A WOMAN'S DEBT

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 218, 13 September 1924, Page 26

A WOMAN'S DEBT

CHAPTER XX. Lane was as chagrined as Sellars himself when he learned the result of that interview with Alma Buckley, tor he had rather pinned his hopes on it. The great majority of people who engaged in wrong-doing were corruptible, as he had found by long experience. This middleaged music-artist was a striking exception.

"Drawn into crooked paths by accident perhaps," he commented, "and makes loyalty to her pals her first principal or, equally probable, is too well paid by the other side to consider it worth while treating with us.'*

He rose and paced the room, a sign with him of unusual mental activity. "Well now, it is needless to say, I am very grievously disappointed, I looked for some good results, and the worst of it is, we have given ourselves away. In another twenty-fou - hours our friend the baronet and Morrice will know of your visit, and will be on their guard."

Sellars agreed. "That is inevitable. Unless she happened tc speak the truth when she said that she knew nothing of Mrs. lira-rice and did not know whether she was dead or alive."

"That's a lie like the other about Archie Brookes," replied the detective grimly. "I don't think I've told you before, but I have had Mrs. Morrice under observation by one of my best men for a little time. During that period she has paid two visits to the Kew fiat. Alma Buckley is a useful friend in many ways, although she is not an official one and doesn't show up at Deanery Street—and no doubt she gets well paid for her services. It won't be very long before we shall have to open the eyes of the master of the house."

He was pacing up and down the room with very vigorous strides now, his physical energy reflecting his mental activity. In that keen and resourceful brain he was doubtless planning his campaign, determining the best method of exploding his bombshells in Deanery Street.

He paused at last in his restless pacing and turned to his lieutenant, who knew the man too well to put any direct questions.

"Well, SeHars, we have drawn a bla_k with Alma Buckley, through no fault of yours. You couldn't have done more than you have. We shall have to preqipitate matters, and blow up ClaytonBrookes and that young imposter whom the world takes lor his nephew in the process."

Sellars would have dearly liked to have an inkling of what his astute leader was planning, but he knew it was useless to ask. Lane never revealed his coups beforehand. When they were accomplished, he was as frank as he had previously been reticent, and would explain with perfect candour the processes by which he had- engineered them.

"Well, good-bye Lane. Sorry the remit wasn't satisfactory. Better luck next time. Can I get on to any other portion of the job?" The detective thought not, at the moment; what was left he was going to take into his own hands. But he praised his able young lieutenant very highly for the work he had done down at Briukstone, he foundation on which the superstructure of tie subsequent Investigations had been built. In the meantime, while Lane wae prer paring his coup, Rupert Morrice bad been stealthily pursuing his line of investigation.- . A passionate man by nature, he bad experienced the greatest difficulty in restraining himself on hie return from the jeweller who had told him that the eupposedi "bufthday?' necklace wan a ■worthless imitation. When his wife returned about five o'clock unconscious of the tragic happenings during her brief absence, his first impulse was to follow her up to her room, tell her what he had learned and wring from her a confession. But he held himself in by a great exercise of 6elf-control. He wanted more evidence, he wished to make sure if this was an isolated instance, or one of a series of similar transactions.

As it happened, fortune waa adverse to the wrongdoer, and in hla favour. Mrs. Morrice's friend waa very unwell, and the lady drove down to her on the two following days to cheer her up, leaving early in the morning and returning about the same time in the afternoon. As on tbe previous occasion, the maid was given a holiday during the few hours of her mistress' absence.

The coast therefore was quite clear for Morrice, and be took advantage of bis unique opportunities with grim determination. Rosabelle. alone in the house had an adea that something was going on from noting the tact that she _met him in the hall on one of the mornings, carrying a small bag and wearing a very grim expression,- ac ii be were eng: .ged on some urgent tout disagreeable business. " _ In all be took some ten very valuable pieces of jew-jlery to the. same man for examination. The result in each case was similar; they were all cleverly, executed imitations of the original gifts tie had presented to her. That was enough for him. She had a pretty large collection, and it might be that a great many of them were, not substitutes; that she had not so far made use of them for her secret purposes. On those of which he was quite certain from the expert's evidence, he reckoned that even.selling at, a greatly depreciated price, she must have realised several thousands ol

pounds. ..- . On the afternoon of-the third day- he was pacing his room about five o'clock' like a caged lion, feverishly awaiting his wife's return, waiting to confront her with the anonymous letter,' and reveal to her his verification of the charges it contained-

The clock on the mantelpiece struck five, the quarter, and the half-hour. His face grew darker and darker, aa the tide of his righteous wrath Swelled. Six o'clock struck, and no. sign of .Mrs, Morrice. Then ten minutes later a telegram was brought to him, which, after reading, he cast angrily on the floor. It explained that her friend was very unwell, that she. was stopping the night at her house, and would return home at lunch time tomorrow.

The storm could not burst to-day on the devoted head of the woman who had played so foolishly with her husband's « _ x l-_-f- The expected delay incensed further the unfortunate financier agamst *_om of late fate seemed to have" a special grudge lo nave •Msr*. __!-_«__j pation of her quarter's aßowance. preoccupied waa _» --;«, v- . 8o thoughts of the gross wayV w _i" t+ f' had been deceived that he W «J„ -v 6 cheque like a man in a C_T_£, 2» girl noticed that his hand 'tr-^v 1 ? vVhen he looked vp to giv, _t to t£? I 4" „ w that his iae, wa. ***.

By .WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

"Uncle, dear, whatever is the nutter?" she cried impetuously, for some little time past she had had an uneasy feeling, one of those presentiments which occur so often to sensitive people, that there was trouble of some sort brewing in this household.

"Nothing the matter, my child," he answered evasively, passing a weary hand across his forehead. Much as he loved his pretty niece, much as he trusted her, he could not as yet reveal to her the cause of his trouble, betray the woman in whom he had believed— who bore bis honoured name.

But the girl persisted. "But, dearest uncle, you are hiding something from mc. You look so strange, I am sure you are very much moved. Have you had disturbing news?"

For a little time the unhappy man refrained from answering that question, inspired by no spirit of girlish curiosity, but by the sincerest and most loyal affection.

"Yes, my child, I have had bad news, very bad news, I am afraid I am a poor dissembler," he said at length. "Later on, under the strict seal of secrecy, I may tell you the cause of my trouble. But not now, not now. Run away, my precious little girl and leave mc to my black mood."

She dared not worry him further, although her heart was aching for him, ntfbody knew better than she the kind, tender nature underlying that rather stern exterior. Before she obeyed him, she put her arms round his neck and kissed him affectionately.

"Tell mc when you please, dear, in your own good time, and your poor little Rosabelle, to whom you nave always been so kind and generous, will do her best to comfort you."

"I know you will, you precious, warmhearted girl." He clasped her hand? almost convulsively. What he had found out had wounded him to the core. Nothing hurt this strong, proud man so much as the discovery that his confidence had been misplaced in those near to him, that his trust in them had been abused.

"Thank Heaven. I have one dear little friend in the world, one dear, loyal little friend who has never given mc a moment's uneasiness, who I am confident never will. But run away now, my darling. I cannot speak yet, even to you, of what is troubling mc." She obeyed him, and left the room wondering. The words he had spoken had been very vague, but her quick instinct had prompted certain suspicions of the cause of his deep perturbation. She was confident that Mrs. Morrice was at the bottom of it. Had he found out something to her discredit, and if so what? Was it possible that Lane had conceived it to be his duty to report to him that conversation between aunt and nephew which the had overheard?

They dined alone that night, and she was sure that his deep gloom muat have been noticed by the servants who waited on tb-m. And she was sure it was not business matters that troubled him. He had always boasted that he never brought home his office worries with him, had expressed his contempt for men who did so, who had no power of detachment. "When a man comes back to his home it is his duty to make his family happy, and leave Mb business behind him," had been a favourite dictum of bis, and to do him justice he had always acted up to it.

After dinner they went up to the drawing-room, but 'he made no pretence at being cheerfuL Rosabelle asked if the piano would disturb him. He shook him head and she played very softly a few of her favourite pieces. After ten minutes, Morrice rose and went to her and kissed her.

"I am wretched company to-night, my little girl," he said; his face still wore its hard, gloomy expression, but there was a sadness in his voice that went to the girl's heart. "You Btay here and amuse yourself as best you can. I am going to my study, and shall not see you again this evening. Goodnight, dear."

Rosabelle clung to him. "Oh, uncle, can I do nothing to help you?"

He gave her a grateful smile, but shook his head obstinately, and left the room. She played on «a little after he had gone, but she waa full of troubled thoughts, and hardly knew what she was doing.

And Rupert Morrice, the great financier, the successful man of business, respected by all who knew him, sa_ alone in his room, devoured by bitter and revengeful thoughts. What had h|s wealth done for him, if it failed to buy loyalty from those who were near him, on whom he had lavished suoh kindness and generosity?

It was only eight o'clock; they'had _ined early, as was often their custom when they had no company. Would the weary evening never come to a close? But when it did, and he went to'his room, he knew he would not be able to sleep.

Suddenly the telephone bell rang. Glad of the momentary divers : on, he crossed to the instrument and unhooked the receiver.

It was Lane's voice that was speaking. The detective was late at his office, and it had occurred to him to ring up on the chance of findjug Mqrrice in and making an appointment for to-morrow morning: He had that day, after much reflection, judged that it was time to precipitate matters— to launch his .coup.

"Ah, good evening, Mr. Morrice. I have something of the utmost importance to communicate to you, and the sooner the better. Can I see you to-morrow?"

The financier's deep voice came back through the telephone. "To-morrow, certainly, any time you please, preferably In the morning.' But, if convenient to you, come round at once. Mrs. Morrice is away; I am here alone." '

Lane waa rather glad to hear it. He answered that he would come .it once. What he was about to tell Morrice was bound to produce a violent' explosion, but jt would not occur while he was in the house. A few moments later the detective stood in the financier's private room, in a mood almost as serious as that of Morrice himself. CHAPTER XXI. "You have something of importance to communicate to mc, Mr. - Lane," were Morrice's first words. "Take a seat, please."

"Something of the greatest importance, and also, I am very sorry to say, of a most unpleasant nature. You must be prepared to receive a great shock, Mr. Morrice."

A grim smile fleeted across the finanatsr'e gloomy countenance. He had "ready received a vary startling shock. »•*««• -» would gat inured ta tW

"It concerns a young man named Archi? bald Brookes, who, I understand, is a frequent visitor at your house, also a member of your family, the alleged nephew of your wife and also of Sir George Clayton-Brookes, supposed to be her brother-in-law by the marriage of his 'brother Archibald, who died in Aus.tralia, to her sister."

At the two ominous words "alleged" and "supposed," Morrice looked keenly at his visitor, but he made no comment. He knew this was a man who did not speak at random, who carefully weighed his utterances. What was he going to hear now? Well, nothing would surprise him after what he had already discovered for himself. Duplicity came naturally to some temperaments.

The detective went on in his calm, even voice. "It is one of the disagreeable duties of our profession to make unpleasant disclosures. I made certain discoveries after taking up this case for Mr. Richard Croxton which up to the present I have withheld from you, out of consideration for your feelings. The time is come when you ought to know the truth. Sir George's family consisted of himself and two brothers; there were no sisters. Both of these brothers died unmarried. Therefore Sir George can have no nephew. Mrs. Morrice was the only child of a not very successful artist; her mother lost her life in giving her birth. Therefore the same remark applies to her; young Archibald Brookes is no more her nephew than he is Sir George's. And of course it follows that there was no marriage between her sister and his brother."

iMorrice's face went very white. "You have satisfied yourself that there is no flaw in your evidence—that it is quite reliable?"

"Unquestionably," was the detective's answer. "My evidence with regard to your wife is her father's statement made frequently in the hearing of several persons. As to Sir George's brother, a colleague of mine in Australia made exhaustive inquiries on my behalf and found that Archibald Brookes, senior, had never married. I have also got further evidence from an old friend of mine at Scotland Yard, who has had Sir George and his supposed nephew under observation for some time, that the the young man was brought up under the charge of a woman named Alma Buckley, a not very prominent member of the music-hall profession, up to the period when Sir George adopted him and put about this story. Further, that at the time of his adoption young Archie Brookes was occupying an insignificant commercial post in the City of London.. Of course, you know nothing of all this."

The words were not put in the form of a question, but rather conveyed the assumption that it was impossible the financier could have any knowledge of such a gross deception.

But they brought to the surface at once that fiery temper which up to the present he had kept in check. "What do you take mc for, sir? My greatest enemy can never say of mc that I have been guilty of a mean or dishonourable action. Do you think for a; moment, from any motives whatever, even from a desire to shield one so closely related to mc, I would be a party to such a shameful fraud?"

Lane hastened to pour oil on the troubled waters. "Pardon mc, Mr. Morrice, I did not hint at such a thing. I said that as a matter of course, you knew nothing about it."

"It was almost unnecessary: that you should say even as much" as that," growled Morrice, only half appeased. His mind was quick enough when he choose to exercise it. This man had been rendered suspicious and distrustful of everybody by his calling, and the. sinister secrets he discovered in the pursuit of it. He had half suspected, or at any rate thought it within the bounds of possibility, that Morrice might have some inkling of what had been going on, and he had chosen this way of provoking a definite disclaimer.

"There are other things it is my duty to tell you," went on the detective smoothly; he was not going to take any further notice of that angry outburst. "For some long time past Mrs. Morrice has been in the habit of supplying the young man with money. I cannot estimate the amount that has passed into his hands, but judging from his extravagant habits, I should say it must be a' considerable sum, much more than the lady could afford if she were to maintain her position as the wife of a wealthy man."

A lightning inspiration came to the unfortunate financier. "Am' I not right in saying that you sent mc an anonymous letter on this very subject?"

Lane felt it was useless to prevaricate. "I did. I may be" wrong, but I felt it was the best way to set you on the track. I thought it would be very painful for you to be warned in a more open and direct way. I trust that the suspicion I threw out was not justified."

He said this with a very good 6how of concern, although he was certain he had not fired that shot at random. Mrs.Morrice's avowal that she had been halL ruined, and that it could not go on, had convinced him that her assistance to young Brookes had not been confined to a few hundreds out of her annual allowance—these would have gone no way with such a determined prodigal.

For the first time in his life, Rupert Morrice's proud head drooped in deep humiliation. It was terribly degrading to him to listen to the detective's merciless recital, to know that the treachery of the woman who bore his name, to whom he had given an honoured and assured position, was, as it were, the common property of others. .

"Alas," he said, in a voice from which every trace of anger had fled, which "only expressed feelings of the most-Unutter-able sadness, "your suspicions have been fully justified. ' From" 'whence did'you get all this information that enabled you to make such an accurate diagnosis of what was happening?" But Lane wa's very staunch, and aa high-minded as a man could be in the trying circumstances of such a profession. He would, certainly not. give Rosabelle away, for if he did Morrice would be sure to think she should, have. come to her uncle first and discussed with him the propriety of, going to at all. He had in a manner rather stolen a march upon her, but she should not suffer.

"You must excuse mc, Mr. .Morrice, if I km unable to answer that very natural question. I always like to be as frank as possible with my clients, but there are times when, from, motives perfectly satis* factory to myself, I am unable to reveal the means by which I obtain our information." ■

Morrice made no reply. He would have dearly loved to know, but he was fair-minded enough to appreciate the detective's excuse. Probably he had obtained his knowledge from some prying servant in the house who had kept a close watch upon his wife. Lane was not the man to despise the assistance of any instrument, however humble. Not for one moment did it occur to him that his niece was implicated in the matter.

"And now, Mr. Morrice, I don't wish to ask you more than I can help, for I can fully understand how you must be suffering, and how painful it must be for t yaa to talk cwar them thing, with a

stranger. . But ..you say that my suspicion- are confirmed—in short, you have made your investigations and found what I surmised, that a considerable number of jewels have been realised, and imitations put in their place. Am I right in saying that it means a large sum ?"

"Several thousands of pounds, even taking into account the depreciated price which could be obtained for them," was Morrice's answer.

"I guessed it. But I doubt if it has all gone into tho pockets of young Brookes. Mind you, I have no actual evidence of what I am going to say —it is, if you like absolute theory—but Sir George is in this game and has ei.gineered it from the beginning. They are in this together, depend upon it. Which jets the better share I cannot saip, I should fancy the older and more experienced rogue." "I dare say you arc right," said Morrice wearily. "We know him to. be a rogue from his being a party to this nephew fraud. And yet he poses as a rich man, although Mrs. Morrice has more than once dropped a hint that he is fast dissipating his money at the gaming-table."

So that was his vice attributed to him by one who knew him too well, thought the detective. That accounted for his being well-off one day and a pauper the next.

After exacting from Morrice a promise that he would not use the information in any way, Lane told liim what he had picked up from his friend at Scotland Yard, viz., that Sir George was strongly suspected of being in league with highclass crooks.

The unhappy financier sat crushed and humbled by all these terrible revelations. His world seemed falling about his ears —his wife of whose integrity ho had never entertained the slightest suspicion, the friend and confidant, tho associate in a vile deception, of a man of good birth and position strongly suspected of being engaged in criminal enterprises. He had never taken kindly to Sir George; ho was too plausible and artificial for. his liking. For the supposed nephew he had entertained a goodnatured contempt. But ho had never harboured the faintest idea that they were a couple of base scoundrels.

Lane rose to go. Later on he would have to say more to Mr. Morrice, but to-night he had said enough.

"I think you told mc over the telephone that your wife was away. I suppose you have said nothing to her yet?"

"Nothing," answered Morrice, with a face like granite. "I have not had time. It was only to-day that I got the full amount of proof I wanted. If it had only concerned itself "with one article of jewellery, or a couple at the outside, I might have thought she had sold them to defray some gambling.debt, some bills that she was ashamed to tell mc about."

"Quite so, Mr. Morrice. But I take it when your wife returns you will confront her and extort a confession."

Nothing could have been grimmer than the' husband's expression as he answered. It was easy to see he would be as hard-as flint when his righteous wrath was aroused—pitiless, unforgiving.

"Of course. And please, Mr. Lane, do not speak of her as my wife. The law, 1 know, will not sever the tie for such a cause as this, but so far as I am concerned that tie is already severed. She returns to-morrow, and in another twenty-four hours the same roof will not shelter us. I shall not leave her to starve; I shall make her a decent allowance, and she can live out tho rest of her shameful life in the society of friends congenial to her —this scoundrel Clayton-Brookes and the rascal whose aunt she pretends to be—perhaps the woman Alma Buckley, of whom I have never heard."

"And whom- she visits secretly," interposed Lane. "I have had her watched and know that for a fact."

"Ah, I am not surprised; in fact, nothing would surprise mc now. Mark you) I shall not publish to the world the story of her treachery. Why should I fill the mouth! of curious fools ? It would not undo my -rongs nor alleviate my bitter humiliation. I shall agree with her to concoct some tale of incompatibility extending over many years and culminating in - separation absolutely necessary for th-3 peace of mind of both The truth will be known for certain to two people, you and myself, perhaps a third—my niece Roßabello SheMon. You, I am convinced, Mr. Lane, are a man of discretion and will keep your knowledge to yourself." Lane assured him that the secrets of all his clients were sacred to him. One last question he put before he left. "You will make her confess who this so-called Archie Brookes really is?"

And Morrice'S voice was as hard as iron as he answered: "You may rely upon- mc to do my best. Good night, air. What I have-learned through your masterly activities has been inexpressibly painful, but thank heaven I know at last the foes in my own household. I shall no'longer live in a fools' paradise." went to his room, but try as he would,

Shortly after Lane's departure he sleep refused her kindly solace. The man had been shaken to the very foundations of his being. .

On his way out Lane found Rosebelle waiting for him in the hall as on a previous occasion; she had heard of his visit from one of the servants.

"Why are you here to-night?" she whispered. "Has anything of importance happened?" "A- great deal," Lane whispered back. "It was not till the last moment I made up my mind to come, but certain things happened which rendered it necessary to has_ten matters. I have no time to tell

you now, it would take too long. Slip down to my office to-morrow aa early aa you can." Much wondering, the girl promised ahc would be there as near ten o'clock as possible. "And just one last word, Miss Sheldon. I have told your uncle that young Brookes has been sponging on Mrs. Morrice, and much has been found out. But your name has not been brought in. Forgc't all about that conversation you told mc of. Best if your uncle should question you to-night or to-morrow, to dismiss it from,your mind, to appear surprised as you would have been if you had never overheard it. I will explain to-morrow. Good-night. I will not stop a second longer; he might come out any moment and surprise us." Restless and impatient for that tomorrow, the girl's sleep was little less ■broken than her uncle's. What was Lane going to tell her? Was he going fo I>e perfectly frank after all? She was there a little before the time appointed, but Lane was disengaged and saw her at once. He made a clean breast of it this time, and told her everything that had happened from the beginning of his iiwestigations. "I may as well tell you that I went over to Mr. Croxton the other day and told him all that I knew. And I am afraid you will never forgive mc, Miss Sheldon, when you know that I made it a condition of my confidence that he should keep it to himself till I removed the embargo. But I had my reasons— reasons which I can't very well explain, and which, I am sure, would be unconvincing to you." (Rosabelle was. very shocked at her aunt's duplicity, and disgusted when

she learned the truth about Archie Brookes. But she was not so preoccupied with the emotions to which his recit-d gave rise as not to he more than a little hurt that he bad kept her in the dark longer than anybody else. "I a-ppoae the truth is you have a contempt for women, and place no truat in them?" ahe said, resentfully. Tha defective made the most diplomatic answer he could in the circumstance*, apparently with a satisfactory result. Anyway, they parted good friends. (To be continued daily.)

"I shall wait on events!" Mareia went on flinging herself into a chair. It was some relief to give vent to her excited feelings, though Lettie was a silent and hardly sympathetic listener. "You will see that I am right. Madeline Maxwell is a fortune hunter, and Erlston will find it out. He doesn't love her! He is only infatuated!"

"I hope it will turn out better than you think," said Lettie. "Do you? Yes! .you can look on with indifference! You haven't flung away your heart for worse than nothing!" She burst into a passion of wild weeping, in which there was at best as much