The Nine of Hearts

"What!" screamed Ida "you two!"

"Yes," said Fowler-and in the midst of my own excitement I could not avoid observing the expression of calm satisfaction on his face-"we two."

"What are you here for?"

"For reasons, Ida White," replied Fowler, "which may or may not be fatal to yourself. Follow what I am about to say. We have here a confession from this young gentleman which, if true-that is, if it can be proved by documentary evidence-will bring undoubted disgrace upon you, but neither death by the hangman's hands nor penal servitude for life."

She recoiled, and echoed,

"Death! Penal servitude for life!"

"It is exactly as I have said. Death by the hangman's hands or penal servitude for life. All is known. Your theft of the ulster at Prevost's Restaurant, and everything else. Your liberty at this moment rests upon a written document. If it never existed, or if you have destroyed it, you are doomed. If it exists, you are saved."

"You are a madman!" she cried, but her face was blanched, and her figure expressed the most abject terror.

"I am an officer of the law," said Fowler. "Now do you understand? If the confession written by Mrs. Edward Layton, and which, after her death, you took from the table by her bedside, is in existence, you have nothing to fear. If it is not, you are a lost woman. No words, no parleying! It is life or death for you! The moment has come. Decide. Which way?"

Utterly overpowered, Ida White replied, with hands tremblingly raised, as if for mercy,

"I have the paper."

"Where?"

Her hands wandered to her pocket, and she took a purse from it.

"Here!"

"There is something else, lady-bird."

"What?"

"The papers you stole from underneath your mistress's pillow. Ah! you have those also! Hand them over. Thank you, lady-bird. Very satisfactory – very satisfactory indeed. A happy termination to a most remarkable case!"

VII

    "August 27, 1885.

"Dear Mr. Laing, My intermediate letters will have placed you in possession of all that has occurred. Edward Layton is released with honor, and it has been the subject of hundreds of leading articles that the obstinacy of one juryman, who refused to be guided by circumstantial evidence, saved a noble young fellow from an unjust death. A great blow has been struck against the jury system. Eleven men wrong, and one man right! – people could hardly believe it. But it was so in this instance, and I have no doubt it has been so in others. You being now a married man, domestically happy and contented, the news I have to impart will give you pleasure. Edward Layton is in Switzerland. He has gone upon a long summer and autumn tour. Alone? No. Mabel Rutland, restored to health, is with him. Well, but that is not enough? I take a satisfaction in prolonging the interest. I could almost fancy myself a novelist. Mr. and Mrs. Rutland are also of the company, and it is Mr. Rutland himself who invited Edward Layton to travel with them. In less than a year from this date the lovers will be united, and faith and self-sacrifice will be rewarded. Mr. James Rutland, Mabel's uncle, to whose obstinacy Edward Layton undoubtedly owes his life, and before whose obstinacy Justice should bow, is also travelling with them. No one else? Yes. Mabel's brother, Eustace, repentant, humbled, reformed.

"I have had painted for me a very simple picture on a large canvas. It is the Nine of Hearts, which I intend shall always occupy the place of honor in my house. It cannot fail to attract attention, and when inquiries are made about it I shall have a story to tell.

"With a full appreciation of your rare generosity, I remain, dear sir,

    "Yours faithfully,
    "Horace Bainbridge."

THE END