THE OSSINGTON MYSTERY.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 8 May 1914, Page 7

THE OSSINGTON MYSTERY.

% Hedley Richards, Author of "The m Millionaire's Last Will," "The Day of Reckoning," etc., etc.

fATJ, RIGHTS RESERVED.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS PARTS. Detective Brown, of Scotland Yard, has been called upon to investigate the murder of Viscount Bewley, only son and heir of the Marquis of Troncastle. it comes out in evidence at the inquest that Blanche La timer, the beautiful niece of Sir Thomas Latimer, a nea . r neighbour of the marguis, had received on the day of the "^ murder an offer of marriage from Lord Bewley, and his cousin, Captain Neville, which she refused. In the course of his investigations the detective learns that an intimacy had existf* between "the murdered man and'^ry Hirst, the daughter of a woodman. Her brother Tom deeply resented this, and has been heard threatening vengeance upon the Viscount. Posing as an artist, the detective visits the cottage of the Hirsts, and discovers from conversation with Mrs. Hirst and the nextdoor neighbour, that Mary Hirst was in the dene on the night of the murder. A revolver is pawned in Troncastle by a man named Ralph ! Jacques, who confesses to the detective that he picked the weapon up at the stile, soon after he had seen Captain Neville, the murdered man's cousin, pass over it. Investigating farther, the detective finds two letters secreted in a tree in the dene, written by Mary Hirst and left there for Lord Bewley, in which the girl threatens vengeance unless his lordship ceases courting the beautiful Miss Latimer. PART 6. CHAPTER VIII. INVESTIGATIONS. One or two things in Mary Hirst's letters puzzled me considerably. What did the hint imply, that by uttering two or three words she could set { herself right with the people who were calling her reputation in question ? If it meant anything it meant that a legal tie existed between her and Lord Bewley. Still, I had to take into account that it might be only an excited, desperate woman's talk. Then came the suggestion that the captain would help her both to avenge his own wrong and hers, and the word "Beware !" plainly indicated he had something-, to revenge. The second letter told even more strongly against the writer. In it she avowed her intention of being, near when he crossed the stepping-stones and saw the branches thickly strewn in his path—a plan evidently adopted when she wished to comm -nicate with him. Now, I knew she had been in the dene about the time his lord- \ ship would pass, and if he had. re- ■ ~ fused to take any notice of her mute appeal, it was very possible in her state of frantic jealousy, t^at she had tak-en the dire revenge threatencd. But was the captain an accomplice ? _ Then a doubt arose of the feasibility of her getting him to help in the revenge was conditional on his lordship not showing signs of returning to his allegiance ; but in an instant it flashed across me that if she could so secure Lord Bewley's attentions, and distract him from Miss Latimer it would serve the captain's purpose as well as her own. In that case, if the two had conspired, it had benn a diabolical scheme of revenge, only to be foregone if the viscount obeyed the girl's signal and went for her letter. I knew they had both been in the dene at the time, and I came to the conclusion that I was on the right track. My next work must be to discover the girl's relationship to the viscount. By the way, I wondered what she meant by the happy days at Newlam. Then again, why did she wish she'd never set foot in York ? I 'remembered her mother had alto her visiting, a n aunt there a little over a year ago. Had some part of the love-making been done there, away from her father's eye ? I must examine all his lordship's papers, I thought. I will call at the Hirsts in the morning, and afterwards visit the Hall. Meanwhile, I took out my BraJshaw and tried to discover where Newlam was. After hunting some time, I found it was ten miles the other side of York. I shall find out JeomeJ;.hmg if I go there, I thought ; bu^loefore going, I will look through the viscount's private papers. It had been an eventful day. I had discovered much, but there was still a deal to do, and wishing to bs fit for my work the next day, I retired early, first locking the pistol and letters safely in my portmanteau. The next morning I left the inn by > ,T nine o'clock, and telling my hostess she must not be surprised if I did not return until late at nig-ht, I wended my way through the dene to the Hirsts' cottage. The front and kitchen doors both stood open, and .-* as I paused before knocking, I heard Sv^v' Mrs. Hirst say, in an angry tone : "I tell you, Mary, I won't have you rushing out at all hours ; you're that restless you can settle to nothing. You'd best forget him that's gone, and try and get a decent lad in your own class." "Oh, don't !" the girl wailed. "My heart's almost broken." "And so it deserves to be, carrying on as you have done. Not that I want to say anything against a dead man ; but, anyway, yoar goings-on •were sure to end in trouble." rrLe£ me be, mother ! I won't be called, nor hear him," she said, almost fiercely..

"Then behave yourself, las 3. Where can you have beeii flying to by eight in tbe morning ?" "I only ran down into the dene," said the girl, sadly. "Into the dene ! You've be^n there too often lately, and I wonder you like to go now." "Let me be," repeated Mary. I had heard enough t« tell me that she had probably been searching the tree for the letters, so I knocked loudly at the door, and Mrs. Hirst came forward. "Good morning," I said, pleasantly. "I just called to see if you will sell me one of those china cups and saucers of yours. I Have been thinking it will go with one my sister has. The fellow to it got broken. I will pay \ou well." "Well, come in and show me which it is, sir. Not that I care to sell any ; but to oblige a gentleman," she said, as I followed her into the kitchen. Mary was busy washing the breakfast things, and barely replied to my good morning. "She's sulky to-day, because^ I've scolded her for running out early when work's waiting to be done." "The dene is very pleasant early in tke morning," I said, quietly. "Who said I'd been in the dene ?" asked the girl, quickly. "I guessed you had ; it is such a nice place to have a run in." "Of course she's been there ; she's far too fond of it. Now sir, which cup is it ? You'll excuse me saying I'm busy, as it's Saturday, and we like to have our work done early." "Like all good housewives." Then looking at the cups, I said, "This is the one." "Well, I can't say I want to part with it ; still, I won't refuse," she said, as I laid half a sovereign on the table. She slipped it into her pocket, saying : . " I "It seems a lot to pay for a cup and saucer ; but they are very valuable because of their age. And I tell you, sir, the woman next door wouldn't sell you one if you covered her floor with gold. My opinion is she means to have them put in her coffin with her." I suggested she would probably find a better way to dispose of them ; then changed the subject by saying I should like to see that likeness of her daughter. Being an artist, I liked looking at anything of the kind. "Go and letch it, Mary," said her mother. She looked as if she wanted to refuse, but dare not, and went slowly out of the room. "How long has it been taken?" I inquired, carelessly. • "A little over a year — when she was at York), staying with my sister." "A little over a year ! Then that would be about September ? There would be a fine light for taking it then ; but perhaps it was later ?" , "How funny you should have guess.cd the very month she was there ! , i She went the end of August, a nd was I only to have a fortnight ; but, instead, she stayed a whole month, and came back on my birthday. I said . she knew there would be some cake, and came in time for it." "My birthday is in September,"-I ■ said ; "but I have no one to make -, me cake —I am a lonely old bachelor; so the 25th comes and goes every year with nothing to mark it." "You'll be taking a missis, sir, , some of these days. But if you are about here this year, I'll give jou a i bit of cake, seeing your birthday's so near mine." "Did you say yours was the day • after ?" I asked, innocently. "No, it's the 29th." Then, going to , the bottom of the stairs, she shout>ed : "Are you coming, Mary ?" ; "I cannot find it, mother," the . j girl answered. . "She that contradictious she does [ not want to.; but I'll take care she i shows it you the next time you look , in, sir." Thanking her, I took the hint, see- ■ ing, in spite of her liking to chat, 1 the good woman was anxious to get 3 on with her work. ! After leaving the cottage of the Hirsts I crossed the dene, and fol--5 lowed the path taken by the captain 5 on the night of the murder. Then, ; mounting the stile, I found my way over the fields in the direction of the Hall. On arriving there, I inquired sif the marquis was at home, and ! would see me. After waiting a few ! minutes, the butler requested me to ; follow him to the library, saying the 1 marquis would be pleased to see me. lOn entering, the room I found his lordship already busy among his 1 books. He received me kindly, and inquired if I had discovered anything. "Yes, mj lord, I am on the track ; ■ but you will excuse me saying that at present I do not wish to divulge anything. In a few days or a week things may be ripe enough for me to 1 disclose. At present it would be un- ■ wise to speak." "You know what is best, I have Ino doubt, and I leave the matter in your hands. If, however, I can do anything to help you, I shall be L glad." "You can assist me, my lord, by 1 telling me if your son's papers have been investigated since his death." "Papers !" repeated his lordship. "I scarcely understand your meaning Mr. Brown." "Have you, or has any one looked through his lordship's private papers —such as letters ?" "Certainly not. I never imagined it could be necessary- Doubtless, in course of time, my daughter will look through them." "My lord, it is absolutely necessary that those papers should be investigated, and, if you will allow me I should like to undertake the task."

The marquis looked at me in utter amazement. "Do you expect to find anything in them that will help you to discover i his murderer ?" "I do, my lord." "Then sou shall see them ; but it is incomprehensible to me how they can assist you." "I want to know where he was _>n [ certain dates, and his letters may j show me. Are you aware if his lordship kept a diary ?" A faint smile crossed the marquis's face. "It was the last thing my son would have done. But, of course, ac will have left letters, and you shall see his desk. If you will excuse me a few minutes, I will speak to my daughter, who will know better than I do where Ms private papers are." In about ten minutes he returned, and ringing the bell, told me Lady I Mary was waiting for me in a sort of snuggery that had been his sons special room from the time he was a youth. "You will fmd it very characteristic, and may gather what his tastes and pursuits were from it," he sail, sighing heavily. I could see there had been little sympathy between them ; still, .he had loved his son, and his sad end had been a terrible blow to him. "Shall I see you before you leave, Mr. Brown ?" he inquired. "I am not sure what time my task will be finished, my lord," I replied, evasively. "If you have anything to tell me I shall be at liberty to hear it." "Thank jou, my lord ;" and tke butler then entering, the marquis told him to show me to Lord Bewley's room. After ascending the staircase, he led the way in an opposite direction to that in which the state rooml was where the dead man had lain. After going along one or two corridors, he paused at a door. "That was Lord Bewley's bedchamber." "Does his snuggery, as the marquis calls it, join ?" "No, sir—it is further along ;" and we proceeded several yards. Then he stopped, and opening a door, he said, "This is the room, sir." As I entered Lady Mary advanced towards me. She was dressed in deep mourning, and looked pale and sad, while under her ey.;s .were dark rings telling of sleepless nights. She bowed as she said : "My father tells me you wish to look through my brother's papers. Is it needful ? Because it is very j painful to us to have them touched at present." "It iB a necessity," I said, gravely but firmly. I "Surely you do not expect to find [ any communication from the murderer—a threatening: letter, or anything of that kind ?" I I observed she spoke in a frighten--led tone. "I do not know what I expect to find, my lady ; but I may get a clue." i "My father said that you were on j the track." I"I wish he'd held his tongue," I 1 thought, but said, "I have some [ evidence, but need more." "And you think you will find it in : his papers ?" j"I may do, my lady. It is my duty :to leave no stone unturned." I She sighed ; then said, in a quick, j hurried manner, quite unlike her j usual one, while she kept nervously 1 lacing find unlacing her fingers : j"I do hope you are not allowing I any o f that foolish evidence about a j coldness between my brother and cousin to prejudice you against the ; latter ?" ; "Certainly not, my lady. Only po- : sitive proof—or as nearlj so as it is ; possible to get—would influence me." ! She seemed to breath more freely. I"I am glad you do not suspect t him," she said, jumping to that conclusion from my evasive words, "because all who know Captain Neville '■ know he is incapable of doing any one a wrong, and murder he would I recoil from with horror. Indeed, h» : spite of the little difference between I them, I know they loved each other j like brothers. My cousin is very- \ noble, and could not cherish hatred, and I know grieves much over my brother's sad fate." I"I understand, my lady," I reI plied, while I mentally noted two facts which were patent to me, viz., that her ladyship loved Captain h'eville, and also: that she was very fearful lest he should be charged with her brother's murder. "Where did his lordship keep bis papers ?" I inquired. "In this desk," she said, going towards a large leather case which stood on a table near the window. "Is that the only place where he would keep letters or papers ?" "I do not know of any other. It is possible he might keep some in the drawers under that book-case, but I fancy they are full of fishingtackle and things of that kind." "Very well, my lady. Can you oblige me with the key of his desk ?" "I quite forgot about it. I don't know where his keys are," she said, i "Would he not have them on him i when he was shot ?" i "Of course he would ; " and going ; to the bell she rang, and desired the ', servant who answered it to send i Lord Bewley's valet to her. j In a few minutes the man appeared, j and I saw at once he was a cock- j ney. "Williamson, do jou know if my brother had his keys on him on Monday night ?" "I don't know, my lady ; but I think he would have." "Then will you see if you can find them, and bring them here ?" "Yes, my lady." "The clothes his lordship yroro—-

the \ '-.ole suit —I should like to see it," I said. He looked at Lady Mary. "You had better bring it Williamson." After he had gone I suggested to her ladyship that as it would be very painful for her to see the clothes, I should no doubt be able to find the keys myself. "I would rather not see them," she said, and a sob choked her voice. "So I will leave you. If you require any help I will come." "Thank you, my lady." She hesitated a minute as though she had something to say ; then without speaking, she left the room. "She would have liked to have known who I suspect," I thought, as the door closed after her. Very soon the man returned, bringing the clothes worn by the young lord when he was shot. It was a tweed suit. "There's no marks on them," said the man, as he laid them down. 'I suppose you are a detective ?" he continued. "That is nothing to you." "Oh, I understand — it's a secret. Perhaps it's as well, or the captain might give you the slip." "I don't know that the captain's presence is required," I said. "Don't jou ? Then you ain't up to your work, mister. I can see it all as plain as noonday. The two were as jealous of each other as it was possible to be. But I expect her ladyship has been trying to throw dust into your eyes. She's devoted to the captain, a nd at one time I did think it would have been a match ; but after the beautiful Miss Latimer came, she stood no chance. Still, she loves him just the same." "It is a pity the case is not in your hands," I remarked, drily. "I ain't anxious to have it ; but if there was a reward it wonld be different. I know the marquis wanted to offer one, and Lady Mary persuaded him not." "I suppose your master was much as usual when you saw him last alive ?" "Lord Bewley ? Of course he was— only a trifle bad-tempered." . "Have you been here long ?" "Three years. Lord Bewley was a good master ; but it's awful quiet here, and he hated London. Nothing but a country life suited him." "Then he never went away ?" "Of course he did ; but not lbr long." "And he would always take yon with him ?" "Once he left me behind, and that was the longest time he's ever been away since I lived here. He stayed awaj a whole month. I've often wondered what he was up to then. I knew he'd some game on hand, or he would have taken me. I fancy I could guess what he was doing." "How long ago is that ?'• "It was in the autumn last year." "Now, my man, I want to be alone," I said, pleasantly, " and just listen : Don't talk about me in the house to any one. Do you understand ?" And I slipped five shillings in his hand. "I guess the marquis will have to stump this up to you, mister ?" he sard, as he took the money. "However, I won't talk. But hadn't I better stay and help you ?" "I think not, my friend." Williamson, as he was called, then left the room in a reluctant manner. "There's fifteen shillings gone this morning," I remarked. "Well, if it has to come out of my pocket I do not mind, if. I find the murderer." After seeing the door was properly shut, I proceeded to examine the clothes. "He did not dress up to make the young lady an offer," I thought, as I felt in th- pockets. "What blunderers !" I sr id, remembering, according to a statement at the inquest, they had only searched some of his pockets, but finding his purse and watch safe, had looked no further. In the vest pocket I foimd a small bunch of keys, but no letiars or papers in any of the others. CHAPTER IX. SOME LETTERS. Laying the keys down, I looked round the room. It was a fair size, with a bow window e.t one side, through which, in the distance, could be seen the thick growth of trees which marked the dene. Over the fireplace were several portraits, of well-known actresses and singers, with a sprinkling of balletgirls and jockeys, in appropriate cos- ] tume, the young ladies being in what ! I call undress uniform. They were ar- I ranged in tiers, the favourites being placed the lowest, I imagined. ! On the mantelpiece stood two curi- ' ous tobacco-jars, a match-box or j two, and a spill vase ; while laid carelessly down were a couple of i pipes, one with the ashes still in. "I i wonder if this was the last pipe the j poor fellow smoked?" I thought. It' most likely was, if he went from his ! room to his unsuccessful wooing and ; then to his death. The servants had evidently received orders not to touch the room, as the ashes lay in the grate, and the dust was thick on the furniture. In are-' cess at one side of the fireplace an j old-fashioned mahogany bookcase j stood, and below were two or three drawers. Through the glass doors I could see the shelves were cMefly lined with books of a sporting char 1 acter, with here ami there a novel, j Opening the drawers, I found the I first contained a couple of boxes of choice cigars, the next was full of i fishing-tackle, and in the third was a case containing a revolver. Facing the window was a large easy couch, and above it a rack, on which rested a couple of guns. Opposite the fireplace stood an oak cabinet, black with age. I opened the doors, which were unlocked, and

looked in. It was full of relics c the young lord's boyhood, bats an balls, skates that would only fit lad, books of adventure, a dog1 muzzle, a small riding whip, and ir numerable other things, in one grea medley. "There will be nothing here fo me," I thought ; and closing tfc doors I went towards the window. A large round table was drawn i front of it, and on it was a pondei ous-looking desk in leather. Near th table were a couple of chairs, an seating myself in one of these, | drew the desk towards me, an placed a key in the lock ; but it di not fit, so I tried another, and thi time it turned easily. Opening th j desk I .saw it was divided into tw parts, one containing a large spac for letters, papers, etc., the other b< ing divided into numerous little com partments. I looked in these first, ami foun i the usual supply of pens, ink, an : paper. One or two were empty, an i then I came to a couple of photc ! graphs. As my eyes rested on th I beautiful face of Mary Hirst an ea : clamation escaped me. She wa : plainly dressed in black, but sh ! looked more beautiful than as I ha ; seen her, and her face wore a brighi ■ happy look, unlike the sad, wear ! expression it now bore. i At the back was the photograpl : er's name—"Govan, Mount - streel ; Yorkt." The other photo lat one • recognised a s a likeness of the youn I lord. "I must take these with me, < I thought ; and helping myself to a ; envelope, I placed the photograph i in it, and slipped it into my pockei | I then proceeded to examine th | papers. There were a few letters froi ; old friends, an odd bill or two cart j lessly strewn about ; but at the ver ; bottom, under a blotting-pad, wer ; two bundles of letters, neatly tie with tape. One bundle had a faded | old look. This I lifted first, and ur fastening the tape I took out a lei j-ter. j "It began, "My dear boy," and i : I read a few lines I saw it was writ I ten by the young lord's mother whei he was a lad at Eton. Glancing a them in succession, I saw that the; j were all written by her, so I place them neatlj together and tied then up. ! "It seems he had a heart, poo | fellow," I said ; and then I took v !the other packet. i The first letter I opened was date ! eighteen months back, and was i ! the same handwriting as those I ha i found in the tree, and looking at th signature I saw it was "Mary Hirst.' I read the letter carefully through It breathed love in every word—sue a contrast to those others. The nex was dated a month later, and in i the writer, though loving as ever, d< cidedly refused to accede to sora proposition of the young lord. The next I took up was writte about three weeks later, and in i she alluded to a proposal he ha made that she shopld leave horn and go to live under his protection. "I will not, she said. "Much as love you, I will not, and unless yo intend marrying me, we had far hei ter not see each other any more, have been foolish, and ought to hay remembered you were far above me but I forgot all, except that I love , you. Still, I have strength to refus !to act as you wish." • By her next letter I could see h had pleaded hard, assuring her of hi life-long love. It began : "Dearest, —I believe you love me and God knows I love you, and woul do anything1, for jou but what yo ask. I would cut off my risftt han< to help you, if need be. I would la down my life to save yours, but . will not go through life a sinfu creature, scorned by every ont shamed to lift my head in a goo woman's presence. This I cannot an will not do ; so if you care for n don't try to persuade me. It wi] only kill my love. I can say good bye to you for ever, and think my self as much to blame as you fo the past ; but I won't do worse tha I have done, not if it breaks m; 1 heart to never speak to you again.Ever your loving "Mary." "Poor girl," I murmured, "6.v you keep your resolve, I wonder ?" There were only three more letters and the next I took hold of wa dated August the 12th ." of the pre vious year. I read it eagerly ; it rai as follows : ', "My own Dearest,—l have rea your directions, and will follow ther ,in everything. Thinking of all yoi j said in the dene last night, I an j quite satisfied that our union shouL ■' be kept secret until such time as yo I see fit to tell it. All I want is to b i right in my own eyes. I can stain I what folks say if I know it isn' I true. Don't you think, after we ge ; back, I could make some excuse b . get away from home ? Say I was go i ing to service, or something, an< j then you could put me at a gooi i school, to fit me for the time t< ! come. I would so like to be such a won't shame you. But, before it'i too late, I feel I ought to saythink, dearest, what you are doing and if jou regret it one little bit j say good-bye to me now, and : , won't have one hard thought of you : but always love you.—Yours, as ever "Mary." The next was dated August 27th and contained only a few lines, cvi dently written in a hurry, and wai jin these words : i "Dearest,—l start in an hour, am am just writing these few lines. •] i shall slip out and put them in oui P.O. lam very happy thinking o: all you said last night. I am hopinr to see you in a day or two at York, —From your loving "Mary. ' When I opened the next letter, J started. It was a recent one, dated as late as the 19th of September ol the present year. It began :

off "Dear George,—You are breaking Ld, my heart. How do you think I ran a bear to see you making love to that 's girl, as you are doing ? I warned i- you to think of it before it was too it late. I can see you are tired of me, but I won't be put on one side. I will )r try to be patient, but it is hard le work—very hard. I will go away I and try to make myself fit for you, In as you say I should shame you now. r- Just give me a chance to go where I le can learn, and I promise you, I'll id come back as much a lady as she is— I but that's not saying much, as she's id only Brummagen ware, not the real id thing, like your sister, who is a true is lady, and, I fancy, likes the flirting le girl no better than I do. Do be true ro to me, George, or no one kno vs :e where it will end. I sometimes feel c- nearly beside myself when I see you i- go past with that girl. It's no use ; telling me you have to be civil to A her. I know you wouldn't if you id didn't want. I understand you hotter id than I did. Dear George, don't 3- make me do anything, desperate.— le Your sad, but loving "Mary." E" ! I put the letters together, and tied ls , them up, then slipped them in my ie : pocket. dj "Did he marry her, or did he suey ! ceed in tricking her into a sham ■' marriage ?" I wondered. "Poor girl, j she has a proud, passionate nature, *~ I not easily led wrong, but once start- . ed, she's just one of those who 3e i would go headlong. Now, I won't l S see Lady Mary before I go, if I can help it ; she will ask me too many in questions. I'll just put the key in an 18 envelope, and direct it to her ; then t- the butler can give it to her ladyle ship." m Taking an envelope, I addressed it; c" then, opening a blotting-book, I laid J it on to dry. As I did so, some writing on it, in a bold, free hand, ' struck me. Removing the envelope, I ' took the book to the window, and, *~ holding it to the light, read tho words : "It was—passing fancy—you, but I love—Latimer—will —price—free.'' n The'intervening words were missing, but I could easily guess them, and jotted it down on a slip of sd paper as I thought it should read. "It was only a passing fancy for you, but I love Blanche Latimer, )r and will pay any price to be free." Then she had some hold on him, and I strongly suspected it was a , d legal one. Had Mary Hirst got that in letter, I wondered ; if so, why was d there no allusion to it in her letters le found in the tree ? Looking higher »» on the blotting-pad, I could just disj tin-guish "Monday afternoon." Then ;h it had been written within a few hours of the murder, and I speculalt ted whether he had placed it in the e _ tree on his way to see Miss Latimer ie or on his return, or had he left the letter to put in its hiding-place an- , n other day ? I searched the desk, but it it was not there, and I again felt d carefully in all the coat pockets, but ie found nothing. Either she had got it after her last letter was written, I and it had still further maddened lU her, or he had repented and destroyk- ed it. Anyhow, it was no use me j remaining longer ; so, closing the re desk and locking it, I put the key in . the envelope, which I fastened, then !( j glanced once more round the room. 3e "He has been a very human young man—very weak, very unstable, but ie much like the bulk of his fellows," I i s said to myself, a s I opened the door and, closing it gently after me p found my way to the entrance hall. ~j iAt the foot of the great staircase )U I was met by a footman. d "Will you give that to Lady Mary y Neville, and tell the marquis Mr. j Brown will see him another day ?" ■^ As I spoke, I placed the envelope B; in his hand. The man looked surprised at my cool way of treating L( j his lordship, but conducted me to the ie door, and in a few seconds I was ij descending the steps. Looking at my 1_ watch, I saw it was one o'clock, and j. I quickened my steps. , r iAs I recrossed the fields in the di- , n rection of the dene I met Captain y Neville. He was dressed in deep _ mourning, and looked very grave and | troubled ; still, it was not the face 'of a murderer, and, strong as?the , evidence against him was, I felt | there might be some explanation. *' i Any way, I resolved to move caui tiously. To arrest the wrong man, | especially one in Captain Neville's I position, would do me incalculable 1 injury, and the marquis not ■d, be likely to forgive the error. 311 But for the revolver having been v ; dropped by the captain within a few n j minutes of the shot being fired, I d should have felt assured Mary Hirst lU had done the deed ; but how was I ie to get over Ralph Jacques's evid dence ? Any way, I would do one thing I had not done—l would trace Jt Captain Neville's doings from the ° time he left Miss Latimer until he 5" returned to the Hall at night. However, my fiist move must be to trace the movements of Lord Bewley ° and Mary Hirst when in York, and ' s for that purpose I decided to start ' . that afternoon, first seeing Mr. New- I ton. On reaching the inn I made a >• hasty meal of such things as mj j '' hostess could supply, my dinner not ! having been prepared, as I had told [' her not to expect me. When I had ' finished, I told her I was going to | ; Troncastle, and should not return j '' until Monday. Then taking my little J ' bag, which contained such weighty j evidence against the captain and i Mary Hirst, but leaving my easel, ' d sketch-book, paints, &c, behind,, and j I telling the landlady to keep my bed- ; r room ready for me, I started, and j 'f reached Old Bewley in time for the ! ? twenty minutes past three train for . Troncastle. ' j On' arriving there I at once sought I Mr. Newton. I found him in consul--1: tation with a little red-haired man, fa sharp, ferrety-looking fellow. A3 I i entered he looked round and grp.ete-d

me pleasantly. After shaking handS( he said : "This is Inspector Green." ' We shook hands. Then Mr. Newton said : "I suppose you've found out something about the Ossington murder ?" "You are right, I have ; but it is a complicated affair." "So I expected. Now for it." "Well, first of all, I do not wish what I am going to tell you to pass beyond this room—that is, only you and the inspector must know it." "All right ;" and' Mr. Newton sat waiting, with his eyes fixed on me attentively. So I began by telling him all the evidence against Captain Neville, and then proceeded to enfold what I knew about Mary Hirst. When I had finished, I waited to hear what he would say. "Well, what do you purpose doing, Mr. Brown ?" he inquired. "I purpose going to York to-night, jand finding out if Lord Bewley marj ried Mary Hirst. Then I shall wait ■; and watch awhile. As matters are 'at present, with the evidence I have I against the captain, if I arrest any I one, it must be him, and I could j take Mary Hirst in custody as an I accomplice. But I do not want to ! make a mistake. A false move might j bring about disastrous results. My ; cue seems to be to wait." "I'd take the captain in charge at ' once, if the case was in my hands," said the fiery little inspector. I "I wouldn't," said Mr. Newton, ! calmly. "If a mistake was made, th ; Marquis of Troncastle would never I forgive it. He is a very proud man with a long pedigree. I would be certain there could be no doubt before ■I arrested the captain." "In the meantime be may clear," said the inspector. "I don't think it'is likely, even if he has done it. He is more likely to brave it out, and try to turn suspicion from him by going about as usual." "You do' not think he has done it ?" I said, looking at Mr. Newton. "If he has, I shall believe any man capable of doing a deed of that kind. He bears a very high character ; but of course, I may be mistaken in my estimate of him. At the same time, I would say, wait and see a little I further befpre you take any steps j with regard to him." "That is what I intend doing., and meanwhile I shall find out all I can about Mary Hirst. I intend taking. the quarter-past seven train to York. By-the-by, it might be as well to keep an eye on the captain and the girl. Can you send any one down for that purpose ?" "I will go," said the inspector, who I could see was anxious to have a finger in the pie. "I will stay at Ossington, so that t shall be close at hand." "Yes ; it will be better than going to Bewley. The folks might scent something if you took my place." "What day do you expect to rejturn?" inquired Mr. Newton. "To-morrow is Sunday, and I cannot search the registers to find out jif there has been a marriage, so it may throw me out till Tuesday ; but I hope to return then at the latest." j "You will let me know the result ;of your search ?" said Mr. Newton, as I rose. "Certainly ;" and then we parted. To be Continued.