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4 THE GATFS OF SII FNCF” a story of Love, Mystery and Hate, a
■*• -■— —LlNkjEu Xr> Thrilling Portrayal of Life Behind Prison Bars
READ THIS FIRST:—
lhe man wl, h Ihe "ecret Rimington is loved by
okiTY LUMSDEN. Hie daughter of
BAIH evLt UUMSDEN, who. however, would like Bettv tn marry
SAXE. lhe latter, while outwardly her friend, ia scheming tn separate
her from Jack. Ar. opportunity arises when Bettv is implored by her sis
ter.
MRS. BARRINGTON, tn help her raise JIO.OOO to silence the blackmailing
demands <>f
EDMOND LEVASSEUR, whom she thought was dead, and who had forced her
AJ r l fk _ ma,r! 'LK fJ years previously. Realizing that her husband.
ANTHONY BARRINGTON. Is a man who would never forgive her for conceal
ing this affair. Mrs. Barrington, who has no other means of getting the
money to silence Levasseur, suggests that Hettv should ask Saxe to lend
her the amount Betty reluctantly agrees, and goes to Saxe's rooms for
the money Rimington is lured there, also, with a view to compromising
Bettv in his eyes, and he arrives in time to discover her standing over
the body of a dead man with a dagger in her hand Bettv vanishes in the
darkness, and Rimington manages to es-ape from the house in which ho
has been trapped
Meantime Mrs Harrington anxiously awaits the return of Bettv who
ultimately arrives at the Croft in a distressed and exhausted condition
without the money Nevertheless, the fIO.OOn reaches Mrs Barrington by
post the following morning
Who has sent this ''Hush Money." as it is described in the letter"
And what terrible mystery Is Hetty involved in’ These are the questions
Mrs Barrington asks herself. Barringion surprises his wife and father
in-law by suddenly returning from Baris He is picking up the morning
newspaper from the floor to read to them an extraordinary item of news
that he had noticed while coming in on the train
The item is about the murder, and states that Levasseur has been ar
. rested for the .-rime "The Lake of Blood," a wonderful ruhv belonging to
Fitzstephen, was found on him. in the meantime Rimington leaves the
cab that he took after leaxing tlie house of death, and the cab driver calls
attention to red stains on his cuffs He hurries away to his rooms He
can not imagine how Betty- came to be mixed up In this terrible affair
—Now Go On With the Story
The dawn came creeping into the quiet
room, turning the gas In the globes to
pale points of flame The windows of
the opposite house stared In at him. stark
and livid In the crude light of the dawn
ing. r Pit .Jack Rimington saw nothing of
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him with eyes that were held by an In
ner vision the vision of his veiled fate,
like a great cat that watched and
crouched ready to spring.
Jack Rimington. now awakened from
the stupor of sleep that had stolen on
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAX AXD NEWS. FRIDAY, JUNE 7, 1912.
him out of the ambush f his fatigue,
stared at his reflection in the mirror with
a sensation of distaste, that turned to re
lief as he heard the movement of the
Herman servant as he set out his break
fast in the adjoining sitting room.
"It s a good thing you haven't to face
Heinrich, my friend," he said, grimly, to
his reflection In the glass. "Your face Is
a hanging face this morning."
He waited until he had heard the man
leave the room, and then he rushed in
and seized the paper that had come up on
the breakfast tray eagerly.
His hands shook violently as he turned
the paper In search of the thing he soug
and dreaded; then, as his eyes fell at last
on the Staring headlines, an exclamation
that was hardly relief burst from his
lips and his grip on the sheets tightened.
"Shocking murder In the West End.
Well Known Money Lender Stabbed. At
tempted Theft of the Worlds Third
Greatest Jewel—the Lake of Blood."
Rimington's color carne and went as he
read.
Neither Betty Lumsden—the girl he had
seen standing like another .lael above the
body of the murdered man nor himself.
Who had made that descent in the inferno
of fear In the suddenly darkened room
alone with the man foully done to death,
who had shown his fear-twisted face to
the besieging police, but another man, had
been arrested on suspicion.
The sudden relief that had leapt up in
Rlmfngion's heart died down almost as
suddenly as he read on. but something
so sinister and incredible that he put up
his hand to his head with a dazen gesture
as though for the moment he hardly
dared to trust the evidence of his senses.
I ate last night Tempest street, a quiet
cul-de-sac of old-fashioned residences
near Leicester Square, was the scene of
a ghastly tragedy, Mr. J. J. Fitzstephen,
the well-known money-lender, being
found stabbed to death in a room on the
first floor of his residence, No. 88-B.
The attention of the police was direct
ed to the spot by Mr. Paul .Saxe, the
well-known financier, who, calling on Mr.
Fitzstephen by appointment and failing
to gain admittance to the house, had his
suspicions aroused by a cry for help and
informed the police constable on point
duty, who summoned assistance. After
considerable difficulty an entrance was
made, when a brief but exciting struggle
resulted In the capture of the murderer,
who had entrenched himself in the back
premises of the house.
A Baffling Mystery,
The motive erf the murder, appears to
have been robbery, as the dead man's
safe had been ransacked and his collec
tion of unset jewels overhauled. The
prize of the collection, the world-famous
ruby, reputed to be the third famous
gem in ihe world and bearing the sinis
ter name of the Lake of Blood, was found
in the murderer’s possession.
"The arrested man, who gives tlfS name
of Edmond Levasseur, but appears to be
of English nationality, is vehement in
protesting his innocence.”
The Lake of Blood—in the murderer's
possession! But the Lake of Blood was
here—in his own pocket. He thrust his
hand Into his pocket and drew out the
shabby chamois bag and spilled the glit
tering wonder that it contained into the
palm of his left hand. The great stone
seemed to gather the light and hold It,
transmitting the sunlight to a glow, deep
and wonderful and sensuously beautiful —
not of blood, but of time-mellowed wine,
Rimington knew little enough of gems,
hut the of Blood was a compendium
of information in itself. As he gazed at
the thing in his hand, that seamed to him
to glow with a thousand internal fires,
even without his small knowledge of the
lapidary’s art, Instinct would have told
him that this marvelous thing was of in
calculable beauty and worth. And. since
there were not two, but only one. Lake
of Blood rubies extant, it followed that
if this were genuine, as it undoubtedly
was, then that other discovered on the
person of this man Edmond Levasseur,
arrested in Tempest street, was not.
M’hat did it mean?
It seemed to Rimington that the hun
dred red glittering eyes of the stone
looked up at him. mocking his horror and
bewilderment. Suddenly, as last night in
that street of strange, close-eyed houses
a sense of evil and dread and fear had
come upon him even before he entered
the house where murder had been done,
so now it seemed to him that from this
wonderful jewel that shone so gloriously
in his hand, lying there in the light of
the sun, there came forth an aura of
evil.
The room seemed suddenly alive with
whisperifig voices, the voices of the dead
men whom its beauty had seduced to
crimes of blood and treachery and shame
—voices that spoke of disgrace and shame
and ruined lives and broken friendships.
vft, By META SIMMINS
®~ Author of “Hushed Up ’’
With a quick shudder of repugnance
Rimington slid the jewel back into its
shabby bag and thrust it into his pocket.
He did not know what he was going to
do with it. or how he" was going to rid
himself of its treasure-love so unwillingly
acquired, but of one thing he was cer
tain. He refused to remain its custodian.
The Arm of the Law.
Jack Rimington walked quickly down
Chandon street and, plunging through
the early morning traffic of the Strand,
cut into one of the narrow streets that
lead, ill savoredly enough, to the river.
Like most decisions of real Importance,
this decision that obsessed him now, to
be rid at any price of the Lake of Blood,
the jewel whose very name was a grim
commentary on its history, had come to
Rimington in one lightning moment.
Before he attempted anything else—be
fore he went, as he knew he must go, to
Weybourne to see the girl he loved—be
fore he telegraphed to his assistants at
tlie laboratory at Westport—he must nd
himself of this evil thing that had come
so unwelcomely into his possession.
It is one of the most difficult things
in the world, as a rule, to dispossess one
self of undesirable property in London:
but in this case the task promised to be
easy enough. The solution had come to
Rimington while he dressed. He would
simply take a walk across one of the
bridges, and, in mid-channel, so to speak,
as unostentatiously as possible, fling the
evil-omened thing into the water.
The early morning business rush from
the south side was at its height as he
mounted the steps leading to Hunger-
ford Bridge. Rimington was glad of this,
as his actioh was all the more likely to
pass unnoticed in a crowd. He walked
with his hand clenched on the thing that
lay in his pocket—this stonel worth a
king's ransom that men bad schemed and
lied and sinned to gain possession of, but
that he burned with eagerness to he rid
of. His pace was not that of a ntan in
tent on reaching business, but rather that
of a stranger sauntering interestedly
among the crowds that are London's life.
Midway across the bridge he paused
and, leaning over the parapet, stood for
a moment or two looking eastward, to
where the dome of St. Raul’s rose gold
capped and mist-shrouded in the sun.
Then, withdrawing his hand, from his
pocket, with a swift twist of his wriet h?
sent the chamois bag and its contents
flying through the air. The impetus must
have broken the fastening of the bag. for
in its flight the Lake of Blood escaped
from it and dived with a splash of light
into the river.
With a sigh of relief Rimington turned
and walked quickly on. Before he had
reached the southern end of the bridge
he paused, his heart caught suddenly by
a great fear. Someone had touched him
sharply on the shoulder and a peremp
tory voice had spoken his name into his
ear.
At the sound of his name Rimington
swung round; and in that brief act of
turning, as drowning men are said to see
the acts of a lifetime flash kaleidoscopic
fashion before their eyes, so to him came
a lightning vision of what this touch
meant.
Continued Tomorrow,