A WOMAN'S DEBT

Auckland Star, Volume LV, Issue 225, 22 September 1924, Page 12

A WOMAN'S DEBT

By WILLIAM LE QUEUX.

OHASPTER XXVIII. Tt wa_ a very rambling statement. bat. certain plain facts emerged from it. Sir George had now become a regular habitue of Miss Buckley's flat, anil they were constantly in each other's society, lunching and dining together, going to theatres when her engagements permitted her to have an evening to herself. Several times he had come across young Graham, to whom he seemed to take a very great fancy, and was very carious about him.

On this particular evening he had put some loading questions on the subject, and Alma in her confused stat. had thrown her usual caution to the winds and blurted out the youngster's real name, and worst of all had let drop ihe fact that his father, Graham Darcy, had come into conflict -ith the law.

'Mrs. Morrice was naturally much annoyed at her friend's indiscretion, dire to her having lout control of herself. But __lma_ contrition was so genuine, her contempt for herself so Hitter, that she did not like to show her annoyance too plainly. cihe rather afiected to make light of it. "Of course it would have been much better if it had never happened," she said in her laudable desire to cheer up the drooping <Alma. "But the name of Darcy will convey nothing to a man in Sir George's position. It all happened so many years ago, and it was not a sensational trial, no paper had more than a lew line, about it. At tho same time, my dear old friend, you must forgive mc for saying it is a lesson to you to keep _ stricter watch over yourself in certain respects."' Alma of course pronuaed that she would, as much for her own sake as for that of others, and the two women parted as good friends as ever. In a few days the incident almost faded from the memory of both. They did not meet again for a month, and when they did, Miss Buckley's manner was very grave and constrained. Her friend who knew her moods so well surmised at once she had got something on her mind. "Why are you looking so woe-begone, -_.ma? , ' she questioned at length when she noticed that her friend's gloom seemed deepened rather than lightened in spite of the efforts of both to keep the ball of conversation rolling. It was some time before Alma spoke; when she did she rushed out her words with a sort of nervous impetuosity. "You'll have to know 'it sooner or later, Lettice, I may as well tell you and get

it over. It all arose from my making an idiot of myself on that fatal night, when I let out the name oi Darcy, and the truth about Jack's father. I've told you that Sir George was always very curious about him."

It was now Airs. Morriec's turn to look grave. She felt instinctively that something portentous bad happened. Alma went *,on in her quick nervous ■way. "Sir George was round at my plate a couple of days ago, and after we had talked a little on casual subjects, k queer sort of smile came over his face, and he came out with it all. I hate to tell you Lettice, but you must know. He has found out all about you, bow I cannot guess; I begin to think, much as I like him, he is a dangerous man, and that there is about him something —how shall I descrr.be it—just a, little {bit sinister. He knows all a.out the trial and sentence; that you and Darcy were married in France; and that you are now the wife of Rupert Morrice. I cannot say how wretched and miserable lam about it. When he left. I felt as H I should like to go and drown myself, but that wouldn't do any good."

It was a terrible shock to Mrs. Morrice that his carefully guarded secret should be known to anybody beyond their two selves. She tried to take an optimistic view of the situation. Sir

George had been wild in bis youth like his two brothers, but he was a gentleman by birth and breeding, and he would never take advantage of his knowledge. And yet—and yet. why had be taken the trouble to find it all out? It must have required considerable time and patience, and does any man spend the one and exercise the other without some adequate motive? And how "was it possible tbat be should get the information after all these years? When 'Mrs<. Morrice came to this point in her narrative, Lane made no comment. But; recollecting what he had learned from MacKenzie, he guessed how easily the baronet had been able to get about bis researches. Sir George ■was known to be an associate of "crooks" at the present time, crooks of the high-class variety; no doubt he had associated with them for many yeairs past. Even if he had not known Darcy personally, the name would be a familiar one in the crimiinal world, and everything about him was known to

those who belonged to it. It was probable that he had at first embarked upon his researches out of a mere spirit of curiosity, scenting some

mystery about Alma Buckley's connection "with the youngster, and being desirous of unravelling it. In doing so, he had stumbled upon a secret of considerable value to an unscrupulous man. Lettice Darcy, the widow of a criminal, had married a wealthy and eminent financier of high standing and integrity, absolutely ignorant of his wife's past, for it was not to be presumed that any man in his senses would unite himself to a woman with eueh a record. Such a secret ought to be worth a good deal to ___. He was not long in unmasking his batteries. He and, Mrs. Morrice had a few common acquaintances, at whose houses they had often been guests at the same time. But they had never exchanged a word together. She, knowing who he was, at once identified him as the 'brother of the man who had figured in tbat disagreeable incident at the Brinkstone Arms, but he had not appeared to recognise her. She had V.en rather glad of this, as she was wnxioua to consign the past, her girlhood included, to oblivion. A week after that disturbing interview_with Miss Buckley, she was a _3l___L U _ evening functi °" -* » -T 6 , in Piccadilly, with Jvosabclle Sheldon; he, husband V. & no , accompanied them— he was __„T__ I George approach!, heT She felt Tv ¥ shiver pass through her•T. £ „ * sl ,. ht he W as seeking her? __. A lma Buckley, who had C„ »' jove with bun, bad B^ken % t *%*«* « **_■«■*-»■«.- «-* ■ _■**»I*U

was something rather sinister a.bout him.

lie bowed in bis usual courtly way, he alwa;.s infused a subtle a : r of deference in his manner towards women which impressed most of thorn greatly in his favour.

He addressed her in liis pleasant, cultivated voice. She learned later that he was one of the most unscrupulous blackguards who over preyed upon a helpless woman, but certainly nothing in the man's exterior gave any indication of the blackness of the soul be-

neath. "We have met lor many years at various houses, Mrs. Morrico: it is strange that I should only just now recognise you as the young lady I used to encounter in her walks in that quaint village of Brinkstone. when you were Miss Larchester."'

She was very agitated inwardly, she knew at once that in recalling himself to her recollection, lie was actuated by a sinister motive which would presently be revealed. If he were the gentleman the world supposed him to be. lie would have kept locked in his breast the secret which he had acquired through Alma Buckley's indiscretion.

A little strained conversation followed, then he plainly showed hie hand.

'"[ should very much like a little private conversation with you, Mrs. •Morrice. 1 wonder where we could have it? For the present, it might not be very prudent for mc to call in Deanery Street." She felt sick and faint a* sin- listened to those words. It was impossible to ignore the threat that underlay them. Should she refuse to grant him this interview and present a bold front? Alas, if he had made up his mind to use her secret to his own advantage, she was helpless, she dare not defy him. She made an appointment to meet him at Miss Buckley's flat. Alma, burning with indignation against the man whom she had taken for a gentleman, on whom she had set hiT affections, was present. lie was polite and suave as ever, but behind that suavity and politeness lay an inexorable purpose, to victimise this unfortunate woman to the fullest extent. He turned first to Alma with a bland smile. "'I do not think you are aware, my dear friend, that for some little time I have been cultivating that veTy charming boy. Jack Graham: he has been in my company several times unknown to you? I have taken a great interest in him; he is a sharp, intelligent young fellow, and 1 may saywithout vanity that he has evinced a strong liking "for mc. I have made up my mind to relieve you of any further concern regarding his welfare by adopting him myself." The two women were struck speechless by this.bold declaration; they waited for further disclosures. One thing they were both sure of, tbat whatever his course of conduct might be. it would rot be dictated by philanthropic motives.

He turned to the unhappy mother.

"While making every allowance for the unfortunate circumstances in which you found yourself placed, Mrs. Morrice, I cannot acquit you of having proved a very unnatural parent. I iind this bright, intelligent young fellow condemned to an obscure existence with but little chance of 'bettering himself, while you, his mother, are a wealthy woman and living in the midst of refinement and luxury. I propose to remedy this, to place him in a position more suitable to him"—he paused for a second and added with deadly emphasis —"'and in this" laudable object I shall insist on bis mother's help." There was no mistaking what he meant. Alma, giving" way to her natural fiery temper, flashed out indignantly, "And supposing we refuse to abet this scheme of yours, what then?" At this question, he no longer made a pretence of keeping on the mask. "In that case it will be my painful duty to onform Mr. Morrice that this lady whom he honours so highly is the widow of a criminal and the mother of -lohn Graham, that criminal's son.

They knew him now for what he really ■was, a thorough-paced, plausible, and ruthless blackguard, who would use any means to further his vile ends. But they were helpless and in his toils. Indignation failed to arouse his cold and pitiless nature, he met it with indifference. Any appeal to his better instincts only provoked a sardonic smile, and taunting allusions to ".an unnatural mother."

He forced his project throug-h. H:s brother Archibald had recently died in Australia, nobody in England knew whether he was married or not. He would pass the young fellow off as that dead brother's son. It was only fair that the young nmn should have the entree to his mother's house, and should see something of refined life. What had Mrs. Morrice told her husband about her family? She must have told him something. If Mrs. Morrice had kept her head just at this juncture, she could have told him that her husband knew her to be _n only child, and that ,:t was therefore impossible for her to have a nephew. But she was so confused that she blurted out the actual information she had given Mr. Morrice, that she was one of a family of three, herself, a brother, and a married sister both dead. She was never quite sure what reasons had prompted her to tell this lie to him—at the time it might have struck her that the introduction of these fictitious relatives gave a greater air of verisimilitude to her history. But even if she had put a temporary check on Sir George's schemes in this direction, he would soon have invented some other means of forcing himself and the young man into Deanery Street. But now it was all very easy. Morrice, the most unsuspicious person in private life, had accepted his wife's statements, and had hardly ever made the briefest allusion to these dead relatives or in fact to her family history at all.

She would now tell him that her sister had married Archibald Brookes, that the marriage had 'been a very unhappy one of which she did not care to speak, that her dislike of Archibald had extended to Sir George, for no particular reason, and that for years they had met as strangers; that learning he was about to adopt her sister's child, she had agreed to bury the hatchet and take an intere . in the Young man's welfare.

This scheme was carried out in spite i fP asmodic opposition on the part __, \ Mrs ' Morric e -nd her friend, mat -_T e i dared to «_*<*. they were =« -_r the. threati "Veiy

well. Then_ your husband >.riall be told the secret of your past. The choice lies with you."'

| Sir George took young Darey —to call ! him by his real name—to live with him at the beginning, and he found the young man an apt pupil. He experienced no difficulty in instilling into him a deep resentment against a mother who had practically cast him out of her life. The young man had no scruples in helping iiis supposed uncle to extract as much money as they could out of the helpless woman. Their demands grew by leaps and bounds. At lirst they were content to take a part of her income—the generous allowance which her husband made her. Then, in obedience tn ihcir insatiable exactions, she was forced lo re__li._" her own small capital. Then «'ame the sale, piece by piece, of her valuable jewellery, and its replacement by cleverly-executed imitations. The unhappy woman was now so completely under their domination, so broken down by the threat of instant exposure to her husband with which they met the least show of hesitation or demur on her part, that she was finally driven into stealing from Morrico's safe, when- she had exhausted all her other resources.

The way of doing this was made easy 'by the fact that she had one day, while her husband was away on a business visit to America, discovered amongst a loose packet of his paper. a cryptic memorandum which aroused her-curiosity. After puzzling over it for some time she came to the conclusion that it must be the calculations for the time lock which the makers of the safe had handed to Mr. Morrice after its construction.

She had locked it up, intending to give it to her husband on his return. But as Mr. Morrice had never alluded to its loss the incident liad slipped her memory. Jt was revived when Sir George one day jokingly alluded to the financier's wonderful safe—for Morrice was very proud of this invention and spoke about it to everybody—and wished that he could put his hands inside it for five minutes. Very foolishly, she had admitted that she knew the secret of its mechanism as well as her husband and young Croxton. Sir George seized upon this indiscreet admission as soon as it suited his purpose. She did not know how the two exactly apportioned the money they wrung from her, but she had an idea that the greater portion of it went to the elder man, who lost it at the gambling table almost as quickly as it came into his hands.

The five thousand pounds handed over to her by her first husband's instructions, together with the few hundreds left her by her father, had gone to satisfy the insatiable demands of this pair of miscreants. There were still a few pieces of jewellery left which hud not yet been realised, amongst them the "birthday" necklace. Soon these would have to go the way of the others. It was necessary to find some other sources of Bupply; to .ir George's acute mind the safe presented an obvious solution; there was always something of value inside it. Fur a long time she fought obstinately against their efforts to make ber a criminal, but in the end —cowed by that terrible threat of exposure, her will-power weakened by these long years of socret suffering—she gave in. , Fully conversant with the safe's mechainism, fully acquainted with the movejnients of her husband and his secretary, having free access to his room during the absence of both, it was for her a comparatively easy task. She carried out the first robbery, a most fruitful one for those who engineered it, and this resulted in the disgrace of Croxton and his banishment from his benefactor's house.

She carried out the second, although she vehemently warned the two scoundrels that as Richard was no longer a member of the household. Suspicion might easily be diverted into other quarters. Her argnments had no influence on them. Morrice, while sure of the guilt of his secretary, had spared him. If discovery did ensue, he would be equally sure to keep about his own wife.

Tire third time she opened the safe on her own initiative, driven to do so by a fit of remorse. The second robbery, it will lie remembered, had produced poor results, the booty being inconsiderable and a portion of it valueless to the persons into whose hands it fell. It struck the distraught woman that in putting back the Swiss notes and the packet of private papers, she was making an act of reparation. (To be continued dally.}