FICTION

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1717, 25 January 1905, Page 3

FICTION

WHO KILLED JASPER SKELBiNG? —♦ BY H. BARTON BAKER. Author of “Robert Minor, Anarchist,” “Margaret Grey,” “Stories of the Streets of London,” etc. [All Rianxs Reserved.] CHAPTER XV. ' AN IMPORTANT CLUE. .. Between twelve and one on the morning of that same day, Mr Jarrett alighted from his bike at the door of the “Waggon and Horses,” Anstorbui y, ■He was costumed in a very loud suit of tweed, tweed cap, worsted stockings, laced-up hoots, dark short hair, short side whiskers and moustache. Ho had come from London to Leatherhead by train, and hiked the rest of the way. When he entered the tavern, the landlord Was smoking his pipe in the bar, which was also the common room of the house, alone. Mr Jarrett saluted him with a pleasant nod, a remark about tire weather, and called for a glass of whisky and Soda. ' “Not a good country for bikes; you have to cany the hikes instead of them carrying you,” lie said jocularly. “It be- rather ’illy,” answered Mr Bad swell. ' “And you’re rather slack, it seems.” “Well, it’s a bit early for visitors, you see; lots o’ people come here in the summer.” .. “Just- the sort of place I should like to bring the missis and the youngsters down to for a week or two; I suppose you could put us up; it seems a nice, comfortable crib.” “Oh, yes, we could make you very comfortable, but you’d have to give us plenty o’ notice, as there ain’t half enough accommodation in the village for the visitors of late years, though I mind the time we hardly saw a dozen strange faces in a year.” “I’ve, got a tobacconist and stationery business in the Old Kent Road, and I felt rather seedy, so I thought I would have a run Tip in to the Surrey Hills. I’ve heard a good deal about ’em, but was never here before. It seems fine/ air hero ”

“Yes, so they say.” “I know I feel very sharp set, haven’t had such an appetite on me for many a long day. I suppose you can give me something to eat, a chop or a steak, good wholesome country meat. And I warrant you could find a bottle of good old crusted port, something stiff and Strong. And as I hate eating alone, perhaps you’d join me.”

It was not often such a customer as this came to the “Waggon and Horses,” and Mr Dadswell sent the maid off flying for a steak, and gave special injunctions to the missis about cooking it, and found a bottle of ma-hogany-coloured liquor somewhere. “By-the-byo,” said Jarrett, when Boniface rejoined him, <] ‘wasn’t it about here that an old man was murdered last autumn twelvemonth P” “Ye 3, it was only just across the wood. Lots of people have been here to see the place; it’s been a good thing for me; should like another,” chuckled Boniface. ir Who lives there now, then ?” asked Jarrett. “Nobody. It’s shut up, 'cos you see the old man left no will, and though nobody’s come to claim it, there’s no knowing but what somebody will some day.” “Then I suppose anybody can go and see the house?” “Yes, they’ve let Susan Groom—-well, she ain’t Susan Groom now, she’s married, she was old Mr Skelding’s servant, you know—keep the keys, and a good thing she’s made of it.” “Nothing’s ever come out as to who did the murder, has itP” The landlord shook his head. “Well, now, what’s your private opinion?” asked Jarrett, confidentially. “I took a lot of interest in it at the time, read all the evidence carefully, but you, who lived on the spot, must have had more opportunities of judging than us outsiders.” “Ah, it’s puzzled wiser ’eads than mine.” “But t’ien’t always the wiseacres as finds the things out; sometimes a quiet, solid, simple sort of man like yourself is more ’cute than the clever ones, because ho hasn’t his head stuffed up with useless learning.” “You may well say useless, sir; our young ’u.ns don’t know any tiling they ought • why, they won’t know a turnip from a ’tater by-and-bye.” “That’s the most sensible remark I’ve heard about this education craze. It’s a parcel of rubbish. But as I was saying, you’d be certain to form some rnsible opinion about this murder, and should very much like to hear it.” “Well, it’s very kind, of you to say

so, sir,” said Dadewell, slowly and hesitatingly, “but there’s so many 'pinions.”

“Well, now, for instance, do you think that Mr Dudley was mixed up in itP”

“I don’t, though some people have got their doubts. But then he proved a halibi, as I tell ’em.” “Was any suspicion ever attached to the wife?” asked Jai-rett, after a pause.

“Lord, no, sir,” exclaimed Dadswell, staring at the questioner in blank amazement. “How could a pretty, delicate woman like that commit a murder?”

“True, true. Then you don’t suspect anybody that you know of?” “No. I can’t say as I do,” answered the landlord, slowly. “He is keeping something back,” thought Jarrett ; “he hasn’t had enough drink yet to he confidential. Do you know,” he asked, “if there happens to be any likeness, photo, of Mrs Dudley in the nlaoe ? I should like to see it.”

“There ain’t a likeness of any c-f ’em, neither she nor her husband, nor old Jasper: lots of people have asked that question.”

Mr Jarrett turned the conversation upc-n other topics until the dinner was served. Then he took care to help the landlord to three-fourths of the .

and by the time the bottle was finished, and his fourth glass of whisky was before him, Boniface was three sheets in the wind.

Jarrett went back to the subject of the murder. “I wonder who really did do it,” he said.

“Ah. sir, it’s a queer affair, but I’ve got my ideas about it, and so have one or two others; but we mustn’t spov.k without proof, or we should have a haction brought against us for defamation of character.” The detective knew that he would get nothing out of the cautious old hunk by a direct question, though ho might surprise him. by a flank movement. He would run over the names of everybody who appeared at the inquest, haphazard, to begin with. “Now, there was that servant of the old man’s: Busan Groom, wasn’t her name ?”

“There, it’s you as have named her, not me,” broke in the old man, staring at him with lack-lustre eyes. “Oh, oh,” thought Jarrett, “I’ve struck ile at the first blow.”

Bon’face was getting very drunk now. He took his pipe out of his mouth, looked mysteriously round the room, and then, bending forward, he said in a loud whisper: “I’m the same ’pinion as you, sir; if she liked to open her mouth, she could tell more about it than anybody else.”

“That’s my belief,” said Jarrett. “So it’s mine, sir, and ’ave been for a long time. Look ’ow she married that poacher chap, Bill Dicks, directly after; lie never would work, but they always grubbed on comfortable, and he always had money for liquor, moren’n than he could get from snaring hares and rabbits and pheasants. And she was always a fat, sleepy wench, but after the murder she seemed to waste and get white and to have a frightened look. Then there’s her mother, Sally Groom ; she used to be as cheerful a hold gurl as you’d wish to meet, and she got melancholy and mopy, and persuaded her old man to leave the place and get work elsewhere. As you says, it do look uncommon queer.” Mr Dadswell had been growing moro and more inarticulate during the progiess of this speech, and now, muttering the same words over and over again, his chin dropped upon his breast, his pipe from his hand, and a loud snore proclaimed that he had migrated to the land of Nod.

Then Jarrett went out into the bar, paid his bill, and inquired of the landlady where Susan Dicks’ cottage was situated, as he wanted to see the house the murder was committed in.

It was only a few steps from the pub-lic-house.

The cottage door stood open ; a dirtylooking labourer, evidently drunk, was dozing in a chair before the fire; and a woe-begone, red-headed, slatternly woman, with the sickly complexion that is often seen with that coloured hair, was hushing a child to sleep-

As he told her that he wanted to see Jasper Skelding’s house, he noticed a timid, furtive look in the dull, fishy, lashlesa eyes. “I do show it sometimes,” she answered. with reluctance, as if the task was not agreeable to her.

The fellow at the fire seemed to be only in a cat’s sleep, for he roused up and asked: “What’s that, Sue?” “A gentleman wants to see Skelding’s house.”

“Well, then, why don’t you go? If you can earn a shillin’, ain’t it your duty to do it? Times is uncommon ’ard, sir, not a stroke o’ work to be got nowhere, and when you do get it, it’s starvation. You can leave the young »un with me, She; I’ll lock after him.” While not apearing to do so, Jarrett keenly scrutinised the man, who, in his dirty, half-ragged patched suit of moleskin, looked the very moral of a hulking poacher.

The woman put on a ragged shawl and an old hat with a draggled feather in it, a survival of past finery, and with

a door key in her hand, walked in advance, he following, through the woods and on to the warren. lie tried to make her talk, hut she would answer only Yes and No.

There is a decided physiognomy in houses, and their human associations stamp a character upon them. In his lifetime Jasper Skelding’s house, bare, me igre. sullen and lonely looking, had reflected the nature of the man. It was all this now, with something super-added—-a ghastly gloom. The superstitious country people wouldn’t pass over that part of the warren after nightfall, as Jasper Skelding’s ghost was said still to take his night-cop walk there every night.

Not a flower survived in the front garden, nor a weed nor a blade of grass; the palings were broken, and names were scattered all over The front door, in true British fashion, to commemorate the visits of Tom Smith and Nancy Jones.

“That’s whore ho was found dead.” said the woman, pointing to the path in front of the door.

They entered the house. The furniture was still there, but the paper was pealing off the walls, the floor was grimed with, dirt, the soot had fallen down the chimneys, the ceilings were cracking, decay was everywhere. The woman was in a great hurry to get through the rooms, but Jarrett lingered in each, taking in every point with that keenness of observation, and that faculty for minutiae, which come only of long practice. Susan Dicks watched him with a sidelong glance, but he put on such a vacuous stare, that he seemed to he simply loitering. There wore only four rooms in the house, not including the kitchen; one of the upper rooms had been the servant’s, the other had been occupied by the old man’s niece, and not used after her marriage. There was a cupboard in it that attracted the detective’s attention, and he made some mental note.

When they came downstairs the woman was hurrying out, he following; suddenly, he stepped back into one of the parlours, and before her slew brain could act, he had quietly slid back one of the window fastenings. When she came in he was staring at the walls whistling to himself. Something in the flooring of the sit-ting-room attracted his attention ; but still he could feel, although he did not look at her, that sidelong suspicious glance upon him. At last he came out, and Susan Dicks seemed greatly relieved as she locked the door, and passed through the broken gate on to the warren. He had not spoken all tho time ho was in tho house: he knew that it was no use asking questions; but when he put a shilling in her hand, he said, abruotly, looking her full in the face: ‘Who do you think committed tho murder?” The effect of the unexpected question was electrical; the ■'•-.11 id face grew whiter, and a look' v: A l ive terror came into the dull ■ 's she almost gasped— f TIow should ?. know?” ‘•You were in the house at the time.” “But I was asleep, fast asleep. How should I know ?” “But you suspected Mr Dudley ?” “Yes, yes, of course, and so I do now,” she answered, eagerly. “And I shouldn’t wonder if you weren’t right,” he said. “Good day.” He strode on in advance back to the viLlage, Leaving her far in the rear. Taking his bike, which he had left at the public-house, he asked the way to Saxonliurst.

“Oh, by-tlie-byo,” lie said, when he had obtained the direction, “can you give me any idea where Mr and Mrs Groom are gone to ?’’ “Well, I believe they went to Epsom, but I don’t know where or to what part,” was the answer. Jarrett was not long covering the three miles that divided the two villages, and very soon discovered the house that Mr and Mrs Hadley had occupied. It was always let furnished, and was then in -possession of some London people, who, when they were

not at Saxonliurst, locked it up, as it was then. He had no particular desire to sc.-j it, except in the very faint hope that Mrs Dudley might have left a photo of herself behind.

He was about to remount his bike and ride away to the railway station, when the thought struck him that he would inquire at the post-office whether the Dudleys had left any address; he considered it very unlikely, or if the lad;/ had done so, it would be a false one; and again, it was very doubtful, in the latter event, whether the postoffice people would give it. It was a general shop, and a young woman was serving behind the counter; Mr Jarrett put on his most fascinating manner, raising liis hat in addressing her.

“Yes,” she answered, “Mrs Dudley did leave an address in London, but no letters have yet come for her.” Mr Jarrett said that lie was very anxious to get some clue to the lady; it was a matter of the utmost importance; indeed, a large sum of money depended upon it, which would be lost to the. lady if she could not be traced within a few days. The young woman hesitated—Mr Jarrett looked more killing than ever. sweet looks prevailed. It was against the rules of the post-office; they would be severely oensured if it were known* Mr Jarrett was ready to take a number of oaths of secrecy.

Bo it was written down and handed to him —“Elm street, Regent’s Park.” Mr Jarrett thanked her profusely and departed. He nut very little confidence in the genuineness of the address, but he had made other discoveries for self-congratu-lation. He had, he believed, obtained a clue to the murder mystery. The landlord of the “Waggon and orses” was right; Susan Dicks knew more than anybody else about the death of Jasper Shielding. If he had had anj doubt, after his observation of hef manner, it was removed by her eagerness to fasten the guilt upon Francis Dudley. But whether she was an accomplice, or had been only bv accident a spectator. and then terrorised into silence; whether or not her poacher husband had anything to do with it, were points upon which he could come to no decision. For, unlike the police, he hated forming theories, unless he had a good basis upon which to raise them. Ho had also made certain observe* tions in the house, which might ffip might not lead to results. “The next time I visit it, which! shall be very soon, it will be alone. When I have made my search, I will again turn my attention to Mr and Mrs Dicks,” he said to himself. CHAPTER XVI. THE ELM STREET MYSTERY. Mr Jarrett was in the enviable position of being able to please himself in regard to the cases he undertook. Ho had made several coups in detecting anarchist plots, and had been instrumental in saving the lives of two great European monarchs from their machinations, for which service he had received very large rewards. The Surrey Hills mystery would not be a lucrative job, whether he succeeded or failed in it; most probably ho would be out of pocket by it, but it promised glory, reputation, and that was the same thing as sinking money in a good speculation ; while there was no end of possibilities in connection with this Count and Countess. Thus, Mr Jarrett determined to. hand over the two or three affairs upon which lie was employed at the time to subordinates, and devote all his energies and resources to elucidating the mystery of Jasper Skelding’s death. On the morning after his visit to Ahsterbury, he made his way to Finchley Road to see how the sick man was progressing. But we will anticipate liis arrival by two a: three hours.

J)udk v y bad passed a quiet night; at times lie lay so still and his breathing was Wo faint that the nurse became alarmed. Rosamund watched with her

throughout the dark hours, but at dawn fell asleep through utter prostration. The doctor had left word that he was to be sent for if the nurse deemed it necessary, and he made a very early call.

Dudley was still calmly sleeping, his skin was moist, his pulse regular, though very fajint. Hie had passed through a great crisis, and unless he succumbed to weakness, there was every chanoo of his recovery. This was the report that the doctor made to Rosamund at eight o’clock in the morning. “And now, my dear young lady,” he said, “you must think of your own health, or we shall have you in the same condition as Mr Dudley. You are In a most dangerous state of hysteria \ your trouble about the medicine was £ll a 1 i * n ;'ag are quite common; I have questioned the boy, and he assures me that the basket containing the bottle never left his hand, and could not have been touched by anybody. Besides, the whole idea was absurd. Ido not mean to say but that it was fortunate I came again last night as it was certainly the crisis of the disease.”

“Then my hysteria was of some use after all,” said Rosamund, smiling. '‘Ah, that is only begging the question. But I must insist upon your taking rest and proper nutriment.” “I will jbe obedient, doctor, but until I can set my mind at peace about Mr Dudley, my body will never rest.”

Whether the doctor was quite so »ure as he pretended to be about the medicine, it would be useless to inquire: but, at all events, he had no suspicion of the real truth. When Jarrett arrived, Rosamund told him the whole story. Hie listened to it with keen interest and a very grave face. “This is ‘The Kite’s’ handiwork,” he eaid to himself, “and since he has escaped detection, he will renew the attempt in some shape or form, and how to guard against it? This doctor evidently fears that he himself made some mistake in the mixture, and consequently pooh-poohs the poison theory.” “Miss Flemyng,” he said, “I’ve no doubt that an attempt has been made upon Mr Dudley’s life, and that the medicine was tampered with. Every morsel of food brought into this house must be purchased and carried home direct from the shop by some person you can fully rely upon.” “I will see to that myself,” said Rosamund.

“This Count’s motive for getting Dudley out of the way,” thought Jarrett. “must be very powerful, or he would never resort to such desperate methods. The row in the studio will give one factor —revenge, but that. is not all. .* If Dudley were dead, the> investigation would collapse. Is this Count the murderer P Dr is there some other motive to which I have as yet no clue ? From The Cottage Jarrett proceeded to the doctor’s; he was wearing no disguise that day and was in propria persona. He kept a sharp look-out, but there was no sign of “The Kite,” or of anyone else being on the watch. The circumstance, however, by no means reassured him: he knew too well the wily person he had to contend against to feel at all certain that from some point of vantage that bird of prey was not at that moment watching bis movements.

Jarrett caught the doctor just as ho was about to depart on hi® rounds. “One word, sir,” ho said; “Miss Flemyng was quite right about Mr Dudley's medicine, there was poison in it ; not through any mistake of yours; it was put in after it left your hands. Mr Dudley ha® deadly enemies j the attempt upon his life may be repeated; I have warned Miss Flemyng and I think it necessary to warn you.” The doctor stared at the speaker in blank amazement. “Who are you, sirP” he demanded, angrily. “A private detective; and if you will let me see the boy who carries out the physic, I will soon get the truth out of him.”

“The boy is not here now,” answered the doctor, evasively.

“When will he be hereP” The doctor hesitated before he answered.

“Well, the fact is, he has left; he was very insolent this morning when I questioned him; and beyond that, I was not quite satisfied—in short, I sent him about his business.” “Where does he live P”

“Hie has no parents or relatives; I took him out ol the workhouse. I may tell you that soon after I sent him away I saw him at a distance talking with some man, but they were too far off for me to see what the man was like.” “That was the man who tampered with the bottle,” said the detective, drily. “Will you allow me to scribble a short note?”

Jarrett went into the surgery and wrote to Rosamund Flemyng— f£ The doctor’s boy has left: look out for him, and beware of him; he is now with the enemy.” “This seems to me a very extraordinary story; savours rather more of

Adelphi melodrama than sober nineteenth century realism,” said the doctor, sceptically. “Do you imagine that our day is more exempt from the romance of orime than those gone by?” inquired Jarrett. “Do you ever read your daily paper without coming upon some bit of romance? And your practice must lie among a very normal set of patients if you do not meet it now and again in your daily round©. Of course, doctor, you will hold my communication as confidential. Good morning.” “No wonder English doctors make no great discoveries, and have to borrow everything from their foreign rivals; they have no imagination, they have no belief in anything that they cannot see, taste, or feel,” muttered Jarrett. The detective’s suspicions as to the probable movements of his foe were perfectly correct. “The Kite” had contrived to ascertain what had happened at The Cottage during the previous night. He had waylaid the doctor’s boy on his way to the surgery, given him half-a-crown, told him to hold his tongue about their previous meeting, and said he would get him a place at twice the wages the doctor gave him. Joe Manning, the doctor’s boy, was of the raw material that criminals are manufactured out of, and “The Kite’s” experienced eye had detected his possibilities. “A sharp young devil; I shall make something of him,” was his commentary. As Dudley was safe in bed, and could not be removed, and as it would not be discreet to be seen about the neighbourhood of The Cottage just then, “The Kite,” acting upon instructions received from his employer, turn-

ed his attention to Jarnett’s movements, and from that morning, wherever he went, the detective was shadowed. “The Kite” was not deceived in his estimate of Joe Manning; he proved a most apt pupil, with a zest for everything that smacked of evil and lawlessness, that won the heart of his new employer, and promised him great distinction in the annals of crime. Never before in all his career had Arthur Jarrett been so heavily handicapped. At present, the odds ar© against him, his every movement will be know to his antagonist, and consequently a large discount will he made upon its success. It is a duel a outrance; with which of the two will rest the victory? Time will show.

Being in the neighbourhood of Regent’s Park Jarrett thought it would be a good opportunity to find out the locality of Kim street. So he turned into the first tavern he came to and consulted the directory. There he discovered that it was a short thoroughfare nearer Oamden than the Park. An omnibus conveyed him to the “York and Albany,” from which it was not five minutes’ walk. Just after be bad entered the conveyance, a boy, who had been pursuing the same way as himself, whistling and shouting the last mu.sio hall song, ran after it and mounted on to the top, while a shabbylookinn: man who had been invisible until now, jumped into a cab and told the driver to keep the omnibus just in sight. y Elm street is very short and very gloomy; the houses in it, which have seen better days, seem to be chiefly let out in apartments, furnished and unfurnished, and all have that peculiar seedy, depressing look which almost invariably attaches itself to the third-

class lodging-house, the last refuge of the shabby-genteel.

But the most seedy and depressing of all was No. 2. Years must have elapsed since a painter’s brush had been passed over those decaying window frames, and that dirt-stained door. The windows were grimed by the tncklings of sooty rain, the colour was bleached out of the bombazine curtains, and whether the blinds had been originally white or brown, it was impossible to distinguish; the area mi lings were ooated with rust, and when Jarrett looked over them, his nose was saluted by an odour of decaying vegetable matter, and of putrescent water in a tub below, that sent him back pretty quickly. Brief as the glance had been, he thought that he caught sight of someone in the room that looked into the area; there was no sign of life in any other part of the house, but there was a fly-speckled card, all askew upou the top of the parlour sash—“ Apartments to Let.” By its appearance it might have been there unmoved for years.

Should he knock at the door and quire about the apartments ? No, he would go to one of the other houses and try to find something out concerning No. 2. The first door he knocked at was answered by a very prim, forbiddinglooking woman of uncommunicative countenance. She had only unfurnished apartments. That was not what he required. The second knock brought forth a silly-looking young woman, nursing a squalling infant. Of course, she had pot the accommodation he required. TTts third essay was more successful: a slatternly, beaming-faced woman in curl papers, whose loosely-formed mouth

was constantly lubricated by a flow of words, whose eyes snarkled with curiosity and a craving for gossip, a woman who conscientiously devoted herself to finding out the most intimate affairs of everybody who came within her ken. Here was an ideal landlady for Mr J arrett.

She had a back parlour to let. The atmosphere suggested that somebody had laid in bed in it for a week, cooked all his meals there, and never opened the window. Everything was dingy, including the bed linen. Mrs Harris assured the gentleman that it was a most comfortable room—

and very cheerful —it looked out on a blank wall—and that every ledger she had ever had always said that they had never been so happy as under her roof. And it was so cheap, only eight shillings a week, lamp, fire and attendance another two.

“It really don’t pay me, sir; but I don’t mind as long as I’ve got somebody as appreciates it.” Jarrett r«*>ured her that h© fully appreciated it, as his name was Mark Tapley; that he would take it there and then and pay her a week’s rent in advance. But he might not sleep there for a night or two. Mrs Harris was very well pleased at finding a victim, for the room had been to let for months. “I have been to several other houses in the street,” said Jarrett, ff but they didn’t suit.” “They wouldn’t suit you, sir, I’m sure,” said Mrs Harris; “they ain’t particular enough for a gentleman like you.” “T went to No. 2.” he said. ! “Oh. Lord, sir, you didn’t?” exclaimed Mrs Harris, raising her hands, “and did you see the old witch. Mrs Jepson; and what did she say to you 1 —shut the door in your face, I sup-

pose, that’s what she does to everybody.”

“Well, I didn’t knock at the door, the look of the house was enough for me.”

“I should think it was, sir. I don’t believe there’s ever a broom used in the house; and as to a scrubbin’ brush. I don’t believe she’s ever seen one, and them windows have never been cleaned since I’ve been here.”

“Rather an eccentric old party, I should say; of course, she is old?” “Hundred, I should think: looks as if she’d been buried and dug up again.” “Does she live alone?”

“All alone, sir, as far as I know; and there ain’t much goin’ on in the street as I don’t know; not a soul has crossed the threshold since that person was buried.” “And how long is that ago?”

“Well, it is just about a six months.” “We are getting at it now,” thought Jarrett. “Oh, a relative that lived with her, I suppose ?” he said aloud. “No, sir; a lodger, as died of influenza, they said.”

The doubtful tone in which the last words were uttered roused Jarrett’s curiosity, but he was too diplomatic to rush the lady, however willing she might he to talk. He had a wonderful knack of penetrating into the weaknesses of the people he came in contact with, and Mrs Harris’s weakness was pretty obvious. “Have you anybody you could send out for a bottle of whisky ?” ho asked. “I always keep a little in the house, and I feel fagged just now. Besides, T should like to drink your very good health.”

“And I should like to drink yours,” said Mrs Harris, her face beaming with delight as she took the money. “Not that I ever do take anything, but I must make an exception of the present occasion.”

And she hurried down the kitchen stairs to send one of her girls to the nearest public-house.

“You had better come into the front parlour, sir,” she said, when she returned, “the gentleman’s out all day, and so I uses the room.”

The front parlour was a replica of the back, except that it looked into the street instead of upon a wall. Misty-looking glasses and a jug of water were set upon a small round table, and in good time the bottle of whisky joined them. When Jarrett assisted the lady to tha potent beverage, she simpered and almost screamed that he was giving her too much, but her eyes said “go on.” “La. sir, it do seem strange to ma to be sitting here drinking whisky with a strange gentleman,” she said, '‘and I never takes anything stronger than a glass of four ale; but somehow, I feel quite at home with you, sir, if I may be so bold as to say so. Here’s j T our good ’eelth, Mr—Mr ” “Tapley.” “Mr Tapley, and I hope we may do what we are doing now this day year.” and the lady nearly emptied her glass.

“And this day five years, Mrs Harris. Oh. I’m a rare stayer when I take to a place. I’m a lonely old bachelor, and want a nice comfortable woman to look after me.”

“A young bachelor, you mean; and I’m a poor lone widow ; but, la, sir, how we are agom’ on. But Ido like a jocular gent.” “And I like a pleasant landlady that I can crack a joke with, so it would never have done for me to have gone to Mrs Jepson’s. You were telling me about the person that died there when I took the liberty of asking you to send for whisky.” “It’s no liberty, sir, it’s a pleasure,” said Mrs Harris, emptying her glass, and in an absent sort of way pushing it towards her lodeer.

“I suppose the person was some old crone like herself, no other woman would go to such a place for lodgings, I should think,” the detective went on. taking the hint and replenishing the glass. “There you are wrong, sir, answered Mrs Harris, taking a sip, “they were both young, and one was uncommon pretty.”

“Oh. there were two? And was it the pretty one that died ?” “No. sir, it was Mrs Dudley, the dark-haired plain one, that died; the other, Hannah Wiokens, was the servant, though she looked a good deal more like the missis. I heard all about ’em from the woman that was called in to help nurse Mrs Dudley.” “A regular nurse?”

“Oh dear no, it was Mrs Gimp, as does work for me sometime® when my house i-s full; she does wash in’, ana that reminds me I shall want her tomorrow.”

“So, so,” thought Jarrett, “I’ve got a clue at last: it was the servant who died; for some reason they changed plaoes. I must see Mrs Gimp, somehow or other. “And what became of the servant?” “Oh. she went away after that.” “A nd hasn’t been back sinoe, I sup-

pose?” “Not as I know of.” “Why, it’s as good as a novel. Mrs Harris: I feel quit© interested: I suppose because .von tell it so well. Do

you mind my smoking a cigar?” said Jarrott. “Oh, I love it, sir, it reminds me of my poor, dear husband; but he smoked shag, and sometimes I found it rather strong, but I do love a cigar.” “And how long has this Mrs Jepson lived in that house?”

“Long before I ever came here, sir, and that’s five years last Christmas, and I'Ve been a widow four.”

“More shame to the men,” said Mr Jarrett, gallantly. Mrs Harris giggled, and tried to blush, but only reddened her nose in the attempt. “Oh, you are a wicked flatterer,” she cried, “but the men, old and young, only care for misses of gurls, and a nice dance they lead ’em.” “Well, they’ll never lead me a dance, for I don’t care for them; give mo a woman that will look after my comforts.”

“There ain’t many as sensible as you, sir.” said Mrs Harris, ogling him and toying suggestively with her empty glass. But the detective thought that she had had enough to preserve coherency for his cross-examination. When lie left her alone with the bottle, she could do as she pleased. “And was this Mrs Jepson’always the same eccentric person?”

“Always, as far as anybody I ever met knows; nobody ever visiting her. But I believe she did take lodgers at one time, though not for long before the last let come, for everybody was astonished and wanted to know who they was as could come to such a place. Mrs Gimp says she’s sure _ that Hannah Wickens was a relation cf the old woman. She says she didn’t understand things at all, the servant \yas always out and about, and the misses went off very sudden. The doctor seemed a bit puzzled. She died in the night, you .see, and be put lots of questions to Hannah, and Mrs Gimp, and examined the corpse; he seemed to be satisfied at last. But Mrs Gimp says she wasn’t.”

An-d Mrs Harris absently took the bottle, poured some more whisky into her glass, put a little water with it, and took a drink.

“'Dear, dear, what have I done?” she cried. “Well, I never, I knew no more what I was doing than the babe unborn ; I hope you’ll excuse me, sir.” “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself. Did this Mrs Dudley’s husband ever visit her ?”

“No man ever corned nigh the place, not even to the funeral; nobody followed the poor thing, no more than if she’d been a dog, except the servant Hannah, and the doctor sent his carriage.”

“Tills Mrs Jepson must be an odd woman.”

,: Wo calls liei' the Elm Street mystery. The house is her own, you know. But nobody can find out anything about her. She goes out every week-night at dusk. We’ve followed her again and •again,, hut she’s only gone to buy victuals, and always at small out-of-the-way shops, in the streets on the other side of Camden High Street.” “Well, Mi's Harris, I don’t know when I’ve spent such an enjoyable half hour. Ido like a chat with a sensible woman ; it’s a treat I don’t often get. I shall not he here to-night, perhaps not to-morrow, but you will see me the next day for certain.” “And the sooner I see you the better I shall be pleased, sir,” said the landlady. “Good day, and thank you kindly, sir.” Jarrett was more than satisfied with his chat with Mrs Harris. He had discovered that Mrs Dudley was not dead, and that there were suspicious circumstances attending the death, of the woman who had assumed her name. About which he would question Mrs Gimp at the first opportunity. Mrs Jepson went out every night at du.sk; ho would return to Elm street at sunset, and wait until he obtained a glimpse of her. ITe was so deeply absorbed in thought that, lie never looked once behind him as he walked down the street. Not that he had the least suspicion that he was being shadowed. The daylight was just beginning to fade when he returned and stationed himself in such a position that he could observe anyone leaving No. 2. “Tho dove’s twilight” was just merging into “the raven’s,” when, he saw the door of the ill-favoured house open, and the stooping figure of a woman slowly walk down the steps. She was dressed in a poke bonnet, and a cloak tbat must have been made half a century ago, and she supported herself by a stout baggy umbrella. Slowly she made her way into Camden High Street, crossed into Pratt street, and going farther on, entered a general shop.

Jarrett had not yet attempted to catch a glimpse of her faoe, but he now entered the shop to purchase the first things his eyes fell upon, and got into such a position that he could command a view of the mysterious Mrs Jepson. As the woman behind the counter looked? askance at him, he said, “Oh, serve this lady first, she was before me.”

At those words- the bent head? was half raised. Accustomed as Her- was- to

strange physiognomies, Mrs Jepson’s countenance startled him.

The formation of the features, the aquiline nose, the low, broad forehead, even the mouth, fallen in as it was, and the contour of the jaw, gave indications that this hag bad once been eminently handsome, of a haughty style of beauty. But the face was now that of a corpse in its livid pallor, the skin was reticulated with wrinkles, the eyes were sunken into hollows, that would not grow darker or more cadaverous in the grave; the eyes themselves were devoid of all speculation, it seemed impossible that they were not already dead in their dim greyness; the hair was a withered white, and straggled about her face. She spoke in a faint, husky voice that scarcely seemed to bo of this world.

The shop-keeper evidently knew her, for she served her with half-an-ounce of tea and two ounces of sugar before she asked for them.

Jarrett bought a packet of chocolate . and came out. He watched her to a butcher’s shop, where she bought a few stale pieces of meat; then to a baker’s, where she provided herself with a. small loaf.

This done, she slowly retraced her steps; opened the door of her house, in which no gleam of light was to be seen, disappeared within the gnU-likc passage, and closed the door behind her. Jarrett waited a few minutes until a dull light was visible through the dirty blind she had drawn down in the room or kitchen facing the area. Then he turned away. vTho was this woman; what connection had she with the people he was tracing, and the mystery he was trying to solve? Not yet awhile will he be able to answer that question. CHAPTER XVII. ON THE TRAIL. “Rosamund!” It was the first coherent word shat Francis ’Dudley had uttered for Hiree whole days. She was sitting beside his pillow, watching with eyes blurred with tears ihe white, wan face that had been as that of the dead, slowly quicken iido life again and the dull lack-lustre eyes brighten into recognition. She could not answer, but she pressed tlie thin hand that lay upon the coverlet and felt the fingers close upon hers.

“I have been very ill, haven’t I?” he said.

“Yes. dear; but you are better now, and will soon be all right again.”

“Have you been hero long ? I seem to have seen you in my dreams.” “I have been here a good deal. But you mustn’t talk, or exert yourself in any way; you must try not even to think.”

“Sit beside me, then, and let me hold vour hand; while I can look on you I shall be at rest—perfect rest.” He lay quietly gazing at her with an expression of ineffable peace, while she arranged his pillow and the coverlet and smoothed the hair from his forehead with her free hand.

“How good of you to come to me. But bow pale and thin you look; ah, you have been watching and exerting yourself too much.” “I shall go away if you do not keep to your part of the bargain. lam well enough, I’m always well; disgustingly strong for a young lady of artistic temperament, -who ought to be neurotic and anaemic, you know,” she said brightly. “Now, it is time for you to have your medicine; if nurse returns and finds I have not given it to you, I shall be scolded.

She stooped down and their lips met. “God bless you, my darling,” he murmured.

“And you, dear,” she answered, soft-

ly - . Her eves were brimming with tears, her cheeks were flushed, and her hands trembled as sho turned to the table to pour out the medicine. The entrance of the nurse put an end to sentiment. “Now you are so much better, I am going to leave you for a few hours, dear,” said Rosamund, presently. “1 have work to do at home, but I will come back this evening.” The sick man sighed. “I must have been a great hindrance and trouble to you,” he said, “and I must not keep ; you any longer.” When she was ready to go and had said au revoir to fiim, she called the nurse outside. “You have everything you require for the day?” she asked. “Yes, I think so.” “I will bring in what is wanted when I oome back. You will be careful; you , know the doctor is as particular upon that point as I am.” “Oh. yes; that will be all right,” said the nurse, indifferently; “Remember his life is in your keeping,” said Rosamund, earnestly. “It is a responsibility I am quite used to,” was the reply. Nothing had transpired to create the slightest alarm, and there had been no »indication that anyone- was watching the house since the night that nearly • ended? in a tragedy, but Rosamund was

-reluctant to leave, putting but very little faith either in the nurse or Mrs Horn, both of whom were inclined to pooh-pooh the minute precautions she had hitherto taken to guard against treachery. But Rosamund was compelled to return homo by domestic duties, which had of necessity been given over to her brother during her stay at Fichley. Ho had handed over Andromeda to the Fathers of Burlington House, in which undertaking he had encountered other aspirants for Academy honours, and poured out libations of bitter ale and whiskies and o'her alcoholic beverages, and played cards and billiards. When Rosamund returned home, she found Jack in the dumps and penniless. In too much anxiety about Dudley to care for anything, she had given this frere prodigue nearly all her money, and it was all gone. This would not have been any great trouble to her, but she expected that the detective, to whom she had as yet given only a fivo pound note, would require funds to pursue his investigations.

She dared not broach the subject to Dudley in his present weak state, her most earnest hopes being that he would for a time he oblivious of it. And she could not endure the thought of the investigation collapsing. Alas, she little dreamed that those inquiries were already ringing the death knell of her happiness; and that though they might dispel the black shadow that had blighted Dudley’s life for two years, they would bring in their wake a trouble yet harder to bear. How often we pray for those things which doom us to misery. Rosamund had some rough sketches and unfinished pictures lying about, which she thought might be worked up into pot-boilers.

But the picture dealers gave nothing for these things; and after what had happened, it was impossible to go to the Countess, although Rosamund in her heart fully acquitted that fascinating lady of any participation in the nefarious designs of the Count, and greatly pitied her that she was the wife of such a villain.

It was a curious destiny that brought those two women together, and a sad that made the evil one tho mistress of the other’s fate.

Rosamund thought she would avail herself of Mr Hart’s invitation *•<> let him see any work she might have tor disposal. But she doubted whether those pot boilers were good enough lor him.

There was no harm in trying, however. So she set to work with a will, if not with much hope. Jack smoked his pipe and watched her. After this exhausting work upon the forsaken love of Theseus, exei ucn was impossible. “By-the-bye, Rosie,” he said, presently, “I hope you are not getting sweet on Frank Dudley.” She turned round and looked hum full in the face as she asked, “And w hv should you hope it?” “Because he’s such a gloomy coon, and a widower: if I we to a- woman I

would never be No. 2, to he compared* continually with No. 1, and told of hep perfections every time there’s a tiff. Via sure it wouldn’t suit a girl of ycur spirit, Rosie.” “If all goes well. I shall be Francis Dudley’s w : fe some day,” she unsvertdi quietly, resuming her work. “I’m devilish sorry to hear it,” answered Jack, fretfully; “but I thought what it would come to. And if joU many, I should like to know wnat is lo become of me ?”

'‘There is plenty of time to consider that, Jack. lam not married yet, nw likely to be at present.” “And I hope you never wall be, your own sake. Marriage is a business at the best, seldom ever turns out well,” answered Jack, considerably relieved by his sister’s last words, for he never met trouble half-way, cr looked very far ahead. “But I think,” she said, not noticing his last remark, “that you might as well do something as sit there looking at me work. You have spent alb our stock of money, and you must help make some more.” Rosamund had never taken Jack to task so severely before, but then she had never before wanted money for a purpose.

About the same time that Dudley was reviving to full consciousness, a scene was being enacted in a private room of the Great Western Hotel, Paddington, which was to have considerable effect upon the fortunes of our hero and heroine.

The dramatis personae were the Count and Countess and a man with a pimply face, spongy and carbuncled nose, purplish lips, light hair, bal<f above the forehead, and dressed in aft ordinary suit of melton, who had just entered the apartment.

“By jove, ‘Kite,’ that is a splendid make-up; nobody could possibly recognise you; I shouldn’t. What do you say, Louise?” “It’s too repulsive for anyone to look at,” she answered, averting her eyes with a shudder.

“I passed Jarrett twice yesterday,’’ said “The Kite,” “and he never dreamed it was me. Of course, I didn’t look at him; there's no disguising the expression of the eyes; a man, however completely made up, can always be detected by that.” “Well, and what’s the news?” asked the Count, anxiously, “has that fellow pulled through his dose?” “fie will, but I should say it was a close thing. I could not have emptied the phial, for I found my waistcoat pocket where I put it quite damp.” “Blunderer,” snarled the Count. “You try and do what I did, under the same circumstances, not knowing a moment but that the boy might look round, or somebody come out of a house and catch me in the act. I didn’t threw quite enough of the medicine out, that’s how it was. I’ve got the doctor’s hoy, and lie’s proving very useful. I shall make something of the young scamp.” “The Kite” then went on to relate those movements of Jarrett with which

tbs reader has been already made acquainted. At the mention of Elm street, the Countess could not repress a cry, and she listened to the rest of the story with a face that grew paler and paler and more affrighted. When the narrative was finished, she sank back in her chair and closed her eyes. The Count was also greatly disturbed, but he had more mastery over himself. "Is that all?” he asked.

“Well, I heard something else, but I don’t know whether it bears on the case.”

“Tell me what it is. quickly.” "Qn the morning that Dudley was so ill, Jarrett eluded me; he did not come down to Soho. But I got out of his clerk that he’d gone into the country, somewhere about Dorking way.” The Count and Countess exchanged glances. “The Kite” was watching both with is lynx eyes, expecting some reply. But none was offered. The Count rose and walked over to the window in deep cogitations. “The Kite’s” eyes began to glitter.

“Book here,” be said, “I never work in the dark* if you don’t choose to trust me, I throw the job up. What am I to do next?”

“Who is shadowing the detectivenow ?” inquired the Count, not noticing the first remark.

“My imp. He won’t leave him. He will send me a message to the dub.” “You must now devote yourself entirely to watching Jarrett’s movements.” “What about the painter?”

“He is of no importance at present. "While he is confined to his bed he can do nothing, and needs no watch.”

“And the woman ?”

The Count’s face was positively diabolical as he answered: “She shall be my care; I owe her so much that I could not delegate my acknowledgements to another. It is to her we owe the entire imbroglio; but for her, Francis Dudley would now be in his coffin. Never mind her, stick to this infernal detective; and if you can contrive to knock him on the head, well—” “There is nothing I would lake better,” answered “The Kite,” virulently. "He has crossed plans that would have emancipated Europe, and sent two tyrants to a bloody grave; he has sent noble patriots to the hulks, he is our most dangerous enemy; and how it is that some son of liberty has not put a knife in his heart I do not understand. Onoe he was left for dead, but '‘•he executioner blundered.”

“Why do you not, then, he that noble son of freedom that shall rid na of this enemy P” said the Count, laying hie hand upon the other’s arm, and looking fixedly a x him, “and not blunder?”

“The Kite” regarded him with a savage fire in his eyes, and answered, “I’ll try my best. But that there may be no blundering, I must watch my opportunity.”

“You wish to know the motives of my actions,” pursued the Count. “Well, I cannot tell you, because others’ secrets are involved in them. The great danger to me lies in Elm street; certain discoveries he might make there would ruin me, therefore yo*u must use your utmost art to find out what his game is in that quarter. His journey into the Dorking district is no doubt connected with my affairs; I cannot perceive at present any danger that threatens me in that quarter, but I wish to know what he is doing there. If he goes again he has got hold of something more than I know about. Now, I don’t think there is any more to be •aid.”

“He doesn’t choose to be open with me,” muttered “The Kite,” as he left the hotel. “It doesn’t matter to me, as I know all without his telling ; but it may matter to him, in the long run.” “Well, and what do you think of ‘Audaoe, toujours audace,’ nowP” said the Countess, when they were alone. “You have failed at every point.” “Only at one, the disposal of that miserable painter,” replied the Count. “I know this ‘Kite,’ he will kill Jarrett, first or last ”

“Yes; perhaps after he has communicated his discoveries to Rosamund Flemyng.” “She must be got out of the way at once. As lago says,” he went on, touching bis forehead, “ °tis here, but yet confused.’ Her disappearance will upset everything, and perhaps give Dudley, in his present weak condition, a fatal shock. At all events Jarrett dead and Rosamund in my power, the plot against us dissolves into thin air.”

“Yes, if, if, if, it is all ifs,” retorted the Countess, rising and pacing the room and wringing her hands. “My dear Louise, all life is an if; if wo live long enough we shall see this done; if we die, we shall not know anything about it. We can predicate nothing without an if.”

“And if all is discovered,” began Louise, with a ghastly smile. “We may pass the rest of our lives in penal servitude ” “Or worse,” she added, clasping her neck. “Pshaw ! That can never be discovered ; or, at least, proved.” “But what was that man's purpose

in going to AnsterburyP for no doubt he has been there,” she said, dropping into her chair again. 'To try and find out who killed Cock Robin—l mean Jasper Skelding.” “But all the evidence that could be got together was threshed out at the inquest.” “Humph. I don’t know; I noticed, in reading the report, some curious omissions in the inquiry. And I don’t know but that such a sharp fellow as Jarrett might not ferret out some clue. “Ah, I begin to see it all now; a light breaks in upon me,” he went on, after a silence. “Have you asked yourself how this man scented out Elm street P”

“No, it is strange; how do you suppose?” “Did you not leave that address at the Post Office at Saxonhurst ? Did I not tell you at the time you had done wrong? Here is the mischief. He has been to Saxonhurst.” She looked disconcerted. “I was so •anxious at the time that all should appear open and fearless. The inquiry was closed, I had nothing to fear from it; and I thought if anything transpired I should like to be informed of it. Besides, you forget that at that time I had no idea of what was to come, of what was to happen in Elm street. _ Oh, my God!” she cried, suddenly, clasping her hands, “when I look back and see ho-w, step by step, you have led me from infamy to infamy, from crime to crime, killing body and soul, it seems to me you are not a man, but a devil incarnate.”

“You flatter me,” he said, mockingly 5 “you acted by your own free will; I did not coerce you. You did not go into heroics at the time. Your virtue is only aroused when you fear being found out. The seed, be it of good or evil, will not germinate if it be not sown in congenial soil. You should be always alive to every contingency, and never tell the truth when a lie will serve. Abo-ve all, stick fast either to truth or lie, for they will never mix.”

Bourse made no answer, her chin was bent forward upon her breast. “Whatever discoveries this fellow may make about the old man’s death, cannot affect us—unless ”

His words were interrupted by the entrance of the waiter to announce that luncheon was served. (To be Continued.)