* Copyright, 1896, in the United States of America, by Percy Andreæ.

Illustrated by

J. BARNARD DAVIS. (1861-1943)

I. — HIS FIRST CASE.

THE circumstances under which I came to learn of the following strange episode in Lauder Caine's life, which I have perhaps somewhat inconsistently entitled "His First Case," were these:—

      As the reader will recollect, I had once heard it whispered that the Confessor in his younger days had been admitted into the Order of the Jesuits. I had never really attached any credit to the rumour, and had, indeed, known Lauder Caine for some considerable time before any suspicion as to the possibility of its truth arose in my mind. One day, however, a chance remark which fell from the Confessor himself caused it to flash across me, and I determined to verify the matter on the spot.

      It was a somewhat delicate task, and I have no doubt that my question, when I ventured it, had a very nervous ring about it. To my relief, however, the Confessor not only received it with great forbearance, but appeared to be stirred by it in an unusual manner. I little imagined, notwithstanding, that it was to give rise to one of those rare occasions when he would be prompted to expatiate at length upon his own adventures, and disclose to me something of his inner self. But so it proved.

      "The rumour is perfectly true," he replied simply, with a sad smile. "My parentage, as I have once told you, is unknown to me. My earliest remembrances are sorrowful and sombre, and I would rather be spared the pain of reciting them. All I need tell you for your purposes is that at the age of fourteen I was placed under the care of the Jesuit Fathers in Belgium, where I in due course became an initiate and member of the Order. I left it at the age of twenty-five."

      "From conscientious motives?" I ventured to ask, emboldened by the readiness with which he had responded to my inquiry.

      He looked at me curiously for a moment rose from his chair, paced once or twice up and down the room, then resumed his seat again, and said —

      "Listen, and I will tell you of an experience which you will be surprised to hear from the lips of a man whom you have been accustomed to see deal with the stern realities of life. Although it was not the immediate cause of my retirement from an Order of which my heart had never belonged, it was so nearly connected with it that I have almost come to look upon it as such."

      He motioned me to a seat at his side, an after a pause began as follows:—

      "Twenty years have now rolled by. I was a passenger on a steamer bound for Australia. My mission was a secret one, and in no way connected with the strange event I am about to relate. The purposes for which I was sent made it necessary that I should doff the priestly garb and travel as a private gentleman. Among my fellow-passengers were none to whom I felt particularly attracted. I took little part, and still less interest, in the sports and games with which it is usual to while away the time on these long sea voyages, and beyond the captain, to whom I had a warm letter of recommendation, and one of the officers, to whom chance had enabled me to render a service soon after the ship started, there was no one on board with whom I exchanged more than the ordinary civilities customary between fellow-prisoners on the ocean.

      "The days I found tedious, but the nights were my great solace. Towards ten or half-past, when the deck had become tolerably clear, I would saunter up and down for hours watching the star-lit heaven and drinking in the refreshing night-breeze. I was young then, my friend, and stormy thoughts used to haunt me in those lonely hours, as they had haunted me many a time in the loneliness of my cell in the college in Belgium. A yearning seized me, passionate and feverish, to cast off bonds which I loathed, though I was fain to admit that without them I should not have been what I was. I looked at my past, and shuddered at its dreary uniformity, at the incompleteness of an existence which had no identity in itself, but was merely a kind of pulse beating among thousands of other pulses in one great insensate body, as a living part of it, indeed, but a part without a will — without separate life or purpose, hope or desire. I thought of the future and its promise of power; for I knew my worth, and foresaw, as others foresaw, that I should rise in my Order until, perhaps, I could rise no more. But to what end? Alas, I thought of the mission now before me! It was work that wearied me, work I hated, not for its secrecy and its cunning, but for its want of pure individual human interest. To me, young as I was, the most difficult tasks, the most intricate of problems had already been entrusted, and I had succeeded in solving them with ease where grey heads before me had ignominiously failed. But again — to what end? Had I ever seen one human eye glisten with pleasure at my success? Had I ever earned that sweetest meed of praise, dearer to a soul like mine than rank and power and glory, the silent gratitude of one individual human heart consoled, of one individual troubled mind restored to peace and hope? Oh, for the possibility of applying those gifts and that knowledge which I devoted to a cause inanimate, soulless, to the service of my individual fellow-men! How my breast would swell at this golden vision of freedom and usefulness floating before my eyes in those solitary nights like some soul-inspiring dream which recurs to us again and again, until, waking, we confound it with reality, and know not that we have dreamed.

      "In such mood I stood one night gazing out from the ship's side over the wide starlit ocean. There were a few people still on deck, but they were mostly grouped in sheltered nooks, dozing, musing, or conversing in whispers. Otherwise all was still. Suddenly I felt conscious. of a presence near me, and turning swiftly beheld a young girl, dressed in a rich white costume, leaning against the ship's railing beside me. A glance sufficed to show me, firstly, that hers was a face that I had not yet seen on board, and secondly, that it was one of exceptional loveliness.

      "We had left port already five days, and, so far as I knew, every passenger, with one exception, had regularly appeared on deck and among the general company at meals. The exception, about whom I had by chance heard some talk, was a young lady, well known in London society, who had been ordered on a voyage to Australia for her health. Unfortunately, so it was said, an accident had occurred to her on boarding the ship, the effects of which prevented her from leaving her cabin. Beyond this I knew nothing about her, but I had little doubt that she and my beautiful neighbour were one and the same.

      "There is a curious power of silent speech in the human eye. My first impulse, on discovering that I was no longer alone, was to move away and choose some other spot for my musings. But in the eye that gazed into mine, as I glanced at the graceful figure beside me, there was that which arrested me, and caused me to stay.

"I ventured to warn her politely of the risk she ran."

      "Although we were already pretty far south, the night air was slightly chill, and noticing the scant covering of my fair companion, who had merely a light gauze-like shawl thrown over her shoulders, I ventured to warn her politely of the risk she ran by thus exposing herself so recklessly to the treacherous night air of those climes.

      "She had only been waiting for me to address her, and my words loosened her own speech. Laughing with a bright, silvery laugh, she dismissed my warning lightly, and we fell into conversation — such conversation, I may assure you, as I had never heard, far less taken part in, before. An older man than I might have lost his head in it, and a graver his wisdom. I was young, and felt my pulses quicken; I was gay of heart, and felt my senses quiver; and once again I would have turned away, forewarned of the danger lurking in those witching smiles, and in the silent laughter of those tempting eyes; for, young and warm-blooded though I was, I held my vows sacred above all things else. But once more something stronger than all this detained and held me.

      "Is it a gift not all men possess? I know not. But to me it is given to hear the wail of despair in the voice that laughs, to detect the note of passionate appeal in the voice that defies; and I heard it here — and soon I heard nought else.

      "Were I to recount all that passed between me and my fair companion, not on this occasion alone, but night after night for many a week, as we paced the silent deck together, holding strange communion, it would fill volumes. After that first meeting she never failed me, though for days the weather was stormy, and, but for us two, the deck deserted. Why she came, I knew not, nor inquired. To mock, perhaps, and flaunt her empty folly, her disdain of all else but vain, senseless pleasure in the face of one whom she would fain have deceived, but could not; for, through it all I heard still that far-off, deep, plaintive note that told of trouble unexpressed, as of a soul groping in darkness and seeking light.

      "Yet she must have felt some attraction to bring her thus to my side, some delight in listening to that which she declared again and again with petulant derision was alien to her fancy, ay, at best a pious fraud conceived to cheat human beings of their only paradise — earthly pleasure.

      "'Ah,' she would cry, with a mocking laugh, when I spoke of the emptiness of a life devoted solely to selfish, frivolous enjoyment, which passes like a dream, leaving nothing behind it; when I dwelt upon the need all human creatures feel to escape from the narrow circle of self and its weary, dreary monotony, to create a world for themselves, outside themselves, in others, to know that, as the Creator himself is the centre towards which every soul tends, so each soul in itself should become the centre, not of itself alone, but of other fellow-souls, in whose life it feels its own life pulsate — ah,' she would cry, 'how my sister would delight to hear you! So she, too, will talk at times until I grow weary of listening, and laugh her out of the mood. Indeed, you would make a pair, you and she.'

      "Her sister, as I had now gathered, and not she, was the sick girl who was confined to her cabin, and whom, so I understood, she tended by day, while the nurse, whom I sometimes saw on deck during the morning hours, took her place by the sick-bed through the night.

      "This sister interested me strangely. I could see from the fretful voice and the impatient gestures of my companion, whenever her name was mentioned, how antagonistic these two natures must be. The sister thoughtful, melancholy perhaps, yearning for something to fill the emptiness of an existence concentrated in itself alone, and chafing angrily at the fate which had yoked her with a nature so different.

      "There were moments, though, when my companion would fall into another strain, and discourse at some length of what she termed the silly whims of a brain-sick girl. She confided them to me unasked, and yet, as it seemed to me, unwillingly, as if some impulse compelled her over which she possessed no control; and though I felt loath to pry, as it were, into secrets which she had no right to disclose, I responded, as if prompted by some strange influence stronger than my will.

      "Have you ever experienced the power of magnetism, that inexplicable communion of mind with mind? It was something of the sensation I have felt when exercising that power, of which men know so little, that overcame me then. Yet I was not conscious of the mysterious emanation of force which is characteristic of this sensation, but rather of some influence from without working upon my own senses and governing them. Whence it came, I knew not. But surely, I thought, not from this strange, shallow being, whose beauty, dazzling as it appeared, was of the flesh alone, vain and spiritless? Could there be any affinity between us? The thought almost angered me.

      "'Why,' I asked her once, suddenly, 'do you take pleasure in these nightly rambles with one whose views of life are so foreign to a heart like yours? Although you treat them with scorn and derision, you never weary of listening to them.'

      "She looked at me for a moment with a curious side-glance which sent a thrill through my heart.

      "'You talk well,' she replied in a low tone, 'and besides,' she laughed again, 'you have a way of speaking truths which amuses me; and it is so difficult to find new amusements.'

      "'And this one,' I said sadly, 'is new to you?'

      "'As long as it lasts.'

      "She was silent for a while, and then returned once more to the subject which seemed to possess so curious a fascination for her her sick sister.

      "Did she love her? Did she hate her? I asked myself the question again and again, but could find no satisfactory answer. She turned off all my inquiries with a laugh or a taunt.

      "'You think wonders of her because she hangs her head, and mopes, and sighs,' she exclaimed. 'Yet, what folly is mine that she does not share? What pleasures have I that in her secret heart she does not covet, though she affects to disdain them? She sours every cup of joy that I raise to my lips, and wears me out with her fretful tyranny. She would rid herself of my companionship if she dared. But she cannot live without me, and where I go she goes.'

      "'She is ill,' I replied. 'You should bear with her.'

      "'Bear with her?' she rejoined, with fine scorn. 'What is she to me that I should bear with her? She, who is jealous of every ray of sunshine that warms my quicker blood? She, who shuns what I love and loathes what I cherish? Without her my life would be one dream of intoxicating delight, with no shadow to darken it. What are the world and its miseries to me that she should plague me with her doleful fancies? Was I born to toil because others idle, to mend what others neglect, to weep because others suffer? Must I renounce the sweets of life because there are some who have the bitters? Bear with her?' she exclaimed again, passionately. If my companionship is a curse to her, think you her companionship is not as great a curse to me?'

      "'Yet it seems you cherish it,' I said. 'Are you, then, bound to her?'

      "'Bound to her?' she said, in a puzzled tone. 'You ask strange questions. We saw the light together. I have no choice. Ah, but for her ——'

      "She broke off abruptly, and darted a look at me so full of pregnant meaning that I felt a shiver pass through me as I caught it. The next moment, bursting into a light laugh, she plunged once more into the vapid, aimless talk with which she delighted to taunt me. Ah, and how fair she was, how lovely! A creature perfect but for one thing missing — the divine soul. Yet I could have sworn it was there, confined perhaps in some dark prison, stinted, starved, and repressed, yet there.

      "A warning voice within me urged me, for my own sake, to refrain from continuing these meetings, and the next day and the day following I determined to avoid the deck after nightfall. But a strange spirit of unrest would come over me towards evening, leaving me no peace, and long before the usual hour when my fair companion appeared I found myself, in spite of all my resolutions, on deck waiting impatiently for her to join me.

      "And so my life went on, becoming day by day more completely wrapped up in this strange, perverse being, whom I saw only when the day was over, and whose choice of me for a companion was a mystery which grew deeper to me the longer our companionship lasted; for, in truth, she showed me neither favour, respect, nor goodwill; on the contrary, her manner was at times almost fiercely antagonistic, and her bursts of anger at my persistent refusal to believe that she was truly happy and content in her heartlessness and frivolity were often alarming.

      "We were now nearing the tropical zones, and the deck during the nights was crowded with those seeking relief from the stifling atmosphere of the cabins and saloons below. Hence, although we kept ourselves as much as possible aloof from the general throng, it stood to reason that our nightly meetings could no longer escape the observation of the many curious eyes on board. Yet — strangely enough, as I remember commenting to myself at the time — no one appeared to bestow any particular notice upon us, or to evince any surprise at what must have seemed a significant intimacy between a young girl of such surpassing beauty as my companion and a man of my years. Acquaintances would greet me with a friendly nod as we passed them, without so much as casting a furtive glance at the vision of loveliness at my side. Nor did she, too, whose whole being I knew to be concentrated in the one desire to attract and enjoy the flattery of admiring eyes, appear to miss the homage to which she must have been accustomed. I attributed this indifference on her part, however, to physical causes; for, though unaltered in spirits, she had struck me for some time as being less robust in health than she had at first appeared, and there was a kind of bodily languor about her which increased from night to night, and caused me at last to express my anxiety lest her strength might be suffering from the strain of her constant attendance on her sister. Although she professed no love for the sick girl, indeed declared she loved no one but herself, I knew from her own lips that she devoted every minute of her time to her during the day, even to the extent of refraining from setting foot above stairs before the sun went down, when the nurse took her place beside the invalid.

      "But she treated my cautions lightly and with a certain fretful petulance which for the time silenced me. Still, from day to day my anxiety increased, for it seemed to me as if I saw her gradually wasting away before my eyes, and I entreated her at last to consult advice, to nurse herself and take rest.

"I hate you as I never knew being could hate being!"

      "One night, when I again pressed her thus, telling her I was determined not to countenance these nightly meetings any longer, she turned upon me with a little flush as of pent-up anger.

      "'Do you imagine then,' she cried, 'that I come here of my own free will? Do you think it pleases me so greatly to be rated and chidden and held up before my own eyes as an example and a warning as I am by you? You know so much, and pride yourself so mightily upon it, and in a way perhaps it interests me. But I hate your truths — I hate them — I hate them,' she ended, stamping her foot on the deck in an access of childish rage — 'and I hate you as I never knew being could hate being!'

      "And before I could stop her she had thrown herself down upon a coil of rope lying on the deck, and burying her face in her hands burst into a convulsive fit of sobbing.

      "Ah, my friend, I have never suffered such temptation as I suffered then! To clasp this fair, soulless creature in my arms and breathe — if heaven so willed — something of that spirit into her of which she knew and yet knew not, which she pined for and yet derided; the spirit of that love, not of ourselves, but of our kind, in the exercise of which we find alone an abiding happiness; it was a desire so overpowering that truly a better man than I might have succumbed to it.

      "And yet what was I that I should arrogate to myself to say to others that which I had so often said to myself in vain? In what was my own life so different from that of this creature of vain, aimless pleasure? Were not all those instincts of human love and compassion and sympathy which were dearest to my soul — all, all silenced and repressed in the service of a cause as soulless, as intangible, ay, and in a purely human sense as selfish, as the pleasures she coveted?

      "As I sat beside her, pouring words of advice and comfort — alas! into heedless ears — it was myself whom I was addressing as well as her. She answered not a word, nor gave sign that she listened to me. But presently she rose, laid a trembling hand on my arm, and bade me cease and leave her a while, as she felt faint and weary.

      "The mocking laugh was still on her lips, and she said, as she had said once before —

      "'Ah, what a pair you would make, you and she! And she pines for such as you, as fool pines for fool.'

      "With which words, as if suddenly changing her mind, she turned on her heel and left me.

      "All that night and all through the next day I pondered over those words, which kept ringing in my ears and played havoc with my senses. I, who had vowed never to allow the thought of woman to enter my soul, now knew no other thought save that of her to whom my heart had gone forth, in search, as it were, of a fellow heart, which it could not find. Was it love, pity, desire? I know not. But it consumed me, like a passion eating into my very soul; and when that next night came I had measured and conceived for the first time the awful distance between the deepest depth of human despair and the highest height of human bliss.

      "But that night I waited for her in vain. Ah, what fears assailed me! I recalled her weary, haggard looks, the growing lassitude she had displayed in these last few nights, and trembled at the thought that she might be stricken with sickness — stricken before I had reached and touched that chord in her which some indefinable instinct told me was waiting for the hand that would find it and make it give forth long-hidden sound and melody. Again and again those last words of hers sounded ominously in my ears. What did they mean? Had I been cruel, rough, unfeeling? True, I had laid her soul bare in all its hollow, meaningless frivolity; yet surely not with ungentle hand.

      "As the hours passed and all grew still on deck and yet she did not come, I gave myself up to a sense of despair; indeed, at last I called out aloud as if to invoke the presence my heart yearned for.

      "And that call was answered. A short, quick, silvery laugh, though sounding far away, told me that she had come at last, and, turning, I saw her slender form emerge slowly from the gloom of the night and advance towards me.

      "But, great heaven! when I beheld her face I started back and shuddered. If ever human visage was marked with the stamp of death, it was hers; if ever human features were contorted with a thousand baffled evil passions, they were hers. As she advanced her eyes grew brighter and larger, and glared upon me with a hatred so fierce that I raised my hand involuntarily to my face to shut out the sight. The next moment I heard her gasp for breath, then, looking up, saw her totter as if about to fall, and I sprang forward to support her. But she waved me off.

      "'It is over,' she whispered, in a voice so low that I could hardly catch what she said. 'Take her, then, and let her rue her folly as she will.'

      "Before I had time to take in these strange words and consider their meaning she sank down at my feet stiff and lifeless.

"I stood for a while spellbound."

      "What I then did I know not. There are moments when the strongest of us lose their strength, and become helpless as children. Doubt, fear, horror, and senseless grief seized me at sight of that inanimate form, yet withal a shrinking dread to approach and touch it, and I stood for a while spellbound, gazing, as a murderer may gaze upon his ruthless handiwork. Then, rousing myself with a strong effort, I rushed away in search of help.

      "It was past midnight, and save for the officer on the bridge, to whom I dared not call, the upper deck seemed entirely deserted. At last, however, I chanced upon the sailor on watch-duty, and telling him in as few words as possible what had occurred, bade him follow and help me carry the senseless girl to her cabin.

      "But when we reached the spot where I had left her, no trace of her was to be seen She had vanished!

      "At first I stood like one dazed. To suppose that in the short interval which had elapsed since I saw her lying there, pale and inanimate, she could have recovered and returned, alone and unsupported, to her cabin, was impossible. And yet, how else was her strange disappearance to be explained? I searched every spot and corner near by, in the vague hope of finding her, but in vain.

      "The sturdy seaman, who had heard my excited tale, now gave me a look of humorous but significant inquiry. I read what was in his thoughts, and, taking a piece of silver from my pocket, gave it him, with the injunction to keep his counsel regarding what he had witnessed, which he promised to do, and I then dismissed him.

      "But I dared not seek my cabin or leave the deck, and during the remaining hours of the night I paced to and fro in a fever of excitement, trying in vain to find an explanation for the strange events I had passed through.

      "Ah, there were stranger things yet to come!

      "Meeting the ship's doctor in the course of the next morning, I ventured to inquire, with as casual an air as I could assume, if anyone had been taken ill in the night. He was evidently preoccupied, and answered hurriedly that nothing of the sort had occurred to his knowledge — 'excepting,' he added, 'the usual business in Cabin 15;' with which enigmatical words he left me before I could question him any further on the subject.

      "Cabin 15, I knew, was the state-room in which the sick sister of my beautiful companion lay. But what was the 'usual business' to which the doctor referred? Was he aware, perhaps, of our nightly wanderings? The idea disturbed me.

      "A quarter of an hour later, noticing a certain excitement among the crowds on deck, and especially among a large group of passengers who had gathered round some object of attraction just below the captain's bridge, I approached the spot to ascertain the cause of the unusual commotion.

      "Imagine my feelings when I saw in the centre of the group, reclining on an invalid chair and propped up with numerous cushions, the object of all my thoughts — the fair companion of my nightly rambles on deck.

      "Her face showed traces of illness, but of illness overcome. Her eyes were bright and lively, and her look, as she chatted with the friends and acquaintances who were thronging around her, or bestowed a smile of recognition on some newcomer, was so full of cheerful content that I could scarcely believe that what I saw was real.

      "My blank stare attracted her notice, and her eyes rested upon me for an instant. But she gave me not the faintest sign of recognition, and I turned away with a feeling of sickness at heart which I cannot define.

      "Asking a fellow-passenger who the object of all this attention was, he replied, with ill-concealed contempt at my ignorance, that she was the celebrated society beauty who, to the regret of the whole company on board, had been taken seriously ill immediately after embarking, and had been confined to her cabin ever since.

      "He observed my look of bewilderment, and, misinterpreting it, volunteered a good deal more information, which it would be superfluous to relate here, but which left me no doubt that the girl I now saw on deck and my nightly companion were one and the same, and that the story of a sister was a fable which had been deliberately invented by her, though for what purpose I was at a loss to conceive. Indeed, it was all a profound mystery to me. But I was determined at least to hear from her own lips whether she intended to disavow my acquaintance altogether or not, and, after waiting an opportunity when the throng around her had to some extent dispersed, I approached her and, lifting my hat, said —

      "'May I inquire if your sister has recovered from the effects of her accident last night?'

      She looked at me with a puzzled expression, which could not have been feigned, and replied —

      "'You must be making a mistake, sir. I have no sister.'

"'You must be making a mistake, sir. I have no sister.'"

      "The words were spoken with perfect courtesy. But she turned her head away at once, and, addressing a remark to the nurse who stood beside her, gave me very clearly to understand that both the subject and he who had introduced it were dismissed.

      "I withdrew with as much dignity as the circumstances permitted, and resolved to think no more about the matter. But there are cases when resolutions prove futile, and mine was such a case. I could not escape the thoughts I would have banished, and dwelt during the next few days upon nothing but the memory of my mysterious adventure. I saw her now often on deck, where she soon moved about like any ordinary passenger.

      "It was this which baffled me completely. Had she then feigned illness? And if so, for what reason? When I first saw her leaning over the ship-rail at my side, soon after we sailed, she was the picture of health and vigour. Yet, if report was true, it was just at that time that her condition had given her attendants cause for the gravest anxiety. She had reported to me every night with scarcely disguised ill-humour that her sister — hence, she herself, as I now knew — was speedily recovering strength and health. Yet had I not seen her, the very being of whom she spoke, decline from day to day before my own eyes, until at last, that night, she seemed to fall into the very clutches of death itself? And to crown the mystery, she had appeared on deck the following morning with the bloom of returning health on her cheeks, placid, radiant, almost the same indeed as I had seen her on that first memorable night when our strange companionship commenced.

      "I knew that I could not have been the mere plaything of her mad folly. Her passion, her struggles, her wrath, and her despair, and then her fierce antagonism to the sister, who was she herself, and yet not she — no human being could have counterfeited all this.

      "Sometimes the inclination seized me to approach her once more, and tax her outspokenly with the deception she had practised upon me. But some inner instinct held me back. Her manner was as natural and easy as manner can be, and I felt that so far as she was concerned we were as complete strangers as if we had never exchanged a word with one another. Only on certain occasions, such as at meals, which she now took part in with the general company, her eyes would now and again wander in my direction, and rest upon me with a curiously vacant expression which puzzled me. It seemed as if she were trying to recall some association in her own mind, and failed.

      "At last I determined to interrogate the doctor, and ascertain if he could throw any light on the mystery which continued to occupy my thoughts in spite of myself.

      "The opportunity came when I least expected it, and it was preceded by an incident stranger than any I had theretofore experienced.

      "We were now nearing the end of our voyage, and I saw the morning on which we were to arrive at Melbourne dawn at last with a feeling of intense relief. About two hours before we entered the harbour I was standing at the port-hole of my cabin, with my hand resting on the railing which ran beneath it. My thoughts, as usual, were roaming back over the events of the last five weeks, and as they roamed that curious sense as of a presence near me suddenly stole over me as it had done on the night when she first interrupted my solitary musings on deck.

      "Turning round quickly I saw her standing beside me, in the same white dress in which I had seen her that night. As my eyes met hers, she bent her head slowly, almost unconsciously it seemed to me, and the next moment I felt the pressure of her warm lips on my hand which grasped the rail.

"I felt the pressure of her warm lips on my hand."

      "It all occurred in an instant, and before I had recovered from the thrill of astonishment which passed through me she had glided out of the room and was gone. I rushed to the door in time to see her lithe form pass down the passage, and was still gazing after her when I heard the doctor's cheery voice accosting me.

      "'Beauty-struck, eh?' he said, touching me on the shoulder. 'And well you may be, sir. No wonder she's turned half the male heads in London, and sent them crazy, with a face like that.'

      "'Doctor,' I exclaimed, seizing him by the arm and dragging him into my cabin, 'do you object to answer me a few questions?'

      "'Certainly not,' he replied, 'provided they are not too delicate.'

      "'I understand you have been attending this girl.'

      "'I have,' he said.

      "'Is it a fact that she has been too ill to set foot on deck until five days ago?'

      "'That is so,' he replied. 'Indeed, she is one of the most remarkable instances of the magic effects of a sea-voyage that our medical annals have to record. That girl, sir,' he went on, impressively, 'came on board this ship in a condition in which, under ordinary circumstances, no physician would have dared to expose her to the comparative hardships of a voyage. But it was her whim, and none could gainsay it. You may look incredulous, but it is a fact that, ill as she was, she designated the very vessel she insisted in sailing in, and the date of its departure from port. The voyage, she declared, and nothing else, would restore her to life and health. And, by Jove!' the doctor concluded, 'so it has proved.'

      "'But,' I stammered, amazed, 'can you absolutely vouch for the fact that the girl has never left her cabin during the whole period of her illness and convalescence?'

      "The doctor regarded me as if he thought me slightly distraught.

      "'Left her cabin?' he cried. 'Bless you, sir, she was wasted to a shadow — not a muscle left to move her, even had she felt the desire. Set your mind at rest on that point. I have been in constant attendance upon her ever since we left England, and can speak pretty positively. Indeed, between you and me, she has cost me my best three hours' sleep every night since we weighed anchor until a week ago.'

      "He probably mistook my look of startled surprise, for he continued —

      "'Ah, my dear sir, I don't regret it, for cases of this rare description don't often fall within the actual experience of a physician like myself!'

      "'I understood she had merely met with an accident soon after coming on board,' I said.

      "An accident? Why, yes, we thought it best to set that report afloat. The fact is, hers has been a case of acute hysteria, but accompanied by symptoms of a very extraordinary kind. You have heard, perhaps, of what is technically termed suspended animation?'

      "I said I had.

      "'Well,' he went on, 'for nearly five weeks I have been occupied night after night, from about ten o'clock till often past one, in endeavouring to restore animation to that girl. In ordinary cases of catalepsy, or trance, as you are perhaps aware, the attacks, though intermittent, occur at irregular intervals. The extraordinary feature of this case was the regularity in the period of the attacks, which invariably commenced at the stroke of ten at night, lasting sometimes two hours, sometimes three, during which time the patient lay to all appearances dead. What has puzzled me most, however, is that, whereas the after effects of cataleptic seizures generally manifest themselves in extreme exhaustion, in this case their effect appears to have been actually beneficial to the patient. When she was carried on board the poor girl was in the last stage of nervous prostration, and practically at death's door. After her first attack she seemed to rally, and every subsequent attack wrought so remarkable a change in her general health that if there had not happened to be two crack physicians among the passengers, whom I promptly called in to watch the case with me, I have no doubt the report of it which I have prepared for the Medical Society would be scouted by the big-wigs of the profession as the product of a scientific imagination run wild.'

      "The worthy doctor was too engrossed with the scientific aspects of the case to notice the impression his story produced upon me. He was so proud of his experience that, even had I been capable of such a profanity, I would not have capped his relation of it with that of my own out of pure consideration for his feelings.

      "'To what,' I asked, after I had somewhat recovered myself, do you attribute the strange ailment you have been describing? Every disease has some cause, I presume, and hysteria, as you call it ——'

      "'Ah, there you ask a pertinent question indeed!' the doctor broke in gravely. 'Who shall say? The affection is only too common among women of the class to which this handsome creature belongs. The wild whirl of social enjoyments, unrelieved by graver moments, does not maintain its charm for all alike. There are some whom its monotony sickens. Satiety breeds disease. Our nature is productive as well as receptive, and the want of an outlet for our productive powers — the craving, often unconscious as it is, for some sphere of individual usefulness — makes itself felt more or less in every human being. Men rarely fail to gratify it. In the case women the conditions are different — not perhaps, because women are weaker, but because their means are more limited, and, without necessity for an ally, they find no escape from the groove into which fate — or, as fools would say, fortune — has cast them. But pray let this go no further,' he broke off, with a laugh. 'I am talking rank treason Hysteria is a true disease, distinct and well defined, though difficult to treat.'

      "'You know of a remedy, then?' I said

      "The remedy, sir,' he rejoined, 'is one which no physician — least of all a fashionable one would dare to prescribe; nor, probably, if he ventured to do so, would the patient adopt it. Indeed, here is the crux; for to make it truly operative it would be necessary first to convince the patient of the true nature of her disease, and it is just this which is most difficult, if not impossible, of accomplishment.'

      "'But the remedy?'

      "Is work, sir; some pursuit, some interest, some duty, outside the narrow circle of the individual self. How many of these poor, afflicted minds are but worn and torn in the conflict raging between their double selves, sickened by the indulgence of desires which do not satisfy, and wasted by the instinctive craving for that wider, richer life, the path to which they cannot find? Well, well,' he added, rising to go, 'pride ourselves as we may on our so-called mastery of the science of Nature, when all is said and done we still stand dumb and unintelligent before the one great mystery with the solution of which perhaps the dawn of true knowledge will only commence the relation of mind and body.'"

      "The Confessor paused a moment. The he resumed —

      "'I may leave you to picture to yourself with what thoughts I listened to these solemn words of my worthy companion. He little dreamed what a vivid ray of light they shed into the darkness reigning in my mind.

      "Two hours later I had landed in Melbourne, where I accomplished my mission, the last I was to be entrusted with by my superiors, for, three weeks after my return to Belgium, I left the Order and became what you now see me."

      "But the girl!" I exclaimed, in a tone of disappointment, as the Confessor thus brought his strange narrative to an abrupt conclusion. "Did you never see her again?"

      He smiled.

      "Alas!" he said, "facts are not so accommodating as fiction. My experience might no doubt be worked into a romance to please the fastidious taste of your readers; and yet I doubt if even invention could improve on the truth. Curiously enough, we have never met face to face again, I say curiously, and you will understand why when you hear the name of her with whom I became so strangely acquainted."

      And he whispered a name in my ear which made me start back. It was a name which is at this moment known and revered wherever the English tongue is spoken — nay, wherever the virtues of Christian love and charity are recognised as the noblest mankind can aspire to. I remembered having heard that this remarkable woman had in her early youth played a great figure in society, from which she had withdrawn quite unexpectedly, after a severe illness, in order to devote herself to the philanthropic works which have since made her name so famous.

      The Confessor observed the almost awed look in my face as I pondered on all these things, and rising said, with that impressiveness which has so often thrilled those who know him —

      "You may well look thoughtful, my friend. Nature has more secrets than we blind mortals wot of. I have told you a strange story, if story it can be called. Let me not, like the doctors, who cover their ignorance and satisfy their vanity by inventing unintelligible names for unintelligible diseases, endeavour to explain in words what words will never explain. If my story does not convey its own explanation to your mind, nothing I can add to it will do so."

* Copyright the United States by Percy Andreæ, 1896,

Illustrated by

ST. CLAIR SIMMONS (1878-1899 )

II. — THE CASE OF THE JEALOUS WIFE.

IT has always been a matter of regret to me that, with one exception, to which I have already made allusion, circumstances have not permitted me to see the Confessor actually engaged in the pursuit of his interesting calling, that is to say to pass with him personally through the various phases of a difficult case, and watch his mind grappling with the intricacies of the problem presented to it. I once ventured to express this regret to him in the vague hope that he might be induced, should an occasion offer, to relax his stern principle of discretion in my favour. He received my hint with a smile.

      "I can hardly conceive of a case," he said, "in the solving of which it would be possible for me to invite the co-operation, or even the mere companionship, of another. Still, if ever such a case should present itself to me, I will gladly bear your wish in mind. It is however scarcely necessary, I think, to be an actual participator in the solution of a problem in order to observe the method by means of which it is arrived at. As an example in point I will relate to you one of my most recent experiences. You will probably smile at its simplicity, perhaps even think it trivial and commonplace, yet as an instance of human blindness it is not devoid of some interest, and moreover it will enable you to follow, at least by inference, the process of reasoning by which a very simple yet hidden truth may be elucidated."

      Needless to say that I eagerly availed myself of this unlooked-for offer, and the Confessor began as follows:—

      "It is now some three weeks ago since I received the following letter:—

      "'A lady, who has heard many favourable reports of the help afforded by Mr. Lauder Caine to those who have consulted him in their difficulties, would be glad if he would grant her an interview, as she is desirous of obtaining his advice in a matter which closely concerns her welfare and happiness. She is not able to disclose her name, but she is young, and of such rank and position as will enable her to compensate her adviser for any trouble he may be put to.'

      "To this communication, to which was appended a London post-office address, I sent the following reply:—

      "'Mr. Lauder Caine will be happy to receive the lady who has done him the honour to apply to him, any afternoon after three o'clock during the current week. He thinks it well however to add that, unless the lady comes prepared, not only to disclose her name, but to repose unreserved confidence in him whose advice she seeks, she will waste both her time and his.'

      "The following afternoon my correspondent was ushered into my room. She was a brunette of about four-and-twenty, remarkably pretty, with quick flashing eyes and a certain self-possessed, yet vivacious manner peculiar to those of her sex who not only move much in what is called society par excellence, but are accustomed to shine in it.

"She was a brunette of about four-and-twenty."

      "After an interchange of the customary civilities my visitor began at once by referring to the concluding paragraph of my letter.

      "'I confess,' she said with a graceful smile, 'that it would have been more agreeable to me to have concealed my identity. But as you make it a condition that I should disclose it, I have no other alternative. I am Lady Gwendolyn Talbot.'

      "'The daughter of Lord Samherst?'

      "'No,' she replied. 'Talbot is my husband's name.'

      "'Ah!' I said bowing, 'the wife of Lord Arthur Talbot of the 13th Hussars.'

      "She blushed, and gave what appeared to be an affirmative nod.

      "'Of Eaton Square?' I continued.

      "' you know him then?' she exclaimed with a start.

      "'Pardon me, madam,' I said, 'but a question is not an answer.'

      "'I should really prefer ——,' she began in some confusion.

      "'To remain unknown,' I said, concluding her sentence. 'I appreciate your delicacy, madam, but you could have surely attained that object without assuming a name which is not yours.'

      "'Sir,' she said rising, with a fine show of offended dignity, 'you forget ——'

      "'Not that I am speaking to a married woman,' I broke in again. 'Lord Arthur Talbot's wife may be Lady Talbot, or Lady Arthur Talbot, but not Lady Gwendolyn Talbot. Besides,' I added, 'there are other indications which show that the name is borrowed.'

      "'Indeed?' she said, forcing a smile. 'I should be interested to learn them.'

      "'The expression of your face, for instance, and the tone of your voice; indeed many others which it would be superfluous to mention,' I said. 'But are we not wasting time? I have not yet learned the nature of your trouble, and it may prove such as to render the information you are so reluctant to give me unnecessary.'

      "She looked at me with a curious expression of interest. It is strange how closely neighboured are doubt and belief, confidence and distrust, respect and contempt, in us human beings. This woman comes to me in the confident belief that I shall be able to solve difficulties which have totally baffled her own wisdom, and yet she still has so small an opinion of my discernment as to fancy me capable of being deceived by the most ordinary and palpable device in the world. It is an experience I make daily. We are composed of contraries. There is no such thing as an absolute sense of anything in our natures, whether it be faith, doubt, trust, love, honour, truth, or whatever other sense you may name. Unknown to ourselves, doubt dogs the footsteps of faith, deceit lurks in the path of truth, shame slinks at the heels of honour, and so on through the whole category.

      "'I was warned,' my fair visitor said after a short pause, with remarkable coolness, 'that it would be difficult to deceive you. I am sorry that I attempted to do so. When I have told you my story you will understand why I was anxious, if possible, to remain unknown. My real name then is Frances Hazeldean. I am the wife of Sir Thomas Hazeldean, of Brackenhurst in Surrey. When I married two years ago I was as happy as any wife can be who truly loves her husband and believes her love returned. Alas! I am no longer so, for I have strong reasons to suspect my husband's fidelity. This, in brief, is the trouble which is weighing upon my life and crushing it. I have as yet confided it to no one, not even to the person upon whose advice I have come here, and who fancies that my purpose in visiting you is merely to consult you on certain matters of conscience quite unconnected with my married life.'

      "'If you possess proofs of your husband's unfaithfulness, madam,' I said, 'it seems to me that the proper course for you to pursue would be to consult a lawyer, not me.'

      "'If I had such proofs as you allude to I should not be here,' she rejoined, somewhat petulantly. "I possess proofs indeed, but only such as are convincing to myself. It is for this reason that I have sought your advice.'

      "'Pray proceed then madam,' I said. 'If my advice can be of service to you I shall not withhold it.'

      "'These last six weeks,' she commenced in a low voice, 'my husband's manner towards me has undergone a total change. In the place of passionate affection I now meet with coldness and reserve. He makes no effort to conceal his altered feelings. My society has become distasteful to him, and he shuns it. But worse than that, he who a few months ago would never have quitted my side for an hour without a tender farewell, now frequently absents himself from home for several days at a time, merely sending me a few formal words from his club or elsewhere announcing his sudden departure on a journey. I have the evidence of my own senses that these journeys are fictitious, for I have twice seen him myself in town when he had led me to suppose that he was absent in the North of England.'

      "'Alone?'

      "'Alone.'

      "'And did you on those occasions tax him with having misled you?'

      "'When he returned I did.'

      "'With what result?'

      "'I received the cold reply that he did not intend to have his liberty interfered with; that he left me free to please myself, and that he would do the same.'

      "'He said that?'

      "'Those were his words.'

      "'And are these all the proofs you possess?'

      "'By no means. I have reason to suspect that my husband carries on a secret correspondence.'

      "'With a lady?'

      "'You shall judge for yourself. I will come to that later. Let me tell you when my fears were first aroused.'

      "'Your method is excellent, madam,' I said. 'I can only sit and admire.'

      "There was a flash of gratified pride in her eyes.

      "'You admit that I understand how to make myself intelligible?' she said with a smile.

      "'I see that a secret must lie deep indeed to escape your penetration. Unfortunately,' I added, 'the secrets most difficult for us to discover are those we hide away in our own breast.'

      "'I am at least not the vain, empty-headed girl my husband thinks he has married — a doll used to be petted, and good enough to be toyed with for a while and then cast aside. Listen! I have a friend, a cousin. She is of my own age; some say she resembles me. My marriage, I know, was a disappointment to her for it was an open secret, before my engagement, that she had lost her heart to Sir Thomas Hazeldean, who in fact had paid her a good deal of attention. But she bore the blow well, and our friendship, which dates from our school-days, continued unbroken. She has since been a constant visitor in our house, both in town and in the country, seemingly as attached to me as ever until six weeks ago, when by chance the truth was revealed to me.'

      "Her voice trembled a little, and she paused for a moment to recover her self-possession.

      "'You learned that she still loved the man who had become your husband?'

      "'I discovered that there was a secret understanding between them. It was one of those accidents which occur sometimes as if designed by Providence. My husband had left home at noon on a visit to a friend out of town and was not expected back until the evening. My cousin and I had arranged to go in the afternoon to a garden party, and from there with friends to pass the evening at a well-known place of open-air entertainment in the West. But when the time came my cousin complained of a violent headache, and at her urgent desire — for she would not hear of my staying with her — I went alone. I had already arrived at the house where the garden party was to be given when it flashed across me that I had forgotten something in my boudoir, and I ordered the coachman to drive me back — a distance of about twenty minutes.'

      "It was a matter of some importance then?'

      "'Scarcely. But I am particular, and I preferred to rectify the omission. When I reached ——'

      "'Pardon my interrupting, but may I inquire the precise nature of this omission?'

      "'It has no bearing whatever upon my story.'

      "'Nevertheless,' I persisted. "She made a little gesture of fretful impatience.

      "'It was the merest trifle,' she said. 'I remembered that I had left the key in my jewel drawer, and though I had no distrust of my servants ——'

      "You judged it kinder to put no temptation in their way. I understand. It was wise. Pray proceed.'

      "'My boudoir lies on the first floor at the back of the house. Being in a hurry I ran upstairs quickly and entering the room stood amazed to find my husband there alone with my cousin. In itself even that circumstance would have aroused no suspicion in my mind, for I believed in my husband implicitly. But there were other circumstances which did. The attitude of the two was unmistakable. He was holding her hand, while she, with a gesture of passionate entreaty, was endeavouring to free herself. At my entry both started back in great confusion. Laura turned pale as death, and I thought she would have swooned. My husband bit his lip and looked for a moment as if he would have annihilated me. But he has a marvellous gift of self-control, and before I had time to recover from the shock of what I had witnessed he said coldly —

      "'Your cousin is not well, I think. You had better take her to her room." Then seeing that I was about to speak he added in the same cold tone: "We can discuss afterwards whatever you may desire to discuss."

"'At my entry both started back in great confusion.'"

      "'I saw at a glance that Laura was seriously overwhelmed, and that in her then state it was useless to press her for an explanation of her conduct. Besides, what had I to do with her? Whatever her fault might have been it was he who had sinned against me and owed me reparation. Without uttering a word therefore I controlled my indignation with a strong effort and led Laura away. As we passed out of the door, which my husband held open for us, I noticed that he fixed his eyes on my cousin with so significant a look that I could have struck him. But I was resolved to avoid a scene and passed on.

      "'I need not relate what took place between Laura and me when I found myself alone with her in her room. Whether she really felt sincerely penitent or merely feigned distress in order to shield herself from blame and perhaps regain my confidence, I am unable to say. Her talk was for the most part incoherent and consisted mainly in the reiterated assurance that she would rather have died than do me an injury. I believed her then, and judging it best not to let her see that I had any serious suspicions I treated her as one does an over-excited and hysterical patient, and left her at last quietly sobbing.

      "'I found my husband downstairs in the morning-room, and having meanwhile had time to consider the matter from many sides, I waited for him to speak to me first. But he remained silent.

      "'"Have you nothing to say to me?" I asked at last.

      "'"Nothing whatever," he replied.

      "'"Nothing in explanation of the scene I witnessed ten minutes ago?" I repeated, with difficulty restraining my wrath. "It was cleverly arranged, both on your side and on hers. But you surely do not think so meanly of my powers of perception as to believe you can still continue to deceive me?"

      "'Instead of replying he looked at me for an instant in silence, then shrugged his shoulders, turned on his heel with a laugh and left the room. I was so exasperated at this show of insolent indifference that I could hardly trust myself to speak, and before I had sufficiently collected myself to follow and detain him he had seized his hat and left the house.'

"He turned on his heel with a laugh, and left the room."

      "'Since that day my life has become unbearable to me. Laura returned home that evening and I have not seen her again. My husband treats me with cruel callousness, refusing either to speak or listen to me. Yet I am certain that he still corresponds with her and no doubt contrives to see her.'

      "'You have not told me what reasons you have for supposing that your husband carries on this secret correspondence,' I said when she paused. 'I presume that you see the letters that come to the house addressed to your husband?'

      "'I have tried every means to do so, but it is impossible for he is incessantly on the watch to prevent me,' she answered, 'and it is this which confirms my suspicion. Once indeed, when I thought him engaged, I managed to slip to the letter-box after the postman had knocked and intercept the letters before the butler could answer the knock, but I had hardly laid hands on them when my husband himself was at my side and snatched them rudely from me. Glancing rapidly through them he selected those that were for him, then coolly handed me those addressed to me, and left me standing without a word.'

      "'Are these all the facts so far as they are known to you?' I asked, seeing that she had finished her story.

      "'All the material facts,' she replied. 'There may be others, but none of any importance.'

      "'If you will permit me,' I said, 'I will put a few questions to you, which you will be good enough to answer carefully, even if they seem superfluous or alien to the matter you have at heart.'

      "She signified her readiness, and I began.

      "'When you returned home so unexpectedly to find your husband alone with your cousin in your own boudoir, you came with the intention of locking your jewel drawer. Did you do so?'

      "'I did.'

      "'When?'

      "'Immediately after leaving my cousin in her room, before I descended to speak with my husband.'

      "'And you found nothing missing?' "'Ah!' she exclaimed, 'you do not suspect that my cousin ——'

      "'I suspect nothing, madam,' I answered. 'I merely ask if you found the contents of the jewel drawer intact.'

      "'Absolutely.'

      "'You are quite sure.'

      "'Quite.'

      "'May I ask how you can assert that so positively?'

      "'Because I examined the drawer thoroughly.'

      "'On that very occasion? I mean before you followed your husband downstairs?'

      "'Yes.'

      "'Why?'

      "'The reason was obvious. There were jewels of considerable value in the drawer.'

      "'Of greater value to you than your husband's love?'

      "'I do not understand you.'

      "'I ask because I wish to make sure that you are not mistaken as to the exact moment when you examined the jewel drawer. Excited as you were, and engrossed with one paramount thought — that of your husband's supposed deceit — it would seem more plausible if you had examined the drawer at some later time. I wish you to be particularly exact on this point.'

      "'You may rely upon what I have said. But I don't see ——'

      "'On the contrary,' I interrupted, 'the question is more vital than you think. How long were you alone in the room, occupied with this investigation?'

      "'A minute or two. I was naturally anxious to get down to my husband.'

      "'Of course. Could you state from memory what the principal contents of the drawer were?'

      "'I am afraid it would be difficult.'

      "'Would it take too long?'

      "'I should not be able to remember.'

      "'Yet notwithstanding you were able to assure yourself, in the short space of two minutes, that nothing was missing from the drawer?'

      "'I have already said so.'

      "'Speaking approximately, were there, say fifty different pieces of jewellery in the drawer?'

      "'Probably double that number. I have never counted them.'

      "'And mostly, I presume, enclosed in separate cases?'

      "'Generally speaking, yes. But I think I can spare you any further questions on the subject. My cousin is very wealthy, and possesses far finer jewellery than I. Moreover her honesty is above so mean a suspicion.'

      "'Frankly, madam, I fail to see that the suspicion of stealing a friend's husband is less degrading than that of stealing a friend's jewels. But I have no cause to doubt what you say. Your cousin is beautiful I presume?'

      "'There are many who admire her,' she answered, with difficulty concealing her ill-humour at my somewhat blunt manner.

      "'Indeed she must be endowed with quite exceptional charms to rival a wife like you, madam, in her husband's affections.'

      "She flushed slightly.

      "'You believe then in my husband's innocence?' she said eagerly.

      "'I have not the pleasure of knowing him as I know you, madam,' I replied. 'Perhaps you will be good enough to describe him briefly. He is handsome?'

      "'Very.'

      "'Reserved in manner?'

      "'To strangers, yes.'

      "'But not to those who enjoy his confidence?'

      "'No.'

      "'Nor easily moved to a display of outward passion?'

      "'On the contrary.'

      "'Yet capable of passionate emotions — love, for instance?'

      "'I think so' — with a touch of embarrassment.

      "'Sensitively proud, even for one of his rank and station?'

      "'I should say very.'

      "'With a strict sense of honour?'

      "'I have always thought so.'

      "'In fact an ideal aristocrat?'

      "'It depends upon what your ideal of an aristocrat is.'

      "'Precisely. Let us say then, the ideal you pictured to yourself six weeks ago."

      "'I have never thought my husband otherwise than a true gentleman.'

      "'And until the day when you surprised him with your cousin he had never given you cause to doubt his love — had, in short, never shown you the slightest neglect?'

      "'I noticed nothing of the kind. But I have thought since ——'

      "'Pardon me, madam, I am not asking you what you have thought since, but what you thought then. There are certain events in our lives which obstruct our view of the path we have traversed like pieces of stained glass, which lend their colour to everything we see behind them. You had then no cause to complain of your husband's want of affection before that day.'

      "'Maybe I did not. No doubt he acted his part well.'

      "'Let us assume so. During the two years of your married life you have doubtless been much in society?'

      "'A great deal.'

      "'And your husband has shown pleasure in the part you have played in society. I mean he has never grudged you the homage naturally paid to one of your youth and attractions?'

      "'Never. Why should he? If these questions,' she added with a bright little laugh, 'mean that you fancy my husband may have objected to his wife being admired, I can set your mind at rest. No man is of a less jealous disposition. If I ever thought him so I have obtained conclusive proof of the contrary during the last six weeks.'

      "'Which I understand to mean that you have endeavoured to win back your husband's affections by giving him cause to be jealous. Madam,' I said earnestly, 'thank heaven that you did not succeed! To stimulate love by means of jealousy is like physicking a dying man with an irritant poison.'

      "'But what can I do?' she burst out with sudden passion. 'My fate is too cruel to be endured.'

      "'I have one more question to ask,' I replied. 'It is the most important one. Have you told me everything that occurred on that day from which you date your trouble? Did nothing else of consequence happen to you either on that or the preceding day? Pray consider well before you answer.'

      "'There is no need for me to consider,' she replied. 'I have nothing to add to what I have said. I see,' she continued, rising from her seat with an air of petulant. disappointment, 'that my story affords you no clue whatever, and that, if anything, you are inclined to believe that my husband is innocent.'

      "'Would it grieve you then if that were my conclusion?'

      "'Can you prove it? Can you?' she exclaimed, turning upon me with an eager look.

      "'One moment's patience, madam,' I said, approaching the window and looking into the street below. 'There was a man stationed opposite the house gazing up at the windows. You have come here unaccompanied, of course?'

      "'I came alone.'

      "'Thank you,' I said. 'I think I may promise to obtain some light in this matter, provided you undertake to act as I shall direct. In the first place it will be necessary for you to absent yourself from home between the hours of two and six to-morrow afternoon. You will meanwhile receive a letter from me, directed to your town address, which you will be kind enough to give me. This letter will merely inform you of the time at which I desire to see you here again on the following day. Whatever that time may be you will understand it to mean exactly one hour later. Thus, if my letter appoints three o'clock, you will know that I mean four o'clock, and be careful not to be here a minute sooner. I cannot explain now why I make this apparently unnecessary stipulation. But it is essential, if I am to assist you successfully, that you should obey me to the letter. May I rely upon your doing so?'

      "After some hesitation she gave me her assurance that she would do as I bade her, and having taken note of the requisite address, I bowed her out.

      "From my window I watched her pass down the street, and, when she had disappeared from sight, saw the man I had observed before stationed opposite my house leave his post and follow swiftly in the same direction.

      "The day after next I gave my servant the following instructions:—

      "'I have an appointment this afternoon, between three and half-past, with a gentleman whose name I do not know. While he is here a lady will call. Show her into the adjoining room and come and inform me immediately of her arrival.'

      "It was nearly half-past three o'clock when my man opened my door and ushered in the first arrival with the words, 'Mr. Robertson, sir; by appointment.'

      "The gentleman who entered was a fine figure of a man, about thirty-five years of age, with that air of dogged determination which we see sometimes in military men who have a long and honourable service behind them. Without a word of greeting, and scarcely waiting for the servant to close the door behind him, he advanced towards me with a threatening expression and said —

      "'You have a lady here, sir. Where is she?'

      "'I am sorry to disappoint you, Sir Thomas Hazeldean,' I replied, 'but I do not expect Lady Hazeldean until four o'clock. When I had the honour of communicating with you ——'

      "'What do you mean, sir?' he exclaimed, taken aback.

      "'Ah! true,' I said, 'I did not use the ordinary method of communication, but I had good reason to assume that any letter I might address to Lady Hazeldean would first pass through her husband's hands, and your presence here at this moment confirms the correctness of my assumption. When you have heard my motives for so acting you will, I am sure, forgive the practice of a slight ruse which, however distasteful to you, may at least claim the merit of success.'

      "'And by what right, sir, have you thus taken it upon yourself to interfere ——'

      "'I might reply, by the natural right of every human being to intervene when he sees a blind fellow-creature rushing headlong to the brink of a yawning precipice. But I have, if not a better right still, at least one that should commend itself to a man who is honestly desirous of learning the truth. I know that you suspect Lady Hazeldean, and I know that your suspicions are unjust.'

      "'You will permit me to judge of that,' he said angrily, yet in a tone through which I could discern a note of bewilderment.

      "'Certainly,' I rejoined. 'It is for the very purpose of affording you an opportunity of exercising your judgment that I have taken the liberty of making this appointment with you. In brief, Sir Thomas, Lady Hazeldean has done me the honour to consult me in her trouble, for I am, as you are presumably not aware, one of those humble mortals who now and then have occasion to prove useful to their fellow-beings in matters of doubt and difficulty. I know Lady Hazeldean's story. Yours I am only able to guess. It is of course in your option to refuse to listen to me, or to afford me any assistance in clearing up a mystery which affects the happiness and the honour of one whose innocence, if I gauge you rightly, must be dearer to you than your own life. If you do refuse, the responsibility will rest with you, but as a man and a gentleman you will not.'

      "I saw that my words had produced an effect, though he was loath to show it.

      "'You may ask whatever questions you please,' he answered. 'Whether I shall think fit to reply to them is another matter.'

      "'If you will permit me then,' I said, 'I will shortly recapitulate the incidents which have led to this unhappy estrangement between yourself and your wife. You will no doubt correct me where I am wrong, and add such particulars as I may be ignorant of.'

      "He threw himself into a chair and waited in an attitude of ill-concealed curiosity.

      "'Until the day when Lady Hazeldean unexpectedly disturbed your conference with her cousin in her ladyship's boudoir,' I began, 'I may take it that there had never been the vestige of a cloud in your married life. You returned home that afternoon sooner than you anticipated, and came unawares upon your wife's cousin, who had for some reason or other entered Lady Hazeldean's boudoir?'

      "'As a matter of fact,' he said, 'I thought it was Lady Hazeldean herself, for I had let myself into the house with my key. But I really do not see why I should enter into ——'

      "'You will not regret it, I assure you, Sir Thomas, if you do. Would you object to tell me how you found this lady occupied?'

      "'She was reading a letter, sir,' he said.

      "'So I supposed. It was the letter Lady Hazeldean had returned home to lock away in her jewel-drawer, where you no doubt replaced it after your wife had left the room with her cousin. But what I am more interested to learn is how you yourself came to read this letter, Sir Thomas.'

      "'I will even tell you that, sir,' he answered coldly. 'The girl had dropped it in her fright when I suddenly came up behind her, and picking it up, together with the envelope, I was about to hand them both back to her when the name on the envelope caught my eye, and I saw that it was addressed to Lady Hazeldean.'

      "'Ah! exactly. I see, I see. And thinking now that you would forthwith proceed to read the letter the foolish girl probably grew wildly agitated, imploring you to give it her back, telling you she would kill herself if you read it, and, in short, acting generally like a person distracted — all of which naturally excited your suspicions and brought about the very event she was so anxious to avert. Thus it was that you came to read that unfortunate letter, and the nature of its contents ——'

      "'The nature of its contents, sir,' he said, rising stiffly, 'is my business, not yours. No doubt, should you feel curious on the point, Lady Hazeldean will be able to enlighten you.'

      "'Doubtless,' I said, 'and with your consent I propose that she shall do so presently in your own hearing.'

      "He looked at me with a mingled expression of surprise and anger.

      "Have you still the hardihood to maintain ——' he began.

      "'That your suspicions concerning Lady Hazeldean are unjust? I am more convinced of it than ever.'

      "'Then she has told you ——'

      "'Touching the fact of the letter, nothing whatever at least not to her knowledge. Fortunately however her answers to my questions permitted me to form my own conclusions. Ah! you see, if the people who come to seek my advice were capable of telling me the whole truth concerning themselves and their troubles they would be equally capable of telling it to themselves, and my occupation would be gone. It is the merest grain of falsehood or concealment which vitiates a whole mountain of truth, for ourselves as well as for others. To discover and eliminate it is usually the task I find set me in cases like these. And the most surprising thing about them is the invariably trivial reason which has led to the deception. As, for instance, in the case of Lady Hazeldean. I am of course telling you nothing new when I say that your wife is one of those bright and impulsive natures who love amusement — especially if accompanied by a certain danger for the mere amusement's sake. She is vain, as handsome women usually are, but proudly vain, slightly spoilt perhaps by an over-indulgent husband, and, like many with such attractions as hers, not entirely unsusceptible of flattery. Pray do not grow angry. It is my profession to be frank and outspoken, and you are at fault, Sir Thomas, gravely at fault, though you dare not admit it to yourself. You have known your wife such as she is for over two years, and loved and trusted her as such. Yet now, because an infamous society blackguard insults her by writing her a letter tempting her to that of which she is incapable, you instantly cast your love and trust to the four winds, spurn the woman whose chief moral support you should be, spy on her actions, intercept her letters, and, to crown all, have her watched by detectives!'

      "'Sir,' he exclaimed, springing to his feet with flashing eyes, 'you do not know what you are talking about, or ——'

      "'You would strike me for telling you the truth. Quite so. Even that would not astonish me, Sir Thomas Hazeldean. But you shall hear the truth notwithstanding.'

      "'Do you suppose,' he said hoarsely, 'that this infernal scoundrel would have dared to write to her as he did without having received some encouragement?'

      "'Do you believe he has received more encouragement from her than she has given to dozens of others, to your own knowledge, and before your own eyes? She was at fault perhaps. Thousands of women as pure and innocent as she is are similarly at fault, not for want of purity and innocence, but for lack of the knowledge that what — in spite of all their faults and frailties, their love of admiration and amusement, their thirst for unmeaning triumphs, their foibles and vanities — is pure and innocent to them, and may be so to honourable men like yourself, is liable to misinterpretation by those miserable pleasure-hunters, whose name is legion, who infest society of every class and grade, and arguing from the consciousness of their own depravity, that innocence and purity are but the mere lack of the opportunity to sin, look upon every woman without distinction as their lawful prey.'

      "'You are an eloquent advocate indeed,' he rejoined with a sneer which was somewhat, forced. 'And pray, why did my wife not show me that letter?'

      "'Ah! there you ask a pertinent question the only one to which the answer is still wanting. A woman as proud and sensitive to shame as Lady Hazeldean is naturally reluctant to confess that she has committed a mistake of this description. That was the reason she concealed the fact of the letter from me. But the same reason can scarcely apply in the case of her husband. Still I think the answer is evident. Do you happen, for instance, to have noted the date of this unfortunate letter?'

      "I do. It bore the date of the day on which I read it.'

      "Is it possible? And this fact conveys nothing to your mind?'

      "Before he could answer my servant entered and handed me a card.

      "'Lady Hazeldean has arrived,' I said. Are you willing to hear from her own lips ——'

      "'What, here?' he exclaimed.

      "'No, I desire that whatever statement she may make shall be made in a manner that will carry conviction to your mind. I propose therefore to converse with Lady Hazeldean in the adjoining room. If you will remain at this door, through which I shall pass, and which I will leave ajar, you can follow the conversation between us as though you were present.'

      "He acquiesced silently, but there was a look of intense anxiety in his face which told its own tale.

      "'The ordeal, if I am not much mistaken, will be brief, Sir Thomas,' I said. "There is only one counsel I would fain give you, and I do so now as I may have no other opportunity. It is that you should never let your wife know that you have had her watched by detectives. Nay, do not think I speak at random. She was followed to my own door two days ago by one of the spies whom you have engaged to dog her footsteps and fasten upon her a guilt of which, in your secret heart you yearn to acquit her. Your jealousy she will doubtless overlook, but your having exposed her fair fame to the prying eyes of professional scandal-hunters she would never forgive.'

      "He turned away with an impatient gesture, but I saw, notwithstanding, the ruddy glow of shame mount to his brow. The next moment I stood confronting his wife in the adjoining room.

      "She rose as I entered with a look of anxious inquiry, but I motioned her gravely to retain her seat.

      "'Madam,' I said, remaining erect at her side, 'before we discuss the matter on which you have done me the honour to ask my advice I must acquaint you with a circumstance which affects your happiness even more closely. You have been followed to my house by the man who loves you.'

      "'What?" she exclaimed, starting to her feet.

      "'And who insists upon learning your answer to a certain letter received by you six weeks ago.'

      "She sank back into her chair aghast.

      "It is presumably the letter you concealed in your jewel drawer, and which occasioned your sudden return home on the day you discovered your husband's understanding with your cousin. But such letters require an answer, madam, and it is usual that the answer should be conveyed through a man.'

      "'Does he dare to assert that he has not received such an answer?' she cried.

      "'Through whom, madam? Not surely through your husband?'

      "'My husband? Had I then a husband?' she exclaimed. 'My God, at the very moment when I most needed him I found that he himself had raised an impassable barrier between us! But what is the meaning of this? Am I to understand ——'

      "'Pray be calm,' I broke in. 'You received that letter I believe the very day of the incident between your husband and your cousin.'

      "'It came a few minutes after my husband had left the house.'

      "'And you locked it away in your jewel drawer ——'

      "'For the purpose of placing it in my husband's hands when he returned home.'

      "'It is unfortunate, madam, that you did not carry out this intention.'

      "'That is a matter of opinion,' she replied haughtily. 'After what had occurred I preferred to act differently.'

      "'You sent an answer ——'

      "'I merely placed the letter in my brother's hands for him to deal with.'

      "'Was your brother not surprised that you should have selected him for this task instead of your husband?'

      "'Possibly. I do not know. I told him I had reasons of my own for leaving the matter in his hands, and no doubt he was satisfied that they were good ones. But frankly this subject is distasteful to me. If you can give no information respecting my husband's ——'

      "'Your husband, madam, will doubtless answer for himself,' I said with a bow, for at that moment the door opened and Sir Thomas Hazeldean stood on the threshold.

      "She gave a little cry, partly of surprise and partly of fright. But I did not stop to witness what then occurred. Passing quickly into the next room I closed the door upon the two young people and left them to make their own explanations.

      "That they were not entirely unsatisfactory," the Confessor concluded, pointing to a superb vase of chased silver, "you may gather from that exquisite work of art over there. It came here a week afterwards with a card bearing Sir Thomas and Lady Hazeldean's grateful compliments."

* Copyright in the United States by Percy Andreæ, 1896.

CHAPTER I. The Disappearance of young Evan Llewellyn.

AMONG the large number of those whom trouble or difficulty in some shape or other has brought into immediate contact with Lauder Caine, I have, in the course of my long researches, never met but one who, in recounting to me his individual reminiscences, has not spoken of the Confessor in terms of the deepest gratitude and veneration.

      This one exception was a Welshman of the name of Llewellyn, a man well stricken in years, reserved and thoughtful, and with a certain air of subdued melancholy that enhanced the interest with which his rumoured acquaintance with Lauder Caine invested him in my eyes.

      It was a long while before I succeeded in gaining his confidence. At last, I think, his irritation at my unconcealed enthusiasm for the subject of my researches, rather than my own persistency in questioning him, overcame his reluctance, and he told me his story.

      It was short, and I give it in his own words, without comment. To me it showed the Confessor in so new and unexpected a light that I was considerably puzzled how to reconcile it with everything else I knew of his life and principles. Indeed my attempts to elucidate the puzzle caused me subsequently untold thought and labour lasting many months, and I had already begun to despair altogether of success when chance, which sometimes shows strange favours, brought me the solution of the mystery in a manner that was remarkable in more senses than one. But of this hereafter.

      "Your much-vaunted Confessor," the old man began, when, in pursuance of his invitation, I found myself sitting opposite him at his own fireside in the comfortable flat he occupied near Westminster, "your much-vaunted Confessor may be a paragon of cleverness, and, indeed, no one has less reason for disputing the fact than I, but as for his sense of morality, all your fine stories will not convince me that it is not totally perverted. Ay, if justice in this country were anything but the mockery it is, nothing should have hindered me from setting the machinery of the law in motion against him in order to force him to disclose that knowledge which, in the arrogance of his self-conceit, he has thought fit to withhold from me. You look astonished. Hear the facts, and then judge of them.

      "Seven years ago I suffered a grievous blow. Grievous, did I say? Alas! it struck at the very roots of my life and made me the miserable broken being you now see me. I had a son, as fine and promising a young fellow as you will not come across among thousands. He was somewhat headstrong, it is true, and impatient of control; but what lad of five-and-twenty, with talent and spirit, is not? My difficulty was to get him to settle in some definite career. I had taxed myself to the utmost extent of my means in providing him with a first-class university education, but though he had done every credit to his tutors, he preferred the rough enjoyments of a roving life to the brilliant position which his knowledge and his talents would easily have secured him at home. It was in this regard alone that he gave me any cause for anxiety, for I was but moderately wealthy, and his taste for travel was costly. Not that he drew more heavily upon my resources than I was prepared to meet, but I was sharp-sighted enough to perceive that what I allowed him could not possibly suffice to cover his lavish expenditure, and I consequently concluded that he was rapidly encumbering himself with debts.

      "Whether this suspicion of mine was correct I never learned. I merely mention it in order to prove to you that if I have steadfastly refused to believe my own son capable of criminal or dishonourable actions, I was by no means blind to his actual failings and weaknesses. But you will understand my meaning presently.

      "At last, to my infinite satisfaction and relief, my boy communicated to me the glad news that he had definitely accepted an important offer of employment in London. Its nature, he said, he was bound for the present to keep secret, but I might rest assured that it was one of great honour and promise. This delightful news reached me from Vienna, where he had been passing the winter. He was then on the eve, he wrote, of his departure thence to Paris, where he had business of a very serious nature to transact. When this was accomplished he intended to proceed to London without further delay.

      "That letter," Mr. Llewellyn continued in a low voice, "was the last I ever received from my poor boy, nor did I ever see him alive again. I wrote several letters to the post-office address he had given me in Paris, but they brought forth no answer. At length, when weeks had gone by, and still no tidings of him reached me, I was seized with a panic of alarm, and communicated with the police. But, alas! in spite of the most diligent search and the most strenuous efforts both of the English and the French detectives whom I engaged to track him, no trace of my son, not the faintest clue as to his whereabouts could be discovered.

      "He had left Vienna immediately after posting me the letter I have mentioned, and had apparently proceeded to Paris in accordance with his plans. That was all that could be elicited. Whether he had ever reached his destination, and what had become of him there, no one could discover.

      "You may imagine my despair. When every other means had failed, and the police had frankly avowed their inability to afford me further assistance in the matter, I was induced by an old friend to place my case before Lauder Caine the Confessor, and seek his advice.

      "It was the first time I had ever heard of this man, and my faith in the marvels that were related of him was not great. Still, I grasped at the faint hope held out to me, and went to him.

      "I need not detail what passed between us at that interview. It may be summed up in one sentence. I told him my story, and he refused to aid me. He did not do so unkindly, I admit. He even listened with wrapt attention to what I had to say, and put many questions to me, the drift of which I did not understand then, though their meaning was brought home to me afterwards in a manner which I shall never cease to resent. But he declared simply that my case was one in which he could not be of any service or assistance to me. It was essentially a matter for the police, he said, and if, with all the facts he had elicited from me before them, they had failed to elucidate the mystery, he could certainly not hope to be more successful. 'Perhaps, however,' he added, 'our conversation may have recalled to your mind certain facts concerning your missing son which you have considered too insignificant to mention to the expert detectives engaged in the case. If so, I should advise you to rectify the omission at once, for the knowledge of those facts may afford. them the very clue which they have hitherto failed to detect.'

      "With these words he dismissed me, and though I was disappointed at the result of the interview, I experienced a sense of relief when it was over. To feel, as I did, as if I were made of pure crystal glass, through whose clear transparency the slightest spot or flaw in my inner self were discernible to those large inquisitive eyes of his, was an ordeal I never wish to undergo again. Not that I had any reason to fear such inspection; it rendered me uncomfortable, and I thought it needless, that is all.

      "With the Confessor's refusal to assist me my last hope of ever ascertaining the fate of my boy vanished, and I resigned myself gradually to the conviction that the veil overhanging it would never be lifted.

      "Would heaven it had never been! or that he who after all did lift it had not withheld from me the means he alone possessed of tracking and bringing to justice the miscreant villain to whose wiles my unhappy boy had fallen a victim.

      "Ay," he went on, his tone growing fiercely eloquent as he proceeded, "I say it deliberately, if ever a man deserved to be arraigned before the tribunals of his country for condoning crime and protecting the criminal Lauder Caine the Confessor is that man, and I defy you or anyone else to gainsay the truth of what I state."

      The old man sprang up from his chair and paced the apartment in great excitement. I held it wisest to offer no remark, and waited in silence until he grew more composed and at last resumed his seat.

      "It was fully six months since I had yielded up all hope of solving this fearful mystery," he then continued in a calmer tone, "and I had almost forgotten the existence of the Confessor when a communication reached me from him which came upon me like a thunderbolt. It merely told me that further search for my boy was useless; that he had died a violent death after leaving Vienna; and that the Confessor was in possession of such particulars as would enable me, if I so desired, to claim and identify the body.

      "Needless to say that I rushed off in wild haste to see and question my strange informant. Judge, however, of my indignation when I found that all the information he deigned to impart to me was to the effect that my son's body would be found buried in the cellar of a small house in an obscure suburb of Paris. Under what circumstances he had met his death the Confessor bluntly declined to divulge, not only for my sake, he said, but for another's.

      "I was too much prostrated at that time. by the melancholy fate of my boy, and too anxious, moreover, to verify without delay the extraordinary statement concerning the whereabouts of his remains, to give more than a passing vent to my rightful sense of wrath at the treatment I was receiving at this man's hands. That he knew the murderer of my son there could be no reasonable doubt. Else whence could he have obtained the knowledge he possessed. Indeed he never attempted to deny it. But he remained obdurate against all my entreaties, and met my threats to obtain redress by means of the law with calm disdain; nay, worse than all, he insinuated, in attempted palliation of his unwarrantable conduct, that the victim had brought his death upon himself, and that not good either to me or to anyone else would come of an inquiry into facts the knowledge of which a kind providence had withheld from me.

      "In short, all my arguments and threats proved unavailing to move him, and I went to Paris at last, my mind tossed between doubts as to the possibility of the Confessor's strange indications proving correct, and helpless rage at my inability, should they indeed prove so, to bring the murderer of my dead boy to justice.

      "In Paris, after many difficulties, and only by dint of powerful influence brought to bear upon the authorities, I at last induced the police to institute a search in the cellar of the house, the address of which Lauder Caine had supplied me with. It had been inhabited for about six months by a small tradesman, of whose respectability there was no doubt, and who indignantly resented the idea that his cellar contained the body of a murdered man. At length all obstacles were overcome and the gruesome investigation began — alas! with only too successful a result.

      "Beneath the flagstones of the cellar the corpse of a young man was found, by whose clothing and the papers buried with it — for the features were quite unrecognisable — I was able to identify my poor lost son. A dagger was found at his side, with which, as the evidence of the experts proved, the murder had been accomplished. The papers buried with him were retained by the Paris police authorities. They contained nothing of interest to me, and were, indeed, for the most part as unintelligible to me as they appeared to be to the French officials themselves. The latter, I will own, made every endeavour to trace the author of the crime, the victim of which they had so strangely unearthed. But their efforts were fruitless. All they ascertained was that the house where the body was found had been tenanted, prior to its possession by the present occupier, by an elderly man of quiet and retiring habits, who had lived there for a few months only, and had suddenly disappeared without leaving a trace behind him. He was believed to have been an Austrian, but beyond his name nothing whatever was known of him, either by the neighbours or the landlord from whom the house was rented. He had always paid his bail, or rent, in advance, had dwelt alone, without a companion or even a servant, and had kept the house bolted and barricaded as if he went in constant fear of some attack.

      "What could I do under these circumstances? The only means I had of avenging the cruel fate of my boy was to force Lauder Caine to disclose what he knew of the mystery in which it was shrouded, and, after providing for the decent interment of the dear remains in the cemetery of Père la Chaise, I returned to London, resolved to exert every means in my power to compel him to divulge what he knew.

      "Vain resolve. I failed. What need I dilate on all the measures I adopted to gain my end. None availed. That man is a demon of obstinacy. I prayed, I stormed, I threatened, I even engaged the most eminent firm of solicitors in London to commence proceedings at law against him. They promised to make short work of him. Pshaw! After one interview with the man they altered their tone, shrugged their shoulders, and assured me that I had 'no case.'

      "There is your Confessor, sir," the old man concluded, rising again wrathfully, "and there, too, is our boasted English justice. The one is worthy of the other. I need say no more, for when I have said that I have said the worst I possibly can about either."

      I find it difficult to describe the impression produced upon me by this story. Although I felt persuaded that the Confessor, in acting as he had done, must have been prompted by some laudable motive, I could not help sympathising with the natural feelings of a father who saw himself thus thwarted in his just desire to avenge his own blood. But above everything else, the sense of curiosity to learn the true history of this strange discovery, and how Lauder Caine had chanced to make it, was keen within me, and when I left Mr. Llewellyn I immediately cast about me for some means of fathoming the mystery. My prospects of success were extremely remote, it is true. To apply to the Confessor himself would, I knew, be utterly useless. All I could hope for in that direction was that, if I succeeded in finding the pieces of the puzzle, Lauder Caine might not refuse me his aid in fitting them together.

      Yet I persevered for months and months, leaving, I fear, many an interesting case which came in my way uninvestigated, in the pursuit of this one matter on the elucidation of which I had set my heart. At last, concluding regretfully that it was madness to pursue a quest which only the merest chance in the world could render successful, I was on the point of appealing, as a last resource, to Lauder Caine himself, when chance indeed, and chance of a most extraordinary kind, came unexpectedly to my aid, and gave me the key to the riddle.

---

CHAPTER II. The Memoir of Walter Davidson, Journalist: a mistaken identity and its strange consequences.

IT happened thus:

      At a certain well-known London club, which is much frequented by men of my profession, I had for some years met a young journalist of the name of Davidson. He was a man of recognised ability and considerable promise, pleasant in manner, and generally liked by all who knew him. Although he did not number among my more intimate acquaintances I always welcomed his company, rather perhaps on account of the great interest he used to display in my stories of the Confessor — subject which my enthusiasm at that time often led me to discourse upon at length to my friends and acquaintances — than by reason of his agreeable personality. He had never given me cause, however, to suspect that he himself knew more of Lauder Caine than the mere fact of his existence and fame; and indeed, had not death prematurely put a term to his promising career, it is highly improbable that I should ever have been enlightened on the subject.

      Davidson died under peculiarly pathetic circumstances, which excited a good deal of public sympathy, but which I need not enter into here since they have no bearing on the matter of this particular history. Suffice it to say that among the papers left by him a sealed packet was found, with directions that it was to be forwarded to me in the event of his death. This packet contained a letter dated three years back, and about half a dozen sheets of closely-written manuscript.

      The letter ran as follows:—

      The curiosity with which I immediately plunged into a perusal of the memoir so strangely placed in my hands will easily be conceived. I little dreamed that it was to bring me, what I had so long sought in vain, the solution of the Llewellyn mystery. It ran thus:—

THE MEMOIR.

      "It is now some years since I was the subject of a series of adventures which at least equal in strangeness any I have ever heard or read of. Another than myself might perhaps have issued from them unscathed in body and soul. I did not. Nor, probably, should I be here now to tell the tale had it not been for Lauder Caine the Confessor.

      "In recording how I came to place myself in his hands, and in what manner he saved me from the consequences of my folly, I will proceed on the same lines that I adopted when I confided my trouble to him, and unfold my tale as I then unfolded it to his ears.

      "My earliest life is of little account. It will be sufficient to say that I began it with vast hopes and burning ambition. Left by my parents at a comparatively early age, with means just sufficient to complete an education which had been liberal in every sense of the word, I awaited but the day when I should be independent of all control to start off and seek my fortune abroad. That day came at last, but although I spent my money I did not find the fortune I sought. Perhaps such fortune as came in my way did not satisfy me, or I thought myself destined for greater things. At all events in a very short time I found myself with only a couple of hundred pounds left of my patrimony, and with no prospect of that brilliant preferment of which I had so long dreamed golden dreams.

      "Then I did what I thought a very characteristic thing. I had seen and lived in most of the great continental capitals, but there was one to which I always returned with renewed pleasure, and I repaired thither now, to have a final fling with the scanty means left to me.

      "The consequence was obvious. A month later I found myself in London, rich in experience indeed, but possessing only a few pounds to maintain myself with until I should meet with the long-sought-for work that was to make me rich and famous. It is true my belief that I should find such work had been rudely shaken in the interval. But what matter? I was reckless at that time, reckless of the present and reckless of the future, perhaps not without good reason, perhaps — but of that hereafter.

      "In a few days my last penny had gone. Then I sold my available clothes and whatever other sundry goods and chattels I possessed to obtain the wherewithal to exist, and soon I had nothing left save the garments I wore and a few odd shillings, the solitary proceeds of my once extensive wardrobe.

      "My position now was desperate in the extreme. Friends I had few, and those I had, and might have applied to for help, were not in London. The prospect of my finding employment, on the other hand, seemed farther off than ever. Under the circumstances I did once more what I usually did when matters came to the worst pinch with me, I decided to make a night of it and reflect upon the future the next morning.

      "With this object in view I sallied forth from my lodging late one afternoon and made my way as light-heartedly as I was able towards the Strand, where I intended to while away the earlier hours of the evening at some playhouse, prior to seeking other more doubtful haunts of pleasure when the night had advanced.

      "My course lay through a rough and disreputable neighbourhood, in fact through the purlieus of the Seven Dials, and I hastened my steps to escape thence into the more savoury quarter for which I was bound. However, I was not destined to reach that quarter without an adventure — the first in the strange series that now befell me — which all but made an end of the pleasant plans I had conceived for my entertainment that night.

      "On nearing the corner of a street leading to St. Martin's church I noticed a crowd of loafers gathered round a drunken man lying in the road beside the pavement. The spectacle was not an uncommon one, and had there been nothing beyond it to attract my attention I should have pursued my way without troubling myself further about the matter. But as I was just brushing past the spot, a loud guffaw which burst from the throng of roughs assembled there caused me to halt and investigate matters a little more closely.

      What I then beheld set my blood a-boiling. The drunken fellow, an old man of fairly respectable exterior, was accompanied by a young girl, whose vain efforts to raise him from the ground were being purposely hampered by the dirty ruffians who had surrounded the couple. One of these had hustled her in such a manner as to cause her to fall, and it was this feat which had provoked the outburst of mirth that had arrested me. Seeing the evident distress of the girl, whose mien bespoke something rather better than she appeared, and without reflecting upon the inevitable consequences of my act, I pushed my way through to her and sent her assailant sprawling.

      "This of course proved the signal for a general attack upon myself, the issue of which, though I was no infant, and struck out right and left with good effect, could not be doubtful. Recognising the critical position my impetuosity had led me into, I stood at bay, resolving inwardly to sell my skin as dearly as I could. Bareheaded, for the light cap I wore had been knocked off my head at the first onset, and glowing with excitement, I parried for some time with tolerable success the blows and kicks that rained in upon me from every quarter. But no man, be he ever so skilled, can defend himself on all sides or against overwhelming numbers, and in a remarkably short time my head began to grow dizzy and I felt that I could hold out no longer.

      "It was at this moment that an incident occurred, the singular nature of which I only fully realised some time afterwards. Exactly how it came about I know not to this very day. All I remember is hearing a loud exclamation of surprise from someone and the next moment seeing my assailants suddenly fall back pell-mell, routed, as it seemed to me in my somewhat dazed condition, by some sturdy new-comer who had unexpectedly sprung to my assistance. When I was able to look closer however I noted with considerable bewilderment that my unknown defender was no other than the biggest member of the gang itself, against whom, calculating that he was in all probability its ringleader, my first blow had been directed. That my calculation had not been mistaken indeed was now proved by the remarkably effective way in which he proceeded to deal with one or two refractory spirits among the band who appeared disinclined to submit tamely to his dictation. Seeing that they showed signs of recommencing hostilities he planted his big burly body squarely in front of me, and gathering them, so to speak, in his powerful embrace as they rushed forward, hurled them back into the midst of their comrades as if they had been a couple of light feather beds.

      "While I was still rubbing my eyes with astonishment at what I saw my strange protector, having thus effectually quelled his followers, approached me, and handing me my cap, which he had apparently picked up from the ground, whispered these mysterious words in my ear —

      "'No offence, mister; only just clapped eyes on your colours. You'll be all right now.'

      "Confused as I was I was far too shrewd to evince any surprise either at what the man said or at the tone of deference in which he said it. Nor did he wait to be questioned, but turning at once to the girl, who had stood by meanwhile in dumb terror, addressed her cheerily as follows:—

      "'Come along, Missy. We'll soon have the old gent on his pins again. Whoa — steady!'

      "The last exclamation was addressed to the drunkard himself, whom he had lifted up out of the gutter like a bundle of rags while he spoke, and who of course promptly showed an inclination to resume his former recumbent position.

      "But the girl had now clutched the old man's arm tightly in hers, and half supporting and half dragging him along, she hurried away with him to escape further attention.

      "I watched the progress of the ill-assorted couple for a few moments while the knot of roughs stood around me at a distance, regarding me with looks of undisguised fear and respect. The situation puzzled me completely. But seeing that the girl was able to manage her charge, and indeed was apparently not unaccustomed to the task, I thought it time for me to move away also, and nodding condescendingly to my strange helpmate, I resumed my way as nonchalantly as I could towards the Strand.

      "I had not proceeded beyond fifty yards however when I felt a hand placed on my shoulder from behind, and heard the same voice that had spoken to me before whisper in my ear —

      "'You're being waited for at the Adelphi, sir; pit or gallery.'

"I felt a hand placed on my shoulder."

      "'Waited for?' I said as I turned and recognised my friend of a minute ago. 'What do you mean?'

      "'That's more than I can say, mister,' he replied. 'My orders were only to look out for you and give the message. Good-night, sir.' And before I could detain and question him further he was gone.

      "More mystified than ever I walked on. It was apparent to me now that I had been mistaken for another, and I felt curious to see whether the resemblance which I evidently bore to that other, and which had just served me in such good stead, would continue to prove so effective.

      "I had not had any particular theatre in my mind when I started from my lodging, but had intended to study the playbills at the entrances as I sauntered along, and select whichever appeared to me most attractive. Needless to say, however, that the curiosity aroused in me by this mysterious communication had the effect of determining my choice at once, and that one of the last half-crowns I possessed went in defraying my entrance to the pit of the Adelphi theatre that night.

      "The house was crammed, and as I stood penned up with some hundreds of others in the dimly-lighted space at the back of the great house, the possibility of my being detected there by the person, whoever he was, that was said to be expecting me, appeared very remote. Indeed, as the performance proceeded, and my attention became absorbed in the scenic events passing on the stage, the matter gradually slipped from my memory altogether, and only recurred to me later again when the curtain fell for the last time. Then I smiled inwardly at my own credulity. It had been a harmless credulity it is true, for after all it had cost me nothing. I had passed a fairly pleasant evening, and all I now had to think of was how to prolong it. But I was mistaken if I thought my strange experiences were to end there.

      "As I was passing with the general stream of playgoers out of the house by the pit entrance I felt a sharp tug at my sleeve, and turning round saw behind me a gentleman who had apparently joined the outgoing stream from another quarter of the house, for he was in evening dress, wore a single eyeglass, and looked the elegant society dandy from top to toe.

      Answering my glance of surprised inquiry — for I knew it must have been he who had touched me — he merely gave me a quick nod of intelligence, and the next moment, drawing his arm through mine, elbowed his way at my side through the crowd collected round the pit door into the open air. I was too surprised to offer any remonstrance, and followed his lead without question. We passed along swiftly and in silence. But after a few moments he slackened his pace and turning up a side-street halted in the doorway of one of the first houses.

"Drawing his arm through mine, he elbowed his way at my side through the crowd."

      "'My time is brief,' he said hurriedly. 'There was such an infernal crush that I could not get to you before. Here are your papers. Your account has been opened at the London and Westminster Bank with £200 to start with. You will find the necessary document for your identification in the packet. That and your signature is all the bank will require.'

      "Almost mechanically I received the packet which he pressed into my hand. The whole thing took my breath away.

      "'But tell me,' I began, grasping his arm, for I saw that he was about to move off, 'what is the meaning ——'

      "But he stopped me at once.

      "'I can answer no questions,' he said, somewhat irritably. 'It's against the statutes, as you know as well as I do. For any further instructions you must apply through the usual channel to headquarters. But no time is to be lost. You've kept us waiting long enough, in all conscience. Good-night.'

      "With these words he left me, and passing quickly in the direction whence we had come was soon out of my sight round the corner of the street close by.

      "I stood for fully a minute gazing after him open-mouthed. Then I rubbed my eyes and looked at the packet in my hand. What did it contain? There was one sentence I had just heard which kept ringing like some pleasant music in my ears. 'Your account has been opened at the London and Westminster Bank with £200 to start with.' The very notion of such a thing as a banker's balance caused my heart to palpitate with excitement.

"Stepping under a street lamp I tore open the packet."

      "Stepping under a street lamp near by I tore open the packet and examined its contents. The first thing my eyes fell upon was a sealed letter with the following address written in a foreign hand: 'The Right Honourable Lord Epsom, Her Majesty's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, The Foreign Office, London.' In the left hand corner were written these words, 'To introduce Mr. Henry Milton.' Three further letters, all addressed to well-known members of the English aristocracy, were tied in a separate bundle, to which a slip of paper was attached bearing the words in type, 'For use if required.' These letters were open and contained, as I soon ascertained, merely a few formal sentences commending the bearer, Mr. Henry Milton, to the social favour of the addressees. Each bore a different signature, one of which I recognised as that of a foreign nobleman whose name is as well known in this country as it is in his own.

      "Full of wonder I replaced these letters in the bundle and examined the remaining document, which proved to be the paper referred to as necessary for the purposes of identification at the bank. From its contents I learned that an account had indeed been opened in the name of Henry Milton, who was requested in the letter of advice to provide the bank with the usual copy of his signature.

      "Until this moment it had never occurred to me to regard my adventure otherwise than as a curious experience in which I could only play a passive part. Now a temptation beset me which, albeit I must record it with shame, was to a man in my desperate circumstances perhaps not altogether unnatural. I was penniless, be it remembered, and though the destitution which stared me in the face was of my own causing, still it was there, stern and real, and it had to be met. Here, then, I suddenly saw a chance of meeting it, perhaps even of ultimately realising the dream of prosperity I had so long vainly indulged in.

      "I will make no attempt to describe the inner struggles through which I passed during the next few hours. As likely as rot no one would believe me. Suffice it to say that I walked about the streets the greater part of that night in a state of excitement bordering on actual madness, and when the day broke I had made up my mind to cast my honour to the four winds and risk everything on the possibility of the fortune I saw before me. Not that I put it to myself in that way then. Dear no. It was the mystery surrounding the whole thing that attracted me, and I persuaded myself that my intentions in acting as I did were of the very purest.

      "The following morning at half-past ten o'clock I presented myself at the Foreign Office, and handing in the mysterious letter demanded to see Lord Epsom. I was not kept long in suspense. After being shown into a kind of waiting-room I was presently conducted through a long corridor into a spacious apartment, richly carpeted and furnished, in which sat an aristocratic-looking gentleman at a large mahogany writing-table. He rose as I entered, and shaking hands with me as if we were old acquaintances, requested me to be seated.

      "To give an intelligible account of the conversation that ensued would be impossible for I was in such a state of nervous trepidation that I only heard half of what was said, and as to what I answered I have retained but the very faintest recollection. This, however, I gathered, that the gentleman was not Lord Epsom, but his nephew and one of his private secretaries; that the particular branch of work he was engaged in was that connected with the diplomatic service; that his duties necessitated the aid of an assistant thoroughly versed in foreign languages; that it was desirable that such assistant should not be chosen from the permanent staff, nor, for reasons which were left unexplained, from among the usual candidates for such posts; and, in short, that upon the influential recommendation of a certain personage with whom I was supposed, and of course duly pretended, to be acquainted, I had been selected for the position.

      "To all this I listened with as composed an air as I could simulate. My informant was a frank, pleasant young fellow, who scarcely made a secret of the fact that his post was one which he was entirely incompetent to fill, and which he owed to his family connections alone. It would be my duty, he intimated, to convert it into a sinecure for him, for which service I might reckon upon such rapid promotion in my career as only the favour of those in power can bestow.

      "'There's just one thing which it's as well I should impress upon you, Mr. Milton,' he said when our interview drew to a close. 'Our notions here are rather more strict than you may have been accustomed to among those foreign Johnnies, and you'll have to keep a careful tongue. The chief is easy enough to get on with on the whole. But there's one fault he never overlooks — indiscretion. I merely mention this for your guidance. Otherwise, I think, there is nothing further to discuss. I will have your formal appointment ready to-morrow morning, and we can start work at once.'

      "Therewith he shook hands with me again and I retired. When I found myself once more in the open air I knew not whether to laugh or cry. The folly of what I had done now burst upon my consciousness all at once, and had I been able I think I should have still withdrawn at the eleventh hour and never again gone near the place I had just left. But my only other alternative was starvation, and my choice was forced upon me.

---

CHAPTER III. Walter Davidson's Memoir continued — A fool in a fix, and an interview with Lauder Caine the Confessor.

"HOW I got through the following days I don't remember. All I know is that I lived in constant expectation of the appearance of the real Henry Milton and the detection of my impudent fraud. But dangers that are always before one gradually cease to affect one's mind, and finding that my knowledge and acquirements were more than sufficient to enable me to fill with credit the post that had so strangely fallen to me, I soon forgot my worst fears, and in time even imagined that I enjoyed by right what I had obtained by means of the grossest possible imposition.

      "In some measure, no doubt, it was owing to the Hon. John Courtney himself, as whose secretary I now acted, if my mind grew thus easy. It was of course impossible for me to conceal from him that I had no friends in London. At first he seemed a trifle surprised on learning the fact, but I soon perceived that he was not altogether displeased to find that I was a stranger to the circles in which he moved. Indeed I had a shrewd suspicion that, were the worst to come to the worst, I should find my honourable friend not a little anxious to avoid a scandal which, if it ruined me, would at the same time certainly present him in a somewhat doubtful light to his friends and acquaintances. This conviction. grew the stronger in me the more firmly I took my footing in my new position, for I felt that, reprehensible as my conduct might be, the Hon. John Courtney was in a manner as complete a fraud as myself.

      "As day after day passed and my fear of exposure diminished, my spirit grew bolder, and I soon even had the hardihood to deliver in person the three open letters of introduction which formed part of the contents of the mysterious packet. The result was that I shortly afterwards found myself launched in the whirl of London society as a young man of recognised position and with a future of considerable promise before him.

      "It is remarkable how, under such circumstances of necessity as those I now lived in, one learns to acquire information while appearing to impart it. Thus I gathered incidentally from various sources that I was the last of the West Derbyshire Miltons, a once influential county family, whose estates had been forfeited, owing partly to the reckless improvidence of a line of spendthrift ancestors, partly to vicissitudes of fortune which are not likely to interest the reader of my memoir any more than they did myself.

      "The knowledge that I was safe from the embarrassing attentions of loving relatives tended to lull to rest such apprehensions as I was still occasionally assailed with, and the further fact that I felt not only fully competent to fill the post I occupied, but really exerted all my faculties to deserve the confidence reposed in me, acted in a way as an opiate to my conscience, rendering me gradually all but oblivious of the means by which I had obtained my advancement.

      "I lived in this way for fully four months, when certain events befell which startled me at last out of my sense of happy tranquillity, and opened my eyes with terrible suddenness to the yawning abyss to the brink of which my reckless folly had led me.

      "The first of these events came in the shape of a mysterious communication addressed to me at the London and Westminster Bank. It was type-written, and ran as follows: 'Cipher despatch, marked 42 B, leaves St. Petersburg by Queen's messenger to-morrow, and will reach Foreign Office within three days. To be carefully copied, and copy delivered in a sealed envelope to the person who will accost you at the Countess Jagdberg's reception with the words, "What news from Siberia?" You will reply, "Cold and dreary," and the rest will follow.' Below these words was some strange hieroglyphic sign which conveyed no meaning to me.

      "My consternation on reading this communication was complete. Blind, perhaps wilfully blind as I had been up to this moment, the inference to be drawn from this communication was unmistakable. I was then a mere creature in the hands of others, a tool employed in the contemplated perpetration of heaven knows what villainy; nothing could be clearer. Who those others were, and by what strange mistake they had come to commit their business to my hands, I knew not, nor did I stop to reflect. The question which forced itself upon me above all others was, how should I act in this fatal dilemma? My position had been acquired by a fraud, and by a fraud to which I had been a willing party. To do, then, what under any other circumstances I should have done, that is to say, place this mysterious missive in the hands of the Foreign Secretary, would have been not only to expose my own trickery but to lay myself open to the vengeance of those whom I had befooled. On the other hand, to obey the instructions. so mysteriously conveyed to me, though I could have done so easily, and with little fear of detection, for the cipher despatch in question would in due course pass through my hands, this, reckless as I was, I felt incapable of doing. Those who are cynically inclined may smile incredulously at this. But so be it. I merely mention the fact; I don't claim any credit for it.

      "I spent the next few days in cudgelling my brains to devise some means of escape from the consequences of my mad folly. But all to no purpose. Not the faintest shadow of a plan suggested itself to my harassed mind. In fact I found myself between the devil and the deep sea in the fullest sense of the term, and at last, seeing no other alternative but to shut my eyes and await the result, I gave up cogitating and resigned myself to endure whatever fate might have in store for me.

      "In accordance with this policy of passivity did not present myself at the Countess Jagdberg's reception, nor indeed did I frequent any kind of society from that day forward. I lived like a hermit, avoiding public places of every description, and acting generally after the fashion of the ostrich, which buries its head in the sand of the desert and thus thinks itself safe from its pursuers. Notwithstanding, my fears all this time were intense. It was the mystery surrounding me which made my position so intolerable. I expected daily some fresh communication, probably conveying threats or demanding explanations, but none came.

      "At last, about the fifteenth day after receipt of the document that had thrown me into such a state of consternation, another event occurred of so startling a character that it might well have unnerved a stronger man than I was.

      "Incredible as it may sound I woke up in the dead of night to find my bedroom lighted up by a profusion of candles, and three men wearing masks seated in a semicircle round my bed.

      "At first I thought I was dreaming, and sitting up in bed stared vacantly at the silent figures. But there was no doubt about their reality, though how they had found entrance to my room without waking the people of the house or even myself was incomprehensible to me.

      "As I started to leap out of bed the middle figure rose and motioned me imperiously to retain my position.

"'Do not stir, Henry Milton,' he said in a low toneless voice."

      "'Do not stir, Henry Milton,' he said in a low toneless voice, which, in spite of the speaker's evident attempt to disguise it, struck me as strangely familiar; 'and utter no sound until you have heard us.'

      "'My name is not Henry Milton,' I said, disregarding his injunction and speaking with a kind of desperation. 'If you have come for the cipher despatch you have come in vain. I have committed follies enough, and will commit no more.'

      "'We have no concern with any despatch,' the voice replied, 'nor do we know to what follies you allude. Our mission is to warn you that you have been denounced as a renegade to your oath, and to summon you to appear in three days and answer the accusation before the council of twenty.'

      "'And if I refuse to appear?' I asked doggedly.

      "'You will do so at your peril. You know the statutes to which you have sworn obedience. Beware! the vengeance of the league is swift and sure.'

      "'I have sworn to no statutes,' I exclaimed passionately, forgetting all prudence in my excitement; 'and I know nothing of your league. It has all been a mistake at least,' I stammered, suddenly reflecting that my admission might involve me in greater trouble than ever 'I mean that I may be able to explain ——'

      "'The opportunity will be given you. The league condemns no man unheard, excepting the spy.'

      "My heart jumped into my mouth. To be judged as a spy seemed indeed the thing most likely to befall me.

      "'I will obey the summons then,' I said, hardly knowing what I spoke. 'But how shall I know the hour and the place of the meeting?'

      "'The council assembles at ten o'clock on Monday night,' was the reply. The password is, "Let traitors beware!" For the rest you must seek instruction here. Our knowledge goes no farther.'

      "And the speaker placed what seemed to be a somewhat bulky packet on the table beside my bed.

      "'Our mission is accomplished,' he then said rising. 'You are warned.'

      "He beckoned to his two coadjutors, who had sat perfectly mute throughout this strange interview, and who now retired as silently as they had come. At the door the spokesman halted and let the two others pass out first. When they were outside he hesitated a moment on the threshold, then recrossed the room swiftly, as if moved by a sudden impulse, and bending over me whispered these words in my ear —

      "'Foolish young man, be warned in time. If you have failed in your duty through a momentary weakness appear and confess it frankly. There are those among your judges who are disposed to leniency in cases like yours. But renounce all hope of avoiding the consequences of your oath. Once the fatal sentence is passed no escape is possible. You are lost. Farewell.'

      "Before I could detain him he had vanished. I heard the soft tread of feet as my mysterious visitors passed along the passage, heard the street door open and close, then all was silent again.

      "With one bound I now sprang out of bed at last and paced my chamber in a state of agitation that baffles description. The voice that had spoken to me still rang familiarly in my ears. I could have sworn that I had heard it before, but I tried in vain to recall when or where. I had made many friends during these last four months, and I felt sure that this man must have been among the number. This fact, proving to me as it did that I had been living unawares under constant surveillance, filled me with an overwhelming sense of the helplessness of my position.

      "What was I to do? Although I had never yet had actual experience of a secret society I had read and heard enough on the subject to be aware that my situation was precarious in the extreme. If I failed to appear before this self-appointed tribunal it was pretty clear that I should be adjudged a traitor in contumaciam, as it were, and pay — what penalty? I shuddered to think of it. Yet if I did appear, what should I say, how should I act? Confess my imposture? The probability would be that I should never leave the place alive if I did. Pretend to have succumbed to a passing fit of faint-heartedness, as my evidently well-meaning friend had suggested, and promise to make amends in the future? That would merely be postponing the evil day, for in time the discovery of my deception was inevitable.

      "In my agitation I had forgotten to examine the packet my visitors had left behind them. I now cut the string with which it was fastened and opened it with trembling fingers. It contained a mask, of the same size and shape as those I had seen worn that night, only it was not black, as they had been, but curiously striped in brown and green. Pinned to the lower margin was a card on which were printed the words, 52 Verrinder Street, City Road,' and below them was the hieroglyphic sign I had seen on the communication I had received a fortnight before.

      "Amid all this mystery it was almost a relief to me to see something so prosaically tangible as an ordinary London address. But the feeling did not last long. My dilemma remained unaltered, and it grew more terrible the more I revolved it in my mind.

      "When the morning dawned I dressed and went out. I thought the air and the daylight would calm my bewildered senses and restore me to a more tranquil frame of mind. But I could not shake off the nightmare that oppressed me. Work under the circumstances was impossible to me, and as soon as nine o'clock arrived, the time when my secretarial duties necessitated my attendance at the Foreign Office, I sent a note to the Hon. John Courtney pleading illness as an excuse for my non-appearance. The excuse, indeed, was true to the letter, for by the time the evening came again I was in a state of actual bodily fever.

      "It would be to little purpose for me to describe at length all the mad schemes for ensuring my safety which suggested themselves to me in the course of that day and the following Sunday. At last, urged rather by the burning desire to confide my trouble to some living soul than by any hope of receiving material help or comfort, I resolved to seek the counsel of Lauder Caine.

      "It was by the merest chance in the world that my choice fell upon this man. Of his position and personality I knew nothing. It was his name alone, mentioned under circumstances of a startling nature in a State despatch which had passed through my hands a couple of weeks before, that had attracted my attention to him. These circumstances were so extraordinary that I had been led to remark upon them to the Hon. John Courtney, and ask for some information regarding the strange personage to whom they related.

      "His answer, though somewhat laconic, like most of his utterances, had impressed me strangely.

      "'Lauder Caine,' he said, 'is a man whose wits begin where other people's wits end, and he devotes them mostly, I believe, to cheating the devil of his due.'

      "Whether this man, of whom rumour spoke as one to whose judgment statesmen deferred, would listen to the comparatively petty troubles of a humble individual like myself appeared to me extremely doubtful. But I had nothing to lose by venturing to approach him, and at an early hour in the morning of that fearful Monday on which my fate was to be decided, I presented myself at his house, resolved, if he would let me, to make a full confession to him of my guilt and folly.

      "I shall never forget the sensations I underwent during the first few minutes of that to me so memorable interview. Perhaps I am — or was then — more of a moral coward than the average run of my kind. I don't know. What I do know is that I had hardly entered that man's presence when my courage broke down entirely, and stammering out some incoherent excuses for trespassing upon his time, I would have beaten a retreat without communicating to him a syllable of the real matter which had brought me there. But retreat was impossible. He listened to all I said with a grave, yet gentle smile, without once removing his eyes from mine, and let me speak on until I found myself too utterly entangled in my own net of inventions to proceed any farther. Then only did he speak.

      "'What you have told me,' he said, 'is not true, nor is it well invented. Now collect your thoughts and tell me your real story. You are in trouble, and fear to face it. Remember, no man is beyond help who honestly seeks it.'

      "He motioned me kindly to a seat at his side, and half mechanically, half impelled by an influence which I could not resist, I told him my story, slowly and carefully, as I have written it down here. He followed the recital of all these strange incidents without evincing the faintest surprise either by word or gesture, nor did he interrupt me with a single question until I had concluded.

      "When I paused at last and scanned his face eagerly in the expectation of seeing some indication there of the impression my narrative had produced upon him, he remained silent so long that my heart sank within me, and I exclaimed in a tone of despair —

      "'Alas! you have no counsel for me. You see no possibility of escape?'

      "My words seemed to awake him from his reverie, and he flashed a look upon me so peculiarly penetrating that I winced beneath it.

      "'Escape from what?' he asked abruptly.

      "'From the result of my madness,' I stammered. 'From the vengeance of this terrible league, whose very name is unknown to me.'

      "Again his eyes flashed upon me with that same piercing look as before.

      "'To those who are aware of its existence,' he said, 'it is known as "The League of the Aigrette." You look startled, and well you may. Were what you have told me your whole story I might hope to save you from the consequences of your guilty folly; but you have left me to guess what is of more serious importance than all that which you have related to me.'

      "'I do not understand,' I faltered. 'If I have left anything unsaid ——'

      "'You have begun your story in the middle instead of at the commencement, that is all,' he said; 'perhaps unintentionally; I know not. Yet you cannot have supposed that such adventures as you have related could be the result of a mere chance misunderstanding. Known or unknown to yourself, you possessed and wore the secret sign of the league on the day when these strange things befell you. That sign,' he continued, reading every emotion that displayed itself in my face as he spoke, 'is a tiny aigrette of quaint and curious workmanship, which I need not describe to you. To account for the manner in which it came into your possession is your gravest difficulty, Walter Davidson. Whether this difficulty is insuperable or not you alone can say.'

      "I felt the blood rush tinglingly to my cheeks. I had more than once, indeed, vaguely suspected the true origin of all this terrible mystery. The lapel of the cap I had worn on that fateful night four months ago, when all my trouble began, was fastened with just such an aigrette as the Confessor described. It was not my property, but it had come into my possession under circumstances which I dared not disclose even to this man upon whose assistance, as I instinctively felt, my future safety depended.

      "The sudden knowledge that a new terror had been added to those which already invested me instilled a kind of desperate courage into me, and I spoke now with a calmness which astonished even myself.

      "'Unfortunately,' I said, the difficulty you speak of is indeed insuperable. I do possess such an aigrette as you have mentioned, but, whether you believe me or not, until this moment I was unaware of its true significance. If you make your aid conditional on my disclosing the history attaching to my possession of it ——'

      "'You mistake me,' he said simply. 'Had I any doubts regarding the nature of the history you allude to, all difficulty, so far as I am concerned, would be removed, for I should leave you to meet the fate your own guilt had richly deserved.'

      "'I swear to you,' I cried, stirred by something in his tone, I knew not what, that whatever punishment I may have merited for the crime I have confessed to you, my conscience reproaches me with nothing beyond that crime. If you knew all ——'

      "'Stay,' he interrupted me again. 'I invite no confidence that is not freely given. I know all I need know to enable me to help you so far. Whether my help will ultimately avail you the future will show. But such as it is you shall have it.'

      "'Thank heaven!' I ejaculated in a tone of relief. It seemed to me as if his promise of help alone had already placed me beyond danger.

      "'Listen!' he went on unmoved, 'and learn above all the full extent of the peril into which you have blindly ventured. This league, whose vengeance you have to fear, is of no ordinary kind. Its ramifications extend over the whole of the civilised globe, yet no one knows how it came into existence, nor whose is the master spirit that guides and controls it. Indeed so perfect is the organisation that characterises it that no human ingenuity has hitherto succeeded in unravelling it or discovering the hidden connection between its multifarious branches. Its members, though they number by thousands, are as such unknown to each other, nor is there one whose knowledge of its secret constitution extends beyond that of the particular branch to which he belongs. Nevertheless each branch defers to, and is controlled from, one unknown centre, whence all mandates concerning vital questions of policy, of life and death, of reward and punishment are issued. Such is the League of the Aigrette, before which even governments have learned to tremble, and, alas! from which they have in some instances stooped to seek assistance.'

      "'But what,' I asked, deeply interested, 'are the objects of this mysterious association?'

      "'The objects of the association, or of its unrevealed founder and arbiter — who shall say? Wealth and power probably, and the vain delight of possessing the one and wielding the other unknown to his fellow-men. The object of each individual member is the gratification of his own individual desires, in return for which he pledges himself body and soul to serve the general purposes of the league. To exhaust the catalogue of these would take me too long, for it embraces every interest known to man — political, social, commercial, ay, with shame I say it, even religious. If ever the day should come, as come it may, when this gigantic organisation is laid bare to the light, society will stand appalled at the revelation, and men will thenceforward regard each other askance, no one daring to trust his fellow.'

      "There was that in his tone as he spoke these last words which lent them a significance I was not slow to grasp, and I felt a renewed thrill of hope pass through me as I listened.

      "'The picture you present is fearful indeed,' I said. 'What, then, do you counsel me to do?'

      "'Wait and see,' he answered shortly.

      "'But the summons?' I asked. 'Dare I disregard it?'

      "'By no means.'

      "'Yet if I appear before this strange tribunal, how shall I act? What defence can I make?'

      "'None. Remain silent. I will answer on your behalf.'

      "'You?' I exclaimed.

      "'I shall be there,' he replied.

      "'But consider,' I said. 'These men are desperate characters.'

      "'I am well aware of it.'

      "'And there will be twenty of them.'

      "'With me twenty-one.'

      "'They know you then?'

      "'Even better perhaps than I know them. Therein lies my safety. It is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that I cross their path. For the rest, think not of me, and take heed that you do not open your lips nor stir, either on my behalf or yours, whatever you may see or hear.'

      "'You may rely on my obedience,' I murmured. 'Only pardon me if I ask one thing. How comes it that, with such knowledge as you appear to possess of this terrible league, you permit it to pursue its evil course? For evil it is, surely.'

      "'You speak in ignorance,' he replied. 'Were my knowledge of the nature you suppose, either the league or I would long have ceased to exist. But enough. Fortunately for you I possess such weapons as these men, and those more powerful than they, have learned to fear and respect on more than one occasion. The issue leave to me. Now go, for my time is brief, and I have much to prepare. We meet again to-night.'

      "There were innumerable questions I would have desired to ask him. But his tone was imperative, and I withdrew without demur.

      "How shall I describe the feelings with which I left his presence, or the manner in which I passed the remainder of that day? My state of mind was one prolonged alternation of feverish hope and black despair, and by the time the night came and the hour of the ordeal I had to pass through drew near I felt that, even were I to be condemned and executed that same night it would be preferable to a continuance of the awful suspense in which I had been living for so long.

---

(The extraordinary conclusion of this story, which is too lengthy to allow of continuation in this issue, will appear in the WINDSOR for May.)

* Copyright, 1896, by Percy Andreæ, in the United States of America.

Illustrated by ST. CLAIR SIMMONS.

THE CASE OF THE LEAGUE OF THE AIGRETTE. — (Continued.)

CHAPTER IV. Further continuation of Walter Davidson's Memoir — A midnight tribunal — Lauder Caine for the defence.

IT was some minutes before ten when I reached the place of meeting, and I had leisure to take stock of the spot and its surroundings. The street was quiet, but far from deserted, and from the distance I could distinctly hear the muffled noise of the still busy traffic in the City Road. But the house to which I was bidden had a lone and desolate appearance, and I could see without difficulty that, although apparently a dwelling-house, like most of the houses in the street, it was not inhabited.

      "To my surprise I observed no one enter while I stood concealed in a doorway near by, watching with beating heart for some sign of him upon whose support my fate that night depended. I had imagined, I know not why, that we should meet at the door and make our entrance together. But this was not to be; and when the clock of the neighbouring church tolled out the hour of ten I dared not tarry any longer, and approaching the door, knocked as boldly as my trembling fingers permitted.

      "The door was opened instantly, and stepping inside I found myself in total darkness. A hand was laid on my shoulder, and a voice challenged me to give the password, which I did. The same voice then whispered to me to mask myself and pass on. A few moments elapsed before I had fumbled in my pocket and found the mask which had been left with me by my mysterious visitors three nights before, and which I had been careful to bring with me. When I had donned it I obeyed my unknown conductor and moved forward. Whoever it was he remained at my side guiding me, as it seemed, through a long and tortuous passage to the back of the building. Presently we stopped, and I heard him give a peculiar double rap at a door on my right hand. The next moment it was slowly opened, letting out a faint light into the passage. My guide stepped back, another hand from within seized my arm and drew me forward, and I found myself in a large-sized apartment, dimly illumined by a single red-shaded lamp suspended from the middle of the ceiling.

"Another hand from within seized my arm and drew me forward."

      "This apartment had three windows, which were closely curtained and apparently gave on to the street from which I had just entered. An oblong table occupied the whole width, being drawn across the room at a right angle with the farthest window. Behind it were seated three masked figures, whilst opposite these, in rows of six or seven, reaching almost to where I stood, there sat some eighteen or nineteen men, all masked in similar fashion. From the total silence which reigned, and the motionless attitude of those present, one might have imagined them to be an array of wax statues. I stopped near the threshold, hesitating whether to advance or remain where I was. But no one stirred nor appeared to bestow any notice upon me, and the stillness remained unbroken. A sense of oppression seized me which I could not shake off, and I looked around me for a vacant seat, fearing, if I remained standing, that I should swoon or fall from sheer giddiness and exhaustion.

      "At this moment I felt myself most opportunely drawn down into an unoccupied chair by some friendly hand behind me, and turning my head I was about to whisper a word of acknowledgment to my unknown. neighbour when the pressure of his hand on my arm tightened, as if warning me to utter no sound. I felt my heart leap within me as the thought shot across my mind that it might be the Confessor himself beside whom I was now seated. If it was, however, he gave me no sign of recognition, but remained, like the rest of the strange company, totally silent and motionless.

      "Presently the church clock I had heard strike before chimed out the first quarter, and with the last note the middle of the three figures seated behind the oblong table rose, and the proceedings, such as they were, commenced.

      "To describe them minutely would be impossible. My head was swimming, and I caught but the smallest part of what was said. My name, or rather the name I had usurped, struck upon my ear several times, but it seemed to be pronounced in different parts of the room, and by different voices, all low and toneless, as if formal questions and answers were passing, the drift of which I failed to grasp.

      "After a while this species of cross-fire ceased and the middle figure behind the table spoke in clear tones as follows:—

      "'Is the council satisfied that it is properly constituted?'

      "A low affirmative murmur came from the assembly.

      "Is the council satisfied that the accused member, Henry Milton, has been duly summoned to plead his defence?'

      "The murmur was repeated.

      "'Then I declare,' the voice continued, 'that Henry Milton stands arraigned before this council of twenty on the following counts: firstly, that, having been duly selected for a certain mission, known only to the centre, he has betrayed his trust and defied the authority to which he has sworn obedience; secondly, that by thus violating his oath of membership he has constituted himself a traitor to the league, and as such deserves to be judged. Let those in support of the indictment rise and make the usual declaration.'

      "The president resumed his seat, and one by one four of those present rose from their chairs and spoke these words with uplifted right hand:—

      "'I declare the indictment to be just and true, on my own knowledge of the facts, and I demand the punishment of the offender.'

      "When the last had sat down again a short pause ensued, after which the president resumed once more:—

      "'The council has heard the accusation. Who controverts the facts?'

      "An ominous silence followed the question, and I held my breath in a terror of expectation. Would he who had promised so much fail me after all? And if so, what would happen? How should I act?

      "Even while this terrible thought was crossing my mind I became conscious of a movement at my side, and turning saw the figure next to me rise up slowly and deliberately. My heart beat madly, so madly that it appeared to me to be beating in every part of my body at once. It seemed an eternity before the stillness was broken once more. But it passed at last, and then in that calm clear voice, whose subtle power no pen of mine can describe, I heard the words ring forth —

      "'I controvert the facts!'

      "For the first time since I had entered the room a flutter of excited curiosity passed through the assembly. It was evident that the incident was novel and unexpected.

      "The president was quickly on his feet again.

      "'Are you the accused?' he asked.

      "'I am not.'

      "'Upon what grounds, then, do you speak for the accused?'

      "'I speak as his friend and adviser.'

      "'The fourth statute of the league provides that no member shall know, or be known to, the other.'

      "'It may be so.'

      "'As a member of the league, then ——'

      "'I am not a member of the league.'

      "The effect of these words was extraordinary and baffles all description. In one instant everyone was upon his feet, and uproar and confusion reigned supreme. The door was barred and bolted. Cries of 'Traitor!' 'Spy!' 'We are betrayed!' resounded on all sides, and for a moment it looked as if an immediate assault were going to be made upon the bold speaker.

      "Amid all this tumult he alone stood calm and unmoved, his left hand resting upon the chair in front of him and his right inserted between the flaps of his tightly-buttoned coat.

      "At last, when the noise had somewhat subsided, the president's voice was heard again.

      "'You stand self-confessed a stranger to the league and a spy upon its council. Rash man, on your own head be the consequences of your insolent temerity!'

      "I saw two of the masks, at a sign from the table, pass quietly behind the chair of the person addressed, and remain standing there in an attitude of ominous readiness. Their intentions were evident. Yet he, who must have seen himself thus threatened, still maintained his position of calm and lofty unconcern, and when he spoke his voice sounded firm and steady, like that of a commander issuing his orders to his men.

      "'None so rash as they that threaten whom they know not,' he said. 'I am one man. You are twenty. Think you I had ventured thus to confront you were I not sure that you dare lay no finger on me? nay, that I am as safe in your midst as he whom you all obey, though you know him. not?'

      "A momentary silence fell upon the assembly at this speech, but it was followed immediately by a low angry murmur which seemed to bode little good.

      "'Your bold speech will avail you nothing,' the president said. 'The knowledge you give evidence of possessing makes it doubly imperative that we should silence the lips that proclaim it. Tear off his mask, someone. We will at least see the features of him who thus beards us.'

      "A dozen men rushed forward at once to obey the order. But before a hand could be raised to execute it the Confessor himself had removed the mask that concealed his features, and without bestowing a glance upon those who surrounded him in an angry throng, he spoke in the same quiet tone as before —

      "'Let no man advance a step. There are those here who have met me face to face before. To them I need no introduction. For the rest, the name I bear will prove me to be neither madman nor idle boaster. I am Lauder Caine the Confessor.'

      "When I contrast the simplicity of the tone in which these words were uttered with the thrilling effect they produced on the men who heard them, I still now experience the same sense of utter bewilderment which overcame me at that moment. I have since heard many astounding stories of the boldness, the ingenuity, and the extraordinary achievements of this man, and have learned to regard everything as possible to his commanding genius. But nothing will convince me that the knowledge which those before him evidently possessed of his power and influence could alone have produced that instantaneous effect which followed upon this simple announcement of his mere name and character. It was that subtle, indefinable something in his presence, that magnetic, half-soothing, half-enthralling quality of his voice, that indescribable power of the eye, in short, the whole extraordinary being of the man, that held these twenty men as if under some irresistible spell, and I verily believe that, had he been as unknown to them as the humble individual who, thanks to him, has lived to pen these pages, the effect of his words would have been just the same.

      "It was a moment I shall ever remember. But I doubt whether I can convey even the very faintest conception of its real impressiveness to those who may read this poor description. For the space of several seconds not a sound was heard, and every eye was fixed with an expression of intense expectation upon the countenance of the man who had spoken. That he was fully conscious of the impression he had created it would be absurd to doubt. Yet not a muscle in his face betrayed the pride or the triumph this tacit homage to his personality must have awakened in his breast. He could, I believe, have prolonged at will the spell he had cast over his listeners. But his purpose, if such it had been, was achieved, and he presently proceeded as follows:—

      "'Let us then measure our weapons before we proceed to discuss the matter that has brought me here. As for myself, my body is in your hands. That is of small account. It is my mind, not my body, you and yours have cause to fear. Destroy my life and you know I make no empty boast when I say that I shall leave that behind me which will suffice to bring destruction, not only upon you my destroyers, but upon those who are even more powerful than yourselves, and whose safety, not mine, you now blindly threaten. My business now is not with you and your evil-doings. The day may come, indeed, when I shall confront you with even more potent weapons than those I wield to-day, an enemy upon whose annihilation your existence will depend. It may then be worth your while to risk that which you now dare not risk by crossing swords with me. I have spoken. It is for you to answer.'

      "A short pause ensued, during which a hurried consultation passed between the three figures seated behind the table. When it was concluded the president rose again.

      "'Proceed,' he said, speaking slowly, and with a certain hesitation. 'We have no cause of quarrel with Lauder Caine. But think not that the league will brook the interference of living man, whoever he be, in so grave a matter as the treason of a perjured member. We sentence traitors as we sentence spies, and once the fatal judgment is spoken, not even Lauder Caine shall avert its execution.'

      "'So be it,' the Confessor replied. 'Judge, then, whom you have a right to judge. This man is neither spy nor traitor. I stand here to prove it.'

      "'He has been false to his oath.'

      "'No man can be false to an oath he has never taken.'

      "'Explain your meaning,' the president exclaimed in a tone of startled surprise.

      "'It is simple. The man you are judging is innocent of the crime you impute to him, for he is neither servant nor member of your league.'

      "Again a wave of wild excitement passed over the assembled men, and there was a general movement of dismay and consternation.

      "'This grows more serious still,' the president said. 'If what you say be true ——'

      "'That I have said it is proof abundant of its truth.'

      "'He came among us wearing the secret sign of the league.'

      "'That he did so was his misfortune not his fault.'

      "'He adopted the name of him whom we expected, and made use of his credentials.'

      "'There began his folly, perhaps his crime; but for that he has suffered.'

      "'He has gained knowledge of our secrets.'

      "'If he had he would have done so through your fault, not his. But you are mistaken. Until this morning he knew not even the name of the league whose schemes he had unwittingly frustrated.'

      "'But the sign — he possessed and wore it. How was it obtained?'

      "The question fell upon me like a heavy weight that crushed me, and I held my breath in an agony of suspense. How would my defender meet it?

      "He paused for one solemn moment. Then he answered gravely, in a slow deliberate tone —

      "'You ask that which you least of all have cause to wish revealed. The sign comes from a grave which holds a secret you may well tremble to see disclosed. Beware, therefore, and let it rest buried.'

      "Was this man inspired, or had he some power unknown to common humanity which enabled him to read men's souls like a book and penetrate to their most hidden depths? I alone could know by what means that fatal sign had come into my possession. Yet those words of his revealed a truth to me to which until that moment I had been totally blind, and the revelation fell upon me with a suddenness that almost stunned me.

      "Those who may read my strange tale — sadly incoherent as I feel it to be — will conceive something of my utter consternation when I tell them that until that memorable night four months ago, when the mysterious packet of letters was placed in my hands, I had never heard the name of Henry Milton, for whom I had been so strangely mistaken. Nor indeed was my ignorance regarding this unknown personage lessened even now. Yet notwithstanding, I repeat that those few words of Lauder Caine's threw so startling a light upon a certain past event in my life that I was struck dumb with a wondering awe.

      "A glance at the masked crowd surrounding me sufficed to show me that I was not the only one in that room upon whom the words had fallen with so startling an effect. The death-like stillness that followed their utterance gave striking evidence of the strong impression they had created upon the men to whom they were addressed, and when, after a fresh hurriedly whispered conference between the presiding mask and his two assessors, the former spoke once more, I knew instinctively that the Confessor's warning, whatever it meant, had struck home, and that my worst danger was over.

      "'What guarantee do we possess,' he said, now pointedly ignoring the question upon which, a moment before, my fate had appeared to hang, 'that one who has so insolently intruded upon our secrecy will be silent about that which he has seen and heard? Little though it may be, it is perhaps enough to render his existence a menace to our safety.'

      "'Your surest guarantee, if guarantee were needed,' the Confessor replied, 'is his knowledge of your power to wreak vengeance upon him should he attempt the disclosure you fear. But your apprehensions on this score come too late. You forget that I already share such knowledge as he possesses, and rest assured that neither promises will buy nor threats enforce the silence of Lauder Caine. Ponder that well ere we part.'

      "'By heaven!' the president exclaimed, stung by the audacity of this speech, which indeed fairly made me gasp with amazement, 'you presume too much upon our forbearance. It is dangerous to carry boldness beyond the bounds of endurance. What prevents us, indeed ——'

      "'Nay,' interrupted Lauder Caine suavely, 'let us not waste our time with idle words. We know each other. What further need to parley? The day has not yet come when you can speak of terms with Lauder Caine. When it arrives it will see the end of him or you — of both. But let that pass. These things, I see, have come upon you somewhat unawares, and such experience may well be new to you. Take time, then, for thought and counsel, and meanwhile let him whose fate you have met to determine go hence with me unhindered. The sign he holds shall be placed in my hands. If you claim it before another sun has set it shall be proof to me that he is safe. If not — but pshaw! I know you to be no fools, and need not argue the alternative. The hour is late. Are we agreed?'

      "There was a note almost of impatience in his voice as he uttered these last words. But I was beyond the stage of wonderment, and scarcely felt more than a passing sense of curiosity to note their effect upon my persecutors. I knew now that there could be but one issue to the extraordinary scene I had witnessed, and when, after a moment's deliberation with those around him, the president rose once more to reply, it needed no words of his to tell me that that issue had come.

      "'Be it so,' he said. 'But mark, we give no pledge that we shall forego our rights in this or any other matter. We shall decide as we are bound, by our oath and by our statutes, not otherwise. Of that rest assured.'

      "I saw a smile pass over the countenance of Lauder Caine as he inclined his head gravely in token that he had understood and appreciated the meaning this speech conveyed. The next moment he was striding, calm and self-possessed, through the throng of masks who stood between him and the door by which I had entered. I followed, with head bent, mechanically. Yet I could see as we passed along the row of gleaming eyes peering eagerly from behind their masks into the face of him who went before me, as if the sight were one too rare and curious to be missed.

      "What then occurred, and how we issued forth from that dreadful room, I cannot say. I moved like one in a dream. I have a confused recollection as of a sudden transition from light to darkness, then of passing again, guided by some strange unseen hand, through the long dark passage I had traversed before, of a door opening and closing, of a sudden rush of keen night air, which bathed my face, acting like a soothing balm to my fever-heated temples, and I knew I was once more in the open street. I looked up with a sigh of intense relief. Beside me stood Lauder Caine.

      "'Come!' he said briefly. 'We have still further business before us. May it end no worse than that which we leave behind us.'

      "I would have dearly liked to question him, but he gave me no time. Hastening towards the City Road he there hailed a passing cab, bade me enter with him, and a minute later we were driving rapidly westward towards his own house. He spoke not a word the whole way, and, partly awed by his silence, partly engrossed with my own reflections, I sat beside him, mute like himself.

---

CHAPTER V. Walter Davidson's Memoir concluded — The death of young Evan Llewellyn, and the strange history of a cap.

"THE drive occupied nearly an hour, and it was past one o'clock in the morning when we at last reached our destination. Silently as we had come we passed into the house. There all was light and bright and smiling. In spite of the lateness of the hour every room and passage was lighted up and breathed grateful warmth and comfort.

      "What a contrast with the dark and dreary place we had come from. And yet my heart misgave me strangely. I know not why, but I felt as if the ordeal I had just passed through were but the preliminary of one still more fierce and fearful which was now awaiting me. I yearned to pour forth my thanks to my deliverer, but there was that in his manner which chilled me and stemmed, as it were, the tide of grateful eloquence that surged within me.

      At last, motioning me gravely to a seat in the room he had conducted me to, he broke the silence abruptly with these words —

      "'Now, Walter Davidson, tell me what has become of him from whom you obtained the sign of the aigrette.'

      "Had I expected the question? I can scarcely say. But the manner in which it was put sent a thrill of fear through me, and it was some little while before I could reply.

      "'He is dead,' I said, endeavouring to speak calmly. 'What more would you know of him?'

      "'I would know,' he replied shortly, 'how you came to murder him.'

      "I started up.

      "'As sure as there is justice in heaven,' I cried, 'you are mistaken. I committed no murder.'

"'As sure as there is justice in heaven,' I cried, 'you are mistaken.'"

      "'Yet Evan Llewellyn,' he continued, unmoved, 'died by your hand. Your face betrays it.'

      "'Evan Llewellyn?' I stammered. 'How can you know ——'

      "I got no further. The look he fixed upon me while I spoke seemed to penetrate my very brain and left me no power to withhold what even then still I would have given all I possessed to have withheld from him. I bowed my head acquiescently.

      "'I do not deny it, then,' I said. 'I took Evan Llewellyn's life. Still, by all I hold sacred I swear to you that in doing so I was innocent of crime.'

      "'Then why,' he asked, 'did you conceal the deed from those who had a right to know of it? There is justice on earth as there is justice in heaven. He who flies from his earthly judges proves surely that he has reason to fear them.'

      "'And what if I had such reason?' I said. 'I could produce no proof of my innocence; nay, I knew that the very lips which alone could prove me free of guilt would testify against me if I dared to reveal the truth. I had no other alternative but silence. If you knew my story ——'

      "It is to learn it that I have brought you here,' he broke in gently. 'Speak freely, and conceal nothing from me. Truth has its own voice, and I have learned to detect it under many strange disguises.'

      "Truly it is a wondrous gift, the gift to inspire confidence with a word, a look. There is no man on earth to whom I would have dared confide what I now confided to Lauder Caine the Confessor.

      "He had drawn a chair to the fireside as he spoke, and invited me with a kindly gesture to take the seat opposite him. I did so, and collecting my scattered thoughts with a strong effort, began my tale.

      "'You call him Evan Llewellyn,' I said. 'I had never known him by that name, though a chance once revealed to me that it was his real one. To me, and to those in whose society I met him during my roamings on the Continent, he was known as Edwin Warrington. Why he chose to discard his true patronymic and sail under false colours I never stopped to inquire. He was a wild, adventurous young fellow, dashing, reckless, and unscrupulous, yet a veritable boon companion in the widest sense of the term. As such I had learned to appreciate him, though with a vague sense of distrust which prevented anything in the nature of an intimacy from springing up between us.

      "'I had lost sight of him for months, when I suddenly ran against him in the streets of Paris towards the end of my last stay there. We then merely exchanged a hurried greeting, as he had an appointment to keep and was late. He was leaving Paris that evening, he told me, and regretted that he would be unable to see me again.

      "I did meet him in Paris again, however, and under circumstances of a very strange nature. Having nearly reached the end of my means I now used to take my dinner in a quaint and unfashionable eating-house in the Latin quarter, where my only acquaintance was an eccentric old Austrian of the name of Falkenberg, whose favour I had gained by delivering him one night from the somewhat violent attentions of a couple of drunken students. Under ordinary conditions the society of such a man would have possessed little attraction for me. But I had a selfish reason for cultivating it. In a fit of confidence, inspired by his evident attachment to me, I had made my desperate circumstances known to him, and the result had been an offer on his part, which was as unexpected as it seemed generous — at least, so I then thought. He proposed that I should accept his hospitality until I found means of mending my tattered fortunes. He lived, he said, in a small but comfortable house in a certain suburb of Paris, had neither relatives nor friends, and would be grateful for the society of a companion in his loneliness. This proposal, gratifying as it was in my poor circumstances, took me somewhat aback, and I asked for time to consider it.

      "'Not many days afterwards I was sitting with my would-be patron in the eating-house where we now used regularly to meet and dine together. As usual the subject of our conversation was the plan he had suggested, as he assured me, for our mutual benefit, and he was just pressing me warmly, as he often did, to waive what he thought my delicate scruples, and close at once with the offer he had made me, when he suddenly broke off in the middle of his speech with a suppressed exclamation of dismay, and stared with a strange expression of terror in the direction of the glass door leading from the restaurant into the street. Following his gaze, I saw that a new-comer had entered, in whom, to my surprise, I recognised the man I knew as Edwin Warrington. Before I had time to connect the two occurrences my companion rose quickly to his feet, and without a word of excuse or apology left the table and hurried out of the place.

"Following his gaze, I saw that a new-comer had entered."

      "'As he passed by Warrington I saw him avert his face with the obvious desire of escaping his notice. But Warrington must have recognised him, for he gave a visible start, and I noticed a look of pleased triumph settle in his face. The next instant he too turned swiftly on his heel, and hurriedly followed the Austrian out of the place. "What all this meant I had no idea. But it struck me as curious that Warrington, whom I had only met in the streets of Paris a couple of days before, should have then led me to believe that he was quitting Paris immediately. That he must have had some object in thus misleading me as to his movements was obvious.

      "'Towards six o'clock that same afternoon, upon returning home to my lodging after a stroll on the boulevards, I found a note awaiting me. It merely contained the following words:—

      "'This sudden change, following upon the curious incident I had witnessed a few hours previously, exercised my mind considerably. It was unpleasantly mysterious, and moreover it upset all my calculations, for in my secret heart I had already determined, as soon as my means were quite at an end, to avail myself of my Austrian friend's proposal, and accept his hospitality.

      "'After pondering over the matter for some while, I decided to seek out my friend once more, before I lost sight of him altogether, really with the view of ascertaining if my companionship, which he had appeared so eager to secure, might not perhaps still be welcome to him even under the circumstances he mentioned. As for myself, I was now in such straits that I would have been prepared to do anything, or go anywhere, for the sake of a living.

      "'With this object I took an omnibus to the suburb where Falkenberg lived, and having there inquired my way to the address he had given me, proceeded thither on foot. It was a lonely, though apparently respectable, neighbourhood, and the house, when I found it, proved to be a fair-sized residence, built in country style, and surrounded by quite a considerable bit of garden.

      "'Night had long set in when I reached it, and passing through the wicket gate and up the garden path to the entrance door, I was about to pull the bell when I was startled by a loud crash as of falling glass, followed by a succession of cries for help. To endeavour to gain entrance by the front door would, under the circumstances, I thought, have been useless. I therefore ran round the house in the direction whence the shouts, as it seemed to me, proceeded, with the view of effecting an entrance by one of the low windows giving on to the garden. But to my surprise I found no sign of light whatever to guide me. Every window seemed closely shuttered and the house generally barred and barricaded as if to resist a siege. Indeed, but for the cries which still came from within, accompanied by the scuffling of feet and the slamming of doors, as though someone were being pursued from room to room, I should have concluded that the place was entirely deserted.

      "'At last the faint glimmer of a light caught my eye as I passed a window at the back of the house, and quickly raising myself on to the outer ledge I found that the shutters here had been removed, and the window broken in, by someone who had evidently gained forcible entrance to the house.

      "'Without a moment's hesitation therefore I availed myself of the breach, swung myself into the room, which appeared to be full of old lumber, and seeing that the light issued from a half-open door leading apparently either to a passage or an inner apartment, I rushed through it at top speed. Guided by the cries, which now appeared to have become stationary and were growing ominously feebler, I sped through several rooms, in all of which there were signs of great disorder, and at last burst in upon a scene the sight of which for a moment completely staggered me.

"Two men were engaged in a life and death struggle."

      "'Two men were engaged in a life and death struggle, the issue of which scarcely admitted of a doubt. One of these men was my Austrian friend Falkenberg; in the second I recognised no other than Edwin Warrington. A glance sufficed to show me that the latter was the assailing party, for in his uplifted right hand gleamed a dagger, while, with his left firmly gripped round the old man's throat, he was endeavouring to free his right arm from the convulsive grasp of his intended victim.

      "'Had I tarried a moment longer than I did he would have succeeded, for Falkenberg was already totally exhausted, and even as I gazed, his assailant, with a quick wrench, had extricated himself from the grip of the wretched man and raised his arm to strike the fatal blow. But before he could execute his purpose I sprang forward with a bound, caught his arm as it descended with my left hand, and with my right wrenched the dagger from his grasp.

      "'The Austrian, thus opportunely delivered from his peril, now fell back, and sinking into a chair with a groan of relief, lapsed into a state of complete apathy.

      "'But the wrath of the man whose design I had thus foiled now turned against me. Uttering a furious oath, he sprang upon me with a bound like a tiger, and before I could recover from the shock I felt his two hands tightly pressed against my throat with the evident intention of strangling me. My position was terrible. Both my arms were free, but though I used my utmost force to shake my assailant off, striking blow after blow at his face and head, his hold upon my throat never relaxed one whit, and his fingers buried themselves deeper and deeper into my flesh until I felt my eyes starting from my head and struggled in vain for breath.

      "An agonising terror overcame me. I saw death, certain death before me, unless, to save myself, I made use of the weapon I had wrested from him, and which I still held in my hand. There was no time to reflect or consider. My senses were failing me, my head swam, a roaring as of many waters sounded in my ears; in short, I was undergoing all the horrible sensations of suffocation.

      "'In this desperate plight I swung back my right arm, and using all the power still left me, I plunged the dagger deep into my antagonist's breast.

      "'Slowly — ah, how slowly! — I felt the grip of the fingers round my throat relax, heard a long horrid gurgle — and then I knew no more until I found myself lying on the bare floor with the old Austrian kneeling at my side chafing my temples, and using such means as he could to restore me to consciousness.

      "'It was some time before I could utter a word. When at last I found my speech again, I inquired after Warrington.

      "'"You have killed him," Falkenberg answered simply with a grim smile. "Look where he lies! He will do no more harm."

      "'The shock did more towards restoring me to animation than all my companion's efforts, and I raised myself quickly to ascertain if he had spoken the truth.

      "'Alas! one glimpse at the body that lay within a few inches of me was enough to convince me that Edwin Warrington was dead. Although I had taken his life in self-defence, indeed in the very extremity of my own peril, still I could not repress a shudder as I now looked upon the youthful form struck down in the spring of life by my own hand.

      "'But the necessity of thinking about my own safety soon drove all other thoughts out of my mind, and turning to Falkenberg I requested him to accompany me at once to the nearest police bureau in order that the facts concerning this tragic occurrence should be communicated to the proper authorities without delay, otherwise I might find myself under suspicion of having committed deliberate murder.

      "'The effect of this request upon the Austrian was extraordinary. He started back as if I had dealt him a blow.

      "'"Are you mad?" he exclaimed. "Would you place the hangman's rope round your neck with your own hands?"

      "'"I have nothing to fear," I replied "I killed this unfortunate man in just and lawful self-defence. There will be no difficulty in proving the fact. Come, there is no time to lose."

      "'"Stay!" he cried, seizing my arm with a violence that caused me actual pain. "Reflect before you commit a folly you are sure to regret. This man died by your hand. What proof have you that it was you and not he who acted in just and lawful self-defence?"

      "'"What proof?" I stammered, aghast at such a question coming from him. "Why, the evidence of your own eyes. You saw him attack and endeavour to murder me. Indeed, but for my prompt intervention you would now be lying where he lies, stiff and stark. I saved your life in saving mine. You are a witness of my innocence."

      "The expression in his face as I spoke these words made me recoil shuddering. "'"And what if I remain silent?" he said slowly and deliberately. "What if I refuse to give the testimony which alone can save you from a felon's death? Nay, listen," he continued, tightening his grip on my arm as I started up amazed and indignant. "I swear to you that if a word escapes your lips of what has occurred here to-night, I will bear witness, not for you, but against you. This man" — pointing to the corpse — "and I must disappear together. It is my only safety, and my safety, believe me, is yours."

      "'Imagine my situation. In vain I expostulated, implored and threatened. He adhered firmly to his cruel and ungrateful resolution, the reason for which I was totally at a loss to explain. All he would vouchsafe to tell me was that his life depended upon the secret of that night's occurrence never penetrating beyond those four walls, and he reiterated again and again his strange assertion that he and the dead man must disappear together.

      "'Under such circumstances what was left me to do? No one, I knew, would believe my story without this man's corroboration, and if he not only refused to corroborate it, but actually gave contradictory testimony, as he threatened, my doom was certain.

      "'At last, having exhausted all my powers of argument and persuasion, I did what sheer necessity compelled me to do, and assisted him to carry the body of Edwin Warrington to the cellar of the house, where we dug a grave beneath the flagstones, and buried the remains.

      "'The gruesome task lasted several hours, and it was near midnight when I at last took leave of my companion and returned on foot to Paris. Seeing that I intended to comply with his wishes, Falkenberg once more adopted his old friendly tone towards me. He assured me of his sense of gratitude for the service I had rendered him, and would have even pressed a considerable sum of money upon my acceptance to enable me to leave Paris and make a fresh start in life. But this I refused. I would have none of his wealth, nor anything to remind me of an acquaintance which had ended in so terrible a manner.

      "'I little dreamed at that moment what a fatal memento of that night I already carried on my person; nor was it until I had nearly reached my lodging in Paris that I became aware of it. This memento was the cap which Warrington had worn that night. It had fallen from his head during his struggle with me, and picking it up at Falkenberg's desire when we lifted the body, I had stuffed it hastily into one of the pockets of my greatcoat, intending of course to bury it with the remains of its owner. But by the time the grave was dug I no longer remembered it, and so it had been forgotten.

      "'At first, on discovering that it was still in my possession, I thought I would burn it. But I gave up the idea for various reasons, chief among which was the fact that the cap was ornamented with a peculiar aigrette, composed principally of metal, which I feared might resist destruction by fire, and so afford a clue to the prying minds of the French police officials. Then I resolved to wait and get rid of it on my way from Paris to Calais, by throwing it out of the window of the train when we passed some solitary spot. But here again, when the time came, my fears conjured up in my mind all sorts of dangerous possibilities, and at last I decided that, as long as the cap remained in my own hands, it would be harmless, and so I kept it.

      "'In London, as you know, I fell upon evil times. My terrible adventure in Paris, which had never troubled my conscience, soon ceased to cause me serious apprehensions, and I became gradually so used to the possession of this strange cap that, when my wardrobe had dwindled down to the narrowest proportions compatible with decency, I had no scruples in actually wearing it with what result you already know.

      "'This, then, is the true story of Evan Llewellyn's death,' I concluded. 'Credit it or not, as you will. I am in your hands. Had I only guessed that night when my subsequent strange adventures began, that this accursed cap was the source of the misunderstanding which led to them I would have cut off my right hand rather than do what I did.'

      "The Confessor rose when I had finished and paced the room for a while in silence. Presently he turned to me and said —

      "'I have no reason to doubt your story. It explains, indeed, more than I had expected.'

      "'Yet, I rejoined, it seems you had already divined that this man Warrington, or Llewellyn, as he called himself, was the Henry Milton whom I personated.'

      "'How I came to know of the existence of Evan Llewellyn,' he said, 'is of small account. What I had learned of him, however, was enough to convince me, firstly, that he was a worthless and desperate character, and secondly, that he depended for his livelihood upon a secret association whose objects were criminal. That he and no other was the Henry Milton to whom the execution of the scheme had been entrusted — which your folly happily thwarted — your own story told me. The rest followed as a natural consequence.'

      "'Yet how could you know that he was dead?'

      "'His cap in your possession afforded alone a strong presumption of his death. His non-appearance during the four months you personated him proved it conclusively. That he had met his death at your hands ——'

      "'Ah, surely,' I broke in, 'I never told you that.'

      "He raised his great penetrating eyes slowly to my face and let them rest there for a moment.

      "'If words were our only means of speech, Walter Davidson,' he said, 'and hearing our only channel of understanding, I could have been of as little use to you in your trouble as you were of use to yourself. You would have kept from me the true source of all your trouble, perhaps successfully, had I not known what I knew. But your attempted concealment of it, whether voluntary or involuntary, afforded me the key to the mystery you yourself had failed to solve. That Evan Llewellyn's mission to Paris had been one of murder I had strong reason to suspect ——'

      "'His mission?' I ejaculated. 'Then you believe he was sent ——'

      "'To remove the Austrian Falkenberg, a renegade member of the very league to whose vengeance you yourself were in peril of falling a victim, assuredly. Hence that wretched man's insistence that the fact of his would-be murderer's death should never be known. Had it been divulged a fresh executioner would have been on Falkenberg's track within a few hours, for the league allows no victim to escape it. Blind as you have been, your folly has unwittingly been the means of frustrating two crimes as daring as human boldness can well conceive. From the vengeance of those whom you have foiled I have been able to save you. As for the rest, I leave you to the judgment of your own conscience.'

      "I have no more to add. That night was the turning point in my life. Of the league I had so strangely become acquainted with I heard no more. True, for months thereafter my footsteps were dogged wherever I went, and at this very day still I know that I am carefully watched and that my sayings and doings are made known by secret spies to those with whose criminal plans I once foolishly interfered. But no harm has ever befallen me.

      "The Confessor I never saw again after that eventful night, and the only direct communication that has ever reached me from him since came a day later in the shape of a note containing these few words —

      "'You are now safe, Walter Davidson. May the lesson your folly has taught you bear good fruit. Remember there is only one road to merit — work — and only one thing truly worth striving for — self-respect. Follow the one and seek the other and you shall never lack a friend in Lauder Caine.'

      "And he has been true to his word. In obedience to his express injunction I never set foot again within the Foreign Office. But I have reason to know that the morning following the strange scene in Verrinder Street the Confessor was closeted for some considerable while with her Majesty's Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Lord Epsom, and that immediately after that interview the Hon. John Courtney was relieved of his duties as private secretary to his lordship. Whether my honourable friend had been in any way implicated in what had occurred I am unable to say. From the fact, however, that he has since entered Parliament, where his duty merely consists in recording his vote for his party whenever the occasion offers, I gather that his dismissal can have been caused by no graver fault than that of incompetence and gullibility.

      "To me work and employment now came from quarters where I had least expected them, and I may say to-day without presumption that by dint of untiring push and industry I have risen to a position in the calling I adopted such as not many would in so short a space of time have attained, beginning as I did.

      "To whom I owed my start in this profession, and whose was the unseen hand which, during the first months of my new struggles, sustained and upheld me on many an occasion of doubt and hesitation, need I say? There are many I know who have cause to bless Lauder Caine the Confessor, but assuredly none more than I."

*       *       *       *      *

      Here the memoir of Walter Davidson ends. Little remains for me to add to it. The adventure with the cap, and its strange sequel at the house in Verrinder Street, will probably meet with incredulity on the part of some readers. Be it so. As for myself, I have long ceased to doubt or marvel at anything, however strange and incredible it may appear, in which Lauder Caine is concerned.

      There is only one thing I regret. My curiosity to fathom the knowledge the Confessor undoubtedly possesses of the aims and doings of the formidable league in whose meshes my dead friend Davidson became involved has hitherto not been gratified. Once only have I ventured to interrogate Lauder Caine himself on the subject. I was in a measure compelled to do so, since circumstances obviously rendered it necessary for me to consult his wishes before proceeding to publish the foregoing facts to the world. But beyond remarking upon what he termed the curious coincidence which had enabled him to enlighten old Llewellyn as to the fate of his precious son, he vouchsafed no information whatever, and indeed studiously avoided all reference to the league whose history, more particularly in connection with himself, I was so anxious to learn.

      On one point however I did obtain a certain interesting light from him. The cipher despatch, to gain possession of which such elaborate preparation had been made, proved to be a document of vast political importance, and the consequences that might have resulted, had the scheme for its abstraction succeeded, would have been incalculable, involving a possible breach in the friendly relations of two of the great European Powers. For what purposes however, and at whose instance the copy was to have been made, remains a mystery.

      "On such apparently trifling circumstances," Lauder Caine said, when he gave me this startling piece of intelligence, "does the fate of nations sometimes hang."

      And indeed what could illustrate this truth more forcibly than the story here told? That the extremes of life often meet is a fact perhaps too frequently dwelt upon to be worth repeating. Yet, truism or not, who has ever chanced upon one of those tiny subtle threads which run through the knotted chain of human events, connecting the pettiest with the most momentous, without experiencing anew that sense of marvel with which all revelations of nature fill us?

      One more remark of a personal character, and I have done. When I sought Lauder Caine's consent to the publication of Walter Davidson's memoir, I half expected to meet with a stern veto. This was not so, however. In fact the Confessor smiled at the notion that, so far as he himself was concerned, there could be any objection to the intended publication. At the same time he reminded me that the step I contemplated taking might possibly be fraught with unpleasant consequences to myself.

      Possibly this may be so. I am indeed not insensible to the fact that by making Davidson's adventures known I am perhaps running a certain personal danger. But after all, better men than I have staked greater interests on a smaller cause, and so I venture it. If the reader is pleased I will cheerfully bear whatever risk I may have incurred in pleasing him.