A CRIME ON CANVAS.

Evening Star, Issue 14036, 17 April 1909, Page 3

A CRIME ON CANVAS.

[By Fbed. M. White.] CHAPTER I. ■ _ PH IDE OF BIKTU. . There is no more distinguished family m England than the Blantyres of Glenallan. Its very name is a sufficient passport into the best society. Nevertheless, those who know shrug their shoulders and glance significantly at one another, as who should say there is something wrong here, and leave the rest to discreet silence. Be that as it pay, however, the Blantyres are still important people in their own neighborhood. Their estates are as extensive as ever, and their revenues have suffered no diminution, even in those democratic times, when few old families ca;i boast of the power and influence they wielded a hundred years ago. At the time the story opens the Blantyro estates and title were vested in Sir Arthur Blantyro, an elderly man nf somewhat close and eccentric habits. Xo one could say anything against him ; no breath of scandal dimmed his fame. And yet there was not a single tenant nr neighbor on the estate who had not some strange story to tell in regard to his landlord.

Perhaps this was mainly because Sm Arthur Blantyro kept entirely to hini;elt. He could hardly expect to be. popular, seeing that he had not suc•eeded to the title till late in life.: md when he came into the grand old muse and still grander estates lie was accompanied only by a young girl, cho addressed him" ns grandfather, i iio late baronet bad been a bachelor —ono of the hard-living, hard-riding school, who, when he did speak of Ids successor, always alluded to him in terms of contempt; indeed, until Kir Arthur Blantyre first crossed the threshold of Glenallan ho had never even seen the home of his ancestors. He was known to have been poor before his accession, and rumor had it that before the old Squire’s death he had lived for the most part in Franco. Certainly his dress and manner supported this report, for the new baronet was not in the least like his predecessors. He was tall and slight. He, wore his snow-white hair rather long. There was something Continental" about his white moustache and imperial. He Look not the slightest interest in field sports and the other matters that go to make I country gentleman popular with his neighbors. And as to his estates, ho handed over their management to an agent in an adjacent town, while, so far as he himself was concerned, his time was devoted to his library. At the end of four or five years there were outlying tenants on the estate who could say with truth that they had never oven spoken to their landlord. In the country all this makes for unpopularity. and it was no exaggeration to say that Sir Arthur Blantyre was disliked by his subordinates and tenants.

Not that this seemed to trouble the baronet much. There were people who averred that he had troubles and worries enough of his own. His health was good. Ho moved a princely income. But he was never seen to smile. A look of melancholy and unhappiness never left his face, and from time to time in his dark eyes there was the shadow of fear.

At first the neighbors had called in plenty. But one and all were chilled with their reception, and'gradually the flow of visitors ceased. For the” last two years or so no neighbor had ever come up the famous avenue of elms leading to the house. Ever since she had been under that roof Ethel Blautyro had never known what it, was to have a friend. At the beginning Sir Arthur had seemed disposed to bo on fairly good terms with the vicar of the parish and one other person, a Frenchman named Le Blanc. But the vicar was dead now. There had been some scandal in connection with a son of his of which people spoke in whispers, though Ethel could never understand what it meant. And she had a distinct recollection of a terrible quarrel between her grandfather and Le Blanc, during which blows were struck and blond was shed. This had taken place at dead of night in Glenallan library, and Ethel had been a more or less unwilling witness of the scene. Once she had ventured to speak to her grandfather about it, but the lightning flash of rage in his eyes and the lurid anger on his face warned her not to pursue the topic. For three years she had held her peace, wondering if she were over to see Lawrence Hatton, the son of the old vicar, again. He had been her only friend and playmate, bo that her heart still held a tender place for him ; indeed, these two had been something more than friends, though Sir Arthur Blantyre would have laughed the notion to scorn. There was no one to tell Ethel anything. She had to ferret out information from the servants as best she could. AH she knew was that Lawrence Hatton had been tried for some offence, and that he was now working put his sentence in gaol. It seemed incredible, almost monstrous, and Ethel tv as filled withi indignation whenever she thought .of it. But facts are inexorable things. The. old vicar had gone down to his grave in shame and humiliation, and the prison taint lav heavily on his only son. There had been another young man, too, whom Ethel remembered vividly—the son of the Frenchman Le Blanc. He was handsomer, more brilliant, and more fascinating than young Hatton', but Ethel had never liked him, and even as an innocent child there ivas something about him that chilled and repelled her and warned her to keep him at a distance. There M*ere people M’ho said that Le Blanc the younger was making a great reputation”as an artist. But as to that Ethel neither knew nor cared.

And so her dreary life went on in that cold, desolate house, which seemed to be full of ghosts and shadows. Glennllan was a show place in its way. It was full of magnificent pictures and furniture. The place was replete with historic memories. And yet Ethel would have cheerfully changed its splendor snd beauty, its well-kept gardens and noble environment, for a cottage where she might have a little warmth and love and sunshine. She was no longer afraid as once she had been. She had grown accustomed to those gloomv corridors. They did not seem to he full of ghosts and spectres as when she had first come. She had her own recreations and amusements.' But, all the sarne, she was exceedingly lonely. For Sir Arthur was in the habit of mysteriously disappearing periodically and remaining away for weeks. Where he went and what he did he told nobody. But every time he returned Ethel thought he looked more careworn and more anxious than before. What this gloom was and what it meant the girl did not know, for her grandfather said little or nothing to her. He seemed to regard her merely as a girl, as a more or less necessary adjunct to the house, -ind yet there were moments when his eyes turned upon her appealingly, as if he would fain take her into nis confidence and seek the benefit of her assistance and advice. But these intervals were rare. ~ so > in summer and winter alike, the dreary life went on, with nothing to break its black monotony. Occasionally Ethel would have welcomed any diversion however serious. Anything would he better than the weariness and desolation of her present existence. What, she wondered, was the mjstery that hung over the house? In the midst of all this wealth and luxury what was it that caused her grandfather to look so pale and haggard, that hung about him like some cSrsed thing? Ethel was pondering the matter now as she sat at the breakfast table making her grandfather’s coffee. The little

cedar-panelled room was gay with flowers which she had looted from the conservatories. The sun shone in through the rose windows, making a cosy picture, which to the casual eye suggested envy and admiration. They did not serve to elevate Ethel’s spirits in the least. One day was so like another that even the presence or absence of the blessed sunshine counted lor nothing. Sir Arthur was not down yet. His pile of letters lay unopened by his plate. He came in by-and-bye and kissed his granddaughter carelessly. Then, without a word, he began to open his correspondence. There were dark lines under his eyes. His hand shook like that of a man who had been drinking heavily the previous night. But Sir Arthur indulged in no dissipation. He held it in the deepest abhorrence.

He murmured something more or less polite as he turned over his letters. He sipped his coffee daintily, though he mads a mere pretence of eating his breakfast. Ethel could see his slim hands with their sparkling rings as he slipped open the envelopes of his letters uith a pocket knife. Then, from cue of them, lie took what appeared to be a small piece oi folded canvas aud opened it languidly. All at once the words he was speaking seemed to freeze upon his bps His face congealed and glazed with horror. One trembling hand was outstretched, so that ho could look on •the scrap of cloth as if to make sure of ithe evidence of his senses. ‘‘God i„ Heaven!” he murmured,' and his voice trembled like that of a man in the grip of intense physical agony, “to think that after all this L irne 7

, ie trailed off into a broken wnuper Attn an incoherent stammer, e.r Arthur halt rose to bis feet. His co;.'ce c-.ip lei I with a crash. Then lie, too, sang silently to the floor.

CHARTER 11. . THT: I ‘- UNTI; n face. J.the, uttered no cry, nor summoned ap ;’.‘ s “ nc 9- 111 somo vague, intangible y. A.i .-.,10 felt as it she bad gone through the whole thing before, as if she were ■owing exactly as her grandfather Aould wish. Sim knew what a selfcontained man he was, and how annoyed ho would have been had his servants seen him at that moment it appeared to Ethel, too, as if, sooner oi eauT, tins black thine; was inevitable -no men could go on for ever with such a cloud panging over him as seemed to overshadow the life of Sir Arthur BlanI y ro.

Jiio girl was cool and collected. She leant 00-.vn by her grandfather’s side and raised his head from the dorr, -■ilioaay a little color was i,ark into iiis face, the whiteness ires’ ie-iv-mg his lips. As lie sat up, half "unconscious and oblivious to his surroundings, he still clutched the fragment of Cloth in a tenacious grip. Ethel would have been loss than human if she bad not glanced at the innocent-looking object u Inch had been the cause of all tins emotion. Her grandfather must have been moved to the very depths of to give way like this. The old Adam surging up in Ethel’s heart took possession of her, and she looked eagerly at the strin of canvas in ftir Arthur’s hand. What could there he in it to cause such an agitation For the scrap of canvas 'contained nothing more repulsive than a lovely, innocent face, painted by a master hand. It was little more than a miniature though, to judge from its ragged edges and oval shape, it might have ocen cut with a pair of scissors Irom a frame. As to the rest, it was a girts face, fair and smiling, radiantly beautiful, with eyes dark, appealing, and pathetic. Ethel's knowledge of art matters was limited. But it needed no critic to toil her that this was no localisation of the painter’s dream, but a close and faithful portrait. Dcsm'to the beauty of the drawing and ‘the sneet simplicity of the face, the artist in some subtle way had made the features suggest trial and suffering. As Ethel gazed intently upon this picture her feeling of curiosity gave way to another and different emotion She seemed to have seen that face hetore, it was impossible, of course, hut she could not rid herself of the impress’rm that here was no stranger to her. j hen there burst upon her a vivid Hash of illumination. Given a little difference in age, in dress, and expression and the picture would have passed tor a likeness of herself. There was no mistaking this fact when once it hnrl come home to her. Who, then, was the stranger? Still dazed by this startling discovery the girl was staring at the picture when Sir Arthur opened his eves and suddenly grasped what was goiim on He realised by instinct what Ethel was doing, struggled painfully to his feet and crushed the offensive painting convulsively in his hands. Then he turned aimost sternly to his granddaughter. (( tHve me some coffee,” he gasped, and get me a little brandy from tiro sideboard. Now. tell me the truth. Have you seen this accursed thin')-> i must know.” °‘

;■ I looked at it, of course,” Ethel said with a slight accession of color in her cheeks. “I don’t want to pry into your .secrets, but I couldn’t very M-ell help doing so. But, please, drink this coffee before you sav another ’word.

Sir Arthur appeared as if about to speak, then changed his mind. He sipped his coffee slowly and thoughtfully, his dark eyes brooding over rile past.

How old are you?” he demanded abruptly. “I think I have come to years of discretion,” Ethel ventured to say. “ I shall he twenty on my next birthday, it you have anything to say, I think you can trust mo.”

There was ‘something of reproach in the remark, and Sir Arthur appeared to feel it. All those years ho had been ivrappod up in himself and Ids own troubles. It had never occurred to him taat Ethel was verging upon womanhood.

” Perhaps you are right,” ho said, apparently speaking more to himself t.ian his companion. 11 1 am a lonely old man. I have no friend to assist and adi ise me. I wonder if I dare trust you. I wonder if I dare tell you the story of my past—the story of a proud man whose sm found him out when it was too late for repentance. But, no ; not yet. I cannot do it vet. I must go my own way for the'time being, 'on are to forget ivhat vou have seen this morning. You are never to mention it to a soul. Now, tell me truthfully: Did you seo that picture?” “I saw it, yes,” Ethel said boldly enough, *’ and I cannot help thinking it very strange that a thing so beautiful ”

I; b 9 ant y is not always what it seems,' Sir Arthur burst out. “There is a beauty so diabolical and so fair that it lures men to destruction. But you know nothing of that. Now, another question. What d!d you think of the picture? Did you see any resemblance to anvbodv?”

I did,” Ethel said candidly. “ I was very much struck with the resemblance between the picture and myself.”

Once more the pained look came over Sir Arthur’s-face. He shook his head sadlv.

u . was afraid of it,” he murmured. ‘ there is one thing I want you to promise mo. You must do your best to forget what you have seen this morning. Above all, you must not dwell upon the fancied likeness between the picture and yourself. I won’t say that it is a coincidence, because that would not be altogether true. In all the years we have been under this roof I don’t think I have ever said so much to you before. Heaven knows, it may bo for the best that my hand has been forced in this fashion. It mav be that you can help me, but of that I will say no more for the present. Now leave me.” ’

Ihe last words were harsh and spoken in the voice which Ethol-gener-

ally associated with her grandfather. The girl was excited. Her heart was beating rapidly. At last things had been violently shaken out of their old groove, and the time for movement and action was come. She had all the high courage and resolution of her race. She was ready to welcome anything that would lift hereout of the monotony against which her whole soul rebelled. If there was trouble and danger she was ready to share it. Anything was hotter than the appalling dreariness of her existence.

Tet as the day went on Sir Arthur niacle no further sign* It seemed as if he meant to ignore the breakfast incident, for he sat moodily over his lunch without more than an occasional word to the girl, flung to her as a man might have tossed a bone to his dog. It was the same at tea time, in the dim, oak-panelled hall whore the firelight gleamed on armor and spear, on china and picture, aud during the long, ceremonious dinner, over which they sat until there were moments when Ethel could have jumped from her chair anu cried aloud.

But the girl possessed her soul iu patience. Siie felt that the time was coming when she might be asked to be up and doing. There was more savor in life now, more enjoyment in her piano and the flowers which she loved so well; indeed, but for the flowers and their constant arrangement, the hours at Glenallan wouid have hung heavily upon her hands. They were like friends and comrades to her. She handled them as carefully and tenderly as a mother fondled her young and delicate child. So Ethel sat there until the lights began to go out and the servants one by ono crept up to bed. She was not iu the least sleepy or tired. There was no need to hurry, for, despite his years, Sir Arthur was a late man, and many a time had Ethel heard him come wearily up the stairs when the dawn was breaking and the birds wore beginning to sing in the great -Lebanon cedar trees outside, which were one of the joys and pride of Glenallan. Even as she sat, she could hear Sir Arthur pacing up and down his •stilly. She heard him stop presently. Her quick ears detected the sound of a winilow being opened and a murmur of voices borne on the breeze drifted along the corridor. Then the hall light wm't out. There was a gentle p and down the walls as if someone wore passing with a lantern. Very softly Ethel turned out the drawing room lights and fumbled her way to the door. There, surely enough,‘was the outline nf a figure clad in a rough pilot jacket, which she had no difficulty iu rccognising_as that of her grandfather. He passed stealthily along the interminable corridors like a thief in the, night. It was curious to watch a man playing the. spy under his own roof. Ethel’s curiosity was aroused and her pulses were quickened. Was she a child that she should be shut out continually Horn her grandfather’s confidence f She set her white teeth grimly together.

ui* ma . v ho wrong,” she murmured, ‘ but, at any risk, I am going to lollow.

CHAPTER 111. Ttin SECOND FACE. It was not a difficult task that Ethel had set herself, seeing that her grandfather had not the least idea that he was being followed. The track ho took was a strange one to the girl, though she had flattered herself she knew the house thoroughly. Sir.Arthur appeared to be leading towards the kitchens. But lie branched off presently along a passage,' which, to the girl’s surprise, was thickly, not to say richly, carpeted, and gave a general idea of comfort and luxury. She thought it odd she had never been through it before. Rut she had other thoughts to occupy her attention now. With a sudden feeling that she was not behaving altogether well, she contrived to keep her grandfather in sight till he paused before a door winch he proceeded to open with a patent latchkey he had taken’from his pocket. He did not seem- to trouble whether lie was being followed or not. The idea of such a thing had never occurred to him, for he left the door open and turned up the lights. Glenallau was still an old-fashioned house rejoicing in its old-fashioned traditions, but one innovation Sir Arthur had introduced, and that was the electric light. The room was flooded now to its inmost corner; -so that Etiiel could stand in the passage and see what was going on. At the first blush there was nothing to arouse her suspicions or cause her any feeling of alarm. It was just an ordinary sitting room, evidently furnished with a view to gratify a pretty feminine taste. The carpet was of soft Aubisson silk, daintily figured after the manner of the times; the richly-gilt furniture belonged to the period of Louis Quatcrze, and possessed all the graceful character of that epoch, without the garishness inseparable from the average imitation. Hie tables and chairs were covered with priceless tapestry, and most of the pictures on the ‘brocade-panelled walls were those of beautiful women, the work of famous French artists—indeed, the whole room might have been transported bodily from Versailles or one of the old French palaces. Doubtless some bygone Blantyre had furnished this room for herself regardless ol cost, though why she had chosen an out-of-the-way room, accessible onlv bv a dingy corridor, Ethel could not divine. One thing she did not fail to notice, and that was the unfinished and neglected appearance of the electric fittings. There wore no beaten copper or brass electroliers, carefully selected to harmonise with the surroundings, nothing hut loose flexes in solitary bulbs hanging here and there as if the work had been hastily rigged up by some amateur. It occurred to Ethel that the workman who had been responsible for tiie contract had been carefully excluded from this apartment Naturally, all this added to the mystery and excitement of the adventure. Taking her courage in her hands, Ethel advanced closer, so that she could look into the room and observe what was on. She saw her grandfather standing m front of a beautifully-inlaid table, on which were scattered books in priceless bindings. • These he swept carelessly to the ground as if they were so much waste paper. Then he drew back one of the brocade panels in the nail and produced a large portfolio of M'hat appeared to be prints or watercolor drawings. Fie laid the ' portfolio on the table and began to search amongst the contents as if looking for something. Then he gave a sigh of satisfaction as he withdrew’ what seeme_d to Ethel to be a pair of paintings in oils upon canvas. Iter a long time he bent over the uppermost of these and examined it with careful scrutiny.

Would he never be done with the pictures, They appeared to be of the most absorbing interest. Almost unconscious of what she was doing, the girl advanced nearer and nearer until at length she was actually inside the ™ onl - , e an nnsteady hand upon the back of a chair for support. A board creaked under her feet with a snap like a pistol shot, and Sir Arthur started and rubbed his eyes. He looked round in a vague and lack-lustre way It was some little time before he realised that he was not alone. Then he turned and caught Ethel by the shoulder in a grip that caused her to wince. She had not expected a strength like that in so feeble a frame. “You are hurting me,” she whispered.

“ It is a wonder I did no worse,” Sir Arthur said, hoarsely. He seemed beside himself with rage. “So you followed me here. Why did vou do so 3 Surely you must know how dishonorable a thing it is to spy upon my movements.”

Ethel hung her head. A red wave of shame swept over her beautiful and sensitive face. For it was a dishonorable thing 1 to do, ,Tlier& -was nothing

for it but to make a clean breast of the matter.

“ I am exceedingly sorry,” she faltered, ” but some impulse I could not resist constrained me to follow you. \ou have looked so miserable'and mihappy of late that I have longed to help you, but I meant no harm. I mean no harm now. If you tell me to go, I will do so at ones and leave you to yourself.” Sir Arthur appeared to hesitate. The anger had died out of his face. His eyes were sombre. At the same time he had not altogether forgotten himself, for he took a sheet of paper lying on,the top of the portfolio and laid it purposely over the oil painting which he had been studying so intently. The action was not lost upon Ethel. mu ure utK, ana xuo mischief is done,” he said. Whether you stay or not matters little. But you must not mention to a soul what you have seen to-night. It comes as a great surprise to you, of course, to know that there is such a room under this roof so remote from the state apartments. I dare say you are asking yourself who is responsible ior all this luxury and extravagance. You have probably noted that the furniture and the pictures _ are equal to anything else we have in the house, ell, so far as you are concerned, your curiosity is not likely to be gratified—at least, not yet. I must prove your ability and your courage first. But you have seen enough to know chat I am a desolate and miserable old man, and that I have a secret trouble which has poisoned and ruined my life. If I were less proud 1 should not suffer so much. But then, you see, I am a Blantyre, and I have never been allowed to locfe'et it since the day when I was old enough to understand anything. It is through mv pride that I suffer. It is through my pride that this punishment lias fallen so heavily upon me. The fiend who tortures me night and dav knows this, cle knows how to hit me on the tenderest spot, and Jm knows how to take vengeance. He is none of your clumsy haters who striKe_ with a bludgeon or who end ii life with a knife or a revolver: nis methods are far more subtle. g i{ m au-aid I don't understand*,” Ethel said. But there are ways A' stiijtnig bar;-;. surely, in this twentieth century, it is impossible for amoiie to carry out the teaching of the c-o:gr.es or t/ie Hnnviliiers. And if you ai ’f, “'.’i . stn,!, S. enough yourself to cope wain this trouble, you must find some inond who is ready to assist you.” V -' s ' ot cue, - ’ Sir Arthur cried, in anguished tones. *■ 1 have not a single friend on the face of God’s earth, '"if I could find one man devoted to mv inteiests, wiiv, then, I might summon back my lost courage and fight the tiling to the finish. What I want is a mend who is absolutely alone in the world, who lias suffered "as I have done m.'sell. and who would cling to me and do my bidding out of the knowledge that_ fidelity to me was the only policy possible to him. Ah, if you could find . me someone like that ” cue was filial with a brilliant idea, though as yet she dared not give utterance to the thought that thrilled her. it seemed to her that she had found the very man whom Sir Arthur most needed at Bus critical juncture. But .-die would not speak yet, she told herse" - , would wait till the morning. " 1 :l ''.iau might be found.’-’ she Sir Arthur turned away from her’ with a gesture of despair. As he <hd so Ins arm came in contact witli the sheet ol paper overlying ihe picture on the table, so that it came buttering to. the floor, in that instant, under the broad light of the electrics, hThel had a lull view of the picture. it was a ' hall-length drawing of a girl in a white chess, with a bunch of blue violets at her throat, it was only possible to <mt a ; glimpse of the smiling face for imon- 1 meat before the paper was replaced.; tint thai, moment, was quite enough. 1 f? ' V!ls tne same lace painted in exactly ■ the same torrn as the Scrap of canvas whicn had so alfected Sir Arthur in tne morning. Ethel turned her head away so tnat her grandfather should uo„ see the startled expression in her eves But he had forgotten her, and as she turned her lace towards the door sue saw or thought she saw. a long slim hand ieeling for the eW-trit- swH'-b Before Ethel could make up her'mind wnetner it was a delusion or not'riie w's^ho-- n - PJ!ed . ilf i isii ''’ aK(I ll;u room I v|/iuh-en id uarknes-j, i (To be continu'-'d.) I