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Show H Bji . - WV- :";:rpM ' : f CHAPTER I. The Alarm XT Y OWEVBR many years 1 may have to Hve. 1 am very certain that I can never efface from my mind any single detail ot the one mc3t terrible night that I ever opent in the whole course of my existence. I moBt devoutly "wish I might. Even now I sometimes And myself, of a sudden, vividly awake at dead of night, starting out of a profound sleep and fancying 1 hear or have Just heard a violent ringing at the door-bell. That happon3 when I wake. Vhen 1 am asleep it is a sound that haunts me in my dreams, 'and the series of dreadful things that followed are rehearsed in whole or in part, sometimes with quite impossible and fantastic exaggeration added to their already sufficient terror. That first violent ringing of the front door-bell which was to serve, as It were, for the ringing up of the curtain upon all the tragic drama, must have happened as nearly as possible at midnight no one seems to have noted the precise hour and minute, as. Indeed, in the agitation of the moment it is not to be supposed that they would of September 26th, 1913. the -year before the 'outbreak of the great European war. , "-, . That awful war haB made us familiar with' horror to a degree f I "She lay there quits peacefully, almost a? it might be one sleeping, 'j on hor back, with nor deathly vhito face upward to tho light There wu just one evidence, such terrible evidonco i ' that she wax not resting there quiotly asleep the i stain of outrageous crimson which my ctartl&d ; oyeo beheld against the bosom of her dress." .- h""1 .-1 :. which would have seemed perfectly impossible before it. Wo could jt ' hardly have believed humanity capablo of living through what 11 ;J has endured since. And it may be that had all that horror been Id 3 1 our midst at that time the events of that September night might '11 not have made quite sruch an Impression on me. I do not know. ' What 1 do know is that 1 awoke that night all of a sudden, as it ;j ' 1 seemed, out of a deep sleep to find myself listening to a violent fja - j" continuous pealing of a bell. I knew its tone In a moment to b i that, of the front door-bell of the houses there was nothing- un- - - ! familiar or alarming in that. But what was most Btrange. and terrifying was tho hour for such a peal since a few minutes make ,no matter, let us call It midnight and its persistent energy. It f wa3 certain that the ringer must have very real reason for his : energy either that or It was a madman's hand that had the bol? ? f knob. , . " j , 'But my first thought was that which I-suppose would come lnt' -, . tho head of any one in the samo circumstances Are! So 3 4j j switched on the light, dashed from my bod and began heaping on Jt in frantic haste, such articles of dress aB came most handy; but almost before 1 had mado so much as a beginning 1 heard the , sound of a window close beside my own iorclbly thrown opon, and ')'; . ! a voice calling out, "What is It? Who's.thore? What do you want?' 'J. - , I knew tho voice; It was my uncle Ralph's. My room was on j the second floor, above his, but both looked out the same way 1 toward the front of the houso. I ran to my Jnrtnwl which wa3- Jf (Continued on Paoe f 'mff rJT' f (Continued from Front Page) widely open then, and put out ray 'head. expecting to see a flicker of flame or to catch the smell of smoke, but there "was neither. The night -was extraordinarily clear and peaceful; it was almost as light as day. A full moon I think they call it the harvest moon rode high in the sky and flooded the whole front of the house with its light, gloriously. My aunt's room Aunt Enid, Uncie Ralph's wife was directly over the front door and porch; my uncle's, over which was mine, to one side of it. When he called out of his window, "Who's there?" and so on, the figure of a man stepped out of the cover of the porch, which had hidden him from us, into the open moonlight. I recognized recog-nized him In a moment, oven without with-out the big black retriever which accompanied him. It was Livesay, the - gamekeeper. mm, "It's me, sir," I heard the keeper Mm cail up, quite unnecessarily, j "Yes, I see that," said my uncle. "What then? What is it you want?" H The man hesitated a moment. 3 Then he said, in a curious hoarse H whisper, as if he would like it to Kff reach his master's ear only: Hft "I want you, sir. Come down, Jg sir. For God's sake, come down Br quick." ItMMrti My uncle muttered something, I HHI did not hear what, in reply, and HMh Jl- drew in his head. I wondered for mm a moment what I should do Wa whether or not to go back (o bed. ijp9 For all I knew, I might not 'be jgtJS wanted. In an affair between my ranPl uncle and the keeper a girl might 'be only in the way. Still, I might possibly be of use my-uncle was accustomed to confer with me a good deal, much more than a man often does with a young girl and, besides I suppose I may as well confess it my curiosity was furi- ously aroused I very much, indeed, in-deed, wanted to know what could be the reason of this violent rousing rous-ing of the household for surely few of them could fail to have heard the loud and continued ringing. ring-ing. I had lost half a minute or so of time, while thus debating, but I quickly made it up again. I expect a girl has rather an advantage over a man in the speed of throwing throw-ing on the few clothes essential to decent covering, always excepting any hair-dressing or the like van-tr- ity. At any rate, I found myself on the landing outside Uncle Ralph's room just at the moment at which ho was coming out. He did not seem the least surprised sur-prised to see me I suppose he was occupied with his own thoughts In any case, he accepted mv pres- Hl ence mere as tne most nnturai II thing. No doubt he realized thai SJ I, too, must have been aroused by jej the ringing and by the keeper's calling up. When we got to the hall, after 1 1 going down the stairs together, wo y found there Grninger. the butler, l"l fumbling away ' at the bolts and I chain of the door. He seemed to if me to take an unconscionable time II about undoing them, one by one, fl and -blundering over each, although I they must have been perfectly fa-1 fa-1 miliar to his hand. He must have R done and undone them nightly and m daily for many years. But I noli no-li tlced that he hardly seemed to be m looking at them (of -course the fill electric light had been switched B?Jp"j fully on), but at my uncle's face lajil all the while. My uncle, however, iwr" r paid no attention whatever to the look, if it was of any significance, and he showed a wonderful pa-tience, pa-tience, I thought, at the man's slownesB in getting the door opened. , And then I noticed another sln- ! gular thing about Grainger's ap- ji pearance. Uncle was as dishev el oiled as I myself, in his hastlly , ' snatched up attire, hastily thrown j , ' on, but Grainger wus fully dressed, $. even to Ills collar and perfect Jlf' . white tie. He could not, surely, have been to bed. And yet I knew it was his usual -habit to go to bed early. Uncle always rang and told him he could shut up and go to bed about tintf-past ten, unless there were Guests from outside dining with us, and to-night we had all been particularly quiet and early. There was no one staying in the ! , house only my uncle and aunt and myself and Aunt Enid had had a headache and had taken a little dinner in her own room and I had not seen her again. After an exasperatingly long grinding and groaning of bolts, ns X it seemed to me, the door was opened, and a flood of moonlight came in. Runyor, the retriever, wagged his tall and sniffed about us. Still, LIveaay did not speak for a moment in any explanation of his extraordinary summons. He glanced uneasily first at mo and then at Grainger. He seemed at a loss to Tjegin on what he came to say. At length my uncle said testllv, "Well, what is it?" Ereii then ho delayed. He plucked my uncle by the sleeve, with a familiarity which he would hardly have used in the broad daylight day-light and In ordinary circuin-stances. circuin-stances. He muttered something into my uncle's ear, in that same singular, hoarse whisper as before, only much reduced in volume, as if he was using it at much shorter range. I caught only somo scraps of words of it "a body" "the Summer-house," My uncle ejaculated ejacu-lated dreadfully once or twice, ' I. - "My God! My God!" Then he began be-gan moving away, a few quick stops, with the keeper. I hardly knew whether I should follow them or not; they paid no attention to me. Grainger still stood holding the open door, motionless. mo-tionless. He had hoard, presumably, presum-ably, just as much, and as little, of the dialogue between master and keeper as I. "Uncle," I called, moving a stop or two after them irresolutely. He stopped, "Well?" he said, rather impatiently. "Shall -I come? Will you want me? Or" as a thought suddenly struck me "hadn't I better tell Aunt Enid you've gone out with! .Livesay? She's sure to have beeu. awakened." He stood intent a moment, as it !he could not make up his mind how he should answor. I was startled by his face; it looked so haggard and white in the moonlight. moon-light. All at ouce he said quickly: "Yes, yes. Do what you like.'' Then he turned again and the two men went rapidly away together across the gravelled drive, the big black dog at their heels. I watched them for a moment and then wheeled about to meet the gray Scottish eyes set deep beneath the overhanging brows in Graiuger's rugged, Inscrutable face. He still stood without moving at the door and I believe he looked after my every step as I went up out of the hall to my aunt's room. I knocked at the door. There was no answer. I knocked again, much louder, but still, to my surprise, no answer came, so I turned tho door handle and went In. The room was In darkness. "Aunt Enid," I called, but there was no reply. My heart began beating furiously. furi-ously. I was far more frightened by this unexpected and uncanny silence than I had been by any of the other strange events of this most strange night. I fumbled for the switch by the door and flooded the room with light. It was empty. I could hardly believe my own senses. I looked again at tho bed, after searching out with my eyes each corner and crevice of tho room. No one lay there. What was more, and more perplexing still, no one had lain in that bed since it was last made. Aunt Enid, who had gone to bed, as nho said, 'before dinner, with a bud. head- ache and feeling miserable had not lain on her bed at all. She had 5dne. What could have happened? Arhatever had happened, it seemed to me that my own course of immediate action, for the first time that night since 1 had been awakened by the pealing of tho boll, wad set clearly before me. Whatever had happened. It seemed to me of the first importance that my uncle should be told that his wife was not there. Doubtless, as I Imagined, he had gone out, in response re-sponse to LIvosay's appeal, without with-out thinking or looking Into her room. I believed that I know more or less whither to go in search of him. Among the scraps that I had overheard of Llvesay's stage-whispering was that word "the Summer-house." Summer-house." Thnt was the first place, at all events, in which to look for them. Thither I hurried. CHAPTER II. The Empty Bed. 1DID not know what, or why, I feared, but I was painfully conscious that my knees were trembling beneath me and that my legs felt extremely shaky as I again went down the stairs under tho sinister heads of tho rhinoceros, rhinoce-ros, the Hous and several antelopes with Immense pointed horns which Sir' Ralph Carlton, my uncle, had brought home with him from one of his African big-game shooting expeditions. Grainger, to my surprise, sur-prise, was still there at tho open door, gazing . . Into the glorious moonlit nigln. As I went down I heard quickly pattering feet behind me, and turned to seo Celesto, my aunt's French maid, hurrying down. "Ah, mademoiselle, what is It then?" sho asked, as she overtook me on the last stop. "That ringing, what did it mean? I was just going go-ing to mndame to sec If sho should want, my help, when I saw mademoiselle made-moiselle on tho stulr. Mademoiselle Mademoi-selle permits that I ask?" . Tho woman was panting with tho haste both of her running and of her speech, but I noticed that, although sho was not, like Grainger, Grain-ger, fully dressed, she had at least taken the time to make suro that her negligeo was not wholly unbecoming un-becoming to her. I could imagine her to have snatched more than ono passing glance in her glass. Somehow an undefinable suspicion sus-picion flashed across me that she might know more of tho mysterious mysteri-ous affair than her hurried questions ques-tions seemed to show. "Coleste," I said shortly, "what is the meaning of it? Her ladyship Is not in her room." "Not In her room, mon Dleu, but, madomolselle, she will then have run out, like you, llko me. like Mr Grainger" sho pointed to the butler's but-ler's gaunt figure standing guardian guard-ian at the door "when she heard that so loud ringing of the bell." "Celeste," 1 said, "you do not understand. un-derstand. Her ladyship Is not M there. I don't know. fm how long It Is since she has sane, but Wm&M-f' her bed aas not WMw': beon Sl0-Dt in-" 1 f&xf observed her close ly lv- EIther the girl st? M$ had been thorough- ly prepared for : what 1 told her, ffil j and acted surprise well, or else her " astonishment was genuine. "But, not there!' ? Not slept in! Mon ' Dleu, II is impossi ble! Mademoiselle has made mistake. I go to see." Sho turned and flow up tho . stairs almost more quickly than sho had descended. ' I did not wait for her return. On the contrary, I was well pleased to be rid of her. "Did vou hear what I said to Celeste, " Grainger?" 1 asked the butler, as 1 came to him at the door. "Her ladyship is not in her room. Her bed has not been slept in." "Eh," he said grimly and gravely, in his Blow Scottish way, without a change of expression in his rugged rug-ged face, "that's verra strange,, verra strange." , "1 must tell Sir Ralph," I said. "I am going 1 think 1 know where he and Livesay went." The man made a movement almost al-most as if he had a thought In his mind of blocking my way through tho door, but if such an Idea ever was in his mind ho thought bettor of It and drew back to let mo pass. "Ah, weel," I heard him say, to himself rather than to mo, as I wont by him. And then again, "Ah, weel." 1 tried to piece together the puzzle puz-zle of his strange bchnvior ns I hurried across tho moonlit space before tho house and dived Into the shadow under the shrubbery treon. If my position In the family had been" other than It was If I had been a mere niece of tho houBe, and no more I believe that ho really would have stopped mo going. go-ing. But I counted for rather more than this. My father had been an elder brother of Undo Ralph, and the pluce, such as It was it was of no great slzo or valuo together with tho title, the baronetcy, hnd been his. My mother had died when I was quite young, and I was their only child. The consequence was that when I left school and came to live at home, at Scotney House, my father began by degrees to lot moro and more of tho dlroction of tho household affairs slip Into my hands. Of course, ho alwayB said what was to bo done, if any question arose, but he liked mo to see to the running of all the ordinary machinery ma-chinery of our domestic rite, and If any point came up for decision on which I did not suppose that he would take particular' interes't, I would moro often than not settle it without troubling him about It, So in somo ways, youug though I was, my position came to be something some-thing not unlike that of the mistress mis-tress of the home, and I always gave the orders about dinner and so on and the rooms that visiting guests were to occupy and the like. Then the greatest sorrow of my life came, when I was not yet quite twenty-one for 1 had been too young when my mother died to feel her loss In any real and en- during sense. But my father and 1 had been rather like elder brother and sister. I think, to each other, than the ordinary relation between father and daughter, or perhaps I may say that there was between us all that was most dear in bdth relationships. I was older. I know, than my years, partly becauso I was an quly child and had been brought up so much with my elders, eld-ers, and he was always so full of life and fun and so ready to take part In anything that was going on. that I never realized the difference differ-ence in age between us. And then, coming in from hunting hunt-ing on a cold, wet, mlserablo day, he had sat down beforo the library fire and gone fast asleep. He awoke feeling chilled and wretched; the next morning he had a fearful cold, which grew worse as tho day went on. In the evening he was in bed with a high temperature and in less than a fortnight, after throe days' fight with death, his heart gave out, and I was left one of the most unhappy beings In the world. I could not credit thnt life would ever hold an Interest for me again. Uncle Ralph was a major in a Highland regiment, though It was on his mother's aide only thnt he was a Scot, when my father's death made him a baronet and the owner of our not very opulent or extensive acres. He had beon looking look-ing forward to the command of tho regiment, and would far rather have remained a soldier than have returned homo to take possession of his patrimony, but he realized that he owed n duty to the place and to the tenants. He was devoted, de-voted, too, to a country life and to tho homo of his boyhood, so that ho did not really make any considerable con-siderable sacrifice. Of course, I had been quite uncertain un-certain what was to become of me, whether I should be given orders or-ders to quit, or what would happen, hap-pen, until Uncle Ralph, In the kindest kind-est way In the world, implored me to stay on with him, directing tho house as I had done for my father. I was only too thankful to ac-:opt, ac-:opt, both because my love of Scot ney itself and of Uncle Ralph, and II also because It was not very ob- IH vlous that there was anywhere else IH for me to go. And, really, I ex.er- IH cised rather more authority under IH my uncle's reign than under my IH father's, because the former came IH into his kingdom and I was already IH queening It there. IH But, of course, I had every ex- (H pectation that my queenshlp would fl be at an end as soon as ever Undo fl Ralph surprised us all by coming' fl home from a hunting trip in Cash- H mere with a young bride whom he H had picked up at Simla. Somehow fl "noue of U3 had ever expected that fl Uncle Ralph would marry, although fl it was so obviously the right thing fl for him to do just as the obvious- fl ly right thing for me to have done H would have been to be born a boy. fl The house of Carlton needed helra. JM But Uncle Ralph hnd always fl been so shy with girls wo all had ' fl chaffed him about It often that - fl we could not imagine his plucking jfl up courage to propose to anyone. ' ;H Perhaps, after all, that was not JH exactly the way in which it did IH happen In the end; but, however ', 3H it was done, about two or three H years before that dreadful night he had arrived with his young bride, m a blonde and most beautiful crea- VH ture. It was no wonder that Uncle ' Ralph had been fascinated. I And then, of course. I prepared, ' with the best grace I might, to lay ,' the reins definitely down, but to J 'I k my surprise, so soon as I made a 'M move to do so my new Aunt Enid, ( as. I had to call this girl who wa3 'I certainly by years younger than I ' jl and .by looks many years younger, J nl begged that things might be al- AM lowed to go on just as they had be- ' II (fore. 'She had no Idea how to man- sfl age a house; indeed, it would bore 1 11 her Immensely to have to do so, ' II and Ralph told her that I was such. II a wonderful manager so on afnd II co forth. II The end was that, as before, I II . consented to remain. Of -course, MM it would not be quite the same. In fmm a measure it was a little as if I H were the queen do'rager and she MM the reigning 507ereign. She, na- H turally, sat at the head of the table H and did the honor3 in every way. H I did tho housekeeping depart- ( H ment, and really It was an arrange- j ment which worked a great deal I better than it could have been ex- j pocted to, because on the one hand it was perfectly evident that she had been as truthful as she had beon frank In saying that sho would have done the domestic part . of die business very badly, and In Jl the' second place It was always tho , fl social business which, had bored II me. I took n great deal more inter- I est in trying to run the place with I reasonable economy, in "Uncle I Ralph's interests, tnan in receiving I So that Is how it happened that jfl I was accustomed to exercise far more authority over the household H staff than a niece of the husband H usually would where there is a H Voting reigning wife, and that is H why even Grainger, who was rather 'jH inclined to presume on the fact A that he had been uncle's servant 'mm long before uncle came to Scotney, iWM hesitated to cany out what I be- ! lieved to be his half-formed Inten- (I tion of dissuading mo from going fl out in pursuit of uncle and tho , -M keeper. jh CHAPTER III. M What Was Found in the Summer' H House. II IT only shows how Immensely .11 quickly our imliids work that I should have been able to think of all this, and indeed of a great j deal moro detail incidental to it, in I the very short time that It took i me to reach tho Summer-house. j The door, facing me, stood open as I went up the short side paths j toward it, and even as I turned, : into this little by-path I could see I a curious yellow gleam within the j Summer-house itself struggling with -the pure silvery ray of the J ) moon which flooded everything. A dhange in the direction of the gleam enabled me to understand Its meaning; It came from tho bull's-eye lantern which the keeper always had with him when he went ; his rounds In the coverts. But now, as I saw, my uncle held it. Already I had become dreadfully aware of the semblance of a blue-draped blue-draped figure lying on the Summer-house Summer-house floor, of my uncle kneeling at one side of it, while on the other , .' must bo Livesay. This I made t out, confusedly, and then the re- 1 , , triever came from tho door, at first with a stiffening of Its back and a growl, but then with a tall-wag- -glng greeting as it recognized me J; for a friend. x And with that I reached the door k ! , and, looking in, seemed to know j S tho worst at a glance. 1 On the floor of the Summer- T house lay the form of my young , aunt, motionless, her face abso- j ? lutely pallid pallid with oven an jk., exaggerated deathly whiteness f given to it by those strange and contrasting lights. Even so there ' was enough, lying as she did, to ! $ suggest all the elements of a trag- ! edy, but plainer evidence stared up at us from the recumbQiit body in 1 tit an irregular patch of crimson stain- fy: ing the bodice of the dress around j and below the left breast I had a stifling feeling as If my i r heart had leaped up to my throat and was beating there so as to lm- , (Continued on Next Page) . ' H rt . H M I asciiiaihiq Detective StortfBv JFLmce cHufcWon I I (Continued from Preceding Page) pede my speaking. It was with ct great effort that I gasped out tho entirely foolish question, "Good heavens, "Uncle Ralph, what Is it? What has happened?" Small need indeed to ask what had happened, with that awful evidence evi-dence of the fact lying there he-fore he-fore us that crimson witness. -As for the further question, tho how of Its happening, that was a problem prob-lem crying insistently for solution, destined to occupy us for many a day to come. 1 had said the foolish words before be-fore the ray of the bull's-eye Kin-tern, Kin-tern, turned full in ray face as I stood in the open doorway, blinded me for a moment I think Livesay had made a movement as If to stand between me and the poor body as if there was any addl-tional addl-tional horror still left for mc to know! but then perhaps he real- It ized the futility of it, and did noth ing. My uncle turned the lamp back as before and let its ray fall across the figuro and reveal what it would. Uncle Ralph did not try to answer an-swer my question Probably he 1 knew that it meant nothing, came i out almost unawares, and that I Ij should not really expect it an- I swered. All he said was, "You I there, Netty?" prise him at all. He was much ac-H:v ac-H:v customed to having me at his el- H bow, to talk to about affairs of the Hf house and estate. I hope, and think, that it was a companionship which troubled him so little that Hi. he was hardly aware when I was H;', there the most ultimate of tests. Hi; I looked at his face and at Live- H; say's to see whether either of them Hi contained any promise of ehfclda- Hj tion of the dreadful horror, but the 1 same blank and despairing look HI that and no more was expressed HI . on 'each. Hl "I came to tell you, uncle," I said, HI fn a voice which I was grateful to HS find had regained its steadiness, Hfi "that Aunt Enid was not in her H room, that her bed had not been H?j slept in." Hl' "No," he said absently, and t scarcely looking at me. "No, I sup- M. pose not" H The Summer-house, an hexagonal building of wood, was lighted on H' either side of the doorway by a glazed and latticed window, "and moonlight streamed through that on the more southerly side. The door, now open, occupied a conslcl-oral conslcl-oral part of one cf the -six sections j of the exterior of the house, so that all was bathed In the white warm-ish warm-ish glare of the moon. The silence, as neither of the HJ men spoke, grew almost intoler- H! 1 able, and it seemed as if the dog felt it, too, for just at tho moment when it seemed to mo as if I must cry out, to break the tension, a H: cold wet nose, seeking comfort and Hj sympathy, was thrust into my hand. I am not sure that it did not -help to steady me more than any human touch could have done. "Oh, Uncle Ralph," I said, "are" you sure is it certain is ffc quite" H1 "Yes," he said hopelessly. "Quite! j Look at hen" j At the first moment of my com- ing it had been almost more than 1 I could do to obey that simple fl suggestion, "Look at her." Look I Hl did, but It was with momentary Hfl glances only, which 1 quickly with- Hl, drew in horror. Hl 1 had seen death before, but It "was the decent, ordered death of a Hl hedrooiu, not a violent tragedy of Hi the open night. But my nerves Hl "N'ere growing steadier each instant Hfl and 1 looked, as he bade me. long V , and fixedly, by the beam which H'l , Livesay diverted downward to help Hl She lay quite peacefully, almost 1 ns Jt might be one sleeping, on her H .back, with her face upward to the I light. The small, perfect features v ; had never looked more faultless, ' I tno slightly peevish expression ' which rathpr spoilt the almost too tiny mouth had gone; the golden j hair lying in very little disorder fl made a beautiful frame for the marble-white face. One hand out-H. out-H. ' stretched lay palm upward on tho ijR 1 floor, the other was bent over her 1 body. ' Jt was evident that she .had not H'j ' come out In response to any sud- Hdhl den, unexpected summons. Even HjK In Hfe the excessive neatness and KVl daintiness of her dress had almost Hl ' seemed to convey a tacit reproach. to me, who only, with the greatest li ' effort, could be at the trouble to H,l take decent care in regard to such HJ matters. But now, in death, the HM delicacy of tho fine lace edging about the neck and corsage of the 1 clinging blue tea-gown and the at- HpI i tention that she had evidently 1 ' given to every detail of her toilette ; made a curious contrast and al- I most a mute protest against the Hl I disorderly attire of Uncle Ralph 1 i i and myself. I Probably a man would not havo felt aware of it, but to a woman, whose education, I suppose, makes 1 ' her more attentive to such things, Hl : the Incongruity and horror of the i whole scene was intensified by this , daintiness. There was just the one evidence, such terrible evidence, ! that she was not resting there quietly asleep the stain of out- rageous crimson, which my start-j start-j 1 led eyes beheld, against the bosom ; I of her dress'. "You found her so like this?" I I asked the keeper, who did not answer audibly, but nodded his head in assent. My question to tho man seemed to rouse my uncle out of the fixed Hf ' brooding into which, he had fallen. Hl JJWq bad better take her up," he said, in a strained, hoarse voice. "If you will help me, Livesay, wo will take her to her room." - I know that there was forming in my sadly strained mind a dim Idea that there was something not quite right about the proposal oven before Livesay put It clearly into words for mc by suggesting, "Beg pardon. Sir Ralph, but wouldn't it be right that the doctor and perhaps per-haps the police should see her ladyship?" he hesitated a moment over giving the poor pieco of human hu-man clay tho title it had worn- In life. "She" would be "it" or "tho body" . before many hours were pasL "Yes, Livesay, yes, of course, you are right," my undo agreed, passing pass-ing his hand across his brow as if ho would rub away some confusion o the brain. "Yes, the host way would be if you would go for Dr. Pratt. Ask him to come here, to the Summer-house he will know his way at once, and then go on to Larncombe (Larncorabe was the village constable) and tell him." "Yes, Sir Ralph," Lho man said, in tho hushed voice of rcverenco which lie had "used throughout. "I'll leave the lantera in case in case you should want it," he ended, feebly, as if realising how very remote re-mote was any possibility that it would be much npeded. ?.Iy uncle did not-saj him yenvoi nay, so tho man set down the laa- last and worst atrocity, In tho form of thin staring little conservatory. Of beauty of form or harmony she had no idea at all, but the bright colors of flowers appealed to her, rather n3 they might to a child. The conservatory opened out of her boudoir and so to this path, which was little more than a track, leading through the trees until it joined the gravelled way. The Sumnier-houso stood back, some twenty yards or so, In it3 clearing, from tho main path, but it had Us own short gravelled bypath by-path leading to it at right angles to the main one, fringed on each side with a strip of greensward. Tho spaco bofora it was qullc open, but the trees came closely up to it behind. It was rather a woodlousy and WSflWA as it redout of a I JWHkSSSSniAHi deep ,leep. to find my- I . If Honing to a I feM. ViIe-t' TbT'' Peal" j . w' M Worn tern on the small iron-legged table and went out, followed by his dog, leaving us two watchers' of the dead. . CHAPTER IV. My Aunt Enid. T MUST now say a few words a about this Summer-house which was the scene of our awful vigil, and about its situation in the grounds. I suppose it stood at a dlstanco of some three hundred yards or so from the house. The shrubbery itself lay to the left of the drive as one looked out from the front door a tangle of rhododendrons, laurels and a variety of shrubs below, be-low, shadowed by tho foliage of great trees, In which the rooks nested and cawed, above. Generally, Gener-ally, it was a dark and gloomy place, but here and there were clearer spaces where the sunlight penetrated, and in the midst of one of these was the Summer-honse. It was approached by a gravelled footpath leading away from the sweep of the drive before the house, and aftor passing the Summer-house this path led on, still among shrubs and beneath thick trees, till It camo out on the main road at tho entrance of Upper Scotney village. This was Indeed . the nearest way from the village to the house, and was used habitually habit-ually by those going on foot from ono to the other. The carrfage ' way along the drive made quite a considerable detour, by comparison compari-son About halfway between the Summer-house and the main house the path branched, and one branch, so to call It, though It really went on almost m a straight line, led to tho back regions, the servants' part. And besides these two, which may be regarded as the main paths, there was yet another branchlet leading to another entrance to the house through a conservatory which it had been a whim of my Aunt Enid to have built. I suppose that artistic taste in architecture had at no time been a strong point with the Carltons. Our grandfather, at all events, had contributed some Victorian additions addi-tions of a rather terrible kind to what had once been an inoffensive and entirely unpretentious structure. struc-ture. But it had been left for the latest importation into the family, my Aunt Enid, to perpetrate the earwlggy little place, these Insects lurking in the many crevices of its wooden walls and thatched roof. Us furniture was simple, consisting consist-ing only of four wicker armchairs in addition to the iron-legged circular-topped table which I have mentioned, but it was a vory pleasant pleas-ant placo wherein to sit and read in the Summer time, nono the less. The gardeners kept it as clean as it is In nature of such arbors to be, sweeping it'out daily and cleaning Its windows of flohwnhs rmri ihn like. The two windows, one on either side of the door, admitted all tho light which the small space needed. need-ed. It was a very favorite resort of mine, because it was Just far enough from tho house to jnako the servants disinclined to como and bother mo there about any domestic do-mestic matter -which was not of more than common importance. I thought, as I ?at there that night, in silence, with my undo, of the many hours of contemplative peace which I had passed there, and of the utter impossibility that I could ever spend another in that place with the like peace of mind. That dread object, still so beautiful, beauti-ful, though so dreadful, which had been my j'oung aunt, lay there, scarcely more silent than its watchers. I was silent, though I had questions ques-tions on my lips which I keenly desired to ask, because I knew Uncle Ralph's moods well enough to be very sure that he had no inclination in-clination to have questions put to him now. He never wan a talker. His mind was not very quick or versatile, though his judgment was radically sound in all matters that engaged his thought He could act quickly enough and forcibly if occasion oc-casion required it, and as a rider, shot and fisherman in fact, in all the leisure accomplishments of a country gentleman he was in the very first rankt but about most subjects sub-jects ho much preferred listening ' to talking. Now, In the face of this fearful tragedy, he seemed as if he were benumbed. He had drawn up his chair and sat as close as might be to the white, crimson-stained form lying on the bare, boarded floor. I, on the contrary, had chosen the chair furthest removed from it, and oven that chair I had edged back to the wall, In an almost Involuntary Involun-tary movement which took me as far from the dead body as possible So I sat there, and watched my uncle, 'who scarcely, as It seemed to me, took his eyes for a moment from the beautiful dead face. He ' . - - '-?..'''-' hardly stirred' a vj&S'-w. muscle, .ind the vK-; $-v - silence was so ex-, r. ' ' ' , tremc Ui5t 'once, r V if f when he got up . from his chair and . '' . the wicker, re- " - lieved of his weight, gave out its creakings, I almost jumped at the startling change. I watched, curious to know what ho was about to do. He had been sitting to tho right of the body. He moved, stopping with great care, across to the other cido of it. Then he stooped down and lifted the left hand, which lay. palm upward, on the floor. I thought that he was going to lift it to his Hps, but Instead, In-stead, when he had raisjd it but a very little, he put it down again quietly and revcrentlj'. God knows what was in his mind nr. 1m .11,1 I I. if T -1... 1.1-1 'O "U UIU L1IU UllIUU. X UUUUlUll much whether he know 'himself, and of a surety I did not. But after ho ha-d done this he went back and sat in tho samo chair again, almost -precisely In tho same attitude ns before, gazing down into the faco that he had loved. Ho had loved her no human being be-ing who had ever seen them together to-gether for two moments could well have a doubt of that. For my own part, I may admit at ono. that I did not love her. I never had. Bitterly ns I might grieve for tho cruel death that had taken one who seemed so peculiarly full of life and of the enjoyment of life, I could not dlsgulFe from myself that the thought had come into my mind time and again during the last year or two that, It would have been better with my uncle had he never met her, that it would bo far better for him even now could some kind fato remove her. Remove her Fate had, but one hardly could call it kind, as the white moonlight or the yellow lantern lan-tern ray -fell on the patch of crimson. crim-son. I speak without any personal knowledge of such places, but from all ono hears of society in hill stations sta-tions in India, Simla is not the spot of all others to which a wise man who was not very young would go to choose for himself quitoayoungwlfo. Very surely it was with no such Intent In mind that my Unde Ralph had gone there. It had just so happened hap-pened that, returning from a shoot-f Ing trip in Cashmere, Simla lay in his way, so, -almost as a thing of course, he had paid it a visit. He had written very little about tho visit and wo only wondered at the length to which it ran, because Simla was not exactly tho place which we would have thought held attractions, apart from its polo, for a man of his taste. But we had reckoned without Enid Wentworth. There happened to Ralph Carlton Carl-ton what does now and again befall be-fall a man who has lived nearly forty years without any serious feminine influonco coming Into his life. It absorbed him. lit took complete possess of him. That was the account of It which we heard at length from acquaintances who wero at Simla at tho time, but we did not hear it until the mav-rlago mav-rlago was an accomplished fact. Of course there was no obvious reason why their wedding should be delayed possibly there wero many reasons why, once it was determined de-termined on, It was better that it should be hastened. Uncle Ralph may very well have persuaded himself him-self that his duty to the estate demanded de-manded his return to England he as much as said later that this was his determining motive. But it was more likely than not that his desperate des-perate infatuation -was by far the strongest motive, although he may possibly not have realized It. And it was not In the least likely that the girl's people would put any obstacles ob-stacles or delay In the way of her wedding a man of Uncle Ralph's position and quite sufficient fortune. it was a far better marriage than there was the least reason to expect ex-pect that the daughter of an Indian civil servant would make. It appeared, ap-peared, moreover, that Enid Went-worth Went-worth had enjoyed her full share of the adventures that wero likely to befall a very beautiful and pleasure-loving girl in a society of that kind. Some of the gossips went so far as to hint that her peoplo wero only too glad to get her safely married. At all events, the first news that I received of the step which Uncle Ralph contemplated came In a cablegram Informing me of his engagement, en-gagement, and before I had time to get his letter, full of more than boyish enthusiasm over the transcendent trans-cendent beauty and bewitching qualities of his betrothed, the knot had been tied as irrevocably as church and law could fasten it. I do not mean to pretend that the nows did not come to me as something like a blow. 'I was. I hope, delighted that my dear Uncle Ralph, whom I loved almost as a second father, had found such happiness hap-piness as his letter expressed, but I had certain misgivings on account ac-count of the haste In which all hod been donej as well as of the considerable con-siderable difference in age between him and his bride. And I had to face the fact that it was likely to make an entire change In my own plans. Uncle Ralph had said In his letter that Enirl Inlnnfl htm In the hope that I should still live with them at Scotney and keep my place as his "managing director" so he styled me but until their arrival In England I never supposed sup-posed for a moment that I was likely to do so. However, when they did arrive, terms were struck Uetween us on the basis which I have described, and 1 stayed on. I havo to confess that when first I saw my now young aunt I fell completely under her fascination. It was no wonder that Undo Ralph had yielded to it. She was lovely, really quite faultlessly lovely, In a fair, mlgnonne fashion. All the little features were perfectly per-fectly shaped, tho nose just suffi ciently aquiline to give character and almost dignity to the face. Her complexion, in splto' of the Indian sun, was like ivory, with tho most delicate flush of warm blood and abounding health-giving life to it, and neither cold nor heat ever seemed to affect it at all. Her eye3 were large, blue and expressive, and her hair of the color of ripe '.orn. But above and beyond all Uicse positive beauties 1 think it was the wonderful daintiness of her ensemble that chiefly took mo captive. She dressed beautifully and in perfect taste, and her slight figuro showed off her frocks to the utmost advantage. But the pearl-like delicacy, deli-cacy, the extraordinary cleanness, as if not a speck of dirt or dust could be tolerated or could possibly rest on her, is not describablc. I find myself perpetually running to French phrases, which I detest, trying to depict her she was marvellously, mar-vellously, and always, blen soignee. Even on a wet, dirty day, or on a ' dry, dusty one, she had a faculty of avoiding all the splashes and all tho specks, which filled mo with envy and admiration. So she was introrinrprl. tMc honn. tiful fairy-IIke creature, into our solid and perhaps rather sombre English home, and at first I, Watching Watch-ing them, loved to see the way in which Uncle Ralph's eye followed her about the room as she camo and went, and to note his loverly ways with her. It struck me. even from the start, that there was a carelessness in her manner of response re-sponse to such little caressing acts of his as I was allowed to see which did not suggest a return of equal devotion. It hurt me. I was most thankful to be able to believe that Uncle Ralph did not notice any lack of fervency on her part. Ho was always more than satisfied with her, always disposed to sing hor praise and commend her actions, and often I was touched by the way in which he would glance from her to me, when . sho arranged a flower prettily or did any trivial net with her "own peculiar grace, or when she mado any particularly daring speech or quip, for she had acquired in India a freedom of man-like language quite strange to us at Scotney. and would smile, as If taking me into his confldenco and saying, "Was there ever anything so beautiful and so perfect In the world before?" be-fore?" This is what his look and its accompanying ac-companying smile would ask. And at the first I was able to smile back at him, with willing and admiring noocnt V.ti f 11. 1onnn T 1 uuuwtii, u u t- iy. US 1 tUll I III to know her better, and began to learn, particularly, how very little, in that shallow nature, there was to know, I found myself often at a loss how to answer, or even to bear, that look, and often and often I would turn my eyes aside or pretend pre-tend absorption In work or in a book, when I knew that it would be coming There wer,e moments when I camo near to despising poor Uncle Ralph for his blindness in not seeing see-ing a little more of what the soul, if she had one. of this most exquisite ex-quisite pleco of human porcelain was composed. But principally it was a most profound pity that I felt for him, mingled with a wonder whether he really were quite sc ' i , " blind as he seemed, or whether he I I wilfully declined to see what was j really obvious. 1 I Just a trace of a look of doubt, of distress, of puzzlement, came, as ' it seemed to me, now and again, . . v'' U into those adoring, dog-like eves of 1 his, following his wife as sho moved just a little questioning in them, taking the place of the old I . glad confidence, as he turned them ' from her to me. Under the consulship of my Aunt Enid, Uncle Ralph was a good deal more away from Scotney ' than in the old days, and a good ' deal morf away than he cared to be. He was essentially a man of 1 the country, and of the natural life; I ' she, essentially a woman of cities t f - and of the artificial. She took him 1 . , often to London, which he detested ;j 4 and to a mode 0f London life which ' ij V he loathed with a special .detesta- i tion. She took him to CIro's, ' 'V where he bored himself nearly to ' ' l death while she pirouetted, in the ' i t- latest fox-trots and cake-walks with all and sundry whlte-waistcoated f' young men. ghe took him to revues L innumerable, to musical comedies ' and to Savov Kimnorc otvor. n., lho one pleasure that they seemed ' to mc to enjoy at all equally was F watcning the polo at Hurlingham. And then, of course, it was only ; natural and seemly that the young men with whom she had danced at -1 'Ciro's and had supped at the Savoy J should be asked to stay at Scotney 1 Thej were asked, and they camo' f ! and they talked a language to- i gether of which Uncle Ralph could ' scarcely understand the elements. 1 I Aunt Enid, of their own generation genera-tion and of quicker aptitudes, as- simllated it wonderfully. She was ono of their lot. and Uncle Ralph was not one of them and was, and ! must have felt himself, out of it, lhoy laughed and talked together not always about too seemly subjects, sub-jects, all through dinner, and Uncle Ralph, at the head of his own table would sit almost silent, still watching watch-ing her at times with the spaniol eyes but sometimes again with the puzzled look, and with a glance at Zu i',tMy 3S'ilnG "y V,6WS ' i I had my own views, vorv clearlv formed, but I did not think It would do either of us, nor the gen- oral situation of thiugs, anv good were I to impart It to him. Country -: f neighbors had called, of course, on the bride, and at first she had r' charmed them, as she charmed everybody But then her obvious ! boredom with these highly respect-ablo respect-ablo and. as judged by her stand-arcl, stand-arcl, most tiresome nnri r.-,,. ' people, quickly changed their firs' 1' impressions. On their subsequent 1 visits I had to do most of their en- 1 tertalnmcnt, while Aunt Enid chattered chat-tered with some young man staying In the house. v What if any, trouble might hava followed I do not know. Possibly ! all might have been lived through 1 and lived down and they might ' ' have settled Into the ordinary not ' very stimulating or satisfactory Jog-trot of double harness "not ' love in a cottage, nor luxury in I ' Park Lane, hut just marriage in ' ' Onslow Square," as has been said- ' but then Captain Vibart came. (To Be Continued Next Sunday.) ! (Copjrtght, 101D, by 0rt 11. Dciaa Co.) 1 (C) J 920. International Fcaturo Service, Inc. Orcat Dritaln Rlehts Reserved. . ' ' 1 ail |