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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] THE MURDER AT NUMBER THIRTEEN: A Romance of Modem Life. BY JOHN K. LEYS, Author qf 1 he Lindsays," &c. die. CHAPTER VII. AN ANXIOUS CONSULTATION. On the following day, when I returned to m) office after lunch, I found a lady waiting to see me. She turned round and rose as I entered the room, and I was more than surprised to see before me Miss Menteith, Ida Braithwaite's friend and companion. I could not help seeing that she was much agitated, though she succeeded in preserving a calm exterior. I begged her to be seated, and asked how I could ¡be of service to her. "I have come," she said, "to consult you pro. fessionalty." I bowed without speaking. On behalf of Miss Braithwaite." It was my torn to be discomposed. If it has anything to do with the sad event that happened at Number Thirteen, Sea View 'Gardens," said I, I fear I cannot advise Miss Braithwaite. Iain already acting for Mr. Protheroe; and it is just conceivable that my duty to him 'might clash with my duty to your friend." Would that be your only reason for declining to help us ? Certainly. I could have no other." Then I do not think that need stand in your Way." But, Miss Menteith-pardon me for putting it so bluntly-there are several solicitors in the town who would be quite willing to undertake the case, and who, I am sure, would giva you the best advice." But it is just because you are Mr. Protheroe's lawyer that I have come to you. At least, that is one reason. Even on other accounts I would much prefer to confide in you and indeed, I tell you frankly, that if you refuse to hear me I will not go to any other solicitor, but will do the best I can by myself—God help me she added under her breath. I was intensely sorrry for her. I could not help admiring the strong, womanly face before me, that bore its load of anxiety so calmly and bravely. And yet-what could I do ? "It is because I hope to be able to show you that Miss Braithwaite's interests, and those of your friend are not opposed, but are identical, that I have come to you," she said, firmly. "Let us speak plainly. Your friend is accused of having ommitted this murder. You believe him to be innocent. And I am convinced that if he did cause the death of Pierre Vinet, he did so under such circumstances, that he is not morally guilty of murder." I shook my head, but she took no notice of the gesture, and went on. There are also suspicious circumstances point- ing to Ida Braithwaite as being the guilty person. But his cause is hers, and hers is his. I feel most strongly, and so does Ida, that whatever trouble he has got into over this affair has come upon him through his desire to be of service to her, and that his safety ought, in justice, to be the first considera- tion with both of us. We do not really know, ,either you or I, which of them fired the fatal shot; and we do not know that Mr. Vinet did not commit suicide, or that the shot was not fired by accident. Surely it is better for us to join our forces. It is possible that they may be cleared- I shook my head, more decidedly than before, -and rose to my feet, to show that I thought the interview had better be brought to an end. The truth is, that I was afraid of yielding, against my better judgment. Miss Menteith rose also, and 'slowly made her way, to the door. ^1 cannot tell you," I said, how it grieves me 0 air*. UT1»ble to help you." oomething in my toae must have struck her, for she stopped, came back, and gazed long and anxiously in my face. If you really mean that, Mr. Clavering," she said, "you will help me. Do not shake your head again. Listen-will this satisfy you? I will con- fide in you on my own account, asking your advice as to my own conduct, in the very difficult and painful circumstances in which I am placed. What- ever I may tell you that in your opinion tends to show Mr. Protheroe's innocence, you will be at liberty to use in his behalf, just as if the know. ledge had come to you in some other way. I say this because I am sure it would be Miss Braith- waite's wish as well as my own. And if at any time you should think it necessary that Miss .Braithwaite should have independent legal advice -well, I must cease to come to you, and I will do my best to get her to consult a lawyer on her own -account." 1 felt that this was a generous offer. Indeed, it was almost too one-sided. There could be no doubt that in my character of Charley's solicitor it was tny duty to accept the offer. I said so, and Miss Menteith sat down again. There is one thing that occurs to me," I said- Is not Miss Braithwaite's father the proper per- son to protect his daughter, and make all these decisions on her behalf ? Ah, poor Mr. Braithwaite That is just one K)f my difficulties. Ida is not an orphan, that is to say, she has a father, yet I am compelled to act as if she had none. Mr. Braithwaite has not been himself lately. I fear he has had serious business troubles, and he has shown signs that they are affecting his brain. I tremble to think what the consequences might be if he had to bear poor Ida's misery in addition to his own." That settles it," said 1. I am quite at your Service, and most anxious to help you to the best of power." First of all," said Miss Menteith, I must tell You what Miss Braithwaite has done for me, that You may know how I feel towards her, and form some idea of the weight of my obligation to her. We were schoolfellows, though I was several years •older than she. I am an orphan, and I was brought up knowing that I must earn my own hving. It was intended that I should be a teacher 1n the school, but I was always treated there as an inferior, and when, at length, I became a governess, my life was so wretched that, after "two years of it, I threw up my situation and tried to find another. I did not succeed. Perhaps fany want of experieNce was against me. At any ?!ate, I failed. I cannot tell you, or anyone, what suffered at that time. I was literally on the -Point of starvation, when Ida met me by chance in r^ndon, and after she had questioned me till I told her everything, she first of all emptied purse into my lap, and then brought me to Wingrove House in the character of her companion. t she treated me as a sister. I have had her full confidence, until the last few weeks, and only on .tte subject has she been reticent With me. I .know she has had trouble about her love affairs, "Ut what it was exactly she would not tell me. "You know—everybody in Eastcliff knows- ,that at one time there was a close intimacy be. J^een her and Vinet. If they were not engaged, they Were the next thing to it. I, myself, believe that they were engaged, and that the engagement ^as kept secret because both of them knew that it 5°uld make Mr. Braithwaite furiously angry, ,Rl has a strong prejudice against Frenchmen, and do not believe that under any circumstances would he consent to his daughter marrying one of at nationality. it "^a soon tired of Vinet, and 1 was glad of *or I never like the man. Still, their intimacy as not broken off. He seemed to have a certain ahTi over ^er—I have sometimes thought he had hold over her. She was certainly afraid of him, jo used to avoid him, and then invent excuses r herself—a thin.j that always made me very angry with her. h" Then she met Lord Ormidale, and she saw that e haa made a conquest. She heard that he was ^own here; and I am not breaking any to »DCe' ^ink, when I tell you that she hoped 8 -kady Ormidale before many months are over, donrC keen something between them in Lon- to h 8 t *iac* no doubt that he would propose a iam sure ^at she liked him—muoh °w*sr, at all events, than she liked Vinet. "Vinet had heard of the attentions Lord Orrni. dale had paid Ida and there had been stormy scenes between them, for Vinet was, in truth, madly in love with her, and, like all Frenchmen, insanely jealous. What passed between them, I do not know, for as I have told you, I was not in Ida's confidence on this one subject. But I know that on the fatal night she had an appointment with him in the earlier part of the evening, and she did not keep it. She went off walking with your friend and me, instead. We met some of our acquaintances, and as it happened, Ida and Mr. Protheroe were left together, for, perhaps, half-an-hour. What they said to each other, I have no idea, but I noticed that when they rejoined us, Ida looked brighter and happier than she had done all day, or, indeed, for some time. She seemed to have forgotten her discarded lover altogether. Mr. Protheroe saw us to the gate of Wingrove House, and then left us. By that time it would be nearly nine o'clock. We went in, and I saw that there was a note for Ida lying on the dining- room table. Mr. Vinet had been there, the servant told us, and had waited some time. "Ida tore open the envelope, read the note, crushed it up in her hand, turned sharp round, and walked straight up to her own room. I saw that her cheeks were in flame, and her mouth was tightly shut. She did not even call her maid, as she usually did when we came in in the evening, bat went right up to her own room, and I saw her no more that night. No! I did see her; but-. I had better go straight on. She would not come) down to supper, and when I knocked at her door, she would not open it, saying that she had a had headache, and would rather not be disturbed. But that night I saw her leave the house- The girl's voice suffered no change, but all st once she stopped, as though the power to speak had been taken from her. She was evidently trying to master her emotion, and I affected to have some instructions to give to my clerk, to make an excuse for leaving the room. When I returned, she spoke in her usual low, even tones, as if she had never broken down. This is what both Ida and I think it necessary you should know, in case an innocent man should be condemned for taking up an unhappy girl's part too warmly. After I had bade Mr. Braithwaiu 'goodnight,' and gone up to my room, when all the house was quiet, I saw Ida slip out cf the drawing-room window-it is a French window, opening like a door steal across the lawn, and go out by a little garden door that, is seldom used. I was so astonished that it was some seconds before I thought of following her and by the time I had thrown on my hat and jacket, and got into the street, she had vanished I waited until she came in, intending to speak seriously tc her, but I had not the heart, or had not the cour- age to do it that night, and my lips were sealed by the dreadful news that reached us next morning." What time did Miss Braithwaite leave the house 2" I asked, less because I cared to know, than because I did not wish to seem uninterested.. We are very early people at Wingrove House '-about five minutes past ten." And you think she went to Mr. Vi net's house ? For answer she put into my hands a sheet ol note-paper, all crumpled up. I found that in a corner of the floor in Ida's bedroom," she replied. I am tolerably certain that the housemaid, and probably the other vants, have read it already, so that I think you had better read it too. It was exceedingly careless of Ida to leave it lying about; but she was always just like that." I smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper, and this was what I read "You are false as well as cruel What have I done to deserve such treatment ? Did you not promise to meet me to-night ? Have you kept your promise? Why do I continue to show mercy to you? Many men in my place would have let the blow fall before, and you would have been at this moment the laughing-stock of the whole town. Certainly, you would never be able to hold up your head here again. When I think how pretty and charming you are I love you to distraction but when I remember how you have treated me, and still treat me, I feel as if I could kill you. One thing I am resolved upon. I swear it. You shall ttiarry me, in spite of your -fa.ther,a.nA evtryone else, as would do, or you shall marry no one. Do you hear ? No one! Do you think for one, moment that I will allow you to sell yourself to that foolish, what you call prig, of a lord? Never You are mine, Ida, mine—mine—mine I You shall never be another's. "I see that the lord must be driven away. I have written a letter to him, which will certainly be delivered to-morrow morning, and which will send his lordship back to town quicker than he came, unless I see you to-night, and receive your solemn promise that you mean to keep faith with me- to-night, mind To-morrow will not do. I have learned not to trust you farther than I can see you, you lovely, adorable little jilt! I will say not good-night' now, for I expect to see you this evening. You need not come to the house itself. I always smoke a cigar on the lawn at the back of the house between ten and eleven. That will be the scene of our final explanations. For I shall dance attendance on you, to be hoodwinked, and cajoled, and played with, no more. Understand that, my charming Ida. No more at all. Unless I see you to-night, and get the promise I ask for- you know what will happen. I shall be sorry for your father, but that cannot be helped. He deserves no particular consideration at my hands, any more than you yourself do. I will do as I have said, and I think you know me well enough by this time to know that I am a man of my word." There the letter ended, without signature of any kind. "A blackguardly letter to write I" I cried, pitching it across the table. It is indeed, though I fear Ida has not treated the man well. See how he threatens her! He must have had a hold of some sort over her, or he would never have dared to write like that." I remembered the words I had overheard on the Esplanade a week or two before and I thought I understood. I have sometimes thought," said the girl, "that if Ida confided her trouble to your friend Mr. Protheroe that night, and if he saw Mr. Vinet on her behalf, and if Vmet permitted himself to use such threats in Protheroe's presence, your friend might have -but no no Unless he and Ida were together. And it is not at all likely that they were." She stopped suddenly, so suddenly that I felt sure that something more was behind. It was a very reasonable explanation that my friend, pro- voked beyond bearing by the threats and insults Vinet may have poured out against the girl he worshipped, might have suddenly drawn the revolver, perhaps intending only to frighten Vinet, and half blinded by passion, had pressed the trigger before he knew what he was doing. Why should that hypothesis seem to Miss Menteith untenable?" I looked at her. She was searching my face once more with her eyes, one hand pressed upon her side, as if to stay the beating of her heart. It was plain to ire that she was hesitating as to whether she should confide something to me or II almost wished she would not. Yet for Charley's sakeiTwas necessary that I should listen. "I will not insuit you by asking you to keep this a secret," said Miss Menteith, "but I do ask you not to use it even to obtain your friendIs release-not until the last moment-not until the trial." I hesitated. „ "I could not allow him to suffer the torture of going to trial, knowing all the time that I had evidence in mv pocket that would clear 11X1» said 1. But I fear the case must go to trial, and in any case I can promise to give you ample before using the weapon you put into my hands. It is indeed a weapon-a sword that threatens one I would rather die than injure. Yet not even for her sake can I allow an innocent man to go to the scaffold. I should feelasthoughlhad murdered him with my own hand She was silent for some seconds, and when she spoke again it was in a tone from which every trace of passion and emotion had vanished. The only sign by which I guessed how much it cost her to speak out was that at intervals she drew a long breath, as if the air of the room were not enough for her. "I have been haunted," she said, "by the thought that I might delay speaking until, by some rule of law. it was too late. As I said. the woralj f that could befal would be that the innocent should suffer for the guilty. Mr. Clavering, if—if—if it should be that, Ida were guilty, they would not- they would not hang her, would they ? There was agony in the gentle face turned to- wards me at the other side of the table. I could not bear to look at her. "No; I am sure they would not-not if there seemed to be a likelihood that she fired the shot in defence of her good name. I feel sure—as sure as any one can be in a matter of that kind, that she would not be called on to suffer the extreme penalty of the law." And your friend ?" His case might excite pity, and it all de- pends on the facts as proved. If the provocation could be shown to have been very great, that would be one thing. But if it were shown that Protheroe went there—which I am certain be never did—■ intending to kill his rival, that would be a very different matter." "Then, do you consider Mr. Protheroe in danger 1" I am sorry to say, there is no doubt of that." "Then you ought to know. All I ask is that you will tell me some time beforehand when you make this public." That I readily promise." Mr. Clavering, I never can believe that either Mr. Protheroe or Ida killed that man wilfully, in sold blood. But, it it is a question of who fired the fatal shoo, of the two it is not your friend that lired it." CHAPTER VIII. A FATAL PIECE OF EVIDENCE. How do you know that ?" and my voice sounded hollow and strange in my own ears, as I asked the question. "Do you remember Colonel Pickford, the American marksman, and his daughter coming here last year?" asked the lady. Yes I remember that the girl's shooting was something marvellous, and for some months half the girls in the place spent their mornings firing at marks under the cliffs." Yes and Ida was one of them. She was one of the best shots among the girls, and after the craze passed away, she retained possession of her revolver." I started in my chair. You do not mean to tell me-?" I began, but did not finish the sentence. "Yes. Ida's revolver is not in the drawer in which she always kept it. I missed it when I went to the drawer yesterday for some string. It is a large table drawer, where various odds and ends are kept. The box of cartridges was there too. Some had been taken out, but, of course, that may have been done long ago." What was the weapon like ?" It was just large enough not to be a toy, very light and easily handled. The barrel was dark- polished metal, the stock of a beautifully-veined dark-coloured wood; and there were three small stars on the handle. You have seen the revolver found on the lawn beside the dead body ? Yes I saw it at the inquest. Your descrip- tion tallies with it exactly." For some seconds neither of us spoke. "It is my duty to warn you," I said, "that if this fact should get to the ears of the police, Miss Braithwaite would be arrested at once. Do you think it is likely that anyone besides yourself would miss the revolver ? Miss Menteith thought for a moment, and then said-" The only two persons likely to open the drawer besides Ida and myself are the upper house- maid, and Ida's own maid, a girl she has had for the last two or three months." It is terrible to think of her being at the mercy of these two girls. I should advise you to lock the drawer, if it has a lock but, if not, don't have one put on. It might make some one ask why you did it." It seems to me," said Miss Menteith, after a pause, "that Mr. Vinet was holding some threat over Ida, to force her to carry out her engagement with him." That is my own conviction." "And the only threat I can think of is that he would publish, or show to Lord Ormidale, some compromising letters she had written to him. j When a young girl fancies herself in love she is capable of writing letters which sho would not allow to be made public if it were to save her life I think there must have been something of that kind in VineVs hands, or he would have had no way of compelling her to obey him. You see, too, that he talks of making her the laughing-stock of the town, and says he had written a letter to Lord Ormidale which would make his lordship return at once to London." There is no doubt that that, or something like it, is at the bottom of the threat. Vinet would ruin his own reputation as well as Miss Braitli- waite's, but he would not care for that, so long as he had his revenge. Of course we may assume that Miss Braithwaite told my friend Charley Protheroe the plight she was in, and he, we may be sure, promised to get her letters back from Vinet. He went to the man's house, and waited long in the hope of seeing him. Perhaps he was in a room which looked towards the back of the house, and saw him smoking on the lawn, and went to him. There was an angry discussion between them. It may be that the fellow used some insulting expres- sion about Miss Braithwaite, and made Charley furious. He is a hot-tempered fellow, I know very well. In a transport of passion he covered him with the pistol, perhaps to make him take back what he had said, and perhaps the weapon ex- ploded." "But you forget," said Miss Menteith gently. Ida had the revolver." In my eagerness to show that Charley might have taken the wretched man's life almost without meaning to do it, I had forgotten that it was Miss Braithwaite who had brought the revolver to the the spot. Either the girl must have fired the shot herself, or she and Charley must have met, and she had given it to him. But in that case, why should he have remained all night in the house ? Miss Menteith rose to go, and the only practical bit of advice I had to give her was that she should if possible get rid of the two girls who might have noticed, as she herself had done, the absence of the revolver from the drawer. In Susan's case I hardly think that would be necessary," said Miss Menteith. "Susan is the housemaid. She is a steady, quiet girl, with a head on her shoulders, and very fond of Ida. She would be sure to hold her tongue if she did notice anything to Ida's prejudice. As to Julie—that is the French lady's maid-it is different. I don't know much about her, and what I have seen, I have not quite liked. I caught her chatting to a gentleman ia an unmaidenly sort of way across the garden fence one evening, and though I said nothing about it, I was not sure that I ought not to have men- tioned the matter to Mr. Braithwaite. Perhaps I am prejudiced against the girl, but I confess there is something in her face that I do not like." Do you suppose every lady's maid would not do that sort of thing ? I asked, with a smile. "I hope not. With a man of her own class there would be no harm in it, but this was a gentleman, or one who passes as a gentleman, a Mr Dangerfield." "Dangerfield? Where did I hear that name-? Yes, of course. He is a visitor at Mr. Braith. waite's, isn't he ?" No I would be sure to know it, if he had been in the habit of coming to the house." "But he has seen Miss Braithwaite lately I know," said 1. Miss Menteith looked puzzled. "It is odd that Ida should not have mentioned it," she said and after a few words of no particular moment she left me. This interview left me at once cheered and grieved. I was cheered to think that my friend must be innocent, and I had little doubt that his innocence would be brought to light without incul- pating Miss Bralth waIte, though I did not see as yet how this could be done. But I was grieved to think that the links of evidence should be slowly but surely forming themselves round Ida Braithwaite. I was sorry for her, for I knew that if she were indeed guilty, she must be suffering—no matter what amount of provocation she had received- agonies of remorse. To thrust a fellow creature in a moment across the dread border-line that separ- ates us from the unseen to drag him, before the judgment seat, "Unhousel'd, disappointed, unanel'd, No reckoning made, but sent to his account With all his imperfections on his head," —what wrong, what danger, could justify such a crime? (To oe continued).

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