THE DOUBLE PROBLEM

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIV, Issue 22853, 7 October 1937, Page 21

THE DOUBLE PROBLEM

CHAPTER XlX.—(Continu ed) Stephen smothered an oath, and swinging round on his heel faced her. At that moment, meeting Nada Bradley's contemptuous gaze, he felt that he hated all women; he was sure they were the "root of all evil" —he was thankful that he himself had always given them a wide mark —they were dangerous creatures constantly interfering in what didn't concern them — Bradley had been a fool over to ally himself to one of them. And as far as Keith Darrell was concerned—if what Nada Bradley suspected was true, if indeed ho was a detective under the harmless guise of a doctor, well! ho for one didn't thank her for discovering the fact—she'd no business prying into other people's business, she'd no business going near The Grange at all. In doing so sho had only sprung a mine—roal or imaginery—that added to his, Stephen Maine's discomfort. And ho knew what was in her mind now; she was thinking that he lacked the courage to accept Professor Green's invitation; she was —lie divined it instinctively—comparing him unfavourably with the husband sho had always professed to scorn. "Don't be absurd, Mrs. Bradley," ho said with a forced laugh. "Of course, 1 shall go to The Grange and I'm not thinking oft taking refuge in Fu-lun's den. If Bradley refuses to show the white feather, I think," nastily, "it must bo fairly safe; but perhaps," lifting his eyebrows interrogatively, "even his courage won't rise to a visit to the house he's never entered since last October?"

William Bradley laid down Professor Green's invitation and spoke for the first time.

"I think I will go," ho said, and looked inquiringly toward his wife, who responded with a swift glance. She looked very white, but outwardly calm as sho folded her work and rose, preparatory to leaving the room and the two men together. "In that case," sho said quietly, "I shall go, too; and," she walked to the door and spoke the last words over her shoulder, "1 can't explain why, but 1 anticipate a somewhat unusual evening; for I don't trust that ugly Professor any more than I trust Mr. Keith Darrell." CHAPTER XX. A DISCOVERY 111 the afternoon of that same day Bruce Chesson was walking in Hyde Park with Natalie Page. The latter was still in mourning and was looking pale but not altogether unhappy. Her eyes showed bright and clear under level brows, but they had lost the sweet roguish look that had been their characteristic charm; her lips, as scarlet and provocatively tempting as ever, drooped so slightly at the corners forming a pathetic contrast to the saucily tip-tilted nose; her burnished hair rippled bewitchinglv beneath a smart black toquo, showed threads of gold in the light of a bright March sun. There was a white pure radiant look on licr face that mado the man at her side glance down at her once or twice inquiringly. Presently she flashed him an upward glance and smiled into his eyes. "I'm not unhappy, Bruce," sho said quietly, answering his unspoken thought. "1 am quite certain that Geoffrey is dead and that being the case, I am just as certain that he would not wish me to spend the rest of my davs in mourning for him." The man's heart leapt. A warm colour crept slowly into his tanned cheeks. If this was indeed so, what might not the future hold for him? If Natalie had mado up her mind not to mourn—not to spend her time in useless repining, what a gftlden vista opened up before him 1 If only. . . . Of course, there was always the if—there always would bo until Bruce had actually led her to the altar as ho was promising himself ho would do some day.

After that nothing would matter. Even if Geoffrey turned up eventually, Natalie would be his —Bruce's—wife The other would have no claim on her. It was the waiting that chafed him. If only he could put on the hand of time for a year! If only things were then in the same position ho would have no hesitation in asking Natalie Page to become his wife. But now, common decency forbade it. And although the man s heart leapt as Natalie's words fell on his ears, there was a look of shame in the vivid blue eyes that met her pure candid gaze. Ho was loathing himself once more for tho tempting thoughts that haunted him, but ho could not wholly crush them down.

"L wish I could find him for you, Natalie," he said lamely, and despised himself all the more for his hypocrisy; for in His heart of hearts ho knew he did not wish it at all. "Ah!"

The monosyllable fell like a fluttering sigh from the girl's lips; a faint flush suffused her cheeks as she lifted her face to his; her eves wide and shining, were glimpsing what such a happening would mean to her. "Ah!" she breathed again. "If only you could, Bruce!" Then a swift change passed over tho mobile face. It reminded the man of rippling shadows passing over a sunlit hillside. "But you can't. Bruce," she added with calm conviction. "You'll never find him, because ho is dead. I know it." After that Bruce and Natalie talked no more of Geoffrey, but on impersonal matters, while the man who walked by tho girl's side strove to fight down the baser side of his nature. But it was hard —deucedly hard, he told himself, to bo in such close proximity to her and not tell her all that still lay in his heart. So the only thing would lie to go right away for a year, or possibly two Ho could not bear it otherwise—he knew that if be stayed near her and saw her continually as be had of late, ho would be throwing honour to tho winds and speaking once more to her mad impetuous words of love.

And what would she think of liini then? As it was be was a traitor at heart—he was still wishing that Geoffrey Stanton would never return; in the present state of his mind be confessed that the worst news be could hear would be that his rival was alive.

Yet they had always been the best of friends—the best of comrades, but now ft woman stood between them and Bruce felt that if Geoffrey returned the old friendship could never be revived. Natalie's next word's startled him. "Has it ever occurred to you, Bruce, that you ought to marry? If—if things are as I believe them to bo, you arc the next heir, you know."

He started at her dazedly for a moment, then as her meaning dawned on him:

"No—it never occurred to me," be said truthfully, "and as far as marrying is concerned, I shall never marry unless ''

He caught himself up abruptly and bit his lip, but Natalie, with woman's swift intuition, had divined what was in bis mind. She knew what bis unfinished sentence conveyed, and a vivid colour rushed to her cheeks, then as Biiddenly receding, left her very white. They had reached the end of the railings and with an abruptness that was almost curt, Bruce held out his hand.

"I think of leaving England for a time," lie said tentatively, but he did not meet her eyes.

By FRANCES BROWN Author of "Anne Sinclair's Love Story," etc., etc.

(COPYRIGHT)

A BRISKLY-MOVING STORY OF MYSTERY AND ROMANCE

"Leaving England 1" She was dismayed and looked it. She had relied so much on his friendship of late. He never bored her now like other people; he was so kind and considerate, so helpful in many ways and always so unobtrusive. She realised with a fresh sense of dismay how much she had depended on him without being exactly conscious of the fact. What would life offer, therefore,, if lie went away for any considerable time? She never knew until this moment all that his friendship had meant in the dark days that had come upon her. She could not let him go without a protest.

"Is it absolutely necessary for you to go, Bruce?" she said, and lifted her charming face to his. "It will be simply dreadful. Whatever shall I do without you?" She was being cruel, but she didn't know it. She was selfish, too, but not wittingly so. "I'm sorry, but —I must go—in fairness to Geoffrey if he still lives, I can't remain in England." He avoided her gaze determinedly and once again the blood rushed to her cheeks. She knew now for a certainty what was in his mind —she knew she had no right to detain him.

And all the time the man who loved her with as deep and sincere a love as Geoffrey Stanton was fighting down that baser side of his nature.

"I must go," he said again hoarsely, "it will he better —better I think, for evervono."

And because sho acknowledged that what he said was right, she bade him farewell then and there without another word of protest.

It was five o'clock when Bruce Chesson reached the rooms that he occupied when in town. He had definitely decided what to do. He would not see Natalie again. He would leave England without delay and he would leave it as he had done once before, without telling her of all that ho would bo hoping for during his selfenforccd absence. On that former occasion he had been a fool—he had missed his chance—but were he to act differently now he would bo a cur. Ho must give her time; time to forget. And afterwards. .

He was fitting his latch key in the door and thrilling to the thought of what that "afterwards" might mean to each of them, when his attention was arrested by a man who was sauntering past, lazily swinging a cane. It was the man's voice requesting a porter who stood near the kerb to whistle up a taxi, that first attracted him. He would have recognised that voice anywhere. There was no mistaking it. . . . Just for a few seconds the whole world seemed to stand still. , . , CHAPTER XXI. THE NIGHT OF THE STORM "You wanted to see me, Professor?" It was Keith Darrell who spoke, haying just arrived at The Grange in response to a cordial noto of invitation from Professor Green. The two men were sitting in the oak parlour that had been the scene of Stephen. Maine's mysterious heart attack two nights previously. ' The Professor pushed a box of cigars toward his visitor. "Light up," he said hospitably, "and help yourself to a drink," nodding toward a cellarette and siphon placed in readiness near some lemons and a spirit kettle invitingly near the boil. "Hot or cold, whichever you prefer."

"I felt inclined for someone else's companionship besides my own," he went on when Darrell, having mixed a hot whisky, was comfortably seated on the opposite side of the hearth. "But I'm afraid it's going to bo a bad night. It was starlight and promised to be fine when I sont my message, but now the wind seems to be getting up." As ho spoke ft violent gust rose which seemed to shako the very foundations of the house; a shower of hailstones rattled like castanets on the windowpane.'

"Phew! What a change," said the Professor. >."You'll have to stay the night, Darrell "

Keith Darrell laughingly pooh-poohed the suggestion. "I'll have to wait till it's over, that's all," he rejoined. "I daresay it sounds worse than it is. I'll have a look," and rising ho left the room, and making for the hall door, opened it and peered out. The night stretching in weird loneliness over the desolate Heath was inky black. Stars that had spangled tho sky earlier in the evening wore all shut out. Nothing but darkness and a sheet of swirling hailstones made visible from the lighted window of the room he had just quitted, met his gaze.

Professor Green bad reached his side when the wind suddenly veered round and sent a shower of hailstones pinging in their faces.

"Jove!" laughed Keith, shutting the door with a bang, "it looks as though I shall have to accept your invitation after all."

The Professor laid a hand on his arm

"Of course you will," he said cordially. "I couldn't dream of turning you out in this. There may be a cessation, but the storm is sure to recur. These sudden ones generally do." A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the hall, followed almost immediately by a deafening crash of thunder. ".Jove!" said Keith again, "I think you're right, and, if it won't be putting you to any inconvenience. . . "

"Inconvenience?" laughed tho other softly. "Certainly not. I could house half a dozen if necessary at short notice, for I have a most excellent housekeeper." They returned to tho oak parlour and Professor Green pressed an electric button. "Ask Mrs. Barton to soo that tho blue room is prepared for this gentleman," he said to tho main who answered the summons. "And see that a fire is lighted. Ho is going to stay the night."

With the shutting of the door, Keith in the act of lighting a cigar, looked enquiringly at Ins host. The lattor smiled and nodded.

"You are wondering why I sent for you," he said in his high-pitched tones. "Well, really it sounds rather selfish, 1 know, but as Endorby is spending the night with Stephen Maine —■ he does occasionally, you know, in order to get him to talk about the past the poor fellow can't remember"—here a curious smile touched the thin-lipped mouth — "well, as Endorby is out I had a sudden desire for company, and, for yours in particular. At the moment of sending the note I had no other thought than passing a comfortable evening in agreeable company, but now that you are spending tho night here. . . ." He paused and looked at Keith Darrel reflectively.

"Yes?" queried the latter with a lazy smile. He was feeling pleasantly at home with liis host, and was now in no mood to change his quarters for a walk in the blinding storm. The cheerful warmth of the room, the hot toddy and a most excellent cigar, to say nothing of a companion who invariably interested him, and stirred his professional instincts, seemed all that could be desired. "Yes?" he said again, "now that I m spending the night here —whntP" "Well, an idea Unshed to my mind just now," smiled the professor, "with as much suddenness as that streak of lightning Hashed into tho hall just now, and in following it up I don't think, speaking with quiet emphasis, "that when you leave to-morrow you will look upon the time spent here as wasted." (To be continued daily) ,