TWICE CAVED:

A STOin OF TO DAY

l:V A M ki. i \ ;:. I'.nv.'A III.:-,

Author..!' " I .irliani a History." " Lord Hi-a.-ken hlir.v,"olc.

Tin sole viilht In the piihliralioii of this ,SY. >ru

In iVi-ir Zealand litis been piireliusitl la/Hi

Al CKI.AN'D.S'I'.UI.

(.lIAPTI.II I. lIAKN Allll AND SUN. Uauxauh Senior laid aside Ids pen, and, with his pen, for the moment, all business thoughts ,-,nd cares. Uarnard .Junior, ,sl: tiding by the liroplaco, compared his , watch with the timepiece on Iho mantel shelf, and wound it. up. "One of my littlo rules, when lam going to travel all night," he said, smiling. ".Sure lo fnro'ci it if you don't do il beforo yen start.' Uarnard Senior good-looking, well dressed, on the rigid side of sixty smiled back al the handsome young man, who reminded him d himself some thirty years ago. " You will send me a telegram from Queens-own," he. said. "Of course, Sir." "And look her.-, my boy, I tit.n't want you fo feel fie.l In lime. Make it siv weeks, if you like the place and people. New York, no doubt, will be like a furnace; but Newport would be very pleasant just now." The young man shook his head. " No', no, Sir; the sea trip there and back i.- all I care aboul. You'll see mo hero again about the twenty-eighth of next month, ready to be nil'al once with you to Ihe North. By-the-way, hadn't I better speak to Wells about ilial matter before I go?" I Lunar, I Senior's lace grow grave. "Oh, no," he said, with 11 vexed look; "leave thai lo inc. You have done with disagree ables 1..r a month." "Still, a- it was I who noticed it" . . . "As y.ui like -only il is an annoying thing lo go into just now ! " '• Jr doesn't make it less annoying, Sir, to put it oil', Beside, i should file |o hear Wells's opinion." Halliard Senior pressed Ihe spring of a hand-bell, nnd d.-Mred I!:.- am-wcriim clerk loie.pr.-l Mr. Well-.,,,.,,, up. 1.;,. W eh- . lvi. ;i iiurid man, v, illi i.tiii gi.A hair' and .".u ..pi n-air c.inmle. .on. A ii,:,n v. I .I.td Ml .;, birmc'r, or a com nictoinl ir.'tc^r. ,v ;, borse-dealer, or like .'■'m.-'ip r v"a 'house of bu-iue.s'in tl.et'iiN. :■■ cmc in smiling. Uarnard .lui.ii.r un :..-.! in mi. -,-nllv for New Yuri;, vi l.iv.-ni !. -.'iti Ie nclu'.letl he was sent ft. to.-.it'■_' od bye. " \\ .-11, Mr. i'l.inlc," In-said, " ii is n. arlv time you tveiv .(inc. Here is the name of the hotel '~vi wish. ,1 lo remember the Uievooil lloii-c ' And be laid a really written card upon the table, " Much obliged, Wells," .-aid Uarnard Junior. " I suppose I mud be oil'iii another t c minutes. Hill (lime's., lit! Ie something I \ anl lo speak lo you aboul before I go. M\ father hud hist yen's day book up just now, you know. lie wanted to refer back to that tiresome account of I'etrollsky's. And -anti I happened to come in while (be book was un tho table." Mr. Wells's quick ear delected something unusual in the (one of Frank Barnard's Voice. '• Yes, .Sir?'' ho said, interrogatively. "Well, you know I'm rather sharp at seeing Ihings. That is to say, without actually reading, my eye seizes the general sense ola passage, or Ihe general sense of a column of liguros." The head cashier glanced towards the ledger, and noted that some slips of paper had been laid as markers between the leaves. " You have not detected any errors, Sir.-" be asked, anxiously. "Judge tor yourself, Wells," replied Barnard Senior, speaking for the first timo, and looking very serious. Then they all three gathered round the booh, which young I-iriinid oiv.ncd. "Look there!'' ho said, running his lin._ down the colon n. Tl bead cadiiei - ruddy face llu-hed a da per crimson. "Th..s-_- :ue Mr. Conway's entries," he saitl. •• put \, v pas.-- i.'onway's entries. ' sat i ago : and they were right then ! " '"it th.",' were right then, how can tin y hi wrtHi'i new There base been no Tin ..'..-bier took the book to the window : held il -idev.ise. examining tho suitaoe against the light: doubled the binding bad. r.nd pressed the page against a pancoi glass; puzzled.'^ l"!"' "" '"" '• ri-.e entries are right,' he said. "l! is the total which is wrong." "(loon to tbe next marker," said P.arnard Senior. Yutnig Halliard opened the book in a frc-nh place. Same comparison of column and total : -ame examination ; same unac countable result. A third time lie opened it. The cashier uttered ;i sniotheiod ejaculation. "Hut these arc my own liguros!" he exclaimed. "Under date Juno the second of last year," said Barnard Junior, " Ye-. 1 tool: the books ovor for a few days aboul that. time. Theso three or four pages are mine." "The total is wrong here hy twenty pounds," said Barnard Senior. " I never left it so I" " ido not for a moment suppose it ; nnd yet—it is wrong." Mr. Wells wiped his forehead with his pocket handkerchief. "The books have been tampered with !" he said, huskily. " But bow? And by whom?" The cashier shook his head. " God knows!" he said. "The surface of tho paper is untouched. There has not been a knife near it. It can only havo been done be chemical means. And as for .. . woll, Heaven forbid that 1 should accuse or sus pect anyone without proof! " " The sums are small," observed Barnard Junior, with aglnnco at his watch. "Twenty pounds — iiiteeii pounds — twenty-live — eighteen .. . and thoy appear to be pretty vide apart. There is a certain timidity about the transaction ... it is nof like the Kicketts affair." " The small peculator soon develops into the large one," said Uarnard Senior. " ltie kclts felt his way at first; .•mil if we had found him out sooner, while he was experi menting in lwenties antl thirties, we should "The lirst thing i.- to ascertain the actual deficit," siid the cashier. " 1 will take tho books home with mc to-night, ami lind sut thai much, ii all events." I'>:.:■..,;■■..' Junior shut up Ihe volume sn:;."i''.-, and throw his mackintosh over his detain \»u ativ'longei- now ; but'by the time I oun-.e'l. ic!; 1 hope you will have solved the whole mysteiy. And now. as time, tide,

ami I he north mail stay for no man, I must be oil." " Poor old Wells, be is dreadfully upset, said Barnard Senior, when the head cashier had left the room. "And well he may bo, Sir. Did you notice bow he coloured^ up, and bow generally queer ho looked '.'" "Any man would colour up and look tpieer under the same circumstances." Young Barnard shrugged his shoulders. " Well, 1 don't know-perhaps I am too " You will outgrow that, my boy," said his father, drily. "11 is a fault of youth nowadays." " Just so— iiiexpi'rieiilia dorH ! f recom mend you, novertholess, Sir, to exorcise a benevolent supervision over Wells. Two things I venture to predict, however : —the thief will never be identified, and the fraud will never be repeated !" The elder man made a gesture of dissent. " Yon are wrung, Frank," he snid. " Wells is arr honest man—as honest as you or myself. Of Conway, I do not feel so .sine; but I would stake my head upon Wells. I shall never suspect him, no matter how this affair should end." "All right, Sir. Take care of yourself while I am away." "Yes, yes: -and you !" "Oh, you may bo sure of that. You go down to'Tiriibri'dge Wells to-night, for certain?" "Eur certain." "And you'll give yourself a full week's rest -honour bright. ' " Yes a full week. Hod bless you, my boy. Don't for. ot to wire from Queenstowii. l.ood-hv !" A hearty grip of the hand -a laugh and a nod from the son at the turn of the stairs— a somcwlinl blank look on the father's face as, with a sigh, he wenl back to bis desk .. and so, in Ihe ordinary matter-of-fact English way, they parted ; not, indeed, 'without emotion, but certainly without showing it, CHAPTEI! 11. IN Mil. ItAHNAKII'.S I'KIVATK 11110.1. When the partners were both absent, which did not often happen, Mr. John Wells was Regent and Prime Minister in on.-. Being a fussy man and ;i choleric, he was wont at such times to dabble .somewhat freely in that vicarious thunder whicli a little brief authority placed temporarily at his disposal. On Ihe p-.-oseiil occasion, 'huvver, In the perplexity of Barnard ~.,.1 Son's employes, hi;, habitual I'us.-ines.s tins exchanged for an nirol impenetrable res uvc Hereupon the clerks, taking-swe • cmn- 1 together in the seclusion ol the cnunling-housc, indulged in c .li-.-ivaganl speculation, guc-siug thai writ iii'_- an epic. pint,in. a revolutionary movement, planning :, burglary, and so forth. II was, at. all cent-. c|. vi' thai he mu.sl bate "something; mi his mind '' ; and so he had bill il was ~0l lll.'tt ,-olllclhillg for Barnard Junior was 'wrong, and Barnard Senior was right. Mr. John Wells was guiltless of the fraud, lib sudden Hush' meant nothing but angry surprise. That a theft should have been'committed in bis ~un department and under his very eye, overwhelmed him with niortilieation ; but that the theft should have been discovered, not by himself, but by young B.'iriianl, was ,■•..-.. more humiliating. He was, in truth, as his employer had said, a perfectly hon.st man. Mole than this, he was a strictly respectable man; a man who especially prided himself upon the exactness with which ho fulfilled all ihe duties and obligations of life. In bis com ings and goings, in his self-allotted inter vals of rest, of exercise, of feeding, of sleeping, he was as painfully punctual as if he were one of the processional puppet* in tho great Strasburg clock. Your ultra punctual people, however, are most peppery, and Mr John Wells's patience bore to his punctuality about the same proportion as b'alstatr's bread to KalstalV's sack. When, therefore, instead of being for the timo more than usually dictatorial, ho suddenly as sumed this portentous and unwonted solem nity of bearing, it was no wonder that his subordinate were both puzzled and .-unused. Now Mr .b.hii WVI. did not certainly pro pi v. ■lo hi: I! to provide entertainment lor (h. cieiks ; but he meant' to puzzle them. Aud one person there was whom he sought not merely lo puzzle, but to terrify. I-'rum the n lent when (he ledger was placed be..re him, he knew who must have d .ne the deed, lie also knew that to the evil-doer who lives ;,, dread of discovery, nothing i- su alarming as gloom, watchful ness, aud silenc ■. 'I'h ivlore, keeping his eve upon the man he si:-p..etcil, be became, oi set pur:,.- ■. ul.Himv. watchful, silent ; and observed thc'cltects of his policy. Tinman whom l.c suspected was Robert t.'onway. the deputy-enshi. r, It could be noon'c el-e. Only Wells antl t'nnwav bail access (0 the safe.' Only Wells ami ton-tat bad a.cc- to the books. The ca-b that Conway counted was vended by Wells : and Wells examined and passed ail Conway's book-keeping. It would seem at first sight ns though, under such a system, fraud was impossible. However, it was, and is. but too possible : and Mr John Wells not only guessed at once who had done the trick, but he also knew perfectly well how ; ho trick had been done. .As a matter of routine, the principal cashier, tit the close of each day's work, mado an entry of the contents of the cash book, which he then put into the safe with hi< own hands, together with the cheque book, bank-book, and private account-book. The other books were then put in by tho deputy-cashier, who locked the safe, and handed the keys to his principal. They then .generally'went down together and were let out by the house-port cr, who at once barred up for the night. As they lived in the same suburb and went home by the same train, the two cashiers habitu ally walked together as far as the Ludgate hill Metropolitan Railway Station, where they parted company, Wells travelling by second class antl Conway by third. Day after (lay, from Monday to Saturday, year after year, from January to December, as mechanically as the two bronze men who strike tbe hours over tbe Mcrceria gateway in the Piazza San Marco, they did these same things in the same way and to the same moment.

It was on a Monday afternoon that tho Halliards, father and son, took their depar ture, the one for a week, the other for a month. On that Monday evening, contrary to all precedent, Mr John Wells, instead of allowing the current year's books to be locked 11)1 as usual, bad them taken down stairs and put into a cab ; and so drove homo. On Tuesday evening, taking the books of the preceding year, he did the same thing. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings, steadily going back one year furl her in the tlate of the books, he rejieateil that proceeding; always In grim silence, and without saying good-night to anyone.

Meanwhile he watched Robert Conway a cal watches a mouse.

.i lie man was in torment, and showed it His wandering attention, his haggard face his tremulous hands, betrayed the mental misery which he despairingly strove to con ceal. Each day, as the week advanced, his suspense became more agonising. Each sleepless night ploughed harsher lilies about hi- mouth, and deeper in.Hews round bis \i t. one of these si_u_ of tribulation

was lost upon tho principal cashier, lie noted and weighed them all. Hail his sus picions needed confirmation, they would have been confirmed ; but from the lirst ho had been as certain of his man as if ho had seen him at work upon the books. The question was not " who did it?" but "how did he doit?" There eotild be no doubt: as to tne deed ; there could be no mistake as to the doer ; but tho process was tbe problem. As regarded the deed, five late nights and live early mornings of close investigation bad enabled Mr John Wells to arrive at certain distinct conclusions. Tho books, he found, had been "manipulated" at irregular intervals for a period extending over more than four years, a. 1 always in tbe same way. That is to say, by tho sub stitution of a false total at tho foot of a column of perfectly correct entries. During theso four years, no less than one hundred ami twenty-seven such false totals had been introduced, The separate, sums thus elimi nated rarely exceeded £20, and sometimes fell below that figure. It was evident, however, that the thief, though afraid to exceed bis accustomed margin as to tho amount of each falsification, hud novertho less •ruined courage as ho went on, and so bat! gradually como to repeat his venture moro frequently. Might false totals in the o se of tlit! lirst year', nineteen in the second year, thirty-six in the third year, and sixty-four in the fourth year, indicated the rate at: which he had accelerated his downward pace. The aggregate of the plunder amounted to precisely JJ_,'_._ So much fur Ihe deed. Not all Mr. John Wells's sagacity availed, however, fo find out tin! means by which it had been accom plished. The "most powerful microscope which he could borrow nowhere revealed the slightest trace of abrasion on the surface of Hie" paper. All that he succeeded in discovering' was a little patch of dead sur face, aboul the size of a shilling, where the glaze was gone. The edge of this patch, in three or four instances, betrayed a scarcely discernible greenish margin, us if marking the setl lenient of some almost colourless liquid, Tho keenest eye aided by tho strongest lens could delect no more than this. Of the original figures, no faintest trace was visible. The dofrauder had achieved a triumph of forgery. He had completely removed flic ink without re moving or injuring the surface of the paper. The warehouse closed on Saturdays at one o'clock, and—mast of the younger employes being volunteer rillemen — the place was general I v cleared, ami the last luan gone, before Hire. . On ibis particular Saturtlay, when th" cash had been sent lo the banker's, and all vim received weekly v.-.-cc.-—such a- porters, cartel's, messen gers, aud Iho lib" had be,, paid, tie principal cashier leli.vd to Mr. Buim.rd . private room, en tb - r- ootid Iloor, ostensibly to write letters. When he hie 1 been there Robert Conway. The miserable man received the message with a sinking heart, knowing full well thai hi.- hour of shame and disgrace was at hand. He tupped at Ihe dour as lie would have tapped had he been summoned by the head ~|' lb.- !in::. and wenl in. trembling. Well-, silling in Uarnard Senior'- chair, was writing al Uarnard Senior's d. sk. without looking up, went on writing-. He finished hi- letter; read it through; folded it; [Hit it iv an envelope; directed it, stamped it—not only with bu.-ines like exactness, but with studied deliberation. 'I'o the wretch standing just inside the door it was like waiting on the scaffold while iho hangman tied the noose and tested tho rope. At length, without raising his head, Wells motioned with his pen for Conway to draw nearer. Then, taking a memorandum slip from tho stationery-case on the table, he wrote something upon it. Something so brief that it seemed no longer than a single word. " How soon will it be convenient to you, Mr. Conway, to make good this deficit ?'" he said, handing him the slip, and staling him suddenly in the face. It contained only a sum in four figures— .C 2212. Deadly pale before, Conway turned livid. He opened bis mouth, a. if to speak, on; bis lower jaw seemed fixed, and n i sound c one. "How soon, 1 ask you. Mr Conway ?" repeated the other, angrily raising bis voice. Conway made a desperate e!i'orl to speak. "Deficit, sir?" he stammered. Wells pointed to the memorandum slip llutlering in his hand like a hat in the wind. " What have you dono with it ? " be said, novel- taking jus e\. irom • :mv,iY .• lie "I—l . . . So help me Cud. Sir, I don't know what you mean !" " That's fiat perjury 1" exclaimed Wells, with disgust. Then, utter a moment's pause, he added—" You have been systematically robbing the firm (or mon I ban four years. 1 have gone over the books my--.-!:", 'l can lay my linger' on every spot v. litre you have . x.raeted the ink and forged a fri-h entry. 1 charge you with having embezzled two thousand two hundred and twelve pounds. : Whether you have stolen oilier moneys in oilier ways I cannot yet tell, but of'this much 1 have the proof." "But, sir—Mr Wells!" . . . " Antl you make your case worse by pro testing—remember that. .Better confess at once, and throw yourself on Mr Barnard's mercy." " 1 can't confess what 1 have not done ! " " You persist in denying your guilt? " " What else can I do—being innocent?" A dark look came into John Wells's face. He had thought to carry the game by coup dr main, and to elicit immediate confession. That Conway, in the absence of direct evidence, should take refuge in point-blank denial, was an alternative which had not entered into his calculations. And it was an alternative which disconcerted his wholo plan of action. "Now, look here, Mr Conway," he said ; " you have been nearly ten years in the employment of the linn, and I don't desire to push matters to extremities—at all events, in the absence of the principals. Mr Barnard returns to business on Tues day " " .on have not said anything to Mr Barnard ? " gasped Conway. "Mr Barnard knows that he has been robbed," replied Wells, sternly; " but I have not yet told him the name of the—the defratuler." He was going to say "of the thief; " but he had mercy, and forbore. "Then" .' . . " Stop, if you please ! 1 am going to write to him, mikl that is why I havo sent for you. If 1 can tell him that you have confessed ; and if on Monthly you are prepared to show in what way and to what extent you can make restitution of the money, I don't sup pose SI i. Barnard will deal harshly by you." '' You take it for granted that lam guilty! You condemn me unheard ! " cried Conway, wildly.

"And, by the Lord, if 1 did my duly, 1 should send, this moment for a policeman, and give you into custody ! " shouted the principal cashier, in a sudden storm of con tempi, and linger.

"Ob, for Cod's sake, Sir, don't do that ! You know that I have seen better days I Think of my daughter.. . . the shock , . .

the disgrac Monday?"

You will surely give mo till

John Wells looked at him—abicct, agi tated, pleading—as he might have looked

at some new kind of ape capering inside the the monkey-house attho Zoological Gardens.

"Oh, 1 will give you till Monday !" he said, scornfully ; " but you had better have told the truth at once. However, that is your look-out—not mine. Only be careful of ono thing—make no attempt betwixt now and then to evade the consequences of your offence. You can't evade them. You can but make your case more desperate." Ho pointed to the door; and Conway, after a moment's hesitation, shuffled slowly out of tho room.

Yos, indeed, his ease wax desperate ! The agony of suspense was over, but the blow was a death-blow, now that it had fallen.

Waiting in the cashier's office after all the rest wero gone—waiting for John Wells, who was probably now, even now, writing his condemnation, the miserable man went through tortures of vacillation. Had he done wisely or unwisely? Would it, in truth, have been better for him to confess at once? Yet, confession, once made, could not be unmade. As things stood, there was nothing but circumstantial evidence against him. Proof —positive proof, there was none. Witness there was none. Should he him self supply that proof ? Should he himself be that witness? Hood heavens ! that surely would be madness ! What counsel, while yet there was a chance of acquittal, would advise bis client to plead guilty?

At ten minutes past four, when Mr. John Wells came down, stern and silent, he was still wavering. Not till all was locked up—not till be found himself in the streot, alone, watching tho retreating figure of the man who held his fate, did he feel that he had taken his irrevocable choice between truth and falsehood, and that in so choosing he had consummated his own destruction, CHAPTER 111. A DESPERATE UESOLVE. Robert Conway was a widower, with one daughter, aged nineteen years. John Wells was a bachelor. Robert Conway rented a tiny villa in Camden Town. John Wells occupied the ground-floor apartments of a goocl-.sizfidlsou.se, situate about mid-way of a highly respectable crescent in the same parish. Robert Conway was a ruined man. John Wells, having been for more than thirty years in the employment of Barnard and Son, was in receipt of a good salary, and had also a little money of his own, judiciously invested.

Both as to the past and the present, no two men could, in their career and condition, be mure absolutely a contrast to each other. Mr John Wells, having begun with nothing, bad worked his way to a competency. Robert Conway, having started in life as a Turkey merchant, with a good education, good talents, and excellent means, hud gone from error to error, from failure to failure, and sunk lower each time in the social scale, lr was bis misfortune to have had a turn for chemistry and a passion for foreign travel

—tastes in themselves excellent and praise worthy, but wholly incompatible with that steady attention which a young merchant is bound to give to his own affairs, Un happily for himself and for those dependent upon him, Robert Conway left his business to subordinates, while he accompanied an exploring party through Northern Thibet and the chain of the Hindoo Kush ; an ex pedition which ended, for him, in the dis covery of the Bankruptcy Court. Set going again by his creditors, he soon got into a more hopeless complication than be foro ; and so, step by step, ho came flown at last to the second desk in a cashier's office.

It may as well be said at once that Robert Conway was not a mere vulgar thief and forger. In very truth, he had never intend ed to wrong Barnard and Son of a single penny. The story of his fall was but the old, commonplace story, which meets one's eyes week after week in the columns of tho daily papers. Anxious to better his con dition, he had speculated in a small way on tho Stock Exchange. Beginning with a few pounds of his own money—then " bor rowing " (without leave) a few pounds of his employers' ; sometimes gaining a little, sometimes losing a good deal, and continu ally " borrowing" more in the mad hope of being able to win enough to make all straight atm single ' coup," he drifted into deeper and deeper water, till conscience was dead cued, and the gambling fever possessed him. body and soul.

And yet, he told himself, as he wandered aimlessly hither and thither in the Regent's Park that Saturday afternoon, too wretched to go home—and yet, it was neither for the greed of gain nor the love of hazard, but for his child's sake—for her sake only—that lie did it ! Had he not squandered her mother's fortune and his own ? And, being a desperate man, wns it wonderful that he should have had recourse to desperate means in order to make some kind of future provision for his wronged darling ? Broken in health, broken in spirit, a bankrupt in credit, his own years were likely to be few. How could he die, leaving her to fight the bitter battle of life unhelped and unarmed? If ever a righteous end could be held to sanctify unrighteous means, that justifica tion, he argued, was surely his to claim ! Besides, other men, speculating in the self same way, and without a penny of real capital, made lucky hits, and realised large sums by the mere stroke of a pen. One such fortunate hazard would have enabled bint not only to provide for bis child, but to replace every penny of that fatal deficit. And now, alas! now, it could never be replaced. Now, all was gone—situation, good name, the last shred of respectability, the last gleam of hope. It was no longer a question of the future, but of the present. His anxiety, hitherto, had been prospective; now, he asked himself, how should he guard her from destitution and disgrace ? Ah ! the disgrace, that was the bitterness of it ! How should he tell her ? What should he toll her? Disguise facts as he might, she would be sure to find out the truth at last. He might be arrested. ... Great God ! it would kill her I Was there no escape ? Leaning on the rail of a little rustic bridge whicli here spanned a side-water between the bank and one of the artificial islands, he stared down into the dull depths of the sluggish stream, and moaned aloud. Two little girls who were feeding the ducks, looked at him askance, and moved further away. Well-dressed loungers passed to and fro, chattering and laughing. Faint echoes of the brass band in the Zoological Gardens came and went with the wind.

Yes—thero was one] way I Not flight. Flight meant America. Flight meant pre sent funds, passage money for two, and so nothing to live upon, at all events for a while, on landing. Flight was impossible. But death . . .

Well, what could he do better for his child than die? If he lived, it would be but to darken her life with the shadow of his dis grace ; to drag her down with him into poverty, want, possibly starvation; to become a burden upon her in his old age. But if he died—now —at once—before the blow fell, those whom he had wronged would surely pity her and him ! Thoy would not blacken the name of one who had paid for his misdeeds with his life. They would spare the dead, nnd do something for the helpless survivor !

rendering thus, a vague notion which had haunted him for days past assumed a definite form. He looked 'at his watch; then, dazed and giddy, like one half asleep, ho turned slowly away from the little bridgi, and the green sward, and the plea

stmt trees, and madehiT^TrTf^-15 dusty road beyond. Here, instead J..«« ' the turn which led to hiZ^ followed tbe main thoroughfare _, f °me' - New Road, and thence, |£?£6aS able chain of dull streets anV6"^- fudged on till he came to o^ford^ He then turned eastwards and hri.&S* on till he came to a by-Sepett^ melancholy-lookino- sou.r.^^ .'nt°B largo old-fashion f kS 'iffS b fashionable residences a hundred^_?» years ago, but which now were on,, % mto business premises o.e.ni_l_?i>e^ wholesale stationers ' S^co^ pianoforte-makers, and tlie like tHF. paused; looked to right and left-?> make sure that no on°e whom he k'„?J b Passing by]; and entered a W _f®" and retail chemist's shop & h°leial« A bald-headed man, writing at a railM ■ desk behind the door, greeted|lH_. smile and a iittlenod Jetlt o \ n r^ was evidently an habitual SStaS_.°"^ Ihe wholesale department is close... he said, briskly . « but we willlet you ki anything you want on this side, Sif fig you a list?" .' ' -ttav. Conway muttered something about bein. "late, and in a great hurry;" p^S stump of pencil, and, tearing outaleTf*. his pocket-book, scribbled .he natnJS quantities of some six or eight chemical. ? The bald man ran his eye down tIiTL nicked the items with his pen, and hanS the paper to a subordinate/who vanished. Curious atlair, this, of Cook and Cunie'. bankruptcy," he said, chattily. ?ffi heard of » Sir? Full particulars in t socond edition ot the 'Telegraph.' Lo o fa very fishy-very fishy indeed ! Makes 2 third heavy smash 0 f the week." Conway stared at him vaguely. "Ah, these things don't interest you as they interest me," said the chemist, smiling ' You are a man of science; lam a man of business. That makes just the difference' Conway shook his head, . "No "he said absently. "They don't interest me—much." [

The bald-headed man slightly lifted hi. eyebrows, exchanged an amused elan", with a young man who was sealing m, packets of powders and bottles of medicine at_a gas-jot close by, and resumed hi. writing.

Some ten or fifteen minutes thus went by, Conway sitting bent and motionless, with his _'-_;■ on the ...or. customerscomin. and going ; carriage and omnibuses rum. bbng by outside, and all the busy life bf trade and tianx going on. 1 At length his goods were brought, and he went to the counter to receive them. "Fifteen shillings,'* remarked the assis.. taut, putting the whole up in a single parcel.

The bald man interposed.

"Y\e charge this gentleman wholesale prices, Mr Meeking." he said. Then, turning to Conway, he laid his finger on'a certain item in the list, and'addiM— ' ";

" I need not remind you, of course, Sir that this drug, in this form, is a deadly poison."

Conway nodded. He did not look up. He was fumbling in his waistcoat pocket for the money.

" I am fully acquainted with its special properties," he muttered. "Of course—of course. I must ask yon to sign our book for it, if you please. Mr. Meeking, be so good as to put a ' Poison' label on that smallest bottle."

Conway put down a sovereign, took the proffered pen, and stared in a bewildered way at the page in whicli he was requested to write his name.

"There, if you please—just there." ■'■'• And just there, in a rambling uncertain hand, he scrawled a name—not his own. '

A portly, well-dressed man, whose brougham was waiting outside, looked after him as he shambled out of the shop, and asked who he was.

The chemist shrugged his shoulders, " Well, Sir Jeffrey," he said, " I can only toll you that he is one of our regular cus tomers—in a small way. Dabbles in chem istry, I believe. Remarkably absent seemed as if he could hardly remember his own name !"

"What _ his name?" asked Sir Jeffrey, who was a celebrated physician, and a keen observer.

" Here it is, Sir Jeffrey, Morgan—J. C, Morgan."

"There was an odd look in. his eyes," said Sir Jeffrey. "I don't quite like that half-ounce bottle of atropine."

" Oh, that's nothing, Sir Jeffrey—nothing at all. He has bought poisons before now —again and again. He is constantly ex perimenting and inventing. So he tells us, at least!". ' : . . -

"Antl where does he live?" "Somewhere up Brixton way, I believe. We have his address in our books."

" Humph I—aud I daresay you don't know whether he lives there or not, or oven if he is down in the Directory? No?—I thought as much, Mr. Starkey. It is the old story. When will you chemists learn to be properly careful with regard to tlie sale of poisons ?" CHAPTER IV. OX THE THRESHOLD. "Lebanon Lodge" was the somewhat pretentious name which, in remembrance of his Oriental experiences, Robert Conway had given to the tiny cottage in Camden Town. This little house had a railed plot in front, and at the back a narrow strip of garden sloping down towards the Regent's Canal, whicli here wound in and out among builders' yards and wharves, and at the back of suburban villas and terraces. The turbid stream, bordered just at this point by garden-walls overhung with tufted lilacs and droopinglaburnun_,madea picturesque bend and vanished under a bridge with a single arch, beneath which there passed and repassed a continuous traffic of lighters laden with coal, hay, pottery, wood, and the like. On bright mornings, when the inner side of that arch was lighted by flickering reflections from the surface of the water, and when, perchance, there glided out of shade and into sunshine a gaily-painted canal-boat towed by a sturdy., oart-horse, the views from the back windows of Lebanon Lodge looked marvellously like a bit of Flemish or Dutch canal scenery. It was to this humble home—poorly furs nished, but as pretty as exquisite neatness and womanly taste" could make it—that Mr Barnard's deputy cashier at last re turned, haggard, tired, and half-an-hour behind the Time at which his " little girl " was wont to prepare thoir evening meal. Now, on Saturday afternoons he was due at homo some three hours earlier than on the other five days of the week ; and generally, when the weather was fine, the father and daughter made the most of their half-hoh day°by taking long rambles together on Hampstead Heath, and through the pleas ant liighgate fields and lanes. Isow and then, while yet the summer days were at their longest and brightest, they even com mitted the extravagance of taking the rail as far as Kcw or Hampton Court. To Ethel Conway, who had been counting the minutes this Saturday afternoon til her father should come home, and who had set her heart on one of those rambles which were the rare delight of their quiet life, his late return was a heavy disappointment. " And where have you been all this ions, afternoon, petit pen ?" she said, pouting.

STAK SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, DECEMBER 22, 1883

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