THE HANGMAN’S NOOSE

Evening Star, Issue 20996, 9 January 1932, Page 3

THE HANGMAN’S NOOSE

By JOHN L. CARTER,

[All Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER XVII. THE HOME-COMING. Shortly after Colonel Temple set out for Harley Street, Rosalie left The Larches to go to the flat to prepare for Stephen’s home-coming. Her feelings were a mixture of elation and misery. She was going to Stephen, but she was leaving Pamela broken-hearted at the loss of Hubert, and seemingly in a very critical condition. Mrs Temple, too, had shown signs of approaching nervous prostration, and Rosalie felt that perhaps she ought to have stayed. She found everything at the flat in order, and the servants respectfully sympathetic. There was nothing to be done now but to wait until ho came, and so she lay down on her bed and gave herself up to anticipation. Stephen would be certain to make up their quarrel, after die had told him all[ What a delight it would be to have him take her to his heart again! They would 'not have much time, because he would have to go to Harley Street, she supposed. It would be a grim sort of rejoicing, their meeting—Hubert was dead! But still, all the more would Stephen need her love and help. With such happy thoughts she fell asleep. . It seemed to Rosalie that she had only just closed her eyes when she was roused by a furious knocking at the door. She sat up. Stephen! She had no doubt about it, and she hurried out so as to open the door before the maid could do it. Nervously she fumbled at the latch, and pulled open the door, and then she almost cried with disappointment, for instead of Stephen she found only her mother! „ T 1 . A Oh! what must she do? Why had her mother come on this day of all days? She must go away at once. She had said too many cruel things of Stephen ever to be truly welcome. “Well, child, have you,nothing to say?” said Mrs Glendinning, sharply. Rosalie had stood there forlornly holding the latch, and making no attempt either to welcome her mother or to let her pass inside. Mrs Glendinning pushed past her. She was a tall, handsome, faded woman, with gilded hair and carefullypreserved complexion. She looked far too young to be Rosalie’s mother, until one looked at her closely. “Whatever’s the matter with you, Rosalie?” she said offensively.,. “ Aren’t you awake yet?” “I have only just waked,” said Rosalie meekly. It was hard for her to realise that her mother was really there. She had been so sure it was Stephen. “Do close the door and come inside,” said Mrs Glendinning impatiently. It was the old managing tone that Rosalie knew so well. Already she was beginning again to fall under the domination of her mother’s # masterful nature. She had been trained into a state of absolute docility, and she was quick to take up the old position. She wondered what Stephen would say if ho found her there now. : Mrs. Glendinning had passed through into Rosalie’s boudoir. “ Has Stephen come yet? ” she said sharply. “ No. but I expect him every minute,” said Rosalie dolefully, hoping that her mother might have the good sense to go away. “He ought to be ashamed of himself, getting mixed up in this sort of thing. It’s so very low.” Rosalie began to take alarm. Could her mother have come with the intention of scolding Stephen?. She had done, such mad, inconsequent things before. But Rosalie was_ determined that she would not permit it. “ You talk very absurdly, mother,” she said hotly, “and I won’t listen to any more.” “That’s right!” retorted Mrs Glendinning. “Turn, on me now. But whatever you may say, it will not prevent me doing my duty. Your precious husband shall nave the truth from me before the day is out.” Rosalie was now thoroughly roused, and she turned sharply on her mother. “ You intend to stay here? Oh, how can you think of such a thing? Can’t you understand that lie will want to see me alone? You must go away immediately—now! What right have you to interfere? ” “ I am your mother,” said Mrs Glendinning, in a grieved, misunderstood tone. “If I may not stand up for your good name, who may?” “My good name? What are you talking about?” replied Rosalie. Like most managing women, Mrs Glendinning was not a logician. Consequently she would commit herself to remarkable .courses at times.

“ Has it never occurred to you, Rosalie, why your husband went to Sir Ambrose’s room, and why he refused to give any account of himself? There’s no doubt whatever that people at once connected his visit with you. What else could they think when ho refused to give his reasons for being there? And so you are to lose your reputation all through this precious husband of yours! ”

Rosalie did not care just then what people said. All she thought of was how to get rid of her mother; She felt relieved to know that her mother did not guess her share in the matter. “You must not stay, now, mother.” said she as firmly as she dare, ‘‘ I can’t have you here when Stephen conies, and why you should come at all I don’t know.” She was nearly crying now. And then, while, with her handkerchief clutched in her hand, she glared at her mother, there was a sound in the hall, and th* opening door revealed Stephen, whose tired, trouble-filled eyes frowned wearily as they settled on Mrs Glendinning. Rosalie was staggered. “ Stephen? ” she cried, while Mrs Glendinning rose and, without any consideration whatever, began to administer the word in season. “ How dare you, Stephen,” she said, “ drag my daughter’s name in the mud? Yes, you couldn’t trust my daughter. Jealous of a man who was a thousand times better than you ll “Stop! ” cried Stephen, in an awful voice, but Mrs Glendinning had always found in opposition her greatest encouragement. “Stop, indeed! You cannot make me. You think that I shall stand meekly by while you doubt and insult ray daughter? You would put me in the wrong? Well, it is just what I expected.” Setphen’s face grew grim. He looked across at Rosalie and mistook her expression of indignation and horror for fear of him. He turned on her fiercely, ft was unthinkable that she could confide in Mrs Glendinning, whom, no doubt, she had asked to be there to meet him.

Author of ‘Peggy the Aeronaut,’ ‘The Pilgrimage of Delilah,’ etc,

“ What have you told this woman?” he demanded with a black look. Before Rosalie could reply her mother had taken him up. “What has she told me? No more than all the world must guess, you mean, suspicious, jealous beast!” “Oh, mother! How can you?” cried Rosalie. She had been cowering against the mantel quite bewildered. This was not at all the kind of home-coming she had planned for Stephen. “ Go into the study,” said Stephen to her, and without a word or look Rosalie went, glad to get away. “ Now, madam,” said Stephen, keeping Mrs Glendinning from following Rosalie, “ I give you live minutes to leave this place. If you don’t go now, I shall lock you in _ this room until vou are ready. Which is it to be?” Mrs Glendinning wasn’t to be intimidated, and she began again to lecture hjm in her best style. But she caught his eye, and her tirade froze on her lips. There was something in that look which she never quite forgot. It seemed to her that he could see right into her poor, empty soul. And so she took up her umbrella and marked newspaper, which she meant to show him, and went out of the flat. Ho closed the door behind her without another word being spoken. He stood irresolute for a moment, and then turned to his study. Ho remarked to himself that ho knocked on the door before going in, and wondered why. Rsoalie was standing at the window. She had stood there tensely awaiting his coining, the side of one forefinger tightly gripped between her teeth. Sho wondered what it was that had frightened her? Perhaps his face; perhaps it was that he had not smiled, but had seemed to believe her to be disloyal, faithless. Ho was crossing the room now, and she wondered what he would say? It seemed as though lie would never begin. He sat down heavily on the edge of the writing table and folded his arms. He did not know how to begin. When Stephen had left the prison he had started straight_ for homo with a vague idea of arranging, things. He had no plan. It_ was impossible for them to go on living together, ho was convinced of that—and yet But what was the good? Had he not caught her there with Sir Ambrose? Could sho hope to live with him any longer? It was true that on his way here he had pondered whether all must be over between them; whether she could not explain. And irresistibly lie had been drawn there. He loved her still! No—nto her, but the old Rosalie, the dear, sweet little woman whom ho had had for his own for those few, short weeks. If only she could explain! Surely sho could, and surely he could trust her! • And so, hoping and doubting, and always weighed down with fear, he had come, only to find that she had, immediately he had gone, sent for her mother! That was how it appeared to him. “Well!” he said at last. The word had been so long in coming that it jerked out hardly. “ Well, I’ve returned—home.” He had no intention to be brutal, hut in painful moments one does not always think of others. It did seem to him comic—tragically so—to think of this being home—this scheming Rosalie his mate! She said nothing—she couldn’t. She was awaiting her sentence. She hung on his words, fascinated; watched his lips, It was indeed a different meeting from the one she had planned. “ I suppose,” said he in a hard voice which hurt him quite as much as it did her, “ I suppose you want to know what 1 intend to allow yon.” Still she did not answer. She bit deeper into her finger and hung on to the lace curtains a little harder, and with blinking, dazed eyes she gazed at this man whom she had thought was her own soul. He had not looked at her; instead, lie was scowling at that fierce, hard face that scowled back at him from the mantel glass. Suddenly Rosalie woke to her imminent loss. Another few minutes and ho would be gone for ever! “Stephen!” she cried. “Oh, Stephen, how can we be like this?” That had been a question he had been asking himself. None but themselves could know what sublimity their love had reached; and perhaps it was because he had just remembered this that he gave her a hard answer in return. “ Enough of that,” he said. “ It is in as had taste as it was to get your mother here to meet me.” Rosalie was almost too astonished to answer. “Oh, Stephen!” she gasped. “You might have saved me this crowning humiliation,” said he. “ Oh, Stephen!” cried Rosalie again, “ 1 didn’t know sho was coming. I’ve bogged her to go away. Oli! do believe me.” Then sho went on drearily. “ I meant that yon and I should never have any more trouble again. I felt sure you would know that I could explain about that night. I thought you did understand me when they took you from me. You did let mo kiss you, didn’t you?” She went over to him and put her hands on his shoulders. Stephen almost fell, hut a moment later ho had hardened his heart. Tearing his eyes from-her soft, beseeching ones, ho loosened her hands from his shoulders and walked to the door. She never moved, but was miserably regarding the faint marks on her wrists —the marks his hands had made as he tore himsoß away. She was too dazed and bewildered to act. Thus lie left her. And for the first time since they had lived in the flat she did not run to tlie window to see the last of him. She did not know what to do nor did she care. Stephen loved her no longer, that was certain. But still she waited and waited there until 8 o’clock in the hone that lie might return; and then she went back to The Larches. CHAPTER XVIII. THE .VLOWER SELLER. Colonel Temple was not surprised to see Rosalie, Ho knew how anxious she was about Pamela. He told her that the doctor had said she was on the verge of insanity. It was a dreary recital and a dreary household. “But where is Stephen?” ho asked at last. “ Down at Harley street, I suppose?” Rosalie wondered whether sho should tell him. There was mi other way, and perhaps ho could help her. Ho might bo able to get Stephen to listen. Ho had his own troubles, and it seemed selfish of her to burden him with hors.

But thou she must sleep there, so she would have to explain. “ I’ve come back hero because Stephen has left me. He thinks I have deceived him.”

Old Temple was shocked. Ho took off his glasses, apparently in the hope that without them his mental perception would bo keener.

“Stephen—left—you?” he said emphasising each word. “ Yes. Can 1 toll you all about it?” So she told him the whole wretched story, and he never doubted a word of it. When she had finished, the colonel, in his whole-hearted way, showed considerable indignation; but soon ho thought also of Stephen, and so he had to sympathise with them both. “ That poor lad. What a cruel time he must bo having!” ho finished up. “ And you, my dear, it must be a terrible trial.” And then ho turned again to his own troubles, in which ho forgot hers completely. Rosalie did not take off her things. She could not stay in, even now that she had got there. She must go out—-anywhere—-she would fetch some flowers for Pamela’s room. She set out for a florist’s shop, but as she left the garden gate she saw beneath the gas lamp across the road a man with a basket of flowers. For a moment she paused, but at once wont on again. It would never do to buy flowers from such a ragged, unkempt fellow. Already he was crossing the road towards her, and she hurried to evade him, when all at once she stopped, with a lump in her throat. This wreck of humanity, with' his bearded, dirty face, and grubby hat, had bis troubles too! It would be so easy for her to give him a little help. “ Buy some flowers, miss.” It was a gruff caricature of a voice. Of course she could not buy the flowers, but she would give him money, so she put some silver into his palm. The man was breathing heavily, and seemed to be greatly excited. He did not thank her for the money—did not seem really conscious of having received it. Rosalie was moving away, but he stepped to the pavement, with the evident intention of detaining her. “ How’s the young lady, miss?” he blurted, and his eyes seemed to burn for her answer. Rosalie_ guessed that Pamela must have befriended this man and thus won his gratitude. “ She’s worse,” she said sadly. “ Oh, God,” cried the man. “ Can’t the doctors do anything?” Rosalie loved this poor wretch for his love of Pamela. She shook her head sorrowfully. “ They say that in cases like this there is little hope. The doctor told the nurse only this evening that it required a miracle, that only by the dead coming back to life could she be saved.” She felt that it would have been useless to give him hope. For a moment he was strangely quiet. Then he filled his hands with flowers, which he hurriedly bunched and held out to her. “Take these to her,” he said, and then lie went off, muttering to hmiself. Rosalie stared after him, and watched him disappear in' the darkness. Then she thought of the flowers, which she had forgotten were in her hand. Why should she not take them for Pamela? Whether they were from this grim-looking, boarded giant or from the smartest florist in the town, they were just flowers. And surely flowers had never been sanctified by a greater love. Unconsciously she raised them to her pretty straight nose. The scent was soothing, exquisitely pacifying, Sho turned back now, and soon reached the house, .and when in the light of the hall lamp she looked at the sweet smelling flowers, she could not credit her eyes. What was a street hawker doing with such flowers? They were a mixed bunch, but all were most expensive at that time of the year. Perhaps the least costly were some halfdozen fine Marechal Neil roses, which seemed almost stupefied by their own heavy scent. After putting the flowers in vases and bowls and arranging them, some in Pamela’s room and some in that of Mrs Temple, she went to her own room and looked out of the window into the night. She could not get the flower seller out of her head. She was pressing her aching brow against the cold pane, when her eye was caught by a splash of bright colour on the opposite side of the road, near the gas lamp. It was the flower-seller, sure enough, and the patch of colour was his basket of flowers. He must bo watching Pamela’s window! But just then a policeman came along, and so the man shuffled out of sight. Then she'went to the dining-room, where the colonel was reading. He told her of his day’s occupation, and mentioned that Wintcrsley had dined with him. Then he remembered to show' to Rosalie a letter he had received a short time before from Stephen in reply to a note he had left at his club.

Dear Colonel Temple, it ran, I appreciate your great goodness of heart and your sympathy with my wife and me in this matter, and it is with great regret that I have to refuse your kindly offices. You say that all must come right in the end. 1 do not know, but in any case that is a matter between my wife and myself, which cannot be discussed. For the present she will receive anything she requires by writing to my solicitors. I intend to leave the country presently. Again thanking voil for your kindly in tent ions.—Al ways y aurs, Stephen Buaid. Rosalie gave a low moan. “Ho can’t do it!” she cried, aghast, after sitting deathly still for a time. “Oh, ho can’t do tiiat! He knows it will break my heart!” And she began to cry, and then to sob. The colonel shook his head thoughtfully. He was glad to see her tears. What he shook his head over was that Pamela had not cried. He feared her heart strings were strained into a hard, tight knot, which death alone could untie. It was about eleven o’clock, when Rosalie was wondering what she would do to pass away the night, that she went out into the garden at the hack of the house. The moon’s face was bright, and there was a honey-coloured aureole around her head. She scorned to bo coquetting with the larger stars, hiding behind the clouds and popping out again. The thin ice on the sundial pedestal threw’ back a cold gleam, and the fountain in the middle of the frozen goldfish pond was not running owing to the frost. Still Rosalie had no extra covering over her thin cloth dress, no hat on her head. She was in the mood to afflict her soul, to cut herself with the flints of remembrance, and she sat on the big stone bench, where they had sat together and he had told her his secret, which a moment later was his secret no longer. She remembered the rose ho had given her from the creaking bush within reach. She stretched out her hand, but no roses were there—only thorns and black, twisted briers. Oh! she would stay no longer! Her feet, ns she gob up, crunched into the thin, frozen snow, instead of close springy grass.

“ Stephen! Stephen!” she cried. But the answer sho got was the shivering of the trees, and the rustling of the crackling, frozen leaves as the sharp wind shuffled them about. And then, when only a few yards from the house, there was a crunching on tho gravel, and from the shelter of the bushes a man sprang out. “ Rosalie!” “Stephen!” No, it was only tho flower-seller—a little more unkempt and wild-looking —and she had been so sure that it was Stephen. What did the man want with her? He called her Rosalie, too! CHAPTER XIX. TUE RETURN 01' THE DEAD. Rosalie started back, more surprised than frightened. What did the flowerseller want with her? Tho man had sat down on the bench that ran round the wall of the hut, and the moonlight came through the open window and gleamed on bis chattennc teeth. ' B . She was sitting opposite him on tho circular bench. His eyes were on hers, and they seemed familiar eyes. “You said that Pamela would only be saved by the dead coming back,” said tho man. Rosalie started up. Who could this man bo who used Pamela’s Christian name and her own? “ Oh, who are you?” she cried, her eyes staring, her heart thumping wildly. 1 6 “ Can’t you guess?” ho asked. But sho could not think of anyone but Stephen. Rosalie, it’s Hubert!” he whispered, and instantly laid his hand on her wrist to keep her quiet. “Hubert? But—but—he is dead!” she said. And than for a second he pulled away tho scrubby brown beard, and Hubert was indeed alive. “ I can’t explain now,” he said. •“ I must see Pamela at once. How can you get me to her? No one must know that I am alive. They would hang me. How is she, Rosalie?” Ho took her wrist again and jerked it as though to jerk out her reply. But she could not reply at tho moment. She was too overjoyed. Pamela would be saved! And thou the thought of Pamela’s coming happiness made her heart ache for Stephen. “ You don’t know anything about Stephen?” she asked anxiously. But Hubert never heard her. “ Quick—take me to Pamela at once,” and as she started off he added, " Don’t tell a soul. Her life and mine depend upon you.” And with her heart still aching and crying out for Stephen she crept away to do her best to arrange this lovers’ meeting. Upstairs tho nurse was reading by the glimmer of a night light. She had to hold her magazine over tho tiny flame, and it looked as if she were trying how near she could hold it without burning the paper. “ I want you to go down for half an hour’s rest,” said Rosalie. “I will sit with her.” The nurse firmly refused, which alarmed Rosalie. “I insist!” she said. “You must be worn out ” And after some feeble opposition the nurse gave way. As soon as Rosalie heard her close the door of the housekeeper’s room she hurried down, switching off the staircase lights as she went. Then she opened the side door, beckoned the waiting Hubert, and then darted ahead. Swiftly, steathily he followed. At tiie door she stopped him. “Be careful. If anyone comes climb into the big wardrobe. I shall find some way- of getting you out.”' She stood on guard outside after he had passed ihrongh. Hubert carefully shut the door and paused, while in the faint light his eyes found tho bed. Then he crossed on tiptoe. Ho had stuffed the beard into his pocket. There she lay, quite still, with her back towards him. He passed round the foot of the bed, and was able to look on her face. He started as he saw that though her eyes were open yet she did not see him. “ Pamela,” he whispered, “ Pamela, I’ve come back.” The still form on the bed stirred slightly. Pamela was waking. What was tiia t ? Through the blackness of her stupor the familiar voice penetrated. She believed she was dead. So his fond voice had sought and found her even in the grave? But still, she thought, this is only a dream. Then it came again, louder this time, “ Pamela—Pam !”

Hubert was in agony. To see her start and then fall back into her lethargy had torn his heart. But still lie would try just once more—nay, a hundred times more! “Pamela! Dear little Pamela!” This time the cry stirred her to the springs of her being. That anguished appeal -wrung her heart, thrilling her with the joys and pangs of life and love, and she knew that she must obey. Raising herself on her _ arm, she looked about her with wide-opened, straining eyes, and then in the soft glow thrown by the night light she saw Hubert. Ho was ready to go mad -with uncertainty, with hope, and fear. “Pamela!” he cried again, and since he had forgotten how to shed tears his voice broke instead. “ Pamela, I’ve come to bring you back again.” Then she awoke, and fell hack to her pillow with a happy flush. She was saved! And Hubert dropped to his knees and covered his eyes with her hand and whispered her name many times. “ Dear Hubert,” she said, and then she lay silent and still, and when he looked up she was asleep. _ Gently he kissed her hand and laid it on her breast, and started for the door. He knew she was saved. He tapped thrice, which was the signal Rosalie had arranged, and she opened the door and led him down again. “ The nurse must not find me away,” said she, when he was safe outside. “Como to-morrow at 6. I can tell you how she is and give you a message; but we must take care. Good-bye!” To her joy she found that Pamela was sleeping naturally. In a few minutes the cheerful-look-ing, wide-waistod nurse returned to her post, and Rosalie went down again. Colonel Temple met her at the foot of the stairs, and asked her go with him to tho library. It was a strange request at such a late hour, she thought. The colonel said nothing until he had _ played in turn with almost every article on his desk and cleared his throat a great number of times. “Oh, Rosalie, by tho way,” he began. He now tried to meet her eyes for tho first time, but the nearest ho got was her left ear, and he looked down again quickly enough. “It is a difficult subject to approach,” lie said, which, of course, mystified Rosalie more than ever, “but, to say it right out, I want to know what you were doing with that man in the garden?” Rosalie felt that she must not tell him about Hubert. She was no tactician, and her anxiety as to what he

had seen and how much he knew was expressed too plainly in her face. But what puzzled her most was his cold, judicial tone. For all that, she felt glad in that he had not recognised Hubert. “What do you mean?” she said. She meant by his tone, whereas he thought she was fencing, so he turned on her sternly. “ Come, come, now, I’m not a fool. I must have an explanation.” Rosalie saw at once what he suspected, and between horror and pain she could not answer. Indeed, her eyes dropped in shame and grief that he could doubt her. And the colonel took her attitude for admission of guilt, and went on with his unpleasant task of pressing home to this pathetic looking; but apparently viperous, young person the evil that she had not done. Outwardly he was very calm, but inside he boiled with indignation. He_ felt deeply for Stephen. So she had lied to him while he nad sheltered her. _ No doubt she had been laughing at him all the time for an old fool! “ I wish you to leave this house at once—to-morrow,” said he, seeing that she made no attempt to explain. He tried to leave it that and say nothing more, but his indignation was too strong. “ That you should he—er—carrying on like this, at such a time 1 Most heartless! I cannot believe it!” Still Rosalie stood there and made no reply. “Well? What have you to say?” he asked. Rosalie took a curious look at him; this was a new side to his character. She wfts quite calm now, bitterly calm. Men were strange creatures, it seemed, ever ready to think evil. She began to go to the door. She would not stoop to justify herself. In any case it would have been inadvisable to tell him about Hubert. At the door she turned. She was not big at her tallest, and far too pretty and young looking ever to appear terrible, but the calm, proud look with which she regarded him made him feel that even though lie was in the right he was, nevertheless, a bit of a cad. “ 1 am disappointed in you, Colonel Temple,” she said. “ Good-night.” That alarmed the old man. How if ho had made a mistake after all? Faugh! There could be no mistake! And so he sat down to write to Stephen, apologising for having interfered in his affairs. Rosalie went up to her own room and sat there disconsolately, _ feeling that there was absolutely nothing left to live for. She had never thought it possible that Colonel Temple could believe evil of her. Ho had said she must go away tomorrow. She had nowhere but the flat, and that would not give her any peace now. And all the time her heart was crying out for Stephen’s strong arm,. If

only she could see liim she felt so sure that she could make him understand. And then she decided that she would write to him. She had been foolish to leave it to the colonel, since it was her own affair entirely. And so she took out her blotter and began—- “ Dear Stephen!” It seemed a farce to start so coldly, hut somehow that seemed the best thing to put. This letter must be in calm, well-reasoned language.' And so she went on: There are several things about which I wish to see you, and I want you to be at the flat—she had nearly put “ our ” flat—not later than 5 o’clock to-morrow. I believe you would prefer not to see me again, but I think you will agree that I have a right to give you my version, even though I cannot “ make ” you believe it. (She underlined " make.”) If you will not come for my sake, come for your brother Hubert’s. I dare not say more in a letter, but I know something that will amaze you and completely alter everything.” (She stuck here. She was thinking of how Stepehen would often teasingly persist in holding her hands when she wished to write. She had no such impediment now, and she wanted it very badly.) “ I think you are most cruel, and I don’t know how you can act so! If j;ou do not come I shall never forgive you.—Your broken-hearted Rosalie.” She thickly underlined “your,” and then began to cry, and the wet pen rolled right across the page and on to her dress without her noticing, so that, what with tears and ink, she had to start all over again. But even this one was not without tear stains. When it was in the envelope and addressed to his club she put on her hat and crept downstairs to take it out to the pillarbox. (To be Continued.)