A Husband by Proxy

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 162, 11 July 1910, Page 8

A Husband by Proxy

By JACK STEELE

CHAPT"E"R X___. OVERTURES FBOM THE E"SEMY. Leaving Spikenran _ office, Garrison walked aimlessly reflecting on the many compficaiions co recently developed, 'together with, the factors in the case, and all its' possibilities. He W2J3 shutting from his mind, as far as possible, the thought- of Fairfax, Dorothy's husband, whose coming he bad feared byintuition from the first. The actual appearance of the husband on the scene had come as a shock, despite b*3 many warnings to himself. What could develop along that particular line was more than he cared to conjecture. He felt, himself robbed, distracted, all but purposeless, yet knew he must still go on with Dorothy's affairs, though the- other man reap the reward. Eoreing his mind to the Hardy affair, be found himself standing as one at ■ the edge where things ought to be j patent; nevertheless a fog was there, obscuring all in mystery. Some man had entered Hardy's room and tampered with Dorothy's cigars. This did not necessarily absolve Charles Scott, the insurance beneficiary, from suspicion, yet was all in his favour. The Hugh Cleave was an unknown quality, j Unfortunately the general description ofj the man who had" entered Hardy's room tallied closely with Dorothy's description! of Foster Durgin, whom she herself suspected of tbe crime. He had been in Hertford, lurking near his uncle for several days. He had since run away and was apparently in hiding. Intending to make an effort to seek out young Durgin and confront him with Barnes, who had seen the intruder in Hardy's room, and intending also to visit the dealer in tobacco from whom Dorothy had purchased her cigars, Garrison made his way to the railway station to return once more to London. The matter of finding Hardy's will was on his mind as a constant worry. It had not 'been found among his possessions or on his person. It could have been stolen from his room. H this should prove to be the case it would appear exceedingly unfa.voura.ie for Durgin. It was not a-t all unlikely that he might ' have been aware of something concern- . ing the .testament, . while' Hugh Cleave, • if such a person existed, would have had no special interest in the document, one , way or another. ! Another possibility was that Hardy had hidden the will, but this seemed I rather unlikely. j Comfortably installed on a train at ; last, Garrison recalled his first deductions, made when he came upon the fact of the poisoned cigars. The person who had prepared the cigars must have known very many of Hardy's personal habits—that of taking tbe end cigar from a box, and of biting the point instead of cutting it off with his knife, for in-

tance. These were things with which tl 'aster, no doubt, would be well acquaiiit- _. And in photographic work be had sc landled the deadly poison employed for iardv's death. y< A<_.in, as he had a hundred times h. jefore, Garrison accused himself of crass t< stupidity in permitting someone to a'b- n itract that cigar from his pocket. It a night have been lost': this he knew, but fi le felt convinced it had been stolen. And t« since he was certain that Dorothy was _ lot the thief, he could think of no chance that a thief could have had to extract" i, it without attracting his attention. t When at length he arrived once more a in London, he proceeded at once to the shop in Oxford Street where Dorothy s bad purchased her cigars. Here he found s a. short individual in charge of a general t business. including sationry, sweets, s newspapers, and toys, in addition to the p articles for smokers. j Garrison pulled out his memorandum concerning the box of cigars still in f possession of Dr. Pike, at Hertford. r ' _ dropped in to see if by any chance you recall the sale of a box of cigars j some little time ago," he said, and he £ read off the name of the brand. "You i sold them to a lady—- young lady. Perhaps you remember." i "Oh, yes," agreed the man. "I don't sell many by the box." ] "Did anyone else come in while she ] was here, or shortly after, and buy.some | : cigars of this same 'brand?" He awaited \ the dealer's slow process of memory and j speech with eager interest. i i think so," said! the man , after a pause. "Yes, sure, a small man. • He 'bought a box just the same. , Two ; boxes in one evening—l don't do that every day." . "A max", you say—a small man. Was he young?" ; "I don't remember very well. He was ill, I think. He had a handkerchief on his -face and his hat was pulled far , down." "But surely you remember whether • he was young or not," insisted Garrison. '"Try' to think." A child came to buy some sweets. The dealer attended to her needs while Garrison waited. When he returned he shook his head. "So many people come," he said, 1 don't remember." Garrison tried him with a score of questions, but to no avail. He could add nothing to what he had supplied, and the vagueness that shadowed the figure of the man had not been illumined in the least. Beyond the fact that a small man had followed Dorothy inside the store and purchased the duplicate of her cigars, there was nothing of significance revealed. Disappointed, even accusing himself of dullness and lack of resources in the all-important discovery of his unknown man's identity, Garrison went out upon the street. He • felt himself in a measure disloyal to Dorothy in his growing conviction that young Foster Durgin was guilty. He was sorry, but helpless. He must follow the trail wheresoever it led. He ate a belated luncheon, after which ! he went to his office. There were two letters lying on the j floor, neither one addressed .in a hand 1 he knew. The first he opened was from Theodore. It was brief: Dear Sir, —If you can find the time to grant mc an interview, I feel confi- '. dent that I can communicate something of interest. —Yours truly, ; THEODORE ROBINSON." ! His address was written at the top. \ Garnson laid the letter on the desk, 3 and. opened .the second. H the first had occasioned' a feeling of vague wonder in his breast, the other was far more potently stirring. It read: 3 • '"Dear Mr. Garrison, —I called once, • but tou were out, Shall return again 3 about -four-fifty—Trusting to see you, /FOSTER DURGIN." ' ; Without even halting to lock the door ' as he fled from the place, Garrison i hastened pell-mell to the telegraph-, i Office on the floor entrance of the budd-1 I "jag, and filed the following dispatchi.--- .| i

"-"Doctor Pike, Hertford, —Send WUI 3arnes by train to my office as soon as possible. " G__"_"_CSON*. As be stepped in tie Kft to return to Ms floor, lie found Tuttle in the iorner of the car. CHAPTER _"__"__. THE FRET OF "WAITING. Tuttle had performed his services fairly well. He reported that young Robinson had returned to town, and had lost no time in dismissing hhn, with a promise to pay for services rendered by the end of the week. Theodore had seemed content with the bald report which Tuttle had made concerning Garrison's almost total absence from his office, and had rather appeared to be satisfied to let the' case develop for the present. Tuttle knew nothing of the note on Garrisons desk from Theodore, and was therefore unaware how his news affected his chief, who wondered yet again what might' be impending. Concerning Fairfax there was news that was equally disquieting. He had been here once, apparently quite sane again. He had talked with Tuttle freely of a big surprise he had in store for the man who had hidden his wife, and then he had gone to his lodgings, near at hand, departed almost immediately with a suit-case in his hand, and proceeding to the station, where he had taken a train for Hertford. Tuttle, --instructed as to following in a circumstance like this, had there dropped the trail, "What seemed to be the nature of the big surprise he had in mind?" inquired Garrison. "Could you gather anything at all?" ".Nothing more than that. He appeared to be brooding over some sort of revenge he had in his mind, or something he meant to do, but he was careful to keep it to himself."' "He said nothing at .all of leaving London?" "Not a word." ""You are positive he bought a ticket for Hertford?" 'Oh, certain," said Tuttle. Garrison reflected for a moment. "I rather wisb you had followed. However, he may return. Keep your eye on the place where he was living. Have you noticed anyone else around the office here—reporters, for instance?" "No. The story's a sort of a dead one with, the papers. Young Robinson was gone, and you kept out of sight, and nothing came up to prove anything." '"You must have been talking to som< newspaper man yourself," was Garrison'; comment. He looked at Tuttle keenly. "I did, yes, sir. One of them saw mc her< two or three times, and finally asked m< ""hat paper I represented. I told hin c _\ew_.*," Garrison paced up and down the floo: mc what restlessly. "I. think of nothing further except fo; v to keep an eye on the Robinsons,'

Ie said. "Wait a minute. I want yoa :o go to the Albert-street house with a lote I'll give you to the housekeeper, md examine the closet, in the back room, irst floor up, to see if an equipment telephone is- still in place there, concealed beneath a lot of clothing." He sat down, wrote the note, and gave it to Tuttle, who departed with, instructions to return frith his report as soon is possible. The office oppressed Garrison. It seemed to confine him. He prodded himself with a hundred vague notions that there ought to .be something he could do, some way to get at things more rapidly. He wondered how far he would find it possible to go with Foster Durgin, and what the fellow would say or do if confronted with the cold-blooded facts already collated. Up and down and np- and down he paced, impatient of every minute that sped away bringing nothing' to the door. Would Barnes arrive in time, or at all? Would Durgin fail to come? Did Dorothy know of his presence in the city? Everything always swung back to Dorothy. What would she do concerning Fairfax? What would Fairfax himself attempt to do, so far baffled, but a factor with a hold upon her name, and, perhaps, upon her fortune? And if the thing should all he cleared, at last, and come to it's end, as all things must, what would be the outcome for himself and Dorothy? She had told him at the start that when her business ends had been completely served she would wish him to di_miss himself—from her life and from her memory for ever. He smiled at the utter futility of such a 'behest. It had gone beyond his power to forget like this, though a century of time ehould elapse. For an hour he paced his cage impatiently, and nothing happened. A dozen times he went to the door, opened it and looked out into the corridor—to ;no avail. The moment for Durgin to arrive was at hand. It was almost time for young Barnes to appear. Tuttle should have made his trip by this. The postman should have brought that photograph from Israel Snow, ol Birchington. Dorothy might at least 'phone. It was maddening to wait and feel so impotent! His mind reverted to various phases of the case, but lingered most upon the second will —that might mear so much to Dorothy. Where had it gone? Had it .been stolen or—hidden 1 Some way he felt it was hidden. Foi some reason, wholly illogical, he thought of Hardy lying dead with those grease like stains upon his knuckles. What die they mean? Working out a line of thought abou' the will, he was halted abruptly hy z shadow on the glass of his door. He sa) down quickly at his desk and assumet an air of calmness he was far fron •feeling. At the knock which came hi called to the visitor to enter. The visitor entered. It was Wicks. "Oh, how do you do?" said Garrison rising from his chair. "Come in. Conn in, Mr. Wicks." (To be continued daily.