Chapter II.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5022, 7 June 1884, Page 4

Chapter 11.

It was not long after this that I saw Mr Lydford for tho first time. Daniel Ivy's description of him was very accurate. He was tall and thin and stooped a little, as many bookish men do. He wore an air of abstraction as he threaded his way through the streets, as though he were cogitating over some abstruse idea or working out some difficult problem. He looked a man whose acquaintance I should like to make. Mdlle. Latour I also saw, and that before inany days were over. She was a thorough French woman. In dress, style and carriage, from the artificial rose-buds in her neat little bonnet to the tip of her dainty boots. You may any day see in Paris a hundred women like her, even to the high cheek bones, the sallow complexion and the beady, quick glancing black eyes. The expression of her face was by no means an unpleasant one, especially ■when she smiled and showed those perfect teeth of hera ; and when she had discovered that I waa a denizen of Beryl Mansions and her next door neighbour, she always favoured me with a smile and a little nod when we passed each other j in return for which I lofted my hat as politely as would one of her own countrymen.

O£ M. Lato\ir I saw nothing for several ■weeks, but his comings and goings were so erratic and uncertain that it was scarcely to be wondered at. When I did see him I ■was not prepossessed in hi3 favour. The honest, homely instinct of Daniel Ivy and Ms wife had not been far from the mark, or so it seemed to me. The expression of his close shaven face, taken in .conjunction with that of his eyes, gave one the impression of a man who was cruel, cold, and hard, down to the very foundations of hi3 being. No ; the less I saw of M. Latour in the future the better I should be pleased. Summer gave i>lace to autumn, and that in turn began to fade into winter, and still the rooms over mine remained silent and tenantless. Mr Bevan's nephew did not come. I wished he would. As the nights of the coming winter grew longer the old house of which I was the solitary tenant after dark grew more weird, gloomy, and ghostlike. These midnights in my room were very lonely when the fire had burnt low and all outside sounds had died away. I would have given much to hear a footstep on the stairs, or to know that in the rooms above or below there was one human being either awake or asleep. It was about the middle of November, ■when one night I sat alone in my room as usual. The fire was nearly out, the clock on the chimney piece was on the stroke of one, I had done reading, and was smoking a last pipe before going to bed. I was gazing dreamily into the dying embers and calling up home scenes of long ago and the faces of dear ones far away, when suddenly I was startled into the most vivid life by the sound of footsteps in the room immediately above. I sprang to my feet. I all but dropped my meerschaum in sheer amazement as I listened. Yes, there could be no mistake. For the Becond time the footsteps crossed and re-crossed the floor, then there wa3 a sound as though a heavy chair or other piece of furniture was being moved, and then all grew silent again. "He is come at last," I said gaily to myself ; " and I am glad of it." An event so important necessitated an extra pipe. A3 I smoked it the thought all at once struck me that I did not hear him arrive. I had certainly not been asleep or even dozing. Assuming that he had brought no luggage with him, it was strange that I had not heard him ascend the stairs, pass my door and mount to the floor above. But no sound had broken the silence of the house until that of the footsteps overhead. The more I thought about it the le3s I could account for the mystery.

(To be continued.)