“AN EVIL ANGEL”

Waikato Times, Volume 122, Issue 20510, 28 May 1938, Page 23 (Supplement)

“AN EVIL ANGEL”

An Exciting Mystery Story.

CHAPTER XX.— (Continued

So the hours—even days—passed heavily on to the sore hearts, in which hope seemed to be slowly dying, and nothing happened. Ford', the solicitor in Lincoln's Inn, who with his father before him, had been family lawyer to the Morley’s for more than half a century, was allied with Jacob, working unremittingly for Philip, but, whether be altogether believed in the innocence of his client, was doubtful. He never, however, led those interested In Morley's welfare to remark that he doubted him. In all points he kept his usual lawyer like reserve, only being surprised into an exclamation, when he was informed of Hamilton Browne's disappearance, and a recollection of the annuity under certain circumstances that was to be paid Emma Lane rose into his mind, crowded though it was by the many details of other people's life history. “Could this Emma Lane, and, through her, Comtesse Feodore have aught to do with the sudden disappearance of Hamilton Browne—He must work the problem out, but without giving away any valuable information, even to Jacob, Lord Vesey.” As usual to the impatient watchers for news, the unexpected came. Two telegrams in rapid succession addressed to Miss Nina Fonblanque. The first from Emma Lane, Hotel Courvoisier, N'cuill.v. Come at once, Hamilton Browne injured, asking for you.” The second, that followed within an hour, was even more urgent. “Browne dying, come without delay, Gervase A'Court.” CHAPTER XXI His Wife The Hotel Courvoisier was a very fTfth rate hotel, little more than a mere cabaret. It was situated In a small unfashionable street that led out of the Avenue de Neuilly, some good distance from the Arc de Triomphe. On a bed in this hut little frequented resort Hamilton Browne was lying, shattered and ill at ease both mentally and bodily. He was dying. A surgeon was In the ill-furnished miserable room where he lay, and beside the bed was Emma Lane. Why was he there, and why above all women on earth Emma Lane was hish companion, puzzled Gervase A'Court. to whom no explanation had been offered, he himself having only . discovered his friend's whereabouts, by dint, of unremitting energy on the part of the indefatigable French i police. That Nina’s name should be ever on i Hamilton Browne’s lips was a puzzle, that was even more difficult to solve, ' than why he was in that strange rest- I ing place with Bmma Lane for sole attendant. Nor had she welcomed Gervase I A’Court's coming. To keep the in- I Jured man unobserved from all out- , slders was apparently her aim. That j there had been a motor smash in the i Avenue de Neuillv, and that an Englishman, who proved to be Browne, j had been taken to the Hotel Cour- j voisier, A'Court had learnt from the j investigating police, but how Emma 1 Lane had come on the scene, and why i Browne had never visited the Hotel in j the busy part of Paris, to which he I had told his friends to address, was a dark mystery about which there was no spoken allusion, though Browne himself —if Emma Lane was antagonistic—soemed by no means sorry to see his friend A'Court; in fact a smile momentarily lighted up his face when A’Court entered the room. Nevertheless it faded almost before it had beamed, and the refrain was Nina, always Nina. Then' suddenly he raised himself, as with a superhuman effort, and seizing Emma Lane with his left hand —the right arm was broken—he said: “This time it is the end —no further fear of resurrection. Let her come.” “I have sent a telegram,” said the woman coldly, “but of what use you may be dead before she gets here, and if not —’’ “I shall live till she comes, by the

(By JOHN MIDDLEMASS.)

force of Will I shall live. I have that to say which she must hear. A’Court, in pity's sake— ’’ T will wire’ at once—go and fetch her if you like.”

“No, no, ‘wire’—do not leave me. If she does not come quickly—you must be my mouth-piece.” "I am not trustworthy, yet I have tended you carefully,” said Lane with a cynical sneer. “Trustworthy, you! If you were trustworthy this—this meeting and parting would not—”

"W ould not take place, and freedom would not be ensured,” —interrupted Lane with brutal directness.

During the few words spoken by the two people who, it seemed to A’Court, had come so unexpectedly together, he had gone to the door, and, by means of an amenable police oflicial, despatched the telegram to Nina, which she had received before the paralysing surprise at Emma Lane's despatch had quickened into action. Gervase A'Court was far more shrewd than, from his habitual flippancy, people gave him credit for. He did not care for Emma Lane’s presence by Hamilton Browne's dying bed, and he resolved to watch him unremittingly, nor leave him for a second, till Nina should corne—or some light should be thrown on the dark mystery that shrouded the situation.

That Comtesse Feodore was in some, way connected with it, since Emma Lane was her waiting maid, A'Court suspected, though how events were soing to be unravelled, even a man who was an adept at making up plots and counter plots, would have found it difficult to solve.

“La nuit porte conseil,” says the French proverb. A’Court would watch through the night—no need for Emma Lane to sit up. She agreed to depart, saying she would be back in the morning, and—whether in dudgeon or of necessity—would meantime return to Madame la Comtesse and her duties.

I Browne was suffering excruciating agony; most of his injuries being internal—but he bore himself bravely, in silence for the most part—only occasionally Nina’s name would linger on his lips, as it had done before the telegrams were sent, and once, when the pain seemed too intense for mortal endurance, he feverishly clutched A'Court's hand as he. laid it on his with sympathetic gentlenessj How impressed A'Court was by the i suffering, both mental and physical, | that was making this man suffer a ■ terrestial Purgatory, was plainly shown ! by the total absence of liis usual volu- | bility of speech. He was keenly anxious to disentangle this fresh knot in the skein of strange events, among which his life ! had of late been cast; yet not one I single question did he dare to put. “Browne must himself give him. his I confidence —to further torture him j with questions would,” he considered, I “be mean and cowardly.” So the hours slowly glided on, till 1 the tense silence of the night was broken by an early cock, who loudly saluted the dawn. Browne started as though from sleep, if he had been sleeping, or was he only perhaps lost jn a waking dream. “Will she come?'’ he asked drowsily, perhaps of himself. A’Court, however, answered. “Assuredly she will —but she cannot be here for some hours.” “Ah llf only she is in time. I did not deceive her, you will tell her so —she is my wife.” A’Court started as if he had been struck. That Nina was in some way related to Browne he had suspected, and that he wished to tell her some family secret, but that she was his wife/never for an instant had such a supposition crossed his mind. Browne, however, did not notice his surprise, he was too much taken up with bodily suffering, and the mental longing for Nina. He went on. “The papers are at Ford’s office—the legal attestation of marriage and m y will—you will go there A’Court — you and Ford will see her righted. If only she had trusted me—how much misery might have been spared, but Emma Lane has been her evil genius —and mine. Beware of Emma Lane. As if she were the devil—avoid her,” and in his excitement he raised himself with an almost supernatural effort, and stared at A’Court with wide open blood-shot eyes. A’-Court, whose temperament was ever alert, was well-nigh as excited as Browne, but he managed to some extent to subdue his feelings, and with almost a woman's tenderness laying the unfortunate man back on . his pillows, he spoke quietly and sym- ' pathetically. (To be continued)