“No, Zertho. You forget that Liane is my daughter, the daughter of Brooker of the Guards, once an officer, and still, I hope, a gentleman.” “Gentleman!” sneered the other with a curl of his lip. Erle Brooker shrugged his shoulders, but did not reply. “Yet many women would be eager enough to become Princess d’Auzac if they had the chance,” observed the tall, dark-bearded, handsome man, speaking English with a slight accent as he leaned easily against the edge of the table, and glanced around the

“But I love her,” the young man urged. “I can marry no one else.” “Then go abroad, forget her, and remain a bachelor. Erle Brooker’s daughter shall never become a Stratfield,” was the harsh reply, uttered with considerable difficulty. George, a tall well-built young fellow, with fair hair, a fair moustache and blue eyes, was a typical specimen of the English gentleman, still in his well-worn riding breeches and tweed coat, for that morning before the arrival of the doctors he had, in order to ge

From the gateway the mark of the cycle could be traced with ease away towards Burghfield; indeed, a few yards from where the unknown person had apparently met her there were marks of her quick footsteps where she had dismounted. For fully a quarter of an hour the detectives searched both inside and outside the gate trying to distinguish accurately the footprints of the stranger whom she had met, and in this they were actively assisted by the village constable and George, all being careful not to

At that moment, however, the door opened, and a constable putting his head inside called his name. In obedience to the policeman’s request he rose and followed him into the room wherein the court of inquiry had assembled. Having advanced to the table and been sworn, the Coroner addressing him, said,— “Your name is Captain Erle Brooker, late of the Guards, I believe?” “Yes.” “And you identify the body of the deceased. Who was she?” “Helen Mary Bridson, daughter of a brother officer, Captain Brids

“Do not deny the truth,” she answered, in a tone of mild reproach. “I know that before you went to London you sent him a message which, had he been guilty, would have allowed him time to escape.” “But he was entirely unaware of the tragedy,” her father answered, rolling a cigarette with infinite care. “Zertho could have had no object in murdering Nelly. Besides, it had already been proved by the station-master that he had left by the train he saw him enter.” “Then why did you take the trouble to

“Well, Brooker, old chap,” he cried, extending his white hand heartily, “I’m back again, you see.” “Yes,” answered the other, smiling and grasping the proffered hand. “The dignity of Prince appears to suit you, judging from your healthful look.” “It does, Brooker; it does,” he answered laughing. “One takes more interest in life when one has a plentiful supply of the needful than when one has to depend upon Fortune for a dinner.” “I wonder that no one has yet spotted you,” Brooker observed, leani

“At your service, Harrison,” Stratfield answered, in expectation of a five-guinea brief. “What is it? Something for opinion?” “Yes,” answered the elder man, taking a chair. “It is for opinion, but it concerns yourself.” George flung himself into the armchair from which he had just risen, placed his feet upon the fender and his hands at the back of his head, as was his habit when desiring to listen attentively. “Well,” he said, sighing, “about that absurd provision of the old man’s will, I suppos

He smiled, however, when he recollected how, two years before, he had occupied an apartment “au troisième” in the narrow noisy Rue de France, while Liane, Nellie and the Captain had lived equally precariously in the Rue Dalpozzo, close by. Often dependent on his wits for a meal he had more than once, he remembered, strolled out upon that same Promenade where he now walked with Liane, in search of some inexperienced youth from whom he might obtain a few louis at cards, and thus stave off starvati

His hands were clenched, his brow furrowed, and upon his usually merry countenance was a settled look of unutterable despair. “No, it is impossible—absolutely impossible,” he went on, sighing deeply, after a few moments. “To tell her the truth would only be to increase her unhappiness and cause her to hate me, therefore I cannot—I dare not! No; Zertho is inexorable. I must sacrifice Liane in order to save myself.” Again he was silent, pondering deeply, and striving to form some plan by which to

All along the line of the procession and in the thick of the fight bags of ammunition were offered by men, women or boys, who stood beside stalls or, mingling with the crowd, cried “ Bonbon; Bonbon !” As Zertho and Liane walked together, pelting vigorously at a carriage containing three of their friends, an urchin came up to them crying, “ Bonbon !” whereupon Liane, with a mischievous laugh, threw a handful of confetti straight at the crier, much to the urchin’s discouragement. “Come, let us fol

But those sitting around the tables, or standing behind, cared nothing for the world outside, too absorbed were they in the chance of the red or the black. The sun was excluded by blinds closely drawn, and the long windows were all curtained in black or blue muslin, with handsome patterns worked thereon, so that those walking upon the terrace by the blue sunlit sea could obtain no glimpse of what was going on within. The place was close, and there was about it that faint odour which it ever reta

At that moment, however, she felt a light hand upon her shoulder behind her, and a voice exclaimed,— “Liane! At last!” She turned quickly with a start, and next instant found herself face to face with George Stratfield. “You, George!” she gasped, her face blanching. “Yes, darling,” he answered. “I called at your address at Nice, but they told me you had come over here, so I followed. But what’s the matter?” he asked, in consternation. “You are not well. How white you look! Tell me what is worryi

So light-hearted he seemed that possibly he had succeeded in inventing some other system whereby the pockets of the long-suffering public might be touched. Suddenly a footstep on the landing outside caused them both to start and exchange quick glances. Then the bell rang, and the conqueror of the hazard rose and opened the door. Their visitor was Zertho. He was in evening clothes, having left the theatre early to stroll round there. “Well, Mother Valentin,” he exclaimed in French, tossing his ha

To one cause alone was George able to attribute this change in the manner of his well-beloved, the fascination wealth exercises over women. When he compared his own lowly position with that of the man who had taken his place in Liane’s heart, he sighed, and was plunged into deep despair. Indeed, that very morning as he lay awake prior to his coffee being brought, he reflected whether it would not be wiser to return at once to London. But he loved Liane. He would not yet leave her side. She loved

“Yes,” she sighed gloomily. “I know I ought not to have spoken like that, George. Forgive me, I know that happiness is not for me, yet I am trying not to wear my heart upon my sleeve.” “But what compels you to marry this man, who was once an adventurer and swindler, and is still unscrupulous? Surely such a man is no fitting husband for you?” Liane glanced at him quickly in surprise. If her lover knew of Zertho’s past he would no doubt have learnt that her father had also earned a precarious live

A dozen times had she urged him to leave her and return to London, but so full of mystery seemed all her actions that he was more than ever determined to remain and strive to elucidate the reason of her dogged silence, and solve the curious problem of her strange inexplicable terror. It was plain that she feared Mariette Lepage, and equally certain also that this mysterious woman who feigned to be her friend was nevertheless her bitterest foe. The reason of her visit to him was not at all plain.

“How can I regret?” she asked, glancing at him and raising her brows slightly. “How can I regret when the place, so fair in itself, is to me so hateful? No, I’m glad for several reasons that we are leaving.” She recollected at that moment what George had told her. Mariette Lepage was near them. She remembered, too, the fierce expression of hatred in that pair of angry eyes shining through the mask. “Yes,” he said at length, “one can have too much of a good thing, and sometimes it is even possibl

She smiled. Then, while driving along the Avenue de la Gare to the station she told him of Mariette’s past in similar words to those used by Madame Bertholet. He sat listening eagerly, but a dark shadow crossed his features when, in conclusion, she added, “Such, unfortunately, is the woman who is to be bribed to marry you.” They alighted, obtained their tickets, crossed the platform, and entered the rapide . It was crowded with people going to Monte Carlo, and the tunnels rendered the journey ho

“I am not without blame, I admit,” she answered quickly, her flashing eyes darting him an angry look. “Nevertheless, I have to-day determined to make atonement; to end for ever this conspiracy of silence.” Then, turning to Liane, who was standing whitefaced and aghast, she said, “First, before I speak, it will be necessary for you to make confession. Explain to George of what nature is this bond which holds you to yonder man.” “No, I—I cannot,” she protested, covering her face with her hands. “B

“Then Brooker will suffer also,” he cried. “No, he will not,” replied the inventor of “The Agony of Monte Carlo,” quickly. “My evidence will prevent that. I saw you commit the murder, and likewise witnessed how Brooker endeavoured to prevent you.” “Again,” cried Mariette, “there is yet another fact. From inquiries I have made it is plain that some months prior to Nelly’s death she, by word or action, had betrayed her knowledge of your crime committed in Nice.” “I recollect now,” cried Liane, sud

He sprang from the cab, tossed the man a ten-franc piece, and ran up the red-carpeted steps to the atrium, showed his white ticket to the two doorkeepers, and entered the hot, garish gaming-rooms. The atmosphere was troubled, faint with the thousand perfumes exhaled from the tightly-laced corsets of the women. Charming and pretty as many of the latter are, they are, nevertheless, designedly or unconsciously, the most active and dangerous companions at the tables. Their influence upon their fello