The Storyteller.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2092, 18 January 1908, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller.

THE MANOR MYSTERY.

By FERGUS HU AIK

Author of "Tlie Mystery of a Hansom Cab,” “Tlu* Jink' Eyo,” “The Black I’a toll,” “Jonah’s Luck,” “Tlie Scarlet Bat,” etc. [All Rights .Reserved.]

' “Then how do you know where the chamber is?” asked Trusk, sharply. “By the pi in. Stay!” Mr Clair rose. “I will bring the plan to you. It is in the library.” And lie went ou;. Trusk made points in the blottingpaper with his pencil. Being an ordinary everyday mortal, he could not bring himself to credit the truth of

the Clair legend; yet he could’not deny tint what the visit of Dorothy had brought tlio expected trouble. Contrary to the expressed opinion of Percy liallon, the inspector believed that Sir John had been murdered by a foul blow, before he could turn round or cry out. But only someone who know the way to the vault could have so decoyed him. Unless Sir John himself had learnt the way

—yet Mr Clair declared that he had never shown him the route. “It's most extraordinary,” said Mr Clair, re-entering at this moment, •and with a large, thin, morocco-co-vered volume in his hand, “but the plan of the catacombs under the tower lias been torn out of this book. You can see for yourself,” and he tendered the volume to Trusk. CHAPTER V. It was perfectly true. The plan N^kfl<Uk^»^Sh.lx.A2rn_oufe 4 as could easily be seen from the ragged edges remaining. 1 ‘ \\ hen was this done, sir?” asked the inspector after a thoughtful pause. “How should I know?” asked Air Clair in his turn, and with great indignation. “Tlie book has been on a. top shelf of the library for years. If I knew the person who thus destroyed a valuable and unique book, I should —” “Find the murderer,” raid the inspector, promptly. “Did you ever show this book to Sir John?” “Xo.” wild Air Clair, positively; “I never did.”

“Then Sir John could not have known the way to the vault.’' “To my knowledge he never even entered the tower.” “Oh, come now 1 Such an interesting ruin, sir. -He must have —” “What I mean is that Sir John never went below into the catacombs. Air Inspector. Certainly he climbed - —— ~t/)ppJ.gjyer, and - walked on the sward our family legeiid, fic‘'trrr?i v ceud. I admit,” added Air Chirr, “that, to an inquiring mind, such as Sir John’s was, a visit t-o these catacombs would have been interesting. For catacombs they ore, sir; and no doubt - many of the old monks were buried there.” Trusk put ‘the book on .one side, and again began to talk. “J may, tell you, Air Clair, that 1 have traced Sir John’s movements on the day of his death, and I have been in communioition with Scotland Yard this morning.” “What!” exclaimed Clair, astonished. “It is very early to gain any knowledge, and to be in communication with the London authorities. I should not have thought you bad time.” “On the news of Sir John’s death being given to me by Air Alinter last night,” said Trusk, deliberately, “1 . telegraphed to the Yard. If you remember, Air Clair, the newspapers were already talking about the disappearance of Sir John and his secretary.” “Richard! His brother!” said Air '~" _Clair. “Heaven bless me, -vir Inspector, '"lias Richard disappeared also?” “He has. The news of Sir John’s disappearance was announced'in tlie newspapers of yesterday morning.” “I know that. I read the information. But Richard —” “The evening papers said that he had vanished also,” interrupted the inspector. “But those you did not see, I presume.” “No. AVe do not take in evening papers at the. Manor. Well?” “Well, this morning Scotland A'ard sent down a detective, who is at present examining the vault.” “Why was J not informed?” ask'd Clair, indignantly. “Why was this ■*" —'~TTnrn-not._i)resented to me?” > “He wished to examine tlie vaint at once,” said Trusk, soothingly, “and will _ make bis report to you”—he put this in as a-sop to Afr Clair’s vanity—“at a later hour. But to continue. I wont to the Delta» Station to see if Sir John" h id arrived. I wonder you did not think r>* doing that also, Afr Clair.” “You forget,” said the old gen"! infan. with dignity, “that I never knew-of the death until late last night. This morning I have had no time to go. And I may remark, sir, that when my guest did not arrive on Saturday, I walked as far as ti e Cuckoo’s Grove to see if there was any sign of him. His 11011-arrival and my watching made me late for dinner. Finally, Air Inspect »-, -,f Sir John bad arrived, surely there would not have been this talk of bis disappearance in tlie papers, since lie has frequently visited me, and the statiornnaster at Beltan knots L:’:n excellently by sight.” “Quito so,” assented Trusk. 1 But the hue-and-cry only comm viced yesterday. and the stationm.i.-ror communicated at. once with Scotland A'ard. lie stated to the authorities there, and he stated to me-, that ,Sir John arrived at Beltan by the halfpast six train.” “Dear me! Then why did lie ml come t- dinner?’’ “Can you ask that, when you hive seen his corpse?” said Trusk. quickly. “The poor gentleman v. as ni'irdi-t < <l. Anti I must say that bis mo/e rumts were strange.” “How do you mean, strange?” riked Clair, looking puzzled. “Sir John arrived with a jo-l-manteau, but instead of taking a lly and driving to this place, lie left tlie . portmanteau in tlie cloak-"oem s-ay-'ing that he would-return for it la-

“1 diil not so© him,” said Air Clair, reflectively, “and 1 lingorM lor quite a long time near the Cuckoo’s Grove.” "Why near there, especially?” "Because there is a short cut through that wood to this place. I fancied that Sir John, who is a great walker, might have taken that way in preference to driving in a lly in the high road.” “Would you mind describing exactIv wluit vou did?”

“Not at all,” said Air Clair, graciously. “1 left this house at six, and arrived at the Cuckoo’s Grove at half past. I strolled gently along —for with quick walking I could have reached it earlier. I waited near the Grove until nearly seven, then 1 walked to see old Airs Folks, who is a humble pensioner of my own. I chatted with her until nearly eight o’clock, and so was ten minutes Into for dinner. On returning to my house, I found, with great surprise, that Sir John had not arrived. X sent a wire and a letter, but to neither have I received a reply. I understand, now, how I did not-,” ended Air Clair, in melancholy tones. "Did you ever hoar that Sir John’s life was threatened?” “No. lie never hinted at such a thing. Aloreover, lie was u good man, and a philanthropist. No one would have harmed him.” “It seems to me that someone lias,” said Trusk, grimly. “AVell, it is a mystery, and no mistake!” “How was Sir John dressed when the stationmaster saw him?” “In'a grey tweed suit —the same style as t-liat his corpse is dressed in, Air Clair.”

“Ah! Newby always wore the same kind of suit in summer. ’ Grey tweed, with a white waistcoat and brown boots, and a South African hat.” Trusk rose. “That reminds me that we can’t find the hat. It is not in Use vault.” “Air Hallon thinks, from that fact,” explained Clair, “that my poor friend was not murdered in the vault.” “I don’t agree with Air Hallon,” said Trusk, tartly. “But certainly there is nothing to show why Sir John went into the- vault. AVe havesearclied the pockets of the corpse, and have only found a few business letters addressed to him' at his city office, a watch and chain, and some silver money. Does it not strike you, Air Clair, that a rich mail like Sir John would naturally carry gold?” “AVell, ves,” assented the old gentleman, reflectively. “And what evidence do you deduce from that-, Mr Inspector?” “That Sir John was. robbed, and tliat robbery was the motive for the committal of the crime.” “Oh,’ I shouldn’t say that, Air Inshave taken ~ the.? 4, ’“lt’s the watch that puzzles me,” said Trusk, bending his brows; “a cheap silver watch only costing a few pounds at most, which the murderer did not think worth taking. Of course, millionaires have their whims, Air Clair, but I fancy that the deceased gentleman would have worn something more expensive.” “He did,” said Clair, promptly. “Newby possessed a very line gold watch, given by some South African friends. It had 1 an inscription. I have seen it frequently.” “Do you mean to say that Sir John always wore a gold watch?” “Certainly. I am positive.”

“Then the silver watch must belong to the assassin?” said Trusk, in m excited manner, and thinking that he had chanced upon a clue. “Yes, I am sure, and yet”—’his face fell — “the -murderer would certainly not leave such a piece of evidence behind him.”

' “You can trace the watch by tho number, Air Inspector?”

“Yes—that is—l think so.” Trusk impatiently pushed the 'desk papers about, and looked discontented. Tho oise was puzzling him more and more. “I.presume there is no doubt but what tlie corpse is that of Sir •John Newby?”, he -asked after a pause. *

Air Clair raised his eyebrows. “There is no doubt in my mind upon that point,” lie said, emphatically. “Strange! Strange!” murmured the other, anil was about to speak .again when the door opened to admit a smart young man with'beady black eyes, and of a somewhat Semitic appearance. His dark face was flushed, and he held out a tern paper to Trusk. “This is what I found in tlie vault,” lie said eagerly. “Vou and your men did not search very thoroughly, Air inspector.” “Who is this?” inquired Clair, testily, while Trusk’s eye skimmed over the torn letter—for that it was. “I am Swanson, of Scotland Yard,” said the detective, passing his card to the old gentleman. “Happy to make vour acquaintance, sir. . I hope to discover tlie assassin of Sir John Newby, and remove tlfc stain from your bouse. Very unpleasant to have a crime committed under tlie roof of this very desirable residence.” “It was not committed under tin’s roof, sir,” said Clair, in pompous and vexed tones, “but under the earth—” Swanson’s beady eyes had been fixed in a hard, inquiring manner on Clair’s face. The reply seemed to settle something in his mind, and ho did not give the other time to finish liis sentence. “You are both right anil wrong, Air Clair. The murder was not committed under this roof. I said that- merely to try you—that is, in case you should have heard a noise, or have seen a bloodstain.”

“I heard nothing. I saw nothing,” said Glair, haughtily. “Do you think that I am cognisant of the crime.”

“You are now,” said Swanson, pertinently. “but I admit that you were not at the time. But, as I was saying, you are right in correcting me as to the crime not having been comijijjteil under this roof, anil wrong in saying that tlie blow was struck underground.” “Dear me! Then where was my poor friend murdered?” “Inspector Trusk will tell you,” -r a ill the detective, carelessly. The officer raised bis eyes from the letter, which lie was studying profoundly. “1 am not so sure that I can.” he remarked.

.“’Hut- that, letter?” hinted ifc'wanU- VI J in patiently '«ii(|-with surprise..

decidedly. “1 was nour the Cuckoo's Grove about seven.”

“But not on the stroke of seven,” said Trusk, sharply.

“No. Then I was on my way to Airs Folk's cottage. But Ibis letter?”

“You can read it lor\\>uiself, »ir,” and Trusk passed along the torn paper. It was u single sheet of common ordinary writing-paper, and on it was printed a few lines in neat handwriting. There was nothing characteristic about the caligruphy, and, indeed, the letters were rather printed than written —something betwixt and between, in fact. “If Sir John Newby does not come to the Cuckoo’s Grove, Beltan, Essex, at seven o’clock on Saturday evening, the eighteenth ol July, it will be the worse for his brother Richard.”

So rail the missive, and Clair looked up more puzzled than ever at this extraordinary message. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“Can you not- guess?” inquired Swanson,-rapidly, and before the inspector could open his mouth. “Well,” said Clair, glancing at the letter again (it was u single sheet, and the words wero set down lengthways, without date or -address), "It seems to me that someone — the person who wrote this letter, in fact — wished to meet Sir John at the Cuckoo’s Grove at- seven o’clock on the eighteenth of this month.” “You merely read what is set down,” said Swanson, drily, "but who wrote, or rather who printed, that message ?”

“I can’t tell,” said Clair, much annoyed. “How can you expect me tc know who wrote it?” “Because I understand from Air Hallon, who was with mo searching the vault-, that you are an intimate friend of Sir John Newby’s that is, you were, seeing that lie is now dead.”

“I am intimate —that is, as you truly say, I was intimate; but I cannot guess who wrote this.” “Humph I” The detective looked disappointed, and Trusk broke in impatiently. “AATiat do you mean, Swanson?” ‘ “AA’ell,” drawled the smart young man, brushing his tall silk hat with his arm, “whomsoever wrote that letter knows something detrimental to the character ol’ Richard Newby. I thought that such a person might be known to Air Clair.” “No,” said the old man, after reflection, “I know of no one. And I am not aware myself that there is anything against the character of Air Richard Newby.” “iSir John was evidently aware of something, else he would not have kept that app jintment,” retorted Swanson. “I wish I could question Richard Newby himself; blit he is missing also. Probably,” conjectured the detective, “he thought it was Letter to make himself scarce, since, as that letter shows, lie was undoubtedly in trouble.” A light footstep was heard, and o the door opened quietly. Willy Alinter entered carrying two objects, and looking very serious. She laid before Abe trio a South African slouch hat a vyith “I found these,” she .said, Ttrew=berately, “in the Cuckoo’s Grove.” “Ah!” slid Swanson, delightedly, “then the murder did tako place there 1”

CHAPTER VI. The discovery mado by Aliss Alinter, and tho evidence of the letter found in the crypt, proved beyond a doubt that Swanson was right in his conjecture. Sir John Newby had certainly been murdered in the Cuckoo’s Grove, and, judging from the place where the articles were found in tho brushwood, near tho stile at tho further end of the wood, where the path commenced its journey through meadowlands. It was Willy's mistrust of Air Clair that had taken her to tho grove, since lie had stated in •her hearing that he had been thereabouts on Saturday evening. What she found seemed, to her, to be irrefutable evidence that he had stabbed the millionaire, although she could not conceive how ho contrived to drag so heavy a body to Abbot Hurley’s Tower. Unless, of course, he had -an accomplice, which was entirely impossible. There was no person whom she knew likely to have assisted Ai; Clair in committing so -heinous a crime, or -in concealing the corpse—that is, of course, if he were guilty.. And of this Willy was by no means certain. Assuredly a vague thought lurked -at the back of her mind, that in some place and at some time she had seen that queer, red-handed knife in Clair’s hand. But not at the Manor had she beheld this. Where she had seen him holding it, or why ho should grasp such a deadly weapon, she could not think. For Dorothy’s sake, and because she could not be sure that her suspicions could be proved, she did not question her brother. Nor ilid she tell him, or anyone else, her real reason for seeking tho grove. All she explained to Trusk and Swanson was that, believing that Sir John Newby might have taken the short cut, she had ©xi ploretl on tlie chance of finding some evidence connected with his disappearance. “And from the absence- of the hat,” said Willy, to clinch her ar- , gument, “Air Hallon did not believe that Sir John was murdered in the vault.”

Of course, tile sensation caused by the murder was tremendous, both in Loitdon and in the provinces. Nevil y was a well-known figure in financial circles, and had been knighted for Ill’s philanthropic efforts in the slums. Moreover, the family legend of the Clairs, reproduced in the papers, appealed to fanciful people. Had Clair charged sixpence a head, the sightseers who came to view the tower and the grounds would have paid cheerfully, and the squire would have made a tidy sum. But the old gentleman was indignant at the intrusion of cheap trippers, and refused admission to one and all. Therefore, those who came in traps ami char-a-bancs, in motor-ears, and on bicycles, were compelled to look at the tower from the road, where it rose amongst the trees, and then repaired to the Boltan Inn, to discuss the legend and the murder over beer and ten. Also the Cuckoo’s Grove became a shrine of such morbid pilgrimages, and the villages reaped quite a harvest from tlie notoriety of the deed, which so troubled their squire and liis family. But, in spite of publicity andsearoh and many questions, Swanson and Trusk were ho nearer the truth than they had been at the outset. The ownership of the knife could not bo

Swanson went to London and interviewed Airs Broil, r vvlu>’ was Newby’s old nurso and housekeeper. But she could explain nothing, save that her master had gone ns usual to his ollico on Saturday morning, and had int-oiided to visit- tho Alunor. Tho detective learnt that the deceased had left his office at two o’clock, and had gono down to Beltan- by tho 5.15 train from Fencluirch-stroot. Previously ho had sent a clerk to leave his portmanteau in the cloak-room, and again he had loft that same portmanteau in cliargo of the railway authorities -at Beltan when lie set forth, at half-past six, to walk to his doom in tho Cuckoo’s Grove. But Swanson could not learn what Newby had been doing between the hours ol' two o’clock and 5.15 —that is, from tho time ho left his office in Kaffir-lane until the moment lie came for his luggage to the Fenohurch-st-reot cloakroom.

Also Richard, who acted as his I twin-brother’s secretary, was missing, and at first apprehensions wi re entertained for his safety. But Alls liroll was enabled to allay ibis alarm. Sir John, she stated, had sent his brother to Russia, on Saturday morning, on private business, but blie could I not give any address likely to find j him. Nevertheless, Swanson telegraphed to the British Embassy at St Petersburg, in the hope of recalling Richard. The secretary could not I bo found, -anil there was nothing to do hut' to wait until lie should come back of his own free will. As he was an important witness, and might be able to shed some light ou the darkness, the detective was annoyed when the day of the inquest came without I his appearing. (Since Richard knewall -about his brother’s business, and all about his past life, it might be I that lie would be able to state if Sir John was threatened by anyone. As to -the Anarchist theory, Swanson I never gave that a thought. AlilliunI aires were not don© to death by red •revolutionists in England, like Russian Grand Dukes. The inquest took place at the Pigeon Inn, the principal public-house lof Beltan-, for Mr Clair positively declined to permit such a gruesome function to be held either in Abbot Hurley’s Tower or under the sacred roof of the manor. Also, he insisted that his daughter and Lady Panwin should remain absent while the deliI berations were going on. Nevertheless, when tho squire went- down to I tlio village with Hallon and Billy I Alinter, who escorted his sister—one of the witnesses as having found the knife and the hat—tlie two women I oould no longer restrain their curiosity, and followed. They did not dare Ito enter the inn, and thus cross I Clair’s path, but lurked in tho draI per’s shop opposite, pretending to I purchase things they did not want, [ but really keeping a watchful eye lon the public-house. Lady Pamvin was especially anxious to hear the 1 verdict, and said as much to Dorothy as they walked towards the village. I Her niece rather wondered at this I anxiety, and hinted as much. I “Air child,” said Lady Panwin, I crosslyq -and striding along like a I grenadier, “it is -natural that I I should be anxious. It’s a horrible I thing to have an intimate friend murI dered almost, as one might say, unI higliTy^irimg I want him ill on my hands, and the I inquest may upset him.” I “I don’t wonder,” assented Dorothy, recalling her glimpse lof the dead. “The whole thing is unpleasant, and we are all upset. But whyshould father bo moro upset than anyone else?” Lady P-anwin stared straight- before her, evidently’ determined to say as little as possible. “Your father has nerves, my dear, and—and—well, you will know some day.” “Know wliat?” Dorothy was puzzled by ths hint and this reticence. “Never mind, child. But if you marry—” “Of course I shall. I intend to marry Percy Hallon.” “Your father will never agree to that,” returned Lady Panwin, pursing up her hard mouth. “Air Hallon is not rich, -and it is necessary for you to marry a wealthy mail, if the Alanor is to be kept in the family.”

“I don’t oa.ro if it’s kept in the faI anily or not,” retorted Dorothy, much I annoyed. “Why should I sacrifice my I happiness to a tumble-down old j building? And whatever father may I think of tho -Alanor, auntie, you Know lit matters very little to you. j’m I sure you’ll -help me -to marry Persy,” and sho gave the elder lady’s arm a squeeze. “I don’t want you-to marry at all,” said Lady Panwin, with something like regret in her ringing voice. Dorothy opened her eyes very widely- “Why not?” she asked.. "I can’t toll you just now.” “You wero pleased that I should marry Sir John?” j “Never! Never!” cried her aunt, vehemently.“ Francis wanted you to

I become his wife for tho sake of the I money. But I saw reasons why such I a marriage should not- take place. I Francis overruled me. I am not I easy to overrule,” added Lady PanI win, grimly, “but on this occasion I I was forced to agree against my botI ter judgment. However, Sir John is I dead anil will be buried to-morrow, I so I hope, Dorothy, that you will disI miss all idea of marriage.” I “Oh!” Dorothy] looked blauk. I “And what about tlie Alanor?”

(“It mil descend to you along with my money and your father’s. You can live in it very comfortably.” “Yet you say that to keep it 1 must marry money.” “I said that, I know. All tho same, I daresay it can be arranged that you can stop there as a singlo woman.” “I don’t seo why 1 should. I object to being an old maid.” And—” Lady l’anwiu broke off abruptly, and refused to speak further. Apparently tliero existed some very strong reason why she should declare herself against any l possible mar-

riago, as she loved Dorothy, and wished to see her happy. Lady Painvili’s attitude towards this important question puzzled her niece. “I think you might say why you object to my marrying Percy,” she observed, in an injured tone. “It’s not Mr Hallon in particular that I object to,” said Lady Panwin, walking very fast ; “although, j could you marry, I should like to see you make a better match. Put I don't advise your marrying anyone.” “But why—why—why?” “Hero we are at Winter’s shop,” I said Lady Panwin, irrelevantly, and point* « 'to the- window. “That’s a

and not ono word more would sho speak on tho subject. Needless to say, Dorothy, not seeing why she should bo condemned to celibacy, determined to keep on her engagement with Hallon, notwithstanding this opposition. Yet sho was disappointed, as, 'knowing that hor father would not approve, sho had quite counted on hor aunt being wiling to help, and could not under stand Lady Pafiwin's attitude. Opposite tho drapor’s shop Avas the Pigeon Inn, and a crowd was collected round its doors. Tho old lady and her niece turned over dress patterns and looked at fashion plates, keeping all tho time a close watch on tho throng. Little Miss Winter., who owned tho shop, and who jknow all the gossip of tho villago, chattered on gaily about tho murder,, and detailed tho various amounts of money which had been earned by various people from tho notoriety of tho crime. It was rumored that Miss Clair was engaged—or, rather, had been—to the dead man, and tho little milliner cast sidelong looks to see how sho took tho news. Miss Winter was secretly surprised that the young lady should ho

so calm. “I suppose the truth will never be known, my lady,” she chatted. “Let "us wait to hear what the jury say, Miss Wiirtor.” “Tho jury can only g?> by the evidence,” said Miss Winter, with a shrug. “And from what I hear there is no evidence. I wonder to whom tho late Sir John will leave his money?” “Really I don’t know.” said Lady Panwin, freezingly. “Perhaps to his brother/’ went on Miss Winter, in no wise abashed. “They say Mr Richard Newby exactly resembles Sir John.” “So I believe, from my own eyesight, Miss Winter. But who told you?” “Mrs -Broil, my lady.” “Sir John’s housekeeper,” said Dorothy. “Is slie here?” “Yes ,miss. She came down to the inquest, and lias just gone across to give her evidence —that is she went some time ago. She came in here to buy some mittens, and is coming back to take them away. Slie is a very chatty lady, and told me a lot.” “Lady!” echoed the stately old dame, her pride of blood flushing her cheeks. “Mrs. Broil is a servant, formerlv a nurse. She is now a house-

keener. “So she told' me, my lady.” rejoined Mies Winter, with great humility. , “And she's got a friend with her, a handsome girl, only she’s stone deaf and near-sighted.” “Julia Flint, I expect,” said Dorothy, looking at her aunt. Lady Panwin took no notice. She did not approve of Miss Winter talking so freely, and certainly did not intend to lower herself so far as to gossip with a- milliner. Although Lady Pan win was fond of pretending to democracy, she thought very highly of her birth and connections, and always kept those beneath her in thier places. But Dorothy, being youngand friendly, and having known Miss Winter from theti me she—that is, Dorothy—could toddle, was not indisposed to hear what was going on. She would have continued the conversation, much to the secret displeasure of her stately aunt, but that Miss doorwa v, started and 'announced that 3irs Broil was crossing the green on her return to the shop. “I expect she’s given her evidence,” said Mis Winter, hurrying behind .the counter to pack up the mittens, “and has come for these.”. Mrs Broil was as small as Miss Winter herself, a dark morsel of a woman, as dry as a bone, and gnarled like a. tree-trunk. She had dark eyes, which twinkled under overhanging brows, .and a large mouth, displaying many teeth. Her hair was grey, and 'was twisted into a castiron knob at the back of her head. Strangely enough, seeing that her master was dead, she had arrayed herself in the gayest colors. Her dress was green, her jacket was fawn, and her gloves purple, perhaps as a token of Royal mourning. Also, she wore an old-fashioned Victorian bonnet, with ribbons under the chin; and this was a- mixture of flowers and feathers and tulle, all of rainbow hues. But. to show that she did mourn for the dead, she had draped over her shoulders a black lace shawl, trimmed heavily with crape. The odd little figure, dressed in this strange and unsuitable fashion, minced 'into the shop with the air of a person who thinks that the eyes of the world are on her. “Lrdy Panwin!” Mrs Broil threw up her purple-gloved hands and drop-

peci a. curtsey as tiiougu sue wan being presented to the Queen. "I hope I see you well, my lady. And Miss Clair —poor, dear, young lady, who is broken-hearted I ant sure. What a dreadful crime, my lady! Oh your ladyship must indeed suffer.” “Why?” asked Lady Panwin grimly, and looking disapproving? at the rainbow raiment of the house keeper. I “Such an old friend, my lady,’ minced Mrs Broil, clasping her hands, “and so devoted to Miss Clair here. A, well, wedd'iiig-bolls give“placo to funeral tolls. And why not, since we know that all flesh is grass. Your ladyship knows Julia, my companion —a. child of the slum:! alas! and as deaf as the adders of Scripture; but. a good girl, and devoted with me to works of charity, without which, as St. Paul mentions, we are but tinkling cymbals.”

I Julia Flint was a handsome, tall, I dark-browed girl, with a rather sulI len face. She watched Dorothy eloseI ly, and with anything blit an amiable expression. Quietly dressed, I. and very composed in mailer, she I looked ladylike and unobtrusive. As I Mrs Broil had said, Julia came from I the slums, and was a protegee or the I housekeper s. That queer old woman I—Mrs Broil must have been far past I sixty—indulged in slumming, and I gave herself up to charitable works in her intervals of rest. She fed the hungry and clothed the naked, with the approval of her late master, more because she liked to play the part of Lady Bountiful than because she really felt for the poor. Julia helped her. and occupied the position other companion in the Newbv houseliold. Sir John was always 'kind to [ his old nurse and her vagaries. “Yes,” went on Mrs Broil, while Daily Panwin glowered, “I have snffeied a great blow in the death of •Su- John. But lam glad to say that I am bearing up. When he had gout Ist1 st f a , r ' l,nd no end of trouble, I bore up wonderful, as Julia can testify. And now he is gone like a dewdrop, and jio one;at the inquest

suddenly, and stalked out of the door abruptly. “Dorothy, speak to Julia- * “In tho deaf and dumb alphabet, miss, if you please,” put in Mrs Broil, whoso black eyes twinkled more than ever. “I wish to speak to Mrs Broil,” ended Lady Panwin, exactly as though tho housekeeper had not opened her mouth,, “Como here, Martha 1 and she stalked into the hot sunshine. Mrs Broil started and bridled. Lady Panwi-n had known her for many years, and took tho liberty of such an acquaintance. But Mrs Broil was not pleased, fcho had a great idea of her own importance, and did not like to be thus set in hor place before company. However, sho had a wholesome dread of Lady Panwin’s. abrupt, masterful ways, and meekly followed her into tho middle of the green. Here no one could 1 overiiear, and anyone who approached oould bo discerned at once. It was a very safe place for a confidential conversation.

“Now then, Martha/’ said Lady Panwin, turning sharply on tho oxuurse, “what do you know about this murder?” “Simply nothing, my lady,” minced Mrs Broil, with aggravating po-X liteness. “Sir John left on- Saturday and came down to this place, where, as it seems, he met with hie death. I don’t know why he should have been thus untimely slain, but in the midst of life we are in—” “There, there, you needn’t improve the occasion, Martha,” snapped Lady Pan win. “What about Richard?” “He’s in Russia, my lady.” “Humph! Richard was always your favorite.” “He was the best and loveliest child I ever nursed,”, said Mrs Broil, lerfently. “Seeing that Richard and John were twins, and that you couldn’t tell one from the other, you must hare nursed two lovely children.” “I don’t deny that, iny lady. They were two roses on one stalk. -But Richard had a better disposition than John.” “Hoh!” Lady Panwin rubbed her nose vexedlv. “Yet John did everything for you and Richard did nothing?” - “The mysterious dispensation of Providence permitted John to acquire wealth and kept Richard poor,” said Mrs Broil, piously. “Rubbish! John was clever in tho right way and worked; Richard was clever in the wrong way and loafed. You loved Richard because he was a scamp and did not like John, who - was a good man.” “Richard ' was his own worst enemy,” said Mrs Broil, flushing. “I’ve heard that- phrase before,” retorted Lady Panwin.' “It is always used about scamps. Richard would have gone to the dogs had not John mrui." him his secretary. Now I’m go:ng to ask you a very leading question, Martha, and if you tell me a lie 111 know, by the expression of your eyes. You can’t deceive me my

good woman.” “I am a good woman,”, said -Mrs Broil, hotly, “and I never tell lies. Oh! my lady, my lailv, you misjudge me, ind.ed you do!” ' “Pooh! ton deceive yourself into thinking that you are an angel. 1 daresay you are a good average sort of creature, who looks after number '"-'=■ ouo all right : but—” —'pardon, lnv ladv, but I live for. 1 ■ ‘ - In the slums and out of them—especially out of : them, when Richard is to be considered. Now then, Martha, answer my question. Did Richard kill John?” -Mrs Broil threw up' the purple .gloves and gasped with horror. “Oh, my lady, , wliat a’ wicked thing to say! Richard would not hurt- a fly.” v ' ' /vi/*' “I daresay, because a fly’s death would do him no good,” said Lady ' Panwin, grimly. “But your answer?” -• “Richard is in Jlussia. lie did not kill John,” snapped Mrs Broil. “Did he employ anyone to kill him?” ’■ at “No. John’s death does not benefit Richard. John lias not left any money .to my poor boy. He told me so, because Richard vexed him.” 7 “Hoh!” said Ladv Panwin, and rubbed her nose again. “Then Richard must be -innocent. 5 All the same, I mistrust’ Richard,- and—” A shouting interrupted her, and a crowd of people poured out of the door of' the inn. Hallon appearedand walked/across to Lady Panwin, when ho caught sight of her.

“The verdict is wilful murder against; some person or persons unknown,’?,ihe called, out-., o’-he“Contimied.)