The Blackmailer.

Woodville Examiner, Volume XXIII, Issue 4045, 12 July 1907, Page 4 (Supplement)

The Blackmailer.

DRAMATIC LOVE STORY BY ROBERT HALIFAX.

“What’s that striking? Two o’clock! By Jove, we must be off, or w© shan’t get even a cab home I Good-bye, Ferrara ! Hope she won’t think wo are leading you astray! - ’ There was a laugh—suppressed, but loud enough to reach tho cars of the woman who stood with dilated eyes and straining hands on the staircase landing above. Ferras had thrown down his cards, muttered some fierce word, and risen unsteadily. Once again his luck had boon out. A few months back ho could have lost ten times the amount without wincing; but to-night, as he played—-although not oven Valerie knew it—tho sinister figure of Ruin InuJ, breathed at hie shoulder, waiting for tho last coin to bo flung down. It had been flung. “My wife?” lie laughed back, sneeringly. “We’ll lea% r e her name out of it, if you don’t mind. Marriage is no halter round my neck, and never will be.” Humming a time carelessly, he crossed the hall and threw* open the door, letting out lances of lamplight that ran across the quiet suburban roadway. Ho could smile, showing his fine teeth, as he clasped the last man's hand. “Yon understand, Archie? I shall expect you to bring your friends in again to-morrow night, and give mo my revenge, without fail.” “To-morrow? Well, I won't promise. I mean”-—the other man paused, and looked into his face —“I moan, : t's hardly the thing, Ferras. There was a queer look in her eyes when you spoke to her in that way to-night. Be warned, old fellow!—make the most of what many men would consider a treasure — or yon may lose it. No business of mine, of course, but sir 's your wife, isn't she? —and yon wouldn’t care for her to suspect that you married her for her money?” “Bali!” Forms tilted back hri lm-.d to laugh; then plucked at the other's arm and sank his voice. “Luo's here, drop this confounded sentiment! Slio knows, quite well; I haven’t disguised the fact. It's not in me to care deeply for the liest woman breathing. It's simply an old tale —an angel can't bo expected to male with—with the other thing. 1 can’t stand the look in her eyes, as yon call it, any more than yon can, so don't lie surprised if I look you up at the club one day to say that I’ve left her free to find a better man. There's one already, eating his heart out at a distance —ha! ha! Eh Oh, all right, if you don’t relish truth! Good-night!” The other man had swung back his hand abruptly, and was striding away. Ferras wauled until the ring of footsteps had died down tho pavement, and then softly closed tho door, but did not lock or bolt it. As he turned, looking toward tho staircase, it was as if a madv had dropped from his face. Tim smile had gone; he was passion-white; Ins teeth were bared almost tigerishly. Ho tiptoed a few* steps, and listened. The silence was such that he anight have l stood alone in a dead world. “Valerio! I’m alone now, if you have anything to say to mo.” All was still. He craned a little higher. “Yon hear? Mind, I speak only once. Yen know the man I am —or you ought to, by now. There need be no fuss, but 1 have something to say to von !”

Still the silence. With a click of his teeth ho sprang up, crossed the landing. and clutched the handle of a door. Th« door was locked. It was the first time such a thing had happened. He had raised his hand as for a blow at the panels, hut it never fell. It was typical of Forras that, now he had some apparent justification for anger, his passion gave way to a taunting mockery. Until now, it was her endurance, her silent resignation, that had goaded him ■beyond measure. This was different. This foreshadowed excitement. Ho stood hack. There was the crackle of a wax match as ho lit a cigar. Then, lie spoke, with studied quietness. “Valerie! Being your husband in the eyes of the law. I have a right to obedience. I will give you five minutes in which to turn that key and come downstairs. Five minutes!” Ho strolled slowly down, laid his watch on the table, and sat down, tha, cigar-smoke wreathing from his lips. What ho had hoped, what had been in his mind, no one would ejer know; but, just ns he tossed his cigar away, the door swung inwards. Valeric stood there, facing him. She was calm—strangely calm. The grey eyes in the pale oval face met his steadily; there was no quiver in her lips—the time for that had gone. Ho rose. It did not strike him at once that she was partly dressed as for a journey. The dominant fact of the moment was that there was something in her manner which lie had never seen before. Pale, queenly, composed, she stood framed in the doorway. “I have obeyed you,” she said, in a thrillingly level voice. “I am hereto say good-bye!” Indeed V’ He watched her curiouslv. “Yon mean it?” ' “I do, I heard what you said to your—yonr fi Sends. I will set you free. I do so, now.” There was a silence. She had drawn the ring from her finger and placed it on the table. Then Forras laughed a trifle huskily. ~ “Well, that’s a queer coincidence. Still, it is infinitely, 'better to come to an understanding. I suppose I am the villain of the play, but it doesn’t matter now that the curtain is coming down. We should never have agreed, and so it is wisest to go our own ways. Quite so! No one need say that I deserted you. now, need they? To tell yon the* truth, this quiet life, without money, would have no charm for mo at all. And, as it happens, I am penniless !” “Penniless?” she echoed it wlusperingly, her face turned. Her money was gone! “That is so! And I proposed to start off West and see what I can do. And I con Id not tako a delicately-mirturof wife out there, could I? So that is a I settled. You -will have the house ami furniture, you are well rid of a cyiucil husband, and —or —your eynipathctic friend who watches you at church-—and watches outside the house itself, 1 have heard—can ;bo grateful that a jaie miracle has happened. Lot me see— Ivor Cottrell, they call him. don tthey. The poet-parson looking man—yes. A sob surged in Valeries throat, but it "would not break. She stood rigid, her bauds clasped together—a pictnio to go to his heart and haunt him for e '‘< What-what do you mean ?” she whispered, at last. And the man laughed, as he moved past hei and "took down his coat and hat. “Mean? Why, that I shall not come back to England to ask any awkward questions. Ton can consider s ws( » free woman-free to marry the man you ought to have manned. ..... * “Wo made a great mistake-that s all But it is entirely our own fault 11 wo do not undo it. I’ll say good-bye. Ho said it with a recklessJhpimncy. Then he stood, an unpleasant sense tion creeping along his ne^7 e V . had once trusted him—she had been his wife! And she was eT°R in^./ or stair hoi- arms outstretched, like one blind. Something in the ensuing sib cnee unnerved him. Ho <*>akf n more of it. There was no need to bear

it! Ho shrugged his shouldem and went quietly from the bouse. Dawn was breaking in, the sky when Valerie rose from her knees in the loom above. She had waited only for the light. She sat down, and wrote a few lines with a firm hand, and addressed an envelope to Ivor Cottrell. “Ho has gone. You suffered, knowing that 1 was suffering; but that shadow has partly lifted now. I wish to bo a true woman, and t 6 keep you what you are —a true man. Therefore, I ask you not to tbinlj of mo any more —to forget me—to remember always that in God’s sight I am still his wife. Good-bye!” A year bad gone by since that night. Palo still, but bravely determined, she was working hard with her needle and paint-brush to clear off the mass of small debts that Ferras had loft behind. That once done, there was nothing to chain her to the suburb. She could go away as far- as possible. And then, one day, something happened that changed her destiny. A letter was nlaoed in her'hands by the postman, ft had come from the East Indies. Tlio writing was strange, and yet her heart beat with an inexplicable prescience. Dear Madam, —I deeply regret to inform you that your husband, Hartley Forrars was among those lost during the earthquake here in July. All possible was done, but in vain. Before death occurred, ho asked me to write and express his sorrow for all that had happened in the past. I can do no less. Ho had worked on the plantation here for some time past. Should this roach you safely, I shall bo happy to answer any enquiries.—Yours respectfully, JOSE OLIVIERRE. She could not weep. She stood a minute, gave one great shudder, and then slid down to her knees. it was at the end of that strange month, at dusk one evening, that there came a hesitating knock at the door. She answered it. A faint thrill ran through her. The man standing there, with head hared, his face white and working, was the man she had never thought to see again in this world— Ivor Cottrell. And only one tiling in life could have brought him. Ho knew ! “Valerie!” He dared to whisper it —■ dared to take her hands in his as she drew hack in the dusk with that unbidden sob. “If you knew what I have suffered in silence, to bear it as you wished me to ! But the barrier is swept away! Forgive mo, but I heard of what had happened. I longed to see you, but—but first of all, I dared to send for this!” His trembling hand held out a foreign telegraphic form, bearing just five words : “ Hartley Forrars dead; buried: duly.” “It is from the resident local doctor out there. 1 did it, to he sure. I came at once—l feared you might bo going away—l could not boar it!” And this time she did not shrink from bis touch. Long ago she had realised her fatal mistake—realised that this was the man who could have made her life happy. Ho had spoken no word against that other man—ho never would, sho know! “Every hour has been a martyrdom. I thought of you alone hero, with your sad thoughts—l could boar it no longer. Give mo just one word of hope; but it was to be that one day 1 could ask you to forget all the past, and begin life anew together. Valerie!” Sho stood looking past him, as if struggling to pierce the future. And then, with the tears gathering in her eyes, sho put out her hand to,.him. IJe stooped, his lips touched it, and for one wonderful moment of joy unspeakable Ivor Cottrell strained her trembling figure within his arms.

Six months had gone—months that seemed dreamlike in the haze of complete happiness. Calorie —Valerio Cottrell now —was singing softly to herself as she looked out from the window of the little house that Ivor had bought for her, overlooking a gorso common and yi blue sweep of the sea. All the past was blotted out. Only three months a bride, but she knew this time that there had been no mistake. Ivor was all in all to her. She listened for only the sound of his, quick step. The Condon train always boro him home from business about eight o’clock, and it was near that, hour now. Her Ivor ! Hark, was that his footfall? Shei had been placing a red shade over the lamp; she turned half-round, not quite; certain. , • The wind-ow-bling was still up. Beyond the glass there seemed to- he sonic motionless interception of the faded ; light. A moment more, and she had made out a man’s face, staring intently in at her. , ' She could not move. She stared back, realising only that the man there was not her husband And then —then slowly a sensation never to be described thrilled through every fibre of her being. The watching face, haggard and yollmv, the dark eyes, ivitlh that sleepy, evil flicker of light in their depths—-heaven above—it was her husband. He was bore —that other man Hartley Ferrars—back from the grave! Hero! For a moment all was a whirling blank. Then, making the effort of her lifetime, she realised that he had thrown open the windows. “Surprised?” came his nameless whisper —the sneering sound that she had never forgotten. “Keep quite calm. You have nothing to fear, if you act like a sensible woman. I am out of funds, you understand?” Not yet had she stirred hand or foot. Her dilated grey eyes were watching him in the fascinated horror and incredulity that has no real name. She could not even shrink as he placed one foot over the window-sill, as if to cntoi'. It was her frozen awe, maybe, that made him hesitate. “Don’t look like that,” he said, trying to laugh. “I shan’t come -between you. It has taken me whole weeks to find you out —that’s all. That trouble alone was worth a price. And as lor the rest—well, you’ll own I did my human best to leave the way clear tor him. I don’t say he needs to know X am back alive. I only say my selfsacrifice was worth something. Xo you, at any rate! And if not, I must go *°And then, with a blinding flash, the truth reached her brain. He >■ waited liis moment— had planned eve - thing for this finality ; he was here to demand the price of his lifelong silence. Blackmail! She must pay that pi iceor sen her Ivor's life blackened and mined. „ ~ “Then—then it was all a vile e. planned for this?” she said hoarsely. “ Hush! Look' here, Valerie, ho muttered, wiping his lips, don tdi a man of my sort to desperationr - * it was only half a lie! There was an earthquake, if you road the papers, anti I thought it a life-chance to set you free and atone for my past in that way. Could I do more? I want money—that is all. I know that he has it. _ 1 want a thousand pounds, and within a tew hours. If I don’t get it from yon I must do the only possible thing left go to him. You see!” _ . . “ Hark!” she feudenly whispered, in the pause. Sire had not seemed to The gate at the end Of the path had

creaked. It wa a Ivor OottraM. And Ferrars eoemed to guest. He made a draw buok —just paused to breathe a lew husky words. “ Don’t toll him—not yet! If jmu do, he may get —this I” * It was the barrel of a revolver that his out stretched hand showed, With a gasping cry, realising only that a sword hung over her dear one’s head, Valerie sprang, caught at the wrist, and was staggering back, the revolver clutched in her own fingers. It was done almost unconsciously—all seemed to happen in a flash. She did not hoar the man’s muttered curse as he dropped beck behind the evergreen bushes. She knew only tliat the door had onioned. The crimson light fell across Ivor’s face, as ho stared—stared at her death face, and the thing clutched in her fingers. “Darling!” he whispered. "What is it? What has happened? Valerie!” “ Nothing—nothing! A tramp—a tramp, frightened me. Don’t—don’t move, for dear love’s sake! Don't. . His eyes had veered with hors to the window. There had come a sound outside as in ansa'er—the answer that she could not give him. All the blood surging to his brain at sight of her quivering figure, all the righteous anger of manhood roused in him, Cottrell turned and leaped out into the dusk. He saw only a stooping figure moving along by the bushes, and sprang. The - figure straightened up, and was running before him. He panted after it. The low hedge was leaped. On—on over the strip of gorse common the two men panted through the darkness, now stumbling, now an again—one blinded by fear of retribution, iho other by a wave of passion that obliterated all else. And far behind, gropingly, Valerio followed, little unconscious moans upon her lips. As in a dream sudden 1 - she heard Ivor’s thick, breathless voice ring out ahead of her. “Stop! Stop—for your life!” A moment more, and Ivor’s arms were tightly around her, holding her, back. His face was damp with perspiration. He could only point, as he strained her close. And Valerio looked. The flying man’s figure ahead was gone. And just there in the sea-mist lay the grassy edge of the cliff, two hundred feet deep. “I have killed him,” Ivor whispered. “ I forgot—l have sent him to death! ” And his wife’s faint voice lust reached him. as her eyes closed. “Not you—not you, Ivor. It was God’s will—God’s vengeance. God took him—to save you!” THE END. UNIQUE FOOTBALL^ARRACKING. How a Sheffield (England) football enthusiast, visiting a neighbouring town with his team, proclaimed his al-

legiance. With his hat decorated with examples of the local industry, consisting of various kinds of cutlery, he was promenading the football ground when this was taken. A GREAT DISCOVERY. A burly old skipper and his mate entered a smart restaurant near the docks and ordered a dinner. In a few minutes a waiter approached, and placed two plates of thin, wat-ery-looking fluid before the pair. "Hi, thy Lad, what’s this stuff P" demanded the mariner, gassing in amazement at the leooction in front of him. “Soup, sir,” replied the waiter• “Soup!” shouted the old sea dog. “Soup! By gum, Bill,” turning to his , mate,'“jest think o’ that! Here’s you and me been sailing on soup all our lives, and never knew it till now I” " TIME~T~O~BE~IT.

There was to be a circus in town next ■day, and Robert wished to go and see it unload; so he sought to obtain his consent. The first question h.s father put to him on being approached was, “Have you asked your mother?” “Yes, 1 sir,” was Robert’s prompt reply. “'What did she say?” the father pursued. “She said I couldn’t go,” was the frank rejoinder. “What do you mean, Robert, by coming to me to ask to do a thing after your mother has told you you could nob do it?” “Well, papa,” the little fellow observed, “I heard you say last week that you're the boss of this ranch, and I thought it was about time for you to assert yourself.”

BUNCOED. “What’s old Hinam Hardapplo grumbling about now?” “W’hy, he sent ten cents to one of them thar earthquake prophets, and the chap wrote hack that thar would be an earthquake around here in a few days that would tumble down Hiram’s house and barn and swallow up Hiram.” “Wal, what’s he kicking about? The prediction didn’t come true.” “That’s just the trouble. Hiram can’t get over being buncoed out of those ten cents.”

SETTLED THE VICAR, To tost the safety of t-li>3 church steeple, a North-country vicar climbed it with a scaling-ladder—a feat requiring no small amount of nerve. Naturally ho was pronid of his achievement, and talked rather more about it than was;, perhaps, consistent with clerical modesty He even called a meeting of his parishioners, ami described to them, with a wealth of detail, his feelings while aloft. ‘‘When I reached the top and saw the huge golden weathercock gleamirg in the sunlight, what-'do you think I •did?’' he asked. An old farmer, who looked the picture of boredom, hazarded a guess. ' You cheated the woathcock,” he said- ‘ What do yon moan, sir?” demanded the vicar. “Why. you did it out of the job of crowing.” the unperturbed old farmer replied. The vicar cut short his discourse then. • Many people would easily find their worst enemies were they to look—in their mirrors.