THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 2455, 3 April 1901, Page 57

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Arrangement.] THE JOSS: A REVERSION, OR THE STRANGE FORTUNE OF POLLIE BLYTH. THE STORY OF A CHINESE "GOD." ■ ■ ■ ♦■ By BIG HARD MARSH, Author of "The Goddess," "In Full Cry," "The Beetle. A Mystery," "The Crime and the Criminal, ' &c, &c. [Copyright.] BOOK I.— UNCLE BENJAMIN. (MARY BLYTH TELLS THE STORY.) SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. BOOK I, CHAPTERS I and ll.— Mary Blyth, an assistant at Messrs Cardew and Blobbs' s, relates that after a hard arid harassing day at the shop, she leaves with her friends JEmily Purvis and Tom Cooper. The last-named invites the two girls to refreshment at a- restaurant, but finds himself without money. A stranger here steps forward and relieves them of a difficulty, and takes especial notice of Miss Blyth. During the evening a man who has the appearance of a mummy accosts her, and also two other strange men, as well as a diminutive Chinaman, who gives her something wrapped up in paper. A struggle ensues between the two strange men and the Chinaman, and the parcel is taken from her. Later, as the three employees are locked out of their house, the mummified individual again appears in a very strange manner, the door opens mysteriously, and as they enter Miss Blyth has something pressed into her hand. CHAPTERS 111 and IV.— Miss Blyth, continuing her narrative, tells how, in her bedroom at the shop, she is threatened to be reported for talking by Miss Ashton, who is a kind of overlooker. The parcel she opens, and finds it to be a sort of mechanical figure of the Chinese fashion with small bead-like eyes. Next morning, both she and her companion, Miss Purvis, are discharged by Mr Blobb3, and paid their wages minus deductions as fines. Just at this moment a gentleman walks in and asks for Miss Blyth. He tells her his name is Paine, that he is a solicitor, and that he is interested in her affairs. He at once champions her cause, and obtains a return of the deducted fines. He also leaves his card, with the instruction that the two girls are to receive three months' wages in lieu of notice, or proceedings will bo commenced for the recovery of the same. CHAPTERS V and Vl.— At- Mi Paine's chambers Mis 3 Blyth is informed that an old and disreputable uncle named Batters has died abroad, and has left her £488 19s 6d per annum on condition that she occupies an old house, 84 Camford street, with one female companion , she must not leave it between 9 at night and 9 in the morning, and no man is to cross the threshold. This extraordinary will takes them by surprise, and the three set off in a cab to visit the house. CHAPTERS VII and Vlll.— Miss Blyth and her friend visit the mysterious house, which is apparently the habitation of rats and cockroaches. A gold bangle is noticed on the table of one of the rooms which a head of the marvellous toy or image similar to the one which Miss Blyth was given by the Chinaman. A letter from her uncle refers to a back door key being found on the parlour table. They go in search of the key and find it, but the bangle which was noticed there has disappeared. BOOK II.— THE HOUSE IN CAMFORD STREET. (THE FACTS OF THE CASE ACCORDING TO EMILY PURVIS.) CHAPTER IX.— MAX LANDER.

ALK about romance! I never could have believed that after wishing for a thing your whole life long you could have had enough of it ia so short a space of time. In the morning Pollie Blyth heard, for the veiy first time, that a fortune and a house had been left to her, and, before the night of that same day was over, she wished that it had not. And here had I been looking, ever since I was a teenyweeny little thing, for a touch of romance to give existence a real live flavour, and then, wlien j got it, the best I could do

was to wonder how I had been so silly as e\er to have wanted it. Poor Polhe! 'I hat hr^t night in Camford street she would go out She said that she must go and see her Tom: that he would 'be wditing, wondering what had become of her, and that nothing should keep her from him. Nothing did. I could not. And when I suggested that it might be as "well for her to be a little careful what she did that very first night, she actually proposed that I should stop in thataii ful house by myself, and wait in it alone till she returned. I would not have done such a thing for ■worlds, and she knew it. As a matter of fact I could not have said whether I wars more unwilling to leave the place or to stay in it— aver with her. The extraordinary conditions of her dreadful old uncle's hoirible -w ill weighed on me much more than they seemed fo do on her. I felt sine that something frightful would happen if they were not strictly observed Nothing could be clearer than his repeated injunction not to be out after 9. and her appointment with Mr Cooper was for half-pa&t 8. Cardew and Blobbs are supposed to close at 8, but she knew as well as I d:d what that really meant. It was a wonder if one of the assistants got out before 9. Mr Cooper was in the heavy ; and the gentle- j men in that department were always last. If he appeared till after 9 I should be surprised, and if we were at the other end of London at that hour, with the uncle's will staring us in the face, what would become of us? Being locked out of Cardew and Blcfobs's was nothing to what that would mean. But Pollie would not listen to a word. She is as obstinate as obstinate when she likes, though she may not think it. "My dear," she said, "I must .«ee Tom. 'Mustn't I see Tom? If you were in mv place, and he was your Tom, wouldn't yon feel that you must see him?" I There was something in that, I ncknowledged. Ct was frightful that you should be cut off from intercourse with, the man you loved simply because your hours would not fit his. But then there was so much to be said upon the other side. "I'm sure he'll be punctual to-night, he'll be so anxious. And you know sometimes he can get off a little earlier if he makes an effort. You see if he isn't there at half-past 8. I'll just speak to him, then start off 'back at once. He'll come with us ; we shall be back here 'before 9, and then he'll leave us at the door." That was how it was to turn out. according to her. I had my doubts. When you are with the man to whom you are engaged to be married half-an-hour is nothing. It's gone before you know it's begun. It was 8 o'clock when we left the house I thought we should never have left it nt all. We could not open the door. It had not regular handle, no regular anything. While we were trvincc to get it open the house was filled with the most extraordinary noises. If it -were all rats, as Pollie declared, then rats have got more -ways of expressing their feelings than I had imagined. It seemed to me as if the place was haunted iby mysterious voices which were warning us to be careful what we did. "Of course if we're prisoners it's just r.s well that we should know it now as later on. How do you open this door?" Just as she spoke the door opened. "How did you do that?" I asked. "I don't know." She seemed surpr^ed. "I was just pushing at the thing when — it came open. There's a trick ajbout it, I expect; we'll find out what it is to-morrow, there's no time now. At present it's enough that it's open ; out you go '" When we were out in the street, and she pulled the door to it shut behind us with an ominious clang, like the iron gates used to do in the baron's castles which we read about in the days of old. We took the tram in the Wes'tmonster Bridge road, then walked the rest of the way. It was halfpast 8 when we arrived. As I expected, of course, Mr Cooper wasn't there. "Pollie. we ought not to stop. We ought to be in befoie 9, this fiist nieht. at any rate. We don't know what will happen if we're not." "You can go back if you like, but 1 must and shall see Tom.'' Nine o'clock came, and still no Mr Cooper. I was in such a state I was ready to drop. It was nearly a quarter past before he turned up. Then they both began talking together at such a rate that it was impossible to get a word in edgeways. When I did succeed in bringing Pollie 10 rome consciousness of the position we were in, and she asked Mr Cooper to start back with us at once, he would not go. He said that he had had such a narrow escape the night before, and had had such difficulty in getting in — so far as I could make out he had had to climb Tip a pipe, or something, and had scraped a hole in both knees of his trousers against the wall — that he had determined that it should be some time before he ran such a risk again, and had therefore made up his mind that he would be in extra early as a sort of set-off. It was no good Pollie talking. For some cause or other he did not seem to be in the best of tempers. And then, when she found that, after all our waiting, he would not see us home, she got excited. They began saying things to each other which they never meant. >So they quarreled. Pinaly Mr Cooper marched off in a rage, declaring that now/ she had come into a fortune she looked upon him as a servant ; and that though she had inherited £488 19s 6d a year and a house, he would not be treated like a lackey. She was in such a fury that she was almost crying. She assured me that she would never speak to him again until she was compelled, and that they would both be grey before that time came. All I wanted to do was to keep outside the quarrel, because they had behaved like a couple of stupids, and to find myself in safe quarters for the night. "I don't know, my dear Pollie, if you're aware that it's past half-past ten? Do you propose to return to Camford street?' "Past half-past ten!" She started. Her thoughts flew off to Mr Cooper. "Then he'll be late again ! Whatever will he do?'' "It's not ot what he'll do I'm thinking, but of what we're going to do. After

what your uncle said, do you propose to return to Camford street at this hour of the night?" -We shall have to. There's nowhere elsei for us to go. I wish I'd never come to &cc him now ; it hasn't been a very pleasant interview, I'm sure." I cordially agreed 1 with her,— l wished she had not. But ifc was too late to shut the stable door after the steed was stolen. "Let's hurry. There's one thing, I've got the back-door key in my pocket, if the worst does come to the worst." What she meant I do not think she quite knew herself. She was in a state of mind in which she Avas inclined to talk at ran-* dom. We had not gone fifty yards when a man, coming to us from across the street, took off his hat to Pollie. I had noticed him when she was having her argument with Mr Cooper ; and had "felt sure that he was watching us. There was something about the way in which he kept walking up and down which I had not liked, and now that Mr Cooper had gone I was not at all surprised that he acco&ted us. He looked about thirty, had a short, light brown beard and whiskers, which were very nicely trimmed, a pair of those very pale blue eyes w hich are almost the colour of steel, and there was something about him which made one think that he had spent most of his life in the open air He wore v. hat looked, in thafc liglit — he had stopped us almost immediately under a gas-lam£ — like a navy blue se/ge suit and a black bowler hat. "Miss Blyth, I believe— the niece of my old friend ' Batters. Mv name is Max Landei. Perhaps you have heard him speak of me?' His manner could not . have been moie civil. Yet under the circumstances, it was not singular that Pollie shrank from being addressed by a sti anger in any manner Putting her* arm through mine she looked him in the face. "I don't know you " "Have you never heard your uncle speak of me — Max Lander?" "I never knew my uncle." "You never knew your uncle? 1 ' He «poke in echoing her words, almost as if he doubted her. "Then wheie is your uncle now?' "He k dead." "De.id?" "If you knew my uncle, as you say you did vo'u mu«-t know that he is dead. Come, Emily, let v" go. I think this gentleman has madi a mistake." "Stop, Miss Blvth, I beg of you. Where did your. uncle die?" "I don't kno*v where, exact! y — it v. as somewhere in Australia. "' "In Australia !" I never saw surprise written .more plainly on a person's face. "But when: "If, as you say, you knew him, then you ought to "know bttter than I, who never did." "Whtn I last saw Mr Batters he didn't lok as if he meant to die." He gave a short laugh, as if he were enjoying some curious little joke of his own. "Where did you see him last?" "On the FH'ing Scud." "The Flying Scud? What's that?" "My ship. Or, rather, it w as> my ship The devil knows whose it is now." "Mr Landei — if that really is your name— I don't know anything about my uncle, except that he is dead. Was he a sailor?" "A sailor?'' He seemed as if he could not make her out. I stood close to hhn, so that I saw him well ; it struck me that he looked at her with suspicion in his eyes. "He was no sdilor. At least, so far as I know. But he was the most iemarkable man who ever drew breath. In saying that I'm saying little. You can't know much ot him if you don't know so much. Then, if he's dead, where's Lulu?" He '-poke with sadden heat, as 'f a thought had all at once occurred to lnm. "Liilu? What is Lulu? Another ship?"' "Another c hip? Great Caesar!" Taking off his hat, ho ran his fingers through his short brown hair. "M <•; Biytli. either you're a chip of the old block, m which case I'm souv for _\ou, and for nnvelf. too, or, somewhere, theie's something very queer. Hullo! Who are yon?" While we had been talking a man had been sidling towards us along the pavement. He had on a long black coat and a hat crammed over his eves. As lip pisscl behind Mi* Lrrder he stopped. Mi' Lander spun iovmd. On the instant he tore off as if foi life. Without a moment's hesitation Mr Linder nishecl full vpeed after him. Pollie and I stood staling in the direction they had gone. "Whatever n. the matter now? ' I n^-ked. "What did the man do to Mr L^nd^r?"' "Emily, that's the man who '-lipped the paper into n t y hand la«t night ; you remember. Theie'is a cab across the road Let's get into it and get away fiom here as fast as we can." We crossed and hailed the cabman As he drew up beside the kerb, and we w err about to enter, who should come tearing over the road to us again but Mr Landei. He was panting for bteath "Miss Blyth, I do beg that you will let me speak to you. If not here, then let me come with you and speak to }-ou ehewheie." "I would rather you did not come w ltli us, thank you. I would very much rather that you did not " He' stood with his hand on the apron of the hansom in such a way that he pievented us from entering. "Miss Blyth, you don't look like your uncle, God forbid ! You look honest and true. If you have a woman's heart in your bosom' I entreat you to hear me. Your uncle did me the greatest injury a man could have done. I implore you to help me to undo that injury, so far as, by the grace of God, it can be undone." He spoke in a strain of passion which I could see Pollie did not altogether relish. I didn't either. "I will give you my solicitor's name and address ; then you can call on him and tell him all you have to say." "Your solicitor ' I don't want to *peak to your solicitor ; he may be another rogue — like your uncle. I want to speak to you."

JJefore Pollie could answer another man came up. He touched his hat to Mr leader. "I (beg your pardon, sir, but this is the young lady I told you about. Miss Blyih twill remember me, because I was so fortuWte as to do her a small service last night. •May I hope, Miss Blyth, that you have mot forgotten me?" The man spoke in a small, squeaky voict/, Which was in ridiculous contrast to his «normous size. It was actually the creaiture who had paid the bill for us. the night Tbefore at Firandolo's — one shilling and threepence. My impulse "was to take out my purse and give him the money, and be srid of him for good and all. But, before I had a chance of doing so, Mr Lander turned on him in quite a passion. "What do you mean by ttrrusting in your par? Get out of it, Ike Rudd!" ' "I beg your pardon, sir, I'm sure, if I'm intruding, and the young lady's ; but, seeing that I was able to do her a little service, I thought that perhaps she might be willing " Mr Lander cut him short with a positive roar. "Don't you hear me tell you to take yourself out of this, you blundering ass?" In his anger with Mr he moved away from the cab. Without a moment's delay Pollie jumped into it, and dragged me after her. "Drive off, and don't stop for anyone !" It was done so quickly that before Mr .Lander had an opportunity to realise what iwas happening the driver gave his horse a cut with the whip. The creature gave a Jiound which it was a wonder to me did not upset the hansom ; and when his master struck him again he galloped off as if he jwere racing for the Derby. After we had gone a little way, at full jpelt, the driver spoke to us through the trap-door overhead. ■"Where to, miss?" "Is he following us?' "Not he. He tried a step or two, but when he saw at what a lick we were going Ihe jerked it up. He went back and had a xow with the other chap instead — the one who came up and spoke to him, I mean. They're at it now. Has he been bothering you. miss?" "I don't know anything at all about him. He's a perfect stranger to me. I think he must be mad. Drive us to the Westminster Bridge road if you are sure he is not following. "' 4 a 11 see that that's all right, you trust to me.' He swung round a corner. "He's out of sight now, I should think for good ; but if he does come in sight again, I'll let you know. What part of the Westminster Bridge road?' Pollie hesitated. "I'll tell you •when we get there." CHAPTER X.— BETWEEN 13 AND 14, ROSEMARY STREET. A church clock struck as we rolled along. "That sounds like 9 ' — a quarter past 11. !What shall you do if we can't get in at fell?" "Not get into my own house? My dear, this is not a ca.se of Cardew and Blobbs's. iWhat- is going to keep me out of my own Louse, if I choose to enter it with the milk. I should like to know?" I did not know. I could not even guess. But all the same I had a soit of feeling that someone could — and might. "My own house" came glibly from her tongue. 'That morning there had been 15s between her and the workhouse ; already she had become quite the woman of established means. I might have been the same had the case been mine. You never know. It must be so nice to have something of your very own. We were nearing the Westminster Bridge road. Again the driver spoke to us from cbove ; he had hardly slackened pace the whole of the way. "Coast clear, mis 11 — not had a sight of the party since we lost him. Where shall I put you down?" xll stop you in a minute ; keep on to the left." Pollie spoke to me. ~ "What did it say in the letter was the name of the street in which is the entrance to the back door?" "Rosemary street." "Of course ! I couldn't remember its stupid name." "But I shouldn't tell him to put us down just there. You don't know who may be waiting for us." -I was leaning over the front of the cab, keeping a sharp look-out. There were the crowded trams and omnibuses, and many people on. the pavements; but I noticed nothing in any way suspicious. "Who should be waiting for us? Haven't we shaken Mr Lander off? Didn't the cabman say so?" "Yes. But — you never know." "What do you mean? What are you driving at?" "Nothing. Only it's past 9. The letter said that it was the time your greatest peril began." "What nonsense you do talk ! Do you

think I pay attention to such stuff? Lucky I'm not nervous, or you'd give me the fidgets. The sooner everybody understands that I intend to go in and out of my ow n j house at any time I please the less trouble ] there is likely to be. I'm not a child, to ! be told at what time I'm to come home." I was silent. She spoke boldly enough ; j a trifle too boldly. I thought. There was : an unnecessary amount of vigour m iier tone, as if she wished to impress the whole world with the fact that she 'was not the least bit concerned. But she acted on my hint al! the same — she stopped the cab before we reached our destination. "It's all light now, miss," said the driver. It was rather & novel sensation for us to be riding in cabs, and the fare we paid him did make a hole in one's purse. It w-as lucky there was that four hundred and eighty-eight pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence to fall back upon. "You've seen the last of that fine gentleman for to-night at any rate. Good night, miss, "and thank you." % I was not so sure that it all right. We might have seen the last of "that fine gentleman," as the cabman called Mr Lander, though there was nothing particularly "fine" about him that I could see, but there might be other gentlemen, still less "fine," who had yet to be interviewed. When the ihansom had driven off, as we walked along the pavement, I felt more and more uncomfortable; though I would not have hinted at anything of the kind to Pollie for worlds. "Have we passed Camford street?" she wondered. "I don't know which side of it is Rosemary street.' "I'm sure I don't. You had better ask." We were standing at the corner of a narrow street — a pretty dark and deserted one. it seemed. Pollie turned to make inquiries of some passer-by. A man came towards us*. "Can you tell me which is Rosemary street?" she asked. "This way! this way!" He took her by the arm and led her into a gloomy-looking little street, as if he were showing her the way. She must have been purblind, or completely off her guard, to have been tricked by him so easily, beuiuse directly he spoke I recognised him as the person in the long black coat who had fled from Mr Lander. I myself was taken by surprise, or I would have called out and warned her. But I suppose that I was bewildered by his sudden and wholly unexpected appearance ; because, instead of bidding her look out, I went after her into the narrow lane — for really it seemed to be no more. The moment we were round the corner two other figures appeared out of the darkness ps'if by magic. But by now Polhe had taken the alarm. "Let me go !" &he cried to her conduc-' tor. "Take your hand away from my arm." He showed no inclination to do anything of the kind. "This way! this way!" he kept repeating, as if he were a parrot. He spoke with a strong foreign accent — as if his stock of English was not a large one. But Pollie was not to be so easily persuaded. She stood stock still, evincing every disposition to shake herself free from his grasp. "Let me go ! let me go !" The taller of the two newcomers uttered some words in a language which I had never heard before. Giving Pollie no time to guess what he was about to do he produced a cloth and threw it over her head The other man sprang at her like a wild beast. Between them they began to bear her to the ground. I was not 4 going to stand quietly by and see that kind of thing go on. I may not be big, and Ido not pretend to be brave, but I am not an absolute coward all the same. The smaller of the newcomers had taken me by the arm. I did my best to make him wish that he had not. I flew at him. "You villain! let me go, or I'll scratch your eves out !" The little wretch — he was little : I do not believe he was any bigger than I was, or perhaps I should not be alive to tell this tale — actually tried to throw a cloth over my head. When I put up my arms and stopped his doing that, he began to dab it against mv mouth, as if to prevent my screaming. There was a nasty smell about that cloth. It was damp. All of a sudden it struck me that he v»as trying to take away my senses with chloroform, or some awful stuff of the kind. And then didn't I start shrieking : I should think they might have heard me on the other side of I the bridge. In less than no time — or so it seemed to me — a policeman came round the corner. Apparently he was the only one who had heard ; but he was quite enouirh. "What's the matter here?" How I could have kissed him for his dear official voice ! "What's the meaning of all this?" Those three cow ards did not wait to explain. Really before the words were out j

of his lips they were off down the lane like streaks of lightning. All my man left behind him -was the smell of "his hoirid cloth. Beyond disarranging my hat and my hair, and that kind of thing, I knew that, lie had not damaged me, almost before, so to speak, I examined myself to &cc. 'Has he hurt you?' asked the constable. "What was he trying to do?" "He has not hurt me, thanks to you ; but in another half-second I'm quite sure he would have done. He "was trying to chloroform me, or something frightful. I smelt it on his cloth. "Who's this on the ground?" It was Pollie. In my excitement I had quite forgotten to notice what had become of her. She lay all of a heap. Down I plumppd on my knees Reside her. "Pollie!" I cried, "has he killed you?" "No fear," said the policeman. "She's only a bit queer. I shouldn't be surprised if they've played the same sort of trick on her they tried to play on you." It was so. That policeman was a most intelligent man, and quite good-looking, with a fair moustache which turned up a little at the ends. They had endeavoured to stupefy her with some drug — the policeman said he didn't think it was chloroform — it didn't smell like it. I didn't know ; to my knowledge I have never smelt chloroform in my life, nor do I ever want to. They had so far succeeded that she had nearly lost her senses, but not entirely. When I lifted her head she gave several convulsive twitches, so that it was all I could do to retain my hold ; then she opened her eyes and asked where she was. '"It's all right," I told her. "They've gone. I hope they haven't hurt you." She safe up and looked about her. She saw me, and she saw the constable ; which fact she at once made plain. "Ob-, you're a policeman, are you? It's as well that there are such things as policemen, after all. ' Her meaning was not precisely clear, but I hardly think it was altogether flattering to the force ; which was ungrateful on her part. "I don't think they've hurt me. I believe it was the keys they wera after ; though' they've left them both (behind. Perhaps that was because they hadn't time to properly search for them." She was feeling in her pocket. "But they have taken Uncle Benjamin's letter — the one in which he told us how to get in at the back door." There was a pause. I realised all that the abstraction might mean. If it had told us how to enter, it would tell them too. It was lucky they had had to go without the key. "Do you know the men?" inquired the officer. "You had better charge them. ' j "Charge them? <She put her hand up to her head, as if she were dazed. I rather fancied she was making as much of j her feeling as she could. Unless I was ! mistaken she -'was •endeavouring to gain time to consider the policeman's woids. Under the circumstances it might not 1 c altogether convenient to charge them, even though they had proved themselves to be such utter scoundrels. "But I don't know what men they were " "That doesn't matter ; I daresay we know. You mustn't allow an outrage like this to pops unnoticed ; they might have murdered you. I'll take the chaige." "Thank you. She stoop up. He had produced his notebook. "I don't think I'll trouble you. There are circumstances connected with the matter which render it nece&sary that I should thank it over. "What's there to think about? It was an attempt to rob with violence, that's what it was ; as clear a case as ever I knew. Come, give me your name, miss ; then I'll have the particulars. What name?" "I'm afraid you must excuse me. When I've thought the matter over you shall hear from me again ; but I cannot act without consideration — thank you all the same." She carried it off with an air which took the constable aback. He was not best pleased. He eyed her for a second or two ; then he closed his notebook with a snap. "Very good. Of course if you won't make a charge I can't take it. All I can say is that, if ever you find yourself in the same liole again, it'll about serve you right if no one comes to help you. It's because people won't go into court that there's so much of this sort of thing about. What's the good of having laws if you won't let them protect you?" Off he strode in a huff. I stared after him a little blankly. "I don't think, Pollie, that you need have been quite so short with him. What he says is true ; we might have been murdaiVid if it hadn't been for him " ''I wasn't short ■with him ; I didn't mean to be. But I couldn't charge them, could I 1? Besides, I want to get in. I didn't j want to have him hanging about for I don't know 'how long, "watching u«." "Someone else may be watching us." "No fear of that ,• they've had enough of . it for to-night " j ''So you said before ; and hardly had you said there was nothing to fear when they ]

had us at their mercy. It's my belief that what your uncle said in that letter, which now they've got, is true, and that we aie in pel il— dreadful peril ; and that though we mayn't know it someone is -watching u& all the time. For my part I should like that policeman to have kept his eye upon us until we were safe indoors." "After what my uncle said about allowing no one to see us enter .' "It is a pity you are not equally particular about everything jour uncle said, my dear." "Off we staited down the lane— or street, or whatever it Avas. If I had had my way after all that had happened, I would not have attempted to enter the hou&e until at any rate the next morning; I would rather have wandered about the stieets all night. But I could see that she was set on at least trying to get in. I did not wish to quarrel, or to be accused of a desire to desert her after promising to be her companion, so I stuck to her side. Presently she spoke. "Do you know, Emily, I believe I haven't got the very clearest recollection of the directions in uncle's letter? Didn't he say something about a passage?" "He said that theie was one between 13 and 14 Rosemary street. The question is, is this Rosemary street? We don't know." ''We'll soon find out. Which are 13 and 14? It's so dark, it's hard to tell." It was" dark, which fact lent an additional charm to the situation. On one side were the backs of what seemed like mews ; all they presented to us was a high dead wall. On the other was a row of cottages. If they were occupied all the inhabitants were in bed. There was not a light to be seen at any of the windows. Pollie began to peer at the numbers on the doors. "This is 26." She passed on. "And this is 25 ; so 13 and 14 must be this way." We went farther along the street. "Here is 14 — and here's the passage." There was a passage, between two of the mean little houses, but so narrow a one that if we h^d not been on the look-out for it we should have passed it by unnoticed. Such was the darkness that vie could not see six feet down it, so that it was impossible to tell where it led to or what was at the end. I did not like the idea of venturing into it at t.ll. I would have given almost anything to have flown down the street and sought ihe protection of that nice policeman. My heart was going pitter-patter ; I could feel it knocking against my corsets. I did not know if Polhi rea^y was, nervous, though I do not believe that it was in feminine human nature to have been anything else ; but she behaved as though she wasn't. I could not have made believe so well. She, apparently, did not hesitate ab^ut whit was the best and proper and only thing to do. There vms not even a tremor in her voice. "What did uncle say — at the end there is a wall?" "I think he did." "Then now for the wall." She dashed into the passage. I was afraid to do anything eke — and she d:d not give me a chance to lemonstrate. so I went after her. lam thankful to say that nothing happened to us as we v/ent, though I seemed to bee and hear all sorts of things. After we had gone what appeared to be a mile, Pollie suddenly stopped. "Here is the wall. Now to climb it. j Didn't uncle say we shoxild iind two stanchions? Was it on the right or on the left? Here they are, on the right; at least, I suppose they're stanchions. They feel like two pieces of iron driven into the brickwork. Now for a climb. One good thing, the wall isn't high."' Since I could only peiceive her dim outline, and didn't wish to have her vanish altogether in the darkness, I had kept my hand on her. I could feel, rather than Fee, her going through the motions of climbing. I was conscious she had reached the top. "Now, Emily, you come. It's easy ; give me your hand." I gave her my hand. In a second or two I was beside her, on the crest of the wall. "Now let's go together ; it's nothing of a drop." As. she said, it was nothing of a drop, and we went together ; I suppose the wall was not much, if at all, over five feet in height. We landed on what felt like a pavement of brick,«. It's a pity it's so dark. Here it's worse than ever. I can't see mv hand befoie my face; can you?" I could not. I told her so. "Well, we'll have to feel, that's all ; and we'll hope that we're in the right backyard. It would be something more than a joke if we weren t : they might take us for burglars. Come on, "give me your hand again; we'll feel out w ay. Tieacf carefully, whatever you do. Hello ! here is a dooi . And — Emily. there's the spot of light ! Do you see it there upon the door? As uncle lavs, it shines at u<. Whether it's luminous paint, or whether it's something much more wonderful, truly it lightens our daik-

ness. Doesn't it, my dear? — Where is ihat key?' 1 could *cc, straight in front of us, a. round of something which gleamed. It Wcis not bigger than a thrcepenny-piei-e. It might have been a monster glow-worm, or, a.s Emily said, a dab of luminous paint. But there was no time to ascertain what it was, because, almost as soon as I saw it, I heard .something too. '•rolhc, there's something coming along the passage." In the silence there was what was obviously the sound of approaching feet ; feet which" were apparently moving a^ if they did not wish to be heard. (To be continued.)