A HUSBAND BY PROXY

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 166, 15 July 1910, Page 8

A HUSBAND BY PROXY

BY JACK STEELE.

' ' 'ia.t: b~ —— CHAPTER XXXVL GARRISON'S .VALUED FREEST). Dorothy, catching up the precious will, ha-d retreated from Theodore's advance. She -made no effort to greet him, even ; with so much as a nod. "I thought I might possibly find you both, and save a little time," said Robinson, striding in boldly, with no sign of removing his hat. "Seems I guessed right." "Charmingly," said Garrison. "Won't you sit down and take off your hat and stay a while V '"You sound cheerful," said Theodore, drawing forth a chair and seating himself in comfort. "Perhaps you realise the game is up at last." "Yes," agreed Garrison. "I think we do —but it's good of you to come and accept our notice, I'm sure." "I didn't come to accept notice —I came to give it," said young Robinson, sellconfidently. "I've recently returned from Bournemouth, where I went to investigate your so-called marriage." He had seen or heard nothing of Fairj fax; that was obvious. "Well?" said Garrison. "Proceed!" "That's about enough, isn't it?" said Theodore. "The "marriage having been a fraud, what's the -use of beating I around the hush? If you care to fix it up on decent terms, I'll make no attempt to dispute the will when it comes up for probate, but otherwise I'll smash it to splinters." "You've put it quite clearly," said Garrison. "You are offering to compromise. Very generous. Let mc have the floor for half a minute. I've had your man Tattle on your tTail, when you thought you had him on mine, for some little time. "I happen to know that you stole two necklaces in the keeping of Mrs Fairfax, on the night I met you first, and placed them on the neck of some bold young woman in the house next door, where, as you may remember, I saw you dressed as Mephistopheles. You " "I stele nothing of the kind!" interrupted Theodore. "She's got them " "Never mind that," Garrison interposed. "Let's go on. You installed a 'phone in your room at the house in Albert-street, and on the night when you overheard an appointment I made with Mrs Fairfax you joined in the conversation, abducted Dorothy, under the influence of chloroform, stole her wedding certificate, and delivered mc over to the hands of a pair of hired assassins to have mc murdered in Hyde Park. '"All this, with the robbery you hired Tuttle to commit at Hertford, ought to keep you reflecting in prison for some time to come —if you think you'd like to go to court and air your grievances publicly." Theodore was intensely white. Yet his nerve was not entirely destroyed. "All this won't save your bacon, when I turn over all my affidavits," he said. "The property -won't go to you when the will's before the court. The man who married you in Bournemouth was no registrar, and you know it, Mr Jerold Garrison. You assumed the name of Fairfax and hired a low-down ex-official, who hadn't been a registrar for fully five years, to act the part and marry you. to Dorothy. "I've got the affidavits. If you think that's going to sound well in public—if you think it's pleasant to Dorothy now to know what a blackguard you are, why let's continue flinging the mud!" Dorothy was pale and tense with new excitement. "Wait a minute, please," said Garrison. "You say you have legal affidavits that the man who performed that marriage ceremony was a fraud, paid to act the part? —that the marriage was a sham — no marriage at all?" "You know it wasn't!" Theodore shouted at him triumphantly, pulling '■ some legal-looking papers from his ' pocket. "And you were married to • another wretched woman at the time. ' Let Dorothy try to get some joy out : of that, if she can —and you, too!" "Thank you, I've got mine,:" said Garrison quietly. "You're the very best ! friend I've seen for weeks. Fairfax, i the man who has done this unspeakable , wrong, is a lunatic. He was here in 1 townfor a couple of days, and I thought you might have met him." i "You —what do you mean?" demanded ' Theodore. \ "Just what I say," said Garrison. "I'l 1 / pay you one hundred pounds for your affidavits, if they're genuine, and you may be interested -to know, by the way of news, that a later will by your stepuncle John Hardy, has come to light, bequeathing everything to Dorothy— without conditions. You wasted time by going out of town." "A new will!—I refuse to believe it!" said Robinson, weak with apprehension. Garrison drew open a drawer of his •desk and took out a loaded revolver. He knew his man and meant to take no risk. Crossing to Dorothy, he took the will from his hand. "This is the document," he said. "Signed and witnessed in the best of legal iorm. And speaking of leaving town, let mc suggest that you might avoid a somewhat unhealthy close confinement by making your residence a I good long way from London." Robinson aged before their very eyes. The ghastly pallor remained on his face, j ', His shoulders lost something of their ' squareness. A muscle was twitching about his mouth. His eyes were dulled , as he tried once more to meet the look of the man across the desk. He knew he was beaten —and fear . had come upon him, fear of the consequences earned by the things he had done. He had neither the will nor the means to renew the fight. Twice his lips parted in his efforts to speak, .before he mastered his impotent rage and regained the power to think. He dropped his documents weakly on the desk. "I'll take your hundred pounds for the ] papers," he said. "How much time will you give mc to go?" . "Two days," said Garrison. "11l send you a cheque to-morrow morning." Theodore turned to depart. Tuttle had . returned. He knocked on the door and entered. Startled thus to find himself face to face with Robinson, he hesitated where he stood. "So," said Theodore, with one more gasp of anger, "you gave mc away, did you, Tuttle? I might have expected it ' of you!" Tuttle would have answered, and not i without heat. Garrison interposed. "It's all right, Tuttle," he said. "Robinson knows when he's done. I told Trim you "were in a better camp. Any news of Mr Fairfax for us all?" "It's out in the papers," said Tuttle in reply, taking two copies of an evening edition from his pocket. "It seems a first wile of Mr Fairfax has nabbed him, up

•at Cambridge. Jsut he's mad, so she's put him away." " For the first time in all the scene Dorothy spoke. She merely said; "Thank Heaven!" ' : CHAPTER XXXVIL -"•' A HONEYMOON. i A month had flown to the bourne whence no summer charms return. August had laid a calming hand lon all the grey Atlantic, dimpling its surface with invitations to the colour I and glory of the sky. The "world turned I almost visibly here, in this vast expanse of waters, bringing its meed of joys and . sorrows to the restless human creatures I on its bosom. Jerold and Dorothy, alone at last, even | among so many passengers, were four I days deep in their honeymoon, with all the delights of America looming just | ahead. J There was nothing left undone in the case of Hardy. Scott had been paid his insurance: the Robinsons had fled; Foster Durgin and his wife were united by a bond of work and happiness; the house in Albert-street was let, and Fairfax was almost comfortable at a "sanatorium," -where his wife came frequently to see him. With their arms interlocked, Dorothy and Jerold watched the sun go down from the taffrail of the mighty ocean liner. When the moon rose, two hours later, they were still on deck, alone. And when they came to a shadow, built for two. they paused in their perfect understanding. She put her arms about his neck and gave him a kiss upon the lips. His arms were both about her, folding her close to his breast. "It's such a rest to love you all I please," she whispered. "It was very, very hard, even from the first, to keep it from telling itself." Such is the love that glorifies the world. (Tlie End.)