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Show THE RETURN of j I ANTHONY. TRENT J "j By WYNDHAM MARTYN 1 Copyright fcr Harm nopkim i u ui nji r u i r u j," WNU ''"Q STORY FROM THE START Anthony Trent, once master criminal, now reformed, returns to New York after four years' absence. He leurna his friend, (.'apt. Frank Sutton, Is In Sing Hlnff. Trent la surprised to find his New York apartment occupied occu-pied by a stranger, Campbell Sutton, Sut-ton, who represents himself as the brother of Frank Sutton. Trent Is asked by Campbell to force a confession from Payson (Irant, whom he accuses of having hav-ing crookedly obtained all of Frank Sutton's property and then married the hitler's wife. Trent starts on a campaign to accomplish accom-plish the downfall of Grant. lie learns that Captain Sutton has escaped from Slntf Slnjr and later, to his surprise, finds that Camp-hell Camp-hell is really Frank Sutton. Trent takes his place In society na the opening pun of his campaign cam-paign against Grant. He becomes be-comes a house guest of the (J rants. I -i CHAPTER V Continued 10 "How can I see Miss Dupln?" he demanded. "She has retired by now, probably," . the butler answered. "She has a room above your own, sir, next to the housekeeper." house-keeper." "I must see her at once," Trent as-erted. as-erted. "Can you tell her Mrs. Grant wants her for a few moments? Shall we say In half an hour?" "Very good," said Thorpe. "In half an hour I'll bring her past your sitting-room door." Trent had ten minutes in Ills room before he could expect the woman who had threatened to expose him. It was not a comfortable ten minutes to live through. More had mentioned a woman named Dupin and classed her with the maids. It was far more likely that It was she who would be the operatlve.fora a detective agency. And If she were, what a future of dread would envelop Anthony Trent 1 Ills keen ears detected the butler's solid tread almost as the thirtieth minute was dying. A modest knock sounded and the door was opened. "In here, miss," said Thorpe's voice. The woman who had advanced a few paces Into the room looked at the closing door suspiciously. "This is a trick," she said. Trent rose to his feet and bowed almost gayly. The sight of her had banished his alarms. In Mademoiselle Dupin, Anthony Trent beheld the only person who had tricked and defeated him in all his adventurous life. lie remembered well how he had met her In one of his early enterprises. enter-prises. How vividly there came back to him now the library of the Guest-Wick Guest-Wick home in Fifth avenue, that autumn au-tumn night now gone by many years. Guestwick, the millionaire patron of the Due arts, had been possessed of a wild and amorous son ; this young man had designed to marry a chorus girl named Grandcourt, whose origins, despite her name, were humble. In order to buy back his son's burn-lug burn-lug love letters, Newman Guestwick had promised to pay fifty thousand dollars in currency. Anthony Trent had learned that this money was deposited de-posited in the Guestwick home overnight over-night pending the interview with the chorus girl next morning. He had entered en-tered the house in the guise of a detective de-tective and had used authority to send the servants to bed. Not twenty minutes min-utes before, he had left the entire Guestwick family at their golden horseshoe box at the Metropolitan opera, where they woulc remain during dur-ing a particularly long music drama. Trent had thus two hours In which to search the quiet house for the hiding place he sought. The money was already In his hands when the woman, who was now Mademoiselle Made-moiselle Dupin, came from behind some draperies and surprised him. Never had he beheld so lovely a vision. She was dressed superbly. She had announced herself as one of the Guestwick daughters and only refrained re-frained from sending for the police because she thought he would give up his loot and turn to better occupations. occupa-tions. She had read him a little lecture lec-ture on wasted opportunities. It was when she saw that the burglar bur-glar in evening dress was laughing at her that these long, jade eyes narrowed nar-rowed in fear. He told her he could afford to laugh hecause he knew she was not a Guestwick; he .assured her he bad left the Misses Guestwick at the opera, and none of them were dowered with good looks. Then the lovely girl had broken down. She confessed her role was a false one. In reality, she was Estelle Grar-.dcourt, of as good a family as the Guestwicks themselves. She had come, surreptitiously, to meet the parents par-ents of the man she loved and show them she was not the painted adventuress adven-turess they supposed her to be. The affair had touched Trent's generous heart. All his sympathies were hers. She pointed out that were he to take the bribe money, they would believe her to be the thief and there could be no reconciliation. With tears In her eyes she had confessed that she bad married the wild Guestwick heir and loved him. So Anthony Trent, with the chival ry of one who had nothing to gain by his sacrifice, replaced the fifty thousand d' 'lars. Later he discovered how he had been foiled. The girl was neither Guestwick nor Grandcourt She was oc of the most brilliant adventuresses who ever bothered the police of two hemispheres. In Continental Europe they knew her as the "Countess." But the triumph was not always to remain hers. Trent had long since taken his revenge. It was when she was living in Long Island as Madame de Beaulleu that he had recognized her. He gained entry to her house In disguise as a paying guest, anxious to break into sporting society. When he left he had with him that hundred-carat hundred-carat blue-white stone known the world over as the Nizam's diamond. Since it was too big to dispose of, and he c.ould not bear that a lapidary should cut It, the thing now reposed in a safety-deposit box at his bank with jewels of almost equal rank. He met her again with all the old, hard thoughts banished. "What do you want?" she asked. "Why should I send for you?" he asked. "Doesn't any reason suggest itself to you?" "You know It was I who wrote that note, I suppose." "I am wondering why you dare to threaten me." "Because I thought you would never find who sent it I hoped you would be frightened into going away at once." "But as I am not, does your threat hold good?" There was despair on the pale and beautiful face. Although Trent had not guessed her motives, he saw defeat de-feat in her attitude. He knew that she would always have some strange and subtle hold upon him. No tender ten-der word had ever passed between them and yet he was conscious of this regard. "How can I threaten one who knows so much as you?" she answered. "Why did you write it?" She made a gesture of despair. "How can I tell you? You will laugh at me when you know I am content to dress like this because I want to earn my living honestly." "I should not laugh if I believed," he said, "but to believe would not be easy. You are here for the same reason rea-son I assumed a disguise and got into your home near Old Westbury." "No, no!" she Cried, almost wildly, "it is not so, but how can 1 ever expect ex-pect you to believe after 1 tricked you !" She rose to her feet. "It is I who must go. If anything is taken suspicion sus-picion will fall on me. That was why I wanted to frighten you away." "I don't yet understand," he said slowly, "but if you care to explain, you'll find me a ready listener." "You remember that when you came to us in Westbury you found me engaged en-gaged to marry Captain Monmouth. 1 had been, like you, one of the aristocracy aris-tocracy of crime. I had a good deal of money and bought back for him one of the country houses which had been a seat of his family. I saw before be-fore me only a future of happiness. Well, that is finished with. He was a gambler, a spendthrift, one who, kept himself by his skill with cards and his knowledge of horses. His family fam-ily had disowned him ; he was at death's door when I found him. When 1 was about to marry I confessed con-fessed everything. Ah, what a stupid weakness that is to tell the man one loves everything ! He would have none of me. Actually, he did not know I had stolen. He would have been content had 1 been a gambler like himself. But a thief! He is dead now. Somewhere he died despising me. That is my story." Anthony Trent believed her implicitly. im-plicitly. This was no acting a part to gain his sympathies. Surely it must be genuine contrition which could make a woman like this content con-tent to work, humble and obscure, as a teacher of French. "Some day," she went on, "if God Is good, I may feel the blessed sense of peace. One must pay for everything. But you see, I cannot stay here. I cannot stand investigation. There would be prison for me, long years of it, and when that was over there would be nothing but the old life. I dare not think of it." He saw her difficulty. Even though she denounced him, she would herself be investigated. To get away before a robbery occurred was her only chance for safety. It was plain she assumed he had come for professional reasons and did not think any prayers of hers could dissuade him. "There is no reason that you should leave this place If you find any happiness hap-piness here," he told her. "I am here, in a sense, on business, but it has nothing to do with my former way of life." "You cannot mean," she said slowly, slow-ly, "that you, who were never caught, you, who are unknown to the bureaus of the police, have given it up?" "I have," he answered, "and 1 shall never return to it. I know it seems difficult to credit, but it's true. I have come here to punish, not to bless. I am going to punish people who have committed wrongs you and I would never have stooped to in the old days." "How can I help you?" she asked. "By going on with your work here, taking no notice of me and resting assured I shall never do you harm." He saw that the sudden ending of the strain under which she had been near to breaking down had left her devitalized and near to hysteria. There were tears in her brilliant eyes. He was profoundly touched to see her brought to such a position as this. But, he reflected, was it not better that she could cry, who had met the perils of her former calling dry-eyed and defiant? Trent experienced a sense of relief re-lief from strain when the butler rapped upon his door and entered. when bidden. "They are dancing downstairs," said Thorpe, "and Mrs. Grant hopes you will come down." "Directly," Trent told him. Anthony Trent turned to Marie Dupin. "There are many things I should like to talk about. There are better things ahead for you than living here." He smiled at her. "It is not good to dwell too much on what is done with. Grief isn't constructive. I must plan how to see you without letting Mrs. Grant suspect I know you." "It is good to find a friend," she said simply. "I have been very unhappy. un-happy. One must always pay." He held out his hand to her. "One need not pay twice," he said. "Cheer up I" Natiea Grant had pretty manners, considerable persona charm and all that conscienceless ambition which makes up the social climber's determination deter-mination to succeed. It was difficult, as Trent danced and talked with her, to realize that she had deliberately cast Sutton aside when she was convinced con-vinced that he would hold her back from her goal. There was a ruthless-ness ruthless-ness about women that had always startled Trent. Here she was surrounded sur-rounded with luxuries bought by Sutton's Sut-ton's money while he, for all she knew, was hourly in danger of capture. cap-ture. And perhaps, too, she suffered as much as Payson Grant from the dread of some sudden tragedy being thrust upon them. He decided that the perfect criminal would be a woman. wom-an. Her self-possession was absolute. (TO BE CONTINUED.) |