The Diamond Coterie - free ebook by Lawrence L. Lynch

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The Diamond Coterie

Lawrence L. Lynch

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TWO SHOCKS FOR W——.

TWO SHOCKS FOR W——.

On a certain Saturday in June, year of our Lord 1880, between the hours of sunrise and sunset, the town of W——, in a State which shall be nameless, received two shocks. Small affairs, concerning small people, could never have thrown W—— into such a state of excitement, for she was a large and wealthy town, and understood what was due to herself. She possessed many factories, and sometimes a man came to his death among the ponderous machinery. Not long since one "hand" had stabbed another, fatall

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W—— INVESTIGATES.

W—— INVESTIGATES.

Wardour Place, the home of Miss Constance Wardour, and the scene of the " great Diamond robbery," lies a little east from the town, away from the clamor of its mills, and the contamination of its canaille . It is a beautiful old place, built upon a slight elevation, surrounded by stately old trees, with a wide sweep of well-kept lawn, bordered with rose thickets, and dotted here and there with great clumps of tall syringas, white lilacs, acacias, and a variety of ornamental trees and flowering s

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"I have a clue."

"I have a clue."

She drew from her pocket a small white roll, and unfolding it, held up for his inspection half of a fine cambric handkerchief, and a tiny stoppered vial of finest cut glass. Doctor Heath glanced at the vial and uttered one word. "Chloroform." "Chloroform," repeated Miss Wardour; "when I was awakened, by the knocking at my door, I found this," shaking the fragment of cambric, "lying lightly across my face; and the vial, on the little night stand beside my bed. Aunt Honor was rapping for admittanc

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A SAMPLE OF THE LAMOTTE BLOOD.

A SAMPLE OF THE LAMOTTE BLOOD.

Mr. Jasper Lamotte is a tall man, a dark man, and a stately man. He is grave of speech, yet very suave and pleasing. He is open handed and charitable, and a very popular man among the people of W——. He will rein in his blooded horses to ask after the health of his factory hands, and doff his hat to the wife of his humblest tenant. He has been for many years a resident of W——. Years ago he was a great traveler, coming and going almost incessantly, but, after a time, he built the largest and newes

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"I am ready to do that at any and all times."

"I am ready to do that at any and all times."

They found Corliss making his final sprawl, and the entire committee of investigation ready with any quantity of newly hatched theories, probable and improbable. Cutting short their eloquence, however, Mr. Lamotte recommended them to talk as little as possible among the townspeople, and to pursue the investigation quietly, after their own light. Then, after a few more words with the fair heiress, father and son took their leave. Left alone, Constance sprang lightly out from the open library wind

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SYBIL'S LETTER.

SYBIL'S LETTER.

It is almost sunset, and Constance Wardour is standing alone at her dressing-room window, which faces the west. It is still in confusion, but she cares little for that. Her thoughts are far away from the "Wardour diamonds" at this moment. Several things have occurred to vex and annoy her to-day, and Constance Wardour, heiress and autocrat, is not accustomed to being annoyed. In fact, so peculiar is her nature, that very few things have power to annoy her; but, just now, she is annoyed because sh

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"John Burrill! Why, he is a Brute!"

"John Burrill! Why, he is a Brute!"

"I thank you for your faith in me," he says, with the shadow of a smile upon his face. "The story is shameful indeed, but it is true . Sybil Lamotte has eloped, and with John Burrill. Listen, before you remonstrate. This afternoon at two o'clock, John Burrill, with a swift horse and shining new carriage, drove boldly up to the side entrance of Mapleton Park. There, Sybil Lamotte was awaiting him; he handed her to his carriage and then drove ostentatiously through the town taking the west road. I

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So he dines at Wardour Place.

So he dines at Wardour Place.

After dinner Aunt Honor occupies herself with the evening paper; and, after a while, Constance and Doctor Heath pass out through the low, broad French window, and stand on the balcony. The light from within falls upon them and that portion of the balcony where they stand. There is a young moon, too; and just beyond is a monster oak, that spreads its great branches out, and out, until they rustle, and sway above the lower half of the long balcony, and rap and patter against the stone walls. "Have

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"Who are you?"

"Who are you?"

Before they can think, the man approaches the balcony, puts his hands upon the railing, and springs lightly over; standing in the full light that falls from within, he doffs his hat like a courtier, and bending before Constance, says, in a voice that is, for a man, singularly rich and mellow: "Madame, I am here at your service. I am Neil J. Bathurst."...

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THE DEDUCTIONS OF A DETECTIVE.

THE DEDUCTIONS OF A DETECTIVE.

Both Constance and Dr. Heath fancy that they comprehend the situation almost instantaneously. The stranger's movements have been so cat-like, his voice so carefully modulated, that Aunt Honor reads on, never dreaming that an addition has been made to the party. Dr. Heath is the first to speak. "Upon my word," he says, with a touch of coldness in his tone; "this is quite dramatic." "It's a very good tableaux," admits the new comer, "but dramatic as the present day drama goes? No, it's too natural

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"Ah! this phial is one of a set."

"Ah! this phial is one of a set."

Doctor Heath nods. "So I thought," he says, glancing at Constance. Once more, and in silence, the detective examines the safe, then he goes quietly about the room not overturning or handling, simply observing closely; then he says: "Now, I think I am done here. We will go down, if you please, and I will give you the benefit of my conjectures." He puts the bottle and the piece of linen in his pocket, and turns from the room. Instinctively he takes the lead, instinctively they follow, naturally ac

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DOCTOR HEATH AT HOME.

DOCTOR HEATH AT HOME.

Doctor Heath and the detective went in silence down the wide shrub-bordered walk, to the spot where the doctor's horse awaited him. Here the detective paused suddenly and listened a moment. "We should not be seen together," he said in a low tone. "Do you mount your horse and ride on slowly, I will follow." "But——" "No buts; I can follow you, never fear; that's my business; do you go straight home and prepare to admit me on the quiet. Stay—have you any gelatine?" "No." "Any plaster of Paris?" "An

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"Are we alone?"

"Are we alone?"

"Quite clear; but how the mischief did you get in there, man?" "Through the door," replied Bathurst, as he followed his host into a cozy parlor, where a shaded lamp burned. "You are not a good sentinel; why, I all but brushed you; have you no sense of feeling, then; why, man, I can recognize a near presence in the darkest room." "Now that I think of it," retorts the doctor, maliciously, "I did feel a queer sensation in the ends of my thumbs. Make yourself at home now; take that chair," rolling a

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A FALLING OUT.

A FALLING OUT.

Constance Wardour arose early on Sunday morning. In spite of youth, health, and her splendid self-poise, she had slept but little; and such slumber as had visited her eyelids, had been haunted by hideous dreams, in which detectives and burglars mixed their identity in the most remarkable manner; and through all, more vivid than all, shone the face of Sybil Lamotte, always agonized, always appealing, always surrounded by dark shadows, and always seeming menaced, terrified, helpless. Such nights o

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The tramp turned and looked back.

The tramp turned and looked back.

"So!" muttered the tramp, with the air of a man who would have been astonished then, but for the fact that he never allowed anything to astonish him. "So he is mixing himself up in this affair! I wonder in what capacity? Can it be that by some means he has been selected to work up this case? Oh! oh! Bless my soul! What a coincidence that would be!" Evidently he had grasped at a new idea, and one that was somewhat startling. He quickened his pace until, unconsciously, it became almost a trot. The

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"Doctor Heath flatters himself."

"Doctor Heath flatters himself."

Still he retains his composure, not guessing at the truth. "I have never presumed Miss Wardour, therefore can not have flattered myself. I may have offended by coming one moment too late with this packet. Miss Wardour is accustomed to unqualified obedience. If I fail in that it is not from lack of inclination, but—because I am just learning submission." He uttered the last words in a lower, softer tone, and fell back as he uttered them, laying his hand upon his hat. Anger, self-shame, and a stra

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ONE DETECTIVE TOO MANY.

ONE DETECTIVE TOO MANY.

"Aunt Honor," said Miss Wardour, sweeping unceremoniously into her aunt's dressing room, "you really must come to my relief." Mrs. Aliston seated in a big dressing chair, with a tempting breakfast tray drawn close beside her, looked up serene and comfortable, and said, after setting down her porcelain chocolate cup with great care. "Yes!" with the rising inflection. "I'm exhausted, bothered, bored," continued the young lady, flinging herself down upon the nearest ottoman. "I wish my old diamonds

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"Here is this man again."

"Here is this man again."

Thoroughly drilled in the art of aiding and abetting her niece, Mrs. Aliston proved equal to the emergency. "It couldn't do any harm," she said surveying the gentleman tramp somewhat superciliously. "He looks quite respectable, for that sort of a person." Constance stifled an inclination to laugh as she said, briskly: "Then we will try him, and I'll just take him to the kitchen, and tell cook what to do with him until Simon comes." "Now just let me do that Con.," remonstrated Mrs. Aliston, "Mr.

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DEDUCTIONS OF DETECTIVE NUMBER TWO.

DEDUCTIONS OF DETECTIVE NUMBER TWO.

The fates seemed propitious on Monday morning. The day dawned fair and balmy, and Constance arose, feeling refreshed and like her own serene self once more. The events of the two previous days no longer seemed to her imagination a chaotic disturbing mass of tribulations; they had arranged themselves in their proper order, been reviewed sensibly, and assigned their rightful places, as things to be overcome, or overlooked, as the case might be. Mrs. Aliston, too, at once discreet and talkative, wa

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"Poor Frank, don't let this overcome you."

"Poor Frank, don't let this overcome you."

One hand reached up and clasped the soft hand that rested on his arm, but he did not lift his head, as he said brokenly: "Tell me the worst, Constance." "Why, Frank! the worst is told." "But," his hand tightened its clasp, " you know more than she has told me." "No, Frank, nothing more." He lifted his pale face again. "Constance—that letter." She started and flushed. "What letter, Frank?" "You know," his eyes scanning her face hungrily. "Her letter. The one I brought you two days ago. What was i

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EVAN.

EVAN.

Miss Wardour and the private detective had just completed their work of transferring to paper a minute description of the Wardour diamonds, when the door opened quietly, and Francis Lamotte, pale, heavy-eyed, but quite composed, appeared before them. "Have you finished your work?" he asked wearily. "If so, may I intrude?" "Come, by all means," replied Constance, gently. "You are not intruding, Frank." "Thank you." He came forward, and sank listlessly into a chair. "Constance, who brought you thi

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"Why, Evan, you look ghostly!"

"Why, Evan, you look ghostly!"

"Or I would not be here," said Evan Lamotte, bitterly. "Evan, the ne'er-do-well, does not seek his friends when the sun shines. Eh, Conny? Don't go in," laying one hand upon her arm, as she was about to turn toward the house, "I—I came to talk with you." "But you will come in, Evan?" "No, I should fall out with your old cat—I beg pardon, Con., I mean your old aunt, directly." "Aunt Honor shut herself in her own room an hour ago, child; she has been worn out with too much excitement. We have had

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THE END OF THE BEGINNING.

THE END OF THE BEGINNING.

Doctor Clifford Heath sat alone in his office at half-past eleven o'clock. His horse, "all saddled and bridled," stood below in the street, awaiting him. On a small stand, near the door, lay his hat, riding whip, gloves. On the desk beside him, lay a small pyramid of letters and papers, and these he was opening, and scanning in a careless, leisurely fashion, with his chair tilted back, his heels on high, his entire person very much at ease. Over one letter he seemed to ponder, blowing great clou

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"You must not have a third attack."

"You must not have a third attack."

"I won't," replied Lamotte, with a nervous laugh. "This one has done me up; I feel weak as a kitten, meek as a lamb." "Humph," this from Doctor Heath, who proceeded to drop into a druggist's glass, sundry globules of dark liquid, which he qualified with other globules from another bottle, and then half filling the glass with some pale brandy, handed it to Lamotte who drained it off eagerly. "Physician, heal thyself," quoted Raymond Vandyck, watching the patient with some interest. "Why don't you

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THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

THE BEGINNING OF THE END.

Saturday, Sunday, Monday, three days; three nights. The events chronicled in the foregoing chapters, crowded themselves into the space of three days. But these were exceptional days; life does not move on thus, especially in the usually staid and well regulated town of W——. Men and women are not qualified to run a long, high pressure race. Action, and then—reaction. Reaction from every emotion, every sorrow, every joy. God help us. We weep for days, but not for years. We suffer, but here and the

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"Conny, it has come."

"Conny, it has come."

"What has come, Evan?" "The day we hoped for; we have heard from Sybil." "A letter! Oh Evan, tell me all about it." "I can't, there is no time; only, Con., it's your turn now. It's your time to strike for Sybil. They are holding council over the letter, and can't decide, whether the old gentleman shall go at once and see Sybil; whether they shall bring her back and swallow the Burrill; for, it seems he must be swallowed, and what society will think about it, are the questions that they are agita

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CONSTANCE'S DIPLOMACY.

CONSTANCE'S DIPLOMACY.

Miss Wardour, being Miss Wardour, was apt to succeed in most things, and it is fair to suppose that her visit to Mapleton, in the character of intercessor for the erring Sybil, was not a fruitless one. Certainly, it was not barren of results. On the day following the call from Constance, Mrs. Lamotte came forth from her seclusion; her carriage bore her out from the gates of Mapleton, and straight to Wardour Place. Here she took up the heiress and Mrs. Aliston, and the three drove ostentatiously

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JOHN BURRILL, ARISTOCRAT.

JOHN BURRILL, ARISTOCRAT.

Mapleton stands high on an eminence, which may have arisen expressly to hold, and to exhibit, the splendid edifice erected thereon by Mr. Jasper Lamotte. It is the only hill within sight on that side of the river, and renders Mapleton a most conspicuous as well as most beautiful abiding place. In front of the dwelling and its grounds flows the river, broad and glittering in the sunshine, on this day of which I write. In the rear stretches a grove, large enough to be termed "the grove" by the peo

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"I am happy to know you."

"I am happy to know you."

Somehow, they all breathe freer after that pretty falsehood. John Burrill regains his composure, and relapses into his former state of comfortable gloating. Another face is added to the circle of high-bred people around him. He does not talk much, for he is not yet quite at his ease when in conversation with them. As they talk, he thinks what a fine nest this is which he has gained for himself; what a lovely woman is his wife; and how splendidly handsome is Miss Wardour. He thinks how, by and by

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DIAMONDS.

DIAMONDS.

Constance followed her friend up to the room where they had so often passed long hours together, wondering idly at Sybil's composure and seeming resignation, and shudderingly recalling the blank devouring stare of the man who was her husband. It was the first time since Sybil's return that they had been alone together, and Constance half dreaded the interview, as well as wondered not a little that the opportunity was of Sybil's own making; hitherto she seemed anxious to avoid a tête-à-tête . Syb

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"I have never once been tempted to self-destruction."

"I have never once been tempted to self-destruction."

Constance Wardour sprang impetuously to her feet, and paced the length of the boudoir again and again in perfect silence. The terrible weight of torment that was crushing Sybil's heart, and maddening her brain, seemed to rest, too, upon her, and weigh down her spirits; she was tortured with the sight of Sybil's misery, and the thought of her own helplessness. Could nothing be done? Struggling for an appearance of composure, she paced to and fro, and at last, having mastered her feelings, and arr

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IN OPEN MUTINY.

IN OPEN MUTINY.

Sybil sat alone in her boudoir. It was yet early in the evening, but, feeling little inclined to remain in the society of her family, who assembled, with all due formality, in the drawing room on "at home" evenings, and most of their evenings were spent at home now, she had withdrawn, pleading fatigue after their drive. The night outside was balmy enough, but Sybil had ordered a light fire in the grate, and she sat before it with all the rays from a fully illuminated chandelier falling directly

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Only a moment did Sybil listen.

Only a moment did Sybil listen.

Five minutes, ten, and still they talked, and still Sybil stood, moveless and intent. Then, drawing back suddenly, she ran hurriedly down the hall, and had gained the foot of the stairs before the sound of the opening door admonished her that she had escaped none too soon. In a moment she had entered the drawing room, and, with more of her olden gayety than they had seen in her manner for many long days, approached the loiterers at the piano. "Mother! mother! your hand is out of time!" and, in a

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"It is not in his power or yours to alter my decision."

"It is not in his power or yours to alter my decision."

Mr. Lamotte turned to his wife. "You must talk with that girl," he said, savagely, "what the devil ails you all?" Mrs. Lamotte arose and faced him. "I should be wasting my breath," she replied, looking him straight in the eye. "You have tried that girl a little too far, Mr. Lamotte," and she followed after her daughter. A roar, not unlike the bellow of a bull, recalled Mr. Lamotte to the business of the moment. John Burrill, having recovered from his momentary stupor of astonishment, was dancing

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THE PLAY GOES ON.

THE PLAY GOES ON.

When Sybil Burrill, after uttering her defiance in the face of father and husband, had swept from the room, closely followed by her mother, another form moved away from the immediate vicinity of the most accessible drawing-room window,—the form of Evan Lamotte. Crouching, creeping, shivering, cursing, he made his way to the spot where he had left Frank's horse, and led it toward the stables. Anything but sober when he commenced his vigil underneath the drawing-room windows, he had been shocked i

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Evan saw Sybil and Frank canter away.

Evan saw Sybil and Frank canter away.

"Act one in the insurrection," said Evan, as he turned away from the window. "Now let me prepare for action." His preparations were few and simple; he removed his boots and coat, and crept out, and softly along the hall until he reached Burrill's door. Here he paused, to assure himself that he was not observed, and then softly tried the door; as he had expected, it opened without resistance, for Burrill had been escorted to bed, by his faithful father-in-law, in a state of mellowness, that precl

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JOHN BURRILL, PLEBEIAN.

JOHN BURRILL, PLEBEIAN.

It is night, late and lowering; especially gloomy in that quarter of W—— where loom the great ugly rows of tenements that are inhabited by the factory toilers; for the gloom and smoke of the great engines brood over the roofs night and day, and the dust and cinders could only be made noticeable by their absence. In a small cottage, at the end of a row of larger houses, a woman is busy clearing away the fragments of a none too bountiful supper. A small woman, with a sour visage, and not one ounce

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"Then take that, and that."

"Then take that, and that."

A rain of swift blows; a shriek ringing out on the stillness of the night; then a swift step, the door dashed in, and John Burrill is measuring his length upon the bare floor. The woman reels, as the clutch of the miscreant loosens from her arm, but recovers herself and turns a bruised face toward the timely intruder. It is Clifford Heath. "Are you badly hurt?" he asks, anxiously. She lifts a hand to her poor bruised face, and aching head, and then sinking into a chair says, wearily: "It's nothi

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NANCE BURRILL'S WARNING.

NANCE BURRILL'S WARNING.

The sudden and surprising exit of Burrill caused, for a moment, a stay of proceedings, and left the group, so rapidly gathered in Nance Burrill's kitchen, standing en tableaux , for a full minute. Dr. Heath was the first to recover from his surprise, and as he took in the absurdity of the scene, he uttered a low laugh, and turned once more toward the woman, Nance, who seemed to have lost herself in a prolonged stare. "Your persecutor does not like my looks, apparently," he said, at the same time

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"It's the other one," he muttered.

"It's the other one," he muttered.

A few lights were glimmering, here and there, as he turned down the, not very elegant, street on which was located the haven of "Forty Rods," and when he was within a block of the place, a man, coming suddenly around the corner, ran square against him. Burrill uttered an oath, as he with difficulty regained his balance, but the new-comer called out in a voice, a little unsteady from some cause: "Helloa! B—Burrill, that yer, ole feller? Didn't mean ter knock against yer, give-ye my word I didn'.

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CONSTANCE AT BAY.

CONSTANCE AT BAY.

"It is impossible, sir! utterly impossible! and, pardon me for saying it, most absurd! This matter has been dragged on too long already. And on such evidence I utterly refuse to follow up the case. You have done well, undoubtedly, but it was only at the urgent request of Mr. Lamotte that I have allowed it to continue, and now I wash my hands of the whole affair." It is Constance Wardour who speaks, standing very straight and with head very firmly poised, and wearing upon her face what Mrs. Alist

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"Stay a moment, sir."

"Stay a moment, sir."

"No, madam: I will simply place the facts I have gathered before the town authorities, and leave them to use the knowledge as they see fit. I then withdraw from the field, unless called upon as a witness, when, of course, I must do my duty." Miss Wardour stood for some moments in silent thought, one small foot tapping nervously the while, a sure sign of irritation with her. At last she said, slowly, and with an undertone of sarcasm, that she made a futile effort to conceal: "I think I comprehend

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APPOINTING A WATCH DOG.

APPOINTING A WATCH DOG.

Doctor Heath stood at his office window looking out upon the street, and whistling softly. Below and directly under his gaze, stood a fine bay horse, harnessed to a new light road wagon; and horse and owner were somewhat impatiently waiting the arrival of Ray Vandyck, who was under engagement to drive with Doctor Heath, and pass his opinion on the "points" of the handsome bay, a recent purchase of the doctor's, who was a lover of a good horse and a fine dog, and was never without one or more spe

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"I'll be hanged if I can understand it."

"I'll be hanged if I can understand it."

"Of course you can't, 'it' having emanated from the brain of a woman. I only hope your inability to comprehend the incomprehensible is the worst feature in the case." "But it isn't," protested Ray. "I must renounce my drive, and your charming society." "Really! is she so imperative, and are you so much her bond slave?" Ray laughed. "Imperative," he cried. "You need not have asked, had you known the name affixed to this missive, and you would obey it with as much alacrity as I shall. Listen, Heat

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THE WATCH DOG DISCHARGED.

THE WATCH DOG DISCHARGED.

The three days that followed were days of unrest to Constance Wardour. The intangible, yet distinctly realized trouble, and fear, and dread, were new experiences in her bright life. The mystery round about her, her inability to cope with the unknown, the inaction, the waiting, was almost more than she could calmly endure; and all this distress of mind and unrest of body was for others. Personally, she had nothing to fear, nothing to annoy her; but the warm-hearted heiress made a friend's cause h

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"I hope you'll excuse me."

"I hope you'll excuse me."

"I'm to wait for the answer," he said, and took up his position beside his wares. Constance opened the letter, with a hand trembling with eagerness. It ran: Miss Wardour :—By all means keep the secret of the diamonds, and trust all to me. I think it best not to come to you, as Belknap keeps a constant watch upon your movements; dismiss him as soon as you like. Have no fears regarding Heath, I have his enemies well roped; be assured that I shall be on hand when needed, and when you see me expect

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"Well, Roarke, are you ready for business?"

"Well, Roarke, are you ready for business?"

And the tramp replied: "You bet, if it's a solid racket." "Then follow me, at a distance, until we reach a place where we can talk things over." And Mr. Belknap moved on, never once glancing back. The tramp once more seated himself beside the fence, and resumed his occupation. When the last scrap of food was devoured, he arose, and, taking up a rough stick that served as a cane, he followed the receding form of the private detective. At sunset, Ray Vandyck presented himself punctually for furthe

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FATHER AND SON.

FATHER AND SON.

At early morn on the next day, Jasper Lamotte and his son, Frank, were seated together in the dining-room of Mapleton. Jasper Lamotte was hurriedly eating a bountiful and appetizing lunch, and washing it down with plenty of light claret; and Frank was seated near the table, smoking a strong segar, and giving an attentive ear to the words of his sire. "This is the first time that we have got the lead on Burrill," said the elder Lamotte, "and in some way it must be made to count. Drunk or sober, h

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"If you ever see me again, you'll see me sober."

"If you ever see me again, you'll see me sober."

Mr. Lamotte uttered a skeptical laugh and turned away. The train was there, and it bore cityward the gentlemanly Mr. Lamotte, and the half-inebriated loafer, Brooks....

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A DAY OF GLOOM.

A DAY OF GLOOM.

All that day, or what remained of it after his father's departure, and the almost simultaneous withdrawal of the private detective, Frank Lamotte passed in an uneasy reverie. He had much at stake; and, now that the crisis of his fortunes was so near at hand, he began to review his ground, and every word, look, and tone of Constance Wardour, as he recalled them, one by one, was to him a fresh puzzle. Six months ago, Frank Lamotte would have scoffed at the suggestion of a refusal even from the pro

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"You promise never to marry Francis Lamotte?"

"You promise never to marry Francis Lamotte?"

"I swear it." A coarse laugh, a smothered oath; they both turn swiftly, and there, in the doorway, smelling of tobacco and brandy, and shaking with coarse laughter, is John Burrill, and beside him, with clenched hands, swollen temples, drawn, white lips, stands Francis Lamotte. Stands! No. He reels, he clings to the door-frame for support; his enemy is upon him. Sybil draws herself erect; the red blood flames to her face; the fire darts from her eyes; she lifts one slender arm and points at the

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THAT NIGHT.

THAT NIGHT.

At ten o'clock that night, business was running lively at the low ceiled, dingy, riverside saloon, that was most popular with the factory men, the colliers, the drovers, and the promiscuous roughs of W——, and that bears the dignified title of "Old Forty Rods." The saloon is well patronized to-night. At the upper end, nearest the door, "Old Forty," in person, is passing liquors across the bar, and bawling orders to a nimble assistant, while every now and then he addresses a coarse jest to some on

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PRINCE'S PREY.

PRINCE'S PREY.

The morning of the following day breaks gray and dismal. The wind has been blowing all the night through, and wherever a tree stands, there the fallen leaves lie, thick and rain-soaked; for it is raining, drizzling weather, and above, below, and around, all is gray, and dull, and dreary. Dr. Heath's cottage stands aloof from all other dwellings, quite by itself, for the houses stand wide apart in this suburban portion of the town, and he has selected the pretty place because of its quiet beauty,

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The cottage stands quite by itself.

The cottage stands quite by itself.

Opposite the doctor's cottage stands a handsome dwelling, far back among the trees. It is the home of Lawyer O'Meara and his wife; and the two are the doctor's firm friends. Beyond the O'Meara dwelling and on the same side of the street, stretches a row of cottages, built and owned by Mr. O'Meara. These are occupied by some thrifty mechanics, and one or two of the best of the mill workers. They are neat, new, tasteful, and well cared for by their tenants. Clifford Heath awakes a little later tha

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"Prince, come away, sir!"

"Prince, come away, sir!"

The dog crouches, quails for a moment, then utters a low growl, and tries to shake himself free; for the first time, he refuses to obey his master. But it is his master; there is a short, sharp struggle, and then the brute cowers, whining at his feet. "Wait!" he says, imperiously to the men, and then, speaking a stern word of command, he strides away, followed by the conquered and trembling brute. It is the work of a moment to chain him fast; and then Clifford Heath goes swiftly back to the men,

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A TURN IN THE GAME.

A TURN IN THE GAME.

It is John Burrill! Lying there, half buried still, with clenched hands and features distorted. It is John Burrill, dead. Clifford Heath utters a sharp exclamation. He starts forward suddenly, and looks, not upon the dead face, but straight at the white thing that is still held in the hand of one of the masons. Then he snatches it from the man fiercely, looks at it again and more closely, and lets it fall from his grasp. For a moment all is black to his vision, and over his face a ghastly pallor

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"Why, boy! Bless me."

"Why, boy! Bless me."

"I say," he calls to the porter who brings up his valise, "when that young image boy comes, just send him along to me; I owe him some damages." A few minutes later, the boy enters the office and deposits his disordered tray upon a chair. "Come along, you," calls the porter, gruffly. "The gentleman's looking for you." "Wait a minit, can't ye?" retorts the boy coolly. "I jest want to take account of stock." He drops on one knee and rearranges his tray with great care and no haste. "There!" he excl

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INTRODUCING MR. SMITH.

INTRODUCING MR. SMITH.

All that long morning Clifford Heath sat alone in his cosy, parlor, and what his thoughts were no observer, had there been such, could have guessed. His features were grave, even stern, but there was no apprehension, no expectancy, no fear; nothing but calm gravity and inflexible haughtiness could be discerned in the face that was sometimes bent over a favorite book, sometimes submerged in clouds of smoke from his big German meerschaum; but that never once turned toward the window that overlooke

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"Any of the stiff's friends in this gang?"

"Any of the stiff's friends in this gang?"

The satellite of "Old Forty," who had at first seemed somewhat disposed to resent too much familiarity on the part of the stranger, turned toward him, drew closer, and allowed his features to relax into a grin of friendliness. He had not been so fortunate as to receive a morning dram, and the breath of the stranger had wafted to his nostrils the beloved, delicious odor of "whisky killers." "Hush!" he whispered confidentially, "that man over there the tall, good-looking one with the whiskers, d'y

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OPENLY ACCUSED.

OPENLY ACCUSED.

It is three o'clock. The rain has ceased falling, but the sky is still gray and threatening. The wind howls dismally among the old trees that surround John Burrill's shallow grave, and its weird wail, combined with the rattle and creak of the branches, and the drip, drip of water, dropping from the many crevices into the old cellar, unite to form a fitting requiem for an occasion so strange, so uncanny. Down in the cellar, standing ankle deep in the mud and slime, are the "good men and true," wh

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"Did you ever see that knife before?"

"Did you ever see that knife before?"

"I can't say, sir," turning it carelessly in his hands, and examining the spots upon the blade. "Did you ever see one like it?" "Yes, sir." "Did you ever own one like it?" "I do own one like it." "Are such knives common?" "They are—to the surgical profession." "Do you own more than one knife of this sort?" "I do not." "Did you ever own more than one like this?" "Not at the same time." "Then you have lost a knife like this?" "No; but I have broken two." "When did you last see deceased alive?" "No

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AN OBSTINATE CLIENT.

AN OBSTINATE CLIENT.

"There, sir; I think we understand each other, sir." "Humph! well, that's according to how you put it. My knowledge is sufficient unto the day, at any rate. I am to visit Heath at once, taking young Vandyck with me; I am to insist upon his making a strong defence, and to watch him closely. Vandyck is to add his voice, and he'll do it with a roar, and then we are to report to you. Is that it?" "Exactly." The speakers are Lawyer O'Meara and "Mr. Wedron, of the New York Bar;" for more than an hour

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They find Corliss at the Sheriff's desk.

They find Corliss at the Sheriff's desk.

But O'Meara, who possesses all the brusqueness of the average Yankee lawyer, has no mind to argue the case. "I don't know, sir," says Corliss, with some pomposity. "Really, I consider Heath a very unsafe prisoner, and—" "The deuce you do," breaks in the impatient lawyer. "Well, I'll promise that Doctor Heath shan't damage you any, so just trot ahead with your keys, and don't parley. My time is worth something." Corliss slips down from his stool and looks at Ray. "But Mr. Vandyck, sir?" he begins

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BEGINNING THE INVESTIGATION.

BEGINNING THE INVESTIGATION.

"Well!" It is Mr. Wedron, of the New York Bar, who utters this monosyllable. He sits at the library table in the little lawyer's sanctum; opposite him is his host, and a little farther away, stands Ray Vandyck; a living, breathing, gloomy faced but mute interrogation point. He has just been introduced to Mr. Wedron, and he is anxiously waiting to hear how these two men propose to save from the gallows, a man who will make no effort to save himself. "Well!" repeats Mr. Wedron, "you have seen the

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"Softly, Sir; softly; reflect a little."

"Softly, Sir; softly; reflect a little."

The calm, resolute tones of the stranger have their weight with the mystified Ray. Instinctively he feels the power of the man, and the weight of the argument. "What do you wish to know, sir?" he says, quietly. "I am ready to serve Clifford Heath." "Ah, very good;" signing to O'Meara. "First, sir, as a friend of Doctor Heath, do you know if he has recently had any trouble, any disappointment? He is a young man. Has he been jilted, or—" "Ah-h-h!" breaks in O'Meara; "why didn't you ask me that, We

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AN APPEAL TO THE WARDOUR HONOR.

AN APPEAL TO THE WARDOUR HONOR.

During the night that saw Sybil Burrill's reason give way under the long, horrible strain, that had borne upon it; the night that witnessed the downfall of Frank Lamotte's cherished hopes, and closed the earthly career of John Burrill; Mrs. Lamotte and Mrs. Aliston hovered over the bed where lay Sybil, now tossing in delirium, now sinking into insensibility. Early in the evening, Dr. Heath had been summoned, and he had responded promptly to Mrs. Lamotte's eager call. They could do little, just t

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"Sybil Lamotte shall die in her delirium."

"Sybil Lamotte shall die in her delirium."

Over the face of Constance Wardour crept a look of horror indescribable. In an instant her mind is illuminated, and all the fearful meaning of Mrs. Lamotte's strange words, is grasped and mastered. She reels as if struck by a heavy hand, and a low moan breaks from her lips. So long she stands thus, mute and awe-stricken, that Mrs. Lamotte can bear the strain of suspense no longer. "For God's sake, speak," she gasps; "there have been those of your race who could not abandon a fallen friend." Over

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I CAN SAVE HIM IF I WILL.

I CAN SAVE HIM IF I WILL.

Doctor Benoit was old and deaf; he was also very talkative. One of those physicians who invariably leave a titbit of news alongside of their powders and pellets. A constant talker is apt to be an indiscreet talker, and, very often, wanting in tact. Doctor Benoit was not so much deficient in tact, as in memory. In growing old, he had grown forgetful, and not being a society man, social gossip was less dear to his heart than the news of political outbreaks, business strivings, and about-town sensa

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"Constance Wardour, you love Clifford Heath."

"Constance Wardour, you love Clifford Heath."

"This is too much! This is horrible!" She makes a mad effort to free herself from his grasp. The question comes like a taunt, a declaration of her helplessness. Coming from him, it is maddening. It restores her courage; it makes her mistress of herself once more. "Don't repeat that question," she says, flashing upon him a look of defiance. "I do repeat it!" he goes on wildly. "Go to O'Meara; to whom you please; satisfy yourself that Clifford Heath has a halter about his neck; then come to me, an

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A LAST RESORT.

A LAST RESORT.

Like a man in a dream, Frank Lamotte obeys his father's call, never once thinking that the summons is strangely worded. Over and over in his mind the question is repeating itself—What did she mean? Was he going mad? Was he dreaming? Had Constance Wardour really said a word that rendered himself and all that household unsafe? If she knew who should stand in Clifford Heath's stead, would she really spare the culprit? No; it was impossible. Was her talk bravado? was she seeking to deceive him? "Imp

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A STRANGE INTERVIEW.

A STRANGE INTERVIEW.

While Frank Lamotte, in his own chamber, is preparing himself for emergencies, Constance Wardour stands by the bedside of her unconscious friend, struggling for self control; shutting her lips firmly together, clenching her teeth; mastering her outward self, by the force of her strong will; and striving to bring the chaos of her mind into like subjection. Three facts stare her in the face; three ideas dance through her brain and mingle themselves in a confused mass. Clifford Heath is in peril. S

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"Another, Miss Wardour, is—yourself."

"Another, Miss Wardour, is—yourself."

"Myself!" She bows her face upon her hands, and convulsive shudders shake her form. She sits thus so long that O'Meara becomes restless, but Mr. Wedron sits calm, serene, expectant. By and by she lifts her head, and her eyes shine with the glint of blue steel. "You are right, sir," she says in a low, steady voice. "I can tell more than is known. It may not benefit Doctor Heath; I do not see how it can. Nevertheless, all that I can tell you shall hear, and I only ask that you will respect such po

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TWO PASSENGERS WEST.

TWO PASSENGERS WEST.

Late that night a man is walking slowly up and down the little footpath that leads from the highway, just opposite Mapleton, down to the river and close past that pretty, white boat house belonging to the Lamotte domain. He is very patient, very tranquil in his movements, and quite unconscious that, crouched in the shadow, not far away, a small figure notes his every action. Presently a second form emerges from the gloom that hangs over the gates of Mapleton, and comes down toward the river. Jus

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"Mr. Belknap, it is I."

"Mr. Belknap, it is I."

There is a moment's silence, and then she speaks again: "You are disappointed, Mr. Belknap; you expected to meet another, who would pay you your price for—you know what. You will not see that other one; she is hovering between life and death, and her delirious ravings have revealed you in your true character. You may wonder how I have dared thus to brave an assassin, a blackmailer. I am not reckless. If I do not return in ten minutes, safe and sound, the boat house will be speedily searched and

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SOME EXCELLENT ADVICE.

SOME EXCELLENT ADVICE.

Early on the following morning, there was unusual stir about Mapleton. John Burrill was to be buried that day, and the sad funeral preparations were going on. People were moving about, making the bustle the more noticeable by their visible efforts to step softly, and by the low monotonous hum of their voices. Up stairs, the usual quiet reigned. Sybil was sleeping under the influence of powerful opiates, administered to insure her against the possibility of being overheard in her ravings, or of w

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BELKNAP OUTWITTED.

BELKNAP OUTWITTED.

"If you please, Mr. Lamotte," said that gentleman's coachman, appearing before his master, less than an hour before the time appointed for the moving of the funeral cortege, and looking much confused. "If you please, sir, I've had a misfortune with my hand, sir; at least, my wrist; it's sort of sprained, and I most fear I can't handle the reins proper, for the horses is mighty full of life, bein' so little used of late." "Well, well," broke in Mr. Lamotte. "I suppose you can get a man to fill yo

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"Cap'n, you're a good fellow."

"Cap'n, you're a good fellow."

"That was a big failure," replied the coachman, knowingly. "You just see that the horses are done off all right, won't you? I must look after the carriage." "It was lucky for me that I happened to know the history of these horses," mused Jerry Belknap, for he it was who leaned confidingly over to stroke the sleek sides of one of the splendid bays, and who had bribed Mr. Lamotte's coachman with a ten dollar bill. "If I drive the Lamottes, I'm sure of a hearing, and no audience; at the worst if th

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"My friend, come down off that."

"My friend, come down off that."

The man on the box stared down at him in amazement. "But, sir," he began. "I want no words from you, sir; you can't drive my horses. Come down instantly." The discomfited Belknap writhed in his seat, and looked about him helplessly. Before were the pall-bearers, looking back from their open vehicle, and noting the scene; on the steps, and within easy hearing distance, were gathered the small knot of gentlemen, who, for courtesy's sake, or for policy's sake, had gathered to do honor to Mr. Lamott

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"WILL LOVE OUTWEIGH HONOR?"

"WILL LOVE OUTWEIGH HONOR?"

"Dr. Heath, here is another visitor." Clifford Heath turned slowly away from the small iron-barred window; he looked a trifle disturbed by this announcement, for he had just been interviewed by Mr. O'Meara, who for the first time had presented Mr. Wedron, and the two had left him much to think about. The look of annoyance left his face, however, and a stare of surprise took its place, when, following upon the footsteps of the janitor, came Constance Wardour, not closely veiled and drooping, afte

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"That hope is ended now."

"That hope is ended now."

It had come; the decisive moment. She could go away now with sealed lips, and it would end indeed. She could turn away from him, leaving happiness behind her; taking with her his happiness, too; or, she could speak, and then— She looked about her; and the bare walls and grated windows gave her strength to dare much. Had they stood together out under the broad bright sunlight; he as free as herself, she could have turned away mutely, and let her life go on as it would. Now—now his present was ove

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"TOO YOUNG TO DIE."

"TOO YOUNG TO DIE."

Over days, filled with weary waiting and marked by few incidents and no discoveries, we pass with one glance. Clifford Heath's trial follows close upon his indictment. A month rolls away, and with the first days of winter comes the assembling of judge and jury, and his case is the first one called. During the weeks that have intervened between his arrest and this day of his trial, Constance has been his bravest champion and truest friend; she has stimulated him to hope, and incited him to courag

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SIR CLIFFORD HEATHERCLIFFE.

SIR CLIFFORD HEATHERCLIFFE.

It is the opening hour of Clifford Heath's trial. The court room is crowded to its utmost capacity; never has there occurred a trial there so intensely interesting to all W——. The prisoner is a little paler, a little graver than his ordinary self. But is his ordinary self in every other respect; as proud of bearing, as self-possessed, as handsome, and distingue as ever. Beside him sits Mr. O'Meara, alone. Mr. Wedron, after all his labor, and his seeming interest, is unaccountably absent; unaccou

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"Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty?"

"Prisoner at the bar, are you guilty or not guilty?"

The reading of the indictment has turned all eyes upon the prisoner's face. He stands erect, his head haughtily poised, his clear dark eyes fixed fully upon the judge. "I am not guilty, your honor." A murmur runs through the court room. The stranger bends to whisper to Constance. The trial proceeds. Once again all the evidence brought forward at the inquest is repeated—sworn to—dilated upon. Once again it presses the scales down, down, down, and the chances for the prisoner hang light in the bal

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A TORTURED WITNESS.

A TORTURED WITNESS.

There is a profound sensation in the court room. Constance Wardour catches her breath, and bends forward to look at her lover, the color coming and going hotly in her cheeks. She had chosen to hear nothing of his past, and so Mr. O'Meara has introduced the Honorable George Heathercliffe, that morning, saying only: "A most important witness, Constance; a strong witness." "He is Sir Clifford Heathercliffe, and my elder brother." Mr. Rand, the prosecuting attorney, moves uneasily in his seat, and b

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"It was found beside the body of John Burrill."

"It was found beside the body of John Burrill."

Frank Lamotte's hands go up to his head, his pale face becomes livid, his eyes seem starting from their sockets; he gasps, staggers, falls heavily in a dead faint....

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JUSTICE, SACRIFICE, DEATH.

JUSTICE, SACRIFICE, DEATH.

And there is confusion in the court room. Mr. Rand bounds angrily to his feet, then reseats himself suddenly, and without opening his lips. As they bear Frank Lamotte from the room, O'Meara's voice rises and rings clear above the buzz and bustle: "That witness must not be permitted to leave the court." Then he stands gazing about him like a small, rampant lion; his eyes flashing, his nostrils quivering, his whole manner betokening that he is warming to his work. Presently the room is quiet again

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They come slowly forward.

They come slowly forward.

They pass so close that the lady's trailing silks brush against the feet of Jasper Lamotte, but she never vouchsafes a glance to husband or son, and Evan's eyes are set straight before him, fixed on vacancy—unseeing orbs of fire, set in a spectral face. Presently, they are seated near the group gathered about the prisoner, and then Mr. Wedron confers with Mr. O'Meara. As they talk, the little lawyer's face becomes grave, even to sadness, and when he rises to address the Court, his tone is subdue

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There is a flash—a loud report.

There is a flash—a loud report.

They lay him gently down, and Jasper Lamotte bids them send for a physician; there must be one very near. But Frank beckons his father to come close, and when the others have drawn back, this is what the father hears, from the son's lips: "There is another—pistol in—my pocket—I meant it for Evan,—you—had better—use it." Horrible words from the lips of a dying son. They are his last. Before Doctor Benoit can turn back and reach his side, Frank Lamotte has finished his career of folly, and sin, an

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A SPARTAN MOTHER.

A SPARTAN MOTHER.

"I never before in all my career, brought to justice a criminal whom I both pitied unreservedly, and justified fully. Viewing all things from his standpoint, Evan Lamotte is less a murderer than a martyr." It is the day after the trial with so strange an ending. They are seated in O'Meara's library; Constance, Mrs. Aliston, Mrs. O'Meara, Sir Clifford, his brother, the Honorable George Heathercliffe, Ray Vandyck, O'Meara, and Mr. Bathurst. Mr. Bathurst, who now appears what he is ; a handsome gen

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TOLD BY A DETECTIVE.

TOLD BY A DETECTIVE.

"For several years past," began Mr. Bathurst, "the city and many of the wealthier suburban towns have been undergoing a systematic overhauling. Through the network of big thefts, and little thefts, petit larcenies and bank robberies, there has run one clear-cut burglarious specialty—a style of depredations noticeably similar in case after case; alike in 'design and execution,' and always baffling to the officers....

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Bathurst telling the story.

Bathurst telling the story.

"I allude to a series of robberies of jewelry and plate, a succession of provoking thefts, monstrous, enough to be easily traced, but executed with such exceeding finesse that, in no single instance, has the property been recovered, or the robbers run to earth. "These fastidious thieves never took money in large amounts, only took plate when it was of the purest metal and least cumbersome sort; and always aimed for the brightest, the purest, the costliest diamonds. Diamonds indeed seemed their s

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THE STORY OF LUCKY JIM.

THE STORY OF LUCKY JIM.

"From the moment when I appeared among you as Brooks, my work was double. I was bent upon posting myself thoroughly in regard to Jasper Lamotte, and day by day I became more interested in the career of this remarkable man. "Step by step, I trod backward the path of his history, since his advent in W——, gathering my information from many sources. "It would be tedious to enter into details; suffice it to say that while I worked here, two others, trained to such research, were beating up the past I

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AFTER THE DRAMA ENDED.

AFTER THE DRAMA ENDED.

"Clifford," says the heiress of Wardour, standing beside her lover, one winter day, not long after the extinction of the Diamond Coterie, "Clifford I have been to Mapleton to-day, for the first time since—" She pauses abruptly, and her lover draws her closer to his side, with all his olden assurance shining in the eyes he bends down upon her. "Since the drama ended," he finishes. "You have been to Mapleton, beloved! tell me about it." "There's something I wish to tell you, Clifford; something th

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