NIGHT TIDE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 64, Issue 31, 16 November 1943, Page 6

NIGHT TIDE

SERIAL STORY. A Romantic Story of a Great Seaport.

(Copyright).

(J. R. WILMOT).

CHAPTER XVII. JOHN MAKES A HURRIED DEPARTURE. There were moments when John Macadam wondered whether he had done the right thing in returning home.

Since his arrival he had mulled the matter over a great deal in his mind, and while it had been impossible for him to remain in America since he had cut adrift from membership of the gang, he felt that he might have done better perhaps had he made for South America or even crossed the frontier into Canada,

He had sensed that there would be opposition to his return on the part of his father, and many times it had rankled in his mind that such injustice should exist. Yet he felt that Shirley would do her best to make The Skipper see reason. After all lie was his son, and there was still some truth in the old tag that blood is thicker than water., He liked Miss Fillinger, too. There was, it was true, something almost pathetically maternal about her ministrations, but lie felt that she meant well by him, and ever since he had been a child he had always been grateful for such kindnesses that were shown to him.

On the night she had tricked him into crossing the river to interview his father he had felt that it would be easier, perhaps, if he had his first interview in Miss Fillinger’s company, and yet he felt glad that the Old Man had not been at home. Miss Fillinger had considered Captain Macadam ungrateful to have absented himself on that occasion. She had said as much to John on the return journey. But then Miss Fillinger had been promising herself an interview with Captain Macadam from the first moment she had heard the story of his unreasonableness from Shirley. Miss Fillinger, thwarted at the first attempt, had not the slightest intention of allowing the Captain to slip so fortuitously through her particularly capable fingers. She was determined to make an excuse to beard the captain in his concrete cabin one of these days and she had, too, every intention of taking John along with her.

But much as Miss Fillinger had endeavoured to allay John’s fears regarding the possibility of retribution being exacted now that he had returned to England, John was not so sure. In the nautical idiom he felt, at the moment, somewhat rudderless. He had not the remotest idea where he might be sailing. He was, in fact, at the mercy of Miss Fillinger’s intuitive breezes, and if squalls had been absent, John Macadam felt, in his bones, that the day would come when the weather would thicken and the storm break.

Shirley’s telephone message to Martin Fare, however, was encouraging. Idleness was not in John’s nature. He wanted a job of work, and that as quickly as it could be arranged. Martin was busy these, days with his own future, hut he had arrived home rather earlier than usual on the Tuesday night to tell John that Shirley wanted him to meet her at ‘The Criterion” on Thursday at half past seven. Martin himself had been rather dubious about that telephone message, because Shirley had not disclosed the name of the “friend” with whom she would be dining, and though Martin had not ventured to ask for the information, he had a feeling that had he been bold enough to have done so, Shirley would have refused to tell him. He knew Shirley Macadam quite well enough for that. Martin would dearly liked to have gone to “The Criterion” on Thursday to see for himself, and the urge might have been ascribed just as much to jealously as to curiosity. Unfortunately Martin had to go to Manchester on Thursday morning on a matter of business connected with his new post, and he knew that it would be nine o’clock or perhaps even later than that before he would get back to Liverpool. There was Peter Dobbin, of course, and though he trusted the quick-witted Peter, he felt that, after their last conversation at which Shirley had been mentioned in an intimate connection concerning his own particular emotions towards her, he could not ask Peter to act as a spy on his behalf. So there was nothing left for him to do but to pass on the information to John and wait until Shirley’s brother returned from the interview. John Macadam felt elated at the message he received. He felt that Shirley was turning up trumps and that at last there was a prospect of his ingratiating himself into the work machine.

The time seemed to hang with an excessive heaviness before Thursday night came into perspective. Miss Fillinger was helpful. She impressed on him the necessity for looking his best, for Miss Fillinger bad the Edwardian outlook and still believed in outward appearances.

John set out for “The Criterion” with a light heart.

- It was a hazy night and by the time he reached the river the haze had deepened into a fitful fog, and that fitful fog was sufficient to cause some impediment in the normal flow of cross-river traffic. The result of this delay meant that when John arrived at “The Criterion,” he was nearly half an hour past the time Shirley had prescribed for him. 1

Hurriedly he deposited his hat and coat at the cloakroom, and inquiring for the restaurant, ran lightly up the

red-carpeted staircase. In the doorway he paused and gazed about the thronged room for a sign of Shirley. The restaurant was well filled. The chatter of pretty women formed an effectively intriguing background. The warm, viand-laden atmosphere added a relish to the senses. John felt that, come what might, lie was going to enjoy himself. But where was Shirley? Not a sign of her could he see, and, not unreasonably, he thought that she might have made more comprehensive anangements.

A hovering waiter sought to be of service, hut realising futility when lie encountered it, dashed away on a more definite errand. John Macadam's eyes roved around the sumptuous arena in search of his sister’s beckoning glance without finding it.

Suddenly he gasped. No doubt the gasp was audible. That man on the far side of the room just below the long gilt mirrored wall panel. It was only a profile but it was sufficient for John Macadam. For a moment he gazed trance-like. The man was talking to someone hut his companion was masked from his view by ai¥ attendant waiter.

John needed no further impetus. He turned quickly on his heels and ran down the stairs with greater haste than he had ascended them. He thrust his boldly numbered pink ticket towards the cloakroom attendant and a moment later he was out in the hazehung street where the electric standard lamps struggled to assert their muffled illumination. He found himself running . . .riming wildly in the direction of the underground railway. It would be quicker that way he argued mechanially . . . quicker and safer. (To be Continued).