LOST WITNESS, OR THE MYSTERY OF LEAH PAGET

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 248, 26 October 1897, Page 6

LOST WITNESS, OR THE MYSTERY OF LEAH PAGET

By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH, Author of "Shadowed by Three," "A Slender Clue," "Dangerous Ground, "Madeline Payne,'' " A Mountain Mystery," "The Diamond Coterie," " Romance of a Bomb Thrower," "Out of a Labyrinth."

h. CHAPTER VII. I 'LA BELLE FABRICE.' 'My dear, I can't think what's come over you.' , 'I don't want yoti to think'what s corae over me, Comry. I want you to drop this subject, and to let it discreetly alone.' 'Oh, very well. Only, you know your own saying, I hope— "a, secret between friends" —' 'Yes, yes ;' impatiently. 'I'm awfully sorry, Conny darling. I'd give more than you know to get back the past forty-eight hours or so, or to forget them. 1 would indeed ! Bui don't ask me another question, for it you do —' _ The plump and serene - laced woman, half buried in a lounging chair close to the open window, uttered a low mellow laugh.

'There ! there ! I am mute as a fish from this moment. Bless your heart, child, when you have seen as many moons as I have, you will know that there's nothing in this world worth getting into a rage about. 'No, I won't Conny. it isn t in the

& The little figure turning and twisting about in front of the Queen Anne mirror, pirouetted away from the swinoinff glass and then back again, Lea twitch to her hair, caught up 1 hnffe ffflather-duster, and then turned toward the window with a gudden gravity. . 'How is it ?' she asked, briskly. The iouus-er at the window eyed the questioner smilingly, the costume Cr*lt^s perfect,' she said after a slow

survey. ■ 'Perfect? How?' .. 'The real thing, jaunty but not too fine.' ~ , . -it 'Yes. That's it. Does it look—do 1 look like a soubrette?' 'My dear, you look like a very youthful, a very pretty, a very saucy little housemaid; one of the sort that's certain to lose her place m six -weeks, to come to grief in three months, and then —' 'That's quite enough, thank you. It's all I aimed at. If I look my character I'm satisfied. Oh dear!' Someone was tapping at the door opening upon the landing. The petite figure with the duster turned toward ,this door with a frown and a gesture denotiii!? impatience ; then swiftly back again, the frown gone, the face 'beaming- with roguery, a warning finger uplifted. With a final glance at the swinging mirror and a defiant flap-of the duster she went quickly toward the door, flung it wide open, and stood gazing- blankly into the face of the applicant for admission. But if the face of the pretty and perfectly equipped little housemaid was expressionless, save for a stare, of too evident curiosity, that of the young man before her was mildly and diaarminejly bla^d. • and qonfidmg.. Indeed, the whole vis a delightful bit of comedy, for the bland young , anan was our friend Poll.,- Cousin, and the surprised and staring- damsel of the cluster was none other than the flainty little actress 'La Belle Fabrice.' For a full minute—it seemed longer to the lounger at the window, who ■was invisible to the young man—the two surveyed each other in blank, expressionless silence. Then the young man bowed and there was a faint giggle from the young woman, accompanied by a simper and a little bridling- movement that would have ■won for her behind the footlights a round of applause. Another momertt of vacant staring, and then the skirts of the lounger toy the windoAV were heard to rustle. Fabrice turned her head slightly and ;the hand holding the duster moved ever so little. The rustling, which Jiad been plainly heard by the applj£ant at the door, ceased. 'Beg pardon, miss,' began Cousin, !be«-inning a search through various pockets for something. 'May I see .the lady that's stopping here?' 'Stopping where?' asks Fabrice, slowly and with a strong nasal acfcent. " 'Why here,' beginning to dig in a second pocket, 'in these apartments.' 'Oh,' said Fabrice, glancing again over her shoulder and. giving her duster another inconsequent flip, 'I s'pose you mean—' 'Miss Fabrice,' interrupts the visitor. 'La Belle Fabrice.' The soft rustle is again heard and Polly Coasin siiddenly shifts his .position, moving forward and squarely up to the threshold, where le is rewarded by the sight of ten inches of bright-hued cashmere trailingl, itself out of sight behind a tall Japanese screen. Seized with the idea that it is La Belle Fabrice who is escapirg him lie quickly steps across the threshold, at the same time and by a seemingly careless movement throwing open his coat, thereby displaying a small star upon the inner lapel. As if this display was unintentional, lie hastily jerks the coat into place, and pulls from the last xmexplored pocket a handful of cards and a sealed Tinaddressed envelope. Holding these in his hands, he glances keenly at the petite figure before him, and is rewarded by a look betokening newlyawakened curiosity, and by the ejaculation, 'Well, I never!' 'Do you see this?' He holds a card jtowaids her, and smiles insinuatingly. But Fabrice turns from him and seizes upon the nearest chair, which she begins to dust vigorously. Polly Cousin grasps the opportunity $o look about him. ■He sees a welliurnished sitting-room, strewn with feminine knick-knacks, a rich-hued fchawl trailing from a low-backed chair, a strip of embroidery and an open book upon the broad windowBeat, near which the softly-cushioned, luxurious rocker is still vibrating.

A broad-brimmed hat Math sweeping plumes occupies one end of a low couch, while a pug dog sleeps comfortably upon the soft cushions of the other. Gloves and parasols, handkerchiefs and fans, are scattered about; a basket-like affair, big- as a small trunk, stands beside the swinging mirror, and through its half-open-ed lid he catches a glimpse of Oriental colour—yellow silk folds and billows of lace. On the flooi', close beside the big Japanese screen, is an open playbook and some .small leaves of MSS., which Cousin instantly recognises as a 'part' in some play. Beyond the screen he sees, over its top, a door, half open; and, recognising all as the abode of a stage star, he says to himself, 'She is in, then.' Again, he turns to the busy figure with the duster and says, still proffering his card: 'Will you please give this to your mistress?' His tone is very mild, but at the words the flying duster stops. 'My mistress!' The little figure is instinct with oiTended dignity. 'My mistress!' with a catch of the breath and an angry sweep of the duster. 'I'd like to know what you take me for?' 'Eh?' Cousin comes a step nearer. 'Come, now,' he says, coaxing]}'. 'I know who you are, of course.' 'Oh!' with a toss of the head and a snifi: of derision. 'I'm much obliged to you.' Again the duster is brought into action, and Cousin is forced to continue his conversation as he foJlows the little flying figure about the room. 'You're La Belle's maid?' 'Umph!' No other reply does she deign. She has reached a little table upon which rests a basket of cut flowers and half a dozen bouquets in as many bowls and vases. She lifts the basket gingerly, as if unaccustomed to handle such dainty burdens, and sniffs at the bouquets, holding1 tbsm at arm's length to gaze and admire. 'Look here, my girl'—Cousin is beginning to grow impatient. 'Will you stop a moment and listen to me?' The counterfeit housemaid throws down the duster with one hand, deposits a bunch of Jacqueminots upon the table with the other, and turns an irate face upon her pursuer. 'What do you want?' she says, impatiently. 'Whose rooms are these?' 'I don't know.' 'What! you don't know?' 'No!' shortly, and stooping to pick up the duster, 'how should I?' 'See here, my girl, as you won't tell me who you are, let me tell you who I am.' Fabrice begins to dust again vigorously. ' I don't want to know who you are. You ain't much to look at, anyway!' Very wise men, very great men, have their weaknesses. Polly Cousin had his. Many a sigh had he heaved before his mirror because of his uninteresting appearance. He took a quick step towards this obdurate young woman, and thrust the card which he held directly before her face. 'Can you read that?' he asked, impatiently. She stopped short and looked atten^ tively at the card. 'Cap—tain —Con-nors,' she pronounced, slowly, 'Chief—of To—lice. My!' She tarns quickly'and inspects her tormentor afresh, seemingly with renewed interest; then suddenly drops back a pace, her face taking on a look of gravity. 'Be—be you Captain Con-nors?? she asks, doubtfully. * 'Are you La Belle Fabr.ice's malar he asks, with renewed earnestness. 'No—no, sir.' The change in' her tone is marked, and her manner becomes at once apprehensively respectful. 'Who are you, then?' 'I —l'm the new chambermaid.' 'Oh!' Mr Cousin becomes aggressive in proportion as the saucy face before him changes to one of fearful and hesitating willingness to be catechized. He looks at her keenly, doubtfully. ''You are the new chambermaid, eh? But these rooms—you know whose they are?' 'I—l don't know their names.' 'Lopk here, m.\» girl,' drawing nearer and iowering his"tone, 'who was sitting at that window a moment ago?' She turned towards the window indicated, and, with slowly brightening countenance,turns back and whispers: 'That was one of them.' Then, before he can ask the question that rises to his lips, she lifts a warning finger, tiptoes up to the screen, peeps cautiously behind it, and comes tiptoeing back. And now she is positively beaming. 'It's the old one,' she says, her voice just rising above a whisper. 'She can't hear very good, and she's gone into the other room, anyhow.' Again she brandishes her duster, this time with manifest carelessness, and Cousin sees at ouce that she is quite at her ease. .'A pert little jsimpleton,' he thinks, and still, mentally, 'rather pretty, though.' 'What do you mean by "the old one?" he asks, slightly at a loss how to proceed. 'Why, there's two, you know,' she explains readily. 'The other's little and young —something like me,' supplements this audacious little imposter. 'Oh, where is she?' 'My, how should I know?' 'Umph, and don't you know their names ?' 'Me? My goodness. I guess you ain't never been chambermaid in a hotel. When I come in here they don't pay any more attention to me than as if—as if I wasn't anybody. I think I'm as good as them.' And with a toss of her head she skips over to the couch, catches up the plumed hat, and surveys it with wcll-aft'ected curiosity. (To be Continued.)