THE SILENT WIFE!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 37, 26 November 1920, Page 2

THE SILENT WIFE!

By MARK ENGLISH.

Br&mB of M&gried Life* f

THE FIRST PART. Doris Thobury, the sister of the childrens's ward, was telling the little ones stories, when the door opened and the matron and Dr Weston came in. Doris s cheekg took a deep tint, for she loved the kindly, grave-faced young doctor deeply As the doctor went his rounds, she held each little patient's hand, for the pain never seemed so bad when Sister Doris was near, and when all the patients nad been examined her duty for the day was over. As she was going out of the Cottage Hospital gate, Paul Weston overtook her. "May I accompany you?" lie asked, and she smiled and nodded. They spoke of many things, and at last when they had reached a more gecluded spot the doctor seized her hand. "Miss Thobury," he said, "I love you — I love you wit-h all my heart and soui. Will you be iny wife?" She looked at nnn steadfastly as she answered "Yes. " lt was some time later when they parted, and when they did so Doris was the happiest girl in the world. The next morning she received a telegram : "Come home immediately," it ran. "You are wanted at once." And a little later she was speeding towards her home. At the very moment she was answermg Paul Weston on the previous night, an interview was going on which was to alter her whole lifs. "Those are my terms ; take them or leave them. Accept them and I pull you through ; refuse and you are ruined!" The speaker, Roger, Armer, was a strong, . hard man ; he was W alter Thobury's • manager, and the man he faced as he uttered those wcrds was Walter Thobury himself. Doris's father was a failure ; he was weak and lazy, and as he faced his manager he looked frightened. His uncle had died and left hiru the huge business of Thobury and Co. But he did not trouble himself about the business ; he left it aii in the hands of Roger Armer. And now he found that he was on the brink of ruin, and only Armer could pull him through, and that he would only do so on one condition, and that was tbat he should marry Doris. And in his weakness and fear of ruin the crushed man agreed — actually agreed to sacrffice his daughter to save himself. When lie told Doris she was horrified. "Father," she cried, "you are not in earnest. Marry Mr Armer? I couldn't. You can't mean it." At last she cast aside all her hopes for the future and promised. That evening she wrote a short note to Paul Weston tcTing him she had changed her mind and could never be bis wife. Her engagement to Armer was announced, and eventually Doris Thobury became Doris Armer. She found her husband domineering, and determined to break her proud spirit. She discovered, too, that she had been won by a trick, for h^r father's business had never been anything but perfectly solvenfc. Paul Weston, a young doctor and her former lover, wit-h whom she had been foreed to break her engagement. He obtains for her a post as a nurse at a private house, wliich slie thankfully accepts. When he Leaves her a waiter hands her a paper and in it she reads of herself, described as "the beautiful missing Mrs Armer." Her husband is offering a la-rge reward for her discovery, and a portrait is published. Glancing up she sees the eye of the waiter who handed her the paper fixed furtively on her.

"IF I WAS ROBBED OF MY JEWELS I SHOULD DIE." Doris's face became crimson. Did the waiter connect her with the portrait in the "Evening News" ? She knew that her nniform rnade a tremendous difference in her general appear-anc-e. Her hair was now put back rrnder a white cap, whereas in the portrait it was beautifully dressed, piled elaborately on the top of her head, and surmounted by the diamond tiara that had now become fa-mous. It had been Roger's wish — -in fact, his order — that she should be photographed like this. She remembered how her lip had curled when he had told her to wear his- present. She had made no repJy, only obeyed. "I belong to him, so do the diamonds. " He wants the world to see both." That was what she had thought. The waiter advaneed to rerno-ve her plate. "It's a queer job, that! Isn't it, miss?" He pointed to the headlines indicating the robberies. "Is it?" stammered Doris. "Yes, 1 suppose it is. Mr Armer is pronrinent in both these unsolved mysteries." The waiter laughed. . He thought the prett-y nurse a good sort. She didn't snub him, as some did. "Iie's lost both his wife — and 'is jools. Bit rough on 'im, ain't it, miss?" "Y"e-es! As you say, it is rough. But — perhaps he wasn't kind to his wife." The waiter looked inrportant. He set an iee before her. "That's where you make a mistake, miss. My cousin was valet to Mr Armer afore he married, and he said Mr Armer was one o' the beet. A bit strict, but that just and generous. Thought- a lot o' the women folk — kinder ppt 'em on a j pedestal. No, miss. It's madame's fault — if there's any fault at all. A bit of a fool to run away. Armer's rolling in money." "There may have been reasons," fal- ! tered Doris. "I wonder what has happened to her. People can't disappear easily these times." "Oh, can't they, miss! They can!" The waiter proceeded to quote instances of men and women who had disappeared, and had never been heard of again. Doris went to her room. It was quite evident the waiter saw no resemblance oe. i tween Nurse Angela and "the beautiful j Mr.s Roger Armer." She took the paper with her, and read and re-r,ead the florid accounts of Armer's wealth and her own popularity. The journalist had laid it on thickly ! She wondered if everyone would be as obtuse as the friendly waiter ? It was the worst of luck, this publishing of h,er portrait. And then from her own affairs her mind went to her husband's. what a mastercriminal he must be; To steal his own jewels, so as to throw the police off the scent ! It was the biggest act of hypoerisy she had ever heard of. She looked at herself in the glass. At first she thought of changing the colour of her hair. Or should she buy a wig? And then. sh.e decided that she would leave matters to Fate, which had hitherto proved friendly towards her. On the following day she left London to take up her new duties as nurse-attendant to the millionaire's daughter and heiress, Helena Farr. A superb, somewhat gaudy-looking car was waiting for her at the station. A footman, in an equally gaudy livery, condueted her to it. The drive from the station to Fairwell House seemed to the girl a long one, for she longed for the privacy of her patient's apartments, and fancied every eye was upon her. The footman handed her over to an elderly maid, whom Doris discovered later had been Helena's nurse. "You'll find her a bit of a trial, nurse," Martha said. "She's in one of her queer

moods this evening. There's no pleasing her when she's like she is to-clay. 1 only hope she'll take a fancy to you. She's been awful to several as have been liere lately." "I must do my best to win her affection, Martha," Doris said gently. "I don't believe Miss Lena knows the meamn-g o' the word. She's that domineering and selfish. Her father spoils her, and everyone else is afraid of her." "1 am not afraid of her," Doris said quietly, as she removed her bonnet and brushed her bait' as far back under her cap a-s possible. The violent ringing of a bell sent Martha Cox flying. "That's her bell. I cxpect she wants you. She's been talking about your coming all day. She says she'll send you back to-night- if you're ugly — Jiae the last nurse was. A nice creature was Nurse Mar. garet, but uneommon plain. Well, anyways, you ain't that. I'd c-all you goodlooking!" Doris could not resist a smile. The "Evening News" had alluded to her as "the beautiful Mrs Armer." "You're to come this very minute," ex. claimed Mrs Cox, re-entering hurried'ly. "You should see the way she's got herself up ! All her jools on ! My word ! But she does look a poppy-show ! There goes the bell again!" The room into which Martha ushered Doris was an cnormous one. As a matter of faet, it ran along the whole front of the great mansion. Three ordinary rooms had been converted into one. Misg Farr liked space. The magnifieence of the upholstery was in keeping with the grandeur of the sole oceupant of this garish apartment. Helena's costume was almost grotesque. Composed of rich materials, more suited to a married woman tha-n a slim girl of eighteen, the eolour scheme was vivid. And yet, somehow, Doris thought it.snited the weird, elf-creature who woi'e it. But it was the display of jewellery that attracted Doris Armer's attention most. Neeklaces of emeralds and rubies, linked by large diamonds, hung on the too thin neck ; bracelets to rnat-ch ; a diamond band bound round the "bobbed" dark hair — Miss Farr eertainly presented a- startling appearance. Doris, prepared though, she was by ' Doctor Weston for something unusual in the way of patients, was eertainly iakcn aback. "Is that you, Nurse? Come up ! Don't be afraid of m,e. I don't bite !" Doris smiled, and held out her onn beautiful white ha-nd. "I'm sure you don't, and I'm not at all afraid of you." Helena gripped her hand with her own heringed fingers. Doris rvas surprised at the strength of ihe girl's hand. >She looked so fragile. The dark eyes looked long and steadily into tlie quiet grey eyes of Nurse Angela. And then suddenly they tropped befcrc Doris's steady gaze. "I like you," Helena murmured. "There's something soothing aoort you " "I am glad to hear that," Doris u-pliea cheerfully. "I am here for that purpose-. A gorgeous footman now entered, and set a table for two at the further end of the long room.. It was Helena's wliim that Nurse Angela should dine with her. "My father is away," she said. "He will be home to-morrow, and then he will want me to dine with him in the big din-ing-room. I wonder if you will like my father?" "I expect I shall," Doris smiled. ''Tte question is, will Mr Farr like me?" "He will; because father adores beauty, and you are beautiful." Doris made no remark. Slie did not want Mr Farr to admire her. The dinner was a triumph of art, and was served as ceremoniously as though it was a dinner-part-y, instead of a tete-a-tet-e between a couple of young women. Though Helena was the younger by several years, she looked as old as D iris and was fa-r more worldly-wise.

"Do you love jewels?" Helena asdd suddenly. The menservants had left the room and by Nurse Angela's advice her patient v.3s reclining on the specia-lly made corcr Doctor Weston had advised. Love jewels ? A swift shudder uin through Doris. She hated them. Ever sinee she had seen her husband's gloat.ing eyes fixed on the pile of jew-els in the house in the nameless street, the mere sight- «; - preciou3 stones sent a sickening thrill through her. "I — I don't think I do," she murmured. The sharp eyes seemed to pierce thr n;Gi i her. "Then," said Helena, "you're not bka me. I live for them, I worship them! i'm only happy when I'm touching them— when I look in the mirror and watch their sparkle, their wonderful, changing hues. If I was robbed of my jewels I should die ! ' ' Doris looked at the young girl in dismay. Helena appeared a changed person. She sat up, her dark eyes fixed on t-ho mirror-lined walls. Her sallow face was flushed, her breath came and went in uneven pant-s. She looked like oue possessed. Doris had heard of such a mania, the love of precious stones that drove men and women to crime. In this young girl it was horrible. "Look at them!" She pointed to the j ropes of jewels reflected in the nnrrors. j "How wicked the-sc rubies and emeralds ! look! The green and the crimson. There! Did you see how the big diamond flashed ? It's wort-h thousands of pounds, that one diamond! It belonged to a Ranee. They say it's b.ewitched, and brings ill luck. But not to me. You see, I love it so!" | j "Come, Miss Farr!" Doris spoke with j aut-hority. "I can't allow you to excito J yourself like this. Let me remove your i jewels. And try and rest— don't think I about th.em. Believe me, the possession of precious stones brings no happiness." Helena laughed contemptuously. "You say that because you never had any of your own." Doris let the challenge pass. Sho remembered her diamond tiara, and the well-stoeked jewel-case she had left behind. Presently all the fire died out of Helena's faee. She looked pathetically young and tired. "Yes, take them off," slie said. Doris unfastened the clasps, tlie safety devices and pins, and laid the jewels on a small table by Miss Farr. Of course, you have a safe. Had you not better lock them up?" She went very white, as she added : "There have been | several jewel robberies lately, you know." I "Yes. Westways Court, Mr Armer's j place, was burgled last week. But"— j Helena clenched her sharp little teeth — j "they would find it a hard matter to steal ! my jewels. I sleep with them under the mattress of my bed. In the safe are duplicates in paste." Abruptly she rose. "I'm tired. I'm going to bed." Doris followed her from the room. On the other side* of t-lie long corridor lay the sleeping apartments belonging to Miss Farr's suite of rooms. All were on the first floor. j "Bring my jewels, nurse, please." Ilelena led the way, Doris following, j unwillingly carrying the jewels in her apron. 1 As they passed the big ori,el window on J the landing, Doris paused. She thought sho saw a white face pressed against the panes. But, of course, this was impossiblo. The rooms were too hign up for anyone to look in. Doris had been given a couple of rooms , next to her patient's, but Helena would not allow the door of communication to be left open. "I've never allowed it," she said. "And though I like you better than any nurse I've had, I'm not going to have it now. Doris said nothing. Paul was right ; her ' patient was a difficult one to manage. Sho almost bcgan to regret having accepted -

the case. The idea of this girl sleeping with thousands of pounds' worth of jewels hidden beneath her mattress gave her an uncanny feeling. She was glad when the night had passed, and she woke to see the gloriou3 sunshine flooding her room, "YOUR WIFE IS DEAD." "Have you no news of her, Roger?" Isobel Vane's voice was full of sympathy. She was sitting in Roger Armer's study, Armer himself opposite to her. He shook his head. He looked old and very weary, very different from the man who had stood beside an unwilling bride but a few months ago. 'No. It's extraordinary. She has disappeared as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed her up. The detectives are at fault, too, and the offered reward has not brought any clue." "Poor Roger!" sighed the girl, whose heart was filled with malicious joy at Doris's disappearance. "It's dreadful for you! And there seems to be no end to your troubles. First youlose Doris, and then your jewels!" "The loss of the jewels is nothing," Roger said. "It is Doris that matters. ' "You care for her still?" Isobel -could scarcely control her voice. "I have never cared for anyone Lefore, I shall never eare for anyone again, as I do my wife. My love for her has beeome part of myself." Overcome by an emotion which the jealous woman saw all too plainly was genuine, Armer turned away. "And yet," Isobel sneered, "you dld not treat her as though you lov,ed her. " A flame flickered in Roger's deep-set eyes. "To my shame, I did not. If ever i" find her, she shall se,e the difference. With my own lips will I confess my mistake. Isobel laughed. "And you will get no answer. I know Doris better than you do. She made a vow of silence, and she will- keep it." She laid her hand on his arm. "Come, Roger; don't let us quarrel about Doris. Something tells me you will never see her again." Such an expression of anguish swept the man's face as satisfied even Isobel's malice. "If I thought that " he murmured. Isobel adroitly changed the conversation. She had succeeded in getting what she wanted. She and her aunt were now installed at Westways Court on a long visit. "Have the police succeeded in tracing the burglars who stole the jewels!'' No ; but that is quite a minor affair compared to — Doris." "Do you think so?" Isobel said rneaningly. "I'm Hot so sure. The burglary was carried out about the time of Doris's disappearance. The police are agreed that; the thieves musi have had intimate knowledge of lue house. The lock of the safe in which the jewels were was not tamper.ed with. A duplicate key had been used. Roger, if ever you find Doris, you will discover the key to the mystery of the robbery ! " Roger swung round on her. "Do you suggest that Doris, my wife is concerned in this?" Isobel shrugged her shouldets. "I suggest notliing," she said cooliy. "There's no need to-scowl at me lixe that." She went away. Rcger began to pace the room. It certainly was a strange coincidence, he reflected, and it struck him as rather amusing that Isobel should try to make him helieve his wife was implicated, when act-ua-lly he himself was responsible for the "theft." But, notwithstanding his troubles, life went on much as usual. Except for the fact that Isobel Vane, chaperoned by her aunt, acted as mistress of the Court-,. there was little change in the usual routine." The clever London detective engaged by Roger to trace Doris came occasionally to ialk matters over with his employer. Several clues had been followed up for j a time, only to be dropped. Mr Jeffrey Smart was inclined to agree with Isobel. He considered the simultaneous disappear. ance of Mrs Armer and the burglary at the Court to be more than a coincidence. And then, all of a sudden, two things happened. At his offices in the City Roger Armer found, amongst his correspondence, a letter awaiting him. It ran thus : — "Let Mr Armer be assured that his double life will end in disaster — that the cleverest detective in Scotland Yard is on his track — that the robberies are getting so daring that exposure is bound to follow. Beware ! Mr Armer is very clever, but there are others quite as clever as he is — • One who, in spite of all, wishes Roger Armer well," An extraordinary letter — so extraordinary that the recipient adopted a bold

plan, and instantly went to the telephone and rung up Mr Smart. "What do you make o"f that?" He placed the badly-written effusion in the detective's hands. Jeffrey Smart pereud it in silence. "A fak.ed hand," he said curtly, "and written by a woman. Have you a specimen of Mrs Armer's writing?" Roger drew one of Doris's few letters to himself from his pocket-book. These, and a be-autifully painted miniatm'e, which he had had painted recently from a photo. graph, were Roger Armer's dearest possessions. Jeffrey Smart stood at the window, closely comparing the handwriting. "There's a certain similarity— the 'i's' and 'g's.' Mr Armer, we must trace the writer of this anonymous letter, and when we have discovered her — or him — we shall be on the right track. Can you throw any light on the meaning of the words 'your double life' ?" "No, indeed I canno't;. Tlie whole letter is a mystery. It seems ridiculous, but it really almost looks as though the wnter connects me with the robberias." Smart laughed. "Ridiculous? Rather!" The telephone-bell rang sharply. Roger took up the re-ceiver. "Yres, Mr Smart is here — in Mr Armer's offjee." Then he passed the receiv.er on to Jeffrey Smart. "It's you they want, Ex, cuse me a moment. Whilst you are engaged I'll just speak to one of my clerks in the outer ofRce. When, five minutes later, Roger Armer re-entered his office, he was met by a very grave-faced Smart. "Mr Armer, I have news for you. Your wife is found." Such a wave of pure joy surged within Roger Armer that for a moment he was incapable of uttering a reply. ' 'E ound ? Doris ? Thank Heaven ! ' "It's — -bad news, Mr Arpier," jeffrey stammered. "It's — the worst. Mrs Armer is — is dead." Roger staggered back. "Hold up, sir! I'm a fool!" Smart told himself. "I should have broken it easier. Poor chap — how he feels it! And, after all, she wasn't worth it — a silentwife! AJi, well, she '11 never get the -chance of speaking to him again. Better, sir?" Armer staggered to his feet. "Tell me — how — where is she?" Briefly Smart ga-ve the details of the tragedv. The body of a young woman, dr,essed in Doris Armer's -clothes, had been recovered from the Thames, where it must have been for many days, as the features were unrecognisable, and only the clothes afforded any clue as to her identity. An hour later Roger Armer had gazed for the last time upon the woman he believed to have been his wife. "You will, of course wish to discover, if possible, what happened to the unfortunate lady during- tha weeks that elapsed between her mysterious disappearance and the discoveiy of — of her body in the water?" Jeffrey Smart ventured. Armer turned on him almost savageiy. "I shall never rest till I know?" And then " bitterly, "You see, ypu made a mistake, Mr Smart. That anonymous letter couldn't have been written by my wife." Mr Smart agreed. "No, it couldn't. I made a mistake." Later on, the unknown girl to whom Doris had giv.en her clothes and rnoney was buried in a pretty little churchyard in a Sussex village by the sea. Roger f,elt that he could not bear the publicity that would come if he brought her to her old home. Doris and he had once visited Sea Cove. "One could rest in peace here." That was what Doris had said as they stood under the shadow of the old Norman Tower. Isobel's conduct was perfect. She left Roger Armer to himself. Time heals everything. This was what she thought. THE FACE AT THE WINDOW. Doris's life at Fairwell Manor most certainly did not lack excitement. Her patient provided that. Exelceable, prone to violent likes and dislikes, Helena kept her nurse in constant attendance upon her. For a week, too, Nurse Angela had to act as liousekeeper, for the hew housekeeper had written to say she was unavoidably prevented from coming on the day she was expectcd ; and Miss Farr was as capricious about her food as she was in every other way. "I'm sure I shall hate Mrs Warr,en," she remarked one day to Doris. "Slie's father's find, and I never like anyone father chooses." Doris rather pitied the new lady-house-keeper, who would have to please both father and daughter. "Any way, when she comes," Doris thought, "I shall have more time to myself." (Continued' on page 4.)

The SiSent Wife. (Continued from page 3.)

•It's Dr. We«ton's "tlay to-d#T," *aid Helena one morning, a fortnight after Doris's arrival. "Of course, you've guessed my secret?" Doris loolced bewildered. "Your secret? I'm afraid I don't understand." Helena made an impatient movement of her thin shoulders. "You're not very sharp, then, nurse," she sneered. "No, I'm afraid I'm not." Helena-daughed rudely. "Ycu're sharp enough_ sometim.es." Doris made no reply. It was one of Miss Farr's nasty days. "I'm madly in. love with Paul Weston." Doris started — a fact that did not escape Helena's sharp eyes. "Well," the girl challenged, "why shouldn't I be? Ide's awfully handsome, isn't he?" Yes, quite good-looking," Doris agreed. Iiere was a new complication — one that, unless she was careful, might lead to much unpleasantness. "Did you know Dr. Weston well?" Hel. ena continued. "Pretty well. You see he was the doc. tor at the cottage hospital where I trained. " Helena gave Doris a sharp look. "I wonder you didn't fall in love with him, and marry him." "You see, I didn't." Doris forced a smile. "Are you engaged?" demanded Helena. For the first time Doris began to regret having removed her wedding-ring. Had she not done so this inquisitive, impish girl would have imagined that Nurse Angela was a widow. "I was engaged once; but" — assuming her most professional air— "I am not here to discuss my affairs, Miss Farr. The doctor will b© here shortly, I want to get you ready for him." Doris contrived to meet Paul Weston alone. "Well, how are you getting on?" He gave Doris one of the kindly glances that warmed her heart, and proved she was not friendless, "You look ever so much better." I am — thanks to you," she said gratefully. "How do you get on with Miss Lena?" Doris- shrugged her shoulders, then laughed. "Oh, pretty well. Of course, she's terribiy trying at times." "And Mr Farr?" Doris coloured. "I see very little of Mr Farr. When 1 do he is always most courteous." Paul drew his own conclusions. Was it wise to remova your weddingring?" he asked ; and the girl answered : Perhaps not. I did it on the spur of the moment. If necessary I shall t-ell the truth." Helena's bell rang violently. She had seen Dr. Weston's car, from the window. What a time you've been coming up!" She glanced quickly from one to the other "I suppose you were talking over old times?" she said suspiciously. "Hardly that," Paul Weston said coldly. After this his visit was purely fessional.When he left the house, Helena flew into oue of her worst rages. "You've set hfrn against me ! He used to be nice to me before yeu came!" Her rage died down as suddenly as it had fiared up. She began to sob and cry, and beg Doris to forgive. ' if you go, he won't come at all. And if I don't see him sometimes I shall die." Doris had to be very firm, and tell ^,ss Farr that if sne went on like this it would be impossible to nurse her at home. "Bring me my jewels," she said. "They always soothe me." ihe remai nder of the evening possed, as it frequently did, in Helena decSTng herself in her jewels and admiring herself in the mirror. Mr Farr was away on business. Nurse and patient dined together. Doris had gone into her own room to get a few minutes' relief from Helena's incessant babble ; but hardly had she reached it before she heard a succession of screams issuing from the long sitting-room. She rushed back, to see Helena, bedizeixed in her jewels, standing in the centre of the room, her hand extended towards the window. 'Some one's there!" she shrieked. A man ! I saw him ! He was looking in at me!" Doris hurried to the window, opened it, and stepped on to th© balcony. Helena had made no mistake. A man was descending the iron staircase with such rapidity that it was impossible for Doris to follow him. He disappeared in the direction of the shrubbery. But, quick as he was, -Doris saw that the intruder was Roger Armer J

What ought she to do? She stood a moment rooted to the spot. Sne could not give her husband away. That the gang of which he was head was after Helena Farr's jewels was certain., Helena continued to shriek. She also started to ring the bell. Several servants rushed into the room. All was commotion. "Did you see him?" Helena flew to Doris, and clung to her. "I thought I saw a man," she i'orced herself to say. And then suddenly she made up her mind. If Armer was a thief why should she shield him? He deserved any fate that might befall him. fc>lxe turned to the butler and footman. "I think it would be well to search the grounds. There might be — someoixe there." She took Helena into her own room. "Take off those jewels," she said, so sternly that the younger girl began to whimper. "It's things like those that tempt men to crime. You don't want to lose fhem, do you?" "No, 110, no!" moaned the hysterical girl, tearing off the ornaments. "I'll go to bed. I sha'n't feel safe until I know no one can get my jewels." As soon as sho had seen Helena safely in bed, the parcel of precious stones in their usual hiding-place, Doris returned to the sitting-room. She had given her patient a soothing draught, and could rely on a few hours' quiet. The menservants had made an exhaustive search. Their report was that they had seen no one. The butler, an old and privileged retainer, gave his opinion. "It's one of Miss Helena's crazy fancies. The moonlight plays strange tricks, nurse, as I dare say you know." To this Nurse Angela smiled an assent. As she spoke, Doris Armer decided on a certain course of action. She could not remain in this house and allow Helena's jewels to b,e stolen. She had already written an anonymous letter to her husband, with no result. She must write again, an even stronger one, and if this had no effeet she would ask Mr Farr to insist on Helena's jewels being placed in soiue safer place than the girl's room. "I'll write the letter at once, and find someone to deliver it at Westways Court. " She crossed to her bureau, and took up a pen. As she did so her eyes fell on the evening paper. A paragraph c-aught her attention : "The mystery surrounding the disappearance of the b,eautiful Mrs Roger Armer is solved at last." With whitening face Doris Armer read the account of the inquest upon herself. "I'm dead!" she murmured. "Dead to the world — dead to Roger. Legally dead:" Quietly she folded up the paper. "Let it rest so. After all, it's best. I wonder who that poor girl was? How little 1 guessed, when I gave her my clothes and the shabby little purse, that it would end like this. It gives me freedom — the dead cannot speak!" With a low cry Doris Armer la-id her head on her arms and burst into bitter weeping. And this was how she.celebrated her so-called "freedom"! Presently she rose, and bathed her face. It would not do for the servants to see her like this. When, half an hour later, Mrs Cox sum. moned her to the consultation about some new tea-gowns she was making for Miss Lena, she found a rather pale but perfectly composed Nurse Angela. How Doris forced herself to give advice and .express interest in Martha's work, she could never have told. "So." said Martha, "they've found Mrs Armer. Suicide, I expect— eh?" "H — looks like it; but it mightn't have been." "Ah, well, she must ha' been off her dot. Never to speak to her husband ! Oh, good riddance for him, poor gent. I saw him once — a handsome feller. Mr Farr knows him in business. I heard him say as how he was going to ask him here to dmner before long. Hallo, nurse, what's up? Feeling bad?" "A bit faint.'" Doris went to the window. Roger coming her — Roger, the tliief ! Roger ! And she, the wife who was legally dead, beneath the same roof ! The room whirled round. " 'Twas that scare Lena made as unnerved you. I'll go and get you a drop o' summat." Martha Cox hurried away. A tap at the door was followed by the entrance of a woman, heavily veiled, and dressed in a long tra-velling-coat. "Is this the housekeeper's room?" the stranger asked. "I'm afraid they did not receive my wire saying I was coming tonight. I am the new housekeeper." She raised her veil, and Doris found her. self looking into the face of her husband's accomplice — the woman the gang had addressed as War.da. (To he Continu ed. )