Stockton Herald, South Durham and Cleveland Advertiser. — 1887-03-19 (Stockton-on-Tees, Cleveland, England)

CHAPTII:R IV.  •• The Blood-bathed Betrothal " was over &Midst a . round of applause. Guests at "twilit* Manor, the various families around, by whom Aunt Jennifer was known and liked, . despite her eccentricity, made an audience not disposed to be too critical, as the piece concluded with a highly effective scene.  -----Again and again the curtain, manipulated by Mr Stokes, had to rise, whilst Sit Jahn Mandalay roared applause, garnished by strong language, and his lady, still dwelling on her lost diamonds, was gond enough to murmur, "Ah, really, quite creditable indeed."  Retributive justice, in the shape of the Bastile, came in at the cud. The hero proved a great rascal, connected with at least three murders, a forgery, half a score of minor peccadilloes, and M. Latour stood there as the curtain descended with a guard on either hand and a white, craven face. , If that was all acting, why, then, Alexander Lascelles was really a star. But at the last, In his official capacity as gendarme, Frank Annytage laid hands upon him, and whispered a word in his ear. The effect woe greater than anything of whieh Aunt Jennifer had dreamed. He grew ashy pale, shuddering at Frank's touch, and his knees tottered under him. It was but a moment; then his nerve returned, whilst he furtively glanced around for an avenue of escape. A storm was rising, the moaning wind, the dash of snow and hail against the windows, well-nigh drowned the village chimes as they pealed for Christmas Eve. Safety was in the tempest and the darkness, on the wide, trackless moor, and with a quick spring he threw off Frank's grasp and darted for the door, only to run into a pair of einewy arms, closing upon him with a grip trorthy of a pepper-and-salt clad polypus. • "You very nearly spoilt it, sir," said Mr Stokes in at reproachful aside to the intrrister. " Amateurs are always .so impatient.. I would not make the capture before. No use in having more scandal than can be helped." "Capture I Who are you ?" It was' Alexander's voice—a very faltering voice, too —asking the question with a dire misgiving. "Mr Reuben Keene, of the detective police force, very much at 3 our service. 1 arrest you, Alexander Lascelles, alias Aaron Lane, alias Abel Lloyd, alias Amlet Lawrence," answered the late James Stokes, in a business-like tone, dropping the "II " for the sake of euphony. "1 arrest you on suspicion of burglary at Sir John Mandalay's. And I warn you that anything you say may be used against you l" "What does this mean? Mr Cyril Norman, as your father's guest, I appeal to you. Is this a Jest?" It was not badly done. That mixture of incredillous astoniehment, of haughty indignation, with • just anger in the background, re, fleeted credit on one who had once trodden the boards of the Royal Thespian. It had no effect on thp detective save to provoke a smile, but almost made the innocent curate doubt, and strengthened the hand of Aunt Jennifer, standing in agonised surprise. , "What is this outrage' Unhand him, minion l" •  "Not it I knows it, mann Sorry to disoblige a lady, but dooty is dooty.'' The detective paid that small tribute to gallantry, as a practical man, moved to depart with bi.pOignar. "Come," he said ; ow. have