THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

South Canterbury Times, Issue 5030, 11 June 1889, Page 4

THE DARK-STREET MYSTERY.

LITERATURE

A DOCTOR’S STORY. CHAPTER X. George .Fairfax was a prophet. He was all right at breakfast next morning ; he was his old self. There appeared to be nothing on his mind—not even the unlooked-for decease of his estimable aunt. He was full of good spirits—the quick-witted amusing light-hearted fellow whom I bad ever known. He ignored the greater part of last night’s conversation, alluding only to his aunt’s legacy, and indulging in many wild flights of fancy as to the manner in wl'ich he should spend it when the halcyon time arrived for ‘ his fling.’ After breakfast he changed a little, but he kept for a while to the one subject of his future. ‘ I shall enjoy life, Arthur,’ he said ; ‘1 have not come into all this property not to enjoy it.’ ‘ I hope you will —sober and rationally of course.’ *Ab ! but I am not a sober and rational being.’

‘ I’m sorry to bear that,’ ‘No more than you are/ he added quickly. ‘ Sober and rational beings do not go down to the seaside and take up with impecunious strolling players, and spend their money upon them, and bury them decently, and—and get let in right and left!’ ‘ I have not been let in.’ ‘ Oh, haven’t you though ?’ he exclaimed. ‘ls it possible that you, a sceptical man of the word — as the nether millstone in your own 'valuable self-estimate —can believe in getting one farthing of your money back.’ “ 1 have got it back.’ ‘ Eh ?’ Then I told him the history cf Hyacintha Nash’s visit to me in Breymouth and her settlement of all just claims and demands by the presentation of a Bank of England note for twenty pounds. He listened with grave intentness, and when I had concluded, said : * When was this ?’ ‘ Three weeks ago.’ ‘ You did not write and tell me anything about it.' ‘ I thought I would leave it till my return. You were not interested in the Nash’s. You did not believe in them.’

‘ All the more reason that you should disabuse my mind of that error,’ he said ; ‘ but each man has his own wav of going to work, and yours might be more straightforward with advantage.’ . . , Had he said this with last nights look upon his face, I should have thought that last night’s mood was still lingering with him slill ; but it was said lightly, and with a careless air, as if what I did and said —what the Nash girls did and said—did not concern him very much. And yet to my astonishment, he returned to the charge five minutes afterwards, when I thought that the subject had been dismissed tor good. 1 How did this Hyacintba Nash get hold of twenty pounds—in the lump—to pay this heavy debt of hers ? And ■why did she travel alljtbe way to Breymouth to get it off her mind and conscience, and see what sort of fellow you were ?’ he asked suddenly, ‘ I have thought of that. But I am notable to offer a solution to the enigma.’ * Nor I,‘ be added thoughtfully—so thoughtfully that I said ; ‘ These Nash’s are on your mind too George.’ 1 Ay, by Jove they are/ he confessed, ‘ you set me on the war-jrath when you gave me something to find out, a mystery to unravel, a woman to unearth. Then 1 was in my element, you see ; for there is not a more curious animal on the face of tbe earth than I am, or one more obstinate and persistent and artful when I take anything into my head, ‘ And there being lots of room here/ be said, touching his forehead, ‘I took in the sisters Nash, and their shabby little mystery, and their shabby Dark Street, and their terrible little lives.’

‘Well —and then ?’ I said anxiously, for I was struck with the new, strange animation which he displayed. ‘Do you think it all ended with my letter and telegrams, when I wanted to find out the truth ?’ he cried. ‘ When I wanted to make sure that there was not a deliberate attempt to impose upon you going on somewhere, when I knew what a weak and credulous simpleton you were———’ ‘ Thank you, George.’ 1 In the ways and wilds ol womanhood, I mean—let a fellow finish his sentence, won’t you,’ he exclaimed, * and give him a little breathing time, before you cut in, unless you can’t wait any longer,’ I laughed at his protest, and he laughed with me. But I was not satisfied with him, or the new manaer which he had displayed. I did not know what had been the result of all his researches, his perseverance, his amateur detective business.

He had discovered something, i felt assured ; he knew more than I did. c Well, what have you found out,’ I inquired calmly. ‘ I did not say I have found out anything.’

* But you have.’ ‘ Yes, I have,’ he confessed ; and for a moment he looked defiantly at me, like a man disposed to refuse me any further information —like one opposed to mo, or any wish of mine I might have entertained.

‘ And you find the mystery about them a shabby one, and their lives terrible,’

‘ Look here, Arthur,’ said Fairfax, ( you have an unpleasant habit of dropping upon words and phrases of tnino which have come hot from the press, and are not to be measured quite by square and rule. Did I say their lives wars terrible.’

. i ‘ Terrible lives, was the expression, i I answered. j ‘ Well, poverty is terrible—no one knows that in all its accursed details more surely than these two women, struggling to live, and borne down by | the onrush of a hundred miseries at once.’ ‘ They are poor then.’ ‘ They are very poor,’ ‘ Do they confess as much—to you,’ I asked amazed. ‘Ho,’ he said, with a hard little laugh ; ‘I am not their father confessor.’ ‘ Where do they live ?’ * Hot very far off. Down a back street, out of another back street in Camberwell, where market gardens flourished five years ago, and where there is nothing now but half finished houses, railway arches, and Giant Despair.’ ‘ I don’t make you out.’ ‘ My dear boy, I don’t make myself out,’ he said. ‘I am the victim of enchantment, Those women are more on my mind than yours. They bother me with their pride and independence, and —cheek. And one hates me—consumedly.’ ‘ I should be glad of the whole story George. It is you who are keeping facts hack.’ ‘ Dodging the question —eh,’ he said. ‘ Perhaps I am. There is the address,’ he said, laying an old envelope on the mantel-piece. ‘ I promised them you should have it or the day after your return ; and if you were well in health I intended to write it down and steal away—not say anything about this.’ * Why.’ ‘Ah ! don’t ask me. Leave the rest of the story to them.’ ‘ I would rather hear it from you.’

‘ When you come back from your momma 1 round then, Arthur. Hot now.’ And when I came back he was gone. He had stolen away after all.

(Tote Continued .}