Our Short Story. THE STOLEN HEIRESS.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LX, Issue 143763, 11 April 1912, Page 8

Our Short Story. THE STOLEN HEIRESS.

By ARTHUR APPLIN,

Author of "The Gamester’s Wile,” "The Chorus Girl,’" "The Priest of Piccadilly,” etc. CHAPTER YIL A DOUBLE GAME. Martin felt as if Lesson had in some extra-orofnary way turned tnc tanks upon him. Th,eu' positions were reversed. it was ue, Martin, who now threatened the happiness of Dolores. It was Lesson who was trying to save her.

And Martin held her honour, perhaps her life, in th,e hollow of lus hand.

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face. Lesson was waiting for his- answer. Martin was only conscious of the ke,en eyes fixed piercingly upon him. vie heard no sound at all now breaking the silence, only the monotonous ticking of the clock on the mantelshelf.

"Haven’t you questioned her yourself?” he asked.

"No; it would be useless. Besides, she’s not in a fit state to be worried.” Over-anxiety robbed Martin of discretion: “When she left me at the studio she not realise what had happened, she didn’t know what she had done.”

He stopped abruptly. But it was too late. Lesson leaned forward in his chair with a sharp exclamation of relief. The sombre features of his face lit up with an expression that was akin to pleasure. “Then it was she who killed the man, Fritz Selheim,” be whispered between his teeth. '

“No!” Martin flung denial at him when it was too late. He could not see clearly now, the darkened room danced before his eyes. Lesson’s face and figure were blurred. "I didn’t see what happened,” he continued, quickly. "There was a struggle, in which I joined, I saw the flash of a knife; Miss Kenyon ran to mte for protection, and I hurried her into my studio. The man was following, but I shut the door, and locked it in his face. I think he hammered on it.”

Lesson nodded. “That’s where they found him —lying' outside the door, dead.” Martin hid his face in Tiis hands. Again a period of silence. “AVhy didn’t you speak to me this morning You must have known that it happened in my studio,” he blurted out suddenly.

“My dear sir, 1 know nothing,” Lesson replied, politely. “Perhaps I suspected—l gave you a pretty broad hint when I motored you up from Rook Hall. It’s rather dangerous to accuse a man murder or complicity in mtirdor. Besides, I didn’t know then that you loved Dolores; you might have turned round, accused her and informed tho police. Surely you must realise now the- terrible position in which I’m placed. At present no one knows what’s happened but my sister, and, in part, Miss Liberties. 1 telephoned this afternoon to tho Davidsons, telling them Dolores was safe, and begging them to give no hint of her disappearance from Rook Hall last night. You alone hold the key to the mystery, Mr. Martin. My ward’s life is in your hands.” "But the woman, the dead man’s wife —what of her?”

Lesson rose, and walking to the window, looked out into the street. "What Dolores was doing with those people I don’t know. Perhaps they thought they had Miss Kenyon in their power, and meant to hold her to ransom. Anyway, the woman is terrified. What she’ll say at tho inquest, heaven alone knows. But when I saw her she pretended to know nothing of what happened, only the- finding of the body. I think for her own sake she’ll try and deny tho existence of, shall we say the third person ?—Miss Kenyon. The only other person to consider is your housekeeper; what does she know?” Martin told him. Mrs. Smi there had lied, hoping to save him; for his sake she would forget—had already probably forgotten—that she had seen a girl in his studio that fatal afternoon. Moreover, in her heart, he knew that she believed he was guilty/of the crime. Perhaps unconsciously Lesson was slowly hut surely leading Martin’s thoughts along the path they already contemplated taking; Martin had made up his mind. It was a desperate resolve. Rising, he stood beside Lesson’s chair. Ho had misjudged him. Personally he disliked him no less, or only very little loss, than he. had at their first meeting. But all personal feelings had to be swept aside now. ‘ ‘Lot me see her alone for a little while. Of course there’s only one thing to be done, and Fm ready to do it.”

“I don’t quite understand. Explain yourself.” Lesson’s voice was a trifle unsteady. He rolled a cigarette nervously between his fingers. “There’s no need for explanations,” Martin replied, quickly. “And there isn’t a moment to be lost.”

With an impulsive gesture, foreign to his nature. Lesson seized Martin’s hand, and held it in a vice. “You don’t intend to sacrifice yourself for Miss Kenyon ? Remember, I know nothing. You haven’t told me yet; but I shall believe whatever you say. You know, you must know, who struck the blow which caused Fritz Selheim’s death.’ Martin winced- and looked Lesson squarely in the face. "It was not Dolores. That’s enough. I want to tell her that, then there will be no need for secrecy. She will be able to go back to her rooms in Woking Mansions if she wishes to. - She will be free again.” “You mean that you will be the. guilty party?” Martin bowed his head. The clock ticked away a dozen seconds.

“No! The sacrifice is too great. I can’t allow you to make it. It’s splendid of you, noble—but I can’t allow it.”

Releasing Martin’s hand, he turned away for tho moment, apparently overcome.

"You can’t prevent me. The moat you can do is to allow Dolores to come forward and acknowledge that she was present at my studio. 1 toll you in struggle that occurred 1 struck the blow, I killed the man.” The door of tho room opened noiselessly and Ella Lesson entered. "I bog your pardon, I am disturbing you?”

Paul crossed to his sister’s side. "How is she. now Yes, Mr. Martin knows everything. Is she still asleep?” Ella Lesson nodded. "Yes, but I’m afraid she’s begun to re a 100 her position. Every now and then she wakes up and questions me; I don’t know what to reply. I’m afraid she’ll soon remember- ” She glanced from her brother to, Martin,

"Lot me see her,” Martin pleaded; "I can set her mind at rest. I’ve explained everything to your brother.” Ella and Paul exchanged glances. "The sacrifice is too groat ” "One never makes a sacrifice when one speaks the truth,” Martin interrupted.

The bell rang shrilly in the basement, followed by a loud double knock on the front door. “Perhaps that’s ” Ella crossed the room. "Yon ht-rl better see,” Lesson cried quickly. “1 must fight this out with Mr. Martin/” She left the room, closing the door behind her. Lesson commenced to walk up and down, talking quickly and loudly. Martin only heard part of what he said. His mind was made up, nothing could alter it. He heard the front door open, a woman’s voice, the rustle ami frou-frou of petticoats, Two people were ascending the stairs to the room above.

Perhaps Lesson noticed an air of abstraction on Martin’s face, for he took his band again. "Y’ou’re not listening to me. Can nothing I can say persuade you to alter your mind?” "Nothing. All that remains to be done is for me to see Miss Kenyon; it may be for the last time. If by any chance —it seems a thousand to one against it, I know—if by any chance I come out of the affair with a clean sheet—well, then I shall come to you and ask you for your ward’s hand in marriage. Otherwise. I know it’s good-bye. I’m not making any sacrifice, and Miss Kenyon must never, never know. You understand?” (To be continued.)