The Evil Chateau

Matamata Record, Volume XVI, Issue 1443, 20 July 1933, Page 7

The Evil Chateau

By SYDNEY HORLER.

In front stretched a wonderful panorama in which all the colours of the

rainbow seemed blended. Browns and greys, blues and bronze-greens, with a beautiful golden tint submerging into each.

“Did I not say we should have a wonderful morning?” asked the Count; “you are, alas, an hour too late for the actual sunrise, but, still, this gives you a good x idea of the neighbouring country and the beauty with which it is surrounded.” “It is so beautiful, that it almost takes one’s breath away.”

“Many people standing here on this balcony in the morning have said the same thing,” replied the Count; “it is a relief to retire to this place after the hectic and exotic life of the Riviera towns.”

“Do you receive many visitors, Count?"

“Not many. Although the family funds are so low, the idea of taking in any what you call Tom, Dick or Harry as a paying-guest is repugnant to my ; mother. But, occasionally, we are obliged to extend hospitality to small parties. Otherwise, we should have to close the Ghateau. Shall we go In?”

As Felicity turned to follow, she wondered when she would get the opportunity of discovering to whom the bestial face which had peered in on her the night before belonged. Even with the glorious sunshine flooding the world, the memory was affrighting. Peace came again. Breakfast at the Chateau that morning proved unexpectedly pleasant. For one thing, Felicity was Hungry, for another there was something more substantial provided than the inevitable coffee and rolls, and for yet another it was eaten beneath an orange blind on the sunlit balcony. Looking even more fragile than she had done the night before, the Comtesse appeared in time to partake of the meal.

“You slept well, Mademoiselle," she asked, and again Felicity lied.

“Splendidly!” she said. The sun was giving her back confidence. She was still alive —very much alive —after that night of terror, and she was determined not to show these people any fear. “That’s excellent news,” commented the Comtesse; “well, Antoine,” turning to her son, “what are your intentions to-day?” . The Count de la Siagne laid down his coffee-cup and smiled across the table.

“To give Mademoiselle Howard happiness,” he replied; “unfortunately,” he added, turning to his guest, “I shall be detained at the Chateau seeing to some wretched business matters, but I have arranged for Dorando, my chauffeur, to take you for a drive around the countryside. Would that be agreeable? Or you could ride. There is at least one decent mount in the stables.”

“Alas! I did not bring any riding kit—but the drive would be delightful." Did they for some reason wish | her to be out of the way? She was j willing to fall in with their desire on ' two counts: the first was because any real work would have to be undertaken at night; and the second was that a few hours spent away from the Chateau would be very welcome. The man Dorando also might be induced to talk, although that was net probable. .Whilst she was in her room preparing for the drive, the thought recurred that the de la Siagnes might attempt to go through her luggage. Unlocking one of .the suit cases, she transferred ar thin' soft, leather case to her handbag. Her automatic also went into the latter. Walking quietly, she was about to enter the dining-room when she heard the Count’s voice. “He escaped during the night:” Then came the silvery treble of his i mother’s: “But he might have killed —”; a pause followed before the sentence was completed-—“the wrong person." “Darling mother,” Felicity heard the Count answer :n laughing tones, “have you ever known Krang kill the wrong person ?’-•■ ’ “Not up till now, I agree. But —” “Don’t you worry,” cut in the Count; “order has been restored. I have seen Krang and he has promised me to behave.” “If any of the others met him, they might be afraid.” “They won’t meet him —unless I think it’s necessary." It was dangerous to stay there any longer; d servant seeing her would decide instantly that she was eavesdropping. Stepping back a few paces, she started to walk forward making more noise than she would ordinarily have done; i; ' : • ••' “Here 1 am 1” she announced. ‘ If the Count suspected anything, hisi expression gave no sign. “Dorando is already waiting, Miss Howard,” he said; “are you quite sure you will not be too' lonely?” “Quite Sure. 'And please do not tell me where I am going. I want every thing to be a surprise.” With her flushed cheeks and dancing eyes, she might have been a schoolgirl out on holiday.

“That is the spirit.” He smiled as though he understood and shared her

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enthusiasm. “Venturing into the un known is always the spice of life. i

have planned a tour which I hope you will And interesting. Dorando knows the country and you will find him intelligent.” ‘‘l hope you will enjoy your day,

Mademoiselle,” said the Comtesse. “I’m sure I shall.” The last impression she had as she left the room by the side of her host was the Comtesse’s smile. The face at that moment might have belonged to a saint. Dorando, as befitted his name, looked Italian. He was dark skinned and furtive looking. To her surprise he wore ordinary clothes and not uniform. As the Rolls shot away, Felicity turned her head, ostensibly to wave farewell to the count, who remained at the Chateau entrance, but really to get the best possible view of the house whose secrets she was determined to discover.

Why the Chateau had been given the name of the White Wolf she was able to form some opinion now. Set high upon the rocks, it took on the shape of a crouching beast in its architectural design. , Built of whitish stone that gleamed in the dazzling sunshine, it appeared imposing but somewhat sinister; a place that looked as j though it might have a thousand sec- | rets and never yield up one. ; To the north, where the Maritime Alps reared their snow-covered peaks, was nothing but rugged, precipitous country. Standing like sentinels were pine and fir trees their branches over-hanging the great walls and giving to the chateau an air of brooding melancholy. A dire place at night. Even now that God’s sunshine was on it, Felicity felt it was to be feared—not only for the people who lived there, but on its own account. The car turned a corner and the view was shut out.

The driver kept to his task, his face fixed immovably in front. He made no attempt to open up any conversation and Felicity was content. She welcomed the quiet. Who and what was Krang? Was It the creature who had, to use the count’s words, “escaped during the night?”—was it Krang who had.looked in through her window? Was it man or beast? Whatever it was, it killed. Remembering that incredibly bestial face, this was easy to believe. Was Krang to be the chosen instrument in her case when the time came? She gripped her bag tightly and the contact brought relief.

She tried to concentrate her attention on the gorgeous scenery. Higher and higher the Rolls climbed, using a road that wound round and round like a monstrous spinning top. Apart from an occasional car she had the world to herself. Dorando was a good driver and he travelled at an easy pace. At noon they arrived at a hotel at Le Pont du Loup. Felicity had lunch on a sun-baked terrace overlooking the wonderful viaduct. A stream meandered beneath, and peace lay upon the earth like a heavenly cloud. Yet, at a table not a dozen yards away, sat the man who had been made her gaoler as well as guide that day. She had Intimated that she would be willing for him to sit at the same table, but Dorando had shaken his head. (To be Continued.)

months there was a fair picking of green barley and green wheat, and at other times odd days grazing on short lucerne was available. She was milked twice a day.

Wagga Gladys gave 601bs of milk on the last day of her test. She previously made a world’s record for the breed in 1926 with 20,8351bs of milk, 5.5 test, and 11491bs butterfat, equal to l'3B4lbs commercial butter.