“The Fortune Telling House”

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXIX, Issue 4771, 12 November 1935, Page 3

“The Fortune Telling House”

SERIAL STORY.

By ADRIAN DE BRUNE. - Author of "The Dagger and Cord"; "The Shadow Crook"; Gray's Manor Mystery"; Etc., etc. I » Ep< 9 9 «H

CHAPTER X (Continued.). Leslie made a face at the Express man and accepted the chair the Bart held for heri For minutes there was little said; then the sounds of a car drawing up before the hotel caught attention. '". Keston left the table and went to the window. "Damn!" he said. "Say, Bart, why didn't you have this hotel built the right way round. All one gets from this window is a ' bootifulest' view of a. very untidy yard." "Get to it! " Skirlington looked up irom the joint he'was carving at the sideboard, pointing with his* knife. "Get in my den; you'll see from there."

The newspaper man passed into the other room. Almost immediately sounds of a car being driven away came on the air, and Keston re-enter-ed the dining room.

"Your face frighten them away? " asked Medley. " Southbury police car, full of cops. Wient off toward Darrington House." Keston ignored the inquiry. " So ? " Medley returned to his meal. "Adson said he was expecting reinforcements." "He's got 'em. Half-a-dozen as stolid and unimaginate cops as I've ever seen in the backblocks. Say, boys, we'll have to supply the brains here." "How do you know that? " asked Leslie. "You hadn't time to get a view of their faces before they drove off." " Back view was sufficient, m'dear." Keston renewed his attack on his plate's contents with renewed vigour. " Don't you know that rear views indicate temperament—and show the thickness of wood of which the articles are made? " " Bosh! " said Sam.. " Get on with

your meal, Jack. Adson and his merry men will soon be here and then the Bart will have to give them all his attention—or lose his license next year for neglecting his most important customers of the century. You can bet your sweet life Adson will. . ." " Wants his lunch." The table party looked up to see the burly figure of the sergeant in the doorway. He glanced at the Bart, half apologetically. " Your barman sent me in here." "Sit down and don't talk," said Sam." "Brought you prisoner with you? " "He's in the car, with his attendants." "There's another carload of cops on the road," interjected Medley, his mouth full. , "We met them on the road." Sergeant Adson Went to the chair the Bart indicated. "They're coming back as soon as they find room to turn the car." The police officer looked lat iSam. " I'm sending Malinger in\to Southbury." "You'll feed the poor brute first?" expostulated Keston. "I will, and that's more than I'd do for any journalist that falls into my hands," grinned the sergeant. The Bart crossed the room and opened the door of the room Keston had used to view the police car. "My special den, Miss Leslie and gentlemen. Please make use of it. I must go to the kitchen and see to the feeding* of hungry constables and a prisoner. By the by, who is staying at this hotel to-night? " " My address is the Barrington Hotel and Darrington House," stated Sam. " Indefinitely."

" Same with us," exclaimed Keston and Medley, in unison. " Got a bed for me, Bart? " asked Adson. " I shall have to stay at Barralong for the present, unless one of the inspectors relieve me." " Plenty of room," answer Skirlington, grinning. "This place was an old coaching halt, in colonial days. It's a perfect rabbit warren, with room to shelter a small army." " Good! " The police officer devoted his attention to his plate. " And say, I'll keep one of miy men with me, until I know what the superintendent intends." Skirlington nodded, and went out of the door. Keston pulled out a packet of cigarettes and passed them round the table. For minutes there was silence, except for the rattel of the police sergeant's knife and fork; then Sam rose to his feet and went to the inner door.

" Come into the den, Leslie," he urged. " There's nothing interesting in watching a policeman feed, or journalist's drink."

Arthur Medley stared at the closing door, a slight smile dawning on his lips. "Another young and innocent life blighted," he sighed lugubrously. " It's sad to see a mere boy of thirtyeen take the wrong road! "

In the den, Leslie went to the Morris chair before the diamond-paned windows. Sam closed the door and sauntered to the windows, leaning against an angle of the wall and looking down on the girl. "What's the story? " he asked, at length. " What story ? " Leslie looked up quickly. " Only that you know so much" about Darrington House and Barralong that there must be a story somewhere." The newspaper man spoke seriously.

ly, a slight frown coming between her eyes. " I used to live at Darrington House many years ago." " The Bart told me that Jess Markham used to live there? "

"Mr Markham is my step-father." The girl hesitated. "Sam, I don't want this published. I'm not proud of the life I used to live in Barralong and should like to forget it, if possible. I don't like my step-father ..." "Haven't seen the feller, so can't say," observed Sam, judiciously. " Still, I'm prepared to take your word that he's not a likable chap." "You won't be long before you come across him, if you stay in Barralong," said Leslie. "And Sam, when you do meet him, I want you to keep your temper. He's . .." "Not likable—just so." Sam spoke easily. " I'll remember. Now the preliminaries are finished. Well? I hear Markham lived at Darrington House, and owns it." "I own Darrington House." The girl flushed. "You see, Sam, it's like this . . ." " Full speed ahead! " Sam hooked a chair toward him with his foot and sat astride it, facing the girl. For some minutes Leslie was silent, staring thoughtfully out of the window. Then, without turning to Sam, she started to speak. "Darrington House was built by Darringtons in the early days of Australian history. It is stated that Captain Rufus Darrington obtained from 'Governor Phillips the grant of the land about here, on condition that he built the road between Waitamine and Southbury. Of course. .." . The girl interrupted herself, hastily. "Of course there were no townships about here then; nothing between Sydney and the Murray River—" " Well ? " asked Sam, when the girl paused. " Rufus Darrington built the house and the road and cleared the land and ran sheep and cattle on it—and all with the work of the convicts the Governor sent here to build the road. Then he cultivated some of the land and grew wheat and other things for the use of his household and servants —for Sydney was far too far away to cart things from there. Rufus Darrington lived at the old house and became very wealthy, keeping up almost vice-regal state and entertaining largely and lavishly. But he was very cruel—l have heard some awful stories of his treatment of the convicts he obtained from the Government, on various pretexts. So arbitrary and cruel was he that at length the Governor had to take notice of the many tales that got to his ears. He summoned Rufus Darrington to Sydney to answer certain charges. Darrington went to Sydney, but before the inquiry started he returned home and refused to go back to Sydney. Soldiers were sent by the Governor to bring him to Sydney, and'l understood he successfully withstood a seige at Darrington House." "But, where do you come in this, Leslie ? " asked Sam.

" Captain Rufus Darrington had a large family." Leslie took no notice of Sam's interruption. "There appears to have been a curse on him and his sons, for not one of them died a natural death. One family tale tells of when Darrington House was captured by bushrangers, and everyone of the household was shot. It happened, however, that Mrs Darrington and her two youngest sons were in Sydney at the time, or the family would have become extinct. Anyway . . ." The girl sighed. " As the years passed the family dwindled, in numbers, and wealth, and at last came down to one direct descendant—my mother. She married a Mr Cantle. Long before that my grandfather, the last of the Darringtons, had moved to Sydney. Grandfather, engaged in business, and Mr Cantle was one of his customers who used to visit his home. That is how he met mother. They married, and were very happy." Leslie's voice dwindled to silence. Sam, his arms folded on the back of his chair, sat watching her. Almost

" You mean. . . " The girl hesitated. " Yes, I understand. You never met me before this morning at the old house. Yet I've seen you and more than oncerMr Sam Laske, of the Sydney Daily Post." " That's my fault, for being so conspicuously good looking," stated Sam sadly. " People point me out as one of the major sights of the city." He paused, smiling down at the girl. "But you don't get out of telling the story by paying me compliments. So ? " "I've lived quite a lot of my life at Barralong." Leslie spoke sudden-

he could read the thoughts passing through her mind. To a woman the history of a family is far more real than it is to any man. Women think in terms of children, who have been who are, and who are to be. They live in the histories of those who have suffered and born through the ages. " Mr Cantle died ? " suggested the young man.

"He died young. I was only three years old, then." Leslie came back to her story with a start. " I hardly remember him. Mother and I went to live with grandfather, when father died. You see . . ." she hesitated. Grandfather had always been obsessed with the history of the Darringtons, and mother first, and then father came under his influence. The three of them had the determination to regain the estates the former Darringtons had sold. Every bit of money they could get was devoted to that purpose. Father became as crazy as grandfather and mother. They bought land, and land, and everything was invested in mother's name f0r..." again the girl hesitated. " They all hoped mother would have a son who would take the name 'Darrington' and be the owner of the family fortunes. Then father died, and grandfather, who was a business man and not a farmer, went on accumulating land, and leaving it unoccupied. He had the ideal of buying back all the lands and then forming a fund to reclaim them. . ."

" Yes ? " Sam spoke gently, when the girl paused. " Mother was much more practical than either father or grandfather a year a two before his death persuaded him to lease the lands. . ." " That's where Mr Markham comes into the story ? " "'Yes." Leslie nodded. "When grandfather agreed to lease the lands his lawyers found Mr Markham. He took the lease and went to live at Darrington - House—and grandfather, mother and I used to come down on visits to him, and to see how the estate was progressing. He is a good farmer—l must say—and professed to be very fond of me, although I didn't like him. Then grandfather died . . . and mother, feeling that she was not in robust health and wishing to do the best for 'me . . . agreed to marry Mr Markham. . ." The girl dropped her head on her hands, sobbing softly. "Your mother married Mr Markham and brought you to live with them at Darrington House," prompted Sam. "Mother knew she had not many years to live." The girl spoke slowly. "She thought that Mr Markham, professing to be so fond of me, would be a good guardian of my interests. I know she told him that I must inherit the- lands and the house —it was an obsession with her that only a Darrington could inherit; but she gave him a life lease of the lands on very easy terms. But when mother died, the house became my property, with a charge on the lease money for the rates and taxes, and all that. That is why Mr Markham built the house over the ridge." "Then you own the old house now, and will own the lands as well, when Mr Markham dies." Sam felt heavy at heart. Leslie would be a very rich girl one day, far above the reach of a mere journalist. He put the thought from him. " But, Leslie, I understood from . the Bart that Mr Markham was married and had a family?"

"He married about a year after mother died."

"And, having children— possibly a boy—resents.you being heir to the lands he had brought into cultivation again? " The girl did not answer. "And because of that resentment, your life' in Mr Markham's home was not happy," pursued Sam relentlessly. "I suppose your step-mother hated you for being between her children and lands and money."

have always recognised that they have rights. I have never interfered with Mr Markham, and have always given him every possible credit for making real the dreams my father and mother held."

Sani nodded. He stared speculatively, out of the window. Much that Leslie had just told him he had gathered through chance words and phrases from her and Skirlington previously. Much of what she had told him fitted into the jig-saw puzzle that occupied his mind. If he could connect a few more pieces, fit the murder of the Jay Bird into the histroy of Darrington House he would be far on the road to the completion of his puzzle. "What is Jess Markham like? " he asked abruptly. The girl looked up quickly. For some reason her glances followed Sam?s through the window/ "There's Mr Markham," she said coldly. " The man coming across the waste ground toward the hotel. "I suppose he is coming for me." "Then you went home before you came to Darrington House, this morning? " asked Sam. , "I didn't come from Sydney in these." The girl smilingly indicated her riding breeches. " I went home and changed, while the Bart was getting the breakfast things together."

" I would have shared with them." The girl straightened proudly. "I

" The Bart brought you to the old house?" "To the drive entrance," corrected the girl. "We guessed that you had overslept, for the Bart expected you to be at the hotel when he got back from the station. As you weren't here for breakfast, we thought it would be fun to take your breakfast to you." " Umph! » The newspaper man stared out of the window at the man striding toward the hotel. He saw a man of medium height, sturdily built and in the prime of life. .He moved easily and athletically, in spite of his heavy boots and rough clothing. As he came nearer, Sam saw a big, red face under the wide-flapping hat, and read thereon a story of unbridled will and unchained passions. Markham came directly to the hotel, entering" through the bar door. A short interval, and clattering boots sounded in the hotel hall; then the door of the room was flung back violently and a big voice dominated the soft murmur of voices in the dining room that penetrated the closed door. " So you're there! *' Markham stood in the doorway glaring at the girl. " I told you to be home for lunch." "I beg your pardon?" said Sam mildly, not changing his position. " Is it correct to enter a room with your hat on, when a lady is present? " • (To Be Continued.)