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Show -- . I - i ...-. .1 1 lie : JdtiI nep-ner'a By . "WHY SHOULD YOU?" , , -, SYNOPSIS. Francis I,ednam defends de-fends Oliver Ulldltch, a business man, In a murder case and succeeds suc-ceeds In grettlntf him oft, only to be told by hii wife that Hilr ditch Is an arch criminal. Jed-am, Jed-am, dining- with his best fiknd. Andrew Wllmore. meets lllldltch and his wlfo and Is Invited; to dine with them at their home. At dinner with the HiUlltches. Oliver shows Ledsam how he killed his victim and says his own death the same way would mak his wife supremely happy. Returning home. LedHam receives a phone call from Margaret Hildltch Hil-dltch saying Oliver has been murdered. mur-dered. Ledsam gets the coroner to set Oliver's death down as suicide. He admits to Wllmore . that he has developed a keen interest in-terest In Margaret. He meets her father, Sir Timothy "Brast. the evil shepherd, who tells him a crime will be committed before they leave the cafe. ' . - leave. Frauds and Wllmore drove almost al-most in silence to the former's rooms In (Marges street. "Come up and have a drink, Andrew," An-drew," Francis Invited. "I need It," wns the half-choked response. re-sponse. Francis led the way In silence tip the two flights of stairs Into his sitting room, mixed whlsky-and-sodas from the decanter and syphon which stood upon the sideboard, and motioned hit) friend to an easy-chair. Then he gave form to the thought which had been ' haunting them both. "What about our friend, Sir Timothy Brast?" he Inquired. "Do you believe now that he was mystifying us?" Wilmore dubbed his forehead with his handkerchief. It was a chilly evening, eve-ning, but there were drops of perspiration perspira-tion still standing there. . "Francis," he confessed, "it's horrible horri-ble I I don't think realism like this attracts at-tracts me. It's horrible 1 What are we going to do?" -' "Nothing for the present," was the brief reply. "If we were to tell our story, we should only be laughed at. What there Is to be done falls to Jny lot." "Had the police anything to say about It?" Wllmore asked. .'. "Only a few words," Francis replied. "Shopland has It In hand. A good man but unimaginative. I've come ncross him In one or two cases lately. You'll find a little bit like this in the papers tomorrow: 'The murder is believed to have been committed by one of the gun? of desperadoes wh6 have Infested the west-end during the last few months.' You remember the assault at Albany court yard, and the sandbagging sandbag-ging In Shepherd market only last week?" I'That seems to let Sir Timothy out," Wllmore remarked. "There are many motives for crime besides robbery," ' Francis declared. "Don't be afraid, Andrew, that I am going to turn amateur detective and make the unraveltnent of this case all the more difficult for Scotland Yard. If I Interfere, It will be on a certainty. Andrew, don't think I'm mad, but I've taken up the challenge our gTeat philanthropist flung at me tonight. I've very little Intercut In who killed this fection which he had learned to expect from her. She suggested to him still that same sense of aloofness from the actualities of life. "I prefer not to believe that tt Ii ended," he protested. "Have you so many friends that you have no room for one who has never consciously done you any harm?" She tooked at him with some faint curiosity in her Immobile features. "Harm? No! On the Contrary, I suppose I ought to thank you for your evidence at the Inquest." "Some part of It was the truth," he replied. "I suppose so," she admitted dryly. "You told It very cleverly. He looked her Ic the eyes. "My profession helped me to be a good witness," he said. "As for the gist of my evidence, that was between my conscience and myself." "Your conscience?" she repeated. "Are there really men who possess such things?" "I hope you will discover ttut for yourself some day," he answered, "Tell me your plans. Where are you living?" "For the present with my father In Curzon street." "With Sir Timothy Brast?" 1 She assented. "You know him?" she asked Indifferently. Indiffer-ently. "Very slightly," Francis replied. "We talked together, some nights ago, at Soto's restaurant. I am afraid that I did not make a very favorable Impression Impres-sion upon him. I gathered, ton, that he has somewhat eccentric tastes." "I do not see a great deal of my father," fa-ther," she said. "We met, a few months ago, for the first time since my marriage, mar-riage, and things have been a little difficult between us Just at first. He really scarcely ever puts In an appearance appear-ance at Curzon street. I dare say you have heard that he makes a hobby of an amazing country house which he has down the river." "The Walled House?" he ventured. She nodded. "I see you have heard of It. All London, Lon-don, they tell me, gossips about the entertainments en-tertainments there." "Are they really so wonderful?" he asked. "I have never been to one," she replied. re-plied. "As a matter of fact, I have spent scarcely any time, In England since my marriage. BIy husband was fond of traveling." Notwithstanding the warm spring air he was conscious of a certain chilliness, chilli-ness, ner level, indifferent tone seemed to him almost abnormally callous. cal-lous. A horrible realization flashed for a moment In his brain. She was speuklng of the man whom she had killed I "Your father overheard a remark ot mine," Francis told ber. "I was at Soto'frwith a friend Andrew Wllmore, the novelist and to tell you the truth we were speaking of the shock I experienced ex-perienced when I realized that I had been devoting every effort of which I was capable to saving the life of shall we say a criminal? Your father heard me say, In rather a flamboyant manner, perhaps, that In future I declared de-clared war against all crime and all criminals," She smiled very faintly, a smile which bad in It no single element of Joy or humor. "I can quite understand my fathet Intervening," she said. "He poses as being rather a patron of artistically-perpetrateil artistically-perpetrateil crime. Sue is his favorite author, and I believe that he has exceedingly ex-ceedingly grim Ideas as to dueling and fighting generally. lie was In prison once for six months at New Orleans for killing n man who Insulted my mother. Nothing In the world would ever have convinced him that he had not done a perfectly legitimate thing." "I nm expecting to find him quite an Interesting study, when I know him better," Francis pronounced. "My only fear Is that he will count me an unfriendly person and refuse to have anything to do with me." "The memory of what I have gone through will never pass." (TO BE CONTINUED.) E. Phillips Oppenheim Copyright by Little. Brown and Company from Petrograd, dancers from Africa and fighting men from Chicago." , "The fellow's magnificent, at any rate," Wllmore remarked. His host smoked furiously for a moment. mo-ment. "That's the worst of these m'ultl-mll-Honnlres,". he declared. "They think they can rule the world, traffic In human hu-man souls, buy morals, mock at -the law. We shall see!" "Do you know the thing that I found most interesting about him?" Wllmore asked. "His black opnls," the other suggested. suggest-ed. "You're by the way of being a collector, col-lector, aren't you?" Wllmore shook his head. "The fact that he Is the' father of Oliver Hllditch's widow." Francis sat quite still for a moment. There was a complete change In his expression. ex-pression. He looked like a man who has received a shock. "I forgot that," he muttered. e Francis met Shopland one morning about a week later, on his way from Clarges street to bis chambers In the Temple. The .detective raised his hat and would have pussed on, but Francis accosted him. ' , "Any progress, Mr. Shopland?" he Inquired., The detective fingered his small, sandy mustache. He was an Inslgnlfl-cant-looking little man, undersized, with thin frame and watery eyes. His mouih, however, was hard, and there were tell-tale little lines at Its corners. "None whatever, I am sorry to say, Mr. Ledsam," he admitted. "At present pres-ent we are quite In the darlj." "You found the weapon, I hear?"' Shopland nodded. "It was Just an ordinary service revolver, re-volver, dating from the time of the war, exactly like a hundred thousand others. The Inquiries we were able to make from It came to nothing." "Where was It picked up?" "In the middle of the waste plot of ground next to Soto's. The murderer evidently threw It there the moment he had discharged It, He must have been wearing rubber-soled shoes, for not a soul heard him go." Francis nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder," he said, after a slight pause, "whether It ever occurred to you to Interview Miss Daisy Hyslop, the young lady who was lth Bidlake on the night of his murder?" "I called upon her the day afterward," after-ward," he detective answered. She had nothing to say." "Noihlng whatever." "Indirectly, of course," Francis continued, con-tinued, "the poor girl was the cause of his death. If she had not insisted upon his going out for a taxlcab, the man who was loitering about would probably have never got hold of him." The detective glanced up furtively at the siwaker. He Seemed to reflect for a moment. "I gathered," he said, "in conversation conversa-tion with the commissionaire, that Miss Hyslop was a little Impatient that night. It seems, however, that she was anxious to get to a ball which was being given down In Kensington." "There was a ball, was there?" Francis asked. "Without a doubt," the detective replied. re-plied. "It was given by a Miss Ciara Bultlwell. She happens to remember urging Miss Hyslop to come on as early as possible," They were walking along the Mall now, enstward. The detective, who seemed to have been Just a satmterer, had accommodated himself to Francis' destination. 'Let me see, there was nothing stolen from the young man's person, was there?" Francis asked presently. "Apparently nothing at all, sir." "And I gather thnt you have made every possible Inquiry as to the young man's relations with his friends?" "So far as one can learn, sir, they seem to have been perfectly amicable." "Of course," Francis remarked presently, pres-ently, "this may have been quite a purposeless affair. The deed may hHve been committed by a man who was practically a lunatic, without any motive or reason whatever." "Precisely so, sir," the detective agreed. "Hut, all the same, I don't think It was." "Neither do I, sir." Francis smiled slightly. "Shopland," be said, "if there Is no further external evidence to 1 collected, col-lected, I suggest that there Is only one person likely to prove of assistance." "And that one person, sir?" "Miss Daisy Hyslop." "The young lady whom I have 'already 'al-ready seen?" Francis nodded. "The young lady whom you have already al-ready seen," he assented. "At the name time, Mr. Shopland, we must remember re-member this. If Mi Hyslop lias any knowledge of the facts which ate I'-lilnd I'-lilnd Mr. Itldlake's murder. It Is more likely to be to her Inti-rest to keep them to herself, than to give ttiein away to the police free gratis and for nothing. Do you follow me?" "Precisely, sir." "That being so," Francis continued, "I am going to make a proposition to you for what It Is worth. Where were you going when I met you this morning, morn-ing, Shopland?" "To call upon you In Clarges street, sir." "What or?" "I was going to ask you If you would he so kind as to call upon Miss Daisy Hyslop, sir." Francis smiled. "Great minds," be murmured. "I will see the young lady this afternoon, Shopland." The detective raised hi? hat. They had reached the spot where his companion com-panion turned off by the Horse Guards Parade. "I may hope to hear from you, then, sir?" "Within the course of a day or two, perhaps earlier," Francis promised. CHAPTER VI Armed with a powerful letter of introduction, in-troduction, Francis called on Miss Daisy Hyslop, who received him that afternoon In the sitting room of her little suite at the Milan. Her welcoming welcom-ing smile was plaintive and a little subdued, her manner undeniably gracious. gra-cious. She was dressed In black, a wonderful background for her really gorgeous hair, and her deportment Indicated In-dicated a recent loss. She avoided his direct questioning for a time, but his checque book finally final-ly loosened her tongue. , "I am afraid you will think that what I have to tell Is very insignificant," insignifi-cant," she confessed. "Victor was one of those boys who always fancied themselves bored. He was bored with polo, bored with motoring, bored with the country and bored with town. Then quite suddenly during the last few weeks he seemed changed. All that he would tell me was that he had found a nfw interest In life. I don't know what It was but I don't think It was a nice one. He seemed to drop all his old friends, too, and go about with a new set altogether not a nice set at all. He used to stay out all night, and he quite gave up going to dances and places where he could take me. Once or twice he came here In the afternoon, dead beat, without having been to bed at all, and before he could say half a dozen words he was asleep In my easy-chair. He used to mutter such horrible things that I had to wake him up." "Was he ever short of money?" Francis asked. ' She shook her head. "Not seriously," she answered. "He wrts quite well-off, besides what his people allowed him. I. was going to have a wonderful settlement as soon as our engagement was announced. However, to go on with what I was telling you, the very night before it happened he came in to see me, looking look-ing like nothing on earth. He cried like a baby, behaved like a lunatic, and called himself all manner of names. He had had a great deal too much to drink, and I gathered that he had seen something horrible. It was then he asked me to dine with him the next night, and told me that he was going to break altogether with his new friends. Something in connection with tliem seemed to have given him a terrible ter-rible fright." ( Francis nodded. He had the tact to abandon his curiosity at this precise pre-cise point. . "The old story," he declared, "bad company and rotten habits. I suppose some one got to know that the young man usually carried a great deal of money about with him." "It was so foolish of him," she assented as-sented eagerly. "I warned him about it so often. The police won't listen to it but I am absolutely certain that he was robbed. I noticed when he paid the bill that he had a great wad of bank-notes which were never discovered discov-ered afterward." And with that Information Francis had to be satisfied when he took his leave. CHAPTER VII It was after leaving Miss Daisy Hys-lop's Hys-lop's flat .that the event to which Francis Fran-cis Ledsam had been looking forward more than anything else in the world, happened. It came about entirely by chance. There were no taxis In the Strand. Francis himself had finished work for the day, and feeling disinclined disin-clined for his usual rubber of bridge, he strolled homewards along the Mall. At the corner of Green park he came face to face with the woman who for the last few months had scarcely been out of his thoughts. Even In that first moment he realized to bis pain thnt she would have avoided him If she could. They met, however, where the path narrowed, and be left ber no chance to avoid him. That curious Impulse Im-pulse of conventionality which opens a conversation always with cut and dried banalities, saved them perhaps from a certain amount of embarrassment. embarrass-ment. Without any conscious suggestion, sugges-tion, they found themselves walking side by side. "I have I n wanting to see you very much Indeed," he said. "I even went so fur as to wonder whether 1 dated cull." "Why should you?" she asked. "Our acquaintance begun find ended In tragedy. There is scarcely any purpose pur-pose In carrying It further." lie looked at her for a moment tie-fore tie-fore replying. She was wearing black, but scarcely the bind- of a woman who sorrows. She was still frigidly beautiful, beauti-ful, redolent, in all the details of her toilette, of that almost negative per- CHAPTER V ' It happened that the two men, waiting wait-ing In, the vestibule for Francis' car to crawl up to the entrance through the fog which had unexpectedly rolled up, heard the slight altercation which was afterward referred to as preceding the tragedy. The tw-o young people concerned con-cerned were standing only a few feet away, the girl pretty, a little peevish, an ' ordinary type; her companion, whose boyish features were marred with dissipation, a very passable example ex-ample of the young man about town going a little beyond his tether. "It's no good standing here, Victor I" the girl exclaimed," frowning. "The commissionaire's been gone ages already, al-ready, and there are two others before be-fore us for taxis." "We can't walk," her escort replied gloomily. "It's va foul night. Nothing to do but wait, what? Let's go back and have another drink." The girl stamped her satlh-shod foot Impatiently... .... . . ."Don't be silly," she expostulated. "You know I promised Clara we'd be there early." "All very well," the young man ' grumbled, "but what can we do? We shall have to wait our turn." "Why can't yoa slip ont and look for a" taxi yourself?" she suggested. "Do, Victor," she added, squeezing his arm. "You're so clever at picking them up." , He made a little grimace, but lit a cigarette and turned op his coat collar. col-lar. "I'll do my best," he promised. 'Don't go on without me." "Try up toward Charing Cross road, not the other way," she advised earnestly. earn-estly. "Rlght-ohJ" he replied, which Illuminative Illu-minative form of assent, a word spoken as he plunged unwillingly Into the thick obscurity on the other side of the revolving doors, was probably the last he ever uttered on earth. - Left alone, the girl began to shiver, as though suddenly cold. She turned around and glanced hurriedly back Into the restaurant. At that moment she met the steady, questioning scrutiny o Francis' eyes. She stood as though transfixed. Then came the sound which every one talked of for months afterward, the sound which no one who heard t ever forgot the death cry of Victor Bidlake, followed a second afterward by a muffled report. re-port. A strain of frenzied surprise seemed mingled with the horror. Afterward, After-ward, silence. There was the sound of some commotion com-motion outside, the sound of hurried footsteps and agitated voices. Then a terrible i little procession appeared. Something It seemed to be a shapeless shape-less hen'p of clothes wns curried In and lutd upon the floor, in the little apace between the revolving doors and the Inner entrance. Two blue-llverled attendants kept back the horrified but curious crowd. Francis, vuguely- recognized rec-ognized , as being somehow or other connected with the law, was one of the few people allowed to remain whilst a doctor, fetched out from the dancing room, kneelud over the prostrate pros-trate form. lie felt that be knew beforehand be-forehand the horrible, verdict which the latter whispered In his ear after his brief examination. "Quite dead ! A ghastly business !" Francis gazed nt the hole-In the shirt front, disfigured also by a scorching scorch-ing stuln. "A bullet?" he asked. The doctor nodded. "Fired within a foot of the poor fellow's fel-low's heart." be whist ered. "The murderer mur-derer wasn't taking any chances, whoever who-ever he was." The doctor ro,se to his feet. "Nothing more can be done," he pronounced. "Keep the people out of here whilst I go and fetch my hat and coat., Afterward, I'll take rlio body to the mortuary when the ambulance arrives." ar-rives." An attendant pushed his wny through the crowd of people on the Inner side of the door. "Miss Daisy Hyslop, young lady who was with Mr. ISidlake, has Just fainted In the ladles' room, sir," he an-noimied. an-noimied. "Could you come?" "I'll be there Immediately," the doctor doc-tor promised. . . The rest of the proceedings followed a normal course. The police arrived, took various notes, the ambulance followed fol-lowed a little later, the body was removed, re-moved, and the little crowd of guests, till Infected with a sort of awed ex tittment, were allowed to take their At That Moment She Met the Steady. Questioning 'Scrutiny of Francis' Eyes. boy, Victor Bidlake, or why, but I'm convinced of ono thing Blast knew about It, nnd if he Is posing as a patron of crime on a great scale, sooner or later I shall get him. He may think Himself safe, and he may have the courage of Beelzebub be seems rather thnt type but If my presentiment about him comes true, bis number's up. I can almost divine the meaning of his breaking In upon our conversation tonight. to-night. He needs an enemy he Is thirsting for danger. He has found It!" Wllmore filled his pipe thoughtfully. At the first whiff of tobacco he began to feel more normal. "After all, Francis," he said, "aren't we a little overstrung tonight? Sir Timothy Brast Is no adventurer. He Is a prince In the city, a persona grata wherever he chooses to go. He Isn't a bnnger-on In society. He Isn't even dependent de-pendent upon Bohemia for his entertainment. enter-tainment. You can't seriously Imagine that a man with bis possessions Is likely to risk his life and liberty In becoming be-coming the Inspiration of a band of cutthroats?" Francis smiled. lis, too, bad lit his pipe ami bad thrown himself Into bis favorite chair. lie (milled confidently across at bis friend. "A millionaire with brains," be nr-gued. nr-gued. "is Just the one person In the world likely to we.lry of nil ordinary forms of diversion. I begin to remember remem-ber things about him already. Haven't you heard about his wonderful patties down at the Walled House?" Wllmore struck the table by his side with Ids clenched list "By George, that's It I" he exclaimed, "Who hasn't?" "I remember Baker talking about one l.i.st year," Francis continued, "never any details, but all kinds of mysterious hints a fort of mixture between be-tween a Bonis, orgy and a chapter from the 'Arabian Nights' singers |
