[Published by Special Arrangement.] AN EYE FOR AN EYE.

Otago Daily Times, Issue 11923, 22 December 1900, Page 5

[Published by Special Arrangement.] AN EYE FOR AN EYE.

' (A MTSTEBY.)

ByWILUAM lh QUEUX, Author of ""VVhoso Fintleth a Wife," " Purple aud Fine Linen," " The Eye of Istai," " Scribes and Pharisees," " It Sinners Entice Thee," &c, &c.

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER I.—THE MYSTERY MAN,

"Hush! think! If you were over-

beard! " •" Well, my dear fellow, I only assert what's true," I said. "I really can't believe it." observed my companion, shaking his head,doubtfully. I "But I'm absolutely satisfied," I answered. "The two affairs, mysterious as they are, are more closely connected than •we'imagine. I thought I' had convinced you by my argument. A revelation wilt be made some day, and it will be a startling one—depend upon it." " You'll never convince me without absolute proof—never. The idea is far too hazy to be possible. Only a madman could dream such a thing." "Then I suppose I'm a mactman?" I laughed. "No, old chap, I don't mean any insult, of course," my friend the journalist, a youngish dark-haired man, hastened to assure me. " But the'-whole thing is really too extraordinary to believe." We were seated together one June morning two years ago in a train on the Underground Railway, and had been discussing a. very remarkable occurrence, which had been discovered a few days before—a discovery that was a secret between us. Scarcely, however, had he uttered.his final denunciation of my theory when the train ran into the sulphurous, ever-murky station at Blackfriars, and promising to continue our argument later he bade me good-bye, sprang out, nnd hastened away in the crowd of silk-hatted city men on their way to their offices. He was rather tall, aged about 30. with a well-cut, clever face, a complexion unusually dark, a well-trimmed black moustache, and a smart gait which- gave him something of a military appearance. . Yet his cravat was habitually tied with a carelessness wliich showed his'utter disregard for:- the conventionalities, and he usually wore a light overcoat except through the month of August. His name was Richard Cleugh, one of the sharpest men in Fleet street, being special reporter of London's most up-to-date evening paper, the Comet. When alone I sat buck in the ill-lit railway carriage, and during my short journey to Cannon street reflected deeply. The affair was, as he had said, absolutely bewildering. ( Indeed, this chain of curious facts, this romance of love and devotion, of guile, intrigue, and of the cardinal sins which it is my intention to here record,.proved one of the strangest that has ever occurred in our giant London. It was an absolute mystery. The secrets of London's ever-throbbing heart, and her hidden and inexplicable mysteries which never get into the papers,

are legion. This is one of them. In order to understand the facts aright it is necessary to here explain that I, Frank Urwin, am myself a member of that übiquitous and much-maligned profession journalism, being engaged at the time of the opening of this narrative as special reporter of a highly-respectable London daily newspaper, a journal which was so superior that it never allowed itself to make any sensational statement. Its conductors as studiously avoided sensationalism as they did libel ; and, although we were very often in possession of "startling facts" and "sensational statements" which would have sold- the paper nnd caused it to be quoted next morning up and down the country, yet we of the staff, forbidden to write anything so undignified, kept our information to ourselves, or —as was once rumoured— the office boy. a thrifty youth, went forth and calmly sold it, to one of our more enterprising rivals. Hence, owing to the heaviness of its articles, which usually contained "chunks" of foreign quotations, and the paucity of its news, the paper was dubbed by its"staff "the magazine." Before being appointed to this pseudonewspaper—where, by the way. work was light and remuneration good—l had been for several years engaged upcm one of those enterprising evening journals which print their " specials" on tinted paper, and by reason of my constant investipations into the various niieet stories of London life which, reached that office I had become well-known to the police, and perhaps something of a specialist in the revealing of hidden facts and the unravelling of mysteries.

Dick Cleugh was my most intimate Friend, for we shared chambers in Gray's Inn—a rather dingy and typical bachelor's abode, be it said, but it had the advantage of being in close proximity to Fleet street; and situated as we were, flying all over London day after day, we could not afford to live out in the peculiarly journalistic suburb of Brixton. Our little, flat contained a very sad and shabby sitting room, in which stood a couple of writing tables, whereat we often worked, joining in and re-echoing each other's imprecations, a couple of bedrooms and a small box room, which, containing a gas stove over which the diurnal chops were fried, was termed by the Inn authorities a kitchen. We, however, irreverently termed it "the sink." Old Mrs Joad. a worthy old soul, who lived "across in Fetter lane.' "did for' us. and was known as "the Hag" on account of her passe and extremely bizarre appearance. Her duties were not very onerous, consisting of preparing oui morning tea, " doing up" the' rooms, cooking the eternal chops or the everlasting steaks at 6, when, our respective " special editions" having gone to press, we both returned hungry to our den—and lastly in drinking our whisky. She preferred gin, but took whisky in order to put us to no inconvenience. Cleurh wa.s one of the queer figures of journalistic London. Essentially of the Bohemian type, easy-going and possessed of a quaint dry humom, many were the stories told in Fleet street of his utter disregard for the " convenances." Shrewd, witty, clever, well-educated, he was no respecter 'of persons. If he went forth to make an inquiry for his journal, he hesitated at nothing. With tlie constant companionship of an extremely foul briar pipe, it was his habit to "interview" people and obtain ".latest details" of the day's sensation without, removing it from his lips, and it was well-known down at the Press Club, that dingy but interesting institution in Wine Office Court, that on one field day at Aldershot he had nctuiillv chatted with the Com-mander-in-Chief, pipe in mouth, and afterwards put the conversation " on the wire " in the form of a.n interview. When he had nothing to do he would clean that pine for recreation, and such operation usually caused an exit from the vicinity. Known to all in Fleet street, as " the Mystery Man," he was clever-looking and dignified, and could snuft' out arc uncommunicative seem tary or pompous policeman with his mjirvcllous control of expression sarcastic without being abusive. He was undoubtedly a smart man—and to be smart in journalism nowadays renuires a good de.nl more than ordinary intelligence. An ex-Jesus man, lie had been a True Blue, been plousrhed for the army. and studied medicine and travelled pretty widely, until having been a brilliant failure he had drifted into journalism like so many other men have drifted, commencing as" an outside contributor, or " liner," and eventually, by dint of the swiftness and marvellous tact and ability with which he got at the bottom of the inquiries he made, he at last joined the regular staff of an evening she»t which by rei'sor. of haying once tried the experiment of printing on scented paner was known in press circles as " The Stinker." and subsequently became chief of the reporting staff of jjie Comet, as smart a staff as could be found in London. In common with many other men in Fleet street, that never-sleeping world of tape and flimsy, Dick had one failing—lie had a penchant for a particular brand of whisky sold at the "Cheese," the ancient house"of steak pudding fame; but he was always moderate, for his great pride was that his sub-editors could place the utmost reliance in him. as indeed they could. Dick Cleugh was certainly a smart man, even though his hair was often unkempt, and a bundle of copy paper usually poked out of the side pocket of his well-worn over-

coat. Over and over again had he proved himself a very brilliant pressman, and had startled London by the "latest details" he had elicited where the police Ikul failed. I had arrived at our chambers about 6, after a heavy day. I had visited Barking and Wandswortli,' and had made an inquiry at Hammersmith—three districts far afield from one another. Therefore I felt fagged and hungry. The Hag was engaged in frizzling the usual daily steak in t-ht gas fumes, filling the place 'with a decidedly appetising odour, nevertheless between Dick and me "there was an arrangement that neither should eat without the •>ther. unless a telegram arrived announcing a protracted absence. Therefore I lit a cigarette, cast myself into the trifle rickety but very comfortable arm-chair, and waited by the open window. I was just a trifle melancholy that evening, for there had come back to me recollections of a love-bond long since severed—of a face, which was once very dear to me. But I was a lonely bachelor now. All was of the past. Soon, however, as I sat thinking, I 'saw Clengh hurrying across the square, his silk hat, a trifle rusty, tilted at tl(e back of his head, and a few moments later ho burst merrily into the room, say- " Sorry to keep you so long, old chap, but "we brought out an extra to-night. There's a bit of a row down in Parliament. Then calling to Mrs Joad. who was pottering in the " sink", beyond. he said: " Come nloncr. mother, look sharp with the horseflesh!" We sat down and commenced our meal, while he, overflowing with spirits, told .'me how he had been out on an inquiry near the Welsh' Harp, spending a very pleasant afternoon there, and how lie meant to write it un for the "mornings." The old instinct of the "liner"' was still upon him. and on his littered table, he always kept his agate pencil, his oiled tissue, known as " flimsy." his " blacks." and his square of tin whereon to write. Tlie sub-editors

of the morning papers, the judges of next day's i"tellicence, could always rely on Dick Cleuah's "stuff." • Therefore . they used it. nnd be profiled pt- the rate of a penny farthing per line. He was, in brief, purveyor of sensations to the newspaper rending public. "I'm going to tike Lil out to-nieht," my companion said between moutbfuls of st»ik, for he was ravenously hungry. "Smnrt girl. Lil." "Yes," I answered. • "She's really awfully nice. By Jove! old chap, I envy you." The Mystery Man smilpd contentedly, with a piece of meat poised gracefully on his fork, then lie betran humming the latest love, song whi"h the barrel organs had made popular, beat inn time with his foot, at the same time placing his hand upon his heart in true operatic style. This proceeding was, however, interrupted by- the entrance of the Hag bearing n. telegram for me. .On opening it T foim"d it contained only the one word " Come," signpd by the initial " P." I tossed it across to my companion without comment, nnd as I did so was surprised to notice . a strange puzzled look upon his dark face. He glanced at it. Then handing it back to me, exclaimed— "Wonder what's up at Kensington?" "Something unusual, or Patterson wouldn't have wired," I said. " You'll go. of course?'1 " Yes. I'll just see what it looks like, and if there's anything in it, I'll let you know." "Well, old dawdler," he laughed. if it's a good thing leave a bit of the latest intelligence for me to nick up for mv early edition to-morrow. To-night I can't disappoint Lily, you know. She's a good girl, and never worries." " 111 tell you all about it when T come back ; then you can write up something in readiness for to-morrow. If it's a mystery my people won't touch it, you know." "Of course he said. "Your staff is only paid to look pleasant." The mysterious telegram had come from the police headquarters at Kensington, an early intimation that something, unusual had occurred. In years of reporting in London I had become friendly with many police inspectors and detectives, and had long ago made arrangements with some of them whereby they should send me a wire by day, or 'a line by boy messenger at night, with information of the. latest " sensation." The reason why all signed with initials was because such information was contrary to the orders of the Chief Commissioner. I therefore left Dick sucking bis foul briar, and taking an omnibus to Kensington, entered the police station, which stands back hidden in a. courtyard opposite St. Mary Abbott's Church. In the charse room, T*th its bare, grey-painted walls, its steel-raiWl clock for prisoners, its loudticking clock, and its desk whereon the oblone charue book lav open, I found mv old friend Inspector Patterson in earnest conversation with two men of the working class, who spoke with a strong Cockney accent, and addressed him familiarly as "gnv'nor." They were evidently policemen's " noses," or in criminal parlance " narks."

"Good evening, Mr Urwin." the inspector exclaimed, putting forth his big hand. He was a tall, fair-moustaehed, e.isv-going fellow, an excellent officer, tender-hearted where the deservinc poor were concerned, but harsh and unbending towards the habitual offender. • From constable, as I had first known him. in the T or Hammersmith Division, he' had been moved to St. Luke's, to Paddincton. to Leman street, to Bow street, until, owing to the marks which various magistrates had made upon his charge sheets, he had now at last risen to the rank of first-class inspector. He was discreet in his every action, therefore he did not refer to the telegram ]w had sent me lest any of the men should overhear; but when we had chatted for a few moments, he whispered—-

" Go over to the bar at High street railway station and wait there for me. I want to see you very particularly." I nodded. Then, after some further conversation. I took leave, of him and wandered across to the refreshment room he had indicated.

CHAPTER IT.—THE PENNY IN PAP.EB,

About twenty minutes elapsed before Patterson rejoined me, but expressing a fear that we might be overheard there we went forth together and strolled along High street, until coming to a quiet turning which. I think, led past the Workhouse, we strolled along it, and there he commenced his explanation.

"The fact is." he said in a nervous, hushed voice, "there has been a most traordinary occurrence here to-night. The mystery is the strangest in all my experience—and I've made inquiries in one or two in my life, ns you know." "Tell me' all about it," I said,''my curiosity whetted. )i ' "I wif-h I could, my dear fellow, he answered. . „ " T mean tell me all the known facts. " Nothing is known—save the discovery,' he replied. ." As soon as it became known I wired to you. When the papers get hold of it it will make tlie^ greatest sensation ever known in London." "Well, that's saying a good deal, I'remarked. "Who made the discovery? ■ "I did," he answered, adding quickly: " But don't mention me, or the superintendent may suspect me of giving yotr information. 'He alreacly has a suspicion that I'm a bit too friendly with you gentlemen

of the press. A contravention of the Commissioner's orders against giving information to the papers might get me carpeted up at the Yard, you know." "And the discovery?" I asked, impatiently. "What's its nature?" "Most astounding!"' he replied with a bewildered look. "I'm a police officer, Urwin." ho added, hoarsely. " and I'm not often unnerved. But to-night, by Jove! I'm upset—altogether upset. The whole affair is devilish and unnatural." " Tell me the story," I urged. "Ifit is so strange the evening papers will have a good time to-morrow." "No, no," he cried in quick alarm. " lon must publish nothing yet—nothing. You understand that I give you these facts only on condition that you promise not to publish anything until I give you permission. You alone will know ,of it. We must preserve the utmose secrecy, Not a word must leak out yet. Yon understand in. what an awkward 'position you would place me were yon to publish' anything of this affair." ' "Of course. I promise to keep the matter a strict secret." I answered. There are many cases in which the publication of details of a crime might defeat the efforts of the police, and this I supposed to be one of them. "Well," ho said, "I made the discovery in a most curious manner. About 7 o'clock this evening, just as it was growing dark. I was returning to the station after visiting the "fixed point"'at the corner of Karl's Court road. You know the spot—just opposite Holland Park." I nodded. I knew that particular street corner where Earl's Court- road joined Kensington road quite well. "I liad previously been my usual roundthrough Campden Hill road and Holland walk, and was strolling back along the main Kensington road, past that terrace of houses, Upper ■Phillimore place, when my attention was suddenly arrested by seeing on the steps leading from the pavement up to the front garden of one of the houses some small object moving. It was inside the gate, and in the dim hnlf light I bent to examine it. What do you think it was? "Don't know," I replied. "Don't ask riddles —describe fact*." "Well, it was the very last thing one would dream of finding on a London doorstep—a, small strangely-marked snake." "A snake!" I .echoed. "You didn't arrest it for being found without visible means of subsistence. I suppose? ' " No," he answered, controlling the smile which played about his lips. " But the thing's too serious for joking, as you'll recognise when I've told you all. Well, the squirming reptile, as soon as it saw me, coiled itself round, and with head erect and swelled, commenced hissing viciously. I saw there was considerable danger in a thing like Hint being at large, and surmising that it had escaped from the house, having been kept in captivity by somebody fond of such pets, I opened the gate, passed it, not, however, without it making a dart at me, and walking up to the door, rang the bell. The house was in total darkness, but daylight had only just faded, and in many of (lie houses in the same terrace tha «as 'in the hall had not yet been lit. I

rang, and rang, but there was no response. In a large house of that character it seemed strange that no servant was about. Indeed," most of the houses there, large, roomy, and old-fashioned, let furnished apartments: but this one seemed to be superior to its neighbours, inasmuch as it has a balcony on the first floor, and the small front garden is well-kept in comparison to the patches of bald and weedy grass with which the others are content. As I stood on the doorstep, trying to arouse the inmates. I watched the reptile squirming .about the paved path, apparently enjoying its liberty immensely. I placed my ear attentively 'at the door, trying to detect some sound of movement, but failed, until suddenly I heard within the ringing of an electric bell, subdued by reason of the closed dooi. Tt was certain that after all someone was within."

"Was your summons answered?" I asked eagerly. " No. I rang again fully a dozen times, but nobody came. Tt occurred to me that within mi^ht be an invalid; and that hearing my ring, he or she had rung the bell to the kitchen, but the servants were absent. There was an area door, so I descended and tried that. The handle yielded. It was' unlocked.. Therefore I pushed it open, and went. in, though I was certainly not prepared for the discovery I afterwards made. As I entered the electric bell commenced ringing again; but it was apparently above me on the ground floor, and was not in the kitchen where I stood. In the cooking stove the fire was dying out, and there were other signs that servants had been about recently. Finding .no one. in the basement I ascended to the ground floor, when there greeted my nostrils a most delicious fragrance, very similar to the incense which the Roman Catholics burn. The place smelt like the Brompton Oratory." "Well, what did you do next?" I asked, excited at his extraordinary nantitive. " I searched the two big rooms, a dining room, and a back sitting room on the ground floor, but finding no one I stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted, thinking to discover the whereabouts of the invalid who had rung the bell. There was no answer. The place was dark, so I struck a match, ascended to the first floor,

and entered the front room, which proved to be a good-sized, well-furnished drawing room, dimly lit by the street lamp shining opposite through the windows. At the further end, suspended from the ceiling, a curious lamp was burning in red glass, just like those one sees in Roman Catholic churches, ,and on examining it I found it to be a little float in oil, so arranged that it would burn continuously for many days and nights without attention. It looked strange and weird, a red spot in the darkness at the end of the room, but what was stranger and more amazing was a discovery I made a moment later, when my eyes having grown used to the semi-obscurity of the room, I discerned two human forms, one that of a woman lying back in an armchair as if asleep, and the other a man who liiid fallen close by, and was lying outstretched upon the carpet. Even the faint light of the match I struck told me that both were dead, and so startled was I by this unexpected revelation that with scarcely a. second glance round the weird place I hastened downstairs and left the house by the front door." " You went on to the station at once, I suppose?" "Yes," lie answered; then after a nause he looked straight into my face, adding. " But to tell the truth. Urwin, you and I are the only persons who know of this affair. I haven't reported it." "Haven't reported it?" I echoed. "Why not? Delay may prevent the mystery being unravelled." " I know it's absurd and foolish." he faltered, in an unsteady voice. " But the fact is I entertain a deep-rooted superstition about snakes. My poor wife was always dreaming of snakes before she died, and, strangely enough, when ever I have seen thos". reptiles in my dreams some had luck, catastrophe, or bereavement has always fallen upon me immediately afterwards." "It isn't like, you to speak thus, Patterson," I said, knowing him to be a fearless man who more than once had boldly faced a burglar's revolver. . " I really don't know what to do," he said. " It's a nearly two hours ago since

T entered the place. I was so upset when I come out that I wired to you, in the hope that you might be able to suggest some plan of action." "Report at once, and lot's thoroughly investigate it," I said promptly. " No. I can't report it on account of the snake. If I did I feel assured that some fatality would fall upon me." " You're unnerved by what you've seen," I. said. "It certainly was not a nice position to unexpectedly find oneself alone with1 the dead in a dark, deserted house like that. In any case, however, the matter is a queer one, and must be sifted." "Yes," lie said. " Tfc appears to be % a most remarkable affair." "Well." I exclaimed, "if you are determined not to report it just at present I'm reidy to oro with you now and search the place. The area door is still unlocked, you say?" He hesitated, pale and agitated. The effect of this dfscovery upon him had been rea!lv remarkable. " Yes, the door is still unlocked, of course." he said, reflectively, " but personally I don't care about returning." "Rubbish* my clear chap," I exclaimed. ■" I don't believe in superstitions. The I finding of the snake was curious, no doubt;,

but this isn't the first time snakes "have been found in the streets of London. Lots

have been discovered about Covent Garden Market, having come over in baskets of frr.it." He was silent. Evidently his discovery had been a very unusual one. I knew well

the row of houses he had indicated, the most old-fashioned, perhaps, in the district; for they'had formed a part of old Kensington over a century ago, and even low the great iron extiuguishers ornamented some of the doorways, mute remembrancers

of the days of sedan chairs and linkmen. " Let's go and explore the place, and report afterwards," I urged, my appetite for adventure whetted by his strange disinclination to return. " I'll report it as a discovery of my own, if you are disinclined to do so."

"Very well," he answered at last, "let's go. But before we enter, I tell you that it is a very mysterious house, ltocollect tlint strange ringing I heard." "We'll look into all that later on." I said, surprised at his unusual agitation. There, facing one of the busiest thorouglifafes of the West End little harm surely, come to us. "Come along,' 1 said.

and thus persuaded, he quickened his footsteps. We passed along Abingdon Villas into Karl's Court road, where, meeting a constable on duty, lie borrowed his lamp,

then turning into Kensington, road we at length reached the house of mystery, which, as he hatf said, was a gloomy-looking place in total darkness.

We peered eagerly inside the gate, but could distinguish no sign of the reptile which had so strangely attracted my friend's attention in the first instance. Tt had no doubt withdrawn among the. plants and shrubs' in the little' smoke:dried garden, 'and was watching us unseen. Without hesitation, in order not to attract the curiosity of any passer-by whose attention might be arrested by Patterson's uniform, we walked straight to the urea door, and gaining tlie kitchen, at once lit tlie gas. As he had said, there was every sign that the place had been recently occupied, but with only a cursory examination of the basement we passed upstairs to the dining room. Here we also lit the gas. and saw

that the table had been laid for three persons, in a manner quite luxurious, with real 'silver, cut glass, and tiny vases of fresh flowers arranged artistically. Beside each plate were blue glass finger bowls tilled with Water which gave out a strong perfume of roses. The chairs had been placed, and the hors d'ecuvre*, olives, anchovies, and caviare were already on the table, showing that all preparations for dinner had been made. Yet, strangely enough, in the kitchen the greater part of the meat and vegetables remained uncooked. From'tlus room we passed into the smaller one adjoining, lighting the gas as we went, but this sesmed to be used as a smoking room, and contained nothing of note. It was, however, in the drawing room above where we made the most astounding

discoveries. 'The apartment was spacious for the size of the house, upholstered m pale blue, with furniture of expensive character, and large growing palms placed on stands. In the centre was a great circular settee, and in the corners wide soft divans of pale blue velvet with golden fringe Comfort and luxury bad been studied by whoever had furnished Me place, for as we lit one of the side gas brackets we saw that it was really a- very artistic room <he floor covered with a real lurkey carpet of softest hue,?, while the few paintings on the walls were' choice examples oi well-known artists. At the end opposite the "rate was suspended from the ceiling by three gilt chains the mysterious little red lamp, burning steadily without a nicker, and beneath it, fallen back in a large armchair, was a woman, whose face, although waxen-white, was eminently beautiful, lhe paleness of death was upon her, yet her handsome head, with its wealth of goldbrown hair, was pillowed upon the cushion of yellow silk, and upon the cold, .slightlyparted lips there played a strange, bitter

smile. She was young, twenty or so, and dressed in an artistically-made gown of pale mauve trimmed with lace. Her teeth were even and perfect, her cheeks round and well-moulded, her chin slightly protruding, and a piquant little nose;_ but that smile in death seemed revolting in its hideonsness. Her eyes, large, of a deep blue once luminous as stars, no doubt, but now' dull and filmy, were wide open, as though gazing out upon us in an endeavour to speak and tell us the truth of the strange and tragic occurrence. I looked upon her bewildered, dumbfounded. Not three yards away, stretched at her feet, was a man of about 35, well dressed in frock coat and light-coloured trousers, with collar and cravat of the latest mode, and wearing on his cold, stiff hand a ring set with a single diamond of unusual lustra. His face was toward the carpet, and while I held the lamp Patterson bent and turned him over. We then saw that he was dark and good-looking, a gentleman evidently, although from "the upward curl of his moustache find his ■smartness of attire he appeared to b'i something of a fop. "It looks a good deal like murder and suicide," Patterson exclaimed, still _bemlini; over him. "I wonder who he is?"_ " There are initials on his sleeve-links.' I said, for I had detected an engraved cipher upon the plain gold buttons at his wrists. Patterson lifted the dead white hand and carefully looked at the ornaments. " They're two ' K's' intertwined, surmounted by a crest," my companion said in a strange voice. "I wonder what's on him?'1 and he proceeded to search the breast pocket of the dead man's coat. The contents, which we afterwards examined together, consisted only of two prospectuses of new companies, an amber cigar-tube mounted in gold, and the envelope of a letter addressed in a woman's land to "George Grove, l'oste Restante, Charms; Gross,""and bearing the Manchester postmark of three days before. The letter had unfortunately been destroyed: only the envelope remained. But we both recollected that persons who have letters addressed to tlie Poste Restanto do not usually give their correct names. In one of the vest pockets were three ten-pound notes folded carelessly together, while in the trousers pocket's was a quantity of loose silver. Beyond that there was nothing else upon him. Contrary to the effect of death upon his unfortunate companion, his face was slightly distorted, the tip of the tongue protruding, and both hands clenched, showing that he had endured :i momentary spasm of agony a? the last spark of life died out ; while from the fact that a small tripod table with painted plate-glass top had been overturned and broken, it seemed apparent, that he had staggered and clutched wildly at the first object within his reach. But on neither could we detect any wound,, nor was there anything to show the cause of death. 1 examined the hand of the woman—a. tiny, slim, cold hand, tlie contact of which thrilled me by its chilliness—and saw that her rings, set with emeralds, rubies, and diamonds, were of the finest quality. "She's beautiful," Patterson observed, gazing down upon her. " Perhaps she was his wife." " IVrhaps," I said. " Curious that they should have both died in this manner.'' " They were evidently sitting here chatting before dinner when both were either murdered or died suddenly before assist auce could reach them. She died before

he did." „„ T , . '■What makes you think that.' 1 asked rmickh', my eyes wandering around Hie ]ar<'C.' comfortable room, the atmosphere of which was heavy with fragrant odours. "Because he placed fhat cushion uoneatli hex fiend." answered the shrewd and observant police officer. "He hod kissed her : and she was in the act of smiling at his last art of love when her heart smldenlv failed, and soul and body parted." ".Ami he died immediately afterwards, you think?"' * "Yes. that's what I surmise. Whats your opinion?" "I can form no theory at present. I answered, bewildered. In Hie course ot year? spent in the invcsticniion of crime for jourmlistic purposes T had had nitwits'sharpened, and rather prided myself upon the soundness of the theories T propounded in the articles I wrote. Patterson knew this, and probably for that reason had invoked my companionship in this curious affair. Together we made a searching examination of the whole room, but there was absolutely nothing to show the motive, or even the mode of the tragedy. The absence of servants was. ot course, extremely suspicious, but neither of us attached much importance to that. A close examination of the scene was our present object, experience having taught that upon the scene of most crimes there remains some trace of the assassin. The old saying that "Murder will out" is truer than the majority of people believe; for even that night we had had a striking illustration in Patterson's attention being attracted by the snake in the garden gateway. Beside the dead woman's chair was lying a handkerchief, a tiny square of lawn and lace, which- I picked up. It emitted an odour very sweet and subtle, such as I had never before smelt. Patterson sniffed it. but placed it down. "Some new scent.'' he said."Women are always going in for the latest inventions in perfumes. "But this is an extraordinary one,"' I said, again smelling it. " Terribly strong, too," I added, for the odour had a strange half-intoxicating effect upon me. The small red light steadily burning, the fragrance of the incense, the two dead forms lying there still and cold, and the single gas burner, hissing as it flared, combined to present a weird, horrid picture, each detail of which has ever since been photographed upon my memory. The smile of death upon that woman's lips was horrible. That look of hers has ever since haunted me, for now that I know the truth and have realised all that had taken place in that room prior to the tragedy, that laugh of derision has a significance which renders its recollection bitter, gruesome, hideous. I know not what prompted me at that moment, but bending again beside the prostrate man I placed my hand inside his vest, recollecting that sometimes tailors, adopting the French mode, made pockets there, and that therein many men carried articles of value in secrecy and safety. As I did so, 1 felt t-liat there was a- pocket in the lining, that it was buttoned, and that there was

something within. Quickly I unbuttoned it and drew forth a small packet wrapped in glazed writing paper, dirty and worn

through being carried for a long time. With "care I opened it. and inside found an object which caused us both to give vent to an ejaculation of wonder. It was simply a penny. " His mascoite, I suppose," remarked the inspector. "A lucky coin." " But it has no hole through it,'' I observed. " The hole is of no importance. The coin may have been given him for luck." replied my'companion. "Lots of people believe in such things, especially betting men." " He was evidently very careful of it," 1 said, at the same time searching and finding another pocket on the other side of tlie vest, and from this I took a small cloth-covered case, not much larger than those containing cigarette tubes, and found on opening it that it contained a small hyperdermic .syringe, complete with its needles and accessories, " This shows that he was addicted to the morphia habit," I remarked. "An overdose, perhaps." Mr friend, who had now recovered something of his coolness and self-possession, took the tiny instrument and examined it carefully beneath the strong light of his bull's-eye. "There's been no morphia jn this lately," he said. ' " It's quite dry, and certainly hasn't been used to-day." " Let's search the whole house," I suggested. "We may find something which will give us a clue as to who and what these people were. \Funnv that the servants don't come back, isn't it? " "I don't expect they will," answered Patterson. " Deuend upon it that there is more mystery in this affair than we at present .suspect." "Why?" " Look at these," he said, passing over to me the three bank-notes found upon the dead man. "They are spurious!" No second glance was needed to convince me that he spoke the truth. They were clever imitations of ten-pound notes, but the paper, the despair of the forger, was thick, and. entirely different from tihflt of tbe genuine-bank-note.

A"am I glanced at the beautiful woman s face" with ■ its ■ smile of mind*! ecstatic plensnre nnd bitterness. Her sightless eyes seemed fixed^ipon me, following me as I moved. , ~ . '* „ I drew back horrified, shuddering. .Her naze was ghastly. . ~ . » ° "It certainly is a most, mysterious affair, I ejaculated •"again, gluing around thp place. "You ought af once to report it

"No " cried my companion, quickly. The discovery must be yours. You must report it. Mr TJnvin." "Why?" „ T " Beciiuse, as I've already told you, 1 fenr to do so, on account of the snake. I smiled sit Iris curious objection, but an instant later grew serious because of the sharp and the sudden ringing of an electric bell somewhere on the "round floor. It was the bell he had heard when first knocking at the door. We both listened for a few moments while the • ringing continued, until with sudden resolve I dashed downstairs to ascertain where the bel! was. Without difficulty I found it, for there in the hall, revealed by the gas-lamp we had lit. was a telephone instrument with its bell agitated violently. Without a second's hesitation I placed tlie receiver to my ear and gave the usual signal— "Hulloa! Hulloa! The whirr and clicking stopped, and a voice, squeaky as that of an elderly person, said petulantly: " I've been ringing up for an hour or more. What's wrong that you haven't replied? You're at fifty-eight, ai-en t you?" ' " Yes." I answered, recollecting that fifty-eight was the number of that house. "Nothing is wrong. Why? Can't you be patient?" " I felt uneasy," answered the mysterious voice, apologetically. " I thought there might possibly have been some hitch as you haven't mug up." "'No." I responded. " None." "Then of course it's all over?" inquired

the voice. , I started at (his strange query. I Ins unknown inquirer was evidently in possession of the truth, and believed himself to bo talking to an accomplice. He knew of the commission of the crime, and therefore it occurred to me that by the exercise of due caution I might be able to discover his identity. " Yes," I answered, breathless in excitement. "Both?" asked the voice. " Roth," I responded. "Rood.:'* Then I shall see you- at the place we "arranged—eh?" i "Of course," I answered. "But when? I've forgotten." "Forgotten!" echoed the squeaky voice in a tone of undisguised disgust. "Take, care or you'll blunder yet. You're a confounded'idiot. Why, to-morrow, at midday." " I know I'm a fool," I replied, " but in the excitement it's quite slipped my memory where you said I was to meet you." Then, holding the receiver tremblingly to my ear. I listened with quick heartbeating for the response of that mysterious, far-distant voice, which squeaked so •strangely, sounding thin and high-pitched, more like that of an old woman than of a man. "You're a confounded fool to waste time like this if you're still at fifty-eight," said the voice. "You've said so before,'' T responded. "But where shall I meet you?"' (To be continued.)

UNNECESSARY LOSS OF TIME.

Mr W. S. Wliedon, Cashier of the First National Bank- of Winterset, lowa, in a recent letter gives some experience with a carpenter in his employ, that will be of value to other mechanics. He says: "I had a carpenter working for me who was obliged to stop work for several days on account of being troubled with diarrhoea. I mentioned to him that I had been similarly troubled and that Chamberlain's Colic, Cholera, and Diarrhoea. Remedy had cured mo. He bought a bottle of it from the druggist here and informed mo that one dose cured him. and he is again at his work." For sale by all all dealers. Price Is 6d and 3s. Tall men, as a rule, have bodies out of proportion to their lower limbs—that is, smaller than they ought to be—with the natural result that they are unable to bear fatigue or to compete in the struggles of life with lesser men more, harmoniously proportioned. Army experience bears out these observations. In a long and fatiguing march the tall men usually fall out first or succumb to campaigning, unless, as is very rarely the case, they have •voll-knit i"( symmetrical frames. A soldier between sft sin and sft Bin or 9in is usually tuc limn most capable of bearing the strain of life.

Eedcliffe Crown Brand Galvanised Corrugated Iron; cheapest and best.—Hogg and Co. (Limited), agents, Lower Kattray street.

"Peaks' Annual" (1900). —Ready November 26, accompanied by 3, large presentation Plates in colours, fit for any drawing room— viz., "Tho British Lion" (by Vastagh), "Beware!" (by J. B. Burgess, R.A.), and "Making Friends "■■ (by Yeend King, R. 1.). As' tho whole edition is always sold within a few days of publication, early application to the booksellers is necessary to secure a copy of this artistic and marvellous production. Ol ill booksellers and newsagents all over tho world. Price Ib. Worth a guinea.—Advt.