THE WHITE CAR.

Evening Post, Volume LXXXI, Issue 41, 18 February 1911, Page 10

THE WHITE CAR.

".Come as early as you can — Monday, if possible. Will expect you when we see you." These were my sister Maimee's parting words when I started her and her multifarious parcels off from Victoria last week, and, now it was Monday afternoon, the 23rd of December, a gloomy, depressing day in town, rain and darkness, and slush — oceans of slush. I had got through with my work earlier than I anticipated, and found I had just time to catch the last train for Eastdean if I hustled. : I hadn'i an instant to spare for' a ! wire, and it was impossible to 'phone, for Tom Morland (Maimee's husband), though the best of good fellows, is quite content to live four miles from a railroad and yet dispense with a telephone. I trusted to luck to find some sort of a vehicle at Eastdean, and, failing that, I'd have to tramp to Challoners, but (knowing the welcome that awaited me, that prospect, rain and all, was far preferable to a dreary evening in chambers. There was no vehicle available when., some two and a half houns later, I found myself at the sleepy little station ; but we had run out of the Tain, and though the sky was overcast, there was a full moon behind the clouds. Once out in the open the light was good enough for me to see the way clearly along the white winding Toad, and I walked at a brisk pace, carrying my suitcase (I'd arranged for my heavier baggage to be sent over next day). -During the four miles, or so I encountered one tourist and two or three rustic pedestrians, but beyond that I might have been alone in the world, save for an occasional light gleaming from a cottage or farmhouse way back from the road. There was no wind, but the air from the downs was pure and keen, exhilarating .as a- draught of champagne, and my spirits rose aa 1 stepped out. I anticipated a good time at Challoners, for Maimee and Tom were determined to make their first Christmas in their own house a real merry one, and Had bidden a certain number of guests — few, but fit. Nancy Field would be among them, I knew, and it was of Nancy's laughing eyes more than anything else that I was thinking as I strode on my way. We had not met since last autumn, and I wondered if she would have forgotten £06 I had covered about three-parts of the distance when I heard ahead the deep purring hum of a high-powered motor car, and an instant later I saw her lamps like the blazing eyes of some weird monster bearing swiftly down on me — the wrong side of the road, too. I had barely time to flatten myself against the hedge when she flashed by, so close that it was a marvel she didn't touch mo. O big white car, going, as I judged, at nearer sixty than fifty miles an hour. The road curved a short distance back — a. nasty curve for a car to take at that speed ; but I supposed the chauffeur knew his route, for 1 heard the honk of the horn. "My stars ! That was a- near tiling !" I thought. "lhey'll come to grief." The crash of a terrific impact sounded from beyond the curve, followed by a 1 series of the most appalling screams 1 have ever heard. 1 dropped my suitcase and raced back along the road, but before I got to the curve (1 hadn't thought it was so iar) tie screams ceased quite suddenly. I felt sick at the thought of what I must see when 1 reached that curve, but when 1 did I stood still in sheer amazement. There was nothing, absolutely nothing ! The moonlight was stronger now, and I could see quite* a distance — half a mile or so 5 but there was no sign of the white car and no sound but the drumming of my own heart. 'Then, all at once, 1 felt scared ; tne hole thing was so uncanny. It struck ~e that there had been no rush of air "•i the car raced by me just now ; it had passed like a great white phantom, nor had it raised any dust. There was nothing marvellous about the last fact, however, considering the rain that "had fallen so recently. The road seemed hard enough ; chalk roads dry quickly, and this was a good one. To-night there waa neither dust nor mud, yet one would have expected to find some trace of the passage of a heavy car, even by moonlight. I didn't trust to that, but expended some twenty vestas and almost as many minutes in examining the whole width of the road at close quarters. I found the track of a bicycle, but never a trace of a motor tire. "All imagination," I decided, as at last I resumed my way picking up the suit-case when I regained the point where the car had packed me. "The car was real enough, anyhow, and the rest-— a back-fire or a burst tiro disturbing a couple of night owls." Still at the back of my mind I wae certain that no screech owl ever hatched could have uttered those screams, and no car ever built back-fired or even burst a tire with the sound of a collision; beeidee, a tire-burst would have meant a temporary halt, anyhow, whereas the car had evidently continued it* wild career unchecked. I was real glad when at last I struck into the side road leading to Chailonera and saw the lighted windows of the old house, while the warmth of the welcome accorded me bankbed all remembrance of my queer experience for the time being. Dinner was later than usual thie evening, luckily for me, as Maimee and such of her guests as had already arrived had been busy decorating the big, square, low-ceiled hall and dining-room with evergreens and berries. "1 guessed you'd come to-night, Johnny boy. Nancy's here, and the Armitagee and half a dozen others," said Maimee, as she knelt on the rug and set light to my; bedroom fire.

"You've just ten minutes to drees if you mean to take Nancy in." I did mean, to take Nancy in, and ■was dressed and down inside' of those ten minutes, waiting for Nancy whenshe appeared. She hadn't heard of my arrival, and the expression on her face as she came down the staircase told me — well, what I'd wanted to know ever since last autumn, though I hadn't felt justified in trying to find it out till now. But that episode has nothing to do with this 6toxy. After dinner -we all adjourned to the hall, where a. glorious wood ffce crackled on the open hearth. "Switch off the lights, Tom," commanded Maimee. "We're going to sit round and tell ghosl stories." Maimee certainly has an eye for artistic effect: there never was a prettier picture than that old hall, with the ruddy glow of the firelight reflected from the thousands facets of the leaves and berries of the holly garlands. 1 told her so : even brothers are complimentary on occasions. "Just you wait till Christmae Day. I've the loveliest Yule log you ever saw," she declared. "And we're going to bring it in with all the jproper ceremonies. But now for the ghost stories. We'll have yours first, Johnny boy. And ifs to be a true one, mind." "Don't be hard on him, Maimee," suggested Tom. "Fire away with the story, old man, never mind abo-ut the truth." " I don't believe in ghosts," I responded, " but if you're determined to make me open th& ball I'll tell you one of the queerest things I've ever experienced. It happened this evening while I was walking here from Eaetdean." "This evening!" It was an ejaculatory chorus, and Maimee added reproachfully : " Why, you never told me you'd had any adventures of the way." "I'm going to tell you now," I said, and forthwith related the incident exactly as I have related it now, including my theoretical and., as far as my own convictions went> unsatisfactory explanation of the phenomena — burst tires, owls, and so on. I don't quite know what sort of a reception I anticipated for by recital, but 1 felt considerably disconcerted when, after an uncomfortable interval of dead silence, Tom said, stiffly: "That's a good story, I suppose, but aren't you playing it a bit low down?" " I don't grasp your meaning," I retorted. " You wanted a true story, and I've told you thi^v exactly as it occurred, though Ifo quite ready to acknowledge it's a poor enough story." " But, didn't you know, hadn't you heard? You must haye t known." Nancy Field was the speaker now, She was sitting next me, arid as I turned towards her I was amazed and distressed to see that her vivacious little face looked pale and scared even under the warm glow of the firelight. "Heard what? I thought I heard screams. Was there an accident, after all. And, if so, hew on earth did it happen, and how couid you know of it at this distance while I didn't, though I was on the spot?" I asked, even more perplexed by this new development than I had been by the mysterious car itself. "Do you mean to say you did not know of the accident last Christmas Eve? By Jove, it was just a year ago to-night by the day of the week"!" cried_ Tom Morland. I incredulously learnt later that all the others had been cognisant of the tragedy of the white motor-car that had occurred exactly a year ago. Th© car belonged to a millionaire whose name is equally well known in both hemispheres. On that evening the chauffeur — an Italian, who had but lately come to England — tools advantage of his master's absence, to appropriate the car, and, accompanied by a woman — presumably his sweetheart — set out for Brighton. Whether the man was drunk or sober will never be known. It is certain that he drove recklessly, for at the subsequent inquest .several witnesses asserted that fb&y had seen a white car driven at dangerous speed at various points on the Brighton-road. ' Just beyond the curve which the car was approaching when I saw it — or its phantom — it collided with a big motoi wagon belonging to a local brewer. The wagon and its driver were prac tically uninjured ; the white car was wrecked, the chauffeur killed instantly — so the doctors decided — while his hapless companion was pinned under the car, which caught fire. The poor woman's shrieks were heart-rending for a few brief seconds ; then they ceased sudden ly, just as tho cries I heard had ceased. Was the ghostly scene re-enacted by a phantom car and phantoms of the victims on the anniversary of the catastrophe? I don't care to prcnouncb an opinion. I only state what I saw and heard that night. Nancy and I {we were married six months back) hope to spend our Christmas at Challoners with Tom and Maimee; but I don't mind confessing that ■we have carefully planned our journey so that we shall traverse the road between Eastdean and Challoners by daylight, and not on Monday, the twenty-first cf December — that will be the anniversary (by the day of the week, though not by the actual date) of the accident and of my queer experience. I haven't the slightest wish to encounter the white car again. — John Ironside, in The Gentlewoman.