THE KNIGHTSBRIDGE MYSTERY

Hawera Star, Volume XLV, 19 December 1925, Page 7

THE KNIGHTSBRIDGE MYSTERY

CHAPTER XVI.

A WOMAN’S WAY

Michael Pcnbury believed that successful activity in another sphere might compensate somewhat for the greater failure. Nobby Wang was safe under lock and key, his deportation almost a certainty; there was nothing more to fear from Nobby Wang. But others were still at large, beasts who fouled the stables, infinitely more dangerous. On them he concentrated; if he could only break that gang he knew much else would be forgiven him.

A man much alone in spite of his multifarious activities. He had neither wife nor child; no one, in fact, who apparently had any claim on him. Nomad of the city, he occupied two rooms in an unpretentious but respectable street in Bloomsbury; he ate in odd corners'' at indefinite hours, standing, sitting; a very arab of the streets for ever on the prowl. Rarely a visitor called on him; never a man in uniform. His landlady, knowing something of his occupation, respected his wishes. She never knew when he was in or out. When his bell rang of a morning she would take a light breakfast up to his sitting-room and leave it there, he thanking her from the recesses of his bedroom. Regularly every Monday morning, if he were in town, he left his rent in an envelope for her. If he met her on the stairs he always stopped to chat for a moment or two; , made kind inquiries respecting her rheumatism; sent in draughts from the chemists for the bronchial affection from which she suffered during the winter. t . Perhaps it was because- of this lonliness that his mind often reverted to the girl, Marjorie Melville. More than once he had visited that unpretentious flat in West Kensington, always to find a curious sort of consolation. She was sympathetic, understood his moods. If he brooded over his pipe she sat quiet as a mouse; if he were in talkative mood she responded gaily. Knowing that she was interested in his welfare, in his rehabilitation, he spoke more openlv to her than ho did to any other human being; told her of many things that were near his heart; opened to her a mind curiously abstruse, marvellously fascinating. But he made no love/ She was his friend, his pal. She soothed him with her understandings; made rough places smooth; gave him the comfort of a woman. He felt that he could be himself with her; lay aside the mask. Also he was not slow to observe her transformation. The bold defiant Marjorie Melville of his first acquaintance had entirely disappeared; the flaunting chorus girl was now a sedate and serious woman. Poppy Wilton’s friend of Parkside Mansions and night clubs had passed with the passing of Poppy Wilton. Poor Poppy; they often spoke of her. She was intensely loya'. to her dead friend. The best-hearted girl in the world; generous to a fault. Over and over again she made this declaration, he sitting smoking, listening, stirred to admiration by her loyalty. More and more he found his thoughts turn to her: more and more he marvelled at the change from flaunting impudence to womanly reserve. Sometimes he saw hhr as a mother. It is always a serious matter with a man when he sees a woman as a mother. There are some women whom one never secs as such: wonder how they ever became such. But she, a gracious woman and a mother! It was rather a startling thought; one which he hid deep down in his secret official soul. But as he loft Frankford’s office after his interview with Brian Cranbourn his thoughts instantly reverted to her, and acting on the impulse of the moment he dispatched a wire saying he would come to tea. He wanted to talk things over with her; wanted to hear more of Eustace Frankford. He was abnormally interested in Eustace Frankford; had endeavoured to penetrate the brain of the man; wondered how he should feel in a similar circumstance. Marjorie greeted him ns ever with radiant eyes and a happy smile. She was extraordinarily pretty; in his eyes had grown in prettiness. He held her hands; looked his wonder and admiration. She trembled deliriously, her heart in her throat. Then when he released her she turned away her face to hide its flame; perhaps also she was seeing him faintly through a mist. “This is like home,’’ he said as he watched her moving about the room. She mocked him. “Home! What do old bachelors know of home?” “Perhaps they dream. You concede them the right?’’ “And if I do, is that any reason why you should stare me out of countenance?’’ “Marjorie.’’ “Well?’’ “You grow prettier every day.’’ “Don’t talk such nonsense.’’ But she tingled to the ears. “The most dangerous adventure of my life,’’ he said. “What?’’ How her heart beat! “Coming to see you. Black Q., Nobby Wang, Levita—ah, Levita!’’ She flushed now in quite another, way. “f thought wo had agreed—” “Yes, but he obtrudes; there is no obliterating him. He rises up at every turn; dominates the scene. Marjorie, I want him; for two reasons I want him. First, because iiiough I know what he is, he’s too clever for me; sec ond, because he must never trouble you again.’’ “He doesn’t trouble me.’’ “He troubles others; ho must cease •from troubling. I must get you, Constantine; oh, yes, I must get von. It’s imperative that I should get* you if I am to survive. You see, Marjorie, I’m in sad disgrace over this Wilton business; but if Constantine is what I think him, and I can lay him by the heels, catch him in the act; well, I shall have made some atonement.’’ “You think that out of his arrest might come the secret of Poppy’s death?’’ “Stranger things have happened.’’ “It would be a great triumph for you, Michael?’’ “But he’s a careful man, our Tino: very shrewd. Barden would have arrested him long ago, and covered us with ridicule.” “It would be a great triumph for you, Michael?” she said again. “Yes, but he must be taken redhanded, the stuff on him. I can’t afford another blunder. What delicious tea you make, Marjorie.” “Do I?” 'The deftest hands in London at thol making of tea, and the prettiest.” I

BY CARLTON DAWE (Author of “Desperate Love,” “Euryale in London,” “Virginia,” etc.)

He caught them, pressed them, carried them to his lips. Her face flamid- all the strength seemed to go out of’ her. Through a blurr, stinging, painful, she saw his melancholy eyes staring at her. . , . “If I only had the right to love vou,” he said. “ "Don’t, Michael,” she moaned; “please don’t}:-” Wliv hadn’t "lie the right to love her; was she not worthy of being loved? “I beg vour pardon, dear; for the moment I forgot myself. These Lcious cakes! Did you make them?

“No, no! ” The agony of it! And all the time her arms were aching, tingling,, burning for him; her breast yearning to feel his head upon it. But it passed. He relapsed into a moody silence; forgot to eat the cakes he had praised so highly, forgot to drink his tea. Why could he not love her; was she not w-orthy of being loved? Horrible, stinging, crushing thought! For a long time he sat silent, win e she made a pretence of eating, though everv Dibble almost cliokod her. She knew those moods; had seen them often! Usually she sat very still waiting patiently until they passed; then laughingly offered a penny for his thoughts. This always pulled him up,, jerked him out of himself, brought him hack to earth. But to-day she could not smile or ask the question; there was not the ghost of a quip in her. When he had gone she brooded long over what lie had told her, with Constantine Levita over uppermost m her thoughts. She hated Constantine Levita; saw in him ,the destruction of all hope. Stings of conscience, bitter memo, ies, desolation inconceivable, and all due to Constantine Levita! Or so it, pleased her to think; he might not have seen the matter in the same light. How one pays for folly! Does one ever escape payment? Why is there not a warning 'voice strong enough to make one heed? All that other liie, that: eating, drinking, dancing; where was the allurement of it now? But, for it this man would love lior; be,..,i,u0 of it ho did not think her worthy of his love. And he was dragging the vojv soul out of her! At the thought id' bis coming, how she thrilled, his hand on hers, his eyes in hers! It was n revelation of the spirit hitherto undreamt Of. _ » A And because of Constantine Levita he could not, love her. She hated Constantine Levita; flamed furiously at thought of him. Inconceivable hatreds foamed like a torrent in her —and ended in the bitterness of tears. Yet on the following morning she was up early, desperately hard of eye, singularly firm of lip. She paid unusual attention to her toilet; applied the rouge to her checks with hateful thickness, the red to her lips. Looked at herself and shuddered. Was ashamed to be seen in the daylight, yet braved it, and the mocking glances of men and women. She was <rlad to sink into her cornci of the third-class carriage on that adventurous journey to the city. Though the light was strong it was not daylight. that uncompromising foe of ar"ificial bcautv. But once more in the streets she ran the gauntlet of curious and insolent eves. One docs not see much female smartness or beauty in the city streets. She fluttered through them a bird of paradise, a gorgeous parrot among drab sparrows. But the sparrows were perhaps the happier for all their drabness!

Constantine Levita was deeply immersed in important foreign correspondence when her name was announced by the weird Israelite*?h you'll who guarded the outer marches. He looked up at her as she entered, a flaming vision of other days. His nose began to twitch and twinkle. “This is an unexpected pleasure,’’' lie said.

“Being in your neighbourhood I thought I would pop in and see if you were still alive.”

“Very much so.” said he. He opened a drawer and brought forth a box of his choicest cigarettes; held the light for her; looked into her eyes. “You’re frightfuly pretty, my dear. ’ ’ “Pouf!”

“And I’m delighted to see yon again, I feared you had entirely forgotten poor little Tino.” Ah, but one doesn’t forget Tinos; they are among the unforgettable. “I was frightened,” she. said. “Of what?” "Well, you know, when that man came ” “Pcnbury?” She nodded. “Haven’t you heard that lie has been—superseded?” “Superseded?” she echoed incredu lously. "By a bigger fool. Clever fellows,” he chuckled; “geniuses, every one of them. I have a profound respect fothe plainclothes man. He advertises his coming, lightning-like; you know the thunder is bound to follow.” “You are evidently not afraid of them?” *'

“What have I to be afraid of?” ‘‘ I was, awfully. ’ ’ “Is that why you have forgotten old friends?’ ’

"It would -have been dreadful,” she replied, leaving him to guess her meaning. “It’s good to see yon again,” he said.

His little eyes were crawling all over her in nauseous fashion. What was she doing here in all the glory of warpaint? Pretty, yes, decidedly pretty; her face a proclamation! So different: from that other, that white elusive dream. Though still smarting from the recollection of a certain unpleasant incident, was lie not a philosopher, as became one who hailed from the land of philosophy? And did not his philosophy teach the law of compensation? *What. better than this? The long nose twitched and twinkled. But it was not good to see him sitting there, rubbing his hands, the embodiment of self-satisfaction. On the contrary, it was extremely revolting. She marvelled at the change in her, of the new wisdom that had come to her, the now vision. Glimpses of Pcnbury accentuated the contrast in men. This toad, this spider spinning his web! By degrees she broached the subject, delicately, as became so nice a matter. Tino, listened, gravely cogitating the proposition. “The truth is,” he said, “one has to move with extremist circumspection in these days. Most of ’em seem to have got the wind up. Perhaps Nobby Wang; I’ll see if I can find him. You don’t know Nobby?”

‘ ‘ No. ’ ’ “You must meet him; he’s.a useful fellow. ’ ’

“Is he a regular ” “He’s on anything that happens to come along. Secretive, cunning, clever elusive; it will need a smart fellow to trip up Nobby. I hate him, yellow swine, and wouldn’t trust him as far as 1 could see him. But ho has his uses.” ; “That negro?” she ventured. “Give any show away. Avoid him as you would the plague.”

‘ ‘ Poppy ” “ Poppy was a reckless idiot who let herself get killed, an unpardonable blunder. But for such foolishness our life might have continued peacefully.” “But you, Tino; you can let me have—just a little?” “Is the craving so strong?” “At times, awful.” He smiled. “My dear, do you suppose I carry such dangerous stuff about with me? Why, even that fool Ponbury couldn’t blunder then. The colossal vanity of the fellow! And all the time it’s being hawked under his nose.”

She answered his smile with one equally confidential. “You can get a little for me, Tino?” “I don’t know. As I told you, everybody’s got the wind up.” “On account of Penbury and his men ? ”

“Even a fool may blunder on to a good thing.” “I’m sorry,” she said rising; “I thought you could have helped me.” “Wait a minute; don’t be in a hurry. This sort of thing is not as easy as you seem to imagine. One has to make inquiries; proceed with extreme caution. It might be possible; mind you, I don’t say it is, but one may try —to oblige a friend. Trust your Tino to make every endeavour.” Her Tino! But, she bore with it; listened to his proposals; acquiesced. Of course he suggested terms; insisted on terms. The master card was in his hand, and he flattered himself he knew when and how to play it.

After she had gone he sat smiling and spinning his web. This pretty, gilded fly! He lit another of his choicest Turkish; chuckled with a twitching nose. Clever Tino, the currant merchant! But he was not dreaming of currants; indeed of. far more important matters. The pretty, foolish gilded fly!

That night he waited for her outside the stage door of the theatre at which she was performing. They were going to sup at Pino’s, dance at Pino’s, enjoy themselves at Pino’s, as in other days. Marjorie had wearied of the dull monotony of respectability; better to flame out than gutter feebly to tin. end. Constantine agreed; one might, count on a philosopher recognising the voice of wisdom. When providence made the way to righteousness over so

many rough places it forgot the weakness of humanity. But Constantine knew better than providence; saw deeper. Shrewd Constantine! At eleven o’clock precisely, as the ■ audience were leaving the front, of t.lie house, he strolled round to the back, into the ill-lighted thoroughfare where the stage door tried to hide itself. All stage doors, besides evincing a curious: partiality for ill-lighted thoroughfares, seem to suffer from this singular diffidence. Perhaps Constantine was think ing of this as he gazed at the sacred portals; perhaps of other things. Certainly lie had sudden occasion to think of other things as a powerful hand seized his wrist and a voice said in his ear: “I want you to come with me.”

(To be continued.)