THE FOREFRONT OF THE BATTLE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21165, 23 April 1932, Page 9 (Supplement)

THE FOREFRONT OF THE BATTLE

CHAPTER IX. At the corner of the street Dr. Ezra Grant hoarded a bus that would take him to Oxford Circus. It was a warm night with large, threatening clouds overhead. A fine rain was beginning to descend, but in defiance of this, Grant climbed to the top ot the bus and occupied the front seat. 'lhe rain, and the suggestion of storm in (ho air, fitted in with his mood. His face was set in grim lines. Jn his early life Grant had known extreme poverty, and the bitter struggles that go with it. Gradually he had hardened in the fight of life. He had drawn more and more into himself; had become more uncompromising than over with human frailties, his own, and other people's.

lie had left Glasgow with a reputation for harsh eccentricity. A too-literal Christian who carried religious views to the point where they became a denial of practical human life.

1 hen in London, he had found some few years of happiness, and softening influence. There had been a woman whose love had led her into understanding him. iShe had borne him a daughter to gladden his days, and at the same time his affairs had prospered financially. He had found a good position in the shipping company ol which David s father was head, and of which in u few years David himself became the chief.

Grant left the bus at Oxford Circus, walking up Regent Street and Portland Place, regardless of the fine rain which was now falling fast. It was dark, and lights were on in most of the houses.

David himself was just finishing his dinner when a manservant entered and spoke in a low tone. Or. Grant!" .said David.

) e>, sir. lie is in the billiard-room. I offered the doctor some coffee hut he refused it. 1 told him you were at dinner."

Anything wrong, David ?" No. no. iu v dear. Some tiresome business affair, I think. All right, Webster. I don't suppose I shall be very long, dear," he said. AM right, David. You'll find me in the music-roofn. Remember mo to Dr. Grant."

In 1110 passage outside the dining-room, David stood for a moment bracing himself tor the scone that lie knew lay before him. When lie entered the billiardroom ho was smiling easily, and there was a cigar between his teeth. " Good evening, Grant." David did not make the. mistake of offering his hand, which he felt certain would have been refused, but ho managed to throw into his voice the normal cordiality of a man who saw nothing untoward in this visit.

" Evening, Teesdale. I think you know why I'm here ? " Grant was standing, very stiff and erect, beside an armchair His face was wet. from the rain and moisture clung to his shaggy beard and eyebrows. He still wore an old mackintosh blackened by age and weather. " lou're welcome. Won't you take off your waterproof and sit down 1 " " I will not. 1 can say what I have to say, standing. Teesdale, your son is courting my daughter. They want to marry. That's got to stop. Do you understand ? It's got to stop." " Still harping on your daughter and my—er —sin '! " es, your sin. The word has been good enough for centuries, it's good enough now. You are a sinner. I won't have my daughter marry your son. I have reiused to touch a penny of your money ever since you married Montero's wife, and I will not have Irma live on that money. 1 won't have her marry a son of yours. Understand that!"

Does it ever occur to you, Grant, that you may be entirely wrong in this matter? I will not pretend that I don't, understand you. You think that I suppressed your medical report 011 Montero, and sent the man to Yala without informing him of your diagnosis?" "I think that, and I am sure of it! Ever since you married Paula Montero I have known it. _ At first I thought the fool might have insisted on going to Yala despite a warning. But when you marlied this woman of his, I saw it all. 1 remembered that you were always about with her, whenever you got the. chance. Man, I am not a fool. YOll killed Montero in order to get his wife. You sinned as that other David sinned. You sinned from lust. Swollen with pride and riches, you took from the poor man even his one ewe lamb. You are a murderer, David Teesdale, and 1 am here to teil von so' "

The old man was shaking now with a rage, that communicated itself to the other.

Your language is more picturesque than accui ate. .As a modern Nathan sent by Jehovah to chastise the wicked you are rather a failure, Grant! Presumably the old prophet was better informed than you are. Before you circulate this kind of story you should have some proof 10 support your statements with. There is a law of slander in this country, and sentences can be pretty severe."

Brazen-faced ! Y 011 think you can defy me, that, your wealth will protect you from the consequences of your sm. They will not, Teesdale. You will be punished for this Heed my words. I will not have your son marry my daughter. Your seed is rotten. I will have nothing from you, and my daughter shall take nothing from you or your son." " You arc mad." said David. " Talk sense, man. I his ' sins of the fathers ' stuff is out of date, and all the muck that went with it. We. are supposed to be civilised men, and reasonable beings. Even if I had done wliai you think 1 did, how could this affect Philip? He's a decent lad, and if your girl wants to many him—-" She shall not. Listen to me, Teesdale. \ 011 have got to stop this thing. I will not be put ci'f. I will not be lied to, and put aside with words. You must prevent this marriage or 1 will." What do you propose that I do ? " David asked. " \ou're not old-fashioned enough to imagine that we can do what we like with our children to-day ? They will marry if they want to marry, and they will not consult ns cither." " They shall not marry," said Grant, I have told my daughter the truth and you must do the same as regards your son. lie won't believe me, but he will believe you. After that I will see that there is no talk of marriage. You lied to your son, yesterday, Teesdale, and you toid him that I was 11 liar. The time has conic now when you must confess the truth to your son." " The truth. I've just told von the truth." " You've (old me lies, as you told your son lies. Now, if you don't lei] him the truth yourself, and make him believe, then I shall lake steps to sen that the truth is revealed."

" You! Wlial can you do ? Yon can prove nothing, you tool ! Don't you see that, even if what you said were true, which it is not, you still could never prove your words ? Why should anyone take yoiu word before mine? If lam the double-dyed villain and murderer (hat you make out, then do you think ] shall confess my sms so easily? Is that consistent with the character you give me? Only a fool would imagine it! No. I shall deny it, and no one will believe you." Shaking with anger, David walked across the room and opened the door. " Ont out of this, Grant! I've stood enough of your madness! I've stood it. because I think you honestly believe the rofc you're talking; and also you were n good servant of the company for many

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

(copy iu r,in

SPLENDIDLY-TOLD STORY OF GREAT HUMAN INTENSITY.

years. Bat now, got out unci tell your talc to whoever you please. We shall see how many bcliove you! " " We shall! " Grant moved toward the fire place and there was a purpose in his angry eye.s. I warned you, Teesdale, and now you will sec that my words wero iiot to ho ignored. There is one who will believe, one who will know in her heart, that what 1 say is true We will see whether even you can lie to her. And if you do. will you deceive her? " " What are you doing ? " The old man had stepped forward, and rung a bell beside the fire-place. David crossed over and gripped the other's arm " Damn you! What are you doing? " " I am going to see Montero's wife. I will speak the truth to the woman for whom you sinned, I tell you she will believe, and you will not lie to her! " David's faco was white now. He pulled the other roughly toward the door. " Who arc you to give orders in this house?" he cried. "Get, out of this. Grant, or I'll have you thrown out." The old man held his ground. " First I will see the woman you sinned for, Montero's wife, tho fair Bathsheba." he said. Even as they struggled, David, white now. as much from fear as anger, Paula's voice was heard just outside tho door. " Are you there. David ? Is Dr. Grant still with you ? " Paula came into the room. Sho looked with some surprise at the silent, angryfaced men who had now broken apart. CHAPTER X. For a moment Paula dominated the situation. Old Grant, despite his anger, was chcckod by Paula's beauty and feminine elegance. In her long, black evening frock she had loveliness, combined with breeding and dignity. As Paula advanced tho doctor executed an awkward bow. "Good evening, ma'am!" ho said. "Good evening, Dr. Grant." Paula looked inquiringly at her husband's strained face. " There's noth'ng wrong, is there, David ? " sir- asked. No, there's nothing wrong." The old man took a pace forward. "Nothing wrong, eh? You say that, Teesdale? Very well. Now arc you going to tell her or am I ? " The doctor glared at David. Paula looked from one man lo the other. I'm afraid I don't understand."

She looked ;it Grant, but David was the first to speak. He spoke eagerly. Or. Grant, my dear, has got some wild idea in his head. It concerns your late husband. Really, it is so preposterous that 1 hardly know—" " Go on, I)avid." To hide the trembling of his hands David thrust them into hi.s pockets.

"Grant imagines that I sent Montero up the Amazon without first telling him that the doctor's report was opposed to his going. The fact is—" Paula swayed slightly, a-nd her face paled. David moved to her side, but she caught tho back of a chair and motioned him away.

"Imagined!" barked Grant. "My report was not merely opposed to Montero's going to Brazil; 1 said plainly that if he went he'd be dead in eight months. Forgive me, ma'am, but I must speak frankly. That was my report, made clearly and emphatically. This man suppressed that report and allowed your late husband to go to his death."

Paula sank on to a couch. • " Cosme was killed by Indians," she murmured faintly. Old Grant stepped forward. 1 hat's not the point. The Indians merely anticipated natural events. I'll stake my piofessional reputation on the fact that Cosme Montero in that climate would have died within eight months. The real point is that Teesdale never gave him his chance. Teesdale suppressed my report "

" That's a lie!" cried David. "It's the truth!" shouted Grant. "You sent. Monlero to his death—and why? Because you coveted his wife; because for years you'd coveted Montero's wife, and you were ready to go any length to accomplish your desire. You have sinned as that other David sinned, and your crime cries aloud for—" Paula lose to her feet and checked him with uplifted hand. * Please, Dr. Grant. I quite get your point. I don't think it's necessary for you to explain any further. My husband—" "Paula!" cried David. " This isn't true. 1 warned Monturo. I told him what Grant had said. Montero had n<> confidence in the doctor's report, and [ told him that was wrong. I said 1 thought Grant a good doctor, his report a correct one. I wanted to send young lliggins to Yala. Monlero would not hear of it; he wouldn't listen to mo. lie insisted on going, and, in the face,of his determination 1—" "That's a lie!" shouted Grant. "Would any man go out like that, knowing that death was before, him. 1 see through you, Tocsdale. You gave him some feeble kind of warning, but, you did not pass on my definite and uncompromising report. You said enough to ease your ilubby conscience, but not enough for any honest man. You coveted the—" " Really, doctor—" Paula came forward, and made a pro testing gesture. Jler face was ghastly while but she held herself very erect. There is no need to say any more, doctor, J understand perfectly what, you wish to convey; there is no need to repeat it." She crossed the room, and pressed the bell beside the fireplace. Both men watched her tensely. David's face was grey with emotion, and he spoke in agony. "Paula! You don't believe this? Tell mo you don't believe this I" The truth always prevails," Grant said. " The rich sinner may have his day. But sooner or later retribution comes." "Paula." cried David. "Speak! Tell this fanatic —this blind fool, that.—" Paula turned to the doctor gravely. Dr. Grant," she said, quietly. "I believe my husband. 1 am convinced that he did not allow Cosine Monlero to go to his death without giving him warning." Paula ! Thank God !" David's face was alight with joy. The old doctor glared for a moment, and his face became criimon. "You believe him!" he shouted, "when you know that for years he has loved you, although you were another man's wife. You believe thai Monlero would have gone deliberately—" Jlc broke off as Paula raised her hand. A servant had come to the door. " Good night, Dr. Grant," said Paula, eveiny. " Webster, please show Dr. Grant out." The old man choked, and groped for his hat. For a moment or two he glared from Paula lo David and from these [wo to the impassive servant. Then without a word, he went out of the room and the door closed behind him. " Paula!" cried David. "My dear!" lie went toward her eagerly, but Paula quickly placed a chair between them. " A moment, David." she said. " Before u comparative stranger 1 backed you ii]). J his is nofe a matter for outsiders, it is an intimate question between you and me. She looked at him steadilv.

David, that old man's words rang true. I believe what lie said. I shall continue to believe that his words were essentially true, unless you can deny them. Can you swear to nic that Dr. Grant's words were, wholly false'( Did jou tell Montero the precise naturo of that report?" David buried his face in his hands and turned away from her with a yob.

CHAPTER XT. David Tecsdalo sat on a couch in tlio billiard-room almost motionless. How long ho had sat there lie did not know. Paula had long since left the room; the servants had gone to bed. For the first time in his lifo David felt utterly beaten and crushed. The old doctor's swift attack, his appeal to Paula, had been quite unexpected. And lie had been unable to lio to the woman he loved 1 Within the room a clock chimed halfpast one. David rose slowly to his feet and passed his fingers through his hair. Mechanically he switched off tlio lights and locked the door behind him. He I climbed the stairs to the first floor, and here he paused suddenly. Paula was not yet in bed. He saw a light; he could hear her moving about in her bedroom which adjoined his own. A little light came into his eyes. Paula had not gone to bed. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. Slu> had been thinking things over. Despite the cold finality of her last words to him, possibly there was now some chance of explanations, of pardon for him* Jle wont through his own bedroom, knocked at tlio intervening door, and entered his wife's room. Then ho uttered a. cry. Paula had before her two large trunks. She had slipped off her evening frock arid wore a negligee. All over the room were various garments, and tlio doors ot a wardrobe were wide open. Paula was packing. And, as suddenly as the blood had come to David's face, it now drained away, leaving him white and staring. He uttered a cry. "Paula! You don't mean ?" " Yes, David, I'm leaving you—tomorrow morning." lie griped for a chair and sat down. His whole world seemed to bo shattered about him. Ho endeavoured to grasp clearly what this meant to him, but failed. Vaguely lie realised that he had lost all. Ho had sinned; he had sacrificed his selfesteem, and suffered greatly to gain this woman who was everything in life to bim. And now ho had lost her. The blood drummed in his cars, and ho was conscious nuddonly of a sharp physical pain ;%f the back of his head. Paula's voice '.amo to him indistinctly. " Surely, David, you did not imagine Hliat 1 could go on living with you—after what, f have heard to-night? If you had told Motitero the truth ho would he alive now. Put you did not. Because of his death wo have become man and wife. Put now that I know the truth—Can't you see what it means to mo ?"

David groaned. He saw that Paula herself had sunk into ;t. chair. Her face was very pale, and he realised dimly that she was suffering. But, manlike, at this moment ho was conscious chiefly of her beauty; of her beauty and of his own terrible loss. Benealh the thin negligee her figure appeared slight and girlish. Her brown eves were fixed very gravely upon him. Ho saw that her slim hands were shaking in her lap. In her pain and agitation, she appeared so defenceless. Hi; wanted to go to her, to put his arms about, her. and cymfovt her. And he could no I. do so. " Paula," he Paid. " Must it come to this? .1 love you 1 " " Love!" she echoed. "Do you call that love ? And suppose Montero loved me " Hut lie didn't. Ho didn't." David rose to his feet. He stood looking down ;it her, seeing only tlic tup of her golden head. 1 adore you, Paula—worship you ! You know that. And Motitero—l gave him his chance. I asked him if he wanted to leave you. 1 said 1 y.anted to send H logins in his place. But ho wouldn't listen to inc. He was so keen to go; he would listen to nothing 1 said." " Yuii told him everything, except what Dr. Giant had said; that if Cosmo went to Yala he would die." Paula spoko without raising her head. " That is true. I did not actually pass on Grant's report. But I warned Montero; I did my best to dissuade him from ■" " Your best? Had you done your best to stop him, David, he would never have gone." " Well," he said, finally. " I suppressed Grant's report. Jn his words ' I sinned.' But if I sinned it was not lightly done, Paula. I struggled with myself. I gave him warning. And then—what I did was dono for you. Because I had loved you for seven long years. Paula, is there no forgiveness? Cannot a woman forgive a man who sinned for her sake, because ho worshipped her?" His voice now was shaking with passion. Ife moved toward her, and would have laid a hand on her shoulder, but she rose abruptly to her foot. " You scein to forget," she said. " Cosine was my husband. If, in tho last few years, he was not a perfect husband, vet there was a time " "A perfect husband! He did not love you. Ho was not true. He made you suffer. Do you think 1 don't know that? Do you think loving you as I did, I could not see through his indifference, his egoism, his cruelty even ? When 1 came to vour house "

" Stop!" Paula's eves wore flashing. She spoke in a low, vibrating voice. "How dare you? How do you dare speak liko this of a man who, but for you would be alive to-day? Are you the ono to judge his faults? You, who deliberately sent him to his death! Yes, that is what you did. Only 1 knew Cosine as he really was. If I do not condemn him, how can you, of all people?" "Then you hate me, Paula? All that has gone between us, all that we have said to ono another until to-night, this is nothing. You hate me?" " 1 do not hate, i cannot go on living with the man who killed Cosine. 1 have not sunk so low that J am ready to shut my eyes to murder! No, 1 do not hale you. I know you now. 1 l bought von upright, loyal to friends, a man of honour; 1 find you unscrupulous. 1 do not hate. I am indifferent." Sho turned away, and something in her words, in her attitude, maddened the man. Tn a stride he was beside her, and his arms were about her. "By God!" he whispered. "I will see. I'll seo if the love you felt this morning is dead to-night. Bocauso of the talk of an old fanatic am I to lose everything ? Paula!'' He crushed her to him. Bending over her lie rained kisses upon her pale face whilo sho turned her head this way and that—to avoid his lips. Sho did 'not struggle. Finding it useless, she luy i.i hi* arms, but her eyes flashed scorn; and, beforo her contempt, he loosened her. As suddenly as it had flared up his passion died. "Paula! Forgive me," ho muttered. " Forgive mo." He sank on to a chair. " I said you were unscrupulous," she said. " And I .was right. You had better go." Without a word he left the room and closed the door behind him. Besido his hed he began, mechanically to undress, lie did not put on the lights; somehow the darkness at this moment seemed more friendly. He got into bod. Lying there in the darkness and the silence he told himself that ho had lost Paula. Sho was leaving him. Her Inst words, her tone, her look, had been final. When the cold, grey light of dawn filtered through between the window curtains ho was still wide awake. (To be continued daily.)