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LOVE WINS THROUGH

POWERFUL STORY OF ROMANCEAND MYSTERY.

By BEN BOLT,

Autnor of "The Lady of the Miniature. "Lore Finds the Clue," "The Sin of Silence," etc., etc. CHAPTER XlX.—Continued. 'lt is a lie!" cried the baronet hysterically. "No, it is the truth, and you know it for such. Your face betrays you. And there is another matter that requires to' bo cleared up. You admit now that I am your cousin. When our undo lay on his death-bed he sent for mc. You know that, of course?" "No, no; I did not know thai." The painter looked at him, uncertain how far to accept the statement. In his heart ho believed the other to be lying,_ but he did not press tho matter. " Well, he did send for me, and I was coming to Arcott here on the very day that the unknown man was murdered in my rooms, and I was arrested for the murder. Of course, I never got here, and as I was averse to dragging tho name of Arcott through tho mire of the Parisian criminal courts, I refrained ficm proclaiming my identity. But though I never got to Arcott, I believe my uncle remembered me in his will—did he not?" ' The baronet's face was ghastly. He stood there for a moment shaking like man stricken with the palsy, then he quavered: "He did leavo you a legacy." "What became of it?" "It—it came to mo as next-of-kin. There was no—no will found among your possessions in Paris." "Then you | are a hundred thousand pounds richer by my supposed death?" As the artist rsked the question his nanner was almost an accusation, but the baronet did not resent it. He stood thero dumb, overcome by the knowledge his cousin had betrayed and feurfift of what was to follow. John Arcott looked at him, then ho said harshly: "When you think of that hundred thousand you can understand why I refuse to believe that tho warder was the principal traitor at lie Nou. He stood to gain little by my deathonly the sum that you paid him; whilst for you, my death meant the unchallenged possession of the legacy our uncle left me, and which you had already taken for yourself." "But you forget one thing," stammered the othor. "You are assuming too much." "Indeed! I shall be glad if you will explain. And if you can explain my suspicions away I shall bo more than glad." "Well, you are assuming that I knew that it was you who had gono to lie Nou to expiate the crime in Paris. As a matter of fact, I had only Stella's word that a man who had given his namo as yours had been sent there, and thero was no proof of the matter at all." "You forgot something that is not a matter of assumption at all," replied John Arcott, slowly. "You are overlooking the fact that the warder, be--fere he was shot, confessed that he had btc-n paid to kill me, and that by the prison who was supposed to be artnngmg my escape. You know who that ivas! It is no use trying to cloud the facts. If you did not know or believe that I was the man at 110 Nou, why did you bribe tho warder to shoot me ? What other reason could you possibly have? And there was my uncle's legacv. T1 ere are hundreds of men in the world who would do murder by proxy, or first hand, for so largo a sum, and you, I suppose, belong to their ranks." Sir Philip Arcott recognised that tho reasoning was too cogent for him. \lo J did not deny his cousin's statoment. He | stood for a moment nervously prodding the ground with his stick, then in a strangled voice he asked, "What aro you going to do about it?" "I do not know," answered the artist frankly. "The man who died at 110 Nou was my friend, and you aro responsible for his death. Ho was a true friend, was Henri—l do not know what to do. - One thing, you will have to arrange that my unclo's legacy is paid over to me. I shall insist on that." j ' "Thero—thero will be no difficulty about that," answered the baronet ; hastily. "I shall make it my business : to see the family lawyers, and explain tho position of affairs. You shall havo . the money in a very short time." ! "I do not know what else I shall do," resumed the artist. "It will do 110 .good to stir up mud. Henri is dead, and the w.irder is dead, whilst I, ; who should have died, live I I have too much respect for the family name to foul it by telling the whole world 1 yr.ur story, cousin. So except for tho roproachos of conscience I imagine you will escape the consequence of your crime, but if I were in your shoes such a burden of reproach would be more than I could bear." Without another word ho turned and walked abruptly away. Not onco did • lie look round. T'lio man whom ho had ; left watched him with malevolent eyes, i His face became convulsed. "Escape," he muttered, "escape! Ii • I had a gun here there should bo no : escape for you. And gun or no gun—- ■ what matter ? Thero is Pedro 1 We shall see, wo shall see!" 1 Ho resumed his way homewards. Now ho walked rapidly liko a man consumed with impatience. When he arrived at | the Manor lie went to his room and

wrote a note. Ho scaled it, and rang for a footman; "See that that goes at once, Wilson, The gentleman it is for is at the Arcott Anns. Send a car, and tell Barlow to delay hind). Say that 1 shall probably have company." "Yes, Sir Philip. When the man had withdrawn himself, the baronet walked up and down his room, as a tiger walks up and down iU cage. The double Wow that ho had suffered galled him beyond endurance, and ho was morally certain that John Arcott had at least as much to do with Stella's breaking off tho engagement as Lucille Ferna.y. He ground his teeth in futile wrath as he thought of it. His head grew hot, and the room seqnied too small for the vigour of his perambulations. Opening the I'rench window ho stepped outside and began to walk round tho house. When half-way round, he, heard the motor return, and entering tho house by-a side door, encountered tho footman, to whom ho had recently ghon orders. "Mr. Mataxos has arrived, Sir Plilip. I have shown him into your study." The baronet plodded imd waj|;ed rapidly onward. The study opened out of the hall, and Pedro Mataxos heard his feet on tho polished oak floor. At that inonent tho Spaniard was by a table on which lay some unopened corrtspondence. One of the letters had attracted his attention, and lie was staring at it as though fascinated. He recognised the handwriting. It was that of Lucille Feruay; and as ho caught the sound of. feet in the hall, ho snatched up the letter and slipped it in his pocket, and a second later as the door opened was sitting in a chair, unconcernedly lighting a cigarette. (To be Continued.)

Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/TDN19190827.2.72

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

Taranaki Daily News, 27 August 1919, Page 10

Word count
Tapeke kupu
1,226

LOVE WINS THROUGH Taranaki Daily News, 27 August 1919, Page 10

LOVE WINS THROUGH Taranaki Daily News, 27 August 1919, Page 10

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