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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] THE MURDER AT E4 N -6 NUMBER THIRTEEN: A Boinaitce ofillodern Life. BY JOHN K. LEYS, Author of The Lindsays," &c. dsc. CHAPTER III. THE MISSING LETTER. WHAT do you mean to do?" asked the Major. X'! Nothing What business is it of mine?*' The Major's face fell. 11 1-1 thought that Protheroe being such a friend of youis, you would naturally take an mterest in the matter, and that as you are a lawyer, you would give him the best advice in your power." My dear sir," I said, with a laugh, we lawyers are said to have faces of brass, but we have HOD vet cot the length of offering our Qtcitt-ixwm vices. We wait till we are asked. We are not New Women." But as you are such friends I should have thought you would want-that is, that he would want to see you at once." Very possibly but you see he has not called yet, and I don't see why he should trouble to call on me before office hours. It is quite possible that he may be able to explain his presence at Number Thirteen in the simplest manner. Why should he want to see a lawyer at all ? And if he does, it is very likely that he may prefer one with more experience than I can boast of." Fearful of overdoing it, I said no more, but pro- ceeded with my dressing with the greatest com- posure I could assume. For I need hardly say that I was only talking to put the indefatigable Major off the scent. No question of professional etiquette, I knew very well, would be allowed to interfere between my friend and me. If I served him it would be for love, not money and I was only waiting until the Major should take himself off before I rushed over to Charley's rooms to tell him what I had heard, and to ask him how he came to be in Vinet's house at that time of the morning. I was positively afraid to go till the Major should leave me, for I quite expected that if he knew I was going to Protheroe's he would want to come with me, and, failing that, he would pester me with questions that I could only escape by quarrelling w ith him outright—a thing I did not wish to do. I delayed my dressing as long as I could, hoping that my visitor would take himself off; but he stayed on, (discussing the mysterious occurrence in all its bearings, and hazarding numberless conjec- tures, till I was literally forced to ask him to stay to breakfast. Major Bond stuck to me till I went to my office at ten o'clock as usual. As soon as I had opened my letters, and given a few instructions I hurried off to Charley's lodgings. He was t. A mad idea tormented me. Could it be that ha had absconded ? No! To suppose that would be to believe that he might be guilty of the murder- II. thing I was very far from doing. And yet, when I remembered Charley's hasty temper, his hatred for Vinet, the provocation he might have received from his successful rival, I trembled to think what he might have done. I left word for him that I should like to see him if he came in, and that I would be in my office all the morning. One reason why I was anxious to see him was that I might warn him that the fact that he had been seen leaving the house of the murdered man at a time when all decent people except sweeps and policemen were in bed and asleep, would be known all over Eastcliff in the course of the day. When I went out for lunch I went round to the police-office, thinking that if I could see Superin- tendent.Smith, _whom I knew very well, he would me if anything new had transpired iri connec- tion with the crhtie at Sea View Gardens. I did not see him, but I was told that the revolver with which the murder had been committed had been found close to the body, and partly hidden by it. It seemed to have been the intention of the murderer to make people suppose that the case had been one of suicide and, indeed, that is what would have been commonly believed, had it not been for the fact that the doctors-a second one had been called in by the police-were both emphatic in declaring that the fatal wound could not possibly have been eelf-inflicted. On my way back to my office I passed the Royal Hotel, and standing on the steps in the act of lighting a cigar, I saw Lord Ormidale. He was a tall, thin young man, a year or two older than myself, rather slow, and highly correct in all his movements. If Ormidale had a fault, it was that from his earliest boyhood he had had an exaggerated idea, not so much of his own impor- tance personally, as of that of the order to which ne belonged. I verily believe that he thought that peers who disgraced their rank by frequenting low amusements, marrying actresses, or figuring in the Bankruptcy or Divorce courts, ought to be executed on Tower Hill. He would have objected to hanging them because it was a vulgar punish- ment. Ormidale recognised me at once as I came by. He was the same simple, kindly fellow he had been at Harrow, only a little more dignified and correct I in his demeanour. We greeted each other warmly, and were sorry that we had both had lunch, so that we could not lunqh together. I could not even join him in i stroll on the sea-front, as I had promised to remain in on the chance of Protheroe's calling on me. I felt sure that he had not been home since I had called at his rooms, or he would have been with me long ago. Since you can't come with me, I will go along a bit with you," said his lordship. You have lived here some time, haven't you? he asked. For the last five years," I said. Ah Do you happen to know a family of the name of Braithwaite ? Good old Cumberland family, I believe, though the father is something in the City." I looked at the peer as he spoke. He was blushing slightly, and was nervously examining the end of his cigar. "Oh, yes, I know them," I replied. "Every- body here does." His lordship frowned at his unoffending cigar, and I was sorry I had put, it just in that way. They visit with townspeople, then ? Certainly. With the best families in the place." Ah I-I had been given to understand that they had been a little more exclusive." Miss Braithwaite is very much admired," I P,ut in. Ah Plenty of lovers I suppose?" ■ The tone was jocular, but the underlying manner betrayed a certain nervous anxiety. "Not more than any pretty girl has a right to nave," I answered and then to put the poor man more at his ease I added- She has a companion staying with her-not exactly beautiful, but a very nice girl, and I should think with a will and a mind of her own." My remark was not very apposite, but it seemed *° do something to relieve Lord Ormidale's mind, I proceeded to hint, as delicately as 1 could, jjnat MigS Braithwaite's behaviour, in spite of her beauty and her numerous admirers, was absolutely irreproachable. I thought Ormidale looked at "ce embarrassed and pleased, and I tried to think of another subject of conversation; but my com- panion broke in with— "D'ye know, a very extraordinary thing hap- pened to me to-day. While I was ap lunch it «ame into my head to ask the waiter to see if there were any letters for me. I can't tell why 1 it, for I certainly was expecting none. The an came back and said that there had only been j one which I had had. Now, I had had no e ter, and when I came to make enquiries, it urned out that there had certainly been a letter or me—I suppose it was the title that made them otice it—which had been delivered by hand the 'g before. And some stranger, a well-dressed ?ame hotel shortly after I arrived, a ked coolly up to the letter rack, and appro- priated my letter. The hotel-porter saw him in the of taking it, and he said, it seems, that I had asked him to bring it up with him, and as he walked right on upstairs in the direction of my I bedroom, the man did not interfere. I don't blame | him but it is very odd f "It is odd," I echoed, and a strange foreboding | crept into my mind. I suppose the boots | would know the man again?" I asked after a | pause. I He says so; but, of course, the fellow will j take care to keep out of his way for some time to j come." We had gone as far as my office, and then turned back to the hotel. We were only a few yards from it, when a man whom I recognised as the porter of the Royal Hotel came up to Lord Ormidale and, said, pointing to some one who was a little way in advance— "There is the man who took your letter from the rack, my lord "Where is he? Which is he? Fetch a con- stable, will you ? cried Ormidale, hurrying on. Nonsense, Simpson I cried, sternly. You are quite mistaken." No mistake at all, sir," said the man, sullenly. Lord Ormidale turned to me for an explanation. "I know the man he means," said I; "knew him ever since I left school. We were at Oxford together. He is one of the best fellows that ever lived." haven't mentioned his name," said Ormidale, drily. His name ? Protheroe-Charles Protheroe." It was the first time I had ever spoken that name with a feeling of shame. 441 hardly know what to say," said Ormidale. "The man is very positive." "And I am just as positive thai my friend is incapable—utterly incapable, of stealing anything whatever." It is not quite the same thing, is it ?" Let me see him," I urged. He may have taken your letter under a misconception, and be willing and anxious to return it. Let me question him, and if lie does not satisfy you, I must leave you, I suppose, to take the course you think best." "To ;-hia Oimidale agreed, and I hurried aftel my friiiiid. CHAPTER IV. I A STRANGE SILENCE. i I had lost sight of Protheroe for a moment, while I had been speaking to Lord Ormidale, and to my surprise and annoyance I could not find him. After searching for him for some time in vain, I went back to my office. Later in the afternoon I put away my work, and set out for Egerton Villa, the house in which Charley had lodgings; but I had not gone fifty yards when I met Major Bond, his face shinirw with suppressed intelligence. Well, Major, what is it now t" J Have you heard the news?" "None since I saw you." You C3,n't have heard. It happened only ten minutes ago. Your friend Protheroe has been arrested I felt as if I should fall down on the street, and it was with a great effort that I pulled myself together, and answered with some show of com- posure— The police are always making blunders." The Major only shook his head. "Why, Major! it was only this morning that you were saying something to the same effect." "Ah, it was different then I could not believe that Prot-heroe could be the guilty man, and I thought it would be a good deed, and an interest- ing thing too, to set to work and prove his inno- cence by finding the real criminal. But, I am sorry to say, that Protheroe has cut his own throat, so to speak, and made it practically impossible for any one to believe in his innocence, by trying to bolt!" inonserge !'I Fact. He was arrested when he was on the point of stepping into the London train. What should he want to go to London for at this time of the day, without luggage?" If that was the only reason for his arrest-" Not at all! The police questioned his land- lady, and ascertained that he came home between four and five in the morning, which shows that the sweep was perfectly right. Your friend will have to explain his presence on the spot at the time of the murder, and also his attempt to escape; and I think he will find that a particularly difficult thing to do." He will, no doubt, find it a particularly easy thing to do both of them," I replied with some heat, for I was indignant at the Major for assum- ing so easily that my friend was a murderer; "but I am by no means sure that, supposing I am his legal adviser, I shall allow him to utter a word. You don't understand these things, Major. It is not for an accused man to explain his conduct. It is for the police to prove him guilty-if they can." There was a lot of "bunkum" in what I said, and I knew it but I was bound to show fight for Pro- theroe. Then, seeing signs of mortification on the Major's round face, I added-III am obliged to you for coming to tell me, though. I shall try to see him at once." And you will let me know if-if he can clear himself, won't you ? I shall be anxious about it till I bear from you." I You may depend upon it that I will confide in you everything that I am not forced to keep secret by my professional honour"—that is, everything I don't mind the whole town knowing," I added to myself. In less than an hour I stood in a prison cell, with Charley Protheroe grasping my hand. The sight of his disordered hair and dres;t, nis wild, st-aiing eyes, the whitewashed cell and heavily-barred window, affected me so much that I could not, speak. It was Charley himself who first broke the silence. You didn't expect to see me here, did you, old man ? •' "No; but since you are here, the first thing we muse do is to get you out again as soon as possible." 0 I spoke with a cheerfulness I was far from feeling, but my friend only answered with a faint smile, and an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Come now," said I, seating myself at the table, and pulling out a pockeb ink-bottle and some paper with a business-like air, You make a clean breast of it. Tell me the whole thing, all that you know they mean to bring forward against you, as well as the points in your favour. Or rather, give me a plain, unvarnished narrative in the first place, and you can call my attention to the various points afterwards." I dipped my pen in the ink but Charley sat on the edge of his bed, silent. "Come, I am waiting," said I. "It is awfully good of you, old man, to take so much trouble, and it is only what I expected from you but I am afraid it is of no use." No use ? Nonsense I don't believe you killed Vinet, whatever people may say. I shan't believe it till vou tell me so with your own lips, and then I should believe that you were so exasperated that you didn't know what you were doing. But in order to be of any use to you, I must know all about it. Tell me, now, what took you to Vinet's house last night?" I wasn't there at all." Not there at all!" No." The answers were of the hard, dogged order, such as one hears from an unwilling witness in a court of justice, and I was certain that they were not in accordance with the truth. I was be. wildered, and pained that Protheroe should treat me in this fashion, and I did not take any pains to hide my feelings. „ T Why should you deny it to me, Charley,. 1 said in an injured tone. You were seen leaving the house at four in the morning and, as if that were not enough, your landlady says that you were out all night." Oh, well, if you will have it, I was there. aCharley," said I, much moved, "surely you can trust me ? It you have killed this man, I shall not shrink from you, much less betray you, on that account." He was silent, keeping his eyes bent on the floor of his cell. If you wish any one else to defend you- I don't care to be defended at all-that's the truth." But that is madness Come now, my dear old fellow, tell me all about it." Charley sighed, lifted his weary eyes to my face, .d keeping them fixed there, said, in a strange, monotonous Toiee— I "As I was on my way home last night, j • thought I would look up Vinet, late as it was. I wanted to see him "About what?" About the lawn tennis handicap." The excuse was so evidently manufactured that I disdained to notice the fact, and merely said- 44 Go on." An old woman opened the door to me, and she said that Mr. Vinet had not come in. Would I wait for him? I said yes, and went in. I waited in the sitting-room for a quarter of an hour and then the old woman came back and hinted that I had better go. I said I wanted to see Mr. Vinet particularly, and she said that she did not sleep in the house and that she wanted to go home. I said she might go if she liked, but I was not going away till I had seen her master. She muttered something I did not catch, and went out of the room; and a minute later I heard the street door bang behind her. I didn't know whether she had gone for a constable or not. But it got quite dark, and no one came. I had been playing tennis all the morning, and I was 1 a bit tired, I suppose, and the big chair I had selected was fairly comfortable. Any way, I fell asleep. I was awakened bv the bright sun shining in at the windows. When I looked at my watch, I found that it had run down. So I thought t,he beat thing I could do was to get up and go home. That's all." How much of this was I to believe ? And what could be the man's object in trying to deceive me? You never saw Vinet, then?" I asked. Never. I didn't even know whether he had come home; but I supposed that he had come home, and had gone to bed without coming in to the sitting-room." "You didn't hear any revolver fired, then?" "No; but there is nothing surprising in that. A revolver makes a sharp but not a loud noise, and I was on the other side of the house, fast asleep." Charley," I said, after a long pause, I think it is best to tell you plainly that I do not know whether to believe you or not. I cannot believe all you have told me and I can only say that I hope you have an adequate reason for trying to mislead an old friend, who is doing his best to serve you." "Good God, Jack!" cried Charley, through his teeth, don't make it harder for me than it is." "What is it, Charley? Can't you tell me?" I said in an altered tone, leaning over to him as I spoke. No, I can't," said he; and there was an end of it. "Well," said I, rising to my feet, "all I can do is to wish you a happy deliverance from your troubles, and to say that any hour of the day or night when you wish to see me, I will gladly leave everything else and come." "Thank you, old man," said my friend, in his old cheery tone. There is just one other thing," I said, as I rose to go. "I would not think of bothering you about it at such a time but I pledged my word, in a way, for you, and at any rate there is no harm in asking you the question-Lord Ormi. dale » My friend's face changed as the named passed my lips, and my heart sank. Lord Ormidale told me that some one had come to his hotel (he is staying at the Royal) and-to speak plainly-purloined a letter of his, pretend- ing that he, Lord Ormidale, had sent him for it. And I am sorry to say that the hotel porter swears that you were the man who took the letter. Of course, it is preposterous to imagine that you would do such a thing, but I had to promise Ormidale that I would see you, and "The porter must have made a mistake," said Charley, interrupting me. "Of course. I knew it must be so I suppose I may tell Lord Ormidale from you that you know nothing about his letter ?" "Yes; you may tell him that," with a laugh No hang it all! In this matter I can afford.- perhaps it is better policy—to be sinoere. I took the letter." "You did? Good heavens! What for? Do you know Ormidale ?" Never saw him in my life. But I had a reason for taking the letter. I considered that I was justified in doing so." "My dear fellow, think what you are saying Nothing on earth can justify a man in interfering with another man's correspondence, much less in taking possession of a letter that did not belong to him." You think so ? All I can say, then, is that I don't agree with you." "He must be mad," I said to myself—" quite i mad But there was plenty of method in his madness. At any rate," I said aloud, you will give me the letter to hand to Lord Ormidale ? I answered for you, remember." I am very sorry, Clavering, but it is impossible. I can't give you the letter." "You mean that you won't." I mean that I can't. I burned it." You burned it And am I to tell that to Ormidale ? Just as you please. It really doesn't matter a straw whether you tell him or not; but I'd rather you didn't." "You will at least tell me what was in the letter ? Surely he has a right to know that ? Good heavens Clavering, what do you mean ? cried Charley, glaring at me out of his great hollow eyes. Do you suppose I read the man's letter? Of course I burned it unopened." "But there may have been something of value in it." I knew very well what was in it; you may be sure of that!" May I ask who wrote it ?" "Since I see you have guessed already, I may as well acknowledge to you that it was written by Pierre Vinet. But that piece of information I must beg you to keep to yourself." There was no use in tormenting the poor fellow by putting any more questions; so I renewed my offer of help, if at any time he should change his mind, told him that lie must not lose heart and hope, and after this ineffectual attempt to cheer him, I left him. The clouds seemed to be gathering thiek around my unlucky friend. I could see that this affair of the letter would tell heavily against him if it became known; for it made it Elain that he had been interested in preventing /ord Ormidale and Vinet from holding any com- munication with each other. It seemed—and I shuddered as I recognised the possibility that not- withstanding the faith I still had in my friend's innocence it might be true—that he had taken the Frenchman's life rather than allow them to meet. Not satisfied with the fact that Vinet's lips were for ever sealed, he had by his own con. fession stolen the letter, lest any word from the dead man's mouth should pass to the other's ear And this was Charley Protheroe It was in- credible—unless—unless he was doing all this for another, for one he loved more then himself, more than his life-for Ida Braithwaite Then could she be the murderer ? Equally in- credible She, a gentle, timid, inoffensive girl barely out of her teens—it was impossible But then my thoughts took another turn. Grant- ing that the girl was innocent, that he was not sacrificing himself in order to shield her, if he were himself guilty, why this strange, this unnatural reticence? Why these clumsy attempts to deceive me ? I could have taken my oath that if Charles Protheroe had committed a crime, no matter of how grave a nature, his first impulse would have been to confide in me, in the full assurance that his secret was safe with me, and that, innocent or guilty, I would do my best for him. And yet, I could well believe that murder is like no other crime, that the fear of the scaffold might make it impossible for a man to confess such a crime even to his own intimate friend—even to his own lawyer. On the other hand, Charley had plenty of brains, and he must see that he could take no surer method of securing his own conviction than that he was adopting. I was grieved to the heart for him, but I could do nothing. It was a jungle I could not penetrate -8, knot i could not untie. The last thought I had during the waking hours (and they were many) of that night was that I ought, if possible, in Charley's interest, to see Ida Braithwaite next day, and learn whether she could throw any light upon the matter. Would she do so ? Charley not being her j accepted lover. She owed no special duty to him. j Supposing him to be guilty, she could not clear j him. And if it was she that was the criminal, how could I expect her to put the rope round her neck to save my friend, before the very last moment —before he had been tried, convicted, and sen- tenced ? Yet, I thought it could do no harm for me to see her. (To be continued). I (

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