Pierre weekly free press. (Pierre, S.D.) 1889-19??, 1907-09-19
The Strange Disappearance
Gerald Rathbone.
~ .cYY THoRNE.

smoking cigar and feeling that the
troublesome and unpleasant episode
was well over.
Thus Mr. Eustace Charliewood, man.
about-town, made his sudden exit from
Vanity Fair. Thus Sir William
Gouldesbrough, F. R. S., had another
secret to lock up In the somber re-
cesses of his brain.
During the three days that he had
been forced to remain in Brighton by
the tragedy Sir William had seen
something Of the two ladies at the Pal.
| ace hotel
Both Lady Poole and Marjorie, dur.
ing that time, had come insensibly to
lean upon him and to ask his advice
about this and that. A terrible gap had
been created in Marjorie's life, and,
| though Gouldesbrough could not fill it,
he came at the right moment to COM
fort and sustain.
| Before he returned to London, Sir
William had gradually glided into a
new relation with the girl to whom he
had been engaged. He found his pow
er over her had increased. She was
mora Respondent and subservient in
her great trouble than she had ever
been during the time when she was
promised to be his wife and he must
sue for favors.
And Gouldesbrough noticed also
that. though the girls grief seemed
Il IN n IN hnr NJ
seeing Gerald Rathbone again seemed
to be dwindling. The cunning words
that he had spoken, the little hint Of a
| vulgar Gree, was perhaps beginning to
terminate within Marjories brain.
She was too loyal to believe any such
statement, but, nevertheless, it had an
| unconscious influence with her. At
! any rate, she began to cease discus
sion Of the mystery, and there was a
limiting Of a coming resignation to the
hard and impenetrable fact.
This at least was what Sir William
sGouldesbrough deduced Trained
| watcher of the mind and human i'm
pulse as he was, psychologist of mar
velous knowledge and penetration, he
began to see, or SO he thought to him
self, that all was not yet lost; that it
might well be that the events of the
last few weeks would some day-not
yet or soon, but some day-place him
upon higher pedestal than ever be-
fore.
On the evening Of the fourth day af-
ter his arrival Sir William GouIdes-
brough returned to town.
In the afternoon he had driven with
Lord Landsend and Percy A1emare to
the cemetery.
It had been cold and clustering at
ternoon, and the plain hearse and the
single carriage that followed it had
trotted through the semi-deserted
streets until the graveside was reach
ed. The shivering vicar Of neighbor-
Ing church, whose turn 1t was to take
the cemetery duty for the week, had
said the words OF the Burial Service,
and in some half an hour all that was
mortal Of Mr.. Eustace Charliewood
had disappeared forever from human
ken. 81,
He would never stroll up Bond street
In his fur coat any more. Never again
would he chat with the head waiter
upon the important question Of lunch.
No longer would Mr.. Proctor, the mas
seur. SEE tho little rubber hammers to
beat out the lines of dissipation upon
that weak and handsome face. Mr..
Eustace Charliewood had resigned his
membership OF the st, James street
clubs, and had passed out of Vanity
Fair into the night.
After the funeral Gouldesbrough
went to say good-by to Lady Poole and
Marjorie.
~ His last words to them were these:
1T shall go or" he said, doing all
that / can In every possible way. And
everything that / do 1 will let you
know, and IL can discover the slight
est clue to this terrible mystery you
shall hear 1t at once. But don't buoy
yourself up with false hopes, that Is
all ask. None OF us can say what the
future may have In store, but for my
part have not much hope. It may
seem cruel thing for me to say, NJ ar ar:
33crse, but think It Is my duty to say
IL. Bear up and be brave, and remerl1.
her that / am always close to do any
thing I can In any and every way to
help you and your mother.
And when he had gone the two Ia
dies, sitting IN the twilight before the
glowing IRE La the open hearth Of the
hotel sitting room, had felt that some.
thing, sons soHe who had become nee