FREEDOM FOR TWO

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 22972, 25 February 1938, Page 4

FREEDOM FOR TWO

(COPYRIGHT)

By MARGARET WATSON A STORY OF LOVE THAT ENDURED THROUGH STORM AND STRESS, A LOVE THAT WAS BIG ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND

CHAPTER X.—(Continued) Jon laughed, .1 quiet, controlled, unexpected sound. "I love you for that. But Iwasn't really suggesting that either of us should leave him in tho lurch. I want to know that you're safe first, and then I'll coino back and scour Stockholm for Martin, and bring him off to you safely, if it takes 1110 a week." "That's great of you!" she cried, her eyes lighting. "But I'd rather help to find him, if I can." "Perhaps, but —you'd be more of a danger to him than a help, dear. One can work better than two where secrecy is wanted; and it is wanted, most desperately. If Martin is taken —" "1 suppose he'd go to prison, wouldn't he? For a long time; maybe for years." Jon stood back from her and watched with a detached interest every movement of her face. She was standing up to it well; better, in fact, than he had expected. There was steel in Erica after all. He said in a low voice:

"I'm afraid you don't know tho worst of it. It's even more terrible than — than prison." She raised her head sharply, and stared at him for a long moment without moving or making a sound. Then she asked breathlessly:' "Jon, what do 3'ou mean? How can it bo worse?" "Tho policeman who was wounded — I suppose you saw that?" "Yes?" , she cried impatiently. "He died about an hour ago."

She gave a little moan, and then her lips closed tightly and she sat clinging to the cushions in a forlorn fashion, as if they were her only hold upon tlie real world which she was fast losing in this phantasmagoria of horror. Curiously, in that moment she thought of Martin kneeling at her feet and tugging at the straps of her skis, of the white pompom on top of his cap, and the lean brown cheek below it; Martin at his most admirable, at his most endearing. She cried out fiercely, clutching at the first straw which leaned to her hand: "It isn't truol"

"But it is. Some of the papers are carrying it already." She gathered herself up in a weary fashion, and walked to the window, looking out upon tho sunlit street, and the waterways and bridges, and the little dark-green trees, with eyes which saw only a uniform grevness. Jon came to her shoulder. She felt him there, a big, incalculable presence, but he did not touch her. Presently she said in a slow monotofie:

"That makes it murder, doesn't it?" "Yes. I suppose it does. I'm so terribly sorry;- but you know that. So you see you must come away at once."

"Yes," she agreed, "I'll come." She turned then, and gave him the kindest look she had ever given to anyone but Martin, laying her hand upon his sleeve with an impulsive gesture. "You're very good to me, Jon. Thank you I" She put on her hat and coat, and packed her cases in great haste. "What about Martin's things? He musn't come back for them; it would mean —he'd be arrested —" "I'll see to everything. Just bring a small case with you, and I'll do tho rest afterwards. We must hurry!" Erica rose from her knees, and said: "I'm ready." She left the hotel with .Jon, and it was Jon who paid her bill, and it was after herself and Jon that the clerk stared with so much interest. These things were all wrong. It should have been Martin who walked by her side, Martin's hand which presently ventured her arm, Martin's step which fell so nimbly into the rhythm of hers, Jon was being very good to her, she supposed, in fact, that Jon was really a better man than Martin; but none of these material facts could swerve her mind for a moment from its loyalty to Martin. It was hard, she thought, that it should take a murder, and a robbery, and the goodness of another man, to make her realise how much she loved her husband. Even though she had, perhaps, asked for some such mad tangle through all her life. Jon's motor boat was waiting for them in tho least 1 frequented part of the harbour, a dark bluo boat of promising long lines. Erica felt more free as soon as she was seated in it, with even a foot of sea between herself and the soil of Stockholm; and as the shore fell away behind them she forgot for a moment that Martin was a. murderer, and remembered only how he would have loved the sunny blueness of the water far ahead, and how he had known about the eyes of Melusine, and how. tenderly he had played Debuissy, and everything about him which had ever been dear and kind. CHAPTER XI. UEHXSTOBN VXIIASKKD It was nearly noon whenlthey reached the little jetty of Jon's .island, and tied up there in the shadow of grey rocks. The island itself was small, and had no other building upon it, the whole of its space outside the house being taken up by gardens and They climbed a rocky, winding path, and looked back from the head of it over a shining expanse of water aglitter with islands, like a satin gown covered with rainbow embroidery. About them was a restoring peace; and the roofs of Stockholm, the spire of St. Nicholas, the pinnacles of the Franciscan church all looked comfortably far away and asleep. "It's quiet," said Erica, looking up at Jon with a smile. "What an isolated life you must live!" "It's ideal, really," 110 said. "You've isolation when you want it; and Stockholm close a'„ hand when you fool in the mood for town life. Let's go in; you must be exhausted, after the shock you've had." They went in. Inside the house there was a hall as dim and cool as a dream, and many rooms opening out of it. As they entered from the garden, a tall woman of middle ago came in silently from a door opposite. "This is my housekeeper. Mrs. Smith. She came front England as my mother's maid. Did I ever tell you my mother was English?"

Erica's mind was too full of Martin at that moment for her to remember, or even notice, anything which was said to her on any other subject. She was reminded that while she was safe here in the quiet of the harbour, ho was lurking somewhere in peril of his life. Tho panic she was incapable of feeling for herself came back in full measure, for him. She put her hands upon Jon's arm, and held it tightly.

"Jon—l don't want to seem ungrateful, after all you've done and are doing for me; but I'm so frightened about Martin. Please go and find him for me."

Jon's cool blue eyes regarded her for a moment in silence; and she believed, and yet could not quite believe, that she saw the hint of a smile, detached and cynical, lift the corners of his handsome mouth. Then lie bent his head swiftly, brushed her fingers with his lips, and went out without a word.

TJio time during which she awaited his return seemed to her an age. She was taken upstairs to a very beautiful bedroom, and made as comfortable as if sho had been a long-desired and more than welcome guest. She was led next to a lounge which looked out upon the shifting colours of the open sea, and given lunch, but she could not eat. Her mind was not with her surroundings; it was out in the streets of Stockholm, or wherever else by now Martin might be. She wished she had looked after it herself ; Jon was being wonderful, but after all, she would have liked to have her miserable secret to herself. Not, of course, that the truth of Martin's guilt could have been kept from Jon; but her own belief in it might have been. She wandered from the window to the door, listening for Jon's step, watching the ceaseless motion of the waves, examining without much attention the excellent pictures on the walls. It did not strike her then how excellent they wore, nor what a degree of wealth the entire scheme of the furnishings indicated; but she remembered these things afterwards, and understood what tlij'y meant. And all the while she strained her cars for the first sound of Jon's returning, and the even more tlesira ble ring of Martin's foot iollowing his. It was late afternoon before her solitude was disturbed, and then it was by the housekeeper bringing her tea. She poured a cup, and was not so far lost to her normal self that sho could not find soino comfort in it. A lew minutes later she did hear a voice in the hall, and sprang to her ieet in excitement; but it was only the unobtrusive—considering all things, the startlingly unobtrusive —girl Dagmar. There was a low-voiced colloquy with the housekeeper, and then she came into the room where Erica waited, and closed the door behind her. She was smiling, but not nicely, with curved lips and dilated nostrils, a queer mixture of contempt and envy and un<;er lighting her cold face into life. She set her shoulders back against the door, and lolled there, drawing off her gloves slowly from the long, slender hands. Sho was dressed with a rich flamboyance, which sat oddly upon her icy good looks. Sho looked spoiled, and spiteful, and—what was the word she brought to mind?—and expensive. That was it. She looked expensive. She had cost and was costing someone a groat deal of money. Why is it that sisters never have that look? The first qualm, a foolish one, as she told herself, settled like a cold hand over Erica's heart. She could not shake it off, however she tried. She was not afraid of Dagmar, certainly, and yet it could not be denied that there _ was something about Dagmar which frightened her. By its implications, she supposed, since it could not be tear for herself which touche.d her. She had never in her life cared so little what became of her.

"You weren't expecting me. Miss Bernstorn," she said. "Perhaps you didn't know that Jon —your brother — had ottered me his hospitality here for a time; until—" "No. I didn't know. But I'm not at all surprised. 1 quite understand," said Dagmar, and her curious smile deepened in her narrowed eyes. "In fact, 1 could see it coming quite a while ago.'' She moved forward from the door, dropped her gloves and hat upon the table, and poured herself a cup of tea. "Don't mind my joining you, do you? 1 still live here. For a short time, at any rate." Her light blue eyes lifted over the cup with a long, appraising glance, and found considerable beauty in the picture Erica's brown head made against the wide pane of the window. She raised her cup with a gesture which contrived to be the acme of both theatricality and grace, the wide blue sleeve falling back from the tapered arm. "Your health! May you always preserve that incredible innocence of yours, even in the most trying circumstances."

Erica said, without any pretence to be subtle in return for so much mystery: "I don't know what you J re talking about." "Maybe you do, mnybe you don't. If you don't, you're a bigger fool than I take you for." Her lips closed thinly. "Where's Jon?"

Erica's tired mind gave up all its problems. If Dagmar was mad, or if she herself was mad, or if both of them were dreaming, what did it really matter? She was sick of trying to foresee the future, and sick to death of trying to shape it. Let it come as it would now, and she would face it as it came. She said simply: "He's gone back to the mainland to bring my husband hero to me.'"

Dagnntr's eyes flared wide in a stare whose surprise needed no assurance of sincerity; then she laughed, in absolute abandon, though angrily, throwing herself back into the cushions on which she lbaned until she was almost lost to sight; then as suddenly sho sprang up again, all.her cool poise returning in a moment, "You unutterable fool!" she said, still viciously smiling; and without another word.she got up and made for the door. Erica reached it first, and without haste. She lacked an inch or two of Dagmar's height, but she had more than Dagmar's strength, and much more determination. She put her back against the panels, and asked in a low voice:

"What' are you trying to tell me? What do you find so funny in it? What are yuu insinuating about my husband? And"about your brother, too?" Dagmar said: "Mv brother!" in a voice almost inarticulate with rage and contempt. "My brother!" "What is he to you, then?" "My husband, of course!" Then clearly ea°,h of them heard Jon's step across tiie hall, and sprang round to see him enter. He came leisurely, not from the outer door, but from the direction of the stairs, with a cigarette between his lip*, and his hands in the pockets of a black silk dressing-gown. He was smiling as he came through the doorway, the slight, contented, approving smile of a conqueror; and ne looked from one to the other of them as a Caesar might look with patronising amusement upon a well-matched pair of gladiators.

Erica saw a new Jon, or one who was new to her. Was it possible that there existed, in this most northern of men, something of the East also? A streak of the sultan in—what had Martin called him? —the Lion of the North. For he looked at Dagmar with a tolerant, possessive contempt, and upon herself witji the pride and content of a proprietor. Dagmar went close to him, and her lovely cold face was set into a venomous mask. She said in a low tone: "Send her away at once! Do you hear me? Send her away!"

"After all the trouble 1 had to bring her here? My dear Dagmar, why should 1?"

"Because if you don't, I'll make von wish you had. I warn you, you've had everything you're getting out of me. Do you think I'm stone? Do you think you can go on for ever treating me like dirt? Either you send her back to the mainland now, to-night, or I go: and if 1 go. I'll be the death of you. Now—is she leaving, or am I?" He wasted no words upon her, but simply held open the,door, and said quite gently. "Get out I" "Very well!" said Dagmar, in a long hissing breath. Her pale but brilliant eves flickered from one to the otlier of them with a- eold, malicious glance. She said. "I wish you both joy!" and walked away steadily, swinging her gloves in her hand. (To be continued dally)