Our Serial Story.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2722, 29 January 1910, Page 1 (Supplement)

Our Serial Story.

CHAPTER XXI. Ben-Ezra -was never in a hurry, and 'he owed much of his good fortune to 1ii s leisurely way of going about his business. Whatever his plans might he, he thought them out thoroughly, and never disarranged them, unless the unexpected occurred. Knowing human nature as he did, and the extreme trickiness of people working lor self, he •invariably made allowance tor anything unforeseen, and then used what might be called his reserve plans to remedy any deficiency in his main tactics. In this way he usually managed to get the better of those who were against him. And these were many, for —as has been seen —Ben-Ezra could scarcely bo called a popular character. The Jew, therefore, remained in town for the night and the greater part of next day. During that time he had a visit from Lancelot Ashton, and became possessed of the scrap of blue paper, which fixed the guilt convincingly on Ida Cashed. Or course, 'Ben-Ezra was sorry for Wain, as, if Ida was brought to hook, the whole Story of the unhappy marriage would be bound to be made public. But Ben'Ezra could not afford tq forego his vengeance for that reason. Moreover, to repay Wain for the pain he would suffer, the Jew had given him a good position as editor, and was about to pay him an excellent salary. All the same, he knew that he was securing a first-rate man for the "Midnight Sun.” That was Ben-Ezra all over. He never secured three olives from a third per- > son without taking two to himself. /- After learning all that Ashton had to say, Ben-Ezra dismissed him with great politeness, and sought out his solicitor. Handy Luc-k was much interested in this latest develpmeut of the ease. Although on the evidence of the bracelet and the written accusation, Miss Cash ell could be arrested at once, Luck had advised delay for a few days, in order that the rnatter might be investigated. There would be no danger of Miss Cashell escaping, 'he pointed out, since the governess was seriously ill, and at Bruntlea, under Ben-Ezra’s own eye. At all events, •Handy Ltick concluded, if his client would leave the bracelet and the written paper Landed over to Ashton, he would see what course was best to be taken. Ben-Ezra listened to the legal advice, and took his own way, as usual. That is, he declined to part with either the'trinket or the accusation, and kept them in his pocket. “I’ll take so much of your advice as to wait,” said the Jew, grimly, “'for, as you say, Miss Cashell is fixed, and we have time at our disposal. M hen next I come up, I’ll bring further evidence. That is, I’ll see Lady Dove and her son, to prove how the bracelet passed into Miss Casliell’s possession. My own evidence will show how she dropped it in the drawing-room. Also — but that’s as far as I’ve got just now. Hold your tongue, Luck, and wait further instructions.” The solicitor was disappointed, as the case was interesting. But he could do nothing else save promise to Keep

his mouth shut, and hon ed his client out -Y~oi the office. As usual, lio' believed ' that Ben-Ezra had something more up his sleeve, which he would pull down when the time came. “That miserable woman is as good as dead,” thought Handy Luck, when he returned to his -work. “I’d rather have a bloodhound on my track than Ben-Ezra.” So it would seem that the Jew had gained little by his journey to London, hut the waste of time did not seem to trouble him. He arrived at Bruntlca and went straight to the Princess Hotel. There he gathered that Miss Cashed was extremely ill, and quite delirious. Wain corn! not be found, hut Ben-Ezra did not mind that, as lie knew he could lay hands on the journalist when necessary. Meanwhile the governess was safe, and that was all Ben-Ezra cared about for the moment. He then proceeded to his office and read his correspondence. Amongst his letters he found an invitation from ’Miss Merton, asking him to tea that very afternoon. ‘“Hum!” said Ben-Ezra to himself, ns he read and re-read this polite note; ■“that woman writes to me, when she hates me like poison. Now I wonder what this means.” Pie sat down to puzzle it out. From Ashton he had learned that Miss Merton knew all that had been discovered with relation to the murder, and h id expressed a certain amount of sympar, thy for Miss Cashell. As Miss Merton was a good woman—Ben-Ezra acknou- , lodged that much, in spite of her open hatred for him —it was natural that she should be sorry for the governess, struck down in the midst of her sins. Perhaps she intended’to plead with the Jew that he should pardon his enemy. Ben-Ezra’s mouth twisted grimly at the bare idea. “She will find lierseif mistaken if she thinks I am so soft as that,” he muttered. .• ■ ; Then it occurred to him that, as Miss Merton was aware of Judith be': : g his niece, she wished to insist that tno marriage with her cousin should not ■ take place. Or it might be—and BenEzra again smiled grimly that Miss Merton was’ willing to pardon her

i “The Jew’s House,”

By Fergus Hume. Author of the “Mystery of a Hansom Cab,” “The Yellow Holly,” “The Mandarin’s Fan,” “The Sealed Message," etc., etc., etc.

(All Rights Reserved)

enemy if on the marriage ho gave back Tanbuck Hall to Judith and Ashtcm as the dowry of the bride. But whatever might be the reason for Miss Merton’s polite invitation the Jew felt a great curiosity to learn what it was. “I shall go,” he said, folding up the letter, “since I have nothing to do in the afternoon, and whatever tricks she may he up tjp I must learn, so as to he on my guard.* Yes, I’ll go.’”

With this idea in liis head, he sent a verbal message to Silas, that he would be pleased to wait on Miss Merton at four o’clock, the time she named. He.then began to wonder if Lancelot would be there, and decided that if he was an explanation could he made. Ben-Ezra "had schemed to attain a certain end for many years; but with the arrest of Miss Casliell — that is, as he considered she was as good as arrested—the goal had been reached. It was now his desire to explain himself to Miss Merton and Lancelot Ashton. For this reason the Jew was anxious that the young man should be present. But he was not. "When Ben-Ezra arrived in the small drawing-room of the small house, he found Miss Merton alone. Of course, lie know her very well, especially in the old splendid days when she had been a great lady. But of late lie had scarcely seen her, since she kept scrupulously out of his way. Now he looked with interest on her, as she stood nervously welcoming him to her poor abode. She had lost whatever looks she had, he decided —not that these were ever great. The black silk dress—a remnant of her rich days—liung loosely on her lean figure, and only her natural grace saved her from being awkward. With her drab-hued lace, her weak eyes and multitudinous wrinkles, she looked a singularly plain woman. Ben-Ezra had an Oriental love for beauty in women, and suppressed a shiver as he seated himself at her request.

“I little thought,” said Miss Merton, nervously touching the cups and saucers on the wicker table, “that I should ever ask 3-ou here, to eat with me. But I have a reason for it.”

“I trust it is a pleasant one,” said Ben-Ezra, gravely; “there lias been so much unpleasantness between us that it is time a change was made.” “The reason,” said Miss Merton, drawing up her spare form, “is pleasant to one person, at least.”

“To your cousin, Mr Ashton?” asked Ben-Ezra, still watchful and polite. “You will hear, when we have had something to eat and drink, sir.” While speaking, she .also looked searcliingly at the Jew, and noted his dark face, his hair streaked with grey, and the wonderful mesmeric influence of his black eyes. Whatever Ben-Ezra might have been in Barbary long years ago, he certainly was a gentleman in England. His manner was quiet, his words and actions were most polite, and in every way he displayed a deferential manner which half pleased and half annoyed Miss Merton. Pleased her because she held that men should be chivalrous to women, and annoyed her because she thought his manner —very unjustly to he cringing. Plowever, as a well-bred gentlewoman she could not but respond to the evident desire of Ben-Ezra to behave m a friendly fashion. “Though I wonder you came to see me at all,” she said, following the trend of her thoughts.

Ben-Ezra, with his wonderful intuition, had guessed them already, and smiled blandly. “Why, Miss Merton, it is your fault that I have never been to gee you before. Both you and your cousin hate me. Why mince matters? “We have every reason to hate yon,” she retorted, with an angry flush. “Pardon me, before the end of our interview I hope to convince you of your mistake. lam your well-wisher.”

.“You are the man who cheated General Ashton, and—” here Miss Merton remembered that the Jew was in her house and about to partake of hei hospitality. “Never mind,” she said, “let us have our tea first, and then u-e can exchange confidences. I am sorrj' my cousin is not here: but to-day he went to his office.” “He doesn’t know I am here?” “No,” said Miss Merton, abruptly; “no one knows, save niy servant.” “And my cerk Silas,” corrected BenEzra; “remember I sent him to you with a. verbal acceptance of your kind invitation.” '

Miss Merton shrugged her lean shoulders. “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. Here is the tea. Place it here, Sophy, and leave us. I do not wish to be interrupted for at least an hour.” . :

The small servant—one of the poor children who had been picked up in the Bruntlca slums by r.liss Merton — placed the tea-pot before her mistress and withdrew, with a swift glance at Ben-Ezra. She knew him well as the landlord to whom her mother had paid, many a hardly-earned shilling, and had a considerable fear of him. However, she withdrew quietly, and closed the door. Ben-Ezra leaned, back in his

marry your enemy?”

chair, wondering more than ever what Miss Merton desired to see. him about. -To. get at her thoughts he made a

little speech* when she handed him his cun of tea.

“I ani of Arab blood,” he said, gracefully, . “and you know, Miss Merton, what reverence our race attach to bread and salt. lam outing yours, so I trust that you mean to end the long feud between us.”

“Yes, I can promise that,” she said, with a slight, sour smile; “'you will find me more anxious to end the feud than Lancelot.” “Yet if he wishes to marry my niece, lie must end the feud,” hinted BenEzra.

“Oh, no. He will marry her in spite of 3’ou, and intends to take her away to Australia.”

“There are many' tilings he must learn before he can do that. When Judith discovers that I am her uncle — which she does not know yet—she will recognise that she -owes a certain duty to me.”

“She does know,” said Miss Merton, sipping her own tea and pushing the plate of bread and butter towards her guest: “Lancelot told her last night, after be learned the truth from Mr Wain.”

Ben-Ezra frowned, and set down his cup empty. “Mr Wain had no right' to sneak of my private affairs.” “He did, however, and told us everything. Judith does recognise that she owes 3 r ou much, since you gave her a good home and are tile brother of her mother. All the same, although she maj r obey you in all else, she will not permit you to interfere with her marriage.” “I have no wish to interfere,” said Ben-Ezra, quietly. “What!” Miss Merton almost dropped the tea-pot; “do yon mean to say that you are willing for your niece to

“Yes. Judith loves him, so why not?”

“But you told Lancelot that you disapproved of the marriage.” “I did, my dear lady. Do you not know that when obstacles are placed in tlie way of a young man, it makes hirii the more eager to get at the goal which those same obstacles prevent him from obtaining? Consequently, because I did not approve of the marriage, Mr Ashton is ten times more anxious than lie has been, to settle tlie match. I have simply aided him in his wooing.”

“But wliy did you do that?” asked Miss Merton, stretching out liar hand for Ben-Ezra’s cup.

“Oh, I am a strange man, and less black” —Ben-Ezra was so emphatic as to repeat the words twice —“less black than I am painted.” “In that case,” said tlie hostess, filling a .second cup of tea, “you should be lenient to Miss Cashell, and, oh,” she set down the cup and lifted her finger, “didn’t you hear a knock? I believe Mr Wain must be coming. Would you mind looking out of the window, Mr Ben-Ezra? I have much to say to you, and do not wish to be interrupted.” “Certainly!” said Ben-Ezra, rising and going to the small window; “no, Miss Merton, there is no one at the door; you must have been mistaken. ’ “Very probably.” sighed Miss Merton, nervously; “I am quite a wreck. The story of that poor woman upset me greatly.” She passed along the second cup of tea. “You must really forgive her.”

“No,” said the Jew, decisively; “J. am willing to do all I can to bring about pleasant relations between us, but I cannot forgive the woman who lured my sister’s husband from her and broke my sister’s heart.” “But if she is not guilty—”

Ben-Exra drank half a cup of tea, wiped his mouth, and interrupted. “But she is guilty, Miss Merton. Not only does she admit ownership of the silver bracelet which I found in the Tanbuck Hall drawing-room, but the confession of Baxley places the matter beyond all doubt.” “Baxley told a lio before; he might have done so again.” “Why should he?” “So that Miss Casl)ell might be forced; to look after the child.”

“Quito so,” said the Jew, courteously ; “but by denouncing Miss. Cashell, the man stopped her from doing anything for the child. Luckily, Mabel will be well looked after by those good Verilys. As to Miss Cashell, she must hang.” • _ “Perhaps she will die,” said Miss Merton, nervously. “I saw her both to-day and yesterday, and she is very ill.”

“She shall be nursed back to health, so that she can take flier trial,” said Ben-Ezra, stubbornly. “I am determined to punish her,” and he set down liis empty cup witli the air of a man who has made up his mind. “You have punished her sufficiently for taking away your brother-in-law.” “Perhaps, as she is so ill. But murder is a capital offence —” “Of which,” said Miss Merton, in a nervous voice, “Miss Cashell is entirely innocent.” “You can’t prove that.” “Yes I can.” Miss Merton leaned back and gathered herself together to make a serious confession. “I murdered Sir Giles.” Ben-Ezra rose as though he had been moved by springs. For the first time in his life he was thunderstruck. Of all the unforseen things which might have happened this was the. last he. expected to face. “You are mad.” “I daresay,” retorted the spinster, in hard tones, and with a red light, in her weak eyes ; “hut there is method in my madness, as” you will find out; I murdered Sir Giles right enough—by mistake, that is. I came to Tanbuck Hall on that night to murder you.” “Murder me 1” gasped Ben-Ezra; “why in heaven’s name?”

Then all the pent-up fury .of the .woman broke out. She had suppressed her hatred and wrath rip. to this point, but the question of Ben-Ezra ' brought forth her real feelings with g rush. “You ask that?” she cried, leaping to her feet with a livid face, and pointing an accusing finger at h.'.-i; “you ask that, when you swindled my .cousin, tlie General, and broke the good old man’s heart, and ruined my boy Lancelot, whom I love as if I were his mother? You live in our house — in his house, and it is called the Jew’s House. You spider!—you reptile!— you brute!—you—you—” While'she was thinking for another word, Ben-Ezra threw up liis hand to stop her. She did stop, but for want of breath, and not because lie wished her to. “Later I can explain myself, and show liow wrong you are. Meanwhile, perhaps you will explain why you murdered Sir G-iles instead oi' me.”

“Do you feel well enough to hear it?” panted Miss Merton, with a glare of fury, as Ben-Ezra sank back into liis chair.

“Yes, I feel well enough to hear all you have to say.” “Sign that, then!”

From her pocket she produced a paper inscribed with-.one short line, and handed it with quivering fingers ip he r enemy. Ben-Ezra read 1 it rapidly. “Ida Cashell is innocent,” he road, and lifted his eye-brows. “Oh, I will sign this with pleasure, if you will let me add: ’and Susan Merton is guilty.’ ” “I don’t care,” she exclaimed, recklessly. “I called you here to confess to you, because, ns a Christian woman, I could not see another person suitor for my sin.” “So you are a Christian woman,'' murmured Ben-Ezra, placing the piece of paper carefully on the wicker able: “well, then, 1 am glad that T am not a Christian. And I am pieaicl that you call your wicked act a sin.” “It was a sin to kill Sir Giles; it would not be a sin to kill you.”

“Oh I am not afraid,” said BenEzra, calmly, and keeping his eye on her, for she looked as though she were about to spring on him; “you can’t hurt me in any way.”

••'Don’t be too sure of that,” she snarled, looking dangerous. “Really, Miss Merton, I cannot understand you, although 1 always believed myself to be a good judge oi human nature. You call yourself a Christian woman, and, as I know, .you have done much good amongst the /poor. Yet you acknowledge that you have murdered a man, and but for Daxley’s confession would have let me be hpnged.” “I was very augry that Daxley saved you,” said Miss Merton, still standing and looking singularly venomous. “I would much rather that he had denounced me. Much rather —much rather.”

“Oh , so Daxley know that you were guilty?”

“Yes,” said Miss Merton, callously, and wiping her drab face, which streamed with perspiration. “The story ho told Inspector Quill is practically the truth, only you must substitute me for Baxley. . I wished to kill you, and I thought of every way of killing you.” “Why?” asked Ben-Ezra. caressing his beard and eyeing her. “Because I hated you as a thief and a swindler and a- cheat. I could see no way to kill you, and then I thought that I would try and got into the park, in the hope of stabbing you. I ■had done much for Baxley, and he was very grateful to me. Besides, there was a common bond between us —that you had ruined us both.” “Baxley was a hound who tormented me years ago in this very place,” snapped Ben-Ezra angrily ; “he deserved what he got.” “Bid 1 deservo it Bid Lancelot? Bid the General?”

“If you will let me explain —” “I shall explain first,” she interrupted, imppriousy ; “the time is short, and there is ‘ much to be said.” “Oh,” said Ben-Ezra, with a shrug, “I shall Wait here as long as you like.” Miss Merton took 'no notice of him, but, leaning against the wall, went on speaking rapidly. “I got Baxley to make a false key of the gate, although I refused to tell him why I wanted it., He.thought 1 merely wished to taunt you and give you the length, of my tongue. I got the key, and, hearing that you would meet Sir Giles at the Hall, I crept out into the fog. Daxley, who was suspicious of my movements, followed me. I watched at the window, and saw Sir Giles interview you and leave you. I was beside the window in the darkness and fog when he wont out. Baxley was near me, hut I did not know that until later. When you left the room, I broke the window, because I saw the revolver on the side-table. I got it and went out again. I fancied that the smashing of the glass would bring you back, and that I could then shoot you through the window. Then Sir Giles came —and —you know the rest,” she finished abruptly. “From what was-written in Baxley’s confession I can,” said Ben-Ezra, slowly nodding. “Sir Giles came back and struggled with you.”

“Yes. I showed myself too freely, while watching for you, and, coming up the terrace steps, Sir Giles saw me ini the light. Believing that I was a burglar, ho flung himself on me, thinking, I suppose, if he' saved your house from being burgled that you would sell it to him. ’ In my dismay I fired blindly, and Sir Giles fell. I saw his face in the light, and at first I was afraid. Then it suddenly flashed across me that, as Sir Giles and you had quarrelled, you would ho accused. To bring you to the spot, I fired the other two shots into the body and fled, throwing

down tho revolver. The rest you know.” “I don’t know liow Miss Cashell’s bracelet came to he —”

“I dropped it,” said Miss Merton abruptly. “Mabel stole the bracelet from Miss Cashell when she came, at Lady Dove’s request, to sec her father. I did nob know that tho bracelet was stolen, and I never saw it on Miss Cashell’s wrist. It was a cheap thing, and Mabel told me that it had belonged to her mother, and asked me to wear it, because I had been kind to her daddy. To please the child, I wore it. The clasp was weak, and when I crossed the drawing-room to get the revolver, I suppose it fell off my wrist. If you ask Mabel Daxley, she will tell you how she gave it to me.. Is uiore an 3' other point on which you would like to be enlightened?” “Yes. When did you learn that Daxley knew?” “He told me the next day when I saw him, and rejoiced when lie heard ’that you had been arrested. I rejoiced too, as you would suffer —as I thought—a- much more terrible death than the one I intended to inflict upon you. Daxley swore that ho would never betray me, so when Miss Cashell came to see him he swore that he was guilty, in order to save me from possible discovery. Then lie left the written statement in Mabel’s hand, also to save me, as he accused Miss Corn oil. T was angry at Daxley for saving you; but I must save Miss Cashell in my turn. Sign that paper,” she pointed to the table.

“All in good time,” said Ben-Ezra, leisurely; “do 3’ou know that, alter this confession, I can have 3’ou arrested?”

“Yes. Arrest me if you like,” said Miss Merton wearily; and leaned heavily against the wall. Ben-Ezra stood up. “No,” he said gravely; “3 - ou shall go free.”

Tlio woman stared aghast. "Bat I am guilty.” "I know. Still, you aro prepared to sacrifice yourself to save the lile or an innocent woman —innocent, at least, so far as this crime goes. But I can t have you hanged. A slur would he left on your cousin’s name, and he is going to marry my niece. 1 shall say nothing of this you have told me. i shall give you money to leave England, and allow you an income, if you will arrange to live in South America.” “.And Miss Cashel]! - '” “I will sign this.” Ben-Ezra rapidly took cut his fountain-pen, and scrawled his signature. “Not that it is needed, as I simply will take no steps against her, and my lawyer will say nothing. I can explain everything to Wain and Ashton without bringing in your name. Now, Miss Merton, am 1 such a villain as you thought me?” “No,” said the spinster, faintly; “but why are you doing this, when you hate me and hate Lancelot?” “I don’t hate either of~jx>u,” Ben-Ezra, smoothly; "that is where you are mistaken, and what I have come to explain. You think that I cheated the General out of the Hall and out- of his money. I may be a sharp man of business, Miss Merton, but I would not cheat a man who stood by mo when I was a ragged alien in this village over thirty years ago.” Miss Merton, leaning against the wall, slipped quietly to the ground, and ■passed a hand across her forehead. “1 don’t understand,” she said, bewilderS ed. “No,” said Ben-Ezra, caustically, “for if you did you would not waste so many hard names on me. And—and —” lie sat down in his chair abruptly. “I feel rather faint.” “The air is close in this room,” murmured Miss Merton, faintly; “open the window.” Ben-Ezra rose and did so, but bad again to sit down, so faint did he feel. Ascribing it to the want of air, lie thought that it would soon pass away, and went on talking with his old directness. “I wished to benefit him and his grandson. I saw that the old General was a spendthrift, and would waste the estates and' income. His ’son, who was dead, had also been a Spendthrift,, and the mother of his grandson had been frivolous and wasteful. I wished to save Lancelot Ashton from suffering for the crimes of his race, and also I wished to teach him the value of money. 1 therefore arranged to give the General a sum of money to live on, provided that he transferred the Hall and his income to m© as trustee for liis grandson.” ‘ ‘ W hat —wh at—wli at ? ” stuttered Miss Merton; “as— as—trustee ?” “You arc ill,” said Ben-Ezra; “let me lilt you into a chanr.” “No, no! Go on, go on,” cLie breathed feverishly. Ben-Esra was glad that she did not wish to be moved, because lie felt ill himself. “I wisih. I had some brandy,” he muttered and then continued with an effort. “I will be as short as possible and leave you, as I don’t feel very well. A man, oft my age is liable to these sudden attacks of faintness. Well, my dear lady, tlio General agreed and died, as you know, well provided for, to the end of liis days. He also saw my point. I therefore invested the income, and kept up the Hall, intending, when Lancelot Ashton had learned his lesson of poverty to hand over both to him, under his grandfather’s will, which is in my possession. I wished at the time to help him a trifle, but you refused.” “Yes,” said the weary voice of Miss Merton, “I refused. But you should have told mo of. your intention. ’ ’ “I did not wish anyone to ’know it, and so bore all the hard things that were said about me. It was I who invented the fictitious relative in Devonshire, and paid for the boy’s education. I watched over Lancelot always, and saw that the lesson of poverty he .was Beaming was making a man of

him. When I was accused of the murder I gave him liis chance, although, had I hot guessed—as I fancied —from the bracelet that Miss Cashell was guilty, I should scarcely have entrusted my life to liis untried hands. But now that everything is light I will see him and deliver up my charge. He will again be Ashton of Tanhuck Hall, with an income of, seven thousand' a year, since I have invested the money excellently. All the papers: the old General’s will, and my will, are in. my office, and there will be no difficulty in his entering into possession.”. Miss Merton scrambled with difficulty into her chair. “Judith,” she said. “I hoped all along that the boy would fall in love with Judith,” explained Ben-Ezra, “as his children will have in them a needful drop of Jewish blood to keep them straight. There will be no more spendthrift Ashtons, Miss Merton, you may be certain of that.” “But why—why didn’t you tell me all this?” she wailed. “It was not necessary, as you could not help mo, and, being a woman, might have told the boy beforehand. I wish to surprise him. But now ihe time is come, and he will learn that a Jew is not quite so evil as he had been said to be. As to yourself, you can go to South America, and live there until you die. That must be your expiation for your crime. Miss Cashed may die, or she may not. If she lives, I shall lot her go and give her some money to start again in America, since l am persuaded that her husband will not take her back again. Yes,” said Ben-Ezra after a pause, “T shall forgive my enemy. She is innocent of this murder, and lias suffered enough in seeing her plans -all ruined. "Wain, of courseyfvpll he editor, so lie is all right, and I shall look after the child [Mabel. But oh, Miss [Merton, why did you not trust me —” “How could I?” cried the spinster, rising in her chair, and dropping back from sheer faintness; “you never told mo, you never—never —oh, I am sorry that I have done what I have done.” “What is that?” asked Ben-Ezra, who was beginning to feel alarmed, both because he felt so terribly weak, and from the strange looks she cast upon him. Miss Merton gasped. “As I could not kill you in one way, I tried, to kill you in another,” she wailed. “I have poisoned you.” The Jew uttered a cry, and strove to rise. “You have poisoned—Oh 1” “The South American Drops,” wailed the woman, catching at the arms of her chair,, “six drops kill. I gave you three drops in each cup of tea you drank, You are a dead mau in a i’ew minutes. There is no antidote.” “Wretched woman, and you ? Oh! oh 1 oh!” groaned the Jew, faintly, and closed his eyes. “I am dying also. I have the bottle. .1 gave you the second three -drops wheu_ I asked you. to see if J\l r AVriin was af. the door, and l —and—” she stopped, and lay as one dead. Ben-Ezra tried to open his eyes, and could not. There was a drumming in his ears and a rushing like the sound of many waters. He knew that he was dying, and with an effort he opened his eyes t-o stare at the white 'ace of the repented murderess. “You —you —have robbed—me of my life’s —triumph,” he moaned: "you — you —oh ! —oh!” The voices died away in a long drawl. Ben-Ezra did not fee] ill : he was not in pain. He simply felt that life.was ebbing from him. The South American Drops were at least painless in their operation. Again with an effort he opened his eyes. There was a haze in the room, through which, indistinctly, ho saw the weary, pallid face of [Miss Morton. She was just at her last breath. Ben-Ezra’s eyes closed again, and he fell into some gulf of blackness whence be knew that he would iiover, never emerge. An hour later Lancelot Ashton entered the drawing room, to find the doad man and woman seated, in opposite chairs, white, stiff and silent. (To be Continued.)