THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5026, 6 June 1889, Page 4

THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

LITERATURE

A DOCTOR’S STORY. CHAPTEE YII. I cannot say that Fairfax’s letter—explicit though it was, and significant of much trouble taken on my behalf—was wholly satisfactory to me. It was wordy and flippant; it was hardly Fairfax’s style, unless he was in extraordinarily good spirits, and Brownfen’s gout could hardly account tor that. It implied that I was an ass to go out of my way to show a little kindness, a little charity, a little sympathy with one of the unfortunates with which the world is always overstocked. Then I re-read the letter, this time more critically—read, as it were, between the lines, and yes, 1 did hear the beatings of my old friend s heart between the lines which he bad dashed off in the coffee-shop. ‘ Dear old George,’ I soliloquised ; { as slangv, frivolous, and thorough as ever, you know more of the world than I do, and yours is the wisest ol advice.’

The wisest and yet the most commonplace —the most natural advice in the world, to be summed up in four hard, churlish words, ‘ Mind your own business.’ And yet I never dreamed of following it ; not for one fleeting instant did it suggest itself to rne that I should leave Mr Kench, and Noah Nash’s stagey friends, relations, and acquaintances, to shift for themselves in the best way that might occur to them. If I could not see the end of it all, I would see as far to the end as I could.

To the beet of toy ability, then, I saw the little tragedy out, and took no advice from Fairfax. I wrote the next day to tell him of my fixed intentions, and he was charitable enough to spare me any protests on the subiect. He did not even write me a second flippant epistle, but begged me earnestly to take it coolly, and wished me very heartily through ‘ the whole business.' He promised, at my special request, to continue his inquiries for the sisters Nash, and communicate with me should any news turn up ; and then, like a man who understood me well, he left me completely to myself. He had hinted that I should not ‘ worry ’; but I felt that it was in the power of friends—by well-meant advice, but injudicious interference —to worry me most of all. He knew I had made up my mind. He was a wise friend to say no more. Well, I suppose 1 did worry. I was not strong enough yet to take even the death of a strolling player with composure—l who had walked the hospitals and seen so much of death ! I was somewhat irritable under my new responsibilities; I was conscious that I was not acting coolly and sensibly ; that I was giving ray feelings too much play ; that I was puzzling over problems which I had no right to attempt to solve. There was trouble, too, over the inquest ot Noah Nash ; a fussy coroner, a still more fussy local doctor—both of whom took me to task for interfering, and told me that I had no right to order the removal of the body of Mr Nash to his lodgings before the proper authorities Dad taken the matter in hand and decided what was to be done. I was reminded that I had been defying the law, and that there was such a thing as a mortuary in Breya.outh ; that I had been extra officious —a stranger in the town —in taking the matter up ; and that I might consider myself fortunate if I escaped a prosecution. X found myself involved in a small paper war with the authorities ; until the inquest was over, and a gracious permission given to bury Noah Nash in any way that best pleased me and Mr Nash’s friends, and till the funeral was over, I knew very little of that peace and rest which I had come all this long way from London to seek.

And during 1 all that time no eight or sound of Noah Nash’s daughters—the phantoms of Dark Street; no knowledge on their part of the father’s decease. or a studied silence which—if they were that “ shady lot ’ indicated in a recent telegram—it was not con. sidered politic to break till the remains of Mr Nash had been decently interred.

1 It’s odd, sir ; it’s more than odd,’ said Mr Kench the day of the funeral. ‘ I could understand better anything of those girls, save their hiding away where nobody can find them.’ 'Do you think they are in difficulties ?’ I ventured to inquire. I had not told him anything of Fairfax’s communication to me.

‘ Very likely. It is not wholly impossible for the best of us to be in difficulties,’ he said, with a nervous twitching at the corners of his mouth ; ‘ but that wouldn’t have kept them away from the funeral. Why, dash it, sir, the young one would have walked here, and the old one ’ ‘The old one?’ I repeated interrogatively. ‘ Would have come on her hands and knees if there had been no other way of getting to Breymouth. No ; I can’t make it out at all.’

‘Have you written to any one about them ? ’

‘ To every one in London who knows them, ’pon my soul.’ 4 We must leave it to time, then.’

‘Exactly. I leave everything to time mysr.lf,’ was the only answer ; ‘and I fancy it’s the best way. Time, you see, then—and taking things coolly —and there vou are.’

1 Ah ! yes, there you are.’ Had I been blessed with the philosophical bent of mind which dis tinguished the manager of Breymouth Theatre, I should not have suffered a small relapse in health soon after this conversation.

The funeral over, the bill paid, the paper war at an end, the anxiety as to the whereabouts ol the Misses Nash less of a novelty, and then (or a week, or perhaps a fortnight, I went back to something of the old dismal feelings

and grim fancies which had been born of overwork, and alarmed the few who cared for me. Then, after this slight relapse, I was getting better again. Some ten days after the funeral of Noah Nash I was taking my morning constitutional on the Esplanade again. I was making for the hills once more, although easily tired in my ascent of them. 1 was strolling along the deep sands. I was sailing out across the sea with a trusty fisherman. In the afternoon, after my early dinner, I felt extra exhausted, perhaps. It was a dull afternoon, and I bad fallen into one of those deep sleeps which I have before mentioned. I woke up conscious that there were visitors in my room, who had entered unannounced, or whose announcement of their presence had fallen upon deaf ears. I had slept through their introduction to the first floor; and it was only their voices commenting upon my slumbers which had brought me to a less comatose condition. I was awake, but I did not open my eyes at once. I was not quite certain whether this was dreamland or not. > ‘No ; pray, don’t wake him, please,’ said one of the most musical voices I had ever heard in my life. ‘ Not on any account. I will call again—in half an-hour or so.’

‘ He’s always like that now—just clean tired out, ma’am.’ ‘ He looks very ill.’ ‘ Yes—like a ghost, isn’t he ? ’ said Mrs Higginson ; ‘and that sound off, too —like a cold corpus. I don*t think it’s a good sign, for ’ ‘We must not talk here,’ said the voice, more sharply. ‘Tell Mr Dissamer that I have been sent by Mr Kench, who has been kind enough to give me his address-’ ‘ What name shall I say ? ’

‘ A lady from the theatre.’ ‘ He's had enough of that theayter, I should think. It’s been a’most the death of him. If I’d ha’ known you was from there I wouldn’t have shown you up. I hope nothing more is wanted of him.’ ‘ I hope not,’ said the voice, more sadly, and still more musically, in its low and pathetic tones. (To be Continued .}