The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 25, 1904, Page 5

= ) ) - S A o hrust it into es. She held ing ner- he asked sharply. They both 1 e. a groan,” declared, “and ting-room and switched on the ele God!” he ex- to keep Anna out but he was too She too had eam of blood on fastened with a ror reached almost to her CHAPTER XXVIIL A Case for the Police. After that first horrible moment it was perhaps Anna who was the more She dropped on her side and gently unbut- ) i at. Then she looked B don. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. “I do not think that he is quite dead.” “And leave you here alone?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “Come with me.” “I am not afrald,” she answered “Please hurry.” He reeled out of the room. Anna was afterward astonished at her own self-possession. She bound a scarf tightly round the place where the blood seemed to be coming from. Then she stood up and looked around the room. There were no esidences of any etruggle, no overturned chalrs or dis- arranged furniture. The grate was full of the fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chalir near the fire had evidently been used. On the floor was 2 handkerchief, a little morsel of lace, Anna saw it and for the first time found herself trembling. She moved toward it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. It was Annabel's. The lace was family lace, easily rec- ognizable. The perfume was the only one she ever used. Annabel had been here then. It was she who had come out from the flat only a few minutes before. It was she—— Anna’s nerves were not easily shak- en, but she found herself suddenly clutching at the table for support. The room was reeling, or was it that she was going to faint? She recovered herself with a supreme effort. There were the burned papers still in the grate. She took up the poker and stirred the fire vigorously. Almost at the same moment the door opened and Brendon entered, followed by the doctor. Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of gullt, the poker they dared be sent round here at once on “and th case either of suicide or ‘$<\(4, still in her hand. - eves of a [ n 40 and professional ped over to her sid: sker from her. P i me, madame,” he said such a case as this it is g in the room should the arrival of the been burning paper, or a doctor?” 0 you need me your patient is Are you a detect che asked calm e+ to remind you th g to death ropped on his side and made a tion. » tied this scarf here?” he K- g up. Anna answered. s done no harm.” been dead before etor answered randy and my knees by the hurried ex- “I hope sk h “Will he liv 1 the question. head. said t once, d ask that Detective Dorl urgent d for the po- y,” the doctor answered, sooner the better. This is a r. The in either “Absol e are concerned Brendon,” back, e answered. left Does he live here?" he ed at her thoughtful- h the t time he real- that Anna was by no means an or- His mnatient was dis- order of life. S ' the doctor you a word of advic detective will be h ke inquiries into this affair. ay have something to conceal, not. Tell the whole truth. It comes out s or later. try to s d a It is bad poli less about ou suppose. the doctor remarked drily vou I would-keep aw ppeared, fc with a st owed by a brown The thin man n he said. g else I should re those charred frag- he grate. I know ir, but some one you to sec s of paper from about this 3 and s. With delicate touch he res- cue” all that was possible of them, and made a careful little parcel. Then he stepped briskly to his feet and bent over the wounded man. “Shot through the lungs,” he re- marked. The doctor nodded. “Bad hemorrhage,” he said. “I am going to fetch some things that will be wa= ed if he pulls through the next hour. T found him lying like this, the bleeding partly stopped by this scarf, else he had been dead by now.” The doctor glanced toward Anna. Considering his convictions, he felt that his remark was a generoys one. An- na's face, however, was wholly impas- He took up his hat and went. The detective rapidly sketched the appear- ance of the room in his notebook and picked up the pistol from under the table. Then he turned to Anna. “Can you give me any information as to this aff2ir?"” he asked. “I will tell you all that I know,” Anna said. “My name is Anna Pellis- sier, sometimes called Annabel. I am engaged to sing every evening at the ‘Universal’ music hall. This man's name is Montague Hill. I saw him first a few months ago at Mrs. White's boarding-house in Russell Square. He subjected me there to great annoyance by claiming me as his wife. As a mat- ter of fact, I had never spoken to him before in my life. Since then he has persistently annoyed me. A few nights ago he fired a pistol at me at the ‘Uni- versal,’ and was bound over to keep the peace. Ever since then, however, I have seen him hanging about the place. I have suspected him of pos- sessing a skeleton key to my apart- ments. To-night I locked up my flat at 6 o'clock. It was then, I am sure, empty. I dined with a friend and went to the ‘Universal’ At 11:15 o'clock I returned here with this gen- tleman, Mr. Brendon. As we turned the corner of the street I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. We stopped for a moment to watch it, and almost immediately it was turned out. We came on here at once. I found the door locked as usual, but when we entered this room everything was as you see. Nothing has been touched since.” The detective nodded. “A wvery clear statement, madam,”™ he said. “From what you saw from the opposite pavement, then, it is cer- tain that some person who was able to move about was in this room only e or so before you entered it? is s0,” Anna answered. met no ome upon the stamr, siw no one leave the flats?” No one,” Anna answered firmly. Then either this man shot himself or some one else shot him immediate- ly before your arrival—or rather if it was not himself, the person who did it was in the room, say two minutes, be- fore you arrived.” “That is so,” Anna admitted. “I will not trouble you with any questions about the other occupants the flats,” Mr. Dorling said. 3 21l have to go through the building. You say that this gentleman was with o i was,” Brendon answered, “‘most videntially.” “You did not notice anything which v have escaped this lady? You no one leave the fiats?” “No one,” Brendon answered. “You heard no pistol shot? None.” The detective turned again to Anna. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this _man?" he arked. - 2 0. ference is, then,” the detec- d smoothly, “that this man ob- admission to your rooms neans of a false Key, that he d some papers here and himseif within a few nents of vour return. Either that ne other person also obtained here and shot him, and that ther still upon the premises -aped without your notice.” “I suppose,” Anna sald, “that those are reasonable deductions.” The detective thrust his notebook into bis pocket. “I brought a man with me who is he remarked. “With n I should like to search € mai of your ro! 5 Anna showed him the way. > vou been out of this had asked. n went for the dogctor,” 1 have not left this i 1 was discovered in v other part of the flat. While they were still engaged in looking around the doctor returned with a nurse and ion,” he said to for him your perm “1 shall arrang where he i There nee a dozen of saving his life, ere would be none at all if he were moved.” “You can make any arrangements ke,” Anna declared. b leave the flat to you and go u would perhaps be so good as one of my men to accompany see you settled,” Mr. Dorling fere: y. “In the event of death we should require you at once ttend at the inquest.” am going to pack my bag,” Anna answered. “In five minutes I shall be Dorling drew the doctor to one What' do you think?” he whispered. “She shot him, of gourse,” the doctor answered. * ite plain—motive and eve One can pieture whole scene. The man lseyrohbly i husband, a disreputablé lot, by né of him. He finds his way here an waits for her. She returns—with the r fellow. Of course there’s a row— er she or the other fellow shoots him. You will see what those scraps of paper are which they probably took from him and burned.” “I have a very strong idea,” the detective said slow “that it was a marriage certificate.” “It y can prove that,” the doctor answered, “it should hang her. You are not letting her go, are you?” The detective smiled. “There is not the slightest object in arresting her,” he said, ‘‘unless she tries to leave London. We can do that s far more likely to give self away. How about the man?" “He will die,” the doctor answered. CHAPTER XXIX. The Steel Edge of the Truth. ‘The man servant, with bis plain black clothes and black tie, had entered the room with a deferential little gesture. “You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. There is Lady Ar- lington's reception to-night, tem tiil tweive, and the Hatton House ball, marked with a cross, sir, important. I put your clothes out an hour ago.” Nigel Ennison looked up with a little start. All right, Dunster,” he said. “I may go to Hatton House later, but you needn’t wait. I can get into my clothes.” The man hesitated. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur® You'll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.” “Bring me a whiskv and soda and a box of cigarettes,” Ennison answered, “and then leave me alone, there's a good fellow. I'm a little tired.” The man obeyed his orders noise- lessly. “I have put the onyx buttons in the single-breasted waistcoat, sir,” he re- marked, before leaving the room. “I saw Mr. Hamiiton to-day, outfitter, sir, at Poole’'s, and he advised me to put the double-breasted ones away for t:’:e moment. I wish you good night, sir.” Ennison roused himself with an ef- fort, took a long drink from his whisky and soda and lit a cigarette. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelplece. “And yet I wonder whether the world ever held such an- other enigma of her sex. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollec- tions—here she emerges Phenix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, seif-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vul- gar. And then—this sudden thrust. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. I have written, called— of what avail is an; st that look. What the devil is the mat- ter, Dunster?” “1 beg your pardom, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you.” Ennison turned round sharply. “A lady, Dunster! Who Is t?" 1/ -\‘, W the in. The man came a lfttle farther into the room. “Lady Ferringhall, sir.” “Lady Ferringhall—alone?” Ennison exclaimed. “Quite alone, sir.” Ennison was dismayed. “For heaven's sake, Dunster, don't let her out of the carriage, or han- som, or whatever she came in. Say I'm out, away, anything!” “I am sorry, sir,” the man answered, “but she had sent away her hansom be- fore I answered the bell. She s in the hall now. I—" The door was flung open. Annabel entered. “‘Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. “I heard yeur voices and the hall is draughty. What is the matter with yo Dunster had withdrawn discreetly. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. “1 cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. “For your own sake let me beg of you not to stay for a moment. Dun- ster will fetch you a cab. I—" She threw herself into an easy chair. £he was unusually pale and her eyes were Dbrilllant. Never had she seemed to him so much like Anna. “You needn’t be worried,” she said quietly. “The conventions do not mat- ter one little bit. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say. For me that is all over and done with.” “Lady Ferringhall! claimed. D) She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. ‘“Call me An- nabel.” He started- back as though he had been shot. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. “That is your sister's name.” “No, mine.” It came upon him like a flash. Innu- merable little puzzles were instantly solved. He could only wonder that this amazing thing had remained so long a secret to him. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told long ago. Nevertheless it was overwhelming. “But your hair,” he gasped. And your figure?” Ine’s corsetiere arranges that. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived. I have seen you with Anna, and I have not known whether to be glad or sorry. I have been in torment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabel that you were making love so charmingly. Nigel, do you know that I have been very jealous?” He avoided the invitation of her eyes. He was, indeed, still in the throes of his bewilderment. But Sir John?" he exclaimed. “What made you marry him? What made you leave Paris without a word to any one? What made you and your sister ex- change identities?"” “There is one answer to all these questions, Nigel,” she said, with a nervous little shudder. “It is a hateful story. Come close to me and let me hold your hand, dear. I am a little afraid.” There was & strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest Anna!” he ex- - “"*Y¥ou remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?" He nodded. & “‘Miserable hounder,” he murmured. “Turned out to be an impostor, too.” “He imposed on me,” Annabel con- tinued. “I believed that he was the great multi-millionaire. He worried me to marry him. I let him take me to the English Embassy, and we went through some sort of a ceremony. I thought it would be magnificent to have a great house in Paris and more money than any other woman. After- ward we started for dejeuner in a mo- tor. On the way he confessed. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small in- come. Every one took him for the mil- lionaire, and he had lost his head about me. I—well, I lost my temper. I struck him across the face, twisted the steer- ing wheel of the motor, sprang out my- self and left him for dead on the road with the motor on too of him. This is the first act.” “Served the beast right,” Ennison de- clared. “I think I can tell you some- thing which may be very good news for you presently. But go on.” “Act two,” she continued. “Enter Sir John, very honest, very much in love with me. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened and I want- ed to get away from Paris. Sir John heard gossip about us—about Anna the recluse, a paragon of virtue. and Annabel, alias Alcide, a dancer at the cafes chantants, and concerning whom there were many stories which were false, and a few—which w true. I— well, I borrowed Anna’s n: 1 made her my unwilling confederate. Sir Jobn followed me to London and mar- ried me. To this day he and every one else thinks that he married Anna. “Act three. Anna comes to London. She is poor, and she will take nothing from my husband, the man she had de- ceived for my sake, and he, on his part, gravely disapproves of her as Al- cide. She tries every way of earning a living and fails. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. Curiously enough nothing will persuade him that she is not Alcide. He believes that she denies it simply because owing to my mar- riage with Sir John, whom they ecall the ‘Puritan Knight,' she wants to keep her identity secret. He forces an en- gagement upon her. She never calls herself Alcide. It is the press who finds her out. She is the image of what I was like and she has a better voice. Then enter Mr. Hill again—alive. He meets Anna and claims her as his wife. It is Anna again who stands between me and ruin.” “I cannot let you go on,” Ennison in- terrupted. “I believe that I can give you great news. Tell me where the fel- low Hill took you for this ceremony." “It was behind the Place de Ven- dome, on the othér side from the Ritz.” “I knew it,” Ennison exclaimed. “Cheer up, Annabel. You were never married at all. That place was closed by the police Jast month. It was a bo- gus affair altogether, kept by some blackguard or other of an Englishman. Tyt “was done in the most lezal tm:wnx_.wu. but the whole thing “Then I at all?” Annabel sald. “Never—but. by Jove, you had a nar- row escape,” Ennison exclaimed. “An- nabel, T begin to see why you are here. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John You are his wife right enough. You can tell me the N o, ~/ RS rest another time.” She smiled faintly. ““The rest,” she said, holding tight- ly to his hands, “is the most important of all. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna. I went to her rooms to-night. There was no one at home and I was coming away when [ saw that the door was open. I de- cided to go in and wajt. In her sit- ting-room I found Montague Hill. He had gained admission somehow and he, too, was waiting for Anna. But —he was cleverer than any of you. He knew me, Nigel. ‘At last’ he cried, ‘I have found you!" He would listen to nothing. He swore that [ was his wife and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!" he exclaimed, looking at her curiousiy. “Is this true, Anna- bel? Is he dead?” She nodded. “I shot him. I saw the blood come as he rolled over. I tore the marriage certificate from his pocket and burnt it. And then I came here.” “You came—here!” he vaguely. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. “Don't you understand? It is I whom you cared for in Paris, not Anha. She is a stranger to you. You cannot care for her. Think of those days in Paris. Do you remember when we went right away, Nigel, and forgot everything? We went down the river past Veraz, and the larks were singing all over those deep brown fields and the river farther on wound its way like a coil of silver across the rich meadowland and along the hillside vineyards. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. Nigel! You have not forgotten. It was the first day you kissed me, under the willows, coming into Veraz. Nigel, you have not forgotten!" “No,” he said, with a little bitter smile. “I have never forgotten.” She suddenly caught hold of his :lhoulderl and drew him down toward er. Nigel, don't you understand? I must leave England to-night. I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. I killed him. Nigel. They say that it was murder. But If only you will come I do not care.” He shook her hands off almost roughly. He stood away from her. She listened with dumb fear in her eyes. “Listen, Annabel.” he said hoarsely. “We played at lovemaking in Paris. It ‘was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. Other things came. We went our ways. There was no broken faith—not even any question of any: g of the sort. I met you here as Lady Ferringhall. We have played at a little mild lovemak- ing again. It has been only the sort of nonsense which passes lightly enough between half the men and women in Lendon. You shall know the truth. I do not love you. I have never loved you. I call myself a man of the world, 2 man of many experi- ences, but I never knew what love meant—until I met your sister.” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. “I do,” he answered. “I always shall. Now if you are ready to go with me, I too am ready. We will go to Ostend by the early morning boat and choose a hiding place from there. 1 will marry you when Sir John gets his divorce, and I will do all I can to keep you out of harm. But you had better know the truth to start with. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister.” Annabel rose to her feet. “You are magnificent,” she said, “but the steel of your truth is a little over- sharpened. It cuts. Will you let your servant call me a hansom?” she con- tinued, opening the door before he could reach her side. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late.” He scarcely saw her face again. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. “Where to?” he asked, as the han- som drove up. “Home, of course,” “8 Cavendish Square. CHAPTER XXX. Annabel Is Warned. “You!" He crossed the floor of the dingy lit- tle sitting-room . with outstretched hands. “You cannot say that you did not ex- pect me,” he answered. “I got Syd- ney's telegram at 10 o'clock, and caught the 10:20 from the Gare du Nord.” repeated she answered. “It is very nice of you,” she said softly. “Rubbish!” he answered. “I could not have stayed in Paris and waited for news. Tell me exactly what has happened. Even now I do not under- stand. Is the man Hill dead? She bok her head. “He was alive at 4 o'clock th noon,” she answered, “but give little hope of his recover; “What is there to be feared?” asked her quietly. She hesitated. “You are my friend.” she sald, “i any one is. I think that I will tell you. The man Hill has persecuted me for months—ever since I have been in England. He claimed me for his Wwife, and showed to every one a m riage certl . He shot at m the Univ and the magils bound him over to keep the peac found him once in my rooms and I be- lieve that he had a key to my front door. Last night Mr. Brendon and [ returned from the ersal and found him ng in my ro Tum In the grate were som fragments of a marriage certi We fetched the doctor and the police. From the first I could see that neither believed my story. I a having shot the man “But that Is ridicul claimed. She laughed a little bltterly. “So is Mr. Br “But there, against you,’ alone could s covers sufficie what he would you.” “Yes. There was a moment’s sil e was half turned from h but her pu A expression and tone of her nosyllable puzzlec He stepped quickly toward eyes seemed to be 1 She distinctly shiver her to look at him. ered. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoars “Look at me. What it? Good God An unhappy little smile parted her lips. She « e and leaned rward in her chair, gaz- ing steadily into th e, “I think e said, “that I will tell you everytt mebody —and you would un I am your friend,” “whatever you may You can tr that. I w Not long ago, me in anger, partly becaus and myseif. bring trouble. It ha 'Annabel’'s reason for leave Paris, the real reason ried Sir John Ferringhall, was beca of a verv foolish t It was—in conne i Hill. He personated over lionaire named Meysey H seems that he A A of marriage with him at the emb: R “Where?" Courtlaw asked quickly. “In Paris.” Courtlaw seemed about to say so thing. He changed his mind, however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. “Then there was a motor accident only an hour or so after this ceremony and Hill was reported to be killed. An- nabel believed it, came to England and married Sir John. Now you can under- stand why 1 have been obliged to"— “Yes, yes, I understand that,” Court- law interrupted. ut - about last night.” “Annabel knew w! continued slowly. he has been to my flat before. I saw her come out from the flat buildings two minutes be- fore we entered it last night. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor.” “You mean—you think"— “Hush! I think he was concealed in my room and Annabel and he met there. What passed betwen them I cannot think—I dare not. The pistol was his own, it is true, but It was one which was taken from him when he forced his w3y in upon me before. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me It is not for myself I fear. But If he speaks— I fear what he may tell.” “You have been to her?” he asked. “I dare not,” she answered. “I will go,” he said. “She must be warned. She had better escape if she can.” I lived,” Anna [Concluded Next Sunday.] JOE ROSENBERG'S. COTTON IS KING Especially for This Underwear. 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