PLAYTHINGS OF FATE

Cromwell Argus, Volume LXVIII, Issue 3483, 23 August 1937, Page 2

PLAYTHINGS OF FATE

By J. T. ALLAN,

CHAPTER XXlV.—(Continued.)

Absorbed in his reflections, Arthur walked out of the house, and past his father and Nell without speaking, to the edge of the clearing. He paused beneath the tree, and gazed down at the spot he would disturb that night, and which he had thought never to disturb again. Nell watched Arthur covertly as he made his way to the tree. Why was he always standing near that tree of late? Why was he acting so strangely? Why was he so moody? The man was as much an enigma to Nell, as were her thoughts concerning him. He was utterly conceited, selfish, and self-centred. Her eyes were not blind to these faults, which were the least of his make-up. He was practically a self-confessed murderer. Certainly he denied having killed Driscoll, but she had to discount this denial in the face of the overwhelming array of evidence against him. He had in his possession the proceeds of the robbery, for which Driscoll had paid with his life. He had not denied that. If he had not committed the actual killing, he was guilty of complicity in the crime, and before her, as before all others, he must stand equally guilty with the actual killer. And there was the name Shannon; which he could not explain. Yet withal she loved him!

That was the most poignant part of It all. She loved him and was prepared to shield and protect him from justice, so great was her love. She had often smiled, unbelievingly at such love, as portrayed in many of the novels she had read. It had seemed incredible that any woman could hold for a man a love so unquenchable, so abiding; but she did not smile now. She realised that it was real, that fiction was founded on fact. Sometimes she pitied herself for this love she felt towards Arthur, at other times she scorned herself. And he was going to that other girl!

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right for him to do this thing to her, to Anita Barrow, with such a guilty stain upon his conscience. She, Nell, could face life with him, because she knew of his sin, but it wasn’t right of him to ask this other to be his wife, when he might quite possibly ruin her life. There were times when Nell thought that she must rise and scream aloud her knowledge, and so prevent this double sin; but there again her, deep, her unrequited love for this man prevented her from the deed. It would mean bringing him within reach of the law. She would never be a party to that, of course, and so Anita Barrow had to be sacrificed along with herself and everyone else, that he might be protected. Nell’s every effort of the past few weeks had been a studied attempt to make herself indispensable to Arthur, an attempt to snatch a last-minute victory. But she had failed miserably. Arthur had been too engrossed in making plans for his own future welfare to notice the attentions of others.

She cast her knitting aside and walked out to where Arthur stood beneath the tree. Pausing in his wanton disarrangement of the soil with his shoe, he looked up with a guilty start to find Nell standing at his elbow. “Hullo,” he said awkwardly. Nell wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, and flashed a glance at the mound. “What are you thinking about, Arthur?” she inquired naively, with a quick, shrewd, half-closing of the eyelids. “What makes you act so strangely, and why do you always come to this tree?” Her eyes wandered questioningly from him and to the ground. “Is —is that where ?” Her voice trailed off into a whisper as she pointed to beneath his feet. Arthur hung his head in silence, cursing inwardly. “You’re not thinking of doing anything—anything silly, are you?” There was a little catch of fear in her voice and she stepped closer to him. “It would be both terrible and foolish, now.”

He patted her arm reassuringly. "Don’t worry, Nell. I —l’m not thinking of anything like that at all,” he lied.

She bit her lip. “You are determined to go to Sydney?” she asked, “Yes, I have nothing to fear—now.” “I’m not thinking of you. I’m thinking of that girl. You are determined to go on with it. Do you think it’s fair —to her?”

“Why, I’m—l ” Her lips curled a trifle. “You think only of yourself, don’t you?” He took hold of her hand. “Nell. I’m not thinking of getting married —not yet,” he burst out impulsively. “Then why are you going to Sydney? You are going to see her. You are going to make arrangements?” “Yes, but we won’t be married for months and months,” he laughed. “We might not even ” He stopped abruptly, and his clasp of her hand tightened. His face became serious.

“Nell,” he said softly, “you’re a wonderful girl. You’ve been a wonderful pal to me, even now —after I‘ve shown you dirt. I've got to confess it, I’m terribly weak and selfish, and — and I don’t seem able to help myself. Sometimes I'm not so sure how I feel about you—about anything.” He let go her hand and hurried away. He had been treading on dan-

(Published by Arrangement with N.S.W. Bookstall Co. Ltd.) [COPYRIGHT.]

gerous ground, but the sudden vision of a blonde head of hair, a pair of red, enticing lips, and a pair of baby-blue eyes wedged itself across the danger path of indecision, blazing and beckoning like a beacon fire upon a hilltop.

Nell turned the car round and prepared to start on her return journey to the homestead. Arthur stood at the side of the car and looked back down the road towards home. His train would not be due for an hour yet, and he was going to while away the hour in the pleasant company of Dr. Andrews and his wife. Nell refused to stay until the train actually went. Every minute of this Sunday morning was torture to her, almost more than she could bear.

For a time, nothing but the faintly audible hum of the car engine and the twitter of the birds in the trees disturbed the peaceful Sunday morning quiet. “Nell,” Arthur said at last, “I want you to promise me that you will not leave the homestead —that you will not mention to my father that you are thinking of leaving, until —until I come back. Will you promise me that?” “Yes, but as soon as you do come back, I’m going. I still have a little principle—a little self-respect.” Arthur flushed to the roots of his hair.

“All right,” he replied crisply. “Good-bye.” He turned on his heels and joined the doctor on the verandah. When he turned to face the road the car had gone, and was fast disappearing behind the fringe of willows. “Doctor, what is love? How can I tell —when ” “When you’ve been bitten,” the doctor finished with a grin. “I don’t think there are any special symptoms. You see a girl. You feel that you love her, and you want to tell the cock-eyed world about it. I think that just about describes the feeling love gives you.” "I’ve read all that bunk in novels, doctor. I’m serious,” Arthur replied, flushing. "I want some real fatherly advice —about marriage. I’m in a bit of a hole.” He paused. “I can’t go to dad because —because he thinks it’s all settled.” The doctor looked grave, and pulled out his pipe, and began to fill it. “You’re welcome to any advice I can give you, son,” he said, “but marriage is something of a lottery. You buy a ticket and take your chance. Much of the success of marriage depends upon circumstances, upon individual temperament. A lot depends upon how much you expect from the other party; upon how much you are prepared to give, and what allowances you are prepared to make.” He lit his pipe. “What is this hole you are in?” “Well, a long time ago I thought I loved a girl, but another girl came into my life quite recently and she has changed everything. I love her, but she has a lot of faults. Not big faults —just petty little things and they irritate me. The first girl, the one I thought I loved is well-nigh perfect in comparison with the one I do love. I’d like the girl I love to have the good points of the girl I —just like.” The doctor pursed his lips thoughtfully. “You say you thought that you loved the first girl until the other came along.” “Yes.”

“Are you sure you don’t still love her? Are you sure you haven’t been dazzled by perhaps a more beautiful face —a girl with a very strong, let us say, sex appeal.” “No, I don’t think it’s that, doctor,” Arthur replied after a pause. “I’m afraid I cannot help you to decide between these two girls,” the doctor went on, “but what I say may give you a little knowledge on the subject of marriage. By reason of my profession I know quite a good deal concerning domestic life, not only of my own home, but of others, and I have learnt to pick out the faults with the follow--ing results. Many young people are drawn together by something they cannot define as being anything else but love, and it is not until after the bells have stopped ringing that they discover they are entirely unsuited for each other. Dissimilarity in tastes, individual weaknesses in each other which have been blindly overlooked, and a host of other things which tend to make life a misery for them both, show out. They discover that what sent them blindly rushing for the altar was not love, but pure animal passion, or sex appeal. They battle gamely on for a couple of years, during which time they find that passion or ardor cools, and then each finds irksome and irritating the companionship of the other. They realise that there must be something more than passion, or sex appeal, to hold a man and woman together throughout the span of life. Passion soon wears itself out. “Many, many young couples marry on passion or sex appeal, misnamed love,” the doctor continued. “I’m not going to say much because it will only confuse you; but there are two issues you must keep clearly before your mind for decision. You say you love a girl, but that she lacks certain qualities you would like her to possess. Then what attracts you to that girl? Her physical beauty most likely; perhaps she has a strong physical appeal for you. Be very careful, for your feeling Is purely passion—nothing more. The girl you like —the girl you thought you loved, possesses all the qualities you most desire in a woman. With

which of the two do you think you could share life, with the least friction?” The doctor stood up. “Make sure, Arthur, old man, that you’re not letting the glittering tinsel of one mar the dull, though more lasting polish of the other.”

Arthur stood up. “Well! You’ve got me more mixed up than when you started to ’explain. I think I’ll get up to the train.”

“Yes. I’ll walk up with you. Per haps you’ll tell me the one you’ve de cided on.”

CHAPTER XXV

A Snapshot and a Bargain.

“There must be something pretty sweet in it, for you to be throwin’ a cool hundred around. What’s the day!” Lew Bates leered up into Arthur’s face with sharp suspicion.

When his train had drawn in at the Central station, the great Sydney terminus which rears its majestic tower above the stately buildings surrounding It, Arthur had gone straight to the George Hotel, where he obtained a room and a few hours’ sleep before Monday dawned upon the city. Early on Monday morning, he shaved and bathed and went in search of Lew Bates. Before he saw Anita, Arthur wanted to be rid of the diamonds; and Lew Bates was the one man he knew who could introduce him to a reliable "fence” for stolen property. Arthur had made Bates what he considered a generous offer for an introduction U, such a person, but Bates was not proving very amenable. They -were together at the end of Moroney’s Billiard Parlours, a haunt of Bates’s, and also a former haunt of Arthur’s. Arthur was standing facing Bates who sat upon the form. “I’m not going to tell you any more than I’ve already told you,” replied Arthur coldly. “I’ve got something I want to drop. It’s worth a hundred, no more, to lead me to a reliable fence. You can take it or leave it.” Bates studied Arthur covertly for a minute, then he said: “Now look here, Rees. Whatever it is, I want a third. I’m in the ‘blue’ with the ‘jacks.’ Since you’ve . been gone, I just dodged a stretch by the skin of me teeth, an’ I’m sittin’ pretty quiet. A third is what I want for a stake so’s I can beat it to Melbourne. Besides, I want to know what I’m gettin’ let in for.”

“You’re not getting ‘let in’ for anything,” Arthur replied wearily. He had assumed his old alias of Rees when coming to this place. He did not want any of this crowd to know anything concerning Arthur Mannering. “And I’m not telling you the nature of my business either,” he went on. “I’m offering you a hundred pounds for an introduction to a good reliable ‘fence.’ That’s simple enough.” “Nothin’ doing.” “Hey! Rees. Hold on a minute!” Arthur retraced his steps.

“Well?” “Give’s a cigarette,” Bates requested bluntly. Arthur handed him his case. “Struth! Case an’ all. Clobbered up too, with a real ‘red-lot’ strung across your chest like a bank manager,” observed Bates, pointing to Arthur’s gold chain. “Where ’ave you been? You must a’ been doin’ pretty well,” he insinuated.

“Fairly well,” Arthur admitted. “Come on, Bates. I'm in a hurry.” “Aw, what’s your ’urry. What’s the time by your red-lot? It must be early yet.”

“A quarter to twelve. Well, what are you going to do, Bates? I want to get going. I’ve got an engagement," Arthur bluffed.

“Engagement! Blimey! Not a date —an engagement. Say, w-hat's this stuff you want to drop?” persisted Bates curiously. “I’m not telling.. Besides, I’ve thought it over. Your fence might not be big enough to handle this deal, so

“Not big enough, eh? Let me tell you—this joker’s big enough to handle anything you’ve got,” Bates retorted. There was a short silence.

“Well, if you won’t advance anymore, I suppose I had better take it. When do I get the hundred?” “After I’ve had an interview with your fence,” Arthur promised. “That is—providing he can handle my proposition.” “Oh! he’ll handle it all right, an’ you can see him to-morrow. How’ll that do?” Arthur hesitated.

“All right,” he agreed. He had been in hopes of an interview that day. “Where do I see him?” “He’s got an office in town,” Bates replied, “You meet me at ten o’clock outside the Arcadia.” “Good. To-morrow at ten then, Bates. Don’t forget.”

"Don’t you forget to have that hundred about you either,” retorted Bates. “An’ you better let me have a quid now. I’m broke.” Arthur gave him a pound note and hurried away. He loathed this place now and wanted to get away from it as quickly as he could. A little later, he left a tram at the railway, and sprinted along Eddyavenue after a Rose Bay bus which was just leaving. He had intended keeping away from Anita until after the diamond business was settled, but the sight of this bus, which would so easily carry him to her door was too much for him. He yielded readily to the impulse, for he had nothing further to do that day, and he felt that time would hang very heavily upon his hands.

As he walked up the short path to the bungalow, Arthur was a prey to mixed feelings. He could not help noticing the beautiful designs of both gardens and homes in this wondrous harbor suburb, where the air was freshened and cleaned by the sharp, invigorating sea breezes every passing second. It was an ideal setting, sufficient to please the heart of any man. He compared it with the surroundings

in which he had spent also two years of his life with Nell and Mrs. Arnold. Gazing on this scene, where the hands of nature and man had joined to build a spot of incomparable beauty, it seemed incredible that such a short distance away there lay the slum area of Redfern, with its sloth, its narrow streets, its blatant noises and dirt — an eyesore, both to man and nature.

As he rang the bell, Arthur was virtually treading on air. Redfern, and the life that Redfern meant, was behind him, never to come back again. His future existence would be spent amid such surroundings as these in which Anita lived. Wouldn’t the bell he w T as now ringing, summon her to his arms? The girl of his dreams. The girl with whom he hoped to share the sunshine of his life yet to come.

Some time later he sat alone with Anita in the drawing-room; Mrs. Barrow having discreetly withdrawn. “Oh, Arthur!’’ Anita exclaimed suddenly. “I was going to send you one of those snaps. You know, the one I took of you standing beside Silver after he had won that race. I’ll show it to you.” She crossed to a table and returned with a snapshot album. “My brother Dick is always looking at it. I have often seen him looking at it w T ith a terribly puzzled frown.” She laughed lightly. “He seems to think he has met you somewhere. Of course, that's impossible, unless —you have really met. I’ll show you his photo.” “What does you brother do,” Arthur inquired gazing at the photo of her brother. He could not recollect having previously met this man anywhere. “You did tell me once —but I have forgotten.” “He’s a detective in the Criminal Investigation Branch,” Anita explained. “And, oh!” she laughed gaily, “it makes you seem real bloodthirsty. He asked me once if you had a scar on your right arm. Have you? Let me see.” she said, clutching at his arm.

Arthur evaded her clutching fingers and stood up. “No! I haven’t got any scar,” Arthur replied agitatedly. “What did you tell him?” “Why—l—l said you hadn’t —I think.” she looked at him quickly. “What’s the matter, Arthur?” “Nothing—l—l—your brother must be mistaken. I’ve never met him.”

“Well, you shall stay to tea and meet him. I know he’s just dying to meet you, and he should be home any time now.”

“I’m sorry, Anita —I can’t.” For a moment a wild look shot into his eyes. Her brother a policeman! He must get away from her as quickly as possible. He must not meet her brother until after he was rid of the stolen goods. Once rid of that, he would defy the whole force, They would have to be mighty careful how they approached him. “Why can’t you stay?” she pleaded. “Well, I have an appointment with my solicitors. I must keep it. In fact, I should b there now.” “Well, silly, why didn’t you say so? Of course you must keep your appointment. Though I am disappointed. You should have kept to-night for me.” She stood up. “Never mind. There will be many other nights,” she added.

The pregnant meaning of her words fell upon deaf ears. Love was dead and cold for the time in Arthur’s heart. His one concern was to be gone, and with almost indecent haste, he bade Mrs. Barrow and Anita farewell, promising to dine with them the following night. He gained the street with a sigh of relief and hurried towards the bus route. The sickly pallor of his face testified to his agitation. His bland complacence had received a jolt. The eye of the policeman is ever watchful. It never wearies, never rests. It is so trained. It takes in briefly but concisely, everything and everybody crossing its line of vision, and Barrow, the habit of long training acting unconscliusly, took mental stock of Arthur as they met and passed in the street.

During the months just past, the Floodgate case, as far as the public was concerned, had been placed on the shelf of failures, but the police had been untiringly on the alert for the man they wanted most to interview in connection with the big jewel robbery, and that man’s face had become impressed indelibly upon Barrow's memory.

Barrow paused with a gasp of surprise and gazed after Arthur’s retreating figure. Was this the quarry at last, sighted almost at his (Barrow’s) doorstep? Surely no two men could be so alike as all that! Something prompted Barrow to fall in behind this man and follow him. He followed Arthur right to the lobby of the George Hotel. Barrow watched his quarry step into the lift, then he walked to the clerk’s desk, and showing his badge, asked to see the hotel register. “Anything wrong?” queried the clerk sharply, as Barrow finished his perusal of the hotel’s list of guests. “Nothing scandalous,” Barrow replied with a rueful grin. “Just a case of mistaken identity.” “Oh?”

“You may have noticed him. The chap who just entered the lift, dressed in a grey suit, and wearing ox-blood shoes. He was uncommonly like a man I once knew by name of Knowles,” Barrow lied. “I’m glad I looked at the register. A man feels such a fool, making overtures to a stranger.”

“The chap who just entered the lift?” The clerk ran his finger down the guest list. “That was A. Mannering, of Scone. He’s got stacks of coin and cattle, I believe.”

“Oh, thanks!” responded Barrow. He walked out to the pavement’s edge and lit a cigarette. What a confounded idiot he would look if ever the office got hold of this. He chuckled. A. Mannerlng, of Scone! This was Sis’s fiance without a doubt. Sh© had mentioned that IVTannering was coining to

Sydney for Easter, but he had completely forgotten it. Manneriug had just left Anita when they had passed in the street. Now, too, when he came to think of it, this fellow looked younger than the photo Sis had of him, much younger than the photo of Shannon down at headquarters. Still, there was a remarkable likeness. No doubt there would be undeniable differences he would notice, when they actually met, thought Barrow. He turned away with a sigh. No one, not even his sister, must know that he had followed his prospective brother-in-law, suspecting him of being a murderer! He would be the laughing stock of all his friends. (To be Continued).