Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 13, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 July 1898 — TANGLED SKEIN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

TANGLED SKEIN

MRS. ALEXANDER

CHAPTER XV. Egerton went with Standish to Waterloo, and they accomplished the journey almost in silence. The porter at the hotel informed him that the detective had been there that morning, and would probably eall the next, but his coming and going were extremely uncertain. Egertou had therefore left a uote for him. When they reached Easyfcport the wellknown common was half hidden by thick sheets of rain sweeping before a wild southeaster, while the heavy, leaden-col-ored, threatening waves thundered along the beach. Neither uttered the thonghts which the sight of the familiar place conjured up in both. Once a sigh so deep as to be almost a moan, broke from Egerton, and he said in a hoarse tone: “What an ending to it all!” After a short halt at the hotel they drove to the ofßee of the lawyer who had been instructed to act for Col. Callander, should his offer of a reward produce any result. Mr, Briggs was n short, dumpy man, with whiskers meeting under his chin, and a round, jovial face. He rolled somewhat in his walk—indeed, gare strangers the impression of being a sea-going solicitor. He was a little exalted in his own esteem by being mixed up with sack swells as Standish and Egerton, and by the sort of halo the whole business had east around him. He received them cordially. “Very glad to see yon, gentlemen! The man—Tom Ritson —about whom I wrote, has not come yet, but be will be here presently. I don’t know that what he has to tell is of much importance. Step into my private office.” As he threw an inner door open, n Bailor of ordinary type presented himself at the entrance of the office. ■? “Oh, there yon are, Ritson! Come along,” They all went into the private room, where Standish a.t once took a chair. Egerton remained standing, and tire lawyer retreated to his usual fortress, Use armchair behind his knee-hole table. The sailor, holding his cap in both hands somewhat nervously, but with an air of some importance, kept rather close to the door. “Come, Ritson,” said the lawyer, “tell these gentlemen your story.” Ritson shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, sir,” he began, “this was the way of it. You see, I’m an Eastport man, and I shipped aboard the Macedonia, one of the Commercial Steam Navigation Company's ships, in London Dock in September last. We put in here for a day and a night, and I had leave to go and see some of my friends as live out Westdene way, but I was to be at my post at seven next morning, as we were to sail with the tide.” v Egerton muttered a half-inarticulate exclamation of impatience, and Briggs said aloud, “Come, get on, my man." “I must tell you it ail from beginning to end,” be said, “or I can’t do it no way.” “Hive him his head,” murmured standish in a low tone. “So,” continued Ritson, “as my aunt’s husband was a jovial, hospitable chap, I thought I’d not stay there all night, for maybe I’d drink a drop too much and oversleep myself. We sat talkin’ and chattin' till past midnight. Then I says good-by ami started to walk into Eastport. I had hnd a drop, but only a drop. I knew what I was about. It was dark when I set out, but by an’ by the “moon rose, and by the time I struck the top of the common there was plenty of light, though every now and again a big cloud Would come sailing across the moon. When I got alongside a pretty bit of a house, the first you come to after crossing the sand-hills from Westdene, I thought how’ quiet and comfortable everything looked, and thought there was a faint glimmer of light in one of the lower windows, nigh the ueor end of the house. While I was looking and thinking a figure comes out of a gate at the side of the house, carrying a short ladder on his shoulder. He put it down and stood with one ami round it, through the rungs, as if thinking what he'd do next. There was something so qniet and steadfast in bis woythat it never struck me he could be after any mischief, though it did seem a bit queer his being there with a ladder at that hour.. Just then the Eastport clocks chimed out three-quarters—l guessed it must be quarter to two, and that I had best make for the town ns fast as I could. When 1 got a few paces'off I turned and looked hack, but not n sign ofThe man or the ladder could I see. I got into the old Mermaid Tavern, and to bed. Next morning we sailed.” “Do you remember the date of this occurrence?” asked Briggs. “I do, sir. It was the twenty-second of September and the birthday of my aunt’s youngest boy, so we drank an extra glass of grog to his health. Of course I thought no more about it. We had an uncommon rough passage across the bay, and were obliged to put into Gibraltar to refit. Then we went on to Constantinople, fronf that to Port Said, and back, and I was left behind ip hospital. Altogether I hove l>een over six mouths out of England, for I came home as third officer of a small sailing ship, and it was a terrible slow tub.” “\Wten you land here?” asked Standish. “Four days'ago, sir. Then LJionrd of the murder, and the reword, so I came along here to tell whnt I had seen that night, and you can take it all for what it is worth.” “What was the man like—the man you saw with the ladder?” continued Standlota. “A tail, straight kind of a chap, about —He paused and gazed hard at Egerton. “About that gentleman’s height and build.” Egerton drew himself up to hit full •toture and looked straight at the speaker

with a stern, get expression, as if nerving himself to face some imminent danger. “Look well,” he said. “Much may depend on the apparent height and size of the figure you saw.” “Yes,” returned Batson, slowly. “He was about your height, but a little broader, it seems to me now.” “How was he dressed?” asked Standish. “In a longish jacket—something like a seaman’s jacket; but what I noticed most was that he had neither hat nor cap on. Clothes and hair an’ nil looked dark. Of course I could not see very clear—the light was shifty, and there was the garden and strip of common between me and him.” “Did he look like a seafaring man?" asked Briggs. “Well, sir, he wxirn’t unlike one. Yon see, I didn’t take time to look much, for, as I said before, it didn’t strike me as he hadn’t a right to be there—he moved deliberate likei” “It sounds rather corroborative of our suspicions,” said Standish. “You are certainly like that Spauish sailor in height and figure! He would not have worn hiß red cap on such an errand, either!” Egerton bent his head in acquiescence, but did not speak. “I heard tell of that Spanish chop,” re; sumed Ritson, “and I well remember passing a foreign looking craft a couple of hours after we weighed anchor. She was on much the same tack as we were, but the breeze bad failed her, and we soon showed her our heels. I read her name as we passed, Veloz.” “I’m afraid we can’t get much help out of this,” said Briggs, ns he made a mote or two on the paper before him. { at present, bat it may come hi ®efnlly hereafter,” observed Stnndadh. “I shoukl like this good fellow’s evidence taken down and duly sworn to, that K may be available in bis absence.” “That is quite right, Mr. Standish. I’ll see to it.” “Can you remember anything else that might possibly lead to the identification of this main?” “I don’t think I can, sir. I did fancy when he was turned half towards me that theTe was something reddish under bis jacket, or facing the jacket.” Egerton compressed his lips and made a slight movement, as if going to step towards the speaker, but checked himself and continued profoundly still. “Ha!” cried Briggs, “I remember those vagabonds generally wore red bands or sashes under their jackets. I think this thickens the case against the Spaniard.” “Yes, it looks like it,” said Standish, thoughtfully. “Ail I hope and trust is that the poor girl never caught a glimpse of her murderer—that she never woke. It is too terrible to think of!” he added, with midden deep emotion. Egerton grasped the back of a huge high-backed chair near him, saying, in a low, fierce tone: “And he still Htcs!” He drew out his purse and put some money in ltitson’s band. “That’s for your trouble,” he added. “Standish, there is no more to learn. Yon will find me at the hotel,” and hastily left the room. CHAPTER XVI. When Standish reached the hotel, he found Egerton impatiently awaiting him. He was walking up and down the room, where luncheon was laid, and on the table stood a carafe of brandy, more than half empty. The sight of it reminded Standish that he thought Egertou had drank an unusual amount of wine the night before. “We shall scarcely catch the train,” said Egerton, as they sat down to a hasty meal, of which he hardly ate anything. He was very silent during the hour which ensued, and scarcely seemed to hear the comments Standish made on RJtson’s story, his assertion that there was but one man about the premises. He only remarked abruptly: “No, I never thought there was more than one in it, and I fear—l feel sure he will not soon be caught.” | The first part of the return journey was passed in nearly oompiete silence. Then Egerton, who had been looking at n continental Bradshaw, exclaimed: “Standish, I will go to Spain and hunt up this Pedro myself.” “Indeed! What has ” “I have frequently thought o;’ doing it,” interrupted Egerton. “The fact is, I have not felt strong enough to undertake the journey hitherto. But lam the right man to look for him; I speak the language; and he is probably lurking in my mother's country. I knew most of the influential families in Vuleneiu when I was there, not many years ago. They will not have quite forgotten me. Yes, I think I can get off the day after to-morrow. Too much time has been lost already.” “My dear fellow,” cried Sta idish, “do not be rash. Consult your medical adviser. Even your success will not t j»ring poor Mabel to life, will not restore the charm of his existence to Callander, nor ” “Give back the color and snvor to mine,” interrupted Egerton impulsively. "I assure you, Standish, that iu my present mood I see little or no charm in life. If I could bring this Thee, I cannot talk about it. You do not d:eam of the extraordinary mixture of seeings which distract me.” He stopped al ruptly, and then went on in a forced ton*: “I am not quite an Englishman, you see; I feel more neutelj/; none of yon quite consider me an -out-and-out Englishman. See how Dorothy Wynn refused me; she couldn’t bear me.” “The whim of a very young girl,” urged Standish. Egerton shook his head. “There is wonderful ripene* • and decision about MI&9 Wynn,” he said. “She Is more like twenty-nine than n net eon. She disliked me with her Inteilec ; as well as her heart However, I shall never again offend in the same way. Y« i, Til ga to Spain. If has no association a with the immediate past, azte I shall g > alone.” “You had better go with Dillon. I w

"Y : - — \ fancy he is free just now.” Egerton made 1 no anavrer, nor did Standish press the question. They discussed Egerton’s plans till they neared the metropolis, and Standish remarked how clear and defined they were. They had evidently not been thought out on the spur of the moment. Then they spoke of Callander’s probable return, and Standish fancied he could trace a certain reluctance on his companion’s part to meet his frieud.

‘ “He shrinks from the pain of seeing him,” thought Standish. “It is natural, especially as he is evidently weakened and depressed.”

At Waterloo they parted, each going their own way. Standish found various letters, invitations and notes awaiting him, amongst them one from Miss Oakeley.

“Do come and see us as soon as you can. We have heard that you went down to Eastport, and are dying to know the reason why. Have you found out anything? “Imagine! Mrs. Callander is to arrive the day after to-morrow; I had a letter from Miss Boothby. The poor old thing seems quite worn out, for my aunt has been very unwell,' and you may imagine what that means to her attendants. “If Mr. Egerton is with you, pray bring him. He is more interesting than ever. Yours truly, “HENRIETTA OAKELEY.”

“I hope Miss Oakeley has not communicated her knowledge or suspicions to Dorothy,” said Standish to himself, when he finished this epistle. “I do not want her to be disturbed with any fresh information; she is in a pitiable state of nervous depression as it is. I wish Henrietta Oakeley would take her and the children abroad, to some place quite unconnected with the past. I must talk to her about this.”

Looking at his watch, he found it would not be too late to present himself after dinner. *

He felt somewhat uneasy until he had seen Dorothy, and was certain the first glance at her face would tell him how much she knew^-^ “The ladies had left the dinner table and were in the drawing room,” Collins informed the late, but welcome, visitor when he opened the door. Miss Oakeley was at the pinno when Standish was shown in, and Dorothy sitting on a low chair by the fire; the dancing light played upon the red goldenbrown of her hair, the pale oval of her dedicate, pensive face; she was more dressed than he had yet seen her, that is, her black dress was opened in a long V, an inner edging of white crape almost filling up the space, her elbow sleeves showed her slight white arm. Standish was almost frightened to see how fragile, how f»iry-like she looked; she ought now to be looking more like her own bright self. The recuperative powers of youth ought to assert themselves by this time.

At the first syllable of his name, she started np and ran to meet him.

“How good ol tou to come at once, Paul! I know you would.” *Mr, Standish! This is delightful! I am dying to hear what tbok you away to that wretched place,” cried Miss Oakeley, coming over to shake hands with him.

“Yes, Paul, tell us everything,” echoed Dorothy, “but first for my piece of good news. I had quite a nice letter from the Colonel. He will be home in a week or two.”

“Ha! that is good, indeed! Now I have a little, a very little, to tell you. It lends, well really to nothing, and it is painful—do you still wish to hear it?” “I do!” said Dorothy in a stifled voice.

“Yes, of course we do,” cried Henrietta, drawing a low easy chair by the fire. Dojuthy nestled into the corner of n sofa, which was partially in the shadow, while Standish placed himself on an ottoman at Mias Oakeley’s left.

He described the meeting with Ritson, and gave a brief summary of his communication. He could not well make out what effect the narrative had upon Dorothy, as her face was almost hidden from him, but when he came to that part of the story where Ritson said the man he had seen with the ladder was about the same height and size as Egerton, she uttered an inarticulate exclamation and leaned forward aa if startled.

“How extraordinary!” cried Henrietta Oakeley. “I call thia very important; it proves to me, that the deed must have heea done by that dreadful, horrid sailor. He certainly was very like Mr, Egerton. It seems such a shame. How dreadfully 111 and worn he looks, poor feliow! I feel quite sorry to see him. Do you know, I feel so convinced it was one of those bloodthirsty monsters who committed the murder, that I have told Collins to take that wretched parrot and sell it for what he likes? Doh’t you remember, Dorothy, how I exeluimed at the strange likeness to Mr. Egerton? Dorothy, what is the matter, Dotothy? Oh, Mr, Standish, what ” *

But Standish was already beside her. Her bead had fallen back among the cushions, her hands, cold and deathlike, lay helplessly at either side. “She. is gone! She has fainted!” cried Standish, in despairing tones. “For heaven’s sake, call Nurse! Ido not know what to do for her!” and he began to chafe her hands gently.

Henrietta rushed first to the I>cU, which she rang furiously, and then to the door, where she called loudly for every servant in the house, till the room waa half full. “Just stand back, every one of you,- and leave the room this minute,” cried Mrs. McHugh, authoritatively; “nil she wants is air—and quiat.” • « ■ tTo be continued.!