Widnes Examiner. — 1912-04-13 (Widnes, Cheshire, England)

CHAPTER XXII. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.  "Mr. Smith" or Paul Steinway—put down the cigarette he was smoking, and gave a laugh of triumph. "There, ..I think I have Mr. Clifford Hawke  pretty well fixed up," he muttered; "in a very short time now I shall have my revenge! My enemy, who would gladly have seen me burnt to death, and probably knows more about the affair than anyone else, will come to the end of his little run, and `Mr. Smith ' will have accomplished his object in life." He rose and looked out of the window. He had taken a flat in the Albany—Clifford Hawke's old place—and smiled grimly as he thought how be had prospered since that day when he had first called on the rising man of finance. He had passed under many bridges since then, and now held the helm in his own hand. Presently he took a letter from his pocket, and read it for the third time that morning. "Dear Mr. Smith," it began. "Just a line to tell you that my cousin's husband is now alone. His wife has left him—though the affair is not supposed to be known--so the doubts you had about spoiling her life with him need not be considered now. I advise you to act at once. He is a desperate man, and, given time, will find a way out of everything.—Yours, I. F." He read the letter carefully, and then folded it and put it away. "So she advises my acting at once," lie mused. "I wonder why Miss. Frant is so eager to have me do this! Is it disappointed love for the man or hate of her cousin? She is a strange character, quite unlike that of little Dottie Bond. I feel somehow that that little girl would not like me to work out a plan of vengeance against anyone. She is as sweet and gentle as the other fine lady is hard and bitter." He began to fill his pipe, and presently was making notes in a small pocket-book. So intent was he on this that when he had finished he was startled to find that it was almost time to keep an appointment in the City. He glanced at himself in the mirror over the mantelpiece. No one would take him for the thin, half-starved man who a few  months ago had called on the financier Clifford Hawke to try and obtain a billet in his office. Ho had grown a beard and moustache, and his figure had filled out with good living. "No one would know me," he muttered,. "I shall escape recognition, except when I meet Clifford Hawke." A few moments later he was walking swiftly down Piccadilly, and, as he crossed the road by Regent-street, he collided suddenly with a man, who turned and stared at him. "I beg your pardon," he said hastily; then he gave a cry, and clutched the other man's shoulder. "Cardew !" he said hoarsely. "Then you were not burnt, after all The face of the man whom he called "Cardew" flushed with surprised joy. "Good Heavens! it's old Steinway ! Why, man, the papers said you were burnt in the fire—and you thought I was, What a comedy of errors :"  - uome to the Criterion and have a drink," Steinway said, "and tell me what you've been doing. If you only knew the hours I've spent regretting that I sent you back to sleep at that place !" When they were served with their drinks, Steinway said again— " Now fire away. How have you been existing since I last saw you?" Cardew drew a deep breath, and raised his glass to his old friend. "By raking up the past, and finding out the truth about Clifford Hawke," he said slowly. Steinway leant forward. "What is it?"  "That I hold in my possession the key to the mystery concerning his past in Australia," Cardew answered, "the mystery that helped him to become a rich man when we were poor ones."  "And the mystery . was 7" Cardow drained his glass, and pushed it from him.  "Murder !" lie said quietly. (To be Continued.)