THE FOREFRONT OF THE BATTLE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21166, 26 April 1932, Page 16

THE FOREFRONT OF THE BATTLE.

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

(corriuGUT.)

SPLENDIDLY-TOLD STORY OF GREAT HUMAN INTENSITY.

CHAPTER XII. Philip Teesdalo jumped out of his taxi at Paddington Station, paid off tho driver and hurried on to the first platform. Tho boy's eyes were bright and eager. 110 had not seen Irma for two days, and now thoy were to have a long day together at Windsor. 110 looked quickly toward the great, three-faced clock. There she was. Already she had seen him, and was moving forwai'd, waving her hand. " Phil!" " Irma! Am I latoT'' " No, I was early." " Oh! rare woman with all the virtues! I'll get tho tickets " He hurried to the booking-office and got two " firsts " for Windsor. Their day was all mapped out. At Windsor they would enter the park and walk through the forest to Virginia Waters. There they would lunch and then, in the forest, in some shady spot, they would lie on the grass and watch cloud-castles float across the clear blue of the feky. Philip found an empty first-class carriage. Seated beside Irma he took her hand, and prayed that no one would enter and disturb their privacy.

There was quite a long time to wait. People passed their carriage, looked in, saw tlie pair of young lovers, and passed on with a smile. Again a whistle blew. The train gave a spasmodic jolt. At the last moment a red-faced man flung himself at the carriage door, and entered. He shut tho door and laid a fishing-rod in its case carefully upon the rack, Philip released Irma's hand. Tho girl smiled at him. Tho fisherman, mopping his forehead, glanced at the young couple and remarked that "it was lucky he d caught it." The.train came in to, Windsor, and they walked at once toward the park. It was a perfect day for walking, not too waim, with a cool breeze. Looking at Irma Philip noticed for tho first timo that sho seemed a little pale. "Feeling quito fit, dear?" " Quite, rhilip." t " We needn't walk far, if you feci liko it. We can lunch in Windsor." " No. I'd like tho walk." But the girl's tone was rather fiat. Her face was not as bright and vivacious as usual. They walked into tho park. At last Philip spoke. " Irma, you're not worrying about this business —about your father, aie jou . " lam rather," she confessed. " Daddy went out the night before last to see your father. I don't know what happened, but Daddy has been awfully upset ever since. I've never known him like this before." " Don't worry, dear. He's got hold of a wild story, and ho believes it. Wo mustn't let this business worry us. It hasn't any real importance for us as long as we understand one another." Irma was silent, and ]ier face was averted. Looking down, I hilip was shocked to see tears in her eyes. "Irma!" he exclaimed, "l'ou'ro not crving ? Surely She stopped suddenly and her hand gripped his. " Phil, I'm miserable. Daddy will not hear of our marriage. _ Usually I can persuade him to see things my way—at least, I can make him listen to me. But in this he isj simply liko granite. He absolutely refuses to " But surely you are not g o,n g to take it so seriously as all that ? We know that your father is a little eccentric. He believes what ho says, but we know he s wrong. This need not "That's just it, Phil. Is Daddy wrong? He's not so eccentric a s you and many people seem to think. He is certainly not an unreasonable man. 110 has been a perfect dear to mo all my life." Philip's face had suddenly gone white. He took both the girl's arms and gripped them tightly. " You don't mean that you believe your father, Irma? You don t. She tried to speak, but could not. The tears rolled down her cheeks. " I can't help it, Phil," she sobbed. " I lay awake all last night. You see I know Daddy so well. He may have queer little notions, but they are always quite rational. Above all, he is always a just man—very fair to everyone. I m sure that he believes exactly what he

says " "He believes it, but it's not true. I asked the governor " " I know, Phil. Of course it is only natural and right that you should believe your father, but " " Good Lord ! You mean that you can believe a story like that about the pater v Why, everyone knows that he's the best and' kindest fellow that ever breathed. Is it likely he'd Jet Montero go away to die without giving him your father's warning f" Irma wiped her eyes. " lie loved Paula, Phil," she said, quietly. " Men—the best men—have done queer things when they were in love with a woman and could not get her. If your father warned Montero, why did he go away to the Amazon ? Does it seem likely that ho would go?" " I tell you, I asked the governor the other day, point-blank, and he did not flicker an eye-lash. He told me all this was a cock-and-bull story. I'm amazed that you should believe an old—" " He's my father, Phil." The boy swallowed and turned away. There was silence for a moment, and then he turned on her angrily. "Then you believe this, Irma? You really believe the pater is a murderer, in intent, if not in actual deed ?" " I'm sorry, Phil, but I'm inclined to believe my Dad." Philip's face went red, then grim and sullen. We—we'd better get back to Windsor," he muttered. " It's not much use going on. T don't feel liko walk i»g-" lie turned back toward the. broad drive where the grey old castle showed its towers above a mantle of green; tho girl walked a little behind. She was crying softly to herself. CHAPTER XIII. It was nine o'clock in tho evening. The large house in Duchess Street was very quiet. David lecsdale had dined alone, waited on by servants whose soft voices might, have indicated sympathy, but whose impassive faces revealed nothing of their thoughts. David wondered whether he was being discussed in tho servants' quarters. Paula had gone. She had taken with her two trunks and her maid, Marie. Paula had left no address. David, in fact, hud not seen her since the night when he vainly pleaded with her to stay. Now he sat alone m the big drawing room, <1 cup of cold coffee beside him; between bis teeth was a cigar which had long since gone out. Wearily the man's eyes went,around the pleasant room. He and Paula had planned this room together. There was her Stein way grand, with tho Chopin nocturne still on tho music-rest. David rose to his feet and threw away his cigar. He began to walk from ono loom to another. He found himself in Paula's bedroom. The room had been tidied up, probably by Marie before she left. But the elegant, feminine apartment! yraa nevertheless

redolent of Paula's charm. Her perfume —a rare . product of Guerlain's—hovered in the atmosphere. On a table was a photograph of Paula in evening dress, no remembered the frock. She had worn it at Bellagio when they had gone to a special Scarlatti concert. She had worn it again in Venice. Suddenly the man roused himself. It would not do to go on like this. lie was ' becoming maudlin! Whatever happened to one, life had to go on. He had a business and a son. lie must plunge into work, arrange his lifo so that it gave him fresh interests. He glanced at his watch and noted that it was half-past nine. It would be best to go to one of his clubs. He would meet fellows ho knew, and find somo distraction. Turning over in his mind which of two clubs he ""would go to, David went down tho stairs. He had almost gained the hall when a manservant camo from tho drawing room. " Mr. Philip is here, sir," said tho man. '! I thought you were in tho drawing room. So I—" " All right, Webster," said David. " Thanks." Ho wont quickly to tho drawing room. Philip, dressed in a light grey overcoat, was pacing tho room. Ho turned at his father's approach, and at tho sight of the boy's pale, wosried face the gladness went out of David's heart. " Hullo, Phil. llow are you ? Take off your coat, and sit down. I was just going to have a spot of whisky. \ou join me ?" " I think I will for once, Pater. I'm a bit rattled !" Tho hoy pulled off his light coat and dropped it on to a chair. Sitting down, ho took out a yellow paper packet and lit a cigarette. David busied himself with a decanter, glasses and syphon. " Say ' when,' my boy." " Thanks, Pater." They ' settled . themselves in chairs. David lit a cigar. 110 looked at his son through a thin, bluo cloud of smoke. " Well, what's tho trouble, Phil ?" " It's Irma and her father. You know that cock-and-bull story tho old chap got hold of." "So Dr. Grant's causing trouble between you and Irma?" " Yes." Tho boy began to speak rapidly: " Irma and I were out together to-day. I discovered —it secins absurd and preposterous —but I discovered that she believes her father! Can you beat it, Pater ? Sho actually believes the wild yarn that poor old Grant has told her. Of course, the old boy's potty. Everybody knows that. Why he often stands on a tub in Hyde Park and spouts on the nationalisation of credit or the second Flood, or some rot! He's absolutely daft!" David sipped his whisky thoughtfully. Hp looked tired and old. "And Irma believes her father?" " Yes. It sounds ridiculous, but it's not so funny for me. In fact, it's not funny for her. The poor kid was crying to-day I can't make her see sense, either. And that's why I came to you, Pater." David raised his head sharply, and looked at his son. Then he hastily looked away again. In the agony of losing Paula he had .forgotten Philip and his problems. Now it suddenly came home to David that he could not conceal Paula's absence from the boy. For the moment, Philip, immersed in his own troubles, had omitted to ask after his stepmother. Sooner or later ho would ask questions; explanations would be necessary; it would be impossible to conceal the truth. " What do you want me to do, Fhil ?" The boy began to pace tho room. " I wish you would see Irma, Pater. I hate to trouble you; I know you're a busy man; but I can't see anything else to do. She won't listen to mo. Somehow, her old man has convinced her that his yarn is true. But if you were to tell Irma that there's not a word of truth in this story about Montero she would listen to you. She likes you, and respects you. You see, I want to marry Irma; without the old man's permission, if necessary. His permission doesn't matter two hoots to me, anyway. But with Irma it's different, of course. Whilst she thinks there's anything in her old man's story, I'll never bo able to persuade her to marry me without his agreeing." " 1 sec!"

" Really, Pater, I feel an awful nss barging in and worrying you like this. The tiling is utterly—" " Wait a moment." David's voico was tired, flat and metallic. " riiil," lie said slowly. " I've sometiling to tell you. Something to confess. I've lied to you before, and I did so partly to protect myself—from cowardice —and partly because I thought it best for all of us." "You lied to me?" " Yes, I lied—about Montero. But the truth is out now. Grant came here and saw Paula. She—Paula, she's left me!" "Paula has left you? Grant saw her——You mean—'!" Philip stared white-faced at .David. Suddenly the boy understood. The cigaretto dropped from his fingers and lay for a moment smouldering in the carpet before he put his foot on it. "My God !" ft said the bov. "Then Grant's story was true. You sent Montero out. there to —" Ho broke off. David covered his eyes with one hand. Philip was walking up and down the room. At this moment his father's pain never occurred to him. The boy saw only his own loss. "So it's true! You lied to me! And now—what can I say to Irma? It's all over!" lie fell into a chair. David rose quickly to his feet and bent over his son. " Phil!" he said. " Don't take this too badly. It's my funeral. There's no reason why you should —" He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, but Philip twisted away and sprang to his feet. " Don't touch me!" Tears of anger, of bitterness, stood in tho boy's eyes. "You lied to mo! You deceived mo! You deceived the Spaniard and sent him to his death. Grant is right! Irma is right! What can Ido now ?" "Phil! Listen to me! There is—" "I can do nothing!" shouted Philip. " I can never ask Irma to marry me now. And, if 1 did, she'd be right to refuse me. Like father, like son !" " Philip! for God's sake —" But tho boy scarcely knew what ho was saying. He walked about the room as though distracted, whilst David watched, unable to do anything. " And I'vo been taking your part!" he cried. " T have looked up to you all my life. I thought there was rvo one like you, so just, so honourable. And, if I ever see Irma again 1 shall have to admit, that she was right—her father was right. If she married me—who knows I might one day play a dirty trick—betray someone —murder someone !" (To bo continued daily.)