WHEN – – LOVE RULES.

Otago Witness, Issue 3383, 15 January 1919, Page 48

WHEN - - LOVE RULES.

THE NOVELIST.

[Published bt Special Arrangement.]

WILLIAM GUIDOTT. Author of -'Through the Silent Night," "The Shuttered House," "What Delia Dared," etc., etc. [Copyright.] CHAPTER IX.—Continued. The sight of Elise had rudely interrupted her thoughts on the newly-acquired property and .possessions around her, bui. sho feigned not to observe her. Strangely enough, it had not occurred to her yet in its full significance, this absolute possession of everything which had belonged to old Sir Anthony. That he had not made a will 5 since he had married her was certain; at least, he had not done so in France. Those few hours on the previous day had been the only ones in which, he had been out of her sight since their wedding. It was hardly likely he had employed them in the making of a will, which he could have done at any moment another day by going to town or having his lawyer down. No, much more probably the old man had merely paid a visit to some friends ©v relatives, or even some attachment had claimed him, someone he had wished to placate, to keep quiet, she judged in her vulgar way. She had not yet heard from the lawyers, and had been surprised that none had been at. the inquest, but doubtless they would be along soon, for there would be much to settle. If there were a new will they would certainly ljave it, if not —she looked at the exquisite china cup in her hand, quite unable to appraise its value, and from there glanced at the wonderful old silver, which was of undoubted price, and. noted it with satisfaction. She wondered what the exact income of old Sir Anthony Greatorex had been, and in imagination began apportioning it out, beginning with the wonderful frocks and sables she meant to buy. There would now be no need to buy any jewels, thanks to the accident and the promptness of the police. She supposed that the gems were still at the police station. They had not yet been brought back; time had been so short._ Elise broke in again upon her dreaming by coming downstairs. "I'm going out for a time," she announced briefly, hardly stopping as she crossed the hall. "Where?"

"Oh, only with Jim. We're going into Alderstone to the pictures. No one knows us; it's quite safe." Lady Greatorex surveyed her costume, which, although quiet, was certainly not one of mourning, and merely nodded. Then very quietly she rose and watched her go down the curve of the drive. She stood motionless a few minutes to make sure that she was not returning, then ran to the telephone, which was in a small room at the back of the hall, unhitched its connection Avith the study above, and spoke a few words rapidly. Her number was not long in being given to her. She smiled serenely as she spoke : "Is that the police inspector? I am Lady Greatorex. You have the jewellery you found, have you not? What? Oh, yes, I thought so—quite right—no, I do not want it here. I shall send it all to the bank—oh, would you?" Her voice was very charming. "Yes, I suppose I ought to come and see that they are all there, but I shouldn't know—you see', I have never seen a lot of them; we had not got them with us on the Riviera. What ? Of course, I trust you absolutely, and if you'll be so kind as to send them oyer to the bank the first thing to-morrow morning I shall be so much obliged. Thank you so much. If you should want anything I shall be at the Court, of course, all to-morrow. Yes, it is very, very sad, and trying—thank you very much." She hung up the receiver. "That will put a stopper on so far as the jewels go, I think; there won't be any division of property there, my good Elise," she murmured aloud. A smile still rested on her lips as it occurred to her that it might be quite a. good move in a diplomatic way to make a present of one or two pieces of jewellery to Mrs Fairfax and the girl Alys. Why not? It would look well and even generous. She would not stint nor make the mistake of giving them something small. This remembrance of their uncle should be a valuable one. It certainly seemed a very good idea. She stood leaning against the table long after she had finished telephoning, thinking. The question asked by Elise that morning came back to her. Had the Fairfaxes been dependent on Sir Anthony, entirely dependent? Supposing this had been the case, what should she do ? There were one or two ways open to her obviously. The first she thought of would be to drive them away by cutting off all the supplies, which now would naturally come from her.

Softly she closed the door of the room; and with knitted brows wandered back again into the hall. As she neared the door she observed a man approaching the house. At a glance she guessed him to be Sir Anthony's lawyer, and her judgment wai right. Standing in the centre of the hall, she waited until he had" mounted the steps, and- was about to lay his hand on the old-fashioned iron bellpull. Then from out the gloom of the interior she made a sudden appearance,

which startled the elderly grey-haired man who stood confronting her. hat in hand. She looked at him interrogatively. "Am I addressing ?" he began with some hesitation,

"I am Lady Greatorex," came th*» answer in a low voice. "I expect you are ?" "Mr Rawson."

"Ah, yes, I thought fo. Won't you please come in? I think I ought to welcome you as being more than a lawyer—indeed, as a very old friend of my poor husband, ought I not ? He so often spoke of you to me," she said in a voice in which the note of restrained grief was .admirably mingled with gracious courtesy. "I had the honour of being a friend of the late Sir Anthony, I think I may certainly say," Mr Rawson replied in rather stilted fashion. Lady Greatorex motioned him to follow her into the drawing-room. "I hope that you will not be surprised at my costume, but never thinking that anyone would call, I put on this gown for the sake of rest—my nerves are sorely tried—the inquest was too dreadful. Of course, I ought to have known that ycu would call, but I am so very inexperienced in' business, and it is the first time,- of course, that I have over been in such a terrible situation,"' she put hoi' lace handkerchief to her eyes, adding with childlike ingenuousness, "You see, I have no proper things, no mourning, I mean." She touched the filmy cream lace restgown deprecatingly, hoping that her words would carry off the stupidity of her bad taste in wearing it, and quickly pulled the lace over the expanse of exquisite gold and mauve which it thinly veiled. The lawyer gave a tactful gesture which implied indifference combined with complete absolution in the eye 3 of the world, or, at least, his little part of it, and with great solemnity turned the conversation by asking after her health. The answer he got went far to throwing dust in his as to the real character of the woman before him. She seemed terribly broken up by her grief beneath that brave attempt at self r control and poise, he thought to himself gravely; indeed, she was evidently not the heartless young woman he had expected to see. He felt genuinely sorry for her as he listened deferentially to the few broken words she 'murmured concerning her love for poor. Sir Anthony and her horror and inconsolable sorrow at his death. He himself explained that his first knowledge of the tragedy, and indeed of the marriage, had been gleaned from the morning's papers at Folkestone, where he was taking a short and badly-needed holiday. As soon as had been possible he had taken the train and travelled to Alderstone.

"It came as a shock to me," he went on. "I had not seen or heard of Sir Anthony since he went abroad." Lady Greatorex's heart .gave a great leap. Then there was no will! But she remained silent, only watching him with wide-open, candid eyes. "I did not even know that it was his intention to return," Mr Rawson continued. "Sir Anthony was always a singularly independent man, and came and went just as he pleased, and even had I needed to see him on business, as I frequently do, of course, I doubt if it would have made enough impression on him to make him notify me by letter that he was coming back. He just used to walk into my office at odd times and always when I least expected him." He paused for a moment, and Lady Greatorex distinguished the very smallest change in his voice and manner as he looked at her rather fixedly. "Have you been through the papers? I suppose not." Lady Greatorex shook her head. "I glanced at one or two things and locked the drawers in that dreadful room." She shuddered and went on: "The study —it was in there. You can imagine I was not anxious to stav in there alone going through papers, cannot you?" she murmured softly, looking away. As a matter of fact, her two hours' search there had revealed nothing of anygreat interest for her pains. "There might be a will—it is just possible," the lawyer said. He paused as if waiting for Lady Greatorex to make a reply, his observation almost a question. She saw it, and answered in her most ingenuous tone. "I know of none; but, of course, you would have it anyway, would you nofe'" "Yes, in a general way, of course. I have got a will as a matter of fact." "You have?" "Yes, but it was made some years ago, long before your marriage." "Before my marriage—before? Then if there is no other will I am penniless?" Her face was a study of innocent horror, although she knew the law very well. "On the contrary, if no will has been made since your marriage to Sir Anthony, you will inherit everything—that is the law," he added gently, as if explaining to a child. "I—oh, dear. I had no idea " she murmured vaguely. "You see I am so stupid when ii; comes to money matters ; I have never had to bother—indeed, I d§ not think I care about money much at all. We never spoke of it." "He made no settlement upon you, then?" "No, I would never allow him to speak of it even. He did once say he should see you about it when we got back—l do remember that," she said, knitting; her brows with the effort at recalling such sordid things. "I'm afraid I wasn't very interested, he said I ought to care more. Was he very rich?" she asked gently. The lawyer paused a moment before replving. "Well, let me see, the income, roughly speaking, amounts to something over fifteen thousand a year. There is a town house and a place in Scotland, as I expect vou know." Lady Greatorex shook her head sadly. "Then there are the houses on this estate just out there," he pointed towards the gates j "they all bring in something. Mrs Fairfax and her daughter

live in one of them. You know them, of course?"

“Yes. They have been very sweet to me. They have the first house, just outside the gates, have they not? It was dear of Sir Anthony to give it them.” Mr Rawson looked up from some calculations he was making. “The house is not theirs,” he said in a preoccupied way, his mind busy with figures. “Sir Anthony lent it to them. Thev paid no rent, of course.” The eyes of the woman before him glittered with a sudden light of malignant 'joy, but he did not notice it. When he looked up again they were discreetly veiled, and Greatorex was leaning back holding a tiny bottle of smelling salts to her nose. “I think I will go up and have a look through those papers if I may? I hope you are not unwell?” Lady Greatorex smiled bravely. As she rose supporting herself with one hand on the chair she looked very beautiful and frail. “No, no, it’s nothing, thank you. Only for a moment I felt a little faint. I will go up with you and open the drawers. I have the keys here in my bag,” she fumbled with the ribbon fastenings of an embroidered sacque hanging on her arm, then, as he turned his back at her invitation to proceed upstairs, she swiftly caught at a little gold- chain around her neck, and, extricating the keys from the fold of her gown, unhitched them and held them in her hand. True to the role of simple innocence she was playing, she considered it would have looked suspicious had she let him see that she had taken such care to hide them. He did not know the kind of woman that was her good Elise, she reflected with a tightening of her lips. This woman would give a great deal to get hold of those keys for a few 'moments. ~ They went up the dark old oaken staircase and down the long corridor, its windows showing dully through the drawn blinds. The study door was shut, but within the curtains were drawn back from the diamond-paned casement windows which stood wide open. Lady Greatorex started; she had not bothered to shut the room up again or draw the curtains in the darkness of mourning on leaving. > “We thought we might leave these windows open,” she said hurriedly, with an expressive gesture. “They can hntrdly be seen from the road; indeed, one cannot see beyond the curve of the drive; these tall trees prevent it,” she pulled the side window to, and sitting down in the corner of the deep window seat waited with a patient air. “Do please go through and look at anything you like; it will be so kind of you, and I shall be more than grateful to have the benefit of your help and experience in every way.” Mr Rawson looked up from the drawer he had opened, and met her pleading smile with a courteous assurance of the great pleasure it would give him to be of use to her, a not altogether untrue statement, since at the back of - his mind lay the consciousness that when his account came in the items mentioned would discreetly cover any little outlay in this direction.

For a time Lady Greatorex sat watching him, answering to the best of her ability occasional questions, inwardly bored to extinction at the dulness of the whole business. Her impatience, however, ' did not manifest itself, and the dreamy look in her eyes as she turned her head and gazed out across the terraces of emerald green below expressed nothing but sorrow and resignation, until suddenly her quick ears caught the sound of a footstep in the drive. She craned her neck, and her expression changed to one of fear. > A man was coming towards the house. Something familiar in the figure made her catch her breath. She glanced quickly at the lawyer. "You will probably be some time yet, won't you?" she asked in a calm voice, without the slightest hint of haste in it. He looked'' around him. and indicated the mass of papers on the desk and in the open drawers. "There's lots to do, but, of course, I cannoj go through everything to-day. Most |of this is unimportant and just private affairs. For the moment I will sort everything as well as possible. ' I may be about an hour or so." "Then if you will excuse me"—Lady Greatorex was already half-way across the room. "Oh, no—please don't get up." She slipped quickly from the room. CHAPTER X. Once the door was gently but securely closed, she ran down the corridor and gained the head of the stairs. Something told her that it would be better that the approaching visitor did not ring. There was no need for Mrs Lewis to see him; somehow she felt it would be better that she did not. Jim and Elise were out of the way, and she would interview him alone, whoever he might be. Instinct or a guilty conscience told her that the visitor boded ill. Noiselessly she flew down the staircase and across the hall, arriving just as the sound of footsteps, mounting the steps, came to her ears. She waited a second or two, then strolled straight to the half-open door and •flung it wide. Then she recoiled with a little exclamation of surprise, as if she had not expected to see anyone. The visitor raised his hat. "How do you do, Lady Greatorex?" he said. "It is some time since we met." "Since we met? You—l am so sorry, you have the advantage of me—l do not recall ". Her embarrassed air was admirable. "We met at Marseilles. I am Mr Tennan t—Brian Tennant." Lady Greatorex drew herself up. She now remembered him perfectly well. He had been introduced to her behind the scenes by one of the other girls in the comic opera company, in which she was playing. He was something to do with the* stage, wrote for it, or something.

Yes, that was it, an author. But why had he come here? He hardly knew- her. Shudderingly she remembered the very doubtful company she had been keeping at that time. There* was something behind this visit.

"There is some mistake—l, have never been in Marseilles"—her answer was cold and collected. "What do vou want," she added rather rudely. "I merely called to enquire how you were," he replied courteously; "surely you remember me?" Then suddenly she recalled everything. This was the intimate friend of the man who had been the prosecuting counsel in the case in which she had escaped only by the.skin, of her teeth from being imprisoned for being implicated in a burglary and subsequent death, which had startled the whole town. Only the successful flight of her present confederates had saved her. The bearing of injured innocence and pose that she was the victim of Elise, her husband, and Pierre, had helped too. But the whole town had been so convinced of her guilt that she never dared appear again in the theatre. To her horror Elise and Jim suddenly appeared in the distance round the bend of the drive. From where she stood she could see them over Tennant's shoulder, but she went on speaking calmly. "You are making a mistake. I do not know you." As she spoke she gave a gesture of dismissal, and shook her head. The two in the drive were standing watching her. Would they understand the sign was meant for them? Even r Brian .Tennant, experienced man of the world, and with an experience of people and personalities which to say the least of it was extensive, almost gasped as he looked at the beautiful, but hard, face before him. ' For sheer nerve he certainly would have awarded her the palm. Not the smallest tremor of recognition had evidenced itself in any of her features. Even the start she had given on suddenly being confronted at the door might well have passed for one of mere surprise at finding anyone there. Her very,gaze over his shoulder into the distance was only chilling to a degree. It did not make him turn, and by no stretch of imagination would one have thought that she was signalling to anyone down the drive. He raised his eyebrows slightly, and repeated his words: "You do not know me? Well-, that is a matter which is perhaps of no consequence, if I may say so without being rude '' Lady Greatorex turned away with what she believed to be aristocratic hauteur-, and .which was really not a bad imitation for one who had first opened her eyes in the purlieus of the Mile End Road. "You are being very rude indeed. Will you kindly go?" she said freezingly over her shoulder, noting at the same time that Elise and Jim had disappeared, and had probably now got safely round to the back of the house. She really must 6peak to them, she thought. Servants had no business strolling up to the front entpance like that. She closed the great door, resisting firmly an almost overwhelming desire to slam it. Brian Tennant, left stranded on the steps, could not help smiling. Such admirable acting was really worthy of a better cause. Had he not known through Mrs Fairfax who she was he would really have thought that the mistake was his, and apologised. As it was, he walked unperturbed down the drive, wondering -whether this woman had cut herself off completely from her old associates, or whether they were with her still. Probably, anyway, they would find her out soon, he thought with great satisfaction; the crows would gather round, and fly to her to share the pickings. Now that he had seen her face to face he -was almost certain that the whole terrible affair was the work of the Marseilles gang. They had spotted old Sir Anthony, and worked on his feelings by means of this handsome actress, and' married her off to him. With considerable acuteness he -wondered whether they had meant to kill the old man, and decided probably they had'not. Something, then, had evidently gone wrong. He started as a man in chauffeur's coat and cap came swiftly out of a side path through the bushes, and hurried out of the gates before him.

In the half second in which he had aeon. his face Tennant had recognised him! That was Jim Reid, one of those who had escaped trial, leaving Marian Mayfield alone trj face the court. The man did not know him by sight, which accounted for his complete lack of interest as he passed. Possibly he thought he was just a caller. This discovery might be called encouraging, as it settled once and for all that the affair was the work of the gang whose names and faces he had known "so well from his friend, the lawyer's, description and photographs. Jim Reid had been a chauffeur to an English family in Marseilles for a time. Pierre Vaudran was most probably the dead assassin, and Elise Reid ? She would appear soon, he felt certain, if she were not already in. the house. He hesitated whether or not to go straight to the police and denounce them all, but prudently decided not to do so yet; that could come later. If only they could find the missing will —that was the chief thine at present. He glanced up at the Fairfax's window through the flowering May trees as he passed, and then across the lawn, which running round the house, was visible over the low fence. Alys was there talking and laughing with O'Neil, whose dark head appeared over the boundary wall of their gardens. For the moment a longing to go and interrupt them came over him, but he resisted it, disclaiming with scorn the feeling of jealousy the boy aroused, telling himself that he was a fool and

twice their age, anyway. Neither of which assertions being true, they did not console him much, as, striding along, he flung open the gate of his house, and went into the room he had turned into a study and workroom, feeling rather sad and depressed. (To be continued.)