The RIDDLE of the RING

Sun (Christchurch), Volume IV, Issue 936, 9 February 1917, Page 3

The RIDDLE of the RING

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CHAPTER XXI. ON Till'] PAttIS ROAD. A fortnight had gone by —a fortnight •of breathless apprehension and black terror. The Carter-Bonhams knew nothing—they suspected nothing. Snell, as she expected, had been called to the Prefecture of Police and closely questioned by M. Perrotin, but she had denied all knowledge of cither Mr Tinderhill or the dead unknown. Fortunately, it seemed, the existence of that letter written by Marjorie to the man whose death was such a mystery, had not been discovered. She only hoped that he had really destroyed it. As day succeeded day, Marjorie lived in deadly terror lest her secret visit to that fatal apartment in the Rue de la Poste might be proved against her. Since the afternoon when she had made that too vehement protest, she had heard nothing more of her interrogator, though she knew well that the police of the whole of Europe were in active search of the man she loved, Charles Underbill. Many anxious hours did she spend alone in her room seated by the window, her beautiful face hard set, her lips pale in deadly fear. She knew not when an agent of police might come to her door to summon her to the Prefecture for a further ignominous interrogation. The whole Riviera was through that week agog with the mysterious affair. The papers, ever craving for sensation, advanced nil kinds of wild theories regarding the retiring Englishman who had been found dead, and often Carter-Bon-hani, who dearly loved a journalistic mystery, commented upon the strange ence of the name of t'ndcrhill. Towards the Member of Parliament and his wife the girl was always calm and quite unconcerned, betraying no interest ; whatsoever in the affair. All three went about daily, motoring hither and thither, to the races, to the. flying at the Var, to the yachting at Cannes, and the motorboat race at Monaco —in fact, leading the daily life of the smart set on the Riviera. Carter-Bonham had paired for yet another fortnight, hence they were in no great hurry to return. In secret, however, Marjorie, who feared to leave Nice too quickly, was full of eagerness to step back again upon British soil, no further awkward questions could be asked. To leave Nice too abruptly might condemn her. Often she took Snell into consultation, and she had followed the girl's advice and had her trunk. unpacked again. With marvelous self-possession she remained quite unperturbed, though she passed her nights in wild sleeplessness, full of breathless apprehension as to what had become of the man she loved. Sin grew tired of the eternal' frivolity of that exotic world, therefore one day at luncheon she suggested that they should motor up to Paris, and spend 10 days there before returning to London —an idea at once adopted by her

friends. So the baggage was ?ent on with the maids by train, and one morning they duly started over that road known so well to motorists who go south in winter. Throngli Cannes they climbed the pine-clad Esterelles to Brignolles, where they hinehed at the old inn. Afterwards, on through Aix-en-Provenee, arriving at evening in the big, old-fash-ioned courtyard of the Hotel de I'Europe at Avignon, that city of castellated walls and ancient palaces. Th<\v passed several cars out of Aix, all of them bearing English marks, and on their way from the Riviera. It was past the dinner-hour when they alighted and got out bags. The sun had shone brightly all day, and the run had been delightful ,pver those broad, well-kept roads without a speed limit. Too tired to dress, they all three sat down to a hastily improvised meal, and at 10 o'clock retired, agreeing that the run had been perfect. Phillips and Snell had gone on to the Meurice, in Paris, so the two ladies were without maids. From Mariorie's mind a great weight had now been lifted, for at last they had left Nice, the town which had of late grown so hateful to her. When alone, she sank into a chair near the window which looked out upon the courtyard, and a great sigh escaped her. Towards her friends she preserved her gay, even frivilous disposition, as though she were without a single care in all the world, but now, when alone, she took out a letter which the hallporter had handed her on her arrival, and read it through. Three days ago she had telegraphed to. an address in London, asking for her letters to be forwarded —two of them were unimportant, and the third, upon thin, blue paper, she was now carefully reading. The envelope bore an Egyptian stamp, and though it was addressed to her in a firm, educated hand, yet the sheet of paper between her fingers was covered with finely-scrawled Arabic, which she read and reread without difficultv.

"Brute!" she murmured between her teeth as she read. A dark look had settled upon her pale, beautiful countenance, and as she sat staring at the letter, her little white hands were clenched in sheer despair. "I wonder how long T must suffer!" she cried aloud to herself, crushing the letter in her palm as she rose and paced the room. " lie knows, so he says. What ran he know? What can he possibly know? And yet—ah!—yes, no secret is ever safe from him." She halted at the window find gazed down upon a big, thumping, racing car, which, with great white headlights had swung into the courtyard. Two men in heavy overcoats and caps had just got down. One had entered the hotel, while the other w;<s bending over the car, attending to the headlights. Apparently their attention was not to stay, but to travel on through the night. From the appearance of the powerful car as it stood in the full glare of electricity, they had already travelled a long distance. The man wdio had entered the hotol had apparently been in to make some Inquiry, for on coming forth he apf)ro(ic.hcd his friend, and, bending to lim, said some words in confidence, whereat the man attending to the lamps straightened himself, uttering an exclamation of surprise. As he did so a shaft of light fell across his face. Marjorie started. A cry escaped her lips.

gg By WILLIAM LE QUEUX, fA Author of "Fatal Fingers," "Death's Doctor," etc.

The man standing below, by the car, was none other than Charles Underbill! She looked again, in order to convince herself that she was not mistaken. But no, her eyes had not deceived her. His appearance was somewhat altered, but she knew him in an instant. Her window was a little open, and she recognised his voice above the thumping; of the engine. Fortunately she wis still dressed, therefore, putting a rich fur boa about her neck and a fur toque upon her head, she made her way down stairs with all haste, and slipped out of the courtyard unseen by anyone, all the visitors having already retired. She hurried' across the courtyard to the big gateway which opened out upon the street, and as she passed him said quickly, in a low voice: "Charlie, you here! Come outside. Follow me—into the street."

The young man started in surprise, glanced at her, and then, with a whispered word to his companion, he strolled across the yard in the direction she had taken, and both figures were lost in the shadows. Turning to the left immediately upon emerging from the courtyard, Marjorie found herself in a dark, ancient street, ill-lit and narrow, and there a few moments later the pair stood in silence, hand in hand. "I saw you arrive. Where have you come from?" were her first words after greeting him. . "Come from?—from Italy," he replied. "My friend Morrison-Shaw is on his way home from Rome, and is carrying mo through. And you, dearest?'"

"We only arrived here a few hours ago from Nice."

" So I understood.'' "You knew, then, I was here*" "Yes, Marjorie, I received word by telegram when in Turin that you were coming here," he said. '' Word from whom *''

"Forgive me, won't you," he asked, "but I wrote to Snell, and she wired me a reply. Don't blame her, will you? Under the circumstances, it was permissible. I've wanted to see . you during the past fortnight." "But you are in danger, "Charlie—gravest danger," she cried. "Don't you know that the police are in active search for von? "

"I know," was his hoarse reply. "It's unfortunate —most unfortunate. They are certain to have me before long. Ah. if only I could evade them and get clear away to England!" "Your present action is very a foolish one. Any telegram sent by Snell would go through the hands of the police, just as mine (\). They know she wired to you."

"No, they don't, befeause she telegraphed to me in the name*of Laurence. T foresaw that the police might be keeping watch upon you both, therefore I adopted the ruse. Besides, she went over to Cannes, in order to dispatch it.'' '' But as long as you remain upon French soil, you are liable to arrest," she declared in great anxiety. "Why didn't you travel through .Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium, avoiding France altogether?" "For the very strong reason, Marjorio," he paid, bending towards her as he walked and taking her hand in his, '' that I came here expressly to see you.'' '' It was very foolish of you to jeopardise yourself after—after what has occur red in Nice," she declared, as they turned down a wider street which they saw led down to the river-bank. "I do not deny that I, too, have been very anxious to see you—to hear the truth. But I should have preferred to meet you in London, or in some place of safe concealment.'' "Where is there any place which is safe?"

'' 1 know of more than one—places where the police are utterly unsuspicious, and where a person may hide for many months in complete security—so long as he exercises ordinary precaution."

She could have told him of Madame Leblanc's, at Liege, where she herself had once been a guest, but to do so would have been to betray herself. "Yes," he said, "there are many, I suppose. I shall have to discover one very soon. I 've read the papers and know all about the hue and cry raised after me. But, Marjorio, the reason I have dared to come here is—is to see you; to hear all that you know." "What I know?" she echoed, as they walked together, he still holding her hand. "How can I know anything?" "Rut you know that Dick Marelunont was in Nice," ho cried. "You surely can not deny that?'' '' I don 't deny.it.'' "Why was he in Nice? Why had he assumed my name —eh ?'' "You perhaps can tell that —I can-

not.'' "How (Till yon know lie was in Nice?" asked her lover. '' He wrote and told me, so. I sent a letter to him by Snell, who met him at the railway station and delivered it." "You told me nothing of this when we met that night at the Riviera Palace," he said reproachfully.

"And what necessity was there for telling you?" she asked slowly, disengaging her hand from his. "Because he was my friend."

"I was not aware of that. True, he was at Gleneraig with us, but I had no idea that yours was such an intimate acquaintance," Marjorie replied a little stiffly. Then they wandered slowly on beside the great, dark, swift-flowing river, the. Rhone, towards where a long row of lights showed a bridge. "Charlie," she exclaimed at last, turniing to her companion very seriously, "you saw Richard Marchmont. You know what happened. Tell me the truth." "T don't know," he declared. "Then why did you fly to Italy?" '' Why —do you ask me why, Marjorie —you?" he cried reproachfully, halting and staring at her. "Think —reflect for a moment upon your words when we stood that night together beneath the stars, and I —l told you the truth—that I love you. Recall your words, and then surely you need not again ask the reason why I 'left Monte Carlo! " (To bo continued.)