"WRITTEN IN RED," OR THE CONSPIRACY in the NORTH CASE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIII, Issue 51, 1 March 1892, Page 6

"WRITTEN IN RED," OR THE CONSPIRACY in the NORTH CASE.

B_ CHAS. HOWARD MONTAGUE and C. W. DYAR.

CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.)

The sound of a key burning in the latchtewk of the fronb door broughb aboub a responsive sbir from the storey above. There

was a rustle of skirts, and a woman, who Lanarxi imagined had been watching at a window, came down the stairs beforo the outer door was opened. ' Oh, Mr Sbackhouse !' Ib was a querulous, tearful woman's voice, and spoke in one of those sibilanb whispers thab distress the hearer more than would the loudest of tones. 'Isn't it awful ? My poor brother-in-law ! Why haven't they sent the body? It's not come down wibh you 1 Oh dear me, dear me, ifc seems as though I would go out of my mind! Why, Thornton, Thornton, you don'b know half what I've been through 1'

Mr Stackhouse placed his hab and coat on a chair.

' You don't know what I've been through,' he said, in meaning tones. ' Why is the house shut up like this? On such a nighb the window* a. 1 ", least should be open. Marion and Stella are upstairs together, I suppose?' ' Yes, yes. Bub, oh, you don'b know how I worried about them both. And then the xietvs of poor Paul's death came on top of my trouble aboub tb__n_ It's a mercy I'm not crazy at this moment.'

• Whab have Marion and Stella been about, eh ?' asked Sfcac.Vhouso sharply.

'Oh, Thornton, they wenc away yesterday, one after another, without saying a word. I never know them to go to the city alono that way before. And, oh, Thornton, they didn't come back till tho late train. I sab up for bhem with tho creeps ali ovor me the whole evening. And such Btrange actions when thoy did como ! Stella wenb up to her room crying. Marion wouldn't say a word toexpluin, and went upstairs looking—oh ! so whit.s !'

'Well, well,' replied Sbaokhouso impatiently. ' It's of no particular consequence. 'We have other thing's to occupy our time now.'

' Yes, indeed, Thornton/ said Aunt Comfort, with a sob. She was a port.'y woman, but exceedingly nervous and fidger.y in spite of hor size, and she made half a hundred purposeless movements in a momoot when excited. 'Oh, the body! Where is ib? You musb go straight back to Boston and get it. Those body snatchurs aro torribly sly creatures. Thornton, did you read in yesterday's paper —' Mr Stackhouse could endure no more.

'Nonsense, woman!' he interrupted sternly. • Leave this matter to me and attend to your household duties. Bub tell vie,' he added immediately, in a voice which he vainly endeavoured to render indifferent, • whab sent tho girls off to the city yesterday afternoon? Did you observe nothing? Wbab did they say ?'

« Oh, Thornton ! Hush ! They are coming.' True enough, there was a sound of a a'oor closing, the rustle of skirts, and the echo of voices simultaneously floating down the staircase from the region above. Stackhouse took a step forward, but started back immediately, looking upward in a puzzled, apprehensive way. ' Oh, don't! don't! don't! I beg of you, Marion. On my knees I beg of you !'

A woman's voice raised in that keen, penetrating fashion that reveals a climax, an outburst of repressed emotion, uttering _nch words as these, could not be a common sound in such a house as this. Stackhouse, whose face was in direct line of the detective's vision, looked as if a bombshell had burst at his feet. He was speechless wifch wonder and dismay. ' Stella,' returned an inflexible voice, ' I command you fco let me go. I know what my duby is, and I shall do ib.' The other woman might have been silenced by fear or overawed by the sternnesß of her to whom she had appealed, for she made no further outcry. The footsteps were already on bhe stairs ; a white skiirt fluttered by the railing. Again Stackhouse took a step forward, and again he stopped. It may have been a gesture on his wife's part or something that he saw in her face. Certain it is that he became a shado whiter, and that in his effort to speak his tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. He sbammered two words :

• Why, Marion !' « Don'b speak to me ! Don't touch mo ! Never call me by that name again !' The tone was certainly nob a loud one. Ib could not be said that there was a theatrical ring about the manner of enunciation. The words were low, distinct, and uttered with such'calm, terrible intensity that, blase as he was, Detective Lamm experienced a genuine thrill. He felt himself in the presence of a remarkable woman, and tho same sorb oi keen and breabhless interest with which he had followed great acting on the stage took possession of him. ' Oh, Marion !' Ib was the sister who spoke, and the tone was quite heart-broken and hopeless. Sbackhouse seemed to recover from his temporary paralysis. • You had bebter go to your room, Stella,' he paid, in a voice but hardly audible. ' I must talk with Marion alone.'

'Do nob stir a step !' commanded the other woman, as Stella went towards the door. ' I wish you to hear whab little I have to say to this man. You, too, Aunb Comfort. Don't stand in the doorway there, looking so frightened. Come back. The more witnesses the better.'

Tho defiant, reckless voice that spoko was that of a determined woman who had settled her mind to a purpose and who would follow ifc unswervingly if ifc broughb her to ber death.

There was a brief interval, marked only by Stella's sobbing, and the elder woman's wheezy ejaculations, uttered like signal guns almost every second. ' Marion Stackhouse, have you taken leave of your senses ?' faltered tho business associate of the late Paul North.

'No, I have just found them. Do not dare to associate your name with mine. This is the last time I will ever speak to you. Witness, Stella, and you, too, Aunb Comfort. From this hour we live apart.'

' But, Marion,' interrupted the woman, 'remember your promise ab the altar ! You are not feeling well, and don't know what you are saying. On this day, too, of all others, when your poor father —' 'Stop, Aunt Comfort!' interposed Marion, imperiously. ' You do not know —how is ib possible you should know ?—the terrible cause that impels me. My contempt for this man whom I have called husband—'

• What fiend possesses you ?' interrupted Stackhouse, unable to restrain himself. 'Called your husband? What do you mean ?'

1 A name is all 1 need to speak,' responded Marion, scorn and contempt expressed in every word : ' Mario Moissot ?' The name burst from Marion's lips like the accusation of an avenging angel. It is probable thab Stackhouse staggered under the force of the blow. Mr Lamm, who, without an instant's delay, turned his attention to putting thab queer-sounding name upon paper ('Mario Moyso ' he wrote it), diil ... > -i?e !i:m ngain for a brief space ; an.; ..i „u!i lime he may have slightly re-

covered from the first violence of his betrayed emotions. He was still agitated enough in all conscience. This man, Thornton Stackhouse, whom Lamm well knew bo be in his ordinary walk of life no moro self-betraying than the polished surface of a mirror, had been so affected and overwhelmed by whab hi 3 wife had said bo him that he was weaker than a child. He tried to shake off his growing terrora. He endeavoured to smile, to laugh, to pass over tho affair as a joke, but tho effort was a ghastly failure. ' Marion !' he murmured. ' Marion ! Who has told you ? What scoundrel has maligned me to my own wife ?'

' Silence, sir !I am not your wife. This was my father's house. Either you or I must leave it. Which ? Choose this minute.'

' Marion ! Calm yourself, I beseech you ! Think of the effect, the occasion, the time. Who knows whab people would say ?' ' I do not care, sir. If you do, you should have thought of ib before. Ib is boo late now.' He turned his white face toward her. Lamm marked plainly in the ample light how his lips trembled, how his eyes gleamed. ' Marion,' he said in a fierce undertone, 'are you enough mistress of yourself to think what my leaving this houso at such a time will mean to the gossips ? Can you not sco thab even I mighb be accused of complicity in your father's death ?' • And who should be, if you are nob?' bhe woman retorted, in a vibranb tone thab pierced the detective's ears like a thunderbolt. There were simultaneous cries from her three visible auditors. The detective swallowed his emotion with a painful efforb. He had participated in many an unexpected and stirring scene in his time, but a domestic drama of this nature in a house like this, with actors such as these, filled him with bho liveliest amazement. Of all things he had expected or hoped for, this was certainly tho last, the mosb impossible.

For several 83Conds after his wife had delivered hersolf of this terrible taunt, Thornton Stackhouse seemed vainly en deavouringtoarfciculato. Then wifch asudden movemonb he seized hia hat and turned to the door. Tho voice which now came to him was so unlike his natural tones that Lamm would not havo recognised ib had the spoakor been out of view. 'So be ifc !' ho said. ' Nobody will over know whab this ia to me or how I havo loved you, Marion. But so bo ib. If my own wife turns from mo, who will havo mercy on me V Tho door opened and closed violently behind bho partner of the lato Paul North. Did ho speak for effect, or were the emotions that inspired his words genuine ? It is certain that bho amazed detective became strongly prejudiced in his favour. Thero was an intorval of silence, and then a flutter of skirts, and a white, white face appearod ab tho foob of tho stairs. Lamm know at once that thab proud, imperious countenance, tho scornful red mouth, the (lashing blue eyes, belonged to Marion Stackhouse. But, groat powers! could that be her natural expression ? And then he saw whafc was the matter. Sho reeled, caught ab tho railing, threw up her arms, and fell liko a log to tho floor. So indeed this stoical woman was mado of flesh and blood ! {To he Continued.)