The Mysterious Masquerade

Auckland Star, Volume LXIII, Issue 253, 25 October 1932, Page 13

The Mysterious Masquerade

by ... J. R. WILMOT

(CHAPTER IV.—Continued.) Flora Silver's face became momentarily suffused with pain; her delicatelycoloured blue eyes clouded and the muscles controlling her rather heavy mouth were drawn taut.

But when she answered, pity was the only emotion she displayed. "My dear, of course," she said, slowly laying a warm hand over Molly's arm. ''It was just the same last time, in Paris. That funny little memory of yours will play the most outrageous tricks, but you mustn't worry, everything will come all right in a day or two. Perhaps we'll run over to Paris and have another chat with Dr. Latouche."

"I tell you I don't want to see any doctor," persisted Molly. "I'm perfectly well, thank you, Mrs. Silver. If there's anyone suffering from hallucinations it is not I. You may have deceived the Superintendent at the police station and I'll say that's one trick to you, but before I leave this house you're going to tell me how you got my photograph for that newspaper account." But before- Mrs. Silver could frame a suitable reply the door opened and in came Paul Silver, smiling happily. "My darling little Molly,"- he exclaimed, "I wonder if you know how good it is to have you home again? You're feeling better already, I can see that." Molly searched the man's face but could find not the slightest trace of insincerity there. These people were amazingly good actors —if they really were acting. The sudden thought disturbed her. What if they really had lost someone who so closely resembled herself that they had been mistaken in her identity ? Here was something to be said for that eventuality, remote though she considered such a possibility to be. For instance, one thing against that was her clothes. Surely these people would see that it was beyond the bounds of probability that she would be wearing similar clothes to the missing girl. That was altogether too much to lay at the door of coincidence. But there were, so far,.so many amazing things in this tangle of identity that Molly was beginning to wonder where it would all end. "I have just been trying to explain to Mrs. Silver," said Molly, turning to the man, "that you are both making a horrible mistake . . . that I am not the Molly Carstairs you have lost. In fact I have never been lost in my life. I explained all that to the Superintendent at the Police Station before you arrived, and I rather think he was inclined to believe me," she hinted, shrewdly. "So now that I' have definitely stated that I am not your lost niece, I will be going. I have a rather urgent appointment with a friend which 1 simply cannot break." Saying this Molly rose from her chair and faced the man and the woman standing in front of her. "So you have made a friend since you left us, eh?" smiled Paul Silver. "Or was it one of your old friends, Molly?" "He is a rather particular friend of mine," Molly flashed back, feeling that her announcement had caused both Silver and Jiis wife an uneasy moment, "and he is probably waiting at home for me at this"" moment." "And what is your friend's name, Molly?" asked the woman, kindly. Molly was thinking quickly. It was obvious to her that her announcement of the existence of a friend had disturbed these people's poise and she was tempted to exploit it as far as she could. "I'm afraid that my memory is much 1,00 bad for me to remember that," she smiled, "but all the same he's sure to look out for me when he .finds I haven't returned to Chelsea. He's a most persistent young man." "Of course," said Silver, in a low voice, "I was forgetting about your memory, but I'm afraid there's no going back to Chelsea now, Molly, dear. You've got to wipe out for ever the days you have been away from us. Jarvis has already gone down to Chelsea to fetch your things. From to-day you're goiiig to take up your life with us here from where it left off before you lost your memory, and we're not going to risk losing you again, are we, Flora?" "I simply couldn't think of that," Molly heard Mrs. Silver say, and as she looked at the woman there were actually tears in those pale blue eyes. And perhaps if it hadn't been for those tears, Molly might have acted rather differently than she did.

CHAPTER V. Kindly Goalers. For Molly Caretairs the situation was extremely interesting. She found that "her room," as Mrs. Silver had termed it as she led the girl upstairs, was a delightfully bright affair. There were golden chintz curtains on the windows, a wonderfully billowy bed; an octagonal table in the window and below it a few neatly-contrived bookshelves. In fact the whole room glowed with friendship.

Some rooms are like that—delightfully' companionable places that instinctively offer you a welcome. Others there are that repel according to the degree of sensitiveness in the individual; and Molly Caretairs had always been room-conscious.

MaJiy had been the times when she hart longed to own a room such as this. "Eight years ago, when she had lived in tho Midlands, before her parents died, leaving her to make her own way in the world as best she might, she had had a little room of her own, but it had not been entirely to her liking. For one thing it had been too small; for another the family had not possessed sufficient wealth to squander on interior trappings and additional comforts. But Molly had always promised herself a room such as this one was. And what a contrast it was to the email', rather gloomy little room in Chelsea-! That had been comfortable enough, she had to admit; her landlady had been a houseproud woman, but house-proud women are seldom artiste in interior decoration and creature comforts. So when Molly had requested Mrs. Silver to allow her to remain alone for a few moments to readjust her thoughts after the morning's cataclysm, it was just as much for the reaeon that, at that moment, she wanted very much to be alone in that room to drink in its beauty and to appreciate the comfort it represented. Molly sat down in the cosy easy-chair beside the electric fire that glistened with a realistic flicker of flame in the blue-tiled hearth. These people—the Silvers —appeared determined that she would stay with them. For some reason which had not yet been explained, they regarded here as their niece whom they had lost for over a week, and their welcome —effusive that it was—reflected art embarrassing' sincerity. '

Tho girl considered it rather fortunate that she was not pressed for time. The problem which the morning had evolved was now one that intrigued her. It was a many-sided problem. Firetly, there was herself. She, Molly Carstairs, utterly aldne in London and without employment. It represented, so to speak, the base of her triangle. Secondly, there was the Silvers. Molly tried hard to make up her mind about these people who appeared genuinely distressed that she was suffering from a lost memory and who, at the same time, were equally glad that she had been returned to them safe and sound. Thirdly, there was tho X—the unknown quantity that she felt existed somewhere.

That was the problem, and she wondered whether she ought to avail herself of tliis trick of cliailce.

It was a situation that needed the fullest possible consideration, and Molly Carstaire was sensible enough to realise the peculiarities—and the dangers —of her position. From her own personal point of view the present contretemps had a leaven of satisfaction. For weeks she had been searching for employment and none knew better than she that unless something turned' up soon, her economic position would be in grave danger of being undermined and collapsing. The few hundred pounds which she had inherited on the death of her father (her mother having died ten years before) had positively ebbed away like the tide on a shelved beach. And there was no one to whom she could go; no relative, save the American uncle, to whom she could turn as a last desperate resort. As she had reminded herself unless something turned up soon . . .

Molly arose from her chair and crossed over to the window. Drawing aside the curtains, she heard the sound of voices below and looking towards the lawn saw Paul Silver in conversation with a man who had the manner of a gardener. Silver was speaking quL-kly and earnestly, and once he tliumped the palm of his left hand with hie right fist and then swung back his irm with one finger of the hand extended in the direction of her window.

Perhaps he was telling the man that she had been found and that he must be careful not to make any undue noise while gardening. On the other hand, it might have a quite different significance, but just what that significance might be Molly did not trouble just then to debate with herself.

Down below in the hall the gong sounded for lunch, and almost befdre ite last sounds had died away, a little knock at her door prefaced the kindly voice of Mrs. Silver inquiring whether she was ready for lunch.

How the time had sped away. There were many things Molly had intended doing while alone in that gem of n room. She had wanted to find, out what kind of clothes the jeal Molly Carstairs wore and lots of other little things like that. (To be continued daily.)