TALES. AND SKETCHES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9191, 21 March 1908, Page 1

TALES. AND SKETCHES.

THE COWARD BEHIND THE CURTAIN.

£By RICHARD MARSH.) •Qtritar o* "Th© Death Whistle," *&§_ Qrime in the Garden," "The Goddess: «a Demon," etc., etc. £Auc Rights Reserved.] i CHAPTER IV. TBX MAN IN THE CHAUf v _: It was only then that the full meanIng of whathad taken place began to dawn upon Dorothy. It was only when. }he door had been opened and shut, and ihe stranger was gone, that she commenced to realise what kind of drama this was which had been enacted before her eyes ; that it was not a comedy, but % tragedy, in which the most tragic toart was probably still to come. .It was l»dd how silent it was when the stranger had gone. Unconsciously she had found comfort in his neighbourhood, his presence. When that was withdrawn, only the unspeakable remained. Not that the least terrible part of it was that, so Boon as it became clear to her that she really was alone, she could not take her eyes off the figure in the chair. She would have given more than she had ever had if Mr Emmett would &nly have moved; if only he would make some effort to alter what must be & position of such obvious discomfort. Though she had come to regard him jJmost as if 'he were the bad ogre of come fairy tale, at that moment she >would rather he should do anything than keep so still ; she was more afraid jof him dead than alive; especially as each instant the feeling oppressed her snore and more that he was dead because of her. Actually— practically— it was she- who had killed him. If she had only made her presence known; if she had only movecT; if sh© had only uttered a sound; the thing would not have been done which had been done ; of that she was assured. That morally, she was an accomplice in this man's killing, she knew, if no one else did. From the moment in which she had discovered the stranger in the room, and had begun to watch, and to listen, she had *een the coming event casting its shadow before; she knew that now, as fthe had known it then. Some instinct had told her that the fury which possessed the stranger was of the sort which, to use a phrase, makes a man "see red"; that because of him Mr Emmett was in. danger— although Mr Emmett himself had not suspected it, «he knew. She had seen it in the stranger's face, in his manner ; she had felt it in the air. Not only had eh& had, in a sense the prophetic vision, she haed rejoiced to nave it. She herself had had such a loathing for the man, had stood in such terror of him, that when that queer inBfcinct began to tell her that it was quite within the range of possibility that the stranger might act as executioner, the blood began to run. pleasurably faster through her veins. Expectation became desire ; she waited eagerly for him to Strike the blow, knowing before it came fcnat it was coming^ Was that not to be his accomplice? Her hope had been that he would do what she felt fa© was about to do, although she might have stayed him with the movement of a finger, she had- given no sign. It was useless for her to tell herself that she had not expected that .he would actually kill.njm,; perhaps the stranger himself had jiot meant actually to kill him. She had foreseen that he would probably usail him with, violence, and had been willing that he should use what violence Jie chose.- A little more — a little less — What did it matter? Only in the event of the stranger getting the worst of it would she have interposed; she would not have oared how much worsted Mr Emmett might have been. The proof that he had been worsted was there before her, in the chair. The result i being, so far as she herself was concerned, that, as has been 6aid, she firas more afraid of him dead than alive. How long, after she was left alone with bar guardian, she remained motionless behind that curtain, she never knew. Before, while the drama was befog acted, she would not have revealed Siereelf on any account, lest she should baulk the principal player ; now her capacity to do 00 seemed to have left her. It was so still in the room that »he dared not disturb the silence. She kept her eyes fastened to that bare place, looking at what she could not help but look; motionless; scarcely breathing; as if some form of paralysis had riveted her In that one position. But, by degrees, in spite of the horror which held her, there did come to her ■ome dim appreciation of the fact that ■he could not 6tay there all night ; for •ver. She would Lave to leave her hid-ing-place some time, and show herself to the figure in the chair. The necessity was a terrible one, but it was a necessity; therefore, the sooner she came from behind that curtain the iooner the ordeal would be over; only let her be sure to go as softly as she could, so that, making no noise, none \ might hear her. With this idea, of moving quietly, she lifted her hand to yart the curtains, and had just insinuated her fingers between them, when the door was opened' and her hand fell back. Her first impression was, as she saw fthe door swinging back upon its hinges, that ft was probably the stranger, who had come back to do she knew not what. But the person who actually tntered was the waiter. His appearance made her conscious of a sense ofshock $ <she began to shiver all over ; though the strange thing was. not that he should have come in when he did, but that he should not have come before. This wae not one of your foreign Waiters; plainly he was- English to the core. An elderly man, with grey hair, flight side-whiskere, a stoop, that iir of deprecation which comes ito some waiters ; possibly because they spend |o much of their time in considering Ihe wishes of others without reference to their own. A decorous person ; pos•ibly one of the institutions of the house. His professional attire was in better condition than it is apt to be; there was a suggestion about him of unusual cleanliness; even his hands teemed decently kept, the napkin which he carried over nis arm was spotless. Apparently he had taken it for granted that, since the meal must have Seen long since over, the diners had departed, and that therefore it was not toeceesary to knock. He paused at the loor for a moment to look about him. Mr Emmett was hidden by the broad Saok of the chair on which he was siting. After his momentary hesitation, peeing no one, the waiter moved forWard, with the peculiar gait which •omes to waiters after performing, for many years, balancing feats with , pktes and dishes. . He had noi only teached the table, he had begun to gather together the dessert plaes, be-

fore he caw Mr Emmett ; in his surprise he nearly dropped a plate. "I beg your pardon, sir, for not noticing you 1 before, but I'd no idea ." He stopped short, as If struck by the singularity of the gentleman's attitude. " I hope, sir, that nothing's happened " Again, he stopped, perceiving that something, indeed, had happened. His bearing changed, hie voice dropped. "I do believe " Leaving bis sentences unfinished appeared with him to amount to a habit; he stopped again. Raising his left hand, with his fingers he rubbed his bristly chin, delivering himself of a complete sentence at last. " Well I never did I" To an outsider the words might not have conveyed much meaning; they seemed to convey enough meaning to him. Then oame the half of a query. " Whatever is ?" He got no farther, seeming to be in a state of such perturbation that, for the time, he had lost his wits. He stood staring at the man in the chair as an anxious rabbit might look at a fox which it is not sure is dead. Suddenly he seemed to make up his mind what was the best thing for him to do. He .went hustling towards the door; when he reached it he checked himself, as if seized with an idea; what the idea was was made plain when he took the key out of the lock, opened the door, and, as Dorothy could hear, locked it again on the outside. And again she was left alone with her guardian. This time her sensations were worse than before; she was being punished for her share in what had been dona. She became awake to the fact that, with that door locked and egress, therefore, rendered impossible, her position had become a most unpleasant one. No doubt the waiter ,, declining wisely enough to accept more responsibility than he could help, had gone to tell the news to someone. Soon that someone would come back with the waiter; the news would be passed on, sooner or later, to the police. The girl had, of course, no actual knowledge of the procedure in such cases 1 ; she knew more about French methods than English; but she had sufficient intelligence to be aware that, ultimately, the police would appear upon the scene. If she was unaole to escape before they came ; as, if each time someone went out of the room, the door was locked, would be the case; and/ the police found her there behind the curtain, what would happen to her then? What conclusions would they draw? The terror of such a prospect moved ,her to action; or, at least, to attempted action. Was there no other way of getting out of the room except by the door? She turned to the window whioh was behind her. Drawing aside the blind she found that it was set with small panes of coloured glass. She was quick-witted enough to guess that that was probably because it looked out upon a stable, or a yard, or something equally agreeable; and therefore a good view was a thing not to be desired. If that were the case, then to attempt to escape that way would be to court discovery. Besides, she Temembered that the room was on the first floor; that the approach from the hall was up a flight of several stairs ; whatever might be on the other side of that window it was not likely that it would be easy to reach tie ground. Was there no other way oourt r of the room? She thrust the curtains aeide to look, and heard the key being put into the lock of the door. She was back again behind the curtain when the door re-opened, and the waiter re-appeared with, at his heels, somebody who was evidently a personage. , A short, cobby man, middle-aged, wearing a Gloire de Dijon rose in the button-hole of hife frock coat, about him a general air of being well groomed. The. waiter moved quickly towards the table, the other following close behind him. When they reached the chair the waiter said nothing-f-it was unnecessary; the other saw. What he saw seemed to impress him with a sense of having been subjected to a personal affront. He asked pettishly: "What's the meaning of this?" Receiving no answer — the waiter was again stroking his bristly chin with the fingeTß of his left hand, with about him still that suggestion of the anxious rabbit — Ec addressed himself to the figure in the chair. "Mr Emmett! Sir!" No notice being taken, he repeated his former futile inquiry. " What the deuce does this mean?" Then he added, as if the notion had all at once occurred to him, " He's dead !' 3 , " I'm afraid he is, sir." The personage went on from discovery to discovery. " He couldn't have done it himself. Look at his head — he couldn't have smashed it like that. Someone must have done it for him." "Looks as if that were the case, sir." "Then who can have done it? In my hotel — with the house full of people, in a private sitting-room, seated at hi 6 own dinner-table. What have you been doing?" "Several things. There, have been a great many things, sir, to do, with the house so busy. I've seen and heard nothing of _ what was taking place in this room since I came to say there was a gentleman wished to see him." "A gentleman? What gentlemanP" " That I couldn't say, sir. ■ A message and a note were brought to me, which I brought in to Mr Emmett ; and he went out to 6ee that gentleman." "Went out, did he? He didn't bring the gentleman in hereP" " Not so far as I am aware, sir. They ought to be able to tell you better about that downstairs." The personage was looking about him. j " What's all this broken glass? And what's that?" He was pointing to the splintered neck of the bottle which the stranger had left on the table. "Seems, sir, as if a bottle had been broken." "A champagne bottle, perhaps." The personage looked at the waiter; the waiter looked at him. Possibly it was^ecause of what each 6aw in the other's eyes that the speaker lleftt t his sentence unfinished. He broke into petulant anger. " Nice thing this to happen in my house right at the beginning of the race week — about the only time in the year when one does have a chance of making a irfcbleTnoney.^ Goodness only knows what mischief it may do me when it gets known. Who's that at the door? Shut it at once I You can't come in here!" It seemed that someone could come in, because someone did — c woman. She was what Is sometimes described as a fine woman, still in the prime of life, big and wetl covered; 6he would probably have turned the scale at sixteen stone. She wore a black silk dress, which had a generous train, her ample bust glittered with chains and ■gewgaws. Unmistakably this- was the' hostess — the personage's wife. She stood in , the doorway. „ , , , "What's the matter?" she asked. " First of all, Mrs Elsey, be so good as to shut that door. Then, when you've done that, if you'll take the trouble to walk as far as this you will see what is the matter for yourself." Shutting the,door, she walked to the table, and saw* .

"Why, whatever! Good gracious 1 Who's done it P" i " Seems as if someone had — by the looks of him I" " Bob I What a sight he is ! Goodness knows he never was much in the way of looks, but who'd have thought he ever could have looked like that? Don't you know who did it?" "I'd make it hot for him if I did! Doing a thing like this in my house in my busiest season!" " There's plenty who might have done it — plenty. No one ever had much love for him, and small blame to them. Why, I only heard, with my own ears, a man. say to him this afternoon, 'By Gad, Emmett, for two pins I'd have your life!' Sounded as if he meant it, too." '\Perhaps someone gave him the two pins." This was the waiter. Whether the remark was meant to be humorous, or merely a suggestion, was not clear. No one heeded. him. The personage went on. "What man was that? Be careful what you say, Mts Elsey." "No need for you to tell me to be careful; I can be that without your telling me, as careful as anyone. What I say I heard I did hear — I'm ready to swear to it anywhere, though who the man, was I don't know. He was a stranger to me, but I should know him again among a hundred. He was a smallish man, with a sharp, cleanshaven fa,ce, and a brown suit, and a white billycock, which he wore a little on one side. He'd something to do with houses, of that I'm sure. But he's not the only one who had a grudge against George Emmett. Who, who that had anything to do with him hadn't ? Why, if it comes to that, we'd no cause to love him." " Now, Mrs Eleey, none of that sort of talk, if you please; that's a sort of talk I won't have- It doesn't follow that because a man has a grudge against another man he wants to kill him." " Doesn't it? It depends on the man. But whatever did he do it with? 1 never saw such a sight as he has made ofiim!" "Seems as if he did it with a bottle — a champagne bottle." " He must have hit him a crack to make a sight of him like that. Why, his head's all smashed to pulp." " You can hit a man a crack with a champagne bottle, if you mean business, and know how to. But this sort of thing won't do. The first thing we've got to do is to send for tlte doctor and the police, and till they've been nothing's to be touched. Let them find things just as we did, then they'll be able to draw their own conclusions and blame no one. So out you go, Mrs Elisey, and you too, Timmins; and Fll lock the door and keep it locked; and, Timmins, you hang about and see that no one comes near, and if you want to keep your place, mind you don't say so much as a syllable to anyone about what's in here till I give you leave." It was not such an easy business as, possibly, the personage would have wished, to induce his wife to leave the room. She evinced an uncomfortable curiosity in the details of ohe tsoene of which the man in the chair was such a gruesome centre. Had she teen left alone she might have pushed her curiosity • beyond desirable limits. As it was, her husband Bad to put his arm through hers and lead her from the room, she remonstrating as she went. So soon as she was out the door was slammed and the key turned on the other side. And once more, for the third time, Dorothy Gilbert, was left alone with her guardian, from whom /there seemed to be as little chance as ever of escaping. It was by some ironical stroke. of fate that he appeared to guard her better dead than living. CHAPTER V. DOROTHY IS LEFT ALONH WlTtf Trnnt GUARDIAN TOR THE NIGHT. With the passing minutes Dorothy's plight took a different shape. When she had first rushed behind that curtain it had been with a childish desire to hide; to avoid the man who had threatened her with kisses, and perhaps worse, for her maiden soul had warned her that he was one who, if opportunity offered, would not stop at a little. la sheer childish terror she fled to the first refuge she could think of, as it were -a, refuge, as if, after an instant's search, he was not sure to discover her hidingplace, and have her out. The advent of the stranger, if in a way it had saved her, had also oomplicated the situation ; it was not,- then, so much discovery she had to fear as something it was not good to think of. Indeed, the situation was reversed; because, _ had she then taken the initiative and discovered herself, not only would she have been saved, but also Mr Emmett and the stranger. Too late she was beginning to realise that all three were destroyed, the two living arid the one dead. Praotically in killing Mr Emmett the stranger had killed nimself and her. It might turn out that he had done it actually. And in his action she was aware that she had been an aider and abettor. So in remaning hidden she had thrown away her own salvation. The position now, however, wore a different aspect. Her mental faculties were more on the alert than they had been, as it seemed to her they kept coming and going, so that now she fcaw clearly and now not at all. So far as they enabled her to judge now, again, her only hope of immunity rested on her continuing undiscovered. If they had found her all sorts of dreadful consequences would immediately result. For one thing they would quite probably accuse her of having had at least a hand in her guardian's death, if she were not the actual assassin ; not unnaturally taking it for granted that her persistent concealment could only have a criminal meaning. She couki only disprove the charge, if it could be disproved, by shifting the onus of guilt to the vanished , stranger's shoulders, Already, though as yet the thing might not be acknowledged to herself, in her heart she had arrived at a final' resolution that under no conceivable circumstances would she bear witness against him. Happen what might where in this ( matter he was concerned, she would be | dumb. Although she had not formulated it in 1 so many words, she felt that in what had been done they had been partners, even friends ; that, although unwittingly, it had been don© for her. Therefore, if to prove innocence it should become necessary to prove his guilt, her doom was sealed. In that case so soon as they drew aside the curtain, and found her behind it, her fate was sealed. It amazed her to think that she had

not been lisoovered already. .She herself was so conscious of her imminent proximity to what had taken place, was so well aware of how slender a protection that screen of hanging drapery really was, that it bewildered her that she should have played with complete impunity for so long the part of a spy, and more. But the continuance of ouch impunity could not be counted on. When the police came, and possibly they were already on the thi-eshold, the room would be searched for evidence. Then in a moment her hiding-place would be revealed. She could not wait for that; she must get away, out of the room, before they came. But how? since the door was looked. Parting the curtains, she stepped out from between them, looking about her eagerly for a key to the riddle. The wildest notions oame into her headThere was a sideboard at one end of the room, with a cupboard beneath. It might not occur to them to look inside that cupboard; might there not be room in it for her? A moments consideration made her doubt it. She might be able to squeeze heTself into a small space ; but, compress herself as she might, she doubted if there would be room for her inside that cupboard; even if it was empty, which was by no means sure. Then there was the fireplace; but though it was old-fastioued lit was not a large one ; she was pretty I certain that she would not be able to j force herself up the chimney. But | though ehe crammed herself up the cupboard, or rammed herself up the flue, she would still be. little better off. That was not at all the sort of thing she wanted. She would still be m the room ; what ehe wanted was to get out !of the room. Plainly there were only I two ways out of it— the door and the window. Since the door was locked only the window remained. Drawing back into the recess she i turned towards the window; it would ! have to be that way, since there was no other, though she threw herself out of it. Getting inside the blind she tried to raise the sash; it was immovj able; obviously it was fastened. She knew nothing of English windows ; this was the first she had seen ; but she presumed that it was meant to open. ! She searched for the fastening above, ! below, on either side; so far as she could learn there was none ; appar- ! ently this window was a fraud— it was not meant to open. Examining it more closely she saw that there was nothing on either side to show that it was ml tended to be moved up and down ; the | paint was unbroken; the thing was a picture. • , The discovery startled her; was It an English custom to have no practicable window in a room? •• Nothing which would admit fresh air? If that were so then, since the door was secured against her, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, she was caught like a rat in a trap, and only God could help her. She noticed that what looked like two wooden handles were hung on the ends of cords on either side of this dummy window 1 near the top of the Bash, ' Did they mean anything? If they did, what was itP She gripped the two on the right and pulled, then tho two on the loft md pulled at them : nothing happened, llhen she perceived that one handle on either side was or dark, and the other of light, wood; perhaps that meant something. tsJie took hold of the lighter handle on either side and was about to tug, when she heard the key turned in the lock. Instantly the handles slipped from between her fingers; but before she could get from behind the blind she heard the door open and footsteps come into the roam. . , . , „ , This time she was indeed at a disadvantage To all intents and purposes she was pinned between the blind and the window; she dared not move,, since the slightest movement caused the stitfened blind to make an ominous rustling; if she tried to get away from under it she would be certain to make a noise which, would ensure discovery. The only thing she could do was to stay where Bhe and to refrain, if the tiling were possible, from moving even so much as a muscle «*«"?£ ? ee nothing. At first, in the Bhock of being taken unawares, her limbs trembled so; her brain was in such a turnup; there was such a singing in her ears; tfcat she could not even hear. It was only by degrees that the sounds resolved themselves into distinct voices; and she became conscious of what was being said. The personage who was the landlord, and whose name was Elsey, had entered the room, and his wife, who declined to be kept out, and a fair-haired, spectacled young man who was a doctor, and a policeman who chanced to be the nearest at hand. The procession of four moved towards the table. The landlord spoke; his manner suggested a sense both of importance and of resentment. v " Here, Dt Nichos, and officer, is Mr Emmett, as you can see for yourselves. You see him exactly as he was found by Timmins, one of my waiters. Timmins is outside the door, and can give testimony to that effect, if required. He has not been touohed A and nothing has been touched ; each thing is just as it was when discovered, ao - Timmins can testify, and as, for that matter, I can testify, because I know it to be a fact. As regards this unfortunate man, the question now is — is life extinct P" He spoke as a showman might have done who wished to call attention to the special features, of his Bhow. The doctor was bending over the figure in the chair. " How long is it since he was found in this condition?" "It might be ten minutes; it might be a quarter of an hour; it might be more. Timmins is outside, and will corroborate me if required. At the earliest possible moment I sent for you, you happening to be the medical gentleman who lived nearest." " I should say that there can be little doubt but that, as you put it, life's extinct; but it's not easy to examine him properly in this chair." He looked round the room, his glance passing over the curtained recess. If he had only known of the girl who shivered within it! "That couch wouldn't be convenient, either ; it's not long enough. Couldn't you have a mattress, or/ something, placed upon that table? We might lay him on it, or, for the niat^ ter of that, we might manage without. " Certainly you can have a mattress. I wish to do everything for Mr Emmett, who is an old customer of mine, which possibly can be done, though nothing can be more serious than the inconvenience, to say nothing of the posi- i tive loss which he is likely to occasion me. Timmins 1" The waiter came just | outside the door, rubbing his chin. "Fetch me a mattress, at once I" "Yes, sir. Where from, sir?" "Anywhere! Don't be a fool, sir, ( and stand gaping there ! Do as you're told!" His wife interposed. < "It's you who's the fool, Mr Elsey! Where do you suppose. Timmins is going to ge.t a ■ms&sm* iromP ; Wfeo do

you suppose is going to give it him without my sanction? Come with me, Timmins; I'll see that a mattress is got." When ehe reappeared the waiter was carrying one, doubled up on his shoulder. A space had been cleared on the table, on which the mattress was placed. Then the landlord, the waiter, the doctor and the policeman lifted Mr Emmett between them. The united four seemed to find him no easier burden than the stranger, single-handed, had done. While the doctor was still conducting his gruesome examination someone else came into the room — an inspector of police. Him the landlord greeted with bustling cordiality. "Most dreadful thing has happened, Mr Tinney! So unfortunate for me that it should have oecured in my house, at this, my busiest season. One of my oldest customers, too — Mr Emmett. I dare say you know him." " George Emmett? Oh, yes, I know himf Who doesn't? How did^it hapI>en?" "That's what to don't know— what nobody seems to know. That's the mystery. The whole affair is most mysterious — and — and lamentable. To put it at its lowest, with every desire to put self on onie side, one can't help feeling that someone has been guilty of a very unfriendly act to me. In my business one never knows Tiow this sort of thing may be taken, especially by one's best customers. At this moment every bedroom's full; yet directly this becomes known I may have my house empty on my hands. My race week spoilt!" . " What's the cause of death?" The inspector put tin's question to the doctor. ' "A blow with some blunt instrument, which must have been delivered with - tremendous force. Some of the frontal cranium bones seem to be broken in two or ;hree places. Of course, my examination has at present only been superficial; but that appeal's to be the case." The landlord proffered an addition of his own. "It looks as if the blow had been delivered with a champagne bottle." He held up the broken neck. "We found this on the table, and the remaining pieces are here upon the floor." The inspector again addressed the doctor. " Could it have been done with N a champagne bottle?" The doctor settled his spectacles on his nose. Being a young man, a sense of responsibility seemed to weigh upon him. His reply was guarded. "It might. Of course;, you understand that I am not prepared to give a definite opixiion; but, to some extent my present impression is that it might have been." The inspector turned to the landlord. "Don't you know who was in the room with him?" "That's the point, we don't; that's to say, not so that we can speak with certainty. You see, this is a private sitting-room, and occupants of private sitting- 1 ooms haxs visitors of whom we know nothing. ' /We can't keep an eye upon them as 'if they were public rooms ; it stands to reason. But one of my waiterSj named Timmins— this is Timmins — informs me that he brought a message and a note to Mr Emmett, who was enjoying his wine after dinner, to the effect that a gentleman wished to see him, and that he went out to see the gentleman, but whether the gentleman returned with him, Timmins cannot say." The inspector addressed the waiter. "When you brought that message was he alone?" "Yes, sir, he was alone, except for the young lady." The landlord exclaimed: " Young lady ! What young lady?" " Why, sir, the young lady he dined with; he and ehe dined together." " This is the first time you've mentioned a young lady." " Well, 6ir, he and the young lady had dinner together ; dinner was ordered for two ; I thought you knew that." "I knew nothing about it; this is the first I've heard about it ; this is the first time I've heard about any young lady. Did you know about it?" This last question was put to his wife. "I knew a lady came with him; he took two bedrooms, ' one for himself and one for her ; his was No. 238, her*s was No. 49, on the floor above. He wanted her next to him, they tell me in the office; but the rooms on either side of his were engaged." "What was the lady's name?" "That I don't know; I find he'e entered himself in the book as ' George Emmett and Lady.' When I asked Miss Wilson, who was there when he came, why she let him do it, she said that she asked him what was the lady's name, and he said it was all right and didn't matter." " Did you see her?" " No, I can't say that I did. I'm told she's quite young. She seems to have brought precious little luggage. There's only a small 'battered old- tin i box in her room." I " 1 can only say that this is the first mention I've heard of any young lady; I'd no idea that anyone came with him. I can't understand, Timmins, why you didn't speak of her before." "Well, sir, I thought you knew." "Don't I tell you I didn't knowP What do you mean by persisting in thinking I knew? I understood you to say that when you brought the message he was alone." "So he was, 6ir, except for the young lady." " Except for the young lady ! What the devil do you mean by except for the young ladyP He wasn't alone if she was there, was he?" The inspector interposed. "That's all right. Mr Elsey; you leave this to me; this is more in my line than yours." He tackled the waiter, whose expression, as they worried him, became more and more rab-bit-like. "You say that Mr Emmett and this young lady dined together?" "Yes, sir, they did; I waited on them." " Did she strike you as being

young? How old would you have set her down a 6?" " Well, sir, not more than seventeen or eighteen, at the outside/ though perhaps she might have been a little more or lees; it's not easy to tell a young lady's age." " Did she strike you as being a lady? You know what I mean." "Yes, sir, I do. Well, sir, I dare say — I should say, sir, she was quite a lady; most certainly a lady, though plainly dressed; in fact, for a lady, almost shabby." " Did she and Mr Emmett appear to be upon good terms?" " Well, sir, I couldn't exactly say that they did." " What do you mean by that? On what sort of terms were they? Explain yourself, man!" " Well, sir, for one thing she never uttered so much as a single word while I was in the room, neither to me nor to Mr Emmett; not even so much as yes or no when I handed her a dish. And she scarcely ate anything, and she never drank anything either. Mr Emmett told me to fill her glass with champagne; but I don't believe she ever bo much as put her lips to it, in fact, when I came in and found him there was her glass just as it was when I tilled it. Mr Emmett,. he d^d all the talking. From the way in which she sat right back in her chair — that's the chair in which she sat, sir — and never spoke or moved, it eeenied as if she were frightened half out of her life of him." "Why should she be frightened? Did you hear him say anything to frighten her?" "No, sir, nothing I could swe*ar to; but he kept speaking to her in a chaffing sort of way, which I could see she didn't like." "Did she seem to be angry? in a bad temper?" " No, sir, not so much that as afraid of him." " When he went out to ccc this gentleman, did he leave her behind?" " Yes, eir, he did, on that, chair ; and I couldn't help noticing how queer she looked; so white that I couldn't help wondering if she wae feeling ill." > " Was she here when you found himP" " No, sir; the room was: empty." " Did anyone see her go out of the room? Did you?" " No, sir; I haven't seen her since I saw her sitting in that chair." "Then where is she now? Where is she, Mr Elsey?" "I've no more idea than you have, Mr Tinney. As I've already tried to explain, till a p moment or two ; ago I hadn't the faintest notion that there was a kdy in the oaae." " Mrs Elsey, where is this interesting young lady?" Dorothy, behind the blind and the curtain, could scarcely refrain from shrieking, "Here l" Mrs Elsey shook her head. " That's more than I can tell you, Mr Tinney. Beyond knowing that a young lady came with Mr Emmett, I don't know anything. What Timmins has been telling you is all news to me." " Someone must know where she is, if she's in the house. I don't -want to make any statement, but it seems to me that she's a most important witness, and the sooner she's produced the better. If, as Mr Timmins hints, she was feeling ill, she may have retired to her room. Perhaps, Mrs Elsey, you won't mind making inquiries. If j she isn't in her room, wherever she is, she must be found, so don't let there be any mistake about it. I* must have an interview with this very interesting young lady before we are either of us • very muoh older; you understand?" " No, Mr Tinney, I can't say I do understand, not as you put it t I will have inquiries made; in fact, I'll make them myself^ but as for finding her, wherever she is, that's another question altogether, and one for which I deoline to be hel^ responsible. Things are coming to a pretty pass if I'm to be held responsible for the comings and goings of anyone who chooses to take a room in my house." The lady sailed out of the room with her head in the air. The inspector looked at her husband. " I'm afraid I've trodden on Mrs ~Eh sej's toes." " She's very sensitive, Mrs Elsey is, very sensitive I'm far from saying that you mean anything, but, as you must see for yourself, she has enough to bear already, without having more put upon her." 1 . , "I'm putting nothing on her. I eimply say that that young woman must be found, and if your good lady can't find her someone else will have to, because found she's got to be, and pretty soon. 5 ' " Quite so, Mr Tinney, quite so; no one denies it for a single Instant. I only wish that I had known of her existence sooner.; much trouble might have been saved." How, that was not quite dear. The inspector mads no comment. He turned to the waiter. " Now, Mr Timmins, about this gentleman whom you tay Mr Emmett went out to see. Did you know him? Was he a stranger? What did he look like?" " That, sir, is more than I can tell you, seeing that I never saw him. The message and the note were both brought to me by one of the coffee-room waiters, of the name of Dowling; he may be able to toll you more than I can,' "The* fetch Mr Dowling here." The landlord interpo&ed. "Excuse me — one moment, Mr Tinney 1 At present no one knows what has. ocourred except ourselves, and if it is possible, I should like as few persons aB possible to know till the morning." " I don't see how you're going to prevent people knowing. You can't cover a murder with a napkin." "Exactly. Still, at the same time, if you wouldn't mind Interviewing Dowling in my room instead of here I shall be only too glad, to place it at your service ; and to ensure you all possible privacy. 31 " Very well. There need be no difficulty about that. Have you finished, Dr Nichols?" "I think I may say that,, for the present, 1 have. Of course, a further examination will be necessary; but I think, under the circumstances, that that may be postponed till the morning, when, perhaps, I may be able to have the assistance of one of my colleagues." , / " Have the assistance of whoever you like. Have his pockets been touched, Mr Elsey?" "Certainly not, Mr Tinney; nothing has been touched — nothing, at least, not by anyone in my employ. I took care of that." "Then I'll go through them in your presence. It's just as well to have witnesses in cases of this sort." Mr Tin- ( ney "went through" the pockets . of . the man on the table, subjecting him to a process to which he would probably have strongly objected had it been in c ibis power to object. A heterogeneous i collection they, produced I t M

" I'll put these .things in my handkerchief Mr Elsey; and, if you don't mind, 1 11 draw up a list of them in your presence in your room downstairs. In these cases you can't be too particular, and vas it's quite within the bounds of possibility that circumstances might arise in which someone may wish to hold you responsible for the pro- : perty which he had in his possession when he came to your hotel, it's only right and proper that' you should know exactly what I have got of his in my keeping. Now, there s one other thing before we go downstairs — about this room. N lf the corpse is to be left here — and I think it'll be just as well that it should be — then I must lock the door and take the key. Have you a passkey?" " I believe I have one somewhere." " Then you must let me have it; you must let me have any keys which fit that lock. And you must give me your I undertaking that no one, neither you j nor Mrs Elsey, nor anyone, shall come ! into this room till I unlock it in the morning. If you won't, or can't, give me such an undertaking then I shall have to leave one of my men outside j there all night to keep an eye on the door to 6e© that no one does come in." " I will certainly give you such an { undertaking — certainly I will ! I pro- i mise you that no one shall come near the room — no one I You need have no feare upon that score." "Then that's all right. Now, I think we can go downstairs, and I'll hear what Mr Bowling has to say about that mysterious gentleman, who, maybe, wasn't so very mysterious after aIK ! And perhaps Mrs Elsey may have some i news for ua of that very 1 interesting young lady, though it doesn't seem ac if she's found her, or we should have heard. I'm not giving away any offisial secret when I say that I shouldn't be surprised if that young lady turns out to b© the key of the situation, and on that account it's just possible that she may not be so easy to find as we should like her to be. But found she'll have to be, and found she will be; if J our good hostess can't do it, then. I ■■ will. I always was reckoned pretty good at hide-and-seek. I . generally knew as well as another whether I was hot or cold. Now, gentlemen, if you please." The party passed to the door. The inspector switched off the lights, drew the door to after him, locked it, took out the key, and Dorothy jwas left alone, in the darkness, to spend the night with her guardian. (To be continued.)