HELD IN RANSOM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 19141, 6 October 1925, Page 5

HELD IN RANSOM.

BY GERALD CUMBERLAND.

Vuthor of " The Cypress Chest," " Set Down in Malice," " The Poisoner." Etc., Etc. (Copyright.) CHAPTER Xlll.—{Continued.) In his new quarters he gave himself up to steady and concentrated work. Already he had another idea for another play, and he worked at it unceasingly, only leaving his room each day to visit Audrey and Uncle Peter. For the first few days Audrey's progress was slow, but once she began really to rally her recovery was more rapid. Sir Theodore Vanceley had told Frank it would be unwise to revive in Audrey the memory of her sufferings. " If she wishes to speak of them, let her. But don't encourage her." But Audrey evinced tio desire to speak of the days of her imprisonment. Her mind, in spite of the shocks it had received and the strain it had been under, was thoroughly healthy, and each time Frank visited her she received him with happy smiles. Those were delicious hours the two lovers spent together in the quiet nursing home in Bentinck Street. Frank called every afternoon at four o'clock and had tea alone with Audrey in her bedroom. She was too weak to get up and dress, but she was allowed to sit up in bed. The time alloted for Frank's visit was an hour, and at five o'clock precisely a sister would ! enter, the room as a hint to Frank that the hour had arrived for his departure. In those quiet hours together, Frank grew to love Audrey more than ever. Her courage and sweetness were amazing. Time after time they planned their future together, living in anticipation the happy years before them. Frank told her he had given up his journalistic work, for the success of " The Magic Circle" more than justified the belief that he would be more profitably employed in writing plays. He outlined to her the plot of the new comedy he was writing, and she became so absorbed in it that she persuaded him to read to her daily what he had written. At the end of a fortnight she was removed to another nursing home at Bourne End. She was now well enough to get up for two or three hours each day. Frank stayed at an hotel near by, and visited her daily, as he had done in Bentinck Street. It was on one of these visits that Audrey showed by her manner that she wished to broach a subject, but was too shy to do so. They were sitting in the garden of the nursing home, on the bank of the Thames. Roses were in bloom and the day was drowsy with June warmth and scents. "What happened yesterday, Frank?" she asked. " What happened ? Oh, lots of things. But what are yon rfiferring to?" " Well —I don't know. But something happened that the people here don't want me fco know about. They always give me the newspaper to read as I eat my breakfast, but to-day they made some excuse—said it hadn't arrived. And though I've asked three times since, I haven't been allowed to see it yet. What does it mean ?" He placed his large, muscular hand upon hers and gave her a gentle, reassuring look. "It is nothing to bother your head about, little one. But the whole gang's been arrested—every man Jack of them. Seven men and three women. In Marseilles." She paled a little at this information, and he looked at her anxiously. " Perhaps I ought not to have told you," he said. Oh—yes— yes—why not ? I am glad —very glad. But I "have no revengeful feeling, Frank. It's curious. I ought to have, I suppose. But I'm glad becaus® they will no longer be able to cause the tragic misery that must have ensued from their wicked practices. Tell me all the particulars." So Frank told her all he knew. It app&red that all the leaders of the gang had met together in Marseilles for a conference. By some means not yet disclosed to the pubi c, the French police had been informed of this conference which met in a house by the docks. The house had been surrounded in the dead of night, the doors forojd open, and all the ringleaders arrested. At first the criminals had put up some show of resistance, but they had soon recognised that it was hopeless. No doubt there were many underlings of the gang who were vet free; still the entire organisation was broken up and was incapable of doing any more mischief. " Shall we Be wanted as witnesses at the trial?" Audrey asked. " I hardly think so. There seems to be a mass of evidence against tnem that does not concern us. Their records are red with crime. They are ' wanted ' for graver charges than we can bring against them—murder, for one." Audrey shuddered involuntarily. But in a low voice she began to tell him in detail all her experiences since she had been kidnapped. She left out nothing, feeling that she wanted to get it all off her mind, once and for ever. But every j time she mentioned Voules's name she I did so with an effort, for the very thought of this sinister man was hateful to her. Frank listened, sick at heart, finding it difficult to restrain an exhibition of his I anger and deep disgust. When she had finished, he put his arms about her and drew her to him. And then he, on his side, told her a little, but by no means all. He relieved the sordid wickedness of the story he had to toil by dwelling «on Princess Warenski's devotion to him. "Poor woman!" said Audrey. "I'm sure she was more sinned against than sinning." " I've no doubt she was. Now that we've told each other all about our experiences with these wretched criminals, I want vou to make a compact with me. ' Yes ? What is it?" " We'll agree never to mention or make the slightest allusion to what has happened. We will wipe it out of our lives for ever." She nodded her acquiescence. " Yes," she agreed. " we will pretend it has never happened." Within three weeks of the above conversation Audrey and Frank were quietly married at Chelsea Old Church. Months ago they had decided to go on the Continent for their honeymoon, but now no country save their own seemed to attract them. * So they went to Scotland for a brief holiday. Audrey was anxious to get to their beautifully furnished little house and Frank had a reason of his own for wishing to return to London before the end of July. Audrey, now fully restored to health, began to realise for the first time what true happiness is. During the last two or three months she seemed to have passed from girlhood to womanhood. She hud a new dignity, a natural poise and ease and a graciousness that belong to full maturity. On her arrival at the new home she and Frank had prepared for themselves, she settled down to as regular a life as possible, for Frank, having finished his plav some weeks ago, had started enthusiastically on a new novel. " Being in love is very strange," he said one evening when they were alone together. "Is it?" she asked. "It is certainly very wonderful." "It gives me new energy. I'm doing three or four times as much work as I did "before I met you. And whereas ' work used to bore me it now fills me with delight. But you must let me know if my writing takes me away from you too much." But, as a matter of fact, 110 writer who does creative work nan labour more than four or five hours a day, and Audrey had no reason to complain that her husband neglected her.

One morning at breakfast Audrey proposed that they should go to the Georgian Theatre to" see " The Magic Circle," a second time. " Well, it's a strange thing," s,aid Frank " but this envelope I've jnst opened contains complimentary tickets for a box for a new play that's to be done at the Royalty Theatre to-night. Shall we go there instead of to the Georgian ? We could ask Uncle I'eter to come with us—we've rather neglected him lately," " V 3>ry well. We'll go ' Tfce Magic Circle to-morrow. the new play called The Happy Ending." It's a comedy. I hope we shall like it." t On arriving at the Royalty, they met Uncle Peter who invited them to supper at the Savoy at the conclusion of the play. The three-act comedy proved to be of rather an original kind. Though ftli! of wit and amusing situations, it contained a delicate poetry of so wistful a ku."l that on more than one occasion it brought tears to the eyes of the audience. "What a beautiful play!" exclaimed j Aadrev. "It seems almost a desecration | to applaud it." Nevertheless, the audience did applaud it—and with long and sustained enthusiasm. At the end of the piece there were loud cries for the author, the entire theatre giving itself up to wild excitement, Audrey leaned over the edge of the box, watching the people in the stalls and pit, many of whom had risen to their feet in their enthusiasm. Frank, who was sitting at the back of the box, slipped away unobserved. Suddenly, Audrey turned round to speak to her husband. " Who is the author, Frank ?" she asked. " Why. Uncle Peter, Frank's gone away." M "I daresay we shall see him soon, ' said Uncle Peter, with a sly smile. And, indeed, just at that .moment Frank stepped on to the empty stage and bowed his acknowledgments. His appearance wafS greeted with louder shouting and clapping of hands and calls for a speech. Audrey turned to Uncle Peter in amazement. " But that's Frank!" she cried. But I don't understand. What is he doing on the stage ? It isn't possible that he —why, yes, Uncle Peter, he is the author. How wonderful! How beautiful' What a marvellous thing has Happened ! Oh, Uncle Peter, I do so want to kiss someone! May I kiss you ? " Whv, of course!' Impulsively she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him on the cheek. " You and Frank," she said, " are the nicest, sweetest, dearest, best and most wonderful men in the world: THE E>'D.