TALES AND SKETCHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7293, 4 January 1902, Page 1

TALES AND SKETCHES.

THE UNDER-SECRETARY. (By WILLIAM LE QUEUX.) 'Author of "If Sinners Entice Thee," "Of Royal Blood," " Th© Great War of 1897," etc., etc. [All Rights Reserved.] CHAPTER XXVn. WHICH ASKS A QUESTION. "Ah.!" exclaimed the Under-Secretary, i with affected nonchalance, "I merely asked out of curiosity. I have no intention whatever of paying such a sum^' >' " For the amount I have named we will guarantee to place you ashore in Greece, or in one of the other few countries that remain open to fugitives from, justice." ; •■'■ . "I have no doubt," Dudley answered with distinct sarcasm. "But as I r have no intention of being blackmailed, or of even availing myself of your efforts on my behalf, we may as well end #his interview," and he rose from his chair and straightened himself up. n » The two men exchanged glances full of sinister meaning. . ■ "Our aid has been invoked by your friend, the English signorina," the yciitng man exclaimed in a. bullying tone, dor the first time revealing his true character. "We have told you our terms-r-hdgh, we admit, but not too exorbitant when you recollect the many bribes that have to be paid;" ' v "Ten thousand pbunds-reh?" "Tliat is the sum:" * i "Well I'll make a confession to you Iboth," declared Chisholm, defiantly. "It is this. My life isn't worth to me ten. thousand pence. , Therefore, you can at once relinquish all hope of Weeding me in \ the manner you have arranged." . "The Signbre is frank," remarked the old man. "Frankness saves so much' argument in auch matters. I will be frank also, and say that there' is still another and perhaps more .pleasant raode.of escape." "I shall be interested to hear it," said Dudley, folding hds arms, and leaning carelessly back against the table. The man was silent for a moment, as though hesitating whether to tell his visitor, the truth. At last he spoke, answering in two brief words — '"■*'.-. " By marriage." ' • "With whom?"At that instant the door was flung open suddenly, and there advanced into the room the woman whom he believed to be far away in Italy— the woman who held his future in her hand*— Muriel Mortimer. "Marriage with me," she said, answering '"lug question, *'Yoti!" he cried, thoroughly taken aback lit her sudden appearance. "What; do you mean? Kindly" explain all this." • • "It requires no explanation, Mr Chisfcolm," she replied, her pale face hard-set 'and determined. . " You are in gravest peril, ■ and I have come to you prepared to rescue you from the punishanent whdeh must otherwise fall Vnpon you. To-night you have ' been with that wcinan who loves you— that : witch-like woman, who has lhalf- London at ; iier feet. ; I know it all. You love her, • and intend to marry her. But you will ;':-■.- marry me>-rme ! " and she struck he£ breast. with her hand in. emphasis of her i(p<?ids. . "Otv" she added, "or to-night you uwill-ibec 1 arrested as -ja i common, criminal.'' ; '^c^ Hetlpbfceki her straight in the face with^ out flincbing.. .• Tt^ B .^res?^ pha^fA "" even WaTAily, In rosly pla^jHtot-h'er'tiottn^ tenance, pallid and" drawn, showed how desperate she was. . He, on his part, saw himself tricked by her, and the thought lashed him to fury. "Listen!" he cried indignantly, "I have been enticed here to this place as part of a plot formed to obtain £10,000 by blackmail, or to obtain me as your husband, you , well knowing that I should be prepared! to | pay any sum to be. rid 1 of such an encum- , brance. Yon promise me freedom, if I consent to one or the other. The affectaon j which yon declared you entertained is . false. You and your precious myrmidons ; want money—only money. But from me. I you won't obtain a single sou. Understanid Ithat, all *hree of you I" "You intend 1 -to marry her!" she said between her teeth. "But you shall never do that. She shall know the truth." " "Tell her. To me it is quite immaterial, I assure you," he declared' in defiance. He saw that this woman whom h© had taoe believed so innocenty evsen. childish in ber simplicity^ was an associate of an un- ■"'■ scrupulous gang, who no doubt existed .by blackmailing those who. desired to escape from England. He had heard vague rumours of the existence of this strange association, for it had 1 long ago been a • puzzle to the London police why so many foreigners were able to evadfe them and fly successfully from the country, while Englishmen, who knew well, the various outlete abroad, usually failed. "You made a solemn compact with me' on that night at Wioxeter," she said. " And you have broken it. On my part I have done all that w«as possible./ Cator would have known the truth long ago were it not for my presence in Italy and the efforts of his own lieutenamt;y Francesco Marucci. To my foresight all this is due, yet you now refuse to save yourself." "I refuse to be blackmailed." "You hope to escape and marry her," laughed the fair-hadred woman, defiantly. " I hope for nothing. My life is,_ to me, just as precious as it was that night at Iwroxeter." ... .- "And you absolutely refuse to accept" jthe alternative V. "I will accept nothing from either you or your associates," he replied. "Then we are to be enemies?" "If you so desire." She looked at him with a wild fiery glance, as though his defiance had aroused, the spirit of murder within her. She saw . that his firm determination to carry out his previous intention of suioide checkmated her. ; All her ingenious wiles were to no purpose. • -While he still lived there was hope of securing the prize which an hour ago seemed so well within hex grasp. "So you refuse!" she cried in a frenzy of anger. " You intend to escape like the miserable coward you axel" ' "I am/no cowaard; ! " ; he responded, with: fierce indignation. ff lf I were a coward I would! acoept *he offer of your associates, and pay willingly to be placed "beyond the possibility of arrest. But I prefer to face the inevitable, and do so now unflinchingXy." Then, turning to the others, he added: "I wish you all three more success in your next attempt to squeeze money from the unfortunate criminal — that is all." He turned to leave, but Tonio, the hotheaded young bully, sprang in an instant before the door, and dfrew from his belt a chining knife — one of those long, narrowWaded ones which the Italian of the South usually carries surreptitiously because his Internal Government forbids them. Quick as thought Dudley divined the Italian's intention to prevent him leaving the house, and seeing the knife held down threateningly before him, h e raised his fist, and! with a straight, well-directed drive from the shoulder struck the fellow beneath the jaw with such force that he was lifted up and fell backwards upon the table, overturning the cheap paraffin lamp standing there. * In an instant the place' burst into flames, and' in the confusion tha*- followed, while ~r ih«> «* wmin rushed from the room Bcream-

ing "Fire," he dashed.) out of the house, expecting, of course, to find 1 his cab awaiting him. ' But it was not there. While 'he had been arguing, . the old hag had! evidentlypaid his fare and dismissed' the conveyance — a fact which was in itself sufficient evidence that they had not intended 'he should leave the house. For a moment 'he hesitated. Then recognising how narrowly he had! escaped •being struck down 'by an assassin, she turned and hurried away across the rough brickfield to which the new unfinished road gave entrance. Shouts of alarm and 1 loud cries of " Fire " sounded behind him, but without turning •to look he continued ibis way, stumbling along in th© darkness, utterly dumbfounded at his strange adventure andl the remarkable (revelation of the true character of the pretty young Woman known in West End drawing-room as Muriel Mortimer. Throughout the greater part of the night Dudley Chisholm, unnerved by the strange affair, arid haunted by. the constant dread that he was already under police surveillance, wandered! through the deserted streets of Perige and Lower Sydmham. He feared to inquire the way of any of the constables he met, lest he should be recognised, and, being entirely unacquainted with the district, foe discovered no landmark, although- he was in search of the Crystal Palace. From there he knew his way back <to London, "for in days gone by he* had often driven down hie tandem, once or twice with Claudia at his side. The night was dark, starless, and intensely cold. But he heeded not fatigue,] for hiSvniind' was. full of the gravest refleq•tions. \ That the woman Mortimer, the mysterious ward of the Meldrums, had \ laid a very clever plot into which he 'had \ fallen, was, plainly t apparent. •/. But he. had refused her, demands, and * ishp was . now, of course,' Ms most bitter enemy. That she would seek vengeance he had 1 no doubt, for she had already shown herself to be a woman not to be. thwartedAnd — what was worse -than all— ehe knew his secret. Through.- #h» ill-lit suburban roads he wandiered on and) on, reflecting bitterly that with this woman as his enemy there only remained for him suicide if he would 1 avoid arrest and a criminal's trial. He came at last to a railway line running on a low embankment, through market gardens, and the suggestion occurred <to him; to climb there and 1 sit down calmly to await the apiproach of a train. In those moments he was absolutely in his normal senses, for J all. "he wished was' to end his life. But Claudia's calm, beautiful : face, arose before him. ■. Those dear eyes, with that sweet tender expression, a ■trifle tristful, but with a love-loot that was unmistakable, seemed' to look out upon him just as they* &ad done in that blissful hour, before midnight when he had. held' her in his arms and breathed into her ear the declaration of his love. . . Ah.! how passionately he loved' her! ■ No, he could not take farewell of life without once 'again beholding her A so he, descended! the embankment andY walked i along, what seemed interminable miles, , of streets, •until .%« met at last a bricklayer on his way to work caTiying his tin teaboibtile in his hand. This man proved com..municative, and informed' him that he was j :at Rushley Green and on ' the main road led through Lwisham and Deptford, where, it entered one.: -of #he. arteries of, Ha glanced' jat his watch and found it nearly' five o'clock. Therefc-re he pushed forward!, at . length discovering a belated cab standing before a coffee-stall, where its driver was refreshing himself. Then, thoroughly worn out, he got into the conveyance and was driven back to his chambers. Old Parsons greeted him on entering, saying:— "A man called to see you during the night, Master Dudley. He wished to see you very particularly, but would leave no cardl" "What kind of a man?" inquired his master suspiciously. " I think he was a gentleman. At least he spoke like one. I had never seen him before. He wanted to know whether he would find you down at the House, and I said that it was most probable you were there." ' He wasn't a foreigner?" "Oh, no,". *he old' man responded. "Some papers have also been •brought by a messenger. They are on your table." Dudley passed through into his study, and, placing down his hat, broke open the "usual sealed packet of Parliamentary papers which reached him each night, and i which contained among them the draft of the questions to be addressed to him in his capacity of Foreign. Under-Seoretary in the House on the following day. Without seating himself, he took out the question paper and! looked at it. His eye ran down it until upon one paragraph' his gaze became fixed, and he held his breath. He read in the clerkly handwriting of Wrey, his private secretary, the following: — "Mr Gerald Oldfleld; (Antrim West) to ask the Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs whether it is true (that a certain member of that House, now a member of Her Majesty's Government, had sold to the representative of a foreign Power a copy of certain diplomatic correspondence, and, further, whether it was not a fact that the member of Her Majesty's Government (referred to was guilty of the crime of wilful murder." \ The blue official paper fluttered from his nerveless fingers and fell to the ground. "My God!" he gasped, his jaws rigid/ his eyes staring and fixed. "My secret is already known to my enemies 1" , CHAPTER XXVIEL CONFESSES THE TRUTH. ' ; The wintry dawn had scarcely broken, therefore it was too early to pay his last visit to- Albert Gate. So he threw off his great-coat and cast himself wearily' into fhe big arm-chair, his mind full of conflicting thoughts. There were several letters which had been delivered by the last post on the-pre-vious night lying upon the table. Out of curiosity he took them up and one by one opened them, casting them into the wastepaper basket for, as he bitterly reflected, they would now need no reply. One of the letters caused him to pause. He re-read it several times with brows knit and a puzzled expression upon his countenance. Dated from Boodle's, it ran as follows : : — " Dear sir, — I have twice during the past two days endeavoured to see you, once at the House of Commons, and again at ihe Foreign Office, but have on both occasions •been unsuccessful. I shall to-morrow do myself the honour of calling upon you at your chambers, and, if you are not in, I shall esteem it a favour if you will kindly leave word with your servanb the hour when you will return. — Yours truly, Ralph Brodie." - , His features relaxed into a hard smile. What a curious freak of fate it Was that caused this man, of all others, to write- and ask for an appointment. -He was a person with whom he had never before held any communication — the husband of the woman, who, years before her marriage, had given him that lock of hair as a love-token. Indeed, she was one of the loves of his youth, and since her marriage he had never seen and scarcely heard of her. He knew

that she had married a wealthy Anglo-In-dian named Brodie, and that he had taken t her back with him to India. When there, | after his journey across Bhutan, he heard of them living on their great estate at Kapurthala, near Jalandhar, in the Punjaub, i and there were whispers that the marriage had been anything but a happy one. Brodie neglected her, it was said, and around her up at Simla hung a host of . admirers, mostly military. It was for that reason that he did not visit Simla. She had never once written to him after her marriage, therefore, although he held her memory sacred, he had no wish to meet her and become disillusioned as to her character. He had loved May— the daughter- of a retired Major — in 'those days after" lie and Claudia had drifted apart, and the latter had married Dick Nevill. But his love *or her was nob that passionate worship of the ideal which marked his affection for the charming little friend of his youth. It was a mere midsummer madness, the pleasant memory of which lingered always in his mind. He thought over it all, and smiled bitterly when he recollected the past. v Presently Parsons brought him a cup of black coffee. It was a habit of .his, acquired abroad, to take it reach morning in bed ; therefore the old servitor, .with ■-.clock-, work precision, entered with the tiny Naakin cup upon the tray.' , "What? Eight o'clock already?" he exclaimed, starting up. " Yes, Master Dudley," the old man'responded. "Aren't you going to bed, sir?'' "No. Well— at least, I don't know, Parsons," wa*i his master's response. "I have several early appointments." At that moment the electric bell in -the hall rang sharply, and the okd man went out to respond to the summons. " There's a gentleman, Master Dudley," was Parsons' 'announcement. "He wishes to see you at once very particularly. He will give nc card." " Well, show him in," his master responded with reluctance, swallowing. Iris coffeeat a gulp. His doom was fixed ; therefore what matter who called upon him now. ; Parsons disappeared for a moment, and a few seconds later the heavy portico was drawn aside, and there stood, before him the tall, rather well-dressed- figure of a man, who halted upon the threshhold. without uttering a word. • . ".. „...'• "You!" gasped Chisholm, springing from, his chair. " You ! Archibald Cat or !" . " Yes," responded the other gravely, closing the door behind him. "We have met before, and, doubtless, you know my errand." "I do," groaned the despairing man. "Alas! I do." "The truth. is out;. Mr 'Cbisholm," exclaimed his visitor, in slow deep tones. " Our inquiries, are complete, and there has been discovered against you evidence so plain as to be indisputable. There need : be^ no ceremony between us. You, esteemed by the world, add held in high honour by the Government, are both a traitor and a" murderer." Do you deny it?" ' There was a silence, deep and .painful. . "No, I do not," was the low harsh re-: sponße of the wretched man, who had sunk; .back into has chair with his chin upon his breast. , , His visitor deliberately drew from the jnner pocket of 'his overcoat a big officiallooking envelope, ' cut of which he took several unmounted photographs. These he spread before the man whose brilliant career had -thus -Been so suddenly .ended^ajsfing in.. -ca^ionf^v,.^, "Dd you recognise these «s. reproduction si of certain documents handed, by you to a certain friend of yours- — copies of confidential despatches from Sir Henry Lygon, her Majesty's Ambassador at Constantinople?" Cbisholm, his face livid, nodded in the affirmative. Denials were, he knew, utterly useless. . The whole ingenious network of the British Intelligence Department on the Continent had 'been diligently at work piec>ing together the evidence against him, and had, under the active direction of that prince of spies, Archibald Cator, succeeded in revealing facts which for years had remained a profound mystery. His graTC-fnced unwelcome visitor, wellsatisfied "by this admission, then slowly drew a- mounted cabinet photograph from bis pocket, and, holding it out before has eyes, inquired in a low, 'distinct voice whether he knew the original. Chisholm's hard - drawn countenance turned' ashen-grey the instant his haggard eyes fell upon the pictured face. "God!" he eried 1 , wildly staring .up. "My God! Cator, spare me >tbat! Hide it from imy sight ! Hide it ! I cannot •Bear it ! It's 'his portrait— his !" The clock of St Anne's across in Wilton Place bad just chimed . eleven, and the yellow sun had succeeded' in struggling faintly through the wintry mist. Claudia's victoria, with its handsome pairs of bays and her. powdered footman with the bearskin rug over -Ms arm, stood awaiting her beneath the great dark portico. ;. , . • Warmly wrapped in her sables, she descended the wide marble staircase slowly, buttoning her glove, when Jackson met her, saying — ■ "Mr Chisholm has just called, m'lady. He has been shown to the morning-room." • Her "heart gave a quick bound, and dismissing tfhe servant with a nod she walked to the apartment indicated. Dudley turned quickly from the window as she entered, and greeted her, raising her ungloved' hand to 'his lips with infinite courtliness. In an instant, however, she detected the change in him, for 'his face was blanched to the lips and "his voice ■hoarse and tremulous. "My dear Dudley !" she cried in alarm. "Why? Whatever is the matter? You are ill." He closed' the door behind her, then still holding her hand, looked 1 straight into her dark eyes, saying— "I !have come to you, Claudia, to bid you farewell—^to see you for the last time." "What do you mean?" she gasped, her cheeks pale in an instant at his announcement. "I mean 'that out love must end today. That in fufajre, " instead of entertaining affection for me, you must hate me, as one guilty and unworthy." "I really don't understand, dear," <ehe answered bewildered. " You are not yourself to-day." "Alas! I am too much myself," he answered in a low, hoarse voice. "I am here, Claudia, to make confession to you. I would, indeed, crave your forgiveness; but I know that sudh is impossible." He was holdling her hand in his convulsive grasp, and! his eyes were riveted 1 to here in a fierce look full of a passionate devotion. "Confession?", she asked quickly, suspicious. "What secrets have you from me? Has some other woman' usurped my place in your heart? If so, tell me, Dudley. Do not hesitate." "No," he answered, trying to preserve an outward calm. "It is not that. I love no. woman but . your own dear self. Surely you do not doubt me?" "I have never doubted you. Sometimes I have been jealous — madly jealous, I confess—but always without reason, for you have ever been loyal to me." "I was loyal because I loved no other woman save yourself," he cried, kissing her passionately upon lips. "But it is, alas ! all ended, i' am here to make confession, to reveal the ghastly ■ awful truth, and to take leave of you— and of life."

" Come," she said tenderly, leading him ■ towards a chair. "Sit down and remain quiet for a little. You are nervous and' over-worked," and she placed her small, soft \ hand upon his hot brow and brushed back? his thick, dark hair. Refusing to sit, he stood before her, arid, steadying himself by the chair, said : — - , . " No, Claudia. Do not trouble about me. It is all useless now. The end has come. Let me confess all to you. I know that 1 what I am about to relate will turn your love to hatred; that my very memory. will i become repugnant to you, and that mere 1 mention of my name will fill you with indignation and disgust. But bear the secret ■ chapter of mr life's history before you judge. ' Let me tell you all," he added hoarsely. ■'} "Tell me all," she urged. "Have no^ secrets from me." \ .' ' ' • J "Then hear me," he said, his hard facei white and drawn, > while with, his strong* hands be gripped the chair, striving valiant- ; ly to remain calm. "I will relate to yoU'lj all the hideous facts in their proper se- ; quence, and , you will, see what a canker-' worm of giiilt there hag existed within meiw) Forme, there is no.w no life, no hope, no'! "Except mine," she interrupted quickly. ( " Ah ! yours, alas ! must turn to hatred, ' Claudia ! I cannot hope for the pardon of ; man or woman. I have suffered ; I have to? * pented deeply ci my knees before my Maker. But God's judement is upon v me*;' and the end is nigh. Mv story is a tragitS one indeed. You will recollect, long agcv when . l came down from Oxford, and it was our habit to take those long, well-tremenv bered walks around Winchester over .the 1 King's .Wortliy, across the Down to HurSr ley. or through the Crab Wood to Spar-_ sholt— do^bii remember those still summer evenings in the gblden sua-down, dearest; when youth was buoyant and careless, and our love was perfect?" " Remember them?" she cried. "Ah! yes. I live those happy hours over again very often in my day-dreams 'when I am alone. They are the tenderest memories of all my past," she answered in a. deep voice,V: .tremulous with an emotion that stirred her to the very depths of ber being. . v "Your marriage came as a natural sequence, Claudia, for, as the old .idage has it, the cqurse of true love never runs smooth. We separated, and you carried my farewell kiss of ■benediction upon your" brow. I became lonely and melancholy, when yo\i, the sun of my life, had gone out, and in order to occupy myself as you had urged me to do, I obtained, by family in» 'fluence the appointment of private secretary' to Lord Stpckbridge, her Majesty's Foreign" Minister. iou were abroad with Dick** spending the- winter at Cannes, when I became acquainted withy a girl ;named May Lennox, the daughter of a retired officer, who had spent much of his later, life on the Continent. I missed you as my constant _cpmipanion, and it was merely for,. the sake of her bright 'companionship that; I first became attracted towards heiv. Father and. daughter were devoted to, eachi, other, and the Major being a widower,^ the pair, lived in furnished lodgings, a\} drawing-room floor in Hereford Road, a" turning out of Westbourhe Grove, close toj Whiteley's. I rather liked the Major,' and visiting., them often, we became very' friendly. During the hot days of August they moved down to Hastings, taking, up their quarters. s at the Queen's, to whiph platSe I often ran down to , see them, for I mu§t here confess" that a midsummer madness grew-upou me, and I at last' found myself in loVe with -her. From the first, ■hoover, .1 had been quick t© s PS?^Ye>"sM;\ "although • the Major was a thoroughgoing cosmopolitan and a. light-hearted fellow whose only occupation seemed to be the study of foreign politics from the newspapers — for knowing my official position he often discussed' and criticised with roe points in Lord Stockbridge's policy — yet h* was, nevertheless, entirely opposed to my suit. I did my best to ingratiate myself with him, for at the time I believed myself to be hopelessly in love with May." , . He paused in hesitation, for- he knew that his confession must be a cruel and terrible disillusionment for her. But he had taken the initial step, and was now bound to complete his own downfall in her esteem to its bitter end. (To be concluded next week.)