Through The Silent Night

Manawatu Times, Volume LV, Issue 6836, 18 April 1932, Page 9

Through The Silent Night

(BY WILLIAM GUIDOTT.) hf

Instalment 16. ■— «

CHAPTER XIII.— ("Continued.) ' Tell Miss Smith how sorry we were she couldn’t oome. Good-night !” she heard him say, and smiled, for her heart was singing. He was thinking of her then, his last words were a message to her. A very simple and ordinary one, it, was true, hut Doris smiled again as sho wondered whether Mrs Leighton would have thought it so had she known that he had telephoned her only an hour or so before from the music-hall. Tt wasn’t quite so ordinary, after all. But her thoughts were rudoly brought to earth again as she caught sight of the preparations she had begun to make for flight. What did Cyril or anyone else matter since siie must go and never see them' all again? Once well away from London, probably hidden In the depths of Ihe country somewhere, she would not communicate even with Ihe two men. Why should she bring them into all this scandal and trouble? If Cyril cared for her, it was only another reason why she ought to go away. One day her name would be cleared, and then—ah, then perhaps he would have forgotten all about her.

CHAPTER XIV. Marcia had not paid much attention to Hie performance that evening. Once Jim had asked her quietly, so that the others could not hear, woollier she was worried about anything, or horod and would like to go. She had answered him rather shortiy, aid he had looked so injured that she had regretted It almost immediately, partly because she had wished to try and And out. something from him about Doris, but mo.stly really because she liked Dim much more than she would admit, even to herself. So far as Doris was concerned, she really did not know what to think. It seemed a little unfair to suspect her now after taking her fo her own home and believing in her, yet the, circumstances wore certainly peculiar, examined with the cold searchlight of suspicion. What had disturbed her faith in her newfound fried? Marcia had an inherent love of justice which, unlike most people, she believed should begin at homo, and she answered the question unflinchingly. It was only when she had seen her so intimately talking with Jim that, she had begun to think things. That was remarkably ..ike jealousy. Was she jealous then? This was absurd and vulgar. She really couldn’t be jealous of a man she hardly knew. No, there must be something in it, she thought. There must he some strong reason. Were they perhaps talking about her? A coni shiver went down her spine. Jim jiad watched her at dinner the other night when she had so nearly given herself

away. Those eyes of his had missed nothing that she was feeling, she v.as sure of Ihat. What must he have (bought of her pitifully weak attempts to prevent her mother reading that letter, and then ho had seen her burning it. True, he bad been attentive ■and nice afterwards, as indeed lie had always been; but perhaps that was only the way he behaved In every girl; most men were like that. Marcia had been feeling so secure, so certain that no one suspected her o’f the connection with the crime. Everything had seemed to work together to protect her. Providence seemed to be taking her under Hs wing so conveniently. And now must come this man who suspected her; for in her heart she. found, that she believed that that, was what he and Doris were talking about. The Brighton Murder. Why, of course, that was it. Jim had noted her agitation on more occasions than one, especially at the mention of the Brighton murder. He had shown his surprise openly when he heard she was there fihat evening, and her mother might have told him of her visit to a moneylender. it was just the sort of indiscreot confidence she was so fond of 'making. And Doris lived at Brighton: He was asking her questions. They wore both discussing her. Marcia was almost oertain of it. The conversation was in low tones, too, that made it worse, but anyone who would abuse your hospitality in such a way would stick at nothing. She found she wis getting furious and pulled herself up with a .jerk. It, was hardly fair. Perhaps she ought to find out definitely, first, before she judged both quite so harshly. She looked jt Jim Diversion, and found he was leaning away from her on ihe arm of his seat, and looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

As she turned, he looked full into her eyes and smiled. Marcia recalled afterwards that she had laughed very guiltily. There was something so honest straightforward in the dark sensitive face. Surely anyone could not, look like that and he suspecting her of that awful thing. And yet why not Why shouldn't they suspect her? She had done it. She had killed that man, and horrible ns it seemed to herself, -she could not regret it as conventional instincts told her she should. But the instinct born of generations of fighting ancestors was stronger. She had to do it. She had had to hit film, to light her way out of that terrible situation into which he had inveigled her. and she had killed him. And the horror which had come over her at the time was more that she should have boon chosen as the instrument to end this man's vile life than any horror against herself for doing it. Marola wished she had read the papers, and more especially those of the last few days. After the day following the crime she had resolutely refused to allow herself to look at them, for she did not expect to he even remotely suspected by anyone, and, feeling secure, had known It would he better to try and forget everything. But, now she regretted this as weakness. Witout, doubt, Doris had read something. Perhaps some clue had been found by the police, something dropped or someone seen. Marcia pondered. There was only one way by whioh she mifeht perhaps find out once and for all, if they suspected. The interminable music-hall show was over at last, and they sped home. There was a light In Dorn’ Window. Maroia said good-night to her mother in the hall. Then she went to Doris’ bedroom door and knookell. Marcia stood waiting outside the

door, a hundred thoughts ohasing each other through her hrain. At. first there was no answer. She knocked again gently. Doris came to the door and threw It open wide. ‘‘Oh, I’rn so sorry, Marcia, did you knock before? I thought I heard someone, but a cart was passing or something, and I wasn’t certain.”

Marcia laughed a little nervously. ‘‘l only came to see how you were. Is your head better? I don’t want to disturb you, I expect you're dying to get to bed, It’s late.” “Oh, no, I’m not. Do come in. I'm all right now, and the headache has completely gone,” Doris answered. “I’ve had a quiet evening, a very dull one with you two dear people out, but I expect it was good for me to be dull for my sins. Was the thoe.tre amusing?” “No —yes, I really don't know. I don’t think I was in the mood. It seemed to me very stupid, but then I never care very much for music hails, I’m going to get a cup of soup. Mother told them to leave some for us, I think. I’ll bring you some.” ■» Doris protested, but Marcia was half-way down the passage towards the dining room. Mrs Leighton had gone straight to her room, but Ihe maid had just brought in a dainty Iray of soup and biscuits. “I think I will take it into Miss Smith’s room, Mary,” Marcia said, “she hasn’t been very well. Did anyone come to-night? No letters?” “No, miss, no one came. Is Miss Smith better, miss? I didn’t know she was not feeling well. 1 was listening to her playing.” “She plays beautifully, doesnt’s ■she, Mary? 1 wish I did,”’ Marcia replied regretfully. “It. must be wonderful to be able to play like that.” “Yes, miss, it must,” ihe maid answered. “I think I must have sat at the kitchen door for nearly half an hour listening and forgetting the time and everything else. I know I felt like breaking the telephone when it rang and interrupted her.” “The telephone? Who was it?” “Some gentleman, miss. I didn’t catch his name.”

“But why didn’t you write it. down on the slate, you should have made him spell it and 'leave a message." “I know, miss, but you seo Miss Smith was there. She answered it.” “Miss Smith?” asked Marcia in surprise. “The gentleman asked for her, miss." “Oh, I see," said Marcia, slowly. “Goocl-night, Mary. I’ll take ihe tray in.” So someone had rung up Doris that evening. Who could it have been since she had no friends and knew no one? Who then would ’phone her at such a time, or at all? The ’phon ! always sounded so businesslike. Perhaps it was the police. They were asking Doris about, her. Gould ttial be it? Why not? How much did the girl know? They could have ferreted her out, she was only the guest, of a few days and they would ask her things. Besides she came from Brighton. Perhaps she had lived near the money-lender. She might even have known John Stuart, or met. him socially. Marcia smiled sarcastically, a nice sort of society to have frequented. Probably in real life he was known and respected. She might he a relation. She had left- home the same night and the man h;d said he was alone in the house. i .!arcia remembered that. he. had a daughter. Where was she? In the first accounts in the papers no mention at al! had appeared of her. She stood thinking hard. The soup was getting cold. She suddenly remembered it and taking tho tray up went back to Doris’ room.

Boris had slipped on a kimona and was sitting on a corner of the dainty gleaming brass bedstead idly fastening and unfastening a brooch in the soft folds of gold Japanese silk. Her gold hair was loose and flowing over ■her shoulders and against the ivory tinted wall she made an exquisite picture of youth and freshness. She sailed as Marcia came in. “What, a gorgeous brooch, Doris. It looks lovely in that Japanese thing.” “It's a. little heavy.” Doris answered. "but gorgeous, as you say. Of course, these old-fashioned things were made to last, but. I think this one has lasted too Jong, and I shall have tile stones re-set. It was my mother's.” “Your mother’s?"

,r Yes, I was only one year old when father divorced her. I told you the story." “Oh, yes, 1 remember quite well all you told me. 1 never forget confidences,” Marcia replied, looking at tier rattier closely. “Oh, I forgot to speak about Ihe ’phone, i meant to oail up the Exchange to-night from somewhere and complain about it, and ask what had gone wrong with It. I couldn’t hear a word at tea time.” Doris looked surprised. “H was quite all right when I used it.” “Was it? Do you mean since ioa?”’ ■Doris could have bitten her tongue off for having so needlessly said anything about it. Marcia was watching her, and noted a shade of annoyance pass over her eyes for the fraction of a second.

“It was this evening.” “Of), I'm so glad it's all right again. Do tell me. Have you found some friends then, after all, or have thoy found you?” asked Marcia, forcing herself to speak lightly. “Oh, no. I.t was no one.” Doris looked up with a question on her lips. "At least, no one you don't know.” “No one I don't know—but this is mysterious. Who?” Doris laughed a little self-con-sciously. “Oh, only Mr Kynaston.'' “But he was with us,” All Marcia’s doubts had swept, back again. “He said he was at the Imperial, and was 'phoning from there. He only wanted to know how I was,” said Doris rather weakly. She felt she ■was crimsoning, and turned her face away. Maroia did not believe her. This girl waa hiding something, if not why did she look so embarrassed? "You look awfully guilty,” she said purpo»“>v. "if it was Mr Kynaston —* (To be continued.)