The Slaithwaite Guardian and Colne Valley News. — 1905-07-28 (Slaithwaite, West Yorkshire, England)

CHAPTER IX.--OPOTT SEES A GHOST.  Loog meekly suggestrd that dinnei had Leon getting cold tor sonic time, but Lance wari.cd him aside impatiently. Nevertheless the most troubled of mortals roust eat, though u-hether Lance was consun-ing bisque Cr chicken broth he could not have said.  Ho looked wearily down the perfectly appointed table, at the graceful ferns and flowers, and Stott', white face all the more pallid behind a screen of scarlet geraniums. And Stott seemed to be equally averse to his food. Long filled his champagne glass four times with a distant air. In Stott' 'yes there was a fluctuating terror that Lance failed to see. "How—how devilish quiet the place is," Stott said irritably. Lance did not hear. Lyn filled up his thoughts to the exclusion of merything else. And for the last threo days not one word or sign had come from her. And, what was equally remarkable, no line had come from Aunt Lucy. And she had driven off post-haste without escort of any kind, and now she, too, seemed to hove vanished.  It was quit there, as Stott said. For the last two days he had wandered about the house, peeping into the dim shadoes as if fearful of finding some namelees horror there. And Long had ventured to remonstrate over the amount of brandy daily ordered by that most Wlde lirable guest. a. . .  Stott art opposite his host with twitching lips. and hands that played queer muscular flicks upon him. And plate after plate he had pushed from him untasted. Ile had not dared to 'nage himself for the last day or two, and the ostentatious diamond stud in hia shirt front proclaimed aloud the fact that he had not changed his linen for some days. Truly a strange object in a perfectly appointed house like Broadwater! Long and his subordinates had retired. leaving the decanter and the silver cigarette bolas on the table. Lance was smoking in moody silence lie was wondering in a vague kind of way bow much more wine Stott could possibly consume without being carried to bed. And if his face was an index to his mind, what a horror spun an that muddled brain of his!  . "You're• killing yourself," Lance said curtly. "So much the better for you," Stott retorted. Irritation on his part was so rare that Lance looked up in some surprise. "You'li be rid of ms then and free to marry whom you please. Next of kin aud no provision made for the property atter my death. Lord! If I'd been in your place I should have been muidered long  There came a strange insane gleam into his eyes; he grasped a dessert knife with just a touch of his old histrionic genius. He was so perfectly the personification of murder that Lauee started back in ,onietti:lig like The intensity of the little as.ene lascinated him Stott was stealing towards him stealthily. He had never done anything finer than this in his whole stage career. Lance knew now what his uncle meant by saying that Stott was the finest actor of his day. Perhaps he was going ti.riitigh some Keene in some forgotten play. Anyway there was molder in his face. And or' suddenly realised how dangerous this man might be on occasion. " Put down that knife," he said make my flesh creep." Stott came on steadily. He was like a 111 All in the dark, feeling for something. Closer and closer he came, whilst Lance watched him in fascinated amazement. It came to him suddenly that the brandy had done its work and the man was mad. Still he had no fear of a personal encounter, and a dessert knife is no fcrmidable weapon, clearly Stott was beside himself for a moment. All his muscles had grown tense and mist. his 1194411211 IClattetiAB !Ulan Mien.  "You