THE GODDESS: A DEMON.

Otago Witness, Issue 2412, 24 May 1900, Page 53

THE GODDESS: A DEMON.

By RICHARD MARSH,

Author of "In Full Cry," "The Beetle: A Mystery," " The Crime and the Criminal/ "The Datchefc Diamonds,"'' " The Duke and the Damsel," &c, &c.

[COPYRIGHT.]

"" CHAPTER XV.— THE LETTER.

UT it was not Symonds. It was * a messenger boy — an impertinent -young rascal. "Mr John Ferguson? I thought every one was out ; I've been knocking for the last ten minutes." "Have .you, indeed? I trust

S . the .delay has caused you no serious inconvenience. Yes, I am Mr John Ferguson."

" No answer." He thrust an envelope- into my hand, and, turning on his heel, was about to march away. I caught him by the shoulder. "Pardon me — one second! From whom does this communication come?"

"I say there's no answer."

He wriggled in my grasp

" I hear you. Still, if you could manage to wait for a moment I think it might be worth your while. Let me beg of you to enter."

Drawing him into the room, I shut the door. He survej^ed me with indignation. "My orders are that when there's no answer I'm not to wait." " Good boy ! Always obey orders." The address on the envelope was typewritten ; as were the sentences on the sheet of paper it contained. "Because Edwin Lawrence is dead, don't suppose that the £1880 are paid. You have not hit on a, new way to pay old debts. A knife in the back is not a quittance. You are wrong if you suppose it it. Have the money ready ; hard cash — I notes and gold ; all gold preferred. ,NO CHEQUE. v Edwin Lawrence has left an j heir ; to whom all that he had belongs, I your debt among the rest. Be prepared to pay when asked. If the request "has to be made a second time it will come in a difleI rent form.

" The Goddess." That was what the envelope contained — an anonymous letter. "Who sent this?" "I don't know. I haven't read it." " Possibly not ; and yet you might know who was the sender." " [ don'fc see how. I'd just been on an

errand right over to Finchley. As soon as I came in that was given me. All I was told was that there was no answer."

The messenger spoke in a tone of resentment, as if suffering from a grievance. He was a small youth, with crisp black hair and sharp black eyes ; combativeness writ large all over him.

" You didn't see who brought this to the office? " "I did not." "Where do you come from?"

"What's your name? " George Smith. Though I don't see what that's got to do with you "

"Then that only shows that your range of vision's limited. Because, jkr George Smith, although there's no answer to this little communication, you're likely to hear of it again. Good-day." The young gentleman withdrew, with something like a sniff of scorn. I read the letter through again. As Hiime stood watching me, his curiosity "got the upper hand. '

"What is it?"

" I was wondering if I -should tell you. I don't see why not." I handed him the sheet' of paper. He scanned it with eager eyes.- "What do you make of it?" " It is for me, rather, to put that question to you." . "I'll tell you one thing I make of it — that - the typewriter^ from the anonymous letter- writers point of view, is an excellent invention. - In the case of a written letter, one Cftn occasionally guess what kind of person it is from whom it comes ; but, when it's typewritten, the JLord alone can tell."

" ' The Goddess.' Does the .signature convey no meaning to your mind? Think."' I'm thinking. The Goddess? I certainly don't know anyone who's entitled to write herself down like that. Lst me look at the thing again." He returned me the sheet of paper. "This seems to suggest that someone else is disposed to lake a hand in the game — some person at present unknown."'

" But who knows that you awed Lawrence £1880! And — who knows how/much besides? '

" Just so. I wonder ! "

Hume eyed me, as if he were endeavouring to decipher, on mj face, the key to a l'iddle.

"If someone applies to you for the money what shall you do? " " Hang him, or her, straight off. That is, I should hand the gentleman or lady over to Symonds, 'with that end in view. Don't you "see what such an application- would imply? Lawrence was murdered within an hour or two of our playing that game of cards. How comes anyone to know what was the amount he claimed to have won? No. one saw him between the finish of the ■game and his death, except the man who murdered him."

" Miss Moore saw him — and you;." ". "Are you suggesting that M£ss v Moore wrote this v letter — or I?" "I see, your point. You infer that'whoever did Avrite it v killed Lawrence, becaiise it discloses 'knowledge which could only be in possession of his murderer. There is something in the inference. But, if the thing's so plain, isn't it an act of rashness to have written you at all — rashness which is almost inconceivable?"

"' De V audace ' — you know the wise man's aphorism. I Son't say the thing is plain. On the contraiy, I believe it's more obscure than you think. Granting that whoever wrote that letter killed Lawrence — and I fancy you'll find that is the ease — the question is, -who wrote it? It's signed ' The Goddess.' I believe ' The Goddess ' was the writer. Query: Who's 'The Goddess'? There's the puzzle."' " Are you intentionally speaking in cryptograms? May I ask what you mean ? "

' I'm not quite sure that I know myself. I dto't go so far as to say that there is anything supernatural about the business, but — it's uncommonly queer.".

"Supernatural! You had better make that suggestion to the police. The English law' does not recognise the supernatural in crime. "

" Possibly not. You say it was a man, Symonds thinks it was a woman ; I believe ■both of yoti are wrong — that Lawrence was killed neither 'by a man nor a woman. Who o. 1 what" is 'The Goddess'? Find that out. You'll have found the criminal ! "

His lips curled in. an ironic smile.

" I really wonder ir you think that you can successfully play a game -of bluff with me "

1. laughed. *The man was so full of..verjuice, that he could' not resist an opportunity of squirting a drop or two in my direction. His intentions had not been over and above friendly before. Now that the shadow of a woman had come between us. I felt that he would stop at little which would help him hang me. That my innocence might be shown was a matter which would concern him not at all — so long as he had hung me first.

While I hesitated what to answer — for though I hoped, at the proper time, to take him by the neck and drop him from ■the window, my desire was in the meanLime to' treat him with the utmost courtesy — someone came rushing into the room. It "was Turner, the night porter. He seemed to have been in the wars. He held his handkerchief to his nose, and his uniform was disarranged as if he had just emerged from a scrimmage.

"There's Mr Philip Lawrence just gone down the service stairs."

We stared at him — not, at first, gathering what he meant. Our thoughts had been occupied with -other themes, "as, tor instance, our love for one another. He, perceiving that we did not understand, Avent on, like a man in a rage :

" Yes, he just went down the service stairs, did Mr Philip Lawrence, and a nice sort of a gentleman he. is ! I was standing in the do6rway, finishing my pipe, when I saw him coming. 'Mr Lawrence,' I said, ' this is a very sad thing about your brother. I've only just c6me, so I've only just heard of it ' ;' which I had, and it had took me quite aback. He never said a word ; he gave me no warning, but, as soon as I ojjened ihy mouth, he came at

me like a m?d bull, hit me right oii i\s :iose, -and -sent me crashing down on to tila back of my head in the road. It's a wfecier he didn't knock me senseless, I was so unpiepared, and he hit me so hard. Aa .toon as I could pick myself together I saw him rushing down the street and tear round the corner as if he were running for his dinner. And well he might run, for a nice sort of gentleman he seems to be." .Hume and I looked at Turner, then at each other. "Are you sure that it was Mr Ph'Jin Lawrence? "

Turner gazed at me resentfully. "Am I sure? Do you think I'd say a thing like that of a gentleman if I wasn't sure that it was him? Not likely!"-

Hume interposed,

"Do you wish us to understand that Ml Philip Lawrence attacked you in the manner you describe without having, first oi all, received provocation from you? "

" I don't know what you call provocation. All I said to him I've said to you. I don't know what provocation there was in saying that it was a sad thing about his brother.""

" You did not say, or do, anything else?"

"I didn't do anything at all — bo did all the doing ; and what" I've said I've told

you " Turner, I know Mr Philip Lawrence intimately. He is not a man to commit an "unprovoked "assault. Either you r.;»ve mi** • taken someone else for him or, < oa^knis.V or unconsciously, you have kept bac.-c Srwi xis", something -which appearad to "hiia "to" hi a sufficient iustification for ■n'Jb.ai he did." In his surprise Turner removed his haridkerciiief from his note. The blood trickled on to his waistcoat.

" AVell ! That beat's anything ! I suppose my word's worth nothing. If you ask those who know me perhaps better than you do. Dr Hume. they'll tell you I'm no liar. I say thai he hit me likb "a coward, for nothing at all, -and then took to his heels ; and it. was well for him he did, for if I do get within reach of him I'll perhaps give him os good as he sent, though "'t'll be after 'l've given him warning "first I'll let you know, Dr Hume, ■that though I am, a porter I'm not going 'Lo let a gentleman, knock me about as 'it suits him, even though he is a " friend of yours*; and I don't think sny the better of you for taking his part." Going up to -Turner, I clapped him on the sh odder

"That's right! That's how I like to hear a man speak out. Don't think that I doubt you in one little jot or tittle. • Mr 'Philip ' Lawrence hit you like a, coward because ]ie was a coward. He v, as afraid 01 you ; and had good reason for his fear, as Dr Hume knows very well." "You — yon— ,— "

Hume stopped. "Well, Hume, go on. Your •friend did not give Turner an opportunity to punish him for~his "bad behaviour, -If you behawe •badly, I assure you that I shall avail! myself of any chance which may offer to punish you. Pray finish the remark you were about to make."

• Hume' said nothing.- He did not even .glancs in my direction. But he looked at Turner, and walked out of the room. "He looks like killing someone himself." said Turner, when he was gone.

"I shouldn't be surprised." - I wonder liow much he would have gives at that moment to have made sure of killing me — for choice," upon the gallows.

CHAPTER XVI.-MY PERSUASIVE

MANNEB. I went at once to the 'house in .Arlington street. • The door was opened by 1 Mi Morley. • ' "Have you heard anything of Mr Philip? Is he at home? " Mr Morley had opened the door about six inches, peeping " through the crevice as if he expected to see some dreadful ob ject on the doorstep. The sight of me seemed to reassure him. He addres&ed mt in a sepulchral whisper. "Would you mind stepping inside for a moment, sir?" I went into a front room on the ground floor Mr Morley_came in after me, and, .behind him, Mrs Morley. I was conscious that the room was filled with ,old oak .furniture. It is, perhaps, because I .am, ,not a man of taste -that I would not have an apartment in which I proposed to live fined with that funereal wood. Old bla^jj •oak ' furniture reminds' me of an African .swamp. It is dark and sombre; heavy, -s-.tifr,- uhgainlv. '. Without, the shadows had deepened ; in the house it was darker still. The room was still unlighted. The figures of the mci man and woman, revealed in the half iijrnt, harmonised with the ancient blackness of the furniture. As they stood side by side, as close together as they could get ; with, on them both, an air of timidity which the darkness could not hide; I felt that there was a blight upon them, and on the room, and on the house ; that it was a place of doom.

"I take it that Mr Philip has not re turned? " " They looked at one another ; as it each were unwilling to incur the responsibility of a reply. At last the husband took it on himself. t " No. sir, he's not returned, but — — '

"Well, but what?"

For Llie old gentleman had paused. He spoke to his wife, in a whisper which was perfectly audible. " Shall I tell him, Emma? " " It's not for me to speak. That, Joe, if for you to say." " This is Mr Ferguson ; he's Mr Philip's friend."

" If he's Mr Philip's friend — <-" "Come," I said; "I see you've heard from him." " Yes, sir," we've heard from him. "Thai — that's the trouble." " What is it you've heard ? " Again the reference to his wife. "Shall I— shall I tell him, Emma? 1 ",

"I've already told you, Joe, that that's for you to say. It's not for me to speak." ' Plainly Joe hesitated : then arrived at a sudden decision.

. , "Well, sir, this is what we've heard." He took a sheet of paper out of his pocket, .which he gave to me. " I can't see what's on this, man, without a light. Mine are not cat's eyes ; it's dark as pitch in here." "Before I light up, sir, I'll lower the blind. There's no need for folk to see .what's going on in here." He not only lowered the blind, he drew the curtains too, leaving a darkness which might have been felt; then started gropinc for a match upon the mantelshelf. When he had found one he lit the gas— a single burner.^ By its radiance I examined the paper he had given me. In shape, size k appearance, it was own brother to the sheet which had come to me. On it was a typewritten letter ; which, however, in this case, was not anonymous. " To Joseph Morley, " Dear Morley, "I'm in a bad scrape. L can't come home. And I've no clothes, and no money. I send you my keys. Look, you know where, and send me all the money you can find; and my -cheque book, and my dressing case, and two or three trunks .full of clothes. As you know, I took nothing away with me except what I stood up in. I don't know when I shall be able to send, but it will be as soon as I possibly can. Have everything ready, for when I .do send I shan't want my messenger to be kept waiting. And keep a sharp - . look-out ; it may be in the middle of the ' mgkt " , "PHILIP LAWRENCE. " Tell" anyone who asks that I shall he home in about a week; and that _you ye instructions to send all letters on. 1 don t want people to think that you're not in communication with me, or that everything's not all right. And you're not to listen 'to any tales which, you may hear ; and jrouWnoi'to worry, or people will notice It. You understand? " The eyes of ihe two old people did not Leave my face while I was reading. So soon as 1 lowered the paper, Mr Morley faltered out his question : „ , * "Well, sir, what— what do you think ox "That it's a curious epistle. Who brought it? " " That's more than I can say. Tnere was a knock at the door, and I saw that in the letter-box. I looked cut into the street, but there was no one in sight who seemed a likely person to have dropped it in." " Ho messenger boy? " , "No. sir ; no one ..of the kind." " And the keys came with it? " " Yes, sir ; in a small brown paper parcel." "Addressed to you?" " No. the parcrl was addressed to no one. There was nothing on it at all." "-You«,are sure they, are Mr Philip's ! '-6f course they are. Whose should they "be? Why— why "do you say that?" "Has 'Mr Philip been in the^ habit 01 ' sending you typewritten letters? " "He has never done such a thing in his life before." "In this, even the signature is typed — as if he had made up his mind that you should not have a scrap of handwriting which you could recognise. I don't see way he need to have had such a letter typed at all. Is he himself a typist?" "Not that I know of; I never heard him speak of it."' "Then to have had such a letter typed by someone else was to add to his ri^k. Why couldn't he have trusted you with a - letter written by his own hand? " " I .can't say." " Are you yourself sure that, this letter is from Mr Philip? "' « " Not a doubt of it. I wish there were. Because it shows that he's in hiding ; and what should he be in hiding for, except one thing? What — what are we to do? If — if he has his brother's blood upon his hands." " Joe ! " " Well, Emma ;if he has, he has ! And . where'll he find a place big enough and out of the way enough, for him to hide in? All the world will scon know what he's , done, and all the world will be in search, of him. He won't dare to ' come here, he . daran't already ; soon he, won't dare to write .- to me ;' -the police will be watching me like cats a mouse. He'll be -ah outcast, shunning the jplaces which' he knew and the friends who- loved him ; and he,- the most sociable gentleman who ever lived, who . never could bear to be alone ; with a host of -friends. , and not a single enemy: And — . and what are we to do — the wife and I, here, in his house alone? To whom are we to look for help — for guidance — for orders? We — we're , almost afraid to stop in the place as it is ; it — it's as if it were haunted. We seem to see him wherever we turn ; we hear his footstep on the stairs — his voice — his laughter." " Joel " "Well, Emma, so we do. Our nerves won't stand it. We — we're getting all broken up ; we're not so young as we were, and used to regular ways, and — and this sort of thing's beyond us. Every knock at the door starts us trembling. Who — who's that?-" As Mr Morley was speaking, there came an assault on the front door knocker which seelned to shake the 'house.' I do not think I ever heard quite such a clatter made by a similar instrument before. That the nerves of the old folk were in a curious condition was immediately made plain ; the attack might have been made on them, instead of on* the knocker. They drew closer together, clinging to each other for support r consternation was- written large all over them. Their behaviour was not (that ■ of persons on 'whom I should- have cared to 1 lay the' burden of a great responsibility ; especially one in which coolness and preJ s6nce of mind were nßcessary factors. 1 The visitor was in a hu^ry. There had hardly been time to reach the front door when the knocking began again — crash, smash, crash, crash, crash, crash ! I really thought the dooi would have been broken down. The faces of the proper guardians Of the house grew whiter, their limbs more ikgnvulpus, " "■

"Hadn't you better go and see who's there? Or 'shall I? "

They let me go. On the doorstep I found an individual who had his own, no tions of propriety. With scant ceremony he endeavoured, without a word of explanation, to foi'ce his way into the house. I am not a man with whom everyone finds it easy to play that kind of game. When I am pushed, I push. Placing my hand against his chest, he went backwards across ■the pavement at a run. " Manners, sir ! Manners !" T observed. He -seemed surprised — as a man is. apt to do who, proposing to play the bully, finds himself bullied instead. His hat had ■fallen off; he himself had almost 'fallen too. "Who the devil are you, sir?" " Saving a reference to any acquaintance of yours, that is the question which 1 should like to put to you, sir." j Picking up his hat, he came towards me, ' with a blustering air.

'■'I want to see Philip Lawrence — at once."

"Do you indeed ! That's unfortunate. You have come to ■ the wrong place for your want io be supplied. Mr Philip Lawrence doesn't happen to be in-."

" Tell that tale to someone else ; don't try it 011 mo ; I've heard it before. I'll wait till he is in."

" By all means ; let me show you the way inside." "

Taking him by the collar of his coat', I conducted him through the doorway, across the hall, and into the front room — where Mr and Mrs Morley were, still clinging to each other, as if under the impression that the end of the world at last had come. The visitor was a big, black-haired man, inclined to puffiness, whose whiskers and moustache seemed to have been blackleaded, they shone with such resplendence. He was clad in gorgeous attire.

"What do you mean "by such disgraceful behaviour?" I inquired. -

"On my word, that's good ! " He was settling in its place the collar of his coat. " Seems to me that the boot's upon the other foot.*' He turned io Mr Morley. '" Who is tbits man? "

"This man," I explained, to save Mr Morley trouble, "is a person who is competent to recent any impertinence which you may offer. So if you have come to play the bully, you will have every opportunity afforded you to play your very best."

" Don't talk to me like that, sir ; you don't know who I am. If I'd liked 1 might have made Philip Lawrence bankrupt foux-and-twenty hours ago ; only' I thought I'd give him a chance. But I'm not going to stand that sort of thing from you."

" Pray how, could you have made Mr Philip Lawrence bankrupt ? " "I hold overdue bills of his for £5000. Some men would have made him- bankrupt on the nail, and' run him up a tidy old bill of costs. I'm too - soft-hearted ; I gave him a- chance. But I've had enough bother elrea'dy ; I'm not going to ha^e any more. If a satisfactory isn't made before I- leave this house, there'll' be •trouble."

" So you are the person who habitually trades in forged acceptances? " " Forged acceptances ! What — what the devil do yoii mean, sir?" Unless I was' • mistaken he increased in jraffiness. " You know. You, were aware that they were forged, and by whom. You had a hand in arranging the whole matter ; buying them for a song, with the intention of secm-ing as much out of Mr Philip Lawrence as you possibly could." The gentleman began to bluster. Plainly he was not happy.

"I — I don't know -who you are to talk to me like that, sir. Your behaviour's altogether most extraordinary. I'll let you know that I'm not going to have you speak to me like that ; I'm not going to have such language addressed to me. I came, into possession of these bills in the ordinary course of business."

" How much did you pay for them? "

" 1 paid? Never mind what I paid for ! What's it got to do with you? " So far he had been wearing his silk hat. ,Now he took it off to- wipe the brim. "As I say, I'm a soft-hearted man, and if it's not convenient to Mr Lawrence to pay up all at once, "why, I'm willing, to do my best to meet his conveniences ; but I—l'mI — I'm not going to be talked to like that, - certainly not ! " " Hand them over." '"Hand what over?" 1 The bills." "Against money." "Hand over those, bills." " I haven'.t got them on me ; they're in the safe at my office, under lock and key. Do you think I carry about with me documents of that value. You never know what sort of characters you may encounter."

This with a meaning glance in my direction. "Hand over those bills."

" Help ! Murder ! Thieves ! " As he showed a disposition to make a noise, I took him by the throat. Lifting him on the big oak table, and laying him flat upon his back, I kept him quiet while I went through his pockets. As I ' expected, I found in the inside breas,t pocket of his coat a leather case. - In bhis were five promissory notes for £1000^ each, purporting to have been drawn by Philip Lawrence, and to have been endorsed by his brother Edwin. I let him get up. " I hope I have put you to no inconvenience. Since you left the bills in your office safe, under lock and key, no doubt you will find them, still under lock and key, on your return." " Give me back those bills! " They will be. quite safe with me." I put them into "my coat pocket. He turned to the Morleys : " I "call you to witness that the man has robbed me, with violence ! Mind, with violence ! " Then to me : " You give me back those bills this moment, or- it will be a case of penal servitude for you ; and I shouldn't be surprised if there wtfs the cafe thrown in."

' " And what will it be for you? Judges and juries are not apt to look with lenient eyes upon gentlemen who habitually traffic

iin forged acceptances for the purposes of levying blackmail."

'" Don't talk to me like that ; I tell you that I won't have it!"

" You won't have it ! "

" Upon my word, I don't know who you are, but I believe you're a highwayman. Give me back those bills, or I go to the front door, and I call a constable."

" Call one — do. I will give him the bills, ■with an explanation of what they are, /pointing out to him that you will presently have to stand your trial on a charge of ■conspiracy ; and that, also, you are disagreeably associated with a case of murder."

"" The man's stark mad. I never heard ■anyone talk like he does — never ! "

" Possibly you are not aware that Edwin Lawrence was murdered last night."' "Edwin Lawrence murdered?"

I The man turned a greenish hue. " Beyond doubt his death was the direct) .result of the crime which you incited him to commit. The whole story's known. I heard myself, this morning, a confession fiom the lips of the miserable tool who actually concocted the fraudulent documents. You will find him quite willing to "turn Queen's evidence. The bills will be produced in Court, when you will have an opportunity to tell your story." He put his hand up to his collar, as if it had suddenly become tight. " It's a lie that Edwin Lawrence was murdered last night. It's a lie." "By the way, sir, what is your name?' 1 " What's it to do with you? " " Chancing to notice in your letter case some visiting cards, I ventured to abstract one. We will refer to that.." I produced it from my waistcoat pocket. " From this it appears that you are Mr Isaac Bernstein, of _ 288 Great Poland street. Very good, Mr Bernstein. Your bills are in safe keeping. You will hear of them again, never fear. Their history will be threshed out to your complete satisfaction — wheiryou will be wanted again. Until then you

can go. " It's a lie that he was murdered — it's 'a lip."

" On that point you may be able to obtain information from Mr and Mrs Morley, or from the first policeman you meet in the

" God help us all ! " groaned Mr Morley.

Apparently there was something in the old gentleman's ejaculation which carried sufficient corroboration to Mr Bernstein's alert intelligence. He quitted the room, to presently return.

"Who — who killed him?" " In due course that will be made plain ; •also your association with the motive which was in the murderer's mind, causing him to compass the death of the man whom -you had incited to the perpetration of a iiideous -anti unnatural crime."

Mr Bernstein went out of the house •without anollrer.word. When I heard the •door" bang, I turned to. the old people.

" You sec ? That is the way in , which •to treat impertinent persons who presume upon your master's absence to traduce his ■name and to take liberties with the establishment which he has left in your ■charge." The old gentleman shook his head. "It's easy talking, but we haven't all got your persuasive manner, sir."

It was an absurd thing foil him to say, for no one knows better than myself that my manner is rude and awkward, and that I am unskilled in all those arts which go to make the master of persuasion. As I followed Mr Bernstein out of the house, almost immediately, I had an illustration of how true that is. And again, in a more serious matter, a little later on.

(To 'be continued.)