THE STORYTELLER

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14776, 15 October 1921, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE STORYTELLER

THE CAHUSAC MYSTERY

BY K. AND HESKETH PRICHARD. (Authors Of Roving Hearts. Don Q, Tarnmer's Duel, etc.) CHAPTER XII.--THE WALLOW OF r'AILUIUO: On the following day Do Sarsan, entirely satisfied with the position "l affairs, started for Paris, taking Wilfuni Lanceley with him. Alice's gratitude was very real, and she showed it prettily; but she made no mention ol having seen Cahusac, or of his intended trip in the same direction. When alone she glowed softly over her interview with Malcolm; he was her lover, and she was proud of h'im, und of the fact that a man so strong and self-contained should have chosen herself from all the world to love. Cahusac's dislike of Do Sarsan troubled her at fust, for the Belgian's interest in Wil, and his uniform kindness had won upon her; and present ly she came io sigli a lit tie over the unlucky prejudice witli which lie had .n----spired Cahusac. a prejudice that she hoped in lime to be able to overcome by her own influence. .Wil liked I->e Sarsan; he declared himself safe as long as lie was in the elder man's companv; so for the lime being Alice s fear- about her brother wee at rest. During his absence she hoped some familv arrangement would be arrival a! whereby he might be provided for, some provision made which would, in "fad permit him to continue the old careless, happy life he had always led. , ~ , Bv means or Dc Sarsan s aid, an-J armed with arguments he had put into her mouth, she believed her trustees could be brought to see I lie. force Ol her wishes. Her instinct had made her aware of De Sarsan's hopes as regarded hers.lf. He wanted to m.Hce her his wife, vet he was ready to sacrifice 'he whole of her fortune to fulfil a .point of honour which all those about 'her called her a. foolish whim. So strong a proof of tier suitor's disinterestedness and nice sense of honour had its clue effect upon her mind arid Iter liking for him. H need scarcely be said that this was precisely Ho- rcsull which Do Sarsan hrd schemed Io ensure. The girl had no idea llial the honour for which she was battling so blindly had already been discounted by Ihe Belgian; that, in stoic of appearances, her fortune was on its way into 'us pockets and not into Ihose of AVil s creditors; that she was, in fact, about to be made the victim of a cicver and heartless swindle. For the truth was that almost the whole of Wilford s debts had been bought, in cheaply by Dc Sarsan's agents, who were instructed to spread abroad the report that Miss Lanceley, not being legally responsible for her brother's debts, would refuse to meet, them when the time came. Things being so far in train, De Sarsan departed in good spirits. Success, amply deserved, as he felt, still waited upon him. Spring had been cold and damp in Paris that year. Un the afternoon ol their arrival De Sarsan left Wilford at a certain fashionable club, where the play was usually high, and turned out into the streets.

A bicak wind was blowing up from the Seine as lie passed along the broad boulevard. He bad intended to walk to his destination; but the discomfort of the elements drove him into a fiacre, which he dismissed at the mouth of a narrow street where the tall, dark houses spoke eloquently of Old Paris. He stood stul for a second looking up the dreary "vista, and crushed his cigar between, his lingers. He was a man who delighted in savouring his good fortune; it was a dclitfious morsel which he rolled perpetually under his tongue. Even in his thoughts De Sarsan just, then did not feel vindictive; when one holds the certainty of power this ernoWon assumes a piquancy which is pleasant. !(,. passed down the street to a house on the left hand. The cnto-ance, the stair and I he stout concierge, now well he knew Ihem! He mounted slowly, and each step gratified him. In the old days he had nbsolutoly lived 1,,.;,,—0n sausages and cigarettes! The apartment lie sought was nt the i<"•!>: liul hern Mouchon had lived, and here liUli' Pierette. Yes, yes, lie remembered lliom nil! II was a place where the rigid man could assail almost "any reputation by an ml lay of a few score francs. And yet the destroyers never fattened. lie Sarsan paused at a door, knocTtcV end passed in. The room was empty C.xrepl fur its cheap furniture. The lire in Ihe stove had gone out, and crackled as Ihe air grew elder. On.-,!. cigarette-ends, papers, and Ihe remains of a meal were perceivable to at least Iwo senses. lie Sarsan's eyes rushed over Ihe un forgo Hen details. Ail seemed unaltered: even Ihe window remained flii Iv and cracked as il used lo bf. He had hem in llu :-• sodden depths, washed hither and Ihillif-r by circumstances; bid he had rii-en from Ihe slime, and been rarrii d by the Lide of fortune to bask on the hank In the sun of wealth. Another man might have been involunlarily saddened by this contact with li id sordid life. De Karsan fell nothing bul elation. lie understood lb c feelings of those who Jived in such rooms, and the sense or having fell all thai so far behind nattered him. li,. Ui-'ked a chair with his handkerehief and sat down. A H he did so the dour was thrusl open, and a small man with a flan? stiietlo beard entered. 'Ah, il is then you?" he said after a slight pause. 'Yes. il is I, my good Puyfot, come to have a little pep at my old friends.' Tin' man who had entered was perhaps forty years of age. What his fu.ee miKhl have been before the pencils of Ihe passions had worked their d, signs on il no one could say. He had [i laugh betwei n his loeih, bul a dumb si .it ii .if haired sat In-hind his reckless eves. His shiny dapporness and gaieh stood in poignant contrast to the seared brow and eye endowed with Ihe imagery of evil. The man looked what he was —half it genius, desj,, ;:;!,.; all epicure ill ViuiOIIS liPOWledife. ■Tn visit an old friend! What kin-l-r;,. ■ : . r puyfot took off his coat and hat. nnd hung Idem up; then he applied himself to the 'slow he Sarsan watched him, and laughed 'Ah, l.'lp'.en, ever the same! Bad times and a bold face. You remind me eternally of the pretty girls, and then the headache.' I'uyfol looked up, and his small features were shaken with a little swirl of laughter. It stopped as suddenly i.' it- had begun. The man gave one Mie idea that his acquaintance wiih 'he nauseous side of We was simply illimitable, yet the whole face

spoke of a hopeless depth of uahappiness that somehow helds its own attraction.

'What have you been doung with yourself?' inquired He Sarsan amicably. Ms il necessary for you In ask? We know each olher.' replied Puyfot. '1 am here. I hove been here ten years. Presently 1 shall die here.- lie laughed again; it was the laugh of a moral drunkard, upon whom the liquor will no longer bite.

Dc Sarsan was amused. 'And afterwards?' he. asked.

'Oh, you will know all about lliotl' 'I know about it." Ds Sarsan disposed himself to hear some jest. 'We shall meet afterwards.' L'lpien stood up and faced him.

De Sarsan frowned. In Puyfot's presence he always felt lilce a man without, a cloak to hide his blemishes. The. feeling was so strong that he could have struck the sneering eye* blind.

'Yes,' went on Puyfot, 'we shall undoubtedly meet hereafter —shall I say where I here are plenty of girls perhaps, and certainly some headaches?' 'You are looking older, Ulpieri,' said the other abruptly. 'Really? That has ceased to affect me.'

'Your way of life is all very well until the gray hairs begin Io arrive: then' 'What of that? I shall wear gray hairs; old age is in my soul !' The words carried a'world of tragedy. De Sarsan crossed his legs. He had not come there Io hear Puyfot's stale confidences in his moments of depression.

'I am very pleased with the manner in which you arc carrying out the affair between L'Oeil and Ihe Gas Lamp. The thing begins to move,' he said with cold approval.

'Ah. let us to business, then! Begins to move! I ardon me, your instructions and your money have come to an end.' 'So? I am here, however, to offer you more of both.' 'I accept them. We are old friends.'

'You must continue to handle our young diplomat in England tenderly. There are other points you can use.' He lowered his voice and spoke rapidly for several minutes. Puyfot, his eyes closed, his nostrils slightly distended, listened intently until the other ceased.

'Keep it going 'in the papers, my friend —keep it going. Commit yourself to nothing definite, but also spare nothing in allusions, suggestive possibilities, iiinuendos, but vague, always \ague, and leave the world to draw its own inferences; they will be infinitely worse than the worst you could invent. You can do all this —no one better.'

Puyfoot opened his black eyes. 'How you hate him. If you were as good to your friends as you are merciless to your enemies'

'What 1 ben? I pay my friends well,' said lie Sarsan brutally. 'You know what 1 mean. I want money to live on—yes; but I have wanted something else —your influence. lam tired of my part. I can do no more.'

De barsan was arrested by (he man's manner. 'I have not forgotten your affair, Puyfot,' he said; 'but I have been away from Paris, and it is my personal influence that I must use to forward your wishes. Your tragedy will yet appear; but it lis not precisely easy to gain the ear of that great lady who holds the patronage in her hands. Still, now that I am in Paris, I will see what can be done.' He saw hope gleam for a moment through the other's mask or desperation.

'Will you tcke it with you—my tragedy, Astorelh?' Puyfot sprang up and opened a Uin box. 'Look, I shall scarcely dare to paid, with her —my child, my mistress, my beloved!' De Sarsan's glance at the manuscript was more than dubious, but be had his own aims in view: at this moment he could afford neither to change nor to lose his tool. 'Yes; let me have it. I will make time to inquire about it.' Puyfot swung round upon him. 'Oh, my friend, if you will do this forme! There are years of labour, of love, of starvation, of waking, of passion, :n that child of my soul! Take it lake it! Oh, if I should live to see it acted—to see Astorelh sweeping forth in a storm of applause!' Uc Sarsan jumped up more briskly limn was hiis wool. 'That will do, my friend!' He put a careless linger on the wrilten pages and turned over one and another while Puyfot watched him. 'Well?'

'My dear man, what can I tell of it? My opinion is not in any case worth Ihe having.' lie raised his eyes, and Puyfoot, sensitive as a mother over a sick child, read there an entire aloofness of thought from the subject in hand. De Sarsan, while he turned Ihe pages, had been absorbed altogether ,n his own affairs. 'I fancy. Puyfot, that to-night we may even a--k one question. This is il : 'What had Lady Qihusac to do with Ihe affair? And whal was the mystery of Park Lane one night in April six years ago ?" He took a bundle of notes from a pocket-hook and laid them on Ihe table.

•Au revoir. 1 shall see yon again lhis evening.' The Belgian moved lowani the doop, opened it; then, glancing over his shoulder, lie saw Ihe fixed attitude of Ihe other man. He closed the door—and stayed inside.

Puyfot sank into Ihe chair before this table and buried his head in his arms. Silence reigned uvej' Ihe despairing scenes for minutes. Then Puyfot's voice rose: 'I—I—I! Yes, he thought of nothing else; lie forgot even Ihe tragedy! As for me, J shall rot hero,die here —I, who had ambitions and genius' Mon Dieu! I have ambition. I have my genius', and nothing else but regrets; I, who possess a hundred limes the talents of that brutal politician, Why do I work for hUm? Why nol kill him —or myself—-or both?' lie sobbed. 'Fame!-—she who stands so far above me! -if I i Id lie one moment on her breast! And then —and then the night, and- who knows.' - the punishment! Hut 1 rave! There is no hope- - no hope !' The door opened under lie Sursau's hand with some noise. Puyfot started to his feel. He Sarsan was half in, and half out of Ihe doorway.

The tragedy!' he s.-.id. 'I had forgotten it. Han you nut hriuH it with you to-night to "Les Curbeaux"?- -By the way. Puyfot. have not you told me that you know something of medicine - .' 'I have qualified,' Puyfoot answered gloomily. 'I look ;:fter some of my poor neighbours. I know also Ilia' I carry death here.' lie touched himself lightly on Ihe breast. 'Hollow, hollow.

like the world I live in!' De, Sarsan looked interested. "So! You know something about pulrnonvy diseases, then?' 'But yes-—everything—-even of Ihe late'st, discoveries, since I have a personal concern in them.'

'Qiiite so.' De Sarsan came in xnd shut the door. 'There will be a young man tn my company. H& will probaiuy

be very drunk. Can yon diagnose his case ?' 'lf I am paid for it,' sullenly. 'That follows naturally. My young friend is near the end, as I think. You will also bring your tragedy?' 'No.' But Dp Sarsan was growmg weary of his retainer's caprices and furies, which he was inclined to consider begotten rather of absinthe than disappointed genius. 'As you wtll,' he said. and this time finally withdrew. Ptiyfot remained .staring at the door. Iff. was a hopeless and unbalanced blend of realist and idealist, a man who spent five hours in dreams to one siven io work. He was devoured by a name of ambition: he heard the Muses screaming to him in his sleep. Had he been more of an idealist men might have taken him at the kindly valuation which they extend Io genius. Had he been more of a real-ist he must have been a name in France. As it was. he was typical of a stratum of artistic life, a stratum which has once been described by a cynic as 'the wallow of those across whose foreheads their own genius has scrawled "failure."

CHAPTER XIII.—'LES CORBEAUW They say Its doom is sealed, the once historic cafe celebrated under the Third Empire for the flavour of its ices and Ihe wit of its customers. Red and gold on Ihe outside, white and gilt with'in. The company which assembled in these rooms or lingered on the wellknown perron was composed of that brilliant confraternity the Bohemian Paris of the Pen. The long central room, set with little round tables, sparkled in glass and silver and snowy drapery. Up to the great beam, grotesquely panelled 'in brilliant colours, rose the laughter and voices of the illustrious throng. For, after all, the men who mould 'he public opinion of a great nation in any manner whatsoever are by the very fact made illustrious. It was a representative gathering, showling like, the side of a cleft mountain, many various strata. There were leader-writers with bald heads and scented -beards, lynx-eyed financiers, stout and bland, dotted in corners, ordering the best dinners end swallowing with ears as well as mouths, for the journalist may be a liar, but ihe ehiien de metier lakes him prowling abroad early and late; he scents the first breath of rumour, and that to the financier is oftentimes the breath of life. Here and there were anxious, melancholy-eyed men, gatherers or foreign or domestic news, jackals Io the lions of assured position on the papers. These journalists of Paris are unique. They spend thctir lives in endeavouring to jnfuse the true literary flavour into their sheets. Their public demand so much, yet they groan under the iron hand of the feuillelon and the humorous paragraph and article. Their business lis to tickle the Parisian palate with something ever piquant, ever new. Talk was exchanged from table to table; stories flew from lip to lip; occasionally one man dominated the assembly, 'gathering every hearer to enjoy the racincss, the brilltiance, or the license of his speech. The voices had now risen to Ihe full blast of the well-dined. Puyfot, who had dreamed of the angels, was there discussing the drama—which lie understood —with a third-grade actor who never would understand it. To his right sat Wilford, ghastly pale and already bemuddled, although the evening was young. De Sarsan had handed him over to Puyfot—Puyfot, whoso pre-eminence in licentious wit made him faniuus. But Wilford had got bcvond the peach-of wit of any sort by thiis time; he sat with bleared eyes, the skin of the lower lip dragged downwarn towards the mouth in its drunkard's characteristic grimace. His breathing was rather laboured, and attracted the glance of many a contemptuous onlooker, to whom ho offered a strenuous illustration of Ihe genus of his people. "llavo you seen Garlis?' asked his neighbour of De Sarsan. The speaker was a fat, twinkling man of middla au'e. 'No; I have been in London. What is he doing now, my dear friend?'

'He writes, as you are aware no doubt, much for L'oeil.' De Sarsan interrupted him. 'lndeed?' he asked with raised eyebrows and an air of polite interest. The fat man drew iin his double ehiu to look at his neighbour humorously. 'But you—you know! r I lie name of Ihe creator of thai must admirable paper is no mystery— in Paris,' lie said. •I am no lunger in any way conned ed Willi the Press,' announced :")o Sarsan gravely. 'You forget my situation. At the present moment any such eonncobion would be against me in England. No, Gorascon; I have(clelaehcd myself, with tears, from the idol of my youth.' Puyfot drew hiis chair a little further forward, and, bowed to De Sarsan coldly and ceremoniously. 'You hav-3 been in England for a long lime?' he asked, smiling somewhat constrainedly under Iris ll|in moustache. De Sarsan met the advance with equal coldness. 'Yes.' Puyfot laughed, a peculiar laugh that had the effect of bringing all heads round again. As has been said, he hud a certain reputation for wit. 'lla\e >ou by any chance heard of an M. Malcolm CahusaeV Ue Sarsan bowed surprise. 'Certainly. It has been my good fortune. to be acquainted with two men of that name.'

'Precisely, father and son. There is a litlle scandal—a litllo scandal—fluttering üboul wil.li regard to those two men. Is it not so?' Puyfol twiddled a couple of lingers in imitation of flight. Dc Sarsan put on a troubled air. i have not heard' lie began hesitatingly.

'Then I will refresh your memory. De Sar.san,' cried the fa) man. 'A Sir Malcolnin Cahusac died under peculiar aircumstarices; lie was murdered —• stabbed, 1 believe —several yours ago in London.' 'An old story!' 'Threadbare!' 'Bah! 'Puyfol !' The various comments dropped from disappointed lips. •iMi, yes!' cried Puyfol, excitedly; 'but. not threadbare, sine,, it possessed a political lining of a soil, that never wears out. There is a sequel which has remained hidden until to-day.' "I here run be no scandalous sequel about the present hearer of the name. I must have beard of il if there ha t been,' put in De Sarsan. •M. Cahusue keep his secrets close prisoners, my Mend,' relucted Puyfol. De .-.iis.ui drew bad. as if dislikin; H„, |ncn the conversation bad taken. 1,1,1 || h . ofiier men urged the narrator lu continue.

'Cahusac senior was killed in llxi I streets of London more Limn Iwenty ! vears ago. There were said to be ; political reasons: but of that late \ The mystery is that. Cahusac left a ! pretty wife n second wife and als" » child by the firsl wife, a sen of his i own name. You follow pie?'

I 'The boy way five at the date of his father's murder. And he was left, ! naturally, in the juai'diannhip of uls i step-mother.'.

'Exactly.' 'Some siix yearg ago this M. Cahusac, then twenty-one years old, and his step-mother were dining together alone in their house in London. The servants had withdrawn. All was well al nine o'clock, or even at lon. The servants heard the sound of conversation for some time —until past midnight, in Tact, Then the qui' l '- was broken by screams of laughter. V party of servants rushed upstairs. Madam was in paroxysms of hysterical laughter; the young man lay bleeding, unconscious, on the floor, lie had endeavoured to kill himself, or—who trows i —the lady had made the at tempt to kill him! Why?' The faces round were al! alert with keenness over this mysterious ending. 'Explain! Explain!' 'Ah, that 1 cannot. Therefore I have applied lo M. de Sarsan,' Puyfot replied. 'Madam laughed and laughed continuously until she died, but she never again spoke one reasonable word. —The son—you are acquainted wilh the son, you have s.*id?' lie turned to De Sarsan.

'I know him well,' De Sarsan said with some dignity; 'but this I have never so much as heard it mentioned.' Puyfot laughed meaningly. 'Which, in other words, is equivalent to the fact that M. Cahusac junior has had some reason for keeping his own counsel. Is it not so?'

•Precisely. Bjit what a scandal! There must be somethins hidden. What is it, Puyfot? Tell us the conclusion of the story.'

Puyfot shrugged his shoulders 'Who'can say? This only I have heard whispered. The father was in the habit of telling—selling secrets; in point of fact, he was a friend to other nations than his own. He occupied a high position in the Government of his country; therefore it was easy for him to gather valuable information. But, alas! he was found out. He died—shall we say?—a martyr.' The listeners laughed, and Gorascon, who had been scribbling some notes, looked up. 'His name, my good Puyfot? he said. T have forgotten his barbarous name.

Puyfot was standing at his own table, and his answer went distinctly down the room to the open door. 'His i.ame, messieurs? Malcolm Cahusac'' 'I am Malcolm Cahusac. Who asks for me?' The voice was cold and veryclear.

There was a rustle and a stir of immense excitement, and all heads craned in one flirccMon. From the door advanced a group of three men, the foremost, of whom, tall, spare, and pale, looked' inquiringly about him upon the assemblage whom a moment before his name had held silence.

CHAPTER XIV.—FACE TO FACE. A complete stillness had fallen upon the room. Cahusac walked forward. No one could tell how much he had heard, and his face gave no sign. He passed slowly through the room, amidst a bush of vivid and intense expectancy.

Many of thise present hoped for some dramatic denouement on the spot. It was quite possible that Puyfot had told his story in expectation of the Englishman's arrival at the significant moment. There was a look about Cahusac which promised well for a strong, even tragic, development. Puyfot had, with the true instinct of the reptile, obliterated himself amongst a group of the smaller fry of journalism. Cahusac's inscrutable eyes ran rapidly over one face and another until they fell upon De Sarsan's. He stopped opposite to him. He said nothing, but the sudden set ol his figure and the tightening of the muscles about his jaw wcre suggestive. The coldness of the man had flashed suddenly into elemental passion, llerce though silent. De Sarsan was in reality a I'ittle thrown off his balance at the totally unexpected entrance of Cahusac on the scene. He allowed this agitation to appear; it could be explained afterwards in so satisfactory a manner as an outbreak of friendly feeling, when the suggestive story set afloat by Puyfot should have gone out upon the great sea of the daily papers. He stood up, and bowed with deference to Cahusac, said, 'Good-evening, monsieur. lam proud to welcome you to Paris.'

Cahusac returned the salute coldly. 'lt appears that Paris does me the honour to speak of me,' he answered with a slight glance round, then turned and moved with his companions to a vacant table.

The hubbub religned again. De Sarsan began a dismission upon modern British art in his usual brilliant manner. The. general talk swung on; the diner's commenced to move about, and in the slight bustle Puyfot made opportunity lo gel Wilford out of the way. This accomplished, De Sarsan felt more at ease. Three men at least were racing off notes for the morrow; he had aimed at publicity, and had hit the bull's eye. In the morning the story of Malcolm Cahusac would be common property in Paris, the day after, of the world.

Cahusac, wilh Detchling and Huson, were chatting together; but Detehing could not avoid noticing that most of Ihe men present were furtively watching himself and his two friends. He scowled irreprcssubly. 11 was at this instant that his red-bearded face caught Goruscon's roving eye.

'Ma foi, De Sarsan!' he said, 'Puyfot spoke of Lite devil, and behold him! Bul, here are devils of both colours, red and black, equally difficult to exercise, in my opinion. Regard the little one, I pray you!' Ds Sarsan darted a glance at notching- Yes, he had seen the man long ago; his keen memory to!d him as much; bul the link which should have lixed I he position in the pasl was slill missing. That troubled De Sarsan the more since he rarely forgot. Then his attention passed on to Cahusac, who was smoking a. cigarette over a glass of liqueur. The young man's aspect of cold passivity gave him a shock in spite of himself. It is expedient, even nt times interesting, to destroy a man's reputation and soil his honour; bul whep one happends to deal with persons of cold-blooded resolution the 'issue of events cannot be forecasted wilh any certainty. Composure under a severe mental stralin was emphasised in Cahusac's case by his air of distinction, ami Ibis in turn hardened to an appearance of rernorselessncss which struck De Sarsan unpleasantly, until he reminded himself lhat, Cahusac would presently he discredited in the face of the world, while he himself possessed the doubly valuable position of being a powerful ytd an unknown enemy. To be continued on Saturday).

"Tile newspaper is a irreat textbook if inlelliurnl.ly used." said Mr V. Milner, reelor of the Waitaki Hoys' lliph School, at Ihe (list, Pun-Pacific Kdneaiional Conference at, Honolulu. "The teacher, to use It properly, should lie well informed on in-ter-nnljonal matters. Mis use promotes interest in Ihe subjects discussed, and helps lo prepare Ihe student to fak•" part in affair:?. It rultivatesisn interest in international topics which so profoundly nff6rt all hurnrnily. u make? the. students broadMinderl, and able to envisage big prtblema In an inlelllKenl waj."