THE RED PARASOL.

Auckland Star, Volume XLII, Issue 263, 4 November 1911, Page 16

THE RED PARASOL.

E. R. PUNSHON. (Author of "Earl's Great Lord," "The Choice," etc,) CHAPTER Xlll.—Continued. "Garn!" he said to Altessa with a feeble attempt at his usual airy manner, " 'oo're you starin' at?" Altessa turned away and sat down. "I'm sure I don't know," she said, "whether you are a really brave and nice boy, or just a mean little sneak." "Tain't no business of yours anyhow," he muttered resentfully. "But you see," she explained, "if you are brave and nice, I should like to be your friend —I should think it an honour to be your friend." "Garn! 'oo're you a-kiddin' of?" demanded Gussie, but an undoubted blush appeared on his freckled face. The idea that this girl, whom dimly he recognised as 6o entirely different from any one he had ever known before, whom in secret he was inclined to suppose the most lovely creature that had ever existed, who moreover had such a wonderful knack of alleviating the most acute pain, that she should deliberately talk of regarding his friendship as an honour was distinctly staggering. "No kid now," he said fiercely. "While if you are just the mean little sneak you seem to be sometimes," Altessa continued "I shouldn't ever want to see you again." "I only said as the kiddy was worth money," protested Gussie uneasily, "what's wrong with that?" Altessa turned, and showed the child, sleeping soundly on the 'bed she had prepared for him. "The little thing," she said softly; "would you harm him to get money for yourself ?—wouldn't you rather take care of such a tiny child, Gussie?" "Huh." said Gussie, trying to be contemptuous, "girls is so rotten soft —what are you keeping him for, if 'tain't to make money out of him?" "Because," said Altessa "I believe there are people who wish to injure him." "That's right enough," admitted Gussie, "if that there woman what come after you got hold of 'im, there wouldn't •be nothing but the funeral to arrange, so there would not." "So I have been wondering and wondering what to do," said Altessa; "you see if I try- to take him back, I shall be arrested and sent to prison, and worse still, the poor child will bo given right back to the care of that dreadful woman, and then what will become of him?" Gussie replied with an expressive pantomime of a finger drawn round his throat, and Altessa went very pale. "Oh, Gussie," she said, "if von would only help me to save the poor child from that dreadful woman —for indeed 1 don't know what to do. And I don't want to be sent to prison, cither" she added tremblingly. "Well," said Gussie, "you just keep him for a day or tvro, and perhaps something may turn up—if that there Mrs de Winton gives 'erself away as likely she may, perhaps it would be safe to take the kid back, seein' you're so set on it. But she's got something else up 'er sleeve, and till I know what it is you had better keep the kid—or else she'll put him through it, sure as sure." "It's very dreadful," snid Altessa with a sigh, and then rose and left the room, telling Gussie she would bo back immediately. The moment he was alone, Gussie, obeying an instinct that was almost mechanical, began to look about him with keen, restless, sweeping glances, that left nothing unexplored. Then he rose, his tread at once becoming noiseless as it always seemed to do at his desire, and with adroit and nimble fingers he felt in every likely quarter. All the time his ears were intent for the faintest sound of Altessa's return, and his quick eyes went continually to the door. But for all his searching he found nothing of value save her watch and chain, which he .slipped into his pocket, and when Altessa returned he was sitting colemnlv just as she had left him, his eyes fixed abstractedly on the ceiling. It seeme«r slie had to make preparations for tea. She had filled her kettle, which she placed on a small oil stove, and then she set out on the table such a dainty little meal as Gussie had never before seen anything to resemble. Some of the accessories rather puzzled him, but ou the whole he got on very well, by dint of copying his hostess with au amusing exactitude. The thinness of the bread and butter he put down to economical motives, and so was careful to eat as little as possible. But when Altessa produced some jam tarts, human nature could stand out no longer, and he finished them clear o.T. "My eye," he said, "but them's good." "I'll have some more/' Altessa promised him, "when you come to see me again." Gussie reflected with some discomfort on the watch and chain in his pocket, and was aware of a curious wish that he had left it alone. Altessa asked him a good many questions: his replies, it is to be feared, not infrequently shocking her a good deal, and her own remarks providing him with an entirely new and most puzzling point of view. Although she carefully avoided preaching to him, and indeed frankly accepted his profession, he yet found, much to his disgust, that she remained obstinately and bewilderingly insensible to even the most daring of his exploits, insisting with disconcerting emphasis on pointing out that he invariably had to run away. Leaving, however, these more personal matters I Altessa told him some wonderful stories, old enough most of them but new to him, including even some of lads as poor j as himself, who ultimately had risen I to such heights that even policemen—•' sergeants, inspectors and all —touched j tbeir helmits to them and called them "sir." "My eye.'" said Gussie. with appreciation, "but all the same I has lots of fun. Just see iiie got up like one of them \ there kids from Eton or 'Arrow a-stroll- j in' down Bond-street. Last time 1 did ; that 1 landed nearly thirty quid: along i of being able to get, so close to the ladies, it was as easy as nothing to touch for i their purses. But one copper piped I had j no gloves on—all them kids wear gloves j but I can't work in gloves, you know— | and so when I saw him lookin' I —" ! "Hail to run away," concluded Altessa | quietly, at which Gussie looked rather s;iik\, though running away from policemen had before always seemed to him one of the natural laws of life. I

A little time afterwards he got up to go, and he was already on the landing outside, when she laid her hand on hii shoulder. "Gussie," she said, and all at once he became aware that she was on the point I of either kissing him or crying, each an

equally alarming contingency. "Gussie, I want to make you a present—it's, it' 9 • watch and chain, my poor dear little boy, and I want you to take it from me as a present with ray love. Good-bye." She ran 'back into her room and' shut the door, and he stood staring blankly, surprised, dismayed, angry, and with other feelings, too, which he did not in the least understand. Then he banged open the door, and' fairly flung the watch and chain on her bed. "Garn!" he said, "take your old watch —I don't want it—yah! I'll go and claim another —I'll steal all I can—l don't care."

"Oh, Gussie, Gussie," she cried, but he was already clattering down the stairs and snatching an unbrella from the hall ue fled with his booty out into the street.

CHAPTER XHI. WARNING.

It was late the next day when Altessa saw Gussie again. There was a tiny recreation ground near the house where she was lodging, and here Altessa had taken Teddy for a little fresh air. She had played ball with him till she was tired, and now was resting on a seat while the child played at a little distance away, when she saw Gussie peering at her through the iron railings surrounding the ground. She beckoned to him and he came up somewhat shyly, but hovered at a distance, Teady to flee at any moment. "What is the matter?" Altessa asked, careful not to make any sign of rising from her seat or do anything else that might alarm the boy, who she well understood was as shy and nervous as a wild animal. "Are you cross wdth me?" "No, said Gussie, rather taken aback at being greeted in this way, when he had been expecting quite a different attack. "Missed any umbrellas in your house lately?" he inquired defiantly. "One," she said simply. "I took dt," he announced. "Oh, 1 know," she said; "such a brave and clever thing as that I knew must have been done by you." Gussie went very red. He was extremely sensitive to ridicule, and cm a sudden his exploit no longer presented itself to him as a fine and daring action. He remembered how fast he had run with that umbrella in his hand, and he reflected that if Altessa had seen him, she would have laughed at his speed, and perhaps thought him a coward. From these disturbing thoughts he sought refuge in the exclamation: "Garn!" "I left my sewing in my room," said Altessa. "If I give you the k?y, would you mind going up and getting it for me? It is lying on the tahle wrapped up 5n paper, all ready." "Eh?" said Gussie, more surprised than ever lie had been before in the whole of his life. "What? Me alone? alone?" he returned doubtfully. "Ain't you afraid what I'll take?"

"Not a bit," returned Altessa, cheer {ally; "not a bit afraid." "Well, you arc a soft 'un," he remarked contemptuously: but when he presently returned with the desired sewing, he told her with some pride that lie had not tried to claim so much as a match. "I knew you wouldn't, thank you very much," said Altessa, taking the work. "I am sure you can be trusted." "Not me," said Gussie indignantly, "I ain't going to turn soft for you, so you needn't think —if you knew what I know, you wouldn't be sitting there ao quiet and easy like." She looked up nt him quickly, and thought she saw a new expression in his eyes, a look of deep uneasiness. "What is the matter? tell me," she said quickly. "Won't," he answered obstinately. "I ain't no nark, I ain't, I'll never split." "Is it something . . . ?" Altessa' asked, glancing towards little Teddy, playing with his ball. Gussie shook has head; 'hut the more closely Altessa looked at him. the more certain she became that something very serious indeed was disturbing his customary confidence. "Tell me, Cfussie," she said. "Not I, you would just go running to the police," he answered, "and I won't be no nark." He shut has lips obstinately, but Altessa became certain also that what he knew was not only serious, but something that was weighing very heavy indeed upon his mind. "If you'll tell me what it is," she said, "1 will promise you not to go to the police, or do anything without your consent." "Promise? honour?" he asked eagerly. "Yes," she said. He drew a 'breath of deep relief. "I believe," be said, "as there's a cove they're planning to put through it.' "To—to—?" repeated AJtessa, puzzled for the moment. "To put his light out," said Gussie, and this time the phrase conveyed at once its own dreadful meaning, clearly and plainly to Altessa. "Gussie, Gussie," she said, in a low frightened tone; "do you mean that, Gussie?" He nodded and came nearer, as though feeling that their common knowledge made a bond between them. "We can't 'elp it." said he, "and 'tain't no business of mine or yourn . . but some'ow it makes me feel all queer and sick inside, I don't know why," and Gussie looked quite disgusted at his own faint-heartedness. "Oh, Gussie," Altessa said, "you will tell the police, won't you?" "I ain't no nark," he answered ob stinately, "and you promised, you did."' "But . . . Gussie ..." she whispered tremblingly. He only looked at her with sullen, unyielding eyes. "Then you must let me warn the man himself," said Altessa. "Not me," Gussie muttered; "why if you or me tried that, we should only get our throats cut. This ain't no small size jab, this ain't; there ain't nothing as them'll stick at, so there ain't." "But, Gussie," Altessa exclaimed, "you would not sit still and see anyone else dying and not help them?" "Let 'iin look after 'miself." retorted Gussie, "he's big enough. Let 'im look out for 'hnself same as I must, if they gets to know as I've sloped from Lace Court, where they told me to wait. And my idea is, as you had better spend your time looking after yourself and not other folks, for J 'alf believe th»y knows where you are." "Oh, Giissie," she ■cried, her face even paler than before. "Oh, Gussie." she repeated helplessly. "They've been watching me on the q.t." Gussie continued, "for T seed Sneaky Joe—'im as was footmen —a-follo«'ing me yesterday. So I dodged 'im ca-y ami followed 'im instead, ana I soon piped 'im talkin' to Jimmy the Greek and liiil Young." The news of this fresh danger acted like a tonic on Altess.;. Her confused brain became clearer, and she was even astonished herself at the calmness and rapidity of her thoughts. "Who is the nan they mean to murder?" she asked. Gussie shook his head. "Is it Lord Doremount?' : she asked. Ills startled look becrayed him. " 'Ow did you guess ?" he asked.

"It is likely enough that those who were plotting against the child should now begin to plot against the father," Altessa answered. "Tell me all about it." "You can't do nothin'," he warned her. "Bill Young and Sneaky Joe is watching outside, and if anyone interferes they are to lay lim out. If they saw you, •tbey would just up and out you, and what good would you do then?" "Yes, I see," she said, "■but tell me all you know, Gussie, dear." "I don't know so much," he answered, not in truth unwilling to share this secret which weighed on him so heavily. I 'ave knowed for long enough as there was a big job on, what they reckoned would make all our fortunes, and I 'card 'em planning this. My dad is to open a window, but that lis only a blind, he ain't to go in. That there woman —you know 'er—she is to let Jimmy the Greek in by a side door, and Jimmy's to 'idc •be'ind some curtains near the bloke's room, where be sits up late working. When he crimes out, Jimmy'll just put a knife (in 'im from be'ind and leave a bundle of swag, so as they'll think it was done "by some burglar what the bloke disturbed, so he stabbed 'im and sloped, leavin' his swag done up in his hurry to get clear. An' Jimmy's to fasten up her door with some bradawls, so as no one >can't think she had anything to do with it." "I see," sand Altessa, realising with chill horror how little chance the diabolical ingenuity of this little plot seemed to leave Lord Deremount. "But they will be occupied with this just at present, so I am Bafe for a little time?" "Oh, yes," agreed Gussie, "you are safe enough for a time, 'but the sooner you clear out the better, both for you and the kid." "I thought Teddy would be safest with me," said Altessa, "this is like a punishment to me, for thinking of myself. For I am not sure but that I was thinking more of my own safely than of his, in deciding not to take him back at once." 'Well, don't get trying no games on tonight," Gussie warned her, "for you promised not to inform the police, and if my lot sees you anywhere near Deremount 'Ouse, they'll lay you out, sure as nothing." "You may be sure I shall keep my promise about the police," said Altessa quietly. "Then I'm off," said Gussie. "Slong miss. I wish I hadn't never met you, for 1 ain't 'ad no fun since, and when I do 'ave fun now, why, it ain't no fun no more, all along of thinking of what you would say." "Good-bye, dear Gussie," she said, taking his hand. "If I never see yci againj you won't forget me, will you?" "Not me," he said fervently; then added: ''Wish I could," in a very gruff voice, and went off, while Altessa went back to her lodgings with Teddy, who was now beginning to express his readiness for his tea. Altessa gave him his tea as quickly as posisble. and then we nt out to find the landlady and to ask her to look after Teddy for an hour or two. She explained she was called away to see a friend who was dangerously ill, and a few minutes later she was speeding on her way, resolute to warn at any risk the unsuspecting victim of the plot hatched against him, and hoping that the story she had to tell now would be accepted as proof that the story of her previous adventures was also true "He can't help believing me now," she said to herself, "and then I will take him to Teddy, aD J he will be careful of him and then perhaps I shan't get sent to prison after all."

This last thougnt was a great relief to Altessa, who this last day or two, had begun to think there was no •way or hope of escape for her. She felt she had no right to keep little Teddy away from his home any longer, and yet to return him had seemed to her to mean terrible danger to him, and ruin, disgrace, and prison to herself. Now a way of escape seemed open and she sped quickly on. She knew the situation of Deremount House, but the distance was considerable, so that it was beginning to be late before she arrived. The great house seemed dark and silent, wrapped in a melancholy gloom. A solitary light twinkled in one of the upper windows, but all the lower rooms appeared deserted. Altessa paused, wondering if she dared go up to the great front door and knock openly, when she saw by the light of a street lamp, momentarily visible as he slinked from shadow to shadow, the thin, evil face of Bill Young. She drew back quickly and only just in time; for she knew that if he saw her, her mission, and even ber life would be endangered; While she watched him she sa.w another form creep to his side; and she recognised at once in this new comer, that same footman who a few days ago had turned her from this very house, insultingly accentuating his master's message. He was not now in livery, and Altessa guessed that this was the man Gussie had referred to as ""Sneaky Joe." The two men exchanged a word or two, and then prowled away on their stealthy watch. They melted away into the darkness that for Altessa at once became filled 1 with their forms, lurking in every doorway and behind every corner. She looked anxiously at the silent bouse, wondering how she could attract attention without running the risk of being struck down with her warning undelivered, and then she remembered the side entrance by which she had left with Teddy on that eventful night which had been the starting point of all these troubles. She remembered that Gussie had said that Jimmy the Greek was to be admitted by a side door, which Mrs de Winton wa« to leave open for him. iShe slipped away, therefore, a small, weak figure in the gathering gloom, and found the door in the quiet by-street she so -well remembered. She put her hand against the door and pushed. It yielded' to her touch and at that same moment she saw Young's prowling fisrure come round the corner, approaching her. whom luckily he could not see where she stood in the deep shadow. Not daring to wait where she was till he passed, the entered by the open door and stood breathlessly just, within, while she heard his soft, slow footsteps pr, =s. "What had I better do next?" she thnurht when all was silence again.

Phe dared not open the door to knock or riip\ for fear of who might be watching f r om without, but sTie remembered havir.ir. noticed a walking stick lying across a small table which si n<~ i in the passage. This slie found, and liftinir ihe stick she struck two timid blcnvs with it on the top of the table, and then stood silent and afraid, as she heard the sound of her summons jro reverberating through the long corridors and empty rooms of the great, silent mansion. (To be continued Saturday next.)