Eagle River review. [volume] (Eagle River, Wis.) 1890-1927, 1912-07-26
Iain,y pocket It bsaeed no dis

lay; tortured by mounting fears, ne
stood and looked blankly about him,
at loss where next to turn, il almost
preternaturally alive to every sound
or sight that might afford him clue.
(. He fought against a suspicion
that crawled like q viper in his brain.
Had he, after all, been deceived IN
Sypher's niece, Miss Pynsent? Had
that innocent charm of hers been a
thing assumed, a cloak for criminal du-
plicity? Had she in reality been Des
Trebes' accomplish? Had those clear
and limpid eyes of youth, all through
that voyage been looking forward to
such a scene, to such tragic ending
Cs this? Could she have afforded the
Frenchman the aid he needed to con-
bLmmate his chosen crime?
For he was now ready to believe Des
Trebes the prime mover in this terri
BILE affair; he no longer entertained
shred Of doubt that his enemy had
travelled with him from Calcutta un-
der the disguise of de Hyeres." And
he believed the man had planned this
thing far ahead; else would he have
surely taken some overt step to pre-
vent O'Rourke from delivering the
ruby to Sypher. He OWNED acutely
that. despairing of any further at
tempt to win the jewel from him, Des
Trebes had turned his wits to the task
Of stealing it from Sypher; somebody
naturally much less to be feared than
the adventurer
But on the other hand, if the girl
had not been Des Trebes' assistant
what had become Of her? And what
of her guest-the lady one of whose
initials was B?
1t was not inconsistent with Des
Trebes' whole-hearted villainy that he
should employ gang of thugs suf1i-
GENTLY large to overpower and make
away with bodily and in body Miss
Pynsent, her guest and the servants.
s. Great God!" cried O'Rourke.
IF it be in truth my wife-!"
Without presage thin but impera-
tive Naturalization broke upon the
silence of the house of death. O'ROurke
jumped as If shot. Somewhere in one
of the other rooms a telephone bell
was ringing. 1t ceased, leaving
strident stiffness; but before he could
move to find the instrument and an
swer the call, there rose a second time
that moaning sob which first he had
attributed to an impossible source,
then, in the turmoil of his thoughts,
had forgotten.
He waited, listening intently The
telephone called again and again. sub
sided Then third time he heard the
groan, more faint than before, but suf-
ficiently loud to- suggest its source.
He moved warily toward the windows
and out upon the veranda-
by the tele phone. But that would
have to wait; here was a more ur-
gent matter to his hand Between the
long, insistent rings the moaning was
again audible; and this time he To-
Gated it accurately. 1t came from the
lawn, near the edge of the veranda.
He stepped off carefully, but almost
stumbled over the body of man who
lay there, huddled and moaning.
"And another!" whispered the ad-
venturer. awed Faith, this Pool OF
Flame j"
He was at once completely Mortified
and utterly dumbfounded Nothing he
had come upon within the bungalow
seemed to indicate that there had been
anything in the nature of struggle
RI he -CiY ~
He had up to this moment considered
it nothing but a cold-blooded and cow
ardly murder; the man had apparent
ly been struck down from behind in to-
tai ignorance Of his danger. O'Rourke
had deduced that Sypher had risen
from the desk to put the jewel in his
safe; and that while he was SO en-
gagged the assassin, till then skulking
outside the long windows and waiting
for moment when his victims back
should be turned. mad entered and
struck. But now could he recon
Gle that hypothesis with this man who
lay welteringtan at the point of death
at the veranda edge?
Indeed. he could not do so. But
this victim, at least, was not yet dead;
if he had strength to moan, he might
yet be revived, at least temporarily.
Without delay, then, the Irishman
grasped the man beneath the armpits,
and. lifting him bodily to the veranda,
dragged him into the library. Not un-
til he placed him In the middle of the
floor. beneath the blare of the lamp
light did O'Rourke have an oppor-
tunity to observe his features. But
now as he dropped to his knees beside
the body. his wondering cry testified
to immediate recognition.
The latest name to be inscribed on
the long and blood-stained death-roH
of the Pool of Flame was that of Paul
Maurice. Vicomte des Trebes; or, if
there were life enough left in the
man to enable him to insist upon his
nom de guerre (the Wanderer reflected