OUTPOST IN CHINA

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 60, Issue 194, 25 May 1940, Page 3

OUTPOST IN CHINA

By VAL GIELGUD.

CHAPTER XVI

A WOMAN SCORNED.

As the sound of the pony’s hooves clattered away in the distance, Sheila turned on Janet like a tiger-cat.

“How could you? How could; you?” She cried out.

1 “I’m sorry to have made free with your goods,” said Janet coldly, “but he’ll need something. It’s a long ride out to the hills.”

“I suppose,” Sheila went on fiercely, “that you encouraged him to go because you think he’d be better dead, than here.”

“J think,” said Janet, “that you’re being the least bit in the world selfcentred. I was thinking of Tan Fu.” “I’d burn the cursed place myself, if I could!” Sheila went on. “I hate it!” “I don’t blame you for that,” Janet retorted. “You don’t belong.hcjre-. You owe the place nothing. It’s different with Leslie—and with Pat and with me. It happens to be our job you see.” For a moment Sheila dropped her head into hey hands. Then she looked up again. “How you hate me really!” she said in a low voice.

“I told you I disapproved of you in a place like this,”- said Janet. “I do. But that’s all there is to it. What you can’t get over, my dear Sheila, is that you don’t -qiatter to me—any more than I'matter to you. Let Pat know that we’re dining at home after all, will you?” Sheila laughed mirthlessly. “By all means stay if you like,” she said.

“I don’t think plain speaking makes the best sort of cocktail,” said Janet James, for once being almost epigrammatic.

And she left the house, feeling a little uneasy in her own mind that she had perhaps been unreasonably hard on a girl whose only basic failings were the inexperience of youth and the selfishness almost inseparable from good looks far beyond the ordinary. Left to herself, Sheila Havelock lighted a cigarette and prowled neurotically up and down the room. Almost like an embodied conscience her shadow followed her along the walls, wavering as the lamp flickered, fantastically elongated as she swung t° and fro.

She knew she had behaved badly to the older woman. She knew she had been unreasonable in expecting Leslie to disregard Wu and the station altogether for her safety at a moment’s notice. But it was not that she was hurt or aggrieved. She was just most bitterly disappointed. She had made a picture of Leslie Bale on the wall of her imagination. He Had stepped out of the frame, tired, dirty, practical, energetic. Sheila had forgotten that it was just those qualities which she had admired in the days when she had to compare Gerald with him. She was no longer interested in him because he could manage Chinese boys, and do his job properly. She made a futile little gesture with her hands, as if to push everything away from her, and realised that the missionary had re-entered the and was looking at her with a rather embarrassed look in his eyes. “I WILL SHOOT DALE.” “Gerald’s just coming,” he said awkwardly. “I think he’ll be all right but he may want rather careful handling,” “Thank you, Mr James.” “But where’s Janet?” “She said she would prefer to dine at home after all,” said Sheila deliberately. “I see. But—you know—l hardly like to leave you alone with Gerald in his present state of mind.” Sheila did not reply, for Gerald walked in at that moment, rather dishevelled and wild-eyed. . “I’ll have dinner brought in,” she said.

“Do you think I want to eatf”’ snarled Gerald.

“I’m sure you. want a drink, Gerry.” “And how right you are!” He went to the sideboard, and splashed whisky into a tumbler. “I’d be careful of whisky on. an empty stomach, if I were you,” put in Patrick James. Gerald rounded on him.

“I’m grateful to you for bringing me'back,” he said, “but do leave me alone now! I’ve got some thinking to do.” “What about, Gerry?”

“"What do you think?’’ snapped Gerald. “That blighter Wu, of course!” “If that’s all,” retorted Sheila, “you needn’t bother yourself any more, because Leslie’s back.’’ Gerald, who had flung himself into a chair, started up out of the same as if propelled by a spring. “Back, is he? Where is he?” “Gone to pay Wu a visit.”

“Ah,” said Patrick James with satisfaction, “that’s what I’d have expected of him.”

Gerald disregarded the interruption. “When will he be back?” he demanded.

“He said in the morning,” said Sheila indifferently.

“Capital,” said Gerald. “Splendid!” said the missionary, who unlike Sheila, did not perceive the underlying irony in Gerald’s voice. “You can go off to bed with an easy mind, Gerald and have a good sleep.” “Oh, can I? You think so?” “Of course. I’ve complete confidence in Leslie. He’ll settle things his way easily enough.” “Quite,” said Gerald emphatically; and added. “And then I’ll settle them mine!” “What on earth do you mean.''” Gerald Havelock splashed out another drink for himself and spoke over the rim of the tumbler. He spoke a little thickly, between the effects o( raw spirit and hardly-repressed emotion. “I know you think I’m just a blithering young innocent fool! Well, I may be’ all that as an agent-in-charge. But I’m competent enough to do as I once said. The moment Leslie Dale

Romance in the Orient

(COPYRIGHT)

puts his face inside this house again, I’ll shoot him like a dog!” “You’re done up and over-excited,” said • James soothingly. “You’ll feel differently in the morning, after some sleep.’’ Gerald laughed shrilly. “So you don’t believe it?” he stammered.* “You think I’m going to sleep. I’m waiting up for him!” And lie pulled from his pocket the pistol with which lie had threatened Wu earlier in the evening. TWO AND A PISTOL. Patrick James flung out an authoritative hand. “Don’t talk melodramatic nonsense!” he said. “Give me that pistol, Gerald!” “You mind your own business!” “Gerald!” protested Sheila. “This has gone far enough,” said the missionary angrily. “I quite agree,” said Gerald speaking more calmly. “I don’t want tohurt you padre, if only for your wife’s sake. She’s always been pretty decent to me. But you get along and look after lief, or I may have to rehearse on your carcase!” He levelled the pistol straight at Patrick James’s chest. Sheila saw the missionary’s eyes glow, and his big fists clench. But, for once, whether owing to an- influx of unexpected courage, alcoholic or otherwise;, Gerald Havelock seemed to know his own mind. His finger tightened on the trigger, and -Sheila uttered a little “Get along padre! Quick march!” “iPleasei go,' Mr James,” said Sheila imgently. “This isn’t your resonsibility, you know. I shall he ouite all right—” “Get out!” Gerald interrupted savagely. Patrick James shrugged liis shoulders. There was no question of his being afraid. He was one of those fortunate men,, whose record was such that, no one could conceivably question liis courage. But, though his instinct might rebel at tire- thought of leaving Sheila Havelock alone with Gerald as hie was, every atom of co-mmoiisenso revolted at the absurdity of getting himself shot by a drunken hoy in- a lit of self-pity. There was Janet, and his Mission to he thought of. He bowed slightly to Sheila and walked slowly out.. Gerald watched him go, and grinned 1 unpleasantly. He had savoured victory oyer stronger personality, and the novelty of the sensation was sweet in his nostrils. He followed the missionary out on to the verandah where his 'wife was standing with one arm held tightly across her breasts, her eyes very wide open, her lips tightly shut. . Almost as if sleep-walking in- Ins complete disregard of her, Gerald proceeded to- shut the french, windows, closing and barring the heavy bulletroof wooden shutters. With the same uncanny deliberation he then, locked the three doors leading respectively to the- two- bedrooms and the servants quarters, pushed one of the long chairs out into the middle of the room, and a second with, its back against the door his own bedroom.

“Now Sheila,” lie said; “go and sit down, in that chaiju!”

“And what do you think you’re laying at now?” whispered Sheila. “We’re just going to sit up together, and wait for Mr Leslie IDiale,” said Gerald quietly. Then his voice shrilled suddenly, m a passion of mingled fury, pain, and injured vanity: “Curse him!” Sheila sat down in the chair. There Was nothing else she could do. for. the moment. Gerald was as good as irresponsible. And something was bound to turn up. Nor indeed was she particularly anxious on Dale’s account. He could look after himself. She looked at Gerald—and suddenly she did not feel so sure. He sat, .leaning a little forward. There was a cruel Smile on his lips, and the eyes above the muzzle of the pistol were hard and merciless. She began to stammer something, but he would not reply. He merely sat quito still, his eyes pioving at intervals from Sheila,’s face to the shuttered window, ancl back again. . Somewhere out in the night, over the hills there sounded a rumble of distant thunder. THE LONE RiDER.

During the first hours of his long ride into the hills, Leslie Dale was conscious of little hut a weariness of the flesh,, so acute, so overwhelming, that nothing else could find a place in his brain where it might register. His principal fear was not of the darkness, of an ambush, of Wu’s riflemen—but of falling asleep in his saddle, and rolling off his pony. As the rough track serpentined its way further and further into the heart of the hills, it grew steeper and stonier, so that no pony could be expected to go at more than a scrambling walk. And Leslie rocked along, feeling every instant more and more numb in mind, less and less substantial in body. His eyes, felt sticky. His lips, and the inside of his thighs' were sore. His hands—in spite of being gloved—were stiff with cold. For those hours .before the dawn, in the high places of the hills'were sufficiently bitter.

He jabbed, his knees well home from time to time; smoked cigarettes, which burned vilely against his cracked Ups, and fouled his palate- took an occasional sip of whisky from his flask; even quoted what poetry he could remember from his nursery and schooldays to help him keep awake—and probably for the first time realised that it is possible for poetry to be piactieally useful! And all the time, like two Weevils gnawing busily in the core, of his mind, two thoughts criss-crossed, vanished, and'returned remorselessly; could he possibly hope, to get to Yus headquarters before the bandit started on Iris expedition? And what on earth had happened to Sheila Havelock. I-Je knew quite well that he ought to he worrying solely on the. first count. In practice it was the second question which nagged him so maddeningly. And perhaps this was not so surprising. For the first question.was, after all, a practical one: a matter of simple fact, of the number of miles an hour lie could get his jaded pony to go, versus Wu’s ability to get his men .started under cover of darkness. If

lie failed—if Wu had left first, Tan Ku was probably doomed. Even if Dale could catch him up, the bandit could never put .up with the loss of “face” involved in calling off an enterprise once obviously begun. In which case Leslie Dale’s other problems would almost certainly be settled for him, decisively and disagreeably. But. Sheila’s attitude—that was another matter. Leslie Dale was in no sense of the word a.' meek pe.rson. He knew his own mind, and knew that he knew it without humbug. But he know too that as far as women were concerned he suffered from all the weaknesses of inexperience. He believed them to bo definitely the weaker sex; to need protection; to appreciate service and affection. Of the rest he know as little as a schoolboy. (To be continued).