HER LADYSHIP'S COMPANION Or THE WEB OF FATE

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 21, 25 January 1934, Page 27

HER LADYSHIP'S COMPANION Or THE WEB OF FATE

.Author of V B » — "Out of DarfcneM," HFni FY RICHARDS «A Day of Beekoiilno," etc nr.Vi.r. l RIUIAIUW

CHAPTER XXIV. The Quest Continued. "She's certainly not a yellow-haired woman," said Milburn. Then the two friends looked at each other. "There must be another woman in it," said Jack. "Unless " and Milburn looked at the photograph attentively, "she's dyed her hair. It's possible." "It's impossible that Brenda Ray and that woman are the same. It'a not only the hair. The type of face is quite different. This is a merry, laughing face, the face of a coquette. And I don't believe she's an Englishwoman. To me she looks more like an while Brenda Ray has an essentially English face, with a suggestion of tragedy in it." For a moment there was silence. Then Milburn asked: "Which of the two jvomen did the woman with white hair resemble?" "Brenda Ray. So far as I could see, the features were like hers, and the eyes were the same; but, of course, she wore a gauze veil. Still, it didn't conceal a face like that," and Jack tapped the photograph.

"Didn't the white hair look out of koejing with her face?" asked Milburn. "She looked like a woman whose hair had turned prematurely white. It was quite evident she was not above thirty. Still, it was the face of a woman who had known sorrow."

"Well, there's a mystery somewhere. Mademoiselle Dubois seems quite sure that this is the woman who killed her cousin, and you thought you had brought the murder home to Brenda Ray. But, after all, we don't know that this laughing damsel was not at Lynton the night of the murder, or that she did not wear a green silk petticoat; and I should say she's tall and slim, like the woman Mrs. Barber saw flitting across the Heath," said Milburn, in a reflective tone. "Somehow, I cannot get it out of my head that Brenda Ray is guilty. I'm sorry for her, but I cannot spare her if she killed Dumarsque, because Lady Jane must be cleared," replied Jack.

"Very well. I shall have the register search again, in another quarter of London, to see if we can find an entry of Dumarsque's marriage to anyone else. It seems to have been a pastime of his."

"He may have married this woman abroad," said Jack.

"Then ten chances to one the marriage is legal, and Lady Jane has never been his wife, even in name. But ehe thought she was, and that would give Dumarsque the power to blackmail her. Of course, I shall continue to eearch for Brenda Ray. But I candidly confess I think the difficulty of finding the murderer is increased."

"I have an impression that I shall come across Brenda Ray again, then I'll take care she doesn't escape me," said Jack.

"Well, I must go. And, of course, though, as I have said, the matter is more difficult, I shall ■unravel the complications," and Milburn shook hands with his friend, and then departed.

The next two days Jack was like a restless spirit, wandering to and fro looking for Brenda Bay. Ho never saw a tall woman in black but he chased her, and he would gaze at a female wearing a gauze veil with euch intensity that he received one or two indignant glances. At last, on the afternoon of the second day, as he was returning to his hotel feeling weary and dispirited, he saw a tall, slender figure itj black a little way in front of him. She was walking with that swift, gliding* movement that he had noticed before, and a conviction that she waa really Brenda Ray took possession of him, and, hastening forward, he tried to overtake her. Some consciousness, even in the crowded 6treet, must have told her she was followed, as ehe turned her head and looked back, revealing to Jack, who was close behind, the snow white hair and dark eyes of the womjin he had encountered before.

Another step or two and he would have been beside her. Already he had formed the grim determination that, sooner than let her escape, he would call in the aid of the police. It might end in her being discharged, but it would give Milburn time to go into the thing. At any cost this woman must be detained.

These thoughts passed quickly through his mind. • Then he saw her make a dash, where the traffic was thickest, to cross the road, and cries of dismay arose frota the pedestrians as they saw her dodge In and out, under the horses' heads, slip by motor cars. She seemed to bear a charmed life. Another minute and she would have been safely on the other side of the street, when a hanscm cab that • was coming quickly along knocked her down. The driver did his utmost to check his horse, but one of the wheels passed over the body. In the momentary lull in the traffic caused by the accident Jack got to the other side, and saw the woman lifted on to the pavement. "I'm afraid she's done for," said a young fellow, who had sprung out of the cab, and assisted the police in moving her.

"Pm afraid so," said Jack, and his voice was hoarse with emotion, as ho thought if she was dead it might increase the difficulty of proving the innocence of the woman he loved. "Do yon know her?" asked the other man, evidently struck by the way he spoke. "I think I've eeen her before," he answered. "She looks young in spite of her white hair. A handsome woman, too, but that horrid veil hides it. I'm glad her face isn't injured, in case she recovers." By this time an ambulance, had arrived, and Jack inquired where they were going to take her, and on being told the name of the hospital he decided to follow, so, hailing a cab, he drove there, and waited until-the ambulance appeared. Then, having obtained permission to wait until the extent of her injuries were ascertained, saying, he believed he knew her people, he sat thinking of the unexpected turn affairs had taken. Some time elapsed. Then a doctor came. "The woman's injuries are fatal. The wheel passed partially over the body, and she is internally injured. We've done what we can for her, but she is suffering greatly. In a little time mortification will set in, and she will be free from pain." "How long is she likely to live?" asked Jack. "Not above 36 hours, I should say; it might be less. By the way, you said you thought you knew her people, but I dare eay it's-a mistake.' That white hair is a wig. Underneath, her hair is a dead yellow. I should say it's been golden, but all the gloss has gone." And as he spoke the doctor glanced §t Mm,

"I expected as much; she had a reason for concealing her identity. Doctor, do you think sho "will be, able to see me? There is something I must name to her." The doctor looked curiously at him, wondering what Jack had to say to the remarkable looking woman whom he had just left. "You cannot see her now, &he is suffering acutely. I h&ve given her an opiate. Later she can see you, but unless it's a matter of vital importance, I wouldn't disturb the poor creature." "It is of vital importance. That woman holds a secret that may mean life or death to another, and it would be a sin to others and a sin to herself to let her die without speaking," eaid Jack vehemently. "She would have the chance of telling anything she wished to the nurse, but you can see her, Mr. " And the doctor paused. "Captain Collinson," said Jack. "Oh!" The doctor recognised the name. He had read of the murder in Lynton Park, and his thoughts travelled quickly. Then he said: "Do you know the woman's people?" "Yes; but I think it will be better to wait and 6ec if she asks for them," said Jack. "By the way, can I eee her tonight?" he added. "I cannot say definitely. It will be better for you to call and eee." Then, as they parted, the doctor thought, "That woman knows something about the murder in Lynton Park. Victor Dumarsque was the murdered man's name, and I heard her murmur the name Victor." Jack turned into the first post office he came to and wired to Milburn to come to the Langham. Then he jumped into a cab and drove there, his mind a tumult of conflicting emotions. "Ought he to let Ray know that his cousin lay at the point of death?" he asked himself, but somehow he was afraid if Ray came the truth might not be got out of Brenda. The farmer was of old yeoman stock and proud. He would think that in some way Lady Jane would be cleared, and Brenda might be persuaded to confide her secret to him, and no one else. Jack did him the justice to believe that if Lady Jane could be cleared in no other way he would speak, but he would wait, and the waiting meant a time of awful trial and suspense to the woman he loved; and Jack decided he would not risk it. The dying woman should tell him the truth in the presence , of witnesses, And by the time he had , come to this conclusion he was at his hotel, where twenty minutes later ho was joined by Milburn, who listened attentively to what Jack had' to say. "It's quite certain Brenda Ray is frightened of you, but don't make too sure that she is guilty. Mademoiselle Dubois lays the crime on the other ■ woman, whom, by the way, I cannot trace, and I'm inclined to suspect Dumarsque married her in Paris." "Then if she is guilty, why did Brenda Ray leave Lynton and do her best to hide from me?" said' Jack.

"How do you know she wasn't hiding from the other woman, that her warning to Lady Jane to beware did not indicate this other woman was to be feared? She may even have written that letter to her ladyship, knowing there was peril in her having anything to do with Dumarsque. I tell you it's a mixed affair, so don't go to the hospital expecting that poor woman to take the crime on her own shoulders. I've very little d'oubt she can tell something about the murder, something she has not dared to tell until death was so near at hand, that she needn't fear what anyone could do," eaid Milburn. "You may be right, hut I have the impression that the woman who is dying is guilty." His friend gave a gruff laugh. "Because you eet out with that conviction. Don't you remember when Miss Tompest sent the photograpu of the other woman that she eaid in herj letter Mademoiselle Dubois had sent a few words with it, declaring _ that ehe had always told her cousin Victor that sooner or later the woman would kill him, hut he had laughed at her, though in her heart she believed he had a great fear." "Well, we shall know more tn-night. Will you dine with me, then wait here until I return from my visit to the nospital?" said Jack. "Thanks, I have an engagement, but I will look in about half-past nine o'clock, and if you have not returnsd I will wait until you do." At that moment a waiter entered and handed Jack a letter.

From Miss Tempest," he eaid, as he took it up. Then, as he tore the envelope open, he said: "Wait a minute, Milburn, ehe may have sent some news."

Milburn seated himself, and Jack drew the letter out of the envelope. "There's another photograph, I believe," he eaid. "Confound it," he added, as it slipped from out of the sheet of paper on to the floor, falling face downward; then, juet as he was goinsr to pick it up, his eyes rested on the words: "Mademoiselle Dubois saye she sent the wrong photograph, you will see," but Jack rend no further. He threw the letter on the table, and made a grab for the photograph; then, as he looked at it. he exclaimed: "Brenda Ray, but a you::"<-r, handsome Brenda." "By Jove! She's a handsome girl and striking looking. How came Mademoieelle Dubois to make the mistake in the photographs?" said Milburn. "There's eome writing on the back," said Jack, as he turned it over, nnd they read, written in fine pencil: "I sent the wrong photograph in mistake. This is Sunshine the woman who murdered my cousin; the other was a photograph of Senora Peazaria, a Spanish dancer, whom Victor admired." (To he continued daily.)