The Avenging Lover

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 290, 8 December 1931, Page 17

The Avenging Lover

By MOYRA E. HAYWOOD.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER

DAVID CREIGHTON visits Golden Cove to discuss his latest play with JULIA WAYNE, the celebrated actress, who proposes to make it the vehicle of her return to the London stage after an illness. He is directed to his destination by ROSAMUND LOIUXG, the fiancee of the young doctor who is locum tenens for the village practitioner. David's change of manner in learning this mystifies the girl, who does not know that a cynical bitterness towards her sex is the legacy of his own recently-broken engagement. Later, from the window of the Ship Inn. David witnesses the meeting of Rosamund with GUI" BKNTHAM, whose cordial greeting misleads him into believing that lie is the man the girl is to marry. He is, in reality, the doctor's younger brother. During a walk along the coast David sees a ear crash over the low cliff and on to the shore. He runs to the nid of the man t who lies in the wreckage.

CHAPTER 11. Creighton Calls on Julia Wayne. Creighton felt utterly helpless. Gently he raised the man's head, drawing the blooci-soaked hair from his youthful face, and a moan told that there was still life in hjs battered frame. Assistance must be obtained and without delay, or the poor fellow would be beyond human aid. David's loud and continued shouts were thrown back to him, mockingly, it seemed, from the cliff face. He hated the idea of leaving the dying man there alone, yet it was the only thing to he done. Slipping off his jacket, he had just placed it beneath the wounded head when the eyelids flickered and half opened. He stooped lower to catch the barely articulate words which came from the moving lips. "... Accident . . . understand? . . . . . . steep hill . . . accident . . ." In spite of its weakness there was insistence in the voice. "... Accident . . . tell them . . ." The tortured eyes were appealing for some sign that his words were understood, so David nodded his head and spoke distinctly, as to a child. "I will, don't worry, lie still. I've got to fetch help, but you won't be left, alone long." "Accident . . . understand. . . Promise

"Yes, it's all right, I promise." There was a look of relief before recognition faded from his eyes, but as David straightened himself the twisted lips still moved in half-coherent murmurings. ". . . she . . ■. didn't want me . . . best . . . way out. Accident . . ." then, as the rambling words trailed into silence, "... Rosamund! . . . Rosamu . . A hasty touch on his pulse assured that life still persisted, and as David climbed frantically up the sloping gully a thousand jumbled thoughts jostled in his brain. There had been no accident. The poor fellow down there had made a deliberate attempt to take his life, and the cause ... a woman!

All his old bitterness surged through his veins as he gained the cliff top and stumbled across the small hillocks to the roadway. In tho distance a man was coming slowly up the hill from the village, but Creighton's call as he ran swiftly to meet him did not disturb his pace. He gave his instructions breathlessly. "Fetch a doctor . . . quick; there's been an accident. . ." Then, realising the man's inherent stolidness, "no, I'll go. You get help and go to him . . . down there on the beach." He pointed the way and continued blindly on his mission.

An, instinctive sense of direction led him across the fields which skirted the lower part of the hamlet, and five minutes' running brought him to the green door of the doctor's cottage. A quick glance through the window revealed the back of Rosamund Loring's burnished head above her chair, and her slim outstretched hands in the reassuring grasp of the man who stood bcr.t forward toward her with a comforting smile on his boyish face. His eyes steeled at the sight. The maid was on the doorstep in answer to his urgent ring. "I'm sorry, sir, the doctor's not at home."

Then David saw red, and all the force of his anger welled up within him a<; the thought that a dying man might wait . . . was waiting . . . while the healer's intimate tete-a-tete went undisturbed. Brushing past the girl he threw open the door of the small sitting room roughly. "Can you spare time to attend to a dying man, doctor?" His sudden entrance brought Rosamund to her feet with a start of surprise and the unmistakable sneer in his tone filled both of them with strange embarrassment. The girl was the first to recover from the attack. "My fiance is out. This is his brother; he's not a doctor." David's amazed confusion passed unnoticed in her immediate attention to the practical.

"We must fetch him from Miss Wayne's at once, Guy," she said. '"Right I." , and he sprang to action at her command. "Get your car. I'll come and show you the way." They took David with them, pulling up the car to drop him at the scene of the accident. "You go, too, Guy, and see if you can help. I'll fetch Kelvin." Her hand pointed in the direction of the house which lay hidden behind the hill. He gave up the wheel to her and she was gone. A man detached himself from the knet of people who peered down on to the beach, and came to meet David and his companion. They were both strangers to him, and he touched his forelock as he addressed Guy. "Are you the doctor from Braunton ? I'm afraid you're too late, sir; went clean over the edge, sir; never had a chance. . . " "Poor devil! Who was he?"

"Young Doctor Bentham, sir, more'e the pity! Taking charge here whilst Dr. Carey'e holidaying. As nice a young gentleman ae you want to meet. . ." but Guy had disappeared before the sentence was finished. David followed more slowly, while his excited brain tried to unravel the sequence of events. He had mistaken Guy for the doctor, that much was clear; yet the error was understandable. The girl had told him she was engaged, and surely her behaviour had indicated thie man to be her fiance. The facts were difficult to reconcile. He gained the shore, where the unfortunate victim's brother was talking to

the uniformed policeman who stood besides the still form, which was covered by a fisherman's rough coat. David stumbled towards the group of silent men gathered in the shadow of the broken cliff. His head felt top heavy, and he laughed foolishly at the idea of a policeman Avith open notebook on this quiet seashore. Tho officer stepped up to him. "I understand you were witness to the accident, sir."

David managed to pull himself together. Accident? He laughed again, this time a thin, hard laugh. He would tell them all they were wrong, he would shout out loudly that this was no accident, but premeditated suicide. He moistened his lips to speak; then his eyes caught that crumpled heap lying there on the ehingle, and his ears reechoed the dying man's appeal. ". .. . Accident .... tell them. . . Promise?" And his own reply, "I promise." "Yes, I saw it all," he told the policeman. "Killed outright, I suppose?" "No. . . ," his voice faltered . . . "he . . . he spoke to me." Anticipation urged the small audience nearer. Tho man of law was busy with hie pencil. "I'd like the exact words, if you please, sir."

"I can't remember them exactly. They were disjointed, and he was only half conscious, but he tried to make me understand that he had lost control of his car on the steep hill." The constable wrote it all down carefully. Then—"Nothing else, sir?" Weakness overcame David as he replied, "Nothing." He was vaguely conscious of words being spoken around him. . . "Aye, that'll teach them, perhaps. . . road's allus been a death trap . . ought to have it railed off ..." "Sit down a bit, won't you?" Guy's arm held his and' led him to a boulder. His own face was ashen. "Been a naety shock for both of you, I don't doubt," said the constable sympathetically. Then the sound of a car braking on the road above turned their eyes to tho cliff head. David saw Guy's haggard face tighten. '■Rosamund! I'd forgotten her .. . Miss Loring's his fiancee. . . I've got to break it to her somehow."

"Rosamund!" The name was rapped out from the other's lips. "Yes, the girl who drove us down. She thought Kelvin was up at Cliff Cottage. . . . Oh, my God, how ehall I tell her?" He started off to face hie unpleasant task, and, as he watched, the rapidity of David's thoughts made him sick with giddiness. Gradually the position became clearer, and hie mouth became more grim as he sorted out the facts. Rosamund Loring was engaged to the dead man, but her affection was for his brother. The doctor had discovered this, and that la«t piteous cry of hie was the cry of a heart-broken lover. That girl with the red-gold hair and child-like face was moralty his murderess; her fickleness and deceit had caused hie awful death. Creighton'e twisted features were ghastly to behold, and the kind-hearted policeman took his arm and raised him up.

"Terrible job, sir, shaken you up, I know. I'll see you home in a minute, when I've made some arrangements," and ho nodded his head towards the tragic heap. Some time later he delivered David up to the kindly ministrations of the host and hostess of the "Ship Inn." "Afraid I'll have to trouble you with a few more questions in the morning, sir," he apologised before leaving him, "and of course your presence will be required at the inquest." Later that evening, while the inhabitants of Golden Cove discussed the disaster as they sipped beer in Mr. Spier's parlour, or leant up againet their neighbour's door-posts, David sat up in his small bedroom and reviewed the day's, happenings. They had led him through pleasant enough pathe at first, only to culminate on the rocks of tragedy. "A cynic, em I?" he said grimly. It seemed to him that no set of events could nioro clearly justify his attitude of passionate resentment towards life.

Julia Wayne composed her face into its famous smile as she went downstairs to meet the unknown author whose play sho had "discovered." She felt extremely nervoue this mornincr, but David Crei'ghton'e visit was not the cause. The shock of yesterday's fatality had caused her a sleepless night, and she upbraided, her reflection in the mirror while adding the last touches to her perfect toilet. "Don't be a fool! The accident had nothing to do with you; do you hear? . . . nothing!" She stressed the words in a desperate attempt to convince herself on thie point, indeed, similar assurances had been hammering in her brain throughout the night. "You can't be held responsible for the actions of every man who falls in love with you!" she went on, and Julia Wayne'was fully aware of the fascination she held for the opposite sex. Life was dull enough down here in all conscience, and she had accepted Kelvin Bentham's attentions a« a welcome relief from the monotony of her convalescence. Yet surely she was not responsible if he mistook her pleasure in his increasingly frequent visits for anything more than friendship. Xo, she was entirely blameless. Still, deep in her heart, as she descended the stairs to greet her guest, was a deep thankfulness that no letters had ever passed, between Kelvin and herself. Letters, however innocent, might in such circumstances be misconstrued, and she could not nfford a scandal.

To David, awaiting her arrival in the charming room bathed in sunehine._ there came the sound- of a light step in the hall. Then the door opened, and he rose to take the white hand, which was offeree! with the easy grace of an accomplished actrees. "I'm deliQ-hted to see you, Mr. Creighto". please sit down." He was struck with the charm of the deep rich voice, which was well suited to her physical beauty. The number of years she had already been in the limelight put her age at about 35, but David could perceive no trace of a line on the pale brow or round the large, appealing grey eyes. Little wonder that this woman with the jet hair, drawn in soft waves from her oval face, should be the idol of London's th n atreland. "It's very good of you to come all this wav to see me." The infinitely subtle modulation? of her voice fascinated him. "On the contrary, it is kind of you to consider my play worth the journey," he replied.

"You are modest, Mr. Creighton," she assured him; "the play is a masterpiece. It will prove a big success for both of us, I hope." David's statement that any praise it might gain from the public would be due to her acting of the leading role drew a low musical laugh from her throat. "Rather let us agree that it will be a case of the organ player and the organblower; one's no good without the other, you know." He smiled his appreciation of her kindliness, and presently, on her instructions, he drew up a small table, at which, manuscripts before them, they applied themselves to the discussion of details. ' Mid-clay came before they realised it. "You'll stay for lunch, please," she insisted with her soft caressing voice, "there are many points to be decided still." He thanked her, and together they sat down at the table laid in a room which overlooked the sea. The break was a relief for both of them, though neither was aware of the strain the other had undergone in forcing aside all thoughts of yesterday's tragedy while attending to the business which was the cause of their meeting.

"Yes, it is really a delightful spot," Julia answered his tribute to the beauty of her temporary home, "but I shall be leaving it all very shortly now. I'm longing to get back to my work, and we must start rehearsals as soon as possible." "But not before you are perfectly recovered, I hope/' David answered with solicitude. "Oh, I'm no longer an invalid," she told him; "my doctor has pronounced me perfectly fit." Pie was quick to notice the shadow which flitted across her grey eyes as she alluded to her medical adviser. "I ought to say 'my late doctor,' I suppose," she added sadly. "I expect you will have heard about the terrible tiling that happened to him last night ?" David nodded soberly. "Yes, poor fellow. lit was I who found him." (To Be Continued Daily.)