For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8334, 17 January 1907, Page 2

For Her Sister's Sake; OR, THE LAVENDEN SECRET.

"For Her Sister's Sake " was commenced on December 20th.]

; CHAPTER XL—Continued. George Merivale detained him. "Do you really mean to say," he enquired, "that Garside wasn't straight?" The detective evaded the question. "I would rather not say any more, sir," he replied, "just at the moment." Again he had recourse to his pocket drew forth a paper packet, and unfolded it. In it was a diminutive flattened lump of lead. "You may be interested to see that , sir," he continued, diplomatically . changing the subject; "it's the bullet : t lat broke the mirror. I found it on ] tie mantel, where it had dropped." . Merivale fingered it. "A tiny pellet," he said. ( 'Mr Quail packed it up once more . and pocketed it. < "Yes sir," he answered; and it . must have been fired from a good j weapon, for the shot that ended him . took him in the middle of the fore- 1 head, and went through the bone as if it were paper. It isn't every .r pistol throwing a small bullet like ' that which would have done it." "Must have been," repeated Men- , vale. "Then you haven't found the £ weapon yet." 1 The detective answered m the s negative. "Between ourselves* sir," < he declared, "suicide's out of the question. Mr Garside—if that was 1 his name—was murdered." i • ■"Great Heaven!" said Merivale. "And by whom—by the nurse we ] reaa about in the papers?" Mr Quail fingered his chin. "Can t - say, sir," he rejoined; "but I don't ] mind telling you, sir, as a gentleman 1 who has kindly given us all the aid , you can, and who is, I'll be bound, < as discreet as a professional, that the < case is curious. Inspector Quilliam « says he wouldn't be surprised if it -, proved to be very curious. Good day, sir; I can find my own way out." ] The detective saluted and withdrew j quickly and quietly. Merivale sat < down thoughtfully, crossed his legs, , and studied his boots. < "Well, that's strange" he said. "Garside a card-sharper. Well, that , and his death saves me two hundred. 1 Which makes my cheque from Con- , stance really useful to me." He sat awhile reflectively, then , started. Some one had come into the , library. It was Winnie, and she entered so softly, and with such an ob- , vious and anxious caution, that Meri- . vale could not escape being struck by • her demeanour. He had sealed himself in a deep chair that was 'partially screened by a huge pedestral-desk, and was plainly not visible to her, for she went rapidly to a cabinet near the window. Her stealthy motions and covert glances this way and that were significant of her desire to find herself alone. Pausing by the cabinet, she opened a drawer, and he saw something bright flash in her hand. A ment or two later she had closed the draw and stolen out of the library. Merivale rose, walked to the cabinet, and re-opened the' drawer that Winifred Lavenden had just closed. His face wore a curious expression. He had caught a glimpse of the object in Winnie's hand, and he was vaguely amused at the absurdity of the idea that the glimpse had given him. There was nothing visible in the drawer to lend the idea either support or . explanation. Several polished wood cases of various shapes occcupied it—they contained such articles as might be found in any well-appointed library, a binocular microscope in sections, a stereoscope, slides for one and another, a galvanic battery. , Raising the lid of the case, Merivale stopped. He' had opened one that held a tiny revolver. And it was a revolver that the object in Winifred Lavenden's hand had suggested to his experienced eye. He took up the weapon. It was a beautiful specimen of the gunsmith's art—an ivory-handled, goldmounted thing, it's barrel daintily ornamented with gold. On the butt was a gold plate, inscribed. The inscription read: "Presented to the Right Hon. the Viscountess Lavenden by the Chairman and Committee of the Gunnery Exhibition, Crystal Palace." There was a date on the plate—a date twenty years old. Merivale turned over the beautiful little arm, pondering. "The Right Honorable the Viscountess Lavenden" was the late Lord's grandmother, wife of the fifteenth Viscount Lavenden, a peer with a taste for opening exhibitions and laying foundation-stones. There was a row of tiny cartridges in a perforated block at the side of the case. Merivale noticed that a couple were missing. He opened the breech of the revolver, and held it up to the light. The barrel was fouled, and so were a pair of the chambers. ' George Merivale frowned thoughtfully. Then he took up a cartridge and weighed it in his palm. Finally he put back the weapon in its plush bed, replaced the cartridges, closed the case and the drawer, and sauntered out of the library.

CHAPTER XII. LADY LAVENDEN DRIVES OUT. "Sorry to cause any bother, my lady, but I was to give it into your own hands, my lady." The young and uniformed expressmessenger stared straight before him, seeking to preserve his profesional calm in a trying situation. He was standing in J t ulia Lavenden's boudoir, cap in one hand, a letter in the other. And Julia had seen the writing on the'address. "You—you did quite right."

By R. Norman Silver, thor of "A Double Mask," "A Daughter of Mystery,» "Held Apart," *'The Golden Dmarf," etc.

Julia Lavenden's voice shook as she uttered the words; she. was signing the delivery-slip. She thrust it into the lad's fingers, and caught at the missive. She checked herself with an effort. "Get me my purse, Cecile," she told her maid. The French woman was waiting near, and went for the desired article. Julia Lavenden gave the messenger half a crown. "Thank you, my lady," he said, surprised. Julia , was opening the envelope with'trembling fingers."Show him down-stairs, Cecile," she ordered. The maid obeyed. Left alone, Lady Lavenden tore the sheet from its cover, and there was no heading or superscription. It began abruptly: "As I promised. The adlrrss is Crimple's, Square Lane, Clerkenwell, a cab-place. The Reverend Ingram, one of the curates of the parish, is a lodger there. You might take an interest in his .'work,' and call with a donation. You could easily contrive to see hhn." The "him" was deeply underlined. The lines made a break in the letter. Then it went on: "Crimple is safe7-an old p'al of mine. He knows all, but will not seem to, of course, if there should be any one there. He is the right sort, and you can trust him. Be cool and prudent." There was no signature.' But at the foot of the sheet were a few more words: "Quite well, and a little angel. Forgive, oh, forgive!" , Julia, Lady Lavenden, sat looking at the letter. The mother-heart in her had first been rudely awakened, then racked with a passion of doubt and uncertainty. And now—now s she was sure at last—she was to see her child. He, was well, and "a little angel." Her. eyes filled: with tears. ••'_ A sound in the room put hereon j her guard. Cecile had returned, ; her " catlike tread scarcely audible on the thick carpet. Julia glanced up, crumpling the letter as she did, so. " ' ■ ? . "Where is Miss Lavenden, Cecile?"; she asked, striving to master her tones, and rendered them clear and ordinary. The French woman answered her smoothly. Her' shrewd black eyes were scanning her mistress slyly. "Out driving with the baroness, my lady," she said. Julia sat a moment absorbed yet restless. Then she yielded to the impulse that was aching in her every nerve. "Cecile," she remarked, "did the baroness take the victoria, or the small brougham?" "The victor.'a, my lady," was the reply. "Then you can order me the brougham," said Julia Lavenden; "I shall have to go out." "Yes, my lady," answered the French woman, and again she glided from the boudoir. Her mistress tore up the letter and envelope—the all-important address was indelibly imprinted upon her memory—dropped them into the fireplace, and watched them burn. When Cecile returned, she found Julia Lavenden dressing herself. Before the brougham had driven round to the hall door in Audley Street, Lady Lavenden was impatiently awaiting its arrival. Nor when she'found herself being driven in the direction of north-eastern London did her uncontrollable restlessness diminish. Blind to her lack of a coherent excuse for seeking out the Reverend Mr Ingram,, blind to the unwisdom of such precipitate action, blind to everything but the chance of. seeing her child —she fretted at the deliberation with which the brougham bowled through the > busy streets in the pleasant, springlike morning. At length the brougham gained the slopes where Clerkenwell runs into Islington, and Julia felt as if she were no longer Julia, Viscountess Lavenden, but only Julia Lavenden, the Islington dressmaker. How many weary days had she gone to and fro in the very streets through which she was now passing, too povertystricken sometimes to afford even the assistance of that poor man's brougham, the humble omnibus! Her carriage stopped—opposite a pair of tall and battered doors, with "P. Crimple, Cab-owner,'',on them. She opened tl/e brougham door and got out; there was no footman on the box; the brougham was a single one, driven by a groom. The stabledoors before her were ajar, and she went in, picking up her skirts, and conscious that her servant was criticising her for thus becoming her own messenger. There was no one in the yard, and she made for a door that seemed as if it led into the house beyond. As she gained it, Matilda Crimple confronted her. , The little damsel's eyes bulged out at the sight of the visitor. In her furs and jewels, Julia Lavenden looked every inch a great lady. (To beC ontmued).