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When Philip Vane found that Sir Geoffry Heriot, whom he had hitherto looked upon as likely to recover speedily from the attack made upon him, was actually dead, when the sudden thought shot through his brain that he was a murderer, the shock was too much for him, and, as we have seen, he fell senseless, coming to himself only to find that his crime was shrewdly suspected by Delabole, and to hear the few short bitter phrases in which his quondam accomplice severed the connexion between them, and expressed his horror at the deed which had been committed. Raising himself on his arm, Vane made an impotent attempt to delay Mr. Delabole's departure, to implore him to be silent and secret; but his voice failed him, and ere he could renew the effort, he heard the slamming of the door, and knew that he was alone.

Alone! and yet not alone. Rising to his feet, and staggering to a chair, Philip Vane saw before him the pallid cheeks and blood-stained features of the old man; saw the eyes closing, and the thin wiry figure slipping from his grasp; heard again the moan, the last sound he had heard in that accursed place. He tried to shut it all out from him, but it rose persistently before his view. He started from his seat, and attempted to proceed with the packing of his portmanteau, but found himself ever and anon pausing in the midst of his work, and recalling some incident or occurrence of the previous twenty-four hours. The mud on his trousers and boots, which Delabole had noticed-he must have got that in crossing the plantation and the lawn. The lawn! He sprang up in guilty terror as he reflected that, with the coming morning light, the track of his footmarks across the lawn would be revealed. The boots and trousers must be destroyed; he would take them with him in his flight, and get rid of them on the first opportunity. In his flight! whither was that flight to be directed? His plans must be all changed now; the necessity for immediate escape was urgent. He had relied on obtaining a temporary loan from Delabole, but that, of course, was no longer to be thought of, and the funds which he had at command were barely sufficient for his immediate

upon it duly sifted, suspicion rightly or wrongly directed, and all the machinery of justice for the detection and the arrest of the criminal set in motion. The problem of his fate would be solved by the next four-and-twenty hours; if before they had passed away he could contrive-following the route indicated by Delabole-to be well on the road to Bordeaux, with Spain, his ultimate destination, almost within his reach, he was saved. If not-what is that noise in his cars, as of tumbling table and smashing glass? There it all floats before him again; the book-covered walls, the large easy-chair, the shaded lamp, and the fragile figure with the blood-stained brow. Will it never cease to haunt him? It fades-it has gone.

Now he can bring himself once more to think what steps it is absolutely necessary he should take at once. Money; he must have money; and he must divest his mind of all this unreal fantasy, which from time to time surges up into it; he must shut out that horrible vision, and must make use of that common sense on which he has hitherto relied, and which has never yet failed him when anything of real importance was to be brought about. Money, where to get money for his immediate wants, that must be his first determination. Now if he were only confident of his power over Mrs. Bendixen, the course was clear. The time at which a clue to the identification of Sir Geoffry's murderer might be given would depend entirely on Madge; and if he judged her rightly, he was tolerably safe in her hands. The recollection of the tie still existing between them; the remembrance of the old days, which now seemed so far distant, and which he know

-for his wife had often told him so-were surrounded by a halo of romance in her eyes; more than all, as he thought, her horror while denouncing the murderer, to have at the same time to proclaim him as her husband-for all these reasons her lips would be sealed. No one could tell whether, in the hurry and confusion, she had recognised the man who had sprung past her and hurled her to the ground; and from what he knew of Madge, she was just the woman to avail herself of such a plea as this, and to leave the direction of suspicion to other circumstances. There was Nevertheless he must fly, and at once. no other evidence which he need fear, save The dawning light showed him that a new that which Madge could give. His visit to day had begun, before the end of which Springside was entirely unknown, and the the murder would probably have been fully fact of the proximate smashing-up of the discussed, all evidence possible to bear | Terra del Fuegos Mining Company, just

wants.

announced to him by Delabole, instead of being, as it would have been at any other time, a source of rage and lamentation, was regarded by him as rather advantageous than otherwise, inasmuch as it provided a sufficient excuse for immediate flight.

Now as to his power over Mrs. Bendixen. From what he knew, he believed it to be sufficient to induce her to brave all the frowns of society, and to run away with him, provided only he had sufficient excuse for asking her to consent to such a step. That excuse again he finds in the ruin of the mine. If he could only see her it would not be difficult to tell her a previously planned story, in which he could represent himself as the victim of misplaced confidence in Delabole, and by which her sympathies could be aroused. That once done, the rest was tolerably easy. He knew Mrs. Bendixen's jealous, passionate nature, and had little doubt about being able to mould it to his will; but to achieve that result he must see her, and there was the difficulty. But one idea occurred to him. He must leave town at once by the very first train which would take him to Dover, and there was no reason why she should not come to him there, and give him an interview before he started for France. If he could induce her to do this, he relied upon himself for carrying out all that he desired.

He finished packing his portmanteau, in which he placed the trousers and boots which he had worn on the previous evening, and wrapping his dressing-gown round him, seated himself at the writing-table. Instantly, between him and the paper which he placed before him, rose the dread figure of the old man as he had last been seen in life, and it required all Vane's nerve to keep himself in the chair and stolidly and doggedly go through his appointed task. Even then his writing was weak and trailing, and nothing like his ordinary firm round hand. He noticed this, but thought it not inconsistent with the anxiety under which he had explained to his correspondent he was suffering, and which induced him to implore her to come to Dover by the first train after the receipt of the note, and to meet him on the pier. When he had sealed this letter, he walked to the window and threw open the shutters. It was already morning; the outlines of the opposite houses stood out grey and dim in the early light, and the black London sparrows were twittering blithely on the covered way.

He had ascertained that the first train for Dover left soon after six, and had made up his mind to go by that. One starting a little later, it is true, would have reached Dover soon after; but Vane's chief anxiety was to be out of London, and though he might linger on the road, he would be tolerably safe from recognition. Looking at his watch he found that he would not have too much time to get to the station; and after a little deliberation as to whether he should or should not enlist the services of the gate-porter to carry his portmanteau, he determined to do so, and walking out, roused that functionary from his slumbers, and brought him to the rooms. The man seemed half asleep, but brightened up sufficiently to drink a glass of spirits which Vane presented to him, and then bore off the portmanteau on his shoulders. The one cab which was making the Piccadilly pavement echo with its horse's feet was then secured, and in it Vane drove off.

When he arrived at the station he alighted from the cab, but before dismissing the driver he handed him the letter which he had written to Mrs. Bendixen, and giving him a handsome gratuity, bade him take it at once to its address. He was hurrying into the booking-office, when he found the way temporarily blocked by a little procession of men, who were conveying huge bundles of newspapers from the ponderous red vans in which they had arrived, to the starting train. The newspapers! He had forgotten them. By this time the story of the murder must have arrived in town, and these newspapers were about to spread it through the country and the world; what was known about it, what was conjectured, it was all important that he should know, and yet he felt half afraid to satisfy himself.

He took his ticket, and made his way through the crowd of passengers-who were mostly of the poorer class, for the train was tardy and cheap-to the bookstall. The bundles of newspapers had already arrived there, and the smart young men behind the counter were opening, and sorting them, and slapping them down with refreshing vigour. As Vane approached, he saw one of these young men select two or three contents-placards from one of the bundles, and after shaking them out and perusing them himself, proceed to hang them up in front of the counter. "Murder at Springside"-there it was in large type: it caught Philip Vane's eyes instantly. He saw nothing else. "Murder at Springside"

-why were the letters printed in red, why -Steady! Now his head was reeling, and unless he could put more control over himself he was lost.

He steadied himself with an effort, walked to the stall and purchased a newspaper, which he placed in his pocket, and hurried to the train. There was no difficulty in securing a first-class carriage to himself, and bidding the guard lock the door, he threw himself into a seat, and drawing his travelling-cap over his eyes, buried his face in the upturned collar of his coat, and did not move until the train was fairly in motion; then he took the paper from his pocket, shook it open with trembling hands, and soon read as follows: Murder at Springside (by telegraph).— Sir Geoffry Heriot, K.C.B., was murdered last night at his residence, Wheatcroft, near this city. The person apprehended and charged with the commission of the crime is a discarded son of the deceased gentleman, who, it is stated, has been heard to Vow vengeance against his father. Circumstantial evidence against him is very strong. Greatest excitement prevails in the city and the neighbourhood."

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"My luck again!" cried Vane. "The arrest of this man gives me another twenty-four hours to the good, and when I have once seen Esther, and arranged with her to join me abroad, I may snap my fingers at them. The person apprehended and charged with the commission of the crime;' by Jove, then, Madge must be loyal to me after all, or she would have denounced me at once, and never have allowed this man-whoever he may beto be taken into custody."

He threw the paper down, and for the rest of the journey remained buried in thought. The train loitered along, stopping at every little station, where porters came up and roared unintelligibly, where jolly Kentish yeomen, and red-cheeked Kentish lasses, looked in through the window at the solitary traveller, muffled in his wraps, who never looked up or took heed of aught that was passing around him. Now Folkestone, and the sea, calm, and smooth, and placid as a lake, with the sun, a great red globe of fire, shining down upon it. Now Dover, and Philip Vane has his portmanteau taken to the cloak-room; for he has decided, as he cannot cross over till the night boat, and as it is essential that he should not be seen at the Lord Warden, or any other of the places in the town where he is known, he must loiter about until the

time for his interview with Mrs. Bendixen Į on the pier, and afterwards get some refreshment at a third-rate tavern.

But now he must

Three hours at least must elapse before Mrs. Bendixen could arrive at Dover, even if she rose immediately on the receipt of the letter, and started by the next train: three long hours to be got through somehow. Under other circumstances he could have employed them well enough; he could have found friends staying at the hotels, could have watched the arrival and departure of the boats, or amused himself in many other ways. keep out of the chance of observation, and notwithstanding the comparative security which he felt since reading the newspaper paragraph, that horrible scene kept ever rising before his mind. He walked out to River-a pretty little village in the neighbourhood, which he recollected visiting with a pleasant party years before. Back into Dover, and on to the heights, whence he saw a light thin vapour, like a filmy veil, rise from the surface of the sea, and gradually approach the town, which it finally enwrapped, completely hiding it from his view. Back into the town again, where the streets were tolerably empty, the promenaders having been driven in by the damp mist. There was a small knot, however, collected before a window in the High-street. Philip Vane, looking up, saw that it was a newspaper office, and that the people were reading copies of the latest telegrams, written on flimsy paper, and stuck in the window. There were two or three slips side by side: mechanically he ran his eye over them-the state of the money-market and the price of stocks, the dissolution of the Spanish Cortes, the resignation of the Austrian Premier, the verdict and damages in a breach-of-promise case. What is this on the last sheet, which evidently has the greatest attraction for the bystanders? Philip Vane pushes among them and reads:

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something that he was not well, that the mist had affected him.

"No harm in that, master," said the boatman, "it is but a sea fog; gets down your throat and makes all damp and uncomfortable, but no real harm in it. Coming on thick though now, ain't it? Won't be able to see your hands before your face soon-getting pitch dark, that it is; and yet belike three mile out at sea it is as clear as noon-day.'

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"Let us clear it out of our throats with a dram," said Vane, for he felt the necessity of some such support; and he and the boatman went into the nearest tavern, and swallowed each a glass of brandy.

When they came out the boatman bade his companion good-day, avowing that the darkness of the fog had spoiled any chance of his getting a job, and that he should go home; while Vane made his way towards the pier. In the broad open space before him, just by the commencement of the pier, the air was lighter, and it seemed as though the mist were clearing off; this effect, however, was but momentary, and as Vane ascended the steps a black mass of vapour, thicker and denser than ever, came stealing silently from the sea like a moving wall.

The half-dozen promenaders who had been tempted out again by the momentary gleam of sunshine, and were now hurrying back, gazed with curiosity at the man about to face such weather, and some of the young ladies tittered as Philip passed. Blacker and blacker still. He heard the rough voice of the coast-guardsman, addressing him as "mate," and bid him be careful how he stepped, but he could not distinguish his frame. Below him he heard the voices of two or three sailors in the steamer alongside the pier, and could just make out the outline of her paddle-box and her funnel; still he pressed on.

"The housekeeper has recovered and will give evidence." That must be Madge, he

been given into custody unknown to her. "Would give evidence" That, connected with the rumours of testimony to establish the innocence of the accused, means that Madge will state what she saw, and give the name of the man whom she recognised as the murderer. No time to be lost, then. This interview with Esther Bendixen once rightly settled-What's that? a block of stone, an iron crane, a windlass andgently now, this must be the end of the pier where the works are yet in progress. Dark just here; let him creep along the side of the wall, let him-the next instant he had caught his foot and stumbled, and was fighting with the calm placid water below. He was a swimmer, and coming to the surface again, had but little fear; three strokes brought him to the great wall of masonry sunk in the sea, but it was cold, and smooth, and slippery with shining weed, which broke away under his hands. No chance for hand-hold or foot-hold either, no power of seeing more than half a dozen feet in front of him. He shouted, but his voice fell flat and muffled on the heavy air, and he knew that his shouts could not be heard. He struggled again, but he was overweighted with his clothes, and his strength was failing. Let him keep his head now and make one more trial; again the cold smooth wall and the trailing, yielding seaweed; then a conviction of the impossibility of struggling much more, a few struggles, and one piercing cry.

On March 16th,

A SHORT SERIAL STORY will be commenced in
ALL THE YEAR ROUND,
To be continued from week to week until completed,
entitled

LELGARDE'S INHERITANCE,

In Twelve Chapters,

BY THE AUTHOR OF "ABBOT'S POOL."

The Back Numbers of the PRESENT SERIES of

thought, that must be the position she was ALL THE YEAR ROUND,

filling at Wheatcroft, that was how she was brought into frequent communication with Drage, the parson. "Would recover

Also Cases for Binding, are always kept on sale. The whole of the Numbers of the FIRST SERIES of

and give evidence." Recover! then she ALL THE YEAR ROUND,

must have been ill, or hurt, or frightened, and that was how the dead man's son had

CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS,

Are now in print, and may be obtained at the Office : 26, Wellington-street, Strand, W.C., and of all Booksellers.

The Right of Translating Articles from ALL THE YEAR ROUND is reserved by the Authors

Published at the Office, 26, Wellington St., Strand, Printed by C. WHITING, Beaufort House, Duke St., Lincoln's Inn Fields.

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