“The Jackal”

Manawatu Times, Volume LVI, Issue 7064, 25 January 1933, Page 9

“The Jackal”

(Chnpt. XX.—Continued.) Believed that everything was working out so simply, Helen returned to we house and slipped into the library to write the letter. As an apology it was not a great success. It read more like an uncompromising statement than an explanation. As an after thought she folded Grace’s letter with her own, and enclosed both in the envelope. Hardly had she finished when Anna oame in. . “Plenty of time for your train, dear,” she remarked brightly. ' “Rudolph will be found With the car in half an h6ur.” Half an hour! thought Helen in sudden panic. Anything might happen in half an hour: Uncle Eric bight return; Jerry might—she thrust him from her mlpd with fierce determination. “I think I will walk on. He can pick me up at Enderby,” she said hurriedly. “It’s such a lovely morning and the walk will do me a world of good.” "My poor Helen, you are not well," cooed Anna. “How pale you arel Are you are sure you are lit to travel?” “Oh, it's nothing—a headache—-It will pass off.” Helen braced herself to go through the farce of saying farewell. Anna ■must not see that she was running away. It was over at last, and she was walking down the long drive, out through .the lodge gates, away from Doone Manor, away into the freedom of a new life—a barren desert as yet, but it was there she must build again from the WTeckage of her old unhappiness and learn to keep memory In chain. She had seen the last of DOohe Manor—and then, suddenly she remembered. (Her handbag! She had left it behind in the library. Without It She was helpless; it contained all her ready money. There was nothing for it; she would have to go back. She reached the house without encountering a soul; on through the hall, along the corridor, and still fortune favoured her. She was at the very door, her hand reaching out for thfe door handle when she halted, suddenly frozen into immobility. Prom inside the library oame the sound of a man’s low chuckle, and then a woman's voice, Anna’s, crooningly ■ —a whisper of passionate surrender. "Darling 1 My darling I”

In that instant Helen was changed. All her self-delusions were swept away wholesale; the barricade of calm teason and logic she had raised to protect herself, to preserve her very individuality, crumbled and fell. Unreasoning lury and jealousy took possession of her. jerry had loved her; he had loved her; ho belonged to her. It was Anna who had tricked him. She had torn him from her. And she had actually been on the point of running away. What folly 1 What a sacrifice for the sake of petty self-pride! She knocked boldly upon the door. There was no reply, only the faint sound of furtive movement. She knocked again, this time imperatively, and Anna’s voice, cool and composed, bade her come in.

“You, Helen! 1 I thought you had gone.” Helen looked around the room in surprise. Anna was alone. “I thought I heard a man’s voice." Anna broke into a gay, rippling little laugh. “So did I. It must have been outside. Tho window is open. I’m quite alone, you see." “A moment ago you were not,” retorted Helen, Indignant at the deliberate lie.

Anna still smiled, but her eyes had gone cold and hard. “Will you say what you mean, Helen? I am not accustomed to in- * sinuations."

“He was in this room,” Helen persisted quietly,

“Who?” “You ought to know. You called him ‘darling—my darling.’ ”

Without a word Anna drew herself up to her full height and swept majestically from the room. Immediately Htlen ran over to the window and looked out. But there was no one to be seen. Anna’s mysterious companion ■had had time enough to make good his escape.

At first she had taken it for granted it was Jerry, but now she was not so sure. Jerry would not have vanished by way of the window. Why should he? Whoever it was, he must have been very anxious not to be caught in the room with Anna.

Helen seated herself at the writing table. Her bag was where she had left it, but she gave it no more than absent-minded attention, opened it •mechanically, and took out a small memorandum book, Intending to jot down thoughts as they occured to her in the vague hope that the muddle in her mind would automatically isiort itself out. Not a word went down in the little book. She could only achieve one coherent thought: ‘‘l won’t go.” “I won’t go.” "I’ll stay." •She remembered then iJerry's urgent manner ot the previous day. "Its that I want to talk about." Perhaps sho had misunderstood him. “I’ll stay,” she thought again. "Yes. I’ll Stay.” Presently Rudolph came to announce that the car was ready. She told him She Would not require him. [Her Ungers unconsciously toyed with the pencil, making lines and hazard marks and jottings on the blotting paper. She was too deeply absorbed to be aware of it, so absorbed indeed, that she failed to hear the sound of a faint click behind her. Too late came the choking, overwhelming sensation of terror. It swooped down upon her before she could move or cry out. One wild, panic-stricken struggle, and then all went black. Her senses left her. « 9 O ® “I can’t understand it,” Eric Doone finished reading Helen’s note for the third time. "It’s not like her to do that sort of thing—dash off suddenly without a, word.” “She left the letter,” said Jerry. "It’s absurd, ridiculous. She might easily have gone by the evening train. Hang it all I Grace Isn’t so Important. She’s not dying or anything like that. Helen wouldn’t rush away just for that.” Jerry had nothing to say. His conscience was very uneasy. What a fool he had been! Why blind himself to the truth? Helen had gone for good. He had lost her. In spite of his own pain, he was glad in a way for her sake. He forced a cheery smile. “Never mind, old man. It’s the best i

(BY J. lindsay Hamilton.) I nsta lment 19.

thing that could have happened. Helen Is well out of it. Any moment now hell will be let loose. You ought to be thankful she is safe with friends."

"My God, you’re right, Jerry! It's only because she has gone off like this—l suppose that’s wliat'S bothering me. When I think of how nearly I missed her I The car passed me in the High Street at Market Appleton, and I dio’n’t know she was In it."

"‘Rudolph says he saw her safely on to the train.”

"Yes; I expect she is all right. But it will be a relief to know she has arrived safely. I’ve a good mind to send a wire.”

The wire, however, was never sent. Perhaps his Innate dislike of anything approaching fussiness deterred him, or it may be that the subsequent discussion of plans for the night excursion down the diver put the matter from his mind. Jerry proposed to visit the abandoned wharf that very night. “That reminds me; there’s something I meant to tell you,” said Doone. “The letter drove it clean out of my mind. I don’t know that it’s of any importance, but you can judge for yourself, Jacques came back this morning soon after you left, and ” “That’s interesting,” exclaimed Jerry, softly. "Then his visit to Cunningham was probably on my account. Now, who told him I had crossed the river? Not Rudolph—he was away in the car at the time.” He was silent for a moment. Suddenly he began to chuckle quietly to himself. “Lordt What a blind fool I am!” "That wasn't what I wanted to tell you exactly,” said Doone. "I 16ft for Enderby just before ten o’clock, and in the grounds I came unexpectedly upon Anna and Jacques. They didn’t see me."

And now, with the Skipper in the bows, and Jerry wielding the paddle, the punt bore steadily downstream. "Another five minutes and it will be as black as Ink," said Jerry. “The moon doesn’t rise for another hour." His prediction of the coming darkness was uncomfortably correct. By the time they reached the Manor ana slid silently past close to the opposite bank, it was impossible to see more than the black ripple of the water as it streamed from the blunt nose past them. Not a breath of wind stirred. The river was wrapped in a black pail of night and silence. The only sound that came to their ears was the gentle “lip-lap” of the water under the bows.

Jerry laid aside the paddle. The Skipper kept a keen look-out, thrusting out when they drew too dose in to the bank, now warding off the drooping branches of a willow tree.

Presently Erio turned the puht across stream, and with long strokes drove It to the other bank. And then the same process went on—feeling their way downstream alongside the bank. Jlc was anxious not to overshoot the opening into the lake. A clump of rushes encumbering his paddle gave him warning. Within a few yards he was able to swing the punt round sharply to the right. The blut bow ran Into more rushes, forced its way over and through them, and oame to a halt. L (To be continued.

“A love scene ” asked Jerry, with a certain grim humour. "No; they were quarrelling. At least, so it seemed to me. I couldn’t hear what was said, and naturally I wasn’t going to play eavesdropper” (Jerry smiled to himself at that), "but Jacques was very angry, threatening, I thohght, and Anna—this was what surprised me most —Anna was positively meek. She seemed to be pleading with him." Jerry listened, his eyes sparkling with excitement. His voice, when he spoke, was dreamier than ever. "Skipper, old lad, I begin to see daylight, broad daylight. For the moment it’s just a bit too dazzling.” “Well, it's as plain as punch to me," muttered Doone, fiercely. “That blackguard has a hold on her.” Jerry seemed tickled. He broke into gentle irrespressible laughter. "Damn it! I don't see anything to laugh at,” growled Doone. “Sorry,” murmured Jerry humbly; “I was laughing at my own thoughts. You were saying he’s got a hold over her. I think you’re quite right.” "Well, what are we going to do about it? Anna is my niece. I’m not going to have that blackguard frightening her.” “1 shouldn’t worry about Anna,” said Jerry drily, “she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.” “But if he’s blackmailing her?” “We’ll see, old man; we’ll see.” This was not particularly helpful, but it was all Jerry would say. CHAPTER XXI. 11 e.r. n The last gleam still lingered In the sky as Jerry and the Skipper embarked •in the punt at Enderby Bridge. They had left the Manor earlier in the day. Jerry, with his usual facilo invention, for the benefit of any who might be interested in his movements, had claimed a warm friendship with a well-known landowner whose estate lay a few miles beyond Enderby; it was really a duty to pay him a call while In the district; If Doone would care to exercise his muscles with the paddle, duty would become pleasure; the day was too good to be wasted. “Expect us when you see us, dear Anna," said Jerry with a happy-go-lucky laugh. "Colonel Dowser is a most hospitable man.” He had, Indeed, no intention of seeing Colonel Dowser, but that pleasure wa3 thrust upon him later in the day, for the choleric gentleman, with the assistance of much forcible language and a ferocious looking cow, had promptly ejected them from the river bank, where they had been peacefully enjoying a smoke. "If he seems a trifle less hospitaable than my generous nature bad supposed, what does it matter, Skipper, old boy?” observed Jerry. “My conscience is clear. “We’ve seen the dear old buffer.” The few remaining hours of waiting passed quickly at the Enderby Arms, Where they procured an impromptu meal, and afterwards yarned and smoked contentedly until it was time to make a move.