AURA DURAND

Auckland Star, Volume XXII, Issue 87, 14 April 1891, Page 6

AURA DURAND

A DETECTIVE STORY,

Er S. M. MURDOCH, AUTHOR OJ »' THE BI~AT> DETECTIVES," " THH B2TSCSTVE'S DAtTGHTF.B.,'' ETC.

CHAPTER L.

THE CONFTSSSTOr OF A ArTTRBEtIKSa. It is midnight. In the splendid maneion of Jamas Darand all is quiefe, as quiet as earth, and sea, and sky, before the firs' breaking of the hurricane. Such a strange quiet! In the housekeeper's room site Mr' Richards, eilenfe, motionless, alert. The room in very (lark ; the door is locked, and she sits near it, listening. Jn tho rooms of 'C'onsin Charles' something still more strange might be seen. Yes, peen, for there is some light —a very little, hero. On the bsd in the sleeping room lies the young man who has no suddenly deposed Aura**Durand. Tho light is too dim to enable one to distinguish hi* features, but the blonde hair at-.d tho blonde whiskere are unmistakable. They belong to ' Cousin Charles.' He lies very still. Hβ must be sleeping poundly. Beyond the bed is an open door, the door of the drawing roona, but ifc is dark, very dark, within. Nothing can be seen from the dimly-lighted chamber, and yet —something \s there. Between the door of entrance and the bed is a lofty window, heavily curtained. A moment the curtains ars drawn aside, and the face of a man looks ous; then they fa'l together in sombre folds, and all is 8 till. Five minute; 5 :, ten, and then the outer door opens softly, slowly, and a figure with loose flowing blonde hair, and softly trailing dark garments., glides in. The figure turns, closes the door cautiously, and glides straight to the bedside. It i?i a woman— it ia Aura Durand. Straight to the bedside she goes, and then she bakes something from'her pocket. There ia tho alighfcesfi possible clicking of glass, a giimraer of something white ir, har hand, some thing white which she bends down and lays upon the half averted face of the sleeper, and then there ia the strong sicken in" - odour of chloroform in the room. She has adjusted the white thing carefully, and now she turns £>nd rests herself in an eaay chair not far from the bsd. Great heavens ! is this woman iron, or tnaible, or ice, that she can sit there beside her victim ? She sits calm, immovable : moment after eaomont passes, and at lswb she risea and goes again to the bed. Again she lifts the handkerchief, again it ia "saturated with the deadly liquid, aad laid upon the face of the sleepor. Again she seats herself and vraits. After a time sho aeems satisfied with her work. Life must be extinct under that long suffocation. She rises, once more she goc« to the bod and removes the handkerchief from the still face. *JEH:.SP, Schwartz I I arrest you in the name of the law.' What has happened ? has she gone mad ? A strong hand closes upon her arm, a fltern voice i 3 sounding in her ear. Merciful heavens ! the room is full of people ; the lights are turned on ; it is like a transformation scene, only that ebo holds in her hands- tho hideous evidences of her guilt, and there upon She bed lies— that ! Is she going mad ? Everything reeb aboofc her ; everything ia seen through a rapour ; everything taunta and tantalises her : she hears voices that seem diatant, and then near, the lights dance to and fro, everything seems unreal, save that clasp upon her arm, that voice in her ear, anil that which lies upon the bed. After a time the mist clears away, tho voicea reeolve themselves to sounds that she can comprehend. The arms stand out distincb and recognisable, and she knows that Mr Durand, Mr Hale, Neil Batbursfc, and a man she does not know, are standing opposite, on theother side of the bed. Then she knows that a tall sirong man stands beside her; she hears again the words : ' Elise Schwartz, you are my prisoner.' She realises that all is lost; she ban been hunted down. With a cry, like that of some wild animal, she turns upon her captor, and strives to wrench herself from his grasp, but it is useless. Sho ceases to struggle, and stands sullenly beside tho feed ; she will say no word. The namo that has fallen from tho lips of her captor has told her thab words are useless ; she is EJise Schwartz, and she has been hunted down. ' Girl!' Mr Durand moved forward. 'The mercy you have had for others I will show to you. I give you up to the hands of the law you have outraged. Expect nothing from me save that I will do my utmost to bring to justice one who would have been, but for Neil Bathurst, my wife's murderess RoberbJocelyn, the detective, in whose hands you aro now, has followed you from the sceno of your earliest orimo3 ; he shall take you back to England ; you have no friends here.' The captive shivered under the hand thab restrained her, but she said no word, and Neil Bathursb moved a step nearer. 'Before you go hence you can render yourself one shade less black in the eye« of those who have known you, if you will,' he said. 'You have been hunted down ; we hold the proof thab you aro the murderess of your husband and hie sister, Rebecca Schwartz; thab you havo robbed your friend and protector, the man who, above all others, you should have held sacred, and that you nave attempted the life of hi.s wife ; we know tbafc three times before to-nighb have you crepb to this door, prepared to do what you have done to-nighb ; but Charles Durand was nob ready to cease to exist, and so you found no access. To-nighfc Charles Duarnd has ceased to be, bub you are his destroyer only in intent. lam the one who has wiped oub the exisbence of Charles Darand, togebher with the necessity for him. See !' Hβ bends forward ; he takes her hand ; he draws her to the bedside ; then he draws down the sheets, pulls at the blonde hair and beard, and she sees that the thing of terror is bub a plaster of Paris head, adorned with a flaxen wig and beard. Again that strange cry escapes her lips ; She realises bow she has been surrounded by enemies and undermined, with her eyes open. 'Your plans were well laid,' continued Neil Babhurst; ' but I suspected you at the time you robbed Mr Durand in order to bribe Nina Annin, and I have been on your track constantly since you killed Clarenc3 Arteveldb.' Ah, that has told ! Sho throws up her hands, and utters a shriek of agony and terror. 'Wβ know all about thab, too, , he goes on, mercilessly. ' All your letters and his, all your forgeries, are in my possession. The valise you flung into bhe lake contained ■worthless rags ; your cloak, your famous little dagger, your keys, even your stolen jewels, are in my hands. Nin& Annin has been arrested, and has confessed all; told all that she knows concerning you. Your lover -was false and you killed him. Will you make a statement, a confession of that) crime ? or shall that help to turn the scale against you when you are tried for your life as your husband's murderess V With sudden fury, ehe wrenches herself from the grasp of Rob Jocelyn, who has kept a detaining hand upon her, fearing lesb eho do herself an injury. Her eyes flash defiance ; some thought seems goading her t to madness. I

v Yes,' she criea; 'you ahall hays the statement you so much deaire. My carser ia closed, i see that ; I fetl it, and lam ao j young yet, I ram Eii.se Schwartz, you aay. Can you tell me who I waa before that? What could yon expect irorn a child flung to a band of gipeiea ; left to grow wild ararm n ' tham, with no mofcher, no father, no r.ams * For years I knew no other life: but I knew I was not a gipsy. I ci.vied every richly-dreaaed woman I aaw. I ionger] to diveii in houses, and tarry in cities ; not to move on, and on, and on. One day a fine lady saw me, and she book me with her to be her maid. She had wealth and many lovers. Wβ lived in gay ! Paris; and I nearly went mad with delighs at iho life we lad. I watched, I listened, I I copied, J learned fasfa — fa*b. One day, when I i*as barely fifteen, My Lady discovered thar, I waa a rival to bo feared, j and she sent me away. We were in j London then, and I waa aha loss. Well, I ] tneS that old .Jew, and he fell in love with j mv face : in spite of his sister's entreaties, he married me. I knew that he was rich, but i did not know how mean he was. 'f. expected drosses, jewels ; I had nothing, jusS nothing , ; and J. was watched like a prisoner by that ugly old woman. Life j was terrible to me then, terrible ! f longed j for Paris, for the old life ; for music and I laughter, and light. J endured it for two j long year?, and then—l killed them. fn j th« city lived an old gipsy fortune-teller, I who had done so many evil things that she had been banished from her tribe, the same tribe that I laft ; she knew me when we | met in London. Bhe was skilled in many dark ways ; she would do anything for a little money : she taught me the use of the j little afciletr.o. ffc was to her I fled after j thf; thin;,' was done. She dyed my hair, she procured mo cosmetics, she sheltered | me for a time, but I feared ber and f | fled. J fled to Paris, and them I dis- j guised more effectually. My dark hair waa made yellow, my almost swarthy complexion blonde. I sacrificed my long eyelashes, and dyed them light; f partially .shaved my dark brows, and changed their shape ; and my tooth that were large, and too easy of identification, 1 had drawn out, every one, and a false set of an entirely different shape and size made. Than I wa.i ready to defy detection. ' Fortune-seemed to smile upon me. Mr I and Mrs Dnrand met me ; they had buried i their daughter in a stranjfo land. I told a ' most pathetic story, and they adopted me. You know tha rest. I came hero; in New York J mob Clarence Arlevddt. I w.vi young, and in all my changed life I had ■ never loved. But I loved him, madly, unto I death. When I learned of his falsity, of hi 4 ! coming marriage, I went mad. I appealed j to him. It was useless. I visited Miss Arrnyn by stealth, and she swore than nothing but death should separate her from my lover. I had my dagger in my bosom ; for a moment J was tempted to spring upon hsr and bury it in her heart. Than another thought came. I would wait, and ho re venged on both. I bowed my head and wont out from her presence; but I waa thinking, thinking. 'I knew nothing of her hatred for Clarence, I thought she loved him. I laid j my plana —you know what they were—l did j not attend the wedding ; I couid not, and 30 —I knew nothing of the bride's flight. When I stole into that still house, with my dagger in my hand, I was aa firm as adamant.' She movc9 a step forward, her cyea are fixed on vacancy, sho seems to be reacting ' that horriblo scene. ' I wont on with firm, still tread, and nerves like steel. 1 reached the bridal chamber- -I had prepared myself to force an entrance, but the door was unlocked. So/tly I stole in, the lights were very dim. J could just see two forms lyinj; side by aide. I drew near to the bride's pillow ; beside it was a dainty stand with a basket of snowy flowers upon it. I bent down-— ah ! how calm I was ! —I put one finger on the forehead, for I could not sco clearly where to strike, I felt the rein of the temple, and then I drove my dagger homo. Then went back as I camo. Nothing but death could part them, sho had said. Death had parted them—death from my hand. Now who would dare take Clarence from me . Ob, God ! oh God !' Sho throws her arms aloft. Again, as on the night when Nina Annin broke to her the news, she writhee in agony. When she speaks again it ia in a strange, hollow, half whisper, horribla to hear. ' All the next day I kept my room. I caw no ons, heard nothing. Then she came, that hated woman. Oh ! how I wish I had killed her then ! She told boo that Clarence Arteveldt bad been murdered. How did I live? How did I ? Hear mo, men ! I feel now aa I did then, as if J were going mad ! I had meant to kill Lenore Armyn. Hia wife! By the memory of the man who died in her stead, I swear it! Take me where you will—do with me as you will. I have been guilty, but I regret nothing save that blow. . Again she flings her arms aloft and then foils heavily forward, to be caught by Rob Jbcelyn, while the others stand horror, stricken by her last words. What) perils has not Lenore Armyn escaped ! They raise the prostrate form and lay her upon tho bed, where now a corpse might have been, and then Mrs Richards glides forward —she has been near at hand from the very first. When she is at last restored to consciousness, all herfierccness, all hercourago, all her strength has deserted her. Cool, audacious Nina Annin might well despiso her now I>ub then, vile though sho be, Nina Annin is bo murderess. She who was known in the gay world as Aura Durand, goes forth from the mansion whero sho has reigned a queen, never to bo known as Aura Durand again—never more to crosa or desecrate Ibafc threshold. In the grey of morning Hob Jocelyn takes her away. Abject, sullen, hopeless, she goes, to be known only an ' Elise Schwartz, the murderess,' until doath shall claim her. ( To be Continued.) —— !