THE THIRD DEGREE.

Auckland Star, Volume LVI, Issue 180, 1 August 1925, Page 30

THE THIRD DEGREE.

BY R. A. J. WALLING, Author of "The Fatal Glove," etc

[Our readers are Informed that all characters In this story are purely Imaginary, and If the name of any living person happens to be mentioned no personal reflection Is Intended.] CHAPTER L Mr. Belliver la Lore. Lanson's office-boy was standing on the steps at the office in Fortescue Street as Mr. John Belliver came out. The happy youth was absorbed in his favourite pastime of making paper pellets, dropping them on tbe bats of passers-by, saying "Tut-tut 1" and affecting to look up to a second storey window for the perpetrator of the misdeed. Lanson's .office doorway lent itself admirably to that kind of distraction, for it was an old-fashioned office with steps leading sideways to the entrance and an iron railing at the top which prevented you from falling ten feet on to the pavement when you came out in a hurry.'_.' Mr. John Belliver fetched tbe office boy a playful clap on the face with his gloves as be passed, and ran down the steps bumming a tune. "O, Aramintal" said tbe office boy, turning into tbe lobby and encountering the most junior of the junior clerks; "it's easy to see where he's going, eh, Hawkins ? M "Mister Hawkins," if you please, Denny," eaid the junior clerk, "and it would be better if you paid more attention to your work .and less to tbe private business of your superiors. You can tell Mint to lock up." Mr. Hawkins passed down the steps, and the office boy made a mock reverence behind his back. "Certainly, Mister Hawkins," said he. Within ten minutes Lanson's office in Fortescue Street, like all the other chambers, of the law in that narrow street, was silent and deserted. During all that ten minutes Mr. John Belliver had continued to hum bis tune as he walked, and there was an expression of deep content upon his face. He went past the clock tower, which not only told Westport the time of day but served as a landmark for strangers, indicating the business centre of the town, and was a rendezvous for all men. It was at once the Trafalgar Square and the Marble Arch of the place. Mr. John Belliver had a rendezvous this afternoon, but it was not at The Clock. He Went on through the busy streets to the quiet ones, and at last turned in by an iron gate to a little garden buried amid piles of warehouses and offices. Behind its high iron railings and amid the shady depths of its giant elms and chestnuts, the roar of the streets, the clanging of tramcar bells,- tbe hooting of motor-horns and the shouting of boys seemed to deaden and dull, and there was something like the silence of a church. The sunshine of July came down nickering and sparkling between the leaves, and wavered on the basin where a little fountain played. A few nursemaids with children sat on the benches. A few old men dozed, sunning themselves. The children played quietly in the surrounding silence. There was something in the spirit of the place that prevented them from rioting amid the grey, worn tombstones of that churchyard turned into a public garden. It was a backwater of time as well as a. backwater in the stream of work and pleasure that rolled on on the other side of the Iron railings. Mr. John Belliver strolled around the quiet paths, gloves in hand, looking at his watch now and then, and keeping an eye upon the gate. His footsteps echoed between the vaults, and in places sounded' hollow over the tombs. The dozing old men sleepily opened their eyes as' he passed their seats, and seemed to regard him as an incongruous apparition among the crumbling stones. The nursemaids glanced at him with undisguised admiration. Mr. Belliver took no notice of them, but looked steadily towards the gate. Suddenly he quickened his step and went forward. He raised his hat from the mass of dark, short-cropped curls upon bis head, his dark eyes smiled, and the colour deepened in bis cheeks. He was shaking hands with a girl who had come quickly around the path by the fountain; He took from her the roll of music she carried and walked beside, her, talking with much liveliness. The old men woke right up and frankly stared at them, as though a supernatural vision had appeared among the tombs. Her dainty grape, her fair face blushing in the luminous shade of a parasol, her light dress flashing among the green shadows, appearing and disappearing between the tombstones, his exuberant youth and strength, his manifest adoration of the fair face—all -this was a strange sight, arousing strange emotions in old folks dozing in an ancient graveyard. Mr. John Belliver and the fair girl were quite unconscious of the ferment they created. '. They had stopped at a corner of tbe garden where a yew tree drooped and deepened the green ehade into purple. His expression bad lost some of its buoyancy. She bad closed ber sunshade, and was ecraping the shapes of letters with its point in the stone on which she stood. "I'm sorry," she. was saying, "but. you don't know how good he has been to mc. I can't go on without disobeying him, and I won't deceive him."

"But, Phyllis!" he cried, "I can't give you up. You don't want mc to give you up?" , • ". '"" She glanced up at bim a moment, and lowered ber eyelids again. "No, it isn't that," she said, very softly. "Then," said.he, impetuously, "HI go to him and tell him and ask for you.-1 must have you I" ' .;"• ■ :"'' > "Jack ... "shehesitated. "I'think I don't think it would be any good/. J,.

ttat. is, just now." ' ;.. "What does that mean, Phyllis T" The girt moved on a few steps. "I hardly know bow to put it, Jack.. He spoke in Buch a way that—l haven't the least notion why; but I'm sure it would'be no use to speak to him now. You have no idea! He is such a quiet reserved man in the''ordinary way; but when he had mc on the carpet about it, well—he was simply explosive! That's the only word for it." "But what did he say? Wha/t was his objection? Was it that I am poor? Phyllis, you know that I mean to make my way. With you to work for, I can do anything—anything! He has as good as told, mc himself that I am good for anything. Good God! I'm talking like a aeohceited' ass, but you understand mc, Phyllis." ' ". ';.

"Yes," said she, "I know all that. No, it. is not that. Jack. It's something— different. No doubt, it will appear in time. We must wait. Patience is not one of your virtues——"

She gave bim a little smile. His face relaxed. ;*' , "I deserve it, Phyllis," be. said. "No, I am a vain, impulsive fool. You are a model of common sense as well as a little witch. I will be guided by you. Tell mc just once you love mc and won't ever love anybody else, and I'll do whatever you think best." ■ "I am not going to make any confessions in a public garden, sir," said she, her eyes downcast again. "What we have to do is ; to wait, and—ywell, I don't know what else. Can't you leave >him to mc, Jack?" She looked quickly up and gave him one straight, glance in the eyes. "My darling 1" he cried, under his breath, "Anything you say. Till death and after, if you say sol" She looked right and left. Only the green shadows quivered on the stones. She put an arm over his shoulder and closed her eyes to'give him her kiss. Mr. Jack Belliver, said in her ear: "My Darling 1" Then they walked to the gate together, silent. He made as though he would accompany her along the street to a tramway station. She stopped. "No," she said: "it is better we shouldn't go together. I promised, Jack. Say 'good-bye' now." He had an impulse of petulance, and exclaimed: "Itls unreasonable!" But the grave silence of her reproachful eyes cheeked him. "I'm sorry, Phyllis. Yes, you're right. Good-bye now till—ah, till when ?" "Till the sky clears," said she, brightly. He lingered with her hand in his. A voice broke upon the silence, and he stepped back. "Good morning," Miss Lanson." An elderly man, with grey hair cropped tight, deep sunken eyes, and a firm, straight mouth, waa raising his hat to Phyllis. "Good morning, Mr. Baird," said the girl. "Are you walking up to the car? If so, may I have the honour?" Mr. Jack Belliver bit his lip. The elderly man who had interrupted his farewell spoke only to Phyllis, and looked through him as if he were a pane of glass or had no existence. Phyllis stood' for a moment as though hesitating between the two. Then the youth raised" his hat, turned on his heel and walked away. The elderly man accompanied Phyllis along the street. Belliver went in the opposite direction to the Westport Club, and threw himself into a long chair in the deserted smokeroom, his fine face full of anger. More had happened in the half-hour since he left the office in Fortescue Street to jar his nerves and destroy his temper than twelve months in Lansen's office could ■have provided. And it was all • so utterly unforeseen. What on earth could have happened? Lanson had been so good to him. Lanson had given him so much encouragement in his profession—presented him with his articles, flattered him about his work, given him big things to do, welcomed him in his house, treated him more as a son than as a clerk. What the deuce did Lanton think?— that he, John Belliver, was made of stuff as cold as the metal in'his deed boxes. Did he suppose that a man of the quality of John Belliver could be thrown - into the company of the loveliest, and most perfect, and most amiable, and sweetest girl on God's earth, and that the ichor in his veins would remain as thin as the red ink in the oflice bottles? It was outrageously unreasonable! And that vulgar monument of middleclass prosperity, Baird 1 Everything combined to upset him to-day. Baird, the merchant; Baird, the rich man; Baird, the magistrate, the alderman, the big-wag, the money-bags—he could not exhaust the capacities in which Baird appeared before the people of 'Westport any more than he could exhaust the vials of his contempt for Baird. Baird was an habititue of Lanson's office; Baird's affairs were managed in Lanson's office. Baird knew Mr. John Belliver as well as he knew his own hat. Yet when he had spoken to Phyllis a quarter of an hour ago, he had seemed to be unconscious of the presence of Mr. John Belliver. And that young man shuffled in his chair, threw one leg over the other, and burst into speech, apostrophising the match-stand on the table: "Common cad! Horrible gold-bug! Sweating tyrant! Monstrosity! Humbug! Beast!" Mr. John Belliver had taken a pipe from his pocket and hammered it on the -table at each epithet. And as, at the word "Beast!" the cob fell out of the pipe, sombody said: "Hullo, Belliver! What are you muttering about?" He turned. While he had been addressing the match-stand and punishing the table, a man had entered the room and was looking at him with an amused smile. "About a filthy, middle-class, hypocritical, sanctimonious, intolerable, pryinff waster 1" said-Belliver. - "Oh?" said the newcomer, his smile broadening. "A local man, by any CiIJIIICG i "Look here, Fewings"—Mr. John Belliver jumped up from his seat and strode about the room—"it's all very well for you to stand there grinning like a Cheshut *' m in * d<mce of a tern „ Really Belliver? Nobody would ever think so; you conceal your feelings so cleverly. Perhaps you'd like mc to go away, so .that you may tell the mantelpiece priyately what you really think- about. this. ; gentleman ?" .Mr. Fewings had such a pleasant and frijsndly smile that 'Mr. John Belliver found it .contagious. ' He began to be amused by bis own vehemence. "No, my dear man, don't go away," said he. "You've done mc good already. Fm.an impulsive ass. My feelings run away with mc. I've already been told this morning that patience is not one of my virtues." Mr. Fewings rang the bell, sat down in the long chair on the opposite side of the table, and lit a cigarette. "I suppose," said he, "all this means that you can't get Miss Lanson to yourself this afternoon?" • -J. > Mr. John Belliver stopped short in the process of filling his pipe and leaned across • the table. . "How did you know that?" said he. "I didn't," Mr. Fewings replied. "I deduced it. I know you have strong. feelings about middle-class humbugs and hypocritical psalm-singers; but, .my dear Belliver, they are, like the poor, always with us. Therefore, there must have been some special cause for your j agitation. Only one thing can agitate a man who is in your state of health. |

it is really quite simple. Obviously, Miss Lanson has another engagement to-day. You'd better | make up your mind to have a round "with mc and take it out of the ball."

"You're excessively clever, Fewings," said Mr. Belliver. "But this business is a little too deep for you—much less simple than you think. Something has happened—l don't know what—which upsets mc tremendously. You know Lanson has always been very decent to mc T Well, for some reason or other he's turned against mc. He forbids mc absolutely to see Phyllis. He cuts it all off. So far as she's concerned I'm to be extinguished altogether! Did you ever bear anything like it?"

"Yes—-frequently," said Mr. Fewings. "Able young men are often treated like that when their pockets are as attenuated as their beads are swollen. Mr. Lanson may be quite willing to help you court the Deess of Law; but its quite another matter when you start courting his niece and ward. So it is Lanson who is the hypocritical, psalm-singing beast?"

"Good heavens, no!" cried Belliver. "Whatever he is, Lanson is not that. It was quite another man who enraged me—that noxious person, Baird."

Mr. Jack Belliver described tbe incident that happened at the gates of the garden. His friend listened attentively.

"Baird," said he, when he had heard it out, "is a strange personality. It always seems a little curious to mc that he and Lanson should be such close friends. There is little in common between them. Old Lanson is such a wise old fellow, reserved and quiet, cultured and gentlemanly in She old fashion, like a family lawyer out of an eighteenth-century novel. He ought to be wearing a wig and knee-breeches and have silver buckles on his shoes. Baird, on the other hand, is the monument of twentieth-century business hustle —success riding rough-shod everywhere. By jove! Belliver, he's just such a man as you might become yourself, if you lived his kind of life!"

"Thank you for nothing, Fewings," said Mr. Belliver.

"All the same, you have .just the touch of egoism that makes Baird what he is. My dear boy," he added, as Mr. Belliver made a gesture of annoyance, "don't be alarmed. You have other qualities which will prevent you from becoming a Baird—impetuous generosity and marvellous imagination. You throw yourself at the head of Miss Lanson with magnificent benevolence. You imagine that old Lanson will accept you as a kind gift from the gods! Now, Baird would never have made a mistake like that."

"0, shut up your blather, Fewings," exclaimed Mr. Belliver, angrily.

"By the way, talking of Baird," Mr. Fewings went on, "have you heard that he's in for a row with his workmen at the Princess Wharf yards? They've 'downed tools,' as they say, and swear they will break Baird. As for Baird, he declares he will break them. We shall hear all about this at the meetings on the West Quay to-morrow morning."

"I wish," said Mr. Belliver, "you'd stop talking about Baird. The very thought of the fellow nauseates mc." "Well, come arid have lunch, and we'll catch the three o'clock train and have a round. It'll pull you out of the megrims, Belliver." The two young men strolled away together.

(To be continued daily.)