THE SILENT WIFE!

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 42, 7 January 1921, Page 2

THE SILENT WIFE!

By MARK ENGLISH.

A

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 o deep tint, for she loved Ihe 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 overtock her. "May I accompany yc \?" he asked, and she smiled and nodded. They spoke of many things, and at last when they had reached a more secluded spot the doctor seized her hand. "Miss Thobury," ha said, "I love you — I love you with all my heart and soul. Will you be my wife?" She looked at tiim steadfastly as she answered "Yes." It 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 homo immediately," it ran. "You are wanted at once." And a little later she was speeding towards her home. At the very moment she was answering Paul Weston on the previous night, an interview was going on which was to alter her whole life. "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 Walter Thobury's j manager, and the man he faced as he | uttered those words was Walter Thobury j 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 him the huge business of Thobury and Co. But he did not trouble 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 pull him through, and that he would only do so on one condition, and that was that he should marry Doris. And in his weakness and fear of ruin the crushed man agreed— actually agreed to sacrifice his daughter to save himself. When he 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 not3 to Paul Weston tc'Iing him she had changed her mind and could never be his 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 her father's business had never been anything but perfectly solvent. 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 house, 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 oue 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, rushes off to her old home to warn him. Meanwhile Doris, wTho knows that he is the thief, bicycles over to Westways Court to warn him that a celebrated detective is on his track. She arrives at the lodge gates to discover he has had a motor accident, and that Isobel Vane is nursing him. As a result, he loses his memory, and is taken to a nursing home by Doris, who acknowledges hersel f his wife. Roger does not recognise her, but he recovers, and they are about to start for home when Doris suddenly discovers that Roger is missing and cannot be found anywhere. "ROGER AND RICHARD ARE AS LIKE AS TWO PEAS." ! "How late he is! Oh, I do hope nothing has happened to him!"" There was a note of deep anxiety in the woman's voice as sheN paced the barelyfurnished room restlessly. It was the same room through the window of which Doris Armer had watched breathlessly the movements of the gang of thieves. They were not all there now — only Wan. da and Philip. Two of the gang were missing — Armer and Henry Barlow. It was evident that Philip shared Wauda's anxiety, for every now and again he joined her av the window, and looked out into the gatbering gioom "What ran have detained him?" Wanda's haggnrd face grew more and more anxious as the time passed swiftly on. "The city ofik.es must fcave been shut long ago. He only had to go to Roger's office, and get the necessary docnments from the safe. Suppose"— Wanda laid hcr hand on Philip's arm — "suppose he should have been found out!" Phillip looked grave, but he did his best to cheer his companion. "Most unlikely," he said. "Roger and Richard are as like at two peas ! Thanks to Barlow, Dick knew exactly where to go, and Dick himself remembers every de. tail of the office. I don't suppose it's changed an atom since the old days." "Oh, how I wish they'd come ! We shall certainly lose the train, and with it the boat connection. Our passages are booked, too. Oh, we should have gone long ago — ■ after that hau! of the Farr jewels! Dick promised it should be the last." She sighed wearily. "Come, Mrs Armer, cheer up ! There's lots of time yet ! You know what Richard "Too venturesome ! " Wanda cried passionately. "Never content! Always wa-nt-ing to go one better than anyone else. He would have Mrs Vanderdecken's pearls. It was too risky ! If he's trapped it will be owing to personating his brother." "It was a fine piece of work," Philip said admiringly. "I never knew a neater one. Why, Roger's own wife believes Richard is Roger! You know, of course, that Doris Armer has got her husband away from Westways Court?" "I heard something of it," Wanda said impatiently ; "but I can think of nothing but why they are not here. Barlow was. to see his wife and children off for Liverpool, then he was join Dick in the city, come here with him, and we were all to start together. Everything is packed ready." She indicated several bulky portmanteaux, that lay ready strapped, on the floor. "Here they come!" cried Phi'lip. Wanda uttered an exclamation of intense relief. She ran to the door, opened

it, and looked over the balusters into the passage below. "Someone's with them!" she whispered. "Who is it? Oh, Philip, is it a detective?" "No," said Philip, in a low, astonished tone. "It's Roger Armer !" "Roger! Impossible!" Wanda fell back a step, scarcely able to believe the evidence of her oWn senses. For Roger it was beyond a doubt who stumbled up the stairs his brother and Henry Barlow each holding him tightly by an arm. "What is it, Dick " began Wanda. But Richard held up a warning hand. "There, old fellow ! Here you are. Feeling better — eh? That's right. What you want's a drink, a rest, and a nice long sleep. You've been doing too much lately. Brain overworked — money-making in that office of yours. You remember , Wanda, don't you? My wife, you know, old man. Get Roger a drink Wanda. Some of that good, strong liqueur brandy — you know the stuff I mean." He gav© the woman a significant look, and from her bag Wanda immeriately pro_ ' duced a flask. ! Whilst she was pouring the drugged brandy into a glass, Dick continued talking- | "We met each other on the steps of Roger's offices. The clerks had all gone" — he laughed meaningly — "and so we had i the place to ourselves. Barlow knew just | where the papers were kept"— he winked 1 knowingly at Philip — "and Roger signed the documents. Didn't you, old chap? Now take a sip, you need it!" Wanda handed the glass to Roger. During his brother's tirade he had said nothing, but now he answered quietly : "Yes, I signed the documents, though for the life of me I can't remember what I did sign. But Barlow knows." "Yes, sir, I know." j Henry Barlow came forward ; and then I suddenly Roger got up. "Where's Doris? I want Doris. Somej thing's wrong here!" He pressed his hand, with the old pathetic gesture, to his brow. Memory was j making a last mighty effort to break from J the bonds that held her back. j A strange expression as of one awakenj ing from a long sleep— half-dazed, half- | conscious of the surroundings — fiitted : across Roger Armer's face. J The other's seeing this, glanced at one another. "You're beginning to remember everything, aren't you, Roger?" Dick said quietly. "Yes." And then, with a quick movement as unexpected as it was alarming to the gang, Roger Armer sprang to his feet. "You, Richard — you ! Have you returned, then? Where am I? And where is Doris? I demand to know the meaning of this ! Speak at once, or I summon the police!" Roger's memory had returned, but he was dazed and bewildered by the strange. ness of his surroundings. There were many gaps to fill up since the day when last h® had remembered. But every minute things were becoming clearer. He looked at the faces of the three men and the woman, and saw upon each countenance a look of relentless determination. He was trapped — and at the mercy of a ruthless, relentless gang of thieves! No need to seek further for the gang who wero responsible for the robberies that had baffled the police. His own twin brother, whom he had sent out of the country long ago, had returned, and was at his old tricks again. But why was he there? Had he come of his own free will? Or had he been forced to come? As yet he could not tell. All was vague, except for the fact that he was in the

power of a gang of desperate scoundrels, And Barlow, too ! He turned, and cast a look of utter contempt upon the blackmailer ; and, even as he turned, Philip, at a sign from Richard Armer, caught hia hands and forced them behind his back. A gag was thrust into his mouth a handkerchief pressed tightly over his face. In vain he struggled. His captors were strong; and he, weakened by his recent accident, had no chance against them. He felt himself carried away and laid upon a couch ; and then everything tangible seemed to fade away. For a few minutes Richard and Barlow stood looking down at the unconscious form. "Off?" asked the latter. Richard Armer nodded. "Yes; safe for at least ten or twelve hours." He stooped, and removed the gag. "After all, he is my brother, and gave me a chance when I robbed him years ago. Many would have sent me to prison. Roger didn't. I wish sometimes I'd taken that chance as he meant me to take it." "You never have been content, Mr Armer — never! You were not meant to live a quiet, domestic life; there's too much of the adventurer in you. But noy you can do what you like. There's enough and to spare for all. I don't mind telling you I sha'n't be sorry to get out of this country and begin afresh." "Turn respectable — eh?" sneered Armer. Barlow coloured up. "Only for you I wouldn't be what I am!" he retorted. Richard Armer only laughed, and looked down at the handsome face of the brother he had personated so successfully. The likeness was certainly extraordinary. "I'd forgotten you were so much alike!" Wanda, coming in at this moment, exclaimed. "I wish to Heaven I was like him in other respects!" the man said bitterly. "Philip says" — Wanda laid her hand timidly on her husband's arm — "there's no time to lose if we are' to catch that train. And, Dick, we must catch it. Suppose they track Roger here! It wa3 a risk to bring him with you." "There was nothing else possible," put in Henry Barlow. "It wouldn't have dona to leave him in the office — not till we were safely away. They might have arrested him for Dick here." "It would not do for two Roger Armer's to be on the stage together!" Richard laughed shortly. "He'U be all right, I suppose?" He moved away reluctantly. "Oh, yes; all the better for the rest.'' Dick followed them slowly into the sitting room. He took a fountain pen from his pocket, and a leaf from a notebook, and wrote a few brief lTnes. "Anyone got an envelope?" Barlow produced one. Richard Armer folded the slip, placed it in the envelope, and fastened down the flap. He addressed the letter to "j.ar Roger Armer, Westways Court, Bucks," and put it in a pillar-box. DID YOUR HUSBAND NEYER TELL YOU HE HAD A BROTHER? • A day and a night had elapsed, and still no news of Rcger Armer came to his di9tracted wife. Doris's distress and anxiety about her husband's strange disappearance can easily be imagined. She sent for Paul Weston, who answered the summons promptly. Their inquiries resulted in very little; the only clue they obtained being that someone had seen a man answering to Roger Armer's description boarding a 'bus city bound. "I shouldn't wonder if he has wandered to his old familiar haunts," Paul said. "I've may car here; we will go to thd city."

Soon Weston, with. Roger's distracted wife, was driving rapidly through the London streets towarde Golden Buildings. "Have you no theory on the subject, Doris?" Paul asked after a long silence. "Yes — a terrible one!" she breathed. Oh5 Paul, I dare hardly voice my suspicions! No ; they're more than that" — she choked down a sob — "they're almost certainties!" "Doris," Paul said gravely, "this is no time for sentiment. Tell me all that's in your mind. What are these suspicions that are 'almost certainties?' " He laid his hand on hers. "You know you can trust me, Doris." His heart ached as he noted the havoc anxiety had made on the young wife's delicate beauty. "Yes," with sudden resolution, "I can trust you, and I will." And into Paul's astonished ears she poured forth all that was pent ap within her. And what a strange story it was that Doris Armer confided to her old friend! Weston did not utter a word until she had finished. "What am I to do?" she asked him piteously. He looked down upon the lovely faoe with its stricken expression. "Surely you don't believe your husband to be one of a gang of burglars and scoundrels?" She wrung her hands beneath ttie light rug that covered them. "What am I to think?" she retorted. "I saw them all. I saw Roger with them. Henry Barlow, too." "Where does Barlow live?" asked Weston suddenly. "In a little house in Balham," she told him. Paul turned the car in that direction. "We will go there first. I own there's a mystery, Doris — something that will need a lot of explanation ; but, my dear, it isn't what you think. Roger has his faults, but h© is no thief." A feeling of shame swept over the girl, and yet, somehow^ she felt strangely comforted. But there was Wanda! What of her? Jealously stirred afresh within her. As they neared Balham Doris's agitation increased. Sh© dreaded what might lie before her. Supposing Wanda herself should be there. How would she greet her? Paul's voice roused her from her unpleasant thoughts. "It's a pity you don't know the name of the street where you were taken that night. You were evidently drugged." "No, I don't know a bit. I ran miles from it in my fright. I never thought of i looking. But does it matter— now?" "I was thinking it was not impossible that Armer has been decoyed away by the man who is evidently personating him. Doris, are you quite certain it was your husband you saw?" "Yes, quite certain," she answered decidedly. "There couldn't be two men so much alike. And you forget — he was at Mr Farr's party. I saw him as plainly there as I see you now." By this time they had reached the address Barlow had given to Doris, and to which, from time to time, she had sent such sums of money as she could spare. It was shut up! A neighbour volunteered the information | that "them Barlows" had cleared out bag and baggage the day before. "Barlow's got a job in the country, Barlow has." Nothing was to be gained by further inquiries in this direction ; and, though Paul took the precaution of going over the empty house, he found no trace of the Barlow family. In the city oflices they found the head clerk much perturbed. Yes, Mr Armer had been there. He must have been, sinee he had taken some valuable deeds and the cash-box from his private safe. "When was that?" Doris asked quickly. "It must have been last night" the clerk said, "after the office was closed." Doris turned to Paul. "The gang has been at work again," she said in a tone of anguish, as they went down to the car. "I shall never see Roger again! And if I do " She broke down utterly. "If you do," Paul said, "you will take him back, and listen to the explanation l know he can give you. Doris, I know | how hard it seems to go against the eviI dence of your own senses, but I know the ! mystery will be cleared up. Won't you trust your husband?" "How can I?" she wailed. "It is good of you to plead for him— you, whom he insulted ' ' "That was nothing," Paul Weston said. "But it was," she persisted. "My whole life with Roger Armer has been nothing but misery. My marriage was a mistake, Paul." She spoke sadly, as one speaks who has lost hope. "You see," she continued, "I didn't love nim, and when 1 discovered he had won me by a fraud indifference turned to hatred."

"No, Doris," Paul said, very low. "That is where you make a mistake. Indifference turned to love. You love Roger now, and I am glad, for your sake." The colour rushed to her face, her eyes filled with tears. "How good you are — how noble, Paul! If only Roger was more like you!" He laughed lightly, but he was deeply touched. "Roger is Roger, and I am I," he joked. "And now I think it would be as well to go to Westways Court. He may have gone there." To the young wife the run down seemed endless. But at length the car turned in at the gates of her old home. Mrs Spry hastened to the door to r,eceive her young mistress. "The detective that the master called in when he was burgled, ma'ani, is here, and wants to see you. I'm that glad you've come, ma'am." She beamed at Doris. "Is Mr Armer here?" Doris inquired breathlessly. "No, ma'am. He ain't been hei'e not since you and the doctor took him away in the motor ambulance." At this moment Jeffrey Smart came into the hall. "I am glad to see you have come, Mrs Armer," he said. "Will you please come in here ?" He threw open the door of the library. Doris looked at Paul, asking him mutely to come with her. The detective's manner was grave, and she felt she could bear no more. Her powers of endurance had reach. ed their limit, and she dreaded fresh trouble. Dr Weston moved forward, but Smart waved him back. "What I have to say is for your ears alone, Mrs Armer," he said. "I am Mrs Armer's friend," Paul said, as he followed them into the library. "She has taken me into her confidenee. There are no secrets between her and me." "Is that so?" Smart looked from one to the other. "Yes. Dr Weston has been helping me to find my husband." "And have you found him?" Doris shook her head. "No; I wish we had." "But" — Jeffrey Smart fixed his keen, dark eyes on Doris — "you know where he is?" "Indeed I don't." "Mrs Armer, you are hiding sometkingj. It is foolish of you to do so. You are screening someone. That also is foolish, as you are in danger of being arrested as an sccomplice of the gang of swell crooks that have being about, brazenly robbing town and country liouses. As Nurse Angela you gained admittance to Mr Farr's resi dence. What happened during your service there? Miss Farr's jewels were stolen ! On the night of the dinnerparty, at which Mr Armer was present, Mrs Yanderdecken's pearls were cleverly removed from her neck. Later, whiist the guests and staff were being searched you disappeared. Does the theory that you are mixed up in these robberies seem strange? I think not." Doris sank into a chair, and gazed piteously at Paul. Weston was terribly distressed, for he saw that if Doris was to save herself from being arrested as an accomplice of the gang, she would have to give her husband away. And this he was quite certain she would not do. Even as Panl hesitated what to advise Doris to do Smart said suddenly : "I know what you are thinking, Mrs Armer. You are unwilling to speak, fearing that your husband may be injured by your doing so. You have the gift of silence. I have heard you called "ihe Silent Wife.' " And then, as the colour flamed in Doris's cheeks, he smiled. "There comes a time when it is well to speak. That time has come now. Will you not tell me where Mr Armer is?" "I would gladly if I could." "You really don't know?" Paul began to get vexed at Jeffrey Smart's persistent questionin.g of Doris. "Mrs Armer has not the least idea where her husband is. He disappeared from the nursing home in which I placed him. Mrs Armer was nursing him for loss of memory due to a motor accident." "Which Mr Armer was supposed to have met with on his way from Mr Farr's party?" "Which he did meet with on that occasion," Paul said shortly. A quiet smile of enjoyment dawned on the detective's face. He was about to give them the surprise of their life, and Jeffrey Smart liked surprising people. "Your husband did not dine at Mr Farr's house that night." Doris stared at him in astonishment. He seemed to know so much, this clever detective whom Roger had called in. And yet it seemed he knew very little. "He was there." The words escaped her unthinkmgly. "I saw him myself." Continued on page 4.

THE SILENT WIFE. (Continued from page 3.)

"Y'ou mean," said the persistent young man, "you thought you saw him?" "I did see him," xepeated Doris obatinately. "Doris," interposed Paul Weston, sending her a warning glance, "are you quite certain the man you saw was your hus- ■ band ?" "Yes, Smart said. "Are you certain?" Doris looked from one to the other. What-did it all mean? Was this sharp de. tective trying to get some admission from her— something that he might use against her later? "It isn't likely that I could be mistaken in my own husband." "Nevertheless," said Jeffrey Smart quietly, "you are mistaken. The man you warned on that night when you disappeared was not Mr Roger Armer!" "Not — not " Doris's brain began to reel. "Then who was he?" "Roger Armer's twin brother — Richard. Do you mean to tell me your husband never told you he had a brother?" "No. No one told me. I never knew. Oh, if only I had known, how much misery I might have been saved!" No need now to fence when the truth in her endeavour to save Roger from arrest. No need to hide facts from this keen-eyed man. "You are sure?" she asked, almost doubtingly. "Quite sure," Smart said. "I have tracked the gang to a certain house in North London. It was the woman Wanda who gave me the clue. Not willingly, you may be sure, seeing she is Richard Armer's wife!" "His wife! And I thought " Doris stopped short. A sensation of shame that she should have doubted her husband came over her, and rendered her speechless. Mr Smart's voice came dimly to her. "And now, Mrs Armer, "he was saying, "we must find your husband at once. I believe the gang has had something to do with this mysterious disappearance." Doris went white. A sudden idea had corrre to her. "I believe the house to whick you tracked Wanda is the same house to which I was taken. by the man called Philip." "I am very sure it is," the detective said coldly. Your car is outside, Dr Weston. We had better go to London at once." And so back to London Paul and Doris went once more, but this time they were accompanied by Jeffrey Smart. "DORIS IS NOT DEAD." It seemed to Roger Armer that he had been sleeping for years. How his head ached ! What a peculiar feeling of tessitude was over him, and how still everything seemed ! Surely it was morning ! And where was he? He sat up, and looked round at the bare, unfamiliar room very much as Doris had done under similar circumstances. At first he could not collect his thoughts. Though his memory had returned in great measure, there remained a blank3 which time alone could fill in satisfactorily. His last clear recollection was of driving his car from London, of a jar, and a stinging pain followed by oblivion. "I must have met with an accident," he thought, "and been brought in here; but it does not se,em lik© a nursing home." He sat up, and gazed curiously round. "I seem to recall a nurse," he muttered, "with a face like Doris's. Not that that's possible," he thought sacily. "I've lost her for ,ever ! My darling wife lies buried in the churchyard by the sea ; and she never knew how dearly I loved her, how I repented the fraud by which I won her, how I regret the means by which I strove to bend her to my will. And now I shall never see her again, never gaze into the face that is dearest to me in all the world!" Overcome by these bitter memories of the past, his whole being filled with an aching longing he knew too well could never be realised on this earth, Roger Armer remained for a time indifferent to his surroundings. Physically he felt incapable of exertion, but as he lay upon his couch his brain gradually grew more and more getive. And as he lay trying to account for his presence in this silent house, little incidents came drifting across his mind ; the burglary at his home, the disappearance of Doris, the coming of Isobel. And, as a natural consequence, with the thought of Isobel came the memory of his beautiful home, the home to which he had brought Doris, an unwilling bride. "I see her now." He clasped his hands over his eyes, -^endeavouring to conjure up the fair vision of his young wife, "so sad, yet so proud, so defiant in her splendid youth and health! And to think she lies now, silent for ever ! No need now^ for a vow of silence!" He laughed wildly is ;hi£

bitterness of spirit. "Sleeping — eternally sleeping!" With these haunting thoughts Roger fell into a cloze. The effect of the drug was clearing away, but a curious unwillingness for exertion remained. Roger wTas willing to let things slide. His eyes closed, and he sank again into un. consciousness. But this time it was health-giving sleep that came to Roger Armer, from which he woke refreshed in mind and body. His first'waking impression was that he was not alone. Someone was in the room, near the couch on which he lay. He felt, rather than saw; a pair of eyes fixed upon him. The room was in semi-darkness. The light from a street lamp came in a streak through a chink in the closed shutters. And then, even as he called "Who's there?" a man's figure came forward and stood beside him. "Don't you know me, Roger?" "Richard! You ! I thought you dead — years ago. What are you doing here? Is this your house? And how did I come here?" He pressed his hand to his brow, and so stared into the face of the brother who was the exact counterpart of himself. "No," said Dick Armer sadly, "I'm not dead. Sometimes" — with a reckless laugh — "I wish I were. But I'm as good as dead to you, Roger. I've only come back into your life for a few minutes — to right a great wrong that I have done you and your wife." In utter hewilderment Roger listened to Richard's words. Not having the faintest clue to his meaning ne was all astray. "Tell me first where I am," Roger demanded, getting off the couch and facing_ his brother. "After that you shall tell me why you allowed me to believe you dead all these years." Roger's voice was stern. But the ties of blood were stronger than he knew, and he was glad that, in spite of all the trouhles he had caused, his brother still lived. Richard remained silent. In fact,^ he hardly knew how to answer, After all, though he was the head of the gang of thieves, there were others to think of besides himself. Had Richard Armer had only himself to consider his answer would have been easier. A feeling of shame at the injury he had done an innocent man, had proved too strong for him. That Roger would be suspected — probably arrested for the robberies that had hitherto baffled Scotland Yard — he was very certain, that Doris believed her husband guilty he also knew beyond a doubt. And so, after seeing the remainder of the party off, he had doubled back to the deserted house where they had left ju-oger Armer. In addition to this feeling of remorse, Richard had not liked the death-like look on his brother 's face. He feared the effects of the drug upon him in his present enfeehled conditiojft of mind and body. Suppose Roger died? Murder would be added to a long list of crimes. "Will you listen patiently to me, Roger, while 1 tell you a strange story?" "Yes, I will listen." Roger controlled his rising anger. He was not one to take things meekly. "And when I have told you I will go away for ever." They stood lookTng at each other, these two who were so alike in face and form, so dissimilar by nature— one an upright, hon. ourable member of society, the other a shifty, unscrupulous adventurer, the companion of thieves and gaol-birds. "I sent you the notice of my dealth," Dick Armer said, "beca-use I wanted to start afresh — a, new life of crime. This I have continued, without interruption, till to-day. Only for — for a certain reason with which you are connected, I woudl have remained dead for ever!" "The reason?" Roger demanded, in a hard tone. Light was dawning upon him. Thoughts so terrible as almost to overwhelm him, chased each other rapidly across his mind. "I am one of the gang whose burglaries are now baffling more men than the police. I burgled your house. I am responsible for the loss of Miss Farr's bag of jewels. It was I — masquerading as you; j-voger — who relieved Nina Vanderdecken of her pearl necklace !" "What!" shonted Roger, forgetting everything except the horrible fact that stared him in the face. "You don't mean to say that they believe that I — Roger Armer — am the thief the police are looking for?" "Yes, that's it! You've got it first shot, old man. And that's the reason why I've •come back, at great risk to myself, to warn you and put you on your guard." "You scoundrel!" hissed xtoger, whose temper was now roused to such an extent that it had passed beyond his control. "You unutterable scoundrel to have done this thing!"

Roger made a step forward, his hand up-raised as though to strike down the man who had done him such a cruel injury. But he was weaker than he thought, and sat down trembling in every limb. "Thank Heaven!" he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Thank Heaven my wife, Doris, did not live to know — this!" ' Richard Armer laid his hand on his brother's shoulder. "You make a mist'^ke, Roger. Doris is not dead, and to tell you how she comes to he alive is part of the reparation I am here to make." (To be Continued).