A DOUBLE MASK.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXXVII, Issue 5557, 7 April 1905, Page 2

A DOUBLE MASK.

BY R. NORMAN SILVER. (Author of “A Daughter of Mystery, :1 “The Golden Dwarf,” rtc. otn.) CHAP. XXXVII. (continued.) Ho turned to the footman, who wfts watting—a few paces off—as if uncertain whether or not to proceed with his mission. “You were going to ascertain for mo if Mrs East is at home,” he said sharnly. The man took the hint and passed out of the hall towards the neighbouring wfng. The footman returned. “Mrs East sir.” ho intimated, with the dry, veiled insolence of his class, “is not at home.” Mr George Lynch winced —and laughed. Unconsciously Violet, had started, and there was that in the voice of the servant that betrayed the rebuff which lay beneath the conventional phrase. ‘T have timed my call badly, it seems,” he observed; “well, better luck next time. Good-day, Miss Marsden.” Ho retained for an instant the hand sho had extended to him, and, still cheerful and self-possessed, strode hack to his car. Not till it was whirling down the avenue did he speak. And his voice was hard and vicious. “Gertrude, shall pay for that,” he said. ' CHAPTER XXXVIII. “GEORGE PERRIS IS DEAD.” “Did it ever occur to you, my dear fellow, to ask what would ho your exact position in tho event of your charming Gertrude attempting to outbluff you?”, Mr George Lynch tossed off a glass of liqueur and held a cigar in the flame of the spirit-lamp at Kis elbow. He was in evening dress, and the soft radiance of the shaded candles scintillated in tho diamonds of his ring and studs, as he lounged at the diningtable, face to face with Mr Chaunoey Jolf. “Out-hlufl me ?” he said; “what do you mean, you fool ?” Mr Jolf cracked a walnut with much deliberation. “Stop supplies,” be retorted. Mr George Lynch frowned and knitted- his brows. “Well, as it happens,” he answered, lowering his voice and drawing his chair nearer to that of Mr Jelf, ‘T guess she’s in the mood to try it on. I called at the Court to-day, and she wouldn’t see me. 'Not at home 1 was tho word but I was talking to Violet Marsden at tho moment—l had met her. by chance in tho hall—and her face got a sudden glimpse of surprise in it that showed me I was being put off. I suppose my blessed better half thought I must want cash. As a mat> ter of fact I do.” “Precisely,” assented Mr Chauncey Jelf“motor-cars, modem furnishing, a staff of servants, and a taste for expensive jewellery all cost money. And I ask you, my friend, how-you would stand if Mrs F. or E.—which you like —should take up the role of pure and simple passivity.” “Frighten her,” said the other brutally. Mr Jelf shrugged his shoulders. “She is not likely to believe, on mature, consideration,” he objected, “that you’re going to cut off your-nose to spite your own face. If she threatens to betray you, you can show as strong a hand as hers, and so alarm her into inaction. But what if she should have tho brains to say, ‘You are not fool enoiigh to ruin mo out of revenge, when you cannot do so without ruining yourself, top.’ You have bluffed her so far; .how if she outbluffs you? You, will be no better than a beggar. Your sole assets will be a motor-car, some jewellery, some furniture, and three or four ingots of gold, which you may not be able to dispose of in a hurry." George Lynch scowled. - “She hasn’t it in her to see the weak, points of -my attack,” ho rejoined. “Women are too nervous to bluff well. I should only have to paint a harrowing picture of my innocent and unsuspecting- child confronted with not one, but two criminal parents, and my beloved Gertie would collapse incontinently.” Mr Jelf pursed his lips and was about tb speak, when a servant entered the room: , ■ “Mr Cyril Marsden,” he intimated. “I told him you were at dinner, sir. but he insists that he must see you.” A swift glance was exchanged between Mr Jelf and his ally. “Show him in,” directed the latter. The servant went to obey. Mr George Lynch rose to his feet as the visitor entered the room. “Hullo, Marsden,” he said, “this is an unexpected pleasure! I’m afraid I can’t offer you any dinner, for we have reached the wine-and-walnut stage. But you will join us in a liqueur and a cigar.” Cyril Marsden unbuttoned his overcoat, and stood fumbling with his crushhat. Mr Jelf eyed him curiously, and wished him a dry “Good evening.” “Good evening 1” rejoined Cyril, with a start. He turned to Mr George Lynch. “I say,” he added, “could you spare me a moment. Lynch? I want to—to ask your advice on . rather an urgent matter. Mr Jelf, I trust, will excuse my haste and bluntness.” “Oh, willingly,” declared the American indolently, selecting another nut from the china bowl before him. Air George Lynch laughed. “Come into tho billiard-room, Marsden,” he said; “Jolf would hate to be deprived of his dessert.” He offered his visitor a cigar, held the spirit-lamp for him to light it, and led him off to an adjoining apartment. “Well,” he demanded, shutting the door; “what’s up?” Cyril Marsden came close to him. “What’s up ?” he repeated. “Why, that her husband had resurrected himself—that George Ferris is alive in England. She told me so.” Mr George Lynch stared at him for an instant, then burst into a shriek of laughter. His visitor frowned, but the other had thrown himself into a lounge and was shaking with helpless merriment. “Well, I’m blessed,” he exclaimed, “if that isn’t funny!” “You’ll pardon my observing,” retorted Cyril, with vicious politeness, “but I fail to see the humour of the position.” Air George Lynch, wiped the tears from his eyes. “No.” he rejoined, “you wouldn’t, you can’t—that’s where she has you. Why, it’s the most impudently clever thing I ever heard of. George Ferris is dead, and no one knows it better than his widow. She’s spoofing you, that’s what she’s doing, and a smart spoof it is.” His visitor drew a long breath. “I —I didn’t think of that,” he said ly(To be continued.)