NIGHT TIDE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 64, Issue 32, 17 November 1943, Page 6

NIGHT TIDE

SERIAL STORY. A Romantic Story of a Great Seaport.

(Copyright),

(J. R. WILMOT).

CHAPTER XVIII. JOHN TALKS STRANGELY. Miss Fillinger was surprised when she opened the door in response to an insistent knocking and discovered John Macadam. “Quick . . . close the door,” he ordered. “And you’d better put out the lights ... I may have been followed here.” Miss Fillinger’s heart thrilled at his words but the thrill w T as stillborn when she saw the young man’s face. It was terribly white and drawn. He looked years older than he had done when he had left.

Swiftly and orderly she took command of the situation, for Martin had not yet returned home. She found he was trembling and gripped one elbow firmly. “In here,” she whispered, propelling him through the open doorway of the room at the rear of the house. “Now',” she began, when she had lowered him into a chair before the fire. “What is the meaning of all this melodrama, John Macadam? What’s ailing you, lad? You look as if you’ve met a ghost.”

Miss Fillinger’s voice, dominant though it was, brought him to earth again.

He laughed, a trifle hysterically, she thought.

“Ghost, you say. It w'as no ghost I saw to-night. It w'as him.” “You mean . . the Big Shot . . the . . .” There she was again dropping into that absurd idiom. He nodded. “Yes! I saw him in the restaurant where I went to meet Shirley and her friend.” “You’re quite sure you made no mistake?”

He laughed again, but this time it was a bitter laugh. “I’ve seen him too many times to be mistaken.” “And you didn’t, see Shirley?” “I was looking for her w’hen I saw him.” Pie paused. “Perhaps it was as well I didn’t see Shirley,”' he added, slowly. “It might have been awkward. I’ll have to explain to her.” “And what do you think this man is doing in Liverpool?” demanded Miss Fillinger, her imagination at that moment a wild pattern. “Looking for me, of course,” answered John, quietly. “What else would he be doing?” “I don’t know,” Miss Fillinger admitted doubtfully. “What ate we to do?” asked John, helplessly. “I can’t stay here, now, it’s impossible.” “And where would you be going, I’d like to know?”

John Macadam did not reply. It was well enough Miss Fillinger talking like this, but she didn’t understand . . . . no one understood. , Miss Fillinger was speaking again. “Has it ever occurred to you, John Macadam, that this man might regard the sight of you with as much disfavour as you did of him As I have repeatedly reminded you this is England and not America. I think you have acted very foolishly.” But Macadam did not answer her. He was staring into the fire trying desperately to think of some way of escape. e * * m Shirley never remembered having felt so utterly annoyed and not a. little humiliated when her brother failed to keep the appointment at the restaurant. Her mind was a whirl of suspicions and fears. She felt, somehow, that John had let her down; either John or Martin Fare. As she sat at the table laid for three, making conversation with Garvin Blake, she began to wonder whether John was wholly to blame. Supposing Martin had not given him the message. That would account for it. She told herself that she was a fool not to have written. On the other hand, what object could Martin have in not telling John of the appointment? She imagined that she knew Martin Fare tolerably well, as well, that is, as any girl could ever hope to understand a man, yet try as she would she could not divorce the possibility from her mind.

“Your brother does not seem to be heading up,” Blake mentioned, consulting his watch. “Perhaps he’s been delayed a little by the fog,” Shirley suggested, trying to find what must seem a plausible excuse. “It was thickening on the river an hour ago.” “He would have to cross the river, of course," mentioned Blake. “It wouldn’t occur to him to travel through Ihe tunnel, I suppose?” Shirley wondered whether or not there was a hint of cynicism in Garvin Blake’s lone. She decided that she must have been mistaken. Mr Blake, she remembered, was a gentleman. “Perhaps we’d better give him a few minutes longer,” announced Shirley, in her determination to take what charge she could of the situation. Blake agreed, despite the fact that he was ravenously hungry and also that he was dining with a thoroughly charming young woman. And thinking along this line he wondered\why the company of an attractive woman should always prove so exhilarating an experience for him. Perhaps it was going to be as well, after all, if her darn fool of a brother didn’t head up, because he didn’t imagine for a moment that the fellow 4SS/>uld be of any use to him. “Well, I vote we start,” announced Blake, beckoning to the waiter. “If your brother comes he can join in. There won’t be any difficulty about that.” Shirley agreed. Nevertheless she was worried. Her annoyance had left her

after the first wave of it had shaken her patience. She had wild fears that something had happened to John. As she sipped her soup she remembered that first night over at Miss Fillinger’s when he had told them all about his life in America. On that occasion John had said that he was afraid that someone might avenge his desertion from the gang, and though she and Martin had assured him that nothing could possibly happen to him in Liverpool, John had not been so sure about that, and after all John knew best the risks he was running. (To be Continued).