THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY

Auckland Star, Volume XLIV, Issue 276, 19 November 1913, Page 10

THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY

Grand Dramatic Story of Love, Intrigue, and High Society.

By J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND, Author of -'Workers in Darkness," "The House of the Soul," "The Gold Worshippers,'' -Life's Golden Web," etc., etc.

up and come down hero aiain. The ' roses h.ive gone from your checks." "It is the nature of roses to iade," she said, slowly. j Then slie clasped her hands together, and looked at him "with an agonized expression on her face. i "Lord Champernowne." she blurted , out. suddenly, "it is not true—tell mc that it is not true." He laughed nervously. "I'm afraid.' , he replied, "that I cannot answer that question till you hare asked it." "The cheque—for two thousand pounds." she stammered, getting very ' red. •They ;av you paid it to Greenlirml." Hp drew in his hreath sharply, but his face was cold and impassive. "What cheque." he asked, quietly. "For two thousand pounds—Greenhead says." "What do you know about Greenhead?" he asked, fiercely. "He is wanted by the police. What have you to do : with that scoundrel?"' "Mr. S-ot " she began, but he would not let her speak. •That brute!" he exclaimed, savagely. . ■"I suppose he has been poisoning yonr mind against mc. He is my enemy—has sworn to destroy mc. Tie believes that I killed his son." His outburst of rape did not turn Diana from her purpose. Her heart sank as =he listened to the fierce words. Why ' had he not answered her questions? Why had hp spoken as if he knew that Boanerges Scott had accused him of purchasing Oreenhead's silence? She came j' close to him. and laid a hand upon his j arm. i ~l have been wretched." she said, in a low voice. '"For days and days I have thought of nothing else. I hare beon quite unfit for work." "What have niv private affairs to do with you. Miss Kenyon?" he said, coldly. "There are matters that you cannot understand, that you ought not to meddle with. If Scott has anything against mc. he can place Ilia information in the hand? ol the potiee. T am Teady to answer any charge that can be made .mainit, mc." "Then you did give fireenhead the cheque ':" she gasped, moving away from him. and staring at him with horror in her eyes. "It i< true?" "Even if it is true." he said, in a hard voice. "I really do not see that it is any concern of yours." Se turned away from him, and resting her hands on the covered marble mantelpiece, placed her forehead against them xnd stared down at the fire. Her back was turned to him; he could see the quivering movement of her shoulders, and he knew that she "was crying. "I am a brute."' he said to himself, "but explanation is impossible."' Then, aloud: '"My dear Hiss Kenyon, please forgive mc for talking to you in this way. But I dc not like the thought of your listening to Boanerges Scotfs aernsations against mc, "I want to know the truth," she sobbed. "You say it uoes not —concern mc. You know it does. Jack —you know that." He walked to her side and laid a hand upon, her shoulder. ■'Di." he said, in a low voice, 'last summer 1 asked you to marry mc. You —you said you did not love mc. Surely that means that you—that my guilt or innocence is nothing to you." She did not answer. She burst into a storm of tears. '"If you do love mc, Di," he continued, gently, "'you must know that I am innocent of this hideous charge- Love does not question and cross-examine. It believes —it trusts." Diajia Kenyon was seized with a sudden impulse to turn and fling herself into his arms, bnt she was filled with a horrible dread of the future. It was true that love ought to trust and believe. But blind love of that sort does not promise well for future happiness. There must be trust on both sides; there must be nothing hidden—no skeleton in the cupboard. And then again there were still the same objections to the marriage. There was Lady Champernowne. who had greater claims than ever on her son"s affections. "I must keep myself in hand," she thought. "I only want to know the truth." His grip tightened on her shoulder, and she broke away from him with a cry of fear. '•'You do love mc," he said, looking at her whit*, tear-stained face. "You will mam- mc, Di—you will believe ; n rae —trust mc always?" He held out his hands to her, but she shrank from him. 'The truth.'" she whispered. "Jack, for pity's sake tell mc the truth." "Very •'.veil, he answered, quietly. "J still tell you the truth. Let us forget that w« love each other; let v≤ talk this over th friends. Please sit down. You look so tired, so ill." She seated herself on a settee, and he remained s-ta ruling. "Now, what is it you have heard about me.'" he asked. "Please tell mc exactly what Boanerges Scott has told you." She told him. speaking quickly and nervously, her fingers twined together, l>er eye-s fWed on the carpet. She did noL raise them to his face till she had iinished. Her cheeks -were hot and burniisfr with shame. "And you believe all this?" he queried. "I have come to you for the truth," sh-e answered, simply. "Very well." he said, with a smile, •I will tell it to you. I have been a fool, but nothing worse than that." lie guve her the true version of the speaking slowly and deliberately, rarrating bare facts, and avoiding any ittompt at sentiment or rhetoric. If he Lad been giving evidence in a court of law he could not have stated his case in a more businesslike fashion. "There is the cheque," he said in conclusion, "and there is Greenhead's letter," and he took both from his pocket. She glane<»<l at thrnn and returned them, to him in silence. ""You believe mc?" he asked, after a pause. "Yes, I Mere you." she replied, "but Boanerges Sc ott would not believe' Ton." "Because he is an enemy. But you— you are a friend." ! stilly 0 in e h, Le eet "* j . y**. ScoU >" Eke. said dowry "does no* »k?d to pat this ?£

(TLir'TM. Mil. i.ontinned.l Lad\ Ciiamperno-.vni , moved her thin, ■KLsic plittering with valuable γ-i.-.-. .t. ■■!!- '■!'«■ coverlet., and touched l_<.r -jn'< i.and. "Yolu .vnrk." she faltered, "is not goi;:_- in ulvi" you away from mo just yet. i". :- khvtt L'uing to take mc away jr. ::. .-•■ a. nioiher, dejr," he replied. "•\WJ -i: somewhere near town—a jel'v lit:li? place in the country. J skull i.i-1-p .: niul'ir and run in every day to ry v>>rk. And you—you'll look after i: •• garden and everything." !::■■ thin lingers lightened on the large. t'.r nu hand. •■W : ,,. n _v.hen does your work beein'" Eh.- a-ked. \N. t for a month—regularly. Bleazby s'.:!! i; j ~ his , old secretary with him. But I am to po up for a oouple of days 2. wc**k to jjet into the swin? ox thinji.-."' I.iijy Champernownc closed her eyes. T. ; : mc .ill about, it." she said, still hold of his hand. Tin v talked together for an hoar, and tlun Lord Champernowne made his way Oi'.vr-taL.-.- u> tho library. He nuns himsHf into a chair and buried his face m hi.- hands. "I cannot brar it."' ho sobbed; '"it will go on fur years; I haven't the strength or tiii' courage — merciful heavens, she talked abi'Ut tiie new hats she is jrorn? lo bjy in the spring—asked mc if I thoujriit I could pet C-arret t-o send down a dnzon to choose from. Oh, it, is horrible, monstrous!" I * •■ re ;n:i! n ('il mcrticn]f??> for scv^r^l ir.inuii'-. thinking of the saiety and loviv liji—s thai Lad" been so si.ddmly and crneily stricken down by the liand of Kit.--, of tht- dark future that lay b«'for<' Irn .i:id n» mother he loved so well, ci t;!'" , l-'nir against S-.'i; —a fifrin which had only jest bepun, of '-i- tarnished name, of the overwhelmir.ir tuirden >if debt whk-h would strip him r>i Tγ.-; uf his inheritance. In all that itr::n- cf darkness and ?torm there was on!;. .1 .-injrle inJr —his love of. Diana And i-ron '.hut =tj - =hone very dimly :n the blaokneys of the ni<rht. Unless be couiil ptr-nade hi< mother to change Ivf-r he could never max-y the ■w man be laved. It he bad hesitated bemri' abort niarryinfr against his mother-! ■.\i-hr-~ there was no longer any hesitation. That invalid woman iip-ri.i:r~. ■ to keep to her couch ihrouirh ail the days of he r life, must t>- ! L- first i-ant=id&raLion—always. Work, U>ve. Lis career, must all come second, n- • •■>. ■■W:t:j Cod's help." lie said to himself. TI! do the riprht tliin?." T.i, n h<> frrrtn his chair, walked to ir.x: writina-table. aud to open « ;■:!•■ of letters which awaited his re- ! lurn. -Vlma-t tie last in the pile bore aji In-iian stamp: the handwritiiur \nu ti :t i-if .in UE.-ducated man. Ix>rd Champi--:■••-. r.'- tore open the envelope and *•■>'■■. > ■:■'. •' 1 'tw-r. An endorsed cheque dr. ;;, ,; on the table. He picked it up. aiT-i 10. ked at it. ■"Tn-ii thousand pounds." h.> muttered. v»i;h j pii7zin<i frown. "'Bank of India— Th- -i ; i- read the letter, which read £• follows: — "My Lord.—Cocshence milces cowards uf n- all. they ~ay. and it's done that icr r . I can"; "oneetly tike the munny, i■'.- I can't do wot I said I'd do. Pore but oni'-t :- my mottor. 'i our 'umble =•:-. ,::t. —i.ireeniead."' A look of horror canne slowly into Ci LimLMTnur.-n'seyes. Th<>n he rose'to his i ,l ' : ■•■i;;-] an oath, and as the door of the luir.iry opened his hand closed on the rbi-ju • :'.!!.: letter, crumpling them up int .j H ball. "What i- it?" , he asked the footman. Bpcak-aj: so slrarply that the man looked at r. ::i in astonishment. "-'■-:--- K'-nyon. my lord."' the servant aa.-.i.■:,-■■:. "from the Rectory—she wants zo >■■■■ yon. m_i lord, if you're not busy.' , "Mrs JLenyon, did you say?" queried Ctrampernowne. "No. my lord. Miss Kenyon. She came do-.. n from London mv lord." •"\ .'-y w-ell, Tilson. I will be wk-h her in leac titan a. minnte." The man departed, and Champennowiie. smootiiing out the ch-eque and letter on tic stared at them thou^htfuDy. "_rhLs means trouble." he .-aid"to himself. ■■Greenhejd is not the .-ort of man to _ r :\ ■■ m> two thousand pounds unless >uld .-•.- his way to making more ajoiicy out i.f the business." 1: .-ceine<i. however, hard to understand ih»? man'- motive for returning the tuwjuv. The u.~ual method of biackmail :s to keep the money already paid and demand mw. Greenhead's reference to .■:ii coc- ience »s-. of .-ottr-e. nij nonMn?1 ; il ' Aa - likely that the man was afraid :■, ronfess hi.- crime, but in that '- u ~ !: " would surely liave r t -tained the f.v'r tiji iiiand poundi -and declined to 2: Lik any that -would iacrimin- i »» .imself. I J *■=■*.:-- .i ;..<•>!. irjoairht C"iLaniperno"W"iie; I ".I :'!3i fool :,) think"that he would over ■ il hi.- ]>art ot the iiarguin. 1 ". ' have insisted on his making i i.:■• ijnfi*sion before 1 parted with my ! ■■■ -■■■ But he had pood reasons for ' su<h an arrangement—better! r-a-.,n. th.vi I could brini; forward on my -.d". Two tiiousand pounds i s not ! when weijicd ■.Jgainst a man's life. ; •c :.!. N.i reason to trust mc with his . T "- ; ■'.' wlr " ' 'nought best, and flow j i <""■-:■■ t [ =hall have to pay for it." ! li- i-'i.i-,! Un th e cheque and letter, and | I •- -■■ i 'i.-ir, in his pocket. Then he made : v ." ' . V H'"^.''-"^ 1 Jnixvinj-room. ; ■i'- •• lound Diana Kenyon standing '.'-*■"■ \ '■T^μ 1, ~ nd table. tin = - ...._.... ..iosoa, ma large blue bowl • „■ V J ~":', S r' ?™ c Awards him and ' ::p, ; i ; ,,1 I,r: ' band. l:l^T T w see von 1 ■ re. he said, cheenullv -\ you were a Londoner by'now.- / :.: Ut: . ■f ken two days' holiday." ■ m a low. nen-o-os voice. 1 •-: back early to-morrow monung. ;; ' - 1 thpught you would be down ■■ • ■■•■?'H r - wucn Lady Champer- ;-■-;■. as removed irom -he Wood --•■ -. ■ i"arm. I "} : ' ; idnl ?t down,- he Baid. quietly. . ■;■ ';_.':;: o ll; - have .i cl.a-. How are "1 like my wor'.." -•,<• relied. "But ; tiax.- not come Ltre to talk ot that, !.or.i i .'ia:np»rnow7;-.\" _ looked AhooghtfullT at her -shite '■You are tired and ilL* he said, after a pi.-. on cant stan d the life in Londoa. Li I were you, I sh o^d give it

"I—th-jt must be considered —very ea-refullv."

"You mean that you are not sure—of ; yourself?" "No; I mean that it may be better to play a, waiting game." "Xo!" she cried, fiercely. 'A thousand times 'no'!" "Nothing could be proved against mc," be continued: "but I have my public career to think of." "Your career —with this always hanging over your head?" "Yes; it is possible that the truth may come to light before Boanerges Scott has lade up his mind to strike.*' "But you know the truth —you know -at Greenhead is the murderer?" He shook his head. "It would be only ly word against his,"' he said. "He ■ould deny that he ever confessed; he ould say* that I had given him two lousand pounds to keep his mouth shut. o an unprejudiced jury that would seem 3 be the more probable story of the wo." She looked at him with fear in her res. "You —you are afraid?" she faltered. "If you care to put it like that." he nswered. "Some people would call it rudence. I have made a. fool o: myself, ut I don't want all the world to know :. If I am forced to defend myself I hall be able to do so." She looked at him for a few seconds ithout speaking. Then she began to love towards tbe door. A hard expresion had come into her face, "You must be reasonable,"' he stamiered. Then a terrible thought came lto his mind. She believed him guilty, he thought he was afraid to go into Durt and defend his honour because he ad no defence. She thought he had ept something back, even if he had not ctu-ally told her a story that yvas a Lssue of lies from beginning to end. "Miss Kenyon." he said, hoarsely, "you rust not leave like this." Then he trode after her, laid his hand on her loulder. and swung her round so that ie faced him. "I love you!" he said, in a fierce, low oice. "You must not believe that 1 am fraid of the police. lam innocent." "Then prove your innocence like a lan," she replied" "Juck. I implore you." "1 cannot do it now. I must wait till am accused. Di, you love mc. One ay perhaps you will love mc enough aiinot " to marry mc. You "I don't believe," she interrupted. "I mow that you are a coward. I can icither love "nor respect a coward. Go ut into the open and face these men. lo to the police and tell them Greencad confessed his crime to you ' "And that I paid him two thousand lounds instead of handing him over to ustice —no, 1 cannot. It would be useess. You don't love mc, Di. You told ne the truth that morning I met you." "Yes." she answered, steadily. "I told ou the truth —that morning I met you." His hand dropped to his side, and she ralked towards the door. He sprang orward. opened it a few inches, and hen closed it again. '■"You are not speaking the truth," he aid, in a low voice. "Marry mc, Di; rive mc your love, and we will live down his —together. You know that 1 am unocent." "I know that you are a coward," she eplied. "Please let mo- go, Lord "-lampernowne." "Not tin you have told mc that you ove me.*"* 'T could not love a coward. Please -pen the door." He looked at her hard, stern faco. rhen he laughed bitterly and flung open ihe door. "You are like all the rest," he said, n a low voice. "I have only one friend li this world, and that is my mother." She did not answer him. She walked tcross the hall, and a footman opened "he door for her. The door closed, and Lord Champernowne returned to the ibrary. "A coward?" he said to himself. "A -oward ?" Then he flung himself into a chair, and stared at the fire, resting his chin on his i-ands. "No, I am not that." he thought. "But [ have made a fool of myself once, and do not intend to do so again. If they have any charge to bring against mc, let them bring it. It would be ridiculous to accuse myself." A coal fell into the grate, and he started at the noise. Then he moved his hands so that they covered his face. The future was ail darkness now. The single star which had shone in the blackness of the night had vanished.

To be continued daily.