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PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. WHO GIVETH THIS WOMAN ? By Wh.LL\\1 LE QUEUX, Author of Whoso Findeth a Wife," "The Idol of the Town, man from Downing Street," The Seven Secrets," "The Closed Book," etc., etc. COPYRIGHT. I CHAPTER XIX.— 'ROSEMARY." 11 1 ] I Jakovski ate three or tour moutnrUlS, ^al- lowing a glass of wine for appearance sake, pain the waiter, and rheu bovving to me v/ith rritating c h e wa. r?riezi b o -?, ??,, politeness strode away dowu the crowded roem. His hostility towards me was t'n. open one. I recognised this at once, but reflecting that pro- nounced enmity was better secret natred, finished my iuncho n, at the iaiae time ,1 rather nuzzled at the manner in whicli a middle-aged man and a young fctir-haired girl of about twenty, lunching close to where I sat, continually regarded Apparently they had seated themselves hile. I me. e, ? Fad seated themselves wh,'Ie I Lad been in oonvers ttion with the Russian, a.8 though intent upon watc-ing us, for when I gazed straight at the well-dressed girl she at once buried her face in the menu, oovored with oonfusion. At that moment I merely regarded the matter As a somewhat curious circumstance, but my mind wa.s too full of other things to take much notice of them. Who was Eileen, the woman of the fair hair? The name had involuntarily escaped the iips of the handsome incognita, for sight of the photo- graph had uterly bewildered and horrified her. It wa.s an Eng-iish name—yet h^r face and mode of plaited hair gave the impression of a foreigner. I had proved, too, by the way the Russian had received my declaration that Norreys was in seme way implicated in the startling affair. But how, I had no means of ascertaining. That there was soma distinct purpose in Jakovski's following me to London was evident. Natica Tesloff feared ex- posure, and she had sent him to me to endeavour to prevent me investigating further. She, too. was undoubtedly in London. Pro- bably he had travelled in the same train as my- self without my knowledge. Yet who could he be that she s..oiuu beg and implore of him aa she had d-ne that evening in the hotel? Thf fellow wsu, Ü: himself a mystery, just as sinister and obscure as were his motives. Yet his threats and his declaration of peril in no way deterred me from the task I had set myself. Nor- reys, my old uncle's confidential secretary whom at heart he did not trust, was certainly one of the conspirators therefore I had felt a vague convic- tion from the first that the affair in Montague- street had some eomi.,0:ion with my future. I was in peril—doadly peril. That I had brought upon myself the secret hatred of certain persons unknown to me, wa- quite apparent; yet on the other hand I was -ufficiently a Londoner not to fear being abroad in London. Traps might be set for me and pitfalls opened, but I flattered myself that it would na d peraoas of double cunning to cnti oe me mta any not. And yet that unfortunate young man had been done to death in Bl-omsbury in broad daylight. Norreys. or nis oxact double, had watched out- side, and had given warning to the occupants of that house of mystery. And a house of mystery it surely was, for the manner in which the assas- sins had disappeared wao still an enigma which puzzledi Courtland and his a,ssi.-tants. They had certainly not come out into the street, while there was just as certainly no egress at the rear or sides of the premises. But at that moment the mystery surrounding the woman known as Tesloff realty interested me more than the identity of the victims. She was in league with tl e mysterious Russian. Perhaps he was her accomplice. I reooilected whitt, tho garrulous old general had told me of the thin young man who came and went as her secret visitor, and who lurked always in the background. In his existence I scented dis- tinct suspicion. The very fact that he was never seau in public with her. and that her admirers feared him as an irresponsibly and jealous person showed that he cultivated a warning note, and that t.he-'r J._l,ip was with some purpose. That afternoon I called upon Page. but told him nothing of my discovery of Miss Tesloff. They bad, he declared, discovered nothing fresh. The mystery of Montague-street was, thoiagh hushed up. still inscrutable. That same- afternoon, too, at a pawnbroker's shop in t!;e Euston-road, I bought a good second- hand revolver, for if my life were threatened, as it seemed to be. I ought At least to go armed. I had never fired off any kind of gun in my life; nevertheless, po»-es~ion of it upon my person seemed to iend an air of security. Then by the eight o'alock train that evening- I left Liverpool-street Station, and at midnight. was seated again in t'-e great old library of Twine- ham Hall. t I had not arrivrd before that hour which it was decreed that I should spend in the blue bou- doir, nevertheless, on entering those echoing room,. a vivid recollection of that unaccountable Voice fell upon me. I recollected its grim, un- canny tones, and all that it had told' m. Wag Natica Teiioff the woman of the dark ha.ir •whom I was to avoid' That, was the ('I'Ji(\{ ques- tion which held me puzzled. Old Burton. the faithful Flllrvitor. attended to my wants, treading noiselessly upon the soft car- pet. and expressing a hope that I had been well. "There have been some callers, sir." he said. "People who wish to make your acquaintance." And he handed several' visiting cards upon his old silver salver, adding: '"They are all friends of the casern's, sir—peopie of the county." T glanced at the rards They were those of a Bishop and his wife. the local Ear! and the Coun- ter a parson cr two, and one or two persons with double-barrelled names—the usual cards left upon a new-oomer. I had some, vague idea. that I ought to return their C,11j. but I oonfess to you that I knew more afceut thf> sizes and makes of hosiery than the usages of good society. The drapery ware iio i,e i t,,Ln's club ift the quiet private bar somewhere tti) we.,t"-and he only does i Ls visit- ing- on a Sunday, In answer to my inquiry, Burton .-aid, Mr. Norre/» has been up to London. I think. sir; he only returned last rnght. Ha told me you bad -on,, abroad, sir." I was much surprised at this, as nobody save myself knew of my flying visit to the Continent. Therefore, my secretary must pos-ess some s-c-t source of information, a fact, v.'h'ch added mystery to that which al ready enveloped him. I recollected what my dead uncle had written. Mr. Xorrdy* was n« >t to be trusted. Next morning he came in after breakfast, bow- ing- and obsequious as usual, and began to go through. a nnmhr of matters connected with the estate, and with the colonel's executors. That he was a miserly methodioal person was un- doubted, but his shifty sunken eyes gave one the impression of double dealing, and I wondered why, if my uncle knew him to be worthless, he had for 80 reposwd oonifdenoe in him. That afternoon while I wa3 sitting in the cosy corner of the library reading tre newspaper, Bur- ton brought me two cards, saying: The lady and gentleman are in the great draw- ing-room, sir. I understood you to say you were at homo? "Quite right. Burton," I answered. And glanc- ing at the cards read the names: "Sir Edmund «Fr? "Mi«« Rosemary Earle." Do you know t"f\ffi?" I inquired. "Oh, vC>. s; Sir Edmund lives at Earlstone ■Htr»!l, abcut seven miles away. and Miss Rose- mary, his daughter, is a. nioe young lady—so very good' to the poor. She teaches needlework to the girls in Twineham School on Wednesday after- noons. fr'rr,,J q of rny u7,ci4e's ? "Were they friend a of my uncle's?" "Not exactly, si' The ookmE'l went out so very little, you know. They sent him many invitations, which he nearly always declined. Sir Edmund. however, wa.s vice-chairman of the magistrates and vicc-c! ai.r.ian of L'ie Guardians as well. There- fore they were verv gooJ friend's indeed." "And Miss Rsem^ry? Is .she young or old?" "310", was born the year I wa3 married, sir- j. ust twpnfy-ova y-ars ago last Christmas." And thus pruned with facta, I went along the corridor to the great old-fashioned room with its genuine Chippendale and old Delft, where the baronet and his daughter awaited me. The instant I entered the room I became con- I scious of the presence of a person who was des- tined to exercisc upon me an irrestible power for good—or for evil. The baronet was of that thin meagre type of grey faced aristocrat whose dothes seemed several times too For his shrunken figure, whose face was lone and deeply lined, and whose voice was weak and somewhat nasal. But his daughter. the girl with the old-world name of Rosemary, possessed the sweetest, plea.sa ..test, most loveable face I had ever seen. You may smile at me as one who has had but lute experience of pretty high-born women. I admit all that. Yet surely we all of us have a natural intuition when we encounter one whoso heart heals in unison with ours. It may be a man or it may be a woman, but we always know when a person we meet "likes" us. The instinct of at raction and repulsion within us is the animal imtind-it cannol; be accounted for, ex- cept that it is given to us by nature. Iler eyes were a deep hazel, her features per- fect in t.heir symmetry, her cheeks dimpled, her teeth pearly white as she smiled graciously when I took her hand and looked into her eyes. Then, as though bashful, she dropped her gaze to the carpet, and I turned to express to the baronet my thanks for his trouble in calling to make my acquaintance. Your uncle wis one of my best friends," the thin old gentleman declared. Somewhat eccen- tric. you know. but nevertheless a man of sterling worth—one of the old Norfolk school of whom very fow are left, alas! My daughter heard yon ",cr" at bomo so we thought we'd run over and be among the first to welcome you and con- gratulate you upon possession of this very fine old place. I'm sure you're very kind Sir Edmund," I answered: and then told him in a few words the unexpected manner of my inheritance. 11 Ah, your uncle was a strange man," he re- marked He took violent dislikes. Books were hiz hobby, ju t as they are mine. As a bibliophile he • K rt .v" kr-owii. for his able book on the VenNian Prpsgpg of the fifteenth century is a standard work You have in your library some treasures of great value, you know. There is a copy of Perceval le Gallois printed in Paris in 153b, worth at least four hundred pounds, as well as a Suckling of 1646, a first edition of Spenser's Faerie Queen of 1590, and a first editon of Sir Thomas More. 1551, in black letter. I remember, too. he once showed me his greatest treasure—a treasure indeed—the only existing copy of the first edition of Christopher Marlowe. So if you are fond of books you have plenty of material with which to study." "I fear I know so very little about them," I laughed. "Ah! but you must learn," he said, with all the warmth of the enthusiast. You must allow me bo interest you in your own library. You will find books a most pleasant study." I thanked him, but within myself resolved to take up no such dry-as-dust recreation. I pre- ferred open-air exercise, golf, hunting and shoot- ing. and would leave the subject of fireside bibliography to the aged and infirm. Burton brought tea, which at my request Miss Rosemary poured out for us. She was a bright, intelligent girl, who, I found, had recently returned from France, where she had been living with a French family in order to perfoct herself in the language. She and her father had travelled a good deal over the usual beaten tracks of the Continent. After Lady Earle's death five years ago. they had alway., spent the winters abroad—once at Cairo, once in Florence, and once in Algiers. Do you know, Mr. Hewerdine, I've grown so terribly cosmopolitan," she laughed. Father is always reproaching me because I can't settle down to a hum-drum life in the country. In Fontainbleau we were always gay, and life,. although en campagne, was always merry. Here people are so terribly dull." Rosemary! Rosemary!" cried the old baronet across the edge of his tea-cup. You're a most unconventional girl. You mustn't say that. Mr. Hewerdine might repeat it to our neighbours. No," she sighed, "I suppose you're right. Only I'm disgusted that you haven't taken me to Cannes this winter, father. You know you half promised. My public duties have kept me at home, my dear—committees and things." "Then all I can say is-bothe-r oommittees!" she declared, decisively; whereat we both laughed. To me she was most interesting and attractive. a. plain, outspoken fresh English girl who, while sweet and modest in her demeanour, was at the sarno time thoroughly up-to-date, without being mannish. Like thousands of other girls in her own sphere, she had tasted the bright phantasmagoria of. life on the Continent in her youth, and was now brought home to live in the rusticity of a country mansion. It had always struck me that for girls a foreign education is not wholly neces- sity, for it so often arouses within them a rest- lessness of spirit in after life. i Wo chatted and laughed merrily together, and afterwards I took them along to the library, where the baronet began to forage for rare editions, taking down certain tattered old volumes which did not in the least impress me, but which he declared were unique specimens of the early Antwerp presses. And while Sir Edmund was revelling in my late uncle's collection, I stood in the deep window chatting with Rosemary, intoxicated by her I beauty and charmed by her womanly sweetness. CHAPTER XX. IN THE LONG AVENUE. I was anxious to return the call, but according to the little red book on etiquette wh;ch I had bought and now consulted surreptitiously, I fou id that to call next day would be a sign of bad breed- ing. So I resolved to wait a week. Next afternoon, after a morning full of sus- picion and anxiety, for Norreys flitted about mo like some evil spirit, I retired to the blue boudoir, and there took tea and spent an idle hour with the door locked, trying to read a news- paper. 1 say trying to read," for to confess the truth my presence in that uncanny room was far from gratifying to me. The Voice I had heard was surely sufficient to unnerve any man. And yet I all was silent. The marble face of "La Fiarr- metta" smiled upon me wantonly, but nothing unusual occurred, although my ears were strained to catoh the slightest sound. As I sat back in the old armchair by the ifre, that same chair in which my great grandmother had sat. every detail of those weird happenings on the last occasion came back to me. Those words of warning and encouragement uttered by the Voice resounded in my ears. And yet they were uttorlv unaccountable. I glanced around the fine old apartment with its faded gilding and time-mellowed furniture. It presented no strange features, although the superstitious would certainly have declared it to bo wha.t they called a haunted room. But I WM no believer in the supernatural. Besides I had never heard of spirits speaking. Lighting a oigarocte, I cast aside the paper, and a;).in made a toair of the room, but discovered nothing—absolutely nothing. There was some mechanical device by which the bust of Boc- caccio's heroine turned upon her marble pedestal. but what it was I could not discern. The clock on the stables chimed five at last, and then, glad of release from the silent room of the Voice, I unlocked the door, and putting on my overooat went out into the Park, having promised to call upon the rector of Twineham, who was arranging a parochial charity, and at whose house that evening a meeting of the com- mittee was to be held. The snow which had been falling heavily all day had now ceased, and it was freezing hard. The darkness was not quite complete, for when the ground is covered with snow a grey light is always reflected. The sky was a dark steely blue, and as I walked down the long avenue of high bare beeches the frozen snow crunched beneath my heels. I walked briskly, for after the warmth of that closed room the north wind was piercing, and my breath was already freezing in icicles on my moustache. I had decided to return to London on the morrow and continue :y inquiry into the affair at Montague Street. Norreys had mentioned that morning that he was going to Norwich, and did not propose to return until the next day; therefore I intended to be up betimes and to follow him, for. I had a suspicion that the rea<Mn of his absence wad to run up to town in rea,,)on of h?,i absenc*- ww to run up to town in Natica Tesioff wt47 in London, and that being no tt was but nat?'ra.' t' t so it was but natnral t 1. lie should seek her. By ascertaining his destination I should also discover her whereabouts. Having walked nearly 0 mile. I was passing the spot where the ,i-iloped down to where the p"r:t —as H-» iided by the Norwich road, and wlv re t'■■y 0": LT" were so spreading that they meT owrhcH shutting out all the light. Before le I could see the lights in the rectory windows not far f-ori-I the lodge gates, but arnl1,J me doll was d-rkness as I strode noiselessly onward do vn the lonely dri ve. Suddenly I became aware of something before me, and a few minutes lar ss v that there were two fig..i,(-s-a man and a woman—a hundred yards or MJ in front of me, ta king together in earnest conversation. The spot was just the place for a secret tryst, and I supposed it was one of t'le maids with her lover. Therefore curiosity prompted me to tread noiselessly behind them aad ascertain which of them it was. Some of them had been presented to me. but only the upper servants. Of the lower ones-kitchenmaids. laundry-maids and dairymaids-I had no know- ledge. Indeed, I seemed to see fresh faces about me everywhere. Cnder" those thick trees the ground was not snow-covered, therefore to tread noiselessly was extremely difficult. But presently, out in the open again where the snow was thick. I managed to approach the pair swiftly and unexpectedly. I discerned that they were walking apart, and not linked arm-in-arm. They were speaking in very low tones—so low indeed that even in the silence of that clear night and close behind them I could not distinguish their words. Suddenly the- man halted, and struck a match to light his cigar. By that fortunate action his identity was reveal ed to me. The flickering uncertain light shone on both their faces, shew- ing the hard-drawn features of Thomas Norreys, while the face of his companion caused me to halt in sheer amazement. She was none other than Rosemary Earle. Next instant, however, the wind blew out the nntch. and there only remained the red end of the old man's cigar. He was wearing a soft felt hat and thick black overcoat with collar and cuffs of astrachan—an old and faded ga-ment which I had noticed a few days previously. His com- panion, however, was warmly clad in a neat bolero and fur toque, which add?d smartness to her lithe, well-proportioned figure, and carried her skirt hitched up in her hand She walked at his side s^wly with haltdng atcp?. apparently listening to what he was telling her, whdG he, on his pa.rt. seemed to treat her with a calm indifference, as though the mcet-ing had been at her request and not at his. What secret could be the motive of that meet- ing, I wondered That they were not lovers was evident. Norreys had given me to understand that he was no admirer of the fair sex. and held women in the same abhorrence as his late master had done. Besides such a wizened and miserly- looking person, with his lank white hair and thin nose and lips, was not the kind of man to attract a young and up-to-date girl of her character. No. There was some secret between them, of that I was at once convinced. I I longed to be able to approach them sufficiently near to overhear his words, yet how could I? True. the snow muffled my footsteps. Yet I feared that if I went closer their quick ears might catch the sounds. Their meeting was evidently a secret one, and as such they no doubt were listening for approaching footsteps, for NOrTeys would not care to be surprised bv any of the ser-vant-s or stable-hands. Suddenly they halted in the shadow and then my eyes distinguished that tethered to a tree stood a horse, and further I recognised that the skirt she held in her hand was her riding-habit, and that the horse was herSi She had evidently ridden over from Earlstone to keep the appointment in the avenue, and had paced up and down with him because of the cold. "What yo,u've said astounds me." I heard her remark, as she stood in the darkness beside her horse, patting her neck. "Are you sure you're not mistaken? You were once, you know." "Not this time" the old man answered. gruffly. "What I've told you is the truth. 1 merely warn you. that's all." "But how do you know? How have you ob- tained knowledge of all this?'' "I have certain means of knowing," be said, vaguely. "And you are really in fear of-well, of a catastrophe, shall we call it?" "I have already toldl you what must inevitably happen. "But you surely can save him?" she suggested. "If anything happens to him you will be respon- sible" "Me!" he exclaimed, with a short, dry laugh. "I accept no responsibility whatever. Matters may take their course a-a far as I'm concerned." "And suppose I told him of his peril?" sug- gested the baronet's daughter. "You won't do th&t!" he exclaimed, quickly. "Remember what I've just said. One word from you, and you would ahare. his fate. They are re- i lentlos.s you know-utterly relentless. Ta them, man or woman is alike. Betrayal spells death to the betrayer." "But this is criminal, Mr. Norreys, to allow him to walk calmly into such a trap aha cried "Ho is in utter ignoranoo of it all, otherwise he would not live here and face suoh peril." "His head is turned by his sudden affiue-noo," declared Norreys. And then I knew that it was of me they wore speaking. "Ho little dreams of what lies before him." "But won't you tell him?" she implored "D& "Not 1. Why should I? He already doubts ma; therefore, I have no desira to appear to curry favour." "Tell him, Mr. Norreys—for my sake." she urged, plaomg her hand upon his arm. "For your sake!" he echoed, as though sur- prised. "Why, anyone would believe that you have fallen in love with this young counter- jumper. "I am not in love," she hastened to assure him. "I only desire that he shall be forewarned of the ingenious conspiracy against him. If you do not speak—I will." "Excuse me, Miss Earle," he answered with rrook politeness; "you dare not do that." "Why not?" "For certain re-a.sO!lrea.oons very well known to yourself," was his hard reply. "I need not, I think refer to tham." She was silent a moment; then said: "Then let us thoroughly understand each other. You threaten that if I save him from this trap, you will expose me. oh?" "Threaten is scarcely the word to use. Miss Earle," was the man's nonchalent reply. "I merely tolt you that to utter one single word to him of what I have explained. will be greatly against your own interests. Please recollect for a moment all that you have at stake—name, posi- tion; honour—everything." "Mv honour is at stake!" she cried, hoarsely in a voioe of despair. "Yes. I know it.. You have so drawn me into this horrible net that escape ia impossible, but I will not allow the life of an innocent man to be sacrificed as you, with Your, devilish cunning, intend! No. He shall know:" she declared "I tell you plainly, as I stand here, that he shall know "H'm. Then you defy me. eh?" "What you have' told me to-night has con- firmed my suspicions," she cued. "1 know you now. You will expose me. Very well. do so. I teli you aga;n, Mr. Norreys, I defy you to do your worst to me. My honour is at stake. Very well, if it is your pleasure I'll forego it—I 11 lose it. But I will tell him the truth." "You w' U;" hL, gasped. "Then I'll—I'll—" ( |j But she had drawn her hoe sa to the. stump of a t:ee that served her as a mounting-block, and had slipped up to her saddle with an ag-ility which shewed her to ba an admirable horee- woman. The man's threatening sentence was interrupted because her mare, suddenly released, reared, and he was compelled to spring aside out of the way. And next instant without further word, the fair-haired daughter of the baronet was galloping away over the snow towards the high road back to Earlstone*. fTo be continued.)

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