The Mysterious Stranger

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20890, 23 August 1939, Page 11

The Mysterious Stranger

By H. S. SARBERT

®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®® s I CHAPTER xi:i.—Continued. Arrival at the Castle The lodgekeeper started back, amazed at Hie sight of his mistress, who. however, oniy spoke a few J words to him, and hurried quickly up | \i last she saw the rgreat grey pile j of buildings rising in front of tier, and 1 for a moment she paused to lake i breath and to collect herself. How ! dark and silent it all was! But. as she | Stood WMtehing the windows, she saw ia light flitting in the ante-room lead-

)®o®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®®<s>®®® { ing to those mysterious chambers, and ! then it vanished, and presently she | heard the bars of the great door being 1 undone, and the bolts withdrawn. I Half-frightened, siie withdrew into - ! Hie shadow of a large yew live, and i , I from there she saw I he du.,r open, and i They we l E U eonv' , rs:';.- , in"inw"!!„ l eS. ! . iera earnestly, and How passed her i : and walked briskly down tlm avenue. | . She glided out from her hiding- place. | and. ins! as Ihe large door was about j . i to rinse, she slipped in, and shudder- j I ed a- she found herself face to face | with .lilies, I "Madame i" he exclaimed; and. as Ihe looked at her pale fare, a sudden • terror seemed to seize him. "Oh, Madame! has anything' happened to ■No, no! Where is your master?” “Monsieur is asleep. He has passed a. very trying day. Shall I awaken him?” “No; 1 will go to him. Which room ?” •‘ln the room monsieur and madame had when they first came here.” She flew up the stairs, and made her way through the long corridors to her old bedroom. She entered very quietly. A shaded lamp was burning on a table in one corner, and on the bed lay Standish. He had evidently just thrown himself down, too tired to undress, and had fallen into a heavy sleep. iFor some time she stood gazing at him, her face full of sorrow and perplexity. How dear he was to her — her darling husband—the father of her little Paul! 'But there was no time to lose. Every hour, every moment, was precious. She laid her 000 l hand on his brow, and, with an uneasy movement, he opened his eyes. 'For a moment he seemed spellbound; then he sprang off the bed -.nd caught her in his arms. “Eileen—here! My darling, what does this mean?” •“•It means,” she said, slowly, and with apparent difficulty, “that I have come to warn you of coming danger. I have got the start of them all.” He looked bewildered, and drew her down by his side on Ihe couch ne*ar the ffre. “What danger, my own? Tell me?” For all answer, she placed the photc[graph in his hands. A deathly paleness overspread the face of Standish, and, as sne saw Ihis, her heart well nigh sang v.ithbi her. “Where—where,” he stammered, “did you get this?” “From the Due de la Fontaine,” she said. She seemed to speak mechanically, but her eyes never left his face. “He saw you at the theatre, and he—he recognised you! You know his name was Dume Vignon. Paul, my darling,” she went on, as she came closer to him, and placed her loving arms about his neck, “why have you not trusted me entirely—me, who loves you more than life itself? What is this hideous mystery, this terrible story, in which, somehow, or other, you are implicated? Murderer I know you are not—'you never were. See, I trust you. 1 love you—Oh, my own, how I love you—more than ever now that danger menaces you!” And she laid her head on his breast, and bitter \ tears fell from her eyes, i Monsieur le Due and Gendarmes “My arugel, my one comfort!” said Standish, in a broken voice; and he knelt beside her and covered her hands with kisses, putting his arms round her, and leaning his head against her, as if he had found rest, there after long weariness. “My Eileen, all mystery is now over, and you shall hear the whole, the dreadful truth.” But even as he spoke there was a ‘iounci —the heavy clang of the doorbell; then the sound of voices, and in another moment Jules rushed into the room. “Monsieur! Monsieur! the Due de la Fontaine and some gendarmes I” “Admit them,” said Standisn, quietly. “They must have taken a special train,” he said, turning to his wife. “Have no fear, sweetheart, the end is at hand.” The Due de la Fontaine entered : alone. He <s tar ted violently as he saw Eileen, who, pale as death, stood by her husband. “Madame ” he hurriedly began, but Standish interrupted him. A light broke from his eyes—a flash of mingled sadness and triumph. “Monsieur,” he said, and his deep j voice vibrated with emotion, "you have ’ come twenty-four hours too late. Your victim has escaped.” j "Escaped! And you tell me this?” thundered the Due, fongetting everything at the sight of Standish. “You ! dare to tell me this, Dusart Train- . quart?” \ “I do,” was the quiet answer. “Say ' no more, monsieur, or you will live ; to regret your words. Will you fol- ; low me?” j Still holding Eileen's hand, lie led j ihe way through his dressing-room 1 into the ante-room, and so un through 1 the large sitting-room that Eileen j so well remembered, into a smaller chamber beyond, where, on a small | bed, lay a still form, with features 1 fixed in changeless repose. ! Eileen uttered a cry. The face on the pillow was that of Paul, only paler and thinner than his; and yet Paul, her own living husband, stood beside her. “I have, no doubt, been much to blame,” said Standish to the Due. “It was not I who murdered Clarette, it was her husband, my own twinbrother, the vaurien, the brigand, Juan Gomez! But the blow that took her innocent life also deprived Dusart of his reason; and for all these years 1 have harboured the wretched being, ! who, until the last few months, has | been quite harmless. I loved your ‘ daughter, monsieur, as my own sister, j but 1 could not let the law take its j course on a wretched madman.” ! De la Fontaine stool silently gazing on the dead face. In the land where ; he had taken refuge, murderers and ! madmen are alike secure. No human justice could now pursue him; and, i with a sigh of mixed feelings, he held ! out his hand to Eileen, j "’For your sake, my child,” he said, • T forgive all; and yet—and yet ” | ’•Vengeance is mine,” said Eileen, | fci'tntly. "My dear kind friend, there is One higher than us, who punishes the sinner according to his deserts.” With a smile of ineffable trust ar.d happiness, she turned to her husband, and, with a cry, she fell into the arms stretched out to her, and was clasped close to his breast. “She has ever trusted me,” said Standish, with moistened eyes, as he held out his hand to the Due. “For i her sake. Due, be my friend as well ! as hers.” I

There was a moment's pause, and then Eileen joined their hands. “You love him, child?” the Due asked. “Love him!—and there was a world of feeling in her voice—“with a love strong as death !” The dark veil of night had melted all away. A pale, rosy ripple of light and sunging up in the east, and breaking over the long line of sea. Side by side and hand in hand, Eileen and Standish looked on that shining horizon, glorified as it was by "the light that he never was on land or sea.” All clouds had disappeared, all troubles were over; they entered into their new life of brightness and sunshine. THE END.

Read Our New Detectlve-Mystery-Thrlller commencing in these columns on THURSDAY. “THE JUMPER” “THE JUMPER” by JOHN CREASEY. Police Constable Morgan plodded along the pavement of the Mile End Road towards the narrow alley known as the Run. Izzy Kohn, the Jew who kept an allnight cafe, appeared anxious to lure the Constable from his beat. But the policeman plodded on. Near a warehouse which was in process of being erected he saw three men. He had just time to see what they were doing, and to recognise one of them as a crook named Rick Mayhew, when the shot came. P.C. Morgan was dead. And then came the tall, lean, laughing-eyed James Dawlish, whom some called The Jumper—a wizard for nosing out a crime. Follow the adventures of THE JUMPER in his unravelling of the mystery of the murdered policeman.

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