MY LADY.

Auckland Star, Volume LVII, Issue 54, 5 March 1926, Page 12

MY LADY.

By EDGAR WALLACE 1 Author of '-Tho Four just Mon," "Tne Secret House," etc., ou-. : 1 SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. s JOHN JIOKLAY, head of a firm of commercial inquiry agents, undertakes to protect the beautiful young . COUNTESS MARIE FIOLI from the designs of JULIAN LESTER, a young fortune hunter who suspects the Countess- nurse. ' ' MRS. CARAWOOD, head of sever.ll shop* ' in London, of having appropriated part < ot Marie's fortune. With Mrs. Carawood i lives ' HERMAN', a young man she has adopted. He. with FENNER, an eccentric car- ' penter. endeavours to frustrate the intentions uf MARTIN, an inquiry a'jrent. and JOE SALTER, an ex-convict, employed by .lulian to ferret out details of Mrs! Carriwood's financial circumstances. In the meantime John Morlay finds himself falling in love with his ward, whom he accompanies ou expeditions about London. CHAPTER XI. ' •Tolin .Morlay sat down to take ac- ' count of himself. For. three days his duty Jiad been light, and there" had ' been little or no call for his attendance on his lovely charge. A normal man, ' he told himself, would have welcomed the respite, for his work at that moment was heavy. There were callers to be J interviewed, accounts to he investigated, the movements of a long-tirm swindler > to be traced: and if some madness had not come to him he would have learnt with relief from day to day that Marie's < time had been fully mapped out. And yet he was irritated, and every ring of the telephone bell made his heart jump. He had certainly spent one happy evening with Marie,'when he had escorted her to a theatre. What the play was about he never remembered, but there was music in it. and dancing girls, and somebody sang a song which most of the street boys were whistling. Moreover, and this symptom alarmed him, he had found himself at extraordinary hours wandering along Penton Street. Once, at five o'clock in the "morning, he had passed under her window, and the mere fact that he did not < feel unutterably foolish was discreditable to his innate sense of humour. He always had an excuse to himself for these excursions. A longforgotten suggestion of his doctor that he should take a long walk before breakfast was one, but there was no j reason in the world why he should be standing on the opposite side of the [street, looking at the light in her window, when the clock was striking twelve on the second night after her coming. Here, however, his sense of humour triumphed, and he went back to his flat chuckling irritably at himself. He wondered what the dead and gone Morlays, those sedate and dignified men, would have thought of their descendant. They were men whose love"' affairs liad run a smooth and conventional course, and in his most extravagant moment he could not imagine either Uncle Percival or Uncle Jackson mooning like a lovesick calf before an old clothes shop. J He had made three calls in the hope of catching a glimpse of her, but on leach occasion she was out. Once she' had gone with Mrs. Carawood to a concert; once, he learned, to his intense annoyance, that Julian Lester had taken her to his cousin's to tea. He loathed Julian jiith a ferocity c Jjayond' understanding. He was little "less than a criminal, he thought, in his sordid pursuit of the girl. John Morlay was sitting with his head in his hands, his work neglected, when the aged clerk announced a visitor. "A monk?" said John, in amazement. "What the dickens does he.want. Show him in." As the visitor came through the door he had a dim idea that he had met this grey-bearded figure in the rough habit of a religious order, a rope girdle about his waist, his head and his feet bare save for sandals And then he remembered. "Father Benito, isn't it?" he said, as he offered .his hand. "This is indeed fame," said the father drily. "No, Mr. Morlay, I -fcon't sit down, if you will forgive my distracting habit of restlessness. I will not keep you long." Father Benito was a member of the Franciscan Order,- whose sermons had attracted large and fashionable audiences to a Franciscan' ehureli in Mayfair. Hia attacks on certain sections of society had made him famous, as John reminded him. The father made a little face, and his kindly eves were filled with laughter. "That's one of the penalties of sincerity," he said. "One gets talked about. In this world of sham and makebelieve the sincere must inevitably be conspicuous. And, before Igo any further, Mr. Morlay, I want to tell you that I haven't come in the exercise of my mission, but on a personal affair. _,I spoke to Sir John C'alder last evening, " and he suggested that you were the mall . who could best advise mc." k John smiled. "I never expected to i find a Franciscan .among my clients, 7 [ he said. r For a second the father said nothing r and then he, asked a question that took ' the detective by surprise. ► "Do you know the Countess Mark ' Fiolj?" he asked. ; y John stared at him. ► "Why. yes. I know her fairly well." ► "Do you know .Mrs. Carawood, her— ► guardian ?"' ► John nodded, wondering what was ► coming next. Father Benito ponderec ► for a while. ► "The business which has brought m< ► here is rather a delicate one. I am, as ► you realise, in the world, and yet oul ► of it. Matters which might seem o1 ► the highest importance to the average ► man mean nothing whatever to mc ► Nevertheless, my vows do not release ► mc from a certain obligation to society I am troubled and worried more thai I thought was possible by this—" H< k seemed at a less for words to describe k the cause of his disquiet. f "Are you worried about Countess [ Marie ?" | "Yes. in a sense," said Father Benito r* after a pause. And then he made j P statement which brought John MoilaA *' to his feet, wide-eyetl. r "You don't mean that?" r Father Benito nodded. ► "It is incredible 1 And yet of course f I must accept your word. You an ► snre?" ► Forgetful of . his restlessness, the ► reverenel father pulled a chair up to tin I desk, and for half an hour he spoke I with scarcely an interruption fron y John. Once . the telephone bell rang y and John Morlay went out of the roon y and instructed his assistant to pui i through no further calls. For the resi l of the time the • men talked in a low k tone, and in the end John accompaiiiet I the robed figure to the door.

' "I will put the matter irto your hands and be. guided entirely by you," said i Father Benito at; parting. "I, feel you J ought to know-this. I am glad I have i told you—happier because I feel that i the girl's interests are afe in your : hands. , That is ; the thing- that was worrying me—the possibility that poor ] little Marie might, through no fault of ; her own, be irretrievably hurt. Iji should not have forgiven myself if that ] had happened." I, All that afternoon John Morlay straggled with the new problem which j had been set l.im—a problem which, a week before, would have been dismissetl after a second's thought; and, at the I enel of his seir-examination, he reacheel r only one conclusion—that, whoever was : hurt, Marie must be saved. His mind was occupied by theji thoughts of her when the telephone bell r rang, and her fresh voice hailed him: "Guardian angel, I want you to take mc to tea." i He almost flew down the stairs to obey her summons. i CHAPTER NIL . j Mr. Fenner, that patient swain, was. beginning to feiel some misgivings. Ho ! called in at the shop one afternoon, pri- ' marily to give news (which had not/ been sought I of the contlition of his ■ employer, who had been sinking rapidly for many days, but still retained a j tenacious hold on life. j "Change and decay," said Mr. Fenner I gloomily. "If the olel man pops off, I'll j have to find another job. 1 couldn't i stand the yard after he'd left it for j better or worse, as the saying goes. It's, very hard, Herman," he said, sitting down. "Have a cushion, Mr. Fenner," said the sympathetic but mistaken Herman. "I'm uot referring to the seat. And, ! Herman, don't call mc 'mister.' 'Com- j rade' is quite good enough for mc." : Herman thought it was a bit fami- j liar. j "A lot of people don't like it." said Mr. Fenner, and the recollection of the I unpopularity of the title seemed to afford him a certain satisfaction. 'Ter-! sonallyl I prefer it. My old governor—'-'; "Does he call you 'comrade'?" asked the interested Herman. "Only when he wants to be nasty,'" said Mr. Fenner. "He's not a bad old boy. As a member of the employing classes, of course, he's out with the washin', but as a human being I him. I must admit it. That's the curse of policial strife, Herman—you've got to have two ideas about a person." ; He was glane-ing steadily at his own | reflection in a long panel mirror which I faced him. j "Would you call mc a good-looking' man, comrade?" he asked, eyeing him-I self thoughtfully. "You?" Herman was incredulous. "Yes—me." The youth looked at him suspiciously. "Is this a catch?" he asked. "No, I'm asking you. comrade to comrade," said Mr Fenner, with some asperity. j Herman shook his head. "I don't know. You never struck rne as being good-looking—l'm talking about your face." "Well, there's nothing else to talk about, is there?" snapped Mr. Fenner. And then, in a milder tone: "Would I you call me—well, say, intellectuallooking?" "What's that?" asked Herman, puzzled. ■% "Do I look as if I was brainy?" But here, again. Herman could not help him. He did not know how brainy people looked. Mr. Fenner mastered his annoyance. "Good Gawd! You've seen the picture papers, haven't you?" "I only look at. the murderers,"'said Herman simply. . "Mr.' Fen^—l mean comrade —do you know I could commit a murder? i could! If anybody did anything to Mrs. Carawood, I'd murder 'em. And stand by and see 'em roll all over the floor in agony." The Socialistic carpenter , listened aghast at the bloodthirsty picture. "You never would have the heart, comrade," he said in a hushed tone. "Mind you," he added after reflection.' "I'm a long way in the same direction for Mrs. Carawood." "Oh m'lady?" suggested Herman. ; This required deliberation. M'lady was different. She did not evoke the same emotions in the tender bosom'of this public man. There came an interruption to this exchange of confidences. The door opened slowly, and an immaculate young man stepped in, closed the. door behind him, and nodded with a smile. to the girl attendant. Julian Lester' had reached a momentous decision. The appearance on the" scene of John had upset his calculations. If. a week before, he could not afford to wait, still less could he' afford now. ■ for when Marie had referred to the representative of Morlay Brothers there had been something in her voice which the shrewd young man had accurately diagnosed. Mrs. Carawood made her appearance. , She had seen, from her sitting-room , window. Julian alight from his taxicab. i Mr. Fenner watched their meeting with a jealous eye. > "Who is this guy?" he asked agitatedly. "He seems very familiar." Oblivious of the passions he had v aroused, and only dimly conscious of I the figure which flung itself out of the shop through the side entrance leading 3 to the much-repaired door, Julian came straight to the point. "No, m'lady's not in. Mr Lester; she; has gone out with Mr. Morlav." "Indeed?" He stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "I never seem to see hei s in these days." 1 "You're very interested in m'lady?" said Mrs. Carawood, her cold eyes upon » him. s "Naturally—she is a very romantic t figure." f "I don't know about romantic— : 2 began Mrs. Carawood. r. "Of course she's romantic," said Juliar a almost brusquely. "It is romantic that -. a member of a great Italian familj 1 should have been brought up by a'r c Englishwoman, who has been botl c nurse and guardian to her. If I tinderstand aright, she has been in youi s charge ever since she was a few day old." J i, "'That is so. sir." 3. '"And her mother made you her o- uar . \- dian?" She recognised his hostility. She would have been a dull woman" if she had not. c "Yes, her mother made mc her D Uar . c dian." she said slowly and deliberately "You have some, sort of deed—some: c documents, I suppose? There was a c will?" . , • , c ' Mrs. Carawood did not .answer. n "There was a. wll? .You hspve a copj f, of her mother's will, perhaps?" l "I have no copy.pf her mother's will.' t She found her voice at last. "No docut ments —nothing. She gave her into mj f e>harge. and asked mc to look after her 1 because she had no other relation ir the world."

He saw h-- suddenly look over his shoulder, and in another minute she had dashed past him ■ and was opening the eioor to Marie. The girl was helpless with laughter. John Morlay, who followed her into the store, seemed to he the cause, for he carried iv his hand, and with no apparent sense of ■loss of dignity, a ridiculous doll dressed like a soldier. Julian watched them, hoard snatches of her narrative. They had been to a dausant, and John Morlay elanced like a perfect angel. The eloll had been presented to her by the manager of the club, who was also a perfect angel. It was not the atmosphere for revelations, anel a man with a thinner skin that Julian Lester would have postponed his denouement, he had a eluty to perform, was piqued by the consciousness of his loss, and in some ineleftnable way blamed the dark-faced woman for his discomfiture. Marie came flying towards him. "WTiy, Julian, I haven't seen you for days." "It seems years,"' he said, taking her hanel with a smile. "How afe you, John? I did not know you indulged in this kind of frivolity." "Put mc down as being in my second childhood." said John Morlay calmly. Julian smiled arid glanceel down at the doll. "Shades of Morlay brothers!" he saiel ironically, "I wonder they don't turn in their graves." "The last and the most severe of them was cremated." said John. And then he took the other's arm and walked him to a ejuiet cc rner of the shop. 'A week or so ago you did mc the honour to ask mc to act for you." he said. "I observe that you have an excellent substitute."' ' "What do you mean?" asked Julian, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ; "Yesterday I saw you talking in Oxford Street with Martin, of the Universal Agency." j Julian Lester laughed. | "Why, John, you're quite a detective yourself." I "I only want to tell you this." said John, choosing his words carefully. "In all the circumstances, your interest in Mrs. Carawooel anel in Marie strikes mc as rather bordering on the—er—" Julian supplied the word. "Impertinent?" he asked. "I elidn't want to use that word." stkid John. "Now. I'm a blunt sort of fellow, Julian, antl you'll have to forgive mc if I'm a little plain-spoken at this .moment. What do you expect to discover about Mrs. Carawood?" !"I will be equally frank."' Julian 1 glanceel round. The girl was behind 'the sc?een with Mrs. Carawood. and out of hearing. "I expect to find that Mrs. Carawood has defrauded, or is defrauding, or is in a position to elefraud, Marie. I will go further anel say that I have searched Somerset House for a trace of the will, and I have not been successful. The Fiolis are an eccentric family. They lost a lot of money in I a bank smash fifty yctars ago, and it Iwas a known fact that they distrusted I banks, and carried their money in bulk, My suggestion is that when Marie's mother died, she handed over to Mrs Carawood a very large sum. The sole object and intention of my investigations'has been to tliscover where thai money is kept, and the extent of the fortune. I have another object, anc that is to force Mrs. Carawood to give an account of her stewardship." John nodded. "Is that necessary—now-?" he asked and the face of the other flushed. There was no need for John Morla\y to be more explicit. "Do you still thinjk that there is a possibility of Marie accepting you supposing you offered yourself as a sui tor?" Julian was thrown off his baJanee for i moment. "Is she likely to accept you I" he askee crudely. "Is that what you mean—tha' you have, to use a vulgar term, cut m< out. Perhaps you're right. But, evei if that is so, the principle which guidec mc remains unchanged. You may con sider mc as a disinterested person work ■ing in your interests —is that a very con vincing view?"' John shook his head. "It doesn't convince mc," he said. Julian laughed. • "Then let mc act in Marie's interests and in Marie's interests I'm going to have the truth."' "And whero will you find the truth? 1 The answer was dramatic. Hermai came staggering into the shop a± tha | moment with a big black box anel laid i on the table. And Julian gasped, for hi recognisetl it from its description, evei to its two brass locks. (To be continued daily.)