The Salving of a Derelict.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume XXVII, Issue 7084, 24 January 1907, Page 4

The Salving of a Derelict.

(By Maurice Drake.)

CHAPTER XVI

(Continued.)

Constance, in a whirl of tempestuous fury, was half-way to Mortimer's office before she remembered that visits there were forbidden. Recalling the prohibition, she sought the nearest post office and sent him an express letter. 'News,' she wrote. 'Averil's Iceland Co. Come and see me at once.—.' Driving straight home, she raged and relented, and raged again until Mortimer arrived, hot and hurried, a couple of hours later.

'What's up ' he demanded. 'What have you done about that Iceland company?' she returned. 'Found out the fool the sham was aimed at. But he's dead nearly two years ago. He died after the inquiry. 1 'Who's got the shares now? 1 •His daughter. But we shall have 'em in a week.' 'Don't you be too sure of that. What are they worth?' 'Lord knows. There's ten thousand in debentures and a few hundreds ordinary stock. We're going to offer her forty quid for the lot. That ought to buy 'em.' 'Forty pounds won't. Oh ! you fools ! you fools! . • Don't you see what the game is ' 'No, I'm dashed if I do,' said Mortimer. 'What's up, Connie? What bee have you got in your bonnet now?' 'Bee! Good heavens above! . . . Half a minute. What do I get out of this?' 'What do you get? Ain't you a bit ahead of the game? We don't know there's anything in it yet '

'Not by a jugful you don't. . . • Keep quiet now. You've shown me you think there's something in it, and I shall buy, anyway, now. If I'm had— well, you'll hear of it, that's all. If you like to tell me all you know I'll give you ten per cent, on what we can make out of it, if you put us on to a cert. That's a hundred quid out of every thousand we clear—and thundering good commission, too. You aren't putting any money in it, and you run no risk.' 'Make it two hundred in every thou-

sand." 'Not a penny more than I've said. Now then, out with it—and hurry up, for I'm busy. Constance hesitated—and then yielded. 'Very well, then. Here you are. . . There's malachite on that ground. 1 don't know how much or where it is, but young Averil knows—l taxed him with it only this morning. . . Don't be a fool, Harry. I met him in the Bodega, the beast/ And Dwyer's buying those shares for him.' 'Did he tell you so?' 'Do you take him for a fool? He's a —never mind what he is. I hate him like poison, if you want to know. But ' he's no fool, and if he's after those shares they're worth having, and you'd bette) hurry up if you're going to get youi hands on them.' Mortimer was at the door by this time. 'Remember, a hundred out of even thousand you make,' she reminded him. He went down over the stairs almost as fast as Laurence had gone on a similar occasion the week before, and be fore the sound of his flying feet had died away she was lying across the table, hei head on her arms, in a very torrent of tears-

Meanwhile, Laurence, seated at tabh and looking into brown eyes, was rapidly recovering from the consternation into which Constance Armitage's threats and apparent, knowledge had thrown him The memory of the lie he had detected her in came as balm to his soul. Hao her knowledge been of any real value she would never have made that slip. It was certainly disturbing that she should have known of the tossing for shares incident; but, after all, the matter was n< secret, and on grimly considering the ex tent and variety of her acquaintance then seemed nothing improbable in her hearing the tale told as a joke. x\s to the mala c hite—well, she must have been listening to Farrant's explanations with more at tention than he had given her credit foi —and the rest was guess work. At the worst, Pat had the start, and had as good as promised him the shares by Monday. No good worrying, anyhow, he decided, and so set about enjoying the present hour to the utmost.

The lunch went merrily, and with every fleeting minute of time Laurenct abased himself in spirit more and more deeply. Oh! for the days to come, when divinity should preside at his board al ways, and this happiness together should be for more than the fleeting hour. He rejoiced in her wit—for witty she was; rejoiced in her beauty—and she was deli catoly lovely; but most of all rejoiced ir that ho had never known before in it.ai. or woman, her brave companionship., whether grave or gay. And to this sin came swiftly with him, for his sincerity —perhaps even his first brutality—haci shorn the veil of reserve that parts mar. and maid in their earlier days together. The keen, sharp pleasure of the moment planted memory clear, and through the mists of later years often brought back this hour to him, every turn of hei graceful head, overy flutter of her tern peratc, ringless hands, the light and pleasant room framing her bright eyes and happy face- Fresh from the sloven atmosphere of the morning's interlude and from the unbidden favour and shallow rage of another woman, she seemed to him sexless and dainty as a flower.

As they parted on the pavement outside he put his hand on her shoulder and vainly' tried to put his feelings into the heavy harness of words. 'This has been a happy hour for me,' he said. 'I shall never forget this meal. And —and —you won't make the mistake of thinking that I—that I'm the tailor's dummy we spokr of this morning, will you?'

She looked into his eyes cor the briefest moment. "N—no," she said. ■'But, Mr A very, please don't go on making sure—of what will only disappoint you in the end."

Her mispronunciation of his name recalled to him, more than anything else could have done, the danger of boirrg premature. He took his hand fiom her. 'No,' he said gaily. 'I'm not asking for disappointment. I shall see you this evening? Yes. . . . Good-bye, then, for

the present.' After y not her visit to Dwyer's oflicc. whore, in default of seeing his friend, he left a, briff note of warning, ho sought the river for silent communion with moving wators. A golden evuning in her company—the landlady, a merciful soul and born matchmaker after her kind, pleading a headache—followed upon an afternoon during which Lawrence trod rolling clouds, backwards and forwards, along fho embankment; and sitting by her side in the crowded Exhibition grounds, ho would have been ready to swear that the painted canvas glories of^Earl's Court ex- j collod in matchless beauty the dawns and sunsets of all wild nature at her best. .To be continued in next- issue.)