CHAPTER VII.

Te Aroha News, Volume VIII, Issue 395, 21 August 1889, Page 3

CHAPTER VII.

IST THE NURSERY. She stands for a moment paralysed— struck dumb by a horror too great for word, to cry. Then she rushes to the door, along the passages, into the midst of the startled household like a mad creature, shrieking that one most awful word, '* Murder 2' v They flock around her, they catch hold of her, and keep her still By main force. They ask her questions, but she only screams still that ghastly word, • Murder !' * Who is murdered? "Where — what do you mean ? Good Lord ! young woman,' cries Mr Hooper, the butler, giving her a shake, 'do come out of these hysterics if you can, and speak ! Who's murdered ?' ♦My lady ! oh, my lady ! my lady ! my lady !' She is like a creature distraught. There is blood on her right hand ; she sees it, 'and with a gasping cry at the grisly sight, and before they know what she is about, she falls down in a faint in their midst. They lift her up ; they look into one another's pale fac6s. • My lady !' they repeat in an awe-struck whisper. ' Murdered !' 1 Here !' cries Mr Hooper, his dienity coming to his aid, • let us investigate this here. Lay this young woman flat on her back on the floor, sprinkle her with water, and let her come to. I'm going to find out what she means.' They lay poor Ellen stiffly out as directed, someone dashes water into her face, then in a body, with Mr Hooper at their head, they .march off to investigate. . • She was in the day -nursery,' Nurse Pool "suggests, in a whisper, and to the daynursery they go. (- '„ On the threshold f Br a second or two they halt, their courage Tailing. But there is nothing very terrifying. Only the solemn moonlight, only the motionless little figure in the arm-chair. And yet a great awe holds them back. .Does death— -does murder stand grisly in their midst ? 1 Let us go in, in th&name of Providence,' say 3 Mr Hooper, a>tremble in his voice ; • it — it can't be whaCshe says. 0 good Lord, no!' They go forward on tiptoe, as if afraid of awakening that quiet sleeper whom only the last trump will ever awake now. They bend above her, holding their breath. Ye 3, there it is — the blood that is soaking h6r dress, dripping horribly on the carpet — oozing slowly from that cruel wound. A gasping, inarticulate sort of groan comes heavily from every lip. Old Hooper takes her wrist between his shaking fingers. Stilled forever, already with the awful chill of death. In the crystal light of the moon the sweet young face has never looked fairer, calmer, more peaceful than now. The old butler straightens himself up, ashen grey. 'It's too true,' he says with a sort of sob. • O Lord, have mercy on us — it's too true ! She's dead ! She's murdered !' He drops the wrist he holds, the little jewelled, dead hand falls limp and heavy. He puts his own hands oeer his face and sobs aloud : _ * Who will tell Sir Victor ? 0 my master I my dear young master !' No one speaks — a spell of preat horror has fallen upon them. Murdered in their midst,' in" their peaceful household— they cannot comprehend it. At last. — • Where is Miss Catheron ?' asks a sombre voice. Nb one knows who speaks ; no one seems to care'; no one dare reply. 4 Where is Inez Catheron ?' the voice says again* Something in the tone, something in the ghastly silence that follows, seems to arouse the butler. Since his tenth year he has been in the service of the Catherons — his father before him was butler in this house. Their honour is his. He starts angrily round now. • Who was that V he demands. *Of course Mi3s Inez knows nothing of this.' No one had accused her, but he is unconsciously defending her already. ' She must be told at once,' he says. •I'll go and tell her myself. Edwards, draw the curtains, will you, and light the candles.' He leaves the room. The valet mechanically does as he is bid — the curtains are drawn, the waxlights illumine the apartment. No one else stirs. The soft, abundant light falls down upon that tranquil, marble face — upon that most awful stain of blood. The butler goes straight up to his young j lady's room. Wayward, passionate, proud Miss Inez may be, but she is very dear to him. He has carried her in his arms many a time, a little laughing, black-eyed child. A vague, sickening fear fills him now. 'She hated my lady,' he thinks, in a dazed, helpless sort of way ; ' everybody knows that. What will she say when she hears this V He knocks ; there is no reply. He knocks again and calls huskily : ' Miss Inez,' are yon there ? For the dear Lord's s"ake open the door !' ' Come in !' a voice answers. He cannot tell whether it is Miss Inez or not. He opens the door and enters. This .room is unlit too — the, shine of the moon fills it as it fills that other roombelow. Here too a solitary figure sits, crouches rather, near the window in a strange, distorted, attitude of pain. He knows the flowing black hair, the scarlet wrap — he cannot see her face, she does not look round. • Miss Inez !'— his voice shakes — • I bring you bad news, awful news. Don't be shocked — but — a murder has been done.' There is no answer. If she hears him she does not heed. She just sits still and looks out into the night. * Miss Inez ! you hear me ?' He comes a little nearer — he tries to ace her face. * You hear me ?' he repeats. •I hear you.' The words drop like ice from her lips. One hand is clutching the arm of her chair — her wide-open black eyes never turn from the night-scene. 'My lady is dead— cruelly murdered. O Miss Inez ! do you hear ? — murdered ! What is to be done ?' She does not answer. Her lips move, but no word comes. An awful fear begins to fill the faithful servant's heart. • Miss Inez 1' he cries out, * you must come — they are waiting for you below. There is no one here but you — Sir Victor is away. Sir Victor — ' His voicebreaks ; he takes out his handkerchief and sobs like a child. •My dear young master! My dear young master ! He, loved the very ground ahe walked on. Oh, who is to tell him this V She rises slowly now, like one who is cramped, and stiff, and cold. j She looks at the old man. In her eyes there r is, a blind, dazed sort of horror*— on her face

: > i there is a ghastliness no words 'can describe. ! • Who is to tell Sir Victor,' the butler repeats. *It will kill him — the h'orrov of it. So pretty and so young— so sweet; and so good. Oh, how could they do it— how could they do it ?' She tries to speak once more — it seems as though her white lips cannot shape the words. Old Hooper looks up at her piteously. • Tell us what; is to be done. Miss Inez,' ho implores, 'you are mistress here now.' She shrinks as if he had struck her. 4 Shall we Bend for Sir Viotor first ?' ' Yes,' she eaysin a sort of whisper, ' send for Sir Victor first.' The voice in which she speaks is not the voice of! nez Catheron. The butlor looks at her, that fear in his eyes. ' ' You'haven'tsoen her, Misslnez,' he says. c Ifc is a fearful sight — but — will you come down ?' He almost dreads a refusal, but she does not refuse. The servants stand huddled together in the centre of the room. It lies there, in its dreadtul quiet, before them. Every eye turns darkly upon Miss Catheron as she ' comes in. She never sees them. She advances like a sleep-walker, that dazed, dumb horror still in her eyes, the whiteness of death on her face. She walks over and looks down upon the dead mistress of Catheron Royals. No change comes over her — she softens neither into pity nor ' tears. So long she stands there, so rigid she looks, so threatening ai'e the eyes that watch her, that Hooper- interposes his porbly figure between her and them. • • 'Miss Inez,' he says, 'will you please give your orders ? Shall I send lor Sir Victor at once, or — ' 'Yes, send for Sir Victor at once.' She arouses herself to say it. ' And I think you had better send to Chesholm for a doctor and — and the police. ' 4 The police !' 'A murder has been committed,' she says, in a cold, hard voice ; ' the murderer must be found.' i Something of her old, calm, stately | haughtiness returns as she speaks. ' This room must be cleared. Let no one touch her, 1 she shudders and looks away, * until Sir Victor comes. Ellen, Fool, Hooper, you three had better remain to watch. Edwards, mount the fastest horse in the stables and ride to Powyss Place for your life.' • Yes, miss,' Edwards answers, in a low voice ; '- and please, miss, am I to tell Sir Victor V She hesitates a moment — her face changes, her voice shakes a little for the first time. ' Yes,' she answers, faintly, ' tell him.' Edwards leaves the room. She turns to another of the men servants. ' You will ride to Chesholm and fetch Dr. Dane. On your way stop at the police station and apprise them. The rest of you go. Jane Pool, where is the baby V ' Upstairs in the night nursery,' Jane Pool answers sullenly. ' And crying, too — I hear him. Hannah,' to the under nurse, 'go and remain with him. lam going to my own room. "When,' she pauses a second and speaks with an effort, ' when Sir Victor comes, you will receive youi further orders from him. I can do nothing more.' She left the room. Jane Pool looked ominously after her. 'No, : she said, between her set lips; ' you have done enough.' ' Oh, Jane, hush !' Ellen whispers in terror. There has still been no direct accusation, but they understand each other perfectly. 1 When the time come 9 to speak, you'll see whether I'll hush,' retorts Jane. • What was she doing in this room fifbeen minutes before you found my lady dead ? Why wouldn't she let me in ? why did she tell me a lie ? what made her say my lady was still asleep ? Asleep ! Oh, poor soul, to think of her being murdered here, while we were all enjoying ourselves below. And if I hadn't took away the baby it's my opinion it would have been ' 'Oh, Jane!' ' " Oh, Jane," as much as you please, it's j the gospel truth.. Them that killed the j mother hated the child. When the time I comes I'll speak, if &he was twice the lady j she is, Ellen !' ' Lor' !' Ellen cried with a nervous jump, 'don't speak so jerky, Mrs Pool. You make my blood a mass of ice. What is it ?' ' Ellen/ Jane Pool said solemnly, ' where is the dagger V 1 What dagger ?' 1 The furrin dagger with the gold handle and the big ruby set in it, that my lady used as a paper knife. I'll take my oath, I saw it lying on the table there, shining in the moonlight, when I took away baby. Where is it now ?' The dagger the nur.se spoke of was a curious Eastern knife that had belonged to Sir Victor's mother. It had a long, keen steel blade, a slim handle of wrought gold set with a large ruby. Sir Victor's wife had taken a fancy to the pretty Syrian toy, and converted it into a paper knife. ' I saw it on that there table, when I took away baby,' Jane said compressing her lips; *it would do it. Where is it now V ' Gone,' Ellen answered. ' Oh, Jane do you think — ' 'She has been stabbed, you see, right through the heart, and there isn't much blood. That devilish little glittering knife has done the deed. There it was ready for its work, as if Satan himself had left it handy. Oh, poor lady — poor lady ! to think that the coy she used to play with should one day take her life !' While they whispered in the death room, up in her chamber, while the hours of the dreary night wore on, Inez Catheron sat, crouched in a heap, as Hooper had found her, her face hidden in her hands. Two hours had passed, an awful silence filled the whole house, while she sat there and never stirred. As eleven struck from the turret clock, the thunder of horses' hoofs on the avenue below, came to her dulled ears. A great shudder shook her from head to foot — she lifted her haggard face. The lull before the etorm was over — Sir Victor Catheron had come.

IK THE DARKNESS. Half an hour's rapid gallop had brought Edwards, the valet, to Powyss Palace. The stately mansion, park, lawn and terraces, lay bathed in the silvery shower of moonlight. From the upper windows, wh«re the sick man lay, lights streamed ; all the rest of the house was in deep shadow. In one of those dimly-lighted rooms Sir Victor Catheron lay upon a lounge fast asleep. He had remained for about two hours by the sick man's bedside ; then, persuaded by his aunt, had gone to lie down in an inner apartment. • You look pale and ill yourself,' she had said, tenderly ; ' lie down and rest for a little. If I need you, I will call you at once.' He had obeyed, and had dropped off into a heavy sleep. A dull oppression of heart and soul beseb him ; he, had no ,mind to, ! slumber— ithad come upon him unawares. He was awakened Buddenly by someone calling his name. 'Victor! Victor!' the voice called, ' awake !' He sat up with a bewildered face. < Was thati his aunt's voice* so hoarse* bo strange

"Was 'this his 1 aunVwitii tliat ' white, horrorstruck face ? - •Victor!' she cried, the words a very wail.- f Oh, my boy Imy boy I how shall I ever tell you ? Oh, why did I send for' you this dreadful night ? : - Ethel'— her voice choked, He rose ,to his feet, staring at her blankly. • Ethel,' he repeated. l ' Ethel— "* She covered her face with her hands and burst into a hysterical outbreak of tears. , Edwards, standing behind her in the doorway, made a step forward. ' • Tell him; Edwards,' said Lady Helena. ' I cannot. It seems too horrible to tell or to believe.' Oh, my poor/Victor ! my poor, poor boy.' , , , > Edwards came^orward' reluctantly, with a very pale, scared face. ' " ' 'It's dreadful 'news, $ir Victor— l don't know how to tell you, but my lady, I'm afraid she — she's dead.' 1 Dead !» Ho repeated the word dully, staring almost stupidly at the speaker. •Dead, Sir Victor,' the man ropeated, solemnly. • I'm sore afraid, murdered. ' There was a sudden, headlong rush from the room ; no other reply. Like a flash Sir Victor passed them both. They heard him clear the stairs, rush along the lower hall, and out of the house. The next instant the valet and Lady Helena were in pursuit. He was mounted on Edwards' horse and dashing furiously away before they reached the court-yard. They called to him— he neither heard nor hqeded. He dashed his spurred heel into the horse's side *and flew out of sight like the wind. 1 Follow him !' Lady Helena cried, breathlessly, to the groom. 'Overtake him, for the love of Heaven ! ' Oh, loho can have done this awful deed ? Edwards, you are sure there Is no mistake? It seems too unnatural, too impossible to believe.' ' There is no mistake, my lady,' the man answered, sadly. * I saw her myself, the blood flowing where they had stabbed her, cold and dead.' Lady Helena wrung her hands and turned away. 'Ride for your life after your master !' she said. * I will follow you as soon as I can.' She went back to her husband's side. He was no worse— he seemed, if anything, better. She might leave him in her housekeeper's charge until morning. She ordered the carriage and rapidly ! changed her dress. It was about one in the morning when she reached Catheron Royals. The tall turrets were silvered in i the" moonlight, the windows sparkled in the crystal light. The sweet beauty and peace of the September night lay like a benediction over the eartVi. And, amid all the silence and sweetness, a foul, a most horrible murder had been done. She encountered Mrs Marsh, the housekeeper, in the hall, her face pale, her eyes red with weeping. Some dim hope that up to this time had upheld her, so that after all there might be a mistake, died out then. 'Oh, Marsh,' she said piteously, ' it, it true ?' Mrs Marsh's answer was a fresh burst of tears. Like all the rest of the household, the gentle ways, the sweet face, and soft voice of Sir Victor's wife had won her heart from the first. •It is too true, my lady. The Lord have mercy upon us all. It seems too horrid for belief, but it is true. As she lay asleep there, four hours ago, in her own house, surrounded by her own servants, some monster in human form stabbed hor tlnough the' heart — through the heart, my lady — Dr. Dane says one blow did it, and that death must have been instantaneous. So young, so sweet, and so lovely. Oh, how could they do it — how could anyone do it ?' Mrs Marsh's sobs grew hysterical. Lady Helena's own tears wero flowing. ' I feel as though I were guilty in some way myself,' the housekeeper went on. 'If we had only woke her up, or fastened the. window or anything ! 1 know the monster, whoever he was, got in through the window. And, oh, my lady !' — Mrs Marsh wiped her eyes suddenly, and lowered her voice to an excited whisper —4 I wish u you would speak to Jane Pool, the nurse. She doesn't dare say anything out openly, but the looks she gives and the hints she drops are almost worse than the murder itself. You can sec as clear as day that she suspects — Miss Inez. ' Marsh ! Great Heaven !' Lady Helena cried, recoiling in horror. ' Miss Inez !' • Oh, my lady, I don't say it — I don't think it — Heaven forbid ! — it's only that wicked, spiteful nurse, Pool. She hates \ Miss Inez — she has hated her from the first — and she loved my lady. Ah ! who could help being fond of her — poor, lovely young l a( jy ! — with a sweet smile and pleasant . word for everyone in the house ? And you know Miss Inez's high, haughty way. Jane Pool hates her, and will do her mischief if she can. A word from you might check her. No one knows the harm a babbling tongue may do.' Lady Helena drew herself up proudly. ' I shall not say one Word to her, Marsh. Jane Pool can do my niece no harm. Tho bare, repetition of it , is ajn insult. Miss Catheron — that I should have to say such a thing ! — is above suspicion.' ' My lady, I believe ib ; still, if you would only speak to her. You don't know all. She saw Miss Inez coming out of the nursery a quarter of an hour before we found Lady Catheron dead. She wished to enter, and Miss Inez ordered her away. She has been talking to the police, and I saw that Inspector Darwin watching Miss Inez in a way that made my blood run, cold.' But Lady Helena waived the topic away haughtily. 'Be silent, Marsh ! I will not hear another word of this — it is too horrible ! Where is Miss Inez ?' 'In her own room, my lady. And — I beg your pardon for alluding to it again — but I think she suspecta. She seemed dazed-like, stupefied at first ; she is more like herself now. Will you not go in and see her, poor i soul, before you go to Miss Inez? Oh, my lady, my lady ! it breaks my heart when I look at her — when I look at Sir Victor.' For a moment Lady Helena shrank. • Sir Victor is in there „— with her ?' she faltered. 'Yes, my lady— like a man all struck stupid. It frightens me to see him. If he 'would only speak, or cry, or fly out against the murderer — but he just sits there as if turning to stone.' His aunt covered her face for' an instant with both hands, heart-sick with all these horrors, then she looked up, and moved forward. ' Where is she V she asked — * in which room? 1 )( , •In the white drawing-room, my lady; the doctors brought her there. Sir Victor is with her, alone.' Lady Helena, slowly adyanced. At the door she paused a moment to nerve herself for what she must see ; then she turned the handle and went in. It was one of the stateliest rooms in the house — all white and gold, and dimly lit now by wax tapers. Lying on one of the white, velvetn sofas she saw> a rigid figure, over- which a white covering i was drawn; but the. golden hair and, the fair, marble face gleaming inthe waxligfets a3 beautiful as, ever in life. .-, . ■ l He sat beside his dead — almost ub motion* less, almost as cold, almost as white. He

had loved her with a love that was akin to idolatrous — he had grudged that the eye of jtnan ehould rest on his treasure— and now hesatbeside her— dead. , ' , ' If he hoard the door open, ' he neither moved nor stirred. He never once looked up as* his aunt came forward ; his eyes were rivetedupon that ineffably calm face with a vacant, sightless sort of stare that chilled her blood. ' Victor !' she cried out, in a frightened voice; 'Victor speak to me. For pity's sake don't look like that !' The dull, blinded eyes looked up at her, full of infinite, unutterable despair. 'She is dead,' ,116 said, in a slow, dragging sort of t voice--; 4 dead ! And last night Ileffc her. well and. happy— left her to be murdered— to— bp— murdered. ' ' The slow words fell heavily from his lips — his eyes went back to her. face, his dulled mind seemed lapsing into its stupefied trance of quiet. More and more alarmed,-his-aunt gazed at him. Had the death of his wife turned his brain ? ' Victor !' she exclaimed, almost angrily, ' you must rouse yourself. You must not stay here. Be a man ! Wake up. Your wife has been murdered. Go and find her murderei'.' ' Her murderer,' he replied, in the same slow tone of unnatural quiet ; ' her murderer. It seems strange, Aunt Helena, doesn't it, that anyone could murder her ? ' I must find her murderer.' Ob,' he cried, suddenly, in 'a voice of anguish : ' what does it matter about her murderer ? It won't, bring her back to life,. She, is dead I tell you — dead !' , ■ ' He .flung" himself off his - chair, .on bis knees' by • the eou'qh; He drew down the white satin counterpane, 'and pointed to that one' dark, small stab'On the left side. 4 Look !' he said, in a shrill, wailing voice, ( through the heart — through the heart ! She did not suffer — the doctors say (hat. Through the heart as she slept. Oh, my love, my darling, my wife 1' He kissed the wound —he kissed the hands, the face, the hair. Then with a long, low moan of utter desolation, he drew back the covering and buried his iaco in it. ' Leave me alone,' he said, despairingly ; ' I will not qo — I will never go from ncr again. She was mine in life — mine only. Juan Catheron lied, she is mine in death. My wife— my Ethel !' He started up as suddenly as he had flung himself down, his gh.as.tly face flaming dark red. ' Leave me alone, I tell you ! - Why do you all come here ? I will not go ! Leave me, I command you— l am master here !' Sho shrank from him in absolute physical terror. Never over strong at any time, her worst fears were indeed true, the shock of his wife's tragic death was turning Sir Victor's brain. There was nothing to be done — nothing to be said — he must be obeyed — must be soothed. ' Dear Victor,' she said, ' I will go. Don't be hard with 'poor Aunt Helena. There is no one in all this world as sorry for you as I am. Only tell me this before I leave you— shall we not sond for her father and mother V ' No,' he answered, in the same fierce tone ; ' they can't bring her back to life — no one can now. I don't want them. I wont nobody. Ethel is mine I tell you — mine alone !' He motioned her imperiously to leave him —a light in his eye — a flush on his face there was no mistaking. She went at once. How was it all to end 3he wondered, more and more sick at heart — this mysterious murder, this &uspicion against Inez, this dreadful overthrow of her nephew's mind ? ' May Heaven help us !' she cried. ' Whab have we done that thisawful trouble should come upon us ?' I Aunt Helena.' She looked round with a little cry. all her nerves trembling and unstrung. Inez stood before her — Inez with dark, resolute eyes, and stony face. • I have been waiting for you — they told me you were thkre.' {She. pointed with a shudder to the dooiy .are "we to. do?' ' x ' v ."• , •' ' Don't ask me,' Lady' Helena answered, helplessly. ' T don't know. I feel stunned and stupid with all the^te horrors.' •The police are here,' Misa Gathoron went on, 4 and the coroner has 1 been apprised. 1 suppose they will hold an inquest tomorrow.' Her aunt looked at her in surprise. The calm, cold tone of her voice grated on her sick heart. ' Have you seen him f she asked almost in a whisper. ' Inez — I fear — I fear it is turning his brain. 3 Misa Catheron's short, scornful upper lip curled with the old look of contempt. 4 The Catheron brain was never noted for 1 its strength. I shall not be surprised at all. Poor wretch !' Sho turned away and looked out into the darkness. •It does seem hard on him.' ' Who can have done it ?' The question on every lip rose to Lady Helena's, but somehow she could not utter it. Did Inez' know of the dark, sinister suspicion against herself? Gould she know and be calm like this ? I 1 forgot to ask for Uncle Godfrey,' Inez's quiet voice said again. 'Of course he is better, or even at such a time as this you would not be here.' 'He is better, Inez,' &he broke out desperately. * Who can have done this '' She had not an enemy in the world. Is — is there anyone suspected ?' 'There is,' lnez answered, turning from the window and facing her aunt. * The servants suspect we.' * Inez !f! f * Their case isn't a bad one as they make it out,' pursued Miss Catheron coolly. • There was ill blood between us. It is of no use denying it. I hated her with my whole heart. I was the last person seen coming out of the room, fifteen minutes before they found her doad. Jane Pool says I refused to let her cro in — perhaps I did. It is quite likely. About an hour previously we had h violent quarrel. The übiquitous Mrs Pool overheard thai also. You see her case is rather a strong one.' * Bub— lnez— ! ' I chanced to overhear all this,' still went on Miss Catheron, quietly, but with set lips and gleaming eyes. * Jane Pool washolding forth to the inspector of police. I walked up to them, and they both slunk away like beaten curs. Orders have been Issued that no one is to leave the house. To-morrow these facts are to be placed before the coroner's jury. If they find me guilty — don't cry, Aunt Helena — I shall be sorry for you — sorry I have disgraced a good old name. For the rest, it doesn't much matter what becomes of such a woman as I am.' She turned again to the window and looked out into the darkness. There was a desperate bitterness in her tone that Lady Helena could not understand. .'Good Heavens 1' she burst forth, 'one would think you were all in a consph'acy to , drive me mad. It doesn't matter what be- , comes of you, doesn't it ? I tell you if this last worst misery falls upon us, it will kill me on the spot ; just that.' I The girl sighed drearily. i 'Kill you, Aunt Helena,' she repeated, mournfully. ' No— we don't any pi U 3 die • so easily. Don't be afraid— l am ndfc likely 3 to talk in this way before anyone bub you.

lam only telling yo,u the truth. They will have the inquestV and »U that Jane Pool can say against- me will bo said. Do you think, Yictor 'will be able to appear ?' • I don't think Victor is in a condition to appear at an' inquest or anywhere else. Ah, poor boy ! He lovod her so dearly, ib is enough to shako the mind of a stronger man.' " But Miss Catheron was dead silGnt — it ' was evident t her feelings here were as ' bitter' as ever— that even the ttagic death of her rival had not softened her. , 'He will survive it,' she answered, in the flame half-contemptuous tone. 'Men have died and worms have eaten them, but not for love.' •> 1 ■ * Inez,' said her aiintj suddenly coming a step nearer, .' a rumour has reached me — is it true ? — that Juan is back — that he has been here ?' > , 1 It is quite* true,' her niece answered without-turning round ; 'he has been here. He was here on the night Lady Catheron first came.' 1 Thei'e is another rumour afloat, that there was a violent quarrel ,on that occasion — that he claimed to be an old lover of Ethel's, poor ' child, and fchafc Victor turned him out. Since then it is said ho has been seen more than once prowling about the grounds. For everybody's sake I hope it is not true.' Inez faced round suddenly — almost fiercely. ' And what if I say it is true, in every respect ? He did come — there was a quarrel, and Victor ordered him out. Since then he has been here — prowling, as you call it — trying to see me, trying to force me to give him money. I was flinty as usual, and would give him none. Where is the crime in all that?' ' Has he gone ?' was Lady Helen's response. 'I believe so — I hope so. He had nothing to stay for. Of course he has gone.' 'I am glad of that, at least. And now, as it seems I' can do nothing more at present, I will return home. Watch Victor, Inez — he needs it, believe inc. I will return at the earliest possible moment tomorrow.' So, in the chill- grey of the fast-coming morning, >Lady Helena, very heavy-hearted, returned to Powyss Place and her sick husband's bedside. Meantime matters were really beginning to look dark for Miss Catheron. The superintendent of the district, Mr Ferrick, was filling his note-book with very ominous iniormation. She had loved Sir Victor — she had hated Sir Victor's wife—they had led a cat-and-dog life from the first— an hour before the murder they had had a violent quarrel — Lady Catheron had threatened to make her husband turn her oub of the house on the morrow. At eight o'clock Jane Pool had left the nursery with the baby, my lady peacefully asleep in her chair — the Eastern poniard on the table. At half-past eight, returning to arouse my lady, she had encountered Miss Inez coming out of the nursery, and Miss Inez had ordered her sharply away, telling her my lady was still asleep. A quarter ot nine, Ellen, the maid, going to the room, found my lady stone dead, stabbed through the heart. Miss Inez, when summoned by Hooper, is ghastly pale at first, and hardly seems to know what she :is doing or saying. A very pretty case of tragedy in high life, Superintendent Ferrick thinks, pursing up his lips with professionaal zest, and not the first murder jealousy has made fine ladies commit, either. Now if that Turkish dagger would I only turn up. Two policemen are sent quietly in search of it through ohe grounds. It isn't likely they'll find it, still it will do no harm to try. He finds out which are Miss Catheron's rooms, and keeps his official eye upon them. He goes through the house with the velvet tread of a cat In the course of his wanderings everywhere, he brings up presently in the stables, and finds them untenanbed, save by one lad, who sits solitary among the straw.* He< is rather a .dull-looking youth, with a florid, vacant face at most times, but looking dazed and anxious jueb now. 'Something on 1m mind,' thinks the superintendent, and sibs ( sociably down on a box beside him at once. ' Now, my man,' Mr Ferrick says, pleasantly, ' and what is it that's troubling yOul Out with it— every little's a help in a case like this.' The lad— his name is Jimmy— does not need pressing ; his secret has been weighing uneasily upon him for the last hour or more, ever since he heard of the murder, in fact, and he pours his revelation into the superintendent's eager ear. His revelation is this : Last evening, just about dusk, strolling by chance in the direction of the Laurel walk, heheard voices raised and angry in the walk — the voices of a man and a woman. He had peeped through the branches and seen my lady and a very tall man. No, it wasn't Sir Victor— it was a much bigger man, with long black curling hair. Didn't see his face. Ib was dark in there among;; the trees. Wasn't sure, but ib struck hini it might be the tall, black-avised man, who came first the night Sir Victor brought home my lady, and who had been seen skulking about the park once or twice since. Had heard a whisper that the man was Miss Inez's brother— didn't know himself. All he did knew was, that my lady and a man were quarrelling on the evening of the murder on the Laurel walk. What were they quarrelling about t Well, he couldn't catch bheir talk very well— it was about money he thought. The man wanted money and jewels, and my lady wouldn't give 'em. He threatened to do something or tell something ; then she threatened to have him put in Chesholm gaol if he did. He, Jimmy, though full of curiosity, was afraid the man would spring out and catch him, so at this juncture he came away. There ! that was all, if it did the gentleman any good he was welcome to it. ,Ib did the gentleman a- world of good — it complicated matters beautifully. Five [ minutes ago the case looked dark as night for Miss Catheron— here was a rift in her sky. Who was this man — was it Miss Catheron's brother ? Jimmy could tell him nothing more. 'If you wants to find out about Miss Inez's brother,' said Jimmy. ' you go to old' Hooper. • He knows. All / know is, that they say he was an uncommon bad lot; but old Hooper, he's knowed him ever since he was a Young 'un and lived here. If old' Hooper says he wasn't here the night Sir Victor brought my lady home, don't you believe —he was, and he's been seen off and on in the grounds since. The women folks in the servants' hall, they say as how ho must have been an old. sweetheart of my lady's. You go to old Hooper and worrit ib oub oc him.' IMr Superintendent went. How artfully he began his work, how delicately and skilfully he 'pumped' old Hpopor dry, no words can tell. Mr Juan' Catheron was an c uncommon bad lot,' he had come to the house and forced an entrance into the din-ing-room the night of Lady Catheron's arrival — there had been ' a quarrel, and he had been compelled to leave. Bit by bib this', was \ drawn from Mr Hooper. Since then, 'Jackson, the head groom, and ' Edwards, the valet," had eeen im' 'hovering about' the grounds watching the house.

. Mr Ferriek ponders these things in his heart, and is still. . This vagabond, Juan Catheron, follows my lady to , Catheron< Royals, is expelled, haunts the grounds, and a man answering to his description is discoveredrquarrelling with- my lady, demanding money, etc., two or three houra before the murder. The window of the room, in which ahe takes that fatal sleep, opens on the lawn ; anyone may enter who sees fit. ".-No one is about._ The Oriental dagger lies convenient to his hand on the table. 'Here, now,' says Mr Forrick to Mr Ferrick, with a reflective frown, « which i 3 guilty — the brother or sister ?' He goes and -gives an order to one of his men, and the man starts in search of Mr Juan Catheron. JAy Catheron must", be found, though they summon the detectives of Scotland Yard to aid in the search. The dull hours wear on — the new day, sunny and bright, is with them. The white drawing-room is darkened — (the master of Catheron Hoyals sits there alone with his dead. And presently the cordner comes, and talks with the superintendent, and they enter softly and look at the murdered lady. The coroner departs again a jury is summoned, and the inquest is fixed to begin at noon next day in the ' Mitre ' tavern at Chesholm. Lady Helena returns and goes at once to her nephew. Inez, in spite of her injunctions, has never been near Him once. He sits there still, as she left him many hours ago ; he has never stirred or spoken since. Left to himself, he is almost apathetic in his quiet— he rouses into fury when they strive bo take him away. As the dusk falls, Lady Helena, passing the door, hears him talking to the dead, and once— oh, pitiful Heaven !— she hears a low, blood-chilling laugh. She opens the door and goes in. He is kneeling beside the sofa, holding the stark figure in his anna, urging her to get up and dress. 'It is a lovely night, Ethel,' he says; ' the moon is shining, and you know you like to walk out on moonlight nights. 1)» you remember, love, those nights at Margate, when we walked together fir3t on the sands 1 Ah ! you never lay like this, cold and still, then. Do geb'up, Ethel!' petulantly this ; I am tired of sitting here and waiting for you to awake. You have slept long enough. Gefc up 1' He tries to lift her. Horror struck, Lady Helena catckes him in-time to prevent it. ' Victor, Victor !' she cries, ' for the love of Heaven put her down. Come away, Don't you know she is dead ?' He lifts his dim eyes to her face, blind with the misery of a dumb animal. ' Dead !' he whispers. Then, with a low, moaning gasp, he falls back in her arms, fainting wholly away. , Her cries bring" aid — they lift him and carry him up to his room, undress and place him in bed. The family physician is summoned— feels his pulse, hears what Lady Helena has to Bay, and looks very grave. The shock has been too much for a not overstrong body or mind. Sir Yictorjs in imminent danger of brain fever. The night shuts down. A messenger comes to Lady Helena saying the squire is much better, and she makes up her mind to remain all night. Inez comes, pale and calm, and also takes her place by the stricken man's bedside, a great sadness and pity for the first time on her face. The White Room is locked — Lady Helena keeps the key— one pale light burns dimly in its glittering vastness. And as the night closes in blackness over the doomed house, one of the policemen comes in haste to Superintendent Ferrick, triumph in his* face. He has found the dagger. Mr Ferrick opens his eyes rather — it is more than he expected. 1 A bungler, 1 he mutters, 'whoever did it. | Jones, where did you find this V ! Jones explains. Near the entrance gates there is a wilderness of fern, or. bracken, as high as your waist. Hidden in the midst of this unlikely place Jones has found the dagger. It is as if the party, going down the avenue, had flung it in. 'Bungler, 5 Superintendent Ferrick says again. ' It's bad enough to be a murderer without being a fool.' • ' He takes the dagger. "No doubt about' the work it has done. It is .incrusted with > blood— dry, dafk, and clotted up to the hilt. A strong, sure hand had certainly done the deed. For » the first time the thought strikes him — could a woman's hand strike that one strong, sure, deadly blqw ? Miss Catheron is a fragile-looking young lady, with a waist he could span, slim little fingers, and a delicate wrist. Could she strike this blow ?— it is quite evident only one has been struck. 'And besides,' says Superintendent Ferrick, argumentatively to himself, • it's fifteen minutes' fast walking from the house to the gates. Fifteen minutes only elapsed between the time Nurse Pool sees her come out of the nursery and Maid Ellen finds her mistress murdered. And I'll be sworn, she habn't been out of the house to-day. All last night they Kay she kept herself shut up in her room. Suppose she wasn't — suppose she went out last night and tried to hide it, is it likely— come, I say ! is it likely she would take and throw it right in the very spot where it was sure to be found? A Tartar that young woman is, I have no doubt, but she's a long way ott being a fool. She may know xoho has done this murder, but I'll stake my professional reputation, in spite of Mrs Pool, that she never did it herself.' , ,_ A thin, drizzling rain comes on with the night, the trees drip, drip in a feeble, melancholy sort of way, the wind has a lugubrious sob in its voice, and it is intensely dark. It is about nine o'clock, when Miss Catheron rises from her place by the sick bed and goes out of the room. In the corridor sho stands a moment, with the air of one who looks and listens. She sees, no one. The dark figure of a woman, who hovers afar off and watches her, is there, but lost in a shadowy corner ; a woman who, since the murder, has never entirely lost sight oi her. Miss Catheron does not see her, she takes up a shawl, wraps it about her, ovei her head, walks rapidly along the passage, down a back stairway, out of a side door, little used, and so out into the dark, dripping, sighing night. There are the Chesholm constabulary or guard on the wet grass and gravel else where — there are none here. But the quiel figure of Jane Pool has followed her, lik( her shadow, and Jane Pool's face peers cautiously out from the half-open door. In that one instant while she waits, sh< misses her prey — she emerges, bus in th< darkness nothing is to be seen or heard. As she stands irresolute, she sudden^ hears a low, distinct whistle to the left. I may be the call of a night-bird— it may b< a signal. She glides to the left, straining hey eye: through the gloom. It is many minute before she can see anything, except th< vaguely waving trees— then a fiery spark, i red eye glows through the night. She ha run her prey to carth — it is the lighted ti] of a cis'ar. , She draws near — her heart throbs Dimly she sees the tall figure of a man close to him the slender, slighter figure of; woman. ' They are talking in whispers, am she is mortally afraid of coming too close What is to keep them from murdering he too ' ■ , ' . ' , . ♦I tell you, you must go; and at once are the first words she hears Ines Cathero

speaking,ina passionate, 1 iiltenae.whiepar. ,« I tell you Jam suspected already « ;do you think you can escape much T longer? >tf you have any feeling, for yourself, for .me,, go, go,. I beseech you, at once! .They we searching forydu now,* I warn you,, and if .they, find you— ' ' ■ > - 'If they find me,' the man retorts, doggedly, ' ib can't be much worse than it is. Things have been- co black with me for years that they can't . be » much blacker. But I'll go. I'm not ore* anxious to stay, Lord knows. Give me the' money and 1 11 be off.' • ' ' . She takes from her.'bosom. a package, ana hands it to him ; by the glow of the red cigar-tip, Jane sees her. ' ' ' »• It is all I have^all lean get, jewels and all,'- she says ; • enough to keep you for years with care. Now go, and. never come back— your coming has done evil enough, surely.' . Jane Pool catches the words —.'the man mutters some sullen, inaudible • reply. Inez Catheron speaks again in the same passionate voice. ' How dare you say so ?' she cries, stamping her foot. * You wretch ! whom it is my bitterest shame to call brother. But for you she would be alive and well. Do you think I' do not know it ?, .Go «- living or dead, I .never want tolOok upon your face again !' s - - > ' " , Jane Pool .hears those terrible words/ ana stands paralysed. ,Can it be that Miss Inez is not the murderess after all? The man retorts again — she does not hear now — then plunges into the woodland and disappears. An instant " the girl, stands motionless looking after him, then' she turns and walks rapidly back into the house ■ \