A LOST WITNESS, OR THE MYSTERY OF LEAH PAGET

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 274, 25 November 1897, Page 10

A LOST WITNESS, OR THE MYSTERY OF LEAH PAGET

By LAWRENCE L. LYNCH,

Author of "Shadowed by Three, J> MW^'The Diamond Coterie," "Romance of a Bomb Thrower, Oat of a Labyrinth.

CHAPTEE XXXni. DEATH'S VICTIMS. wonder not yet out of their faces that Sred at the Dresden Flats, Lexington Avenue. Come at °nThe chief read it and was instantly his grave official self. 'That's a message I can understand, he said, and read it aloud to Ferrars. 'The Dresden Flats—they're that superb new block lately built, and too fine and expensive for any ordinary tenants. Will you go with me? 'Yes' said Ferrars, rising-; only don't make me too conspicuous.' 'I won't do that,' responded the chief, grimly. 'They won't be especially afraid of me; but if it's murder, £ wouldn't want the assassins to know that Ferrars, the English detective, was on the premises. Oh, you've been pretty well introduced over here. Detectives and criminals who are a success can't hide their light under a 1 "'The' criminals,' suggested Ferrars, dryly, 'succeed in doing it sometimes, I have found.' 'You have found!' echoed the chief. 'Well!' The great entrance to the Dresden Flats was ordinarily open to all and at all hours. Usually it Avas presided over by a janitor, or by two janitors, .who officiated in turn. Through this splendid and spacious vestibule one passed to a succession of courts, upon which opened numerous apartments, each having its own hall and vestibule, through which the visitor passed before reaching the reception room and the salon proper. Thus, after the publicity of the grand vestibule and court were done with, each apartment was as isolated as a separate private Swelling. To-day the chief and Ferrars found the vestibule guarded by a brace of policemen, and one of these answered with a grin that no time had been lost in putting1 the place under quarantine. 'You are quite right,' said the chief. 'We didn't do it,' rejoined the officer. 'We weren't given time. It was [the young man.' 'The young man?' 'The one who found the body. It's ■the French actress, Hortense ' He stopped, evidently struggling with the strange name. The court above was nearly full of people. Some of them had succeeded in getting in from the street, but most of them were occupants of the great ibuilding. It was by no means an ordinary crowd. There were men in perfect business suits, men in smoking coats and caps,; men in dressing gowns and slippers. Two or three reporters had already scented their prey, and grouped ■together. An the background were women in all manner of dainty deshabille—hastily caught-up wraps, head coverings, and concealing draperies. One or two superfluous policemen .■walked to and fro with an air of believing themselves doing duty. And, before a closed door—a door bearing the name of- Hortense Novalis upon a card in the centre panel—stood three men, each with an appearance of waiting and being on guard. One was a tall, elderly man, with a soldierly bearing; the second, a seri-ous-faced policeman, who seemed to know exactly what he was about; the third, pallid and mute, was Frederick Quinlan.

Seeing his Chief, the policeman came forward and said, in a low tone:

'I'm glad that you've come, Captain. It's a nasty piece of business. Nothing has been done. I was second on the premises, and I closed the rooms at once.'

'Come,' said the Chief, and then, as •they approached the door, he recognised the tall man.

'Ah, Grove, is it you?' Then he nodded to Quinlan. 'Was it you who discovered the body?' he asked. Quinlan bent his head. 'Let us go in,' said the Chief. 'You •will come, Grove, and Mr Quinlan, of course. Starrs,', to the policeman, 'you will stand guard here and see that no one enters.'

When they had crossed the threshold of the vestibule the Chief halted and looked about him.

It was a small room and square, probably ten feet by ten. The walls were hung with tapestries, and it was lighted only by the stained glass panels in the upper half of the door, and by an arched transom-above it. The floors .were of tessellated marble, with two or three rugs at one side. In the centre, directly beneath the chandelier, .■was a bronze affair, representing the knotted stump of a tree, from one side of which branches shot up in queer curves. An umbrella in the hollow of the stump, and a hat and scarf depending from one of the curved (branches, indicated its use. On either Bide were two low, broad-cushioned couches, each fitting in its entire side from wall to wall. Upon the left, as .they stood facing the portiere, which chut in the reception-room proper, the floor was uncovered, and the rugs which corresponded with those upon the floor at the right were flung in a careless manner one upon another on ,the low divan at that side. iWhen the eye of the Chief had taken in all this, he strode through the dim-ly-lighted place and drew aside the silken curtains opposite the door of entrance. 'It's not here,' said theman he had addressed as Grove. And he passed under the portiere and stood beside the Chief. 'That,' pointing to a close-ly-drawn curtain in an archway oppositethem, 'is the salon. Here,' turn-

ing to theleft and indicating by a gesture a smaller arch, also curtained, "is the boudoir. The body is there.' The Chief crossed the small and dainty reception-room, where all was in its usual order, and drew aside the concealing drapery. 'Good Heavens!' he cried, recoiling, 'what a scene!'

It was the room where, not long since, its mistress had received Manager Horton. But now, how different! Here, and in the dressing-room beyond, what confusion! Chairs overturned,tables with their costly weight of bric-a-brac broken and lying about the floor, some of them dabbled with blood; curtains torn down and trailing upon the carpet; the contents of desks and boxes and drawers strewn all about,with here and there splashes of blood upon them; blood stains upon the walls, and pools of blood soaked into the mossy carpets. Near the divan, with its soft cushions and rich colouring, lay a long, slender Spanish stiletto, and beyond, just over the threshold of the dress-ing-room, lay a short, broad-bladed Japanese knife, both blood stained, and hideously suggestive. And the mistress of all this wrecked splendour lay among the disordered cushions of the divan, half on. and half off, her hands clutching the soft fabric of a splendid robe that lay upon it torn and bloody. Her body rested upon the cushions as if it had fallen there in the last struggle, her' limbs dragging upon the floor, her arms thrown out before her, her face turned side-wise and towards the window, through which a sunbeam came slanting,making horribly distinct the deadly gashes in the fair throat. She was dressed in a, long and lustrous gown of creamy, satin, heavy with lace, and garnished with crimson and yellow roses. Her splendid shoulders and arms were bare and gleaming with jewels. Her face was untouched either by scar or blood stain, and the glare of the wide-open eyes and the traces of agony in the dead face were rendered more horrible by contrast with the flowers and lace and gleaming jewels. When, moving carefully around the divan, the Chief had noted this much, he turned to Quinlan, who, with Ferrars and the stranger addressed as Grove, had remained in the doorway. 'Will you?'—he began.

'I was the first to enter,' broke in Quinlan, hoarsely, 'but I did nothing more than asssuremyself that she was dead. Then I rushed out to give the alarm, going- myself for an officer and for Dr. Grove. We ,\vent through the rooms then, but nothing has been touched.'

'Draw the curtains,' said the Chief to Ferrars. As he led the way back to the reception-room, he said, 'Let us sit here, and you will tell us what you know of this, Mr Quinlan.' As the four men grouped themselves together near the centre of the small room, Francis Ferrars stood facing the arch which led to the ante-room or entrance.

The portiere was drawn aside as they had left it in passing through, and when Quinlan, who stood with his back towards it, shifted his position slightly so that he might lean upon the high back of a chair as he talked, Ferrars had a clear view of that side of the ante-room where the rugs lay heaped upon the low divan. The light from the inner room, now that the hangings were drawn away, brought out more clearly the outlines of the heaped up rugs. At the. moment when Quinlan began to speak, Ferrars suddenly and without a word started forward, strode to the divan, and, laying his hand upon the topmost rug, lifted it a little, and then let it fall back to its place. 'Come here,' he said, sharply—'all of you.' In a moment all three were beside him, and then he flung aside the topmost rug, and the next one, and the next.

Instinctively the three men recoiled and Frederick Quinlan staggered and clutched the arm of Dr. Grove for support. Lying before them, upon the low divan, was the woman Yirginie. Her attitude was that of a sleeper, but a glance assured them that it was the sleep of death.

(To be Continued.)