The Mystery Road

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 249, 20 October 1928, Page 12 (Supplement)

The Mystery Road

k i J E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM A?

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

The young Englishmen, CHRISTOPHER BENT and GERALD DOMBEY (or Lord Downe, eldest son of the Earl of Hlnterleys), motoring to Monte Carlo, were delayed by a burst tyre, and while the chauffeur repaired the damage, strolled nlong rthe road to look at the countryside. 'There they encountered Myrtile, a lovely little peasant girl, in evident distress. Pressed to confide in the two young men she explained that her mother had been the village schoolmistress. She married for the second time a bad inan, and died, and Myrtile had been forced to live with the stepfather and care for the three small half-brothers and sisters. That evening heir stepfather bad announced his approaching marriage to the Widow Duinay, and told Myrtile that she was to bo betrothed to Leschamps, the innkeeper. "He is fat and old and he drinks," cried Myrtile, "and I would rather die than have him come near me. Take me with you as far as you are going—somewhere where I can hide." "Agreed!" said Gerald impulsively. "We will start you off on the great adventure. It seems to me there can be nothing worse for you than what you leave behind." So Myrtile, who had never been beyond her village, was carried off to Monte Carlo by the two young men, who constituted themselves her joint guardians for the time being, and promised to find her work. Through the kind offices of the" housekeeper at their hotel they found rooms for her nearby, and there began for the girl a wonderful time. Christopher Bent was by far the most steady and responsible guardian of the two, but it was Gerald with his careless charm of manner, who won her heart, and in her eyes he could do no wrong. LADY MARY DOMBEY, Gerald's sister,' when consulted about Myrtile, was disapproving, but eventually promised to'help them find work for her in England. Mean-, while Gerald, in a burst of enthusiasm at the girl's beauty, took her to a famous dressmaker, and bought her an'.outflt that showed her natural grace and charm to prei'ection. Gerald's thoughts, however, ■were soon elsewhere, in the Casino he 1 caught sight of a beautiful girl, who, in company with a very haughty great lady, was arousing general curiosity and admiration. They called themselves Madame and Mademoiselle de Poniere, and lived in a villa next to that occupied by Lord Hinterleys, where they received no guests. After a great deal of difficulty Gerald managed to gain the acquaintance of the girl, but Pauline still treated him with royal hauteur, and forbade him to call upon her aunt. The mystery surrounding the two ladies was heightened one evening in the Casino when a Russian named Zubln created a sensation by winning two million francs. Gerald, however, standing near this stranger when he was dispatching a letter, noticed the address. It was to Madame de Poniere,

CHAPTER XV. Joint Guardians. Myrtile was seated alone at the far end of the terrace, outside the Hotel de Paris, when the tragedy happened. Her first impression was that Sbme very unusual people had found their way on to the promenade— »a fete day excursion, perhaps, from one of the neighbouring villages. And then the colour seemed slowly drained from her cheeks. She would have got up and fled, but her limbs absoluely refused their office. Her half movement, however, had attracted the attention of the two men. With exclamations of incredulity, they hurried towards her. The incredulity swiftly turned to joy. Myrtile, in such clothes, represented, without a doubt, boundless wealth. It was a morning of good fortune, this I "Myrtile, thou little rascal!" her stepfather cried, gripping her pearl-coloured gloves in his horny fist. "Pierre, thou seest. It is she indeed. Amazing! It is veritably amazing!" Pierre. Leschamps was not so fluent. His narrow, covetous eyes looked over Myrtile's slim body. What he had lost! He was filled with self-pity. "It is an escapade, this," he said. "Thou art ready to return, Myrtile?" "Never!" the girl declared, passionately. . "Oho!!" her stepfather exclaimed. "We shall see about that. There is the law, little one. The law does not allow an honest man to be robbed of his daughter —ay, stepdaughter, if you will," he went on, checking a passionate protest on Myrtile's lips. "Now then, out with it, rny child. Where did those clothes come from? Who brought you here? Who is supporting you?" "I arti supporting myself," Myrtile answered'. "I sew all the mornings and most of'the afternoons."

The two men laughed unpleasantly. Her father laid his hand upon her shoulder;

"Listen," he said, "you were carried away from home by two Englishmen in a motor car—rich Englishmen, by all accounts, with much luggage. Where are they 1" >

"What do you want with them?" Myrtile demanded..

"That is not for thy silly head, little one.'"

"There is a matter of compensation," Pierre growled. "Tell us where to find these Englishmen." Myrtile looked wildly round. She scarcely knew whether she prayed for or dreaded . Christopher's' return. Then suddenly she saw . him close at hand, accompanied, to her infinite relief, by Gerald. She gave a little cry of, joy. Now, indeed, all would be well. Gerald would arrange everything. "So these are they?"' her stepfather muttered, as the two young men approached. ; "They look like gentlemen of wealth," Leschamps echoed. "The stepfather of Myrtilej a 6 I live!" Gerald muttered under his breath. "Heaven grant that we may escape a brawl out here? Must we—"

"Of course we must," Christopher answered, curtly. "Can't you see that the child is frightened to death? We'll have them in the police station, if they make any trouble. The police here haven't much sympathy with their class."

Myrtile called to them softly. "This is my stepfather," she said, "and his friend, Pierre Leschamps." "Mon Dieu!" Gerald exclaimed, in frank horror. "Are you the man whom Myrtile was to marry?" " I am he, indeed, monsieur," the innkeeper acknowledged. " I have gone to great expense in the matter. My house was painted and whitewashed and my bedroom papered! The neighbours were all hidden. I had even laid in wine for the feast."

" Then you ought >to have been ashamed of ' yourself," Gerald declared. " Why, how eld are you, my friend?*'. Leschamps patted his stomach. ( " I am but fifty years old," he replied, "a man in the prime of life. Myrtile \yfis promised tp me. There is no one else like her. I am without a wife. It /iera very serious position for a man with an inn to look after." " And What about me ? " her stepfather his voice rising with the recollf vjjon of his wrongs. "For many have kept that child. I have

fed her and clothed her all that time. Now that she is eighteen, now that she is of some use in the world, bow does she show her gratitude? What can I do without her, I ask. I was to marry the good Widow Dumay. Now she says 'No! ' She declares that, without Myrtile, the care of the children is too much for her. She refuses to allow me to arrange the wedding unless either Myrtile returns or she has at lease five hundred francs with which to arrange help." " Five hundred francs! " Leschamps groaned. " What is that for a wife like Myrtile? It is a blow to me this. My health has suffered. lam gloomy. My business decreases. The neighbours will no longer drink a bottle of wine with a man who cannot sing a song or smile once during the evening. They go elsewhere. My connection tumbles to pieces. And there are my rooms all painted and my bedroom papered, and I have no wife! "

" It appears to me," Gerald proposed, "that we had better discuss this matter in my rooms over a bottle of wine—a bottle of champagne, eh? What do you say, gentlemen?" " Let it be this moment," Myrtile's stepfather insisted. " Let ua know where we are without further delay. This matter makes me said. I cannot sleep.or eat. I have dug deep into my savings to come here. Oh, it has cost me much money, this journey! " " And I," Leschamps ' declared, "I, who have ndver been in a train before, who have never spent ten sous on my own pleasure, it is ruin, this journey. And I have been sick of the stomach."

" Follow me, gentlemen," Gerald invited.

Ho led them into the hotel, much to the amazement of the liveried servants, took them up in the lift, in which both nearly collapsed upon the floor, and ushered them into his sitting room. For a few moments effrontery and avarice were alike powerless. They were dumb with amazement. They looked round them, muttering inarticulate words. Leschamps dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead with a bright, cherry-col-oured handkerchief. Her stepfather looked helplessly across the room to where Myrtile was. seated sidet by side with Christopher. Gerold ordered champagne, which was brought in by a servant dressed in knee-breeches and silk stockings. Leschamps secretly pinched himself. Gerald, the central figure of the little party, towards whom everyone turned, and on whom Myrtile's eyes were unswervingly fixed, began rather to enjoy the situation. "Now, gentlemen," he said, after he had moved them up to the table and placed the bottle of wine between them, "let us deal with this question in a few words. Your stepdaughter, Myrtile, is not coming back to you Monsieur Sargot, neither will, she become your wife, Monsieur Leschamps. She wiil be well taken care of, and that is all that concerns you. We would like, if possible to arrange this matter pleasantly, although we admit no claim. At what price do you, Monsieur Sargot, place your daughter's services? And you, Monsieur Leschamps, at what figure do you put your expenses.in<preparing for your wedding which will never take place ?" "It is a hard question," Myrtile's stepfather declared, seizing the bottle and pouring himself out another glass of win&.

"It will be a great loss for me," the innkeeper groaned. "Myrtile did all the cooking," Jean Sargot continued. " There was no one made such a ragout, and the children with her were like angels." " That is not true," Myrtile intervened calmly. " The children were always bad tempered and difficult to manage." " She has lost her head, the little one," her stepfather lamented. "There is another girl in the valley one would marry by the side of her," the innkeeper muttered. Gerald waited until they liad finished. He was leaning against the back of a sofa,' smoking another cigarette which he had just lit. "Well, gentlemen," he said, "it is for you to name a sum. All that I ask is that Myrtile be left in peace." " The Widow Dumay," Myrtile's stepfather said, watching Gerald closely, "declared that I ought to have in the stocking another two thousand francs if I am deprived of Myrtile." Gerald opened his pocketbook. " Will the same sum content you, Leschamps?" he asked. Pierre Leschamps tried to sigh. His eyes, however, betrayed his greedy satisfaction. "I will accept it," he said, "May Myrtile be happy! " Myrtile's stepfather struck the table with his fist.

"Look here, all of you,'' he expostulated, " this is all very well, but why should Pierre Leschamps have, as much as I—l who have lost my daughter ?" "She was to have been my wife," Leschamps growled. "It was I who was to give her to you," the other retorted. "You have lost nothing, because she never belonged to you. Five hundred francs would pay you many times-over for all the expense you have been to in your miserable little house. The rest of your two thousand should come to me." The faces of the two men were aflame. ; Pierre -Leschamps was. tugging, viciously at his little black moustache. There was a purple flush on Sargot's cheeks. They seemed about to fall on one another. Gerald struck the table with the flat of his hand.

"Look here," he enjoined, "unless you both want to be ordered out of the room without a sou, hold your peace." No threat could have been more effective.' They stood looking at him like dumb animals. He silently filled the glass of each with more wine. "Now, remember that you are friends and comrades," he begged. "There is, after all, something in what Jean Sargot has said. To lose a stepdaughter is more than to lose a promised wife. I will add a thousand francs to your amount, Jean Sargot." "And I shall have my two thousand ? " Leschamps cried. "You shall hava your two thousand." Gerald promised.

Their eyes hung upon his pocketbook like the eyes of sick animals. Gerald counted out the money, but retained it in his hand.

"You, monsieur," he said, addressing Myrtile's stepfather, "will sign a paper which my friend here will write out, promising to resign all claim to Myrtile and never to attempt to see her again."

"I will sign it," the man agreed. Christopher sat at the desk and wrote out a few brief sentences. Jean Sargot signed it without even confessing his inability to read. They stood up to receive the money. ' Myrtile, and even Christopher, watched them, fascinated. Their brown, nail-bitten fingers clutched and trembled as they counted the notes. Each in turn buttoned them into the inside pocket of his coat. It was more than they had dreamed of, this. Myrtile, a village child, to be worth a fortune! "It is finished, then, this affair," Sargot declared, as he drained his glass. "It is finished," Gerald agreed. "I will ring for a page to show you out." "You need have no anxiety \ about Myrtile," Christopher said. "She will be found a suitable home and she will lead a suitable life."

Jean Sargot suddenly remembered that he was her stepfather. He brushed his coat sleeve across his eyes. "Little one!" he cried, "embrace me. This is, then, farewell." Myrtile rose to her feet, but she remained at the other side of the table.

"I wish you farewell, and I wish you good fortune," she said. "I would rather not embrace you. You have been hard and cruel to me, as you have been to others. Try and be kinder to your own children. And as for you, Pierre Leschamps," she went on, "do not dream for one moment that I would ever have married you. I would sooner have thrown myself into the quarry." "The little one was always strange," Leschamps muttered, almost apologetically. They stumbled out of the room after the page who presently arrived. Gerald broke into a shout of laughter as they disappeared. Myrtile's eyes, however, were filled with tears, Christopher, too, was grave, but it was to Gerald she turned.

"I have cost you a great deal, I am afraid," slie said. "Now I belong to you." She leaned towards him. Christopher intervened almost harshly. "To us," he declared, throwing down a little bundle of notes upon the table. "You and I are Myrtile's joint guardians, Gerald. That was our understanding. I shall hold you to your promise."

Myrtile's head was buried on Gerald's shoulder. Gerald himself was for a moment half embarrassed, half carried away, by Myrtile's calm assumption. He looked into Christopher's grey eyes, however, and he pulled himself together. "That's all right, old chap," he promised. "We'll steer clear of .trouble— somehow." (To be continued daily.)