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

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXIX, Issue 8356, 11 February 1907, Page 2

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

By R. Norman Silver, tlior.of "A Double Mask," "A Daughter of Mysbenj, "Held Apart,' "The Golden Dmarf," etc.

CHAPTER XXVlll.—Continued. • The cab-driver motioned her aside, yet r.ot unkindly. I "You can get rid of thit bandage now, my beauty." he said. Merivale raised his hand, slipped off the linen folds that covered his eyes, and looked about him with an air of amused contempt. His glance settled upon Winifred Lavenden, and , he regarded her mockingly. "Well, my dear cousin," he observed, "and so we meet again. Not a bad idea, was it, to announce my self as Agnevv and say that I came from your sister. I thought it would wjrk the oracle." He turned to the cabman, rolling into a ball the handkerchief that had served to .blindfold him. ( "Yoif spoke of a little quiet talk, " he said. "Now that is just what Miss Lavenden and I are going to have. So you can relieve us of your presence, and take with you your , absurd popgun and—this!" Regardless of the levelled revolver,he tossed the crumpled handkerchief at his adversary. , Peter Crimple brushed it from him, , so thai; it fell to the floor, and poised his weapon menacingly. Merivale shrugged his shoulders; he saw the indecision in the fierce, .bloodshot eyes that stared at him over the butt of the revolver. "Come," he pursued, "if you had i intended to kill me, you'd have done it by now. Besides, I'm not here to do either you or Miss Lavenden any harm.' As for you I don't know you from Adam; and as for Miss Lavenden, she is well aware that my intentions toward her are of the most-friendly description." The cab-driver lowered his revolver irresolutely, though his gaze did not leave the mocking countenance upon which he had fixed it. want Miss Lavenden," proceeded Merivale calmly, "to go back . with me to her own home. As her i only male relative, I have a right to offer her my advice and protection, and if she will be counselled by me, she will do much to escape a serious degree of unpleasantness, not to men-. tion notoriety." - : J Winifred Lavenden felt an emotion , of surprise; his sentences were so j quietly significant, his manner so | dryly self-possessed. ■ Peter Crimple : looked at her. I "Is this—this gentleman your relation, miss?", he asked. Winnie bent her head. "He-he is my cousin," she fal-* tered. The'cab-driver knitted his brows. , "Then he can't mean you any real harm," was his gruff verdict; "you _ . just hear, what he's got to say. I'll go and stand over by the door." •} And he suited the action to the j word. - , As he did so; George Merivale stepped to Winifred Lavenden's side. "You'little fool," he said, lower- ' ing his voice to a whisper, "what did you hide for? I was only trying to frighten you. Those Con- ] founded detectives had not so much as dreamed of you, and are not likely to uiiless I put them on the scent.'' He stooped, the better to see her face. ' "Playing at running away was a stupid trick,".he added. "Julia, to keep it up, must needs go to Agnew, as, I,suppose, she has told you. He had no more brains than to call in the aid of the police. Oh! of course, their inquiries for this missing young lady of high social position are; being .made the utmost secrecy, but if you leave them, to it , , much longer they may root out more than suit 3 you." Winnie pressed her cold palms to ■ her fevered brow;; she was trying to , realize his meaning. It was plain that she was not being Jsought by the pplice for—for—in ii connection with the death of James Garside. It was plain also that George Merivale imagined Julia to be cognizant of her whereabouts. "How—how did you find me out?" she stammered. Merivale chuckled. "I guessed it was all a put-up job," he said, "so I followed Julia this morning. It was not difficult—- . not so difficult as deer-stalking." Winnie did not hear the last phrase; she had understood the trick fate had playfed her, the mischance by which Merivale, arguing wrongly, had yet blundered upon her hidingplace. Better that—under the cir- ■ cumstances—than that he should learn the true reason for; Julia's visits and become aware of the bond which linked her and the child Boysie. Merivale was studying her with his accustomed shrewdness. "There," he remarked, "I forgive 1 you the fillip you'treated me to. I warned you, remember, that we had got to be good friends, and I Say it again. Let .me get you a cab and drive you back to Lavenden House." 1 He put a hand persuasively or her arm—George Merivale's manners had always in them something vulgarly familiar. Winnie shivered at his touch, and her heart grew sick with loathing. ' "I will not be friends with you," she said firmly; "not what you mean by friends." i.•'*»••• Merivale looked at her'and twistec his moustache. '-'I can make you paj dearly," he murmured, "very dearly. You shall either be my wife—or He paused grimly. Winnie die v ' not quail. I ;• "I would rather die," she said. • "than be your wife." George Merivale still twisted his moustache. 'There are many wayf of dying, " he said, ."and some deaths that are not deaths —the living -death of prison, for instance." Winnie set her teeth. "Whatever death it ~ was," sh< -said, "I would prefer it." Merivale smiled—a cold, crue

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

smile. "And Julia?" he added. Winnie tottered. In a flash she realized what a world of shame and misery was impending over Julia Julia, who, in spite of Merivale's error, did not even know where her vanished sister was; Julia, so unfit to endure the ghastly catastrophe which threatened What that 'catastrophe was she dared scarcely own to herself. The law's dread trial and sentence, the unthinkable penalty, the tragedy of two lives laid bare —Julia and Boysie —shadowed by her guilt. And there was Agnew! Oh! she could not, she dared not, bring upon those she loved so frightful a burden of grief and terror. George Merivale, watching, read her thoughts in the agony that wrung her girlish features, and knew that he had won. \ "Yes, I have won," he said brutally, and turned on his heel. "Get us out a cab," he ordered, "and be quick about it. Miss Lavenden will go back with me." Peter Crimple came slowly across tlie room, pocketing the revolver. "Is that your wish Miss Lavenden?" he asked. Winnie bowed\her head. , • "I—l must," she said, and her voice struck strangely on the heart of the cab-driver. But he made a I curt motion of assent, and, taking lup the lamp, threw open-the door of the room. Tilda was sitting outside on the foot of an upper flight of sairs. "Get Miss Lavenden's coat and hat, my lass," commanded' her father; "she is going." Tilda started up, and stood a moment, doubtful. Merivale ably repeated the command, and the housekeeper sped away. When she /returned, he took the long dark cloak from,her and laid it oil Winnie's shoulder. She shud- , dered again as his finger-tip touched; her arm. , The cab-driver went down to the yard, and drove his hansom round to the house door. Before Winnie turned to descend the steps she drew Matilda Crimple to her, and the little house- - keeper's cheek was stung by a burning tear. George Merivale helped her to enter the cab. She shrank from , him into the corner of the hansom* and Peter Crimple drove off. Tilda gazed after them, puzzled.

CHAPTER XXIX. A BLOW FALIIiS. In a quiet corner of a corridor in , the compact, castle-like block that forms the headquarters of the London police two men were talking. They were Inspector Quilliam and Detective Quail. Flung over the shoulder of the latter yas a. faded travelling-rug, and Ihe had set down at his feet a battered hand-bag. ' There was more thaW a suggestion of , fatigue in the lines of his plump, pink visage, but his blue eyes were and unwearied. "It was no use my stopping down there" he said; "there was practically nothing to find out beyond what the county police there had told us. Nobody knows anything about Sister Eva except that she had been ordered into Devonshire for rest and change. She stayed at an ordinary boardinghouse,had no friends or acquaintances, and was most quiet and reserved. On the " He consulted a notebook, and the inspector looked over his shoulder. "On the morning of the twentyfirst of March." pursued Mr Quail, "she went out, saying that she was going for a walk. She wore her nurse's uniform, and had a paleblue shawl of fine wool wrapped round her throat. Since then she has not been seen or heard of in the neighbourhood." Mr Quail put away the'note-book j discontentedly. • 1 "The local police," he continued, "have searched her only luggage --a hand-satchel. I went through it j again. There was nothing in it of the slightest significance. Realizing I that. I was off the main trail, I hurried up to town again,." The inspector regarded his colleague with an air of sly, yet stolid, importance. "Leave those traps of yours," he said, "and come for a stroll on the Embankment. I want to tell you something." .Mr Quail shot a searching glance at his superior. But the inspector volunteered no fresh information at the moment, and the detective, picking up his bag, hastened off. When he reappeared he had relieved himself of his travelling impedimenta and .followed the inspector down an adjacent staircase into the open air. (To be Continued).