A DAUGHTER OF MYSTERY.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1746, 23 August 1905, Page 4

A DAUGHTER OF MYSTERY.

[All Rights Reserved. 3 BY J R. NORMAN SILVER. CHAPTER XLVII (continued.) He went and touched the gardener om the arm. “You are quit© sure the child picked that up in there?” he inquired. The other glanced at him, puzzled. “Of course I am,” was the reply. “Good,” responded thle (ex-valet. “Well, take a good look at it, so you can' identify it again—it’s going to Scotland Yard, that’s all. I fancy I know who dropped it and when it was dropped. But to show you I don’t mean pinching it, here is a sovereign on deposit.” The gardener gazed after him as his queer patron marched off. “What’s up now?” he asked himself. “Lord! lord! we’ll be having some of them there reporter-fellows poking round here next, wanting to hear about our new mystery. Blest if I know what’s come - to the plac©'.” Michael Gage strode into a famous department at Scotland Yard, asked to see a certain friendly detective-in-spector, and laid the seal in his broad palm. “Pipked up in St. James’ Park this afternoon by -a gardener’s kiddy,” „ he murmured, “near where my brother was found. Been out in the open a long wh]ile, eh ?” “Well?” fenced the burly Yorkshireman. Michael Gage leant to his ear. “I know that seal,” hissed the exvalet; “look at the crest on it—the man as that crest belongs to, my friend, has got to swing.” CHAPTER NLVIII. SHOWS WHY DOTTIE CRIED. “And how is your niece this morning, Mrs Millican P” The answer was given with much kindly importance; Ruth’s sudden dignity reflected some degree of greatness upon her aunt- “ She’s brisked up famously, sir,” Orme was informed, “espeoially since you Tjent her the picture of the young, lady as she is going to be able to belp. And a sweet face it is, sir; but won’t you come in? Ruth, will be wishing to thank you for all your kindness; you can’t believe how she’s been eating lately.” . The barrister stepped into the narrow lobby, he carried a small flat pa*r“l am very early astir, Mrs Millican,” he said; “but I want to see Rutb alone, if you don’t mind.”“Certainly, sir,” replied the ruddy dame, >nd opened the door of the parlour. Ttuth,” she announced, “here is Mr Orme back again.” The girl got up as he entered. She was ra ich improved, her cheeks had some olour in them, her eyes were

brighter, her figure more buoyant. Indeed Oirme had seen to it that she wanted for nothing that could restore to her weakened frame its hold upon that life which was of such tremendous importance to him, The barrister shook bands with her. “I am glad to hear how well you’ve been going on,” he told her; “so you liked the pic tme of Miss Holland.” “Oh yes, 'sir,” said Ruth; “she’s a dear, kind young lady, and so pretty! Thank you for sending it to me, sir, and for the chickens and the jellies and ” “Don’t mind them, Ruth,” urged her visitor; “I only sent them because I am selfish, and want you to get well and strong very quickly.” He was unwrapping the package he had brought; it contained a cabinet photograph, laid back upwards. “Here is another picture I wish you to look at,” he said, and turned it quickly. Ruth trembled. “Oh, sir,” she whispered, “it’s him—the gentleman as I saw shoot the other in the plantation. I should know him anywhere.” The barrister put the photograph away, relieved in spite of himself. “That is all right, Ruth,” he assured her; “I just wanted to make sure. I had no end of trouble to get a picture of him. But keep your own counsel, my child, say nothing yet to your aunt or anyone else.” “No, sir,” promised Ruth; “I’ve been very careful, sir, as you warned me. And does the young lady know that I can save her, sir?” “Not yet,” said Orme sadly; “I haven’t thought it wise to do anything till I could be sure of my ground. (She and I have too many clever enemies, Ruth.” “But you will tell her soon, sir?” begged the girl. ‘Yes,” Orme decided, “very soon now. But you must make yourself happy for a little while,, eat a great deal .and grow strong. Then you shall go and see her yourself.” “I shall like that, sir,” said Ruth eagerly, and the barrister went away, taking with him the portrait of Oapt tain Blake. His destination was the residence of that unfathomable person, Mrs Armstrong. He gave bis name to the footman at Cedar Lodge, and waited with some curiosity to ascertain the nature of his reception. The servant uishered -him into the drawing-room, where he had met Angela so surprisingly on the occasion of her first visit to Mrs Armstrong, and left him alone. Returning speedily, the man announced that Mrs Armstrong would see him immediately. His hostess followed on the heels of her messenger, as fresh, handsome, and piquing as ever. “So, Mr Orme,” she began, bolding out a delicate hand, “you are come to make friends again. That is well.” “I wish, Mrs Armstrong,” responded the barrister rising to meet her, “that I could say yes* But I am, as yet, not quite sure. However, I have some news for you—some strange and even terrible news. I ihj&ve discovered the murderer of Hector Sanderson.” Mrs Armstrong gazed at him incredu-

lously, then tried to smile. Her striking countenance distorted itself piteously in the effort. “You mean,” she said curtly, “that you think you have.” “I know that I have,” retorted Francis Orme; “I have found a person who, by a remarkable chance, saw the horrid deed committed. There can be no doubt of the identification; it is complete. So I am at last free from the toils that have been woven about me.” “And,” stammered Constance Armstrong “you mean to take your revenge.” “There is no particular instinct of revenge in it,” said Orme, perplexed. “I must vindicate myself; lam no lover of the death penalty. And yet he had no mercy on poor Sanderson.’’ Mrs Armstrong shuddered. “He is .not as other men are,” she murmured; “there is something in him of the old and subtle Italian. He is all cold intellect; morality has no place in his mental constitution. It is because I understand and pity him that I ask you, Mr Orme, to be merciful. If the identification is as complete as you say, you need only threaten, and he will resign her —he is too intelligent not to yield to the strength of the situation. But at least give him the chance. I ask it, Mr Orme, I who have suffered at hi* hands.” «. “You,” cried Orme; “you too have suffered at the hands of Julius Blake!” ' Mrs Armstrong was paralysed with astonishment. , “Julius Blake!” she whispered; “you mean that it was Julius Blake who killed Hector Sanderson?” “Most certainly I do,” returned the barrister; “whom did you think ” But the other had thrown herself into a lounge and covered her face. “Thank heaven!” she was murmuring; “oh, thank heaven he it free from that crime!” Francis Orme best over her, comprehending. “Mrs Armstrong,” he said, “you believed that Vi via* Harper had killed my poor friend; what made you imagine that ?” “I—l saw him there- before you came,” said Conrtano® Armstrong; “he—he was stooping over the body. I thought the crime was his. That was why I could have helped you if I had brought myself to betraying him. Then, afterward, I discovered that by the English law my evidence was useless: that, unintentionally, I had deceived you.” ‘You mean that it va* only circumstantial,” suggested Ortne. “No,” was the answer, “not that.” She left her seat and crossed to a portable desk which she unfastened. Out of it she lifted a folded sheet ol paper, opened it, and brought it. to him. The barrister stared —it was a copy of a marriage certificate. And the marriage had been celebrated fifteen years before between Constance Armstrong and Vivian Harper. A sudden joy seized upon him. “Then this,” he cried, “is your trump card —our trump card. Harper can never marry Angel*. But whywhy not have told me of it.before?” (Mrs Armstrong ahecV her head. “It

would have been to ruin you,” she •aid. ‘‘Vivian liar per has one unintelligent quality; he -will seek revenge for its own sake. He would instantly have charged you with the murder of •Mr Sanderson. It is your discovery which has eut the Gordian knot-” “And now,” maid Orme, straightening his tall figure, “now to make use of it- Mrs Armstrong, you will come to town' with me at once, we will see ‘Angela and convince her that we have at last broken the devilish spell that kept us apart. If necessary, we will see Vivian Harper and tell ham that he has no longer any power over us, that we are, froo—free t® be happy,' despite his infernal mrtmj* The barrister’s voi*e broke pathetically ; the ■train had been both a long and weary »ae. Mrs Armstrong shrank froan the prospect. “I will not see Vivian Harper if it ®an be avoided,” she demurred -with an *dd nervousness; “he has a dreadful power over me yet. I loved him onoe <us I have loved no other thing on earth; I am sometimes afraid,/ Mr Chm®, that I love him still —a little.” “And yet," said the barrister, ‘he abandoned y*»-” “No,” was tie reluobaat answer, “I abandoned him—-until he got that letter the other day he may have thought £ was dead. He sinned against me very deeply, Mr Orme; he married me when I- —I was * penniless girl, and Worshipped him for the self-sacrificing love I fancied he bore me. Although, when we were married and I fell heiress to my uncle’s wealth, I found him cruel, selfish, «yaical, and a desperate gambler, I still l*ved him for the single jewel I thought his selfish heart had once enshrined—his unworldly passion for a poor girl. Not before he had squandered half my fortune did I discover that he had married me knowing of my uncle’s secret "will in my favour. When I knew that, I imagined I hated him, and drove Mm from me, using as a whip .a forgery of my name, of which he had been guilty. Afterwards I travelled for years, he may well have thought me dead.*’ Francis -Orme was touched by the conflicting emotions that wrung Mrs Armstrong’s soul. “If I can,” he promised her, “I will manage so that you need not see him. But Angela, you will not mind seeing* her?” “No,” »aid Constance Armstrong grimly, “and yet I fear if I thought he really loved her, I should hate her terribly. But he only wants her money, don’t you think?” “Yes,” said Orihe soothingly; yet he himself felt a pang of jealousy. “I am very foolish,” Mrs Armstrong Confessed; “I fancy I live too much alone. We must change all that now. jßut to our task, Mr Orme, we will go up to town by the very next train. May I give you some lunch? 1 have only just breakfasted-”

“Thank you, no,” said the barrister; ‘lndeed I have no appetite.”

“Wait for me then,” Mrs Armstrong ordered him, “we will catch the twelvefifteen. My maid shall / fling some things into a bag and I will order round the trap. You can go and walk in the aonserratory, my most constant Borneo, and dream dreams.” Francis Orme laughed, but obeyed her nevertheless. The soft odour of the growing ferns brought back to him the evening when Angela and he had lingered there over their good-nights. .He lost himself in reveries, the thrill of happiness helped him to pity and to understand the heart of Constance “Armstrong. As the thought passed through his aaind, Mrs Armstrong called to. him * her bag was packed, and the cob was fretting in the small javenue.

Shortly before two o’clock the same Afternoon Francis Orme found himself putting Mrs Armstrong, or more properly, Mrs Harper, into a hansom at 'Paddington. He directed the cabman to drive to the little house in HornBey. When the himself jumped into the vehicle he felt that his impatience trad become, unbearable.

In the quiet street near Hornsey Rise he leapt out and ran to knock. The familiar maid answered the summons; he noticed that she had been crying—her eyes were wet. At sight of him they overflowed again. She fled precipitately to inform her mistress of his arrival. Dottle herself came in no better guise. Her bright black eyes wore swollen and inflamed with grief. “What is the matter?” asked Orme, /vaguely alarmed. Mrs Skinner burst into a flood of tears. “I daren’t tell you,” she wept, “really I daren’t. But it wasn’t our fault, Mr Orme; Angela said there was no other way to save you and her poor mother.”

The barrister grew white. “She’s iaot—not ?” He failed bo finish the sentence.

“Yes,” gasped Dottie, “this morning —-at the registry office; he had a special license, and carried her pff just as she was. She—she—only fainted once.” And with this pathetic piece of informatiotn Mrs Skmner broke down utterly. Orme caught at her wrist. “Where have they gone?” he demanded huskily. a hotel in Paris,” sobbed Dottie; ffihey were going to Dover to wait for .the night boat. Mr Harper said I might write t» Angela if T chose.”

“Give me that address,” Orme directed her. Dot tie fumbled for it and obeyed. “What train were they to take?” pursued Orme. Mrs Skinner to-ld him, struck by his calm and piecision. The barrister went back to the cab, motioning to Mrs Armstrong, who had heard and comprehended. Without a word he signed to her to enter. “Charing Gross,” he said to the driver. “Five pounds if you do it in twenty minutes!” ... CHAPTER XLXX. / IN WHICH NO TIME IS LOST. As the hansom dashed into the Strand through one of the streets that debouch froan' Covent Garden, Francis Orme looked at the watch in his palm, Mrs Armstrong saw the hands, they were close upon the quarter. The race was lost! The barrister thrust a bank-note into her fingers. “Give it to the driver,” he requested, and sprang out. Mrs Armstrong settled with the delighted jehu and went into the station to see what had become of Orme. He met her. “Five minutes late!” he said; “but there’s more than a chance yet.” He ran off and disappeared under one of the tunnel-like archways that enter the ■ station from the familiar outer court of Charing Cross. He burst in at a small door and came upon a neat office. “I want a special at once,” he told the young clerk, and pulled out his note-case; “let me see the superintendent.” The superintendent listened to the barrister’s succinct explanation. Orme knew the value of frankness—to a point. The official was sympathetic. This bigamist wlio t had started on his honeymoon with the deceived girl who fancied „herself his wife, „ should be caught if it were possible. Give but ten minutes to make up a special. “Where can we come up with them ?” asked Or me hungrily. “Aisihford Junction,” atesrwered the superintendent; “we’ll get you off before the express, and you can take the road of anything else.” The barrister paid the costs of this expensive luxury and joined Mrs Armstrong. “We’ve got him,” he said, “bar accidents !” Mrs Armstrong looked at. him curiously, he was very quiet and stern; she admired him by now very much more than a little. The “special” was composed of an engine and a couple of carriages,, one a first-class, the other a third by way of ballast. Orme helped Mrs Armstrong in, and with a sentence of heart-felt acknowledgment to the superintendent and the station-master, followed her himself. The special screamed, snorted, and drew out of the station. It was’ a pleasant April afternoon, warm and shimmering. The two, once fairly 'launched upon their race, sat silently side by side. At last Mrs Armstrong spoke. “You do not desire there should be any scandal,” she said. “No,” replied Orme briefly, out of his own thoughts. A soft touch upcn his arm made him ,glanoe round at his questioner. Mrs Armstrong was gazing at him pleadingly. “Mr Orme,” she ventured, “I want you to do me a great favour—let me manage this affair myself now. Vivian Harper is a strange, proud, desperate man, and I know —I know that he always goes armed. He—he might do himself some injury—or—or. Angela.” “I have looked into the barrel of his pistol before to-day,” said Orme disdainfully. Constance Armstrong started. “When ?” she asked. The barrister related the incident. “Then beware.” he was entreated:

“you are within an ace of winning the game. Vivian Harper is most dangerous at. such moments. No one but I can manage him now. Promise me that you will give me my own way. You see to Angela—and yourself.” “Mrs Armstrong,” said Francis Orme gravely, “you are not going to shir: in l any way the duty before you ?” The woman beside him smiled scornfully. “I am Vivian Harper’s wife,” she returned, “that is sufficient fotf you, is it not? No, I will not shirk my duty, but I take no pleasure in it.”

“You are a remarkable person, Mrs Armstrong,” observed the barrister. “Not at all,” was the answer; “I am merely that somewhat unusual thing, a woman 1 who bears no' malice but who tries to understand. We are for the most part what circumstances and our ancestors have made us—Vivian Harper, Francis Orme, Constance Armstrong, Angela Holland, all merely fulfil their destinies. Our dispositions are good or bad, selfish or unselfish, by chance not choice—but pluck, daring, resolution, intelligence, these are the qualities which depend upon ourselves. In one century ’ the Vivian Harpers are tlhe landmarks of history, in 'another they are adventurers and —criminals.”

‘You told Angela once that you hated him,” said Orme, meaning her husband.

“Did I?” retorted the other; “well, perhaps I did. I have hated him and shall hate him again, I have no doubt. But now that we have all but won the game—the game that he has played so brilliantly—l am a little sorry for him. Think how he has set you all off one against the other, Captain Blake and yourself, Angela and the Countess, balancing you so skilfully and so nearly, so very nearly, cheating you all. I suppose I am a bit of a heathen, but I was fond of him once —it - is just as pleasant to think that I did nob love a foci.”

Orme evaded further debate upon the point. The special was flying fast towards its destination. They had taken precedence of everybhiog on the line. The barrister glanced at his watch, it was after half-past three, they were nearing' Ashford Junction. A few moments more and they had alighted upon a quiet platform in the glow of the westering sun. Orme tipped the driver of the engine, and the special ran out of the station. Its passengers (lingered—'peeped at by curious porters. Hie Dover train was almost due—overtaken and outstripped as it had been. . Orme’s heart beat violently as the object of their pursuit thundered into sight. Mrs Armstrong had put down her thick veil and hade Orme turn his back. .The first-class carriages drew up almost beside the waiting couple. Mrs Armstrong scanned them eagerly. Vivian Harper sat in a compartment, Angela, wan and fragile, over against him. One or two of the other seats were occupied, their tenants lost in magazines and newpapers. Opening the dooi’, Mrs Armstrong stepped in swiftly, sat down by Angela and shot a brace of whispered sentences. Angela rose, trembling, and tottered to the window as if to look out. Another instant and she was clinging to the arm of Francis Orme. Mrs Armstrong put up her veil and regarded her husband. His, face set, he glanced at the door, saw that Angela had disappeared, and his hand went to his hip-pocket. His wife leant forward and snatched at his arm. “Be yourself, Vivian!” she said, under her breath; “the game is up, that’s all. Everything is to be kept quiet, you can get abroad at your, leisure. Good-bye, I had to save Angela.” The whistle warned her that the train was about to depart. She got out of the carriage. Harper rushed bo the window. „

“Orme shall repent this!” he cried savagely. Mrs Armstrong walked with the moving carriage. “Keep your fingers out of that trap,” she advised him clearly; '“at was Blake that did for Sanderson.” The train quickened its speed. Vivian Harper’s face had distorted with baffled passion. Mrs Armstrong shivered as it retreated from her, framed, like a horrid threat, in the window of the compartment. CHAPTER L. THREATS OF A SCRATCHED HAND. “Well, have you got the cash?” Julius Blake held out his hand—his left hand —as he asked the question. The Countess, older, greyer, and more despondent than ever, gave him a packet. “Two hundred,” she said wearily; “it is all I can manage—l have had to sell some more of my jewellery and leave the servants’ wages. When are your eternal demands to cease?” “When I find a few winners,” snarled the Captain; “curse it, my luck’s dead out. If you hadn’t messed up Angela’s business we’d have had as much of the ready as we could wish for.” “Am I to blame,” asked his stepsister,' /“because Providence furnished my poor child with a means of proving her identity too strongly for your cruel schemes ?” “You should have told me about Harper from the beginning,” growled Julius Blake; “I’d have let him come in on shares; we’d have worked it all right then.” “In that case,” said Margaret, Countess of Skye, with some show of spirit, “I’m glad I didn’t tell you. At any rate Angela has got her fortune, and the Chancery people will see that it is safely settled on her, even _if Vivian Harper does succeed in getting, her to marry him.” The Countess of Skye shrank from her step-brother. “My poor, poor child!” she murmured; “and I could not save you!” “Save you,” repeated Blake; “it is you who are responsible for the marriage. Harper threatened to give you away if Angela didn’t get spliced—she knows all about the whole business now. Harper told her.” . The Countess shuddered and dropped into a seat. “Oh, if I had only died years ago,”- she moaned; “if only I had the courage to die!” The Captain turned on her. “None of that,” he sneered; “you’re too big a coward, and always have been. We’re all right now, bar the .want of cash. •• Harper must keep our secret for Angela’s sake, and he shall fork out pretty handsomely too, or she shall. A daughter with a quarter-of at million ought to come in useful—-now and again.” -- “You will probably find Vivian Harper quite able to protect his wife’s interests,” the Countess told him contemptuously. “As for me, I wish it were all over, whatever price I had to pay.” She rose abruptly and left him alone; he looked after her thoughtfully. “Margaret’s growing a bit restiye,” he muttered; “I’ve never seen her quite like this before. Dashed if she mustn’t have been a bit partial to Angela.” He handled the notes she had left with him. “Deuce take those bloodsucking .Gallaghers!” he said, “they’re worse than a couple of leeches. Wonder who the dickens put ’em on to blackmailing me. I’ll swear they don’t know I was the johnny with the spectacles j” . • „

Julius Blake got his hat, intending to go to his club. As he unlatched the door a newsboy passed through the* Square. Ho heard the lad’s discordant shout—it struck horribly on his ear. “St. .TaniAs’ Park Mystery 1” called

tibe little newsvendor; "discovery of a duel” The Captain drew back into the ball and shut the door; he was trembling painfully: He shook himself into com-mon-sense. “It can’t be,” he whispered; “and—and. —yet 1” Retracing his steps to the stair foot he went, up to his own rooms and reached down a flat wooden box, v double-locked, from a top shelf. It held a medley of things, papers, notebooks, receipts, old papers, odds and ends of all sorts. Among them was a hollow cardboard cylinder, closing with a deep lid, and filled with cotton wool. In- this nest was a small bottle of ■tout glass, corked and thickly waxed over.. Julius Blake opened this latter, and after searching out a fine brush of camel’s hair, dipped it into the dark liquid within, and painted thickly—inside —the filbert top of his left thumbs nail. A smear of reddish brown showed itself, coining to 1 the edge of the nail. This done, he put away bottle, brush' and box, and descended to the ball. Ain enigmatic smile was flickering about his mouth. Hardly had he regained the foot of the stairs than a servant, answering a summons at the hall-door, revealed Mr ' Vivian Harper. Entering the hall, that gentleman perceived the Captain and bowed. “Ah,” he said, “I wanted to see you, Blake. Can I have a word with you?” Julius Blake assented and together they went into the library. Vivian Harper put his hat on a convenient / table- - '. “Wedl, my dear fellow,” began the Captain, “congratulations! But the ‘Post’ said you had left for the Continent.” v “So I did,” responded the other deliberately, ‘hut I was recalled to town before leaving Dover. Blake, the best laid plans—you know the rest. I” haven’t time to gO into details. Suffice it to say that my marriage with Angela was an illegal one. I was followed by that beggar Orme and —another person. They took a special, caught up the ordinary at Ashford, and nipped me as clean as a whistle. Now I am a bigamist.” Julius Blake grinned. “By Jove,” he said, “you have over-reacned yourself.” |. Vivian Harper had drawn off his gloves. “Yes,” he pursued; “I, my dear Blake, am a bigamist, and you—you are a —murderer!” The Captain raised his arm—his right -arm —and winced. Harper, stepping back with his hand on his hip-pocket, noticed it and whistled. “Great Heavens!” he cried; “so it was you who got my bullet the other night.” “I don’t know what you mean,” said Julius Blake sulkily, “either by your bullets or your murderers.” “As regards the title of murderer,” replied Harper politely, “I shall have ' much pleasure in explaining. With respect to the bullet, I will not insult your intelligence by taking seriously your profession of ignorance. As for {Sanderson, you murdered him. I saw you leave Hie library at the Court by a side window and follow him.” “Curse you for a low spy!” interrupted Julius Blake. “Quite so,” said Vivian Harper. “I need scarcely add that the object of my visit is a mutually advantageous one. lam in need of money, you in need of secrecy; five hundred will put me on for the present.” “I haven’t five hundred in the woifild,” rejoined I the Captain wrathfully. “Two fifty, then,” .insisted the other: “come, two fifty will barely do me. Any further reductions will compel me to use language which I should deplore. I dislike even the appearance of blackmail.” Julius Blake was fumbling in his pocket for the notes given him by the Countess a quarter of an hour earlier. A sudden strange light came into his keen eyes. “You’re too good a diplomatist for an old soldier like me, Harper,” he grumbled as he fished out the notes. “See, I’ve just succeeded in begging a couple of. hundred from the Countess. You’ll really have to make do with them, it’s all I’ve got, ’potn my honour ft is. Will you be satisfied if I turn ’em up?” - “I suppose I’ll have to,” yielded Harper, “for the present.” ‘ “Here you are, then,” said Julius Blake, handing over the notes; “oh, beg pardon, I’m sure!” In passing the. notes to Vivian Harper across the writing-table he had slightly scratched the back of the other’s hand. > Mr Harper put his booty into his pocket-case and took his hat. “Sorry to plunder you, my dear Blake,” he remarked, “but necessity knows no law. An revoir, oa* which you will like much better, adieu.” “Ta-ta,” said the Captain opening the door. He even crossed the hall to let his visitor out. When he regained the library he was laughing conBumedly. Vivian Harper walked out of the .v; Square into Pall Mail. A few yards along that sedate thoroughfare, he staggered, put his hand to lias chest, and fell back upon the pavement. A group of men were passing; they halted uncertainly. As no one else

seemed inclined to approach the prostrate man they did so, and kneeling down, loosened his collar and raised him to a sitting position, i Seeing his face, one of the men cried out, “It’s Mr Harper!” he said, “a friend of the Captain’s; I’ve seen him often at Skye House.” The speaker was Michael Gage. He put a hand on Vivian Harper’s bosom. “His heart’s stopped,” was the exvalet’s verdict; “get some brandy quick, or he’s a dead ’un.” One of the fellows with him ran into a public-house and came back with the brown fluid. But the fallen man neither moved nor spoke. A couple of policemen arrived, mysterious words passed between them and the group of which Michael Gage had formed a part; the latter prepared to go, leaving their patient in charge of the constables. As the now reconstituted group rounded the corner into the Square, the ex-valet ran after them. “A doctor was going by,” be reported gaspingly ; “the poor beggar’s quite dead.” Michael Gage was referring to Vivian Harper. Mrs Armstrong’s hushand had indeed breathed his last. Before Skye House the , group split up, a brace of the ex-valet’s companions moving to right and left of the double entrance doors. A brace more went with him up the steps. Michael Gage rang. When the doors opened, he sprang in, and his allies followed. “Take it easy, Miles,” the ex-valet adjured his old fellow-servant; “these are detectives, and there are more outside. We, only want Captain Blake, where is he?” “In—in the library,” stammered Males; “oh dear, oh dear, Mr Gage, what has he done?” ‘Murder 1” said Michael Gage, spitting out the word savagely; “this way, Inspector.” He ran to the end of the hall and flung open the library door. The two detectives leapt in and threw themselves upon the astonished Captain. Instinctively he struggled, but was speedily overpowered and forced into a seat. As he sat panting, his eye fell upon Michael Gage, and he trembled. Yet he put a bold face on it- “ What is the meaning of this outrage?” he asked fiercely. An inspector in plain clothes answered him. “Captain Julius Blake,” he said, “I hold a warrant for. your arrest. You are charged with the murder of Peter Gage—a man-servant lately returned from South Africa—m St. James’s Park, on the eighth of September in last year.”

(To be continued.)