Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, January 16, 1904, Page 8

CHAPTER XXIX.—Continued. Turning the snow to blood, the dia- monds on the cedars to rubies, throw- ing a crimson glare on the anxious faces below, bathing the distant stee- ple, and tinging the very heavens, over Blackeastle billowed the light of its burning tower. And huddled in a breathless group, the group, augmented by a rabble from the town, watched those brave fel- lows who so daringly, so heartily, so grandly, grappled with the fire fiend! Cynthia sprang down the stairs with a wild cry. “There is some one in the tower!” Her clear voice reached every sou of them, above the crackle of the flames, the drip of water. In the tower!” they echoed, incredu- lously. “Yes, and you must save him! Don't stand and look at me! Up with your ladders! Quick—if you are not cow- ards—quick!” The stinging words urged them on. They worked as men of noble instincts do work when duty points the way. A huge, round column of flame soar- ed up from the eastern tower. The park around was as bright as day. Great coals and embers, and blackened brands, fell over the show in fitful showers. They had almost secured the ladder against the great stone wall when— Hark! They staggered back and looked at each other in blank terror, townspeo- ple and firemen. But ah, they knew it too well—Cyn- thia and Cyril, and my lady—that un- earthly, discordant, shrieking laugh! They looked up. They saw— framed in by an oriel window, lit up by the red radiance of the fire—a face, a human face—a ghastly, grinning, leering, fearful face! A moment more and it was gone. But even as it disappeared from their straining sight, up rose an awful cry: “The walls are falling!” A crash, as if of thunder; a rattle, a rumble, a roar; a mad, triumphant pillar of fire shooting up to the pallid stars—and the tower had fallen! f CHAPTER XXX. “Murdered!” “Thank God!” Who said that? Who was so inhv- man as to rejoice at the sight of a life crushed ont? Were they spoken at all—those low, fervent words, or was her brain playing her a trick? Cynthia wheeled around in hot in- dignation. Beside her stood my lady. “Did you say that?” she cried eager- ly—“you?” “Yes. Some day you will say so, too, dear—some day. Be merciful!” 's And then they were pressed apart ‘by the crowd which surged back—back from the dense smoke, the whirling stone, the rain of fiery cinders, “Too late!” cried a voice from the throng. “The poor fellow’s gone! Haul off yer ladders, boys!” Aye—too late! A vast, rough, smoldering, glowing pile of rock and mortar alone re mained of the massive tower which for centuries had bidden rugged defiance to sun and storm. And all around the snow, pure and stainless a few hours before, lay black- ened and trampled and thawed. The firemen turned a steady stream of water upon the ruins, over which still played in impish frolic, tongues of crimson flame. The dull winter day was breaking coldly over Blackeastle when the crowd surged down the great avenue in reluctant departure, They strag- gled through the gates, weary, but volubly sociable in honor of the oc- casion which had brought them to- gether, and comfortably impressed with that vague sense of satisfaction such people feel in a catastrophe which affects them not at all. Battered, draggled and drenched, the firemen climbed up their brazen chari- ots and turned the heads of their horses away to the ghastly dawn. Chilled, heartsick, shivering with in- tense and V.ordless excitement, the in- mates of Blackcastle gathered together {n the still shadow-haunted hall, A queer group, they, in their stained, ‘wet garments, with their white and haggard faces! ‘Fhe servants hastily kindled a huge fire, and they pressed around, in ami- able and mutual misery. My lady sat in a quaint, carved chair, her white head leaning against ft in exhausted repose. Her eyes were closed. In the droop- {ng attitude of her figure, in the re- faxed pose of the proud old head, in the expression of her face, was such a étrange suggestion of peace as Cyn- thia never remembered of having seen before, She was so absorbed in watching her that she started at the sound of a voice beside her. By K. TEMPLE MOORE. about—the origin of the fire, or—or the—person who perished there. She is too weak just now to endure fur- ther excitement.” “I have told them! The servants and townspeople think he was a burg- lar, who had managed to secrete him- self in the eastern tower in the hope of suceessfully, reaching the occupied apartments. The theory I heard them discussing, in snatches, was to the ef- fect that his lamp must have exploded and set fire to the place. Miss Earle, Miss Dent and Will Warren are, I think, the only ones who have any deeper suspicion, and they are, of course, silent!” “Thank you!” she satd, quietly. But the words were warmly grate ful. “Good gracious! Of all the people that ever—well, you just ought to see how funny you look!” laughed a mer- ry, familiar voice from adown the hall. “Well, you just ought to see how you look, Baby!” called Della Dent, in prompt response. “Do I, really?” And she did. She wore a pretty party dress of scarlet surah, all billowed with dainty valenciennes—the first thing which came to hand in her characteristically topsy-turvy room. On her feet were great cloth and rubber goloshes ,a mile too large; and over her bobbing, re- bellious curls, a plumed, broad-brim- med Leghorn sun hat. “Let us have a, roll-call,” she sug- gested. “Ill be colonel!” “Oh, we're all here,” said Cynthia, smiling, despite herself, at her pet’s irrepressible light-heartedness. “Well, to be sure, you know! First on the list,” reading from an imagin- ary document, “Lady Carrington— present; second, Cynthia, present; third, Mr. Bracken—absent. Where is Mr. Bracken?” “Yes,” Cyril ington echoed, “that is so. Where is Bracken?” “T saw him in the upper corridor when we first rushed from our rooms —not since,” volunteered Will War- ren. {iNor. ly’ then.” “We must find him,” Cyril cried, a sudden nameless dread darting through his brain. “Call the servants —dquick!” Cynthia seized the bell and rang it sharply. They came hurriedly in, in obedience to her first imperative command, half a dozen well-trained servanes. “Wait!” she said, as Cyril would have ordered a general search, “Let them first—one of them—go up to his room. He may have gone back to bed and slept through it.” * At another time they would have paid no attention whatever to his ab- sence; but now—-now with their brains on fire with fierce excitement—every trifle assumed portentious importance. “You, James,” she said to a footman —‘you go up to Mr. Bracken’s room and see if he is asleep.” The man departed on his errand. My lady awoke wearily and looked around her. “It is broad daylight. Let me go to bed.” “In a moment,” Cynthia answered. A clatter of swift feet down the stairs, a dash across the hall, and their messenger stood before them. He was dumb and trembling, and white as death. “Well?” they cried, indefinable fear taking ay shape in every soul; but still he did’ not’ answer them—only stood and stared at them in terrified and irritating silence. “Why don’t you speak?” Miss Len- nox cried, sharply. What are you afraid of? Is he asleep?” The grayish daylight crept in through the mullioned windows and fell upon their eager, questioning, weary faces. “Confoand you!” Cyril Carrington cried, in sudden, angry impatience, and striding up to the fellow, himsélf a big, splashed, dripping Titian, “are you deaf? Can’t you,” with a fierce shake, “hear yourself spoken to? Is he asleep?” . “Aye!” the man answered, in a voice that was a quivering shriek, “he is asleep—asleep forever!” “What de you mean?” they panted, and closed around him. “What I say. He is dead!” “Dead?” “Yes, dead! Stark in the middle of his room, with a gash in his throat ye could put your hand through, an’ all splashed an’ dabbled with blood!” “Murdered?” gasped Cyril. “Aye—murdered!” said Della; “not since CHAPTER XXXI. A Crimson Crime. For a moment—one stunned, sick- ening, awful moment—silence reigned —silence painful and intense. The harsh light of early morning fell upon them standing so, with faces She turned to face Cyril. He held a whitening to a deadly pallor, and eyes glass of steaming negus. “Drink this,” he said. “How you are shaking! You must be very careful, or you will be ill.” Mechanically she took the tumbler from him, and turned up to his a worn, splendid face. 2 He bent his head to listen to the ‘words she was saying. “Tell them,” she whispered, “not to dilating and darkening with startled horror. My lady, still ignorant of the errand with which the servant had been en- trusted, but roused to acute'conscious- ness by the dreadful word just spoken, rose in trembling haste and came one step forward. Her thin, old voice broke sharply upon the silence. credulity. “It 7. le ora ; And still the others stood as motion- less as men and women cut from stone. Cynthia’s beautiful, haughty, dark- browed face was awfully set and tigid. Even Baby—bright, laughing, winsome iby—had grown pale and grave, and frightened. A crowd of scared servants clustered together at the further end of the great hall. One of them, a_ small, elderly wodman, with a keen, resolute face, all wrinkled and seamed like coarse, brown leather, rushed across the floor and flung herself on her knees at.Lady Carrington’s feet. “Oh, may lady, my lady!” she moan- ed. “The curse of Carrington has come upon us! My lady, my lady!” For answer the mistress of Black- castle sank back in her chair and bur- ied her face in her hands, with a quick, heartbroken sob. The strange words of the woman seemed to break the spell that bound them. They began speaking to each other in breathless whispers. “Who is she?” Baby questioned, pointing to the bent figure still kneel- ing before my lady, and swaying slow- ly backward and forward. “She is the oldest servant here,” Cynthia turned to say, in low reply. bne is of the same race as Lady Car- rington—an Italian. When my lady came a bride to Blackcastle, thirty- four years ago, she brought her with her, and here she has remained ever since.” Cyril Carrington had gone forward to where the domestics were huddled around the footman, who had found the body, listening with a sort of mor- bid fascination to the ghastly details o. the discovery. “Come with me,” he said, shortly, to the man. “I can't believe it.” They, went up stairs together, but in a moment came hurrying down. One glance was enough to dispel the hopes of the most sanguine, or convince the most credulous. The others looked up at him as he came rapidly forward, to helpless ap- peal. Instinctively they turned to him. “It is true!” he cried—‘it is too true! Make haste, men! There is no time to be lost! We have already let precious moments slip away! You, Andrew, take the sorrel and ride into town. Bring a doctor, inform the cor- oner and rouse the populace. Wait a second!” He pulled out his note book and hastily scribbled a line. “Foul murder at Blackeastle. Have trains watched. Send out all your force. —Carrington.” He tore out the Jeaf and handed it to the man. “Give that to the chief. lightning!” A brief space, and then they heard, past the angle of the house, down the avenue, the mad clatter of a horse’s speeding feet. My lady still sat, with her dened folded upon a carven ledge of the chair, her white head bowed upon them. At her feet, as before a shrine, the black-clad, wrinkled dame still rocked and swayed, and muttered unintelli- gibly. Miss Lennox went across the hall, and leaning over the quaint chair put one strong, kindly arm around its trembling occupant. But before she could speak a word, the crouching old creature on the floor broke out in crooning lamentation; and now that she spoke so plainly, it was easy to discern her strong foreign accent. “Fire,” she said—“fire. first and then murder! As if one was not enough without the other! Ah, my lady, it is the curse—the curse come upon Black- castle!” “What do you mean?” her mistress said. “What curse?” The others pressed a little forward to listen. “Don’t you remember?” she said, and rose to her feet, a witch-like, black- eyed, brown-visaged figure. I remem- ber—ah, yes, I never forget! 1 re- member it so well, for I heard the mas- ter tell it to you. It was a lovely evening in June, and you were sitting out on the veranda. I remember the very dress you wore,” she went on, with the garrulity of age—‘“‘a white dress, white as snow. And you had crimson roses in your breast and hai. How handsome—how ‘handsome you were then!” Involuntarily they glanced at my lady. Handsome, indeed, she must have been, to judge by what she was. The woman stood silent a moment, like a small, weird sibyl, lost in a trance of mystic thought. She roused herself from her dreamy retrospection: “And you did not see the master | when he came up the avenue—did not perceive him at all—because you had Baby Clive in your arms, and were laughing and talking to him.’ They all noticed how my lady writhed, as though in sudden pain. Ah, she Temembered-“ahe remem- bered! “And the master stole up behind you and bent and caught you both in his arms, and kissed you. And he laugh- ed and said: “How you love that boy of yours. I am growing jealous! The curse through him, sweetheart, will never shadow Blackcastle.’ “And you looked up at him in won- der. Mies do you mean? you said, Ride like /been unused by the Carringtons for} | | | { UPPOSE, | serious, as Sy ope profession; the “And - you—you caught the little Jaa tightly to your heart, and turned up to his father a face white as ashes, from which every trace of laughter had died. “*Yes,’ you said, quietly, ‘if the dis- inheriting lies with me, he is secure. Nothin gon earth below, nothing in heaven above, shall ever part, with my consent, my son and me!’ “Well, said the master, and he smiled, ‘let me finish the dusty tradi- tion. It affirms that that crime which follows disinheritance can be purified only by an act of love, grander, strong- er, mightier in proportion than, the sin itself. Ah, little Clive, whatever fu- ture’ son of Carrington may be, you, with such a mother, are not doomed to fulfill so dark a prediction!’ “Ah, my lady!” and now the shrill old voice rose in sharp and bitter rey proach, you forgot those words, you forgot your own vow, you disowned your son! Evil has come of it—a scar- let stain has come of it. What is the Jove that shall blot it out?” A terrible silence fell upon them. My lady sat erect and rigid, her eyes blazing like coals of fire from her pal- lid face. Hark! { The clatter of horses’ hoofs on the avenue beyond, the rattle of riders dis- mounting, the murmur of men’s deep voices and then the massive doors were flung wide and they filed into the hall, half a dozen constables, headed by the chief himself. Cyril Carrington went meet them. “Oh, Mr. Lynn, who can have done can have committed this base, brutal, most cowardly murder?” The officer shook his head, slowly. “That is what we are here to dis- cover. I must speak one moment to Lady Carrington.” ~ He walked over to where she sat. Cynthia Lennox was kneeling beside her, her arms clasping and supporting the drooping figure. M lady’s silver head had fallen on her Moulder. “Keep back!” the girl said, in a voice of low command—“back, I say—she has fainted!” swiftly to CHAPTER XXXH. A Dark Deed. He bowed respectfully and walked over to where Cyril Carrington was standing looking gloomily away through the huge western window. They talked together some time in low, rapid tones. ““Whom do you suspect, Mr. Car- rington? Is there no one at Black- castle—positively no one—to whom, in the minds of the others, a faint sus- picion attaches?” Think? “No,” he answered decidedly, “there is no one. The whole affair, from be- ginning to end, is a dense and hideous mystery.” “A fire in tife eastern tower immedi- ately preceded this murder, I believe? Have you any reason to believe that it was the work of an incendiary?” “None whatever.” “Presuming that it was, would it not appear that he who was guilty of ar- son was also guilty of that later and greater crime?” “It is possible. I think we hardly dare call anything in connection with such an absolute rayless case prob- able. There was quite a rabble in the grounds the greater part of the night, ! attracted by the fire. One of their} number might easily have gained ac- cess to the house, so intense was the confusion.” “Yes, but that suggestion destroys my theory that whoever committed one crime committed both. I have heard from my men but fragmentary. reports of the conflagration. I think they told me a life had been lost in the falling of the walls. Can you give me any information on that point? It might serve to throw light on this af- fair.” For one moment he hesitated. he answered gravely: “A human face appeared at a win- dow in the tower a few moments be- fore the building fell. As the wing had Then years, the supposition, which I heard the servants and townspeople circu- lating among themselves, was to the effect that o burglar must have se- creted himself in the deserted portion | of the house, with the intention of. reaching, after the family had retired, | the occupied apartments.” “That does savor of probability,” the | chief said, thoughtfully. “Entering old houses in this manner has, of late, be- come a common occurrence. They think, then, that this tramp, who was seen in the building was the person who accidentally or otherwise caused | the fire in which he eventually per- ished?” “That is the character of the sur- mises I have heard.” “Em!” t They could hear the soft swoop of feminine draperies, the sound of wom- en’s whispering voices, as the ladies went into the dining room. “You have telegraphed to Scotland Yard, Mr. Lynn?” Cyril said interroga- tively. “Oh, yes. I knew you would desire it. L asked the chief to send me down the best detective at his disposal, if possible, Mr. Stack. Of course, our local: men. have all received their di- rections and are on duty. I also tele- praphed. your lawyer, Mr. Bowers.” latter rosy and pompous and rotund. By 1 o’clock all arrangements had been made for an inquest. A coroner’s jury was procured, and they went to view the body—a solemn cortege. Ah, ho wonder that when they look- ed those strong men should shudder and draw back, and nerve themselves ere they looked again! He had made a sharp struggle for life; all his surroundings testified to that. He had probably been surprised by the assassin while engaged in writ- ing. He lay flat upon his back. His face was upturned to the garish day- light—a harsh, sinister, vindictive face in death, as in life. Upon it the beau- tifying, obliterating seal of silence had stamped no tender transfiguration. The beetling brows seemed frozen in a scowl; the thin lips were parted and drawn ghastly back from the gleaming teeth in snarling, brutish rage. There was the glint of a glassy pupil from under the heavy eyelid, and across the throat, the bared, distended throat, distended as though in the strain of that last fierce agony—was torn a gash, a wide, raw, gaping, scar- let, gaping gash, about which the thick black blood had formed in blotched and dripping ridges. They stood and looked at it a few minutes with a horror which lay too deep for words. “Could it be,” some one said faintly, “suicide?” But the others turned to him almost fiercely. ‘Does a suicide look like that?” they said. “Does a suicide die with his hands clenched in defiant revolt, with every muscle of his body strained in self-defense? No, no!” Though they serached long and care- fully there was no weapon of any kind to be found. That the wound had been inflicted with a keen, sharp dagger there was no doubt. (To Be Continued.) One Thing He Refused. “Excuse me, sir,” said the thin pas- senger, “but I judge from your conver- sation that you are the Human Her- cules?” “Yes, sir, that’s who I am,” replied the strong man, proudly. “You can lift two tons in harness?” “Yes| sir ,that’s my record.” - “You can hold 500 pounds weight at arm’s length for fifteen seconds?” “Yes, sir.” “And put up 900 pounds with one arm?” “Yes, sir.” “And 1,800 pounds weight with two?” “Yes, sir.” “Well, then, would you kindly raise the carriage window for me? It’s stuck a little, and I have an injured hand.” “You'll excuse me, sir,” said the strong man, “but my manager makes all arrangements for my tests of strength and endurance, and besides” —and it was noticed that the modern Samson was ill at ease—“I’m not in training.”—Cassell’s London Journal. Kelvin Dislikes Electric Light. It is a curious fact that Lord Kelvin, who has done so much to advance the world’s knowledge of electricity, dis- likes the electric light. When he visited this country a few years ago with Lady Kelvin, they spent a week-end with Mr. and Mrs. George, Westinghouse, whose Lennox home after sundown is a blaze of elec- tricity. The first night they spent there Lady Kelvin rang up a servant to beg that they might “be accomodated with a couple of tallow dips, as they were unaccustomed to such intense light in their bedrocm.” Lord Kelvin’s country home in Scot- Jand is an unpretensions house over- looking the Firth of Clyde at Largs, where electiicity is unknown even for public illumination—Atlanta Consti- tution. Murdered and Flayed. On Oct. 29 some watermen at Ver- non, ninety-three miles from Paris, took from the Seine the upper por- tion of the body of a man. A few minutes later some men on the oppo- site side of the river, at Vernonnet, found the lower limbs of the body floating in the river. Besides having been cut in two, the body had been entirely skinned. The corpse was that of a man about sixty years old who had evidently not | been accustomed to hard work, as the hands amd feet were shapely and slen- ‘der. It is surmised that the victim was murdered and then sawed in two. The police have been unable to solve the mystery and the body still awaits identification. Cause Enough. “My wife came near fainting last night.” “Indeed. What was the matter— fright?” “No, nausea. The room was close and warm and she found herseif sud- denly very sick and dizzy; but she managed to get to a window and threw up a sas) “Threw ‘up asash? Heavens! What had she been eating?” Something to Be Considered. “Throggins, are you going to have a Christmas tree this year?” “We haven’t decided yet. Why?” “Nothing, only I’m the agent of the company that carries the insurance on the flat you’re living in and the insur- ance expires next week. Thought I’ inquire—that’s all.—Chicago Tribune. Dolly—How much impressed Ethel ices. DEFECTIVE PAGE aid, which arrived here y evening from Bocas del Toro, a commissioner from the i of San Andres, who will endeavor to ob- tain the annexation of San Andres to tthe republic of Panama, owing to the dissatisfaction. of the inhabitants of the island at the recent oppressive ex- actions on the part ef the Colombi2x authorities, The commissioner will go to Panama aud confer with the junta. He says 400 Colombian troops are now in garrison on the islands of Sam Andres and Providence, and that more soldiers are expected momentarily. The dissatisfaction, he adds, is gen- eral throughout the islands. During the past few weeks no less than $1S,- 000 has been collected by means of the property tax, which the inhabitants are not in a position to meet, but they have been Compelied to Pay. Several families have already mi- grated to Bocas del Toro, consequently the ports ef Providence and San An- dres are now closed. Coasting vessels are not allowed to leave. This does not apply to American vessels trad- ing with San Andres. The commis- sioner, who is a_ seafaring man, left San Andres surreptitiously at night in a small schooner bound for Bocas del Toro. Many of those who desire the annexation of San Andres to Panama declined to sign the petition, fearing the possible consequences. San Andres does considerable busi- ness with the United’States in cocoa- nuts, about 20,000,000 of these nuts bein shipped there annually. Panama is desirous of annexing San Andres and Providence, but it is be- lieved that steps in that direction at the present moment would be inoppor- tune. Natives Are Unfriendly. The Mayflower has arrived here af- ter scouting the coast as far as the Gulf of Darien. The warship stopped at several points along the San Blas coast and found the attitude of the In- dians everywhere to be unfriendly. The officers of the Mayflower were repeatedly asked to leave the coast, and were made to understand that the presence of either Panamans-or Amer- icans in their territory was unwelcome to the natives. Gen. Reyes Departs. Washington, Jan. 18. — Gen. Rafael Reyes, the Colombian envoy who has been in Washington in connection with the Panama matter for about a month, left the city at midnight for New York, preparatory to his depar- ture for Colombia in, a few days. he departure of Gen. Reyes does not constitute the breaking of diplo- matic relations with the United States, but merely the suspension of negotiations which have-been going on with the state department having in view the reintegration of Panama as a part of the United States of Co- lombia. Whether they will be re- sumed hereafter is. not ‘known. CONVICTS BRAVE FIREMEN. Flames Do $50,000 Damage.at Mar quette Prison. Marquette, Mich. Jan. 13. — Fire starting from an unknown cause yes- terday afternoon destroyed the cigar factory of the Marquette penitentiary, badly burned the boiler house and engine room, and damaged the overail shop building. resulting in an esti- mated loss of $50,000, divided equally between the state and the Franklin Cigar company. Only for the valiant work of the convicts in fighting the flames the loss would have been much greater, and the penitentiary building itself would doubtless have been heavy- ily damaged. FATHER AND SON KILLED. Result of Misunderstanding Over a Leased Stock Field. Elmore, Ind. T., Jan. 13.—A clergy- man named Moss and his son were shot and killed near here yesterday by Alfred Turner, a stockman. The kill- ing, it is alleged, was the result of a misunderstanding over a leased stock field. Turner alleged that Young Moss attempted to kill him, when he shot, accidentally killing the elder Moss. He then shot the young man, who died in a few hours. Turner sur- rendered to the federal authorities. MUTILATED A PAINTING. \ “Custer’s Last Battle” in Kansas Capi- toi Is Destroyed. Topeka, Kan., Jan. 18.—Some one unknown -extered the historical room in the state capitol yesterday and cut a section eight inches long and six inches wide out of the center of the picture, “Custer’s Last Battle,” which Miss Blanche Boies, a follower of Mrs. Carrie Nation, attacked with an axe on Saturday. Mrs. Boies, who was ar- rested last week but released promptly . on bail, said that she intended to total- ly destroy the picture, which she said should be removed because it was the gift of a brewery firm. DOGS FEAST ON CHILD. Hungry Mastiffs Attack Seven-Year Old Boy and Critically Injure Him. Sault Ste. Marie, Mich.,Jan. 13—The seven-year-old child of Charles Wheel: er was nearly killed yesterday in | Pickford township by a pack of hungry mastiff dogs owned by a farm: er. The dogs threw him te the ground and chewed his ears off before he could be rescued by his father. The Jad’s head and arms are seriously ‘mn and critical condition, :