“DOORS OF DESTINY”

Manawatu Times, Volume LIV, Issue 7300, 30 October 1933, Page 9

“DOORS OF DESTINY”

Instalment 2.

CHAPTER I.—(Continued.) “Very well, Miss Tempest,” he remarked drily; “we will cut it out. I will write a fresh finish to this scene." As he spoke he drew a blue pencil from his pocket, and with a sharp movement struck out the two following pages of the "soript." Hope gazed in amazement. Like a flash it dawned on her that he must be the author of the play—and this was his first production! Simultaneously, the voice of Maidie Bright murmured in her ear, “You’ve done it now! What did I tell you? She thinks you’re going to cut her Out!" Hope blanched with dismay, while Magda Tempest swept down upon the author and stage manager in a tearing passion. “This is too much!" she stormed. "It is a deliberate insult 1” "Pardon me, Miss Tempest,” politely broke in Mr* Frayne. “If anyone has been insulted, it is Miss Sterling.” “Miss Sterling, indeed!" cried Magda. “Half an hour ago Mr Gharterls had not even set eyes on herl" "No," retorted Charterls coldly, nor seen her work. But what I have just witnessed, Miss Tempest, makes mo perfectly confident that she has nothing to learn from you.” The stage manager took the scene in hand and endeavoured to assert his authority. “You will please understand, Miss Tempest,” he said, "that if any remarks of that sort are necessary or desirable, either Mr Frayne or myself are the proper persons to whom to make them." White with rage Magda turned to Lord Stonelelgh. “Are you going to stand by and allow be to be treated In this manner?" "Please try and control your temper," quietly murmured the Earl. "You are making yourself ridiculous." "I shall resign ray part,” screamed Magda, flinging her ‘script’ on to the floor." "As you please,” said Brian Chartern, coldly, his keen eyes noting the evident distress caused Hope by this outburst. "Come, eome," said Lord StoneJeigh, taking Magda by the arm and trying to pacify her. "Do remember, my dear, that ! am financing the show, and that you have nothing to fear. Your part will be a triumph, as usual." But Magda flung h!s arm aside and almost shouted at Mr Fayne and the stage manager, who stood looking confused and considerably annoyed at the sudden turn the rehearsal had taken. The little orowd of players on the stage stood by silent and helpless, while Lord Stonelelgh endeavoured to soothe the now hysterically weeping Magda. Mr Frayne and Brian approached Hope, both anxious to ease her mind. "Please take no notice of this regrettable occurrence,. Miss Sterling,” said Frayne. "Miss Tempest will be just as sorry as we are when tomorrow comes that she lost her temper over such a trifle." Not a man present but felt thoroughly uncomfortable over the whole proceeding, and Magda’s tears appeared to be so genuine that they reduced every male present to Impotence. No one saw tho gleaming eyes watching the scene from the ‘files.’ Dark, fierce eyes, set in a strained, pale face which peered down from the dim recesses of those mysterious galleries, filled with tho mechanical contrivances that are part and parcel of every theatre, and which, to the lay mind present a mere confusion of ropes, bars and pulleys in endless array. Tho sound of Magda’s weeping rent the heart of tho unseen man who hung over the place whore she stood, thirty foot below him. Suddenly the stage was plunged in total darknes>, Magda's convulsive sobbing ceased. "Lights there! Lights 1" yelled the stage manager. "Who’s working on that switchboard?" Even as he called a crash startled tho assembled actors as they stood helpless in the pitch darkness, and a woman's voice screamed out in pain, dying away in a muffled, agonising groan. The stage manager himself stumbled up the ladder to the place where the huge electric switchboard was built into the wall, and with clumsy fingers gropingly discovered the lever that once more flooded the theatre with light. "Good heavens!" someone gasped, while all eyes gazed in horror at the still, unconsoious form of Hope Sterling where she lay upon the ground, a ghastly trioklc of blood flowing from her pate forehead. CHAPTER 11. When Hope Sterling recovered consciousness she found herself lying on the oouch in the Manager’s room, ner forehead bound with a cooling bandage. Mr Frayne was talking to the dootor who had been hastily summoned, and explaining that a careless carpenter had owned to dropping i heavy hammer from the ‘files’ when ;he lights went out—a pure accident. Brian Charterls was sitting on a ohalr acside'Hope, ancl It was him she saw first when she opened her eyes. "What has happened?" she murnured, attempting to rise. “Lie still, Mias Sterling,” whispered Brian gently, “You were struok by i falling hammer in the darkness, but the injury is not seriouß, thank heaven'! When you are a little further recovered, I will seo you home.” Hearing their voices, the doctor turned and came to her side. He lifted her wrist and took her pulse. “How do you feel now, little lady?" he asked kindly. "That was rather a nasty blow you received, but you should be all right with two or three days rest Your head aches badly. I daresay?" does, rather," Hope answered feebly. "Well, so long as it’s no worse, and It easily might have beenl My advice is to go home and to bed, and I will send you round some medicine that will keep down any fever, and look In and see you again in the morning. I have your address." Hope looked at him anxiously. “Are they going to let me play in the show?”

(By Constance Bromley)

Mr Frayne stepped to her side with a friendly smile. “Now don’t you worry. Miss Sterling. Of course you are going to play in the show. Dr. Bailey assures me you will be able to attend rehearsals in two or three days’ time, and until then wo can get along with someone reading your part. The great thing is not to worry. How do you feel now?” Hope tried to raise herself, and Brian put his arm beneath her shoulders and supported her. In her weakness she yearned to rest In those strong arms, and something suspiciously like tears trembled in her eyes The shock had left her very shaky, and it was only by a great effort of will tbpt she succeeded in getting to her feet. Even then she felt a little giddy. "Are you sure you feel well enough to move now, Miss Sterling?" asked Brian anxiously. Hope glanced at him, and at the tender look in his eyes looked quickly away again, her pale face flushing slightly. “With your kind help, Mr Charterls, I am sure I can.” “That’s good," broke In Mr Frayne. "My car is at the stage door, and Mr Charterls has promised to see you safely home. Don’t worry about anything. Just let, us know when you feel like returning for rehearsals." A few moments later Hope was seated in Mr Frayne’s luxurious limousine, while Brian Charterls tucked the carriage rug about her with tender care. . CHAPTER 111. Michael Gelding, ‘Crazy Mike,’ as they called him, —mechanic and oddjob man at the Crown Theatre, had taken a little more drink than was good for him. It had brought a flush to his usually pallid cheeks, a brightness into his eyes, and a sense of gaiety to his normally moody disposition. Ah! but it waa fine stuff, that brandy! It put new blood Into a man’s veins. It wasn't as good as a pinch of ‘snow,’ of course,— (the slang term by which its slaves spoke of the deadly white powder, cocaine), —but it made one forget one's troubles. It made one feel a man again 1 Time was when Michael Gelding had been a fine enough speolmcn of a man, but those were the days when ha had first gone to be chauffeur to James Harding, stockbroker and motor enthusiast. The days before he came under the spell of Magda Tempest, Harding’s wife. She was then at the height of her beauty, restless and dissatisfied with a marriage that pad boen purely mercenary, and rapidly learning to loathe the man whose wealth had brought her luxury. Magda, to whom all admiration was the breath of life, quickly saw the Impression her beauty had made on the young chauffeur, and where another woman would have Ignored It, In one socially beneath her, Magda, took a delight in testing her power over him, treating him with insolnet authority one moment, and with dangerously sweet familiarity at others. Harding used to go off in his racing oar in the morning, tearing down the steep hill that led away from the house at break-neck speed. Later, Magda would often issue orders to Michael Gelding to get the touring car ready for an afternoon's spin. It was on one of these journeys that she chose to occ / y the seat beside him, and at a bend of the road leading into a lonely lane bade him drive a short distance down and then stop. "We'll rest here awhile, I want to talk to you,” she said, in a low, slightly husky voice that was one of her charms. “Would you like to smoke?" "No. thank you, Madam," he replied, staring straight in front of him. Magda drew a gold case from her bag, and, taking out a cigarette, put it between her full red lips. "A light, Michael,” she commanded, softly. With trembling fingers he struck a match and held It for her while she watohed him mockingly. Then, still with her eye* upon him, she took the cigarette, moist from her mouth, and held It to him. “You won’t refuse to smoke now?” she whispered. With a sound curiously like a groan he clasped it in his hand, heedless of its burning end, and wildly kissed the portion her lips had touched. Magda laughed softly. “You stupid boy I Why, you are trembling. Are you afraid of me, Michael?” “Don’tl" he begged. “Don’t tempt me. Remember I am only a man." “■lt’s because you are a man and not a money-making machine that I—• like you." she said. "Look at me, Michael.” He obeyed, and his soul lost Itself in the magic of her eyes. She loaned closer, and something seemed to snap in his brain. He crushed all tho tempting sweetness of her in his arms, thrilling with joy that even then he knew was madness. Oh, he could remember it even now, and little beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. How she had hated her husband, and taught him to share her hate! “If he suspects, he'll dismiss you like a dog," she said. Once, after a quarrel with Harding, she had sought out Michael. "I hate him! My God! How I hate him!” she sobbed. “And you—if you were a map, you’d kill him.” One morning he went, into the garage very early, before breakfast, and found her staring at the racing car. She looked round at his entrance, and motioned to him to shut the door Then she took his hand and held it against her throat, so that he could feel its cool softness beating against his palm. “Michael,” she whispered softly. "If a wheel came off that car when my husband was going down the hill—what would happen?” iHe could not meet her eyes, for something In her voice made hirn afraid. "Therc’d be very little hope for any man travelling at the pace Mr Harding does on that incline if —if a wheel came off," was Michael’s reply. She leaned on him, resting her head against his shoulder. “Do axles ever get loosened? Bolts come undone?" (To be Continued.)