THE OSSINGTON MYSTERY.

Kaipara and Waitemata Echo, 22 May 1914, Page 7

THE OSSINGTON MYSTERY.

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

(ALL RIGHTS RESERVED )

PART 8. : CHAPTER XII. THE MAD WOMAN. """w "Will you load the revolver for me, captain ?" I asked. "Certainly. Will you come with me to what I call mj gun-room ? It is half that, and half a smoke-room, Mr. Brown." I followed him to a small room at " \ the other side of the house. Taking some very small cartridges, he showed th«m to me. "You see how very small the charge fikf $ fe nodded. Then he proceeded to , load the revolver, and I saw at once that no ordinary bullets could have been used. "It is little more than a toy pistol," he observed. "Still; it could do some deadly "work. I suppose you would be prepared to swear that it was not load-c-d when it was placed in Captain Neville's pocket ?" "I can most positively swear that, and so can my wife." "And you can also swear the captain had no means of obtaining the required charges?" "Most assuredly I can." Just then the door opened, and a ady entered. She was pretty and quite young—apparently a little over twenty. On seeing me she paused. "Franeie, my dear, this is the detective employed by the marquis. The pistol has fallen into his hands, and he is making a few inquiries \bout it." "Yes." Then, looking at me, she *aid : "Captain Neville described you incorrectly ; " and I saw the fleam of a smile in the corners of tier mouth. "Possibly, madam, as I had not the pleasure of following him here on 3aturday night." "Ar e there two of you, then ?" and her look seemed to say, "How horrid !" x "No, madam, I am the only one ; but I was obliged to absent myself a few dajs, so I got a substitute." She smiled, but I fancied there was a .shade of vexation on her face. "Now, Francie, can you swear, when you placed that revolver in Captain Neville's pocket, that it was unloaded ?" asked her husband. "Do you imagine I would have touched it had I not felt sure ? I saw you unload it myself, and you promised me not to load it again. I would as soon touch a scorpion as a loaded revolver, and I hope I shall never touch another, either 'loaded or . unloaded. The worry I have had y through my little bit of fun has been unbearable.""Was this the revolver you placed in Captain Neville's pocket ?" I inquired, holding it towards her. .*" • "Yes, that is the hateful little j thing," she said, looking at it, and ■' - shrugging her shoulders ; then, suddenly, as her eye rested on the box of cartridges, she shrieked, "Is it loaded ?" and shrank back. "I won't go off if it is, Franrde," eaid her husband. "Oh, do unload it," she said, imploringly, at the same time hiding behind him. "Will you unload it, captain ?" I said, laying the revolver down. He removed the charges, while his wife remained at a distance, and as I watched her I felt convinced her terror was genuine, and that nothing would have induced her to touch a loaded revolver. "Now I have removed the charges, sir." "Then may I trouble you to put your overcoat on, and let Mrs. Noel place the pistol in your pocket, as she did in your friend's ?" The captain left the room, and the 4 lady turned to me. "Did you really think that OapNTeville had done that horrid deed ?" "Circumstances looked suspicious, madam.'' "Oh, dear, how blind people are ! , Do you know, Captain Neville is the eery last man in the world to do such a deed ? I would as soon trust him as my husband. If you arrested him on this charge you would make a blunder, for which you would t ne-'er forgive yourself. When I think ■df all my silly whim—to have that revolver out of the way—has led to, I feel as if I should go mad," said the little lady impetuously. "I trust the affair may end satisfactory to you," I replied, as her husband re-entered the room. He had on a light overcoat. "This is very similar to the coat bhat Captain Neville wore, and the » pockets are almost is the same position." "Then will you favour me by placing the pistol in your husband's pocket exactly as you did in the captain's ?" She made a gesture of impatience, then adroitly slipped the weapon in- ; to his pocket. "Captain Neville and my husband were busy talking when I did it," she observed. "Will you oblige me still further, Mrs. Noel, by placing it in my overcoat pocket while I converse with your husband ? Did you know when the weapon was placed in your pocket ?" I inquired. "I am sure he did not,", said Mrs. Noel, who was standing near, but partly behind us. "Neither did Captain Neville. You should have seen his surprise when we named the revolver." "Do you expect to see Captain Ne-

ville soon?" I asked. "He may call this evening ; but, as it is late, if he does not come soon, I shall not expect him." "Now, Mrs. Noel, will you place the revolver in my pocket ?" I asked, [ turning round. ! "It's in your pocket, and has been for a minute or so." I felt. It was there sure enough, but she had slipped it in ao deftly, and it was such a little thing, that I had not felt the weight. "I am convinced now that it might have been in Captain Neville's pocket without him being aware of it." She looked delighted. "Should I not make a splendid pickpocket ?" "My dear Franeie !" said her husband. She laughed. "I am so glad we have been able to clear our friend." "You have done much to clear him, madam," I said, bowing, as I moved towards the door. "Good evening," she replied, pleasantly. Captain Noel accompanied me to the entrance. "I should prefer keeping the revolver, at present," I said. "Is there any one else you suspect, Mr. Brown ?" I"I would rather not answer that question just now, Captain Noel," I said, respectfully. He bowed. "I am satisfied, knowing we have so far cleared our friend." "You have removed the gravest suspicion from him," I said, as I wished him "Good evening." Just as I got to the gates a gentleman met me, whom I at once recognised as Captain Neville. I paused. "You are Captain Neville, I believe ?" "That ia my name," he replied, looking intently at me. "I am the detective employed by the marquis, and should like to have a few minutes' conversation with you." "Certainly. I was going to call on mj friends here, but I suppose what you wish to say is important, so I will turn back with you." "I am staying at New Bewley. Will it suit you to walk that, way?" "Y,es ; and I will return to the Hall." We walked a few yards in silence ; then I said : "The pistol you lost is in my possession, Captain Neville." "Confound it ! Affairs were complicated enough before that, but Mrs. •Noel's silly trick has placed me in a most unpleasant position. I suppose they have explained the matter to you ?" "Yes, most fully." "Do you. accept their explanation?" I hesitated, then said : "Yes, I believe what they state is j true ; but, as you say, it has been an unfortunate thing you losing the pistol. Taken in conjunction with the ill-feeling which existed between you and your cousin, it has a nasty look." "The ill-feeling has been made the most of ;it had not existed long, ; and would not have lasted. I should have seen the folly of it, and my cousin—poor fellow ! —was one with whom all feelings were effervescent. He loved for a time, and the same with his hatreds. But tSe question now is about that pistol. You say it is in your possession ? Where did you find it ?" "Have you no idea 'where you lost it ?" "I never knew it had been in my possession until the Noels told me." Without further ado I told him the tale Jacques had toM me. When I stated that he ascen^d the bank directly after the shot was fired, he said : > "That is not true ; the fellow made a mistake. I was crossing the road above Hirst's cottage when the shot was fired.'' "It is a great pity you cannot bring any one to prove it." "I can," he said, quickly. "I forgot, or I should have named it at the inquest. Just before I left the fields I met David hartley — an old man who lives near here — and he wished me 'Good night.' Now, he must have heard that shot fired, as it was close to the high road I met him, and I heard it when I was a few yards further on." "Where does he live ?" I inquired. "At one of the cottages you pass after leaving the fields on the high road to the Hall." "Have you seen him since ?" "I only remembered having met him when I was talking the matter over with the Noels on Saturday night, and I did. not care to call and name the matter to him. I knew if it was needful I could obtain his testimony." "I am very glad you have proof of this to offer, Captain Neville. I may tell you now that your position has been a very ticklish one. A grain more evidence, and 1 should have been obliged to arrest you." "Yes, I knew I was suspected. By-the-by, who was it that followed me on Saturday ?" "My substitute." "Then I advise you not to employ him much ;he is a bungling fellow." "He will not interfere again. And now, Captain Neville, I want to ask you if you are quite certain you did not see any one that night in the dene ?" "Quite certain," he said, emphatically. "You did not see Mary Hirst ?" "I djd not. 'Good God ! You don't mean to say you suspect her ?" he exclaimed, in a shocked voice. "I did not say I suspected her." We walked on for some time in silence, and when we reached the high road I turned fhe way leading

to New Bewley, while he' went"towards the dene. "Will you go through the dene ?" he said. "No sir ;it would not be wise for . us to be seen together." We parted, and he went towards the dene, while I kept to the road. "Just a week to-night since the murder. He would not choose that way if he was guilty," I thought. In a short time I reached the inn, ] and, feeling thoroughly tired, I went . early to lied. The next ■morning I spent in arranging all the evidence I had gained, and weighing it, the re- i suit being that I resolved to wait a bit, and seek again for the bullet. : So early in the afternoon I took my sketching materials, and made my way to the dene, going directly to the spot where the murder had been , committed. Laying my things by the tree, I again examined the bank. While I was thus engaged, a voice said : - ( "The blood's all dry—all dry ; not one drop left. It's no use looking." i I started to my feet, and confronted a tall, slender woman, dressed in ( black. Her face was deathly pale, and her large, dark eyes shone like lamps, but there was a wild look in i them that warned me that the poor creature was insane. She appeared about fifty, and must have been both ' handsome and graceful, as remnants of both remained. "How had she come ?" I wondered. While I stood looking at her, she began talking \ again. ' "Were you looking for blood ? Because I tell you there is none —not a drop. Do you think I would have \ left it for strangers ? No, every drop I would have treasured, and it would have been a talisman to keep evil from my boy." \ I listened, wondering what the ray- • ings meant. "Did they tell you he would be marquis now ?" she said, proudly. I" breathed quickly. "Of course the captain will," I said. ; "Of course he will," she repeated. "Any one could tell you that. Just one life between him and the title and estates —a poor fool's life. Bah ! What was it to stand in his way ? And it's swept away—gone, gone !" "To be sure the young lord's gone," I said, in a soothing tone, waiting to hear more. "The captain is the heir now," she said, quickly ; then added, in a low, peculiar voice : "Do you ever pray ?" But without waiting for an answer, she said : "I did. I prayed night and day, oh, for such a long tima — I ccmot I remember how l^ner ;" a^d e'^e stopped, then put hsr hand to her head, looking bewi^ered. "What did you pray for ?" I a sked, striving to bring her wanderingthoughts bac-A. In a instant her face blamed with passion. "You poor fool ! What could I pray for but his death ? And it's come. He lies dead and cold now. Listen ! I heard a voice bidding me kill him, and I came such a long j way, and all the time the voice kept ; saying, 'Kill him ! kill him !' " "And you did it ?" I said, in a quick, agitated voice. For answer a wild, shrill laugh rang out. Then she said, in a scornful voice : "She stole my right, and shot him dead. What could she have to avenge by my wrong ? He stood between my boy and his rights." "Who shot him ?" I iaquired, almost breathlessiy, I was so much. startled. I "Who shot him? Ah, -who was it ? I only know she was tall and beautiful. I saw him stagger and fall ; but she stole his life from me. | It was decreed that I should kill him. I was called —ealfcd ; but I | was in at the death !" "Where were you when ycru saw him ' shot ?" I asked. | "Where was I ?" and she laughed . wildly. '.'I shall not tell you ; but I know every nook and cranny of this spot, which my son was born to be , lord of." Suddenly she lowered her voice, and bending towards me, said : "Do you think she will try to get ■ him to marry her ?" i "Who ?" I asked, not quite certain what she meant. j "Why, the woman who did what I ; came to do —the one who shot the usurper of my son's rights." "I don't know," I arfswered, quite taken aback. "He shall not—l tell you he shall not !" she said, stamping her foot. "It was well to do it ; but there is •blood on her hands, and she cannot i mate with him." "If you will tell me what she was like, I will stop her marrying him," I said, quickly. "What was she like ?" she said, in a dreamy tone. "I have seen some1 one like her, but. it was long ago." ; Then she stopped, and again put her hand to her head. : "Cannot you remember what she' was like ?" I said, soothingly. "Like the panther ! She stood there;" and she swept her hand in front of her, but it was impossible to tell which spot she indicated. I hesitated, doubtful how to act, ' j but determined not to lose sight of i her until I knew who she was, and | learn if it was possible she had been near the spot when the murder wascommitted. All at once she held up her finger. "Hark ! They are coming to take me back ; but Ido not mind. The work is done. I told Eliza so, and not to hide me longer ; but she! would shut me up, and I only got! out this afternoon by climbing i through the window, But servants' take so much upon themselves now. I Fancy her locking me up !" • Just then-1 saw two strong, active l

men approaching. They appeared to be treacling, as gently as they could, as if anxious that no noise should betray their approach. In a minute she turned swiftly round and faced them. They at once quickened their pace and approached with rapid strides. "Have you come to take me home ?" she asked, wearily. "Yes, my lady. The other ladies have been very lonely without you, and have sent a message that they very much- want to see you." "Poor souls ! I daresay they miss me," she said, loftily. "Of course they do, my ladj ; and now you've had a nice little change you'll be glad to settle down." "Yes, the work is done ; but I did not do It. Strange I was bidden to do it, and then another woman stole it out of my hands. But I was in at the death —I saw him fall !" and a wild laugh rang through the quiet dene. "Who is she ?" I said to the man who Ir-fl spoken. He t.-- I ';h:d his forehead Jsignifi-cr-tly. "W Ho is she ?" I repeated. "Who a:n I?" she said, looking intently at me. "I am" ■ But before she said another word she turned round, as footsteps were heard, and I saw a woman coming rapidly towards us. She was dressed in a print dress, and wore a white apron. Evidently she had been busy makdng bread, for her hands were white and floury. "Good ' gracious ! Here's a nice mess !" she said, as soon as she was near enough to speak. "So you were hiding her, missis, when you said you'd never seen her," remarked one of the men. "It would have been a fine sight better if you'd let us have her then." "I don't think so. . Oh, my lady, why didn't you stay safe ? Here's a pretty kettle of fish !" "Deary me, Eliza, what a fuss you are making !" said the mad woman, haughtily. "It is quite right. These good fellows have come to take me home ; and, to tell the truth, I shall be rather glad to go. You were impertinent locking me up, and I have nothing to stay for. The work is done ; the blood has flowed — flowed over the land he usurped, and I was in at the death !" Again that loud, wild laughter echoed through the valley. CHAPTER XIII. MRS. BURTON'S TALE. We stood looking at each other as peal after peal of that strange, wild laughter fell on our ears. Then the man who had before spoken addressed the woman called Eliza : "Can she stay at your house till the attendant comes ? It's against rules for us to take her back without a female attendant." "Yes ; it's only our work to find 'em when they goes off to enjoy 'emselves a bit," said the other fellow, with a twinkle in his eye. "Poor lady !Of course she can stay," said the woman, quickly. |"I shall have to stay a s well, mis- . sis. Now I've got her, I don't mean to lose sight of her," added the first speaker. "Jim can go to a public." "I can find room for you both," the woman replied. "All right, missis ; I'll telegraph for an attendant to be here to-mor-row, and then we'll start right back ! without delay." I "I've a word to say, my good fellow," I interposed. "Before that poor creature leaves here I must know who she is, and where she was the night of the murder. I am the detective employed on the case, and require to be satisfied before she is removed from this neighbourhood." ! "You're a poor hand at your work to believe all a poor, half-witted creature like her says !" uttered the woman, scornfully. | During our conversation the mad i woman had stood perfectly still, but every few seconds wild peals of laughter broke from her. Then she became calm. Now she turned (majestically to one of the men, and said : "Come, my good man, lead the way. I am going home." "Yes, my lady." Then, turning to ■ me, he said : "Come with us, and we will settle it all at Mrs. Burton's." "Peeling that it was the wisest j course, I agreed, and we started I down the dene — one of the men going first, followed by the woman in her working dress. Then came the mad lady, next the other man, and I brought up the rear. I have been in many queer scenes, but I never joined a queerer procession than this one as we proceeded i towards Mrs. Burton's house. Keeping on. th« same side of the stream, we came shortly to a small farmhouse. Passing the front, we entered a door at the side, which led into a narrow passage. "If you will go in there," said Mrs ' Burton, pointing to a room at one side, "I will take the poor lady to • her room." '■ "No tricks, remember," said the man who acted as principal. "I don't want to play any. She's done herself all the harm she can now." They passed on, and we turned into ; the comfortable kitchen. "Who is she ?" I ask/ed, at the same time seating myself near the fire. "Well, I s'pose as you've spotted her, it will all have to came out now. But the captain will be fine and vexed—and the marquis, too, for the matter of that. But wait a bit till Mrs. Burton comes ; she may be ; able to tell you something." In about five minutes Mrs. Burton came in. , "If you want to know, she's safe. You can go and peep in the front sitting room. The poor soul's lying on the couch," she said, sadly. j

"Ah right ; I believe you, missis." But I noticed he placed his chair where he could see anj one pass the door, which stood slightly ajar. "Jim, it might be as well if you strolled up and down the front. She might try to get out of the window, if she fancied she'd give us the slip." "She did that this afternoon," said Mrs. Burton. The man called Jim, who seemed a quiet sort of fellow, obeyed his companion's orders, and the three of us left in the kdtchen looked at each other. "Who is she ?" I repeated. "She is Lady Alfred Neville, the captain's mother, and she's been out of her mind going on for twenty odd years ; most folks think she's dead, for it was ■ hushed up. She went crazy shortly after her husband died. There had been a case or two in tfer family before, and somehow she lost her wits. So the marquis placed her in a private asylum at Glenfile, in Cumberland. She|s mostly quiet, but sometimes she breaks out, and this is the third time she's given them the slip and got away." "Did she come here each time ?" "Of course she did," said the man, quickly, "but we tracked her easier. You weren't so stupid then," he said, turning to Mrs. Burton, who made no reply. "Whatever on earth made you give us all this trouble ? I didn't believe you when you said she hadn't been." "I had my own reasons for it," she answered. "How as it she oomea to your house ?" I asked. "Because I was her maid for many years, and never, married until the poor lady lost her reason. She was always fond of me, too." "Now, Mrs. Burton, I must know exactly when she came, and all you can tell of her movements since then, because what she has said —allowing for her want of reason —is so suspicious, that I must be satisfied she is not connected with the murder before she leaves here."

"Wh\, sir, you cannot hold a poor creature like her accountable for her words ! I knew if any one heard her talk there would be trouble, so I wanted to hide her until the murder was forgotten a bit."

Seeing I looked impatient, she at last said :

"She, poor soul, came here a week last Sunday night. It was late, and she must have come by the last train to Ossington, and walked from there. She just slunk in and sank

down on a chair there, dead beat. So I-put her to bed, and expected they'd fetch her back. Of course, I intended to let them have her at once, for I knew my poor lady was better in proper care. I thought ■of telling the captain she was here, and hesitated all Monday what to do. while she, poor soul, lay quiet on a couch, never saying a word. About half-past six o'clock I left the house to look after the cows, as the man was away, and I am without a girl just now. When I left my poor lady she was lying so still I never thought she'd move ; and when I came in again about seven o'clock, all was nice and quiet, so I made some pies, and it would be fully a quarter or twenty minutes past seven when I went into the sitting room to see if she wanted anything. I'd lighted the lamp before I went out. Well, I can tell you I was startled when I saw she was not there. I looked in her bed room, then all over the house ; but I couldn't find her, and I was just putting on my cloak to go to the Hall and tell them, when she rushed in and threw herself in that big chair and laughed horrible. Then she began talking in the way you heard her. Of course, I thought it was nothing, but it almost made my blood run cold to hear her. I tried to get her to bed, but it was no use. I'd an awful night with her, and I made up' "my mind to send one of the farm men for the captain the next morning. Very early the next day I heard of the murder, and I thought it better not to let any one know she was here, for fear the poor soul got into trouble. I feel sure she has not done it, sir ; but Ido believe she saw the young lord shot, >and if she had her senses could tell who had done it. That's all I can tell you." "What time was it when she came in ?" "Half-past seven by that clock, and it's a good timekeepter." "You left the house at half-past six ?" "Yes, sir." "Could she have got a pistol anywhere else, or could she bring one with her ?" "I can swear she did not bring one with her,, for I helped her to undress tbe night she came, and I don't see where she could get one. You seem very anxious to fix it on her," said Mrs. Burton, angrily. "I aim only anxious to get at the truth, and if the unfortunate lady has done it, her only punishment will be to be kept in closer confinement ; whereas, if we fix it on any one else whom the evidence may point to, it would probably mean hanging." "You're right ; and, for my part, I'll tell you all I know, and them you can judge," said the man. "First, I want to know why and how long she has felt such a bitter hatred against Lord Bewley." "Ever since she's been in the asylum she's been dead against him, and always calling out as he'd got her son's rights. That's the form her madness takes, the nurses say." "It is this way," interrupted Mrs. Burton. "Lady Alfred's husband was the younger brother of the present marquis, and as the marquis was a thorough bookworm, it was thought bfl WfiuJLd notroi* nuaopjpv. Uaw««<i«

pretty late in life he met a lady who took his fancy, and he married her. That was when Lady Alfred had been married seven years and the captain was six years old, and regarded by every one as the next heir after his father. Of course, the marquis's marriage was a terrible blow to my mistress, who had never for one moment doubted that her boy would ultimately become marquis, and when the young viscount was born a 5 ear after, she always spoke of him as an interloper. In fact, I believe she persuaded herself he really had in some fashion taken her son's rights. I've heard the late Lord Alfred Neville, her husband, who was a colonel in the army, reason with her about her absurd notion, as he called it—you see I had

been her maid a long time, and knew more than the other servants— but in spite of all he could say, her dislike of the young Lord Bewley continued. When the captain was nine years old, his father died, and my mistress became very peculiar. I believe there had been insanity in her family some generations before, and I fancy she had brooded on her boy's changed prospects more than was good for her ; and when she lost her husband, she fretted terribly, and gradually became so violent that it was needful to place her in confinement. She had gone very little into society after the marquis married, so there was not much talk about her fate, and in time people forgot all about her.. The last year I had with her was an awful one. She would ask us if the young viscount was well, and if we said yes, she would sink into despondency ; but if she knew he had the smallest ailment, her eyes wo.uld brighten, and she looked a different creature. The doctor called it monomania, but gradually it developed into positive madness, and the marquis had no alternative but to place her under proper restraint. He was very good about it, and so was his lady, the marchioness. They took the captain that is, who was only ten years old, to live with them, and he and the young lord, who was just three then, were brought up like brothers. Master Horace was pretty well off, as his father had a fair income, and Lady Alfred had money, which of course, she could not use ; so I believe, when he came of age, the captain had a nice fortune. Just before he went to live at the Hall the Lady Mary was bern, and those are all the children the marquis ever had.''

(To be Continued.)