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THEMYSTEHYTHEPAVIHUN.

BY K. F. HILL,
AUTHOR OF “THE DUMB DETECTIVE,” “THE
TWIN Dnmc'nvxcs,” “ THE M swab
ous CASE,” 13:111., ETC.

CHAPTER I. \.
“’rms LOOKS LIKE MURDER."\

A muwa play of colors fell through the
stmnod-glassx Windows upon the marble walls
and floor of a magnificent bath—room. The bath
was arranged after the style in vogue in ancient
Roman palaces. The water ran in a miniature
cascade, falling over cgstalliue rocks; it was
both warm an perfum . The basin which re—
ceived the bemptmg flood was carved from a sol-
id mass of marble sunk in the floor and 510 m1

ently in a sort of shell shape; it was six gee?)
fong and over three. feet m width and depth.
The rainbow hues dl_d not rest; upon marble
alone—they fell caressmglx on a form which lay
extended upon the floor, w1th one hand testing
in the warm, perfumed water.

‘ rr WAS UNLOCKED AND SARAH THREW IT WIDE OPEN, FLASHING THE BULL’S~EYE‘S
A man’s form—a man cold :11 death.

RAYS FULL INTO THE ROOM OF THE TRAGEDY.

 

' r

2

 

 

  
 
   
 

Sarah Brown, Detective. ‘   

 

He wasroung, some thirty years. His hair,
bright go den, ay in close curls; his features
Were perfectly formed; his skin white and pol-
ished as that of a beautiful woman.

His form was massive, and he was clothed in
along robe of purple silk, which clung around
him where he lay in the calm sleep of death.

The hand that lay in the water was soft,white
as ivory and beautifully formed. Upon the third

; finger there shone with a steady white gleam an
_.immense moonstone.

The trickle of the waterfall sounded pleasant-
the air in the bath-room was warm and grateful
to the senses; but the horrible repose of the form
upon the floor was mysterious.

,No blood stained the snowy purity'of the lux-
urious a ment. No cry of murder had dis-
turbed t e quiet of the inmates of the most mag-

' t mansion in the aristocratic neighbor-
How, then, had this man met his

All through the mansion the busy servants
moved about, attending to their duties, and in
Rudolf Church’s 'elegant dressing-rooms his
valet was placing the c0st1y garments his mas-
ter intended to wear in on er.

That master would never again wear aught
but grave-clothes.

In the grand reception-room a woman was
superintendin the dustin and arranging of the
countless 00st y trifles tEat littered brackets,
cabinets, and etageres; the morning sunshine
fell through stained windows by Lafarge, mak—
ing the embroidered wall-hangings of rich tap-
estry low in richer tints; the glitter of gold,
and mirrors, magnificent carpets, and rare fur-
niture, beautiful paintings and ob' ts of art,
made up a picture of was th and sp endor.

The woman who led the band of well-trained,
deft maids about the room wasastrange-looking
«eaten. .

Tan and straight as a dart, with a complexion
like burnished 00 per, a lithe, slender form, ra-
ven hair and flas mg eyes, she seemed an un—
suitable inmate for the grand Fifth-avenue pal-

ace.

Her dress, too, Was peculiar. A long robe of

deep crimson hung in straight folds from her

I shoulders to her feet; her long black hair was
braided and coiled about her small head, and
the loose, flowing sleeves of her gown fell nearly
to her knees.

She was not young; her age was between fifty
and sixty; but her movaments were agile as
those of a girl of sixteen, her footsteps light, her
walk graceful. I

Her voice was soft and low, and she spoke
with the languid drawl of a Creole.

is woman was Oello—a Peruvian Indian.
She was the horse of Miss Church, who was a
native of that tarot! republic.

The time was early morning;
winter.

. No breath of cold air could roach the inmates
[of the Church mansion. The air was onprassive—
ly warm. Even in the immense'hall huge .logs.

blazed in the, wide fire—place, in old-fashioned

the seasom'mid-

hutch was the last male representa-
hh . His father had long been an
‘ ' , ofthe vault whose massive bronze door,
_nto admit his son. His uncles
.0 ‘Miss Church, had died in Peru,
Whhdbeensenton ‘a mission of di 0-
the President. While in the lan of
he had taken to a youngand
She had died, after a year of
1; an t daughter, and the
been left father also in the twelfth
age. Rudolf Church’s mother was
was the mist". ofthe house, and a
s ,

, was of mixed
Wifeof the em-
eruvisn society;
that fact, she had Indian
’ father was a Spanish

7 Very wealthy,-and her mother a bean-

, %Myofhigh standing, but mixed

v  Mboenbrooshtu inPeni and

, “M‘mmasramldftpof‘ggwfiqu.

" Whitman nyears a an 9,.
‘ the Indianw 8° had been
bans-lave

“ dom.‘

i
i

hadnever hernee-

Oello-mm to her young mistress. and
she would have died rather than permit the
fill“ one to Uba—as the girl was called.
The zest woman had obtained asid-

in the household, and was nval-

uable to ‘MnmChul‘cb, ilwho was extremely ex.
act and d cult to ease. ‘

Higgins had ever suitgd her like the quiet, al-
most noiseless Indian woman, who moved about
her' duties with her soft, graceful gait.

“ I wish l'ihad no one in my house but Peru-
vians,” said the lady to her son one day. ‘

"‘I differ with you. I neither like nor trust
04110, was his reply.

Uello had a son in New York—u dark, slender
young man, who called to see his mother occa-

' that flashed from their depths.

 

sionally. He was well dressed, and seemed in
easy circumstances. Uello said he was a sales-
man, which was not the truth, for the oung
Peruvian was neither better not worse t a
rofessional ambler and “crook.”

Henfad
'scardod his ndian name and. called hi self
Ernest Stanard. He could k several lan-
He was very dark, but accounted for that fact
by saying that his mother was Spanish.

his eyes were set very close together, and his
gaze did not meet that of any person he convers-
Mrs. Church was a late riser. She was still in
her bedchamber, wrapped Am a satin dressing-
own.

She was a beautiful old lady, with clearly-cut,
her eyes were cold and stem and her mouth
hau hty. Distressed ople never appealed to
“ Mabel,” she said to a tired-faced woman of
some thirty-five ears, who stood beside the
“ me. am.”

“ Go to Miss Church’s room and tell herI wish -
“ Yes, ma‘am.”

The tired—faced woman softly left the room.
“ I have always had a perfect orror of
relations,” she said, angrily, “and here

In about ten minutes the portiere of dee
blue plush was pushed aside, anda young 1

“ Aunt Mabel says you wish to see me.”

“So I do, an dear. Anette, a cup of choco-

“ No, thank you; Oello brought me my
coffee ”

0.

Miss Church took a seat near the fire in its
climates she elt the cold intensely. She was a
strangelooking girl, for from attractive—in

She was exceedingly slender and small: her
face and ii re were elf-like, and dark circles I
still larger than. they were.

Her small face was pale, except the lips,
ed chin and narrow forehead were not eloquent
of intellect, and her expression was cunning and

She was richl dressed though the hour was
earl , and her 'ttle dar hands, which resem-

“ Izbaldina, my dear, you are now seven-

“ You Why do you allude to my age?”
or girlish abou the Ian h, however.

‘ Because, my dear, wish to see some settle-
fears my affection of the cart may terminate
fatal] at any moment.”

Ubaldina, but her eyes glowed.

If any member of Mrs. Church’s family
of! by her disease of the heart, it would not be
this niecei
to discuss my ailments. You have confessed to
me that you love andolf.”
coals, but Mrs. Church saw the tigerish loam

Her sm , thin

guages, and passed for an Eng ishman.

Ernest Stanard was a handsome fellow, but
ed with as that of a frank, honest man does.

own, thickly quilted and wedded with swan’s-
aristocratic features, and snow-white hair, but
her or sympathy, an no children loved her.
hauglhgsy lad as s e sipped her chocolate.
to see her.”

Mrs. Church looked after her im atiently.

1933.5
saddled with one for the rest of my life.”
entered. ’
late for Miss urch.”

“nWell, sit down, dear. Anette, you may ‘
bright brass to, for like all natives of warm
fact, was almost repellent. '
surrounded er immense eyes, making them look
which glowed with a vivid crimson. Her point— ,
cat-like.
bl claws, were covered with costly'rlngs.

The girl laughed; there was nothing joyous
meat of your aifairs. As you know, my doctor

“I ope he is mistaken in hisopinion,” said
grieved for her, should she be suddenly carried

“I fear not. ‘ However, I did not call you here

The girl’s eyes Were fixed on the glowing

er in her lap, and her

hands. too, clinched to st
thin lips were tightly s at.

“ He is wort y of {sour love,” resumed his
mother, with an asicn hed look on her patri-
cian face.

“ know it, but he may not reci meats.”

“ I am sure hedoes,”interrupted%[rs. Church,

hasti .
~“llynot,Imustbear heblow"midMiss
Churcol:f but her face an evil look that

start! the old lady more than over.
“gamma”, , dear. It is such a suitable
ma . ‘

1 “Some peopbdisapprove of cousins marry-
ng. ,

“ Well, I do not. It is all follll.”

“ 1;?“ you spoken to Rondo on the subject,
aunt

“ No, dear, but I will, and there is no time
like the resent. Will You ring for Mabell”

Miss urch pulled the silken bell-cord, and in
a moment the poor relation on .

“Mabel, tell Borrowdale to ask Mr. Church
to come here.” -

Ubaldina’s face never changed, though it
might be supposed that she would feel embar-
rassed by Mr. Church’s presence under the cir-
cumstances.

Mabel returned, looking rather startled.

” What is the matter?” .

Mrs. Church’s tone of alarm warned Mabel to i
be silent on the subject of her own :urprise and I
uneasiness.

 

“ Ngthing,mada1n; Mr. Church is in the bath-
room.

She made a rapid sign to Ubaldina, who rose
prorgptly, saying:

“ xcuse me, aunt; I would prefer not being
present while you talk with Randolf. It would
embarrass me.” ‘2

“Very well, dear ” graciously to her niece.
“lShut that door, Mabel!” sharply to the poor
re ation.

“ Now, what is the matter, Mabel?”

“Oh, Miss Church, Borrowdale says he has
knocked at the bath-room door a dozen times.”

“ Why has he done so?”

The two women were walking in the direction
of Miss Church’s rooms.

“Because his master has been in there since
half—past five o’clock.”

“ Half-past five! I know Mr. Church was an
earl riser, but I never knew he carried his
habit to such extremes.” '

“.Wcll, it is so. Borrowdale is anxious."

“I do not wonder. What time is it now—
half—past nine?”

She glanced at the costly French time—piece
on her mantle.

“Yes, it is fully half—past nine.” Ubaldina re-
flected for a moment. “What had we better
do, Mabel?”

“ Mrs. Church—” Mabel began.

“On no account!“ said Miss Church, hastily.
“Don’t you know Doctor Muir says we must
never excite her?”

“ Well. what are we to do?”

“ Call Borrowdale.”

Miss Church sat down before the fire, her

intcd 'chin resting in the palm of her hand,

r elbow on her knee. She looked expectant,
buineifthgr alarmed agesnxioui; thl k

so t ootstep soun on t e 'c carpet.
Miss Church looked up. .

A fat, middle-aged man stood before her. His
dress was a full suit of black broadcloth' he
wore a plain white tie, and his was clean
shaved. A well-trained En llsh valet. /

“ I am at your service, iss Church.”

“ 0h, Borrowdale, what's this I hear. about
your master being in his bath since five
o’clock?”

“Half-past five, miss,” corrected the valet,
drawing a handsome gold watch from his
pocket.

“ Well, it is now half-past nine—four hours.
Have you knocked on the door?”

“ Yes, miss, repeatedly.” -

“Then you must form the door. Mr. Church
may have fainted in his bath, or he may be ill.”

‘ I trust not, miss,” said Borrowdale, his nat-
u pale face turning still whiter.

“ mething must be amiss. lose no time.”

Borrowdale hastened from the resin. As be

through the hall he rung the hell, and

. summoned the butler and one of the footmen.

The bath-room was apart from the bod of
the house bein one of Mr. Church‘s sui of
a artmen wh ch had been built at the hack
0 the mansion in the form of a pavilion. A
marble passage led from the main hall to this
pavilion, which was a beautifuk building dec
si ned by Randolf himself.

t was one story high, with the roofdomed, and
all the rooms wer lit from this domefthe win-
dows being of stai ed glass.

A sitting-room, two bedrooms, a luxurious
bath-room, and two large closets, and an im-
mense dressing-room (comprised the suit which
filled the pavilion.

Borrowdale, followed by the other men,
passed swiftly through the go and bed-
room, and knocked loudly a the door of the
bath-room.

No answer  hack save the gurgle of the
mini ture cases a. ,

“ ll force the door.” said thevalet, and as-
sisted by the butler he did so.

The three men stood aghast. Their master
lay before them—a corpse. One of the foot—
men raised the cold hand that rested in the
water; but Borrowdale waved him away fro -
the body. , , _ ,

“Touch nothm l” he said, in an authorita-
tive manner. “ ouch nothing; send for the
police and the coroner. This is a case of mur-
der—no, of suicide!”

 

V CHAPTER II.
MURDER, SUICIDE, on WHAT?

THE lice came, and the coroner looked im-
portan , spoke in impressive whispers, asked in-
numerable questions, and discovered—nothing!

Randolph Church was dead. He had been
dead for hours. No noise had been heard in the
pavilion. To be sure, Borrowdale had not been

here all the time, and the walls of the bath-
room were vcry thick; its window was hi8h up
in the dome, and the pavilion had no other ten-
ants save the valet and his master.

The coroner deemed an autopsy necessary *0
determine the cause of death. ,

“ How long has Mr. Church been dead?1 ask-
ed a quiet voice.

The doctor turned around With a glare Of
professional indignation. _

‘ A slim man had asked the nestlon. He was
plainly dressed, but looked possessed.

. .s‘u- a. k,»

 

 

 

  

.x.. . ,
. -‘ V. I ,1»¢_;\

Sdrah BroWn, Detective.

.3. ~ ' -; , . ".r  In“: a, ‘ I i -- g

3

 

“I cannot tell without a fuller examination
of the body. Even then it is always doubtful.
In some cases the rigor mortis sets in half an
hour—in others it is delayed from one to four
hours, and it may not occur for twenty hours.
It has been known to delay for thirty hours.
Its duration is generally from twenty-four to
thirty-six hours and—”

“Mr. Church has been dead half an hour,

‘ for he is cold,” said the quiet little man, raising

the stiff hand of the corpse. _

“ Really, this—person is rather ofilcious,” said
the coroner. ,

“ I only wish to make a few inquiries.” said
the man, who looked keen and also brave. His
face was an intelligent—indeed a sharp one; his
eyes ay and very clear.

“ I m at a loss to know why.”

“I’m a detective, sir.”

“ Who sent for you?”

“ I cannot tell, sir.”

H I dw’”

Borrowdale was the speaker. He seemed be—
wildered and unlike himself, but he spoke calm—

] .
y“ Indeed, and how did you happen to think it
necessary to em loy a detective!"

“Because I t ink my master has been mur-
deredl”

A sneer curled the coroner‘s lip. He wasa

 

I
as little publicity as ible. She at once de- I
clared her son had not n murdered. .

That was impossible—out of the question. i
Wherever there was a murder there must also ‘
he a motive. 

Her son’s death was due to heart-disease.
She was certain of it, before the coroner return—
ed the same 0 inion—through the jury.

Randolf C urch was buried, having “died
of heart-disease.”

The funeral was over; the pavilion was closed.

Mrs. Church was calm and dignified as before,
gut (Anette and Mabel knew how much she suf-

ere .

She never gave up. Her snow-white hair
was as carefully arran ed as ever; her dresses
somber and heavy wit crape, the insignia of
woe, were as elegant and costly, but her proud
heart was rent.

Not long would the bronze gates remain closed.
Greenwood, “the beautiful city of the dead,”
would soon find room for another inmate.

Mrs. Church was doomed.

Every one was satisfied with the verdict of
the coroner’s jury—except one person.

Thiat was Box-rowdale—Randolf Church’s
va e .

The da after the in no t he took a walk and
a ride. e rode on a nd avenue horsecar,
for he mortally hated the elevated tracks.

 

      
  
 
 

 

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medical man, and here was one whom in his
heart be termed a “fiunky" taking it upon
himself to pass opinions. _

“Oh, you do? Who is in authority here
now?”

He addressed his question to the butler.
. That functional-y rubbed his chin in perplex-

i .
t)“ Well, sir, there‘s Mrs. Church. Mr. Ran-
dolf’s mother, and there is Mini Church—”

“ Are they aware?”

“ No, sir. ‘

“ Then let them be informed at once.”

“ Not Mrs. Church.” protested rBorrowdale.
“ Mrs. Church must not be told till her doctor
is here.”

“ Why not?”

The coroner was disposed to “ sit on” the
valet Without waiting for his death, for he deem-
ed the man oflicious.

“ Because She has heart-disease, and the news

‘ ma kill her.”

‘ Heart-disease? Who is her physician nowi”

“ Doctor Muir.”

“Let him be sent for at once.”

He came and the terrible news was gentl
broken to Mrs. Church. It did not kill her. {Vt
did not even seem to move her very deeply,
She was a proud woman, With an meme pow-
or over her feelin 5; she neVer betrayed home];
in the presence 0 others» ’

g: gave her orders very quietly and clear .

\ everything he done in proper order—wi

'3.

 

He arrived at his destination—4. very neat
house .in Yorkville. It was situatedon Seventy-
seventh street and was the home of the quiet

man who had been present the day
Church’s was discovered. ‘
Borrow rung the bell and inquired of a

very lpretty round-faced girl whether Mr.
Know es could be seen. ’

“ Walk in and I’ll ask.”

Borrowdale walked in and sat down in a very
bright, home-like parlor, with (pretty furniture,
a ycarpet, nicepictures,an e.ng

0 had not long to wait, for detective
came briskly in and started when he saw his
manger-Hand then asked: ound

‘ e an'ything' new f out?”

“Nothing. ’

“ All right. You still stick to your opinion?”

“ I know that my master was murdered. and
I’ve come to ask you to help me find out who
committed the crime." » =

“ All right. Sit down and let us talk.”

“Ask any l(inestions you wish.”

“Very we . I was so promptly cleared out
the other day that I hadn’t time to ask one.

-“ How did the murderer commit the crime?"

Borrowdele looked-around uneasily.

“ All right. My wife is ahelplem cripple, and -
my only servant would assoon think of flying
as listening at a door." ‘ - v

“ The door must have been tampered with.”

“ How was it fastened?” .

on .you suspect”of committing the criine!”

won’t starve till I getano

 

“ It was locked and bolted.”
\ i

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4 '¢ . _ . '7 "I ‘1  " in
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“ When you burst it open?”
ti  W,

“ This looks like an old hand. Had your mas-
ter any enemies!”

“ None to my knowledge.”

“ But without your knowledge, he may have?”

“ Yes, he was very reserved.”

“ Hum! How did the man kill him?”

“ Strangled him 1”

The detective started, fixed his eyes on the
valet, and asked, eagerly: ‘

“ Was there any mark visible?” ’

It Yes.”

“ Did any other person see it besides you?"

“Two people saw it.”

“ Who were the ?” _

“ The butler an the undertaker.” ' ~

“ What did the say?”

“The nude or said the 'mark was caused
by the su port for the neck in the ice-box.”

“And t e butler?”

“ Thought as I did.”

“ That it was the mark of fingers?"

“ No, sir.”

“ What then?” , 

“A cord—or chain.” 1 ‘ 

“ A cord or chain? How could a strong, able ‘7‘
man be murdered without giving an alarm?”

“ His cries would not be heard outside the
pavilion.” .

“ N . The bath-room was in the center—as n 1
near as I could judge, tor I had not time to ex- ., . '
amine anything.”

“ You are ri ht. The pavilion was, and is. an
octa on, and t e bath—room is in the center.”

“ ow is it approached?”

“ Through my master‘s bedroom.”

“ And your master’s bedroom?”

“ By the which runs all the way
around the pavilion and up to the house.” ' it:

“ How is the pavilion heated?” ., i.

“ From the house, by steam-pipes laid under- '
ground.” , 

“Hum! Then the murderer came from the 
house in broad daylight?” ., v Tl'_ 1‘

For the first time Borrowdale hesitated, an ' " 
Knowles noticed that he seemed embarrassed. ‘

“ I believe a detective is like a doctor, or con-
fessor.” he said, slowly.

“ Yes, exactly.” ‘

“ Then I must tell you the truth. I believe r
my master was murdered during the night.” .  .1

“ But you did not miss him till morning.” v  *

“ I was not in the house after ten o’clock the
ni t before.” ,

‘Hal Now I begin to see daylight. Where
were you?” .

“ I went to Brooklyn, with my master’s per- '
mission.”

“ Or without it, eh?”

“ No; he gave me permission to go; but not to ' A
stay all night.” ;

‘ What time did you return?”

“ At half-past five, and missing Mr. Randolf,
I thought he was in the bath-room.” ‘

“ Wasn’t that an unusual hour for him to
bathe?”

“ No, he was forever bathing. If he couldn’t
sleep, he’d bathe in the middle of the hi ht.”

“A strange fancy; but was he a to
rising early

H es.”

“ Did he ever go out at night?”

“ Frequently. I think that was one reason)»
built the pavilion, for no one missed' him when
he remained away all ni ht.”

“ How long have on lived with him!"

.“S”even Years. came from

1m. V .

“Had he alwgys been in the habit ofkeeplng ' if.
' lar hours ~

1‘ o.” :
‘1‘ng long is it since he began to stop out an
ni t '
‘ Four years this winter.”
“ Hum! Now I want you

 

é.

totellmemr

“ No one.

2?er k d good and M. I:
‘ 0: my 1' was in I x
ous. Every one loved him.” ’ . ,

The detectivo indulged in a little silent memo-f  A.  j’l'

“ I’ll have to become an inmate of yonrhoase’  .
for awhile.” he said, at length. ‘ ' 
“ Just what I was going to suggest.” , 3
“But no one must suspect who I am, or I. "
might as well remain here. ’ ' .
‘ How will you manage? They all mw you.”
Knowles smiled. .
“iThat question is pensive and child- I ” he ’

sai .

“ Well, I leave the whole matter in your-hands.
I sup I shall soon be leaving the h
thong I’ve received no warning. our fee
be my affair. Pve saved u a ew pounds.”

“ Which you are Willing devote to learning
your master’s fate?” v

Borrowdale did not answer immediately; but ‘
the detective knew why. The faithful servant '
hadtochokebackasobfirst.

“ I’ve got a wife in Brooklyn, air, and Mr. A
Church set her up in a 'ttle citran so I. 5- a

r lace. ‘ " ‘

“ Is the housekeeper a good riend of yours?”
“Middling, sir; why?”

 

I" -' 'Thevaletlooked puzzled.

' need

. paid, and

. and fashion’s rules obey

Isaiah

 close watc

1" been

4

Sarah Brown, Date

6"

ctive.

 

“ I want her to engage your niece asone of
her help.”

“ But I have no niece out here, and—”

“ Hold on.”

The detective vanished, leaving Borrowdale
rather mystified.

“ Uncle, can’t you get me a place?” inquired

. a woman’s voice, and the astonished valet turned

and found a young lady at his elbow.

The detective had been gone about twelve
minutes. -

The young woman had fair hair, a plump
form, and rosy cheeks.

“ Astonished, eh i”

The brisk voice of the detective came from the
young woman’s very red lips.

She seated herself. She was neatly dressed
in a plaid dress, plain linen cuffs, collar an
apron, and Wore small gold earrin .

“ I am very ’and , ma’am, and haven’t been
hover very long. ’m very hobliging and hanx-
ious to please.”

Borrowdale could not repress a smile.

’“ I like New York hever so much, ma’am.
My name is Sarah Brown, and I’ll soon learn

"_ your ways and be hup to heverythink.”

I

 

CHAPTER III.
saw BROWN ENTERS I'PON mm DUTIES.
Tin: housekeeper at the Church mansion was a
fat motherly woman, Mrs. Flutter by name.
She was very good-natured, and, as one cham-

‘ barmaid more or less made little difference in

9 household, she graciously assented
e’s request that his niece, Sarah

such a in
to Borrow

y' Brown mlghtbe engaged.

Sara came; she was a fresh-colored girl of
buxom form and ready smile. She seemed ex-
c ineg willingrto work and anxious to please,
an , though the reach maid, Anette, tossed her
head over her misplaced h’s, the English girl
was soon a prime favorite.

Y Sarah liked every one, and almost every one

A liked Sarah. The exceptions were Anette and

00

The slender, dark woman regarded the new
chambermaid with unfriendly 0 es.

“ We don’t need her, madam,’ she said to Mrs.
Church, for she hoped to persuade that lady to
discharge the new-comer.

“Never mind Oello. Let her stay; we don’t
Borrowdale, either, for that matter; but
Mr. Church had a high opinion of him, and I
will not discharge him at present. It is the

_V " depth of winter, and he might not find another
.  The 'rl is a stranger in the city and
utter likes

‘ er. Let her stay.”
80 Sarah remained, and, as Anette said, flirt-
edopenl with the footman and butler.
Mrs. hurch, though cold, was very just, and
no one could accuse her of meanness.
' Shewas exacting and hard to please, but she

did not care how much help the housekeeper em-

plo e‘dlsf long as the work went on smoothly
an we

Since her son‘s death she had not been so fault-
finding; for one reason the house was ve dull
and quiet. The visits of condolence had al been
Mrs. and Miss Church Were left to
nourish their grief in seclusion by their fashion-
‘able friends.

1- The demands of society had to be regarded
Sarah Brown studied the household at her
leisure.

She summed them up:

“Mrs. Church—proud as Satan. Nothingto
y her son’s death.
(A detective holds no tie sacred. He suspects

~ “ is: urch— don’t understand her. Ser-

vants say she loved Randolf Church. Will
watching!

“Cello—Peruvian flaw—Chunchos. Sly—

maid—vain, show—fond of money

and dress. .
“ Butler—fussy, harmless old man.

 “Housekeeper—good-natured and death on

-‘ o footmen—brainless cockneys.
‘,‘ Other servants—all right. ”
, Sarah Brown’s suspicions inted toward Mia
h and her nurse,if t y could besuidto
r- at to any one in the house. Borrowdale had
not in the list at all eirn ly because
the detec ve knew the valet had no in the

’ murder of his master.

. r Borrowdale,” said Sarah, as she sat in the
v'alet’a room in the up r part of the house—for
he no longer slept in e pavilion—" I must ex-
amine the bath-room door.

,“ I don’t see how you can. The only way to

 uterthepavilion is through the passage, and

  

‘ “Because

 sort of
M An

“ Mrs. Church has the key.”

m ask for it—or steal it?"
slow] shook his head.
“ Then I must pick the lock.”

“ Can’t do it.”

“ Why not?" ' .

it is a very uncommon one. The

is a curious affair—don’t look like a door-
More like a safe key.”

a key has the bath-room!”

ona

   

 

 

  
   

“ Well, I must get into that pavilion.”

Borrowdale offered no suggestions. Like most
men of his business, he was accustomed to de-

ng on others for directions, not tooriginat-
mg ideas for himself.

‘ You must tell me where Mrs. Church keeps
the key, and I’ll steal it.”

“ She keeps it in her dressing-case.”

“ Do on mean a iece of furniture, or a
box of ace-powder, w on you say ‘dressing—
case?’ ”

“ I mean what we call a dressing case in En -
lindta case for brushes, tooth-powder, and a l
t at.

“Well, I must get hold of that key. Now for
a lan to do it.”

he detective bid Borrowdale
their interviews always took p ce a
household had retired.

Next day the servants were all called into the
reception-room by Mrs. Flutter, who was in a
statcidpopularly described by her own name.

“ rs. Church has lost a valuable pin,” she
said, nervously smoothing down her apron,
which was necessaril ample, “and I want you
all to hear just how i looks, so on can find it.”

They filed in, some with rightened faces,
others looking cool and unconcerned—Sarah
Brown being among the latter.

“ I’ve lost or mislnida pin,” said Mrs. Church,
languid] , as she 1a back in her easy-chair.
“ It is alarge, old-fas ioned pin, what theyused
to call a brooch. It is valuable, as it has four
large opals, and they are surrounded by twelve
quite large diamonds.”

“ Hadn’t you better search our t’ings—our
troonks?” inquired Anette, snappishly, with a
sour look at Sarah Crown, whose face wore a
calm smile.

“ No,” replied her mistress, with an ex ression
of surprise on her pale, roud face. “ would
only be puttin myself unnecessary trouble.
You are all 0 d servants, and I have rfect
confidence in you—except Sarah—an she is
Borrowdale’s niece, so the same remark applies
to her.”

‘1‘ Thank you, madam,” said the valet, grate-
ful .

“his I inquire, madam, when you missed the
brooch;

Sarah Brown came forward as she asked the
question.

“I really can’t say. I never wear it, but I
think I missed it yesterday. ”

“ Excuse me if I hask where you kept it?” in-
quired the girl.

Miss Church, who was resent, si ting by her
aunt, turned and bestow a most supercilious
stare on the new chambermaid.

“ Kept it! Why, in my jewel-case.”

“ And your jewel-case was on your dressing-
table mg‘aml” .

Mrs. Church began to look annoyed, but Sarah
asked one more question:

“ May we look in our rooms, madam?”

“ Certainly. Loo everywhere.”

She took up a book to show that she consider-
ed the interview at an end, and the servants

assed out, Anette muttering something about
razen-faced people who didn’t know their
places.

The servants dispersed in all directions, and
began to search for the missing brooch in places
likely and unlikely. Sarah Brown walked into
Mrs. Church’s dressing-room, followed by the
Frenchwoman.

“ What do you want here, eh?” inquired
An , in a vine rish tone.

Ba“ Ihwar‘iltetai 1 fit:- tlhe brooch,” resgongd

ra q y, stoop own to un er e

y we 8 POOP

‘- 0
“ Bah! Mon Dieu I—do you t’ink I not look
de room over all!”
“ That don’t matter. I knew a lady what lost
a ring, and it wasn’t found for two years, hand
when they took up the carpet it was rig ht hun-
der the hedge."
“ But one ringnv’i’ll roll, you great stupid, and
n

debrooeh vill .
" I’m goingtolook here: Mrs. Church said I

mig‘ht.”
rah looked industriously, moving heavy ar-
glfrles, and always calling upon Anette to assist

The French I soon tired of this work, and
pretending to ear her mistress calling, she left
he room. Sarah glanced after her. and having
ascertained that e had really gone down-
stairs, she returned to the dressing-table.

A bunch of keys were out of her pocket like a
flash, and it was but the work of a moment to
fit one to the lock of the dremin «use.

It lay open. On top was a ray containing
various ar icles for the toilet. This beia re-
moved, another tray, lined with deep-blue p ush,
was discl

In it lay an odd-shaped hronxe key.

Sarah knew it was the key to he entrance-
hall of the pavilion 13 Borrowdale’s description.

It was in her I: , the dressin case locked,
and she was on or knees by the lace when
the door opened and Oello entered.

She gave a clone look at the chamber-
m who rose a cry of triumph.

“ , I’ye found it!”

ood-ni ht for
fter’ the

 

  
   

She held out her hand, and there lay Mrs.
Church’s h.

“Hum! Give it to me and I’ll tell Mrs.
Church it is found.”

“No; I’ll tell her myself.”

Without noticing, applarengy, the scowl Oello
bestowed upon her, she urri away.

Mrs. Church was much pleased to recover her
brooch, and handed Sarah Brown twenty dol—
lars as a reward.

“ Those vot hides can find,” said Anette, spite-
fully when she heard of Sarah’s good fortune.

“ ow could Sarah ’ide hanythjnk in Mrs.
Church’s room, when she never was there be—
fore?” inquired one of the footmen indignantly.

“ Bahl You are one more John ’Bull, replied
Anette, with contempt.

She was naturally angry, for she had been the-
belle among the servants before Sarah’s rosy
cheeks stole away their admiration.

“It’s a serious business I’m engaged in,” said
the detective, as he skillfully produced Miss
Brown’s much-praised bloom with a piece of
cotton and a rouge-pot; “ but I declare I have
to laugh, the gir s are so jealous because the
men areall trying to mash the new chamber—
maid.” _

When all was still that night Knowles and
Borrowdale stealthin crept down-stairs, armed
with a dark-lantern and the key of the passe e
to the pavilion. They were about to careful y
examine the bath-room door. >

 

CHAPTER IV.
ran: nnsnarnn me.

A LITTLE, golden-haired boy stood at a win—
dow looking disconsolately out on the people
hugging by through the chill winter twi-

ig 1:.

He was a beautiful child, with the golden
curls, and white open brow of an old Scandina—
vian race. His features were clearly-cut, but
soft and winning, his arched lips red and sweet,
and his form stout and muscular, though he was
but a baby.

He peered through the window with widc-opm
eyes blue as a Northern sky, and filled with [.11-
c illllike anxiety and longing.

Near by a litt e woman sat in a rocking-chair,
sewing a bright plaid dress for the boy.

She was but a child herself, with the clear
fresh skin of an infant, trusting blue eyes, and
golden hair.

She murmured rather than sung to herself
an old Danish song, for Elna was a native of
Iceland.

“ Mamma,” said theI boy, wearily, "why
doesn’t papa come home?”

“I cannot tell, my child,” answered the little
mother, and y.

“ Well, tired watching for him. How
lon is it since he came?” ‘

‘ our weeks, my boy.” I

“Was he ever away so long before?” asked
the child, leaving the window with a sigh, and
taking a seat on a low stool.

“ No. never.”

“ What will we do if he never comes again i”
asked the child, looking up in his mother’s face
earnestly.

“ My boy. say not such dreadful things,” cried
Elna, in a frightened tone. «

“ But I am afraid, mamma.”

“ He will come, dear one—he must.”

She put the dress aside and took the boy in her
grams, where, pillowed upon her breast, he fell

eep.

Elna Hansen was the daughter of a poor
clergyman in the Danish island, Iceland. Her
parents both had died, leaving herself and two
sisters—twins, three years younger than Elna,
who was fifteen when she lost her parents.

The orphan sisters were left to the cold charity
of an aunt. She was as poor as themselves; but
they were used to poverty. What they were
not accustomed to, however, was unkindness,
and they were almost heart-broken by their
aunt’s—who treated them hke what they were—
unwelcome burdens. ‘

Elna tried to comfort her sisters and win her
aunt’s heart by unremitting toil and cheerful-
submission; but in vain.

At last, unable .to bear the yoke that pressed
so cruelly upon her you shoulders, Elna ac»
cepted the offer of a fam ly who were going to
New York, to act as a verness to their chil-
dren. She had heard g owing accounts of the
fair land of promise and firmly believed that
she would soon be able to send for her sisters.

The family had only kept the girl till they
reached New York when they dismissed her,
and gonng West, left her alone in the strange
city. and little better than penniless.

r trying in various ways to obtain work,
she procured a situation with a better salary. in‘
a wealthy American family named Parkel'c

One of her duties as nursery governess W“ to
take the little Parkers out in the Park. She en-
joyed this very much. One day a fine-looking

ntleman spo e to the children, find “med

h: acqltilainttfnce of the little Danishmmaiden,

w one s y ushes and ell 1"”

lfiiindfifi'orably. The 01.5321. called hm
n o

 

r

He soon met them everydlh "N! V“). 

 

i

.g.
I
I
i

m§..._, .
:;..... .

  
     

  
 

       
      
     
   
 
  
  
   
 

3.»? .

A ’  .. ' . i J" is ’“r . :
_g .14. . ~r . N

i l ' .
L, .3361; ‘ r ,i

I [Sarah Brown, Detective.

   
 

. 5 ’:

 

played under the trees he talked with their
teacher.

Mr. Randolf soon won her heart, but this new-
found bliss soon changed to distress, for the
children carried home tales of the delightful
meetings under the trees, and poor little Elna
was dismissed by their highly-indignant mam-

ma.

Mr. Randolf, however, sought her out, and
married her, and then established his girl wife
in a pretty home in Harlem.

She was happy, indeed, thou h her husband
was not with her very much. 6 answered for
this by saying that he was occupied by business,
and the little Danish wife was not exacting.

She worshiped her handsome husband, and he
loved her fondly. Their happiness was increased
by the birth of a lovely boy, who was now-three
years old. Mr. Randolf was exceedingly hberal
with his money, and Elna had been enabled to
send remittances to her sisters every uarter,
which increased their comfort in 9. mar ed de-

ee.

ng-Ier husband had quietly dissuaded her from
sending for them, and she had yielded to his
wishes.

To Elna’s unbounded surprise she had seen
nothing of Randolf fora whole month, as we
now introduce her.

The little woman was wild with anxiet .
What could his absence mean? Was he ill in
sbme strange place?

She knew nothing of his business, for she was
so trusting and unsophisticated that she had
never questioned him.

The da after little Dolf had so patiently
watched or papa, Elna’s little maid announced
a visitor.

He was shown in, a burly red-faced man, and
Elna’s heart fell. He was r. Allen, the house-
ent, and the paper he held in his hand was the

for the month’s rent.

“Good-mornin , ma’am!” he said, with a
cough behind his (1, which seems peculiar to
duns.

“ How do you do, sir? Sit down.”

“ Well, ma am—I guess you are the same; you
look so.”

Allen had, to make use of his own ex ression,
his “own opinion about Mrs. Randol 8 mar-
riage.” He also admired her very much, she
was always so bright and pleasant—such a pic-
ture of pretty neatness.

“ I am well, thank you, sir, but terribly un-
eas and troubled.”

'l’liie man’s face did not express any surprise.
He thought—"Ba! so it has come to an end!
Well, they don’t generally last so lonfi.”

He said nothing, however, and lna went
on:
“ Mr. Randolf has not been home for a whole
month, and I am very, very uneasy about
him.”

A ain Mr. Allen gave one of his peculiar

cou .

Hg was not bad-hearted, and he felt unusually
sorry for the poor little woman with her chi] -
like face and her bright hair.

“ Whereabouts do you write to him when he
sto awa , ma’am?”

lna’s b ue eyes opened wide.

“ I’ve never written to him at all” she re-
plied, growmg more frightened by lifr. Allen’s
manner.

“ Well, whereabouts do you send?"

Elna was now ten times more frightened. Her
face was white and pitiful.

Mr. Allen murmured a word below his, breath
in connection with the absent Mr. Randolf; it
is a word that is never heard In drawing-rooms;
though it sometimes occurs in sermons and
hymn—books.

As Elna did not attempt to answer, he
chan ed. the form of his questmn.

, u ere do you send when on want money 1"

“ Nowhere!‘ cried the lit e woman in see

ress.

“Do you mean to tell me he has never told
you where his business is?”

“ No, I never asked him that.”

A long whistle sounded from the house-agent’s
pulsed-up lips.

“Well, ma’am, I'm sorry I wish I could act
differently, but you’ve t to move out. ” ‘

“Move out?” cried ha, in astonishment.

“Yes, ma’am—plain English is painful, but I
don’t see no way to us bettering ourselves by
whi ping the devil around a stump.”

“ ut when m husband comes he won’t be
able to find me I go to another house.”

Elna’s voice and ace were so touching that
even Mr. Allen’s heart was moved.

“ As for finding on, ma’am, he’ll do that
easy enough. for he’ naturally come and ask
me where you've gone. and a good bit of my
mind he’ll get: and as for another house—don t
take a house at all. Is furniture, carpets,
and so forth paod for!”

Elna’s astonish meet was now unbounded,

“Paid for? 0f com-sex."

“All the better.” said Allen. gladly. “ Now
take 1;) advice, _ma’am and have a nice little
sale 'it here in the case. I’ll advertise it
right off and Won’t chars! You a cent for the
1.99 of the house. Maybe the new tenant will

rip "r .

 

‘said Elna

 

buyryour fixings—they always sell to better ad-

vantage in the house—carpets look better and i
ple pa more to save themselves trouble.” I

“ But, r. Allen, you must not sell my furni
ture. I do not owe you one cent.” .

Elna was innocent, but she was shrewd ;
enough to keep her receipts. !

“ I never said you did, ma’am!” said the }
dee ly-wounded house-agent. “ I know I’m 
pai up till to-morrow, but I know how you are ,
situated—at least I can guess, and I’m advising i
you for your Own .”

“If that is the case, I am much obliged, but
don’t you think Mr. Randolf will be angry if he ,
comes home and finds I‘ve broken the house i

“ I’ll only ask one uestion, ma’am, and it ain‘t i
out pf curiosity :— ow much money have you 
got?’

Elna’s pure face was one great blush. Tears i
sprung to her sensitive eyes and her soft voice ;
faltered as she replied: '

“ Ve little.”

“We , you can do as fyou like, ma'am,but |
I’m old and the father 0 some girls, and if I ‘
was our father I’d advise you not to go paying
anot er month’s rent for this whole house. Sell
the furniture and that will give on a nice little
sum; take a couple of furnish rooms and see
what you can do.”

“ But, Mr. Allen, you are kind but you speak
as if my husband wasn’t coming ck.”

The tears which Elna’s woman! pride had
kept back so far now ran down er dimpled
cheeks, and she had to hide them in her hand-
kerchicf.

“ Well, you see, ma’am, I’ve seen a ood deal
of life and I’ve noticed when those usbands
goeso in that unexpected way, and don‘t leave
no address—why, I’ve noticed in my business
that—in fact—they never does come back.”

Elna was sobbing bitterly, but she lifted her
little tear-wet face from its shelter.

“Why, Mr. Allen,” she said in ony, “you
can‘t mean—you don’t think that dolf has
deserted me?‘

Mr. Allen paused, and wild thoughts rushed
through his brain of people committing suicide
—tak1nfi poison, all sorts of things on acoount of
love. e thought Elna looked just as those peo-
ple might have done—there was such an excess
of voiceless, white despair in her face.

“ no, ma’am,’ he said, with a husky
chee ess that surprised himself. “ Why, no:
most likely Mr. Randolf has been detained by
business; but he’ll be pleased that you acted so
sensible, and saved your money. Maybe it’s
money troubles that’s keepin him away now.”

Elna clasped her hands Wi such a glance of
eloquent gratitude that Mr. Allen’s heart beat
faster with joy that he had told the precious
falsehood which the recording angel would sure-
ly blot out with a tear.

“Oh! If that’s all I don’t mind a bit. Mr.
Allen; I’ve been used to money troubles all my
life.

“That’s all, you ma depend,” reasserted Mr.
Allen, clinchin his rst fib with another un-
necessary one, t t in fact Elna scarcely heard.

“ I’ll sell the furniture, Since you think it best,”

 

‘-‘ Yes and I’ll help you all I can. What did
you do or a living before you met Mr. Ran-
dolf?” '

“ I was a teacher.”

“Hum! Teachers ain’t pai‘d decent, and
they’ve got to be jam chock-a-block full of ref-
erences. Would you like to take care of a sick

lad ?”

“yYes, I’d do an hing, but the lady might not
like Dolf, then b e is not a noisy child.”

“ Sure enoug -the child l”

Mr. Allen was perplexed. The recommenda-
tionof Dolf he set dewn to a fond mother’s
WW, and pictured the ho screaming at

top of his velce all day, and lowing a bugle
at the same time, which, had he used to re-
flect, he would have known to be p ysically im-
possible. '

“No, she’s a nervous woman which sick
Women mostly are, and I know she won’t like
the boy around.”

“ But what shall I do with h'm?” asked Elna
pitifully.

She was neither hopeful nor exacti ;
knew how hard it was to earn a living nfar
had tried it.

“Take a couple of rooms and keep house.
You can hire some little r1 to mind the child
through. the day, and go ome to him yourself
eve night.” ‘

“ es. thank you; that is the best I can do, I

she
, she

 

and you can get me a place?”
known the comforts of a home and the protect-
She sighed wearily as she felt
could not do as she had done before—find at
the bog
efforts. She must for h i

an Rose:

R think so; anyhow, I’ll try.

Poor Elna! This was hard, after she had
ing care of a loving husband. »

that the old
struggle must recommence.

Then there was little Dolf to provide for. She
lelast the shelter of a roof in the home of her em-
p 0 er. .

I was for her. though, to have
Witnwmsm’h an. em z

a ‘ men or '
thecontesa‘w ,x.  . - l
v, : i‘ ‘1‘,”  H (i . t.

  

lb”

‘shame for her, that anythin female could be so 5

\
home
' and set out to look for work with a heavy heart " p. 1

  
   
 
  
  
 
 
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
   
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
   
 
 
  
  
   
  
    
 
   
  
  
    
 
   
 
 
 
 
  
 
   
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
   
    
  
   
 
  
     
  
    
   
  
  
    
        
  
   
  
    
     
      

She did so and her face showed her stout reso- -
lution to do her best and utmost for Randolf’s .g "
“ That’s right ” said Mr. Allen encou I

' sl .
as he watched her with keen, though indIy
e es; “ brace up and have some style about you.

y, bless your soul, there’s as good fish in the
sea as ever was catched.”

Fortunately Elna did not understand this con-
soling allusion.

So Elna’s pretty little home was broken up,
and her nice furniture sold, carpets and all, to a
lady with a long sealskin dolman and diamond
earrings, who required “refreshments” every;
half-hour—consisting of brandy. Elna didn
like this lady very well, for not only did she sus-
pect that the “ refreshments ” were telling upon
her mentally, but she also more than su.
that her blue-black eyebrows, and dull, gloss-
less, hay-colored hair were not genuine; and
that her unnaturally white and crimson com- ' '
plexion was painted. She also was puzzled by
the lady’s manner. ‘ A -

She was confidential, and said to Elna as she
counted out the price of the articles she had pur- ' ‘

chased: “ You ought always to ick out old fel— '
lews, they ain’t very pleasant, t’s a fact, but
they ain‘t so changeable. You see, they haven’t .

got such a choice. N ow I hear Mr. Randolf—
ain’t that the namei—waS very handsome?”
Elna looked at the woman with a hot flush of

low. The painted face an tousled false hair
shocked her sense of neatness and decency, and
the coarse looks and words shocked her men- ; ~
tally, for the little woman was urityand clean- u . ,

liness (personified, body and so . 

“ I 0 not understand you, madam,” she said,
with the mien of a miniature sovereign.

“Oh! very well,” replied the 0th r sulkily; '
“ that’s all right. I suppose you know your own - “i;
business best.” ; :5 ‘ ,:

“ Certainly; good-day.” ‘ ‘

So Elna left what had been her happy

and a light pocket-book.

“ We] .” said the house-agent reflectively, as
he sat With “ Mrs. Molineaux,”asthe new tenant ' ,_’. v
called herself, dn‘ ing lager beer out of a gla. .. ‘.';}
without a foot ea ing fried oysters out of a- ' 3,3
tin pail—“ well, I never seen no one take it like ’,_‘.~ 
that little woman does. Sometimes they takes ’
it in high-styricks—sometimes they takes it in l
screeching and cussing, and sometimes they 
takes it in gin.” ' . .
_ “ She’s deepasa well,” announced Mrs. M' -i- _.
meaux. .  , ~

“ Well, now, I don’t think so. She’s got her
marriage-certificate, and she is the whitest wo-
man I ever seen.” , ,

“How do you know she’s married?” inquired ,
the new tenant, helping herself to an oyster. f‘i

“’Cause I seen t e pa r. She didn’t go to a‘.
show it to me, only I as ed to see the receipts?" f
for the furniture in case there might  2*, ‘
trouble.” ' .

“ Who is her husband?” ‘

“I don’t know, for I didn’t see the name; he3 s 1
went by the name of Randolf; but he was a  '
regular swell, and no mistake.” . » _ 1 '

“But she must know his right name if she? '.
got a marriage-certificate.” _ . ’ z,-

“ I believe she does.” K‘

“ Hum! Well, it’s a queer start, butI believe}: -, .
she’s got badly left.” I u; v

The house-agent departed, for he took no in- “ 
terest in his tenant, and he was anxious to know. ' :
how poor little Elna fared. - 

CHAPTER V. . V

TH]: meIGn'r VIs'r. : I *

Tn house was very uiet, the family and In?“
vants being all fast as eep—when Borrowdgle,’
accom ied by his “niece,” stole softly down, i -3

to the ower hall. '33!“
Both were felt sh , provided by the m3)»

tive, and Sarah carried a small dark-lantern. . ,
The gas burned low in the ball, but gave Info“

ficient light for the valet to unlock the sum
the

 

to which led to the scene of wk“
gomwdale now firmly believed to be the mur-

er. ‘
io

The ssa , or ball, was built like the 
HI margle; it was lit b bracket- 
with thick white lobes, W a We.
either side aboutsix eetapart. twas window- '4‘

less. .

The detective and his ion wed 

llydownthemssagetothe rof vilim.
t t the

was shut, key was in the loo? \ .-
Inside the pavilion: was, of comes, clothed!!!
darkness. They were soon in the  of the

1 a,
.5
;

ssage which ran around the singular .
I: was. following the shape of the 
eight-sided—or . i "

The whole bu' was composed of pug-3,,
white marble. The doors beingo bronae. arm.” ..
mented with W work; warlike subject
had been chosen—the figures being chiefly men,

   
    
       
 

owner.
‘ “Here we are,” exclaimed the

\

L

before the entrance of the room where Randolf
Church had met his mysterious fate.

This door was not of bronze, but oak, painted
’» ‘ white, to correspond with the marble walls of
Randolf‘s bed-chamber. -

It was unlocked, and Sarah threw it wide
open, flashing the bulls-eye’s rays full into the
'. room of the tragedy.
 The bath-room was almost a square, being
"I; rather longer than wide. On all sides, except
i" v the one by which it was entered, there rana
 low divan cushioned and covered with pure
if, white silk.
 i, _' “ Hum i” so id Knowles; “ what abominable ex-
travagance.”

“ He could afford it,” said the valet, apologetic-

nll .

3N0 he couldn‘t,” interrupth the detective,
roughly; “ no one can. A man with plenty of
money ought to have comforts—luxury—but he
ought not to make an ass of himself.”

Mr. Church was not an m!”

Borrowdale looked as he felt, indignant. This
was where his kind, generous master had met
his death. It seemed sacrilege for any one to
speak disr tfull of him there.

“ All righ ,” said owles, who was examin-

the lock of the door.
 e fastening was highly ornamental in a
3.1} 'pearance; but upon bein" tested it proved to
7 ‘ only an ordinary one. 'fhe bolt was of chased
bronze; but also of common pattern.
“An old hand,” said the detective.
thinking aloud.

« “You think some one gained admittance by

that door?”

“ Yes; what other way could they?”

The valet glanced helplessly at the window in
the domed roof.

H No. ”

“But how do you account for the fact of my
finding the door ocked and bolted?"

Knowles gazed at the valet with deep com-
miseration.

“Well, I declare! Half the people in this
World don’t know they are born yet.”

“ I don’t understand on,” said Borrowdale,

looking thorou hl puzz ed.
“Don't you {Yock yourself in, and bolt the
”

 

He Was

 

  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
   
 
  
 
  
 
  
   
  
    
    
    
 
   
 
 

The valet obe ed. He was in darkness, alone
in the roomw are he had found his master’s
dead body, and he naturally felt a little nerv—
' , one.

For a long moment silence reigned; then a

‘ sound came on his anxious on r.

It was the click of the key as it fell upon

' the floor. A skeleton key then unlocked the

1 door. A slight noise about the bolt came next;

' then the door opened, and there stood the de-
teetive!

“Well!” exclaimed the valet, “you’ve un-
5. locked it. Now look it!”

“ Leave me alone for that.”

He re laced the key in the lock and closed the
£1 a moment the valet found himself

 locked in, the belt was also shot, and the hands

 that did the work were those of the detective in

the bedroom without.

“ Would you like to see how that is done?”
 Knowles stood smiling with his lantern in his
‘ hand, looking comical enough in his disguise of
a retty girl.
at, I ‘Yes. indeed] Why, I scarcely heard a

sound ”

" And I don’t doubt the man who did the job
hero’that night was much more proficient than I

“ Show me how it is done.”
, " All right' I’ll put the key in the lock on the
other side of he door.” .
' He suited the action to the word. He then in-
 serted a fine pair of nippers, caught the “ bit ” of
the key and turned it.
v- “ The door is locked now,” he said; “ but
up must come in the next room to see me bolt

 t.

' , He unlocked the door and led the way to the
' . \He then placed the key in the inside

. the bath-room, shut and locked the door; but

 before doing so he placeda double silk thread
.lround the pin of the bolt, and carried it

through the crevice to the bedroom.

-“ ? You never noticed me doing that,” he

so , with a smile. “ Wait now.”

9 e shut the door and locked it as before.

,  I I e held the thread firmly in one hand and
a  pulled one end with the other; the bolt slipped

 nto its place and the thread was withdrawn.

' “ New you see why the door was locked and

" bolted when you found Mr. Church.”

{- “Y ” assented Borrowdale, quite dum-

~ oun .

.., » “ But who the dickens killed him? That‘s

. I what bean-s me. '1 can’t for the life of me find a

motive.” I '

' “ Neither can I,” answered the valet, sorrow-

‘7, kn o
‘ “Would you like to see the pavilionl” asked
lashes the? left the hath-room. '
Yes, his is the bedroom. Why don’t they
sell all these tillage!”
j Knowles look around him with ablending of
t curiosity an The walls were
"r-white marble andt oeflingasofstained
 the only window; floor was covered

"8

 

/..

by a rich Turkish carpet in which crimson and
gold were the predominatin colors. Several
gintings hung on the walls, t e subjects of all

ing scenes from life in ancient Rome. The fur-
niture was of satifiiwood, upholstered in crimson
and white damas . The bedstead was polished
brass, and the white silken coverlet ma 'ficent—
1y embroidered in crimson and gold. e light-
ing of the room at night was by an original de-
vice—a pillar of opaque lass stood in the center
of the room. Borrowda e touched a spring near
the 1floor, and the pillar glowed like a column of
opa sl

“ This was an invention of my poor dead mas-
ter,” ex lained the valet to the somewhat as-
tonish Sarah.

“ Hum hi I don’t see any paints about it,” was
Knowles s only acknowledgment.

Opening from this bedroom was the dressing-
room, on the right hand, furnished in pale blue,
and also fitted up most elaborately with large
wardrobes and also a very large closet.

“ Master’s clothing is still here,” said Borrow-
dale, in a low tone. ‘ Mrs. Church does not give
any orders, and I don’t know what to do with
them.”

The room was beautiful, but nothing pleased
Knowles. He scoffed at the silver-framed mir-
rors and numerous suits of elegant wearing ap-
pare], the plush-lined trays filled with jewelry,
and the perfume bottles.

“ Theidca of a. man having such a room,” he
said, scornfully.

On the opposite side of the pavilion to the bed-
chamber was the sitting-room. It was fur-
nished like a lib , in dee moss-green, and
half the walls were ined wit Well-filled book-
shelves.

Everything was luxuriously elegant, but dark-
hued and somber. his room was the whole
length of the pavilion and almost half its width;
it could be entered from the dressing-room or
passage.

On the other side of Mr. Church‘s bed-chain-
chambcr was the valet’s room and a large
closet. Borrowdale had no reason to complain,
for his room, though smaller, was as elegant as
his master’s, being furnished in purple plush and
ebony.

“So you and your master were led like
Solomon in all his glor ,” said Sarah rown,
with a laugh, when they ad finished their tour
of inspection.

“Yes, Mr. Church had a horror of anything
that wasn’t beautiful.”

“ Then he could not have cared much for his
cousin.”

h “ltlo, he didn’t; in fact, I believe he disliked
er

“ And how did she feel toward him?”

The qucsiion was put carelessly, but the de-
tective awaited the answer with anxiet .

“Oh, she really flung herself at is head,
though that ain’t a nice thing to say about a
young lady.”

Knowlcs’s sharp eyes glittered.

“ I heard something of this before,” he re-
marked.

“ Well, it is true. She is a lady, and a rich
one, but my master never liked her; nor the In-
dian nurse, either.”

“ She’s a deep file.”

“ Oello is but she is very ignorant and super-
stitious. r. Church had a telephone put in
from here to a room in the house and she’s
scared to death of it. You can’t scare her worse

than by si aling while she is in the room.”
“Well, t t is something to know. She has
no family, has she?”
“ One son.”
Knowles looked

surprised.

“Wh , I never heard of him. Where is he?”

“ He ives in New York.”

" What is he—a servant?”

“Servant, is it? Why, he is one of the great-
est swells ou ever saw. ’

“ Is, eh What's his business?”

“ Salesman—or drummer.”

“ Well, some salesmen make bi salaries.”

“He must be one of that sortfior he dresses
as well as Mr. Church used to.”

’ “It’s a wonder he don’t take his mother and
an port her.”

‘ Why, she wouldn’t leave Miss Uba, as she
calls her, if you gave her a thousand dollars a
month.”

“ She is fond of Mi Church?”

“ She loves the round she walks on.”

“ But she loves er son just as Well?”

“ No, I don’t believe she does.”

“ How is it I have never seen this soul”

“ Oh he don’t come often; he hasn’t been here
since r. Church’s death.”

“ Perhaps he is away?”

N Maybe so. Well, if you have seen all you
want to, I guess we may as well go back to
house.”

They returned to the house as noiseiasl as

thud left it, and parted for the rest the

thez
‘ detective did not sleep in that ni t,
or rather morning, for the exzs‘mination ofgt'he
pavilion had occupied more than an hour. '
shad learned some important facts. Miss
ormerly in love with her cousin,
who did no reciprocate her affection. This

 

ah Brewn, Detective. ‘

l.

 

 

, deli ht in exciting Oello’s easier

story was not idle gossip, but fact. The Indian
woman had a son-she oved her nurse-child de-
votedly. He already knew that the murdered
man was often absent from home. N 0 one was
aware of this but Borrowdale, and he did not
know the cause of his master’s absence.

What must be his next step! That was the
question that puzzled Knowles.

Oello was very ignorant, and very supersti-
tious—another point. She was very cunnin ,
though, and she had already instinctively fe t
that in Sarah Brown she had not a friend.

“Her son! I want to see that son,” said
Knowles to himself as he lay on his narrow
couch, unable to sleep. “I want to see him
bad”

He made up his mind that he would obtain all
the information possible on the subject of Oello’s
son, and the next day he put his resolution into
practice.

 

CHAPTER VI.
ms. caoox’s Win.

IN a suit of furnished rooms a lady sat read-
ing.

She was far from handsome, being stout,
swarthy, and sullen in expression.

She was quite young, but her heavy face had
no other attraction save that of youth. Her
pink silk dress was elegantly made and covered
with trimming her jewelr handsome and valu-
able, but she did not 100 well-dressed, or, as
the ladies aptly term it, “ stylish.”

“Pshawl I hate reading,” she said with a.
yawn, throwing the book from her.

She rose and walked up and down the apart-
ment, which was, like most of its kind—fur-
nished with odds and ends picked up at sales—
faded and broken, with a dismal attempt at
flnenem and splendor that resembled flowers in
the room with a co .

The marble mantle was handsome, for, in the
upward march of New York city, the wealthy
leave traces of their grandeur behind them, and
the house where the sulky lady lived had once
been the residence of wealth and elegance.

Its chief recommendation now was as set
forth in advertisement—1t was “central.” It
suited the sulky lady’s husband in this respect,
for he was a confidence man—gambler—shover
of the queer—general crook, etc.

“I hate this lace,” said the angry woman
looking around in deep disgust at the soiled
plush furniture—the carpet, with its big,
siphrawling ttern, and the dirty lace curtains.

e tarnis ed chandelier, cheap pictures, and
gaudy broken-and-mended-again mantle orna-
ments. '

She sat down and placed her arms on a mar—

ble-topped table that tipsin rocked to and fro

when touched. I

“ I hate the homer—the woman—the street—
everythingl I wish I hated Erny, too, for then
I’d leave him. My love for him has cost me
dear indeed. I married him, the son of Oello,
the old slave nurse: then, knowing that my
aunt would never receive the son of a slave into
her proud family, I consented that his sister,
Sura. should fiersonate me and take my lace as
the heiress- iss Church, from Peru. 00 late
—all too latel—I see my folly. The girl I detest
lives in splendor, while I, the true heiress, pine
herel—and the husband for whose sake I have
done it all neglects me.”

Listlessly she gazed out of the dingy window

‘ into the busy street, a sullen frown, a revenge-
! ful expressmn on her heavy facc.

She was very dark, and her renunciation,
though correct, proved that Enghsh was not her
native tongue. Her hair was coarse and
straight her brow low, and her features com-
‘mon an insignificant; her small deep-set elyes
were full of passion, however. 3116 her fun iPB
spoke of a, nature where sense predominated
over intellect.

She was a woman of powerful passions stron
feelings and great obstinacy—this real Uba -
dim.” fier love would be_1ntense, but not self-
saeriflcing and her enmity would be bitter
and relent ess. ‘ 3

Hers was the love that accompanies jealousy.
She would, in truth, murder its object rather
than suffer another to enjoy it, or triumph over
her. A dangerous woman. with the heart of a
savage. Cruel even in her fondness. and death-
lessly revengeful, was the wife of the slave-wo-
man s son.

A tap at the door disturbed her. and she
glanced up as a visitor entered—a tall lady clad
in deep mourning. She threw back her vail and
revealed the face of Oello, the Indian nurse.

“Well, Uba,?” she said, coolly, without shak-
ing hands or kissing her hostess, whose gloomy
face were no welcoming smile.

“Well. 09110, 80 your scheme has fallen

the ' throu h‘l”

es,” and the flash from {he Indianls eyes
ke volumes of malice.
“ Well, what is the next move?"
“Nothing.” .
The lady of the sullen face sewed “like 5

“ ell, Ialwa thought t would prove a
failure,” she sai , careleuly.
0e seated herself near the heater—fire

there was none, and the day was bitterly cold.

 

 

 

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s-‘r-om—H -.,,,.._-...a.w . .. . we:

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.  “many.

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t, 12,-.‘_‘ ‘33:. ‘ ‘ V- ,I .y‘ .. , flfr.

if,‘

  

1” Brown, Detective.

'7

 

 

“ Erny thou ht he could prevent me from
finding out anyfihing about the sudden death of
the intended bridegroom, but I take care to
have the Herald brought to me every day.”

“ 1 should have told you—why not?”

The dau hter-in-law looked surprised.

“ Well, suppose he thought as Sura’s plans
were overturned I might as well assume my
proper position.”

“ He is not a fool,” replied Oello, coldly.

“ What- do you mean?”

Mrs. Stanard—that was the name she was
known by—looked disturbed as well as as-
tonished.

“ Do you suppose that her son’s death will
make your aunt more willing to weave Erny
as a member of her family?”

“ No, I don't.”

“ Then what are you talking about?”

Oello spoke impatiently.

“ 1 am sick and tired of this miserable farco
that I have too long consented to play.”

The tone of the fyoung woman’s voice was
menacing, and her ace corresponded with her
tone.

“ It was partly your own plan,” said the In-
dian womair carelessly.

“ Yes, I love Erny, and I saw no other way;
I preferred him to wealtu—honor—pesition.”

“ Do you see any other way now?”

£6 N0. 7

“Then what do you mean by telling me you
are sick of the farce?”

Young Mrs. Stanard was silent. She was an-
gry and longed to quarrel, and punish some one,
but Oello was not to be trified with. Man a
battle had raged between them, and the mot er-
iii-law had‘ever been the victor.

“ You say you love Erny. You insisted upon
marrying him, although I advised you against
the step. Now you are tired of him.”

“ I’m not!”

“ Well, if you are you can’t help yourself. He
is , our husband all the same.” ‘

ello now looked threatening, her 9 cs
flashed, and the savage blood in her veins 0

, trayed itself in her thin lips curled back from

her gleaming teeth.

“ never said I did not love Erny:—I do love
him, and on know it.”

Her de t sullenness was not subdued.

“ If he hears you complain he will not be a
burden upon your movements very long. He is
too high-spirited and too proud.”

Uba now looked thoroughly fi'iglhtened. The
Indian knew her weak spot, and e weapon to
use a ainst her.

“ y son is a man any woman would love.
He can soon console himself,” she said, con-
temptuously.

A dull red glowed on the cheek of the other.
She bit her lip savagely. She felt the taunt bit—

terl .

“It is a pity your daughter, the false Uba, is
not equally beautiful an fascinating; she then
might have produced the proper effect upon Mr.

Church.”
Uba knew just where to

Blow for blow.

“if mifiinmg fh lan d L

6 3 ' ' 0 er ce showe tint
she was hardfiit, but she begrayed the fact in
no other way.

“ Yes, it is apity,” she replied, slowly: “ but
I seem fated in that t; neither of my
daughters possesses great fianty."

Uba did not find a suitable answer, so she ju-
diciously remained silent.

“About Sura,” resumed Oello, in adiflerem;
tone. “Mrs. Church is much attachedtohcr,
and never lets her go out of her sight.”

“ That is well. In case anything should hap~
pen Sura's future 15 safe.” .

“ ou know better. Mrs. Church is a woman
who would never for ‘ve any person who im-

posed u n or deceiv her.” _ _ .
“Thai:0 she will cherish undying animOSity
against all of us."

“ Yes- I well realiz: that.” _

“ Well, we must only contain our souls in pa-
tience till the end comes.” _

“ She must make her will first,” said Oello,
significant] . _

‘Why, i she dies, Sura, in her capaCity of
niece will inherit eve thing.”

“ ot inevitably. be may will the whole
fortune to charity.”

“ Pshaw! She is not that kind of person.”

“ HOw do you know i”

“ True, I’ve never seen her, but I judge from
what I hear.”

“ Nothing is certain—let me tell you that.”

“ Well, you are all ying for h h stakes. I
pave  own mother a fortune, an I intend to

as i . .

“ nless your uncle invests it in some scheme,
and loses it. " ‘

“ He is not a fool.” .

“ No, but he is a speculator.”

“ He has never speculated with my money.”

“Because he neverhad a , chance. You
took it out of our ,, ian’s hands when
you married, an that is only a little over a

r . .

ye: ago in guardian wasan old fool.”
“ ,I you are as safe as on think.”

“ Which meansthat you would 1 to use me

' in-laiv—namely, the passionate love the latter

 

without bread to eat,” thought the daughter-in-

w.

She was right. Oello really hated her, hit-
terlyES
“ oes my aunt seem at all disposed to be
charitable?

“No, but she has other relatives—a woman
named Mabel, who lives with her, as you
know.”

“ She cordially detests that woman, so Sura
sa s.

xYes, but she is her own niece, and Mrs.
Church is a woman who behaves implicitly in

famil .”

“ Then she ought to be thoroughly satisfied
with present arrangements,” sneered the daugh-
ter—in-law.

“ Yes; no doubt she would be if she under-
stood them. But I must go.”

“ What haste'” '

“ Oh, it is unnecessa for you to remind me
that my visits are unwe come. I came because
I was obli ed to—I wished to see Erny.”

“ Then t is is the last place for you to visit.”

“ You mean he is seldom at home?”

“ Exactly.”

“ Hi; business keeps him away.”

Ot'llo's manner became more polite—in f
conciliatory. It was evident she did not wish
to lose the one hold she had over her daughter-

felt for her husband.

“ llis business—sumciently mysterious, no
doubt—keeps him away.”

“ You need not be so scornful. You knew he
was not a rich man when you married him.”

“ No, but I see other business men kee ) regu-
lar hours. Erny’s business seems to be one at
night, and all sorts of out-of—the-way times. I
never know when he will be home. I think it
is useless for you to wait for his coming.”

“ I don’t intend to, good-by."

The parting was as cold as the meeting had
been unamiable. -

“Old wretch!” said oung Mrs. Stanard,
when her husband’s mot or was out of hear-

in .

g‘Séiiteful dovill” muttered 00110, when she
had escended the steps and was clear of the
house. .

Near the corner she met her son.

“ 1 have been looking for you,” she said, joy-

‘ hr

“ ell, here I am.”

_And the young man turned'and accom
his mother up Brpadwa —his home,
time, being but a bloc
street.

“ I’ve news for you,” said Oello.

“ Of a pleasant nature, I hope.”

“ Not very. Your wife is in a dangerous
humor.”

“She alwa s is," declared the husband, with
a shrug of is shoulders, which expressed the
utmost indifference.

“ Yes, but she is unusually dangerous now.”

“ Well, I cannot help it. 1 always told you
she only lacked brains to be a perfect fiend.”

“You are right. I am afraid to trust her
with the child.”

“ Did you tell her?”

“ No. wbqld not when I found what sort
of humor she was in.”

“ Uba is always in the same humor,” observ-
ed Stanard, gloomily. “I hate the .sight of
her, and sooner or later she will find it out.”

Oello looked alarmed. They walked on till
they reached a rettaurant, which they entered
for the purpose of continuing their conversa-
tion.

Stanard gave an order, and then said, with a
determined look about his mouth:

“ The fact is, I’m tired of the whole business.
You made up the scheme, and it has fallen

ied
or the
away on Twelfth

throu h. I ain always the victim, and I think

{311 t3 6 my discharge, or send in my resigna-

ion. ‘ .
“ Then ou’ll undo all we have done. "

The In an woman was alarmed by his man-
ner.

“Well, what of it? \Ve have accomplished
nothing.”

“ Cannot you have a little patience? The
worst is over.”

“ What do I gain by waiting?”

“Everything. Mrs. Church is failing fast.”

"And when she has failed, what comes
next?”

“ “’0 step into her fortune.”

“And are hampered with two she-devils.”

“Sam is no devil.”

“ Wait till she has the pewer to act.”

“ You are unreasonable. I need not talk to

on.

Oello now looked angry. Stanard reflected
deeply. He had no intention of acting as he
threatened. As his wife said, the stakes were
heav , and he was by instinct a gambler.

“ ow long do you suppose it will be be-
fore you find the Wife and child!” he asked, at

h.
hi; cannottell. The only clew I haveis
Shéhalfdrewaphotographfromherpocketr
,“Iletineaae.” '

 

 

Stanard gazed upon the ictured face with a.
peculiar expression in his rk eyes.
“ A lovely face,” he said, slowly.
Give me the

“Yes. She is pretty enough.
photograph. A nice hunt I’ll have, no doubt.”

“ Let me keep the picture. I’ll find the girl.”

There was a certain eagerness in his look
and tone that escaped Oello’s notice—she was
drawing on her gloves pre aratory to leaving
the restaurant, otherwise s 9 would have re-
marked it.

“ You certainly will be able to do it more eas-
ily than I can,” she remarked, as if glad of the
proffered assistance.

“ You could not leave the house without be-
ing missed.”

‘ No, I could not.”

“ It may take months to find her thou h.”

“ No doubt it will take time and troub e.”

“ Are you certain that she is in New York!”

“Yes, he said so.”

“Well, I’ll t what I can do. I’ll devote my
spare time to t e work. A third of the time it
would take you to find her I’ll do it.”

“ And the child?”

“ I’ll attend to that also. Consider it done.”

“And you think it will be safe to trustUba
with the child?” ,

“ Yes; 1 know why.”

“Well, I’ll depend upon you. and I’m glad
you are willing to undertake the task. I have
so little time to myself, and can find no reason-
able excuse for leiiig awa from the house.”

- “As I said beforc. I’ll o my best, and let
you know the result.”

They parted. Oello took the up-town stage,
and her son strolled in the opposite direction.

“ Well. this will make a chan e,” be said, Is
he litla cigar. “And having t e child in my

.session will give me immense power. over

ura. I don’t trust her—I never did, even
if she is my sister!”

CHAPTER 'VII.
LUCIFER.

ELNA’S anxiety, which was maddeningka
vented her from making use of her best 6 arts
:3) obtain work for herself and a home for little

olf. '

She found, however, two neat and, above all, '

cheap rooms on Seventy-fifth street. She re-.
tained the services of her one domestic, a
Swedish irl named Christine. The girl was
fond of olf, and that alone was sufllcientto
make Elna fond of her.

Mr. Allen had been faithful to his promise; he
had obtained a position for the deserted wife-—
as he really supposed her to be. /

True, she on y earned a mere ittanoe. Int
while the mone she had obtained g
her furniture eld out she was at least in no
danger of starving. After it was exhausted,
she must trust in the God who “temper-stile

wind to the shorn lamb.” . - ,_
She was nurse and housekeeper to an invalid . «

lady, and that lady was none other than Mrs.

Knowles, the wife of the detective who was try—

:lng tic: ferret out the mystery of Randolf Church‘s
eat 2

Mrs. Knowles was a gentle, kind creature,
and seemed interested in her new nurse. She
suffered from a spinal affection, and was almost

totally helpless. Her clear, pale face alreagy ' :3

resembled the face of an angel ir some old pai

in", and strangers were always alarmed by the '

Her hul-
plliigsician, however, knew better.
ly linger on for many ears. '

thought that death was very near.
band and her
She would pro

Elna was as hap y as she could be in er has: V

band’s absence. be worried constantly. and

her car was forever on the alert, hopin to catch .. L

the sound of his dearly—loved voice, at M
Knowles consoled her with the greatest tact
delicacy. .

With well-meant deceitfulness she pretended ‘ l

to think Bandolf’s absence the most natural
thing in the world.

“ My husband goes away in exactly the same» ‘
manner,” she said, cheerfully; “perhaps yours '

is in the same business.”

“ What is your husband’s business?” asked T
the poor little wife, with such an earnest wish to-

be comforted in her blue e es. ,
“ He is a detective, and e 'm liable tobecaDed
awa at any time.”

gone?” asked Elna, hopefully. V
“No; it would never do for detectives to do

so,” replied the sick woman, inwardly addi , in I

the words of the old Scotch song: “The
forgi‘e me for leein’.”

“Then Randolf isa detective?” said Elna, her)"

lovely face flushed with joy, her eyes shinin .
“Oh! how much obliged to you I amt Than
you so much, dear Mrs. Knowles.”

All her doubts had vanished; only the am ‘ ’
usband.

heart still 1 for her h I
Little Do . childlike, was pleased 'Vwith his
newsurroundingsl-Ie nolongerfretted It!“
as; Eisjoy when his mother rammed fnfln
work at night almost consoled Elna for
husband's '

,since
wasnustnlfordetectivestodifi' pearsidden-
landleavenotrailtoguide their
a hes. ,

ythesaleo‘t‘

“ d doesn’t he let you know where he has _ V “K

Mrs. Knowles mid it t

sou-rowing

 

(

 

Sarah Brown, Detective. ,

 

 

  
 
 

Elna was very simple and unworldly. Many
girls half her age were ten times as quick to ob-
serve and fifty times as uick to suspect.

 Her love for Randol remained unchanged,

Vii" and her confidence in him unbroken.

p"; One night, as Elna was returning to her hum-

Fi '- ble home she met with a little adventure. She

.5 stopped before a small store to look at some

 _ simple toys displayed in the window. Taking

he" portsmonnaie from her pocket, she began to
turn over its contents with rather a mournful
look. She was puzzled to know, whether she
ought to decide in favor of a top, which Dolf
longed for, or apair of shoes, which he required.
, she stood hesitating, a rough-Imking mun
. '1 pushed rudely b , snatching, as he did, her
“‘V‘ pocket-ka from er hands.
_ . Elna. uttered a cry and sprung after the
 ‘snatcher, who darted around the corner.
. “Hallo!” cried a stranger, into whose arms
as ' , " she rushed,
w “Excuse me,” said Elna: “that man robbed
me. and I was running after him!”
The thief was now nearly out of sight, and it
Was useless to u‘ sue him; the streets were slip-
and twilight had already fallen.
“ as be robbed you of alargc sum?” inquired
7' i ‘the entleman, with interest.
“§lo only a few dollars.” Elna was surprised
to find that the stranger stood (gazing at her
 with such marked interest, an she colored

W'- ,' deeply, and, sa ing, “ Well, it is nousetomoum

' ' over what is ost; good-evening, sir,” she was

about to turn away.

2‘“ x1}, “Excuse me,” said he, “if I am apparently

« ~' forward, “ but will you tell me your name?”
' The young woman’s fair face was crimson to

 

the idea bang that fringeod her brow.
at. ', ._ “ really—"Sheba an. idly.
’5"  “Pardon me,” sai the man, earnestly. “If
“W ’, in? not in error, I have been searching for
" ou. ’
 . The thought flashed to her mind that her hus-

band had sent this man to look for her, as she
' it had left the home he had rovided. '
" ' ‘ “ My name is Elna Ran 011’,” she said, turning
' ,  pale. What if Randolf were ill?
‘, “Then I was right. Is not this your photo-
. x nh '
‘ '- Ernest Stanard, for he was the man drew the
_' icture from his pocket that he had received
£10m his mother.
He Was thoroughly accustomed to deceiving
' people by dissemhling and false statements.
  . , It came into his mind that he could easily
uade this “little greenhom,” as he termed
,3 , rin his own language, that he was an inti-
. ‘ mate and trusted friend of her husband.
v i , Elna started.violently; she recognized the pic-
"‘ m at a glance.
, ' " -‘ “Why that is tthihotograph I gave my bus-
‘f’l‘ hand!” she exclaim , a quick flash returning to
- , horiwhite cheeks, and a. look of fear to her large
' *‘bhxe eyes.
. .. i ’ “Exactly! Well. I thought I recognized you.”
i . ; Ernest managed to throw into his tone great
' ‘Warent. mpnthy.
v . Oh! w at is the matter?” cried Elna, clasp—
‘ing her hands, her lips quivering, her eyes di-
lated with terror.
*  “Nothing; only Randolf has been obliged to

 

go away.”
(3: ‘ “ Is t at all? Are you sure, quite sure, he is
. , not ill?"
33“; ., The poor little wife’s pitiful looks and tones
' " hunched even the gambler’s cold heart.
 L “365, he is not ill, I assure you; he is quite

' “ Thank God 1” She uttered the words so fer-

‘  h,“tly that Stanard involuntarily raised his

 _  some good spirit had whispered in her ear a
warning word!

, V in she had only known the-Lucifer to whom

_ kc!
w . ~ “gyms to my home with me,” she said, for
‘ the agitation was too much for her: she felt
I? hint.
‘ . “Certainly; with pleasure.”
They walked on to Elna‘s door. Her rooms
, were on the second floor. and one of them over-
' looked the street. There little Dolf always took
 his stand, watching for mamma. Mrs.
 les was considerate of Elna, and dispensed
with her services at seven o’clock, trusting to
1 other attendant to care for her during the
ht. She did this because she knew the girl
I for the solace of her child’s company.
Little Dolf caught a glimpse of his mother’s
form under the gas-ii ht. Begin a man beside
‘ her, be naturally ma 0 the mista eof supposing
in i: it to be his father.
“Christine!” he shouted in glee, “papa and

i, .mmma!"
' i. .. ‘ With these words mo ully started from the
,‘cbair on which be u standing, and ran
4 downstairs. I
1 q The ho was nimble, but his excitement made
, " him h ;he caught his foot in the stair-
“ met, and falling headlong, rolled down-stairs.
’ ’ u E1nnopenedthedoor,helay senseleuat

 

- her-feet. . .

 “Obi my Dolf is killed!" she sci-camsd’
\ for thscornsroftho bslustradeh
 hishsad and blood flowed freely from a

,~wonndanhistemfle. u '

   

   

 

“ No, he is not killed,” said Stanard, consol-
ingly, as he raised the boy and carried him up-
stairs in his arms, Elna following, sobbing bit-
ter y.

“ I’ll run for a doctor,” said Ernest, as he
placed the unconscious child in bed.

In a. moment he was one, and by the time
Elna had bound up D01 3 wounded head he had
returned with a medical man. -

The doctor consoled the terrified little mother
and under his care Dolf soon openedhis eyes an
began to cry with fright and pain.

The doctor pronounced the hurt nothing seri-
ous, and after writing a prescription, and dress-
ing the child’s head, he left, saying he would
return the followimr day.

“ How thankful am to you,”said Elna, to
Stanard, when the child was resting comfort-
ably, and she had time to attend to her guest.

‘ Do not speak of it.”

While Elna's mind was distracted by her fears
for her child the gambler had formed his scheme.
He had planned his story, and when she request-
ed him to be Seated while she removed her hat
and bathed her face he was ready with his tale
of duplicity.

“ Tell me all about my husband,” she said, re-
turning to the sitting-room, and taking a seat
near him.

“ Well, he told me to visit you and ex lain
how he had been called away suddenly. lost
the address very foolishly, and was searching
ever where when, fortunately, I met you.”

“ he address would not have helped you un-
less you found the house-agent. for I have moved,”
said Elna.

She was so innocent that it hardly cost the
artful sharper an effort to master the whole sit-
uation. He learned the story from her own lips,
and did this so cleverly that she fancied her hus-
band had told him all the history of their mar-
ried life, and any suspicious she might have had,
vanished.

Randolf trusted this man; he must be his
fiieqd; otherwise, how did he know all about

m

Stanard was too artful to tell Elna anything
she did not know. He. led her on to talk, ascer—
tained that she imagined her husband was a
detective,and corroborated-all that Mrs. Knowles
had said on the subject.

“ Surely she knows his proper name,” said the
gambler, to himself. “ Can he have married her
under an assumed name?”

By a little skillful questioning he found out
that Elna knew that her husban did not use his
full name. Also that she never read the daily
papers, and had never heard of the very sudden
death of Randolf Church.

All the excitement attendant on that mysteri-
ous death had died away. At least. so Stanard
supposed, for of course he knew nothing of the
de ctive 8 presence in the house in the disguise
of the chamhermaid, Sarah Brown.

Before he left her he had secured Elna’s full,

confidence. and inspired the belief that he was a
faithful friend of her absent husband.

Randolf, he informed her, had gone West ona
case of peculiar importance. She might not
hear of him for months. Of course it would
have been utterly impossible to impose upon her
credulit in such a manner had she known any-
thing a )ut detectives—their habits, etc.—but
she was perfectly ignorant on the subject, and
believed Ernest’s story more readil because it
coincided with all Mrs. Knowles ha said.

“ One thing‘I must tell you,” observed Stan-
ard, after he had acquired all the information
hf :eqfilred in order to carry out his infamous

o .

“ What is that?” asked Elna.

“Your husband left plenty of money in rfiy
hands for the use of you self and our child. e
will be much annoyed when'he ears that you
are in the position of nurse.”

Elna looked pained. She felt sorry that she
had taken Mr. Allen’s advice, which at the time
it was given had appeared so sensible.

“ I had not heard from him—I did not know,”
she stemmered.

“ Well. ’1] tell him it was his Own fault, and
you had better give up‘your position at once.”

It would never do, t e treacherous plotter re-
flected, to leave an. in the employment of a
detective’s wife.

“Very well, I’ll go and see Mrs. Knowles to-
morrow morning."

“ Better write her a letter now and I’ll postit.
Be independent.”

“She as been so kind to me, and she is very
ill,” pleaded Elna.

‘ Well, write her a nice note, and go some
other time to call upon her."
. “ Very wall.”

She seated herself and wrote a letter to Mrs.
Knowles, in which she stated that her husband
had sentls friend of his to findhtger—arég that it
was no necessary or r to parted
from her chfid. '

“ - .” said Stanard, as be secured the
letter. “ ow on need not leave your boy
again. Let me certain yonare we] supplied
with money.” '
He handed her a roll of bills, for which she
thanlfid him earnestly. I

“I ’look‘, in tomorrow,me how our little

  
 

A

man goes on,” he said, as he took her hand to say
farewell.

“ Thank you. Believe me, I am very grateful
to you for all your kindness.”

“"Nonseuse. I am Randolf’s friend; that is

“ I’ll tell him how true, how kind a friend on
. have proved yourself,” Elna assured, feelingry.

Had he possessed one spark of honesty or 1.1-in-
ciple, a blush of shame must have risen to his
face at her innocent words, but he did not.

“ I hope to prove so, indeed,” he responded,
with great apparent earnestness; and so they
parted.

 

CHAPTER VIII.
THE TWO NIECES.

niece, in her cold, proud fashion. Her own
nearest relative, the humble Mabel, had, on the
contrary, never found favor in her eyes.

She was 100 humble and unobtrusive to force
herself on the notice of the haughty woman on
whom she was dependent, and her bitter poverty
made her extremely sensitive.

The orphan daughter of a clergyman, whom
her mother had married in opposition to the
wishes of her proud family. Mabel Nelson had
felt to her heart’s core the slights and contemp—
L tuous treatment of her haughty aunt. She re-
membered her home in the leasant country to“ n
where she was born, how p ain and unpretending
it was, yet how hep y, where love had cheerfully
rei ed, and peace overed over the roof-tree, a
we come and glad visitant. x

She was not ve oung when she lost both
parents but herli e ad not been a life of train-
ing to fit her for a struggle for bread, and she
was not of a pushing, energetic disposition. She
had written to her aunt when her mother had
been called away with fearful suddenness by
heart-disease but Mrs. Church had merely sent
a coldly-won ed letter of condolence.

When Mr. Nelson followed his wife within a
year, Mabel had written again. In reply came
a letter penned by Mrs. Flutter, inclosin a
check for funeral experses, and acold invitation
for Mabel to make her home with her aunt.

Not knowing what else to do the stricken wo-
man had availed herself of it, but she knew, ere
she reached the stately mansion, that she was no
welcome guest, and every da of her life she re-
alized the painful fact more ully.

She had been five years an inmate of the
house when Ubaldina Church arrived with her
Peruvian nurse. The girl had at once taken a
dislike to the meek, uncomplaining woman, and
had from the first treated her with contempt.

Oello had often protested against her more
than unkind treatment of the inoffensive woman
who moved through the house so humbl and
mildly, but her remonstrances apparen y did
more harm than good.

What made ,the vindictive little Creole dislike

oor Mabel more than anything else, was that

andolf really liked her, and displayed the ut-
most respect and kindness in his treatment of
his orphaned cousin.

Mrs. Church’s proud heart could find no place
for the dependent Mabel: she disliked her meek,
; pale face, her humble ways, and what she deem-
, ed her want of spirit. She thought that Mabel
' had inherited her disposition from her father,
I who was of lowly origin. The meeker and more
' humble the niece was, the more the proud mis-
l tress of the house despised her.

Ubaldina Church suited her far better. That
1 young lady had certainly no want of term rand
spirit. She was sufficiently proud and imperi-
ous. ‘

“Pride of birth and blood.” deflated Mrs.
Chu'rch, admiringly, “ are proper and becom-

After the death of Randolf hismofher sensibly
faded day b day. Ubaldina was her constant
companion, for the artful girl knew that in a

cat measure her future depended upon Mrs.

hurch.

Randolf had inherith his father’s fortune
with the exception of a handsome sum which the
elder Mr. Church had left to his widow. Mrs.
Church was now the possessor of all. for her son
had died intestate, and, as was supposed. with-
out an heir. His mother as next of kin, was
therefore the mistress of t e whole fortune.

Ubaldina dared not request her aunt to make
her will, but she longed to hear that it had been
done, for if Mrs. Church died without disposing
of ,her property by Will, Mabel Nelson’s claim
would be . ual to her own.

(Little di the stately old lady think, when she
spoke of pride of birth and blood, that her sup-

niece was the daughter of a Chum-hos Ins

n woman, whose husband had been an 90-
ca felon! .\

“Ch “'88, hOWever, the case. as we already
have explained. The real Ubaldins Church had
when still a mere child, learned to love the son
of her nurse. His mother seefn . With all her
native cunning, that such a ms: 88 Wduld be
of advantage to herself and family, had consent-
ed to be present whilethe young girl was secret-
ly married to Ernest. ‘

She well know the family of the bridewould
nearer consent, so the ml was not ted
to her haughty aunt, while Oello’s own a gh

.,
h

 

 

MRS. CHURCH was attached to her husband’s '

 

.M,“



. :h‘)‘;

w...

    

 

g
l .

 

 

  
  

 

 

1: , ,Li, A  _

  Brown, Detective.

»’" , .r  .1  . . .. »

 

 

Sura, undertook to act the role of the Peruvian
heiress, and thus far she had done so successful‘
ly. She was of an artful nature, and had been
educated with Ubaldina. .

and quicker of the twu. and far pleasanter in

She was the brighter .

l

i
1

her manner than the real Miss Church, who had ‘

herself planned this scheme to deceive her rela-
tives and have her own way.

Ubaldina was married to Ernest, as stated be-
fore they left Lima, and Sum—subtle, artful,
unprincipled Sure—made up her mind to marry
Randolf even before she ever saw him—deter-
mined to make him marry her, whether he liked
her or not.

This scheme had not proven successful, how-
cvcr. The young Creole soon learned to love
the handsome, frank young man With all the
force of her fiery nature, but she had never been
able to awaken an ' responsive feeling in his
heart. Indeed, she new he did not ove her,
but then intrigued to the end that he would con-
sent to marry her to lease his mother, who ar-
dently longed to see baldina’s fortune united
to Randolt’s and the pride and prestige of the
house thus pm served and perpetuated.

In furtherance of her schemes Sura pretended
to bestow her confidence upon Mrs. Church,
telling: that lady liow dearly she had learned to
love Randolf, and Mrs Church had promised
her supposed niece that the marriage would take
place at once.

Oello had not approved of her daughter’s
action. She felt that the girl, with all her art-
fulness, had blundered, for the wily Indian sus-
pected the truth—name] , that Randolf Church
was not a free man. he sought an interview
with him and obtained it. Then shehad learned
the whole story.

Rnndolf was a married man and the father of
a soul He only refrained from acknowledging
his wife and child out of consideration for his
mother.

.She was so proud, so ambitious, that be well
knew she would be terribly shocked and an
when she learned he had married beneath him,
and she would certainly consider his wife too
plebeian for a Church. '

Oello’s blood flashed hot] when the Indian
learned the truth. Her daug ter’s long-matured
plans were foiledl .Sura could never hear his
name and reign a queen in the state] mansion.

And then, too, as soonas the ma Ubaldi’na
Church grew tired of her hu‘nble position the
false heiress must go forth—denounced as an

im stor.
The thought drove Oello nearly mad.

 

CHAPTER IX.
A MOTHER’S GRIEF‘.

ERNEST STANARD lost no time in cultivating
his ac uaintance with Elna. His design upon
little olf was one motive, but another and
more werful one animated himz—he loved the
pure- aced, gentle little girl whose beauty and
sweetness contrasted so forcibly with Ubaldina’s
dark face and sullen maners.

True, he was not free, but he was a desperate,
un rinci led man. He had never loved his
wi e an be no longer even tolerated her. Why.
whould he not regain his freedom by means
which he did notw isper evan to himself?

Elna was Randolf Church’s widow. Henson
was his heir. Ubaldina held her fortune in her
own hands and was not generous.

Dark lane and thoughts passed through his
brain. e was at once crafty and cruel. His
passions were powerful as those of his father’s,
for Spanish blood coursed through'his veins, but
he had all the slow cool deliberation of the In-
dian character inherited from his mother.

His was a complex nature, and he had drawn
all the bad traits from each parentage, and
none of the generosity of most passionate men;
he was crafty like his dark-skinned mother, but
he lacked her unselfish devotion and faithful
lovie, for when Oello loved she loved faithfully as
a r o . '

Eligia, of course, could not comprehend sucha
charahter as Ernest’s. She had been reared in
a simple, honest home, and fancied a man who
came to her honorably and kindly must be good.
A man who looked in her face with clear eyes
and spoke in a pleasant, straightforward way
could not be other than he represented himself.

So she acce ted Stanard as a friend of her
husband’s—a ind, honorable gentleman. . .

He went home one day after an interView
with Elna, his mind full of horrible theifllrts.
His wife met him with a frown upon her k,

unlovely brow.
[you been?” she demanded,

“ Where have
harshly.

“ About my business,” re lied Stanand, throw-
ing himself intoa chair an returning her angry

look. _

“ Very extraordinary business yours is,” she
sneered.

“ Very.” ‘ ' '

He liked to proVOkO her. and cared not how
much she suffered. ”

“I’ll tell you something. she said. after a
pause, during which her husband could see the

' arteries in her throat throbbing Violently,“
'  berfurious temper.
' wguc

i
\51

 

 

 

“I’m oing to relieve your sister of her ar- I

duous tas of laying the lady.”

“ Indeed! ‘m glad to hear it.”

She expected to alarm him, and saw that she ,
had failed.

“Yes, she can retire to her old position of
chamber-maid.”

“ No doubt she will be delighted. It must be I
difficult to sustain the role of such a refined lady ‘
as—you rself I”

A dull red flushed her face. She felt cutto ‘
ghe heart. He could Wound her, for she loved 5

1m. i

“ No matter. I’m tired of neglect, and the t
dull, aimless existence I lead.” ' 1

“So am I. I shall return joyfully toPeru, i
and go in for my old work."

“ What do you mean .3” she asked, sharply. i

“ IVhat I say. You are perfectly well aware ,‘
that your aunt will not receive me.” I

“ I do not see why not.” .

She was alarmed, as he intended she should ‘
be. She might threaten and talk rashly, but '
the thought of absolutely parting from him was
death to her. He knew his power and be abused
it.

“You are perfectly well aware that Mrs.
Church despises servants as much as she does
her niece.”

He Spoke in an injured tone, as if his feelings
had been deeply wounded.

“ Ernesto!’

She was at his side, her arms about his neck,
her 1i 8 u n his forehead.

“Y%u now I never meant that,” she said,
tenderly. “ How can you say so, my own hus-
band?” ‘

“You spoke of my mother—my sister,” he
said. rcproachfully.

d ‘1‘"Ohl Ernesto mio—I love you—you know I
o

A world of tendernem shone in her dark face
and sounded in her voice. She looked lorifled
by the wer of womanly feeling an wifer
love. er face was almost beautiful.

“Yes, Uba,” he replied, softly. “ I know
you love me. You stooped to marry so far he- ’
neath you, my beautiful wife; but on are ‘
proud, and you repent your rashness. on are
sorry youmarried the base-born Ernesto. You
repent; and what is left for me to do? Goaway
and die!” .
toHebburied his face on her breast and pretended

so .

“No, no, my own!” cried Ubaldina, clasping
him passionately to her heart. “Never 8 _
part from my darling husband! Rather would

die—ten times Over 1”

She meant it; there was truth in her face, in ,
the ring of her voice. She loved him with all _
the force and fire of her nature, warm as the '
clime which gave her birth.

“ But you weary of your dull life—you long i
for other company—a ha pier, freer life,” he ;
said, gently struggling as i to free himself from 8
her embrace, and speaking in an aggrieved tone
—as if deepl wounded.

“ No, no; shall never speak so again. I am

ha py now—very happy.” i
X unseen by his
wife, on whose faithful heart his head rested.
l

 

cruel smile curled his li

“ Are you ha ? Will on have tience for
a little while?”ppy y pa

6‘ Yes.”

“ Mrs. Church fad day by day. When she
is gone, then ‘we will  all.”

‘ But Sum?”

She took a seat‘near him, still holding his hand

in hers. .

“ What of her?”

“She may influence Mrs. Church to leave
everything to her.”

“She will leave everything to her niece,
Uhaldina Church.”

“Yes, and—” 3

“ We can readily prove that Sura has no claim
upon that name. ”
r “But how can we account for the deception
We have ractiCedl” 5

“Tell
of Mrs. Church.”

“But Sura will he in pomession; suppose she E
declares us impostors?” , '

“ She dare not.” _ t

“ You cannot tell. I fancy she will.” 3

“If she does, I have a remed .”

He spoke .so significantly that his wife looked
up in surprise. I

“What is your remedy’l” she asked, eagerly. ‘

“gandolf hurch was married.”

n O. i

“ Yes, he left a widow.” ‘-

“ Then how did Sura expect to win his heart?"

“ She did not know.”

“ How did you learn this?” ;

“ I found out that he was secretly married,
four years a o.”

Ubaldina ooked thorough] m stifled. ,

“ But how can that help us ’ s e inquired, in v
a puzzled tone. _ ,

“I’ll tell you, my dear wife,” answered the
treacherous Stanard, affectionately. “ This 1
widow has a chil . I’ll obtain this child and

l

I
l
i

: once set about car

: accident, but she feared that Mrs.

e truth. You are Ubaldina, the niece I ,

. mony, she had of course onl

“Why, don’t you see, my angel? Randolf
Church died intestate; his son is his heir, and
we have his son in our possession. If Mrs.
Church makes a will and dies, Sura, even if she

‘ claims everything, cannot dispute the child’z.

claim; it certainly goes before hers.”
“And Sura will not be able to get anytliingi”
“ N 0. Mrs. Church does not know that her
grandson exists, so she can’t disinherit him even

. if she had the power, which she has not.”

“ And how about Mabel?”

“Mabel will get nothing, unless her aunt
leaves her a tri e from her own private for-
tune.”

u I see.”

“ But we reckon without our host. I’ve not
been able to find the child et.”

Stanard’s motto was, “ ever tell the truth if
falsehoods will answer your purpose.”

“ Can I assist you?”

“ No, darling; it is enough to worry you with
the boy after he is found.”

“ I shall not mind that. You know I love
children.”

" She winced as she uttered the words: one of
her greatest griefs was that she was a childlem
wif

e.
“ Well, dearest, you can have the boy. Prob-
ably he is a pretty child. His father was a
handsome man.”
“ Yes, and the boy is my own cousin. I wish
we had him here now.” ‘

“ You shall have him as soon as I can find \

him, but if Sura visits you—not one word to her
of who or what he is!” ‘
“ No. She might try to steal him. D05 ‘,
youil'qmgther know of him?”
0

Stanard always wove a double web when a
sin leone would answer the pu .
baldina was restored to g
husband soon left her to attend to his mysterious '
business. ‘
She new looked forward to the arrival of the:

boy as a certainty, and with a feverish longin . , ‘

She loved children, and she was despera y
lonely. Then, too, she would have
Sura, whom she heartily de ted with
all the intensity of her nature.

She more than suspected that the artful ’
dau hter of the Indian woman would give her
trou le when the time came for herto ive up
her false splendor and return to the g
position she had formerly occupied.

Sura had been educated with Ubaldina. but
the heiress had never allowed her to forget that
she was a servant and the daughter of a slave.
No love had ever existed between them for

humor, and her .’

wer over I ..

umble - 

Ubaldina disliked and despised Sura, and hum ,

envied and detested Ubaldma.

Oello naturally loved her own daughter better H '

impelled a strong feeling of jealousy against 
infant she was forced by circumstances to tend, 1
to the neglect of her own. .

Ernest felt satisfied that he need lose no time '1
in robbing Elna of her boy. After this inter 3
view with his deceived wife the way seemed ‘
clear enough to the artful schemer. 7,

His plan was all matured. The boy would be“
lost. He would express great sympathy for 
afllicted‘mother and by degrees wm her heart"
he could enact the double role of faithful

and Counselor. Then, when the proper time

 

friend 

: than her nurSe-child; indeed, her savage nature 

‘:
,.

re,

. K.

arrived, he would break gently to her the news -' ~

that she was a widow, and as soon as her grief n

had in a measure subsided would proffer his 

faithful heart and induce her to marry him.

This was his diabolical scheme, and he at
in);I it out. _ .
Elna had never eft Dolf since the day of hh'f
howls
might think her ungrateful and remiss; so three

 

. weeks after the evening of the child’s fall, she, '

made up her mind to visit her friend.
Dolf was well again and happy in the
sion of a fine me ing-horse presented
kind friend, Mr.
had given. . 
Christine promised that she would take excab ,[
llJeut care of him, and Elna set of! with a light :
eart. . r,
Mrs. Knowles received her fiery kindly, 
showed no little surprise when Elna told the ,
history of her husband’s friend and all his kind.

ness. .

Though the detective’s wife had, told the 
little woman the story of detectives leaving '
their homes and wives with such scant care? ‘
dance» to console a
her. and meant no harm. 0w she fully mi- .
ized that harm had come of her waleeant
kindness. She knew that Elna had bcen im-
posed upon, and blamed herself for it.

“ And this man tells on he is your husband’s

an" "

tevans—the name Stanand

friend?" she said. slow y, her bright eyes find i

on the pure child-like face before her. i »
“ Yes, and he has been so very, very kind.”

“Elm, 1 am sorryto be the one. todisahuso 

our mind of .the belief in this seeming friend,

t I am sure the man is imposing upon you.” 
“ltNhatl” gasped the little woman in amaze- 
men .

give him to you. on you have Sun in your 6 “ Yes, and the worst of it is it is rtly
pom .” ' ‘ , ' . my fault, for I told you a falsehgg th God '-
“ l” I know it was a well~mtentioned one.” on: ‘

a
a

par?

  

 

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'3‘ . , in“. ’ N. .,.5-...’.‘, “A”
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r  .v I '~i~'

) Sarah Brew ,’ Detective.

fg;\l, "‘3' "! V ,

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“ What do you mean, Mrs. Knowles?”
Elna had grown pale as snow, and she trem-
, . bled so violently tha the invalid was afraid she
-- . would faint.
“Why, in dear child, detectives don’t 0 OR
and leave t eir wives without saying w y or
wherefore. This man has taken advantage of
your ignorance of the world.”
“ But you told me they did i” cried Elna, re-
proachfully.
“ I know I did, and I was a fool for my pains.
I  you so that I would have sworn black was
w ite if I thought it would have comforted you
to think so; but honesty is the best policy, as we
all find out after we try the other sorts. Now,
Elna], don’t look so frightened; listen to reason
and ’1] tell you the truth.”
“ Go on,” said Elna, faintly, clasping her hands
together and bracing herself to hear something
terrible. \
“ Well, dear, I don’t believe your husband—
was a detective at all.” '
‘ “ Then why did you say so?"
f‘ Because as I have told you, I’d have said
an hing. l‘Iever mind that part. You say
- th man has got your photograph?”
‘ I It Yes. ’9

“ The same one vou gave your husband?”

fl Yes.”

“ Well, dear, ou’ll have to bear it like other

r souls do. our husband has deceived and

eserted you.”

“ No! N 0!”

The cry came like the cry of a wounded hare.
“ I knqw it is hard, thou h I don’t know how
* hard, thank God!” said rs. Knowles, tears
sprin 'ng to her bi , sympathetic eyes.
.~ “I is not true,’ rete Elna, bravely, the
' color coming back to her white face. “ I would
be a wicked woman to stay here and listen to
such accusations.”
« She rose to her feet indignantly, for anger had
' restored her strength.
, . j. “ Well, Hi dear, I must sa it—you are a
4 ' foolish one, re lied her frien , hotl , for, like
 invalids, er patience was not nexhausti-

“ I shall not lose confidence in my husband,”
.  answered Elna.
‘ “ Well, keep it, though I’m sorry for you.”
I The little woman rose to go. She was terri-
u bly angry. Her husband 8 ken of in such a
‘ ‘manneri—openly accused of ing a deceiver!
' She ut on her hat, cloak and gloves with
thumb] ng hands, while her eyes shonelike dark
blue fire, and her cheeks glowed deep crimson as
th? heart of a rose.
’_ ,‘Good-by,” said her friend, and] , as she saw
. ‘he‘r sparing to depart in suc an angry

“Goorllépy, madam.” returned the aggrieved
o . ' y

“ Shake hands, Elna, and if you need a friend
J'Ulnember me.”

“Thank ou.” -
~ '- Elna too the slim white hand in hers, an
\s‘uflered Mrs. Knowles to kiss her hot cheek,
which was Wet with angry tears.

‘ .Good-by.” she said, in a choked voice, and
Out in the fresh cold air she felt

..%- 

was gone.

tter.
* It was dark already, and cold-eyed stars were

-,; « hinklngnout through the purple hare of a wintry
, wk. lna’s anger subsided, gradually. Mrs.

E.
s

 
      
  
  
   
   
  
  
    
  
 
 
   
 
   
   
    
 
   
   
  
    
  
 
 
     

, meant w ll, and, after all, she did not
' wRandolf. S e judged him by other men.
he returned she would take him to the
 lady’s bedside and then she could see how
taken she had been in her estimate of his
nimble, manly character. -

With these thoughts Elna hastened home, for
had. spent the eater portion of the da
thher fri9nd. 3 she drew near her dwe -
“the saw, to her surprise, Christine coming
inward her, with her handkerchief to her

-“Dolfi” gasped the mother in an agony of
r.
"“._0hl misus—missus—gmis I” sobbed the

. L I .

, What do you mean?” Elnagrasped the girl’s
' and shook her roughly.

, im for a moment to fetch a pail of

i -- and e’s gone.” ,.

“ Gone where?" '

Elna asked the nestion with a quiet calmness,

: outbomo of ex me fear.

,._The distracted, little mother accepted well-
ded ’offers of help which did not avail for

night fell on the desolate home, and hair

had-not been found. /

Morning broke in due course and still the

rooms were, in Elna’s estimation, empty, for

her boy‘s rosy face was not there, his Joyous

mas silent. -

stood his latest treasure—the wonder-
fully-spotted rocking-horse. There lay one
“flat mitten, and a piece of candy, but Dolf

ins gone.

As da light gazed in, a eyed and cold, the
W mgther broke dong,- aha Christine, whose
in red, tearaswollen face spoke eloquent]

“’ ' morseful grief, half-carried her to her .
There~ she lay. weaiiiag and refusing to, he
mfonted, ‘ for, like hel, her chil “-

  
   
  
  

  

  

of her.

CHAPTER X.
A VOICE AT MIDNIGHT.

SARAH BROWN had studied the household, and
got them “ down fine.”

One of two things she (or rather he) was satis-
fied was the case:

Either Randolf Church had.died a natural
death in his marble bath-room, and Borrow-
dale’s zeal had outrun his discretion, or some
member of the household had murdered him.

Knowles had interviewed the undertaker, who
declared that the marks on Mr. Church‘s neck
were the marks made by the neck-rest in the ice-

1:.

Why might not this be the case? What earth-
ly reason had any one to murder the young
man? Apparent] , none whatever.

The servants a loved him for his generous,
easy nature. His mother loved him because he
was her son and a Church. One of his cousins,
the rich one, loved him because he was kind to
her, and felt for her in her unenviable position
of the slighted poor relation.

Out of all this houseful of lovin
would steal into that pavilion and;
Church?

Oello, the Chunchos squaw? How ridiculous!

Knowles laughed when the idea occurred to
him. So did Borrowdale, when he mentioned it

to him.

They both laughed; but the did not forget
that the thought had occurred 0 them both.

The suspicion did not die, though it was so
weak and fragile that a breath of air might kill
it—so weak that it had to be kept hidden; honest
daylight and one gleam of common sense would
surely cause it to wither up and in. mm.

Still it lived, weak though it was; it possessed
wonderful vitality. It lived, and grew and
stren thened.

OelIo hated Sarah Brown; so did the false
,Ubaldina Church. So did the French maid,
Anette.

The keen eyes of the chambermaid seemed to
look right through these people and render them
uncomfortable.

One person the detective longed to see—that
was Oello’s son.

It was some time before he was gratified; but
one day the woman was called down-stairs by
the footinan, who announced—“ Your son wish-
es to see you.”

Sarah Brown started for the housekeeper’s
room. She did not regard a frown from the In-
dian, or, if she did, looked upon it in a friendly
fashion:

She saw the son' but she did not under-
stand what he said when he addressed his
mother, and for the good reason that he spoke
Spanish.

Sarah Brown could not, of course, remain

people, who
strangle Mr.

She staid long enough, however, to make up
her mind about Oello’s son.

“That is the man who can tell the secret of
the death in the pavilion if he likes,” was her
conclusion.

The next day Sarah went out for two hours.
When she returned she carried a large parcel.

The following day Oello went out and was
gone all the afternoon. She looked angry when
she returned. She had an interview with Miss
Church and they both grew excited over their
convarsation.

This much Knowles knew, for, like some
chambermaids, Sarah was not above listening at
keyholes; but what good was it when people
spoke Spanish?

That night a. strange thing came to as;
Oello’s room was a large one, at the end 0 the
corridor. On one side of it was a spare cham-
ber which was never occu led by any member
of the family, beiisif reserv for- guests. At the
other side was a. tting=room where the ladies
sat occasionall during the day. Oello’s door
faced the wide all staircase. The house was of
magnificent proportions and the lndian woman
was really isolated from the rest of the famil .
She preferred to be so, for she had no frie s
among the other servants.

This room was large; two long windows over-
looked the garden, but not on one side where
the pavilion reared its head. They were draped
with heavy plush curtains of a. deep maroon
color; the furniture was in keeping, and the ap-

rance of the chamber was somewhat gloomy
or the carpet and wall-hangin were dark.

Oello evidently possessed no te in fitting up
her a rtment to render it cheerful or homelike;
no lit 1e knick-knacks betra_ ed a woman’s pres-
ence; it looked bare and me ancholy.

The bed was a very large one and stood
next to the guest chamber, in the corner by the
wall

It was midnight and the Indian woman was
preparing for rest. The hour chimed from the

eat hall clock As the last stroke sounded, a
s rill voice ex aimed:

“ Randolph Church was murdered /”

Oello dropped the hair brush she had beam
using, and her heart stood still.

From whence did the words proceed?

From the wall near her bed!

 

A 'n came the ominous words, spoken slow-
: ly 2th an accusing ring in their mysterious ac-
cen : > ~. v , _

during the interview in the housekeeper’s room. ,

 

“ Randolph Church was murdered I"

The woman almost fell as she made a rush for
the door.

Once more, before she reached it, came the
voice: and once gain the words were shouted
after her as she fl .

She flew like a spirit to her daughter’s room.
Sura sat before the fire with a book upon her
knee. She was not reading, however, and she
looked sad and dejected.

“ What’s the matter?” she asked, as Oello
darted in, casting a terrified look behind her.

“ Surai” gasped the afi'righted woman, clasp-
ing her daughter in her arms.

“ Hush! Are you mad l”

She shook off her mother’s arms and run
to'her feet to close the door, which 0e 0 ha
left wide open. _ . .

“No; but, my child—there is a spirit in my
room.”

“ Nonsense!”

“ There is, truly. It spoke to me—”

She trembled so violently that she could
scarcely stand, and her copper-tinted skin was a
sick] ellow hue. . .

“ What absurd folly!” cried ura impatient-
ly, and she darted a look of ontem ton her
mother. “ Come and see for yourself, ’ she ad-
ded, for the girl was superior to the mother’s ig-
norant superstitions.

“ No, no, not for millions of dollars!” answer-
ed Oello, with a shudder.

“Please yourself,” replied her daughter, scorn- .

fully.
“ tell you I heard the very words it ut-
tered!” '

l(ilello drew a chair to the fire and seated her-
se .

“Are you going to remain here?” inquired
Sura. coldly.

“ lies, I am.”

“ Ve well. I’ll lock the door.”

She (1 so, and returning to her place took up
her book with a yawn.

Oello’s black eyes fixed themselves on her
daughter’s face With a liar expression.

Certainly the oung ady had not shown much
sympathy with er mother’s terrors, and had ac-
corded her but a cold reception.

“If you are not greatly interested in that
book I ’d like to speak to you.” she said, after a
silence of some fifteen minutes.

“Go on.”

The young lady laid down the volume, lan-
guidly, and turned to her mother.

“ I saw Ubaldina te-day.”

“ So I am aware.”

“ Well she has us in her power now."

“ In w at way?”

In spite of her assumed calmness the young
lady looked anxious. . '

‘ iShe”ha.s Randolf Church’s child in her pos-

on.

“ Does she know to whom it belongs?”

H No.”

Carrying out his lan of deceiving both,Er-
ncst had instructed ldina to feign ignorance
of the child’s arentage, and told his mother it
was better to eep his wife in the dark on the
subject. Thus both women were deceived.

“ Well. if she does not know whose child it is,
I cannotsee why the fact of having possession
of it can change her much.”

008116 spoke m a weary, half-contemptuous
ne.

“ She was changed before—she is tired of the
falsesh? ihs forced to leadi”fun

‘ ' 0 er husband. expected it
from the first.” y /

“ She is not tired of E, ”

“Well, what’s the matter t en?” ,

“ Shela1 is afraid My. Church may die andleave
eve t i to you.

axing? of triumph shone from the catlike
eyes of the impater. , ,

“ So she wil ,” she said, simlinii‘ly. _

“I know what you think, but ow can itavail
on?” . .
“ I don’t understand.”

“ She will leaf: her 'fortune to her Moos,
Ubaldina. Churc . r

“ Well, I am her niece, Ubaldina Church i”

“ What !”

Astonishment electrified Oello. She sprungto
her feet.

"See here,” said Sara. calmly signing to her
mother to seat herself. “ Pll defy er. Let her

be her identity if she can i"

“ But this was not what we agreed,” stammer.
ed Oello. _ _ i
“No matter; possession is nine points of the
law. I’m in posacssmn of the name and the
place. Let her displace me—i‘f she can I”

' A cold glitter shone in her eyes and her thin
lips took a curve of cruel determination.

“ What i” cried Oello, in evident astonish-
merit.

“ I’ve been making up my mind in a far dif‘
ferent course of action than you planned,” add-
ed Sura, half defiantly. ' ,

“ You have, and without consultin me?"

“ Yes, for I am sure you do not hog Skill
courage to assist me."

“ Go on.”

" I’ll keep my position. No one can, at me
out of it. Mrs. Church is dying by me as. J

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' I
am a favorite of hers and shall be her heiress.

Be bold, and let nothing frighten you.”

“ But Ernest?”

“ Defy him! Let them both do their worst.”

“ But Ubaldina has the roofs of her birth.
Her guardian may come to l ew York.”

“ Her guardian will do nothing of the sort. He
ll'l :. not forgiven her for taking her money out
or his hands and giving it to her uncle.”

“ She may call u on her uncle. N 0, your
scheme is impractica le.”

Sura hit her lips savagely.

“ I wish she had heart-disease, also,” she said,
with a frown.

“She has not. You will have to depend on
her bounty.”

“Never!”

She sprung from her chair, and paced the floor
with angry strides, her thin red lips pressed close
together, her e es flashin .

‘ I hate her!’ she hi. .

“ I know you do.”

The Indian woman watched her daughter with
keenest interest.

Another watched them both—the detective
Knowles, but he could not understand one word
of the conversation, which was carried on in
Spanish.

He had formed a hiding-place in a large closet
and by rearranging some placques he managed
to conceal a small opening which he had easily
made in the wall.

There he 5 nt weary hours, but could discov-
er nothing or 00110 and her daughter habitu-
ally used the Spanish tongue when they convers-
ed together.

One thing, however, Knowles had seen—that
was, Oello’s terror over the unseen accuser—her
midni ht visitor. He knew the supposed spirit
voice ad struck terror to her heart.

But never had he been engaged on such a pe-
culiar case; he was baffled at every turn.

He did not understand one word of Spanish,
and to save his life he could not have found any
motive for the crime, if any had been commit-
ted

Ilike the coroner, he be an to think Randolf
Church had died a natura death.

CHAPTER XI.
_ DOLF’S an non.

CERISTINE’S statement that she had only left
Dolf for a very short time was one that was ex—
cusable under the circumstances, but not strict-
ly true.

Like most pretty girls Christine had an ad-
mirer. He was emp oyed in a grocery-store
near her home, and she sometimes lingered long-
er than was strictly necessary to make her little
purchases.

Elna’s absence gave the girl an opportunity to
visit the store where Fritz’s white apron and red
cheeks shone to such advantage.

Dolf promised to be a good boy, and the wire
gauze arrangement to keep him away from the

re was securely fastened—the windows safe and
the matches all put away in the closet, the key
of which was in Christine’s apron pocket.

Under the circumstances, she thought she
might all out and purchase a trifle from her
blue<ey adorer. -

Alas! the moments flow so fast in hiscompany
that half an hour gassed, and when Christine re-
turned hastily, wi an anxious face, to the room
where she had left the boy, he was gone!

Some one had visited the rooms in her ab-
sence; the child’s cloak and hat were missing
and one of his mittens lay on the floor, drop
by whoever tool):1 himuiimay.f d 1

Christine, wi wi . grie an ear Yeager]
questioned the people In. the house, but they had
not seen or heard an thing unusual. The. case
door had been open or a short time while the
landlady’s children watched a monkey which ac.
com nied an organ- inder on his musical way
up th: street, so the c ild might have slipped out
amolilighthe othg;d children, or some stranger
mi t ave an in.

golf was goge, and did not return. Search
for him proved vain: no trace or track could be
discovered, and Elna’s grief had settled into
dumb despair, when her friend, Mr. Stanard,
called upon her.

He was full of sympath , of course. lHe was
hopeful, too; he cheered he poor forlorn little
mother, and insisted that the boy would be
found. Skilled detectives must be set to work;
no time must belost, and off started the anxious
friend to find or rescue the lost child.

.Elnathanked him kindly, with tears in her
big childlike eyes, and flushes of be coming
an 801118 on her pure cheeks. e left her
cheered and comforted by his visit; but nothing
came of it. Da passed, and weeks elapsed,
and still the chil was notrestored to its broken-
hearted mother.

When Christine left him the child had played
with his blocks contentedly till he heard a foot-
step, and saw a stranger enter the room.

‘ WellkDolf,” said the new-comer, “ where’s

a?
“Gone to see Mrs. Know,” replied' the boy,

h was not at all shy.
’w“0 111 you come with me and see the mou-

'1
‘What monkey?” . .1

 

[a straight'story;

“Out here. Come and see.”
to his cries of delight when the active little ani-
mal climbed up to the windows of the opposite
house. He also gave Dolf candy, which pleased
him still more.

“Would you like to
the monkey this?” ask
a. bright quarter.

“ Oh, yes: but mamma says I must never go
‘down to the door without her or Christine.”

“Well, Christine is there. Besides, mamma
iontprne to take you for a walk. Where’s your

at

Nothing loth, the child found his hat, his
warm plush coat, and knitted leggings and
mits, a] of which the stranger hurriedly put on
for him. They then descended the stairs and
passed out among the children unnoticed.

They watched the monkey only for a moment,
Dolf putting the new quarter in the cup the ani-
mal eld out to him.

“Now we will go in the car,” said Dolf’s new
friend.

Of course the boy was delighted. especiall as
he was informed that he was going to rs.
Know’s to see mamma.

He rode uite along distance, and then walked
several bloc s; be was getting tired when they
arrived at a house, and he was at once taken
into a parlor, when his outside garments were
removed.

“ Where’s “mammal” he asked, looking around
anxiously.

His new friend did not reply, but a lady came
forward and said kindly:

“ Mamma will soon be here.”

Dolf looked at her ve hard. Children are
keen physio omists. e knew the lady was
(lilisposed to friendly, but he did not trust

er.

The man who had enticed him from home had
disappeared, and he began to feel uneasy.

“I want mamma!”

His red lips began to quiver and his blue eyes
to fill, but Christine had told him “big boys”
never cried, and he could not bear to be called
“a baby,” so he bravely choked back the sobs
that rose to his little throat.

“ Mamma. will soon be here, dear.”

The lady seated herself beside him and remov-
ed his one mitten.

“ I guess the other islost,” he said, looking the
lady in the face. Her eyes were filled with won-
der and admiration at the boy’s pink and white
baby beauty, which seemed more than beautiful
to her on account of its novelty. She had be¢3n
brought up among the dark sons and daughters
of Peru, and was unused to blonde children.

“ You are a very pretty boy,” she said; “ has
mamma got any more?”

"‘ No—on’y me. I ain’t a babg”

“ No, I see that you are not. on are a little
man.” said Ubaldina, artfully.

“ Yes; when I’m big enough I’m goingto look
for a a, if he don’t come home.”

U a dina was delighted with the child‘s com-.

ny, and took so much trouble to entertain

im that he remained quite content until night
fell. Then his heart grew very full; he wanted
his mother.

In vain his new friend gave him fruit and
candy, to s and icture-books. He refused to
be comfo an at length forgot his manhood
and cried loud and long. 1 ,

Mrs. Stanardhad prepared the landlady for
this by telling her of a poor lad who had been
deserted b her husband, and w ose poverty in-
duced her 0 art with her child, which, she add-
ed she inten edto ado t. ’

bolf’s loud‘cries and eavy sobs therefore at-
tracted no attention, and he at length cried him-
self to sleep in a. very handsome brass cot
which had been purchased for him by his new

mamma.
‘tears wet the beautiful rose-colored silk

0 in the street and give
the stranger, exhibiting

Hi
quilt, and his little  was swollen and disfig-
ured, but he was still at last, with a bunch of
the lace which trimmed his linen pillow grasped
in his fat fist. ‘

“ May I see him?” asked the landlady as she
stole in on tip-toe, curious to see “ the baby.”

f‘ Yes,” replied Ubaldina, who sat by the crib
with the gas turned down very low, scarcely
daring to breathe for fear of disturbing her
treasure.

“ He’s a lovelyoboy. It must have broken the
mother’s heart give him up.”

“ She felt it, of course, but hush l” Dolf
stirred. .

“ Come away,” whispered the landlady. “ He
ain’t used to any one watching him that way—”
“ How do you know?’ .. .

Ubaldina’s ignorance on the subject Of Chil-

,dren was simply complete. The landlady knew

this and took advan of it. .
“Why, bless you, ain’t I raised six, and two

little ,blessed angels in, Calvaer I know
t em. r .
So Ubaldina followed her to the lor 'and

listened to the history of all the six rom their
births up. How they took one ailment after the
other till it seemed incredible that they could

still live and move and have their bein .
, Ubsldina‘ allowed‘fior to talk dnuan told her
.  the boy which/perfectly

If“

   
 

  
 

 

I agreed with what the landlady was able to ex-
He placed the child upon a chair and listened ,I tract from the “ pretty dear” next day, by dint

 

weroqlltumed

11‘

    
  
    
   
  
   
  
 
   
   
 
    
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
   
  
      

of what would be termed by opposing counsel in
court—“ leading questions.”

Dolf cried all the next day and most of the
next night—refused to eat, and drooped so visi-
bl ' that his adopted mother grew frightened.

n the afternoon of the following day, how- ‘
ever, her husband appeared. Dolf knew him.
and was delighted to see him.

“Will you take me to menima?” he asked.
ea. erly catching Stanard’s hand in his.

‘ No, dear; mamma has gone away to look
for papa.”

Dolf buried his face on the seat of a chair and
we tbitterly. , . ;,

dina ooked on com ssionatel . She was .- ‘ '
already attached to the lit e fellow. e was such
a noble. manly child.

“ Will she find him?” he asked, after, a long i
cry had in a measure eased his full heart; J A

‘I hope so, Dolf; but this lady is your new
mamma. Don’t you love her?”

The boy raised his head and regarded Ubal-.
dina earnestly. ~,..r~.

“ I love her ” he said, slowly, while tears , ,
streamed down is cheeks; “ but she ain’t pretty 1

like my own mamma.” _ :j
A heartless laugh was Stanard’s reply to this ‘
unfortunate remark. . 
Mrs. Stanard’s face took on its dull glowwhich 3.
always appeared when she was angry. 
“ So your mm is very pmttyr’shelaid,‘  ,

shar l .
.. 273;...
u Hm!” I .
“Nonsense, Ubal Every child thinks 
same.

I remember when I fancied my mother“, ,
was a regular beauty.” ;
“ Oh, yes; no doubt it is natural.” ‘
She it off lightly; but she didnot for: a" r
get it. She instantly determined to   T
y uestioning the child, whether her hu 
had 11 in the habit of visiting his mother. .
This was an easy matter, and the boy 
swered readily all her questions as soon as her.  t
husband left them alone together. ‘ -,'
Yes—that man came often to see' 111' 4“
ggery day? Yes. Did his mother like hill-El '
. yes. .. =1
How long had he been coming?

Oh, a long timehweeks and weekS. ‘«
s52”  t... 
o pau ore re yin to ' ue ""'
tried to remember. p 3 q ry’ 

Yes—he concluded; the gentleman camsha-
fore his father left. ' “‘
Was he sure? - u “
0h, es; he was sure. -
U baldina hit her lips savagely. She was furir‘ _
ously jealous of that child’s mother, and rightly“ 7
guessed that she must be beautiful.  ‘5 
“ So this accounts for the ve mysterionl
absences from home,” she mutter savage] ., ll.
she walked up and down, clinching her 
,and biting her lips. ‘ , 3 ‘
bo’v‘,

    
   
   
    
   
  
    
  
    
    
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
    
  
  
   
     
  
   
    
     
   
   
   
  
    
    
  
   
  
   
   
    
  
  
  
    
   
    
   
  
     
 

 

 

“ I’ll hire some one to take care of the
and I’ll follow him.”

She determined upon this course, and
time in carrying out her resolva.
thin tobedonewas to secure a nurse forth.
chi . The next was to disguise herself. “Shea
could not do this in the house without exc :‘sl‘
remark, for the landlady was of an o '

nature. ‘ .‘
Finally she concluded the best way would lie .- 
totengage a room in some other portion of t3
c1 v. = a
This idea she acted on, but it involved hé' x
fresh difficulties. How was she to find her  *1
band when she knew none of his resorts? ‘ 
She studied for some time, and at
thought the best thing she could do was to“;L
gage the services of an assistant. ‘ _
ittle did she think how seribus were N"
matters and secrets she prepared herself« to
F?

8W

 

riddle. , . ..
The chance remark innocently made E; “’3'1

child was the ke which was fated to fit

whole secret of is father’s fate. ’ ' "

CHAPTER XII.
‘rnii: VOICE AT MIDNIGHT. .
Tin false Ubaldina Chin-chi, was not quifl
proof against her mother’s superstitious fears. 
When Oello ran to her room. two nights a.“
she paid her first visit, and declared in In 12:
of terror that the spirit had again mm
apartnmnt, the girl rose and acoom ed?“
Peruvian woman to the room which W
ly declared to be haunted. ' >
“ I do not understand how you can be so fad-r.
ish,” she said, impatiently. - ‘ , r , , ' f
“ Well, come and see.” we.
They entered the gloomy chamber where {‘3
gas burned low. " “
“ If on are nervous, why do you turn do
the lig ts?”
h This question came from Sara’s lips] imp-r.
'ent y. . ' '- ~ .41;
“ I, don’t,” replied her mother, ,with a terrified
lance at the chandelier where four gas ‘ “
eebly burned. Sura looked at am with ,. 1::

k cat-like  a -
85%“: is ad ," mmid, slowly. The humid-w
an . , 

      
     
       
    
   

  

  

 

 

 

 

    
   
  
    
 
    
    
  
   
  
   
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
    
  
   
  
  
  
      
 
   
   
   
   
    
  
    
  
  
   
    
    
   
  
  
   
   
 
  
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
  
     
  
   
   
   
   
  
  
   
  
   
   
    
   
  
     

" ’1 “Ran olf Church was murdered!”

Oello gras . Sura’s arm in the intensity of
her fear, an her eyes grew so large they seemed
starting from their sockets.

The girl, also looked frightened. She ral-
lied, however. bragging her arm out of her
mother’s hands, she darted across the room, ex-

. claiming:

, “ Some one is hidden under the bed or in the

closets!” .

' ‘, She searched the room unsuccessfully; no one

‘wasthere!

- A in the mysterious Words came to the ter-
rifl women, for Sura was as much alarmed as

her mother. Then all was Silent.

The gasof its own accnrd sprung up and
burned brightly, revealing the pale, afl’righted
faces of the Indian woman and her daughter.

“Well?”
there is a way to account for all this.”
' ‘.‘ Account for it, then.”

' Oello was thoroughly imbued with the idea
,  that a. spirit was the midnight accuser but
»  Sara was not. She had been educated too
 i'zzefl to accept such an explanation of the mys-

«fun!

- {‘yI am going to search the next room,” she

. said, resolutely. '

' .-_ Taking some matches from a stand upon the
 Idressing-table, she started.

 ' “That room is locked, I think,” returned

,Oello, following her daughter. for no power on

earth would have induced her to remain alone

«in the “ haunted room.”

 - -"‘ No, it is open. See!"

Sura threw the door wide open and advanc-
ing boldly, struck a match and lit the gas. The

‘ hamber stood revealed, silent and tenanta

. “ There!”

Oello’s terrors had increased. The room had
i but one door that o nin on the corridor, and
“no ‘one could have eft t e guest-chamber and
v ’ the open door of Oello‘s room without be-

" looked surprised, but was still of the
3mm that the accusing voice could be account-

for. ,
“This is a trick, I do not doubt,” she said,
half—angrily.

Cello shru Eid her shoulders.

“ You are ' 6 all well-educated people—too
 to believe what you hear and see.”
, spoke in a low, earnest tone, and looked
.‘Bhe felt—thoroughly frightened.

‘.‘I am convinced that a person, and not a
. uttered those words.”
_ “ ore is the rson, then?”
" . Alarge warbro stood on the further side of
Charmin. Sura resolutely walked across the
M and turning the key which was in the lock,
Mathew it,open.
 It was empty!
' , “Well, I’m at m wits’ end to account for

 unpleasant mi ni ht visitor, I admit,” she
confessed. as she turn out the gas and left the
min followed by her mother.

'/ "' es; how can it be any living person who

, , ’

 

fear that new girl.”
Sarah Brown ?”
“Yes, Sarah Brown.” ,

She is an unnecessary servant to feed and
fix but she is harmless.’

. Idon’t think so.”
miey were now in Sara’s chamber, the door
't‘and locked. '

,9“ What harm can she do?”
She is Borrowdale’s niece.”
‘  Well, what of it?”

“’Bfmowdale is a spy.” .

You don’t mean t t he suspects anything?"

- Oello's death-pale face grew a shade whiter.
* .‘Yes, he suspects somethm .”
What makes you think so ’ .
. glanfied around her with a catlike caution
. to er.
need not have feared listeners, however,
y spoke, as they always did when con-
, - ng alone, in Spanish. -
 J“ " esterday,” she went on to say, “ I was go-

 o'u't, and 1181 came down-stairs Borrowdale
', thobutler Were in the hall talking. They

v not hear my footsteps and I caught a frag-
W t of their conversation.”

What was it?”

Indian was excited; her 6 es blazed with
anxious feverish light, an her thin lips
-. . At that moment the resemblance
 -. :-- mother and daughter was absolutely

DE

it was this—or rather this is all I heard: the
t said ‘ I’ve been so frightened I’d be dis-
, n -_ . but the don’t sue t-’ and the butler
Md, ‘ ven if did, its ifrs. Church who
, all the say ;’ and Borrowdale answered-
Lp,.but she would be angry if she thoughtI
' anything and kept it to myself.’ So you

mething, and we are sur-

  

 
 

ected silently.
I’m’pfraid to tru Ubaldina, and I dread

I

 

If he makes her angry she w1 pause
at nothing to have her revenge.’

l Sutil‘a laughed scornfully~a joyless, heartless
aug .

“ As I said before, my mind is made up: my
feet' are on the pathwa to fortune; I’ll never
turn aside; I defy Ubalt ina!”

Ocllo’s fears were stronger, for she dreaded
unknown, unseen powers.

No sleep Visited the burning eyes of the plot-
ters that ni rht. They tossed uneasily upon the
downy come they shared, for Cello refused to
return to her own chamber.

The weight of a black crime is not easily
borne, and no truer words were ever spoken
than these:

“ The way of the transgressor is hard!”

 

CHAPTER XIII.
THE GREEN DETECTIVE.

Mos'r people who have never had any business .

dealings with detectives regard them in a curi-
ous way.

The gnmbler’s wife fancied that a detective,
male or female, would be able to trace every
move her husband made without attracting his
notice in the slightest dc ee.

She was ignorant of t 1e fact that a Crook’s
life is spent in evading the laws, and that all its
branches and ramifications are as familiar to
him as his daily bread.

Her husband could not be shadowed for half
an hour without being perfectly well aware of
the fact.

Besides, there are in the business detectives
and other detectives.

Ubaldina got held of One of the other detec-
tives.

He was a small man who had not been long in
the profeSSion—in fact he was a detective bureau
on his own account.

If he had only come up to his own opinion of
himself, he would have been magnificent; but,
unfortunale there was nothing great about
him except t s o inion.

This man was t e father of a large and lazy
family consisting of a fat wife and our daugh-
ters. He was honest and hard-working, but he
lacked that subtle essential which brings suc-
cess.

Good—fortune, like a will-of—the-whisp, ever
eluded his grasp. He was always “just going”
to succeed, but that was as far as he ever got.

Worse men got on better, and men Who never
tried one-half so hard, walked, ay, and rode, by
mrlttle Sandy Martin, dressed in the eigh-

nth, or rather nineteenth century uivalent
for “ 'pu lo and flne-twincd linen,” whi 6 Sandy
trudged t rough the mire in second-hand gar-
ments that Solomon Isaacs assured him fitted
“ 'oist like as de (paper on de vall.” . .

rally belonge to the genus poor but deserv-
ing. e seemed in the eyes of the world to de-
s'erve poverty, and he got it. He had tried
every trade and profession, sta ing in each long
enou h to become thoroughly r iscouraged.

A ucky hit by a man who had been a friend
of Sandy’s while he was poor, turned the little
man’s attention to detectives.

Other people succeed in that business, why
should not he?

Mrs. Martin languidly listened to his plans
and hopes, and Sandy went out and begged the
loan of sufficient money to hire an office and in.
sort an advertisement.

After some work on contingencies, for which
of course he never received one cent, i be—
game [$1.8 paid and salaried detective of .

tuna

That lady little knew how ill-starred was her
choice, but the race is not always to the swift,
and even ill-luck sometimes gets tired of follow-
ingéip the same unfortunate wretch.

t proved with Sandy Martin.

Of course nothing more comical could well be
imagined than Sandy trying to shadow one of
the most artful of the many cunning crooks of
New York.

Ernest Stanard amused himself and drained
his wife’s purse by keeping his shadow dancing

all over the city from one resort of unsavory

re utation to another.
ndy saw and heard thin
well-brought-up New Englan

that made his
hair stand upon

end.

Whenever Stanard wished to get rid of Sandy
he “ shook him ” with the greatest ease. ‘

Stanard not only knew that it was his wife
who had sent Sandy after him, but he also
shrewdly guessed the reason.

He had not forgotten the expression of her
face when little olf innocently spoke of his
mother’s beauty. He knew the fierce jealousy
that burned in her heart whenever she had or
imagined she had, the slightest cause to suspect
that his love for her waned.

AnOath found its way bitter] through his
teeth when he first realized that e was being
shadowed, and it was only when he saw how ut-
terly incapable was his wife’s agent that amuse-
ment took the place of anger.

Poor Sandy was of cmnse “as clay in the
hands of the’potter.” v , » ,

I
I

!

 

 

:.;.  v. .  = r ft" "1: .. ;'     .1 ' ‘ '   . ‘I‘   ? 1.2;?ch   '
y. ‘ ' ‘  “Ir... “  ‘- '  ' ~ \ ',
 ,v 12 . Sarah Brown, Detective. ~
 I Suddenly, from the corner of the room, came “What do on mean?” A, green detective trying to follow up the
3‘ ’ the accusing voice—the same terrible sentence “He is tir of her, and she is madly 'ealous keenest scamp in the cit I
slowly re ated: of him. He was honest. thong : he dil not spend one

cent more than he could help of Ubaldina’s
money. Drink was no temptation to him, and
vice in all its forms he simply loathed.

He never suspected what Stanaro’s occupation
was. He supposed him tobe a gentleman of
wealth and leisure addicted to last acquain—
tances and uestionable amusements.

The poor ittle man’s eyes would have opened
had be known what sort of a husband his client
was blest with.

Fortunater he did not.

Mrs. Stanard had followed up her plan and
engagedaroom where she met her detective.
It was a handsome rlor, and the landlady
looked askance at artin’s shabby form and
Well-worn arments, till Ubaldina told her a.
portion of the truth. Then she was delighted——
the affair was so sensational and romantic!

Still she had a nervous horror of anything
terrible taking place in her rooms. She dreaded
what she vaguely described as “ shooting-

‘ matches,” with all the fears of a “genteel per-
‘ son.”

Mrs. Stanard tried to reassure her. but it was
not till she heard with her own ladylike ear (ap-
plied to the crack of the folding—doors) that.

baldina’s husband knew nothing of his wife's
movements that she felt at all easy.

“ When you have proved to me that my bus-
band loves another woman and I am convinced
I shall leave him,” she said calmly. “Until i
am convinced , no matter how much I suspect,
I cannot act.”

“ You will then enter an action—file an appli-
cation?” inquired Martin nervously.

"No. I shall simply leave him. I am very
Wealthy in my Own right, and I can return to
In home.”

is uiet, composed talk accomplished two
thin : it reassured Martin, who was afraid to
tell baldina even the little he knew for fear of

makin her so angr that she would act violent—
Ly, an it eased . Holmes, thé lady of the
ouse.

Mrs. Stanard knew this: she had spoken for
that purpose!

Ernest was too deep and treacherous to hint
to his wife that be well knew she was employing
a detective. to shadow him. She felt no change
in his manner toward her, even though he was
filled with resentment. I

His plots were nearly ripe and he was merci-
less. He loved Elna more ssionately every
time he saw her, and he hate his wife more in—
tensely.

“ I’ll rid myself of her,” he muttered, as he
sat in the fireli ht playin with Dolf, and watch-/
ing his wife, w o eaten t 9 other side of the fire
with the warm ll ht playing. on her dark face.

“ Elna, my go den-haired angel, how happy
will I be with you 1”

How little did the hated wife dream of the
dark thoughts this man harbored against her.

She SUSpected him, but only of being attracted
by a fairer face. How little she knew him!

As she sat there watching his play with the
boy, who, as time wore on, became more recon-
ciled to his enforced separation from his mother,
she felt that her love for him was one that must
endure while her life lasted.

And he—had already doomed her to death.’

Yes, he was determined to wait no longer.

Elna was free: he believed she had already
begin to care for him.

by delay?

CHAPTER XIV.
AN UNEQUAL COMPACT.

KNOWLES was discouraged; he had not made
any progress worth the name. He was “ stop.
Bed ’ on every side b uneXpectod obstacles.

e understood no Spanish, and all the conversa-
tions between Cello and her daughter Were con-
]ducted in that language. So listening was use-
ess.

Ernest Stanard had never been to the house
since he took up his residence there. Six weeks
had elapsed since his advent as Sarah Brown,
and the m ry that clouded Randolf Church’s
fate still hung over it. _

He had heard the butler’s icions which
coincided with those of Borrowfiale, but they
were not directed against any one in particular,
thou h like Borr0wdale, the butler disliked the
South American nurse.

“ I believe Randolf Church died as the coroner
said—of heart-disease,” Knowles decided, at

len h.

‘FIt don’t, but I don’t think any one in New
York will find out how he did die,” replied the
butler, firmlly.

Borromla e. had thought it safer and better to
keep u the disguise before.Sim ison. so the but-
ler be ieved Sarah Brown to Borrowdale’s
niece—a green English girl. i ’

“I’ve tried the gliost dodge,” said the detec-
tive, musingg: “ 7hat’ll [try next?”

He knew ello had been terribly frightened
b the unseen accuser. But what did that avail
h m when he could not understand the chance
confession she let fall in her terror!

As the three sat in the butler’s pantry disease-
ing the question, a ring at the bell sounded

 

 

 

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throu h the house. It roved tobealetter for

KnowIes, addressed to arah Brown. It was

from his wife, who had been very ill and re-
uested his return home.

“ So that settles it,” announced Knowles.
“I’ll go, and really, Borrowdale, though I hate
to let anything beat me, I must acknowledge
that this beats me. If your master was murder-
(Ed, I’m afraid the murderer will get off scot

rce.’

“ I trust not,” rejoined the valet, with the
look of one who was deeply disa pointed.

“ Well, it passes my skill. IFany one did the
job. the Indian had a hand in it.”

“ Leave the room haunted?” asked Borrow-

dale, significantlgé
“Certainly. t me know if anything turns
u '1, ‘
So Sarah Brown found that the work was too
hard for her and left. Oello and her daughter
were both surprised and relieved by her depar-
ture.
“ I believe that mystery will always remain a
mystery,” concluded Knowles, as he left the
mansion, just as wise as he had been when he
entered it.

“ Unless the valet was mistaken, which I am
inclined to think.”

So in doubt he went awa .

He found his wife very i , and for some days
all his attention was claimed by her.

Suddenly, from an unexpected quarter, came
a new light upon the mystery of the pavilion.

 

Ernest Stanard visited Elna very freqiigntly,
though he took good care that Sandy artin
was none the wiser. ,

The bereaved little woman was well-nigh
heart-broken, and would have succumbed to her
. 'ef if her “ husband’s friend,” Mr. Stevens,
Ed not kept hope alive in her breast by1 pre-
tended clews he was following up as to t 6 re-
.covery of her boy.

Her husband he said, was in the far West,
and he created, fresh anxiety in her .almost
frenzied mind by faintly and vaguely hinting at
dangers which surrounded and hemmed in the
existence of detectives.

,He deemed this necessary, for she must soon
be told the terrible truth, namely—that her hus-
.band was cold in death.

Then he wascertain she would turn to him
for comfort and consolation: then the hour of
his triumph would come.

How happy he should be with the urc—faced,
golden-haired girl he had learned to ove so pas-
sionately l—the innocent being who had won his
black, treacherous, murderous heart!

Poor Elna! The dark destiny that overshad-
owed her was fortunately hidden, or she would
have been driven mad by the terrible prospect
and have sought oblivion in the cold embrace of
the river.

Stanard sought her one day, some three weeks
after the disappearance of Dolf. She sat b a
cheerless fire, her bright head drooped, her c 'n
in her hand and her elbow on her knee. _

“ Good-day!” the heartless fiend saluted.

"“ How do you do?”

Her sad, pale face brightened a little, and a
‘look of expectancy came in her big wistful blue
~e es.
y“ I am well; and you?"

He sat down near her, and fixed his eyes ten-
.derly on her face.

“ Oh! So anxious, so nearly hopeless!” she
murmured, choking back a sob.

“ Cheer up! Do you know, I think I’ve heard
of our boy ?”

Hope sprung up. in a red tide to her care-pale
cheeks, and her ips trembled as she eagerly

aske< :

“ Oh! Wherel”. .

“ Don't become so exc1fed, I hog.” and Ernest
laid his hand upon her arm which had grown
jpitifully slim, “ don’t .”

“ How can I help it?” asked Elna meekly;
'“ but tell me, oh! do!” ..

Her pleading would have melted a heart of
stone, but the gambler‘s heart was made of noth-
ing so honest as stone.

“Well, I will tell you, but do not set your
hopes too high for the dew ma be a false one.”

“What have you heard? h! tell me! 1’11
13' not to hope too much."

er blue e es shone like stars through the
heav mist 0 an April night.

“ _ have heard that he is in Boston,” said this
Lucifer, on the spur of the moment.

f‘Oh! Let us start at once and find him!”
cried the excited mother.
tbf‘ Walt: don’t make me regret telling you
- is.

“ No—no' I'll be so quiet—so tient.”

She was trembli from head tp: foot, but she
'tried With all her In ht to a rcomposed.

“ Well, I havo not yet 0mm any certain
information. I shall do' so, however; meanwhile
be quiet and remain indoors. I have reason to
suppose some enemy has employed a spy to
watch us."

“ Enem f” repeated Elna in the greatest sur-
prisa “ by, I have not an enemy in the
world!”

~ “ Then who robbed you of your child?”
.She grew deathly pale. Her child in the

I

 

hands of an enemyl This was a new and terri-
ble view of the subject. She had fancied some
one had stolen the boy on account of his beauty,
to adopt him as their own, but if he was in the
hands of an enemy he might be cruelly treated
-—murdered!

Her mother’s heart called up fearful pictures
of her child—beaten—-starved—tortured—per~
haps dead or dying.

“ Oh, what s all I do?”

She wrung her hands in agony, and tears
streamed down her Cheeks.

“ Be calm. I only fear this—I am not cer-
tain.”

The artful scoundrcl did not wish to alarm
her beyond a certain limit, for then she might
appeal to others for aid; he wanted to keep her
in is own hands.

“And we can‘t go at once to Boston?”

“ No; for in case I am misled by a false clew
we would only be losing time. Surely you
know that I am doing my best and utmost?”

The last words were uttered reproachfully.

“ Oh, yes: dear, kind friend, I am not ungrate-
ful, believe me.”

She was fearful of offending her only friend
by an appearance of distrust.

“ I know you are not. I will find your boy
and then claim my reward.”

His keen eyes were fixed eitiipon her anxious,
tear-stained face, which look like a dew-wash-
ed flower.

“ Reward?” she repeated. “ Oh, Mr. Stevens,
if I am ever in a. ition to reward you—you
will find that I am not ungrateful."

The em basis she laid on the ronoun caused
the gamb er‘s heart to swell wit joy. He fan-
cied that it meant a special regard for him.
Cunnigg and deep though he was he had no
know] go that could ass1st him to read Elna’s
thoughts. He was totally ignorant of all the
workings of the pure mind of an innocent wo-
man.

Any one who restored her child would have
the same claim upon her. A n o—an outcast
—any one who placed Dolf safe and sound in
her arms, would receive the same teful re-
gard as she bestowed upon the man s esupposed
to be her husband's friend. ‘

He was not worthy to know her h and as
the wish is father tothe thought, he eoeived
himself and believed that she had learned to
love him.

“ Thank

ou, Elna,” he said, with an expres-
sion Elna

d not understand on his face, and a
tone of dee feeling in his voice. “ When the
time comes will remind you of your promise.”

She gazed at him in surprise; he called her
by name and he seemed strangely agitated; but
she was only puzzled by his manner: it awaken—
ed no suspiCions in her untutored, unworldly
heart.

“You say you will reward me,” he resumed
more li htly, for he dreaded above all things to
alarm er.

“Yes, thou h I cannot tell how. Until Ran-
dolf returns, am not in a position to reward
an one.” .

he had a vague idea that he might be poor,
though he did not appear so, and she knew the
bitter sting of povert but too well.

“I will not ask andolf for the reward I
want,” he returned, taking her soft little 1 ind
in his as he rose to leave her. “ I’ll ask you and
you will ye it to me—will you not?”

She raised her blue, childlike eyes to his, and
answered earnestly:

“ I will.”

“ Thank youl Good-by. You shall have news
in a day or two.”

He hastened from her presence, his eyes daz-
zled by the blood which rushed madly to his
brain. Had he remained another moment he
must have betrayed himself even to Elna’s in-
nocent e 'es. ‘

; of dark-blue plush. It was a garment 1;

,their proper places in the mansion, whose.

 

“I’ll end this business as soon as I can with =

safety," he avei'red to himself, as he hurried
it‘long,a headlessly jostling through the crowded
3 rec . '

So “ragga was his a peardnce that many r-
sons turn and gazed xdfter him. pe

One man seemed particularly struck by his
expression of countenance. He stood up and
watched Stanard out of sight.

‘ Well i” he remarked, emphatically, “ I never
saw but one person with that look on his face,
apd he was on his way to commit amurder.
I (1 give something to know who that fellow is,
and where he is goin .”

He slowly proceedz
man who uttered the words was Knewles, the
detective.

How close we sometimes are to the object of
our hopes, and that for which we are striving
our utmost, only to find that we are foiled—
missing by a hairbreadth our chances of suc-
case.

In order to elude Ubaldina’s detective, Stan-
ard wore a d when he visited Elna, no
Knowles failed to recognize him.

CHAPTER, XV.
nnLP mu AN vnxrncrnn quanm
Mum. Manson was, like most quiet ‘
much smarter than people gave her credit for.
Like Borrowdale and the butler, she had oh-

i

 

1,

ed on his way home. The '

 

thermal

 
  
   
 
 
  
   
  
 
   
   
    
 
  
  
    
  
  
   
  
   
    
 
   
  
   
    
   
   
 
    
    
     
  
  
  
  
 
 
   
   
   
   
     
     
   
  
      
         
  
    
  
   
  
   
   
      
     
   
 
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
  
 
   
   
  
   
    
 
    
     
     
     
    
    
     
      

served the marks on Randolf Church’s neck
and, like them, she believed his death had no
been due to heart disease. “ ‘~

She was terribly troubled by the thought, for
she dared not express her opinion openly.

Mrs. Church must, on no amount, be agita-
ted, and the humble cousin was well aware that .
in her more fortunate relative, Miss Church, she
had no friend. ' «

She buried her belief, therefore, in her own
breast. She had loved her cousin Randolf in-
tenscly; of all the family he alone had been Mi .
uniformly kind to her and thoughtful of her i
comfort, and hers was a very grateful nature. .-

Mabel Nelson was of an extremely high-prin- ' ' '
cipled character, and anything like deception 7,
was, in her opinion, little else but criminal. I 
For this reason she felt very unhappy. She had '.
a secret locked away in her breast which she t %
felt she ought not to reveal, and yet, if justice '
was to be done it must be told! 7';

She believed that she alone was aware of Ban- . ..
dolf Church’s marriage—a knowledge she had 
ac uired in rather a stran e manner. . .,~.V

er cousin often wore a oose morning- 80kg, " -‘
t I
had worn for years, and it had required some ’9
“liming ed 'h r Mabel, u
e a pen to mention t is not to
who gladl offered to give it her attention.

Randol thanked her, and sent the coat to her '
room. In turning it over to mend the torn
plaie, a portrait had fallen from one of the“

ts

poc e .
The picture was a large photograph of a lady
with a child in her arms. . 
Mabel felt rather surprised that her cousin ,
carried about what she su posed tobethe 
trait of a friend, but she need the im ' in ‘3 '
her work-basket, and w on she returned the ‘
nerds-endanger- ... m...
ore l ou , e as 
as he took it trgm 11%: hand. y’- 
“ It fell out of your pocket when I turned the 
coat over,” said Mabel, feeling confused, 
Randolf was evidently displeased. - ‘  .2 . ~
“How careless of me,” he answered. “It turf."
lucky it was you who found it. Have you» '1'
shpwn it to any one?” «
I

“Mabel, as nothing about it till I give yon...
Egririission. hat is my wife—and that is 

gYou are married?” Mabel gasped inastonisb-‘ 
ment.

“ Yes, and my wife is a rfect little damn' g:
but she is poor and hum I: Don’t betray me,
there isa good soul. It would kill my 
if she knew.” ‘

Mabel thought that this was very wrong but,
did not venture to say so. Her opinion was not
valued Very highly, so she kept it to herself. 1;

Soon after this incident Randolf’s sudden M
took place. 1

After the excitement was OVer and the boll”!
hold had resumed its old eVen tenor, thew ‘
scientious woman he an to feel t  1
her dead cousin’s sec-re press heavily upon hr

It was evident to her as well as to 
others that Mrs. Church would soon follow her “
son. Then his wife and child ought to lab

 

mates as yet were unaware of their very or ' 

STEDCP. .
Which way did her duty lie? She knew not.
Randolf had told her nothin save the inch

fact that he was married an the father 

son. .
Where were his wife and child? She - a . 
to

l . . ,'
Oello had taken charge of the dead mull
rooms and she had never mentioned the 
Neither had she spoken of any letters or m
relating to a marriage. ' 
No Wonder Mabel felt puzzled how to ‘5»
She only enough knowledge'toioi
wilder her, not to guide her. . Km:
Church’san r too much to confide 
to her, and e trembled for the- conseun
for she well knew Mrs. Church was a d "
woman. ‘ ' ,
Twenty times she had been on the point.
conflding the secret to Mim Church, but =
gold, haughty manner of the Creole rem

er. ~
She knew not what to do or when to turn
ad 'ce.

V] v

Before Mrs. Church breathed her last, note
felt that Randolf’s mother ought to know fl
trut . ' '. -

After sleepless night: andanximsizaéys, h .
at length decided n her course of ion. %'
would consult the family lawyer.

With this intention she dressed herself one-day
“ii “mfg” f h digni I

r. 0 was a man 0 mac
little intelligence; his 'tion was  ’ '
fromhisfather, Whoha beena manof :-
intellectandsaund sense. As such men ‘ ,
leave creditable _sons behind them, itiI a
pensaflonof providence thatthefortunes of ,
sons are generally made and their futures i
ed, for they lack capacity tgmake them ~
ves.

  
  

        
        
  
   

  

Mr. Stamford had av pompous w ..
he had acquired the migration, among 

  
 

 

sarah Brewing Detective

I g.  ' , .. .l “ I "j. n.1, .. “new 1 ‘t i3, "  
r
f

   

.
0

 

   

I ' who were not sharp enough to see through him,

;, . ‘ of ssin great wisdom. He was slow in iv-

35 L ing his opimon for the reason that it is bar to

3;? - ex ress what one hasn’t got.

“f! 1' 0 this gentleman Mabel went in her desper-

f',“ "i ate need of a counselor.

g  - ‘ Mr. Stamford was at home and received Miss
'  Nelson in the library.

 ‘ He received her with a manner pleasingly
combined of patronage of the poor relation,

‘8  blended with politeness due to the representative

 I, _ of a rich and import-int family.

Mabel timidly told her story.

Mr. Stamford opened his well-fed eyes in in-

‘ ' credulous amazement. Like all stupid people,

, ‘ he was averse‘to believing that any person, place
I or thing, was at all different from what he had

‘ alvVays supposed it to be. He detested changes

, ,and innovations;the disarranged his very small

”'  of ideas an forced him to form new

  
  
   
   
  
    
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     
  
    
  
   
   
    
    
    
  
    
  
  
    
     
    
  
  
   
  
     
  
     
    
  
  
   
   
  
  
 
     
   
   
  
    
    
   
   
   
  
      
  
 
  

 

' .  you amaze me, Miss Nelson!” he
gasped, staring stupidly before him like abaflied

ox.
“Yes, I was very much surprised myself, and
the res nsibility seemed so great that I thought
” I was Justified in seeking your advice.”
, “ Quite right—perfectly right,” assented the
wise man, leased with this homage.
“ What s all I do now, sir?” .
, Mr. Stamford was nonplused, but he possessed
auflicient of the acumen of his profession to con-
" {I deal the fact.
 ‘f Well, my dear lady, I advise on to wait.
We must investigate this claim an wait."

_“ 'But no one has advanced any claim, and
Mrs. Church is dying!” said Mabel, with a fear
of the man’s. incapacity to advise her faintly
 dawning in her mind.
fin “ But you can’t rush matters, my good lady.
' ' You have only the merest shred of evidence,and
II we can do is to wait-—”

I “.Wait for what?” asked Mabel, in bewilder-
wheat.

“ by, this woman will come forward if she
has any claim,” explained Mr. Stamford, im-
l‘ patient y.

O ““ You cannot tell. Randolf may have married
, 'i under an assumed name.”

’3 ' Such a thought would never have entered Mr.
Stamford’s head, but be grasped it and adopted
his own.

"" Exactly, and therefore I say-wait.”

_ ,“But Mrs. Church may die and never know
“i” that she has a grandson.”

‘ 4» 2“ Well if she does not, I cannot see that the
.fieprivation will have an injurious effect.”

r'  L, But the injustice! iss Church expects to
inherit ev thing and it is shameful that
Melts e an child are perhaps in pov-

Miss Church is hnly one of Mrs. Church’s

t-law.”
' “ I ow, but I think my aunt will most likely
; have the bulk of her fortune to my cousin, for
5 does not like me.”
“Nonsense, my good lady! You are her sis-
’ is daughter, while Miss Church is only her
band’s niece."
I “Nevertheless she dislikes me.” persisted
 with a sigh.
t 'ned her to be disliked.
_ “‘ think you are mistaken.” ‘
‘-' “ No, I am not, sir, butI need not take up any
re; of your time.”
She bade the lawyer farewell, with a haunting
ear that be was a pompous fool in her mind—-
“ more thought seeming like sacrilege.
 “ He’ll do nothin . ,” she decided in her despair,
, “and my aunt wil die and nevar know.”
' iThat ni ht she scarcely slept. She was tor-
};g - u t e thou ht that Randolf Church’s wife
"‘,~-=‘~ chi (1 Were su ering. '
.Her helplessness made her feel half-distracted.
hat was she to do?
‘ ward morning she slept and dreamed, and
‘ e to say she dreamed of Borrowdalnh—
, that he found his master’s wife and
, "in great distress. ,\
The very thing,” she said, on awakening in
“v morning.
itBorrowdale ma know something of Ran-
We, marriage. 1’ ask him.”
, lives a somewhat difficult matter to arrange
' interview with Borrowdaie, for their talk
‘ necessarily be rivate.
Chance favored er, however, and she suc-
 ia requesting the valet to meet her in
. , rural: Fluttor’s parlor. ~
. The housekeeper was occupied, and they would
alone for at east half an hour. . '
 Mabel was seated in Mrs. Flutter’s easy-chair
hen Borrowdale entered the room. He wore a
H ve' face, and had he not been such a well-
" servant, would have allowed the astonish-
meat he felt, by being requested to meet Mabel,

wag-ear.
t" on wished to see me Miss Nelson?” he
’ respectfully, after closing the door.
“f'Yes, Borrowdale. I am very much troubled
sonnething which I became aware of acci-
tally shortly before Mr. Church’s death.”
. Yes, miss. ’
. orrowdale, know that Mr. Church’s

Wm bemson’a, if he had one!”
V y, miss.” .

 

 
   
   
 
 

 
  
  

\

- « /

Borrowdale had great command over his face,
otherwise he would have suffered his thoughts to
find ex ression then, and his thought was—
“ Miss abel has one mad.”

“ Well, Borrow e, don’t ou think it is very
wrong for us to allow Mrs. hurch to leave her
money and her son’s mone to Miss Church,
when he left a wife and chil 7”

Mabel was talking this way with a purpose.
She wished to awaken Borrowdale’s conscience,
and she felt sure the valet knew all about his
master’s marriage.

“ A wife and child, miss?”

The utter helplessness and bewilderment of the
valet were so ap rent that Mabel saw that she
had been mista en. The man was not in his
master’s confidence.

“ Excuse me for speaking in that way,” she
went on, at once. ‘ I fancied you know Mr.
Church was married.”

“ Upon my honor I did not,” responded the
valet, promptly. “but, Miss Nelson I think
you fire mistaken. It cannot be possible that he
was. ‘

“He told me so himself,” answered Mabel,
firmly.

Borrowdale knit his brows; he seemed endeav-
orin to think something out.

“ e11, Miss Nelson, you amaze me,” he said,
slowl ; “ but where are the wife and child?”

“ at’s what I cannot tell.”

“ If he was married I should think his wife
would come here to inquire for him, and to
claim her rights.”

“ But Mr. Church’s marria ewas a secret one,
and he ma , out of considera ion for his mother,
have married under an assumed name.”

“ It is possible,” assented Borrowdale, thought-
fully; “ but if that is the ease, Miss Mabel,
what are we to do?”

Mabel did not reply, for she was in the posi-
tion of one who sought advice; she did not offer
'17. '

“ The detective would say this threw a new
1i ht on the sub 'ect.”
he valet ha unwittingly thought aloud.

“What detective?” asked Mabel, in amaze-
ment.

“ Why, miss, you know there was one here the
day Mr. Church’s body was found.”

‘Borrowdale, what is your idea about Mr.
Church’s death i”

Mabel’s face was very pale and grave, and her
tone was very impresswe.

Borrowdaie rubbed his chin; he had lived in
high-toned families all his life, and he had learn-
ed that the first duty of a well-trained servant
is] repress himself—to be dumb, deaf and

in .

5..

“ Why, miss,” said he, evasive] , “ you know
the coroner said he died of heart ' ; it is in
the family.”

“ I know it is' my mother died of it: but Mr.
Church was sue a young health man.”

Borrowdale looked at Miss Ne son for fully a
minute. He was at a loss to know how he
should act. The detective had virtually aban-
doned the case. He had almost .come around to
the coroner’s opinion, but Borrowdale and the
butler had not.

The valet was helpless. Knowles, in his ca-

ity of Sarah Brown, had accompll’ilshed vii]?
little. He had frightened Oello—t t was ,
and that proved nothing.

Miss Ne son had always been such a nonentity
in the house that it seemed stran e to appeal to
her for advice or aistance, but orrowdale had
little choice in the matter. She was already
aware of some important secrets; in fact she
knew, more than he did, for she knew that fian-
dolph had left a wife and child. She was a

ood woman, and must be Borrowdale re-
lacted, a Very sensible one, to bold'her tongue so
on .
“gKnowles has left me in the lurch,” he said
to himself. “l’ll make a clean breast of the
whole business to Miss Nelson.”

He did so. He told, her of his own and the
butler’s suspicions—of the. detective’s resence in
the house and vain attempt to exto some evi-
dence from the ndian woman’s guilty fears.
Mabel listened with a very pale face and firmly-
closed lips. She expressed neither surprise
nor anger when the valet spoke of the liberty
he had taken in thus introducing a detective into
the house.

“I did it on my Own responsibility, Miss
Mabel ” he said in concliision, “ for I could not
rest till I found out whether my master met
with foul lay or not. I loved him."

“ You id right. Bdrrowdale. I am glad you
feel as I do on the subject, for l have always
believed my cousin was murdered. We will
work together to clear up the mystery, for I can
speak Spanish. I have never used it since I
came here. Neither Miss Church nor the nurse’
know that I understand it. Send for your de-

 

tective and I will assist him. I, too, loved my

cousin andpleaseGod we may etlearnthe

terribl’e secret of that death in e pavilion.”
CHAPTER XVI.

_ a nae-rer cams. ' ‘
WHEN Know] met Ernest Stamrd hastenm
away from Blue} desolate, home. he knew the

 

I ‘A there ,hisfsce. Twilighth fall-

.l.

ing, and tho bler was disguised by a long
beard otherw1s'e the detective would have recog»
nized him.

As it was, he suffered the man with the terriv
ble expression on his face to pass on. unmolested.
Away he strode hustling rudel by the epic
who thronged the streets unti he reac ed a
somewhat shabby-looking dwelling on a quiet
side street.

He opened the door with a latch—key and as-
cended a flight of stairs. The balls were dark
shabby, and a strong perfume of corned-beef and
cabbage filled the house.

He unlocked the door of a lar room on the
first floor and lit the gas. He t en locked and
bolted the door and threw himself into a large
eas -chair near the fireless grate. .

9 had not removed his overcoat, but he threw
aside his hat and the false beard which he wore
to evade the vi 'lance of Sandy Martin. His
brow was knit, is dark face very pale, and a
murderous gleam shone from his black eyes.

“ I must rid myself of Uba,” he muttered, sav-
agely. “ She has tormented me long enough.
She as to go, and she must go at once. T at
fool she has hired to dog my footsteps ma do
some mischief; if he does it will be by acci ent,
but I cannot afford to run any risls. She must
go—but how i"

He threw off his coat and walked the floor; a
fever was raging in his veins though the room
was cold, and his face was damp and livid.

Remorseless murderer and Villain thou h be
was. he could not escape the sting of consolence.
He had been brought up without the semblance
of religious training, for his mother was an ig-
norant savage; still the instinct God has given
to the lowest natures was in him; he knew right
from wrong, and he knew he was committing a
cowardly and dastardly crime when he took the
life of the woman who loved him.

“She is selfish and coarse," he said, as if in
extenuation of his treacherous crime. “She is
like a tiger in her love. She is not likea woman.
She must die!”

He started at the sound of the word. Pausing
in his hurried stride he threw himself once more
into the shabby arm—chair beside the cold and
cheerless hearth.

“How shall I rid myself of her?” he muttered.
“Poison may be detected. She is strong. Could
I persuade people that she committed suicide?
T at is it. She is violent. I’ll remake her—it
is easily done. She’ll rave an I’ll leave her
alone. It can be done! Why didn’t I think of
that before?”

He rose, smoothed his disordered hairand but-
toned u his coat, then hastened from the house.
The’flrs -store he came to he entered. A
tired-looking d'stood behind the counter.

' “Give me twent Jive cents’ worth of lauda—
num " he said, coo ly.

“ cannot, unless you have a prescription,”
replied the boy.

‘ I am a doctor—hand me some paper, and
I’ll write one.”

He hastily scribbled the necessary words, and
handed the prescription to the boy, who ran
his eye over it and then placed it carefully on
the_file and turned away to et the dru .

When his back was tOWar Stanard, the am»
bler easily secured the paper which be t rust,
into his pocket. '

Pa in for the 0 late. Stanard leftthe store.
At t e oor he ost ed against a man who star-
:id 2at him fix 1y. The man was Sandy Mar~

n

An oath almost escaped the murderer’s'li

Sandy crossed the street and followed 8 -
ard, who took a car at the corner. ’

Of course Sandy was a passenger on the same-
car.

He experienced no trouble with the man he
Eras piping, for the gambhr went straight

ome.

It was just nine o’clock as the bad husband
entered his wife’s parlor. "(The sat by the fire,
with a book on her knee. She was not reading,
however. . ,

“Well, Uha, I’m .home early, like the model
husband,” Ernest With a sneer saluted her.

“So I see,” she answered. coldly. “ To what
am I indebted for the honor of your company
at this unusual hour?” . i .

“ The wish—I mag'esay, 1rres1st1ble longing—
to gaze upon your autiful face,” Stnnard an—
swered, with an ugly smile on his lips, a mock-
ing light in his eyes.

“ Indeed! I am extremely flattered!”

Her dark, cheeks glowed with their usual dull
flush of anger.

“Yes. Whena man is lucky enough to posu-
seas such a generous, lOVely and attractive
wife.”he ought to show his appreciation of the
fact.

He 5 ke with a lazy drawl and lit a cigar.

“ Di you come here to i
Ubaldina, quiglaliy.

Her fiery bl was already up.

“ Insult you! How can you imagine such an.
absurd thing?” I ‘

I Hiscontempt was now open'and honest, at.
eas

“Some new plot has evidently been set afloat.
by your fam ," said the woman,

 

wasastonish ,ascvell'ssindignan

   

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nsultJ me!” askedfl

(giietly. She

a. swam—H... ,H ,

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 v '3   ‘séfah.7Brown, Detective.

15

 

 

 

“ Possibly. My family are always plotting—
my wife, for instance."

“ No. I scorn your treacherous ways.”

*“ Do you, indeed? Is that why you employ a
man to dog my footsteps?”

She turned pale, and her lips trembled as she
faltered:

“ What do you mean?”

“ Just what I say?”

He started up with a savage suddenness.

“ It is a fine thing for me to live this life,” he
went on, glaring at the unfortunate woman who
sat helplessly gazing at him. “ I have a wife
who thrust herself upon me—a woman I married
for her mono alone—a woman I hate, despise,
loathe] An this very woman has s me 1i :9 a
be ar. Her sole good quality is or fortune,
an never handle one cent of_it.”

Ubaldina never opened her ligs. She sat gaz—
ing at him in rfect silence. he was literally
stricken dum . At last be displayed his true
colors, so carefully hidden during his married
life.

“ Not only am 1 ke t like a beggar,” he re-
sumed, after pausing or an answer and getting
none, “ but my very footsteps are dogged.
This woman is so well aware of her own defi-
ciencies that she knows it is im sible for any
man to love her, and she is jealous—jealous!
Ha! ha!” i

Still she moved not—and no word passed her
white lips.

“ But I am tired of it all. I’ll leave to-night
-—leave you free to enter society as a beauty and
an heiress. You will no doubt create a decided
sensation.” ’

“ Yes, you have thrown off the mask at last,”
said Uba, slowly, speaking in a low, calm tone,
that told how deep was her resentment.

“ I have—I’m tired of the farce.”

“ Very well; I’m glad of it. You are wel—
come,to g 0 just as soon as you please.”

“I shal avail myself of your kind permis-
sion.”

“Do so without delay. You shall soon be
joined by your mother and sister, and the so-
lace of their society will doubtless console on
for your disappointment in the loss of my or-
tune.”

“ I have nothing to do with them.”

“Indeed? I thought you would all be hap-

ier together. The Chunchos squaw ought to
Be unded by her interesting family.’
anard’s face flushed, and his eyes sparkled;
the tables were turned on him; he was now
growing angry.

“ You need not flatter yourself that u can
annoy me by your taunts,” he said, rshly.
“Icare nothing for your opinion. Pack my
clothes and I shall go. ’

“Pack them yourself. I have not yet fallen
low enough to wait upon the base—born son of
m former slave.” ,

e sprung at her with his clinched hand up-
raised to strike her. She did not flinch. She
looked in his face with a mocking laugh.

“You dovil!"he shouted, iorgetting all his
plans, “I have a mind to blow your brains
out!

“ Do so, if you dare!” she replied, coolly.

Restraining himself by a violent effort, be
turn away; ,

“ oward!” cried Ubaldina, “you dare not
strike me i” '

Stanard did not reply; he could no longer
trust himself, so hasten from the room.

“So he has at last shown his claws,” mur-
mured the woman, sinking into a chair. “ Ah!
now I see my folly! What .a blind, besotted
fool I have been! Alas! it istoolate toundo
the ‘13!”

Nmords can picture her feelings- her sav-
age nature was thoroughly aroused. he fierce
tide of her jealous anger drowned for the time
her love for her unworthy husband. Her love
seemed turned to hatred. She felt SO mnddeued
by his bitter taunts and insults that she fancied
she could kill him.

“ I’ll expose them to Mrs. Church as soon as
it is day ” she added, savagely. “ Not one hour
longer shall they flaunt in my home while I
linger in this low place. No, they have at last
come to the end of my patience.” . .

\Vhile she thus sat, trembling With passmn
and goaded to madness by the recollections of
{tier own folly, a cry from little Dolf aroused

er.

The child’s cot stood in a small apartment
which Ubaldina used as a dressing-room.

She rose and took him u , soot ‘ him to
rest upon her bosom. As s e bowed or head
over the! child. tears sprung from her eyes and
fell 11 n his face.

Do i? started and opened his eyes.

“ Why are you cryin 1” he asked. patting her
cheek ’with his rosy, impled hand; “are you

rr
80“ Yes, Dolf ” with a sob.
She loved the child, and the sight of his inno-
cent face softened her.
“ Why are you sorry!"
it Never maid, 1353;!) h 3 her bed
et 0 c i e y m on
To qm She turned the d s
before she la down, but did not mm
‘TGmtly exc ted though she was, how.

  

 

 

ever, a drowsy feeling came over her; she had
been so anxious about her husband, now that
she knew the worst she felt relieved. Anything
is easier to bear than suspense. While she
doubted she was tortured; now that she was
but too certain of the worst she grew calmer.

She sle t and heard not a soft footstep in her
room. he door was unlocked, for she never
knew what hour her husband might return.
He had stolen back, an ,unobserved, he entered
the room.

A quick glance revealed everything in the
room to the murderer. His wife lafiupon the
bed, little Dolf nestling in her arms. e drew a
handkerchief from his pooket, and a large vial.
He softly poured a portion of the contents of the
vial upon a sponge which he took from the
dressin -table; drawing near he held the spon ,
inclo in a sheet of stout pa r folded in t e
sha of a funnel, to his wife’s ace. She strug-
gle faintly, while the room became filled with
the overpowering odor of ether. With one hand
upon her chest he kept her quiet, while with the
other he continued to app y the sponge to her
nostrils and mouth. He gazed anxiously at
little Dolf, meanwhile, for e feared the fumes
of the ether might injure the child. Soon
Ubalilina’s struggles ceased, and she lay r-
fectly quiet. Stanard then tied the hand er—
chief over the s nge, fastened it behind his
victim’s head. 9 was erfectly helpless and
unconscious, making neit er sound nor move-
ment. A cruel smile curled tho gambler’s lips as
he azed on the face of his wife.

6 raised little Dolf from her arms and car—
ried him in to his own bed. Then he returned
and turned up the gas. He had locked the door
when he first entered the room, and he now
seated himself at a small writin -table. He
placed a. sheet of paper before him .side an old
etter, which he took from a drawer. After
studyingithe letter for some time he began to
write. is task was soon completed, and he
read what he had written with the utmost satis-
faction.

“ That will do,” he said softly to himself.

He tore up the old letter which he had been
consulting so carefully, and thrust the pieces in
the fire which still urned in the grate. He
then approached the bed, and took ufl his wife’s
hand; it felt as heavy as lead, and fe lifelessly
when he released it. He removed the sponge
and handkerchief from her face.

“ ' ydone,” he muttered, in a tone of satis-

i faction.

The sponge and handkerchief Were both
placed on the fire, and nick flames sprung up
and consumed them. Stanard then produced
the bottle of laudanum he had urchased some
hours before. He forced his wi e’s teeth apart,
and poured some of the drug down her throat;
then espilled a portion of it upon her dress, the
pillows and counterpane. This done, he parted
the stifl fingers of her ri ht hand, and placed
the bottle in her grasp. e softly opened the
windows, top and bottom, in order to rid the
room of the odor of ether which lingered there.
After waiting for about an hour he closed them
and left the room. Pausing in the hall, be pro-
duced a small instrument with which he caught
the he through the keyhole and locked the door
from t 0 outside. He then left the house. .

Two o’clock was striking as he did so. Near
the corner of Broadway he met a man. He
recognized him in a moment.

“ Curse that fellow !” he said, below his breath;
“ he may yet prove a thorn in my side. I’ll try
what I can do with him I” r

Stepping up to Sandy, he asked him politely
for a cigar-light. K

“I don’t smoke.” replied Martin.

“Don’t you? Well, never mind. Come into
the saloon over the way; 1 want to have a little
talk with you.” '

The two men were soon seated, with two
glasses of beer before them.

“Now,” said Stanard, coolly, as he struck a
match and lit his cigar, “ I want you to tell me
how much my wife pays you to follow me

about?”

Sand gasped and turned pale. Stanard
lau h. heartily! ,,

“ id you im he that I=dou’t know?” he

asked, enjoying be poor little man’s confu.
51 n

o .
“ I really—I—”
. “ There, you need not worry; it is not the first
time, b a good many.”
“ Is t at so?” asked Sandy, the color gradually
coming back to his face.
“ Yes, my wife has a monomania.
jealous that she is really a lunatic.”
“ She is jealous, and I do not at all wonder,”
returned Sandy, warmly.
Stanard laughed.
“ You think I am a gay boy, eh?” . '
Sandy felt disposed to say that he might P01“
haps apply a stronger term than that of ‘ black-

“ Well,” said the gambler. watch a ring of
smoke float away above his head, ‘ I am not
very'steady, that is a, fact, but she drove me to
being wild by her constant naggin .”,

Sandy loo ed, as hefelt incredu ous.

“Itisa . . "t Wflthoughyw

She isso

     

   

 

     
  
   
  
   
   
   
 
  
  
   
  
   
   
 
  
    
  
  
  
   
    
 
     
  
   
   
  
 
   
      
 
   
    
   
    
 
  
  
     
   
   
  
    
    
     
  

“ No amount of nagging could make me act as
you do,” declared the little man stoutl .

“No, I guess not; you don’t look li e one of
the b0 5,” replied the gambler, with a lau h.

“I ave no desire to look like them. gYour
wife is a true lady.”

“ She is a perfect devil when she is jealous,
and she is very rarely anything else.”

Sandy knew this was true, so he said nothing.

“ Now,” resumed Stanard, “ do you know “
what I want you to do?” ' i I 

“ No, sir.” ‘ ’

“Well, I want you to meet me at my house  ,
to-morrow morning. I’ve just had a terrible i If
scene with my wife. and I intend to sleep at the ‘ ”
Grand Central Hotel. I’ll go around about nine
o’clock and wish you to meet me there.”

“Yes sir.”

“And we will have a little talk with Mrs.
Stanard. I want you to tell her it is all non-
sense, this dogging me: that I don’t do any- '
thin out of the way, and all that. I’ll give you
five undred dollars if you quiet her down.”

“I won’t tell lies for five thousand dollars!”
averred Sandy, stoutly. . V .

“ No, I don t want you to. Just tell her I "
ain’t worse than other fellows—that’s the truth.
Here’s flft down, and if you can get me out of
this row, ’11 give you the rest. ” . .'

Fifty dollars was a temptation to poor Sandy ‘.

Martin. *

“ I won’t tell lies, mind,” he said, eying the 
bills. longingly.

“ No, not one; you can say very tru _
that} am no worse than plenty of others, can
you? ,

Sandy pondered. He had been so thoroughly
enlightened since he adopted his Spresent profes-
sion that he certainly could say tanard was no
worse than others. . ’. .

“Yes,” he assented, doubtfully, With a fond " 7%
glance at the hills which lay on the table.

“ Well, that’s all I want ou to say.” 

“ I’ll say that: but, all t e same, I am i‘
for your wife. She loves you ten thousand than"
better than you deServe.’

Depraved though he was. a,thrill of remorse 
shot through the black heart of the gambler.
He gave a gasp. Had it been in his war at
that moment, he might have undone is dark
ni ht’s work. ‘

be feeling lasted but a moment. . 

“ I believe she does,” he resilied in a low tone.

“ What is the matter?” a ed Sandy.
are as white as if you had seen a ghost.” '

“ I don’t feel well. Waiter, a glass of brandy!" i

He swallowed it and then rose.

“ Will you take anything more? All  1‘
You will meet me tcomorrow. Good-night. I

He hastily left the saloon, and Sandy gathered ,
up the bills and stowed them away in his pocket- '
book that had been sadly empty and lonesosmn

“ Whats terrible look came over that maul! .
face!” thought the little detective, as he wooded ’ .
his way home. “With all his money, I would. ‘-
not change places with him to-ni ht. He looks
aka the picture of Gain in ustave Dore?-

i e. ,

      
   
  
  
    
    
     
   
  
   
   
    
  
   
 
  
   
  
  
   
  
  
   
  
   
  
    
  
  
   
   
   
   
    
    

to»

CHAPTER XVII.
THE PLACE or serum.

Tin: fresh light cast upon the case which who,
bafled Knowles was the startling ' “
imparted by Borrowdale, during a vmit he pdd
the detective immediately after his interview 
with Mabel Nelson. I”

That information was, of course, on the libi- .. ;
ject of Randolf Church’s secret marriage. ’

“ Married secretly, by Jove!” ‘

Knowles did not oftenbetraysi us of mm
but he to at ' professional ca for once, ‘ .'
betra ed t em hen he heard this news. ‘ ”

“ es, there seems to be no doubt upon
subject, though he was thelast man in the w
I’d suspect of such an action.” I , x _

“ Hum! You can’t always tell. A wife .1111".
child! Well, I mightas well look for a needle
in a hay-stack, as look for a wife and child in,
New York, for, of course, as the marriage Was;
secret one, he married under a false name.”  M

“ That is what Miss Nelson says. She has, ' i
more idea than the dead what to do, but she un-
derstands Spanis .”

“ She does? That’s good. Well, I’ll come
back with renewed vigor. I’ll work that haunt.
ed room for all it is5worth.” ' '

“ But Mrs. Flutter may not take you back.” _, 

“Tell her I only want to stay a few claw—5;;-
that I am going back to England.” _ x’ '

“ All right. When will you come?” 

“No time like the present. I’ll come 
nigh.”  8a b red.  .,

it was arran ra reappea in
to Anette’s disgust. Mrs. Flutter saw no hunt
in Borrowdale’s niece staying a few days, and
Mrs. Church was quite graCious, remembering
the loss and recovery of her diamond pin. A '

i

  

  

      
          
 

 
   

!

   

.6.

16-

In this garment sho occupied not one-third of
3 the space required in her ordinary dress.

~ ' When all was ready she extinguished the gas
f in her room and cautiously opened the door.
I" , U “ Here!” whispered Sarah Brown, who stood

 

 

 

outside, waiting.
The gas in the corridor had been turned down

.i/J

very low, and the tire hurried on till they!

reached the room next to that occupied by M iss ‘

, ' _ ~ Knowles opened the door with a key from his

7 bunch, pushed Mabel in, and followed her; then
closed and locked the door.

“ Bo ve quiet,” he whispered, and lit the gas,
but turn it down low.

“ Well, we are in, safe enough. Borrowdale
sags the old lady has slept here every night since
I ted the ghost for her.”

“ But I shall not be able to hear one word
the say in Miss Church‘s room,” deinurred

' Ma 1, in a tone of disappointment.
“ Hold on, miss. Come here!”
4 He led the way to a large press or closet in the
corner. With another key he opened its door.
’ , ' This closet was full of bed and table linen,
‘ arranged on shelves.
’ , “Now, miss, you’ll think you are at sea. Hold
, on till I clear this shelf.”
In the twinkling of an eye Knowles had the
contents of the second shelf on the floor.
~ ~A Space of about four feet in width and three
in depth was disclosed.
, “ ban on get in there?”
: Mabel ooked dismayed.
“ I can try,” she said, doubtfully.
“Oh, you can do it, miss, and then you can
not only hear what they say, but see them.”
. ' Mabel made the attempt, and found it easier
to climb upon the shelf than he had anticipated.
 , “Here,” whispered Knowles, handing her a
' . i  of black crapo; " throw that over your
' r ~ or they will see your eyes shine when you
. -K ' peep through.”
‘ At the back of this closet, which was papered,
-‘ Mabel found that the detective had cleverly ar-
ranged not (mly an opening to hear through, but
a place from which the whole of Miss Church‘s
apartment was plainly visible. 80, unknown to
herself, the counterfeit heiress was living under
‘ 'the very eye of a keen observer.
This work was so skillfully done that Mrs.
v Flutter .::iuht have gone to her CIOSet and never
- observed any change in its appearance.
 3,1. I, By a process known to himself the detective
" " _‘ bad loosened the wall-pa ier over about one
' " ~ square foot of the wall; t e plaster had then
s . ‘ ‘ been taken out and the laths cut away, and the
, r,figr so readjusted with pins that a visit from
‘ O

 

i

‘9. Church.

if This room they entered hastily. It was the
iii-3f room where Mrs. Flutter kept her linen, extra
,5 . ‘ ~‘- bedding, and all such things.

'3‘

ii

. Flutter would have failed to discover the
r! , .. eye‘hole. ,
i. Then came the lathe and luster of Miss
‘~  Church’s room, which Knowles ad also remov-
ed one day while the young lady and her Indian
nurse were both out for several hours. The
~ .walls were almost completely covered with
.1‘ intings, and costly china plaques-some of
' {hem being exquiSito enamels of Liiiieges of the
x", XVth century. Without altering their position
"‘mfflciently to attract attention, the detective
' soarran ed them that sevvral largo holes
.mmained in t o walls unnoticed. This was his
 me of espial; it was cleverly contrived, but
' proven thus far unavailing, since he could
. ,.  not understand one Word that had been spoken,
' , and Oello’s fright really signified nothing [in the
, ‘ we! of evidence. .
‘ ‘ ‘ t leur'th Knowles felt that he would be re.
in "‘wax'ded for all his trouble. Mabel, the unobtru-
 give poor relation, was to prove the only one

‘ who could be of the slightest service. Through
.o beralone could be learned the dread secret of
the sudden death in the pavilion.

Since Knowles had learned of Randolf
.Church’s secret marriage he no longer doubted
, a that his death was not y the visitation of God,

but by the foul hand of a treacherous assassin.
, ‘Bere was the looked-for motive for the murder.
.. He had said—“There never was a murder
1 writhout a motive.” Now that the motive was
‘ ' ascertained, it would be a comparatively easy
‘ ' , matter toflnd the murderer.
= Randolf Church had been the possessor of a
large fortune. He had leftason who was the
logs! heir to his wealth. Who was the most in-
; terested in this fact? Not his mother, for she
A , ,‘wasa dyin woman, whose own ample fortune
. ,prevented r from wishing for more money.
. i Miss Church was the next heir-at-law, provid-
-. * lug Randell Church’s son never put forward his
claim. She had also loved her cousin.
,- --5‘ “Here.” asserted Knowles, rubbln his hands,
., . “we have not only one motive, bu two. By

f, cutting off this man’s life before his marri

, ,   a roven and acknowled fact,thisart ul

(

ll ultimately inherit his fortune, had b
‘- r _‘ ‘ murdering him, or causing him to be murd ,
, _,:.; she was revenged upon im for slightin her

' m  .. love. which, b all accounts, she actually t rust
- r- n him. poet says—‘ Hell holds no fury
I anwoman scorned.’ and I believe he is about

dnued, fully concurred in Knowles’s opinion.

4

 

 

wdale, to whom these remarks were ad— .

 

  " “ .3. :l = ‘i 1“..>  .4 ’~'-"‘*“»-
In... .   ‘
. .l _ o _ . “7.. h; .

,,, nu" r

.

 

 

 

‘ Sarah Brown, Detective.

“It is terrible,” he said, sadly. “Poor Mr.
Church! He was such a noble man! To think
that he was strangled like a dog makes my blood
bel, and it would never have happened if he
had not built that unluck place, I hate the
sight of it. It gives me a 0 ill when I look out-
of the window and see it standing there, shining
in the moonli'rht like a great monument.”

“ Yes; andT am afraid the one who strangled
him like a dog will never be broughtto jus-
ticc.

Mabel Nelson had described as well as she
could the pictured faces of her cousin’s wife and
child. All she could say, however, was that
they seemed fair: the lady‘s face was pretty and
innocent, she said, and t e baby’s photograph
looked retty much like that of any other
healthy by.

This was all, and little enough. Now came
the attempt to learn more from the superstitious
terrors of the Indian nurse.

Mabel sat ina cram attitude for three long
hours in her hidin r—p ce ere her patience was
rewarded. Know es, who remained in the
room, occasionally encouraging her by a whis-

per.

At length footsteps were heard. Oello entered
her daughter’s room and lit the gas. Mabel
pooped through the o nian and saw the Indian
throw open a wardro an take out a long silk
dressing-gown of pale-salmon color, heavily eni-
broidered in part -colored tints, for the savage
instincts of the false heiress occasionally assert-
ed themselves in a love of gaudy hues. Oello
laid the robe over the back of an easy-chair,
and placed a pair of pink satin slippers before
it.

She then arranged brushes, combs, etc., and
just as she finished her task the young lady
entered.

Mabel’s eyes and ears were opened wide for
what was to come, while Knowles stood by, lis-
tening attentively, though of course he could
neither see nor hear.

Miss Church threw herself into the easy-chair,
and began to turn over the leaves of a boo ,
while her mother took down the heavy braids
and coils of her shining black hair.

No word was spoken for some time, and Ma-
bel felt anxious and disappointed.

What if nothing came of all her trouble? She
felt terribl cramped and fatigued by her un-
comfortab eposition. She could not move, and
the darkness and close smell of the chest caused
her to feel so faint and ill that she almost rt»
gratified that she had ex ised herself to needless

iscomfort and long for release from her
perch, when Oello’s voice aroused her.

“ I saw Ernest this aftemOon,” said she, as
she deftly brushed out the long tresses which
flowed over the back of the chair to the carpet.

it Yes?”

The girl’s tone was indifferent and careless.

“ IYes, she is passionately fond of the child, al-
reai y.

" Fool !”

“Oh! you need not be soscornful, Sara. I do
not (1ch ise Ubu: I dread her too much.”

“ You have grown cowardly,” said Sam,
snecrmgly.

“No, I have not; but this is not Peru; we
have run fearful risks, and we have accomplish-
ed nothing.”

“ Pshaw! Am I not Miss Church, the heiress?
——the favorite niece of the old woman who can‘-
not live lon ?”

“ Yes; bu —”

“ Ocllo, you grow tiresome! Your fears ex-
a gerate eVery danger! What do you dread?

most? He has made himself a criminal, and
is powerless. Ubal I defy her! I am here in
this house! Let her at me out, if she can i"

“ I fear Ernest. e is tired to death of Ubal~
dina, and I believe has fallen in love with the
child‘s mother.”

H What!”

Sara started so violengy, and uttered the
word so sharply that Ma started also. She
shook the weakened rtion of the well against
which her head res . Aloud clatter followed
and a crash. One of the exquisite Limo es en-
amels had been shaken from the w and
smashed to atoms!

“ Good heavens, whatis that?" cried Cello and
Sara together, as the started forward. Mabel
saw them coming an gave herself up as lost.

 

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE sUicmE.

SANDY MAnrm’s conscience prevented
him from sleeping the night after his inter-
view with the gambler. Hc wished he had
not accepted the lift dollars, yet he consoled
himself with the re ection that he had abso-
lutely refused to utter any false statements
or had disguised his opinion of Mr. Ernest
Stanard, which Was certainly not a high
one.

He omitted to mention to his better-three-
quarters hat he had received the - money. for
he wislie tolceve himself a loophole of es-
capo,ln case he could not satisfy his client

A .
*i .\

 

that her husband was no worse than the ma-
jority of men.

“ Ie is worse—a great deal worse," suid
Sandy, as he buttoned up his shabby over-
coat and started out to keep his appointment.

“ 1‘“ not say much for him, and the little
I shall say will be to ease the poor woman's
mind. She can’t make him any better by
watching him, and I am afraid she loves him
too well to leave him.”

As Sandy thus soliloquized he walked
rapidly toward the place where he expected
to meet Stanard. As he drew near the house
a singular feeling came over him. The
morning was bright and beautiful, and the
streets were full of busy, pleasant-looking
people, but Sand felt as if he were walking
in the gloomy shade of a country church-
yard.

“I’m nervous, that‘s a fact.” said he to
himself. “ This life don‘t suit me. I‘ll
have to give it up. The late hours don’t
agree with me.”

He rang the bell at the door. An un-
tidy girl, with her Montagucs hidden in the
obscurity of papers and glue, opened the
door.

“ Can I see Mr. Stanard?"

“I don’t know; 1 uess he ain‘t up."

“ He told me to ca 1 here at nine.”

Sandy looked at his watch. It just want-
ed one minute and a half of the appointed

time.

“Well, I’ll knock at the door and see.
You can wait.”

Sandy availed himself of the privilege
and seated himself in a chair in the hall.

The girl knocked loud and long, then re-
turned to Sandy.

“ I told you they weren’t up,” she said,
snappishly. .

As she spoke the front door was opened
by a latch-key and Ernest Stanai‘d ap-
peared.

“ ()hl good-morning!" saluted the gam-
bier, pleasantly. His face was very pale,
but he was elaborately dressed and seemed in
good spirits. “I am glad you are here on
time, for I have to go to Washington this af-
ternoon," he added.

“ I am afraid we shall not have the pleas-
ure of seeing our wife at present,” remark-
cd Sandy; “ is young lady says she is not
11 et.”

" Oh, I’ll call her. Come on!”

Stanard led the way to the door and tap-
ped with his cane. I

“Uba!” he called, then waited a few mo-
ments. “ It is strange she does not answer;
she is a li ht sleeper.”

Ile trie the door. but it was locked.

“ Uba !” This time he spoke louder, and
rapped more sharply, with, however, the
same result.

“ I can’t understand this,” he declared, al-
lfowing a shade of anxiety to appear on his

ace.

Just then came a sound from the room—
littlc Dolf‘s voice in a cry of alarm.

“ What's the matter?" Stanard called out. '

The child was evidently moving about
through the room. He came to the door and
tried to open it.

“ Turn the key i” shouted the gambler.

“ I can‘t!“ sobbed Dolf.

“ Wake mamma then.”

The be left the door and the baby voice
Was hear urging the woman to ” dit up!"

In a moment he was back at the door.
“ My new mamma won’t dit up." he cried.

“ What's to be done?” asked Stanard, ap~
pealingly to Sandy and the servant girl who
stood staring curiously on.

" Burst open the door,” suggested the girl
who was fond of excitement.

“But my wife may be angr if we do.
She was in a bad temper last mg t," confess-
ed Stauard doubtful] .

" I know she was. ’ replied the girl, nodi
ding her head. “I heard yezs fighting!"

Dolf was now cryin at the top of his
voice and beating on e door with all his
might.

“I think Cyou will have to force the
deaf," advise Sandy. “Perhaps your wife
13 .n

“ I hope not," returned the. gambler.

He put his shoulder to the door and in
another moment it was ‘wide open. The
three persons found their way into the room
together. A terrible sight met their

03%.
Mrs. Stunard lay cold in death, and 01‘

I I

 

   

 

I

.so he left the house, after

 
 
      

~ '3le i,“ “  'r... my: _(.. ,
.3. V, ,w ,. . a . ~ 4
 ' v ; v t I

  ‘S’arah Brown, Detective. . .

g n I. A.

 

1'7

 

stood crying in the middle of the floor in his
little night- ress.

“ My God!"
“ How is this?”

“ She has taktn laudanum,” replied Sandy
Martin, pointing to the bottle with its label
on which grinned the death’s head.

“Good heavens, this is what she always
threatened 5"

lie struck his forehead with his hand and
looked wildly about him.

Sandy Martin said nothing, but he kept
his eyes fixed upon Stanard’s face.

“ What time did you leave her last night
he asked. ,

A lie trembled upon the white lips of the
murderer, but hesaved himself by remem-
bering that he had met Sandy near his own
door.

“Some time near morning." he answered
after a pause. “ I can‘t remember just
when."

The little man turned away; a sort of hor-
ror of this man came over him. He never
suspected for one moment that he had mur-
dered his wife, but he knew that he had been
the cause of her death. She had poisoned
herself in a frenzy of jealous rage. She had
ample cause for her jealousy; so Sandy
argued that the man before him had indirect-
ly murdered her.

“ Ah, this tells the story,” cried Stanard
in a tone of affected melancholy. He held
up a letter, which he had taken from the
writing-table for Sandy’s inspection.

The letter was short and was addressed to

“ WnonvEn FINDs MY BODY." ‘
It read: ‘

“ I cannot live any longer the life I live. I die to-
‘nt by rig own hand. I wish my body to be sent
eru an there buried near that of In Old father.
"Unmrzu mann."
“ Mad woman!" muttered the gambler.
Sandy said nothing.
The servant girl had s read the news, and
the room was soon full 0 people. The land-
lady took charge, for Stanard seemed stunned
by the sudden blow. The doctor came, and
police officers. They all looked wise and
gave orders, and every one was turned out
of the room.

Little Dolf cried pitifully, and the land-
lady took compassion on lum and conveyed
him away to some unergrouud region where
she spent the largest portion of her life. 1

Mr, Stanard's presence was not required,
orders for
no expense

exclaimed the gambler.

I)”

at
to

ivin

everything to be done quietfy an
to be spared.

Sandy Martin also left, after giving his ad-
dress to the coroner.

Mrs. Stanard, the jealous wife, was no
more. -
Her husband walked out in the bright
:spring sunshine—a free man.

 

CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE TOILB.

Ennnsr STANARD'S bad. black heart throb-
bed with joy as he rode up-town in an ele-
vated train after leaving the house where la
the remains of his murdered wrfe. ‘

lie was going to visit Elna—to tell her
that he now had certain information _of her
'hoy’s whereabouts, and, if possrble. to induce
her to go to Boston without delay: He
rcursed the coroner, who had told him he
must be present at the examination the fol-
lowing day to ive his evidence as to the
.cause of his wi e's death.

No pang of remorse touched his hard heart
'now. He exulted in his freedom to woo the
pure girl who had suffered so much through

-.his treaeherous pretense of friendship, and

who was doomed to suffer still more. He

‘ thad alread ' robbed her of her child; now he

 

Whimso

determine to tell her of her husband‘s death
.and win from her a promise that she would
be his ere he would restore little Dolf to her
.aching heart.

“All goes well.” he said in trium hant
tones. “ Once married to Elna I shall all
I wish—ha py. wealth . and free from
Uba's terrib e tongue. 0 one could stand
.her.”  .1
He felt quite justified in all he had done.
Why had the unto
him with her comp
mean y

   

?

rtunate woman wearied
laints? Why had she

He looked out at the blue sky and actually
rejoiced that his Wife was dead!

All was safe, he fancied. No danger threat-
ened his future.

He had always hated his sister; now he
could triumph 0V(‘l' her. True, she could
claim his dead wife’s fortune, for she repre-
sented Ubaldina Church, but the much larger
fortune of Randolf Church would be his,
I and the loveliest woman in the world would
be his wife—~11 soft-voiced, sweet little wo-
man, who would never look sullen or find
fault! With her he would indeed be
happy.

“All is right,” he repeated joyfully, as he
stepped out of the car and hastened to Elna’s
humble home.

He found her sitting sad and listless by
the window, where her flowers, formerly so
carefully tended, were dying from neglect.

“How are you, Mrs. Randolf‘?” he said,
when admitted by Christine.

“ Oh, very sad indeed. I had such fear‘
ful dreams last night,” she said with quiver.
ing lips and swimming eyes.

“ Ugly visions of the hi ht Which I have
come to dispel,” replied tanard, holding
out his hand With a smile.

“But, indeed, Mr. Stevans, you were so
mixed up with my trouble in my dream that
I feel doubly unhapp since I saw your
face,” replied Elna can idly.

The treacherous monster hit his lip.

“Really, Mrs. Randolf, it is not possible
for me to feel angry with you; otherwise I
should be highly indignant.”

“ I beg your pardon.” pleaded poor Elna,
thinkin she was showing a want of grati-
tude to er kind, disinterested friend. “ But
listen to my dream! It was frightful. I
thought I was standin0r on the brink of a
precipice. I looked down and saw dead
bodies and bones away beneath me in a dark,
loathsome pit. While I gazed, spellbound
with horror, I heard a voice crying: ‘Mamma !’
and I saw Dolf down there. I looked again,
and there lay my husband's dead body. Oh!
how terrible it was! Well, Dolf was wav-
ing his little hands as if to warn me, and I
turned and there you stood. just in the act
of pushing me into that frightful pit. I
woke with a scream. I have felt ill ever
since.”

Stanard turned pale and trembled. He
felt that some unseen power was warning
the helpless creature before him to avoid her
destroyer.

“ I trust you are not silly enough to put
any faith in dreams, Mrs. Randolf," he re-
marked, trying to speak carelessly.

\ “No.1know it is foolish to do so, but
that dream seemed so real. lean hear Dolf’s
voice now, ringing in my cars."

“ Well, I trust you soon may do so.
Dreams go by contraries, ou know, and I
have brou ht on news of elf."

“Oh! lift Stevans!" and her sad face lit
up with rapture, her blue e es shone, and
the rich cranium tint came ck to her lips
and chee s.

“Yes, Itold you that I had heard Dolf
was in Boston. I am now certain of it.”

“ Oh! Thank God! But. Mr. Stevans,
who could have the heart to steal my child?"

The artful gambler reflected. If he could
succeed in poisoning Elna‘s mind against her
husband, he might be more successful when
he ur ed his suit. He knew parties in Bos-
ton w 0 were base enough to perform any
part for money, so he said.

“ Your husband has enemies."

“ Then they must be verv wicked people,
assumed the loyal little wife indignantly.

“Well, I don’t know. Randolf was a
handsome fellow; the ladies all liked him.”

He spoke in an insinuating way, as if he

H

however, too innocent to understand him.
She merely gazed at him in childlike sur-
prise. ,

A Finding innuendoes would not produce the
desired effect. the Scoundrel was forced to
speak more plainly.

“ I see you do not understand me. I mean
this, and would not tell on, but I must ex-
plain who stole your child, and why they
did so.”

He seemed to hesitate, as if loth to con-
tinue. ' I
” Go on, tell me al ,’" cried Elna, impati.
entig.V  ,

, “ ell, lam afraid I shall pain you; but

1

 

knew more than he cared to say. Elna W86. ’

\i “ Thank you.

     

I fear you must eventually learn the truth.
Your husband was false to you, and he was
on the point of marrying another woman.”

“What?” cried Elna, starting from her
seat, with flashing eyes.

“ It is true, unfortunately. The lady he
was about to marry is the person who has
robbed you of your child."

“ Good heavens!"

Elna clasped her hands about her head;
she feared that madness was about to Seize
upon her brain. All the hints and warn-  1
ings spoken by Mr. Allen, the house-agent, I
and by Mrs. Ixnowles. the detective‘s wife, 9
came back to her, with full force. She had
despised their well-meant efforts to en- ,
lighten her, and boldly pronounced their ,“E
kindly warnings falsehoods, and they were i
but too true.

Now she must learn the worst, and still, 

keep a brave heart for her child‘s sake. She 
must not yield to despair. . ; T '
“ Go on," she ordered, calmly. “Tell me 

the whole infamous truth.” we

“ There is not much to tell. The girl, who '
is no more worthy to be compared with you ,
than a sunflower to a rose, was also deserted "
in her turn. She learned that Randolf had a _ ,,
wife and a child. and she stole Dolf to be re- ‘ {;
venged upon his father.” ' 

“ But you said he was about to marry
her,” persisted Elna, in bewilderment.

“ So he was. but he met another face that
pleased“ him; he broke his promise, and the
girl was wild. She had made all prepara-
tions for the marriage, and even went to
church; for she was deserted at the very 
altar." ‘ ' 

“ Poor thing,” said Elna, pityingly. “ She‘.
must have suffered terribly 'to make her ,
mad enough to steal my child; but she was 
not punishing my husband; he cares not for 
his child. She was torturing me. and, GOd'
is my witness, I have not injured her.” .,

She spoke with a strange calmness that'
showed how powerful was the control shé'.
exercised over her lacerated heart. “ :

“ She knows that now, and she is at length
willing to restore Dolf to you.”

“ And I must see her?” .

“ Yes. She lives in Boston. You may;
wait for a week, when I shall be at liberty
to accompany you, or you can go alone.”

“I shall go at once. Thank you for think?
ing of accompanying mez'but you don’t on, "
derstand the feelings of a mother‘s heart a
No one but mothers do. I think.”  _ ‘

Poor little Elna seemed to have aged sin 1
she was forced to believe her husband had
forgotten her.

One other fact Stanard wished to ascertsl'
——that was, how much or how little Eh‘
knew of her husband‘s private history. It *
\\ as of the utmost importance that he should-
be fully posted, for a false step might prove;
fatal to his hopes. . ~. +

“ You are aware that.your husband had?
another name besides Randell?” he said, 
quiringly. -

"Yes; he told me that his mother was i
from heart disease, and that she was very,
proud and ambitious; he- (lid not wish we,
grieve her b tellin her ,he had married _,
poor girl, so agree to marry him secretly."

“ But you know his real name?" ‘ 

“ I do, but I promised him I would not my”
veal it." ' ': ‘ ”

“ Have you your marriage-certificate??? “

" Ihave.” 

Stanard re'oiced: it was plain sailing for,

I him now. le would experience no 6 ‘

 

 

 

 

 

cult in proving Elna’s claim on her hung
gban ’3 name and fortune when the props
2 time arrived. ' >
“ So he made you promise you would no
; mention his name?” _
“ Yes, and I shall keep my word." ‘ .1
“That is right. I admire an honorable
woman.” ‘
“ Now tell me just where I shall find 
child,” said Elna, rly.  “ .
Her feelings h been greatly 0v ' I,
wrought, and she felt that she could notproi“
long the conversation. , ‘  
“ I will give ou the address and a letters
'~ to carry to the ad .” z; r
I 0 so at once, pleased“
not wish to lose one moment i ' ”
l for my child.” ‘ ‘ . ~
Stanard asked for writing. materials...
enned a short letter. which he ban , ' to
na, who read; ' ~ " "

 

  

1‘,
»

‘ Sarah Bro

1x .. , a ‘ mg. _ru v  g; v .' . t). , .. ,. “3.,
t." f ,_ Id, ".1 I“... stay «an. .1 -_
. i, , V r, . I

wn, DetectiVe.

  

 

 

 

   

" NEW YORK, April 20th.

“ MISS Sornn Bnoou, L e street, Boston, M188:—
“ The bearer is the law 111 wife of Randolf Church.

Assist her at once in the reCOVer of her child and

I; tell her your story. RNIBT Strauss.
  . Elna uttered an exclamation of protest
’  when she saw the name Church.

“Never mind,” said the Lucifer. “You
need not mention your name. You can still
keep your promise, if you do not consider
that your husband’s bad conduct does not
absolve you from doing so.”

, “ Certainly not; his falsehood cannot aflect
file. I I shall keep my word," declared Elna,
rm .

Stgiiard was glad, for he did not wish her
name to become known yet. The time had
not arrived to make it public.

“ Well, it can do no harm to let this wo-

' man know. Tell no one in New York at
present."
“ Pardon me, Mr. Stevans, if I tell you
1?, that I must prepare for my journey at
' " once,” remarked Elna, folding up the letter
and carefully consigning it to her pocket-
book.
, “Certainly; I would not detain you for
i j 1 the world. Have you funds enough for this
- trip?"
 ‘ers, thank you. I am greatly indebted
 to on. Believe me, I am not ungrateful."
' ' he knew she must Soon give way to her
assionate emotion—to the tide of outraged
ove and wounded pride that swelled her
.. heart almost to bursting, and did not wish to
give wa before him. Ilcr womanly digni-
' ty forba e the thought; like a sorely wound-
;3 ed bird she longed to hide her pain.
 . “Well, I’ll cave you. Cheer up, my
<dear, Elna-allow me to call you b your
own sweet name. I‘ll be with 7on in oston
as'soon as possible. Trust ful y in me.”
With a long‘ pressure of her hand, and a
lingering loo into the pure depths of her
' blue eyes, he left her. '
[Just as he walked out of the house a girl
,hastily entered it. She ran up the stairs to
.Elna's room. ,
-f “Is Mrs. Randolf in?” she inquired, when
.Christine appeared, for Elna was already
" commencing to pack.
“’ ‘9 Yes; she is very busy.”
“Ohl it is important. Mrs. Randolf, my
“mistress says come for a few moments.”
‘ \“I can’t, Bessie.”
' "Why, ma’am?"
.1, . “ I’m going to Boston at once. Tell your
mistress ’11 see her when I return.”
i “I wish you’d come, ma’am. She has
.»{Iomething to tell you.”
v Up“ Tell her I’ll come the very moment I re-
‘fu'r‘n. I'm oing{to find my chik .”

g ‘ rs. nowlcs who had sent for
Elna, and if she had only one to her she
“’w‘ould have been save untol misery.

l

      
 
   
    
   
     
    
    
    
   
    
   
   
     
   
  
   
    
   
   
  
     
  
   
  
   
  
    
  
   
     
   
  
   
   
    
  
   
  
   
  
    
   
    
   
  
   
  
    
    
   
    
  
   
 
 

,-

  

H
o
S
no
a:
hi

4
.l

 

CHAPTER XX.
SANDY MARTIN ON A NEW CASE.
Mum. gave herself up as lost, for Oello
her daughter advanced directly toward
hiding-place.
,,  thhercl that is some of your careless-
; Wt”, exclaimed Sui-a, angrily, as she raised
Mmgments of the costly enameled plaque
the carpet.
“ It is not,” answered her mother, indig-

tl .
I ."jies, it is. If you had not displaced it,
m'last, time you dusted the room, this
 on? not have happened.”
‘ cry well, miss. Do the dusting yours
f next time.”
. fortunately the quarrel between the false
in Church and her mother, so occupied
,flieir minds that they did not examine into
 cause of the accident; otherwise
,Knmfles’s clever ecp-hole would have been
“the cause of his estruction, so for as that
‘cue was concerned. '
Mabel held her breath, and felt faint and
‘: ,d'dy till Sura had resumed her seat, and
lie was again deftly brushing the long,
silkyhair, ' .
’,“Oello," said the young ladg, after a
“when Ml's. Church dies, intend to

  

 "Yes, I mean it. You hamper me. You
Vasem‘to have lost all coura e."
‘11:" And you fancy I wil submit to being

a I 01! In. tamely? You much mistake, unq

     
  

 

The eyes of the Indian nurse took on a
snake-like glitter; she looked dangerous.

“I will pay you well,” went on Sura,
coolly.

“ Pay me! Your own mother?”

Mabel almost caused another alarm, so
eagerly did she bend forward to listen.

Here was an unexpected disclosure. She
was complete] mystified. Had the Indian
woman been r. Church’s wife?

“Mother! How you harp on that one
string! You must forget that you are my
mother.”

“ Forget that I am your mother?”

“Yes: I intend to remain Miss Church,
and I shall not allow any one, I care not
who they may be, to deny my right to the
name.”

“ So! Matters have changed with you.”

00110 spoke in the low tone of excessive
passion.

“ They have. Ernest was a feel when he
stole Uba’s papers from her and intrusted
them to your care.”

“ What do you mean?"

Sura laughed significantly.

“Do you mean to say you have stolen'

them?”

“ Certainly I do.”

“And you think you can outwit me, you
viper?”

Her face was now like the face of a de-
mon. Mabel could see it reflected in the
mirror close to the reflection of that of her
daughter. -

Sura’s thin, cat-like countenance was full
of triumph, but Oello’s was fiendish‘in its
maliwnity.

“ have outwitted you, and Ernest also.
I have all my papers proving my identity as
Ubaldina Church. Ernest is in my power—
you know why. You both are powerless.”

Oello stood speechless, baffled and para-
lyzed by her daughter’s audacity.

“And you imagine that I will submit to
this?" she aspcd.

“Yes. I know you can‘t help yourself.”

Sura spoke mockingly, and evidently en-
joyed the situation.

“Well, madam, you are very much miso
taken. I shall denounce you to Mrs.
Church 1”

Sum laughed.

“And be thrown out of the house for your
trouble. No, my dear woman, my position
is assured.” ' '

Mabel grew cold all over, so terrible did
Oello’s face become in its livid fury.‘

The unseen listener to the conversation
felt dazod. She had come there expecting to
hear these women confess some dark deed,
but she scarcely understood the tenor of
their talk.

()f one thing she was certain, however:
the woman who personated her cousin was
an impostor. She was the daughter of
the Indian woman, and not her nurse-
child. Where, then, was the real Ubaldina
Church?

No wonder Mabel felt thoroughly bewil-
dered. . .

The conversation was resumed, and again
Mabel strained eves and ears that she might
lose nothing of the disclosures.

“ Ingrate!” hissed Oello, “if you dare at-
tempt to carr out your threats I shall forget
that my bloo flows through your veins and
murder you!”

Her face word an expression even 'more
terrible than her words, but Sura seemed un-
moved.

“Nonscnse! You are too smart to risk
your neck. You go back to Peru and livein
comfort. You shall have all the money you
wrs .”

“ Money! Your small soul holds no
thought or wish above the filthy money you
worship!"

” Well, I’ve always found ituseful. Come,
let us talk sensibly. Here you must always
be a servant. I can never acknowled e you
as my mother. In Peru you can ivc in
splendor.” '

" Ernest was right.” observed Oello, slow- '

ly; "he told me what you were.”

“ He did ?” sneered Sure. her thin 1i s curl-
ing scornfull . “ Well, I am not suc afool
as he is. e has committed murder, and
what has he gained f” ',\ ,

“ He did it for your'sake, because you
weresli bled.” H .  “ ,
A viv d crimsonstained the/sallow cheeks

l .

      
 

   

I

  

'i

   

   

' of the false heiress. The words stung her,
devoid of all feeling though she was.

r“ He was a fool to do it, but he thinks he
will be paid for his work. Like myself, he

loveggold.

“ ell, I will leave you now, and I advise

fiou to reflect before you take any rash steps.
eware of me! You knew me!”

“ Where are you going?” inquired Sura,
mockingly.

“To my room,” replied Oello, calmly.

“ Take care. It is haunted by the spirit of
Randolf Church.

“ Even his spirit is more welcome to me
than your society, at present.”

With these words the Indian woman
swept from the room.

Sura retired calmly to bed, and was soon
sleeping the calm sleep of a conscienceless.
selfish woman. When Mabel felt safe to
move she did so very gently and cautiously.
Knowles's quick ear caught the sound, and
he whispered: “ Is it safe for you to come
out?”

(I  ’9

He lit the gas and Mabel slowly crept forth
from her hiding-place with cramped limbs
and an aching head. She felt sadly confus-
ed, and answered the detective‘s inquiring-
glance by such a look of helpless distress that
he concluded she had overestimated her
knowledge of the Spanish language and had
learned nothing.

“ Couldn t you understand them?” he
asked, in awhisper, as they replaced the pile
of linen they had removed from the closet.

“Yes; wait, and I'll tell you all.”

They silently passed down-stairs, and met,
as they had agreed, in a small room used by
the butler as a pantry. Here Borrowdale
awaited them with all the patience he could
muster. Mabel narrated the whole conver-
sation from beginning to end. and the two
men were as much astonished as she had
been herself.

“Well,” said Borrowdalc, "one thin is
clear: not only have they murdered ‘r.
Church, but they have also made away with
Miss Church, and, by means of stolen papers,
this woman will claim her fortune.”

“ Yes,” replied Knowles. “ Now, the on]
hope we have is that they are quarre -
‘in g. 'When rogues fall out honest peo le get
their dues, and although it is paying them a
compliment to call them rogues, let us hope
for fuller disclosures. Miss Nelson, I’m
afraid I shall have to ask you to listen
again.”

“ Certainly; and if I may make a sugges-
tion—”

“By all means!” assented both Borrowdale
and the detective.

“ Should not some one set out to look for
my Cousin’s wife and child, and also for the
real Ubaldma Church?”

Borrowdale looked helplessly at Knowles,
who rubbed his chin and shut up his eyes in
a puzzled manner.

the detective, for Mabel evidently expected
an answer, “ but the trouble .is to find out
who that some one is.” .

“Another detective,” suggested Mabel.

Every one is subject to at least one weak-
ness, and Knowles’s weakness was a jealous
dislike to men of his own profession. He
never “doubled up” with any one if he
could possibly help it, and he hated to give
away one of his cases.

“Well, miss, I would rather you did not
call an other man into the case. It is a

s cak slightingly of men 0 my own profes~
s10n, one-half ofthe detectives in New York
ain't worth their salt, and are a hindrance
instead of a help.”

“ And. you know of no good man in your
own business?" asked the valet, in a surpris-
ed tone. ,

“ Oh, yes," replied Knowles, looking a lit-
tle vexed, “I know some good men, of
course, but most of them arecngaged just
now. Let me think.” ,

He reflected for a few minutes. , «
“I have it!” he exclaimed. “ I know
little man who has not been long in the busi-
ness; he is honest and very anxious for
work; it will be the kind of work that will
suit him. I’ll see him this very-day, for it
is da light and we had better scatter. Yes,

 

I’ll ve the cue to Sandy Martin.”

 

“ Some one ought to do it, I knolw," agreed I

very critical one. and thou h I'don’t like to x

\

He kept his word, and thativery day  ~' 

 

 
    
     
     
     
    
   
   

 

 

 

 

He intended that one of his most unscrupu-
lous friends (if the word friend can be ap-
plied to such men) should reach Boston be-
fore Elna.

Accordingly he lost not one moment in
finding the man who was well-fitted for the
work in hand. He met him at the Grand
Central Depot, where he was generally to be
found on the arrival of trains. His name, or
rather one of his names, was Shag Wilson,
and he was a professional “ steerer,” or con-
fidence man.

“ liallo!" cried this individual, on catch-
ing sight of Stanard, “ what's up?”

“ I want you to go to Boston straight off
— o to Lynde street, to Sophy Bloom, and
telI her this.”

He then proceeded to relate, in his own
wa , the story he had already told Elna.
“ ou catch on, don’t you. Shag?"

” Yes. Sopliy can put in the soft soap.”

“ 0b, of course; tell her to lay on the
tafiy, thick !”

“ I suppose the girl is dumb as they make
’em?” /

“ Dumb as a fish; don’t know enough to
go in when it rains."

“All ri ht. Sophy ’11 work her for all
she’s wort . What comes next?"

“ Tell her to keep her there till I come.”

“All ri ht. Let‘s have some stamps, for

' ’tain’t hea thy for .me in Boston just now,

and I’ll have to lay low ”

“ Here’s two hundred. Stay there till I
come; I may need you." i

“ Ta, tal I’m off!”

Needless to say, Shag Wilson reached
Lyndc street before Elna did. It was eleven
oclock in the da when the hack the tired
little woman had ired at the station set her
down at the door of Miss Sophy Bloom’s resi-

 

hair was dark and elaborately arranged, and
she wore a crimson wrapper trimmed with
white lace.

“ No,” she resumed, as Elna kept silently
regarding her, ” it did me no good, and I’ve
fully made up my mind to give the boy back
to you.”

“Thank you. Where is he?"

“ Well, you‘ll have to wait till I send for
him. I was afraid ‘ou’d employ detectives
and all that, so I di n‘t dare keep him with
me, of course.” ’

“ When can you have him here?”

Miss Bloom hesitated; she did not “get
on ” with Elna. The pure, strai htforward
gaze of the childish blue eyes ma e her feel
uneas . Elna was essentially a lady, truth
and onor surrounded her as its delicate
perfume encircles a rose. and falsehood and
meanness felt abashed in the uncongenial
atmosphere.

“I don’t know 'ust when. He is with in-
timate friends 0 mine, and the last time I
saw him he had a bad cold, the doctor said it
wouldn’t be safe to move him.” ,

.“Oh, he is ill! My boy will die!" cried
Elna, piteously wringin her hands.

“No, he ain’t 11L 1' tell you in a min-
ute if he was. He is all right, except a little
cold, but you must wait here till he comes."

“ Tell me where he is, that I may go and
see him.”

“ I can’t, for my friends don’t want me to
give them away, of course.”

"Well, I’ll go away, and please send me
word the moment the child comes.”

" You need not go away. Stay here in
welcome I’ll do my best to make you
comfortable, and you can save your money.”

“ Thank you. f my presence will not put
you to any inconvenience."

“ What paper do you mean 2”

\
“Why, this greenhorn’s marriage-certifi~

cate.”
Miss Bloom was silent for a long moment.

“ Ain’t Church’s folks never seen her?”sher ‘

asked carelessly.
“ No, I believe not.” ;
“ Well, 'it is a funny business. Where’s the,
kid?”

“In New York. Stanard had him with? ,A 

his wife, but she’s just poisoned herself.

He’s got to stay there till the inquest is“.'

over.”. ,
“ You don’t say?”

“Yes; she was Spanish. I believe—a fear- .‘ v I

fully jealous woman , used to raise his wages.
ever time she ot hold of him."‘ '

“ e’s a bad ellow;I don’t like him.”

“ He’s a cool hand, anyhow.”

" Too cool for my use. ’

“ Why. the fellows used to think you were. 7 

sweet on him, Soph.”
“Pshawl The fellows were fools.”

“ Well, I’ll take a sleep, if you’ll tell mar N

where I am to roost this time."

Miss Bloom disposed of her other gum“; ‘

and then sat down to think. ,
Under her roof she had a woman who was;
heiress to great wealth and did not know it.‘ ,
All the woman had to do was to produce‘a. ?
certain aper and step into the enjoyment ofi
a large ortune.

anee, had never, seen her—in fact, were not!

aware of her enstence. '
What could be more simple than for Miss. .’

Bloom to rob her unsuspecting guest of the ~

marriage-certificate and claim the fortune of p ‘

Randolf Church?
This was the temptation that now assailed -:
Miss Sophia Bloom. ‘ z

‘19?

The parties who were new ' ‘_ i
in possession knew nothing of her appear- 91"

n,

4

got his new case He had just got through i " He was of course very handsome, and be “And has she got money?” i
. t with his old one, having been called as a i said he’d have to go to New York to get his “Not now. She don‘t know she has any, 
; witness to testify to the finding of the body of : mother's consent. He said she had heart- and Stanard, who is as deep as a well, is: ',
. Mrs, Ernest Stanard, who committed suicide disease, and he had to be very careful not to goxng to marry her, and them claim the 
through jealousy of her husband. agitate her. I was awfully angry when he stamps.” ’ “
Sandy was immensely flattered and prom- never came, and I made inquiries and found “ I see ’ .
iscd to do his utmost to deserve Mi. he visited you, soI stole the boy.” “It seems the fellow married her on the
Knowles’s good opinion, which had been ex " What good did that do?” asked Elna, sly, and couldn’t tell his folks: so thislittle
tended to him. So that very day he began simpl fool don‘t know he is.dead, and she is Sitting
his search for his own last client. " one, of course,” replied' the woman, back while his cousms and people roll in.
Little did he imagine the missing heiress blinking her large black eyes, which were as riches.” _
was the woman he had seen stretched in the expressmnless as two door-handles, and set “ My gracious, what dumb luck fools al—
cold embrace of death! in her pasty white, prematurely-old face in a ways have!”
frame-work of wrinkles. Her nose was in- “You may say so. When she is married:
CHAPTER XXI. significant and spoke eloquently, toa physi- to Stanard, up he’ll walk with the paper-
. MISS SOPHIA BLOOM. ognomist, of ’a cunning nature; her thin lips which says, ‘ Here is Randolf Church‘s widow
' STANARD hastened away from his intcr- told of a cruel heart, and her pointed chin and son, and thus take possession of the.
W View with Elna, for he had no time to lose. and naturally small ears of meanness. Her whole snap.” ‘

The fellows had been correct in their ans»;
picions. Sophia did love Ernest Stanarda‘"
and had loved him from the first time "she;
ever saw him. She was the orphan dangled...

dence, and that artless young lady was ready
i for her. '
f.» A frowsy servant shOWed her into a recap
tion-room, which was quite a study of shab—

Elna would gladly have put up with any
amount of discomfort rather than lose one
moment’s time in seeing her boy.

“ None at all. If you come with me I will

 
 

by splendor. Cotton lace window curtains
caught the dust from the street and shook it
out over a gaud carpet; second-hand piano,
and dirt plus chairs and lounges; cheap
vases an ornaments were arranged in every
direction, and the whole room bore an up-
all-night dissipated look. '

Elna had not long to wait, fora footstep
sounded on the stairs and a young woman
entered. . .

. “ I am Miss Bloom," she said. _Wltll a
smirk. which was intended for a smile, but
was killed by at‘fectation.

Elna looked at her, and knew she was not
a lady by intuition. .

She was a pale, weary woman, With an
old-young face; she had the same look asthe
room, and bore the story of her life indelibly
ens-raved on her countenance
. She had been, from her childhood, the
associate of gamblers, and other thieves. She
, was not \an immoral woman, but falsehoods
and frauds were like veritable milk and
honey‘to her lips ’

She held Elna’s card and the letter which
Stanard had given her, in a thin white hand
which was loaded with costly rings, and
still could never for one moment be mistaken
for the hand of a lady

u You alre Miss Church, I presume?” she
said, elite y.

Tbs? little woman bowed, she did not like
Miss SophiaBloom, and could not forgive
her for stealing Dolf

" Well, I see Mr Stevens Wishes me to tell
my story. Mr Church pro osed to me last

<_ Christmas, and I made 81 my preparations

  

    
   
 

 

was found in bat

show you the room' you can occupy during
your sta .” ’

Elna ollowed her hostess alon a hall and
up a stairs, both of which were e same as-
pect as the parlor. Miss Bloom threw open
a door near the top of the stairs.

“ There you will be comfortable, I hope,”
she said, with one of her artificial smiles.

" I cannot feel comfortable until I see my
child,” replied Elna, coldly.

“ Well, try and be as happy as you can. I
have two gentlemen boar ing with me.
Would you prefer to take your meals alone
or dine with us?"

“ I would prefer to have my meals here.”

" Very we 1. Please ring when on want
anything," and Miss Bloom left E us alone
and son ht the more congenial society of
Sha Wi son. ' .

" ell?" demanded the emissary, when the
lady entered the back room, where he sat in
compan y with a pitcher of beer and a number
of sporting papers. ‘ .

“ Stanard has a user taste. I never saw
such a namby-pam y doll baby in my life,"
was the woman’s quick ansWer. "

“Ain’t she pretty?”

" Well, that’s to your taste. She has a
pink and white face and big blue eyes like
ctina saucers, and a lot of fuzz light hair,
but no style, no air about her at a " ‘

Miss Bloom sat down and washed down.

the sentiment in a glass of beer.

" She’s the Widow of that fellow who was ,

found dead in a bathtub, or some such rum
start "i r . ‘
u  ’1‘ 4 I I .

"She’s the wida‘w‘of Church. theman Who

  

    

 

‘ in; Do

ter of a notorious forger, and had been ’ "

 

brought u as the companion of crooks, males
and fe e.
and she now kept a boarding-house for ~
shady characters of both sexes. ,
never committed any crime, and was much, "
respected by those who frequented her houses" i
—but she had inherited her want of grincié
ple from her father. Her mother he been
a good woman, whose heart had been'hr‘okem
when she learned what her husband's calling”
was. She had died early, and left her dung w
ter to becomwhat she was— a heartless um
scrupulous person, who loved gold, and car:
ed not how she obtained it. 

“ I'll do it,” she decided, after due delihe'r
ation. " I'll steal the paper and propose
to Stanard. If he says ‘ no,’ I’ll let him in
ry her, and I’ll go to New York and clai
this money.”

With this determination she set herself to» 7
work to try and gain Elna’s confidence. f3 

she was anxious to ascertain whether she h
brou ht the important document to Boston
with er. - “

She prepared a dainty lunch with her 
hands, arranged it temptineg on a tray, and
carried it to the room where poor Elna was
sad] awaiting news of her child. ,

“ 've brought on your lunch,” she said,
“ and I’ve sent 0 a telegram to hurry them. I.
I said to send the little boy on without 0W
hour's delay, for I know how anxious you.
are to see him.” \ i .

",0!!! thank youl" returned Elna. “,1 am
afraid I treated you coldly, but I' have"  '
thinking how much you sulfd'ed, and. u-
long as you now repent your cruelty in tak-

away, and are ,willi'ngl to 

 

    
 

  

Her parents were both dead}...
She ha‘d’. .

   

 

F I ' ’, Sarah Brown, Detee

t-v—viw‘n‘w , rum“ ., t
 , r ,V , /. ,
’ ' A

five.

 

 

 

“him, I‘ve made up my mind to forgive
you.”

“Thank you. Oh! we will be good
friends yet,” exclaimed the treacherous crea-
ture, placing the tray upon a little table.

. “Now,” she added, taking a seat near
Elna, “that I’ve told you my story, won’t
‘ you tell me yours?"
Elna looked at Miss Bloom doubtfully; she
still distrusted her. Would she confide in
. her, or not? She blamed herself for suspect-
“ ' ing the honesty of the other. “Why should
.she doubt her?

In spite of a warning voice within her

heart, she resolved that she would in turn

 

tell her story.
  CHAPTER XXII.
I SANDY MARTIN STRIKES A CLEW.

MABEL NELsON faithfully and untiringly
kept up her watch every night for a week,
but during that time heard and saw nothing
of any consequenCe. Oello preserved a dig-
nified silence, and Sura seemed calmly in-

- . "different to her mother’s feelings.

J, " As she had asserted, she held Oello and
her brother in her owcr. She cared nothing
for her mother, an , like Stanard, loved her-

, ’ self alone. None of the faithful devotion of
the Indian woman's nature had been trans-
mitted to either son or daughter; they were
utterly selfish and callous. Their mother
had been a slave and was still but a servant,
and they were base enough to despise her on
that account.

Sura had learned to love Raudolf Church,
but even that feeling had been purely selfish.
She had been brought up as a dependent,

 r and bad alwa s dreaded an enforced return

ii" to her humble position. Randolf‘s wealth

' v and surroundings had been the greatest at-
traction in her eyes. If she had married
him her future would have been assured.
She had not shed one tear for him, and her
shallow love had given way to deep-seated

' enmity when she learned that he preferred

 

1i /

,1. , another.
vs” ' ' Oello had no intention of informing Mrs.
r-l Church that her supposed niece was an im-
 ’ ostor. She had merely used the threat to
l righten her daughter, whose new-found
.3.” boldness made her tremble.

, She had failed, and she now stood help-
. \Iessly looking on and awaiting events. She
~ ‘ , had lost heart. for her nights were hours of
' ' V ,‘torture from her superstitious terror of what
she believed to be the spirit of Randolf
'Church, which was her nightly visitant.
g; * Sura had treated her with contempt, and
 I her son she had not seen for some tnne; so
" ’ she moved through the house in a spiritless
fashion that attracted the attention of the
\whole household. '

While Knowles thus rested, bafllcd for the
time, in enforced idleness, Sandy Martin
“worked hard in his vain quest for the true
H heiress to the Church fortune.

., " 7 Sandy followed up clcws that led to no-

i. ‘ where with faithful assiduity. Ile traced all

" sorts of women to all sorts of hiding-places,

but never came anywhere near the truth till

_ a I he felt that all his old misfortunes had’re-
i ‘ , turned to him a thousand fold.

" Weary and dispirited, he one day happened

'to think that Mr. Stanard had mentioned that

. the letter left by his dead wife had been writ-

\ s ten in Spanish. Ernest had given this as a

reason for reading it to Sandy instead of giv-

in it to him for examination.

r %)ne of the heiresses of whom Sandy was

"in seach was S anish—American. Would

‘ a Mr. Stanard be 0 any service in giving ad-

*vice?
Sandy determined to try.

'He called at the house where poor Ubaldina

 ~had fretted and ined. Mr. Stanard was not

v ' at lionits+he h left altogether. Where he

w had one the servant girl could not sa , but

fl. fanc ed that‘the landlady knew. Sandy felt

- ' tired and liked to talk, so he. requested to see
-. ‘ the landlady. Site soon appeared. with her

‘ apron on inside out, to hide the dirt spots,
'« .and her, hair smoothed down with soapy
hands.~
1-” v “ How are you, ma’am?" saluted Sandy,
;  , politely.
 * “ Pretty well, sir, considerin'."
r “ I wish to know if you have Mr. Stanard’s
Wat address?"
\  ' “ Sit down, sir. Excuse the dust, but if a

as].

‘ (
5H

 

 

person was a centlpede they wouldn’t have
legs enough to stand all the comin’s and
goings. My heart’s broke!”

“ Never mind, ma’am; I‘m a family man
myself."

“chll, Mr. Stanard’s address is what I
couldn‘t fin’, not if you was to put me on
racks and thumb-screWs, for he left that sud-
(lent, but quite the gentleman, and all little
Doll‘s clo'scs wot—the innocent angel; and
her to go p‘izcn herself after taking the child
from his lawful parients, which, if poor,
was no matter, and better a crust of bread
and contentment than diamonds and late
hours, and flying in the face of Providence
and laudanum.” ‘

Out of this Sandy gathered, with a keen-
ness none of his acquaintances would have
given him credit for, that Mr. Stanard had
left some of his adopted son’s Wearing ap-
parel behind him.

“Did I understand you to say that Mr.
Stanard left the child here?" asked the artful
Sandy.

“No, no; thanks be to the Lord, not at all;
not but what he was a handsome child, with
sweet, pretty ways; but overty comes in,
and love flies out, and can’t make two
ends meet now, let alone adopting other peo-
ple's children, which you don’t know the pa-
rients, and Mrs. Somers, a friend of my hus—
band‘s sister’s son-in-law, had one out of the
orphan's home, with a father on the island,
and a mother took out of hogsheads in a
brewer’s yard regular, in such a state of mad—
ness from stale beer to that degree that four
policemen was not sufficient, not counting
clubs and a fractured skull at the end of it.”

The landlady paused for breath, and looked
around in modest triumph.

“So it was only the child's clothing that
he left?"

“Yes; which I am ready to refund at a
moment‘s notice, for in this same house have
I let rooms for eighteen years and never kep’
so much as a pin."

“ l’d like to See them. Is there anything
else?”

“ Nothing but some old letters, which no
one can read, rolled up in a wad and shoved
into one of the vases on the mantle-piece;
cost two-fifty apiece at Ridley’s when times
was good and my two parlors let to the
French dancing master from Dublin—Moon-
sore Sullivany.”

“ I’d like to see the letters, too,” said
Sandy, while the landlady sighed heavily.
and wiped her face on her apron, regardless
of grease.

“ Well, I‘llyshow them to you, but I don’t
know about giving them, for murders and
suicides is things I ain’t accustomed to, and
you can't never let the rooms again, for peo-
will say they walk—and never happened to
me before since the German baron owed me
eight dollars and was warned out and cut
his t rent on Christmas eve in m second
floor back, ruined my carpet, and always
think he did it for spite."

She produced two letters and a small bun-
dle of clothing for a child. The letters were
written in a small, peculiar hand, in the
Spanish language, but Sandy made out the
words. “ Lima—Peru,” at the top, and below
them the name. “ Ubaldina.”

“Ubaldina! what an odd name!" he said,
musingly, trying to remember where he had
heard it.

“ That was Mrs. Stanard’s name,” ex-
plained the landlady.

“Was it? Then that’s how I heard it;
but, let me see."

Sandy rubbed his chin and stared at the
ceiling reflectively. Like a flash it came to
himz—the name he had heard was Ubaldina
Church! and her native place was Peru!
Had he purely by accident stumbled upon
the right clcw?

“ Mrs. Stanard was a Spaniard, Ibelieve ?”
he said at length, for the landlady was watch-
ing him rather sus iciously.

“ Yes; at least think so. She was from
some place where it is always hot weather.”

“ Peru?" suggested Sandy.

“Yes, that’s the place.” ‘~

The good woman had not been sharp
enou h to find out the heading of the letters.

" ill you allow me to carry these letters
to a friend of mine who can read Spanish?"

“ Carry them away? 011, no! i am afraid,
for Mr. Stanard may come back and ask for
them, or some of the police. You know

 

people can’t be too careful in suicides and
murder cases.”

If Sandy had been gifted with what is
termed by small boys who usually express
themselves concisely—-sand——he would have
at once displayed his shield and frightened
the good lady so much that she would have
been not only willing but anxious to get rid
of him. Sandy, however, was not. sandy ex-
cept in name and complexion. IIe allowed
the opportunity to pass, and so lost it for-
ever. ~

“ So Mr. Stanard took the child and left?”
he asked, giving up the letters with a sigh.

“Yes; but I can’t say that he wasn‘t Quite
the gentleman, for he paid me a full month
for the rooms, and he said, says he, ‘By the
time the month is up people will have for-
gotten all about this sad business; you know
such affairs are but too common in New
York.’ Quite the gentleman, though I must
say too giving to late hours.”

“Yes,” added Sandy, “be murdered his
wife as much as if he had given her the
poison.”

“ Why, what do you mean?” asked the
landlady in affright.

“ She was jealous of him, and killed her-
self through jealousy.”

“Well, that was her own fault. She was
a dark-complected woman, and rather close-
mouthed and ugly in her ways.”

As the conversation now became of "an un-
interesting nature. Sandy left the house. He
at once telegraphed to his principal, Knowles,
as follows:

“Think I have found a clew. Meet me at misgu-

clair House at two. . ’
“To SARAH Baown, No. —- Fifth Avenue."

 

CHAPTER XXIII.
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT.

ERNEST STANARD would have almost sac-
rificed every dollar he owned to hasten the,
to him, insufferany slow movements of every
one concerned in the inquest on his wife’s
remains.

I-Ie chafed over the delay. for he longed to
be in Boston, where poor Elna had gone in
her vain quest for her boy.

a..-

He must, however, have an interview with _

his mother before leaving.

He took little Dolf away from the house
where poor Ubaldina had met her doom, for
the child cried night and day for his “new
mamma that the bad people took away in a
box.”

Stanard buried his wife in Evergreen
Cemetery, and placed the child with a
woman in .Harlem till he could leave the
cit .
file called upon his mother, and their inter-
view was a long one. Oello looked pale
and anxrous but received her son affection-
ately.

“Mother,” he said, when they were both
seated. “ Ubaldina is dead."

“What?” cried the Indian woman, her
eyes dilated and her face paled.

“ It is true; her jealousy (proved too great
for her reason; she oisone herself.”

Oello gazed fixed y in her son's face; he
neither averted his gaze nor changed color.

“I was afraid of this when you stole the
papers," she said in a low tone.

" What do you mean “I” he asked boldly.

“ Never mind. What is done is done, but
I’m tired of such work.”

“ You have grown cowardly,” said the
gambler, with a sneer.

“ 1 am troubled by the spirit of the dead
man,” answered Oello, solemnly.

" Nonsense!”

“ It is true. Every night he spraks to me,
accusing me of the crime. Somewhere I
heard that the blood of a murdered man
calls out for vengeance. I believe it is
true.”

A mocking laugh was her reply.

“ And Sara,” she resumed—“she has
grown bold; she will master usall yet." '

“ She'll never master me," returned Stan-
m‘d. fiercely: “ she knows better than tr .”

“ No. she does not,” returned his mot er;
she says you are in her power, and it is
true.”

“And she is in mine, also.”

“ No, she is not."

“ What do on mean? Cannot I have her
driven from this house at any moment as an
impostor?”

 

 

  

 "  7 Sarah? '

  
 
 

   
   

U mm”? .. ..

.S)

'r

own,

Detective.

21‘.

 

 

“No, you cannot. She has stolen Ubal-
dina‘s papers, and can and does defy you.”

Stanard muttered an oath and his black
eyes flashed dangerously.

“That is your fault," he said, angrily. “ I
intrusted those papers to your care."

“I know it. I hid them, as I thought,
but she is very cunning and she found
them.”

“ \Vhere are they now ‘I"

“Icannot tell; she has
me, and every one else."

“ (fall her here. I must make terms with
her."

“ She cannot come here; you forget.”

“True. \Vell, I’ll see her elsewhere, and
that must be when I return, for I intend to
leave the city tomorrow.”

“ You always prophesied that Sura would
become dangerous."

“Yes, I knew it. lIowever. she can be
easily managed. She may have the fortune
of Ubaldina Church.”

"But, she wishes all: she. thinks she has
enough influence over Mrs. Church to induce
her to leave everything to her."

“ Let her think so; the fortune is not Mrs.
Church’s.”

He spoke significantly and looked at his
mother with a meaning smile.

“ No, it belongs to liandolf’s wife."

“And the second husband of Randolf's
widow.”

V “AM that is your game!
much.”

“ You were right, as you generally are."

" Do you think you Will succeed?"

“ 1 do. I generally play a close game, and
I play to win.”

“Well, you need not count upon me; I
am done with the whole business."

“ You have lost your spirit. You had
better return to Peru," said Stanard, de-
risively.

His mother's copper-tinted cheek flushed.
“ You are like your sister,” she retorted, hit-
terl .

“yDid she advise you to return to Peru?"

“ She did. She said if I remained I must
always be her servant.”

“ Well, she is right. I did not give her
credit for possessing so much good sense."

()ello said nothing; wicked woman though
she was, she felt stung to the heart‘s core by
the ingratitude of her worthless children.
Though she had no heart for others, she
loved them even as the viper loves and cher-
ishes her venomous brood.

“I can make terms with Sura,” resumed
Stanard,,carelessly, as he rose to go; "she
must obey me or there will be war between
us. Tell her so. Good-b I You may not
see me again very soon. ry to get the pa-
pers from Sura; she will be easier to manage
if she has not got them.” '

Ocllo did not reply, and after a good-by
that was as cold as if the mother and son had
been perfect strangers, the gambler left the
house.

On the stairs he encountered Sarah Brown,
who had not been aware of his interview
with Ocllo. .

The chambermaid eyed him sharply. It
was unfortunate that Knowles had not men-
tioned toSandy Martin the name by which
the Indian woman‘s son was known when
he engaged him to search for the missmg
heiress. He never dreamed of any)' connec-
tion between the gambler and t 0 young

them; she defies

I suspected as

' woman from Peru, and Sandy, of course,

never dreamed that his 'ealous lady client
had anything to do with nowles's case till
he saw the letters which the landlady had
found hidden away in their strange resting-
place. /

Hastening awa from the house, Stanard
at once too a tra n for Harlem, determined
to lose no time in restoring Dolf to his
mother.

The child was playing before the door of
his new home when the mbler arrived.

"‘ Well, Dolf," he sai , takin him up in
his arms and kissing his soft ping cheek. “I
am oing to take you to your mamma."

“ I niamma? Has she get out of the
ugly b ack box?"

“No; I mean your own pretty old mam-
ma."

“M old mamma? But she has gone to
100k or papa,” a very earnest look on his
bah face. ,
‘ ‘! ell, we will find her. ’

.1.-,' I '\

“ And papa too?”

“ I don‘t know—maybe; but come and bid
the lady good-by."

He paid the lady for her care of the boy
and carried him away, little Dolf being wild
with joy at the thought of once more behold-
ing his pretty old mamma.

Elna had spent a miserable time awaiting .

the arrival of little Dolf. She had not
been consoled by Miss Bloom‘s apparently
well-meant efforts to keep her from feeling
lonely.

In spite of an intuitive feeling of distrust,
she had told the woman her simple story.

” Well,” remarked the artful Sophia,
“you are all right, as you have your mar-
riagc-certificatc.”

“Yes, but my heart is broken. I loved
Randolf so. and trusted him so fully. Were
it not for little Dolf, I would rather die than
live, since my husband is false to me.”

“Nonsense, my dear! But you live under
a false name—that is wrong.’ '

“What does it matter? Besides, it is
not a false name; it is my husband‘s first
name."

“Is the proper name on your marriage-
certificate?”

Elna noticed the eager way the woman
asked the question.

“Of course,” she said, looking at her in
surprise; “and my son is baptized b the
same clergyman who married me, also in his
proper name. My husband said that was
necessary.”

Sophia bit her lip. This was a complica-
tion she had not taken into consideration.
The cler man would be an important wit-
ness for E on. She had also learned another
fact—that the little woman was neither a fool
nor a coward.

Innocent of all evil, and soft and gentle in
her manner, she was undcubtedly; but she
possessed sound sense and unquestioned
courage.

Like most unprincipled people, Sophia
fancied that ever good person was a simple-
ton. She was Just commencing to learp
that this was not the ease.

“I suppose you visit the clergyman now
and then?" she asked, careless]

" I’ve seen him twice since
Dolf.” -

" And he remembers you?”

“ Oh, yes. He has always spoken so kind-
ly to me. I gave him my photograph, taken
with Dolf in my arms.”

“Worse and worse!” said the schemer to
herself.

“ Did you tell him your husband had de-
serth you?”

“No; I would not do so; and, besides, he

he christened

“Lea New York before Raudolf did.”

" Where is he?” ‘

“In Florida'. He was very ill when he
went away.”

“Then he may be dead,” suggested the
crafty woman, the wish being certainly the
father to the thought.

“ 1 hope not, but he looked very ill.”

“ And he is the only one who knows your
real name?”

“Yes; the only one besides my husband.”

‘.‘ Of course you carry the papers about
with you?”

“ I_ have them safe,” answered Elna, who
began to think Miss Bloom had too much
curiosit for a well-bred woman.

Miss loom was sharp enough to see that
she could go no further without exciting
suspicion, so she left Elna to herself.

It was late in the evening when Stanard
arrived in Boston. He drove at once to
Lynde street, and jumping out of the hack
rung the bell.

The servant a cared, and in answer to
his inquiry said iss Bloom was at home
and had not retired. ‘

“Tell her Mr. Stanard is here,” the m-
bler ordered, and returning to the hue he
lifted out Dolf. who was fast asleep. He
carried the child into the parlor and laid him
down on a couch. As he did so Miss Sophia
“entered, with a smile of welcome on her thin

ii 8. -
p“ Here I am, you see!” said Stanard, tak-
ing her hand and pressing it cordially.

“Always welcome," she replied, with a
simper.

“' Where is Mrs. Church 1'”

 

“ In bed. I guess. ' She prefers tokeepher
own room”, r

 

“ Well, I must see her; call her, Sophia,
like a good girl."

“ Wait a moment; I have something to tell
you."

“Go on, then.”

The gambler threw himself into an easy-
chair with an impatient look upon his face.

“ Of course Shag told me the story of the
young woman tip-stairs,” said Sophia. seat—7

1 ing herself near Stanard, and speaking in a.

low key to avoid waking the child.

“ Yes, I told him to," replied Stanard,.
looking surprised.

“ Well, I’ve improved on your plan, Er-
nest," smiling again.

“ How?"

“Why shouldn’t I steal the marriage-cer—
tificate and so pass for the widow of Randolf
Church?"

110 stared at her in unbounded surprise—
never thinking of her true reason for forming
this plot. ,

“ Why shouldn‘t you? Because it is im»
possible,” he answered, at length.

“ No, it is not. I’ve asked her all about it.
I can do it easily."

Still her reason did not strike the gambler’s
usually quick apprehension. He stared at
her without in the least understanding why'

she wished to commit the fraud,

“Steal the certificate and pass for the
widow?" be repeated, regarding her in a puz-
zled manner.

“Yes; why should you be under the an:
pleasant necessity of marrying that. milkand-
water creature?" asked the woman getting
bolder as she saw that he did not, in his own
language, “catch on.”

A long whistle was Stanard‘s reply.
Sophia’s pasty face turned red, and her bold,
black eyes sought the floor as the gambler
burst into mocking laughter. '

“ W'hy, Sophia, it is not leap-year!" was
his contemptuous reminder.

Her face was like a flame, for, unwomanly
as she had proved herself, she possessed
pride if not modesty

Stanard was stil regarding her with in»
tense amusement and unconcealed merri-
ment. . ‘

“So the boys had truth on their side-
when they chafied me about you, Sophy?‘
Well. I’m awfully obliged and flattered that.

p

you should fancy me when you treat some ,

fellows so coolly. but I’m engaged, you see.
You should have spoken before!"

“ Whegi gour wife was alive, I suppose,”
suggeste ophy, savagely.

“ There, don’t gtt mad, like a good girl.‘
You can easily find a better man than me—-
Sha . for instance.”

“ hen I want your advice I’ll ask for it,”
retorted Miss Bloom, seornfully.

“ Come, Sophie. don‘t out n rusty,"
pleaded the gambler, coaxingly. or he did
not want the girl to remain in a bad temper,
as he still required her help to carry out his.
plot against Elna. ‘

“ I am not at all rusty, asyou call it.”

She was beginning to recover her equani-
mity outwardly, but within her bosom ra

a fierce fire, while her thought was—“I’ll be  .

reven ed.”
“ ell, my dear, will on call this milk-
and-water woman 1" ask

proved.

the gambler, when I
he was satisfied that Sophie’s temper had im. u

x

“ Yes; you may have to wait, for I believe-s,

she is in bed.
"' I’ll wait with great patience."
Sophia left the room and Stanard
in another fit of laughter at her expense.

“To think of it!" he said, as he paced 
“So I‘ve won the invulnerablo .‘

the floor.
heart of the fair Sopby, and so many fellows

have tried in vain to gain the venerable fort- ~

ress!”
He would not have given utterance to his

sentiments had be known that the fair 

Sohphy’s ear was at the key-hole.

“ No, thank you. my dear girl.
very fascinating, though. That gives me
hopes of winning what I so long for—the
love ofmy soft-eyed darling—sweet Elna!"

He resumed his seat and Sophia rose from ‘I

her knees and proceeded upstairs with hatred
and envy raging like twm serpents in her
cart. ' ’

She opened Elna’s door. without the £05,},
mula of a knock, and found her sleeping. ' '
an by '

She had not undressed. howeyr,

indulged .: ;

I mnst,be S

upon a lounge, her head resting on her arm.  

 

 

i sit“ f . . -**. ‘_ . Ms 

 ‘t‘. "‘ - '~- ’ I t ' '
I I I". 1:22. i V V
r .
‘ ;

"..
t

.1

 ' ‘ Sarah Brews, Detective.-  

 

 

 

She had been weeping, and her cheeks were
.still wet, but she slept calmly, all uncon-
scious of the evil presence near her. Sophie’s
eyes glared as she gazed upon the fair, child-
‘ like face, with its soft curves and pure tints
-at the long, golden lashes and white throat.
The gas burned low and the house was very

pg , still. Elna had spent many Wakeful nights,
‘4 . and she slumbered soundly.

:52. ‘ ‘ “ Now is the time to rob her!” whispered
  Sophia to herself. “I wonder where she

keeps her papers?" ,

She had exhausted every art to obtain that
(information in vain. Indeed, she had ex-
cited suspicion by her man questions, even
in Elna’s unsuspectiu min . '

_. I , “Women mostly hide any valuable in

 some false drawer in their desks or trunks,”

Sophia thought, “but she has neither. I

wonder if she carries them about with her?

. 'I’ll see.”

‘. She deftly slipped her hand in the sleeping
womans breast. A bafl‘led look came over
her face.

“No, not therel’“
- She next tried her pocket, but with a like
“,3 tresult.
I “Somewhere in the room. I’ll get her to
' o to Stanard and search till I find them,
rs. Church!"
She shook her by the shoulder as she called
her name.
. ” What’s the matter?” cried Elna, waking
in alarm. x
“ Why, how sound you sleep! Your son

, \x a has arrived; he is down in the parlor.”-

“' ' ‘With a glad cry Elna sprung to her feet.

- _ 'She hastened away Without noticing that

, Sophia did not follow. Indeed, she thought

“ of nothing but Dolf. Throwin 0 en the
7, door: she rushed to the sofa an seized the

child in her arms, while tears of joy ran

down her cheeks like rain.

"‘My darling boy!” she sobbed, as she
clasped him close. ,

‘r '  Dolf' woke-with a start and a whimper,

" X'which changed to shrill-voiced cries of de-

light when he found his retty old mamma.

“Now,” said Stanar , coming forward
.. “when the mother and son had almost ex-
! .‘hausted themselves kissing and embracing.

“‘ I have restored your boy, Elna, and I- shall
claim my reward.” >

‘," Oh! Mr. Stevans—how glad I am to see
- ou. I have been so unhappy in this ter-
' nble house.”

5‘ “Hasn’t Miss Bloom treated you kindly,

- then?" asked the gambler with a frovm.

, " “Yes, she has, I’m sure, tried to be kind,

- but I don’t like her, and I think she is deceit-

,‘ful.’ I could never like her, for she stole

away first my husband’s heart and then my

child.” _

 She clasped Dolf tighter than war, and

{2-54 )‘kjssed his round, pink check over and

f’bver.

Stanard could scarcely repress a smile.
TPoor Sophia was certainly not guilty of

ither crime, though she bore the blame of
both.

“ I have much to tell you, Elna.
(you send Dolf to bed and return?"

"Elna looked grave.
"I do not like to trust him out of my

 

 

 

 

Suppose

I '. ht,” she answered, shivering. f' I am
'* raid of Miss Bloom.”

« “ Nonsense! She has no longer any cause

 wish you ill. Put him in your own bed,

look the door and come back. I must say
isomcthin to you before I leave the house.”
9,: Be 100 ed so grave and determined, that
Elna knew it was uselessto argue; so she
tack her boy up in her arms and carried him
away. ’ ,
’, She talked gaylyito him as she bore him
“up-stairs, and the sound of her voice warned
,80 his. of her a proach.
’ ‘; woman ed just. as Elna reached the
“mm the stairs—flew along the hall like a
r”- guilty creature, concealing among the folds
r of her dress a small parcel—poor Elna’s
x qmcious papers.
., Dolf was very weary, so he soon slept, and
;  , Elna onl remained long encugh, after see-
” {in his b ue eyes shut, to arrange her hair.
'2," he then descended to the parlor. Stan-
if' ard’s dark face was very pale as he closed
the door after Elna, and took a seat near

 “ New, Elna." he; said, taking her hand in

; his and pressin it gently, “the time has

 ‘r‘come for you to earn the truth.”
.‘4 '

 

/

 

 

. that staid out nights.” '

 

CHAPTER XXIV.
KNOWLES MAKES A DISCOVERY.

KNOWLES had not a very high opinion of ’

Sandy Martin’s sagacity, but he lost no time
in responding to the telegram. He was at

the Sinclair House before the little detective, ‘

who came bustling in just as the clock struck
the hour.

“Ah! Here you are!" saluted Knowles;
“now for your clew.”

Sandy related the history of his visit to
Stanard’s landlady, and the finding of the
letters.

“What was this man’s name?" asked
Knowles, eagerly seizing his assistant by the
arm.

“ Stanard. lie is the husband of a lady I
who engaged me to pipe him because she was
jealous.”

“And she committed suicide. Are you
sure she was his wife?"

“ Yes, of course.”

" And her name was Ubaldina?”

“ So the landlady says.”

“ Sandy Martin, you are the keenest man
on the force; but we will have to go to
Woodlawn for our heiress; for, if I am not
mistaken, the jealous woman who poisoned
herself was Miss Church."

Sandy looked puzzled; he knew nothing
about the case except the fact that two ladies
were missing, and that Knowles was em-
ployed to find them.

“ She ‘was Mrs. Stanard,” Sandy again
averred.

“Exactly. Well, the further I go into
this affair the more bewildered I become.
So that villain married the heiress and set
his sister up in her place?”

” What villain ‘2”

“Hush, Sandy! You must forgive me if
I keep things to myself a bit. I ain’t clear
about this thing myself yet. Enough 0 say
-—you have thrown more light on it than I
was able to do. Go ahead! Give me this
woman’s address—the one who has the let-
ters.”

Sand
took
street.” ,

“ I’ll visit the lady and see if I can induce
her to part with these letters. I know some
one who can read them," he said carelessly,
for he was afraid to trust too much to
Sandy. ’

He did not doubt his honesty, but he did
doubt his discretion.

“I don’t think she’ll give them to you,”
announced the little man in a disappointed
mann r. He thought something else ought
to be one.

“Well, I’ll see. New, Martin, I believe
you have found one woman; lock for the
other one, and may luck attend you!
by! Wire me if anything happens.”

With these words he was off, and he never
sto ped till he rung Mrs. Cooper’s bell.

lit rs. Cooper wasn’t home. Knowles was
nonplused for a moment, but only for a
moment.

“ You can give me what I want just as
well, miss," he informed the girl.

” What is it?"

“ Two letters which were found in a vase
on the mantle-piece in Mrs. Stanard’s room.”

“ I can’t give them: they ain’t mine.”

“ See here, young woman, I’m a detective.
Do you wish me to arrest you for contempt
of court?"

Knowles put on his sternest face, and spoke
in a severe tone, for he saw that, the girl was
disposed to be insolent.

“(1011!” and she looked thoroughly fright-
ene .

The detective resumed: “ You and your
mistress will have to answer to the coroner
for not producing the letters at the inquest."

“Oh! m racious! How could we, when
we didn't n them till it was all over, and
Mr. Stanard and little Dolfus gone?” ,

“ Well, I‘ll see if I can save you, provid
ing the letters are placed in my hands at
once.” ' ' '

“ I’ll give ’em to you. Dear knows I‘m
scared to go three 11 the halls after dark and
that nervous that can’t sleep.”

“ Are you the young lady who overheard
the quarreling on the night of the suicide?”

Sandy had told him the whole story.

“ Yes, sir—ooh! Mrs. Stanard was a terror!
Not but what I‘d get mad if I had ahusband

gave the address, which Knowles
own: “Mrs. Cooper, - Twelfth

 

!
'.1

Goodv

‘ “Yes; it must be very unpleasant for a
lady to be left alone,” admitted Knowles.
He saw that it would be possible to draw the
girl out, and the fuller his information the
better.

“ Of course he got the child to keep her
company. but you see she right off got jeal-
ous of the mother.”

“ Jealous of the child’s mother? What
child?”

Knowles was seated comfortably in the
dingy parlor where poor Ubaldina had fretted
away so man hours.

Miss Jenkins sat down, too, for resting
herself was a luxury she thoroughly enjoyed.

“Why the adopted child—the little boy.”

“ Did she have an adopted child?”

I “ Yes, he was brought here one da by a
! man—a sweet, pretty boy, with the golidenest
’ curls 1 ever saw. It seems he spoke about
his mamma being a great beauty and Mr.
Stanard was a constant visitor, so Mrs. Stan-
ard got as mad as a hornet.”

“ Very natural and proper, I think.”

“Well, so I do, too; but Mrs. Cooper she
said it was all nonsense, for all the men was
alike, and you couldn’t trust them out of

our si ht, which I don’t believe, for if I did
Iwoul n’t et married, not if the man was
hung with iamonds.”

This was wide of the mark, so the detect-
ive asked:

“ Where is this boy now?”

funeral, but his clothes are here.”

“ Let me see them.”

Miss Matilda Jenkins went to a closet and
took from it a bundle containing several ar-
ticles of a child‘s dress.

Knowles turned them over absently, he
could scarcely tell why.
Suddenly he started.
broidered linen chemise was marke

name, “Randolf C.” -

“ What was the child’s name?” he asked,
eagerly.

“ ndolf; but we all called him Dolfus."

“ What was his mother like?”

“We never seen her. but Mrs. Stanard said
she had been deserted by her husband. "

“ Do you know her address?”

” No, sir; never heard it."

“ Nor that of Mr. Stanard?”

“ No, sir.”

“ Well, I’ll take the letters and this bundle.
If our mistress finds fault tell her she is
luc y she had me to deal with." ‘

Knowles left the house with his usually
clear brain in a whirl. Had Sandy Martin
been the means of finding out that this son of
the Indian woman had not only made away
with the real Miss Church. but had also ob-
tained possession of Randolf Church’s son?

“I‘ll need to boil this down,” concluded
the detective; “ but maybe Miss Mabel can
throw some light on it when she sees these
letters. I'm afraid we are still far from the
end. It is the worst tangle I ever tried to
untie. First of all comes the murder, for a
murder it was, though at one time I didn’t
think so. Then the complication of the se-
cret marriage, and, on top of all. the false
heiress usurping the place of the real one. A
pretty considerable tangle, there’s no two
ways about it.” _

.. Mabel Nelson met the detective and Bor-
rowdale after all the rest of the household
had retired to rest.

"More work for you, miss,” announced
Knowles, producin the letters. He had not
yet told the valet 0 his success.

Mabel sat down with the letters before
her. , .
“These letters are from Lima," she said,

” and they were written within three
months.”

She slow? began to read. Ere she had
turned the rst page the door of the room
was flung violently open and there stood Mrs.

, Church and her pretended niece!

“ Well!” exclaimed the old lady, while
Borrowdale, Sarah Brown and Mabel looked
thunderstruck and dismayed.

“ Well, Miss Nelson you really are a cred-
it to your father‘s family. T hank fortune

. you exhibit no traits that mark your descent
i from mine." , .
! “Madame!” stammered peor Mabel, over-
! whelmed with confusion and gazing helpless-
! 1y around her. ‘

' “ It is one o’clock, Miss Nelson. and I
must exert my authority in my own house

On a prettil em-
the

 

     

“Mr. Stanard took him away after the

 

- “mu-M'

.  mm» A

,....,...»...» ~

.........Mh..a._.,..._;...-- ,j.  '

  
 

   
   

 

[househ’old matters.

11‘ V
i '
1 I

   

Sarahf'Brown, ~Detective. ‘

1 ./; .~  ", ~‘ 7,1. ,....
> \

 

 

enough to reguest you to retire to your owu
chamber till aylight, when I trust you will
see the propriety of seeking other and doubt-
less more congenial lodgings. Borrowdalc,
come to me in the morning for your wages,
:and when you leave my house take your
niece with you. Come, my dear!”

With these words, and a last scathing
glance of scorn at her niece, Mrs. Church
swept haughtil out of the room, leaning
upon the arm 0 the usurper, who also looked
upon Mabel with the greatest contempt.

“ Well!” said Knowles, when the sound of
the two ladies’ footsteps died away, “if that
ain’t the biggest set-back I ever got in the
whole course of my life! Got our walking-
papers at short notice. Never .mind; the
ghost that haunts the old squaw ain’t dispos-
ed of yet.”

 

CHAPTER XXV.
“IF I DIE FOR IT!"
SOPHIA BLoom’s cunning was too much

‘ for poor Elna’s simplicity. She easily found

the precious papers, which the little Woman
h‘ad foolishly hidden between the mattresses
of her bed.

She had just rearranged thelbed-clothes
when she heard Elna’s voice as she ascended
the stairs with her boy in her arms. Like an
evil spirit she hastened away, hidin the
precious papers among the folds 0 her
dress. /.

“Ah, ha!” she said triumphantly, as sge
locked herself in her own room to exami e
them. _“ You are beaten, Mr. Stanard. I’ll
teach you to insult me! You prefer your
white-faced miss. Very well; you may have
her!”

She seated herself and spread out the pa-
pers with a satisfied air. The baptismal
register of Randolf Church, son of Randolf
Church and Elna, his lawful wife, came
first. The baptism had been performed by
the Rev. John Moorhouse, in the Lutheran
Church Emanuel, No. —East 87th street,
New York. Then came Elna Hansen’s mar-
riage certificate, which predated the other
nearly two years. The marriage had been
performed by the same clergyman, in the
same church.

“Now!” said Sophy Bloom, triumphant-
] , “ I can lay claim to the fortune of Ban-
(Iblf Church, and snap my fingers at Mr.
Ernest Stanard and his lovely and engaging
wife!”

She laced the two documents in a small
inner rawer in her writing-desk. and locked
‘them up safely. Then she descended to the
lower floor and took up her station in a
small room where Sha Wilson was playing
solitaire with a pack 0 cards that had‘ seen
better days.

“ I sa , Soph, how much longer have we
got to ive here in this quiet, high-toned
way? Blamed if I ain’t sick as abeached
clam of the whole snap!”

So hia’s shallow black eyes flashed.

“Well, we have all got into, the way of
Mr. Stanard walk over us.”

lettin K
g looked thoughtful and scratched his

Shag

‘ head.

“ For my part, I don’t see why we could
not have our friends to drop in as usual, as
the lady has been sulking in her own room
ever since she came here,” declared Sophia,
with the evident intention of irritating the
uneasy Mr. Wilson, who pined in secluSion
by Stanard’s request.

“ N 0, nor me neither, by thunder! How-

ever, I suppose we shall have a grand wed-

din now. to,liven us up!”
Sga blinked inquirin 1y. He knew that
the fa.r Sophia was fon of Stanard, and he

«dreaded an outbreak of her temper, which he

knfiw from experience to be far from an-
ge e.

“ As he is to get such a rich and beautiful
wife, he’ll surel act in a generous manner

his old frien s--,-eh, Shag?”

“ I‘d think so,” said Shag, who did pot in-
tend to commit himself.

“ Yes; he'll be too high-toned to speak to
us when he’s a leader of tony society in New
York, so We‘d best make the most of him
while we‘ve got him.”

Shag laughed bitterly, and Sophia, at that
moment was called away to attend to some

 

Elna‘s face was full of surprise and alarm

        

 

when Stanard spoke in such a serious tone.
She gently drew away her hand from‘ his
and folded it with the other in her lap.

“ You may blame me for deceiving you,
Elna, but I had not the heart to tell you the
whole truth. You feel So acutely that it al-

iapart by heavy sobs, while tears streamed

down her clear cheeks.
“Elna, do not grieve so!” pleaded the

‘ wily gambler, taking her cold hands in his.

“You are very young; you have your boy

, and many happy years before you.”

most kills me to see how you suffer, but you I

will be very brave, will you not?"

He looked tenderly in her face, but Elna
shrunk back from the expression in his eyes
which she did not comprehend.

At the same moment she blamed herself for
her want of gratitude to her faithful and de-
voted friend.

“Elna, do not look at me in that way, ” he
said, pleadingly.

“ Tell me what you have to tell.” she re-
plied, alittle decisively, for his manner he—
came more strange every minute. His gaze
seemed to scorch her face, and she felt half
afraid of him.

“ I told you that your husband was false
to you.”

“ Yes— Oh! how could he forget all the
love we feel for each other?”

“ You still love him, then?”

Stanard‘s tone was very significant.

“ Love him! Of course I do! If he is
false to the vows he swore at God's hol
altar, I am not. I am a faithful wife.
love him and always shall.”

“ I am glad of that, Elna—and at the same
time sorry.”

“ Glad and sorry? I do not understand
you!”

“I am glad you forgive your husband the
injury he has done you, for, Elna—be calm
and bear it bravely—your husband has gone
to be judged by another far higher judge
than you!”

The by ocritical villain raisad his eyes and
hands to' leaven.

“ What do you mean?” cried the little
wife, turning ghastly pale and trembling
from head to foot.

“ Just what I say,” answered Stanard, sol-
emnly.

“May God help me i” gasped Elna, clasp-
ing her hands over her throbbing heart—“ do
you Irngan that my husband is dead?”

l‘ o!”

“ Dead! My Randolf—my darling!”

She sunk back white and senseless.

Stanard raised her and bore her to the
leunge on which he laid her tenderly. He
opened the window and applied smelling-
salts, which he took from his pocket, to her
nostrils.

He was tempted to pollute the purity of
her lips by a caress, but she opened her eyes
with a look of horror to find his face so near
her own.

“ Are you better?” he asked, anxiously.

“ Yes. .Have I been ill? Ohl tell me, did
I dream 'it?-—did some one say my husband
was dead?” -

“ I said so, Elna. It is true; he has been
dead for months."

“ Dead for months, and you told me he
had deserted me!”

Her tone was full of reproachful an-
guish.

“ So he did, before he died.”

“ I do not believe it!” exclaimed Elna,
stung to the heart by grief and pain.

Stanard grew pale.

" Do you think I would tell
hood?" he asked, with dignity.

“ You may be mistaken. ”

“No, ,I am not mistaken. Randolf gave
me your photograph and told me to seek you
out and offer to pay your passage back to
Denmark, where he would support you and
his child in comfort if you promised never
to trouble him.”

Poor Elna listened to all this with a dazed
face; she was utterly bewildered.

Full of grief for her husband, whose death
she could not realize, and hurt to,‘the heart’s
core by the thought that he had cruelly
abandoned her, even the sacred luxury of
loving grief was denied her, for her trust
and confidence in her husband’s honor were
rude] shaken.

“ ow could he be so heartless?" she mur-
mured, in broken accents.

“Yes, Elna. He forgot you for another.
Every one is not blessed With ever-faithful
hearts.”

“ I thought Randolf’s heart was as true as
mine; and he loved Dolf.” .

She was crying, her breast : almoat torn

\ I

you a false-

‘ sake—but happy years! ah, no!

‘ dead now—dead!

 

“ Yes, I have my boy; I shall live for his
I can never
be happy without my husband!”

“You can and will be happy._ Randolf
was not worthy of your love.”

“I will not think him unworthy. He is
Oh, my Randolf!”

Again she drew her hand away, though
Ilslhe had no thought of his feeling toward

er.

“ There are others, Elna, who deserve
your love—who would die to win it!”

“ Others!” cried Elna, in amazement.
“ And my husband only just dead I"

“ He has been dead fcr months.”

“ He was alive to me,” she answered, with
simple dignit . “ I have only just heard of
his death. {wish to hear more. Where
did he die?”

“In his mother’s house, in New York.”

“ And he never sent for me!” sobbed the
little wife, tears again welling up to her‘
innocent eyes and her voice choked by an:
guish.

)’

in

not refuse to let me see him die?”

“He had no time to ask—no time for any“. f: 5;;

thing; he died of heart-disease.”

i
An awe-stricken look came over her tear-. ' ,

My good, kind, noble‘ "

ful face.
“ Poor Randolf!

g.
“ Why? Surely his proud mother could 

“He could not, even had he been will- ‘

husband 1” 

Stanard hit his lip. It was a diflicult task

to poison the pure mind of a ood woman g“

against the man she so tenderly oved.

“ His mother is also affected by the same A ‘7"

trouble,” he added, after a pause.

“ I know it; that\was why our marriage; 

was a secret.” , \

“ Well, Elna, it is fortunate for you that 

you have friends."

“True. I have not forgotten your kind» '
ness. I owe all I now have in the world to
you—my child." ~ , r-

“ And you promised to reward me.” ‘

“Reward you? How can I? Am I not
poor and friendless?”

“ I don’t wish for a reward that wealth can
purchase,” softly. '

“ What reward do you ask?”

“ Elna, is it possible that you do not know 'l ,

how I have learned to love you?” asked.
Stanard, passionately. ‘ . '

She sprung to her feet.

“Mr. Stevans, do
me?” she demanded, indignantly, her e as
flashing, her small form drawn up to its til
hight. i ' '

“Insult you? No, my darling. I wish
to rotect and cherish you.”

 

e tried to take her hand, but she waved}.

him away. , .»
“Protect and cherish me! Is it possible"
that there are women who can listen to»
words like these the very hour that they hear“.
of their husband’s death?” , “
Stanard began to fear he had been 
precipitate, but it was too late to drawback
now. 2

 

He could not understand Elna’s nature: 

 

and he had flattered himself that she
commenced tolove " ‘

“ Your husband has been dead for months}?
he declared once more. “ I knew ou were,
free when first I met you and I earned to’
love you. I have watched over you and1
cared for you, and I have restored Dolf 

ou.’, n
y “ Yes; thank you for doing so.”

“ I want no thanks, E na; I want fyou, to;
bestow the same love on me you sit for
Randolf. ,
was, and I shall value it as the greatest treas- .
ure earth ever held." . 

“It is impossiblefor me to ever love you,‘ -
Mr. Stevens. My heart cannot change; if  '
could, in love would not be worth
in . I s all never lovea ain.”

Iler tone was firm and er face wore a de-
termined look. ’ ‘ ‘ y

 But, Elna, do not doom me to deapalrf

 

You are alone‘yin the world. me protect,
Bo: and care for your child. 13g my wife for,
It’s sake. I am willing, t marry 

\A

  

I am more deserving of it than“; a;

pawn ‘fl "

Sift
you intend to insultin-

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'flrst. and teach you to love me afterward.
You promised to reward me ;—let my reward
be this little ham .”

He spoke with passionate pleading. and
his eyes spoke more eloquently than his
tongue.

, , “ I cannot speak of love or marriage now,”

'3 she said, not unmoved by his appeal.

 , " liut you will I)I(I me hope. my sweet

' _ one?" he «piestioned, with sparkling eyes.

" No. I promise nothing. The thought
.: of having listened to you shocks me. I
" should blame another woman who did so; I
 should, esteem her lacking in modesty and
love for her husband.”

Stanard .was baffled; he had made little
" progress in pleading his cause.

’ T‘ No woman has a right to waste her heart
Upon a worthless man.” he declared, hotly.

\ “ Hush! You must never again utter one
disrespectful word of Randolf. He is dead,
. and he was my boy's father.”

IIer tears gushed forth anew at the word
. «ms. She was fast realizing her desolate eon-
. dition.

” I would rather die than pain you, Elna,”
Stanard persisted. tenderly; “believe me, I
.—"Iove you better than life.”

The truth of these words lent them force—

” bad, un . rincipled and cruel though he was,

.he’lovet her.

-‘ “IIushl Do not speak to me so!” cried
She, with burning cheeks. “I must go to

child. Good—night!”

. Ie seized her hand and pressed it to his

" lips. She snatched it away and ran from the

. --room.

' “ She is mine!” he said, exultantly, as he

paced the floor. “ She is mine!”

As Elna fled up-stairs she met Miss Bloom.
. “ What’s the matter?" inquired the young

lady, coldly. “ You seem excited.”

i “ I have just heard of the death of my

msband!” replied Elna, confusedly.

1“ Indeed! Is that what you are blushing
out? I thought perllps you had just

1 chosen his successor.”

, .. The taunt cut Elna to the heart. She felt

fi‘that it was not unmeritcd.

-' ” Good-night, Miss Bloom !” she said, with

, more dignitythan Sophia had imagined pos-
sible to the “weakling.” v

’ “Good-night ” '

Elna sought her chamber, her heart throb-

. violently with painful emotion.

‘ v ndolf was dead! That was the crushing

bought which overpowered her. Though

IE‘she'had heard of his desertion. and believed

it to be true, she had cherished a fond hope
that he might yet return to her—a hope she

had scarcely been conscious of, but it had
enabled her to bear up; but now—that hope
was gone! Never again should she see his
face or hear his voice! He was the king of

,h'ér life, and had passed away from her

:"without even one parting word.

3 , Gone, utterly gone!

r, She gazed upon her sleeping child, who

daily. grew more like his father, and laying

head down beside little Dolf’s, she sob-

;fid' out her first wild burst of widowed

  

 
   
  
   
 
   
 
  
   
   
  
 
  
  
 
  
 
  
  
 
 
  
    
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
   
  
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
   
  
  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
    
  
 

‘5‘

cf.
5While she had been with Stanard all her
sorrow had been pent-up; she had not free-
dom to indulge it. Alone with her child,
he could mourn for his father.
iStanard was not long left to enjoy his sup-
posed'victory over Elna’s heart.
' Shag Wilson had been impatiently waiting
ill he should he alone, for he wished to have
in: interview with him.
“Hallo!” said Shag, abru tly breaking in
earn Stanard‘s soliloquy. " hat‘s the news,
Wijfltauard?"
3‘, Nothing that can interest you.” replied

  

     

   

 p e ambler, ccldl . He felt disgusted with
the goarseness an vulgarity of his former
associates.

  

" ‘f’Hah! High-toned already!" said Shag,

,3. ‘f’lwith ,a boisterous laugh; “ t iat’s what Soph
- Maid; didn’t know it would take effect so

’ #0011, though." .

. , Stanard saw that his friend was offended,

‘ M he did not wish him to be so; not that he

regretted having wounded Shag’s flner feel-

   

  

an ht need him again.

“ Hi h-toned! Nonsense! What I meant
.was I adn’t any news of the ya in New
'York. Sit down. Ain't there anything to
drink in the house?"

:‘flhjg mngabell, and as soon as the neces-

   

  

 

.son were consulting together, she, of course,

in , but he was notyet done with him. He,

 

t

sary refreshments were on the table he again I
approached the interesting subject of which
they were both thinking.

" Well, how goes it with the widow?"

Stanard was silent a moment. He poured
out and drank a glass of brandy.

“ I'll marry her,” he answered, with a look i
of determination, “if I die for it!”

“If you lose soul and body?" suggested]
Shag.

“Yes!” with a terrible oath—“ if I lose
soul and body!"

 

CHAPTER XXVI.
A wmnm‘s vnNuEANCE.

SOPHIA linoou was naturally vindictive.
She was also excessively vain. She had been
brought up among men whose interest lay in }
pleasing her, and had lived all her life in an 1
atmosphere of flattery.

IIer chief business, since she had lost her
father. had been that of a “ fence,” or re-
ceiver of stolen property.

As a business woman, she had been sin-
gularly successful. She owned more than
one store where she disposed of stolen goods
under other names than her own. She also
possessed horses and carts, which were used
by the thieves to carry off their booty; and,
indeed, Sophia was. in the language of her
companions, “ well fixed ”— otherwise a
wealthy woman.

She was also esteemed “smart,” and for
all these reasons had received a great deal of
attention from professional gamblers and
burglars. However, like the general run of
mankind and womankind, she was dissatis-
fied with her mode of life. ller riches could
not place her where she longed to be—in
fashionable society.

Yes, she really, ardently longed to shine as
a leading belle among what she termed “ the
tony set.”

“ What’s the good of having diamonds,
when no oneisees them but thieves?” she said
to herself, for she despised her companions
thoroughly.

Stanard was the only man among them she
would have married. He could act and
look like a gentleman, and he was both
talented and well educated. She knew he
lacked principle, of course, but she fancied
he might pass in decent seciety as a gentle-
man.

She loved the handsome Peruvian with all
the love she was capable of, and her indig-
nation, when she found that he preferred an-
other woman, was great. She esteemed Elna
a mere simpletou; did not even think her
beautiful, for, in her opinion, perfection of
form and coloring were nothing without
what she termed “ style.”

Sophia had been angry before she encoun-
tered Elna on the stairs, but when she saw
her rival‘s, as she supposed, happy blushes,
she became furious.

“ She is greatly uplifted, indeed!” were her
thoughts. “I never saw her try to put on
airs before.”

Poor Elna’s simple dignity she set down to
pride over Stanard’s offer of marriage—so
ittle can a mean nature understand a noble
one: she thought Elna gaVe herself airs over
the ver thing that had in reality humiliated
the wi ow in the dust.

When Miss Bloom knew Stanard and Wil-

longed to hear what the had to say. She
dreaded ridicule with a I the horror of a
small-minded, ignorant woman, and she
knew that there is an honor amon thieves.

Stanard would, she felt certain, boast of
his conquest, and she should inevitably be-
come the subject of coarse jokes and sarcasms
among the pe0ple she despised and treated
with contempt.

This thought made her blood hot, and she
vowed vengeance against the man she had
loved.

“ He has made a convenience of my house,
and treated me like a servant," she said, in-
dignantly, “and I’ll get 5 uare with him as
sure as my name is Sophia loom!”

She sto e softly into a deep closet in the
back parlor, where she could hear every word
spoken by the two men in the front room.
Sophia would have made an able detective
had she chosen that calling. With a pair of

 

sharp scissors she had. on a former occasion,
picked away the plaster and made an open-

iirg into the next room which she had deft]
concealed by the drapery of a small Wal -
pocket.

Here she took her Stand, and every word
uttered by the gambler was overheard by her.
She had taken her place in the closet just as
Stanard said—“ If I die for it!"

She ground her teeth savagely, but eageer
listened for more. She heard Shag's remar
and Stanard‘s reply; then Shag said laugh-
ingly:

“ Why. I always thought
would makea match of it. he's stuck bad
on ou.”

“ Ila! ha i" laughed the gambler. “ Yes,
poor Soph has proved a victim to my charms.
No, thank you; that would be a come-down!
My first wife‘s father was at least an honest
man. Then, too, our hostess is in the sore
and yellow leaf, and I must confess I have a
hankering for youth and beauty.
you think, though—she actually proposed to
me!"

Ile went off into fits of laughter at the re-
collection. ‘

“ Who?” asked Shag, in amazement.

“ Why, Soph. Yes, she asked me to marry
her with a good grace!"

“ Suffering Moses! You don‘t tell me, and
her so high—toned ?"

on and Soph

“ Yes; I always knew she was soft on me.

My stars! won‘t the boys laugh!"

“ Don’t tell them," said Shag.
of mean.
thundering proud it would half kill her to
think the boys knew."

“Who cares? It is too good to keep.”

“ Well, you are your own master, of‘
course: but I wouldn’t say one word about it
if I was you. She's always treated you well;
it’s darned shabby to give her away."

The listening woman hit her lip till the

“ It’s kind

blood started as she heard Shag plead for ,

her. There was murder in her heart as she
clinched her thin hand against her bosom.

“ Pshaw! She’ll never know, and it is too
good to keep. The idea of her trying to act
the lady—ha! ha!”

” See here, Stanard; Soph’s a good girl
and always ke t strai ht, and whosoever hits
her bits me— 0 you ear?”

Shag rose to his feet and looked the other
villain straight in the face.

“ Oh, don’t you go to flying off the ban-
dlel" placated Stanard contemptuously.

“Well, let up on this racket, that’s all,”
answered Shag sulkily.

Sophia crept out of the closet with the face
of a corpse and the heart of a fiend. How
to take revenge on Stanard she knew not,
but vengeance—bitter vengeance—she was
determined to have.

She passed up the stairs with clinched
hands and eyes blinded by the wild rush of
blood in her brain; and, almost without in-
tending it, she found herself at Elna’s door.
She tapped, but the weeping woman never
heard her.

Sophia pushed the door open. There lay
the woman she had pictured to herself as one
flushed with triumph, crying and sobbing
her very heart out.

‘ ‘ What’s the matter?” inquired Miss Bloom
coldly.

Elna looked up in surprise; she had not
expected to see her hostess again that night.

“ Wh are ou crying?” inquired Sophia,
seating ersel beside the bed.

“Need you ask? My husband is dead,"
replied Elna, choking back her sobs.

“ And you cry—you loved him, then?"

“‘Love him—my husband?" cried Elna,
looking up in amazement.

“Yes; thought you no longer cared for
him.”

“ I love him more than when he was alive.
I shall love him to the last hour of my life.
Oh, my darling Randolfl"

Sophia saw that the words came straight
from Elna’s heart—that she meant them.
There was no pretense about her, she was
the embodiment of truth.

“I thought on cared for that man down—
stairs,” said Miss Bloom slowly, her eyes
fixed on the little widow's face.

“Who—Mr. Stevens?”

“ Yes; I believe that is the name you know
him by.” ,

“ by, is it not his name?” 2 ,

“One of them,” and Miss Bloom's face.
wore a eculiar smile. ?

Elna ookedsmazed.

\ _ ‘ I

What do-

Soph’s a good girl, and she’s so.

   
 

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“ Has the man more than one name?” she
asked innocently.

“ More than one dozen, I guess."

“Why, how strange! What is the reason
of that 7”

“Because he is not an honest man," re-
sponded Sophia coolly.

“ Not an honest man?”

Elna turned pale.

Sophia laughed her hard, mirthlcss laugh.

“ \Vhy, did you suppose he was a gentle-
man?" she asked, with glittering eyes and
a deep crimson spot glowing on either
cheek.

“Of course I did!" answered Elna in an
alarmed manner, sittingup in bed, her golden
hair in wild disorder.

“Ha! ha! Why, he is a gambler, swiud~
ler, confidence man."

” What is that?” asked Elna, her hand on
Sophia’s arm, her blue eyes dilated.

“Swindler—or to put it pl:lincr—Mi(’f/"
replied Sophia, who now took delight in
stabbing Stanard‘s character.

“My God! but how could Randolf have
him. for a friend?”

“ lie never had. Your husband did not
know him from a side of sole-leather.”

“ What? Why, he gave him my portrait,
and told him to send me away to get rid of
me."

“ He never did; Your husband never
spoke to him in his life.”

“But Mr. Stevans told me so himself."

Elna was thoroughly bewildered. She be-
gan to think Sophia had gone mad.

“ He told you a falsehood. Everything he
told you from first to last was lics.’

“ Good heavens! Then my husband was
not false to me—he is not dead!”

Her face glowed like a rose with love and
hope.

“ He was not false to you, but he is dead,
I am sorry to say."

The hope slowly died out Iof Elna’s face, ‘

but the love remained. She gazed at Sophia

doubtfully.
“ I see what you think," said Miss Bloom.

I “You are wondering if I am crazy,"

“ No; I was only wondering what this
man’s object was in deceiving me so."

Sophia‘s time had come.

"Do you know that you are a very rich
woman?" she asked.

“ New,” thought Elna “ I am certain she
is mad.”

“Don‘t stare at me so. Randolf Church,
your husband, was worth I do not know how
many millions.”

“ He did not give them to me," sadly.

"The are yours and your child’s all the
same. I e died without a will. That is
why Stanard stole the child, and that is why
he wants to marry you."

“ Stanard stole the child?"

Elna gave a terrified look around her.

“ Yes, he stole little Dolf, and he wants to
marry you for your money.” !

 

This statement gave Sophia the keenest
satisfaction. Instead of looking mortified,
to her surprise, Elna did not seem to notice
.1

t.“Do you tell me that the man down-
:stairs stole Dolf from me ?" she asked, earn-
estly. . n

“ Yes, he alone was the thief. .l _ v

“ Then wh did you say you did it?

Sophia bro e into a laugh. ' _

“ Well, you know a person is obliged to
tell man lies in this wicked world. He told
me to tell you so, and I did it.’

“ But why?" . .

“ Because he wanted to have you in his
.Eower, and he thought you would marry

im as a reward for giving back the boy.

Poor Elna was dumfounded as the epth
of her false friend’s depravity was thus un-
folded to her.

This was the man in whose word she had
so implicitly trusted! How easily he had
deceived her! »

“ Yes. he Wants to go to New York as
‘ our hpsband, and that‘s why he got rid of
. 's wi e."

“ Wife? Had he a wife?"

“ Certainly he had, till he drove her mad
and she poisoned herself."

“ Merciful heavens! _When?”

“Why, just the other day. The inquest
is just over. He could not bring the boy on

‘_vherettllitwas." .

\_',

 

“ And he had my boy all the time I was in
such misery about him?”

“Yes; he sent a man here to me to tell
me a story for 'our ears—all false from be-
ginning to em . Why, I never saw your
husband in my life.”

“ But why did you do his bidding?”

“ Well, we are all alike here. My father
was a forge", and I’ve been brought up with
gamblers and thieves.”

“ Dear, dear! how terrible!"

Sophia smiled grimly.

“ llut you are honest, at least," said Elna,
timidly.

“ Yes, honest as all the rest,” was the bit-
ter reply.

“ No; you are not like the rest, for if you
were you_would not warn me now. You are
sorry for 'what you have done?"

How little did she know the motive that
impelled Sophia’s action!

“ You hardly believe me,” said Miss
Bloom; for Elna was regardin‘ her with a
strange. questioning expression in her honest
blue eyes.

“ I do not know what to think. I must
see Mr. Stanard, as on call him, and you
must tell your story in his presence.”

Sephia‘s pale face grew crimson. She felt
that she would rather die than do as Elna
suggested.

“ I dare not!” she said, seriously.

“ Why not? If your story is true you
need not feel afraid to tell it.”

Elna’s suspicions were aroused, and she
was mistress of the situation. Sophia felt
des rate. She knew that Stanard’s anger
against her would be terrible if he ever
learned the truth, and knew that she had
betrayed him. She was no coward. and did
not feel afraid of the risks she ran, but she
did dread the scathing sarcasms with which
he would overwhelm her in Elna’s presence.
She felt she would rather die than undergo
such an ordeal.

" How can I convince you that am at least
acting honestly toward you now?” she said,
desperately.

“By calling this man here and repeating
your story,” replied Elna, coolly.

“I cannot! You know nothing of such
characters as Stanard. Why, my life would
not be safe an hour.”

“ And you act as you have done because
you are my friend?" iaeredulously.

“Yes; how can I convince you? Oh! I
have it! Where are your papers?"
The thought came like a flash. Sophia

Would rather restore the documents than be
exposed.

‘1‘ What papers?" asked Edna, turning
pa e.

“Your marriage certificate and your
child’s baptismal register.”

“ Here! ‘ ' .v

Elna turned back the mattress and saw”

vylitli horror that the papers were no longer
t ere.

Dolf began to c , for his mother’s hasty
action had disturbe his slumbers.

Elna took him in her arms and hushed him
on her breast

When he slept a ain she gently laid him
back among the pi] ows.

“ Where are my papers?" she asked. more
boldly than Sophia ever expected to hear
her speak.

“ I have them. I stole them by Stana'rd's
orders, and to prove that I am sincere I shall
restore them to you.” ~

“ Do so, and advise me what to do next."

“Leave this house without an hour’s de-
lay. I shall send for a carriage for you and
sYuptligy’ you with money to return to New

or .

“ Thank on."

Sophia le tthe room and returned in a few ‘

moments with the papers in her hand.

Elna was already arranging her dress to
go,‘ for she trembled with pervous terror
when she thought of Stanard.

“I have sent for! a carria ," Sophia ad-
vised her. “I hope the chi won't cry, for
Stanard is desperate. I heard him swear
thalt you should be his wifeit' he lost soul and
be y." '

t‘He is in the house?" asked Elna, pale
with apprehension.

“ Yes, but fast asleep. I listened at his ‘

doo’r., He thinks all’is safe. If the child is
quiet all'i Well.” I .1 V . . I ,
Wimpsgpmsqa. 1 Elna  her

 

   
 
 

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boy, who began to whimper, but quieted
down when Miss Bloom gave him a large
package of candy and his mother told him he
was going back to New York.

“ Here, ” whispered Sophia, pushing a well-
filled purse in Elna’s hand.

“ Oh! I don’t need all this money!”

“ Yes, you may have to employ a lawyer
to get your own.”

"But what is the use of money to me?
My husband is gone."

Poor Elna felt like breaking down, but So-
phia knew how to deal with her.

“Nonsense! Haven’t you got your child
to think of? Come, hurry, or we’ll have
Stanard here!"

At the mention of the name Elna seized
her child in her arms, shook Sophia’s hand,
and hastily whispered that she would write
and thank her; then ran swiftly down-stairs,
out of the door, sprung into the carriage and
was gone. '

Sophia returned slowly to her room, paus-
ing as she passed Stanard's door to shakeher
clinched hand and mutter:

“ Now, I have a pleasant surprise for you
when you wake—thank fortune, I shall be I 
revenged."

 

CHAPTER XXVII.
THE LETTERS FROM LIMA.

” WELL,” said Mabel, “as we have already- 
done our worst, we may as well read the let-“ «, ,
ters."

“ Yes, read them. Please God they may 
throw some light upon the mysterie that  3-1;;
surround us.” said Borrowdale. f

Mabel read them aloud, translating them as V '
she read: '> 
" Dun Ummmu— I ' a

“ I am not surprised that your base-born husband
trca's you as you say he does. I know too liven that I :
a woman never stoops without bitterlmgl'etting it.
You have acted very foolishly but 1 s tryto help
vou. Meanwhile be patient; I will be in New York.
I trust, within a few weeks; then we shall see what
can be done. Watch him; find out all on can; but:
dps not iredt him know you expect me or 0 Will be  ‘5

gun. . '

“ Business here is dull, but on do not understand ;. ,
such matters. Let me hear mm on at once. 

“ Your lovin unc e, -
" mm. Cmmus.”

“ That letter is the oldest," said’ Mabe '

" now comes one of a later date." ‘ ‘

“ Lin, —— —, 

  

E

" Dunner Uni:—
“ How very foolishly you have acted, but- it is true
that when a woman of your temperament loves aha
is for the time insane. Not satisfied with :laouf
yourself away u n the Worthless son of Della?
slave you have enied youridentit and p M
daughter in the sition you shou d flil- ’ Vin:
Mrs. Church. an all0wing that baseborn I
usu your place in your aunt‘s house. ,-' x
“ o wonder you were ashamed to tell me
truth. i suppose I never shoul-t have heard it
had not been coming to your city. You knew! would
soon and it out tor myself, so make a virtue of ne-
cessity and tell me. i l "
“ Foolish girl, to trust these people! I would not;
trust them or any one of their treachemusblocd
Igour parents did wrong to bring you up“
t em. > ’
“But enough; I must not say one word, for I...
have been foolish, and when I see ygu must lilo' ,
pardon. Write no more; but. a so all. do, '
whis er to that husband of yours that Ian ‘
I wil be with you as soon as possible.
“Your lovin uncle,

“ This letter is only three weeks old," 3“;
ed Mabel, in conclusion. *9 ‘-
“Those letters are worth their weight
gold ten times over!” exclaimed Know
enthusiastically. “They tell the whole '
of the false heiress. The real one is .
and, I believe—murdered!"
“ Ah!" cried Mabel. »
“ Yes. Why should she kill herself
she expected this man to arrive and set
ters straight?” " fl.
“ In a moment of jealous rage,” 
RrE’Wdileli bel Sa d W
“ 'o! on’t ieve it. n y ’ ‘
found out the beginning of this sad .sto ' 
and little Sandy Martint shall find out _ ‘
rest!" '  v
“ What is our next move?" asked -, "
valet. ~
" We leave here to-morrow in good .. t
and Miss Nelson hires Mrs. Coo ‘s . ..
and waits for the uncle from im, the
our best witness.” « >
“ Yes; you won’t be afraid, will 
asked Borrowdale. I g
“ Not at all! I am not nervous. until?
my interested in this case." - ' ,
“ on are the grandest man in N

R

        
    
  
   
  
 
  
  
 
    
  
 
   
    
    
  
   
    
    

  

  

  

  
         
 
  

 
 

    
 
 

   
   
    

  

 

 

\

 

26 ,

‘ *4...“

Sarah Brown, Detective.

 

 

 

~-

Martin, words fail to express my admiration
for him.”

The conspirators parted for the night, each
going to his and her room ;. but none of them
sle t.

abel retained possession of the letters,

and trembled with excitement when she
thought how close they might be to the dis-
covery of a crime.

She was more interested, however, in find-
ing the widow and child of her cousin, and
prayed earnestly for them. If, as Knowles
seemed to think, they were in the power of
Oello’s son, how narrow was their chance of
escape from the same fate that had overtaken
Randolf and Ubaldina.

“ God protect them!" she prayed to the
God of the widow and the fatherless.

CHAPTER XXVIII.
ELNA CONSULTS A LAWYER—oaLno’s DEATH-
BED.
ELNA lost no time in leaving Boston, and
- when she arrived in New York was afraid to
return to her old home.

She felt a perfect horror of Stanard, and
imagined he was following her and would
again rob her of her boy.

When she arrived in the city she went at
once to a hotel and engaged a rorm. She had
her breakfast sent up, and requested the
waiter to bring her a Directory.

She had made up her mind to follow
Sophie’s advice, and employa lawyer to take
charge of her interest in her husband‘s
fortune.

She longed to ask advice from some one,

a and thought of Mrs. Knowles. but dreaded
Stanard too much to venture near her. She
fancied that the gambler was watching for

, her, and he knew where the detective’s wife

“ lived.

The waiter brought up the Directory, and
Elna told him to order a carriage, as she
wished to go out at once.

“I’ll open the book and take the first law-

er I come to,” she said to herself.

_ Acting on this thoroughly feminine reso‘
lution, she chose the name of Stamford.

. ,i “ It is a little like Stanard,” she said, in a

 frightened manner. “But. after all, that

.. ma not be that terrible man’s real name.”

' , ressing Dolf as well as she could, for she

’ 5 had scarcely any luggage, she drove ofi to

 

41.} j'the lawyer’s office.

. ’, The ompous man was disengaged, and
" receive her politely, for he hadsenseenough
to a preciate a prett face. -

vErna sensibly an concisely related her

 fltfiy.
. 1'. Stamford listened with an air of su-
perlative wisdom.
 “ Yes, madam,” he said, when the little
Woman had concluded, and fixed her blue
; eyes appealingly on his well-fed face; “ I’ve
heard of you before.”

“ “Dear me! Who spoke of me—my hus-
band?”

“ No; I regret to say he did not show such
good sense. A man should never neglect his
'wife and child. Fine boy, madam; image
. of his father.”

‘ “ Yes, he is very like him,” assented poor

P a, sighing heavily. “Well, sir, who
spoke of me? I did not know any one else
was aware I was married to Mr. Church.
Was it Mr. Moorhouse?"

“ No; I have not the pleasure of Mr. Moor-

hou'se’s acquaintance. It was Miss Nelson,
 our late husband’s cousin.”
,- “ Did she know he was married ?”

, "She did. and the knowledge distressed
diet very much. She called and consulted me
paths subject.”

 ..“ Why was she distressed?” asked Elna,
ea erly.

* ‘She was distressed for fear that you
might be in want. Your husband informed
her; of his marriage and showed her your por-
fira t.”

“Ah! then I have one friend in my bus-
band’s family. thank God!" exclaimed Elna,
{with deep feelin . /

, “Yes; Miss elson is a well-intentioned
young lady.
Venn friend.’

"And please tell me what to do next,

 

She will, I am sure, prove a

' “Return to your hotel. I will see Mrs.
T‘Clmrc‘h without delay. I am her solicitor.
. , is fortunate that on came to me, as it
issues trouble and pub icity." .

 

 

Elna took his advice. She returned to
her hotel and patiently awaited the result of '
Mr. Stamford’s visit to her husband’s
mother.

Meanwhile stirring events were transpir-
in%in the Church mansion.

arly in the morning Mabel sought an in-
terview with her aunt. The false heiress
was present when the old lady, in reply to
Miss Nelson’s timid knock, haughtin an-
swered:

“ Come in l”

“Good-morning!” said Mabel, who was
already dressed for the street, as she intend-
ed to leave the house at once.

" Good-morning, Miss Nelson!” replied
Mrs. Church, whose pale face was even more
cold in its expression than usual.

“I wish to say a few words to you in pri-
vate before I leave your house, madam.”

“ Say them.”

Ubaldina, as we shall call her for the pres-
ent, neither rose nor looked around; she had
not condescended to salute Mabel when she
entered.

“I shall only say them in private,”an-
nouneed Mabel, firmly.

“ Then they must remain unsaid, for I
shall not receive you in private. Aperson
who has forgotten how to act like a lady can-
not expect to receive the courtesy that is ex-
tended to one.”

“ Of what unladylike conduct do you ac-
cuse me?"

“ You show how lost you are to all sense
of shame when you ask.”

“ I am perfectly unconscious of your
meaning.”

“You are? You are unconscious that you
have. been associating with my servants on
terms of familiarity, having secret meetings
with them when every one had retired.”

“ I do not deny it, but unfortunately ycu
must yet learn the reason for my conduct,
which appears singular.”

“Excuse me; I prefer not,” returned Mrs.
Church, with haughty wave of her hand.
“You Will tint? money on the table. Hand
it to her, my dear. You are at liberty to
send your address to Mr. Stamford, who will
arrange that a moderate sum be paid quar-
terly to you. “ I‘ll support you, but I can-
not romise ever to see you again.”

“ ou will live to regret your unjust treat-
ment of me, aunt,” said Mabel, sadly. " I
have some money, and prefer to take nothing
from your hand I"

She fixed her eyes on the evil face of the
false heiress and left the room.

“Well. thank fortune she is gone!” said
the Creole, vindictively. “ I breathe more
freely now that she has left the house.”

This was (perfectly true. Cello and her
daughter he ever hated the humble, inof-
fensrve woman, and had observed the meet-
ings between Mabel and the valet with
alarm, though they knew not their signifi-
cance. V

Sura’s black heart swelled with triumph
as she saw Mabel driven out, for she felt
certain that Mrs. Church would now make
her will entirely in her own favor. Ubal-
dina’s death. too, had been a source of re-
joicing, for by it she felt perfectly secure in
the possession of her large fortune. She it
was who had informed Mrs. Church of Ma-
bel's secret interviews with Borrowdale and
his supposed niece. She had conducted her
to the spot and caught the guilty parties t
conspiring. She knew the mere fact of
Mabel associating with servants was nothing
short of a crime in her aunt’s proud eyes.

She had triumphed. and she had never felt
so safe. She paid Borrowdale and dismissed .
him, and now felt herself queen of the .
house.

That night, as midnight chimed, Oelln,
who was alone in her room, heard the shrill I
voice of her unseen accuser:

” Murderessl" it cried. “ Slayer of Ubal-
dina and Randolf. prepare to meet justice!”

Oello fell on her knees, tremblin , her
limbs refusing to support her. A am the;
voice cried out its terrible warning. be old i
woman’s nerves could not stand the strain; 
she fainted.

A

 

tried to protest against it. No one under-
stood her dumb signs but Sura, and she
heartlessl refused to explain them.

The In ian woman observed this, and dart-
ed on the cruel and ungrateful child a look
of deadly meaning.

“ She is done for!” thought Sura, triumph—
antly. “Everything is going s lendidly.
The only person I dread now is
am impatient till I hear from him.”

She left her unfortunate mother to Mrs-
Flutter’s care.

“ She is speechless and cannot harm me,
and it is very disagreeable to see her. I hope
it will soon be over,” she said. as night fell
and she heard the doctor announce that her
“old nurse had not long to live.”

The words were of course uttered inward--
ly; aloud she said:

“ Oh! Poor womanl How Iwish I could
nurse her, but I am worse than useless in a
sick-room, and awfully afraid of death.
Mrs. Flutter will take care of her. I would
go into spasms if she died in my presence.”

“ Do not go there, then. my sensitive child."
said Mrs. Church, tenderly. “ I doubt if the
poor thing even knows you."

The heartless schemer knew better, but she
retired to bed and left her mother to died——
attended by strangers.

Midnight came around again; the wretched
woman had been terribly restless from the
time the twilight fell. She signed to Mrs.
Flutter to draw near, and made desperate ef-
forts to speak.

The good housekeeper sat down by the
bed and kindly held Oello’s hand in her own.
Just before the hour chimed. Doctor Muir.
who had been requested by Mrs. Church to
pay the sufferer every attention, entered the
death-chamber.

At the first stroke Oello started up, con-
vuisively grasping Mrs. Flutter’s hand.

“ Listen 1” she said, speaking quite distinct-
ly, great] to the doctor‘s surprise.

A shril voice sounded from the bedside:

“ Murderessl Slayer of Ubaldina and
Randolf—prepare to meet justice!”

h“My Godl‘ cried the housekeeper. “ A’
ostl”
g The doctor was thunderstruck; he stared
helplessly around him. Again the terrible
words were repeated!

Oello’s face had under one a ghastly
change. Death now claims her for his own.
She tried to raise herself and clung to the
housekeeper’s hand.

“ Doctor!” she said. fixing her e es on
Doctor Muir’s face, which were a frig tened
expression; “ I did not murder them. My
son did. He got in the bath room and
strangled Mr. Church; he killed his wife.
That girl in there—is not Ubaldina. She is
my own daughter Sura. it was a—plot—she
made it. Randolf Church had a wife and
child. Murder—my son is—a murderer—”

With this word on her lips she fell back on
her pillow, struggling still to speak.

The housekeeper was on her knees, ray-
ing and weeping), while the doctor stoo by,
speechless with error. The dying woman's
eyes were fixed and glassy; she still struggled
to speak for some moments; then a convul-
sive shudder passed over her from head to-
foot; her jaw fell. and the soul of the guilty
woman had gone before the Mighty Judge!

“ What in the world is the meaning of
this?” asked Doctor Muir, when some mo-
ments had elapsed.

“ Don‘t ask me.” sobbed Mrs. Flutter.
“ I’m that upset I don't know what to think.
It can’t be true: she was raving. surely.”

“I can’t tell; but where did the voice come
from ‘2”

“ Some one hid. It was very cruel and
wrong of them, though.”

“Let us search. Surely no one could be
guilty of such an act as to disturb a dying
woman.”

They looked and found nothing.

Undecided what to do, the doctor left the
house, telling Mrs. Flutter he would return
at daylight. The housekeeper called upon.
the other servants, and sent for a woman to
prepare the dead Oello for that peaceful rest-

ling-place where “the wicked cease from

All night she lay upon the floor uncon- 3 troubling and the weary are at rest.” Mrs.

scious, and in the morning her daughter !
found her, stifl and speechless. She had;
been stricken by the hand of God, and all her
right side was paralyzed!

She was placed in the bed, though she She waited to hear from the doctor before,  J

i.‘

‘ 4

Flutter was a judicious person and wisely
kept to herself the history of Oello’s death—
bed, mentioning neither the ghostly voice
nor the last confession.

rnest. I p

   
 

 

 

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Sarah NBr‘own. Detective.

  

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saying one word, for in her heart she felt
certain there was truth in Oello’s dying
words.

The false Miss. Church felt quite satisfied
when she heard by the maid who brought
her chocolate that the old Indian woman had
died at midnight.

“ Poor thing!” she said, as she sipped the
fragrant beverage; “I heard nothing, I slept
so sound. So she has gonei Well, I guess
you won’t be sorry; she was rather cross, I
believe,” and the heiress smiled condescend-
ing y.

“Yes, miss,” replied the girl, candidly;
“ I never liked her.” '

“Well, she won’t trouble you anymore.
Go and ask Mrs. Church, With my ove, to
lend me Anette this morning, and Imust
lose no time in getting a maid.”

CHAPTER XXIX.
UNMASKED.

No words can picture the rage of Stanard
when he found that Elna had escaped from
his snares. He blamed Sophia Bloom, but
she stoutly denied all knowledge of Elna’s
flight. Shag Wilson had his own views on
the subject, but did not express them, and in
his soul rejoiced that the gamblcr’s grand
scheme had failed.

Stanard left the house after vainly trying
to extort information from all its inmates.
Sophia‘s maid. who was in the secret, was
bribed to keep it, and did so.

The gambler arrived in New York, and at
once sought his intended victim in her old
home. She was not there, and Christine
could tell him nothing of her. He set one of
his friends to watch the house, but learned
nothing, as Elna was wise enough to keep
away from it. For the first time in his life
the villain was baflled.

He was disappointed, too, on another score:
some days before the death of Ubaldiua he
had secretly possessed himself of all her pa-
pers. He now presented himself at the bank
where her money was deposited. To his
amazement he learned that there were no
funds to her credit.

What had she done with her money?
While in this frame of mind, uncertain how
to act, he wrote a letter to his mother. He
then had nothing to do but sit down and
await her answer. He had asked for the
latest information, and hoped, yet dreaded,
to learn something of Elna. ‘

He felt secret misgivings that she had
learned something of her husband, and
feared she had already taken steps to claim
his fortune. While in an unsettled state of
mind, he could do nothin ;so remained
quietly in the Grand Central Ilotel.

Mabel experienced no difficult in engag-
ing the rooms in Mrs. Cooper’s house that
had formerly been occupied by the unfortu-
nate Ubaldina. The lady was only too hap y
to let them—especially to sue a mo el
lodger as Mabel, who paid whatever she
chose to ask in advance. gave no trouble and
was quiet. She had no visitors save Bor-
rowdale and Knowles. By the advice of the
latter she had taken the name of Mrs. Stan-
ard, and informed the landlady that she was
the cousin of her late ledger.

“ I expect a gentleman here from Peru,”
said Mabel. the day of her arrival. “ When
he comes show him up.”

She had not long to wait. Two days after
she had taken up her abode the servant, who
had grown so confidential with Knowles,
announcedzt

‘ “Company for you. ma’m,” and ushered
in a stout, very dark-complexioned gentle

 

man, who looked like a stranger in New .

York by the unfashionable cut of his gar-
ments.

.‘ ‘ Excuse me; there must be some mistake.”
said he, in good English, though he spoke it
slowly as if it was unfamiliar to his tongue.
“ I expected to see my niece, Mrs. Ubaldina
Stanard.”

“ Yes, sir; sit down. I represent her. I
am her cousin. Mabel Nelson.”

“ Represent her? Is she ill t”

He took a seat, and his brown face grew

ale.

p "No, sir, she is not. I am sorr to be the
bearer of bad news. Your niece s dead."
“Dead ? Why, I heard from her quite re-

cently, and she complained of no illness."

He looked suspiciously at Mabel.
"N6, sir, her death was very sudden, and

I am glad you have arrived; for I think the

cause of her sudden death will bear investi-

gation.”

h “ You surely don’t mean that fellow killed
er?“

“ I cannot tell; I shall relate to you all I
know,” and she narrated, as briefl as possi-
ble, the whole story, not only of baldina‘s
death, but also the mysterious death of Ran-
dolf Church and the suspicions that had
arisen on the subject.

“ No more than I expected,” answered
Mr. Cantraries. “ My unfortunate girl has
been murdered. Not a doubt of it. ”

“ Well, I am glad you have arrived. You
will, I trust, accompany me to Mrs. Church’s
residence, and denounce the impostor who is
usurping her name and place.”

“ Certainly, at once! I shall then take all
necessary steps to exhume my niece’s re-
mains, and hang that scoundrel if he has
killed her.”

The Creole was in her so-called aunt's
chamber when visitors were announced. As
the cards were presented to her she uttered a

who lay in her coffin up stairs.

“ What‘s the matter, my dear?" asked
Mrs. Church, nervously.

“Nothing. Tell them I can’t see them,”
Sura said, hastily.

The footman retired. In a moment he re-
appeared, and advanced toward Mrs. Church
with the cards upon his salver.

“ The gentlemen say that the
you, madam. Their business is important.”

Sura rose; her thin, claw-like hands
clutched nervousl together; her face was
drawn and deathlik’e in expression.

“Don’t see them!” she cried.
see them.”

“ What is the matter with you?" demanded
Mrs. Church, in amazement. “I must see
them; it is your uncle and Mr. Knox, the
United States Consul at Lima, who went
there when your father died."

“ I know! I won’t see them!” gasped the
impostor, wildly.

“ I think you are mad, Uba. Why
shouldn’t you see them? I should think you
would be glad of the opportunity, asthey
are both old friends.”

She swept from the room as she spoke, and
in another moment was greeting the gentle-
men.

“ Where is my niece, Miss Church?" in-
quired Mr. Cantraries, gravely, as he saw
that Mrs. Church was alone.

“ She is not \\ ell, and begs to be excused,"
replied the old lady. “Her nurse, the In-
dian woman who came from Lima with her,
died last night. Uba was very much at-
tached to her; she is feeling ill and nervous.”

“ She is? Allow me to ask whose portrait
that is?” -

He indicated an oil painting of the false
heiress which hung Over the mantle.

“ Why, " answered Mrs. Church in astonish-
ment; “that is your niece; don‘t you know
her?”

“ No, madame, it is not my niece. It is
the daughter of the Chunchos squaw, Oello.
Listen, and hear a strange tale.”

Mrs. Church sat down and listened with
apparent calmness to Mr. Cantraries’s story.
She learned the mortifying fact that she had
been the dupe of an impostor—an impudent
usurper, the daughter of a slave ! Her proud
soul was humiliated in the dust. She was
more moved than she had been by the death
of her son, for pride was the strongest feel—

ing she possessed, and it was her pride now i

that was wounded.
Mr. Knox corroborated his friends story.

his niece in which she admitted the deception
that had been practiced upon, her aunt. and

son. The evidence was overwhelming and
could not be set aside.

“ Well, gentlemen,” said the old lady, who
had borne it all with surprisin
“ you have convinced me that
the dupe of an impostor.
vise me what to do?" I

“Turn this girl and her mother out 0
your house!” replied Mr. Cantraries. "

“The mother is beyond my reach; as I
have already told you, she is no more.” ' ’

“True. But cannot the a: be punished
for her duplicity?" fished
indignantly. »  l

' have been
Can you now ad-

 

must see 3,
t the old lady bitter

g to be pleased with your son’s widow.
| a beautiful little lady.”
“ I won’t !

i two men.

| “Surat” exclaimed Mr. Cantraries.
, you have been playing the lad l”

; “Yes, and playing the l
1 your niece could.

Ubaldina’s uncle also produced letters from ‘

acknowledged her own marriage with Oello’s '

calmness, ,

ldina’s uncle
' .' He hastened down to the parlor, where a ‘

“ Not without giving the whole business
to the public,” said Mr. Knox, “ which
would, I am sure, be exceedingly painful to
Mrs. Church.”

“ So the murderers are to escape?” queried
Mr. Cantraries hotly.

“ Hush, my dear sir! We do not yet know
that they are murderers ”

While the gentlemen were speaking the
footman announced Mr. Stamford. ,

Mr. Cantraries and Mr. Knox withdrew to
the other end of the room while the lawyer
related what had brought him.

Mrs. Church listened to the recital in per‘
feet silence. At length she said:

“You are sure that this lady’s claim is
authentic?”

“Perfectly so. I have interviewed the'
clergyman who performed the marriage cere-
mony and baptized the child. He has por-
t traits of your son, his wife and child. Miss
Nelson can confirm my story. She knew
(your son was married, and consulted me
‘ about the matter long ago.”

“Have you her address?” asked Mrs.

 

cry and turned as ghastly pale as her mother 1 Church suddenly.

“ Who’s addressi—Miss Church’s?"

“ No; Miss Nelson's.”

“ Is she not with you ?” i

“No: she left me on account of a little
misunderstanding; nothing serious.”

I “ Hum! That isapity. She would recog—'
; nize the lady. Mr. Church showed her the.
{ portrait.”

“ It appears a day of surprises,” observed,

1 . .
“Pleasant ones, {hope You cannot fa' ’
Shei

“ A lady I trust.”

“You can rely upon it!” declared the old:
T lawyer with a bow. "

“ Well, Mr. Stamford. I am rather nervous.
today, but you may bring her to-morrow.”

When the old gentleman retired, the other
two came forward again. Mr. Cantraries
looked at his watch and said:

“I must go, but I would like first to see‘

the woman who has been personatiug my

. niece.”

“ Very well; you shall.”

A servant was summoned and a peremp-
tory order sent to Miss Church to come 
the reception-room at once.

Sura knew her time had come. so she cool— 5 

ly walked into the room and confronted the

The old lady rose.
“ Leave my house, you worthless, wicked,

ling voice.

“Ha! ha! I made you turn
niece out the other night, eh?
old fool! Why, I have wound you around

. my finger ever sinCe I have been in ~New’:

E Yorkl"

I With a mocking laugh she left the room, 2
‘ hastily packed up all the 'ewelry and value»,

“So i

y better than ‘
’ returned she impudently. 
Mrs. Church stared in astonishment at her“
. boldness, for the Peruvian was not the least
f abashed. -
i “If you had only staid away till she died, .
‘ I’d have snapped my fingers at you,”, saith.
i Sura with her finger pointed at Mrs. Church. "

treacherous creature]? she said in a tremb; 3‘

our own"
on are an 

 

 

bles she could lay her ban a on, and was  'V

of the house in an hour.

1 “What did she say about your niecet'f,
asked Mr. Cantraries, as Mrs. Church sunk, ‘

1 into a chair looking pale and exhausted.

“ Why, she poisoned my mind against my
sister’s daughter, a dear good girl, who-has, ~
left me,” explained Mrs. Church fecbly. She-f
broken-spirited and i

looked as she felt,
wretched.

: door in the carriage !"

“ Oh! send for her: I’m so upset.” .

 

. left the ice together. ' ,

CHAPTER XXX.
THE can or! ‘

 

Brawn awaited an answer to his letter
It came in an linens

with wild impatience.

pected form." He sat in his room feeling
gloomy and tesperate, when theJiall-boy no 
nounoed “ a y for you, sir. " '

” If you refer to Miss Nelson, she is at the :

Mabel a peared, and the two gentlemen ‘~

 
 

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, I F ‘ ' ‘ 1 ‘ 'l ‘ i '

 

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~ " r a. ;.' w-

rl‘.:. .

Sarah Brewn, Detective. ' a *

\LL‘
 1 t"?

.{r'  ‘ " “a”??? ' r x ., > *‘
\ l ' .

 

 

 

  

lady, clad in deep mourning and closely
. ,. A , ' ‘vai ed, sat waitin .

. 'fi “ Surat” he excfiaimed in surprise.

 “ Yes, Sum ! I‘ve come in ansWer to your
letter.”

“ And the news?” he asked impatiently.

v “ Let us go to a private room," she said,
J  glancing at a couple who had just entered.

They were shown, by Stanard‘s request, to
a small private parlor. He could scarcely
curb his impatience till they were alone.

“ Now, Sura, lose no time; tell me all,” he
said, taking a seat near her.

" Mother is dead, to begin with.”

“ Dead?” IIis tone expressed surprise, but
no sorrow.

“ Yes, dead, two days ago. She will be
buried to-morrow.”

"What else? For pity’s sake go on.”

“ The game is up.”

" What do you mean?"

" Church's'wife and child have turned up,
and Ubaldina‘s uncle has arrived from Lima.
1118 called on Mrs. Church and had me turned
out. I listened to hear him tell her that he
believed you murdered Uba. He is going to
have her body taken up, and have you
 han ed, if he can.”

' v' “file can't; he has no proofs,” said Stan.

  
  
   
  
  
  
  
   
  
 
   
  
 
   
  
  
  
  
  
    
   
 
    
    
  
  
  
   
   
  
    
    
    
   
  
  
    
      
    
   
  
   
    
  
  
     
   
    
  
  
   
  

":ard, coolly.

, “Well, he’ll tr . I think we had better
leave New York. '

I “Wait a bit. Have you seen Church's
wife?”

, “ No, not yet.”

“ Stay here to-night.
make one more move.”
 “So will I," thought his sister, with eyes
 flhat glittered snake-like beneath her vail.

Next morning she left the hotel alone,
~ , wailed as usual. She walked to Twelfth
:3 . istreet, and rung Mrs. Cooper‘s bell.

.“ Is Mr. Cantraries at home?” she asked.

“ Yes; who shall I say?”

“ Never mind; I’ll walk in."

. . She did so. Mr. Knowles was present, for
 Mr. Cantraries was determined to trace the
, ast histor of his unfortunate niece, and
J  abel had Introduced him to the detective.

‘ “ You need not look indignant, sir,” Sura
Said, shutting the door in the servant-girl’s
.faee,and seating herself without waiting to be
asked. ” I played the role of Ubaldina
Church b her request, and I think I have
“’5 been har 1y dealt with.”

This view of the case had not occurred to
,Mr. Cantraries.
'.  " ,Well, Sura,” he said, “you had to be
 found out some time."
" ‘1 ,‘ ‘f Yes, sir; but now what am I to do?"
er. Cantraries felt nonpluscd. Ile had
jaiever expected to have the girl boldly pre-
inept herself to him like this.
3H l‘f‘My mother is dead,” resumed the girl,
" Quietly, for she saw her words had produced
an impression, “ and I know nothing of New
, York outside of Mrs. Church’s house. I am
,1,‘; meanness. ”
' ‘ ' 1“- Whatdo you wish to do?” asked Knowles.
or he saw that the Peruvian was no match
or Burn.
.7 ,“I wish to obtain a reward for provin
first Randolf Church and Ubaldina Churc
mere both murdered,” she said, bold] .
"_‘Both men started, and Knewles xed his
«eyesvtm the girl in a peculiar manner.
r Can you do this?” asked the detective.
“I can, b the confession of the man who

Keep quiet, and I’ll

 

 

," Have Ben got it?"

; “No! ‘0 you take me for a fool?"

I! the detective. had answered as he would
.t‘vae liked he would have replied:

"‘ “,No, for a devil," but prudence forbade.
ywhcre you sav,
ltd fix a room so you can near what is said
whil’e I talk to him, I’ll do it—if you pay

,' Mr. Cantraries hesitated. This was not
erk to his mind. Knowles saw his scruples
and answered for him.
 “ We will pay you." ’

V." How much i” ,
 The detective glanced at his rincipal.
“ Five thousand dollars," r. Cantraries
answered.
Hf" Make it ten and I’ll say done.”
 i',‘ Very well. Can you bring the man
M!”

   

 
 

 
 

' "a. No; he won’t come here,” with a mean-
 wnce around the room.
3 : here then?”

 

“ Let me see—do you know a small house I

on -— street?”

“ A resort of gamblers?" asked Knowles.

“Yes; mv mother used to meet him there
occasionally.”

“I know it; a desperate place. If I go
there I’ll go well-armed!"

“ Do so.”

“ When shall I be there?"

” Iiire a room next to the large one on the
first floor. Stay there and fix it so you can
hear all that’s said in the large one.”

“Consider it done.”

“ I’ll be there, with my friend, about
eight o’clock. Look out for him; he is des-
perate!”

“ Very well: and now i”

“ Good-day!" -

She rose and left the house, returning to
the hotel.

As she passed her brother’s door he came
out and looked surprised to see her.

“ Where have you been, Sura?”

“ I thought I might find out a little about
Mrs. Church—the young one.”

“ Yes?”

He was all eagerness.

“ I’m to meet Anette tomorrow. We are
great friends, you know.”

“ Where do you meet her?”

“ At a milliner's shop. I'll meet you in the
evenin at Mag's.”

“ W y not here?"

“ Because I think I’m watched. When I
go out of here tomorrow, I won’t come
back.”

She little knew it, but her words were pro-
phetic.

The brother and sister parted without an-
other word.

" Mag’s ” was the house from which Sandy
Martin had seen Stanard emerge on the night
of the murder. It was a resort for gamblers
and thieves, and Stanard had a room in it
which he used as a repository for various dis-
guises. He went in one man and came out
another. Sandy had often tracked him there
and waited many hours for him to emerge,
while the gambler had passed him gayly and
was miles awa .

Knowles found little difficulty in securin
the room, and soon had a place arranged
through which he could hear every word that
was spoken in Stanard’s room. Just as eight
o’clock struck the gambler entered and lit
the as. Knowles. Mr. Cantraries and San-
dy Iartin were in the apartment hired by
the detective.

“ Curse her, why don’t she come?" mutter-
ed Stanard, savagely, as he paced restlesst
up and down the floor.

A knock on th door sounded while he
spoke. He opened t and Sura entered.

“ Well?” demanded Stanard, in undisguis—
ed impatience.

“ l’m out of breath, I hurried so.”

“ Go on. Where is she ?”

“ With Mrs. Church, feasted and made
much of.” .

“ Yes?" and he punctuated his anger with
an oath.

"if I thought you would be rateful I'd
get her to marry you yet,” sai Barn, in a
business-like way.

“ Grateful ‘2" .

" Well, you've never done anything for
mel‘

” I haven’t, eh i” .

“ Well, nothing worth the name. I'd have
to steal the child to be in with.”

Stanard’s face grew righter. He looked
steadfastly at his sister. Sura was calm and
unconcerned. Her brother had locked the
door when she entered; that was all that
troubled her. She glanced in the direction
of the hall room. To, her t relief she
saw that a door 0 ened into t. This door
was half conceals by the bed. but she doubt-
ed not that Knowles had tampered with it
and she was right.

“ You have never run any risks for me,”
she resumed, after a moments silence.

“ I haven’t, eh? What do you call getting
awa with Church i”

T e three men who were listening turned
their eyes on each other significantly.

“1 alwa s have had doubts about that!"
returned ura. “ You know the coroner
said he died of heart disease.”

"The coroner is a fool: coroners mostly r
I wonder if they find them in l.
bankrupt insane asylums." ‘ .

are fools.

    

 

“Mother said she thought Church was al’
read dead when you forced the door."

“ he did. eh?”

“Yes; if he was alive why didn’t he make
an alarm—call Borrowdale ?" .
“ Borrowdale was not in the pavilion that 3 3
night. I opened the door about twelve '
o'clock, and made my way to the bath-room.
I knew the flunky was out, for I watched ,-
him go. I softly opened the door. Church ,
was just about to step into the tub. and the t
gurgle of the water prevented him from '
hearing me coming. I threw this ”—and he
held up a thick gold chain looped in a ring,
with an oddlooking catch—“I threw this
over his head and drew it close. You see it
works with a spring; when you pull on this
end it gets tighter and tighter; as it tightens
this spring catch holds it. I drew him down
on the floor and put my knee on his chest.
He struggled hard, but it was no go. As for ,
noise, he couldn't utter a chirp. When he
was dead I undid the chain, closed his eyes,
and laid a handkerchief soaked in stufl over ,
his face—the stuff undertakers use for mak-
ing corpses look white. Pshaw—it was I,
nothing.”

“ You are very talented.” admiringly.

“Well, I ain’t quite a fool. As for Uba,
wasn‘t it for you I helped her off?”

“ But she committed suicide ‘1”

“Another mistake of another fool of a
coroner. I wouldn‘t be afraid to kill every
one in New York, for as longas you don‘t
lelt them see you do it the coroners never tuni-

b 0.7,

“But the detectives?"

“Pshawl Isnap my fingers at the whole/
crowd—a set of conceited asses!”

“Tell me about Uba; it is quite interest- a

l

3- . a

“Ohl I dosed her With ether and then i

oured some laudanum down her throat. w
‘d stolen all _her papers before. and I wrote J
a letter in her hand, saying she had com- 
l

 
 

in

 

mitted suicide.”

Ile told it with cold-blooded nonchalance
that was simply fiendish.

Thus were the terrible secrets revealed.

The mystery of the pavilion was a mystery
no more.

Stanard stood before the world a self-con- W
demned murderer. ‘

Mr. Cantraries had been violently agitated
during the recital of the terrible scene in the
bath-room, but be controlled himself. When,
however, he heard the villain confess the
murder of his niece, he could restrain his
feelings no longer. With one bound he
sprung through the door. from the hinges of
which the screws had been removed, and
seized Stanard by the throat. '

" Murderer!” he cried, wildly, as the
gambler struggled to free himself.

Knowles and Sandy Martin had followed
Mr. Cantraries into the room, springing over
the bed.

Stanard shook himself free of the old gen-
tleman and gazed around him like a tiger at
bay. He saw the door torn open, and the
detective standing before it.

“ So I am trapped!” he said, viciously.

“ Yes,” responded Knowles, prod ucmg a
shining air of handcuffs. “The fools of do-
tectives ave run you down."

"‘ Thanks to you, my fair sister!"

The murderer turned upon her with a per-
fcctl devilish smile upoh his white lips.

“ reacherous flendl 1might have known . ‘ .,
you better. So you led me into this trap?”

Sura looked In his face with glittering
eyes, and laughed mockingly. She did not
see his left hand steal into his pocket.

“ Ten thousand dollars ain’t picked up
every da ,” she suggested, wit another
taunting augh.

“ Oh! you sold me, did on? Well, I shall
see that you are aid!” an with his last word .5
came a quick ties ,and a loud report rung out.

The Creole girl fell upon the floor, shot
through the heart. 1

" You see, gentlemen, how I pay my
debts!" One more!” and before a band could
be raised to stop him, a bullet sped through
his own heart and he fell beside his sister,
dead ere he touched the thor.

The revolver crashed from his lifeless
hand. Only two of its charges had been
used; five remained. -

The sound of hasty tootsie and cries of
alarm warned the three men 0 the approach - , ‘5
of the other inmates of the house. - ' v

L“.LWJ...LH . .... .»~._-._
, - ‘ «a ..,
_. M. t». . .

4 .g « 22::-

 

 

      
      
    
     
   
     

 
  
  

  

f

 
 
 
 

., ‘ 1 -l

  

 

Sarah Brown, Detective. 29

 

 

 

H " ' ' H - 12 GULLIVER’s TRAVELE. ..  ..  . . . . . . . . .. 5e i144 DAINTY LANCE, TEE BOY SPORT. By Badger. 5c
Gentlemin' hsalfd Mt' (gantrfi'nefi’ I def 13 THE DUER SPY. By Oll Comes... . . . . . . . . . . . . .. be 145 CAPTAIN FERRET. B Edward L. Wheeler...
pend upon 0t .0 you ort e Onor  14 ALADDIN.       . . . . . . .. 5c 141} SILVER STAR. ByOl Coomes...... . . . . . . . . ..
the Church family to bury these secrets in 15 Tm: SEA Cu. By Capt. Frederick Whittaker.. be . 1.1. WILL eromr. By Charles Moms ......... ..
our own bosomg_ No good can be done 16 11103me 030501! .. .   .. 5e ; 148 SHARP bAM. By J. AleYander Patien. .. .
K - - 17 RALPH ROY. By Col Prentiss Ingrshnm.  be 149 A (TAKE OF GOLD. By Edward L. \i heeler...
y makmg them pubhcv now that the mur' 18 SINDRAD THE SAILOR. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  .. be 150 LANCE AND LAsso. B Capt. F. Whittaker...
deter has gone to Ins account. Let the se- 19 Tm: PHANTOK spy. Bygufffilio  “1..  553 :2; guns? Pm}i (B 1mg}. E. Badger. Jr...,
‘ ‘ ' ' t x _” 20 THE DOUBLE DAGGERs. ‘ seen... : LACE 288. y ‘ ar es orris .. , ... ..
cm I 0f the pavmon rcmam a “cret forever :1 RRONEIER ANGEL. B Eggs? S.  .. .. .. ge j  ¥AGLg KIT. TFIIIE BOY DEAéON. Iiyfiglévgognfs.
E EA SERPENT. v . uan . . . . . .. c HE wonr» UNTERs. y ,‘ap . . 1 9. 'er
CHAPTER XXXI. 3 gt“ 0' TgE NIGET. CBlyIT. CfiiHaIrbau   i  gem 'l‘RIGGfiIIRc.K ByD'l‘. C. Harbagzhwh. l
1 v v 1 ~ , IAMOND IRE. o. ren ss ngra  EADwoon » or EADWOOD. y ee er.
N GATHERII‘G LP THE THREAD? 25 THE BOY CAPTAIN.y By Roger Starouek  5e  157 MIKE MERRY. By Charles Morris .

‘ EITHER Mrs' Church nor Elna “ ere ever 26 CLOVEN Hoop, TRE DEMON. By E. L. Wheeler.. 5e , 158 FANCY FRANK OF COLORADO. B ' Buffalo Bill.
tom the true Story 01' Random 3f deattlh- It 27 ANTEDOPE ABE. TRE BOY G305. we}? CIOOmes .. 55g 1  g1: {50m caPl‘AlN. BBlei‘rerIl‘j B'hgttakefuu.
1 H ' l or t em to 2SBUREALO BEN. B Edwa . eeer ..  g E LACE IANT. y es. . a er. r...

3:33.13 Eggethlgiiotgadpilggfild do them no 29 THE DUKE PAGE. yBy Capt. F. Whittaker..... 5c : 161 NW YORE NELL. By Edward L. heeler ..
good ' g  gmmIIgRALDEBROCOHEEOOD. By H. St. George. g :  Wynn 13 T3131 goons. By C. Morris.
. EEN- IRE. y comes . . . . . . . . . . . . .. '; ms. y oomes........  ..
The old lad was reatl Chan ed b her 32 Bon WOOLr. By Edward L. Wheeler . . . . , . .. be 1 164 DANDY BOCE’s PLEDGE. By Geo. W. Browne.
amictions butfiemainged prgud mg snugly to 33 THE OCEAN BLOODHOUND. By S. W. Pleree..... be 165 BILLY BAGGAOE. TRE RAILROAD BOY. Morris.
' I h o h 84 OREGON SOL. B Capt. J. F. 0. Adams. . .  .. be 166 HICEORY HARRY. By Barry St. George . . . . . ..

the end- lIabel Nelson Was "3" Clresswfl“ 85 WILD IVAN. By ward L. Wheeler . . . . . . . . . .. 5e 3 167 An Soon. By Edward Willett. .. . ..
she passed away, some 811: months after her 36 TEE BOY CLOWN. By Frank S. Finn. ,.  5e ; 168 DEADLY DAsn. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.....
eyes were 0 ned to Sun's real character. 87 TEE HIDDEN LODGE. By ’1‘. C. Harbaugh  55: 169 TORNADO TOE. B T. C. Harbaugh . . . . . . . ..

8'

. I , 39 DEATH-FACE. THE DETECTIVE. By E.
that 1113 father s fortune was ample for hun, 40 Rovmo BEN. By John J. Marshall
so she willed all her own to her sister-in- 1}, ,IPASSETACX- B 0ll Cogmgg- kWh-.1-  -
law’s child, whom she had learned to love ‘5 Di; Dfmfi. fifi‘g'a t'yFm‘lerick fight...
and appreciate at her true value, when he; fig 81mm; Runs, ‘31; I 13d"? 3.19.90 1 
' b the arts 0 LD AVALANCHE y we. . er....
fgestweri no loggerlblmded y 46 GLASS-EYE. B Capt. J. F. C. Adams 
e reac erous , "39 e' . . 47 NIGBTINGALE AT. By T. C. Harbaugh . . . . . ..
Stanard and lllS sister were qu1etly buried 43 BLACK Jorrx, rm: ROAD-AGENT. J. E. Badger, Jr
after the inquest was over. The three who 49 0m. B0L1:- BYBEinfl‘di L. Wheeler-n.
had witnessed the murder and suicide relat- g? ggzrmgxfifn' yfi}, fmefiig'é‘ffo“: "
ed the same story—Mr. Cantrar1es had been 52 Tm; Wm; Bur-um, By Chump; Lame...
swindled by Stanard, and the Woman had 53 J1! BLUDSOI. {an- (133’ Edit?“ LdWheeler-uu
fiiven him up to the detectives. In revenge g 16:20:2fg‘; i339; J' 'C'A  '
.. . . y unloBill . . . . . . . . . . . . ..
e shot her, and then reahzmg the crime he 53 NICK wmmws pm, By J_ F, c, Adm“;

had committed, he killed himself. 57 DEADwOOD DICR‘s EAGLEs. By E. LWheeleTj.‘

3 171 EBONY DAN. By Frank Dumont . . . . . . . . . . . ..
172 TRUNDERROLT T011. By Harry St. George. . ..
173 DANDY Rocx‘s RIVAL. By Geo. W. Browne..
174 BOB BOCEE-rr. By Charles Morris...  
175 CAPTAIN ARIZONA. By Philip S. Warne. . . .. .
176 TEE BOY RUNAWAY. By Lieut. H. D. PERRY..
i 177 NOBRY NICE or NEVADA. By E. L. Wheeler..
178 OLD SOLITARY. By Oll Coomes. .  .
1 179 BOB ROCEE'I'T. THE BANK RUNNER. By Morris.
it!) THE SEA TRAILER. Lieut. H. D. Perry. U. S. N.
181 WILD FRANK or MONTANA. B E. L. Wheeler.
182 LITTLE HI'RRICANE. By 011 comes . . . . . . . . ..
183 TEE HIDDEN HAND. By Chas. Moms . . . . . . ..
i TEE BOY TRAILERs. B Joe. E. Badger, Jr. ..
185 EVIL EYE. By Frank umont . . . . . . . . . . ..
1% COOL DEsEOND. By Col. Delle Sara . . . . .. 
187 F‘REDHALYARD. B Chas. Morris ..  .
188 NED TEMPLE. By . C. Harbaugh 
189 BOB ROCEE-rr. 'mE CRACKSMAN. By C. Morris

She love little Randolf dearly. but knew 38 NED WYLDE. By Texas Jack .L.wfiééiél._ ; 170 A TRUMP CARD. y Charles Morris ......... ..

8'8'8'8‘8'8‘8’

    

  

888888888888
5

- ' 58 Tim BORDER KING. By 01] Coomes . . . . . . . . . . .. 190 DANDY DAREE. B Wm. B. E ster  
Th.“ story went cm to me pubhc' and the 59 OLD HICKORY. By Barry St. George . . . . . . .. be 191 BUFFAM BILLY. y Capt. A. . Thylor,U.S.A.
publlc was satisfied. 60 THE WRITE INDIAN. By J. F. C. Adams.  . ..

. . . 192 CAPTAIN KIT. By Lieut. H. D. Perry U.S.N.
No names were given except fictltlous 111 Emerson: BILL. By Edward L. Wheeler .... .. 193 TRELADY ROAD-AGENT. By Phili S.Warne.

ones and no one ever identified Sum’s re. 62 THE SHADOW 581?. By Col. P. be 194 Bun-ADO BILL’s BET. Capt. A. B. aylor.U.S.A
, . am 11.

8'8'

. . . . 68 THE RED BROTRERROOD. B W. 5e 1% DIADWOOD DICE's DREAM. B E. L. Wheeler.
mums. So ended two Ill-Spent lives, the 54 Dom .1on. By T. C. Hart-laugh. ......... .. be 196 Susan. By Charles Mo  ,,,, ..
worse than worthless brother and luster were 65 HURRICANE BILL. B Jos. E. Badger, Jr .... .. be 197 errLE GRIT. By 09]. Prentiss Ingrshsm. . ..
unwept and forgotten . 06 SINGLE HAND. BY . J. Hamilton . . . . . . . . . . .. 5c 1% ARKANSAW. By '1'. L. Harbau h . . . . . . . . . . . . ..

. 67 PATENT-LEATHER. JOE. By Phili S. Wsme... 5c 199 FIATHIBWIXGHT. By Edwa Willett . . . . . ..
_The secret Mr- Cantratles had ‘0 “311 mm" as Tn Boson Boom HOOD. BY guflnlo BilL... be 1100 Tu BOY Bmorm By Capt. r. Whittaker.
d1na had he found her 111138, 1W3; that he had g8 GOLDZRI‘FLB. By EgysldFLéW‘heeler . . . . . . . .. g :1; TEE BLACE HILLBBJFEBlllnlclgo E. L. Wheeler..
° ermon OLD 1?! ant. . . . dams . . . . . . . . .. PBOSPDCTPBTE. V mes . . . . .. 
sp‘aclilattefi WI? 3' gaea‘tmsealef? however a 71 mem DICE. By 011 Coomes . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. be 1m TEE BOY PARDs. Joe. E. Badger. Jr. . .  
an I Oieward tfieuétecfives v 1 77% MAD TOE  DBy W.g.ga€11‘t'olzl1...ie... g g gem maul.) By C31. Prengssénf‘nai’fin I...
am - DEADwoon ICE ON ECR. y . . e r.. EADwooD ch‘s 00M. . . ee er.
sggdy Martin was made quite a rich man 3: HARRY. BBy goomes.t.l......  a g gnu PAIgI. 'I'EIB T111328 Elwin B C. Morris.
. . - - E Y UELIsT. y . . ngra am . . . . .. AVAJO 1(‘K. . . ar 
grits own est1mat1on. He is still on the 77: a! Com gum" Ewan. gilmfm g g :1“ BOY use myEBOE. BI; oncggmc%i.l
. RDUROY BARLIE. y we. .. ee er.. RITE. m UND- Y ETEc-nvs. ee er.
Borrowdale lives with the Church family, 78 BLUE DICE. By Captain Mayne Reid.  . . be 210 FARO FRANK or HIGR PIN B W. R. E ster...
and win one da be oun Randolfis valet 79 SOL GINGER. TEE GIANT TRAPPER. A.W. Aiken. be . 211 CROOEED CALE. By Jos. E. Edger. r . . . . ..
. y . g . . .’ 80 RosEIIUD Ron. By Edward L. Wheeler  . . 5e 1 212 DAsEING DAVE. By Charles Morris. , .
but not In the pavxllon: that buxldmg Is 81 memo JOE. vCaptaan.F.C.AdEms... bc1213 Bum-mm: Exam. By E. L. Wheeler.....
kwcled to the ground, Elna could not, bear 3 Burr HAREPOgr. lin. C. ngbgllllglé . . . . . . . . . .. g  gOLFGANg. By Ca t. W?ckbyhifitakern
- - LDO, THE OY ANGER. oomes.... AIvrAIN mLET. . . or up: . 
to see It? and had It rlzmoved' 84 IDYL. THE GIRL MINER. By . L. Wheeler .. be 216 BIsON BILL. By COIYPrentiss lngrahsm.....;
Th; little Vaginal! his 183 hapfml’) 88 She 683 3;; give! Bfiglémh B CO. {gin 1.31. F. C. Adams... % :1; gym? Cuff-86w. By E. L. Wheeler.. .
ever 0 etc in t e ove 0 er son an ANDY II. y . a O rowne  .  . £21 GER OM. Coomes . .. 
Mabeljthey are fast friends 87 THE LAND PIRATEs. By Capt. Mayne Rad...” be 219 DISPARD, TEE UELIBT. By Philip S. Werne.
El d.d t f t t ' 80 h. 88 PHOTOGRAPH PRIL. By Edward L. Wheeler.... be 2m TOE TANNER. By Charles Morris . . . . . . . . . . ..
3100:1133 1(1)“) '1: d £25ch % ret‘gnd P t13 % ITSLANB JIM. RBy Bmfibladkvzv 113m ....... .. g g SUGARCOAII'BEO Sag. By EdwacrdII}. Wheleler.
. n r1 8 er a In a e- HE READ IDER. y . a o rowne.  Err TRE RAVO PORT. o. ngra Rm.
ful letter. Sophia replied polite] a’nfir the 91 THE CAPTAIN or TEE CLUB. By Bracebridge 5c 2% Oak ALT. By Edward Viglllett . . . . . . . . . ..
name she 8i ed at the b u 'h l n Hemyni . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . , . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. lie 234 DAsRING DICE. By OllCoomes. ..  ..
g“ . 0 0m 0 9" 9 er 92 CANADA ‘RET. By Edward L. Wheeler ...... .. be $5 SAII CRAROOAL, TEE PREEIUE DAEEY. By
was—Sophia Wilson. She had forgotten 98 THE Boy MINERs. B EdwardS.Ellis . . . . . . .. 5e Charles Mon-ls . .  .. . . . . . . . . . ..
Stnnard, and made Shag I happy man, 94 MIDNIGRT JACE. By .C. Harbau h ..  . be 226 SNOOEERTREBOYSRARR. ByE.LWheeler.
They have abandoned the“- recarious mode 95 TEE RIvAL ROVERs. By Lieut. Co . Hueltine. 87 DUEEY BARREL. THAPm By E. Emerson. .

. . “WATCH-EYE. B Ed rdL.Wh l .  mun-an . B ll ..
of life. moved Into a new nelghborhood, and 97 Tu Om.“ Bgmlni. B J. freshman mm” 0 C°°m°s

y
pass for respectable members of society— 93 ROBIN HOOD- By Prof. Stewart Gfldemleeve...

. . n - 99 TH! TIGER or TAos. B Geo W. Browne.
albeit a “l1ttle of! color In the matter of mo pummel, D,“ mufnvml‘rg" B Wheeler.

Be 229 CRDIsoN KATE. By I. Prentiss him.th ..
50 230 THE YANEEE RAJAII. C. D. Clar ....... ..
g: 2‘31 PLUCEY PRIL. By '1‘. C. srhaugh . . . . . . . . . ..

d fi t 282 Gome DICE. By E. L. Wheeler.. .. 

culture an _re nemen 1. . 101 JACE HAREAWAY IN NEW YORE. y Brace- 233 JOE BUCE or ANGELS. By Albert W. Alken..

Knowles 13 31,11] an actlve member of the bridge HemVng . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. 5e 234 BENITO. THE YOUNG HORSE-BREAKER. By

force He calls on Borrowdalc occasional]  .1133“aggngYantSOI-gggsgfiflw.. g: 235 EuehklnSSnm . . . . .   ,  .
' . . . . e e  ‘n Dow 11. TEE NGER .

and talks over the time When he was ‘ Slim 104 DEADme DICE‘s DEVICE. B Ed. L. Wheeler. 50 Chhrles Mo‘n'is. . .. Y By

 

Brown." He lon ago removed the clock 105 OLD RUDE, THE HUNTER. 13g apt. H. Holmes . 5c I 216 APOLID BILL By Edward III-Wheeler. "" "

and phonograph w icn he had hidden in the :3? gssrssgfrsss 3.1.2.0.: i‘f‘i‘fff’fi‘i' :2 i m 10" W m mm mm- Bv 0'61!

, - - Prentisslnrshsm. ..  . . . . . . ..
wall of Oello 3 room. SO that ghost 13 lald- 108 DARING DAVY. By Harry St. Geo . . . . . . . .. be i 238 TEE Purse: DETECTIVE. By 011 Coomes ..
Mrs. Flutter still tells of its stran e words, 109 DEADwooD DICE As DETECTIVE. Wheeler be . 289 TEE GOLD-sEEEER GUIDE. By Mayne Reid...

'_ 110 TEE BLAeE STEED or TRE PRAIRIEs. y Bowen be 210 CYCLONE KIT. B Edward L. Wheeler.. .. ..
and causes 3' Shudder to pass over or and! 111 TRE SEA-DEVIL By Col. Prentiss IngrEhAm.. .50 241 BILL BRAVO AND Is BEAR PARDG. ByT. C.

8'88 888'? 8'8' 8' .8‘8'8'8'8'8'8'8'8' 38833833833333”33333333333333?338'38333388'3'3'8'8'3'8'8'38‘8'38‘8'88'8‘83888338833653888'35’3338'

 

 

 

 

once; a creeping feeling which she “SHRINK 112 THE MAD HUNTER. By Burton Sue . . . . . . . . .. 6e Harbough .. ..    . . . . . . . ..
dispels afterward with what the Englls 113 JACE HOYLE. By Edward L. Wheeler.... . . 5c . 242 TRE Two ‘BLOODs.’ By(hsrles Morris. 
footman terms «I Somethka rot.» 114 THE BLACE SCROONER. Bleofer Starbuck... 5e 1 M8 TEE DIsGUIsID GUIDE. By 011 COomes. . ..
D M. t on» 115TREMADMINER. ByG. EloBrowne .... ..5c|$448IEEEASAl.TREFRON1-IEEFEERET. ByEd-
octor 1m; never alludes o e 0 8 116 Tn: HussAR CAPTAIN. B Col. P. In In. so 1 who L. Wheeler .. .  ..  .. so
strange confession upon her death-bed, but 117 GILT-EDGED DICE. By Edesrd L. eeler... he i 245 MERLE, TEE MIDDY. B Prentiss Ingrshsm. be
ever since that night» in the bottom of hi“ ll: $312312“; BE’YDE'MM‘“ ‘3" “m” 2: ‘ a: S‘moam‘ B’fi‘” 132:3“;  5‘”
. - . os. . er. r ....... .. I LD RIuLY AND Is .
chwh PreSbywmn heart there huge“ " 120 TEE BRANDED HAyND. By ankDumont..... bcl “Bruin”Adnms ..    y .. 
belief in the supernatural. 121 CINNAEON Cm. By Edward L. Wheeler...... 5e 848 SIERRA SAII‘s SECRET. By E. L. Wheeler . 50~
m m. 12: Pan. HARDY. TEE Boss BOY. By Chas. Monk. lie ‘ 249 Mm) Rom BndptOin Fred. Whittaker... be-
. {23 KIOWA CEARLEY. By T. C. Harbaugh. . . .  - 250 MIDsRnnIAN MUTINEER. By Col. P.1ngrahsm. 5c
M Trm. TEE TEEAN. By George Gleason .... .. be 1161 LIGHT-Eons: LIGE. By J. F. C. Adams. .... .. be
BE , 125 BONANEA BILL, MINER. By E. LWheeier..... be use DICE DARRAVAY. By Charles Mon-1s . . . . . .. 5O
 S 1% PICAYUNEPETE. By Chnfles Morris........  be $3 SIERRA SAM'S PAED. B E. L. Wheeler .... .. be
127 WILD-FIRE. By Frank Dumont . . . . . . . . . . . . .. be $4 TEE HAL! BLOOD. By word 8. Ellis.  .. be
c . 128 THE YOUNG PRIVATEER. By Harry Cavendish. to I55 CAPTAIN APOLLO. By T. C. Harbsugh . . . . . .. 5e
Ha   ‘29 DEADme DICE's DOUBLE. By E. L. Wheeler. be 256 YOUNG KENTUCE. By Captain Mark Wilton.. 5c
1 y e 130 DETECTIVE DICE. By Charles Morris .  be $7 TEE LosT HUNTERs. BV J.F. C. Adams...” 50-
-—  angmbn  By BGeo e‘m. SBNWIIOH : g SIERR0AOSAE's SEVEN. E. L.  . g
E UNTED UNTn. w  TEE LDEN HARPOON. Roger D .
1 gmwggggfiaBgEgHI-dhrl Wheeler..... so 133 Boss Boa. By Edward L.’Wheeler ....... .. so no DAu-Dmt DAN. By 011 mes....   50-
2 w Kn“; B ‘Buxflm “Ems”, Jr... be 184 SURE-SHOT Sm. B 011 Coomes. . . . . . . . . . . .. 5e 5 $1 FERGUE FEARNAUGET. By George L. Aiken. lie
8KANstVs Ho-m m“: B...   1850mAINPAUL. By .D.Clsrlr . . . . . . . . . . ..5c mTEEYOUNG SLEUTRO. ByCharlesMorTis....5c
4 T“ m" J B 0“ 00-0 Y “who Reid... be 136 NIGHT-HAWK KIT. By Joe. E. Burger, Jr. . . . . be $8 DMDWOOD DIOE‘I DIVIDE. By E. L. Wheeler. 5c
bVAOADOND offing,“ B  .. .. ..  Be 137 TEE HELRLus HAND. Bndpt. neReid. be -
6 BILL BIDDONY n B I {and 8. Ellis... be 138 BLONDE BILL. By Edward L. Wh er . . . . . .. be A no issue every Tuesday.
7T“ FLYING Anrlmwagl S  5e 139 JUDGE LYNCH. JR. By T. C. Harbaugh . . . . .. 5c
8 am June. 5’ r Bum.- M .  . . 50 140 BLUE BLAZER. By Frank Dumont . . . . . . . . .. 5c The Half-Dime Library is for sale by sit
18 E‘: éggnmzmrd S Eummcmum  g:  SOLID SAM. By Edward L. Wheeler . . . . . . . .. 5e Newsdealers. live cents per 0on or sentAbfi mail:
11 ,I “0 E "a. By Albert w. I" N 5° HANDSOMI HARRY. B Charles Morris ..... .. 5c onreeeipto six cents each. LE4! AMI,

‘ 148 SCAR-FACE SAUL By ll Coomes. .......... .. 5c Publishers, “William street, New ark;

 

 

 
  

 

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THEfREAT AMERICAN STORY 1.333933-

 

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The Best Weekly ,flQ

 

 

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Published in America!

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 

   

 

=2 Its Corps of Contributors Unrivaled!

Almost all of whom write exclusively for its publishers—embrace the following popular authors:

Col. Preniiu Ingraham,
Albert W. Aiken, Hon. Wm. 1". Cody (Bnn'alo Bill),
10.01“! E. Badger, J r., Major Dangerfield Burr,
Capt. Fred Whittaker,
Edward 1.. Wheeler,

Wm. B. Eyater, '1‘. C. Harbangh, Eben E. Bexrord,
Wm. B. Manning, . Frank Triplett, A. F. Holt,
H. H. John-on, Wm. S. Gidley, K, P. Hill,
Henri Montcalm, Al. W. Crowell,
n. 8. Keller,

Q’xqe t0

1. C. Cowdrick,

Jo Pierce,
Weldon J. Cobb,

93
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Col. 3. Z. C. Jud-on (Ned Buntline),

Phlllp S. Warne,

Major Sam 8. Hall (Buck-kin Sam),
Edward Willett,

0ll Coomee,

Charlee Morria,

  
    
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

  

  
  
  
 
   
 
   
   
   
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
 

The“

INTERESTING AND ATTRACTIVE FIELDS OP

 

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Life in the Mine-
Life in the Wilder-noel-

City Lib Clurneter, Court- and Weye—
Detective and. ‘Bhadow’ Revelation.—
Storlee of the Great Deep. ete.

Hence, each and every number overflows with the most
interesting and exciting matter, while in its several SPECIAL
Dnrmrxnxrs answering all the needs, and adding to the
general interest and usefulness of, the strictly popular
journal, Tm: BANNER Wm:er is the paper of all
others for good reading and entertainment.

 
  
 

 

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’ LBEADLE AND ADAMS. Publishers, N‘mYORKj

 

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___:=.H_B_l EJAJDJJQLE

40 The Long Haired “ Pnrds ;” or, The
Tartars of the Plains. B Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

4 1 Gold Dan; 01', The W 'te Savage of the Great
Salt Lake. By Albert W. Aiken.

42 The (‘alii‘ornla Detective' or. The Witches
of New York. By Albert W. Ai en.

43 Dakota Dan the Reckless Ranger; or, The
Bee-Hunt rs” Excursion. B Oil Coomes. _

44 old Dan Raekback,t e Great Extermina-
tor; or. The Triangle's Last Trail 011 Coomes.

45 Old Bull’s E e the Li htning Shot ot the
Plains B ' Jos. . adger, r:

-46 Bowic- nife Ben, the Little Hunter of the
N0r‘-\Vest. By 011 Coomes.

47 Pacific Pete, the Prince of the Revolver. By
Jose h E. Badger, Jr.

48 Ida l0 Tom, the Youn Outlaw of Silvcrland;
or.theHuntersotthe\\'iil West. BvOllCOOmes.

49 The “'oli‘ Demon. By Albert W. Aiken.

50 Jack Rabbit, the Prairie Sport. By Jos.
E. Badger, Jr.
51 Red Rob, the Boy Road-Agent. By 011

Coomes.

.52 Death Trailer. the (‘hief of Scouts; or. Life
and Love in a Frontier Fort. By Buiialo Bill.

53 Silver Sam' or, The Mystery of Deadwood
Cit . By Col. lie Sara.

54 A ways 0n "and. By Philip S. Wame.

55 The Scalp ll unters. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

56 The Indian Haze min; or, The Madman
of the Plains. By A. \l . Aiken.

.57 The Silent "outer or. The Scowl Hall
M story. ByPl-rcy B. St. ohn.

.58 S lver Knii'c; or. \Vicklifte, The Rocky
Mountain Rauyer. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.

.59 The Man rom Texas; or, The Outlaws
of Arkansas. By A. W. Aiken.

60 Wide Atvnko the Robber King; or, The
idiot of the Black Hills. By Frank Dumont.

01 Ca tain SeaWnii, the Privateer. By Ned
Bun line.

‘62 Lo a1 Heart; or, The Trappers of Arkansas.
31y ustave Aimard.

'63 he “Winged \Vhale. B A. W. Aiken.
'64 Double-Sight, the Death S or or, The Out-
law of the Chaparral. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

65 The Red Rajahwr, The Scourge of the

Indies. By Capt. F. ittaker.
06 The s ecter Bnrque. By Ma e Reid.
oy Jockc '. By Jos. E. r. Jr.
Fighting: Trapper or. Kit Carson
to the Rescue. By Captain J. . C. Adams.
69 The Irish Ca tain. B Capt. F.Whittaker.
‘70 flydrabad, t e Stranr er; or, Alethe, the
Child of the Cord. nBy Dr. J. H. Robinson.
‘71 Ca tain Cool- lade; or. The Man-Shark
of t e Mississippi. Bv Jos. E. Badger Jr
'72 The Phantom Hand‘ or, The Heiress of
Fifth Avenue. By A. W. Ai en.
73 The Knights of the Red Cross; or, The
Magician of Granada. By Dr. J. H. Robinson.
74 The Captain orthe Rifles; or, TheQueen
of the Lakes. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
75 Gentleman George. By A. W. Aiken.
76 The Queen’s ill tluketeers: or. Thisbe. the
Princ 'ss Palmist. By George Albany.
77 The Fresh of Frisco. By A. W. Aiken.
78 The Mysterious 3‘ y. By A. M. Grainger.
79 Joe Phenlx, thePol ceSny. B A.W. Aiken.
g? ghlllnllli of Neg? By Philip ,Warne.
. c uman er or, A Heart 0! Fr .
By Albert W. Aiken.g ; I e
.82 Iron Wrist. the Swordmaster. By Colonel
Thomas Hover Monstery.
 goldtBéulget Sport. TBy Bum BuL
' un e own' or. he League of Three,
By Albert W. Aiken?
or. aneikah. the

.85 The Cretan Rover;
Beautiful. By Col. Prentiss Inmham.
:86 The Big Hunter; or. The sea of the
Woods. By the author of “ The Si ent Hunter.”
’87 The Scarlet Captain or. The Prisoner of
the Tower. By Col. Delle ra.
88 Big George, the Giant of the Gulch; or. The
Five Outlaw Brothers. By Jose )h E. Badger. Jr,
‘89 The Pirate Prince. By I. P. I rahnm,
90 Wild Will, the Mad Ranchero; or, he'rep.
rible Texans. By Buckskin Sam.
91 The Winning Oar; or. The Innkeeper-'3
Daughter. B Albert W. Aiken.
92 Buii'nlo Iii". the Buckskin Kin ; or. The
Amazon of the West. By Ma'. Dange 9“ Bu”-
93 Ca tnin Dick Talbot. ' z of the Rom;
or. e Black-Hoods of Shasta. By A. W. Aiken.
‘94 Freelance, the Buccaneer; or. The Wall of
the Wave. By Col. Prentiss I m.
95 Azhort, the Axman; or, The Secrets of the
Ducal Palace. B Anthony P. Morris.
‘96 Double-Dent ; or. The S y Queen of WYO-
ming. By Capt. Fred. Whitta er.
‘97 Bronze Jack, the California Thoroughbred.
B Albert W. Aiken.
Bock Rider; or, The Spirit of the
Sierra. By Ca . Frederick Whittaker.
99 The Giant itieman. By 011 Coomes.
100 grinm?;hmsl:ryg or, The Bride of Paris.
. - . o .
101 The Man From New York; or. TheRo-
mance of a Rich Young Woman. By Aiken.
102 The Masked Band ,or. The Man With-
out a Name. Bv George Aiken.
103 Mfl‘lfi "I0 Matineer; or.The Brand of
“I” Rl‘d Anchor- By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
104 M"""‘Z“m.s "I0 arc-iIe-I' or. The
Eagle and the Serpent. By 001, P, 
105 Dan Brown M Denver the Rocky Moun-
taln Detective. By Joseph . Badger. Jr.
106 Shamus O’Brien, the Bouid Boy of Glin-
2““ By§°tntll°§”i~c.
.107 Riehar n o o‘ nnnbnr- or.The
Brothers of the Red Hand. By A. W. ’Aiken.

 

 

 

 

’S

1 08 The Duke ofDiamonds; or. The Flower
of Calcutta. By Captain Frederick Whittaker.

109 ('a tain Kyd, the King of the Black Flag.
By ‘01. Prentiss lngraham.

1 10 'l he Silent Rlilcman. By H. W. Herbert.

111 The Smuggler (ta taln; or, The Skip-
per’s Crime. By Ned untline.

1 12 Joe Phenlx Private Detective; or. The
League of the Skeleton Key‘s. B A. W. Aiken.

113 The Sea Slip er' or. he mateur Free-
booters. By Pro . J. Ingraham.

114 The Gentleman From. Pike ' or. The
Ghost of the Canyon. By Phlh S. arne.

1 15 The Severed Head ' or. he. Secret of
Castle Concy. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

116 Black Plume, the Devil of the Sea. By
Col. Prentiss ingraham.

1 1 7 Dashlnnf) Dandy the Hotspur of the Hills.

‘ By Ma or angerfleld Burr.

118 The urglar i‘a taln; or, The Fallen
Star. By Prof. J. H. n raham.

l 19 Alabama Joe; or, he Yazoo Man-Hun-
ters. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

120 The Texan Spy; or, The Prairie Guide.
Bv Newton M. Curtis.

1 21 The Sea i‘adet ; or. The Rover 01! the Big)
letts. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.

122 Saul Sabberda the] lot Spy; or, Luliona,
the Seminole. By ed Buntline.

123 Aiapahn, the uaw; or. The Renegades
of the Border. By rancis Johnson.

124 Assowaum, the Avenger; or. The
Doom of the Destroyers. By Francis Johnson.

125 The Blacksmith Outlaw; or. Merry
England. By Harrison Ainsworth.

126 The Demon Duelist; or. The League of
Steel. By Col. Thomas Hoyer Monstery.

127 Sol Scott, the Masktd Miner; or,
Brown‘s Double. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

128 The Chevalier Corsair. By the author
of " Merle the Mutincer."

129 Mississippi Mose ' or. A Strong Man's
Sacrifice. By Edward Willett.

1 30 Captain Volcano or, The Man of the Red
Revolvels. By A. W. iken.

131 Buckskin Sam, the Texas Trailer; or. The
Bandits of the Bravo. By Col. 1’. Ingraham.

132 Nemo. King ol‘the Tramps. By Capt.
Frederick Whittaker.

133 Body the Rover the Ribbonman of Ire-
land. By William Carleton.

1 3-1 Darkie Dan, the Colored Detective; or, The
Mississippi Mystery. By Col. P. Ingraham.

135 The Bush Ranger' or, The Half—Breed
Brigade. By Francis Johnson.

1 36 The Outlaw-Hunter; or. Red John, the
Bush Ranger. By Francis Johnson.

1 37 Long Beard, the Giant Spy. By 011

comes.

138 The Border Bandits' or. The Horse-
Thief‘s Trail. By Francis Jo nson.

139 Fire-Eye. the Sea H ena' or. The Bride of
a Buccaneer. By Col. rent ss In raham.

1 40 The Three Spaniards. Bv eo. Walker.

1 41 Equinox Tom, the Bully of Red Rock; or,
Dan Brown’s Masierstroke. By Joseph. E.
Badger. Jr.

142 "aptaln Crimson, the Man of the Iron
Face. By Maj. Dangerfield Burr. I

143 The Czar’s Spy ; or, The Nihilist League.
Bv Col. T. H. Monstery.

144 The Hunchback of Notre-Dnme.
By Victor Hugo.

145 Pistol Pards or, Soft Hand, the Silent
S on from Cinna . By Wm. R. Eyster.

146 The Doctor Detective;or, The Mystery
of the Golden Cofiln. By Gemfe Lemue .

147 Gold Spur the Gentleman r0
Col. n lngraham.

148 One-l rmed Air the Giant Hunter of the
Great Lakes. B Oil Coomes.

1 49 The Border itics. By Gustave Aimard.

150 El Rubio Bravo, King of the Swordsmen.
By COL Thomas HoyerMonsterv. -

151 The Freebooters. By Gustave Aimard.

152 Captain lronnerve, the Counterfeit”
Chief Bv Marmaduke ev.

153 The White Sen] er. By Gustave Aimard.

154 Joaquiln, the. die King. .By Joseph E.

r

155 The Corsair ucen; or. The Gipsies of
the Sea. By Col. ntiss In raham.

156 Velvet Face, the Border ravo; or. Muriel,
the Danite's Bride. By Dangerfield Burr.

157 Monrnd, the Mame] like; or. The Three
Swordmasters. By Col Thomas H. Monstery.

158 The Doomed Dozen; or. Dolores. the
Dnnite s Daughter. By Dr. Frank Powell.

159 Red Rudiger, the Archer' or. The Lady
Bertha s Treachery. By Ca t. ’r. Whittaker.

160 m lannvg, SRaErpaéeorfi’he Man With the

. m. . .

161 The Wolves onyew York or. Joe
Phenix 3 Great Man Hunt. By A. . Aiken-

162 The Mad Mariner or. Disbonored and
Disowned. By Col. Free as Ingraham.

163 Ben Brion, the Trap r Ca tain: or, Red-
aath. the Avenger. By  J. . Robinson.

164 he King’s Fool ' or. The Knights of the
(fiasped Hands and sell Branch. By a. D.Clark.

1 65 Joaquin, the Terrible. By J. E. Badger. Jr-

1 66 0yvlet, the Robber Prince: or. The Unknown
Highwaymen. By S ptimus R. Urban.

167 The Man ofSteel; or, The Masked Knight
of the. White Plume. Bv A. P. Morris.

168 Wild Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot; on Dagger
Don's Double. By Col. Prentiss lnmham

Dan

in Texas. By

1 69 (‘or‘poral Cannon, the Man of Forty Duels.
By ( oi. Thomas Hoyer Monstery.

1 70 Sweet \Villlam, the Trapper Detective.
By Joe. E. Badger, Jr.

illDiliMlEi{THE}iBiRiAiRlY-

 

 

 

r __._4

17 1 Tiger Dick, the Man of the Iron Heart; or.
The Dumb Ba hilt. By Philip S. Warne.

1 72 The Black Pirate; or The My“ tery of
the G01 en Fetters. By Col. P. Ingraham.

173 California John, the Pacific Thorough-
bred By Albert W. Aiken.

174 The Phantom Knights. By Capt. F.
Whittaker.

175 “'ild Bill’s Trump (“ard- or. Thelndian
Heiress. By Major Dangerfield Burr.

1 76 Lndv Jaguar, the Robber Queen. By Cap-
tain Mark Wilton.

177 Don Diablo, the Planter-Corsair; or, The
Rivals of the Sea.  Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

178 Dark Daslnvoo 9 the Desperate; or, The
Child of the Sun. By Major Sam S. Hall.

179 Conrad. the Convict; or, \\ as He Guilty!
By Prof. Stewart Gildersieeve, LL. D.

180 old ’49; or. The Amazon of Arizona. By

Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

181 The Scnr ct Schooner; or. The Nemeak
of the Sea. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham

182 Hands U ; or, TheKnightsofthe Canyon.
By Wm. B. yster.

183 Gilbert, the Guide; or. Lost in the Wil-
derness. By C. Dunning Clark.

184 The ocean Vam ire; or, The Heiress of
Castle Curse. 83 Co . Prentiss Ingraham.

1 85 The Man Spl or; or, The Beautiful Sphinx.
By Anthony 1. Morris. -

180 The Black Bravo; or. The Tonkaway’s
Trium h. B Buckskin Sam.

187 The eat 1’s Head Cuirassiers; or,
Brave of all Braves. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.

188 The Phantom Machpa; or.TheH em
of the Cha arrals. By Maj. Dangerfield 

189 “’ild Bi i’s Gold Trnll; or. The Desper-
ado Dozen. By Col. Prentiss lngraham.

190 The Three Guardsmen. By Alexandre

Dumas.
191 TheTerribleTonkawa ' or.OldBocky
and His Paras. By Buckskin’sém.
1 92 The Lightning;r Sport. By W. R. Eyster.
193 The Man in Red. B Capt. F. Whittaker.
194 Don Sombrero, the alit'ornia Road Gent.
By Capt. Mark Wilton.
195 The Lone star Gambler; or, The Maid
196 ch theuMaznolias. By] Blgkskjl; 
a arnloset t 9 Item ve een‘ or,
The Lost Heir of Morel. By Albert w. Aiken.
197 Revolver Rob, the Red-Handed; or, The
B lie of Nugget Camp. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.
198 The Skeleton Schooner; or. The Skin-
mer of the Sea. B Col Prentiss Ingraham.
199 Diamond Dic , the Dandy from Denver.
By Buckskin Sam. ~
200 The Rifle Rangers. ByCapt Ma eBehL
201 The Pirate of the Placers; or. oaquin’s ‘
Death Hunt. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
202 Cactus Jack, the Giant Guide. By Cap- '
tain Mark Wilton.
203 The Double Detective. By A. W.Aiken.
204 Bi , Foot “'allaee, the King of the Lariat;
or \‘ild Wolf. the Waco. Bv Buckskin Sam.
205 T he Gambler Pirate. By Co].

206 One Eye, the Cannoneer; or. Marshal Ne'y‘l , -,

Last Legacy. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker. ,
207 Old Hard Head. By Philip S. Warne.
208 The \Vhite Chief. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
209 Buck Farley the Bonanza Prince' or. The
Romance of Des h Gulch. By Edward wnlett. '

210 Buccaneer Bess. the Lioness or the Sea; . -

or, The Red Sea Trail. By Col. P. lngraham.
211 Colonel Plunger' or. The Unknown Sport.
Bv Capt Frederick w‘h ttaker. '
212 The Brazos Tigers. By Buckskin Sam.
213 The War Trail. By Ca . Mayne Reid,
21 4 The Two Cool S orts. y Wm. B. Eyster.
215 Parson Jim, n: of the Cowboys. By
Ca tain Frederick Whittaker. v
216 T he Corsair Planter; or, Driven to ‘
Doom. By Col. Prentiss Ingrabam. ’ ‘

217 The Serpent of El Pano; or, Frontier 
ByBuck- '

Frank, the Scout oi' the Rio Grande.

skinSam. . . a
218 The Wild Buntress; or. The Biz Sqnah‘ ‘

ter's Vengeance. By Ca t. Mayne Reid.

219 The Scorpion Brot era; or, IadTom'I-i“ ”

a

220 'lil‘iisnuog' Bi 0‘ “mining “glio'f”  ‘
e pee er ac I . o. .
221 Desperate Duke theyGuadaioupe “ .
loot. By Buckskin f
222 Bill, the Blizzard. By Edward

Welt. .'
223 Canyon Davefiéhe Man of the Mountainrj

B Captain Mark ilton. 
224 lilac Beard, the Bummer: or. The-

Cnrse of the Coast. By Col. 1’. Ingrahaln. r
225 Rock Mountain Al. Buckskin“ '
226 The ad Rust-are or he 0‘s and the ‘

Mac‘s By  F. er. " :'
2M Buckshot en. the Man-Hunter of Idaho. '

By Ca t. Mark Wilton. .-
228 he aroon. By Capt. Mayne Reid.

229 to ruin Cutsieeve ~ 0% Touch-Motion“ 

Litt eS rt. 13me
230 The [W in
0 was an erdecken. By Capt.W ..
231 The Kid Glove Miner' or, The logic -
Doctor of Golden Gulch. B Col. 1 I
232 Orson 02x. tne Man of ron; or mm,
M story. Issac Hawks. 
233 Tile Old Boy of Tombstone; or...
WageringaLifeonaCard. B'JE '
234  Hunters’ Feast.

A new issue every Wednesday. . \

Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale
hewsdealers. ten cents per copy. or sent by
 of twelve cents each. BEADLE A”  .
Pub era, 98 William Street. New York. ‘  ‘

3 ' I we".
By Capt. Mayne '.

 

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i f. f .. Tele ra in Girl.

 

 

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235 Red Lightning, the Man of Chance. By
Col. Prentiss lngraham.

236 Cluunplon Sam. By Col. T. H. Monstery.

.237 Long-Haired Max. By Capt. M. Wilton.

238 flalnk Hound, the Crescent City Detec-
tive. By Anthony P. Morris.

239 The Terrible Trio. By Buckskin Sam.

240 A Cool Head; or. Orson Cu in Perl]. By
Isaac Hawks.

241 Spitfire Saul King of the Rustlers. By
Jos. E. Badger. r.

242 The Fog Devil; or, The Skipper of the
Flash. By Capt. Fred. \\ hittakcr.

‘243 The Pilgrim Shur I. liV Buffalo Bill.

244 Merciless lllart, t e Man~'l‘igcr of Mis-
souri. By Buckskin Sam.

.245 Barranca Bill, The Revolver Champion.
By Captain Mark \\ ilton.

246 Queen Helen, the Amazon of the Over-

- land. By 001. Prentiss Ingraham.

247 A i ligu tor Ike ' or. The Secret of the Ever-
flade. By Capt. red. Whittaker.

248 ulltuua hat. the Lion of Last Chance

. Camp. By Edward Willett.

249 Elephant Tom of Durango; or, Your
Gold-Dust or Your Life. By Jos. E. Badger, Jr.

250 The Rough Riders; or, Sharp-Eye, the
Seminole Scourge. By Buckskin Sam.

251 Tiger Dick vs. Iron Despard; or,
Every Man Has His Match. By P. S. Warne.

252 The “’11” Street Blood; or. Tick Tick,the

By Albert W. Aiken.

253 A an ee Cossack or, The Queen of the
Nihilists. By Capt. erick Whittaker.

. 254 Giant Jake, the Patrol of the Mountain.

,: gy Newton M. Curtis.

.' - ' 255 he Pirate Priest. By Col. P. Ingraham.

 256 Double Dan, the Dastard; or, The Pirates
of the Peoos. B Buckskin Sam.

257 Death-Trap ixgings' or, A Hard Man
from 'Way Back. By Jose 1 E. Badger, Jr.
 .258 Bullet "end, the Co orado Bravo. By

' Captain Mark Wilton.
. ’2 59 Cutlass and Cross. By Col. P. lngraham.

v ,. 260 The Masked Mystery. By A. P. Morris.

‘  , 2!” lack Sam, the Prairie Thunderbolt; or,

, Bandit-Hunters. By Col. Jo Yards.
.262 Fighting Tom, the Terror of the Toughs.

YE": By Col. Thomas Hey? Monster .
' 263 Iron-Armed A e, the unchback De—
"-’ j' stroyer. Captain Mark Wilton.

l:
a
.1

~ .

:25

' 01'
rates. By Capt. Fred. Whittaker.
1e Vhi te Squaw. By Capt. Mayne Reid.
The Bayou Bravo. By Buckskin Sam.
9‘ oneilst. oi‘Biz Nugget Bend';
, ' Wilton.
\‘ “272
» Secret of Sitting By Capt. F. ittaker.
. or,
Tough Times in cnnessee.. By Ed. Willctt.
Captain Mark Wilton.
 Elam-eulo- Golds ur, the Man of the Velvet
Black-floss on or, Tiger Dick‘s Lone
arauders; or. Chap-
Sons of the Fir Cross. By Jos. E, Badger. Jr
Bolt the Can on Terror: or,
Grad:
‘ 1.1, 987 Dandy Dave and is Horse. White Stock-
, A. P. Morris.
389 Flush Fred’s Full “on
or, Blakeley's Last
,Cspt. Mark Wilton.
Burt. the Denver Dandy. By
2 .
' 7'296 Duncan, the Sea-Diver; or, The Coast
?ur City. By Wm. . Manning.
inner Peril in the

'264 The Crooked Three. By Buckskin Sam.
266 Leopard Luke the King of Horse-Thieves.
Wilton.
268 Magic Mike the Man of Frills; or. Bad
.» 270 A ndros, the Free Rover; or, The Pirate's
Ke chum’s Tug of War. y Capt. Mar
1 v 3273 Mountain Mose, the Gorge Outlaw. By
.' am
75 The Smuffler Cutter. By J. D. Conroy.
I
 B
{977 'Frlelo Sane. Jane, Privateer. ByCapt.
ad. B captain oward Holmes.
(1- rs
Hand. By Philip S. srne.
Carl‘s Revenge. By Buckskin Sam.
Three rigatos or, 01d Ironsides"
e. y Mark Wilton.
“ ,- - or. Ducats or Death. By Buckskin Sam.
_ {#1  '
if. évor. Life and
 z.- Strite in Louisiana. B Edward
 f , Cruise. By Ca t. Fred. Whit ake
i
oke llorner, the Boss Boustabout. By
Howard Holmes.
W . Vultures By George St. George
a  ‘1‘397
‘ Lem; or. Lite ant
Pine Wood

 ' 2.65 tlld Double-Sword Pilots and Pi-
Bfi Ca tain Mark
'I
 Ben’s Bad Briga e. By William. R. Eyster.
. 269
». ~ Daughter. By Ned Buntline.
.371 or, Old
Seth Slocum Railroad Surveyor or. The
Bull.
0 n .
'1274 Flush Fred the Mississippi Sport-
76 Texas C ck, the Southwest Detective.
derick W ittaker.
279 The Go on. By \\ m. H. Manning.
81 The Sea Owl. B Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
.283 Sleek Sam, the Devil or the Mines; or, The
By CaptFmd. 'hittaker
», 1286 Pistol Johnny. B Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
ectro Pete, thevMan of Fire: or The
Wharf Rats of Locust Point. B
. iliett.
1390 The Lost Corvet e
. r.
291 Horseshoe salt, the Man of Big Luck.
. v Josep Baker. Jr.
"133 Stamgede tove. By Buckskin Sam.
. 4 Brno cloth
I95 0 d Cross-Eye he Maverick-Hunter. By
pt Frederick Whittaker.
Colorado lluhehtho Strong Arm of Hot-
?” 298

 

Tiger Dick. Iron Des-
. . srne.

pord. an
0 A Sport inst etaclel. B Wm. R.E stpr.
l Bowler B l; or. The from nos.
Buckski Sam '

n .
sro Saul, the Handsome Hercules' or. The
. Grip of 80001. By Joseph E. Badger. r.

1
Edward Willett.
d the Sportive Sport. By P S W

 

 

303
304
305
306

307
308

309
310

Top-Notch Tom, the Cowboy Outlaw; or.

The Satanstown Election. By Cant. Whittaker.

'l‘exas Jack, the Prairie Rattler; or, The

Queen of the “ ild Rider 5. By Buifalo Bill.

Silver-Plated So], the Montana Rover. By

Capt. Mark Wilton.

'l‘he ltoughs of Richmond ° or, The

Mystery of the Golden Beetle. ii A. . Morris.

The Phantom Pirate. By ,ol.[ngraham.

Hemlock Hallk, Tough and True. By

Edward \Villett.

Ila hold, the Battling Ranger. By

liuc skin Sam.

'I he Marshal of Satanstown. By

Capt. Frederick Whittakr r.

31 1 Heavy “arid, the Relentless. By Captain

Mark Wilton. '

312 Kinkioot Karl, The Mountain Scourge;
or, Wiping Out the Score. By Morris Redwing.

31 3 Mark Magic, Detective. By Anthony P

Morris.
314 or. The Pirate of the Gulf. By

Lafitte '
Prof. J.  Ingraham.

315 Flush Fred’s Double; or, The Squatr
ter‘s Le no of Six. By Edward Willett.

316 Lafitte s Lieutenant; or Theodore. the
Child of the Sea. By Prof. J.  In aham.

31 7 Frank Lighti‘oot the Miner etective;
or. Followinga Blind  By J. E. Badger.

318 The Indian Bllceaneer' or. Red Rovers
on Blue Waters. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

319 Wild Bill, the Whirlwind oi the Vest. By
Buffalo Bill. '

320 The Gcnteel Spotter. By A. W. Aiken.

321 California Claude, the Lone Bandit. By
Ca tain Howard Holmes.

322 'l‘ to Crimson Coyotes. B, Buckskin Sam.

323 Hotspur Hugh; or. The nded Brothers
of the Giant‘s Arm. l’y Captain Mark Wilton.

324 Old Forked- Lightning, the Solit ;
or Every Inch a Man. By Jos. E. Badger r.

325 The Gentleman Pirate; or. The er-
mlt of Casco Pay. By Col. P. lngraham

326 ’l he Whitest Man in the Mines; or.
The Dog-Town Crowd. 1 y Capt. F. Whittaker.

327 Terrapin Diek the Wild Woods Detec-

By Edward Willett.

328 King Rent; or, The Bandits ot the Bason.
By Buckskin Sam.

329 The League of Three; or, Buflalo Bill's
Pledge. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

330 Cop Colt, the Quaker City Detective. By
Chas. Morris.

33 1 Chi-pa Charley,tlve Gold Nugget Sport: or.
The Rocky Mountain Masks. By J. E. Badger.

332 Spring-Heel Jack. By Col. Monstery.

333 Derringer Deck, the Man with the Drop.
By Wm. . Ey ter.

334 The Cipher Detective. By A. P. Morris.

335 Flash Dan, the Nahob; or. The Blades of
Bowie Bar. By Capt. H. Holmes.

336 The Magic Shi . By Col. P. lngraham.

337  thbe, the ountaln Tramp. By Ed.

' e t. I

338 Jack Sands, Sport- By Philip S. Warns.

339 S tread Eagle Sam the Hercules Hide-

unter. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.

340 Cool Conrad, the Dakota Detective. By
Capt. H. Holmes.

341 The Sea Desperado. By Col. Ingraham.

342 Blaneo Bill, the Mustang Monarch. By
Buckskin Sam.

343 The Head Hunter; or, Mark Magic in
the Mines. By A. P. Morris.

344 Double Shot Dave orthe Lott Hand.
By Wm. B. Evster.

345 Masked Mark. the Mounted Detective.
By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

346 Ocean Guerrillas; or. The Planter Mid-
shipman. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

347 Denver Duke, the Man With ‘Sand" or,
Centi le Sam‘s Lone Hand. By Capt. How-
ard olmes.

348 Dan Dillon, King of Crosscut- or. A Wo-
man’s Wild Work. By Ed ward wines.

349 Lion-Hearted Dick the Gentleman Road-
Agent. By Albert W. A ken.

350 Flash Falcon, the Society Detective. By
Weldon J. Cobb.

351 Nor’ West Nick the Border Detective; or,
Dan Brown‘s Fight or Life. By J. E. Badger.

352 The Desperate Dozen. By Cap. Howard
Holmes.

353 Burl) Brennan, the Train Wrecker. By
John‘Cuthbert.

354 Red Richard. By Albert W. Aiken.

355 Stormy Steve, the Mad Athlete. By Jos.E.
Badger, Jr.

356 Three Handsome Sharps. By Wm. B.
Eyster.

357 Jack Simons, Detective. By A. P. Morris.

358 The Prince of Pan-Out. By Buckskin

m.

359 Yellow Jack the Mestizo: or. Tiger Dick
to the Rescue. ,By Philip S. Warns;

360 Jumpinx Jerry, the Gamecock from Sun-
down. By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

361 Tombstone Dick. By Ned Bumiino.

362 Bufl‘slo Bill’sGrip. By Col. P. Ingrshsm

 

363 Crownin Irshield, the Sleuth; or, Pitiless
as Death. y Albert W. Aiken.

364 The Sea Fugitive. By Col. P. lngrahsm.

365 Keen Kennard. the Shasta Shadow; or,
The Branded Face. By Capt. Howard Holmes.

366 The Telegraph Detective' or. The Dy~
namite League. By George enry Morse.

A Royal Flush' or. Dan Brown's Big

Game of Freeze~0ut. ByJos. E. Badger. Jr.

The Canyon King. By Edward Willett.

The Coast Corsair. By Col. P. Ingrahsm-.

The Dusky Detective. By A. W. Aiken.

Gold Buttons; or, The Up-Rsnge Pards.

By Buckskin Sam.

Cu to! u Crisp; or, The Man Witthecord.

By os. E. Badger. Jr.

The Sailor of Fortune; or, The Buc-

cancers of Barnegat Bay. By Col. P. Ingraham..

Major Blister the Sport of Two Cities.

By Capt. Howard Holmes.

Royal George, the Three in One. By Wm.

B. Eyster.

The Black Beards; or. The Hi h Horse--

on the Rio Grande. By Albert W. Ai en.

Afloat and Ashore. By Col. P. Ing_raham..

John Armstrong. Mechanic. By Capt.

F. Whittaker. '

379 Howling Jonathan or. The Terror from
Headwaters. By Jos. E. ger. Jr.

380 The Golden Serpent; or, Tiger Dick‘s
Pledge. By P. S. Warns.

381 The Gypst Gentleman' or. Nick Fox,
the Demon etective. By Al rt W. Aiken..

382 The Bonanza Band or. Dread Don, of"
the Cool Clan. By Capt. oward Holmes.

383 Silver Sam, Detective. By Maj. Daniel~
Boone Dumont of the U. S. A.

384 I an Dick Detective' or, Tracked from
t' e kiestoN’ew York. ByAlbertW. Aiken.

385 \Vild Dick Turpin, the Lion of Leadville.
By Wm. H. Manning.

386 Hawk Heron, the Falcon Detective. By
Jackson Knox, (Old Hawk.)

387 "ark Burg; or. The Ishmael ot the Hills.
By Jos. E. Badger. Jr.

38 8 The Giant Buccaneer. By Coi.lngraham.

389 Colonel Double-edge. the Cattle Baron’s
Pard. By Maj. Daniel Boone Dumont. U. S. A-

390 The Giant Cupid; or. Cibuta John's
Great Jubilee. By J. C. Cowdrick.

391 Kate Scott the Decoy Detective; or,
Joe Phenix’s till Hunt. By A. W. Aiken.

392 The Lost Bonanza; or. The BootofSilent'
Hound. ‘By Capt. Howard Holmes.

393 The Ionviet Captain' or, The Battles of
the Buccaneers. By Col. reutiss lngrahsm.

394 White Beaver the Exile of the Platte; or,.
A Wronged Man‘s Bed TraiL By Buffalo Bill.

395 Deadlfi Aim, the Duke of Derringers. By~
Jos. E. adger. Jr.

396 The Piper Detective. Bme. R. Eyster.

397 The - Wizard Brothers; or, White-
Beaver‘s Red Trail. By Budaio Bill.

398 Sleepless-Eye the Pacific Detective: or..
Running Down a cubic. By Geo. C. Jenks.

399 The New Monte Cristo; or The Wan-v
dering Jew of the Sea. By Col. P. ingraham.

400 Captain Coldxrip, the Sport Detective..
By Capt. Howard Homes. ,

401 The One-Arm Pard. By Buflalo Bill.

402 Snapshot Sam, the Pistol Sharp. By Wm..
B. Eyster.

403 The Nameless Sport. By J. E. Badger,Jr..

404 Silver Billie Sid. By Philip S. Warns.

367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376

377
378

405 Old Baldy, the Brigadier of Back Basin-
By Wm. H. Manning.

406 Old Pop Hicks, Showman. By Capt. F-
Whittaker.

407 Captain Coldgrip’s Nerve or. Inium
Nie on Deck. By Capt. Howard olmes.
408 Doc Grip the Sporting Detective. By.

Albert w. Aiken.

409 Rob Roy Ranch; or. The lmps of the
Pan Handle. By Joseph E. Badger. Jr.

410 Sarah Brown. Detective: or, The Mystery
of the Pavilion. By K. F. Hill.

411 The White Crook or, Old Hark's For-
tress. By Maj. Daniel oone Dumont.

1 I. 1' Look thsMsnotIron'or.AFlht.
4 2 ‘ '7 o’ Fred. wm' ‘

for Fortune. By Capt. er.
Ready September 15.

413 Cs tain Cold ri in New York or
ThepDragmn ‘ . l,By Capt. H. Holmei. "
Ready September a.

414 Bed Renard, the Indian Detective. By

Buflslo Bill. Ready September 29.
A new (new every Wednesday.

Beadle’s Dime Library is for sale by all
Newsdeslers, ten cents per copy, or sent by mail om
receipt of twelve cents each.

BEADLE AND ADAMS. Pommss.

fl William Street. New Ion-k.

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