"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7295, 7 January 1902, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

THE RESCUE OF JOSEPH WYLIE. (By JOHN K. LEYS.) Author of " Tine Broken Fetter," " A Sore Temptation," "The Thumb-pi-mi," "A Daughter of Midian," etc., etc: [All Rights Reserved.] It was a fair summer morning. The freshmess of the Spring still lingered on the foliage, and the trees and' shrubs in the grounds of the Ocean Hotel were full of the musio of birds. On a garden seat, in the grounds under thte shade of a great horse chestnut, and oommanding a pleasant view of; the sea, Bat two people, a man and a- woman. The .man was short, lean, and clean shaven, neat as a girl in all the details of his dress. It was evident from the restless movements of his brown thin' hands that he was of a nervous, temperament. The woman, on the contrary, was large, fair, and comely. She safe wiittb a- piece of sewing in her hands, a bit of plain white needlework— for a, Dorcas Society; it was . understood. * ■ . . One might have guessed from the silence that was maintained between the two. that they were on intimate: terms wim each <ybher; and this was the case, although tihey had met ten. days before for the first time. Now and then the lady would; glance sideways at her companion. His face wore. a harassed look. He was gazing at the expanse of blue water, although it was tolerably plain that his thoughts were elsewhere.' On a small iron table that .stood, in front of the garden seat lay a sheaf of betters and newspapers which Mr Wylw .had brought from the Hotel that he might, jfead them at his leisure. But he had- no*| vet begun the business: He so* silen^and preoccupied., apparently oblivious of; has companion and the task fcss had before; him-. ■ . "You are dreadfully lazy this morninc, Mr Wylie," said the'lady, in a sprightly manner. "Ifit is such a bore to you 1 to read your letters, think what a bore it must have beam, .to write them." Mr Wylie smifed' in an indulgent manmeir, and hastily tore open the envelope of the letter lying nearest to him. He Ihsa ecarcely run his eye over ib when dropping at <xd tihfe gravel, ihe put his elbows on his knees and' his head; between his hands, and. groaned aloud. The lady moved slightly, bo that she could; command! a view " of thie missive, which was lying face uppermost; but, apparently bethinking her that her conductwss unladylike,; she altered^ her position before she had read half-a-dozen lines of the disturbing epistle, and slid along the seat a few inches farther off. " I am afraid you have had bad news," che said, in a sympaitihetio murmur. To this rather obvious Demark Mr Wylie made no reply. ■ ...» "Forgive me for seeming persistent, jaioVtbe lady, gently, after a few moments, "but I would like to help you if I can. Is your trouble connected! with money dnncuitieß? For if so, lam not witihout means, and •" " You are too good, my dear Mrs Olavering!" cried the sufferer, raising his head and casting a grateful and! admiring look upon tih© lady, " aodl you ha-ye my •waiimest gratitude, but my 'troubles are not at ell of that nature. Sometimes lam tempted to wish tihat\ they were!" . •- "Then I think I can guess tihe nature of your unhappiiness," said' inhe wiidm-w in a lew voice, modestly turning- away hter ihead. " Again you are mdetefeen," saM Mr Wylie* -wifta a xueful smile. "Really? Then. I am tempted to think that, in spite of your refusal to admito it, swl are really in debt, or worried) anput j business cares." f Mr Wyl&tfs smille changed! to one of Should! ihe tell iher that he «as Mr Joseph. Wylie— " thte 'V Joseph Wylie, lord! of two million dollars? No, he <£d not wish to make tihe change in tfheir acqumntance -which tihe discovery on tihe todys part thai h& wae a, millionaire would necessarily cause. He contented himself Tiriih assuring iher oince more tKat dhe -was gnpstaken. "I tan not in) frnflmess now, and lhave no ttotobs abojiifc money," said hey "but the fact i», my life » made a. burden to me by gome scoundrels who have been sending me itoealtieiining letters for tfa« last three mwrflbs." "ReaHy! How very annoying!" said Mrs Covering ; but WyHe thought from the "bone of tier voice that she considered that ibe was making a fuss about notihing, and hia tMn face blushed' as he made haste to dissipate this impresaon. "The rascals think they will blackmail me^-t!hat is 'the long and chart of it j and the changes are that I may pay or my obstinacy with my life." • The widow gave a little ecream, and dropped her work into.her la-p, looking at her companion. Tvith horrwr-stricken eyes. "Do you meam iihat they threaten to murder you?" she gasped 1 out. "That as just what they do threaten— . not once or twice, but constantly. Of course, I try to forget arid, despise these ■warnings, but it is> net so easy to. do so as you might think. It is very unpleasant nob to be able to go out without wondering whether you will be brought home a blood- 1 stained' corpse!" * ! "Don't speak of anything so horrible, please !" cried Mrs Clavering, faintly raising, cue sofb plump hand, as if to avert so dreadful! a fate. "And: if those threats make you miserable, would it not be better to meet these wretches on {Sear own ground u-io pay them something so that they Bnjghb leave you alone?" 2Sx Wylie (frowned 1 , but said nothing. "|hrt what is the' Treason of this persecu-. tion? What excuse do the blackmailers mate for annoying you?" " Oh, it is an' absurd' claim connected with Itihe accidental death of some workmen in a factory of mine xn America last year. t can scarcely believe that tihere is any real oonneotron between, that accidenit and thds monstrous claim, but those wretches pretend that a workmen's society has taken up the matter, and this is >tbe result." "You have informed! the police, of •course?" ' "Well, no. The police a?e> ■useful in detecting and punishing crimes, but I have xk> faith in tibeir being able to- prevent them. It is not the fault of the police; •they can't bo at a man's hods all day long." "That is very true," remarked 1 Mrs Clayering; and Mr Wylie thought that the .widow's tone was wanting in sympathy. * Can't you pretend to meet their detoands — pretend! to pay what they ask you, and then arrange to have them apprehended when they come "to take t!he money?" Mr Wylie looked at the lady admiringly. "Well," he eiaid, "to tell the truth I have tried the plan, and it was a complete failure. The morning after I made my arrangements I had l a letter in the old handwriting— l have got to know it quite well by this time — saying -that it had been discovered that I intended to play the traitor, and warning me of i3ae consequences. I cancelled my request for the attendance of constables, end did not keep the appointment." "And then?" " TZom the miscreawbs have sent me this." "This" was a genuine threatening letter, hreaihivq wrath and vengeance in every line. It appointed a fresh place of meetinr, a country inn called the " Cock Pheasant," in a remote part of Eneland, and Ptateo! tna.t if on the evening of the third day Mr Wylie appeared at that hostelry alone, bearing a thousand pounds in pold, he would meet a boy wfho would relieve him of his money, and he, in his turn, mieht feel relieved about the future. The lady picked up the letter as it lay &t the feet of its owner, and glanced over ft. "What answer do you intend making to this?" she asked, in a voice that trembled a little, (v "I have not quite made up my mind,"

answered Mr Wylie, frowning as he spoke. "I confess that the prospect of being set fres from this annoyance, which is poisoning existence for me, is very attractive, yet I doubt the prudence of yielding to- a demand of this kind. There 'is nothing to prevent them from beginning to peremito me again the day after they get their money " I "Don't you think you might ha>ve a con- ' stable or two in waiting?" i " No, no !" said the millionaire, hurriedly. "I've had enough of that kind of foul play. My belief is that the scoundrels have friends among the police, who inform them of everything." "Rkillv? Yet I Suppose it is quite possible. Tbsn ycu think you wall go to this inn with (he ridiculous name — what is it? — the 'Hat and Feathers'— no : the 'Ceck Pheasant '—I knew it was something about feathers — you think you will go and take them the money?" ■ " I'm sure I don't know. What would you advise, Mrs Clavering?" "I? O'li, I couldn't advise at all, for fear of giving the wro-nig advice. But after all, I don't suppose it would make Me slightest difference what advice I gave yen, for you would never dream of following **■•'• •-■•■• * ,» "Indeed, my dear lady, you are wrong! j said Mr Wvlie, earnestly. "I know no one ! whoss advice I would more readily follow in an emergency than yours— no one." <: Ah. Mr Wylie, you young men are dreadful flatterers." ; "Flatterers! Not at all!" cried Mr i Wvlie. highly pleased. "I assure you I ! was sneaking the simple truth. And in woof of what I say I tell you that I will be guided entirely by you in this matter. If you tell dm to go, I go. If you tell me "to stay, I s+ay." , "Please, Mr Wylie, don't pixt responsibility upon me!" cried the widow, in a tone of great concern. "It is not. fair. ■ I am only a poor weak woman j and you are r-a, stronsr man. • , It is scarcely fair to come -tb, me for advice as to how you -should meet your enemies. And then, if anything ■went 'wrong— if, for example, I were to advise you to defy these villains, and you did ro and suffered for it, hew could I ever forgive- myself?" Mrs Clavering's voice shook somewhat, and she raised her hand to brush, away a tiny tear from the corner of her eye-lid. Mr Wylie was touched. He possessed himself of the white soft hand on its descent, and held it for an instant in his own ; then remembering that the action, simple and kindly as it 'was, was of a compromising nature and might be misinterpreted 1 , he dropped the-lady's hand rather suddenly. "There is no reason," he said after a short pause, '"why I should settle the matter to-day. You see- the villains are kind enough; to give me until the day after to-morrow to make, up my mind. After that -," . Hp stopped. "After that?" came in a- gentle echo from the lady's lips. " After that they say they will feel themselves at liberty to- put me to death wicnout further warning, by any means in their power." \ "Good heavens! What wretches! But, my dear' Mr Wylie, you must not think for a moment of winning such a hideous risk! Good heavens, think of it! You would never afterwards know another hour of happiness." ? "Not for a long time, at any rate," said Mr Wylie, as he rose to return to the house. "I may as well go in too," said the lady. " I have several letters to write before luncheon." They strolled on together in the direction of the hotel, and somehow the stroll ■sras prolonged till the loud clang of the luncheon bell put an end 1 to their conference. ""I have got an idea," said Mrs .Clavering when they met that evening in front of" the hotel after dinner. " Let me go with this money for you. They will not harm me, a woman, and perhaps I may make these unhappy creatures ashamed of their disgraceful conduct." , . " And you really would encounter this peril for my sake':" said Mr Wylie dn a whisper-. " Certainly !" That was all the widow said with her lips, but she said more with her eyes; and apparently Mr 'Wylie found that what they said was interesting, for he continued to gaze into them for some seconds before the lady' became aware of it and. slowly dropped them. '•':-, After long deliberation Mr Wylie came to the conclusion that his easiest nlan -was to yield to the demands which his persecutors made upon him.jand he resolved that he would go to Bishop's Norton (the nearest village to the " Cock Pheasant") in the appointed day, taking with him the money which wa9 to buy him peace of mind. He took a tender, farewell of Mrs Clavering, after premising that he would write to her in London, and tell her the result of his enterprise. It was a wet, dreary afternoon when* Mr Wylie alighted at a little wayside station, two miles from the village of Bishop's Norton. .Of course there was no conveyance to be had, and 'he found when he arrived at the hamlet— for it was little better— that the only trap that was for hire had been taken out that morning, and had! riot yet been returned. There was nothing for it but to tramp the f our miles that lay between him and the "Cock Pheasant." However, a well-cooked plain dinner, eaten in front of a cheerful fire, put a little spirit into him. When he had eaten foe called for his bill, and inquired what was the nearest way to the "Cock Pheasant." It struck him that the rather stupid-look-ing girl stared at him in some surprise as she answered — " Straight along the Castleford Road for two miles, and you come to the Stelhurst Road. Turn down that way, and about a mile and a half or two miles farther you come to the '"Cock Pheasant.' But I don't think you'll be able to stop there." • "I am not going to stop there, my good gdrl— only going to meet someone on a little matter of business. Very likely I may return here for the night, or I may go on to Castleford." Mr Wylie was not physically a coward, and the food and wine had heartened him, «so that he took up the black bag in which he carried the sovereigns, buttoned up his overcoat, oppnied his iimbreUa, and went bravely forth. It was not yet dark, but the persistent rain kept the sparse population indoors, and he did not meet half a dozen people on his way. to txie junction of the two roads. One man whom he stopped, to inquire whether he was in the righfc way, stared at him queerly as he answered in the affirmative, and seemed as though ne would say something more, or ask a Question on his own account, but eventually slouched on his way. without another, word. The road into which Mr Wylie plunged booh after his encounter seemed to be very little used, and was nearly ankle deep in mud. The wind 1 made a dismal sound m the tall, overgrown hedges !> that bordered the way ; the rain beat upon the traveller in- spite of the imperfect shelter of his umbrella 1 , and chilled him through. The two miles seemed as though they would never come to an end, but after nearly an hour's struggling through the mud, Mr Wylie caught sight of a light that shone in one of the upper windows of a large hous& that stood in a lane at a little distance from the road. A tall swinging sign at the corner told that the house was an inn, and Mr Wylie went up to- it. By the dim light that shone from the window, he could just make out that the hanging sign over the door represented "an enormous pheasant,' so there was no doubt that he had found the rendezvous. The outer door was ajar ; and Mr Wylie pushed it right open and walked in. The place was in darkness, and not a soul was visible.

Mr Wylie was by nature a nervous, though not a timid man, and the surroundings were enough to make the bravest man suspicious. Nevertheless he plucked up courage, and rapping with the handle of liis umbrella on the door behind him, he shou'tedl out "Hallo! Is anybody there?" A step was heard on the floor above, a large space on the discoloured walls was suddenly illuminated by a candle "Geld by some one on the upper landing, and a deep voice calkd, " Walk righfc up, sir." Mr Wylie, not without some inwardi misgivings, acted upon this invitation. He went upstairs, and seeing one open door, through which the light of a lamp streamed, he made for it and walked! boldly in, Three men confronted him ; two of them small and of slight build, the third a great hulking fellow, who looked 5 as if he could have eaten the rest of the company for supper. "Good evening, sir!" said one of the conspirators, speaking with a lisp, while an unpleasant smirk ; rested on his mean little face. "It is good of you to be •'•<> punctual. We thought you would probably stand in need of a, little refreshment after your walk, and I propose that we , have supper first, and talk business afterwards." As he spoke he pointed to the tabw, which was neatly spread with a very substantial cold repast, and a tempting collection of long-necked bottles. , „ "Thanks!" said Mr Wylie, shortly, " but I am nob hungry. I wonder at your impudence in supposing that I would eat with you, a gang of Mack-mailers ! It was, perhaps, weak of me to yield to your demands, but I promise to pay this money on: the understanding that I am to be iree from molestation from you in the future. I have the money here. Swear to me that you will let me alone for the time to come, and it is yours." With these words he placed Ms bag upon the table. "Let me see— a thousand pounds, is' it not?" said 'the blackmailer, patting the bag affectionately with his hand. "A thousand pounds you know it is." "Certainly, my dear sir. No need to count the sovereigns. We 'are quite willing to take your word for it." "Very good of you, I am sure ■!" "Nob at all. It is very good of you to hand it over without any fuss, it is a nice little sum, 1 and will do very well— as an instalment." "You rascal ■!" exclaimed Mr Wylie, making an effort 4o snatch up the bag; but the enemy was too quick for him, and the bag vanished- as if by magic. Mr Wylie never saw it again. "You distinctly told me," said he, in a voice in which fear and indignation were equally mingled, : " that if I paid you this sum you w#uld not molest me again." "I quite adimt the correctness , of what voii say," was the reply; "but the case stands thus. On heading of our kttle arrangement, my friends here— let me introduce to you Mr Smith and Mr Robinsonthought it such an admirable opportunity of doing a profitable stroke of business that they" positively insisted on accompanying me here, and^-to use a vulgar but expressive V phrase—' having a finger in the pie.'" . " That's about it," said the big man^ who had not yet spoken, "and we won^ °* satisfied with a paltry thousand either." "Indeed!" said' Mr Wylie, in a sarcastic tone; "and what sum, may I ask, would satisfy your modest requirements?" "lie and my mate 'aye decided to stick cut for a hundred thousand— neither more . nor less," said the big man, sullenly. j Mr Wylie's face became suddenly pale, then flushed with angeir. v "I ant glad I asked the question, he said, calmly, "for now we can understand each other. I see that it was foolish of me to imagine that I could look for honour among men of your stamp, ex think that I could purchase peace f-rom you. But my mind is made up. Not one otter penny . do you get fromi me. I defy you." # ! A loud laugh greeted this audacious speech. Mr Wylie tried to look as if he hadi net heard it. "You won't say that after you have j been in the cellar downstairs' for* three j months or so," said the first speaker, bland- j ly. " Let me pwb it to you this -way. You are practically at our mercy. The landlord of this house, which has had a bad .'name for years, lost his 'license a short ( time ago, and he was glad to transfer to j us the remainder of his lease, which has I only six months to run. So there is no \ one* in the house but ourselves, and won't be for many weeks to come. The signboard will be taken down to-morrow, and the shutters put up. You have seen for yourself that the inn, stands in a lonely situation. You may scream yourself hoarse in the back cellar, and not a soul will hear j you, though you should keep it up for a i month. Rsmember that ycu will be dependent en us for every morsel you eat, ; and every drop you drink, and: then, ask •> yourself whether existence will be very com- | fortable for you during the time of your seclusion. One thing you may be sure of we -didn't put our money into this little deal without making up our minds to see . it back again j and if you think you're going to bluff us by holding out, or get round us by soft sawder, you're jolly well mistaken, that's all— and now let's have some supper." Mr Wylie glanced at the deoy, but his j glance was but the signal for the strong man to lock it and put the key in his pocket. 'He looked at the windows ; they were close shut and barred. Of course he refused to sit down with his captors, and gloomily folding his arms he seated himself in a corner of the room, while his enemies ; ate and drank and made merry. i After supper, coffee and cigars were pro- ! duced ; and one of the scoundrels in high good humour turned to the prisoner and advised him to "be sensible and take it standing" — in other words, yield to the inevitable. "After all, what's a hundred thousand to a man 3ike ycu?" ihe asked. "When you've paid it, you won't be any poorer, practically, than you are to-day. Be sensible, and give in. Not a soul will ever know it." | "Do you imagine I carry a hundred tnou- , sand sovereigns about with me, or have such, a sum lying loose at my bankers?' exclaimed the WTetched millionaire. " We have thought all that out," was the answer. " You have only to write a letter to your stock-broker, amid another to your bankers. Tell them you wan* to purchase an estate in the couwtry, and) must have the money by a. certain day. Then, -when, the money is ready, you will 'give one of us a cheque for tihe agreed amount. Of course we shall be (happy to entertain, you here to the best of our ability tali the dheque is oasherf, and- perhaps for some little- time longer." ' _ , j. . " Never !" cried: Mr Wylie, in a transport of wrath. " You may starve, me to death —as <*ne of you, hintedl a Bttte ago you might do. You may cut me to pieces— or keep me imprisoned! hero for a. twelve month. I will never give in!" ?> " All right, old man. Have a cigar. This off-hood manner disconcerted' Mr Wylie more than any exhibition of truculenoe could have done. He began to understand the resolute character of the men wi'bh whom lie had/ to deal. He maintained! a sullen silence while his captors smoked and cfcwnk toldi stories and sang songs. As time went on tie air of the- mwentitoted room became snore and more oppressive, and Mr WylSe was troubled wdftfoi an. intolerable thirst He was too- proud to ask for anything to drink, but when, more coffee was brewed, and one of the men. offered lam a. cup be accented it, and) d*ank it off with greediness, as well as a, second, whkh was afterwards handed 1 to hiim. Shortly af twr tuxi-s a. strange numbness and sleepiness began to overpower the -unfortunate prisoner. The forms of has gaolers loomed indistinctly through the haze of .tobacco smioke. He feOt a queer apalthy, a feelimig tihsßub nothing very much mattered, creeping over Mm. He struggled against the dtesire to sleep, being in a dull way afraati that something might happen, *o him if he became unoonfeious, brtt hi® struggles were of no avaaL The last thing lift re- , meanbered was seemg 1 *he three men stamd-

ing over him in a semi-circle, watching him i with, miafevofent ra'ttißfactiooi. j When Mr Wyliei awoke he wo® lying on i has back— that was tine first .thing he knew. | Then he became a-waire that he was not in Us own bed!, tot was stretched on. some ' sacking spread upon a heap of straw. Th* ' walls of t'be apartment he was in were of rough, brick, discoloure.d wibh damp; the ceiling was low and dark wibh. dlirt. The only light came from a grating at tine level of the oeiiH'ng. He was in a cellar. And with that conviction, the msmoay of all lthat had happened to him vn the previous evening nushed into his mimd. This, no doubt was the cellar in wtachi his captors had threatened to confine him. He was a jrrisoner indeed ! ' He sprang to ibis feet, and) began to cast about to find some way of escape. But. there was mania. The door was of immense thickness, and securely barred. He shouted and screamed, bub his Voice came back to him- in such; a way tiat he'fefllt sure that his , cries could not be« heard even on tfhe road, j supposing that the cellar was (as it was pretty sure to be) ab the back of tin house. There was no furniture, nothing but the j straw and a bucket of water im a, corner. Y€B there were some (remains of last mgnt s supper, contemptuously poured' into am. old newspaper; as one might collect broken , meat to be offered' to a tramp. Mr Wge could not touch it. He took a nwwthfal of water, and sat down 1 on. his straw couch to think out the situation. On one thing he was determined— though he should be liberally starved) to death, his inhuman tormentors should not be enriched by a single additional penny. But whab chance was tihere that he would be re- j leased? H© could not release himself— that was certain. It was evident that the miscreants had'hired the. house, or at all events wouldi prevent 'any stray visitor from ap-j preaching the cellar. But was it impos- ; si'ble that when he was missed, as he must be before long, he might nob be traced to the " Cock Pheasant." I Scarcely possible. Firom very shame he had. 'kept the fact of his errand a secret from all his acquaintances. To be sure, he had' inquired the way to the "Cock Pheasant" twice, once from the girl at the inn and' a second tim© from a man, whom he had 1 met on the road. But the chance that either of these two persons would hear of the disappearance of a wandering American was not great ; and the further chance that they would' connect this circumstance (if it came to their knowledge) with *he fact that a strange genibleman had inquired of them the way to tihe "Cock Pheasant" was so small that it was not worbb "taking into account. The positioni in which the man of wealth found himself was horrible—-incre-dible ; yet it was sober fact that he was a prisoner, in the handfe of unscrupulous villains determined' to starve him into submission. But he would not submit. ! The day wore wearily away. The cellarbecame gloomier, and yet more gloomy, till darkness filled it. Ail day not a sound had! broken the stillness, except the despairing cries of tihe captive, uttered from time to time with, an energy born of despair, but wholly unavailing. Night came, and he slept. When morning woke he was ravenously hungry, and he .gladly devoured some crusts of bread and scraps of meat that he had. despised yesterday. But he felt weaker than before, and! the hours crept by with horrible elowness. Again twilight came, and' the dusk was fading into night, when the prisoner gave a sudden start. Surely he had heardi a faint sound, as of someone knocking at a door! It might be some wayfarer who had called for refreshment. In an instant Mr Wylie had sprung to his feet, and was screaming witihi all the iforce that remained in Ihis lungs. Surely, he thought, the stranger would hear him, and would' oome to 'his relief ! He stopped, waited a few seconds, and then shouted' again. " Help ! Help! Help !" at the top of his voice. Then he listened intently. * ' Yes. He heard' an answering cry — a woman's cry! • Again, he shouted, and soon h© heard' the rustle of a woman' 9 dress near the grating. ' He spoke, and the woman knelt down and peered between the bars. Good heavens! It was Mrs Clavering ! \ " I thought "some harm lhad been done 'to you, when you did not write, to me, as you had promised, and I felt so uneasy ■ that I thought I would come and try to find what had become of you. Oh, lam so glad I came !" said the lady, when Mr Wylie had explained 1 the position of things to her. "Shall Igo for the police?" " I suppose it wouldn't be possible for you to lift that grating?" asked Mr Wylie. "I am afraid not. But perhaps they have left the key in the door. Or perhaps i the d'ocxr is only bolted. I'll go round and see." It turned out that the door was secured by bolts only. In less than two mrreutes Mrs Clavering had the door open, and Mr Wylie, in a transport of gratitude, caughb her in his arms and' kissett beir, caling her , his good angel, his deliverer, ,and vowing '' that ihe would never part from her. The mdHionauw) was as good! as his word. A few weeks later a quieb weddiing took place in a London church, and' Joseph Wylie and Henrietta Clavering were madia man amd wife. Th»e 'honeymoon, was scarcely over, amd 1 the happy pair were staying' at an hotel in. | Paris, when' Mr Wylie one dlay caught sight ! of a main whose face he kadi cause to remember. I« was tho man, who fcadl acted aa leaded? in tthe outrage of wihtoh> he had) Jaltely ! been tihe victim. 'Mrs Wylie had ddssuodted ! her husband from teffing his story to the police, saying, with justice, that many peoplie would laug-h ait 'him for ruraning his ■ neck into a noose as ite •baid d!on«, amd itthat it wouidi be time enough to think of vengeanoe if the gamg- Should trouble tern agadn. He hesata/ted as to wihebher bei should give the fellow in charge, and! as he hesitated he kept him in siglhlb. To bis surprise the mtomi led hlioni straight to thie hioibel at' which he and 1 his wife were staying ; amid! to his y«t greater surprise he saw his wife's maid), wibo hod evikiently beten on the look-out for tine fellow, step down into the street, pu!b a- fetter infto Ms tends, and 1 go back without a word. A horrible suspicion/ flashed inito th© xmiind of the milliionadire ! Onoei or twice it had' oocuireidi 'bo him a® being sVange tha/b Ms capifcors should) have left him so absolutely unguarded, and! tthaib Ms w4fe» should h]ave come so easily to the place of his Bmprisotanuent, awd !h© had reipeltedi the suspxiion with indignationi. But now ! He walked, up to the man, and laid his hand l on -tihe leWter. " Give that ito me., or I will give you in charge," he said sternly, layinig his other iband on tihe man's coMar. Tihe scoundrel gave a quick look around — saw the hotel porter looking on> curiously, and 1 a genwJaisne stroHing along iroair by, swore h'oirribly, reiinquiished the letter, turned), aradl bolted. Mr Wylis went into the hotel, got into! a quiet corner, and' with, treamblibg fingers opened tih© envelope. " Dear Dickie " (he read), — " Why a.re you so dmpitient? You know very weiH I can't ask my 'husband for iraoU'ey just yet, more especially as I foolishly told! ham> tihat I had mieanis of my own. But by and by, when we have settled' down, I will have the command of .plenty of mtoniey, and you shall bava your fair share. I enclose five hundred fimmios, which moist do for the present. And for goodness' sake don't com© near the hotel again. Ib is mot safe. — Youir affectionate sister, HETTY." Mr WviMe turnied to the clerk's •buirea.u, paid Tints bill, amd w^nt off to Nice by himself by the nieirt train. He has never seen ihis wife since.