THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDEGROOM,

Lake County Press, Issue 2348, 27 October 1910, Page 2

THE MYSTERIOUS BRIDEGROOM,

(PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.)

i ' JOHN K. LEYS. Author of “The Broken Fetter,” “A Sore Temptation,” “The Thumb Print,’’ “Fallen Among Thieves,” etc., etc. (Copyright.)

CHAPTER XXlX—Coutinued, What he had to say startled the court,, and put the question of Alan’s innocence at rest for ever. He said that .he was the man who had been with Mr. Blomfield in his office on the evening the . murder was committed. He saw the prisoner come into the office, and it was impossible that he could have taken awaiy the revolver at that time, for he did not enter the room called the clerk’s room at all. After he left the office-boy came in. “Mr. Blomfield and I went down to the street together,” went on .Teddy, “and the hall-porter called a cab. As I went to get in, Blomfield said, ‘Excuse me for one moment,’ and ran back up the office stairs. I thought he had forgotten something. He came back almost immediately, and got into the cab, I following him. As I sat down close to him my leg struck against a hard substance that apparently Blomfield had in one of the tail-pockets of his coat. I said, ‘Confound you, Blomfield, what have you got there?’ and he apologised, saying that he had a bottle of tonic medicine in his pocket. I supposed it was that he had returned for, and thought no more about it.” “Is that the Mr. Blomfield whose n'ame has been heard in connection with the South Atlantic Mining Company?” asked the judge. , “The same man, my lord. “Do you know whether he was acquainted with the woman the prisoner is charged with murdering?” “He has known her intimately for some years to my knowledge.” “Ah! Did you overhear what the prisoner said to this Mr. Blomfield on the evening of the murder?” “I did hear, but I paid little or no attention as the conversation did not in any way concern me, I remember that something was.said about a meeting or an appointment on Hampstead Heath, and the prisoner was in a great hurry to be gone, saying tha,t he had some calls to make, and feared that he would be late for the appointment.” There was a long pause, during which the jury consulted together in whispers. The pause' l was ended by the foreman rising and saying to the judge that they had made up their minds. “I think, gentlemen,” said his lordship, perhaps you had better hear the speeches of counsel and consider your verdict in the usual way. It need not take long.” After this hint, the accustomed forms were, gone through as rapidly as was consistent with decorum, for everybody knew that the verdict was a foregone conclusion. At last the decisive words were spoken NOT GUILTY. Alan was a free man once more — free, not only from the penalty nf crime, but free from all suspicion that he had stained his hands with blood. He lingered a little in the precincts of the court till the crush of people making for the street had lessened, and at last he saw at a little distance Mrs. Rowe and Winnie being piloted through the crowd by Mr. Rowe. He managed to get near them, and coming up behind Winnie gently took her hand in his. She started and looked up, and then, seeing who it was, such a lovely blush came into her cheeks, such a bright glad look shone in her eyes, that Alen knew that the love-he had longfedTTo'r was his at last. No word passed between them. There was no opportunity, as there was no necessity, for speaking. Heart spoke to heart in' that long gaze, telling all that could .be told. i When, they reached the door of the courthouse, Mr. Rowe, happening to turn his head, caught sight of him. “Hullo, Alan!” he called out, cheerily. “I thought you had gone. I have just seen Stenhouse, and promised that I will find him a thousand pounds to set him up in business as a private inquiry agent. That, I understand, is his ambition. He has richly deserved the money. What — pay me back? Well, when you are rich enough, you may. But you must come and dine with us to-night, and sleep at Sunny Lawn.” No, come as you are. I can lend you what you want ; my wife will expect you—and Winnie.” He threw a glance at Winnie, and noticed for the first time her downcast, blushing, but happy face. “Well, I suppose that matter is set-

tied now, thank goodness!” he muttered to himself, as he signalled a fourwhoelor with his umbrella.

CHAPTER XXX.—IN THE HOTEL DE BEAU SEJOUR. ' When Henry Blomfield left the church in which he was to have been married to Winnie, he felt crushed by the weight of the misfortune that had overtaken him. To be disappointed of his hopes in the very moment of their realisation, to have the cup dashed from his lips, was more than he could boar. In the first moment of his despair ho was ready to kill himself, but such was the native strength of his spirit that in a few hours his courage came back to him, and he was prepared to face the future. There were plenty of girls in the world, ho told himself, as pretty and as charming as Winnie Atherstone. It was only because ho had allowed his thoughts to dwell on her so- exclusively that his passion for her had attained such a height. He could do without her, and after a time, no doubt he would find some one to take her place. .The great thing was to make himself secure for the present. Very soon, as he knew well enough, all England would bo ringing with the story of his misdeeds. A warrant would bo issued for his arrest, and it behoved him to place the ocean between himself t and the London police courts with as little delay as possibo. Fearing, however, that the English seaports might already be watched, Blomfield went by an indirect route to Havre, where he could watch the course of events, returning to London at any time if ho found it safe to . do so, or retreating to the States or to Spain when necessary’. Here he put up at an inn of moderate pretensions, not far from the harbour called the Hotel do Beau Seour—the last place, fie thought,- the English police would think of looking for him. He had with him in gold and notes a sum of about ,£12,000, all he had been able to scrape together. Bitterly did he regret the payments he had made to the Greatorex trustees, which he had of course honed would bo repaid out of Winnie’s fortune. But it was too late to think of that now. The £ 1 2,000 would do well enough, ho said to himself, to start him on a now career on the other side of the Atlantic. He was still waiting at Havre, when ho saw in an English newspaper a report of Alan Falconer’s trial, which concluded with an intimation that the police had obtained a warrant for the arrest of Henry Blomfield for the murder. This made him resolve to start for the States at once, and he immediately went to a shipping office to take out his passage. He wa son his way back to his hotel when a hand was suddenly laid on his shoulder. He started, and his right hand went like a flash to his hip pocket, where lie carried a revolver. He had determined that, with the capital charge hanging over him, he would not bo taken alive. But before ho could draw the weapon a hoarse laugh sounded in his oar, and wheeling round ho found himself staring into a r pair of wild glaring eyes. It was some seconds before ho realised that the dirty unshorn face in which they were set was the face of Hubert Meredith. “So I have found you at last!” said thhe lawyer. His breath was foul with the odour of brandy. His clothes looked as if ho had slept in them for weeks. The hand that still lay on Blomfield’s shoulder shook visibly. “Go away. You are drunk or mad. I don’t want to have anything to do with you!” exclaimed Blomfield, shaking off his grasp. “Ha, ha, ha! You don’t want to have anything to do with mo. But I want to have something to do with you. I want about a hundred thous--and pounds from y'ou, do you understand? Now I believe that there is a Pod,” he said with grotesque solemnity, “for I have prayed day and night that you and I might meet before I died, and—hero you are!” Blomfield was disgusted beyond measure, but he saw it was necessary to temporise with the fellow before he could shako him off.

■‘■‘You don’t mean that you thought

II meant to give you the slip—an old friend like you?” he exclaimed with as good an air of friendship as he could assume. “That would be a base thing to do, and J am half inclined to be angry with you tor imagining such a thing. But wo can’t talk in the street. See, people are beginning to observe us. My hotel is close by. Come up to ray rooms. We can have some dinner, and then I will explain matters to you fully.” ■ Meredith’s face wore an amused grin, but whether this meant that he was pleased with the proposal, or that he was amused at his confederate’s clumsy attempt to throw dust in his eyes, Blomfield could not determine. However, he hooked his arm in that of his former friend, and led liim off to the Hotel de Beau Cejour. “I have been starving,” said Meredith in a maudlin voice, after they had walked on for some time in silence. *“For days together I have not known what it was to sleep in a bed. It was cruel of you to desert me as you have done.” , “I am sorry,” said Blomfield with mock sympathy, “but all that is over now. I have been put hard to it myself for some time past, and did not know where to turn. That was why 1 could not answer your letters. But here we are at the hotel. And nov, ■hat shall I order for dinner?” While thhe meal was being served Meredith had a bath, and when at length he sat down to table he showed that he had only told the truth about being half starved. As he ate, his confidence increased, and Blomfield fancied that his tone became more aggressive. Dinner had been served in a private room adjoining Blomfield’s bedroom, and as soon as it was over Meredith called for coffee and a liqueur, as though he had been host instead of guest. “Now,” he said, as soon as the vaiter had left the room, “I’m ready to hear your explanation and receive my share of the spoil. Or you can cut the explanation if you like, and simply hand over the coin.- I don’t mind.” “I am sorry to say that you seem to bo under a misapprehension,” said Blomfield, speaking very slowly. “There is very little to divide.” “That won’t do for me!” cried Meredith in a threatening voice. “What have you done with the money?” “I was obliged to return the greater part of it.” “Why?” “But I don’t understand.lf you got the money why not bolt with it—as you have done? I believe this talk about making restitution is all bunkum. But you can’t get over me so easily, my fine fellow. I want to see the accounts.” “I have no accounts to show you.” “By heavens, do you think you will bilk me?” “What nonsense you are talking! Who wants to bilk you? I am only telling you the truth. The greater part of what you took from the Groatorex trustees has been restored.” “You lie.” Blomfield frowned heavily, but did net lose bis temper. “You have been at your old game, 1 see,” ho said in a low stern tone, drinking and drugging yourself tf” you arc more than half mad. Ido not hold you responsible for what you say, >r I would force you to oat your words very quickly.” “Would you? Then you arc wrong. \ud if I am mad, it is your doing—curse you! But you shan’t put mo off like that. I toll you I am not to bo trifled with.” “Why, what could you do if I were to tell you to walk out of the hotel at this moment?” asked. Blomfield with an unpleasant smile. Meredith leant his arm on the table and thrust his face forward till it almost touched that of his host. “I would walk out of the hotel,” ho said slowly, “and on and on till I camo to the police-station, and there I would tell them that a man who is wanted in London for murder is staying at the Hotel do Beau S'ejour.” Blomfield turned white, hut his hand wont behind him as it had done once before that day. This time, though, it did not come back empty. In loss than a second a revolver was levelled at the lawyer’s head. It was Meredith’s turn to look pale. “Put that away,” ho said, nervously. “I don’t moan to give you away.” “You had better not,” said Blomfiold, grimly. “And I think the sooner you and I part the better it will he for both of us.” “Give mo my share, then, and let me go. I know you have money—' thousands—millions!” “Don’t talk nonsense.” “You might have had millions if you had liked. Half of it all belongs to mo. You can’t deny it, for without me what would you have boon? Nobody. Give file half a million, and I will go.” “The man is insane,” muttered Blomfield to himself. “The only thing I can do is to humour him.” “Put that thing down,” cried Meredith, and Blomfield laid the revolver on thhe table. “Mow much can you give mo?” demanded Meredith. ' “1 have only about five hundred pounds with me,” said Blomfield, lying boldly. “You have already had more than that, so that in reality 1 owe you nothing. But I don’t mind ■haring what I have with you.” Meredith leered in the other’s face. “Well, give it me, then,” he said, suddenly. Blomfield rose to get the bank-notes from his bedroom, forgetting the revolver, which he had left on, the table. Tiie moment he had disappeared Mere-

d.tli stretched out hie hand and grasp-1 od the weapon. Then he rose, and vith a tread as soft as a cat’s followed his accomplice into the next room. Peering over Blomfield’s shoulder he saw a heap of gold as well as a great bundle of bank-notes, from which Blomfield was selecting a fow. “You liar!” hissed a voice at his ear. “Give mo half of what you have there. No—three-quarters. I will have threefourths, for your trying to cheat me. Hand it over!” “I will not!” “Then die, you dog!” A flash, and a report, and the vrctch fell head first over his ill-gotten thousands. He was dead. When the people of the hotel, alarmed by the shot, burst into the room, they found Meredith, quite unconscious of his danger, pulling sovereigns from" under the body of the man ho had v murdered, and stuffing them into bis pocket. When they Laid hands on him, he told them with a shout of insane laughter that he had inherited a fortune of several millions, and asked them to share it with him. Ho was quite mad, and now spends his days in a maison de santo, his chief pleasure being to count, over and over again,' a handful of gilt counters representing napoleons, which some one has charitably given him. Among the papers which the French police found in the dead man’s portmanteaux was a strange document—a letter addressed to the editor of a London newspaper. It was evident that the writer had intended to post it after reaching a place of security. The letter was at once an explanation and a confession. “In order to set myself right with the world,” began this extraordinary letter, “I wish to state that, although it is true that I shot Miss Montague, the affair was really an accident. I gathered from Mr. Falconer when I saw him the same evening that she was about to divulge a secret which she ' had solemnly promised me she would keep. I resolved to see her at once, and persuade or frighten her into keeping my secret—for the secret was mine. I wanted to make her believe that it would be dangerous for her to break faith with me. “It was known at the office that Mr. Falconer kept a revolver in his desk, and after leaving the office that night it occurred to me that I would take the revolver with me when I went to see her, and make a show of frightening her with it. I did not know it was loaded. That I swear. I never suspected that a man could bo such a fool as to keep a loaded revolver in his desk. ‘ ‘I took care to be early at the spot where the girl was to meet Mr. Falconer, and there I found her dressed in the character of Captain Brabazon. I entreated her not to betray our secret—not to let it be known that she had been appearing in the world as Captain Brabazon—or at least to conceal the fact that I had anything to do with it. “She refused to do either. I implored her as a favour to do as I asked, and she merely laughed at mo. Then I produced the revolver, and threatened to shoot her on the spot. Again she laughed at me, although she must have known that her refusal meant the ruin of my dearest hones. “I did not intend oven to snap the pistol at her, though no doubt I must have done so. To m3’ horror it exploded, and she fell at my feet, shot through the heart. I repeat that I never loaded the weapon, nor even suspected that it was loaded. “My first thought, after ascertaining that the poor girl was realty dead, was to conceal the body, and thus give s. 11 time to escape. With some dif'iciilty I dragged it into a clump of gorso bushes, and there I left it, certain that it would bo found before long, as in fact it was. As for Falconer, he had nothing to do with the affair, as the girl was dead before ho appeared on the scene.” No doubt this letter had been written with a view of saving Alan from the last penalty of the law in the event of the jury finding him guilty. At least, ho and Mr. Rowe liked to think so. When they road the letter they had no difficulty in understanding the part that Blomfield had played in the affair of the mock marriage. The girl Montague had at one time been in love with him, so she would never have proved so facile an instrument in his hands. Being madty in love with Winnie, and knowing that Alan, who was his rival, would shortly return to England, ho had resolved to place what would appear an insurmountable barrier between him and Winnie. This he effected by means of her marriage with the sham Captain Brabazon. And no doubt Connie was the more willing to enter into the plot because she saw that by protending to marry Winnie herself, she would at least prevent her from marrying tlio man she herself loved, Henry Blomfield. Most people refused to believe that part of the confession in which Blomficld stated that lie had not loaded the revolver, and did not even know that it was loaded. But Alan for one was inclined to think that ho had only spoken truth, and that Robert had put in the cartridge, and then, not knowing how to extract it, and not caring to acknowledge that ho had been meddling with the contents of Alan’ desk, had carelessly’ left the weapon loaded. The money found in Blomfield’s possession when ho camo by his end, went of course to his creditors, but Alan and Winnie insisted that the remaining deficiency in the Greatorex Fund should bo made good out of the property loft

her by her father. And this they were able to do without difficulty, as the court decided that the South Atlantic Mining Company were entitled to have convoyed to them the mines which Blomfield’s syndicate had at first protended to sell to them. This decision made Alan a wealthy man, for the mines, as ho had expected, turned out to be exceptionally rich. Months before this, however, he had been raado happy in the possession of the girl he had loved so long and sr Faithfully. The wedding was a verj juiet one, for the world had no ye had time to forget Alan’s trial, and the young couple wore anxious to avoid publicity. ~ But bridesmaids and orange blossoms, wedding bolls and wedding marches, feasting and toast-drinking, are not essential to the happiness of a marriage, and so Alan and his bride proved. They went to Italy for three months, and when they came homo Mr. and Mrs. Rowe met them at Victoria. Mrs. Rowe hugged Winnie to her heart and then releasing her she stretched out a hand to her nephew without looking at him, her gaze being fixed on the face of the bride. “Why, my dear!” she exclaimed, “one might take you fpr a girl of seventeen! You look the very picture of health and happiness.” “And so I am, dear aunt,” whispered Winnie, “for I am perfectly strong now, and I think I am the very happiest girl in the whole wide world.” (The End.)