THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5025, 5 June 1889, Page 4

THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

LITERATURE-

A DOCTOR’S STORY. CHAPTER Y. Yes, she had probably left the theatre, for, by driiting i suddenly to South London, she would have only added to her expenses, and put much travelling ground between her home and her dramatic sphere of action. Still, I telegraphed to Acting Manager, Royal Eastern Theatre, London, the following ; ‘ The Crescent, Breymouth. ‘Please wire Miss Delia Nash’s address to Arthur Lissamer, or break news to her. Her father has died suddenly here. Answer paid.’ The answer came back tardily in the afternoon, and was what I had leared it might be : ‘Miss Nash has left the Eastern. Don’t know present address.’ To this I replied : ‘ Please send last address. Answer paid.’ • To which the response came : ‘ 67 Plaistow Terrace, Stepney, E.’ I telegraphed to present owner of 67 Plaistow Terrace ray request for information as to the whereabouts of the Misses JNash, lately lodging or residing there. Answer paid. The reply came through the Post Office authorities: — ‘House empty.’ I felt excited now, and on the warpath. Sixpences and shillings were flying away with wondrous rapidity, but the riddle should be solved in some way, I was determined. The daughters of Noah Nash could not have evaporated into thin air. They had an individuality ; they were not as immaterial as Dark Street.

I telegraphed to my deputy Fairfax ; I begged him, as soon as possible after the receipt of ray message, and supposing no hisrhly important case was in hand in Newington Butts, to ascertain tbe present address of a Miss Delia Nash who was performing last week at the Uoyal Eastern r lheatre, and who a few days ago was living at 67 Plaistow Terrace, Stepney. ‘ Her father has died suddenly,’ I added once more, by way of enlisting his interest. It was” another expensive telegram ; but 1 was going on now regardless of expense. Another flight of shillings and sixpences, like carrier pigeons, bound Londonwards. At all events, I had foundsomethitg to do—my syncope was at an end for all time, although I was not aware of that fact immediately. Fairfax was very brief in his reply—in fact, all the replies I had received were painfully brief ; ‘ All right. Off at once.’

After that I thought I should have the patience to wait. I felt that the case was in good hands ; I knew George [Fairfax was persevering, fond of adventure, warm-hearted, hardheaded, clear-sighted, obstinate : just the. man to ferret out a little mystery like this. Why, he might find it all out before eight o’clock that very evening, and send me another telegram to relieve me from suspense, foreseeing perhaps that I should be fidgety in the matter, and might be all the better for the latest news—that he had discovered Noah Nash’s daughters, probably ; and one more telegram actually came to hand that night from him, just as I had landed that it would ; one more little item ot sensation, perhaps, if 1 looked at it with George Fairfax’s eyes :

‘Be very much, on your guard. A shady lot. Will write to-night.’ And this was the last message by the wires for that day. CHAPTEE VI. In the morning came a letter from George Fairfax. I had not expected his information by the early morning’s post, but here it was to hand. Persevering and quick-witted Fairfax had 'walked to the London terminus, taken advantage ot the new postal rules, and dropped his letter into the Sfecial receptacle for the night mails down. And so here a' my breakfast-table was his red-hot epistle :

‘ Bail way Coffee-House, March 10,18—. ‘ My Dear Old Visionary Pal, ‘ I am glad you telegraphed to me, because I am sure you have got into one ofyour usual delightful scrapes which turn up when you are left long to yourself. Mrs Matherway says you are not fit to be trusted in a land flowing with gall and wormwood and general malevolence; that you want looking after as much as ever you did, and that the sooner you are back in Newington Butts the better. What on earth, and why on earth, are you worrying your small fidcllestrings about the death of a poor old, impecunious and probably unprincipled, strolling player ? What is it to you, old man ? Why cannot you keep yourself to yourself “ entoireiy,” and, with your briar pipe lor company, take it easily by the the sad sea waves, and collect your scattered nerves and senses and ozone all together, and come back, the giant refreshed we look for, to your legitimate work ? And now you are at it down in Breymouth, where we all thought you would have been safe, with the placd all to yourself, and begin pottering over other people’s affairs, other people’s troubles, other people’s dashed, blashed nonsense and tomfoolery. The Nash’s are not worth your kind consideration and patronage, my worthy knight of the rueful countenance.

Sorry fate as is the wind-up of the | career of the paternal Nash, it is not for you to blubber over it, sweet youth. Mr Nash may be not worth blubbering for, and is indisputably better out of a rascally world. I have learned a Jot i about Nash and bis daughters. 1 found the company at the Royal Eastern prone to be communicative after sundry drinks ; and here is the result of my researches. Old Nash ran away from his wife, or his wife ran away from old Nash—doubtful which, and not to the purport of the story ; both were bad, deuced bad, they say. He has left two daughters—one rather clever, but a devil of a temper : will have her own way, or chuck up her engagement, or hit the stage-manager on the nose ; and the other an aggravated edition of the first, with bad Isgs, or a spine gone wrong, or something, and a tile or two off, as a neat and tidy finish. Both these charming young persons have bolted from Plaistow Terrace without paying the rent—or, at all events, as the rent is not quite due, have disappeared, saith the landlord (snuffy plumber in the next street), with all their furniture and the key, for which, doubtless, a small blackmail will be levied before it is returned to a confiding landlord. Some people have these little idiosyncrasies at the East End of London ; occasionally they turn up in the West. There’s a piano, too, that was to be paid for by instalments, seven years’ hire system, and the instrument warranted not to fall to pieces before the last instalment was due. That’s a clear fraud ; for Delia—pretty pastoral patronymic, Delia I has signed a bond as long as I am, and as tightly drawn up as Shylock’s, not to remove the article off the premises, etc., etc., etc., under pains and penalties, etc., etc., etc., that the Star Chamber would not have imposed in its palmiest days of oppression. ‘I have set down naught in malice, I have extenuated nothing ; I have not discovered where the vanishing ladies have got to; and you may plank your bottom dollar that it will not be their business to let any human being find out at present. So resume the even tenor of your way, my dreamy friend of my youth, and let the world go hang. When do you return ? lam in no hurry to give up the reins, but I shall be glad to say to your hatchet face, “ Welcome home, old boy ! By Jove, you are looking well! ” That’s what I and good Mrs Matberway are waiting for witb exemplary patience. Excuse the brevity of this note. I would write at length, but train will be off shortly, ‘ Yours always, George Fairfax.

‘ P.S.—I think old Brownfen the publican— your landlord —is going in for goat. He has it regularly and badly, he says, and 1 fancy he will have it first-rate this time. If you only had a hundred patients like him, and all as regular—eh, Hippocrates by the sea ? My old aunt’s got another attack, too, by the way ; but she will not let me attend her. No smell of a fee there ; she hates the sight of a Fairfax, yon know ; and, besides, I’m not clever enough. Well, that’s true. Good night.’

[To le Continued ,)