THE FOREFRONT OF THE BATTLE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21161, 19 April 1932, Page 15

THE FOREFRONT OF THE BATTLE.

(COPYRIGHT.)

SPLENDIDLY-TOLD STORY OF GREAT HUMAN INTENSITY.

j SYNOPSIS. i _. T) a vid Teesdale. ninnacinc director i tip Green Funnel Line, discusses with !?■ V,f.ina'zer Dent, the erection of a new J» 9 ,? ' at Yala, on the River Amazon, fiif"',ests that their best engineer, Monpna " gpnt ou t t 0 supervise the con*ero, Dent asserts flint Montero's poor , elr nSie to loose living-will, be against coin? Dr. Grant, eccentric and old. J 5lB . Tj (o examine Montero ns his last . uWore retiring from the firm on peni?" p;,vs that if Montero goes to v°k he will be d"ad in eight months, w „torn is sent for by Sir David, who only him a superficial warning of the risk 1 runs in going to nla. but suggests -Jinc another man. Montero scorns the mmjoml. calls Grant an old fool, and for the undertaking. Sir David ■ m his consent, and when the interPV. ; 3 over, takes out of his desk a V ' e, ket ef snapshots of a beautiful woman—i»R°ila Montero's wife. Three months later. «„io' rails on Teesdale at his office and uhiis him as an escort for tea. They creat pals, hnt Sir David makes no to conceal his admiration. On tiiriinS to Dent rushes to him Ih" a* cablegram. Montero is dead—„rJ»red bv Indians. An old employee is '"nt break the news to Paula. She V* Dnvirl and asks him to cull round Jii comfort her in her sorrow. . . . 'it 14 months since Montero's death. j David and Paula are now happily married and spending the honeymjm at Wllapio. Paula had sincerely mourned her /jut husband. David opens a letter that is awaitinc him at their hotel. It is i«im o'd Dr. Grant, and is inter«r>ersed Tvith Biblical phrases, and clearly the o i 6 t!e of a fanatic The purport of it is that Teesdale is a murderer in that he suppressed the medical report on Montero and p ent the engineer to his death. Realise he (David) coveted Paula. Grant also renounces his pension, saying he will touch no money coming from a sinjKf." The letter perturbs the shipowner. CHAPTER IV. From Bellagio, David and Paula went Milan, and from Milan to Venice. Of course, they visited the Lido and lay on (he sands, Paula's brown eyes wandering lazily over *' le < ,- anquil blue of the [Adriatic, whilst David gazed happily at his wife. Bv all the rules of conventional meloißrama he should have been haunted by guilty fear; in the small hours of the jiight he should have awakened cold with horror. Alas!, The truth must be conJessed- his mood was rather one of deifiance. Until eighteen months ago he bad lalwavs " counted himself tolerably lonest." Intellectually honest he certainly w-as, and never for a moment did he deny the fundamental justice of old (Grant's accusation. David, knowing the truth about Moniero's health, had suppressed this truth. By so doing he had been guilty of desiring, and probably of compassing, the engineer's death, and this because David Joved Paula.

j There were many things that he might say in extenuation. His love for Paula ;was, and always had been, a true love. Jlontero was not true to his wife; lie was »ot the type of man to be true to any woman. and he had made Paula suffer.

David, too, had warned the Spaniard, telling him that he ran grave risks in going to Yala. All this ran through David's mind, but lie never allowed it to deceive him, or to /cloud the essential truth. Whatever kind cf a man Montero had been. David had jio right to judge him. Furthermore, David's judgment must always be suspect, since for seven long years he had worshipped Montero's wife. No, David faced the facts. He had fcHowed the Spaniard to go to his death, wid the fact that Indian murderers had anticipated natural causes made no difference to the technicality of David's fnilt. j Grant, the hard, dour moralist, was ' rkht. To use the old man's phrase, had sinned." And as David looked at his lovely wife fe passionate defiance sprang to life withjr him. Was not this a woman to sin for ? All through the world's history men lad sinned for such women as Paula, and liacl gloried in their sinning! What did Grant—glum old Puritan—know of pin, or passion, or ecMacv, or even of life? He had set himself up as a judge, but how could a man judge of sin unless (be himself had fallen to temptation ? David, at times> meeting Paula's smile, yould catch his breath at the sheer aesthetic delight of contemplating her. Grant, perhaps was light, and sin incvitablv brought its measure of pain. iWhat then? lie was ready to pay. At least he had made Paula happy. Once during the couple of days they had spent in Paris, she had remonstrated Urith him upon his extravagance. " David, my dear boy, I really don t Heed all these clothes. \ou know I I)ave a thousand -i year of my own, and I've loads of things in London. lou IR'ant to spoil me!" " I want to give to you," he said. ''■ Money-is nothing. I want to give you »-inv.self!"

" 1 know, David," she said. " 1 know, piv dear." His mood, however, was not always the Kame. There were times when be descended from a passionate defiance of fate to a practical consideration of its possible blows. There had been a distinct threat in old Grant's letter, and it quite in keeping with the man s uncompromising, bellicose nature, that he >'Ould " chastise sin." should the opportunity be given to him. Was there any real danger to be feared from Grant ? Would he, for example, boldly denounce David T

At such times David's face grew very •erious. It would be a horrible blow to I'aula if the <%l fanatic were able to show her the truth. And yet—Grant could never prove that David had not passed on the doctor's warning to Montero. No one, except David, knew what had been 6»id in that interview between the engineer and himself.

Grant might suspect—his suspicions iniglit amount almost to certainty—but ho. could prove nothing. And being unable to prove, he would not dare declare his thoughts. In England there were welltfiamed laws'of libel to defend one from Unsupported accusations. The honeymoon over, they returned to and to the fresh thrill of moving jh'to their new house in Duchess Street. •Rooms were planned, new furniture bought to augment the old; there were discussions on colour schemes, pictures, an B' ,n g s ; and a grand piano was purchased for Paula.

Their first visitor was David's son. Philip Teesdale had just finished a three years' art course in Paris, punctuated by holidays m England. He, bad Returned to London a fortnight ago, and had eagerly awaited his father whom he toad not seen for several months. Here he is, Paula," said David. What do you think of him? He must ™ si.\ feet at least. I can feel the grey «irs sprouting as I look at him!" " He's very like, you, David. Just a *nade taller perhaps, but the same eyes * n d mouth."

Philip raised her hand to bis bps. I ni desperately jealous," he declared. Ive loved you myself ever since you 8 °Pped me eating that fifth ice at the Company's annual dance. Do you remember

I remember. 1 probably saved your . ' David, clear, lie's a nice man. He's picked up some pretty ways in Paris." Soft soap!" growled David. "They're " immoral lot, these artists. They'll ake love to a fellow's wife under his nose!" Paula presided over tea in a room WT 6 sumn ier sun stole through tlie r tains.. and the sound of London traffic ?, e '° them in a soft murmur. 'fini fc P talked of his wo . lk - He had lof 41? a P' c^urp > an| 3 designed a screen - "iti salon. They had rejected the

By MARTEN CUMBERLAND. Author of " Behind the Scenes." " Loaded Dice," *' The Perilous Way," etc., etc

picture, but the screen had been accepted. With boyish enthusiasm he produced a catalogue and showed them his name: " Teesdale, Philip; ne a Londrcs. Address: 55. Avenue des Ternes, Paris." But this is fame!" cried David. Paula, dear, we shoidd be humble in the presence of this young man !" His tone was light; nevertheless, his eyes were full of aifeetion and pride, as lie glanced from the catalogue to his son. " i know what's wrong with the picture." declared Philip. " I'm starting again on the sainti subject, and I'll have it right ne.\t time." Later, Paula rose and rang for the tea things to be cleared. " I'm going to leave you two men," she said. " You'll havo a number of things to talk over. Sit down. Philip, please. I'll go into the next room, and try over the grand." Philip opened :he door for her, and returned to his seat. He looked at his father with a grin. " You're looking fit, dad. By jove, you've caught the sun !" "It was hot in Venice," said David. | " Well, how is everything, and everybody ?" asked Philip. " All very well. Dent was asking after you some time ago. Wanted to know if you'll be in England this summer. They want you for the company's cricket team, you know. You'll have to get into practice again. Good man, Dent, he 11 bo taking my place one day. Old Mallow is retiring at the eid of the year. Miss Roberts is getting married, but she's going to woik for me until 1 find a substitute." " I've seen IXlnt," said Philip. 1 promised him I'o plav if they can't find a better man. O:! course, I'm not really a member of the company, nut 1 always feel that 1 mi.' ~ n , " That's good. said David. Dent will be glad. He's very keen on the cricket, and our lowling is weak. 1 here s no reason why you shouldn t play foi the company." ~ " Old Grant retired some time ago, Philip said. "Rummy old boy! They vo just gone to live in old chap is going to work again. David's face, under its tan grew a little Pa -How did you hear that, Philip? I thought Grant out of touch with us these days.' . "He is. Old Grant is not interested in the company's sports, he has his own forms of amusement. No, I haven't seen him, but. I've seen his daughter, lima, dad. We've had a bit of tennis together in the last fortnight. She's a pretty good player." ~ ~ _ .. " I know Irma Grant, said David slowlv "I know most of the people connected with the Line. Grant was with us for vears. Irma is a nice girl. He looked keen'.y at his som There was a certain tenseness in David's face now. Some subtle instinct was whispering a warning to him. It seemed impossible that danger could lie in this casual meeting of Philip with Grant's daughter, and " " I'm glad von like her. Look here, dad. Don't thin < I'm a fool. I know it mav be some time before I can eain my living, but I lore Irma Grant. I need her. You've said many times that a fellow never regrets marrying early. Sou did it vourself. and you and my mother were happ v - If -'he 11 have me. I m ready to work like hell for Irma! We have corresponded for over a year. _ Finding that Eavid made no immediate answer, tJie boy s face changed from scarlet to white. " Dad!" You've no objection to Irma . I can make a bit out of painting screens, and black and white humorous stuff for the papers. In a short time I'll be earning a living. A girl help a fellow erormously." " I've no objection to the girl, Philip." He rose and, crossing over, gripped his son's shoulders. " Philip, we've always been good pals. I hope you know me better than to think I'd stand in your way where your real happiness is concerned. I'm sure she s a nice girl. You're a little young, my boy. Re quite sure of your own mind first. You needn't worry about money. I want vou to do your best work. You're in the formative period. I know a little about these things. Philip. Marriage may help an artist, or mar his work. Be quite sure." _ , The boy gripped one of his father s hands. "I am sure. Thanks awfully, dad. You understand! You're a real pal! 1 m not so young; not younger than you when you married. I'm dead sure of Irma. She's " . He began to eulogise the girl he loved. His eyes were blight; his voice quivering with emotion. ]'vnin the next room came the sound ot a piano. "She's the oily girl for me, dad! cried Philip. . . . There was a terrible anxiety in IJavid s eyes. . ' (To be rontinued daily.)