TALES AND SKETCHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7569, 29 November 1902, Page 1

TALES AND SKETCHES.

♦**-■ ■ . THE OCEAN KING : MySTERY. '-■ yV . ' (Br BtEADON HILL.) kufckor -of " The Sentence of th© Court," * ;"" - By. a; Hair's Breadth," "Caged," / .A;, "Spectre ..Gold," " Beacon Fires," etc, etc. , . . .7 •■•■'! ' * [Ai* Rights Reserved.] ; '■■/ (^ABTpiXL SHADOWS "BEGIN TO FLIT. I DA,piiß Keith quitted Mr Dunkison's apartj&ents as early as nine o'clock on the following ■* mqrning— by . Jack Archibold's advice. It it had Aeen possible for her to find other rooms «-> latft he would ■■.■have' had her movfc iihat night— lor. what she told him as they WlkqjL away together from Jermyn Street con^rinced, hini; that itfuhkison was acting Wder instructions from Jefferds. ■ ■ ■ Though «ie bad not in so many words said so, the woman had. tacitly allowed poris to remain under the impression that Jefferds was married, and had, ho doubt, hovered round during the reading of the invitation for the purpose .of; confirming that idea. '. ,'■..■ Again, the woman's denial that any letters or telegranis had arrived for Doris convicted' her of' treachery. For, on learning from Lord Quernmore that Jfefferds had no- wife, and "that s Ddns. was unwittingly going to dene 'with a man oi no r^utie in bachelor chanibers,' Jack had wireftUo her on no accdurit to go to Jefmyh Street. He had ah* *'\>ffibial appointment which would prevent him from getting to Keppel Street till late', but he ! would then bring her JreasonaA; which would Convince her of the danger of keeping the dinner engagement. /'Such was the. gist "of the telegram which Mrr- Dunkison had undoubtedly, .suppressed, :■.■ On calling-at Keppel Street he had found that Doris had just started,. and had followed in all haste to Jermyn Street with the results .already narrated. : "Yon must also leave those tjjpe-writing (offices^ Ato. which Jefferds. recommended you/v -said Jack. ." You don't want to be beholden' to him for anything. My father was' lo, pleased with you that I have" no doubt I shall be able to persuade him to take .ybu v on as his owti private typist for a bit. : Just "''-till you have had time to look round for something better," he added, with' a chivalrous desire to avdid all semblance of patronage. "As if there could be anything better than "to work altogether for Lord Quernmore," replied Doris, simply. In the cool night as she walked through the crowded streets by the side of- her companion she wondered how she could ever have believed ill bf him at the suggestion of that other. * So by tne time Jack parted with -her at the corner of- Keppel Street it was arranged that early on the morrow 6he should drive her luggage to the cloakroom at Victoria Station and depositMt till Jack had arranged with his father's old housekeeper to find :her : fresh lodgings, which could not be till later in the day. The proprietress ©f the ..type-writing office was to be advised by letter of the termination of the engagement, and at ten o'clock Doris was to present herself- at Lord Quernmore's. "By that time I shall have made it all light iotjrpo. with my father," said Jack, w a^:*if-^ you' will be able to, resume work -with him jiist where you left off to-day.*" Thiey said good-night, and Doris, whose lips refused to frame her thanks, showed her gratitude by a dutiful observance of the programme laid down for her. She sat tip to a late hour packing her things, and once or twice thought she heard .a furtive step on the landing outside her attic. But, contrary, to her expectation, Mrs (Dunkison made no fuss, when in .the morning she stated her intention of leaving immediately, nor /was any reference made to the events of the previous evening. ' "These rooms are rather high up," the landlady assented readily. " And now you're in regular work it is only natural you should wish to be better housed." Doris paid her week's rent in lieu of notice,, making a sad hole in her oapital, and took her belongings away in a fourwheeler. If she had been a. country girl, up ■ from some English village, she would not have noticed as she drove away that another cab, whioh had been lurking further down the street, followed hers. Being, * child of adversity, with wits sharpened! by many a western experience, she not only ' noticed the cab, but its occupant — a greasy Hebrew youth" whom she recognised as one * of Mrs 'Dunkison's lodgers. In a moment of confidence the landlady had informed her that he ,was a violinist at a fourth-rate music hall when there was work for him, but that at present he was " out of collar." The sight of the unwholesome little Jew driving in a hansom, which from all accounts he could ill afford, set Doris thinking. Could it be that Mrs Dunkison, acting on behalf of Mr Jefferds, felt an interest in>hetr"'destinatdoD, and was putting a job in her lodger's way that would wipe some •rent off the slate? With her persecutor's threat about " a oase of murder " ringingi in her ears, Doris vta* nervous, and kept an eye on the other cab to see if dt was following hers. Before she had traversed three hundred yards she had come to the conclusion that her four-wheeler was certainly being "shadowed" by the fiddler in the hansom. On her cab turning into the station yard at Victoria the matter wa» placed beyond) doubt. The hanßom drew to the kerb immediately behind her, and the Jew alighted and loitered aibout while her luggage was being taken to the cloak-room. While she stood at the counter to have the ticket made out he was at 'her elbow, and again on her leaving the station to walk the short distanoe to Belgrave Square he hovered in the rear. Now Doris, before this avalanche of trouble descended on her, had been endowed with a sense of humour, and a great longing seized her to give her pursuer .the slip for the very sport of the thing. Walking along the Buckingham Palace Road, she came upon a hairdresser's shop, and as it still wanted half an hour of the time when she was due at Lord Quernmore's she dived into the shop and waited developments. * It was early for customers, and there was no one in the front room in which ghe found herself — a room devoted to the' sale of perfumes and cosmetics. But the opening of the door had caused a bell to ring, and already there were sounds of someone descending the stairs. A « that moment the Jew spy passed the window without looking in, and Doris, hoping that she had shaken him off, turned to the shopwoman— a fat, wheezy creature —who now appeared. "I called to make an appointment to have my hair singed," said the girl, making- tho first excuse she could think of. "I'll ask my husband; he's attending a gentleman upstairs," replied the woman, and laboriously mounted the stairs again to the hair-cutting saloon. While she was gone Doris made bold to peep out of the shop door after the Jew, and saw him in the \ distance, looking.^as though at fault. She was still so occupied when a quick step sounded en the stairs and a moment later the freshly-shaved customer passed through the shop on his way out. This temple of the Graces was no Eaunt of the fashionable^ and he seemed

aHaaaiB i HBHaaiBH p a!MaHB i HHaaaBHBHaBIHaBH i singularly out of "place in it. His clothes were well cut, and his general appearance betokened prosperity. Doris was drawing away from the door to allow him to pass out when he astonished her by stopping short and lifting his glossy silk hat. The action caused her to scrutinise the man. more closely. So far as she knew he was quite a stranger, nor had she ever looked upon his. shrewd, goodnatured faoe before. "Pardon me, Miss Keith, but this is a most fortunate meeting," he said. "Not' quite a chance one, though, for I came down to Belgravia for the express, purpose of trying to find you. I was -on my way to inquire at Lord Quernmore's house for Mr Archibold, in the hope that he could give me your address, knowing that you' were friendly with him on board ship." Doris's eyes . had grown very round. "You. would have taken an. unwarrantable liberty, sir, if you had done anything of tie kind— especially as I am not conscious of possessing the honour of your acquaintance," she. replied, with a* much dignity as she could muster. "Think again," said the stranger, smiling with provoking assurance.; There was sometihing so frank and friendly in his manner, tinged as , it was with elation, at meeting her, that Doris could iw>t f eel as angry a*. she wished to. .It seemed almost as if she was at fault in failing to remember someone whom she ought to know. "I cannot recollect you," she saidj. mi a i milder tone. ' • " ' j '' Then," i-eplied the other, "my Signor Trapani disguise on the Ocean King waa indeed a success. Do you not recollect the ! ancient anarchist from whom you borrowed j a knife for the innocent purpose of cutting a box-cord?— -the individual who was afterwards privileged to save you from an embarrassing situation in the cabin of the i fiery little ship* doctor?" "Mr Ganthony!" exclaimed Doris/ as the scene in the cabin when the queer] figure in the velvet cloak had intervened on her behalf flooded into her memory. "The same," said the detective. "I am most anxious for a. few words with you, Miss Keith, on the subject of Captain Hef rick's sad death. I fancy that you may hold a key to the mystery after all." \ As he spoke the Jew fiddler re-passed the] ■hair-dresser's window^ again without look- j iiig in. At sight of him Doris started, and Mr~ Ganthony saw the start and its cause. At that moment,. the hairdresser's wife came panting downstairs to announce that her husband would' attend to the lady at five o'clock in the afternoon, and Doris walked out of the shop. Calvert Ganthony followed, and pointed after the AHehire-w youth, who was now fast receding in. the direction of Victoria Station. " I am afraid that you don't mean to keep that appointment," he said quietly. " You only went into the shop to escape that individual. Is it not so?" Now, if Doris had not been so beset by mystery during the past fortnight, her . instinct might have prompted her to trust the detectivei. As it was, she was in a complete maze of perplexity as to who was friend! and who was foe, and reticence seemed the wiser course. To have explained her desire to avoid the Jew would have entailed going into the'circumstances wrbjdh .she i^v^M, er^]&?i^k icrWeS— - including the coMuefc" 6f T^idef-'' ferds*; and, at that her maiden modesty revolted. So, ignoring Ganthony's question, she asked him briefly what he wanted with her, as she must go away to keep an engagement. "Do you know if anyone besides your father and Captain Herrick and yourself was aware of the arrangement by which the captain was to bring you to Europe?" was the question wihch Doris was quick to answer in the negative. But in a moment later she remembered the episode at the Fifth Avenue Hotel— totally forgotten till then in the press of later events— when some unknown intruder had entered the next room while her journey to Europe had been under discussion. She saw no. reason for withholding the information. Ganthony's eyes told no tale of particular interest in the narrative, "but his firm_ lips closed on each other with a tighter grip as he listened', and this would have been a sure sign to his colleagues of " Pinkerton's " that he had struck a trail. «. ."Thank you. I fear that is rather inconclusive, without knowing who the eavesdropper was," he said. "£nd now, Miss Keith, I have no earthly right to worry .you further in this matter, but I am going to throw myself on your kindness. I have to go out of London for a few days— two at the outside, I hope. Will yoa let me have your address, so that I may be able to communicate with you, if necessary, on my return." Without hesitation, Doris gave the number of Mrs Dunkison's house' in Keppel Street; and, having thanked her, Ganthony raised his hat and left her. Continuing her way to ; Lord. Querumorei's house, Doris reflected how clever she had been. She had, she assured herself, cast dust in the eyes of Mrs Dunkison's spy, and, by giving the detective an address which she hoped never to see again, she had neutralised the effect of the chance meeting which had enabled him to question her about Captain Herrick. She dreaded a revival of that incident in her life. She thought shudderingly of the drunken gambler's accusation of her, and she congratulated herself that she had adroitly severed her connection with the case by giving this prying Mr Ganthony <an address where she would not be found. All she asked was to have done with the past, and walk in the pleasant paths which seemed opening before her. To work, even in a humble capacity, for the great statesman who was Jack Archibold's father, to see Jack himself sometimes, to dream with the vague hopefulness of youth of brighter days to come— for the present this would suffice. On her reaching Belgrave Square, this foretaste of her happiness seemed in a fair way of fulfilment. Jack Archibold met her in the hall with the assurance that Lord Quernmore would engage her services, and that the housekeeper had already suggested rooms in the house of her sister close by in , Ebury Street. ! In the two minutes that ensued before She was wanted in the library, Doris found time to narrate her adventures, and to exact a promise from Jack that he would ; not impart her new address to Ganthony or anyone. " Who knows but that the American •detective is in the pay of that odious Jefferds?" she said. Jack promised to keep her secret, and Doris went to her morning's work in the library happier than she had been for some time. Without alluding to the Jefferds incident, Lord Quernmore said a few kindly words as to the pay of her engagement, and cheered her with the prospect of its being permanent. But later in the day one of her illusions was rudely shattered. She had had her tea at her new lodgings, and was putting away her things, which had been fetched from Victoria fey her new landlady, when 6he chanced to look out of the window. The young Jew who had followed- :her in the morning was slowly passing on the other side of tiie street. i . •■■ , '

CHAPTER XII. ' A CONFLICT OF CLUES. About the time that Doris Keith was making that unpleasant discovery in London, Mr Ganthony, who had travelled down during the day, was closeted with the Chief Constable in the Central Police Court at Liverpool. So far as the public were concerned the nine days' sensation, of Captain Herrick's murder was fading in the glare of' later attractions ; especially as there was no arrest, or hint of one, for the man in the street to whet his appetite upon. But the police, though sorely at a loss for a clue, had by no means given up an active interest in the case. The name of Ganthony, so celebrated in the annals of crime on the other; side of the Atlantic, had secured its . owner's prompt admission to the Chief. "Yes, you ought to be grateful/ said the American, when he iiad been, cordially welcomed and installed in the best armchair dn the private room. "I am really neglecting an important case, which I am working in. London ior my firm, in order to give you a hand in your own business."* " Herrick?" said the Chief Constable, passing a box of cigars. "I am aware that you were on the Ocean King, and it has surprised us here that you had not got the thing pat when you landed." "Yes, it is -Herrick's case that hat brought me, and there is ho occasion for surprise," laughed Ganthony. " You know as well as I do that there is no : magic in our trade, aaid I think I was misled by overlooking one of those trifles that seem so obvious when they occur to you. But you must remember that the business Vras none of mme — except as a suspect." "Signor Trapani, eh? I heard of that from the Queenstown detectives," chuckled the Chief Constable. " But, seriously— what can you do for us? I don't mind confiding to you that we are not much forlarder." • "I don't know that I can do anything for you — at least not till you have done something for me. I want Mr William Sowerby's address. When I have lhad a chat with, him I may be able to give you a clue." The Chief Constable gave a low whistle. " So that's the way the wind blows you?" he exclaimed. "We have -thrashed that view out thoroughly, and have come to the conclusion that he's innocent. The fourth officer, who was on duty with him, says he wasn't long enough gone from the bridge to '.have committed the crime." "Nevertheless I want to see him-," said. Ganthony, " and I think it will lead) to results. Where does he live?" "Twenty, Amity Grove, Mount Pleasant. You'll find his wife a charming creature, if he's gone to sea. I understood he was to go as chief officer of the Ocean King again. The directors ccraldn't stand him as a captain, and have put in a new skipper." The conversation here was interrupted by fhe ringing of the telephone bell, and excusing himself the police official went to the instrument. The communication was lengthy, and Ganthony judged by the growing gravity of his friend's face that it was important. listened for nearly three minutes, the Chief requested the man at the other end to remain at the telephone. "I have someone with me on this business," he added. "I should like to consult him before giving 1 you a. definite reply." And -tailing; to.- Ganthony he, said A:yA A "That's Soo'tlaiia Yardf London, talking; They've got a chap there now—laying an information— but it isn't against Sower- " I should be surprised if it was, was the American's non-committal answer. "It is against a Miss Doris Keitb^-and makes it look pretty Hack for the lady," continued the Chief ComstaWe. "But the informant, by his own showing, is a wrong 'un of the worst kind. On that account Scotland Yard hesitates to arrest the girl without further evidence, but will have to do so" unless we can go one better by producing a well-substantiated clue." j Ganthony did not think it necessary to conceal his excitement at the situation. " I may be able to" help to do that— after I've seen Sowerby," he exclaimed^ " But will ■ you be a little more explicit?" j The Chief Constable had no objection. Indeed, so anxious was he to avoid the stigma of 'having a Liverpool case brought to a successful issue by the London police that he was only too anxious to secure the assistance of this well-tried sleuthhound. j Moderating his voice, lest it should reach the telephone, he repeated the gist of the communication that had just been made to ' him. . A man giving the name of Lefroy, and. his occupation as that of professional gambler, was noAV at tho Yard. He had been a passenger on the Ocean King for the purpose of plying his calling, and having incurred some slight suspicion of the murder through a few words he had with Captain Herrick, he desired to remove it by making a confession, greatly to his own discredit. , " So far as I can judge he prefers to brand himself as afc all-round blackguard rather, than be pointed at as a possible murderer,** said the Chief Constable. " A quite conceivable preference, ' replied Ganthonv. " But what does he allege?" "He alleges that he was at the Fifth Avenue Hotel in New York tihe night before the steamer sailed— not as a guest staying j in tbe hotel, but presumably for the ppurr r pose of picking up any unconsidered trifles he could lay his bands on. He got into » bedroom,' and overheard a conversation in the adjoining room between Captain Herrick, Miss Keith," and her father ; in the course of which the young lady bitterly resented being sent to England, and used the remarkable expression that " something might yet happen to prevent Captain Herrick from fulfilling! his mission." Ganthony looked so grave that the Chief Constable chaffed him. "Where does your Sowerby come in now?" he proceeded. " And Mr Lefroy has another bomb to ex- j plode. On board the steamer, on the morning of the murder, he was passing^ Miss Keith's cabin and saw the knife, about which he was afterwards questioned, lying on her toilet-table." "And why didn't he spin this yarn to your men at Queenstown?" the man from Pinkerton's inouired. "He seems "to have not unnaturally funked confessing that he had been on the prowl at the Fifth Avenue Hotel," said the Chief Constable, " but afterwards to have .grown nervous lest he himself should be arrested for the murder. . Now are you in a position to refute him?" "Not till I have seen Sowerby," the American detective was fofeed to admit. The two men pondered in silence for a few seconds, but the ringing of the telephone bell reminded them that Scotland Yard was waiting for a definite reply. An instant decision was called for. " Then I can only advise them to act on the information an their own responsibility : and that will mean that Miss Keith will "be arrested," said the Chief Constable, moving towards the instrument. A note of reluctance in his voice prompted Ganthony to play upon his jealousy of the London police. " You might add that you are expecting a different clue, which, if proved correct, would cause them to look silly," he said. But his suggestion had a directly contrary effect to what he had hoped for. Turning towards the telephone with a chuckle, the Chief Constable remarked that

he should -say nothing of the kind. He would be vastly pleafeed ior Scotland Yaj»d to make an arrest which later they wou^d have to undo. Then the American sprang to his feet, and laying a detaining hand oSi the other's arm whispered rapidly in, bi* ear. * : " Good heavens ! Then they might be o| the right track after all/ the Chief exj; claimed.' _ \\ "You must draw your own deductions £ I can say nothing more definite till I ha,tfj*" seen Sowerby," replied Ganthony. . 'A " Then, by George, I'll take your tip axjtt let them think I have someone in my eye,said the Chief Constable, going to the tele}: phone. "In any case, if they don't arrest^ her, they'll be sure to shadow the Keitfe girl." , ' : i " I trust they know their business weH enough to shadow Lefroy as well/ re| marked Ganthony. ' '?■ "I doubt it," the Chief Constable grunt* cd. "Anyway I'll give them a hint to thijef effect. It always takes a. rise out of §aH^ land Yard to offer them gratuitous aiSvipft;*^ And he spoke into the instrument a reply based on the inspiration of Calverv Ganthony— a reply which, two hundred, miles away, sent two keen-faoed men oii^ .on plain-clothes duty, one with oertaij| particulars about Miss Doris Keith in his* notebook, and the other to follow Mr Lei froy as he swaggered away from the pre-' cincts of "the Yard." CHAPTER XDX MICKY BEVAN*Ss NEW KODAK. Amity Grovey in the' Mount Pleasant district of the great western seaport, was hotvery^happily named.' It consisted of semi* detached houses, occupied for the most part by people who were at daggers drawi* with each other. Luckily for the peace of the world the thoroughfare was a shorfc one. • : The residents of the Grove were extremely proud of tiheir gentility, and they all belonged to the professional class. Th^. taint of trade, save for the dairy at one end andHhe "Cunard Arms" at the othery; was unknown in the row of thirty-poundA bandboxes peopled by officers of the greas steamship lines and their families. The husbands, and fathers,^ being mostly away at sea, did not quarrel, and indeed were often ignorant of .the deadly feuds raging between their own ."better halves" and those of their neighboursY-fetids which iii: nearly every instance had' their origin in social 'jealousy. ' ' i A It was an unwritten law in this community that when a man got the command; on a steamer he should at onoe move out of the Grove into a more pretentious neigh-t bourhood,. and the wives generally gave their husbands no peace till the custom was" conformed to. As a result, the residents^ varied in rank from the families of ohief^ officers to those of pursers and engineers,;, each despising those below them, in rank; and hating those above. There was also one ship's surgeon domiciled ih the street, and it was a moot point among the other denizens whether Mrs Bevan, as the wife of a member of a learned profession, was not entitled to take precedence of Mrs Sowerby — who with that: exception was the undoubted social senior of the colony. Both ladies had their partisans, and, as usual, the one who cared least about the matter had the largest following. The dootor's wife, mother of an unruly boy and' half-a-dozen boist'ijroiw' gplsi. $^Isb6-)kisy'. With, her brood to contend for her rights, and was therefore the most popular ; while childless Mrs Sowerby provoked hostility by her haughty demeanour to the neighbours generally. The tension of the position was aggravated by the fact that the active rival occupied the next house to the passive one. This gave the Bevan olive-braoaches ample scope to make up in many ways for their mother's quiescent attitude. It was Miss Matilda Bevan, aged fourteen, who raked up the rumour that Mrs Sowerby before her marriage to the chief officer of the Ocean King had been a stewardess on a Hamburg steamer, while it was Master Micky ABevan, aged twelve, who annexed the rumour for the purposes of insult by shouting allusions to "basins" over the back garden wall. Mrs William Sowerby's principal topic of conversation with her cronies was "the ungenteel behaviour of the brats next door," and she always wound up with the expectation that her trials were nearly over. Mr Sowerby was about to be promoted captain, and then she would no longer live among such "scum." But so far the expectation had not been realised. ' : Ignorant of these amenities, Ganthony, on leaving the police oflice, made his way to Amity Grove, and had no difficulty in finding Number Twenty. The figures stood out on the brick pillars of the garden, gate with a bold agressiveness that admitted no mistake. . As he traversed the tiny forecourt, he became conscious of a low whispering behind the stunted laurel hedge that formed the right-hand boundary. They were children's voices, and he was passing on, when his sharp ear caught a sentence in a boy's tones : "Sb! There's the real murderer— going to dplw his ' money." ""Silly 1" came the reply in a girl's voice. "The murderer's gone to sea again, don't I tell you." Ganthony rang the door bell, a smile curling the corners of his mouth at the prattle of the youngsters. It not only j amused him, but it told that the local interest in Captain Herrick's fate was still alive • and thaj. pleased him in a vague way thait just then was prevented from taking shape in his mind by the opening of the door. A very small maidservant, nearly smothered in a frilly apron and a cap with huge streamers, confronted him. , This ain't Missus' day,", she blurted reprovingly, forestalling his inquiry whether Mrs Sowerby was within. The phrase, not at any time familiar to the American, seemed so out of place at that tawdry little villa, that he was slow to grasp its meaning. Always eager for knowledge, he postponed his question to express his failure to understand. "Don't know what her day is?" repeated the aggrieved handmaid. "Well, it's when we sets out the best china, and she wears her false front— waiting for t'others to come and have a crack with her over a cup of tea. 'Taint a Thursday, I mean — the day as she gives out she's at home." "Oh, I see," said Ganthony. "Well, it is not Mrs Sowerby that I am calling on, but Mr Sowerby. Is he in?" "What name?" the small domestic returned smartly. "It's of no consequence; he wouldn't know it," the detective replied. "Wait!" snapped the maid, and with business-like swiftness she slammed the door in his face, while a snigger arose from the other side of the laurel hedge. "I was right," came the boy's excited whisper. "He's after that blood-money, and- the old cat don't mean to pay him. I reckon Sowerby gave it to her, though, and she's going to spend it on cakes for her blessed tea-parties instead. Oh, yes, I'm bang on the track of this ker-rime." The boy's companion received this pronouncement with disdain. " You'll never rise in the profession, Micky," she retorted. "My clue's the right one, and I say^ that he's a r-?a] detective— poor/fellow— cime to arrest Mr 'Sowerby." Ganthony's amused curiosity to learn

I why 'he wa*s a "poor fellow" Tvas not des- . tined to be enlightened by the whisperers in the next garden. It was most effecj tually done by the maidservant who at i that moment reappeared at the door of number twenty with the announcement that Mr SoweAy had sailed for New York in the Ocean King that afternoon. "But the missus '11 see you," added the maid, as Ganthony 'controlleid his annoyance. The apartment into which he was shown was about twelve feet square, and crammed w^th furniture in vain attempts to make it worthy of its name of "drawing-room." A tall woman, with a large, hungry mouth showing irregular rows of yellow teeth, -stood on the hearthrug. Ganthony appraised her attitude at once. She was •ready to cringe or bluster as occasion de- ; )nanded. From the way she eyed him •; .he formed the opinion that she half-ex-- , peeked a visitor, and that she was not sure ■ whether he was the expected one or not. f f^- il-' x was hoping to find Mr Spwerby at r aome," Wbegan. "I wanted a friendly Ohat witli him about a matter in which we are both interested." "You're in Parliament, ain't you?" said ' the woman, with an unpleasant smirk. * Ganthony distinctly started — but it may „ have been due to a troublesome cough . which caused his hand to go to his mouth. When he recovered it was almost as if he J ' was not sure whether or no he had a right to a seat in Westminster — so long did he hesitate. "No," he said at last. "I have not > that honour." . X'. Mrs Sowerby's manner changed abruptly ; -to decisive hostility. "Then you've come v'Sirying here to entrap my worm of a hus- | band into an admission that would ruin ihim,".she shrilled. "^You're a policeman i'm plain clothes — I can tell by the size of Jyour feet." > , " indeed, madam, I am not connected fwith any police force," replied Ganthony, ! looking whimsically down at his small and j well-shaped extremities. "I only wished : £to invite Mr Sowerby to reconsider a stateAment which he. probably made without due i reflection. lam here unofficially, on be.fhalf of a friend of Captain Herrick's." ; The virago stared at him with scornful i. incredulity. " I don't believe a word of Sit," she snarled. "Anyhow, my husband ]is out of the way for another three Iweeks — as he only sailed to-day. When he >Wturns I shall take good care that he keeps his mouth shut about a business t'hat-has ■■brought us trouble enough already. So now perhaps you'll go." :" With all the pleasure in life," Ganthony replied, and formally bowing be turned to leave the room. But on a. side-table near .the door his eye fastened on a letter sealed iand stamped ready to posti and he noted the address on it as he halted as though to reopen the discussion. Mastering the impulse, however, he quitted the house, his usually placid face gone very grim and stern. " She's got his secret and; is going to trade on it, now that she's rid of the wretched creature," he muttered under his breath as he opened the garden gate. " This delay j will give the energy an ugly start, I fear." 4 Wrapped in thdught he was passing^ out into the street, when again he was subjected to attention from behindi the laurel fhedge. ir '..-, of iESirti '"*&" (certainly^ on hia brow, Grade. I'vi a good mind to"taxlian with the murder," jsaid the boy's voice. Stifling a laugh, at the unflattering comment, Ganthony daished into the forecourt of the next house and laid his hand on the collar of a bright-eyed but grimy urchin who struggled in his gentle grasp, while a little girl a year younger gazed in speechless terror. "Lemme* go or I'll holler for Ma," squealed the" boy. "What's your name— and what are you up to behind this hedge?" Ganthony asked in such friendly tones that his captive was reassured and looked half-shyly, haJf-mis-chievously into his face. "My name's Micky Bevan— and my father's surgeon of .the Ocean King," the boy replied. "We live here. I'm a detective—at least I'm playing at being one, and so is Gracie. Only she's no good at it." Ganthony noticed that Mioky, even- in his excitement, took care to speak in hushed tones that could not reach number twenty. " I know Doctor Bevan very well," he said. " I was on the sieamer last trip ; and I'm what you're pretending to be — a detective." Mss Gracie Bevan shook a dirty pinafore at her brother, and indulged in a triumphant "I told you so." The boy looked crestfallen, and Ganthony hastened to intervene. "Look bere," he said, "I think you are both very olever and both a little bit right. Will you stroll up the street with me and have a talk?" Would they not indeed. It was the proudest moment of their lives when they walked with a, real detective through the twilight, and were " drawn " by that astute practitioner into a dissertation upon the affairs of number twenty, and their own strained relations with " the show next , door," as they called.it. " You see, considering the way she's J treated Ma we felt it our duty to keep observation on the place," said Micky, with an air of importance. "And it wasn't all play either." ' " What do you mean by that?" asked the American, looking down with interest at the sturdy little figure trudging at his side. It seemed that Micky, in the v self-impos«d task of keeping observation on the next door neighbours, had noticed frequent quarrels between Mrs Sowerby and her husband during the latter's week ashore. The boy had kept the theory that Captain Herrick .had been murdered by a steerage passenger at the instigation of Sowerby, and that his wife was angry with him for not having the pluck to do it himself. "When Sowerby went down from tho bridge his object was to see if the chap he'd hired had earned- his money," Micky concluded. " Oh !" said Ganthony, repressing a lurking smile. " And you think that he found the captain dead when he went into the chart-room?" Micky expressed his firm conviction on that point, and admitted that he had taken Ganthony for the murderer, come to claim his reward. Gracie, toddling at the other side of the American, asserted her opinion that Sowerby had murdered the captain himself, at the instigation of his wife. " You are queer little folic, but I think that you anay be useful," Ganthony said, half to himself. And then, looking down at the boy, he suddenly asked if he was at school all day ; to which Micky replied with gusto that he was at home for a prolonged holiday, owing to an outbreak" of scarlatina at school. " Did you ever ha-~"< a camera?" was Ganthony's next quest n — a question which wrinkled Micky's impish countenance with disgust-. "I did have one, but it was a beast of <. thing — only cost five shillings, and burs up just as I'd got to be a dab at taking pic tures," was the answer. " Well, I'm going to give you a camera — not a duffer, but a, real good tiiree-giiine-kodak, that you can do good work with,'" said Ganthony. "I want you to use it t< help me in this y.b I've got in hand ; ;in,". Gracie mustn't be left ir. tha cold, eithu- . I she shall have a nice pair of opera glasses.'

When the children's jubilation had subsided, he explained that he wished AMieky to take " snap-shots " of every stranger who called at Mrs Sowerby's house during the next week. He was not to trouble about the local residents known to him by sight, and the tradespeople, unless he lilttd to amuse himself by practising on them. And, above all, they were to play the part of real _ detectives, in not letting, anyone know what they were up to — except their mother, to whom he would write a note of explanation as soon as he reached his . hotel. The camera would be fitted for glass plates so that Micky could develop and print from his negatives day by day, forwarding the results to Ganthony's address in London. "But, s'posin' the chap you want calls after dark?" said Micky. " You're a fcmart lad, and that's a very wise question," replied Ganthony, patting his curly pate. '"But the person, if he comes at all, will come in the daylight, without doubt. He won't be able to spare a night away from London just now." It was too late to purchase the camera that evening, but Ganthony sent the youngsters scampering homewards, happy with the promise that both presents 6hould reach them by ten o'clock next day. That promise was duly fulfilled. (To be continued.)'