THE SILENT WIFE!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 39, 10 December 1920, Page 2

THE SILENT WIFE!

By MARK ENGLISH.

Remark&hle Bta.it aa of Married Life .

THE FIRST PART. Doris Thobury, the sister of the chiidrens's ward, was telling the httle ones stories, when the door opened and the matron and Dr Weston came in. Doris s , cheekg took & deep tint, for she loved | the kindly, grave-faced young doctor j deeply As the doctor went his rounds, she held j eacli little patient's hand, for the pain j never seemed so bad when Sister Loris was near) and when all the patients tiad been examkxed her duty for the day was over. As she was going ont of the Cottage Hospital gate, Paul Weston overtook her, j "May I accompany yc l?" he asked, and ; she smiled and nodded. They spoke of j many things, and at last when they liad j reached a more secluded spot the doctor i seized her hand. "Miss Thobury," 1 e said, "I love you — I love you with all my heart and soul. Will you be my wife?" She looked at nur. steadfastly as she answered "Yes. lt was some time later when they parted, and when they did so Doris was the hap-. piest girl in the world. The next morning she received a telegram : "Come homo immediately," it rau. "You are wanted at once." And a little later she was speeding towards her home. At the very mornent she was answering Paul Weston on the previous night, an j interview was going on which was to alter , her whole life. "Those are my terms ; take them or j leave them. Aecept them and I pull you ! through ; refuse and you are ruined!" The speaker, Roger, Armer, was a strong, hard man ; he was Walter Thobury's manager, and the man h,e faced as he ; uttered those wcrds was Walter Thobury himself. Doris's father was a failure ; he was j weak and lazy, and as he faced his man- I ager he looked frightened. His uncle had died and left him the huge business of | Thobury and Co. But he did not troubie himself about the business ; he left it all in- the hands of Roger Armer. And now he found that he was on the brink of ruin, and only Armer could puli him through, and that he would only do so on oue condition, and that was that he should marry Doris. And in his weak- j ness and fear of ruin the crushed man ! agreed — actually agreed to sacrifice his daughter to save himselfWhen lie told Doris slie was horrified. I "Father," she cried, "you are not in earnest. Marry Mr Armer? I cooldn't-. j "You can't mean it." At last she cast asidc all her hopes for the future and promised. That evening she wrote a short note to Paul Weston tc"ing him she had changed her mind and could never ' be his wife. Her engagement to Armer was announced, and eventually Doris Thobury j became Doris Armer. Slie found her husband domineering, J and determined to break her proud spirit. | She discovered, too, that she had been | won by a trick, for her father's business ! had never been anything but perfectly sol- j vent. Paul Weston, a young doctor and her former lover, with whom she had been forced to break her engagement. He obtains for her a post as a nurse at a private liouse, which she thankfully accepts. A few days after, she reads in the paper that the "missing Mrs Armer" has been found drowned, but actually the unrecognisable body that was discovered belonged to an unknown girl to whom Doris had given her clothes. Then one day a new housekeeper arrived at Mr Farr's house, and Doris was horrified to recognise in her one of her thief-husband's accomplices. One day Mr Farr's house is burgled and Doris, recognising her husband's work in this, ruslies off to her old home i to warn him. From the garden, she sees ' the figures of Armer and Isobel Vane sil-

houetted on the blind. Then suddenly a heavy hand is laid on her shoulder. "HER SPIRIT HAUNTS ME— ALWAYS." With great difificulty, Doris Armer stifled a shriek that rose to her lips. The scene of domestic happiness, in which her husband and Isobel Vane were the central figures, had wounded her to ■.^e heart's core. And now another had been a witness of the quiet, homelike picture beside herself. "Hush !" A hand was laid lightly across her lips. She lifted her eyes, and .found herself gazing into the face of the man whom she knew as Philip, the man who had rescued her from the lonely nouse in the woods. And then suddenly she remembered that this unknown man was her husband s accomplice in guilt, that even now they were proba'oly ( plotting together, a-rranging further robberies, fresh outrages. And to save such a criminal as Roger Armer she had come prepared to break her vow of silence. "Hush! Don't attract their attention, Mrs Armer." With a firm hand, he drew the girl away further into the shadow. They passed out of earshot, but not from the range of vision. The couple on the couch by the fire had | drawn close together. Isobel's head, with its heavy coils of rich red hair, was very close to Roger Armer's shoulder. A wild, fierce feeling of jealously flamed up within Doris's heart. She held her breath, expecting every moment to see their lips meet in a lover's kiss of per1 fect understanding. A strong sensation of resentment against Isobel Vane was prominent in her curiously mixed emotions. Oh, how da-re she? While Roger's wife crouched outside, like the outcast a cruel fate had made her. And then there came a sickening sense of hopelessness and despair. By the silent assumption of her own death she had raised up an eternal barrier between herself and Roger Armer. It was, to thgj man and woman on whom she gazed, no sin to love. Only she knew that they could never marry ; she only stood between them and happiness ! An. awful wave of misery surged over j the unhappy girl, whose obstinacy had caused so much misery. She saw Roger rise, and caught a glimpse of Isobel's face, on which disappointment was writ large. Roger stood by the higlq flower-gariand-ed Adams mantelshelf. In the centre stood a portrait, flanked on either side by a crystal vase of tall lilies. Her own portrait ! Her own favourite flowers ! He raised the heavy silver frame, an.l, holding it in his hand, turned and sani something to the woman. Doris, of course, could not hear wh u. ! e said. Had she been able to do >?, sh'4 would not have been so utteriy wretciied. "Somehow, Isobel," Roger was sav ig, "I cannot forget her. Olr, I know all you would say — all that you can urge agan-.t this mad delusion of mine! But I canuot believe she has left me for ever. Her spuut is with me, haunts me always. Time may remove this strange, aimost uncanny, tr-eh ing, but it will be many long years be'me I can put another in her place." Isobel hid her face, so tliat he could not vead the bitter expression upon it. "I will wait for years if need be, Roger, for I love you as that coid, silent womw. never did. She is dead. How can you believe otherwise? Y"ou saw her " "Yes," he sighed ; "I saw her. As you say, I liavP proof that Doris — has gone — - for ever. But so long as the strange feeling of unreality remains, it must be as — it :s." Very tenderly, he placed the portrait on the shelf. Isobel, with a yearning look, turned slowly, and left the rooni. Roger crossed over to the windo.v, av.d drew the curtains closer, and the familiar fire-lit room and its solitary occupant were blotted out.

"And now, Mrs Armei'," said Phu.'p "will you please tell me what bro tgh; you here? It is unwise of you to meddle in aftairs that may have disastrous consequences to yourself." The significant tone did not essaoe Doris. "I don't understand you." She turned startled eyes upon her companion. That the man was ill at ease was evident. He kept sending furtive glam ?s at the house, as though he feared derection. He laughed shortly. "If it is discovered that Mrs Roger Armer is alive, she will find herself .1 a very unpleasnt position. Her husband" — he sent her a pecnliarly penetrating glan.'e — "is the head of the gang." This was a bow drawn at a vent ire. But Doris did not know this, and a JovV moan escaped her. "I know — I know! It was to warn him I rau the risk of coming here." Philip turned away to hide a smile. How simple this woman was! How easy a dupe he had found her ! How her every a tion had helped them in their career of crime ! He felt very kindly disposed towards this innocent victim of rognary. "liad you not better get back oetore your absence is discovered?" he asked. "Believe me, it will be best. Should you he discovered here, your object will be defeated. In fact, your presence at your old home would give away your "EusbaaJ. ' "I must ask you a few questions before I return," the girl said desperately. "You saved me from him once, and so, somehow against my better judgment, and in defiance of common-sense, I'm going ;o trust you." She raised such imploring eyes to his face that somehow Philip felt more of a blackguard than ever. "I may, mayn't I?" "Yes. I'll aiiswer you to the best of my ability. Believe me, I am deeply sorry for you. But, come, let us get away from the house. See, there is a lignt in the upstairs rooms!" "My room! I mean those that were given to me when I came here a bride — long ago — so very— long ago." The blinds were up. The light shone, 1 rosy and mellow, over the silver and uiue : rooms that Doris had called her prison. Had he given her rooms to Isobel Vane? She could not tear herself away till she knew. But it was Roger who entered the room. He stood in the centre, gazing rou-nd ; then suddenly he flung himself on the sofa, and bur'ed his face in his hands. Philip touched her gently. "Come!" he said. "Why pain yourself by remaining here ?" . ■ They went into the cold, bare woods, towards the spot where Doris had left the car. "Now a-sk your questions. If I refuse to j answer some of them, if will be — for your husband's s'ake." "How long," tear wsere in her voice, "has my husband led this double life? ' Philip hesitated just ari instant. "Armer has always led it," he said. "He could never run straight. It isn ' t in him." "But his business! Surely he does not need to rob?" "Armer's business is merely a blind. Fle organised the gang of which he is now the head. I am one of them, Henry Barlow another. Whilst enlisting your sympathy Barlow was acting as Armer's tool." Doris beat her hands together. "And I have been the blindest tool of all ! He married me so that, as the wife of a supposed honourable and wealthy man, I could bring him into touch with those who possessed jewels and valuables. He won me hy a lie — he kept me with -un by lies. He *is false, cruel, unutterably wicked, and yet — I want to savo him!" Of course, you do ! Are you not his wife?" "Heaven help me, I am!" The sound of the stable clock striking

recalled Doris to the latenes« of the hour. ell me all that lias happened at Fair well Court since the burglary was' discovered," Philip urged. "I will see Armer, and warn him. You don't want to see him after what you and I have just witnessed." He saw her shudder, and smiled to him selx. Jealously had accomplished what plain speaking would never have done. "No — ^no !" She hid her face, so that he might not see how his stab had gone home. And then rapidly, she gave him a brief account of how a great London detective, called Mark Lewis, had undertaken the case. 1 hilip listened in silence, his expression growing graver and graver. x ou must go back at once. Already they are beginning to suspect you, and if they arrest you as an accomplice they will force you to speak — to give evidence against your husband." That they shall never do ! I became a silent wife — I will be a silent witness, if necessary." philip placed her in the two-seater, and watched her till sne was out of sight. "V.'hat a woman!" he mutteved. "A woman in a thousand ! A woman who can make a vow of silence, and stick to it, is a rare thing. If only she was one of us ! Wauda's infatuation for Armer will lead to mischief, I'm afraid. Although she is my sister, I see her faults, and intense j eaiousy is one of them. And now to business. That girl's sudden appearance ha.s upset all our calculations. I only fiope they haven't gone away." Lifting his finger to his lips, he gave a low, pentrating whistle. unce — twice — three times was it repeated. And then, in quick response, two masked men crept from behind a thicket. "I thought," said the taller of the two, "that you weren't going to get rid of her. IVho was she?" "That," said Philip, "was Roger Armer's wife." "THAT DAY IS AT HAND." That night Westways Court was entered and burgled for the second time. The strong room, where a quantity of valuable | plate was deposited was broken cpen and ! robbed. i At the Manor House the first intense ex. j citement caused by the burglary liad, in a j measure, died down. Miss Farr was in a' j fair way to recovery ; already she had decked herself with the faked jewels. The riews of this second burglary at Westways Court had electrified the police. I \\ hilst they had been engaged in seeking , the burglars at the Manor Hon.se, the misj creants were robbing Mr Farr's neighbour at the Court! | Mark Lewis alono said nothing. He was working the case in his own way. He would brook no interference from the local police. "Yes, I have a chie," he owned; "and i intend to follow it up. I either undertake the cass alone, or I throw it up." Mr Farr was only too willing to agree to Lewis's terms. "Don't forget," Lewis said, when I ostensibl'y leaving the Manor House, that, as your eecretary, I am to meet Mr Roger Armer at dinner on the seventeenth." "I doubt," said Farr, "that Mr Armer I will be well enough to come. The robbery gave him a liasty shock. He has never been the same since his wife's death." "I suppose," Lewis said Ihoughtfully, "he felt it deeply." "I believe so. Their married life was an unhappy oue. One does not care to talk about it now. Mrs Armer is dead, but she was quite impossible, you know." "I have heard her called the Silent Wife." Lewis smiled. "An unusual cnaracteristic in a woman." Before he left, Mark Lewis sought and obtained an interview with Nuive Angela. "You were late in coming home last night," he said, fixing his dark eyes upon the pale, lovely face. "Late!'*' she stammered. "I

Lie laid his hand upon her arm. It would be wise if you'eonfided in me," he said quietly. "I saw you driving the car up the lane. It was twelre o'clock. I I had a Eeadache. Miss Farr told me I eould always use her car." Doris knew how foolish and inconsistent this explanation must sound to .this man, with his trained mind and natural quickness. He held out his hand. Good-bye, Nurse Angela!" he said. "lf ever you feel like sharing your troubles with me, don't hesitate to do so. -ou will always find me a willing listener." There's nothing to confide," she retorted. "Doctor Weston knew me years ago. My story is quite an ordinary oue. I made an unhappy marriage — that s all. Many women do that."' Lewis agreed. "It's a pity all the same. You are still quite young — a mere girl. Wes." There was a nota of passion in the clear, low voice. "I am youn'g. 1 may have years before me — -years of silence and desolation." He looked keenly at her; opened his lips and then closed them. "That is Mrs Roger Armer," he thought as he drove to the station. "How she managed to blind the world to Ihe fact that she is alive I do not know. Who ever the girl is who lies buried in the oussex viilage -by the sea, under the name of Doris Armer, I do not know. liut I know she is not the wife of Roger Armer, of Westways Court. I wonder if they are in league together. It looks like it. Her hurried drive last night was undoubt. edly to the Court. I wish d had seen her go ; I'd have followed her. That vow of siien-ce was a blind, I expect. And yet it seems incredible that a man like Roger Armer should be able to lead a double life without being found out. He is such a prominent man in the city. No; there's a deeper mystery he-re than I at first imagined. It's quite the most interesting and complicated cas8 I've come across as yet. But I'll unravel the mystery — or I'll throw up the profession for ; good !" Two days la-ter Mr Farr's new secretary arrived at the Manor House. Mr > > alter Smith was a quiet, badly dressed man, with a slouchmg gait and unkempt, grizzled hair. Owing to a slight defect in his eyes; Mr Smith wore smoked g'rsses. He spoke. in husky tones, and was extremely polite to everyone with wbom he oarr_e in contact. Helena, in spite of his plain and unattractive appearance, took an extraoi'dinary fancy to her father's secretary, and invited him to have tea in the long, splen. didly furnished room whei^ever he cared to do so. This exactly suited Malk Lewis, as it gave him an opportunity of stirdying Miss Farr's attendant from an impartial point of view, The mo're he saw of Doris, the more he liked her. That some hidden trouble, | bravely borne, had embittered her whole life was vejy evxdent. If the detective's. surmise was correct — that she had discovered Roger Armer's secret after she was his wife — her sadness •was easily accounted for. There were, however, many links missing in the cliain that Mark Lewis hoped o.ne day to make perfect. But he by no means despaired of finding them. And when he had done so, woe betide the gang whose outra.ges were getting more and more daring. There was hardly a day one did not read of some fresh burglary. Sometimes a flat in Mayfair would be entered and robbed ; at other times city stores would he rifled of valuable furs, of bales of cloth and silk. Gountry houses were pillaged. The gang worked swiftly, silently — coming and going, and leaving no trace behind them. Scotland Yard was baffled. The woman *who had personated the housekeeper had disappeared, and no trace of her could " they find. Only Mark Lewis knew that her nar»e was Wanda, and that she was not unknown to Nurse Angela. At last the day whieh Doris lenged for, and yet dreaded, arrived. The morning of the seventeenth dawned as so many other monotonous days had dawned for Doris Armer. Nothing out of the common marked this particular Thursday as different irom all the others, except that Helena Farr was in one of her excitable moods. It was Paul 'Weston's day to visit his hysterical patient, and Helena always gave her nurse frouble on these occasions. This afternoon she was particularly way. ward. Nothing pleased her. Three times she insisted on chariging her rest gown, until at last Martha Cox was in despair. "Now she says she wiH dress for the evening," Martha told Nurse Angela. ' 'You know she insists on dining downstairs to-night. I wish Doctor Weston would forbid it. Something tells me there'll be a scene before the evening is over."

This presentment of Mrs Cox's was to be realised, but not quite in the way she meant. "I'll speak to Doctor Weston," said Doris. "After all, if she insists on dress. ing so early in the afternoon, it won't matter. It'Il give her a chaixce of wearing her jewels. That's wkat she's thinking of, I know." Martha Cox flung up her hands. "And to think they're only bits of paste and glas>s!"*she wailed. "If she found out that her je^-els were stolen I believe she'd go out.of her mindl" "I helieve she wouTd,'* Doris sighed. "It is awful for anyone to worship jewels as Helena does." When Doctor Weston entered Helena's room, cven he, accustomed though he was to his patient's vagaries, was a litwe taken . aback at the splendour of her toilette. His expression of astonishment seemed to amuse the impish creature. "I'm dining with the party tb-night," she informed him; "and so I've dressed, • so as to be in good time. Are not my jewels beautiful, Doctor Weston ? - And ' wasn't it a good thjng the thieves did not discover where I had hidden them V Doctor Weston',' who knew the truth, adroftly turned the conversation to a strictly professional one. He made his visit as brief as possible. The girl's openly expressed preference for himself disgustd and repelled him. "If you will come with me, Nurse Angela," he said, as he bade Miss Farr good-bye, "I will give you instructions." Helena pouted. "Can't you give them to nurse here?" she asked. "I believe you flirt with nurse when I'm not there." Doris's face grew hot. "I don't like sueh jokes," she said. "Nor I, Miss Farr," Paul Weston added coldly. "If you suggest such a thing again I shall be obliged to throw up your case. I cannot allow you to insult Nurse Angela or me." Instantly the jealous girl was all contrition. "I shall die if you don't come, Dr Weston!" she wailed, in her extravagant way. Paul and Doris went into' the library. Dr Weston sat down at the table to write a prescription. . "What are you going to do this evening, Doris 1" he asked. "Can you bear to knov/ that your husband is. beneath the same roof as you, and not speak to him?" An expression of deep sadness swept over the perfect face of the girl whom Paul Weston had loved so well. "Do you remeihher that once I told you that oue day Roger Armer would be in great danger, and that lf that day should come, my lips would be unsealed — that I would br-eak my vow of silence? Paul that day is'at hand!" He looked into the cairn, lovely face. "If only you would tell me all! Let me help you?" She shook her head. "It is impossible." "You know I have been asked to dine here to-night?" he said. Doris started. * "Yes. But you cannot, Paul. *My — my husband and you are not friends." Sh'e shuddered at the remembrance of that fatal day when Roger had openly insulted Paul Weston in a manner no man would forgive. "Have you forgotten, Paul?" "No, I have not forgotten — neither the insult nor your defence of me. Doris, only for that- you might have been — happy — in time." "I wonder " she sighed, a dreamy light coming into the clear, grey eyes. "I often wonder if it would have been possible to — to care for — him one day?" And then, before Paul could answer, the softness died out of her face. "No, no ! Not now I know ! Is that the prescription? I'll send it to the chemist's at once." She moved away. Good-bye!" She held out her hand. "I -shall try to see you to-night," Paul said. "Then you intend to come?" "Yes, Doris. Something tells me you will be in need of — of — a friend to-niqht." "You mustn't see me!" Her agitation surprised him. "Promise you won't try to —find out what I do!" Paul Weston was alarmcd. There was something about Doris he could not understand. There was a slight movement. The secre. tary, Mr Smith, stood before them. i Mr Smith yawned. "Pardon me! I must have fallen aslaep. I was in that big chair over there. It's such a charming room — lulls one to sleep against one's will." Paul looked annoyed. "I did not know anyone was in the room," he said curtly. "I was giving Nurse instructions about her patient, Miss Farr." (Continued on page 4.)

THE SILENT WIFE. (Continued from page 3.)

Mr Smith spread ou his liands with a deprecating gesture. "I assure you, doctor," he said, "1 didn't hear a word ycu -Jaid. So no harm's done. 1 was litera-lly dead to the world." He paused again. . Somehow, Patu doubted-tliis statement. MINA V ANBER D ECKEN ' S PEARLS. Morton Farr rarely entertained, but when he did it was on a princely scale. He had b.een very much against- 1ns daughter appearing at ihe dinner-table. Her nerves were terribly unstrung. Dr. Weston had warned Mr Farr against excitement, or allowing her to sit so long in one position. But threat-s and entreat-ies proved vain. Nothing woukl do but that she should tako the head of the table, and show off hei gorgsous and most unsuitable apparel and treasured jeweLs. Doris, standing aside, while Mr Farr was reasoning with his wayward daughter-, thought ,it pathetic that Helena should not kn'ow the truth— that the gaudy _ stones, fiashing red and green and blue from her skinny arms and heek, were worth but a few pounds, and not the thousands she still believed them to represent. "Weir, if you will— you will. ' Morton Farr shragged. his shoulders, and gianced at the ' beautiful face of- Nurse AngeLa. "But* if you must, I shall make a stipulation." Helena, pouted. "I hate st-ipulations," she grumbled. "They always spoil your fun." "This one won't." Farr's eyes were still on Doris. "That Nurse Angela joins the party." "No, no! I— couldn't!" Doris flushed hotly. To join the party she would have to see he.' husband. It might even be that she would be foreed to speak to him. She intended, somehow, to give him another warning. But it mast be done secretly. She would wait and watch, and clutch at the first chance she could get-. "But why, Nurse Angela?" In Morton Farr's eyes was an expression of undisguised admiration, from which Doris shrank invol-untarily. It was not the first time she had seen that expression on her employer's dark face. She recalied Martha Cox's joking words : "You could be Mrs Farr any day, nurse, if you played your cards properly." Doris Had only laughedr and turned the eonversation quickly. Paul had been right. It had been a mis. take to pose as an unmarried woman. But, then, from how many questions and prevariations her ringless liands had saved her ! "I — I have no evening-dress," she stammeved. "I have nothing but my miiform." "And what, could be more becoming, nurse?" Mr Farr touched the sjeeve of her dress. "To my mind it is the most becoming garb any woman can wear. But, if you dislike being ' singular, surely in Helena's wardrobe " «

- "It is impossible, Mr Farr." Doris thought it time to speak nrmly. "I will zemain on duty in the ante-room, if you wish, in case Miss Farr requires aid, but I utterly refuse to make one of your party." "Please yourself," Mr Farr said. And then, in a lower t6ne, he added. "You must know that it is my(|dearest wish to please you!" "Father," Lena Farr's shrill tonc.s broke in, "Mrs Vanderdecken is coming, isn't she?"' . . " ' ' - - "Yes." •'They. Say her - p'earls are priceless. I hope she will wear them." "I expect she will. Nina Vanderdecken rarely goes anywhere withput them. They are historic, and once belonged to a dethroned queen." Helena sighed enviously. "How I wish they were mine!" "Didn't I tell you they were priceless? I may. be wealthy, but even I couldn't afford pearls like Nina Vanderdecken 's; I wonder tho tliieves have not had a try for them." "Yes," Doris said mechanically. She raised her eyes, and fOund Mr Farr's fixed eyes upon her with an expression that held something more than admiration. Un. ■ nerved by this strange look, and the news she had heard, she turned away. But Helena would not let the subject of the pearls drop. "Nina is a very rich American. She. lives in the Dower Iiouse, and is'dad's tenanfc. Martha used to say he would marry Mrs Van, but now she says someone has put Nina's nose out of joint. I wonder if you know who it is?" She grinned impudently into Doris's erinison face. "Don't repeat such vulgar gossip. And now you had hetter lie on. your couch io1 half an hour, or you'll be fainting before the dinner is half over." " I wonder if they are after the pearls?

Doris paced her room, wondering how best she could warn Roger of the risk he was running. But before she had decided on any plan'of aclion the guests began to arrive. Mrs Vanderdecken was exquisitely dressed in grey and silver. The celebrated pearls hung in two long ropes, one of which reached to her knees, The ante-room in which Doris decided to wait lay between the further of the suite of rooms and the big banquetting hall. It was an ideal place, as far as Doris's plans were concerned, for she could see into both drawing-room and dining-room. Also, if she wanted to breathe the nig'nt air, she could walk along the terrace, and get a good view of the winter garden, the door. of whieh opened into the centre draw-ing-room. Hsavy curtains hung over the ante-room ( doors, and fjom bebind these Nurse Angela I watched the assembling of the guests. Roger Armer was last to arrive. As it happened, Morton Farr stood not far from the curtain that concealed Doris. "I wonder, Farr," she heard her husband say, "if you would allow me to use your telephone. Awfully sorry, but I forgot to send a message to my clerk!" "Of course ! Come this way. 1*11 take you to the library, and then, if you'll excu me, I'll leave you." They went away togct'her. Doris's nervousness increased. What message did Roger want to send ? Wai it to summon, his accornplices— let them know for certain that Mrs" .Vanderdecken had aqgived, wearing her pearls? Now was the time to warn him, to telk him that if he persisted in his career of crime she would sliield him no longer, she would be silent no longer. He should have another chance of escape, and one only. _ , - Very quietlv, she unlatchcd the window. The moon, on a light powder of snow, made everything bright as day. Kerping clo&e to the ivy-covered walls, she ^ained the libtary windows. They were lightly closed and curtained !' "How foolish of me!"*she thought. "I might have guessed they wmuld be shut.'' Mr Walter Smith watched the slender figure, a smile on liis bearded face. "As I thought. She's shielding someone. Well, can one blame a woman for shielding her husband, no matter liow big a blackguard he may be? If what I suspect is true, we shall have the gang in hand now in twenty-four hours." Throughout diriner Doris never took her eyes off her husband. He sat on one side of the American widow, Morton Farr on the other. She saw Roger furtively surveying the priceless pearls that hung round Mrs Van. derdecken's white neck. And then, ail of a s-udden, Roger Armer made a curious remark : "Are you not afraid of carrying so much value about ycu, Mrs Vanderdeck.en ?" Doris held her breath as she waited Nina's answer, (To be Continued).