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“THE GATES OF SILENCE”
FIRST READ THIS:—
JACK RIMINGTON, the hero of the story, and a man with a mysterious se
cret, proposes to and Is accented Ity
BETTY LUMSDEN, the charming: young daughter of
SIR GEORGE LUMSDEN, who. however, is opposed to .Jack because of the lat
ter's poverty, but favors
FAUL SAXE, a millionaire, whom Betty has refused to marry after telling him
that she is engaged to lack Betty's sister,
MRS. EDITH BARRINGTON, suddenly returns from France and horrifies
Betty by declaring that her first husband.
EDMOND LEVASSEUR, whom she married secretly when a girl and whom
she thought dead, has appeared and demands 2.000 pounds ($10,000) in ten
days' time, or he will tell
ANTHONY BARRINGTON everything <»nb four days are left and Mrs Rar
ring’tnn bep<* Rett\ tn bnmm the money from Saxe Betty is horrified at
the proposal and refuses, hut after a frantic appeal from her sister, con
sents. The next da\ Betty telephones to Saxe and he consents tn give her
the money, hut insists that she call at his house at 11 o’clock that night
' Betty ran not refuse. I'hat afternoon Rimington gets a note ftom Saxe
asking him to call at 11:30 o'clock that night Rimingtnn is puzzled, but
goes and is astonished to see the nameplate of
J. J. FITZSTEPH ENS. on the ratling, this man being the money-lender whose
persecutions drove *
TOBY RIMINGTON. .lack's brother, to South .Africa Rimington ascends the
stairs, but is startled to hear a woman’s scream. H* dashes into a room
and finds to his horror Betty standing oxer a dead man with a dagger in
her band The lights suddenly go out .lack calls. "Betty!” Betty van
ishes in the darkness and Rimington manages to escape from the house in
which he has been trapped. Meantime Mrs Barrington anxiously awaits
the return of Betty, who ultimately arrives. In a distressed and exhausted
condition, without the money Nevertheless, the slo.oon reaches Mrs Bar
rington by post the next morning.
z Who has sent this hush money. ' as it is described in the letter? And
what terrible mystery is Retty involved in!* These are the questions Mrs
Barrington asks herself Barrington surprises his wife and father-in-law
by suddenly returning from Paris
—Now Go On With the Story
Sir George wheeled round, and. at the
eight of his son-in-law. the already apo
plectic red in his cheeks deepened
"Good Ixrrd’ Where on earth have you
sprung from. Anthony?” He stared at
his son-in-law. the prey of an amaze
f 1 ClTnily Ah. the So-Kind Mastiff of the Alps .Copyright 1912, National News Association Ry
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men* so profound that the very experi
ence of it was an insult. "Come in
onme In I did not know I was to be
honored by your company at breakfast,
or I should have made an effort to pro
vide more worthy than the
PRE ATLANTA GEORGIAN AND NEWS. WEDNESDAY. .TTNE 5. 1912.
congealed kidneys and marbled bacon that
are on the table. Hodson, send the boy
down to the village <>n his bicycle for a
'Times ’ ’’
*‘Oh, don't do that. Sir George,” Bar
rington said, easily, as he shook hands.
“I’ll smooth these pages out in no time;
and they ought to smell deliriously
they’ve been careering for the last ten
minutes about the rose garden. I'm most
awfully sorry to have shown such disre
spect for the ’Thunderer.’ but I was so
extraordinarily interested In a particular
item of news that I lost my grip on the
cnnfnunde<l thing, and an unexpected
capful of wind tore it out of my hand.”
There was something in Barrington's
more than usually suave voice, something
in the slightly veiled look of amusement
in Ids ryes. that, if it did not claim Sir
Georges ruffled feelings, at lea.st made
him grasp after his self-control. He
glanced at the son-in-law who Ha<i
dropped to his knees on the floor, and
was straightening out the pages of the
paper with those beautiful. sen.slttve
looking hands that always irritated, while
they compelled his admiration
The Newspaper Item.
'Good Lord!” he said again "Ddn't
do that. Anthony there's no necessity.
Hodson, lake those pages from Mr Bar
rington Come’’ he made an almost
ludicrous effort to throw some hospitable
heartiness into his voice "where are you
going to sit. Anthon* ■ Take Betty’s
place I believ? my daughter Is affecting
an indisposition this morning and tell us
what this amazing item of information
was that actual!' interested you in a com-
A Story of Love, Mystery and Hate, with a
Thrilling Portrayal of Life Behind Prison Bars
mon daily newspaper. I thought you
never read 'em.”
"Neither do I, in a general way,” Bar
rington said. “Not English newspapers,
anyway. But this happened to be .some
thing with a personal application—a mur
der, in which the principal characters ap
pear to be acquaintances of mine. Neither
of them particularly reputable. I hasten
to add, though, no doubt the name of
one of them may be familiar to you—Mr.
J. I Eitzstephen.”
"The money lender J. J. Eitzstephen,
of Tempest street'”’
Barrington stared at his father-In-law
for a second, hardly realizing for the mo
ment that the question had come from
him —the voice In which it was uttered
was so flat and thin. Sir George was
pulling at his white mustache with nerv
ous fingers, the purple tingle In his face
strangely faded.
"The same man one of the most no
torious scoundrels that ever cumbered the
earth.” Barrington said, sternly. "It’s
not a healthy thing to say. but one can
feel it in one’s heart to be glad that his
power for doing evil is at an end. No
doubt, the poor wretch who has put his
head in the hangman's noose for him
had suffered enough atxhis hands to be
excused any act of mad justice Not
that bls own record is particularly sa
vory.’’
He paused, conscious that Sir George
was not listening to him. and his eyes fell
on h!s wife
"Some one you know. Tony?”
The question was forced from Edith
Barrington She felt her lips fumble
over the words for the imprisoned fear in
her heart was stirring with a dull pain.
It was ridiculous. What connection could
there he between Betty and this ugly
thing of which Tony spoke—and yet her
fingers closed on that slip of paper that
had fallen from Betty's hand, the slip
on which was written this very address:
88-B Tempest street. She felt extraordi
narily ill at ease, conscious of her father's
strange agitation, of her husband's more
than half-contemptuous appreciation of
it. She had a maddening feeling of being
caught suddenly in the meshes of a net of
mystery—that was tightening stranglingly
about her.
"Yes, darling." Barrington said, cheer
fully, snapping a piece of the cold toast
between his fingers. “One of those dis
reputable acquaintances of mine you so
often deplore. A oj:ap who was with me
in the schools more years ago than I
care to remember, ft’s one of the oddest
things out that it was only the other day
that I knocked up against him in Paris
by a quite mad accident Edmond Levas
seur, he calls himself. I expect I’m one
of the few people in the world who hap
pens to know that was not-hts name"
“Edmond Levasseur!” Edith Barring
ton was utterly unconscious that she had
repeated the name aloud. She stared at
her husband with wide eyes that were
full of horror. The air of the gay chintz
hung room that was bright with the early
morning sunshine had turned suddenly
cold. The spectre of the past had started
up here on its very threshold and was
knocking long and loudly on the door of
her heart.
But Barrington was utterly unconscious
of the horror that was deepening in his
wife’s eyes—he was so entirely hent on
shocking the fastidiousness of his father
in-law.
’‘Yes—Levasseur. 1 expect I must have
spoken of him to you—a perverted genius
if there ever was one. An absolutely
charming ruffian; and the end of it all to
hang for a peculiarly ugly and sordid
murder”
“Hang!” Interjected Mrs Barrington,
stupidly. "Oh, no, it isn’t possible. He
can’t hang."
Barrington glanced at her with a touch
of irritation. He disliked contradiction—
it was a darling weakness of his, of
which, as a rule, his wife was tenderly
regardful.
"Now, why on earth do you say that,
Edith?" he asked. ’Y3f course, he will
hang. He was caught red-handed on the
very spot where the crime was commit
ted. The plainest case of murder and
theft possible. He was after Fitzstephen's
famous ruby—the Lake of Blood—a re
markably beautiful thing that has se
duced hundreds before him into crime.
It was found upon him when the police
arrested him in Tempest street last
night.”
The Crouching Fate.
At the sudden stoppage of the cab Rim
ington glanced up with a stare and met
the eyes of the chauffeur, his hand
closing over the jewel and the bag that
had held it. There was a healthy curi
osity in the driver’s eyes, but no malice.
The nervous tension that had gripped
Rimington relaxed wdth an almost Intol
erable sense of relief.
"What’s up?" he asked. Over the
chauffeur’s shoulder he caught a glimpse
By META SIMMINS
Author of “Hushed Up' ’
i of the vista of an unfamiliar street and a
- gateway with high, wooden gates, set
carelessly ajar—the entrance, apparently.
» to a stable yard. "This Is not Charing
s Cross.” he said, with a sudden upleap
ing of suspicion.
i “No. guv’nor, you're right. It ain’t,"
i the little man said with a grin. "But this
here's my garage, and I'm goln’ no fur-
, ther this mornin'. You're within easy
■ walking distance o'—there, nod, If 1 ain't
clean forgot the address you give me!
i Clean forgot it. I have. Twig? No more
- ain't I taken up any fare between here
f and the Square—blest if I ’ave. Twig?”
He pointed to the fare-indicator, that
had indeed registered nothing, for ths
, flag was still set. "For Hire." Riming
] ton slipped Betty's bag and the things
. it had contained back into the pocket of
his coat and shook his head.
I "I’m afraid I don’t twig,” he said.
; "Why this hurst of philanthropy--and
why the dickens can’t you drive me to the
Strand?" ' But he got out of the taxi as.
he spoke, and. stood with his hand sum-
. bling in his waistcoat pocket.
The chauffeur, who was busy unfasten
ing the strap of his number badge from
his btittonhole, looked up and winked.
"A hobby o’ mine, philanthropy,” h<
said. “Tikes me sudden-like sometimes.
I like a spasm, as yer might say. Speshully
when I sees a gent o' your profession at
this hour, with them nasty stlnes on ’l#
cuffs and sparklers In 'ls ’and.”
I Rimington glanced down with a thrill
of nausea at his niff, and made an in
voluntary movement to push it back.
The chauffeur laughed
Continued Tomorrow.