The Pauper of Park Lane

by William Le Queux

the hunchbackinquired. "You have never told me that."

  "It is my own affair," answered Adams, leaning back against themantelshelf.

  "Well, I think between friends there should not be any distrust," Lyleremarked. "You don't think I'd give you away, do you? It's to myinterest to assist you and obtain the thirty thousand."

  "And you will, if you stick to me," Adams answered.

  "But I'd like to know your main object."

  "You know that already."

  "But only yesterday you told me that you don't want a farthing of oldStatham's money."

  "Nor do I. His money has a curse upon it--the money filched from thepockets of widows and orphans, money that has been obtained by fraud andmisrepresentation," cried Adams. "To-day he is respected and lauded onaccount of his pious air and his philanthropy; yet yesterday he floatedrotten concerns and coolly placed hundreds of thousands in his pocket byreason of the glowing promises that he never fulfilled. No!" cried theman, clenching his strong, hard fist; "I don't want a single penny ofhis money. You, Lyle, may have what you want of it--thirty thousand tobe the minimum."

  "You talk as though you contemplated handling his fortune," the otherremarked, in some surprise.

  "When I reveal to him my intentions, his banking account will be at mydisposal, depend upon it," Adams said. "But I don't want any of hisbribes. I shall refuse them. I will have my revenge. It shall be aneye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth. He showed me no mercy--and Iwill show him none--none. But it is Max Barclay who will assist metowards that end, and the girl at Cunnington's, Marion Rolfe, who mustbe made the catspaw."

  Lyle remained thoughtful, his eyes upon the carpet.

  "Yes," he said, slowly, at last. "I quite follow you and divine yourintentions. But, remember she's a woman. Is it just--is it human?"

  "Human!" echoed the cosmopolitan, removing his cigarette as he shruggedhis shoulders with a nonchalant air. "To me it matters nothing, so longas I attain my object. Surely you are not chicken-hearted enough to bemoved by a woman's tears."

  "I don't understand you," his friend declared.

  "No; I suppose you don't," he answered. "And, to be frank with you,Lyle, I don't intend at this moment that you shall. My intention is myown affair. I merely foreshadow to you the importation into the affairof a woman who will, through no fault of her own, be compelled to sufferin order to allow me to achieve the object I have in view."

  The hunchback turned slightly towards the curtained window. He movedquickly in order to conceal an expression upon his face, which, had itbeen detected by his companion, the startling and amazing eventsrecorded in the following chapters would surely never have occurred.

  But John Adams, standing there in ignorance, was chuckling over thesecret of the terrible triumph that was so very soon to be his--atriumph to be secured by the sacrifice of an honest woman!

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  MORE ABOUT MARION.

  The following Sunday afternoon was warm and bright, perfect for up-riverexcursions, and, as was their usual habit, Max and Marion were spendingthe day together.

  Released from the eternal bustle of Oxford Street, the girl lookedforward with eager anticipation to each Saturday afternoon and Sunday--the weekly period of rest and recreation. To the assistant in shopswhere the "living-in" system pertains, Sunday is the one bright intervalin an otherwise dull, dreary, and monotonous life, the day when he orshe gets away from the weariness of being businesslike, the smell of the"goods," and the keen eye of the buyer or shop-walker, and when one isone's own master for a few happy hours.

  To those not apprenticed in their youth to shop-life who, being born ina higher status, have been compelled to enter business as a means oflivelihood, the long hours are terribly irksome, especially in winter,when artificial light is used nearly the whole day. The work issoul-killing in its monotony and the pay very meagre, thereforecustomers need hardly be surprised when a tired assistant does not takethe trouble to exert herself unduly to satisfy her requirements.

  In summer, Marion loved the river. The air was fresh and healthful,after the vitiated atmosphere of the costume department at Cunnington's.Usually Max brought his little motor-boat from Biffen's, at HammersmithBridge, where he kept it, up to Kew, and there they would embark in themorning and run up to Hampton Court, Staines, or even Windsor, gettingtheir luncheon or tea at one or other of the old riverside inns, andspending a lazy afternoon up some quiet, leafy backwater, where, thoughso near the metropolis, the king-fishers skimmed the surface of thestream and the water-lilies lay upon their broad, green leaves.

  Those lazy hours spent together were always delightful, therefore, tothe devoted pair, a wet Sunday was indeed a calamity. On the afternoonin question they had met at Kew Bridge at four o'clock, and as she satupon the crimson cushions in the stern, they were ascending the broadThames, the motor running as evenly as a clock, and leaving a small washin their wake. Marion could not meet her lover before, because she hadspent the morning with a poor girl who had been a fellow assistant atCunnington's, and was now in Guy's Hospital. The girl was friendlessand in a dangerous condition, therefore Marion had given up her morningand taken her some grapes.

  There were not many people on the river, for pleasure-seekers usuallyprefer the reaches above Richmond. The craft they passed was mostlysailing boats, belonging to the club Chiswick, and the inevitable launchof the Thames Conservancy.

  In a well-cut gown of plain white cotton, with lace and muslin at thethroat, a straw hat of mushroom shape, with a band of pale blue velvet,and a white sunshade over her shoulder, she looked delightfully freshand cool. He was in navy serge suit and a peaked cap, and in his moutha pipe.

  Seated sideways in the boat, with the throbbing motor at his feet, hethought he never had seen her looking so chic and indescribablycharming. Those stiff black dresses, which custom forced her to wear inbusiness, did not suit her soft beauty. But in her river dress shelooked delightfully dainty, and he tried to conjure up a vision of whatfigure she would present in a well-cut evening gown. The latter,however, she did not possess. The shop-assistant has but little need ofdecollete, and, indeed, its very possession arouses comment among theplainer, more prudish, and more elderly section of the girls in the"house."

  More than once Max had wanted to take her to the stalls of a theatre inan evening gown, but she had always declared that she preferred wearinga light blouse. As a man generally is, he was a blunderer, and shecould not well explain how, by the purchase of evening clothes, shewould at once debase herself in the eyes of her fellow-assistants. Aswas well-known, her salary at Cunnington's certainly did not allow ofsuch luxuries as theatre gowns, and from the very first she had alwaysdeclined to accept Max's well-meant presents.

  The only present of his that she had kept was the pretty ring now uponher slim, white hand, a ring set with sapphires and diamonds andinscribed within "From Max to Marion," with the date.

  As she leaned back enjoying the fresh air, after the dust and stiflingheat of London, she was relating how pleased the poor invalid had beenat her visit, and he was listening to her description of her friend'sdesperate condition. A difficult operation had turned out badly, andthe surgeons held out very little hope. Not a soul had been to see thepoor girl all the week, the nurse had said, for she had no relatives,and all her friends were in business and unable to get out, except onSunday.

  "I very much fear she won't live to see next Sunday," Marion was saying,with a sigh, a cloud passing over her bright face. "It is so very sad.She's only twenty, and such a nice girl. Her father was a navalofficer, but she was left penniless, and had to earn her own living."

  "Like you yourself, dearest," he answered. "Ah! how I wish I could takeyou from that life of drudgery. I can't bear to think of you beingcompelled to slave as you do, and to wait upon those crotchety old cats,as many of your customers are. It's a shame that you should ever havegone into Cunnington's."

  "Mr Statham, Charlie's employer, holds the
controlling interest in ourbusiness. It was through him that I got in there. Without hisinfluence they would never have taken me, for I had no experience. As amatter of fact," she added, "I'm considered very lucky in obtaining asituation at Cunnington's, and Mr Warner, our buyer, is extremely kindto me."

  "I know all that; but it's the long hours that most wear you out," hesaid, "especially in this close, muggy weather."

  "Oh! I'm pretty strong," she declared lightly, her beautiful eyes fixedupon him. "At first I used to feel terribly tired about tea-time, butnowadays I can stand it very much better."

  "But you really must