Who?

by Elizabeth Kent

  CHAPTER XXI

  THE TRUTH

  "Good-morning, my lord. Rather early to disturb you, I am afraid."

  Cyril noticed that Griggs's manner had undergone a subtle change.Although perfectly respectful, he seemed to hold himself rigidly aloof.There was even a certain solemnity about his trivial greeting. Cyrilfelt that another blow was impending. Instantly and instinctively hebraced himself to meet it.

  "Not at all. What can I do for you?" he replied in his usual quietvoice.

  The man hesitated a moment.

  "The fact is, my lord, I should like to ask you a few questions, but Iwarn you that your answers may be used against you."

  "I have nothing to fear. What is it you want to know?"

  "Have you missed a bag, my lord?"

  "That confounded bag! It has turned up at last," thought Cyril. What onearth should he say? How much did the fellow guess?

  "You had better ask my man. He knows more about my things than I do," hemanaged to answer, as he lifted a perfectly expressionless face toGriggs's inspection.

  "Quite so, my lord. But I fancy that as far as this particular bag isconcerned, that is not the case."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I do not see what reason he could have had for hiding one ofhis master's bags up the chimney."

  "So the bag was found up the chimney? Will you tell me what motive I amsupposed to have had for wishing to conceal it? Is there anythingremarkable about it? Did it contain anything you thought I might want toget rid of?"

  The inspector eyed him narrowly.

  "It's no use, my lord. We know that Priscilla Prentice bought this bag afortnight ago in Newhaven. Now, if you are able to explain how it cameinto your possession, I would strongly advise your doing so."

  Still Cyril did not flinch.

  "I have never to my knowledge laid eyes on the girl, and I cannot,therefore, believe that a bag of hers has been found here."

  "We can prove it," replied the inspector. "The maker's name is insideand the man who sold it to her is willing to swear that it is theidentical bag. One of our men has made friends with your chamber-maidand she confessed that she had discovered it stuffed up the chimney inyour bedroom. She is a stupid girl and thought you had thrown it away,so she took it. Only afterwards, it occurred to her that you had apurpose in placing the bag where she had found it and she was going toreturn it when my man prevented her from doing so."

  "Very remarkable! It all fits together like clock-work. I congratulateyou, Inspector," said Cyril, trying to speak superciliously. "But youomitted to mention the most important link in the chain of evidence youhave so cleverly forged against me," he continued. "How am I supposed tohave got hold of this bag? I did not stop in Newhaven and you have hadme so closely watched that you must know that since my arrival inEngland I have met no one who could have given it to me."

  "No, my lord, we are by no means sure of this. Quite the contrary. It istrue that we have, so to speak, kept an eye on you, but, till yesterday,we had no reason to suspect that you had any connection with the murder,so we did not think it necessary to have you closely followed. Therehave been hours when we have had no idea where you were."

  "You surprise me!"

  "It is quite possible," continued the inspector without heeding Cyril'sinterruption, "that you have met either Prentice or Lady Wilmersley, thedowager, I mean."

  "Really! And why should they have given this bag to me, of all people?Surely you must see that they could have found many easier, as well assafer, ways of disposing of it."

  "Quite so, my lord, and that is why I am inclined to believe that it wasnot through either of them that the bag came into your possession. Ithink it more probable that her Ladyship brought it with her."

  "Her Ladyship? What do you mean?" Cyril's voice grew suddenly harsh.

  "You told me yourself that her Ladyship met you in Newhaven; that, infact, she had spent the night of the murder there."

  Cyril clutched the table convulsively.

  Amy! They suspected Amy. This was too horrible! Why had it neveroccurred to him that his lies might involve an innocent person?

  "But this is absurd, you know," he stammered, in a futile effort to gaintime.

  "Let us hope so, my lord."

  "There has been a terrible mistake, I tell you."

  "In that case her Ladyship can no doubt easily explain it."

  "Her Ladyship is ill. She cannot be disturbed."

  "I am afraid that cannot be avoided. I must see her at once. But if youwish it, I will not question her till she has been examined by ourdoctors."

  Cyril rose and moved automatically towards the door.

  The inspector stepped forward.

  "Sorry, my lord, but for the present you can see her Ladyship onlybefore witnesses. May I ring the bell?"

  "What is the use of asking my permission? You are master here, so itseems," exclaimed Cyril. His nerves were at last getting beyond hiscontrol.

  "I am only doing my duty and I assure you that I want to cause as littleunpleasantness as possible."

  A servant appeared.

  The inspector remained discreetly in the background.

  "Ask her Ladyship please to come here as soon as she can get ready. Ifshe is asleep, it will be necessary to wake her."

  "Very good, my lord."

  The two men sat facing each other in silence.

  Cyril was hardly conscious of the other's presence. He must think; heknew he must think; but his brain seemed paralysed. There must be a wayof clearing his wife without casting suspicion on Anita. Yet he couldthink of none. Was it possible that he was now called upon to choosebetween the woman he hated and the woman he loved, between honour anddishonour? No, there must be a middle course. Time would surely solvethe difficulty.

  The door opened and Amy came slowly into the room. She lookeddesperately ill.

  She was wrapped in a red velvet dressing-gown and its warm colourcontrasted painfully with the greyness of her face and lips. On catchingsight of the inspector, she started, but controlling herself with anobvious effort, she turned to her husband.

  "You wish to speak to me?"

  "You can see for yourself, Inspector, that her Ladyship is in nocondition to be questioned," remonstrated Cyril, moving quickly to hiswife's side.

  "Just as you say, my lord, but in that case her Ladyship had betterfinish her dressing. It will be necessary for her to accompany me toheadquarters."

  "I will not allow it," cried Cyril, almost beside himself and throwing aprotecting arm around Amy's shoulders.

  Her bloodshot eyes rested a moment on her husband, then gentlydisengaging herself, she drew herself to her full height and faced theinspector.

  "What is the matter? You need not try to spare me."

  "His Lordship----"

  "Do not listen to his Lordship. It is I who demand to be told thetruth."

  "Amy, I beg you--" interposed Cyril.

  "No, no," she cried, shaking off her husband's hand. "Let me know theworst. Don't you see that you are torturing me?"

  "There has been a mistake. It is all my fault," began Cyril.

  She silenced him with an imperious gesture.

  "I am waiting to hear what the inspector has to say."

  Griggs cast a questioning look at Cyril, which the latter answered by ahelpless shrug.

  "A bag has been found in his Lordship's chimney, which was latelypurchased in Newhaven. Do you know how it got there? But perhaps beforeanswering, you may wish to consult your legal adviser."

  She cast a quick glance at her husband.

  "I will neither acknowledge nor deny anything until I have seen this bagand know of what I am accused," she answered after a barely perceptiblepause.

  Griggs opened the door and called:

  "Jones, the bag, please."

  The inspector handed it to Amy.

  She looked at it for a moment. Cyril watched her breathlessly. Whatwould she say? Had the moment come when he must proclaim the truth?<
br />
  "Am I supposed to have bought this bag?" she asked.

  "No, my lady. It was sold to Prentice, who was sempstress at Geraltonand we believe it is the one in which Lady Wilmersley carried off herjewels."

  Amy gave a muffled exclamation, but almost instantly she regained hercomposure.

  "If that is so, how do you connect me with it? Because it happens tohave been found here, do you accuse me of having robbed my cousin?"

  "No, my lady, but as you spent the night of the murder in Newhaven----"

  To Cyril's surprise she shuddered from head to foot.

  "No, no!" she cried, stretching out her hands as if to ward off a blow.

  "It is useless to deny it. His Lordship himself told me that you hadjoined him there."

  "I lied! It was not her Ladyship who was with me. Her Ladyship was inParis at the time. I swear it on my honour. The bag is--is mine. You canarrest me. I am guilty." Thank God, thought Cyril, he had at last founda way of saving both his love and his honour.

  "Guilty of what, my lord? Of a murder which was committed while you werestill in France--" asked Griggs, lifting his eyebrows incredulously.

  "Yes! I mean I instigated it--I hated my cousin--I needed the money, soI hired an accomplice. He bungled things. I give myself up. I confess.What more do you want?" cried Cyril.

  "Not so fast, my lord. Of course, if you insist upon it, I shall have toarrest you, but I don't believe you had anything more to do with themurder than I had, and I would stake my reputation on your being asstraight a gentleman as I ever met professionally. Wait a bit, my lord,don't be 'asty." In his excitement Griggs dropped one of his carefullyguarded aitches.

  The door opened.

  "Mr. Campbell, my lord."

  "Guy," exclaimed Cyril. "You have arrived in the nick of time. I haveconfessed."

  "Confessed what?" Campbell cast a bewildered look at the inspector.

  "His Lordship says that he hired an assassin to murder Lord Wilmersley."

  "What rot! You don't believe him, I hope?"

  "He _shall_ believe me," cried Cyril. "I alone am responsible forWilmersley's death. The person who actually fired the shot was nothingbut my tool. I will never betray him, never!"

  "Honour among murderers, I see! Really, Cyril, you are too ridiculous,"exclaimed Campbell.

  Suddenly he caught sight of Amy, cowering in the shadow of the curtain.

  "Who is this lady?" he asked.

  "My wife! Look after her. Look after everything." Cyril gave Guy a lookin which he tried to convey all that he did not dare to say.

  The door again opened.

  "Mr. Judson is 'ere, my lord. I told him you were engaged, but he sayshe would like to speak to you most particular."

  "I don't want to see him," began Cyril.

  "Don't be a greater fool than you can help," exclaimed Campbell. "How doyou know that he has not some important news?"

  "But--" objected Cyril.

  "Good morning, your Lordship. How do you do, Inspector. Mr. Campbell, Ibelieve. Your servant, your Ladyship. I took the liberty of forcingmyself upon you at this moment, my lord, because I have just learntcertain facts which----"

  "It is too late to report," interposed Cyril hastily. "I haveconfessed."

  The detective smiled indulgently.

  "Why, my lord, what is the use of pretending that you had anything to dowith the murder? I hurried here to tell you that there is no furtherneed of your sacrificing yourself. I have found out who----"

  "Shut up, I say. I did it. It's none of your business anyhow!" criedCyril incoherently.

  "Don't listen to his Lordship," said Amy. "We all know, of course, thathe is perfectly innocent. He is trying to shield some one. But who?" Shecast a keen look at Cyril.

  "That's just it," Judson agreed. "And it is partly my fault. I convincedhis Lordship that Lord Wilmersley was murdered by his wife. I have comehere to tell him that I was mistaken. It is lucky that I discovered thetruth in time."

  "Thank God!" cried Cyril. "I always knew she was innocent." His reliefwas so intense that it robbed him of all power of concealment.

  Amy's mouth hardened into a straight, inflexible line; her eyesnarrowed.

  "I suppose that you have some fact to support your extraordinaryassertion?" demanded Griggs, unable to hide his vexation at finding thathis rival had evidently outwitted him.

  "Certainly, but I will say no more till I have his Lordship'spermission. He is my employer, you know."

  "What difference does that make?" asked Cyril. "I am more anxious thanany one to discover the truth."

  "Permit me to suggest, my lord, that it would be better if I could firstspeak to you in private."

  "Nonsense," exclaimed Cyril impatiently. "I am tired of this eternalsecrecy. Tell us what you have found out."

  The detective's brows contracted slightly.

  "Very well, only remember, I warned you."

  "That's all right."

  "Have you forgotten, my lord, that I told you I always had an idea thatthose two Frenchmen who were staying at the Red Lion Inn, were somehowimplicated in the affair?"

  "But what possible motive could they have had for murdering my cousin?"demanded Cyril.

  The detective's eyes appeared to wander aimlessly from one of hisauditors to another.

  "We are waiting. What about those Frenchmen?"

  It was Amy who spoke. She moved slowly forward, and leaning her arm onthe mantelpiece confronted the four men.

  "You wish me to continue?" asked Judson.

  "Certainly. Why not?"

  The detective inclined his head and again turned towards Cyril.

  "Having once discovered their identity, my lord, their motive was quiteapparent."

  "Well, who are they? Out with it."

  "The elder," began Judson, speaking very slowly, "is Monsieur deBrissac. The younger--" he paused.

  For a moment Cyril was too stunned to speak. He could do nothing butstare stupidly at the detective. Amy guilty! Amy! It was incredible!

  "Stop! Your suspicions are absurd! Do not listen to him, Inspector!" Hehardly knew what he was saying. He only realised confusedly thatsomething within him was crying to him to save her.

  A wonderful light suddenly transfigured Amy's drawn face.

  "Cyril, would you really do this for----"

  "Hush!" He tried to silence her.

  She turned proudly to the inspector.

  "I don't care now who knows the truth. I killed Lord Wilmersley."

  "Don't listen to her! Don't you see that she is not accountable for whatshe is saying?" cried Cyril. He had forgotten everything but that shewas a woman--his wife.

  "I killed Lord Wilmersley," Amy repeated, as if he had not spoken, "butI did not murder him."

  "Does your Ladyship expect us to believe that you happened to call atthe castle at half-past ten in the evening, and that during an amicableconversation you accidentally shot Lord Wilmersley?" demanded Griggs.

  "No," replied Amy contemptuously, "of course not! I--" She hesitated.

  "If your Ladyship had not ulterior purpose in going to Newhaven, why didyou disguise yourself as a boy and live there under an assumed name? Andwho is this Frenchman who posed as your brother?"

  Amy threw her head back defiantly. A faint colour swept over her face.

  "Monsieur de Brissac was my lover. When we discovered that his Lordshipwas employing detectives, we went to Newhaven, because we thought thatit was the last place where they would be likely to look for us. Idisguised myself to throw them off the scent."

  "But the description the inspector gave me of the boy did not resembleyou in the least," insisted Cyril.

  "It was I nevertheless. I merely cut off my hair and dyed it. See!" Shesnatched the black wig from her head, disclosing a short crop of reddishcurls.

  "You have yet to explain," resumed the inspector sternly, "what took youto Geralton in the middle of the night. Under the circumstances I shouldhave thought your Ladyship would hardly have cared t
o visit hisLordship's relations."

  Ignoring Griggs, Amy turned to her husband.

  "My going there was the purest accident," she began in a dull,monotonous voice, almost as if she were reciting a lesson, but as sheproceeded, her excitement increased till finally she became so absorbedin her story that she appeared to forget her hearers completely. "I washorribly restless, so we spent most of our time motoring and oftenstayed out very late. One night a tire burst. I noticed that we hadstopped within a short walk of the castle. As I had never seen it exceptat a distance, it occurred to me that I would like to have a nearer viewof the place. In my boy's clothes I found it fairly easy to climb thelow wall which separates the gardens from the park. Not a light was tobe seen, so, as there seemed no danger of my being discovered, Iventured on to the terrace. As I stood there, I heard a faint cry. Myfirst impulse was to retrace my footsteps as quickly as possible, butwhen I realised that it was a woman who was crying for help, I felt thatI must find out what was the matter. Running in the direction from whichthe sound came, I turned a corner and found myself confronted by alighted window. The shrieks were now positively blood-curdling and therewas no doubt in my mind that some poor creature was being done to deathonly a few feet away from me. The window was high above my head, but Iwas determined to reach it. After several unsuccessful attempts Imanaged to gain a foothold on the uneven surface of the wall and hoistmyself on to the window-sill. Luckily the window was partially open, soI was able to slip noiselessly into the room and hide behind thecurtain. Peering through the folds, I saw a woman lying on the floor.Her bodice was torn open, exposing her bare back. Over her stood a manwho was beating her with a piece of cord which was attached to the waistof a sort of Eastern dressing-gown he wore.

  "'So you thought you would leave me, did you?' he cried over and overagain as the lash fell faster and faster. 'Well, you won't! Not till Isend you to hell, which I will some day.'

  "At last he paused and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He was veryfat and his exertions were evidently telling on him.

  "'Why shouldn't I kill you now? I have my pistol within reach of myhand. It is here on my desk. Ah, you didn't know that, did you?' He gavea fiendish laugh.

  "The woman shuddered but made no attempt to rise.

  "I was slowly recovering from the terror which had at first paralysedme. I realised I must act at once if I meant to save Lady Wilmersley'slife. The desk was behind him.

  "Dropping on my hands and knees, I crept cautiously toward it. 'Killyou, kill you, that is what I ought to do,' he kept repeating.

  "I reached the desk. No pistol was to be seen; yet I knew it was there.As I fumbled among his papers, my hand touched an ancient steelgauntlet. Some instinct told me that I had found what I sought. But howto open it was the question. Some agonising moments passed before I atlast accidentally pressed the spring and a pistol lay in my hand.

  "He again raised the cord.

  "'Stop!' I cried.

  "He swung around and as he caught sight of the pistol levelled at hishead, the purple slowly faded from his face.

  "Then seemingly reassured at finding that it was only a boy whoconfronted him, he took a step forward.

  "'Who the devil are you? Get out of here!' he cried.

  "'Stay where you are or I fire.'

  "'What nonsense is this?' he blustered, but I noticed that his kneesshook and he made no further effort to move.

  "'Climb out of the window. There is a car waiting in the road,' I calledto the girl.

  "'She shall not go!' he shrieked. The veins stood out on his temples.

  "I held him with my eye and saw his coward soul quiver with fear as Imoved deliberately nearer him.

  "'Do as I tell you. Run for your life,' I repeated.

  "'But you?' gasped Lady Wilmersley.

  "'I have the pistol. I am not afraid. I will follow you,' I assured her.

  "I knew rather than saw that she picked up a jacket and bag which laynear the window. With a soft thud she dropped into the night. That isthe last I saw of her. What became of her I do not know." Amy paused amoment.

  "As Lord Wilmersley saw his wife disappear, he gave a cry like a woundedanimal and rushed after her. I fired. He staggered back a few steps,then turning he ran into the adjoining room. I heard a splash but didnot stop to find out what happened. Almost beside myself with terror, Ifled from the castle. If you have any more questions to ask, you hadbetter hurry."

  She stopped abruptly, trembling from head to foot, and glanced wildlyabout her till her eyes rested on her husband. For a long, long momentshe regarded him in silence. She seemed to be gathering herself togetherfor a supreme effort.

  All four men watched her in breathless suspense.

  With her eyes still fastened on Cyril she fumbled in the bosom of herdress, then her hand shot out, and before any one could prevent her, shejabbed a hypodermic needle deep into her arm.

  "What have you done?" cried Cyril, springing forward and wrenching theneedle from her.

  A beatific smile spread slowly over her face.

  "You are--free," she gasped.

  She swayed a little and would have fallen if Cyril had not caught her.

  "Quick--a doctor," he cried.

  "It is too late," she murmured. "Too late! Forgive me, Cyril.I--loved--you--so----"

  CHAPTER XXII

  CAMPBELL RESIGNS

  Under a yew tree, overlooking a wide lawn, bordered on the farther sideby a bank of flowers, three people are sitting clustered around atea-table.

  One of them is a little old lady, the dearest old lady imaginable. Byher side, in a low basket chair, a girl is half sitting, half reclining.Her small figure, clad in a simple black frock, gives the impression ofextreme youth, which impression is heightened by the fact that hercurly, yellow hair, reaching barely to the nape of her neck, is caughttogether by a black ribbon like a schoolgirl's. But when one looks moreclosely into her pale face, one realises somehow that she is a woman anda woman who has suffered--who still suffers.

  On the ground facing the younger woman a red-headed young man in whiteflannels is squatting tailor-fashion. He is holding out an empty cup tobe refilled.

  "Not another!" exclaims the little old lady in a horrified tone. "Why,you have had three already!"

  "My dear Trevie, let me inform you once and for all that I haveabandoned my figure. Why should I persist in the struggle now that Anitarefuses to smile on me? When one's heart is broken, one had better makethe most of the few pleasures one can still enjoy. So another cup,please."

  Anita took no notice of his sally; her eyes were fixed on the distanthorizon; she seemed absorbed in her own thoughts.

  "By the way," remarked Campbell casually as he sipped his tea, "I spentlast Sunday at Geralton." He watched Anita furtively. A faint flutter ofthe eyelids was the only indication she gave of having heard him, yetGuy was convinced that she was waiting breathlessly for him to continue.

  "How is Lord Wilmersley?" asked Miss Trevor with kindly indifference.

  "Very well indeed. He is doing a lot to the castle. You would hardlyknow it--the interior, I mean." Although he had pointedly addressedAnita, she made no comment. It was only after a long silence that shefinally spoke.

  "And how is Valdriguez?" she inquired.

  "Much the same. She plays all day long with the dolls Cyril bought forher. She seems quite happy."

  Again they relapsed into silence.

  Miss Trevor took up her knitting, which had been lying in her lap, andwas soon busy avoiding the pitfalls a heel presents to the unwary.

  "I think I will go for a walk," said Anita, rising slowly from her seat.There was a hint of exasperation in her voice which escaped neither ofher hearers.

  Miss Trevor peered anxiously over her spectacles at the retreatingfigure.

  Campbell's rubicund countenance had grown strangely grave.

  "No better?" he asked as soon as Anita was out of earshot.

  Miss Trevor shook her head disconsolately.


  "Worse, I think. I can't imagine what can be the matter with her. Sheseemed at one time to have recovered from her terrible experience. Butnow, as you can see for yourself, she is absolutely wretched. She takesno interest in anything. She hardly eats enough to keep a bird alive. Ifshe goes on like this much longer, she will fret herself into her grave.Yet whenever I question her, she assures me that she is all right. Ireally don't know what I ought to do."

  "Has it never occurred to you that she may be wondering why Wilmersleyhas never written to her, nor been to see her?"

  "Lord Wilmersley? Why--no. She hardly ever mentions him."

  "She never mentions him," corrected Guy. "She inquires after everybodyat Geralton except Cyril. Doesn't that strike you as very suspicious?"

  "Oh, you don't mean that----"

  He nodded.

  "But she hardly knows him! You told me yourself that she had only seenhim three or four times."

  "True, but you must remember that they met under very romanticconditions. And Cyril is the sort of chap who would be likely to appealto a girl's imagination."

  "Lady Wilmersley in love! I can't believe it!" exclaimed Miss Trevor.

  "I wish I didn't," muttered Guy under his breath.

  She heard him, however, and laid her small, wrinkled hand tenderly onhis shoulder.

  "My poor boy, I guessed your trouble long ago."

  "Don't pity me! It doesn't hurt any longer--not much at least. When onerealises a thing is quite hopeless, one somehow ends by adjustingoneself to the inevitable. What I feel for her now is more worship thanlove. I want above all things that she should be happy, and if Cyril canmake her so, I would gladly speed his wooing."

  "Do you think he has any thought of her?"

  "I am sure he loves her."

  "Then why has he given no sign of life all these months?"

  "I fancy he is waiting for the year of their mourning to elapse. But Iconfess that I am surprised that he has been able to restrain hisimpatience as long as this. Every day I have expected--"

  "By Jove!" cried Campbell, springing to his feet, "there he is now!"

  Miss Trevor turned and saw a tall figure emerge from the house.

  Being plunged suddenly into the midst of romance, together with theunexpected and dramatic arrival of the hero, was too much for the littlelady's composure. Her bag, her knitting, her glasses fell to the groundunheeded as she rose hurriedly to receive Lord Wilmersley.

  "So glad to see you! Let me give you a cup of tea, or would you prefersome whiskey and soda?" She was so flustered that she hardly knew whatshe was saying.

  "Thanks, I won't take anything. Hello, Guy! You here? Rather fancied Imight run across you."

  Cyril's eyes strayed anxiously hither and thither.

  "Looking for Anita, are you?" asked Guy.

  "I?" Cyril gave a start of guilty surprise. "Yes, I was wondering whereshe was." His tone was excessively casual.

  "Humph!" grunted Campbell contemptuously.

  "She has gone for a little walk, but as she never leaves the grounds,she can't be very far off," said Miss Trevor.

  "Perhaps--" Cyril hesitated; he was painfully embarrassed.

  Guy came to his rescue.

  "Come along," he said. "I will show you where you are likely to findher."

  "Thanks! I did rather want to see her--ahem, on business!"

  "On business? Oh, you old humbug!" jeered Campbell as he sauntered off.

  For a moment Cyril glared at Guy's back indignantly; then mumbling anapology to Miss Trevor, he hastened after him.

  They had gone only a short distance before they espied a small,black-robed figure coming towards them. Guy stopped short; he glanced atCyril, but the latter was no longer conscious of his presence. Without aword he turned and hurriedly retraced his footsteps.

  "Well, Trevie," he said, "I must be going. Can't loaf forever, worseluck!" His manner was quite ostentatiously cheerful.

  Miss Trevor, however, was not deceived by it. "You are a dear,courageous boy," she murmured.

  With a flourish of his hat that seemed to repudiate all sympathy, Guyturned on his heel and marched gallantly away.

  Meanwhile, in another part of the garden, a very different scene wasbeing enacted.

  On catching sight of each other Cyril and Anita had both haltedsimultaneously. Cyril's heart pounded so violently that he could hardlyhear himself think.

  "I must be calm," he said to himself. "I must be calm! But how beautifulshe is! If I only had a little more time to collect my wits! I know Ishall make an ass of myself!"

  As these thoughts went racing through his brain, he had been movingalmost automatically forward. Already he could distinguish the softcurve of her parted lips and the colour of her dilated eyes.

  A sudden panic seized him. He was conscious of a wild desire to fly fromher presence; but it was too late. He was face to face with her.

  For a moment neither moved, but under the insistence of his gaze hereyes slowly sank before his. Then, without a word, as one who merelyclaims his own, he flung his arms around her and crushed her to hisheart.

  THE END

  _A Selection from the Catalogue of_ G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

  The House Opposite

  _A Mystery_ By ELIZABETH KENT

  Author of "Who?"

  "It is a very hotbed of mystery, and everything and everybody connectedwith it arouses curiosity.... The plot is unusually puzzling and theauthor has been successful in producing a really admirable work. Theclimax is highly sensational and unexpected, ingeniously leading thereader from one guess to another, and finally culminating in aremarkable confession."--_N. Y. Journal._

  Beyond the Law

  By Miriam Alexander

  _The Great Prize Novel Awarded Prize of $1,250.00_

  _Endorsed by A. C. Benson, A. E. W. Mason, W. J. Locke_

  "We have individually and unanimously given first place to the MSS.entitled 'Beyond the Law.' It is a lively, unaffected, and interestingstory of good craftsmanship, showing imagination and insight, with bothvivid and dramatic qualities."

  The scene is laid in Ireland and in France, the time is the William ofOrange period, and deals with the most cruel persecution against theCatholics of Ireland.

  The Way of an Eagle

  By E. M. Dell

  _Frontispiece in Color by John Cassel_

  "_A born teller of stories. She certainly has the right stuff inher._"--London Standard.

  "In these days of overmuch involved plot and diction in the writing ofnovels, a book like this brings a sense of refreshment, as much by thevirility and directness of its style as by the interest of the story ittells.... The human interest of the book is absorbing. The descriptionsof life in India and England are delightful.... But it is the intensehumanity of the story--above all, that of its dominating character, NickRatcliffe, that will win for it a swift appreciation."--_BostonTranscript._

  "Well written, wholesome, overflowing with sentiment, yet never mawkish.Lovers of good adventure will enjoy its varied excitement, while thefrankly romantic will peruse its pages with joy."--_ChicagoRecord-Herald._

  Through the Postern Gate

  A Romance in Seven Days. (Under the Mulberry Tree.)

  _By_ Florence L. Barclay

  Author of "The Rosary," "The Mistress of Shenstone," "The Following ofthe Star."

  "_A masterpiece._"--Phila. Ledger

  "The well-known author of 'The Rosary' has not sought problems to solvenor social conditions to arraign in her latest book, but has beensatisfied to tell a sweet and appealing love-story in a wholesome,simple way.... There is nothing startling nor involved in the plot, andyet there is just enough element of doubt in the story to stimulateinterest and curiosity. The book will warm the heart with its sweet andstraightforward story of life and love in a romantic setting."--_TheLiterary Digest._

  _Nearly One Million copies of Mrs. Barclay's popular stories have nowbeen printed._

  e.