The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1905-09-10
SECTION THREE.


the house. Ii is a very sweet little
problem, and L would not have missed
| il for a good deal. However. I must
not sit gOssiping here, but must get
! these disreputable clothes off and re-
turn to my highly respectable self.
could see by his manner that he had
stronger reasons for satisfaction than
his words alone would imply. His eyes
twinkled and there was even touch
of color upon his sailow cheeks. he
FASTENED upstairs, and few minutes
later heard the slam Of the hall door
! which told me that he was on once
/ more upon his congenial hunt.
waited until midnight. but there
! was no sign of his return, so l retired
/ to my room. IT was no uncommon
thing for him to be away for days and
nights on end when he was hot upon
a scent, so that his Iateness caused me
no surprise. | do not know at what
hour he came in, but when l came
down to breakfast in the morning there
he was, with a cup of coffee in one
hand and the paper in thE other, as
| fresh and trim as possible.
You will excuse my beginning with
out you, Watson" said he; but you
remember that our client has rather an
early appointment this morning"
why, it is after 3 now" answered.
Il should not be surprised if that were
he. I thought heard a ring"
| 1t was, indeed our friend the finan-
cier. I was shocked by the change
which had come over him, for his face
which was naturally of a, broad and
massive mould, was now pinched and
| fallen ia, while his hair seemed to me
| at least a shade whittier. He entered
with a WEAKNESS and lethargy which
was even more painful than his vio-
lence of the morning before, and he
dropped heavily into the armchair
which l pushed forward for him.
81 do not know what I have done to
be so severely tried" said he. only
| two days ago I was a happy and pros
porous man, without a care in the
world. Now I am left to a lonely and
| dishOnored age. One sorrow comes
| close upon the heels of another. My
niece Mary has deserted me-"
| Deserted yOu?"
! Eyes. Her bed this morning had not
been slept in, her room was empty,
and a note for me lay upon the hall
table. / had said TO her last night,
| in sorrow and not in anger, that if she
had married my boy all might have
| been well with him. Perhaps it was
| thoughtless of me to say so. 1t is TO
that remark that she refers in this
| note:
| My Dearest Uncle-I feel that I
| have brought trouble upon you, and
| that if I had acted differently this ter
| rible misfortune might never have oc-
CURED. l cannot, with this thought
| upon my mind. ever again be happy
under your roof, and l feel that I must
leave you forever. Do not worry about
my future, for that is provided for;
and, above all, do not search for me.
| FIR mill ha Iah an
| ill-service to me. In life or in death,
l am ever your loving MARY
What could she mean by that note.
| Mr.. Holmes. Do you think il points
to suicide?"
mo, no, nothing of the kind. It is
perhaps the best possible solution.
/ trust, Mr.. Holder, that you are nearing
the end of your troubles"
"Ha! You say so! You have heard
something, Mr.. Holmes; you have
learned something! Where are the
gerns?''
you would not think 81. 900 apiece
an excessive sum for them?''
Il would pay ten
| THAT would be unnecessary Three
| thousand will cover the matter. And
there is a little reward, I fancy. Have
you your check book? Here is a pen.
| Better make il out for $4,000"
| With daZed face the banker made
out the required check. Holmes walked
| over to his desk, took out a little tri-
angular piece of gold with three gems
in it, and thew it down upon the
| table
With a shrek Of joy our client
clutched it up.
You have it," he gasped. at am
| saved! 1 am saved"
The reaction of joy was as passion
ate as his grief had been, and he
Rugged his recovered gems to his
| bosom.
"There is one other thing you owe,
Mr.. Holder" said Sherlock Holmes,
rather sternly.
"Owe!" He caught up a pen.
Name the sum and I will pay it."
mo. the debt is not TO me. You
| owe a very humble apology to that
noble lad. your son. who has carried
| himself in this matter as I should be
proud to see my own son do. should j
ever chance to have one
''Then it was not Arthur who took
them?"
II told you yesterday, and repeat
| today. that it was not"
You are sure OF it? Then let US
! hurry to him at once, to let him know
| that the truth is known"
| A1N hiiOHO II GIL OcaAgs W llCu i Ao4
| cleared it all UP I had an interview
with him, and, ending that he would
not tell me the story, I told it to him,
| on which he had to confess that I was
right, and to add the very few details
which were not yet quite clear to me.
Your news of this morning, however,
may open his lips"
For heavens sake, tell me. then,
what is this extraordinary mystery?''
81 will do so, and I will show you
the steps by which I reached it And
! let me say to you, first. that which it
| is hardest for me to say and for you
to hear, there has been an understand
| ing between Sir George Burnwen and
| your niece Mary. They have now fed
| together"
MY Mary? ImpossibIel"
1T is, unfortunately, more than pos
| sible: il is certain. Neither YOU nor
your son knew the true character Of
this man when you admitted him into
| your family circle. He is one of the
most dangerous men in England
ruined gambler, an absolutely desper-
ate villain, a man without heart or
conscience. Your niece knew nothing
of such men. When he breathed his
vows 10 her, as he had done 10 a hum
| dred before her, she fiattered herself
that she alone had touched his heart.
The devil knows best what he said,
| but at least she became his tool and
| was in the habit of seeing him nearly
every evening"
Il cannot, and I wiil not believe iti'
cried the banker, with an ashen face.
II will tell you, then, what occurred
at your house last night. Your niece,
| when you had, as she thought, gone TO
your room. slipped down and talked
to her lover through the window which
leads into the stable lane. His foot
marks had pressed right through the