A LOST WITNESS, OR THE MYSTERY OF LEAH PAGET.

Auckland Star, Volume XXVIII, Issue 276, 27 November 1897, Page 6

A LOST WITNESS, OR THE MYSTERY OF LEAH PAGET.

By- LASKBESEEIL.. EXNCH,

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S1 Ks they rattled aver the pavement his thoughts were busy. There were fine lines between his eyes and his lips were compressed. Once he put his hand to the pocket that contained the picture of Max Talfourd and the crumpled letter. Then, as if recalling himself, he dropped his hand and SDin etrufh m the English, detective was in a strange state of mirnd; in anyone else such a mental condition might be more fitly described as a 'confused state ' But Francis Eerrars was never confused, as a witness to his every movement on that day would have testified with wonder and admiration. •Genius,' says somebody, 'knows its own time.' And Francis Ferrars, in this emergency, knew that he must not wait nor falter now. the Chief of Police, not all the combined force of the entire city, would turn or sway him. He had come to New York to serve a friend of his friend, and Witness 1 fate had shown him a mystery whicll .threatened, perhaps, the object of his wood intentions. On the other hand he way bound to Captain Connors by every t.ieofeourtes" He had promised and almost proVrered his help. Well, he would nor fail Captain Connors. But Captain Connors was not the only man who trusted him. He did not look like a man puzzled or at a loss as he dismissed the cab at the door of his hotel. He was as direct of movement as of speech. In his room he wrote three notes. One to Sir Felix Wyntoun, one to Max Talfourd, and one the last, and perhaps the long-est, to Abner Pag-tvt. He made, too, some other preparations, few and simple, but sufficient-. The man who went out was not the man who came in. The man who, a few minutes later, was ring-ing at the door of the Pag-ets, was not at all the man who had so lately left the scene of what was to be known and talked of for many days as the 'Dresden Plats murder.' He posted the. first two letters, but the third he still held in his ha;nd as lie was shown into the morning room of the Pagets, and there awaited the master of the house. ,

When Abner Paget came, Ferrars lost no time in puting into his hand the envelope he had not chosen to give to the servant who opened the door for him. 'From'the Chief, of Police,' was all he said. Paget frowned as he took the letter. He had just signified to Chief Connors his intention to wait npon him in good time. Why must these officers of the law be so importunate? He could not bring- himself to open the lettei- tainety, without a remonstrance. Ms Captain Connors in such desperate haste?' he began, looking- sternly into the face of the messenger, and then checked .himself in sheer surprise, as he found that he—he, Abner Paget—was being- openly inspected by thi's cool personage —inspected with a keen, impersonal gaze that was a new and embarrassing experience to ithe man so scanned. •You'd better read the note,' said Ferrars, coolly. The tone seemed to leave him nothing else to do, and he opened the sheet and read: *\ 'Abner Paget, etc., etc. — Sir,—lf the fact of your daughter's return has not already been made known, you will do well to keep it back, for a day and a night at least, if no longer. A thing has occurred which if mentioned in connection with your daughter's retairn, even as a coincidence, will be very unpleasant at the best. At the worst, it might become more unpleasant than anything that has gone before. If the news has not gone beyond your own household, and your servants are to be trusted, keep it shut within your doors. I will see you as soon as possible.' This was the note, and there was BO signature. Abner Paget had read it and frowned darkly. Was he still to be dictated to by these odious servants of the public? He made a stride toward the messenger. 'Are you an officer?' he asked brusquely. ' 'I am a detective,' was the reply. 'Do you know what this letter means?' 'it means all that it says,' said Ferrars, taking a step toward the door. 'Has it come too late?' The old man hesitated, and the struggle between pride and paternal solicitude was very evident to the man before him, who felt a throb of pity and then a gust of anger. 'For your daughter's sake,' began Terrars, 'I hope it is not too late. As for —' He stopped, and turned qiiickly at a sound just behind him. Then the hand, uplifted to place his hat upon his head, fell at his side, and lie bowed low as a pale-faced jwoman.. with anxious eyes, crossed the threshold and stood before them. She wore a long dark mourning robe her hair was silvered here and there among1 the soft brown; her attitude

'was that of. a feeble bxjdy upheld % a stronger will- ferrars CQtfW see I that her hands and lips were tremb"Wliat is i±? she asked looking- from her husband to tfee stranger before her 'What is it'l About my daugh-

tee? . . StiH Aimer Pag-et remarried mute and iro-wning. The lady stood for a moment aa If waiting, then she made a step toward him, holding herself very erect. 'i£r Paget,' she said, with dignity, 'will you tell me what this —' 'Xadam,' broke In Ferrars, 'allow me I am a detective. I have brought a message to Mr Paget.' As he spoke he drew a chair before her. She bowed her thanks and placed her hand upon the chair to steady herself.

Is it, your message, about my daughter?' she asked, with her eyes searching- his face. * 'Yes, madaru.' A flush mounted to her temples and a new light came into her eyes. 'One moment,' she said, and turning took the letter from her husband's hand. Then she seated herself in the chair Ferrars had proffered her, and without glancing at her lord, began the perusal of the note. Before she had reached the last words, the colour had faded from her face, but her eyes retained their look of resolute and offended dignity as she lifted them to the face of Ferrars. 'Do you know what this note means/ she asked. :" f'-'i 'Yes, madam. 'And you will tell me?' 'Later you will understand. . I have not the time now.' He looked at her fixedly a moment and added, "if you will see that this advice is carried out, I think there will be no trouble.' 'I will see to that,' she said. 'I think I can comprehend.'

'That is well. Until yon hear again from Captain Connors, let it rest so.' He made a gesture of farewell to the lady, and without a g-lance" at Abner Paget, hastened out and away.

For a long' moment there was silence in the Pag-et morning room. Then Abner Paget took his stand directly in front of the chair in which his wife still sat, with the note between her fingers.

'If I heard aright,' he began slowly, and in his sternest tones, 'yon said to that singular young man that you understood the meaning' of that note. May I beg- to be enlightened, madam.' Then the wife, from whose lips he had heard nothing- that was not g-ent-ly dignified, courteously calm, even in moments when their opinions differed, arose and stood erect before him. 'Perhaps I did not choose my words well,' she said. 'I meant that I understood that such a necessity might exist. I could see some reason for such precaution.' 'You could see some reason for precaution —ycr .' Madam.' 'Stop !' She moved qiiite away from the chair now, and broke sternly in upon his speech. 'Stop,' she said ng-ain. 'Abner Pag-et, I don't know how far your- stubborn will, your wicked pride, may have gone toward helping her to such a decision, but: the tyranny you began long ago has borne its first fruit in a way you little expected. Leah Paget is your child and she has some of your obstinacy. Heaven only knows how this will end. Almost against my better judgment I have promised to stand by her. But 1 don't know, I dare not think, what it means —'

'What it means !' he cried. 'What do you mean ?' She caught her breath hard, and clutched at the arm he put out in a gesture meant to be commanding. 'Hush !' she said, 'let us not talk about meanings, for fear they may make our troubles worse. All ] can say is this : Leah Paget, your daughter and mine, has just assured me— me, her mother—that upon the subject of her strange absence, a month's absence, she will not open her. lips to you, to me, to any one. The past four weeks, she says, must be a blank, a sealed book, whose pages she will never unclose !' (To be Continued.)