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“THE GATES OF SILENCE”
READ THIS FIRST:--
JACK RIMINGTON, the man with the secret. Hlmington is loved by
BETTY LUMSDEN, the daughter of
SIR GEORGE LUMSDEN, who. however, would like Betty to marry
PAUL SAXE. The latter, while outwardly her friend, is scheming to separate
her front Jack. An opportunity arises when Betty is implored by her sis
ter.
| MRS. BARRINGTON, to help her raise $10,900 to silence the blackmailing
denjands of >
EDMOND LEVASSEUR, whom she thought was dead, and who had forced her
into a trick marriage some rears previoualy. 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 Betty should ask Saxe to lend
her the amount Betty reluctantly agrees, and goes to Saxe's rooms for
the monev. Rimington is lured there, also, with a view to compromising
Betty in his eves, and he arrives In time to discover her standing over
the bodv of a dead man with a dagger in her hand. Betty vanishes 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 at the Croft in a distressed and exhausted condition—
without the money* Nevertheless, the $10,090 reaches Mrs. Barrington by
post the following morning.
Who has sent this "Hush Money." as it Is described In the letter?
Anri what terrible mystery Is Betty involved in? These are the questions
Mrs Barrington asks herself. Barrington surprises his wife and father
in-law bv suddenly returning from Paris. 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 crime. "The Lake of Blood." a wonderful ruby belonging to
Fltzstephen. was found on him. In the meantime Rimington leaves the
cab that he took after leaving the house of death, and the cab driver calls
/ attention to red stains on his cuffs. He harries away to his rooms. He
• an 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
he opposite house stared in at him. stark
and livid In the crude light of the dawn
bag But Jack Rimington saw nothing of
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I him with eyes that were held by an in
> ner vision—she vision of his veiled fate,
f like a great cat that watched and
i crouched ready to spring.
Jack Rimington. now awakened from,
f the stupor of sleep that had stolen on
THE ATLANTA GEORGIAN AND NEWS. FRIDA Y, JUNE' 7, 1912.
him out of the ambush of 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
German 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 sought
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 Wert End.
Well Known Money Lender Stabbed. At
tempted Theft of the World’s Third
Greatest Jewel —the Lake of Blood,"
Rimington’s color came and went as he
read.
Neither Betty Lumsden—the girl he had
seen standing like another Jael 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 bad leapt up in
Rimington’s heart died down almost as
suddenly as he read on, hut 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
A Story of Love, Mystery and Hate, with a
Thrilling Portrayal of Life Behind Prison Bars
dared to trust the evidence of his senses.
"Late 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 falling
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 of 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 the world and bearing the sinis
ter name of the Lake of Blood, was found
in the murderer’s possession.
“The arrested man, who gives the name
of Edmond Levasseur, but appears to be
of English nationality, is vehement in
protesting his innocence.”
The Lake of 8100d —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 ilme-mellowed wine.
Rimington knew little enough of gems,
but the Lake of Blood was a compendium
of information in itself. As he gazed at
the thing in his hand, that seemed 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 w’orth. 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.
What 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
whispering voices, the voices of the dead
men whom its beauty had seduced to
crimes of blood and treacherj’ and shame
—voices that spoke of disgrace and shame
and ruined lives and broken friendships.
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
the laboratory at Westport—he must rid
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-
By META SIMMINS
Author of “Hushed Up ’ ’
ford Bridge. Rimington was glad of thii
as his action was all the more likely t
pass unnoticed in a crowd. He walkei
with his hand clenched on the thing tha
lay in his pocket—this stone worth I
king’s ransom that men had schemed an<
lied and sinned' to gain possession of, bu
that he burned with eagerness to be ri<
of. His pade was not that of a man in
tent on reaching business, but rather tha!
of a stranger Sauntering InterestedlJ
among the crowds that are London’s life
Midway across the bridge he paused
and. leaning over the parapet, stood fol
a moment or two looking eastward, tc ,
where the dome of St. Paul’s rose gold
capped and mist-shrouded in the sun.
Then, withdrawing his hand, from his
pocket, with a swift twist of his wrist hf
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.
M r lth 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 hint
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 cams
a lightning vision of what this touch
meant.
Continued Tomorrow.