A CHANGE AND A CHANCE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20931, 22 July 1931, Page 17

A CHANGE AND A CHANCE.

By L. G. MOBERLEY. ' . . / ■- Author of "A Year at the Outside," "The Voice," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued). For several ,minutes she sat silent, staring straight in front of her, as before; then she rose once more, and from a locked, drawer in the bureau in the corner, took out a small square box. This also she unlock&dj and lifting a tray, drew from beneath it a packet wrapped in tissue paper. Laying this on her lap she unfolded it carefully, her eyes gleaming as they rested upon its contents, a • string of pearls —shapely, exquisite pearls'; a necklet of diamonds, that caught the sunlight and shorie in every colour of the rainbow; a sapphire pendant, blue and glowing; and two emerald rings, vividly, almost wickedly green. - " The question is what to do with you all,"- she said with another of her sarcastic laughs, " to sell you I daro not. I suppose every police official and pawnshop has your description, you stupid things! Even picked to pieces you would all bo known." She picked up the string of pearls, and let thein slip slowly through her fingers. " It was a pity in a i,vay that Harry gave mo such valuable jewellery," she mused, " it's much more ■difficult to get ■ away with them than cheaper stuff. I can't do anything with 'this for ages and ages, and meanwhilewell—meanwhile. can I put up with Derek? It's rather fun, anyhow, to have taken'him away from that minx with the grey eyes that look straight through you. Evidently she was in the running before, the old lady made that perfectly plain, and is as worried as a frightened kitten because I've stepped into the "Enid's place." As her thoughts ran on, her fingers touched her jewels with a caressing touch, almost as if they were something human and-lovable. With a sigh of regret,, she finally returned them to their tissue paper, and the box which 'she locked up again in hjr bureau. But a strange restlessness still seemed l; 0 possess her; and she took up and Hung aside one- occupation after another, until the dinner bell rang, and she made her way down to the drawing room. Mrs. Drummond was in a little twitter of excitement; she twittered easily, having few interests or excitements in her uneventful life; and she turned eagerly to 33'etty, as that young woman came in. _ - "My dear, you remember those kind people who brought you here on your first -arrival —the people who have. bought ' The *Far Horizon V I have ■ had such a nice kind letter from Mrs. Tarrance. She says that now they are entirely settled ini;o the house, they would so like to come find renew acquaintance with you, andwith us. They are no very great distance by car, and they propose coming over." " How nice to see those good Samaritans again,"' Betty replied with gushing enthusiasm. " They were angels to rne, when I turned up at the house and felt so utterlv forlorn and like a lost dog. ■' They really went out of their way', both literally and actually, to be good to me; because bringing me here must have taken them quite off their beat." " Oh, yes, quite. But they must be exceeding kind people for they seem to have befriended some poor lady living near them; Mrs. Denison mentioned it when wo went there. I forget the poor thing's name, a widow I believe, and very lonely. And the Tarlarices have had her living in their house lor weeks." 11^'Very kind," Betty murmured. rather fancy Mrs. Tarrance will bring: this lady over too," Mrs. Drumiwind twittered on, as they moved into thi) dining room for dinner, " and if she •turns out pleasant, you might find her a'nice friend, my dear. It is dull for you being continually with old fogies. I hope Mrs. Tarrance's friend may be a real for you." On the same evening, while Betty was inwardly declaring herself to be more and more bored to the verge of absolute stiffness. Derek Maitland was not enjojimr a very happy hour in his own .society. Tho meeting with Enid on the day before had shaken his equilibrium More than he would have cared to own; ;and he was haunted by a shamed sense of having behaved shabbily and meanly to a , girl who had frankly acceded to his eager demand for her friendship. True, he had ;not actually made love to her; he tried ;to salve his conscience with this reminder. But he knew lie was only salving it by juggling with words ! If he had not in plain* language made loves to Enid Denison, he had certainly implied that love was in his mind. Juggle with words as he would, he could not pretend io himself that he had not meant his friendship with Enid to deepen into a far •.'loser tie. He knew that until he had first seen Betty Drummond', his cousin's widow, he had definitely made up his • mind. He had intended to go back to Lindthal, and there to ask Enid to be his wife. But T3etty*s lovely face had bewitched him; Betty's eyes had drawn away his allegiance from Enid; Betty's smile seemed to draw his very soul towards her. He knew himself to be wax in her hands; and whilst he was ashamed of tho knowledge, he equally knew that he was incapable of escaping from the influence that held him. Never, in all his easy-going, successful existence, had he felt so torn in two; so shamefaced on tho one band, so devoured by hungry longing on the other. Betty obsessed him. She filled his heart •"and brain; and as he walked up and down his room in the Temple on that June evening he told himself over and over » again that he could not endure any further delay. He must at any rate put bis fate to the test, if Betfy hacl scruples about marrying him at present, very well, then they could wait until she considered a long enough time had elapsed since her husband's death. " After all, Brian has been dead over a year,'" his thoughts- ran on, whilst he looked out of his window across the smooth grass below, "Betty stayed in Australia some months after his death. The poor chap's been dead over a year. There's no earthly reason why she shouldn't marry again now; and it must be pretty deadly for her down at Rabley. She loves coming up to town, and doing things with me. Why shouldn't we do tilings together all the time V' No difficulties stood in the way of his Carrying whenever he chose. He had a Vei 7 fair income independent of his profession; he could give Betty every necesB »ry comfort; surely his uncle and aunt would not feel hurt if she married again ? ' She was young f she was very lovely; it Was obvious that the chances Were a thousand to one in favour of her marry- - ln g again. Then why should 'she not marry him*? She seemed to like him; sometimes he had even dreamed someniing more than mere liking looked out °' those eyes of hers, which had tho Power to set a man's heart aflame. After all—his thoughts went back to fiiid—after all, perhaps he was mistaken J n supposing he might have given her any P a 'n. Surely it was mere conceit on his P ar t, to imagine that his friendship had "leant more to her than the friendship of °ther men? What right had lie.to think I c looked upon him as any nearer and jcaicr than those others ? But lie knew 10 was merely begging the question. His own heart told him that what had looked \. °f Enid's honest eyes when they met ,? s bad been something more than met e yes of other men Reliable eyes ? Who was it who apthose words to Enid's eyes ? They ere true enough. In Enid's glance f ,? ro J? a d never been a hint of coquetry, fV. frankness, and steadfastness, and fjuiet reliability which seemed part . her very personality. Tho sense of ' -v.' flowed over him again. He had 'aiiafw* fooi > Wol ' se than a fool, to allow he-iJ- 51 w °man to push Enid from his ; and yet—Betty's eyes looked at v. \ '

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an adventurous story, full of dramatic episodes.

him from every corner of the room; Betty's voice called to him; Betty's smile set his pulses at h rob. Yes, he would certainly go down to Rabley with the least-possible delay, and talk to Betty herself, and to Brian's father and mother, and' try to bring them all to his own point of view. Betty had seemed distrait lately. She had lapsed into moods of sadness; she had sometimes been fretted and nervous. Well! did it not all point to the fact that she was unhappy ? And might lie not be able to brisig her fresh happiness, even though her happiness with Brian had ended so disastrously ? He had come to this conclusion, and his restless pacings to and fro had come to an end at tho same moment, when there was a knock on his door, and opening it, he found standing on the threshold John Titheridge, the man who had spoken to Betty in the Marylebone Road, twenty-four hours earlier. '' " Could I speak to you a moment sir?" Titheridge asked, " it's a small matter of business, and I have 110 doubt you can clear up a difficulty for me." " Come in," Derek said, —not very cordially, for the encounter between this man and his cousin on the day before had annoyed him, and ho looked with no friendly eyes at the quiet, shrewdfaced man, who 'now accepted his invitation and entered the room. He did not invite his guest to sit down. The two men stood facing each other, and across Titheridge's shoulder Derek could see the goldon light "of afternoon playing upon the plane trees on the grass below. " I won't keep you long, sir," Titheridge said civilly, " you gave rne your name yesterday, as cousin of the lady to whom I spoke in the Marylebone Road, and I made bold to come round and have just a word with vou." Derek stiffened at once. " I can't imagine why you should waste your time and mine by coming round here," he said, " you mistook my cousin for somebody of whom she had never heard, and there was an end of it. She certainly was not the person for whom you mistook her. What more is there to be said ?". " I quite understand my visit here may seem to you a bit superfluous " " Very superfluous," Derek put in dryly. \ " Very superfluous, if you like, sir," a faint smile flickered over the other's face, " but I wanted to make quite sure from you, whether you know all the antecedents of the lady I saw with you?" "Her antecedents?" Derek stared. " I can't tell you the names of all her ancestors, if that's what you mean. She is an Australian, and has only been in England a few months.- But she is my cousin's widow, and her maiden name was Simpson, Elizabeth Simpson, not Hilda Lancer as I fancy you called her." " You'll forgive me for seeming to be persistent, but your cousin's likeness to Hilda- Lancer is so remarkable, that they might have been twins." Derek's shoulders went up. "It is merely a curious coincidence, I should imagine. My cousin's name, as I tell you,—was Elizabeth Simpson; it is now Elizabeth Drummond. She is usually called Betty, and is the widow of my cousin Brian Drummond. His parents live at The Outlook, Rabley; and tor the present she is living with them. She has no very near relations in Australia ; and by her husband's wish she came to England a few months after his death, to his parents. It is all absolutely* simple and devoid of mystery. There is nothing sinister or extraordinary about Mrs. Brian Drummond;" . „ T , The detective's brow drew together. " Your cousin has no sisters I suppose ?" lie asked. "None, as far as I know.—No. by the way, I am sure she hasn't. I remember her husband told us when he married her that She was an orphan, and had been an only child. I believe she lived with an aunt before her marriage." " Extraordinary—very extraordinary. I don't like being too positive, but I could have sworn that the woman I saw with you yesterday was Hilda Lanccr." " I don't wish to be impertinently curious, but who is Hilda Lancer? My cousin decidedly is not identical witlr that' lady—but who is Hilda Lancer? And why are you so anxious to find her?" John Titheridge smiled—a smile which made De>ek realise how glad lie was that he had no criminal record behind him!

" Hilda Lanccr," the other man said I slowly, "is a. very clever international crook—one of the cleverest it has ever been my lot to come across. She is English by birth. Rumour has it, in fact, that she is a farmer's daughter,'belonging to most respectable humdrum country folk in Hampshire. Where she got the criminal strain, heaven only knows. It would bo a pretty little speculation for the psychologist. She is very pretty oh, more than pretty, quite outstandingly lovely—like your cousin: and she has managed somehow to get a very good education, or at any rate to have acquired the manners and ways of a lady. She must be a consummate actress." "But what does she do?" asked the perplexed Derek, whose knowledge of crooks, international or otherwise, was negligible. ' " She has hitherto chiefly worked tho train de. luxe and other Continental expresses—doing some clever jewel robberies. and so on—but we have never been able to bring them home to her sufficently to get her committed. A year or two ago, she married, or she is supposed to have married, an Englishman, living in a villa at a small place not far from Monte Carlo —" Derek suddenly became more attentive. Floating recollections of something he had heard from his aunt, about Enid Denison and her visit to tho neighbourhood of Monte Carlo, went dimly through his mind. " This man to whom Hilda Lancer was married,—Harry Carstairs by name,—was murdered a few mouths ago. \ou may remember the case? It was mentioned in the English papers." " I have a vague remembrance of it, but it didn't interest me particularly, and 1 don't recall the details at all." "Oh well,—this Carstairs was rich, and had a villa in the mountains behind Monte Carlo. It is understood that he gave his wife beautiful jewellery, and that she had access to money as well. He died suddenly, in late January. Almost immediately after his death his wife disappeared, taking with her, as far as can be ascertained, her jewellery, and a large sum of money in notes. Carstairs' death was attributed to poison; and suspicion fell upon the wife. She was traced to Monte Carlo, and it was settled beyond doubt that she left that place by the express, which, as you may remember, was wrecked near Lyons—a . nasty accident. Her body was found in one of the sleeping compartments. She had been kified by a portion of the carriage which fell upon her head and face; therefore she could only be identified by her belongings, which were beside her in the sleeping berth,—a suit-case containing her passport some papers, a little jewellery, and a little money." " Then if sho is dead, how could the lady you saw with me have been Hilda Lancer?" . Derek asked! with some, scarcasm. "The likeness was so startling," Titheridge said emphatically, "so startling as to make one almost breathless. And yet we had apparently convincing evidence of her death," lie added slowly, "it is most extraordinary. And there is one other extraordinary point," lie added after a pause; "although some jewellery was found in the suit-case by tho dead body, the more costly and beautiful jewels known to have been given to his wife by Mr. Carstairs have never been found. Where are they ? That is the question.—where are they ?" (To bo continued daily.)