LOVERS THREE.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXXV, Issue 3830, 13 May 1913, Page 3

LOVERS THREE.

BY ARTHUR APPLIN (Author of “Robert Ailes’ Wife,” “The Stolen Heiress.” “Tim Choru Girl," Etc.).

[ALL RIGHT" K K-HERVEJD.j

Sin shrugged. “I don’t believe hi

always looking for the motive of a

crime. Men differ in their motives as they do in their moods. Some women steal for the fun of the thing, and we calf it- kleptomania; some men murder from the joy of destruction. “I don’t think Egglington killed or robbed Ichbert. But then I don’t tliink at all, you soe. As I said to Phyllis, I’m only going hunting. There was a, man who entered a wood and was never seen to come out of it! Good heavens, isn’t that enough to oxcit-o anyone? Isn’t that enough to rouse all the old primeval instincts? We know he isn’t in the wood now; wo know his body isn’t there.”

“What about the grave in the farmhouse?" Gate interrupted. Sin nodded. “All, someone had a motive in digging that grave. Long before it was opened I knew the scent was a false one. I didn’t sav any-

tiling because I wanted to give Buhner a. run for his money.

“l’oor old Bulmer He’ll have plenty to occupy him for the next month or two—Phyllis out on bail, the idol of London, cheered nightly at the Ingenue by thousands; his other prisoner, our farmer friend, refusing to confess how that fiver came into his possession and why lie dug a grave in his stable. I think I’ve settled Bulmer very nicely. You’re my only difficulty, Gate." Phyllis looked Up tlieii. She had been sitting over the lire, her elbows on her knees, her face between her hands, gazing into the flames. “Mr. Gate and I will part friends,’’ she said softly. “Part!” Gate was on his feet in a moment. “You can’t go on believing me guilty yet persuading yourself I’m innocent.” “Oh yes, he can,” Sin said easily. “There’s no one else to look after yon when I've gone. He’ll got used to the idea in time." “I shall never believe that you’re guilty of any crime,” Gate said doggedly. “Then I’d like to prove that she is,” Sin retorted. It was difficult to know whether he spoke in jest or in earnest. “It might be easier than you think,” Phyllis whispered. There was silence for a moment. Leaning forward, Sin kicked the logs into a blaze again. “You’ve never told us. Phyllis.” It was Gate who sjioke in a whisper. “You’ve never absolutely denied all knowledge of this —this mystery.” • 1 can tell you nothing.” “Why?” “The dead might answer that question, .not the living.” Sin spoke so softly that neither Gate nor Phyllis heard him. But the latter rose, and standing with her back to the fire, held out a hand to either man.

“Dear friends, I’ve something say before we part to-night, and I don’t know how to say ’ + - It is never easy for a woman to speak with her heart. We’re such creatures of convention, brought up to juggle with the truth and hide our emotions. Yet it’s my duty to speak, so don't thinjc mo immodest or unmaidenly.

“I know you both k>vo me. If you hadn’t told me so I should have guessed it by now. You’re both fighting for me. Already I owe each of you a debt I can never repay, not even with my love; and perhaps it may come to pass not even with my life.” She told them of Lord Richard Egglington’s visit that afternoon, and of his proposal and his threat. “I want you to know that nothing in the world will induce mete marry that man. 1 want you to know —how can I put it? —that whatever the result of this case, if there is any result, whether the mystery is cleared up or not, my future lies in your hands.” “Your future!” Gate repeated to himself unsteadily.

“Suppose I am honorably acquitted, then, though I may never be able to give my love” —she hung her bead, and it was not the firelight that.stained her ch doles scarlet.

Gate stepped eagerly towards her. “I told you I loved you ! I asked you to marry me, Phyllis I ten will marry mo when you've proved your innocence?” She looked at him and then turned her head towards Sin. He still held his dirty briar-wood pipe between hislips and his great eyes were half-clos-ed, blinking at the flames. He knew sho was looking at him, waiting lor him to speak, but lie allowed several seconds to pass.

‘‘l got four hundred pounds out of tho lawyers on account. I told them they could keep the change.” He laughed. “I shall spend all that on my—hunting! But even if I don’t, one can’t keep a wife long on a couple of hundred or so.”

Gate said nothing; ho was holding himself in a vice. His features were like steel again, his.,.mouth a thin line. He realised that nothing mattered. in the world b.ut this woman. Ho wanted her as his wife, above suspicion, beyond reproach. He wanted to face the world with her, live in the world of men and women with her, keeping the respect, admiration, fear of tho world which he had won after a long, arduous fight. That she should prefer the eccentric wastrel. Sin, to him seemed impos-

sible. Ho realised the mail’s fascination, realised, there was something

lovable in his nature. But that any woman could link her life to his was unthinkable. . And Sin had just said the right thing, though Gate realised and admitted his generosity. Yet, when Phyllis spoke, he was filled with amazement.

"Love costs nothing,” she said gently. “Love is not bought, it is given.”

‘‘You said you didn’t think you could over love,” Sin replied. She nodded. ‘‘That’s so—but one never knows. A woman is always to bo won.”

Sin deliberately knocked out hiS pipe and put it in his pocket. Then ho rose and stood beside Peter Gate. “Wo agreed to fight for you. We said, or I did, in my usual brutal, primeval way. that he who won you "should keep you. You spoke of be-

ing in our debt; that has nothing to do with winning you. You can't pay us with yourself, but if you will let us try to win you, then, by Jove I it will be a fine fight! “And it’s splendid of you to have spoken so frankly 1 Only a real woman could have told two men what you’ve just told us. Gate loves you, I know, and no’s a man worth having as a husband. He has much to give you—far, far more than I have. But I suppose it’s only natural that he, m return, should demand something of you—purity, honesty, innocence, the whole bag of tricks in fact. / “I have nothing, nothing in the whole blessed world, neither honor, nor name, nor money, nor position, not even intellect. Look at me! I’m even rigged out in Gate's cost-off clothing. And yet I have the superb insolence to confess that I’m fighting for your love. I want it. I want you. You’re the only woman in the world I’ve ever craved. Whether I win or lose you, I shall never forgot you. never cease loving you. You will always bo my first and fast thought, sleeping or waking. “I have nothing to give you, so it would bo pretty queer if I asked anything of you. The only thing I should dare ask would be, if they proved you killed Aaron Ichbert, or if you confessed it, that, before they hanged you, you would give me your love and take mv name.

“There, I’ve had my say, so I’ll clear out and leave you to fate. i shall not see you again ; I’m tiff tomorrow. If I doit find Ichbert. dead or alive, I shall neve” see yen again, because- it’ll mean I've failed, so Gate will have -ho field l-o h" --icf. Meanwhile, lie has a chance of winning you before I come bu; a - I do succeed. “Good luck to you both. You repromised to work, Phyllis; you may not like it at first— the pu-riicTy, 1 mean —but you’ll go through with it, won’t you?”

Phyllis just nodded. She con d rot speak. Sin gripped date hand, and without another word strode cut of the room.

And so they parted. Ho went straight back to his room \:i Westminster, and as soon as ho had undressed ho made a bun Ue of Petei Gate's c-lothes and addeesosd them to him at his private house. With them lie sent a short lett* r a id tite mercy he had borrowed at n tervals IVun the detective.

The next morning ho staried in h;s old rags and tatters anJ h torn and dusty soft felt lint oil route lor F ranee.

IN' PARIS

- Sin- had travelled pretty nearly round the world —in imagination. Books and bis dreams had taken him wherever ho wanted to go. Nevertheless. ns ho got on-. <-f llie train at Dover, and walked along the p.or, wet with a shower < f rain a:d tho spiny, and stepped on (o tec mai l boat, ho experienced a. slight and altogether delightful thrill. Ho did not stop up on deck very long, but went down and wandered among the passengers crowded in the stern. Eventually lie found bis way into tluf~ first-class saloon, and drew the chief steward into conversation. His appearance was hardly prepossessing, but sailors do not judge by tho outward and visible 'signs of a man. Their wit is keener and their eyes clearer than, those of inland folk.

Sin had, of course, purposely chosen the boat on which the mysterious man travelled who r.ad changed some of.lchbeit’s notes into French money. It was quite natural he should mention the matter to tho steward, especially as the morning newspapers were full of the previous day’s proceedings in London, and all contained portraits of Phyllis Carlyle, with articles on her past and future, -both more or less in correct.

The steward at first was not very communicative, hut Sin’s methods were not those of the detective or spy. Ho hated. subterfuge, but ii necessary he could lie very tactful. He did not attempt to draw out his man ; he started by interesting him in other cases, mostly imaginary ones his quick brain invented.

Perhaps he had not learned much when the boat turned round to enter, stern first, the narrow Calais harbor, but he had l corroborated his original suspicions and met an agreeable companion. Ho went up on deck again, and sitting down took from his pocket a. note book — probably the- first Sin had possessed since leaving school. It already contained. 1 a good many entries which might have been made by the astute Peter Gate himself. Could it be posisblo that the aristocratic! tramp was imitating his methods P Moreover, tho book contained several sketches, some in pencil, some

in. ink, all of a. man or men. They all had one peculiarity—in each case the features were hidden. And yet they were uncommonly clever, because there was a vast amount of character in each sketch. One felt that they wore portraits which the friend of the mail depicted might have recognised in spite of the lack of features. As the boat entered the long neck of the narrow harbor, travelling slowly and smoothly on the calm water, Sin made another entry in one end of the book. In the other end another sketch, apparently of the same man, though this time he showed just a faint outline of his features and profile—an eye almost hidden bv a soft hat, a nose suggestively Roman in character; but the upturned collar of the coat hid mouth and chin, so it was impossible to say whether the man was clean shaven or not. Sin looked at his work as the boat came to rest alongside the Garo Maritime. Memory or imagination? Perhaps both, aided by a rough mental sketch of his new friend, the steward of the boit. As the last passenger tumbled on to the quay, and was herded into the dotiane, Sin followed, and then as lie stepped on to French soil, neglected by the porters, the object of temporary suspicion by plain-clothes detectives and uniformed gendarmes, he remembered that lie had forgotten to bring any luggage. .. Ho had not as much as a handbag. His first-class tio.-et was for the moment a sufficient passport, and as fie put on his hat and looked around nim with an amused'smile he was assailed by members of a profession less reputable than his- own. “Did Monsieur want- an interpreter ? Did Monsieur want an hotel? Monsieur shook his head. He wanted to he alone. But as he strolled down the quay and turning t-o the right passed over the bridge towards the town he realised with something akin to joy that he was being followtu by ail agent of police. It occurred to him that perhaps Bulmer, still suspicious, had telegraphed instructions to the French police to have him watched. He strolled through the principal streets, took a drink at a cafe, and dropped into a cinematograph show. But he could not shake off the man.

(To bo Continued To-morrow.)