HER FATHER'S KEEPER

Auckland Star, Volume L, Issue 254, 25 October 1919, Page 22

HER FATHER'S KEEPER

•»**» < (By HAROLD HARFORD.)

Author of "The Centre Star, 2 CHAPTER T. | JOAS BEKESFORD'S ALBUM. The fact that any of his friends would hare jumped at the chance of changing . places with him did nothing to mako Stanley Gordon content with his lot. There he was, sitting in a famous restaurant, at the end of a perfect lunch, with a fine cigar between his teeth, surrounded by a crowd of well-dressed men and women. Tho men of whom he was thinking were away at the edges of the worid, toiling in all sort 3of wold places, toiling on land and on sea, taking meals •when and as they could get them. And he felt that it would be better to be out there with any one of them than to be here in all this luxury—alone. Thr, , was the trouble. Probably there were men in London whom he knew, but he did not know where to look for them. In all this vast, unprofitable city there was no door at which he could knock, no home in which he could be sure of a welcome. He had never been in London since he was a boy. He had spent nearly twenty years in the far countries, and this was the result. It was nothing that bis income was something over five thousand a year, nothing that his name j was known all over the earth as that of ' the inventor of the Gordon turbine, nothing that his work stood in all the j countries of the world. He was alone. !

And then, just as he had decided that he would go then and there and book a passage to the States and get back to work, the little man on the other side of the table opened fire.

Stanley Gordon bad observed his coming, and had made up his mind about him. If he knew nothing of London, he knew more than a little of other cities, and he knew that the ways of rogues all the world over are very much alike. The httk mans round innocent face, and his general air of sleek prosperity did not deceive him. He put him down at once as one of those interesting people who live by their wits, fleecing such lambs as -bate and foolish parents send to biotowns unprotected, playing with marked cards and loaded dice the various games money from one pocket to another. But, such was his loneliness that he was glad to have even this much of companionship, and he responded readily enough. He could look after himself when the time came.

The name of the little man was, it appeared, Montague Hayes. He was a member of one or two clubs, and he had a fiat in Victoria Street. As a companion he had many virtues, for he knew everyone, and he talked well, with numour and point. He was almost certainly a scoundrel, but at least he was an entertaining and superior scoundrel. It occurred to Stanley Gordon that his B „? C -_ "-° Uld do much to make tolerable the days which must pass before he could get away. He would, not object to paying any price in reason for it. -Iflereiore He made a su__-estion -Look here." he said frankly. "I'm all alone, and I don't know a soul. Will you have dinner with mc somewhere toC.'t *> , a »d show mc the wav abo u t, „ 1 shall be delighted," said Mr. Haves end myself Pre an engagement this afternoon, but that's all. Could you call lor mc at my flat, and then "we can fix up a programme." __ So it was arranged, and so it was that Stanley Gorden came to take a hand in that game whose stake was Joan Bereslord s happiness.

He was at the flat in good time, and a man-servant showed him into a room, with the information that Air Hayes yeas dressing, and would he with him directly. For a few minutes Stanley occupied himself with looking at the prints that hung on the walls, and then he saw, lying on the table, a fat and sumptuous volume, bound in morocco, with a monogram in gold. He opened it, as an idle man may open a book in any place, and discovered that it was nothing more or less than a postcard album. It differed, however, from ordinary postcard albums. The cards which it rontaincd had never been sent through the post for one thing, and they were, without exception, snapshots, the work of an amateur who possessed considerable skill. All of them seemed to have been taken in one place, in and about a housr which stood in a bin, plea.-.int garden, and all of them were signed with the names of the people portrayed. He did not realise the full interest of the thing at first, but after a while it dawned upon him that the names were those of the people who count—frontrank politicians, men and women at the head of affairs, people whose names were known even to him, exile as ho was. He began to study the photographs with decided interest. They were worth studying, if only because they were so strikingly free from all convention. The camera seemed to have been playing the spy on a whole army of determined holi-day-makers. It showed its subjects engaged in occupations which were, to say the least, unusual—as for instance, in the- case of a man high in the War Ofiic? who was endeavouring to walk across H. lawn balancing a billiard cue on his nose. "By Jove!" said .Stanley to himself. "It would cause a bit of a sensation if some of these were published!" He was gazing at the moment at a snapshot of a bishop who was devoting himself with great seriousness to the blowing of bubbles. On the next page two Cabinet Ministers were, apparently, singing a duet, and accompanying themselves on banjos. With very- natural curiosity, he turned back tc the beginning, to see who tiiQ owner of this remarkable volume might be. Written across the fly-leaf in a clear, girlish hand, was the name "Joan Beresford." "Good name, that," lie commented. "But who in the name of fortune is she?" He turned the page, and the answer was before him. This time, it seemed, another hand had held the camera. The picture was that of a girl of, perhaps, sixteen. She stood on the lawn of that garden, one hand raised to catch a lock of hair which a stray breeze had blown across ber face, while the other held the leash of an enormous bulldog. Her eyes were laughing, and he nodded, as though in answer. "So there you are!" he said. "Good Heavens! And I was wondering why 1 came to London!" Even in that moment his decision w.t3 made, his resol-,-e taken. He would find this girl, if she was to be found. He SV C ? k for ller ' and ™>»__. not rest tho nl", I °, und hor - <3»te written on the promise of beauty which the little Rasp would hl »S

-ALL HIGHTS BESEKVED.]

" "Tales of a Village," eta.

Tve got to find you," he said, "and Heaven help mc if some other man baa found you first! But—what the mischief is the Hayes person doing with your property?"

At that moment "the Hayes person" appeared, immaculate in evening dress, his face more smilingly innocent than ever.

"I'm _orry to have kept you waiting," he said. "I was later than I expected." "Don't mention it," said Stanley. 'Tve been quite interested. This is a remarkable collection."

'" And I'm a remarkable idiot to leave it lying about," said Mr. Hayes. "There would be bad trouble if some people saw inside those covers."

"So I should think,". said Stanley. "Aren't you rather a risky person to lend such things to?" " I didnt borrow this," said the little producing a bunch of keys, and opening a drawer in a pedestal table. 'T bought it."

"Oh?" That made matters still more surprising, for, how should such a volume come to be for sale "If you aro wanting to sell it again, I'm willing to do business."

Hayes looked at him sharply. " And what sort of a price would you feel like giving for it?" he asked. "Oh, I dont know. Fifty pounds?" "Fifty!" The man laughed— not altogether pleasantly. "Is that a bluff?" he went on. ""Why, there are papers in London that would give five hundred for ft cheerfully!"'

Stanley was getting interested, and ho was realising that Mr. Hayes was saying rather more than was wise. He determined to give him the chance to say some more.

"Is that so?" he asked innocently. "Well, how much do you want for it? I imagine you're not keeping it as a curiosity."

"I want more than you would he likely to pay," said the little man, turning the key upon the volume. It seemed that he, too, was realising that he had said too much. "Shall we go? I've telephoned to the Cecil for a table. I thought you would not mind as you're a stranger." "On the contrary. But—l'm not exactly a pauper. Tell he how much you want lor that thing, and I'll write you a cheque, and po with you to get it cashed in the morning." Why he said that he scarcely understood, but he had a feeling that it was not well tha* such a thing should be in the hands of Montague Hayes. It was altogether too dangerous, and it might easily spell trouble for the original owner of it. He had had no experience of the ways of the Society shark, but he could guess something "of what was possible, and it did not please him. But ■the other laughed. " Thanks." he said. " But I've taken a fancy to that album, and T may as well tell you at once there's only one person who can pay the price I want for it." Stanley followed him to the lift with an uneasy fcelin ff that his real duty was to hold the fear of death over him until he named a price and consented to accept it. But he had nothing to justify him in taking so extreme a measure. Not for one moment did he dream that before the night was out he would be willing to give hrs risrht hand to have again the opportunity of carrying out that violent but effective idea."

1 CHAPTER 11. .' "THE GAME IS BEGINNING." I Certainly Montague Hayes had his r uses. He understood spending money -1 perfectly, and the table he had ordered II was in a position which gave a fine view 1j of the great room. He had ordered the , dinner, too, and it was as good a dinner as any epicure could have wished for. l; Stanley decided that he had done well to t. secure the little man for a companion, -! and wondered how long it would be l before the cloven hoof of the adventurer 3 showed itself. He had not booked that 6 passage to America, as he had intended. He had meant to do it on the morrow, ! hut that was before he saw Joan Beres- — ford's album. He had put the idea aside > quite definitely now. First he must find ' that girl, and those things would come . afterwards which must come. -! How he would set about the search 'he did not know yet. It might he possible to find in London some of the men 1 he knew, and they would help him. But '- that was for to-morrow. For the pre- ; sent he was content to sit there, and watch the throng of people, ; and listen to the chatter of Montague 5 Hayes. 3 ! And then, without warning, when he 5 least expected it. chance —which some of *| us call Providence —made an end of his ' quest before it had begun, and brought : , him face to face with the girl for whom ' : he had determined to seek. " There were four people coming down "! the room. He noticed them fir?t because, ' j there was something fimiliar about the l ! figure of one of the men, something that ' perplexed him by waking the lost echo of I 1 , a memory. But before he had wondered I "I over it for five seconds he had seen her, "j walking before that puzzling figure, at i the side of an old, white-haired man. I Treading like a queen she came, smil- _■ ing with happy, royal grace. His guess \ had been right. The girl of the photo-' j graph had become a woman, and thepromise of the early days was more than ' fulfilled. Beauty and grace were hcrj • possession, so that many eyes turned , to mark her passing, but the seemed , unconscious of it all. She came, bend-j k ing a little to catch some word of her companion, the smile on her lips and in A her ej-es —a great lady as it seemed. j Yet it seemed to the man who watched] ■ with hungry eyes that this was indeed , the girl who had made that romping,, ~ irresponsible collection of photographs. j It seemed to him that he could see the I! merry spirit of mischief lurking in the ;' deep blue eyes, and tugging at the darners I _ of her moutli. I j She came, nnd passed. Close by where t! he sat she went, and then he could see i her no more. Only he knew that he had, _ stored away in his memory, one of those pictures which outlast the years, and remain when -all material and present [ things are fading. He turned back to 1 the business of eating, and encountered i from the other side of the table the i innocently interested gaze of Mr. Montal gue Hayes. > And suddenly there arose within him : a desire to reach out across the table i and take that pleas-ant little man by the . throat and hold 'hhn so until he had : promised to give up that album. He t leaned forward. : "Look here," he said. "It's time we i understood one another. I want that I album!"

The little man- nodded. "I believe you do," he said. "But--I'm not in. the mood to part with itl" "What game are you playing?" Stanley asked. "You said that only one person could pay the price you want foi it. What did you mean <by that?" There wa_ -omething in the deadly calm of his tone that would have put fear into a weaker man, but Montague Hayes was not a weak man, nor was he a coward.

"I suppose I meant that I prefer to choose my own market," he answered coolly. "You will admit that I have a right to do that?"

"Right?" Stanley smiled. "Doea right come into it?"

"There are some who hold that might is right," said the other quietly.

For & moment Stanley hesitated. He had little but suspicion to g_ upon. He could prove nothing. Indeed ho knew r.othing beyond the facts that Mr.Hayes was a very suspicious character, and that he po6se_=eJ that album which'had once been Joan Beresiord's. He felt rather than knew that that might give the man power over the girl in some way which he did not altogether understand.

"I don't know what you are planning," he said at last. "I've not had much experience of this sort of thing, "but 1 can gues_ a little. And I give you warning now that if you make any attempt to annoy Mies Bereeford, I shall take a hand in the game." Air. Hayes was the picture of distressed innocence.

"Really," he said. "I'm indebted to reached the coffee by that time—"but I you for an excellent dinner" —they had hardly thin*, that gives yo_ the right to make insinuations —"

"That's quite uneeessary," said Stanley abruptly. "1 may not knoiw London, but I "know a little of the world. You can consider yourself hopelessly insulted if you like, and, for your own sake, I hope you have the right to fee! insulted. But I tell you frankly that I don't believe it, and I tell you, too, that if I had understood as much a couple of hour 3 ago as I do now, you would have named a price for that album —and accepted it!"

Mr. Hayes abandoned the pose of inno cence.

"That would have been a pity,"" he said, rising from his place. "For in that case the game would have been over. As it is, it is only just beginning. Shall we go?" "You had better go," said Stanley, more quietly than ever. "I'm sorry to be deprived of your society, but it might be unwise for us to go together."

The other nodded, and turned way without a word. Stanley watched him stroll down the room, podding to acquaintances from time to time, and finally saw him vanish. And then he drew a deep breath. "That's as well," he said to himself. "I didn't know I was such a furious animal. But—what a ridiculous business it is!"

, He sat there, pondering the matter. That the man was planning something against the peace of the girl he did not doubt, but his trouble woe to know how he meant to act. And beyond that, ho had to discover how he could set to work to thwart his designs.

She was somewhere, very near to -him! The thought set his pulses racing. Sht, was in this very room. He had only to turn his head to see her.

Presently he would find a way into her presence. There must be _ome one who would introduce them. If he had been determined before, he was doubly determined now. For there was danger ahead for her, and she must be warned. She must know without delay all that he knew.

At last it seemed to him that he had better go. The other diners were drifting away, and he had nothing to gain by waiting there. Some lucky chance might bring across his path one of the men he had known. He made to rise, and at that moment a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a voice was greeting him.

"I thought I ouldn't be mistaken," it said. "How are you, Gordon? Don't say you have forgotten mc!"

He turned, and a smile lit up his face as he shot out a hand.

"W r hy, Rodney," he exclaimed. "I saw a figure just now that seemed familiar. It must have been you.*'

"I daresay it was. But —we were both wearing beards when we parted, I believe."

"It was a long way frpra barbers and this sort of thing," said Stanley laughing. "It's no wonder I didn't recognise you. What are you doing now!" "Oh, I'm respectable—hideously respectable, and there are no more adventures. But, if you're nlone, can you come over to our table? My uncle's here. He's in the Admiralty, you know, and when lie heard you were Gordon of the turbine, he got dangerously excited, Your man isn't coming back, is he?" "He is not," said Stanley grimly. "Hes an interesting chap. Do you know him?" James Rodney made a wry face. "Most people know Montagu Hayes," he said. "1 hope he's not a friend of yours?'' "You may put him down as an acquaintance—and leave it at that. He mistook mc for a lamb prepared for slaughter—that's nil." Rodney's face cleared anj he smiled. "He doesn't often make mistakes like that," he said, "but 1 confess it was rather a puzzle. I was fairly sure that you couldn't know him."

"If e vl 7r y ou had been alone in London, you would realise that such people have their uses—if you can afford to hire them," Stanley answered. He had risen and they were moving down the room. And he was remembering that James Rodney had come with the party which included Joan Beresford.

A minute more and lie was standing before her, and she was speaking her wcl-

"We know all about you,*' she said. "Sir Mark has been tellin_ us. See, here's a diagram of the turbine!"

She pointed to a pencilled outline on the table-cloth between her and the old man, and the fair-haired woman with the weary face. Lady Beresford, her stepmother, smiled a little.

"If you are as technical as your admirers, Mr. Gordon," she said. "I shall go home. I've heard about nothing but engines ever since dinner began."

He was blushing like a boy when the white-haired old man rose and held out his hand.

'T'm proud to meet you, sir,'' ho said"Why haven't we seen you before? London has been inquiring for you for the last five years."

"The inquiries didn't reach mc," said Stanley. "I have been rather busy." "Inventing something more, or only risking your life for people like this?" He patted his nephew's arm as he spoke, and Stanley's confusion increased. Rodney might have kept quiet about that, anyhow, lie thought.

"That was nothing," he said. "There was no risk, and I happened to be on the sjjot."

"And you happened to be tbe right man on the spot? I owe you something, my boy. I couldn't spare this chap." It was from the girl that the next word came —a word more than welcome to Stanley.

"Let's all go home and talk," she said. "It will be ever so much nicer than going to the Ranfords. There will be a crowd of people there, and they will never notice that we have not come."

"That's a good idea," said James Rodney. "What is the verdict) JLady Beresford?"

"Joan is tbe judge and all tbe jury," was the reply. "Let's go." When they were getting their coats, Stanley sought for information.

"Of course, you wouldn't know them," said his friend. "I forgot. Sir John Beresford is one of the big men behind the scenes iv politics—a land of power behind the throne, you know. Joan is the only child. Her mother died when she was a baby, and Sir J6hn married again two years ago, but I fancy Joan runs things. 'Lady Beresford is a bit of an invalid."

They chartered a couple of taxis, and Sir Mark Rodney insisted on riding with Stanley.

I "I've a word of caution for you, my hoy," he said when they had started. "You won't resent it, will you?" ■ "Far from it, sir," said Stanley "heartily [though he wondered what was coming. "It's just this—keep clear of people like that man Hayes. He's dangerous, and it does no" cue any good to be seen in his company." Stanley explained how he had happened to be with the little adventurer, and the old man was reassured. But his warning had an effect of which ho could know nothing. For it was plainer than ever to Stanley that his late companion was the last man in the world to have in his keeping such a thing as the album. Already he was cursing himself for leaving it in hi 3 hands.

The house at which they arrived was a big old-fashioned place, standing in one of those silent streets at the back of Westminster Abbey. A light wag shining from the windows on the first floor, find tho girl looked up. ' "There must bo someone here," she said. "What a nuisance! I thought we should have Daddy to ourselves "for once."

They entered, and she opened a door leading out of the hall.

"Go in here, peoples," she said. "I'll stupid pohtic-1 person, we'll leave them the drawing room to themscjves." She passed up the stairs followed by Lady Bere-ford, but the three men had hardly had time to select chairs when she was at the door again. It seemed to Stanley that her colour was. more brilliant than before, and that there was in her eyes a look that was almost of defiance.

"Will you come upstairs, please, Mr. Gordon?" she said, and turned without another word.

She led the way through an open door into a room that was blazing with lights. A tall man, with a fine, clean-shaven face which bore an expression of infinite perplexity, came forward.

I am sorry to trouble yon with o-ir affairs, Mr. Gordon," he said. "But, this person says that you can confirm a statement which he has made."

Stanley looked then to see who wa3 the other occupant of the room. There before him, as blandly innocent as ever entirely at his ease, stood Mr. Montatrue Haves. °

The girl passed to her father's side and slipped her arm through his. "I had a postcard album," she said. "That man declares that it is in his hands and he says that you have seen it."

She looked at Stanley as she spoke, and hor father looked at him too, with a kind of appeal in his cyc3, a faint, persistent hope.

"It is quite true," he said slowly. "I saw it in his flat this evenine." "Ah!" S

Sir John Beresford seemed to grow older as he heard the words, to shrink, and almost to collapse. But Haves spoke, briskly, business-like. "That, I imagine, removes any doubts of yours, Sir John? I will not detain you any longer. I daresay I shall hear from you in the course of a day or two." He picked up his hat. and moved to the door. Sir John—an old man he seemed now, and very feeble—followed him, and they left the room together. Stanley turned to the girl.

"I* wanted to warn you of this," he began, troubled to the" depths of his heart, and then he stopped. For the blue eyes were blazing, and she stood, drawn up to the full measure of her proud, height and the scorn on her face was searing his very soul.

"You!" she said. "You would have warned mc! To prepare the way for your accomplice, I suppose?" "You are mistaken," he said quietly, and for her scorn he gave pity. For he could see how her heart was torn with pain for her father's trouble, present and to come. On the table beside her lay a riding switch—a relic of a day long ago when a child of twelve had ridden and won a steeplechase. Her lingers closed over it. Her breast was heaving, her breath came quick and hard. A tigress defending her cubs would have been more open to reason than was Joan Beresford at that moment. "1 offered to buy it from him," he began, but he said no more. Before he could so much as raise a hand to defend himself, the switch rose and fell with the full force of her strong young arm behind it, cutting across his face and mouth. (To be continued Saturday next.)