without resources."
"You certainly have my entire sympathy," the old lawyer declared,kindly. "But don't take the matter too much to heart. The woman may bealready married. In this case you will receive fifty thousand."
George's face relaxed into a faint smile.
"I have no desire to hear of or see the woman at all," he answered."Act as you think fit, but remember that I shall never offer hermarriage--never."
"She may be a pretty girl," suggested the elder man.
"And she may be some blear-eyed old hag," snapped the dead man's son."It is evident from the wording of the clause that my father has heardnothing of either mother or daughter for some years."
"That's all the more in your favour; because if she is thirty or so, thechances are that she is married. At all costs we must discover her."
"The whole thing is a confounded mystery," George observed. "Who thesepeople are is an enigma."
"Entirely so," the solicitor acquiesced. "There is somethingexceedingly mysterious about the affair. The combined circumstances arebewildering in the extreme. First, the lady you admire bears a Frenchname, next your father hates her because of some fact of which he isaware regarding her family, and thirdly, in order to prevent youmarrying her, he endeavours by an ingenious and apparentlycarefully-planned device, to induce you to wed a woman whose existenceis unknown to us all. He was not a man who acted without strongmotives, therefore I cannot help suspecting that behind all this liessome deep mystery."
"Mystery! Of what character?"
"I have no idea. We must first find Mariette Lepage."
"My future wife," laughed George bitterly, rising wearily from hischair.
"Yes, the woman who is to receive twenty thousand pounds for marryingyou," repeated the solicitor smiling.
"No, Harrison," declined the young man as he moved slowly across theroom with head slightly bent. "I'll never marry her, howeverfascinating she may be. Liane is pure and good; I shall marry onlyher."
And opening the door impatiently he snatched up his cap, strode alongthe hall, and out to where his man held the bay mare in readiness.
"Ah, well!" Harrison muttered aloud when he was alone. "We shall see,young man. We shall see. I thought myself as shrewd as most men, butif I'm not mistaken there's a mystery, strange and inexplicable,somewhere; a mystery which seems likely to lead to some amazingdevelopments. It's hard upon poor George, very hard; but if my clientwas so foolish as to desire the family skeleton to be dragged from itschest his kith and kin must of necessity bear the consequences."
With a word to Morton, most exemplary of servants, George sprang intothe saddle, and a moment later was galloping down the long straightavenue. The brilliant afterglow had now faded, dusk had fallen, and hefeared that Liane, having kept the appointment, would have leftdisappointed and returned home. Therefore he spurred the mare onward,and was soon riding hard towards the unfrequented by-road known as CrossLane.
With a heavy heart he told himself that he must say good-bye to love,good-bye to hope, good-bye to ambition, good-bye to all of life exceptthe dull monotonous routine of empty days, and a restless empty heart.
"I can't tell her I'm a pauper," he murmured aloud, after galloping along way in dogged silence. "She'll know, alas! soon enough. Then,when the truth is out, she'll perhaps discard me; while I suppose Ishall go to the bad as so many fellows have done before me. Of what useam I without the means to marry? To love her now is only to befool her.Henceforth I'm sailing under false colours. Yet I love her better thanlife; better than anything on earth. I'm indeed a beggar on horseback!"
And he laughed a hollow bitter laugh as he rode along beneath the oakswhere the leafy unfrequented lane dipped suddenly to pass below therailway, the quiet lonely spot where, unobserved, he so often met hiswell-beloved. So engrossed had he been in his own sad thoughts that thestumbling of the mare alone brought him back to a consciousness ofthings around. The light had paled suddenly out of the eveningatmosphere; the gloom was complete. Eagerly he looked ahead, halfexpecting to catch a glimpse of her well-known neat figure, but indisappointment he saw her not. It was too late he knew. She hadevidently waited in vain, and afterwards returned to the village whenthe dusk had deepened.
Still he rode forward, the mare's hoofs sounding loudly as theyclattered beneath the archway, until suddenly, as he emerged on theother side, a sight met his gaze which caused him to pull up quicklywith a loud cry of dismay.
In the centre of the road, hidden from view until that instant, byreason of the sudden bend, a girl was lying flat with arms outstretched,her face in the thick white dust, while beside her was her cycle, leftwhere it had fallen.
Instantly he swung himself from the saddle, dashed towards her, andlifted her up. Her straw hat had fallen off, her fair hair wasdishevelled, and her dark skirt covered with dust. But there was yetanother thing which held him transfixed with horror. In the dimfast-fading light he noticed that her blouse bore at the neck a smallstain of bright crimson.
It was Nelly Bridson. She was rigid in death. The pallor of herrefined, delicate face was rendered the more ghastly by the blood thathad oozed from the corners of her arched mouth. Her small gloved handswere tightly clenched, her features haggard, convulsed and drawn by alast paroxysm of excruciating agony.
In her soft white neck was an ugly bullet wound. She had been shot byan unknown hand.
CHAPTER THREE.
"WE MUST NOT MARRY!"
George Stratfield stood aghast and horrified. It was nearly dark, butthere still remained sufficient light to reveal the terrible truth thatNelly Bridson, his gay, vivacious friend, had been foully murdered.Tenderly he lifted her, and placed his hand upon her heart. But therewas no movement. It had ceased its beating.
Her face, with its hard drawn features so unlike hers, was absolutelyhideous in death. Her hair was whitened by the dust, while her blueeyes were wide open, staring fixedly into space with a look ofinexpressible horror.
For some moments, still kneeling beside her inanimate form, Georgehesitated. Suddenly his eager eyes caught sight of some round flatobject lying in the dust within his reach. He stretched forth his handand picked it up, finding to his surprise that it was anexquisitely-painted old miniature of a beautiful woman, set round withfine brilliants. He held it close to his eyes, examining it minutelyuntil convinced of a fact most amazing. This miniature was the veryvaluable portrait by Cosway of Lady Anne Stratfield, a noted beauty ofher time, which for many years had been missing from the collection atStratfield Court. It corresponded exactly in every particular with thedescription his father had so often given him of the missing portrait,the disappearance of which had always been a mystery.
He remained speechless, dumbfounded at the discovery. At length athought flashed across his mind, that by prompt action the assassinmight perhaps be discovered. He could not bear the appalled agonisedgaze of those glazed, stony eyes which seemed fixed despairingly uponhim, therefore he closed them and prepared to move the body to theroadside. Suddenly he recollected that such action would be unwise.The police should view the victim where she had fallen. Therefore inbreathless haste he sprang again into the saddle, and tore down intoStratfield Mortimer, a distance of a mile and a half, as hard as themare could gallop.
Quickly he summoned the village constable and the doctor. The former,before leaving for the scene scribbled a telegram to Reading requestingthe assistance of detectives; then both returned with him to the spot.When they reached it they found the body still undisturbed, and acursory examination made by the doctor by aid of the constable's lanternquickly corroborated George's belief that the unfortunate girl had beenshot through the throat.
Nearly an hour the three men waited impatiently for the arrival of thedetectives, speaking in hushed tones, examining the recovered miniatureand discussing the tragedy, until at last the lights of a trap were seenin the distance, and very soon two plain-clothes officers joined them,inspected the body and the tiny portr
ait, and made a close examinationof the road in every direction. In the dust they found the mark of hertyre, and followed it back beneath the railway arch and up upon the roadtowards Burghfield. With the rays of their lanterns upon the dust theyall followed the track, winding sometimes but distinct, for about threehundred yards, when suddenly, instead of proceeding along the lane, itturned into a gateway leading into a field.
This fact puzzled them; but soon, on examining the rank grass growingbetween the gate and the road, they found it had been recently troddendown. There were other marks too, in the thick dust close by, but,strangely enough, these were not footprints. It seemed as if someobject about a foot wide had been dragged along from the gate into thelane. Long and earnestly the detectives searched over the spot whilethe others stood
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