HELEN OF THE MOOR.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 14940, 13 March 1912, Page 11

HELEN OF THE MOOR.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY ALICE AND CLAUDE ASKEW, Authors of " The Paignton Honour." " The Shulaxnite," Love, the Jester," Etc., Etc.

COPYRIGHT. CHAPTER XXll.(Continued). Greta smiled. She had a very pretty smile, and it softened lite otherwise rather hard expression of her face. Sho had good teeth, too, whito and regular, like those of her father. "It's quite possible that I may bo going up to London very soon," she replied. " Father was saying only last night that he would have some business to attend to at the end of the month. Ho hasn't been to London for quite a long time. Besides," she added, "the season will bo beginning, and I shall want to show off some of my new frocks." " Oh, I hope you will both be able to stay with us," exclaimed Philip. "It would be awfully jolly, and I am quit© sure my father and Dora would be delighted. I shan't feel as if lam really saving good-bye to you this afternoon." Thus, very pleasantly for Philip, the morning passed away. He made no attempt to analyse his feelings; ho only knew that Greta Franklyn attracted him, and that lie was happy in her society. It was by no means the same attraction which he felt towards the strange girl at the inn; that was . mysterious, inexplicable, as mysterious as the girl herself. It was something quite beyond his control, and, for which ho could find no explanation. And since it was absurd and unreasonable upon the faco of it, lie was trying to put the nameless waif out of his mind. Perhaps it was for this reason, if for no other, that he was allowing Greta Franklyn to take so prominent a place in his thoughts. He was struggling against what he knew to be a ridiculous and impossible infatuation. And here, in the pleasure which he found in the society of Greta, was a new weapon for the defence. It was about noon when Harry emerged from the house, his business letters completed, and interrupted the tete-a-tete. Greta rose immediately, though not with; out some evident disappointment, and announcing that she had her household duties to attend to, left the two friends together. "Lunch will be at one," Bhe explained as she withdrew. "You have an hour to amuse yourselves just as you think best." They spent that hour in a visit to the inn. It was almost instinctively that their feet turned in that direction. The suggestion was made by neither one nor the other, but they wandered on, talking oi" indifferent subjects, till they found themselves by the gate which led to the road over the moor. From here it was no great distance to the inn, especially if the road were avoided, and a short cut | taken round the base of the little hill ! where Philip had met the convict. Silas Harden greeted them with a surly 1 ncd. His temper did not seem at all improved since they had taken their departure from his roof. ' But ho was quite ready to talk and. make much of his worries, and ha was still quit© convinced that the devil himself was at the bottom of the strange events which had taken place in his house. " I know that there was something wrong with the place before I'd been in it a week," he growled "everyone told me so, and I was a fool not to have moved out at once before any harm came to me. There was fuss enough after poor brother Bill died, and now it'll all get about again, and I shan't have a minute's rest. It's very simple to say that nobody knows, and that the unhappy creature upstairs will be taken away to-day, but servants have got tongues, and I don't even trust my own girls. I'm sick of it all, and I'd sell up the whole place to-morrow if I could get an offer for it." Ho gave vent to his typical whistle, a whistle that seemed to indicate that he was very much in earnest. Ho was in a measure consoled by the offer of a tankard of beer, and leaving him to the enjoyment of this, Philip and Harry inquired for the doctor, who, they had been told, was in the house. They met him upon the stairs ; ho seemed pleased to see them, and conducted them to the little parlour upon the first floor. "Wo had an hour to spare, and we have come to inquire after your patient,'' said Philip. Dr. Cummings rubbed his hands thoughtfully together. " Ah, yes," he said, "you > are interested in her, of course. Well, it is a curious case, the most curious caso that I can remember in all my experience. Our patient is very much better; in fact, sho is'up, though I can hardly say that she is dressed. The fact is she refuses to dress herself rationally not seem to know how to do it. Miss Mar den had ?[uito a job with her. And then she hardy knows how to feed herself. She takes what is given her as a wild creature might. And yet I don't believe that she is actually mad. I can't find any real indication of insanity. She has not quite got over her fright, however, and she looks at everyone who comes near her as though sho were afraid that they are going to do her a hurt. But perhaps you would like to see her? " Without waiting for an assent he opened the door of the adjoining room, the one that had been occupied by Lord Raynour, and led him in.

The girl sat there beside the open window gazing out across the moor. Sho was lying back listlessly, her thin white hands folded in her lap. She was wearing a loose dressing-gown, evidently much too largo for her, and which was palpably the property of the stalwart Sue. Her glorious golden hair hung loose about her shoulders, her eyes —Philip saw them for the first time now—were, as he had guessed, of a china blue, and there was a pitiful expression of terror about them, as about her delicately-fashioned lips. She turned her head as they entered the room and then buried her face in her hands. ' Philip advanced. His voice shook a little as he said, "I hope that you are better to-day. lam so glad that you are able to sit up." She male him no reply. Dr. Cummings touched him lightly on the shoulder and beckoned him Back to the parlour. He obeyed, and followed by Harry returned to the adjoining room, closing the door gently behind him. "A strange thing, isn't it?" asked Dr. Cummings, slowly. "She hears what is said to her, but she won't answer. Yet as I said, there seems to be nothing really the matter with her. It's just that she either will not or cannot speak." CHAPTER XXIII. "I'm glad to see you back, my dear boy, and it was good of you to come of your o«T accord. As matter of fact, I was contemplating wiring, for you when your telegram reached me this morning,"

John Arkwright wats the speaker. He was sitting with his eon ill the study of his Wimbledon house. Philip had arrived late that evening, and after supper, having expressed himself as not too tired to talk business, he had joined his father in the study. Here, having helped himself to a cigar, he was quite prepared to listen to all that the latter had to say.

The study was a pleasant room in a pleasant house. The Arkwrights had been •settled at Wimbledon for some thirty years, John Arkwright having purchased the property soon after his marriage. Both Philip and Dora had been born there, and they had in consequence a deep affection for their home—a home which, situated though it was so near to London, had all the appearance of a largo and comfortable courttry house,

As for John Arkwright, ho was built like his son on a rather large scale, though he had never attained to the great muscular development of the younger man. He was florid in colouring, and his face had much of tho good naturo and gentleness of character that was typical of Philip. Success had attended him in business, and as a consequence content was prominently marked upon Ids features. Tho business of Arkwright and Son had been founded by his father, and he— Philip after himhad had his interest in it ever since he had reached the estate of manhood, though being by naturo of an artistic temperament ho had, perhaps entered into it. with moro zest than had his son, who,, as already mentioned, was no particular enthusiast for the works of art in which tho firm dealt so largely, and of which they were probably the largest purveyors in England. They had representatives inmost of the largo cities of the world, and it was through tho medium of Arkwright and Son that some of tho most historical antiquites had passed from hand to hand. If they specialised in any direction it was m that of antique jewellery and furniture perhaps because these were the especial hobbies of John Arkwright himself. He was something of a collector on his own account, as one might readily surmise from tho briefest survey of his Wimbledon home.

The death of his wife soon after the. birth of Dora had conio as a great blow to him. But, as ho often said, his two children had done their utmost to atone to him for his loss; both Philip and Dora wero devotedly attached to their father, and a happier and more united menage it would "have -been difficult to find.

•'What's wrong dad?" Philip still addressed ills father by the childish term of endearment. And, "big man though he was, it never sounded incongruous upon! his lips. " I've, got any amount to tell you myself, for I've been simply revelling in adventures of the most inexplicable kind for the last three days. There's something too"—ho was thinking of Tarrant— " which will bo of special interest to yourself. Bui, I had better hold everything over till you have done yarning. I hope there's nothing seriously wrong." Ho glanced with some little anxiety at his father's Aico which, usually so placid, was troubled and disturbed. "The old business of Paillon, I suppose?" "Yes. but considerably aggravated" said John Arkwright. " Besides which there has been a development that has worried mo not a little. I did not think much of it at first, but the moro I think about it the worse it appears." " Tell me all about it, and we'll put our heads together and see what can be done. Arkwright and Son will hold a committee meeting." Philip stretched out his long legs, and pulled contemplatively at his cigar. Ho wus not anticipating tiling very terrible. " First as to Paillon," Arkwright began. "We have been very grossly deceived, Philip, by a man in whom Ave reposed great confidence." r Philip knocked the ash from his cigar. " It was as much a surprise to me," he admitted. " I always thought that Francis Paillon was straight as a die." The man of whom they spoke was the defaulting agent, and a person of considerable importance to the firm. He was a relation of John Arkwright's wife, a bachelor, son of a French fattier and English mother. He had been in the employ of the firm for many years, and by his astuteness and apparent integrity, had gained their trust. He lived in considerable stylo in Paris, but ho was reputed to have means of his own, and to have entered the business rather through love of art than from any other motive. Yet this man had been deceiving them for years, and now his deceit had been brought to light. ' "I thought at first,"' Arkwright said gravely, "that there must bo some mistake when I found that the accounts were wrong. Paillon is the last man in the world whom I would have suspected. I made the discovery before you went' to Devonshire, Philip, as you "know, but I wasn't going to worry you about it then for fear of making you give up your holiday. But as I proceeded with my investigations, things . looked blacker and blacker. Thero was not only a falsification of accounts, but there were secret commissions and articles sold to purchasers at a far larger sum than was ever returned upon . the books. And the worst came wlien I found that Paillon had been dealing in spurious antiquities, worthless stuff which ho disposed of under the guarantee of Arkwright aim* Son. Tho damage that may have been done to us, Philip, is incalculable, and there is nothing for it but to have Paillon criminally prosecuted. We owe this to our reputation, and it is essential that our good name should be cleared."

"Has Paillon been arrested?" Philip frowned, and applied a fresh match to his cigar. The good name of the firm to which ho belonged was as dear to him as it was to his father.

" Not yet. As I told you in my letter, I instructed the police to act at once, but in the meantime Paillon hag absconded. I must tell you first that he camo.over to London when ho knew that his defalcations were discovered, and begged me not to prosecute him. It would be ruin, he said, not only to him, but to others. He confessed that bo had a wife and daughter, that ho. had been secretly married for years, and for their sake ho begged me to forgive him. All this, you understand, was before I had discovered his grosser frauds. I was hesitating what I should do, for I hate to be vindicative, so I told him I would think it over and wait until I knew the exact extent of his fraudulent practices. I asked him to make a full confession and to let me know all that ho was answerable for. Ho went back to Paris promising to do this, and it was soon after that I found out about the false antiques, and decided that I could not spare him. And then to my utter astonishment I received a visit from Mr. Ruthven, a man for whom, as you know, I have no particular good feeling." He paused, drumming thoughtfully with his fingers upon the woodwork of the desk before him.

" "And what had Ruthven to do with the affair?" asked Philip, without showing the surprise that his father had expected; for had ho not heard of this interview from Dora? "Ruthven protested at first that it was a friendly call." Arkwright again took up his tale. "He said that we had been estranged so long, and as far as he was concerned, ho hoped the past might be forgotten. This, although he was the means of sending my greatest friend to penal servitude! Well, I trust Ruthvent no more to-day than I trusted him" years ago"—Arkwright's voice shook as he spoke" and I guessed at once that there was something behind his visit. There was. He had come to intercede for Paillon, who. it appears, is a friend of his, and has been acting for him in some sort of business capacity as well as for us. Well, to cut a long story short, since I refused to give any definite answer, Ruthven simply defied me to proceed against mv employee.' He warned me that if I did so the firm of Arkwright and Son would be ruined. He lost his temper and blustered loudly. My answer wo* to show him the door, and directly afterwards I issued ray instructions for the arrest of Paillon. 'That is how we stand at present. But I'm auite sure that there will be fresh and unpleasant developments, and that wo shall have to contend against a dangerrous opponent." Philip was silent for a moment, lost in serious contemplation of the situation. "But what has it got to do with Pierce Ruthven?" he cried at last. "Why should he concern himself with our affairs?"

"That is more than I can say at present," replied Arkwritrht slowly, " but I have mv suspicions. We do not knpw how Pierce Ruthvert lives, or how he-has ac-'

cumulated his fortunes. He is in many ways ft mystery > and yet it is certain that he has somehow managed to acquire influence in nearly every branch of life. I have always suspected' him of malpractices of some kind, though, of couse, the world would not agree with me; and I have never ventured to speak openly. But to my mind the inference is that Buthven is afraid of some disclosure that Uaillon may make if he is arrested—something that will hurt him as well as us. But the future is in the lap of the gods, my boy," he went on, "and our clear duty is to 'sift this matter to the bottom. Lam sure, Philip, that you agree with me in this?" Yes," was Philip's sturdy response, " I fl °. agree with you most thoroughly, dad. We 11 go right-on to the bitter end', whatever that end may be,; and we will hope that Pierce Ruthven, and not ourselves,' will be tho one to go under."

CHAPTER XXIV. _ Tho next morning was signalled bv an invitation for Philip and Harry to dine at Lady Kentard's in Grosvenor Square that same evening. Lady Kentard wrote a charming little note. She had just heard from Dora of the arrival of her brother and fiance in town, and, since Dora was returning to Wimbledon the next day, she, Lady Kentard, would be delighted if the short notice would bo pardoned, and Mr. Arkwright and. Mr. Sherard would give her tho pleasure of their, company at a dinner party which she had arranged for that night. Philip accepted very readily the invitation for himself, and in the course of the morning journeyed up to town to see Harry, with whom ho had parted tho day before, Harry going to his own chambers in Jermyn-street.

Harry had been equally pleased to accept the invitation, and so it happened that at eight o'clock that evening the two friends met again at the doorway of tho large house in Grosvenor Square to which they had beon bidon.

"I <?ay," whispered Harry, as they were being conducted by a powdered footman up the broad staircase, " there's a friend of jours here to-night. Can you guess whom I mean?"

"Not an idea," whispered Philip back. "Who is it?"

" His brougham drew up just in front of my cab," returned Harry. "It's Pierce Ruthven himself."

Philip frowned. Ho had kept to himself tho story which be had heard from his father, eager as ho usually was to take Harry fully into his confidence. But here was a matter of business, a matter which was not so much a personal one as one which concerned the honour of Arkwright and Son. And his father had warned him to be discreet.

" Ono seems to meet the fellow everywhere," was, therefore, all he responded. " But I knew that ho was a friend of the kentards, for he was invited to the ball, if. not to be one of the house party. He couldn't come then, so I suppose Lady Kentard has salved her conscience by asking him to-night," Philip and Harry having arrived punctually, the guests had not yet all assembled. Thero were, however, come six or eight already collected in the drawingroom when Philip and Harry were announced. It was a drawing-room furnished on the most lavish scale, • for Viscount Kentard was possessed of abundant wealth and had been reckoned the catch of the preceding season. He had chosen his wife, however, not from among tho daughters of any great family, but he had met and fallen in love with pretty delicate Marion Blair, who was in her first season, having like Dora, only just returned from a Paris school, where the two girls had become the greatest friends. Marion was nobody in particular. Her father had been in Government employ, and was not possessed of super abundant means. It was the mother who had been ambitious for her daughter and had insisted upon a London seasou, a season that had been crowned by so signal a success. Marion had adapted herself with peculiar ease to her new surroundings. She, who, had never been accustomed to wealth, accepted it as her due and carried herseif bravely in tho guise of countess, as though to the position born. Viscount. Hugh was charmed with ]r.s bride, and could not show her sufficient devotion, while.even the old Earl of Bridgetown, who had at first been opposed to the marriage of his son with a commoner, had quite succumbed to the charm of his daughter-in-law, remarking, iii his dry, sarcastic manner, that since Hugh was not possessed of a superabundance of brains, it was a good thing he had a wife who could supply the deficiency. " I am so glad that you were able to come.' Lady Kentard received the two young men with a cordial and unaffected smile. She was a delicate, fragile little person, deliciously white and pink in colouring, and with hair that was almost 'flaxen. But her firm chin and straight lips indicated that she had a will of her own, and thero was a flicker in her bright eyes that suggested a strong sense of humour. It was, indeed, in all probability her sharp tongue and capacity for ready retort that had attracted the more slowwitted Hugh. Her dress that evening was a wonderful Paris confection, and her hair and breast flashed with diamonds; she wore these as if she had been accustomed to them all her life.

"It was so good of you to forgive my short notice," she said, "and to join us at dinner to-night. Dora will bo delighted to see you both. She's over there in the corner —Lady Kentard turned gracefully in the direction indicated— talking to Mr. Staunton Heath. ? I've an idea that he proposed to her on the night of the ball, bo you will have to keep your eyes open, Mr. Sherard. Dora was very much admired, but I am sure you are not surprised to learn that." Dora came running up as Lady Kentard turned away to greet a -arrived guest. " Oh, you dear things," she cried, ' I am so glad to see you both, and it was sweet of you to come back to London in such a hurry." She looked as if she would have liked to kiss them, but she refrained and contented herself with a hearty shake of the hand.

Dora Arkwright, some twenty years old, was a demure little person, whose eyes, however, sparkled brightly with the joie do vivre. She had been accustomed to being petted all her life her father had been her slave, and her big brother always at her beck and call. There was something indescribable about her that made her attractive to women as well as to men— perhaps it was her quickness to sympathy with everyone and her utter lack of selfish", ness. She was as kind and considerate in manner to old people as to young ; she could interest herself in the recital of tho most trivial troubles, and the curious part of it was that her interest wag not assumed hut absolutely genuine. She stood something over the medium height, but was lithe of figure, and her hands and feet were exquisitely fashioned. Her hair was inclined to a recdish hue, glinting in some lights like burnished copper; she had a most winning smile, and her eyes were very expressive of the sympathy that was in her. It was little wonder that she had attracted so much attention since she had been in Grosvenor Square. But Harry was not inclined to be jealous, for he knew that Dora's heart was his. •■■''

" I understand you've been flirting outrageously, Dora," he said, with a light laugh, "and that you've made half the men at the dance infatuated with you. I think it's high time we arrived to look after yOu," "I took care to let them all know that I was engaged," Dora replied naively. "I thought that "would nut them off, but somehow I don't think"it did." "Is that one of your admirers?" Harry drew the girl aside, for Philip by now had been taken possession of by his host, to be introduced to the ladv who was to be his partner at dinner. It was Mr. Staunton Heath that Harry indicated by a nod of the head. "Oh, yes," returned the girl candidly. " He has been the most persistent of tiiem all. But he is really quite nice, you know. Ho is the only one who has 'actually proposed to me, but that was before he know I wns engaged. He has been staying in the house, but he is leaving tomorrow too. He is a . friend of Lord Kentard's, and they say \ he has been dreadfully fast. Ho has told me all about himself and his troubles.. "You mustn't let young men tell you too much about themselves, protested Harry, though not too seriously. "It's;

dangerous, you know. But never mind Hew, *lttcß you are under my charge. I'vfl got lots to tell you, and' I expect you've got lots to tell me, Let's find a couple- of chairs somewhere. I impose I'm to have the honour of taking you down to dinner?" " Yes," replied the girl, " and I suppose we shall play bridge afterwardssome of us, at least. Oh, Harry, you don't know how nervous and shy I was when I flrnt came here. I haven't any of Marion's miconfidence. But everyone has been so kind that I don't seem to mind so much now," Philip in the meanwhile had been introduced to a lady of rather ample proportions, whom he was to take down to dinner, a certain Miss Westerby Fane, and finding her attention already given to another lady with whom, bendmgovcr her chair, she -appeared to be discussing some matter of deep interest, he moved a few paces away, and amused himself by looking about him. He did not anticipate any particular pleasure from the dinner party now that ho knew who his companion waa to be. For Miss Westerby Fane, though she was popular in society, had a sharp tongue, and her great delight was in retailing gossip and scandal or in listening to it. She did not think much of any one who did not share her tastes, and since there was nothing that Philip disliked so much as gossip, usually of a malicious type, he had an idea that his companion and himself would not get on particularly well together. The room was filling up now, the party appearing to consist of some twenty in all. It was now, for the first time, that Philip's eyes fell upon Mr. Pierce Ruthven. Buthven was standing, his back to the fireplace, his legs a little apart, his hands behind his back, in . an attitude that was rather typical of the man. , Taken with his general appearance there was a suggestion of vulgarity about it; ho might have been a parvenu, or a self-made city man. Mr. Buthven, however, was neither of these, that is, if his own story was to bo believed. Certainly he had had big dealings in the city, especially in the past. But, according to his own account, ho had inherited a large fortune, and he used this, as well as his brains, for the benefit of

others. To what extent this was true, nobody seemed to know, but, by some means, he- had contrived to become- a social power. Ho was unmarried, and owned a largo house in St. John's Wood, though he was more frequently to be found in his Piccadilly chambers. In age Pierce Ruthven appeared well over fifty, and ho wore—without concealment dark curly wig. He had lost his hair as the result of a bad fever—so ho would explain. He had heavy dark brows, and ho affected spectacles, his poorness of eight being a consequence of the same illness that cost him his hair. He was clean-shaven, though his chin was always blue and his teeth were irregular and discoloured; noticeable, too, wero the black gaps between them- His voice was raucous and marked, as might "have been expected from the state of his teeth, by a peculiar lisp. The last, and perhaps' the most characteristic, feature of the man was the suggestion of a lack of cleanliness about face and hands. He was talking to a couple of other men when Philip's eyes met his. He gave a little nod, and Philip thought he noticed, even at a distance, a slightly ' malicious curve of the thick lips. After a moment, and without much apology to his two companions, Ruthven strode across the room towards Philip. " How are you, Arkwright?" he asked, making no attempt to oner, his hand, knowing, perhaps, that Philip would nut have taken it. " Your father is not here to-night, I suppose. I should have rather liked the opportunity of a word with him." . *•--■■" ■ ' t -

"My father is always to be found at his office," replied Philip coldly, "and if it's a. matter of business, I'm quite sure that he would not care to discuss it here." "Not the time for 'shop,' eh?" said the other, with a thick and suggestive laugh. "I dare say not, but there are times when even ' shop can't be avoided. You heard of my talk with your father the other day?" Philip nodded. " I know of everything connected with the business," he re- ! sponded , curtly. "Then you know that my old friend, Francis Paillon, will be arrested unless your firm choose to put a stop to tho proceedings. I went to your father as a friend, but ho treated me disgraceful. It was for his good I spoke—-do you understand for his good. But he showed me the door." . v ', Ruthven's eyes behind the spectacles seemed to shine menacingly, and it was evident that he was restraining himself with difficulty from' an outburst of passion. Luckily, at this moment, the doors were flung open, and the butler announced that dinner was served.

Philip was about to turn away contemptuously, but Ruthven laid a restraining hand upon his arm. "I must speak to you again about this . after dinner," he whispered hoarsely. '' I tell you that the matter 'is of far deeper importance than you think, and there's no time for pretty speeches either. If you want to save your father from ruin you'll get him to drop this prosecution."

CHAPTER XXV. ,' t The dinner was a somewhat stiff and formal affair, and Philip, worried in his mind by the peculiarly aggressive attitude which Pierce Ruthven had taken up, was even less interested than he had expected in his companion. Miss Westerly Fane attempted to make conversation for some little while, taking, as usual, the sins of society in general, and her dearest friends .in particular, as her subject, but she was at last compelled to abandon the attempt. She glanced at Philip contemptuously through her pince-nez, as if to say : "This man is a perfect fool." Then she turned her attention to her neighbour on the other Bide, who happened to be a young French diplomat recently arrived in. England. In him she found a ready listener, and she proceeded to enjoy herself by enlightening him upon the manners and customs of the English upper classes as viewed through the pince-nez of Miss Westerby Fane. ' " The young idiot believes all ho is being told," Philip muttered to himself when some particularly audacious piece of scandal fell upon hia ears, " and a pretty idea he,' as a foreigner, will have of us. It will seem all the more real since ho hears of it in the house of a man like Kentard. But what a hateful woman it is ! I pity anyone who falls into her clutches; she'd take away the character of the Angel Gabriel himself."

Miss Westerby Fane was telling the story of Lady Kentard's lost diamond. " Of course, there's no doubt that it was stolen," she said impressively. "A diamond like that does not disappear unless someone carries it off. Of course, dear Marion can stand the loss, even though it was one of the Bridgetown heirlooms; but all the same it isn't pleasant to think that she must have hud a thief among the guests at her ball. However, one has always got to expect that sort of thing. I could give you other instances. There was the case of Miss Gervaise and Lady Haringay's rubiesyou don't remember it, I suppose?" The young Frenchman shook his head, and so Miss Westerby Fane proceeded to narrate the scandalous story, quit© heedless, or perhaps unconscious, of the harm she might be doing to one who had already paid bitterly enough for her transgression. Besides, as Philip remembered, there had been a doubt in this particular case, a doubt the benefit of which had been accorded to Miss Gervaise; but of what use wis such charity when there were women like Miss Westerby Fane abroad? " By the way"—Philip was still attending listlessly and yet with vague indignation—"have you noticed what a lot of valuable jewels h*ve been stolen lately? The sort of articles, I mean, that one would fancy, could not easily be disposed of. There was the burglary at Lord Bernbridge's about six months age-— thieves have never been tracedand then there was the affair at Morrison's, the Bondstreet man. Ono wonders Bow all these tilings are smuggled out of the country— how they are dealt with. It's not only jewellery, toothat's another curious fact. Picture*—what profit can well-known and classified pictures bring to the thief? Yet Lord Bembridge lost a Sir Joshua and a, \ Rubens, to say nothing of his cherished ' Millets and Meissoniers—just cut out of their frames, they were, and carried off. Of course, this can't be the work of com- • mon thieves. ' • ■ ; (To be continued daily.)