The evening world. Newspaper, June 5, 1914, Page 21

THE STORY “Copyright, 1918, by Gece H. Doran Co.) SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS, Joho Burton, adventurer, iy im tmadon, dead Veo méeix Stuart ‘Northicate, a mail Io» double. Northeote’s Ife feriois Force and lie le offers Burion 860) ing, weeks. Burton accepts, -recel changes cloties. with, Wort nd gos the latter's house, ‘There Milford, the butler. who Po Aaa the door, oe. not he at night, a@ Burton is a, beautiful girl appears from ren at disarnas ‘ie gays ahi * Northeme. fucton billet a father and he lets spgrpton: bis! the tor ler escane, yA Shae. gtk recenuon : 1 je esruiea ter from, grows. in ry Tater Merch et th, ia ch the, tatie sth. Hs to Ne tnert Northeot ound fe a ge ing i) the Buy lan) Tam af stateaman who ia tadehaed to. him favors: thy warns Bit'y ti Merda'e same out of theca NP CHAPTER XVIII. tOcertisnred) ELL, she'd have come to court in any case," said Billy, “so I thought T might as well take her . and let her know the real teuth right away. It'll save her a lot of worry.” T held out my hand “you're a brick.” ‘The court proceadings wera brief. ‘The police asked for a remand until the following day. The Inspector informed the Magis- trate that the body of the man found murdered in Baxter's Rents had been {dentified beyond all ques- -tion as that of Stuart Northcote. Secondly, there was ample evidence to show that I had spent some time with the deceased at the Milan Hotel two days before the murder. On the night of the crime I had attended Lord Sangatte’s dance in the charac- ter of Stuart Northcote, and his lord- ship would bear witness that I had left early In a state of some agita- tion. I had not arrived home in Park Lane until the small hours of the Morning, the clothes that I was wearing being subsequently found saturated with blood I had scarcely returned to when Lord Lammersfield was ia. “I think {t will be quickest,” T sald, “i¢ I tell you my atc straight through. I can at least promise you that you won't be bored.” ‘When I had quite finished he sat up and looked at me for a moment “I believe your story, Mr. Burton, he told me. “It is altogether too tn- credible to be doubted.” “I auppose,” I said, with some re luctance, “that I shall have to tell the truth tin court?" Lord Lammersfield raised his hand protestingly. “One should never con- sider the most desperate course until the alternatives have been exhausted. I will wend George Gordon down to you thie afternoon. He has a natural aversion to the truth that I have never seen equalled, and if there Is any fensible method of extracting you from your difficulties without resort - {ng to accuracy you may be sure that he will find it.” He had named the most famous young K. C. of the day—a brilliant crim nal barrister and the rising hope of the Conservative party. CHAPTER XIX. R. GEORGE GORDON ar- M rived at about half-past my room »y the Inspector, who announced his name almost as respectfully ae that of the Home Secretary. hands, Mr. Gordon looking at me from under his heavy-lidded eyes with a kind of fatigued curiosity. “T will do what 1 can,” he said. “Billy,” T sald, cell bered three. He was shown Into ‘As the warder withdrew we shook . "The police are sure to ask for fur ; ther remand to-morrow, and they'd better be allowed to have it, By the “next hearing we shall know where Swe stand, and we can then decide whether to fight or to let the case be sent for trial. “Miss Solano is already being looked after,” he continued, “There's a pri- vate detective watching the Tregat- tocks’ house night and day, and as far as Guarez and the others are con- cerned, I've got a warrant for the arrest of the whole gang. It's merely ter of finding them now.” on Vhat time was Prado murdered?’ hed. : “Some time between 12.30 and 1. Hi geome to have had one visitor ariier in the evening and then another, or the same man back again, soon after midnight.” “How did the police find out he was " I interrupted. had some papers on him, ap- ‘tly—what they were I don't now, but enough to give them a hint of the truth. They wired for rice Furntvall, and he Identified the body ‘at once as that of his cousin. id the police that he'd felt you were an impostor ever since you'd arrived at ton.’ Arrrhere are the makings of a fine liar ‘yout Maurice,” I observed dispas- ly. How did they find out my ame?" . Partly by means of Northcote's papers, I fancy, and partly through your Chelsea landlady. She'd been to the police about your disappear- ance, and her description of you fi ted in, of course, with that of the dead man.” ‘A constable came into the room tha announced: ‘The magistrate has just arrived, fir, Gordon. Bhyness is not one of my virtues, but T must acknowledge that I felt a trifle self-conscious as I marched into party was there. I caught sight of the white, startled face of poor Aunt Mary; the apoplectic countenance of Sir George Vane and a few seats away the gracious and beautifully dressed figure of Lady Baradell, lean- ing forward, her eyes fixed on mine with a kind of passionate curiosity. Ot Billy or Mercia I could see noth- and impressive silence re descended upon every one, broken only by the rising of a som- bre-looking gentieman whom I took to be the counsel for the police. “I am instructed to apply for a further remand, sir,” be observed, addressing the Magistri bie ease for the police ts still wey. from complete.” r. Gordon rose briskly to his feet, end a little shiver of excitement ran through the cou “If the police azk for a remand in the Interests of justice,” he began. A sudden disturbance at the back of the building pulled him up abrupt- ly in the middle of his sentence. The main entrance door had been flung open, and three men, evidently in @ hurry, had stepped tnetde. Like every one else, 1 craned my head forward to get a better view of the intruders. One of th see, was dressed was a tall, clea gray hair. The face of the third was y the shoulder of the con- looked that official moved hastMy aside at the sound of the magistrate’s voice. I nearly jumped out of my skin, It was Milford! I turned eagerly to Gordon, but be- fore | could attract his attention the man who was dressed as a priest had pushed his way to the centre of the court and was addressing the magis- trate “{ must ask your pardon for burst- ing in on the proceedings like th Mr. Cowden,” he said tn a clear voice, with the faintest possible touch of a brogue. "Lam Father Merrill of Stepney, and I have brought you @ very important witness,” The magistrate inclined his head. ‘There ts no need to apologize, Father Merrill. If you are In a@ position to throw any light on this case, you were quite right to attend. Who is your witness?” john Milford, the dead man's #er- vant. He has a atatement to make which will clear up this dreadful bu ne—-clear it up beyond auestion, 1 think. Doctor Robbins and myself are here to confirm his evidence.” The magistrate aij his glasses. “It will be beat.” he sald to Milford, “if you give us your evidence in your own way. Don't allow yourself to be: come hurried or confused. I shi ask you questions myself, but othe wise no one will interrupt you until you have finished. CHAPTER XX. Y name, sir, is Milford — 66 John Milford. Up tilt nine months ago I was a steward in the em- ployment of the Blue Star line, That was how I first came to meet Mr. Northcote, He was one of the passengers in the Caledonia last October coming from New York.” “How did he come to offer you the position of being his butler?’ Milford hesitated for a moment. “It was after he had saved my life, air. I wags washed overboard by a big sea on the third day out, and Mr. Northcote, who was on deck, Jumped into the water and held me up until they were able to get a boat launched. I was naturally very grateful sir, and I think {t was that which first gave him the {dea. Having saved my lif he felt that he could trust me with hi “What do you mean?” asked the Magistrate, leaning forward. “Did he think his life was in dangei “He knew it, sir, Mr. Northcote waa Igni Prado, the President of San Luca." “That's rather an amazing state- ment,” sald the Magistrate, inter- rupting Milford. “I thought Prado was killed In the lyst revolution.” “Yes sir, That wi the general impression. As a matter of fact, he escaped in a boat the night the pal- ace was blown up, and boarded a steamer in the harbor which brought him to New York. No one knew this at the tlme; indeed, there was never any suspicion that he was still alive until a couple of months ago.” He went on to tell of my arrival at the Park Lane house and of the events that followed, And when did you first begin to fons about this amaging decetipon?” asked the magistrate. It Was the night of Lord Sangat- dance, sir—the night of the mur- der, Mr, Burton went off about half- ast ten, and he hadn't been gone a matter of a quarter of an hour when a boy came round to the house with a note for me, It was in the maste: writing, sir, and it told me to col down in a taxi to 7 Baxter's Rents, Stepney, as quickly as possible.” “Well, sir, I went there to the little room he'd got—like @ pig-stye It was and he shut the door tight and put the bed against 't, as if he was afraid of something. “He told me to ait down on the bed. sir. Then he started talking very slow and quiet, First of all, he told me that he was Prado, From what he sald, it seems that he'd gone out from England when he was almost a boy, and that every n Luca believed him to be a & He'd escaped from the palace just before they'd blown it up, and he thought at the time he'd got away without being seen.” Milford proceeded to tell briefly of the bargain struck by Northcote and myself, as told him by the dead man, “and what did Mr. Northcote do OF AN ADVENTURER WHO RISKED ALMOST CERTAIN DEATH then?” asked the Magistrate. “He put up at Bruce House for the Dight, sir. The next morning he went down east and bought some second-hand sailor's clothes. — Hi idea was to get away quiet to Aus tralia; but there wasn't any ship ys, so he took the room ie'd been lying “What made him send for you?” Vell, sir, there were several rea- Firet of all, he wanted to know whether we'd noti¢ed the dif- ference between him and Mr. Burton, and whether Mr. Burton was pla: ing the game like—doing what he’ agreed to. Then there was a pal te wanted me to sign and take Horsfall, his lawyer. ‘What was this paper’ inquired the magistrate sharply. “Have you wot it?” Milford put his hand in his inner pocket and pulled out @ long blue envelope. “This is it, eir, I don't know inside. I only wrote my name r to trate. Then, raisi looking round, he added: Horefall in court?’ An elderly, clean-shaven man rose from his seat as the policeman hand- ed up the envelope. he said with “Ia Mr. “lam Mr. Horafal a stiff little inclination of his head. The magistrate put down the enve- lope beside his blotting pad. ‘" good,” he replied. “I will ask you to look into this as goon as the dence is completed.” — Th 1e turned to Milford. ‘'Go on," he said; “what else did Mr. Northoote want. you to do?” ‘Please, sir, he wanted me to prom- ise I'd write to him in Australia and let him know how things turned out. Also he wanted me to get him some more clothes and to fix up about his ticket, It was too late to do anything that night, sir, of course, but I told him I'd find somewhere to sleep, and set about it first thing In the morn- ing. I was knocked all of a heap, as you might air, by what he'd told e. “Why didn't you stay at Baxter's Renta?” “The house was full, sir; there bed to be had, and I didn't fancy sitting up the rest of the night. T hadn't been very well for a matter of a couple of day-" “Where did you '---%" “There was a lodging-house just round the corner, sir-—-Number 10 Smith street it was—and I got s room there. I asked the landlord to give me a knock-up in the morning, for I was that tired I knew I'd sleep on late if he didn't. Well, sir, he came to me at seven o'clock, and the very first thing he said to me was that there'd been a murder in the night at Baxter's Rents. ‘Done In a cove at number three,’ he says. ‘The police are round there now.’ When I heard that, sir, my heart seemed to go all queer like, I felt certain it was the master, sir; and it come to me all of a sudden that perhaps one of them foreigners had followed me down and waited outside till I'd left him. I got up and dressed, and then I went round to the house. There was a big crowd outside, all pushing and shov- ing to get a look, and an Inspector standing on the doorstep.” paused for a moment, as if to his thoughts. “Did you go in?” inquired the mag- te, No, sir, As soon as I heard the people talking T knew it was Mr. Northcote. Some of them had seen body before the police came.” "But why didn't you go and tell your story to the Inspector?” Milford made a kind of protesting gesture with his hands. “How could T go to the police, sir, with a story like that? They'd have thought I was mad, Besides, I was that knocked over I didn't rightly know what to do for the time, 1 had a sort of feeling that if they found out I'd been there the night before they ht think I'd had a hand in tt.” “What did you do?” inquired the magistrate gently. “{ went back to Smith atreet, and I thought the whole thing over. My first idea was to see Mr. Burton; then I remembered that he was going SHOES a vv down to Asbton, and as likely ag not he'd have started. There wasn't no doubt in my mind as to who'd done the murder. I felt as aure as any- thing it was one of the San Luca gang, the master had told ine about. As like as not they'd followed me down in a cab; and it troubled me mueh, sir, to think that maybe I'd ey his death on him after he'd eav my life. In a way, as you might eay, sir, it made me feel I was responsible for finding the man who'd done it.” Milford's vo! shook, and he brushed the back of his hand quietly across his eyes. That Prado, who had proved himself to be one of the most callous rufilans that even South America has produced, should have been capable of inspiring such signs of affection was a mystery which I will make no attempt to solve, It was quite plain, however, that Milford’s distress was genuine. “Didn't it appear to you to be @ pretty hopeless business?” inquired the magistrate. Milford nodded. things to go on, alr, a foreigner, and I guessed that he couldn't. be very far away. Mr. Northcote wasn't the sort of gentle- man who'd have let himself be killed , and I'é heard the people o' side the house talking about the blood stains down the atairs. So I reckoned it out that he was probably lying low somewhere in the neighbor- food, There’e many a house round that part would take a man in with- out asking no questions ao long ar he could pay what they wanted.” He paused to wipe away the per- ion which glistened on his fore- “I just had two I knew it was head. “Open another of the window: @aid the magistrate irritibly. “It's hot enough in here to make us all faint.” Milford waited a moment while the policeman pulled down one of the long sashes at the back of the court. evel?” asked the magistrate in- terrogatively. Milford moistened his lips. a chance, sir, just pure chance, that put me on the right track. For three days I hunted round without Anding out any more than the police had done, Then last night, just before eight o'clock {t wan, | was standing outside the Dockyard Arma when a hey came by with some papers. 1 hought one, and the first thing I eaw then when I opened it was about the arreat of Mr. Burton, Finding it un- ed like t, air, gave me quite “It was sir, until I saw it in the per I didn't even know the police 1 dlacovered it was Mr. Northcote whotl been murdered. I felt that sir, I turned in to have a drop dy and to think it over quiet . The Dockyard bar's divided into compartmenta—little wooden com- partments—about as high as my shoulder, I was sitting there havin my brandy and thinking over what I ought to do, when two men came in and sat down in the next division. They started talking, sir, not very loud, but enough for me to hear what they were saying, I listened for a bit without really taking in what they meant, and then all of a sudden it came to me, sir, like—like a blow ir the face,” Ho paused. "“Yoa,' 1d the magistrate, “yes?” eg “One of them, sirt was telling the ether about a lodger who was ill in his house and who wanted see 4 priest. «The other man sald some- thing about Father Merrill, and the first’ man said, ina kind of queer way, ‘Well, ye see, he was stabbed in the street, and I don't want no fuss so fong as he can pay the rent.’ When I heard that, sir, 1 pretty near jumped out of my seat, for something told me it was the man I was looking for. 1 kept quiet, though, to try and hear some more; but after that they spoke go low | couldn't catch what they were saying. “Twat on till they'd done their drink d got up to t I slipped out after them, ‘They separated on the pavement, and my man—the one who'd spoken firet—turned off down toward the river. He was pretty well gone in liquor, sir, and it was easy enough to follow him. He went all the way elong to Shadwell, and turned in at a tumbledewn, one-story sort of place that looked as if it was part of an old warehouse alongside.” “what time was it then?” “It must have been pretty near half-past 10, sir. Anyhow, it was just striking 11 when I reached the church at the corner of East street." “You came straight back, then?” ‘ea, sir. I thought it would be no use trying to get into the house on my own, even if the man was there. I wanted some one to help me—some ‘one, too, who'd be the right sort of witness if there was any trouble. It geemed as like as not that I was the only ‘who rightly knew how been arrested, it wouldn't do for me to make any mintake. Well. sir, [ turned {t all over in my mind, and U decided at last that I couldn't do any better than go to this Father Merrill that the man had spoken about in the Dockyard Arma. You nee, I'd heart others speak of him too, sir, in the lodeing house at Amith street.” “Rverybody tn the Ei End know: Father Merrill, I believe,” interrupt- ed the magistrate, “T should say they did, sir, pretty near. Anyhow, even at that hour, ‘twas easy enough finding out where the reverend gentleman lived, I went to his rooms, and | an it was—ket- ting on for midnight, to be correct — he came down and opened the door himself. I'd fetched him out of bed, but he didn’t seem to mind. He took room—I'd sal: of life and death, si told him the whole through from beg ning to end, Of course, I'd got the master’s letter to Mr. Horsfall and nome old letters of my own in my pocket to show him; but even so was half afraid he wouldn't believe him. , sir, He just looked at me quiet, and asked me one or two nd seemed to know truth, ‘You stop go and put on some things come with you at once.’ I waited for him, sl a matter of ten minut we set off together, half way down the street before hi stopped and knocked at one of the houses, ‘We'll take Dr. Robbing with us,’ he sad to me and he's used to murderers. A sudden laugh ran round the atrained court, In which the magis- Father Merrill and the doctor If joined. aeems to be a most bra: n hood,” observed the fi on, Mr. Milford.” “Dr. Robbins was up and dressed, as it happened, sir. Directly the re erend gentleman told him what w: the matter he came along at once, and we got down to the warehouse just as the clocks were striking half-past one. It's in a kind of little side a sir, just off the river, id a there story straight the 6 We went up to the hou doctor he rapped on the h ick. There was no answer, 6o again louder, and after a rd some one fumbling with At last the door began to open slowly, and the man I'd f lowed put his head out round the the corner. He seemed half-drunk atill, air, and the language he ‘was something shocking. “The doctor didn't take much notice of him, though. He just shovel the door wide open and took him by ie you make any trouble about it shall send straight away for the po- Nes ‘That did the trick all right, Directly the fellow heard the police mentioned he crumpled up as if he'd been shot. Then he began to whi out that he hadn't done anything wrong and that he knew no! about the man who was lodging there. “'No one’s accusing you,’ sald the doctor; ‘all you've got to do is to take us to him, and be quick about it.’ Well, air, he led us down a pas- sage into a most filthy-smelling sort of room. It was quite dark at first, but the doctor he had one of those little podket-lam; which he turned on, and there, on the corner, was groaning something dreadful to listen to. The doctor walked across ant looked him over for a minute without speaking. Then he pulled out o pocketbook and wrote down some- thing on one of the pager, ‘Take Are You Going Away for the Summer? ‘When you out of town for the summer you may find it ts difficult and arty to provide yourself with the right sort of reading matter. Why send to the clty for novels at $1.25 or $1.50 each or buy them at a fancy price in some country store? You can supply yourself with reading for six cents a week. you win country dealer has not been able to by the foremost living authors. Bear this in mind, not only for who expect to spend the summer in the best, most delightful summer subscribing to The Evening World for the summer months secure a complete novel each week. Not some old book a sell, bit the finest up-to-date fiction yourself but for any of your friends the country. lay; and now Mr. Burton had ‘ho T the bed gave The Evening World Daily Magazine, Friday. June 5, 1914 is BY “SWAPPING IDENTITIES” FOR $50,000 World a By Victor Bridges this round to my house,’ he says to me, tearing It out, ‘and come back with the thi You'll find give you what want. Father Merriil and | will wait here. “What was the drunken man do- * asked the magistrate. ‘He wi jtanding in the corner, sir, mumbling to himself. No one took any notice of him.” “And you went to the doctor's house and got the things he needed?" “Yes, sir, 1 was back at the ware- house in under the hour. Father Mer- rill let me in, and | found that he and the doctor had lit some candies and got things @ bit straight generally. The man on the bed had stopped groaning, but ho still seemed very bad. The doctor was bending over him, doing him up with bandages and things; { could see he was cut about somethiny, shocking.” “Was he conscious?” “Not rightly, 1 don't think, sir. He was talking in a kind of broken En, lish, but it sounded to me all non- sense so far am I could hear, like singing than talking, as you might say. The doctor gave him some medicine out of one of the bottles I'd brought, and that seomed to quiet him, air, Anyway, he stopped the noise he was making, The doctor went on sponging and strapping him up till he'd done what he could, and then he comes across to Father Merrill and me. ‘He's got It right enough,’ he says. ‘Ho'll probably recover con- aclousn: before he goes off, ugh." “What time was thin?” inquired the magistrate. “About a quarter to 3, sir, I should reckon. Anyhow, I know it didn't be- In to get Hight for some time after. ‘here we stayed, all three of us, #it- ting on the window alll or on a bench there was against the wall, ny ching the man, We didn’t dare to. ve the room, for the doctor sald h might wake up like any minute, and if we wanted to ask him anything tha’ would be our only chance. While we waited | told the doctor the whole story the same as I'd told it to Father Merrill.” “And where was the gentleman who owned the house all this time?” in the next room, sir, ‘d put him in. there while { was away. I think he was ink to worry much about any- a philo- said the magistrate. “Well, sir, it must have been just about nine o'clock when the man on a sudden sort of @ groan and opened his eyes. The doc- tor was at his side quick, sir. He had some medicine all ready in @ glans, and he put his arm round him and lifted him up in bea, and made him swallow it. It seemed to do him Imost at once, sir, for he laid ulet and sensible like. ‘Who are you” asks. The doctor bends down and his forehead for him. I'm & doctor,’ he aay is Father Merrill, a pri wi a priest, you know.” may @ man and then a cunning, frightened sort of a look comes into his ey “The father comes up to the bed and speaks to him very gentle and kind. He tells him that he is dyin and asks him if there isn't something he wants to confess. The man reach- en up to him, air, and clutches hold of his cloak, ‘I am dying, T am dy- ing,’ he sa: ‘are you sure?’ Father Merrill bows his head, and the chap drops back again on the bed. Te lies there for a minute, alr, without speaking, just brea ming. hard and picking at the cloth ‘hen Father Merrill bends over him and takes both his hands. do in dea hi ‘a, very distinct, ‘and an innocent man has been arrested for killing him. “That seemed, busine: sir. gives a kind of # self up on the pillow. whispers. ‘I killed him takes a long breath. says, ‘I will tell you We all three came round the be and the doc- tor pulls out a pocketbook and a pens cil and begina to write down what the man was saying. It was hard to follow, sir, for he spoke English half foreign like, and his voice was never nd this You omehow, to do the man on the bed hetter than a whisper, The doctor's got what he sald wrote down—he'll Show It you, sir—but in a manner of speaking It was just what I thought. “He was one of the San Luca lot M Da Conta his name was, and he been watching the house in Park Lane, When I drove down in the taxi he'd followed me, and he'd laid low outside till I cleared off. en he'd sneaked In somehow without be- ing seen, sir, and knocked at the door of the master’s room. I suppore Mr. Northcote must have thought it was me come hack, for he unlocked it, air, and this Da Costa had got in- side and stabbed him before he could do as much as call out. But Mr Northcote, sir, as I said, he wasn’t the sort of gentleman to go under ensy. He'd dropped to the floor, sir; but It seems he was partly sham- ming, for when Da C Jumped on him to finish him he whipped out » Knife and stabbed him in the side. ‘ow long they fought Da © didn’t know, But by th finished the master he done in himself. He'd crawled away, sir, hardly knowing what he was up to, and got down somewhere by the river. Here he'd run across the man whose house he was in now. He told him he'd been stabbed in a street row and wanted some place where he could lie up. The man asked him if he had any money, and when Da Costa showed him a pound he took him to Shadwell, and there he'd been ever since, ‘That was his whole story, sir, as he told It to us, You'll find it all written down proper in the ‘s book, with Da Costa’s name signed ot the end. He was just able to do that, sir, before be went off queer again.” "And you have come straight to the court from Shadwell?” asked the magistrate as Milford stopped to finish the glans of water. Yes, sir. The doctor sent out ad kot @ nurse to look after Da Costa, A then we came ri tup ina cab.” There was a short silence while p === A ROMANCE THAT IS FAR STRANGER AND MORE EXCITING THAN ‘TARZAN,’ BY THE SAME WRITER, NEX T WEEK’S COMPLETE NO IN THE EVENING WORLD VEL * AT THE EARTH’S CORE™ Author of “Tarzan of the Ape dug my ° and the strate made one or two ut had finished he ad- hin glasses and looked up. ‘ell, 1 congratulate you on the Way you have given your evidence, Mr. Milford,” he said slowly. appear, too, to have acted with cour- age and discretion all threugh these amassing experiences, * have no doubt the counsel f~: the police will !! want to ask you a few questions be- fore we take the evidence of Dr. Rob- bins and Father Merrill; and mean- while”~-here he turned to Mr. Hors- fall-“perhaps you, sir, will enough to examine t o 8 «© 6 Of the rest of the proceedings I could not, even if | wished to, give @ very clear or detailed account. All the time Milford had been telling his story my attention had been #0 eagerly concentrated on his words that the reaction whea he had fi ished | me curiously indifferent a to what the others migh only knew I listened vau a restless fever of tmpa' ford'’s evidence had #0 pl conviction to every one in court that I knew my dismissal from the un- Pleasantly prominent part which [ now occupied was only @ matter of time. Even I could tell that the questions which the prosecuting counsel was putting were intended to clear up minor pointe rather than to cast any real doubt on the truth o* Milford's narrative. Whatever t: police might think about my co! t and character, they re obvi- neer under the delusion & murderer, It was another, and to me far more important, question than that of my immediate liberty which now occupied my thoughts. Ever since Gordon had ed over and whi: red to me that neither Billy nor jercia was in court a deep uneasi- ness had been lurking at the back of my mind. While Milford had been giving his evidence I had been too Interested to think much of anything but, now the tension was re- | my previous anxiety about safety returned with double Intensity. ly realized that Lord San- i. Search as I »wded court, face and those bard bi y 1 remembered and disiiked with such peculiar distinctness. Tt was this discovery which more than anything else filled me with a savage impatience to a the present Proceedings over and done with. There was some mischief afoot something in which Mercia and Billy and Sangatte wore all involved—and here was I knowing nothing about it and powerless to help. I felt a wild impulse to jump up out of my seat and ke a dash for the door, but fortunately my common sense waa sufficiently strong to restrain me. I hands deeper in my pockets, nm apparent calm listened first to the doctor and then to Fat! Merrill as, skilful questions, they in turn con- firmed Milford’s story. How long the inquiry went on I can't @ay. It seemed centuries t: me, but-I suppose as a matter oF fact it was only about three-quarters time Milford had widence that the Prosecuting counsel. Do you still persist in pressing for @ remand?” he inquired. ‘here was a moment of ten: citement in court, while a certain amount of whisper went on be- tween those responsible. At last the barrister ‘n charge of the case rose to his feet. “On behalf of the police, Your Wor- boat he — ya am prepared to raw e charge of mi ir against Mr. Burton.” ne “Bravo!” exclaimed a allvei at the back which I eeeme: Hf Nei nise, and instantly @ general cheer up all round the cour' ume fi rain of the moment which was re- eponnible for this enthusiasm, for I can hardly believe that I cut a very heroic or sympathetic figure. Any- how, the magistrate eat on the out- burat with commendable severity. ‘Will you be good enough to be- have yourselves?” he said sharply. “This is @ police court, not @ mual a} Then he “T aha turned to the counsel. hand thia confession to the id, “and I have no doubt will be ready to lend his ansista: y ful t may be taken. Meanwhile I do not think it necessary to prolong these proceedings. Gordon was on his feet immediately. “You dismiss the case, Your Wor- ship?” magistrate “The The bowed. charge 1s withdrawn, Mr. Gordon,” CHAPTER XXI. EFORE the excitement had properly subsided I was in the little room at the back of the court with Gordon. “Let me add my con- gratulations,” sald Gordon, as soon as we found ourselves alon: I gripped the hand he offered me. “Thanks,” I said, “I'm ‘'y much obliged to you for all the trouble you've taken.” He smiled in his curfous manner, “There is no reason to be grateful to me,” he replied. “It was your amazing butler who took over the defense, I have nover had @ case in which I've been quite ao superfluous.” As he spok® my fears about Billy and Mercia, which had momentarily lapsed in the excitement of my ac- quittal, rushed back on me witb re- doubled force. “Mr. Gordon,” I said, “I may want your help more than ever now. Some. thing has happened to Miss Solano, Billy waa to have called for her and brought her to court, and neither cf them has turned up." he answered quickly, ie m Bangatte: Prise. that th telling’ hige 7 sory in in been rather “oparing wil count of the interview in study in love with her,” I in bis own way, and I've sons for knowing that it’s @ * the words had hardly teft LJ a when there came a sharp no the door and a polic ‘iSpere, are Uwe gentlemen, bs are two ro at ay y- show them “You, yes,” I enid, Gerdon, I added I was to you by a lady who 1 took the note. A me that it was addi c Beradell’s writing, and I terest ® into m; ee ithout further for any one but r My first sight of as he tered me that there were Maa for my anxiety. His face Waa pal and hie mouth set in that Her steel-trap fashion ways heralded mS ture of a tight cot Pe. i A man in a bl ‘ F ‘Much wron; quietly, fe vt oe “Sangatte’s got hold of Meveja;? said, speaking a ite e're after them in @ motor I think we shall be in time.” Kefore I could get out @ word voice broke in . ‘What does this fe time to now. ~y xi me take Wilton. ‘Mise Solano been carried off to Lord yacht Burnham. Tm ff under the magistrate's s00d. oar.’ “Damn the hat!” I erted, te “up a dusty-looking cap from table. “I’m ready, Billy.” ‘ “Go with them,’ Wilton,” broke sharply. Then turaing to trance was addi moment Sui way ugh ly wed his Chthe car, 7 One opened the-Reamia “You oome in with tee said. Wilton will go ta foot’ bef The next minute we had gilded — down the street and twisted f leasly round the corner isto the and trafic of the Strand. Billy didn't wa! tion him, it said she’ directly after breakfast. didn't worry much; I perhapa she'd had some something to do first, and ti be coming back in a minute or so T said I'd call again in = DOR : was just ti when a taxi ran up alonguide of and wi ould jump out but friend Wilton here. I knew whe ton, who'd been to lose track followed her house in Bi he'd hung about o: part of half an hour, Sangatte’s motor rolled up to door, and Gangatte himself came with Mercia and got inside. course there wasn't a taxi and before Wilton could find car was out of sight. It struck as just possible that @angatte merely be seeing Mercia hoi = ‘come slong back to fina suki wy jans! With my heart full of torn with a murderous waited for him to continue, (To Be Continued.)