FOOL-ERRANT

Greymouth Evening Star, 19 June 1930, Page 10

FOOL-ERRANT

“Star” Serial

(By

Patricia Wentworth)

What Loveday Heard (Continued). “Lo-eday—it’s eleven o’clock. By the time we get anywhere it'll be about midnight. What are we going to do with you?” “1 don’t know.” She did not sound seriously concerned. "Have you got any E-friends in London?” “Only Cissie.”

“Cissie’s not a f-friend. Look here, Loveday, 1 don’t want to frighten you—but you mustn’t make f-friends with girls like Cissie.” “She wasn’t as nice as I thought she was,” said Loveday mournfully. “It sounds quite silly, but I got frightened of her. She said such odd things, and she wouldn’t let me go out alone, and she gave me such a horrid feeling sometimes” —he felt her hand tremble —“the sort of feeling you get when horrid things are going to happen. I’ve really onlj r had it in dreams before __the horrid sort where quite nice things turn into something frightening. I used to get that sort of feeling with Cissie, and it was horrid.”

Hugo put his arm round her. , , “I shouldn’t think about it. I’ll find somewhere safe for you,” he said. . 41 They stayed like that quite silently for a‘time. Loveday felt very safe, and Hugo very sure that he could keep her safe. The silence and the peace of the sleeping house seemed to rise up around them. The attic was a friendly place. They sat quite still. At last Hugo said, “Loveday—” and then, “Are you awake?” “Is it time to go?”

“I think so.” He lit.a match. The light showed a sloping roof, a pack-ing-case or two, the corner of a cistern, and rows of pots, some just bare earth, and others pierced with the green shoots of growing bulbs. A second match discovered a trap-door a yard or two from where they sat. “What shall we do if it's bolted?” said Loveday, in a whisper.

Hugo had no idea. He could only hope it would not be bolted and found his hope rewarded; the trap came up and showed a ladder running down to a bathroom below.

They crawled down the ladder and opened the bathroom door. Lt was like opening the door into a new adventure. Here was a strange house full of strange people—people who were not really there at all, because their thoughts were wandering in some far-off dream.

Hugo struck one match, and made out the staircase; after which they went down in the dark, step by step, waiting with held breath to hear if any of those dreaming people had been called back through. the ivory gate.

No one moved but themselves, no one waked or stirred. The house had a sleepy, peaceful friendly feeling. They went down and down, and down to the foot of the stairs and along a yard or two of passage to the bolted and locked front door. The bolt creaked once, and they stood there with a most dreadful sense of guilt until the silence had settled again. The key turned easily in the lock, and the door swung open, and let in the warm wet air. t MR. SMITH’S ADVICE. Hugo shut the dooi’ behind him. It made a little sound like a farewell. The house that it guarded slept on. They came into a dark street where nothing moved. Everything was still and dim. They crossed the road. There was no light in any window of No. 50, and the taxi that had ticked before the door was gone. The way was clear.

Morrington Road was not quite sc deserted. When they came to it there were still people abroad and a taxi or two plying. Here each lamp as they passed it showed them to each other. Hugo saw that Loveday won a grey jumper and skirt. She was coatless and hatless. Two of the peo pie they met turned and stared as the light fell on the brown tumbled hair. She caught his arm. “Have I still got a smut on me face “No—it’s gone. I mean they’re gone —there were two.” “Then why did they stare?” “Well, you know, you haven’t got a hat or a coat, and you’re not in evening clothes —-the hat wouldn’t matter if you were.” The lamplight shone on them. He saw her wide, delightful smile and the dimple in her chin. “Give me yours. Will you?” Hugo blushed- because he hadn’t thought of this himself, and it was so simple. She crammed the old felt well down on her head, and laughed. “Is it becoming?” “Not v-very. You’ve got it on crooked.” He put it straight for her quite seriously, and was disconcerted because she laughed again. It was very important that she should not be noticed. A man without a. hat is nothing; but a girl in a grey jumper suit, hatless, at midnight in the Bayswater Road, with wildly tumbled hair would go on being stared at until he could get her into shelter. His hat made all the difference; in the Bayswater Road the few people whom they met did not stare at all. They stopped at Notting Hill Gate Tube station. “Where are we going? What are you going to do with me, Hugo?” Hugo had made up his mind. He would have to try to get Mr. Smith on the telephone. Something had to be done with Loveday, and Mr. Smith would have to take a hand. Besides, There were things he ought to know. Having picked out Mr. Smith’s remarkable name from among several closely printed pages of other Smiths Hugo asked for the number, and . put his pennies in the slot. He rather blessed the godfathers and godmothers who had so conveniently afflicted Benbow Collingwood Horatio. He hoped and trusted with, all his heart that Mr. Smith sat late among his books. The telephone rattled, and a voice said: “Who is there?”

“I want to speak to Mr. Smith.” This was to make assurance doubly sure, for he recognised the calm, dreamy tones.

“I am Mr. Smith.” "Hugo speaking.” “Where from?” The question came with astonishing sharpness. “Notting Hill Gate Tube Station. I thought that wouldn’t m-matter. It’s verv important.” “Very, well—go on. What has happened?” Hugo felt a sudden conviction that Mr. Smith would disapprove very much of his interview with Cissie, and the whole of this Lexley Grove adventure. He began to stammer a good deal. Mr. Smith did not help him at all. He let Hugo get his story out in embarrassed jerks, and maintained a most complete and unhelpful silence to the end. The ensuing pause was broken by the voice of the operator, who demanded two more pennies. “Are you there, s-sir?” “Yes,” said Mr. Smith drily. “Is that, may I ask, the full tale of your indiscretions?” “Yes, s-sir.” “You shouldn’t have gone—l suppose you know that. The question is, did anyone . recognise you?” “No one s-saw me.” “The woman who gave you the key?” Hugo was beginning to feel better. “She didn’t see me—it was dark.” “That makes no difference. You had just got the address from Miss Cissie. If the woman tells tales I think we may suppose that Miss Cissie will put two and two together: and then, as far as you are concerned, the game is up—you are of no further use.” “I don’t think she’ll tell—she was scared’ stiff.” “Well, that remains to be seen. I’ll find out and let you know. Now, what about this young woman you’ve run off with? Where is she?” “She’s here, sir.” “And what do you propose to do with her?” “I don’t know, sir.” Mr. Smith appeared to be considering. There was quite a long pause. Then he said: “She must go back to the cousin she was living with.” “Will that be safe, sir?” “Perfectly—-4f she does what she's told. I’ll arrange for her to have police protection. Let me see—the cousin lives at Ledlington, I think you said. Well, the young woman is to stay in Ledlington. No trapesing about—no gadding. She’s to keep to frequented places and- not go out alone at night or talk to strangers.” Hugo felt a most unjustifiable annoyance. Loveday was not a young woman. She was Loveday. \lt was revolting to think of her being forced back into the society of James. The conviction that Mr. Smith’s advice was good merely heightened the annoyance. Mr. Smith went on speaking. “For to-night, take her to 105 Messon Street. It’s about five minutes 1 walk from where you are. Ask for Miss Agnes, and say Ananias sent you.' She’ll take the girl in for the night and pack her off to her relations to-morrow.” “S-supposing she won’t go, sir?” Mr. Smith made no reply to this. “That’s all. And please remember that you are on no account to use the telephone again.” Hugo came out of the telephone box. “What ages you were—what simply ages! What are we going to do?” “I’m going to take you to a house near here.” “Whose house?” “A Miss Agnes. And—and he ssays you mmiust go back to Ledlington to-morrow.” Loveday turned on him with her chin in the air and her eyes very bright under the brim of his old hat —it really was quite becoming enough. “Who says?” “Well, 1 can’t tell you. But we’ve b-both got to do what we’re told.” “I haven’t,” said Loveday. “Yes, you have. It’s f-frightfully important. I can’t explain.” The eyes became tragic. “Do you want me to go back to Ledlington and marry James?” Hugo didn’t want anything of the kind: but he clutched at common sense. “Why should you m-marry James?” “I’ve never been able to think of any reason why I shouldn’t —that’s just it.” “Then nobody can m niake you.” (To be Continued).