Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, January 30, 1897, Page 2

BY MAURICE H. HERVEY CHAPTER XV—(Continued.) “I must tell you, Mr. Somerville,” she said, speaking very calmly and de- liberately, “that, although I have worn the ornament, I cannot accept it other- wise than as a loan. It suits the part 1 am playing, and IT am well aware that artiste, it is my duty to look my best—if only in compliment to the audience which has received my poor efforts so kindly. Most of the jewelry I wear has been borrowed for the occasion, and I can regard your bracelet in no other light.” / Somerville smiled, as little cynically ashe could. He did not believe a word of this loan theory; but, after all, what did it matter so long as the jewels were a riper acquaintance with elf? “Well, Miss Clifford,” he remarked, good-humoredly, “let us make a com- I Shall Keep This One. promise. bsolutely decline to take back ; such a proceeding would entail I know not how many years of bad luck. But, as regards the other trinkets, you shall please your- self. » you deem most suit- able, wear them, d, if you still re- main obdurate, return them to me when your engagement is over. Die monds are meant to be seen, not to lie buried in leather cases. Do you agree? Believe me, you will be conferring a very great pleasure on me, if you will.” Still haunted by a conviction that she must see these other Eastern gems, Zana consented to the proposal, reserv- ing, however, the right to restore the bracelet with the other things. Then Somerville played his best trump card. Would she honor his abode by calling and inspecting the collection? It was pecting girls do not com- y visit bachelor chambers, even to s. He was therefore more a refu than for the asent which, with little hesitation, she gave for the following afternoon. Somerville was sufficiently master of himself to e his leave with the same air of deferential kindliness which he bad maintained throughout the inter- view; he did not so much as intimate even by a gesture that he expected to shake hands at parting. He took his departure with the dignified courtesy of a Moecents or a Chesterfield paying homage to successful genius. “That dark-eyed little houri has be- witched me,” he murmured, when he had seated himself in his coupe. “Why. should I not turn the tables by hypno- tizing— No! Confound it all! That would not be fair even in love! Pshaw! The glitter of poor Norton’s gems will plead my cause quite strongly enough, or I'm no judge of the female heart. [ve a good mind to send her that dia- mond riviere this evening, just to see it sparkle on her br the Volies Be Or shall I w In the end, procrastination gained the day. The riviere was not sent. CHAPTER XVI. At Bay. Zana had by this time seen enough of the world to know that, in consenting to inspect the jewels of a declared ad- mirer, in his own rooms, she was doing a foolish, if not a foolhardy thing. But deep in the rec 's of her heart, and almost unconsciously to herself, there still lurkd a glimmer of doubt as to Ernest Norton’s perfidy; and certain vague hints let fall by Josiah Skinner, before she left London (he had not deemed it advisable to unsettle her mind once more by telling her the full extent of his discoveries), had certainly not tended to extinguish this faint sperk of hope that he might, after all, turn out to have been less base than ap- pearances seemed to prove. Should she be able to identify other articles in the collection of this Mr. I Have Come, Miss Clifford. Somerville as a portion of the contents of the bag which Ernest Norton had taken with him to Southampton, then, tlearly, this gentleman might reasona. bly be called upon to account for his possession of them, and so furnish a ~etrong clue as to her recreant lover’s actal proceedings. Moreover, she deemed it wiser forth- with to communicate with her former adviser, and wrote that same evening to Josiah Skinner, narrating the inci- ‘lent of the bracelet (which she now felt vertain had been her mother’s) afd entioning her appointment for the fol. wing: day. “Of Mr. Somerville (or Dr. Somer- ville, I think he is I, of course, know nothing,” she added, “except that he is very gentlemanly in manner. He has a habit of staring very fixedly with his piercing gray eyes, which I have never noticed in anyone else; and I do not mind confessing that if the matter should call for an explanation, I would rather you asked for it than I.—Zana.” Zana’s eyes had grown so accustomed to the somewhat baffling glare of the footlights that she could readily distin- guish faces in the audience; and Som. erville, being seated in the front row of Stalls, was easily recognizable. She no- ticed, with approval, that he made no sort of effort to catch her glace or ar- rest her attention; he merely watched her dancing, with very evident interst, and joined in the applause in a quiet, unobtrusive manner, at the conclusion of each effort. Had her eyes traveled farther afield they might have lighted upon a distort- ed face quivering in the excitement of her presence. For, with a lavish disre- gard of cost and a reckless oblivion of the future, Daft Billy had invested two francs for a back seat, whence he could obtain a fairly-good view of the stage. And so, far asunder, indeed, they wit- nessed the same performance, these two; the rich man who admired her, and the poor cripple; who loved her. At 3 o’clock the following day, Zana, having schooled herself, as she be- lieved, to face the ordeal with unruf- fled composure, drove to Somerville’s abode, in the Rue de Suresnes, and, in- structing the coachman to await her return, walked boldly into the lion’s den. Somerville, on the alert for her arrival, received her ere she was well past the concierge’s lodge, and conduct- ed her to a handsomely-furnished drawing room au premier. “It is indeed good 6f you to come,” he said, scarcely able to hide a slight tremor in his voice. “I had half-feared you would forget all about your prom- ise, or, perhaps, repent having made it.” “Why?” she asked, naively. “I see nothing to repent of in so simple a matter. But I must warn you that my stay must be of the briefest. I have to attend the rehearsal of a new piece at half-past three.” “Which means that you cannot spare more than ten minutes to inspect my collection,” rejoined Somerville, with a smile. “Well, I'll not cause you to be late. Here are the trinkets, all ready for you to select from.” He raised a newspaper, as he spoke, from a small occasional table, upon which were laid out, to the best ad- yantage, the glittering contents of Er- nest Norton’s bag. = Zana was already half-prepared for Somerville Was Easily Recogniz- able. this result of her visit, but she could not restrain a start of excitement on seeing her forebodings thus plainly confirmed. Somerville observed the sudden movement, but naturally attrib- uted it to sheer surprise at the splendor of the display. He watched her from beneath his pent eyebrows, waiting for some outburst of admiration that should enable him to break through the barriers of cold formality that had hitherto kept them apart . Zana was sorely perplexed how to act. Shouid she boldly ask him how he became possessed of these treasures, or should she maintain a discreet si- lence until she could summon Josiah Skinner to her assistance? The latter course seemed by far the more pru- dent, and she would probably have fol. lowed it but for the discovery of a ruby ring half-hidden among larger orna- ments. Her color came and went, as she neryously placed the ring upon her finger; and she ended by throwing pru- dence to the winds. “IT will not ask from whom you ob- tained these things, Dr. Somerville,” she said, pointing contemptuously to the gems, “because I know that, di- rectly or indirectly, you must have got them from—Ernest Norton——” “Ernest Norton!’ he repeated, staring at her in blank surprise. “What do you know about Ernest Norton? You are mistaken. I—I——” “No, I am not mistaken,” said Zana, icily; “it is not possible that I should be mistaken, though it may serve your purposes to attempt to’shield him., As to what I know of Ernest Norton—I know that he was my engaged hus- band, and that he disappeared upon the very eve of our marriage day, taking with him these jewels, which were mine, for the avowed purpose of plac. ing them in a bank for safe custody.” “You astound me!” ejaculated Som- erville, mastering himself by a prodig- ious effort, and rapidly debating in his clever brain what course to take in the face of this staggering surprise. He saw at once the folly of attempting to deny all knowledge of the missing man, and Zana’s next words gave him a guiding clue. “I have had proofs, which I long ago deemed conclusive,” she continued, bitterly, “that he deliberately deserted me, and did not even disdain to rob me, as well. I now find these jewels, once mine, in your possession. Am I right in concluding that he sold them to you?” Somerville instantly saw his opportu- nity, and seized it. “Why, yes,” he said, speaking with | ‘ appareut reluctance, “I did buy them from a Mr. Ernest Norton, though, I need scarcely add, he gave me a very different version as to how he came by them. I bought them at their full value and in perfect good faith.” He had now, outwardly, at least, quite regained his composure, and made this statement with the utmost sang-froid; yet there was a ring of masked anxiety in his tone, which Za- na did not fail to notice. Suppose this man were lying to her? “I am not calling your good faith in question,” she rejoined, “nor do I dis- pute your present ownership of the jewels. But I would like replies to two questions. May I ask them “Most certainly, Miss Clifford.” “My real name is Zana,” she correct- ed, “but that matters noth—-. You look surprised. Do you know the name?” “Never heard it before,” lied Somer- ville, promptly, while inwardly cursing the Fate which had thrown this, his most dangerous foe, across his path, of all living women. “You have some questions to ask?” “Yes. Where is Ernest Norton now?” “In the United States, I think,” was “Here Are the Trinkets, All Ready ¥or You.” * the reply, “though I cannot speak at all positively. The fact is, I met this Mr. Norton many months ago as a stranger here in Paris. A certain sort of inti- macy sprang up between us, which led, among other things, to my purchasing the jewels. He left Paris almost im- mediately afterwards, for New York, as he assured me. There was some half-promise that he would write to me from the States, but he has never done so. It is now clear that I was completely deceived as to his charac- ter and that you were grossly wronged. However, as far as the gems are con- cerned, I am rich enough to see you righted without putting the cumber- some machinery of the law in motion against Mr. Norton. Take them. AIlI ask in return‘ is that you will try and look upon me with some degree of fa- vor.” It had dawned upon Somerville that Zana would feel the loss of her jewels far more keenly than her lover's deser- tion, despite her contemptuous attitude to the contrary; and that if he could purchase her silence by sacrificing them, his wisest course lay in so doing apart altogether from the favors he might reasonably expect from her grat- itude. True, they represented an enor- mous sum, more even than the still un- negotiated drafts: But, where safety and passion pointed so clearly in one direction, he was disposed to follow their lead. But he over-did the part. Even with her limited experience, it seemed an incredible thing that, out of mere gen- erosity or admiration,this man should, upon her bare assertion that they were rightfully hers, offer to restore jewels worth thirty thousand pounds. Some deeper motive he must have, though what it was she could not fathom. She would forthwith invoke Josiah Skin- ner’s aid. CHAPTER XVI. (continued.) “You are very generous,” Zana said, after a pause, “but until this mystery of Ernest Norton’s strange behavior is cleared up, I cannot consent to profit by your proposal. As to regarding you with favor: if bysthat you mean liking you otherwise than as a stranger who has shown me a kindness, let me at once beg you to dismiss the thought from your mind. And now, let me ask my second question.” Somerville ground his teeth almost audibly. “I am all attention,” he said, with forced calmness. This girl was neither to be silenced nor bribed! Yet silenced, somehow, she must be. “Did Ernest Norton sell you this ring?’ she asked, awaiting his reply with parted lips. That cursed ruby ring! How well he remembered removing it from the dead man’s finger, and a disregarded im- “Where is Earnest Norton? You Murdered Him?’ pulse, which had come over him, to hurl it far out into the Thames! For the life of him, he could not wholly conceal the emotion caused by this un- expected question; and, in that emo- tion, Zana instantly read guilt. Once more was the latent tigress aroused in her ,and a fierce light came into the dark eyes. “Yes,” answered Somerville, as soon as he could trust his voice; “he sold it with the other things.” “Tis false!” she cried, her slight frame quivering with passion. “I say, again, ’tis false! Even were Ernest Norton as base as his conduct seenis to prove, he could not be base enough to sell the parting gift of the woman who loved him! He neither sold nor gave you this ring, and you lie in saying that he did. And you are lying about the other jewels, also. Once more I ask Have | you, ‘Where is Ernest Norton? Have you murdered him? ” Somerville reeled so that he had to clutch at a chair for support, and he turned his head to hide his livid, work- ing features from those gleaming, vengeful eyes. “You are mad!” he muttered, hoarse- ly. But he knew that, so far from be- ing mad, she hela his very life in her hands, and that, if she left that room, her first action would be to denounce him as a murderer and a thief... At all hazards, he must detain her, but how? Violence he dared not attempt. Her screams would be heard, the concierge had seen her enter, her brougham awaited her, she was almost due at the Folies Begore. He saw but one chance —not a hopeful one, in her then excited condition, but still, at least, a chance. With a swift, sudden movement he placed his hands firmly upon her shoul- ders and threw the whole power of his steely-gray eyes into hers. She gave a little cry, more of surprise than fear, not having the faintest suspicion of his purpose. Had that cry been but a scream, she would, in all probability, | been heard outside; but, as it was, her ejaculation passed unnoticed. Then she felt as though some numbing pow- er were passing from the inscrutable gray eyes into her very brain, and, when she again attempted to utter a cry, she could not. Larger, brighter, more masterful, the grey eyes appeared to grow, and, strive as she would, she could not but look into them. She felt herself gently borne back upon a sofa, and a dull, heavy sense of irresistible drowsiness came over her. She gradually lost con- sciousness of her surroundings; she could discern nothing but two fathom- less abysses of steel-grey, and then memory became a blank. “So much for Mesmer,” muttered Somerville, wiping the beads of per- spiration from his forehead. “He has stood me in good stead on an emergen- ey, and I'll finish her off in my own way by-and-b; I must get rid of the brougham, and keep the Folies Bergere people quiet, first of all, though.” Locking the door of the room upon the outside, he went down stairs and ment that Miss Clifford had been seized with:a sudden indispotion, and would be unable to attend until the following day. “You need not return to the Avenue Marigny,” he added, slipping a louis into the man’s hand, “as Miss Clifford ma not require the brougham again to- lay.” “C’est tres-bien, milor,” assented the coachman, politely stifling a grin. Pos- sibly mademoiselle’s indispositionrame tion was a trifle imaginary, but what business was that of his? If the ex- cuse was bad, the louis, at all events, was good; and so he went his way re- joicing. ¥ Somerville retavred to Zana, whom he found as he had left her, uncon- scious, motionless. The long, dark eye-lashes had closed over the lustrous eyes, the red lips were slightly parted, and the slow-heaving bosom indicated a slumber as peaceful as that of a tired child. “I was disposed to make a fool of myself over you, my pretty spit-fire,” muttered Somerville, as he gently re- moved her hat and pelisse, “little dreaming who you were. Now matters wear a different complexion, and I must make you my slave, instead of becoming yours. You shall be my niece; for, most certainly, you shall never again pass from my control. She Felt Herself Borne Gently Back Upon a Sofa. Some men, circumstanced as I am, would find means to silence you more summarily. But, luckily or unluckily, for you, I think I can reconcile my own safety with your continued existence. And now to complete my work.” From an inner room he fetched a valise, from which he extracted a small storage battery and sundry galvanic appliances, which he proceeded to ad- just to Zana’s wrists and head. He trickled over a teaspoonful of pungent- smelling liquid between the parted lips, and then he turned on the current. Al- most instantly the closed eyelids opened, and she made gasping efforts to swallow the liquid. “Do you understand that someone is talking to you?’ he demanded in a harsh, stern voice, which he main- tained throughout. “Yes,” she replied, faintly. “Look at me,” he continued. “I am your uncle, Richard Somerville, and you are my niece, Zana Clifford. Don’t forget this.” “J will remember it,” she said, obedi- ently. “Come over to this table and write what I dictate,” he commanded. Zana obeyed, and wrote what proved to be a skillfully-worded letter of re- gret that she should be unable to ap- pear again in public for at least a week, her doctor having peremptorily ordered her a change at the seaside for that period. This was addressed to the manager at the Folies Bergere. “That’s all right,” remarked Somer- ville, as he sealed and stamped the en- velope. “Now you are going with me to the Avenue Marigny to remove your luggage. “Very well,” said Zana, listlessly. “You will tell the people there exactly what you have just written, that you are going to Trouville with me, your uncle. Do you understand clearly?” “Yes,” she assented. “I will do as you bid me.” : “You will answer no questions that may be put. Leave that, and the pay- ment of such accounts as may be out- standirg, entirely to me. Let me help you with your pelisse. Now, come along.” : ‘There was no difficulty whatever at the Avenue Migny, especially as Som- erville did the talking and merely ap- pealed to Zana for confirmation of his statements.,'The accounts were duly paid and the luggage placed on the bade the coachman inform the manage- ; roof of a coupe. He called again at his own rooms for a portmanteau and the valise (into which he was careful to pack the jewelry), and was then driven to the Gare Saint Lazare. . “Versailles is a quiet place at this time of year,” he told her. “Should you like to go to Versailles?” “I will go wherever you“choose to take me,” she replied, wearily., “I have no other will than yours.” Somerville had not yet thought out a definite plan. He had a more or less fixed intention of securing some out-of- the-way country house where he might Zann Obeyed and Wrote a Letter of Regret. confine his captive. But he had not de- | cided upon any particular locality, and he selected Versailles as a temporary stopping-place, upon the spur of the moment. And to Versailles this strangely-assorted uncle and niece ac- cordingly went. CHAPTER XVII. Huntea Down. Upon what slight foundation may not | human happiness be built! M. de Mont- | morency, having dined excellently well | at a first-c! aurant (for, after all, the fldus Achates of a star-artiste owes it to society and to himself to live up to his exalted position), strolled leisure- | ly down to the Folies Bergere, at peace | with all the world. Few, indeed, would have recognized the erst-while seedy tenant of Snagg’s Rents in the prosperous-looking, dia- | mond-bedecked old gentleman who pi- | loted the argosy that carried Zana | fortunes. Yet one brief half-hour suf- | ficed to reduce him to a state of mind | bordering upon despair. At the bureau he was informed of the message brought. by Mlle. Clifford's coachman, and at once hastened to the Avenue Marigny to inquire as to her condition. There he was met by the | staggering news that mademoiselle { had departed, bag and baggage, for the seaside, with her uncle, M. Somerville. Gone! And with the millionaire who had sent her the diamond bracelet! With the very man he had promised himself to watch so carefully! Who ever could have dreamed her capable of so sudden a desertion? It was aw- ful! She had rendered herself liable to all sorts of pains and penalties for breach of agreement, and she had brought him down to the position of a discredited agent, liable, perhaps, also, to goodness knew what. In his despair he swore a round oatn (several round oaths, in fact) that he would follow her and bring her back, even if he had to shoot her abductor in the accomplishment of his purpose. But the people at the Avenue Marigny could give him no precise information as to mademoiselle’s destination. Mon- seur the uncle had, the concierge thought, said, something about Trou- ville, but not even the gift of a louis could refresh his memory to certainty on that point. To Trouville, at all events, Montmo- rency decided he would go by early train next day. Meanwhile he re- turned, utterly crestfallen, to the Folies Bergere, where it was some relief to learn that the manager knew nothing as yet of the star’s departure, and had merely repeated the “temporary indis- position” fiction to the disappointed au- dience. “There «will be a rare shindy here when they find out she has bolted,” he muttered, staring moodily at the ambi- tious but inferior gyrations of Zana’s understudy, “and I,. for one, shall give the place a pretty wide berth unless I succeed in bringing her back. What is it?” he demanded, crossly, of an at- tendant who had sought him out. “A gentleman, a compatriote of mon- sieur, begged me to deliver this letter to Madamesoille Clifford’s agent more than an hour ago,” was the reply. “1 have sought monsieur everywhere.” Montmorency opened the envelope, which contained merely a card, in- scribed: “Mr. Josiah Skinner,” with the following words hurriedly scrib- bled in pencil, on the back: “Ask for me, Number 86, at Hotel Terminus, Gare St. Lazare, without delay. Await you. Very urgent.—J. 8.” Montmorency remembered Mr. Skin- ner, and also that he was a detective as well as a ‘riend of Miss Clifford. Not a bad ally to have in the present | emergency, he thought, as he hailed a fiacre and drove to the rendezvous. Upon inquiring for Number 86 and presenting his card, he was handed a note addressed to himself. “Wait for me in my sitting room,” it ran, “no matter how late I may be. You will find Miss Clifford’s protege, Daft Billy, there, and he will partly explain what’s up.—J. 8.” Sure enough, there he found Daft Billy, very wide-awake and eagerly I Felt as if I Could Strangle Him. awaiting Josiah’s return. They had known each other, naturally enough, as residents under the same roof, at Snage’s Rents. “You here?’ -was Montmorency’s greeting. “Well, never mind how or why. I suppose Mr. Skinner brought you over for some reason of his own?” “No, he didn't,” protested Billy, as though offended by the suggestion. “I | came on my own account, long before he did. Why, he only reached Paris to t.”” “Come, never mind ghabt said Mont- morency, soothingly. “Te me what he is up to. It’s about Miss Clifford, of course?” “How do you know that?” four-wheeler this afternoon, bere 2 the station. I was close by, and, J loaf away an hour or two wachil the people coming and going by. the trains. Well, this cab was pilea up with luggage, so I guessed they wyre going on a journey.” “Did you make yourself known td) aes ae a to tak tice of a by expecting her to take noti » ior yaaaw like me?’ retorted Billy, contemptuously. “Not I. I felt as if Yd have liked to strangled the gentle- man in that hairy coat, though.” “J wish to goodness you had!” sighed Montmorency sighed, fervently. “Well?” “Well, I tried to find out where they were going to, without jetting her see me (once I’m positive she looked at me, for all my caution, but she didn’t know me). I couldn't get the name of the place—porters don’t label luggage here on the platforms, as they do in London —but I saw where the gentleman took the tickets, and where their train start- ed from, at ten minutes past five, by the station clock.” 3 “By George, Billy, that was right- down smart of you!” exclaimed Mont- morency, quick to appreciate the im- portance of this information. “Why, Mr. Skinner himself couldn't haye.done much more under the circumstances. “That’s what he said himself, when I told him,” assented Billy, quietly. ‘Do you know, I seem to think out things clearer when she’s concerned? “So it seems,” remarked the ageut, drily. “How did you come acr Mr. Skinner?” “To-night, just outside the theater, where Miss Clifford shows,” was the reply. “I recognized him at once, nd when I heard him inquiring for Miss Clifford at the box office, I pulled him by the coat-sleeve, took him outside and told him what I'd seen at the rail- way station. Think ‘tec who is friendly with Miss Ciifford and looking for her is worth a dozen Daft Billys on a job like that.’” “Quite right, Montmoren I suppose here and started off by hi low up the lucky discover “Just so,” said Bill s in a rare hurry, to tell where Clifford has gone to.” As h2 spoke, the sound of rapidly- aypreaching footsteps in the ecreidor ecased, the door opened, and Josiah, looking rather warm and _ excited, strode into the roo:n. “Come along, both of you!” he said, in short, decided tones. “Glad to see “Because I saw them get out of ‘, y,? murmured y.“* And then, . Skinner brought you elf to fol- nd here he To What Do I Owe This intrusion? you, Mr. Montmorency. We've just time to catch the last train to Ver- sailles. I'll explain as we go down.” The explanation was simple enough. He left London fer Paris that morn- ing, upon receipt of rtain informa. tion of a private nature from Miss Clif- ford, of vital consequence to that young lady. After his fortunate en- counter with Billy, he had easily ‘er- tained that the 5:10 train from the D platform was the local running to Ver- sailles. Description of the two travel- and the telegraph had done the " They were at that moment lo- cated in the Grand Hotel at Versailles, as “Dr. Somerville and niece.” “Thank God!” ejaculated Montmo- rency. the way,” said Mr. Skinner, “if this Somerville should cut up rough, you won’t mind lending me a hand to keep him quiet, will you?” “Not a bit,” replied Montmorency, promptly; “and, though I’m not what I used to be, I’ve still a pretty strong grip. Do you anticipate a scuffle?” “Tt is quite on the cards,” assented Josiah, “and, in my profession, we ney- er overlook such possibilities. Halloa! here we are at Versailles. Your French is better than mine. Ask someone where the Grand Hotel is, will you?” It proved to be at no great distance from the station, and, failing to find a fiacre, they proceeded on foot. Josiah had already planned out his line of at- tack, rightly judging that, at so late an hour, a surprise visit was most likely to be successful. He ascertained from the head waiter that monsieur and mademoiselle were partaking of sup- per in the salon. “Slip these two louis into his hand,” he whispered to Montmorency, “and tell him to open the door, announce us as three friends of Miss Clifford, and retire. The waiter did as he was bidden, and they entered, Josiah Skinner taking the lead . Zana and Somerville were seated vis- a-vis at the table, upon which stood the materials of a luxurious supper, though, from the fact that she was toying listlessly with some grapes and he smoking a cigarette, it was clear that eating was far enough away from the thoughts of both. Somerville dart- ed a keen glance of surprised inquiry ae ae intruders, and then rose to his ‘eet. “You have made some mistake in the number of your room,” he said, curtly. “This is a private apartment.” “No,” replied Josiah, greatly = Diese ee seeming unconscious- 0! eir presence; “Dy eee Dr. Somerville.” Be “Then to what do I owe this intru- sion?” demanded Somervi » : erville, brusque- “To the fact that Miss Clifford i ae you ay ts room,” was the aa am employed to wate! he interests" ‘h over her and “Employed by whom?” Somerville y Ww interrupted “By herself. I have been sg. - ployed for a considerable time pea “Indeed,” sneered Somerville. “And, pray, who or what are you?” (To be Continued.) a ee yX\ oe octane t oe ag }