i mam -ii
9
i!
It J
I c? ascinaiiug Dj:zdive Sicrj-j 3?omce cHutckvison I
i (Continued from Preceding Page)
she would have one more try t
fool me "I!" she said. "Oh. I
was Just going for a little stroll.
It's ?uch a wonderful night, isn't
it?1'
"Yes," I said, "it'3 a very won
derful night. It's such a wonderful
night that your lover Vibart's come
all tho way down from London
again to enjoy it that is, if he
ever went there the man who
snore he'd never sec you again
the man you swore you'd never seo
again And here I find you now on
your way out to meet him!"
She waited a minute then before
fhe answered. T thought she would
be dow n on t he ground, on her
knees, begging me. Instead of that
she burst out and said, "Yes. I am
going to meet him. Why shouldn't
I go to meet him"' I'm not going
to submit to your tyranny" alio
called it tyranny.
She went on then, sho let her
self go. I expect all sho said was
true, though God knows I had
never come near suspecting n word
of it before. Hod knows how I had
been fooled. But she did not give
jne much chance of being fooled
ny longer She tore all the pre
tence down then.
She told me she loved this man.
she had loved him long before she
ever knew me, she' would have
married him if he had any money
or been able to support her, sho
never would have dreamt of marry
ing me if it had not been for the
money and the position. How
could I be such a fool an to think
she would? But it was finished; it
was all finished now.
There was the key. the key of
my terrible house, the house she
hated. Sho would never use it
again She never meant to come
back Whether she had really
meant to elope with him or not I
don't know, but she took the key
and threw it away among the trees.
f)l don't know what happened to
me. I 'don't think I was conscious
wh2t I was doing. I had gone out
with murder in my neart. just as I
had the knife to commit It with in
my pocket. I went out intending
to commit murder, but 1 Intended
to murder Yibart. I swear to God
that I had not thought of murder
ing her, mv wife, even then, as I
6natched the knife from my pocket
and struck.
I had no consciousness, as I 6ay.
I of what I was doing It v, as as if
It was someone else that was act
ing and as if I was looking ou and
seeing it done But I know that I
struck and I know too I had killed
too many wounded animals not to
know that the knife went right to
the heart 1 could not tell you
whether at that woment I loved her
or hated her the more. I loved her
still I know that and in n way I
hated both her :md also hated my
self because I still loved her I
despised myself for loving her.
But after the stroke sho Just
gave a gasp and a sort of jump and
fell. Her limbs hardly moved after
she fell, she was dead In a mo
ment.
An-u then, quite quietly, I drove
the knife into the earth to clean
the blood off It I jassed it a little
through some grass. And then I
put it back into the sheath again
and Into my pocket, and walked
back to the house, quite quietly
and collectedly
When I v ent Into tho library 1
put the knife back into the drawer
in the oak hureau, in its usual
rlace. and as I chut the drawer 1
turned and saw Grainger in the
room. When he came in I don't
know, what he had seen I don't
know
I did not think of the knife again
any more that right, but the next
morning, after locking the library
door, I took It out to see whether
all traces of what I bad done with
It were gone, and I saw that it had
been newly cleaned, probably that
morning. And then 1 remembered
that Grainger looked as if he had
not been to bed the night before
when Llvesay gavo the alarm I
think he must have been Kitting
up expecting something, perhaps
expecting Just what did come I
don't know how much he saw or
how much he suspected.
I looked at his face and asked
him a question once or twice, to
lead him to tell mo what he knew,
but he never would, and his face
is always like a mask. I believe
he knows pretty well all, but he
would never tell, not even tf a
' dozen men were going to be hanged
I for the murder which he knew I
did.
I know 1 committed murder, but
so far as God's Judgment of me
goes It will bo for Vibart's murder,
Mm
I
V i
v m
'
i )
i
T
who Is still allv?. that He will con
demn me. I was guilty of that, I
know, for I went out purposelv to
kill him I as good as murdered
him But my wife I did not mur
der in the sight of God, though I
did in the Judgment of men, for
though I struck her with a knife
and killed her I swear that I had
no consciousness at tho time of
what I did. I have said so before,
and I will say it again and again.
All the same. I did not feel any
great sorrow for It as soon as 1 had
done it. When I saw the dead
body lying there at my feet all
thought of Vibart in the Summer
house went out of my head I
quite forget the Job I bfd started
out to do 1 went back to the
library, as I have said, and aftci
Grainger had cone out he hac
been bringing in tho whiskey anr.
syphon I sat in the aimchalr and
thought.
I thought and thought and grad
ually, I suppose, out of tho dead
state that my mind had been in. I
began to think more clearly again.
And na 1 began to think moro
clearly my love for my wife came
back to mo again, and none of the
hate with It, I began to think of
her as 1 had known her nrst or. l
suppose 1 ought to say, a? I had
fancied her, so young and loving,
or at least affectionate, or seeming
affectionate to me. She was so
young and lovely, and that bru'e
it was all his fault he had that
Influence over her which she could
not resist. '
And then I began to think of her
young dead body lying out there
like that with the dews falling
upon it and the night creatures,
insects nnd mice and horrible
things crawling about it I could
not bear :t It was awful to think
of I could not leave it lyiug there
Besides, I did want to see it again
the face and that young body
that I had loved and did love. 1
couldn't bear to think of it lying
there.
So I went out again. I had a
silly idea that when I got to the
turn I might not find It, after all
that it might turn out to be all
a mistake, like a dream But it
wasn't. There wa3 the body, the
white figure.
I stooped ever it There was not
a great dil of blood It was all
on the drcr. It had taken it up eo
that Hie gra?3 was hot stajned at
all I was able to lift her up, she
was slender and light, and carry
her easily without any of the blood
coming on my clothes.
So I carried her to the Summer
house I had no thought at all of
Vlbarf. whether he would be there
or not. He had gone altogether
from my thoughts. As a matter of
fact he had loft tho Summer house
hours before, but I did not know
that I did not know how long I
had been sitting in the library.
I laid my wife's body on the
floor of the Summer-house. She
would be safe there from the hor
rible creatures And I did not sup
pose that she would be found till
morning. Then I went hack and
went to bed and came out again
when Llvesay rang at the front
dorr He must have found her
very soon after I laid her there.
That is all I have to write. But
I will add this, that when I carried
my wife's body, as I say. to the
Summer-house. I bad no idea of
putting tho suspicion of her death
on Captain Yibart. He had gone
clean out of my thoughts. I did
i
V "Then I found nnf .mrt hing about my wife and this jn
I 'fl Jt man Vibart, which not only confirmed my a as- ji
i , p " picions, bui made them .11 the worse flw'
-;3J4 '& ..n as bad as '.hey could be."
not think of putting the blame on
him or anyone else I thought that
the body would be found and no
one would be proed to have killed
her, and it would go down with a
verdict of "Murdered by sorie one
unknown " And that Is how it
would have been if it had not been
for the girl, ".Matilda Manson, see
Ing Yibart there. He would never
have been suspecied at all if it had
not been for that
But then when I saw that Yibart
was In the trap, I thought I would
leave him there for a time. I mean
to leave him there till the last mo
ment and then I shall make a full
confession If I am killed or any
thing before he Is executed, then
this will be read, and It can be put
In evidence and he will be let off
But the law would not punish him
for the wrong that he ha? done, so
I am -olr,g to let it punish him. by
mistake, for a wrong that be has
not done
It win serve him only right to
V.
he kept In prison and to think that
he Is going to be hanged, and I am
glad that all this should happen to
him But I do not wsjit him to be
hanged for what I did. though I
don't know that it would be any
more than he deserves If he were
to be. I do not think It .would
That is all T have to ?a
There followed uncle's signature
and the date.
CHAPTER XIX.
The End.
WHEN 1 had read this ex
traordinary confession I
sat for a long time in the
window seat without saying a
word, Just thinking over it rcve-
l2tions. Tt made all the details ab
solutely clear; it did not, leave a
dusty corner in the whole And o
curious thing is that, as I read and
as I learned by degrees and sen
tence by sentence, the full horror
of poor Uncle Ralph's act. it still
did not occur to me to blame him
very greatly In my mind
An immense pity for him was
the overpowering feeling. He was
so infinitely better, and la every
moral sense bigger, than cither of
these two people, one of whom he
had set out to murder and the
other of whom he actually hnd mur
dered Yet both of them seemed to
me like the sinners, and he, rela
ly, the saint.
I Beginning Here Next Sunday J
HIDDEN TREASURE
I - A New Serial of
ADVENTURE I
and LOVE j
I By DAVID WHITELAW I
C 13?0 latanisUoaal Future Scrric. Inc. Great Britain R'cbti BirTWi.
1
And then It was cn curious that
a person so entirely simple and un
subile a.; m urn le. writing in such
very unpolished and unliterary
phrase, .should have posed such
really subtle moral and legal problems-
his moral guilt of the mur
der of a man still alive, bis moral
blamelessness for the death of a
woman, his own wife, whom he had
murdered.
That was one curious problem,
and another was his legal fiction
by which he conceived the law do
ing so much better than it knew,
achieving something like equity by
Its own portentous error, awarding
to a malefactor the punishment he
deserved, in tho form of the pre
liminarles for the final penalty, de
creed on him for a crime of which
he was guiltless.
I had been so absorbed in read
ing and afterward in thinking that
it was only gradualh that the rec
ollection came to me of the man
ner in which 1 nclf Ralph's confes
sion if that is the right word to
use for It had been brought to me.
I glanced round The little man In
gray was sitting in his own Immo
bile way In the depths of the arm
chair He was scarcely visible.
Nevertheless he was the first to
speak, although he had not said a
word until now. from the moment
when I began reading He knew
that my thought was turning to
him and he said, to meet it:
"1 have been mistaken in many
cases before, Miss Carlton, but I
have never been so entirely misled
by the evidence as 1 have been in
this case " h
"It must have been Uncle Ralph,
after all " I replied, "that I saw go
ing out over the gravel that night
He was going to lay her body in
the Summer-house."
"Undouhtedly It was." he agreed,
"and It was Sir Ralph, too, when
he first went to the Summer-house,
1
who made the first footprint be- I
neath the window, the footprint W
that I ascribed to Grainger. At
every turn of this affair. Miss Carl- j
ton, your intuition has been better H
than my reasoning "
"Unfortunately." I said. "But '
tell me. please what does it mean Wr-
this?" I indicated Uncle Ralph's "- hi
manuscript. "It was given to you
What shall you do with it?" al 4,
If will have to be submitted, in 13
the first place, to Captain Yibart'3
lawyers and it will mean, without I i
doubt, his free pardon. There can ji. j
be no question of Its authenticity.
Sir Ralph banded if to me ulmself ' I
before he went to France, and you, jUDwIB
if needed or a hundred others, can I
testify to his handwriting and sig- 1 I
nature." fiB'
"And It will be made public
everybody will know what uncle
did after the way he died?" , I
"I don't know," said the little , !
man. "In an ordinary way 1 should i f
say It would all have to be made
public. But the case is an ex- If
traordinary one. the times are ex- l
traordlnary. Sir Ralph's end wa3 H
extraordinary. So far as lies with BW
me. but that means very little. I I
v. Ill try that It shall be kept s. Mr
cret." " Eii
To the best of ray knowledge it lF. J
was. "The Mystery 0f the Sum-mer-House."
as the papers had
called it remained a mystery, and
a mystery which, for the public,
was only deepened by Captain Vi
bart's free pardon. The press
might not so willingly have let it I
go as a mystery unsolved had not !
the space of every paper been more
than fully occupied with events
that were unmaking and remaking
the world.
And only a few month3 after his f 0
pardon and release Captain Vibart, fJ
too met the death of a soldier and'
of a brave man In France.
THE END
Coprrtjbt. 19. by Georf. H. Dorma C.