The Man She Never Married

New Zealand Times, Volume LI, Issue 11740, 30 January 1924, Page 3

The Man She Never Married

By

Corane Stanton and Heath Hosken

Authors of “ Throe Men Who Come B»c*/» •• Sword and Plou«h." The Beaten Track,« Ac , Ac.

l (COPYEIOB T. 1

CHAPTER XVl.—Continued. A hurried glance at the blue probate papers gave Mr Velvet all even greater shock. The estate of the late Mr Scamp had been sworn at nine hundred and seventy-five thousand pounds. No wonder, thought Mr Velvet, as he crammed the papers into his pocket, that poor Jack Vicars had not been allowed to marry. Great wonder, too. now he came to think of it, should poor Jack Vioars be in the land of the living. He went out into the hall where Anatole was in the act of restoring Mr Dearth to consciousness. Mr Dearth was a serious proposition. Mr Velvet waß not at all desirous of having a dead body to explain, and was therefore not unnaturally relieved at finding the burly giant sufficiently alive to groan out terrible imprecations as he weakly tore at his bonds. Anatole had effectually tied his hands behind him and his ankles in a useful knot to the lower balustrade of the staircase. To all intents and purposes Mr Dearth was as helpless as a trussed fowl. Only hie voice and his unlimited invective was free, and he made good use of what was left to him. What was going to happen to these infernal ruffians once he could get at them and what he was going to do to them physically, and what the devil to do to them when he had finished with them, was a really fine piece of oratory. Imagination could go no further than Mr Dearth. As for poor little Caleb Fry, Anatele had ignored him. The scared little old man was shivering with terror. Every now and th'en he would venture a faltering protest, but at a scowl from Anatolo he would collapse and groan that it was nothing to do with him, that he was an honest, God-fearing and upright man, and had done no harm in afi his seventy yeans of life. Dearth turned to him once. Keep your dam fool mouth, shut, you slug he panted. “Leave this to me. Its nothing to do with you. Shut up, dyo hear!’’ , .. . “All right, Mr Dearth,” whined the poor little man, and writhed and wriggled like a puppy about to be whipped. “VYhat m thunder do you want? roared the fallen giant, fixing his malevolent eyes upon Mr Velvet “What are you driving at, you murderous, burglarious brigand?'’ “I,” said Mr'Velvet, “ought to have explained my object before; but you will agree that you hardly gave me an opportunity.” . __ ~ “Well, you’ve got it now. Whats it all about?” ' , “I am anxious, said Mr Velvet, ‘to find the address of a lady friend of yours who this morning sent a telegram from the post Office at Etaples, purporting to come from a Mr Vicars, who somewhat mysteriously disappeared a few weeks ago.” Dearth’s jaw dropped. He grew perceptibly paler. The little old rat of s man gaped uncomprehending. He had not heard, but he probably gathered the import of what \ elvet was saving. Livid terror shone in ms little close-set eyes. He made as if to speak. w6 u introduce myself,” Velvet continued, “since sooner or later you are bound to know. My name is Paul Velvet.” He said it as if he were grandiloquently announcing the tafct that he .was ilie King of Spain or the President of the United States. “That means nothing to me, muttered Dearth. “Who are you?’ _ “Have you ever heard of iollertons?” , , , Mr Velvet knew that the bearded giant was not only very surprised, but very frightened, and shrugged . his shoulders. “Well, we won’t go into the matter of my identity. But perhaps you can oblige me with the information I seek. Who and where is the lady in question?” . “I don’t know what you are talking about,” growled Dearth. “Do you happen to know anything about Mr John Vicars, who disappeared mysteriously or was perchance as mysteriously murdered some weeks ago?” ... ~ , “Never heard of him, muttered Dearth. “Don’t know what you are talking about.” “Anatole,” said Mr Velvet, drawing the chauffeur aside, “slip out. and take the car to Staples just as hard as you can. I’ll give you a note for M. Rignauld, Hie Chief of Police there. You know him. I was with him just now. Place yourself at his orders and bring him back as soon as you like and tell him to bring a couple of liis men. This looks like being a good day’s work.” “But will you be all right left alone hereP” asked Anatole, anxiously. “Don’t worry about me. __ I’ve got them safe and sound. Now, look sharp. 1 want to get back to London to-night. I must catch the seven boat from Boulogne. I’ve got an important supper appointment this evening.” Mr Velvet then wrote a brief note to M. Rignauld in French. He also wrote out on a blank page which he took from his notebook a telegram to “Tollertono, London,” and it was in code—a jumble of French and English words incomprehensible to anyone who was not in the secret. What it really meant was: “Ascertain all about Nigel Scamp, whose will proved last month uncle of Vicarf • “»> Roger Dearth, of Bordeaux and ilardelot. Inform Scotland Yard am engaged on most important development likely to solve matter. Returning to-night.” He gave Anatole a hundred-frano note, and again urged dispatch. CHAPTER XVII. Tony Rawson, like Mr Velvet, heard of the sudden death of Brian Stanford in an evening paper he bought and casually read over his lunch in the city. They probably learned the news about the same time. Tony’s first_ impulse was to rush to the nearest 'telephone and ring up Dolly and tell her the news. He did so. That is to say, he rang up Signet Walk, but he did not speak to Dolly. A servant answered him, and said Mies Champneys was out. S'o was Mrs Champneys and Mr Champneys. What name, and was there any message ? Tony contented himself by saying that Mr Rawson had rung up and would do so again. So Stanford was dead. Odd coincidence that the news that Jack was alive and that Stanford was dead should follow 60 swiftly. Somehow or other Tony could not bring himself to worry much about Stanford. It would be sheer hypocrisy on his part to pretend that ho felt any great grief. It was a shock and a surprise, because i tho last person on earth he expected to die was Brian Stanford. Well— | [peace to his soul. De mortuis 1

Strange tales began to float about. Someone said Stanford had committed suicide. Which Tony could quite believe. Then somebody else circulated a rumour that he had been murdered. Tony could almost credit that. But at last the bald facts came out with the usual fulsome . flatteries which attend public men oil the!? death; long obituaries', biographies, and laments for a brilliant life cut short in its prime, or rather in this case at the very threshold of a great and illimitable career. Strangely enough it was the fact that Jack Vicars was alive that occupied all Tony’s thoughts. Jack was alive. Jack might at any moment reappear. And when Jack came back it would be to find that his oldest and best friend had stolen hia dearest possession. He was actually engaged to Dolly. Tony .went hot and cold with the realisation. At any moment he might have to meet old Jack and tell him that he had played him false, that he had robbed him of the woman who waa hie betrothed wile. The situation was oue which could not be faced. Something must be dono, and no time must be lost about it. It was like running away with yorur friend’s wife. It was darkest treachery. As a man of honour, something must be done before it was too late. He took that wretched telegram cut of his pocket and read it for the hundredth time.

“In great danger, stop all legal action; will communicate again soon aa possible; don’t tell Dolly.—Hen gist.’i “Don’t tell Dolly.” Why? Of course, he must tell Dolly. It was only old Jack’s way of wanting to save her anxiety. How was he to know they all thought him dead? Of course, he must tell Dolly. Dolly was strong enough to bear the new|. 'Besides, it would make his task easier. Surely she would appreciate the ghastly position. There were such things as a plighted word and a man’s honoui. And he said he would communicate again as soon as possible. If Tony knew anything of Jack that meant very soon. “In great danger,” was rather ominous. Still, once assured that Jack waa alive, Tony knew that danger would mean little to him. All this time it had been the haunting fear, largely engendered by the pessimistic. Paul Velvet, that Jack had met with, a violent death that had robbed him of his faith and trust and sense of duty. He had felt guilty even to Jack,' as he had thought him dead. But Jack alive—that waa a very different matter. He would telephone Dolly again. No, he would not he a coward. He would take his courage in both hands, and boldly go and see her face to face. He would ask her to wipe out the sweet memory of this mornm'g, to forget, to think of him only as a faithful, honest friend of both her’s and Jack’s. It was the only possible thing to do. He hailed a taxi-cab in Gracechurch street, and told the man to drive to Signet Walk, Chelsea. . He could not help smiling a little grimly at the thought of how different this promised visit to Doilly’6 home was to be than what he had expected three or four hours ago. It was a topsyturvy world. It was five,o’clock when he reached the Champneys’ house. He was shown into the drawing room, where the beautiful Mrs Champneys, who was alone and playing Chopin on a Bechstein grand, received hint. She rose and greeted him cordially. “Dolly said you were coming,” she said. “What is all this she tehs me? What does it all mean, Mr Rawson? I have never heard of tmeh a thing. We never had an inkling. It has come like a thunderbolt. And so soon after that terrible business of Mr Vicars. Sit down, Mr Rawson, and let us have it out. My husband is not back from tho Courts yet. I will ring for some tea. You would like some tea, wouldn’t youP” Tony felt more like some neat Cognac than tea at that precise moment, but he weakly said that nothing would please him more than tea. Mrs Champneys touched a boll. 1 feel,” she said, “that I ought to be very severe with you- I really don t know what Dick will say when he hears.” —Dick was Mr Champneys—‘ I must say I think it is very wiong of you—very wrong of you both, for of course Dolly is just, as much to blame Oh dear, these modern girls. What is to become of the next generation if we go on like this?” “Mrs Champneys,” interposed Tonv, after several ineffectual attempts to stem the tide of her vociferous, playful banter, “I wonder if you will think it very rude if I ask you if I may have a word or two with Miss Champneys —with Dolly? I mean,” ho went on awkwardly. “I mean befeie I—l talk to you? Don’t ybu understand? Mrs Champneys smiled at him archly. “Dolly, poor child,” she said, “is very rattled and upset. She it lying down in her room. lam quite worried about ner. You see, she has been through a very trying ordeal this morning. Poor Brian Stanford—of course you’ve heard the dreadful news ? “So sad, so terribly 6ad and sudden,” Mrs Champneys went on and recounted tho whole occurrence, meanwhile a maid brought in t-a and dainty sandwiches and pastries, the very sight of which caused Tony, in his present mood, a feeling of positive naua.-a. The English ritual of tea proceeded, and Mrs Champneys chattered on unceasingly. ‘Of course,” she said, suddenly, apropos the subject uppermost in both their minds, “of course, my dear Mr Rawson, we know nothing at all about you. You are really quite a stranger. Now, aren’t you* Confess it.” She beamed at him, and then shook her head in mock severity. “You may make a good husband for our little girl. On the other hand”— she glanced at him coyly—“on +he other hand you may not. Are you quite certain in your mind about it? Axe you quite—quite sure? Do you really want to marry Dolly?” “Yes,” he said with dramatic sud denness, “ ; I want it above everything else on earth. But I can’t. “Can’t W-why?” stammered Mrs Champneys, altogether taken aback. “Because,” he Said, “1 have reason to believe that Jack Vicars is alivo and may shortly return to claim her as his wife.”

(To be continued).