PRISONERS OF THE COUNCIL

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12196, 22 July 1925, Page 12

PRISONERS OF THE COUNCIL

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

LEWIS RAMSDEN

Author of “The Word of a Somerleigh,” “Red Cavelier," “My Comrade Frank," “Under a Kingly Mask,” &c., &c. 1 [COPYRIGHT.]

SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS, i CHAPTERS I. to lll.—The story opens ! on Clifton Suspension Bridge. John j Travis mediates putting an end to affairs. He is aerated by a. man fancies be can read some design of the kind in Travis's attitude. The stranger shows a certain fear of a motor-car ana its occupants. He offers John Travis two hundred and fifty pounds, being the naif of his present possessions, if .ho v ' l * l render him a service. John Travis.. ieinjr in immediate need of funds, agrees. They retire to a wood. The strefiger gives his name as John Latimer, stating that spies are after himself and his wife. They change apparel, and John Travis agrees to adopt for the time being the personality of John Latimer, thus giving the latter an opportunity of getting away unobserved and joining his wife on board ship. Attired as Latimer, John Travis makes his way back to the Suspension Bridge. He sees once more the motor-car, also the motorists. Their behaviour fills him with suspicion, and he enagges a hansom to drive him back to the hotel. Arrived there, he goes to Latimer's suite, and has a wash and change. The attendant tells him Mrs Latimer has arrived. He goes to the drawing-room, and sees there a beautiful young girl, who does not appear to know him. She tells him she lfi Helen, and Travis remembers that Latimer s wife was Marie. Helen inquires for Marie. Travis finds out that* She is : Latimer's sister-in-law. They dine. Helen tells him that he is not like ber sister's description of him. She says sbe has run awav from, the convent, and pleads to be allowed to;6tay. He says It is impossible. As Marie does not turn up, she jumps to the conclusion they have quarrelled. She lets him know she is tho Countess Helen Fredro. He iereels to ’*er that he is not her brother-in-law. CHAPTERS IV. and V.—.lolin Travis tells the Countess Helen that he is personating John LatimeT, and - tells her what, he knows. She -gives him some .of. her earliest recollections, she was 6ent to England. After some conversation he decides to take her to a ludy friend of his mother's. He orders a cab, and thev set out. The driver i% muffled „up to the eyes. All goes well until the driver stops, and says there is a slight accident to the harness, and asks bis assistance. John Travis alights, and is captured, bound and. carried to a waiting motor. The same fate overtakes tfce Countess Helen Fredro. They are *aken rapidly to London, and are brought +o a standstill lefore a tall house with a covered-in yard, which they enter through a yellow door. CHAPTER VII.—“GOOD NIGHT.” I ’looked at the Countess Helen—stared at her. too astonished to reply. Then I realised that she did not understand the extreme delicacy and awkwardness of our position. I -think she was afraid her little outburst of laughter might have offended me, for she went on hastily:— “To tell you the truth, Mr Travis, I am glad they did not put me somewhere alone, for I should have been so horribly afraid. Perhaps I should not be glad if it had been—well, anybody else but you, for you seem so much a friend, and—oh, dear! Why do you frown so? I suppose I have been saying something that isn’t proper; I am sure I don’t know what.” . “Don’t let mv frowns frighten you, Countess,” I laughed. “It is only that your words made me think. You don't quite realise the fix we are in. Still, I am delighted to know you would prefer my company here to that of , some others. You will remember you promised to regard me as a friend when our acquaintance was even shorter ‘than it is now.” “Wasn’t it strange?” she mused. “I have never been one to make friends ?uickly —or to make them at all; yet did so at once with you, and felt I could trust vou.” “I wish your confidence had been better justified,” I remarked gloomily. “Please don’t commence in tbat strain again, or I shall begin to fancy you are not so nice as I thought, after all.” “In the face of that dreadful i threat I won’t,” J. laughed. “I cannot' afford to lose even the smallest remains of the good opinion you formed. Come, what do you say to our -making ourselves as much at borne as may be, under the circumstances?”She nodded her pretty head in approval. “And since our captors have been thoughtful enough to provide us with supper I see no reason why we should not make some attempt to eat it.” .Our night ride, in spite of the tx- - citement attendant upon it, must have given each of us a good appetite, for we made an excellent supper, chatting and laughing as though our captivity belonged to some ordinary adventure, some holiday mishap soon to be remedied. After we had eaten I moved . my chair nearer the gas fire, but the Countess Helen sat on the hearthrug. - “It is a habit of mine,”- she explained. “A rather childish one, I suppose; but then it began when I was a child. When I was a little thing I used, on winter evenings, to sit like this, and Cousin Vera would talk to me about my father and mother, or tell me tales —Bible stories; or even fairy stories sometimes. I am - going to fancy I nm sitting before a real fire now.” “Is your imagination vivid enough to make you fancy me as supplying the place of Cousin Vera?” I inquired? “What a strange question to ask!” She was clasping one knee with both hands, and had thrown back her head to look up at me, smiling. It was a charming attitude, I thought, as 1 admired the full curve of her white rounded throat, and her smile was enchanting. “I was only thinking how you must wish she were really here in place of me.” The countess was looking into the fire again, so that I could only see the exquisite profile of her face: She appeared to be debating the point I had suggested, and perhaps it was the glow loa * f rom the gaa fire which brought the deeper tinge of colour" to her cheeks. “Dear Cousin Vera! The convent was so different when she was there. If only she had stayed!” A sigh and a little pause. Then one of those backward glances. “But if I were with her now I should not be likely to- know you at all, should I? 1 ’ “Most probably not. How that must acid to your regret!” “I am afraid you say rather silly

things sometimes, don’t you, Mr Travis?” 1

, “I am afraid so,” I agreed, rather taken aback by the directness of her stricture. And if I had said more I might have informed her that her very presence was a standing temptation to say silly things—the sort of silly thing I thought I had put behind me for ever. I sat silent and serious, wondering, at my folly: yet knowing as I looked upon'her beauty, that it was no wonder either. I felt there was stern necessity for me tc keep constant guard over tongue and eye; for though strange chanoe had thrown us thus intimately together, though- in her innocence and need she had looked Upon me and trusted in me as a friend, she was not for ine; I was not of her world.

And even as I thus thought I felt the gaze of those beautiful eyes, which, though so innocent might well prove a man’s undoing. She was looking at me’ with head thrown back, as before. * “You are not offended, are you?” she asked at length. “Offended? Good gracious, no!” , •“Then talk, please—even if you do Bay something silly.” ' She uttered the last words with a smile which made me realise how easily, unless I exercised constant care, my resolutions might go by the board. So we talked for a little while, until naturally enough our conversation turned upon the probable action of our captors,

“What do you think they will do?” she asked.

“I don’t see what they can do but let us go free, when they have discovered their mistake. Whatever they may he they will soon find we are utterly ignorant of their affairs, so no possible object would be served by detaining us.” iThough I spoke with confidence I could not, in my heart. Help feeling some anxious doubt. We bad fallen into the hands of persons (backed, I believed, by the power of an unscrupulous,' Government) who had relentlessly pursued the Latimers across Europe'. Would ■ these persons show the same vindictiveness against us who had intruded, however unwillingly, upon their secrets ?

But as the Countess Helen and I talked, the hour grew late, and V suggested, as circumspectly as I conid, that ■ she should retire to the next room, and there seek the rest she must be greatly needing. Perhaps there was some unavoidable constraint in my manner of making: this suggestion; anyhow there must have come to her mind some partial recognition of the awkwardness of our position. “I—l .don’t feel the least hit sleepy,” she declared hurriedly, without looking up. “I would rather stay here and talk with you, if you don’t mind.”

I could not very well refuse, and had no Wish to, for I was not feeling sleepy myself, so we went on talking as before, and for a little while she chatted even more brightly than ever. Then the unwonted excitements which had been crowded into that day began to tell upon her, as I felt sure they must. Even in the midst of something ’ she was narrating, some reminiscence of her convent life, the graceful head nodded, inolined unconsciously towards my knees, and there rested.. She was asleep. For two hours, perhaps more, she remained with bead thus pillowed. In slumber her face was like that of some lovely _ child; indeed, she was still a child in sweetness and innocenoe, and only little more than a child in years. Sleep was far from mv owp eyes. I remained .motionless. There - was no sound save that of her soft and regular breathing. It was of her future I was thinking. How was I to protect her young life from any ill consequence- arising out of this position into which strange circumstance had forced us? With a pang I concluded that after we were free, after T had placed her ip the care of kindly hands, the best thing I could dp for her -was to go out of her life for ever. , • And then, as I looked at, her, and in looking ceased to call myself a fool for. feeling a dull stab of pain in my heart over the thought I have mentioned,. 1 saw her red lips part in a smile and the murmur of words came from them —words not uttered clearly, but clearly enough for me to distinguish them. “And, Cousin Vera, what do you think? His name is Jack, the same as Marie’s husband.” / In dream.ing she must have been near waking, and my start (which came from a strange thrill of delight) aroused her. . *

“Ohl” she cried, sitting up suddenly. “I-have been asleep.” “And dreaming,” I added, with ■ a smile.

“Did—did I say anything?” she inquired, with a look of dismay, a glow of crimson suddenly coming to her cheeks. >

“You mentioned your Cousin Vera’s name,” I said cautiously, and Helen gave a sigh of relief. “T dreamt I was talking to her again; was speaking to her about—about a friend.” Then, hastily : “But I have riot been to sleep more than a few minutes, have I?” “A little more than a few minutes,” I laughed, “Something over two hours, in fact.”

“Good gracious 1”. she exclaimed. “But you have slept, as well P” - “I can’t say that I have. Really, I have not felt the least bit sleepy.*' “And you let me keep you in that uncomfortable position all that time I Why did you not wake me?” “I did not feel in the least uncom. fortable. I had* plenty to occupy my mind, and you seemed to be sleeping so pleasantly—dreaming pleasantly, too, I hope—that I should have thought it unkind to Wake you.** • The red glow came to her cheeks again, and she rose to her feet. “I ought to have—to have gone to bed when you advised mo. It was silly of me not to. As if it mattered!” she said, somewhat incoherently. Then, holding out her hand, the trust and confidence expressed in her true beautiful eyes shining through her maiden confusion, she bade me’sweetly “Good-night 1” (To be continued.)