He Who Fights

Manawatu Times, Volume LIV, Issue 6633, 21 August 1931, Page 9

He Who Fights

SYNOPSIS. Madame Anatole, a shrewd old wire or forty years’ standing', Knows well enough tho doings of her husband, Pierre. By ber own methods she finds out his hatred of one, Gregolre. Pierre, a call man with peat moustachious, goes In secret fear ol ms wife, but a husband at ease Is not Madame Anatole’s idea of conjugal felicity. Barbara Dallington lives with her mother in Devonshire. Christopher Frayne, Barbara’s fiance, residos in the samo district, with his sister, Sally. .... Mrs Dalllngton is friendly with Mortimer Brown, a man whom everyone dislikes.

CHAPTER Vll.— (Continued.)

He took a half stride forward as though to prevent her, but the voicing of discomfiture had been loud enough to attract a gardener who now advanced with concern, supposing the visitor had hurt himself. It was no part of Mr Brown’s pohej to exhibit himself publicly in a situation so tongue-provoking, and it had long heen his boast that nothing could disturb his self-command. He had been near to falsifying that; tho tread of a third person recalled him abruptly to It. He forced a smile, called out after the disappearing Mrs Dallington in a natural voice, “Itight-o: I’ll see about It for you. I’ll go right along now,” and took himself, raging inwardly, out of the hated garden. A philosopher on the adventurous seas of life, he resolutely dismissed his failure from his contemplation as he strode back to his bungalow. It had been a gamble all along, he knew it; but he had reckoned on pulling it off with his customary luck and audacity. He had calculated that a frontal .attack would serve where a studied siege would certainly fail. He had been wrong; neither would have breached this particular fortress. The little widow, damn her, was by no means the shallow idiot he had thought her; she had fooled that supercilious icicle of a daughter equally with him. Well, that little scheme had gone west —no matter; it had promised so attractively, but all along it had had its drawbacks, the daughter for oue, the Married Woman’s Property Act for another. A holiday afterthought not worth distressing himself about. But thousand devils, to be played with and scorned! Revenge? Bah, too risky, too unprofitable. With such thoughts he solaced and calmed himself.

Mortimei’ Brown, more versed in the unexpected, regained equanimity some hours in advance of Airs Dallington. She had never been so angry and so upset in all her life, she who was never angry and invariably resilient. And as a consequence such a headache descended on her as to enable her to feel that she was being severely punished for her levity and Indiscretion. She blamed herself unflinchingly : she should never have practised her social arts upon a man to whom they were as an unknown tongue. She was disgraced; the touch of his lips flamed still upon her delicate throat. She was utterly humiliated in her own regal'd. She was glad of Barbara’s prolonged absence, but long before that young flgui'e came with even more than her usual exuberant gaiety down the slopes of moorland, Mrs Dallington was entirely herself again. Her visiting list was reduoed by one; her experience of men was much enriched; her memory was enlivened by a real adventure. And he would never tell—of that she was absolutely certain. He was not a man who was in the least likely ever to say anything in his own disparagement; and, look at the episode how one would, it did not rebound to the credit of his perspicacity. Or perhaps to her own; but that was another matter.

“ You look very cheerful, Barbara,” she remarked as her daughter descended upon -her. “Had a good day?” “First-class. Sally and I —and Chris —took our lunch out and got as far as White Stones. What have you been doing?” “Sitting here: talking. Very enjoyable.” “Talking? Who to?” “Mr Brown was good enough to keep me company in my solitude part of the time. A morning call, nice and informal.” “ H’m,” Barbara grunted, non-com-mittal in the extreme. “ A dynamic man; he should go far,” murmured Mrs Dallington, one eye amusedly on her daughter. “I wish he would—-very far!” retorted Barbara. “As a matter of fact,” she went on slowly, “ I believe he’s leaving here.” “ Oh, he didn’t tell me. How d’you know?” “ Chris said something about it.” “ I thought they weren’t on speaking terms.” “Well, they’re not really," answered Barbara awkwardly, wishing she had said nothing. “ But, you know, things get around in the country. Gossip only, I expeot. I thought I heard that he was going; perhaps he isn’t. I don’t take any interest, in him.” “I do; a lot,” replied her mother. “If you’d only see it,” lie’s very amusing.” Barbai-a detei’minedly held her tongue and Airs Dallington assured that Barbara saw nothing in her manner to Indicate that she had had any unusual experience, was content also to let the subject drop. Until the arrival of the two new visitors they sat on together chatting very amiably and very disconnectedly, neither of them making the slightest allusion to the fact that each had been suddenly seized and kissed since they had last been together and neither thinking of any other event.

CHAPTER VIII. in tha Golden Hour. 'As soon as Christopher Frayne was sufficiently recovered from the whirling ecstasy of the moment to realise that Barbara had left him for the day, he -shook himsetr like a large spaniel emerging on to land again from the element that had delighted him and glanced around. He was quite alone: no sight or sound of the discreet Sally came to* his senses. He was glad; devoted as he was to his sister, unreserved as was her co-operation with him in this particular dream of happiness, his first need was for solitude as, Barbara’s had been. His mind

(By LORD CORELL.)

Instalment 7.

danced away into the vague dreamlands of the future, and he was happy as he had never known It possible for a -man to be. He thought of Sally—how pleased -she would be 1 He would tell her at once on his return. At his -account, inconsequently and incompletely told as it was, Sally was as delighted as he had known she would he: -her brother was more to her than herself, -and she loved Barbara. She could not have been made more happy by any possible event. “And -the’ joke of it is," went on Frayne at length after much general expatiation from them both, “that In a way that ghastly fellow, Brown, is responsible.” “Mr Brown!” exclaimed Sally. “What in the world’s he got to do with this?"

Frayne explained. His was by no means a clear explanation; a sti .nger would have heen completely bewildered lorig before he had finished, but ho was not speaking to a stranger and Sally was instantly appreciative. “So the long and the short of it is that I’ve got to beard the brute,” added Frayne. “I can’t say I’m looking forward to -it: I shall probably make an infernal mess of the business, but I must have a shot. It’s the least I can do for Barbara.”

“I suppose so,” murmured Sally uncertainly; “hut he’ll be simply furious.”

“Well, he’s that any way with me, so a few more curses won’t make any odds. Besides, 1 shan’t ai'gue; I shall just drop a hint as to the money question. My difficuUy will be to got him to listen.” “Why not write?”

“No; that’d be shirking. And you never know where you arc with a letter. As like as not as soon as he saw who l it was from he’d think it was about that bog business and pitch it into the fire. No, I must go and tackle him, and the sooner the better.” “To-morrow?” “No, he might not be there, and he’s making the pace so hot 1 daren’t leave it. Besides, it’s no use putting it off. I’m going to stroll along now.” “I don’t like it, Chris,” said Sally doubtfully. “-Nor do I, my dear. But it can’t be helped." “Shall I come with you?” “Visit of ceremony, eh?” said Fraync, looking at his sister’s loving face very affectionately. “No, that would hardly do, though it’s like you to suggest it, Sally. He’s a poisonous fellow -and probably ’ll be damued offensive. It won’t hurt me, but I’m not going to let you in for it. You’d cramp my style.” “You’ll be careful, Chris?” “You bet your life. If he tries any monkey tricks I’ll be ready for him. I wasn’t last time, but this’ll be different. Besides he’s got nothing to gain by going for me. Don’t you worry; it’ll be all right." Frayne emptied his coffee cup, lit his pipe, gave his sister a brotherly hug, -casual but warm, and -started off. “Don’t sit up for me,” he said over his shoulder. “1 may be some while.” Sally did not answer, but looked after him with anxious eyes -and a very loving heart. CHAPTER IX. Ut was nearly nine o’clock when Frayne left Pengley Park. The moon was up and it was a night of great beauty with -the “flecce-like floor” beloved of Shelley sliding before the breeze through the great, luminous spaces of heaven. The gate that led through the -stone wall -dividing the triangle from the lane was standing ajar; he passed through it without noise and struck quietly up the rough 'track through the enclosed moor to the knoll on which the buildings of the bungalow stood. There were three, the bungalow itself, a simple structure of three rooms only, a couple of rooms for servants under a separate roof, and a garage for a small car. The three stood close together and -made, as it were, a little, lonely outpost of humanity perched -on the edge of the great moor. It was now dark, hut to -his vexation Frayne could see no lights either in the -servants’ quarters or in the bungalow itself. “Out,” he thought. “Just my luck!” He turned aside to knock at the door of the -servants’ quarters, reasoning nebulously that he might there discover whether -or not his visit were vain. He was acquainted of old with Mrs Bigley and her daughter who looked after the bungalow, having been -a constant •visitor in the pleasant days of -the Grainger-s. Hardly had his knock on the dark and silent door died -away than, keyed up as he was, he was momentarily startled by a tiny gleam of light from one of the bungalow windows, the bedroom as he knew. . It showed for a second only as though from a candle or lantern in -motion, the next instant it vanished and all was darkness again. Frayne waited, thinking that his knock had been heard and that some one, Brown himself or one -of the Bigleys, would forthwith open the door of' the bungalow to see who had caused it; but the bungalow, like the servants’ quartex's, remained dark and silent. After a moment, as nothing further happened, he marched boldly ■up to the -bungalow and knocked loudly on its door. It was thrown open even before his hand could drop to his side, and Mortimer Brown stood on the threshold. He had a general expi-ession on his face, hut on recognising Frayne it passed ahx’uptly through surprise to a fierce scowl. “You!” hn cried. “What the hell d’you want? Another dip in the bog?” With great ’difficulty Frayne restrained the anger that surged up in his temples at the deliberate insolence. “No,” he answered quietly, “I’m not trespassing this time. I came to see yoxl and, thinking you were out, knocked at the Bigley’s door to inquire.’* . , ■! «. I "They’re out and I’m not,” growled Brown. “Pity it isn’t the -other way about, eh? Came up to see me, did I j;ou? Well, you can damned well go - Baok the way you came. I don’t want to see you. Get. out, quick !” He -swung the ‘door as he spoke, but j Frayne anticipated his action by thrusting forward his stick; the door banged I on n and fell open again. (Ito ba eeauaneeu).