“The Fortune Telling House”

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXIV, Issue 12007, 27 April 1936, Page 4

“The Fortune Telling House”

By Aidan de Brune

For long moments the newspaper man remained before the hall door, scanning the remains of an old and almost forgotten splendour the home in which one or the pioneers of modern Anstralia had lived, pleasered and perhaps, died. Before him rose a wide and splendid stairway. It started about the centre of the hail and went up to the hack wall of the house. There it merged into a corridor, passing from right to left. Sam walked forward, looking up. He saw that from the corridor branched two other corridors running to the front of the 'house. There was no ceiling to the hall, which rose high in the air to a glassdomed roof. “Where are the kitchens?” he asked, his voice almost sunk to a whisper. “This way.” Skirlington snapped on the light of his torch again and led past the stairway along 1 a passage on the right. “Going to doss in the kitchens?”

“I can keep better watch on the house and the outbuildings from there and remain hidden,” retorted the newspaper man. “I want to know what goes on in here during the night—not to let others know what I am doing.” He followed the hotel man through the dim and dirty passage to the kitchens at the back of the house. They came to a cross passage with a door immediately opposite them. Skirlington pushed open the door and the light of his torch, moving slowly about revealed a wide fireplace, the base of which was made of huge blocks of stone. In the fireplace stood the ruins of three very wide, but not high, ovens, with wide spaces between them. Over the ruined ovens were extended several bent and broken iron bars, old-time plate racks and heaters.

“Bit of a fireplace, eh, what?” Skirlington flashed his torch light

from end to end of the oven range. Pie went to the fireplace, Sam following him and directed his light to the huge chimney. Sam followed and stared up the wide cavity in wonderment.

“Some fireplace, sure!” Sam swung round and let his light play over the remaining portions of the room. It was very large, and fairly clean, evidently some of the men of the road, if they camped here, had some remnants of civilisation to their credit. “Say, Bart., this will do me. Now you buzz off. I don’t want anyone to know this place is inhabited to-night, and if you dodge about with that torch someone will get notions in their empty head. Good-night! I’ll walk down and see you about breakfast time.”

He escorted Skirlington to the front door and stood on the steps watching the hotel man motor down the overgrown drive. Then he wedged the loose board of the window well into place, closed the hall door and returned to his kitchen. For some time he sat cross-legged on his bundle of rugs, pondering the events of the past hours; yawned loudly and long, and set to work to arrange his nap.

“Time to go to bed,” he said, speaking aloud. “Get to the hay, Sammy boy!” Again he yawned. “Wonder what sort of sleep I'll get to-night?” The rugs arranged to his satisfastlon, Sam slipped out of his clothes and into his pyjamas—then lay down, pulling the rugs high about his neck, and immediately fell asleep. A sense of warmth greater than he had experienced during the night aroused him. He lay for some moments with eyes closed, pondering. Was it the rising sun that had wakened him? No, for if it had been sunlight the glare would have aroused him immediately. Then.... He opened one eye, lazily, and looked ■tm

about him. The window was partly in_the line of his vision and, although boarded, he could see through the cracks between the boards that beyond them was only greyness. He yawned lazily. What was the time? What had aroused him at that unearthly hour?

There was a rustling sound in the room. Then, someone lied entered the house during the night. The sound was repeated, and he realised that it came from the big fireplace, to which his back was turned. Very cautiously, and carefully not to make any noise, he rolled over and raised himself on his elbow, staring in blank

astonishment. A well-made fire blazed between

two of the ruined ovens in the hearth. Between him and the fire stood the slender form of a girl, industriously attending to some cooking that emitted an appetising and familiar odour. Sam sniffed. He recognised the long-familiar smell of frying bacon, and the sizzling that always accompanies the cooking of fried, eggs. He raised himself still further and as the girl moved saw on the hearth beside the fire a billy bubbling valiantly. His nose told him that the billy contained coffee. Again he sniffed, very appreciatively —for a man, after all, is mainly animal in his desires.

He must have made some slight sound, for the girl turned quickly, a fork in her hand. Sam dropped fiat on his chest and dragged the rugs up behind him. For a moment the girl stared, then laughed gaily.

(To be continued.)