A FIFTH AVENUE FATALITY

Evening Star, Issue 12566, 26 July 1905, Page 2

A FIFTH AVENUE FATALITY

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OF SEW YORK. ■ a vt.kew Haggard. D.S.O-, of « Dodo and I,’ ‘ Under Croscent and Stax,’ etc. I must be fey to-night, bat in ’ Kfigrwwoe in Scotland it is nothing un- : those who are about to die to beM I have been this evening, able to SS«ik with those who have preceded them [ dread world beyond tue grave, gtgpyww I be fey or no, to relieve the ■ state of tension of • my nerves I will RSS It all down just as it has occurred. ; B9Kotid I be alive at this time to-morrow I up these linee, for then I shall jjS/ikitow **—*■ I have merely been the victim Sf/ of mmt extraordinary hallucinations, the u" oafoome of my overwrought feelings. Were ;•* Afo yot, indeed, that I have drunk so little ‘ ■ ■"toriay I should almost imagine myself m- • toxieated, but, apart from that fact, the waiter who has just served me has solancly ssHned me that I am perfectly sober- : “■Drunk, srT No,” he esciaimtd, “ on the j ctt+tary. you look as if you required at , la*St double the amount of brandy toot 1 . twee poured into that glass. You look ill, : ms" So that settles it—l am not drunk; , feat I knew it already; I only asked the jwq we a mere matter of form. I will therefore begin by copying down , - my beloved Gertrude’s letter, received by | -’DDttsx o’clock this evening: ; “Dear, dear Jack. —If Luigi kills me for it I must see vou once again before I am to-morrow. I have contrived mattea so that I shall be absolutely alone in my hoes© Wtst oord strev^t t fiina and teu to-night. Come 10 see me rtisi, dear, and bring me some earnajpyiy They are the first flowers you ever fio me—as they probably will be the lato. i*ftw show you the o.d ones dried in my eecriloiro now, and many a time have 1 wept bitterly over them since that wicked woman came between us with her anonyi«raw letters to my father. And tbftse that . voq bring me to-night I wiS wear upon niy Imait to-morrow —thaft unhappy heart which w3l never beat for any but yon. Cbma, dear, dearest iove, at nine o’clock, to . say farewell for life to your loving and de- | spoiling Gertrude.” _ j Ttw\a»» were her won’s, and now that I j tuna transcribed them they - h:‘Jl be com- ' milted to the flames. There, it is done— : ' bar Vetter is naught but a blackened cinder. ; I tlmught for a while after receiving her | loving lints—ay, thought bit ter.y, bitterly i upon the terrible folly of my past. 1 rer with unavailing regrets the devilish J nmdncoß to which I had been a victim [ wtr. far the mere gratification of a mo- j imatmy passion, I hud done that which : had wrecked mv whole life. X might have | known aB along that a woman of the cruel | mt*re of Julie Descartes would never have | been content with winning me lor the sake ! of bn alone, but that she would surely ; —V- oce <rf the proofs of my weakness to 1 -triumph over and crush that pure, true soul i - that »knew was devoted to me—the bean- 1 tlful girl whom she has hated so unjustly ’ for veara past. In realit ysfcn has hated me l!“" alialong for not yielding to her i imperious desires sooner; yes. even before I her old husband died and left her the rich- | cat widow in New York. But it was too late to-night to brood on all that my wickedIMS folly had brought about. Gerwrecked life and my own could not now be changed. Her coming marriage tomooww with Prince Luigi Ludovici is the sole *>—» of this evening’s papers. All I eosfd do, therefore, was to go and get the HiWPiif rim asked for, take them to her, and ia Mvmg them say farewell—ah! God 1 fareW«B to all I hold dear either ia this world or any other. . . , , •A*. well before the time appointed for <mr meeting, with the bunch of carnaticas HI mr band, I desperately paced down Kfto avmuia, aQ kinds of wild thoughts came into my head. Ideas sprung up of .conostting some fatal action at my forthinterview which should make it imfor Gertrude ever to become the hrideof another. I was for the moment oDoomify enough to tti nV even of killing Her yen striving my darling dead with my mu hand! Then I thought of other tlaiga equally unmanly. I knew that were mv alone at night in an empty boose, discovered by the lra.li d Italian who was now about to usurp my plane, be would not only never marry a wife so oompro miaed, bat seek in-gin.nt. vengeance. Thus, I -■»!««»* idt inclined to oonvey to him imna asset warning, so that he might www gut find us together. Then it would "fast to man between us, and we would fi J** to the death before her. As I thought diM with fiendish glee, my fingers th-ht-cn«; nani the stock of the little revolver which I sHP have in my pocket. Dot then I considered that an action of this kind, even if I succeeded in killing the cursed Prince, would only rasult in beBmirchaig my dear one’s fair fame. It wnoid only give color to certain reports wc which, jOTiiTP, her betrotial to : Lodorid, ibe evil tongues of both men and urnnwn hxve freely circulated, but* of ■srhich these is not a particle of truth. And here then, apparently, would be proof positive. Tfana qd matter if even both the Italian nod I v«e to die, Gertrud fair fame never recover from the btav. Sraa as 1 was dismissKig. aa unworthy and unmanly, the idea of this terrible reT ’ venge, whki I was meditating upon Gec- !“; ■ trades fiance and Gertrude’s father, the author of ail my misery, the first of the !£- series of shocks occurred which have conill rvinced me to-night that I am indeed fey—y lmimiiiir by the word fey, able to see and - «odwui« with (be spirits of the dead, r Awwvnjr the numbers of bicyclists, both SeSeaioa female, fiittmg along swiftly over . fu asphalt I somehow suddenly found my '■ * aSaoLion rigidly fixed upon one in parti cuwoman * who was approaching me reW qideklv. As I stood upon the edge , . of itbe kerbstone at the comer of 4ord ' - and Fifth avenue I saw, even at a '*■ ‘distance, tJeit sba was indeed remarkable, for sba was dressed in a black, silk evening gown cut low! As in a second she ranged up the kerbstone and dismounted - bv my side, I noticed that she wore a din ‘ ' u ond* tiara on her head, had diamond sobr; t.'ires in hCT ears, hare aims with long ■ - a loves up to the tlbow, and wore satin bait upon her feet. But her large, lus- ' tsous eves glittered far more brilliantly "than all her diamonds, and as they fixed urine I trembled all over, and mv heart ■rtjwt «tai I locked up and down the widi> avenue, but, to my surprise, none of the paeseis-bv seemed to notice anything unusual about the woman. In fact, none of them even turned a head to look at ner. As my eyes sought hers I uttered an excmmatksn of fear, for I plainly recognised in the beautiful woman before me none other ihjw Ada Beauchamp, formerly the niaddegt of all madcap® in lAmdon, at whose tragic death in a ball room I was myself present. I had been her very /kovt. friend, for upon one occasion I had been the fortunate means of saving her from the very serious consequences of her ow folly. “Ada 1 ” I said, “Ada! Ax® yon then not dead? Did I not actually see you die jsnddtnly at Lady Deiafosse’s in Cuezod But abe interrupted me with a merry lough—just like one of her old laugh® in the old days. Putting her dainty hand upon my Arm cazessmgly, she exclaimed gailv: “’Sow, Jack, old boy, I mud aay yon are not very gallant in the way in winch you aeoegnise an eld friend, who ho® come a veey foog way on purpose to aee you. Of ti®r*i I am your old friend Ada. Did won era' know anybody else than Ada hwchemp, dead or alive, who rode a hiejeh in a ball drees? Don’t yoa remember my pranks at the Featherstons* dance, wtea 1 got one of the girls’ bicycles for > myeeif and one of the boys’ for yoa, and ! made yoa ride off with me to supper at the - B»v«r i “Sow, dorft stare like that. Jack. There, ' fori my hand ; do I look like a spirit or feel We one? I assure you, if I ever am a . rprrit, I am • very thoroughly materialised ' femaa befog at PBcaent; tmd, what's more, and Surety into the bargain! so j ' \ fapri yow to take me to sapper at Sherry’s, ~' mtmek ' n'rimirant I hare never seen, for | . : y first tone I hove ever been in I Rfc—to bcari—whet amj

' I saying T” > she corrected herself merrily,' ** since I was bom would be a better way o i expressing myself. Xow, come, wake qp, Jack,” and she shook my arm playfully. " Ada," I replied solemnly, “ whether you arc dead or wltdSher you are living, I cannot come with you to Sherry’s tonight, for 1 have an appointment—a very important appointment, indeed—at nine o'clock in tjhe" direction.” “ Oh, yes, of course, with the young lady of the carnations; you are, as usual, on incorrigible flirt. Jack. You bad far batter leave other men’s fiancees alone to-night, however, and come with me. Xow look here, Jack,” she added wheedlingly, “you once did mo a very good -turn. How do vou not know that I may not, at infinite trouble to myself, have come straight Horn _woU, from somewhere a long way off, just on puriwse ®o pay you my debt? Dear, dear old friend, be guided by me; leave the other giri alone to-night and take me to Sherry's. I will promise faithfully that I will not vanish into thin air. Now, come along, old boy,” and she seized both my hands, lotting the bicycle, which she had been supporting until now, fall ito the ground with a clang. And still, to my astonishment, not one of the pusißts-by seemed to notice her or even to K.ar the bicycle full. Hut I wae resolute. ” I cannot come, I cannot, indeed, dear Ada. I must leave you with deep regret and heartfelt tlituiks to you for coming to me thus from the dead, butH musk go.” “ Is that your last word. Jack Farquharson?” ” Yes, Ada, it is my last word.” “ Well, you pig-headed man, I suppose I must say good-bye then, and go away Mipperleas, and never, never now shall I see the inside of cherry's after all. But we shall meet again soon; yes, very coon. Farewell, Jack.” Before I could sr.v another word she picked up the bicycle, mounted, give a little saucy nod of her head, and wheeled rapidlv away down the. avenue, the last I saw of her being the diamonds glittering in a. crescent at the back of her head. I gazed after her. for a moment too dazed to be able to reali-e what liad happened : in fact, I could not uttemi tto understand it. Then I turned down Fifth Avenue and continued my journey, with my carnation' in ray bind, feeling more determined than ever that nothing in earth, heaven, or boil should prevent my seeing (lertnide to-night. 1 reached the corner of Joel street and paused bv the magnificent Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. The lights were lit in every window, and the windows in rhe dining rooms were open. 1 gazed in at all mo happy parties cf fair women and gay young fellows, and thought- sadly how I it was who was alone out in tlte dark; yes, left nlone out in the dark fur ever.

Forgetting the time’ in my anxiety to reach Gertrude’s side, I was hurrying on, when a clock rang out the hour. It was only half-post eight. Gertrude had told me to come at nine only f and from where I stood I could see no signs of any lights in her sister’s houst. It was too soon to go there, for perhaps hv going early I might cause her trouble. *1 wandered on down West 33rd street. As I was passing the door of the Waldorf I met several of Roosevelt’s canvas-clad Rough Riders oommg up the street. Walking with them was a young giant dad in a British uniform—the khaki uniform we had worn in the Soudan, lie wore a helmet and puggaree of khaki likewise, and had strapped across Ids shoulders the ordinary Sam-Browne bait, to which were attached his revolver case and sword.

“Oh ! ripping ! Jack Farqnhareon! Ripping.” exclaimed the young warrior, and before I could recover from my astonishment mv hand was seized in a grip of iron, and I found myself confronted by my old comrade in arms. Grahame Robertson, one of the famous old family, the Robertsons of Struan, whom I had years before seen shot down by my side in the terrible conflict at M’Neill’s Zariba. *

“I was looking for you, old man,” be exclaimed cheerily with his old hearty guffaw. “ I know I should find you here or hereabouts, and) was just going in to have a drink with our new Anglo-Saxon allies before coming to fetch you. They were just telling me,” ho went on., “ some wonderful stories of the virtues of Manhattan cock tails, while I, not going to be beat, was explaining that nothing could ever ©qua] the ‘ Particulars ’ of Shepheard’s Hotel bar at Cairo. And then, by all that’s lucky, here you turn up! Ripping, old man! Ripping! Now we will leave the Rough Riders alone, and you come down with me straight to the Fifth Avenue Hotel, or my name’s not Gr-hano Robertson.” “Is not, or was not, Grahame?” I remarked, “ for I suppose yon know I saw yen killed at Tofrek. Wht.t have you come here for to-night? 1 cannot come with you now arrvway.” “ Killed, be remarked Grahame jocularly, “do I look like a deader? But no matter where I've come from, I’ve come to look after you, that’e euro, and so that's all about it. I know you’re after some girl ai.usual, and I could smell those carnations you’ve got for her a mile away. But I say, old man, you can spare just one for an old pal, can’t you ?” And taking a blossom he fixed it in between the puggaree and his helmet, remarking: “ There, that's ripping, amply ripping!" Then, taking me by the arm, by sheer force be led me down the Street, turned to the left into Broadway, and marched me along towards the Fifth Avenue Hotel. At the corner of West 31st street by the Grand Hotel I tried to stop him, but he still dragged me on. “Grahams.” I cried at last, “if ever I was a good comrade to you in dayd gone by, have mercy on me now. 1 must, indeed I must, leave you, by all that’s holy I must leave you. I have no time to explain that I have only one hour left me in which to say good-bye to ”. “ Oh, yes, I know, to the only girl you ever loved. Well, sonny, 1 came hero tonight from ‘ the other side of Byant,’ as the Irishmen say, begor on jmrpose to prevent you’re having that hour’s conversation with your little girl, that isn’t youis now, by the same token, hut the other fellow’s. For if vou do have it you will not be alive this time to-morrow as sure as we once fought together side by side in Egypt. Now will vou come in with me and stop with me until twelve o’clock to-night, by which time mv leave will bo up? Do come, old boy, and well have a good, fair and square drink for old sake’s sake. There’s no nonsense about Grahame Robertson when he gels out upon the spree. I assure you that l'haven’t hid a chance, no not a dog’s chance, for over ten years now. So you ste vou will be me a favor, -lack, upon mv soul you will. Despite this second extraordinary warning I Could think stiil of nothing but! my lost love and my appointment with her. Therefore at the very door of the Fifth A'euue Hide! 1 wrung my old comrade’s hand and left him- Ho looked sadly after m« out of Ida piercing blue eyes and remarked : “Yoa ll be cony very soon, old boy, you would not imvc that drink with your old chum, and you’ll ha wanting it badly soon enough when you can’t get it.” And then ho turned and w-ent in, while crossing the street 1 left Broadway and went up Fifth Avenue once more. Here another wonderful surprise awaited me. As 1 was rapidly passing the door of Delmouico's 1 saw, in front of me, a tall but bent figure covered with an Inverness cape, with a plaid hanging iroan the shoulder, and crowned with a largo Balmoral bonnet. I could not pass, for, in the very light of the doorway, tfie wayfarer paused, and leaning on his oaken staff confronted me. Heavens! it was mv own father this time who had come back from the grave to seek me. Yes, the old Laird himself. And it was full fifteen years ago since I had followed bim to his grave in the auld kirkyaird o’ Dromesk! “John, my son,” said he without any other greeting, “ I’m glad I'm in tune to warn ye. Fen-, as sure as death’s death if ye gang ye’re gate, to see yon lassie o’ yours the nicht, ye’ll no be a leevin’ man the morn. For there's folks about in this unreleegiocs oeety that bears ye ua gudo will, and, my certes, man! ye’ll nae a sii-nc dhu in your wheam l£ ye persevere in the course you’re followin’ this uiqcuit. Art’ so, John, my son,” he continued,’ “although yo were ever an ower headstrong laddie, just for once be guided by a lovin’ father’s warnin’, although whiles maybe yo wadna’ listen to him in tie days o’ auld long syne. Now, come wf me, John, and show me the eights o’ this great ceety. Tin no too old yet to see a bfttie mair o' the world.” The chi mait drew ffty arm his.

own, and pressed, it affectionately against Jus side. This last warning was too much for me, and the sight and presence of my father, who had been dead for to many yeans, touched me to the quick. I burst into tears. “Oh, father, father!” I cried, “do l.ot think me an undutiful son, I pray yen, but I cannot obey your bidding. Oh, falter! she whom 1 love more than life is waiting for me, and I must go -to bid her fareweJ. a farewell for ever.” “ Toots I toots! man, dinna greet like yon,” replied my father, wiping his own eyes though.the while. “I saw the Lassie just now, and a winsome lassie she is, too, and greetin’ bereel’, poor child, fit to beak her bonny heartstrings. But, John, if \o go to see her tbe nielit ye’ll be wL’ me the morn and no wi’ her.” “ Then, father. ITi bo with you the morn, for my life in tins world is not worth living without her, and as I must lose her I would not disappoint her or myself of this last chance for life itself.” “ Than go, laddie, go! A Farquharsoa should aye be true to liis luve; it’s in the traditions of tbe race. But gie us yer ban’, laddie, ye’ll 'be wi’ me the mom as sure as death, ay, as sura as death.” Wringing my hand my father turned and left me. I know not which way he went, for my eyes were blinded with tears. And then I went and saw my Gertrude —my poor, dear Gertrude. What took place between us is too sacred to be written. But her last dear words to me were a prayer for mv safety, for she said she felt somehow convinced that her letter to me had been opened by her maid, whom she suspected of being in the pay of the cursed Italian. And then sire took the carnations and kissed them, aud placed them in her bosom, all excepting one, which she left upon spine. And now that I have written it ail down I will go home, and woo be to the foe that meets me face to face to-night, for I am ready. And if death come, as these triple warnings seem to indeed foretell, well, let it oome, for I am ready for death also. And in that case these are my last words: May God Almighty ever bless and protect my dear Gertrude. »•••*• The day dawned in New York, and the newspapers appeared as usual, with more than the usual sensational head lines, for this is how the columns were beaded: Fifth Avenue Runs with Gore! Mourning, not Matrimony, for the Millionaire’s Daughter! 1 Funeral, not Bridal Wreaths! A Blooming Bride, a Weeping Widow ! The Assassin’s Knife Removes a Well-known Britisher! An Italian Prince with Two Myrmidons the Assailants. Ail Time Shot Down by Gallant John Farquharsou Before he Succumbs to Dagger Wounds! He Dies Game Outside the Waldorf 1