The Romantic Runaway

Matamata Record, Volume XVII, Issue 1589, 24 December 1934, Page 3

The Romantic Runaway

By KATHERINE HAVILAND TAYLOR.

Copyright.

CHAPTER XLIII. Billings, the detective, sat at his desk reading for a second time the cablegram that had just been deliverj ed. For weeks and months he had E been trying to untangle the puzzle be- ' hind the theft of the Jeffries’ pearls. And at every turn he had been halted. BThe cable from Havana, sent by a swarthy Cuban co-worker, read, “Clasp Sold by Girl Called Lou Following Trail.” Billings stydied these words frowning. He had hoped Beau himself might turn in that clasp. Half an hour later a second cable arrived. Billings read, “Lou Is Beau’s Wife." Of oourse, Billings realised, Beau’s story would be one of deceived innocence. He would insist that, in selling pearls occasionally, he was merely acting for a friend. Beau’s past record would not help him, but neither would it convict him of the Jeffries robbery and murder. Billings sighed deeply as he itemised the scant bits of information gathered with so much persevering ef-; fort. The old man who Pablito had knocked unconscious had testified that there had been another man besides Pablito on the scene. Norris Noyes, whom Billings had sought out to question the day after his arrival in New York, had said anxiously that he had heard a man and girl talking in the swamp, planning some manner of thievery. Then Noyes had risen trembling, and talking rather inco- ’ herently of Cuba where Billings had said he would find Pablito. “Only one soul in all the world speaks my tongue,”, Noyes had said. “Pablito is the only one who understands me.” Tears flooded the man’s eyes. “I have been so lonely,” he confessed. "So very lonely! I musl find Pablito!” There was the murmuring of the pair whom Noyes had heard plotting in the swamp and there was the testi - mony of the old man who said Pablito had not*been alone. These were the only bits of evidence Billings had to substantiate his theories of the v crime. And they were far from convincing proof. A few years before Sir Aubrey bad instructed Billings to tell Pablito the truth and ask the youth to go into hiding at Lower Girings. Billings f jfhad arrived at the gymnasium only to learn that Pablito had departed for parts unknown. AH Havana was aware that the boxer’s romance with Jim Field’s daughter was at an end.

SERIAL STORY.

Gossips voiced numerous explanations of the affair but none of these explanations came anywhere near the truth. “Oh, damn!” Billings said loudly, surveying the total of his work. The dictation of his next letter to Sir Aub - rey was a. slow and painful ordeal. On the day after Pablito had asked Lottie to become his bride he bought a sizable plot of land. That done, he sought an architect and told him the sort of house he wanted. As they discussed it, a breeze from the sea swept over the Malecon, fluttering the papers on the architect’s table.

“I want a billiard room,” Pablito said, “and a flat roof where I can have a garden under the stars.” “All quite simple. Yes.” “And a big patio, of course.” “Of a certainty!”

“And—” Pablito hesitated a moment, then continued, “spacious quarters for my wife.” The architect sniffed a romance. “Ah—” he murmured. “Ah, yes, of course!” Then he smiled dazzlingly at Pablito whom he considered a very sombre young man for one who was, so soon to become a bridegroom. “We will make of this house a paradise," the architect promised. “And we will hope that in this paradise there will be no snake!” Later Pablito, driving a shining new roadster, turned toward the Belen church. He parked the car and after he had wandered through the colonnade and past the small inner court that was beautiful with flowers and trees he stood for some time in a j

doorway—the sunlight hack of and the dim, lovely old church before him.

He saw women kneeling before various side altars and craved the temperament that finds peace through the chanting of prayers. Lottie had said she wanted to be married in this church, so here they would be married—he and Lottie.

The day was not ovprly warm for one accustomed to Cuba but he found a little dew of perspiration on his forehead and that his upper lip and palms were damp. He was uncomfortably aware that memories of Estelle were tormenting him more than usual. He could, not seem to keep the vision of her away.

“Would you like to see the church, Senor?” a black-robed boy asked in rather stilted English. “No, gracias. Soy Cubano." (No, thank you. lam Cuban). “Ah, Senor. No one would dream that until you speak. But I see you come to pray.” It was not so simple as that, P'ablito thought as the boy disappeared. One could always come but one could not always pray. Five days later Marcia Treadway, Estelle and Jim Field were among those who walked down a narrow, gang plank to step on Cuban soil. Carlito had found work at the plantation of a wealthy American on the Isle of Pines. Every six or eight weeks he boarded one of the few boats that stopped there for the ecstatic pleasure of journeying to Havana to spend a few hours with his son. The wealthy .American, knowing

Carlito’s story, was kind about granting the time for these holidays and Carlito knew something of content as, with the child, he strolled the twisting streets of the section known as Jesus del Monte. Yet his dream of avenging the wrong done him by Jlrn Field had not dwindled; instead It had grown. (Continued in Next Column)

Frequently during visits to Havana he journeyed into the country V stand by the great gates which gave entrance to the palm-lined roadway leading to Field’s home. Standing there he would remember his young wife’s agonies in the dust of the public way ; the little, torture-twisted smile she had given him as she whispered so faintly, “Ah, Carlito mio, 'out I have been happy with you!” They had had very little time together and a very great love. It, sometimes so happens. Perhaps God knows why. Estelle Field found the ghost of her former self in the Cuban house that was her father’s. She stepped out upon the balcony beyond the windows of her sleeping room and saw below the garden. Beyond was the utter 1 blue of the water, white-capped today and glittering in the sunlight. Pablito was free now and she was free, yet fear held her. She wondered timorously whether she dared look back upon the last few years as a waking nightmare. Nevertheless, Pablito was free and she was free. If he still cared—but he must care! She could not feel as he did, she reasoned, unless he cared. She would send him a note —again! The. thought brought to mind Carlito. Poor Carlito. For a moment she felt a ohill in the breeze though it came from the south. Meanwhile Marcia, who had acquired some clothes she said “would do’’ until she could reach Paris, had sought out the least rickety of the taxicabs at the edge of La Parque Central. She stepped into the car and gave the address of Pablito's gymnasium. “You know where that is?” she demanded in bad Spanish. Ah, yes, the chauffeur knew. He nodded but seemed to hesitate Marcia said in English, “Oh, I know ladies don’t go there but I’m not a lady. I’m merely a crook turned honest. Drive on, you fool.” Understanding her tone, the driver started his machine. v (To be Continued).