Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1899-04-02

wore long overcoat that covered his
clothes, and he hadn't on any hat I
reported to him that you were in the
Park, sir, not far from Stanhope
Gate
| What did he say them"
Only Very good and told me not
to look after you any more for the pres
ent but TO be at Euston Station this
morning with bag, and three or four
DISCUSSES in it, prepared to go jour-
ney, if necessary. He said was to be
there half an hour before the early
Scotch train, and was to stop in the
general waiting-room till a messenger
| boy came and gave me a note. The
| boy was to know me by daffodil
stuck in my buttonhole. In the note
I was to find further instructions, and
when I'd get them off by heart l was
to tear the paper up in fine pieces and
| throw them all away"
What were the further instruc-
| tions?" 1 went on.
Despite his thick tongue, his STAN
merings, and rain of sweat that trickled
down from under his scholarly wig, I
was inclined to think that the mans
accents were those of truth.
J THAT you would be in the train, for
| Glasgow. Elsinore Hotel. l was to
bride the guard to give me compart-
ment to myself, and change there to a
| new. disguise, in case you had noticed
me looking after you. At the hotel 1
was to keep an eye on you, wire in
CIPHER whether you went on to Ayr
in the afternoon. or, if not, exactly
what you did do, especially making
sure if you were alone all the time, or
if you picked up acquaintance. In
any case my message was to go out
before six o'clock. Now you have it all,
sir, every blessed thing know"
Except the address to which you
were to send your wire. Was that to
go to 29A, Alfred Place, West?"
Mono, sir; to John White, Esq,
Low S exchange.
How carefully it had all been planned
out that the scent should be lost, in
case any one stone OF the structure
should prove to have been wrongly
placed
For long moment, though eyes and
revolver never lost focus or aim, my
thoughts went wandering, and | was
reviewing the events of the night before
in their connection with to-day.
Whether the ''old gentleman with
iron-grey hair, black brows, and He
brew nose was "Mr. Smith" in disguise,
or vice versa, had no means at pres
ent of assuring myself. But l would
have been ready to stake something
on the hypothesis. If this were true,
and he were man of many aliases,
many Identities, many residences, or,
a, least, many addresses, should have
even more trouble in finding him than
had anticipated when merely aware
that he was person of striking ap-
pearance, living in an out-of-t he-way
house situated in an unknown suburb
of London.
Every link in the chain he had join
ed had been nicely fitted. If l played
him false, and went to the police with
a cock-and-bull tale about an extra
ordinary adventure beginning with the
driver of private hanson, and end
ing with a mysterious old man living
at the other end of nowhere, I should
only be laughed at for my pains. While,
had l gone on to Ayr, leaving the box
in the room which was to be mine for
nearly a week, when the awful discov-
cry should come, as it must sooner or
later (if the girl had really been dead),
remained the only one on whom the
crime could be fastened. My story
would have been dismissed as an elab-
crate fiction, invented for the purpose
of transferring suspicion to a person
who did not even exist, save in my
fertile brain The telegram which