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Chicago. v. o) <..-amtaaamcnunaammumaBelting: E. A LOST WITNESS CHAPTER I. A REPORTER’S “ GOOD WORK”. It was high noon, and past : the big, harrassed-faced Lo- cal Editor of that most reliable evening paper, which, for half: 1 dozen reasons, each one bette1 than the last, we will name the “Evening Call”, sat in his sanctum, glancing at his watch and evidently m01e at odds with the wo11d than usual. ,pAnd small wonder, for the “ devil” stood at his elbow Crying for “ more copy”; and more copy, of the 1ight so1t, that would add spice to the evening’s issue and send it forth with the eclat which was its due, was sadly wanting. At this t1agic moment, when one of the Editor’s hands was clutched in his hair, and the boy at his elbow seemed in i111- 111ine11t danger from the other, a door opened, and a small,pale-’ faced, sandy-haired young man entered and walked up "to'the Editor’s desk, upon which he deposited several slips of paper, by passing them over the boy’s head. *‘ “ God bless you, Cousin !” ejaculated the Editor, fervently, and pounced at once upon the fi1st slip of paper. Thistis what he read : 8 A LOST \EI'I‘N ass. _ AMYSTERY IN UPPER TENDOM ! DISAPPEARANCE OF AN HEIRESS‘ !‘ It is with sincere regret that we record the strange disappearance of one i of the first of our society belles, Miss Leah Paget, the heiress and only daughter of Abner Paget, our highly esteemed citizen and wealthy im~ porter. ' ‘ Miss Paget was last seen yesterday at early dusk, when she crossed the threshold of her splendid home, with two“ or three letters in her hand. 1 It had been her habit to go often at this hour to the nearest letter-box, to post such letters as she wished to go by the early mails. ' Mr. and Mrs. Paget were dining out and did not return until late ; hence, the absence of their daughter was not learned until this morning. The discovery brought with it instant alarm, for it. Was evident that her bed had not been occupied. Miss Paget had never been known to leave her father’s house, even for a brief time, without informing some member of the household of her intentions. Mr. Paget, in the midst of his grief and consternation, displayed marked presenCe of mind by dis- patching messengers at once t3 all of their friends and intimates, upon the possibility that the young lady had taken a sudden fancy to visit some one of them, and had been for some unknown reason detained Over night. Not until he had thoroughly convinced himself that Miss Paget was not to be found among their friends, did he call for help; Now, the authorities are straining every nerve, Chief of Police Con- nors himself having taken the matter in hand. There is no hint of her whereabouts—no clue to follow.‘ Mrs. Paget is nearly crazed with grief : she believes that some fearful calamity has befallen her daughter, and will not be comforted. It is to be hoped that a simple solution for this problem will be found, for the sake Of the grief-stricken parents, who adored her, of the society of which she was a bright ornament, and for. her own’sake—fyoung. rich, beautiful, and beloved. ‘ The Editor laid down the slip and faced the reporter. “ Cousin,” he said, gravely, “ this is delicate ground. Are you sure—” He stopped, and looked at the small (lemon in waiting. ' p ' , ‘ . “ Ofit-is all right,” replied the young man. ‘ “ I’ve been there i A. REPORTER’S “ GOOD WORK”. - 9 with Chief Connors. I might have made the thing more sen- sational, but it didn’t seem best to me. we are the only paper that has, as yet, an inkling of it. And I shouldn’t wonder if where were plenty more ‘material’ in thecase before the end is reached .” 9,“ Highly esteemed citizen—ewealthy impOrter,” he com- mented, “sounds as if‘he'is the only importer. I’ll fix that.” He slapped the paper upon the desk, made an erasure, and hastily introduced aword or two, while the writer of the on dit looked serenely on. Then he gave it to the waiting boy. “ Take it, Napoleon"; away with you.” . And then as the lad vanishedm“ What’s next?” he said, and took up the second slip. ' I LA BELLE FABRICE. We have it from excellent authority, that Fabrice, the charming and long-looked-for Com‘edienne from over the water, is actually among us ; that she came quietly and incognito, accompanied only by her maid and Madame Congi'eve, who is a devoted friend and member of the Fabrice Company. The remaining members of the Company are hourly expected, but the date of the first appearance of La Belle Fabrice before an Amer» ican audience is not yet fixed. The dashing little Comedienne is in pos- itive retirement for the present, and absolutely unapproachable‘. Apropos, rumor says, that the little lady left behind her athrong of ad; mirers, and that one, a titled “ scion of nobility”, arrived in the steamer which brought the fair actress. - i The Editor turned from the perusal of this second slip, with a smile upon his face. ' i ‘f Well, Cousin, you have improved the shining hour. I suppose this is‘a ‘ reliable’ morsel of gossip ?” “ Perfectly so,” said the imperturlmble young man. “I niet Manager Horton in Madison ' Square, before he had had his breakfast.” “ Quite by accident, of course ?” 10 A LOST WITNESS. “O, quite. Only I waited something like half—an-hour to ' bring the accident about. I had a hint that the lady was in New York, and made up my mind to have it out of him.” “ Precisely—I see. And'l‘this ‘scion of -nobility’—-—is he a fact or fiction ?” ‘ ' “ That was Horton’s suggestion; but I think the ‘ seion’ is genuine, Horton thought it was a good point to make, but he seemed a little doubtful of its effect upon the lady. He didn’t seem much concerned about the young man. His name, Horton says, is Sir Felix Wynton. To be on the safe side, I omitted it. “ Quite right.” The Editor took up the remaining slips. “ What haVe we here? More nuggets?” “ Padding, all but one. Just run them over ; I want your judgment on that.” i The Editor began looking over the slips and reading aloud the heading of each. "‘ ‘ Bellevue Hospital again “ No, not that.” “ ‘ More about. the 10th Street murder ’1?” “ N o, no I” “ ‘A possible sensation in high life “Yes, tl1at’si.t ” The Edit01 turned 1n his chair until he faced the reportei, and began to read, slowly and aloud : )9» :9» A POSSIBLE SENSA'I‘ION IN HIGH LIFE. If the rum01 just set afloat, and spoken of, when it is known at 9.11.}. with bathed breath, and In sec1et places, should prove t1ue, it will deal as blow to society that will be felt to its vo1y center. It concerns a lady2 of high social standing, and would, it but half weie proven true conej’} A REPORTER’S “ GOOD WORK”. , 11 vince our social leaders, in more ways than one,“ That things are sel- dom what they seem.’ This IS a case in whichutongues should be b1id1ed, the evil repo1t nipped in the bud, or the broad, unvarnished truth be boldly declared. If the rumor has no foundation, society should rise to the defense of a maligned lady. If report speaks the truth, which Heaven forbid, society should be protected from future pollution. This is a case in which there should be no middle course. Let the tongues that have set this baneful ball rolling, speak out. “ Say all, or be forever silent.“ From this fragment of literature, the Editor turned with a puzzled countenance. . “ Of all the ambiguous, mysterious productions—~” he be- gan, ‘but the little reporter interrupted him. “ Of:,,cou1'se it’s ambiguous,” he declared. “ You needn’t print it if you don’t like. It may end in nothing, and people will call it a canard. In that case, we will have to invent an ingenuous explanation. But it may end otherwise—~and the ‘Oall ’ prides itself on being first in the field with marriages, murders, and mysteries-don’t it?” “ Certainly. But this ‘,rumor’+—-what is it?” . . Cousin perched himself upon a corner of the Editor’s Wide desk. “It isn’t a rumor yet,” he said ,quietly. “ The truth is, I picked it up accidentally, as you mightsay, several days ago. I’ve been watching it, and turning it over in my mind, ever since, and it’s my opinion that it will become a rumor very shortly—— a genuine sensation, that will make ‘ sassiety’ howl. I can’t exl plain furtl1er——you can useit or not, as you like.” The Editor took up the pape1 and laid it down again “Is this sensation connected in any way with the disappea1- ance of Miss Paget ‘2” he asked. “ By no means.” 12 A LOST WITNESS. " “ Did it occur to you that readers might construe it as mean-9T ing that young lady ?” i “ No, it didn’t. And if they do—” “ It will give us a chance to set them right through theme- dium of another sensational paragraph, eh? Well, it’s your affair, Cousin; I’ll send in the copy.” ~ .As he put out his hand to touch the bell, a door leading to. an outer office opened, and a boy came in with a card, which he placed upon the desk before the Editor, who glanced at the name, hesitated, and then proffered it to Cousin. The reporter-took it,'looked at it hastily, slipped from, his perch, and said, with a significant glance at the waiting boy :_ “ Do you know who’he is ?” “ Why, yes, as a society man, a club man. I think we even have a bowing acquaintance.” “ Bah! I mean, doiyou know.that he is the reputed fian- cée of Miss Paget ‘2” i “ Eh! Are you sure?” Cousin tossed the card down upon the desk, and said : “ He was. entering the house as Connors and I left it. He has chine: to Suppress us. You will see him ‘2” _“ Yes, of course.” i ' “ Well,II don’t wish to. He knows me, and has followed me ’ here.” I l . . “.George,” said the Editor, turning briskly toWard the boy,” “ go out, through the hall" and Wait there two minutes, then show the gentleman in. You understand ‘2” .The office boy nodded, and went out as hidden. _ “ I think I’ll go the same way,” said the reporter. . “ Noggtcp in there,” pointing to a door on the opposite Side of the room, “ and wait until he’s gone.” ‘ ' A REPORTER’S “ GOOD WORK”. 13 The reporter vanished through the d001'fi11dicated, and in another moment the visitor was ushered in. I The Editor, with the card between his fingers, turned in his revolving chair, and as the young man paused before him, he arose. , “ Mr. Talfourd ?” he said, with an inquiring aCCent. ' “ Max Talfourd—-—yes. I think we have met before.” “ I think so too,” said the Editor, genially. “ Be seated, Mr. T.alfou1d ” But Mr. Talf'ou1d, a tall, b1oad-sl1oulde1ed type of the good- looking, cultured, and fortunate young American, prefeired to name his errand standing. ' There was a touch of pallo1 1n his fine face, and a look of anxiety in his clear blue eyes. “ I will not sit,” he responded, quietly. “ I believe you have upon your stafi“ a reporter named Cousin?” “Yes,” responded the Editor, “ we have.” “ I met him coming from Mr. ' Paget’s house this morning, as I was entering. ”May I ask if he has been here’since noon ‘2” “ Yes, sir,_he_-has. Cousin left me not long ago.” . “ Then I presume—I fear—that he has supplied you with a statement cgnce1n1ng—M1ss Paget. 9” “ Concerning the disappearance of Miss Paget—yes.” The brow of the young man clouded. . “ Do you intend to publish that statement, or any other states ment of the case ?” p ' “ Why, yes, Mr. Talfouid, we shall print—have printed, I may say—a simple mention, no details—nothing that could of- fend.” ‘ Young Talfourd interiupted him with an impatient gesture. , “ Can that, in any way-—at any cost—"be stopped ?” i. “ Eb _?” 14 A LOST WITNESS. “ Can it be suppressed ?———kept out of your paper by any ar- rangement you choose—” “My dear sir,” remonstrated the Editor, rising, and putting the finger tips of his right hand against those of his left. “ be reasonable. Suppose it were not too late—that it could he kept out of the ‘Call ’, tomorrow it would be in every one of the other papers, and garbled maliciously. In Mr. Cousin’s paragraph there is nothing but the simple statement- the bare truth. Merely, that Miss Paget is missing, not to be found among her friends, and that efforts are being made to explain the mystery, to find the young lady. Now, 1s there anything objectionable 1n that?” The Editor’s tone was one of mild remonstrance, but Max Talfourd only hit the end of his long mustache, and glared moodily at the opposite wall ' “ Miss Paget is missing, is she not?” queued the Editor, his voice becoming that of a much- injured individual. , “Unfortunately, yes.” “ Has anything happened since Cousin left the house that throws new light upon the subject. 9’,’ “ Nothing. ” “ Then, my dear si1—-—” Talfourd made an impatient movement. “ I have reason,” he began, “—that IS, I think it quite pos- sible, that Miss Paget may return within the present twenty- four hours. And her explanation, while it will be perfectly satisfactory to her friends, will not interest nor concern- the public. If you publish her absence, you must, of course, fol-1 low it up with her explanation—don’t you think that it may be taking anwarrantable liberty with a "lady’s private afi'airs ‘2” A REPOR’I‘ER’S “ GOOD WORK”. 15 The young man spoke slowly, but as he ceased,"and rested his gaze upon the Editor, that personage ‘saw clearly that his calm cost an effort. . “ My dear sir,” rejoined the Editor, in a tone that was at once caressing and full of regret, “evidently, you do know something about this business—~something that justifies your} Wish to have this matter dropped ; and if—” ’ His visitor’s hand went up in an imperative gesture, while his cheek flamed and his eye flashed. \ “ Stop!” he said, and then paused ; it was evident that he was agitated, and that he was weighing his ‘next words. “ Understand me,” he said, after a moment’s silence, “ I know nothing concerning this mystery. But I know Miss Paget, and feel sure that she has done naught of which her friends would disapprove, and I am not willing to entertain the notion which unfortunately possesses her mother, that some harm has befallen her.” He stopped suddenly, and there was another moment of silence—then : “ Is it an utter impossibility to with- draw that item?” he asked. “If it were gossible to oblige you, Mr. Talfourd, it should be withdraWn. If you had called half an hour earlier it might have been done. I will furnish you, in a few moments, with a proof of the paragraph, and you can see how very little it réallf says.” Talfourd shook his head, and made a movement toward the door ' “ Or,” pursued the Editor,“ if there be any additional word in the way of a cor1ection, or suggestion— “ Thank you,’ ’said Talfould, with the ai1 of one repeating a meaningless formula, “there is no more to be said. I will net trespass longer upon yeur time.” 16 A LOST wrrnnss. He walked to the door, and the Edito1 moved a pace after him, wearing a look of reg1etful sympathy. At the door, Talfd‘urd turned suddenly, and said, with a sus- picion of sa1casm in. his voice . V “ It is not too late, perhaps, to‘ask that you make no men- tion of this call———this fool’s errand—of mine ?” ‘ _“ Certainly not ; by no means,” said the Editor. Talfourd released his hold of the doo1—knob and took a step back towa1d the Editor. The1e was a new ling of 1esolve in the tone in which he said: _ V “You had bette1 understand me perfectly. Mr. Paget did not know that I intended to come here when I left his house. I saw that fellow, Cousin, coming away, from there, and guessed that he would not miss his opportunity. I came. to you solely upon my own responsibility, but with ample justi- fication.” Miss Paget was—-—is———my intended wife.” He now looked keenly at the Editor, all signs of embarrassment having disappeared. . I V “I comprehend, sir,” said the Editor, gravely. "‘31::1 shall respect your confidence.” Talfourd bowed, and went out; in a moment Cousin ap« peared at the opposite door. ' “ Well?” said the Editor, seeing that the other was not. in- clined to speak. “I suppose you heard our conversation? What do you think now ‘3” J Cousin consulted his watch. “ I have something to do at this hour,” he said. And then, as if “the question was of small importance—fl I think this is going to prove an inte1esting case.’ “ Oh,” said the Editm, with the nearest approach to sarcasm, "‘ shall I make a note of your opinion?” AT THE CENTRAL 01311911013. " ‘17. Cousin put aWay his watch, and said, ignming both ques- tion and sarcasm, - “ I’m glad you didn’t let Talfourd talk you over.” The Editor began to toy with a pape1 weight. ‘ “ I shouldn’t. wonder if the whole thing turned out a canard,” he said, looking fu1tively at Cousin. “ I shouldn’ t wonde1 it it tu1ned out a tragedy,’ said Cou- sin, serenely. “ Have you any instructions? if not, I’m off.” “‘ No,” said the Editor, taking 11p his pen; But when Cou- sin was at the door, he asked, over his shoulder : “ Are you go- ing out in the capacity of reporter, or as a detective ‘3” “ Both,” replied Cousin, and went his way CHAPTER II. AT THE CENTRAL'OFFICE. . That we may clearly comprehend the meaning of much that is to come, let us turn backward, and begin with the day that is so eventful for Percy A. COusin, so fraught with sorrow for others. At ten o’clock A. M., Peicy A. Cousin, familiarly knoWn among his intimatesa as “ Polly” Cousin, 1s lounging in Mad- ison Square, which,at that hour, is comparatively deserted. It is spring, and the place is clothed in its greenest and most beau- tiful garments, and flooded with brilliant sunshine. =But'Percy 2 18 A A LOST WITNESS. “ Cousin seems not at all impressed by the beauties about him. He stands listlessly in a well-selected place of observation, and seems intent upon nothing whatever. COusin is slender, and below the average height ; his small stature is made to seem still less, because of his stooping shoul- ders and a fixed habit of carrying his head with a sidewise droop. He has a pale face, and a few freckleS—the last of a bountiful boyhood crop—which give emphasis to his pallor. His hair, like his face, is pale and thin, and always cropped close to his head. His nose is long and sharply pOinted. His mouth is large, and when closed, has the appearance of a straight thin line. As redeeming feature in a not over-prepossessing face, the upper lip is shadowed by a drooping mustache, also pale of color, but luxuriant in growth, and the whole is lighted by a pair of large glay eyes, that can invite and inspire confi- dence, look keen, clever, cunning, or frank, as suits the mood or pleasure of their owner. ‘ Five years ago, on a spring morning much like this on Which he is introduced to the reader, Percy A. Cousin arrived intNew York, fresh froma country home, endowed with as much learn- ing” as could be gained at the village High School, a plentiful stock of faith and hope, and with one or two very definite "plans for future usefulness. He was then twenty-one years old, and his worldly wealth amounted to exactly fourteen dollars and twenty-five cents. As a first step toWard future glory, he visited the Metropol— itan Detective Agency, and recommended himself, with more el- oquence than humility, as a promising amateur detective. But the Agency was not in want of reinforcement. After walking past -“ Headquarters”_ four times, our hero then presented him-7' self to the Chief of. Police. But that august personage, with AT THE CENTRAL OFFICE. ' 19 the blindness often noticeable in men of developed genius, failed to recognize genius in the embryo. And so, as a last resort, Cousin began the rounds of the Newspaper offices. He en— countered failure everywhere, until he entered the office ofthe “ Call ”. Here, too, failure had almost marked him for a Vic-2' tim, but at the critical moment, misfortune, which so often goads people to despair, piqued him into uttering-“under the sting of some editorial.flippancy—-——his first impertinence. It chanced to be a piquant and original 'impertinence, andiit drew from his auditors a roar of laughter. There had been an accident in an adjoining street, and a reporter had been dispatched to be an “ eye-witness” and write it up. By the way of furnishing the office with another good laugh, Cousin was now sent to evolve his version of the calam- ity. Then the laugh turned ; the version'of‘ our amateu1_'-,_wi.tl1 a few amendments—was printed, instead of the cuteand-dr.ied're- port of the experienced hack. And Cousin was retained, at scant wages, by the “Call ”. ' That was the beginning of his caree1, and, today he stood the acknowledged best “specialist” on the “ Call ”, stafi'wthe man who, more than any other, did as he pleased, wrote what he would, and was seldom questioned or criticised. Madison Square at ten o’clock in the morning is not wa- kened into vivacity and it looked like an unpromising place for a- reporter. But Cousin continued to lounge and look listless, and seemed very well satisfied with the aspect of the locality. At fifteen minutes past ten, by his own infallible watch, he alteredhis position, and tu1ned his face toward the ‘Fifth‘Av~ enue hotel. Almost instantly be stai ted forward muttering. under his breath. ' “ There he ll !” \ 20 f' 1 A LOST WITNESS. The person who had just emerged from the hotel was a big man, with a smooth—shaven, genial face, his ample expanse of shoulders and chest being covered with a st1iking pattem of Scotch tweed, and furthe1 emphasized by a huge diamond, juSt below his chin, and a massive watch-guard. 1As this personage paCed slowly forward, Cousin advanced briskly, and when they met, the latter put out his hand. “ How‘d’ye do, Colonel?” ' The big man stopped, and looked down at the little one. “ Do ?—why, gad! it’s you, eh ? Cousin, my boy!” He grasped the p1offered hand and shook it warmly. “ It don’t take you long to smell us out!” “ Not when your arrival IS announced 1n the evening papers, Colonel.” The Colonel laughed lightly. . 1 .“ Well, well, 1t’s ,. useless to fence with you. Whose scalp isit now, eh ‘2” - . “Yours.” “20h, mine? Well, shall we walk on? I was just begin- 'ning my constitutional. ” ' They paced on slowly, side by side. Cousin did not seem eager to beginthe conversation, and there was a sly smile hid— den behind his yellow mustache. It was not his first inter- view with Colonel Horton, who styled himself, and liked to be styled, Impressario ; and who was, in truth, a most success- ful manager of sundry operatic and dramatic “ stars” and “ con- stellations.” - The two men understood'each other, and had laid aside all the: plausibilities. which were employed upon occasion by the reporter, and all the glittering effects that were dear to the heart, and so much stock in trade, of the— manager. AT THE CENTRAL OFFICE. . ' 21 “ I hear that La Belle Fabrice has arrived,” began Cousin, when they had walked a few paces. ' . .. “ Yes. You have found her out, then?” It was evident that Colonel Horton was not ill-pleased. “ Yes ; and I want to see her.” “ If you do see her you’ll be a clever "fellow.” “ Why ?” “ She vows she won’t be interviewed. And she really mean." it. If you can see her, can get her to talk~”' I “ Where is she ‘2” broke in Cousin. . The Colonel eyed him askance. “ Look here, Cousin,” he said, “ if you can manage any kind of an interview and then make something spicy out of it, it will be a good thing, and I’ll see you through.. But Fabrice is a Tartar, 1’11 admitthat.” ’ “ I see.” “ Confound you! no, you don’t. I don’t mean that she’s vixenish, liluld produce, was the Wish of Man«_ ager Horton, and he knew that Cousin was his man. '22 A LOST WITNESS. To give the “Call ”' the first word concerning the latest the— atrical sensation and leave little. to be said by'rival journals, was the w-ish of Cousin. So he questioned craftily, listened closely, made numerous brief notes, and finally arose from his interview, feeling sure he had squeezed his orange dry. “ And you are really going to try for an interview With F a- brice ?” said the Colonel, when Cousin had written down the address, and turned toward him in an attitude of leave-taking. ' “ I’m‘ going to have an interview with her,” corrected Cousin, with one of his quiet smiles. '” “' Oh l” and the Colonel beamed upon him admiringly. -“ By the way, have you a good picture of her ?” “ Picture of Fabrice ? Why, bless you, boy, the shops are full of them.” , / “ Yes, I know; character pictures and that sort—bare arms, flowing wig, etc. I’ve halfa dozen in my pocket now. What .I mean is a simple vignette, or in walking costume.” “ Oh, every-day business? I Yes, I’ve got one.” The Colonel took out a huge pocket-album and drew from it, after a'moment’s Search, a picture, which he put into the re- porter’s hand. ‘ ' “There you are.” . Cousin looked at it critically. It showed him a piquant, pretty face, with rings of soft hair fallinglow over the forehead. The face was in profile, and all that was visible\below was a simple band 0r collar, and the hint of a graceful shoulder. “ I’ll borrow this, if you’ve no objections,” said Cousin, pocketing the picture as he spoke. . ' “ Keep it,” said the Colonel, airily, “ keep it ; I’m always supplied.” " C When they had separated, Cousin crossed over to Broadway, AT THE CENTRAL OFFICE. '23 passed in front of the palatial New York Club House, and considered his next move. “ The Doane,” he was saying to himself; “that’s an apart- ment house near the Parker, and Daly’s.” Then he seemed to have caught at the right idea. He turned briskly, and hailed apassing cab. “ To the Central Office of the, Police,” he said, as he seated himself within. 1 Captain Connors and COusin had been friends for four years, which is to say, they had been friends three years before Cap- tain Connors became Chief of Police. They had first become acquainted as antagonists, at least in opinion, when the then Captain Connors“ came hastin one morning to inspect the scene of a murder in low life—--a com- mon tenement-house killing—afl'air. Notwithstanding his haste, he found a small, and, as he thought, insignificant, young reporter already on the premises, and in possession of many of the facts. ' \ After much questioning, Captain Connors expressed his theory in the hearing of all present. A moment later, a hand touched his arm, and he turned to see the “ insignificant” at his side. ' . _ “ Captain,” this personage whispered, “ if you will give me a word in private, I can save you from a blunder.” . A blunder ! There was something in the fellow’s eyes, after a moment’s scanning, that impressed the Captain, and he moved aside with the young man” and heard him in non-committal si- lence. As a result, he was saved from committing a blunder,— one that would have covered him with confusion, perhaps dis- grace. Since that day a warm friendship had grown up be-' tween the Captain and the young reporter. And Cousin.who 24 ' y A LOST WITNESS. had a remarkable faculty of reasoning from effect to cause, was often called upon for his Opinion in difficult and important cases. Many "times his advice had been found of great value, and 'once or twice even served to secure criminals who would have certainly escaped, but for his suggestions. In return, Captain Connors never failed to inform Cousin of any choice items that came to his knowledge. . If Connors had been promoted to his present position two years earlier, before Cousin had achieved such success in his present vocation, there would have been one reporter less on the pay-roll of the “ Call”, and a valuable addition to the staff of city detectives. But when the opportunity came, as it did, Cousin shook his head. “ No,” he said, “to be a detective was once my ambition. Journalism was second choice. But I’ve got my hand in now—egot my apprentice work done, and I like it well enough, too. It wouldn’t be good sense to give up the work I’m suCceed- ing in, to try a new line, when so much depends upon chances—— It’s mighty good of you, Connors, to ofi‘er me this, but I think I’ll stay where I am. Of course, I’ll be at. you rvdisposal, as Iam . now, when you want me, or can’t do better. May he, I won’ t do worse‘detective work, upon occasion, for remaining journalist.” It'was a long speech for Cousin to make, and Connors knew ‘that- his decision was final. .He had been six weeks in office when he made this proposal to Cousin, and more than once since he had taken him at his word and called upon him for his opin— ion or his help. Their friend-ship had not lessened, and the Chief was often heard to say, that there was only one detective in New York who could do a stroke. of business better than Polly Cousin. ' ‘ ’ When Cousin arrived at the Central Office and was about to AT THE CENTRAL OFFICE. ' 25 enter, he met a man coming out—a tall, spare man, well dress- ed, and carrying himself very erect. His bearing was that of natural hauteur, with which the look of anx1ety upon his pale, eldelly, aristomatic face was not in keeping. “ A Knickerbocker, ’ 11111ttered Cousin, as he. hastened with~ in, - “ one of the last-ofthem.” “Hello, Cousin,” call e1 Chief Connors, as the reporter ap— peared 1n the doorway,“ you’ re just in time. Come 111, and shut the door.” , ’ Cousin obeyed, noting, as he did so, that Connors was stand— ing at his desk, hastily gathering 11p some scattered papers, as ifpreparing to go out. The Chief continued his occupation, while he said : ' “ It'I were a ‘ medium’, I should say that I had brought you here by ~th is it ‘3” “ Rapport .9” suggested Cousin. “Well, cal1l it that. By the wav, ” turning toward him with the collected papers in his hands,“ what are you about? anvtl 111g 111gent. 9” “ Not very.’ “Anything to prevent you giving me, say, an hour of your time ‘3” “ That depends upon circumstances. I came here to get one of your business cards.” “ Eh ! My card ? What for ?” “ Well, I want to write my name on the back'of it.” Connors understood. He turned, and tossed the papers on the desk. “Your own name this time?” he asked. “ Yes. I want to call- upon a young woman who has vowed tnat she will not let a reporter into her presence—wwon’t be in- terviewed.” 26 ' ' A LOST WITNESS. I Chief Connors laughed again, and locked” his desk. “ You’re a clever one,” he said, adxniringly- “ I never heard of you in ladies’ society. I’d like to know how you got such an insight into their peculiarities. How did you know that you can send a card to almost any woman in New York, and if it is sufficiently mysterious, be sure that she will see you? But you can postpone your call ‘3”. “ If necessary.” - “ I consider it necessary. Didn’t you meet some one going away from here just now-~tall, elderly, high-toned ‘2” a Yes.” “ Know him?” “ Very familiar face, but—~” “ Old Paget ;Abner, the millionaire.” . - “Oh! surely, I thought I knew him by sight. .But he looked so different.” i _ Chief Connors glanced at his watch and took up his hat. “ He’s badly cut up,” he said ; “ his daughter is missing.” “ Miss Leah Paget ‘2” . “Yes. You may be sure there’s something, in it, when that proud old aristocrat calls for the help of the police. Jocelyn is away, and Browne, too. There is no one else I want to put on the case. I was just about to send you a message, asking you to meet me at Paget’s house, to save time. This won’t'be one of the ordinary girl’s capers,-—-—elopement, etc. I want you to go over the ground with me.” — One of his subordinates opened the door that led to the gen- eral office. “ Cab’s here,” he said, as lie/nodded to Cousin. “ Ydu’ll go ?” askedpthe Chief. “Yes,” said Cousin, and the two want out tegoth'or. . THE LOST HEIRESS - 27’ CHAPTER III. THE LOST HEIRESS. The splendid home of Abner Puget, far up Fifth Avenue, and in view of Central Park, was under' a cloud that fair {spring morning when Chief Connors and Polly Cousin rattled up the\pavement, and hastened across the trim lawn. In the. morning-room sat Mr. Paget and his wife. But each face was turned aside, and both pairs of eyes looked out upon the street ———-those of the father gloomy and stern; those of the mother wistful, eager, and dimmed with tears. i ' From the window they saw the arrival of the cab, and Mrs. Paget hastily brushed her handkerchief across her face. “ Iv‘think you had better not remain here, Miranda,” he said, gently. “ You shall be sent for if it seems best.” “ Is it the Chief of Police?” she asked, anxiously. - (C Yes.” “ And the other?” “ I do not know 3 I did not expect any one else.” Mrs. Paget arose. She was a tall, fair woman, with a gen- tle manner and a low voice. She was agitated as 'she addressed her husband, but one could guess, even then, that She could be firm as well as gentle. “I will go,” she said, “while you are telling your story. It will be as well. But if the Chief of Police begins to inter- rogate, I Wish to be present. If there are {to be questions about my daughter, I must be here when they are amwercd.” 28 A LOST WITNESS. “ And to answer them,” added Mr. Paget, as he arose and walked beside her to the door. “You shall come in at the right time. I only want to save you pain.” He opened the door and she went out silently. At the same [moment Connms, standing at the main ent1ance, with his hand upon the bell, was saying to his companion : “ Now, remember, when I give the sign, you are to take up the business and do the cross- -.q11estioning ” i “ All right,” said Cousin—~and they were in the p1ese11ce of .M1. Paget. Chief of Police Connors was a shrewd,practical man. one needing neither advice nor instruction when the routine of of- ficial work, the management of men, thedetail of police methods and police duty was concerned——here he was thoroughly at home. He could talk“, and talk straight to the point. But one of the things the Chief of Police kncw~——and so wise and shieu d was he that it was known to few otheis—wwas, that he was not a “ born detective”. In stepping out of his office into this Fifth Avenue abode of luxury, to investigate the mysterious disappearance of a beautiful young society belle, he felt that he was going into an atmosphere where he was not at home. But no uneasiness, if he felt 811011, was manifest in his manner, andhe began with his usual promptness. ' i i “ So little Was said at my office, M1. Paget, that I did not learn you1 full intentions. Do you mean to make a tho1ough search for your daughter?” ' “ Certainly,” said Mr. Paget, with a touch of haughtie ness. “ I acted upon that supposition, and brought a friend With me, thinking that I might need his professional aid.” He THE LOST HEIRESS. ' 29 turned to Cousin, who stood modestly in the background. “ Let me introduce Mr. Cousin, sir.” , Mr. Cousin, his modesty being of no further use, cast it be- hind him, and came confidently forward, bowing gravely. Mr. Paget returned the bow, but continued to address the Chef of Police. . i “ Is Mr. Cousin a detective, then ‘2” He spoke the word “ detective” as if he did not like the sound of it. i The Chief drew a step nearer and smiled reassuringly. “ I was not sure,” he said, “ that you would care to have one Of the city detectives, for—~for various reasons. Mr. Cousin has frequently given me his help in difficult cases ; he is. not a professional'detective, but he is the very man you want, or that I want, here.” , “If my services are unwelcome to Mr. Paget—” began " Cousin, with unruffled composure; but Mr. Paget checked him ”with a quick gesture. “ You ”will both excuse me,” he said, “ considering my po- Sition. It shocks me to think of setting the police to hunt for ”my daughter.” “ Quite naturally,” said the Chief, briskly. . “ And you have acted properly,” went on Mr. Paget. “ Be seated, gentlemen.” He set the example by seating himself. V' “ Now, tell me how we are to begin.” The Chief of Police sat down with very much the air of a' physician about to begin an exhaustive examination of an i11e ,teresting case. ' ~ ' “ At what time did you discOvei that your daughter was miss- ing 9” A .Mr. Paget shivered slightly, and his brow darkened. What 11eg “words were these being uttered in the sanctity of his splen- 30 . - .A Les'r WITNESS. did morning—room !-—-“ detectives”, “ missing”, “the police”, —-—and all 1n connection with bright, dainty, lovely Leah Paget. , There was a moment (if silence befo1e he answered the ques- tion. ’ “ It was as early as eight o’clock this morning.” “ And when did you last see her?” “ I saw her last at luncheon. My wife looked 1n upOn her just before we left the house, at about six o’clock.” “ When you saw her—Miss Paget, I mean-was she as well , as usual, and in her usual spirits ?” "‘ I saw nothing to make me think otherwise.” At this point, the Chief and Cousin exchanged glances. Mr. Paget was answering the-Chief ’s questions in the briefest man- ner, as if they were impertinences, which he disdained to honor with his resentment. _ . “ Who was the last person with whom your daughter spoke before she left the house ‘2” “ As nearly as I can ascertain, it was Mrs. Paget.” The Chief leaned back in his chair as if his interview with Mr. Paget Was at an end. He was a main of simple speech, and unassuming manners. The haughtiness of his host piqued _ him ; and he could be high-handed, trio, when he chose. “ I would like to see-Mis. Paget, ” he said, Shortly. Mr. Paget arose, looked at the Chief for a moment, seemed about to speak, then moved towa1d the door. I “ I will ask her to see you.” When Mr.s Paget appeared, and the two men had been named to her, the Chief said: ' “ Mrs. Paget, Mr. Cousin is here to help me; in fact, I- shall depend uptm him if we find flifieulties. Will you talk with him, piease 9” ma Lear Hmanss. '31 The lady bowed assent, and seated herself near Cousin, who, having risen upon her entrance, now resumed his chair. 'Then the Chief, not glancing again at the host, sat down also ; and Mr. Paget, after a momentary survey of the others, seated himself in the. background. “ Mr.s Paget, ” said Cousin, in his quietest manner, “ will you please tell us, in your own way, all that you can of this af- fair ?” As he spoke, he put his hand into the pocket of his coat and drew out a small note-book. - _ Mrs. Paget began her" recital promptly. Her face showed evident traces of agitation, but her voice was quiet and her manner composed. - “ This morning,” she said, “ I went to my daught'e1’ 6 door at eight o’clock. It IS my habit to rise at half-past seven and my daughter, also, is an early riser when she has not been out late. No one answered my knock, and I tried the door. It was not locked, and I went in. The room which I entered was used as dressing-room and boudcir ; I crossed it and went into the sleeping-room. I11 one glance I saw that her bedhad not been occupied. Everything remained as'I had seen it the day before. Going back to her dressing-room, puzzled, but not yet roused to alarm, I saw that her writing-desk stood open, with letters scattered about, and. her chair before it, just as. I had seen them last evening, when I went in at six o’clock to speak to 111131 befo1e we set out. She then had been writing and had just risen ficm her desk as I entered.” Here Mrs. Paget paused, and cast an appealing look at her questioner. , “ Can you recall what was said by your daughter and your- soul?” asked Cousin, 1n a subdued tone. 32 ‘ A LOST WITNESS. “ It was very little. A few common-places about our din— ner-party on my side, a little light badinage on hers. We were going to dine with 'a. very estimable family, whom we value for old acquaintance’ sake. But my daughter seldom accepts their invitations, fOre—fbr reasons of delicacy.” “ Allow me,” broke inithe voice of Mr. Paget. “ Since yen have4gone so far, it would be but justice to Leah to add that she had declined the addresses of their son.” , He spoke to his wife without 'a glance at the others. ‘ “Ah !” said the Chief, “ it is well to mention all these small details. It saves finding them out at considerable expense, sometimes, of time and labo1.” While he was saying this Cousin was quietly jotting a few words 111 his modest note-book. When the Chief had ceased speaking, he said: ' “ Please go on, Madam.” , “I stood at he1 desk, as we talked,” resumed Mrs. Paget, “ and I glanced down at the letters. There we1e th1ee, sealed, and ready for the post. I read the address upon the first ; it was to a young girl friend at Old Point Comert. .I said, ‘ What have you been telling Amy ‘2’ And my daughter re- plied, ‘ I have told her that I must decline “her invitatiOn for this month at least, because I wish to attend the Essex Hunt, and, I am promised for the Fete of Nations next week. I have also written to Ge1tie Cartex, to assme he1 that I cannot assist the Amateurs with their new play.’ After a wo1d o1'tyvo moie, I left her, as she was putting on he1 hat befoie the mi1ro1 She _ was going to take a short walk, she said, and post her letters. “ And you did not see her again?” “ No.” The mother’s lip trembled, and she turned away he1 face. i THE LOST HEIRESS. * ‘ .33 “ Who saw her after that f?” Cousin asked this after an i11- terval in which he seemed to have been meditating. “ Only Harkins, the footman. She passed him in the hall ;. he opened the door and closed it after her. He says that she was smiling as she came down the stairs. She only said, ‘Thank you, Harkins’, as she went out.” ‘ “And you are convinced that she is not with any of her friends?” “ Oh, yes‘” , “ Have you anything 1n the shape of a due or suspicion?” “ Nothing. My daughter was in excellent health and bright spirits. Her nature is a frank one. I do not think she had a secret from me, or that she ever had a serious trouble of any sort. The cause of her disappearance is a complete ‘mystery. But I am sure that Leah Paget never left her home last night with the deliberate intention of forsaking us. She is not ab- sent now of her own will. Something—Some horrible thing—- has happened to her. ; ' Her voice broke, she p1essed her handkerchief to her face, aiose quickly, and walked to the window. Cousin opened his note-book and turned toward Mr. Paget. ' “ I must t1ouble ybu to answe1 a few questions,” he said, brusquely. Mr. Paget nodded stiffly, but kept his eyes 011 his wife. “ Please give me the name of the people with whom you dined last night.” ' I > “ We dined with M1. E. G. Quinlan and his family." ' “ Their add1ess, please ‘2” said Cousin, without looking up. “Their residence is on Madison Avenue, near the Church of the T1ansfiguration.” “ Little Church Aiound the Cornei,” interrupted the Chief. 3 . 34 . - A LOST WITNESS. “ Yes,” from Cousin.“ Now, if you please—~11ames and ad~ dresses of the persons to whom those letters—the thiee seen by M1s. Paget—weie sent.” ‘ It was Mrs. Paget who answered this question, as she' turned and came back from the window. 1 , “ One was to Miss Amy Lathrop, Old Point Comfort. An- other was to Miss Gertrude Carter, Grammercy Park.” “And the third ‘2” asked Cousin, when the others were written. - “ I did not see the name upon the third envelope, nor did my daughter allude to it.” 1 “Thank you.” Cousin put away his note—book and glanced at the Chief. “ That is all as far as I am concerned.” ' The Chief arose, and Cousin followed his example. .“ You will close Miss Paget’s rooms, sir.” The Chief said this to Mr. Paget, with the air ofa man who knows that‘the time has come when he can fully take command. “ Be espe- cially careful that no one disturbs the desk. We will set the wheels in motion without loss of time, and we will not ask to see these rooms until the case assumes a graver form. I must ask you, how ever, to send to my office any or all of your servants, as I may call for them. It will be much bet- ter for our chances of success if we are not seen coming here for interviews. 'Also, I would like to be assured that yourself and Mrs. 'Paget will hold yourselves in readiness to come at a call, together or singly, as you may be instructed. “’9 will keep you informedofall :we 'do, and I hope to have some neWs for you soon.” ‘ As the Chief and his assistant were entering their cab, an- other vehicle dashed up to the door. It was a handsome coupe, and a young man sprang out almost before the wheels \ \\ \\‘ in) $3 \ \\\ ‘\ \\‘ _\\‘ ‘M\\ \‘ .~ “ E. \ \“\—\ \ _‘_‘. ‘ 2 ‘3 \\‘ \ / “ \‘\\‘ ;'\‘:‘ I' 2. - =39?" ' ,I x . ‘9:th ‘ ‘a‘: ' ‘ ‘- ) 'w ‘6‘ \ \A» d; .‘— \\ f<§f $\ \ \ w ‘- \ 23‘ ’w‘ \ ..’o \ o o. ‘ I 0/; ‘ ' JIIIIZ“P . c ’7 [Ill/Illa I'.’ l '1, r r “\‘ —:=.-:' 1'7" 3, ‘ 9154' 7": - ll" , ‘ n W ~' 1‘" I; ", . f. .~ . A , » o ““595 _\\‘ u . \\“\3 0 A . £31.93 9‘ Q . ‘ ; ; a . I 0' 713:8"), “ SOMETHING—SOME HORRIBLE THING—HAS HAPPENED TO HER.” Page 33. 86 _ A LOST WITNESS. had ceased to revolve. As his feet touched the ground, his eyes met those of Polly Cousin, who was in the act of stepping. into the cab. 9“ Who is that?” asked the Chief, as the cab rolled away. “ Max Talfourd, a swell club man. I’d give something to hear what will be said inside now. It is rumored that he is ‘ engaged to Miss Pager. ” “ Wel.l "’ exclaimed the Chief,“ you 1epo1tels beat the world for finding out things. You beat the police !” l “ If we didn’t,” retorted Cousin, with a grin, “ we’d have to find a new occupation, that required less brains.” CHAPTER IV. A KNICKERBOCKER FAMILY. When the door of the morning-room had closed behind the. Chief of Police and Polly Cousin, M 1'. Paget turned upon his: heel and began to pace stimy up and down, While his wife. * tu1ned slowly to the window and gazed sadly afte1 the two 1e- ceding figu1es.- “ Mr. Talfourd 1s coming.” A sound, something between a grunt anda sniff, camefrom the direction of Mr. Paget, and he began to walk again. V “ I don’t want to see him.” - A KNIGKERBOCKER FAMILY. ' 37 “ I do.” As she spoke, the servant entered, and presiented ' a ca1d. “ Ask him to come to me here, Ha1kins.” “ Harkins,” said M 1' Paget, “ bring the letters and the morning pape1s to me in the 11b1a1 y, ’and Mr. Paget passed from the mom. _ In another moment Max Talfburd stood bowing before her, with a look of surprise, which he could not conceal, in his 0 frank, handsome eyes. , Mrs. Paget rose, and put out her hand to him. “ MaX—” she began, and then stopped, with her eyes fixed upon his face." _. Her greeting increased his surprise, and roused his appre- hension. He felt her hand trembling in his. He was embar~ rassed, and said the first words that came to him. , “I havejust received your note, Mrs. Paget. ” And then, after another glance at her face, “What 18 it? Has anything happened ‘3” She sank back into ~her seat, and motioned him to another nea1 her. “ Leah——-” she began, and once more she was unable to pro- ceed. “ Leah ? Is Leah ill ‘2” . . \ He sat down 111 the place 1ndieated , and waited eagerly for her answer. ' Mrs. Paget looked at him mournfully for a moment, and then said, as if she must explain her own position first : “ My daughter and myself have always been confidantes, Mr. Talfourd. ] have been aware of yourmutual affection since ——since the first.” “ She has told me as much,” the young man answered, in a hushed tone, as if the theme were a sacred one. i i 38 A Low WITNESS. “ But for that knowledge I should not have ventured to send for you in my present trouble. Tell me, do you know where Leah is ?” ‘ “, W here Leah is ?” _ “ We have lost her. She has gone from the house—no one knows where. ” i “ Leah gone? Mis. Paget, for God 3 sake, explain! What can you mean?” He was 011 his feet, pallid and startled. - “ Poor boy,” she said, with motherly pity; “ Sit down, and I will tell you' all that we know.” It was little enough, and unsatisfactory enough, when all was told. And when she ceased speaking, he sat silent f01 a few minutes—then: “ And was it the Chief of Police and his assistant that I met at your door as I came?” he asked. ‘4 Yes.” He started to his feet again. _ . “ I must see Captain Connors,” he said. “ Mr. Paget was very wise in appealing at once to the police. Mrs. Paget, I must’help in this search for Leah. You won’t forbid it?” “Not if your hea1t IS with us.’ ' “ My hea1t1s with Leah Paget, and my hand will be against wl1on1soeve1 has done he1 a W1ong 01 an 111Ju1 y. M1. Paget has not been well disposed toward me, but now he must know the 'tiutl1,f1on1 one of Us.’ “It shall be fiom me,” she gently interposed, and then added, as he was about to thank her, “and let me say now, so that. we need not speak of it again, that I have not shared in his op» position to your suit. It is only the prejudice of one man f01 another. I looked upon you as Leah’s equal, and told my hus‘ A' KNICKERBOCKER FAMILY. 39 band 'so. But your father and Mr. Paget have not been friends for years.” . V “ I know; some old business trouble. I have meant to ask my father to explain it to me.” I ’ “ And Mr. Paget hoped foran engagement between Leah and the son of his oldest friend.” i i Talfourd’s eyes sent out a flash of sdmething‘like resent- ment. i V V “ Yes; Frederick Quinlan.” “ Oh, so 'you know——-—" “ I know. I think every one knows that Quinlan has been -,—I might say is—a suitor ”for Miss Paget’s hand. That is one reason why I have wished to make our engagement public, to stop Quinlan’s follies.” He checked himself, and put out his. hand with a look of almost boyishappeal. “At least, Mrs. Paget, I have your friendship, yOur toleration ? You will ac- cept my services as ”if—as—if I were indeed your son ?” Up to this moment the brave mother had kept back her tears, and suppressed all outward signs of emotion ; but this appeal, ethis‘sympathy, touched her keenly. She put out her hand t0- ward him, and burst into a flood of tears. , - When Mr. Paget entered his library,—-a room which [he had long looked upon as his own private domain, and which was seldom visited by Leah or Mrs. Paget,——it was not to occupy himself with either letters or newspapers, except to glance at the handwriting upon each envelope, to assure himself that nothing was there that might in any way throw light upon the mystery of his daughter’s disappearance. Once satisfied onthis point, the letters were thrust aside; at the newsPapers he did not-so much as glance. ' ' i I l‘ 40 A LOST WITNESS. Abner Paget was a proud old man, carrying his head with soldierly erectness in spite of his sixty-seven summers and win- ters. i He was full twenty years older than his wife; but he still had the same grave, stern face, crisp voice, and keen eye that had seemed to her the embodiment of force and dignity when he had wooed her many yea1s ago. ‘ He sat very erect beside the long lihra1y table, and scowled up at the glittering chandelier. It was Max Talfourd, this same impertinent young man, now téte-diéte with his wife, who had changed the even current of his life. And the fact that his daughter, his beautifnlbnl y child, had disappeared, and that he had been brought to the necessity of calling for aid from the vulgar police, was mixing itself with a queer jumble of hostile thoughts against the house of Talfourd, when the door opened and his wife entered. _ Mr. Paget started slightly, and hastily took up one of the unopened letters. , “Well Miranda?” said he, affecting to be busy. She came fo1wa1d, and stood beside the table, just in front of him, and very near. ' “ I would like your attention for a moment, Abner.” He put aside the letters, and said, again, “ Well ?” “ Sometime since, more than a month ago, I showed vou a lette1, written by M1. Max Talfou1d ,asking you to sanction his engagement with Leah.” “ After he had obtained the sanction of the young lady. Yes, I clearly recall hisextraordinary proceedings.” I p “ Mr. Talfourd’s ‘ proceedings’, as you choose to call them, Were verymanly. Our daughter was not reared in France. You know what I think of these old formulas. Mr. Talfourd- simply asked Iieah’s permission\ to speak with you, and A KNIGKERBOCKER FAMILY. ' 41 .obtained from her only that permission—nothing more.” “Yes, Leah is a sensible girl. She does not discard all the good old formulas.” . i 1. I “ When you declined the honor of an alliance with the Talfourds in so peremptory a manner, and finished by sending Leah a message, through me, forbidding her to think of Max Talfou1d, you overstepped the limits of your poWer.’ “ Madam!” Mr. Paget sat more erect in his chai1—if that could be. “When I attempted to speak with you upon the subject, you would not hear me.” “ And I do not wish to hear you now.” “ You must hear me now. For a year or more, I had seen that an affection was springing into life between Max and Leah. When you came between them with your authority, Leah was terribly hurt, although she was too proud to let you see it. I felt grievedand anxious, for Leah never again men- tioned the subject, and IV—knew that was not a good‘omen. One day Leah came to me in her straighthrward way, and put a case. ‘ Mamma,’ she said, ‘,if you were of age, and had al- ways been a dutiful daughter, and if you had learned to love a noble young man, your equal in birth and breeding, more than your equal in fortune, and if you were sure of yourself and of his love, and you were commanded to give him up for no better reason than that his father and your father had ceased to be friends,—-— what would you do?’ ” “ And, pray, what did you answer. ” ” “ It was on that very day that you had told me of Freder- ick Quinlan’ s suit, and it was in my mind when I gave my an- swer. I had not yet told her of it. I Said that I could offer 42 ‘A LOST WITNESS. no advice except that she would do well to think seriously, to consult her own conscience. She was mistress of her own fate, and must judge between the duty she owed her father, and the duty she o'wed herself and the man she loved and who loved l1e1. And then I told her of F1ede1ick Quinlan’s offe1, and that it was you1 wish that she accept him. I believe after that she came to you.” “ She did.” -“ And you told her that you would sanction her marriage with no otherman. Do you want to know what she said to me," of that! interview ‘2” “ Humph . l—yes.” , “ She said you hadmade it clear to her that you did not expect nor intend that she should marry to. please herself; it must be to please you.” ' Again. she paused, but Mr. Paget remained silent. “I did not mean to make so many words,” she resumed. “This is what I came to say: Two days after she put her question,,she came again to me, and told me that she had ac- cepted Max Talfourd.” , i“ Accepted him ‘2” “ She said that I need not speak of it to you again. They had agreed to keep the engagement a secret, at least not to announce it formally, for a time, and that when it seemed best to makeit known, she herself would inform you. Now, perhaps, you can. guess why I sent for Max Talfourd this morning.” Mr. Paget arose quickly. “.Do you mean to tell me, Madam, that my daughter has doped with that fellow ‘2” he cried. . “ Would to heaven it were no worse than that i No ; I am more than ever convinced that something terriblerhas befallen A CALL ON THE CHIEF 0E, POLICE. 43 Leah. Max Talfourd 1s as igno1ant of what has happened as you or I.” . g “ I suppose he has made you think so, ” he s11eered, and turn- ing, stalked from the room. CHAPTER V. A CALL ON THE CHIEF OF POLICE. The Chief of Police and Polly Cousin returned together to the office of the former and held aibrief conference, after which Cousin took leave. Then the Chief busied himself issuing orders to several trusty men, sending them out nponitheir mis- sions, and hastily dispatching half a dozen telegrams, or more. This done, he made sundry entries in a small book which he took from a drawer marked Private, and returned to it, as soon as done, locking the drawer. and pocketing the key. Then he began to write letters, and was thus engaged, when Max Tal— fourd’s card was placed before him. “Bring him 111, ” he said, promptly, and there was a gleam of satisfaction 1n his shrewd eyes. Max Talfourd, in the presence oof the Chief of Police, was not the surprised, vaguely-alarmed, te11derlye1'espectful young man who had bidden farewell to Mrs. Paget a few moments before. He came forward quickly and confiden tly, and wasted no words. He was very grave, and Connors could see that he was anxious, but he liked the flank greeting and st1aight~ fo1 ward look that responded to his own, 44 A LOST WITNESS. . “ Captain Connors,” Max began,,=_d“ I can’t expect to be as well known to you as you are to me: I have not come to de- tain'you, but to ask for a little information, which I hope you will give me. I learned flom Mrs. Paget that your companion this mo111ing is a M1. Cousin?” Cenno1 s nodded. ' “ And that he is to be your assistant in this search for—for Miss Paget. ' Is that true?” ' ‘ “ He will be one ofmy, assistants.” “ Thanks. I hope, when we have had an opportunity to talk matters over, that you will accept me for another. Just now, I am anxiOus upon one point. This Mr. Cousin, is he one of the reporters for the “ Call ”? Conno1s nodded again. “ Have you any reason for thinking that Mr. Cousin intends to make use of this piece of news—of Miss Paget’s unaccounta able disappearance—in his 1eporto1ia1 capacity?” “ Do you mean, will Cousin make an item of it? I should be very much surprised if he has not already done so.” The young man’s face da1ke11ed. “ I want to preventthis, if possible,” he said.“ First of all, for the young lady’s sake and fo1 the sake of her friends,.l1er mothe1———” He stopped ab1uptly. The Chief of Police had moved nea1e1 and had placed a hand upon his a1m. “ Young man,” the Chief began, in a kindly tone, “just let me say a word before you go (1.11 Miss Paget 1s missing f1om her home, and her pa1ents, after making 1nquiries in various di—1ections, have called upon me for aid. Now, when a matter comes into the handsvof the police, it is past the point where it. may be handled with gloves, and. people’s feelings made the A CALL ON THE CHIEF OF POLICE. ' 45» first consideration. I sanctioned Cousin’s desire to be first in 'i ' the field with this bit of news. And, I assure you, there will be nothing printed but the bare facts—410 flights of fancy iii-- 'dulged in, no prophesies, nothing sensational. I havea strong reason‘for wishing Miss Paget’s friends—the very people~ from whom you are anxious to keep this news—to know that she has disappeared.” “ May I ask—” began Max, but the Chief stopped him with {a gestu1e. “And unless you have information that shall nullify, that reason, as, for instance, Whe1e she is———” “ I know literally nothing about it.” “ 01 unless you know of something that will furnish a prob— able motive—something that had bette1 be kept da1k for the young lady’s sake-—” Max Talfourd shook the Chief’s hand from his-arm, and stepped back. There was a flush upon his cheek, and an an- gry gleam in his eyes. “ Understand this,” he said sternly.“ The cause of Miss Pa— iget’s disappearance I neither know nor can I guess ; I cannot even imagine a possible cause. But when the truth is learned, —- if it eve1 will be, -——it will prove he1 innocent of any wrong in intent or deed.” “ There l” exclaimed the Chief, seeming in no way disturbed by his visitor’s manner. “ I like to hear you see that. Now, hear me finish. I wanted Miss Paget’s disappearance an- nounced in the ‘ Call ’, because that is the quickest way of inform— ing her friends and acquaintances of the fact. ‘I mean to visit some, perhaps many, of the society people who know her ;‘ and What you have just said, convinces me that I am right in think- ‘ing that unless they were prepared for my questionsI wOuld 46 A LOST WITNESS. get but short. answers. I want these peOple to know why my: men or myself come to interview them, without having to waste. time in explanations.” “ Still,” said Max, looking only half convinced, “ I would be glad this were kept out of the papers until tomorrow, at least. I know the people of the ‘Oall ’ slightly, and I intended to visit the office.” “ Very well,” said the Chief, ”but you will fail. Can I see yen again tonight—say, at seven o’clock?” ‘-‘ Yes, I’ll be punctual. Thank you.” ' He had the door open befo1e he had ceased speaking, and was gone in a moment. - AS the Chief of Police resumed his seat befo1e the desk, a smile hovered around his lips. ~ “ I’m afraid he Won ’t be 111 time,” he muttered, looking not ‘in the least af1aid. “But it pleased him, and establisheszl so1t of confidence between uS.’ His hands we1e moving about the desk as he soliloquized,‘ and presently he laughed, as if among his Scattered letters and papers he had unearthed a good joke. i Meanwhile, Max Talfourd was being driven rapidly‘to the, office of the “- Evening Call”, and the result of his visit, 2‘? its lack of result, has already been told. i FATHER HAND SON. 47 CHAPTER VI. FATHER AND SON. 'i ‘When Max Talfourd re—entered his cab, he gave the driver a number upon Irving Place, and added, as he shut the door, “Drive fast.” This order was obeyed, and he was soon set down before a stately dwelling. He entered the house with alatch-key, and as he was about to cross the hall, a maid—servant came tripping down the stairs. ' “ Ah, Annette,” he said, as she approached liim, “ we’re very quiet here.” _ “ Yes, sir. Mrs. Tall‘ourd has sent William outon some er- rand, and I think the other servants are down stairs.” “Where is Mrs. Talfourd '?” “ In her little sitting-room, sir.” “ And my father?” “ He is there too, Mr. Max. He" hasn’t been down stairs today.” “Not worse ?” , “ He says not ; he thinks the stairs tire him too much.” “ I dare say. Annette, you can go back and tell them that I am coming to them.” “ They’ll be glad of that, sir.” The gi1l ran lightly up stairs again, and the young man followed more slowly. . Mr.s Talfourd, seated 1n her dainty sewing-chair neara low Window filled with blooming. plants, received her son’s mes— ' ' 48 Agdos'r WITNESS. sage with a little ejaculation of delight, and looked for sympa— thy over at her husband. He lay stretched upon a couch near the flower-burdened Window and opposite the little sewing-chairi The little sitting-room was a favorite with the mistress of the house, and was connected with her dressing-room, and through that with her sleeping-room beyond. . And so far from modern was the fine old house, that Max Talfourd, in re— calling his happiest childhood days and his calmest and most restful hours of later youth, connected them all with these . rooms, and chiefest Of all, with “ mother’s little sittingF-room”. “ Ah, you runaway boy l” ' It was Mrs. Talfourd’s soft voice that first greeted her Son, and) she half rose from her low seat, gathering up some fleecy lace-work with one little thin hand. . But‘in one_quick stride Max was beside her. “Sit still, mother,” he said, putting her back in her chair with a caressing movement, and stooping to kiss her forehead. . “ And how are you, sir,” crossing to the couch and taking the‘ outstretched hand of the invalid. . “ Did you think I had turned Prodigal Son ?” ' The invalid laughed the cheery laugh of a strong and happ man.‘ - “ Gad, you are growing a dissipated fellow,” hesaid, smiling lovingly at his handsome son. “ Awayflet me see; four—- no, five, siX--how many days, little mother ‘2” “Three days. and a half, just,” smiled the little woman. “ Well, three days and a half, then." That comes of putting him into apartments down town. Apartments Will be the ruin yet of this country, or rather, this city. I shall not he'sur- prised to hear some of our city'belles setting themselves up in apartments next, and making it the fashion.” FATHER AND son. 49 5‘ Horrible!” ejaculated Mrs. Talfourd. And then, as her eyes sought her son’s face, her light speech was hushed, and a flook of anxiety spread over her countenance. “ Max, dear,” she said, anxiously, “ you look pale, and worn. Are you not well ‘2” ' “ I am quite well, mother,” the son answered, in a low tone. ‘1‘ But I am in se1ious tr.ouble” Mrs.Talfourd, a small, fair-haired, sweet-faced woman, had been an invalid so long that she had ceased to be numbered among the Queens of society. Although, when upon some rare occasion She opened her home to the friends to whom she still clung, they came gladly, and went away regretting anew the loss of so much gentle sweetness, and old-time courtesy, from their midst. Thirty years ago, when Max Talfourd, senior, led Helen Ros— siter to the altar, people said, “ What a contrast, and how'did they ever come to make choice of each other !” For Max Tal— fourd was big and robust and jovial, fond of good dinners, good society, good horses; not in the least a ladies’ man. al- though he was boyishly fond of the dance, and his keen wit and unflagging spirits were much in demand where gaiety reigned. But Mrs. Talfourd began her married life with the love that begets understanding, and the tact to seize and to use in the right way, such knowledge as daily contact brought. And her husband had a generous nature, a profound respect for goOdi‘ Women, and an innate love of home, its comforts and repose. Two children, two delicate baby—girls, had come, and, gone back to the home of the seraphs. Now, in this sturdy young Max, growing up in the image of his father, they centered all their hopes and love. . And he was in trouble, serious trouble. Instantly, the light banteri n g tone of the father was changed, 4 » _ 50 A LOST “7171711393. and the humorousjswinkle faded from his eyes. He put out his hand and rested it upon his son’s knee, but remained silent. For a moment the mother was also silent. Then she leaned forward, and, looking earnestly into his eyes, asked :7 “What is it, Max ? Can’t you tell 11s ‘2” A great sigh escaped his lips.‘ “ Thank Heaven! I can tell you eve1ything, little mother—— you and my father.” Again, he was silent. Then he turned toward his fathe1. 7 “Sometimes,” he began, “ during the past. winter, you have rallied me on what you call my evident penchant for Leah Paget, and charged me to beware of her ‘ cruel parent’ .” “Yes,” assented Talfourd, seriously. ' “Perhaps, I should have told you before this, that for a month past I have been engaged to Leah. But we pre- ferred to keep it a pleasant secret between ourselves, partly for reasOns which you might call sentimental, and partly because 7Leah, knowing her father’s prejudices, wished to manage the announcement in her own way. It remained our secret until today.” Mr. Talfourd listened to Max with Increasing interest; then pslole raised himself upon one arm until he came to a sitting posture. p“ Do you mean to tell me that old Abner Paget has refused his daughter to you, and for no better. reason than that he had quarrelled with your father somewhere in the middle ages ?” “ M17. Paget did that, sir, a month ago, when I wrote ask- ing his sanction to our engagement, or rather, he chose to mis- understand my lette1, and commanded me not to offer myself to Miss Paget. ” “ Which you had already done?” FATHER AND son. 51, r “ Which I had already done. We Were both of age, social equals, and I had no fear of being considered a fortune-hum- ter.” . ‘ , i “ Umph! I should think not, indeed. But to-day—if all this happened a month ago, what was the cause of this morn-“ ing’s outbreak ‘2” fl ‘ And now, Max Talfourd turned from his indignant father to the sympathetic face of his mother. “ Something has happened toLeah Paget. Mother, she is missing from her home.” And before they could voice their surprise, he dashed into the story of the morning, telling it in detail, from the-moment When he entered Mrs. Paget’s presence, to the time he had turned his back upon the Editor of the “ Call.” ' When he had done, there was a moment of silence. Then Mrs. Talfourd [drew her chair‘close to herson, and put her hand upon his. I The touch Was a caress, and Max took the small thin hand between his own. i “ Max,” she whispered, “ have you perfect confidence inLeah Paget?” He started, and loosened his grasp upon her hand. “ I have perfect confidence in Leah. Mother, you know her -—haven’t you ‘2” ‘ I “ Yes, my son. Leah Paget seems to me the last young lady to attempt an escapade.” “ Thank you, mother !” He lifted her small hand to his lips. .“I can’t believe that Leah has left her home of her own will. I would as soon think it of—-—” “ Sara ?” put in her husband. “ Yes,of Sara; or of myself.” 52 4 A LOST thNEss. “ But- think, mother, you who know your own sex so well, is there anything, any reason, sufficient to justify a young girl in leaving her home clandestinely ‘3” ' “- My son, that is a difficult question to answer. Leah has a good mother.” “ Oh \ es. Mrs. Paget told me that she had her daughter’s confidence. She was aware of our engagement.” “ Mrs. Paget is a good woman,” his mother said, thought— fully. “ I have always regretted the cause of our estrange— ment,” glancing quickly at the half—recumbent form of her husband, and as quickly away. “ The cause, my dear ‘3” he said. “ Well, the fact, then. I confess, I hardly recall the cause.” “ Gad. '” sitting erect agtin, " no more do I—in detail. A business difference began it.” ' “ And a difference in temperament has helped to keep it alive ?” Mrs. Talfourd smiled as she completed her husband’s sen— tence, and sighed as her glance came back to the grave face of her son. Max turned toward his father. “ Was this hostile feeling, on your part, sir, so strong as to have caused you to look unfavorably upon my engagement with Miss Paget ‘2” “Hostile fiddlestrings! Would I turn my back upon the prettiest girl in town, because her father happens to be an ob~ stinate old pig ?” “Thank you, sir.” The voice of the elder was cheery, and his eyes smiled into those of his son. But the face and the voice of the latter were grave. “ Then there is no question of that. You and my mother will accept Leah when—when I bring her to you ?” FATHER AND SON. 53 Instantly, the face of the elder Talt'ourd became grave. “ Max,” he said, slowly, “ is that just the question to ask of us now 17” ‘ ' “Yes. It is just the question. It is the only question.” His brow darkened. He arose,.and stood inid way between the two,looking from one to the other. Then, in the momentary silence that followed his firmly-spoken words, and with his eyes upon them, he made a backward movement toward the door.‘ “ Max I” cried Mrs. Talfourd, risi'nghastily-and putting out- her slender arms il'nploringly, as a look she knew well—a look of fixed deter111i11ation——-seltled upon his handsome features. “ Max, my son, what is it ‘2 Tell us—tell us the worst ‘2” “ Max!” began his father. There was a tone ofs’ternnessin his voice, and a sudden gravity overspread his face, bringing out, and emphaSizing, the strong resemblance between fathei and son. “ Max, are you keeping something back ?——something that—” He checked his speech suddenly, for the girl Annette opened the door, and coming f"'o1wa1d, p1esented a ca1d to her mist1ess. , ,ers. Talfo111d took it mechanically, glanced at the name upon it, and then, witha look of surprise and uncertainty, tu1ned towa1d her husband. “ It 1s Mrs. Paget,” she said. 54 ‘ i A LOST WITNESS. CHAPTER VII. “ LA BELLE FABRICE”. “ My dear, I can’t think what’s come over you.” “ I don’t want you to think what’s come over me, Conny. I want you to drop this subject, and to let it discreetly alone.” .- “ Oh,very well. Only, you know your own saying, I hope ——" a secret between friends’——” “ Yes, ‘ yes 3” impatiently. “' I’m awfully sorry, Conny darling. I’d give more than you know to get back the past forty—eight hours or so, or to forget them. I'would indeed! But don’t ask me another question, for if you do——-” i The plump and serene-faced woman, half buried in a loung- ing chair close to the open window, uttered a low mellow laugh. “There! there! I am mute as a fish from this moment. Bless your'heart, child, when you have seen as manymoon's as I have, you will know that there’s nothing in this world worth getting into a rage about.” it “ N o, I won’t, Conny. It isn’t 1n the grain.” The little figure, tuining and twisting about 111 front of' the - Queen Anne mirror, pirouetfed away from the Swinging glass and then back again, gave a twitch to her hair, caught up a huge feather-duster, and then turned toward the window with a sudden gravity. ‘ “ How is it?” She asked, briskly. “ LA BELLE FABRICE”. ' r 55 The lounger at the window eyed the questioner smilingly, the costume c1itically. “ It’s perfect,” she said, after a slow survey. “Perfect? how?” “ The real thing , jaunty but not too fine.” “Yes. That’s it. Does it Iook-——do I look, like a sou- brette ?” ' I “ Mydear, you look like a very youthful, a very pretty, a very saucy little housemaid; one of the sort that’s certain to lose her place 1n six weeks, to come to g1ief 1n three months, “ That’s quite enough, thank you. It’s all I aimed at. If I look my chaiacte1, I’m satisfied. Oh, dear !” Some one was tapping at the door opening upon the land— ing. The petite figure with the duster turned toward this door with a frown. and a gesture denoting impatience; then swiftly back again, the frown gone, the face beaming with ro-' gnery, a warning finger uplifted. With a final glance at the swinging mirror, and a defiant flap of the duster, she. went quickly toward the door, flung it wide open, and stood gazing blankly into the face of the applicant for admission. But, if the face of the pretty and perfectly equipped little housemaid was expressionless, save for a stare of too evident curiosity, that of the young man before herwas mildly and dis— armingly bland and confiding. Indeed, the whole was a de- lightful bit of comedy, for the bland young man was our f1iend Polly Cousin, and the surp1ised and staring damsel of the duster, was none other than the dainty little act1ess _.“ La Belle Fabrice”. V ' For a full minute—it seemed longer to the lounger at the window, who was invisible. to the young man—the two sur— 56 A LOST WITNESS. veyed each other in blank, expressionless silence. Then the young man bowed, and tl1e1e was a faint giggle from the young woman, accompanied by a Simper and a little bridling movement that would have won fo1 her, behind the footlights, a round of applause. Another moment of vacant staring, and then the skirts of the lounger by the window were heard to rustle. Fabrics turned her head slightly, and the hand holding the duster moved ever so little. The rustling, which had been plainly heard by the applicant at the door, ceased. “ Beg pardon, miss,” began Cousin, beginning a. search through various pockets for something. “ May I see' the lady that’s stopping here?” “ Stopping where?” asks Fab1ice, slowly, and with a strong nasal accent. “ Why, here,” beginning to dig in a second pocket, “ in these apa1tments.” “011'” said Fab1ice, glancing again ove1 her shoulder and giving her duster another inconsequent flap, “ I s’pose you n1ea11—”« “ Miss Fabrice. '” 111te1rupts the visito1. “ La Belle Fa- brice.” ' The soft rustle is again heard,and Polly Cousin suddenly shifts his position, moving forward, and squarely up to the threshold, where he is rewarded by the sight of ten inches of b1igl1t—hued cashmere, trailing itself out of sight behind a tall Japanese sc1ee11. Seized with the idea that it is La Belle Fabiice who is es- caping him, he quickly steps across the threshold, at the same time and by a seemingly careless movement, throwing open his coat, thereby displaying a small star upon the inner lapel. “ LA BELLE, FABRICE ".' 57 [As if' this display was unintentional, he hastily jerks the cOat into place, and pulls from the last yunexplored pocket a handful of cards, and a sealed, unaddressed envelope. Hold- ing these in his hands, he glances keenly at the petite figure before him, and is rewarded by a look betokening newly—awak- ened curiosity, and by the ejaculation, “ Well, I never!” “Do you see this?” He holds a card toward her, and smiles insinuatingly. I _ But Fabrice turns from him, and seizes upon the nearest chair, which she begins to dust vigorously. Polly Cousin g1asps the oppmtunity to look about him. He sees a well- furnished sitting—100111, strewn with feminine knick- knacks, a rich-hued shawl. trailing from a low—backed chair, a strip of embroidery and an open book upon the broad window- seat, near Which the softly-cushioned, luxurious rocker is still vibrating. A broad-brimmed hat with sweeping plumes oc— cupies one end of a low couch, while apug dog sleeps comfor- tably upon the soft cushions of the other. 7 Gloves and par- asols, handkerchiefs and fans, are scattered about ; a basket- like affai1,big as a small ttunk, stands beside the swinging 1ni1",10r and through its half-opened lid he catches a glimpse ofOriental colo1 — yellow silk folds, and billows of lace On the floor, close beside the big Japanese sc1een is an open play-book, and some small leaves of MSS., which Cousin instantly recog— nizes as a “ pa1 t” 1n some play. Beyond the screen he sees, over its top, a door, halfopen , and, recognizing all as theabode'of l astage Star, he says to himself, ‘ “ She is in, then.” Again, he tu111s to the busy figute with the duster, and says, still proffer— ling his caid: “ Will you please give this to your mistress?” His tone Is very mild, but at the words the fly mg duste1 stops. 58 A LOST WITNESS. “ My mistress 2” The little figure is instinct {with offended '2 dignity. “My mistress!” with a catch of the breath and an angry sweep ”of the duster. “ I’d like to know What you take me for ‘2” A ‘ “ Eh ?” Cousin comes a step nearer.“ Come, 110w,” he says, coaxingly, “ I know who you me, of course.’ - “Oh!” with a toss of the head and a snifl‘of derision, “ I’m much obliged to you.” A gam the duster 1s brought into action, and Cousin lS forced to continue his conversation as he follows the little flying figure about the 100m. “ You’ re La Belle’ s maid ‘2” “ Umph I” No other reply does she deign. She has reached a little table upon which rests a. basket of cut flowers, and half adozen bouquets in as many bowls and vases. She lifts the bas— ket gingerly, as if unaccustomed to handle such dainty bu1- dens, and snift’s at the bouquets, holding them at ar.’m 5 length to gaze and admir.e ,“ Look here, my‘girl,”—Cousin is beginning to grow impa- tie11t—-“ will you stop a moment and listen to me ‘2” The” counte1feit housemaid throws down the duste1 with one hand, deposits a bunch of Jacqueminots upon the table with the other, and turns an i1ate face upon her pursuer. ” “ What do you want ‘2” she says, impatiently. “ WhoSe rooms are these ‘2” “ I‘ don’t know.” “ What! you don’ t know ‘2” “ N o '” sho1tly, and st00ping to pick up the duste1, “ how should I?” “ See here, my girl, as you won’t tell me who you are, let me tell you who I am.’ Fabrice begins to dust again vigorously. g ‘5, I don’t want (WI/UL! / v ‘ iii; ’/ ' ' "/",/(/,I; 'i “ BE—BE YOU CAPTAIN CON—NERS?” SHE ASKS DOUBTFULLY. Page 60. 60 ' , A LOST WITNESS. to know who you are. You ain’t much to look at, anyway!” , Very wise men, very great men, have their weaknesses. Polly , Cousin has his. Many a sigh'had he heaved before his mirror beCause of his uninteresting appearance. He took a quick step toward this obdurate young woman, and thrust the card which he held,directly before her face. “ Can you” read that ‘3” he asked, impatiently. She stopped short and looked attentively at the card. ‘ “Cap-——t:1i11.--Con—nors,” she pronounced, slowly, “Chief ~4~of Po———lice. My !” She turns quickly and inspects her tormentor af1"esl1,-seen1ingly with renewed interest; then sud- denly drops back a pace, her face taking on a look of gravity. - “ Be—be you Captain Con- -nors ?” she asks, doubtfully. “ Are you La Belle Fabrice’ s maid ?” he asks, with renewed earnestne.ss ‘ ” The change in her tone is marked, and her “ N o—-no, sir. manner becomes at once apprehensively respectful. “'Who are you, then ‘3” “ I—-—I’m the new chambermaid.” “ Oh!” Mr. CouSinQbecomes aggressive in propm tion as the saucy face befote him changes to one of fearful and hesitating willingness to be catechized. He looks at her keenly, doubtfully. “You are the new chambeimaid, eh? But these rooms— you know whose they are?” “ I—I don’ t know their names. “ Look here, my gir,l ”drawing nearer and lowermg his tone, “Who was sitting at that window a moment ago?” She turned toward the window indicated, and, with slowly -' brightening countenance, tui 118 back and whispers : “That was one of them I” Then, before he can ask the . question that rises to his lips, she lifts a warning finger, tip- “ LA BELLE FABRICS”. 61 toes up to the screen, peeps cautiously behind it, and comes tip- toeing back. And now she 18 positively beaming. “ It’s the old one,’ ’she says, he1 voice just rising above a whisper. “ She can t hear vely good, and she’s gone into the other room, anyhow.” Again she brandishes her dustei, this time with manifest carelessness, and Cousin sees at once that she 1s quite at her ease. * “ A pert little simpleton,” he thinks ; and, still mentally, “‘ rather pretty, though. i” ii "What do you mean by ‘the old one?’ ” he asks, slightly at a loss how to p1oceed. “ Why, there’s two, you know,” she explains, readily. “The other’s ’little and young—something like me,” supplements this audacious little impostor. “ Oh ! and where is she ?” “ My 1 how should I know ‘3” “ Umph ! and don’t you know their names ‘2” “ Me ? My goodness ! I guess you ain’ t never been cham- bermaid in a hotel. \Vhen I come in here they don’t pay any more attention to me than as if—as if I wasn’t anybody. I think I’m as good as them.” And with a toss of her head she skips over to the couch, catches up the plumed hat, and surveys it with well—afl’ected curiosity. A Cousin stands irresolute. He has come prepared to be refused admittance, to be snubbed by the fair actress, to encounterand vanquish va1ious obstacles. But to be put to iout by such oh- tuseness as this.—- He runs- his hand over his sho1t scant locks, and gives his injured feelings vent in an impatient shrug of his stooping sl1oulde1s. Then he takes a step toward the couch. “‘ 'What is the yOung one like ‘1’” he asks, in a tone meant to be insinuatingly confidential. K 62 " A LOST WITNESS. “ Like ?” tossing-down the plumed hat. f‘ Why, I said-é— something like me.’ “Like you? Now, don’t you know that you’ re a very pretty girl?” “My 1 Most everybody says that to me!” She tosses her head, giggles inanely, bridles up to the mirror, and standing befiire it, critically surveys her charms. They consist of two long tow-colored tailsof hair, an exceedingly frowzy bang, and a maid’s cap, none too smart, yet suited to the entire ensemble; 3 pair of dark eyes, twisted into What seems to be a permanent squint ; a small. mouth, that constantly vacillates between a sim- per and a prim pucker ; some freckles, so well laid on across the nose and upper half of the countenance as to deceive even astute Polly Cousin ; small hands, fortunately concealed by a pair of ragged cotton gloves; a huge blue gingham apron slightly smutched in places, and with a. three-cornered tear visible at one side ; and a grey stuff gown that disclosed beneath a pair of slippers small and shapely, but down at the heel. As she stands thus before the mirror, she hears distinctly a sound, that she knows to be suppressed laughter, from behind the screen, and once more is inspired to new mischief. ~ As she tn rns away from the mirror and. again begins to ply her duster, she says, over her shoulder, “Her ma’s awful fat, ain’t she?” "‘ Her . ma l” ~ Cousin starts and looks blank. “ Do you mean—4” ' I ' ' “ The old one,” plying her duster recklessly, and approach- ing by degrees the cushion where the pug dog still slumbers. . COusin frowns impatiently and approaches the couch from the opposite direction. “ Look here, my girl—~just stop that duster, will you ‘2” His “ LA BELLE FABRICE”. 63 voice sinks to a confidential half whisper, and he is just trans- forminghis frown into an insinuating smile, when the girl turns toward him a face of attentive interest and stops—stops, as she brings her duster with a careless flap down upon the black nose of the sleeping pug. It 1s the ludicrous climax toward which La Belle has been artfully wo1king, and it-is not to be desc1ibed. ' ‘ Cousin has a confused sense of being reduced to breathless— ness by the quick concussion of some small but solid body ; of clinging arms in the rear, of clinging claws and teeth in front. To add to his discomfiture, the duster had descended upon him, sweeping his face and causing his eyes to brim with tears. Cousin shakes himself, despe1ately but uselessly. Heavens, how that small handmaiden screams and clutches his coll a1 2 How the pug snarls and claws and tears at his nether garments ! In vain he grasps at the clinging hands; in vain he shakes himself, kicks at his tormentor, and ejaculates impiously. A ringing peal of laughter is heard, and deliverance comes. Something, which for all that he can see, or guess, at the first, may be a big blue cyclone, swoops down upon the writhing trio. The pug is iguominiously clutched by his fat back, viga "orously shaken, and deposited, rampant and snarling, upon his cushion. The clinging hands a1e w1enched f1om his Shoula der, and 0111 repmter stands 1eleased, but W1etched, face to face with a stately woman in a blue peignoir. With one hand upon the shoulder of the wicked little housemaid, the lady stands struggling with the laughter, that will have its way, as she scans the figu1e befo1e l1e1. Suddenly, she controls herself and turns to the girl, who stands like an affrightcd c111 minal, cowering under her hand. “Leave the room, miss,” she says, with much severity, and 64 . ' A LOST WITNESS. a vigorous push toward the screen, behind which La Belle i11- stantly vanishes. Then she tu1ns again to Polly Cousin and simply points towa1d the d001. “ Madam, will you allow n1e—-” “ Not a word.” Mada‘m’s face is instantly grave ; she sweeps toward the door, and the pug springs down and lands directly at the reporter’s feet. He retreats immediately. Madam opens the door with a magnificent gesture. “ Now, ” she says. Cousin looks at the menacing pug at the frayed knees of his trousers, at the tatters below, and then up into the face of the lady beside the open d001. “ Madam—” “Will you go, sir ‘2” She lifts he1 hand towa1d the bell, the pug g1owls and p1esses close1. “ Ifyou will jus‘t—” Madam touches the bell. The pug growls again and lays hold of a fluttering rag. Cousin mutters a malediction, and hears, at the same instant, a sound which he recognizes. It is the elevator coming down. He glances once more into Mad- am’s uncompromising face, shakes off the pug with a force that sends him yelping half across the 100m, dashes out, and into. the elevato1 as it halts On its downward way. _ As he steps fiom the elevat01 at the street’s entrance, miser— ably conscious of his tattered knees, a young man briskly enters. There is a momentary halt as a party of ladies, flutter forward, crowding the elevator, pressing Cousin to the wall in their haste, and causing the young man to step outside while they arrange their draperies. I11 the moment of waiting, CouSin, surveys the serene-faced young man. One glance at the square stalwart shoulders, the florid feat- (5L1. BELLE FABRICE ”. 65 ures, the Wide blue eyes, the mutton-chop whiskers, and close- cropped fair hair, is enough, without the thoroughly English cut and cloth of his garments, and formal, punctilious court- liness, to assure him here was an E11glishman,fresh from his native land. A Before the elevator had reached the first landing, Cousin had apparently found his senses. i “ An Englishman,” he said, as he turned from the up-going elevator, and then, with an ejaculation, he added as he halted at the entrance, “ Two to 011e, that Englishman is Sir Felix »Wyntoun l” p ' Suddenly he paused, slapped his right hand against his left breast, walked deliberately back to the long leather-covered . seat near the door bf waiting, and, utterly ignoring his tattered condition, sat down and drew from his breast-pocket a thin square leather case. It opened, in his hand, displaying a pho— [tographwthe pictured face of La Belle,Fabrice, given him _, that very morning by Manage1 Horton Fora long moment he gazed at the p1etty, piquant p1o_file. Then closinghis eyes, he seemed to be taking a mental view '3': of something otherwise invisible. A moment more, and Polly *‘ECousin is upon his feet again. “ Sold 1” he mutters, lifting an angry face toward the eleva- tor shaft. “ Sold completely by that little sinner! Very good, La Belle Fabrice ; very good i” He thrusts the case back into its place, and drops again upon the seat, his face flushed, his'lips compressed. Polly Cousin, who seldom loses his tempe1, has lost it now. When the elevator comes down opposite to him, and the d001 slides openi Cousin steps 1n, and says, as he seats himSelf “ Back again.” , .. . ' “ Same floor ‘2” asks the boy. . ,5 66 A Los'r WITNESS. Cousin nods, and in a moment steps out upon the landing, just half a dozen paces from the door of the room which he has so lately left. ' There is no one on the landing save himself. The door of Fabrice’s room stands half open ; the elevator moves on. Through the open door he sees a tableau. Madam Con— greve, sitting-upon the couch with the pug nestled contentedly in her lap, is extending a welcoming hand to the young En- glishman, and the little Comedienne is standing near by, hold- ing in her fingers a card,—his card,——telling something, at the conclusion of which they join her in a ringing peal of laughter. ' A sudden movement on the part of Fabrice brings her face toward Cousin. She sees him and instantly comes to the door. There is no laughter in the eyes that fling at" him one? haughty, contemptuous glance; no smile upon the curling lips that say, as the owner steps across the threshold and flings the card at his feet: ,_ .“ Last evening, sir, you were pointed out to me as an ‘ en- terprising reporte’r.’ Allow me to thank you for this peculiar specimen of American enterprise and impudence.” The door closes, not noisily, but with a firm swift ‘click, and Cousin hears a sound like the shooting of a; bolt into its socket. He takes up the car,d steps into the elevator, and in a moment is at the entrance of the great building. 7 His faCe assumes its usual outwa1d calm, but he glances up- wald as he moves away, and mutters between his teeth: “ To day 1s your day, La Belle Fabrice. ' But you and I are sure to meet again, and my day will come. l”. Alas, fo1 Fabrice ! It came only too soon. And its shad- ows enveloped more than La Belle Fabrice, and more than the man who uttered the threat in a fit of professional pique. ' CONFIDENTIAL. ‘ 6’7 CHAPTER VIII. CONFIDENTIAL. La Belle Fabrice came away from the door, when she had closed it in the face of the too—presumptuous reporter, with a very grave look. Her little farce was ended ; and the dignity with which she now turned toward her latest guest, was almost as absurd as her former impromptu comedy, because of the in- congruity between her costume and her manner. “ I was trying the effect of a gown for my new comedy, when that person forced his way in,” she said. “ You will excuse me, Sir Felix, while I make myself more presentable. I leave you in good company.” She bowed toward Madam Congreve, and flitted behind the Japanese screen. ' La Belle Fabrice—there was no one, it was said, who knew her by any other namemwas fresh from a season of brilliant success abroad, social as well as dramatic ; for she possessed not . only undisputed genius in her chosen profession, but great per- sonal beauty, sparkling wit, a captivating piquancy of man- ner, an untarnished reputation, and, last but not least, a mys- tery. ' ‘ i It- was small wonder, therefore, if she had brought in her train, as a living testimonial of her social successes, a live lord, -——and a very devoted one,—-—in the person of Sir Felix Wyn- toun of Wynne Merton. Indeed, as Madam Congreve was fond of saying when singing the praises of her favorite, the wonder-was, that she came with only one suitor out of the 38 A LOST WITNESS. scores who had helped to form her goodly court in so many London d1aw1ng-1ooms During Fab1 we 8 absence, Madam Congreve regaled the young man with a desc1iption of the late episode, and, being a fluent talker, with a keen sense of the ludicrous, the absurd dialogue lost nothing of its absurdity in the telling. Fabrice could hear, through the half-closed door behind the screen, the mellow voice of her friend, and the hearty peals of laughte1 with which Sh Felix f1 equently interrupted the flow of Mad- am ’s Words. Presently, however, the voices took a different and a lower tone, and she knew by the sound, and by the soft rolling of a chair across the harpet, that the talkers were moving further from the screen, and that their conversation was growing confi- dential. “ More whispering of secrets,” mused Fabrice, as she smiled back at her reflections in the three-sided mirror. “About me, of course. Poor Conny !” And then, more softly, and with a little sigh, “ Poor Sir Felix!” She noiselessly closed the door, shutting out the low hum of voices, and went back to her toilet with another sigh. As the closing door shut out the sound of his voice, Sir Felix Wyntoun was looking anxiously into the kindly eyes of the lady sitting near him, and saying, half deprecatingl'y : “I came, you see. Pardon me, I couldn’t take your advice.” “Could not keep it, you mean,” replied Madam Congreve, smiling indulgently. “ To be perfectly frank with you, Sir Felix, I didn’t believe that you would be guided by it.” x ' “Oh, but I was-—at first.” I _ “ At first—yes ; from the sailing of one steamer to the next. ' Why, you poor boy, you might as well have come with us 1” CONFIDENTIAL. 69’ “ I only wish I had,” said Sir Felix, so ruef'ully that Madam Congreve laughed outright. “You can’t think how hard time is on a fellow when he Wants to killit.” “ Can’t I ?” ' . “ And then, somehow, she seems to have changed—«to have gotten further away from me in these few days.” Madam Congreve sighed. i“ Sometimes I think she has drifted away from me, too,” she Said, and then she hit her lip, and frowned. “ I didn’t mean just that, Sir Felix,” she added, hastily. “Fabrice has too kind a heart to hurt me by word or deed. And I believe she is too kind, too good, to hurt you in any way. You know how it was in London—always surrounded ; so much society en masse, that society a dieux was‘not to be thought of. And ’it’s much the same now, with thisdifi'erence : Fabrice finds many old friends here. And now she has her own way, her liberty, so much more. Perhaps, I have selfishly taken advantage of this. I like to stay at home and read my novel, when I can. And Fabrice kindly humors me. She’s wise enough to respect the proprieties, and too sensible to he a prude. I believe that I’m the only living Englishwoman without a talent for the- dragon business. I’m not a born chaperone.” . Sir Felix laughed. “ It’s almost equivalent to saying you’re not an Englishwoman.” -, “ I know it, she answered, lightly. “ But, about Fabrice. When I promised to help you—did I promise ?” ' Sir Felix Wyntoun lifted his head, and there was a ring of hurt-pride in his tone. “ What I asked of you, Madam Con— greve, was, I trust, no more than a gentleman might honorably ask of alady whom he esteemed and trusted. I am sure, you promised me nothing that a lady might not grantf’ i 70; A Losr WITNESS. She.- made an effort to interrupt him, but he hurried on: “ I asked you to be my friend—to give me your confidence. I told you what my feelings and my aspirations were. I'ask you again, now, to tell me if you think I have any reason to hope. Of course, I know that I must be patient.” 1” she returned, earnestly. ~ “ Indeed, you must “ And I ask you, too, to tell me, now or at any other time—I hardly know how to say this, it is so hateful to Inc—but if you see—if you are sure—there is no hope—” “ Oh, do not think I meant that l” “ N o, I do not think it. ‘I won’t think it ; not yet. Mind, I do not ask you to betray confidences, only to stand my friend, and to speak as well of me, to her, as you can.” "‘ I can say nothing that is not good of you, Sir Felix. But, let us understand each other. I'love Fabrice dearly, but we are only friends. I have not her entire confidence ; that you un-' derstand ?” 1‘ “Oh, yes 1” “ But she calls me her best friend ; I mean to be her truest.” “ Not that superlative, please.” ' “ Well, as true as the truest, then. Will that suffice you?” Sir Felix nodded. “ I do not question Fabrice ; I trust her. I You must do the same.” Sir Felix looked at her startled—a question in his face which .. she was quick to see. “ I mean, that you must let her; see that your regard for her is . without question ; that you require nothing ; that you can .. bide her time. And now, we have been dealing in confidences long enough. I do not believe that you have, as yet, any need to fear or to complain. ' Fabrice never gushes; but she, likes CONFIDENTIAL. 71 you, she respects you, she speaks well of you. I do not think she cares more for any one. You have a clear field ; but you must not expect too much help from me. We modern fairy-godmothers are sadly deficient. We do not inherit the wings, the talismans, of our anoestresses. Even our broom— sticks have been diverted from their original uses.” ’ “ I have heard so,” said Felix, with a hearty laugh, which was echoed by a voice behind him. “ And I heard that speech about broomsticks,” said Fabrice, coming forward and seating herself near Madam Congreve. “ What was the subject, Conny?” She took her friend’s hand between her own, gave it a little significant pressure, which Madam Congreve perfectly under— stood, audsmiled frankly across at Sir Felix. ’ In the instant of silence, natural to the situation, which fol-— lowed the coming of Fabrice, Sir Felix turned guiltily scarlet, and Madam Congreve, glancing askance at the fair smiling face beside her, wondered if Fabrice had not heard more than those few last words. Then the young man spoke. ‘ “You cannot think how lonely I felt in that big box last night. The music was really good—you would have enjoyed it, I am sure. Oh, how I regretted that previous engage- ment l” ' ' He spoke as if addressing both ladies, and his eyes rested last on the face of Madam Congreve, and lingered there. “ Engagement ?” Madam Congreve said, and then stopped suddenly, as her imprisoned hand felt a second quick pressure. “Oh, yes,” smiling vaguely; “ you are very kind, Sir Felix.” . 4 , ‘ “ It was all my fault,” broke in Fabrice; “Madam Con- greve would never have missed a symphony concert of her own 72 A LOST WITNESS. free will. Don’t blame her, Sir Felix, and I will confess to you that I too legretted it.” 1 Again her fingers p1essed those of her friend. ' And then _. ”she glided away f1 om the subject; “ Are you going to like New York, Sir Felix?” “ I really cannot say,” with a nervous laugh. “ I havn’t as yet, I’m afraid, begun todo so.” “ N o ? And you’ve been here—~” “ Just seven days.” - “ Sir Felix, that’s treason ! The city will rise against you.” ' . . Madam Congreve stirred uneasily, and withdrewiher hand from that of her friend. “Has Jane returned, dear?” she- asked, as if suddenly remembering something important and Overlooked. _ “ Yes ; just a moment ago.” Madam Congreve arose. “ It is my turn to be ‘ excused’ ,” she said, with a smile meant entirely for Sir Felix. “ Only for a moment ; I have a commission for Jane.” She moved away from the window, ignoring an appealing 100k from Fabrice, but casting back at her, as Sir Felix arose and moved back a pace, a glance of mingled reproach and of- fended dignity. Again, for a moment there was silence, and then Fabrice lifted her eyes and saw that her guest» was still standing, and that his countenance wore a look akin to that parting glance of Madam Congreve’ s. / Their eyes met, and Sir Felix put out his hand, and was aboht to take up his hat. “You are not going, Sir Felix ?” she asked, quickly. “ Perhaps it would be best.” He hesitated a moment, and CONFIDENTIAL. 73 flushed. ‘.‘ My call, is inopportune, I fear. I am unfortud nate—” ' Fabrice arose now, and her own cheeks glowed rosily. “ One moment, please,” she said, quickly. “ I want to say something to you, Sir Felix—40 ask a'favor, or rather, your—— your indulgence, for a time, at least. I must get it over before Madam Congreve returns.” The color burned hotly in her cheeks, her eyes drooped be- fore his. , For the first time, Sir Felix Wyntoun saw embar— rassment in the face and manner of the self-controlled little ac- treSs. I It restored his own self-possession, and brought, back his courage. ' - He replaced his hat upon the table, beside the. numerous floral offerings, and stood looking down upon her with patient deference. ' “ It’s about your invitation to the symphony concert,” she began. 7“ When you mentioned it to me, Madam Congreve was out. She had gone toxcall upon an old friend, and it was quite late when she came back. In fact—” As she hesitated, there came a tap at the outer door, followed by the en trance of a servant, who presented a card. She took it and glanced at the name, While a little frown con- tracted her brows. Then she lifted her eyes to the face of Sir Felix. ‘ “ Do you know Mr. Frederick Quinlan ‘2” she asked. “ I have met him, at his club.” Fabrice turned to the servant. “ Show the gentleman up,” she said. As the servant went out, she tossed the card down among the bouquets and‘vases, and turned, to see that Sir Felix was again flushing hotly, and once more about to possess himself of his 74 A LOST WITNESS. hat. But La Belle Fabrics Was now mistress of herself and the situation. “ Si1 Felix,” she said,“ you will oblige me if you can 1e— main until this gentleman has paid his call.” He hesitated, and then as he tu1ned to resume his seat has side the window, La Belle took the place opposite him, lately vacated by Madam Congreve. ‘-‘ Thank you,” she said, When thedoor opened and admitted Frederick Quinlan. CHAPTER IX. A BEAUTIFUL MYSTERY. Frederick Quinlan was a figure in New York society. He was ri‘bt only the son of a millionaire, but he was the only son‘ of a millionaire. And While society boasted many sons of millionaires, and some only sons, young Quinlan possessed, be- sides, a fortune of his own, descended from the maternal grand- mother. He held, also, by right of an early partnership, a full half of his father’s riches under his control ; for Frederick Quinlan was a man of business, as well as a man of society, and was known as well 1n Wall Street as in the Pa1k and upon ' the Avenues. In person, he was a slender, fair-faced young man, of me- dium height, With pale regular features, la1ge light blue eyes, and a high forehead, from which his thin light hair was A BEAUTIFUL MYSTERY. ‘ 75 ‘ brushed carelessly back ; he wore a short pale mustache above his thin, straight—lipped mouth and White gleaming teeth, and his dress was at all times faultless almost to foppishness. ' ' He was a fluent talker, when he chose to talk, and his man- ners were, or‘could be, affable and winning. He was said to be at home in all places and among all. people, and his self- possession was proverbial. “ Quinlan is always cool”, they said of him at his club. He had seen and admired La Belle Fabrice abroad ; but it was only as others admired her—at a distance. V He had been among the first, however, to seek her acquaintance upon her arrival in New York. Frederick Quinlan was not the one to i. do anything by halves that he thought worth doing. V For a few moments they chatted in the conventional way.- Madam Congreve had rejoined them, the clouds all vanished from her brow, and every one seemed at ease. They talked of Europe and America, of London and New York, of soc1ety on this side of the Atlantic and 011 the othér, of music and the drama,'and so on to personalities, and of the debut of La Belle Fabrice. “ I shall be a private citizen for two weeks yet,” Fab’rice said. “ We are not all, here.” ‘ ' “ You mean your support,- I suppose,” said Quinlan. “ You I are too modest, Mademoiselle.” l “ I mean Manager Horton’s Company,” she persisted. “ My support is all here,” and she nodded laughingly toward. I Madam Congreve. - ' I While the talk went on, the maid placed upon a small table near Quinlan half a dozen papers, moist from the press. - Madam Congreve put out a hand and drew one of them. toward her. 76 A LOST WITNESS.” “ I have always had an appetite for fresh news,” she said, beginning to scan the columns. “And, true to my profes- sion, I look for ”the dramatic items first.” Fabrice laughed lightly. ' “ Don’t be selfish, Conny; Read us the interesting items, if they are nottoo long.” “Interesting items in print are never long,” said Quinlan, sententiously. “ May I distribute the mail, Madam ?” Madam nodded. He tossed a paper over to Sir Felix, with a smile, and presented another to Fabrice, with a courtly bow. Suddenly, Madam Congreve uttered a sharp exclamation. “ Hear this, Fabrice,” she said ; “ and you too, gentlemen. You are sure to be interested.” - , She lifted the paper, folded it for more convenient holding, and read aloud the following paragraph: A BEAUTIFUL UNKNOWN. For nearly two months our parks and avenues have been brightened, seldom at first but more frequently of late, by the presence of a beauti- ful woman, sometimes driving a pair of jetty ponies, and accompanied only by an equally jetty small tiger perched behind, and sometimes mounted upon a superb English hunter. Splendid equipages and lovely ladies are not rare sights among us ; but when a beautiful woman rid- ing or driving such horses, is seen day after day, wherever wealth and beauty and fashion are oftenest on display, the question “ Who is she?" at once arises. Until now, no answer to this inquiry has been found- Society, though interested, and admiring, knew her not. Day by day she came and went—an exquisitepicture of warm tropical beauty, per- fectly costumed, as befitted her equipage, and seemingly serenely uncon- scious of the curious and admiring eyes that followed her as she whirled through the park, speaking to no one, recognizing do one, always alone. But some one has whispered the secret, ;» the Beautiful . Mystery is a mystery no longer. .. There are few travelled New Yorkers who will not remember, at} A BEAUTIFUL MYSTERY. 77 least by name, Hortense Novalis, the charming young actress who set all London wild two or three seasons ago, and who suddenly disappeared from the London stage. Her coming and her. going were both meteor- like, and now she shoots athwart the vision of the New World‘and society. It is said that M’lle Novalis occupies, at present, a charming suite of apart- ments in one of our up town monster palaces, and that her suite and service are marvels of Oriental taste and luxury, such as only boundless wealth can bestow. We have not yet learned whether the lady contem- plates a debut in this country or not. Madam Congreve let the paper fall upon her lap, and Clossed her hands upon it, looking, as she did so, from face to face. “ Comments are in order” she said, and added quickly, turn~ ing to Fabrice—“ Why, my dear, it must be—it is—the one I described to you the other day.” Then, addressing the young men : “A perfect brunette ;———a clear, pale olive complexion, scar- let lips, big dark eyes, hair like soft black velvet. I have seen her twice, in the park.” She lifted a hand to her face, and the newspaper slid from her lap to the floor. “ Who else has seen her ?” she asked. I At first no one answered. Quinlan was smiling slightly, and Fabrice looked a trifle bored. “ Not-I,” said Sir Felix, seeing that the others were slow ' to speak. “ I used to read of her, now and then; but I was abroad when M’lle Novalis gave London such a stirring up.” “ I have seen her,” said La Belle Fabrice, carelessly. “Here?” queried Madam Cougreve, “ or in London ?” “ Here, and in Paris.” - “ But not in London ?” interpolated Quinlan. “ When M’lle Novalis was taking London by storm,” said Fabrice, turning her eyes full upon him, “ I was making my bow, very timidly, in the provinces.” 78 A LOST WITNESS. “And so Was I,” broke in Madam Congreve. “ Not very itimidly, perhaps ; not for the first time, by any means; but I was making nightly bows somewhere in the provinces, or in Australia, I really forget which. But certainly not in London.” She turned again to Quinlan. “ We have not heard from you. Of course, you have seen Mademoiselle the Beautiful?” “ I have seen her—yes, both here and abroad.” “ Then you have seen her on the stage?” Madam bent upon him an eager face, and drew her low chair nearer his. C‘ Yes 9’ .“ You do not speak with enthusiasm. I want to hear your impressions.” Sir Felix, whose gaze was not long absent from the face of F abrice, fancied’that she looked bored. He held in his hand the paper tossed him by Quinlan, and he now shook it open. “ Perhaps,I too may find an item of interest,” he said, lightly. Fabrice smiled,and stooped to take up the paper which had been dropped by Madam. “ And, perhaps, I may find another,” she said. “ Pray, go 011, Mr. Quinlan ; while we look we’ll also listen.” And she began to turn the uncut sheet. “ M’lle Hortense N ovalis is an actress of the intense school— if' there is such a school,” began Quinlan, readily ; “ and her acting is certainly ”exquisite—«1f its kind.” As he spoke these last words, his eyes restedu-pon the face of F abrice. Suddenly, a movement and a sharp exclamation from Sir Felix called their united attention to him, and Quinlan broke off his comments to ask: “What 18 it ?” .A BEAUTIFUL MYSTERY. . 79 The young; Englishman let the paper fall upon his knee. ' “Oh, I say—” he began,“ this is too bad! I must have misunderstood the name. It cannot be the same.” He glanced again at the paper, and then turned to Quinlan, a look of actual distress in his eyes. ’ _ “ On the evening after my arrival, I was taken to a' party, a reception, by a friend—you know him, I think—young Tal- fourd ‘3” Frederick Quinlan bowed gravely. “ Mr. Talfourd made me acquainted with a lady—a lovely girl, and I am sure that he called her Miss Paget, and that afterward, I heard some One speak of her by her full name, , Miss Leah Paget.” ‘ “Yes?” Quinlan’s face now were a look'of annoyance. “Does your paper contain any special mention of Miss Leah Paget ‘3” ' The eyes 'of the two met in a look that was almost a chal- lenge. Then Sir Felix turned, and placed the paper in the hand of Madam Congreve. ' “ I hoped that I was 'mistaken in the name,” he said, ad- dressing himself to the two ladies. “ Will you favor us again, Madam Congreve ‘2” ' She took the printed sheet with an indulgent smile. “ We seem to find the evening papers interesting,” she said. “And this is the ‘Oall’; that, at any rate, is said to be reliable.” - She glanced meaningly at the paper in the hands of Fabrice, and then began to read : “ A MISSING HEIRESS ! Worse and worse,” she com— mented. “Strange Disappearance of Miss Leah Pagel.” She caught her breath, and looked up quickly. “ Leah Paget !--Leah—” It was Frederick Quinlan who 80 . A LOST WITNESS. spoke thus. He started up and then sank back in his seat. His visible efi'ort at coolness was not quite successful. “ There must be some mistake. Will you allow mew” He held out his hand, and Madam, after favoring him. with a surprised glance, took one more look———this time a very deliberate one—— at the startling head-lines, and gave him the paper without a word. I ‘ i As he caught it and scanned the paragraph, made conspic~ uous by its huge-lettered head-lines, she arose and began to gather up the other as yet unopened papers. i “We are getting too sensational,” she said, smiling down upon Sir Felix. “ No more news this evening ; I forbid it.” When he had read the last word of that fatal paragraph, Quinlan arose hastily, put the paper into the hands of Sir, Felix, and exc1aimed : ~ , _ “ Read that article ! In Heaven’s name, what can such a thing mean ! Is it some horrible blunder, or some—some dastardly practical joke ‘2” ' He was quivering with excitement; he, the man known among men by the soubriguet of .“ Cool Quinlan.” He seemed unable to comprehend, or to reason. Sir Felix favored him with a long slow look of surprised inquiry, and seeming to realize his mental condition, he read, slowly and aloud, the announCement of Leah Paget’s strange disappearance. Then he arose. He looked shocked, star- tled, sympathetic, but still puzzled. ‘ “ It’s very strange!” he said ; “ very strange. But I think this paper, the ‘Oall ’, is named among your reliable organs. You knew the young lady, Mr. Quinlan ‘3” “ Knew her?” said Quinlan, hoarsely. “ Knew her? Yes. She was a dear, an old friend. I must learn something more '1 / l 9“ ‘\ \‘V ‘ ‘ ““15 . rum»: Q S- Il‘..: I 4 1'7 / /é} .(‘J‘ I , ”/19! 1/ ’1,” ,/ 1' A/I’ // ll" , ,4 “LA BELLE FABRICE HAD FAINTED!" _, $é5"}7,;’!"9 .. I. 1,4117 ”Iii/II 2" 0/, /1 .r :_ ,-//' ’39 c .rr ” 1‘ I 4 - : {4"}‘5” Page 81. 82 A LOST WITNESS. about this.” He turned half round with a quick. nervous move- ment. “ Will you allow me to go with you. 9” asked Sir Felix, with ready sympathy. “ Thank you. I shall be glad. Ladies—” - As he turned towaid them, a sharp Cl y broke f1 om his lips. La Belle Fabriee was sitting in the big low chair beside the 'window ; the newspaper had slipped from her fingers to the floor; her right hand hung loosely at her side ; her left rested upon the cushioned chair-arm, and her head had fallen for— Ward. She neither spoke 11or stirred, and she did not lift her head when Madam Congreve called sharply - “ Fabrice! Fabrice I” “ Fabrice 1!” echoed Sir Felix \Vyntoun, and he flung himself upon one knee beside her and lifted her head. La Belle Fabrice had fainted. CHAPTER X. i COUSIN AS A DETECTIVE. Sir Felix Wyntoun and Frederick Quinlan went silently out from the apartments of La Belle ‘Fabi‘ice, having waited only to be informed, by her maid, that she was fast recovering un- der the care of Madam Congreve. But when. they had reached the outer entrance they turned, and faced each other. “ I beg your pardon,” began Sir Felix, with some hesitation. "‘ I hardly know if it is right, Or a—a breach of confidence in cousm AS A DETECTIVE. 83 a certain way, to mention it, but, as I have said, I was presented to this young lad y—dVI iss Paget-—by my friend Talfourd—we are quite old and familiar friends—and I supposed—not from anything he said, understaml—but I have got hold of the idea somehow, that they Talfou rd and Miss Paget—were something more than friends. May I ask—-—” I He had floundered among his words from the first, and his embarrassment seemed to increase as he neared the pOint of his sentence ; until, at last, he broke off abruptly, checked, in paFt, by the look upon Quinlan’s face. Sir Felix VVyntoun was a cultured young Englishman, and, in a certain sense, a man of the world; but he was, as yet, too honest a young Englishman to be, at all times and under all circumstances, absolutely at his ease. As for Frederick Quinlan, he was again externally calm. Rather, he was again master of his features and his voice, but not, perhaps, of his wo1ds. He favored Sir Felix with a cool stare. 1“ If you mean that Max Talfourd told you, either by plain words or innuendo, that Miss Paget 18 more to him than an 01- dinary frie11d-——” But 110w Sir Felix was again his serene self. Quinlan’s look would have been enough without the words. “ I believe, I said there were no such words. At least, I meant that. And my friend Talfourd is not the man to make use of ‘ innuendo’ in speaking ofa lady.” “ I was about to say,” resumed Quinlan, “ that if such were the case you were better informed than I.” “ Oh, that!” Sir Felix looked at his watch. ‘ “Have you any definite plan, M1. Quinlan ?——anything wherein I can be of” use to you?” His tone was frigid. 84 A LOST WITNESS. “ I must own,” said Quinlan, with a short laugh,‘ “ that in the first shock of seeing in the list of the ‘disappeared’ the name of a young lady whom I know and esteem, I felt like making the case a personal one ; I have sisters, you must know. But on second thought, Miss Paget, in any emergency, is not the person to need Quixotic championship from gentlemen friends, however willing they may be to mount spurs in her service or defense. For a moment, I believe, I must have had some vague notion of calling on the Chief of the Detective force, or chal— lengingthe ‘ Call ’. Upon second thought— I shall go to the club. One generally gets at the truth of things there ; and, unless you will join me at table, I don’t see that I can make use of your friendly services just now, much as I may feel inclined to monopolize—” He broke off abruptly to hail a passing cab. “ Thank you,” replied Sir Felix. “ You are very good, but it is not quite late enough to dine, and I think I will make a call.” ' , He went down the steps, followed by Quinlan, whose cab was drawing up to the pavement, and a second was approach- ing, also empty. Sir Felix beckoned, and the vehicle drew in close behind the other, beside which Quinlan stood, talking inia low tone to the driver. As Sir Felix entered his cab, Quinlan overheard his order to the driver. “ So i” he said, to himself, “ he’s going straight to Max Talfourd.” Then he entered his own cab, saying, after he was comfortably seated : “ Drive slowly, and stop at the first news- stand.” When Polly Cousin turned away from the stately “ front” after his unsatisfactory call upon La Belle Fabrice, he was full of anger and chagrin. It was too late for office Work or item _ COUSIN AS A DETECTIVE. 85 hunting for the ‘Oall ’, and too early for his next visit to the Chief of Police. , He walked discontentedly southward for nearly a block, and then turned and paced slowly back to the great hotel. Sev— eral fine equipages were stationed before the splendid entrance. Perhaps, one of them had brought the .young “ milord.” Fa— brice might be about to take, the air in ‘his society——who could tell? He wanted to see her face, and he didn’t care much if she saw his. He was feeling unreasonably vindic-i ative. The splendid drive was full of life; carriages, landaus,—all sorts of Vehicles of pleasure,——were passing and repassing. Hansoms, full and empty, dashed hither and thither. Cousin stopped, and watched them until, among the unoccupied han- soms, he saw a driver whom he knew. He signalled him, and said : “ James, I want» you to drive me up and down withinsight of this place for half an hour, more or less. Walk your horse, and keep him on the further side of the street.” The driver nodded knowingly, and began his slow peram- bulation. . ' When Frederick Quinlan and Sir Felix Wyntoun came forth together, Cousin, who was then almost opposite them, leaned forward and said, “ James, make your turns short enough to keep that entrance in view.” ' He saw Quinlan signal the first cab, and Sir Felix beckon the other. He waited until Sir Felix had given his order, and while he hesitated, the first cab dashed away. . “ I’ll follow the last one,” he muttered. “ He’s going up town to dinner somewhere, most likely. Follow that cab/f nodding toward the one occupied by Quinlan, “ and be care- 86 , - A LOST WITNESS. ful. ” Then he settled back, and muttered tohimself, “ Fred Quinlan’ 8 always worth watching.” He saw Quinlan stop at a street-stand and buy two or th1ee papers, then stop at a book-store, and come out with two or three more in his hand. .“ Looks as if he was laying in a full line of evening papers,” muttered Cousin. And then he saw that Quinlan was paying his fare and diSmissing' his cab. _ “ Fare’ s goin’, ” said the driver, with a grin ; “ want me to foller him ?” i “ Yes; follow him,” snapped Cousin. Quinlan sauntered on for two blocks, with the roll of papers stuck carelessly underneath his arm. Then he turned a cor- ner and began to walk briskly for two more blocks, and another turn brought him to a cab-stand. ‘ Here, again, he took a vehicle, and this time was driven brisklyup town, but upon a different street. It was a drive of more than half an hour, and Quinlan had doubtless found time to skim the cream frdm the evening pa- pers , for when he again dismissed his d1iver, Cousin passed near enough the empty cab to see the little heap of newspapers lying upon the seat. - ' Quinlan had stopped before an apartment house, not so large as many of these palatial h‘ostelries, but new and elegant. He went in at the general entrance, ascended the broad flight ' of stairs, traversed a square hall or court lighted from a glit— tering dome high above, and touched an electric bell beside a double-arched door, upon one panel of Which was tacked, in an unpleasant foreign fashion, a small gilded card Which bore‘ the name. i _ - ' Mademoiselle Hortense Novalis. CAPTAIN CONNORS OPENS THE CASE. 87. CHAPTER XI. CAPTAIN CONNORS OPENS THE CASE. At an early hour on the evening of the following day, Chief of Police Connors sat in his inner office, alone, and carefully scanning what seemed to be a list of names in one note-book, alternating With sundry memoranda in another. After some minutes he apparently finished with the book of memoranda, and dropping it into an open drawer,which he closedtand locked, he drew back in his chair and glanced over his desk, putting away one Or two written documents, closing a ledger, casting a wary glance down at the floor and into the waste-basket, lest a dropped letter or a misplaced paper might fall into wrong hands. ‘ All being as it should in the sanctum of a careful and me- thodical Chief of Police, he rang a bell. “ Are they here?” he asked of a man who promptly ap- peared. - “ All but Marcus.” “Very well.” The Chief took out his watch, glanced at it, and then, from force of habit, up at the clock opposite his desk. » “ Send 1n Waters.” . Waters came and seated himself in a chair drawn up before the desk of the Chief, and very near it. He was a small, spare man, greyr-haired, and quiet of manner. ' He said nothing until the Chief addressed him, merely looking up with the calm air ' 88 A LOST WITNESS. of a man accustomed to the situation, and smiling slightly as their glances met. “ Well, Waters?” “ I think I’ve exhausted Grammercy Park, sir. The Car— ters are an old family there; wealthy, highly respected, etc. 'The solid sort. The family, that is, the old people, are not es- pecially intimate with the Pagets.” “ You’re sure of that?” “ Quite sure, sir, It’s very clear, though, that they, with the rest of social New York, hold the Pagets in high esteem.” “ Yes.” .“ It’s the daughter, only daughter, Miss Gertrude or Gertie Carter, who is the friend of Miss Leah Paget. The young ladiesvwere chums at school.” “ Yes, I see.” . “ They have not eXchanged many visits—~the young ladies,I mean, because Miss Carter has been absent until quite recently, pursuing the study of music in Germany. I do not think they can have seen enough of each other since their school-days to become intimate up to the confiding stage.” “ And how far back do they date—these school-days ?” “ Considerably more than a year.” “ Oh, indeed l” . “ The family have no more idea of the present whereabouts 1 of Miss Paget than I have. They are thoroughly startled by the. news. If Miss Paget had a secret of any sort, I don’t think she would have confided it to Miss Gertie Carter.” “ Why?” quickly 1nte13eoted the Chief. - “ Miss Puget, ” Wateis went on, imperturbably, “ is, I am told, a young lady of much intelligence, biilliant, talented, soundly sensible. Miss Carter is a pretty, good~natured, CAPTAIN Commons OPENS THE CASE. ' 89 chattering little magpie; utterly incapable of taking serious things seriously ; of giving good advice or taking it, or of keep- ing a sec1et. ” Captain Connors leaned back in his chai1 and laughed. “ You’ 1e a model hand with a verbal report, Waters. I feel quite well acquainted with Miss Carter. We will drop her and all the Carters, or rather, I will drop them, and leave them to you, unless—is there anything else?” “ Nothing, except this: Miss Gertie is not merely the only daugl1te1, she IS the only child. They live alone—-—a family of three.” » “ Ah, Waters! you don’t forget. I wish some of my young— sters were like you. About the others, now—did you find ti1ne-—” “ Plenty. The Lathrops me soon disposed of. Miss Amy Lathrop is an orphan, an heiress of a modest sort—twenty thousand or so ; another school-friend of Miss Paget’s. The Lathrops, uncle and aunt, are summering at Point Comfort; they live somewhere over in Jersey, and know the Pagets only by reputation, or through their niece. Miss Amy Lathrop is a rather dignified young woman, with decided tastes and man— ners. The two young ladies, Miss Paget and Miss Lathrop, certainly hold each other in strong regard, but they are not,.in any sense, intimates or confidantes. There is nothing to be gained by cultivating these people.” Captain Connors heaved a sigh, not deep but suggestive of a business-like disappointment. “I feared or thought as much, Waters. Here are some other names,” holding a strip of paper toward him. “ Try if there’s anything for us in these tomorrow. Let the others drop. That’s all, Waters.” 90 ’A LOST WITNESS. Waters withdrew, and the Chief, after a few moments of grave thought, again touched his bell. “ Send in NiCkerson.” Nickerson came with much breeze and bustle. He closed the door with noise and fussiness, looking back to see that it was closed ; sitting down and getting up again in the same instant; fussing about himself as if in search of a concealed treasure, only to produce, at last,a brown silk handkerchief, with which he vigorously mopped his face. Evidently accustomed to the ways of the man, the Chief lay back in his chair and waited until stillness had succeeded this preliminary confusion. Then he said, “ Well, Nickerson, are you ready now ?” . Nickerson smiled as if sharing with the Chief the little grin, discernible behind that official’s shaggy mustache, at his own foibles. “ All ready,” he said. “ Well, go on, then—about the Pagets ‘2” “ There is nothing about the Pagets that isn’t perfectly fair and square and straight———absolutely nothing,” began Nicker— son, bluntly. “Miss Leah Paget is an only child, petted, courted, flattered, beautiful, heiress to two fortunes. Father and mother both rich. She is in perfect physical health—44f the word of the family physician is to be believed. Has never had a week’s illness, never had a sorrow nor a disap- pointment, never had an ungratified wish-—-” “ Oh, come, Nickerson—” remonstrated the Chief, smilingly, “don’t go off in that way.” Nickerson’s eyes rested upon his superior with a shade of reproach. “ You know a man can talk best in his own fash- ion,” he said, “ and since we don’t write—” “ Confound it 1” broke in the Chief, “ if you wrote your re- cArrAiN ounces OPENS THE CASE. 91 ports, I’d have to read a chapter out of a three-volume novel every day. But go on, old fellow ; you and I are too good friends to argue over whims. Go on, and take your own way. If you have formed an opinion, let’s have it.” Captain Connors and John Nickerson had indeed seen serv: ice togethe1; first, as common policemen, and later, upon a. select staff for special duties and dange1s. The Chief was too . genial to preserve, even with his younger and less well-known subordinates, that dignity usually found in the bearing Of an official of his high degree,—— vastly helpful and becoming when it is the gift of Mother Nature, eminently absurd and lacking of its proper impressiveness, when, as often happens, it is donned and dofi'ed like a ga1ment of state. N1cke1son drew his chair a little neare1 his Chief, and smiled, evidently appeased. “ Well,” he said, leaning back and inserting two thumbs into two waistcoat pockets—a favorite position,——“ well, I have formed an opinion, and'I don’t believe I am going to. find cause to change it right away.” 4 “ Oh I” The Chief settled back 111 his chaii, folded his a1ms across his chest, and looked very alert. “ Now, then?” “First ; every moment spent in interviewing, shadowing or burrowing into the history or character of the Paget servants, is so much time thrown away.” "' Yes, I begin to think so.” 1 “ So, too, is every moment given to the past or present of the Pagets. I mean, of course, Paget and his wife.’ ’ “ Uni-11] !” ' - “ Oh, you’ll find that I’m 1ight! I’m almost prepared to say as much of the missing young lady.” “ Almost ‘2” 92 » ' A LOST WITNESS. "Yes ; ‘I said almost; not quite, however.” “ Very wise in you, too.” “ Well, I don’ t know. I may as well say that, already, I incline strongly to the belief that the young lady IS not absent by her own wish 01 will.” “ That’s making a longjump, Nickerson. ’Whatdoes it lead up to, first and most naturally, in your mind ?” I “ It leads, first. of course to all manner of conjectures ; ab- duction, for instance ; sudden insanity, suicide, elopement, a possible family quarrel, some secret trouble, or sorrow ; a pos- sible accident that might have rendered her insensible—” “ Pshaw l’.’ “ You asked what were my first i thoughts concerning this disappearance, didn’t you ? Well, :I’m giving you some of them. Then, there’s abduction followed by murder ; there’s abduction to rob ; there’s revenge, there’s jealousy.” Connors groaned aloud. _“ Then, there’s such a thing as injuring the child to hurt the parents. There might be a rejected lover'with a bad temper and an appetite for wine ; or a jealous and, perhaps, jilted rival. Don’t you remember the story of the rival singers of Italy ‘2 The one carried off the other, and spoiled her face scientifically with hot irons.” , ~ “ Nickerson, if it wasn’t you, I’d shut down on this.” I“ “Tell, you asked a question. I’m answering to the best. of my ability. There’s another thing,”—here Nick- erson grinned behind his hand ,——“ there’s the madhouse busi- ness.” - ‘ Again Connors groaned ; and as if in answer to the sound, some one tapped lightly at the. office-door. _ ' “ Open it, Nickerson,” said the Chief. CAPTAIN CONNORS OPENS THE CASE. 93 Nickerson complied, and Polly Cousin stood revealed in the doorway. “ lome in, Cousin,” called Connors. And the reporter, nodding familiarly to Nickerson, entered the room and closed the door. “Look it,” said the Chief. Nickerson turnedthe key, and Cousin pushed a bolt into place. “ You’re just the man for us,'Polly,” began the Chief. “ Sit down, both of you. I want you to hear Nickerson propound theories.” ' “ Theories ‘2” Cousin drew achair so“ close that he touched Nickerson’s elbow. “ Easy work, that.” “ Yes; and Nickerson’s good at it.” “ It’s about. the only easy work we have,” N ickerson retorted, ‘y‘ and it is usually the'way we begin, I guess.” “ I guess so, too,” said Cousin. “ Is it the Paget business ‘3” There was neither interest nor curiosity in the question. Cousin spoke and looked like a man whose mind is already too full to admit of another idea. “Yes,” replied the Chief, “it is the Paget business. And I may as well say, right here, that it does not progress. I’ve had a dozen men out, and they’ve come back empty-handed.” ' Cousin brushed a hand across his brow, as if to exorcise all outside thoughts,.and 'said, in the same indifl’erently quiet tone : “ You mean, that our first idea has been carried out, I sup- pose?” , “ Yes. Miss Paget’s parents, friends, neighbors and serv- ants have all passed under the microscope— to no pur- pose.” 94 A Leer wrmnss. “And among them all,” said Cousin, “could they not furnish you with a single peg big enough. to hang one of N ickerson’s theories upon ?” “ Or one of yours?” suggested Nickerson. “ My good fellow,” 1etorted Cousin, “ I haven’t such a thing about me.’ “ If you had,” broke inithe Chief, “ it would be thankfully received—by me, at least.” “ Yes 3 and by me,” agreed N ickerson, “ even if it’s a very small one.” “ Well, I have an idea,” said Cousin. “ Of course, if you have learned absolutely nothing, you haven’t found out who are Miss Paget’s enemies ?” “ Her enemies ‘2” exclaimed N ickerson. “ Her enemies ‘2” echoed the Chief. . “ My good souls,” began Cousin, as if remonstra‘ting, “don’t you know that there me only two kinds of women who don’ t make enemies?” ' “Umph. '” fiom the Chief. Silence and a long stare frOm N1cke1 son - “The first are in the insane asylum,” went on Cousin, i‘ and the others are in their graves.” “ Oh. '” oried Connors,“ this g1ows Worse and worse!” Cousin went on, heedless of the interruption: “ To fancy that a woman as young, as fan as fortunate as Miss Leah Paget could live 1n this wo11d and make no en- emies, is as absurd as to say that envy and jealousy andravarice and all uncharitableness have gone out of the world. Con- nors, if I were you, I would trouble myself less with looking after her friends, and-try" to locate her enemies.” ‘ For a long time there was silence, except for i the sound of CAPTAIN connons ornns THE CASE. , 95 . Cousin’s cane tapping lightly and regularly against the toe of his boot. Then Nickerson turned, and put out his hand. “ Shake, boy!” he said. “You’ll lead us all, yet. Gad! you did have an idea!” . “ Well,” said the reporter, ca1elessly, “ you people had bet- ter utilize it then, and be ready for the next.” “ Have you got another 3?” “Almost.” “We will utilize this, Polly,” said Connors. He hesitated a moment, glancing askance at Nickerson, and then, seeming to think of something worth remembering, drew a blank card toward him and wrete a few" words hastily; then he said, “ Your other idea, Cousin ,-—-can’ t. we have that, too?” . “ Yes; it is this—and a good job it will be for Nickerson heie . Find out What the friends and enemies of Miss Paget weie doing dn1ing the night of her disappearance.” “ Good l” exclaimed the Chief, with new animation ; and he began to cover another card with his peculiar scrawl. “Now the wheels are beginning to move.” _ {A knock at the office-door caused him to pause, and then he signalled N 1cke1son to admit the applicant. 1 It was one of his men, who silently plesented a card to the Chief. Connms caught it up and glanced at the name the1 eon and at the Words pencilled below- M. B. TALFO URD. l/Vz'll Captain Connors spare half an hour to one personally interested in'the case of Miss Paget ? . The Chief re-read the name and the“ words below it, and then passed the card to the reporter. 96 A' war WITNESS. “ Do you know him ‘2” asked Cousin, after glancing at the card. i “ Slightly. Pass it on to N ickerson.” N iokerson took the card and perused it in his turn. “ I don’t know him,” he said, as he returned it to the Chief. “ Tell the gentleman I will see him in five minutes,” said the Chief to the waiting messenger. And when the door had again closed, he turned to Niokerson. _ “ I am going to let you work up Cousin’s last idea, Nioker- son, and it won’t be a small job, I’m thinkingut Take your own way, and as many men as you need ; only be lively.” Niokerson arose with alacrity. “ I’ll take half an hour to think things over,” he said,“ and then I may want to see you again.” “ Very good,” replied the Chief; and N ickerson went briskly out. , Then Cousin arose, and stood a moment silently leaning against the desk before Connors. “ You’ll wait?” said the latter, in a confidential tone “ I’ll come back,” Cousin replied. “Do you know Mr. Talfourd, Cousin?” “Not personally. He’s a square man, though.” “ Yes, I am sure of that.” Cousin took up his hat, Went toward the door, and then turned back. . “ Don’t forget,” he said, slowly, “ that this man is the father of Max Talfourd, and that Max Talfourd is the fianoé of Leah Paget.” I MB. TALFOURD TAKES HIS STAND. 97 CHAPTER XII. MR. TALFOURD TAKES HIS STAND. To a man in the position of Captain Connors, all men. of note in this city, whether noted for good or evil, must ne- cessarily become known to him, either personally or by reputa- tion ; the word reputation meaning, in the case of a thorough- going Chief of Police, report, Well-founded, and in many cases thoroughly investigated. But the father of Max Talfourd was known to Captain Connors even better than many of the other “ notables”. Indeed, it would have been strange if a man at once. so bluff and so genial, so large-hearted and free-handed, so shrewd yet companionable, and so wealthy, were not well known, well loved, and well hated. So Mr. Talfourd and the Chief, who came down from his desk platform, met as pleasant acquaintances meet; then sitting opposite and very near each other, they settled themselves for their half- hour talk. I “ After'receiving that Quixotic visit from my son, I do not suppose you are surprised to see me, Captain ‘2” began Mr. Talfourd. “ No,” admitted the Chief; “ and I am glad tosee you.” “ Thank‘you, Connors. Of course, you can see how it is that I am interested in ibis affair. Are you willing—~is there any reason why you should not talk with me freely about it? You see, I come straight to the point.” “ There is no reasonwhy I should not talk with you about . 7 . . 96 g A LOST wrmnss. it ; certainly not,” said the Chief, slowly. “ In fact, I am glad of this opportunity. May I ask if you have formed an opin- ion upon this subject?” “ No. My mind is a blank.” The Chief looked grave, and, for a moment, both were si- lent. , i “ Then, I suppose, your sympathies are with the Pagets ?” “ My sympathies'are with Leah Paget, which is only another way iof‘saying‘that they are With my son.” , Again, for a moment, the Chief meditated. “ Would you mind telling me how this came to your knowl- edge ?——-—the news of Miss Paget’s disappearance—and how much you know of the affair—of the Paget family, and of your son’s engagement ‘2” . “ No, I don’t mind in the least. But I’ll reverse the order of your questions. I know nothing of my son’s engagement, except that it exists. ~My wife had more than half suspected it for some time, and had hinted her suspicions to me. For my: self, I gave the matter little thought. I have always believed my boy to have a tolerably level head. Yesterday, he came to my wife and me, and told us, first, that Leah was missing, and then, that she was his promised wife. The boy is sadly cut an” a "‘ Yes, I should think. so. However, he carried himself pretty well during his call here.” “ Thanks,” said Mr. Talfourd, smiling. “ I’m rather proud of my boy, and it tickles my vanity, of course, to hear him praised. That’s human nature, I suppose. Perhaps, be- fore I answer your next questiOn, I’d better tell you what happened yesterday when Max came home with his bad news. You must know, that while we were discussing the matter, the MR. TALFOURD TAKES HIS STAND. 99 . girl’s mother ‘ appeared upon the scene,’ as they say in the play reviews. i “ What, Mrs. Paget. ' If you’ll give me an account of that ——your s0n’s sto1y and Mrs. Paget’s—give it in detail—I’ll be obliged to you. Never mind the time ; one can’t tell a st01y 1n a minute.” . “ I’m more than willing to tell it,” 1esponded Mr. Tal- fourd. ‘ And he did. When he came to the point in his nar- rative where Mrs. Paget surp1ised them all by presenting helself, he hesitated amoment. 7 “ Now that I have come to Mrs. Paget, ” he said,“ I feel almost as if I we1e violating a confidence, and yet, I’m not. Mrs. Paget knows that I meant to pay you this visit.” “ Yes,” assented the Chief, rather tamely. He was too thoroughly an offiCer of the law, to fully appleciate these scruples. “ To preface this part of my story, let me say that Mr. Pa- get and myself are not 011 very friendly terms. The fault, I suppose, is mutual. The difference Was caused by our getting in each other’s way in a business transaction. Each wanted the same bit of property. I’ve almost forgotten the details. I don’t suppose that matters to you, though ?” ~ “ I don’t see how it can, at plesent. ” “Nor I, unless for want of a clue to work upon, you choose to turn eyes of suspicion upon me.’ . “ Upon you ?” the Chief exclaimed.’ “1 Yes 3 you might choose to fancy that for revenge upon Paget, I had stolen his daughter, you know.” -_ -Mr. Talfourd spoke smilingly, and the Chief laughed out- right. 100 A LOST WITNESS. “ Since you have suggested it, perhaps, you had better tell , us who came/out ahead in that little business transaction?” “ If you are always so thorough, Captain, you would lose many a pretty-looking clue. I believe I was the head man that time. It was a principle with me always to win if I entered intoany transaction. I did not careSo much for the profit of the little speculation. Indeed, once the property was in my hands, ‘ I was prepared to be magnanimous, and offered to sell out to Paget at cost. But his Dutch was up. He wouldn’t hear of it, of course. Seriously, I never felt a shade of rancor after my first blaze cooled. I have no animosity where Paget is concerned. “ Natural enough, that !' you were the winning horse.” “ I was about to say,” Mr. Talfourd resumed, “that some- how we have ,met very seldom of late—Paget and I. The la— dies used to exchange visits—I mean, my wife and Mrs. Paget,—— Mrs. Paget, now and then, but not often, with her daughter,— each ignoring the differences of their lords, as good women will. But lately that has fallen off somewhat. ‘ There has been no abatement of kindly feeling, however ; I am quite sure of that. I think it was, most likely, that certain odd sort of womanly er motherly delicacy and pride which has kept them apart. They saw, or guessed, how the young people were drawing near each other. However this may have been, they are cer- tainly on most cordial terms now.” _“ Yes ; misfortunes sometimes soften the heart. And wo- * men—well, I suppose a good woman is always made better, if not happier, by the exercise of fortitude.” I “‘ I believe so. Well, the question now is, will misfortune soften the heart of Abner Paget '? ' I’ll be in a position to en- lighten you soon, for I am going to see him at once 1” , ' “ I hope you will come to me immediately after.” MR. TALFOURD TAKES Hrs STAND. - ' 101 “ I will. And now I will go back to my original subject. Mrs. Paget, it appears, was Wholly in her daughter’s confi-_ dence, and she knew that. Leah was engaged to my son. Of course, it was a private engagement ; it could not be otherwise.” He paused, and the Chief said, earnestly, “ I wish you would tell me all you can about this engagement.” “ I can tell"very little. My sorfis progressive enough in some respects, but he is as punctilious in others as his old- fashioned father would have him. Feeling assured of the young lady’s regard, he asked her father for permission to pay his addresses.” “ And it was given ?” “ And it was denied him. His suit was roundlyrejected, in the good old Capulet fashion. Mr. Paget had other views for his daughter. A He forbade them so much as remaining friends.” “ And they disobeyed, in the good old fashion?” I “Not at first. Max, of course, being once committed, was committed for all time. He held himself bound, but refused to so hold her, hoping that her father’s unreason‘ing displeas- ure might pass away. I think the young fellow felt that bet- ter treatment was ”due him. But Mr. Paget had another card to play. Shortly after he forbade Leah to Max, he bade her consent to receive the addresses of the other fellow.” “ And the other fellow—who is he?” 4 “Again I feel like a social sinner. I believe this is a breach of confidence. But no; it isn’t. Mrs. Paget told me to use the information she furnished as'I thought fit. .The name of the young man who has found favor in Mr. Paget’s eyes, is‘Frederick Quinlan.” ‘ “ What ! The son of E. G. ?” “ The same.” 102 A LOST wrrnnss. The Chief of Police pursed up his lips, as if about to whis- tle, thought better, and coughed instead. “ What do you know of young Quinlan ‘2” he asked, after a moment’s- thought. “ Very little, except that he is the only son of E. G. Quin- lan. .There are also daughters—two, at least, for they are al- ready in society.” “ Well, what was the result of the Quinlan wooing?” “ Just what might have been expected from a spirited girl like Leah Paget. She utterly refused to receive Quinlan, and boldly declared for my son.” ~ He paused, and seemed as if con- sidering something. ‘ ' “Excuse me a moment,” said the Chief, rising. “I want, to send a message.” Mr. Talfourd nodded, and the Chief went out and across the hall to a small office where an old man was writing briskly at a high desk, and two or three younger ones were seated at a long narrow table, also engaged 1n writing. “ Has Cousin been 1n again?” the Chief asked of the man at the desk. “ Not yet, Captain,” replied the man, without stopping his pen, or looking up. “ Then I’ll write a line for him.” . He took a card and pencilled a few words upon it, standing beside the desk with one foot upon the edge of a chair, and the card resting upon his knee. “There,” he said, placing the card at the old man’s elbow; “that’s for Cousin if he comes within twenty minutes. If he doesn’t come within that time, see to it yourself, Pappy. Only, if you put it into other hands than Cousin’s, cut off the last four words at the bottom of the card. Tell Cousin that I’ll see him later.” NICKERSON’S THnomns. , 103 The old man nodded, and Captain Connors went back to his private office, to Mr. Talfourd. “rhen the door had closed behind the Chief, the old man at the desk put his pen behind his ear, turned over the card which lay with its blank side uppermost, and read it, the last line, of four words, first : ‘ ' “ In the Puget case.” Then the preceding lines: “Frederick Quinlan, son of E. G. Q., look him up—his character, habits, haunts, companions ; his amusements, and standing, socially, and at the clubs. Put a shadow on‘ him, and, if possible, get his photograph.” CHAPTER XIII. NICKERSON’S THEORIES. When Captain Connors and Mr. Talfourd parted, at the door of the Chief’s office, it was with mutual confidence, and a very clear understanding. A moment later, Nickerson again appeared before his Chief. “ Well, N ickerson,” said the good-natured personage, “ have you considered to your heart’s content?” Nickerson shut the door and came close to the desk. “ I thought that you might have a new idea to start me with, when you had talked with Talfourd,” he said, his eyes search- ing the Chief’s face. “ Talfourd ought to know something.” 104 i A LOST WITNESS. “ He does know a little something. Sit down a moment ; I’ll .condense the thing for yOu. Eh ! Cousin, come in.” Polly Cousin had, opened the door noiselessly, and now stood upon the threshold, with the Chief’s card between his fingers. i “ Come in, CouSin. You may as well hear it too.” Cousin approached the desk and stood beside Nickerson. “ I’ve just got this,” he said, tapping the card. “I want to say a word about it before we go further.” _ “Wait!” broke in the Chief, “ until I tell you both the little I have learned from Mr. Talfourd.” He ran very briefly over the main points of the interview, and when he had finished, all three were in possession of everything that was known or guessed at by Mrs. Paget and the Talfourds. ' “ It’s a slim starter,” commented Nickerson. “It’s along degree better than nothing,” said Polly Cousin. “ Well,” said N ickerson, turning to go, “ I’m glad I waited. I think now I’ll give 'my earliest attention .to Mr. Frederick Quinlan.” I Without a word, Cousin laid the card he had been trifling with on the desk before the Chief. ' ' “ Connors,” he said, quietly, ‘5 do you want my co-operation in this case ? One moment, NickersOn—” .“ Of course, I want it, COusin,” said the Chief. “Wait, Nick.” . “’ Then,” said Cousin, “ I think that you would do well to organize your forces. But first, giVe that card to Nickerson ; it’s directly in his line.” Connors looked doubtful. 5" I’ll tell you why I came in just now,’ ‘3 I know a little of Fred Quinlan; in fact, we are acquaint- ’ went on Cousin. NICKERSON’S THEORIES. ‘ 105} ances. I wanted to give you the benefit of my knowledge.” “One question,” said the Chief. “ Do you want N ickerson to take this off your hands ‘2” “ You mean the Quinlan business? I would p1efer it; yes.” - , “Then give us what you know about Quinlan, and let him be oif.” ‘ “ Frederick Quinlan, in society, is one man, and Fred Quin- Ian, at his clubs and in sporting circles, is another,” said Cou- sin, crisply. “ He’s suave and agreeable in society, and quiet and orderly everywhere. He belongs to one or two, or maybe more, small social clubs. He drives good horses, and keeps a yacht. All this the wo1ld knows. But all the world does not know that he belongs to the Daybreak Club, and plays the1e heavily.” “ He couldn’t get 1n there if he didn’t,” said the Chief. “ The thing’s no more nor less than a select gambling-house” “ Correct, Captain. Quinlan is also in at the dirty turf busi- ness pretty often. He owns a jockey on the quiet, and he owns a racer or twoin the same way. He bets largely behind some of the regular turfmen. . And that ,is not all. He doesn’t depend wholly uponrupper-tendom for his society. He’s anything but fastidious sometimes, and I guest that yacht of his could tell some queer tales. Is that enough for a ‘starter,’ N 1ckerson9” “ Quite,” said the detective. “ Then take this, I leave Quinlan to you.” Cousin, pushed the card toward him, and as he took it he turned'to Connors. “ Well, I am ofi'.” And Nickerson set his cap upon his head and left them, with a nod to the Chief and a wink to Cousin. 106' A LOST WITNESS. When he had gone, the Chief seated himself before Cousin, who remained standing as at first. “ Now, Polly,” he said,"‘ what is it?” “ I’m quite willing to take up Quinlan later,” Cousin said, with a preoccupied air. “ But just now he’s straight in N ickerson’s line. Besides, I want to go in the opposite direc- tion.” “ Oh, that’sit, eh ? Which'way ‘2” “ I want to go again to Pagets.” ‘,‘ Why ‘3” “ Because, if Mr. Talfourd goes there, and, as you have said, they are not on cordial terms, I’d give something to ar- rive just after their meeting. Mr. Paget will be in just the mood for such a talk as I wish to have with him.” “Will he ? Now, if I knOw Mr. Paget, he will be in a very ugly State of mind by the time he is done with Mr. Tal- fourd, or Talfourd done with him.” “Exactly; and that is what I want. The only time to hope for much conversation from that overbearing old aristo- crat is when he is goaded to the point where a little added pres- sure will loosen his tongue in spite of his dignity. . And now tell me—you began but did not get far—what are N ickerson’ s theories?” “011, don’t you like your own better?” laughed the Chief. ' “ Connors, I don’t believe you appieciate the value of that man. He’s the best reasoner I know, and there’s not his equal for patient, thorough, burrowing work.” 1 “ That’s t1 ue. Put Nickerson on the scent, and he’s the right man in the right place. To dig up the past, neatly and tho— roughly, the man has not an equal. But for looking ahead—— well, you know N ickersOn.” SIR FELIX DEFINES HIS POSITION. 107 “Yes, I know N ickerson ; and I know that his reasoning, abstract or otherwise, is better than yours or mine. N ickerson can see much farther than he can go. Now, I’ll wager that he has favored you with half a dozen plausible causes for this disappearance.” ‘ “He has that l” Cousin took out his note-book. “ Run them over,” he said. “ I’m willing to utilize N icker- son’s peculiar talent.” CHAPTER XIV. SIR FELIX DEFINES HIS POSITION. As Sir Felix Wyntoun alighted from his cab at the street en- trance before the home Of his friend Talfourd, he saw Max him- self emerge from a side door which Opened upon a porte cachere, where stood a waiting carriage. Max was followed by a lady of dignified presence, dressed in garments of sombre richness, to whom he gave his hand, assisting her to her place in the carriage. ' p ' . As the vehicle rolled away, Max saw Sir Felix, and has- tened tg meet him. “I am glad to see you, Wyntoun,” Max said, as he took his hand, “ although I am in rather gloomy spirits. I’d‘like to receive you in my home, for the first time, under happier auspices, but-J? ‘ 108 A LOST WITNESS. “Don’t mention it, Ibeg,” broke in the young English- man, earnestly. “ That I haven’t been able to respond to your invitations before, has been my misfortune. If my visit now is not untimely, intrusive, I am very glad.” Max Talfourd turned as they Were; walking toward the house, and scanned the face of his friend. Their eyes met squarely; in one was honest questioning, in the other, honest sympathy. No word was spoken until they had reached the entrance, and then Max said, “ I am going to take you up to my snuggery.” He led the way across the wide hall, up the stairs with its moss-like carpet, across another hall, and so into a room—Max Talfourd’s own. When they were Within, and the door closed, Max again ex— tended his hand. “ You are a friend in need, VVyntoun,” he said, pressing the hand of Sir Felix between both his own.“ Sit down as com- fortably as you can—and tell me, how much will you let me impose upon your good nature?” I “ I cannot,” answered Sir Felix, sinking into a comfortable seat. “ But if you will begin, and go ‘ right ahead,’ as I’ve heard some of you Yankees say, I will tell you when to stop.” Again their eyes met. “ Perhaps,” he added, “ I ought to say that I came just now because I fancied, I feared, that you might be 1n trouble.” “ I am I” broke 1n Max, letting his eyes droop, and not quite able to, keep his voice steady.“ I am in deep trouble.” “ I was about to say,” went on the young nobleman, with- out Withdrawing his gaze, “ that I came to offer you an my sympathy, and any service I can render.” Max had just seated h1mself near his friend, but arose and be- "gan pacing the floor, keeping his face halt averted as he spoke. SIR FELIX anmns HIS POSITION. 109 “ It seems like a nightmare l” he” said, “it has all come Upon me so suddenly. Up to the present hour I have hardly had time to think, to face it all squarely. A short time ago her, mother came, e—Mrs. Paget,—-—and we have been trying to talk about it—she, my parents, and I. It was she who left us as you came. I think I must have been, at that moment, upon the very point of breaking down.” He stopped in his nerv- ous march. “ I have not asked you how much you know,” he continued, in a more subdued tone, “ nor how you learned it.” I “ I saw it in an evening paper,” Sir Felix explained. And then, to give his friend time to recover himself, he went on: “ I was calling upon La Belle Fabrice. Young Quinlan, whom you know, I believe—” Talfourd nodded—“ young Quin- ‘lan was them,” and we were glancing over the items of interest in the pape1s.” “Oh!” Talfourd came back and slowly resumed his seat. “ What did Frederick Quinlan say ‘2” “ I can hardly tell. He did not say much, but his agitation surprised me. Are you two great friends ‘2” Talfourd uttered a short mirthless laugh. “As great friends as an accepted lover who is rejected by the stern parent, and a rejected lover who is accepted by the stem parent, a1e likely to be.” “ And ]S that the state of affans 9” Si1 Felix looked as if new light we1e dawning upon him. “That is the state of affai1s. I can say this now, for we have decided that it is best that the engagement be made‘pub- lic. You must understand ~that it was not announced, because Mr. Paget did not favor my suit ; - he preferred Quinlan. But Mrs. Paget has been, all along, her daughter’s confidante. She 110 7 A, LOST WITNESS. 'sent for me as soon as Leah’s absence was discovered. She ' thinks it right-that the truth concerning our engagement be now made known.” _ “ It will certainly be best, for the younglady at least. I’ll Wager that was your idea, T alfourd.’ ’ I i L “ You couldn’t suppose that Leah’s mother would suggest such a thing ?” I if “I don’tsnppose it for an instant. And I do not sup- pose that many in your position would suggest it for them- selves—Mr. Quinlan, for instance.” Max Talfourd frowned. “ I don’t quite see your drift, Wyntoun. - What would you have done under similar cir- cumstances ?” e “ You must remember that I do not know the circum- stances, even as you know them. As to what I would have done, I would have done, I hope, just as you have ; provided, of course, I had full faith in the lady.” . ‘_‘ I haVe full faith in Leah Paget. Let us understand each other. My friends must see her from my point of View. N 0 one can help me who does not look upon my "promised wife as above suspicion.” ._ . I Sir Felix. smiled indulgently. “ I am quite «willing to adopt your point of view, my dear fellow. I‘assure you that mine isfar from lucid. I have seen Miss Paget for just one evening, and danced with her twice. I am not an adept at character. reading; Ido not pretend to any of that sort of Wisdom. But if Miss Paget is not a’ pure, true, and generous, woman, then I will liVe a single life forever. I never would “‘dareto doubt such clear frank eyes, and a voice that might be- long to an angel of truth. I hope that is strong enough ? It isnot trumped up for the occasions? - s13 FELIX DEFINES 111s POSITION. 111 “ Thank you !” Max Talfourdpput out his hand, but some- thing like a sob arose in his throat and stopped his speech. “ It is not a time to intrude my affairs upon you,” wenton Sir Felix, “ but I am going to be quite frank with you, about myself. Can you guess why I came here, to America, at this time?” “ I could not, at fi1st,” said Max ; “ but tonight—not long ” He brOke off, and, rising, went across the roOm and. took a paper from an open escrz'toire. “That explained it,” he said, pointing to a marked paragraph. Again it was the “Evening Call, ” and the pa1agraph was the one concerning La Belle Fabrice and her titled follower from . ago— over the seas. Sir Felix scanned the paragraph. “ Confound their American impudence !” he exclaimed, flushing hotly. Then he read it again, and this time he looked up, flushing still, but smiling too. “ But it is true,” he said, boyishly. ~ ' In spite of his trouble, Max Talfourd laughed. “ I have nothing to say,’ ’continued Sir Felix, “ except what you have just said for yourself. She is an actress. I do not even i know her real name, and she does not e11c0urage me. But I am ready to swear by her truth and goodness. I loye her, and if she is not Lady Wyntoun some day, it will be because she refuses to look favorably upon the particular branch of hum- bug that-I represent.” » I 'M “ I don’t think you could set yourself up for a fairi‘speci- ' men of the nobility and gentry, Wyntoun. But I can’t refuse to say ‘God speed’ to your wooing. I am inclined to think that you are right, too. La Belle Fab1ice— ” he b1 oke off ab1 uptly. / “ Do you know her ‘2” asked Wyntoun. 112 ‘ A LOST WITNESS. “ I—I suppose every one knows professional people, in one way or another.” He spoke in a strangely-constrained voice, and generous Sir Felix, fancying that he was still striving for self-possessiOn, went on, more to give his friend time than to free his own mind. _ K ’ “ Of course, you would hear and read much of her. She was the fashion in London, as she will be here, once she has made her debut. But Iwas more fortunate, or unfortunate; time will tell which. I met her in town often, during the season, and later we spent a fortnight together at a house-party in the country. Oh, she hears every-day inspection wondrously. Most actresses are at their best behind the fOotlights ; she is at her best everywhere.” “Of course,” assented Talfourd, trying to smile. ‘.‘ And have you—” He paused, and looked his question. “ Have I declared myself? No. She won’t give me an opportunity. But, Talfourd, my dear fellow, let’s talk about your affairs. Are you going to take me into your confi- dence ?” “ I am only too glad to do so.” He drew his chair closer to that occupied by his friend, and told him the story of the day,—of Mrs. Paget’s summons, and his visit to Leah’s home ; of his visit to the Chief of Police, and the Editor of I the “Call ;” lof his talk with his parents, and lastly, of the visit of Mrs. Baget. I . “ All has been done that could be done, it seems,” he con- cluded. “The resources of the city police and detective force will be exhausted, if need be, in the search. Paget will leave no stone unturned, of— course. And yet, I do not feel satisfied I feel as if there were something, perhaps under our very eyes, that would give us the keynote. to this mystery-we. motive of SIR FELIX DEFINES HIS POSITION. 1113' some sort, on the part of some one, now unsuspected ; and I feel as if this were being overlooked.” Sir Felix was silent a moment, seeming to muse. “ I think I understand,” he said. “ If one could only have his family Paul Pry, his private detective ! N ow, why may it not be true, that, say in a case like this, a gentleman, a man of the world, knowing its ways, its ins and outs, as only such a one can, is notjust the man for the office? Because your crack detective, perhaps, can run down his assassin or his bur- glar nine times in ten, does it follow that he is the man to 11n- ravel a mystery of this sort? There should be detectives and detectives ; don’t you think so ‘2” “ I suppose there are. But those of the sort we want, are few.” _ “ Naturally. Do you know your Chief of Police ‘2” “ Connors ‘? I'know that he is an honest man, and second to none in the line of work that is most often brought before him. We cannot demand everything of our police and detect- .ives. They cannot be expected to be prepared for remote possibilities. I am not disparaging Connors and his men. 1 But I will say this, Wyntoun: If Leah Paget is not restored, or her whereabouts accounted for, within the next twenty-four hours, I shall look for nothing further from the police. The cunning that can baffle them for so long, will .be more than their match in the end.” “ And then—‘3” “ And them-what ? Advise me, Wyntoun.” The face of the. young Englishman brightened. Max had again arisen, and was pacing the floor. Sir Felix alose also and slipped his hand within his friend’s sar.n1 , “First,” he said, “tell 111ejust how you stand, relatively to as 114' A LOST WITNESS. this search. Are you going to be known as one of the instiga- tors ?” , “ Not at present ;' not unless I see‘ some new clue to follow, some fresh avenue. We have agreed that the fact of my en- gagement is to be made known, in- the quietest way possible. I do not mean to send it to the newspapers, understand. Of course, they will get it. But not from me. You can help me there, Wyntoun.” ' “ I '? How ?” “ By saying, at the clubs, or when any one speaks of this, that you know of our engagement. It is delicate work, but you can do it gracefully, if you don’t mind.” “ Of course I don’t mind. Do not let us have any more of that. I will do what you wish. When you are convinced that everything has been done, and if the result is still failure, have you any plans ?” Max shook his head. , ~ , “ I would give all I possess to know, at this moment, where to find an untrammelled, independent, well-informed, gentle~ manly private detective ; one who is master of his own time, and could furnish both brains and working power.” “And how would you use him ‘?"" “I would retain him privately. I would let Paget and the police go on as they would, and I would give my man cm to blanche.” The face of Sir Felix brightened. He gripped his friend’s arm tightly between both his hands. ‘ “My dear fellow,” he said, “I know the very man you want. '” Talfourd turned upon him, his face flushed with excitement. “Who is he?” he cried,“ where IS he?” COMPLICATIONS. 1 1 5 “He was in London a month ago ; he may be atsthe North Pole now. . He is an English gentleman, and a genuine one, cultured, refined, and clever. He is a detective, tOO,——-a pri— vate one, of course,———working only upon such cases as he finds interest in. Money cannot hire him to work upon a force or to do common work. He never touches robberies, forgeries— anything that simply means money, and does no harm to life, or character. I believe he is the best detective in the world.” “ And his name?” “ His name ? I dare say you have heard, it. It is Francis Ferrars.” CHAPTER XV. COMPLICATIONS. If the father of Max Talfourd had not been a semi-invalid, unusually harrassed by the events of the precnding forty-eight hours, suffering from frequent twinges Of gouty pain, and hun- gry for his dinner, it might, perhaps, have been Otherwise. Or, if Abner Paget had [not been left too long to himself, fasting, and thinking alone, gnawed by his pride, pricked a. little, as even a very well-behaved father may reasonably be sometimes, by his conscience, fearful for the fate of his missing daughter, and wroth because he must needs be questioned and commanded like any common mortal, by Chief Of Police Con- nors and his minions,—-—it might not have happened. 116 A LOST WITNESS. As it was, with the best of intentions upon both sides, Tal- fourd senior and Puget pare quarrelled, each man being sure that his point of View was the only reasonable one. They met in Abner Paget’s severely-splendid library, where all the books looked so painfully new, and saluted like two courteous hostile gentlemen of the old school about to fight a duel ; and, indeed, that is pretty much what they did. Itis a sad, absurd, and tedious thi 11g—a polite and courtly quarrel between two stately, well-intentioned, opinionated grey-beards ; and its end was confusion, It began with the two duellists sitting directly opposite each other in two huge leather-covered chairs, in which each could be at ease and still maintain a becoming dignity. And it ended with the two standing erect, facing each other squarely, and not an arm’s length between them. When it was over, Mr. Talfourd walked to the door as prim and erect as if he were not wincing because of the twinges that were writhing their way through his right limb, turned there, and said : “ I am sorry for the spectacle of mistaken, yes, wicked pride, that you have shown this day. It makes it impossible that I should lift a hand to help you, were it in my power. It com- pels me to bid my son withdraw entirely from his present po- sition as openly-announcedfiancé of a girl who is mysteriously missing. It forces me to close my doors to you and yours. You have insulted me, sir, and only your age and the fact that you are a man in afliiction, saves you from chastisement. One thing more. you have given me a new idea, a new! hint, which I shall not be slow to follow up. I leave you, si1, to visit the Chief of Police.” “ James,” said Mr. Paget to the servant, who had just an- swered his ring, “ show that gentleman the door.” COMPLICATIONS. 117 When Mr. Talfourd came cut from the inhospitable house of Mr. Paget, it was growing late, but he told his coachman to drive him once more to the office of the Chief of Police. , “Well,” said that individual, when Talfourd was again (seated in one of his comfi1rtable office-chairs, “ have you made that call ?” “ Paget will doubtless inform you that I have, when you see him again,” said Talfourd, witha short laugh. “ It is my first call upon Abner Paget in—I don’t know how many years,” he went 011, in answer to an inquiring look from Captain Con— nors. “And I cannot fancy myself repeating it ; at least, not for some time. You are a pretty shrewd fellow, Captain, but I will wager you cannot guess what that old man charged me with” I ' “ Carrying off the young lady?” queried Connors, with a grin at his own facetiousness. “ Yes, 8137 I” “ You don’t mean it !” _ “ But I do ! I told him that my son, thinking it might be best, and wishing that he might have the right it would give him to assist in the search for Miss Paget, would make it known at once that she was bet1othed to him. Paget flew into a rage, declared that it should not be done, and ended by VOWing that he believed the whole thing a scheme gotten up by us—my son, myself, and his daughter 1” “ By Jove l” ejaculated Captain Connors, and for some time he said nothing more. “What did you say to all this ?” he asked, finally. “ Well, I am af1a1d that I spoke r'athe1 hotly, but I guess I did not say any more than I meant. I told him that after such an outrage I could do but one thiiigé—that I must forbid my son 118 A LOST WITNESS. to put h-imself'forWard as Miss Paget’s fiancé, or to mix him- self up in the business in any way.” “ And you meant that?” “ Yes ; I meant it, and I mean it now. My son is of age, to be sure, and I shall not go into the casting off, disinheriting business, or anything of that sort. But if he persists, it will be against my expressed wishes, and without my aid or consent. I think, too, that he must see the necessity for withdrawing al- together, from this moment ; otherwise, old Paget will pro— nounce the whole thing a farce.” , “ Yes, it is almost extraordinary state of affairs,” assented Captain Connors, thoughtfully. ' “Now, I think I will go home and inform my wife and Max of the result of my visit to that unreasoning old idiot ,- that is,” with a smile, “ if you do not share Paget’s suspicions, and so put me under arrest.”_ “ Not tonight,” laughed Connors. “ Well,” taking up his hat, and rising, “ you had better have us watched. Is there anything else, Captain ? If not, I will be ofi" before Paget arrives. He is sure to come, to tell you of his «brilliant new idea}? There was little else ; and Mr. Talfourd went home to cat- echise his son. Max was alone 1n his room, and he received his father so eagerly that the elder Talfourd felt his courage deserting him. But he got'his story out at last, and waited for its efl'ect. .“ My poor Leah!” said Max. “ If I can only find her alive-4 Ah, she shall not go back to him. ”’ i I And then the elder Talfourd astonished his son by announc- . ing his determination. COMPLICATIONS. 119 ,“ You will have to drop it all, Max,” he continued. “ There is no other alternative.” He waited for his answer, but none came. His son sat op- posite him with set lips, looking him squarely in the face. “ Well I” said Mr. Talfourd, at last, “are you going to say anything ‘2” ~ » “ Not on this subject,” said Max, quietly. “ It would be useless. The fact of my engagement has been already an- nounced ; and if it were not, it should be—all the sooner for this. (I Max !” \ . “ We will not discuss the matter, father. We have never yet differed in anything of importance. This is very impor- tant to me. You promised, yes, profferedyour help; Let that go ; I release you from that, from any promise you like. Be neutral—be even opposed to me, if you will, but do not lay any commands upon me. I shall have to disobey them. And now, will you excuse me ‘2 I have an engagement with Wyntoun.” Captain Connors did not expect a visit from Mr. Paget. But he did expect a full account of the meeting between 'Messrs. Talfourd andPaget, through the medium of Polly Cousin ; a repetition of the story told by Talfourd, from the Paget point of view. It was Cousin’s plan to arrive at Mr. Paget’s house directly after the departure of Mr. Talfourd, then to return to the office and report to Captain Connors. But he did not come. And, after an hour of waiting, the Chief began to yawn. “Cousin was never so late before,” he murmured, sleepily. Another half hour and then the monotony of waiting was 120 ‘A' LOST WITNESS. broken by the arrival of a note. ‘ It was from Abner Paget, and ran as follows : To Captain Connors, Chief of Police, City. Sir :—I have, this even- ing, received a visit from one of your agents, Mr. Cousin. I hope that the questions you have thought it necessary to ask, through him, have been answered satisfactorily. , I have some ground for thinking that the clue to my daughter’s strange disappearance may not be so difficult to find. I have learned that she had engaged herself, against my expressed commands, to a young man in Whom, I have reason to believe, there is much that is rep- rehensible. The young man’s father has cherished for years an enmity against me, and has encouraged his son in the pursuit of my daughter. I will not go further into this painful subject. Were it not for your assurance that my confidence would be respected, I could not write as above. I have not mentioned this suspicion to Mr. Cousin. The name of the young man who has .clandestinely won my daughter’s affections, is Maxwell Talfourd. A word to the wise, etc. Yours, ABNER PAGET. “ Upon my word!” ejaculated the Chief, when he had per- used this missive, “ that’s an astonishing thing! I’ll—give this letter to—Nickerson.” He waited half an hour longer and then prepared to leave. for the night, somewhat dissatisfied~ at Cousin’s non-appear- ance. “ I can’t think what has overtaken Cousin,” he muttered. “ It’s the first time he ever failed me.” SARA. 121 CHAPTER XVI. SARA. Polly Cousin had meant to arrive at the Paget mansion ‘be- fore Mr, Talfourd had taken his departure. But the unexpected difference between Mr. Talfourd and Mr. Paget had hastened the going of the former, who was already out of the house be- fOre Cousin appeared before Mr. Paget, whom he found pacing the floor in a manner betokening perturbation of mind. ' Perhaps, his recent encounter with Mr. Talfourd, a foeman worth y of his steel, had served as a s0p to his wounded vanity, or possibly he had begun to take a less personal and more pathetic View of the case ; to think less of the Puget pride and more of the Paget loss ; less of Abner and more of Leah Paget. Be this asit may, it is certain that Polly Cousin met with an almost gracious welcome when he appeared for the second time before: Abner Paget. _ The greetings were barely over, and Cousin was inwardly congratulating himself upon the improvement in the bearing of his host, when that gentleman touched a bell, and said to the servant, who appeared with much promptness, “ Ask Mrs. Pagetiif she is able to see—ah—Mr. Cousin ; or, say a mes- senger from Captain Connors.” Then turning toward Cousin : “ I have decided,” he said, “ in fact, it is the advice of her physi- cian, that I will make Mrs. Paget one at our counsels. To know all that has been and is being done, is, we think, the 122 A LOST WITNESS. best relief, yes, the only relief, we can as yet offer her. Is there any- objection to this on your part?” “None whatever,” Cousin answered, composedly. “ I think it an excellent idea.” . They waited in silence for a moment. when the door slowly opened, stopped half— way, with the hand of the footman visible upon the knob, and a slow, soft, and pathetically sweet voice spoke outside: “Is Mr. Paget in his library, Henry? May I see him, just for a moment?” Before Henry could frame a reply, Abner Paget was at the door. “ Sara—Mrs. Volney!” he exc.aimed, with more eagerness than might have been expected from him.“ You certainly may come in. Have you seen Mrs. Paget. 9” He swung the door open, and then Polly Cousin was con- scious of blushing violently, as, glancing up, he encountered the gaze of a pair of eyes—whether brown or blue or grey he could not have told for days after—deep, luminous eyes, the, strangest eyes, the saddest eyes, the loveliest eyes, he thought, his own had ever rested upon. These marvellous eyes were set in a pale exquisite face ; a face all lily, with no hint of rose except in the thin delicately-e curved-lips ; a Madonnaface, so he named it to himself, framed in a mass of rippling pale-gold hair. ' “That a vision it was !——the tall, lithe, rounded figure in the flowing, fleecy, black garments ; the grace of each move- ment ! And then the voice : soft, slow, SWeetlypathetic ;~ and over all, through all, the sympathy, the pity, the pathos, that strange serenity never ruffled, the low cadences never raised or roughened ! SARA. 123 As they stood face to face in the center of the stately li- brary, the stiff old aristocrat unbending even toward her, the beautiful woman with her hand in his, Cousin, for one dazed moment, saw clearly what was meant by the hitherto mean-I .iugless phrases,“ old family” and “blue blood.” And‘he did mental homage. “ I went to Mrs. Paget’s door,” the gentle voice began. “ She 1s too ill, the poor mother, she cannot come down Mr. Paget, 1s there any news ?” N 0 conventional words of sympathy ; only the little white- hand resting in his ; only", the sweet indescribable lowering of her always soft tones, as she spoke the last words : only the sad questioning eyes upraised to his face. Abner Paget gently released the dainty hand, and drew for-: ward a chair, in which he placed her with grave courtesy. “ N 0,” he said, “ there is no news.” ' “Ah,” she breathed, softly, “it is too sorrowful ! I have just heard of it. I came home today.” She clasped her hands in her lap and looked up into his face, and then slowly turned her mild gaze upon Cousin. Her host noted the glance. “We have begun a thorough search,” he said. “ The de- tectives are at work, and this—” He hesitated, evidently at- a loss as to how he should characterize Cousin, who sat before them both like a graven image, his eyes riveted upon the hem - of the lady’s black robe. Instantly she came to the rescue. “ This young man is a'detective ‘2” Paget nodded. “ Ah 1” She bowed to Cousin and let her eyes rest upon his face, with a glance of kindly interest. “ Then I am 1n the 124 A LOST WITNESS. way, perhaps.” She made a slight movement, but did not rise. Instead, she turned he1 eyes onCe more upon Mr. Paget. “ Is there anything I may do ‘2” * Mr. Paget shook his head. She seemed to be thinking. Then she arose and came close to him. “ If there is anything that I may know—~” she said plaintively. “ I am very anxious, very unhappy, about this.” She put out her hand again. “ Wait, ” Mr. P: 1get said, and turned toward Cousin. “ I was saying, Mr. Cousin, that I wished my wife to be present at our intei views. And this lady, Mrs. Voluey, is’an intimate family friend. Is there any reason why she should not remain ‘2” Percy Cousin had arisen when the name of the lady was spoken, and she had recognized the movement by a second in- clination of her dainty head, while her lovely pathetic eyes rested gravely upon his face. She did not withdraw her gaze when Mr. Paget paused, nor while Cousin made answer: “ That rests with you, Mr. ‘Paget. UpOn my part I see no objection. If the lady is a friend of your daughter’s, she may, perhaps, aid us by some suggestion ” “ Oh,” sighed Sara Volney, “ if I could 1” She arose and seated herself in a low ottoman midway oetween the places occupied by the two men. She listened very quietly, sitting as noiseless as the statue behind her, while Cousin, in brief detail, ran over the history of the movements of the officers during the past twenty-four hours. He was cOnscious, while he addressed himself to Mr. Paget, that the lady’s eyes were riveted upon his face. Involuntarily, as he ceased speaking, he turned, and met her glance. There was a moment of silence. A long sigh from Mrs. Volney broke the stillness. ' Mm. 125 “ Then nothing has been accomplished,” she asked, sadly, “ with so many keen hunters, so many” able detectives and po- lice ? And such a highly esteemed Chief at the head of the search !, How does it look to you, sir ? Is it not disheartening ‘3” “ It would be,” he replied, “ if the search had started thirty- six days ago, instead of about that many hours.” “Oh!” she sighed again, and turned her pathetic eyes upon Mr. Paget. I _ “ We think now,” went on Cousin, feeling a little inward, surprise at his recovered self-possession, “ having exhausted all the ordinary methods of inquiry, that it is time to or- ganize a systematic search in new lines of inquiry. I have here, Mr. Pager, a list of questions, to which I hope you will give the most direct answers possible. Captain Connors feels that ‘ the case is a serious one, and there will be no time lost, and ”no ground overlooked by us, if we have from you all the informa- tion you can give, or put us in the way of obtaining from other sources.” “ Eh I” ejaculated Mr. Puget, wrinkling his brows. “ Well, young man, go on ; I’ll try to follow.” Cousin turned to Mrs. Volney. She was leaning slightly forward ; her clear pale face, rendered almost statue-like by its training of dead-black crape, was turned fully upon him. She had drawn of? her gloves, and her small ringless hands were clasped together in her lap, holding between them a fold of her sable drapery. As he‘looked she did not withdraw her gaze, but. let her eyes meet his and rest upon them, full of wistful.- »ness. ‘ I Again the silence was unbroken, while Cousin drew from his pocket a small memorandum—book and a pencil. He was about to make use of Nickerson’s “ theories.” 126 d A Loan: Wrrnnss. CHAPTER XVII. BEWITCHED. Polly Cousin was nothing if he was not direct. He could be discreetly silent, and subtly talkative, each as needful. After running his eyes over certain closely-pencilled lines in his mem- orandum-book, he looked up and said: i “ Mr. Paget, if my questions are painfully personal, please remember that they are quite necessary. Is there, or has there ever been, either in your family or your wife’s, insanity ?” He was looking at Mr. Paget, but he was almost certain that the white hands lying upon the sable folds of Mrs. Volney’s gown, moved slightly, as if their owner had started suddenly, and then as suddenly brought herself back to stillness. I “ Insanity!” cried Abner Puget. “ Good. heavens, no I” "‘ Then you think there is no possibility that Miss Paget, in- ,a fit of temporary aberration, may have wandered from her home ‘2” “ Gracious Powers!” cried Paget. “ No l I‘ say. Leah Paget is no more likely to have become insane than I am.” . “ Very strange things happen,” said Censin, making astraight mark across certain words in his note-book. ‘-‘ There have been instances when evenly—balanced persons have suddenly lost their reason. A. fall, a blow on the head, may have been the cause—,—-” He paused ; Mrs. Volney was looking at him ear- nestly. ~ . “ Do you mean,” she began, in her low even tones,“ that she BEWITCHEB. 127 may have been hurt in some way, and been taken, insensible, perhaps, in charge by some one, or-—— ‘3” She paused. Abner Paget had arisen suddenly and was nerv~ ously pacing the room. Cousin’s eyes followed him as he answered her unfinished question. “ If such a thing has happened, which is barely possible, we shall soon know it. That sort of thing can be easily ferreted out. The best work of our city detectives is directly in that line.” He glanced again at his note—book. “Pardon me, Mr. Paget, these questions are necessary. Has there been, of late, or at any time, any difference or mis« understanding betiveen Miss Paget and—any member of your family ‘3” Mr. Paget stopped his walk, and turned to face the ques- tioner. ’ . “ T here are but three members of this fiu'nily,” he said, curtly. “ Between my wife and my daughter, perfect confidence has al~ ways existed. Between myself and my daughter there was a difference—” In the momentary pause, the eyes of Mrs. Vol- ney were turned full upon him-—“ but it was not sufficient to causeher to leave my home—her home.” Again he paused. Mrs. Volney was still intently regard- ing him. But the interviewer remained silent, and his eyes were upon his note—book. ‘ “ Our difference was not an uncommon one between parent and child,” Mr. Paget resumed. “ It was concerning her choice ofa young man of whom, as a suitor for her hand, I could not approve.” His eyes met those of Mrs. Volney’s as if this was a subjea she quite understood. 128 A LOST WITNESS. ‘5 Yes,” said Cousin, “ I am already aware of that. Have you no suspicion that she may have left her home because of this?” Mr. Paget waved a hand toward the lady. - “ Women understand women,” he said, stiflly, “ and Mrs. Vol- ney knows my daughter Well. Let us have her opinion.” “Leah never left her home, and her mother, for such a cause,” the lady said, slowly but with decision. ‘ Again Polly Cousin fell back upon his note-book and medi- tation, and his reflections Were something like this: 7 “ Here is a man who is reserved to his own hurt. I may’ as well hope to draw information from one of his bronze busts over the doorway. And here, as a friend of the family and of the missing girl, is the fairest, the stillest, the most self-con- tained woman I ever met. Each is a slight damper, perhaps, upon the communicativeness of the other. This will be at fruitless interview unless I can separate them.” He slowly fingered his note—book, and, turning to Mr. Page‘t, began a list of questions concerning his lost daughter. i“ What were her tastes, in music, for instance, and was she fond ofread- ing ? What were her habits ? Did she walk much, and if so, where to ? Was she at all venturesome ? Did she ever wander out of the fashionable thoroughfares ? Did she often visit the Parks? Did she drive and ride frequently ? Was she fond of yachting ? Was she connected with any charitable societies ? Was she apt to notice, upon the street, children, beggars, etc. ?' Was she enthusiastic, was she courageous, was she approach- able ?” These questions, and many others, he asked and the two answered. Then, suddenly, he shut up his note-book and arose. ' “ Mr. Paget,” he said, “ you must understand that, where there is absolutely no clue to work from, we must-first inform BEWITCHED. 129 ourselves as fully as possible of personal characteristics and personal matters, and then begin to construct theories. You are sure that your daughter had no sufficient motive for aban- doning her home, and we are already prepared to believe, for many reasons, that she did not abandon her home voluntarily. Now, there are two or three possibilities. I will merely name 1 them to you, and you may think them over. Sometimes a man like yourself, of property and extended influence, makes an enemy. In the career of a successful business man this is pretty sure to happen. Have you ever made such an enemy? Is there anywhere, to your knowledge, any one, man or woman, who has breathed a menace against you oryours ?—-—years ago, perhaps. This is not a time to hesitate from motives of pride for from false delicacy. If you‘have ever had an enemy, or if your wife or daughter has any reason to fear, one, you will do well to make it known to us—to Captain Connors. Your daughter is beautiful, they say; mayshe not have made, in some discarded suitor or unsuccessful rival, a foe to be feared ? I do not wish an answer to these questions now. ButI ask you to think, and as soon as possible talk with your wife. Do not keep back the slightest hint, the vaguest suspicion. The very thing that you might consider hardly worth a thought, may be just the clue we need.” ' . Cousiu’ s speech, before it had reached its end, had produced two effects, each a surprise to him. It had caused, Ab11e1 Pa; get to drop into the nearest chair, staring at the brusque speaker, with all the pride and haughtiness gone out of his face. It had brought Mrs. Volney to her feet, and half-way across the room, where she stood with her hands locked together, her lips parted, and, her eyes fixed eagerly upon the young man’s face. 9 1130 A LOST WITNESS. For a moment all were silent, moveless. Then Mrs. Vol— ney came swiftly to. the side of Mr. Paget, and resting one hand upon his shoulder, said : ’ “Mr. Paget, I beseech you, listen to what this young man has said ! Heed him ! He knows of what he speaks. 7 He can help us, I am sure!” Then without turning or even glanc- ing at Cousin, she consulted a tiny” watch. “ I must go, but I shall soon come again. Good-bye, Mr. Paget.” ' She extended her hand ; he took it listlessly and without rising. As he released it, she turned toward Cousin, bowed, and then, as if by some sudden inspiration, swept up to him and put out her hand. “ We shall expect much from you,” she said, with her eyes upon his face. “ Good-day, sir.” ~ And as Percy Cousin stood reddening and dazed, she bowed again and swept to the door, which Abner Paget, suddenly re- covering himself, hastened to open for her exit. When Mr. Paget closed the door and came back to his place, Cousin had put away his note—book and was standing hat in hand, as if waiting for his host to speak. But Mr. Paget was silent. - ' “ If you have nothing to suggest—-” began Cousin. “ Nothing!” broke in Mr. Paget, sharply ; “ nothing what- ever.” . V “ Then I will go.” Cousin walked toward the door, but paused’upon the threshold. “ I shall not be likely to interview you again, Mr. Paget, ” he said, quietly. “ You will commu- nicate, when you have anything to say, with Captain Con- nors. ' He bowed formally, and M1 Paget responded stifliy, with- out quitting his place. . A WRONG AND A MYSTERY. 131 When Cousin reached the street, a handsome close coupé was turning away from the carriage-steps, and he raised his hat as he saw the fair face of Mrs. Volney looking out. I Instantly, her hand was lifted in a gesture meant to detain, him ; and the coupe turned and was again drawn up to the pavement. I ' it “ Will you take a seat with me, sir ‘2” said the soft voice of the lady as she leaned out toward him. “ I am going down town.” And then, while Cousin seemed to hesitate, she ad- ded, almost in a whisper, “ Oblige me, please. I want to talk with yOu.” . Those Splendid eyes were rested upon his burning .face. There was a note of appeal in her voice. Dimly, dizzily con- scious of his own awkwardness, and with all the blood in his body, as it seemed to him, surging toward his face, Cousin en— tered the coupe. CHAPTER XVIII. “ A WRONG AND A MYSTERY AND A MAN SHE LOVES.” When Sir Felix Wyntoun opened his eyes, on the morning after his interview with Max Talfourd, and found himself waking to a medley of remembrances not exactly pleasant, his first thought was of La'Belle Fabrice. _ . How. Would the morning find her? Would she see himto— : day ? And would the hour, the very earliest, most unconven~ tional hour for calling at her hotel, ever come? 132 A LOST WITNESS. At least, he might see Madam Congreve, for next to Fabricé his thoughts went most naturallyr to that. amiable woman, who was, in some sort, a connecting link between himself and the object of his adn1i1ation. But at hieakfilst a note from Max Talfourd was put into his hand. He opened it eagerly, anxious at once for his friend and glad of a diversion. It was as follows : MY DEAR WYNTOUN :— --I am under a new cloud, but one which Ighope Will soon turn its bright side toward me. I may not see you today; in truth, I think I would better not. I trust all to you as we planned it yesterday. And one thing more : Will you kindly wire to your friend Ferrars, or in such way as you think best find out by cable if Ferrars is in London, and at liberty ‘2 I leave it to you to say as much or as little as you think fit. Let me hear the result at once. 1 remain at home to-day. Yours, TALFOURD. P. S. Will you breakfast with me here tomorrow ? MAX. It was this note that sent Sir Felix forth that morning with a new animation, and a business-like air that was quite “ Ameri- can.” Soon this message was Speeding London ward, to one Lo1d Louis Ba1ha1n, George Street, Hanover Square: Is Ferrars in London and disengaged? What address, and for hdw long? ' WYNTOUN. To this message the answer came promptly : Ferrars in Germany. Can’t be got under seven days. At your serv- ice. BARHAM. This message, with an explanatory note, Sir Felix sent at “MR. PAGET, I BESEECH YOU, LISTEN TO WHAT THIS YOUNG MAN HAS SAID! ” {a Page 130. 134 A LOST WITNESS. once to Max Talfourd ; and then turned his face toward the quietly-splendid apartments of La Belle Fabrice. , Madam Congreve alone came forward to receive him. There was a new look of anxiety upon her face, as she put out her hand, and he fancied, as he took it, a look of relief also. . Their greeting was a silent one, and when he released her hand, Madam Congreve sank again into the seat from which she had risen to receive him. Sir Felix glanced all about the room, as if to make surer. the disappointment plainly visible in his face. . “ Sit down,” said Madam Congreve, at last. “I am glad that you have come ; glad of this opportunity. Fabrice has gone out.” , I “Gone out?” he echoed. “Then she is—-” “ Oh, she is well; quite well. But—” She laughed nerv. ously. “I really do not know how to say it. Somehow, I feel as if our positions, yours and mine, have been reversed. I am coming to you for counsel, and advice, perhaps.” “Tome !” The anxiety deepened in his face. “ What is it ‘3” . “ I don’t know what it is. I only wish I did. It's about Fa- brice, of course.” “ What of her ‘2” “ Listen. I am going to wash my hands of all this I must ; it’s too hard a position—I can’t fill it. Sir Felix, I am afraid I must advise you to give it up 1” Again she laughed nerv- ously. “ I do not suppose you will listen to me now, or rather, that you will not heed me any more than you did before. But you shall not blame me for anything that may go ill in the fu- ture. I am going to tell you just what has happened since— since you left us yesterday—you and Mr. Quinlan. By the A WRONG AND A MYSTERY. 135 way, Mr. Quinlan left his compliments and that basket of roses at the door, half an hour ago.” She indicated, by a gesture, a gilded basket of Marechal Niels upon a little table near him; but he did not turn his head. _ “ You were going to tell me—” “ Yes ; and I’ll get it over. Fabrice came out of her faint almost immediately, and locked herself in her room straight- Way. Something in that newspaper troubled her greatly; it must have been so. She took it with her, when she left the room, and she (lid not appear again last evening. Several times her maid went to her door, but was denied admittance, and we could not help from knowing that she was. in great trouble. We could hear her sobs ; she was moaning and walking the floor. Finally, she admittedime. It was as if she couldinot bear to be alone any longer. But she would not talk to me, and I could not comfort her. I had never seen the child in any but her merriest moods. Her distress went to my heart, but I was powerless to help her. Finally, when it was almost morning, she sobbed herself to Sleep upon my shoul- der.” ' She paused, and a flush came into her cheeks. “ All I know of her trouble, is the little I could gueSs from her disjointed murmurings in that sleep.” ' Again she paused, her embarrassment evidently increasing. “ I have always said, and always believer ,” she went on, hesitatingly, “ that Fabrice was heart—free‘that there was no one—’7 She checked herself as Sir Felix suddenly arose and walked to a window that overlooked the street. . “ Go on l” he said, hoarscly, as he stood with his back tow- ard her. ' 136 A LOST WITNESS. “ But—but, there is some one, somewhere, whom she loves —whom she longs for. It is not a parent, for Fabrice is an ' orphan and brotherless. It may not be a lover. I can’ t re- peat her words,” she floundered on. “ But they were strange i—too incoherent to comprehend. But there is a wrong and a mystery—and a man she cares for—somewhere.” She paused ; there was a slight movement of the muscular shoulders, but otherivise no sign from Sir Felix that he heard. “ This morning,” Madam resumed, “she was awake be- fore me, and at her desk. She wrote half a dozen letters, and then destroyed them. But at lastone was written that seemed satisfactory. When this was done and folded, she rang for some envelopes from the hotel office, and put her letter into one of these. She was quite calm this morning, but very silent and sad. When her letter was finished, she prepared to go out, and by the time she was ready she was looking quite eager, and somewhat excited—and so preoccupied ! There, Sir Felix, I have told you all—all but this : I must tell Fa- brice that I have told you all these things. You see my posi- tion else ‘3” ' Sir Felix came slowly away from the window and resumed his seat near her. “ Tell her,” he said. " “ It is best.” For a moment both were silent, Madam plucking listlessly at the tassel fringe that depended from the arms of the chair she occupied ; Sir Felix sitting with his head bent upon his hand, his fair face in the shadow. At last he lifted his head, and there was a world of anxiety in his honest English eyes. “ You have been very good,” he said. “ I had no right to ask so much of you. Somehow—3’ and his boyish smile broke through the gloom ofhis countenance, “ in spite of my liberal A WRONG AND A MYSTERY. v 137 tendencies, don’t you know, I feel‘awfully glad that you are an Englishwoman.” ‘é And an actress i” There was a shade of bitterness in her tone. ‘3 Do you include that fact in your, list of things to be thankful for?” “ Come now, Madam Congreve, that’s too ,bad of you. Were you not an Englishwoman, a gentlewoman, first—before you were an actress ?” I “ I am an Englishwoman and a gentlewoman still, Itrust,” she said. “ And as an Englishwoman, I have asked «myself over and over, how all this is to end—your attachment for Fa— brice. Suppose she returns your regard ‘? I know no more of Fabrice than I see from day to day, but I know that she is proud with the best, the only pride that is safe for a woman —the pride born of self-respect. .And there is your mother, Sir Felix, and your sisters—” ‘ He threw back his head impatiently. “ I wish I had only my mother and my sisters to dread. -Why don’t you mention my father ‘2” “ Because I happen to have heard that the Marquis of Bol- ton is as radical as his son.” . “ Well, my mother is one of those good and wise women who believe inletting' a man f01low his chosen pathway. Mind you, she is as thoroughly an aristocrat as can be, but she would be shocked at the mere thought of questioning the movements of the Marquis of Bolton, even when she could not admire and sanction them. She would acquiesce, because Lord Bolton is -——Lord Bolton.” “ I am English enough to comprehend. And Lady Bolton is certainly an exceptionally desirable mother.” ‘-‘ Undoubtedly. Well, my sisters, you will remember, have 138 A LOST WITNESS. had the advantage of being reared by such a mother. They may stick,just at first; I won’t say it’s impossible. But in the end, Lady Louise, that’s my eldest, and she’s a bit poetical, will ask, ‘ Is the pretty and fond of books ‘3’ And Lady Flo will merely want to know it she’s jolly, and not afraid to take a seven—barred gate. Lady Flo’s no end of a good girl, and pretty, too. But she’s just a bit horsey and counts a hunt ahead of' a-ball.” Madam Congreve smiled and nodded. “ I know the kind,” she said. “ And when it’s enthusiasm, and not afi'ectation, they’re the cream of English girls.” “ When I want to reprove my younger sister,” he said, with a slow, half smile, “ I tell her she’s too out-Spoken for her'own good, and for a girl. Pardon me, Madam, but may I know when she will be back ‘2” “ I suppose you mean Fabrice ‘2” “ Of course.” “' She did not tell me her intentions.” _ “ And she went alone ‘2’ “ Yes.’ Sir Felix arose andtook up his hat. “ We were to drive today, later. Did she Speak of this ?” “ Not Since yesterday.” i “ Then I Shall call for you as was arranged.” He turned, and she arose and walked beside him to the door. There he hesitated. “ Tell me,” he said ; “ advise me. I want to speakto her. I want to understand—at least, I want her to understand me. Will it be too soon ‘2 Is it the Wrong time ? Ought I to wait ?” ‘ ' Madam Congreve sighed. “IN TROUBLE. IN DANGER.” 139 “ I am truly your friend, ‘Sir Felix,” he said ; “ yours and hers. But I cannot advise you further. I wish you all good. I Will aid you When I can. But I am sick of all this mystery. I dare not put my hand upon a thing so sacred with my eyes bandaged. You must rely upon yourself. Your own tact and frankness will serve you better than I can. Only, be pa- tient, I beg of you; patient, and charitable.” ' He took her hand and bowed low ove1 it. “ Thank you,” he murmured. “ I appreciate all that you have said to me.” CHAPTER XIX. “IN TROUBLE. IN DANGER.” In telling Sir Felix of Fabrice’s troubled night, Madam Congreve had exaggerated nothing. And yet, in spite of her sleeplessness, her sighs and groans and tears,-La Belle Fabrice was a very lovely Cieatuie to look upon when she turned her steps briskly up Flflh Avenue that morning. Sparkling eyes, charming faces, and bewitching toilets are the rule upon this ”aristocmtic tho1oughfa1e. But the charm- ing face and daintily-poised head, the easy, self-reliant spring- ing gait, and the perfectly-adjusted, elegantly-simple street- dress, with its unmistakable “ English” air, drew many eyes and elicited many admiring comments. A few minutes of brisk walking brought into the face of 140 ' A LOST WITNESS. the pretty little Comedienne a brighter look, for youth and health yield readily to the influences of a fair morning, and Fabrice possessed a naturally brave and buoyant temperament. In her hand, concealed under” the fringes of her mantle, she carried a letter. After she had walked for half a dozen blocks in the direction of the Park, she gave a swift glance up and down, crossed the street, and deposited her letter in a box, standing for a moment after the deed was done, upon the shady corner, and looking about her again. After a final glance at the letter-box, as if to assure herself that the letter had been quite swallowed by it, she walked tow- ard Central Park, recrossing the street after a block or two, and turning finally upon 57th Street, going eastward, and coming out with slackened step and alert eyes 'upon Lexing- . ton Avenue. ‘ At the corner she paused, and involuntarily put up her hand, as if to pull closer down the filmy veil which half covered, but did not conceal, her piquant face. It seemed as if she were about to turn and go back as she came, but the hesitation was only for an instant. She set her red lips together and walked on slowly, with her eyes fixed upon the object of her momentary surprise and seeming alarm. This object was a woman, elderly and ugly, with eager black eyes and a hooked nose,——-a woman in shabby garments which yet bore evidences of having; been donned with an effort at tawdry smartne'ss,—a woman whose bonnet was younger than her years, and whose step was so steady aiid brisk that Fa— brice was compelled to quicken her own pace in order to keep close behind her. I _ The Woman hurried on, and the face of Fabrice became very grave and determined as she followed. “L IN TROUBLE." IN DANGER.” - 141 When the old woman slackened her pace, as they were ap- proaching a long row of apartment houses, the girl halted and took up a position beside a fruit-stand near the street-cor- ner. ‘ - ‘ “Yes,” she said, half aloud in her preoccupation, “ she’s go- ing there.” ' I The old woman was already half-way up the long steps, and in a moment had disappeared behind one of the stately double doors of the entrance. “ I shall make no call today,” La BelleiFabrice murmured, as she turned away. “ I may as well go back.” Madam Congreve was seated in her favorite place by one of the long windows; with a book in her lap, and she welcomed Fabrice with a smile. “ You have just missed Sir Felix,” she said. . “ I know it,” said Fabrice. “ I saw him going.” “ And he saw you ?” “ No, I think not.” Madam looked down at her book and out of the Window. “ He expects us to drive with him,” she said “Yes,” tossing aside her hat and mantle. “ Shall you go?” The face of the elderly woman was act-J ually flushing. ' Fabrice was quick to see it. She went over and sat down on a hassock near her friend. “ Conny,” she began, seriously, “I came in feeling like a culprit, but, really, you look like one.” She drew the has- sock closer and rested herfiarms on her friend’s lap. “ Have you been abusing Sir Felix ‘2” “ Abusing Sir Felix i” Madam Congreve could speak now, and she did. She had thought of herself as confessing 5 142 A LOST WITNESS. owning up to her share in a little plot ; well meant, to be sure, but a plot for all that. But now she was telling her story, and the story of Sir Felix, in a tone more narrative than con- fessional ; telling it pithily, sarcastically ; telling it well, throughout. 1 From the first, Fabrice had liStened with downcast eyes and drooping head.. Once or twice only did She look up or change her position. When the end was reached she was Sitting with . her hands clasped about her knees, and the hassock drawn close to Madam’s feet, so that her curly head rested against the lady’s arm. When Madam finally ceased, the girl drew a long sighing breath, and nestled closer to her companion, her head drooping so that it could not be seen. . For many moments they both so sat in silence. Finally, 'Madam broke the spell. - “ Fabrice,” gently stroking the soft hair,“ are you angry?” “ No, Conny.” \ Another long Silence ; then. “ My deai, answer me one question.” (C Well 6')” “In telling you all this, have you been surprised at any- thing? Have you not guessed as much all along?” “ I have guessed, I have known, of course, something.” “ How much ?” “ Conny, that is two questions.” “ I know it. Fabrice, don’t you lealize that you are an es- pecially fo1tunate woman 9” > “ Unfo1tunate 13 the right word, Con.” “ N onsense, child ; you make me angry withyou. Youth does not last always ; even beauty, and talent, and popularity “ IN TROUBLE. IN DANGER.” _ » ’ 143 such as yours, will wane some day. Look at yourself as you are now, this very day: The foremost actress in this great country, with all the world of wealth and fashion at your feet ; with such youth and beauty, such health and, strength ; with one fortune already half made, the other half at your beck. A second fortune, a title, a noble name, and peace and serenity to your dying day are also at your command. You know what it will be when you have once made your bOW before these New YOrkers. Next week will be an ovation. ‘ Do you think there is a woman in all this great city who would not be glad tovstand in your shoes? And then—Fabrice, think—from the very zenith of success, with the city ringing with your name, with society at your beck, it is in your power to step from fame to fame, from the stage to an earldom. Think; even La Belle Fabrice must lay down her honor some day and lose her name in oblivion ; but from La Belle Fabrice to Lady Wyntoun—ah, think, dearie 1” She bent over the bowed head and tried to lift it. She was surprised, and pleased, to find her favorite so quiet, so seem- ingly susceptible to reason. “ Fabrice 1’ ’ Suddenly, the still little figure sprang erect, and standing a lit- tle alOof from her friend, the girl faced her—faced her in si- lence for a moment, with blanched cheek, parted lips, and eyes that burned in their sad intensityand glistened with unshed tears. i _ , “Think i” She flung herself down beside her friend once more, and, burying her face in the fold of Madam’s flowing gown, gave way to a burst of tears. _ For many moments thé sobs shook her frame, and Madam sat quietly, passing her hands caressingly over the bowed head, 144 ' A LOST WITNESS. and letting the storm rage on. At last the sobbing became fainter, then ceased altogether, and'only long shuddering sighs were heard. Finally, she lay quite still, with her arms clasp- ing her friend’s knees, and suffered her tear-stained face to be dried upon Madam’s soft handkerchief. The lady still sat patiently caressing the humbled head, when, after many minutes of silence, the girl sighed heavily and breathed out, in disjointed syllables, her friend’s name. “Conny 1’ ’ ‘.‘ Yes, my dear.” “ Conny, listen. When we left London—I didn’t think— I didn’t think, surely—that he was serious. “Serious? He was always sincere, child ; from the very first moment. Why, Fabrice, you ought to know, girl as you are, that such a man as Sir Felix Wyntoun could not trifle.” ‘ Fabrice sighed heavily. “I suppose I ought. . But, Conny, I 'want to believe,-I want you to make him believe, that if I had known, if I had been sure, that he would follow me here, I would have tried to prevent it, I would have forbidden it.” “‘Fabrice ! Nonsense, child 1” “ Yes, I would. I—I am sure that I would. I must ‘have done it.” ' “ Fabrice, what are you saying? A1e you going to refuse him now ?” The girl raised‘her head with a weary motion. “ He must ' not ask me. You must not let him ask me, Conny.” i ’ Madam Congreve rung her hands despairingly. “ Oh, child ! child !” she cried, “ do you think I can con- trol him now? It is too late, Fabrice. You must hear him and answer him. There is no other way.” “ IN TROUBLE. IN DANGEB.” 145 Again the ‘girl’s head went down upon Madam’s lap. “Oh!” she moaned, “this is so hard! Conny, you have been his friend ; be mine now. Don’t let him talk to me of this. Tell him he must not. Tell him anything i” ~ “ I wish I could tell him anything. reasonable.” There was a note of sternness in Madam’s tone. “ I wish you would trust me, Fabrice. What has come over you since yesterday ‘2 Would you have talked like this, or felt like this, two days ago ??’ Up again came the bent head, and in the eyes that met hers, Madam saw a new look—-—a look of terror, of startled remem- brance. And then, in a tone of deepest self-reproach. the girl answer:ed “ Oh, Heaven forgive me, I had forgotten—base, ungrate- ful little wretch that I am ! Conny,” catching her friend’s hand convulsively, “ you must have patience with me. You must let me think.” Again she hid he1 face in the friendly sl1elte1 of Madam’ s gown, and remained thus, silent, for many long moments. Then she looked up, passed a hand over her forehead, smoothed- the ruffled rings of hair above her brows, and, rising from her half-crouching, half-kneeling posture, resumed her place upon the hassock as at first. i “ Conny,” she began, quite humbly, “ bear with me for a little longer. I can’t tell you much—anything, in fact—at least, not now. Stop—oh, I know how well I can trust you i It isn’t that. I know 110w you would try to comfort me. But it mustn’ t be—not yet. It is punishment, not comfort, that I deserve. Conny, dear old C’onny, 'how long have you known me C)” . “Why, fo1 two good yea1s. What a. question, child. '” 10 v a 146 A LOST WITNESS. “ Yes, I know. But this is what I mean : Ask yourself what I have been in these two years ? Have I been good ? Have I been frank and true ? If you had a sister, would you like her to be what I have been, or seemed to be, in these two years ?” , _ , . Madam Congreve was too thoroughly English to relish a scene, even of a moderate and private sort, off the stage. But she was fond of Fabrice, and she felt sure that the girl’s distress Was genuine, though possibly, she thought, the cause was exaggerated. “Honestly, my dear,” she said, “in all the time I have known you,——and remember, I have known you under no or- dinary circumstances, no ordinary temptations,—y<_)u have been an honest, kind, true—hearted girl. You have been generous, unaffected and modest in the midst of flattery that would have turned the head of a saint. Do I need to tell you that in your profession you have, been a paragon, and in and out of it al- ways the lady? I should be very proud of such, a sister, my dear.” ‘ ’ Fabrice laid her cheek caressingly upon her friend’s hand, and then sat down beside her. “Iam grateful for your good opinion, Conny.” During Madam’s long speech she seemed to have. regained her compo- sure, and she now spoke like her usual self, although With un- usual gravity. “ In the eyes of the world, I may be all that you say, and in the eyes of Sir Felix VVyntoun also. You have known me tWo years, and that is sufficient for you. All that remains be- hind, you accept upon faith. But Sir Felix—for him, Should I listen to him, all that lies behind. these last years must be unveiled ; for him and for his family. You realize that?” “ Yes 3 I suppose so—of course.” i “ IN TROUBLE IN DANGER.” 147 Fabrice got up and stood before her friend. For a moment She was silent ; then she clasped her hands, lifted them above her head, and with an impetuous gesture flung them apart and let them fall at her side. i _ “ I wish with all my heart and soul,” she cried, “that I were not and never had been an actress !” Madam regarded her in silence, but with a shade of coldness in her glance. ‘ “ If I were Fabrice the milliner, Fabrice the mantua—ma— ker, Fabrice thepsaleswoman,” the girl went on, “ I might do as I would. But as La Belle Fabrice, favorite for the moment, my every act blazoned in the newspapers as soon as I have stepped before the public—I am alone.” Madam Congreve arose. “ One would think that you were rehearsing a new part, child,” she said. Fabrice caught her arm and walked beside. her slowly the length of the room. “ I may, never rehearse a new part, Conny. I am in trouble, and I may be in danger. Don’t ask me any ques- tions, please. Sometime, soon I hope, I may speak freely. I may need your help. But now, just 110w, oh, be patient with. me i” ' There was a sob in her throat, and Madam Congreve, alive to the present and all that was practical, turned upon her and put two firm hands on her shoulders. “ If we are going to drive with Sir Felix, you must not show him, and half New York, a pear of tear-swollen eyes. Haven’t I told you, child, that there’s nothing in this world worth cry-s, ing about. 9” “ Oh. "’ sighed Fabrice, “ if I could only make myself be—b 148 A LOST wrrnnss. lieve it !” She slipped from under her friend’s caressing hands. “ At any rate, I won’t cry now,” she said, and vanished be~ hind the tall screen. ‘ CHAPTER XX. PROPHETIC. Shortly before the time appointed by Sir Felix, as Madam Wasattiring herself for their drive, some one tapped gently at her door, and the voice of Fabrice called softly : “ Conny, may I come in ‘3” “ To be sure,/my dear.” FabriCe came in quickly and carefully closed the door. “ I have been thinking,” she said, in her old straightforward fashion, “ and I want you to do a little bit of diplomacy now. I want you to say a few words to Sir Felix, for me.” “ Oh!” Madam turned from the mirror with a beplumed bonnet poised upOn one hand. “I have not said that I would not receive Sir Felix’ ad- dresses,” the girl went on, smiling a little, “ nor that I would. But, as he has asked your help, you can offer him one more bit of good advice.” _ “ Um ph !” Madam turned back to the mirror and began put- ting on the plumed bonnet. ' “ I want you to tell him that he must not approach me upon this subject at present. I admit that I like Sir Fel1x, that I value his friendship, and that I am loath to lose it. But I can‘ RROPHETIG‘. 149' not put him in a position from Which he might wish to'with- draw. And I dare not make my own position worse, more painful, than it now is, by accepting him. I can explain noth- ing now. I may even need his advice, his help, very soon—~if. he will give it to me as a friend. Mind, it must be as a friend only. If he will agree to this, I shall be truly grateful. If not -—-—well, I cannot receive him upon any other terms.” ' Madam continued tying on her bonnet. It seemed tore- quire all of her attention. When it was done she turnedupon Fabrice. _ 4 “ All this is very hard upon an old woman who loves her ease,” she said, whimsically. “But I am committed to both of you. I accept the commission, of course. But, don’t tell me, Miss, that you don’ t know just what Sir Felix will say. We couldn’ t drive him ofl‘ the field.” “ We shall see,’ ’replied Fabrice ; but there was alittle smile hovering about the corners of her. lips, and she kept her eyes turned away. “ Tell him 111 your own way, Conny. Be as frank as you please” “ I will,” said Madam, beginningto lab01 with a long brown glove. I “ My deat, the situation will be perfectly faicical. It’s lucky that Sir Felix is Sir Felix. Fancy such a position with Mr. Quinlan in his place.” ‘ “ I can’t,” promptly replied Fabrice. “- With such a man it would be impossible.” . When Sii Felix came, Madam was awaiting him, and she lost no time in telling him of the result of her confeience with Fabricefadding all else she was told. “ It’s not worth while to try an appeal from this decision of hers 3 not yet. It’s a position that would try a saint. But if 150 A LOST WITNESS. you can accept it—if you’ve got the necessary faith, hope, and charity,——not to mention the p‘atience,—I’d be glad to have you stay in your old place.” . “ I shall do that,” he answered, promptly, “ since I must. And I mean to make the most of even the small advantage she gives me.” He smiled into her face, and she secretly rejoiced in his hopeful tenacity. “ I know. well enough thatI’ve not got the eloquence to win my case by my tongue; but if faith and hope and patience will win, she’ll have to give in sooner or later—or order me off the ground.” ‘ Madam’ s face blightened. “ Ah !” she began, impetuously, then checked herself and held out her hand. I ' When F abrice joined them a few minutes later, he was tell- ing the story of Leah Paget’s disappearance, but he checked his speech and took her hand with cordial frankness. “I have been telling your friend about Miss Puget,” he ex- plained. .“ Oh ! that poor girl ! You must tell it over for me.” “ Yes,” he said, when they were seated ; “ in fact, I have a message for you.” He took a letter from his pocket and opened it. “ It is from my friend, Max Talfourd,” he explained. “ It’s a sort of reply to a note Which I sent to report my success in doing a little commission for him. We’re good friends,” he added, in a half apologetic tone, “ and I suppose I must have mentioned my engagement with you, for he says here,”—-— re- ferring to the letter as if to refresh his memory,———“ he says I am to present his remembrances, and to explain to you his present position, and that you will understand why you have not seen him here. Talfourd is in deep trouble. It was not PROPHETIC. 151 .yet generally known, but Miss Leah Paget was his fiancée; And then in reply tonumerous sympathetic questions and ejacula- tions, he told the story, as he knew it, of Leah Paget’s disap- pearance and of Max Talfourd’s troubles. “I feel that I may give you these details,” he said. “ Of - course, the thing is bound to be circulated; that’s a pen- alty one pays for being in ‘ society.’ Besides, Talfourd has given me carte blanche, and I’ve already enlisted in his service. I’m bound to seehim through.” And he laughed as he turned his eyes upon Fabrice. “Who knows that I may not yet go in for some regular detective business of my own.” “Oh !” ejaculated Fabrice, ‘.‘ I only wish I could.” Sir Felix laughed again. . “I shouldn’t wonder if you would make. a good one,” he said. . ' Fabrice was, for the time, full of the subject of Leah Paget’s fate and of Max Talfourd’s troubles, and oblivious of her own. “I do not know Mr. Talfourd well,” she said, after some talk. “ I dined .with him, or rather, he was my 'vis—a-vis at a dinner once—and I never saw Miss Paget. But how sad and strange it is! You will keep us informed, Sir Felix— that is, as far as you may ‘3” _ He was only too ready to promise, and Madam took up the thread. . V ' “ Was any motive guessed at? Was there any theory?” Madam had read many novels, and was versed in mysteries, and she suggested one possibility after another, each_ more hid- eous than the last. , “Oh, I hope it will not turn out such an awfully lurid af- 152 A LOST WITNESS. fair, Madam. I confess, I’m not good at guessing, and there’s only One thing that suggests itself to me as probable.” “ And what is that?” I I “ Blackmail.” . “ Blackmail!” . Fabrice started and then closed her lips. “ Yes,-——-getting hold of the young lady and keeping her imprisoned until the father consents to come down handsomely for her ransom.” “ Suchi things have happened, of course,” mused Madam. “ In fact, blackmail is heard of, in one Way and another, too often.” “ Yes,” he replied. “ It’s safer than highway robbery, and some of our rascals are finding it out.” “ It shouldn’t be. safer,” said Madam, severely. “ No, it shouldn’t. Audit wouldn’t be if the parties vic— timized would only keep their heads. Everything is on their side,—the law, public opinion and all that, even when they’re guilty. And when they’re innocent—yet they say that an in— nocent man is just as apt to be scared into giving blood-money as a guilty one, on. the ground, perhaps, that every man has something he would rather not see advertised, I suppose. He submits on that general principle.” “ And~how,” asked Fabrice, slowly, -“ how is it when it is a woman ‘2” _ “ A woman ‘2” Sir Felix turnedtoward her quickly. “ A ~ woman who submits to blackmail, innocent or guilty, simply sacrifices herself. She might as well commit suicide.” “ You are right there,” said Madam, rising. “ If I were the guiltiest woman living, I would risk all other dangers—— yes, dare them—before I would put myself into the p0wer of the blackmailer.” ’ Paopnnrtc. 153 When they came out upon the street», Fabrice glanced up and down as she stood beside the carriage, While Madam was being helped to her place ; and as Sir Felix ofi'ered his hand, her eyes. encountered those of a person who was approaching them at a rapid pace. It was a woman in a shabby dress,—-a dark-faced, hooked- nosed, black—eyed woman. As she met the gaze of Fabrice she hastened her pace; but there was neither’ haste nor hesita- tion in the movements of Fabrice as she gave her hand to her' escort and took her place beside Madam. “Do you know, dear,” said that lady, looking back over her shoulder as they rolled away, “ do you know ”I almost fancied that that ugly woman beckoned to you. Really, she is. looking after us yet.” “ Is she ?” returned the little actress, carelessly. “ I d are say, it’s your new bonnet, Conny.” i ‘ Fabrice was in good spirits during that drive,—was so much her usual bright, sparkling, self-possessed yet simple-mannered self, that Madam was filled with wonder and Sir Felix with delight. They talked of the coming “ season,” Fabrice’s season, when she would make her debut ,- and Sir Felix pre- dicted a triumph. Q “ I am going to send you a basket,” he said,lightly ; “ some of our own English roses. I am thinking of organiz- ing a claque.” “A claque, indeed 1” she laughed. “ Fie, Sir Felix! do you think that I shall need it?” Madam laughed. “ When it comes to that,” she said, drily, “ you may safely trust Manager Horton.” They had been driving northward on Fifth Avenue. It was .just the hour when all society was out of doors, and they en- 154 A LOST WITNESS. ‘ tered the Park at the scholars’ .. gate. The place was a perpet- ual delight to Madam Congreve, although she never failed to introduce Hyde Park, making more or less invidious compar- ' isons, and ringing the praises of the Malland the Bow. She was an observant pleasure-seeker, and soon she broke in upon her own discourse with a sharp exclamation. “ Look, Fabrice ! look, Sir Felix ! Didn’t you say that you had never seen her ? There is the Mysterious Beauty—-—there, upon that tall mottled gray. Yes, that is-Hortense N ovalis.” .Both Sir Felix and Fabrice looked as she bade them. . “ Yes,” said Fabrice, quietly, “it is she, and—your glass, Conny—-,— is that not Mr. Quinlan beside her ‘2” They were riding’away from the carriage, the beautiful wo- man, with her glowing brunette loveliness, set of by a habit of shining black. At her corsage, she Wore rich crimson - roses, of the very hue of her full smiling lips, through which shone‘two rows of gleaming tiny teeth. Beside her, looking his usual cool and graceful self, and managing This powerful horse with careless-seeming skill, was Frederick Quinlan. . Sir Felix gazed after them until they were lost in the crowd. “She’s a splendid creature,” he‘said, addressing Madam Con- greve. . i “She’s magnificent,” said that lady. “I never saw a finer equestrian picture,” said Fabrice. “ How well they both ride.” “She’s the. grandest brunette I ever saw,” said Madam Congreve. “ F abrice,'you ought to have her for the rival part in your new play. What a superb foil for you 1’ f I There was an angry gleam in the eyes that turned upon the speaker, and a flush on the girl’s fair cheek, as she said, with energy :- A emommma 155 ‘7 Do not suggest such a thing, please. . Sooner than appear with M’lle Hortense Novalis, I would throw up- my engage- ment, and bury myself among the Digger Indians!” ' Alas, Fabrice ! CHAPTER XXI. A BLACKM-AILER. 011 the following morning La Belle Fabrice was, to all seeming, hersrlf again. and Madam Congreve noted the fact ' with much satisfaction. “ You gave me a shock, child,” she said, as the two sat at breakfast in F abrice’s own boudoir. d“ When one has settled downto the conviction that she knows her friend thoroughly, such a series of new phases as you have treated me to of late is—is a moral earthquake.” “ To tell the truth, Coiiiiy,” replied the girl, frankly, “I have surprised myself. But what kind of a character had you invented for me, I should be glad to know?” “ A ve1y independent, a very self- contained and courageous chaxacter, my dea1, is yours by nature, and, I should think, by cultivation also.” , ' “By experience is better, 0011.” She helped herself to] a morsel, andturned the conversation into other channels. They were still seated at the breakfast-table, although the 153 'y ' A LOST WITNESS. meal had been finished sometime, when Fahrice’s maid ap—- proached her and said, in a low tone : “There is a woman in the corridor, Mademoiselle. She says she must see you, and she won’t go away.” “What kind of a Woman ‘2” asked Fabrice, composedly. “ An ugly woman, very shabby, and with little black eyes. Shall I make her go away ?” ' “You may show her in, and you may remain in the ante- room. See that no one else comes while she is here.” The look of astonishment upon the face of the retreating maid Was reproduced in the countenance that Madam turned upon Fabrice. ‘ “ I thought you had vowed a quarantine against'agents and beggar,s child.” Fab1ice laughed an odd, hard little laugh. “You know your promise, Conny,” she said. “You are going to stand by me ‘2” i “ Going to-—- I . “ I do not think I am to be solicited, Con,” she went on ; “ I am going to be blackmailed, and I want you to stay just whe1e you are.’ . She spoke 1n a low tOne and pushed her chair a little away f1om the table, but she did not 1ise as ashabby woman, whom Madam instantly recognized as the one who had stared after them as, they drove away with Sir Felix, entered the room. The visitor halted a moment under the swinging portiere, which the servant held back for her to pass, and then came slowly forward, her eyes fixed upon Fabrice, a slow cunning smile widening her countenance, a smoky gleam in her heady, black eyes. I She paused directly before Fabrics and seemed to hesitate. A BLACKMA ILER. _ 1.57 Evidently, something was not to her liking. She glanced fur- tively at Madam sitting serenely at the table, supping-luxuri- ously at a cup of choc.l1111ta1ily ‘2” » Sh Felix did not look seriously grieved at this information. - “ I hardly think S11,” smiled ‘Madam. “ She has tabooed -him,lalong with Hortense N ovalis.” “ I—I don’t quite understand.” Madam glanced at him sharply. “ Do you mean to tell me that you don’t know—that you haven’t hea1d his name coupled with that of Hortense Nov- alis. 9” ‘ “ If I have,” he said ,returning l1e1 look 111 kind,“ I have not given it a second thought. I have supposed M1. Quinlan to be an ardent admirer of Fabriceyand a little too much in earnest.” Madam laughed.“ I don’t pretend to understand it,” she said.“ Your supposition was undoubtedly true.” ' “ Was ‘2” Madam laughed again. “ I can’t discuss so delicate a P0int )1 ' L , “ You must remembe1, ” he said, then, ‘-‘ that my time has been, as you may say, divided. Nea1ly all my time that you could not give an account of, I have passed with my f1iend , Talfourd. ” 1 “ Yes, yes ! And whati'of that strange case ? is there any news?” ' d i “ Nothing very satisfactmy. “ How strange! And the police leally at WOlk ‘2’ “ They” a1e indeed working faithfully. It’s a most uncom-v mon case.” OVERBURDENED. 207 “ Do you know,” said Madam, gravely, “that I am some times glad to have this . case of Leah Paget’s discussed among us. - Fabrice is deeply interested in it. Every partiCular that you bring here, or that she gets out of Mr. Talfourd, seems to interest her so; to take her out of herself, as you might say. And she talks it all over with me when you are gone. ' Did she tell you that we have had a call from Talfourd per-e .9” “ N 0. Has Mr. Talfourd really called, then ?\ Iknow he admires her acting. May I ask*——” ‘ “About his call? It was three days ago, I think. . He stayed a very long time. He began by talking of herself and her art, of course—~but he ended by talking of his son and Leah Paget.” H “Could you guess. at his object, if he had one?” “ I think he had an object. I think—” Madam checked herself suddenly. She had heard the door . beyond the joortz'ere flung open, and in another instant Fabrice appeared between the parted curtains, her face flushed, her eyes gleaming with excitement -—a letter in her hand. CHAPTER XXVIII. OVERBURDEN ED. As Fabrice came hastily forward to greet Sir Felix, the let- ter fell from her nervous fingers, directlv at the feet of Madam Congreve. ' . , The lady:~ picked it up and gave it back with a careless, un- sq... H... . -_.._... ..... ""7"" 208 A LOST WITNESS. Observant air. But when, in a moment, Fabrice made her ex- cuses and left them for a time, she turned to Sir Felix, witha perplexed face. “Something has happened,” she said.“ She seems unusu- ally excited, don’t you think?” “ I thought she seemed unusually elated.” Madam considered a moment.“ Perhaps you are right. Yes, I think you are. But that letter—I did not see the name upon it, or rather, I did not 1ead it. But I know what it is.” “ The. name ?” I “No; the letter. It’s the one she wrote that day, using the envelope of the hotel, ; don’t you remember ? It's the same letter. I saw enough to be sure of that.” “The same letter!” repeated the young Englishman, be- Wildered. “ I—I don’t understand.” “ It’s her letter—~the one she wrote and posted—leturned to her.” ‘ ‘ ‘ When Fabrice rejoined them, there was a new look on her face,—-——a look of animation,—a look, Sir Felix thought, of re- newed hope. She was eagei and 1estless, and, presently, she broke 1n upon some long sentence, with an apologetic little ges- ture. “Pardon me, Sir Felix, do you know the name and address of any good, trustworthy lawyer, here ?” Sir Felix could not quite suppress his surprise at the ques- tion, but he answered promptly : “ I met, yesterday, in Talfourd’s library, a legal gentleman, Who had dropped in upon some business; an elderly, and, I thought, a very kindly man. He is the Talfourds’ family ad- viser. I talked with him a little, and he gave me his ca1d. ” “You have it with you?” ' OVERBURDENED. ‘ 209 " “ I haven’t it with me, but I can give you his name. I took note of him because I fancied I should like to ask of him, some day, a little information concerning the laws of this big town, and the country as well. Mr. Talfourd, senior, reCom- mended him to me as 'a man worth knowing.” “And his name 9” again asked Fabrice. “Yes; pardon me. It’s a Mr. Clarkson. His rooms are on Greenwich Avenue—sorry I can’t recall the number—near the Jefferson Market Court.” ' “That can be easily found.” Fabrice was upon her feet. “Sir Felix, I 'want to see this lawyer, just for a brief consul- tation. May I trouble you—” As she faltered, and finally stopped, Sir Felix arose also. “ I‘o go with you 9” he asked, eagerly. “‘ May I?” “ Will you introduce me to him? I would be so grateful. Can you go with me now, at once. 9” “ I am at your service, now and always,” he said, with eager gallantry. ‘ “ Shall I call a carriage? How soon will you be ready 9” ' I MadamIUongreve had not been long alone when another vis- itor was announced. This time it was Manager Horton. “ Fabrice has just gone out with Sir Felix,” she explained. 'And then, as he continued to stare hard at her; she fell into his mood. “ Something has happened. What is it?” He changed his seat, taking one nearer her own. “ How much influence have you over Fabrice ?” he began, ahluptly. ' “ Very little, I am beginning to think.” ‘Umphi .1 D11 vou know 1111- “91511115 for lefusing to have. anything to do with Hmtense Novali 1s 9” . 14 210 A Los'r WITNESS. “ I can’t help you to Fabrice’s reasons,” she said, in a tone which he understood. “ Are you going to tell me what has occurred ‘2” 7 “That’s whatI came for. For a beginning, Janet Mar- shall has broken down.” I “ Poor girl ; I must go to see her.” » “ Well, don’t go just yet,” he said, testily. “ I have just . had a long call from Van Voort.” “ Who is Van Voort ‘2” ‘ “ Van Voort, of the Grand ; Van Voort, the veteran.” “Su1ely! Yes, the Imp1essa11o “ Well,” said he, g. loomily, “ he is going to take up the Novalis.” “ He. '” She started.“ That means opposition to Fabrice. It means—Quinlan.” “ I don’t know what it means, and don’t care. The fact is enough fo1 me. I’ m convinced he’s 111 ea1nest. And that means a big loss, to me.’ Then he plunged into a highly-flav01ed and very ene1get1c statement of the case. - “ Now, don" t you see, ” he said, in conclusion,“ that if Fa- b1ice will consent to give Hortense the 1ival pa1t in the ‘Sweethearts,’ eve1ything will be settled. Janet’s place will be filled, and Fahrice and Hortense‘together will make an im- mense team. If she refuses, they will openpthe Other house, and we will have strong rivalry. There isn’t an actress in the city, or anywhere else, that can fill Janet’s place, except Hortense, without letting the part down. There’s no one strong enough to take the part without weakening it. And that means to kill the play. Hortense looks the part.” “ I doubt if she plays it as well as poor Janet.” OVERBURDENED. 211 “ So do I. But she’ll draw, it she doesn’t play it half as 'well. She—she’s been very cleverly advertised.” “ I should think so ! Quite too cleverly,” Said Madam, with ma1ked disgust. “ Oh, don’t let us have any of that. Will you talk with Fa- in ice. 9” “ I’ll tell her what you have said. But you’d much better talk with he1 yourself. Doesn’ t it strike you that it’s a little strange that this woman, who can command her own manager, her own theatre, and her owi1 audience, should be so bent upon playing a secondary part in Fabrice’s play ?” “ I’ll tell you what Van Voort hinted to me. We’re very good friends, Van Voort and I, and he doesn’t conceal the fact that he’s been offered big inducements. He says that Novalis prefers to play with Fabrice, and his idea is that she hopes by so doing to get the run of society, as Fabrice has done. I’ve talked with Hortense, however, and I say frankly that there’s a mystery behind it all. She says she doesn’t know Fabrice, and yet'she hates her.” “ Well,” said Madam, with a sigh, “ I don’t understand all this, but it’s my belief Fabrice won’t hear of it.” “If she won’t,” said he1 Manager,“ she’ll make me the loser by fifty thousand dolla1s.” fine to her promise,1 Madam put the case to Fabrice, as it had been put to her. And, true to her predictions, Fabrice shook her head. “ I’ll give up my contract at any moment,” she said, wearily. “I’d be glad to do it. But play upon the same boards with Hortense Novalis‘? I will not!” According to her arrangement with Frederick Quinlan, Hortense Novalis had appeared in his company that night, in ,212- ' 1 ‘ {A Los'r WITNESS. a proscenium box, and looked on while Fabrice sung and laughed, smiled and pirouetted, and charmed he1 audience, as .she could so well. And if Fabrice had showed heiself equal to the occasion ,by . seeming quite unconscious of the dashing brunette, Hortense had shown herself really an able actress by her conduct throughout the evening. .PosSiblyv her manner was expected to have its effect upon Fabrice, as well as upon her audience, for Hortense was all smiling admiration, applauding at the right moment, with great enthusiasm, and finally leaning ever ,the Cushioned rail and flinging at Fab11oes feet a splendid bouquet, which had been oOnspicuoUs in her hands throughout the evening. ‘ , And he1e Fabrice had her opportunity. , Bowing before the 'audienpe, her arms filled with flowers, the little Comedienne had Eta1 ted back a pace as the bouquet struck the stage so near he1 feet, and seemed to check an involuntary glance upward. .Then’, witha beaming smile, she had f1 eed one hand ,by trans- ferring its burden of bloom to the opposite 31m, stooped, caught, fup the bouquet, pressedit to her cheek with a dainty gesture, and then, lifting her face. to the balcony boxes, swept it with a bright glance, as if she were looking for. the donor there. Then she bowed low once more, and without a single glance in the direction of the box Where sat Hortense and her esooxt, tripped from the stage. ~ “ Tell me how I oeuld have doneiiotherwise ?” said F abri‘oe,‘ ' in her dressing-room, to Madam Congreve. “ It was a chal- lenge, Thrown as it was, I had to see it. If I had ignOred it, the slight Would have been patent to all the house. The ‘whole' thing was made as conspicuous as possible. If I haant takenj it 1111,,th‘e: thing Would have been exPloited in the 99W.5PaP§¥3§ OVERBURDENED. 213 tomorrow. As it was, nobody is the wiser, except the lady and her escort, and our two or three friends.” "‘ I can easily see what is coming, my dear,” said Madam, re- gretfully. “ It is going to be said that you are jealous of Hor- tense Novalis.” 7 i ’ Fabrice looked annoyed. , , "‘ I suppose so,” she said, gloomily. “Conny, I’d give half I possess never to set my foot upon this stage again. I’ve a mind to fall sick. Janet has been my understudy, and I think she might rally if she were given a leading part.” “ Don’t talk nonsense, child.” . “Then stop talking about Hortense Novalis,” the girl cried. “ Between you, you are making my life a burden !” Early the next morning, a scavenger found in the alleyju-st underneath La Belle Fabrice’s dressing-room Window, a splen— did bouquet of hot-house roses. ‘ The first appearance of Hortense Novalis in the proscen- ium box was not her last. She came the next night, and the next, and always she was‘smiling and ready With her applause. Sometimes Frederick Quinlan was beside her, and sometimes she came alone, or with only an attendant, who sat in the shadow. . I , Upon the last night of her appearance, she was accompanied by a womanr—a small elderly woman, with very white hair, arranged in elaborate puffs, and crowned with a fanciful com— bination of ribbon and lace ; with a gorgeous befringed wrap about her shoulders; with her dark face ’well powdered, and her beady black eyes half concealed behind gold-rimmed eye- glasses. 1 At sight Of this woman, Fabrice, in the midst of a passion- ate love-song, started, and then, controlling herself by an effort, 214 ' , A LOST WITNESS. waited for a chance to 'pass near the box.” Yes, she was not mistaken. ”The woman, who was evidently in thecapacity of chaperone to Hortense Novalis, was easily recognized. . “My dear,” said. Madam Congreve, as they were rolling homeward in their carriage that night, “did you observe the woman in the box with the Novalis ‘2” “ I did,” said Fabrice. “And did you recognize her ‘2” “‘ Did you ?” parried the girl. “I recognized her; yes. I recognized in that bewigged and befringed old woman, yOur soiled and shabby blackmailer of not long since.” I Fabrice was silent. , “ I can’t fancy what all this means, my dear,” Madam went on, kindly. “But it makes me very anxious. If there is anything that connects you with that woman Novalis, you will need help sooner or later.” . It had been a long and harrassing week for Fabrics. She was weary and sore at heart, and the kind words of her friend were as the last straws to her already almost unbearable bur- den. She threw out her arms in a gesture of utter weakness and abandOnment of grief. , “I may need help,” she said, in a stifled voice. “Oh, I do need help ; I need it sorely. I have needed it long, It may need it yet more; but if I do,'if Icome to worse straits,”—it seemed to Madam that she was speaking through tightly shut teeth—“ so too will Hortense Novalis.” SURRENDER. . 215 CHAPTER XXIX. . SURRENDER. The constant drip, drip, of water wears out a stone, and La Belle Fabrice was only a woman, and a woman fast growing weak through her own despair. during the two weeks that fol- lowed the scene last narrated. Yet she went and came, in the sight of the world and her public, as usual. But those who loved her most saw the change growing in her. i ' ‘ Alone with Madam Congrevo, she was quiet and reserved, but she avoided téte—d—tétes. She seemed, also, to dislike being quite alone. With Sir Felix she was her best self. She never avoided him now. She talked with him f1 eely , she let him take her. wherever he would. 1 i MadamCongreve noted that she no longer watched for her letters, or t1ok interest in them when they came. And Sir Felix observed that after her fi1st call upon Lawyer Cla1kson, ‘ she did not Speak of him 01 visit him again One day, as they were riding slowly 111 the Park, he ventured upon a remonstrance. j “ Will you let me Say something about you1self?” he asked, gently, looking down at he1 quiet, wea1ied face, from Whith the smile had altogether faded.“ Only about youlself, mind. ” “ What 1s it?” she asked, rousing herself. ' ,“ You are wearing you1 self out trying to Oppose your man- _ ager and his wishes in regard to Mademoiselle Novalis. Why , do you do 1t?” ’ ' 216 A Los'r WITNESS. “ What!” she looked up at him quickly. “ Would you ad- vise me to—” She stopped suddenly, flushing painfully, and turned away her face. “ Will you let me advise you ‘2” he asked, eagerly. “ Will you listen to me ‘2” i “ Goon,” she said, her face still turned away. “ You will pardon me, but I have heard much of this thing ;‘ more, perhaps, than you think.” I have heard of it from your manager, from Madam, from Quinlan, and at the clubs; I don’t know this woman, but they say she has really been at actress. If I were yOu, I would take a purely busi- ness view of this matter. A man does not allow a personal prejudice to harm his business prospects. Why should you? Your position, bothFas an artiste and as a lady, is secured. This woman can really do no more harm than can any of the others of your company, and you don’t fear them.” “ I am not afraid of her,” said the girl, quickly. “ Certainly not ; but you know how often we are misunder- stood. Could you not bring yourself to let this woman strut her little hour upon your stage ? Candidly, I do not see why you may not meet this woman, as an artiste, and ignore her, when the play is played out, as a woman.” “ I don’t think that is what she wants,” said Fabrice. “ You need not‘care what she wants. You are under en- gagement to Manager Horton ; why not extricate yourself as easily as you can ? It won’t be for long.” “. N0,” said Fabrice, drearily, “ it won’t be for long. Oh, it’s a very hard position in which to be placed. If I refuse, they will say that I am jealous, or afraid of my‘artistic lau- rels. I If I consent—” She stopped abruptly and shook her head. “ It’s useless,” she said ; “ I cannot consent.” SURRENDER. 21’? Later, she told Madam Congreve of this conversation. » “ Ah,” said Madam, drawing a long breath,“ what a fine fellow he 18 l” “ Yes,” Fabrice answered, drearily, “ he 1s all that.” Then flinging he1 hand out passionately, “ Just as if I did not know that he’s flying in the face of all his prejudices ; as if I couldn’t see that he advises me in this way because he’s anxious to see things made smooth for me at any price.” p “I think you’re wrong there, my dear. I don’t think Sir Felix would speak an untruth, or do a wrong, even for your sake. I think he wanted to make you understand that you could do this thing without altering your position in his re- gard, without contamination.” The gi1l laughed a strange, weird laugh, in sheer derision of 'self. ' “I think he’s very sorry for you, dear,” added Madam, gently. Sudden] y, Fabrice flung herself into the nearest chair and be- gan to sob. 1 “ Oh,” she cried, “ now you are all going to begin -pitying me. I won’t haveit! I hate it I “ Fabrice l” “ I do l” Then, aftera moment of sobbing, she sat erect and lifted'a little, clenched fist. “ Oh ! how I hate that creature Hortense l” “ Poor child l” , “ I do I” springing up suddenly. “ If you don’t stop, I shall do something awful.” “ You’re getting morbid, my dear ; that’s my oplnion. Af- tCI all, this is not a life and death matter.” . “ Isn’t it ‘2” turning upon he1 fie1cely. " How do you know mt ?” 218 ' A LOST WITNESS. . As the day wore on, Fabricé continued to be besieged by Manager Horton and others. She had ceased to argue with them 3‘ she answered only with a curt negative. And now Madam fancied that shesaw another change. “ She seems now to be always looking for some one, to be expecting a caller, who never comes. When a card is pre— sented, she takes it up eagerly, and then the look of blank dis- appointment that overspreads her face is sad to see.” Sir Felix sighed. “It’s wonderful 110w she keeps up in public,” he said. “ There’s no change Visible there.” ' “ Oh,” sighed Madam, “ that’s a part of our trade.” Still the days slipped by, until the fourth week of Fabrice’s engagement was approaching its end. And the fifth week was to open with the new comedy, “ Two Sweethearts.” All had been quiet, unnaturally quiet, for days ; and on Saturday morning, Fabrice said, suddenly , to her friend,“ I am going to see Janet Mar.shall ” She went; and when she1eturned, Madam asked: “ How did you find Janet?” Fabrice turned upon her with m01e spirit in he1 face than Madam had seen for a long time. “ Janet has been bought,” she said, energetically. “ She says she is too ill to play, but she is not. If I should take it into my head to jump off a bridge, or elope, J anct would come to the Horton rescue, and ,- with the aid of M’lle Novalis, could . pull him through.” “ Still morbid, my dear,” said Madanl. . Shortly after luncheon, Manager Horton appeared. He looked pale and anxious ; his air of command and bluster had [totally left him. He was subdued and melancholy. Once more he laid the case before Fabrice. He had just ’ had'a visit from Van Voort, who had held things in check as -.bzbvfl. V .O‘izoi‘; an. ‘24, at.— ' '.~‘.Oif \‘ --“¢. “.9 t: ‘~ \\\\ .‘ ‘\\\\\ ‘J‘K‘\ .‘__‘_..__--_ ‘— 3—— \ a. \\ ‘ _L\\T‘\ \ “ 1‘}... §wds \_.€ . 2.- é Vii ‘ '9 "“"5‘.\ “'2' 'u\ "a l' V ‘ 7”". I I- " .v u W'llAfl “vhfflulil'l . ‘ . \ -' - " 5.1“- }; ‘erfim‘ ' uni“ . .’ ""15! will LI 93' ' 2‘5" um. ' ' ' ‘4. a ’ ‘ "‘ 3‘» 7, A.-— \ve' VA g. 3.“; ‘6}: A 1?“ - s .v , Ic4a_ev=-:-::~r-..-.{-=: 4-. - .IK’£I/S{€Zi(’~lg;- * i111~ :0; "zm/gll’.{%gig!koafl . . - "' [I'll-ca»). Ollr’v - ”-7 “OH! HOW I HATE THAT CREATURE, HORTENSE! ” Page 217. 220 A LOST mamas. long as he could, to oblige him. It was too late to parley fur- ther ; he must have answer before seven o’clock. If Hortense I did not appear 011 Monday next, in “Two Sweethearts,” she would appear just eight days later, in her own 'English com-V edy company, and in her own house. Everything was in, train. Money was free as w1ter. “ If this h 1ppens,” the Manager said,“ I shall be a heavy loSe1 ; you know thz.1t ” “ I’ll be a sha1e1 1n yourloss'es,” said Fabrice. “ I can af~ foxd it. ” , , I “ In Heaven’ s name,” he burst out,“ what do you expect? to gain by this Obstinacy. 9” - “ I have told you,’ ’she retorted, “ that I will not enter into a rivalry with that woman, and that’s what she wishes.” “ Oh, indeed. ' Do you expect to cancel with me, then ‘2” “ Certainly not.” “ I’d like to know how much better ofl you’d be with your r1va11y. It’ll be that to the hilt if she opens at another house. If you play together, the thing won’t .be so marked, and may be made to appear even amiable. If you play in two houses, it will be simply war. It maybe fun for you. You have heard about the boy and the frog, I suppose?” 'Fab’rice got up and stood before him. "‘I am getting very tired of this,” she said, wearily._ “I want to go out now. At six o’clock I will give you my an- sw'er. But I want to tell you this : I am not deceived ; Janet Marshall'can appear if she likes.” ' Fabrice took her maid with her, and went away in a car— riage. In‘ an hour she was back. It was almost five o’clock. “ Tell Mr. Horton, When he comes, Conny,” she said, “ that I yield the point. But I won’t see him tonight.” I UNDER SURVEILLANCE. 221 CHAPTER XXX. UNDER SURVEILLANCE. . The Sunday evening’s issue of the “ Call” contained three paragraphs of interest to our story,-and of various degrees of interest to many readels. Perhaps that which most attracted attention from the ardent itheatre-goer 1n sealch of a new sensation, was the announce- ment, brief but conspicuoust placed, of the appearance upon the same stage, and in roles equally strong, rival roles in fact,— of La Belle Fabrice, “the accomplished little English Come- ‘dienne, who had already made her conquest, and of M’lle Hor- tense Novalis, an actress of Continental fame, and a woman who was admitted to be one of the most superb and dashing brunettes that had ever been seen upon the AmeriCan stage.” Upon the same page was another parag1aph: — It is now more than four weeks since we first chronicled the disap- pearance of Miss Leah Paget, so lately an ornament to our best society, and the mystery which surrounds her fate only deepens as time goes‘on. In spite of all that has been done, all that human skill, it would seem, could do ; in the face of the best efi‘orts of our police and detective forces ; notwithstanding that a small fortune has already been spent in prosecuting this searCh,-—,—no clue has yet been obtained. The case is strangely bafliing. Theposition of the parties most interested, makes it seem doubly strange that here, in the heart of a great city, and in broad daylight almost, a young lady should disappear from her own threshold, as it were, more effectually than if the earth had opened to swallow her up. Whatever may have been the theories, suspicious or beliefs in the beginning, and they were of all shades and kinds, there 222 ’ A Loan WITNESS. is now, in the minds of those who are best qualified to judge, no doubt but that Leah Paget has been foully dealt with ; that behind this mys- tery lies a monstrous wrong. The search fora clue to this mystery is not yet abandoned. All that wealth and skill can do will still be done. But the trail is dark, and the end, we fear, is doubt. This paragraph, like the first, was one of momentary interest, at least, to the belles, who had known Leah Paget, and to all upper tendom. It, or the fact it set forth, was a thing to wring the hearts of Leah Paget’s friends, for it was sadly true. - Upon another page of the “ Call” was this paragraph, also of considerable interest to society: We learn, just as we go to press, that LOrd Louis Barham, Earl of Harwold, a young English nobleman of great wealth, has arrived by the steamer Seythz'a, to join his friend, Sir Felinyntoun, who is already well known and liked in society. It is said that the two young noble- men, after a season in New York, intend making an extended tour of the States. 7 V The steamer Scythia had arrived in New York on, Saturday night, and about the hour when Hortense Novalis learned that she had conquered, and was to appear with La Belle Fa2 brice. ' Max Talfourd was aroused from a troubled morning dream. to read a note from Sir Felix Wy'ntoun. “ My dear fellow,” so ran the note, “ you will find it worth your while to come to me at once. Don’t stop for breakfast; A person whom you Will be glad to see, awaits you here—w, Wyntoun.” In just half an hour Max Talfourd alighted from his coupe at. the door of his friend’s hotel. Sir Felix greeted him with a look so radiant, afid a hand clasped so reassuringly, that Max suddenly found his heart beat—- UNDER SURVEILLANCE. 223 ‘ ing hard against his waistcoat. Until this morning he had not been conscious that he hadbeen pinning so much faith upon his friend’s praises and prophecies, nor hoping so much from an unseen stranger, although, for more than a week, both had bisen anxiously waiting the arrival ofthe man who arose as Max entered, and came promptly forwa1d when Sir Felix said: “Of course, you guessed whom you were to meet, Talfour.d Mr. Ferrars, this is my friend, the Max Talfourd of whom we have been speaking.” ‘ The two young men, so different, yet so alike in manliness of bearing «and directness of gaze, shook hands without speak- ing, while each scanned the other’s face. i “ I am going to tell you this much,” said Sir Felix to Max, as the three seated themselves about the waiting-table: “ I have been snubbed. I am going to give you warning ; don’t give him a chance at yourself, Talfourd.” Again the eyes of Max met those of Ferrars, full of grave inquiry. “ For reasons which I need not explain now,” began Fer- rars, with a nod toward Sir Felix, but addressing Max, “ I hold myself so much the friend of this roving young man here, that I am so foolish as to come sailing the seas at his beck and call. And for no better personal reason than that he declares he wants me tremendously. Now that I am here, he coolly dedicates me to your service, M1. Talfourd. Seriously, Sir Felix has explained, partly by correspondence, the nature of your trouble—not the particulars, you understand._ I prefer not to have them just yet. But—I am a man of straightfor- ward methods, Mr. Talfourd—and I begin by saying this: Unless you are willing to take all things for granted, and-let me manage this afiair entirely in my own way, I cannotiprom- ise to aid you.” 224 i A Low WITNESS. “Am I to understand this,” began Max, eagerly, ‘3 that, upon your own terms, you will aid us ?” - Ferrars nodded. “ Then,” said Max, his Whole aspect brightening, “I can sleep tonight hopefully. I, am only too glad to put this busi- ness into your hands, and trust all to you.” Ferrars scanned his face keenly. “ Do; you say so much,” he asked,“ solely upon the author- it} of this fellow?” putting a hand affectionately upon the shoul- der of Sir Felix. “Sir Felix Wyntoun’s bare word would have been suffi- cient for me in any emergency,” Max answered, gravely. “ But ”in this case, which is more than life and death to me, and which involves others besides myself, a life far mo1e precioUs than my own, I have informed myself 111 all possible ways. I could not do otherwise.” F e11ars half arose, and, leaning across the table, again prof— fered his hand to Max. , “ I like that,” he said. “ I hope I may See my way clear tohelp you.” ' “ I like it, too,” cried Sir Felix, heartily. “ But breakfast will help us all, perhaps, to see our way clearer.” He- arose and rang the bell When b1eakf'ast was even, and the three had settled'them— selves about the table, Sir Felix smokinga solitary cigar, Francis Ferrars said . “ Now, Mr. Talfourd, I am ready to listen.” “To what?” asked Max, quietly. “ To your story of the disappearance.” Max turned a questioning face upon Sir Felix. _“ I have heard it once from our friend,” said Ferrars, un-J UNDER SURVEILLANCE. 225 de1standingly. “ But I have learned from experience that no two people, be they the best of friends, and seemingly one in opinion, look at events f1 om just the same point of View. Tell me the story, please, from the beginning, and 1n .your own way, just as minutely as if I were hearing it for the first time.” . [Somewhat surprised, and yet well pleased by the straight- forWard and self-reliant manner of the English detective, Max began his story, and, while he told it with every intention of being as minute as narrator could be, he soon found that his own idea of detail, and the idea of Ferrars, differed widely. The Englishman interrupted him with embarrassing frequency, often leading'him back from some given point to ground, which, it seemed to Max, had been already exhausted, and asking questions that struck him as being very pertinent, almost im- pertinent, puzzling, embar1assing, and 1r.1elevant “Thank you,” said Ferrars, when all was done. “ I begin to feel enlightened. Should I enter into this business, Mr. Talfourd, I shall probably look to you for much of my 1nfo1ma- ' tion and help.” “ Should you i” exclaimed Max. “ I thought that was set- tled.” . ' “ I‘think myself that it is,’.’ said Ferrars. “But before we go further, I must see your Chief of Police. I have no inten- tion of joining forces, understand, but if your Chief is the man he should be, I shall not think of going into this case without his knowledge. Mr. Talfourd, how do you stand with the Chief of Police ?” “ Very well, I think,” replied Max. “Captain Connors has been more than courteous to me. I’m afraid that I’ve bored him a little, too. Since my first raid upon him, I’ve 15 , . 226 ' A LOST WITNESS. visited his office pretty often, and he has been more than kind, always affording me any information that he could.” “ That’s satisfactory. Can you manage an interview for me, do you think, today, if possible. I don’t want him to know Whom he is to meet.” ' I “ I’ll make the trial at once,” said Max. When'he was gone, glad of an opportunity to do even this much, Sir Felix turned to his friend. “I’m awfully ‘obliged to you for coming, Ferrars, and for going into this thing so readily. I’m deeply interested myself. How do you like him ?” ' “ Talfourd ?” queried the detective, who had helped himself to a cigai and was now lighting it. “ Fine specimen of Ame1- ican of the right sort, I should fancy ’ VVheu Max returned, it 11.15 to announce that he would take Ferrars to see the Chief of Police that afternoon. “ I told him that I wanted to present a friend, an English- man, who had taken an intexest in this case,’ ’said Max, “and he asked m’e at once if it was 811 Felix Wyntouu. He said, that he unde1 stood Sir Felix was my 1ight-hand counsellm.” “ Ah 1” ejaculated Fe1rars “ I 1eplied that the1e was anotheI, and he said, at once, ‘ Bring them both.’ ” A faint Smile hoveied about the mouth of Fe1rars, though he made no comment , but Sit Fel 1x turned upon them an as- tonished face. I “What do you make out of that?” he que1ied, addressing the detective. “Merely this . You two have evidently been under sur- veillance.” A FIASGO. 227? CHAPTER XXXI. A FIASCO. “ How shall I present you ?” asked Max Talfourd, as they were about to enter the office of Captain Connors. ” replied the detective. “ Leave the restto me. I think you had better not dismiss the carriage.” “That means,” said Sir Felix, “ that you and I, Talfourd, are soon to be sent to Coventry.” “Possibly,” assented 'Ferrars. “ Captain Connors,” said Max, when thfi'three were in the presence of the Chief, “ allow me to present Sir Felix Wyn- toun and Mr‘. Ferrars, of London.” The Captain greeted them cordially, and whesf they were seated, turned an inquiring gaze upon the English detective. “ Ferrars,” he said ,slowly—“ Ferrars of London, you say ? Any 1elation to the great detective of that name?” “ My name is Francis Fer"’1a1s,’ 1eplied that young man, and he took from his pocket a card, which he p1 ofl‘ered to the Chief. Captain Connors glanced at it and then again at Ferrars. “ I. might have guessed at once,” he said, 1isi11g with alac- rity. “ It 1s the great Fer1ars.I’ve-ad him desciibed to me more than once, Mr. Talt'ourd. You couldn’t have brought me a more welcome viSitor.” And then he looked from Max to Sir Felix, and seemed at a loss how to proceed. “ Having brought me, Captain,” said. Ferrars, coolly, “ would you mind if I turn them out? I didn’t come to you today “ Simply as Ferrars, 228 A LOST WITNESS. simply to pay my respects. I want a private interview. If you’re afraid they’ll get into mischief, you might send one of your sergeants to look after them.” Captain flushed a little and looked hard at the speaker ; and the young men, seeming not at all disconcerted, arose. “ As you please,” the Captain said, at last. i“ You seem to understand one another, and I’m at your disposal, Min-Fm? rars.” I “ We’re quite ready to heturned out, having accomplished our mission,’ ’said Max, turning to go. “ And, by the way,” broke in Fer,rars “ I’ll find my way back to you, gentlemen , don’t go out of your way for me.” When they were alone, Captain Connors hastened to hospita- bly set forth some choice Wine and good cigars. Over these they chatted for"? time, upon topics of more or less mutual in- terest, and then Ferrars, in his direct fashion, said : I “ I’m glad to see, Captain, that you’re a straightforward man, like myself. You don’t waste words. Now, I’m going to tell you Why I have sought this interview today. Sir Fe~ lix Wyntouu has a claim upon my friendship and affection, to which, I hope, I shall always respond readily and heartily. It was a letter from him that brought me to New York, and upon arriVing here I find that he wishes to enlist me in the case of Miss Paget. ” . i “ Ah. "’ breathed Captain Connors, and he leaned f01wa1d with his eyes fixed upon the speaker. “ I’ve heard a little about the case,” went on Ferrars, com- posedly, “ and I’ve almost made up my mi11d—-” “Almost?” interrupted the Captain, and then he added, “ I wish you had said altogether. Why, man, I’ve worn myself out over this confounded case ! And I’ve about worn A FIASCO. . 229 out some of my men. I don’t pretend to have any of those dashing detectives that we read of-—the kind, you know, who smell out a criminal, and only have to stand around and wait for him to come along. But I do claim to have some clever, capable, clear—headed fellows on my staff, and they’ve worked faithfully, too, but—” A significant gesture completed the sen- tence, and as Ferrars remained silent, he added, “ It’s an ex- traordinary case !” V , ' “ Then you really are making no headway ‘3” asked Ferrars. . “ .N one whatever, or none to any purpose but to further ex- asperate us.” , i “ You can’t even conjecture whether she is dead or alive?” “Not even that. But I’m certain of one thing, though: Alive or dead, Leah Paget never left this city. Alive or dead, she is in it now.” _ Ferrars started. “ Why, man, in the right hands, that’s a great deal.” ' “ In the right hands—yes,” said Connors, with a grimace. “ But the right hands haven’t shown up yet. Mr. Ferrars, are you going to put in yours ?” . “ I’ll tell you what I will do, Captain Connors,” said Fer- rars, gravely, as if weighing every word. “ If I can work in my own way, without hindrance and in perfect sec'recy,———of_ course, I make an exception of yourself, otherwise I should not have come to you,—-—I will try my hand at the case.’ “Then you will succeed!” exclaimed Connors, heartily, standing before Ferrars and burrowing in his trowsers—pockets, as if to hold himself doWn. “ Suppose, right here, you let me tell you what has been done upon this case.’ ' I I “ I shall be a very willing listener.” . “ When you have heard what we have dc‘me, and how little 230 i A LOST WITNESS. we have profited by our exertions, you will know what kind of a case you’re about to tackle.” Connors assured himself that the door was secured against intruders, and unlocked a desk from’ which he took a ledger- like book, two or three note—books, and a bundle of papers. These he placed upon a small table, which he pushed forward to where Ferrars sat near a large window, and finally he'drew up an easy-chair—companion to the one occupied by Ferrars. “Now we can begin comfortably,” he said.- , It was a long story to which Ferrars listened, sitting move- less, with his eyes fixed upon the face of the narrator, except when be bent forward to scan some page turned by Connors, in the big book, or put out his hand to take and examine some paper. But,‘ unlike his manner of listening to the same story from Sir Felix and. Max Talfourd, he never once interrupted the Chief to question or comment. Indeed, it was not neces- sary, for Captain Connors was minute as to detail, and he now and then refreshed his memory by reading from his notes upon the case. . \Vhen it was done, Ferrars arose and walked once or twice the length of the room. Then he halted before the Chief. “ Captain Connors,” he said, gravely, “ I have never heard of more thorough, intelligent, and far-reaching search. And yet, you tell me that you have accomplished nothing!” The Chief shook his head. “. I’ll tell you what you have done, Captain Connors ; you have narrowed down the circle until the way is now open to the next who takes up the case, clear and plain. Gracious Heavens, man, can’t you see how much you have accom- plished ‘3” Still the Chief shook his head. A FIASCO. "231 “You have convinced yourselves that, if the young lady was abducted, it was not by any member of the criminal class known as professional, not by any of the lower class of blackmailers ; that she has not been seized and held for ransom.” _ “ If that had been the case, some of our traps would have caught the fish.” , . “ Exactly. You are equally sure that she is not secreted in any thieves’ den, or in any asylum ; and that if she had been , murdered, either for purposes of robbery or revenge, you must have found some clue to the crime. In short, you have ex- hausted the possibilities among the criminal class. Now, where does this lead you ?” . “ It leads me,’ ’said Captain Connors, sturdily, “ where Iam not best fitted to go, neither I nor my men. It leads me to be- lieve that in searching for Leah Paget, we are working against money and brains and wonderful cunning, and not against a common criminal.” Fe1rars nodded “ And do you really wish to drop this. search now ?” ' ‘ “Yes, if you will take it up.” Ferrars helped himself to a cigar and proceeded to light it. “ I have to thank you for a very clear demonstration of the facts 111 this case, as you have them,” he said, when the cigar was faiily lighted. “ I’d thank you,’ ’said the Chief, “ if you would give expres— sion to your own Opinion, as an off-set to my facts. What do you think of this‘thing ?” “ I think, with yourself and your man, Nickerson,” said Fer- rars, “if it is a crime, it is a most uncommon one. It is the crime of an aristocrat.” 232 A LOST WITNESS. At eleven o’clock 011 the following mo1ning, Fe1rars was again closeted with Chief of Police Connors. They had been togethe1 for mo1e than two hours, and they. seemed to have arrix ed at a perfect mutual unde1standing. “ It has not became known, then, that you me in New Yo1k ?” Captain Connors said, when they had disposed of the actual business that" broughtthem together. “I have noticed that your name did not appear upon the list of arrivals.” “ 'I travel verypmdestl y,” said Ferrars, with a smile. “ N o I am not supposed to be in America nor out of London.” A sharp, impatient rap sounded on the office-door: “ Onen1on1e11t,” said the Captain, and he went at once to the door, opened it, and then stepped out, shutting it quickly behind him. It was Pdlly Cousin who had applied for admittance, and“ the Chief saw at a glance that he brought news of importance. He was thinner than when he first enlisted in the search for Leah Paget, and paler. He had abouthim an air of haste and anxiety, even though his movements were slower and his speech less brusque than usual. , “ Is’t you, Cousin ‘2” said the Chief. “I can’t let you in just now--—in ten minutes, say. What is it?” Cousin came close to him, but when he spoke it was as if he was making a commonplace and uninteresting announcement. “ Leah Paget has come back.” “ What i” . “ Paget’s daughter has come back.” _ The Chief looked quickly about him, and then caught the young man by the shoulders. “ Come in,” he said, and was about to fling open the office- door. But Cousin drew back. \ -' ,2 “Bow, WHAT AILS You?” CRIED THE CHIEF, IN ALARM. Page 234. 888 284 - A LOST WITNESS. “ Not if there’s some one there,” he said. “ I’ve told you all I know about it.” i“ Look here,” began the Chief, and then stopped short. The pallo1 was inc1easing in Cousin’ s face; he was shivering as if with an ague. “ Boy, what ails you. 9” c1ied the Chief, 1n alarm. “ Ale you ill? Are you out of your senses?” He put forth his hand once again to take him by the arm, but again Cousin evaded the friendly touch. 1 “I’ve just been told that Miss 'Paget returneo nome this morning early. It came from one of the servants, I think. I don’t know the particulars—you’ll hear, of course—I—I be-- lieve I’m ill—lb” His teeth were chattering, and his voice was husky. “ I’ll go out a bit.” He turned, and hurried out from the great building. For a moment Chief of Police Connors stood where Cousin had left him, looking blankly down the long corridor. Then he re-entered his office. “ One moment,” he said again to Fer1a1s, and seated himself at his desk, where he dashed off half a dozen words, folded the message, and put out his hand to touch the bell. Then a new thought seemed to stop him. He withdrew his hand and turned to Ferrars. I “ I’m at a loss,” he said. “ I found outside the door one'of the men I have most relied upon in this Paget business.” He flung down the written message and got up. “ By George, Sir, he tells me that Leah Paget is found I” “ Is found ‘2” I “Yes, sir.” He threw himself down in a chair opposite Ferr,ars and told him what Cousin 11 1d said, and how he had said it.“ I have got a note of inquiry 1ea_dy to send,” he added. “ Would you do it}: A ’ V i BL IGH TED HOPES. 235 “I can’t advise you,” said Ferrars, gravely. “I wish I might have seen your informant.” “ Cousin? You can see him easily enough. I wonder if he’s going to break up. Never saw him look likeithat before. Cool, level-headed fellow. Overworked, I’m afraid. ’Well, if this isn’t a fiasco—” Again a knock at the door broke 'in upon his speech. This time it was a letter. The Chief glanced at the superscription, uttered a sharp ejaculation, and opened it hastily. Once and again he ran his eye over the twoor three lines it contained. Then he tossed it to F errars, while a frown dark- ened his face. “ Read that,” was all he said. Ferrars caught up the letter and read : CAPTAIN CONNORS. Sir :—'1‘his is to inform you that Miss LeanPaget is now at home. You will stop all proceedings at once. I will do myself the honOr to, see you soon. Until then, I am yours, etc. I A. KO PAGET' CHAPTER XXXII. BLIGHTED HOPES. On Monday morning, while Francis F errars was closeted with the Chief of Police, ,Manager Horton was in high'spirits. All had gone well, even if it was at the eleventh hour. That night was to witness a triumph, a double triumph. A new comedy—and such a charming comedy,—'—such gorge-i ous and varied scenery, such original, such picturesque, such 236 A LOST WITNESS. funny and such pathetic situations ! And then, such Stars l—La Belle 'Fabrice, already crowned and acknowledged queen; Hortense Novalis, with her beauty and foreign successes to re— commend her! What a triumph for Manager and Stars ! There'was to be a dress-rehearsal that morning, and behind the scenes all was hustle and haste. The Manager’s spirits seemed infectious. There was much laughter and exchanging ofjests and congratulations. “ What I wonder,” said a little Chambermaid to the big second Old Woman, “ is,,how the N ovalis is to get her study. It’s not twenty-four hours notice, Massey says.” Massey was the leader of the orchestra, and intimate with the Manager. . “ Massey might have told you, for he certainly knew, that Horton had given the Novalis Janet’s part on the chance of her playing it,” the Old Woman said. . “ Isn’t it about time they were here?” Ten minutes later, the two we1e aga1n for amoment, a101,1e at one of the wings. The girl had, just come up from the dressing-rooms. “ Why don’t we begin, Letty ?” The girl shook her head. ‘ I shouldn’t wonder if there was a hitch somewnere,” she whispered. “ Horton’s losing his temper. They don’t mate- rialize.” “ What, neither ‘2” “ Neither. Not even their maids. Not even Congreve.” It was quite true. The time for the first act was at hand. The people were gathering at the wings, anxious to see, for the rivals, Fabrice and H01tense, were to appear together in the very first scene. 'BLIGHTED HOPES. . 237 And still the rivals were not in their places 5 they were not even in thei1 dress1ng—1ooms N o longe1 able to curb his impatience, and filled now with anxiety, Manager Horton dispatched two messengers—one to Fabrice, one to Hortense. But, almost befo1e they were out of the building, the Call Boy app1oached the Manager, and whisperedsomething 1n his ear,———something which caused him To hasten below with a very anxious look upon his face. , He found, Madam Congreve alone in Fabrice’s dressing- room, her face fairly haggard. She started forward and clutched his arm. “Have you seen Fab1ice. 9” she whispered. “ Good Heavens!” He tu1ned ab1uptly, closed the door and locked it. “ Now,” he said, turning a dark look upon Madam, “ what does this mean ?” p “ I wish I knew,” said Madam. “ I’m afraid to think what it means. 'Fabrice is missing.” i “ Missing ‘2” The Manager gritted his teeth in impotent fury. “ Missing ! [Yes. I might have expected something, like this.” i “ I wish I had,” sighed Madam. “ You—~oh, yes ! Don’t think that I’m duped, Madam Congreve—” Madam Cong1eve tlnew up a hand, and the look that ac- companied the gesture checked his speech. “ Do not assume that tone with me, Mr. Horton. If harm has befallen Fabrice, I shall always hold you as in part the cause of it. Fabrice has been in trouble for weeks. I have seen that, ’but‘bould not guess the cause. She has been strug—- . gling against it and doing her best to fulfill her engagement 238 A LOST wxrxass. with'you, and in the teeth of this you have made her life a burden, with your eonsiant urging of this impostor French actress upon her. Don’t talk to me as if I were to blame.” . V Madam was a woman, and having had herfling at him, she caught her breath to smother a sob, and threw herself into a dressing-chair. ‘ ' “ Madam Congreve, ” he ejaculated, calmed, in a measure ,by her tirade,“ will you begin at the beginning and tell me what has happened?” “ What has happened ‘? I have said that Fabrice is gone. Her. maid awoke me this morning pale and frightened. Fa- brice’s room was empty, her bed had not been slept in. Every- thing was in order, just as it was last night. Her writing- desk was open, but she has left no word, not a line. Nothing is missing from her wardrobe, except a dark, plain street cos- tume, which she probably were away. Evidently, she has been gone since last night. i” Madam spoke lapidly, wringing her hands as She talked. Her distiess and anxiety we1e only too evident. “ What have you done ‘2” gasped the Manager, dropping into the nearest chair. “Nothing I have not even alarmed the house. I thought it best to come straight to y.ou ” - “Right.” He a1ose and unlocked the (1001. As it swung noiselessly open, the stage manager came within sight from a room ‘lotver down. The Manage1 beckoned him to approach. “ Has M’lle Novalis arrived. 9” I “ Not yet.” “ Then put them ofl" 1n some way until we hem from her. When she comes, call me.” He turned back into the room, DEATH’S VICTIMS. , 2‘39 and closed and locked the door. “ Have you any idea—” he began, but Madam moved off the question. “ Don’t speak to me,” she groaned. “ I want to think.” Bixffled, and full of dire foreboding, the Manager resumed his seat and tried to wait in quiet, if not in patience. It was bet- ter to wait there than among those clamoring people, he thought, but it was tedious. Nearly half an hour had ticked itself slowly away, and then- there came a thump upon his door. It was the stage manager again, and with him the messenger sent out to fetch Hortense N ovalis. , Both men were pale and evidently excited, and behind them, further on and up the stairway, they could distinctly hear a babel of sharp exclamations and feminine shrieks. “Well,” demanded the Manager, “ what now?” “ She—she,” stammered the messenger, “ she—Hortense is dead ! She has killed herself 1” CHAPTER XXXIII. DEATH’S VICTIMS. It was while, the Chief of Police and the detective were still looking at each other, the letter of Abner Paget between them on the table, and the wonder not yet out of their faces, that the message came : ' ' g A woman murdered “at the Dresden Flats, Lexington Avenue. Come .at once. 240 . A LOST WITNESS. The Chief read it, and was instantly his grave official self. “ That’s a message I can understand,” he said, and read it aloud to Ferrars. “ The Dresden Flats—they’ re that superb new block lately built, and“ too fine and expensive for ordinary tenants. Will you go with me ?” ' “Yes,” said Ferrars, rising ; “ only don’t make .me tOo con- spicuous.’ ’ p “ I won’t do that,” responded the Chief, grimly. “They won’t be especially afraid of me, but if it’s a murder, I wouldn’t want the assassins to know that Ferrars, the English detective, was on the premises. Oh, you’ve been pretty’ well introduced over here. I Detectives and criminals who are a success, can’t hide their light under a bushel.” “ The criminals,” suggested Ferrars, drily, “ succeed indo- ing it sometimes, I have found.” “ You have found !” echoed the Chief. “ Well 1”. The great entrance to the Dresden Flats was, ordinarily, open toall and at all hours. Usually, it was presided over by a janitor, or by two janitors, who ofi‘lciated in turn. Through this splendid and spacious vestibule one passed to a succession of courts, upon which opened numerous apartments, each hav- ing its own hall and vestibule, through which the visitor passed before reaching the reception-room and the salon proper. Thus," after the publicity of the grand vestibule and court were done with, each apartment was as isolated as a separate private dwelling. A Today the Chief and Ferrars found the vestibule guarded by a brace of policemen, and one of these answered, with a grin, that no time had been lost in putting the place under quarantine. ' “ You were quite right,” said the Chief. DEATH’S worms. 241 “ We didn’t do it,” rejoined the officer. “ We weren’t given time. It was the young man.” “ The young man ‘1” “ The one who found the body. It’s the French act1ess, Horte11se—” He stopped, evidently struggling with the strange name, - The court above was nearly full of people- Some of them had succeeded in getting in from the street, but most of them were occ’upants of the great building. It was by no means an ordinary crowd. There were men in perfect business-suits, men in smoking-coats and caps, men in dreSsing-gowns and slippers. Two or three reporters had already scented their prey ; and grouped together in the background were women in all manner of dainty ideshabille—hastily-caught—up wraps, head- coverings, and coneeali11g-draperies. ‘ One or two superfluous policemen walked to and fro with an air of believing themselves doing duty. And,,before a closed door—a door bearing the name of Hortense Novalis upon a card in the center panel, stood th1ee men, each with an appearance of waiting and being 011 guard. One was a tall elderly man, with a soldierly bearing ; the second, a serious—faced policeman, who seemed to know exactly what he was about ; the third, pallid and mute, was Frederick Quinlan. ' 1 Seeing his Chief, the policeman came forwa1d and said, in a low tone: ' “ I’m glad that you’ve come, Captain. It’s a-nasty piece of business. Nothing has been done. I was second 011 the prem- ises, and I closed the 1ooms at once.’ * . “ Come,” said the Chief, and then, as they approached the (1901, he recognized the tall man. - 16 242 A Los'r WITNESS. “ Ah, Grove, is it you?” Then he nodded to Quinlan. “ Was it you who discovered the body ?” he asked. Quinlan bent his head. “ Let us go in,” said the Chief. “ You will come, ,Grove, and Mr. Quinlan, of course. Starrs,” to the policeman, _“ you will stand guard here and see that no one enters.” When they had crossed the threshold of the vestibule, the Chief halted and looked about him. It was a small room and square, probably ten feet by ten. . The walls were hung with tapestries, and it was lighted only by the stained—glass panels in the upper half of "the door, and by an arched transom above it. The floors were of tessellated marble, with two or three rugs at one side. In the center, di- rectly beneath the chandelier, was a bronze affair, representing the knotted stump of a tree, from one side of which branches shot up in queer curves. A11 umbrella in the hollowof the stump, and a hat and scarf depending from one of the curved branches, indicated its use. On either side were two low, broad- ‘cushioned couches, each fitting in its entire side from wall to. wall. Upon the left, as they stood facing the portiere, which shut in the reception-room proper, the floor was uncovered, and the rugs which corresponded with those upon the floor at the right, were flung in a careless manner, one upon another, on the low divan at that side. When the eye of the Chief had taken in all this, he strode through the dimly -lighted place, and drew aside the silken curtains opposite the door of entrance. ‘ It’s not here,” said the man he had addressed as Grove.‘ And he passed under the portiere and stood beside the Chief. “That,” pointing to a closely-drawn curtain in Van archway opposite them, “ is the salon. Here,” turning to the left and DEATH’S VICTIMS. ‘ 243 _ indicating by a gesture :1 s1n1lle1 1:1 h also curtained, “ IS the boudoii. The body 1s the1e.” The Chief 01 ossed the small and dainty reception-room, where all was in its usual order, and drew aside the concealing drapery ' “ Good Heavens!” he c1ied,1ecoili11g, “ what a scene!” It was the room, whe1e, not long since, its mistress had re— ceived Manager Horton. But now, how different ! Here, and in the dreSSing-room beyond, what confusion l-Chairs over- turned, tables, with their costly weight of bric-a-brac, broken, and lying about the floor, some of them dabbled with blood ;i curtains torn down anditrailing upon the carpet 3 the con- tents of desks and boxes and drawers strewn all about, with here and there Splashes of blood upon them ; blood-stains upon the walls, and pools of blood soaked into the mossy carpets. Near the divan, with its soft cushions and rich coloring, lay. a long, slender Spanish stiletto, and beyond, just over the threshold of the d1ess1na-1oom lay a short, broad- bladed Jap-' anese knife, both blood-stained, and hideously suggestive. 'And the mistress of all this wrecked splendor, lay among the disordered cushions of the divan, half 011 and half off, her hands clutching the soft fabric of a splendid robe that lay upon it torn and bloody. Her body rested upon the cushions as if ithad fallen there in the last struggle, her limbs dragging upon the floor, her arms thrown out before her, her face turned side-Wise and toward the window, through which a sunbeam came slanting, making hor1ibly distinct the deadly gashes in ‘the fair thtoat. She was dressed in a long and lustrous gown of creamy 'Satin, heavy with lace, andgarnished with crimson and yellow roses. Her splendid shoulders and arms weré bare and gleam- 244 . A LOST WITNESS. ing with jewels. Her face was untouched either by scar or- blood~stain, and the glare of the wide open eyes, and the traces of agony in the dead face, Were rendered more horrible by con- trast with the flowers and lace and gleaming jewels. When, moving carefully around the divan,‘the Chief had noted this much, he turned to Quinlan, 'who, with Ferrars and the stranger addressed as Grove, had remained in the doorway. “ Will you,” he began-— “ I was the first to enter,” broke in Quinlan, hoarsel y, “ but I did nothing more than assure myself that she was dead. Then I'rushed out to give the alarm, going myselffor an ofii=~ cer and for Dr. Grove. We went through the rooms, then, but nothing has been touched.” . ' “Draw the curtains,” said the Chief to Ferrars. As he led the way back to the reception-room, he said, “ Let us sit here, and you will tell us what you knowof this, Mr. Quinlan.” As the four men grouped themselves together near the cen- ter of the small room, Francis Ferrars stood facing the arch which led to the anteroom or entrance. The portiere was drawn aside as they had left it in passing through, and when Quinlan, who stood with his back toward it, shiftedhis position slightly so that he might lean upon the high back of a chair as he talked, Ferrars had a clear View of that side of the anterooni where the rugs lay heaped upon the low I‘diVan. The light from the inner room, now that the hangings were drawn away, brought out more clearly'the outlines of the heaped-up rugs. At the moment when Quinlan began to speak, F errars suddenly and without a word started forward, strode to the divan, and, laying his hand upon the tomest rug, lifted it a little, and then let it fall back to its place.” . ~ ‘ “Come here,” he said, sharply——-“ all of you.” 1., y ""11 ’7': :://,;' , .., u. . , . '. " Hf"; ‘ , ill!‘V‘/.‘i’l I I, [IIINIII I 5512‘; 2' "7% I ."I ’4‘» '- . {0' /—./ :11]; 0:1, “ ‘ ¥ I ”I, ‘ ‘Lb-UN“ , 1". a fix “Goon Bums!” HE cmnn, RECOILING, “ WHAT A SCENE!” Page 243. ' 246 , A LOST WITNESS. In a moment all three were beside him, and then he :flung aside the topmost rug, and the next 011e, and the next. Instinctively, the‘three men recoiled, and“ Frederick Quinlan staggered, and clutched the arm of Dr. Grove for support. Lying before them upon the low divan, was the woman Virginie. Her attitude was that of a sleeper, but a glance as- su1ed them that it was the sleep of death ! CHAPTER XXXIV. A LETTER AND A FACE. The dead woman lay with her face to the wall. One hand ilifing loosely at her side, the other was lightly resting upon her lufeast, the fingers intertwined with a knot of ribbon that decorated her gown. The attitude was most natural—was that of perfect repose, and yet— . ' There was a smothered exclamation from the lips of Frederick Quinlan,and.he pressed forward and bent for a moment low over the inanimate form. When he turned away it was to face F errats, and for an instant the eyes of the two met and held each other. Then they moved back, and Dr. Grove knelt be- side the body, touched the cold hand, and pee1ed into the pal- .‘111 face. ‘ “Useless,” he said, and turned away.“ She has been dead fo1 hours, like the other”. When they returned to the inner room,’ the Chief drew Ferrars aside. A LETTER AND A FACE. 247 “This is going to be a tough case,’ ’ he said, in allow ’tone. “And, since the 'Paget affair is at an end, may I count on you. 9” Ferra1s considered for a moment, and then he answe1ed: “Wait. I’ll stay \111h you th1ough the investigation, or until we see what it’s coming to. May I make a suggestion ‘2” “A dozen, if you like.” “ These rooms had better be thoroughly overlooked—with- out the aid of that young man theie.” “I agree with you,” said the Chief. ‘ “Will you assist? I do not quite see my way. I—” “ Captain Connors,”———it was the voice of Quinlan Speaking .at his elbow—“ may I say a word to you ?” The Chief nodded. ' ‘ Quinlan was still Very pale, but he had regained his self- possession. « r “ I perfectly realize my position,” he said, making his wpi‘ds quite audible to all in the room. ' “I have‘been the friend of this dead girl, almosther only friend, certainly her nearest in this city. I was the last to see her alive, except, of course, the assassin—” “ Take care, sir,” broke in the Chief; “ youeare not required to tell us—” Quinlan interrupted him by a gestu1e. “Pardon me, I know what I am saying, as you will under- stand when I explain myself. I was the one to find this—f this l1orror,—~—-the first on the scene. I suppose you w’illliwant to detain me. I must be in.your eyes an object of suSpicion, at least. If you will deputize Dr. Grove, here, to take me in charge, I will remain wherever you may choose to put me, un- til you have completed your investigation. I suppose that 248 A LOST WITNESS. is the first thing, and I suppose you count time as valuable.” The Chief and Ferrars exchanged glances. The latter nodded almost imperceptibly. ‘f Perhaps that will be best,” said the Chief, and then he turned his eyes upon Dr; Grove. The latter nodded, and seated himself in the nearest chair. Quinlan placed himself in another close at hand, but further from the anteroom than.was that occupied by the jailor pro tem. , - Without another word, Captain Connors lifted the portiere that separated them from the boudoir, and in a moment he was standing, once more, with Ferrars beside him, upon the scene of the death-struggle, and in the presence of death. Scarcely a word was spoken as they traversed the two rooms, noting the blood-stains all about, and the discrder, which seemed to have hast-fits beginning in the inner room, and tophave culminated there before the blood-drenched cushions. PAC-S he stepped slowly and cautiously about, Ferrars bent suddenly and put his hand upon something gleaming White, that was half concealed by a torn down drapery, near the dress- ing-room door. It was a- statuette of clearest marble, the ex- quisite counterpart of Power’s Greek Slave, and across its whiteness, marring the pure outlines of the delicate body which it almost girdled, was the print of a slender hand outlined 1n blood. ' “Ah,” whispered Ferrars, “that is something. .Look at tllose finger marks and then at the handyonder.” Captain Connors knelt above the little statuette and scanned it carefully. Then, ”while Ferrars passed on into the dressing- room, he went back to the couch, and knelt again beside the body of Hortense Novalis. A LE’IVI‘ER AND A FACE. ' 249 In the dressing-room the disorder was'not so marked, nor so ghastly with signs of blood. The bed had not been occu- pied, but it bore the imprint of a human form, as if some one had thrown himself hastily down upon it for a moment ; and Ferrars was quick to notice that about the head the signs of disarrangement were more marked. He stepped to the side of the bed and looked down at it, shifted his position and looked again. , i Thus far he had been careful not to move, nor even touch“ unnecessarily, any ot' the numerous articles in the room. But" now he put out his hand promptly, and lifted one of the pil- lows. Just as he had anticipated, a crumpled and torn letter lay directly underneath. ‘ An instant he regarded it without touching, and then again he put out his hand. This time it was the lace bed-covering that he lifted carefully, and again he was rewarded. Beneath the cover was a small photograph, its blank side uppermost: i. 'Without a moment’s hesitation he turned the card, reveal- in g thus a man’s pictured face. Self-possessed and thoroughly schooled though he was, he started, and almostcried aloud his amazement and horror, for the pictured face was that of the man to whom he had promised his~help and his confidence. It was the face of Max Talfourd ! . Ferrars snatched up the picture and thrust it into his breast- pocket, glancing hastily over his shoulder. Captain Connors, with his back squarely toward him, was still kneeling beside the body of the dead actress. With a quick deft movement, Ferrars replaced the lace bed-cover and caught up the crum- pled letter. V 7 Again he glanced toward the Chief, who was apparently mak- ing a methodical. measurement of the fingers of the dead hand. 250 A LOST WITNESS. Then, with swif't fingers, the detective straightened out the torn ‘ and crumpled sheet. In the stillnes of the moment its faint rustle sounded noisy. He gave it one glance—4a. glance that took in One Word at the bottom of the page, a name, and then, with an- other swift movement, the letter was thrust out of sight, as the picture had been. . Francis Ferrars always kept his wits about him, and now, afier a moment of thought, standing there beside the bed, he replaced the pillow and went . back to the boudoir, where Captain Connors, with a grave face, was just rising from his task. i _“ Captain,” said Ferrars, in alow whisper, “ a little delay cannot harm the dead. Is there a man among those fellOws outside whom we can trust to deliver a delicate message ?” The Chief shook his head. . “Then,” said Ferrars, “ I must go myself.” . The Chief only looked his inquiry. Ferrars laid a hand upon his arm. “ Captain,” he said, “ some one must go at once to the house of Mr. Paget. He must have a warning.” ‘ V Captain Connors was not so rapid in his methods as was the Englishman, but he had not been Chief of Police to no purpose. i _ “Good Heavens !” he exclaimed, after one mute moment. ‘3 Is that affair going to mix itself with this ‘2” “ Not if I can help it,” said Ferrars, grimly. “ But some one must go.” ' “ Very well,” replied the Chief. “ Then, it had better be—” He hesitated a moment. “ Have you seen Abner Pa- get ?” “ No.” - ‘5 Then it had better be you.” A LETTER AND A FACE. 251 Ferrars glanced at his watch and then back to the face of the Chief. “ I’ll explain later,” he said. “ And Iwarn you, Captain, it will take me longer to do this thing than it would one of your men.” “ "Longer ?” . The Chief’s eyes met his and a smile crossed his face. “ I see,” he said. “ But go, if you must. I’ll keep things moving here.” When Ferrars lifted the curtain to cross to the outer room, Frede1ick Quinlan sprang 11p, on seeing who it was. And when the English detective (hopped the hanging, and briskly crossed the reception-100m, Quinlan moved afte1 him. “ One moment, sh,” he said, eage11y. F errars halted and faced about. “ You are going out?” asked Quinlan. Ferrars nodded. “I want to make an appointment with you.” .Qninlan lowered his voice, and as Ferrars continued silent, he drew still nearer. “ I must see you as soon as possible,” he c011- tinued, in a sharp whisper. “If money will buy them, I want your services.” ' l ' Still'no Word from Ferrars, only a look of inquiry. “Do not fancy,” went on Quinlan, in the same sibilant whisper, “ that I am going to submit tamely to what I clearly foresee. I. realize my position and I want your help. Oh, I know who you are!” Francis- Ferrars continued to eye him keenly for a moment, and then he said, as he put out his hand to draw aside the second portiere : “Be very careful how you 11Se your knowledge!” ‘252 ' A LOST WITNESS. CHAPTER XXXV. A SEALED BOOK. Ferrars passed quickly through the throng in the outer court and out upon the st treet. Several cabs were now standing be- fore the great building, and he stepped into one of these and gave the drix er his order 111 a low tone. It was not the .iddless of Abner Paget that he gave, but 1n- stead, the name of a quiet hotel 111 the very heart of business New York ; and he added, “ Get me there in five minutes, if possible.” As they rattled over the pavement, his thoughts were busy. There were fine lines between his eyes, and his lips were com- piessed. Once he put his hand to the pocket that contained the picture of Max Talfouid and the crumpled letter. Then, as if recalling himself, he dropped his hand and smiled grimly. In truth, the English detective was in a strange state of mind; in anyone else, sucha mental condition might be more fitly described as a “ confused state.” But Francis Ferrars was never confused, as a witness to his every movement on that day would have testified with wonder and admiration. “Genius,” says somebody, “knows its own time.” And Francis Ferrars, in this emergency, knew that he must not- wait nor falter now. Not the Chief of Police, not all the com- bined force of the entire city, would turn or sway him. He had come to New York to serve {a friend of his friend, and A SEALED BOOK. 253 Fate had shown him a mystery which threatened,.perhaps, the object of his good intentions. I On the other hand, he was bound to Captain Connors by every tie of courtesy. He had promised, and almost proffered, his help. Well, he would not fail Captain Connersw But Captain Connors was not the only man who trusted him. He did not look like a man phzzled or at a loss, as he dis- missed the cab at the door of his hotel. He was as direct'of movement as of speech. V In his room he wrote three notes. One to Sir Felix Wyn-. toun, one to Max Talfourd, and one, the last and, perhaps, the longest, to Abner Paget. He made, too, some other prepara— tions, few and simple, but sufficient. The man who went out was not the man who came in. The man, who, a few- minutes later, was ringing at the door of the 'Pagets, was not, at all the man who had so lately left the scene of what was to be known and talked of for many days as the “ Dresden Flats murder.” ‘ He posted the first two letters, but the third he still held in hit hand as he was shown into the morning-room of the Pagets, and there awaited the master of the house. When Abner Paget- came, Ferrars lost no time in putting into his hand the envelope he hadnot chosen to give to the serv- ant who opened the door for him. ‘i‘ From the Chief of Police,” was all he said. Paget frowned as he took the letter. He had just signified to ChiefConnors his intentions to wait upon him 1n good time. \Vhy must these oflicers of the law be so importunate. 9 He could not bring himself to open the letter tamely, without a re- monstrance. , “ Is Captain Connors in such desperate haste ‘2” he began, looking stern] y into the face of the messenger, and then checked 254 A LOST WITNESS. himself in sheer surprise, as he found that lie—he, Abner Paget -——was being openly inspected by this cool personage,-——inspected with a keen impersonal gaze that was a new and embarrassing experience to the man so scanned. , “ You’d better read the note,” said Ferrars, coolly. The tone seemed to leave him with nothing else to do, and he opened the sheet and read : “ ABNER PAGET, etc ., etc.— “ Sir :-—If the fact of your daughter’s return has not already been made known, you will do well to keep it back, for a day and a night at least, if no longer. A thing has occurred, which, if mentioned in con- nection with your daughter’s return, even as a coincidence, will be very unpleasant at the best. At the worst, it might bec0me more unpleasant than anything that has gone before. If the news has not got beyond your own household, and your servants are to be trusted, keep it shut within your doors. I will see you as soon as possible.” This was the note, and there was no. signature. Abner Paget had read it and frowned darkly. Was he still to be dictated to by those odious servants of the public? He made a stride toward the messenger. “ Are you an officer ?” he asked, brusquely. “I am a detective,” was the reply. “ Do you know what this letter means ?” “ It means all that it says,” said Ferrars, taking a step tow- ard the door. “ Has it come too late?” The old man hesitated, and the struggle between pride and paternal solicitude was very evident to the man before him, who felt a th1 ob of pity, and then a gust of anger. “ For your daughte1’ s sake,” began Feriats, “I hope it is not too late. As for—-—-” He stopped, and turned quickly, at a sound just behind him. Then the hand, uplifted to place his A SEALED BOOK. 255 hat upon his head, [fell at his side, and he bowed low as a pale- faced woman, with anxious eyes crossed the threshold and stOpped before them. She wore a long dark morning-robe, ' her hair was Silvered here and there among the soft brown; her attitude was that of a feeble body upheld by a stronger will. Ferrals oculd see that her hands and lips were trembling. “_ What is it?” she asked, looking from her husband to the stranger before her. “ What is it? About my daughter?” Still Abner Paget-remainedmute and frowning. The lady stood for a moment as if waiting, then she made a step toward him, holding he1self very erect. “ M1. Paget,” she said, with dignity, “ will you tell me what thiS--” “ Madam,” broke in Ferrars, “ allow me. I am a detective. I have brought a message to Mr. Paget.” As he spoke he drew a chair before her. She bowed he1 thanks and placed a hand upon the chair to steady herself. “Is it, your message, about my daughter?” she asked,with her eyes searching his face. I, ' “Yes, Madam.” A flush mounted to her temples and a new light came into he1 eyes. “ One moment,” she said, and turning, took the letter from her husband’s hand. Then she seated herself in the Chair Ferrars had proffered her, and without glancing at her lord, began the perusal of the note. BefOre she had reached the last Words, the'color had faded from her face, but her eyes re- tained their look of resolute and offended dignity as She lifted them to the face of F errars. I 256 ‘ A LOST WITNESS. “ Do you know what this note means?” she asked. “ Yes, Madam.” ‘? And you will tell me?” A“ Later you will understand. I have not the time 110w.” He looked at her fixedly a moment, and added : “ If you will see that this advice is carried out, I think therewill be no trouble.” . , . “I will see to that,” she said. “I think I can compre- hend.” , “That is well. Until you hear again from Captain Con- nors, let it rest so.” He made a gesture of farewell to the lady, and, without a glance at Abner Paget, hastened out and away. For a long moment there was silence 111 the Paget morning- room. Then Abne1 Paget took his stand di1ectly 111 front of the chair in which his wife still sat, with the note between her fingers. “ If I heard aright,” he began, slowly, and in his sternest tones, “ you said to that singular young man that you under- stood the meaning of that note. May I beg to be enlightened, Madam?” Then the wife, from whose lips he had heard nothing that was not gently dignified, courteously calm,e even in moments when their opinions difi‘ered, arose and stood erect before him. “ Perhaps I did not choose my words well,” she Said. “ I meant that I unde1stood that such a necessity might exist. I could see some reason for such piecaution.” “ You could see some 1eason 1°01 precaution—yen? Ma- dam l” “ Stop 1” She moved quite away from the chair now, and broke sternly in upon his speech. “Stop,” she said again. BEFORE THE INQUEST. _ - .257 “Abner Paget, I don’t know how far your stubborn will, your Wicked pride, may have gone toward helping her to such a de- cision, but the tyranny you began long ago has borne its first fruit in a way you little expected. Leah Paget is your child and she has some of your obstinacy. Heaven only knows how this will end. Almost against my better judgment I have promised to stand by her. But I don’t know, I dare not think, what it means——” “ What it means l” he cried.“ What do you mean?” She caught her breath hard and clutched at the arm he put out in a gesture meant to be commanding.‘ “Hush!” she said, “ let us not talk about meanings, for fear they may make our troubles worse. All I can say is this : Leah Puget, your daughter and mine, has just assured me——me, her 11.1other———that upon the subject of her strange absence, a month’ S absence, she will not open her lips to you, to me, to any one. The past four weeks, she says, m‘ustbe a blank, a sealed book, whose pages she will never unclose l” CHAPTER XXXVI. BEFORE THE INQUEST. Upoubhisreturn to the house of Mystery, Fer’rars encoun- tered a new and unpleasant-compli'cation. Chief Conno1sl1im— self was waiting his coming and he diew him at once aside; ‘ Come with me,” he uhiSpered. “ One of' the tenants 011 this floo1 has kindly put his study at my disposal. _We can 17 258 ‘A LOST WITNESS. talk Safely there. He’s a bachelor, and has turned out his own servant and given me the key.” Ferrars followed him to the bachelor’s. study, and heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed and was locked behind them. “ Now,” said the Chief, turning toward him, “ before you say a word, look at this.” He took from his pocket a crumpled "envelope and held it before the eyes of Ferrars, who read in a bold manly hand the name and address of Leah Paget. “ I found it in the fire-place,” the Captain eXplained, “ in the drawing-room.” . “ The drawing-room ?” echoed Ferrars, blankly. _ “ Yes. I explored it after you left ; evidently, it had not been invaded by the fiend. But, noticing that there seemed to have been a fire in the grate quite lately, I investigated. I found this, poked down beneath the ashes. What do you make of it?” ' i “ I’ll tell you,” said Ferrars, “ a little later just what I think. I have given my warning. And now, what else have you lighted upon ?” ' i “More than enough. The plot thickens. Manager Hor- toIr came raging in, immediately after you left. The dead girl was to have opened at his Theatre tonight.” (C Oh !” “ Yes, and there’s worse to follow. It came out, almost be- fore either of us realized the importance of it, that La Belle Fabrice, the actress who has been taking us all by storm, is also missing, since last night.” Ferrars, who had seated himself, sprang to his feet. “ Worse than that,” went on the Chief—“ there was enmi- ty, a secret, between thetwo.” “ Between what two ?” BEFORETHE INQUEST.‘ 259 “The dead girl, Hortense, and La Belle Fabrice.” ' Ferrars stood silent a full minute, then he quietly resumed hisseat. “ About the inquest,” he said, “ is, that arranged for ‘2” “Not quite. I wanted to see you first.” “Yes?” inquiringly. “Will you take this case, Feriais. ‘7” The English detective looked at him squarely, and for a long moment, without opening his lips. “ Oh, I know it’s going to be a tough 011e,” said the Chief, “ and full of complications. Of course, if you take it, you may count on me, but only for assistance. I wash my hands of the brain work. Manage it in your own way. I’ll furnish you men if you like, but I want you to work the case.” “ If I should do this,” said Ferrars, slowly, “it would be only upon one condition.” “Name it.” “ My connection with it and my personality, must be known only to you,” continued Ferrars. . “ Well,” said the' Chief, “ I don’t object to that. I won’t object to anything that secures you for this business.” “ I’ll tell you what I will do,” said Ferrars, “ after the i11- quest.” He got up again and stood before the Chief. “ By the bye,” he said, “this young man, Quinlan, knows me.” ' “ What’s that ?”" " ' Ferrars repeated his statement and also Quinlan’s words to him as he was leaving the reception-room. “ I don’t know that you need to be astonished,” said the Chief. “ Quinlan’s been a great traveller, and you’re pretty well known. You’ve been pointed out to him, no doubt, sometime when he’s been in London. Quinlan’s able to pay.” 260‘ I A LOST WITNESS. “ So I understand,” indifl'erently. “ Shall we go back now ?‘ By the bye, I don’t want to figure at the inquest ; I’m not needed. If lam-an conduct this case, I shall want/that envelope, with Miss Paget’s name, suppressed.” “ Eh ! Oh, you meaii at the inquest?” “ Yes.” ' i The Chief took out the envelope and handed it to Ferrars. “ Take it,” he said, “ and produce it at your own time.” Ferrars took the envelope, put it carefully away, and then stood for a moment seeming to reflect. Finally he said : “ I may as well pass, at the inquest, asareporter. 'I’ll keep as near you as seems best. But, if afterwards I do not see you alone, expect me tonight, at your office. If I come, I shall want to go over some of those reports again, and some of your notes in the case.” ‘ .“ Do you mean the Paget case ‘2” “ I mean that. I shall want all you can furnish—all, mind —-concerning three young men.” V “ You-er—what young men ?” "“ Quinlan, Max Talfourd, and your friend, the reporter.” “ What ! Polly Cousin ?” “ Yes, if that’s his name. Polly Cousin especially interests me.” I ‘ As they emerged from the apartments of the kindly bach- elor, Ferrars saw, in the throng about the street entrance, the pale face of Sir Felix \Vyntoun. The young lord was struge' gling to make his way within, and he did not appear to have seen Ferrars. _ V - “ Go on,” Ferrars whispered to the Captain, “ and .wait for me at the door of the vestibule.” ‘ He moved away as he ceased speaking, and had soon made BEFORE THE INQUEST. 261 a path for himself to the 'side of Sir Felix, who did not see him until he felt a pressure upon his arm. It was the hand of his friend, and it was accompanied by a warning whisper : ‘,“ Hush ! don’t speak ; come this way with me.” He drew back until they stood against the wall, where they were not so likelyto be overheard, or become objects of interest. “ You must not remain here,” Ferrars said then. .. “ I sent you a let- ter half an hour ago. Go home at once, read it, and obey its instructions. What sent you here ‘2” “ A note from Madam Congreve called me to her rooms,” said the young nobleman, “ and she told me. I came to see how near the truth—how bad the worst really is.” “ I can tell you ”the worst, and the best,” said Ferrars. “ But you must not remainhere. Hortense Novalis has been killed—~chopped to death with a dagger ; and her maid has been sent out of the world more gently—smothered or chloroformed, or both. That’s the worst. Captain Connors has asked me to take the case ; and, if, after. the inquest, I think I can assist justice and serve my friends by so doing, I shall take it. And now, my dear fellow, if you dou’ t want your name to be bla- zoned in the newspapers as one of the interested spectators who rushed to the scene of the tragedy, etc., etc., you can’t get away any too soon.” . _ Sir Eelix sighed heavily, and Ferrars noted with pain—for he was tenderly attached to the young fellow—how pale and stricken he looked. “ Courage, my dear fellow,” he whispered, reassuringly; “ don’t be too anxious. I’ll manage to see you at the earliest possible moment, and you will not be kept in suspense an in-‘ stant longer than is needful. Go back to the lady, your friend. It’s possible that she may be called as a witness, and 2‘62 A nosr WITNESS. the maid as well. Perhaps a word of caution would be advis— able. I hope they won’t get you up here, but you have been so much with the young la “Yes. My reason was Simply my knowledge of Fabrice, and my experience as her Manager. I have never dealt with a more reasonable and fair—minded person. I never knew her to manifest jealousy. Besides, when I told her that M’lle Novalis, if she did not play with her, would play against her at a rival house, she was not in the least concerned. Her one wish seemed to be not to be brought in contact with M’lle Novalis.” , i u“. Mr. Horton,” said the Coroner, gravely, “ do you believe I that these two actresses were strangers to each other ?” Again the Manager hesitated. “ Is my mere opinion ads missible ?” he began. “ I thoughtw” . “Your position, sir,” interrupted the Coroner, “ was one that would give even your opinion importance. You were able to draw an intelligent inferenCe.” Now Manager Horton had an opinion and a reason for it, but he saw the rapidly increasing gravity of the Situation, and A THREATENING CLOUD. 287 knew in an instant where his sympathies would range them- selves, should the worst come. His hesitation, this time, \was. very b1ief'. J “ At this stage of the investigation, sir,” he said, firmly, “ I decline to expiess an opinion.” To the surprise of many the Coroner did not press for an answer. Instead, he shot out anothe1 question. I, “ Since thei1 lesidence 1n this citv, had the two ladies met?” “ I think not.” “ Have you any knowledge of the domestic relations of the lady who is called Fabrice ? Has she friends or relatives ‘2” “ I do not know.” “ You surely knew her by some other name than that by which she is known professionally ?” “ I certainly do not.” “ Did you never hear her speak of her family, of parents, or relations f?” “ NeVer.” “Has she acquaintances and friends here ‘2” “ She has made many friends in this city.” “-Have you any idea, hint, or suspicion of her present whereabouts ‘2” “None.” "T he Coroner turned in his place and exchanged a word with the nearest juror. Then he ran his eye over one of the strips of paper in his hand, and, after a moment, he turned again tow- ard the witness. . “ Will you name the person or persons who are the most in- timate with La Belle Fabrice, in your company ‘2” ' “ Madam Congreve is. her companion and most intimate friend. Probably her maid comes next.” V 288 p A LOST WITNESS. “ Thank you, Mr. Horton. For the present, that will do. You will oblige me by writing down the names of all the peo- ple of your company, and where they may be found.” Manager Horton went back to his place, and for some mo- ments the Coroner busied himself with writing upon slips of paper, and whispering with various of the jurymen, each of whom seemed to have something on his mind. During the last moment that Horton was before the Coroner the shabby man, whose manner and appearance had incurred the disapproval of Polly Cousin, began to work his way tow- ard the window, muttering something about “more air and light,” and when the Coroner turned his face toward the Chief of Police, after his conference with the gentlemen of the jury, the shabby man was no longer visible. No one missed him, not even Polly Cousin, for the Coroner had just recalled Mr. Quinlan tothe witness-stand. CHAPTER XL. THE WEB CLOSING IN. Frederick Quinlan came forward for the second time, and took his place before the Coroner. He was more at ease than at first, and his answers came with greater readiness. “ Mr. Quinlan, did you know La Belle Fabrics ?” “I had that honor, but only in a limited degree.” “How long have you been acquainted ?” “ Only since her sojourn here.” ‘.‘ Where did you first meet her ‘2” THE WEB CLOSING IN. .289 “ At her hotel. I was introduced by a friend, who had seen her in London and who wished to know her better.” “Since your first meeting, have you often seen La Belle Fabrice ?” “I have called upon her less than half a dozen times. I have met her oftener in society.” ' “ Did you ever meet her here?” “I believe a previous witness has told you that. Upon one occasion I did.” “ Will you give us your version of that meeting?” “ I was about to call upon M’ lle Novalis, when I met the two, Mr. Talfourd and La Belle Fabrice, at the entrance. We exchanged civilities, and I said the usual thing about re- gretting that my coming had not been earlier, etc. The lady murmured something about a short call, and a mistake, and the gentleman said something about seeing me at another time.” “And 11 as that all?” “ N 0. As they moved away M’lle Novalis opened the door and I went in, asking ,jestinglv, if she had quarrelled with her guests. She said 111 answe1, ‘ They wele not myg ouests; their call was a mistake.’ I said, ‘ How is that? Did they mis- take you for-somebody else ‘3’ And she replied," ‘ Yes ;*they thought I was somebody else.’ ” ' ‘ The Coroner pondered and made a note. “ You are acquainted, "Of course, with the young man Mr. Talfeurd ?” - “ M: 1x Talfourd ‘2 Yes, I know him very well.” ' - “ Did he ever speak to you of this encounter ?” “ Yes. He called upon me that ve1y evening, for that pur- pose.” “ And what did he say ‘33 19 a -1 ~ 290 A LOST WITNESS. . “ He said nothing by way of explanation. His errand was simply to ask of me, in the name of La Belle Fabrice, a favor. It was in the form of a promise—which I have broken, here before you, and very reluctantly, notwithstanding the occasion. Mr. Talfourd asked me, in the name of La Belle Fabrice, not to mention to any one the fact of having met her at the door of M’lle N ovalis.” "’ Was the deceased acquainted with La Belle Fabrice ‘2” “By no means. 011 the contrary, I once asked her if she knew Fabrice, and she denied such knowledge.” ' ' “ I am told that she was most anxious to appear in public ,with La Belle Fabrice. Do you know her reason for such a choice ?” i I ‘ ' “ I fancied that it Wasa Woman’s whim. M’lle Novalis was a beautiful woman and a fine actress: She had achieved abroad just such a triumph as La Belle F abrice afterward achieved, both there and here. I can see how a woman might wish to Show her power in that way beside her rival, instead of against her. Now, that I have begun, I may as well add that never in all my conversation with her did M’lle Novalis ex- press any reason for her wish to appea1 with La Belle Fabrice, except that she did wish it.” “ M1. Quinlan, you have been a frequent-visitor here, I be— "lieve. 9” i Quinlan nodded. . “ You Should know something about her othe1 visitors.” . .“ I know very little. I have introduced two or three of my friends. ' But the lady had no acquaintances in the city, pre- vious to her coming here. So she has told me, and I had no rea- son to doubt her word. Of late, since this theatrical matter has been on the tapis, Manager Horton has. called ' I suppose THE WEB CLOSING IN. 291 he can tell you how often. And Mr. Van Voort has paid several visits, with and without me.” “ Mr. Van Voort ‘2” “ Mr. Van Voort is an Impressario, like Manager Horton. He was to have been M’lle’s manager in case she appeared i11- dependently.” ' “Can you think of no others who have visited here, Or called on any pretext?” Quinlan seemed to consider a moment. “ There is a woman,” he said ,Ifinally—“ an~elderly and rather shabby personage, whom I have met once or twice coming away from here Once I found her here when I called.” “Did you learn who she was?” . “ N 0. I mentioned her to M’lle Novalis, and she laughed and said, ‘ Yes, the begga1s have found me out.’ ” He. hes- itated a moment and then went 011. “ Perhaps I ought to speak of a woman who accompanied M’lle N ovalis to the Theatre one evening. - I was not there and did not see her. She was described‘to me as a small and elderly person, with white hair, elaborately dressed, and wearing gold-rimmed eye—glasses. I did not learn Who she was. Again there Was a halt and consultation. .. “ Mr. Quinlan,” resumed the Co1one1, after a few words with the Chief of Police, “ when did you last see the deceased, alive?” . - ~ ' “Last night. I came here at ten o’clock, I think. It musu have been eleven, or half-past, whenI went away.” “ Did you see anything out of the ordinary in the manner of the deceased ?” i“ Nothing. She was in exuberant spirits. She had been overlooking the gowns she was to have worn in the new play.- 292 A LOST WITNESS. She drew back the curtains of the room thei‘e”4—pointing to the boudoir. “ She was especially pleased with a dinner-dress, which, she told me, had just come home. And she said that she meant to turn me out, and try on every one of her gowns for the play.” His voice took on a lower tone: “If Dr. Grove is not mistaken, she must have put on that white dress first, and—it is the dress in which she now lies.’_’ ‘t Where was she, when you left her, at last?” This ques— tion was asked after a long moment of silence, and the Coroner’s tone uncbnsciously fell below its ordinary key. The witness turned toward the boudoir, pale but composed, and with head erect, and quick firm step, walked to the en: trance. ' g “ I left here,” he said. “ The curtains were closed, except for the space where she stood, holding them back with one hand. The boudoir was lighted, and so were the rooms beyond. AsI reached the archway there,”-—-indicating the division be- tween the anteroom and the one in which the Coroner sat,—--_ “those curtains were drawn. As I lifted one, I turned and looked. back. , She was still standing there, smiling, and hold- ing back the curtains.” “And that is how you saw her'last ‘2” “ Yes.” He made a movement to return to his place near the Coroner. ' g ‘ “Remain there a moment, if you please. Do you see those two weapons upon the floor. 9 The one at or near the couch; the other—” “ I see them,” said Quinlan, quickly. “ Have you seen them befor.e 9” “ Yes. That one’ ’——pointing to the long stiletto-like weap- on. near the head 'of the divan.-— “ that one lay usually upon a THE WEB CLOSING IN. 293 carved bric-a-brac case, in the drawing—room. The other was used sometimes as a paper cutter. I have seen her use it so.” _ “ You have said, I believe, that these rooms were all lighted. Was the anteroom also lighted ‘2” “ Yes,_lbut dimly.” “nYou have not spoken of the maid. When you came in, where was she ‘2” ' “She admitted me.” ' “And when you went away ‘2” “When I stepped into the anteroom, she lay where she was found this morning, asleep and breathing heavily.” “ Did you awaken her ‘2” i i “ N o. I wish I had. Instead, I let myself out as quietly as possible.” , “ When” you went out, did you set the spring lock, which I see uponthe outer door, so that no one could gain admittance Without ringing ‘2” This time the blood flew into Quinlan’s face. He put his hand to his head quickly, like a man suddenly stunned by a "sharp report. “ The night lock ‘2” he stammerel. “ I am afraid—I did not.” 4 The Coroner arose and stood straight before him. “ Ali—yes. Now, look : You go out at this late hour, and the door is left open. What is there to prevent some one, any one, 'who, sees this, from entering, chloroforming the sleeping Servant, passing on through this room and straight to the draw- ing-room. In the drawing-room lies that dagger, easily seen in the light. In the drawing-room, let us say, is the lady, alone, absorbed in her new] toilets. How easy it is, then, for the murderer to steal ~“upoifiil her with this slender weapon, to .-.—w—¥--«~W§...I.~._H. .. . h . .._ (rm—~11 294 A LOST wrmnss. creep behind her, and strike the first blow. Then, perhaps she seizes the other weapon, which lies at hand, and the rest-e— it’s simply a question of the strongest. Mr. Quinlan, do you realize the situation ‘2” I _ Quinlan bowed gravely, his self-possession had returned. “ I do,” he said. “ Now, in the morning, you come. You were the first, and you found the door open.” . i “ I found it unlocked.” “Yes. Quite right. Unlocked, but nor. open. Were the lights burning ‘2” _ Again Quinlan started. Evidently, these were things that he had net thought of before. “ No,” he said ; “ there were no lights burning.” At thispoint some one handed a note to the Chief of Police. He opened it hastily and read : “ There will necessarily be a postponement. Make it as long as posm- ble. “ P. S. I take the case." F.‘ The Chief read this, and then stowed it away in an inner pocket with much satisfaction. Almost at the same moment, the Coroner had turned and was saying to him, i “-We must have another hearing. There are important witnesses to be called. And We must make an effort to find this actress, La Belle Fabrice.” WHAT MICHAEL DISCOVERED. ‘ 295 CHAPTER XLI. WHAT MICHAEL DISCOVERED. When the Coroner had announced a postponement of the investigation until noon. of the followingiday, and ordered the closing of the room in which lay the two murdered women, he waited with the Chief of Police until the people were out ‘ of the apartment, clamoring and blocking the way in the court without. ‘ ' , ’ He had given brief instruction to the jury, and in answer to a question from one distinguished member, he had defined his position and intentions. “I did not press Mr. Quinlan more closely,” he said, “ be- cause .I saw clearly that by so doing, at this stage in the in- vestigation, I should only create prejudices against him ; un- necessary prejudice. I believe there will be proven against him a pretty clear case of circumstantial evidence. I might have pressed him into a. recital of all he knows of this dead woman. But it has been shown here today, that there is an- other person, against whom there is also a thread of circumstan- tial evidence. Until we have found La, Belle Fabrice, and until the mystery of her unaccountable antipathy against the de- ceased, and her sudden disappearance on the night of the mur- der, have been cleared up, I shall not handle young Quinlan as if he were already an accused man. As yet, there has been ' nothing to indicatea rupture between himself and the mur- . dered woman.” 296 A LOST WITNESS. From the confusion and clamor of the outer court, a police- man made his way to the side of the Chief of Police. He had been left as guard at” the outer threshold with special orders, and one glance at his face sufficed to show that he had some- thing in the way of information to impart. Captain Connors advanced to meet him, and the two moved toward the window. furthest from the place where the Cor- oner, Dr. Grove, and two or three others were standing. “ Well, Michael,” said the Chief, “'what is it ‘2” “ It’s this, sir, and I don’t know {how much it may .be worth. A little while ago a woman drove up in a carriage. I happened to be looking out as the thing. stopped right before me. I saw a woman’s face at the window, and I saw, plain enough, an astonished kind of look come into it at the sight of the crowd in the vestibule. The driver jumped down and opened the door, but the woman didn’t offer to get out. She only Sort. of sat back in the carriage, and said something to the driver. .He turned round and came toward me, and wanted to knOw what was going on. Of course, I told him that there had been a murder ; and then, as he went back to tell the lady, I just ran down the steps, and up to the carriage—door with him. The driver told her just as Icame up. I heard him say, ‘ There’s been 'a murder in the building.’ ‘ My,’ says the lady, ‘ a murder ?’ She spoke in a kind of mincing, affected way, like some one trying to put on airs; and as I came up she leaned out. ‘ Policeman,’ she says, ‘ Will you escort me through that horrid crowd ? I want to call on a friend up stairs.’ Of course I would, and she got out and told the driver to’wait. When she struck the pavement, she shook herself and looked herself over, like an old bird rufiling itself. She was short, and had. lots of white frizzly hair, and big gold-rimmed eye; \u'm WHAT MICHAEL DISCOVERED. 297 glasses. She was dressed and ruffled to kill, and she took hold of my arm, when we came up the steps, as" if she was a‘girl of sixteen, and two timidfor any use. I couldn’t help grinning to myself——” He stopped and grinned afresh at the remembrance. “ Go on, Michael ; get to the point,” said the Chief, mildly; “ Well, sir, we came up stairs and into the court, and I’m blessed if she didn’t make straight fOr these rooms.” “ Eh !” The Chief was now wide awake. “Yes, sir. When I saw what she was about, I' says, ‘I guess you can’t call there today, Ma’am.’ She hadn’t noticed, the officer at the door till then. ‘ This is the place where has been murder,’ I says. If she hadn’t had hold of my'arm I might not have noticed so plain that she give a big start, almOst a jump, when I spoke. But she just clutched at my arm tighter than ever, and I could feel her a-shaking all over. She braced herself up in a minit, and she began to peer at the card on the door through her glasses. ‘ My,’ she says, ‘ is it here—who—i who isit ?’ I said that it wasthe French actress, Miss N ov- alis, and her maid—both of them. And then she almost (screamed’out, ‘ I—I—have made a mistake,’ she says. " My friends must be 'on the upper floor. I—I don’t know these- people.’ She turnedround then and let go of my arm. Her face was ghostly pale through her powder and paint. ‘ I’ll go up in the elevator,’ she says. ‘ I’m much obliged to you.’ .I went to the elevator with her, and I gave the boy a wink and went back to speak to the officerat the door. Just then a man came out from here, and he stopped, as I was saying to the officer that I’d guessed I’d just look after that woman a bit. He stopped, the man, I mean, with his back to us, but I kind of spotted him—he was trying to hear what we said.” “ How did he look?” 298 A LOST WITNESS. “He? Oh, shabby and middle-aged; kind of an inferior, er1 nglng-actlnu chap.” L “ Go on,’ ’said the Chief. “ Just as I expected, when the elevator came down, I saw ' that the woman was in it. I goes straight down stairs, and got to the ground floor just as she was crossing the vestibule toward her carriage. . She was hurrying her best, all but run- ning, and she didn’t see me, she was so bent on getting into her carriage. As she was stepping in, and while her back was turned, I just ran down the steps and swung myself onto the _ ‘box. The driver looked a little surprised, but I motioned him to keep mum, and he (lid. I was afraid she might lead me a chase, but ‘she only rode as far as 42d Street, and, turning there, stopped at the V , Hotel. I slid down from the box, on the off side, before she got out, and she didn’t see me. But as I dodged around behind the carriage, I happened to lock right inside of a cabi‘t‘just passing, and that shabby man who I had seen come out of these rooms, was in it. p I guess he didn’t see me, for a little further 011 he stopped and got out. I wanted to get back here according to orders, so I gave the tip to No. '94, who was on his beat near the place. But I kept an eye upon the shabby fellow, and before I started back here I saw him go into the office of the hotel, as bold as you please.” “‘Is that all ?” asked the Chief. _ Again the face of the man broadened into a. sly smile. “ Not quite. I thought I was getting back here lively, but I hadn’t been here more than a minit, when I happened to tu1n round, and there was my shabby man ,looking as if he had . never been a11ywhe1e else.” “Umph!” ejaculated the Chief. “ And what became of him ‘2” WHAT MICHAEL DISCOVERED. ' 299 f‘ He’s just gone. That chap ain’t so dull as he looks. He ain’t a ‘ special 3’ I know every one of them. But he’s fly, if _ he is on a wrong scent just now. About two minutes ago I saw him set oflc shadowing Polly Cousin !” _“ Shadowing Cousin !” Across the face of the Chief camea new light,-——the light of recognition,—and his thoughts went naturally to the note now nestling in his vest-pocket. “ I guess he will turn out all right, Michael.” ’ It was as Michael had said. The man with the shabby clothes and the slouching gait, with the red nose, dull eyes, un- kempt beard and hair, had set out at the close of the first sitting of the Coroner’s inquest, at the heels of Polly Cousin. As the reader has no doubt guessed, the shabby man Was Francis F errars, and his reasons for taking, at this time of complications and cross-purposes, an interest in the movements of Polly Cousin, were briefly these: , Ferrars had listened with keenest interest to the history of the “ Paget Case,” and had arrived at one prompt conclusion : Somewhere, in the working out’of this mystery,—for the sud- den and unexplained return of Leah Paget had not made it a less mystery in his eyes,—-there was a weak place. Not in the working out of any theory or clue ; he was convinced of that. All that had been proposed and undertaken, had been thor- oughly done. If there had been an error it was not of neglect, but of intent. He could see but one explanation for such a failure, under. such circumstances. Somehow, somewhere, by some one, a clue had been dropped, covered up,‘and then guarded. And it had been done, all of it, b‘y a cool head, a skilled hand. I In the Chief’s narrative there had been, naturally, much of Polly Cousin, and much of him also in the notes and reports. ...~ /" y" 300 A LOST WITNESS. At the time of hearing the story of the search, Ferrars had not seen Cousin, but at the inquest, accident had revealed him. He had heard a reporter beside him address a pale, preoccupied young man as Polly, and then as Cousin, and the pale young man had answered to the name. ' During their drive from the office of the Chief to the scene of the murder, Captain Connors had remarked once-and again upon the look and manner of Cousin, and wondered at the cause. Ferrars, upon seeing him in the presence of the Cor- oner, had noted the same look and preoccupation, and some- thing more. He had read, in the tense lines about the mouth, and in the self-forgetful eyes, strong mental perturbation, per- sonal anxiety, that could not have been called forth by the scene about him, provided he were, as he declared himself to be, a stranger to Hortense Novalis. He had seen, too, in his look, in his tone, in his words, when he came forward to iden- tify' the photograph of La Belle Fabrice, that he was no friend of the absent and already more than half-suspected actress. The day was nearly spent, and there was yet much to be done. But before he left the scene of the inquest, the English detective had decided that his first attention should be given to “ Mr. Cousin, Professional Reporter and Amateur Detect- ive.” - wavy-- r -» w—‘Iwnflbfiéfléji’fi'l'E/Al‘ mar --> AN OPEN-HANDED GAME. , 301 CHAPTER XLII. AN OPEN-HANDED GAME. The task of following Cousin, to such a man as Ferrars, was far from difficult. The preoccupied reporter took a cab, never dreaming of being shadéwed.- Ferrars, in another cab, fol- lowed, and found time for some much-needed thinking. The earliest evening issues of the newspapers were out ; and industrious newsboys were already crying shrilly : “ ’Ere’s your pa-pers. All about the—big mur—der in the Dresden Flats. Full pe'rticklers,” etc. Cousin’s first thought, before having taken his place among his brother reporters at the inquest, was to supply the “ Call” , with a characteristic version of the facts, all that was then known, through the convenient telephone. And Ferrars was not surprised to note that his game was not going direct to the. ofl'ice of that vivacious newsPaper. It did surprise him a trifle, however, to note that Cousin emerged from his cab' at the door of the,“ Monitor”-——a morn- ing paper of wide circulation. It confirmed him, as well, in his belief that in watching Cousin he was not throwing away Valuable time. ‘ After leaving the “ Monitor,” the two cabs made a swift round of calls. At theend of an hour and a half, Cousin’s cab made a short halt before a cafe, where he hastily refreshed him- self. . . - During the hour and a half, Cousin had made brief calls 302 A LOST WITNESS. upon half a dozen newspapers, and now while he ate and drank hurriedly, standing up beside a high counter in the cafe, Fer- rars—himselfpossessing a goodly and fast-increasing appetite—- made this memorandum in a tiny hook with an attached pen- cil : A .“Mem. To find out COusin’s business at the newspaper offices.” ' I ' It was growing late, and darkness was falling, when Cousin came out from the cafe and again set out, still followed by the patient detective. ‘ When Cousin stopped again it was at the door of a quiet house in a quiet street, where he occupied a“ modest pair of rooms, in which he Slept and worked and rested, eating, in true Bohem- ian fashion, at such restaurants as suited the humor or con- venience of the moment. Here he dismissed his cab, and here, too, after a few min- utes of waiting inside the vehicle, Ferrars dismissed his. But he [did not leave the locality, nor lose sight of the street door behind which Cousin had vanished. He believed that the reporter would soon sally forth again, and, darkness having fallen, he grew bolder, and hovered very near the dwelling, determined not to be baffled by dark house-fronts and dimly- lighted streets. At the end of fifteen 'minutes his patience was rewarded. Cousin re-appeared and set out on foot, at a rapid pace, up town. After some moments he stopped, andhailed a passing horse-car. Ferrars, after following it briskly for more than a block, boarded it also, remaining upon the platform at the rear, where he could see Cousin seated inside directly under the rays of the dim illuminator. Cousin had made some changes for the better in his toilet, but the preoccupied look was Still upon his AN OPEN-HANDED GAME. 303 face, and his pallor, it seemed to Ferrars, had increased. From time to time he consulted his watch ,f as if' impatient of the slow- moving car. When he finally arose and rang the bell, the keen- eyed detective took note of his look of relief, and the nervous. haste of his movements._ ‘ Upon leaving the car, Cousin walked swiftly onward for a block, and then began to slacken his pace. They were now upon a street built up on either side with tall stately blocks and i dwellings,——an aristocratic street, smoothly paved, broad, and well lighted. For two more blocks Cousin kept on, slowly now, and with evident hesitation as he neared the flight of white stone steps. leading-up to a door a little back from the street, and approached through a low iron gateway. From the stained glass on either side and above the doorway, a soft light was visible ; and from windows at one side, a broad band of light glowed across the narrow lawn and out upon the pavement. Just outside of this band of light the detective stopped, while Cousin rang the bell and waited at the top of the broad flight of steps for admittance. Instantly, almost as if a guest was expected, the soft glow of the hall-lamps increased, and then the door swung open, and a woman-servant appeared and disappeared, as Cousin stepped within and the door closed. Then, by sort of instinct, the detective moved a few paces for- ward, and stood at the .very edge of the band of light. Sud- denly a shadow crossed it, and in the next moment he was in a position to see, through half-drawn curtains, a woman ap- pear’—-—-a woman tall and slender and stately, with trailing gar- ments of black, and with a fair face, crowned by a glory of golden hair. How clearly she stood, out against the glowing background ! It was really but a half dozen steps from pave- 304 ' A LOST WITNESS. ment to window, and but half a dozen more from the Window to the place where the fair Woman stood. To the watcher out- side it seemed even nearer. It seemed so near, that instinctively he shrank back, lest he, too, should be seen. Again there was a shadow across the line of light, and then —yes, it was Polly Cousin who had entered. The lady stood still in her place beneath the curtains, but her two hands went out in a gesture of welcome, and were taken by Cousin and held, while be bent toward her and seemed to be speaking rapidly. ‘ For a moment they stood thus; then the hands of the lady seemed to withdraw themselves from his grasp, and she came down the room, walking, it seemed, straight forward in the line of light and toward the window. She put up her hand and took hold of the curtain. For an instant she stood there ,moveless, notlooking out, but, apparently, thinking 3 and the watcher outside had time to See that her face was very lovely, and very grave. Then the curtain closed, and Ferrars was standing alone without, with nothing to do but retrace his steps as best he could. _ As he was abOut to do this, a coupé came rapidly around the nearest corner, and, before he had taken half a dozen steps, it had stopped at the gate through which Cousin had so lately passed. _. N aturally,,the detective, standing in the shadow, turned and waited to observe who was the latest arrival. Like one accustomed to the way, the occupant of the coupe stepped’quickly out, and, without a word to the driver, went briskly in through the gate. The lamps of the vehicle were aglow, but, so quick were the movements of the man‘who alight}- ~'ed, Ferrars could only see that he was tall, well made and well AN OPEN-HANDED GAME. 305 dressed. The face was turned away, but there was something about the half-seen and swiftly-receding figure that struck him as oddly familiar. , As the newcomer ascended the steps, the watcher drew a step neare1. This time the door did not open so promptly. But when it did, Ferrars recognized at once, in the young man standing under the full light of the hall-chandelier, the one who had occupied, for the past forty-eight hours, so large a place in his thoughts, Max Talfourd ! It was with a start of surprise and some self-congratulation, that Ferrars drew a step still nearer—so near in fact, that he run some little risk of being seen, and near enough to hear the words spoken by the maid, whose voice, not loud but high— keyed and clear, was more distinct than the mellow tones of Talfourd. “She had not been well all day.” This much he heard but without catching the name. “Not at all well, but she would see; and woul ld he come in?” Talfourd shook his head and remained in the doorway, while the maid-servant vanished. There was something odd in all this, thought Ferrars, —4-somet'hi11g like respectful familiarity in the maid’s address, and surely some unconventional familiarity in the attitude of Talfourd, as he leaned against the carved door-posts. Ev- idently he was not sure of an entrance, and Ferrars, noting this, thought fast. Here before him was a man who was, unconsciously per-_ haps, being encompassed by a web, the meshes of which might close to crush and ruin the Victim. But for him, Ferrars, the picture and the 1otter. reposing now in his pocket, might be in the hands of the Coroner, and the name of Max Talfourd;b" 20 - ' 306 A LOST WITNESS. bandied about, with that of Frederick Quinlan, as a possible murderer. To save this man, the friend of his friend, he had crossed the ocean. And now, here was Fate bringing them together in unexpected places ! What had Max Talfourd, his 'client,and the lover of Leah Paget, to do with Hortense N ov- alis? and PollyCousiu? or with the lady, who, evidently, by her reception of him, was Cousin’s friend ? The detective’s thoughts flew fast, and, by the time the maid was back with her answer, his mind was made up. , It was a negative answer, and Ferrars only caught the last few words—something about the hope of being better ;» able to see him tomorrow. Then Max turned and came down the steps, less hurriedly than he had ascended them. Before he had lifted his foot from the last of the flight, Fer- rars was at the gate. When Max came up he put out his hand, and said, in a tone too low for the driver to hear : “ Mr. Talfourd, one moment, please. This is a lucky ac- cident. I have a message of importance from Mr. Ferrars.” Max stepped back a pace, and seemed trying to scan his face through the darkness. Then he called to the driver, “ John, turn your horse around.” It was a clever thought, and Fer- rars smiled his admiration. “ Who are you ‘2” added Max, as the driver gathered up his reins to obey. a Softly,” murmured the o 7 er. “ Don’t disown me because of my toggery. I’ m Ferrari‘s, and I want you to take me in and go with me straight to the rooms of Sir Felix Wyntoun.” As the carriage turned about, and the rays of the moving lamps fell upon the face he turned toward them, for the ben- efit of Max,;‘tha_t' young man started and drew back. But a look straight into his eyes, from orbs that were now neither dim nor weak, in spite of their circling rims of red, reassured AN OPEN-HANDED GAME. 307 him, and he said, after a brief hesitation, and for the benefit of the 'coachman : “ Why, to be sure ! Glad to have met you. Get in with me, by all means.” “Thank you,” said Ferrars, in double meaning ; I’m glad of . the opportunity.” As they seated themselves and were driven rapidly town- ward, Ferrars said to himself, “ The die is cast. Now it must be, between us two, an open- handed game. Be he guilty or innocent, I am committed to this man, to play this game out, to solve the problem, so far- as he is concerned, with cards on the table.” For a few moments they rode on in silence ; then Ferrars spoke. “ Do you know the hour ‘2” Max started as if from a reverie. “ No,” he said ; and tli.en-—“ We can easily tell.” ' He pro- duced a match, struck it, and held it for Ferrars to consult his watch, while by its light he scrutinized the make-up of the de- tective with a curious look of interest and amusement. “ It’s early ye ,” said Ferrars ; “ only half-past eight. I have not broken my fast since luncheon time, and a hasty lunch- eon at that. Can you take me some place where I can eat, and talk with you as Well ? The more modest and inconspicu- ous, the better. I want to get out of this disguise, too, as scon as possible. I’ve an engagement for half-past nine. Like your- self, I mean to call upon a lady.” While he talked, Ferrars was wondering, “ Does he know that Leah Paget is found ?” “ I know the very place,” said Max, cordially. “ I shouldn’t mind joining you. But- you will have to identify yourself. I don’t more than half believe in you yet.” .308 A LOST WITNESS. “ Oh, I’ll vouch for myself,” said Ferrars, lightly, “ and explanations will be in order. Do you know, if you hadn’t dropped down upon me, come to the rescue as it were, I should have been lost.” “ N 0, really ?” said Max. “ I'suppose I must not ask you how you ever got up there ?” “ I’m willing to be catechized over our chops or steak,” replied Ferrars ; “ and to catechize.” “ I’lldo my share of confessing,” replied Max, lightly. Their faces Were dimly visible'to each other through the darkness, but, as Max spoke, the detective noted the fine mel- low tone, and said to himself, “ The fellow hasa rare voice; a shade more of softness andsweetness would make it too fine.” Ferrars h‘ad “ ideas” about voices. “ I wrote you a note,” he said, after a moment of silence. “ Am I to suppose that you did not receive it?” “ I have not seen it,” replied Max. “ Where did you send it -—to,the club ?” “ N o. It was written in great haste, and I‘used the addreSs that came first, as I had written them in my note-book,—-—-your home address.” “ Then I dare say my father has received it; our names are the same, and unless--—” ‘He broke ofl' abruptly to ask, “ Was it anything special?” “ Well, it was rather urgent. Have we far to go ?” “ No,” replied Max, “ we are just arriving.” He leaned for- ward to give an order to the driver, and in a moment they whirled around a corner, and the coupé came to a sudden stop. “ Here we are,” said Max, springing out. “ \Ve’ll have a private .room, and—,” to the driver, “John, you will wait.” “ NOT ,ACCOUNTED FOR.” 309 CHAPTER XLIII. “ NOT ACCOUNTED FOR.” I Ferrars said little, when they were seated together inatiny room, until something between luncheon and a hasty dinner, ' which came up promptly, was set before them, and they had dismissed the waiter. ' Max had been very busy scanning the disguise of the detects ive, andhe openly expressed his surprise and admiration. “Oh, it’s nothing,” said Ferrars, carelessly. “ It’s an art, like many other things. Master the details, and you’d be sur- prised at the simplicity of it all. We mustn’ t waste words now, Mr. Talfourd, and I want to ask some questions. I Wish you would take for granted their well-meaning, and their perti- ,nence, even when you don’t quite comprehend.” “ I’m too much at your mercy, Mr. Ferrars, not to do that, and too anxious for your help, besides.” , “ Then, I’ll take you at your word. Of course, you have heard of the double murder?” “ Yes, of course. I don’t think I would have gone wild over M’lle N ovalis or her acting, but it’s a' shocking thing. Did you ever see her “2‘” "‘ I' saw her today”—-—with his eyes upon the, other’s face. “ Oh ! Then, of course, you’ve been at the inquest?” Max began to look honestly puzzled. ' “ Did you know Hortense Novalis ‘2” asked the detective, ig- noring the implied question. .310 A Losr wanEss. “ Yes and no. . I met her once, under rather peculiar cir—' cumstances. ” “ Are you willing to state them?” “ I can’t,” answered Max, simply , “ it’s the affair of anoth- er.” \ “ Oh i and you’re under a promise?” Max looked his surprise. “Really l” he began, “ I don’t see—’.’ - ‘ Ferrars stopped him with a gesture. “ One moment,” he said. “ I have been at the inquest—I’ve taken the case.” “ Pardon me. Do you mean that you have pledged your— self to find the murderer of Hortense Novalis and her maid ?” Ferrars nodded. , Max Talfourd’s face plainly spoke his displeasure. ‘ “ And what, then,” he began, hotly, “ am I to expect? Mr. Ferrars, do you count the finding and saving of such a girl as Leah ‘Paget, if. She is yet alive, or the clearing-up of the mys- tery'and avenging her, if she is dead, a less important, a less fine deed, than finding the murderer of such a woman as Hor- tense :Novalis ? I, We have a city police especially trained for that work.” “ So I have been told,” replied Fer1ars, drily. “ What if I should say that the load which leads to the solution of one of these mysteries will probably end in the other?” “ I should say,’ ’said Max, with a stern face, “ that it were utterly impossible.” “ Then you would say a very unwise thing, and might, some day, be constrained to take it back. I don’t think you need hesitate‘about telling all you know of Hortense Novalis ; one- half has already been told, before the Coroner’s jury, by the janitor.” “ NOT ACCOUNTED FOR.” .311 “ The janitor ?” repeated Max, as if doubting the evidences of his ears. “What can the janitor, any janitor, know about a matter—3’ He stopped short, and sat staring at Ferrars. “All the janitor knows is that, on a certain day, a lady—a very pretty young lady—called upon Hortense Novalis ; that, very soon after, you called also, and that, very soon again, you came away together, yourself and the pretty young lady. That, as you were about to leave, Mr. Frederick Quinlan Came, and you exchanged greetings, hastily and somewhat cavalierly. Mr. Quinlan has also testified, and no doubt has given the gentlemen of the jury the benefit of his rushlightf I did not stay to hear Mr. Quinlan’s last testimony, knowing that I would have a verbatim report of the same, and of all the other proceedings. Shall I tell you about the inquest?” Max bowed his head. He was bursting with diSpleasure. “ I’ll have to‘make it brief,” said Ferrars. “ But I’ll try to have it clear.” ‘ And brief and clear it was. All was told concerning the finding of the bodies, the survey of the rooms, and the inquest up to the time when Ferrars withdrew,———all but the finding of the letter signed Max, and the photograph under the pil- low, and the envelope found in the ashes of the grate. When all was told, Max Talfourd sat looking squarely into the face of the narrator an image of amazement, and of noth— ing else. When he spoke it was the turn of Ferrars to be sur- prised. “By Jove. '” he ejaculated,“ this will be a terrible blow to Sir Felix.” Evidently, for the moment, Max had forgotten his own troubles 1n those of his friend. “ Yes,” ‘ admitted the detective. “ Does he know ‘2” asked Max. 312 A LOST-WITNESS. .“ In part—wnot so much, however, as I have told you.” He waited a moment for the next word from Max, but that young man sat silently before him, evidently lost in serious thought. ‘i‘ I think you must see, now, why it would be well for you to tell me everything you can concerning that visit to Hortense Novalis ; your part in it and” hers.” “ By ‘ her’ you mean, do you not, La Belle Fabrice ?” , -“ Yes.” , Max Talfourd leaned across the table and looked earnestly into the face of Ferrars. “Mr. Ferrars,” he said, “ I can’t do it; not until I am sure that I shall not "be doing her an injury by speaking out. For. my own part in that afi'air, I care little. It was my first, last, and only visit to that place,———the only one time that I ever exchanged a word with Hortense Novalis. But I won’t‘break a promise until the ' reason for keeping it is removed. I’m Sorry that I can’t help you, but I mulst see Sir Felix and Fred Quinlan, before I open my lips upon that subject.” ’ Ferrars got up and stood before him. .“I have told the story with some reservations,” he said, slowly, while he watched the face of Max for any sign of alarm or surprise. “ The part that I have held in reserve concerns you closely.” I 4 Max started. “ Ah, yes !” he said , “ something about—about —about——” “ About the possibility of finding one solution for the two cases. Mr. Talfourd, I have not had this matter of Miss Pa- get’s disappearance long under advisement, but I have noted one ceincidence. You see, I have already gone over the re- ports and the notes in the case with Captain Connors. Has it occurred to you that Miss Leah Paget disappeared upon the “ NOT ACCOUNTED FOR.” 313 night that you made this mysterious first and last call, in com- pany with La Belle Fabrice, upon Hortense N ovalis ‘3” Max was staring at him dully ; he was now in that condi- tion when he would accept any surprise, and reply’ to any ques- tion, quite stolidly. He was like a man half dazed and strug- gling with his memory. “ No,” he said. “And are you aware ’went on the detective, mercilessly,- .“ that, during the sea1ch foi the missing young lady, you have been constantly under surveillance by the police, both you and young Quinlan?” “ N0,” uttered Max again. “ Then, of course you are not aware that upon the records of the case, you stand as unaccounted for on that night? I think I can quote the record. It reads thus : ‘ Up to the pres- ent date, the whereabouts of Maxwell Talfourd and Frederick Quinlan, on the night of the disappearance, and between the hours of seven o’clock and midnight, have not been accounted for.’ ” For along moment Max sat staring straight before him, the dazed Iook‘ still 011 his face. ' But at last his brow cleared and his eyes lighted up. He arose and stood before Ferrars, grave and self-possessed. “I’ve been blind and a fool!” he said. “ Mr. Ferrars, pardon me, and do not throw me over yet. I must see Sir Felix and Fred Quinlan. I cannOt say more now.” “ When you have. seen them, Mr. Talfourd, and are ready to talkfreely with me, I will show you the link which connects yourself, and perhaps Miss Paget, with this case of most foul murder. As I have said, I have taken the case ; otherwise, I could not do what I am doing now out of regard for you. I 314 ' A Los'r wrrNEss. am disposed to be your friend, and I shall spare you ,all I can of unpleasant notoriety. But you must be frank with me, perfectly frank.” “lWhen I am able to open my lips, I shall be as frank as b you please,” replied Max. “ But you are speaking now, Mr. Ferrars, in riddles.” “ So it seems. May I ask a question or two upon another topic ‘2” , “ You may.” “ Do you know..Cousin, the reporter ‘2” “ I know him, yes. A nodding acquaintance, nothing mOre. ” “ Is he a society man ‘2” “ Cousin ‘2 I should think not; at least, I have never heard of him or met him anywhere.” “Is he, 1n any sense,a ‘ladies’ man ‘2’ ” “ I know Mr. Cousin as an able reporter; pushing, not too Well bred but clever ; and also as an amateur detective of some ability. Nothing more.” , “ Thanks, for so much. Now bear with me. I want to ask you the name of the lady whom you called on tonight.” Max looked his astonishment but answered promptly. “ The name of the lady is Mrs. Sara Volney. She is the widow of Gregory Volney, a cousin of my mother’s.” “ Is Mrs. Volney an elderly person ‘2” “ By no means. Mrs. Volney is young and very beauti-~ ful.” , _ * “ Thank you, Mr. Talfourd. When do you expect to see Mr. Quinlan ‘2” “Immediately. I am pretty sure to find him'at home to- night.” A BOOTLESS QUEST. 315 “ I should think so. Can you contrive to get a note into his hands, in such a way that he will not suspect that it comes from you ?” ' “ Easily. I can give‘ it to a messenger on the way.” “ Mr. Quinlan must not know that we have met, you un- derstand ?” l “ Certainly not.” .“ And when shall I see you again ?” “ The sooner the betterwafter I have seen Quinlan and Sir Felix.” ‘ _ . “ Then I will communicate with you as soon at I am at lei- sure. By the way, have you had any Word from the Pagets to~ day ?” “ N 0,” said Max. And Ferrars knew that Mrs. Paget was keeping her word to him. CHAPTER XLIV. A BOOTLESS QUEST. It was half-past nine when the English detective appeared in the rooms of” Sir Felix Wyntoun. In the interval, he had dropped his shabby/garb, with its accompanying artistic facial touches, and was the original, quiet, fine—mannered Ferrars. Besides accomplishing this transformation, he had written a letter of excuses and explanations, to the Chief of Police. He found Sir Felix, wobegone and anxious, restlessly pac- 316 A' Los'r wrrmss. ing the floor, an unlighted cigar gripped nervously between his teeth. “ Oh, there you are at last 1” was his greeting. “ I thought something had happened to you. By Jove, I’m awfully cut up, Ferrars l” ‘ 1 ' “ That won’t do, my dear fellow. You must not show the white feather. Come, have you prepared the way ? I’ve a carriage at the door.” ‘ Sir Felix caught up his hat. “ Yes, I’ve prepared the way,” he said, ‘f an hour ago or more. They’ll be only too glad to talk with you. Madam Congreve is in mortal terror of a sum- mons to appear before the Coroner.” ' i In his note to Sir Felix, posted in the forenoon while on his way to the home of Abner Paget, Ferrars had instructed his friend to call upon Madam Congreve, and prepare her for an- interview. Sir Felix was only to name him as a friend who might be able to serve them, and who was to be trusted, and to make an appointment for the evening, leaving the re— sult to Ferrars and to circumstances. This note Sir Felix did not read until after his visits, first to Madam Congreve and then to the scene of the double murder, whence F errars had met him, and sent him away with a word of caution for future use. From the house on LeXington Avenue he had gone back to Madam Congreve, and so the letter and the appointment had both been delayed. Sir Felix, coming home to dine, there found his letter, reading it and then dining in feverish haste, to rush back, for the third time that day, to Madam Congreve, in whom he had found both friend and consOler. _ He told Ferrars these things as they drove onward, and added, “ Manager Horton has been there. 'He told us about the inquest. Madam Congreve almost quarrelled with him. A BOOTLESS QUEST. 317 She blames him for urging Fabrice beyond endurance. I think the Manager himself is Conscience-stricken} “ Has Madam expressed an opinion ?” asked F errars. “ About what?” “ The probable reason for the disappearance of her friend?” “ Madam is as much in the dark as I am.” Ferrars smiled. There was an impatient ring in the voice of his friend, a token, to him, of nervousness and anxiety ill! concealed. . “ It won’t do to lose your hold upon yourself, old man,” he said, kindly. “ Remember your position here among strangers, and that a yet more trying ordeal may come. You and young Talfourd seem somehow to be changing places. By the bye, he is likely to, drop in on you soon, perhaps before we get back.” “ I provided for that,” said Sir Felix, “ knowing that he is likely to drop down upon me at any time.” .“ Have you seen him today ?” “ No ; if he comes he will wait.” “ Sir Felix,” said Ferrars, suddenly, “ have you made the acquaintance of Talfourd’s family?” (I Yes.” “Tell me something about them.” . “ There’s not much to tell. Max Talf'ourd is an only son. His mother is a lady, and something of an invalid ; a sweet:- gentlewoman whom I admire immensely. The father, too, I like much. He’s a strong man ; clear—headed, capable, genial. I wish that he and his son would pull together better. They’ve differed a little about the young lady, Miss Paget. I’d advise you to know Talfourd, senior.” , “I mean to know him,” said Ferrars. “ Is that all? No relatives ?” 318 A 1.051: WITNEss. “ That’s all of the family. Relatives—let me see. There’s Mrs. Volney. She’s a connection by marriage, I believe. Lives in town, in a fine establishment of her own.” “ A widow?” ' ’ “Yes, and a very handsome woman. I’ve quite an admira- tion for Mrs. Volney. ” ‘ Indeed; and do you know her well?” "‘ I do not think it would be easy to know Mrs. Yolney well. Talfourd introduced me and we have been there a. lit- tle together. By Jove,” he ejaculated, in that peculiarly boy- ish fashion, Very common to him when he was conversing with a friend and familiar, “ but Max Talfourd’s ,a lucky fellow and a cool one. He doesn’t half appreciate his fair cousin.” “ Meaning Mrs. Volney?” a Yes.” ‘ “ Is she his cousin ‘3” “I believe she’s the widow of a cousin of his mother’s.“ She’s a very reserved woman, and dignified, in a certain gentle way that’s very charming. I’ve fancied once or twice that she was fond of Max.” ’ “Quite natural,” said Ferrars, carelessly. “Young Tal- fourd is a most admirable fellow. I like him myself.” \ “I’m glad to hear you say it. He will not disappoint you. He’s as true as steel.” -. Ferrars made no further comment upon Max Talfourd, but in a moment he asked ca1elessly, as if the question was of lit- tle importance. “ Do you know that young fellow, Cousin—Polly Cousin they call him. A 1ep01te1, or something, isn’t he ?” “ I haven’t the honor of his acquaintance,” said Sir Felix. And then, with a short laugh, he added, “ I’ve seem him, how— A BoorLEss QUEszr. 819 ever. There’s a funny little incident connected with that fel- low. I will ask Madam to tell it to you some day.” “ Can’t you tell it ?” “ I don’t feel in the mood. It’s about an attempt the fel- low made to interview La Belle Fabrice. I suppose she is indebted to that for the only unfavorable line I ever saw in print concerning her ability as an actress. Cousin is a priv- ilegedfeullitonist for the ‘ Evening Cal . ’ ” “ Do you mean,” said Ferrars, quickly, “ that, because of any disappointment or cavalier treatment at the hands of your friend, this fellow has taken a stand against her ‘3” His tone was that of one who has a reason for the question he asks, and Sir Felix recognized its earnestness. , i‘ How you catch at trifles, old man ! Wait until you hear the story, and then judge for yourself. We’re arriving, don’t you see ‘2” . The carriage was indeed drawing up to the pavement, and the two young men sprang out and hurried in, in time to en-‘ ter the elevator on its upward trip. ‘ At the door of entrance to the apartments of Fabrice and Madam, a Servant Was standing. He had a bunch of keys in his hand, and looked inquiringly at Sir Felix, with Whose comings and goings he had become familiar, andqbowed re- ..spectfully as the young man paused before the door. “ You’re too late,s ir,” he said. “ Too late !” Sir Felix frowned slightly. ' “ I believe we are expecte( .” The man was standing directly before'the deor. “ Be so good as to stand aside, or open the door and announce us.” “ The door is locked, sir,” said the man. “ They’ve gone. I’ve just been locking up, according to orders. They’ve been gone half an hour, anyway.’ ’- - u Gone l—they 1” began Sir Felix, excitedly. 320 A LOST WITNESS. But Ferrars touch-ed him lightly upon the shoulder. “ Be careful,” he Whispered. “ Let me make these inquiries. Calm yourself.” Then he turned to the servant. "f Did Madam Congreve leave no message?” “ None that I know of, sir. I guess they didn’t have any too much time.” “ Did you ‘see them set out ?” ‘ “Yes, sir. I carried Madam’s satchel and the maid’s shawl- stra’p down to the carriage, and she told me to lock the rooms, just as they were, until she came back. I think she was going to Say something more, but the gentleman broke in and said they were losing time.” i . “ The gentlema11—-—yes.- Did you know the gentleman ?” ~ “ N o, sir. I never saw him but once” before, and that was last night, when he came to see Miss Fabrice.” “ Eh i” broke out Sir Felix; “ when he came to see whom ‘2” Again the hand of F errars’ , this ‘time quick and firm in its grip upon his arm, silently checked him. “I’m afraid we’ve got our appointments mixed,” Ferrars said, lightly. “ I suppose the lady didn’t say when she was coming back?” “ No, sir. I’ve told you all that was said. They Was all 1n a hurry.” “Yes, thank .you.” At this point. a piece of silver was adroitly slipped into the servant’s hand. Ferrars took his friend’s arm as if about to turn away. Then he faced about suddenly. “ By the bye, what kind of a person was it that came for Madam Congreve ? Can you describe him ?” “Why, not more than to say that he was an oldish man, with grey hair and a smooth face. Quite tall he was, and very thin. I remember that he wore his hat on the back of his head and it looked too big for him.” A BOOTLESS QUEST. 321 “ Thank you.” F errars felt his companion start at the mention of the tilted hat, and strain toward the elevator, like a restive hound in leash; “ Did you see him come and go last night ?” . . “ I sawhim come. I happened to be in the way of the re- ception-room, the little one down stairs; he didn’t come up last night, He gave me a card and told me to hand it to Miss Fabrice and to no one else. If she wasn’t there I was to fetch! it back.” . - _ ' ' “Yes. Of course. I was sure it was all right,” gripping hard 011 the arm that was silently pulling at him. “ The lady was in,” he asked? 7 _ I l “ Yes. I went to the door of her private room It opens into the hall, there.” He indicated the door with a stubby and work-fworn finger. “ I give he1 the card and-she jest shut her door softly like, and ran right doWn stairs to the recep- tion—room.” . ~ “ How long did the gentleman stay?” “ I d011’t know, sir. I went 011 about my work. I didn’t see either of them again that ~11ight. And tonight I only saw the tall gentleman, as they went away, all three in the car- ri:’1ge. “ Come,” broke 111 Sir Felix,“ we a1e wasting time!” The sudden 1emoval of Fer1a1s’ hand f1om his a1n1 caused him to turn, and brought him in a measure back to his senses. _ But not until the servant had noticed his excitement. “ Mayhe,'I’ve been talking too much,” the man began;dep- recatingly. “ I know there’s been a kind of mystery going 011. But I thought it was all right—this gentleman,” meaning Sir Felix, “ being such a friend here.” “It is all. right; perfectly right,” said Ferrars, briskly. 21 322 A LOST WITNESS. “ But let me caution you not to talk about these things to strangers. The ladies, when they return, might not like it, you know.” _ V . - . By this time Sir Felix was sufficiently alive'to press a second generous tip into-the willing hand of the servant, and they re- entered the elevator, and thence into the waiting carriage. And now Sir Felix took the bit in his teeth. ' “ Driver,” he said, "‘ take us to the Jefferson Market Court as quickly as you can.” Then throwing himself back in the carriage, “ Do not countermand me, Frank. That fellow has described a person I know. In fact, I introduced him “to Fa- brice, at her request. He’s a lawyer. He may tell us what all this means.” For a few moments both were silent ; then Ferrars spoke, slowly and with a note of sternness in his tone. “ When We have paid this call of yours, I’m going to trouble you to sit down, collect your scattered wits, and do some sober thinking. One of the worst things that we professional truth- seekers have to contend‘with, is the habit most people have of forgetting and ignoring trifles. I want you to pass in mental review all that has transpired under your eye, all that has been said in your hearing, concerning La Belle Fab‘rice, connected with her, or said by her. All, mind. I believe if I could sift the minds of you three felloWs, Talfourd, Quinlan, and yourself, I would’find enough material to bring this chaos into something like order, and have a firm foundation to begin upon, if nothing more.” I “ If there’s anything in my addled brain,” said Sir Felix, meekly, “ that can’t be got out by the ordinary pumping pro- cess, I’m willing to be put upon the rack, and if that won’t do, I’ll let you try vivisection.” THE ALTERNATIVE. . 323 “ Oh, I know how to get at you,” said Ferrars, with a short laugh. “ And I’m tolerably sure of Talfourd, after he has satisfied his scruples, and gets thoroughly aroused to sthe’ necessities and possible dangers of the complication. I’m not so sure of Quinlan. What are you going to do when you get to your lawyer, eh ?” _ “Turn him over to you,” replied Sir Felix, promptly. But again Fate frowned upon them. Sir Felix toiled up stairs to the door of the lawyer’s office, only to read, by the glare of an electric burner, these words, scrawled in ink upon a card that was nailed against the door-post, “ Out of town for a week.” CHAPTER XLV. THE ALTERNATIVE. When Polly Cousm arrived at the door of the stately old house where his welcome was so ready and so cordial, he was in a frame of mind not compatible With caution, or any of the cool and comfortable emotions. His heart was throbbing in a manner quite novel to him, and extremely uncomfortable.1 His head, too, was throbbing; the big v'eins on either temple steed out boldly, showing dark through the white rim of his forehead. His eyes were hot and strangely brilliant ; his cheeks burned, and his throat and mouth felt parched. _ He had begun the journey pale 'and listless, but every step that 824 ' A LOST WITNESS. brought him nearer the beautiful, stately calm woman, brought With it fire and fever, fear and anger, self-pity and sus— pense. ' When he entered the drawing-room and took the two hands of Sara Volney, bending over them, asFerrars had seen from his post of observation Without, he was not the cool, practi-‘ cal, commonplace, awkward Polly Cousin who had first entered these rooms only a few weeks ago. He was a stronger man and a weaker ; a better and a worse. He had lost something which he was never to regain, and gained that which—bite and torture, writhe and sting him as it would—«he would never part with if he could, and could not if he would. What he did, as witnessed by the detective without, seemed a delightful and gallant act of homage. What he said, in a voice husky and tremulous, was : “You got my note?” He held her slender fingers in his hot grasp, and his burning eyes searched her face. “Yes,” she murmured, softly. “ Come into the library.” She led the way, and he followed. But when She held back the portiere, as on his first visit, and waited again for him to pass, he did not enter humbly, obeying her gesture and await- iing her royal word. Instead, he took the hand that hung by her side, and held it, while with the disengaged other hand he drew the curtains together. Then, with a tightening grasp upon her fingers, he led her forward to a divan at the extreme end of the long room, seated her thereon, and, still holding her hand, sat down at her side. For a long moment his eyes searched her face—that serene face, turned toward him wit-11 a look of inquiry and nothing ,more. After a moment, she gently drew away her hand, but kept her calm gaze upon him. I! THE ALTERNATIVE. 32o “ What is it?” she asked, quietly. “ Something has hap- pe11ed.Is it not so?” Still he continued to gaze, and' 1gn01 111g he1 question, asked another: “Do you remember 0111 first 111te1v1ew——here—-1n this room ‘2” “Surely,” she said, “ I remember it; remember it in detail. Do you ?” “ I remember so well,” he said, slowly, “that I believe I shall take that one memory with me beyond the grave, if there is a beyond. I have not forgotten it, sleeping or waking, for one moment since. One thing—one thing—you said to me— I wonder if you have forgotten it?” “ What was it ‘2” she asked, softly. The surprise was gone out of her face now, but no indignation, no pity, no look whereby to index he1 thoughts, came to take its 'place. She did not draw away from him, 1101 in any way seek to widen the distance be- tween them. She simply sat erect whe1e he had placed her, with her white hands lying lightly in her lap. “ You said-—” He breathed the words rather than spoke them, and he, too, was unchanged in his attitude, even to 'the hand that lay as she had left it, after Withdrawing . her own. “You said that there was no loneliness like that of a lonely woman, no helplessness like hers. I do not quote your wo1ds exact but that was you1 meaning——was it not?” “Yes,” she said, “that was my meaning.” A little sigh patted her thin led lips. “ Yes, it was your mean: 1.1g. I could not mistake that. Ithas been' 111 my thoughts night and day ever since.” Again he put out his hand but only to lay it on the palm of hers. “You ‘wfl-w‘. ..._ 326 A LOST WITNESS. are a lonely woman,” he said. “ And, in most things, Very helpless ‘2” “True.” “ When a woman is very lonely and very helpless,” he went on, almostepathetically; “ when she has no relatives and no friends—real friends I mean ; not surface friends—when such a woman is most helpless and most in need of a friend, she feels and knows that because of such need she, herself, must do what, but for this, she would never do. If to such a woman, in such a mo- ment, there should come one who is as far below her as is the mole from the eagle, the earth from the shining stars ; who is nothing and ’worse than nothing; uncouth, untaught, unloved ever, but who brings to- her adoration ; a life to lay down at her bidding ; head. and hands, heart and soul, only to do her will, to stand between her and all the world—if to such a woman such a man should come, offering her all, only that he may serve her in prosperity and save her in time of need, asking only a little kindness, only to be near her——-what, tell me, what would she say to him ?” A long moment of strangely weird silence, in which two statues could not be stiller——he, with a hand upon hers, each looking the other in the face. “ I think,” she said, very slowly and very softly, “ if she were wise, and very sure of his entire devotion, such a woman, would hold such a. friend as her dearest possession, and never let him go.” Suddenly, then, he dropped upon his knees beside her, tak- ing both her hands in his, lifting first one and then the other, looking at each caressingly,-and then clasping them both to- gether between his own. ' “Listen,” he said. “I am not going to speak of myself. I THE ALTERNATIVE. 327 am nothing ; nothing but the screen, the watch-dog, the safe- guard between you and all harm—all, remember. From the moment when I first looked upon you, dazed and bewildered, in the house of Abner Paget, the world has held for me your- self, and nothing more. I have lived and worked, eaten and slept, in a dream. Day and night my thoughts have been of you, to be near you, to save you. I have lived only when in your presence, and I have impiously prayed that Leah Paget might never be found, if her return would shut your door to me. At first I lived upon seeing you now and then, when I was permitted. By and bye that was not enough, and I began making a shrine of the place that held you. I came here at night, and every night. I soon learned which was your win— dow,,and I came each night to worship before that. It was my climax, for which I lived through the earlier hours of the day with what patience I could. Last evening, when my work was done, it was yet early, only half—past ten. I am alight sleeper, and accustomed to awake at will. So, to while ”away the time, I threw myself across my bed and went to sleep. It was a thing that never happened to me before, but I overslept, and When I awakened it was past midnight.” He stopped short and looked down at her nands. They had stirred in his, he thought. They were even quivering a little. He noted it with dull curiosity, as if they had been his captured birds.' Then there was another movement, and he looked up. She was bending a little toward him, her lips slightly apartin a pensive half-smile. “ Yes,” he went on, “ it was half-past one, and I had along walk before I could reach here. It was after two o’clock when I halted opposite your house to watch, as usual, my little hour.” ' Again he stopped short to look at her, half expectantty, half ~——-——- 328 A LOST WITNESS. ' like a culprit. She was still bending toward him, still faintly smiling, and the look inhis face changed slowly to one of sur-' prise. Then, softly, and with the smile deepening a little, she withdrew one of the hands he had held, and placed it upon his, the palm downward, the slender fingers closing over his own. “ Go on,” she said, gently. I ‘ But he remained silent. He was looking a thousand ques- tions, but his tongue refused to frame them. “ Your little hour,” 'she murmured. “ To think of it ! And did you watch out that little hour ‘3” “ Yes,” huskily. . “That, and more. I stayed at first be- cause I thought, I feared- Oh,” he broke out, fiercely, “ do you think I was spying ? Do you think that I came, night after night, to watch—-—you ?” She breathed a little low sigh. “ I believe nothing of you, that is not good,” she said. “_ Think of it .! When I have been sitting here alone, feeling all life pass me' by, leaving" me solitary—to think that you were there, that I might have put up my window and called to you, and you would have come.” The fire in T his face, that had been slowly dying out, flamed up again. “ Would you have called me ‘2” he asked, breath- less] y. ‘ She lifted the hand that had rested upon his, placed it upon his forehead and bent his head back, and so looked down into his eyes. -“ Yes,” ‘ she said. “ I would have called you, and you would have come, and would have helped me, and been able to understand, but now——” I “ But now——” he— cried. “It is not too late ! You need .me now ; you may need'me even more.” MK” ' / f / ”12$: 1 , ’fl I '\ 5&3” 1112', I a!" / . ' / ‘l'rz’f [I \ J» ¥ 4/ Md/ ‘v ‘V/ (2?; <’ ". é} ///// 3.3.. '1!!!" '3’“? “15' r (N 34-03%, N. ,. «M'- «wk ‘H‘ . ”1% “SUDDENLY, THEN, HE DROPPED UPON HIS KNEES BESIDE HER, TAKING BOTH HER HANDS IN HIS.” Page 326; 330 A LOST WITNESS. She stopped him by a gesture, and drew back a little. “ Listen,” she said. “ As I would have trusted you in my time of need, you must trust me now. Do you remember what I asked of you at our first meeting ? The time of trial has come. It is not for myself that I shall ask anything. When you have Served me, and trusted me, as Ihave served and trusted my friend, I shall know how much .I may trust you. Do not think that I have not known your worth" from the first. Do not think I‘do not recognize the value of such a friendship as you are capable of. Do not think I shall not regret you, (if you go; that I shall not be doubly dreary.” She removed the handfrom his head, and withdrew the other from his grasp, drawing back as she did it, and away from him. “ I want your friendship,” she said, sadly. “ I want it, but {I cannot buy it at the expense of a friend. Once I could have opened my whole heart to you. Now, until my lips are un— sealed, you must take me upon trust—or leave me.” She made a movement as if to rise, and he staggered to his feet. She sat still for a moment, and then stood erect before him. ' ' ’ “ I can forgive you,” she said, “ for you do not understand, but I cannot askyou to spare me now, even for friendship’s sake.” . She put out her hand, “ Good-bye,” she whispered. ‘That aroused him from his dizzy stupor. ' “ Good-bye ?” he echoed. “ N o. I choose the alternative.” She drew back “Do you hear me I Let come what will, I choose the alternative—I choose you i” A MEETING WITH SIR FELIX. 331 CHAPTER XLVI. A MEETING WITH SIR FELIX. The strong will and clear, cool reasoning of Ferrars brought Sir Felix Wyntoun out of what had become something of a frenzy, so pained, bewildered, and alarmed was he at the succes- sion of strange events rapidly transpiring about him, all so closely connected with Fabrice. During the homeward drive he had time to tell Ferrars how he had, himself, met with Mr. Clarkson at the home of Max Talfourd, and how, later, at, her request, he had presented the lawyer to Fabrice. “ What a wretched complication l” he exclaimed, finally. “ It grows more and more painful, don’t you think ? And how long we may have to wait for a solution l” ‘ He sighed deeply. “ So much for your wisdom!” rejoined Ferrars. “I take this departure of Madam and the lawyer as a, good augury.” “Of what ‘2” - “Of the ability of your friend, Fabrice, to explain away doubt or suspicion when the time comes. Is it not natural to conclude that she, having found a reason for absenting her- self, has now sent for her friends ‘2” When they arrived, Sir Felix was accosted by his servant, Who seemed to have been waiting for his return. i “ There is a gentleman. for you, Sir,” he said to his master. “ He said that he was expected and would Wait.” N "H. ”NI 332 A LOST WITNESS. “ Talfourd, of course,” said Sir Felix, and led the way with eager haste. But it was the elder Talfourd who arose upon their entrance, and Sir Felix, hiding his surprise as best he could, hastened to give him cordial greeting. Before he could present Ferrars, his Visitor said : “I am here, Sir Felix, in response to a note signed ‘ Fer- rars,’ and asking me to meet you here. I don’t quite under- stand it.” _ “ If Sir Felix will present me,” spoke Ferrars, “ I will ex- plain.” Wonderingly, Sir Felix performed the introduction, and his surprise was not lessened by the manner of the elder Talfourd. He bowed formally and with 'a set, unsmiling face. He did not speak nor extend a hand in greeting. , Somewhat embarrassed, Sir Felix turned to his friend. But Ferrars was byno means ruffled at the cool greeting, and the coldly-inquiring glance of Mr. Talfourd. Instead, he was standing before him, scanning his face closely and with an air of interest. At the end of his momentary survey, he turned and said : “ If you will kindly allow me a few words with Mr. Tal- fourd, Sir Felix, I think-I can explain myself.” “ With all my heart,” rejoined Sir Felix. “ You will find me, when wanted, in my dressing-room.” When they were alone, Mr. Talfourd tooka letter from his pocket and laid it upon the table at his side, near which Fer— rais was standing. “Are you the authorof that note, sir?” he asked. Ferrars bent over the note for a momentary glance but did [not touch it. - A MEETING WITH SIR FELIX. 333 “ Yes,” he said, then, “ I am the-author of that note, and I see that I have blundered. I intended it for Mr. Max Talfourd, your son.” The elder man took up the notes; his hand shook a little, and Ferrars could see that his lips trembled. Again he studied the face of theman before him attentively. Then, as if he had found there what he sought, he turned, and drew forward a chair. “I am not sorry for this opportunity, although tne mistake that brought it about was a possibility that I never contem- plated,” said Ferrars. “ I have made' the acquaintance of your son, under rather peculiar circumstances, and I beg you to believe that it was a friendly motive that inspi1ed that lette1W “ A friendly motive ?” Mr. Talfourd now took up that note and read it aloud : - “ DEAR SIR : I am just from the scene of the murder in Dresden Flats. I cannot see you until this evening, at a late hour perhaps. I But then, do not fail~ to be at the rooms of our friend, Sir Felix. In the interval, do not rashly put yourself in the way of a possible summons before the Coroner’s 'ur . Yours , J y ’ “FERRARS " “ Yes,” said Ferrars, when Mr. Talfourd had finished read- ing the note, “ I don’t often put such plain words into writ- ing. It’s seldom safe. But the emergency was an exceptional one. Time was of value, and your son and I am not yet suf- ficiently accustomed to each other to talk 1n riddles, or corre- spond 1n ciphel.” “You are talking in riddles to me,” said Mr. Talfourd. Ferrars was, in his way, a proud man, and something within him rose in rebellion against the haughty look and tone Of the 334 A LOST WITNESS. man before nim. He made a quick gesture toward the door that Separated them from Sir Felix. “ I believe that Sir Felix VVyntoun is fairly well known to you, is he not ?” he said. Talfourd bowed assent. “ Then do me the favor to go to him in there and ask who I am and why I am here.” After a long look at the author of this strange request, Mr. Talfourd arose, and went slowly into the next room, with something like a smile upon his face. When he came back, the smile had changed to a look not so humorous but, to Ferrars, far more satisfactory, ——the look which a self-respecting man gives to a man Whom he respects. “ Mr. Ferrars,” he said, “ Sir Felix has convinced me and converted me. I offer you a thousand apologies.” He ex- tended hishand, and Ferrars took it with cordial frankness. “ I do not imagine that Sir Felix has solved the riddle, however,” he said. “ No.” Mr. Talfourd resumed his seat, and his face was again grave and anxious. “ You can scarcely wonder at my surprise upon reading that note,” he said. “ I will not con- ceal from you that I at once concluded it to be a mistake. In fact, I had evidence that it was a mistake, that it was meant for my son,——-—evidence quite as mysterious as this note of yours, and even more disagreeable.” “ Now,” said the detective, “it is I who «do not under- stand.” “ It came in the form of another letter,” said Mr. Talfourd, “and that, too, no doubt, was meant for my son.” “In all my experience,” Ferrars said, thoughtful] ', “ I think I never encountered a case, or cases, so complicated, so A MEETING WITH SIR FELIX. 335 curiously blended together. I came, at first, to serve your son, for my friend’s sake. Having made his acquaintance, I am now anxious to serve him for his own. But you must see'that I am hampered, as an American, a New Yorker, per- haps, would not be. I need some one in whom to confide and upon whom to rely ; someone, I mean, besides the police. I do not lack help in that direction, thanks‘to your very service- able Chief.” ' ' “ Connors is a fine fellow,” assented Mr. Talfourd. “ I wish I might presume to offer my services.” “ If you do,” said Ferrars, “ I shall probably accept.” He glanced at his watch and then at his ois-a-m's. “ You said something of another letter?” he said, inquiringly. Mr. Talf'ourd looked doubtful, and more and mOre anxious. “ I don’t know what to say or do about that. Of course, it is my son’s letter.” “ Perhaps I had better tell you,” said Ferrars, “that I parted from your son not. long ago. I think we shall see him here soon.” ' . ’ “ Does he know—~—- ?” The father stopped short and left the question unasked. . i “ We had had little time for conversation. I had an appoint- ment, and so had he.” . “Mr. Ferrars, I must ask a question. You speak in your note of the Dresden Flats murder. In Heaven’s name, is my son to be in any way mixed with that?” Ferrars noted his look and tone. “ Why do you ask,” questioned. ' . ‘f Because—~because——-I may as well tell you ; it will case my mind. That other letter to my son was from-—” He stopped agaln. ' 336 A LOST WITNESS. p“ Was it from Hortense Novalis ‘2” Ferrars asked, quietly. Something, a sudden turn of his own thoughts, the stress of the occasion, the look and tone of Ferrars, or perhaps,a simple human instinct, turned the scale against further indecision on the part of Mr. Talfourd. “ I want you to observe, sir,” he said, firmly, almost sternly, “that I have full confidence in my son, even in the face ofthe fact that such a letter as you saw the need to send him, was preceded by a note from the woman who was murdered last night.” I - “Then you have _seen the papers ?” “ Yes, I have seen the papers. And you-—you have seen the facts. May I ask, are you able to tell me any of the details ‘2” -_ “ Mr. Talf'ourd,” said Ferrars, earnestly, “ I am able to tell you, and I want to tell you. lfI had not met you here tonight, I should have sought you out tomorrow. I have everyreason to believe t‘hat'you are the man, of all others, who can be of much help to me.” “ I can’t speak for the ability, Mr. Ferrars, but the will is all on your side.” , “Then let me tell you about the murder, as briefly as pos-. sible,” said ,Ferrars, rising, “ and Sir Felix had better be one ofus. He does not know all the story, but what he does is from a point of View likely to be helpful to us.” He opened the door and spoke to Sir Felix, who was pacing restlessl y up and down the floor. “ I’ve'been thinking over things, Frank,” he said as he fol~ lowed his friend, “ and I believe I can now tell you a cone nected story. I see something like a ray of light ahead.” As the two came into the apartment where Mr. Talt’ourd A DROP 0F moon. ' 337 waited, the opposite door flew open, and Max Talfourd shot into the room. He was pale, and his dress was slightly disor- dered. He manifested no surprise at the sight of his father; rather, he seemed not to have seen him, for he strode straight to Ferrars and caught his arm in ‘a tight grip. “ Say something to me!” he cried, hoarsely. “ I think I am going mad '! Have they played me a hellish trick, do you think ‘? I have seen Leah Paget 1” CHAPTER XLVII. A DROP OF BLOOD. Strange as his first words were, Ferrars thought that he com- p1 ehended them. “ My dear fellow, compose yourself” he said.“ Miss Paget came home today.” “ Today 3” Max could only stare at him. “ Yes ; this morning.” Then, his voice changing to one of brisk, business-like good humor-——“ If you’ll be good encugh' to note Mr. Talfourd, here, and then draw up your chair and give an account of yourself, we will settle down to busi- ness.” ‘ ’ Max looked about him. His father and _Sir Felix were al- ready seated, and as Ferrars quietly lowered himself into an arm—chair beside .the table, Max gave his hand, first to his 22 338 A LOST wrrnnss. father. and then to Sir Felix. Then he sat down and looked inquiringly from one to the other. ' “ Have you seen Quinlan ‘2” asked. Ferrars. “ Yes.” in “ What was the result?” “Just what you told me. Quinlan sai , smiling scorn- fully, “that he was busy looking out for number one. He "strongly advised me to do the same.” “ A piece of advice, it would seem, that you are very much 2’ in need of,” said his father, not unkindly. “ I dare say you are right,” said Max, trying to speak com- posedly but failing in the effort, and turning an agitated face toward Ferrars.' “Tell me,” he began, “tell me what it all means. You said—” « Ferrars lifted his hand. “This morning, while I was in conference with Captain Connors, word came that Miss Paget had returned. Before we had found time or breath to com- ment upOn the fact, a letter'came. It was from Mr. Paget, brief and curt, and it confirméd the statement of the messen— ger. His daughter had returned, and he would see Captain Connors soon. No explanation, no comment; just the bare fact. You, Who. know Captain Connors, can fancy its effect upon him. Probably Mr. Paget would have been surprised by a call from Police Headquarters a litter soOner than suited his august pleasure, but for the coming in, a moment later, of the summons to the scene of the double murder. Captain Connors set off for it at once, and I accompanied him.” . I V As he spoke of the murder, Ferrars slowly turned his gaze upon Max Talfourd ; but the only sign that Max gave of hav— ing heard was one of impatience. I A DROP OF BLOOD. 339 “Then you knew tonight,” he broke out, “that she was alive and at home ‘2 Why didn’t you tell me ? Do you think I would not have seen her before this ?” “ I shudder to think what you might have done,” said Fer- "rars, quietly. “ Will it serve to restrain your eagerness, Mr. Talfourd, if I tell you that, unless great caution is used, the name of Leah Paget, already sufficiently quoted by the news- papers, will become mixed with this affair of the Dresden Flats ?” , Max Talfourd half arose in his chair. The detective was seated near him at the round table, not so close but that they might face each other without a change of position. At the first movement, he fixed his eyes upon Max. Under his gaze, Max seemed to recover his self-command. He dropped back in his seat, and met the eye of the detective squarely. “ Having made that statement,” he said, “ don’t tax my self- command too long, Mr. Ferrars.” 4 The only change in the face of the detective was ingthe eyes that still rested upon Max. . “ Perhaps I had better say to you now,” he said, “ that the return of Miss Paget does not necessarily mean an end to the mystery. I am aware of how you must feel at this moment ;. but if I had informed you at once that Miss Paget had re- turned, and you had rushed off to see her, possibly getting into an altercation with her father, the result might have been disastrous. Ihave found it necessary to instruct the parents of the young lady not to let the fact of their daughter’s re- turn become known at present.” “ You I” was all Max could ejaculate. “ Yes ; I have lost no time, you see. I paid my respects to Mr. and Mrs. Paget this morning.” I 340 A Los'r WITNESS. His three listeners were now past the exclamatory stage. They could only gaze mutely. Ferrars turned squarely tow—l ard Max. _ p 7 “ Is there any reason why you should prefer to hear my ex: planation, or the part that concerns you most, at another time?” he asked. - ' “'Mr. Ferrars,” Max said, gravely, “ as far as I am con- cerned, I have no reason for wishing to keep back, or to eon- ceal, any act of mine. You will answer me one question ‘2”- The detective nodded. “ Has anything transpired to connect me, in any way, with the strange fate of Hortense Novalis ? Have I 3180, along with Frederick Quinlan, fallen under suspicion ?” , “ Yes.” There was a start, and asmothered ejaculation from Sir Fe- lix, and a sound that was almost a grOan from the elder Tal- fourd. Max did not remove his gaze from the face of Fer- rars. , » “ Then,” said he, “ I beg, I demand, that you speak out, that you keep nothing back. I know, from Quinlan, that I can speak upon my call and encounter with La Belle FabriCe, since it is no longer a secret which I am bound to respect, and, beyond that, I have nothing to conceal. No matter how se- rious the case, my father and my friends would be my confi- dants; my advisers.” ' Ferrars put out his hand. “ Now,” he said, “ I see my way. In more or less degree, each of us is concerned in what I am about to set before you. Strange as it may seem, and is, the case of Miss Paget’s disappearance, and the murder of the two women in Dresden Flats, are, or seem to be, connected. Pa— tience, my dear fellow-W Max had started and flushed hotly A DROP OF BLOOD. 341 again, at the mention of Leah in connection with Hortense Novalis. “ I am going to begin over again, at the point where Captain Connors and I set out for the Dresden Flats, after being apprised of Miss Paget’s return. And then I am going to call upon you, each of you, for your active but hot too in- quisitive co-operation. If I get it, I shall hope to unravel the present mystery.” Never had a story-teller better listeners. Ferrars began like a born narrator, telling of his entry with Captain Con- nors upon the/scene of death—describing everything: the rooms in their disorder, the bodies as they lay, the presence and appearance of Frederick Quinlan and Dr. Grove,it-he search, the daggers with blood upon the blade-hilt, the blood- stained statuette. _ When he came to the subject of the letter and photo- graph, he described faithfully their finding, but nothing more. He did not say that he recognized the picture, nor that ~thc letter bore signature of any kind; neither did he break off to describe his sudden visit to the house of Abner Puget. He went on to the end of the story, telling how the Chief of Police had unearthed the envelope in the ashes—but still speaking no name. Then he gave a graphic account of the Coroner’s investigation, as far as he had followed it. At the point where he had left the scene of the inquest, he stopped, ignoring all that came after. And one other thing he omitted—he did not speak of Frederick Quinlan’s re- quest, nor tell thenithat his identity was known to that young man. 4 . Apparently, his narrative had been so complete as to leave no room for a question or comment. At any rate, no one spoke for many minutes. Then the detective turned to Max again. 342 A LOST WITNESS. “ At this part,” he said, “ will you answer a few ques- tions ‘2” “ Anything,” said Max, promptly. “ When and where did you make the acquaintance of Hor- tense Novalis ‘2” _ “On the day on which Quinlan and the janitor testified. Shall I relate the circumstances?” “ By all means,” said Ferrars, while Sir Felix leaned for- ward eagerly, and the elder Talfourd drew back in his chair and put up his hand to shade his face. Max noted the move- ment, and, that the hand was rather unsteady. , “ That morning,” Max began—“ I can’t recall the precise date—Fred Quinlan came to me. It was at my down-town rooms, I remember, and I was writing at the time. Quinlan said that he brought an invitation to dine with a friend of his ; in short, with the Novalis. She had been creating quite a sen- sation, and I had seen her at a distance, and knew her as any other club man naturally would. Quinlan said, with some of his usual chaffing nonsense, that she .had seen me in the Park and elsewhere, and that She wanted to be introduced. He ended by saying that he had just received a note from Hor- tense, in which she assured him that he must bring me, for La Belle Fabrice would be present. I believe I manifested sur— prise, for I didn’t think the two were compatible. I can’t say that I needed much urging, although I did hesitate a little just at first. So I told Quinlan that I would be on the spot at the appointed hour, and that he had better be on hand a little earlier, to introduce me.” He paused here, as though he had reached the end; but Sir Felix continued to look expectant, and Ferrars sair , “ Well?” in a tone not to be ,misunderstoOd. ‘ A DROPOF BLOOD. 343 “ Somehow, I suppose because the drive to the place was shorter than I thought, I was a little early. When I got in- side, the maid helped me to take off the light top-coat that I were over my dinner-dress, and I heard voices in the room be— yond. As I made my appearance in the little reception-room, I saw in thenext room, two women. One 'was tall and superb, in a magnificent toilet, and blazing with jewels—my hostess, Hortense Novalis ; the other was La Belle Fabrice. I suppose that both were too excited to have heard my entrance. At any rate, before I could think to make my presence known, I caught a few words——- parts of a sentence or two. ‘ You’ll be very sorry fifl‘ this,’ I heard Hortense say, and she added something about ‘ intentional insult.’ I didn’t hear a word from the lips of Fa- brice, but she turned at that moment, and I saw that she was pale, and looked shocked or frightened. As she turned, M’lle Novalis, who had not yet seen me, flung after her a gross, in- sulting epithet. The next moment, both saw me. The face of La Belle Fabrice flamed and paled again under the insult, but still she did not open her lips. She was hastening toward the an teroom, near the entrance of which I still stood.’ As she saw me—Hortense I mean——-she struck a bell violently, and be- fore Fabrice could cross the two rooms, a maid appeared. ‘ Show that person out. at once,’ Hortense cried, angrily. Then she advanced toward me, trying to muster a smile and say some word of welcome. I did not hesitate a second. The scene pro- voked and disgusted me. I did not so much as glance at my would-be hostess, but, as Fabrice approached, I stepped to her side, and said, ‘ It appears that I am on time, as I came to look after you, M’lle Fabrice. Please take my arm. We will not trouble M’lle’s servant.’ I spoke as if I were an acquaint- ance, and as I looked down into her face it lighted up, and I saw 344 A LOST WITNESS. that she understood me. She put her hand on my arm and walked out with me like a. little princess. At the door we en- countered Fred Quinlan. It was not the place for explanations, and none weremade. By the time we were well out 'of the place, Fabrice had regained her composure, and she made a brief explanation. It was to the effect that she had been decoyed to the rooms of Hortense upon a misrepresentation. She had received a note, she said, and had gone in response to it, expecting to meet an old acquaintance, ill or in trouble, and hoping that she might be able to serve the person. Instead, she had found Hortense Novalis, blazing withjewels, and was informed that she was called to dine with some gentlemen who wanted very much to know her. In order to make sure of her coming, Hortense had said that she had perpetrated upon her a harm— less little joke.” “ In making her explanatitm,” asked Ferrars, “ did the lady say that she found, in Hortense Novalis, the acquaintance who was in supposed distress ?” “ N———now that I think of it, no.” “ On the contrary, then, did she say she did not find the person she expected to meet?” Max considered a moment. “ N0,” the said again. “ I see your meaning. I have held the impression thatshe found a stranger, but she did not say it was a stranger.” “And about your subsequent call upon Quinlan—how was that ?” “Very much as Quinlan related upon the witness-stand. \Vhen we'left the house together, the lady and mvself, we walked a short distance, she telling me in substance what I have just related. She was very reserved, and used as‘few words as possible. She finished by asking me not to mention A prior» OF BLOOD. 345 the fact of our meeting at that place, to any one- In fact, she laid so much stress upon it that I promised her very solemnly, and volunteered to procure a like promise from Fred Quinlan, which I did, as you have been told. It seemed to relieve her , anxiety, and I confess that I did not much wonder that she was anxious.” “ And was that your first and last call upon Hortense Nov- alis ‘?” asked Ferrars. I “ It was. I have since received two notes from the woman-«- one a day or two after the event, and the other perhaps two weeks later. I gave them no attention. They were the same in purport. She wished to see me, regretted the unpleasant , incident at my first call, and would like an opportunity to ex- plain, to set herself right in my eyes.” “ And you~say you ignored the notes ?” “I did; simply threw them into the waste-basket or the grate. You will remember, you reminded me of the fact once tonight, that on the day after my call at the Dresden Flats, I learned of Leah’s disappearance ?” , While they were talking, Mr. Talfourd had slowly lowered his hand from his face, and drawn himself erect in his chair. He extracted from one of his pockets two envelopes, and placed them before him on the table. “ A mistake which I made tonight,” he said, gravely, “is now accounted for. This letter,” taking up one and handing it to Max, “ came into’my hands late this afternoon. I had opened it, and puzzled my brains over it for some time, before it dawned upon me that it was meant for you. As you may judge, it made me very anxious, and as you did not come home ' to dinner, I humored my impatience and came here in your stead. Take it, Max.” ‘ -1. 346 A LOST WITNESS. Max took the letter, and glanced at its contents. It was the letter from Ferrars, and he said, as he put it down “ It’s just as well that it came into your hands ; better, in fact. Is the other mine also?” “Yes,” said his father, pushing the other toward him. “ That’s the letter that stirred me up to act as I have in this matter. Perhaps,” he added, as he turned once more toward Ferrars, “ you can guess 110w those two letters, followed up as . they were by the news of the murder, affected me.” Max had taken up the second letter and opened it. “Ah I” he ejaculated, throwing it down before Ferrars, “ that’s the third.” Ferrars took up the letter and read it aloud. “ ‘ DEAR SIR,’ " it ran ; “ Do not think that I mean to persecute you, for I do not. But you owe me an opportunity to say a word for myself. Will you not give it to me ‘2 Tomo1row I appear before all New York. Previous to that, I want to see you. I am very busy, and so, not to encroach upon your valuable time, I ask you to come and see me for a few minutes only, at twelve o’clock (midnight) tonight. , “ HORTENSE." Ferrars laid down the note. “ Were the others like this ‘2” he asked, thoughtfully. “ N 0; they were not so wordy, nor so grammatical. The other notes were sent to my club.” Ferrars was silent a moment ; then—“ May I have this ' note ?” he asked, “ or will you lend it to me ?” “Certainly ; it is yours.” . Ferrars took from. his pocket a tied packet, which he laid upon the table before him, and proceeded to open under their eyes. He drew from it a photograph of the size known as A DROP OF BLOOD. 347 Small cabinet, and laid it silently before Max, who caught it up, and exclaimed : “ Where did you get this?” Sir Felix craned his neck and looked too. “ Why it is yourself, Talfourd l” he ejaculated. “ Yes, it’s myself, certainly,” said Max. “ Where—’_’ He stopped short. Ferrars had placed before him a letter. It was torn and soiled, and bore marks of much crumpling, al- though it had been restored with care. Again Max stared, then caught the sheet, and colored to his temples. “ Do you recognize that, too ‘2” asked Ferrars. “ Of course.” Max did not put this down as before. “ It’s my own writing.” - “ You are sure of that ‘2'” “Yes, I am sure.” “ Look at this.” The detective held before his eager eyes the envelope that bore the name of Leah Paget. “Good Heavens, man!” cried Max, “where did you get these—‘2” ' V Ferrars put down the envelope. and looked hard at the questioner. “That photograph,” he said, slowly, “and the letter also, I took from under the pillows and the bed-spread in the dress- ing-room of Hertense Novalis. The envelope, bearing the name of Miss Leah Paget, was found by Captain Connors in the ashes of the fire-place, as I have described to you. Do you still claim these as yours ‘2” As they waited a silent, breathless moment for his an— swer, the face of the father was filled with suspense, that of Sir Felix alive with sympathy, indignation, and poorly-suppressed excitement. But Max Talfourd’s hand. was firm. as he took ‘5‘... . 348 A LOST wirNEss. up, in ”turn, the picture, the letter, and the envelope, glanced at each and laid them down. His voice was steady and calm as he said : I. “Yes, they are mine. The letter and the photograph I sent to Leah on——wait——-my God! what does it mean ? I sent them to her on that day—the day of my Visit to Hortense—— the day before Leah disappeared. How came they there ? How—” “ Wait,” broke in Ferrars. “ Turn the letter over; look at the left-hand corner.” Max obeyed mechanically. “What is it?” he said. “ A blot—a stain ‘2” He held it up toward the drop-light above the table, and looked again. “ My God ! he cried, as the sheet fell from his now nerveless fingers—~“ my God ! it’s blood !” CHAPTER XLVIII. MINOR PRECAUTIONS. To say that Francis Ferrars, the English detective, on the third day of his sojourn in New York, had found occupation sufficient to preclude all possibility of ennui, would be to put it, farcically. And yet he went about his business, manifold as it was, in a manner as cool and free from hurry as if instead of many tasks he had [but one, and that one a sinecure. His first business visit, after a long, and in the end satisfac- tory argument with Sir Felix and the Talfburds,——father and son,-—was to the Chief of Police. His first question was : “ Have you seen Mr. Paget ‘2” MINOR PRECAUTIONS. ' 349 “ I wish you had !” was the Chief’s reply, and then came the story of Mr. Paget’s call. “ I beliexe that old cu1mudgeon thought he could muzzle my whole f01ce with his confounded dolla1s,” said the Chief, wrathfully. “ ,His daughterhad returned, and that was to be the end 0f it. I might send in my bills, and I was to give, in his name, a present of money to the ‘ men who had been most efficient in working in his behalf.’ Efficient! Fancy my telling that to VVateis and Nickerson and Polly Cousin! But I fo1get , you do not know them.” “ I hope to, soon,’ ’said Fe1ra1s. “ And how did you part with M1. Paget. 9” “Well,” said the Chief, with a sly smile,“ as you know, I was not in a position to go into pa1ticulars. So I. t1ied the high-handed business. I flatter myself,” he added, “ that it was a success. He insisted upon hearing my reasons for what he called my astonishing message ; said he had no mind to be kept longer in a state of siege by the Police ; had found it irk- some, etc., etc. Then I told Mr. Paget that.» over my men he had no control 3 that the “siege,’ as he chose to call it, would be raised at my pleasure, not his. And finally, I asked him if his daughter had given him asatisfactory account'of her ab- sence. I knew he wouldn’t lie outright; but, of course, he bullied me, and declined to answer. At length, I sent him away with a hard nut to crack. I told him to gohome and ques~ tion his daughter. If she gave him. a reason for her strange flitting, and stranger retu1,n —-—a reason which would hear the light of publ 101ty ,———1t might be 11311 to announce it openly. But, I said, if you me not piepared to be pe1 fectl y frank, and let he1 1eturn and her reasons fo1 going be made known to- gether, you had better heed my advice a little longer. I11 such 350 A Los'r WITNESS. a matter as this it will not do to court the attention of the re- porters, and then slam the door in their faces. I wound up by adding that I should wish to see Miss Paget myself soon, or, if not myself, some one with authority from me. I didn’t want to be too definite upon that point.” , Ferrars smiled. “ You certainly have done well,” he said. “ I pity his daughter, if she is as sensitive as she looks. I have seen a picture of her, you must know ; and a very good one it is said to be. Did you learn from Mr. Paget any of the de- tails of the return?” “ N 0, not from Paget. Luckily, I had .been informed on that point beforehand. When he came, I was prepared to be very Wise.” “I wish you would prepare me,” said the detective. , “To be sure. It was Polly Cousin who gave» me the in- formation.” , . ‘ “The one who was first to tell the news?” queried Ferrars, carelessly. “The same. It seems that in the beginning of the hunt, Cousin had made the acquaintance of one of the housemaids, and had won her confidence. The old business—every day at a certain hour, night and morning, Polly 'was on hand to steal a few words with the housemaid ; all for her own sweet sake, of course. And, of cOurse, you do not need to be told that every time he saw his housemaid he knew what had happened in the Paget household since their last interview. Yesterday morning, she told him, in a flurry of excitement, that 'Miss Leah had come back ; that she came very early in the morn- ing and rang the bell, thereby arousing the house. But a14- though every servant was up and awake and brimming over with curiosity, no one. of them was rewarded by a sight of MINOR PRECAUTIONS. 351 the returned prodigal, not even her own maid. Miss Paget went straight from the door to her own room, and then sent for her mother. ”At 7 the time when Cousin had received his report, neither mother nor daughter had emerged from that looked chamber.” Ferrars mused a moment, then he got out his note-book and ran his eye over several pages. “ By the bye,” he said, presently, “ when you see this young man, Cousin, again, get from him the name of the maid, his informant.” “That’s easy enough.” “ You have not named me to Mr. Cousin, of course ‘2” “ Certainly not.” “That is well.” He seemed to ponder a moment over” something in his note-book. Then he spoke : “ This man, Cousin, is not on your staff, I understand ‘2” “ No," said the Chief; “ I only wish he were. He’s are- porter by profession, and a detective by instinct.” And see- ing a look of interest upon the face of Ferrars, he launched into a brief biography of Polly Cousin. , “ I see,” said Ferrars, at last; “ an odd sort of fellow, ten- ' acious in his grip, honest and faithful according to his lights.” “ Yes ; you have about measured him.” “ Captain,” said Ferrars, “ I want to ask you once more, and until we are' out of the labyrinth of the present, to, take me on trust, as much as you can. I 'can work best in my own way, and in the end I think you will see that it has simplified matters greatly. I’m not going into this business in my proper person, and, after the inquest is over, and my line of battle marked out, I shall not be seen about Police Headquarters. I’m going to set up a little branch department of my own.” 352 A LOST WITNESS. “My dear Sir,” broke out the Chief, “ I am only'too glad to have you take this thing out, of my hands upon any terms. Don’t feel that you need to explain to me, but command me when you need me. I’ll see that your way is clear, and no questions asked ; and if you want any light artillery—fl He stopped in responsevto a gesture from F errars. “I do want a couple of“ good men,” said the detective. “ You have a man—he was on duty at the inquest today—a keen-eyed fellow, alittle too openly alert, in fact. I had oc— casion tonotice him especially.” And now it was his turn to break ofi" abruptly. Captain Connors was shaking with laughs ter. “Yes,” the Captain said, finally, “ Iknow who you mean; it’s Michael. Michael Considers you a very suspicious char- acter.” . ' “Yes,” assented Ferrars, smiling ; “he made that plain, to me when he followed up the woman—-——of course he has told you of that?” . “ Yes, and I fancied that you might have made yourself a. bit conspicuous, just for Michael’s benefit 3.. as a test, perhaps.” “ I didn’ t try very hard to escape his observation,” admitted Ferrars. “ I think he’s the man I want, or one of them. For the'other, I fancied that Nickerson would do.” “ Yes, sir. \Vith some one to put them properly to work"; you couldn’t have two better men. Will two be enough 9’ “ For the present, yes.” “. very well. I’ll send for them and have them ready to report to you at short notice.” ‘ “ That, then, is settled. Now, What do you intend to do in this Paget affair ? Consider the case closed ‘2” . “ No, sir,” said. the Chief, with decision. “ Not yet ; not as MINOR PRECAUTIONS. 353 it now stands. Not until I have heard a better reason for dropping it than the unexplained re-appearance of Miss Paget.” “ I think you are quite right,” said the English detective, “ and, a. propos, how much of a secret, do you fancy, is the re- turn of the young lady, at this moment?” “ Umph! that depends upon the discretionof the servants, I should say, and a little upon the young lady herself.” “Exactly. Already there are several who are aware of it, besides ourselves and your friend Cousin.” “Eh ! who are they?” " , “ Last evening,” began F errars, “ I accidentally ran across Max Talfourd, and he left me to see Quinlan about this busi— ness of theinquest and La Belle Fabrics. After leaving Quin— lan, it appears, the young man took a walk in the direction of, the Paget place. It was late, and, as you of course know, the streets about there are a perplexing maze of light and shade, owing to much shrubbery and many trees.” The Chief nodded. “ It :followed, of course, that our friend Talfourd kept in the shade, and took advantage of the light. At first, he tells me, he was not' especially struck by the fact that the upper windows just above the place where he stood, were well lighted. Then it came upon him that those were the windows of Miss Paget’s own rooms. To make my story as short as possible, he was noticing those windows with great eagerness, hoping to see some sign 'of an inmate, when, from the security of his lurking-place, he saw another figure moving stealthily toward the house. He watched this. figure until he was certain that it was a spy, and then glancing up, saw that the lights were out in the room he had been watching, but that one of the win- dows was partially illuminated from the street. As he gazed, 23 .354 A LOST WITNESS. the curtain was pushed up, and he saw, very clearly, he says, the face and form of Miss LeahPaget. In his surprise he called her name. At once the form withdrew, and after a few moments another form approached the Window and pulled down the curtain.” “ And the other,” asked the Captain—“ the spy?” “ The spy?” said Ferrars, slowly. “ Talfourd followed him, as soon as he could gather himself together. The Paget house, you will remember, stands upon a corner. The fellow went round to the side gate—one, Talfourd informs me, that is used by the servants. There, late as was the hour, he was joined by a woman. He could not get near enough to make sure, but thinks it was one of the servants.” The detective spoke with marked deliberation and watched the Chief’s face the While. ’ I “By Jove !” exclaimed the latter, with a start, “ that must have been Cousin!” “ Where does Cousin lodge ?” The Chief named Cousin’s street and number, adding, “It’s a quiet, unpretending neighborhood. Cousin is a studious, hermit-like fellow out of' business hours. Did Mr. Talfourd pursue him—I mean thespy. 9” “No. He was too much excited, too anxious to see me and tell the news, to take time for that. Captain, I would like to give you a bit of advice. Get Mr. Cousin out of this case as quick as you can, without raising his suspicions. You can make the 1eturn of Miss Paget your reason Assume to drop the case.’ The Captain favored him with a broad stare. , “I cannot answer questions,” said 'Ferrars, warningly. “ I don’t want to ask them. I prefer ignorance at present. MINOR PRECAUTIONS. 355 There won’t be any trouble about Cousin, though. He’s only a volunteer.” r ‘ “So much the better.” Then with a sudden change of subject, “ Have you seen the Coroner?” “ Oh, y s. I knew I could manage him. He’sa reasonable man, when he sees the object ofa thing. Of course, he de-r ma‘nded to know why I wanted that will suppressed, and why I turned him off the track, once or twice, in his questioning of Quinlan and the others. I explained to his satisfaction, but it will all have to come out when the‘inqniry is resumed.” “ Of course,” assented Ferrars. “When the inquiry is re- sumed, let the Coroner conduct it in his own way. Leave him and his jury to work out their own solution.” “ Eh! Don’t you intend to manifest yourself?” “ N o. It won’t serve any good purpose. After this inter- view, you will not be likely to see much of me, as my natural self, for sometime. I am going to see Quinlan at once. After that, I shall be very busy, I fancy. I shall want to know the result of your call upon Miss Leah Paget.” . “ Certainly you shall. By the way, that envelope which I found in the grate—are you going to produce that at the in- quest ?” - “ N o,:’ said Ferrars, promptly. ?‘ It will do great harm to the living and no good to the dead." I only wish I could get possession of that little blood-marked statnette and suppress that ”also. In the hands of the Coroner it will do mis- chief.” ‘ - “ Well,” said the Chief, after pondering a little, “I don’t see why you shouldn’t. It’s to you we look for a solution of this mystery, not to the Coroner. It can’t prove anything in his hands that isn’t set forth over and over by the other tell- 356 A LOST WITNESS. tale, bloody-bespattered article's. I’ll try to manage that for you?’ “If you would,” said Fe1ra1s. “ As you say, in the hands of the COroner it may only serve to warn the guilty one; in mi11e—-” , “ It may be a valuable clue,” exclaimed the Chief. “ You shall have it ' ,‘say no more.” ’ “Thank you,’ ’said F e11ars, and fOl a few moments he was again very busy with his memoranda. “The Corone1 is bent on finding those runaway witnesses,” broke 1n the Chief, “ and of cou1se, in that, I’m bound to aid him. He hasgot into his head that the lady, Madam Con— greve, as they call her, has merely changed her place of abode temporarily; taken some less aristocratic and more secluded quarters. So I shall have to scour the city for them, as also for that woman with the white hair ; I dare say, it’s the one you andMichael followed yesterday.” , “ Possibly,” assented Ferrars. “‘ I Suppose you men have her under surveillance ?” ' “ Well, they’ve got an eye on the hotel. I guess she won’t get away,” smiled the Chief. » Ferrars tore a leaf from his note-book, wrote an address upon it, and arose as he handed it to the Chief. _ “ There,” he said, “is my address for a time. Do not look for luxury and ostentation when you come to see me. And do not expect to find me there at all, hours. It’s only a meet- ing-place. Send my men there at once. And I would like _ to take another look at some of those papers, in the Paget case.” “ They’re at your disposal.” The Chief produced them and placed them, a neat but rather bulky package, upon the table h MINOR PRECAUTIONS. 307 before Ferrars. “There!” he said, “and much good may they do you. It’s a burning shame ; such splendid work as went into that case, and then to see it end a failure, and , such a. failure!” The Captain’s face flushed. “I don’t need to wonder what my men will say, those oft-hem who have ”put so much active and tireless work, so much interest and patience, yes, and chivalry, into it all. The ‘ Paget Case’ will be a sore Word for some time in this office ; for many .a day, I fancy.” F errars who had taken up the package, laid it down again and came a step nea1e1. “Captain, ” he said gravely, “let us speak for a moment non-pr-ofessionally , simply as man to man , you1 opinion for mine. Do ybu really consider the Paget case closed ‘3” “I don’t know what to think,” cried the Chief, “except this : Closed or not, the Paget case is a farce, a fiasco, an insult to the profession I” Ferrars laughed one of his low rare laughs, and laid a hand upon the Captain’s arm. “ My acquaintance with the case is not quite three days old,” he said. “ But, thanks to your thorough system, it’s very clearly before me. Captain, I predict that the end of this case will nOt be a fiasco, and that it” is far from being closed. In- deed, it is only begun ; and, more than that, do you know why I want these pape1s ‘2” touching the packet before him. “ No, I’m blessed if I do. ” “ Well, I will tell you. I want them beCause they will fur- nish me with data that will save my assistants and myself long days and pe1haps weeks of active labor. With these pa— pers in my hands, I have the beginning, possibly the middle, and a clue to the end, of the Dresden Flats M111de1 Mystery 1” He put on his hat and took up the packet again. “ Think it 358 r A LOST WITNESS. over, Captain, and when you have seen Miss Paget, let me know, as soon as possible, the result of the meeting.” ‘ When the Chief of Police was alone again, he paced up and down his private office for many moments, biting his lips and muttering disjointed words and fragments of sentences. Fi- nally he. sat down at his desk, and placing before him two blank and separate sheets of paper, he wrote in huge letters across the top of one, “ The Case of Leah Paget,” and upon the other, in the same manner, “ The Murder in the Dresden Flats.” CHAPTER XLIX. LEAH. Leah Pagethad arrived at her father’s door in the grey of dawn, rang, and was admitted, as has been told, only to go, with almost her usual quick elasticity of tread and erectness of bearing, straight to her own room. When Mrs. Paget, in response to the joyful news, came ea- gerly, with outstretched hands and fast-beating heart, to wel- come her daughter, it was Leah herself who opened the door and closed it again after her, locking it with quick unsteady fingers, and then turning to fling herself, voiceless and dry- eyed, into her mother’s aims. “ Leah ! Leah l” And the glad mother had held her tight in her arms, sobbing, and murmuring fond words of welcome, - and catching her closely and sobbing afresh. It was Leah who was the one to soothe, to be calm, and after a moment, to lead LEAH. 359 her mother to a seat upon a divan, sinking down beside her, and waiting, her mother’s hand within both her own, for the sobs to cease. ' When, at last, calmness came, and mother and daughter sat gazing into, each other’ s eyes, it was Leah who first spoke. “ Mother,” she said, drawing back a little, “ look at me. No, do not speak yet, and do not say that I look pale and worn and sorronul ; I do not need to hear that. But look into my face, my eyes—I Wish you‘could see my heart, too-— and tell me, am I your daughter Leah, the same Leah that went out from your doors a little more than a month, ago ?’ It’s a life-time ago to me. Do my eyes meet yours less frankly ? Do you see any trace of deceit, falsehood, or shame ? Do I look as if these had touched me? Have I come back to you as I went ?‘ Look, mother l” She came and stood before her mother as pale and still as a statue of despair. Such a rare figure she was! Not tall, just the medium height, but so slender as to appear stately , such a lovely face and shapely head ; such dainty curves and perfect shoulders. Even then, in that trying time, her look was full of gentle dignity, her manner respect-compelling. i “ Tell me, mother ‘3” , Again the mother put out her arms and drew the girl down at her side. “ My darling,” she said, “your mother knows you, and loves you, and has never doubted you through all these miser- able days.” A long, deep sobbing sigh broke f1 om the girl’s lips.“ Thank you, mother dear,” ‘ she said, wea1ily. “ And be patient with me. Do not ask mea question yet, and above all, do not leave me.” 360 A LOST WITNESS. For an answer, Mrs. Paget kissed her daughter and held her cloSer in her arms. “ I am weary,” the girl went on, “and lonely l” Suddenly her "great calm Was broken. “ Mother, I have been so lonely !” she cried. “ I have been in a grave!” And she threw her- self upon her mother’s bosom, and brOke into sobs that shook her whole frame, and that were an agony for her mother to hear. And so, all that day, Leah lay upon her bed with her moth- er’s hand gripped fast in hers, and with her eyes half closed ; or sat in her big softly-cushioned chair, and watched her mother as she moved about the room, content to have her daughter with her again ; and with a heart so full of love and pity, that doubt and curiosity found no room for entrance. Even Leah’s faithful maid was shut out, but she waited near to re- ceive Mrs. Paget’s gently-spoken commands, and to do her bidding promptly, joyfully, for the love she bore her fair young mistress. Once'or twice, mindful of her duty always, Mrs. Paget had gone below for a few words with her husband, or upon some household affair intent. But she always came hasten- ing back, to find Leah’s eyes wide open and wistful, but ready to close again when the dear hand was once more in hers, or the loved voice murmuring near her. Little bylittle, the mother began to understand her daughter’s reserve and its true mean- ing, and, little by little, all was'told that would cross the lips of Leah Paget for many days. It was a trying ordeal to Leah ; how trying, her mother never knew. To the combat with her stern father, she found herself equal. She had enough of his own- strong will and tenacity of pur- pose—a tenacity, which, in her, stopped short just this side of unreasoning stubbornness, while, in him, it went far over the LEAH. 361 boundary line. To him, in all his variations of command, reproach, argument, and anger, she had ever the same an- swer : . “ Father, it is useless. I seem unfilial , I know ; ungrateful, willful, wicked—what you Will. In all things else, I- Will obey you. I will never again set my will in opposition to yours. I will leave your home, if you wish it, and earn my living as best I can. Butyou must not urge me furtl1er--and,” draw- ing herself erect in her offended dignity, “ you must not accuse me of the shameful things you have hinted at in some of your rages. And you must not speak to me' as you have spoken to- day. I have borne a good deal, and. if I were the sinner you seem to think me, I would hear all meekly, as an atonement. But I have been sinned against, and for the sins of another I will not do penance. You must let this hideous past month be dead between us, or let me go out from your house. ' I am your daughter, or I am nothing. I will not live under your roof as a culprit. Choose i”, In her mother, as against her father, Leah found a firm ally. “ Abner,” said his wife, “ you must leave Leah to work out her own release from Whatever danger or terror now seems hanging over her. I can see that she is sorely tried, and you are doubling her burden. Either you must ignore much, and let our home be the same shelter to Leah as ofold, and you must be more than ever a father to her, or else we must go. Yes, I said ‘ we.’ You are my husband, true, and I have given you a life-time of allegiance. But Leah is my child ; she needs me more than you do. I aSk nothing for her or for myself; my own fortune is ample. Shall I take my daughter and go away ‘2” ‘ This was too much for Abner Paget. He shut himself up 362 A; LOST WITNESS. in his library, and for the remainder of that day would see no one, not even his wife, untilthe visit of the detective broke his Seclusion. . But when it came to denying her mother, Leah could not bear up so bravely. After much entreaty, and many tears on both sides, the girl flung herself down upon her knees, and clasping her arms about her mother’s waist, entreated her in an agony. “ Mother, mother, spare me! I want you to know all, eve1yth1ng. Don? t you see how it hurts me to deny you—you, my mother ? Yet I cannot ; I have sworn it. But for that vow I might not be here. ‘ I might never have seen your face again. I can say no more ;. and even this must be locked in your heart, for fear fresh ill may come of it. Spare me, mother, or let me go away!” And the mother was won. The evening of Leah’s return was passed, by the girl, in restlessly pacing to and fro the length of her two rooms , by the mother, in anxious study of the girl’s face and movements, and in occasional efforts to persuade her to rest. 1 “Leah, my daughter, if you can lie downs—if you will only try—you look so weary, my darling!” - All day the sad-hearted mother had struggled bravely for composure, fought down her tears, disguised and denied her own weariness, praying ceaselessly for strength to meet her own and Leah’s bitter need. And all day long she had succeeded. 1 But now, sitting in the inner room ,‘where she had made the dainty white bed as tempting as possible, and toned the lights to softness that in itself invited repose, she Was not quite so strong as she had meant to be. And Leah, passing near he1 on her ceaseless march, noted the tremor of voice and saw the LEAH. 363 tears glistening in her tired eyes. Swiftly she turned and knelt beside her mother’s chair. ' “ Mother,” she said,softly, plaintively, “ do not mind me, please; do not let this grieve you so. Oh, be strong for me now. It is my. time of utmost need i” She caught hermother’s hands, and holding them tightly between her own, bent her hot face upon them. “ When I was a child, mother,” she went, on, in a low hushed tone, “ you used to tell me that nothing could really harm us, really, for this world and for what was to come, but ourselves, that all wrong not self-inflicted, all suffering undeser ved, would end in good, bye and bye. Mother,” the white face and burning eyes Were lifted, the one word was a wail—“ mother, tell me that now, make me believe it—-—or I shall go mad ! I shall die !” . What is, that which comes sometimes to a weak woman when all her soul seems stricken, all her heartstrings wrenched, all her faith and hope tottering, all her future a mockery, all her life chaos ? What is it, if it be not a flame from heaven—a word invisible, dropped from the hand of the Virgin Mother? and the earthly mother is strong to seize and hold and save the soul of her child. _ “ Leah,” the two hands of the mother released themselves and took the daughter’s hands in hers, while the eyes of each were fixed upon the other—“ Leah, my daughter, listen. The woman’whose heart is pure, whose conscience is open and clean to the eyes of God and His Angels, cannot be wholly crushed, wholly cast down. The Leah Paget who has lived her life purely and sweetly in the eyes of all the world, cannot be so bent and broken by a passing shadow, a few days of darkness against all the bright, clear years of her life. Have you lost- faith In yourself, my daughter?” 364 A LOST WITNESS. “ Mother 1” the girl’s head was lifted proudly, and she drew back and would have drawn away her hands, but they were. held fast. . “ Have you lost faith in your mother, then ‘3 in your friends ‘3 Is truth less beautiful in your eyes ? Is crime, vice in any form, less hideous than of old ‘3” “ Mother l” cried the girl again. “ Look at me, ”dear, and listen. From this time, I shall never ask you about the past month, and you need never men— tion it to me, until you can do so freely ; until you wish to do so. I am going to trust you, as I always have. And I can trust you. Neither shall I in any way interfere" with your perfect freedom of aetion, Where your secret is concerned. But I am your mother, Leah, and you have never disobeyed me yet.” As she spoke, the form of the girl was swaying tOward her, and a newer and softer look was dawning in her eyes. “ I have always obeyed you, mother,” she said. “ I will obey you now, only—” ' “ One moment, dear. You have been a self—reliant girl, Leah, capable of doing your own thinking. I have been proud of your rare dignity, for it is rare in one of your years ; but above all, I have prized your straightforward methods and frank- ness. There ; it is only the present peculiar circumstances that could justify so much praise. Now, Leah, I am going to lay my commands upon you. Leah sighed and drew closer to her mother’s knees. “ They are very simple. You may find them hard just at first. My daughter, I want you to begin tomorrow morning just where you left off when—when you last sat at your father’s table. I want you, unless you feel tired or really ill, to come down tomorrow morning as usual. Take up your life again LEAH. 365 in the old way, as becomes the only daughter of the house. Of course, I shall not expect or ask you to go out, Or to see vis- itors against your inclinations. But here, at home, there must be no change. There is no reason‘for change. In the case of some certain visitors I may be a little rigid, but will you trust your mother Leah, as she trusts you ‘2” For a long moment there was silence ; then Leah Paget arose and stood before her mother, and drew her form to its fullest height. “ Mother,” she said, firmly, “ I thank God that your blood flows in my veins. A moment ago all the world looked deadly black to me. God forgive me for hating the world, while my mother—and such a mother-4s in it. As God hears me, there is no thought in my heart, no act of my life, that need. make me unworthy of your love and trust. That is all Ican say to you, to any one ; and you must tell them so. I cannot promise to be in all things the old Leah Paget. I shall have my black hours, of course. But I will not shut you out even from them. ‘ And in all else I will do what you wish. To all but you I will be the same Leah. I can do it, I know. And you will help me. To all—” She broke off and caught her breath sobbingly.‘ “ Mother, you must not speak of him yet. I cannot bear it. You must not ask that. I cannot see him 1” “My darling,” said the mother, “be sure I shall not. tax you beyond your strength in this matter. When you have taken time to think, your own good sense must guide you, yours and his. Until you need me, or ask my advice or help, I will not put my finger upon a thing so sacred.” But little was said after this, and the evening passed slowly. M1s. Paget went below and applied for admittance at the library —d.,oor but it was denied her, and she came back to Leah with a rueful half-smile upon her face. 366 A LOST WITNESS. “ I am afraid I shall have to turn strong-minced in my old age,” she said, sitting down beside the couch where Leah lay because her mother wished her to try and sleep. _ “ Your father is really outdoing himself in the way of ohstinacy.” “ Oh, mamma dear, and it’s I who have made you all this worry a11d——” . l A “ Nothing of the kind, my dear child. It’s I who am to ,blame. I have humored your father inhis obstinate moods until he has got the idea that they are a‘necesSary part of the family discipline. I have always felt that I had a large sur- plus fund of stubbornness stored away in my own person some- where, because I have always conceded and seldom drawn upon my opposing forces. I intend to take the initiative, how- ever, tomorrow.” “ How, mother ?” Again Mrs. Paget smiled. “Simply by showing him how easily I 'could have had my own way all these years, if I had chosen'to try.” She smiled again and bent over to kiss the pale face upon the cushions of the couch. “ Don’t you think you can go to sleep now, dear ‘2” “ No, mamma. But I will make a bargain with you. ' If I am not asleep in half an hour ,you shall lie down and try, and we will take turns” Instead of replying, M1s. Paget arose and lifted the softlv- tinted shade that she might see the face of a tiny clock abov e the mantle. “ Before I do a thing so likely to leave me at your mercy, I think I will pay one more call below,” she said, with an as- sumption of cheerfulness she was far from feeling. But when she tapped at the door of the library, no one re- VI-..V LEAH. 367 spouded, and ,thinking that her lord was still in the su1ks, she tu1ned sadly away. At the foot of the stairs she paused, attracted by the sound of a latch-key and an opening door, and then Mr. Paget came 1n. - “ I have been to see the Chief of Police,” he said. “ I have withdrawn matters from his hands. In the morning Mrs. Paget, I shall wish a few words with you.” His wife bowed and silently returned to Leah. When Mrs. Paget’s “ turn” to rest came, she lay down with- out remonstrance, seeing that Leah was bent upon it ; and Leah herself dreW an easy-chair quite close, so that she; faced her mother, and, after a few moments, laid her head back with half-closed eyes. The tired, watchful mother noted this and thought “ She isgoing to sleep,” smiling a little, and watching her daughter between her own half-closed lids, until she fell asleep herself, and slept soundlv and long. It was nearly midnight When something likea sudden rush past her couch, and a stifled cry, awoke her. Springing up, she saw Leah flin g herself down upon the floor of her chamber, where she lay writhing and Sobbing wofully. ‘ Kneeling beside her, the mother besought her. ‘ . “ What is it, Leah ? Leah ! My child ! What is it ‘2” From the sobbing, quivering lips she managed to catch these words, ‘5 The window—Max.” It was the first time his name had crossed her lips, and Mrs. Paget understood. She went softly into the boudoir, Where, only a moment before, Leah had lowered the lights, that she might look out into the night, and, without looking out herself, closed the window and drew the c111tains. Then she went back and knelt beside the pr0s~ trate girl. ' i ' 368 A LOST WITNESS. “ Leah, ” she whispered, tende1ly—“ Leah, my dear,est try to calm yourselfi A1e you sure?” “ Sure ‘2” cried the girl, lifting her head and letting it fall again, “ Mamma, he saw me ! He called my name!” CHAPTER L. MRS. PAGET’s GENERALSHIP. Mrs. Paget had not spoken idly when she told her daughter that she meant to take matters into her own hands. In the grey of the morning, when Leah had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, she wrote a note to Max Talfourd. When this was dispatched, and she had breakfasted, early and alone, she, again sought admittance to the sanctum where her husband, grim and obstinate as ever, still held himself aloof from the life of the household. This time she was admitted. There was a new look in the eyes of Mrs. Paget when she confronted her lord ; and, if, at the end of a scant half-hour, Ab- rner Paget, alone once more, found himself wondering if the world had. really slipped from its orbit, and if the day when “ The last shall be first” had actually come, he had ample cause. A I , One thing had been clearly‘demonstrated to him ; namely. that Abner Paget was no longer the center of gravity around which the affairs of the Paget household turned. 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A‘hs h\“llfi.a.? 1 I. : , ”WWW/”44.4”,” J), V “3 5“. ‘.. \ vtu5‘b4i'r.'. ’ . a . . ,.. 3» .fl. .V I 44 I ~ ‘\ \‘\\ . 1‘ I .‘fi‘k 01h...“ 53:.uqvhzwfi1hahs4, .ocolltmll”, /; - a 17%,qu , . ANS I .,- . - y‘:‘ ‘. ‘ fin: ‘3 $343: “. ‘— ‘. “-‘WHAT IS IT, LEAH? LEAH! MY CHILD! WHAT Is IT?” Page 367. 24 370 ' A LOST WITNESS. ter than that. Neither had she commanded. She began by making one or two simple statements. ‘ ' As you have seen the Chief of Police,” she said, “ there is. nothing to be said on that point.” It was evident from her manner that she had not expected anything like an explanation of what had passed between himself and the Chief ofPolice. “ I have been talking with Leah,” she went on, “ and I am convinced that her case is one that I, her mother, can manage with the best results. . You have never thoroughly-understood Leah, and in her present state of body and mind, your meth- ods will not serve any good end. . I think you will do well to refuse yourself to interviewers, and leave all to me.” Of course, Abner Paget was not able to agree with his wife. ‘ But she hadr‘not expected he would, and she had not come to. argue, any more than she had come to entreat. She simply stated the course she had marked out for herself and Leah, and added : “ That which is done we cannot undo. But we can ward off some notoriety, and hear what we must with dignity. Del- .icacy and tact may help us, anda properly-maintained reserve is the only fit and becoming course. If you will hold your self-control, and carry out my suggestions, I will undertake the rest. If not, I must ask you to inform me at once, for it is only upon these terms that we—Leah and myself—will re- main under this roof. ._ I must- ask for your decision by lunch; eon time. If it is adverse, We shall leave New York to- night? _ She moved toward the door, and paused upon the threshold. “ Do not misunderstand me. Leah knows noth- ing of my plans, but she has promised to be guided by me.” ‘ She stood for a moment silently regarding him, and then, as he did not glance toward her or speak, she went out. MRS. PAGET’S GENERALSHIP. 371 Half-way down the long hall she encountered a figure in trailing black garments, and stopped short, with grave unsmil- ing self—possession, and put out her hand. “ Sara—Mrs. Volney—is it you “2” - “ It is Sara, Mrs. Paget.” The long veil was thrown back with one hand while the other was given in greeting, and, for a moment, each woman scanned the face of the other. Then Mrs. Volney spoke. “ I have come at an inopportune time, have I not, Mrs. Pa- get ? Do not hesitate to send me away if I have, or perhaps I may see Mr. Paget? Iwant his advice ; it’s merely upon a little matter of business. It’s not urgent—” Then, as the grave eyes of the hostess still lingered upon her face, she broke off to say, eagerly, “ Mrs. Paget, you look—oh! have you any news ?” . Mrs. Paget released the hand she had been holding. “ Come with me,” she said, and led the way to the little morning-room. \Vhen they were within, and the door closed, she came closets: her visitor. “ What I tell you, you must receiveas a confi- deuce forthe present. It is not to be known outside Of this house until certain arrangements have been made. Of course, We can trust you, as one of us.” ’ “ I hope so, indeed !” murmured Mrs. Volney. “ Leah has returned.” . g “ Leah !” The two dainty gloved‘hands were fervently clasp- ed, the two beautiful pathetic eyes were uplifted. “ Oh, thank Heaven for that ! Mrs. Paget, is she well ? May I see her?” “ Leah is not ill. Perhaps you may see her soon. - I can- not give you particulars, Sara. I was just going out. Mr. Paget is in his library. I think he will admit you.” A slight smile accompanied the last word. . Abner Paget’s admiration 372 A LOST WITNESS. for Sara Volney was an open secret to the friends of both. “ And perhaps you can win him over to our side. You must ask him what that means. Go to him 110w, my dear. I must order the carriage. I will leave you a message, if I do not see you again before I set out.” Leah was in her room when, a few moments later, Mrs. Pa- get entered, dressed for a morning d1ive. The giil was lan- guidly brushing out her long brown hair before a large mirror. She seemed calm enough, but the eyes she turned upon her mother were very sad. “ Going out, mamma ‘2” she asked, as her mother ap— proached. ' “ Only for an hour at the most, my dear. , Why didn’t you ring for Martha ?” “ I was waiting for you, mother ; you’may ring now if you will.” . . “One moment, dear; Mrs. Volney is below.” “ Mr.s Volney. l” As the gi1l uttered the name she seeme 1- to stand more erect, her head to poise itself haughtily, her lips to set themselves 111 fi1mer lines. “ Does she know?” “I told her. Of course she would like to see you. Are you equal to it?” “ Equal!” the girl turned swiftly. “KI ? Look at me.” She held out two firm hands, her eyes were proud and cold. “ She is with your father now,” Mrs. Paget hastened to ex- plain. “ She has some business matter to discuss. You need not see her unless you wish.” ‘ Leah interrupted her by a gesture. _“ I will not refuse to see Sara Volney,” she said. “ Only ring for Martha, mamma. She shall dress me, and I’ll break- fast in myroom, when it is ready. Sara may come up. I’ll ‘— ~§ MRS. PAGET’s GENERALSHIP. 37 3 send Martha down for her, but I shall keep Martha with me— to serve my breakfast, you know.” “ That will do excellently,” said Mrs. Paget. “‘ Good-bye, dear, for a little while.” She rang for the maid in passing out, and met her a moment later at the foot of the stairs, hastening breathlessly to answer the welcome summons. Martha had not yet been permitted to see her young mis~ tress, and her face was flushed with eager anticipation. ' N ever«- theless, she stopped at sight of Mrs. Paget a step or two above her on the stairs, and as she stopped she cast a quick glance around her, above and below. i “ What 13 it, Martha?” asked Mrs. Paget, pausing as the se1 vant had done. “ Excuse me, Mrs. Paget,” whispered the girl, her gaze Istill wandering, “ but there’s something I want to say to you.” I “ Well, Martha, be quick.” ‘ , “ Yes’m. It’s this, and if it’s none of my business I hope you’ll be sure that I mean well.” . “ We are always sure of that, Martha,” said the lady, kindly. . “It’s about the new girl, Mrs. Paget—that Mary Hopkins, —-—a11d it’s just this. She hadn’t been here very long, you may. remember, when Miss Leah Paget went aWay, and it wasn’t many days before I found out that she had a follower. I didn’t think of it before, but now I remember that she began to slip out evenings, quite late mostly, and by the side gate, to meet him. The first must have been not more than two or three nights after we missed Miss Leah.” “ A11 l” Mrs. Paget started, and laid a hand upon Martha’s arm. “Come up here, Martha.” She turned back, went up 374 A LOST WITNESS. the stairs and stopped at the top, where she'had a full view of the hall from frent to rear. “ N ow—the rest ,Martha,” she said, "’ and as quick as you can.” “ Yes’ m,’ ’said the gi1l. “ It’s only this : When you told us all yesterday that we must not speak of Miss Leah’s comin’ home, I happened to notice Mary Hopkins’ look, and I didn’t like it. It was impudeut, and as if she didn’t mean to hold her tongue. I just said to myself then,“ I’ll watch you, miss,’ and I did. Last night she crept out, and I contrived to fol- low her. I’ll tell you all about how I managed it another time, when you ain’t in a hurry. I didn’t get near enough to hear all she said, but she told him that Miss Leah was certainly home, and that she was shut up, and wouldn’t see anybody. I heard him'prasin’ her up then, and he said somethin’ about her bein’ sure to remember all that was going on, and especially who came here and who went away.” Martha paused from sheer breathlessness, and Mrs. Paget Was silent for a moment. “ You are a faithful friend, Martha, and when I come back we will talk this matter over again. Go now to your mistress, and take good care of her until I come back. Do not speak a Word of this to her.” When Ferrars left the presence of the Chief of Police, he turned his face toward the down—town rooms of Max Talfourd, Where he expected to find, by appointment, Talfourd the elder and Sir Felix Wyntoun. Before separating on the previous night, he had advised Max, in ve1y plain te1 ms, that any effort to see Leah Paget or her mother, until after the next sessiOn of the Coroner’s inquest, would be to expose one, or both, or all of them perhaps, to ob'- MRS. PAGET’s GENERALSHIP. 375 servatiox a and to run the risk of new and dangerous compli— cations. Nevertheless, he found, upon descending, from his own cab, a second vehicle in waiting, and in an instant after he encountsred Max himself at the foot of the broad stairway, hastening streetward, a look of eager animation upon his face, and an envelope crushed between the fingers of his left hand, while his right tugged at the collar of his light top-coat. The first glance is enough—the detective puts out a‘ hand, and stays his progress. “ Whither, my friend ?” ‘ Max Started and stopped short, recognizing him through the partial disguise of workingman’s best, with its accompanying air of plodding honesty. It was a favorite neglige with Fer- rars, easy to assume and safe to pass unchallenged in a crowded street, but not intended for close meeting. “ I hardly knew you,” he says. “ I have just received a note from her mother, Mrs. Paget, you know. She wishes to see me." - The face of the detective became very grave. “ And you Were going ‘2” he asked. “ Yen. I-,-what else can I do ‘2”- “ You can do anything else with more safety. Talfourd, do not be a boy. You cannot go there now.” “ Cannot?” Max flushed hotly. “ I said cannot—yes. Consider, man. The lady who has sent for youndoes not realize the situation. I thought I had made it plain enough to you. You have no right tdjeonar- dize this young lady. Do you realize that?” Max looked down at the note. “ Yes,” went on Ferrars, hurriedly, “ I understand. The .. lady expects ycu.” He put his hand upon the young man’s 376 A LOST WITNESS. arm and his voice was suddenly and cuttingly cold. “ Either I am to be obeyed, or I leave the game in your own hands. It is too late for half measures. I thought we understood each other, Mr. Talfourd.” He drew out [his watch and glanced down at it. “ I have said that you must remain here until it was time to go to the inquest. If there is a new commander,- I abdicate. Choose.” The clear, cutting tones recalled Max to his sterner self. “ I beg your pardon, Ferrars,” he said. “ I believe I am. a bit knocked out. Mrs. Paget asks me to come to her this morning. I thought I might, perhaps. She says—but read it,” and he thrust the note into the detective’s hand. Ferrars opened it and glanced at its contents. “ Leave it to me,” he said. “ You must not go there now. There’s a spy in the household. Go back to your den, and— ~ have you been summoned?” ' ‘6 NO.” “ Oh,lthey mean to put it off- until the last moment, so that you may be taken by surprise, and have no time to prepare your' story. But do not flatter yourself that some sheriff’s deputy is not watching your every movement. Trust this to me. I’ll see that Mrs. Paget does you justice. - As for you, your “place, until the tocsin sounds, is here.” He gave Max a gentle push in the direction of the stairway, turned quickly and went out. A moment later, Max, standing with rueful countenance in the shadow of the doorway, saw him enter the waiting cab which had been summoned for himself, and rolled rapidly away. ' _ i . Ferrars did not go at'once to the house of the Pagets. In— stead, he drove to his own lodgings and made 'some hasty changes in his personal appearance. A BUSY DAY. 37 7 ' When he again set out, he was a brisk, business-like person, such as were thick upon the street, with nothing remarkable in his appearance, unless it might have been his want of resem- blance to Francis F errars. CHAPTER LI. A BUSY DAY. After. hearing the Story of Martha, the maid, Mrs. Paget took a fen: moments for reflection, and then went back to her own room, where she removed her bonnet .and street wraps. This done, she went below, on a tour ofinspection. All the servants, at that hour, were or should have been on duty below stairs. But when the mistress of the mansion came down she encountered Mary Hopkins at the top of the basement flight. The girl had been taken as an assistant to the cook, who was an told and valued servant, and'temporarily in need of an auxiliary, because of her too frequent attacks of rheumatism. The cook was trustworthy, and Mrs. Paget, assuming to sup- pose that Mary had been sent above by the head of her depart— ment, passed on with her usual kindly glance, and sought her chef, who was at that moment alone in the kitchen. ' “Jane,” said the lady, “ I want you to keep Mary Hopkins Under your eye. Give her plenty of work here, and do not let her get up stairs nor out of doors, untilKI relieve you. It Won’t be long. ‘Do you understand ‘1” 378 A LOST WITNESS. J ane thought she did. She shared Martha’s confidences and prejudices, and she heartily disliked Mary Hopkins. When Mrs. Paget came quietly up from the kitchen :1 mo- ment later, she surprised Ma1y loitering suspiciously near the door of the library, and this time she spoke. ' ‘ Your place 18 below, Mary.” The words were accompanied by a significant gesture, and she paused at the head of the base- ment stairs while the girl went sullenly down. As she again passed the door of the library, and heard the hum of voices within, she remembered, suddenly, who had sent her this girl, that had been playing the spy in her household, and some new thought presented itself. “ ‘I’ll wait,” she soliloquized. “ I’ll question her before I go.” She turned and entered the morning-room, seating 11er- self near a window, with the door half open, giving her a View of the hall and stairway. Nearly half an hour had passed, when glancing out, she saw a‘man approach the entrance. He came on briskly, holding in his hand a little packet that might have been a file of bills or receipts. . “ A collector,” she- thought. As he rang, something prompted her to. go to the door of the morning-room. In a11- other moment she was confronted by the stranger, who had, asked at on.Ce for Mrs. Paget, and then, she hardly knew how, they were within in the morning-room and the door was closed. ' The'man took off his hat and bowed low. “ I am come with a message from Max Talfourd, Madam.” “ Yes?” It was all she could say in her surprise. Ferrars, who thought and acted upon the instant, had made no efi’ort to “ speak up to his character.” He was inthe presence of Mrs. A BUSY DAY. 379 ,Paget, whom he had seen only yesterday, and he had formed his opinion of her first through his ability to judge-of charac- ter, and then through the Talfourds, father and son. . He knew that he would need a friend in the! Paget household, and that he could not expect to find in Abner Paget that friend. ‘ Ab- ner Paget must be convinced and converted, and for this there was no time to spare. Already the detective had chosen Mrs. Paget as the one he must trust. She had not 10st faith in nata- ural instincts and intuitions. She was quick to perceive ;' he believed that she would be firm to execute. _ “It was impossible for Mr. Talfourd to come to you at present, Madam,” he resumed. “ Rather, he was persuaded that it would be unwise, perhaps absolutely unsafe—for him- self and for your daughter.” . I At first she had seemed only to listen to the tone. “ Impossible !” she repeated. Then her hand went out quickly to her breast, as if her heart had suddenly startled her by its bounding. “ Unsafe !” she said, tremulonsl y, “ and~—— for my daughter?” He bowed a silent repetition of the alarming words. I Then she came close to him and bent her gaze upon his face. “ Will you tell me who you are?” she asked, quickly “ Gladly, it" for the present you will allow me to withhold my name, and will Consider what I say a confidence.” “Yes yes!” , “Fir,st then, I am the person who came to you yesterday with a warning.” “ Ah!” The puzzled look went out of her face but the anx- iety 1emained. “ I thought so. “ Yes , I hoped you would recognize my voice. Next, then, 380 A LOST WITNESS. I am a friend of Max Talf'ourd. And lastly, I am adetective, endeavoring to serve him, and you1self. ” She stood as at fir,st with her gaze intent upon his face, and he Went on, Speaking lapidly. ’ "‘ Two days ago I was committed to Max Talfourd, to aid him in the search for the lady who has so unexpectedly re— turned to you. Yesterday, while in [consultation with the... Chief of Police, he was called to the scene of the late murder.” He stopped, seeing by the look on her face that she did not understand.“ You have been preoccupied,” he said. “You may not know that a woman was mu1dered night before last?” ‘ “ No,” she said, “ I have had no thought for—-—” “ Pardon me,” hebroke in, “ you ican get all the details from the newspapers. The murdered woman was slightly knownto Mr. MaX- Talfourd. He had. once chanced to call at her house. He will have to appear, as a witness, before the Coroner today, and as the time is very near, I thought it best that he should not come to you.” i “ Why?” Her voice was very steady now, but as she uttered the one W01d she sat down 111 the place nearest at hand. “ Madam, your daughtei’ s name has been widely published. Owing to this, 1s it not wise to be doubly careful ? Max Tal- fourd is known, to some at least, as your daughter’s betrothed. Would it be well, do you think, to let his name figure, as it assuredly will, in the report of the Dresden Flats Murder, and again, possibly in the same columns—for reporters are sensa— tion-hungry fellows—coupled with that of your daughter ? I have pledged myself to young Talfourd, but I found difliculty in perSuading him to let me act as his messenger. I have A BUSY DAY. 381 spoken hurriedly. My time is limited. I hope I shall not be misunderstbod.” ‘ . Mrs. Paget arose, and without speaking Went to the door, openedit and looked up and down the hall. Then she came back and stood before him. I 7 » “ You have made me apprehensive,” she said, “ and I under- stand ,this : In some way, whether through Max Talfourdor otherwise, my daughter’s name promises to become connected with this-this mu1de1 Who is the victim?” “An actiess,’ ’——his eyes were the watchful ones now— “ called H01 tense N ova11s “She?” Her face betokened surprise but nothing more. “She was to appear yesterday—last night. She who has been so praised, so advertised ‘2” “The same.’ She stood for a moment regarding him silently. “ Theie 1s a myste1y11er,e ” she said, at last, and her face had grown very pale.“ There was enough of.that before. I Was about to call upon the Chief of Police, in behalf of my daugh- ter. Will you go theie with me. 9” ‘ She put the questiOn with sudden emphasis, and he smiled as he answered. EVidently, this quick-witted woman in- tended to put his claims to Captain Connor’s confidence to the ’ proof. I , “I see you are p1udent as well as prompt, Madam. I re— gret that I cannot go with you until afte1 this inquest, 01 this day’s session, is at an end. I am too fully occuPied. But I give you full permission to tell Captain Connors of this visit of mine, and, when you have seen him, if you will honor me with an interview, say tomorrow, and at some place or other than here, I shallbe your debtor. You are right in your surmise. 882 A Low: WITNESS. There is a mystery. But do not be unduly anxious. Above all, do not alarm your daughter, nor douthax Talfourd. One thing more : You have a spy in your household, Mrs. Paget,—-- one of your servants. Be watchful, and get rid of her as soon as you can ; if possible, without letting her know that you suspect her. ‘ I cannot name her—” i‘ It is not necessary, sir,” she said, with sudden frankness. “ I have already discovered the spy.” He took from his pocket a card and pencilled a few words upon it. V “ If you will give this to the Chief of Police,” he said, “he will make plain to you all that I have omitted.” She took the card and moved toward the door, following him' has he crossed the threshold. “Mother!” ' i “ Ah—Leah !” Mrs. Paget advanced a pace, startled, and, for a moment, bewildered. The self-confessed detective was standing, hat in hand, in the wide hail, midway between the door of entrance and the foot of the stairway, upon which, half adozen steps above him, stood Leah. She had put on a flowing gown of palest grey, and she seemed not to have noted the woman with the golden ’ hair and black garments, who stood half-way down the long hall, with her face uplifted and her eyes fixed upon the grey- robed' figure upon the stairs. ' ' i In reality it was but a moment. To Mrs. Paget minutes seemed. to pass, while Leah looked down at her mother, Sara Volney looked up at her, and the detective, near the entrance, looked with a long and steady gaze first at one and then at the other. I ' A BUSY DAY. ‘ 383 It was Leah, who broke the spell, turning slightly and seeming to see Mrs. Volney for the first time. “ Oh, Sara—Mrs. Volney—is it you ‘3” She came down a step or two and leaned over the stair-rail, but she did not put out her hand. And as the lady in black swept forWard to the foot of the stairs, the detective seemed suddenly to remember that he was making his exit. Mrs. Pa- get had signalled a servant, the outer door opened and closed again, and Francis Ferrars, striding doWn the broad steps, was muttering to himself : “ If only I could have heard her speak!” , A moment later, an observer ,would have seen in the morn- ing-room nothing more remarkable than three ladies, each in- tent upon being civil to the others. And after a few moments of conversation, Mrs. Paget arose. - “The calriage is waiting,” she said,“ and I have an order to give to Jane. Leah, will you ring and ask Ma1tha to bring down my bonnet ‘2” . “ Pray, Mrs. Paget, do not interview J ane' on my account,” Mrs. Volney Said, laughing-lightly. Mr. Paget has asked me to stay to luncheon.” - “ Then I must indeed see Jane,’ ’replied the hostess, and she went out smiling, while Sara turned to Leah. “ I have brought him some troublesome papers," she said, “ and he wants time to look them over. I am going to do something very desperate, Leah.” “ Jane,” said Mrs. Paget, when she had beckoned the cock into the pantry and closed and locked the door, “I ~want to get Mary Hopkins out of the house as soon as possible. _ Do not be' surprised at me, Jane ; it’s an ,odd thlng I. am asking 384 A LOSTWITNESS. of you. I do not want the girl to know that Iam aware ofher' shortcomings. She is your assistant, you know. Can you not manage to quarrel with her just a little, and then make a Complaint, or, better still, let her do it ‘2” . “ That I can I” said Jane, only too willing to be rid of the unpopular new help. “ I kin make two or three complaints right now, if you like, and be glad of the chance.” Captain Connors was alone in his office when Mrs. Paget . Was announced. He had been giving some serious thought of the case of Leah Paget and Hortense Novalis, and some new ideas had dawned in his mind. Hastily putting away the two strips of paper which were still before him, and upon each of which were now some queer-looking hieroglyphics, which he could read usually but which would have puzzled another seri- ously, he gave the word and the lady was admitted. ’ Their talk was long and earnest ; and when Mrs. Paget went away, Captain Connors handed her to her carriage like a man doing homage to something fine and admirable, above the or- dinary. And he, went back to his inner office with a softened, and earnest, and preoccupied look upon his face. The lady had given him her hand at parting, and as she drove away there was an expression of hopefulness in her fine eyes, although a long sigh escaped her lips, as she gave the or- der, “ Home.” MAX 1s ADVISED FOR me soon "385 CHAPTER LII. MAX IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. When Ferrars was againupon the street, he found that he. must change someof his plans. It was too late, now, for his interview with Frederick Quinlan, but for this he did not much care. He was becoming interested in this young man, just as he always found himself taking an interest in any strong or particularly marked character. But the interest of a student of character, and a searcher after motives, such as was F errars, did not necessarily mean admiration, or sympathy. It was not often that this clear, cool-headed Englishman was seri- ously “put out ;” but once he had been known to sulk for- tbree days because a noted criminal, brought by his own skill to the end of his tether, had been executed before he, Ferrars, had been able to decide, by personal observation, whether the inan had become what he was through circumstance or by her— itage. For Ferrars, like most “ spec ialists” of his kind, was a theorist as well His fi1st act was to send a message to Quinlan, appointing an evening hour for their meeting, with the brief explanation that he thought it best to let the open inquiry pass before he, “ put a finger upon the business.” “ The fellow is shrewd enough,” he assured himself as he penned the lines, “ whatever else he may be. He Will’under— stand me, I think.” And in this opinion he was quite correct. 25 886 A LOST WITNESS. Next he sent a note to the Chief of Police: It was brief and could not be misinterpreted. “ Send the two men to me atthe close of ' the afternoon’s pro- ceedings. Send also a third, an elderly man, a scribe, to re— main at ‘ headquarters.’-—-F.” When Captain Connors read this note "he considered a mo- ment, then went across to the office where the old man sat upon his high stool, and three or f0ur “ Specials” were always scratchingoff their reports at the long table. “ Daddy,” he said, “ I’ve got a fat job for you. Come in and receive instructions.” . The old man Wrote carefully on to the end of the line, dotted his I’s, crossed his T’s, added a period, wiped his pen, and then slid from. his stool and followed his Chief. I When the second message had been dispatched, Ferrars hastened to,hislodgings, the “ headquarters” where he had just established himself. And here he soon retransformed himself, becoming once more the shabby, red-lidded reporter of the previous day, with the soiled note-book and cringing manner. Then he hastened to the rooms of Max Talfourd, where he found Talfourd seniorand Sir Felix, as well as Max himself. It was nearly time to ’set out for the scene of the inquest, and the Coroner’s summons had been served upon Max in the pres-4 ence of his father and his friend. “ I Should like to go with you,” began Mr. Talfourd, but F errars broke in with a peremptory negative. ‘ “ It will not do. It will look as if you were anxious, as if you were making too much of your son’s small share in this business. As for Sir Felix, I sent him away yesterday; he will not go now, I hope.” MAX IS ADVISED FOR HIS GOOD. 387 “ Not I,” said Sir Felix ; “ but I shall expect a full ac- count of proceedings.” “ And that you shall have,” the detective assured him. Then he turned again to the elder Talfourd. “ I must remind you, sir,” he said, “ that we have a complication of interests to guard. \Ve cannot afford to risk anything. Neither can we venture to hope that,at the close otthe Coroner’s investiga- tion, we shall have things our own way. In a case like this, and .in a city overrun with detectives, private, regular, and ir- regular, there will be many complications. When we are out of the Coroner’s clutches Mr. Talfourd, I shall ask for more of \our aid and counsel ,perhaps, than you will find itcomfort— able to gi \ e.’ _ “ If I find it possible,” said the father of Max, “ we will not consider comfort.” A moment later, Max and the detective were rolling toward the scene of the murder. “ I shall leave you before we reach the entrance,” said Fer- rars. “ And remember, you are not to see me, not to signal me. We cannot be too guarded before the Coroner and his good men and true Feriars spoke quickly and his tone was grave. He was no longer the interested friend and sage adviser ; he had taken command. . “ I do not pretend to disguise from you,” he went on, “ that the situation is a critical one. Do you fancy that. Quinlan has any clue, any reason, any object, that he could further by bring- ing forward, in any way, the name of Miss Paget ?” Max started as if he had been stung. “Do you mean before the C01 oner 9” he asked ,quickly. “ Y.”es “ If he dares—3’ said Max, between his teeth. 388 A LOST WITNESS. “Tut,” broke in the other. “ Whatever he dares, in the presence of the Coroner, nothing can be so unsafe, so likely to injure her, as for you to show excitement, resentment, or fear of consequences. You must guard yourself for her sake. You were very near making a great mistake today. I arrived at an opportune time, and now I lay a new command upon you : You must not go near that house until you have the word from me.” Max looked a bit dissatisfied. “ You can write a note, if you choose,” said Ferrars, seeing the look, “ but it must be purely personal—mot a word else, you understand?” Max nodded. “I have fully decided to suppress the photOgraph and let- ter,” went on Ferrars. “ Of course, you will be called upon to tell your version of the story of La Belle Fabrice and her unlucky call. And now, let me give you two or three hints. If you tell your story as you told it to us last night, it will not prejudice any one against La Belle Fabrice. You would naturally guard against that. But you must also guard against anything like being inclined in her favor. And there are two or three rules for ‘amateur’ witnesses: Do not carry the air of knowing anything worth telling. Answer as often as possible by direct yes or no. Do not notice implied ques— tions, do not hesitate over your answers. Do not consult your memory : A direct ‘ I do not remember,’ often saves compli- cations.” . . Max laughed outright. “I will try to be a model ‘ ama- teur,’ ” he said, “ but I do not fear the ordeal, thanks to you,” his face becoming very grave. “ If it were not for that sup- pressed documentary evidence, it might be an ordeal indeed.” cousm WITHDRAWS. 389 He started up as if struck by some unpleasant thought. “ Fer— rars,” he said, gravely, “ in sparing me, are we making it harder for Fred Quinlan ?” “ N 0,” said F errars, shortly. “ To tell all wouldn’t change er better Quinlan’s position. It would make yours hideous.” Max was silent for a moment. “ I abhor this thing that I am to do,” he said, then. . “ It’s simply“ securing myself at his expense.” “ Nonsense l” ‘ “ If it were not for Leah—5’" Ferrars laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder. “Nothing that you could do or leave undone would alter the position of Frederick Quinlan,” he said, firmly. “ And it is not yourself that you must consider. It’s the peace of mind, perhaps the safety, of the woman you love. Harden your heart, banish your scruples, and trust a little to me. Oh, I must get out here.” He caught Max by the hand, gave it a reassuring pressure, and in a. moment was out 'of the cab and away. CHAPTER LIII. COUSIN WITHDRAWS. There was a crowd before the door when Max alighted alone, and people were surging and clamoring all up and down the street. Newspapers and newsboys had made the great hostelry known as the Dresden Flats, notorious, and a large posse of *390 A LOST WITNESS. policemen were now required to keep place for those who must come in, as against those who would ; for those who were necessary to theCoroner, as against x those to whom sensation was as the breath of their nostrils. ‘ ‘ The second session of the Coroner’s jury, in the case of Hor- tense Novalis and her maid Virginie, was a long one, and quite as interesting as the first. It might be added that it was quite as unsatisfactory in its results. Max Talfourd was examined, but his testimony threw little ifanylnew light upon the case. His answers were straight- forward, clear, and prompt, and left the gentlemen of the jury convinced that, aside from the occasion of his single call, he knew nothing Whatever about Hortense Novalis or her maid Virginie. Frederick Quinlan was again questioned. It was his third appearance before the Coroner, and he seemed to think it quite superfluous. He was questioned more closely than on the day before, and his answers came promptly, and were marked by a cynical sort of frankness, and a manner of growing impa- tience quite new with him. At the end, the jury were not much enlightened. . Concerning Hortense Novalis and her career abroadg. he could say little. Concerning her identity, nothing. He could only repeat and emphasize his story of the previous day. 7 As a last feature of Quinlan’s examination, the will was pro- duced and put into his hand “ Mr. Quinlan, did you ever see that document before?” asked the Coroner, with much gravity. “ I have,” Quinlan smiled as he replied. , i “ May I ask when ‘2” COUSIN WITHDRAWS. 391 “ I saw it yesterday, Your Honor, when it was produced here by the Chief of Police.” And now the jury smiled. “ Of course, of course—yesterday. I mean, sir, did you ever see it previous to that time ‘3” p - “ I have. I cannot name the precise date. It was shown me by the testatrix.” I “ Then you know what it contains?” “ Yes.” “ State its contents briefly, if you please, prior to opening it here in evidence.” . “ It is, I believe, the last will and testament of Hortense Nov- alis. It leaves a small legacy to her maid, Virginie, and the remainder of her possessions to myself.” This announcement caused a sensation among the listene1s. But the opening of the will proved its truth, and the result was, of cou1se, an added item in the scale against Quinlan. When the will had been disposed of, the Corone1 add1essed the Ju1y. It was impossible to close the case here and now. There re- mained most important witnesses to be found and examined. It was impossible to guess what new turn their evidence might give to this lamentable affair, this twofold mystery. The Chief of Police and his detectives hoped to find these witnesses, all of them women, and it had been suggested that a postpone— ment of several days be made. It was now believed that some of the witnesses, perhaps all, had left New York, and time was re- quired to find and bring them back. I11 the meanwhile, it Was his painful duty, etc., etc. Which meant that Frederick Quinlan was held to bail as under suspicion. The inquest was to be re-opened as soon as 392 AVLOST WITNESS. the needful witnesses were found. And the bodies of Hortense Novalis and her maid were placed in the hands of the under- takers, to be embalmed and deposited in a vault, there to await further developments or possible claimants. And now there was plenty of sensational material for the newspapers. Reports of proceedings, interviews, prophecies, descriptions, conjectures. Rewards were offered for informa- tion concerning the absent witnesses, for the apprehenSion of the murderer or murderers. _ In the midst of these, on the day‘which followed the second adjournment of the Coroner’s inquest, amodest little paragraph, in a not too conSpicuous corner of the leading paper's, announced that, “ Miss Leah Paget’s absence, and the mystery concern- ing it, had'ended in a most commonplace manner, the young lady being now at. her home ; and the reason of her absence, a very simple one, and of noimportance to any but the lady and her friends, had been made clear to all whom it concerned to know.” On that same day an advertisement which had held its place in the Columns of half a dozen papers for as many years, Was dropped from each of them. It was quaintly worded, and had drawn forth many a comment during the long years of its stead— fast unchanging appeal. It ran thus : Dear little Bettie. The latch string is out, and I’ll try to make you happier. _ Come back to your poor old Seth. _ That was all, but it told its own pathetic tale. Two other small happenings, of more or less interest to our 3ory, occurred bn the afternoon of this same eventful day. The first was of greatest importance, perhaps, to the new housemaid in the establishment of Abner Paget. As may be presumed, the cook was ready with her complaint, which was COUSIN WL'rHDRAws. 393 sufficient to arouse Mrs. Paget to instant aetion. She asked no questions and she answered none. Mary was paid liberally, a month’s wages in place of a month’s warning, and sent to Cov— entryiforthwith. The second event took the form of a letter, written by Polly Cousin and addressed to his friend the Chief of Police. .111 it Cousin regretted that his increasing reportorial duties, together with a slight indisposition, made it necessary for him to with- draw, for the present, from all work that was not connected with his obligation to the “ Call.” He would see Captain Connors at his earliest leisure, but feared that, between his literary work and the aforementioned indisposition, it might be some days be- fore he could hope to call, etc. This was the purport of Mr. Cousin’s letter to the Chief, and it threw that worthy,into a rage. Nothing is more trying to friendship of the sort which existed between the Chief and Cousin, than a sudden launch into the unexpected. And not only was this note uneXpected in matter and manner, but it was out of character ,coming from Cousin. Worse yet, it \1 as evidently a thing that the English detective had foreseen. “ Polly Cousin 1s getting offhis head,” he decla1ed to hun- self. “ I must look after him a bit. I must show Ferrars that billet down. ” And he did at the earliest oppo1tunity‘. Ferrars read the note and smiled.“ And you do not unde1- stand how to account for this ?” he said, carelessly, as he laid it down. “No, and neither would v on, if you knew Cousin as I do.” “ Knowing him as I do,” said Ferra1s, “let me advise you. Before many davs, Cousin will drop in upon you, and make ca1eless 1nquiries about Miss Paget. If this happens, or when it happens, be very guarded.” 394 A LOST WITNESS. Captain Connors favored him with a prolonged stare. “ \Vell,” he said, at length, “ it’s your affair now, and I’m glad of it.” CHAPTER LIV. FREDERICK QUINLAN. When the English detective, according to appointment, paid his visit to Frederick Quinlan, the advantage was not all upon the side of the latter. Before approaching his man, Fer- rars had of him as exhaustive a study as time would allow, aided by the information set forth in certain neat and firmly- written documents, each bearing upon its outer folds the words, “ The Paget Case,” and marked severally within, upon a top line, “ F. Quinlan,” “ Possible enemies of L. P.,” “ F. Q., discarded suitor,” “' Quinlan’s habits, haunts, etc.,” and signed, severally, Nickerson, Waters, Brown, etc. This was supple- mented by verbal information from Max Talfourd, from Tal- fourd senior, and from other sources. . So Ferrars, who one week before had been ignorant of the existence of such a man as “ F. Quinlan,” now knew him quite wells» “ You see,” said Quinlan, when he had greeted his guest, “ I had a Slight advantage over you at our first meeting. I happened to be in London about seven, perhaps eight months ago, at the time when the Corriston Case was the'topmost sen- sation. Naturally, I wanted to see the lion of that famous af- fair, and you Were pointed out to me'one day in the Park. I have a good memory for faces.” Ferrars received this With the greatest‘composure. FREDERICK QUINLAN. 395 “ A good memory is an excellent gift,” he replied. “ I be- lieve that I remember voices best.” As he seated himself before a long, narrow library table, in the chair indicated by his host, who took another just opposite, Fer- rars*looked around him with some interest. Quinlan lived in bachelor’s apartments ; and if the other rooms were like this, Ferrars thought, then indeed, the sybarite, the favorite of la- dies, the dainty trifler with cards, and fastidious owner of fast horses, must havr a sterner, a more practical side. The room Was a well-equipped combination of library and stndy,and, while in all its appointments it indicated wealth and a refined taste, there was no obtrusive display Of either. There were books in costly bindings upon low shelves, upon high shelves,- upon tables and brackets ; there was an escritoire that was ev- idently for use ; there were easy-chairs and a long low divan ; costly rugs and furs were scattered about the polished floor; a few rare engravings and good bronzes. But nothing for mere display; nothing useless, no afi'ectation of “ collections” or “ odd bits,” nothing amateurish. . As his eyes wandered from pointto point, Quinlan noted his gaze, and recognized the approval in it. “ I hope you like my den,” he said, lightly. “ It’s my rest- ing-place, my refuge from petty storms. I fitted it up two years ago, when I felt the need of a place where I might flee now and then ‘ far from the maddening crowd,’ from brie-an brac and five o’clock teas, and. germans and drawing-room gossip. Some people, who think they'know me, and who do know of a few of my vices, wouldn’t believe it, butit’s neverthe- less true, that no woman has ever put her foot across my thresh- old. I have one superstition : When a wOman succeeds in forcing’an entrance here, I shall be undone. v: I am sure of it.” 396 A Los'r WITNESS. Ferrars, sitting opposite him, smiled slightly, and Quinlan checked his speech, not abruptly nor as if conscious of tOO much Volubility. He smiled too, and pushed a box of cigars across the table. - “ Make yourself comfortable,” he said, he himself setting the example. “And then tell me—e—have you considered my re- quest ‘2” “ It was not necessary,” said Ferrars, not heeding the box at his elbow ; “ I am committed.” “ Committed I and may I ask to‘ whom ‘2” “ To justice,” replied the clear-eyed detective, “ and to the innocent.” . ‘ ' “ If by that you mean that you intend to devote yourself to the solution of this mystery,———to the finding of the murder or murderers of poor Hortense,—then I ask no more—except this : that you spare no pains, no expense, and that you allow all that is done to be at my cost.” Ferrars never permitted himself to harbor a prejudice, nor to form an opinion based upon the evidence of others, although he sometimes arrived at swift and astonishingly accurate ,con- clusions at first sight, or upon very brief acquaintance. ' As he sat there, his calm eyes studying the face of the man be- fore him, he found himself mentally forcing his mind to hold judgment in abeyance and only to observe minutely. He said as little as possible. He. came to listen, and Quinlan found that he could listen well. “ Of cOurse,” Quinlan went on, “ I do not care to have this made too public. Do not mistake me there. I do not crave notoriety ; not ofl-that sort, at any rate. I want justice done, and I am ready to do the thing I can do best ; that is——-” smiling slightly and With a touch of cynicism in the smile—— FREDERICK QUINLAN. 397 “ to put my hand in my pocket. May I ask if you were at the inquest yesterday ?” It was now Ferrars’ turn to smile. “ I was at- the inquest,” he said. * “Ah.” Quinlan’s gaze was openly admiring. “I looked for you, I assure you, and my eyes are tolerably keen.” “ Yes,” assented Ferrars, “ I noted that. You had a com- panion—a legal gentleman, was he not? May I ask—” He hesitated. , . - “You may ask anything, Mr. Ferrarsnthat is, anything pertaining to this subject, and I’ll answer as Well as I am able. Indeed, that was my motive in seeking an interview. I wanted to tell you what I know about Hortense Novalis, and then ask you to make such use of my information as seems good, in finding the key to these bloody mysteries. He stopped speaking, and sat for a moment looking straight into the faceof F errars. “ At any rate,” thought the latter, “ it cannot be said "that this young man has not a direct gaze.” , , “ You asked about my companion,” resumed Quinlam “ He is a friend and a lawyer; the man I should retain in any se- rious encounter with Dame Law. He’s young in years, but al-r ready pretty well known; Herbert Grote—perhaps you have heard of him ‘3” - f‘ Yes,” assented Ferrars, “ I have heard of him.” Frederick Quinlan threw himself back in his chair, and took a long look at his vis—a—m's. Then he leaned forward and spoke. . “ Mr. Ferrars, if you ”intend to interest yourself in this case, ' regardless of me, I consider it more than ever necessary that we should understand each other—at least that you should under- 398 ‘ 'A Losr WITNESS. stand me. From the first moment that I stood beside the dead body of Hortense Novalis, I have foreseen the natural, the inevitable, consequence of this investigation. I do not intend to stand up before the Coroner and hisjury and tell ’what I shall telluto you, and such infbrmation cannot be drawn from me, because of his lack of knowledge. I do not fear the result to myself of anything that may be developed at the inquest.” “ It was evident to me,” said Ferrars, drily, “ that you had no reason to fear undue pressure at the hands of the Coroner.” Quinlan smiled slightly, and banished the Coroner from the conversation with a wave of his hand. “' A Coroner’s inquest always seems to me a farce,” he said. “ Its publicity is more apt to result in harm than good. It keeps the criminals forewarned, and I believe it has helped more scoundrels to escape than it has ever brought to justice. If you will listen to my story, you may depend upon. it to be complete and truthful. All I ask is that you will not use the information I give you until after the inquest.” ‘ - “ I do not commit myself with the business in any way un- til atter the inquest,” said Ferrars. “ You may count upon my discretion, now and then. I am ready to listen.” He leaned back in his easy—chair and half closed his eyes. “ And I am ready tobegin,” said Quinlan. “ If you want t) ask questions by the wav, do not hesitate.” “ I shall not,” said the detective. “ My knowledge of Hortense Novalis, ” began Quinlan, l‘ dates back to the time of her advent upon the London stage. I arrived in that city at the very height of her popularity. Why,” stopping to look keenly across at his guest,“ you surely must have seen her then ?” FREDERICK QUINLAN. 399 A slight smile hovered about the lips of Ferrars. “I did see her. Go on, Mr. Quinlan.” “ Then,” resumed Quinlan, “ I need not speak of What she was, of how completely she filled the eye, how perfect an image of beauty she was, how the painters raved over her. You must knowall that. In all the universe, among all the beau- tiful creations of God and nature, there has never been any— thing that could equal in all things, in anything, the beauty of a beautiful woman. Pictures are mere mockeries ; no artist alias ever yet caught andvpreserved the entire charm of living, breathing, graceful womanhood, at its best. I am an admirer, a worshipper, of beauty, and for a fortnight I haunted the the— atre where Hortense Novalis, the most thoroughly beautiful specimen of the Andalusian type that I have seen, was nightly Visible. I did not seek her acquaintance then, and I have since had reason to think, that if I had, it would have been an unsuccessful effort.” He uttered a half laugh. “ I should not have been doubtful of my success here, but in New York there is no Royal favor to be bestowed upon houris. While Hortense still held sway in London, I set out on a further pilgrimage. ' Not 'long.‘ after, while I was - at Monaco, I read of the sudden exit of Hortense from the stage, and, so far as could be known, from London.” As he paused, Ferrars, who had been listening with half- closed eyes, looked up. “ I know nothing of the movements of Hortense Novalis, after she left the London stage,” he said, in answer to the look of inquiry in the face of his vised-via “ I was not interested in the career of that young woman-beyond a certain point.” “ Ah l” Quinlan flashed upon him a look of intelligence. “ It was in Paris that I next met Hortense Novalis, and there 400 A Losr WITNESS. made her acquaintance. She was in a position of peculiar isola- tion. You perhaps know, since you know so much, that she was not a person of deep culture or varied knowledge. Here, and perhaps in London, by using great care she might have passed successfully, and for a long time, for a F renchwoman. But Hortense Novalis was not a Frenchwoman, although she undoubtedly had French blood in her veins. She never could have been made into a Parisienne. She lacked lightness, adaptability, and the patience to apply herself to any tedious effort. She had come to Paris with a purpose, with a strange ambition. It was said ofher that she was extravagance in- carnate, that she never saved a penny of her salary upon the stage, and that she was always in debt. Nevertheless, she brought with her, when she came to Paris, a modest fortune. She installed herself in sumptuous apartments, and with high hopes.” " He pondered a moment and then resumed. “ I may as well say it: Hortense was both ignorant and vain, although it sounds ungracious for me to do so. The lit« tle French she knew was execrable, and she could not master Parisian French. She was just Opening her eyes to the fact- that she eculd not make herself a career in Paris, when Fate threw me in her way. I was travelling for. amusement, and having learned the world pretty well, I carriedmy honors as an American citizen modestly. But I was a godsend to Hor- tense ; the only man she knew who was not likely to hail her in French, or otherwise stir her grievances into fresh life. We became great friends, and under the impression that I was an American abroad upon a limited income, she patronized me amazingly, and gave me the novel sensation of being valued for myself alone.” FREDERICK QUINLAN. 401 He Was smiling cynically at the recollection, and Ferrars smiled too. The latter had ceased to sit with half-closed-eyes, and was listening now with direct attention. ” went on Quin- “ We became, as I said, very good friends, Ian. “I took care not to let Hortense be undeceived about myself and the state of my purse. She thought it was not worth while to make mea victim, so she made me aconfidant. I'have every reason to believe that the little she told the of her story was true, and I will try and tell it to you, not as she told it to me, disconnectedly, in fragments, as caprice moved her. What I am” about to tell you is the result of many meetings and many words, on the part of the narrator. Some of it I had pieced together into a partial history of a strange career, before I left'her in Paris. And some I have learnedsince she came to New York. Yes,” in answer to a look or movement of sur— prise, “ I left her in Paris. Did you fancy she came 'with me ‘2 By no means. That only shows that you do not know me yet.” . Across the face of Ferrars a queer smile flitted. “ There are indications,” he said, “ of a better acquaintance. And now—-—” ' “ And now I will give your—mind, this is not my history ; as nearly as possible I shall efface myself~—-I will give you what I have named to myself ‘ The Parisian Episode.’ ” J 26 402 A LOST" WITNESS. CHAPTER LV. “ THE PARISIAN EPISODE.” V“ Hortense Novalis was American born, and grew to girl- hood in a country town. I do not know her name. About herself, and her life previous to her debut in London, she was very reticent. I have no doubt, however, that she had French blood in her veins,~——good blood; probably unfairly come by. As you may suppose, I did not trouble my head with specu- lations as to the past of the new Star. Some one had given her. a brief stage training, and launched her as an actress, in the Provinces at first, of course. Then she attracted the admir-fi ing notice of some influential personage, and lo ! She was a great actress, and all London was at her feet.” Mr. Quinlan paused here to place his own feet more com- fortably, and resumed. “ As I have said, I was at Monaco when I heard that she had left London suddenly andvery qUietly, and soon after that she was established in Paris. Later, I learned some of the facts connected with her flitting. Perhaps,” pausing to look sharply across at Ferrars-~“ perhaps I am telling you an old story ‘3” I . “ Go on,” was the non-committal reply of the detective. “ It appears that a certain young heir to atitle and a fortune fancied himself in love with Hortense. He was betrothed to a very proper young woman, with attractions similar to his own. ., Aworldly parent coming on the scene, with plenty of “ THE PARISIAN EPISODE.” 403 money and a superaoundance of executive force, arranged mat- ters, probably with a little assistance and in a worldly-wise fash- ion. It is said that the young lady visited Hortense in person. ’At any rate, by bullying and cajolery adroitly mingled,and backed by an ample purse, the dangerous beauty was safely transferred to Paris. Before going, it is said, she treated the love-lorn youth to a severe snubbing, and he, believing him- self outrivalled, gave up the chase and returned to his old al- legiance.” “One moment,” said Ferrars; “ do you know the name of the young man in question ‘3” Quinlan pondered-a moment. “ If I did,” he said, finally, “ it has escaped my memory.” “ Am I to understand, then, that the lady, Hortense, did not confide in you to the extent of—” “ Allow me,” broke in Quinlan. “ Hortense Novalis was the last woman in the world to recount or dwell upon any epis‘ode which did not reflect credit upon herself. Vanity was her rul- ing passion, and her desire to be thought clever was only second to her vanity.” “ And how did such a woman as you have described ,suc— ceed, or hope to succeed, in Paris?” “ F11 st she was fortunate in securing the services of a thoroughly Parisian maid, who was of much use to her The woman conceived one of those queer womanish attachments for her mistress, and soon became her confidante. Before I left Paris, I knew that Hortense and Virginie were plotting some new enterprise, but she had grown so cunning under Vir- ginie’s tutelage that I could get no inkling of it. We parted on the most friendly terms, and I told Hortense, half in jest, that she ought to come to New York; she would be sure to score a 404 A LOST WITNESS. triumph, on or ofl'the stage. Of course, I promised to intro— duce her to all the gaieties, if she chose to come. That she came, you know. But before she came, she had reaped the benefit of another turn of fortune’s wheel. Some secret or remembrance, carried in her memory since childhood, she had made known to her maid Virginie, when they had become sufficiently intimate ; and, behold ! connectedwith it was the name of an old, proud, and enormously wealthy family resid- ing in Paris. In this family were three; marriageahle daughters, and two married sons ; and it is not likely that Hortense would have been able to establish even a very remote claim to kin- ship. But there was no such need. With a courage born of ignorance, egotism, and a certain lawlessness that was one of her strong traits, Hortense called at the house of these great people, and lo I it was done. The resemblance between the young— est daughter of the house and Hortense Novalis was so strong, so wonderful, that it threw the great family into a panic. And once more Hortense was hidden ‘ move on,’ which she did, with considerable addition to her neat little fortune. Of course, I did not learn this, all of it, from herself; but a friend, residing in Paris, chanced to have dealing with parties who acted as mediates for the great family, and I was in possession of the facts before Hortense had landed in America. I have no doubt but that the woman, Virginie, reaped arich reward, for she was the one who finally prevailed upon Hortense to give up her idea of setting herself up for a sort of Cora Pearl, and using her strong resemblance to the French family’s beauty for her own advancement.” He checked his Speech for a moment while he chose a fresh cigar. . “Probably, the good souls who like to think the worst of “ THE PARIsIAN masons.” ' 405 me and of mankind in general, would be surprised to learn that Hortense Novalis did not cross the ocean out of regard for me, but simply because it seemed to her expedient to do so. She wrote me that she was coming, and instructed me to secure for her suitable apartments; I don’t mind owning to you that I was rather glad she was to come. I do not take defeat kindly, and, in a little affair in which my feelings were uncomfortably active, I had been getting the worse of it. More than that, I was seeing the ‘ other fellow’ scoring an easy victory over me. When I learned that Hortense was really coming, I decided to make the most of it. I got a little enjoyment in thinking of the surprise it would be to her to find that I was not quite ‘ nobody: over here. Of course, I knew that Hortense would make a sensation, and I was willing to help her to the little triumph here that she had missed on the other side. When she came, and found all in readiness for her, she was really grateful. I had made my arrangements through an agent, and they suited her perfectly. Poor Hortense ! poor girl!” ~He sighed heavily. “Now, about La Belle F abrice: All that is a mystery to hie—her connection, if any, with Hortense. I believe that there was a reason, something more than she. ‘told, but the nature of it——well, an idea has occurred to me, i'but it’s only an idea. Hortense had a vein of superstition, and she was childishly afraid of sickness and death. When she was angered, or as she thought ‘ insulted," she was inclined to be vindictive. She was also, out of her inordinate vanity, jealous.” “You mentioned an idea, concerning La Belle Fabrice,” I suggested Ferrars, mildly. ‘ “ Yes. Pardon me; I was working toward that when I mentioned the superstition of Hortense. She came here, as I 406 A LOST WITNESS. have said, the possessor of a considerable fortune. She was pleased with her new home, and looked upon me as the cause of her present comfort, and possibly, as needful to her future prosperity. At any rate, one day, after her recovery frOm one of the attacks such as Doctor Grove described before the-Cor- oner—you may remember it ‘2” ' Ferrars nodded. _ “ She was subject to these attacks, purely nervous and the result of fatigue, too many sweets—Hortense was a bit of a gormand—outbreak of temper, or a combination of these causes. And she looked upon them as very serious, as was natural to her temperament. Well, as I began to say, after one of these fits of hysteria, she astonished me with the in forma- tion that she had been making her will, and she produced a copy of the document. Imagine my surprise when I found. that I was her principal legatee, with Virginie, her maid, to whom she had bequeathed her wardrobe—all but the jewels-4 and a few thousand dollars.” . “ Oh i” Ferrars turned upon him a look of re—awakened in- terest. “ Was that the will now in theCoroner’s possession?” “Yes. You can see why I was very glad that it was not opened and read at once.” Ferrars made no comment, and Quinlan went on. “ One does not .often grumble at a will made in one’s favor ; but I assure you that the p0ssibility of inheriting from Hor— tense N ovalis did not fill me with unalloyed pleasure. If I had been a poor devil, I might not have been so thin-skinned -——who knows? Besides, I knew, or believed, the will to have been made upon the impulse of the moment. I sat down and for the first and the last time, tried to talk ‘ conscience’ to Hortense. It was upon' this occasion that I learned tlie very little that “ THE PARISIAN EPISODE.” 407 I know of the girl’s past. . You do not need to hear what was said on both sides. From being serious Hortense became re- miniscent. She talked a little of her mother, to whom—she had never written, and did not even know if she was alive ; and a little of two girls, Who had been her playmates in her country home. She fancied that they might be dead, possibly mar— ried—of course to some clown, and raising in poverty a brood of children. She spoke of them patronizingly, and called them ‘ poor things.’ Evidently, she had been the daring one, the leading spirit, in the days when they were comrades. One of them she described as ‘ A sweet little “thing, good-natured and sort of pretty, but with no wit and no'ambition.’ 0f the. other, I/remember her exact phrase : ‘ Slow and sleepy and selfish. Nothing seemed to put her out, and yet she always managed to have her own way.’ I‘remember that I laughed over this, and ‘ she finished by describing her: ‘ She wasn’t-much to look at, though ; a slim pale thing, with red hair." ” _ “ Did she name them ‘2” fi “ Not she. I told you Hortense was a mixture of openness and cunning. She did not tell me their names, nor did she change the will. She simply drew up a sort ofcodicil, which she placed in my hands while she retained the will herself. By this codicil she stipulated that in case of her death, and my . inheriting after her, I was to use every effort to find. first, her mother, and then her two girl companions. If the mother lived, I was to make certain provision for her, and each of the two girls, as she called them, was to receive a small legacy. If the mother was dead, that which would have been hers was to be divided between the two girls. In either case, she left all to my honesty, only her maid, Virginie, being. a witness. ‘ And the document, the codicil, was given a into my hands 408 A Loan: WITNESS. sealed , and not to be opened until after her death, and I, by the terms of her will , had become her heir. By this-means, I was not much wiser-7 than at first, for the names of her mother and the two girls were written in the sealed document I held, and were not made known to me.” “ And that document?” asked Ferrars. “You have that, of course ‘2” t “ N o. It has been destroyed ; and here is the point; here we get back to La Belle Fabrice. In telling my story before the Coroner, I told it with sundry reservations. Over these things, Mr. Ferrars, I have thought much within twenty-four hours. Let me tell the rest, from my present point of View.” “ As you please,” assented Ferrars. ’ “Mention has been made of a woman, who was seen in the rooms of Hortense, or hanging about them. It was on the occasion of my first encounter with that woman that Hortense first mentioned tome the name of La Belle Fabrice. I had promised to come at a certain hour, and drive with her out Harlem Way. I arrived prompt to the minute; M’lle hated to be kept waiting, and it ruffled her temper. As I entered the anteroom, which I did without the ceremony of ringing, I heard the voice of Hortense. She was in her dressing-room, and she said to some one invisible to me, ‘ Don’t fail, then. I’ll be alone and I’ll have time to talk with you.’ I did not hear the answer, but in an instant .Virginie came out, and opened the outer door for a woman, a small woman with black eyes. It was on this occasion that Hortense saidof her, .in answer to my question or comment, ‘ Yes, the beggars have found me out.’ I did not press the subject, but I lingered a little beyond my usual time on our return from the drive, and when I left I saw the woman hovering about outside as if she ”A “ THE PARISIAN EPISODE.” 409 were waiting for some signal. This was less than a week be- fore that memorable dinner, which was spoiled by the abrupt departure of Max Talfourd and La Belle Fabrice.” “ Oh!” broke involuntarily from the lips of Ferrars. “ I saw Hortense again that evening, after the second visit of the strange woman. And then, for the first time, she spoke the name of La Belle Fabrice, plying me with questions about her. Had I seen her ? Seen her upon the stage ? Was she a fine actress ? Was she at all pretty ? When would she make her debut .9 Where did she live ? etc. I think it was on that evening, also, that she began to talk of Max Talfourd. She had seen him two or three times, and it was clear to me that his big figure and fine head had made a strong impression upon her. She made me promise to bring Talfourd to call upon her. She was greatly excited that evening, and unusually talkative and capricious.” Again his eyes sought the face of Ferrars, again he-smiled as he resumed his story. “ Afte1 that, I heard a good deal about Talfourd, and a lit- tle about La Belle Fabrice. Knowing H01 tense as I did, it was evident to me that she was unusually preoccupied. To be quite candid, I fancied that she was musing her admiration for Max Talfourd, and laying pl ms for his subjugation, and I con- fess that it amused me, and that it also amazed me a little.” “ G6 on,” said Ferrars, like one growing impatient. “'One day she said to me, ‘ I have seen your La Belle Fa— brice. I don’t Call her a beauty.’ Two days later she sent me word that La Belle Fabrice was to dine with her, and that I must brmg Talfour,d without fail. You know the rest of that chapte1 ‘2” "- Yes.” - assented Ferrars. 410 A LOST WITNESS. “ But there. is a sequel. There was never any explanation of that episode-athe sudden leaving of La Belle and Max Talfourd. Hortense had already got herself unduly stirred up, and she went off into one of her very worst ‘ attacks’ of nervous— ness. It was on that occasion that Doctor Grove was first called in. Two days later, she commanded me to bring her the codicil. Of course I complied, and then Hortense cut out that par— agraph by which she gave a legacy to each of her two girl friends, and made Virginie so much the richer, so that myself, Vir- ginie, and her mother, were left as heirs. The names were held back even more carefully than before, and the new codicil given into my keeping. It contains, I suppose, her mother’s name, and place of abode, and was to be opened, like the other, after the reading of the will, and acted upon at my discretion. ' That document I have in my possession.” “ Is there no more to tell?” asked Ferrars, gravely. “I would like to ask a few questions, just here.” “ There is more to tell,” said Quinlan, “ but the questions may come first.” I '1 L For a moment Ferrars scanned his face narrowly, then he got up, as if sitting had become'wearisome, and standing before the table looked across it and down into the face opposite him.» “Mr. Quinlan, what is your precise object in being thus frank and circumstantial with me?” Instantly Frederick Quinlan, with head thrown back. and eyes meeting his fairly, was on his feet. . “ My object, Mr. Ferrars,” he said, with dignity, “ is to put you in possession of all the facts in the case, as nearly as I can, or as they are known to me ; to be perfectly frank on my own part, lest by any reticence of mine, I cause you to err or to be at aloss.” ' “ THE PARISIAN EPISODE.” 41 1 “ Yesterday,” went on Ferrars, “ in what might have been a moment ofexcitement, you said something like this : that you expected the finger of SUSplclOn to point to you, and that the circumStantial evidence in the case would be against you. Was that your meaning ?” ‘ “That was my meaning.” “ Then, let me ask you, since you foresee, even now, that you must put yourself on the defensive, since virtually you are —-pardon. mé, but how do you hOpe to be benefitted by such an avowal as you are now making ‘2” “My avowal is intended to benefit you, Mr. Ferrars, as well as myself. Wait; hear me. out. You have said that you are committed to justice and the defense of the innocent Is that still your ground ‘2” ' ‘ Undoubtedly’ “ Then let me tell you what I expect of you. First and best, I expect you to find the mu1de1e'r. Failing in that, I expect you-to vindicate the accused, be it mySelf or whomso- ever it may. The horrible wrong, so often done in the name of justice, will‘not satisfy me in this case. If I am openly accused of the murder of Hortense Novalis and the woman Virginie, I expect you to prove me guilty or prove me inno— cent. N o jury’s ‘ disagreement’ for me ! N o ‘ not proven !’ Show that I did the deed, or that I did not do it, and could not have done it! Hang me, or send me forth vindicated! And, if the shadow falls upon another, do for him or her the same good work. ”Do not send a human soul out into the world with a bloody doubt suspended for life over his head, darkening all the future for him. For a moment their eyes met as if in a challenge. Then the detective put out his hand. -- ‘INFT’ 1 WI“. . 412 A LOST WITNESS. “.What does that mean?” asked Quinlan, for a moment holding back his own. “ It means that I am going to take you at your word,” said Ferrars, in a voice that was very solemn in its low, slow im— pressiveuess. _ And then the two hands met. CHAPTER LVI. THE, CODICIL. “ If that man is guilty,” thought Ferrars as he resumed his seat, “he’s an actor to wonder at. Now,” he said, aloud, “ I’m going to cross-examine you.” “ Go on,” said Quinlan, indifferently. “ At the time when the lady made known her wish to meet Max Talfourd, what were your relations with him ‘2” “ Of ‘ the ordinary sort ; acquaintances of long standing, moving in the same society, belonging to the same club. Not congenial spirits, by any means 3 and a little additional cold- ness had sprung up because of—because we both wanted to marry the same woman.” “ I comprehend,” said the detective. “ Will you give me your opinion of Max Talfourd, as a man ?” “ There’s only one word to say of Max Talfourd ;_ his worst enemy couldn’t change it. He’s a fine fellow, with no ‘ bad habits.’ Popular, and deservedly so. There’s no use in cry- iing down Max Talfourd.” THE 00131011.. 413 “ What were your feelings when your friend Ho1tense asked you to p1esent him ?” ‘ “ Candidly , as I have said before, I. was a trifle amused at T the caprices Fate seemed bent upon, and a little annoyed to see Talf'ourd winning everywhere-rto my loss. If I had loved Hortense, it might have been worse. But I did not love her well enough to be jealous. And I knew I had no cause to fear , Max, in this case. He’s one of your loyal Quixotes, and I knew Hortense wouldn’t weaken him.” 7 ' f “ When you we1e told that La Belle Fabrice was to be of the pa1ty, on the day of Talfourd’s presentation, what did you think was the motive-on the part of Hortense ?” “Simply-this, at first : I took it as a bit of Hortense’ pecu- liar cun‘ning. I had expressed my admiration for La Belle Fabrice a little too openly, unfortunately for myself ; and Hor- tense, hent upon making. a conquest of Talfourd, had hit upon’ the idea of using Fabrice as a means by which to divert me, and give her a chance of exercising her charms upon Max. She meant to pair us off to suit her purposes.” ' “ Do you know how she contrived to get La Belle Fabrics to come ?” i “ N0. Hortense had no lady visitors, and her isolation was a sore wound to her pride. To be snubbed by a woman was more than she could: bear, and she was not attractive to women. She did not Speak of Fabrice, after that little cont/retmps, until she got it into her head that she must appear upon the stage with her. Of course, I knew that her pride. was involved. But I gave. the Coroner my real theory about that; all the opinion that I had or have.” “All?” i . “ All, with this reservation. Looking back and pondering 414 A LOST WITNESS. over these things, I had reasoned like this: It was after the two visits, upon the same day, of the old woman we have spoken of, that Hortense first mentioned La Belle Fabrice. It was after the contretemps that she revoked her legacies and changed her codicil, cutting out her two former friends. Considering these things I asked myself, Might not this old woman be some .forme'r acquaintance of Hortense ; some one who knew the two companions as well ? Might not this old woman have seen Fabrice and, afterward, Hortense? May she not have told the one of the nearness of the other, and the rest have fol- lowed naturally ? Hortense, not knowing or realizing or car- ing for the difference in their social standing, writes a little in- formal note, which brings La Belle Fabrice here quite as in- formally. She comes, and has only to use her eyes to know the truth. Don’t you see that it would be quite natural fer La Belle Fabrice to seek to bury the whole thing in oblivion, by hold- ing her tongue and asking Talfourd and myself to do likewise ? It would be natural, to Hortense, to hold her peace from Sheer chagrin at her defeat.” , i “ True,” assented Ferrars ; “ it’s a clever theory. And now, did Hortense succeed in meeting Max Talfourd ‘2” “ Not ‘to my knowledge.” “ Did you hear her allude to him again ?” “ Yes. I; think she fully expected, at first, that he would re- peat his ivisit. Hortense, as I have said, was vain andgperhaps a little obtuse. It did not occur to her that any man would ig- nore her in that cool way. After a time she became silent con- cerning Max Talfourd, and finally she changed her mind about him, and only Spoke of him to say some derisivelging. This proved to me that the slight hurt her more than she wOuld own.” “ Did she ever write to him ?” “ To Talfourd ? No, I don’t think so.” THE CODICIL. 415 “Could it be possible that M1. Talfourd and she met clan- destinely ?” “ I might think that of her, not of Talfourd. ” , Ferrars was silent a moment. He seemed not to see his way clearly. Then—— “Mr. Quinlan,” he asked, Suddenly, “did you ever hear Hortense Novalis utter the name of Leah Paget. ‘7” Across the fair face of young Quinlan came a quick wave of crimson.“ No!” he said, curtly. Again for a moment both were silent, each studying the face of the other. Then Ferrars spoke. “ Has it ever struck you, as a coincidence merely, that Miss Leah Paget disappeaied from her home on the night of that unlucky affair, that encounter of La Belle Fabrics, Tal- fourd, and yourself at the door of Hortense Novalis’ apart- ments ?” . “ No,” said Quinlan, with a start; and then he added, “ But I do not see the connection.” “No?” said Ferrars, absently. "‘ I only asked you to see—#- the coincidence. Let us ‘- go back to the original subject. I want you to give me a more detailed account of your last inter- view with Hortense Novalis.” “What I can tell you about that night and what followed it, is, in my opinion, more important than all the evidence the Cor- oner will hear. I should not have let you go withoht hearing it. You know, of course, all that was said before the Cor- oner. ‘7” ' “Yes.” “ Well, it was true, but not all of the truth, up to a ce1 tam point. I told the Coroner that I came to the place at ten o’clock or thereabouts ; that Hortense was in fine spirits, and 416 A. LOST WITNESS. that she turned me out soon, to try her new gowns. All was true ; but when he asked me about the maid, I lied.” Ferrarslooked grave but made no comment. “ I did not care to tell the Coroner’s jury that I admitted myself with a pass-key, but that is what I did. The first thing I saw was Virginie, asleep, and breathing heavily, coiled upon the divan, where she was found by you next morning. I left my key in, the door, on the outer side, and went past her softly, upon the further side of the room. There were two pass-- keys: the one I carried, and the one which always hungupon a gilded hook. at the side of the door ; on the inside, of course. As I have said, the rooms were one blaze of light, and Hor~ tensewas fairly glowing with excitement, and full of her an— ticipated triumph. She had brought out her jewels, and they were scattered all about,_and I could see that she was anxious to have me out of her way so that she might dress and admire ‘herself. _ I asked her why she did not rouse Virginie, and she said she didn’t want Virginie; she was a nuisance sometimes. I would have aroused the woman, as I had sometimes done before, if Hortense had not said that. Instead, I passed out as soft] y as possible. . As I came into the anteroom, and the curtains closed behind me,.I fancied that the light was burn- ing dimmer than when I first entered. But I dismissed the thought as only a fancy. My key was in the. lock, and I re- member distinctly that I locked the door carefully, thinking the while that Virginie slept too heavily to make a good outer sentinel. :When I came in the morning, I found the door locked, apparently just as I had left it.” “ Oh,” broke in F errars, “ you said—” “ Yes. I told you I had lied to the Coroner. When I went out that night, I set the spring-lock and noticed that the THE oomoxL. 417 key was in its place upon ,the hook inside. When I came back the door was locked Still, and I used my key to admit myself. The other key, when I found my senses enough to look for it, was hanging in its place. You see—” he groaned, and dropped his head upon his hand, “ you see now, perhaps, what it is that I have in my mind.” The eyes of the detective were fixed upon one of the rugs near his feet, and he did not lift them as he said :' "f It will be best, I think, now that you have gone thus far, to put- into plain words all that you have not yet spoken.” _ “ Perhaps you are right.” Quinlan dropped his hand and lifted his head again. “ Sometimes things that have passed under one’s observation, almost unnoticed, come back at a later time with startling distinctness, and with a new meaning. In this way some thoughts'have come to me. Now, note this : I went tosee Hortense, as I have said, at ten o’clock or a lit-. tle later. The door was fast locked, the maid asleep, Hortense, with all her rooms aglow with light, was hovering over her fi- nery, full of excitement and eagerness. As the minutes passed— ' I can see it clearly now—her excitement increased, and she was eager to have me go.~ It was a relief to her, I am sure of it, when I finally went. I can see her as she stood beneath the hangings at the door of her boudoir. I never saw her so handsome, so glowing and triumphant. I laid it all, at the mo- ment, to her enthusiastic expectatiOns of the coming stage de- but. She was like one intoxicated with her own cliaims, and with visions of coming conquests. Now, I think that she was so ready to have me go, and so full of eagerness, because she expected some one else.” Suddenly F erra1s looked up. His thoughts flew instantly 27 41 8 A LOST WITNESS. to the letter 1n his possession, the letter signed “ Hortense,” and written to Max Talfonrd. ' “ If that was t1 ue, ’went on Quinlan, hurriedly, “ if she did expect a visitor, say at midnight, and if that visitor came, while I was yet there, let us say, and while my key‘ was in the door, what then ? He opens the door, while the maid sleepson, low- ers the light a little, stands close back against the wall at the foot of the couch where the maid lies, and where there is a little space between the wall and the divan’s foot, and the hangings fall in heavy folds. One could easily stand or crouch there, unseen in the dim light of that room. If some one had entered so, and lurked there until I had passed out, don’t you 866—” His voice ceased from sheer huskiness. “ I see,’ ’said Fe1ra1 s. “ For your own sake, Mr. Quinlan, say no more.’ “ I have said enough, have I not?” said Quinlan, with a mi1thless laugh. ?‘ At any 1ate, I have now told you all that I know—all. If I had said this to the Coroner, when he questioned me about the condition of the door, what would have been the 1es111t. 9” “ The result?” Fenars was again upon his feet, but his tone was perfectly calm and not unkind. “ The result? Mr. Quinlan, you know as well as I, that, if you had told this— all that you have told me—to a Coroner’s jury, you would now be a prisoner charged with double murder.” . ‘-‘ That is what I anticipated,” said Quinlan, gloomily. “ And afte1 that, a long-drawn-out investigation, with all its attendant notoriety.” I - .¢c I hope,” said Ferrars, with a sudden change of manner, “ that we may be able to find an end to this tangled skein with- out 80 much delay as you seem to anticipate. Mr. Quin- THE 00131011.. 419 Ian, that Codicil you told me of—is it in your possession?” Without a word Quinlan went to the escritoire, unlocked a drawer and took from it a sealed envelope. “ Here it is,” he said. “And the seal unbroken. Quinlan took up a paper-knife and deftly broke the seal. “ Read it,” he said, and held it out to the detective. Without a word Ferrars complied. “ Do you know what it is ‘2” he asked, then. i “No; except as I have told you.” “ Listenf’ said Ferrars. “ ‘ Instead of to my two old playmates, let one of the leg; acies meant for them go to my maid,Virginie ; the other, to my mother, whose name is Mary Holly, of South Brandon.” 9‘ South Brandon,” echoed Quinlan. “ No state, then? that’s like her. South Brandon—Mary Holly. Well, Mary Holly of South Brandon will have a decent fortune, if she is still liv- ing.’ Fer1ars put the codioil down upon the escmtoire. “ You mean by that—~what ‘3” helasked, cu1tly. “Simply that if the mother of Hortense Novalis can be found, she will have her daughter’s fortune.” i Ferrarslaid a hand upon his arm. “That will sound ve1 y well,” he said, coldly, “ if you re- se1ve it, and it IS said—at the light time.” “ And when Will that he. 9” “ \Vhen the innocent aie vindicated, the guilty punished, and the mother of Hortense N ovahs found-alive.” 9” 420 A LOST WITNESS. CHAPTER LVII. BEGINNING IN EARNEST. “ At last we may begin in earnest.” It was Francis Ferrars who spoke, with Captain Connors and the elder Talfourd sitting opposite him. The place, his new “ headquarters,” and the hour, midnight, following upon the day which saw the examination of the Coroner in- definitely postponed. Once at the end of this ceremonial, the detective had lost no time in calling upon the two, and laying before theman out- line of some of his plans, together with his reasons for the same. His two auditors looked convinced but somewhat startled, while Ferrars was his usual composed and grave self. And when they had listened for a half hour to his low, firmly- spoken, terse sentences, this gravity was reflected in both their countenances. In the face of the elder Talfourd there was re- gret and anxiety, and Captain Connors remarked upon it. “ I confess,” Talfourd said, “ that I’m thinking about Fred Quinlan. And my son feels a bit uneasy yet. Somehow, it \looks as if we were putting all the weight of suspicion upon him.” “We are,” said Ferrars. “ Yes. ' And Max—he hasn’t been too fond of Quinlan, but he feels now as if he were enjoying immunity at his expense.” “ I don’t think you quite know young Quinlan,” said Fer- BEGINNING IN EARNEST. 421 cars. “ He wouldn’t trouble himself with such scruples. What he wants is conviction or vindication, and l have prom- ised him one or the other.” When Max Talfourd’s father left them, the Chief drew his chair close to the round table and took up a pen. “ Now,” he said, “I’ll write you that little document.” He began to write, and Ferrars, with a very serious face, paced the floor. ' “ The. little document” consisted of only a few lines, and as he signed, folded, and enclosed it in an envelope, the Chief began to talk. “ I’ve been asking myself what would have become of this precious muddle if you hadn’t dropped down among us, Mr. Fe’rrars. I confess that I should have floundered at the first bog. I wish I might ask you one question.” Ferrars stopped short, just opposite the Chief. “ Ask,” he said. “ Is the course Quinlan has taken that of a guilty man?” “ It’s the course Quinlan would take—if he were guilty” “By which you me:,1n that, if he had committed a mindel, he would be the man to ask himself,‘ What would I do if I were an innocent man ?’ and then to do 1t.’ ’ , “Yes,” assented Ferrars ; “ Quinlan’s quite equal to that.” “ ——it all I” The Chiefpushed back his chair and got up. “There’s your note, Commander; excuse my forcible lan- guage. What I wanted to ask is this : Is Quinlan guilty ‘2” Ferrars came nearer and looked at him steadily across the table. ,_“ No,” he said, at last. Another,“ forcible” ejaculation burst from the lips of the Chief. 422 A Los'r WITNESS. “ Then—then, what about Max Talfourd ? Aren’t. we— excuse me—but are we not running a great risk ?” “ Are you jumping to the conclusion that if Quinlan did not do the deed, Talfourd must have done it ‘2” “ Doesn’t it look so ‘2” , “ Not to me.” He came closer to the Chief and lowered his tone almost to a whisper. “ I do not believe that murder was committed by any man alive.” The Chief opened his lips, but a gesture from Ferrars stopped his speech. There was a hasty step outside and some one knocked loudly at the door. It was the man Michael, already entered upon his duties. He’came in panting, his shrewd face and alert eyes telling as usual'half his story. . “ Well, Michael?” said both his superiors, in. the same breath. ‘ “ It’s this, sir,” said the man, saluting both. “ The new firm is out in full cry —watchin’ the Dresden Flats place, and,” with a grin,“ after Fred Quinlan.” “ The new firm ?” Fer1a1s turned a look of 1nquiry toward Captain Connors. - “ It’s a new Detective Agency,” explained the Captain, with a touch of Scorn in his voice. “ Private, you know ; working for rewards, for glory, for anything.” Then his sense of ins- tice came to the defense of the absent “ new firm.” “ They have got two or three good men, thOugh ; T can’t deny that.” When upon interrogation it was found that the “ new firm” had done nothing, as yet, more startling than to place shadows about the Dresden Flats and the rooms of Frederick‘Quinlan, Michael was duly instructed as to his further duties. and dis- missed. Then Ferrars obtained from the Captain all the m- BEGINNING IN EARNEST. 423 formation he could give concerning the new Detective Agency. “ I don’t think you need anticipate much trouble from I these fellows,” said the Chief, at the end. “ Possibly not. Certainly not so long as they devote them- selves to Quinlan.” , "' And Quinlan—-by the way, I have thought over the story he told you. Do you think what he said about the career of Hortense Novalis abroad is to be relied upon ?” ,4 - “ I have the best of reasons for thinking so,” responded Fer- rars, gravely. “ If I had not, I could easily verify any state- ments concerning the Paris or London business.” ' “Well,” said the Chief, rising, “I wish we were all well out of this. There’s your letter—I suppose I am not to be let into the mystery of its meaning ‘3” “ Not yet,” replied Ferrars, with a smile. When he was alone' Ferrars re—perused the letter with any- thing but a smiling face. It was brief and very simple. . It introduced the “ bearer,” and requested, oVer the oficial signature, of the person to whom it should be presented, that he would give any information, and in every way possible assist or serve. the person who should present it, thereby obliging, etc. In short, it was an official passport, to the con- fidence Of any to whom it might be tendered. . p “ I hope I may not need it,” muttered the detective, as he put it away carefully. “ Butjif I do, it will serve, I think.” 424 A LOST WITNESS. tHAPTER LVIII. LEAH AND MAX. Francis Ferrars was a good general, and he soon had his small force in perfect subordination. First, there was Sir Felix Wyntoun, who, during these days of suspense and anxiety, had no thought but for La Belle Fabrice, her probable whereabouts, and possible danger. Given a clue and a word of encourage~ ment from the detective, he Would have followed it around the world, at very knight—errant. For, while he was very silent, very undemonstrative, and at no time inclined to argue or ques- tion, he clung grimly to his faith in the girl he loved. “ Of course, you know what you’re about, Frank,” he said to the detective, at the close of a long and exhaustive argu- ment, “ and I’m bound to fellow your lead. But all this silence and mystery is deuced hard on a man, and I cannot make my- self doubt that little girl, even in the face of the whole of it.” “ My dear fellow,” said Ferrars, “ I don’t ask you to doubt her. Of course you mean La Belle Fabrice. On the con- trary, do not doubt her, until you must. Never doubt any wo- man until she forces your scepticism.” And with this Sir Felix was compelled to be content. I It cost the detective more than one argument, however, be- fore he had fully conquered Max Talfourd. When the Coroner’s inquest had been for the second time postponed, Max would have set out for the Paget mansion LEAH AND MAX. _ 425 forthwith. But this Ferrars would net permit And after a time his arguments prevailed. ‘ Max was not lacking in common sense and courage, and to these the detective’s reasonings were addressed. He might write, however, always under certain restrictions ; and write he did. At first just a few lines, an eager assurance of his unswerving devotion, and an appeal 'for an interview. It was Mrs. Paget who replied to the first note, briefly and kindly. I , Leah was grateful for his kindly expressions, but at present she could see no one. She begged him to be patient and to wait. , ' Max waited—twenty-four hours. Then he Wrote again, this time to Mrs. Paget as well as to Leah. In the meantime Mrs. Paget was being enrolled among the conspirators. On the second day after her call upon Captain Connors, that official sent her a note, and acting in accordance with instruc4 tions therein contained, the lady ordered her carriage, and after an early luncheon set out alone. Ostensibly, she was going shopping. But she left her carriage on Broadway, and walked. a little distance, turned down a cross-street, hailed a cab, and was driven straight to the new “headquarters” of the Ens glish detective. She found both Captain Connors and Ferrars awaiting her arrival. After a long conference with these two, she returned home with a very seriOus face, and with her mind filled with new thoughts, new hopes, new fears. But with no doubt, from first to last, as to her own part in the strange drama about to begin, and full “of courage for the trial. It had been decided, during her interview with, Captain Connors and Ferrars, that Mrs. Paget was to receive Max, Tal-' 426 A LOST WITNESS. fourd, before he was permitted an interview with Leah 5 and that she, always of course with her daughter’s consent, was to make him acquainted with the facts concerning Leah’s home- coming. The mother was then to advise her daughter to re- ceive Max, but was to leave her to take her own course during the interview. And ”so, when Max sent his third note of appeal, he was re- joiced to receive from Mrs. Paget permission to call, with a promise that when she had said a few words to him,,he should see Leah. 4 But if Leah was left free, as she must be, to pursue her own course, Max was not. And when he set out for the home of his aflianced, it was with a grave countenance, and anxiety was mingled with his eagerness. Eagerness, at the very thought of her ; of her face, her Voice, her touch, of what. she might say to him. Anxiety, when he remembered all that he must say, or that might be said to him, as it should hap- pen. ’ Just what passed between Mrs. Paget and Max Talfourd need not here be recorded. 'With her new and keener insight into the complications surrounding them all, she had taken on, if that were possible, an added tenderness and consideration". But then Max had always been dear, to her, first for his mother’s sake, then for his own, and lately for Leah’s. . She told him the story of her daughter’s home—coming, with- out comment, just as she had told it to Ferrars and the Chief. And she made him aware of the present state of affairs in her household. Leah had been prepared for his visit, and had consented to see him. Presently the mother rang, and sent a message to - " “1-" LEAH AND MAX. 427 Leah, asking her to come down, as if the call were of the utmost ordinary nature. Eager, yet hesitating, she came slowly down. Mrs. Paget was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, and she took her two hands gently but firmly between her own. “ My dear,” - she whispered, “ I have told Max all that I know. Is not that what you have wished ‘2” “Yes, mother,” said the girl. “ It is what I should have done, and-——I think it would have been more than I could go through with. Thank you ; thank you a thousand times ! Now I can say the rest 3 can tell him good-bye, I l10pe, with decent composure.” ‘ “ Then go, dear.” The mother smiled a little as she pushed her toward the door. “ God bless you both i” ‘ Leah opened the door of the morning-room, crossed the threshold, and then,—she could never tell quite whether she herself had closed the door or whether—but what did. it mat— ter ?—somehow, the door closed, and she, who had meant to enter so calmly, to preserve her dignity and bequite deter- mined yet reasonable, found herself caught and held by two strong arms, kisses showered upon her lips and cheeks and- eyes, murmured words of love and welcome and thanksgiving falling upon her ears! For one glad moment everything was forgotten, except that she loved Max Talfourd with a mighty love, and that he was beside her. Then everything came back in a rush of misery, and she uttered a low stifled cry, so full of pain that it struck him like a blow, and wrenched herself from his clasp, putting half the width of the room between them, and turning upon him a pallid, despairing face. ' So, for a moment, they confronted each other, and then all 428 A LOST WITNESS. that was best and strongest in each seemed to assert itself. He came toward her and spoke gently and firmly. “Leah, my darling, your mother has told me everything that is necessary, more than I would have asked of you, more than I needed to know. There is one thing that I care for now, only one. You have come back to me, and I only care for you.” He was looking, smiling, straight into her face. She sighed, and a long shudder shook her whole delicate frame. _ “I have come back—yes,” she said, brokenly, “ but not to you.” . ‘ “ Not to me ? To whom, then, and why ‘2” He took a step nearer, but she put up her hand. “ Don’t—3’ she said, sharply; “ don’t come nearer ; you must not.” . “ But why, Leah ? Why may I not approach my promised wife?” He held his place, and she moved back and sank into a chair, that he might not see how her coward limbs hadifailed. her, how She was quivering again from head to foot. But she gained no advantage by this, for he at once seated himself and drew his chair directly before her, with scarcely the space of a foot between. . “ My promised wife,” he said again, softly, as if he enjoyed the sound of it, and he smiled still, though the smile was touched with sadness. , . Sitting thus, with his eyes upon her face, she was silent for long moments, fighting to regain her, self-control, and at last her strong will and the Paget pride conquered. He did. not know it, but his very attitude, the Smile upon his lips, helped her immensely. , “ Max,” she began, Slowly, as though not quite sure of her« // . ,(/ - ~ ‘fiI A \\\\W/ 'l " - . “$6 “Tonwnnn! You ? WHAT no you THINK I HAVE nL'r, AND — ' AM FEELING NOW ?” Page 431. ' 439 A LOST WITNESS. self, “ if my mother has told you all, she must have told you that, for me, there is no past, and no future ex- cept such as homes from day to day. Max, I beg of you, do not try me too much; I cannot hear it. I am not as strong as you think, and I need to be very strong. a I am not your promised wife any more. I retract all my vows, and you must not object. ‘ It will make no difference if you do, only—that it will be harder for me.” . For a moment he sat regarding her silently, a great pity anda great longing in his eyes. Then, with evident self-sup- pression, he spoke. . i “ Do you want me to understand that whether I wish it or not, however much it may hurt me, you mean to give me up, to retract your promise?” I ' “Yes,” she breathed, with her eyes upon the floor. “ When did you first arrive at this decision, Leah? Was it before you leftweven a day, an hour before ‘1” “‘No.” . “When, then ? Answer me ; when ?” She lifted her eyes to his face. “ You will not spare me,” she said. “ I see that I must suffer it all. It was when I first found that there must be a passage in my life, a time to be counted by weeks—weeks that have been longer than years, that must be ever dark to you and to all my friends. It was not before my going away. You know that.” ‘ “ Then the change is not in you? not in your. thoughts and feelings?” 1 Again her eyes were downcast. “ It may be in my thoughts ; it is not in my feelings.” » “ Leah, do you know what that implies ‘1‘” She did not answer. LEAH AND MAX. 431 “ AnSwer this one question,” he urged. “ Is it solely because of this mystery, which you cannot make clear to me, to any one, that you. wish to break our bond ? Is that the only rea- son ?” 6; She pushed back her chair and arose to her fullest height. “Yes,” she said, passionately, “it is because of that. How often will you make me say it before you will be satisfied,.be-5 fore I have been tortured enough?” . “ Tortured I” And now was Max on his feet again. “ Tor- tured ! You ? ' What do you think I have felt, and am feel-’ ing now ? Leah—” Before'she could evade him, he had caught her hands and held them fast, drawing her forcibly tow- ard him as he spoke. “ Look at me. Answer me. I know that you loved me when you promised yourself to me; do you love me less new ?” _ “ No.” She made no effort to release herself, and she looked him full in the face. “ And since then, has there been any time, any day, hour, or moment, when you have loved meless ‘2” » “ No, no, no !” she cried “ Don’t you see ! don’t you c0mpre— hend ! It is because I love you that I will not be the cause of - a‘ny shame to you, or any doubt, now or in time to come. Be- tween husband and Wife there should be no secrets, nothing less than perfect mutual understanding, perfect trust. Max, you know that. Ask yourself, if, in‘ my position you would not do as I have done. One may ignore past errors, past sins, even ; may forget and forgive a wrong confessed. But a mystery in the life Of the being nearest you, a closed door in the heart that loves you and that you love—you could not bear it, and the stronger the love the greater the tOrture. I will not tell you an un- truth, Max. No, no!” He had made a sudden movement 432 A Los'r WITNESS. toward her. “ Be strong for me, Max, if not for yourself. Not long ago, by hours and weeks—ages ago, it seems to me, by the torture of the intervening days—J stepped across my father’s threshold and out upon the street. All my life looked fair before me; there was not a cloud upon my horizon. I was thinking, oh, how happily ! of you ; and of—4yes, I will say it—Q—of our future, yours and mine. Yesterday,” her voice fell to a hushed whisper, and 'every word marked a stab in the girl’s heart—“ yesterday, I crossed that threshold again, the same Leah Paget, just as honest, just as free from any taint or intended wrong, just as true to you, and loving you just the same—yes, more ; for it was the love that feels the wrench of parting already began; that hears the clods upon the coffin lid. It was your promised wife that went out. It was a broken-hearted woman who came in ; a woman lost to you, lost ‘to herself, lost to hope, and almost lost to her faith in God!” He had released her hands, and now, before she could stay him, he folded her in his arms again. ‘ “ It was an angel who went out,” he cried ; “ an angel and amartyr who came back I” ‘ CHAPTER LIX. SOMETHING UNEXPECTED. Leah caught her breath sobbingly. . Before she could speak or stay his movements, he had lifted her hands, first one and then the other, to his lips, and seated her in a low chair, drop: ping down upon one knee beside her, and began to speak in low and earnest tones. SOMETHING UNEXPECTED. 433 “ Leah, do not remonstrate, my darling ! 1 Do not think that I disregard your trouble, or that I hold it lightly. By and bye, if' you will, we will return to that again. I cannot give you up yet, dear, although later I may be forced to do so——— not because of your secret, my dearest, but beCause—becanse I may come under the ban. I am menaced by a serious danger, Leah.” “ You i” - , . “ Yes, I. \Vait, dear, and let me ask you aquestion. It takes you back to the day 011 which we last saw you, or the day before—I hardly remember which.” ' “ What is it ?” she asked, quickly. “ On that day, or one of those davs, I sent you a photograph and a note ,quite a letter in fact. ” He stopped, she was looking at him i nquiringl y. “ Leah, did you get that note ‘2” he asked, huskily. “ No,” she said. “ L'eah, are you sure ‘2 Think, dear ! The photo was one of Rowan’ s, a profile only , the lette1—-” She shook her head. “ I asked you once to sit for a profile,” she said, slowly. “ But I never saw it.” Then something in his face made her start.“ Max !” she cried,“ what is it?” He was very pale and his lips we1e quiv ering. He held out both his hands, and looked straight into her eyes. “ Put your hands in mine, Leah,” he said, gently, and she complied. “ Listen, dear, and take away your hands when you will. Yes, I, too, have my mystery.” “ You !” Her fingers tightened about his. “ Leah, have you read in the papers of the murder of the French actress?” 28 434 A LOST WITNESS. “ Hortense Novalis ? Yes, I have read a little. Only the head-lines, I think.” ' “ About the time of your flitting, I sent you a letter and a photograph. On the same day, or a day after, I had occasion to call at the house of this woman, Hortense N ovalis.” Instantly theigirl drew back a little. ‘6 Wait, dear. Hortense Novalis was killed on the night be- fore you came back. And one of the officers who was first on the premises, and who made a thorough search through them, found, under the dead woman’s pillow, a letter signed ‘Max,’ and a photograph. — It was my photograph, Leah, and it was the letter Ihad mitten to you. I had not used your name, and it began simply ‘ My darling,’ do you see ? as if it had been sent to her.” The fingers clasped in his quivered and loosened their pres- sure, but they did not withdraw themselves. , “ If this had been all,” he went on,“ your name, my dar- ling, might never have been mentioned in connection with that hideous event. But, in searching further, they found in the grate, I believe, the envelope that contained that letter, with your name upon it.” _ The loosened finge1s tightened their clasp again. She bent t'owa1d him a white, sca1ed face. “Max,” she whispered, “ what does it mean ‘3” “ They are trying to find the murderer, Leah. Fred Quin- lan has fallen under suspicion” ; it is. known that we were not friends—” i ‘ ' “ Max 1” she broke out with a sha1p ory, “ Max, have they accused y ou. 9” “ Not yet, Leah.” I “ Thank Heaven. l Now tell me everything, Max-"every- thing. ” SOMETHING UNEXPEC’I‘ED. . ' 435 An hour later Leah Paget came into her mother’s presence with pale cheeks but glowing eyes. “ Mother,” she said,“ Max has told me muCh. I want you to tell me more. Especially, tell me about this English detect- ivef’ “ Didn’t Max tell you about him, dear?” “ A little. But I do not understand how he came to be here so opportunely.” ' - “ My child, Max Talfourd caused him to be sent for. He came to help us find you.” Leah drew a hassock close to her mother’s side and seated herself upon it. “ Now,” she said, “give me the history of that sea1ch for me. Tell me all, everything.’ That evening Ferrars received, through the Chief of P0- lice, to whose care it had been sent, a, brief little note. It said : Sm. -— If you will kindly grant me an interview, I will come to you at any time and in any way you may think best. My business is important. ‘ LEAH PAGET. "The detective read it and smiled. “ I thought it would happen so,” he said to himself. “At last, things begin to run smoothly.” He recognized in the sending of the note, under cover through Captain Connms, the hand of Mrs. Paget, and he seated himself at once to reply. ‘ He thanked Miss Paget for her promptness and her confi- dence. He would not ask her to come to him on this occasion, but would wait upon her in her own home that evening. Ne- cessarily, he must come in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, 436 A LOST WITNESS. and, having said this much, he would rely upon her to receive him as seemed best. Considering this note, his manner of going seemed a little strange. Early in the evening, while it was yet daylight in fact, the handsome open carriage of Mr. Talfourd might have been seen rolling through the Park, down Fifth Avenue, and across Union Square. It had two occupants, Talfourd senior and Sir Felix Wyntoun. A little later, this same conveyance stood before Sara Vol- ney’s door, while the two gentlemen paid their respects to that lovely lady. ‘ As Talt'ourd senior and Sir Felix were taking their leave, a hansom drove up, stopped just behind the open carriage, and deposited a third caller, none other, than Max Talfourd, who entered as the others came out, exchanged a jesting word with them, and said : . “ Come back, won’t you ? I’ve only dropped in to ask after Sara’s health. Come in, and then take me to town with you. I dare say that Sara won’t let me stay long~it’s an opera night, I believe.” ' “ But I’m not going, Max,” broke in Mrs. Volney, “and I shall consider you a godsend if you will tarry a while. Of course—” She turned to the others with a charming smile, but the elder Talfourd lifted a warning finger. V “You are going to tell a polite little fib, Sara,” he‘said. “ You’ve seen enough of us for once, and we really ‘mUSt g0. Keep Max, by all means. He couldn’t be in better hands. AS for us, I’m going to present Sir Felix to Mrs. Paget. You youthful da mes have monopolized him too much. He must see What a perfect creature the American matron is.” SOMETHING UNEXPECTED. 437 -“ When he has seen Mrs. Paget,” flashed Mrs. Volney, “ he will have seen the matron par excellence.” And she laughed up into the face of Sir Felix, and slipped a white hand under the arm of Max Talfourd. “Come in, Max. You and I know who is even lovelier than the matron, do we not?” She was looking especially brilliant, with more fire and color than usual in her face ; and Sir Felix said, as the two went down the stone walk to the waiting carriage, . “ Mrs. Volney has the beauty of all the sirens. However, has Max known her so long only to lose his heart to somebody else ?” ' “ When Max knew her first, she was the wife of my cousin, my dear fellow,” the father of Max replied. “ And perhaps the sirens even might not have shone so fair alongside of two hundred pounds of husband each.” “ Possibly not,” repliedSir Felix, as he seated himself he side his host, “ except perchance in France.” .As Mr. Talfourd’s carriage rolled away, the hansom which had broughtMax followed close behind, and soon the first ve- hicle turned into a quiet street, the second turning also. Then, as if by one volition, both stopped. I ‘ Nothing was said, but Sir Felix sprang from the, Talfourd carriage, and at the same moment, Ferrars stepped from the, hansom. It was simply an exchange. When the carriage moved on, it was Ferrars that sat beside Mr. Talfourd , who or- dered his coachman to drive to the Pagets, and it was Sir F e- lix who drove townward in the hansom. 438 A Low WITNESS. CHAPTER LX. AN ALLIANCE. And so it happened, a little to her own surprise, that Leah Paget, on the evening of a day that had changed the currentof her sombre thoughts, sat awaiting, with mixed emotions, the coming of the English detective. Her thoughts were strangely confused for one usually so clear- headed. She had heard the story of the Dresden Flats tragedy, ’first from Max and then from her mother. 'Yet, somehow, only a few facts seemed to stand out from the mass with any thing like distinctness, and even these did not at all concern Hortense‘Novalis and her fate. Indeed, if she had analyzed 'her- feelings, she would have found'among the incoherent med? ley something strangely like resentment against the dead actress. But now, as she sat waiting the summons to the drawing-room, she was not thinking of Hortense N ovalis, but of Max Talfourd . And not. of him as connected with the affair of the Dresden Flats, but of Max grieving for her absence, of Max holding fast his faith in her against all doubt and suspicion, of Max sending afar for help to find her. 7 Yes, Max had done all this. And now, for his reward, she must send him from her ; must close her lips and her heart and her life against him. No, not her heart ; never that i That she had given, that she would not recall. And her life ? ‘ Well, .what was it? What was the. life of any woman, when she dares not .look back for fear of heart-break, and when there is nothing but a long series of blank, AN ALLIANCE. 439 hopeless days ahead ? And they would not even let her have peace ! Because she forced herself to be calm, they thought she was very strong, and in one way or another, they would always be besieging her. They might spare her, perhaps, if she implored them ; if she told them they were simply killing her. But she never would ask them. And as for the killing, if only they would not do it so slowly ! Why, that'was the One thing in the .gift of the future that she could anticipate hopefully ! And now this detective was coming, and because slie had wished to see him. Why ? she wondered. “ He might have much that was important to tell her,” her mother had said. But it was not that. No ; she knew well enough why she had consented to see this Englishman. It was because that Max had sent for him, for her sake. Well, she, would see him,‘but itcould do no good. None. It was for Max’ sake; that was all. Thinking thus, the summons came, and Leah forced her- self to look calm, and a trifle haughty, and went down to the little drawing-room where she was to receive him. She had chosen to array herself in a gown of soft white stuff, severely simple and wonderfully becoming. And as she stood before him, pallid, clear-eyed, and stately, Francis Ferrars assured himself that it was worth while to have come across the ocean to know, and to serve, and to win, perhaps, the friend- ship of such a one as Leah Paget. ‘ And 'sh'e—a single glanCe assured her that. this was not the “ detective” of her imagination,—-—the man of gimlet eyes and cat-like tread ; the self-made being whose every movement told of suspicion, shrewdness, and social inferiority. Instead, she saw a fine-mannered, unafi’ected man, with! a firm chin: a sensitive mouth, and eyes that were full of respect; 440 A LOST WITNESS. ful sympathy. It was not a face to doubt, much less to fear. And Leah Paget soon found herself, the first moments of introductory formality beingwell Over, seated near her vis- itor, and quite at ease. I She had taken the initiative, in her own sweet way, by' speak- ing of her mother and of the story she had heard from Mrs. Paget’s lips. And Ferrars had added a few words, in the manner of one who is quite willing to be frank, and then had waited as if for her to speak, which she did after a little hes- itation. ' t “ My mother has told me their was a special reason why I should see you, sir,” she said, “quite outside of my own af- fairs.” _ “Yes, Miss Paget, and I am coming to the point at once, first asking you to keep in mind the fact that I came to Amer- ica upon your account, and that my connection with this case ofimmder has been the result of accident and proximity. I have not. sought this interview, however, solely upon your own account. Miss Paget, your friend Max Talfourd is threatened with serious trouble.” , “ Max--” She started and paled. In following the history of the murder, as it was told by her mother and by Max, she had. noted the coincidence of dates, and it came back upon her With a new meaning now. It was on the eve of her dis- appearance that Max and La Belle Fabrice had encountered each other at the rooms of the dead actress. It was on the day of the murder that she, Leah, had returned. The dates had been dwelt upon, first by Max, then by her mother, and she, in her preoccupation, had simply wondered why they should dwell so upon details. What was all this about Hor- tense Novalis to her, except for that letter and photograph ‘2, AN ALLIANCE. . 441 She had thought of nothing else. Her letter and the picture of Max-they had been found in the rooms of the dead ac- tress by this detective. Therefore, of course, he could tell her ‘ how they came there. Max Talfourd’s picture, meant for her, and in the possession of that dead Woman! ‘ It was for this she had wished to see him. I She wanted him tesay what she would not, could not, ask of Max. She had sent for him that he might exonerate the man she loved. Yes; and to ques- tion him a little, perhaps, about this mysterious La Belle Fa- brice. She passed her hand across her forehead. It flashed upon her now how slow of comprehension her own trouble and self- absorption had made her. “ What is it,” she faltered, i‘ this trouble you speak of—-?” He drew his chair nearer her own. “ Max Talfourd has told me,” he began, gravely, “ that you did not receive a certain letter and picture sentto you by him- self, a short time ago.” She shook her head. “ I. can understand,” he went on, “that at that time you may have been preoccupied, perhaps, even to the point of mislayiug the picture or the letter unopened. Try to remem- ber, please,———a letter upon smooth grey paper ; a picture Upon a large square card“, in an envelope of its exact size and shape.” . “ No,” she said, flushing hotly, “ I never received either let— , ter or picture.” Ferrars took from his pocket the letter and picture and ash- begrimed envelope. “Look at t.his,”whe said, and he put the picture into her hand. ‘ 442 A LOST WITNESS. “ It is he 1” she exclaimed, “ but it never reached me.” I “ Nor this ‘2” He gave her the envelope. “ My name !” She scanned it with eager eyes. “I never received it. Why, don’t you see, it bears no postmark ‘2” He flashed upon her a quick glance of admiration. “ Yes. Now look at the letter.” She took it, read a few lines, and then let it fall ; her hands Were trembling violently, her face was aflame. “There’s blood upon it,” she whispered. " The detective picked up the letter and proffered it again, but she waved it back. Her - hand had grown suddenly firm, her eyes brightened, her Whole face was vivid with some strong emotion. “It is not mine,” she said. “ I never saw it before.” “ And yet Mr. Talfourd tells me that the letter—unluckily there is no name used except his signature—Was addressed and sent to you together with the picture.” . I “Was it you who found it?” she asked, faintly, knowing What his answer would be. “ I found it, yes, in the rooms of Hortense Novalis, after the murder.” Fora moment the room was as still as a ,Sepulchre ; then, “ What does it mean ?” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “4 It means, I believe, that Max Talfourd has an enemy, or that you have one, and thai’t this enemy is striking at one through the other.” She got up and stood erect before him. “~ You are a detective,” she said, “and do you say that, and believe it ?” . “ I say it and I believe it, Miss Paget. The secret connected with your disappearance, the secret you are guarding so care- AN ALLIANCE. 443 fully, and the mystery surrounding this double murder, are in 'some way connected. Stop ! Do not speak yet. Let me ask a question. Is there any reason, known to you, why this should not be the case. ‘7” She shook he1 head. “ A1e you still determined to hold your peace, to keep secret the h1sto1 y of the last few weeks?” I 1/ “ I must,” she said, sadly. _ “ Very good. Is there any reason, then,why this secret, if it were found out without your aid, should not be told ? Sup- posing, for instance, it became known to me, would youywish it suppressed?” “ No 1” she said, clasping her hands and 1aising them aloft. “ If you, if any one, could tell the story, all of it, and explain it clearly, I would bless him upon my knees. I would give him my life, if need be l” ' ‘ “ And if, to do that, and also to vindicate, Max Talfourd, I should need your aid, such aid as you could give without any betrayal of trust, might I count upon it?” “ Yes, in any way, and to the limit of my p001 strength.” “ I may have to ask you to do a very distasteful thing, and I shall exact, perhaps, blind obedience. Have you the courage, the st1ength of will, the self-control, to play, if need be, a difficult part ?” . . “ If need be, yes.” “ Wait. I warn you that the thing I have in mind is not easy. The culmination may be terrible. I shall not ask for your aid except as a last resort, and if you are not strong and a good actress, you might fail me, and then—” She interrupted him by a gesture. 444 A LOST WITNESS. “ Tell me,” she said, “ is it to vindicate Max Talfourd that you propose this?” ' I “ That—des.” i“ And what else?” “ Possibly to vindicate you.’ A strange look came into her eyes—~a look almost of ter- ror. ' . , “You don’t know what you would do,” she said, trem- ulously. Ferrars was silent. ' “ But I will not full you,” she said, suddenly regaining. her self-com mand. “ All women are actresses upon occasion. They would appear pitiable creatures, sometimes, if they were not. If you will trust me, Mr. Ferrars—” She held out her hand, and he took it and lifted it to his lips. ' CHAPTER LXI.- NICKERSON ON THE TRAIL. “ Well, what is it now?” It'was Captain Connors who asked the question, having just stepped from his cab at the door of Ferr‘ars’ “ head- quarters,” whither he had driven in response to a'note from the detective. “ Abner Paget‘ must be brought to his senses, and I think you' are the, man to do'it.” “ Umph ! What has happened?” NICKERSON on THE TRAIL. 445 “- Nothing of importance. But I have seen Miss Leah Pa- get, and now, in order to carry out our plan, her father must be brought into sympathy with his daughter’s wrongs. The man has a heart, I suppose. Can’t you put the matter before him somehow, so asto waken him to a sense of the real situation ‘2” The Captain considered a moment. “ Seriously, yes,” he said, “ and it ought to be done. If you give me carte blanche, say, in any argument I may think best, I’ll try it.” “ Do it ; and. today or this evening, if possible. At any rate, you must say enough to cause him to'remain neutral, if you cannot do better.” . “ I think we can do better. Is that all ? By the bye, I’m having those fellows watched.” ’ “ Those fellows ‘2” . _ “ Yes; the new detectives who are shadowing Quinlan. They are not so slow, either, let me tell you. They’ve sent to Scotland Yards for information about Hortense Novalis, and to Paris for the same, and for a history of Quinlan’s career there. Somebody’s coming—I’ll tell you more another time.” It was the man Michael who broke in upon theirinterview. He bowed to his new commander, and, at sight of his Chief, bowed again, his mouth widening into a grin. , . Captain Connors consulted his watch and took up his, hat. “ Michael is brimfull of information,” he said, good-naturedly, ‘_‘ and it’s time to. go upon my own littlegafi'airs.” He shot a. meaning glance toward Ferrars. “ If all .goeswell, I will let you know by messenger. ; - if otherwise, personally,” Ferrars followed him to the door, and said aword or twoin a. low tone. Then, as the door closed, he turned to Michael with a brisk movement. ' “ Well, Michael ‘2” he said- 446 A LOST WITNESS. - “ Yes, sir,” said Michael, rubbing his hands. “ Well, sir, I’ve got her ; I had to do it.” ,“ You have got her? Where, Michael?” ‘5 Down stairs, sir. In a carriage at the corner. I didn’t 'think it would do to bring her up till I saw you.” “ Certainly nOt. But the woman—Who is with her ?” “ Oh, I brought one of the boys along with me in the cab, sir. Yer see, she came out of the new place without her feath« ers and war paint, and she hada little .gripsack in her hand. She went straight to a ticket-oflice and I saw her buy a ticket, but I couldn’t get near enough to hear where it was for. But I heard the agent tell her that the train left in about ’an‘ hour, so I just nabbed her. I expected she would makea big stand-out, but she didn’t. One of the boys happened. to be handy, and so I brought him.” V Since Michael had riSen from the ranks to special duty, he had condescendingly dubbed all the rank-and file of uniformed police “ the Boys,” and it was a ‘ boy’ of double Michael’s age and avoirdupois who escorted Michael’s captive up stairs and into the presence of Ferrars. Then Michael was dispatched upon some. errand, which, to judge from his hasty departure in the cab, was of importance and against time. “ Tell him to come prepared fora two or three days’ ab- sence,” Ferrars had Said, as .Michael paused at the door for this last word. “ And there’s not a moment to lose. Don’t bring him up; cOme ydurself, and look after your prisoner while I go down to him.” I As Michael went clattering down the stairs, Ferrars consulted his" watch. “ 'About an hour,” he said to himself; “ and a quarter of that time already gone.” . When the “boy” and Michael’s prisoner were in the room, NICKERSON on THE TRAIL. ~ 447 Ferrars clOsed the door, and said, without so much as a glance at the woman, ' i “ I want to send a word to the Chief of Police.” He scrawled a few words upon a ca1d and put it into the hands of the officer, accompanying it with a significant glance which the other was quick to comprehend. “. Take this,” he said, and the policeman bowed and went out.‘ At the foot of the stairs he stopped and 'read‘the few words upon the card. They were “ Wait at the entrance for further orders.” “ I thought so,” muttered he. “ Didn’t I just see the Chief come out of this very door? Something’s up.” In which sage conclusion he was more than sustained by the after-events of his vigil. . After closing and locking the door, Ferrars raised‘a curtain just beside the woman. The long twilight was almost gone, and he wanted all its remaining brightness by which to scan her face. He drew up a chair and seated himself before her. She had dropped into one, as if she were exhausted, upon her first entrance. It was the same woman whom we have seen upon the street, and in the character of unwelcome guest, and poSsible/black- mailer, in the rooms of La Belle Fabrice. .She was staring at Ferrars with a direct, unabashed, and somewhat indignant gaze. “ I’d be very much obliged,” she said, at last, “ if you’d tell me what all this means ‘2” - Ferrars started slightly, and began once more to scrutinize the woman before him, feature by feature, with a puzzled look at first and then with a smile, as if at some suddenly occurring resemblance. But he suppxessed the smile and the thought that came with it, and only said: “I’ll explain 1n due time, Madam. But first, I’ll trouble .448 _A LOST wrrnuss. you to let me look at the railway ticket which you have In your pocket.” She started but did not comply. “ What do you want with that?” she asked, sharply. “ I would advise you not to parley now, Madam,” he said, sternly. “ How I shall treat you depends much upon your— self. Time is of value. If you want me to turn you over to the Chief of Police, try to put even straws in my way. I’m an officer, and I know you of old. The ticket, please.” The occasions upon which Francis Ferrars spoke in this tone, to man or woman, were very rare, and it showed that if need be this discreet and naturally delicate and kindly man could be merciless. And it had its effect. The woman pro~ duced the ticket and sullenly p laced it in his hand. “ Thanks.” Instantly his old suavity 1etu1ned. “ Ah, yes; just as I thought. You were going to South Brandon. I’ll keep this ticket, if you please; reimbursing you for it, of course. And I’ll make it for your interest to answer some questions promptly and truthfully.” He read her face with a quick glance; it was still rebellious. -“ Of course, I cannot insist beyond a certain point. You do not possess anything. in the way of information that cannot be got from others. You can put me to a little t1ouble, if it suits you. I can put you in prison, if it suits me.’ I “ What for?” The woman paled a little, but still looked rebellious. . _ . “Never mind whatpfor. Choose : Will yougo back to the snug little den which you have fitted up in such rare taste, with the money you got fiom the murdered woman, H01- tense Novalis, or will you go to jail unde1—-well, a serious ,charge. ‘7” I NICKERSON on THE TRAIL. 449 Even this did not seem to have frightened the woman, and she was still resentful. But she asked, like one who yields re- luctantly to superior force, “ What do you want me to say. 9” “ The t1uth. Fi1st, about the railway ticket. Why were you going to South Brandon?” “ I wanted to look fo1 somebody.” “ Is that all ?” he asked, sharply. “ Are you sure it is 1101. to meet somebody ‘2” “Yes, I am sure.” “ Do you know whe1e La Belle Fabrice IS. 9” he asked, sud- denly. The red flush that ove1spread he1 face told him that he had ’hit the mark. 5‘ No, I don’t,” she said, shortly. “ You know there has been a reward ofl‘ered for her, or for information concerning her?” “Yes,” doggedly. “ What reason have you for thinking that La Belle Fabrice mightbé found there ‘2” He held up the ticket. “. She lived there once,” said thewoman, sulle11‘ly——“ a long time ago.” , I i, “Oh i” he exclaimed. “ One moment.” He sprang to the door and blew a sharp whistle. Then back again to catch a hat ofi‘ a rack and look a desk.‘ By the time this was done, the officer Whom he had hidden wait below was at the door, where Ferrars" met him. “ My good man,” he said, t‘ I leave this woman in your charge. I shall return in half an hour, I think. Lock the door and admit no one.” ' 1 The man nodded. He did not know Fe1rars, but he had been assured by Michael, whom he dld know, that it was “all 29 ' 450 A Loan wrmnss. 1ight. ” Moreover, he had seen the Chief himself emerging from this very house. “ I’ll see to it, sir,” he said, and straightway took pos- session. Ferrars hastened out and was soon upon the street, where he waited, watch in hand, until, after two or three minutes, a cab came tearing around the nearest corner, and Michael’s head .was ’visible before it came to a halt beside the pave- ment.. A glance showed, too, that Nickerson, the man of «theories, and now enrolled in the service of Ferrars, was seated within. “ Ah, here you are -! Jump out, Michael, and wait for me here.” In another breath, Michael was standing alone upon the pavement, and the cab was rattling away at its liveliest gate 1n the direction of the Grand Central Depot. Under cover of the noise and confusion, Ferrars gave his instructions to Nickerson. ' “ Are you 1eady for a chase?” he began. “ Quite,” said Nickerson, who liked this lively sort of work. “ Good. There’s a possibility that the runaway Comedienne, La'Belle Fabrice, may be in South Brandon. You are to go there by first. train, provided we are. in "time.” “ We shall be inti-me.” ‘ _ . __ “ Inform yourself as soon and as quietly as possible if the lady isthere, or any of her friends. Don’t maketyourself known, but telegraph me, and look for a letter of instructions by first mail. ‘Name—J’ ' I “ John Nickerson will do.” , “ Very well.” Ferrars produced the ticket taken from AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 451 Michael’s captive, and put it into his hand. “You are going upon a chance, but I am inclined to think you’ll find the lady. It’s a delicate matter, and Whether she is there or not, wait for your. letter of instructions.” Nickerson pocketed 1he ticket and some monev,-pressed into his willing g1aSp in a pleasantlv off-hand fashion. “ As I’m to be gone so long,” he said, “ I suppose you will fill my place?” “ I-intend to take your place myself.” “ I’ 111 glad of that, for a number of reasons,” said Nickerson. ‘f And now' I’ll make my report. Polly Cousin came there nearly an hour ago. Up to the moment I left, he was still there.” i “ Very good. In your absence, Mr. Cousin will receive my personal attention.” ‘ “ By Jove l” ejaculated N 1ckerson “ I begin to think he’s worth it. There’s my train. Good-bye.” CHAPTER LXII. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. When F1ancis Fe1ra1s 1e—appeared, aftei seeing N1ckerson-- safely en route fo1 South B1a11don, he found Michael on guard Without, and the ‘.‘ boy” within, and he lost 110 time in dis- missing them,’eacl1 upon a special mission. When he again seated himself near the impatiently-frown- ing' woman, his face had relaxed something of its grimness. 452 a LOST WITNESS. “ It’s a long time since we have met, Madam,” he said,just the shadow of a smile lurking about the corners of his mouth. "‘ But I have a tolerable memory for faces, and for voices. As for names—well, ladies change theirs so often, you know ; and you, I believe, called yourself at one time Mrs. Harris, did you not ?” She flushed angrily, but it was clear enough that she knew whereof he was speaking. “ I think it was Mrs. Harris,” he went on,“ and I think, at that time, you were more or less interested 111 the dramatic stage. It was in Chicago, I believe ; and it must have been- four, five, yes, nearly Vsix years ago. Oh, I see you have not forgotten.” The woman had 1isen and was looking about as if for a way of escape. Ferrars me1e1y smiled. “ Calm yourself, Madam,” he said. “ You have nothing to fear from me, unless you prove to be a greater sinner tharr‘ I now believe you to be. You possess information that I want, and that I mean to have: I am not suie but you may be use- .ful to me as well. Do \ ou know who I am ‘2” The woman sat down again, the sullen look not yet gone from her face. “ I know youare one of those detectives,” she said. “There were three*of them and—” She stopped and studied his facea moment. "‘ Yes,” she said,‘ the newspapers were full of them one was big, and one was handsome, and one—yes, of course, you must be the Englishman.” “ Right,” he said. “ Your memory serves you. Jocelyn- was big, and Bathurst was handsome, and I’m neither one nor‘ * See “Shadowed by Three” by same Author. Francis Ferrars was a prominent character in that remarkable book. ' ,,’/ J A V ' , ’ f' i I § .-¢ ‘ 5 p 4 4' [km-0h?» - 5’- I‘ J- . ‘ A "r x» V 1' ~ fil‘k‘. “’ . ,;r,;.\:.,',. New: {Wk '/ Win was» *0» /’, :I;«:;Q:»}1I-} 55$!9§;‘¢;“\¢7 , ' .!.'4" W 5'» " ‘0‘“ Q §‘ /’ 4mg}: 1». IC.~‘\>\“\ Q / ~ .1: «3:433:21 .vcl‘a‘e%.‘:§4*:9,”4 ’ ‘ .i’K‘figii" 3'": 33m? \ 'Q’z’ ’ .‘2 -,-— 0,3‘ - ’7‘. » ..\Q.jv '1, 5- ..,- .‘\\ -o 3&3": 9“ ‘ “ . . . \ N \\, '1’ ‘\>.., ‘Q‘ \ A 9“. ax‘ '1‘ . . c 123-3)?) 'fi y, 'w ”11¢?r/V ' ‘45” 11- . . \ “ Smart. IF YOU THINK I KNOW ANYTHING ‘AZBOU'I‘ THAT MURDER, You ABE MISTAKEN.” Page 454. 458 454 ' A LOST WITNESS. the other ; nevertheless, I’m the Englishman. Are you going to answer . my questions and trust to my generosity ‘2” “ Oh, of course,” she said ,and even in that moment of grudge ing submissiOn there was a greedy look in her eyes, as the word “ generosity” passed his lips. “ I’ve got to live, and if you go and mix me up in some new scandal, I’ll be all broken up again, and my business spoiled, just as I’ve gota start.” “ Don’t let that make you too anxious,” he said. “ I‘see you’ve'taken a fancy to fortune-telling, and I won’t interfere, if you are not too severe upon the seekers after knowledge of the future. I have had an eye on you for some time.” ’He noted her start and the sudden look of fear that crossed her face. “ And I know that you have been, in some way, eon- ‘nected with Hortense Novalis—” ' , “Stop l” she cried out, sharply. “ If you think I know any- thing about that murder, you are mistaken ! I don’t.” And here, for the first time, she looked him full in the face. “ I’m not afraid of that 1” she cried again, fiercely. “ Hortense Nov- alis was thebest friend I had in the world ! I’d go as far as the next one to find out who killed her.” , “ As far as South Brandon, I suppose you mean ?” Again she looked at him squarely. “ You’re mistaken again,” she said, sullenly. “ I don’t believe that girl killed Hortense.” “ Meaning Fabrice ‘2” ' “Yes, meaning Fabrice. There was another one, and if I had my liberty and a little money, I believe I could find her.” “ Now,” said Ferrars, “ we are coming to the point. When you have convinced me that you are sincere, you shall be paid well, and I will promise you protection. But I shall have you watched, and if you attempt to play me false, it will not AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 455 be pleasant for you. You know what I mean. I don’t fancy that you are implicated in this double murder, but you possess knowledge that may help us clear up the mystery. Now, then,'how is it to be? Are we allies, or enemies?” “ Oh, you know well enough that I’ve got to submit,” she said. “ I’m not going to put my head in a noose.” ’ said Ferrars. ,. “- So let’s. begin, for time is passing. Oh, by the way, allow me to refund “ You are a very wise woman,’ the money for that ticket, and you are going to want cash to enable you to make your debut as a prophetess in a proper manner, I suppose. Permit me to make you a small loan.” .The sullen look faded from the face of the woman, as she clutched the -“ small loan,” and when she had it deep into her pocket, her’ lips relaxed, and Ferrars knew that he had no need to fear, so long as he had money to buy and she a secret to sell. When. Francis Ferrars laidhis head. upon his pillow that night, or rather the next morning, for the small hours were striking, he felt, and justly, that a good day’s work had been scored. < ' N ickerson was well on his way. The letter of , instructions, too, so full of detail as not to admit of any possible error through lack of clearness, and containing-matter which would be apt to startle even so level—headed a man as Nickerson, was already written and ready for the earliest mail. Captain Connors, who had taken upon himself the duty of see- ing Abner Paget, and reducing him to a more reasonable frame Of mind, had reported favorably. Here again, Ferrars having seen Pagetpere upon one occasion, had been Wise in choosing his messenger. Captain Connors, when once thoroughly aroused was, like most easy-going men, capable of being terribly direct 456 A LOST WITNESS. and in earnest, and he had found the occasion in this visit to Abner Paget. “. Iliad-to use knock-down arguments,” the Captain said later, when he was rehearsing the scene for the benefit of the detective.“ But luckily I was well supplied with a1 guments ofjust that kind.” The simple truth was this. Knowing his man, the Captain had taken a. position squa1ely before the obdurate old merchant, and said, bluntly : ' . “ Mr. Paget, do you want the name of your daughter con- nected wit-h that of Hortense, the woman who was murdered night before last at the Dresden Flats ‘2” Of course there was an angry outburst; and then the Chief had simply gripped the arm of the enraged and haughty man and forced him to hear some plain truths, tersely stated. ' i “ If you will take the trouble to read the reports of the Coroner’s inquest, that of yesterday in particular, you will see an account of a singular sort of meeting on a certain evening, a little more than a month ago, and you will see in cold print the names of Fred Quinlan, Max Talfou1d, and a lady who 18 called Fain me Of course he had already read this account, and the Chief had guessed a; much. “That cursed fellow, Talfourd——” Mr. l’aget had broken out. But the Chief promptly checked him. A “Don’t go any further in the-wrong direction, man,” he said. -“ There’s one thing that you won’t see in the papers, because we have thought it wise and kind to suppress it, and that is this: When the first search of the rooms was made, there was found an envelope bearing upon it the name of your daughter, Miss Paget.” AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 457 “Bosh!” cried the old man, fiercely. “My daughter’s name I I don’t believe it i” “ Unfortunately for your scepticism, I was the one to find the thing.” ‘ “You!” Abner Paget weakly sat down in the neareSt chair. ' ' “Yes, I; and that is not all. On the night of this meeting at the rooms of the murdered woman, which the Coroner is making so much of, your daughter disappeared.” “ Good God I” “And, 011 the morning afte1 the mu1der of Ho1tense Nov- alis, your daughte1 came back.” Abner Puget lifted both hands to his head like a man dazed. “ My God l” he groaned, “ are you going to tell me that my girl killed that—that creature?” “ I ? No. . It has been left for you, Abner Paget, to couple your daughter’s name with that. deed—you, her father. What a father ! I don’t wonder that she left your house, but why did she come back? Ah! I forget ; she has a mother. Man, you have suspected her, accused her, no doubt. Did it ever enter you heart, for just one moment, that she may have been a victim?” I “ Oh, my God ! Oh, my daughter ! Leah i” It was the cry of a strong man broken upon the rock of his own pride) The oak which never yet had bent, was broken. Henceforth, he was as wax in the hands of the Chief of Police, and meek and abject in his obedience to the English detective, of whom he l1e1'11d then for the first t1me. ‘ In the grey of morning, while Mrs Paget lay tossing 1est- lessly, unable to sleep fo1 thinking of all that she had listened to that night, a tall gaunt, figure came to hex bedside, and bent 458 ’ A Losr wrrnsss. over her, and spoke softly, for Leah was sleeping, or seeming to sleep, beside her. - » “Miranda, wife.” A shaded lamp was burning low near the center of the room, and by its light she could see the tall figure and care-worn face. She sat erect at once, lifting her face and peering anxiously into his. Then, also mindful of Leah, she whispered: “ Abner, what is it?” At the same time her hands met his instinctively. “Are you sick, Abner?” It was the quick nerv- ous grasp of his hands that first indicated to her the change in him. “ What is it?” she whispered, tremulously, and she drew him down to a seat upon the side of the bed. “ Abner,‘tell me ?” ~ “ Wife, I have been generously dealt wit .” He bent his head and shaded his face with one hand as he spoke. “ I have been arraigned before God while I am still living to make re— paration. Wife, our daughter, our Leah—I have wronged her and wronged you. Idon’t know how to say it, but I want you to try and forgive.” “ Abner, hush ;- we will waken Leah. Wait till I get up.” “ No,” he said, putting a hand upon her shoulder. “ Don’t. I cannot talk now- Only, wife, will you send Leah to \me ? Tell her that I beg of her to come to me in the morning, early.” Again the hand gently pressed her shoulder, and then, like an awkward bashful boy, he stooped his grey head and kissed his wife’s lips. In a moment more he was gone. and the door of the room closed softly behind him A great sob shook the frame of the wife, whose cheek burned and flushed like a girl’s; under the unaccustomed caress of the man who, for twenty years and more, had been her lord rather than her lover. There was a sudden movement, and Leah WHAT “ scorer! ” sun. 459 sprang erect, and then flung herself down again, crying, “Mother! I listened. I listened willfully. Mother, I am going to him. May I go now ‘2” “ Yes, my child ,.yes” ' Instantly the girl was out of the bed, and flinging a loose .- dressing-robe about her, adjusting it while she ran, shewas out in the hall, hastening with flying feet, and calling softly as she ran, “Father, father.” And so peace was restored in the household of the Pagets, —peace and mutual confidence, but not happiness, not rest, for Leah’s secret remained untold. The shadow still hung. about them. ‘ CHAPTER LXIII. WHAT “ SOCIETY” SAID. For several days after the departure of Nickerson, Ferrars went and came, always busy, always self-contained, doing nobody knew precisely what. On the morning of the fifth .day he received a telegram. After reading and replying to this, he Wrote three or four b1ief notes, gave to his secretary some concise instructions, packed a small bag, and drove away in a hansom. For five days New York, and the f1iends who were looking to him for all hope and comforts, k new him no more. Tl1e11,;as suddenly and as quietly asIhe went, he came back. ' 460 A Low WITNESS. Perhaps he had exhausted the field of his first labors, or, possibly, he had ‘fallen upon a new scent. Be this as it may, he was seldom to be found now at the “ headquarters,” where, however, «the methodical secretary might now be met at all times And the office of Captain Conners knew him no more for many days. In fact, as time went by, the people who had been most ab- sorbed 1n the affairs of ou1 story, seemed to have fallen into a lethargy. Concerning the murde1 s, the1e were no new rumors nor dis- cove11es, nothing to encourage the Coroner to re assemble his “just men and true,” until he began to fear that the end had been reached, and that the fate of Hortense Novalis and her maid might as well be counted among the mysteries that would defy time, and might, therefore, be "‘ passed upon and so lost in oblivion.” But just as this decision had taken firm root in the astute mind of the CorOner, something happened. I It was nothing more than a visit from one of the members of the “Star Detective Agency,” who begged the Coroner to stay this action yet a little longer ; to wait, in fact, the result of certain efforts now being made, which promised to throw a. new and strong light upon the Dresden Flats mystery. He ”could explain nothing, but he promised much, if time were granted him. .. The speech of the officer was impressive, and the Coroner was imp1essed. As a result, the examination, or its conclusion, was again indefinitely postponed. In the meantime, the body cf Hortense N ovalis, embalmled by skilled hands, and‘arrayed in the festal robes in which she died, still lay in the vault, where it would. remain, subject to WHAT “SOCIETY ” (SAID. 461 the orders of the Coroner. The maid, Virginie, was beside her mistress. -And so the world moved on. Frederick Quinlan, always preservinga splendid unconsciousness of his double surveil— lance, went and came much as usual, save that all invitations to parties, receptions, and the like—and there were manywwere “ declined with thanks” and the preper regrets. - Of Max Talfourd, very much the same might be said, but for this exception : His father’s house held two distinguished guests now—guests who had been induced to give up thei1 down-town quarters by Talfourd pare, who had volunteered to put them through the ‘ city paccs’ in excellent style, upon con- dition that they took up their abode with him. i The “ Evening Call” was among the first to chronicle the fact that Lord Louis! Barham and Sir Felix Wyntoun were the guests of Mr. Talfourd; and it added that the Talfourd home was a delightful one, and the Talfourd chef simply perfect. “Only think,” said Quinlan’s friend and chaperone, old Mrs. Brevoort Davies, to Miss Ida Gadaway, “ the Talfourds have not opened their house in an age l And now they don’t intend anything great. I have it from Mrs. Talfourd herself. The young men knew Max abroad, she said—fancy calling'the titled personages just ‘ young men !’——and they were pleased with the opportunity to live for a little while in an American home.” “Yes,” sighed Miss G. “I suppoSe they’ll be quite ab- sorbed by their quiet dinners en famille,~——the Pagets and Sara Volney. Do you think Leah Paget will go, after all the talk 5 and Wasn’t that a queer affair, though?” ~ , “ Hush! Of course she will. Leah Paget is one of those 462 A Los'r WITNESS. girls who can do anything they like. Let me whispera word, my (leat'4flilloxv my example and do not repeat that question. Leah Paget’s little sensation will he politely ignored by so- ciety, because she is Leah Puget, and because the Talfourds have not dropped her.” “ She does not go out, I hear?” “ Only to quiet affairs and the concerts. I wonder if there is anything in the report that she is staying with Mrs. V01- ney 9” “ Idare say , that would be clever; Sam is still wearing black, you know. Of course, With her, Leah has agood excuse for not going out much.” “ Hush i” said the chaperone. “ There is Papa Tal- fourd.” ' “ Where?” asked Miss Gadaway, leaning out of heroPera box. ‘ “ In the box next the Carrolls. Ah ! and they’re both wizh himgé-the two ’ Englishmen. How handsome Sir Felix Wyntoun is l” I“ Yes, and how unlike the other.” “ Lord Barham ‘2” . “ Do you suppose it is Lord Barham ?” i“ I mean to know. Ah, the curtain.” Mrs. Brevoort Davies settled back in a position of luxurious interest, but before turning her eyes upon the stage she had caught the gaze of Mr. Talfourd, and made him a p1etty and almost imperceptible signal. .Not 1mpe1cept1ble to Mr. Talfourd, however. He saw it. and made his comment, tapping the newest comer lightly upon the shoulder. “ We have been signalled aheady, gentlemen,” he said,“ and WHAT “SOCIETY” SAID. 463 by Mrs. Brevoort Davies. Ou1 fate is sealed; Will you go with me to he1 box, Lord Barham, and be presented ‘3” 1 Lo1d Barham elevated his eyebrows and applied his eye- glass, peering about near-sightedly. “ Pawn my word 1” he drawled, “no, I think I won’t ; not just yet, you know-er—weally.” “ But it will come to that.” “ Aw, I suppose. I say, though, couldn’t you go over, and if I must, you know, why Wyntoun can chaperone me to you- er—and the lady.” “ The ladies,” corrected Mr. Talfourd senior. “ Do not let Miss Gadaway take you off your feet.” ' i _“ Off his head,” substituted Sir Felix. “ I’ll bring him, if I must,-Mr. Talfourd.” Of course it ended in Mrs. Brevoort Davies having her will. Such things usually did, and whether he would ornot, Lord Louis Barham, with his pale face, slightly stooping shoulders, Weak eyes and inevitable eye-glass, was duly anchored in the opera box of Mrs. Brevoort. He was wonderfully easy to get on with, so Miss'Gadaway afterward assured any number of her dear friends, adding that he was “ wholly unacquainted with American manners and customs,” but was full of interest and very eager to learn. He wanted to make a study of their so- ciety, he had assured Miss Gadaway, and congratulated him- self upon having begun most auspiciously.‘ Before the end of the evening, he was committed to Mrs. Brevoort Davies for a very informal luncheon, and to Miss 'Gadaway for a musicale. , Lord Louis Barham was not a great conversationalist, but then it was not necessary that he should be. One man can’t be everything, and was it not enough t6 be a live lord ~? 464 A LOST WITNESS. Besides, he was a charming listener, and as fond of five o’clock tea and gossip as was Mrs. Brevoort herself. In, fact, he was as wax in the hands of the fair sex, and before the end of the week he was Mrs. Brevoort Davies’ most devoted slave. So much infatuated did he become, that he gradually cut loose from Mr. Talfourd and Max and Sir Felix, and went about at the heels of his new chaperone, drinking tea, listening, and chatting. Sometimes he brought with him Max, Sir Felix, or Talfourd pare, but oftener he was alone. CHAPTER LXIV. ‘ MR. PAGET IN THE FIELD. At the time this young lordling was making his bow to society, marshalled by Mrs. Brevoort D.,'as' the lady was fa- miliarly named by her “ set,” Leah Paget was passing through an ordeal. One morning, early, and very. unostentatiously, Francis Fer- rars made his appearance before Leah Paget. He was serious and "seemed hurried. . “ Miss Paget,” he said, at once, “ I have come to claim your promise.” I “ Oh !” Leah caught her'breath, but looked him squarely in the eye. ‘ “ It is time to act.‘ The thing I wish to accomplish neces- MR. mom IN THE/FIELD. 465 si'tates a change of residence for you. I want you to take up your abode with Mrs. ’Volney.” 4 The girl sta1ted again, flushed," and then paled. “ May I know why ‘2” she asked. “ Not yet.” “ But Sara—Mrs. V0111ey—is going away.” Fiancis Fer1a1s smiled. - “Leave that to me,” he said. “The question is, will you go ? And will you obey my i11- structions once you are there ‘3” He was looking her squarely in the face, and after a mo- ment she lifted her head with a proud gesture. ~ “ You have my promise al1eady, si1. I will obey your in- structions.” ‘ Good. The rest you may trust to me.’ On the evening of that day Abner Paget rang at Mrs. Vol- ney ’s door and was admitted. Mrs. Volney was at home, and two gentlemen arose as the last comer entered. Sara Volney’s welcome was as gently gor- dial as ever, when she came forward to welcome him. “ Mr. Paget, ah, this is kind l” Then she turned swiftly, “ Mr. Talfourd,” she said ; and instantly Talfourd pare arose and gave his hand to Paget, dropping back in his seat again with, utmost sang froid. Again Mrs. Voluey turned. “ Mr. Paget, allow me, Lord Barham. ” Lord Ba1ham arose and languidly saluted. “ Happy to meet you, Lord B.11ham,” said Mr. Paget. “AW-er—yes, thanks, awfully pleased, I’m shuah.” Mr. Paget, always prompt and straightforward, soon made known the object of his Visit, prefacing it by a word of apol- ogy He found, quite unexpectedly, that he must absent himself 30 466 A LOST WITNESS. from the city, setting out at once. He might be gone two weeks or more, and he very much wished to take Mrs. Paget with him. As for Leah, they, of course, could not leave her at home with only the servants, and so he had come to ask could Mrs. Volney be induced to go to his house andkeep Leah company during their absence? Mrs. Volney looked very sympathetic, but hesitated a little, and Talfourd pare broke in upon their conference in his hearty way. _ . " Paget, why didn’tyou think of us, of Mrs. Talfouid. ‘7 Don’t you know what a been the presence of Leah would be to us all ? Of course, Sara can’t go, and shut her door in all our faces. I protest against it. I value my evenings in these rooms, sir.” » “ And I, too, value them, Mr. Talfourd,” said Mrs. Volney, smiling up at him, for in the earnestness of his appeal Tal- fourd pare had risen, “ and must protest likewise. With Leah in your house, how many of your evenings would I get, I won- der ? Let us compromise. Bring Leah to me, Mr. Paget. It would make me very happy if she would come.” And so it was settled. Leah Paget became a member of Sara Volney’ 3 household. The drama played by Francis Fer- rars had begun. ' When Abner Paget came home and reported to his wife and daughter the success of his mission, and Sara Volney’s re.- ply, he said with a somewhat mystified look : _ . “I don’t quite see through that Idetective’s plan.” And then he added, “ Mr.. Talfourd was there, and that new Englishman, Lord Baiham. Talfourd, by the way, actually asked Leah to come to his house. ” 3- THE SECRETARY SPEAKS. 46; _“Oh,” said his wife, “and you do not understand that?” “ Isuppose th'i detective sent him there. At any rate, Sara was prompt in asking Leah to come to her.” “She thinks I will refuse,” said Leah, and she exchanged a swift glance with her mother. CHAPTER LXV. THE SECRETARY SPEAKS. Perhaps much of the success which had waited upon the career of the English detective may have been traced to his fine eye fordetails, his never-failing memory, and his keen per- ception of little things. Nothing was too small to be weighed and noted, no trivial circumstance was allowed to pass from his thoughts until it had been tested, compared, studied by different lights and from different points of view. He did not content himself with the one hearing of a story, nor with the version of one individual. , . I Once a Scotland Yards detective had said of him, “ Ferrars has no system ; he works by inspiration.” But this was not true, at least of the system. Ferrars had not one system, but many, and outof the many be adapted one to each individual with Whom he dealt. He had held, it would seem, an exhaustive interview with Frederick Quinlan: But he sought him again, in his own rooms, as at-first, and asked of him a repetition of his history of Hortense Novalis. On this occasion Mr. Quinlan found 468 A LOST WITNESS. his task more difficult. / Ferrars was burdened with no note-.- book and pencil, but he interrupted the narrative unpleasantly, often by sharp and unexpected questions, allowing no smallest detail to pass him without scr.u1iny ' When he arose to go, Femars tu1ned ab1uptly upon his host. “ Do you feel convinced that I am doing all that can be done ? am taking the right course to solve this mystery?” he asked. Quinlan laughed. , f‘ If I didn’t before, I do now. I feel as if I had been winnowed.” “Then you are not inclined to accept the overtures of the, ‘ Star Detective Bureau ‘2’ ” Quinlan started and stared, “' Good Heavens, man ! do you know everything ?” “If I did,”'retorted Ferrars, “ I should not be here 'ques- tloning you. It does not need clairvoyant power to know that this Agency has been making overtures to you.” Quinlan smiled bitterly, while he drew a breath of relief. “ Then I am absolved,” he sai( , “ if you have investigated, as no doubt you have. I think you must know that, whatever else I. may be, I am a man of my word among men.” Ferrars bowed. . “ I have been approached by these people, and declined to deal with them, even to hear them. They asked me to keep the matter quiet, and I did so.” I “Quite right, as to keeping the promise. But did they im- press you as able to accomplish this work ‘1” “ F1ankly, I don’t know. They have struck out upon a line quite at antipodes with yours, I should say.” Ferrars smiled. - “ If I thought them equal to the task, I would most W1 111ml y, THE SECRETARY 312mm. 469 turn it over to them,” he said. “ Let me give you a hint, Mr. Quinlan. The gentlemen of the ‘Star Agency’ are keeping you under surveillance.” 4 Quinlan laughediscornfull y. i“ So, I dare say, are the emis- saries of Mr. Ferrars,” he said. “ Forewarned—you know.” Frederick Quinlan was not alone in this inquisitorial ex- perience. Over again, Max Talfourd repeated, as he thought, all that he knew, and then answered questions which convinced him that much had been forgotten. Over and over, did Talfonrd senior review the ground with F errars, each time finding it, somehow, fresh. ' Again and yet again the detective found pretext for consult- ing Abner Paget, Mrs. Paget, Leah. . Asfor Sir Felix Wyntonn, he became so fluent in rehears- ing all that he knew of La Belle Fabrice, of Madam Con- greve—even of the maid, their attendant, that he could have told the story, or so he declared, in his sleep. “ I call this sort of thing [very unfair, Frank,” Sir Felix re- monstrated, at the close of one of their rehearsals, when he had told his story and been politely dismissed. “ But I would forgive you all, everything, if in return you would tell me just one little thing.” “ And that is ?” _ “ And that is—where may I find La Belle Fabrice ‘2” Ferrars smiled indulgent'ly upon his friend. “ My dear fellow,” he remonstrated, “ you are asking, per- haps, something for nothing.” I i ‘-‘ Nonsense. When Frank Ferrars displaysfso much inter- est as to wish to hear again and again the same story, it’s something he has on his mind. Now. if I could peer into 470 A war wrmm. that note-book of yours, which you never look into yourself, except in private or very slyly—” “ Stop,” broke in Ferrars, with sudden gravity, and turning to resume his seat at the round table, “ and sit ddwn again, dear boy. First, let me assure you that you have not been tell— ing me the same story. You have been. making the thing clearer with every repetition, and today, for the first time, I. feel quite sure that you really have nothing more to tell. Your memory, at last, is fully unburdened.” He drew from his pocket a small leather-covered book. “ I do not want to be unnecessarily mysterious with you, my boy. So now I am going to let you peep into this note-book, and I want you to see, as I think you will, that, until the prOb- lems here set forth are solved, the questions answered, it is best that you do not see La Belle Fabrice.” I He placed the note-book upon the table betvxieen them, and opened it at a certain paragraph. ‘ Sir Felix bent over it and read with some surprise. “ Mem.: La Belle, Fabrice. To learn her antecedents, her real name, nationality, etc.” ‘ I Here followed a minute description of the little Comedienne. . “ Item: Ila Belle Fabrice arrived in New York from London on steamer ‘ Albatross,’ date , accom- panied by Madam Congreve and maid. Took rooms at the ‘ . Stranger in City, yet on-——-——-—called at rooms of Hortense N ovalis,” etc., etc. “ Good Heavens I” ejaculated Sir Felix. f‘ Go on,” said the detective. “ Item : On the day following the disappearance of Miss Leah Paget, and while listening to the news of said disappear- ance, La Belle Fabrice 'faints for no cause apparent. Mem. : THE SECRETARY spun. 471 To have copies of all newspapers of that date, also files cf same dating back indefinitely, examined immediately.” Again‘Sir Felix looked up. “ And has that been done?” “ It will be done.” “ Mem. : To learn the connection between La Belle Fabrice and Hortense Novalis. Item: To learn the true reason for the contretemps at the dinner projected by Hortense Novalis. Item: Why did La Belle at first refuse to appear upon the stage with. Hortense Novalis and afterward consent ? Why- did she flee on the night before the first appearance, and whither?” “ Umph 2” Sir Felix lifted his face and the detective closed the book. “ According to that I, needn’t anticipate seeingLa Belle soon ‘2” “ Why ?” “ Because it’s a huge undertaking even to learn where she is, and as forthe rest—” “ My dear fellow,” said Ferrari's, pocketing the book and again rising, “let every man stick to his calling. I expect to have all the knowledge I need, within the week. No, don’t stare; I’ve said enough. Be patient, my dear. fellow, and get thee gone.” When Sir Felix had betaken himself to other scenes, the detective sat down again at the table, reproduced. from his pocket the note-book, re-inforced it with other note-books, and began by the aid of these to write out something that looked much like a ‘property list,’ meant for the use of some stage manager, but more statistical. When this was completed he went with it to the door of an inner room, tapped lightly, and without waiting for a response or bidding, entered. Seated upon a stool before a tall desk was the same busy, elderly man who had reigned over one of the offices in Cap- 47 2 A LOST wrrnmss. tain Connor’s domain. He was as alert and methodical here as there. He was writing when Ferrars, now his Chief, e11- tered, and he finished his sentence and put away his pen as. usual before giving that individual the least attention. With 'a' twinkle of amusement in his eye Ferrars waited ,' paper in hand. i “ Here is the list of catch words,” he said, when at last his secretary turned toward him. “ LOok them over and form any new combinations that may suggest themselves. I will see that the files come promptly now.’ He put down the list and ' turned away.“ I leave you in charge,” he added; “ I shall be gone probably all the afternoon.” . Not long after, Francis Ferrars, divested of all disguise, and dressed like the thoroughly English gentleman he was, was making the rounds of the city newspaper oifices. He went about 1n a cab for convenience and time’s sake, , and his calls were always brief. In every case he asked to see ' thevch-ief of the staff, and to him presented the letter of intro- duction given him by Chief of Police Connors. The letter worked its magic, and the detective was welcomed at every editorial door. He asked of each. only one or two questions, and from every office a huge file of newspapers soon found their way to his headquarters, where they were received by the methodical secretary and duly arranged as seemed to him best. , Upon the round Ferrars had made one omission; he had‘ ’not visited the office of the “ Call.” It was late in the afternoon when he returned, and he seemed in some haste. He summoned his secretary to him as he..sat at his table in the outer room, with his note—books again be- fore him, and he spoke without looking up. ' THE sscnmmv SPEAKS. 4‘73 “ I want you to go to the office of the "' Evening Call,” he said, “ and get a file of their papers. I have not visited that office. Do you understand ‘2” i “ I think so.” The secretary stood close beside him and held a slip of paper in his hand. “ Can you spare me a moment, sir?” F errars looked up quickly. . “ Certainly, if it is needful. What is it ?” The old man laid down the paper, and Ferrars saw that it was his list of “ catch words.” “It’s only a coincidence, perhaps,” said the secretary, slowly, “ but I find here, upon this list, some words, names, that are quite fi1milia1 to me.’ 1 “Ah I” Femus tu1ned quickly so as to face him.“ What me they ‘2” “ There are two or three. South Brandon, for instance—” “ Do you know South Brandon ‘2” “ I have been there.” “ Good; and when?” “ Mo1e than six yea1s ago, fo1 the first time, four years, for the last.” ' “ What other words do you recognize ‘2” “ Only one that I connect with South Brandon.” “ And that ?” _ “ Is a name. The Widow Holly.” Ferrars sprang to his feet. The secretary was still stand-g ing. “ Sit down,” said the listener, “ and tell me what you know of South Brandon and the Widow Holly.” But the methodical scribe did not at once accept the seatvso promptly indicated by the detective. He placed a finger upon the chair-back, and said, 474 A LOST WITNESS. “ What I know of South Brandon is not much. Holly—— that brought to my memory a little drama, or maybe a tragedy in the end, which happened while I was recreating there for a week or’ two; taking my summer vacation, in fact.” “ Was the Widow Holly a figure 1n that drama?” brOke 1n Ferrars, quickly. “ Yes.” _ “ Tell" me your drama. Tell me all you know of the wo- man Holly.” Again he motioned the old man to be seated, and this time the chair was promptly occupied. “ Well,” said the old man, depreciatingly, as if he were about to confess a crime, 01 at the least an almost unpaldonable indis- cretion, “ this drama, or possible tragedy, made a deep impres- sion upon my mind. In fact,” and he almost blushed, “ it took such hold of me'that I wrote it out, in fbrm of a narrative, and intended to send it to some story paper for publication, think- ing it would be given space as entertaining fiction, and that its hidden meaning, as fact, would reveal itself to the parties interested, if it should happen to meet their eyes. But I never sent it to any publisher”——-—this with the air of one tempted to burglary, but who had successfully resisted the enticement. “ When I found the words ‘ South Brandon’ and" Widow Holly’ on yourlist, I hunted up my never-used but preserved story. It tells all the facts as clearly and ,perhaps, as concisely as I could tell them now. Shall I read it to you, or shall I give you a summary of the matte1 ‘2” “ Read it,” said Ferra1s, promptly. “ I11 this case I want all the details that can be had, and, above everything, the im- pressions they made upon you at the time, rather than your present estimate of them.” I “ THE MYSTERY or scum BRANDON.” 475 CHAPTER LXVI. THE SORIBE’s ONE LITERARY OFFSPRING. Ferrars settled back in his chair, an intent look upon his face, and the scribe essayed his new role of “ giving a reading.” “ I called my little story,” said he, with a true reader’s pre- monitory cough, “ THE MYSTERY OF SOUTH BRANDON.” “Of all dull, dead, monotonous things or places, country life, in a country hotel, is the dullest, the d'eadest, the most monotonous!” quoth a summer boarder, who stood yawning upon the piazza of the only hotel of South Brandon.“ Did anything ever happen heie, Freckles ?” l The city boarder was an old bachelor accountant, obliged to “manage” his modest salary in order. to secure for himself even this brief and unfashionable outing, and he never took to himself airs, except upon these holiday occasions. (“ Of course,” interpolated the reader, “this old bachelor was myself.” “ I see,’ ’said Fe1rars, with a smile of indulged amusement.“ I see; go on. ”) “ Freckles,” sitting upon the upper step of the flight of five, said gruflly: “ Why don’t you go to Saratogy if you dOn’t like S’th Brandon?” - 4‘76 f A Los‘r WITNESS. “ Oh I” said the city boarder, “ Saratoga, eh ! What do you know about Saratoga ?” Freckles arose lewly. “ I guess I can read the news- papers,” he replied, sulkily, as he went down the steps. “ You do? When do you--” The question, undoubtedly meant to be a faeetions one, was checked in the utterance by a series of shrill exclamations and sharp feminine cries, coming evidently from a side “stoop” where the landlady and two or three “helps” were busy about some household employ— ment. 7 i _ “ That’s old Mother Gregory a-talkin’ so fast an’ splutter- in’. She’s the biggest bag 0’ news in town. You hold on a minit ; mebbe something’ s happened just on your account. I’ll see if I can’t git it—fer yer breakfast.” "‘ All right, Freckles—~—” Here shrill cries of “i Pete, Pete, Pe—ter” came from the direction of the side porch, and as Freckles accelerated his speed and disappeared around. the “nearest corner, the summer boarder lighted a cigar and saun- tered awayifor his morning constitutional. ' Half an hour later, returning from his morning walk, he 'came suddenly upon Freckles, who emerged from the“ gate of a small brown cottage, and held it open for a woman arrayed in a faded calico dress and with her face quite hidden in asun- bonnet. She passed them with a slow dragging step, and, as thegboy closed the gate, he placed a finger upon his lips,'and, with a. gesture, halted the other until the woman had gone a little beyond them. Then he broke out in abreathless under- tone— ‘ ii “ Wal, I guess you’ll be satisfied now 1-, If what’s happened this morning or last night, or whenever ’twas, ain’ t enough to , give folks like you an. appetite I ionit know what vou want, “ TEE MYSTERY OF SOUTH 335mm” 47 7 anyhow.- I knew old Catty Gregory had somethin’ bad on her mind when I heard her‘splutterin’ so.” . “ Look here, boy, what are you ‘ spluttering’ about?” He took the lad by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. ' ‘i Quit, I say i Ain’t I a-tellin’ ye as fast as I can? (My ! don’t I wish I was a detective, though i” . “So, you read detective stories, do you, as well as fashion gossip? You won’t make much of a detective till you learn to talk more to the point, I can tell you. Now, what has hap- pened. 9” “ D’ye remembe1 that little girl who brought the eggs, night-before last? I heard ye sayin’ to somebody on the stoop that she was mighty pretty. Wal, she’s gone !” i “ Gone where ?” . “ Clean gone. Her and two 1nore—-—-the very prettiest girls in town, too, eve1y one of them l” “ Pshaw’. l” ejaculated the summe1 boa1der, “ they’ll come back. ” ' “ No, they won’ t—-—~not any i” The boy stopped suddenly. Thewoman going on before them had halted and-was looking back. “ You’ll have to find out the rest for yerself,” he said. “ There’s plenty more. She ’ pears to want me. I’m comin’ ” he Called to the waiting woman. ' ' These parting words of Freckles were strictly true. There was “ plenty more.” It occupied and interested the city boarder for the remainder of his stay. South Brandon Was given over tomys‘tery s1den‘se, soimpenetrable, that it absorb- ed more than the orthodox nine days of wonder and gossip. Other topics, other interests, other ocCupations almost, were swallowed up in the effort to solve a1 unsolvable mystery. Village ~“ authorities,” county " authorities.” “ authorities” 478 A Los'r wrrums. from neighboring towns and counties; detectives, amateur, professional, private ; knowing citizens, practical citizens, phi- lanthropists and cranks,——-all turned the light of their reason and unreaSon, wisdom and foolishness, experience and lack of it, upon the South Brandon mystery—to no purpose. From the stoop of the South Brandon Hotel could be seen a tall white house, where the green shutters of the narrow front windows were always primly cloSed, except fora little while on Sunday afternoon, 011 “company” days, and ondays when the minister called ; where the path from the gate to the high,“ narrow, and steep front steps was overgrown with grass ; where the path around the house to the side stoop and back door Was well trodden ; where quiet and prim severity reigned through the week, and severe piety ruled on Sunday. This was the home of Deacon Amos Sharp, and heie lived Amos Sharp and his wife, and Mary Sharp, his adopted daugh- te1'. 'lhe house of Deacon Sharp, at the foot of Main Street, marked the Street’s ending, and the road‘that began at Deacon Sharp’s front gate, and ran in a slanting line to the south-east, was little more than a lane. Upon this lane, not far from the tall white house at its head, stood the cabin-e—it could not have been dignified by the name of cottage, even—of Seth Hunt, bachelor, farmer, hunter, and fisherman ; lazy, [good-homered, andthe oraclesof the village... With him,installed.,asl1ou8e_— keeper since her tenth‘iyear, lived; his niece, his only sister" 8, ch11d—-p1etty, Winsome, fifteen-yeai-old Betty Gage, an or— phan, and the pet of the village. At the otl1e1 end of the town, and upon a “back street,” stood the cottage of the Widow Holly, and in this cottage lived only the widow and 'her daughter, Hannie. , Mrs Holly was “ rm: MYSTERY or SOUTH Barri-men.” 47 9. an Englishwoman of the working class, and her daughter was a very little girl when the widow, not a widow then but the wife of a drunken and boisterous English laborer, came to South Brandon. . Jt was supposed that the name of the child had been, orig- inally, Anna. But the Hollys were one in their peculiar use of their H’s, and the name Hannie, as pronounced by them, grew to be the only name by which she was known. It was into these three houses, Deacon Sharp’s, Seth Hunt’s, and the Widow Holly’s, that the spirit of mystery had en- tered. In a village where bright eyes, rosy cheeks, and sweet faces abounded, none were brighter, or rosier, or sweeter than Han- nie Holly’s, Betty Gage’s, and Mary Sharp’s. At sunset, on the-previous evening, these three had, laughed and frisked in the Widow Holly’s green door-yard. Later, they had mingled their voices in a merry chorus at a church fes- » tival. And lastly, they had set out, Hannie and Betty to escort Mary to the Deacon’s front gate,'and then to return together to the Widow’s cottage, where Betty was to pass the night with her friend. But they never came back to the Widow’s cottage. Never 3 then or after ! ' A Seth Hunt was aware that Betty would not return to his. humble cabin until such hOur of the-following. day astsuited» the pleasure of his little household despot. Andthe -Wld0W-‘ ‘ Holly went to her bed, as she had often done befiire, grum—t bling to herself, and vowing “:Not to let that girl hout again until she had promised not to go running hofi' to sleep with some of them ’orrid, wild girls.” It was Deacon Sharp who first raised the hue and cry for 480 . A LOST WITNESS. Mary, who, although she had, been “ adopted,” and given the Deacon’s name, coupled withthat of his wife, occupied in the Deacon’s family a position more nearly akin to that of a bound girl than of a. daughter. . When at sunrise no Mary was heard tripping about the kitchen, the Deacon arose grumblingly, and baned up the stairs for Mary to bestir herself. No Mary replied to him. No Mary appeared to him. And then, with lowering brow, the Deacon set out for the Widow Holly’s. “ Waal, mebbe the Lord’s meant it for a reproof to me,” the Deacon said, piously,‘ when, weeks after, the search for the three girls were abandoned by most and pronounced hopeless. “ Mebbe the Lord didn’t— want his servant to snatch such a brand from the burning, and set it up as a daughter in a pious household. Mary never was in the odor of sanctity, nohow. That gal was a sceptic ! Born so, most likely. Nobody ever knew what blood was in her, but we hoped she’d be something, my wife and me. She was just left at the door of that ’ere “ Home’ in a basket. They give us a sight of the clothes she had on, and no one in South Brandon ever see nothin’ like ’em ; so fine, some ofthem ; silk, and all covered withlace and ribbons and fixin’s. Sure sign that she was from some high-~ up family, they said, when we took her. Purty sure of good blood on one side, anyhow. And I swan if I didn’t used to think there was, too, she used to carry herself so high and mighty.- Sech children was likely to be hunted up sometime, even after they was growed up, they said, by rich relations. But Iguess that was all talk,” sighed the Worthy Deacon. “Anyway, we ain’t been very well rewarded, and I ain’t goin’ to'try it again. ’Twould be a-flyin’ in the face of Prov- “ THE Mrs'rney or soma BRANDON.” 481 idence to take another wait that, tor alt anybody knows, might a-been born bad .” And in this decision Deacon Sharp and his worthy wife rested. “ It’s a blessing to all the little orphans, too !” said Seth Hunt, confidentially, to Mrs. Holly. “ I heard little Mary a-talkin’ to Betty, and'tellin’ about her mean bed and cold vit- tles and hard work. But that warn’t the case with my gal, nor yourn, Mrs. Holly ; and it don’t account for their leavin’ us—it' they did go of their own accord, which'I doubt.”. “ 'Oh, it’s a judgment on me i” moaned the Widow Holly. And she threw her apron over her head, and wept so long and “so bitterly th 1t Seth Hunt crept away silently, and never again spoke to her of their mutual loss. “ It’s a Judgment upon me i” That was all the Widow Holly would say to those who visited her with consoling words. “ Hif ever I find Hannie, it won’t be ’ere. She’ll never come back to me.” . Nevertheless, she waited in patience and silence, perhaps in hope, for two long years. Then she sold her small house and . wentquietly away, he1 destination unknown to any, unless, it might have been, Seth Hunt. As for Seth, he had no wo1d of blame or distrust for the lost, Betty. “ I wasn’t the one to have the care of a girl like that,” he said. “ I meant right, but- I didn’t know how. Betty was as good as gold. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. I can’t believe she’d run away from her old uncle, but if sheldid, it was because I didn’t know how to please her. How should I? justa rough ,old man.” ~ . 4 This, Or something of the sort, he said ,standing on the piazza of the little 1'1 Mel, on the day after the discovery of the myste- 31 482 A LOST WITNESS. rious disappearance; He was surrounded by the hotel family, most of them'summer boarders like our bachelor. ’ “ Dear me i” exclaimed a little black-eyed woman, who was alone in South Brandon———“ A little in the literary line,” she had explained to the c11rious, and interested in mission work. . She had been at the hotel a month, and owing to her reg- ular attendance at the Village Sabbath school was already upon terms of intimacy, almost, with the Deacon and Mrs. Sharp. “ Dear me, sir ; do you know, have you any idea, what can have happened to those poor children? Why, I quite knew the little girl at Deacon Sh: 11 p’s ! Poor thing. l” “ I don’t suspect anybodv, n1a1m, ” Seth Hunt had answer- ed. “ And 1f I should I wouldn’ t know where to begin.” The vacation of - this summer boarder expired, and no trace of the missing maidens had been found. 'He returned to his desk in the great city, but all its, noise and bustle failed to quite obliterate his recollection of the mystery, and so, after three years, our bachelor again turned his holiday steps toward South Brandon. _ ,. b He found few changes ; but the former landlord of the lit; tle hotel had gone “west” with his numerous family, and Fieckles was no longe1 gene1al factotum. Walking down the village st1eet, 011 the evening of his ar- lival, the bachelor found M13. Giegory overher gate, just as of'yore. ‘ ' . , Thei1*~ g1eeting Was like that of Old friends.* She was able to tell him evelything. And she did ' Deacon Sharp had buried his wife, and had married a spin- ste1 of reputed fo1tune and. undisputed temper, who led him, so said Mrs. Gregory, "‘ a life of it 1” Mrs Holly had gone ‘away, nobody knew whither. “ THE MYSTERY OF SOUTH BRANDON.” 483 “ She always \Vt-Ul l >ay that'iit was ajndgment on her, her losing Hannie that way,” quoth Mrs. Gregory. “ And I guess, for my part, that ’twas. I ain’t said much to folks about, here, but I’d jest as leave tell you what I think. I never did be~ .lieve that the girl was o’ Holly blood. He was stout. and red- faced and tow-headed ; and she—dwell, you know what. the Wid- ow Holly was—a s ab nose, and hair jest no color. Dretful“ common looking, both of ’em. \Vhile Hannie , ou ever- liappen to see her, when you was here? “”211, she was black- eyed and-blacli—haired and high-stepping. There was somekind of a yarn got out long ago~—started from Joe Holly invhis cups, ’1was said. I never got the rights of it,bnt it was something about Mrs. Holly having been servant in some rich English family, and going with them to France, and coming back and being discharged, and taking up with Joe Holly, that slfia’d mittened onct, and agreeing to marry him if he go to live in the States. I heard Mis. Holly say that Hannie was born. on the ocean, coming .101 ms “Really !” said our bachelor for want of other words. “ Yes; and Mis’ Stehbins, she was the widder’s neigthr, told me long ago that Holly, when he was in liquor, used to call Hannie “little F renchy.” And she said she asked the ‘widder onct What he meant, and she turned as red as fire, and said she had heard that French folks were mostly dark and had nice ways, and so Joe called Hannie that because her eyes ‘Were black and she put on such a lot of airs. I'guess there was some French blood there, myself.” “ And Mr. Hunt?” “ Wal, now, that’s the strangest part of it all I About a year ago some fellers was trudging around on Seth’s little strip of land, a—tapping the rocks. 'It was jest about all, rocks or 484 A war WITNESS. Seth wouldn’t ever have been able to own it. One fine morn- ing it turned out that they had found-something valuable there ; some kind 0’ slate or the like. They offered Seth cheap, but he was too cute for them ; and then they offered fair. The upshot of the matter is, that now Séth Hunt is the richest man in South Brandon,-and gettin’ richer—~11e wouldn’t sell only by shares.” “ And- he still lives here ?” “Yes, right at the old cabin. It’s good enough for him, he says. That man sticks to it that Betty’ll come back some day. And then, he says, he’s going to build her a fine house. One of the first things that he did was to have a notice printed in about a dozen of the big city papers, one or two in a place, for Betty to come back. ‘ And he says that he is going to keep th'em notices there till they bring her to him. Every day they’ll be in them papers, year in and yearout. He won’t be- lieve no harm of Betty, and he won’t believe she’s dead.” “ And yet he was good to her—-—and she left him ?” “ Betty was young,” said the gossip, leniently. “ I’ll tell you what I’ve always thought about her. Hannie Holly was a wild, sassy girl, if she was so pretty and dainty in her ways—— she warn’t no prettier nor daintier than Betty, I can tell ye. And Hannie used to run away from home, and she wouldn’t mind her ma 3. bit. She was full of all sorts of queer no- tions, and was awful ambitious topbe dressed nice and be some- body. But Betty set lots of store by Hannie, and they was awful thick. Then, there Was Deacon Sharp’s Mary. She was another high-headed and ambitious one. N ot-that she was wild, like Hannie, nor full of laughter or mischief, like Betty. She was awful soft and slow-spoken and still in her ways, but she had plenty of temper. Anybody could tell “ THE MYSTERY on some BRANDON.” 485‘ that by her reddish hair and her sleepy-looking yellow- eyes, when she’d open ’em wide. But nobody knows what had blood there was in her. Now, I think that them two girls, being such friends Of Betty’s, mebbe coaxed or tempted her into something; and poor little Bettv, who warn’t so strong- willed as them, 111ebbe, “as jest led away by’ em. Mightn’t that be so, hey?” Might it not have been ‘? Our bachelor looked away down the st1eet to whe1e the Deacon’s dwelling gleamed white at its fOOt, and then suddenly back, and asked : “ Do you remember that little black-eyed woman who was at the hotel at the time this happened ‘2” ' Mrs. Gregory reflected a moment. “ Her ? oh, yes. I do remember her, the way she left the very next night after them‘ girls went, and she had paid her board to the end of the week. I recollect it plain enough, now you mention it. She said she’d been called away on account of a friend being took sudden. Land ! we were all that worked-up at the time with them girls’ disappearance, that. no-‘- body had no time to bother with her. But come to thinkof it, it was kind of funny. Pete, he always brought the mail from the] Post Office, and I remember now he said that was all bosh. He said the woman didn’t get no letter.” I And so the bachelor boarder once more went back to his desk, and the fate of Hannie and Betty and Mary,-the mystery of South BrandOn, only became more of a mystery, darker and. deeper, and more and more doubtful of solution, as years rolled 011. " Before the end was reached, the detectivewas pacing up and down the room, his hands burrowing his pockets for Very rest- 486 A LOST WITNESS. lessness, his eyes growing intent and eager, a red spot coming and going on either cheekwsure sign that he was deeply moved 01 1nte1ested When the old man had finished, Ferrars turned sharply about and faced him. “ Do you know, Murtagh, that what you have been telling me is of vital importance,” he said. And then Without wait- ing for a reply, “ Is that all? Was there no clue, no sus- picion. 9” “ None, to my knowledge.” Ferrars eyed him keenly. “ You have told this story graph- ically, minutely,” he said. “ You must have been interested in it, at the time ?” “ I was—yes. I was.” “ And you—you are a thinking man, a man of the world—- had you no suspicions, no theory, even ?” ‘The old man started and a flush crossed his face. He was silent a moment, then he looked up and met the gaze of the detective squarely. ’ “ It was the strangest thing I ever had knowledge of. And -—yes, I did harbor-an idea, a suspicion or theory. But it was vague, and, so far as proof or lack of proof could make it, groundless. ”I had a thought, and was once or twice strongly tempted to hint it to Seth Hunt or some of the village of- ficials, but—~” “ Well ‘3” came sharply from Ferrars. Then, seeing the dis- tress in the old man’s face, he seated himself again and spoke more calmly. “Tell me your thought, please.” . But now it was the old man who was upon his feet, flushing and restless. “I have had moments,” he began, slowly, when I have “ THE MYSTERY or SOUTH BRANDON.” 487 felt the responsibility of a fearful wrong heavy upon me, and yet, at the time, I could not have done otherwise. Another man might ; I couldn’t. When I went- to South Brandon for I my poor little holiday, I was an accountant. dependent upon my health, which was beginning to break a little, and my sal- ary. I didn’t call myself an old man then, although I dare say others did, and I didn’t feeliparticularly old, and I (lid look upon myself as a man of the world, as compared to the South Brandon people. I felt very worldly-wise no doubt, but not woman-wise.” ‘ Ferrars laughed and his face softened. The tall, thin old man before him, pale and stooping from much desk work, looked amusingl y unlike the man he was describing as himself a few years younger. “ Sit down,” he said, “and take your time.” “Thank you.” The old man resumed his seat and his re- "1‘11iniscences. “ I was not woman-wise. My mother died when I was achild. I had no sisters. I have always lived among men, and I have always been shy of women. When the. three girls vanished so suddenly from South Brandon, there was one other city boarder besides myself at the little hotel. Itwas a. woman. She was there before me; had been there, I think, for several weeks. She assumed to be doing something ‘ lite-- rary.’ When I learned that, I kept as far away from her .as possible. But the house was not large,’and sometimes I was forced to hear bits of her oon‘versatioii. This woman’s litera- ture must have been frequently at odds with grammar, if she wrote as she talked. She interested herself very much in the young people, gushed over them in fact, and was always a light at Sunday-school, and at all the little picnics and village gather- ings. Well, when these girls disappeared, somehow the idea .488 A LOST WITNESS. that this woman might have had a hand in the business- came into my mind, and has stayed there.” Ferrars d1ew his chair close1 and leaned towa1d the speakei. “ Describe he1, ” he said. “A small, da1ked-skinned woman, with coarse black hair, ale ways a little untidy. She was thin and sharp-featu1ed, with head y black eyes. She must have been past middle age, and dressed rather youthfully and none too tidily. I got into the way of calling her—to myself, of course—‘ the shabby genteel.’ ” ' Fe1ra1s was once more manifesting unusual excitement. “ Her name?” he said. . “ I don’t recall it, if I ever heard it. , She was called" the lady,’ or the ‘ city lady,’ usually, when spoken of. “ Would you know her ifyou saw her?” “ I‘ think so. Those. heady black eyes and sharp features—— yes, I would know l1e1. ” ‘ “ Would she know you?” Murtagh glanced down at his person. “I was slightly g1ey then,” he said.. “ Now, my hair is White. My face was florid then and my figure po1tly Now, I am pale and thin. No, I don’t- think she would recognize me.’ Fer1a1s got up again, no longer t1yi11g to keep down the manifestations of his interest and impatience. ‘ “ I may as well say to you,” he said,“ that, what you me telling me may be of gravest 1mp01tance Up to this point it has not- been 11eedful for you to know more of the work we are engaged 111 than Captain Connms told you when he sent you to me, and that was—” “ Almost nothing,” the old man said, and smiled. “ Only, that you were Francis Ferrars, the famous London detective; “ THE MYSTERY OF SOUTH BRANDON.” 489 that you were engaged upon the N ovalis murder case, and were in need of an amanuensis , a searcher of records and neWSpaa per files; a machine, In short, like myself.” “ Well, you are likely to_turn out more than a machine. Now, tell me what aroused your suspicion of this black—eyed woman ‘3” ' “ At first, I suppose it must have been my. natural aversion ; next, the fact that she was so fond of these girls ; and lastly, she went away on the second day after the girls vanished. She pretended to have received a summons to the bedside of a sick‘ friend, and that she was coming back ; but she did not come back.” “And you never named your suSpicion to any one?” ~ , “ How could I, with no proof ? I, myself, was a stranger. The woman was odious to me. I believed her to be an ad- venturess, but—she was a woman,‘and I might have done her a great wrong. I was not in a position to follow up or to ver- ify my suspicions. The matter was on my mind moreror less, however, for two years. And when my next summer’s holi- day came around, I went again to South Brandon. I had an idea it would quiet my scruples to learn whether the woman had returned. I made inquiry in a-careless fashion, and then I regretted more than ever that I had not spoken of my no- tion at the proper time, for the woman was never seen again.” “ What else did you learn ‘2” ' » ‘I picked up a good deal of gossip about the lost gills, an one incident that was very pathetic. It has been my one little romance ever since, a sort of link that has always kept South Brandon before my mind, until, one day———only a short time ago—that came to an end.” .“ What are you talking about, man ‘2” “ 490 A LOST WITNESS. “ When the search for the lost girls was given up by all, Seth Hunt,a fine, honest,lbig-hearted fellow, inserted an ad- vertisement in a number of city papers, east and west. It was addressed to little Bettie Gage, begging her to come back to him, and worded as if it were he .who had done the wrong. I have looked for that advertisement, and found it day after day. One morning, not long ago, it was missing. It has never. appeared’since.” ' “ We must find that date,” said Ferrars, quickly. “ Tell me, did you ever see those three girls ‘2” i “ One ofthem only—Bettie Gage.” . , ’ For some moments Ferrars stood silent, intently looking at nothing, andiithinking hard and fast. Then he put a hand upon the old man’s shoulder. ’ “ By your aid I think we shall clear up more than one mys- tery'soon. I know from Captain Connors how trustworthy you are, and I intend to take you into my confidence. But not now.” He looked at his watch. “ I am going out. I am going‘in person to bring into your presencea woman who may turn out to be your shabby genteel friend of South Brandon. Draw that screen before your door, and be ready to see, with« out being seen ; to hear without being heard.” THE “ PALMIsT.” 491 CHAPTER LXVII. THE “ PALMIST.” The first movement of the detective, after leaving the secre- tary thus abruptly, was to send a message to Mr. Talfourd, - asking him to come at a given hour to his rooms. Then he took a cab, and was now standing before a dark door up two flights of darker stairs, tapping sharply for admittance. . Upon the door was tacked a card bearing the name of “ Madam Van Horn,” and below the name, in quaint Italicized type, the word “ Palmist.” It was the palmist in person who admitted him, with a glance of chill welcome, and the palmist was no other than the woman whose Journey to South Brandon had been so ruthlessly inter- rupted by the man befo1e her. It was not yet dusk, but the little room into which she ad- mitted him was dimly lighted. With its dark- hangings and grotesque arrangements it was well calculated to strike the seeker after truth with a wholesome awe of the seeress who in- habited it. _ The seeress was arrayed in loose-hanging, sombre‘garments, and a fantastic turban upon her head served to emphasize the effect of many and heavy waves of snow-white hair beneath. She greeted her early visitor with a silent stare, and he. with scant ceremony, stepped within and closed the door. 492 A LOST WITNESS. ‘ Get off that togget y at once,” he said, curtly, “and come with me.’ “ But 1t’ s my business hour, it’s the very tin1e——” He made a quick movement toward he1. “Your business is to dojust what I tell you. Don’t waste Words. I want you.” A moment the palmist stoodsullenly eyeing him, then she turned slowly and went behind the dark curtain. When she came out she was no .more Madam Van Horn, the palmist. She was simply the old woman with heady black‘ eyes, sharp features, and sullen face, following 1eluctantly at the heels of her master. Arrived at his own door once more, Ferrars opened it with alatch-key, and bade the woman enter, closing and looking it, and hastily drawing down the blinds. “Sit there.” He pointed to a chair close beside the table, and so placed that she faced the screen at the other end of the room. ' With out a word she seated herself, and Ferrars lighted the gas above he1 head ,flooding the room with a st1ong light. Then he sat down nea1 he1, and looked at he1 in silence for a moment. Finally, he said, ve1y quietly, “Your career has been a strange one, but I cannot think thatyou have mur‘de1 upon your soul.” “ I l” the wo111an-started and turned ghastly pale. “ I !”-- She could say no more “ And yet,” Fer"1a1s went on, still as ifhalf to himself, “i looks as if you might.” . The woman actually wrung her hands. “1—1 don’t un- derstand.” . Suddenly Ferrars drew himself up and his face became stern. THE “ PALMIST.” 493 “ Do you know that you are likely to be arrested, at any time, as an accomplice in the murder of Hortense Novalis and her maid Virginie ‘1” l ' “ I ! My God! why ?” “ Well, for one thing, you are thOught to be in communi- cation with La Belle Fabrice, and La Belle Fabrice, it is pretty clearly proven, is the one who killed, or instigated the killing, of the two women.” The woman sprang up. “ It’s a lie,” she cried, hoarsely. “ It’s a foul lie !” V .“ What, that La Belle—” “ I don’t know anything about La Belle Fabrice.” She ut- tered the naine venomously. “ I never was her accomplice. I——” , ‘ “Softly, softly,” said Ferrars. “Listen to plain facts. Lis- ten to what we know. First, La Belle Fabrice and Hortense Novalis were enemies-we won’t go into the reasons’why. They were enemies. . They were also rivals. You would better sit down, Madam. On the night of the murder, La Belle dis- appeared. Now, it is known that you visited both of these ri- val actresses, probably as, a go-between.” “It’s a lie !” she burst forth again. _ “ Careful I Here comes the clincher. We know La Belle F abrice to he in South Brandon.” He was watching the wo- man’s face through half-closed eyes. “ And we know that you, too, would be there, but for—well, say but for me.” A great change had crossed the woman’s‘face. The fear had gone out of it ; a look of. relief, of malicious triumph, had taken its place. . I t‘ If you know where to find her,” she said, f‘ why don’t you have her arrested?” 494 A LOST WITNESS. “What? You say that? Are you then so willing to give up your protégée ?” i “ She’s noprotégée of mine," said she, sullenly. “ No ? Well, so much the l ette‘r. Wiait. here a moment.” He arose and went l)( hind the screen, where, just in the doorway, the secretary was sitting. He did not need to speak, for the old man held out to him a slip of paper, upon which was written, “ It is the woman beyond a doubt.” , ' Ferrars nodded and went back to his place. “ I am going to put “you in new quarters,” he said, coolly, taking up his hat. “ Madam Van Horn’s shop must close for the present. _VVhen this murderer is arrested you will become a valuablé witness, and you will do well to turn‘ State’s ev- idence. Otherwise, it may'fare ill with you. Come, Madam, no repining at fate. When you dragged Bettie Gage, the Widow Holly’s black-eyed girl, and Deacon Sharp’s Mary away from south Brandon, a few years ago, you never antici- pated this. Now, did you ?” . , He was busy with hat and gloves as he spoke, and he ut~ tiered the last words as he unlocked the door. “I must leave you for a little time,” he continued. “ It’s for your own comfiirt that I go. Content yourself, Madam.” He bowed and went 'out, locking the door behind him, and seeming-oblivious to the fact that he left her pale as ashes, and trembling in every limb. Left alone, the look of terror slowly turned to resentment, and she began to look abouther. She sprang up and began to. move about the room. She went to the windows, drew aside he curtains, peered out into the growing darkness, and tried their fitstenings. Then, with a snifl',she went to the door of entrance. For a moment she bent down and examined the mm", M . FERRARS DECLARES HIs OPINION. 495- lock. Putting her hand in her pocket, she drew forth abunch of keys and began trying them. One, two, three keys were tried and found useless, and she was about to test the fourth. I “ If I were you, I wouldn’t do that,” said a voice behind her. \ She turned sharply and confronted ' the secretary, who bowed and quietly took the keys from her hand. “ Who are you ?” she asked, wrathfully. “ I ‘2” he said. “ Is it possible you have forgotten me ? My name is Murtagh. We had the pleasure of meeting, years ago -—have you forgotten ?——at South Brandon.” CHAPTER LXVIII. FERRARS DECLARES HIS OPINION. That night, at a late hour, Ferrars and Mr. Talfourd awaited the coming of Captain Connors, who arrived finally, an hour behind the time appointed, and who showed, as he seated himself near them, signs of considerable haste, anxiety and excitement. , “ I’m glad you have called a council tonight,” he said to Ferrars. “ I suppose it is something important, but I wish you would let me unburden myself before we begin.” ‘ He looked quickly from one to the other now. “ It won’t take long.” . I ‘“ Proceed,” said Ferrars, who was looking very. grave and somewhat weary. 496 ‘ A LOST WITNESS. “ First, then, Cousin has paid me a visit, very much as you predicted. He talked a good deal of the murder, and resents the idea of its being Quinlan who did it.” i “ Yes” assented Fe1rars, as if he had expected this. “ He dwelt for some time upon Fab1 10c and the probabil-‘ ity of he1 guilt. He believes 111 it. He hinted that he would not mind lending a hand again if only to helpunearth her.” “ He is very good,” said Ferrars, grimly. “ How did he appear to you ?” , “ Do you mean in person, or--” “ In eve1y way. Was be his usual self? the Cousin you have known ?” -~“ Not he. The fellow has ‘ gone off" terribly in looks. He seems preoccupied and nervous.” “ I dare say. What was the object of his visit?” “ He didn’t name one. I think he wanted to learn some- thing of our progress, wanted to post up a little. Of course, I had nothing to tell him.” i ' “ That fellow must be a queer combination,” said Mr. Tal— fourd, speaking for the first time. _ “ I’ve met him once er twice at Mrs. Volney’s. I don’t quite understand his intimacy there.” He broke off and glanced at Felrars, who did not speak but seemed to be thinking—intently. “ I’ve had a visit from the Coroner, too. Those ‘Star Agency’ fellows are flying high and urging him to take up the case again.” Here he turned squarely upon Ferrars. “ I’ll tell it all in a nutshell,” he‘said. “My information came through my men, who had been looking after Quinlan and the ‘ Star’ fellows ; and the Coroner’s story verifies their reports. It appears that they began by shadowing Quinlan, and they sent to London for all manner of information.” as,” said Ferrari. ,inGo one”; FERRARS DECLARES HIS OPINION. 497 “Well, in this way they struck upon a new trail. They ”found that there was a young Englishman who was greatly en- amored of Hortense Novalis, at the time of her London debut. He was wild about her, so the story goes, but the affair was broken off by his friends. Well, itappears that the young fel- low has followed her to this city. He got-here, they pretend to say, at about the time of the murder. The ‘ Stars’ are look- ing after him hot-footed. They have theorized themselves, and the Coroner too, I fancy, into the belief that it was a case of jealousy._ They say that Quinlan denies all knowledge of him ;' and that he, the Englishman, is never seen upon the streets, except in a carriage or mounted ; that he is a favorite in cer- tain society, but avoids all'erowds and acts queerly altogether. What’s the matter?” , i It was a sudden movement upon the part of Talfourd senior, which called out this abrupt question. The face of this gen- tleman had turned scarlet, and he went off into a sudden fit of Coughing. But F errars was as calm as possible. “ Do you mean that they have cast an eye upon Wyntoun 9” he asked, quietly. “ Pshaw ! No ; it’s the other swell—Barham. They are shadowing him closely.” i ' «“ Gracious goodness l” blurted out Talfourd pere, now quite recovered from his fit of coughing. “ Why, Lord Barham, when he is in town, is my guest.” 1 “‘ I know it.” . There was a moment of profound silence. Then Ferrars spoke. f “ You say that the ‘ Star’ people are urging the Coroner to re-open the investigation. Is he likely to be influenced by them ‘2” 32 498 A LOST WITNESS. “ I think so. Of course, I might interfere. I’m only wait- ing for the word.” . "‘ Gentlemen,” said Ferrars, gravely, “ this news is very op- portune. It confirms me in the decision I have made today. It is time to act. But in order to act to any purpose, I must have your lively co-operation. And, before you can give it, you must hear the result of my six or seven weeks of burrow- ing. I am going to take you over the ground as I have been over it, from my point of view. I shall have to go back to the beginning, and I hope you can hear me patiently. Mv rehearsal may weary you, and I am quite sure it will surpris ~10u.” Captain Connors started and jerked his chair nearer to that occupied by Ferrars. Mr. Talfourd settled himself in acom- fo1table attitude. “You may wonder a little, at this moment, why Mr. Max Talfourd and Sir Felix are not with us here. You will Know soon why it 1s best that they should not be. I wish to be as brief as possible, and so I will not dwell upon details. You both are aware that I came to New York upon the very ur- gent request of Sir Felix Wyntoun, and to serve .M1. Max Talfourd. ” “ Of course,” said Captain Connors, while Mr. Talfourd simply nodded. ' “ N ow, I a-sk you to keep this in mind. Before calling upon you, Captain, I was'put in possession of such facts as were— then known concerning the missing girland the manner of her disappearance. Upon being presented to you, you kindly gave me all the information in your possession. Just as we were about to enter upon a grave discussion of the pros and cons or the business, a messenger comes, breathless and excited, and you "are informed that the lost is'found.” FERRARS DECLARES ms OPINION. 499 “ I recall that occurrence distinctly,” said the Captain, drily. “And so do I. But for a difi'erent reason. Every man, they say, has his hobby, and every detective, they say, has his system, his fad. Some men claim to he physiognomists, and: to read guilt or innocence in a face. Some men may do this; to a certain extent, I believe, it. can be done. But that is {we my fad. To me the human face tells little or nothing; but the human voice—~ah ! there you have my fad. I do believe in the human voice as an indication of character, an index to feelings, moods, and more. When your messenger came, to tell of Miss Paget’s sudden return, I did not. see him, I did not, of course, know who he was. But in his voice I heard fear, anxiety—that Leah Paget’s coming was not a triumph, but a terror to him. Judge, then, of my surprise upon being told that this agitated messenger was an assistant in. the case so suddenly brought to a climax; that he was a'clever re- porter, a friend to Captain Connors, a stranger to the Pagets, an amateur detective. Now, Captain, consult your memory. When you and I went over the Leah Paget case together, we difi'ered as to the value of the work your men had done. Be- cause they had not found Miss Paget, you argued that they had accomplished nothing; while I——-well, if I had taken up the work where I found it then, I must have succeeded. Your men had traversed the ground,,scaled the rocks, let down the bars, yes, and opened the door. I had only to Walk in.” “ By Jove !” burst'out‘ Mr. Talfimrd, “ I would like to hear your id ea——how you would have accomplished this Walk-over ?” .“ It’s very simple,” said Ferrars. “ If you could go into the case as I did, youwould see it as I do. These reports convinced me that Miss Paget had not left the city, had not been abducted for ransom, had not made way with herself, 500 - A Losr WITNESS. and had not been, murdered. But that was not all. Befbre I had finished reviewing the operations of the Captain’s d etect- ives, I was quite convinced that there was a flaw in the work, a broken link in the chain.” - “ What do you mean ‘2” asked Connors, quickly. “ I mean this : Among all that mass of good and faithful Work done, there was one bit of very bad work, one. weak, point, where a little pressure,a little more light upon it, would have changed everything. In short, I felt sure that onepot your men was trifling, was not running true.” “ Why didn’t you say so ?” asked Connors, sharply. “ Because I expected to takethe ease up, and my first busi-_ ness would have been to find the man who was hedging. You would have been enlightened then. But we will not linger over this dead issue. When your Mr. CouSin came with his announcement, and I learned that he had been working upon the case, I felt sure that I had found my man.” - Captain Connors muttered something that sounded like an anathema upon himself, but Ferrars went on without heeding. him. ‘ , “Now, sirs, please note this :‘ I was still pondering over this queer case, and my mind was full of' its details. I was a stranger to all New York, and could have no prejudices, but names were firmly fixed in my mind from having read so much of them in those 1'eports—-” ‘ i ’ “ What names ?” asked Connors, half bewildered. , "I These : Leah Paget, Max Talfourd, Frederick Quinlan. With these names fresh in my memory, I went with Captain Connors to the scene of the tragedy in the Dresden Flats. We need not dwell upon that. You know it all. Fancy me, now, coming into the presence of that dead actress, gorgeous evenin FERRARS DECLARES HIS OPINION. 501 death—I knew the woman ; I. had seen‘ her in London—but I was not there to tell what I knew. While overlooking the disordered rooms, searching for a clue to the crime, I was say- ing to myself that this was a strange thing, my being brought them to see that dangerous woman thus—41°, who had known her in life.” , . , ‘ “ Oh I” broke involuntarily from the lips of both his lis- teners. - , “Yes, Captain, your ‘ Star Agency’ was rightly informed. It was Lord Louis Barham who came sonear wrecking his life for thesake of Hortense N ovalis, and it was I who extricated him and prevailed upon her to leave London.” “By Jove !” cried Talfourd again. It was his favorite ex- pletive. > ’ “ Well, there were other odd thingsin' store for me. Al- most the first name I heard in connection with Hortense was that of Frederick Quinlan. And then—you know how it came about—there in the possession of the. dead woman, or so it seemed, we found a blood-stained letter—a love-letter, signed Max. Beside it, as if to leave no doubt as to the identity of the writer, was a picture—the picture of Max Talfourd. To com- plete this amazing series of coincidences, an envelope, corre— sponding in size and texture with the paper upon which the letter was-written, was found in the grate. The envelope bore the name of Leah Paget. Is it any Wonder that I, with these facts be- fore me, should say to; myself: In the disappearance of Miss Paget, and thelmurder of Hortense Novalis and her maid, there is certainly a very close connection. Two courses were before me. I could follow up the investigation already half done, and, in spite of Miss Paget’s return, ferret out the secret of ' her'absence. Or I could begin here, and find out who 502 A LOST WITNESS. killed Hortense Novalis. At whichever end I began, the re- sult would be the same. There is but one solution for both mysteries.” “ Great Heavens I” Mr. Talfourd cried. “ Is it possible ! Can you mean that Leah Paget—-” Ferrars stopped him by a gesture. “ Patience, sir,” he said, gently. “ Remember, I had just been hearing the story of the search for Miss Paget. Names, dates, everything, was fresh in my mind. Two things were overlooked, in the haste of that-investigation; at least it would seem so.” He turned upon Captain Connors. “ When I found that letter beneath the pillow, I observed the date.” “ Eh?” . . “ The date of that letter and the date of Leah Paget’s disap- pearanc'e were the same.” . .“ Blockhead i” cried the Captain. “ I was a blockhead 1’ ’ “ Not at all, Captain. I did not call your attention to it, .‘hat was all. You were quick enough to note other things.” “Yes,” assented the Captain, in fierce self-scorn, “I was able to note that Leah Paget’s home-coming was upon the} late of the murder.” “ When I found this note or letter,” resumed Ferrars, ad- .dressing‘himself now to Mr. Talfourd, “ my first thought was, .f' your son. ~ I had seen him, and I considered myself, in a measure, bound to serve him. if possible. _ Miss Paget was his fiancée. With that letter and picture in my possession, my position was strangely unpleasant. ' To give myself a little time for thought, and in the hope that I might by some bit of good luck get a glimpse of Miss Paget herself, I set out for their house, ostensibly to‘warn Miss Paget. On the way I reasoned with myself thus 3. If Leah Paget is guilty, or im- FERRARS DECLARES HIS OPINION. 503 plicated in any way, my warning will startle her into some act of self-betrayal, and then I shall know what to do. But 011 that day nothing but the unexpected occurred. I found that Miss Paget had returned indeed, and that she had simply refused to explain her absence. It was an evil day for Miss Paget, and I should probably have been forced to make known all my thoughts and discoveries to the Captain here, if Mr. Quinlan‘ had notgthrown himself into the breach with characteristic recklessness and haste. After locking him over carefully, I decided to accept him, as he seemed to expect. If Mr. Quin- lan considered himself a fit subject for suspicion, there must be something to justify such suspicion. I would accept him. It would give me time. It would save Miss Paget, perhaps, if she were innocent. It could not harm Quinlan, if he were guilty.” " ’ “ Do you mean to say,” burst out Captain Connors, -“ that you never believed Quinlan guilty ‘2” “ I never believed Mr. Quinlan guilty, sir, not for one mo- ment.” . “ My God i” It was M1. Talfourd’s .cry. “Did you be- gin by suspecting my son ‘2” “ No, sir. Neithe1 first 1101 last did I suspect Max Tal- fou'rd.” “ In the name, of all that’s mysterious then,” urged Con- nors, “_ what did you think ? Whom did you suspect ‘2” ' “ Before the Coroner had opened his inquiry—before we. had finished our search of the rooms, in fact—I had formed the opiniOn which I hold at this moment. There was ev- idence, circumstantial evidence, against Frederick Quinlan and against Max Talfourd. But I could not accept it because—” “ Because-J?” 504 A Loan: wrmms. “ Because Hortense N oValis was murdered by a woman.” “ Ali—horrible l” , “ A woman 1” Captain Connors bent eagerly toward the detective. “ Ferrars,” he said, excitedly, “ are we to under- stand—do you mean to say that While we, you and I, were still searching the rooms, before the name of La, Belle Fabrice *was breathed to us, that you then decided it was a woman’s deed ?” “ I did.” The Captain fell back in his place. “ I’m all at sea,” he said. “ What kind of a dance have you been leading us ?”‘ CHAPTER LXIX. THE LOST LINK. “ Captain,” said the detective, “ you are taking an oblique view of the affair. Your thoughts went naturally from a bloody deed to a brutal assassin. I, who have very little to do 'with ordinary crime—that is, with these murders which are hap- pening every day ; which nine times out of ten are the deeds of tramps or other hardened wretdhes of the lower grade—I was not so ready. In fact, I followed my usual method in trying to keep my mindablank, as to opinion,.until I had looked about me.” . i i "“ True,” assented the Captain ; “ I never even thought of a woman as the possible guilty one.” V “ Naturally.” ran Losr Linn. 505 “ But tell me : had you decided it was a woman’s work be- fore you found that letter ?” “ Yes. That letter, you must remember, Captain, bore no woman’s name. It was signed but not addressed.» There was nothing to indicate that it was not meant for Hortense Nov- alis, until you found that envelope matching the paper and ad- dressed in the same hand.” “ True.” “ Now, go back with me to the scene of the murder, and try to see it with my eyes. .Here we find the beautiful. woman, richly robed and gleaming withjewels, lying dead in the midst of her splendor. All about her is confusion, wreck, the signs of a,struggle fierce and desperate. From the condition o‘f the two rooms, it must have begun in the inner one, and ended in the boudoir, where she was conquered and fell, struggling with her latest breath, her last atom of strength. Now, consider :‘ Hor— tense Novalis was tall and lithe, but she was not muscular. Can you imagine her battling with a man like that? The ev- idences of the struggle were proof, to me, that victim and slayer Were nearly. matched in strength. Perhaps, Hortense may have been the stronger. I fancy so. But she was taken unawares, and the other struck with ”the strength born of fury, hatred, despera- tion. Would a man have battled so ? Frederick Quinlan is a trained athlete. So is Max Talfourd.” A The father of Max shuddered. V “ The hired assassin is usually chosen from the strong. And then, would a paid assassin do suCh work, and leave all that booty behind him ‘2” “Not he,” said the Captain, promptly. “ No. Men do not slay so. It was the work of a woman ; and a ‘woman furious, desperate, maddened by some terrible fear, or dread, or wrong.” i 506 A LOST WITNESS. “ My God i” said Talfonrd. “ I can see it all ! You are right ; it must have been 'a woman.” “Of course he’s right. I can see it clearly, now,” cried Connors. “ Gad ! I’ll resign tomorrow.l “ If you do,” said Ferrars, “so will I. But let us get on and dispose of Mr. Quinlan at once.” “ By all means,” said Mr. Talfourd. “ Now, will you try to fancy my position. I have crossed the ocean to serve a friend, to seek a lost sweetheart, and here I stand surrounded by death, mystery, tragedy. And the names of those I had hoped to serve, confront me in a new light. Here comes in the use of what, to the Captain, seemed useless——jiist time thrown away. I mean the records of the good work done by his men in the Leah Paget case. Thanks to those documents, instead iof groping blindly, I have a clear and excellent point of View. Instead of beginning this new Work at the beginning, I begin it in the middle. I do not need to ask who is Quinlan. I know already, and all my knowledge is drawn from these reports. Standing beside the body of Hortense Novalis, I reason thus : The slayer is a woman, and woman slays oftenest from motives of revenge or jealousy. Frederick Quinlan, a man of the world, a man likely. to have been mixed up in many intrigues, i's_,the friend of the dead woman. - Now, if we can find anywhere a woman whom he has, perhaps, abandoned for the sake of Hortense Novalis, we have gone a long way toward solving the problem.” He looked from one to the other in silence for a moment. i“ Gentlemen, there is no such Woman to befound. .That Frederick Quin- lan did not commit the murder, I was sure from the first. I was not sure that he (lid not instigate the» deed, or, if he did not instigate, at least, held some knowledge or suspicion. But THE LOST'LINK.- 507 my doubts were soon set at rest. Quinlan, directly. or indi- rectly, had no part nor lot in that murder.” “ And yet,” began Mr. Talt'ourd, "' he ha‘sphorne the lxmnt ot' the Suspicim/i, the public (.hlnquy.” Ferrnrs threw hack. his head with an impatient gest— ure. ' . “ Allow me to preceed,” he said. “ Quinlan saw readily th: ithe, as the one most intimately associated with the (leul girl, would natui ally fall under suspicion and knowing this he applied tome M1. Quinlaii 1s by no means thin- skinned. He saw that notoriety w as inevitable, but What then ‘1’ In one way or another, he has been courting notoriety of a certain sort, ever since he became a fully fiedgedworldling. The man has pride, and keen common-sense of a hardy sort. His yachts, his horses, his mistresses, have been the talk of the town. He did not mind, for a time, being a man suspected of murder. Only, he must be fully vindicated at the end After a long interview with him, I decided toiuse him at. need. To mislead the public, and while the ey e of suspicion was occupied with Quinlan and his probable guilt I hop (1 to diaw out the real miminal, who would probably be e111- boldened by the fact that the finger of suspicion was point ing another way. Besides, I wanted to gain time to study . Max Talfouid and Leah Paget, and the murder of H01 tense ' and the Woman Virginie.” He paused a moment. “Well,” said-Captian Connors, “did you find it, the missing link?” “I 'did.” “Oh-——-What- —Who ?” “It is known,” said the detective, slowly—“it is known to you. by the name of Polly Ocusin.” 80$- A Leer Wrrnnss. “Polly—Cousin!” ejaculated Connors, in amazement. “And the woman? You suspect some woman?” i “Suspect—I don’t know.” “What! You don’t know? Surely you have your eye upon some woman whom—-—” “I have my eye upon three women,” said Ferrars. “And may we ‘know——” “You may know very soon all thatI know, but you must not ask for details and particulars now. I have an eye, first, upon Leah Paget.” “Good Heavens!” cried Talfourd. “You don’t believe her guilty.” _ .“Observe this: On a certain day and date, a young lady leaves her home. Upon this same day, a little earlier, a young man writes her a love-letter and sends her his pict- ure. On that same day, later, he goes by appointment to the house of an adventuress. On a certain night this ad- venturess is murdered. On that same night, only an hour or so later, the young woman who went away so mysteriously, returns more mysteriously—comes back with sealed lips, refusing to speak of the weeks that have intervened since her going; refusing to see her lover, and then seeing him to send him from her, to declare all at an end between them. Don’t you comprehend, my friends, that I must either doubt and hold this young woman under surveillance as a‘ possible murderer, or, I must in some way, clear up the mystery which envelopes these weeks of absence, whether she will or not?” “Can you?” cried Talfourd senior. “Can you do this ?T’ “‘1 have spent time and labor trying,” said the detective, grimly. Then, as if to prevent further interruption or quesf . tioning, he hurried on. “Next, there is La Belle Fabrice.” THE Lear LINK. 509 “ Poor Wyntoun. i” fell involuntarily from the lips of Mr. :Talfourd. . “ Yes. It has been rather hard upon Sir Felix,” said the de— tective. “But you heard the evidence at the inquest. We must know why she so loathed and dreaded the name of Hor- tense N ovalis ; What took her to the Dresden Flats on that evening ; and why she was so anxious to have the thing con- signed to oblivion. Above all, we need to know why she left her Manager, in the lurch at the last moment. Now, I’ll tell you the little I chance to know.” ' He told them of the meeting of Quinlan and Sir Felix, 1n the apartments of F ab11ce on the day before the depa1 ture of Leah Paget was first made public , how Fabrice had fainted, with a morning paper in her hand ; how, at the requeSt of Fabrice, Sir Felix had presented her to Mr. Clarkson, the laWyer. And then he told the story of South Brandon, and the strange disappearance of three young girls, and then 011 and on until all was told that in any way concerned La Belle Fabrice. It was growing day-light when at last their counsel broke up, and the faces of all looked weary, anxious, and very grave. . “ I believe we understand each other now,” said Ferrars, as they stood for a moment at the door. “ I do, I think,” said Captain Connors. _ “ You may safely leave my share of the work to me.” “ And I think I do, also,” said Mr. Talfourd, “ and wish with all my heart it were well over.” ‘p‘ Amen to that l” said F 'errars. _ Early in the morning, Mr. Talfourd tapped sharply at his son’s door, and was promptly admitted. 510 A LOST WITNESS. “ I have a, note for you,” the father said. “ It’s from Fer- rars.” 7 d “ Ah !” Max promptly broke the seal. “Is Sir Felix in the house?” “Yes, and. sound asleep, no doubt. Why, what is this?” “ Eh?” Mr. Talfourd did not seem over-curious. “ Ferrars says he has reasons for believing that La Belle Fabrice went from this city to a place called South Brandon, atwo hundred mile ride from here, and he wants uS—Sir Felix and myselfe-to go there at once, by this morning’s express.” a Well :37) . . “ We can go and return, he says, within three days. He adds further instructions in case we find Fabrice.” ' “Shall you go, my son ‘2” “ Go. ‘7 Certainly ; and so Wil 1 Sir Felix. I’ll stir him up at once. lrain goes at eight o ’clock, he says.” As the young man began a hasty toilet, the old man went slowly and thoughtfully toward his own room.” “It’s a rather grim practical joke,” he said to himself,“ but better so, better so. Before they come back I hope this wretched business will be well over.” . CHAPTER LXX ' NICKERSON. Near the fine building where Captain Connors held sway, stands a dingy pile, as nondescript in use as in appearance. It is a House of Detention ; a place where unwilling witnesses, persons under suspicion, and a variety of small offenders are NICKERSON. 511 housed and fed at the expense of the city. It is in charge of a matron and an assistant, and it Was here that F errars had brought the old woman who had been identified by Mur- . tagh as one of the figu1es 1n the South B1andon 111vste1y, leav— ing to Captain Connors the task of looking after her as seemed needful. The Captain’s method was peculiar. He sent for the ma- tron, who seemed quite at ease in his presence, and to under- stand him perfectly. “ I want you to take special charge of that woman,” the Captain said.“ She’s an old fox and needs delicate hand- ling. I want you to make friends with her, to sympathize with he1.” “ How far?” “ OH 1 that’s business-like. Well, I think she’ll/be likely to'want to send a letter to some one, or perhaps to! see a friend. She may even wishto bribe you into letting her es- cape? “ Well, shall I do it. 9” “ At the right time, pe1haps ; and after you“ have reported to me.” _ _ “ All right,” said the matron, briskly ; “ I’ll manage it.” 'When they found time to compare notes, days- afterward, it was discove1ed that neithei Ferra1s,C‘01111o1s, 01 Mr. Talfou1d had sought their pillows after the breaking-up 0f their late confeience, and this fact may help to accOunt for the su1pris— ingly eaily hour at which Captain Conno1s called upon the matron in cha1ge of that unique and dismal hostelry, the HouSe of Detention. “ My goodness 1’ ’ grumbled the matron, hastening into his .51? A Leer wrrnnss. p1 esence after some moments of delay, “ I hope you didn’t sit up all night jest fer the fun of routing me out at this unearthly hom. Why, it ain’t seven yet.” “ I’m regulated by the moon, just at present, Mrs. Broot,” said the Captain, amiably. “ How about our old woman?” “Mrs. Harris ?” “Yes, if that’s her name.” V “ It’s what she calls herself. It’s all in train.” “Well, be on the lookout this morning. ”Can’t you tell her you’re willing to take her note yourself ‘2” “ Why, no ; ’twouldn’t do at all. I’ve told her I’m waiting for ’a'niece of mine, or one cf my nephews, that I can trust, and that live a good way out. It wouldn’t do at all,” with a sly leer, “ to let her think I could leave my post, or that I’d trust any one about here.” ' “Have your niece or nephew in waiting at nine o’clock sharp.” - “ All right, Captain.” “ And I hope that a person will visit her.” “ So does she, sir.” “ Ah! Good; very good! If this visitor comes, you uni de1stand—” “ Oh, perfectly ; I’ve got it all planned, sir.” “Very well, Mrs. Bgroo ,” he said. And he muttered as he turned away, “. I only hope it won’t fall through.” For half an hour .,a.fiaer Mr. Talfourd and .Captain Connors took leave of him, Francis Ferrar‘s paced the floor with clouded brow, and sombre eyes fixed upon nothing outward. Then he sat down and wrote the following note: MIss LEAH PAGET :' The time is at hand. Be ready for any strange disclosure that may come today. Above all, remember your promise' moxnnson. , 513 be calm. Andrememher this also : To spare the one who has wronged you will be to injure the innocent and the wronged. If your enemy is revealed to you, denounce that enemy at once, wherever you are and in the presence of whoever may be at hand. .Above all, .do not refuse yourself to any who may call, and be in the drawing-room early. RE. The hour was not late enough to send this note, and Fer- rars had just settled himself to wait for one more, more reason- able, when a sharp rap at his door brought him to his feet. “ Who knocks?” he asked. ‘_‘ N ickerson,” said a low voice outside. Instantly the door was flung Open and N ickerson entered. ' i“ N ickerson !” said Ferrars, in surprise. “ What has hap- pened ‘2” _ ‘Nickerson smiled. “ Nothing disastrous. We have re? turned to the city, that’s all.” “ We?” “i Yes ; all of us—La Belle Fabrice, Madam Congreve,‘ and the maid.” ~ He came a step nearer. “ Why, sir, what’s wrong? You don’t look pleased.” ‘ “ I’m not sure that I am pleased. Howevea, sit down, man. What brought them, do you know ‘2” “ I think it was a letter from Clarkson, the lawyer.” i“ Ah,yes.” Ferrars flung himself into a chair, and Nick' erson at once followed his example. “ Where are they now ?” “Clarkson Waspwaiting for them at the station, and took them at once to his house.” i “ He did! Well,” that tells as something. We have had an eye 0n C‘larkson.” “ So I supposed.” u Doyou know what they intend to do?” “ I managed to overhear a.1ittle. Fabrice is going to the Chief of Police in the morning.” “ Alone ‘2” 514 A LOST wxrnnsu. “N 0; under Clarkson’s escort.” N ickerson got up sud- denly. “Shall I go to my post ?” i.“__No,” jumping up and beginning to move about rapidly. “ G0 at once to Captain Connors; he left here leSs than an hour ago. You’ll find him in his oflice, I dare say. Tell him just what you-have told me, and say that he must manage for me to see and hear his interview with the lady. When you. have seen the Captain, get some rest. We’re trying to draw this business to a close, Nickerson.” “ I fancied so, frmn your last letter,” said N ickerson ,g1'avely., And afte1 a moment of hesitation, he asked,“ A1e you likely to be successful, sir ?” Fer1a1s’ face was grave. “ I hardly know how 'to answer you, Nickerson. If we de- sucoeed, weshall owe much of it to your good work.” i “ I don’t plume myself much on snch'work as I’ve done 0i late,” said Nickerson, ruefully. ’ "I don’t mean that,” interposed Ferrars, “although you did well in South Brandon. I’m thinking of your work in. the Paget case.” ' Over Nickerson’s face swept a hot flush. “Oh, that l” he said, in a tone of disgust.“ I didn’t know you were chaffing. ” “'N or am I. When I have time I will convince you. What you did 111 that matter has helped me to success in this. Wa- ters, too, has lent a hand.” “ You forget Cousin.” “ N ickerson,” said Ferrars, slowly, and laying a hand on his shoulder, “ but for this" Mr.'Cousin you would have found Leah Paget. Come, let usrgo.” comm TAKES THE ALARM. 515 CHAPTER LXXI. COUSIN TAKES THE ALARM. At half-past seven Max Talfonrd tapped on his father’s door. He was equipped fora journey ; he held‘in his hand an open railway guide, and he looked perplexed. ‘ ‘_' So you are going ‘3” said Mr. Talfourd. “ Of course I am going. But Ferrars is not as definite as usual; he slys South Brandon, but not what route.” His father cnlght the book from his hand. “ The eight o ’clock train, isn t it ?” beginning to turn the leaves. “ Yes, ‘hub——” “ Hadn’t you better look for a train leaving any station at that hour, that has South Brandon or Brandon on its station “8L 9” . “ Of course,” putting out his hand for the guide. “I’m- ‘only half awake yet. I had found two or three Brandons, and felt mixed up in consequence. Ifyou go to Sara’s tell them»—--” I“ I am going to take your mother there today. I’ll tell them that you have gone out of town.” 7 '-"'Sir Felix came down the hall at this, watch in hand. F‘ I should say we hadn’t much time,” he said. \Vhenetheywere Well out of the house, he added, “’Yourgovernor looks glum, Tali'ourd. Never saw him look so sober. Don’t he like this?” "‘ I’m Sure I don’t know, my dear fellow. I don’t half . like it myself.” ’51-‘6 ‘ A Los'r WITNESS. A couple hours later, Mr. Talfourd and his wife stood upon their own threshold awaiting the tardy coming of their car- riage. Just as it appeared, two men, plainly dressed and quiet in appearanCe, halted 'hefore them and bowed respect- fully. “ Pardon me, is this Mr. Talfourd ‘2” asked one. “ ‘It is.” “ I believe you have a guest in your house ?” “ TWO of them.” “ A guest named Sir Felix Barham ‘2” “ Ah I” “Excuse me, but it is necessary that we should see him. If you will ask him to step to the door, we should rather not intrude upon you.” “ Unfortunately,” said Mr. Talfourd, with a touch of as? perity, “ Sir Felix is not in.” , He turned and put out his hand to his wife, who stood a step above him. “ Will you be so good as to stand aside while I put my wife in the carriage?” When Mrs. Talfourd was seated, he turned again toward the two men. “ Is there anything further, gentlemen ‘3” “ Will you tell us where the gentleman may be found ‘2” p “ I think Sir Felix might be found, at this moment, in a railway carriage. He left town, in company with my son, early this morning. I I cannot tell you the direction of their tiavels, but they expect to be gone about three days, peihaps fourf- Hehad finished his sentence with a foot upon the ca1r1age« step and he signalled to the coachman, who drove rapidly away, befme the seeke1s afte1 Lord Barham could utter a word to detain him. “ My dear,” said Mrs. Talfourd. “ didn’t you observe COUs‘IN TAKES ALARM. 517 that the man made a mistake ‘2 He asked for. Sir Felix Barham ?” ‘ “ I am quite aware of it, Wife.” “ It must haVe been Lord Barham that they wished to see?” - “ Probably. Didn’t you observe, my dear, that I was care- ful to give them information about Sir Felix only ‘2” Mrs. Talfourd pondered a moment. ' “ After all, they may have meant Wyntoun instead of Barham. They have con- fused the names.’ ‘ ' “Yes ; ' I am feeling very much obliged to them.” “I But why, dear? 'Who were they, do you think ?” “ I think that they were detectives.” .“ Detectives?” “ Yes ; detectives from the ‘ Sta1 Detective Bureau.’ ”‘ A little later, on this same eventful morning, a small group were gathered in Sara Volney’s luxurious rear drawing-room. The day, toward noon hour, had grown gloomy, and," although it was fairly summer time, there was a chill in the air which made the Crackling wood-fire, that Mrs. Volney had ordered “ more for cheer than warmth,” very cozy and welcome. In a low lounging-chair, a little" apart from the others, sat Lord Louis Barham, and, in spite of the fact just madeknown to him by his host, that two anxious men had been in search of him, he looked very composed and comfortable. Mr. Talfourd and his wife were sitting near'Leah Paget, who was standing beside the mantle; and Mrs. Volney, sitting close to M1s. Talfourd, was giving that lady all her attention, 01 so it seemed. Leah was looking very‘grave, but quite at ease,'and she was 518 ' A LOST manners. giving her fullest attentimi to the conversation of Lord Bar ham and Mr. Talfourd, \\ hen the door opened and Mr. Cousin was announced. There was a little stir about the grate, and, as Cousin slowly traversed the long front drawing-room, Mrs. Volney arose and went quickly to meet him, stopping just over the threshold of the inner room, and beyond the hearing of the others, if one spoke 1n a low tone. Cousin’ s face looked worn and anxious, and, as she put out her hand to him, Mrs. Volney said, softly, “ What is it? You look really ill.” “ I am very anxious.” He glanced toward the group be- yond. “ Cont1ive to give me ten minutes alone with you.” “ Soon—J will manage it. Is it-—-” She b1oke off and looked at him keenly and then her face paled. “ Hush l” he said. ' “Some one in your house is being watched. Sara, you must get rid of that Leah 1” Then he made toward the others, who had not grown quite accustomed to his frequent presence here, uttering some commonplaces, with an effort 16 appear at ease which was not a success. As the stream of talk flowed on, somewhat sl ugg1shly, Cousin murmured something about too much heat, and walked Carelesslyrinto the front d1aw1ng—room, talxlng his stand near fone of the windows. In a moment, Lord Barham followed him, dropping into a seat by a second window and then push ingahis chair back into the shadow of the curtain. Leah Paget, who was a keen observer, , had noticed that Lord Barhat‘n was seldom talkative in the presence of Cousin, and that he always seemed to aVoid a too close proximity. She had noted the movements of both, and watched them, aftera listless . fashion, as they kept their places at the window. “ WHAT 15 IT? YOU LOOK REALLY ILL.” Page 518. ll! 520 A Losr wrrNEss. They were not inclined to talk, she" obserVed. Siiddenly she saw Lord Barham draw back from the window, and address some remark to Cousin, who withdrew his gaze from the street, and fixed it upon the speaker. A moment later, a servant e114- tered and said something in a low tone to Mrs. Volney, who looked up in seeming surprise, hesitated a moment, and then, arose, with a word of apology to Mrs Talfourd, and left the room. A little later, Mr.s Volney came back, and going up to M1s. Talfourd, said, 1n her lowest, sweetest, most pe1suas1ve tone . “ Will you pardon me for doing a very rude thing ? One of my pensioners, a poor old woman, has sentfor me. She is in some sort of trouble or distress, ”and begs me to come to her at once. I cannot make out anything more from the messen- ger, but the place is not far away. I feel as if I must go to her.” ' ‘ “By all means 1” interposed , Mrs. Talfourd, and the rest echoed he1 words. “You will wait for me? You will stop for luncheon ‘2” Mrs. Volney urged. “If you refuse, I shall not go.” ' “My dear Sara,w we are not strangers,” said Mr. Talfourd. “ There need be no ceremony with us. Yes, go ; go at once.” And so, after a few more words and pretty apologies, Sara Volney Went. Lord Barham and Cousin, who had both re- turned to their windows, saw her go swiftly down the walk, out at the gate and around the corner, following closely in the foot- steps of a girl whose figure, as it moved in advance of the lady, they could hardly see. They turned at the corner, and then both watchers caught a glimpse of a girl, small of stature, clad like a nurse-maid, and wearing her long flaxen hair 1n two b1a1’ded tails down her back. As 1f to give them a better glimpse of her COUSIN TAKES ’J‘HE ALARM. - 521 figure, for her face was veiled, the girl paused exactly at the oo1ner, turned slowly around and looked back, standing thus, it seemed, for a full minute. 'A shaip exclamation bloke from Cousin’s lips, and Lord ‘ Barham turned quickly, to see that he was hurrying toward the door, and that his face, already pale and worn, was now absolutely ghasr ly. “ What—aw, weally, my dear fel—” Here Barham broke off abruptly and sprang back to his place by the window, for Cousin had shut the door between himself and all'question or. remonstrance, quite as if Lord Louis Barham had been only a common and somewhat impertinent mortal. V In another instant the outer door closed heavily, as though shut by a hasty and, nervous hand, and Lord Barham, from his post at the window, saw Cousin hurrying down the paved ' walk and out at the gate. Then, with another swift spring, Lord Barham had crossed 'to a side window, which afforded a View of the street down which Mrs." Volney and her guide had turned. At a little distance from the corner, a cab stood in waiting, and a second glance showed him a glimpse of a flowing black garment, as Mrs. Volney seated-herself within, and mm a whisk of two flaxen braids, as the maid followed. As the cab drove rapidly away, he saw Cousin come swiftly around the corner, stop short at the sight of the receding cab, look about him anxiously as if hoping to find another vehicle at hand, lift a clinched hand as if in a gesture of rage or de- spair, and turn a pale face toward the house he had just left. Then he set off at a rapid pace, not in the direction taken by Mrs. Volney’s cab, which was already out of sight amid a crowd of vehicles, but straight 011, in the way that led 1323 the nearest cab-stand. 522 ' A Losr wrrnnss. When he had seen Cousin out of sight, Lord Barham re-. turned to the inner room, and was at once conscious that Leah, still standing upon the. hearth rug, was watching him intently, , and with a look of surprise gathering in her face. In the meantime, Cousin, hurrying town-ward, had hailed an empty cab,’flung himself within, and gasped to the driver, “ To the Star Detective Agency, and be quick 1” CHAPTER LXXII. LEAH SPEAKS. The hasty departure of Cousin scarcely drew a comment from the loungers in Mrs. Volney’s drawing-room, and the “OHVEI sat1on flagged som.,ewhat and finally fell altogether into he hands of the ladies. . Both felt, and had reason to feel, quite at home in Sara Vol- ney’s house, and it is. probable the two would have exchanged a few confidences concerning Mrs. Volney’s strange and un-_' accountable friendship for this plain-faced young reporter who was nobody in particular, and not even in society. Indeed, such thoughts were flitting through Mrs. Talfourd’s head and checked her Speech for a moment. Then she noticed that Lord Barham had taken up a handful of photographs of “ places,” and that Mr. Talfourd and he had beguna low-toned conver-' sation upon the subject of architecture. It was a subject in which she felt a keen interest, and the lady made a sign to LEAH SPEAKS. 523 Leah, and drew her chair nearer to the table where Lord Bar- ham stood. “ Speaking of city homes and old houses,” said Mr. Tal- fourd, with his face turned toward the street, “ I suppose this house is about the oldest in this vicinity. It has been in the Volney family for three generations. I thought it must come down or be renovated when Gregory Volney’s‘father took pos- session, for it had been a sort of unlucky place f0; years, and still more gruesome associations were added in the earlier years of his tenancy., But no. When he was free to do so, he just ”closed the place and went abroad, leaving Gregory in school, just at the age when he needed home training most.” 7 “ Why, Mr. Talfourd, ” said Leah, smiling, “ one would suppose the house was haunted.” “ My dea1,’ ’-——Mr. Talfomd tu1ned his gaze upon Leah for just a moment—“ for ten years this house stood with locked doors and boarded-up windows, and it was called the ‘ Haunted House’ by all the neighborhood.” “ Mercy i” said Leah, “ I neverheard of that.” "‘ You were rather young in those days, my dear,” smiled Mrs. Talfourd, and she added : “You know that Gregory, dur- ing ”his years of ownership, never really’ lived in the" house, and did no more than to open the windows and make it look a little less uninviting Iron] the outside. To save his credit as a property owner, and for the sake of the street, he used to say.” “ Yes,” said Leah, thoughtfully, “ I think I remember some- thing of that.” _ Lord Barham moved back from the table, where he had al- ready deposited the handful of photographs: and took out his .watch. M1 Talfouid got up and walked once or twwe the length, 524: p ‘ A LOST WITNESS.’ of the room. Mrs. Talfourd alone remained sitting, and a long moment of silence followed Leah’s words. It was Lord Barham who spOke first. “ Aw—I didn’t fancy you kept much of that sort of thing here—haunted houses, you know ; and all that. How came it to be haunted—weally ?” \ “I’ll tell you. Mr. Talfourd turned in his promenade and halted a little behind Leah, who was standing beside his wife’s chair'and directly facing Lord Barham,but with Mrs. Talc fourd and the little table between them. “ I’ll tell yoii. The story has not been circulated much for a good many years 3 people do not seek to perpetuate family misfortunes. Greg ory Volney’s mother was a very strange woman in her. best days, and she died a maniac. At first she was not difficult to‘ deal with, and she was kept at home, with a. trained nurse, whom she considered a maid. After a time she began to grow violent, and, to drown her screams, which at' times were hor- rible to hear, Volney evoked from his brain a novel scheme. The mansard was in one big bare room, and a large square in the center was built up ; the walls were padded thickly, and a big square cut out of the roof, in which a skylight was set. .‘as the ceiling was none too high, the skylight was elevated a foot and a half or so, and a net—work of slender iron bars was arranged below it. Then, upon the roof a fanciful railing was arranged about the skylight, and carried up padoga-fashion, so tiiat‘from the outside it had the appearance of a small observa- tory. The observatory, viewed from the street, is in the cen- ter of the roof, but the room in not squarely under it.” “ How—how-r—is the skylight placed ‘3” asked Leah, almost gaspingly, and clutching hard at the back of Mrs. Talf'ourd’a chair with both hands. LEAH SPEAKS. 525 “ At the front. of the room, directly above the door. It was so arranged because of the stairway, which goes up almost in the center of the mansard. ~ In fact, there is but a stepbe- tween the top stair and the door of the enclosed room.” “ And—the room ?” asked the girl, huskily. “ Describe it, please ?” “ Why, it’s a long time ago since I saw it. I thinkit was walled or boarded up when Sara took possession. I advised her to take it down—the big mansard was meant for a ball- room—-—hut she said she had not the heart to make any change then, so soon after poor Gregory’sdeat .” “ Describe it.” Leah was trembling so violently that Mrs. Talfourd looked up at her in astonishment, “’A square room,” began Mr. Talfourd; “ padded walls, overlaid with brown leather, a low bed, two or three easy- chairs, some shelves to hold books, dishes, etc., and every ar- ticle of furniture fastened securely to the floor.” i A moment Leah Paget stood bolt upright, with her hands pressed against her temples. She took a step forward, and an inarticulaté cry burst from her lips. Then her hands drop- ped ; she lifted her head and her slender form was drawn to its fullest height ;_her face was colorless, but her eyes glowed with the light of a sudden illumination. With a few quick steps she was at the door, and there she turned with an impet- uous gesture. _ ' “ Wait,” she said, and was outside of the room in a mo- ~ment. With a foot upon the lowest ‘stair she turned, at a sound behind her. It was Lord Barham, and he held out a ‘pbright new door-key. ' “ You will need this,” was all he said. She paused on the step above him, and, for a moment, 526' A Lost: WITNESS. looked steadily into the eyes from which he had that moment snatched the gold-rimmed glasses. Then she caught the key from his hand and sped on up the broad stairs. At the top sheturned. He was still standing at the foot. “You. may as well come,” and she‘hastened on. I Up the second flight she flew breathlessly. And the third, narrower, steeper, darker. Half-way 11p she paused, as if by some instinct, and looked over the slender hand-rail, down ' upon the second flight and the floor below. When she stopped, at the top of the 11st flight, Lord Bar- ham was close beside her, and ,directly before them, with a scant two feet of space between it and the stairway, was a heavy door doubly bolted. She was trembling violently now, and he bent fo1 ward and threw hack the bolts. They wo1ked smoothly, as if they had been well oiled and in recent use. _ He opened the heavy door, drawing back a little, as he stood at the top of theflight, to give it room to swing, and a11- other door confronted them. In this door was a sliding panel, and two or three small'orifices, that were protected by little revolving covers. And now Leah was panting and clinging to the slender hand-rail for support. He took the key from her hand, unlocked the second door, which swung inWard, and taking her arm, gently drew her. 1n. . But only so far as the threshold. There the girl‘ stOpped, as if paralyzed, and cast a quick sweeping-glance all about her-:— at the padded walls, that had been over—draped for the most part in gaudy chintz, at the stationary bed and, table, and then up to the barred skylight above her head. _ Lord Barham,leavi11gthe door wide open, had advanced Q LEAH SPEAKS. 527 the center of the room,. and, after her startled survey and an- other moment of silent, horror-stricken calm, Leah Paget moved slowly toward him. “ My God ! what does it mean ?” she said, flinging out both he1 hands In a frantic gesture. “ This room—it has been my prison for long, long weeks l In this room, in this very room .-—-Sara Volney’s house l—is this a trick, or———” A “ No,” said the man at her side, “ it is no trick ; only an exposure. _ So it was as I thought—this place has been your‘ prison ? Do you know why ? Try to think, try to be calm. There is much at stake.” ' " 'Again for a moment she stood, shivering as if with cold, and all the fire gone out of her eyes. Then she drew herself up- .1 11d a splendid rage seemed to possess her and drive out all other feeling. _ “ Do I know why? Yes ! Now ; now, for the first time, I do know why l That dreadful day, I went out at dusk to post some letters. I walked slowly down a quiet street to put them into a box. Because'it was pleasant, and I wanted the walk, I passed'two or three boxes, saying to myself each time, “ The next, and then turn back.” When I did stop at a corner it was growing duskier and the street seemed deserted. .Idropped my letters and was turning away when a cab came up very quietly, and I was seized by two men. That is all I know. Some- thing was pressed against my face. TVVhen I became conscious, I was here, in this room I There was the sound of light footsteps hastenin g up the stairs. As if fearful of ”being again shut up in that padded dungeon, Leah snrang to the door. Then suddenly she drew herself up, and, with flashing eyes confronted the one Who stood on the stairs a step below her. 528 A LOST WITNESS. “Sara Volney,” she cried, “look me -in the face and say, if you dare, Why you have “done a thing too base to be named. l why you are my enemy!” The c1y of rage that could not be kept back, and the look of terror that, for a moment flitted across l1e1 thee, we1e the only signs that Sara Volney had heard her words. Then she said sharply to some onejust behind her, “ Quick ! Help me! She must not come down !’.’ .1 What happened neXt. ‘7 It could never be quite under- stood. The wOman behind Mrs Volney made a sudden forward rush, and as both sought to reach and detain Leah, a man stepped in between them, hurled the old woman aside and put out a hand to grasp the arm of the other. - “ Madam, would you commit another murder? Hortense Novalis is not yet avenged 1’ ’ ’ Then a scream echoed from the roof to the floors below; there was a frantic struggle 011 that tiny landing at the very topof the stairs; a sudden wrench, a crash, a dull, sickening thud, and a woman’s form was st1etched senseless ac1oss the threshold of that prison room, while another Iay,a crushed heap, upon the floor below ! CHAPTER LXIII. THE EXIT OF THE STARS. Such scenes defy description. After one moveless, horror- stricken moment, Lord Barham became astonishingly active. He lifted the head of the fainting girl away from the th1esh- // \\ _ _/ / \s ‘ , m /\\\ ~“\\ / f/ \\\\\ . ‘\\\\ ’ l / “M“ A. , \ _..____-—:__—_—:= __:f=_= «(I (‘ ' :7 \. “ MADAM, WOULD YOU COMMIT ANOTHER MURDER? Hortenao Ndvafil . 2'9 not yet avenged! Page 528. 34 ' 629 530 ' A LOST WI'rNEss. old of the prison room, and, without so much as glancing at the old Woman just inside, drew the inner door shut and turned the key upon her. Then he caught up the senseless form and carried it carefully but rapidly down the stairs, past the place where Sara Volney lay, and still down to the rear drawing- room, where Mrs. Talfourd, iwith white, scared face, threw open the door, and bade him lay her upon a low- divan. Very gently he laid, her down. “ It’s only a swoon,” he said. '“ I leave her to you, Mrs. Talfourd.” At the door he encountered Mr. Talfourd. “This is very bad,” heSaid. “ Send the trustiest servant for a physician. And there ought to be an oflicer here at once. I think you can find one not far as.” . ‘ . ' ‘ At that moment they heard the. street door open and close, and then Cousin appeared. ' “What IS it?” he cried, sharply, after one look at their faces. , ' “ An accident,” said Lord Barham, quickly. “ Come and see.” . r Sara Volney was lying in a strangely cramped and unnat- ural attitude. She had struck against the hand-rail in fall- ing, with such force as to save her by the rebound from strik» ing upon the stairs themselves, lower down. She Was sense— less and her face was drawn and ,ashen. ' "For a moment the two men bent above her, Cousin with his whole frame shaken and great drops of sweat standing-out upon his for.ehead “ She ls Certainly much injured,” said Lord Barham, draw- ifig back a little.“ I think we should not move her before a surgeon comes.’ " Cousin knelt beside the still fmm with a strange, dazed 10% THE EXIT OF THE STARS. ' 531 upon his face. He lifted one limp white hand and then laid it tenderly down again. He looked for a long moment into the white, unconscious face, and then up to the man now stand- ing erect opposite 111m. _ I Suddenly, with eyes than gleamed fiercely, he sprang up, confronting the other across that still form. .“ Curse you. "7‘ he cried, hoarsely. “ You have brought this about. Ah! I wish I could kill you. '” There was a moment of silence, and then the other spoke, with no trace lof resentment in his low tones. “ And I Wish I could spare you a little of this horror, and of that Which is to come.” He made a movement as if to go, but turned back. ‘ ~“I believe you are an honest man,” he said, “and you have erred, like many others, for the sake of a woman vou loved and believed. Before you leave this house you must know the truth concerning—many things.” _ A11 hour later, and Cousin knew the truth from the lips of Mr. Talfourd, who toll it mercifully, but without naming Fer- rars. Cousin was silent for a space, then: “ For God’s sake!” he cried, “ who 1s that man who calls himself Lord Baiham ‘2” “ That man is Francis Ferrars, the English detective!” In this strangeworld, comedy and tragedy walk hand in hand. While M11. Talfomd and Cousin still stood near the draw- ing-room window, a carriage dashed up to the gate, closely followed by another. From the first, two men sprang, out. From the. second, one, and that one Captain Connors. ‘ Then the two at the window saw the pantomimeof a con-' 532 A Losr WITNESS. *versation, in which the Captain was energetic, and the two others seemed to be listeners. Suddenly Cousin turned from the window and hurried out, hatless, to the street ; and again Talfourd sawa brief panto- mime, in which Cousin took a part. i . It was all over in a moment. The tWo men re—entered their cab and drove away, and Captain Connors and Cousin came in together. i “ Those gentlemen of the ‘Star Agency’ are deeply disap- pointed,” the! Captain said to Mr. Talfourd. “They were after Lord Louis Barham. I didn’t want a scene or a long parley, so I told them the truth. They’ll keep it close enough.” - i “ I am glad to be so well out of that,” F errars said, while in company with Captain Connors and Mr. Talfourd, they awaited in the drawing-room the verdict of the surgeons. “It would have been an ugly on d’it to attach to the name of such "a good fellow as Lord Ba1 ham , . “ How came you to adopt that role?” inquired Connors. .“ It was Wyntoun’ s idea. W hen he W1 ote begging me to come to therescue he suggested it. I fancied the boy thought he might take a hand with me. He had got hold of the notion that some one must get behind the social «scenes in order to Succeed. And then my resemblance to Lord Barham is really striking. Of course, no one could foresee such a complication as we found from the very first. _ Suddenly the Captain turned upon Ferrars. . “By Jove !_ that fellow Cousin is coming out strong. It was he, it seems, who warned them at the ‘ Star.’ One of my shadows came tearing in, to tell me that Cousin had driven up to the ‘Star’ oflice in hot haste, and fairly dashed up stairs. And then, in a few minutes, Cousin rushed down, updn' me TEE EXIT OF THE'STARS. 533 with the news that La Belle Fabrice was in the city. He had seen her in a cab, disguised as a servant lriving down town.” “ I do not understand all of this,” saio. Talfourd pere. “ Allow me,” Said Ferrars. “ The old woman——Mrs. Harris, as she calls herself—has been in the care of the Captain here. I felt sure that She hiul been in communication with 'Mrs. Volney, who, We believed, was none other than Mary Sharp, of South Brandon fame ‘ the adopted, and lost, daughter of Deacon Sharp. So, in order to identify her, La Belle Fabrice put on a servant’s attire, and came here as the bearer of a note-from Mrs. Harris. Fabrice recognized Mrs. Volney as Mary Sharp, and gave me the signal, to that effect. It’appears that Fabrice once had an encounter with Cousin when she was in this same servant disguise, flaxen braids and all, and I couldn’t keep Cousin away from the window. He saw the flaxen braids and, Way he Went, killing two birds with one stone—esetting those fellows upon me and giving the Cap- tain here, timely ixiforniat:-,x1.” _ ‘ “ Good Heavens !” said Leah, “ what a coil! But who is that terrible old woman ‘2” . I . Ferrars looked up quickly. “ You know her?” he asked. . 'Leah. shuddered. “ I never saw her face, but she was my jailor l” ' ' ' “I guessed something like that. We had her in custody and allowed her to escape, Mrs. Volney bribing the matron in charge. You see now, Miss Paget, what our plan was,.and on what uncertain ground we stood. Up to this morning, al- though morally certain that Mrs. Volney was'your enemy and this house your jail, that she was Mary Sharp and the murderess of Hortense, Novalis, we had positiVely no proof. If you, La‘ Belle Fahrice, or the woman Harris, had failed in 534 A Los'r WITNESS. the role we expected each to play, we would have been in asad predicament, and might have done more harm than good. Of. course, we did not anticipate such a strange denouement.” ’ Leah shivered again. “ What did it mean?” i“ I suppose Mrs. Harris must have told Mrs. Volney that she was in danger of a being used as a witness; and Mrs. Vol- ney, having bribed the matron, was about to secrete the old I woman in you1 late prison.” Leah cove1ed her face with he1 hands.“ It was horrible!” she cried. “ I see it every moment !” , “ Itwas horrible,” assented the detective. “ But, after all, since justice must be done, it is best. Miss Paget, I wish you would tell me now, why you so steadfastly refused to explain your imprisonment.” The gi1l flushed rosily and half turned away. Then she answered, ’ “ I dare say it- will seem folly to you, a-ndto all others now ;- still,” her face paling again, “it is horrible, as it all comes back to me. A long time ago she, Mrs. Volney, and I, were talking of some mesalliance. I forget just what, but the dis- cussion turned upon fairness or honesty of marriage when i there must be a secret bet-ween husband and wife, or any act that could not be fully explained and might appear question- able. Not long after,the newspapers had much to Say of a young girl who had disappeared, and who came home, after a time, telling very much such a story as I would have told had Itold the truth. ' Nobody believed the girl’s story, and the newspapers ridiculed it most horribly. Sitting alone in that . hideous reom, day after day, I suppose I grew morbid, and I promised myself if I ever escaped, I would at least preserve my dignity and keep silent. I might have saved myself the THE EXIT OF THE STARS. V 535' trouble, though. That old woman made me take a solemn oath never to tell what befell me, nor speak of that padded prison.” She was silent a mornent,and then added: “Of course, when I saw that room, and the key in your possession, I knew you had unearthed the secret, and felt myself absolved.’ ’ And now she was looking at him curiously. “ I never guessed, though, until you dropped off your afl'ectations and resumed your natural tones, that you were not Lord Barharn.” ' Sara Volney was hurt unto death. Nothing could save her, a council of doctors said. There were spinal injuries that must in themselves prove fatal, ending, as they surely would, in paralysis. ’ But there were other hurts, “internal 1njuries,” threatening to cut the thread of life even shorter. At midnight she was suflfering frightfully. She lay in her darkened room, raving wildly and living over again the var- vied scenes of a strange career. The lips that had guarded her secrets so flosely, were pouring them forth freely now, but in a strange confusion that made them worth little more than si- lence would have. been, to those who hoped for something better—some word of penitance or reparation—before Death claimed his victim. When the councils of physicians had dispersed, Ferrars told the surgeon who remained in close attendance, as much as was need-ful Of Sara Volney, and of the tragedy in which she had borne so sinister a part, adding, “You see, of course, why we must- dispense, if possible, with the services of a trained nurse. None of these ravings ~Which c011tain more fact than fancy, I fear—must get be- yond the walls of this room. Everything will be kept from publicity, f or the present.” 536 ' - A Losrr WITNESS. Late in the afternoon, two, ladies, under the escort of Cap- tain Connors, came, and Ferrars was called down to the draw' ing—room, whe1e they awaited him. He found La Belle Fab1ice and Madam Congreve. Fabrice came toward him and put out her hand. “I have come to offer my services,” she said. “ Indeed,“to force them upon you.” And then, in a hushed tone, “ Captain Connors has told us—it is horrible—and I-é—I feel as if I had done it myself ! She has no friends, or at least none who have . known her so long. I have good nerves, and am not a bad nurse—ask Madam Congreve there. I felt sure you wouldn’t want a stranger, and Madam will stay with me, of course. - And so it was arranged. Abner Paget and his wife had been waiting the turn of events in a little suburban town, not two hours’ ride from their own home. A telegram from Ferrars, who seemed to think of everything, brought them back that evening, and the hastened to take Leah away from the place where all the sdfi‘ering her fair life had known, had been planned and executed upon her. _ i l ‘ At the first opportunity, the detective consulted Fabrics as to the bestway to dispose of Mrs. Harris, who was still a pris- oner in the mausard cell. “ That dreadful old woman is truly‘devoted to Mary—to Mrs. Volney,” said Fabrice, promptly. “ Release her, and site will be 0f much use in the sick-room. She won’t run away, you may be sure, while her idol is in danger.” Ferrars seemed to hesitate. “ I know what I am saying,” urged Fabrice. “ There is no love between us, I assure you 3 but that avaricious, unprin- “ALL ALONE.” » _ 5‘37 cipled old Woman, who would have sold Hannie Holly or my- self into any evil bondage, made an idol of Mary from the first.” . , “ And she-——Mary, as you call her ‘2” . ‘5 Mary, in those days, loved nothing but herself. ' All her sweetness and pretty ways were used to further "her own aims. .When she had done with Mrs. Harris, she cast her aside.” CHAPTER ' LXXIV. “ A‘LL ALONE.” On the evening of the third day, the surgeon soughtFer- rars. - ‘ “ The delirium has taken a strange turn,” he said. “ She seems to he in the condition of a sleep-walker or a mesmerized person. I believe that a familiar voice could lead her on, and keep her memory sufficiently alive by occasional suggestions to get something like a coherent story from her. She is break- ing fast, and if there is'information of importancein her keep- ing“), “ Wait,” said the detective, and he went in searCh of Fa- brice. . “ It is time to make the effort,” he said. “ Have you got the strength ? It’s a hideous task, I know.” . I “ Yet we must do it,” the girl said. “ Yes, I will be your mouthpiece.” ‘ _ In the hall, hovering near the deer of the sick-room, they \..__."_ ”m...— 538 A LOST wrwass eucoi‘ntered CouSin, and Ferrars laid a hand upon his arm. “ We are going to make an effort to get at the truth,” the detective said, kindly. “ Do you wish to be present?” “ Is she. rational ‘2” whispered the poor fellow, hoarsely.‘ “ N o.” l “ When she comes to herself, I must see her,” Cousin said. “ But not now-—-I can’t.” It Was, indeed, a weird and strange scene, that closely-curs rained, dimly-lighted room, with the low white bed and its still . occupant in the center. At the foot the surgeon, his keen eyes watching for the slightest change in that marble-like face ' --upon which the light had been turned, while all the rest of the room and its occupants lay in shadow—with Fabrice in a low chair drawn close by the bedside, and Ferrars standing just behind, where he might whisper, from time to tlme, the words she must say. , -And then, urged on, or held to her subject, by Fabrice, the shattered mind began to work out a strange story. . At first it. Was the beautiful bound girl, at war with all her surroundings; with mutinous, restless blood flowing in her veins; with pride and cunning, an inordinate self-confidence, struggling with her bonds ,plotting, scheming, urging on the others with fiery scornful wo1ds. _ “ B88318, come, come! make up your mind. “ Come I I wouldn’t letpoor old uncle work for me ! I would never be a burden, like you are. What do you do ‘? ' Nothing but take his dimes to buy new ribbons, while he sits by the fire am} ' can’t smoke because you want so many frills. Bah! you auc- a coward, Bess Gage. ” . . ' “ My God I” moaned?“ ab1ice. “ That is how she used-to talk to me. That 13 how they urged me away i” “ Hush l” whispered Ferrars. 0 ALL ALONE." 539 And now it was of Gregory’Voli‘iey that she habbled ; of his wooing, of his wealth. “ And he thinks I love him—«he, ‘the ugly, sickly thing I But wait; only wait I” And listening, horhm—‘stricken, they heard dramatized the life and death of an unloved, unhappy invalid, always the slave of her soft cat-like artfnlness, dying slowly while she sought pleasure amid other scenes. And then she was a Widow. She was in New York. She was her own mistress, Sara Voluey-rnistress of a proud home and a goodly fortune “ Now,” whispered Ferrars, as be bent over Fabrice; “just the word——” , _ _ And Fabrics leaned over the, still white figure, and breathed seftly a name: “ Max 1” g i . And then.-—-—ah, Heavens ! whata spectacle is a soul laid bare in all its iniquity ! I ‘ . , ~‘f Max, Max, Max l” It began with a sigh and ended inia wail, and all the wretched story cznne torrent-like from her lips. * . How shehad loved him ! Loved him from the first, while yet 4she was Gregory Volney’s wife ! How all her wiles, her softest looks and tones, her sweetest smiles had been lavished in vain !’ And then came Leah Puget. .. No need to urge her now; no need to prompt or suggest. All is told. Her love, her jealousy, her frenzied last struggles to ensnare a heart that would not heed. All her despair, and then the hatred, growing, growing I The mad determination to win, in spite of everything. Then, the plottingewthe idea of ab- duction—~slowly taking form in that passion—maddened brain. And theil—e-Hortense Novalis! I ' . HOW hideous it was I The accidental meeting of the two, in which Hortense, the adventuress, blithely proffering the right ”rt. _ 540 A Losr WITNESS. hand and good-will of an old comrade, is repulsed with sting- ing words and haughty glances by the aristocrat, the'proud so- ciety queen ! Ah ! fatal mistake for Sara Volney ! And now she is living these terrible Weeks of her life over again. Faster and'faster come the words. There is 119 break now, no missing links. The soft voice grows strong and shrill, a strange light begins to burn in those beautiful eyes. _ Listen. She has learned that Hortense is an enemy to be feared, and, just as she fancies that Max is turning toward her, beginning" to feel the Spell of her beauty and enticing sweetness, Hor- tense Novalis lets fly her first arrow. Only a vague whisper as yet, a rumor without a name. Only that there is in Society a lady whose career has been exceedingly strange. Ah, but the rest will come; the greed for gossip will never be satisfied until more is told. Hortense N ovalis will play with her rep- utatioa as she, Sara, has played with the hearts that loved her. Hortense will flaunt it in the public gaze for a time and then tear it to tatters, fling it away. “And Max !” Oh ! the wail that goes up ingthat darkened room ! Max is lost to her now ; doubly lost. ’Max Talfourd must love and wed above reproach ! Oh, bitterness ! How silent the room is! And then how filled with the sound of sobbing that is fearless ! ' Max, Max I Lost to her—but no, no, no ! She can pre- vent that‘! Some one to help her. Who will it be? Ah, Satan furthers the hopes of his own! She knows where to lookfor Mother Harris. She will aid her. How odd that that rapacious old vulture is always at her call, always her ab- ject slave! Max’ wife must be above reproach! It shall not be Leah Paget, then. . 4“ Hush ! Speak low! How easy it all is. First, close W‘ “ALL ALONE.” 541 the house and move away. Then, that prison room must be ' opened. ‘ Tear away the boards. Now the'nest is ready. How easy it is! A carriage at some quiet corner. I know where Leah loves to walk. Ah, Leah Paget, not a hair of your head will be injured. But yet—we’ll try it. Go to your friends, after a month’s absence, and tell them your story. Ask them to believe it! Will they ? Ha, ha ! ‘ You went out at sunset. You were seized, thrust into a carriage, shut up for weeks in a padded room. And then, presto! you are at home again. You have not been robbed, you have not seen your jailor, you do not know where you were confined. \Vhy'were you abducted, why were you brought back? Ha ! ha! If I were you, Leah Paget, I would never tell that story. Ah ! but stop ! This room! She must give her prom:- ise; she must tell nothing. I had not thought of that! Bah! how I hate you! If I only knew where to put you, you would never go back, Leah Paget. Ah, well 3. YOu will never be his wife, Leah Paget; never, never, never!” The voice sinks to a whisper, the light in the eyes dying out. . _ _ i _ The surgeon feels the pulse, and pours a spoonful of liquid between the parted lips. Ferrars breathes a word in the ear of Fabrice. ' I “ Hortense I” . , ._ l ‘5 Ah ! will I never have peace ? How dare you cross my threshOld, woman? How dare you touchlhis picture with your vile common hands? My Max. 'Wh-at, youtooi? I don’t believe it ! It’s fillse as your fair face. He your friend ! Take care, Hortense Novalis, as you call yourself. Take care ! Not that! Don’t cross that line.” Again the voice sinks. How still the room is. Fabrice is 542 A LOST wrmrss. as pale, almost, as that ashen- face upon the-pillow. The do: tective proffers her a glass of wine, but she cannot drink. it. She moves away, while her lips seem parched. “Another friend—how fortunate, poor fool! What an easy conquest! Ah, he might have been a dangerous foe. How loyal, though! And he loves me! Yes, and he can love. Plain and awkward creature! If only Max had loved me like that! Oh Max, Max, Max! Well, he is my slave at least. He will do my bidding, and I need such help—\es yes! I will not cast him away. He 1s mine, body and soul He shall remain mine. My slave!” Fabrice looks up in horror. “She means Cousin,” whispered Ferrars. “ What! again? No, no! you will not do that, Hortense! No, no. ! you shall not make my name a byword. You shall not. I will kill you fiist. Ah I” Again the eyes are afiame, a tinge of color begins to glow in the white lips. “ Hush ! It must be. Tomorrow might be too late. I will see for myself. I must! Ah, if it should be so! But no ; I will not believe it ! Softly. All is quiet- No one is to be seen. I am atthe door. Hush, it opens ; it is not "locked. Ah, you are asleep, you grim dragon! God of heaven, it is, it is his voice! His! and he is coming! Ah, he is gone,and she~see~she puts 011 all her br'ave1y, her jewels, her flowers. How regal! And he has inrned from Leah to her. Teller, and she will be the queen of the stage tomorrow. What is she doing? Nearer, nearer. Ah, a letter, and she sighs. A picture. She smiles, and holds it before he1. Oh, my heart! - It. is Max, my Max ! Ah, curse you! curse you, curse ~” ’ i “ ALL ALONE.” _ ‘ 543 . Gracious Heavens! the” last word is fairly shrieked. It rings through that still house. And she, the motionless, the dying, springs 11p and flings her body to and fro; her long fair tresses come loosened, and fall streaming backward over the pillows. As she moves, her blazing eyes and expanded 110s- trils, her slim white hands swaying swiftly, her w1ithing body and upward flung arms, p1esent a pantomime that IS unmistak— able. , . With a patoxvsm of strength, such as is sometimes lent the dying, Sara Volney, 1n her last hou1, IS rehearsing the scene of Hortense Novalis’ death. V ‘ ‘ It is hideous! Fabrice draws away and covers her face with her hands. Even the surgeon turns aside his face. Only Ferrars continues to gaze fixedly, losing no movement, no gest- ure. And away in a darkened corner an old woman, upon her knees, with face to the wall, grovels and moans in abject misery. It is over scon,‘ and then comes the relaxation that is inev- itable. The dying woman lies panting and pallid, fast sinking back into unconsciousness. “This will hasten the em ,” says the surgeon. “ You had better go out now. I will summon you at the first sign of" change. And I think you would do well to call 1n your no- tary and a clergyman” “ They are ready,” said Fe1ra1s. And then he gently led Fabrics away. ' At the end of half an' hour they were again sum- moned. . V Sara Volney had opened herdeyes, with the light of reason in them, and she lay for some moments silent, with her gaze 5.44 A LOST wrrnnss. fixed upon the surgeOn. Soon she made an effort to move, and u then suddenly seemed to comprehend everything. ‘ “ A1n~—I past help ‘2” she whispered. ' “ Yes.” ' “ Is there no hope ‘2” “No hope.” ‘ “Am I dying now—-—n_.ow 9” _ . The surgeon nodded. Another long silence. He put a. finge1 upon her wrist. “ Is it—soon ?” “Very soon. Is there anything you wish to say?” “I. Yes a lawye1,’ she Whispered. ' 'Ferra1s came forwa1d. “ We have a lawyer and a clergyman at hand. But have you no confession to make? A few words will be enough. You haVe been raving the t1 nth f01 three days.” A st1ange haunted look eiossed l1e1 face. “ Why are you—Lord Barham~here ‘2” she articulated. “ I am not Lord Barham,” said F er1ars, quickly. “I am a. detective. Will you say, in the p1esence of the notary, the ham t1 uth 9” Again her eyes turned toward the surgeon, who interpreted ‘I the glance. “ You cannot live until midnight, ” he said, gently Again she looked at Feirars. “ Go—on.” “ You are Maiy, adopted daughter of Deacon Sharp, of South Brandon ?” “Yes.” i I “ You caused the abduction of Leah Paget ‘2” “ Yes.” “ And the death of Hortense Novalis ‘2” lffltndmwms.‘ . . 4... if. , .. I, lflum...‘ ‘ '15? v , . f . . . a i/JI'lnlilllruv k a... . p x. « . ( Ill all'flu n w » 'llnlfllll II....IL..¢uh . .r/ltflflv/fmfi .. ""’o v.¢ ‘ Vg‘o 3’ /;; 2:50‘2, iii If”! 9 4 4 , 4" _ . Mean.» use 233%, a 2 91’ L» , x.‘t.u‘\.‘ , ‘vrt... |v(V«\. A H) Q ‘ x \ ‘. 1” 5.41:?!“ '_' ~ ’1‘, \LL‘,/ , J VIJWVW/J. H LulquIJHWMflw/ll .I I II: J". affix/n12 27/2! .. // (It I. . r I . C r "a; ‘l I I H! ’1 had: It, 1.: . Ito: I’V-T , x//fl//fl// .7 I , 4/” l// I I , (9/1/ ,/. r/ /. y/ r. fill/f/l/ 35‘ It I i :1": , 't r I Is gamma m ecm or Page 548. . IN HER LAST HOUR, “s 303mm Noums’ mum! ” “SARAH 546 A LOST WITNESS. “ She was not Hortense Novalis; She was Hz-mnie Holly. I did not intend to "kill—«J hid in the anteroom-lheard his voices-3’ “ Whose voice ?” “ N o matter. It made me insane. I picked up a kt'1ife~——- on her table. And—when I saw her kissm—his picture-I flew at her———and killed—” ‘ , The eyes closed, but she rallied again, enough to make a few more admissions, as to the concealment of the letter and picture, and to sign her declaration. Then she, dictated her will, which was witnessed by the surgeon and Ferrars. Then she asked, feebly : “ Is Mr. Cousin here ‘2” The detective nodded. “ Leave , me—all ofy011—-a11d send him here.” It was done. And poor Cousin knelt beside the bed, his “to-stricken face close to he: own. “ You have loved me truly,” she whispered, brokenly ' “ God knows how truly.” “ Do you hate me, now ‘2” “ N o-——no l” - “ In all my life,” she Whispered, “ I have never beenloved truly, unselfishly, by any but you. I want no one but you-— beside my death-bed.” _ Cousin subbed piteously. “ May I hold you in my arms?” ‘ he pleaded. “ Yes,” she whispered.“ Quick—I am going.” As he lifted her tenderly and clasped his arms closely about her, a hollow moan broke from the 11 ps of a- bowed fietue, 1n the corner near the door. It was Mrs Harris, and she came softly. forwardand knelt by the foot of the bed. “7 Sara-rmy beautiful, my'darling—say a word tome concLUsIon. 547 ‘ Perhaps.1n that moment of since-re sorrow, the croning old woman realized something of the! misery She had brought hi others. Her voice seemed to arouse the dying woman. i “Tell her,” she whispered to Cousin, “ that—I have left the money. She need not fearfor that.” > Then an awful change came over her face. “ My God l” she moaned, I am going—going—all alone 2” - CHAPTER LXXV‘. CONCLUSION. ~Whe-u Sara Volney’s body was carried to its last resting— plnce, the two chief mourners were Cousin and an old woman, to whom he gave his arm courteously and respectfully, “ for her. sake,” but to. whom he never spoke, and from whom he turned away in silent antipathy at the close. i g ‘ When Mrs. Volney’s will was read, it was found that all her fortune, with the exception of a legacy to Mrs. Harris, was left to “her only friend,” Percy Cousin, who lshe begged to accept it as the only reparation she could make him. After along illness—theinatur‘al result upon such ,a tempera-7 ment of that awful, strain. of love and fear, grief and passion— C, he rallied. slowly, and. came: back, to the world-again, an .old young man, with hair as white as silver. His first act, after entering upon the possession of his for- tune, was to erect, over the grave, of Sara Voin‘oy a, shafl: of ~ ~"" "“"Msn—xmw q. 548 A LOST WITNESS. whitest marble ; to enclose the ground which co‘vered‘her, and to fill the enclosure with white flowers. For to him the memory of Sara Volney was sacred. She was the‘one woman _ he had loved, and Would never forget. ‘ .He avoided, as much as possible, his old friend, Captain Connors, and all the actors in the tragedy that had wrought such chaos with his life. The name of Sara Volney never, crossed his lips, and after a time, he went abroad, and so van- ished, save to memory, from the lives in which he had played so strong a part. ' Mrs. Harris, broken and humbledmfor she had loved Sara Volney unselfishly~was once more given over to the matron of the “ Place of Detention,” who welcomed her back quite cordially. There she remained until she had fulfilled her mis— sion as a Witness in the clearing-up of the Dresden Flats mys- tery, which she did, under the judicious management of Fran- cis Ferrars, in a very satisfactory manner. Once more at lib— erty, and the very comfortable sum which Sara Volney had left, “ in payment for services and as a legacy,” placed in her ‘hands, she returned to the abode of the palmist, and resumed - her robes and turbans, her weird devices and uncanny, ways. Perhaps she is still followingthe “ line of life” along the pink palms of maidens or the toil-hardened hands of the .“ supersti— tious lower classes.” ‘ When those who had been the most interested in the work-i . ing-out of this strange case came together, and Francis ,Fer- rars made clear the methods by Which he had arrived at the truth concerning the dOuble mystery, each found something to wens der at. They' then—learned, for the first time, that-not’one'Of them allhad been fully .in the confidence of this Wonderful" Englishman, and great Was th’e‘amazement whenfitlwas fisund CONCLUSION. 549 that he had, from the very beginning, been working toward Saw. Volney. “ Yes,” he said,“ it is quite true and quite simple. \Vher those capital reports in the Paget Case came into my hands, 1 found some queer contradictions. Under the head of Leah Paget’sfriends I found the name of Sara Volney, with de- tailed deScription, and a sketch of her history. Under the head of ‘Possible rivals,’ I. found again Sara Volney. I found her described as an intimate friend of Max Talfourd’s. Then 1 found that Cousin, already under sus,.icion as the one who had trifled with his duty,goes from the Chief’s office, from the Coroner’s inquest, from a round of calls upon news- paper oflices—from everywhere, in fact—straight to Sara Vol- ney. I traced the source of their acquaintance, and lo! thev .met at the house of Abner Paget, where Cousin had gone on business connected with the case of Leah Paget. Then. after seeing Mrs. Vol-nay, I fixed upon her as the cause of Miss Paget’s troubles, and the real work began. To see more of Sara Volney, to meet her in society, and, especially, in her .own house, I became Lord ,Barham. I entered society, and I learned many things, among them the history of that padded room in the attic: One evening, when Mrs. Volney was en- tertaining several people in the drawing-room, I made a point of leaving, sending the servant out after a cab, and then flew up to the mansard roof with a pocket full of skeleton keys. Then I was. ready to solve Miss Paget’s little problem.” 5“ But how did you connect her with Hortense N ovalis ‘2” asked Max Talfourd. “ First, I decided that it was a woman’s deed, then that letter—3’ “ I’d be may glad to know how that lsitter came *here ‘1’” said Max. 550 ‘ . A LOST wrrnnss. “ For that,” said Ferrars, “ you have only my theory You dropped the letter in the rooms of Hortense Novalis, instead of posting it ; and your abrupt departure probably piqued her into keeping it. Afterwards, to taunt and torture Mrs. Vol~v ney, she concealed the envelope and flaunted the letter and pict- ure. Another thing you must take my word for: Mrs. Volney' was concealed behind the hangings of theante-room when Mr. Quinlan left Hortense that night. The voice of Quinlan re- sembles the voice of Mr. Max Talfourd so closely that a listener, not seeing the speaker, might easily mistake one for the other. Sara Volney thought it was Max Talfourd who was bidding. Hortense’a playful and afl'ectionate adieu. The maid, I find, was addicted to the use of wine, so she Was probably sleeping? under its influence when Quinlan entered, and Mrs. Vulney helped her on to eternal silence by a liberal dose of chloroform. But that is not all. I found while examining carefully the our tains behind which Mrs. Volney concealed herself, a single long yellow hair. When I saw Mrs. Volney, I saw the." head from which it came. Under the hands of a chemist it turned out to be red hair bleached to blonde. And Mary Sharp’s hair was red, you remember. “ The thing that brought Mrs. Volney to those rooms that night was this: Hortense Novalis had met and recognized Mrs. Volney, and been cut by her. With the assistance of her maid, Virginie, who was a born plotter, Hortense, to avenge herself, set afloat'a rumor—it was published in the ‘ Call,’ you remember—~which threatened to affect the character of ,3 noted society woman. While these ambiguous paragraphs were floating about, she informed Mrs. Volney that her name-= would appear in connection with these reports, which, ofcourse,t would concern her early history. As Fate would have it, CONCLUSION. ‘ M public before I came into the field actively, and I felt that my only hope of success lay in my ability to keep suspicion point- inxr the w1ong way. Well,” as Sh Felix jumped up and caught up his hat,“ have you got an idea?” “ I almost think so. I am going to Leah Paget, and shall ask her to help me.” “ At last,” said his Mentor, heartily, “ your brain in ex- panding. “ Go ; I give you God speed 1” Manager Horton would not have been the rare caterer to the public that he was if he had not hastened to beg La BelleeEas brice-v-who, he declared, had treated him very ill-«to make her appearance once more in the new play. The invalided juvenile lady had recovered, and would assume the role which’ was to have been played bv Hortense Novalis. I “ It would be the engagement of the season,” he said, with 'fervm. “ Not a doubt of it, said the little Comedienne, with a curl. of the lip. “ If I couldn’t act at all, people would flock to' see the woman whose name had been connected with such a sensation. I did not leave you without a word of warning, _M1. Horton. I left a note for Madam Congreve upon my dressing-table, because I had not time to go into the reception- 100m, which was full of visitor.s Unfortunately, the note .fell behind the case, where I hastily tossed it, and was not found. I shall not appem in public again. My reasons? I decline to name them.” But she did not answer Madam Congieve so cavalierly. “ Conny, (lea1, I was 1101 king for wealth, not fame. I was going to make a fortune for Uncle’s sake ; and behold, his for- tune is ample, and he wiShes me to leave the stage. .He wishes something else. We are going abroad presently, Conny, and ;3 a LOST wrrnnss. 5he wants you to go with ‘us and continue matronizing and scolding me.” . Frederick Quinlan had his will. After being an interesting i'object of suspicion, at last he was vindicated, and'then he was more interesting still. He was the observed of all in society, "at races and yachting tournaments—«every where, in fact, where his name was known. “ After all,” wrote Max Talfourd to his friend Ferrars, a year later, “ there must be a strain of coarseness in the man, for recently, since the sensation has grown old and half-for- gotten, he has built a brave yacht and has had the bad . :‘aste to name it the ‘_Horte11se Novalis.’ ” 7 “ Isn’t it 1"athe1 queer,” said an employe of the “ Star De-' :tective Bureau one day, “ that Lord Barham got himself out of the way so suddenly ?” - ‘ “Look heie,” said his superior officer, “ I’m not quite a fool. -Here’s a Conundium for you. Atabont the time of :the double murder, one Lord Louis Barham arrived from over the water, but there’ s no record that he ever went back. After itzhe'n‘iurdei' mystery was fairly disposed of, Mr. Francis Fer- “~rars went back to London, but we never heard 110w he got heie. Blondsberry, of Scotland Ya1ds, mites me that, by some freak of natu1e,Fe11ars and Lord Baiham resemble each othe1 quite closely.” “By the Poweis. '” ejaculated the fStar’ detective, “then Lo1d Baiham was Ferrars l” . Quinlan was as good as his word, and diligent search was "made for the Widow Holly, but she was never found. One day, shortly before his departure, Ferrars entered the . office of Captain Connors and placed before him a long slender handle, which, on being opened, disc10sed the little blood- CONCLUSION. , 557 stained statuette that had been brought by stealth from under the very nose of the Coroner at the rooms of Hortense Novalis. “ I’d like to know,” Said the Captain, -“ what use you made of this thing ?” “ None at all,” replied Ferrars. “ I" wanted it out of the way for fear some one, after a careful survey of those slim, tapered, bloody finger marks, might jump to the conclusiOn that they were made by a woman’s hand.” “ By rights,” said the Captain,“ the thing belongs to Fred Quinlan, but I believe I will (laim it as a reminder of the greatest blunder of my career “ Man,” cried the English ,detective, “ when will you see that these very blunders, by keeping the minds of the true-0f? fenders at ease, brought us, in the end, to success.” THE END. 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