Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 84, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 June 1902 — WOMAN IN GRAY [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE WOMAN IN GRAY

BY ROBERT ESTES DURAND.

CHAPTER Xll.—(Continued.) I did not think it necessary to explain «• Wemyss that it was not the wouldW murderer for whom I had bidden him lank. As tin old man spoke Gonsnelp again appeared at the door, and gave a comprehensive glance round the empty room. "fihe has gone!” she exclaimed aloud. But, as the two men gently lifted me between them, I answered: **l will take my oath that since you went out no one has left this room." A servant had been sent on horseback to Martenhead by Consuelo, at the time Wemyss and Harris had come to me, and it was not long before he rode back, only a short distance in advance of the doctor be had gone to fetch. I was given some restorative cordial, and my wound was hastily but skillfully examined. “Bather a close shave,” pronounced the medical man, who appeared to know bis business. “Whoever struck this blow meant to kill you. It was done with some peculiarly fine, sharp instrument; long—or your wound would not be so deep—but scarcely thicker than a huge pin. In fact, the smallest of poniards, no common weapon—which accounts for the apparently slight loss of blood. Obey instructions, keep perfectly quiet, eat and drink what you are told and you will be up in a week. Not a day before.” Dr. Hgsbrouck then heard my account •f how I received my wound, and said: “The dagger must have been poisoned. A mixture of curare and granil, the Indian herb, might have accounted for what yon felt, and the object in charging the weapon with it would merely have been to provide for your silence and powerlessness in case death should not be immediate. Thus an alarm would be avoided, and the murderer have time to escape, had he partially failed in his undertaking, which was doubtless to kill you outright. Some of the poison would hsve been rubbed away in passing through the cloth of your coat." My first thought was now to see Paula, and I somewhat astonished my uncle by insisting that a messenger should at once be sent to The Nest, with the earnest request that she would come to me immediately. At the end of half an hour the messenger dispatched to The Nest had returned, with a note from Mrs. Annesley to the effect that Miss Wynne had been out alone, she knew not where, all the afternoon, and had not yet returned. They were, in fact, beginning to grow very anxious about her, and would be glad of any intelligence as to her whereabouts.

CHAPTER XU!. Next morning I was better, and both Uncle Wilfrid and a man they had got down from Scotland Yard, Mr. Marland, were admitted. “You are aware of having no enemies?” he asked. “Any one who would, so far as you know, have an object in putting you out of the way?” “None whatever; I am utterly in the dark.” “A great deal may depend upon such information as you are able to give me,” he went on. “For it may even be that the disappearance of Miss Wynne is directly or indirectly connected with this ease. This Is not the first time I have keen called to Lorn Abbey. I was engaged upon the Haynes murder case, which is the particular reason why I was sent down again.” “The disappearance of Miss Wynne?” I echoed. “Has she not been found?” “She was not seen at The Nest, as the cottage is called, after A o’clock. She went out in a thin dress, with no cloak, took nothing away, not even her purse; and her maid, as well as her friends, was ignorant that she had any intention of leaving the house. She has been seen by nobody, bo far as I have yet been able to discover, since 6, or some time shortly after that hour, last evening.” “And then?” I interpolated, my heart quickening in its action. "Then she was with Miss Hope, Sir Wilfrid Amory’s adopted daughter, who informs me that they conversed together in the room where you lay unconscious, though they were not aware of your presence until you were heard to move. Now, the question I should like to ask you, Mr. Darkmore, is whether you also saw and talked with Miss Wynne earlier in the day?” “I did,” I said. “Was your conversation of a kind which in your opinion could possibly have any bearing either on what afterwards happened to you or upon her own disappearfitiiee?” “None whatever,” I Mid hastily. “We merely discussed an old arrangement which had existed bet wen ourselves, and Miss Wynne left the room saying that she must return to The Nest, as Mrs. Annesley, her friend, would be wondering what bad become of her.” “Miss Wynne did pot return to warn you of the approach of any suspicious person? That waa not her motive for coining back again later?” "No, I think it must have been some time before ahe returned. I know that to me it seemed very long.” “Could any person have concealed himself or herself in the room during your conversation with Miss Wynne 7” “Yes, it is just possible that some one might hare come in through the window, which at that time was open. Indeed, ! suppose it must have been so, for the thing happened so soon after Mini Wynne had gone.” "Mlm Hope admits a quarrel between herself and Mlm Wynne—admits locking Miss Wynne Into the room, making it Impossible for her to get out. Yohr evidence shows that Mlm Wynne did not leave the room after the door had been opened by Miss Hope. The quarrel supplies a motive foi^-er—but yon caa see

how the case stands. I am not a lawyer. I am merely a detective. Bnt I want to fathom this mystery. Do you still refuse to help me—to throw any light, by what you beard —what you were led to suppose by all that passed T* A curious nervous trembling seised me, and shook me from head to foot. Every phase of the affair seemed to imprint itself on my mind as if with a flash of vivid white electric light. “I—l understand how unfortunate it is that I do not remember what passed,” I stammered. A hase, ruddy as blood, came floating before my eyes, flecked with sparks which burst, like fireworks, into a million smaller ones. It would have been Impossible for me to speak another word, even if silence had been an offense punishable with death. I could no longer see either Marland or Dr. Hasbrouck, but I heard the latter saying, as though his voice reached me from a great distance: “Ah, you see he has fainted! This was what I feared.”

CHAPTER XIV. A week passed, and I knew little that had been going on outside my room. Exciting intelligence had been kept from me, and the very fact that it was so rendered me irritable and nervous. I had two or three feverish days, but began to mend more rapidly than Dr. Hasbrouck had seemed at first to expect, and on the seventh day was able to leave my room. v It was about 3 or 4 o'clock when I went slowly downstairs, attended by Uncle Wilfrid, who insisted upon supporting me as though I had been a child. “Consuelo has sent you a special Invitation to come to her boudoir,” he said. “She will give tts tea. I have been going to her there for the past three or four days.” As we three talked in the boudoir, there came the tinkling of a little bell from a room adjoiniug, or near, and Consuelo sprang to her feet with a movement sudden for her. “It is Miss Traill," she exclaimed. “Her room is only separated by one from this, and I left the door open that I might hear her if she rang. You will forgive me if I go to her for a moment?” It was scarcely so long before she came back, and I thought that her face showed surprise. ' “Miss Traill is anxious to speak to you, Mr. Darkmore,” she said. “It is some frhim of hers; but, if you feel equal to it, do you mind humoring her?” “Of course I will go to her!” I exclaimed. And Miss Hope watched me as I arose with a certain wistful anxiety. I tapped and entered with a slight hesitation, but the harsh voice bade me “Come in,” and I obeyed, to discover Miss Traill half sitting, half lying on a lounge, with the mongoose curled upon her shoulder. . “Well,” she said with- an affected cheeriness, “so we’ve been companions in misery, and both suffering from wounds. Mr. Darkmore, when do you expect to be about again?” “I mean to get out in a day or two, whatever they may say,” I returned. “Ah! then by the last of the week you will be going back to town?" “Yes, by that at least. What can Ido for you when I go?” “What I want needn’t be done in town. But I begin to see that I shan't get well until it Is off my mind. Now, will you do it?”

“I shall be only too pleased ” I began, but she cut me short. “Don't say the conventional sort of thing!” she exclaimed fretfully. “I know you dou’t like me. But I haven’t got anybody to trust, and I believe if you said you’d do a thing you’d do it, without any tricks. I can’t do anything for myself,” she continued, peevishly. “All I want to do is to write a letter, and I can’t, because this hand of mine is so bad. I can’t ask Consuelo to do it; and I daren’t ask one of the servants. She won’t suspect that 1 would ask you this —that’s my safeguard. For pity’s sake, find me a large foolscap envelope, out of the desk over there by the window—the left side. TTiank you. Now sit down and address-It: ‘Mr. Jonas Hcckleberry, The Spider Farm, near Market Peyton, Hants.’ Thank you again. Now, please, give it to me.” With a sidelong look at me, she began fumbling with her uninjured hand for her pocket, and drew out something which appeared to be a bit of-folded rag. For a moment or two she worked over it, all eagerness, evidently wishing to remove two or three clasp-pins which held it together, but being unable to do so on account of her bandaged hand and arm. At last she gave it up in despair. “I can’t manage it!” she exclaimed angrily. “For goodness’ sake, do it for me! Take out what is inside, and slip It into' the envelope as quickly as you can.” She held out the parcel of grayishbrown stuff, and no sooner had I got it into my hands than I saw it was a pocket torn out of a woman's dress, and carefnlly pinned around its contents. 1 remembered then Lady Towers' story of the pocket which Miss Traill had so peremptorily bidden her to tear from the gown to which it belonged. According to her directions, I drew forth a small square of yellow parchment, doubled over, like a sheet of writing paper, several times. As my eyes fell upon It, I felt ' dim impression of having a ten it before; but without giving me aqy time to linger over an inspection of it Miss Traill impatiently motioned for mv to pass it to her. “Quick, quick!” she cried. “Some one may come —Consuelo, perhaps. Hera la the envelope. T have sealed It. You are to keep it for me, please—treasure it as though it were so much gold, and as soon M yon are well enough to attend to it yourself, have the thing registered at the postoOce and sent away. I shall be

dying of anxiety until I shall hear that it’s been safely received." Scarcely had the words left her lips when Consuelo came into the room. Miss Traill'i face was dyed with a deep red, and involuntarily she reached out as if to take the envelope from me.'Then, remembering herself, she drew back and feigned indifference. But her prudent thought came too late. She had betrayed her interest in the letter to the Woman liTGray. Consuelo’s beantifnl eyes dwelt upon the envelope, raised themselves qnestioningly to mine, and then turned with a sterner look to Mias Traill. “Naomi,” she said—and I bad never before heard her companion's Christian name—“l see now that you have deceived me. Mr. Darkmore, I beg that you will tell me what is in that envelope?” “You place me In rather a trying situation,” I returned. “You are right. Well, I will not question you about It. I will tell you, Instead, that I believe Miss Traill has asked you to dispose of for herein ignorance of its value, in ignorance es the fact that she has no right to it—a thing which I Will not say was stolen from me, but which I lost. Yon may remember that one night, not long ago, I spoke to yon of my loss, and I wondered if it were possible the thing had come into your hands. I am morally certain that it is in your hands at this moment.” “What am I to do?” I asked. “Miss Traill, it is true, asked me to do her the small service of addressing an envelope for her. And the contents, she has told me, belonged only to herself.” “And so they do —so they do!” she protested. “Post the letter for me. It has nothing to do with Consuelo.” “If it has not,” said Miss Hope, “then prove it by opening the envelope and letting me see. I have the right to insist upon this, and if I find myself in the wrong I will humbly beg for your forgiveness.” “Hide it, Mr. Darkmore! Don’t let her have it!” shrilled Miss Traill, with little gasps of impotent rage. Consuelo did hot utter a word. She only looked at me. But it was enough. I could not give her the envelope, which had been sealed by Miss Traill, nor would she have desired it. I laid it down on a small table near the Invalid's sofa, and bowing, would have left the room, but Consuelo called me back. “Don’t go, Mr. Darkmore.” She turned again to Miss Traill. “Once more, Naomi, I ask you to open that envelope and show its contents to me.” Two great querulous tears rose in the slanting eyes, and fell over the cheeks. The hand which was swathed in a-baDd-age made a snatch for the envelope that lay within its reach. Consuelo did not make a movement to prevent her taking it; but as she gathered it up, and would have crumpled it into the pocket of her gown, she said decidedly: “I have borne much from you, but this I’ll not bear! Choose between obeying or leaving me forever!”

CHAPTER XV. Miss Traill paused in the act of slipping her treasure into a place of safety, and stared amazedly at the Woman in Gray. “You must be mad!” she said harshly. “As though we could ever part! But don’t go too far. Take care what you say, what you do, or I may -” “You may do what you will! Injure me, if you choose; ruin yourself. For you know very well that you fall with my fall! But give me that envelope.” With a burst of hoarse sobbing Miss Traill threw the object of the dispute far from her across the floor. “Have your own way, you quixotic fool, you!” she ejaculated, through her scalding tears. “But I warn you, you shall never know another easy moment under this roof. I will see Sir Wilfrid. I will tell him how he has been decei—” Consuelo’s eyes burnt a scornful reproach into hers. Then with a swift step or two Miss Hope bent and raised the now crumple*! envelope from the floor. Looking straight at her companion, she tore open the end and drew out the folded parchment which a short time before had been slipped in by Miss Traill. “It is as I thought,” she said. could you, Naomi? And you swore to me that it was not you who had taken it! Mr. Darkmore, I am only anticipating what, lately, I have meant some day to do. This piece of parchment is for you.” While I still stood, half-bewildered, she had placed the parchment in my hand. I knew now that it was the “chart,” which she had taken from the bosom of her dress to examine that first night, before we went through tho gathering darkness to the grave of Florence Haynes. “I can not understand you,” I exclaimed. “I don’t know why you should lay that this is mine. And I beg that >®u will let me give.it back to you, without even glancing at it again.” She motioned it away with a strange half-smile that was partly sad, wholly inexplicable. “Study it, if you are wise,” she said, “in connection with other things.” As she spoke there was a light tap at the door, and, drawing a portiere aside, Consuelo revealed to us a footman. “Sir Wilfrid’s compliments, and will Miss Hope allow him to bring Mr. Haynes-Havilaud to her in her boudoir? Sir Wilfrid would not trouble Miss Hope, but Mr. Haynes-Haviland had nejys which he would be glad to talk over In her presence and Mr. Darkmore’s. Consuelo stood as If transfixed for an instant, looking wonderfully tall ayd straight, while her tightly closed lips trembled. But she answered in her natural tones: “Please tell Sir Wilfrid that I will receive Mr. Haynes-Haviland.” Uncle Wilfrid and Haynes-Haviland arrived. The latter questioned me, with a show of solicitude, about my wound, and thoughtfully drauk the tea that Consuelo gave him. “Something which Mr. Haynes-HavV land told me downstairs has surprised me greatly,” said Uncle Wilfrid. "He informs me that he and Paula were engaged—that some weeks before her disappearance ahe had promised to be his wife.” “You see, Mr. Darkmore, I felt I must speak to Sir Wilfrid and yourself of the relations I had borne to Paula. I believe that ahe haa been done to death. I wanted yon to know that there was one even more interested than yonraelvee in the search—more passionately eager for vita success. I crave your help, and it has ■track me, Sir Wilfrid, that not enough ia being done.” “I trust that yon are mistaken there,”

said my uncle, with dignity. “Mr. and Mrs. Annesley had already sent for a detective before I was even informed of the need, and Mr. Marland has the reputation of being one of the shrewdest, most reliable men in the force.- I am employing him upon another matter as well, which may possibly, he seems to think, be more or less connected with my niece’s disappearance. He already knows this neighborhood, and it was he who brought home the guilt of murder to one whom it was your misfortune at one time to know.” “I grant that he is said to be clever, but yet—not a single clew does he appear to have found.” (To be continued.)