Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, January 5, 1901, Page 2

rrebekk kkk bkkiy BY AN w & picks. e HAND #& § A Story of the Secret Society Known as + the “Ragéed = 7 Thirteen” « 27 © By Edward Hughes. eS ee CHAPTER VI. (Continued.) I told him that we should ring when we were ready for dinner, and, turning to the mantel-piece, found the letters, and first opened the one from Maguire, and I shall never lose that letter un- tess the ink fades or the letter drops to pieces. He wrote: “My Dear Tremayne—If ever you want to prove that there are three con- stituent parts in any given atom of humanity, you might easily demon- strate their existence by reference to the particular atom who is writing to you. Here I am, with a portion of my body driving the pen over the paper to write what my mind bids me. But something is lacking. What is it? I do not know of what mother I was born, though the knowledge was once mine. I do not know what responsibil- ities rested upon me up to the time when I saw you, when you christened me Jim Maguire. It has pleased God to take away from me all remembrance of the sins I have committed, or the trifling good I may have done. Shall 1 suffer for evil deeds of which I have mo chance of being repentant? Is the account closed against my soul? I have not the time to enter upon metaphysi- cal discussion, and shall, therefore, write to you as the Jim Maguire you hhave known for the last two months or so. “I can quite see the force of your ad- vice, and understand perfectly that I should never be again nearer finding out my people if I stayed under your hospitable roof. I should drift daily farther and farther from the truth, and E shonld pass down the river of life and ut into the ocean of eternity with, it may be, a_record so black that it has been mercifully blotted out for me. I ehall co away with Dr. Denton, you advise, and ‘obey him implicit! though I would have Biven all I'm ever likely to be worth to have gripped your hand and looked into your kind face once more, before I ave what has, indeed, been a happy home. But *tis best as it is. You have done well to order our parting as you ehall never forget the kin you have sent me. Dr. Denton is wait- ing for me, so that I must end this. “Wherever you may be, may God’s blessing go with you, is the prayer of him who, for the want of a better mame, must sign himself, “Your devoted ‘and grateful friend, “—Jim Maguire.” The truth began to dawn upon me be- fore I opened the other letter. I took ft up with trembling fingers. Hugh came close to me as I tore the envelope across, and drew out a folded sheet of mourning note paper. In the folded sheets were five small cards, and on it thése words: “James Murtagh Maguire, 19th December, 188—" The cards were the six, seven, eight and two aces. They were the fatal sign of the Ragged Thirteen! For a few moments we were too stu- pefied to speak. [ could only think of the friend struck down by this gang, almost at my very side. My move- ments and my person must be perfectly well known, and yet [ was spared. I looked at Hugh. H eyes were ablaze with righteous indignation. ‘Let me take these,” he said, putting the cards together, “and, God helping me, Tremayne, you and [ will return them to the sender. May God do to us as he has done to our friends—aye, and more, alsc—if we do not break up this fiendish conspiracy!” Our hands met, and, as I felt his warm grasp, I heard a voice say, “Amen to that vow I turned, and saw at the door a man dressed in the garb of a clergyman of the Church of England. “Who are you?” I asked, “and what right have you here?” “At present,” he said, “I am your uncle, the Rev. Edward Tremayne. When this business is over I shall be plain John Anguis again.” CHAPTER VII. The Dinner Party. Anguish had come upon the scene like g@ome good angel, just in time to give us the benefit of his great experience, and prevent us making the mistakes into which our youthful ardor might easily have led us. I had written to him since I came to England, and given him my address, and he had been forcibly reminded of me by a case that had just happened fn Ireland. A Roman Catholic priest had been attacked, and, though he had escaped with his life, he was very badly wounded, and Anguish—who had been sent for—found, in the course of his in- vestigations the two small cards, marked in the same way as those I had shown him, and he was now come © let me know what had so recently ppened, since otherwise, I should r nothing about it, as the affair had been hushed up. “You will understand, presently, why I hawe come in this disguise,” said Anguish, as we three stood together in the dining room, “and you'll excuse me ff I suggest that you and your friend should sit down to dinner. You have Just come off a journey.” “I'm too knocked over to eat,” I said, “and I’m afraid that my trouble has made me forget my manners. If you'll make yourself comfortable, I'll see to your luggage. Where is it? As you are my uncle, you will be staying a few days, at the very least. “I’ve only a portmanteau,” he said, “and I left it in the hall. The front door was open, so I walked in just as your man was going to shut it. When you've finished dinner we can have a e@moke and a chat over the fire, ahd you can give me some particulars in regard to your friend Maguire. The dinner was a farce, so far as ugh and myself were concerned; but the Rev. Tremayne did ample justice ait to Mrs. Graves’ dainty dishes, and when he arose he seemed to have an unctuousness that more befitted a “Chadband” than a dignitary of the Established Chureh. “Wine that maketh glad the heart of | man, my young friends,” said he, slowly sliding ong hand over the other, “also maketh glib the tongue. When you are ready to begin, my dear neph- ew, I shall be ready to listen. Suppose, now, you tell me all about Maguire.” And so, when the table was cleared, we drew our chairs around the fire, and I gave him full particulars as to how I had paid ransom for my friend, and how ‘we had lived together, and so on. He was all attention when I related the episode of the cards, and the strange words Maguire hai used in speaking of Nora, bidding,me repeat them twice, and he took a great interest in the weird effect the shock had had upon the poor fellow’s brain. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind giving | us your views, Mr. Anguish,” I was be- | ginning, when he stopped me. “One moment, John,” he said. “Would you mind calling me uncle? If | you will kindly get into the way of | doing it here, it will come easier to you in public, and if you let slip an | ‘Anguish’ then, anguish it will be, and all our schemes, if we lay any, will be addled. We shan’t be interrupted, I suppose?” “No, my dear uncle; no one will come unless T ring.” “Well, then, I may tell you that this Ragged Thirteen has, given me more serious thought, and has been a great- er puzzle to me. than any case I ever took up: but what has just happened in Ireland, coupled with the Dr. James’ affair ¢ the other case in Manches- ter, has thrown a good deal of light on the matter. What was t origin of it all? I teke it, some quarrel at the University, and, juiging from the cards that have been found with the victims, I should say that the dispute was con- nected wil mbling transaction. T have been to Cambridge, and with the help of your information, I discovered your father’s and Mr. Trave real and on the college books, and me year, the names of the two | men who were killed abroad. “Now, it seems to me that there were | at least five people connected with the busine namely, your father, Mr. Trave the two men who did not| change their names, and another—and | if that other be living, and we could | lay our hands upon him, then would the reading of the riddle be a mere matter of coercion. Your father, John, and your uncle, Hugh, aS we may as | weil call the poor gentlemen, evidently realized to the full that they were in deadly peril, and took every precaution | against the danger that threatened them. The other two were less careful, probably because their offense was tict ng abroad some t the affair had so great, and after be time, and thinking t blown over, they became careles: 1d paid the awrul penalty. The vendetta still went on, but when you first came across the Ragged Thirteen, John, you its vengeance wreaked upon a man who was a stranger to your father. “T have inquired close nto this part of the bus and in each of these | outside cases, the men killed, and the priest whose life was attempted, were | strong political opponents of a certain section of the Irish party, and had worked hard against it. Now, then, here is my theor nd you may take it | for what it is worth. That which started with one man as a vendetta | became, by that one man’s ability, an organization that ministered to his re- venge, and has been worked up into an awful weapon to carry terror, by | the most infernal means, into the camp of its political opponents. Now, what sort of a man could do this? To begin with, he must be possessed of the most enduring hatred, and where will you find men who carry on a vendetta like the Corsicans? Then, too, he must have Irish blood in his veins, or why this an- tagonism to the so-called enemies of | Ireland? Ah, you understand?” I had risen up, and a man’s name was | trembling on my lip: “Don’t speak yet!” he said. ‘You know, this is only theory, but I have watcheé the man whom you have rec- cognized by my description. I have | taken note of his incomings and out- goings. I have been with him when he little suspected it, and I say to you two men that if Maurice D’Orville is not the man whom of all others you have to fear, he is yet the head of some powerful secret society. I can- not find that he was ever at Cam- bridge, but in the same year in which your father went down, a young Irish- man named Brian Lennon disappeared, and was never heard of again. “Now, Mr. Tremayne-—I beg your pardon, John—it is no secret to me that | you are acquainted with D’Orville’s relatives. Cultivate the acquaintance | till you make it a firm friendship. I} know his mother is a Corsican lady, and you may be able to find out who | his father was, and, unless I'm very | much mistaken, you'll be told that the | family name is Lennon. Now, you "ve | something definite to work at, and the sooner you begin the better. If I am} informede correctly, D’Orville will be | in this netehbouthood in the course of a few days.” “There’s one point you haven't touch- upon,” I said, after we had sat for some minutes silently staring at the fire, ““‘and that is Maguire’s connection with the affair.” “Ah!” said he, “if Mr. Maguire had’nt become mixed up in it the mat- ter would have beeff fairly plain, but I confess that I’m utterly at a loss to see what he has to do with it. Ma- guire is no doubt his real name. Now, I’m certain that I came across no such name in the books of the college where your father studied, though that isn’t ness, : | who was extremely like Miss Nora | holes bp carking" care | pleasant visit: | ond egg. | house—Ccnnemara Cottage—ostensibly | next week. Say that Maguire has gone | from her hand and fluttered down up- | quired every atom of self-control that to say that Mr. Maguire was not at! Cambridge. If he was up there he must have been connected with the row, ana that would account for what has hap- pered t» him, but his references to some girl are altogether inexplicable. “Could there have been some side issue? A second quarrel, for instance, about a lady? Ah! dear, dear, the flesh, the flesh, how weak it is! ‘Look for the woman,” says the old proverb, and it seems that we must look for her here, Still, I expect a great deal from the proper working of the Courtneys, for even if Maurice D‘Orville has nothing to do with the Ragged Thirteen, it seems, on the face of it, that someone Courtney has. “My professional pride is touched, and although there are cases -—-too many, alas!—that have beaten me, I have an idea that this one won't. That sounds very much like blowing my own trumpet, and that’s an instrument that it is very risky to play upon, unless you're sure of your notes. And now, nephew mine, as we have had a long sitting, suppose we indulge in Nature’s balmy restorer, that kind creature that knits up the sleeves of your thinking jackets when they've been worn into I had given Graves orders for the proper bestowal of my uncle, and I was not sorry to say “Good-night,” and get to my own room, there to lie and wonder when all this mystery and trou- ble would ever pass out of my life, or whether, when my friends had disap- peared one by one, I too should be a victim. What friends had I left? Nora, and Hugh, and—dare I hope it?—my father. When I entered the break-fast room the next morning I came upon my clerical relative and Graves apparent- ly engaged in earnest converse.’ and I had no doubt that Anguish was acting up to his assumed character and speak- ing a few words in season. He greeted me most cordially; said that he v charmed with his room {and the view from the window; and opined that he should have a very and when Hugh came down my uncle was cracking his sec- and expatiating on the virtue of hens that laid in the depth of win- ter. I had hoped to have met Nora, either in the street or rambling in the woods, but 1 could get no glimpse of her, and on Christmas Eve I went to their to wish her and her father the com- pliments of the season, but in reality to overhaul Mr. Maurice D’Orville and his mother, who had duly arrived. “Note them well,” was the Reverend Tremayne’s parting advice, “and ,re- member everything that they say and do, and, if you can manage it, get the whole lot to come to dinner one day to see some friends, should they ask anything about him.” I had no need to be told that the elderly lady who was sitting in an arm chair by the fire in the room into which I was ushered, was D’Orville’s mother. Her eyes had the piercing glance that she had transmitted to her son; her features were exactly like his, and her | manner, when she greeted me, had the highest polish that a French training could bestow. “Madame D’Orville,” said I, bowing to her. She had risen from her chair, and as | she did so her lace handkerchief fell | on the floor at her feet. I stooped to pick it up, and as I re- turned it to her there came to me a faint odor of heliotrope, that carried me back through the ars to the night when I had stood shivering and staring at the dead doctor, and it re- I could call up to discuss such trivial matters as the weather, and to keep my mind from wandering to the past. Presently Nora and Maurice D’Or- ville came in, and when we had set- tled ourselves I began my good wishes, and at last asked them to forego a formal invitation and. come to dine with me one evening of the next week, ‘leaving them to say what day would be mest convenient. “I think we ought to consult Mr. Courtney,” said Madame D’Orville, and, by the way, she spoke excellent English. ‘Is he at home, Nora, dear?” “I don't know, I'm sure, aunt. I'll go and see.” How different was this particularly- proper Miss Courtney, acting up the Royal blood that coursed in her veins, to the Nora that had been my pupil, and who had suggested my learning Spoiled Fives!” “Let me ring and ask,” said D'Or- ville, rising and walking to the corner where hung the old-fashioned bell rope. I followed his movements, and look- ing up at his fingers as he closed round the cord and puiled it, there came to me the memory of that night when I watched by my friend’s bedside, for the hand that I was staring at now was in all respects the fac simile of the hand that, but for my interference, would have cut off the breath of life from Mr. Travers. It seemed strange to me that I had never noticed this fact before, until I remembered how very seldom I had been in the man’s company since I came to live at Enfield, and while I was still) wondering whether the like- ness was accidental or not,.a curious incident occurred. “I declare, Maurice, you are too bad,” said the old lady, as he came back to his seat. “You have taken my hand- kerchief again. Do you know, Mr. Tre- mayne, this big son of mine is like a schoolboy in some things, for he is so fond of the scent of heliotrope that he steals my pretty little lace handker- chiefs, and I declare he says he gives them away.” Had he stolen one and dropped it on that night when Dr. James came to his awful end? He was making some playful rejoinder when Mr. Courtey came in. “I was just ringing for you, uncle,” said he, “to come and hear Mr. Tre- maxne’s kind invitation. He has ask- ed us to dine with him one night next week. We have all agreed to accept with p leasure, but we want you to set- tle the date.” All this he said as his relative and I were shaking hands with a cordiality that could hardly have been exceeded had we been the closent friends who were meeting after a separation of years, and I was glad to be poapie | with my back to D'Orville, so. that my face might not betray to his keen eyes the emotion I felt. I repeated my invitation, and ex- pressed the liveliest satisfaction when an early date was fixed for our ban- quet, and I was glad to escape, after some ten minutes’ desultory small talk, even from the witchery of Nora’s eyes and Nora’s Voice, to tell Anguish of the discoveries I had made. Before I said anything to him, how- ever, I went to a box in which I kept a collection of odds and ends, such as the rough ,outlines of sketches thai were to be filled in, little pieces of sculpture that I had done, and so forth, and from amongst them I took out the model of a hand. I sent for Anguish and Travers to come to the “den.” “Look at this model,” I said, placing it on the table, “and the next time you see D’Orville compare his hand with it. I did this immediately after what happened in Mr. Travers’s room, and I worked it up from the sketch I made while the image of the hand that was pulling the gas-cord was fresh in my mind. To-day I saw D’Orville’s hand in much the same position, and I rec- ognised the likeness at once. There is no mistaking the prominent thumb joint and the extreme length of the first bones of the fingers. I never saw any other like it. “Now pay attention to another fact that I must mention. On the night when Dr. James was murdered my father picked up a handkerchief that close beside his body, and this piece of linen and lace was scented with heli- trope. D’Orville’s mother had, to-day, a handkerchief that gave out exactly the same odor, and she playfully re- marked that her son was always steal- ing her handkerchief because he was so fond of the scent. This may be only a coincidence, but, taken in conjunc- tion with my recognition of the hand, I don’t think it is.” Anguish sat placidly watching the model and muttering something about the man who dug a pit and felt into it himself, and Hugh was for rushing off and having D’Orville ar- rested then and there. Matters are working beautifully, Mr. Travers,” said Anguish; ‘don’t hurry them. You must remember that in all probability there are others con- cerned in this awful conspiracy, and although slang doesn’t seem proper when one is arrayed in this garb, 1 must put it that, if you will only hold on, we shall bag/the lot. Look at Mr. Tremayne. He’s getting to be quite a man of nerve, though I daresay 1t gave him a twinge to shake the hand that so nearly finished off his friend. Now, about the dinner party. Did you ask them?” “Yes, and they're all coming next Tue y. This is Thursday, so that we've plenty of time to get some peo- ple to meet them. There’s the doctor, and his wife and daughter, and D:. and Mrs. Callaway from the rectory. The more we have the better.” “Ah! quite so,” said Anguish. “But couldn’t you ask &omeone except the rector? We’d better not have two Rich- monds in the field, and my Church his- tory won’t stand a very severe test. Who is the old colonel that called the other day? Can’t we have him and his pretty daughter?” And so the party was made up, and everyone invited sent an acceptance, and as nothing of importance happen- | ed in the meantime I should come at to the Tucsday evening. Before our guests arrived we had some advice from Anguish. “Whatever happéns,” said he, “you must neither of you betray any know- ledge of the Ragged Thirteen. You may be put to the test, and in the most in- ocent fashion; but if you are, and if D’Orville sees anything suspicious, then we may look out for most un- pieasant squalls. I remember going to a dinner party once, and my host ask- ed to be careful not to mention hang- ing of pcisoning, as there would be people present to whom these would be tender subjects. Do you know, be- fore the soup had disappeared we were in full swing on thos very topics! It is almost a certainty that D’Orville doesn’t that we suspect him. “You nev- er got a sight of his face when you grappled with him, and you would nev- er have known anything about the cards or the newspaper cuttings if it had not been for an accident. He thinks he knows all about you, but that you know nothing of him, and have no idea of the meaning of the pasteboards that he and his gang leave behind them.” “I don't half like the idea of sitting down with such a man,” said Hugh, “And what’s more, I can’t see any- thing in it.” “That is right,” said Auguish. “We want to understand him thoroughly. we are certain that he has a deuce of a temper. Something may put him out, and in that case we might pick up useful information. Besides, we want to put him off his guard com- pletely, and so you must both lay your- selves not to do the “honors of the house as if you were entertaining a duke. If I were you, Tremayne, 1 should take the mother in to dinner, and get her to preside at one end of the table. Then if any telegraphy, goes on between her and her precious son, we shall have a better chance of seeing it. A glance that only lasts the tenth of a- second will often tell you more than an hour's talk.” ’ It was indeed a heterogeneous party that assembled in the drawing-room of “The Dell” to do justice to the dinner that had taxed the resourses of the es- tablishment to the uttermost. It was as though we were about to dine over a very magazine of social ex- plosives—some of us in all innocence, and others with a full knowledge of the dangerous elements that a chance word-sperk might set off;and yet I think I never enjoyed a dinner more, for the element of danger gave it a zest that was postively fascinating. “You must kindly allow me,” I said, when Graves had announced that the banquet was served—“you must allow me, as you are in bachelors’ quarters, to chose a hostess. Madame D’Orville, will you please guide and direct us?” And as she took my arm I could scarce repress a shudder, for I could not keep back the thought that she was, per- haps, the mother of my worst enemy (To Be Continued.) The wise teacher never attempts to teach more than he knows. i | And every Distressing Irritation —_ of the Skin and Scalp Instantly | Relieved by a Bath with , And a single ‘anointing with CUTICURA, the great skin cure and purest of emollients. This treatment, when followed in severe cases by mild ; doses of CUTICURA RESOLVENT, to cool and cleanse the blood, is the most speedy, perma- nent, and economical cure for torturing, disfigur- ing, itching, burning, bleeding, scaly, crusted, and 6 pimply rset and scalp humors with loss of hair ever compounded ° Millions of Women CUTICURA SOAP, assisted by Cuticura Ointment, for preserving, purifying, and beautifying the skin, for cleansing the scalp of crusts/ scales, and dandruff, and the stop- ping of falling hair, for softening, whitening, and soothing red, rough, and sore hands, for baby rashes, itchings, andchafings, in , the form of baths for annoying irritations and inflammations, or too free or offensive perspiration, in the form of washes for ulcerative weaknesses, and many sanative antiseptic purposes which readily suggest themselves to women and mothers, and for all the purposes of the toilet, bath, and nursery. No amount of persuasion can in- ~ duce those who have once used these great skin purifiers and beau- | tifiers to use any others. “CUTICURA SOAP combines delicate’ emollient properties derived from CUTICURA, the great skin | cure, with the purest of cleansing ingredients and the most refresh- | ing of flower odors. Wo other medicated soap ever compounded ( is to be compared with it for preserving, purifying, and beautify-| a ing the skin, scalp, hair, and hands. No other foreign or domestic | toilet soap, however expensive, is to be compared with it for all the purposes of the toilet, bath, and nursery, Thus it combines | in ONE SOAP at ONE PRICE, viz. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS, ; the BEST skin and complexion soap, the BEST toilet and BEST /' baby soap in the world. mpiete External and Internal Treatment for mor. Cone Consiating Of Owsiomnin Seay }, to cleanse the skin teh pace soften the cuticle, CoricuRa poeeee oe Fedo allay itching, inflammation, and irritation, soothe _ THE SET, $125 Sees