THE LION’S MOUSE

New Zealand Times, Volume LI, Issue 12009, 11 December 1924, Page 3

THE LION’S MOUSE

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

A FASCINATING LOVE STORY

By C. N. AND A. M. WILLIAMSON.)

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER I.—THE LION. Roger Sands, had steel-grey eyes, a straight black line of browS' drawn low and nearly meeting above them, thick black hair lightly powdered with silver at the temples, and a clean-shaven, aggressive chin. He had the air of being hard as nails. Most people, including women, thought him hard as nails. ; He thought it of himself, and gloried in his armour, never more than on a pertain September day, when resting in the_ Santa Fe Limited, tearing back to New York after - a giant's tussle in California. Butr—it was hot weather, and /he had left] the stateroom door open. Everything that followed came from. this. I. Suddenly he became conscious of a 'jerfume, and*saw a woman hovering, Ivrather than standing,-at the door. At ; his look she started away, then stopped. '.' -. ■ | ‘‘Oh, do help me!” she said. She was young and very beautiful. He' : /couldn’t stare quite as coldly as 1 e ought. ‘‘Wjhat can I do for you?” was the question he asked. He had hardly opened his mouth before she flashed into the stateroom and shut the door, “There’s a, man .. . . I’m afraid !” Though; she ..was young and girlish,' and spoke impulsively, there was something oddly regal about her. Princesses and girl-queens ought to be of ter type; tall . and ' very slim, with gracious, sloping shoulders and a long throat, "he chin slightly lifted: pale, with great appealing violet eyes under haughty brows, and , quantities of yellow-brown hair dressed in some sort of Madonna style, “You needn’t be afraid,,” he said. ‘‘Men aren’t allowed to insult ladies in’ trains.” “This man hasn’t insulted me in an ordinary yay. But I’m in dreadful danger. American men are good to women, even strangers. You can save my,life, ,f you will—or more than my life. But there’s only qne way.” Her words came fast) on panting breaths, as though she had been running. The girl had stood at first,.’her hand on the door-knob, but losing her balance with a jerk of the train, she let herself fall ints the seat. There she sat with her head thrown wearily buck, ter eyes appealing to the eyes that looked down at her. A queer fancy ran through the man’s Lrain. lie imagined that a woman being tried for. her life might look at the judge with just that expression. “What do you mean?” asked Sanda. He had resisted the jerk of! the train, and was still on his feet. .Instead of answering his question, >,the girl begged him to sit-down. ... “I -oan’t think properly while it seems as if you were waiting to turn me out,” she saidi ■Sands sac down. “I hardly know how to tell you what I mean. >l--hardly dare,” the voice Went on. while lie wondered. “It’s a tremendous thing to'ask. I can’t explain. V i" . add’ 'if ’I hesitate it frill he too late. I don’t know your name, or your! character, except 1 what I judge from your face. . The ,way to gave, me/ ■is to keep ,me in this .stateroom.with the .door shut, as far as Chicago.” _ ■ “Good, heavens I That a . ... . Sands was going to end ;his sentence with impossible.” But he stopped in the midßt. Her eyes, made him stop.' It was as if he were pronouncing a death sentence. He was silent for a few seconds. • “I’d have to say . . . no. I could uot sav you were my wife, because ' overyone-"knows: I’ve not. got a wife.' I’ll say you. are my -cousin; -say you’ve come late. I want- you to .have this stateroom, and I’U take another. - : or a- section. I —l could do

that.” “Will you?” she breathed. “Yes. I will.”;' ; He- said this almost sullenly, he was thinking: -.“Prettyt..smart /new dodtnl Neat way to get a stateroom All the way from Albuquerque to Chicago.” “I’ll go out now and fix things up with the conductor,” he promised. “We must settle on # story,_ You come on board at Albuquerque just now?” ‘lYes. The last minute befqre the train started. T have a berth in this car. I thought,l was safe, that: everything was right' fbr me. Then I saw the man . y .. not the- one I - ex-, peoted, but worse. He waen ;t -in this car, but the next. I saw him standing,there. He was looking up at some ladiespassing through. One had- on •deep mourning and a Crepe veil. Perhaps he believed it was I. I turned and rushed this way. Your door was open, and 1 you . . . you looked like' a' real man. That’s all.” “What.about ypur baggage?” “I have nothing. I . . • was m a hurry.” : 1 “In what ■ name did you make your reservation?” , . 1

■ “Miss Beverley White. White isn’t my real name: Beverley is . . one of-my names. I couldn’t tell you more.”

“All right. The porter will get some-toilet- things for my cousin whom I’m to chaperon from- Albuquerque to Chicago, and. who nearly 1 missed the train owing ti) illness. He’ll bring your meals in, as you’re not able to. leavo your stateroom.” “That’s what I’d ha-ve asked,!’ she said. “I may trust'the porter?” : “The porter knows me. Your idea is,” he went on, his hand on the door, “that the man' you don’t want to see will try pretty hard to see' you ?” ' “Yea. When ho searches the train and can’t find me (I’m sure he’s be-* gun the hearth already): be' can’t be sure I’m on board, but he won’t give un easily. If the- deepest ‘ gratitude -’’

“I don't- need consolation. Any other instructions to give before - I leave you?” ■ “No, Yes. -. . there’s one thing. Will; you take charge of a very small parcel? I daren’t keep it myself, in cose anything unexpected should happen.* • •' •

“It’s inside my dress,” the girl explained. For an instant she turned her back then, rebuttoning her blouse with , one hand, held out to him in the other a long, thick envelope, unaddiressed, and sealed with three. goldcoloured seals. Roger took the parcel.

(/ -“You see how I trust you,” she said. 'This packet is *the • most valuable thing I have in the world, yet I know it.is safe.”

< “You told, me you didn’t know my name. But if I’m your-cousin you’d better know it. I’m Roger Sands •” ‘ ‘Roger Sands,. the groat—what is the word?—corporation lawyer? The man who saved the California Oil Trust king?” She looked surprised, almost frightened. “I* isn't a ‘Trust,’ or \ I couldn’t

hay© saved him. That was jast the point.” ' “How lucky I am to have such a man stand by mo. For you will?” He slipped the long envelop© into an inside breast pocket of has grey tweed coat. “It’s as safe there as m a 'bank,” he assured her. “NooV I’ll go and make everything straight. If you want me, you’ve only to ring for the porter and send me word. I won’t oome till you do send.” Whether or no her terror was justified, Roger resolved to give it the benefit of the doubt. Instead of trying to secure another stateroom, he would! try to get a section close to Stateroom A. In order to play watchdog. - It wasn’t difficult to do. The section he wanted was engaged from the next stopping place, but an exchange, oould 'be made. The Pullman car conductor took it upon himself to attend to that. Sarido’ suitcase, coat and magazines went arranged on hoth seats, and he sat down to keep guard. The porter had been told that Miss White wasn’t to be disturbed unless she rang, exoept at meal times, when he—Sands—Would choose dishes from the menu and send a waiter from the dining-car* ,

A few toilet things were somehow procured by the negro, and handed into Stateroom A., with a contribution of novels, magazines, and a box of chocolates, from Miss White’s cousin.

Night, Roger realised, would be the dangerous time, if danger there was, and' he decided not to sleep. . Lying .awake wasn’t after Ml, very difficult, for the portrait of the girl was painted on Roger’s mind. He saw things in that portrait he’d seen but subconsciously in the original. He thought thather beauty was of 'the type which would shine like the moon, . set off with won - derful clothes and jewels. And from that thought it was only a step to picture the joy of giving such clothes and jewels The man was surprised and ashamed to find himself thrilling like a hoy. ' - Daylight released him from duty. He dressed, and had his section made tip. Though all peril—if any—had vanished with the night, Roger couldn’t bring himself to leave his post for breakfast until he saw the porter tap at the door of Stateioom A. in answer to a ring “I hope Miss White’s feeling better/’' he said to the negro, when the door chut once more

“Yes sah, she wants her room fixed up " Ah’m gwan do it raight now, but 'Ah’m bound to give yuh the lady’s mes sage fust. She thought yuh’d like to bcah she’s mighty well, considerin’. An’ she’ll thank yuh, suh, to order her some coffee an’ toast.”

Roger added cantaloupe to the or. der, and a cereal with ' cream. ' I lie mysterious girl hidden in his stateroom was no lodger/ an adventuress, 1 sponging on his ionotje generosity: she was an exquisite, almost, a sacred charge. As ho ate his breakfast in the dining-rat ho saw a man he knew sitting directly- opposite ; him ■ at the next table. Their eyes encountered.- -Roger, felt that the. other haci been staring at him and'hadn’t had 1 time to'look away, tie -flowed, and paused at the table which he was obliged to pass on his nay out.

“How do you do, O’Reilly?” he said, with a slight stiffness. He would have preferred to walk past with no more than the nod, but in that case the man would believe his late absentmindedness had been deliberate. Roger didn’t wish to leave' that impression. Justin O’Reilly was nearly ten years Ji unger than he, but had got the better, of him once, and not long ago. Sd nds was too proud to let it seem as if this rankled. O’Reilly rose and shook the offered hand. - He was tall and lean, and brown-faced as a soldier back'from the war. He had a' boyish air, younger than his thirty-one or thirty-two years: but under that look was the eame sort of hardness and keenness which was the first thing a stranger noticed , about Sands.

“I’d no idea- you were out west.” “It’s been a flying trip,”- O’Reilly r.nswered. 1 “Queer I missed seeing you before. Suppose you’ve been on board since Los Angeles?’* “I caught eight of you last night lor the first time,” said the other. “I’m not in your car, and I’ve been resting up. I came on board tired. One usually does I” “Yes,!’ said Roger. “Well, we shall knock up against each other now and then, here in the diner.” “Sure to.. I’m going on to New York before Washington,” O’Reilly volunteered. .

“Right 1 But don’t let your coffee get cold ior me.” Roger passed on. If his thoughts had not been focussed on the occupant of Stateroom A., he would have wondered a good deal as to" whht ihad taken Justin O’Reilly on . a “flying trip” west. ; This- was O’Reilly’s first year in Congress, and he’d manoeuvred to make himself a conspicuous figure in Washington one way or, other. His present* interests could not, Roger thought, be interfered with by Justin O’Reilly. The man was a Democrat, and opposed on principle to. the cause of John Heron, whom' Miss White had called the “Cali-' forma Oil Trust King” : hut personally they - were friends, even distantly related, and O’Reilly would wish to do Heron no secret injury.

When he got back to his own cor Sands found the porter waiting. ' “Lady’s through breakfus, 6uh, and would' like to see yuh w’en convenient,” was the message: and two seconds later Stateroom A’s rightful owner was humbly knocking at the door. The girl’s beauty struck' the man anew as she smiled him a welcome. She was as well groomed as if she had had a lady’s maid. ■ _, ' “Has anything happened P Have you had rny trouble on my account r’ When : Roger said no, nothing had happened, ehe drew a breath of relief. “No one in any way noticeable has tried" to get acquainted with you?*’ ‘.‘The . conductor and porter and a waiter r r two are the only persons I’ve exchanged a word with —except a fellow I know slightly, named O’ReiL ly. a Congressman from California. 1 suppose he doesn’t interest your” ‘•No man interests me . . . unless, the who is saving my life,”, the girl answered surprisingly. As Me spokd, suddenly a wave of rose-colour poured over her face, and she turned quickly sway In confusion. Roger felt that she had blurted it out, scarcely knowing what - she said until too late. Ii stead.of liking her less, ho liked her better. He brought out the ’envelope to show. It had bsen under his pillow all night, he told her. “I don’t know what I should have done without 1” aha said' with a

f latitude that was almost humble. here’d be a certain blankness, Roger couldn’t help seeing, fiwhen the time came to do without her I

“When we get to Chicago,” he asked, “how can I help you there?” “Oh, I expect to be met by a friend. I suppose I shan’t see you again: but I shall never forget.” Roger Sands felt a horrid twinge of seme unpleasant emotion. He loathed the “friend” who would take the girl away from him. “But Chicago’s a long way off,” she said when he did not speak. “It must seem a wild story to you, hut the danger I’m in . . . the danger that this envelope is in . . . won’t be over for one minute, till you’ve put me into my friend's hands. You will do that, won’t you? You’ll see me through til', the last?”

“I will,” said Roger. “And meanwhile you’ll come and see me in the stateroom sometimes if yon don’t mind?”

Roger smiled. A silver lining began t-i glimmer through the cloud. By good luck he, knew no one on board save O’Reilly, who fortunately was in another ear, and he- hoped that few people knew him. He could not resist her invitation. He began deciding to spend a half hour with nis “invalid cousin” now and again. As through the veil of beauty he caught glimpses of 'something like character within, Roger felt that the mystery i hickened.

The inevitable moment came. The porter was brushing men’s hats and* coats. Suitcases were being fastened up. The Limited was slowing down in the big station. Then, and not till then, did Mias White show herself at the door of Stateroom A. Sands, who had knocked to tell her that she had better come out, was waiting to guard her for the last time. Neither had much to say. The hope of haven bad not raised the girl’s spirits. As'Sands gave her a hand, stepping on to the platform, he saw Juatin O’Reilly, already out of the train, and looking about with an air of expecting someone. O'Reilly took off his hat, with an unneoessarily cordial smile for Rands. At heart they were enemies, Roger took it to -mean amusement at sight of his oompanion. He felt annoyed. Miss White was looking straight ahead, a brilliant colour staining her cheeks usually pale. The rendezvous, she had explained to him, was at a n6we stand. “There!” she said, “that is where' he will be. There’s such a crowd, I can’t see him yet.” They neared the news stand, and as “Miss White” was a tall girl whose head could be seen above the hats of average women, he expected a man to start eagerly forward. < But no man separated himself; from the crowd. She was beginning to look anxious: there was no -flush on her cheeks now. “Where can he be?” she said. “Something, must have happened!” “Taxi broken down, perhaps,”. Roger tried consolation. , “Oh, if only it’s nothing worse! I must just wait. 'But you, Mr Sands, I oughtn’t to ask . . .” “You needn’t,” Roger cut her short. ‘T’m not going to desert you.” * “I fiiight have known you wouldn’t. He can’t bo long!” “What about the envelope? 1 Will you have it now?” Roger asked. She had begged hi into keep it until they were out of the train.. “Not yet. I daren’t. You’re, sure it hasn’t been stolen from yonP Dd please make oertain'l” He put his hand inside .his coat, and felt the'envelope, which was Nate, of course. “It’s mere, as large as life.” “Thank heaven!” she breathed. Minutes passed: fifteen minutes; twenty ; v thirty.' The girl was white as ashes)" and dark lay under her eyes, “All hope is over!” she said, as* Sands glanced at his watch,, when they'had stood for three-quarters of an hour. “Some terrible thihg has prevented him frpm meeting me. I don’t know what’s going to become of me now!” ■

iuv uurr i • ' (To be continued.) " ' *