MAN FROM THE AIRPORT

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 58, Issue 194, 30 May 1938, Page 7

MAN FROM THE AIRPORT

By LESLIE BERESFORD.

CHAPTER. YTI.

CHANGE OF MIND.

At much about tho time Paula and Emil Luttner parted outside tlie gates of “Sunnyside,” John Peters was discussing her with old Mr Wallingford at the house of Sir Oscar Baring, no great distance away. From the lawns of 'Lea House, at the bottom of which ran a river, you could see distantly the white and blue mass of the Accrington country seat.

Pete’rs had been studying it for some few silent minutes, a queer little smile hauntiing his lips, though—a strange contrast—his eyes had a serious, almost tragic expression. He turned suddenly to the lawyer by h|s side. “I suppose, as you happen to be her solicitor,” Peters said in his rathei drawling voice, ‘‘it wouldn’t really be etiquette on my part to tell you exactly what is my personal opinion of that young woman.” “Well, I really don’t know, my dear John,” the other murmured lazily in the sunshine. “You sec, as lam your solicitor too, as well as a friend ot yours, the confidence might well be preserved. Confidences given to solicitors, in fact, have to be kept in separate water-tight compartments. If you would really like to get anything off your chest, my boy—” “1 should. I didn’t at the time know she was Paula Accrington, and worth millions in money,” said the other. “All I saw in front of me was a homicidal little maniac, who’d have been the better for a good spanking. And just because she happens to own tho soil of the aerodrome, she thought she could do just as she liked.” “Should that surprise you?” asked Mr 'Wallingford mildly. “Remember how she was brought up, my dear fellow. Pampered, spoiled!, always carrying around with her that unfortunate burden of the silver spoon in her mouth. It isn’t all her fault, you know. Between ourselves—in the strictest confidence —her branch of the family were always a pretty—shall I say, difficult crowd?” ■ “Paula’s grandfather and father were both extraordinarily difficult men. Their wives were not much better. Paulo, you know, has a brother—or at least she had, though nobody knows if he’s alive now or not. He was an out-and-out waster. As a. matter of fact, I have always looked! on Paula as the pick of the whole bunch.” “You surprise me!” Peters murmured', • stariyg across at Sunnyside in deep thought, yet with that queer little smile playing over his lips. “Well,” ho said, after a moment,, “she’s a very thorny bud, whatever else she may be. And, from what I’ve read in the papers, she’s a distinctly wild hud at that. This road-house business—”

“I agree with you,” the solicitor stopped him with an impatient little gesture. “Don’t let’s talk about it, ray boy. In that, as in other tilings, I look on Paula as unfortunate, a creature more sinned against than sinning. The whole fact of tho matter may be summed up in one sentence. lake away Paula Accrington’s money, and she’d become a useful member of sociioty.” “You really think that?” Peters hadi raised himself in his low chair, turning towards the other. “I do; but, very unfortunately, that’s just the one thing that can’t happen to her, unless she gave it away herself, which she won’t do.” “From what I’ve heard,” said Peters hotly, “she’s doing all she can to throw it away recklessly. Isn’t that just like life—so terribly cruel and inhuman ? Here is that girl, owning millions, pouring them out like water on the sheerest trivialities. While a fellow like myself—look how I’ve had to slave to keep body and soul together—' “But—my dear fellow, you’ve nothing to worry about now, have you? With that invention of yours, and Sir Oscar financing you—’ ’ “Yes, I know. But, supposing 1 hadn’t used my brain, hadn’t bothered, about inventing anything—?” “Exactly my argument,” intervened the other. “You used yotir brain, just because necessity drove you to it. Now Paula Accrington, never knowing what necessity means —” • “A lot she’d do with her brains!’ laughed Peters. “I doubt if she has any. Not enough, anyhow to tell her how to handle an aeroplane properly. Wretched little tiger-cat—”

“Como, come, my boy. Don’t be so hard on the poor girl. I tell yoii, it’s, all mainly clue to a faulty heredity. She came from the wrong branch of the Accringtons,” “There wore other branches?” Peters asked, not sounding particularly interested, although really_ho was. “One only,” replied Mr Wallingrord. ‘But that, very unfortunately died out. [ sa y.—unfortunately—because that was the family’s main stem, and solid. It was before my time, of course, but I am at home with the details through my father. The last living member of that branch was a Clive Accrington (all the eldest sons had. been Clives on that side), and he died childless, most regretfully. He—was never married.” John Peters said nothing, but just sat, staring out at the white and blue mass of Sunnyside in the distance, and thinking deeply. He had so far said nothing at all to old -»v W allingford about the story which the ex-solicitor’s clerk, Tucker, had 'told him all these weeks past out in Ottorbridgo, Now Brunswick.

Peters had indeed, until arriving hove given the matter no more thought. Having made up his mind to have no more to do with the business, he had dismissed it from bis life, as irrelevant. However, since being here and meeting Paula Accrington, lie had begun almost to argue with himself as to whether that indifference was right. Not that he had any interest in the money. Becoming friendly with old Mr Wallingford on the voyage home, he had since been introduced in London to Sir Oscar, and at once a business basis liadi been found on which Peters was now completely without trouble as to the immediate future, even with the almost certain promise of wealth before him. Therefore, the Accrington millions were unnecessary to him. It was not of them indeed that bo was thinking at this moment as of Paula Accrington who owned, and was deliberately wasting such a fine estate. Really—if he chose to press his claim

Flying; Adventure; Love and a Diverted Legacy

(To bo continued)

(COPYRIGHT).

—it was his estate, being Hung away by an irresponsible girl. Even that might not have been his affair at this moment, had it not been for the girl, and especially what old Air ’Wallingford just said about her. “Take away Paula Accrington’s money, and she’d become a useful member of society.” Peters wondered.

“NOT LOVEeiOH NO!”

Ho could not deny that, in the few minutes they bad faced bach other on the BencunsJiold aerodrome, he had become acutely interested in her. He had been just a little startled, in fact, by the unusual emotions she bad, aroused in him. Not—love. Oh, no. If anything, it bad been the very reverse. Everything lie disliked in her was intensified by her behaviour. He would like to take her down a peg, lie felt. He would like her to know that she was living only on bis charity. And then again, in the next minute, lie thought differently. It would be beneath his contempt to achieve so cheap a triumph. He set about diverting his mind from the girl. “I had a letter last night from O’Corrigan, by the way,” lie said, turning to the slightly sleepy old solicitor. “He’s on his way from Ireland to-night. He’s coming here —that is, he says, if be hasn’t been shot by someone before he leaves Dublin. Candidly, I can’t imagine a living soul who’d want to shoot old Dan,”

“A good fellow,” said Mr Wallingford, waking up from his doze, and nodding.

“Yes. No man could ask for better friends than Dan and de Brissao. I wonder how Pierre’s getting on in France. I haven’t heard from him since I wrote ancl told him of tne agreement with Sir Oscar. I guess lie’ll blow in any minute now, without troubling to write.” Just then “a man-servant appeared and murmured something to the old solicitor, who rose quickly to his feet. “Good gracious. . . Wants, to see me?” he stared, then locked towards Peters awkwardly, and said—in sudden decision: “All right. I’ll come now. You’ll excuse me, John?”

Peters remained alone on the lawn, where now the sunset was insinuating shadows to blot out the earlier light, and, a. faint mist was rising from the river. The white and blue mass of “Sunnyside” was only vaguely to he seen now in the haze, which distorted everything. The dying sun had begun to spread a crimson splash across the building, as if smearing it with blood. But of that Peters thought nothing, being unable to foresee events. He saw only the picture of Paula Accrington on the aerodrome, every detail of her insolent loveliness indelibly imprinted on his mind. And again he toyed with that insistent idea of his that lie had been wrong, that he must claim his own.

That gave him an inspiration, and once more his queer little smile flaunted itself on his lips.

v “By gad, yes!” he said to himself. “That’s the very idea. Just wliat old Wallingford wanted to happen, only—with a. twist in its tail. Prove her an outsider to her face, and then make her a present of the whole caboodle, after she’s come to her senses.” The idea drew him back into the house, and up to the bedroom he was occupying. He opened up one of his rough Canadian leather trunks, and began to search through it. coming at length upon a shining black hold-all. This, as lie*opened it up in turn, disclosed a. number of documents, some a little tattered, and all discoloured by age. One he selected from the rest, studying it carefully. It was a duplicate certificate of marriage, the date of it very long back, the writing of it that spidery 'and very precise script of three generations ago. On the form were the names: “Clive Arthur Accrington—Mary Elizabeth Peters ——” But the most important information given hv the certificate was the name of the church where the marriage had been celobrated: “St. Jude’s, in the village of Barnsley -on - the - Moor, Devon.”