STRANGE ABSENCE

Auckland Star, Volume LXIV, Issue 249, 21 October 1933, Page 7 (Supplement)

STRANGE ABSENCE

Author of By "The Dividing Years," and oi<-vatvi "Guarded Watch." ALLYN SLOAN,

CHAPTER I. Good-bye to Monte Carlo. A worried little frown gathered between Jean Graham's golden brown eyes as she gazed round the crowded rooms. Wherever was Euan? She had not seen her brother since they had arrived at the Casino, when very adroitly he had vanished. But it was netting late, and they were leaving Monte Carlo the next morning; besides, she was afraid he was indulging in a last flutter and that it might be disastrous. His gambling efforts so often were. The thought of what he might already have lost terrified her, and in spite of his repeated assurances that lie was not in debt, she looked forward to their departure from Monte Carlo with deepest relief. But where was he? Jean's eyes travelled from face to face of those ranged three deep about the green baize tables.; tense, anxious, or mildly amused f a ce>3, watching the little white ball careering round the wheel of chance. The famous and the infamous were there; duchesses rubbing shoulders with the notorious; film stars, royalties, professional gamblers—those men and women who sat there day in and out, mesmerised by the spinning wheel of fortune, or respectable fathers of families indulging in a mild flutter and feeling immensely dashing. Jean shuddered. It may have been her deadly anxiety for Euan which was making her nervously morbid, but tonight the whole thing seemed horrible to" her —almost obscene. She hated the mask-like faces, the grabbing or hoarding hands of the old habitues, and fancied that with each twist of the wheel not just a few francs for the sake of adventure were lost, but a human souL Euan's perhaps . . . that, she told herself, was silly; she must pull herself together, but she would like to find him. Turning, she found herself face to face with Baron Max de Laurier, who must have been standing close behind her. Startled, she caught her breath, and from very dislike of the man shrank back with a little involuntary movement. Her attitude seemed rather to amuse the Frenchman than otherwise, and his ebony black eyes smiled appraisingly down at her, resting with evident approval upon the gold lame dress which clung like a sheath to her slender form and which so well blended with her sunkissed skin and hair. "Mademoiselle, you are golden tonight, like a daughter of King Midas," he flattered. "You have certainly had much luck." "No," Jean replied. "I never play." With which she made as if to pass on, a movement with Monsieur the Baron ignored. "But! You cannot come to Monte Carlo and not play?" With an authoritative movement he drew out a chair which had just fallen vacant at the table. "Come, we will play together." Jean shook her head decidedly. "No, thank you- I don't really care about it." His eyes narrowed and & faintly derisive expression twisted his full red lips. "Mademoiselle is not like her brother, then." Jean glanced at him sharply. "D*you know where Euan is?" "0!" he laughed. "He is busy pursuing Dame Fortune, no doubt. Let us go out. The moon is up and the terraces are beautiful." There was something faintly compelling in the man's voice from which the girl friiT-gnV- Flinging a quick glance about her, she saw with relief that her friend Helen Gorst, was rising from the next table. "Thank you, but I must go back to Mrs. Gorst, We are going home, I think," she prevaricated, beginning at the same'time to edge away. The Frenchman opened his Hps to protest, then instead closed them and smiled. Bowing a little exaggeratedly, he murmureds "Till another time, then. Good night, mademoiselle." Tfia dark eyes, however, followed the girl with a strange expression in their depths. As Jean came up, Mrs. Gorst, who was tucking her modest winnings into her bag, looked up and smiled. "I've made my pile, and I'm going home before I lose it again." She spoke inconsequently, but her , eyes did not fail to take in the strained, rather tired expression of the younger girl's face. "Why don't you come, too?" she suggested kindly. "I'll drop you." Jean hesitated. She longed to go, but there was Euan. Ought she to leave him? Helen Gorst watched her a moment, and. her expression softened as gently she said: "My dear, what's the use ? You can t live his life for him." Joan looked at her, then smiled faintly. "I know, but he's such an ass where money is concerned." Still, Helen was light. She could do nothing now, a.nd to-morrow, tliank God, they were lea\ mg Monte Carlo and its casino. "All right, I'll come," she said. As, a moment late, they emerged from the cloakroom tlicy passed Doreen Winton, at whose villa, "Les Palmiers, Jean and Euan were staying. "What, going home so early J" she screamed on seeing them. "We must be off early to-morrow, Mrs. Winton," Jean explained., _ The woman stared at her with cynical •■musement, whilst her fingers, reddened At the tips as if they had been dabbed in blood, played with the lovely string of pearls about her neck —pearls justly famous amongst connoisseurs along the Riviera. "My dear!" She laughed rather harshly, then shrugging her shoulders, moved on. Jean and Mrs. Gorst emerged from the casino, and waited whilst the commissionaire called a taxi. The fresh night air was delicious after the heat of the rooms, and Jean drew a deep breath. Behind them in the harbour, the portholes of the yachts glimmered brightly, sending serpents of light wriggling over the water. The casino gardens, too. were abloom with- a mysterious coloured , radiance from the cleverly shaded red and green lights hidden within the shrubs, and from the open air cafe on '•he right came the- twanging wail ol gipsy music, which caught eadlj at the k ->t.

Jean sighed deeply. For years she had wanted to see the Riviera, yet now she was glad to leave it. Not that she was disappointed in the country, that was beautiful, but for several reasons her visit had not been a success. To begin with, she had not cared for their hostess. Euan had met the Wintons the previous winter in Switzerland, and to please him she had agreed to accept their invitation to stay at "Les Palmiers." As soon as they had arrived, however, Jean had seen that Doreen was far from good for her young brother, leading him nightly to the casino and urging him to gamble. Soon she had found herself seriously worried over Euan's losses, for although he never told her definitely how large they were, she guessed from his touchiness and evasive manner that they were far in excess of -what either of them could afford. "The man is a long time in getting us a taxi," remarked Mrs. Gorst. "Isn't he?" Jean dragged her thoughts back and looked at Helen. How kind she was; with her simplicity and directness of manner, what a contrast to Doreen. She was forty perhaps, round and short too, but she was always well and suitably dressed, which was more than could be said of Mrs. Winton, with her scarlct

nails, her exaggerated clothes, her cocktail drinking and her gamblmg. To have met Helen Gorst recompensed her more than a little for her unpleasant visit at Les Palmiers. The commissionaire returned breathless. "I regret, but madame must wait a little minute. There is no taxi free." "Oh, how tiresome." At Helen's ejaculation two men who were passing turned, and one of tliem stopped"Mrs. Gorst? By Jove, what luck. Here, Dan, wait a bit." Involuntarily Jean smiled at the exuberance of the greeting and looked with curiosity at the tall young man with the bronzed face and laughing blue eyes who was wringing Helen's hand. He had a clean open-air look to him which attracted her immensely, especially in comparison with the gigolos and scented foreigners she had met whilst under Doreen's roof. As soon as she could free her hand Helen Gorst introduced him. "This is Jerry Grant, an old friend of mine, Jean. Miss Graham." * The keen blue eyes smiled down at her in a friendly fashion as they shook hands and Jean found herself liking him immensely. Evidently Grant was attracted also, for the emile in his eyes faded to something more serious and he held her hand for just a shade longer than was necessary. Then laughing gaily he asked: "Are you going or coming?" "We're trying to go, but there seems to be no taxis," Helen explained. "Take ours. It's only a Rolls-Royce, but I daresay you won't mind. Oh, and by the way—" Grant beckoned to his friend, a lanky young man possessed of a wide grin and wearing glasses before a pair of merry grey eyes. "This is Dan Washburn. He's American and by way of being a journalist. His only real ambition is to get red-hot, straight from the heart, first at the font, last at the grave news! Incidentally, the car is his." Jean found herself laughing as she shook hands.

Helen smiled, but playfully shook her head at Grant. "Yon shouldn't offer other people's cars about like this, Jerry." The American protested quickly. "Why, sure, that's all I keep the thing for. Hop right in and say where to." There was no refusing such a cheerful offer, and the ladies allowed themselves to be helped in by Grant, who afterwards seated himself beside Washburn at the wheeL "Les • Palmiers is that kind of whitcd sepulchre which sits in judgment on the rest of us from the hill top, isn't it?" called the American over his shoulder as he swung the car off the tramlines and up one of the roads which climb the hill behind the town. "Yes," replied Mrs. Gorst. Jean smiled into the darkness, for the description so well suited the Wintons' modernist villa, which stared aggressively down upon Helen s less showy but infinitely more beautiful one. They were amusing, these young men, and refreshingly natural. But why had she not met them sooner, especially Jerry Grant? She was leaving in the morning, and that she supposed, would be the end. How utterly stupid everything was. It was not far to the villa and shortly they drave through tlio gates and up the drive. The young men got out to help tlio girls and Jean found herself again shaking hands with Grant, thanking him and saying good-niglit. Her feclin" of regret embarrassed her and suddenly instead of saying good-bye she heard herself stammering. "W-won't you come in and have a When the young men accepted she felt a definite lightening of the spirit and led the • way into the house. A tray with drinks and glasses was on the table, and Jean waved to it. I "Do help yourselves." Grant, however, turned to Jean. "Your father is Sir Colin Graham, the explorer, isn't he?" "Yes. How do you know ? "You're very like him. I met him in E°vpt last autumn. He was just startin" off into the desert. I wanted to go with him, but his party was made up. "Oh, what a pity." Jean sympathised with a readiness which warmed the young man's heart. Grinning broadly, he suggested: J} •'Perhaps you'll make it up to me. "How?" \ "Come and play in the open tennis tournament with me. I'm sure you play well." ~ ~ ~ Jean stared helplessly. In all the odious fortnight she had spent at the Wintons not one invitation half so desirable had come her way, and yet she must refuse it. Disappointment nearly choked > her, but she swallowed it down and said: . "I wish I could, but we are leaving in the morning." The young man's face fell. "You're not?" The fair head nodded. "Oh, I say!" The two stared at one another without concealing their dismay. The onlyreal girl he had seen in months, thought Grant, taking in the slender figure, the sunriy hair and pale golden skin. Hei eves," too, were like pools with flecks of sunlight in them.

"Oh, look here, you can't," he protested. Her hands made a faintly resigned gesture. "I'm afraid we must." , Excepting for Euan she might have stayed, but he must come first. If he got into serious trouble, she would never be able to face her father. "Gosh," sighed Washburn exaggeratedly. "It's another of those tragic eases where ships pass in the night!" They all laughed, and Grant put down his glass. "Thanks for the reminder, Dan. We must move 011. I'm awfully sorry you're going, Miss Graham." Jean was so sorry that she was ashamed, and to conceal it said a rather abrupt good-bve. In a moment the young men drove away, and turning back to the room, Jean wondered what Helen was thinking of her. But the elder woman was pulling on her cloak and said rather non-committally: "What nice lads they are!" Then laying her hands on the gil l's shoulders and looking at her affectionately, she said: "Jean, I wish you would come and stay with me next, year."

Both touched and delighted, Jean responded warmly: "I'd simply love to." "I'm afraid you haven't had a very good time here." The girl looked away. "N-no. I-I don't much like the Wintons. O, Geoffrey is all right, but he doesn't count. If I'd known what Doreen was like, but —0, well." She broke off, as understandingly Helen nodded. "I know. But don't worry too much about the boy, my dear." Jean smiled rather ruefully. "I try not to, but I promised father to look after him. Since mother died there's no one much, you see." '"No." It was very pathetic, thought Helen, to see this girl of 23 trying to mother her wayward young brother when at her age she should be enjoying herself. However, perhaps next year— but it was getting late. "Well, good-bye, my dear." Wistfully Jean watched Helen Gorst vanish across the moonlit garden. If she had only been staying with her instead of with the Wintons; but what was the use of repining? With a sigh, she gathered up her cloak and went to her room, yet while she was undressing, she swallowed down the sob of bitter disappointment which rose persistently in her throat. Why was fate so perverse? "Why for a whole fortnight had she been afflicted with men like Max de Laurier, only to meet Jerry Grant when it was too late ? For, once back in Scotland, she was sure she would never see him again. Before getting into bed, Jean opened her windows and listened to see whether Euan was back. But it was three and she was nearly asleep before he tapped at her door and walked in. "It's only me," he said, flashing on the light. Jean sat up, blinking dazedly. "What is it, Euan ?" "Have you any aspirin ? My head feels like a rattle." "There, in the drawer." Jean watched her brother fiddle amongst her things and wondered about the head of his. His too good-looking face was flushed, and she guessed that he had been drinking. But after gulping down two tablets of aspirin, he flashed his engaging smile at her. "I say, old girl, some pyjamas!" Jean lay down again. , "Do go to bed, Euan. We must start off early." "Not before eleven. Can't be done, he retorted. Instead of going, he hesitated at the foot of the bed. "I say, Jcannie, I wish you wouldn't be so snorty to Max de Laurier. He's not a bad sort really, and he thinks the world

of you." Anger born of dismay flashed up in Jean's eyes as she stared at her brother. Anyway, why had his mind changed so completely? Only a few days ago, he had been calling the Baron an "Oily Bounder and a Casino Crab." "Well, he may think the world of trie, ■but I don't think of him at all if I can help it. Now do go and get some sleep," she replied, curling down beneath the sheets. Euan, however, continued to stand at the foot of the bod, and finally said, with a rather defiant peevishness: • "All right, but I hope you'll be decent to him when he joins us in Paris." "What!" Jean leaned up on her elbows again. Euan laughed. "You needn't look like that. I asked him." "But why?" "O, I dunno. He's good company and damned rich. Well, niglity-o!" , "Euan!" But the young man paid no heed to his sister's cry beyond chuckling and switching off the light. When the door had closed behind him, Jean lay down. She was sleepy 110 longer and stared into the darkness from wide, tear-filled eyes. Really Euan was impossible. What was to become of him? Would she always be able to keep him out of mischief? It seemed a rather ungrateful task and waft becoming very wearying. Besides,, would he never learn? And what lay behind this new craze of his for Max do Laurier I She saw the Frenchman very clearly in the darkness, and' cfisliked him. He was too polished; his hair, his nails and his manners. His clothes were too immaculate, his waist too defined, his lips against his olive skin were too full and red. Everything about him spoke of money. It was his money which Euan admired; it blinded him to the chaiactei of the man. Really Euan was going too far in asking him to join them in Paiis. Whatever could 110 be thinking of? A sense of apprehension amounting almost to fear descended upon her. She had thought that when they left Monte Carlo her worries would be over. But now it seemed that it was not to be so. A tear overflowed and trickled down Jean's cheek. She was so tired of it all. When all was said and done, she was only 23 and the responsibility was sometimes almost more than she could bear. She longed to be free of it, to enjoy herself and her youth; yet somehow she could not desert Euan. To protect lnm had become a lifelong habit and besides, she loved him. But if only he were more like — _ Amazed at herself, she broke on. A faint warmth crept up her neck as she realised that she was wishing that lieF brother was more like Jerry Grant. "Well, I do," she told the darkness rather defiantly Euan was good looking to the point of prettiness, whereas Grant's good looks were one with his strength. Vigour and cleanline were evident in every line of his tall, wellknit figure, and his fresh complexion and clear blue eyes spoke of steadiness of character and clean living traits which she admired and much desired for her brother. ■ But why, why had she not met Jerry Grant sooner, during those tiresome weeks at Doreen's? Now it was too lute; they were leaving in the morning, and Max" de Laurier apparently was to follow them. 1 (To be continued daily.)'