Rose Mortimer; Or, The Ballet-Girl's Revenge — page 62: what you’re looking at

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56 ROSE MORTIMER, But he was premature. All this time, although Edgar could not be pro- duced, preparations were secretly being made in a certain house in the suburbs of London for producing a very fine imitation of that dashing young gentle- man’s face and figure. A grey-headed old gentleman, with a sweet smile and cold cruel grey eyes, and a dark-browed young man, his companion, could have told them something of that little scheme. Fortune had thrown into their path a certain pretty ballet-girl, with whom we are already acquainted. At the first glance they had been both struck by the extraordinary likeness existing between Rose Mortimer and Edgar Deville, in spite of the differ- ence in their sex. To coax her to act the character seemed to them by no means a difficult task. A ballet-girl at such a wretched place as that in which she was then dancing, to an audience composed of the vilest outpourings of the vilest part of London, could surely not be very particular as to right and wrong. She must be very poor, and could be tempted or threatened, at any rate, into compliance. Thus far we think we have now explained some matters which before may have appeared to the reader so mysterious as to be almost unexplainable. One word more, and we can resume the course of our narrative. Were the murders committed by Clara caused by jealousy ? The first two, decidedly not. The third to some extent was prompted by the green-eyed monster, but she did not wish to kill the ‘* Beautiful Fiend’”’ because she loved her husband. No, she was welcome to his love, such as it was, but she should not usurp her influence over him, Not that she wished any longer to participate in his plots and schemes. She had done with him—she was determined upon that point. But she would not quit him without wreaking her vengeance upon him and his mistress. The revenge upon the woman was sated, but with the count she had yet to deal. Let us see what she is about to do, CHAPTER XXII. THE COUNT GOES A USELESS JOURNEY—TREACH- ERY—THE FIRE-—THE EXPEDITION OF THE POLICE. WHEN Count Lerno left the house he called a cab, upon arriving in Piccadilly, and told the man to drive as rapidly as possible to Brompton, where Madge’s handsome villa was situated. But when he reached the house in question he was very much astonished to find that it was dark and desolate. He alighted and rang the bell. There was no answer, and he rang again louder than before. A very sleepy-eyed servant-maid came to answer him. { ‘Ts your mistress within?” ‘f No, sir.?? ** Ah, she has not got here yet. I will wait for her.” “ Certainly, sir. Do you expect her ?” es” The servant showed him into a handsome drawing- room, lit a lamp, and left him, He waited an hour, and yet she did not come. Then he started up, put on his hat, and, without speaking to the servant, left the house. He was in a frenzy. “* One of the two has played me false,’ he muttered between his clenched teeth. ‘’ Whichever it be, she shall pay dearly for her treachery.” He called to a passing hansom, sprang in, and rol- led along towards Park Lane. When he reached the house he let himself in with his latch key, and ran hastily up stairs. The servants had not risen yet. The lights were burning in the drawing-room as they were when he saw them last, but his wife was no- where to be seen. He hurried to her bedchamber. There the lights also burnt brightly. The contents of the boxes and drawers lay scattered about in con- fusion, as he had left them. Clara was not to be seen. He descended once more to the drawing-room, He strode up and down the length of the floor. ‘What does it all mean?” he asked himself. ‘* Where have they gone ?”’ As he could learn nothing until one of the two re- turned to tell him, he sat down with what patience he could muster to wait. ** Unless I_have those jewels the first thing in the morning they will be of no good to me,” he said. ‘Then he rose and began to pace the room again. ‘“ Where could the cat have hidden them? I wish I had followed and watched. I was a fool not to do i but I never dreamt that Madge meant to play me alse.’’ Then he swore a fearful oath. ‘‘ They were in league together. Why should I wait any longer? And yet—yes, I think I had better wait. Clara could never mean to leave me like this. We have quarrelled often enough before, and she has come round again. Oh, yes, she will come round.’’ On the table there was a decanter containing some wine. He approached it, filled a glass, and drank its con- — tents at a draught. Then resumed his seat. But he had not been very long in the easy chair be- fore he began to feel singularly drowsy. He did not intend to go to sleep if he could help it, and, rising, began to walk again. But he was awfully sleepy. To keep himself awake he thought he would have one more glass. Rash act! He could not possibly keep his eyes open any longer. ‘‘Tt’s strange, too,’? he muttered. generally this way. I thought I could have sat up any length of time. I have played cards two nights and a day all of a stretch when it has been worth my while, and I was not very tired either, but toenight—” He yawned and turned in his chair, After all, why should he not take a nap? Click ! What was that ? He sat up and listened drowsily. ~ It sounded something like the cocking of a pistol. Click ! ane it was again, but this time at the opposite side. ‘* What the deuce is it ?”? he said, He listened. All was still. The drowsiness was stealing over him. He strug- gled with it vainly. ? All at once he began to cough, and started to his eet. The room was full of smoke, I see it all now. “TT am not niGhiooksscom (©)