"As you will, dearest. There is an old legend, that maidens love to dream by moonlight at the spot where
first they gave their heart, and that it is lucky. Don't you believe it?"
"I never heard that before," she an- swered. "Do you believe in luck?"
"In the
concrete," replied De Laun- cey enigmatically, "not in the abstract. Still, some remarkable things do hap- pen. But I must get that next car."
"I will see you to
the car," she mur- mured, "then I will go up."
A short turn through the fields brought them to the street, where the car stopped. De Launcey wrung her hand and
approached the waiting car, then he stopped abruptly and turned to her.
"You left your shawl where you sat," he said. "Shall I run to get it for you, or will you
go for it? Luck, it seems, has decreed that you should return to the happy spot."
The conductor watched the dialogue, then rang his bell. Trolley cars could not
be kept waiting while young lovers made their lengthy adieus.
"Catch your car," Mabel answered. "I will get my shawl."
De Launcey sprang to the
footboard of the slowly moving vehicle, and waved her a parting good-by. Then she turned back toward the little rustic seat that had such tender memories for
her.
Mabel looked around where she had sat, but the wrap was nowhere to be seen. She stood dreamily eying the little bench, without, indeed, giving much thought
to the lost article.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a cold, firm hand grasped her neck and held her rigid. She tried to scream, but the viselike grip tightened on
her throat and prevented her uttering a sound. She fought and tore with the despera- tion of terror, but her frail strength was no match for the great Thing that held her
fast. She never saw It. for It
held her face away. A great faintness overcame her, her struggles grew feebler, her eyes clouded, her senses grew confused, and she
fell in a heap to the ground. And Mabel never knew more; never knew how, when all signs of life seemed gone, the cruel, steely grasp had passed from her throat, and lifted
her delicate body for one great final heave to the earth, where it had fallen, disheveled and broken.
For Mabel Ransome was gone; gone from the happiness she had
anticipated, gone from the life she had but begun, gone from the pleasure she enjoyed, gone from the mother she idolized, gone from the world that had been all sun- shine
to her—gone!
IV.
The excitement in Kingston was of the most intense kind when, next morn- ing, the papers made the startling an- nouncement that the
body of lovely Ma- bel Ransome, a guest at the Constant Spring Hotel, had early that morning been discovered on the grounds by a watchman.
Owing to its delightful
climate, one of the chief assets of the island is its tourist trade, and from a business as well as a natural instinct Jamaica prides itself, and justly, on its un- stinted
hospitality to foreigners. This painful tragedy, therefore, stung the nerves of all classes, and police head- quarters well knew the force behind them, should there be any
delay in hounding down the culprit.
Inspector Cameron, with three of his best men, was himself on the job as soon as he received the first message of the
murder.
Peter Roger, a watchman, employed by the hotel, had discovered the body of the murdered girl, while making his usual rounds at about three o'clock in the
morning. The dance had ended at one-thirty. A porter had seen Miss