The Double Act

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 142, 18 June 1929, Page 18

The Double Act

By MARION TOMLINSON (Author of "THE BELOVED SINNER," etc.)

A Romance of the Theatre.

CHAPTER XIX. A Mystery. "Disappeared!" cried Grenoble incredulously. "Where lias she gone? With whom ?" Then he struck his desk heavily with his fist as he thought he guessed. "With Antony Carson!" "I thought of that," said Nell. "Do you know where to find this young man ?" Grenoble's hand was already on the receiver of his telephone. "Ilello! Iiello! Is Mr. Carson there?" Nell, listening anxiously, could hear a faint woman's voice. It was that of Antony's landlady. "Gone to get him. Thinks he's in," commented Grenoble as he waited." In a few minutes the shrill feminine voice came again faintly through tne telephone to Nell's straining ears. "Says he'll be down in a minute," Grenoble remarked. It' was something to know that Antony was in his lodgings. Where tii-in was Rosemary? As the two in Grenoble's ollice looked at each other with these anxious speculations in their eyes, the producer turned suddenly back to the mouthpiece of the telephone. "Good morning. Grenoble speaking. I am a little disquieted about Madame Marigold. Can you give me any news about her?" he said cautiously, unwilling to allow Rosemary's disappearance to be known unnecessarily. "I? No. What news could I have?" replied Antony, puzzled. "Why ever should you apply to me?" Grenoble took this for evasion, and spoke sharply into the receiver. "You escorted her home last night, I believe?" he said. "When did you leave her?" "I should say it was about a quarter to two, though I may not be exact as to the time. I don't understand the purpose of this interrogation, Mr. Grenoble." The producer ignored Antony's increasingly brusque tone. "Was she all right—quite as usual — when you left her?" he persisted. Now Antony realised that there was something in the wind. "What's wrong?" he demanded sharply, and added in such an obvious agony of apprehension that Grenoble was convinced. "My God, Grenoble, tell me that nothing has happened!" "Oh, no, no!" The producer put all his power of persuasion into his voice as he bent to the receiver. "There's nothing at all to bother about. Madame Marigold is not quite herself this morning, but it is only that she is overtired from the long run of the play." "If that's all, why should you have telephoned me?" demanded Antony. "Look here, Grenoble, I'm not satisfied with your explanation. I'm coining over to your office and facc you for the truth." Grenoble was perturbed. He wished it had not been necessary to telephone Rosemary's lover, who, he was now convinced, really knew less than he did. There might be complications unless the situation were carefully handled. "What right have you to make such a demand?" he said sternly. "If you have any understanding with Madame Marigold you owe it to me as her manager to tell me what it is. If not, then you have no concern with the present situation." "I have considerable concern with the present situation, and a serious idea that you are not telling me the truth about it," retorted Antony. "I'll be at your office in half an hour, Grenoble, and I expect to find you there ready to tell me what has happened." Nell, across the desk, heard the telephone click at the other end of the wire. Grenoble hung up his own receiver and looked at her anxiously. "There'll be trouble if that young man finds out what has really happened," he said. "Something has got to be done, and quickly, too." He pressed the boll for his secretary. . "Run down to Che nearest traveller's agent and get tickets for Cannes," he ordered. "Make all arrangements for reserved seats, luggage, etc., for two ladies on the twelve o'clock boat train." "But that train leaves in half an hour," protested his secretary. "It's possible that all tho reservations will have been taken up." "That's all riglit, do as you are told," returned Grenoble. "Let the clerk know who you are. Give a pretty broad hint that the ladies for whom you are making the reservations are Madame Marigold and her companion. I think he'll do all lie can for you if he knows that—and spread the news as well. Be at the station when the train goes out and keep a watch for Antony Carson. You know him by sight?" "Yes," answered the secretary. "He knows me by sight, too, I believe." "All the better," said Grenoble, "but don't let him talk to you if you can help it. Mrs. Forrest will be actually on the train. Madame Marigold probably will not. But the point is to make Carson think they both have gone. You understand? I leave the details to you." "Perfectly," answered the young man. "May I ask what has happened?" "You may not," returned Grenoble. "Off with you, and see that 110 one suspects the arrangement." "Do you mean," said Nell, "that I am to go off to the South of France v ithout knowing where my poor child is? I'll never do it." "Of course I don't mean that," answered Grenoble. "You will take the first train back from Southampton. Our first concern is to put this young lover of her's off the track. He knows nothing, so lie is 110 use to us. You'd better telephone your maid to do your packing. But tell her not to distuib Marigold." . "I told her before I left, said Nell, takiiig the receiver. "I've made a rule, anyway, that 110 one but me is to wake Mario-old in the morning, and this time I made doubly sure that 110 one would enter her room by telling them that she was very tired after her late night, and would sleep till noon. The servants adore her, and are probably tip-toeing about the house this minute. A click of the 'phone told her that Annie was at the other end. "I am taking the noon train for the South of France," she said. "Please pack my things as quickly as you can, but do not disturb Madame. I will attend to her packing myself when I get home. I want her to sleep as long as possible." . "Yes, Madam," answered Annie, ( and Nell hung up the 'phone, turning to Grenoble. "This is a heart-rending delay, she said. "I can't bear to think of trains and packing when that poor child—why she may even have—"

"None of that!" said Grenoble with pretended sternness, as, he saw Nell's eyes widen and fill. "If we start thinking of what she may have done, or what may have happened to her, we'll all bo in such a state of nei /es that we'll blunder. What we've got to do now is to cover up her disappearance—especially from Antony Carson —and then investigate quietly till we find her. You'll be back in London to-night, and by that time I'll have got it into all the afternoon papers that Madame Marigold has gone for a holiday to the South of France. Don't exaggerate, my dear," he added, dropping for a moment his busi-ness-like tone. "Her note didn't sound desperate. We'll find her all right." Nell unfolded the crumpled note that she still held in her hand. "It sounds desperate, but not in the way one might fear," she murmured. The two looked at the hasty script. "Nell, Darling,—l'm going away. Please don't be worried. I'm just unhappy, and want to be alone for a while and mink things out. I'll be quite all right. You mustn't bother. 1 have a plan, but I don't want to tell you yet, for it may be a failure. Mr. Grenoble will let you stay here, I know. Bless you, Nell. Please don't be worried," "Did she take any clothes?" asked Grenoble suddenly. "The things she wore last night were lying on the bed, and the plainest dress and coat she possessed had been taken from the wardrobe," answered Nell "Nothing else as far j s I could see." "That means either that she is not intending to stay away long, or that she means to buy tilings suitable to wherever she has gone," said Grenoble. "Had she any money?" "Her salary wasn't large, as you know, and she was for ever giving it away to beggars, but I think she had little," said Nell. "The less she had the shorter her stay away will be," said Grenoble. "She's become used to luxury, you know. I feel very hopeful. So if we can keep the Press and young Carson from learning anything about it, we'll soon have her quietly back." He closed the door of Nell's taxi as he spoke, and the woman hurried away to carry out her part of Grenoble's plan, while the producer himself went back into his ollice to wait for Rosemary's lover. CHAPTER XX. A New Residence. Rosemary, a delicate gold and white figure moving slowly up the steps of her dream house the night before, had not once turned her head to look back at Antony, who stood, irresolute with a foreboding that he could not understand, at the gate. ' She felt him there, for he represented to her all that life could hold for her of love and happiness. But the realisation had at last come to her that her dreams were without foundation, that he would not, could not, care for her as Marigold. During the unhappy ride home from the theatre, however, a plan had been forming in her mind, a plan so bold that it needed all her courage and concentration. Rosemary had 110 lack of courage. Moreover, she was an artist to her linger tips, and now that she had decided what she must do, she gave her whole mind to it. Going softly past the room where Nell was sleeping, she entered her own, and took off the luxurious garments she had worn at tho theatre, substituting for them the plainest tilings her wardrobe contained. She took what money lay in her drawer, glanced at her delicatelyappointed dressing table and shook her head at its jade and ivory, contenting herself only with a little comb and a pair of scissors. Then, having written a note and laid it on her bed, she went down the dim stairs and out of the door. The key to the gilded padlock had lain on the table in the hall. Rosemary had never used it personally before, but now she unlocked the gate, passed through and snapped the padlock together again, and threw the key back into the garden. She paused long enough to make sure that it lay in a conspicuous position on the path, where it would surely be found in the morning, then went down the pavement, shivering a little in the cold air of early dawn. At the corner she hailed a passing taxi-cab. "Go out along tho Whitcchapel Road," she said, "and stop at any chemist's you can find open. When you have found a chemist, but not till then, go 011 to Bethnal Green." "Pretty early for a chemist's shop, Miss," said the taxi driver, doubtfully. "Then continue to drive till one is opened," said Rosemary. The taximan looked at her a moment, then, reassured by her manner and dress, accepted the commission with a nod. Rosemary entered the cab, where, worn out with fatigue, and lulled by the slow movement of the cab, she fell asleep. She was wakened in full morning by a tapping 011 the window. It was the taximan. "You might find what you want here, Miss," he said, and Rosemary looked out to find that she was in a side street where barrows of fruit, second-hand books and clothing Avere beginning to arrange themselves along the kerb. The cab continued slowly along this street, until at last a small dark chemist's shop was found to be open. Rosemary entered it, and came out with a small package under her arm. Near it a barrow, piled high with second-hand clothing, stood at the kerb. Early housewives and charwomen going to work stopped to stare at the unusual sight of a woman whose elegantly coiffured golden . hair was to be seen under her hat, turning over the heap of boy's clothing. But Ro'semary had 'schooled herself to be indifferent to staring eyes about her. As she returned to her cab with a large paper package in her arms, a group followed her. But she closed the door 011 the curious people without a sign that she saw them. "East End, West End," she thought. "They all stare! But one can understand it better out here. . Well, it will soon be over!" The driver of the taxicab, according to her directions, now went slowly up and down the awakening streets of Bethnal Green, until Rosemary, peering from the window, saw what she wanted. It was a house placarded "Bedroom to let." Here she descended from the cab, and knocked at the door. A slatternly woman appeared, her. hair in curl papers. "May I see the room you have vacant?" asked Rosemary.

The woman stared at her, taking in her expensive tailored clothes and noting the well-kept golden hair. Then she became suspicious. "Don't think it would suit you," she said, shortly. "Nothing high falutin' about it." "Perhaps you will let me see it in any case," returned Rosemary, gently, "I may not be. here long . . ." "Where's ycr luggage?" inquired the woman, interrupting her, and looking past her toward the cab. "I haven't any—except a paper parcel or two," answered Rosemary. "But if you will be good enough to let me see the room, I will pay a month in advance —if it is what I want—though probably I shall not be here the whole of that time." An avaricious look came into the woman's facc to mingle with the suspicion already there. She led the way upstairs, the thought of getting for a month in advance the excessively heightened rent she would ask being barely sufficient to make her willing to take the risk. "It ain't nat'ral," she told herself as she labaured wheezing up the stairs. "What's a toff like 'er want ter be doing in a 'ouse like this?" At the door of the room she turned on Rosemary. "Y- ain't thinkin' of doin' yerself in, are ye?" In spite of her deepening depression at the dark, unwashed smell of the house and the sly suspicious look of its possessor, Rosemary threw back her head and laughed at this. "No, indeed." The laugh sounded genuine, and served to allay the woman's fears of the police. (To be continued daily.)