(Copyright.) The Moseley Mystery.

Northland Age, Volume 2, Issue 41, 22 May 1906, Page 7

(Copyright.) The Moseley Mystery.

AS TOLD BY A LADY EX-DETECTIVE. By John K. Leys, Author of “Dark Doings/’ “Thy Black Terror/' “The Lindsays/’ “The Sign of the Golden Horn/' &c., &c, PART 3. CHAPTER VI. a new Idea suggests itself. The same evening 1 had another private interview with Lady Farrell. In a few words I told her that I had ascertained, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that there had been no collusion between Miss Troup and her nephew in the matter of the cheque. I strongly urged her to speak frankly to Mr. Moseley on the subject, and ask him whether he had any explanation to offer, venturing a hint thut this was a matter of simple justice to him. And I wound up by saying that as I had failed to throw any light upon the mystery, and saw no prospect of my being able to do so, there seemed no reason why she should burden herself with the expense of my services any longer. I said this with much inward regret; for I foresaw that at my first essay in the business of a detective had only resulted in failure, the chances were that Messrs. Weeby and Turner would inform me that they did not wish to retain me in their employment. However, Lady Farrell’s first words, ungracious as they were, set my mind at rest on that point. "It will be time enough to talk of going when I tell you that I have no further med of your services,’’ said she. “It is a comfort to me to have you here; and I don’t care for the expense. I think you are right about telling Mr. Moseley that I know that the cheque has been altered. But I wish you would do it for me. The idea of speaking to him about it is sirnnly abhorrent to me. Will you do it ?” The task was unpleasant enough for me; but I could see that it must have been still more painful for Lady Farrell, so I consented to do what she required of me. It was not until the following day that I had an opportunity of speaking to Mr. Moseley alone. I watched" for him as he was leaving the house after his usual afternoon call, and U*gcred him to step into the drawing room, which I knew to be empty. “W 11. what is it?” he asked, with n smile, as he followed me into the room and closed the door behind him. “I have a very unpleasant duty to perform, Mr. Moseley,’’ I began ; “one which has lw*en entrusted to me, I might almost say against my will.'’ He looked surprised, but said nothinir. and flung himself down on a :ouch, to listen to what I had to say. “You remember a conversation we hnd about an advance, a gift of money which your aunt made to you lately ?” I began. “Yes/’ he answered, flushing, and sitting upright ; “and you must allow me to tell you, Miss Hamilton (if you still prefer to be called by that name), that 1 thought you showed on that occasion that you possessed a very fair share of feminine curiosity. I can’t conceive—pardon me for saying so—what interest you can possibly have in my private affairs.” For the moment I felt angry ; but I soon repressed the feeling.' It was only natural that Frank should resent my interference. “It would indited be unwarrantable in me to say a single word on the subject ; but the truth is, that I am speaking merely as the mouthpiece of your aunt.’’ “The mouthpiece of my aunt ! I can’t understand why she should not say herself what she wants to say. However, go on. please.” “That cheque, Mr. Moseley—l mean the last one you had from her—do you know of anything peculiar about it—anything requiring explanation ?” He stared at me, and for a moment did not answer. "Do you mean about the man I paid it away to ?” he asked, at length. “Not particularly. But is there rto Circumstance, no very important circumstance, which needs to be explained ? Oh, Mr. Moseley, believe me, if there is, your best plan is to go at once to Lady Farrell and tell her the whole truth.” “I don’t understand you,” he said, slowly, a look of intense surprise on his face. “I knoW she would be grieved and angry if she knew what I had done with the money ; but you seem to hint at something else.” I had never really doubted Frank’s innocence. Now I was firmly convinced of it. His words and tones were not those of a guilty man. But I determined to test him still further. “Believe me, it were best that your aunt should know all,” I repeated. “She is not unforgiving ; she loves you, and” “What on earth are you driving at ?” he cried, impatiently. “Only this,” said I, looking him straight in the face—“that cheque was originally made out for one thousand pounds, not four thousand.” “It/s a lie !”- He sprang to his feet, quivering with excitement. “My aunt sent me the cheque herself, with a very kind note ; and I wrote and thanked her for it at ©nee. It was for four thousand pounds. Who dares to say that it was only for thousand ? Who says it ?” “Your aunt herself.” He turned pale, trembled, and sank down on the couch from which he had risen. “She must be mad, or dreaming ; or she must have forgotten, or made some strange mistake. I know the ter

bewildered, vacant look, which was more painful to witness than his anger had been. “Go to your aunt, and tell her all about it,” I urged. “I am going,” he said, to his feet, still with the same bewildered air. “Doofc she think that I altered the cheque— committed forgery, in fact, and cheated her out of three thousand pounds ?” “She does not know what to think, but it will be better to go to her at once,” I answered. He turned slowly, left the room, and went upstairs. • I remained where I was. In about a quarter of an hour—it seemed more like an hour to me-1 heard his footsteps in the hall outside, for he had left the drawing room door open, and I had not closed it. He came in, and shut the door. “Miss Hamilton,” he said, “do you believe that I am guilty of this ?” “No,” I cried, impulsively ; “I do not !”- “God bless you !” His voice was husky, and his eyes had a strange dimness in them. “And your aunt ?” I said, almost in a whisper. “I almost think she believes me, in spite of appearances. But, as you say, she does not know what to think.” “And you cannot imagine how the thing happened ?” I asked. “I believe my aunt made a mistake,”- he said, firmly—“changed her mind, and forgot that she had carried out her original intention. She meant, at first, to send the four thousand, and” “But ! there is the counterfoil, which is plainly marked, ‘F. M., £1,000.’ Lady Farrell declares that she wrote that on the counterfoil at the same time she made, out the cheque.” “True. It is inexplicable. I wonder that you can believe in my innocence, no wonder my aunt doubts it,”- he added, sadly. “Good bye.” He left the room, and in another moment I heard the street door close behind him. Almost at the same moment Lady Farrell's maid appeared with a message, begging me to go to her mistress at once. “Miss Hamilton, that poor boy is guilty !” exclaimed Lady Farrell as soon as she saw me. “I do not think so, madam,” was my answer. “You go by his fair words, his looks, and the tones of his voice ; I go by facts,” said she, almost gelyYet, even then, I did not believe that in her heart of hearts Lady Farrell was convinced of her nephew’s guilt. She took a .sort of morbid, pleasure in maintaining what she hoped was not true, because she could see no other way of proving it to be false. Suddenly an idea darted into my mind. “Was Miss Troup in the room with you when you made out the cheque?” I asked. “Yes, she was,” answered Lady Farrell, with a look of surprise. “She is always with me when I write my letters. But she did not even know that Frank had written to ing for money/J. “She may have guessed that much from your looks,” I suggested. “Possibly. But she did not know that 1 had sent him any money until I handed her the blank cheque-book with the counterfoils, to add up the amount of the cheques I had signed.” “I wish you would tell me precisely how it happened,” said I. “That cheque must have been altered before it reached your nephew’s hands—before it left this house.” “You think Miss Troup did it, perhaps ?' t ~Tntked Lady Farrell, with a STnile. “I think it is possible.” “Listen, then, and you will see that it is impossible. I made out the cheque, signed it, and laid it down before me. Then I wrote the amount in the counterfoil, and handed it to Miss Troup the cheque-book containing all the counterfoils of the cheques I had signed that day, for I had signed several. I asked her to add them up, while I wrote a note to Frank, to go with the cheque.” I interrupted Lady Farrell at this point.

“Where was she sitting ?” “At that table and as the lady spoke, she pointed to a small writ-ing-table near her own. Any one sitting near it would be on Lady Farrell's right hand, and a little behind her.

“When I had written the note,” continued Lady Farrell, “I put it and the cheque into an envelope, addressed it myself, and dropped it into a small basket standing on a chair beside me, containing letters for the post. Afterwards I put that letter, along with the others, into the let-ter-box in the hall, which I keep locked? I did not ask Miss Troup to put the letters into the box that day. I did it myself. Does that satisfy you?”-

“Thank you, Lady Farrell ; you have made it very clear.” “And in any case, if there was, as you say, no collusion between Miss Thoup and my nephew, what possible interest couM she have in altering Frank's cheque ?” “I admit that that is a difficulty. But please let me keep my suspicions to.myself for a while. It can do no harm.” And so saying I made my escape from the room. Suppose there had been collusion, not between Miss Troup and Frank Mpseley, but between her and Barton? That was the question that had been in my mind. Barton, after all, had got the money. If I could trace any connection between Miss Troup and this Barton, I might be able to show that Miss Troup had really an interest in the alteration which the cheque had undergone. As these thoughts were running in my head, I was seated at tjie window of my own room. The window commanded a view of the square ; and my gaze became fixed on two persons, a man and a woman, who were walking up and down the further end of the enclosure. The square was a very large one ; and the garden in the centre was quite an extensive piece of ground. One of these persons I thought from her figure to be Miss Troup. What if the other should be Barton, [ Vm person to Frank Moselay

sand pounds ? If I could get a Sight of this man, I said to myself, I might ask Frank to describe Mr. Barton to me, and see whether his description tallied with the appearance of Misir Troup’s companion. In any case, I thought, it can do no harm to see for myself what Miss Troup’s friend is. like. So, throwing on my hat and jacket, I went into the square. By the time I had reached it the two persons I had come to seek had disappeared. I went into an ornamental summer-house which stood near the middle of the enclosure, £o see whether they were there. The place was empty ; but before I turned away Miss Troup's voice fell on my ear. It came from the outside of the little building. The lady and her companion must have been standing or sitting close to the wall, I conjectured ; and her voice had penetrated between the ill-fitting boards of which the wall was composed. This, I found, was actually the case. What Miss Troup had said I had not heard ; but I easily hear/l her companion’s rejoinder. ““Hambley !” he ejaculated. “Did you say her real name was Hambley?” I was so utterly surprised by these words that I sank down on a wooden seat which ran round the summerhouse, unable for a moment to speak or move. CHAPTER VII. WHAT I OVERHEARD IN THE SQUARE. The reader may think of me what he chooses. I know that it is dishonourable to listen deliberately to a ednversation that is intended to be private. All I can say is that I believe that ninety-nine women out of a hundred—and, for the matter of that, nine hundred and ninety-nine men out of a thousand—would have done exactly as I did, when I heard my own name uttered under these strange circumstances. Who was this friend of Miss Troup’s who manifested such surprise tfo hear that I was living at Cumberland-square ? Not a former acquaintance of my own ; I felt tolerably confident of that, for the voice was quite strange to me. Yet if he were a stranger, What possible interest could he take in my name ? I deliberately set myself to listen to the remainder of the conversation. “Are you sure that the lady's name is Hambley ? How did you find out?” .“Mr. Moseley told me; or, rather, I got it out of him.” “Is she a relation of his, do you know ?” The words were carelessly spoken, but T fancied that I could detect a tone of anxiety in the speaker’s voice. “Not that I know of.” answered Miss Troup. “And what if she were?” “Nothing. I only wondered if it were so.” “Why ?” “Good heavens, Alice ! how you tease a fellow! There, now—don’t make a fuss about nothing. What is it to me if she is the fellow’s aunt, or niece, or great-grandmother ?” “You seemed so surprised to hear her name.” “Well, if I seemed surprised, I wasn’t, that’s all.” “But isn’t it odd that Lady Farrell should have a person living under a false name in her house ?” “Rather.” “I should say she came there as a spy. I don’t believe she is a relation of old Sir Joseph Farrell's. And if I catch her at a.ny tricks I shall tell the old hyena that she passes under a false name.” By “the old hyena” I understood that Lady Farrell was meant. “Don’t be. foolish, Alice,” said the man, in a peremptory tone. “Don’t you see that if the hyena, as you call her, has brought this Miss Hambley on the ?cene, passing her off as a relation of her husband's, you gain nothing by peaching on her ? Probably Lady Farrell herself suggested the change of name.”

“Why should she do that ?” “How can I tell ? What is she like, this Miss Hamilton, or Hambley ?” “Oh, an insignificant little creature. Sticks herself up, and puts on the lady-like in her manners.” “Bother her manners! In looks, I mean.”

“She's rather dark—dark brown hair and eyes, and a pale complexion A decentish mouth, but plain on the whole. A little more, and she would have been positively hideous.” “Can’t r ou tell me anything I could know her by ?”

“Why are you so anxious to know what she is like ?”

That was exactly the question I would have asked myself, had I been privileged to put one ! I listened eagerly to know how it would be answered. But the reply, when it came, was disappointing. “I never knew such a girl as you are, Alice, for taking up a fellow's words, and teasing him with questions.”

“I ask questions !” cried Miss Troup. “You are a pretty one to say that, when you have been doing little else than 1 ask questions of me ever since I came out ! Why are you so curious about Miss Hamilton ?” “I wanted to know whether >she would be likely to have Moseley falling in love with her, that’s all.” The man was lying, I felt sure. He had pretended to be annoyed by Miss Troup’s question, simply because he had not' got an answer ready for it. And, somehow, I did not believe that the reason he had given for his curiosity about me was the true one. But evidently Alice Troup believed in it.

“You may make your mind easy on that point,” said she, with a little scornful laugh. “Frank Moseley is a booby. I can turn him round my little finger.”

“I suppose that means that there has been a good deal of love-making between you and him.” “How can you speak in that coarse way, Harvey?” exclaimed the girl, in an injured tone* “You know that I care for you, and you only. Did you not tell me that I must acquire an influence over this young man ? And how could I do so without allowing him to make love to me ?” “Allowing him tq make love to you i# one fting; ... being rjgulw

“You are jealous. Harvey; and I am sure you have little enough occasion for it.” “Oh, well, never mind.” „ “But I do mind. I won’t have you being jealous. I want; you to be nice, and—as you used to be.” “So I am. But how late it is! I am afraid, if you don’t go in now, you will be missed.” Somehow, this vulgar talk did not strike me as having much seal feeling of any kind in it. That Miss Troup was really in love with this man, whoever he might be, I had little doubt. But she seemed rather pleased at the idea that her lover should be jealous of Frank Moseley. And it seemed to me that he, on his side, was rather pretending to feel jealousy than actually experiencing that passion. lie did not respond very warmly to Miss Troup’s protestation of affection; and P noticed that the remark about the lateness of the hour had come from him. not from her. The same thing seemed to have occurred to Miss Troup. “You " seem tired of my company already, Harvey.” “What nonsense! But you must be careful, you know.” “As if you were always so prudent ! And that reminds me—l told you it was a mistake to walk in the street together. We are much safer here.” “Were we noticed on Thursday by any one in particular ?” “Frank Moseley saw us, and took it into his wise head to be jealous of you.” “The deuce*he did !” “Hh wanted to know who you were.” “And you told him?” “I said you were my cousin, a Mr. Troup, from Birmingham ; so if you should ever meet that young gentleman”— Miss Troup was interrupted by an exclamation, or rather a series of exclamations, from her lover, which I need not transcribe. “How could you be such an utter idiot ?” he cried, angrily, when his remarks took an intelligible shape. “What would you have had me do ?” cried the girl, angrily. “Could I tell him I had another lover ? I was forced to say that you were a relation ; and I had no time to think what was the best explanation to give,” No answer was vouchsafed to this question, and it was repeated. “Don’t you see that if ever I meet the fellow I must either go under a false name, or let him know that you have told him a lie ?” “I don’t see that you need ever meet him.” “It is very unfortunate, that’s all.” “Why ? Why should it matter to you ?” An impatient exclamation was the only reply to this', and Miss Troup's answer was pitched in too low a key to hear it. I could make out however that she was endeavouring to coax her lover back into, good-humour, and that was quite enough for me. Apparently she succeeded in her object ; for shortly afterwards I heard the man’s voice. He was speaking in a tolerably pleasant tone, and to my renewed surprise his words were : “By the way, before I go I wish you would describe that Miss Hambley, or Hamilton, to me. I quite agree with you in thinking that she not gone to Cumberland-square without some motive, and that we ought to be on our guard against her. I want to be able to know her when I see her.”

Thereupon Miss Troup gave her lover so minute a description of my personal appearance and of my ordinary dfess, that i felt that I had not hitherto done justice in my own mind to that lady's powers of observation. Some love passages to which I did not listen followed this ; and then the receding voices warned me that the two lovers had left the gardenseat on which they had been sitting. In a moment I stood up and glided to the door of the summer-house. I was intensely anxious to catch a glimpse of this man, in order that I might be able afterwards to identify him ; but I feared to follow the retreating couple too closely. I argued with myself that I might have other opportunities of seeing Miss Troup's lover. At the worst I would be able to recognize him, I thought, by his voice. But if I were seen by Miss Troup at the present moment, I might give up all hope of turning the summer-house to account on a second

In much doubt as to what was the best course to pursue, I left my place of concealment, and. went down the path which I thought Miss Troup and her companion must have taken in order to reach the gate opening upon the square. They had by this time got so far ahead of me that I thought there was little danger of their observing me, even if they should happen to look behind. I caught sight of the. pair just as they reached the gate ; and fortunately for me they did not pause to look round the gardens before passing through it. Miss Troup was the first to leave the enclosure. Her companion lingered behind her for a few minutes, no doubt as a measure of precaution. I was too far off to see his features distinctly ; but I could perceive that he was a tall man, with dark hair and dark moustache. I did not dare to venture nearer, lest the stranger might recognize me through Miss “Troup’s description of me, and suspect that I might have overheard some of his conversation.

As soon as he left the square, however, I followed him. But I was too l.ate. The broad carriage-way and the pavement were alike deserted. I went down one street on the chance of overtaking him, in order that I might get a nearer view of him than I had been able to get in the garden. But he was not to be seen ; and I came to the conclusion that he must have either walked away at the top of his speed, or must have caught a passing hansom, and driven off rapidly. When I returned to Lady Farrell’s house the door was opened before I had time to knock, and Frank Moseley came out. I could see by his face that something serious, something painful, had occurred. He was as pale as if he had been in a swoon, and he- ' l

me, and descended two or three of the steps without seeing me. “Mr. Moseley, what has happened?” I cried, involuntarily. He turned, and the ghost of a smile came to his face as he recognized me.

“It is all over,” he said, in a husky voice. “I may as well bid you goodbye, for I shan’t come to this house again.”

“I wish you would step inside,” I said, “and tell me what has occurred. Do !”

He yielded—he always did yield to any one who expressed a strong desire for anything—poor Frank ! I took him into the library and closed the door.

“My aunt and I have had a quarrel.” he said. “She persists in believing that I wilfully cheated her out of three thousand pounds by altering her cheque. Of course, I can’t go on coming to the house with an accusation of that sort hanging over me. So I told her I wouldn’t see her again till she could say she believed me to be innocent. Hot things were said on both sides, which I need not repeat. I told her to send for the police, and she seemed to think that the height of impudence on my part. In short, we had a scene. I’m sorry for it, I can tell you ; for my aunt is the only mother I have everknown, and she has been very kind to me until now. Besides, the fact is, Jane, I don’t know what I’m to do for a living !”•

The old familiar name had slipped out unawares.

“Don’t lose heart,” I said. “You are not the first who has had to bear the brunt of a false accusation. And you should not be so bitter against your aunt for doubting you. Remember how dreadfully appearances are against you !” “That is true. You are the only one who believes, in me, Jane. Who else could ?”

“Can you think of no one who could have had an opportunity of getting at the cheque and altering it ?” I asked, earnestly. “Nobody,” said Frank. “The morning my aunt’s letter came I was looking out for the postman’s knock, and I took the letter almost from his hand. The. cheque was for fbur thousand pounds, and was in my aunt’s handwriting, as I hope to be saved!”

“Never mind ; you will be cleared yet,” I said, as cheerlully as I could; and then I let him go. I was glad that there was no occasion for me to see Lady Farrell again that night. She did not come down to dinner, and she did not send for me. Miss Troup and I spent the evening in each other’s company, keeping up the usual forms of politeness, of course, but making no - pretence of trying to entertain one another.

I had plenty of food for reflection, and long after I had retired to rest that night my mind was busy with the strange conversation I had overheard in the square. Poor Frank ! I could see that he was destined to be bankrupt in affection as well as in worldly goods. I had discovered that Miss Troup vvas only playing with him ; and, stranger still, I had learned that she had been incited to gain an influence over him by a stranger, and that stranger her own lover !

.That there was some mystery here I felt certain ; and, more than this, it was a mystery in which I was personaly concerned. I could not forget the tone of surprise in which Miss Troup’s lover had said “Did you say that the lady's real name was Hambley ?” nor his accent of guarded meaning as he asked further “Is she a relation of his ?” meaning Frank Moseley.

As for the cheque, not a single reference to it had fallen from the lips of either Miss Troup or her companion. I had made little or no progress in my efforts to read the riddle of the altered draft. But I felt that I was on the verge of another mystery one in which I as well as my old friend Frank Moseley, was concerned. Who was this man ? Why should he encourage his sweetheart to make a vassal of Frank, and then complain, or pretend to complain, as if ho were jealous ? Was he the H. Barton whose name appeared on the back of the altered cheque ? Harvey might be his Christian name. If so, was he the guilty man ? But, above all, why should he concern himself about me, or feel surprise at my being in Lady Farrell's house ? Why should he inquire if I were related to Frank Moseley ? Why should he be so anxious to know what I was like ? To these and a dozen similar questions I could find no answer ; but they continued to vex my worried brain, until at'length I fell asleep. CHAPTER VIII. I PAY A VISIT TO FIG TREE COURT, TEMPLE. On the following morning I visited Lady Farrell, and I saw at the first glance that she had not slept that night. She was in a wretched state of mind ; at one moment indignant at her nephew’s ungrateful crime, and his subsequent duplicity (as she chose to consider it), and the next tormented by the thought that, after all, it was possible that she might be accusing him unjustly. To justify her own conduct, she went on talking of the forgery, placing Frank’s conduct in its worst light, and insisting on two things—first, that by his own confession Frank had broken his plighted word and had gambled away this money before it had become his; and, secondly, that no one but himself could have committed the forgery.

I saw that in her present mood it was useless to say a word in Frank's behalf, or urge anything in his favour ; and I heard instructions given to have a new will prepared without interposing a word. I may say at onoe that I did not think it necessary to make Lady Farrell acquainted with what I had heard in the garden. I could not see that it had any bearing upon the matter of the forged cheque. But I had not abandoned the idea that Miss Troup might possibly be concerned in the fraud —she and Mr. Barton working together. On the contrary, that notion haunted my brain. I again went up to Lady Farrell’s room, and asked her whether she ndskees of

of Mr.'"Moseley’s more intimaffe acquaintances. “For what purpose ?” she asked sharply.“I want to find out something about Mr. 11. Barton,” I answered. Lady Farrell shrugged her shoulders contemptuously. “There is Mr. Lister,” she said, after a pause—“ Mr. Hugh Lister, of No. 7, Fig Tree-court, Temple. He and Frank arc, or were very intimate I believe he tried to exercise a good influence over my nephew—and failed. Perhaps he might be of use to you.” And Lady Farrell turned again to her writing, as if the subject were not worthy of another moment’s thought.

As for me, I set off at once for the Temple. Fig Tree-court I found to be a narrow, paved yard, surrounded by dirty brick houses, so lofty as to almost shut out the sky.

Mr. Lister’s wore on the third floor ; and I was fortunate in finding him in. He turned out to be a frank, pleasant man, of perhaps five-and-thirty years of age. Some grey hairs mingled with the brown locks ; but he seemed as fresh and full of life as a lad of twenty could be. He received me with a staid politeness which did not prevent my seeing the .suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes. I had forgotten that I was a comparatively young woman ; and that for me to be visiting a gentleman at his chambers at the Temple might be thought singular. True, Mr. Lister, I presumed, was a lawyer ; but then I had a notion that, ladies never went to consult barristers in person. It was too late, however, to reflect on these points. Mr. Lister was politely waiting for me to state my business. I did so in as few words as I possibly could. “I have taken the liberty of calling on behalf of Lady Farrell, who furnished me with your address,” I began. “She suspects that her nephew has been in some way victimized by a Mi\ H. Barton. Can you, as Mr. Moseley's friend, tell us anything about this Mr. Barton ?”

Mr. Lister's open countenance became clouded.

“I know Mr. Barton to my cost,” he said at length. “He is not a fortunate acquaintance for young men ; and I was old enough to know better. The fact is, Mr. Barton keeps what is practically a gambling hell in a certain street off St. James’sstreet. Frank Moseley lost large sums there on two successive nights ; and I believe Barton offered to lend him the money to pay his losses.” “Was the money fairly lost, do you think ?”

“I don't know, but I had. my suspicions, and so had others. There is little use going into that,” he added, “for the money is lost past recall, and I think there is little fear of Moseley going there again. Certainly, I shall not,” he concluded with a smile. “Do you think Barton and the men to whom Mr. Moseley lost the money may have been in collusion with each other ?” I asked.

“It is possible, certainly.” “Is Barton’s Christian name Harvey,?” “No ; it is Henry. But he may havt many aliases for anything I. can tell. 1

“What is he like ?” “A tall, thin fellow, with lantern jaws, a short, fox-tail coloured beard and shifty, light bliMKeyes.”

Except in the matter of height, not a single point in this description answered to the appearance of the man whom I had seen at the gate of the garden in the square. Not one. I rose to go, but Mr. Lister detained me by asking a few’ polite questions about Lady Faerell. “You will think that the question is an odd one,” said I ; “but can you tell me this Mr. Barton’s private address ?”

Mr. Lister looked at me curiousl; as he answered :

“I fancy tlvre are few men in London who could tell you that'; but perhaps I could find out for you.”

-He scribbled a fow words on a sheet of paper, rang for his clerk, and "despatched him with the nolo he had just written.

“I ought to tell you,” said I, anxious to justify myself to some extent in Mr. Lister’s eyes, “that, this is not a mere question of money. Mr. Moseley's honour and his whole future are at stake.” The barrister answered this only by a bow and a look of surprise ; and then, apparently thinking that his silence might be misconstrued, he begged to b<3 allowed to do anything he could for Frank Moseley and Lady Farrell.

The clerk soon returned with an address, which I copied in my memo-randum-book, and Mr. Lister insisted upon piloting *jiedown stairs and out of the labyrinth of the Temple to the Strand.

No one who has not been placed, as I then was placed, in an equivocal and embarrassing position, can understand how much I appreciated that little act of politeness.

That evening, after obtaining the necessary authority from Lady Farrell, I wrote to Messrs. Weeby and Turner, desiring them to have a watch kept on the movements of Mr. Henry Barton, with the view of ascertaining whether he was in any way related to Miss Troup, or was in the habit of holding communication of any kind with that young lady. To be Continued. (993.)