THE DIAMOND SECRET.

Auckland Star, Volume XLV, Issue 15, 17 January 1914, Page 20

THE DIAMOND SECRET.

I \ ;.., By Ai WILSON BARRETT.

* ''Author of "The Bouse Over, the Way," "A Soldier'a Love," "The. 'Silver Pin," etc.

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENTS I. AND II. —Charles Summers, barrister, 'is summoned by a telephone call from an unknown man to the liousie of Lily Bnrkett, a dressmaker, whom he has known for some years. He meets a beautiful lady coming <>ut of the house just as he reaches it, and, £oin£ upstairs finds Lily lying dead on her bed. TVhen the police appear on the scene Summers decides to say nothing about the Lady he met nor about a little golden cross he found near the bed. The police arc nimble to find out who murdered Lily Burkett. Some time after Summers sees the lady he met at the dressmaker's house, and asks her If the cross is hers. She tells him it is not hers, and immediately leaves him. Summers realises that he loves this unknown, lady. The next day he is visited by the man who had rung him up on the 'phone. This man, who says his name is Fray, happens to see the golden cross, and seizes it, telling Rummers that it bad contained something he had done ten years for. It is now empty. Another barrister, -named Lefroy, comes into the room, and on seeing the cross, turns, ghastly pale, and leaves hnrriedly. Fray tells Summers that he is lily Burkett's father. CrTAPTER V. A STARTLING- "INCIDENT. '. It~i*F"d6u"Ei'ful "if* there is anything more pleasantly thrilling for a man than to wake up one morning and find himself head over heels in love. In such (circumstances business worries, debts, duns, toothache even, and our other worldly troubles recede before a greater than these, and life becomes a condition whose every moment ds or may be, joy. For every moment we may see her, hear from her, or of her, or, at least, think about her, and in that happy condition which comes to all men once, to some many times, any one of these acts is bliss. Charles Summers woke up happy, for lie was very much in love. But as there is a rift in everything, even in being in love, he frowned every now and then as his thoughts wandered from his briefs to the memory of the poor little dressmaker, and the vow he had taken to himself to avenge her death. "If only poor Lily were alive," he thought, looking up-from the dusty table to the green outside, "and I had come across 'her' in some other way, Lily would have helped mc to meet her, perhaps. As it is, I shall never feel really free or settled in my mind untiL ... Good Lord! What's that?" His cham or thought had been interrupted violently,.almost terribly, and by a voice, a voice outside. "Is Mr.' Summers in?" this voice was asking. "Mr. Charles Summers, the barrister?' . , ; . . Charles listened to the question repeated twice; he heard his clerk answer; he heard the inevitable knock come at his door, but for the life of him he couldn't have replied to the summons or have lifted a finger from the papers by his side. He could' only sit staring at the door; his mouth 'dropped, his eyes starting, as if he expected every moment to see some awful vision appear, a vision'from the dead. The knock was repeated, and at last, with an effort, he pulled himself together. But even as he did "so his "eyes wandered doubtfully to the telephone «a«-iHE2S J_^;:Ae^».r:^i^be--gave, a little -"-shudder. For the voice that had asked --for him, the voice -of-the_-man-now waiting to enter the room, was the voice that had called out of the darkness to him on that terrible night, and sent him out to blood-stained figure •— on—"the—bed.-- Tr". '.. _ ._'.';.

The door opened and a man came into £v the room, looked round him, closed the jg door carefully, behind bim, and- walked ZT. up to Summers.

:"*• He moved slowly and rather heavily, _ dragging his feet slightly, and the young =- barrister bad plenty of time to size him ** up before he"reached the desk and faced 'X him. '..'*"

S His first impression was one of solid, g massiye strength, a sort or reserve of *" iforce,*>ynthout ..clumsiness. The man's «• eyes-i.were large/ round, steady, though overhung by bushy, heavy ' eyebrows, It' and 1 _ad- rather, a listless' look 7 yE this impression of-listlessness became 3J moi;?, obvious to Summers after a longer *"* view, for • it .was not only in his eyes, it was in : every movement of his power- - ful limbs, in the lift of his head, the ..-,. -motion of his lips, his slow gestures, the 'is tones of his deep firm voice. '£" "He looks like a man who has been 2J alone a lot," thought Charles, as his eyes took in every detail of his' visitor's - appearance. A man of forty-five ; or so— • it was very difficult to figure out his age % —not tall, but very thickly and strongly ""!" built, _.-_: with massive muscles "sliowing "CtbrpugKj the. .thick, rougb'^surt.he '* of reserye,d/force /about-;-him;,; or-force in abeyance; rather, «'th—n-Lreserved"- Force was "in bis foreB^ea3,i"nb"t'JiiglaJTriut*' .broadiwith. -the close rS'fttoppSi'tiair grooving 36y.-over, ther.brows '^thick,■ strong' necki-broad nose laTidv powerful '''jaws, even;in the deep > .'-brown "tint" that covered bis not unhand--.some, ; "worn-looking.face and hands. Not —'i'gSntlem an; .a" rough, commori-lobkihg-:""maii who'looked as if he had spent half. ,^l'J_§.'time, in the open air, half-; farmer,; •".' : in appearance; but Charles "thought, - honest^-and. kindly. *-...!".. He stood for a moment looking at; Summer*}- meditatively, obviously "considering him, taking his time, as he evidently did in everything, but making his examination, as Summers, reddening a little, could not help feeling thoroughly. "llr. Charles Summers?" he asked at last. Summers nodded, motioning him to a chair. He hardly trusted his voice to speak at the moment. -His visitor'looked at the chair for a moment",-'"and...at,length sat down'in it, his heavy, armsVdrbpping by his side, and his eyes turned to the telephoned on Jrhe desk. For a moment he seemed to be thinking deeply, then he spoke, and Sum--mers, sinking again into his seat, facing bim, listened. "You know it was I who "rang "you -7 up •"that" rhigt," be.'.' sara. slowly. "I can. ■-•-■ see that." . : -•-. -' •■•••■•■ - Summers "nodded."J" "Yes," : he • said, 'T recognised, your voice even before you came into the room." - "J" TTi^visitor "-nodded: '--•' •'_' ' v -g 'T. woke you up, I expect,*' he said. ■'* "I sent you out on a =b_d errand, t00..1 <*> couidn't;"help it-; 7 I couldn't dp anything ~ e&e":~ There "7was. ndlohe'else-t'could" *$ itrust-J* •- i .• . *• - Summers looked at him, but the mans > impressive face gave Mm no iiiiormatibn. £ His eves were turned downwards to the {£ floor."and he appeared; to be 'thinking jg deeply; slowly-;rubbiiig the carpet .with •=* his "foot. - £ "But you don't. . 'I don't know m you," . said Charles, at last.. '|Why T; should you ring mc up?" he conrtinued % sharply.,. jrbat^do^ ; £Ott-l_itJt*« 4jf -ttaf aSaaiJ* --■•.-""'--"*-:■• ?-■•-?.•.-.----.. ■••

His visitor took no notice of the tone in which the young barrister had spoken. He did not even "raise his eys. "I knew of you," he said, slowly at last, with a little sigh. "I knew you were to be trusted. There was no one else, and I hadn't time to think what was best to be done." Summers started. "Was she. . .was she alive when you rang up?" he aslied quickly. His visitor shook his head and sighed again' heavily. '"No-," he said, "she was dead. ;I found her so." "How did you come there?" asked Summers quickly. "Who are you, and what had you to do with her? I have never heard her speak of you, and I knew her very well." "Yes. You were very kind to her," said his visitor turning his steady brown eyes upon him. "You were a gentleman. No, very likely she didn't speak of mc. "My name is Fray. We hadn't met of late years, she and I, and I went to see her that night and found her dead." His eyes were turned again to the floor, and he sighed. "Who did it? Who killed her?" asked Summers, his gaze fixed on the visitor's bronzed face. Fray raised his listless eyes. "I haven't found out yet," he said, "but I shall, and when I do, I shall kill him." He spoke in his usual, slow, rather monotonous tones, but there' was a note in his voice for a moment which gave Summers a shudder. "But why did you ring mc up?" he asked, after a pause. "Why didn't you raise the alarm? Why waste time when' the police might have done something?' And why. . .disappear?" he added. Fray kept his gaze on the floor. "It's a long story," he said at last, "and I guess it Mill keep for a while yet. But you, did you do what I told you? Did you use your eyes when you got there?" "Yes. What did you mean by that?" said Summers. "I looked about mc, of course. I saw no trace of the brute who had done that deed, though." Fray looked at him fixedly, his jaw dropping slightly. "You found ■ nothing?" he asked. "Lord! And I'd have made it worth your while. But you couldn't have iooked. There must have been some trace. There always is. I reckon I'd have found something, but I thought I heard someone, and. . .well, I couldn't stay." "I had no time to search very thoroughly,' 5 said Summers, noting the man's hesitation, and yet the suppressed eagerness in his face and voice., ,"I had been there but a few moments when the police came."

Fxav's jaw set). "The paliiee'" he exclaimed. "A lot they've done! A lot .they ever do, except ■? . . ./ And 'then a startling thing happened. As he spoke, 'the door -opened and a man came into the room. He was another barrister, whom Summers knew slightly, called Lefroy, a clever, pushing man wha.had put some.j>vqrk in..his W ay at different- times, but wnom**lie tt "never liked, believing him to be hard and a trifle as to h"ow he made his reputation, which was a growing one. He was a*"man "of about thirty, tall and good looking enough, popular with the •world, especially with women; but his eye.'! were set too close together, his ;ljps were -too • thin, his hair too smooth and oily-looking to Summers' mind; and the two, though friendly enough on the surface, could Jnever have become so in reality. i"

Lefroy, seeing that.Summers was occupied, gave a basty word of apology, and was about to retreat, when he suddenly stopped. For the young barrister, who had risen quickly to. go to the door to speak to him, in rising had caught his "watch-chain on the "corner of his desk. Tle.je'r.k'rhad pulled'-rfrom his pocket the little, golden cross he carried there, and had jerked-it on to the desk. ■■■ And,'.'as "it. rattled'on to the oak, and heJ'lbokedidown to 'pick it up, a hoarse cry resounded through the room. Startled, he looked quickly up, and then almost cried out himself, staring in blank amazement ■at the two men with him. •For the eyes of both were fixed upon the little golden object. Lefroy's were glaring, rigidly at it, his thin lips compressed, bloodless against his teeth, his face white and ghastly; as for Fray, with a swift movement, strangely contrasted with his customary listlessness, _c had sprung to his feet, the cloud gone from his- brown eyes, widen now flashed with a terrible intensity.

' The whole thing 'lasted but a second. , In an instant Lefroy had pulled him- * self together, apologised, and, murmur- , ing-that he would return, had vanished; ' and Fray, paying no attention to the , 'other,' his eyes, having been fixed, like ' t his, npon the cross, moved quickly round the desk,'and stretched out his hand. - "Give mc that," be said roughly. "Good '~ Lord! And I thought.you said you had * found nothing!" .' Summers looked at him in amazement, j! and then at the little cross, which he ; now held" in his fingers, for a moment, tp'o amazed at .the extraordinary scene , which had just occmred to gather his wits together. Then, reddening, suddenly he put out his hand to keep Fray off. , "What do you mean?" he said, pulling '. himself up. "I shall certainly not give . you anything until. . . ." He got no further at the moment, for in a ; second, before he could make an attempt at resistence, or even, if he had wished, call out for help, the.other man had seized him in a bear-like grip and hurled him upon the desk. Srnnhrere was young strong. He had wrestled and boxed like most young men, and bad had struggles with other ; men both in sport and in anger, but he : had never known anything like the power of the man who now seized him and burled him upon' his own desk as a spider rolls up a blue-bottle in its web. jTn a second he was helpless; and ■prostrate, his arms held helpless in one of Fray's huge, brown hands, his 'legs ; pressed together beneath'one.' of his antagonist's big knees, and the golden cross gone. *■ When Fray- hadi possessed" himself of this object,' _fter'.".a":moment of action, .which had-not 7 evren;;; caused him to breathe more quickly, he the * young barrister, and, leaving him to pull himself together as best he might, he strode swiftly to the window, all his •listleesness gone now, and .quickly examirrijd ._is' find, while- Summers watched him, 'confused, and shaken. „ For -a moment his queer- visitor pressed •the little gold symihoi almost- reverently* between bis big. brown, hands, as iYVbalf afraid ..to.touch' it, his knotted fingers" passing the faded riband gently between. .■bheau { .- Then, raisirig>:.it'to: bis lips, he .Jewed r___i_ded _JJt_of_£* Xhe_, -dra-*-

ing a long breath, lie turned the cross i about "for": _ s se'c6rid,"""pre nail at last upon a point at the end of one of the arms, and, to Summers' surprise, the arm showing a small cavity. For a moment Fray gazed at this cavity, which was empty, his square jaws set, *his eyes' hard and stern. Then-he turned to Summers. • ' "It's empty," he said. . "Who opened it?" There was an authority in the man's voice, a power which compelled an answer, and Sumniere, almost against his will, shook his head. "I did not," he said. "I.had no idea even that there was a secret spring." Fray nodded slowly, after a brief examination of the young barrister's face, and evidently convinced that he was speaking the truth. "It's gone," he said. "It wa,s him that did it then. And after she'd kept it all these years. And to cost her her life, too, poor child, poor child!" Then he looked up, his listlessness all gone now, his jaw set, his eyes showing a red light like some wild animal's in their brown depths. "But I*ll find it,*' he said, more to himself than to his companion, "and when I do I'll kill him!" Confused, angry at being treated like a child, yet overpowered by the force of this strange man, and wildly curious, Summers staggered to his feet." "Kill whom?" he cried. "\Vhoin do you suspect? What is this mystery? What was in that cross, and again, what had you to do with Lily Burkett?" Fray hesitated for a "second. "What was in that cross!" he repeated, at last. "Something I did ten years for. That's all!" "You did ten years!" gasped .Summers. "Ay, and would do 'em again—but now she's dead. What had I to do with Lily Burkett? She was my daughter, my little child!" CHAPTER VI. AX -SOAPED CONVICT.

"Your child?" Rummers stared at the man who uttered this startling piece of news so calmly. Was it possible that he was speaking the truth, lie wondered. And yet, as he looked, something in the steady eyes, the kindly mouth, the quiet manner of the man, did in a way recall the murdered girl. It was possible, but how strange that she had never mentioned him; or told him that she had a father living.

And then with a sudden shock he recalled the other and still more startling sentence that his visitor had spoken, spoken with such a deep inflexion in his voice. "I did ten years for it!"— Ten years! Summers looked at his companion; tiie knowledge of criminals and the law had told him what "ten years"' meant to a human being, and he guessed now the nnstery of certain things he had noticed in the man. His slowness of movement, except when roused, his bitterness of speech and eye, his deliberation, his carelessness of what impression he might make, his queer manner of appearing to have unlimited time in which to think and say even the simplest -sentence, all seemed to bear him out, and say that he was indeed set apart from other men—had undergone the living death that is a convict's lot.

And looking back at his memories of"Lily, he sighed.' Poor little girl, was that why she had been so sober and- so quiet, .so ready to sympathise with others' troubles, so silent about her own.

"Lily's father?" he said at last. "How strange! She never mentioned you." He stopped himseif, a little confusedly. It was not strange, he realised, blaming himself for his clumsiness. She could hardly be eager to mention such a father. And yet, as he.looked at the man before him, some unexplained feeling; perliaps it was Lily's memory, made him conscious that he could not look upon him as v. convict, merely, that he could • not feel unfriendly disposed towards him, could not dislike him, nay, even that he liked him .better than lie liked many men who were worthy and well-spoken of.

Fray was watching him quietly, his big hands hanging passively by his side again; his foot working at the carpet, waiting apparently, till should digest the news that had startled him, and come to some decision. He looked up relieved as Summers - at. last rose", .and stretched his hand.

"If you are indeed Lily's father," said the young barrister, "and I cannot doubt it; I am glad for her sake to see you, whatever you. . .whatever your past may. have been. And I need not tell you how I regret her cruel death, and sympathise with you."

Fray nodded. "You don't know what it was to mc," he said, "to come there" that night and find her. . .dead. I hadn't seen her since. . .since I went in. I didn't dare to, till I had looked about a bit, seen how she was and what her circumstances were, and whether I mightn't harm her or not by showing myself to her. And yet," he continued, with a flash again in his-brown eyes, "if you only know how much .1 wanted, not only to See her, but to find. . .well, to find something safe." Summers, nodded. "The something that was in the cross?" he said. "Yes." Fray paused for a moment and then fixed his. eyes on Summers. '_ am. putting myself in your hands, llr. Summers," he said, "I am giving you what no one's ever had yet, the power of life and death over mc. But I had watched Lily for some time. I had heard about you, even from her, indirectly. I knew how kind and what a gentleman you had been" to her, and how she liked and trusted- you. And I, I trusted her judgment. I trusted you that night when I hadn't time to search myself, you'll guess why in a minute, and hoped, though she was gone, that you might find some trace, of this," with a glance at the little cross, "or where ithad gone, for I vowed that night that the man who had been kind to her, the only man who had ever been kind to mc, through her, should share with mc in what this. little cross here meant."

Summers stared at his companion: "Share . with you?" he gasped. "Why, what was there in that cross? And if, as you say, ybu committed a crime for it, how could you suppose either Lily or I could. . ."

Fray stopped bim, his big hand raised quietly. "No crime, Mr. Summers; I did not say I had committed any crime. I said I did ten years—l would have done them again for her sake, if she had been alive, for what the cross contained. But, have yoa, as a gentleman of the law, never heard of one of us poor devils being wrongfully convicted? I have done nothing for my ten years, nothing to go to prison for. I went for another's work; one who was : cleverer than mc; one who went near murder to get what he wantedf/one, by heaven, who did murder in -the ,-end, as I. believe; as I'll know ■yet." *-':.-_■ ■-' rXhere was truth-in every note of Fray's,voice,-and Summers felt a sense of peat, almost -texplicahle, relief, "I am

very glad to hear what you say," he said.' - "I~did' hot' think "Lily could f have had a father who . . ." "A father—let's nave it out—" said Fray, sternly, "a father who* did ten years, but hasn't done his sentence yet, for that was fifteen years, a father -who was tried for murder and found guilty, but let off the full penalty' for what you call technical reasons, a father whom the law is looking for now," and has been for the last few months; a father who is an escaped convict." Summers started, turning pale, and hushing his voice: "An escaped convict," he gasped. "You got away?" "Aye. I'm one of the few that ever did, for as long as this at any rate. But then I meant to," he continued, throwing back his huge shoulders, with a glance at his big, brown, knotted hands. "I meant to, and who do you think would have stopped mc, who would have died rather than go back again! Mc, who would die rather, now, when I've got a task to do —to find that man." For a moment there was silence between the two, then Fray spoke again, his voice gentle, his hands unclenched. "So you see, Mr. Summers, what 1 meant when I said 'power of life and death over me,'" he said. Summers nodded, his 'Drain working rapidly. "You are right to trust mc," he said. "1 would have helped you, 1 think, in any case, for Lily's sake. As it is, I believe in you. But you must be careful, your position is a very hazardous one. You* may be watched, someone may recognise you. Why, at any moment, someone might even' come in here. . . ." He stopped suddenly, struck by a sudden memory. In the excitement' of his struggle with Fray, the latter's forcible seizure of the golden cross, and startling revelations, the entrance of Lefroy and his barrister acquaintance's extraordinary behaviour had passed from his mind. Yet now that it came back to him, it struck him even more vividly thau it had when it.bad occurred, when he had to divide his attention between both him and Fray. Fray's excitement at the object's sudden appearance from hia pocket was now accounted for, but what on earth was the meaning of Lcfroy's? To judge from his glaring eyes, white face and startled manner, the sight of the golden cross had affected the other barrister not even less than it had his present companion. And then his stammering and hasty disappearance, he who Summers know always so self-contained, sneering, coolwitted!

He turned to Fray. "Why did Lefroy look so startled when my chain pulled out that cross from my pocket?" he asked, suddenly, hardly conscious what he said.

His companion started, looking at the door by which the barrister had vanished, and then back at Summers.

"Lefroy?" he asked. "Was his name Lefroy? I hardly noticed him. I was too startled seeing that cross so suddenly. Lefroy," he continued, "my lord, I remember now! Did he look startled? Then I'm in for it. No wonder -he jumped. But it wasn't this cross he was looking at, Mr. Summers, it was mc, 1 expect. I remember him now; I should think I should remember him. I should have known him anywhere if I hadn't been so taken up looking at this thing ■that all my mind's been running on. Remember him! Why it was him that got mc my sentence." "He?" Lefroy" prosecuted "in your trial ?''

"Yes. The vicious devil. He nearly got mc hanged, too. He tried hard enough. I might have been his worst enemy. But, by God, I must go. If you say he looked startled, he knew mc right enough. And if he knew mc,, he may know my sentence isn't up, and . . . Who's .that man waiting outside there?"

"No one; only one of the barrister's clerks," returned Summers, turning white, nevertheless. "But you're right; you had better go quickly, in any case." He paused for a moment, biting his lip in thought. "Are you sure Lefroy knew nothing of that cross and the secret, whatever it was, that it .contained?" he said slowly. "Are you absolutely certain ?"

Fray started. "Know anyl'iing about the cress and the secret it contained?" he ejaculated. "Why, how could he! N-othing of that ever came out at the trial or any other 'time. Why, who should have let it out? There were onlytwo knew anything about it, mc and

. the other, 'him that killed my child, I'll swear, and wbo dropped that cross empty, where you found it. Only us two, and, it isn't likely either of us would tell a thing like 'that to your Lefroy! No, he iwasn't bothering about the cross. He was looking at mc. And, remembering bow rbibter he was, and •how he nearly got mc hung, and tried •his bcsifc to do it, too, it isn't any wonder he might look at mc and be startled. But I must go, Mr. Summers, I must go. There's danger for mc here now from •this moment. ■ He's not a friendly chap, Lefroy, I tell you that."

"Yes, yes," said Summers, realising that be was indeed endangering his visitors libetfty, pcrb_ps, as he said, his life, in keeping 'him any longer in conversation, anuch as be bad still to ask him. "You must go at once. But tell me— we must meet again—where can I find you?"

Fray hesitated. "I,will come back," he sajd. "I -will come 'here, but not in the daytime. I will come in the evening, alf tor dark; when at is quiet, and there is no .one about. Tell mc, where does this Lefroy live? Not here, I 'hope." Summers ebook bis head. "Xo, not .here," he replied. "He merely has chambers here in the Temple, where he is only in tbe daytime. The' rest of the time he is at his rooms in Jermyn Street, or staying -with his father, who, I believe, is very wealthy, and has a big house in Park Lane."

"Lefroy?" mused Fray. "Ah, well. I shall remember that all right, and keep away from Jcrmyn "• Street and Park Lane, itoo."

He held out bis hand to Summers, looking ai him •with-a kindly look on hrs strong, worn face. "I -will come back, Mr. Summers," he said, in bis slow, firm tones, "and then I'll explain more than I've bad a chance to,do now. You jostv have done more than you guess to-daY for mc, and for yourself. I'm a m-nii ■that keeps his word, and I'm to find him that dropped' Wiss" cross. When I've done that, if there's any sweet young lady as you like—tell her she's going to be a rich woman. John Fray says so."

And he was gone. Sum-mers watched bim make his wav past tbe window and in the direction of King's Bench Walk, his mind buried deco in thought. 'i

Then, bis strange visitor out of sight, at last, be flung 'himself into his chair, i and letting h;s -{lapel's and 'work gener- j •ally go unattended to,' be reviewed again and again the events of the past hour, and sill that he bad heard and seen.

And certainly enough had happened in' that l "time to'Tgive-food for 'thought.. So this man was Lily's fattier, this man who rhad rung him up so strangely, and heen the cause of -so much surmise—an escaped convict. 'And the golden cross was -at the bottom of the myistery of 'Lily's death,- though 'not in the.'way that he had ttoought. The golden cross! And then- for the dozenth time heclenched 'his hands and frowned at the desk in front of him as the same conclusion came back to him again, and yet again. "But it was not at Fray that Lefroy was looking," he cried to himself once more. "It was at the cross. -He ■looked at Fray first when _c came in. It was not until I rose and' the cross fell out on to the desk that he looked at that. Someone called out. Who was it? Fray, I think, and then Lefroy started and turned ghastly white. But it was at the cross he was looking. It must have been. And' yet I must he ■mad to think such a thing could have caused Lefroy to look like that. He evidently could know nothing of its secret history, according to _Fray. Oh, it is much more likely that Fray was right, and that it was the sight of him that startled him . . . And yet" . . . Oh, let mc think of something else. ■Lefroy could .know nothing of Lily in any way, or of the golden cross? So that was Lilys after all," he thought, and he Teddened as he realised-.how* he had blundered with the girl whom "he tliought its owner.

"She mu«'t have believed it an excuse for making her acquaintance," 'he thought shamefacedly, "and considered mc a loafing sort of cad/ And Fray's words came back to 'him, giving him a little thrill. "If there is any sweet young lady as you like—tell .her she's going to be a rkfh woman"; "Oh, my dea.r Fray, how am I to tell her thai, or anything else?" he thought. "I've done for myself with 'her for good. And yet. .after all, in spite of tire mess I made of things last evening, I did do her a good turn once. I let her go 'that niglnt." And then Charles Summers frowned again. "Let her go from what, and j why?" he wondered. "Good' Lord! What a mystery the whole thing,is." , (To be continued on Saturday next.)