The Red Plume.

Southern Cross, Volume 9, Issue 52, 15 March 1902, Page 13

The Red Plume.

I By HAROLD CHILD; Autho: ? of “ Beautiful Rohilla,” “ Driven by Pate,” &c., &c

COPYRIGH T

"PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

SYNOPSIS OP‘ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS Chapters I. auc II —Ayoun? man, Hubert Annandale, son of Sir John Annandale, a country squire, isl returning home at Christmas, when he hemrs a man and woman quarrelling. The wojman is saying to her companion, ‘Oh! V. could kill you!’ Hubert lights a match . in the winter darkness and observes a tall ‘ swarthy man and a woman with golden hair talking to him. Hubert passes into his h ome. A few minutes later a group of youthful noisy skaters discover the body of a man whom they suppose to be drunk. They t ike it some distance and then are horrified on striking a light to find the man murdered! They decide to place the body in a ditch! Chapters IHj and TV.—The girl who had been talking to the foreigner made her way home, and entjered the house secretly, proceeding to laght a fire and burn a black skirt she had I been wearing. Mrs Bronson, her aunt, upbrlaids her for her extravagance, and orders her! to keep her room. Her cousin, Magdalen, askp her to lend her her skates to go to a skatjing party near the hall, but Angela declin’es, saying it is impossible. In the meantime!, '.Hubert and his father are talking aboutjthe party on the lake. Hubert shows him 4 peculiar watch which he has received froni a client for winning a will case. j jCHAPTBR Y. Bloodstains in the Snow.

A thousand questions rushed through his mind, all demanding answers, in vain ; until, as the clock struck a quarter past seven, he jumped up and hurried from the room, asking himself, as the conclusion of all the others, this most important question of all : What business it was of his, and how came it that he had wasted so many minutes in thinking about a woman whom he had seed but once, and then only for two seconds by the light of a match ? For all that, he could not shut her face out of his mind. All dinner time it hovered before his eyes ; and once or twice hie actually found a difficulty in listennlg to his father’s talk, and framing ais replies so as to conceal his preocc ipation. An absurd thought too, persls ted in forcing its way again and again into his head. Try as he would, be could not help imagining how peF 3ct that face would look in the secre frame of his watch. A tiny mina iure in ivory, that hair and those eyes, surrounded by the diamonds —he could see it plainly, and the beaut y of it thrilled him from head to fojot. For haif-an-hour after dinner he and his ft|ther had sat over the shining mahogany, drinking the superb wine, and talking over old days, when Sir John, looking at the clock, said ‘ Well, I suppose if we’re going to this confounded skating party, we ought to start. But —I say, Hubert! What do you say to shirking it and having an evening at home ? My fingers are itching for a game of billiards.’ As a general rule, Hubert Annandale would have jumped at such a proposal, preferring the company of his father to any other, especially so soon after his return home from an absence of several months. But tonight the suggestion filled him with disappointment. He found himself looking forward keenly to that skating party, and he took immediate refuge in a practical objection. ‘ Bht, dad, if there’s no gas and no oil, how are we going to play billiards F’ Sir John looked uncomfortable. ‘ Well —er —’ he said, ‘ the fact is, it’s not quite as bad as that. We have got some oil in the bouse, and Bland has rigged up the old lamps for us.’ 4 Well, I don’t know, dad. You say you promised to be there, and they’ve taken the trouble to put up Chinese lanterns and things. Don’t you think we ought to go ?’

‘ Yes, I suppose we ought, really But it’s a great bore. Here’s the glass, my boy, and I’m going to give an old-fashiwned toast. Here’s a good wife and God’s blessing to you, my son !’ ‘ Tha»k you, dad !’ said Hubert, But as the wine touched his lips there sprang to life before him again the vision of a pale face with large dark eyes and a wealth of flaming hair. And he knew in a flash why he was so anxious to be present at the skating party. Would she be there P His father and he were just rising from their chairs and making with one accord towards the side-board for the cigar-bos, when a footman came into the room. ‘lf you please, Sir John, there’s a policeman in the ball. He wants to speak to you.’ ‘ A policeman ? What have T been up to, I wonder P Oh, I know. He wants a subscription for their orphanage. It’s nothing but give, give, give, at Christmas time. Very well. I’ll come iu a minute.’ He lit his cigar, and went into the study. Hubert joined him in the hail, and found him with a banknote in his hand. ‘ Here !’ said he, holding it out to the policeman. Is that what you want ?’ ‘ No, Sir John,’ said the policeman, with imperturbable gravity. ‘We shan’t come for that till after Boxing Day. But will you please to step outside with me, Sir John ? There is something by your side door that I wish to call your attention to.’ His manner was full of importance and mystery, and Sir John and Hubert exchanged a smile at his ultra-professional air.

‘ What is it ?’ said Sir John. ‘ I had rather you came and saw for yourself,’ said the policeman. ‘ Very well. Thomas, bring me a greatcoat. And, Hubert, you may as well come too, and see what this mysterious something is.’ They passed through the house and out at the side door. In solemn silence the policeman marched in front of them under the glazed awning and through the little gate in the wall. £ There, Sir John !’ said he proudly, turning his bull’s-eye and pointing with his hand. One of the small cast-iron pillars that supported the glass roof just outside the gate had been snapped off at the bottom, and again about five feet up, and the broken piece was lying in the snow. ‘ What! That all ?’ said Sir John, with a hearty burst of laughter. ‘ My good man, fancy bringing me out to see that! That pillar’s been cracked in the middle for • months. It wouldn’t take more than a light blow to dislodge it. And as to its being broken at the bottom, I wonder the whole place isn’t in ruins, with the crowds of people that have been turning my park into a zoological garden for the past fortnight.’ ‘ Ah !’ said the policeman, as if a little hurt at the reception of his news, ‘but that is not all, Sir John. May I trouble you to look—there F’ He swung his lantern so that the circle of light rested on the snow that lay massed under the wall a little to the left of the gate. And no sooner bad Sir John’s eyes fallen on the spot illuminated than both he and his son gave a crv of surprise. Hubert’s exclamation was choked at its birth, and with his hand to his mouth he stepped a pace back and stood staring at the ground at his feet. ‘ Give me your lamp,’ said Sir John to the policeman. ‘ Yes !’ he went on, stooping to look more closely, ‘ that’s

blood for a certainty. And a good deal of it, too ! And see here ! Here’s the mark of a man’s body. It looks as if he’d fallen into the snow with his back against the wall.’ He stood erect and looked keenly for a moment into the policeman’s face without speaking. Then he said : ‘ Hum ! Looks suspicious, I must confess ; but—pooh ! it’s probably only some drunkard who’s fallen on a stone.’ ‘ There are no stones here, Sir John.’ ‘ True, true ! Ah, well ! Perhaps he knocked his head against the wall. At any rate, it’s probably only an accident of some kind.’ ‘ I think not, Sir John. Indeed, I am sure it is more than that.’ ‘ Why P What grounds have you ?’ ‘ Will you please to look at that ?’ He turned the light of the lantern a foot or two to the left of the blood stains. There, close under the wall, and half-buried in the snow, lay a small steel skate. ‘ I left it there exactly as I found it, so that you might see it for yourself, Sir John. Will yon please to examine it closely ?’ The baronet took the lantern again and stooped to the ground, ‘ It's too small for a man’s skate,’ he said. ‘lt must be a woman’s or a boy’s. It’s what they call an ‘ Acme,’ isn’t it ?’ ‘ I’m not sure, sir.’ ‘ Hubert, you could tell us. Come and look at it.’

Hubert Annandale came forward, slowly and unsteadily. The light of the lantern fell upon his face as he stooped, and showed it to be deadly pale. ‘Yes,’ he said, almost in a whisper. ‘ That’s an ‘ Acme !’ ’ And as the words left his lips he stood erect again, crying : ‘Oh !’ on an indrawn breath. Sir John stood up, ‘Yes,’ said he to the policeman. 1 It’s all very well, but it’s an easy thing to drop a skate. What makes you connect it with the bloodstains ?’ ‘ Will you kindly examine the heel, Sir John ? Look at it very carefully.’ ‘ Where are ray glasses ?’ He began to fumble in his waistcoat pocket, and while he was doing so Hubert Annandale stooped suddenly with an outstretched hand. The policeman unceremoniously seized his arm. ‘ Don’t touch it, please, sir, he said sharply, ‘ unless you want to get yourself and me into trouble. Everything hangs on the condition of that skate.’ ‘ How then !’ said Sir John, as his son turned away with a smothered exclamation of annoyance. ‘ The heel, did you say, constable ?’ ‘ Yes, sir, the heel. It is the end which is uppermost.’ ‘ Good God !’ said Sir John, standing erect suddenly. I believe you’re right after all ! Here —pick it up carefully and bring it into the house. There’s an ugly story attached to the skate somehow, I fear, and I must examine it by a better light.’ ‘ We’re only just in time, Sir John,’ said the policeman. ‘ It’s beginning to snow again.’ He was right. A few flakes fell as he was speaking, and Hubert Annandale, looking up at the black sky, saw that the whole air was powdered with a myriad of specks of floating white. ‘ln time,’ he mutterad. I only we had been ten minutes later.’ The policeman picked the skate up gingerly between finger and thumb, and the three then returned to the house and went into the dining room. And there Sir John collected all the candles into one corner of the table and took the skate from the policeman. ‘ There’s not a doubt of it,’ said he, after a long silence. ‘ That’s blood and hair. Black hair; rather long, but not long enough for a woman’s. What can it mean ?’ ‘ It means murder,’ Sir John,’ said the policeman, confidently. ‘ Nonsense!’ cried a hoarse voice, as Hubert stepped forward. 1 ‘ Indeed, sir ?’ said the policeman

indignantly. ‘ And what authority have you for saying it’s nonsense ?’ ‘ Merely this. Where’s the body ?’ ‘ -Removed, sir, undoubtedly.’ ‘By whom ? It would take at least a couple of men to carry it away, and they’d certainly have been stopped and questioned, at the lodge, if nowhere else.’ ‘ They would have avoided the path.’ ‘ And left their footmarks in the snow; a -sure trace. That doesn’t seem very likely.’ ‘ Perhaps they counted on the snowstorm to hide them.’ ‘ That’s not very likely, either.’ ‘ In any case it has stopped further investig’abion in that method.’ ‘ Then what’s your theory, Hubert,’ said Sir John. ‘ A drunken fight and a wound, that’s all.’ 1 With a woman’s skate ?’ said the policeman. £ With a boy’s skate, probably. And the man must have crawled or walked away. The snow is trodden and beaten down almost up to the wall, several feet from the path. ‘ Well, sir, we shall see !’ said the policeman. ‘ But my duty is to take that skate to the station, and do my best to find out the owner, and also to search for the body.’ Hubert shrugged his shoulders. 4 As you will,’ he said, indifferently. * But you’ve only found a mare’s nest.’ ‘By the way, Hubert,’ said Sir John. ‘You came in by that door. You didn’t notice anything or anyone hanging about, I suppose ?’ There was a long silence. Hubert Annandale walked to the sideboard and appeared intent on choosing a cigar. He struck a match and waited till it burned brightly. Then, at last, he spoke. ‘Ho,’ he said, clearly and slowly. ‘ I saw no one.’

CHAPTER Yl.— Ok the Rack. ‘Well, good-night, mother,’ said Magdalen Bronson, rising hurriedly from the table, ‘ I shall be pretty late, I expect, as the Mortlocks want us all to have supper with them afterwards. Don’t you sit up for me, unless you like. I shall be certain to get one of the men to see me home.’ ‘ Will it be Mr Annandale, dear p’ said Mrs Bronson ; and as she spoke her hard and sour expression sweetened a little. It was plain that, however cold and stern she might be with her niece, she loved her daughter. ‘I hope so, I’m sure,’ said Magdalen candidly. ‘ But they say he doesn’t care about girls ; he’s too busy, or too fond of sport, or something.’ ‘ Those are the men that make the best husbands, dear. Oh !if only I could see you well settled ! I should feel so much happier in my mind !’ The unusual outburst made Magdalen look at her mother in surprise. ‘ Why ? What’s the matter now P You’ve nothing to make you unhappy. Lots of money, a fine house in a good neighbourhood, and so on. You ought to be as happy as a sandboy, mother !’

‘I ? Happy P ’ Mrs Bronson laughed bitterly, and rose from the table. ‘ No, it’s nothing, dear,’ she went on, as Magdalen showed new signs of surprise and alarm. ‘ I’m a little depressed to-night, that’s all. How you run off and enjoy yourself. Mind you wrap up well, and tell James to come straight home as soon as he’s seen you safely to the lake.’ ‘All right. I do hope I shall get some skates somewhere. It’s horribly selfish of Angela not to lend me hers. And so unlike her too ! She’s not a bit selfish as a rule.’ Mrs Bronson’s face hardened as she replied, ‘ I will find out all about it tomorrow.’ But she was destined to know all sooner than she had anticipated. She had acknowledged to her daughter that she felt depressed that evening. How utterly miserable she was she herself had scarcely suspected until she was left alone. With dragging weary steps she crossed the hall and entered the drawing-room, the yery

room through the long window of which Angela had crept back into the house that afternoon. The fire and the lamps were lighted, the room was warm and bright ; but Mrs Bronson shivered as she entered it. She was Just about to throw herself into a long chair that stood near the fireplace when something caught her eye, and she stooped to examine the floor. The carpet was an almost priceless Persian fabric, with an exquisitely coloured and graceful pattern loosely strewn over a white ground. Here and there lay a large patch of white, which the pattern did not cover, and it was on one of these patches that Mrs Bronson’s eyes were fixed. After a moment she took a lighted candle from the mantelpiece and placed it on (he floor. The light revealed what was undoubtedly the mark of a wet and muddy boot, a boot that had trod on gravel. Mrs Bronson lifted the candle and took a step forward in the direction of the window. There was another mark, then another and another, growing stronger and stronger, until at last on lifting aside the curtain she discovered a distinct patch of damp and gravel immediately behind it, as if the owner of the boots had stood there shifting from foot to foot.

It was evident that the person had walked with wet boots up the swept gravel path, had entered by the window, had hidden for an instant behind the curtains, and had then tripped noiselessly (for there were no marks of the heel, which usually carries more mud than the toe) across the room. Yet Mrs Bronson showed no signs of surprise nor of fear. She stood erect with the candle in her hand. For a long time her eyes stared, experssionless and bard, straight before her. Then she walked straight towards to fire, put the candle back on the mantelpiece, and sank into a chair. She clasped and unclasped her hands, now and then a shudder swept over her, and at last, with her elbows on her knees and her face supported by her hands, she sat still staring as if in abject misery at the glowing fire. Suddenly she sat erect, and the misery in her face gave way to a look of terror. Her senses, perhaps, were abnormally acute that night, for she heard distinctly a step on the gravel outside the window ; a step so light that it might almost have been taken for that of a bare foot. Mrs Bronson looked towards the window with dilated eyes. There followed a sound, which her demeanour showed clearly that she had at once expected and dreaded. She shuddered from head to foot as she heard upon the window frame a 1 loud tap, followed by two lighter and quicker taps. She looked wildly to right and left of her. Then, clenching her hands, she muttered fiercely : ‘ I will not !’

There was an instant’s pause. Then the taps upon the window were repeated exactly. ‘ Twice !’ muttered Mrs Bronson, quivering in every limb. For an instant she stood irresolute, and then, with a swift and noiseless movement, she hurried to the door and locked it. In breathless haste she crossed the room again, and pulled aside the curtains. As her trembling hand was lifted to the catch of the window, there came upon the pane yet another loud tap; and with a gasp of terror she threw the window open. A rush of cold air swept into the room. Mrs Bronson covered her eyes with her hands, and reeled backwards to clutch at a chair for support. There was no sound of any footsteps; yet when she looked up at last she saw standing before her an apparently young and smartly dressed lady in whose black hat was a brilliant red feather, and whose face was concealed by a thick veil. ‘ You !’ cried Mrs Bronson in a voice of despair. ‘ I,’ answered the woman, coolly, as she turned to fasten the window and draw the curtains over it. Then, sweeping suddenly round upon the

trembling mispress of the house, she said, sternly, I ‘I had begun the third signal. Yon know what would have happened if I had been forced to finish it ?’ ‘ Yes, yes !* moaned Mrs Bronson. ‘ Oh ! why ha ve you come ?’ The stranger laughed, a cruel sneering laugh. ‘ Why ? , For what other reason than to visit you, carissiraa ! Am I not welcome P’ There wis a distinct menace in her tones, and iMrs Bronson hastened to stammer,. I ‘ Yes ; cli, yes !’ ‘ But come —let us speak Italian. It is pleasanter, and safer, too. First of all, oblige me by unlocking that door.’ , ‘ What ? How did you know I had locked] it ?’ ‘ Bah ! j Will you never learn ? How did jl gain entrance into your garden ? j How did I know which window tcj) knock at ? How did I know yoii would be alone ? The Figli del] Hiente know everything. We work! in the dark, but nothing escapes obr eyes ; we strike in the dark; bdt, tell me! do our blows fall wide ? How did our master, Cagliostip, know the secrets of heaven and earth, and the mind of man ? How diem he shape the history of a nation, aMi bring a mighty throne to

the dust ? Who destroyed the Bonbons, the Buonapartes P The Fhjii del Niente! Who have decreed that France shall be but a name anjd a history ? The Figli del Niente ! 1 Who have brought Spain and Portugal, and Italy to poverty and illl'repute ? The Figli del Niente !r Who have made the proud throne ®f Austria to totter ? The Figli de[l Niente ! Who have stirred up stride in China and in India, in the nortjh and the south, the east and the vest, that you prouder nations may teiar each other’s throats, till you fall a prey to younger races, who in / their turn shall fall, and the whole be nothingness P The Figli del Niente ! The world is our board, the kiiagdoms our counters ! Yet you aslc me how I knew that your door whs locked !’ The strange wild speech had been delivered throughout in a tune that was scarce above a whisper, yet thrilled | in every word with a passionate Earnestness that made it seem as thoug;h it must be audible throughout theLentire house. And in the midst of pt, the speaker had thrown up the thick veil that concealed the face, and ’had disclosad the features, not of a woman, but of a man—apparently young, indeed, in years, but endowed with a strange and terrible power. ; The smoolh cheeks might have been those of a boy of twenty ; but the blazing eyes, the dilated nostrils, and the broad, high brow, spoke of a matured intellect, an irresistible will, and passionate spirit. It was the face c a genius and of a fanatic. Mrs I /'onson looked cowed and beaten. she unlocked the door, protesting fe (ibly meanwhile, ‘ But nfy servants ’

The stranger looked at the clock. ‘ln three minutes,’ said he, ‘your butler will be here with the coffee ; since youjr footman has gone to take your daughter to the lake for Mrs Mortlock s skating party. Would you like him to find the door locked P While he is in the room leave me to do all lie talking. I shall speak English.' Yon will answer in the same h nguage. Meanwhile’—his manner phanged suddenly to gentle affability —-‘how do you like my dress ? It is fashionable, is it not F’ ‘ Perfectly,’ said Mrs Bronson, in a trembling voice. ‘Ton notice the red plume?’ he pointed up to the bat. ‘lt looks well, does it not ? Perhaps you are surprised at my wearing it P But I thought I would take a leaf out of Giuseppe Caffiata’s book of bravado for once. Our dear Guiaeppe ! Mrs Bronson shuddered and cried ‘Ah!’in protest. Bat the stranger took no notice, ‘ Listen !’ he said. ‘ You hear the cups rattle ? Your butler is coming with the coffee.’ The door opened, and the solemn

manservant entered. He was far too well-trained to show surprise at the presence of a visitor whom he had not admitted, but probably explained matters to himself by the fact that the heavily-veiled lady who was talking rapidly was, as her accent now showed beyond question, a ‘ furriner,’ and not to be judged by the usual standards. ‘ Yes,’ she was saying, £ I had the fortune to arrive just as the door was opened by your daughter and the servant. I would not detain her, as she seemed to be in haste. So I ran in unannounced. Was it very wrong of me ? But it is so long since we met! The last time was in Rome, was it not ? Ah, yes ! You remember, in the Via della Unita ?’

The speaker paused for a reply, and Mrs Bronson felt herself compelled to answer, as she took her cup of coffee. ‘ Yes. That was the last occasion.’ ‘ And now that I was in the neighbourhood I could not lose the opportunity of seeing you. A flying visit, yes. I came to Lady Driscoll’s only to-day, and I am going to-morrow by an early train. We may never meet again !’ At those last words something like a sigh of relief broke from Mrs Bronson’s lips, but was drowned in the voice of the butler saying, ‘ Shall I bring another cup of coffee, ma’am P’ Coffee !’ cried the strang'er. ‘Oh ! how kind ! I should so much enjoy it on this cold night. And if I might have a tiny glass of cognac—you know I am accustomed to it in Paris and in Rome !’ ‘Another cup, Turton, and a glass of cognac,’ said Mrs Bronson. ‘ Two glasses of cognac,’ said the stranger quietly. Whatever Turton may have felt, he showed no sign of surprise ; but left the room on his errand. ‘ The hinsolence of them furriners !’. said he to himself, as he crossed the hall. But be was taciturn by nature and|discreet through long experience, and the servants’ hall remained in ignorance of the foreign lady’s presence in the house. For an instant there was silence in the drawing room. Then Mrs Bronson said ; ‘ You order my servants ’

‘ I order Europe !’ said the stranger, sharply. ‘ And I asked for two glasses because you and I, signora, are going to drink a little toast, before I explain why I am here.’ He looked about the handsome room, and said pleasantly ; ‘ You have a beautiful house !’ ‘ You admire it ?’ said Mrs Bronson, in dull and hopeless tones. ‘lmmensely ! Bub it mast cost a great deal to keep up, does it not ? It must bake something like—shall we say £IO,OOO a year P’ ‘Oh !’ The cry was a wail of entreaty. ‘ Need you mock me — torture me ?’ ‘ Tst ! Here come the coffee abd cognac. I go back to Rome,’ she went on in English, as the butler entered the room, ‘ back to the old house in the Yia della Unita, and possibly—a little sugar, thank you ! —I may never see England again. It depends on—many things. But I hope—oh, yes, I hope we shall meet again, you and I, signora.’

The butler left the room. The stranger once more threw up his veil and rose from his chair. So slenderly made was he, and so skilfully dressed, that his figure was precisely that of a young and elegant woman. He raised the little glass of cognac on high, and said in Italian : ‘ Signora, we will drink to the Red Plume !’ (To be continued.)