was interesting because of the inennsistenev of Ids 'dews and bis proceedings. He detested the very notion of making war in the laboratory. “Dirty sconndrelisni.” be called it, “ inhuman brutality. . . the ruin of civilisation. The morals of the tiger and the methods of the civetcat . . f saw my wie nodding her approval. "But science.” said Newland, " must discover all. invent all. If men use inventions and discoveries lor the misery and damnation of the race—well, my dear Overhnry, that’s their fnnera I. ” It was not till wo had gathered with pipes and cigarettes in the glazed balconv in front ot the lintel that tho Mora field affair was mentioned. I saw a large motor boat lying at moorings under the hill beyond the village of Morgat. I pointed her out to Overhnry, with a i|iieslion in my eyes. “Yes.” said lie, "that’s Terpsichore. We had a good passage—twelve hours. Only a little late for lunch. Newland is a demon at motor boats.” “Ah, Mr Franks.” said Newland, “ I’ve beard from Alary of your exploits that night. Yon deserve to bo in the dock with the rest of ns, only more so. Still, many thanks. Ve would not save poor Y mson, but we nil did our host.” I deprecated anv allusion |o my pail in the affair, l' said that the best tiling I could do was to bury Franks the blundering amateur detective, and revive Franks the efficient official. But before I did so. there, were one or two things I should like to know from Qnance and Overhnry. "Fire awiy, then,” said Newland. “Am I riglit in supposing that when Ovorburv and Meralield wont ojoihnard from the lugger, they jumped to escape a shot from the Belle Bose? " Vos.” said Overhnry. “ It was the first warning we had. No doubt poor Vinson, when be saw Merafield s red cap go over the side, thought bo bad done the trick.'’ . ‘When Quancc met yon in (lie morning on yonr _ arirval, yon "oie surprised to see him. and lie bad to explain wbv lie was there. that put von up to (he danger?” “ Yes but up to then nobody had known ’that Vinson bad identified Merafield as the man be wanted to kill. It was the first intimation, and it was a iolly close call.’ “ And then Vinson found out somehow that be bad missed bis cormorant.

“ Cormorant ?” said Ovcrhury, with a puzzled air. 1 had forgotten that nobody knew of my interview with Lillicrap. 1 told that story. “But,” said 1, “f have always been in’ the dark about what scared you and Merafield at the goll links on the Tuesday.” “ Oil,” said Quance, “ that was my stunt. I had been keeping a sharp look out during the day, and in the afternoojj I saw Vinson on Highcliff, going towards Longstone. \ou know, he was dangerous, and I. did not want to cot shot mvsclf, so 1 telephoned to the links, told Merafield to keep under cover till I came with the big car, then he could come home the short way. It was lucky. Vinson missed him altogether. He would have shot him in his tracks. I mot him while I was driving the two-seater back by the main road.” Qnar.co paused. “ Hid yon speak to him?” 1 asked.

“ A curious thing—lie spoke to me. He saw me and recognised me, and yelled out ‘ Hello, Quance.’ 1 stopped, of course. You know, 1 don’t believe he ever realised that 1 was in chauffeur clothes, or thought it strange that I should be there, poor chap. , It was most extraordinary; he seemed otherwise, quite normal and reasonable. Then I thought of something. _ Vinson was very fond of Mary—Miss Newland. I said suddenly; ‘Mary Newland is at Chittlehampstead. sir, and would like to see you very much. Why don’t y on go and look her up while you're in these parts?’ Of course, 1 don’t know, what notion he had at the back of his poor mind, but he seemed to jump at the proposal. I said 1 could drive him there at once if he liked. He said ‘No.’ He was tired, but he would be glad if I would take him back to Westport. He would go and ..a Mary nest dav. So I drove him to the hotel

where he was staying at Westport. The porter said; ‘Missed you last night, sir.’ But even then .I didn’t guess the boat and Highcliff Creek. He had stolen in there at night and hidden her up. I found her afterwards.” “ And did he go to Chittlehampstead on the Wednesday?” “Oh, yes. He hired a car, went out. and stayed all day.” I looked towards Miss Newland, “Yes,” she nodded; “Bertram telephoned to me that he might turn up, and what to do—to try to talk him into reason. We went for a walk in the afternoon, and ho talked about Ann quite rationally. He stayed to dinner, and afterwards I played to him. Ho was very good. I tried to induce him to take a room at the hotel and stay another day, but he could not make up his mind. Towards midnight lio got very excited, and left all cf a hurry. 1 had promised Bertram to send a telephone message if there was anything suspicious about his move-mei-is.” “Overbury and 1 iiad agreed Unit tlr~ would be the best thing to do,” Quance put in. “ W’e could watch all right by day, but after dark was the danger. Merafield had had a shock, and was pretty bad on the Wednesday. Overbury therefore left a note for him. W© went scouting around in the car all day. while he was supposed to be fishing. But the mischief of it'was'that the telephone message came too late.”

“ I tried hard to get through a; soon as lie went,” said Miss Newland; “but there was some obstruction on the line. I think it was a fault between Chittlehampstead and Exeter. Anyhow, it was some time alter two when I got through, and said what 1 had been told to say.” “ It’s a long way from Chittlehampstcad to Merafield,” said I. “How did he do it?” “He must have driven hcll-for-lcallier to Westport. He got there about one o’clock and returned tiic car. Then be must have sweated bis inside out walking out to Merafield Tower. He was in an awful state when we found him. 1 had been uneasy all night, f didn’t undress, thinking there might be a message from Mary. My bedroom overlooked the quadrangle, and I could see the librayr windows. The light was on all night, and I knew Merafield had not gone to bed. Then about half-past two I thought I heaj;d a telephone bell. I stole down to hear what the message was, and was going right into Merafield’s room when 1 heard a little noise in the passage behind the green door.” “ But how did he get into the house?” I asked.

“ Easily enough—through a window in the servants’ block. I found it afterwards. You simply bad to null it open.”

“And then?” “When T beard -the noise I drew back into the alcove under the staircase and waited, ft was a blood-curd-ling wait. AH of a sudden 1 beard three sounds in succession—first, Vinson running from the baize door to the library, and, as I was about to follow him."a door opening in tho gallery, which diverted me for a moment, and then Overbury coming down.” “And you and Overbury spoke—” “ A few words. I just told him that. Vinson had gone into the library. We went forward instantly together. We bad a momentary vision of Vinson pointing at Merafield, who was cowering. half out, of bis chair. Then be beard us, turned, saw ns coming, and immediately shot Merafield dead.” We were all very still as Quancc told this story.

“ 1 think you’d better go on now, Ovcrbury,” said bo. 1 glanced at Overhnry, sitting beside Lady Menufield. who had covered her face with her bands.

“ it’s pretty gruesome,” said be, “ami there isn’t much more to tell. Vinson collapsed like a pricked balloon when be bad fired the shot. He fell to the Hour, and the pistol dropped out of bis hand. I picked it up without any particular notion why. It would have been-much better to have left it there, ns it happened, then Lady Merafield Mould never have taken it from me, and we might have been saved a part of. the scandal. However, Qnancc’s brain must have been working much better. He told me lie knew bow to get Vinson away, and that I was to go back and prevent anybody from coming into the mom for a minute or two. f did, as you know.” I looked to Qnance again. “Old Mason,” be said, “bad taken rather a fancy to me, and bad told me as a great secret about the tower staircase—oven taken mo up there. That ■was the first thing 1 thought of when puzzling what to do with Vinson. I just shouldered Ibo man and went up.” “And what made Ovcrbury conceal himself there ns well?” 1 asked. “It was Lady Merafield’s idea. \Vc were dead sure that the Fernside woman meant mischief. Besides, as Qnance said, Vinson was in a, dreadful state. He would want careful watching, and Quancc couldn’t do i(. If we bad known of the boat then wc might have tried it. Hut we didn’t until Vinson was well enough to tell ns about it. tso we decided to risk taking Mason into our confidence, lie was a great sport. He bamboozled you and the detective from Scotland Yard and everyone else.”

“ You must have hail a Irving two or throe weeks, UvorhurvMini I. “Not so very amusing,” ho replied. “Jt, wasn't so bail while Qua net; was about, hut when I hoy took Quaneo J was in a rotten position, Vinson was up and down every day. Sometimes lie would be almost raving math Once he had a perfectly maniacal desire to sue Mary Newland. That was the very day Qua noc was pinched. Quaneo thought he might risk it in the big car, and we smuggled him out with the help of Mason. - He was quieter alter that. Greene and Ncwlaml bad been fixing up with Qnanee the coup ol the Terpischore. Fortunately all the arrangements had been made before they arrested Qnanee. Hut with him away t don’t know that wc con Id have brought it off without you, Franks.” 1 waved compliments away. “ No, my dear fellow,” Ovorhnry persisted, “ but for you and Mrs Franks it could not, have been done. It was Mrs Franks who made it possible to get Vinson away early by taking him through the wood to her house. Mason told me that she was almost carrying him. And if yon had not worked out the idea of the two butlers I’m certain I could never have got through l!ossitcr’s cordon.”

“ Anyhow,” said Newland, getting up, "whether he likes it or not, Mr Pranks has got to take the honors. And now 1 vote we wash out the past, and go and have a stroll before lunch, when J shall have the pleasure of asking you to drink to the health of Mr and Mrs Quance.” “Oh, clad!” cried his daughter, “you’ve no sense of drama. You’ve given it away in the first act!” “Married?” we all exclaimed. “This morning, while you wore all asleep. Quance said he didn’t want a lot of women fussing around and making him feci an ass. You can persuade them to have another ceremony in England if you dare try. But they’re married safe enough, and this little baggage being off my bands 1 breathe freely for the first time in twenty-one years.” 1 thought my wife kissed the girl in a charmingly motherly way, and I thought Mrs Quance was of the same opinion. Newland took my wife in tow to show her the caverns of Morgnt. 1 walked along the sands with Overbury and Lady Merafield. . “I’m not going to try to thank you, my friend,” Lady Merafield <aid. “I don’t want Lady Merafield to thank me now, but if Mrs Overbury should feel like saying a word of acknowledgment later on. . . .” “i’ll see to that, Franks,” said Ovcrhury, collecting Iwr arm under his. THE END.