SERIAL STORY. GREY ROSES

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 62, Issue 123, 6 March 1942, Page 6

SERIAL STORY. GREY ROSES

By PETER BENEDICT.

(Copyright).

CHAPTER XXII. “IF THIS SHOULD FAIL, WHAT CAN I SAY . . . ?” ‘“I wonder,” said Jim, “I wonder! It must be possible to find out where Hughie was that morning.” “But she’s told us. He went to see Mr Grey begin to cut his hay-field. And do you know where Grey’s farm is, Jim? It’s near the Rose Lodge garden. And Hughie was on his way home to dinner —don’t you see, that makes it about the right time. You found Hart dying at ten to twelve. Hughie’s father comes home for his dinner at twelve, I kribw. Oh, Jim, I must be . right. Hughie saw the murder.” “The garden wall is much too high for him to see over. And the path leaves the wall before it reaches the gate.” “But Hughie would go to the gate. I know he would. To look at the roses. He loves everything that’s nice to look at. He used to come and watch me paint, and I swear to you he’d go anywhere to look at a pretty thing. Of course he went to the gate. He’d done it before, many a time. He knew the grey rosos were there, just inside. How could he resist them?” She shook his arm in her two hands, her face contorted with eagerness and agitation. “Oh, Jim, I know I’m right. He went to the gate just to take a look at the roses. And he saw Austin Hart killed He saw the roses 1 threshing, he saw the blood, and the struggle, and heard the scream. And of course he ran home-—of course he was terrified. He wouldn’t understand what had happened but he’d know it was horrible. Yon see. Jim, it all ‘fits in. It all makes sense.” j „ “Yes,” said Jim, thoughtfully, ‘yes, it all makes sense.” He closed his hand over hers, and held her so. “Listen, Jane! It isn’t going to be easy. We can find out the truth —we must, we will. But don’t think it’s going to be plain sailing. He’s not normal, and heaven knows what a court is going to make of his witness even if we manage to get it out of him. Let’s face facts. Hughie knows what he saw as well as. any normal person, but legally Hughie s an imbecile, and I doubt if he’d carry any weight. You do realise that? “Oh, yes, yes, but we can try it. Anything, anything to start a trail. We haven’t even managed that until now.” “I know. I know, my dear. But don’t, for pity’s sake, build too high upon it until we’ve followed it up. It may lead to something. It shall if we can make it. Maybe if we use our heads it won’t be necessary to use Hughie as a witness. He may bring us to other evidence, to someone more substantial. At least you can bet your dear loyal life we’ll try it for all we’re worth.” “Oh, yes,” said Jane, trembling in a passion of hope, “oh, yes, Jim, let’s go back to them now. Please! There’s no time to waste “No,” he said gently, drawing her onward, “not now, Jane. Not yet. Let him get home, into the atmosphere he knows best, and the surroundings where he feels safest. He wouldn’t tell you anything now. If you pestered him he’d grow frightened, and never tell you anything. Besides, you’re in no condition to question him just now. You’re too excited to be patient, and oh, my poor Jane, you’re going to need all your patience to manage that poor boy, even though you start with him where most people leave off.”

“FIGHT IT OUT.” “I could handle him now,” she said, pleading like a child. “I’m sure I could.” “Look at your hands, Jane!” He held them up before her very gently, and she saw that they were trembling. So were her lips. So were her knees under her. Her whole person burned in a wild fever for Charles. “Do you think that agitation wouldn’t communicate itself to him in a moment? No, you’d never get anything out of him that way. You’ll come back home with me and have some tea, and rest—and then perhaps, when you’ve got yourself in hand we’ll go back to the charge and see what we can do with Hughie.”

“Yes,” she agreed, upon reflection, “I know you’re right. But it must be to-night, Jim, I can’t bear to wait any longer.” “It shall be to-night. I’m coming with you.” But he thought to himself in a kind of private despair: “What shall I say to her, what shall I do for her, if this hope fails us?” All the patience of which Jane was capable, all her subtlety, all her ingenuity, were spent like water in the week which followed. Hughie’s trouble was soothed and smoothed away from his mind gradually, so that he grew cheerful again. Only when she questioned him did he shrink back, and sometimes cry fitfully. “I can’t go on doing it,” she said in despair. “His mother knows what we think; she’s tried to help me. But its cruel. Oh, Jim, I can’t bear to keep pushing him back to it. I’ve tried to be so gentle about-it, but it doesn’t make any difference.” “No matter,” said Jim. “Hughie will get over it. But unless we go right ahead it’s very doubtful if Charles ever will. Perhaps there could be some other approach. If we showed him something he recognised there would he a reaction. Let’s take him to see Charles. It’s a negative experiment, because we’re sure Charles had nothing to do with it; but there might be a certain amount of evidence in his

attitude. If he even saAv Charles in the garden he’d be sure to manifest some sort of fear and horror.” “But it’s all so blind,” she said hopelessly, “such a business of groping in the dark. I know it Avas my idea at the beginning —and I still believe in it, too —that the fright he had Avas from Avitnessing the —the killing.” With Charles remanded in custody, she could never bring her tongue to say the word murder. “But there’s nothing to prove it—nothing at all. We’re just not sure of anything. Oh, Jim, what are we going to do?” “Brief a good man, if necessary, and fight it out. But I still think something could he made of Hughie.” “All right,” said Jane listlessly, “if you can arrange it Ave’ll take him to Charles —since Ave can’t bring Charles to him.” (To be continued).