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Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
During this time, the newspaper man, whose detective work was
considered of the greatest value by the police, became an important
medium between the parties supposed to be concerned and the
detective staff of the city, a position of very considerable personal
danger.

Then the interest died away, till in July of 1882, eighteen months after
the rifling of the tomb, the body was found buried in the leaf mould
that lay in the dry bed of a little rivulet that at one time had run
through the grounds at Dunecht.

Public interest was again kept at high tension by the curiosity of the
people to account for the motive of the outrage. Then came the
apprehension of suspected persons, afterwards liberated, and finally of
one named Souter, who was convicted in the High Court at Edinburgh
and sentenced to penal servitude. The conviction hardly met the
justice of the case, for it was obvious that there must have been a
group of grave-robbers at work.

One of the most curious things about the case was that the police
informed Mr. Ross that they believed it was the intention of the guilty
parties to make a confession, and that they had elected to make him
the medium of it. It was actually arranged that the parties were to
travel to Aberdeen by a certain train to reveal the whole mystery, but
for reasons that have never transpired this plan was subject to sudden
eclipse, and to this day the mystery remains as much a mystery as
ever. The unfortunate man Souter, whose actual guilt was greatly
doubted, called upon Mr. Ross the moment he was set at liberty, and
through him communicated to the Press a circumstantial repudiation
of his own responsibility, and promised that what he knew about the
crime and the criminals would ultimately be revealed when
considerations of honour which had kept him silent could be removed.

This is the story of the famous mystery which formed one of the most
thrilling newspaper sensations of modern times, and which created for
the present manager of Black and White a reputation for enterprise
which has lasted till to-day.
 IN THE EDITOR'S PRIVATE OFFICE—"I HAVE
AN IMPORTANT SECRET TO SELL!"

Of a hundred interesting sides of newspaper life I have been unable to

say anything. The dangers of war correspondents—the humours of the
society column, and the people who want to get into it—the financial
editor—the lady journalist—the parliamentary staff—the descriptive
reporter—the newspaper artist—the £ s. d. of journalism—each and all
of these, and many more, would make a paper of considerable
interest; and Mr. Joseph Hatton should write his "Journalistic London"
anew, for the whole newspaper position has changed since his last
edition.

The sub-editor and the descriptive reporter appear to me to be the

men upon whom the chief work of the journalism of the future will fall.
In France, where they do many things well, such masters as Zola have
raised descriptive newspaper writing to the level of an art. Here, save
in the case of war correspondence and parliamentary work, we have
not specialised much as yet. A descriptive reporter, as one of the
artists who has illustrated this little chat of mine suggests, may be
sent out to describe a murder trial, a fire, an execution, or interview a
great novelist!

We shall improve by-and-by. The old verbatim reporter will always

remain, but he must give way to the descriptive writer in many
matters.

Touching the question of the publishing of great secrets—such as that

of Mr. Gladstone's retirement already referred to—I claim for the
newspaper press of Britain that it refrains from publishing news
calculated to needlessly injure or offend. How well do we know the fair
visitant who comes to us with some great scandal to sell, and who
becomes almost indignant when she is politely shown out. Women, I
fear, are more versed in this matter than men.
 Out with the River Police.

SOME DAYS IN THE LIFE OF A NEWS-GATHERER.

A murder trial.
A railway accident.
A political meeting.
An execution.
A colliery disaster.
Interviewing a distinguished novelist.
A fire.
 THEIR MOTOR-CAR
ELOPEMENT,
AND
HOW
IT
ENDE
D.
By Edgar
Jepson.
Illustrate
d by H.
R. Millar.

T HE
atmosp
here of the
room was
charged
almost with storm; there was a thrill upon its air, the thrill of pent
emotion. Jack stood gazing out of the window; Kitty sat by the fire
looking at his broad back almost hungrily, a craving for the clasp of
his arms rending her, her hands clenched to the whitening of her
finger-nails in the effort to keep control of her feelings.
"What's the use of having fifty thousand a year, if I can't marry the
man I want!" she cried, fiercely.

At her words a sudden spasm of pain caught his breath, and twisted
his averted face; but he made shift to say in his usual drawl—

"It does seem rather hard lines, little girl. Who is it?"

"Don't call me little girl! I believe you think I'm still a child!" said
Kitty.

"Very well, very well—madam. Who is the man? Young Malmesford?"

"As if I should tell you!" cried Kitty.

"Well, you sent for me. I thought you wanted my advice or help, or
something, don't you know!" said Jack.

"I want help badly enough," said Kitty; and he turned sharply at her
tone to see that her face was very pale in the frame of her black
hair. "But how could you help me in this? How could anyone help
me? I oughtn't even to talk about it to you!"

"Oh, yes; you ought!" he said, quickly. "You've always talked about
everything to me!" He paused awhile, then added, and he could not
keep the sadness out of his voice, "So you want someone else to
talk to about everything? Who is it? I'll deal with him all right." The
last words came savagely.

"Oh!" cried Kitty, "I believe you'd order him to marry me, and thrash
him if he refused!"

"I'd see that he did it!" said Jack, with the same savage earnestness.

A silence fell upon them; Kitty's thoughts seemed to grow more

distressful, for now and again she sighed; Jack stared out of the
window, and watched the deepening twilight blacken the park; it
seemed to him that this confession of Kitty's was so blackening his
life; the night was settling down upon it.

"Jack—do you—do you remember—about two years ago—you

stopped kissing me. Why—why did you do it?" said Kitty, softly; she
seemed to have wandered from the point. He turned to her; the
glow of the fire alone lit the room now; and she was sitting full in it.
Her face was still pale.

"Oh," he
said, in
discomfort,
"you
weren't a
child any
more. And
you were a
great
heiress—
and I was
your friend
and
guardian—
and all that
sort of
thing, don't
you know!"

"Poor Jack!
You're very "CLENCHING HIS FIST AND BANGING IT ON THE TABLE."
poor, aren't
you, Jack?"

"No, I'm not! I'm rolling in riches! I've four hundred a year!" said
Jack, bitterly. "Besides, there's the Colonial Land Agency; I made
twenty pounds out of that last year."
"What's four hundred a year with your tastes?" queried Kitty.

"Look here! don't let's talk about me. What about this fellow?" said
Jack, clenching his fist and banging it on the table.

"You should never have left Westralia. You kept your horses, you got
your sport; you were on the way to becoming the big man of the
district," said Kitty, not to be diverted from her theme. "Do you
remember what a swell you were when you first found me, six—no,
seven—I'm always forgetting that I'm nineteen—years ago, and how
poor father and I were? Do you know I should never have been
anything but a wild bush-girl if you hadn't taken me in hand and
looked after me? Really you taught me everything! I believe that but
for that I might have worn the wrong clothes!"

"Oh, nonsense! You were born all right," said Jack.

"Oh, yes, you did," said Kitty. "And when three years ago the gold
was found, and father made his million, and died, appointing you my
guardian, and you thought I ought to come to England and have
some schooling, I believe you left Westralia just for my sake, to look
after me."

"One always comes back to England," said Jack, quickly.

"You wouldn't have come but for that," said Kitty.

"Oh, yes, I should. Of course I should."

"I always thought it strange that father didn't leave you a few
thousands a year for your trouble in looking after me and my
fortune," said Kitty.

"He knew jolly well I shouldn't have taken it," said Jack, hotly.

There was a pause; and then she said thoughtfully—

"Do you know I believe father thought you would fall in love with me
and marry me? Wasn't it a funny idea?" said Kitty.

"Oh, v—v—very funny! Very funny!" said Jack, grinding his teeth
softly.

"Yes; just think of your age. Why, you'll be twenty-eight on the tenth
of March," said Kitty.

"Oh! So it's that young fool Malmesford, is it?" said Jack, viciously.

"What's that young fool Malmesford?" asked the innocent Kitty.

"Look here," said Jack, in a quiet, strained voice, "we're getting

away from the point. You want to marry a man; and I'm to make
him marry you. Who is he?"

"Ah," said Kitty, plaintively, with a long-drawn breath, "now I see

why you're so keen about it. You want to get rid of me. You are tired
of the trouble of looking after my stupid investments. Well, I'm sure
I don't wonder at it. You want to marry me off, and have done with
it. I wouldn't have sent for you if I'd known; I've only added to your
trouble."

"Well," said the goaded Jack, "thank goodness you'll be of age in

two years; and then I sha'n't be plagued like this."

"Plagued," said Kitty, "how plagued? I'm so sorry. How was I to

know you wanted to be rid of the trouble of me and my fortune? You
never grumbled before."

"Oh, your fortune! I tell you I've wished a thousand times that every
investment of yours went to smash, and you lost every penny of it!
So there! I'll just leave you for awhile to make up your mind whether
you're going to tell me who the man is, or not!" He flung out of the
room in a heat, and banged the door.
 Kitty laughed
a little low
laugh of
extreme relief;
but her eyes
were all
shining; and
she said with
a little shiver,
"He loves me
—he does—he
does—he
does!!!"

Presently she
rose, with a
very resolute
face, took a
hat and coat
from a peg in
the hall, went
out of the
back-door, and
down to the
stables. She
"SHE SET DELIBERATELY TO WORK TO FILE THROUGH went into a
THE HANDLE." coach-house,
switched on
the electric light above her motor-car, and considered it thoughtfully.
It was a big car, with something of the air of a trap, built to hold
two. Then she went to the box of tools used for its machinery, and
selecting a fine file stepped into the car, and set deliberately to work
to file through the handle of the lever which started and stopped it.
Her Australian life had made her a capital work-woman, and she did
it neatly; but it was a long piece of work, and now and again she
stopped to test it. She wished to file through it, so that she could
break it with a jerk. All the while she worked she whistled softly.
Something about her task seemed to amuse her.

At last she completed it to her liking, and then sat back in the car,
weighing, with a face that grew very serious, the risks of the
dangerous game she had resolved to play. After a long while she
rose and said between her teeth, "I don't care if we are smashed,
Jack and I, together."

She came back to the house, went to him in the billiard-room, and
said, "We're going to dine at the Hall to-night. Aunt will go in the
brougham, and you and I in the motor-car."

"I hate the beastly thing. I know there will be a smash some day,"
he said. His temper was still ruffled.

"Very well," said Kitty, gently. "You go with aunt, and I will go in the
car by myself."

"I'll be shot if I do!" said Jack; then he said, "I suppose Malmesford
will be there?"

"I suppose he will," said Kitty, very demurely. "But why do you speak
so contemptuously of your cousin?"

"I didn't choose my cousins, did I?" said Jack.

"You're very irritable to-day," said Kitty, severely, and she left him.

Later, as they were settling themselves in the motor-car, Jack, still

captious, said, "How many more rugs? are we going to the North
Pole?"

Kitty's heart jumped: they might be going a good deal further: she
only said, "There are ten degrees of frost already; and it isn't like a
closed carriage."
She
handle
d the
lever
very
gingerl
y, and
broug
ht
them
to the
Hall
safely.
Jack
did
not
enjoy
the
dinner.
Kitty
and "KITTY AND THE MARQUIS WERE PLAINLY GREAT FRIENDS."
the
Marquis of Malmesford were plainly great friends: she had never,
indeed, been so nice to him before. Jack tried to regard their
friendship with the eye of an indulgent guardian, hardened, as he
believed himself, to the thought of her marrying; he made a very
poor hand at it. He had accustomed himself, indeed, to looking at
her across the great gulf of her wealth; but the sight of another man
making fortunate love to her awoke in him a desperate jealousy.

They were late leaving the Hall; and it was a bitter black frost. Aunt
Anne started first in her brougham, and then Kitty, in a long sealskin
jacket and sealskin cape, walked down between Jack and
Malmesford to the stables, where the motor-car awaited them. Jack
wrapped the rugs round her very carefully, and took his seat at her
side; she cried a careless "Good-night!" to Malmesford, and started
the car gently. As they turned into the road at the end of the drive,
she moved the lever nearly to full speed, and with a sharp jerk of
her strong little wrist snapped off the handle.

"What's that?" said Jack.

"Oh, Jack!" she cried, with

an odd, excited thrill in her
voice, "I've smashed the
handle, and we can't
stop!"

"Good Heavens!" cried

Jack, and threw his arm
around her.

The speed began to

quicken.

"The lever's nearly at full

speed," said Kitty, quietly.
"What are we to do?"

His arm tightened round

her, and the alternatives
"SHE MOVED THE LEVER NEARLY TO FULL raced through his mind.
SPEED." "We must strike the Great
North Road at Anderfield,
and heaven forgive any one who gets in our way!" he said.

"Six miles and two turns," said Kitty; "but it's our only chance."

The hedges were flying past. The first turn was two miles away, and
they were very soon on it. Kitty put on all the brake she could; and
they came round it safely. They came down hill to the second turn:
fortunately it was not sharp: a long hill fairly steep, and, for all the
brake, the machine went quicker and quicker until it seemed almost
to fly, scarcely touching the ground. The hedge of the other side of
the Great North Road sprang suddenly up before them: they seemed
almost on it; Jack, with his heart in his mouth, lifted Kitty half out of
her seat as they whizzed round the corner on two wheels: the car
settled with a jerk that proved the strength of its springs, and they
ripped down the Great North Road.

Kitty laughed a short hysterical laugh.

"I thought we'd gone to glory together!" she said: and they both lay
back panting.

"How far are we going?" said Jack.

"It won't stop for fifty miles," said Kitty.

"Good Lord!" said Jack. "Can't I do anything? Let me get at the

machinery."

"You can do nothing!" said Kitty, sharply.

For a long while neither said a word. The car sped along with a
querulous, eerie whirr that rose to a clattering snarl as it hurtled
down hill. The cold air stung their faces; the hedges were level,
black walls on either side; now and again they flew through a
sleeping village; and the dogs who ran out to bark, turned and fled
yelping from this sinister, rushing monster. Kitty's firm hand steered
them steadily, save when the car jerked snarling down hill, out of
control; now and again she set the whistle hooting. Jack sat with his
mind in a whirl of fears of what might befall her. Little by little the
oppression of a nightmare began to weigh upon them as a binding
spell.

Jack broke it by withdrawing his arm from around her, and lighting a
cigar; he did not slip his arm back.
Presently she said softly, "Hold me again, Jack, I feel safer"—his arm
slipped round her—"I feel—I feel—as if some dreadful beast were
carrying us away."

She looked infinitely childlike; and he gripped her closer.

"Poor aunt Anne, she'll think we've had a smash, as indeed we may,"
she said presently.

"By Jove, yes; they'll be hunting the neighbourhood for us!" said
Jack.

"As for Lord Malmesford, he'll think you've run away with me," said
Kitty.

"Oh, nonsense!" said Jack, uneasily.

"He will though. Juliette Halliwell will tell him so. I saw her get very
angry at the affectionate way you were looking at me at dinner,"
said Kitty.

"I wasn't!" said Jack.

"Oh, yes, you were; ever so affectionately. What kind of affection

was it, Jack—paternal?"

"Talk of something else!" said Jack, in a thick voice; and nestling

against him, she felt him quiver and his heart shake him at each
thumping beat.

Some miles further on the lights of a town rose suddenly a little way
ahead. Kitty set the whistle hooting, and slowed the car as much as
she could, but even then they dashed down the long silent street at
a very dangerous pace. It was fortunate that it was empty. They
were a mile beyond it before they breathed easily again, and Kitty
said, "What town was that?"
"I don't know," said Jack. "We're five-and-twenty miles from home."

The road
stretched far
away ahead, very
white in the
moonlight; and
the feeling that
the car was a
malignant living
creature came
upon them more
oppressively than
ever, wearing
their nerves.

Kitty nestled
closer to him—a
fear that her
desperate freak
would have a
tragic end
invading and
"THEY RUSHED TOWARDS THE WAGGON."
filling her heart.
They rushed up a
long hill—the car seemed to breast it like a strong demon—and at
the top saw before them a long steep descent.

"Now the brute's going to have all its own way," said Kitty, between
her clenched teeth.

"Never mind, little girl," said Jack, cheerily, "sit tight." If she had not
been there, he felt that he would have enjoyed the danger; as it
was, he sat in torture.
"It is out of control!" cried Kitty; and, peering ahead: "There's—
there's a waggon at the bottom of the hill!"

The whistle hooted and hooted; she gave the car the brake; and at
each leap it jarred every bone in her body. They rushed towards the
waggon; if the waggon was not on its right side of the road, they
were smashed: they were upon it; Kitty screamed out; there was a
snapping crash; then they were rushing along the empty road with
the left splash-board torn off. Kitty lay back in a dead faint. Jack
caught the steering-gear in his right hand, raised Kitty with his left
arm, and twisted into her place, holding her on his knees. The car
began to slacken and go smoother up the opposite hill; in three
minutes it was steady again. Kitty lay heavy and still in his arms, her
face very white in the moonlight; her faint breathing scarce parted
her lips.

Uphill and downhill, through villages, through another town the car
fled on. Now and again Kitty murmured a word, now she seemed to
sleep. The night was wearing on. At last it seemed to him that the
beast was tiring; and he scarce dared believe it. But breasting the
next long hill it slowed and slowed; its moan hushed; it came to a
crawl. Thirty yards from the top it stopped a moment, moved on
again, then stopped for good. For all its danger he sighed that their
ride was at an end. Kitty never stirred; he gave her a little shake;
and she sighed too, and raised herself. They looked down on a great
stretch of country; here and there the dim twinkling showed the
lights of a town.

"There are some biscuits and a flask of cherry brandy, if it isn't

broken, in the box of your seat," said Kitty, slipping into the place at
his side. He fished them out unharmed, and they munched the
biscuits, and drank from the flask by turns.

He looked at his watch, and said, "Ten past three! By Jove, we've
had a narrow squeak!"
 "Three in the
morning, and miles
from anywhere. I'm
hopelessly
compromised," said
Kitty.

Jack knitted his

brows, thinking it
out; he could not
gainsay it. He said
nothing. "Oh!" said
Kitty, almost in a
wail, "I thought you
were a man of
honour, Jack."

"Well?" said Jack.

"There is only one

course open to you,"
"KITTY LAY STILL IN HIS ARMS." said Kitty.

"Well, I suppose there is," said Jack, a little stiffly. "Will you marry
me?"

"Yes: I will—I must—I must," said Kitty, with a deep sigh.

Presently she said in a very low voice, "Have you no sense of what is
fitting?" As she spoke she looked into his eyes, swiftly and away.

He caught her to him, and kissed her; it seemed to him that her lips
were responsive.

A sudden jealous pang wrung his heart. "But—but—the other man:

the man you want to marry?" he said.
"Ah, yes," said Kitty, carelessly—"the other man. It's no use talking
about him now. Let us forget him. I will tell you about him when—
when—we are married."

She threw her arms round his neck and whispered, "Do you think
you will learn to love me, Jack?"

He pressed her to him and cried passionately, "For four years I have
loved you more and more every day. Every day I have cursed your
money more!"

"Poor Jack!" said Kitty, and her eyes were full of tears. He lifted her
out of the car, putting his arm round her, and supporting her; and
they began to walk down the hill in search of a railway station,
careless, in the glow of their happiness, of that bitter cold, and of
the inevitable long wait for a train.
 HOW WE GET OUR
WEATHER.

By Gavin Macdonald.

With photographs illustrating the queer side of the

matter.

I N most of the morning papers we are accustomed to the luxury

of a detailed weather report and forecast. The majority glance at
it with a sceptical smile. They are of opinion that in order to be on
the safe side they must invert its message. If fine weather and
sunshine are predicted, they sagely nod and take down the homely
gamp. The prediction of a hurricane or stormy showers is the signal
for leaving umbrellas and overcoats at home.

However, those who know anything of the gigantic strides

meteorology has made within the past few years are aware that in
the main its prognostications are accurate. In fact, it is a matter for
great surprise that its practical uses are not more generally
recognised and taken advantage of.

If you meet your best friend in the street his first six words contain
some reference to the weather. The merest stranger looks
questioningly at the sky when he has made his bow. Two-thirds of
the daily conversation of the British Isles has to do with this subject;
nor is this surprising, for it is a matter of vital importance, affecting
all classes alike.

A wet
Bank
Holida
y may
mean
thousa
nds of
pound
s out
of a
railwa
y
compa
ny's
pocket
, not
to
mentio
n the CHURCH LIFTED INTO THE AIR BY A TORNADO AND DROPPED
disapp ROOF-DOWN ON A HOUSE 100 FEET AWAY.
ointme
nt and chagrin of countless thousands of prospective holiday
makers. A severe frost may disorganise a whole trade. In 1881, for
instance, the whole building trade was at a standstill for a period of
nearly three weeks, owing to the severity of the frost. And to the
farmers, horticulturists, and fruit-growers the weather is a matter of
financial life or death.

Meteorology is of invaluable assistance in other ways: in warning our

coasts of coming storms; in deciding the climate and consequent
healthfulness of the different parts of the country.
You can't even build a new town successfully without it, for only by
accurate meteorological observation can the two most important
factors of water-supply and sewerage be dealt with. For example, in
planning a new waterworks, the ground subject to the greatest
rainfall, and having the utmost gathering capacity, must be selected;
while in constructing the system of sewerage, it is essential for the
surveyor to accurately gauge the force and volume of the heaviest
thunder-shower. If this is miscalculated, pipes of insufficient capacity
may be laid with disastrous results to the city and its inhabitants.

These things are only to be learned by a study of meteorology.

Few people have any knowledge of the science beyond that supplied
them by the forecasts and charts in the daily papers. Consequently
the charts, which are more or less abstruse, are only understood by
the few, and the forecasts are indulgently tolerated as a description
of useless fortune-telling, rendered respectable by scientific
recognition.

The popular idea seems to be that certain scientific men who have
given the subject considerable study, cast a knowing eye on the
evening sky, and pass on written prognostications for use in the
morning papers.

As a matter of fact the method by which we obtain our weather

reports and forecasts is very different, and savours even more
strongly of romance than the clairvoyant system usually identified
with the seers of the weather office.

Two institutions look after our weather—the Meteorological Office, a

Government department with a grant of £15,000 per annum, and
the Royal Meteorological Society, a scientific institution maintained
by the subscriptions and donations of its members.

The Meteorological Office occupies a dull set of rooms in Victoria

Street over a shop, and, other than the latest weather chart, hung
up outside the street door, there is nothing to intimate that the
 presidi
ng
wizard
s of
the
weath
er sit
upstair
s, and
that if
you
are
particu
larly
anxiou
s to
HOUSES WRECKED BY A TORNADO.
have
the
latest information in their possession you have only to walk up and
pay the nominal sum of one shilling.

Likewise you may receive the latest information by letter for the
same fee, or by wiring to "Weather," London, the shilling fee and the
cost of a telegraphic reply.

Farmers and others to whom the question of weather is a vital one,

especially at the hay and harvest seasons, are supplied with harvest
forecasts for the nominal sum of 2s. 6d. per quarter, in addition to
the cost of the telegrams.

In addition to this, a set of forecasts is daily supplied to the

newspapers, and about twenty-eight well-known agriculturists, for
public exhibition in their neighbourhoods.

The system employed in making up the weather is of more than

usual interest, and is worthy of some description.
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