THE GIRL FROM THE AIR

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 147, 23 June 1934, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE GIRL FROM THE AIR

By FRANCIS MARLOWE.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. DICK LESLIE, a young consulting engineer. motors a man to a deserted part of the East Coast, where an aeroplane is to meet him to convey liis passenger to "France. To his surprise, the aeroplane lands a young girl, PATRICIA LANGLEY, who is put in his care. They meet and are questioned by INSPECTOR NAILIIEAD, of Scotland Yard. Patricia asks Dick not to tell the detective that she has just landed, and to let him think she is his wife. Dick agrees, and the detective is apparently satisfied with their answers to his questions. Patricia tells Dick that she has urgent business in London, and he offers to drive her to the nearest statiou. CHAPTER IV. When the touring car passed them tlicy were just 011 the outskirts of Oldacre, the old-fashioned market town which was their destination. A few minutes later the two-seater was bumping over the cobbled roadway of the picturesque main etrect of the anci?nt town. "A sleepy okl place, this," Dick said, i "I cxpect the departure of the London train —I don't suppose tlicy have more than one —is the chief event of the day." "I hope that train is in the evening, then," Patricia said, a trifle grimly. In the soft light of the fading day the quaint old town had a charming serenity of atmosphere. About its struggling, unpeopled streets, which converged mainly on the market square and the ceiitmieri old church that overlooked it, there was' such an air of oldworld peaccfulncss that it seemed it would be sheer waste of time to look in it for anything so modern as a railway station. That there was one, however, was a fact of which Dick Leslie was aware; that no train would leave it for London that night was the unwelcome news with which lie returned to Patricia Langley after making inquiry in the inconspicuous little station. "A London train left over a quarter of an hour ago," lie told her. "The next is at eight forty-five to-morrow morning." Patricia looked at him with dismay in her eyes. "What are we to do?" she asked, wit.li a patlictic little tremor in her

voice. Dick Leslie gazed at lier gravely, thoughtfully. ,"lt is rather awkward, isn't it?" he said sympathetically. "Of course, we can go on in the car, if you like; but, as you suggested, there's always the chance of a breakdown. The sensible thing to do is to stay at the hotel here —it's one of those comfortable oldfashioned inns—and take the morning train. It will give us the chance of getting some dinner, anyhow, and that's a tiling to bo considered; I'm feeling jolly peckish." lie waited for her answer with an easy, friendly smile on his face, but she made no response, only looked at him bleakl\ r , uncomfortably. Obviously she was very troubled. He realised what was passing through her mind. "I'm afraid you're taking tlie troubles of married life very seriously," he said lightly. "You've discovered, too, I expect, what most wives do sooner or later—that a husband is sometimes a bit of a nuisance. You needn't worry about me, though; I'm one of those sensitive kind of husbands that knows how to obliterate himself when he sees he's not wanted. She smiled wanly. "It's a very difficult situation for both of us," she said forlornly. "It may not be as bad as it looks," he encouraged her. "It all depends 011 those detective people. If they're staying in the town we must keep up our play-acting, but if they've gone 011 all our troubles have gone with them. 111 any case, you'll have no reason to worry about anything." Ho paused for a moment, looked at her steadily, and added, "You can believe that, can't you 1"

A little flush of colour fluttered to her cheeks, but she returned his gazo with eyes as steady as his. "Yes, I can believe that," she said

earnestly,

"And you'll leave everything to me — let me decide what's best to do?" he asked, wit'j a happy note in his voice. She nodded smilingly. He took his seat in the car again, but before starting up turned to her. "By the way," lie said, his eyes alight with fun, "you've got my Christian name all right, but what do your friends and relatives—people who like you— call you? I ought to know, you know." "They call me Pat," she said denunely, but there was a twinkle in her eyes, too.

They were not long loft in doubt 'as to the movements of Chief Inspector Nailhead and his party. When' they passed under the arched entrance to the inn's spacious. yard they saw that the touring car had arrived there before them. Nailhead and his men had disappeared, but their chauffeur, with a cigarette in his mouth, ( was gossiping with a buxom-looking young woman, who had her head and shoulders through one of the windows that opened on to the yard. A yard hand thrust his head from a stable door and, seeing the twoseater, approached it. "You'd better go round to the front and wait for me, Pat," Dick said briskly, as he gave the girl a hand while she stepped from the car. In a lower voice lie added, "I'll find out if Nailhead is staying the night, and then we'll know what to do." She gave him an understanding glance. "Don't keep me waiting, Dick," she called to him over her shoulder, as she was leaving the yard. "I'm just starving for something to eat." He found her in the oak-panelled entrance hall of the inn, inspecting some sporting prints, where he joined her after arranging for the disposition of his car. Men's voices came to them ' from a room a little ahead of where she was standing, probably a bar parlour, to which the detectives had betaken themselves. An open door showed that there was an empty room immediately on the left of them. Dick led the way into this, and Patricia- followed him, turning anxious, inquiring eyes on him when he faced her. "This is a rambling old place, but I'm told it's very comfortable," he said, cheerfully. "Would you like an appetiser of some kind while I go and sec what they can do about putting us up?" "I think I'd like a sherry with just a spot of orange bitters," she answered bravely, but her eyes questioned urgently. With a little grimace and a shrug of his shoulders he gave her to understand that she liad an ordeal ahead of her.

She grew pale and seemed to shiver. They stared demurely at each other for a space, she with something of appeal in her face and attitude, he with his eyes trying to endue her with courage. Suddenly his face crumpled into a comical grin, and, finding this irresistible, she smiled. "That's the way to take it," he said in an undertone. "Keep a still' upper lip, and smile. To-morrow you'll be laughing over this queer adventure." lie crossed flic room and tugged at an ancient bell-pull over the fireplace. When a minute or so later a smart, aproned girl showed herself at the door of the room they were chatting easily and comfortably. "I want a gin and Italian and a sherry with a touch of orange bitters," Dick said to the maid, "and I'd like to know if luy wife and I can have accommodation hero to-night." "I'll get the waiter to bring you the drinks, sir," the girL replied, "but you'll have to ask at the office about rooms. If you like, sir, I'll show you where the office is." "Lead the way then, my dear," Dick said jovially. "I shan't be long, Pat. See that the waiter doesn't give you too much orange bitters." While ho was gone, and before the waiter arrived with the aperitifs, Patricia Langley ungloved her hands. A jewelled ring that was on her right hand she removed and slid over the third finger of her left hand, turning it so that while the jewels were concealed in her palm a plain gold band only was exposed above. She had satisfied herself that it was a passable substitute for the symbol it was to represent when the waiter entered. Dick Leslie returned briskly, and with a cheery smile on his face. He was replacing in his waistcoat pocket thj fountain pen with which he had just written in the inn's visitors' book: "Mr. and Mrs. Richard Leslie—London —-British."

Ho lifted liis gin and Italian from the waiter's tray and with a little bow saluted Patricia with his glass before sipping from it. Patricia raised her glass also, and, with a smile of acknowledgment, followed his load. "We're in luck, dear," he said. "They haven't got a suite—wo couldn't expect that—but there's a bedroom and sitting room adjoining that they can let us have. I've booked them and arranged that they'll serve dinner in our sitting room. You'd prefer that, wouldn't you, to thei public room?" "You know I would, Dick," Patricia replied easily. "I hope the bedroom is a comfortable one. I expect it will be, though; this seems such a cosy old place." She looked up brightly at the waiter, a lean, grey-haired old man, with kindly blue eyes, as though inviting enlightenment from him. "You'll find everything very comfortable here, ma'am," the old man assured her in a thin voice. "I've been with the house forty years and I've never heard a complaint." "What about something'to cat? Is there a prospect of getting anything hot?" Dick asked him. flic old waiter pursed his lips doubtfully, looked anxious. "We don't serve an evening dinner here, sir; it's only at odd times that there's any demand for it," lio said apologetically. "We can give you a lovely cut of cold lamb, sir, or perhaps wo could manage a chop or a steak." He paused for Dick's decision, and then, in an after-thought, added, "If you're not in a hurry for dinner, sir, we might be able to roast you a chicken-—if you like. I'll see, sir." Dick looked at Patricia with an interrogative lift of his eyebrows. "I'm for the chicken myself," ho said. "I'm deuced hungry, but it sounds worth waiting for. 'You could do a salad, I suppose, waiter?" "Yes, sir, we can give you a nice salad." "What about it, Pat?" he smiled happily at her. "Is it to be roast chicken and salad? Don't disappoint me by saying 'No'; I've set my heart on it." Patricia looked up at him with smiling eyes. "I can wait for it if you can, Dick," slio said.

"Arc you sure you wouldn't prefer the amb, or a chop?"

"Not unless you want the wliole chicken for yourself," was the laughing reply.

"The chicken, then, as soon as you can, waiter," was Dick's instruction. He tossed off the remainder of his gin and Italian. "Bring me another gin and Italian when you've ordered dinner. He glanced at Patricia, but her eyes negatived the suggestion in his, so he added, "Of course, it's no use asking you to have another sherry, Pat?" The waiter disappeared, and Dick seated himself in a chair facing Patricia. With a whimsical glance at her, lie pulled out his cigarette case, selected a cigarette, and lighted it. He did not offer her one, and she found herself mentally noting the fact that she liked him for this. She was conscious, too, that there were other things about him that she liked; his frank, comradely smile, for instance; his considerate good nature, his clear steadiness of eye, his air of breeding and clean living. As she sipped her sherry reflectively in the comfortable unembarrassed silence that followed the waiter's departure, she realised that she was finding in him a more intriguing interest than any man had ever awakened in her. And there was the mystery of his connection with the aeroplane's secret flight to enhance this interest. Lounging idly in the chair in which he had settled himself, his eye caught the glint of the gold circlet on the third linger of lier left hand. She saw that it had held his attention and turned her hand, palm toward him, so that he could see the ring's mounting. His eyes gleamed approbation of her expedient. | "I'd never have thought of that," he said, with an amused chuckle. "By Jove, you're carrying it off wonderfully." Patricia could hear the ancient waiter returning, and made no other reply than a mock grateful inclination of her head. When Dick had received his glass from the waited she rose to her feet. "I'll go upstairs and do a little tidying and cleaning, Dick," she said. "Right you are, Pat," he replied. "You'll find our bags, there. I had them sent up."

CHAPTER V. Very comfortable and enticing was the aspect of the sitting room in which Dick Leslie and Patricia Langley sat down to dinner. Wax candles ? in wall brackets lighted it, flowers gave it fragrance. Delightful to the eye was the table, with its snowy cloth and

napkins, its shining cutlery and sparkling glass and, as its ccntrc-piece, an exquisite flower-dressed rose bowl. Very '■ plain it was that the room had been I prepared by someone of more than ordinary taste, and in every way it justified the lean old waiter's prideful regard of it when ho announced that dinner was ready to be served. The bedroom, in its way, was no less attractive. An ample room this, with a large window that gave a charming view of a wonderful old garden. Very complete were its. furnishings —mahogany—walnut —oak; perhaps over-solid and large for some tastes, but reposeful, fitting to the atmosphere, and symmetrically suitable for the generous floor space. The bed was a fine piece of mahogany work, luxuriant in fcs size, a war-hued eiderdown overlaying its exuberant bosom. At one of the twin washstands, Dick Leslie, coatless and with his shirt sleeves turned back, was drying his hands, when Patricia Langley, who was in the sitting room glancing through a magazine, called to tell him of the imminence of dinner. "I'll be with you in a moment, Pat," he replied gaily. "You'd better ask the waiter to do the carving; I've too much respect for the chicken to ivy my hand on it." Patricia was seated at the table, the waiter busy with the bird, when, fresh and serene-looking, he emerged from the bedroom. He flashed a happy glance at Patricia, looked approvingly at the alluring table, and seated himself at the place the waiter had laid for him. "You're not forgetting the Burgundy, waiter?" he inquired, as Patricia passed him a plate on which was a generous wing portion of the fowl. "No, sir. I'm fetching it up immediately. Just taking the chill off, sir." "I don't think you'll find it too heavy for you, Pat. They've got some light wines, but they're not up to much. I'm sure you'll lilic the Burgundy; I think it's rather a find." He helped himself to salad. "I'm glad j'ou've found a Burgundy, dear," Patricia said sweetly. "I know how you like it." She gave him a scolding look when the waiter had left the room. "I hope you don't expect me to finish a bottle with you," she said. "I'll take one glass to keep you in countenance, but the responsibility for the rest is yours." "How did you guess it was a bottle?" he asked with a merry twinkle in his eyes. "As a matter of fact, it is, though it might have been a half. But please," lie pleaded, "don't get it into your pretty head that your husband is a drunkard. Wine with my dinner is my only weakness in that direction, but I confess I like it good, and plenty of it." She laughed softlj'. "If you have no worse weaknesses you'll be too near perfection to be interesting," she said. What his reply to this might have been was not to be disclosed, for the return of the waiter, carrying a cradled bottle, checked development of the topic. Easily, happily, and without restraint , on either side, they chatted during their meal. Dick was playfully the adoring husband, but Patricia was perfect mistress of herself, and, though she realised \ that tliero was much that was not j make-believe in his considerate atten- ; tion, his obvious admiration, and lover- , like words, she was entirely unembar L ] rassed. and gave every indication that her enjoyment of the situation was pro- , portionate to the appetite which she discovered for her meal.

A delicious little apple pie, which the waiter told tlieni he had got the cook specially to make for thern, with fresh cream, brought their dinner to an end, and then, when lie had served coffee, the waiter left them to themselves. Dick, with a chuckle and an entreating grin, begged for approval of his acting. Patricia, with laughter in her eyes, bestowed with a beneilcent nod. "You were perfectly wonderful," he enthused. "The way you played up to me—l'm euro that dear old waiter has gono down to report that we're the ideal young married couple. I wish our friend Nailhcad had been here; he'd have found us convincing." "Why-do you think I don't smoke?" Patricia asked, apropos of the fact that he had taken a cigarette, again without offering her his case. "I know you don't," ho said promptly. "No girl can have your complexion and smoke. Besides, if you were a smoking girl you'd have had your own case out long ago, just to show me you smoked, or because you needed a whiff." "You don't approve of girls who smoke," Patricia suggested. "I'm not setting myself up in judgment on anyone. I approve ot a girl, or anyone, doing what they enjoy, or feel they want to do, but I simply don't like girls apeing a vice, or a virtue, which is not inherent in them." "But I have smoked," Patricia admitted ; "at least I tried—once. I didn't like it, so it was my first and last cigarette." They removed themselves presently to comfortable armchairs. Dick found Patricia an illustrated weekly to look through, and himself, comfortably disposed, puffed his cigarette luxuriously. They chatted casually an.l spontaneously, and in their silences there was no discomfort or restraint. Many things they talked about, but, as though by an unexpressed but mutually agreed-upon compact, neither referred to the queer circumstances of their meeting nor attempted to explore the other's reticences. But though they gave no sign of it, nor uttered a word to suggest it, it is beyond doubt that speculation as to the other's mystery was busy in the minds of each. Dick certainly, losing no opportunity of feasting his eyes, frankly admitted to himself that he would give much to bo admitted to the complete confidence, and adopted as the guide, philosopher and intimate friend of this beautiful girl who had come so strangely from the air to thrill and deliriously unsettle his bachelor existence. Watching her through the curling* smoke of his cigarette, the so-cherished

joys of bachclordom appeared as very poor things when compared with the happiness of the man who secured such a girl for his wife. As a pleasure to the eye alone, satisfaction to his artistic sensibilities, he told' himself he would find in marriage with her more than compensation for whatever sacrifices were involved in resigning the single state. With a sigh he threw away the butt of his cigarette. His thoughts, he felt, had small justification for running so rapidly ahead of the situation. "Ships that pass in the night" was"' a pliraso that occurred to him. Ho wondered. There would bo no passing, he resolved, if he could make it otherwise. Patricia La,ngley, from her quiet content when she was in repose, her smiling animation when .-she spoke or when he addressed her, her air of happy confidence, might well liavo been aware of his thoughts about her. She surely looked worthy of them. Dressed in a yellow silkfrock, whose neck opening exposed the soft beauty of her throat, never was there anything more gracefully and gallantly feminine. Soft and sweet were her eyes, heart-stirring was her smile, and her face, flower-like iu texture of >

skin and colouring-, had even Nature's own unaided bloom to thank for its loveliness. Halfway through his second cigarctte Dick Leslie reluctantly rose from his chair. You won't mind, I'm sure, if I run out for a while and look up my friend, Martin," lie said. "He'd never forgive me if he knew I was up this way and didn't call on him." "Of course I shan't mind," Patricia said. "I should be unhappy if I thought you were neglecting your friends, or anything you feel you ought to do, because of me." "I shan't be long. He lives only a little way out from here. I can have half an hour with him and get there and back in the car in something like an hour." "I shall be all right," Patricia assured him smilingly. "There's a magazine here that I haven't finished, and if I get tired I can go to bed." But with the best intentions of an early return, it was nearer to two hours than one before he re-entered the sitting room. It was still lighted, but Patricia was no longer in it, and the table was cleared. The bedroom door was slightly ajar, and a line of interior candlelight illumination showed itself. Apparently Patricia heard his movements. "Is that you, Dick?" she called, in a cool, even voice. He moved to the open door. "I can come in, I suppose?" he said. His voice sounded a little breathless. "Of course you can, Dick." He entered. She was in bed. In the middle of the spacious bed, just her head and the shapely fingers of her left hand, holding a small handkerchief, showed above the bedclothes. She smiled pleasantly at him. He stared at her, dumb for the moment because of his vivid impression of her flowerlike loveliness. "I ought to have stayed up," she said, "but as you were so late I thought you'd be later, and I felt tired."

He seated himself at tho foot of the bed.

"You did quite right, of course," he said. "I'm glad you're awake, though, because I wanted to tell you that I've told them to give us a call at half-past six. You want to get to London as soon as possible, and we'll be on our way before Mr. Nail head has got the sleep out of his eyes. You won't mind an early start, I suppose?" "No, it will suit me quite well." Ho bent over and untied his bootlaces, she watching him with apparent casualness, but with a tell-tale tightening of her fingers on the handkerchief. He unlaced his boots and took them off. j Then he walked to the door and opened it, placed his boots outside it beside her shoes, shut the door, and locked it. Ho opened his suit-case and took a pair of pyjamas from it. "You won't want those candles alight —may as well put them out," ho said, looking questioninglv at Patricia. She nodded. He flung his pyjamas on the bed foot, and extinguished three of the four lighted candles. "Good-night, Pat," ho said quietly, and picking up his pyjamas prepared to blow out the last candle. "Good-niglit, Dick." she said, and extended her left hand to him. Her eyes were soft, and there was something very tender in the squeeze of the hand he gave her. He held her hand for a moment, and she, as well as he, knew that in that moment he killed a strong impulse to bend his head and kiss her hand. "Good-night, Pat," he said again, and blew out the candle. (To be continued Saturday next.)