SERIAL STORY.

Marlborough Express, Volume XLVII, Issue 145, 21 June 1913, Page 2

SERIAL STORY.

THE BLUE TAXI.

(By A. Wilson Barrett.)

TAll Rights Reserved.]

CHAPTER 111. Mr Wicks turned out to be quite a useful and friendly sort of person, and when Charles, entirely oblivious of the attenuated state of his finances, had tipped him half a sovereign, he quickly initiated him into the first steps of taxi-cab driving, and put him on the right road towards becoming a regular licensed driver. Charles, though he had spentnearly all his life in England, had the American's natural aptitude, and, also, in addition to being an excellent driver possessed an intimate working knowledge of the mechanism of most makes of cars, haying owned a good rotind dozen in his time. It was, therefore, not necessary for him to go through all of the drudgery incidental to passing his qualifying examination, and he was able to spend a good deal of the day, to his great delight, in driving round London, "learning^ the streets in an antiquated taxi, filled to overflowing with various codmey types whose conversation was a constant joy to his inquiring mind It was not, indeed, uritil a thick fog descending towards evening made further learning impossible, that the memory of his altered circumstances, dingy Soho, and his five-shilling room recurred to his mind, and he turned

homewards again. And even then he left singularly cheerful considering all things, "trust or Bust," he thought. "Well. I don't believe I shall mind the 'Bust very much, for a time, at all events. After all, I've driven a car a good many thousand miles without getting anything for it. And often enough I've been bored to know where to go. Now I shall have other people to think for me. And as for Solio, well, Soho isn't so bad, especially if 1 wonder if I shall ever get to know 'her. ." Though his thoughts were light enough, the fog was getting heavier, and he soon became aware of this fact. For, orossing Westminster Bridge and making for Northumberland Avenue, he suddenly discovered ■that he could not see more than a few yards in front of him, and, that he was rapidly losing all sense of direction. "This won't do for a taxi-driver," he thought, pulling up. And he stood for a second, looking about him, trying to pierce the thick hank or fog which had descended around him like a warm, but distinctly "unaired" blanket. i* And then he suddenly] pricked up his ears, for out of the hush which heavy fog always brings with it, came the sound of a man's voice speaking shrilly and anrgrily, a little cry from a woman, then a second masculine voice, gruff, deep, impe/ra-

tive. "A row!" thought Charles, amused; and he darted in the direction of the sounds. They had been nearer than he had fancied, confused by th© fog, for a stride or two brought him within reach of the disputants. He had time to catch sight of a policeman's broad back, .a second and smaller man who gesticulated wildly, then a glimpse of a woman's figure standing directly beneath a great arc-light,-made him pull up suddenly -and gasp. It was "she" once more, his lady of the staircase, standing at bay, to all appearances, her lovely face white and contemptuous, her deep, dark eyes blazing, her little hands clenched tightly, and pressed to her side. "It is a lie, policeman," she flashed ■out. "I never touched him. I never looked at him. He is paid to do this. He is a thief himself. He tried to steal my bag, and when he heard you running, and I caught his wrist, he thought of this lie." The constable looked from the .young girl to the man, a flash, foreign-looking individual of about twenty, with dark unsteady eyes set closely together, and a braeen sneering face. "If you never touched him," he said, "I don't see how you caught his wrist." "I defended myself," said the girl haiughtily. "You heard his story. I mean until he tried to rob me." "Don't you believe her," retorted the young man, still gesticulating, but his eyes, singularly uncomfortablelooking, wandered from side to side. "I—l had had a drop too much, and what with the fog, I was a bit muddled, and she bumped up against me, and I swear she tried to pick my : pocket. 'Look here, there's some money in it," and boastfully he pu3led out a handful of gold. j "Which, you got for doing .this!" said the girl contemptuously. The policeman, obviously undecided, hesitated, and Oharles, his face flushing, stepped quickly forward. "Here, policeman " he said. "This man is lying. Can t you see it in his face? He is not drunk or muddled, j either." .. | The girl and her accuser both turn- ] ed in surprise at this interruption, < and the policeman, perhaps relieved i to have a moment for consideration, ■' looked quickly at Charles. j "What's it got to do with j-ou?" he asked. "Did you se© anything ' take place?" - j Charles looked quickly at the young ' girl, and caught her eye. There was no message, no appeal in it; it was cold, angry, contemptuous, but her face was growing strained and white, ! and her hands were beginning to tremble, and he lied boldly. "Yes," he said. "That rascal is not speaking the truth. Besides, I know this lady. It is, of course, ut- ': terly out of the question that she should have done anything of the kind." The policeman moistened his pencil. "Will you give me your name and address, sir?" he asked. ! Charles did a second's swift think- \ ing. Then, pulling a little gold case from his pocket, be took out a card, and handed it to the policeman. ; The latter looked at it, nnd his face changed. The gold case, "Pall Mall," and^ "The Oxford and Cambridge Club" on one side ? on the other, the flashy man, his shifty face growing pale, and then the white, lovely face of the young girl, evidently a lady, all weighed against each other. And )ie turned, this time roughly, to the accuser. "Look here," he began, but the individual whom ho addressed did not wait to hear the end of his'sentence. With a quick shrug of his shoulders and a muttered sentence, he swung <■ on his heel, and in a second was i .'.wallowed up by the fog. < The policeman looked after him ir- ' resolutely, and Charles quickly pro- i *I'ioed five shillings from his pocket. n "Thank you, constable," he said. 1 "That's a- nice rascal! It's lucky T : was here. Come," he continued <

f quickly to the young girl. "I will see 1 you home." And in an instant they, too, had dived into the blackness, leaving the policeman staggered, but comfortably lingering Charles' silver. After a few steps the young man halted, looking back. "I wish I had thrashed that scoundrel," he said. ■His companion leeked at him hastily^ and her hand went out. "Oh, no, leave him to himself," she said. "He ■is not worth it. The wretch was paid ! for his work." j Charles looked up at her quickly. | That was the second time she had ; made that accusation. 1 Perhaps she noticed his start and ■ the question in his eyes, for she drew { herself up quickly, and held out her I hand. "Thank you very much in- ! deed for coming to my help," she ! said. "I am most grateful." Charles took the little gloved hand extended to him, and gazed down into the pale lovely face looking up at him, losing his ordinarily ready wits, !as its beauty impressed itself upon him more and more. "Oh, but you. can't go home by yourself," he said, at last, a little confusedly, as the eyes fell, and the ! hand was withdrawn from his, swiftly i and decidedly.

"Thank you, I shall be perfectly safe now,' 1' said his companion. "I <3on't think that person will be likely | to follow me again;" and with a little bow, she prepared to walk on. "Well, I shall have to follow you, or go on in front," said Charles, smiling, but at heart desperate. She looked up in surprise, pausing doubtfully. "What do you mean?" she said. "I assure you lam quite capable of getting home safely. You hare been most kind, but ' "Oh, it isn't that," said Charles bolcly preparing to keep step with, her." "But you see as we are both going the same way " "The same way?" The young girl stared. "You really know who I am, then?" "Not at all," said Charles quickly. "Though I hope you will tell me. No, I don't know that, but I know where j you live, for I happen, to live there 'myself." I This time there was no question about the amazement in his compan-

ion's eyes. "You live there!" she gasped. "Yes, in Dean Street," said Charles.1 "I passed you on the stairs. That is how I know." The young girl appeared to consider for a moment, and her eyes took in Charles' smart figure and general appearance of a man about town, and perhaps her, mind went to the carfl and the gold case. Charles, who guessed her thoughts, smiled. "It's quite a natural place to liye in,'isn't it?" he said. His companion's lips curved. "Is it?'' she asked. "And Mrs Bloom seems a worthy old soul, if a little surprised! occasionally." This time the smile conquered <aai attempt at repression. "Those ivory hair-brushes," she said. Charles laughed. "She told you?" lie asked. s "Yes. I didn't know you, but I heard of them. They are marvellous, apparently." They both, laughed, the ice broken. "Well, if it comes to that, she must be puzzled about you, too," said Charles. "For, -after all, yon live there as well as I " The young girl sighed, looking serious again. "I am obliged to," she said quietly. "The place is cheap; it is convenient, and—there are other reasons."

"It was its cheapness that appealed to me, too," said Charles, painfully conscious, as he spoke, of the same shade of doubt in his companion's face as occasionally clouded Mrs Bloom's broad visage. "That and the fact that Soho is the only cheap neighborhood of London I am acquainted! .with, though I expect to know many more eventually." "You say that very cheerfully," said his companion, smiling slightly again. "I feel extraordinarily cheerful tonight," said Charles. "They say that to feel unaccountably happy is the sign of some impending misfortune." v . '• "I don't think that can be so in my case," replied Charles. "An earthquake fell on my head just lately, and I fancy I am immune from further shocks. Besides," he continued, "I have a reason for feeling cheerful for which I can account. Since I saw you on the -" "Good-night," said the young girl quietly. And Charles, looking up, saw to his amazement, that they had already reached the little newspaper shop. He also realised that he had been about to make a fool of himself and that he had been pulled up in time. And holding the door open, h© allowed his companion to pass in in silence. "Good-night," she said again, this i time a little smile accompanying the I word, and she was gone. I Charles watched her pass up the dark stairs, then turned away without going into the .house. ! "I've had the most amazing day I've had for years," he thought. "I'm spending money like water—let me see, nearly a pound to-day—but I really think I'll wind up by haying a two-shilling dinner at the Oriental. I'll economise to-morrow." He was not going to economise today, at all events, for a three shilling bottle of Burgundy came at his command to join the two-shilling dinner, and for an hour he sat amid dreams as rosy as the wine. "Dash it all," he murmured, as he emerged from the little restaurant into Wardour Street again—"I gave the waiter half-a-crown. Well, I can't go and ask for it back now. I cannot get myself to remember that things aren't what they once were, but I shall, I suppose, when I find myself at las? without a copper. Still, what does it matter? I've had a dinner as good as a reasonable man could desire. I'm taking the first step towards earning an honest living, and I've met her, I've met her! How lovely she is!. And she said that scoundrel was paid? What on earth is she doing in that wretched place, and what could she mean? Lovely? Why, she's the prettiest, most fascinating mystery a man ever conceived possible. And I was nearly going to make a fool of myself and offend her, too. What was I thinking of! How quickly she snubbed me! Does she look prettier when she looks haughty, or when she smiles? She did smile—twice—three times, wasn't it? How beautiful! .... Damn!" His hasty exclamation marked the sudden end which had come to all his rosy thoughts, a conclusion brought about by the fact that he had arrived within sight of his doorway, and that standing on the steps of that doorway ; were two figures, a man's and a woman's. The man was tall and roung, and the woman, even at that lista,nce>, he knew for "her." And

as he caught sight of them the lips of the two met in a fond embrace.

The doorway was not twenty yards distant, but Charles gazed across that brief space as if it had the breadth and dex>th of the Grand Canon, gazed even when the couple parted, and the woman disappeared into the house while the man turned away, came towards him, passed him. "He's handsome," Charles, thought, as he gazed at the young man's pale features and dark eyes. "Just my luck ! 1 Oh, she was right. This is the blow. I She kissed him! Oh, I'll go to bed." r

And softly letting himself in, he crept upstairs. Whether it was the burgundy or the blow he had had, whether the excitement of the day or its disastrous ending, Charles did not awake the next morning until nearly mid-day, and when lie did at last and rose, he found to his dismay that his usually cheerful look on life had disappeared, that his five-shilling room was dingy and impossibly small after- Pall Mall, and that Soho, seen through grubby windows on an autumn morning, was certainly not what his fancy had painted it on the previous day. A step on the landing outside made' him aware of the real reason of this change, taking his memory back to the evening before, and the scene he had witnessed on the doorstep. "It's too absurd that a girl I hadn't seen three days ago should make me feel like this," he thought; "but she does. And she kissed him on the doorstep. Oh, lor', and she isn't the kind of girl to kiss a man unless I bolieve that's her outside ! I should like to see her again, just for a minute." He finished his dressing hastily, and the footsteps not yet having disappeared, he opened the door. His face fell, for it was Mrs Bloom into whom he ran.

She had an apron round about her broad person, and her face was clouded.

"Oh, good morning," said Charles. "It's you. I thought " "Is there anything you require, sir. ! I've been busy this morning, clearing up here." Charles looked over his landlady's broad shoulder into the room—"her" ijpom. It was empty. The furniture j was piled upon \ itself, ■ the curtains j were down, no luggage of any kind I was visible, and it wore a vacant, | tenantless air. ; "Gone!" he gasped, careless,of Mrs j Bloom's presence. "Hot gone!" j The stout woman put down her ! broom, resting her two hands upon j the handle, and looking at him with ; a discontented air, almost as if she 1 accused him of being in some way or j other the cause of her tenant's disapj pearance. ' ■ ■ j "Ah, she's gone," she said. "Went j the first thing this morning, without i a word of notice. Just paid for her room and went." "Good lord," gasped Charles. "Why did she do that?" "Bless you, I don't know," replied Mrs Bloom. "Such a nice, quiet young lady she was, too. And cried as she packed up her things. Ah, she's got her own troubles like the rest of us, you may be sure." . "Cried, did she?" asked Charles, his heart in his mouth. I "Ah, but she often did that, brave !as she was. Something used to J- trouble and frighten her always seeni- ? ingly But there, that's no business [of yours, and I'm forgetting niyiself.'" . .4.,. i "Don't stop,"<;said Charles quickly. I "I like to hear:!*:"; I Mrs Bloom took up the broom ! again. ' I "Then you had better ask her, her- . ; self," she said shortly, but not ill— i naturedly. "She asked me not to ; talk about her, poor dear, and I'm \ not going to." . "Ask her?" ejaculated Charles. "But I don't know where she has gone to." "And I don't, either," said his landlady. "And that's not a word of a lie. She's gone, and there's an end of it, and gone to more trouble, or . I'm mistaken." "Gone, and there's an end of it!" Charles turned back again into his room,, the- words sounding forboding- : ly iii"his eats. "What a fotten end," he thought. "Gone! And I should so like to have known her better, even if she did . . . oh, confound that doorstep business. Gone to more trouble! That's what she meant by that scoundrel being paid to do his dirty work, I suppose. But what did she mean, and what trouble is she in, I wonder?" But it was no good wondering, and he decided that he had better give it up, and return to the serious matter of earning his own living which his father's letter had thrust upon him. "After all, putting aside that other fellow, she wouldn't look at a taxidriver, in any case," he thought; "and that's the extent of my ambitions at the present moment. But, confound it, without her, the place does seem dull." (To be Continued.)

following appeared in our tovrn edition last issue:—>