PRISONERS OF THE COUNCIL

New Zealand Times, Volume LII, Issue 12204, 31 July 1925, Page 12

PRISONERS OF THE COUNCIL

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

LEWIS RAMSDEN

Author of “The Word of m Somerleigh,” "Red Cavalier," "My Comrade Frank,” "Under a Kingly Mask,” &c., &c.

[COPYRIGHT.]

CHAPTER XVl.—Continued. Air Mills smiled. “If I thought such an attempt possible I should certainly have something to say. I cannot doubt your earnestness. Mr Travis, but you must excuse me if I tell you I am forced to believe tint my fair client has been deluding you, and possibly herself, with romantic / fancies.” “Why should you conclude that?” “Because to me, her legal adviser, she uttered no word about such a fear.” “You have seen her. then?” “Not longer than two hours ago she was sitting in that very chair.’ ’ “Was she alone?” “Certainly not,” he answered smiling. “A lady, the relative under whose care she is now living, was with her.” "Who is the lady?” “A cousin of the Countess Helen. To my own knowledge she is a lady of the highest social standing. I can tell you no more.” “But whv should I not be told?’’ 1 asked, desperately. “Simply, I take it,' because the young lady herself, however much she may have encouraged your attentions, now desires them to cease.” “I cannot accept your conclusion, sir.” Mr Mills answered very deliberate: ij. “I took vour word, Mr Travis; I must ask you to take mine when I tell yon 1 was instructed by the Countess Helen herself to refuse to give you information.” 1 gasped with astonishment. The <ld solicitor was a man whose good faith was not to be doubted; yet now was I to accept'such a statement as this? "But—but did Helen;—the countess —was ■ she speaking under any constraint?”

“She had no appearance of doing so. There can be no harm in telling you the exact manner of her instruction. Her relative had taken me aside to give me some particulars concerning yourself, and the obiect of your probable visit. After she had done so she turned to the Countess saying: ‘I have been telling Mr Mills that if this Mr Travis calls, as he is almost sure to do. it will be better for all concerned that he shall be refused any information about you. You agree with me in this, do you not, dear?’ 'Yes; you must refuse him information. Mr Mills,’. agreed the Countess distinctly.” “She said you unust refuse me information!” ■ I exclaimed, feeling as though someone had dealt me a heavy blow. “Those were her exact words, Mr Travis.” I sat like one dazed, trying to think it out. After all, why should Helen not have changed her mind ? She was so young, so inexperienced. When this relative had put facta in their ordinary light before her. ' was it any wonder she should see things differently? I had known she was above me. I had known it was presumption and folly to tbmk of her as I had done. While I was thinking I was conscious that Mr Mills was talking to me, and in quite a kindly manner, too. He must hare seen I was hard nit. ‘‘Your case seems to recall an experience of my own young manhood. Moat of os have to face these stern facts of life at some time. It was a seaside flirtation, and. both the lady and I scorched our wings rather badly. When the holiday was over I was forced to realise that she belonged to a social sphere to which I could “®t aspire. For awhile existence seemed darkened. I thought it would always he so; but presently the sun shone again. Time brought consolations—almost forgetfulness. Are you going? Well y you will, I know, pardon any lack of courtesy in receiving yon. I wish you a speedy return of good fortune. Good-day, Mr Travis.”

CHAPTER XVII.—MY SEARCH FOR THE HOUSE OF THE YELLOW DOOR.

A couple of hours later ( found me on one of the seats on the Embankment. Where I had been walking in . the -meantime Ido not know, but I had tramped, heedless of anything' about me, until my legs were tired. One thought had been in my mind— Helen herself had given instructions that I should be' refused the information which would have brought us together again. But, as I sat, the tide of remembrance returned, and with it reaction of thought. Vividly there came hack to me recollection of every tone of her voice when she bade me be cool and strong and cunning for her sake; also of the words she had uttered in my arms when we both thought the hand of death might be upon us—“ Remember, I shall wait.”

Hie remembrance cleared a mist from my mental vision. During our time of enforced c.'j.panionship it must have been her real nature Helen had revealed to me. How could she do otherwise? And though some women might change with any turn of circumstance, I could swear she was not of that kind. Helen must have been acting under some form of compulsion in her visit to the solicitor, as well as in that to the Mother-Superior. It was easy to comprehend this. I could now recall

in the form of her words which M Mills had repeated to me, a distinc suggestion that they had been inst: g gated by the relative who had chapei _ oned her. Why had I not questions s and cro3s-questioned him. I would r< s turn to him, and oven if I could ge t no further information I would spea b to him with a conviction which wouli force him to investigate matters thoi oughly himself. . ' , I hailed a passing hansom, and in i few minutes was again at the office i Chancery Lane. But I was too late the office had closed for the day, an 3 Mr Mills had left town for the nortl so it was useless my seeking him : his private address. Disappointed in this respect, I tun * ed away. But self-confidence had com back to me. I felt equal to the tas of discovering Helen by my own ei | forts. : And the first step, I concluded, wa 1 to find the place of our late imprison j ment—to discover all I could about ou captors. , But how was I equipped for such.; j quest? To anyone less sanguine thai . I felt just then the task might wei have appeared hopeless. My knowledg . of London was limited, and I had onl; an impressiqn that the place to whic! we had been taken was somewhere i: the neighbourhood of Soho. One o • two facts, however, stood out clearl; ; from the hazy recollections of our jour ney on that night of our capture—-th house in that street of tall, straigh , houses, was a corner one; when th< 1 motor-car had turned into the coverei 1 yard, and when the glare of the left hand lamp had shone upon the door painted a dingy, common yellow, i may be remembered how I had observed, amongst many marks, the impree of a child’s chubby hand, made whil the paint was wet, probably years be fore. So. clear was my remembranc of the precise spot of this imprint though I knew I might see many simi lar doors, I felt confident I shoulc know the right one immediately. So directly I had taken. somethin; to eat, I commenced my search. Houri passed, and I was still tramping through a seemingly interminable maze of, streets without having lighted upoi the yellow door. I had inquired © policemen,- of postmen, of cabmen, o! carmen, of errand boys, also of loungers _of various nationalities. My inquiries had been received with varying degrees of wonder, and had evoked answers some of which , had sent me or long and fruitless expeditions. Several times I entered streets of tab houses which exactly answered my impression; I even came upon coveredin yards, with doors painted the same shade of yellow, imprinted by many finger-marks; but the imprint ol chubby fingers, in the position I sc exactly remembered, was'not there. In spite of fatigue, I walked on doggedly, walked until traffic grew quiet and foot-passengers scarce,, so that, al length, sile’nt streets echped my footsteps; walked until I thought' I could not possibly have left anv street in the district unexplored. Then, tired out, X walked on aimless ly, for morning was so near that it seemed scarcely worth while returning to my hotel. Then I had a vague idea I was striking, upon some trail, and so got wandering through districts unrecognised and unknown until, at last, I found myself close upon Hyde Park—somewhat to my disgnst, for I had not thought I was anywhere near it. -However, being near, I entered, and sat down to rest, my weary limbs. Not for long, however. A feeling of restlessness impelled me to be on the move again, and passing through the Park I came out into the Knightab ridge road. Thence it was but a short way into Pimlico, a neighbourhood with which I was but little acquainted, but which struck me, as I began to pass through bs being just as likely a part of Soho. In fact I now realised that there might , for . aught I knew, be dozens or districts in London contain* ing streets answering to the imperfect impression I had obtained at the end of that midnight ride. Again I plodded through a maze of streets, with more of persistence than' hope ; Several times I quite lost my bearings and had to ask information of policemen who, In some cases, eyed me with suspicion. Gradually the main thoroughfares as I crossed them, or passed along them, pesan to show more and more signs or life, for though it was still dark the early working hours had come, and presently the feeble light of dawn commenced to assert itself. By this time I had to admit I was dead tired, my legs mowed mech&nically, and the hope wish which I had set out was gone. I concluded I must seek expert help, and while, my wearied brain was thinking about the beet way of obtaining such assistance I suddenly discovered the place I sought. sight roused me like an electric ; snook. I had been glancing from side to side of each street until I had taken in details almost mechanically; and now there it was, the very sign I had been seeking—the imprint of a child’s hand upon a yellow door . (To be continued.)