FINGERS OF FATE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVII, Issue 20514, 15 March 1930, Page 16 (Supplement)

FINGERS OF FATE.

BY, L. G. MOBERLEY.

, t - CHAPTER XXn —(Continued.) Miss Jameson was run over," she told me, when I had finished; " she was crossing the main road close here, and in getting out of the way of an omnibus she ran under a lorry, which went over her. Tho case /was hopeless from the first, quite hopeless; and from the first she was in a state of great agitation, but she could not make clear to us what she •wanted. She spoke of a crime, of reparation, of setting something right; but she was semi-delirious; and we could get •at nothing coherent until just before I phoned to you. Then she had begun imploring tis to ask you to come; and it was •evidently so vital a matter that we felt •we must get you here at any cost.." "Thank God you did," I answered; f' it is all most extraordinary. How did :j;he find out my name and telephone "number, I wonder ?" " I can tell you that. She babbled them both over and over again when she 'dropped back into delirium after asking :for you. She said repeatedly, ' Anne told me, Anne told me,' and then she your •.name and number almost ceaselessly." " Poor soul! Has she no relations? No tfriends V " We have the address of a .sister in We have wired to her; and a •friend came in last night, but tho friend >vas too/frightened be of any use or •comfort." By tins time I had recovered my own shaken nerves, and my one desire was to .make my way without delay to Stepney 33ut fortunately I had sufficient sense to aing up Mr. Dyinond before making the ■expedition, and he urged' me not to go to Street without a policeman «nd a search warrant. " Ydu will have all your trouble for jiothing if yon go alone," ho warned me. Waif until I set things in train for you. ■Go back to your flat,- and stay there for the present." Imagine what that waiting meant! And ret I knew Mr. Dymond was right. Of ■what use would it have been for me to hammer at tho door of 105, Wallington Street, when I had no means of forcing an entry ? Nevertheless, I was beginning to feel almost frantic, when, at nino o'clock that evening, a quiet, clean-shaven man appeared, explaining that he was John Haines, a plain-clothes man; that he had n search warrant, and that he was prepared to escort me forthwith to Stepney. That drive down to the East End was like a nightmare, and what seemed in itself an interminable journey was made ! -worse by the constant obstructions to tho •traffic. I sat forward, with hands tightly ■clasped. Rooking out at the lighted shops, the bustling thoroughfare, the stream of vehicles; giving perfunctory answers to the occasional remarks of my companion, ieeling strung up to a pitch of tension Avhicli ; would almost havo liked to vent itself in a scream. . ~ " I can't take you no further than this, our driver said;, after stopping with a j'olt in an ill-lighted, narrow street. "Wall--angton Street, they tell me. is just an alley, down there"—he pointed vaguely; •?' shall I wait for you ?" " Yes, certainly," my companion answered, he handed mo out, and wc Uurned in the direction indicated by tho cabman. This was, as he had said, an alley, lighted by one very dim lamp at tho street end, and consisting of dark houses ;which appeared to be in a most tumble•down .condition. One or two unsa\ ourySooking men loitered along the pavement, and at twjD of the doors stood no less xmsavoury-looking women, who gaped at ?js and iaughed stridently. The number we wanted was at tho alley's far end, and the house was the most tumbledown in the row. No light showed in its windows, and the complete darkness in which it was wrapped gave it « sinister air. Mr. Haines knocked softly on but the house remained dark and silent, not a sound came from within. Then the knock was repeated, more imperatively —still without result; and only after a 'third and yet more imperative summoiis did the door open an inch, " and an evil face peered out. In one second Mr. Haines' foot wedged -itself into the opened door, and in two more seconds he had inserted his person anside Hhe doorway, drawing me after iiim. " What d'vou mean—" a woman's intlignant voice began, but she was instantly silenced. "I "have a search warrant .with me; stand aside," Haines said quietly, and /at . the voice of authority I saw tho woman's form shrink back against the wall. " I ain't-done nothing," she whispered. V I'm a respectable woman—l—" " Stop that," Haines answered, not roughly but with decision, at the same moment turning his electric torch upon her, and showing an untidy figuvo.with a face so/evil I recoiled. " You can go in there," lie' went on, opening a door on the right and giving the woman a gentle push into the dark room beyond. She poured out upon him a volume of execration in language which made me shudder. Haines paid not the smallest attention to her storm of words. He turned //the key upon her, glanced into =an empty kitchen, which was the only ■other room on the floor, then lie and I "went slowly up the most dirty, rickety, ■dilapidated staircase it has ever been any lot/to see. Two doors were at the bend of the tetairs, and my companion opened both, iglancing into tho rooms, which, judging i]>v bis expression, must have been in•dcscribable, and then beckoned to me •to continue our journey to the floor above'. Here again were two doors, and from behind one of them came a sound of low moaning which struck a chill to my Uieart. Haines opened that door first, and over 3iis shoulder I looked into the room. Tho rush of foul hot air that met me made me feel as if I must get into the ■open sheet again at once; but the moaning went on, and I followed the detective ■into the hideous place. But for his flashlight. it was in total darkness, and the stenfih 'twas appalling. As he (lashed the (torch round tho room I saw that it was packed with a miscellaneous collection of furniture, all indescribably filthy; and /that /the tiny window was hermetically sealed up, not to mention that some Ibroken panes were stuffed with filthy lags. The moving ray 3 of the .torch concentrated themselves finally upon a pile of equally horrible rags in the corner, upon which lay a human form, and it ivas from this form that the pitiful moans were coming. " Oh, we must sec—" I began, feeling that to any human being in suffering f must extend a helping hand, and making my way across the room toward the corner. But when I reached it speech failed me. I /was stricken dumb with horror, dumb with an anger which seemed to race through me. in devouring white flame. For that form, lying upon those indescribable rags, was Anne, my little Anne; and it was Anne who was uttering those pitiful moans which wrung my heart. Her eves were closed; her face was ashen; and greiit lines were drawn round her mouth, lines of pain and anguish. I was down on my knees beside her in the twinkling of a second; my arms folded her close; 1 murmured over her incoherent words of Jove and thankfulness. For one dreadful moment she did not seom to know me, but stared past me and 'beyond mo with a stare of such frenzied terror that my anger blazed through me afresh. " I will be_ good," she whimpered piteouslyl will behave, only don't—don't "T - "' , fln d pushed ma away and Shrank and shivered back against the svaU, with frozen horror upon her face.

A STORY OF LOVE, MYSTERY, INTRIGUE AND ADVENTURE.

" My darling," I said gently, " don't be afraid; it is only Dear come to fetch you. There is nothing to frighten you anv more." Slowly, very slowly the expression of unspeakable terror faded from her face, recognition crept into her eyes. Sho put out a trembling hand. " Is it my Dear?" she whispered, clinging to me with a desperate clutch. "Won't they come to—hurt me?' " Nobody shall hurt you," I answered, my voice shaking with indignation. "You are quite safe, Anne my dearest. This kind Mr. Haines has me to find vou and take you away." " I didn't think you could ever find me," she sobbed, nestling closely into my arms. " They are so dreadful here, so dreadful. They—they beat me, Dear." She was wearing only a thin nightgown, and as the sleeve fell back I saw that her arm was black and blue. " Sometimes they pinched me, sometimes they beat me," she jvhispered. " Are you sure it, is safe? Snaky Sal won't come, will she?" Stark terror was in her eyes again, and this time Ilaines came forward, and spoke kindly and softly to her. " It's all right, missy, don't you be afraid of anything any more. Is that Snaky Sal downstairs ? The one with a face to frighten a boa constrictor?" " She has a dreadful face," the poor child faltered; "it makes me afraid when I look at her, and sho is horrible — horrible." " I believe you, miss," was the gnm retort; "but 1 think we've got Snaky Sal scotched this time. Now, if you are ready, Miss Bertram, we had best be going. Is there anybody else in the house besides our friend Snaky Sal?" he added, looking again at Anno. " I don't think so, not now. The others have gone out. They go out to do horrible things, and they wanted me to do them, too.;' Another uncontrolable shudder shook her, and my heart stood still. What depths of evil and degradation had been revealed to this girl with the innocent eyes and innocent heart ? How much had her eyes been opened during all the weary days she had been away from me? I did not dare to dwell upon the thought. With as little delay as possible I wrapped my own Coat round Anne. To put upon her any of the gruesome garments which hung on pegs from the walls of that room was out of the question, and most fortunately I had flung 011 a coat because,-even though' the month was J fay, we wcro still having chilly nights. To "get her out of this place with the greatest possible expedition was my one desire, and I could see that Haines was also anxious not to delay. I was obliged to put some terrible-looking shoes on to Anne's feet; her own, sho said, had been taken from her directly sho arrived, as well as all her clothes; but we had uo time to consider apearances; nothing mattered but getting her away. Haines carried her down the stairs, and wo could hear the raucous voice of Snaky Sal still objurgating us behind the locked door. No ono else appeared—indeed, I think the house was empty, and we made our way into the street, the_ detective carrying Anne in his arms. When she remonstrated, and apologised for the trouble she was giving, and the weight she must be to carry, lie laughed kindly. " Why, missy," "he said, " you're as light as a feather, much about the same size as my own daughter; and when I think what I should feel like if she .had got into such a devil's den, well, it makes me see red!" There were still slouching men and women about the doors of the sinister houses in the alley, bub none molested, or even spoke to us. I suppose they recognised that the mantle of authority was thrown around us; at any rato nobody interfered with our movements; and before I had dared to believe it possible wc were driving westward as fast as our driver dared to drive us—Anne held closely within my arms. .CHAPTER XXin. AN INTERLUDE. " But she's my mother," Anne said piteously; "that's the worst of it all. i She's my mother." ~ " You heard—" i began, but she cut mo short. j " That woman who carne to the Manor House and called herself Mrs. , Daubeny—the one wc met in the club —she's my mother, Dear. Sometimes I can't bear it when I think about it. I used to be sure that mothers were the most wonderful people in the world; now I know that ! they can be terrible." We were in the sitting room of the flat, sitting side by side on a couch by the window, watching the sunset sky j behind our big view; and Anne was telling me, bit by bit, of all that had happened since the afternoon she was lured away from Mrs. Dawson's house. " I shouldn't ever have gone with that nurse," sho said, " if she had not brought me your note. When I saw that, I was sure it was all right." " I have puzzled eve.r since about that note," was my answer. "When and how could anybody have found a piece of my handwriting to copy?" *" She told mo that, she laughed about it," Anne said; and by now I had learnt that when she used the expression " She," she meant her mother. " She thought that was very clever." "So it was," I admitted grudgingly; " it was a wonderful forgery; but how was it done ?" " I had a letter from you in my pocket when they took me away from the Manor House, and it was given to—her. She saved it up,'-because sho thought some day it might come in useful, and so it did." " Yes, so it did;" I echoed. " Then tlia nurse took you straight to—your mother ?" " Yes—and—Dear, she looked at me as if she wanted to kill me then and there; but—l think .something must have held her back." That phrase of Anne's stayed in my mind; I have often since remembered it; and sometimes I feel as though the thought that lies behind it may account for much that we find inexplicable in our fellow-beings. Tho question recurred to me over and over again : why did Mrs. Crosfieid, after all, allow Anne to live? 1 hat Aunc should be put safely and permanently out of the way was certainly to her interest; all her bird of prey qualities would have urged her to get rid once for all of the girl who stood between her and the full enjoyment of her monej Something must have held her back," Anne said; and my own conviction tallied with those words, " Something had held her back !" Lisa Crosfieid was (lie daughter of a bad man, but she was also the daughter of a good woman; and I believe the iniluence of her mother was strong enough to act as a burner over which soma of her evil instincts were not strong enough to pass. " The goodly heritage'' handed on to her by her mother, was the bar that saved her from a deadly crime, tho Something that had held her back! " .She didn't keep me with her," Anne's voice went on with its Etory; " sho sent ino to that horrible place where you found me. Dear, I don't want to talk about that place." Sho shivered, and her eyes were full of fear. " Vou shall not say one single thing more than you want to say," I answered. " All tho people in that house were thieves. Their plan was to make me thieve, and—and do dreadful things,"— her voice faltered, and my heart grew* sick within me—" but I just thought about Dearest, and about you; and I remembored all Dearest used to say." 5 «' What did she say?" " I can't put it in the way Dearest did; she said it in beautiful words, but wha't she meant was that we've got to feel always that God is with us. We are to do everything in His Presence." "The practice of the Presence of God, I murmured.' I

(COPYRIGHT.) .

" That was it," Anrro said eagerly, " that was what Dearest used to say, The Practice of the Presence • of God. To live always, and think, and say, and do everything in His Presence. And I tried to* keep that thought all the time, in that dreadful place, even when they were cruel to me." " Darling, keep that thought always and always," I exclaimed, "and put out of your mind, now and for ever, everything that happened in that house. Put it right away; never allow yourself to think again of one single thing that happened there. Wipe it all out of your heart as if it had never been. Anno looked at me with a strange little smile. " I want to wipe it all out," she answered ; "it was all black; and Dearest said to keep everything black away from one's soul; to keep one's soul always white." " Dearest told you always what was right and splendid," I cried vehemently. "Never forget all the beautiful things she told you: sho was tho best inspiration you could ever have had." " I don't say ' was' about Dearest," Anne said quietly; "I don't believe she s gone far awav. f think she is always here, close by". I think: sho is my best inspiration —not was, but is." I kept Anno quietly in the flat, only going out for walks or for pleasant motor drives, until she had practically recovered her equilibrium; then, with Mr. Dyinond's consent, we did as Mrs. Bernley had suggested, and took our way to Switzerland. I did not quite understand why it was safer now than it had been before to take Anne to her grandmother's but Mrs. Bernley reiterated tho point in more than one letter, making it clear that sho advised mo to take Anno to Drangen. So that I finally acted upon her advice. » I shall never forget Anne's almost speechless delight when she caught her first glimpse of the Swiss mountains; when she first saw a sheet of gentians, heavenly blue upon the grass, and looked across Alpine meadows that wero a tangled loveliness of flowers! Nor shall I easily forget tho meeting between Mrs. Bernley and the granddaughter she had never seen. Sho came out to the door to meet us, a gracious stately figure, and her eyes, that wero usually so sad, shone like stars. She folded Anne in her arms, and then put her a little away, and looked earnestly into her face. " Thank God!" she exclaimed, and I only understood what sho meant by those two words when later on wo were alone, and sho said to me, " I do not suppose 1 can ever mak'B you understand my deep thankfulness that Anne is not in the least like her mother, not in the very least. It seems so strange, so terrible." she went on with vehemence, " that I should be glad that my grandchild is not like her own mother; that I should feel nothing about my own daughter excepting shamo and despair; but how can' I help it? _ How can I help it?" she repeated with a passionate intonation that seemed an echo of tho despair that looked out of her eyes. All the old sadness came into them as she spoke, that haunting terrible sadness which I had noticed on my first visit to her. I felt, as my glance met hers, almost as if I were looking into the eyes of someone who had gone down into hell and seen its deepest depths of evil. "Do you know why T was able to have Aline hero now?" Mrs. Bernlev's voice continued; "it is because _my daughter is not allowed to come into Switzerland/ The police have her under supervision, and she mn.y not come into the country. I felt thai; Anno would be safe here now." I could only look at her dumbly. I was so sorry for her. It hurt mo to see her beautiful, stricken face. " Miss Bertram," she went on—" or may I call you Diana, seeing what you are to Anne"?—l have fought against my own fears, my own doubts, my awn convictions about my daughter; but the truth lias come home to me at last, and I am obliged to face it. My husband first, and then my daughter," she added under her breath; and' again my heart ached, because Of the despair iri her voice. "When I married, it seemed to mo that my husband was a good man. I respected him; I believed in him; I thought his soul was as beautiful as his face. When I knew tho truth, I think I went down into hell." She was silent for many minutes, and I said nothing. What could I say ? _ " Tho truth came to me in ono blinding flash," the quiet, despairing voice went on, " and I knew that he, my husband, was just a crook, one of a band of international crooks; not or.ic of them only, but tho leader of tho band. And his daughter, our daughter, has followed in his steps. She is exactly what he was, one of the cleverest international crooks of to-day." " How did it como about that she married Mr. Crosfieid V" I asked. Tho question seemed to break from me involuntarily; I felt as if I must know the truth. " Her father took her with him all over Europe. Ho moved among people who had not the slightest idea what he really was. Remember, Diana, his titlo and breeding wero unimpeachable; he was received everywhere as one of tho world to which by title ho belonged; and my daughter went with him. She met Philip Crosfieid ono winter on the Riviera. He fell wildly in lovo with her, but why sho married hirn I have never been able to understand. Ho was well-to-do, but not very rich; not a man of any particular mark. Her marriage was just one of her freakish, incomprehensible acts which I cannot explain. She tiired of her husband very quickly; arid her baby she hated from the first. Anne was put into Grace Merivale's care as a baby. No, I did not dare to have 'her hero." I believe the unspoken question in my eyes drew forth these words. " Lisa was here too much, and it was my one desire, as it was Philip's desire, to keep the child out of her mother's hands. 1 could not refuse to havo my own daughter, my only child, here whenever sho wanted to come, The bravo voice trembled. " I always hoped against hope thai; I might bo able to help her toward goodness. She was free to come hero at any time, and that is why I never dared to have Anno, until now. Now my daughter's own crimes have put her outside tho pale as far as this land is concerned. She cannot come hero any more." ' It was a pitiful story, but it made clear much that had hitherto been obscure. " I am quite certain of one thing," I said: " I shall uso all the influence I possess to persuado Anno to resign to her mother all the money r;he inherited from her father. I suppose .she cannot do this as long as she is under age; but I fee!, and I expect you feel 100, that the money is accursed; and it is a perpetual menace to her." "Accursed? Of course it is accursed! How do you think tho greater part has been piled together ? My husband had some money from his estates, but the rest was made in every conceivable evil way. I myself would not touch ono penny of mv husband's money when I knew how it had been made, and I should add my counsel to yours about Anne's money. Never mind whether my daughter's story about her father's will 'is correct or not— I doubt its correctness—for God's sake keep the taint of his money from the child. She will have plenty without it." " Sho has plenty," I agreed. " Miss Mori vale's money is enough for all sho needs, more than enough; and as a matter of fact, we havo never spent more than tho income coming from Miss Merivale. The rest of tho money is merely accumulating in the bank. When Mr. Crosfieid is in Europe again wo must sqe what steps can bo taken." (To bo continued on Saturday next.)