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Updated: June 21, 2025
Well, I happen to know that his pretty stepdaughter, Enid Orlebar, was over head and ears in love with him. My daughter Ethel and she are friends, and she confided this fact to Ethel only a month before the tragedy." "Then you actually suggest that a a certain woman murdered him?" gasped Fetherston. "Well there is no actual proof only strong suspicion!" Walter Fetherston held his breath.
I read James Orlebar Cloyster's letter with care. It was not particularly long, but I wish I had a copy of it; for it is the finest work in an imaginative vein that has ever been penned. "Masterly!" I exclaimed involuntarily. "Yes, isn't it?" she echoed. "Enables one to grasp thoroughly how the mistake managed to occur." "Has Eva seen it?" "Yes."
Enid Orlebar had been in the captain's rooms during his absence! NOW Enid Orlebar's story contained several discrepancies. She had declared that she arrived at Hill Street about seven o'clock on that fateful second of September. That might be true, but might she not have arrived after her secret visit to Half Moon Street?
They were unaware that Lady Orlebar, after the settlement of her husband's estate, had found herself with practically nothing, and that her marriage to Sir Hugh had been more to secure a home than anything else. Both had, alas! been equally deceived.
The paper was that used habitually by Enid Orlebar, and upon it was a date, two months before, and the single word "over" in her familiar handwriting. He took his stout walking-stick, in reality a sword-case, and frantically searched for other scraps, but could find none.
Enid Orlebar was a useful tool in the hands of this man who was so unscrupulous. She sighed, passing her gloved hand wearily across her hot brow. Strange how curiously his presence always affected her! She had read in books of the mysteries of hypnotic suggestion, but she was far too practical to believe in that.
He had been first attracted by it as a possible plot for a novel, but, on investigation, had discovered, to his surprise, that Bellairs had been Sir Hugh's trusted secretary and the friend of Enid Orlebar. The poor fellow had died in a manner both sudden and mysterious, as a good many persons die annually. To the outside world there was no suspicion whatever of foul play.
But as only a small portion of the destroyed communication could be found, its purport was not very clear, and the name and address of the writer could not be ascertained. Yet it had already been proved without doubt that the mysterious tenant of the dismal old place the man who posed as a poultry-farmer had had as visitors Dr. Weirmarsh and Enid Orlebar!
Now, Walter had met Enid Orlebar six months before at Biarritz, where she had been nursing at the Croix Rouge Hospital in the Hôtel du Palais, and the memory of that meeting had lingered with him. He had long desired to see her again, for her pale beauty had somehow attracted him attracted him in a manner that no woman's face had ever attracted him before.
But Enid Orlebar, though she somehow held him in suspicion, nevertheless liked him. In certain moods he possessed that dash and devil-may-care air which pleases most women, providing the man is a cosmopolitan. He was ever courteous, ever solicitous for her welfare. She had known he loved her ever since they had first met. Indeed, has he not told her so?
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