A CONSPIRACY of SILENCE

Auckland Star, Volume XXXIX, Issue 246, 14 October 1908, Page 11

A CONSPIRACY of SILENCE

BY SIDNEY WARWfCIt,

•« _t___- of Naarty-Oalj," "Leffert-i !«______," "Tie- K__v T . o_ Di________,----r "A Perihm I_n__." etc

The words were a trap; Duchesne saw that the man was shuffling. And Bentley, confused and harassed, fell into the trap. "How did you know that I " The words were out before he realised the admission into which he had been drawn. "Then you did know the murdered woman—and my wife knew her too!" _ried Duchesne, as the other tried vainly to cover up his admission. "Was the woman who was at Mrs. Ailwyn's flat at the hour of the crime—the woman who flung the ring into the street—my wife ?" Bentley started; his face was very white. "You don't—you can't suspect that— that Joy murdered this woman?" he stammered with dry lips. "Selfish as Joy was. unscrupulous, yet I—l won't believe that of her!" "If you are so sure of that, why did you try to evade my question?" Mr. Pereival Bentley's watery-blue eyes met the other man's searching gaze, and they dropped. He seemed to have no answer to the question. "But the fact of that ring being thrown out of that window proves nothing—and that can be your only possible ground. It proves nothing, beca.i»2 I can swear it had passed out of Joy's possession." "Then in whose possession was the ring?" "As I believe now—in that of the woman who was murdered." cried Bentley quickly. "You see, Clara Ailwyn was the daughter of the woman who kept the house in which the girl who was buried as "Mrs. Duchesne, as your wife, died!" "And was she in your guilty secret?" "No, though Joy, who stayed for a little while in that house as Miss Bentley, always mustrusted this girl Clara, and urged mc to be on my guard; she was convinced the girl listened at doors, and might, if she had the chance, tamper with letters," said Bentley. "Before the supposed Mrs. Duchesne died Joy had gone abroad as companion to a lady travelling on the Continent, and, of course, the dying girl wore your ring —that was necessary to Joy., scheme. "I honestly believed the ring had been birried on the dead girl's finger; until some time after her funeral I never gave a thought to the ring at all. Its reappearance shows that either Clara Ailwyn—she wasn't married, then, of course—or her mother, must have stolen it. But, at least," Bentley added, "it could not have been in Joy's possession." , "On your own showing there was reason to suppose this woman, this Clara Ailwyn, had been prying about. She may have found out the infamous secret you were guarding, may subsequently have come acroas the woman who was once my wife, and have blackmailed her?" "I know nothing of that," said Pereival Bentley hastily, not meeting Duchesne's eyes—there was a steely gleam in them that made this rogue feel as though, they were reading into soul. "Only it is madness .ii_, you._ have persuaded yourself that it was Joy who flung into the street the ring bearing your name —or that it was Joy who was "at Clara Ailwyn's flat at the hour of the crime!" Duchesne did not answer. Bentley stole a furtive, uneasy glance at the stern, set face. Hitherto he had only known this French-Canadian as a devoted lover and husband, a man of kindly generous impulses. But the disclosure .hat had lifted the scales from his eyes had left this dupe of a woman's treachery a different man—a man who frightened him. The revelation that had at a blow taken him out of his fool's paradise seemed to have transformed his very nature. "We are wasting time, and there's a train to catch. Put on your hat and coat," said Duchesne suddenly. "You are going with mc to London—to that address, to prove first if your asserI tions are the truth." "And then?" Bentley ventured to say. watching him nervously. •'Come, we have no time to lose,' 3 said the younger man impatiently, not answering the other's question. Bent-ley was too thoroughly cowed to offer opposition. He realised that Duchesne, with the hot blood of the nationality from which he sprang, was iv a dangerous mood. His face hard and pitiless, the eyes, lit by the inward smouldering fires of jealous wrath and resentment, boded little mercy for the woman who had betrayed his faith, had wronged him so infamously, should they meet. As they walked down-stairs they en- ! countered the slatternly servant-girl | just coming in. "I've sent your telegram all right, Mr. Bentley" she said cheerfully. Bentley tried to look unconcerned, but he felt he could have choked her with the utmost pleasure. He was relieved that the significance of the girl's indiscreet remark did not appear to strike Duchesne. He wondered if the warning message would reach its destination in time. They reached London early in the afternoon. From the terminus they took the underground railroad to Earl's Court, in which district was the address that Bentley had given: "Mrs. Herne, IS, Crawford-road." They walked down the busy main thoroughfare from which Crawford-road ' ran; then a name on the corner building of a side street proclaimed that their destination was reached. Almost close behind them a woman, young and smartly dressed, apparently of French nationality, was walking; she passed them, as the two men paused doubtfully at the corner, and turned into Craw-ford-road, proceeding briskly. Duchesne looked flown the road in surprise. It was a dingy street of small houses and second-rate stores. He flashed a sudden glance of suspicion at his companion. • "If the woman I am in search of married for wealth, as you told mc, it is certain she does not live here," he said. "I told you I have never been here before.", returned Bentley sullenly—"l only know I always address my letters to Cra-wford-road, Earl's Court and there's no mistake about the name of the street we're in. As a matter of fact, I haven't, seen my niece since her marriage. Naturally, she wouldn't, want mc about the place, and probably- what it means is this —that she isn't anxious I should know her true address, or, for that matter, her real name. As, of ■course, it is to her interest to keep in touch with mc, she has my letters, adi dressed to some place, where she calls for them. That's only my idea, of

'* ' CHAPTER XXll.—(Continued.) bentley wondered what was in Armand | ■nnche-ne's^md- His manner had altered x ie " tvas tak * m & the neTCS s0 Was h * air of sfcony in " Sceja-i-! He was growing more rf the maQ had hdp6d t %t only remains now for you to tell '-, -the name under which she passes, Za her address, which I suppose you t™» anee y°u correspond," said Ducli- • fZ,,' Only the look in his eyes belied ' +_. cold indifference of his manner. IfffTse-Ond Bentley hesitated. Then, * irith a dang of bi 3 shoulders, he wrote faZ, a, "name and address on a piece of "£n-jtnd handed it to Duchesne. The Cter daacedi at it, put the scrap oi Ijper tohis pocket, and without another c fjord tamed and walked from, the room. . -If he meets her, I believe there will ' ie murder done!" whispered Bentley to _____]t, with a white face, as he splashed "cat some more whisky into a glass with •> ir-flknighand. , Be had caught a menace in the gntterjj. gygs. smo-dering against the colour- j face of the man whose idol his words shattered!; and this menace had frightened him. _ j "-When love like his turns to hate, «ndi a man has no pity or remorse! j yf_\, I tried to keep the truth back. I _id all I could- Only a man has to ' look after himself, after air." _ He crossed -over to the window, and patched the tall figure striding quickly . flown the road. ( Bat a dozen yards away he saw Arjnand Dn-hesEe suddenly pause and turn . as if on a new, sudden impulse. i Tie's coming back—and I can guess j_iv- ? muttered Bentley. He guessed Duchesne's purpose. Could la _o__-ta_r it? j la a fever of haste Percival Bentley , Batched up a half-sheet r of note-paper fod wrote on it, as if foir'dear life, the ] name and address he had given to Dv- , chesne. He heard Duchesne's impatient knock- : jag si the door down-stairs, and his penal flew across the paper in desperate • laste. ~: | The knocking on the door was repeated as Bentley, with the paper on which tie had just' written these three lines in, hand, rushed out on to the landing. He heard the untidy servant coming up . the passage from the basement in let well-worn slippers to answer the summons. He called down to her in a low, urgent voice: ",'.'Tolly!" The girl looked up. Bentley gesticulated wildly to her. ' "'Here, before you open the door!" he cried in a low, intense whisper; and he ! crept down the stairs to her, treading iautiously to make no sound. • Again came the impatient knocking, as the girl came up a step or two to jneet him. . .Vhat is it, Mr. Bentley?" she asked. ---•_• "Hush!" This is "a telegram," he whispered, putting the sheet of paper into _,sr. hands. "Take it at once to the the-, cornea*, copy it on to _ telegram-form, and have it sent at once. Pocket it now, and not a word to a soul—you understand? It won't cost more than eightpence. Here are two shillings. You can keep the changeTon understand? Tt is almost a matter of life and death!" The girl nodded, with a grin, as her fingers closed over the piece of silver. ; Bentley crept back stealthily to his room,, while the girl went to open the door. A moment later Duchesne entered Bentley's room again. . .A thought occurred to mc in the street," he said curtly. "It will be better for you to go back to London with mc. There is a train in three-quarters of an hour." • "But why should I? I have told you everything: I have given you the address," said Bentley, trying to assume a blustering air. "I have no wish to go to London, and I am not going." . "What you wish is quite immaterial. -Wll either go with mc now to Lon-1 don—or to a police-station. If I leave 'yon behind you will give warning to •yonr partner in this plot—and that will lot suit my purpose." . Mr. Percival Bentley was standing by the window. He appeared to be listennig for something. . "I think you might trust mc," he began in Teproachful protest, "if I pledged ,_iy iford of honour not to communicate Mth her in anyway." As he spoke the sound that he was listening for came. He heard the street door open. The next moment he saw the touzledhaired servant making her way along tie street with his message in her hand. The message that was to flash _j -arning over the wires to the guilty toman in London! .. oms words of Duchesne made him Ruidehly turn his eyes from the window to the speaker. "I am beginning to put two and two together -now in respect to the mystery of that ring," Duchesne said. "Bentley, 'hat connection existed between my *nV;a_d the woman, Mrs. George Ail- ■ . . ivhb was murdered!" •Mr- Percival Bentley's face turned as ™te as death. CHAPTER XXIII. THE THREADS DRAW TIGHT. What connection existed between my •ke.and the woman who was murder's, Mrs. George Ailwyn?" said Armand' : wiehesne again. -He saw how the unexpected question •Ppeared to-disconcert the shifty rogue •m __ oll _ he was dealing. Bentlev "■"led .ivith a start at the words, his! ** quite white. There was a mo- ; ™Ms hesitation; then: don't know what you mean," Per-1 cval Bentley stammered. . °r, rather, you don't wish to an- **; and your evasiveness only fur"«r. eor_ir ms the supicion that to-day's _J t> " ba ß hlou § ht into mv mind," O-Duchesne grimly—"a suspicion that ttwM- t0 confirm or dispel! My wife's. Wdinpi n „ was flung out of the win- _ ._ ' thk ~Mrs. Aitwvn's fiat almost •-W-moment of the murder, so far *dnv\ Judged— and flung out by a 1^- Mn s hand. Now, I want you to -Us ?me ' wa -s my wife acquainted with who was murdered?" should I know?" mum«_i_^_ ntley -' Though Joy still cor--1 »iu| I With me * 1 havea ' t seen h9r I Pel'"'_ '~ seconc t marriage; that's gosI Mr. Duchesne. And why I jS d f you ask?" I -»_: j 5 ™ 06 you drew ihis Mra * An ' 1 f °v cour3e my wife would be acI -S__r th her too? " said - Duehesne

course, "but, it is one I have had for some time." As they walked down the street the French woman, some distance ahead of them, turned in at. a. shop-door. This Shop, a tobacconist's, proved to be Duchesne's destination too; it was No. 18, In the window a dingy card caught his eye: "Letters may be addressed here. One penny." Clearly Bentley's conjecture had been correct. Duchesne walked in. The Frenchwoman was being served. She was evidently one of those who- found it convenient to have letters addressed to this place, for the woman -behind the counter had turned to look through a little pile of letters on a shelf. From tho bundle she drew a telegram and handed it to the Frenchwoman, who paid her penny, and went out. "I understand that you receive letters addressed here for Mrs. Herne?" said Duchesne. The woman behind the counter stared at him narrowly. "And if I have?" she asked. "1 want you to give mc Mrs. Heme's address." "Oh, do you? And do you think you're likely to get it?" the woman retorted. "Where would our custom be if we gave addresses to every one that asked?" "I know, of course, that under ordinary circumstances you would very properly refuse: under the present circumstances I think you will make an exception to your rule. For one thing, 1 will make it worth your while. Mrs. Herne is someone I used to know very i -well, and I want to find her. I am prepared to pay for the information." He held out a sovereign. The woman's eyes fastened on ft. She was evidently tempted, and her protest showed signs of wavering as she said: 'Really, sir, I have no right -" Duchesne took out another sovereign. "Perhaps this will overcome your scruples. If not —well, you may possibly be compelled by the police to do for nothing what I am willing to pay yon for." "All right," cried the woman eagerly. "I don't know the address —folks as . have letters left here don't leave their addresses: But if you give, mc that I'll put you in the way of finding Mrs. Herne. That's fair enough, isn't it?" Duchesne handed the two sovereigns to her across the counter. "Follow that French party who just went out of the shop—her I gave a telegram to that came not an hour ago. If you'd been a minute earlier you'd have heard her give the name. I | don't know who sh e is—lady's maid, I reckon—but she always calls for Mrs. j Heme's letters. Follow her." i Duchesne strode from the shop. By this time tha Frenchwoman was noI where to be seen. He went up to BentI ley. "So you've tried to sell me —you sent a warning telegram to that woman!" be cried, and the old vagabond's knees shook under him. "You fool to your own interests! Don't you realise that you have been accessory to a crime; and that your only chance of escaping the consequences is not to make an enemy of mc? Which way did that Frenchwoman go who left this shop? If you lie, I tell the police to-day of your share in this conspiracy against mc!" "She went that way," said Fercival Bentley, his voice quavering, pointing up the road. "That's the truth?" "I swear it's the truth." Duchesne ran along the road. The Frenchwoman had walked fast, but he caught a glimpse of her turning a corner some distance ahead. Percival Bentley ran after Duchesne, wHy he scarcely knew. As they reached the corner they saw that fifty yards down this by-street an automobile was drawn up by the curb stone, in which sat a woman fashionably dressed. The French maid was just getting into' the car. As the two men. ran round the corner the occupant of the automobile turned, and : her face and that of Ar mand Duchesne met. "Joyl" This woman in her costly furs, a portion of the price fpr which she hac sold herself, was Joy. In a Londor cemetery was a tombstone bearing hei nam. —but she was here in the flesh facing him, to prove that inscriptioi over a jirave a lie. to prove that wha' he had heard to-day was the truth. At the first sight of hfan a thrill o horror and fear passed through th< woman, sweeping every vestige of col our from her face: her eyes, unnatur ally dilated, were riveted on him a: though fascinated 1 . Arniand stood motionless for an in stant, staring at her. The meeting hai come with so strange an abruptness and, in spite of that disillusioning hou which that day bad brought, that firs glimpse of her, looking scarcely alterei from the woman he had loved so t>as sionately when he led her to the alta four years ago. had touched so man; sleeping memories to life. Only for a moment: then remembrano swept back, how this woman had lie to him,, had sold herself for luxury an. wealth, mokinc; a pathway across honou and truth and his heart, to reach he selfish desires. And with the re'me.ni bra nee a passionate resentment swep bira like a flame of fire: scorching ou ail the old love" every tender memon Duchesne, made a spring forward. Bentlev saw the look in his face, an that look appalled hiru. "Are you mad?" the older man crier There in the quiet street h flung his arms desperately roun , Duchesne to hold bim back; an. j simultaneously the woman in the autc | mobile shook off the momentary paral.\ j sis of fear. Tn frenzy she jerked th lever. The throbbing car leaped foi ward. Duchesne flung off the other man' grip, but it was too late. He stoo gazing after the ear as it glided swiftl away, carrying the guilty woman be yond his reach. Bentley had expected an explosio: of fury for his interference. But Duct esne did not address a word to bin He was muttering some numbers t himself, and for a moment Bentley woe I dered if the. man's brain was txirned. Duchesne took a pencil from his pocli et, and Bentlev saw him write down o his shirtcuff the figures that be had re | peated. And then the reason struc him. I It was the registered number of th i big automobile now vanishing out c sight. And by means of that' number A' mand' Duchesne would be able to tra( j his wife. I (To be continued next Saturday.)