THE DUCHESS OF PONTIFEX GARDENS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIII, Issue 13307, 13 October 1906, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE DUCHESS OF PONTIFEX GARDENS.

'rUBLISSED by special ARRANGEMENT.]

BY G. W. APPLETON. ! Author of '' A Forgotten Past," " A Fool and ' ■ -v Hiss Folly." "A Tragedy of Error." " Doubles and Quits," etc., etc.. etc. [COPYRIGHT.^ CHAPTER I. [r is a very strange story that T am about to relate. I was just upon twenty-eight when it all began. 1 had taken my degree in medicine at the University of Edinburgh, and after a voyage or two in the capacity of ship's surgeon on a P. and 0. liner I invested what remained of a very small patrimony in the good-will of a dispensary in a southern suburb of London. My patients were humble folk who paid the inclusive sum of one shilling for advice and a bottle of medicine or a box of pills or ointment, as occasion served, For " confinements" I charged the moderate fee of fifteen shillings, and I did not even disdain to draw a tooth—front or back, it mattered not which—with an old pair of forceps I found on the premisesfor the inodeiate sum of one shilling. The meshes of my professional net were very small at that time, and even minnows had their value. There was a reason for this. It soon came to my knowledge that my predecessor, to whom I had paid a really substantial sum, was a man of bibulous habits who . had so neglected a prosperous business that the dispensary had now fallen into dis- j repute. However, I threw all my energy and a j good deal of conscience into the ventuie, I and through the fortuitous aid of a lucky accident or two my reputation as a miracle- ( worker became bruited about the neighbourhood. Whereupon my clientele increased in a most surprising manner. Sometimes as many «s twenty people of both sexes and of all ages crowded my little waiting-room, and, of course, this necessitated the employment of a dispenser, and I felt that things were moving apace. As for the dispensary itself I must admit that it was somewhat shabby, though befittingly so. perhaps. One corner of the waiting-room was boarded off as a surgery, and, through "a shelved opening, medicine bottles were passed out by mv assistant. Benches ran about the room, and upon the walls were hung pictorial reminiscences of many a departed Christmas as set forth in once glaring colours of the illustrated press. Most important or all, however, was an inner door, bearing a big brass plate, and upon it was engraved this device:— "Julius Perigord, M.D. Consult-ing-room." Behind that door for certain hours of the day and evening 1 sat at a table, suitably appointed, arid received my patients. r Now though dignified in my maimer, as it behoves any doctor to be who courts success, I possessed, at that time at least, just that amount of suavity which I found to be pleasing to women, and made a point ?bt»ve all of ingratiating myself with the O'jtbjrs of small children, and even the chiidreu themselves, -a wrinkle well worth any young practitioner's while to consider. For shortly my fifteen-shilling fees increased by leaps and bounds concurrently with an all-round improvement in my general practice, and I felt myself quite justified in taking a house in a good street bordering upon the neighbourhood. There I set- up another brass plate, flew at higher game, and shortly achieved a very credit- | ..hie: success in that direction. S-. It was just about this, period that an •. incident occurred, trivial and Commonplace enough in itself, but fraught with consec quences of which you will hear a good deal in the coursc of this narrative. One winter's night I had just locked my surgery door, after a busy evening, and stood lighting a cigarette, when a quaint little body in an enormous but much bedraggled feather hat, and an antiquated velvet jacket that nearly reached her ankles, stepped up to me and touched me lightly on the arm. ■'- "Are you Dr. Perigord?" she asked. By the flare of the match I saw the upturned face of the questioner— bright «jid eager face of a mere child of sixteen or so. "Yesthat's my name," I replied. "Well, then, will you come and see our duchess?" It seemed an odd sort of a question, and, ' p as I looked at her in puzzled surprise, she quickly added: "Oh! it's all right enough. She wants to tee you very bad." "The duchess docs?" " Yes, sir." W " And she sent you to me?" ' i'es, sir." Where does she live?" Down at our place, —19, Pontifex Gardens." I knew Pontifex Gardens well. A small cul-de-sac, not far away, ending in a brewery wall and flanked on either side by little two-storeyed stucco houses with diminutive fore-courts. It was not exactly squalid, but ••othing under the designation of garden— t.i Londoncould have been much shabbier cr run down at the heel. " What's the matter with this duchess of yours?" 1 asked. ' " Dunno, sir— least, nothink in my opinion and mother's. She's always wanting doctors to come and see her—it's a 'obby, father calls it, and mother, she tells her about you. You know Mr.;, Mulligan, at No. 13," don't you, sir?" "Oh, yes," I replied. "I know Mrs. Mulligan very well. The twins, I hope, are going on all right." "sDunno, sir, I'm sure; but Mrs. Mulligan, sha tells mother what a 'stronary man you are, and mother tells the duchess, and the moment she 'ears your, name' no sleep for me,' she . gays, 'until I sees this Dr. Perigord.' So there you are, sir! Will you come or not it's nothink to me." I reflected for a moment. I had no visit of special importance to make at that hour, , and feeling my curiosity gently stimulated I a'> once said: t) "Ail right, little woman, come along. Within ten minutes we duly arrived at No. 19, Pontifex Gardens. As the " little woman" lifted the latch of the gate she pointed up to an illumined red blind in the first floor window. _ _ > "That's 'er room, sir. She's settin' up for you. I knew she would." " Lodger?" I asked. "Yes, sirhas the whole floor, front and back." {/ " Been here long?" - "'Bout six months,* sir." - <_ "Why do you call her the duchess?" ; s£ j. " 'Cause she's such a lydy, sir. She calls • herself Mrs. Latimer; but mother says she knows better by the rings on her fingers all dimer.ts and no end." "Oh! indeed. You are lucky to have such a lodffer," I replied in some amazeV ' ment. Must help to keep things going x \ a bit." "Oh! a lot. ■ It means the rent, father says, and he's a bricklayer, father is. Perhaps you know him, sir." It* "What name?" _ n KKi; - ;. "Minims. Thomas Mimms, sir.' ■ "Oh, indeed! I don't quite recall the , • name. By the way, this duchess, or rather Mrs. Latimer, is she old or young .' y '} "Oh. she's old —goodness gracilis* !* ous. Yes. as old as old— she dresses SsK ' young. You know the sort, sir; you ve seen 'em many's the time, I dare say. jfefe " I laughed at this. "Yes," I said, " I dare fVi" wiv I have, and now, Miss Minims — "Emily Ann, sir." ' "Right; now, Emily Ann, show me the J way to this wonderful old lady." K It; . ' : ■■ , I*' l ' ' ' *

•" We ■ bad been talking " in whispers, for ' odious reasons. ' She opened the door and held it wide for me to enter a narrow passage lighted by a tin petroleum lamp hanging from a nail in the wall. At that instant a voicc came up the kitchen stairs: "Is that you, Emily Ann?" " Yes; mother. and 'ere's the doctor to see the duchess." "Oh, is. he?" and the next moment, a ruddy and robust woman of middle ago came smiling down the passage. I could see that she summed me up in a glance, and that the result was quite satisfactory. . "Oh, I am so glad you've come, 'Dr. Perigord," said she, pulling down her rolled up sleeves. " I 'ope you're enjoying good 'ealth yourself, sir." Yes, thank you, Mrs. Mimms— good health, indeed," 1 replied. "That's a mercy. Must be very tiring work—a doctor's, sir. Night and day at it, "like. No being bundled out of your first" sleep for me, though I had to go through with it once with Em'ly Ann 'ere, and— but what I was going to say, sir, was just this. I 'card Mrs. Mulliganshe what had twins, you know, sir—l 'eard her talk so much about the wonderful things what you done for her that I mentions it quite casual like to the duchess, meaning Mrs. Latimer, yesterday, and since then there's been no peace till you was sent for." " Oh, indeed," I replied. . "And what, may I ask. is the nature of the lady's complaint? Anything serious?" Mrs. Minims bent down and whispered in my ear. " Lor' lummy, sir—no more than me. But don't you go and tell 'er what I say. What she wants is a doctor to be always a 'anting about her like. My 'usband calls it a 'obby, and that's just what it is. But you go up and see 'er. You'll like 'er. She's a lady born and bred—if I ever see one." And in a tone that might have been heard on the very housetop she added, What are you standing there for, Emily Ann? Don't keep the duchess ailing. Show Dr. Perigord up at once." | By this time I was brimful of curiosity to see what this extraordinary " duchess" was like. I followed Emily Ann up the I creaking staircase, and stood aside as, after , a preliminary tap. she opened the door. Then she beckoned to me with her thumb, and said: " I found 'im, your ladyship, and 'ere he is." With that I entered the room. CHAPTER IT. It was a mere bandbox of a room, but very cheery and bright, with a lire burning in the grate, a big tabby cat blinking contentedly on the hearthrug, and a lamp with a red shade on the table. Suddenly there arose from the depths of a capacious armchair facing the fire one of the quaintest little old ladies 1 ever clapped eyes upon. Her wig. of inordinate size, was a mass of interlacing curls, bright yellow in hue, a startling foil to a pair of glittering coalblack eyes instantly focussed upon mine. Her cheeks were highly rouged, there was a faint suspicion of' a moustache on her upper lip, and my instant impression was that she was not an English woman. She wore a dress of old brocade as stiff as buckram, relieved by a fichu of lace on her lingers were many rings of price. She made me quite a stately bow, and motioned me to be seated. '• It is sogcod of you to come," said she. "The doctors in this neighbourhood are such —and such liars. One said it was lungs, another liver: a third, heart trouble ; all lies—lies— "Oh, indeed!" I said. "May I inquire, madam, what the nature of your complaint really is?" " I don't know, but I wish to know," she replied. " Th.it is one reason why I sent for you to-night." " One reason," I thought to myself.v What the deuce can the other reason be?" However, I affected to take no .notice of the curious remark,, and at once went through the usual formula. I asked "many questions, and, in the end, at her request, had recourse to my stethoscope. I was puzzled. "Well,"doctor," said she. "What is the matter with me?" "Nothing; you are as sound as a bell, madam." •.'[ \ * v- !•••'. . She laughed right merrily. . * ,• " Of course I am. I took you to be anhonest man, and not afraid to speak the truth." Now, if I H'ere put upon my oath. I should be bound to confess that my first impressions were these : " Here is a ' malade imaginaire.' I will invent a disease, and she may prove a small income to me, but, happily, I saw an indefinable something in the old lady's eye that bade me be cautious, and speak the truth, and of that I took immediate advantage. , ' "It may suit the purposes of other people to deceive," I replied, "but that is not my method. Between doctor and patient there should be no concealments, madam. That is a root principle to which I always adhere. It pays in the end —to both."' "It does, indeed." said she. " And now," I added, keen upon my opportunity, " this point' mutually conceded, what, may I ask. was your other motive in sending for me to-night?" " Move your chair up a little closer," said she. I did so. "The house is small, and the walls as thin as matchwood," said she. "One cannot tell who is listening. Was not your father a doctor?" The question surprised me. "Yes," 1 said; "lie was." '■ Your name is an unusual onenot one easily to forget, and when the good soul below stairs mentioaed it to me I at once thoughtbut, before I come to that, doctor, you may wonder why 1 live in such a place as this." "It is doubtless your pleasure to do so, madam," I replied in my best diplomatic manner. "It is not my pleasure, God knows," said she, " but a matter of necessity. The surroundings are not congenial, but I must make the best of them. The people here are somewhat coarse and vulgar, but honest and kindly. They think me a harmless lunatic. That suits my purpose to a nicety. They call me 'The duchess.' I permit at. It jumps with my humour. Curiously enough, 1 am a duchess," and, noticing my uplifted eyebrows at this point, she hastened to add: Don't you think me a lunatic for making the admission. Is your father still alive?" "No," I answered. "He died abroad when I was quite a lad." In Italy?" "In Italy, yes—" " Killed in a duel?" My jaw fell at this. " Good Lord, madam! What do you mean? Did you know my father?" Ask me rather," she replied, "If I recognise his son. 1 cannot be mistaken, lor never were two men more alike than your father and yourself. Yes, I knew' Dr. Perigord well; indeed, I was the innocent cause of his death." This was startling enough in all conf science, and I simply stared at her in blank amazement, awaiting her next words. " It was a sad, a terrible affair," she went on, "and I am glad, indeed, to meeti and. to be in a position to make some suitab'e recompense to the son for the loss of a brave and chivalrous father. Were you not born in Rome?" This was true enough. Reference to a Murray's guide book of that period would show that my father's name was included in the list of English physicians then practising in Rome. Eight years after my birth the untoward event occurred to which she had alluded, after which I proceeded to England with my mother, who, provided with a modest competence, now resided ii» Tunbridge, Wells. I hesitated a moment, more from astonishment than from any other cause, and then said: "Yes, madam. ' I was born in Rome." - " In the Via Babuino, near the Piazza di Spagna?" "Quite true." "Then perhaps you can recall the circumstance of your father's death." " Most clearly," I replied. " I remember his being brought home in a dying condition. He had received a sword thrust through the lungs. What I mainly recall, however, is my mother's grief, which was terrible. She took me in to see his dead body, and broke completely down. Young as 1 was at the time, the scene made a lasting impression upon me."- ' i

An eager look came into the little old \ lady's eyes as fixing them upon mine, she leaned forward and said: , \ ." Did she—your motherspeak of the cause of your father's death? " Did she mention a woman's name in that connection?" I made an appeal to my memory. The tragedy had occurred so many years ago. Yes," I said at last. " She spoke of a certain duchessthe name, I think, waa Frangipani." "And did she speak of, the duchess in anger?" , "No," I replied. "She said nothing in anger." t Thank God!" she said fervently, " thank God! 1 am the Duchessa di Frangipani." No sooner had the words passed her lips than she started up with a cry , of alarm. "What is that? Did you hear anything?" and with a terrified glance about the room she seized my arm aa if for protection. I had heard a peculiar sound as if caused by the presence of somebody in the room, but I could not exactly define it, nor could I perceive any apparent Cause for it. I opened the door, but found nobody upon the landing. At her request I looked into the adjoining bedroom, and saw nothing of a suspicious nature there. "I certainlv heard something," I said at last, " but," 1 added, with a reassuring smile, " it was nothing to be alarmed at. There is absolutely nobody in the room but ourselves, and then, too, why should you bo alarmed?" " Because my life here, for the past week, has been one of constant terror. Can you not guess why I live in such a place as this, a mere cul-de-sac, in one of the shabbiest districts of London? You were good enough to suggest that it was my pleasure to do so. Far from being that, it is a horrible necessity, from which I would give worlds to escape. By the way, can you speak Italian?" * "Passably," I replied. " It is in one sense my mother tongue, and 1 have been at same pains to keep up my acquaintance with it." " Good," she continued in that language. " Just as a measure of precaution, for the truth is that I am in hiding here. Implacable enemies have been pursuing nic for years, from one corner of Europe to another. Up to now I have succeeded in outwitting them all. But I am getting to be an old woman now, and cannot hope to fight the battle much longer alone." I confess that I began to have misgivings as to her sanity. What motive could anyone have in hunting down such an apparently inoffensive old lady as this? And, if true, how was it conceivable that singlehanded, she had succeeded in eluding the vigilance of such truculent enemies for so many years? These thoughts and others of a similar nature flashed through my mind as she went on. Here ' in these—for mewretched quarters I have been hiding for nearly six months. I have never shown my face outside the door for a single instant, For a. long time I felt an absolute sense of security, but now I am greatly disquieted. The fear of discovery is always with me. Through the curtains quite recently I saw a man on the opposite side of the road carefully scanning the window. I recognised him instantly as one—indeed, the most indefatigable of my pursuers." " I am afraid, madam," I said with a smile, " that my diagnosis was just a little at fault. I must send you round something for your nerves. • ( "Oh —quite so!" she rejoined. "I should be very glad. They are, I know, just now in a terrible state, and no wonder, with this constant dread weighing upon me. I cannot even sleep." "Really, madam," I said. "I do not understand this thing at all." "Not at present. Of course not. _ But you will understand later on. It, will be to your interest to understand." I* shook my head. " It is too much for me," I said. " Naturally, but I intend taking you into my confidence. I want a friend in whom I can place implicit trust, and I have sought that friend in your father's son. I want you to protect 'me from imminent present and all future danger from my enemies. You are young and strong, and I doubt not resourceful. r lhe reward for such seivice will exceed your greatest possible aginings."Again I wondered whether these were the words of a demented .. woman, Her manner now* was calm, . collected and gracious. Why, after all, without further and indubitable evidence, should I doubt her sanity? A sudden thought sped through my brain. "Tell me, madam," I said, "would mv father have approved of such 'a compact?' "Absolutely and with'joy. Would to God that I could invoke his spirit at this moment and hear what 1 know would be the readv reply to your question!' Her words greatly impressed me, with such genuine fervour were they uttered. "Did you send for me to ask me this.' I said. "I did. In case it proved to be you. as I suspected and hoped. I had 110 other motive in sending for you." As I was still hesitating as to what reply I should.make, there suddenly came a loud knock at the street door below. A moment later there were loud and clamorous voices in the hall. The duchess gave a stifled cry of horror, reeled and would have fallen had I not caught her in my arms. ... "Dio mio!" she gasped. 'It is his voice. He has discovered my hidingplace. My life is now in your keeping and your whole future is at stake. W hat is to be done?" , , ~ . "But,' I whispered, who is lie— terrible creature?" ; "The man who killed—or rather murdered vour father!" came the startling replv. Then I set my teeth and led her to the bedroom door. . "Go in there," I said. "Turn the key in the lock and leave the rest to me. Bv this time heavv footsteps were mounting'the stairs. Then came a peremptory knock at the door. After a suitable interval I opened it and stood face to face, as I believed, with the man who had slain my father. CHAPTER 111. A second glance, however, showed me that the visitor was merely a great burly, red-faced man in his shirt sleeves, who, touching his forelock, said : "Beg pardon, sir. It's only me-the landlord—Mr. Minims. I thought I d better oome up meself, as there is a party downstairs a-kicking up a bit of a shindy, and insists upon a-seeing of our lodger. Mrs. Latimer. No, you don t go up, 1 says, until I find out whether its. convenient or not to see you, I says. "Snoken like a man of sense, Mr. Mimms," I replied. " Step inside, please. As he did so I closed the door and continued : "Mrs. Latimer, I am afraid, is too ill to see anybody to-night. Indeed. I have just ordered her to bed. I ought to have been sent for before. This is the trouble —and I tapped my left breast. " 'Eart, sir" . . (< "Yes," and I lowered my voice; 1 don't want her to hear; but she is ve r.y bad, and a little, excitement, you know— "I twig, sir." ~ "Still, if it is anything of importance— " Ho says it is, sir." "What name?" ' Mr. Mimms at once referred to a slip of paper. , ~ .. " 'Ere you are, sir. I made im write it down in black and white." I glanced at the pa.per, and saw the name Frangipani. I suppose I must have given a start of surprise, for he at one© said: ■ " Know him, sir?" " Not from Adam, Mr. Minims. 111 take it in to Mrs. Latimer, but under 110 consideration will I permit her to be upset tonight. Take a chair, Mr. Mimms." "No, thank 'ee, sir—l'll stand if you don't mind." "As you will," I said, with a pleasant smile, and entered the bedroom. The duchess had lighted a candle, and sat on the edge of the bed; her ©yes, full of terror, were uplifted to mine. Two rouge spots stood cut in ghastly contrast to her blanched face His name is Frangipani," I said. Do you wish to see him? Speak low." "No, no—a million times 110," she whispered. "I'm nearly dead with terror. What shall 1 do—oh! what shall. I do?" "Keep quiet to begin with," I answered, " and leave the rest to me. No harm shall come to you—be assured of that. I shall be back presently." Returning to Mr. Mimms I said: " Mrs. Latimer thinks there is some mistake, as

j she knows nobody of this name," an^ handed the slip of paper back to him. "In any case I, as her medical adviser, will not permit her to be disturbed to-night. Tell the man so, Mr. Mimms, and if he then persists——" "Jolly well leave that to mc, sir,' said Mr. Minims, bowing his way awkwardly out of the room. ''I ain't the sorttotake 110 bloomin' liberties, doctor, I ain't," and with that lie disappeared down the stairs. A lively altercation quickly followed in the hall below. Angry voices were raised. Then there was a 6cuflle for a few seconds, followed by the violent slamming of the front door. It then occurred to me that I had missed a unique opportunity of looking upon, and talking with, the man from whom—if the duchess could be believed— my father had received his quietus. Still, if I took upon myself to champion her cause, our chances of ultimately meeting were not so very remote, in which case I should possess the advantage of being wholly unknown to him. I stood a minute or two longer on the landing awaiting the possible return of Mr. Minims, but when I heard his footsteps retreating in the direction of the kitchen I at once rejoined the duchess. She was trembling like a leaf, her eyes aglow with excitement as she turned them full upon me. ' Well," she said. He is gone," I answered. Come into tlie sitting-room again and let us talk this thing over." I led her to her armchair, and took a seat close beside her. n ■ " If I am to be of any assistance to you, I continued, "I must know the truth; there must be no concealments between us. Who is this man?" " My husband's brother," she answered ; "the present Duke of Frangipani." "And why are you afraid of him.'" "Because he is my mortal enemy. He has been pursuing me for years." For what reason?" She glanced uneasily about the room. " I cannot tell you, not here, at least. These walls have ears, I am sure. You must take me away and conceal me somewhere. I am getting old. I cannot hold out much longer. I will tell you all in good time; only take me away. You will not regret it. Your reward will be great. Moreover, you have promised. A son of Dr. Perigord would never go back on his word, I am sure." This clinched the matter. The compact might prove a foolisheven a disastrous — on© to me, but, as she had said, my word was pledged, and I must needs accept the responsibilities of the situation. "I must think it over," I replied. " Itis too late for you to change your quarters to-night. I must concoct a plan, and there is Mr. Mimms to conciliate. He will not like lie idea of losing a profitable lodger at a moment's notice, like this." " Money will quickly effect that," she replied, eagerly. "You invent a. reason for my leaving, and I will supply the other to any extent you may think necessary. ' "Very well," I assented. "I will interview Mr. Minims before 1 go away. You leave the matter then entirely to my discretion?" " Absolutely." she replied, rising from her chair. "I will give you ,the money now." With that she retired to her bedroom, whence she shortly returned, with a small chamois leather bag, which she placed in my hand. "Her© are twenty-five sovereigns," said she. " Make such disposition of them as you may deem fit—only, for heaven's sake, get me out of this place to-morrow. There! do you hear that strange sound again in the room?" I had heard it distinctly "Yes,'' 1 said. "It is very odd. bub there is nobedy—there could be nobody here but ourselves." \ She was greatly agitated, however. "I have heard mysterious sounds Ik again and again of late, especially in the night,' she whispered, bending over close to me, " and I feci terribly nervous a.nd frightened to-night, and I think, as a measure of'pre-''; caution, I will—" Here she paused, and with finger to her lip tiptoed out of the room again. Fully five minutes elapsed before her return. and I could then see that she was holding something ■ concealed in the folds of her skirt. She reseated herself, and then I felt what appeared to be a large envelope plactd upon .my,- lap beneath the table. "This,* she said, extending a slip of paper to me with her other hand, "is the address 'of a friend with whom you had better communicate." Greatly astonished I glanced at the paper and read : " I fear there are eyes as well as ears in these walls. Secret© this envelope in some way and take it .with you. It is for the possession of this that I am pursued, 'flic mystery is all there—guard it as you would your life." "Oil, yes," I said. "I will attend to this at once, and now," I added, buttoning my frock coat over and concealing the mysterious package, "1 will first interview Mr. Mimms and then moke all necessary arrangements for to-morrow. I will ask him, too, to walk as far as my surgery with me, and bring back a. sleeping draught. Don't fail to take it, as otherwise in your nervous condition you will be quite unfit J'or anything to-morrow." She promised, and thus we parted. As I descended the narrow staircase I placed the envelope in my inner breast coat pocket. At the bottom I called out for Mr. Mimms. That worthy— in his shirt sleeves— in an instant appearance. "I want to have a. few minutes' conversation with you, Mr. Mimms," said I. "AH right, sir. It will be a bit cold 'ere in the parlour, but if you don't mind that—" Not in the least, Mr. Mimms." So with that he opened the door of the front room, struck a match, with which he lighted a lamp on the table, and bade me be seated. "This thing has greatly upset Mrs. Latimer," I said. "Her object in seeking lodgings in an out-of-the-way place like this was to escape from this man. Now that he has found her out she must leave at once, and seek another hiding-place. I have undertaken to find one for her. She. however, greatly regrets the necessity, for she assures me she has received very kindly attention and respect from Mrs. Mimms and yourself." "Thank 'ee, sir," said he. "We both knew she was a lady, and 'er reasons for coming, to Pontifex Gardens wasn't none of our business, and wo tried to make 'eras comfortable es we could in our small way." "As I have said," I resumed, "she admits it gratefully, a.ud • wishes roe to ask if. in view of her abrupt departure, without proper notice, you'will lie good enough to accept ten pounds in lieu of such notice." Ten pounds, sir! Lor' lummy!" ho exclaimed with a look of blank astonishment. "I never 'card of such a thing. If you had said a pound now." "But I didn't say a pound," I replied, counting out ten sovereigns from the little chamois leather bag and handing them over to him; "it is her wish that you should accept theseonly stipulating that in case of any further inquiries you know nothing; Mrs. • Mimms knows nothing; Emily Ann knows nothing whatever about her. Do you follow?". "Do I follow?" he answered, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, rather. You can bet your life, sir, nobody'll ever get anything out of me or th© missus, or Emily Ann either. Why, if we thought the duchess was in a. bit of trouble, and we in our poor, humble way could give a 'elping 'and to 'er like, why, we'd walk ten miles to do it, and no error, sir." "I quite believe you, Mr. Mimms," I replied. "So put that money into your pocket—no receipt is necessaryand by tomorrow I will have thought out. a plan for removing her to a place of absolute security. Her heart is very bad, and I could not answer for the consequences were she to receive another shock like this of to-night. And that reminds me, do you mind slipping on your coat and walking with me as far as my surgery? I want her to take a sleeping draught to-night, and I should be glad if Mrs. Mimms will see that she does so." ■" Right you are, doctor," said he; " shan't be a minute." With that he bolted out of the room, and well within the minute we were .walking down Pontifex Gardens together. (To be continued.) [Another instalment of this very interesting story will be given in these columns on Monday next, and continued daily until its completion.]