Serial Story. (PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.) IN WHITE RAIMENT

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXV, Issue XXIV, 15 December 1900, Page 1098

Serial Story. (PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.) IN WHITE RAIMENT

By

WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

Author of “Purple and Fine Linen,” “Whoso Findeth a Wife” “Of Royal Blood,” “If Sinners Entice Thee.” “The Day of Temptation,” Etc., Etc.

(COPYRIGHT.)

CHAPTER XXIX. PUT TO THE TEST. “I remember very little of the events of that day,” my love said, with some reluctance. “1 knew Ashwicke, he having been a guest here last year, and a frequent visitor at Gloucester Square. With Nora and Sir Henry I returned to London in early May, after wintering in Florence, and one morning at the end of June 1 met Major Tattersett unexpectedly in the Burlington. He told me that his sister and niece from Scotland were visiting him at his house in Queen's Gate Gardens, and invited me to call, and make their acquaintance.” “Had you never been to his house previously?” “Never. He, however, gave me an invitation to luncheon for the twentyfourth of July, which I accepted. On arrival 1 found the major, his sister and his niece were out shopping; therefore 1 sat alone awaiting them in the drawing-room, when of a sudden 1 experienced for the first time that curious sensation of being frozen. I tried to move, but was unable. I cried out for help, but no one came. My limbs were stiff and rigid, as though I were struck by paralysis, while the pain was excruciating. I fought against unconsciousness, but my last clear recollection of those agonising moments was of an indistinct sinister face peering into mine. All then became strangely distorted. The balance of my brain became inverted, and I lost my will-power, being absolutely helpless in the hands of those who directed my movements. I could not hold back, for all my actions were mechanical, obeying those around me. I remember being dressed for the wedding, the journey to the church, my meeting with my future husband—whose face, however. I was unable afterwards to recall—the service. and the return. Then came a perfect blank.” “And afterwards?" “Night had fallen when I returned to mv senses, and the strange sensation of intense cold generally left me. I looked around, and to my amazement saw the pale moon high in the sky. My head was resting upon something hard, which I gradually made out to be a wooden seat. Then when I sat up. I became aware of the bewildering truth—that I was lying upon one of the seats in Hyde 1 ar . “In Hyde Park? And you had been placed there while in a. state of unconsciousness?” “Yes. Upon my finger I found a wedding ring. Was it possible, I wondered. that 1 was actually married to some unknown man? . “You saw nothing of Ashwicke?" “1 saw no one except the maid servant who showed me into the draw-ing-room, and cannot in the least account for the strange sensation which held me helpless in the hands of my enemies. I saw the man I married at the church, but so mistily that 1 did not recognise you when we met again/’ “But you knew the house in Queen's Gate Gardens. Did you not afterwards return there and seek an explanation of Tattersett?” "On discovering my whereabouts I rose and walked across the Park to Gloucester Square. It was then nearly one o'clock in the morning, but Nora was sitting up in anxiety as to what had become of me. 1 bad. however, taken the ring from my finger, and to her told a fictitious story to account for my tardy return. Two days later I returned to the house to which Tattersett had invited me, but on inquiry found to my amazement that it was really occupied by a lady named Stentiford, who was abroad; while

the man left in charge knew nothing whatever either of the major or of his sister and niece. I told him how I had visited there two days previously, but he laughed incredulously; and when 1 asked for the maid-servant who had admitted me he said that no maid had been left there by Mrs Stentiford. In prosecution of my inquiries I sought to discover the register of my marriage, but not knowing the parish in which it had taken place, my search at Somerset House was fruitless. They told me that the registers were not made up there until six months or so after the ceremony.” “You did not apply at Doctors' Commons?” “No,” she responded. “1 thought the entry would be at Somerset House.” “What previous knowledge had you of the major?” "He was a friend of Ashwicke’s, who had been introduced to us one night in the stalls at Daly’s. He afterwards dined several times at Gloucester Square.” "But Sir Henry does not know him.” “It was while he was away at the Cape.” “Then you have not the faintest idea, of the reason of our extraordinary marriage, darling?” I asked, holding her hand. “I have told you all that actually occurred. Can you form no conclusion whatever as to the motive?” “Absolutely none," she answered. “I am as utterly in the dark as yourself. I cannot understand why you were selected as my husband.” “But you do not regret?” T asked tenderly. “Regret! No,” she repeated raising her beautiful face to mine, perfect in its loveliness and purity. “I do not regret now. Richard —because I love vou.” And our lips met again in fervent tenderness. “It is still an absolute mystery,” I observed at last. “We know that we tire wedded, but there our knowledge ends." "We have both been victims ot a plot,” she responded. “If we co«ld but discern the motive, then we might find some clue to lead us to the truth.” "But there is a woman called La Gioia,” I said; and, continuing, explained my presence in the park at Whitton and the conversation J had overheard between herself and Tattersett. Her hand, still in mine, trembled perceptibly, and I saw that , I had approached a subject distasteful to her. “Yes,” she admitted at last in a hard, strange voice, “it is true that he wrote making an appointment, to meet me in the park that night. . 1 kept it, because 1 wished to ascertain the truth regarding my marriage. But he would tell me nothing. He only urged me to secure my own safety because La Gioia had returned.” “And who is La Gioia?” “My enemy—my bitterest enemy!” “Can you tell me nothing else?” I asked in a tone of slight reproach. “I know nothing else. Ido not know who or what she is. or where she lives. 1 only know that she is my unseen evil genius.” “But you have seen her. She called upon you on that evening at Gloucester Square when she assumed the character of your dressmaker; and a few nights ago she was here —in this house.” “Here?” she echoed in alarm. “Impossible!” Then I related how I had seen her, and how her evil influence had fallen upon me when afterwards I had entered my room. “The thing is actually beyond belief,” she declared. “Do you really think you were not mistaken?” “Most assuredly I was not. It was

the woman who called upon you in London. But you have not told me the reason you were absent from your room that night.” She was silent for a few moments, then answered: “I met Tattersett. He demanded that I should meet him, as he wished to speak with me secretly. I did so.” “Why did he wish to see you?” “In order to prove to me that he had no hand in the tragic affair at Whitton. 1 had suspected all along that he was responsible for the colonel's death, and my opinion has not altered. I begged him to tell me the reason of the plot against me, the motive of my marriage, and the identity of my husband. But he refused pointblank, telling me to ask La Gioia, who knew everything.” “Have you no idea of her whereabouts?” “None whatever.” “If we could but find her,” I said, "she might tell us something. Ah! if we could but find her!” My love was trembling. Her heart was filled to overflowing with the mystery of it all. Yet I knew that she loved me—yes, she loved me. How long we lingered there upon the terrace I know not, but it was late ere we re-entered the drawing-room. Who among those assembled guests would have dreamt the truth! We were man and wife! As I went upstairs I found a letter lying upon the hall-table in the place where the guests’ letters were placed. Barton had, I suppose, driven into Corsham and brought with him the mail which would, in the usual course, have been delivered on the following morning. The note was from Hoefer, a couple of awkwardly scribbled lines asking me to come and see him without a moment’s delay. Eager to hear whether the queer old fellow had made any discovery, I departed next morning by the eight o'clock express for London, having left a note with Beryl’s maid explaining the cause of my sudden journey, and soon after eleven was seated with the old German in his lofty laboratory. The table was, as usual, filled with various contrivances, bottles of liquids and test-tubes containing fluids of various hues, while before him. as 1 entered, a small tube containing a bright blue liquid was bubbling over the spirit-lamp, the heat causing the colour gradually to fade. "Ah. my frient,” he cried with his strong accent, holding out his big fat hand encased in a stout leather glove. “I am glad you have come —very glad. It has been a long search, but I have discovered something, after all. You see these?” and he indicated his formidable array of retorts and testtubes. “Well, I have been investigating at Gloucester Square, and have found the affair much more extraordinary than I believed.” “And you have discovered the truth?” I demanded. “Yes,” he responded, turning down the flame of the lamp and bending attentively to the bubbling fluid from which all colour had disappeared, while I had been watching. “Shall I relate to you the course of my investigation?” “Do. I am all attention.” “Well,” he said, leaning both elbows upon the table and resting his

ehin upon his hands, while the tame brown rat ran along the table and scrambled into his pocket, “on that first evening when you sought my assistance 1 knew from the remote effects which both of us experienced that the evil influence of that mysterious visitor in black was due to some unknown neurotic poison. It was for that reason that I was enabled to administer an antidote without making an exact diagnosis. Now, as you are well aware, toxicology is a very strange study. Even common table-salt is a poison, and has caused death. But my own experiments have proved that although the various narcotic poisons produce but little local change, their remote effects are very remarkable. Certain substances affect certain organs in particular. The remote action of a poison may be said to be due in every instance to its absorption into the veins or the lymphatics; except when there is a direct continuity of effect traceable from the point where the poison was applied to the point where the remote effect is shown. It is remarkable that the agents which most affect the nervous system do not act at all when applied to the brain or the trunks of nerves. Poisonous effects result from absorption of the poisoning body, and absorption implies solution; the more soluble, therefore, the compound is, the more speedy are its effects. Do you follow me?” “Quite clearly.” “The rapid remote effect produced on leaving that room made it plain to me that 1 must look for some powerful neurotic poison that may be absorbed through the skin.” he went on. “With this object I searched microscopically various objects within and without the room, but for a long time was unsuccessful, when one morning 1 made a discovery that upon the white porcelain handle of the door a little colourless liquid had been applied. Greater part of it had disappeared by constant handling; but there was still some remaining on the shaft of the handle, and the microscope showed distinct prism shaped crystals. All these I secured, and with them have since been experimenting. 1 found them to be a more deadly poison than any of the known paralysants or hyposthenisants with an effect of muscular paralysis very similar to that produced by curare, combined with the stiffness about the neck and inability to move the jaws so apparent in symptoms provoked by strychnia. The unknown substance, a most deadly secret poison, and as I have since proved, one of those known to the ancients, had been applied to the door handle on the inside, so that any person in pulling open the door to go out must absorb it in sufficient quantity to prove fatal. Indeed, had it not been for the antidote of chlorine and the mixed oxides of iron which 1 fortunately hit upon, death must have ensued in the ease of each of us. “To determine exactly what was the poison used was an almost insurmountable task, for I had never met with the substance before, but after working diligently all this tijne I found that by treating it with sulphuric acid it underwent no change, yet by adding a fragment of bichr. mate of potass a series of blue, violet, purple and red tints were produced, very similar to those seen in the tests for strychnia. The same results were brought about also by peroxide, of lead and black oxide of manganese. I dried the skin of a frog and touched it with a drop of solution conta’ning a single one of the tiny crystals, when strong tetanic convulsions ensued, and the animal died in ten seconds. At last, however, after many other experiments, the idea occurred to me that it was an alkaloid of some plant unknown in modern toxicology. I was, of course, aware of the action of the calabar bean of the West Coast of Africa, the akazga, the datura seeds of India, and such like poisons, but this was certainly none of these. It was a substance terribly deadly—the only

substance that could strike death through the cuticle—utterly unknown to us, yet the most potent of all secret poisons.” “And how did you determine it at last?” “By a reference 1 discovered in an ancient Latin treatise on | o sons from the old monastery at Pavia, now in the British Museum. It gave me a cine which ultimately led me to establish it as the alkaloid of the vayana bean. This bean it appears was used in the tenth and eleventh eeu uries by a sect of despotic Arab mys ies called the Fatimites. who had marie Cairo their capital, and held rule over Syria, as well as the northern coast of Africa. The last Fatimite was. at a later date, dethroned by Saladin, conqueror of the Koords, and who opposed Richard Lof England, The poison, introduced from Egypt into Italy, was known to the old alchemists as the most secret means of ridding one of undesirable acquaintances. Its effect, it was stated, was the most curious of any known drug, because for the time being it completely altered the disposition of the individual and caused him to give way to all sorts of curious notions and delusions, while at the same time he would be entirely obedient to the will of any second person. Afterwards came fierce delirium, a sensation as though the lower limbs were frozen, complete loss of power, exhaustion and death. But in modern toxico'ogy even the name of the vayana was lost, “My first step, therefore, was to seek assistance of the great botanist who is curator of Kew Gardens, and after considerable difficulty and many experiments we both arrived at the conclusion that it was the bean of a small and very rare plant peculiar to the oasis of the Ahir in the south of the Great Sahara, At Kew there was a stunted specimen, but it had never borne fruit; therefore we both searched for any other specimen that might exist in England. We heard of one in the wonderful gardens of La Mortola, near Mentone, and afler diligent inquiries discovered that a firm of importers in Liverpool had sold a specimen with the beans in pod, which was delivered to a person named Turton, living in Bishop’s Wood Road. Highgate, and planted in a sma’l greenhouse there. I have not been idle,” he added with a grin. Then taking from a drawer in the able before him a photograph, he handed it to me, saying, “I have been able to obtain this photograph of Mrs Turton —the lady who purchased the plant in question.” He held it out to me, and in an instant I recognised the face. It was that of the woman who had crept so silently through the rooms at Atworth—La Gioia! Briefly, I told him all that had transpired on that night, and declared that I recogn’sed her features whereat he grunted in satisfaction. “You asked me to try to solve the mystery, and I have dong so. You will find this woman living at a house called ‘Fairmead,’ in the road I have indicated. I have not only established the cause of the phenomena, but I have at the same time rediscovered the most extraordinary and deadly substance known in toxicology. As far as the present case is concerned my work is finished. I have succeeded in making some of the vayana alkaloid. Here it is” and taking a small yellow glass tube, securely corked and sealed, he handed it to me. In the bottom I saw about half a grain of tiny white crystals. I knew now' why he was wearing gloves in his laboratory. “And have you seen this woman?” I asked the queer old fellow’, whose careful investigations had been crowned with such success. “How did you know on the following day that it was La Gioia who had come in the guise of a dressmaker?” “I have seen her, and I have seen the plant. It is from one of the beans which I secured secretly that I have been able to produce that substance. I knew her name by overhearing a conversation between Miss Wynd and her cousin on the following morning.” “And the woman is in ignorance that you know the truth?” “Entirely. I have finished. It is for you now to aet as you think fit." I expressed admiration for his marvellous patience and ingenuity in solving the mystery, and when I left it was with the understanding that if 1 required his further assistance he would willingly render it.

CHAPTER XXX. “LA GIOIA." On the following afternoon. In response to a telegram I had sent to Beryl, she accompanied me to High.gate to face laj Gioia. Now that I had such complete evidence of her attempts to poison. I did not fear her, but was determined to elucidate the mystery. Beryl accompanied me rather reluctantly, declaring that with such power as the woman held our lives w ere not safe. But I resolved to take her by surprise, and to risk all. After leaving Hoefer 1 had sought an interview with the detective Bullen, and he, by- appointment, was tn the vicinity of the house in question, accompanied by a couple of plain clothes subordinates. We stopped our eab in Hampstead Lane, and descending, found that the Bishop’s Wood Road was a s«" circular thoroughfare of substantial detached houses; the garden of each abutting upon a cricket ground in me centre, and each with its usual greenhouse, where geraniums were potted and stored in winter. On entering ttie quiet, highly respectable crescent, we were not long in discovering a house with the name “Fairmead” inscribed in gilt letters upon the gate, while a little further along my eyes caught sight of two scavengers, diligently sweeping the road, and not far away Bullen himself was walking w’ith his back turned towards me. On our summons being responded to, I inquired for Mrs Turton, ami we were shown to the drawing room—a rather severely furnished apartment which ran through Into the greenhouse, wherein stood the rare plant. Hoefer had described it minutely, and while we waited we both peered into the greenhouse and examined it. The plant standing in the full sunlight was about two feet high, with broad spreading leaves of a rich dark green, and grew in an ordinary flower pot. Half hidden by the leaves, just as Hoefer had said, we saw some small green pods, long and narrow—the pods of the fatal vayana. Ere we had time to exchange words the c’soor of the room opened, and there stood before us the tall dark-robed figure of “La Gioia.” Her hard face, pale and expectant, showed in the full light to be that of a woman of perhaps forty, with dark hair, keen swift eyes, thin cheeks!, and bony features —a countenance not exactly ugly, but rather that of a woman whose beautyhad prematurely faded owing to the heavy- cares upon her. I was the first to address her, saying— “l think, madam, you are sufficiently well acquainted with both of us not to need any formal introduction.” Her brow contracted, and her lips stood apart. Then, without hesitation, 1 told her my name, and that of my companion, while the light died from her careworn face, and she stood motionless as one petrified. “We have come here, to you, to seek the truth of the conspiracy against us - —the plot in which you yourself have taken part. We demand to know the reason of the secret attempts you have made upon the lives of both of us.” “I don’t understand you,” she answered, with hauteur. “To deny it is useless,”! said determinedly. “The insidious poison you have used is the vayana, and the only specimen in England bearing fruit is standing there in your greenhouse.” And as I uttered those words I elosecl the door leading beyond, and locking it, placed the key in my pocket. Her teeth were firmly set. She glanced at me, and tried to deny my allegation, but so utterly was she taken aback by my sudden denunciation that words failed her. A moment later, however, taking several paces forward to where we stood, she cried with a sudden outburst of uncontrollable auger—“You—Beryl Wynd—l hate you! 1 swore that you should die—and you shall—you shall!” But I stepped betwen them, firm and determined. I saw that this woman was a veritable virago, and that now we had cornered her so neatly she was capable of any crime. “ 1 demand to know the truth!” I said, in a hard, distinct voice. “ You will know nothing from me,” she snarled. “That woman has betrayed me!” she added, indicating Beryl. “Your evil deeds alone have betrayed you,” I responded, “and if you de-

cline to tell me anything of your own free will, then perhaps you will make a statement to the police, when put upon your trial for attempted murder,” “My trial!” she gasped, turning pale again. “You think to irighten me into telling you something—eh?” she laughed. Ah! you do not know me!” “I know you sufficiently well to be aware that you are a clever and ingenious woman,” I replied. “And in this affair I entertain a belief that our interests may, after all, be mutual.” “How?” “Tattersett is your enemy, as he is ours.” It was a wild shot, but I recollected his words that I had overheard in the park at Whitton. “There has been a conspiracy against myself and this lady here who is my wife.” “Your wife!” she gasped. “I have spoken the truth,” I said. “I am here to learn the details from you. If, on the other hand, you prefer to preserve the secret of your accomplices, I shall demand your arrest without delay.” She was silent. men, after furthei declarations of ignorance, she was driven to desperation by my threats of arrest, and at last sa. . in a hard, husky voice—“l 'must first tell you who and what I am. My father was an English merchant named Turton, who lived in Palermo, and my mother Italian. Fifteen years ago I was a popular dancer known throughout Italy as * La Gioia.’ While engaged at La Scala Tneatre in Milan I met an Englishman named Ashwicke ” “Ashwicke!” I exclaimed. “Not the man whom you know as A'S'hwicke, but another,” she restponded. “He was interested in the occult sciences, apparently wealthy, and much enamoured of me. In the six months of our courtship I grew to love him madly, and the result was that we were married at the Municipio in Milan, which stands exactly opposite the entrance to the theatre. A month afterwards, however, he decamped with my jewels, and the whole of the money I had saved, leaving behind him as his only personal possessions a box containing some rare old vellum books which he had purchased somewhere down in the old Tuscan towns, and of which he had been extremely careful. At first I could not believe that he could have treated me thus, after all his profession of love, but as the weeks passed and he did not return I slowly realised the tmtt> that I had been duped and deserted. It was then that I made a vow of revenge. Ten endless years passed, and my personal beauty having faded, I was compelled to remain on the stage, accepting menial parts and struggling for bread until, by the death of a cousin, I found myself with sufficient to live upon. Though I had no clue as to who my husband was beyond a name, which had most probably been assumed, I nevertheless treasured his liooks, feeling vaguely that some day they might give me a clue. In those years that went by I spent days land days deciphering the old black letters and translating from the Latin and Italian. They were nearly all works dealing with the ancient practice of medicine, but one there was which dealt with secret poisons. I have it here,” and, unlocking a drawer in a rosewood cabinet, she took therefrom a big leather-covered tome, written in Latin upon vellum. There was an old rusted lock of Florentine workmanship upon it, and the leather was worm-eaten and tattered. “This contains the secret of the vayana,” she went on. opening the ponderous tome before me on the table. “I discovered there that the poison was the only one impossible of detection, and then it occurred to me to prepare it and with it strike revenge. Well, although I iiad been in London a dozen times in search of the man T had once loved. I came again and settled down here, determined to spare no effort to discover him. Through four whole years I sought him diligently. when at last I was successful. I discovered who and what he was.” “Who was he?” ! inquired. “The man you know as Major Tattersett. His real name is Ashwicke.” “Tattersett!” gasped Beryl. “And he is your husband?” “Most certainly.” she responded. “I watched him diligently for more than twelve months, and discovered that his career had been a most extraordinary one, and that he was in association with a man named Graham —who sometimes also called himself

Ashwicke—and who was one of the most expert and ingenious forgers ever known. Graham was a continental swindler, whom the poi.ce had for years been endeavouring to arrest, while the man who was my husband was known in criminal circles as ‘The Major.’ Their O|>erations in England. Belgium, and America, were on a most extensive scale, and in the past eight years or so they have amassed a large fortune, and have succeeded in entering a very res|>ectable circle of society. While Keeping watch upon my husband’s movements I found that he. one evening a few months ago, went down to Hounslow, and unobserved by him I travelled by the same train. I followed him to Whitton, and watched him meet clandestinely a lady, who was one of the guests.” “It was myself!” Beryl exclaimed, standing utterly dumbfounded by these revelations. “Yes,” the woman went on. “I was present at your meeting, although not sufficiently near to overhear your conversation. By your manner, however, I felt confident that you were lovers, and then a fiendish suggestion —one that I now deeply regret—occurred to me, namely, to kill you both by secret means. With that, object I went to the small rustic bridge by the lake, over which I knew you must pass on your return to the house, both of you having crossed it on your way there, and upon the handrail I placed the poison I had prepared. I knew that if you placed your hand upon the rail the poison would at once be absorbed through the skin, and must prove fatal. My calculations were, however, incorrect, for an innocent man fell victim. Colonel Chetwode came down that path, and unconsciously grasping the rail, received the sting of death, while you and your companion returned bv a circuitous route, and did not therefore discover him.” “And is that really the true story of the colonel’s death?” I asked ly“Yes.” she answered, her chin upon her breast. “You may denounce me. I am a murderess—a murderess!” There was a long and awkward pause. “And can you tell us nothing of our mysterious union and its motive?” I asked her. “Nothing!” she responded, shaking her head. “I would tell you all. if I knew, for you. like myself, have fallen victims in the hands of Tattersett and Graham. Only they themselves know the truth. After the tragedy at Whitton 1 traced Beryl Wynd to Gloucester Square, and. still believing her to have supplanted me in my husband's affections, called there in the guise of a dressmaker, and while your wife was absent from the room managed to write a reply to a fictitious message I had brought her from Graham. I placed the liquid upon the porcelain handle of the door on the inside, so that a person on entering would experience no ill-effect, but on pulling open the door to leave would receive the full strength of the deadly vayana. This again proved ineffectual; therefore, ascertaining that Graham intended to visit Atworth. I entered there, and placed the terrible alkaloid on certain objects in your wife’s room, upon her waist-belt and in the room that had been occupied by him on his previous visit, but which proved to be then occupied by yourself.” “And that accounts for the mysterious attacks which we both experienced!” I observed, amazed at her eon fession. “Yes,” she replied. “I intended to commit murder. I was unaware that Beryl was your wife, and I have committed an error which 1 shall regret through all my life. I can only ask your forgiveness—if you really can forgive.” “I have not yet learnt the whole facts —the motive of our marriage,” I answered. “Can you direct us to either of the men?” She paused. Then at last answered—- “ Graham, or the man you know as Ashwicke. is here in this house, lie called upon me by appointment this afternoon. If you so desire, 1 will tell my servant to ask him in.” “But before doing so,” cried Beryl excitedly, “let me first explain my own position. I, too, am not altogether blameless. The story of my parentage as I have given it to you, Richard, is a fictitious one. I never knew my parents. My earliest recollections were of the convent of the Sacre Coeur at Brunoy, near Paris; where I spent fourteen years, having as companion during the latter seven

years Nora Findlay, the daughter of a Scotch ironmaster. Of my own parents the Sisters declared that they knew' nothin)', ami as I grew up they constantly tried to persuade me t • take the veil. Nora, my best friend, left the convent, returned to England, and two years afterwards married Sir Henry; whereupon she generously offered me a place in her house as companion. She is no relation, but knowing my susceptibilities, and in order that I should not be looked upon as a paid companion, she gave out that we were cousins. Hence I was accepted as such everywhere. “With Nora I had a pleasant, careless life, until about two years ago I met the major, unknown to Nora, and afterwards became on friendly terms with a young man —an officer in the Guards, who was his friend. Tattersett won a large sum from him at cards; and then 1 saw to m» dismay that he had been attracted only by the mild flirtation I had carried on with him, and that he had played in order to please me. The major increased my dismay by telling me that this young man was the son of a certain woman who was his bitterest enemy—the Italian woman called La Gioia—and that she would seek a terrible revenge upon us both. This was to frighten me. My life having been spent in the convent I knew very little of the ways of the world; yet I soon saw sufficient of both to know that Tattersett was an expert forger, and that his accomplice Graham was a clever continental thief, whom the police had been long wanting. How I called at the house in Queen’s Gate Gardens, and afterwards lost control over my own actions, 1 have already explained. The motive of our marriage is an absolute enigma.” She stood before me white-faced and rigid. “It is fortunate that Graham is here. Shall we seek the truth from him?” 1 asked. “Yes,” she responded. “Demand from him the reason of our mysterious union.” La Gioia touched the bell, gave an order to the servant, and after a few moments of dead silence Graham stood in the doorway. CHAPTER XXXI. CONCLUSION. “You!” gasped the man, halting quickly in alarm. “Yes,” 1 said. “Enter, Mr Graham. We wish to speak with you.” “You’ve betrayed me —curse you” he cried, turning upon La Gioia. “You’ve told them the truth!” The colour had died from his face, and he looked as grey and aged as on the first occasion when he had met and he had tempted me. “We desire the truth from your own lips,” I said determinedly. “I am not here without precautions. The house is surrounded by police, and they will enter at a sign from me, if you refuse an explanation —the truth, mind. If you lie, you will both be arrested.” “I know nothing,” he declareo, his countenance dark and sullen. He made a slight instinctive movement towards his pocket, and I knew that a revolver was there. “You know the reason of our marriage,” I said quickly. “What was it?” “Speak!” urged La Gioia. “You can only save yourself by telling the truth.” “Save myself!” he cried in a tone of defiance. “You wish to force me to confession —you and this woman La Gioia! You’ve acted cleverly. When she invited me here this afternoon I did not dream that she had outwitted me.” The woman had, however, made the appointment in ignorance of our intentions. therefore she must have had some other motive. Hut he was entrapped. and saw no way of escape. “I have worked diligently all these months, anil have solved the mystery of what you really are," I said. “Then that’s sufficient, for you, 1 suppose,” and his thin lips snapped toget her. "No. it is not sufficient. To attempt to conceal anything further is useless. 1 desire from you a statement of the whole truth.” “And condemn myself?” “You will not condemn yourself if you are perfectly frank with us.” I assured him. There was a long silence. His small eyes darted an evil look at La Gioia, who stood near him. erect and triumphant. Suddenly he answered in a tone hard and unnatural:

“If you know all. as you say, there is little need to say much about my own association with Tattersett. Of the latter, the police are well aware that he is one of the most expert forgers in Euro|M*. It was he and I who obtained sixty thousand pounds from the Credit Lyonnais in Bordeaux, ami who. among other little matters of business, tricked Parr’s for twenty thousand. At Scotland Yard they have all along suspected us, but have never obtained sufficient evidence to justify arrest. We took very good care of that, for after ten years’ partnership we were not likely to blunder.” He spoke braggingly, for all thieves seem proud of the extent of their frauds. “But you want to know about your marriage—eh?” he went on. “Well, to tell the truth, it happened like this. The major, who had dabbled in the byways of chemistry as a toxicologist, held the secret of a certain most deadly poison—one that was used by the ancients a thousand years ago—and conceived by its means a gigantic plan of defrauding life insurance companies. About that time he accidentally met Miss Wynd, and cultivated her acquaintance because, being extremely handsome, she would be useful as a decoy. The secret marriage was accomplished, but just as the elaborate plan was to be put into operation he made an astounding discovery.” “ What was the reason of the marriage?” I inquired, breathlessly. He paused in hesitation. “Because it was essential that in close association with us we should have a doctor of reputation, able to assist where necessary and give deathcertificates for production to the various life insurance companies. You were known to us by repute as a clever but impecunious man; therefore. it was decided that you should become our accomplice. With that object Tattersett, accompanied by a young woman whom he paid to represent herself as Beryl Wynd, went to Doctor’s Commons and petitioned for a special license, possession was obtained of the house in Queen’s Gate Gardens, which I had occupied two years previously under the name of Ashwicke —for we used each other’s names just as circumstances required —paying the caretaker a ten-pound note, and when all was in readiness you were called and bribed to marry Beryl, who was already there, rendered helpless with unbalanced brain by the deadly vayana. I posed, as you will remember, as Wyndham Wynd, father of the young lady, and after the marriage, in order to entrap you into becoming our accomplice, tempted you to take her life. You refused, therefore you also fell a victim to a cigarette steeped in a decoction of curare, handed you by the major, and were sent out of the country, it being our intention on your return to threaten you with being a party to a fraudulent marriage, and thifS compel you to become our accomplice.” “But this paper which I found beneath her pillow?” And I took from my pocket a sheet of paper with the name of La Gioia upon it. “It is a note I sent to her on the day before her visit to Queen’s Gate Gardens in order to induce her to come and consult with me. She had evidently carried it in her pocket.” “And this photograph?” I asked, showing him the picture I had found concealed in the colonel’s study. “We took that picture of her as she lay apparently dead for production afterwards to the life-insurance company. The colonel, who was a friend of Tattersett’s, must have found it in the latter’s rooms and secured it. It was only because two days after the marriage Sir Henry’s wife overheard a conversation between myself and Tattersett. in which you were mentioned, that we were prevented from making our gigantic coup against the life offices. While Beryl was asleep her ladyship found the wedding-ring. Then, knowing your address, for she had seen you with Doctor Raymond, she sought your acquaintance on your return, and by ingenious questioning became half-convinced that you were actually Beryl’s husband. Your friend Raymond was slightly acquainted with her. and had been introduced to Beryl some months before.” “But I cannot see why I should have been specialty chosen as victim of this extraordinary plot,” my wife exclaimed. her arm linked in mine. “You say that Tattersettmade a discovery which caused him to alter his plans. What was it?” “He discovered a few hours after

your marriage that you were his daughter.” “His daughter—the daughter of that man!” she cried. “Yes,” he answered seriously. “He did not, however, know it until while you were lying insensible after the marriage, he discovered on your chest the tattoo mark of the three hearts, which he himself had placed there years before. Then, overcome by remorse, he administered an antidote, placed you upon a seat in Hyde Park and watched until you recovered consciousness and returned to Gloucester Square. It had before been arranged that an i insurance already effected upon you should be claimed. The truth is,” he went on, “that Wyndham Ashwieke, alias Major Tattersett, first married in York the daughter of a cavalry officer, and by her you were born. A year afterwards, however, they separated, and your mother died, and you were placed in the Convent at Brunoy under the name of Wynd, while your father plunged into a life of dissipation on the Continent which ended in the marriage with this lady, then known as La Gioia.” “It seems incredible,” my love declared. “I cannot believe it.” “But Nora introduced you as Feo Ashwicke on the first occasion we met after our marriage,” I remarked. “1 wel’i remember it. Nora must have discovered the secret of my-birth although when I questioned her after your departure she declared that she had only bestowed a fictitious name upon me as a joke.” “Yet Ashwicke was your actual name,” I observed. “You will rind the register of your birth in York,” interposed Graham. “I have told you the truth.” “I will hear it from my father’s own lips,” she said. “Alas!” the grey faced man answered very gravely, “that is impossible. Your father is dead.” “Dead!” I echoed. “Tattersett dead ?” “Yes; he was found lifeless in his rooms in Picadilly Eastyesterday afternoon. His man called me, and I discovered upon the table a tiny tube containing some crystals of the secret vayana. He had evidently touched them accidentally with his fingers and the result was fatal. The police and doctor believe it due to natural causes, as I secuied the tube and destroyed it before their arrival. The news of the discovery is in the evening’s papers,” and taking a copy of the “Globe” from his pocket he handed it to me, indicating the paragraph. I read the four bare lines aloud, both my well-beioved and the dead man’s widow standing in rigid silence. The elucidation of the bewildering mystery and its tragic denouement held us speechless. It staggered belief. My explanation to Bullen, or our subsequent conversation need not be here recounted. Suffice it to say that from that moment when the truth became apparent, the major’s widow, who had once sought to take both our lives, became our firmest and most intimate friend; while Graham having expressed regret at his association in the conspiracy, and declared his intention of leading an honest life in future, was allowed to escape abroad, where he still remains. And Beryl? She is my wife. Ah! that small word, which is so synonymous of peace and happiness! Several years have passed and I have risen rap-

idly in my profession, far above my deserts, I fear. Yet we are still lovers. We had often visitors at Atworth and at Gloucester Square, while there is no more welcome guest at our own table in Harley-street than the evererratie Bob Raymond. The original copy of the ponderous ancient Florentine treatise with its rusty locks. which the major left in possession of La Gioia, has been presented by the 'latter to the Bodleian Library at Oxford, where it can now be seen, while Hoefer’s re-discovery of the vayana having opened up an entirely new field to toxicologists, the deadly vegetable, like strychnine and atropia, is to-day used as one of the most powerful and valuable medicines, many lives being saved yearly by its administration in infinitesimal doses. All the bitterness of the past has faded. What more need I say? To-night as I sit here in my consulting room, writing down this strange history for' you, my friendly reader, my wife lingers beside me, sweet and smiling in white raiment, a dead white dress that reminds me vividly of that July day long ago when we first met within the Church of St. Ann’s, Wilton Place, while at her throat is that quaint little charm, the note of interrogation set with diamonds, a relie of her ill-fated mother. She has bent, and kissing me tenderly upon the brow, has whispered into my ear that no man and wife in all the world are half so happy as ourselves. [The End.]