SERIAL STORY. GREY ROSES

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 62, Issue 127, 11 March 1942, Page 6

SERIAL STORY. GREY ROSES

| By PETER BENEDICT. |

5 (Copyright). =

CHAPTER-XXVI. THE CYNICISM OF DR. WAYLAND. In the airy morning-room Jim laid Hughie down upon a couch, and put a cushion under his soiled head. The boy was very quiet now; all the energy gone out of him; hut he was conscious and no longer in fear. His eyes were strangely calm and wide open, as if they had ceased to contemplate a bogy he could not forget. He lay where he was placed, utterly docile, and apart from the shock and a few bruises, quite unhurt. “Oh, Jim,” said Jane in a whisper, feeling for his sleeve with an unsteady hand, “Whatever shall we say to liis mother? How can we face her?” “Don’t worry,” said Jim in a low voice. “We’ve done him. no harm. I believe he’s got it out of his system now —the whole thing. Look at him. He’s in a daze, but he’s not scared.” She looked over Maurice Wayland’s shoulder at the small, pinched, child’s face. Certainly his submission to the doctor’s hands now was a different thing by far from the rigid, fascinated horror with which he had entered the garden. “But what really happened?” she asked. “Was it a fit?” “I’ll tell you all about it later,” said Jim. “But I don’t see how you know. You’re not a doctor. Are you sure you can tell me all about it?” . “I’m dead sure I can,” said Jim with deep satisfaction, and went to lift Hughie, while a towel was spread upon the delicate primrose-yellow cushions under his head and shoulders. Once the loam and stains were removed, Hughie’s hurts proved to be few and small; an unbroken bruise upon his forehead over one temple, several scratches from the roses, and a small torn wound in one wrist where he had dragged it over the jagged edge of a stone; but for the rest he was whole and sound. Thinking of his mother, Jane was fervently thankful. “And now,” said Dr. Wayland, fastening a dressing upon Hughie’s wrist, “perhaps you’ll explain, Mr Foley, what you are doing uninvited in this lady’s garden?” Jim looked at Thea, and smiled. “If this lady asks me, I will.” “Dr. Wayland has some right i,o speak for me,” said Thea flushing. “He is my friend, and I have no wish to negative any questions he may ask on my behalf.” “I see. You give him the right to be proprietorial. Very well, Dr. Wayland, I’ll tell you. Miss Sievier and I suffer from a fixed idea that Charles Sievier did not kill Mr Hart. Furthermore, we have a shrewd suspciion that Hughie here saw the—death scene. We have found that on the day in question he was passing through the meadow beyond this garden. He rushed home that day frightened out of his wits, and since then h ewon’t look at a grey rose. We conclude that he saw the murder, and got a shock which made him ill. But he wouldn’t talk about it. So we brought him into the garden to see if his reaction would give anything away. The results you have seen.” “Negative results,” said Dr. Wayland sharply. “You succeeded in frightening the boy into a fit, and apparently that’s the sum of your achievement.” “Apparently,” agreed Jim. “You should have known you could do no good that way. Unfortunately for you, the evidence of a boy like this could hardly be of value in any case, as you should have seen for yourself. You could only, if you persisted, do just what you have done — frightened the boy out of what senses he has got. If that was your experiment, Mr Foley, it was a criminal failure.” Jim smiled, not at all discomposed. “Yet you should sympathise with the attempt, Dr. Wayland.” “Certainly, but not with the method

used. It was hopeless to begin it. Nothing the child could say would carry any weight at best.” “That was why we went in for reactions, not words. Well, what exactly did we do to him? Have you formed an opinion yet about the nature of Hughie’s fit?” “Frankly—no. It was apparently induced purely by shock and passed upon exhaustion.” “It had every appearance of epilepsy to me,” said Jim, in a detached voice. “Impossible and absurd! He is not an epileptic subject.” “No,” said Jim. “That's the whole point.” Jane came forward a step from Thea’s side. She was quite composed now that contact with Thea’s mind had soothed her own, though her face was still somewhat paler than usual. “The main thing,” she said, “is —is Hughie going to be all right?” “Of course,” said Dr. Wayland. “There’s nothing the matter with him now except that he’s exhausted, and I very much doubt whether he will be ■able to walk home. All he wants is a few days of quiet, and no more reminders of anything he may or may not have seen in this garden. Though, for my part, I must say I think your line of reasoning very tenuous —very tenuous indeed. However, you’d better think of getting him home to his mother.” “You’re right,” said Jim. “I’ll get a car.” “There’s my husband’s,” said Thea. “Please use that.” “You’re very kind. I shall be glad to.” Hughie, helped by Jane on one side and Jim on the other, walked out to the car without difficulty. He had recovered sufficiently to accept a handful of flowers and to say that they were pretty. All trace of his former preoccupation was gone. Jim said from the doorway: .“Dr Wayland ” “Yes?” Maurice Wayland had his hand tucked into Thea’s arm with an air which could only be described as one of ownership. And to Jane it appeared that Thea accepted the touch rather than suffered it. It was natural enough, after all. Tere was a. man, young, attractive and pleasant, who had been an invaluable friend and confidant to the girl during these troublesome days; no wonder she leaned upon him now as if he had possessed for years those rights in her which the dead man had misused. Charles had merely hurt her with his championship during her husband’s lifetime, and tormented her with his arrogant silence afterwards. (To be continued). The characters in tms story are entirely imaginary. No reference is intended to any living person or to any public o’< private pronertv.