A Daughter of Mystery

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXII, Issue 10231, 8 May 1911, Page 2

A Daughter of Mystery

OUR SERIAL.

BY F. L. DACRE, Author of "Was He the Man?" "A Phantom of the Past," Sir John's Heiress," "A Loreless Marriage," "The Doctor's Secret," etc.

CHAPTER ll.—Continued. "And your old home?" "1 count as nothing, Mrs Cooper, in the balance with love!" "But you liavo lost her." "Hope- is not dead." She dashed away her tears, her bosom was heaving, and her hands were trembling. "Basil savs tbat her name was El]\v\h Twidiil!," .*:ii ; j cried hysterically. "Oh, Mr lie eliiue, can you describe lior to me?"

Ronald, and wait until Saturday or Sunday. You can tlicn meet tho lady face to face, without giving trouble to anyone." "There was a long pause, for Heseltine was turning tho matter over in his agitated mind. He snapped his fingers at last, and spoko scoffingly.

ii«:ia-id smiled .sadly and indulgently into rhu shining eyes and Hushed race of Mrr, Cooper. What an emotional child she av.si

".! havo a picture cf Miss Tyndall—a pencil sketch undo by myself. Basil knows 1 was always rather good at that sort of thing." Ho produced it from 'm pocket bock. "Here it is." Tremblingly the vicar's wife took the drawing, and ran to the window, so that she might see it in a clearer light. Then a half hysterical cry passed her lips, and she reeled towards her husband. "Basil—Basil! It is the same! I knew it—l knew h !"

CHAP TEK 111. BUSINESS PROSPECTS But Ronald Heseltine was not easily disturbed, and the lightning chang.\ r . of Mrs Cooper's mind inspired but little confidence. He glanced questioningly at the vicar, his heart, perhaps, giving one extra throb. "We are not sure that the lady's name is I.lneth, tut wo know that it begins wit'i the letter 'E,' and she is undoubtedly like this picture."

"Pshaw! That is a mere bald outline, withe tit expresion." "What a cold-blooded wretch you are, Ronald. I told you I had something up my sleeve.' '"l've had so many disappointments Basil. My detectives have unearthed a score of Miss Tyndals. My imagination has been dulled by my misfortunes. Our feelings have strict limits for receiving external impresions. A tiling can be so painful that you feel nothing—so terrible that you fear nothing. I have see.a delicate women, frenzied by their sufferings, plead to have a bullet put into their hearts. 'ls your Mks Tyndall a native of Castle Ciaydon?" "She has only lived here for a few

months," Mrs Cooper replied, in a voice vibrant and quivering, all m a breath. "There's an old hous* called ! tho Rookery, situated on somri waste . land about a mile from here, qui be a dreadful place. It had been unoccupied for years, until Miss Tyndall and her people bought it. Everybody said that it was haunted, though that, of course, is nonsense. The house is surrounded by a high wall, which bristles j with crual steel t pikes, :-nd several J rows of barbed wire. Oh, they are | most mysterious people. No tradesj man is ever admitted, but has to wait i at a little sort of postern gate let into the wall, until hei is answered by a surly old man-servant. Miss Tyndall does all the shopping and drives in,;to town in i ramshackle pony carriage. The bills are made out to her, that is how we got to know her name. She goes to church every Sunday mor- \ ning, but never at any other time. { Both Basil and I have called at tho J Rookery on severs'! ocasious, but the j only soul we have seen is the ugly old I man at the gate. He became quite abusive tho last time, and told me that no inquisitive parsons and parson's wives we/o wanted there, poking their nose into other people's affairs. Fancy that!" "Surely the lady and the surly old servant do not comprise the house hold?" "No," broke in the, vicar, "the owner ia a man of middle age, with a wife and- Only the cabman who drove them from the station can swear to this, but I have heard the voices of children in the garden. Ah- I see that; you are becoming interested, Ronald!" "I will not deny it. The mysterious lady and gentleman and the children." His eyes brightened. "I wonder if they are foreigners—Rusi sians. Miss Tyndall's employer in St. Petersburg was a Russian nohie named Paul Morosov, his wife was named Vera, and there were two little girls, Vera and Olga. You see, I remember every detail. Paul Morosov and his family fled, and "Miss Tyndall covered their flight. For this she was punished. It may be that tho finger of God is in this." "I am sure of it," Mrs Cooper laughed and cried in a breath. "You say the lady drives into tho town every Saturday, and goes to church every Sunday? To-day is ' Thursday. Basil, old chap—Mrs Cooper—l can't wait on such doubtful chances. I am going to the Rookery nqw!" The vicar shook his head. "You won't bo admitted," "I can leave my card." "Cerberus will not accept it. Or. if be does, it will be to fling it back into your face. The young lady may not 1)0 your Miss Tyndall at all, and it would be a pity to annoy the people at tho Rookery. It is quite possible that the ma.i is a scientist, or something of tho kind, who objects to his privacy being intruded upon; or he may be a celebrity in some other walk of life, who is in terror of the newspapor man. Take my advice,

"I don't believe it —I can't. Elneth Tyndall is dead, is buried under tho walls of the Russian prison. She was ill—terribly ill —for weeks before [ saw the last of her, then sho vanished without warning, and I could learn nothing frorr. her guard, and later, nothing from the Russian government." He rose suddenly. i must write to my mother, Basil." Mrs Cooper had quietly left tho room. "And to-morrow I will have a look at my prospective partner, John Golding. Do you know him?" "By name. He is not a churchgoing man." "Mr Golding advertised in the daily press for an energetic partner with a thousand pounds. That is about the extent of my capital, and I can't afford to lose it, or bo swindled out of it. It is a usual thing for a man on tho verga of bankruptcy to desire a partner, if only to prolong the financial agony." The vicar seemed not to hear. His eyes were fixed on the floor, his brows were puckered with thought. "I havs acted without reflection," he said, partly to himself. "What are you mumbling about, Basil?" "I beg your pardon, Ronald. If you wish to write, go to my: study—plenty of paper, etc., there." "Thank you. I won't bo long; ten minutes or so, then I shall go to mail my letter, and for a stroll." Within the prescribed time Ronald set out with two letters in his hand one to his mother, announcing his arrival at Castle Claydon, and one making an appointment with Mr Golding, the ironmaster. He dropped them into a mail box at the corner of the street. To the left of him was a wide canal, in which was dimly mirrored the fires of a hundred furnaces. Huge chimney stacks shot up to the, murky sky, and vomited dense \ clouds of rolling black smoke. The air was vibrant vith the clang of machinery, and the throb, throb of huge hammers. To the right of him ! were streets of dilapidated cottages, 1 wherein the workmen dwelt, and beyond huge stretches of blackened land dotted with little mountains of shale burrowed from the mines, a thousand i feet below the surface.

i It was fast getting dark, and a ; lamplighter was busy making a sick- : ly sort of an illumination. "Dirty night, sir," said the man j in passing.

"It is," agreed Ronald. "Do you know a house called the Rookery?" "Aye sir, right along here, past these houses. A mile, every inch of it, and as black as a coal. pit. You'll have to go through the fields and across the marsh; but if you're a stranger, don't try it. Some of the pit caps have caved in, and men ain't like animals —they rever scent dange." till it's got them for keeps. Plenty of human) bones lie at' the bottom of some of ih<r- worked out shafts."

"Much oblig-:*!, I'm sure," said Ronald grimly. "I'll make my investigations in the daylight." He retired to'bed early that night, and devoted Friday to business. He insjected I-is prospective paitner's works, but the books would not be ready for investigation for two or three weeks. In the meanwhile Ronald Heseltine was favourably impressed. He sccated work and independence, and the sulphurous and malodorous air wis sweet to his nostrils.

Strangely enough no reference was made to Miss Tyidall or the Rookerv by the Coopers at the Saturday ing breakfast table. Ronald appeared to be full of his new business, and left the vicarage at a comparativelyearly hoar. He wont direct to the principal hotel, situated in the middle of the town, and having bought a few shillings' worth ol cigar.-!, stationed himself at a window which commanded a complete view of the business street. Then he smoked and watched. Dozens of old-fashioned pony carriages rolled to and fro, but there was no sign of anyone who resembled Elneth Tyndall in any way. ihere were girls in plenty, but ■ "Folly—folly!" 4 be muttered, "to disturb myself in this way. I believe I Basil is angry with himself for raisI ing false hopes. I won't make another move."

''Nevertheless, the subject wa'; broached en Sunday morning. "I will make myself fairly presentable this morning, Basil, and you must find me an obscure corner in the church. I must hear you preach." (To be continued.)