A FOOL OF FATE,

Auckland Star, Volume XLVI, Issue 146, 21 June 1915, Page 10

A FOOL OF FATE,

3fhe Story of a Great .Conspiracy. By T. ARTHUR PLUMMER, Jiuthor of "Cod's Parasite," "A Woman of tii-e Stage," "The Devil's Dupe," "A Girl iti Tinsel,' , "Slaves of the Limelight," ;. "The Siren of the Halls," etc. Part I: The Fool Leaves England CHAPTER XXVII. a mo position. -■"I wonder how it will feel to be Lady Orme —to be mistress of this dear old bouEe. to have your, servants address you es 'My lady'?" "

*■' Linda Pane laughed, and there was a hint of mockery in her voice. She looked Bt-Jior companion. Her oyoe had an evil glint. She was etanding in front of Colia Lyndsay's chair.

"Celia flushed, then paled. She felt all that peculiar antagonism which 'hah always existed in her relations with Linda, Fane sweep over her.

;.."I haven't given much thought to the glory of my position us Stephen's wife. 3Tou see. I liked his -father very, very much, and his death was so terribly sudden and uiiexpeetedthat 1 hardly realise ie has left us."

.. There , were tears in Telia's eyo3 ne he tUTJHCdaaaiy from that coid, mocking glance. "She looked a frail, slim tiling in her ibiack frork, her golden hair i&reseed very simply, giviag lior almost a. childisli appearance. Huddled in the Big easy-chair, slip was a pathetic little figure: but she aroused no pity in the ofecr's. heart.

This -chit of n girl -would be Lady Onne. have money, dresses, jewel*, power. ."This .was what Linda Fane Cpveted most of nil —power. ••- Sir John Ornie's death had- been teriibly sudden, lie hud never really recovered '•from that affair in the library. Be and.Lady..Qr.me teutvueeu/motoring, a '•week's tour in the South of England. It would do him nil the good in the world, Lady Orme believed. And ehe wa* right. He seemed n changed man a 6 the ear drew iip at-the Kensington house, a jest OP lite lips.

~*(Hie eyes suddenly closed. When they lifted him out of the ca'f lie was unconscious, and practically remained in that etate till the end. , Only oncp was 3ie,.fiilly ieonsefcus; from.; the niament'Tof the relapse until he died. Tht first person his eyes chanced on was Richard, his younger son. .

".Send that man away!"' he cried, starting, up. Oil t'.ie bed. "Is !te litre, because another instalment of his hush-money is due?"

.Sir f?ct. tEat thWC weTK otlSSr people pt«'Wt".r

".The effca't Spefialist who had been summoned looked strangely tit Hielmrd Orme. ■;[ must ask you to leave the room at or.cc. Rir,''Jie said, curtly.

Richard inclined his head and -skulked out. Lady Orme was standing white-faced and motionless ,by the side of the bed. She had heard tho=e words leave Sir John's pallid lips without fully realising ■wjiat they implied. Someone, else heard thdm too. She realised their importance right enough. As Richard left the sick chamber she followed him. ■ • ■jt was Linda Fane. "I want to-talk to you, Dick," she said, peremptorily. -The man turned on her. His face was Xhite. . ,\ "..; . '. :." "'You heard vhat-the doctor sa' , ?"— hnrslily. —instantly. "He said you were to leave the rqom, but> not the house. Go into the library."

Jiliss Fane had "a way with her-that twisted a few simple words into a comnland: so. partly beeansc-h<rwns»<!UTious ami partly because he was afraid of this strong-willed woman-.-lie-obeyed. Linda jSiine was at his heel&: she closed ..the library door. 2 " 2 i . . ~"V ~'i 3 ._■

first chapter of this-tragedy occurred in this room, the last, chapter'haa bcßim upstairs,' , she said.

"You think he'll——" he began, but the woman didn't wait for finish. -''Oh, he'll die, right enough," she eaid. brufally. "I saw-it in■"liis"face!" ; That'll be a bit awlcward-for you, won't it?" "Will it V "Well, you wont-be able to get hushmoney when he'srdead.-will you?" - - "Hush-money?" didn't youUiear'Tiim speak of it? Thd doctor did." she laughed, unpleasantly. "That's vhat made mc follow you out—feminine-<;urio!sity. -What did he mean when he- spoke of hush-money, and why haveirt youiealled on your father eineo the night of the accident in this room?" . , He made a movement. "Don't go. I haven't seen:yotr;for quite s. while, and I—well, I ean'tovercome the< natural curiosity of my sex, you know." "I sometimes feel that I liatc'yoiv Linda," he said, with passion. "I don't mind in the least. I have the hide of a rhinoceros, when it suits my~ pur-pose, so .out with it. ,' What's been, 1 yoiir litf.e' glime dflate?" ; £ was silent so long that she spoke again. "Would it interest you to know that. if lie dies, you won't even have the proverbial shilling?" > "Then he did alter his will?"—sharply. -"Oh, had lie threatened to? When— and was it because of that accident in W;hich you had a hand?" turned slowly to her. -"You've seen this— : this changed will?" he asked. • "No"—quickly—"hut I can take Sir John's word for it." £ '"So he told you—that*" "Yeß—don't look upset. Does it hurt your feelings? Your father has often taken mc into his confidence. You see, I've practically been his secretary."' Suddenly Richard Orme came right over to her. He placed a hand nn her shoulder. Ho met the' glance of those "reen treacherous ryes. , ...-.' "Did you Bend mc in here, Linda," he askc;d, in ..a., .low. voice,., "just to crossexamine mc as you have done"' , A long pause, then the woman said: ".My friend—no." "Well?" Hβ tried to keep the anxiety ont of the word. "A cable has just been sent to Africa, to Stephen,'"to toU him that his father is daiigefously'.jll. Another will be sent booh, to tell him that he's dead." \ ■ "You sqem.tjrcttysiire about it." There was a strange inflection in the voice. The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Oh, no, 1 don't contemplate taking his life, — calmly—"if"that is what you mean . to insinuate, i can read you like an open book. D.■.:. can't f? An hour ago, do you know what that specialist told Lady k Ormc?" ' '~■': .■':,'.':; '* ;. ■ I ", HoJsliQok.Jiiß,head. . ft " "Wtfuld -y&u' like to knowt" ." r B ' His impatience got out of hounds. ■'

- "Oh, for heaven's sake, don't play with mc in this manner! My nerves won't stand it."

"Bichnrd, dear Richard, there's much you've got to stand hefore you leave, this library.. The specialist Said,' 'You want to know the truth, Lady Orme? He cannot live —to-morrow —perhaps before.' " •'Dead, and I " "You'll be penniless—exactly, Dick, that is inileis you've managed to save a trifle out of your liush-nioncy!" Kichard Orme"*~oould uuo»-.rst&Kd the feelings which sometimes prompt a man to strike a woman. \ "Why are you here?" she went on. "I heard that Sir John was ill, so I came " "Like a dutiful son, eh, to be ordered out?" She laughed. "Or like a vulture to prey?"' lie clenched his hands. "It doesn't impress mc," she said, sweetly, "not in .the least. At this moment, however, I'm not here in the guise of an enemy. 1 am here as a friend who,, perhaps, >\il! help you." "I won't puzzle, Linda; it would lead mc nowhere." "And you don't want to hit your head against a brick wall, eh? Upstairs a man i.s dying. Soon your means of livelihood will be at an end. I think I'm right in saying that you'll get no monetary help from the new baronet. You are not friends with him. eh? Why?" "Does it matter , ;" "You want, to marry the woman who'll soon be Lady Orme—that's one reason. But there's another—what? You don't reply, , ' she proceeded. "Now w'll. get into deep water. Stephen went abroad: he was accused of card-cheating. What was the truth of that affair. Dick?''

"You krow it"—shortly. "Oh, no, 1 don't! 1 only know what others know. Now, out with it!"

The humour of the situation struck him. He laughed. "A pretty pool request, isn't it? .Suppose 1 took you nt your word, what should 1 gain?"

"The chance of living in comparative luxury after Sir John's death, instead of existing in poverty!"

For a whole minute he stared into her ! eyes as though in an endeavour to read L!ie mystery they concealed; but lie gave it up and spoke. "You mean it's within your power to bring this about?" "No"—instantly. "But I can place H within yotira." She saw something in his glancr. "Oh. no! I'm neither mad noi bluffing." "1 marked those cards." he said, in a low voice. "Ah. I thought so!" "Is that all yon want to know?" Onne knew full well what he was doing; ho was alone with this woman —he had not committed himself in any way; if the point ever'arose ,if would simply bo her word 'hijainst llis. * "Not quite," she said, in answer to his question. "Was this the reason your father cut you off without a shilling?" She was watching his face closely. "It was." "The only reason?" Again: "It was." '•That3...a.:Jic;: , . sbc.eaid. "Obi yo;u nceiUiU it," ''Perhaps you'll explain.""With pleasure! Your father spoke of hueb-inoney.' What 'have you been receiving hnsh-mohey for? Was it that you threatened to tell the world that you, .and not your brother, had imurked those turds?" She toughed. "Don't be a iool,

my friend, or think 'that I'm one. Now. 'open confession ie good for the soul,' you know. What was .it?" He shook his head.

. "Very well"—smoothly—"we'll let it paas. J)o you know to what extent you •benefited under Sir John's old will? You ■don't? Then I'll tell you. It's another of the little things he told mc. Y T ou ccc, since Stephen went to South Africa he's treated mc as though I 'had ' been hie daughter. You w«re left an income of 'out thousand pounds a year. Surprised? I thought you would be; it's too much to lose if it's possible to avoid it, isn't it?" "You're speaking the truth?" he demanded, hoarsely. "I never lie ivhen there is no gain at tihe end of it!" . "And you'll—you'll " "Yes, I'll see to it that you don't loee that nice little income." There were tiny beads of moisture on the man's forehead. He held out his hand. But the woman didn't take it. "You haven't quite heard all yet." she said. "Perhaps when I've finished you might decide that, after all, you'd prefer penury." Ho was kroking at, her uneasily. "So there are more conditions?" he said. "There are." She finished fol a space; there was a. slight frown on her brow., as though she were trying to find words in which to clothe her proposition. "All my life. Richard." she said at length. "I've loved money, and thoi-e wonderful things it. could buy. Not the mere pittance Sir John and I.ady Orme have 'been pleased to allow 7ne, but an income worthy of the name} At last I can see it to some extent wit'iin my grasp! Tn the past there vere times vvihen T thought I might he—T,ady Orme! A fool of a girl came on tbe scene, so that's at an end. If I agree to place it in your power to lift youmcl. , out of the rut of poverty, you on your part must agree to " "To what?" "To give mo half your four tl;o isanci n year!" (To be continued daily.)