Our Short Story. THE STOLEN HEIRESS.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LX, Issue 143762, 10 April 1912, Page 8

Our Short Story. THE STOLEN HEIRESS.

By ARTHUR APBLIN,

Author of ’“The Gamester’s Wife, “The Chorus Girl,” "The Priest of Piccadilly,” etc. CHAPTER VI. COMING TO GRIPS. There was a silence between the two men for a handful of seconds. Martin had spoken in the haste of the moment; he now regretted his words. His confession of love put a weapon in Lesson’s hands. The cynical man of the world could well afford to treat love at first, sight with contempt, and look upon Martin as a fool or a knave. But, to the latter’s surprise. Lesson seemed to ho weighing something in his mind. Then stepping back, he opened the dining-room door and invited Martin to enter. “Now then, sir,” he said, when they wore alone, “you have made rather a dangerous statement, and an extraordinary confessing!. Arc you aware that I’m Miss Kenyon’s guardian?” Martin nodded. “Yes, I am.” Lesson laughed softly, ns if them were something humorous in the situation. “And yet you persist in thinking that I’m detaining her against her will. I’d like you to toll me how long you’ve known my ward—how long you've been in love with her?” Martin felt the blood stain h.s cheeks. It was Lesson’s intention now to make him look ridiculous. But hq did not care. “What has that to do with the present situation? Miss Kenyon mysteriously disappeared last night; her friends are anxious as to her safety; no one knows her whereabouts. I’m perfectly certain that the voice which spoke to me over the telephone wires last night was her voice. She was in danger. It was a cry for help.” Lesson moved his chair ever so slightly, so that his face was in the shadow. He spoke quietly, and his voice was neither aggressive nor sarcastic now; “Just think a moment, Mr. Martin.” "I have thought,” James interrupted, “and I’ve made inquiries. More than that, I’ll toll yon frankly I overheard a conversation you had last night at Rook Hall with Miss Yvette Lihertie.” He thought he saw Lesson start, “Eavesdropping!” “I couldn’t help myself. I was in the passage on my way to my room. I saw Miss Libertio coming down the corridor ; she stopped and knocked at

your door.” Lesson took a silver case from his pocket and lit a cigarette. “What has this to do with my ward ?” “Voir can answer that question better than I,” Martin replied abruptly. '"All I want to know now is why Miss Kenyon is hidden here, or proof that she is here of her own free will. Unless you can satisfy me, 1 shall ring up the Blare Davidsons, and inform the police.” Ho hardly know what reply he expected from Lesson; certainly not the one he received. Somehow or other tilings bad come to a climax sooner than he expected. .The fact that this man was Dolores’ guardian added to the difficulties of the situation. If Lesson chose to open the front door and kick him into the street, what mild he do ”

Mo was conscious t.lmt Lesson was f.ariii" aI, him out of (he shadows; the keen, colei eyes trying to road’ his thoughts, trying to pierce his heart. 'Tin quite willing to satisfy you, only ' must ho certain that. I can trust you,” Lesson said. "Von said just • that vou loved my ward. I at»k f-.v proof of that.” “ v oo .shall have it.”

“fl I tn 1:1 you that your presence here, in this hou<.e, threatened her?” Marlin started to his feet and moved tov.ai/:-nn, trying to see his face more* * t arly. ''Ahni do you mean ? i' n'l ; ;k in conundrum*.” Tl! you where my ward is. nnd !'l! satisfy you that she’s perfectly rrAo. if you'll give me a straiuhlforcard answer to a couple of quart) ahout yourself.”

“Ask me jmyiinnp, you like.” Mnrti:: spoke wilhont thinking—or rat' -: iiis only thought was Dolores. "Tel! me where you were that afternoon on which the man. Fritz Selheini hy name, was murdered in the courtyard outside your studio?” Lesson paused to Mow a small cloud of smoke towards the ceiling: "Mo answer. Toll mo the exact date and the plate where you first met my ward —jliss Ken'•on.”

Martin did not reply. Those were just the two things he dared not te-1 this man.

"The questions I have asked ymi,” Pan! said, “are simple enough. You can’t reply”—he half rose from his chair.

“Why do yon want to know?” Martin blurted out. “If I wore sure I could trust you ——”

Lesson faced him then: “That's just it. I must be certain that I can trust you. When Dolores’ father—General Kenyon—died out in India he gave his daughter into my charge. A sacred trust. She’s not quite like other girls; she has always been a source of grave anxiety to us. She’s—how can I put it?—eccentric, wild, unconventional. There’s no real harm in her, but she’s always doing extraordinary things, and getting into trouble. You’ll understand that mine is a grave responsibility, which docs not cense until my ward reaches the age of twenty-four, or marries.”

Martin did not know what to say. He was beginning to sec Lesson in a new light. He still mistrusted him. The man might be acting. What he had said was reasonable enough. And the questions ho asked too.

“First of all, tell mo where she is,” he said at last, “then I’ll answer any question yon care to put.” Lesson looked searchingly into his face, and Martin bore the scrutiny without flinching. “You really and truly love her? It’s not the passing fancy of a boy, but the love of a man capable, if need be, of malting some sacrifice?”

“Yes. I’ll make any sacrifice necessary for her happiness ,and safety.” Lesson bowed his head gravely. “Then she is here, in this house. Hero at home.”

_ Martin dropped into his seat with a sigh of relief. At least he knew now. A little of the distrust and dislike ho had felt for Paul Lesson disappeared. Ho saw the significance of the latter’s questions. They had to be answered. ■ “I left my studio the afternoon the

n ? an T? 1 ? mot his death, in the adjoining courtyard. 1 don’t know that ho was murdered. W T c shan’t ; know how he came by his death until alter the inquest.” Tho suspicion of a smile drew down the corners of Lesson’s mouth. “It was-in my studio, that same day, that I first met your ward. Non’, will you lot me see her, and satisfy myself that all is well?”

To , Martin’s surprise. Lesson held out hisi hand. “I’m very grateful to you. I’m Sony I misjudged you. I don’t think you quite realise the serious position in which my ward is placed. lie needn’t beat about the trash any longer; we can be perfectly frank, Mr. Martin. TVe have but one object, one desire—to save Miss Kenyon. Is not that so?” “To save her from what?” Fear ■was tugging at Martin’s heart-strings again.

Lesson’s eyes seemed to be piercing him. “Ton know what happened in your studio the day before yesterday. I’ve had only a garbled account from the dead man’s wife, who as yet. thank goodness, has made no statement to the police. AVhat Dolores was doing there I haven’t the faintest idea. One of her mad pranks, I fear. Those people threatened her when she tried to leave ; anyway, there was a struggle with the man. Dolores’ cry for help was overheard by an artist, who came to her assistance. There was a scuffle, in which a knife was used. Afterwards the man’s dead body was found outside your studio door. At present no one knows who struck the blow, or no one hut tho artist. Yon are that man, Mr. Martin; you know!”

He paused n moment. Martin's tongue clove to tho roof of his mouth. “Of course. I was in total ignorance cf tho whole affair, until late last night at the ball, when I chanced upon an evening newspaper, and something Dolores said roused my suspicions with the result that I took her off unknown to anyone in my motor car and brought hei' here. I had to take somebody into my confidence, so I chose Yvette, her friend, my affianced wife. Until late this afternoon I did not realise the. part you had played—that you were the man.” _He paused again. Beads of perspiration stood out on Martin's forehead. “You alone, Mr. Martin, know who struck the fata! blow. You must tell me 1” (To be continued.)