A MYSTERIOUS CASE ; OR, TRACING A CRIME.

Auckland Star, Volume XXIV, Issue 218, 14 September 1893, Page 6

A MYSTERIOUS CASE ; OR, TRACING A CRIME.

BY K. F. BILL.

£athor of 'The Dumb Detective,' 'Prince md Peasant,' 'The Twin Detectives,' etc.

\Th\s Story wax Commenced in our issue

of yesterday. ]

CHAPTER 111

RUTH M'LOAD.

In the breakfast-room of a pleasant country" eeab a young girl sat reading a letter. It was heavily edged with black, and bore a black seal.

• Papa,' Bho said to an elderly gentleman who was abstractedly eating breakfast, while hia whole mind was buriod in a book beside his plate.

• Well, Ruth ?' he answered, withoub

raining nis eyea. 1 Papa ! it is positively unkind 01 yon to take no interest in JVJelvillo.' She spoke 30 reproachfully that hor father na» at lßsb aroused to a sense of bis own delinquencies. He closed his book with a Bigh, and prepared to listen to _ his daughter's grievancoa, whatever they might be. ~ ■ What is the mattor, my dear! lou seem excited,' be asked mildly. ' Excited ?—no wonder. Here I nave been telling you about twenty times that Melville's father is deod.^ and you pay no attention to me whatever.' ' Melville's father dead ! Dear me Iho was not an old man last time I saw him. Bub these business mon do wear themselves cub so; New York life is one rush—a constant struggle to see who ' _ 'Never mind all that), papa dear; bub Jisten to what Melville says.' • Well, my dear, 1 am ready to listen. Go on.' ' He says he is not of ago, which we know already, and that his father's will appoints an uncle his guardian. He has never seen this uncle, bub the lawyers have written to him to come to New York and take charge of Mr Norton's estate'

1 Well, thab is all very satisfactory, my dear,' replied the professor, preparing to return to his book. * Waib one moment, papa—that ia not all. Melville says lie is so lonely that he wants our marriage to tako place immediately. He will como of age in two months, and ' , . 1 And he must wait till he is of age, said the professor, more firmly than he had ever before spoken to hia daughter. 'His ■jncle is hia guardian, and he could noli marry without his consent.. Besides, four months is a very short timo, and quite soon anough after his father's death for Melville to marry.' Ruth's pink chee!« grew pinker, bub she put her love's letter in the pocket of her neat little apron, and said no more ; for when her dreamy, abstracted, studious father spoke in that tone, .she knew it was uselosß to argue, though she generally ruled him with a rod of iron. Ruth McLoad was the motherless daughter of a Scotch professor. Her father's failing health had compelled him to givß up his position in the college, which he had filled for many years. He had then taken a bouse in tho suburbs of Boston, and taken private pupils.

Among them had been a young man named Melville Norton, bhs son of a wealthy New York merchant. Between young Norton and Ruth Me Load there had sprung no an ardent attachment resulting in their engagement. They had beon parted now for more than a year, aa Melville had gono to college; but they corresponded regularly, and were to be married with the full consent of their parents when Molvillo camo of age. His father's suddon death was an unexpected blow. Young Norton was hastily summoned home, but did not arrivo in time to see hi 3 father alive.

He knew nothing of business, and could only await the arrival of his uncle. So in his loneliness be wrote to Kuhh, urging her to pub an end to their engagement by marrying him at once. Ruth would have complied with his request, for she lovetl him passionately ; but sho know it. was useless to appeal to her father. When heirmdo op his mind, he was as firm as a reck. So Ruth sat down and wrote to her lover jn this way:

' Dear Melville : I am truly sorry for your loss, and grieve with you. I would comply with your wish, but papa says, as your uncle in now your guardian, we could not marry without his consent, and adds in his terrible voice that we must wait a little, for ie does not look well to marry so soon after the death of your father. ' I miss you 80 much, dear, and long so lor a sight of your face. Why should those * we love be forced to leavo us, whilo thoae we care nothing for remain ? • Story and Wilton are still here, and say nothing of leaving, and it really provokes * me, though 01 course I don'b wish papa to lose his pupils, for, dear old eoul, he ia so unworldly wise that we roally have nothing elee to.depoml upon. ' Good bye, Melville ; this is not a letter, only a word. 1 will write again this evening, when I have had time to think. ' With much lovo, I am your faithful

Ruth MoLoad. 'P.S.—Of course a woman' 3 letter without a postscript would be incomplete. I only wish £o suy, come hore and see us, if possible. Can you do so ? Your ever loving Roth,' Professor McLoad soon forgot all about his daughter's lover, tor a more absentmindod man never existed, and, dearly as he loved Ruth, ho was so thoroughly buried in study, that unless «ho was before him, he was apt to loso sight of tho fact that ho had any daughter. Ruth felt in her hoarb that her father

•was rather hard on Melville. She was a

girl possessed of greab force of character and strong principles. She loved her b9trothed with the full power of a first affection, and would not have hesitated to grant his requesb for an early marriage, bub now and then the professor was firm, and she could not appeal against his decision. She know her lover would bs doeply disappointed whon he received her letter, and suffered more in thinking of his lonely condition than of her own sorrow for him.

Melville was disappointed. He loved Jtuth with an exacting love that) possessed & certain element of solfishnese. Pie wns by no means a perfect mfin, and if Rath had been older when they met, it was extremely improbablo that she would ever have given her hoart to him so unreservedly, but Bhe saw no fault in him. a qjprrain want of deep feeling ;an inherent woakneee of purpose eßcapeil her notice. Had her father been, as she phrased it, more ' worldly wise,' be might have taken steps to prevent the engagement) ; but, as it was, no one found any fault with the pleasant, frank-spoken young fellow, who wa° always in high good-humour when ho had bin own way, Ruth esteemed ban perfect, and he shared her opinion. Id the years to come lay the dark days tvhon she would wake up to the mistake Bhe had made of takiDg for hot idol a weak,

selfish man, whose faults were faults that grow and develop. While in the presence of hia intended wife, Melville was greatly influenced by her stronger will, bub when absent from her she no longer possessed the same power to make bim see things with her eyea, and acb in accordance with her ideas, and if he losb his love for her this power would be gone for ever. He was both disappointed and angry when he received her answer to his letter, and he made up his mind ho would visit her wibhout delay, and arrived two days after his father was buried.

The professor was interviewed and failed to understand or appreciate the arguments tho eagor lover used to induce him to alter his decision.

' I could nob permib Ruth to marry now withoub your guardian's knowledge or concent,' he said, firmly. 1 But my father consented.' ' When you come of age, in four months, you can marry.' ' Very well, sir,' said the former pupil, coldly, and left his future father-in-law, in no very amiable frame of mind,

I Ruth, would you conpent to a secret marriage?1 heaeked, as they sab alone. ' Oh, Melville, it would bo so wrong !' 4 Her cheeks grew pale at the thought. I 1 cannot see it. My father consented. What difference can the opinion of a man wo have never seen make to us ?'

' That seems truo, Melville, bub-r-' 'Ruth, I believo you scarcely 1076 me so well as you did beforo I went away.'

' You are cruel to say so. You do not— cannot believe your own words.' ' Prove your love, Ruth. You have your aunt's house in New York—come there ou a visit, and we can be quietly married.' Tho girl hesitated, listened to her lever's pleading, and—consented. 11 will do what you wish, Melville,' she said, raising her bright brow a eyes to his, with earnest devotion.

1 Thank you, my own Ruth—miao forever !' he niurmuied, clasping her, in hia urins with passiouai-o fervour. ' Now I know your lovo htis not wavered." He was triumphant. The weak will had overpowered the strong one. Kuth would disobey her father for him. Poor girl, she know and felt that she was doing wrong ; she had taken the lirnt steps on a path that proved a pathway of living firo j and when once the feet have entered on that fatal road thoir stops can never be retraced—no return is possible.

CHAPTER IV.

Melville's uncle and the ' PERSONAL,

lx a shadowy old room, with dark oaken walls, two mon sat talking ono night. One waa old, and his companion was not young. The subject of their conversation wa3 an open letter thab lay on tho table beside them. ' How intensely tiresome ib is, Redcliff, when a man who haa avoided tho responsibilities and worry attendant on having a family by never marrying, is tormented in hia old age by having other pooplo's sons thrust on his hands.'

'It is, indeed, Mr Norton. Still, it shows how highly your brothor estimated you,' ' T. wish he hadn'b !' groaned the other.

He was a peculiar-looking man with a long, Bnowy beard, and heavy, white eyebrows from under which flashed out strangely brilliant eyes, flis face was delicate and refined, his form frail and attenuated. He looked like a man of intonse feeling—a man whose soul had worn oub his body—all spirib and .fire. The other was vastly different; ho had an ovil fane, broad across tho cheek bones, eensual, and his strange, magnotie eyes wore marked by a peculiarity.

They were odd, or, to use a common expression, they wero nob mates. One was black as night tho otlior a greenish hazel, but both wero full of a strange expression of hidden power. This man's gaze could hold and fascinate the one he looked upon. His hair waa dark rod and untouched by the hand of time, and he wore neither beard nor whiskers; his face, tanned by oxposure beneath many different climes, was cleanshaven, displaying the full, eonusa! lips and heavy determined chin. 'I wish thero wa9 a way out of it, Redcliff. You are clever. Think of somo way out of it,' eaid the old man, fretfully. The ovil light) in the odd oyes of tho other intensified.

1 I see nono,' he said, slowly.

' How I wish I could Bond somo one to take ray place. Thoae duties should be optional.' 1 They are nob, however.' 'No. Then I will have to po to New York to close up my brother's business and take charge of his money, when I have always hated business, and have merely lived on my own small fortune quiotly, instead of rushing into business as my brother did, to leave a heap of money and a tiresome son to worry mo.' • Your brother lefb a fortune, then V asked Redcliffe, eagerly. \

• Yes, a very large fortune. Tho boy will have no noed to work.'

' Have you over seen this son ?'

The same eagerness appeared in tho tone of the voico as in the evil, magnetic face.

' Never. I have not visited Now York for nearly forty years.' 4 Ah, then, all your old friends have forgotten how you look ?' 11 never had any friends in New York. I hato the place. It is all bustle and oxcitemenb; one everlasting rush after money.' 6 At every repetition of the word'money' the sinister eyes flashed.

If Mr Norton despised wealth his companion did not. • Yes, I will have to abandon all our studies and experiments and go to New York for a fow months. It will kill me !'

At the sound of the word a light broke over the dark face of Redcliff. A murderous look came into the magnetic eyes,

Ho clasped his largo hands together under the tablecovor.

Whab was this ? This dark thought thab rushed to the subtle brain ?

' Well, I will go to bed now. All my ideas have been displaced and broken up. Read that new treatise on the hidden power to-night, Redcliff, and tell me of tho new discoveries by that great German tomorrow, when, I trust, my head may be a little clearer.'

As the old man left the room his feeble step and frail form told plainly that ho was not long for this world. He had beon a strange man all his life—a recluso from society, and some people said a lunatic.

He had beonattracted early in youth by the Btudy of the works of Mesmer.

His father's death had loft him ample means to follow up his hobby, and he had devoted his life to reading and writing on tho subject of mesmerism. His writings ho bad never attempted to publish. They were stowed away in boxes and drawers in bhe roomy old mansion which he had made his home.

For several years before the night on which he had received the letter that difburbed him so much, Redclifl had been his constant companion.

The man iiad come to Savannah aa a travelling professor of mesmerism, and had friven an entertainment in the public hall which Mr Norton had attonded, creating no small amount of amugeraenb among the young people by his out-of-date garmonts and strange, excited look. The old gentleman was an enthusiastic listener to the lecture, and deeply interested in the experiments. On the morning after the performance he had called on tho professor at the Manton house, the hotel where lip was Btaying, and, introducing himsolf, he mado the mesmorisb the oiler of a liberal salary if ho would give up lecturing and live with him aa a friend and companion.

Of course the ' professor' demurred very rnncb, but was secretly delighted to be dons with his hazardous existence and his lectures, by which he made only 0 precarious living. He pretended to be devoted to his work.' Mr Norton fell into the trap. The baib was eagerly seized ; the salary increased till even the avaricious professor announced himself satisfied, 'And what will I do wibh my child * he naked. 'Ah, the little girl who goes on the. esago with you ; she is your child ?

' She is.1 ' Well, send her to school,

I'll pay tho

After some more haggling, the professor pretending lie coukl not part with his only, dearly loved treasure, this was also arranged. The daughter, a girl of apparently some twelve years, went to a first-class boardingschool in New York, and the professor took up his abode at the ' Rest.' He had lived there ever since, often, no doubt, heartily sick of the place, but hesitating about leaving a comfortable home, oven among the moss-grown sighing pines of a country scat in Georgia, for the world, whero he bad found tho bafctlo of life a bard one. Snch was the history of Louis Norton, the guardian appointed to take charge of Ruth's promised husband. As soon as the old man left him alone, Red cliff threw aside the treatise they had b?en studying, and took up the New York 1 Herald' of live days before. Ah his eye? foil on the first page he started violently, and ho eagerly perused a personal bhat appeared thore. Ift whs in cipher, bub he had no difficulty in reading it, and be was greatly fitarhled.

1 To-night!' he exclaimed. ' She will be on mo before I can perfecb my plan ; bub, after nil, why delay V

He paced tho door with hurried strides,

' it might a* woll lie done at once.' Ho opened tho door and listened. The Isouao was still and silent as bhe grave, no sound could be hoard savo tho soughing of tho wind among tho Spanish moss that draped tho pine trees around tho old house.

Hccroptnoisolesslyalongthe wide old hall, and listened at the door of his employer's room.

All was quiet; tho old man already slumbered tho deop, dreamless sleep of tho old and worn.

RedclifT stepped into the room, his slippored foot making no sound. A rush-light flickered on a stand near Mr Norton's bed, its pale light dancing on tho wrinkled face and snowy hair.

A glass of water stood on a chair in easy reach of the slumberer's hand.

Rodcliff steadily drew a vial from his pockcb, and raising tho glass, droppod a colourloss fluid into its contents. A myriad of exquisito tints dashed through the water, then faded away into an opalino whiteness that also subsided, and the wator seomed clear lyid odourless as bafore. Ho replacod the glass and returned to the library.

The pall-liko moss swayed and Bighod outside tho windows of the sleeping man's room, which was on tho ground floor, and the aged pines it draped whispered a dirge among thomsolves.

A base, cruol murdor had beon done. An inoffensive, harmless old man hastened into etornity.

Had the crimo oassed unseen

JS ro. Creeping through tho funeral masa, brushing ib aside with lean, feverish fingers, was a form, a being, which seemed scarcely human ; its cyea had peered through tho curtains and witnossed the cowardly murder.

A wretched, tnil-stained woman was hidden among tho moss-draped pines. She shivered as the chill breeze from the river passed ovor her, and drew hor thin, fadod cloak luoro closely around hor emaciated form.

' Vile and cruel as evor,' she muttorod. 1 1 dare nob approach him to-night.'

Redcliff went back and sab down by bho study-table.

He took up the lottor he had discussed earlier in tho evening with tho man whose bread ho had eaten all these years—the man he had just sent into eternity.

' Yes, I will have full power to acb, and I will just reach JNiow York in timo for her scheme, whatever ib is.'

Again his oyes ran ovor the mossago in cipher.

' Whab does she mean ?'

He again tramped up and down the iloor with hasty, nervous strides, his horrible, odd eyes glowing in the lamplight like the strange, toad-like oyea of a mad-stono.

' She's deep — shea artful. I wonder what she means ?'

Ho listened to tho ' swish ! swish I' of Uio Spanish moss against the windowpanes. It sounded like fionds' voices whispering to him terrible, wordless congratulations on his dastardly crime. 'I'll gob out of this infornal place tomorrow,' he muttered. ' But no—l musb wait for the inquest, tho funeral, I must act my part, and see how baffled the wise doctors will be.'

A slight noiae in Mr Norton's room now attracted his attention.

Ho started. The rustling noiso drew nearer; through tho open door came the JQrm of Uie poisoned man. Tho guilty wrotch stared in horrorstricken amazement).

Tho old man looked fearful ; his face was ghastly and livid, and with a lean, trembling fingor ho pointed at his murderer and tried to force words from his pallid lips. In vain ; he tottered, trembled, and Bank on the carpet a lifeless heap, the relic of what had onco been a man.

Redcliff stood glaring fearfully upon his victim for a moment), then raised tho poor old frame in his strong arms and bore it back to tho bed-chamber. Ho placed the romains in the bed and arranged them so that they presented an easy, natural appearance, carefully closing the staring eyes. The old man looked as if ho had died in his sloep.

Rodcliff took up the glass thab had contained tho poison, and softly opening the window he dashed the goblet far from him among the moss-grown pines. It fell on the sofb bed of pine-neodles and did nob break.

As Redcliff closod tho window, the same stately form crepb through tho darkness. The wretched, travel-stained woman passed her hands over the ground and nfter groping vainly for a few minutes found the goblet. She pub hor finger inside and raised the drop of colourless liquid ib containod to her lips. •The same,' she muttered. 'The same, the terriblo, tasteless Egyptain drug, that kills, hut leaves no trace.'

When the morning broke there was a wild alarm through the old country Beat. Whon the negro servants came to their work their master was found dead in his bed.

Mr Redcliff was aroused and came down stairs in his drossing-gown in greab distress ; he hurried to Mr Norton's room, and ascertaining beyond all doubt bhati his friend was no more, exhibited the wildesb grief. Ho ordered tho coachman to drive into the city immediately and bring tho doctor and the coroner.

Those gsntleraen arrived together in a short time.

' Were you alone in the house with Mr Norton at tho time of his death ?' asked the doctor, turning to Professor Redcliff rather abruptly. ' I was. By my friend's wish the servants all occupied the quartors outsido. Eo was devoted to study and disliked noise. 1

'Hum ! Mr Norton was well when he retired 2'

• Apparently, perfectly so.' I And you heard no groana—no Bounds ot distress V . .. 'None whatever. My room ia on the floor above.' ... , ' As Mr Norton's health waß fairly good for a man of hia age, this is a case for Rn inqueßb,1 said the doctor, briefly. I 1 presumed so, aud therefore- notibea Mr Lambbon,1 said Redcliff, bowing courteously to that gentleman. • Yes. Lob thing* remain as they are, and remove uofcbintf. I'll look fcbis door and takfl the key with me. A mere form, roplied the coroner. • Cortainly. Do you wish to examine the resi' of the honsa V •Well, we can just walk through »he rooms ueed by our late friend.' Mr Lambcon had, in all probability, spoken to his 'late friend' twice in his life. , . , They examined the study, and found nothing of much importance save a vasb number of works on mesmerism. . I Hum ! nothing here,' said the doctor, and the two ganblemen drove off to Say- • annah. . .. v The inquesb was over ; the late Mr Norton was found dead in his bad—from disease of bhe heart. His propertyand effects were sold, and bis 'valued friend and faithful companion of many years' standing, James Redcliff,' was his heir, by a will found among his prlvabo papers. « Mr Redcliff packed up at once, and as soon as the funeral was over, left Savannah for New York. A week later Melville Norton's guardian arrived ab the handsome mansion on Fifth Avenue, where his nephew awaited him. Detective Hazard sat in his privafco room in his comfortable homeon West Fourteenthstreet Into thai apartment, devoted to business, coithor wifo nor child ovor intrudod. Before him lay, on his table, the fine !acobordered handkerchief taken from thefacoof the murdered man in the Vandenhoff House. Beside ib a copy of the New York ' Herald' of a recent date. I 1 knew ib!' said Hazard, ' I knew ib wasthesamo.' The name daintily embroidered on the handkerchief was ' Philetuß,' and a personal in tho ' Horald' bore the same signature. It was written in cipher, and ran thus : ' ---10—5.4.19.21-9.24.21—24.17.9-17.6.6-.-2-1-17.8.21.20-2.21.10-3.21.24.21.17.8 — 22.8----5.3—15.5.11—

• Philebus to 18,9-'

' A message to some one from the woman who owned this handkerchief,' said the detective, ' and consequently the woman who Committed the murder in the hotel. Now bo find the key to this cipher.' He sab down to his task, which seemed a difficult one, bub he was accustomed to difficulties.

At lonfrth he succeeded. Hie eyeß flashed joyfully, as he exclaimed: 1 Now I have it /' (To be continued.)