GREATEST CRIME STORIES IN FICTION.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LI, Issue 287, 28 November 1908, Page 3

GREATEST CRIME STORIES IN FICTION.

THE CRIME IN MISS BKADI)OX'S ! FAMOUS .STORY, "LADY AUDLEY'ii SECRET'." f , "Mr (Jcorge Talboys.-Any pc-soii «'.ho has met this person since tne 7fi ' 'f tant > or »'h U can iurnish any in,„rm,'. t'oll respecting his movements subs'l«ent to that date, will be lUu . ni ,, v rewarded on communicating with -1 >' '*> Chancery Cane." Such was the advertisement inserted Audley, the young barrister of Fi.r Tree Court, Temple, and for several" days Robert Audley waited anxiously 1„■ some repy. Xone came. The mystery surrounding the strange disappearance ol Ceorge Talboys, the friend of his boyhood, wa.s not so easily dispells. In hi, musty chambers ill Fi„ Tire Court-rendered now to him" mure gloomy by the shadow of ever-growin.r tear as to Ui e fate of his friend-Robert Audley pondered over past eventHe retailed how he Had collided'with that tall, burly, big-bearded man, gelling out of a hansom in one of toe narrow passages of the Temple; how lie had stopped to expostulate with the careless stranger; how the stranger had l>ul out his hand to him, and hailed him to Ins astonishment, as •• Bob " He was (ieurge Talboys, Robert Audley s chum at Eton, alive, hearty, impetuous as ever, full of news of hope.

A ROMAXTiC STORY. "And now, Cebrge, tell me all that has happened," sa id Audley, and (icor«e talboys proceeded to do so. it was 1 strange story. He told Audley how be had, when a poor cornet in a cavnirv regiment, fallen in love with the beautilul daughter of a n aged and somewhat disreputable retired naval officer—how he had married her—how his father in a rage of offended pride, had cut oil his allowance and reduced the couple to despair—how he had vainly 'sought to keep the. little home—and how, at last his young wife had reproached him with having led her to marry him and havuw I brought her to poverty and to suffering! What should he do? Black thoughts of suicide crossed hU mind. If he destroyed himself his wife would go home to her father and be prepared for suicide! Why should he not try his luck in Australia, where they were pickh" up gold at the diggings! Leaving a few scribbled words for his, wife, "stating that he had gone to ucek fortune m another part of the world, he crept stealthily from the house. If fortune blessed him she should share it. If rum dogged ihim she should be tree from it.

AFTER MANY DAYS. Ihat had been three and a half years ago, and Fate had been kind to him. He had come back worth thousandscome back to find his wife and to surprise her with his luck. For he had not acquainted her with his struggles and his sorrows. He had sent her no word of them, but when that sudden stroke of luck had made him rich he had written to her, telling her of it. He was coming to her side by the next steamer to England. "So I have just landed in London by the express from Liverpool," he said. "And now—before I eat, drink, shave, or anything else—l must go to a coffeehouse in Bridge Street, Westminster. There her reply to my letter will be waiting me," TOO LATE. Robert Audley had accompanied him to the coffee-house. He had seen the brown face turn a shade white when George Talboys learned there was no letter for him. He would not quickly forget the expression of Talboy's face as, picking up the greasy copy of the Times that lay on the coffee-house table, his eye had fallen on a paragraph on its front page. It was. in the list of deaths, and ran: — " On the 24th instant, at Ventnor, in the Isle of Wight, Helen Talboys, aged twenty-two."

Dead! He was too late! Fortune had mocked him, after all, in hhat wealth she had given him. He had prized it for Helen's sake, and he was too late!

And now George Talboys had mysteriously vanished!

Could his disappearance be in any way connected with that visit he hail paid with him, Robert Audley, to Audley Court, the great, old-time Essex mansion surrounded by the wide-spread-ing pastures and the noble trees in the park, where lived Sir .Michael Audley. his uncle, the aged baronet, whose r'imantiu marriage 'to Lucy Graham—the pretty, fascinating little governed to the village surgeon's children -had ere--ated such a se.isation a short time back? Robert Audley and hi* friend had slopped at the village inn. Why had T.ilboys seemed more gloomy and reserved since the hour when, Sir Michael anil her ladyship being away from the Coin;.

one of the servants bail shown them over the mansion, and (leorge. Talboys

hail found Jiimself in front of the portrait of ■ her ladyship painted by tingreat artist whom Sir Michael had conimissioned to do honour with his brush to the woman he loved '!\ ROBERT AUJ3LEY BECOMES ANXIOUS.

Eobcrt Audley ate a lonely dinner the next night at the inn, wondering what had become of his friend. Perhaps he had suddenly gone back to London? Audley, unable to bear the loneliness of the inn rooms, had-betaken himself to the Court, to which Sir Michael and his beautiful wife had returned the day before. It was "dreadful," my lady declared, that Robert Audley should make such a fuss;over his friend. Of course, all would he right. Surely George Talboys —or whatever his name was—was capable of taking care of himself? But Robert Audley's fears respecting him were not to lie so easily set. at rest, and he declared that, if he could find no tidings of him in. the village or on his return to London, he should go to Southampton to inquire of Captain Maldon, Mrs. Talboys' father, if he had heard news of him. i THE FIRST CLUE.

Seated ill Uie light of the wax candles of the piano in the great drawing-room Lady Audley had played to them the dreamy -sonatas of Beethoven. She was wondrously beautiful as she sat at the instrument and as her jewelled white hands glided over the keys. What was that mark upon her wrist that was suddenly disclosed as the broad gold bracelet dropped "from it as she played a quick passage? A bruise! Her ladyship declared she was always bruising | herself. Her skin was one that showed j the least accident to it. ' "Ah! You knew that he was coming I to Southampton?" I Captain Maldon uttered the words,

looking at Robert Andley curiously with his bleary, drink-dimmed eyes. Yes, he assured the young barrister, Cieorge Tab hoys had hcen there the preceding day and had expressed his intention of pro ccediii" to Liverpool and returning t< Australia. While the captain was oui of the little sitting-room Robert Audlei turned to the fireplace-to seek a lig'> lor his cigar. There were the. remain of a iiarllv-consunied telegram in th< fireplace, and his eyes fell on the* .; "Taihoys tame to last night an left by the mail for London on his_ wa for Liverpool, whcn.c he was to sail fo Sydney." WHAT BID M' MKAY

I What was the meanim.' of that niysI terions telegram'; Was Hie captain lyi„« to him? Was thai telegram only I sent to him by „nn>conc instructing him whit be was to tell Robert Audley? And who could have sent it to him? Ladv Aiidlev? Could it be Lady Audley.' The a-itatioil of Cieorge Talboys over mv hidv's portrait-the mark on my

ladVs wrist-the false excuses she had made to avoid meeting t.eorgc lalboys —that telegram—what did they all point to Who was Mi- Lmy Craham. lhej nrettv "overness of the village surgeon s hmilv Whom Sir Alichael Audley had married in <•«<* « hm .d to love of her by her baby-1 ke face, with fte big bine eyes and the fiir vcllow" hair? 'THE SECRET REVEALED. Helen Afaldon. the girl who had ,iecome Oorge Talboys'- wife-Lucy Andley-were. , one and the same! George Idlbovs lian • i i.;- wif<. iii that, portrait h> S IHTCM.rt U..t..l. r ; '*■;.'"'>. death, and her father, the old a . captain, had been her accomplice in the declared Ladv Audley, facing Rolierl Audlcv as he' confronted her with thosj ,l.„„„in» proofs he had of her ffiult. ' killed George Talboys, and I killed mil 'because I was mad,"

HER I'UXISHMEXT. A few days later Lady -iiullc/ and Robert Audley stood facing one another 1 in the gloomy saloon in ihe private asylum of M. Vul, at Villcbiunieune. Lady Audley shuddered as she looked around her—surveyed the dismal surroundings of that living grave. I'ur she would never leave the place again—never juip ihe world of pleasure, luxury, life, 111 which she had played her part as Lady Audley, and to gain which sue h.ui stained thai little while hand with crime! There, in that terrib.e place, Robert Audley learnt at last the terrible secret ol Ceorge Talbo,. s' disappearance, lie had met her, Lady Amiley, in the deserted shrubbery 111 the i Court grounds beside the well. It need- j ed siicn a little thrust by that small white hand of my ladv to hurl him to

his death. THE EXD. .Was it a consolation to my lady 10 receive tile letter that came to her some months luterj. it bore tin English postmark, and the writing was 111 Rouen Audrey's hand. Her husband had escaped the death she had thought she had hurled him to. Miraculously preserved, he hud lied abroad, determin-d to leave her to the punishment of her conscience, burdened with the crime she thought she hud committed. From lady Audley no answer came. At last, m reply, there arrived a letter with a broad black edge around it. Lady Audley—- Madame Taylor," as I she was known ■■hi M. V'al's asylum—was dead.