The Mysterious Masquerade

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 252, 24 October 1932, Page 13

The Mysterious Masquerade

CHAPTER 111. In the Clutch of Circumstances. Superintendent Hetherington looked into the amazed eyes of Molly Carstairs and began to -wonder. He was, as Constable Matthews had described him, a. kindly, fatherly man in the middle fifties. He had perused the newspaper clipping presented to him by his subordinate and had listened to the constable's account of his meeting with the girl. The 'Superintendent was surprised. He was not surprised at the event. He was surprised at the astuteness of Constable Matthews. The man was undoubtedly smart. Some day, he told himself, he must have a talk with Matthews. The young man deserved watching. But the problem he "was now set to solve was a difficult one. Miss Molly Carstairs who had entered the station with,* Constable Matthews was, without doubt, the same girl whose portrait had appeared in the morning newspaper. There was no denying that. Even the 1 girl herself admitted it. That, to Superintendent Hetherington's mind was odd, distinctly odd. For it had been suggested that Miss Carstairs might be suffering* from loss of memory. That, of course, was possible. He had had cases before of complete amnesia, but in those cases the victims had been rather queer he had always thought. He had noted a blank or vacant patch in the eyes. But here this girl, who resolutely denied that she was missing, or that her memory had failed her, had not such occular peculiarity. In fact, she appeared to be unquestionably bright and alert. What was more odd still she remembered the photograph perfectly. Now, argued the superintendent, if she can remember that so clearly and. so positively, how is that she denies the remainder of the allegation ? The superintendent was seated at liisi desk in the station office. On the opposite side of the table sat Molly Carstairs; to one side of the table and standing correctly to attention in the presence of his superior, was Constable Matthews. Between them all, on the desk, lay the contentious clipping. "Now Miss Carstairs," began the super, "I want to get this quite clear. You say that you are not the person claimed in this announcement, yet yon admit that this photograph which appears here .is undeniably that of yourself. How do you explain the anomaly ?" "I can't explain it," said Molly. "I only wish I could. But it must be quite obvious to you, superintendent, that I'm not missing, and that my memory is perfectly clear." The superintendent sighed. "That's just it," he admitted, '"it's far from being clear to me. You say that you are lodging in Chelsea. Now tell me, how long have you been at your present address ?" Molly pondered the question for a moment and a sudden fear leapt into her heart as she realised what her answer to that question meant to her. Yet it would be futile to disguise the truth. One couldn't blind the police even over 60 apparently a simple affair as this. "Well?" asked the superintendent, kindly. "Since last Friday," intimated the girl, fearfully, and she watched the superintendent make a note on his pad in front of him. "And where were you staying before that?" "I was staying in Bayswater with Mrs. Rickardsen—but she won't be able to help you. She's gone to Australia. She sailed to join her husband the day I left." "What boat did she travel by, Miss Carstairs?" The policeman's voice was still kindly, but it held a new note of interest. "I—l can't tell you," faltered Molly. "I don't know. She was not a communicative woman at all." "Then I take it there is no one who can identify you beyond Mrs. Dawlish and her daughter in Chelsea, and you must see that their evidence won't carry much weight, seeing as you only went there on the day you are supposed to have left the Silvers in Hampstead." The more Molly thought about it, the more bewildering and inexplicable it became.. She had no friends in London — except Roger Barling. But what use would Roger Barling be ? He had only met her last night. She needed someone who knew her before she moved to Chelsea, and there was no one—no one reliable. Meanwhile the superintendent was beginning to convince himself, somewhat against his will, be it said, that Miss Carstairs had," indeed, lost her memory. Against that argument was the fact that she certainly didn't look as if she had, but there again, the superintendent was not a recognised authority 011 the subject of forgetfulness. He felt that it would avail them little to call in the police surgeon. Dr. Trotter was better 011 post mortems than 011 mind analysis. He liked to see what he was working 011. Then lie could understand it. "I have, of course, notified Mr. and Mrs. Silver," the superintendent told her, casually. "That was my duty, and I must be guided by what they can prove —and, naturally, they must prove it to my satisfaction, You may go now, Matthews," turning to the still rigid constable. "But I tell you it is all some hideous mistake," protested Molly. "I have 110 more lost my memory than you have, superintendent. Merely because I am unfortunate enough not to be able to bring anyone who can identify me before last "Friday, I am to be . . . Oh, superintendent, what is to become of me?" The superintendent shook his greying head. "That, Miss Carstairs, I cannot tell you," he said, awkwardly. "You see everything seems to suggest that you are the young lady mentioned in the announcement; Yoh yourself admit that this is your portrait, and you are Mies Molly C-ai'stalrs. It Would be difficult to find a set of circumstances more convincing, don't you think?" But Molly felt herself utterly incapable of thought just then. She felt the futility of ever trying to persuade the police that a mistake had been made. If she hadn't been so sure about that photograph, it would liave been different. But she had recognised the frock. lit that, and in that alone, there was 110 mistake. Try as she would she could not bring herself to understand what the episode could mean. It might be that she possessed a double, but she told herself that it would be straining, coincidence too far to. find that that double had the same name combination as herself.

A knock on the outer door announced a constable with the information that Mr. and Mrs. Silver had just arrived. That announcement intrigued Molly Carstairs, their niece—the girl in the newspaper photograph who was —herself. "Bring them in," intimated the superintendent, enthusiastically. The morning was wearing on and there was a great deal of routine work still waiting to be done. He had already spent rather longer on this strange case than he had anticipated. The door opened again to admit two people, behind whom towered the blue bulk of one of the station constables. It was the woman who advanced first into the room with outstretched arms and a cry of welcome relief on her red lips. Molly had risen in her chair gazing in astonishment at Mrs. Paul Silver— a small, rather florid woman of fifty or thereabouts, with a wisp of fair hair peeping from beneath her small blue hat. "My dear," she cried, with quite touching fervour, "tliank God they have found you again," and before Molly really realised what had happened, she found herself crushed to the woman's heaving bosom. Behind her hovered her husband—a small, heavily-built man, rather grey. "I am greatly indebted to you, superintendent," he exclaimed, with a note of unmistakable gratitude in his voice. "My wife and I have had scarcely a wink of sleep for a week since the girl's disappearance. At first we thought that she had suddenly changed her plans and had decided to stay with friends, but when we discovered that no one had seen her our anguish has been almost intolerable."

"This young lady repudiates the suggestion that she is any relation either to yourself or to Mrs. Silver, sir," the superintendent told him. "I must, of course, be quite clear on that point." "It is just as I—as we suspected, superintendent. Molly must have had a sudden lapse of memory. She had a similar lapse five years ago when we were staying in Paris and I had her treated by a Parisian specialist—a Dr. Latouche, you have probably heard of him, sir. He told us that there was nothing to worry about, and that it was due to certain repressions in childhood." The, superintendent looked across at Molly and noted how white-faced she looked, with Mrs. Silver still holding the girl's unresisting hands. Suddenly the girl's tongue was unleashed. "I tell you, superintendent, I don't know these people. I have never seen them before in my life, and I demand that you allow me to here at once." "There, my dear, you mustn't excite yourself," purred Mrs. Silver, tightening her grip of Molly's hands. "Everything will be all right, roon." The superintendent looked squarely into the deep grey eyes of Paul Silv«-.r, who nodded his head sympathetically. "My advice, to You is to return with your uncle and aunt, Miss Carstairs. I am sure they will see that you are well looked after, and that you will soon be restored to health." Molly tried to speak agaiiij but her tongue was parched and there was' a queer choking sensation in her throat.

Then something snapped in her brain. A curtain of darkness Was rung down on her consciousness.

CHAPTER IV. Unwelcome Hospitality. "Lawn House," Hampstead, was, architecturally, a delightful residence. As its name implied, the frontage was prefaced by a wonderfully well-kept lawn, large enough for a tennis court,-but successive occupants had, apparently, decided that tennis on such turf would be little short of sacrilege. In appearance, the house lind more than a hint of the Georgian in its unornamental severity of line. There was nothing decadent about it. It had been recently decorated, and from the roadway always presented the appearance of being well cared fdt 1 . The Silvers had been at "Lawn House" upwards of 15 years; Flora Silver had pretensions to be a hostess, and though, for some reason, she had been denied an entree into the salons of Mayfair, in Hampstead her parties were renowned for their cosmopolitanism and their brightness. At any of these parties one could always rely on meeting individuals of both sexes culled from the stock of half a dozen different nationalities. In Hampstead the Silvers were respected because in these days with the exodus of the quality from the environs of London, the retention of such folk

as a permanency was regarded as something of an achievement. "Lawn House" and its occupants were considered to add that indefinable quality "tone" to a decaying locality. Yet Paul Silver and his wife were in the neighbourhood rather than .of it. There were those who, inquisitive to know more about their neighbours, declared that tliey had heard "stories" about "Lawn House." But when once pinned down ar.d asked for facts in substantiation, the critics of the Silvers' menage had to admit defeat, for such is the kingdom of gossip. As for Molly Carstairs, she had recovered from her faint before leaving the police station, but that dive into the abys* of unconsciousness had left her brain curiously numb. She had consented, rather vaguely, she afterwards remembered, to being led outside into I the bright sunlight and into a waiting motor car driven by a chauffeur in chocolate livery who held wide the door as she crossed the pavement on Mrs. Silver's supporting 'arm. Little had been said during the journey to Hampstead, and by the time the car drove in at the gates of "Lawn House" Molly had, more or less, resigned herself to this incredible position with the feeling that it could not surely be long before the Silvers realised that a mistake in identity had been made. Perhaps, she reassured herself, it would be easier to convince these people when once the atmosphere of the police station and its savour of the law had been left behind. Not for one moment did she consider the possibility of her explanations being totally disbelieved. Half an hour later she was seated in a comfortable chair in a spacious, wellfurniahed room where the long French windows swept in a shimmer of opalescence from white moulded cornice to parquet floor. Mrs. Silver, minus her coat and hat, was wearing an expensive looking gown of soft green texture. "I hope you are feeling better, my dear," she purred softly, bending with a caressing gesture over Molly. "You can't think how thankful we are to have found you again." Molly regarded the woman intently. If there hadn't been such a quality of sincerity in her voice, it might have been different, but to Molly it seemed as if Mrs. Silver was really welcoming back a niece who had been lost instead of a total stranger. The girl was certainly feeling better. The drive and the rest had restored her mental faculties almost completely, and now she was once again quite sure of herself. "Hadn't we better end this farce here and now, Mrs. Silver," announced Molly. "You know as well as I do that I'm not your lost niece. What useful purpose can be served by all this acting?" (To be continued daily.)

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