THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 2582, 9 September 1903, Page 59

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Spkcial Abrangkment.]

A FORGOTTEN PAST. *>

By G. W. APPLET ON, •

| Author of "Rash Conclusions," "Francois thi Valet," *c, *c. [Copyright.]

CHAPTER .XXV.

ND so, by the irony of events, it came about that I spent my wedding night in a jprison cell. And what a wg\xt it was ! Think of the cruel mockery of those grim walls — the narrow window high above, with its iron gratings projected like so many bars smi&ter against a shaft of fairest moonlight — tho narrow bed' in which I lay, as in a coffin — the ponderous door shut close upon me ; solitude my only companion in this, my nuptial chamber. My ■wildest flights of fancy could 1 never have compassed such an amazmg thing as this. The leaden hours crept slowly on, punctuated by the raucous voice of the prison clock. The moonlight faded away, and at last blackest midnight encompassed me about ; but still I lay with wide, staring eyes, while the clock croaked on, and l in slow procession the events of the past few weeks passed and re-passed before tny mental vision. A month agone I was a happy, contented man, plodding along in my profes* sion, respected by my familiars aad fellow townsmen, with no shadow of trouble visible athwart my life's path. What seer tbit ever lived Could have predicted 1 such fen astonishing change in my fortuntes? 'Aval what was the genesis of it all? What but the coming of MaTcella?— when all was b'dii and done.

And yet. deep as the iron had entered my Jloul, bitter as were all my reflections on that never-to-be-forgotten night, I can truthfully say that de-.pite my xeeling that "but for her coning all would have been well •with me, the domesticities of my life remained undisturbed. I would not for ten thousand worlds have had it otherwise. My love for Ifer was too great for that ; and knowing full well the plenitude of her love for me in turn — strong, too, in. the consciousness of my own innocence — as I turned all this over in my mind, a strange calm suddenly came upon me, my eyelids drooped at last in slumber, and lo ! in the ■dreams that quickly came my beauteous Ibride lay safely enfolded in my arms, and *31 else lapsed 'into happy oblivion. But not for long. Suddenly a hideous clangour smote my ears, and 1 I sprang in 'alarm from my bed, to find that a great biazen bell was giving tongue lustily. Dawn had not yet broken, but the prison <was already astir. Steps resounded through the corridors, and 1 keys jangled. My door was thrown wide open, and a warder in blue stood on the threshold. "■Make your bed/ said! he ; "scrub your floor, and p&hsh your tins. Bath brick, cloths and brushes there in the corner. !Pail3 and water- tap at the end 1 of the corridor. Look sharp!" This was an anti-climax with a vengeance. Many and many a time since in •my dreams have I heard again those — to me — astounding injunctions. But obey I •needs must, and soon upon my bended iknees I was at work upon the hard asphalt, vainly, wondering as I scrubbed away 5f this were indeed my vaunted self, and appealing to all the gods to know what I had done to come to this humiliating pass. Then breakfast appeared upon the scene —a something that" excited more curiosity ■within me than appetite. After that long liours of solitude, broken by a summons to liring prayer and hymn book from a shelf duly provided for same, and) join my fellowcriminals' in the corridor for a solemn march to chapeL There I joined in the hymns ■with the rest, and listened to the chaplain, •who in his homily made it plain to me that though the way of the transgressor is hard, there is still hope for the most abandoned sinner. And from this I endeaVoured to pluck a little comfort to warm my shivering heart by. Another hour of seclusion, and then a further marshalling of sinners, and a long tramp about the exercise yard, under the surveillance of lynx-eyed warders. And there whom, should I see — a few paces in front of me — as he turned a sharp angle of the prison wall but Bertholdi the unspeakable. Our glances met, and a sardonic grin appeared on his face, stretching from ear to ear. I understood. It was a grin of triumph. "He laughs best who laughs last,'' pays the proverb. Never was the truth of any Saying so borne in. upon me as at that deftestable moment. I ground my teeth, pjid straightway thought of sunny Bournemouth > — of the drive through the odorous pine (woods, with Marcella by my side — of the cosy liltl© dinner at Lyndhurst — of a hundred and one little things I had planned ■for the days of our honeymoon ; aud here ivas I tramping about a prison yard in company with Bertholdi — in the eyes of the law as great a criminal as he — and hence on a perfect equality with him ; both ac cused of the same offence, and one which, if proved, would send us both to the gallows — to die together on the same gallows, perhaps. The hideous idea made my blood Tun icy cold. I was glad to get back to the solitude of my cell again — though, God knows, the misery of it seemed greater than I could ibaar. One solaoing thought vrsfs this : that in Mortimer's splendid loyalty there was a sure safeguard against any peril that might threaten Marcella. For I did not for a moment doubt that our forcible separation meant further evil to her. For some reason yet to be explained — and to which Garcia's missing letter would doubtless prove the key — we twain were at all Jiazards to be kept a&undei. I Mas busy with these thoughts when the cell door was thrown open by a warder. "Put on your number and' follow me. A visitor to see you."' I placed a little tab bearing my number, B 107, in my button-hole, and followed him with a wildly-beating heart. Who _tvas my visftor? And what did his presnee here portend'? Anxiety was quickly jput to rout. As we entered a small, vaulted chamber below stairs Mortimer sprang eagerly forward and took my hand in both his ow.n. "Dear old chap," said he, "how fares ' it with you?" ! "As you s^ee," I rej pointing to the J tab in my button-hoi, "1 am merely a number now. But that matters little. What of Marcella? How is she?" He hesitated a moment, and that alaimed me. "I see,"' I said. "You are the bearer of bad news." "No, only ta this extent— that she has taken it too much to heart. There was .i terrible ado. She accused herself of having (brought all this trouble upon you. We couldn't console her. Even Helen failed. She maintained that she had been a cur«e to you from the moment she set foot in the house. Helen and Lucy had to keep careful watch on her all through the night, not knowing what desperate thing she might do." "Poor Marcella !" I faltered. ''Poor little girl !" "She is calmer to-day," pursued Mortimer, "much calmer. We have persuaded her at last that, for your sake, s.he must no longer give way -to such a storm of grief ; that you are fighting her battles, and it is her duty to bear up and support you in the struggle. Lucy has come out very strong in i'nis bu&iness, and h£s worked wonders with her. She is a little brick is Lucy."' For a moment I could not ppeak. Then I said : "You have brought me a few crumbs of comfort — that is something, but I cannot shake off my fears. Bertholdi is here. We met in the exercise yaid this monunjj. He

I looked exultant — devilish. There is more mischief afoot. For heaven's sake, Moi timer, keep careful watch and guaid over Marcella. Things have com? to a do c ptr n .ie pitch with our enemies. They will &top at-nothing now." "Make your mind easy on that score," ?aid Mortimer. "Every precaution has been taken against surprise. I have two private detectives on the premises, who will be on the alert night and day. My chief anxiety at present is about yourself. The evidence agains-t you is turning out to be astonishingly strong. Circumstances of the blackest sort meet us at every turn. Even Gregory has made a cruel mess of it. The poor fellow is nearly heart-broken. He will never forgive himself for what he has done.' I looked at Mortimer in astonishment. "I don't understand you, Mortimer. In what possible way could Gregory do me an injury, even if he were so inclined?" "Well, this is what occurred. During mv absence yesterday, and before he had learned of your arrest, a detective called and interviewed him with regard to your movements the previous evening ; and poor, honest Gregory, before he could realise what he had done, blurted out that you had asked for aconite before leaving— had even discussed its properties as a poison with nim."' "Well," said I, "what of it? The conversation was^ innocent enough in all conscience." "To you. yes; but what will a jury think about it? You go to your assistant and ask him for aconite. You further consult him as to what would be a fatal dose. You then take away enough to kill four people. The bottle containing it is found the same evening in your aunt's house. The bottle is empty, and your aunt, who accused you of tampering with her medicine, lies dead of aconite poisoning. What will your average British jury say to that? And now that Gregory has mads his fatal admission, how are you going to explain these damning facts away?" I was silent, and Mortimer went on : ""Furthermore, when yon were searched at the police station yesterday, a letter was found m your pocket, written by Barton, and saying that your punt had not yet signed a will whereby she disinherited you. It further said that now was your golden opportunity, and you would be foolish not to seize it at once. I need not tell you what sort of an interpretation has been put upon the letter, which you must luve received on the very day of the murder. Barton is terribly upset about it, as it makes him appear a sort of accessory to the crime — provided they succeed in bringing it home to you. Of course, he has not for an instant lost his faith in you, and I have opened his eyes to many things of which he was hitherto, ignorant. But he is fairly staggered with the weight of evidence cropping up again&l you from every side. Take it all in all, it is s. dashed unpleasant and serious business, and it will take a lot of doing to pull you out of the mess. 'Now, I have purposely painted the picture in sombre colours, so that you shall not make light of a very awkward predicament. Wt .shall fight for you tooth and nail, and "as a firm believer in the speci'il Providence that has thus far befriended us, I am convinced that victory trill perch on our banners in the end. But it will be a. tough job aud a s.evpre ordeal for you. and you must buck up and face it like a man." This was «aid with such unwonted earnestness that I at once recognised the exceeding gravity of ths situacion, and the need for all the courage that was still left in me. His a\ ords touched me deeply in more senses than one. "Mortimer," I said, with just a little choking sensation in my throat, "the gods have been good to me in sending me such a friend — one in ten thousand. You bring me new life, new energy, renewed hope. I feel strong again. My mental vision is clearer — brighter. I know now that justice will yet prevail. Bid Marcella, for me, to be of good cheer, and indulge no longer in self-reproaches. Else it will grieve me sorely. It is true that lam fighting this fight for her, and her love favour is pinned to my heart She alone can tear it thence. Tell her that some miracle will yet befall ; that Providence looks kindly upon such love as. onis; that .she must await the good time coming with patience and a tru&tful smile. Mortimer, old friend, I scarcely know what I am saying, but you have made a man of iw again. And now to business. What part is Pennyfeather taking in the cafe?" "A very active part, indeed. I \va« coming to that," -:aid Mortimer, looking almost cheerful again. "He it was who fii^t w-ent to the migistrates — whether in excess of professional zeal or " and he paused. "Or what?'' "I nearly made a slip. You disciples of iEsculpius are, of course, like Cfes.u's wife, above suspicion. It wa.s but a passing thought. The worthy Pennyfeather is full to bursting of good intentions, I dare say. He denounced you the moment hfl found that your aunt was dead. He jumped at a clashed quuk conclusion, as it strikes me. He seemed to know at a glance that she had died from acorite poisoning. Rather odd. that, isn't it? Must be a remark.iblv clever man And a«» I '■aid, he was bcfoie 'he mairisti.ites with a demand for i wan nit before they had time ti, digest their l>i e.ikf.i-t- ; and now he is hot for .i ])(i-t-moitem, ar.d has the coroner to wink He ms to lie Min.ukablv anxi-n'.s to have you haiured with ?s little delay as possible. I expect that you will make your next public appearance as a prisoner at the Coroner's Coint." "That will be a chrtnge fionv lecent cxpeiiences, ' I »aid grimly. "Quite. It will vary th-e monotom ; and it will prs!-e^s this advantage . they will have to expos- a their hand. Wnh their cuds upon the table we <-hall know how to act." "I wonder," said I, "if Inspector Beale has heard about this yet?' 1 'Heard 1 ' viid Mortimer. "He knows eveiy thing. 1 was with him- for an hour

this -morning. He will be here presently to t>ee you.' 1 At this moment the warder entered the room again. '"Sorry, sir, time is up. and another visitor has come — Inspector Beale, of Scotland Yard " ' There you are !"' sa.'d Mortimer. "Well, good-bye, old man, for the pierent. lam going b.ick to Richmond, and v ill give Marcella your message." With that he grasped my hand and was away. The usually genial face of Inspector Beale wore a serious look as he entered the loam. "This is a bad job, doctor, this i?, upon my word," said' he. "It won't do. It is cirmug things just a little too far, and must be stopped. It is high time we were bestirring ourselves at the Yard. Now, tell me all about it. Don't hurry. Let me know to the smallest detail wlnt happened on the night of th-e murder." He listened attentively, making copious notes as I went on. When I came to the incident which had most impressed me — the face I had seen in the minor — he pricked up his ears. "The Baroness !"' &a:d he. "Ten to one on it What was she doing there?"' "Does the question require an answer?"' "No. It doesn't. She wasn't there with yoiu* aunt's knowledge, I'll be bound." "I am sure of it." "So am I. She and that woman. Hep — Hep — what the deuce is her name?" "Hephzib'ih," I said. "That isn't a pleasant mouthful. A woman with such a name as that would be capable of anything ; and she and the Baroness have done this thing between them; but the job is to prove it. That man of yours has done you a pretty turn." "Gregory?" I asked. "Yes, that is the name of the fat-headed fool. Why did you ask him to give you a bottle of aconite that night?" "For no reason whatever — 'except that the bottle was empty. It is his business to keep that particular medicine case of mine always replenished. He simply did his duty in the matter." "But this cackle of his about a fatal dose. It is bound to come out in his evidence — he can't get away from the statement he made to the detective. What reply can you make to that?'' "'lt was merely a haphazard remark of mine, nothing more, and requires no explanation," I answered. "If I say to you, 'It is a fine morning,' or 'Do you think we shall have rain to-morrow?' where is the harm? If I had intended to poison my aunt that night do you think I should have been such a dashed fool as to go to Gregory and ask him for the poison — take him into my confidence, as it were, and consult him as to the dose necessary to kill the old lady? Tommy rot!" "Right," said inspector. — " I agree with you there, but 'tommy rot' or not, you can"t play leapfrog over facts, and Gregory's evidence will weigh very heavily against you. He couldn't have done more if he "had been your bitterest enemy. A man with a conscience, who must tell the truth with not a single comma left out. though it may lead to the death of his own mother, is a dangerous man to have about the house." "No, no !"' I said ; "not a word against Gregory. He is a good, honest fellow." "Who, in his honesty, gave you away. Just s=o. That is exactly my contention. If he hadn't been so dashed good and honest he would have sent that detective away with both ears full of lie*, and spared himself the pain of appearing against you — as now he mu&f. Well, my tongue is running away with me. Let tis cut the matter short. Of course, were you guilty, you would never have been so careless as to leave your medicine case behind. Did yon use it at ail?'' " 'No." "Where was it?" "In my overcoat pocket."' "Did you remove your overcoat?" "Yes." "In the room where you saw the woman's face?" "The same." "And left it there ■uhile you went upstairs? ' "Yes." "Precisely ; and '•he took the care out of your pocket and made use of it — and there you are. But how are we going to prove it? How are we going even to piove that the woman was there at all?" I shrugged my shoulder', in despair, and after a rerlective pa-uye, he went on : "The house ha« not been thoroughly searched yet. Thai must be done. Who knows what may bs diseoveied there? Your solicitor must in.'-ist upon the inquiry be ng prolonged. Dash it all' Yes, I have something to say about that, too — though I dr/n't want to give the show away pieHiaturely. To tell the tn:th. I believe I am on the traces of your ent-mie.*." ' Thank God ! At last '"' I exclaimed. "Ye-. I think «-o. That servant f>{ yours has been tracked to the hoii'e of ,i doctor in Pimlico, .a foic'gner named 1 Mereicr. ,uid he h.is been shadowed in turn, mul found to vi-it a very mysteiious lady, who lives in a small \ ilia, in Maid«i Vale, keep-> a carnage and pair, and dnves out — always alone — every day. She is a fine woman about 35, and is known among the tradesmen of the neighbourhood as the Countess Katin^ki ' "The name «matk« of < nnspiracy," I said. "Just «o! Puli'h. isn't it? 'Well, '■lie appears to have ton* of money, and alu.'js p.iv.s in hard cash on the ii.iil. And row I am < oming to the point ISlie i 1 - a!u,'\ s sending and receiving cypher despatches from the Continent.' | "Suspicious that," I obseived. "Very, and what in stiil more to tl.e point, two constables on the beat at once recognised the portraits of Bertholdi and j Yon Eissen (we had him photographed at the High gate Mortuaiy) a.s those of men they had frequently .seen coming and going fiom her house." "That looks promising enough." ''Rather, and what we want to find now ■ is that missing letter of Garcia's. It must be found. It probably contains the key to the whole mystery. My imnre&Eiou is ,

tint the young lady, over anxious about it, hid it ai\ ay j-.omev. here, and has forgotten all about it By the way. do you know if she ever walks m her sleep?" The question was a startling one : and as by a mental flashlight one strange circumstance became as clear as the day to me. Who but Marcella could have removed the money from its hiding-place in the dining room on the night of her airival to the greater security of her bedroom — and all unconsciously in her sleep? In this act doubtless lay the solution of the greater mystery. As Inspector Beale so cleverly suggested, sho had probably secreted her father's letter somewhere in her sleep. But where? No mere effort of memory would ever enable h^r to recall the circumstance. Truly, however, here was the crux of the whole puzzling business. When I told this to the inspector, he gave his thigh a resounding slap. "We have struck it," said lie. "That letter is either' in your house or in the room she occupied in the Hotel Cecil the night she arrived in London ; my word for it. Now I'm off; and if voit have no objection, I'll run down to Richmond at once and have a little chat with Miss Garcia." "Do," I said, most earnestly. "And cheer her up a bit, that's a good fellow."' "Oh, just won't I ! — no fear. I shall tell her, too, that your life depends upon her discovering that letter ; and then she will flare tin like a house afire and, work like a little demon to find it. I shall see you at the inquest. You will find things pretty hot for you there, I dare say. But deep up your spirits — I mean to see you through this job ; and as for your pal Mr Mortimer, he is, upon my word, the finest chap, barring yourself, I ever met. He will move heaven and earth to help you out of your scrape. It really make 3 life worth living to have a friend like tha-t — upon my word it does. Good-bye."' Somehow when I fmmd myself in my cell again the walls did not seem so grim ; the iron bars of my window were merely iron bars, and did not, could not, shut out hope. Indeed, they framed a patch of heaven's purest blue — the turquoise blue of my wedding morn. Again my pulse beat high. I felt all the strength of my manhood once more madly throbbing through my veins. Staunch hearts beat for me, I knew, outside those prison walls. Acute brains were astir with .schemes for my deliverance. My beloved with aching anus awaited mv coming — the blissful moment when I should once more clasp her to my breast. A spirit of contentment came over me. I slept setindly that night. Nor did once the raucous voice of the prison clock disturb the little dream world in which I wandered hand in hand with my beloved throughout the long hours. (To be continued.)