THE DUKE ARUANUM

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue XVI, 15 October 1898, Page 493

THE DUKE ARUANUM

&Y

CARLETON LONG

CHAPTER XXIII. A REVELATION. It very soon became generally known that the ‘Duke of Arcanum’ had lifted a poor beggar from the gutter and presented him with an elegant heme ■md fifty thousand dollars. The good 11 ople of Chicago were prepared to hear of almost anything from Jasper Alorton, but this announcement seemed to cap the climax. Such prodigal charity was unhear 1 of, and all kinds of theories, excepting the true one, were advanced for the motive which had prompted the wealthy speculator to such a generous act. By some it was said that it was an eccentric freak of a man who had so much money he did not know what to do with it. Others insisted that it was a pure act of gener fity. Marcellus Dunne himself was as greatly puzzled as any one. ‘The Duke of Arcanum,’ to all inquiries replied: ‘I discovered a man of refinement and intelligence, who has been cast down by misfortune and adversity, and I lifted him up and placed him on his ’ then after a pause he dismissed the matter humorously, by adding: ‘I was going to say' on his legs again, but I remember now that he didn’t seem to have any.

Humphrey Davids, upon hearing of it, declared, without mentioning his own or his wife’s experience, that it was only one of the many' marvellous acts of generosity which he had known Jasper Morton to do. ‘And he always strikes with them where they' are least expected,’ said he. There was a deal of significance about the remark which the public did not understand, and which the lawyer did not intend they should. The singular affair became the gossip of the city. It was discussed on ’Change, at the clubs, theatres, indeed, everywhere. A magnificent equipage stopping on the street, the coachman lifting a beggar from the walk and placing him in the vehicle with his organ, was a novel scene to people who witnessed it. ‘lt is no myth,’ they said, ‘but a reality.’ The agent vouched for the fact that he had sold the property to the ‘Duke of Arcanum,’ and that it had been conveyed to Marcellus Dunne. Further, that the mysterious millionaire had declared that the purchase was not intended as an investment, but as a present. There was such a disposition on the part of the public to honour Morton that he refrained from appearing as much as possible. As his carriage passed through the streets, however, it was greeted with cheers, and such popular demonstrations gave token of the public esteem. One evening, a few days after this incident, Morton attended the opera, and being recognised in his private box the audience rose en masse .and saluted him. Seeing this demonstration in his honour, he advanced to the rail and modestly' bowed his acknowledgment. Coulter witnessed the seene. He arose with the rest to pay homage to the Duke of Arcanum,* not because his nature was broad enough to appreciate, or generous enough to applaud the acts which had endeared Morton’s name to the public, but because others did, and he

wished to go with the popular tide. After the opera Coulter proceeded to Chloe’s rooms. He had been growing more and more lax in his attentions to her of late, it having been nearly a fortnight since he had last seen her. Not only' had his former indifference become noticeable, but he had been very- negligent in providing funds for her support. She was in arrears for rent, and her board bill at a neighbouring restaurant had frightened the proprietor; while constant demands were being made upon her for living expenses. Coulter pleaded poverty as an excuse, complaining that he had had a hard run of luck at the gaming table. Thus he had restrained her importunities from time to time by giving her small sums with promises of more when convenient. Chloe had remained passive rather than to precipitate another scene. She no longer dared, in truth, to face Coulter with such a threat as she had on a former occasion, as he had frightened her with the assertion that she was equally as culpable as any one connected with the murder of Maneel Tewkes. Chloe had not retired. She was sitting by- the table reading when she heard the grating cf the key- and the click of the lock; then dropping her book on her lap she looked up, for she knew who was coming. ‘At last! Well, I declare! Do you know I have been think ing of you all the evening? I had a premonition that you would be here to-night,’ she said, as he opened the door and entered. ‘ls that the reason you are sitting up so late?’ Partly—yes; I have been so interested in this book that I could not lay it down.’ ‘I know you are a book-worm. Chloe. I always find you reading when I come here.’ ‘And that’s not very often, is it, Jack?’ Chloe looked askance at him while Coulter dropped his eyes guiltily to the floor. ‘No, not very often of late. The truth is, Chloe, I have had the blues so for a month, I haven’t cared to see any one.’ ‘Have you been losing more money?' ‘No: I haven't had any to lose. It’s everything in general. Nothing seems to go right with me. I went to the opera to-night to try and drown them.’ ‘And how did you like Mdlle. Flordelli?’ ‘She is very- fine; but they had a greater card of attraction than she.’ ‘Who was it?’ asked Chloe, eagerly. ‘The “Duke of Arcanum.’ - ’ ‘Ah, indeed? I should like to see him. I have heard so much of him.’ ‘Yes: as soon as the audience recognised him they- arose and gave him an ovation.’ ‘I wish I had been present. They say- he is so queer; that he lives in a magnificent house alone with his servants: and that he is so good to the poor.’ ‘Yes; I wish he would take such a fancy to me as he did to the old beggar.’ ‘Who do you refer to. Jack?’ What did he do to the beggar?’

‘The devil, haven't you heard anything about it yet?’ ‘No; not a word.’ ‘Well, it was on that account they gave him such a greeting to-night. It's deuced strange you haven’t heard of it.’ ‘How should I hear of it. Jack? I don’t see any- one but you, and you haven’t been near me in nearly two weeks.’ ‘But I should have thought you would have heard of it somewhere; it’s the gossip of the city.’ ‘Then please tell me what it is and don’t keep me waiting; I’m impatient to hear it.’

‘Have you ever noticed the old organ grinder down by the Custom House, sitting day after day leaning against a lamp-post ?’

‘I believe I have. Do you mean the poor old legless cripple who never looks up?’

‘That's the old duffer. Well, the other day the elegant carriage belonging to the “Duke of Arcanum" came along and stopped by the curbstone. The coachman invited the old man to take a ride, put him in the carriage with his organ, and drove away. The “Duke" then made him a present of a fine house and fifty- thousand dollars in cash.’

‘Goodness gracious! What a stroke of fortune! Whatever induced him to take that dirty- old cripple and give him so much?’ ‘That’s more than anyone can find out; but I shouldn’t mind if it had been me instead of old Dunne.’ ‘Dunne! Did you say- Dunne?’ Chloe asked, evincing an unmistakable interest in the name. ‘Yes: that was the name of the ‘Duke’s’ protege; Marcellus Dunne they call him.’ With a sudden cry Chloe started to her feet, clasping her hands to her forehead. ‘My God! My God! Jack, did I hear you speak his name? Did you say Marcellus Dunne?’ Chloe’s sudden emotion was most unaccountable to Coulter. He regarded her curiously- for a moment, wondering what connection there could be between his mistress and the name which seemed to affect her so strangely. ‘What the devil is the matter with you, girl? What’s that confounded old beggar got to do with you, anyway?" ‘Jack, you are cruel. Tell me again, did you say Marcellus Dunne?’ ‘I surely did, Chloe; do you know him?’ Chloe did not reply- but walked excitedly- up and down the room, holding her handkerchief to her eyes, and muttering broken sentences which Coulter did not understand. Now and then she was seized with a paroxysm of grief which seemed to violently shake her form through and through. Unable to longer restrain his curiosity, Coulter advanced to Chloe’s side, and taking her by- the arm, said: ‘Chloe, tell me what this agitation means, and what connection you have with the name of Marcellus Dunne. I don’t understand it.’ ‘Oh, Jack, don’t ask me; I beg of you not to ask me,’ Chloe answered, endeavouring- to disengage her arm. ‘But I must know; it’s a very mysterious matter, and I am curious to know what it means.’ ‘I don’t know as I have any connection with that name; but it recalled memories of one who ' and breaking down with an uncontrollable fit of grief, she did not complete the sentence which might have enlightened Coulter. ‘Of who? Chloe, memories of who?' urged Coulter. ‘Of nobody. No. it can’t be he: no, it's impossible!' Chloe answered between her sobs. ‘Come, now, girl, don’t let it distress you so. Tell me all about it. Who is Marcellus Dunne? Do you know him?’ ‘No, Jaek.’ replied Chloe, with an effort to calm herself. ‘I don’t know the man you call Marcellus Dunne. I have seen him sitting on the walk, and I am sure I don't know him. The name is a familial- one. and belongs

also to another. 1 can’t tell you who at present, but I may some time. Now don’t ask me any more questions; 1 am too agitated to talk.’ Turning away in disgust, with a curse on his lips, Coulter left the room, slamming the door after him. ‘He’s angry; but I don’t care a picayune if he is; he’s of no use to me anyway, for I don't get enough out of him to buy hairpins.' Chloe muttered, in a semi-audible tone, while drying her eyes. Coulter was soon forgotten, for the excitement into which Chloe had been thrown by the mention of the cripple’s name had not yet subsided. Her thoughts had been but momentarily diverted by the incident of his abrupt departure, but ere he reached the street they were again inflaming her mind with the poignant effects of some secret sorrow. Again she arose and paced the floor, now giving audible expression to her emotions: ‘My God! can it be possible that it is my father, and he has been a. pauper on the streets? O heavens!’ and then she wrung her hands and wept again. It was ten o’clock in the morning when Chloe awoke from a troubled sleep. She had remained the greater part of the night in this mental distress; but at length becoming thoroughly exhausted, she had settled down upon a couch and fallen asleep. She had no idea how far the day had advanced. She looked pale and haggard. Her eyes were red and swollen. Raising herself to a sitting posture she clasped her hands to her temples as if they were bursting with pain. Then she attempted to walk to the bath-room, but her agitation had left her in such a nervous and trembling state that she staggered as one in an intoxicated condition. But after having bathed her head, and taken a small draught of wine, she felt relieved; and then arranging her ‘.filet, she went down to the restaurant to obtain some nourishment. All of that day she kept to her room, thinking of what Coulter had told her concerning the ‘Duke of Arcanum’ and Marcellus Dunnei but she had now become calm, and could think of ‘.hem without giving way to her emotions, as she had the previous evening. At a propitious hour after nightfall she put on her hat and cloak, and drawing on her gloves, turned out the gas, and left the room, locking the door after her. Then she descended to the street and tripped along the busy thoroughfare in a southerly direction. Her pdee semed to increase as she proceeded. and as she left the throngs behind her, and encountered pedestrians less frequently, it grew so rapid that it suggested an errand of the utmost importance. Nor did she pause until she reached a great brown stone mansion, and, timidly glancing about, assured herself that she stood before the residence of the ‘Duke of Arcanum.’ Then, with her blood mustering to her heart, in consequence of the suspense which her errand caused, and the dread of meeting so notable a person, she advanced up the walk and steps, and gave a proper summons at the door.

Morton was reading the evening papers in his library, when the servant came with the information that a lady at the door was desirous of seeing him. ‘What name does she give?’ he inquired. ‘She prefers to announce her name after being admitted to your presence,' answered the servant. ‘Well, I don’t eare to admit Tom. Dick and Harry without knowing who they are. Tell her that I cannot be seen; then, if she chooses to give her name, you can return and inform me.’ The servant returned to the door to fulfill her master’s instructions, but Chloe persisted in being admitted, saying: ‘Tell Mr Morton that I am not known to him. and that my name would be of no use to him. Tell him that I wish to see him in relation to Marcellus Dunne: that it is a matter of great importance.’ Again the servant sought the library with Chloe’s importunate request. Upon hearing the explanation

in which the name of Marcellus Dunne was mentioned, Morton at once instructed the servant to admit her to the drawing-room, and to see that it was sufficiently lighted. Then after a proper interval, he advanced to ascertain the lady’s errand. Finding a comely young woman, with a pale and anxious face, he greeted her with his accustomed reserve, following it with a look of interrogation. Chloe was somewhat embarrassed, and a trifle nervous upon finding herself face to face with the ‘Duke of Arcanum:’ and her voice trembled perceptibly as she attempted to begin the conversation. ‘Mr Morton, is it not?’ she inquired. Morton bowed signifying acquiescence. ‘What service can I r ender you?’ ‘A brief interview, if convenient. I am sorry to have intruded myself upon yoii this evening, but’ ‘Never mind, Madam no excuse is necessary. I understand your errand is of importance and I always desire to give my attention to matters of importance. whether they concern my-sc-li or others, if I can be of any assistance, either directly or indirectly.’ This encouraging speech seemed to bring Chloe nearer to the subject of her errand and to entirely relieve her of her embarrassment. ‘You are certainly very considerate, Mr Morton. You are noted for your kindness of heart. Only last night I heard of your gift to Marcellus Dunne. The news was some time in reaching me, for I understand that it occurred several days ago.’ Morton did not reply; and Chloe observed by a certain twitching of the mouth and a knitting of the brows that the subject was unpleasant to him. ‘I hope I have not offended you, Mr Morton. I am sincere in what I say. I am so interested in the name of Marcellus Dunne that any such act of generosity connected with that name, I assure you, causes feelings of the deepest gratitude to swell within me.’

Morton looked curiously at Chloe as she spoke. He thought he could see a tearful manifestation in her eyes. At any rate he saw that she covered them with her handkerchief. He felt, himself becoming strangely interested in her; not only on account of her tender regard for the cripple, but also because he felt convinced that he had seen her face before; but where it had been, or what incident might have been connected with it, it was now quite impossible to recollect.

‘Why does that name concern you so deeply?’ he asked. ‘lt is the name of one who is very dear to me,’ replied Chloe. Then endeavouring to restrain her rising emotions, she continued: ‘I came here this evening, Mr Morton, to try and get some information as to who this unfortunate man is whom they call Marcellus Dunne. I am beset with dreadful anxiety. I hope he is not the one who is so dear to me, and still I fear that he is. I try to persuade myself that my fears are groundless, but when I think of the name, Marcellus —you know that it is such an uncommon one—linked to that of Dunne, my hopes fail me entirely. 0. Mr Morton, if you can tell me anything concerning this poor cripple, I beg of you to do so.’ ‘I know very little concerning him, Madam; very little, indeed,’ Morton calmly replied. Chloe had awaited his reply with an anxious look, but upon receiving it her eyes fell with disappointment. ‘Do you know nothing of his history, sir?’ ‘Very little. He was once quite well off, though, I have been told—a banker, I believe.’

‘A banker?’ repeated Chloe with a start, ‘and do you know where he came from?’

‘I am under the impression that he came from Baltimore.’

‘O heavens! It is he, it is he, mypoor’ and Chloe stopped abruptly, covering her eyes with her handkerchief.

Seeing that she w’as stirred by strong emotions, and could not well proceed, Morton stepped to Chloe’s side, and placing his hand gently upon her shoulder, said in a kind voice: ‘Ah, do not give way to your feelings. Try and finish your sentence. Your poor —I did not understand who.’ ‘My poor father,’ Chloe replied, breaking down completely.

‘Your father! Marcellus Dunne your father? Well, well, I do remember now of his saying that he once

had a child, and I asked him ' ‘You asked him?’ repeated Chloe, suddenly brushing the tears from her eyes, and casting an anxious look at Morton, as if she were too impatient to hear the sentence to wait for him to finish it. ’Yes; I asked him what had become of it, and he replied, ‘God only knows.’ ‘O, Mr Morton! I would not have him know for the world; I would rather he would think me dead, a thousand times rather. I have crushed his poor heart, and I am not fit to own his name. My father was so kind to me.’ ‘Be calm, Madam, be calm. The daughter of Marcellus Dunne shall have her wish. He shall not know it until you are ready to tell him; but I think it is the only thing wanting to complete his happiness. He would be content in the loss of his limbs to reclaim his child.’

‘Do you know what terrible accident has made him a cripple?’ asked Chloe.

‘Yes; he lost his limbs at the time of the fire in ’7l, in leaping from a third-storey window. They were so badly shattered that amputation became necessary.’

‘Poor father! Poor father! Then he has lived here so long and I have never known it. I wonder if my dear mother is alive and with him?’ ‘Your mother is alive and well. I have seen her myself.’

‘Thank heaven! I would love to see them both, but there is, I’m afraid, an impassable gulf between us.’ ‘An impassable gulf! I don’t understand what gulf can separate a father from his child; or a child from its father.’

‘lt is a gulf of shame—the life which I have led since I left them five years ago.’

‘Did you leave your home purposely to lead such a life?’ ‘No; I was enticed away with a promise of marriage by a man who told me that he was wealthy. We came to Chicago, and in a few days he deserted me. Then—O my God! I fell into the clutches of one who completed my ruin and led me into a life of degradation.’ ‘Does that man still live, may I ask?’

‘Yes,’ answered Chloe, after a pause. ‘Now, if you will be frank with me, and conceal nothing, I may be of great value to you. I take an especial pleasure in righting wrongs, wherever I find them to exist, as well as in lifting the distressed from the depths of poverty, as you have seen in the case of vour father.’

At this Chloe fell upon her knees at Morton’s feet, exclaiming, passionately: ‘Oh, sir, how shall I ever thank you for it? You may think it strange in a woman who was heartless enough to abandon her parents; but, sir, I still love them as I did when a child, and here on my knees I pour out at your feet all the gratitude my sinful heart is capable of. I may be lost to shame, but not to gratitude. Ask anything of me, sir. I will sacrifice my life for you if necessary.’ Morton gave Chloe his hand and motioned her to rise, saying: ‘Come, come; this is all unnecessary. Be calm. I do not deserve such expressions of gratitude. I wish to ask the name of the man into whose clutches you fell, and who led you into a life of degradation.’

‘His name is Coulter —.Tack Coulter he is called,’ replied Chloe, looking steadily at her interlocutor.

That name, unexpectedly as it fell upon Morton’s ears, acted like magic upon his memory. Instantly there stood before his mind the figure of the* mysterious witness, and then, as if rising from still obscurer depths, there appeared the face and form of the woman he had seen entering .Coulter’s room while lying secreted in the hall. Those images, it is almost needless to say, speedily found a counterpart in the living figure before him. In a word, Chloe’s identity was revealed at last. Morton’s face underwent a remarkable change. For once he could not control the manifestations of nature. The sober and sympathetic look became one of joy. radiant and revengeful. Chloe noticed it; but before she 1 ad time for mental calculation as to the cause of the sudden transformation. he asked her: ‘What is his profession or occupation?'

‘He is Direetor-in-Chief of the telegraph office.’ ‘Ah, indeed! He holds quite a responsible position, then.’ ‘Yes; and he has a good salary, but he gambles it away as fast as he earns it.’

‘Where did this fellow, Coulter, take you when you fell in with him?’ 'To the most notorious dive in the city—Madam Renaud’s, better known as “French Anne’s,’ It was then located on Kinzie street.’

‘Why did you remain in such a place ?’ ‘The fact is I became infatuated with Coulter. I loved him—passionately loved him then. I would have been willing to die for him.’ ‘Coud any circumstances have made such a thing possible?’

a thing possible?’ Chloe did not seem inclined to answer the question; but noticing her hesitation Morton pressed the matter, saying: ‘You promised me a moment ago to answer any questions which I might ask.’ ‘But I am puzzled to know what you are aiming at.’ ‘Simply to right the wrong that has been done to you; you can surely not object to that.’ ‘I know that I owe more to you than to him. I will answer it. Yes; such a circumstance might have happened; but I beg of you not to inquire further, for I cannot answer without incriminating myself.’ ‘Ah, that is bad. To what extent womd it incriminate yourself?’ ‘lt might seriously, although I acted innocently enough at the time. I merely did as I was bidden, and I was so situated that I could not well refuse.’

‘Are you still on friendly terms with Coulter?’

‘We have had no decided rupture. I have lost all regard for him, and I know that he fairly loathes me, although he doesn’t acknowledge it. He does not dare to say it. He has treated me very badly of late. He comes only once or twice a month to my room, and of late he has furnished nothing at all for my support, so that I am forced to ask credit for everything, and I don’t know what moment I shall be cut off.’

‘You still consider yourself to be his mistress, then?’

‘I suppose I am as long as I continue to occupy the room which he furnished for me.’

‘What name are you known to Coulter by?’ ‘Simply Chloe.’ ‘Does he know anything of your family ?’ ‘Nothing. I have carefully concealed that from all the world.’

‘Now Chloe, —for I shall call you such until you have changed your mode of life—why can you not make a confidant of me in everything regarding Coulter? I have done well by Marcellus Dunne, and I will do well by his daughter if she will allow me the opportunity. You must tell me all; keep nothing back, so that I may judge how the case stands. Then, if it is advisable, we will make Coulter atone for all the wrongs which he has inflicted upon you. I will swear to you that no injury shall come to you whatever, no matter how seriously you are involved. You know that I am rich and powerful, and I can shield you from all harm. Will you consent?’

It was a most difficult matter for Chloe to listen to such words from such a person as the ‘Duke of Arcanum’ without being moved by them, and especially when they seemed to be made with her own welfare in view’. Much as she might hesitate about compromising Coulter, yet that hesitation was not caused by any love for him. No; that was long since dead. It was for the fear of bringing herself into trouble. But Morton had promised to shield her from harm, and she believed that he was capable of doing so. Morton, too, would lift her but of the mire of prostitution, while Coulter had always striven to drag her down. She remembered that Pintard had said to her ‘that Coulter would not hesitate to take her life if he could find no other way in which to dispose of her,’ She considered it now to be a matter of choice between hope, friends and decency on one hand, and Coulter, destitution and prostitution on the other. The choice was not a difficult one to make.

Morton watched Chloe intently while these thoughts were passing through her mind, for her reply meant infinitely more to him than it did to her. When her resolution was taken, she raised her large, dark eyes, and casting them full upon Morton w’ith a look of quiet confidence, answered: ‘Mr Morton, I will answer your questions; I will tel) you all. ' I now place myself in your charge. I cannot think that the man who has done so nobly by my father

would bring injury upon hisdaughter. I fully appreciate the interest which you seem to take in my behalf.’ ‘You have resolved upon a wise course. The man who wronged you shall be brought to justice. Now, I desire to know all, as I said before. You must keep nothing back, for I shall not be able to judge correctly if the truth is not stated. To begin with, please state what offence Coulter is guilty of, even though you were implicated yourself. Remember I shall shield you from harm.’ ‘lt was a murder, sir, of the foulest kind!’ repeated Chloe, fairly hissing the words between her teeth in a suppressed tone of voice, as she cast her eyes nervously about the room. ‘Murder!’ repeated Morton, professing to be greatly astonished. ‘Yes, murder of the foulest kind.’ ‘Who was the victim, and what were his motives for committing such a crime?’

He and two of Madame Renaud’s vampires murdered a man by the name of Mancel Tewkes, who held the same position that Coulter now does, lou see that it is not difficult to account for the motive. One Stanley Edgcumb, who had been previously dismissed from the office, was accused and tried for the murder. Coulter manipulated the trial so cleverly that he succeeded in having him convicted.’

‘And was Edgcumb executed?’ ‘No; he made his escape from the court-room even while the verdict was being read, but committed suicide that same night by jumping into the lake.’

‘Then he is responsible for two deaths.’

‘No; he is responsible for three.’

‘For three! how so?’ asked Morton, evincing unusual interest, for Chloe seemed to be touching upon an unfamiliar subject. ‘I will come to that after awhile Let me first tell you what I know of the murder of Mancel Tewkes, and of Edgcumb’s trial.’

Morton nodding assent, Chloe proceeded: ‘Mancel Tewkes was murdered four years ago. Coulter came to the house— I mean to Madame Renaud’s —and plotted with her and two others —Pintard and Vitellius, to commit the crime. I did not know of it until the evening of the murder, after it had been committed, and they had all returned to the house. Suspecting that something was going on I put my ear to the key-hole and listened to what was said. They were quarrelling about the spoils, or rather, because nothing was found upon the victim. Madame Renaud was furious, and threatened to kill Coulter right there. But Pintard and Vitellius interceded and calmed her. Then the police entered the house, and hearing the confusion I gave the alarm, at which all disappeared in an instant, except Madame Renaud, who turned around, faced the officers and laughed them to scorn.’

‘But what became of the three men?’ asked Morton.

‘They fled into the tunnel, sir.’ ‘What tunnel? I don’t understand.’

‘I don’t know much about it myself, only there was some sort of subterranean resort under the house, into which they always fled when threatened with danger. They called it a tunnel. Well, my curiosity being aroused, I was determined to find out more about the matter. By listening to conversations, and by eavesdropping, I became acquainted with the facts, although none of them suspected that I knew anything of the crime.’

‘Why did you not go to the police then and tell all you knew, and thus save Edgcumb’s life?’

The reason was because Coulter had such a strong hold upon me. I was so infatuated with him that I would willingly have sacrificed my life for him; and as for the others, I was afraid of them; Vitellius and Pintard are such desperate fellows.’ ‘But Pintard was in gaol before the ’

Morton saw that he had thoughtlessly permitted a slip, and abruptly checked himself.

‘Yes, Pintard was in gaol before the trial; but how were you aware of it?’

‘Why, did you not state so just now?’

‘Not that I remember, perhaps I did.’

‘Well, I must have imagined it then,’ said Morton, showing some confusion. Chloe, however, was so interested in her story that she did not appear to

notice anything' unusual. She continued: ‘When the trial came on Coulter came to the house and had a talk with Madame Renaud. Then she went to the gaol-and saw Pintard who testified at the trial. Then Coulter came to me and told me that I must cut off my hair, don male attire, and give some false evidence. He gave me to understand that it was wholly to oblige Madame Renaud, but I knew better. I would never have consented to do it to oblige her, but I was willing to do anything for him. He brought me a suit of clothes, a hat, and a false moustache; told me how to disguise my voice, and then instructed me what to say. I was to testify that- I had been a roommate of a certain James Kye, who it seems would have been an important witness for the defence, but who had disappeared. I was terribly nervous about it and dreaded to go. I said to Coulter- “What if Kye should turn up again?” but he only smiled and remarked, “You needn’t be afraid of that; he’ll never give you any trouble.’* Nerving myself to the task I did as I was bidden and Coulter was cruel enough to tell me that same night that my evidence had convicted Edgcumb, and that if he was ever hung I would be responsible for it. Oh, I have never done anything in my life that I regretted as much as that.’

‘And well should you regret it.. It’s a terrible thing to swear a man’s life away,’ replied Morton seriously. ‘I know it, sir; and Coulter has told me that I can be hung for it.’ ‘lt is a very serious matter; but you might get off with a long term of imprisonment. There is one way, however, by which you might escape any penalty whatever.’ ‘How is that?’ Do tell me, sir,’ asked Chloe, excitedly. ‘By giving state’s evidence against them; but we will talk of that latei on. Now, if you have reached that part of your story, tell me who the third victim was. I am greatly interested in this shocking affair.’ ‘I have nearly come to it. I will resume by saying that after the fire I did not see Coulter for some time, and when I found him he used me very badly. He wished to cast me off and talked very roughly to me. At last I became desperate, and one night we had a scene. I told him then, for the first time, of my knowledge of the murder, and that unless he consented to marry me I should expose him. He was terribly frightened. I never saw him wince at anything before. We compromised by his promising to support me, he asserting that it would ruin him to marry me; that he would lose his position and friends, and all such nonsense. Well, he furnished a room for me; then for awhile he was companionable; but a few- months since his indifference returned, and now he seldom comes to see me, and gives me nothing for my support. He desires to get rid of me, and Pintard says he wouldn’t hesitate to kill me if he can’t do it any other way.’

‘No doubt of it at all. He is a dangerous man, I should think. You mentioned Pintard’s name; do you see anything of him?’ ‘Yes, occasionally. He came to my room one night after Coulter had left, and told me he knew of something by which I could terrify him and make him give up all his money. He proposed to tell me what it was if I would promise to do so and divide what I succeeded in wringing from him. I was curious to know his secret, but I disliked the method of obtaining it. I suspected that it was the Mancel Tewkes affair. Having plenty of wine in the closet, I brought out a bottle, thinking to limber up his tongue, for he had been drinking before he came in. Well, I was so successful that he relieved himself of the secret without knowing it; and later he became so stupefied from the effects of the wine he fell fast asleep in his chair. He doesn’t know to this day that I am in possession of his secret. Every little while he comes around and tries to persuade me into a conspiracy, but I say to him, “No, Pintard, I am not quite ready yet.” ’ ‘You are very shrewd,’ remarked Morton. ‘But what was the secret?’

‘I will tell you and then you will have my story. You remember that I spoke of a person by the name of James Kye, who disappeared?’ ‘Yes, distinctly,’ returned Morton. ‘Well Coulter was afraid of this witness, so he and Vitellius abducted him one night. They brought him to

Madame Renaud’s house and confined him in the tunnel. I remember well of hearing strange sounds when I went into the little room from which this subterranean place was entered, but I did not know that they came from a human being beneath the house. They kept him for many months in that terrible dungeon, and when the fire came he perished. I don’t know whether they left him there purposely to die such a terrible death, or whether they forgot him in the excitement.’

Chloe remarked an unusual pallor upon Morton’s face. Sitting with his elbow resting upon the chair, and shading his eyes with his hand, he seemed to be struggling with some emotion which betrayed itself outwardly in spite of his attempts to conceal it. ‘ls anything the matter, Mr Morton? You look ill,’ she asked, somewhat startled by his appearance. ‘No, nothing at all; but such shocking crimes are so revolting to me that I become, as you see, visibly affected by them,’ Morton answered, without removing his hand from his brow. T am sorry that I have disturbed you by relating them.’ ‘Never mind; you need not regret it. The effect will only be temporary. On the other hand I am glad that you have told me, for I take a delight in bringing such inhuman devils to justice.’

In a few minutes Morton had regained his composure. Chloe did not suspect that anything but the details of her story had affected him. They had indeed to a certain extent, but their effect would have been trivial had anyone else than James Kye been the subject of her terrible revelations. Morton had always feared that something had happened to him at Coulter’s hands, or through his instrumentality, but he was unprepared to hear* of such a shocking fate, and it completely unnerved him for the time. As soon as he could collect his thoughts he asked, ‘Are you willing, Chloe, to perform the part which I shall assign to you, providing that I guarantee your absolute protection, and in the end restore you to your parents with a comfortable fortune of your own ?’ ‘I will do anything you wish, and trust all implicit!}' to you.’ ‘Can I depend upon you to follow my instructions to the letter?’

‘Perfectly sir; though I am a fallen woman, and have lost my honour in one sense, yet the honour of my word is sacred.’

‘Very well, you will have an important part to perform, and you must do it skilfully-. Now I wish you to return to your room and live quietly for a time. I will furnish the necessary- funds, besides a sum sufficient to pay- your indebtedness. Ido not wish to have you see your parents y-et awhile, but when the proper time comes I will arrange it, and the reunion shall be a most happy one. In the course of a few days, if you do not see anything of Coulter, I wish you to send for him and tell him that you are the daughter of Marcellus Dunne.’ ‘He suspects something of the kind now, I am sure.’ ‘So much the better then. But how did he come to suspect it?’ ‘On account of my agitation when he related the story of your gift to the organ-grinder, mentioning my father’s name. Ido not know he suspects that I am his daughter, but he thinks there is some mysterious connection between us.’

‘That will not embarrass my- plans. Tell him that you are the daughter of Marcellus Dunne, an only child, and that you will be an heir to a considerable fortune as soon as you consent to abandon the life you have been leading. Coulter will regret that he did not marry y-ou, and will, I think, make a great effort to re-establish himself in your estimation. But he is perfidious, and y-ou must not permit vourself to be controlled by him. You must play the part of a coquette, or a dissembler. Impress upon him the idea that you are inclined to forgive him, that you will keep him on probation for a while—say; a Tew months—and if he succeeds in making himself agreeabel you will then accept him. Can you do this?

‘Yes, I can play to perfection.’ said Chloe, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘But what I greatly fear is that you will succumb to his influence. I am afraid there is some subtle charm about him which you will be unable to resist. You may think now that

you can withstand his blandishments, but 1 am afraid your good resolutions will take flight when his baneful influence comes to be fully exerted. 1 hope not, however.’ ’Have no fears, Air Alorton, I understand Coulter’s disposition as well as any one. 1 hate him; 1 detest him; 1 loathe him; he lost all power over me long ago.’

’You will never mention my name to him, or any one else?’ ‘Never. I promise.’

‘Remember and keep it; and if anything comes to tempt you to violate it, remember what I have done for your father, and what 1 shall yet do for you if you prove faithful to my trust.’

‘I have no need to recall what you have done for my poor father, Mr Alorton; it is ever present in my mind and ever shall be.'

‘lt may- take some time to bring matters to a crisis. I shall move slow ly but surely. Have patience, take matters as they come, and do as I tell you; you shall want for nothing. There is still another person who requires looking after also. It is the man Pintard. How often do you see him?’

‘Quite frequently; indeed, quite too frequently. He is indefatigable in his efforts to persuade me into his blackmailing scheme.’ ‘You think, then, you are likely to see him soon?’

‘I have no doubt of it, sir; he's a perfect pest.’ ‘Such creatures usually are; but you can endure it awhile longer, can y-ou not?’

‘Dou you wish me to encourage him ?’

Exactly; we will whet his appetite a little. When he comes again tell him y-ou have thought the matter over and have concluded to embrace his scheme. Y’ou must get the story from him in all its details, and tell him to come again in a few days, when you will inform him of your success. On his next visit tell him that you have frightened Coulter badly; that he has consented to pay you half of his monthly- salary, and that you will divide it with him. You can say that Coulter has lost everything at the card table, and that it was the best you could do. This will keep him near you for future purposes; do you understand?’

‘Perfectly, sir; and I will carry it out to the letter.’

Taking a roll of bills from his pocket, Alorton selected a sum and handed it to Chloe, saying: ‘There is sufficient means for yourself and Pintard for awhile. Come again in a month and give me an account of how matters are progressing.’ Chloe took the money, thanked Alorton, and departed, promising- to obey- instructions. (To be Continued.)