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[Illustration: THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE!
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
BY
LURANA W. SHELDON,
"_Nay, do not ask--
In pity from the task forbear:
Smile on--nor venture to unmask
Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there._"
NEW YORK
W. D. ROWLAND, PUBLISHER 23 CHAMBERS STREET 1892
Copyright, 1892
BY
W. D. ROWLAND.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE.
I. THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY 5
II. A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT 12
III. RESCUED BY THIEVES 20
IV. THE SHAME-BORN CHILD 26
V. MAURICE SINCLAIR 33
VI. A PAINFUL REMINISCENCE 40
VII. THE BREATH OF PASSION 47
VIII. A MIDNIGHT CRIME 54
IX. MAURICE SINCLAIR ESCAPES WITH HIS VICTIM 61
X. THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN 65
XI. JULIA WEBBER LAYS PLANS FOR REVENGE 73
XII. A SINFUL LOVE 77
XIII. THE CONTRACT BROKEN 85
XIV. IN CENTRAL PARK 93
XV. DEATH 98
XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 104
XVII. BY THE ASHES OF A GUILTY HOUSE 112
XVIII. STELLA IS RESTORED TO HER LOVER 120
XIX. SAFE IN THE ARMS OF LOVE 126
XX. DR. SEWARD'S EXPERIMENT 133
XXI. A PERFECT UNION 140
XXII. "QUEEN LIZ" 145
XXIII. ELIZABETH FINDS FRIENDS 149
XXIV. STELLA CONFIDES IN HER HUSBAND 153
XXV. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 159
XXVI. SORROW AND REJOICING 163
XXVII. THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 168
XXVIII. TOO LATE 176
XXIX. THE HOME IN NEW YORK 181
XXX. SAM LEE DISCOVERS A FARO GAME 188
XXXI. CLEVERLY CAUGHT 194
XXXII. FACE TO FACE 200
XXXIII. "I HAVE NO NAME" 205
XXXIV. THE LADY VAN TYNE WILL FIGHT FOR HER HONOR 211
XXXV. STELLA AND ELIZABETH 218
XXXVI. A LAST ESCAPE 226
XXXVII. FIVE YEARS AFTER 229
[Illustration: MISS LURANA W. SHELDON.]
DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE.
A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY.
Hark! It is a woman's cry
Echoing thro' the unhallowed place:--
Forward, to her rescue, fly--
See the suffering in her face.
A piercing shriek echoed throughout the entire length and breadth of the
gloomy passage, hushed as it was in the brief hour of repose that
usually intervened between the vice-rampant hour of midnight and the
ever reluctant dawn.
It seemed as if the very light shrank from penetrating the loathsome
windings of that wretched quarter of London, and as to pure air, it
simply refused to enter such illy ventilated nooks and crevices, while
the poisoned vapors that filled the narrow precincts were always trying
to escape and failing through their own over-weight of reeking odors.
The scream of the dying woman was carried indistinctly to the ears of
the sleeping inmates simply because the air was too heavy with vile
tobacco and whiskey, stale beer fumes, and the exhalations of festering
garbage heaps to transmit anything in other than a confused and
indistinct manner.
Nevertheless there was something so extraordinarily frightful in the
shriek that it did succeed in reaching the ears of nearly every habitue
of the place, who, shrieking in their turn aroused the others, and one
by one frowzeled heads and wrinkled faces issued from broken windows and
rapidly, with shuffling footsteps, men and women crawled from
innumerable dark passages and darker doorways, and with suspicious
glances at each other, sneaked in and out through the slime and rubbish,
in a half curious, half frightened search for a glimpse of that horrible
tragedy.
I say _sneaked_ about, and I use the word advisedly as the lawyers say,
inasmuch as these degraded members of the human family,--these
de-humanized fag ends of the genius Homo, did not walk, run, or perform
any other specified motion in their perambulations.
On the contrary, they hugged the walls and the gutters; they were
distrustful of the laws of gravitation and equilibrium, preferring to
lean more or less heavily on walls and other supports, with bodies bent
and faces averted, while the rapidity with which they appeared and
disappeared was best appreciated by the Police who were supposed to
guard this particular section of Whitechapel, but who religiously
confined their guardianship to the outer walls, while the denizens of
the multitudinous alleys or passages were free to perpetrate their
murders, ply their nefarious trades and revel and rot in the stench of
their own degradations.
One by one these creatures crawled from their hiding places.
Men were seen clutching the rags of their scanty clothing while their
bleared eyes scanned every inch of the broken pavements.
Women, with odd garments thrown carelessly about their shoulders,
joined in the search, and for a brief time no word was spoken.
Finally an old creature, dirtier if possible than the rest, bent in
form, and with one long brown fang extending down over her shrunken
chin, hobbled from a gloomy doorway and in a strident, nasal tone gave
her opinion to these searchers of iniquity.
"Hit's Queen Liz thet's done fer, HI knowed 'er yell; You'll find 'er
somewheres down by the Chinaman's shanty. HI spects 'e's knifed 'er."
"Good enough for 'er, the stuck hup 'uzzy," exclaimed one of the
wretched beings that followed closely at the woman's heels.
"To think of 'er livin' 'ere for two years hand not speakin' to no one
but that greasy yaller-skin. HI knowed 'e'd get sick of 'er 'fore long."
"S'pose you think hit's your turn next," snapped up another bedraggled
female, whereupon a vicious battle ensued between the two while the men
and women halted in their search to watch, what to them was the very
essence of life,--a fight.
But the old crone who had first spoken crawled on until she reached the
Chinaman's quarters, and there sure enough, a Mongolian, swarthy and
greasy, his beady eyes blazing with excitement, was bending over and
trying with poor success to withdraw a villainous looking weapon, half
knife, half dagger, from the breast of an apparently dying woman.
The victim was a familiar figure in the Alley, and her clean, handsome
face with its "hands-off" expression had long since won her the name of
"Queen Liz."
While her failure to mingle with the other women or receive the beastly
attentions of the men had made her an object of hatred to all concerned,
still she had won their respect by her evident ability to defend herself
at all times and in all circumstances, while the love she plainly bore
her beautiful babe, a child of about two years, was a never ceasing
source of wonderment and ridicule to these hardened mortals.
It was true that Queen Liz spent much time in the quarters of this
particular Mongolian while there were many more eligible parties of her
own nationality in the passage, but Queen Liz was evidently above her
station, and as the Mongolian in question was possessed of more worldly
goods than were his neighbors, it was reasonably supposed that she
sought the comforts and luxuries of Chinese fans and Oolong in
preference to the other shanties with their ever prevalent aroma of
stale beer.
Nevertheless Queen Liz was not wholly overwhelmed by the wealth of Sam
Hop Lee, because it was rumored that at certain intervals a gentleman
from the outside world; a member of actual London society was seen going
in and out of the narrow passage, Liz always accompanying him on these
exits and entrances, for protection, it was generally supposed.
The sight of the stranger in their own lawful precincts brought always a
mixture of sentiments to the thieves and sharpers who infested these
gloomy byways.
Here was an excellent opportunity for operations in their own particular
line of business, but here also was a woman armed with the usual weapons
of the alley, ready and anxious to meet in mortal combat any and all
that should dare lay hands upon herself or guest.
Thus Queen Liz was let pretty severely alone by all, and her life past
and present was a mystery too obscure to be in any danger of being
solved by the beer muddled brains of her neighbors.
But now Queen Liz was lying in the slime and mud of the alley with the
deadly knife sticking firmly in her side, and as this uncanny assemblage
of human scavengers drew nearer, Sam Lee gave one more vigorous pull at
the weapon, and withdrawing it, turned its blade to the light of a
flickering tallow dip, and instantly, in the eyes of each and every one
present, he was acquitted of the horrible deed.
The knife was of a make unknown in the alley and only to be found in the
possession of a man to whom money is no object and who could well afford
to follow his own fancies in the design of his favorite paper cutter,
for such the weapon evidently was.
Long, narrow and sharply pointed, the blade was of finest silver,
handsomely engraved, and the ebony handle shone resplendent with gems,
so placed as to form on the polished surface the initials M. S. in
dazzling characters.