ANNE ALONE

Auckland Star, 2 January 1931, Page 15

ANNE ALONE

1 By ERSKINE FRASER. -

CHAPTER XXI.

Mr. Rowse From Birmingham,

For a few days after the letter had been dispatched to Mr. Rowse in Birmingham, the Berringtons waited eagerly for a reply, which did not come. As the week-end drew near, Anne became worried. \

"It doesn't look as though he'd got it," she said anxiously to Jean, and she was only half reassured by Jean's reply that Mr. .Rowse's silence was probably caused by a dislike of writing letters. "He'll probably turn up," Jean bad said placidly. "He'd have returned the money if he wasn't going to nse it."

On Saturday evening, however, there was no sign of Mr. Eowse "turning up," and on Sunday morning Anne was discussing the possibility of Anthony taking the rest of Jean's money to go down to Birmingham and see him. This idea was suported by Timothy, who had unexpectedly called to see them, and who was lying in one of the sitting room chairs. "I'll do that, Berrington. Go down yourself. I'd go with you if it weren't for the prevailing poverty complaint. You'll need a witness, you know." "If there's anything worth witnessing, of course." Anthony'was gloomy,. "It would be a horrible sell if he didn't know anything at all about the table." "Then you could have a pleasant «ha't with him. Comparing notes about Whitney. And you might meet a man going down in the train who took such a fancy to your cheerful face that he there and then offered you a job. Try and buck up, Anthony." Anne was not cheerful herself, but she felt it incumbent on her to put a brave face on things. "I'll read you a choice poem from the works of Miss Thomasina Knit if you like. It's a particularly sweet specimen." Timothy produced a dirty newspaper cutting from his pocket. "To-day's—l mean last week's—hopeful thought. He chanted aloud in a high falsetto. "When you feel depressed and blue, your worries thick about you. Don't be—'"

There was a knock at the door, which was ajar. Mrs. Jones looked in. "There is a message from the downstairs telephone for you. Miss Graham rang up, and she says will I tell you that a Mr. Rowse has come and she will bring him along presently."

"Good!" Anne cheered. "Thanks for the message, Mrs. Jones. Herald of light and promise, that's what you are." Mrs. Jones had not quite finished. She did not approve of gaiety on Sunday. "And my husband wishes to say that he does not like people sending messages on a Chapel day. The other ten-ant nefer had a message brought up to her on Sundays. And the tenant down below says will you please not make so much noise this morning. She can hear you although she is deaf."

Nothing could damp Anne. "Nobody will ring us up on a Sunday again," she promised. "And you can tell the tenant below that we won't make a sound. Tell her that I'll crochet an ornamental frill for her ear trumpet to make up for all noises in the past." "Wonder how long they'll be," Anthony remarked. He was not as excited as his sister, who was dancing round the room lightly, in deference to the wishes of the tenant down below.

"Any minute now." Timothy was watching Anne's graceful movements. "Allowing, that is, for the quarter of an hour that must have elapsed while Mr. Jones registered complaints in Welsh, and the tenant below conveyed hers in English."

"Will there be room for five of us in here J" Anne stopped dancing. "Tim, I think- you'd better go into the kitchen and take notes of the conversation. You'll hear every word if I leave the door open." "Certainly, sir. The young inspector saluted smartly, and gazed at his chief with adoring eyes. How he admired the great man's methods—l mean the great Woman's methods. Not a member of the Big Four. No. The Big One. The brains of all —I say, can I sit in the bath? I always compose best in a bath." '

"Sit where you like," called Anne from the window. "They're coming up the street now. Jean and a little dark man. To the tune of church bells." A few minutes later Jean and Mr. Kowse had entered the flat. He was a small, sullen-booking man of about 35, with a sharp-featured face and brown eyes.

As he came in he looked around him suspiciously. He' nodded abruptly to Anne, as Jean introduced him. Anthony, whom he had never seen before, was favoured by an approach to a smile. Jean was the first to speak. Her face was flushed and excited.

"I've told Mr. Rowse why we asked him to come up. And—and he's got some jolly interesting information for us. He'll tell you himself." "Sit down, won't you," Anne invited him to take Anthony's vacant chair. But Mr. Eowse preferred to remain standing. ' "It's about that table that I 'ear Mr. Whitney's been tryin' to pass off as genuine," he began in a grating voice. "Got me to pass it off as genuine," interrupted Anthony. "He now says that he wasn't sure whether it was genuine or not."

"Aye. I 'eard about that. Told you it was genuine, an' then when soome expert said it wasn't, went back on yer. Now 'e's sayin' that 'e got it from London —from a dealer there —" "Yes," Anne told him. "First he told my brother that he found it in a farm in Shropshire, and that he was certain it was genuine. Told my brother that lie would stake his life on that. Also told him that he could write out a guarantee in the firm's name. When the table was discovered to be a fake, he then said that although he had thought the table was genuinp. he wasn't prepared to guarantee it." "He said I'd given the guarantee so as to shove the price up—and shove up my commission on the sale," Anthony went on. "He denied the farm story, and said he'd bought the Norman table on spec, from a London dealer." Mr. Rowse snorted. "It's a bit muddling-like ter me. An' that's Mr. Whitney. 'E ' does like muddling oop 'is tracks. An' coverin' them oop, too. But I can tell you this 'clear enough. That table wasn't found Jon a farm. No. An' it wasn't bought from a London dealer neither. I made ! it meself." ! Anne gave a prolonged whistle, and from the kitchen there- came the sound ' of a pencil falling into a tin bath.

"But —" Anthony was incredulous. "The wood. That wood was as old as the hills. And the carving. It wasn't done with a chisel."

"No, it wasn't. It was done with an adze. And a job I 'ad, too. Yer see, Mr. Whitney come ter me—near a year ago, it was now—just after I'd started workin' for 'im. An' after 'e'd told me wot a good, worker I was—you know 'is way when 'e likes?"

"I do." Anthony spoke with feeling,

" 'E says ter me that 'e 'ad a bit of special work for me. A "fellow that 'e knowed was wantin' a table makin' for 'im—for 'is castle. A lord, 'e said : e wos."

"Like Ivanhoe," Anne said. _ "Norman castles and Norman tables. Too utterly baronial altogether." "'E didn't say the name. 'E told me that it 'ad to be made special, so as to look proper in the 'all of the castle. An' 'e showed me W I wos to carve it, with all that pattern stuff round the edge. Kept me workin' up at 'is ? ouse sum of the time. 'E s ad the wood up there. Yer right, sir"—Rowse turned to Anthony— "that wood wos older'n any wot I've seen. That's wot made me 'alf swallow 'is story about the lord. 'E said it 'ad been found cellar in the castle, an' that the fellow wot owned it was wan tin' tsr turn it to this use."

"But didn't he ask you to keep quiet about the work?"

Mr. Rowee laughed shortly. '"E knew I wasn't the talking kind', anyhow, and 'e didn't bother tcr say anything. An I wasn't goin' to say anything, either. The table—wot did yer say 'e called it?" v "Norman." "Aye, well it might 'ave "been for a theatre or a castle for all I cared. I woii't say but wot I sometimes 'ad me suspicions—'im bein' an antique dealer. But a man like me can't afford to 'ave suspicions. I'd loee me job if I did. An' what could I say? There was another fellow working with me—'e 'elped mo ter bury it when it wos finished." "Bury it?" Anne was amazed. "This lord wanted it ta look proper old, Mr., Whitney said. Carvin' an' all. An 1 the best way ter do that is ter bury it in the ground. I mind the other fellow sayin' ter me that 'e must be a particular kind of chap that wanted all that doin'. But the other fellow wasn't the talkin' kind—no more nor me." "Wherp'e he?" Anne asked.

'"Es in London now. 'E 'ad nothing ter do with the shop. I did 'ear 'im say where 'e wos goin'. 'E's with a cabinetmaker in 'Oldbora. Mr. Whitney got 'im the place in London the same tima as 'e got me one in Birmingham. After we'd finished doing the table. . . ." "Then you didn't help to carry it down to the shop?" "No, Anthony, don't you remember he'd gone long before the table arrived," Jean put in. "He left almost immediately after you came."

"I didn't carry it to the castle, neither," Mr. Rowse grinned sardonically. "When I 'eard about the job Mr. Whitney 'ad found for me in Birmingham—• an' a very good job it is too —I wasn't going to ask ter stay on. Not me. 'E'd been promisin' me a rise for sum time, an' I 'adn't seen it coming. When '« told me of this place in Birmingham 1 told 'im I'd take it. 'E put 'imself to a lot of trouble getting it for me."

"Didn't want you in Liverpool, of course. It wouldn't do for you to come along and hail the Norman table with glad cries of recognition when it was in the shop. By the way, I suppose the other man would support you —the man who helped you to bury the table?" «"E would. 'E didn't like Mr. Whitney any more nor me. But 'e wouldn't like ter find 'imself in the courts any more nor I would." He looked round at the three young people.

"I don't want trouble about this. Ma standing up an' swearing before a judge. I'll write it down that 1 made the table, but I don't want ter do more." "It won't come to court," Anthony promised him. "I'll be able to manage Whitney without that. He'll do all he can to prevent this getting, into the courts." "And Mr. Isham, the man who bought the table, won't prosecute either. He's got his money back now." Jean was reassuring. "You needn't worry. As long as Ave have your .statement that'll be enough."

Anthony found paper and-a pen,

"So if you'll just shove down that at Mr. Whitney's request you. carved an imitation Norman table for him, and that you can produce at any rate one reliable witness—thal's all you need do." Slowly Mr. Rowse's pen moved across the page at Anthony's dictation while the others watched him.

"Don't wonder he didn't answer your letter," Anne whispered to Jean. "Even a post card would take him an hour to do."

"After you, Mr. Rowse." Timothy emerged from the kitchen. "I've come to sign the document," he announced.

"'Oo'e 'im?" Mr. Rowse inquired suspiciously as he scrawled his signature on the paper. "Oh,' it's all right. I'm not here in my official capacity," Timothy replied, "I was making a little record of my own in the next room, but I was eo enthralled by your thrilling tale of villainy that I broke the point. of my pencil and had to give it up. Anyhow the pith of the matter is here." He subscribed his name below that of Herbert Rowse. "Call me another ill-wisher of Mr. Whitney, and that'll suffice."

"We're most enormously grateful to you, Mr. Rowse," Anne told him cordially. "This statement will make all the difference to my brother's position." "It will indeed.'' Anthony was equally grateful. "It's been awful good of you to tell us everything."

"And as an unseen listener, I beg to second that." Timothy grasped-the small man by the hand. "Never have I heard words used to better account. Truth, Mr. Rowse, has outed with a vengeance." Mr. Rowse was a little embarrassed by the gratitude, and showed signs of wishing to terminate the interview. "I'll be getting along now," he said awkwardly. "Glad I've been of use ter you. There won't be any trouble for me out o' this?" he added as he made for the door. "Not for you," - chanted Anne jubilantly, unmindful of the tenant below. "Not for you, Mr. Rowse." (To be continued daily.)