The Half-closed Door.

Otago Witness, Issue 3513, 12 July 1921, Page 46

The Half-closed Door.

By J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND. Author of “The Black Moon,” “The Poison League,” “The White Rook,” etc., etc, [CorriUGIIT.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I to lll—Mrs Dear den talks common sense to her daughter, Mary, but Mary declares she will not give up Dick Telling. Though Dick won honours during the war he has only two hundred, a year and Marys mother wishes her daughter to marry happiiy. What did he do before the war?” Mis Hibbcrd, a pretty young widow, lives in th.,t delightful and exclusive London •suburb known ns Hexham Hill. She has only one maid, but her aristocratic connections enable her to join the elect. She entertains three of her own pals one Sunday night in May who are not of her. Hexham Hill circle. These three men belong to a gang of crooks, and Susie Croad (.alias Mrs Hibberd) acts as their guide and friend, unseen in that capacity by the outer world. Her husband, Arthur Croad, i 3 the leader of the gang. They are planning a big diamond burglary, and in order to effect this Mrs Hibberd is undertaking to become engaged to Charles, son of the wealthy Sir William Blindon. The men enquire about the Bey, but Susie Croad acts on the defensive tor him. Mrs 1 libherd's maid Bessie arrives, and the three men depart. Dick Polling, the one clerk in the office of Messrs Blindon and Co., diamond merchants, receives a visitor in the person of Mrs Hibberd. He recognizes Susie Croad and asks her what she wants. She ia waiting for Charles Blindon who is to meet her there at five o’clock. CHAPTER lll.—(Continued). Richard Pelling became the polite clerk again. /.‘You had better wait,” he said. “Sir William is out, and Mr Charles has not b;en here all day.” Mrs Hibberd came forward into the room, and Felling closed the door behind her. “We may a.s well get straight to facts,’’ she said, seating herself in a chair. “My name is Edith Hibberd and I am engaged to be married to Mr Charles Blindon.” ” “Merciful heavens!” he exclaimed. “So you_are the widow ? When did Croad die?’’ “Turn years ago—in Paris,” she said. “He left me .a little money and I settled down at Mexham Hill. The money is nearly .all at an end. 1 have to look after myself, Dick.” He asked what had happened to the other members of the gang. “I don't know, Dick. All that old life is over and done with so far as I am concerned. Croad dragged me into it. as you know.’’ “Have you told Blindon?” he queried. “Have I told Blindon?” she repeated. “My dear boy, you must be mad. Surely you don’t think I ought to have told Blindon about Croad and everything.’’ “Of -course not. I was a fool to have suggested such a tiling.” “A woman must have a chance to make good,” she continued. “We’re both in the same boat, are we not? It’s hardly likely you’d be here, if .Sir William knew all about you. By the way what is your name now ?” “Felling,” he said. “Dick Fellingthat’s my leal name; T sav Susie, you’re not up to any tricks, are you?” “Tricks?” she said angrily, and then she laughed. “Oh, you mean —you think I'm after the jewels? Well, no doubt I shall have plenty of them, as Charles’s wife. Don’t be a fool, Dick. You surely don’t think a woman would want to steal if she can get all she wants honestly. Tell me about yourself, Dick. I want to know all about you. And be quick. Charles or his father might be here at any moment.” He said nothing about Mary -Bearden, but he told her the brief facts of hie military career. Her face was in the shadow, and lie could not see the pride that gleamed in her eves. She mPht have been listening to ihe fine record of someone very dear to her. “You splendid boy !” : ,he said. “All that glory—and now you’ve come to this—an office desk.” “Oh, I shan’t be here long,” ha laughed. “Just a stop gap—that's all. It’s a dull “Well, 1 11 try and give you a lilt up when I’m married to Charles.” “You can't, old girl—you simply can’t. There’s no one above me but the Blindons, and they’re not likely to make me a partner. Still, I’m grateful to you- for the idea.” “Grateful !” she said in a low voice. “I wonder if you are grateful to all those who have done you a good turn.” “I hope so. I know what vou mean. Sain and Peter and Jimmie. They might have given me away, and they held their t-ongues. I won’t forget that in a hurry. I wonder what has happened to them all.” The door opened and Charles Blindon entered. 11c was fat and smartly dressed. His red clean-shaven face glowed like a sun-'et. His small grey eyes were scarcely visible. Though he was barely forty years of age, hies head was very bald. And certainly he did not look his best in the hot weather. “Hello ”’ lie said. “What’s this ! Felling, didn’t you know this was the lady who—well, my fiancee, in fact? She ought not to have been kept waiting here in the outer office.” “Sir William is out,” Felling answered curtly. He had no particular liking for Charles Blindon, and he was rather sorry for tho woman who was goino- to marry him. “I asked if T might stay here, Charlie,” laughed Mrs Hibberd. “It’s so dull sitting in a room by oneself.”

“Well, come along inside, Edith. Father'll be back in a tew minutes. Anyone called, Felling?” “No one.” Charles Blindon held open the door of the inner room, and Mrs Hibberd passed through it. Her lover followed, the door was closed, and Dick Felling was left alone. “Great Scott!” he said aloud. “This is a rummy turn out.” It was indeed what some people would have called “an awkward situation.” Here was this woman, widow of Arthur Croad, who had been one of the cleverest criminals in Europe, about to marry the fat, respectable Charles Blindon. He could not imagine two people more unsuited to each other. When he had last seen Susie Croad she had been young and brilliant and—well, quite out of the ordinary. She had been married to a brutal rogue—twenty years older than herself—and had flung herself heart and soul into his ugly busine: s. If it had not been for the influence of Susie Croad, he, Richard Relling, would never have been drawn into the net that had held him so fast, but for so short a time. He h-acl admired her immenselyhad been half in love with her. Ragged and half-starved, and at his wits’ end for money, he had fallen an easy victim to her powers of persuasion. And now she was going to be married to Charles Blindon, the son of his employer. The grim and terrible Croad was dead. Susie iiad cut herself adrift from the gang, and was anxious to start a new life. Who could blame her for that ? Was there anyone in the world so mean as to den}' her the right to map out a decent, honourable career for herself ? Who was he that he could stoop and pick up a single stone to flinn- at her ? “We’re in the same boat,’’ he said to himself. Those were the very words that she had. used. And they were nearer to the truth than she had imagined. For he too wished to marry. He too had hidden a certain period of his past life from his future partner. The door was open—both for himself and for Susie Croad—wide open so that they could both pass through it to an honourable life. And when they had passed through they would close it behind them and bolt it fast, and shut out all that they did not care to think about, Y~et there was this difference between himself and Susie Croad. He loved Mary Dearden, and he was quite certain that Susie Croad did not love Charles Blindon. What woman could love a man like that ? Of course, she was marrying him for his money. For a woman like Susie Croad, money would mean everything. It meant that for go many women, who were unable to earn their own living. “And yet,” said Richard Felling to himself, “it is an awkward situation.” And what he really meant, was, that it would be an awkward situation, when these two were married and Susie was flung back into his life again. The door opened, and Sir William Blinden entered the office. He was a stout, grey-haired man with a venerable beard—a kindly man, but stern and shrewd. “Charles come in?” he said. “Yes, sir,” Felling replied. He did not mind saying “Sir” to Sir William—old enough to be his father. “In there, eh?” and Sir William jerked bis thumb towards the clased door. “Yes. sir—with Mrs Hibberd.” Sir William laughed. “I’ll sign the letters in here,” he said, “and go home. Turtle doves, eh? Well, 1 was like that myself once.” Sir William signed the letters and took his departure. Quarter of an hour later Charles Blindon and Mrs Hibberd came out of the inner room. “I’d like to have shown you some of the diamonds,” Blindon was saying, “but the time for opening the lock has passed, .and you wouldn't care to sit up halt the night.” “Until when, Charlie?” Mrs Hibberd queried. “Oh, I don’t know the exact minute. Mv father is the only person who knows. He sets the mechanism himself. Then we eacii have a key—two separate keys for the two locks.” ‘‘And Mr Relling here? Does he too have a key?” - “Of course not,” laughed Blindon. “We don’t give keys of the safe to clerks. Shall I sign those letters, Felling?” “Your father has already done so. He came in just now and went out again. He won’t be hack.” “Well, you can lock up and go.” “Is it safe to leave the place empty?” queried Mrs Hibberd with a smile. “Quite,” Blindon replied. “We have our own arrangements for guarding the place.” He looked at his watch. “The car ought to be here.” he said. “Felling would you mind running to the front door and seeing if the car is there?” “Not at all. I’m better able to run than you are, Mr Blindon.” He left the room and Blindon said, “An insolent fellow —goes on like that because lie’s been out at the front. Still he’s cheap and reliable. Officers are cheap nowadays ; six a penny.” A look of contempt came into Mrs TTibberd’s eyes, but the man did not notice it. ‘‘l’m cure lie’s reliable,” she said. “But, Charles, when he is riot here—when the place is shut up ?” “Cli, I’ll tell vou all about that later on. Tlie safe couldn’t he broken open.” Mrs Hibberd laughed. She knew that the oxy-aretvlene jet would cut into the thick steel like a knife cuts into a cheese. “Modern appliances,” she said. “I’ve heard of all sorts of things.” “Not a bit of good in this case, because the thieves would never h ave the chance to u:e them.” Oh. it sounds fearfully exciting. I wish they would try. Don’t you?” Charles Blindon looked at her for a moment ns if he thought she had suddenly gone mad. Then he said pompously : “My dear Edith, what a ridiculous thing for you to sav.” “Wouldn’t it he rather fun—a- fight in which you would he certain to get the best of it.” Felling returned and said that the car was waiting outside.

“Thank you so much,” said Mrs Hibberd. “It was frightfully kind of you to take all that trouble.” She held out her hand and he took it. “Good-night,” she said, and, as she passed through the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. When she was out of sight, Felling heard Blindon say something about “keeping clerks in their place.” He laughed. It was rather had luck for a woman to have to marry a man like that. But he fancied that Charles Blindon would meet more than his match, when they were married, and it came to a contest of wills. Susie had held her own against Croad in the latter years of Crcad’s life. And Charles Blindon was no more the equal of Oread in ferocity and brutality than a pig is the equal of a lion. On the whole, thought Felling, the situation was not without its humour. He had been seized with an almost uncontrollable desire to laugh when Susie had asked so many questions about tho safe. It was as though her mind ran in the old groove and she could not get used to the idea of being the owner instead of the theif. Felling closed the windows in the two rooms, drew up the blinds and switched on the electric lights. Nothing larger than a cat could have entered either of the rooms without being seen by anyone passing in the street. A policeman passed there every quarter of an hour on his beat. And there were two night- watchmen employed by a dozen firms in the same street. One of these men passed to and fro all through the evening, night and early morning. They had a shift of seven hoars each. Their beat was only a hundred yards in length, and the window was never free from observation for more than about two minutes at a time. One of the men passed as Richard Felling closed the window in the outer room. He was a big slouching fellow with an untidy dark beard. He looked up at Felling and grinned. CHAPTER IV. “Mother’s very obstinate, Dick dear. She won’t hear of our getting- married just yet.” Peking laughed. “Well,” he replied, “I think I should be just as obstinate if I were in her place. Of course I’m a selfish brute—all men are if it comes to that—and I don’t feel I could be happy until we are married. But it would mean grinding poverty for a bit, unless your brother would help you.” Mary was silent. It was Sunday, and a few days had elapsed since she had had that interview with her mother. She had had plenty of time to make up her mind whether she should tell Dick Felling that the real objection to their marriage was not the want of money —for money would come sooner or later—but the fact that both her mother and brother regarded him with some suspicion, as a man who had gone to the bad and had only been ultimately caved by the scar. But even now, as she was sitting by his side in Kensington Gardens, she shrank from telling him the truth. It seemed to her that it would be an insult to a man who had done so much for his country. “I’ve only got two hundred a year at present, Mary,” he continued, “but I think I’m worth a bit more than that. Don’t you think if your brother would allow yen a hundred a year—you must cost that at home—we could risk it ?’’ “Yes, Dick, but—l don’t think they would give ir.e anything. They don’t seem to wich me to marry you.” “I can understand that. I can picture myself in years to come—you and I, Mary, very rich and respectable, and our daughter in love with a man who couldn't even clothe her decently. I fancy we should be the stern parents and say ‘no’ very decidedly. And then I daresay I’d still be a selfish brute and be unwilling to part with our little daughter. And no doubt that would influence our decision. Oh, 1 can make allowances for them. Mary. But still, here we are —you and T —and we feel as if life is not worth living unless we can live it together.” Mary Dearden clasped her hands on her knees and looked out across the Serpentine, smooth and glittering in the sun. Men and women walked to and fro before them in two endless streams. The fountains threw jets of sparkling water into the air. It was a gorgeous and beautiful Sunday for those who had been working hard all tie week. Put to Mary Dearden the world seemed very grey. And she knew that she would have to get at the truth before she could he happy or brave enough to face the future with the man she loved, in defiance of her mother’s wishes. There was so much against her in this contest —poverty, the unknown past life of her lover, her own love for her mother, gratitude to a mother who had given up everything for her children’s sake. “Even on two hundred a year,’’ Felling continued, “we could live. We’ve both roughed it—during the war. Why we’d camp out somewhere, and I’d come up to town every day.” Her hand touched his and she smiled. “Dear old fellow,” she said, “but it isn’t altogether money. I’d tramp through England with you and sleep under the hedges. You know that. But my mother has given up her life to me.” “And now she wants' your life—your young life—in return !” He spoke savagely, and it was that which brought Mary to a definite decision. She could not let him think of her mother as a selfish woman. “Mother’s worried about you,” she said after a pause. “She cays she doesn’t know anvthino- about you Dick —don’t be angry dear. ” “I’m not angry,” he said with a laugh, “I’m amused. My army record is clean enough.” “Yes, dear, but she—mother—is very careful and conscientious. She knows that you lost all your money, and that before the war—- —” She paused, and he broke in with “On my beam ends? Yes—absolutely.” “But how did vou lose your money, Dick?” “In the n-ual way,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I wasn’t any different

to any other young fool. I had about ten thousand pounds and 1 spent it. I gambled at cards, I bet, I lived extravagantly. I’ve told you all this, Mary. Is it this that has set your mother against me? Can’t she understand that a chap can pull up and change his way of living? Doesn’t she lealize that the war cut men’s lives in two and blotted out- ali that had gone before it?” “Yes, Dick, dear—l think she understands all that. But Mary hesitated and her face grew very red. ‘Mind you, Dick,” she continued. “It isn’t I who want to know. It’s mother —and Jack. Your life—just before the war? You’ve told- me nothing about it; only that you were very poor. Mother wants to know what you were doing, how you were earning a living.” For one moment Dick Polling thought that Jack Dearden or his mother must have come across some clue that would eventually lead them to the truth. But, before lie spoke he saw that the idea was absurd. The Deardens were so far removed from any conceiveable connection with Croad and his gang that it was quite impossible for Mrs Dearden or her son to have obtained the slightest information about them. “Does that really matter?” he said after a pause. “I mean, my dear child, do you want to know?” She smiled and dug the point of her parasol into the turf. “1 suppose women are inquisitive,” she said. “I can’t imagine you cross-questioning me about my past- “ Well, I’ll tell you iny views about that kind of thing,” he answered. “I don’t think the past of a man concerns anyone but the people who were connected with it and the man himself. Of course, one can’t get away from one’s past. It is always with one, even if it is only a memory. But it doesn’t touch the lives of those who had no share in it. I have never been in love with anyone but you, Mary. But if 1 had, it would not he any concern of yours, unless I were still in love with the woman. And that would belong to the present and not the past.” “On Dick, dear, I should hate you to have been in love with anyone else.” He smiled. He had led her eafely from a dangerous path into one they could both tread without fear. He could honestly say that he had had no affair with any woman. And he fancied that it was that which had been in Mary’s mind all the time. Well, you are the first,” he said, “I mean the real thing.” “Then it was not a woman who helped you to spend your money?” “I can assure you of that, dear. I have never been a tempting bait for any woman. You see, I had so little money. Now look here, Mary, we’ve got to come to something definite. I can’t ask you to marry me on two hundred a year. But if I were to double that we could manage it and ask no one’s leave.” Mary dug more holes in the turf with the point of her parasol. “I will do what you wish, dear,” she said after a pause. “And that means that you will be uuhappv if your mother doesn t consent. “I ohou.d be more unhappy, Dick, away from you. Oh, my dear, let, us get married at once.” “No, no —I couldn’t do that. I wouldn t do. But when I’ve four hundred a year.” “No, Dick —now,” she said in a low voice. “Dick I’m afraid, I can’t explain to you, but suddenly—just then, I—l was afraid that I might lose you if we waited. Dick, dear, let us get married at once.” “You think your people will talk you over —turn vou against me.'” “No, Dick. It’s not that. It’s something eke. J can’t explain. But just then —suddenly I was frightened. I thought I might lose you, and it made me feel quite sick at first.” No doubt, if they had been alone, he would have taken her in his aims and t..e\ would have settled the date of the marriage there and then. But it was impossible for him even to kiss Tier hand. And the conversation was closed abruptly by two people who came and sat on the seat beside them —a tall broadshouldered man with a brown moustache, and a pretty girl who seemed to be exceedingly happy. “We got the three of them, as I was telling you, Jane,” said the man, continuing his conversation, “but the fourth, he slipped no.” “bet us go,” whispered alary; we can t talk here.” But Dick Felling scarcely seemed to hear her. He took out a cigarette ease, and as he lit his cigarette, he glanced sideways at the man’s face. “And the queer thing was,” man continued, “that the fellow we didn t get was the one that left the finger-prints. New at the game I should say. The others iiad rubber” gloves. And we couldn’t match the ‘prints’ at Scotland Yard.” “You were very stupid not to catch him. Bill. That’s what I say about you chaps. Y'ou are stupid.” “Hello, Sanderson,” said Felling, ab-l-uptlv, and he hold out his hand. t “Why. blessed if it isn’t you, sir,' the man replied. “I never oaw you. I hone you’re well, sir—quite fit again.” “Quite, Sanderson,” laughed Felling ‘‘.Nri'l vou?” “Oh,' mv leg’s a hit shaky vet, sir. They won't- give me any hard work now, nothing that’ll "want an active fellow. Jane, this is Captain Felling that I've often talked to rou about. I served under him in France, and it’s not everyone who had the luck to do that, my young lady.” Dick Polling shook hands with the girl and introduced Mary. “Sergeant Sanderson,” he said, “Miss Dearden. “Proud to meet you, miss; odd how one comes across people. 1 was just telling my young lady that yesterday I ran across one of’the chaps that vot caught over the Bextable burglary. You mav remember that, sir-—just before the war.” “Oh, yes,” laughed Felling. “And he was glad to see you I suppose?” “Oh, we had a bit of a chat, sir. They don’t bear you much ill-will, those fellows.

It’s a sort of game between us. This young fellow did a bit of fighting when he came o-ut -of gaol.” “I never knew you were a detective,’’ said Felling. “No sir, I didn’t talk about it—out there. Wouldn’t have done me any' good — we’re not liked, and that’s the truth of it. Why, there is the chap, sir, coming along there by the fountain, big fellow with a bullet head and a light suit. I reckon he’ll come up and have a chat. Introduce you to him if you like, sir. And you’ll see that criminals are pretty well like other men.” Felling glanced at Jimmie and recognized him. Then he rose to his feet and kept liis hack turned towards his old “pal.” “We must be getting along, Sanderson,’’ he said. “We were just going when you came up. We must have a long chat some evening. Will Scotland Yard find you?” “Yes, sir,” £ aid the detective. They shook hands, and Dick Pelling and Marv moved away from the path across the grass. Put Jimmie’s sharp eyes had seen and recognized him, and there was an ugly :cow lon Jimmie’s forehead, as he saw “Ihe Boy” talking to Detective Inspector Sanderson.

To he Continued