Serial Story. MURDER WILL OUT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIV, Issue XX, 19 May 1900, Page 914

Serial Story. MURDER WILL OUT.

By

EDGAR PICKERING.

Author of “A Stout English Bowman, ’’ “King for a Summer,” etc.

SYNOPSIS OF INSTALMENTS I. to VII. Dr. Mortimer and his friend Sylvester Courtney an interrupted in a confidential talk by the advent of a patient hurt in the street. Before he leaves the house, his host learns that his patient has lost a pocket book to which he attaches a hifih value, and the reader perceives that Dr. Mortimer is much angered on learning the stranger’s name. The Doctor is about to take up a lucrative foreign appointment. for he is engaged to be married whilst his practice is worth but little, and his expectations from a rich uncle seem likely to be disappointed by the advent of an Australian cousin. Messrs Scripp and Morder. the eminent lawyers, are in difficulties; and their client, eccentric Squire Gifford. Dr. Mortimer’s uncle, is the unconscious means of bringing about a cri-is in the firm’s affairs. Dr. Mortimer, called to Marlhurst by a. letter from his un'-'.i . meets Madge Selby, his fiancee, in com pany with Dorman (the Squire’s Australian nephew), whom, later. L<- warns not to continue his intimacy with the Selby s. Squire Gifford tells Mortimer that be is not satisfied with Dorman, and mokes a generous proposal. Mr Selby loses half his fortune in the Great Central Bank crash, and in the illness that follows he is carefully attended by Dr. Mortimer. Jarvis Dorman develops a mysterious connection with Messrs Scrip]) and Morder. in which their clerk, Jean Kedir. pi ays a prominent part. Squire Gifford m:ik s his will, and Dorman makes love to Madge Selby. Mortimer finds Dorman insulting Madge, and the two men come to blows. Dick proving the stronger. The Squire again presses Mortimer to m irry an heiress. Judith Gutch: and Dorman has a secret interview with Jean Kedar. who is the bearer of the Squire’s will. The Squire tells Mortimer that he shall be his heir if he will marry Miss Gutch; they discuss this point; Mortimer goes to see his fiancee: a. report comes that the Squire is murdered! The inquest reveals nothing. By the will, which is produced by Mr Scripp. the estate is left to Jarvis Dorman. Mortimer visits Madge for the first time since the murder, and, with strange manner and hesitating speech. she savs she does not desire to see him again. The secret of Squire Gifford’s death did not transpire, and whilst Dorman, his heir, goes on to the Continent. Mortimer takes a foreign appointment. Madge Selby advertises for a post as companion and agrees to go to a Madame Duval. Out in Bastia Dr. Mortimer meets with a. serious adventure which threatens to prematurely end his life. He is, however, rescued by a native girl. Teresa Brasco. © © © CHAPTER XIV. When that industrious and painstaking- clerk. Jean Kedar, had ended the labours of a day, some months after the reading* of Squiie Gifford’s will, and Mr Seripp’s return to London. he stood for a moment at the doorstep of the office in Southampton Street and gave a sharp glance to the right and left, as though somebody whom he expected to see would presently come. Tn this he was disappointed. and with his accustomed trot, he turned, going down into Ilolborn and the never ceasing current of wayfarers East and West. He was always timid in crossing the street, the traffic and noise seemed to confuse him. and so he went cautiously, waiting for an opportunity to get to the other side of the broad road, choosing the wrong moment after all. There was a hansom flying westwaid, and an omnibus had just pulled up. opposite to Jean, who stepped into the roadway behind the stationary vehicle and went at a run across the busy thoroughfare. There was a warning shout, and the sound of a. horse being pulled up sharply, for .Jean was under its feet, and stumbling awkwardly he rolled to the ground. Somebody from tin* pavement had run to his rescue and was bringing him limping to safety. It was Sylvester Courtney who had done this, and Jean, scared well nigh out of his wits, recognised him. “ Yon are hurt ?" said Sylvester, supporting him by tin* arm. "M’s'r has saved my life." was the answer, given ti cmldingh. 'There were no words by which to thank M’s'r sufficient ly. and Jean slowly recovered himself. “ You'll never get used to London streets. I’m afraid." laughed Sylvester. “ This is tin* second time that I’ve come to your rescue." “ Assuredly !" “You'd better take a cab home," went on Sylvester. “ I don't think you’ll* fit to walk. A man doesn't get knocked down without feeling it."

M’s’r was perfectly right. It would be wise to take a eab. So Sylvester hailed one. and .lean got into it, not giving the driver his address, however, until his preserver had walked away with the little clerk’s expressions of gratitude in his ears. Sylvester had something in his hand too, it being nothing else than a pocket book with two initials and a erest on the cover, which he had picked up when .lean Kedar had fallen. "The morality of annexing this may be questioned.” he mused, “and under ordinary eircumstancesit would be wrong. Under existing circumstances 1 justify myself in retaining the book for a time. The true owner of it. is Mr Jarvis Dorman, unless 1 am very greatly mistaken ; possibly I may find a clue to a itumbei of perplexing matters,” and upon reaching his chambers he made a strict examination of his prize. In one compartment of the book were two bank notes for £5OO each, and sundry papers which proved that Mr Jean Kedar had been exceptionally lucky or exceptionally clever in those speculations of his, for there were a banker’s receipts for several sums of money placed on deposit, and some documents relating to stock and shares held by Jean. In fact the papers represented quite a snug fortune, which would put the little clerk in a position of independence, supposing that Messrs. Scripp and Morder did not require his services in the future.

In the other compartment were papers relating to the sale of a sheep farm in Australia, and a cutting from a Sydney newspaper offering a reward for the discovery of one Aaron Morley, who had absconded from his place of business, after committing various illegal acts. He was described as a frudulent bankrupt and swindler.

“It seems a good deal of money for a simple clerk to possess, but that’s not my affair,” reasoned Sylvester. “ And he’ll be in a fine state of worry, so I’ll let him have it back to-morrow. And I’ll copy out those interesting references to Mr Aaron Morley. I wonder who he may be ? I’ll interview Seripp’s clerk.”

Next morning Jean was surprised by a visit from his preserver, who enquired after his health in a kindly way. Jean answering that he had recovered from the shock, and stating at the same time how he had suffered a great loss. Tn fact so affected was the little man that he wept copiously. “ I picked up a pocket book,” remarked Sylvester in a casual manner.

‘Just about the spot where you were knocked over.”

“ M’s’r !” and Jean gave a gasp of joy. “The book was mine! Ten thousand thanks. It is more than saving my life, this finding of my pocket book !” “Yes,” replied Sylvester slowly, “ perhaps it is. 1 opened it to find — well to see if the owner's address was in it. There was a lot of money—securities, and a thousand pounds.” “They are mine!” exclaimed Jean. “ They must pay remarkably good salaries at Scripp ami Mercier’s,” went on Sylvester, drily. “ You're a man of wealth.” “ I am a frugal man ; I have no expenses. and have saved money.” “Then there was something about a Mr Aaron Moi ley.” continued the other. “ who is wanted in Sydney, Did you know the gentleman ?” Jean shrugged his shoulders and was blank faced in an instant. “ The ease interested me," he answered. " I do not know anything of him. Why should I ?" "Just so,” remarked Sylvester. "Perhaps Mr Jarvis Doiman is interested in the ease also," and again Jean shrugged his shoulders. As they were speaking, Mr Morder

came into the clerks’ office, and Sylvester glanced at him. “Mr Morder,” whispeied Jean behind his hand, and Sylvester introduced himself to the junior partner who looked in his solemnest manner at him.

“So Mr Kedar will be happy again, now." laughed Sylvester, “ 1 have found his pocket book. You don’t know what a wealthy clerk you've got.”

Mr. Morder expressed no surprise. The intelligence seemed to pain, him merely, and he put his hand to his side, as though a pang of agony were there.

“I heard something of Kedar’s accident yesterday,” he answered. “One cannot be too careful in. going about London." and then after a few more words, Sylvester took his departure, Jean resumed his interrupted work, and Mr. Morder went back to his own room, groaning in the gentle way that so often surprised Mrs. Morder and his unmarriageable family of daughters.

The following day Jean Kedar’s place in the office was vacant. Southampton Street saw no more of his young old face nor trotting walk, neither did Messrs. Scripp and Morden. There was a week’s salary due, but Jean never returned to claim it, and mysteriously as he had come, so did he disappear. Sylvester Courtney might search high and low for the meek, unassumnig clerk, and he would not have found him in England, although in Paris he might have been more successful, for in the fourth floor

“suite” of a pension in. Passy, a new tenant had taken up his abode, whom the concierge knew as Monsieur Faure, who might have been Jean Kedar’s twin brother.

Meantime Sylvester was pursuing another search, and this was to find the garment from, which the fragment had been torn and left hanging on the nail in the wall of Whyteleas Manor. The mystery connected with Jean Kedar and the pocket book had baffled him so far, but there was a possibility the one had something to do with the other, and the search for the coat went on. Into what unsavoury quarters it led him, and with what unsavoury merchants it brought him in contact, it is needless to describe. but the hope of eventually coming across the missing garment gradually grew less and less. There were a. dozen reasons for his never finding it, each good. The coat might have passed into a customer’s hands mouths ago, and been, worn to rags by this time. It might have been sent abroad, it might have been converted into shoddy, or be gracing a scarecrow in some distant part of the country, and so the hope of finding it almost failed him. And then one of those events which prove that the “unexpected” does happen, and that it happens at the most unexpected moments, befell. He had been away from London for some weeks, and upon returning to his solitary chambers, their dnlness seemed unusually oppressive. “If I could get a woman to care a jot about me.” he mused, “I’d marry. I'd risk it. but the preparatory step is to fall in love, I suppose. Other fellows do it easily enough, but I’ve never seen a. woman whom I could fall in love with. It entails complications, of course. Look at .poor Dick! I’m afraid I’m no nearer clearing up the mystery that has ruined his chances, than I was at first.” And possibly from habit he

took out the piece of rag and carefully compiled statement of the case of Squire Gifford’s murder. “I’ve read of supernaturally gifted beings whoeould discover any crime,” he murmured.

“but clearly I’m not one of them. I’ve failed as completely as the detectives have failed in clearing up this mystery, and 1 may as well recognise the fact.” It was habit that made him linger at a stall, whereon was displayed some second hand clothing, in passing through Clare Market, a few days later. It was a near cut to the Strand, where he had an appointment, and the stall had caught his notice.

“Lovely Clo’!” exclaimed a hookednose Israelite who came after the manner of an exceedingly dusty spider, from a den behind the stall, as Sylvester began turning over the old clothes. “Most loveliest stock in the market, sir. You vant some? They sheap, and better as if they vas new.”

Sylvester made him no answer, being too busy in examining something that was on the stall. Once upon a time this coat that was in his hand had been a fashionable garment, and had belonged to a well-dressed man, for its linings were of silk and its texture, was fine. At the corner of the skirt a piece of cloth had been neatly inserted. where a rent had been, and if the Israelite had asked a hundred pounds for the garment, Sylvester would have paid it.

“Ah!” said the dealer, with an unctuous smack of his thick lips. “That a peautiful coat, sir. Made by the Prince of Vales’ own tailor. It fit you better as if it vas made for you.”

“How much?” asked Sylvester, and he was so hasty in the question, that the Israelite immediately added fifty per cent, to the price he had originally set on the coat.

“That coat vorth a pound,” he answered, as if regretting selling it. “All silk here,” and he gave it an artistic flourish. “Yes, vorth a pound of anybody’s money.”

“How much do you want for it ?” repeated Sylvester. "1 take eighteen and six. and not von penny less.” was the reply, and Sylvester threw down a sovereign. So eager was he that he did not wait for the eoat to be made into a parcel, but walked off with his prize over his arm. leaving the dealer staring after him. resisting the temptation to call his customer baek for his eighteen pence.

Hugging his capture as though it might be lost otherwise, Sylvester made for his chambers, the purpose of his going into the Strand quite forgotten, and arriving home he spread the coat on the table. Yes, there was no mistake ; the piece of frayed cloth fitted the place from which it had been torn, thread for thread. The colour and material were the same as the fragment, the two cloths matching exactly ; and satisfied that he had found the coat at last which had been worn by the man who had escaped from the dining-room of Whyteleas Manor on the night of Squire Gifford’s murder, he made a further examination that if possible he might discover a trace of its former owner.

Inch by inch he went over the coat, finding nothing that was likely to lead to any discovery of importance ; turning the satin-lined sleeves inside out, and searching the pockets. Nothing. And then, under the lining at the back where the tails divided, something caught his notice. Something white, a piece of material on which was printed the name of a firm of West End tailors, and beneath this another written in a clerkly hand, at, sight of which Sylvester started in amazement. For the name was “Samuel Morder, Esq.” CHAPTER XV. The interview with Madam Duval had lor the most part been of such a satisfactory nature, that after a little consideration Madge decided to accept the situation. Mgdam was peculiar in trilling matters but Madge was broad-minded enough to laugh at

these, and the prospect of earning fifty pounds a year, of being independent of her father’s help, were great inducements for her going to Morton St. Jude. So a week after her first visit there, she returned to begin the duties that consisted of no formal set work but would be so variable as not to be the least tiring or inconvenient. This Madam assured her, and indeed so light was the occupation that it might have been said to consist of doing nothing. It was Madge’s first evening at the cottage, whither the errant Sarah Ann had returned to resume her attendance on Madam. Sarah Ann was a tall, hard-featured woman, prone to attacks of spasms, and in the intervals between these, which were of longer or shorter duration, according to circumstances, she worked “like a horse,” to quote herself. Madam and her companion had finished dinner, and gone into the drawing-room where the former threw herself upon the couch, declaring that her happiness was too great. She was in good spirits, so good in fact, that she chattered incessantly, and gesticulated so wildly, that the “toupe” became disarranged, and assumed a jaunty position, such as a soldier’s cap presents. “This is our first evening together, my chaile,” she said. “We will make it so happy, is it not so ? We will have what you call a leetle ‘festa,’ a joyousness. That you have come to me, my chaile, make no longer the cottage unhappy. And we will have presently a fine ’ouse and servants. Peste! But Sarah was a miser-able. She groan all day with her sp-a-a-seems. And she made a gesture of the supremest contempt.

“Are you thinking of moving from Morton St. Jude ?” asked Madge. “Yes, I move in some time. To London, to Vien-na, to Brus-sels. Why not ? Who can say ? I will advise with you, sweet chaile, to where we shall go. You shall decide. I have so much money that we go anywheres,” and Madam seated herself at the piano.

“You do not travel much now, I suppose ?” continued Madge, watching the increasing vivacity of the little lady curiously. They had had champagne for dinner to celebrate Madge’s arrival, and the wine had flushed Madam’s face through the rouge.

“Not since my Henri die,” she answered. “But now—yes, we will travel, my chaile, now that you are with me. 1 have still so many friends, know you. They say. Come I but I reply. I am alone ! Then 1 resolve upon being with a companion, and we travel together. At Trouville were so many sheeps of my friends ; with that name so strange. They shall be sheeps of pleasure, that name.” “You mean yachts.” said Madge, smiling at Madam’s difficulty of definition, who nodded violently. “ That name ; yes ‘ yorts ’ they shall be called,” she exclaimed, “ and 1 make voyage in them, often. Two, three week so marvellous, that I am become a true sailor, at Trouville. My Henri, he remains always so ill when we voyage, poor sweet. Was not the time delightful, think you ?” “ It must have been a very pleasant time,” replied Madge. “ 1 should imagine that yachting was very enjoyable,” and at this Madam’s bright little eyes seemed to flicker with delight, and the crow’s-feet round them puckered. “ Ah ! we will again enter into the world,” she cried. “ 1 think not of money. Was it not given to enjoy ?” and she twisted round, bringing her fingers down on the keys with a discordant crash. “ Now I will sing to you.” and in a sudden burst Madam began singing. But such singing ! Madge sat listening painfully to the trills and runs of the shrill voice. that seemed screaming out the words of the song. It was a tremulous voice too, that had no music in it, and jarred the harmonies of the notes, ending in a shriek high up, and turning round again. Madam burst inti: a laugh. " My Henri has wept at my singing, often,” she exclaimed. “Its tenderness so pathetic, is it not so ? T sang when we were last in Paris,” and a sudden revulsion of feeling appeared to overcome her. at the thought of the de« eeased Henri. There was something like a gulp in Madam’s sinewy throat, as- the lase of her collar rose and fell on it. Then all her merriment came back, wildly.

Sarah entered at this moment, with a spectre-like movement, carrying a tray on which were wine and

glasses, keeping her gaze on Madam, who returned the look spitefully, and placing the tray on the table, the spectre backed out of the room without speaking.

“Ma foil” said Madam. “That woman enrage me. So triste, so gloomy is she. Skeleton I” and she poured out the wine violently, heedless that it ran over the edge of the glass and splashed the tray. Madge refused the offer of it. and Madam drank with a relish, making a clicking sound in her throat now, as she swallowed.

“ 1 will have you play, my chaile,” she said, putting down her glass, “ but it shall not be solemn music. A dance, a gavotte, a waltz. Ah 1 My Henri waltz so divine ; and I.”

Considering it part of her duty, Madge sat down at the piano, playing a merry, quick tune, and Madam gave a shriek of delight. “ Mon Dieu,” she cried. “ Who can re-sist this music ? See ; 1 dance to you, my chaile.” And lifting her skirts daintily between her finger and thumb, Madam Ange began to pirouette and leap to the imminent peril of the wine glasses and decanter, pointing to her toes, as she executed a series of elaborate steps with a kind of elfish nimbleness, until from want of breath, she fell back on the couch, and Madge ceased playing. Panting and smiling, Madam glanced at her young companion and bade her - sing. “You sharm me!” she screamed. “ And I drink to your ’appiness, my chaile,” which she did at once with an unsteady hand. “We shall be comrades, and I already love you. Sing.” “ What shall 1 sing ?”

“ What shall it be then ? Sing your ‘ God Save the Queen,’ my chaile, and I will as-sist.” So with good nature entering into the fun, Madge began singing the national anthem, Madam's voice aiding her. When it was ended, Sarah appeared, very much like the emblem of mortality at an Egyptian banquet, and proclaimed that it was eleven o’clock, Furthermore she informed Madam irt a sepulchral tone that “ human strength ” was “ human strength,” and had its limits. Therefore, if nothing more was required of her, she was going to bed. “ Adons,” retorted Madam sarcastically. “ Yes, to your bed, or your grave, 1 care not. Saran.” To which Sarah said, “ Thank you, ma’am,” loftily, ami disappeared. This was the beginning of Madge’s service as companion to Madam Ange Duval, whom not until late the following day did she see again, for Madam sent a message that one of her violent headaches destroyed her. So Madge took a long walk into the country, and upon her return to the cottage found her employer dozing over the fire, averse to conversation. During the evening, however, she revived. chatting in her rapid way upon their future movements.

Looking back after a week had elapsed since coming to Morton St. Jude, Madge found nothing to complain of. Madame Duval had been generosity itself, and had sent a huge hamper of delicacies to Westdown House, for the invalid “Papa.” as she described Mr. Selby. A carriage had been hired from the village, she and Madge taking some pleasant drives, and Mrs Selby was gladdened by receiving a letter from her daughter, stating that the situation was a satisfactory one. “We are going to the Isle of Wight,” wrote Madge, “where Madam has some friends. Cowes Regatta is to be held next week, so we shall have plenty to amuse ns.” One morning Madam received a letter, which she read through a tor toise shell rimmed handglass, nodding to the writing in a gra: titled way.

“It is from a friend, this letter,' she told Madge, “that 1 shall have almost forgotten, yet does he not forget me. He remembers Trouville, and my Henri, the ’appy day there that we met. and he invite to visit his so sharniing wife, who is with him on his yort. Ah’ I remember M’sieur Ashton and his delightful family, and we are- peste so strange a word come now. How you call c r u i— s e, my chaile?’*

Madge told her the pronunciation of the word, explaining that it meant sailing a short distance hither and thither.

“You are the most clevaire chaile,” rxehii iihml Madam. “You are already a. sailor, I perceive, is it not? Yes, but we will veeait M’sieur Ashton, and we must prepare ourselves with cost nines of the sea. A lions! We

will buy them in Weenchester. You will be divine, my chaile, in that dress.”

Madge murmured something about the expense of buying a yachting costume, at hearing which Madam snapped her fingers. "1 buy them for you,” she said, "ami of the best. A cloak so warm, and all that you shall need. Yes, we will go into Weenchester to-day.” Madge made an objection, but rather feebly, to be over-ruled, and the fly having been requisitioned, she and Madam drove into the city later in the day, and proceeded to a fashionable dressmaker’s, where, after a great deal of talking and gesticulating, Madam ordered two costumes. They must be completed in ten days, she said, and brought to Morton St. Jude, her own dress to be embellished with anchors ami flags on the sleeves and collar, for she would be quite a sailor. Madam also provided herself with a coquettish straw hat, that perched itself on the toupee, and gave her an “air.” It was all very amusing, and Madge laughed heartily as she regarded Madam parading and ogling before the tall mirror in the hat shop. '1 he costumes were brought punctually to the cottage, and Madam de dared them to be “ravishing.” Sarah, being summoned to see her mistress arrayed in hers, through laek of there being anyone else to behold the finery, pronounced it to be “too showy” for her taste. She also re-

marked that boys wore hats the shape of Madam's.

"imbecile!” exclaimed Madam. "So senseless a Saran! tour boys! Peste. Were not these hats worn by the captains and officers of the sheeps? Yes, ami these flags also.”

"Rubbish!” retorted Sarah Ann, who distinctly curled her lip, and Madge laughed until the tears came into her eyes. Everything was so quaint and unusual about Madam Duval that it was impossible not to laugh, and beyond all Madam was one of the best-natured persons in tlie world.

The next day they departed from Morton St. Jude, on their way to Cowes, where they staved at an hotel, Mada in spending her money freely. From Madge's room there was a glorious vie w of the sea and harbour, ami lying a short distance oft* shore was a schooner yacht to which a boat was carrying some stores. There were many other vessels, for the season was at its height, and Cowes crowded with visitors, amongst whom Madam's jaunty hat and emblematic anchors and flags had created quite a sensation. M’sieur Ashton would arrive in two days, she had told Madge, who as she watched the bright scene from the hotel window, wondered whether that schooner yacht were his. It had not been there yesterday, and whilst she was thinking *thus, Madam came into the room. “M’sieur has already come,” she exclaimed. “He has sent so sharining

a note, and Madam also so much her love. Yes, the sheep is M’sieur Ashton’s, that you regard, my ehaile. We go to veesit at M’sieur's yort this day. Is it not s»?” Arrayed in her nautical costume.

with the sailor hat bobbing and trembling on the toupee. Madam Duval proceeded with Madge to the landing place, where amongst a number of trim cutters lay one with two sailors in it. It was Mr Ashton’s, and Madam tripped into it, giving a little scream as it rocked, and then she and Madge were being rowed rapidly to the schooner. A bluff, plain speaking man. whose dress betokened h’m to be the captain, received them, and with a sharp look round. Madam Duval went into the saloon, taking Madge with her. She had asked a question of the captain, which her companion did not catch, and flinging herself on the broad seat that went round the rao’n, gave a merry laugh. “At last then!” slhe cried. “Is it not delightful, my ehaile? Hark! They pull up the anchor, ami we sail away. We go io find what these Eenglish call their legs of sea.” “Where is Mr Ashton?” asked Madge. “lie shall be called to Portsmouth this morning, so say Captain Brown, his commander,” replied Madam. “We meet h’m tthere. with his dear wife. Prepare yourself for a great sur—prise, my ehaile,” and her eyes danced merrily. “Let us go on deck.” said Madge. “We are losing the scenery.” "Bah! This scenery.” retorted Madam. “It is nothing. The water makes dizzy my head also. Rest yet in this ‘salon.’” and something appeared to g've Madam such intense ■ainrse.nrent, tlhat she burst into a ringing laugh. There was wine on the saloon table, and she helped herself to it. explaining that she would combat the sea. whatever that might have me:’, nt. The yacht was by this time hissing through the water, and from the saloon port, Madge could see the land sinking into indistinctness. They were making for the open sea too, and she turned to Madam Duval. “You told me that we were to meet Mr Ashton at Portsmouth,” she said. “We seem going away from it.” "Sweet ehaile,” replied Madam. “Is it I who guide the sheep? Is it I who direct where she shall be carried? Ma I'oi! I am but a veesitor,who knownothing. Captain Brown will preserve us, yet how rocks the. floor. Mon Dieu!” and she groaned. The yacht was making good way, ami although Madge would have preferred to go on deck, the condition of misery into which Madam had fallen called for sympathy and aid. For that seasoned mariner was ill, and after uttering the most dismal expressions of despair, and becoming very limp, Madge had helped her to a berth, where in a. forlorn heap of nautical costume and crushed straw hat, the sufferer laid herself down, calling for a speedy death to release her from her torments, for brandy in the same breath, and Madge went into the saloon to procure it. Somebody was standing at the entrance, a.nd Madge uttered a cry of consternation. Somebody from whom she shrank angrily as he approached her. for the new comer was Jarvis Dorman. (To be continued.)