The Half-closed Door.

Otago Witness, Issue 3512, 5 July 1921, Page 46

The Half-closed Door.

By J. B. HARRLS-BURLAND. Author of “The Black Moon,” “The Poison League,” “The White Rook,” etc., etc. Y ' [Copyright.] CHAPTER I. “My dear Mary,” said Airs Dearden, keeping her eyes fixed on her knitting, and picking lip a stitch she had dropped. “You must be sensible. Y r ou always have been sensible. Why, even when you were a little child, I remember that you broke the fare of your favourite doll, and instead of bursting into tears, you said, ‘Now I must have a new one, pnummie,’ and you told me of one you had seen in the High street. So sensible I thought, for a small child.” “What a horrid little beast I must have been,” the girl exclaimed. And there were certainly no signs, at that moment, of her being in the least sensible. There were no tears in her grey eyes—only the angry light of rebellion. Her oval beautiful face was not flushed like the face of a naughty child. It was white and resolute —the face of a woman who means to have her own way. Her slim boyish body was almost notionless as she sat there in the n?low of the sunset, her white hands clasped round her knees. No one looking at her just then would have called her sensible. It would have been the wrong word altogether. There was something fine and wonderful about her—.something beautiful to those who can find beauty in the flashing of a sword. But most certainly she was not sensible. “And then, Alary dear,” her mother continued, “you were so splendid during the war. You gave up everything that a girl could give up.” “I cannot give up Dick Peking,” the girl interrupted quietly. “And even if I wanted to, he wouldn't let me. He’s not that sort of a man at all. We are iu love with each other —really in love —and nothing else matters.” “My child—it hurts me to hear you talking like that—so coldly and quietly “You wanted me to be sensible, mother. Isn’t this what you mean by being sensible —keeping myself under control—talking the matter over calmly and—quietly ?” There was a break in the girl’s voice. It only needed a kind word to turn her coldness into passionate pleading. Perhaps Mrs Dearden—like her daughter in so many ways—knew this, and did not want a storm that would make it impossible to reason with a foolish daughter. “In the first place,” she said alter a pause, “there is the question of money. Captain Felling—Air Felling I suppose one ought to call him now—is earning two hundred pounds a year, and is not likelv to get more for some time. Now I ask you, Mary, could you and your husband possibly live on two hundred a year in these days? Why, a dock labourer gets more than that. And you’ve been brought up in a very comfortable home —thanks to your brother.” ‘‘Oh, all this nonsense about money!” Alary exclaimed. “It’s so—so old-fashioned. This idea of making a good match !’ 1 thought the war had killed all that kind of thing.” Mrs Dearden at last looked up from her knitting. “I want you to be happy,” she said quietly. “I don’t want you to marry a rich man, but I should fail in my duty if I consented to your marriage with a man who cannot possibly support a wife. And then, Alary, there is something else—to my mind a serious obstacle.” “We know nothing about Air Polling, dear.” “Only that he is a very brave man,” Alary answered sharply. “That he rose from tho ranks—that he has won the D.C.AL and the AI.C. for acts of courage. He didn’t get decorated for sitting in an office and adding up accounts.” “I know, dear, I know. He is a splendidly brave fellow, and he is a gentleman, and I like him, Alarv. But we know nothing about him. Jack has made inquiries, and he ” ‘ Jack introduced me to him, ’ the gal interrupted. “They were friends out in France—Jack’s a nice friend, I must sav, spying on Dick like a detective.” “Alv dear Alary, you mustn’t be absurd. Your brother naturally wants to find out something about the man who has been paying so much attention to you.” The girl was silent. She could not trust herself to speak. It seemed horrible to her that her relations should have been making secret inquiries about Dick Peking—as if there were something wrong with him. “Perhaps he has told yon all about himself?” Mrs Dearden suggested after a pause. “Nothing, except that he was educated .at Winchester and Oxford—that he had lost his monev, and had had a prettv roach time for two years before the war. ’ ’ “Me didn’t say what he was doing before the war broke out?” ‘ No.” “And you never asked him?” Alary did not answer this question. She had asked her lover what he was doing before the war, and he had laughed and said that he was looking for work. Tie had added that he did not want to talk about those days-—that his real life had begun when he first joined the

“Need we talk any more about Dick?” she said. “You say we can’t get married on two hundred a year, and that seems to be final—from your point of view.” “And from your point of view, Alary?' the mother asked gently. “I shall do what Dick wishes me to do. ” You don’t consider my wishes, then, Alary? And yet—l always though you loved me. Oh, my dear, it’s only your happiness I’m thinking about. J should be a poor sort of mother if I didn’t do my best for my only daughter—my little daughter who is so very dear to me.” The light of rebellion faded away from the girl’s eyes, the colour came into her cheeks. AlaTy Dearden saw herself as “a little beast.” She had been talking as if to an enemy. And yet she and her mother were the best of friends. For years they had been everything to each other. The- ties of mutual love had bound them very closely together. Such ties could not be broken with a lew hard words. She looked at her mother, sitting in the big ‘chair on the other side of the fire—a slim, graceful woman who was not yet too old to have forgotten what love meant to a girl—a woman who had had a love affair of her own not so long ago. Alary had not forgotten that three years before the war broke out her mother might have married again if it had not been" for the violent opposition of her two children. Her mother might very justly have spoken of this—have used it as a weapon against a daughter who thought only of her own desires. But there had not been a word of reproach—not a single appeal to the past. The whole matter had been discussed on a business-like basis. Alary covered her face with her hands and" suddenly burst into tears. Airs Dearden rose from her chair, and, seating herself by the girl's side, put her arm round the quivering shoulders. ‘My dear little Alary,” she wlnspered. ' When Dick Felling jia earning more money, and if there is nothing against him, there’s no reason why you two shouldn't get married later "on! But I must be careful, darling—for your sake.” “You don't want me to leave you,” sobbed the girl. “You haven’t forgotten —how we behaved—when you ” ‘Hush, dear—please don’t talk of that. Why, that’s something dead—quite dead. You are young and pretty, and you’ve got to leave me —one of these days. But I can only give you to a man who's worthy of you—to* the man. If Dick is the right mail —my dear little girl—l do want you to be nappy.” She kissed her daughter and left the room. lor several moments Alary did not move. Then she rose from the settee, and looked round the pleasant, comfortably furnished room. Of course, it would be a long time before Dick Felling could offer her anything like that. But now slip was certain—as certain as she had ever been of anything in her life—that her mother had not intended to lay any great stress on the financial side of the marriage. No doubt that had only been put forward as an excuse. Her brother was quite able, and probably willing, to make her an allowance until'Dick Polling was earning more money. No, it was not poverty that was the difficulty. It was Dick* Felling himself —a well-educated gentleman who had lost his money and fallen on evil days before the war. She, Alary Dearden, knew well enough that there had been no disgrace in her lover’s poverty. And how" splendidly he had proved himself to bo a man of courage and worth. He had something more to his credit than acts of reckless bravery. He was a capable officer—a born leader of men. If lie had started as a lieutenant he would probably have been a colonel before the end of the war. But for two years he had fought in the ranks, and had even refused promotion. And now, when tiie war was over, the best his country had to offer him was a salary of two hundred pounds a year in a merchant’s office. And he would rise, as lie had risen before, from the rank;-. Character and strength of purpose would serve a man as well in civil as in military life. But the other matter? Could she honestly say that Dick Felling had always been the fine fellow that he was now? Was jt not possible that the war had ma.de a man of him? He had received a good education, and had lost his monev, and then, perhaps, he had put up a poor fight against misfortune. No doubt he had been a fool—had gambled and betted, and lived extravagantly. Then the war had taught him a lesson. The weak silly boy had achieved his manhood. “It was the loss of his money,” she said to herself. “Afother can’t get over that.” There was nothing else, of course. For instance he had not cheated at cards. Mary Bearden’s imagination of evil could go no further than that, when she was thinking of a man of her own class that he might have cheated at cards. CHAPTER IT. Certainly the Vicar of St. John’s, Alesha m Hill—that newest and most delightful southern suburb of London—would have been very astonished if he had been asked to supper on Sunday night to meet the little party that had assembled round Airs llibberd’s hospitable table. Airs Hibberd, a young widow of thirty, had only lived in the parish for two years, but during that time she had become one of the most popular women in ATexham Hill. She was not rich, but she was extraordinarily kind and beautiful. She sang exquisitely, and was always ready to sing at any parochial concert or bazaar. For a little time, until her health had given way, she had worked hard as a V.A.D. She was fond of visit ing the poor, and was willing to serve on one or two committees. At first, it is true, the good people of Mexham Hill, true to their type, had been a little doubtful about calling upon her. They were, and rightly too. seeing that

they had marriageable daughters of their own, just a little suspicious of handsome and talented widows. And it was not until the milkman told the cook at the

vicarage that Airs Hibberd's general .servant had told him that Airs Hib herd s la to husband was own cousin to an Earl, that Mrs Blindon, wile of the Rev. Archibald Blindon, left cards. And nothing could have been sweeter than the wav in which Airs Hibberd, returning the call and finding -Mrs Blindon at home, had disclaimed all connection with the Earl of Bextable’s lannly. ‘So many vulgar and snubbish women said Air* Blindon, “would have claimed some kind of relationship. You see, Archibald, Hibberd is the family name.

I‘rom that moment Airs Hibberd's career at Mexham Hill was assured. She W"as told only to know the “best people,” and it was explained to her who the best people were. But as a matter of fact she was everybody's friend. She comported herself like a duchess, who is gracious to rich and poor alike. The young men raved about her, and the girls, realising that she was never goiim to many again, called her “that sweet°Mrs 11 ib herd.

frequently, during those two years, the Blindons had gone into her ‘house to supper after evening service. But it is quite certain that if they had been asked to meet Mrs Hibberd’s friends on the night of the second Sunday in Alay they never have visited the house again. Ihe other guests, no doubt, would have been on their best behaviour, but it would have been impossible for them to have disguised the fact that they be. longed to a circle which never, at any point of its circumference, cut into the circle of the Rev. Archibald Bliudon’s friends.

Here s luck,” said a tali thin man who sat- facing his hostess, “and it's good to see old faces, and you, Susie, looking like a queen.” He raised his glass of wine to his lips and drank. Airs Hibberd stretched her aim out and clinked her glass against

“Dear old Sam,” she said, “and yc U , too, Peter,” touching the glass of a small dark-haired . man with a very brown face, “and you too, Jimmie. M by, the war's made a man of vou—filled you out.”

Jimmie, a broad-shouldered fellow i thirty, with a brutal face, “I’ve killed men since I lastT saw you, Susie,” he said, ‘killed them as one 'kills flies—and got patted on the back for it, too. Here’s to Susie Croad, and mav she have diamonds like she used to have before the war.”

I am goad to be with m.y old friends again, said Mrs Hibberd with a charming smile. “And now you must all eat well, and not make too much noise. I have grown very good and respectable since we last met. And you must ha out of tiie house before ten o’clock, when my maid returns.” The men ate ravenously, but they drank very little. They were all known to the police, and not‘one of them had served a sentence of less than two years’ hard labour. It is a popular delusion that all criminals are drunkards and debauchees. These men were masters of their trade, and they were as sober as churchwardens. Like athletes, they were forced to keep themselves in training—healthy both in mind and body. A keen eye and steady nerves and physical fitness were as indispensable to' them as their “jemmies” and electric torches and oxv-acetylene apparatus. them up and scattered them, but an unsuccessful attempt to break open the safe that contained Lady Bextable's jewels. They had been caught at the job. and overpowered by superior numbers. Thev might possibly have escaped by killing, for they were well armed, but killing was against their creed. “Sam” and “Peter " had been sentenced to five years’ penal servitude, and ‘ Jimmie” to two years' hard labour. Jimmie was out in time to serve for more than two rears in the army. The others were safe enough in gaol, and congratulated themselves on their good luck. And now, for the first time for five years, they had met again. it might have seemed to be an occasion for’ a heavy bout of drinking, but these men had themselves under control. They had gathered together, not for pleasure, but for business. It was not, however, until the meal was over that Sam raid. ‘Well, Susie, vliat. have you got for us?” “! good thing,” the woman answered “a big thing— a very big thing, and I’m making it as easy for you as shelling peas. You’ve heard of Blindon and Co?” “Yes,” thev cried out together, and their eyes glittered. “The din mond merchants,” she continued. “The v:rar here—our dear vicar —is one of the family, a cousin of Sir William Blindon. I am a friend of the vicar’s, and T have met Charles Blindon, Sir William’s sou, at the vicarage. T have met him a good many times. He is not a bad sort, and he—he rather likes me.” “He’d be a fool if he didn’t,” growled .1 mimic. “Yes. Jimmie, you're right, and I shall probably he engaged to him this week. It's a pity T can’t marry him, isn't it. But I’m afraid my husband wouldn't let me. ” The men roared with laughter. “.Arthur’s still in Paris?” said Sam. “Yes. And he’ll stay there for the present.” She spoke lightly, but her face darkened, and a gleam of hatred came into her eyes. Peter noticed it. “Arthur’s a brute,” he said, “but we can’t do without him. And you’re not going to let us down, are you?” "I’m not going to let anyone down, Peter—not even my husband. I'm going to fix up this job fox you.” "Been to the office yet?” asked Sam,

“Not yet. I haven’t got the plan cut and dried as yet, but I’ll tell you that it’s a sure thing.” ‘‘Going to take it on yourself?” said Sam. ‘‘Going to get the keys and the trick of the time lock from young Blindon?” “I’m not sure yet,” Mrs Hibberd replied. “But it ought to be easy enough when I’m engaged to Charles Blindon. There may be difficulties. Nothing can be done in a hurry. This is a job worth waiting for. They sometimes have a hundred thousand pounds worth of diamonds in that safe. Light up, boys. I've got cigars for you —and my word, they are a price now. “I could do it on my own,” she said after a pause, “but it’s not in my line. You’re all going to be in it. You’ve had a rotten time and you want something to make up for it. Besides, there must be nothing to show that it’s not just an ordinary burglary—nothing that would throw suspicion on any friends of the Blindons. You understand that?” Peter said that lie understood it quite well. “I'd rather he hanged,” said Jimmie, “than drag you into it, and you know that.” They began to discuss methods and details. The air grew thick with tobacco smoke. And then, quite suddenly, Sam said : “I s’pose you've heard nothing of ‘the Boy’?” “Nothing,” Mrs Hibberd replied. She spoke calmly enough , but a soft light came into her exes, and her hand trembled, as she laid a small pile of dirty plates on the sideboard. She was glad that her hack was to the man who had asked the question. ‘ He might he useful to us, if we could find him,” Sam continued. “He’s the only me of us that got clear away from the fiasco. We could have put the police on him, and they’d have found the owner of that fingerprint they were looking for. It was the only print, mind you. The lad was new to the business, and he hadn’t provided himself with rubber gloves.” “I don’t know hot* he got away,” said Peter. “He slipped clean through the crowd, and got right- away without them even getting a description of him. It was a smart picee of work, and they’ve sot nothing but his finger print. I’m glad. He may be useful to us later on.’’ “Is that the only reason you’re glad?” queries Mrs Hibberd. “No. It’d have- been hard luck if he’d been nailed. It was his first job.” “And I daresay his last,” said Mrs Hibberd. “The betting’s all against it,” laughed Sam. “He’s tasted blood, and he won’t forget the taste of it. I reckon the war has swallowed him up. all right.” Jimmie laughed. “Maybe lie’s tasted all the blood he wants by now,” he said. “Burke was his name, wasn’t it?” “The only name we ever knew,” eaicl Peter. “A nice boy. Well, I daresay he’s underground by now with no name on his grave.” A bell tinkled in the distance, and the three men rose to their feet. “The back door hell*” said Jim Hibberd. “My girl has returned. We are always very careful to lock all the doors, in case of burglars. You must clear out —quietly— by the front door. I’ll see you next week. Sam, and you can tell the others. Goodnight, hoys, and good luck to von.” Mrs Hibberd left them and made her way to the back door. For a few minutes she remained in the kitchen, talking to the servant. Then she helped the girl to clear the things away. “You ought to have been here. Bessie,” she said. “I should have liked you to see my cousins. They’ve all been prisoners of war.” That was true enough. They had all been taken prisoners in the war that the criminal forever wages against society. CHAPTER HI. It was a very hot- afternoon and the small outer office of Messrs Blindon and Co. seemed almost unbearable to Ricaard Felling, though his desk was by an open window, and the sun never shone in the little alley that separated that side of the old-fashioned building from a tail block of new and glittering offices. There were a few callers to be shown into the inner room, or held in conversation while they waited to see hir \\ iiliam. There were a few letters to be written or read or copied. There were accounts of a simple kind. And there were odd jobs of no particular difficulty. It was a post that anyone could have filled, and Richard Felling, leaning back in his chair and biting the end of his pen, realised that the work was hardly worth four pounds a week. He was looking out for something else, hut for the present the market was overcrowded, and he thought himself lucky to be able to earn enough to keep himself alive, while he was waiting for something that would give him an opportunity. As yet he had no very definite plans about his future, except that it would include Mary Dearden. The second second part of his life seemed to have come to an end with the Armistice, just as the first part of his life had tome to an abrupt conclusion when he nad y died the army. The third and Jast part lay before him to make what he chose of it. And it would differ from all that had gone before in that it would no longer concern himself alone. Richard Felling seemed rather patheti-c-ailing out of place as he sat alone m the stuffy, old-fashioned room and gnawed the end of his penholder. He was tall, lean, and muscular, with black hair and a small toothbrush of a moustache. A good-looking fellow most people would have called him, though ins bronzed face was too deeply lined for a man of his age. 11 if? eyes were small and dark and bright—the quickly-moving eyes of a man of action. Most certainly he had never been intended for a clerk. Yet there was something about the diamond business that appealed to him, *nd something particularly attractive the loaded automatic pistol that

always lay ready to his hand in the drawer of the desk. That, at any suggested adventure and a fight. Somehoy; or other he rather longed for a fight. But not this afternoon. It was too hot. He looked out of the window at the passers-by— s<y close to him that he could have touched them with his hand. Ihen he glanced over some letters that he had written and kept his eye on the clock. He was feeling depressed. That vety morning Charles Blindon, the only son of Sir William, had arrived with a rose in his buttonhole and a smile on fiis fat face, and had smacked him on the ba-ck. Charles Blindon had said he was engaged to he married—to a widow, and that had accounted for his joviality. To Richard Felling it seemed rotten luck that Charles Blindon should be foiling in money and able to marry vjhom he chose. Why, the fellow had been exempted for some ridiculous reason or other. And the war had sent diamonds up to a fabulous price. For five minutes Pelling’s thoughts ran to the accompaniment of a. fly that buzzed on the window pane. Then there was a knock on the door, and he sprang to his feet. Visitors who came on business did not usually knock before they entered the outer room. He flung the do-or open, expVt ting to find someone who would want to sell him some new-fangled piece of office furniture, and found himself face to { ace withMrs Hibberd. “Great Scott, Susie!” he whispered. “What do yon want here?” “Mr Charles Blindon,” she replied. “He was to meet me here at five o’clock.” (To be Continued.)