The Half-closed Door.

Otago Witness, Issue 3514, 19 July 1921, Page 46

The Half-closed Door.

By

J. B. HARRIS-BURLAND.

Author of “The Black Moon/’ “The Poison League,” “The White Book,” etc., etc. [Copyright.] SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I to lll.—Mrs Bearden talks common sense to her daughter, Mary, but Mary declares she will not give up Dick Felling. Though Dick won honours during the war he has * .y two hundred a year and Mary’s mother wishes her daughter to marry happily. “What did he do before the war?" Mrs Hibberd, a pretty young widow, T.ves in that delightful and exclusive London suburb known as Mexham Hill. She lias 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 Mexham liill circle. These- three men belong to I gang ol' crooks, and Susie Croad Mrs Hibberd} acts as their guide and friend, unseen in that capacity by the outer world]. Her husband, Arthur Croad, is 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 S'*r W iiliain Blindon. The men enquire about the Bey, but Susie Croad acts on the delensive for him. Mrs Hibberd’s maid Bessie arrives, and the three men depart. Dick Pelkng, the one clerk in the office of [Messrs Blindon and Cb., diamond merchants, receives a visitor in the person of Mrs Hibberd. Ho recognizes Susie Croad and asks her what she wants. She is waiting for Charles Bhndon who is to meet her there at five o’clock. CHAPTERS 111 (Continued) & IV.—Susio Croad tells Dick Polling that she is Edith Hibberd, engaged to be married to Charles Blindon. Polling wants to know when Arthur Croad died. Mrs Hibberd! says: “Two years ago, in Paris," and adds that lie lias left her a little money. She says she intends to make good, and also lets lnm know that he and she are m the same boat. Dick Polling, known formerly to the gang as the Boy, tells Susie Croad about hims/if, but does not mention Mary Bearden. Charles Blindon arrives, and takes Mrs Hibberd into the inner room. .Sir William enters later on. and Charles and Mrs Hibberd, emerging into the outer office, discuss the diamonds, and safes, and safety. They leave by motor. Polling prepares for the nigiit. Mai v Dcarcllon and her lover, Dick, are sitting ‘in Kensington Cardens, discussing their own affairs. Mary ceils Dick that her mother knows nothing of !ns past. He does net corn'ido this to Mary, an I tho girl, in sudden fear, begs h;m io marry her at once. Another coirole are s.tting near them, and Dick and Mary overhear them. Pelling notes what tliev are saving about having got the three, but the fourth escaped them. He decides to take the bull 3.y the horns, and speaks to Sanderson as a war comrade, afterwards iniroduciii" him to his sweetheart. Ho finds that Sanderson is a detective by profession. On? of the boys ct tho gang spots the Boy talking to Detec-tive-Inspector Sanderson. Jimmie scowls. < HAPTER I\\—(Continued.) Dick Celling w as quite unconscious of tile ettect he had produced upon the roughest and most ignorant member of the gang, but as they walked quickly awav across tim grass he had an uncomfortable feeling that iciLe was doing its heist to drag linn back into the society of his old as.-ociates. In less than a week lie had met Susie Croad, had seen "Jimmie/' and had actually had a cnat with one of the men who has been engaged in the Bex table a.lfaii —one of the men who had helped to trap his coaled eiaies. (Sanderson s name had not .appeared in the trial at the Criminal Court, and Belling was rather shocked to find oir that ids favourite sergeant had taken part in these proceedings. And yet there was something humorous I about that. But there would be nothing j humorous in a meeting with "Sam” or j Peter” or ‘‘Jimmie.’’ lie never wished jto see either of the three again. Susie i Croad v as out of the business, was making j good, was going to marry a rich man. He j bad nothing to fear from Susie Croad. But he must avoid the three men if possible. They had played the game so far as he was concerned, but lie could not let any one of them come back into his life—even to the extent of a few words or a shake of the hand. He bad ah amt forgotten the presence of Mary Bearden and did not realise that he had been silent for more than a minute until she said, ‘‘Dick, dear, you mustn’t let this worry volt.” ‘‘Worry me?” he muttered, and then he laughed and icmcinberod. ITis mind went back to the point where their conversation had been interrupted by the detective and bis “young lady.” “Perhaps you are right,” lie said. “Perhaps we hacl better get married at once. If I seem to hesitate it is onlv because lam thinking of you, dear, t don’t want to come between you and your mother. And, of course, we shall have to rough it “I don’t mind that, Hick. A workman’s cottage will be good enough for me. and I have heaps ot clothes—enough to last me for years.” “In spite of the changes of fashion.” he laughed. “Well, Mary, t am in your hands. But I don't want you to embark on this perilous adventure it is that, isn’t it? just because you wore suddenly frightened. Are you still afraid?” “No, Pick. I don’t know what it was that frightened me—but 1 think we'd better get married.” Ife was silent for a few moments. He knew little -less, perhaps, than most people —about “influence” and “invisible currents of thought.” But it did occur to him that his own fear of his past life had, in some way or other, stirred the brain of the woman he loved. They parted at one of the northern gates of Kensington Gardens.

“To-day week,” he said, “at half-past twelve. I’ll fix everything up. We must live in my rooms until 1 can get a house. ” “It will he the happiest day of my life,” she whispered. ‘T hope not, dear,” he said with a smile. “That day will only he the beginning of happiness.” they shook hands—they could not even kiss each other in that public place—and Telling strode rapidly away towards the Broad Walk. As he paused to light a cigarette, “Jimmie” came up to him. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but could you oblige me with a match?” Polling handed the man the box, and Jimmie talked while he lit his pipe. “Glad to see you again, sir,” he said. “Hope you’re well.” Quite well, Jimmie, thanks. You've been out in France, eh?” “Yes, sir, and you?” “Oh, I’ve done my bit too —over four years of it.” “Ranks, sir?” “Ranks first, and then—well, I was a captain for the last six months.” Jimmie, who had flung match after match away, said, “Settling down now, sir, 1 suppose?” “Yes.” “Bell, don't forget as your old pals didn’t give you away, sir.” “I'll never forget “that, Jimmie. You were bricks. i hone you're going to chuck it. The war, eh? Opens one’s eyes a bit?’’ ‘Yes, sir. Teaches a man as he can kill without being hanged for it. Don’t you get up to any more tricks, sir. It don't pay.” Y ith this cryptic reply and without waiting for Polling to speak again, the j young brute took his departure.' Felling strolled on alone. Surety,’ lie eaid to himself, “the devil is in this business. It’s as if one couldn’t get away from it.” CHAPTER V. Dick Felling’s two rooms were in a small mean street that branched off the Fulham road. There were days when such rooms could have been had for ten shillings a week. But during the shortage of accommodation that followed the war the landlady asked treble that sum and had a hundred applicants for the miserable apartments. She had selected Dick Felling because, to use her own words, she ’’diked the look of him.” The rooms were unfurnished, and he had bought his own furniture, at an exorbitant price, out of the money he had received as a gratuity. It was little enough—even for a bachelor who had “roughed it.” As a home for a newly-married couple, it was pitiable. It only had one merit—the merit of comparative permanency. Felling had forced a yearly agreement out of the”landlady, to be terminated by' three months’ notice on either side. It was to this poor little home that Dick Felling brought his bride—a young girl who had been accustomed to a" bed! room almost as big as the whole house. And Mary, seeing the rooms for the first time, said, “It’s a jolly little nlace, and we can’t be turned out of it,”" She was even enthusiastic about the gas-cooker, which was a very prominent feature in the sitting room. I nat makes us independent, ’ she exclaimed. “And Ivc got a certificate for cooking.” “It's the baths,” said Felling gloomily. “There is a bathroom, and we’ve the right to use it. But there’s no hot water.” “Oh, we don't want hot water in this beautiful weather, Dick, .she replied, “and by the winter we shall get used to cold baths—we shall slip into it gradually.” She was determined to make the best of everything. She had never entered the rooms before until she crossed the threshold as a bride. She saw at once that the skilful hand of a woman could effect marvellous improvements. But she was not going to talk of that iust vet. She wanted her husband to think that lie had done the very best he could with the materials at his disposal. Ho took her in his arms and held her very close to him. He had no illusions about the hard fight- that lay before them, but lie was supremely han’py. He had won a very great victory against stupendous opposition. He had overcome '.Mrs Denrden's objections by sheer capacity for fighting The same dogged determination that had won him" honour in the war had proved itself unite sufficient for this domestic combat. He had made Mrs Dearden see things with his own eves, had persuaded Inn- that he was not the same young fool that had squandered a modest fortune, and had given her an account of those days of poverty that ha-1 mover her to pity rather than anger. In other words, he had complet -lv won her heart, and in spite of Mrs ‘ Dearden’s lecture to her daughter, her heart usually got the better of her eommonsense. in a conflict that lasted for any length of time. And now, as ho held that slim, boyish body in his arms, he forgot that his victory had not been altogether won hv force of wi'l and charm of manner. There had been a suppression of the truth, and he had thrust all thou -lit of if bom his mind. “We shall he happy here, darling.” he whispered. ‘And vmy b«mv: —crew tilin'* will he different.’’ “1 don't want it to lie different, von deai-1 Wbv. if we hadn’t, a roof river our heads. Fd go singing along the road with vou. hnnd-in-hand.” That was true enough. It was no mere empty boast, horn of a desire to show that she wanted nothin-: but her husband's love She would have been happy janywhere—just then. Rags would have been the same to her as the finest r-lotlies that money could buy. As for food, a crust of dry bread would have been enough for her dinner. The wedding ceremony had been riniet enough. Only a few intimate friends had been asked to the church and the reception afterwards in. Brixham Gardens.

It had been decided that there was to i be no long and expensive honeymoon, \ though Mary’s brother had offered a j cheque for the purpose. “1 1 ave to j stick to my work,” Felling had said ! simply, “and neither of us wants a ; change.” And Dearden had thought this ! so “jolly sensible” that he had given tho cheque, after all, and added it to his wedding present of a hundred pounds. How smoothly everything had gone. The marriage had been no hole in the corner affair. There had even been a reporter with a camera, and Peking had been questioned about his record in the war. He had not sought this publicity, but he had not objected to it. With his mind so full of other matters, ne had not- seen that perhaps it was not quite wise of him to allow his portrait to be published in an illustrated paper. And certainly he did not think o? it cow as he held Alary in his arms. The world was so small that it only contained two people. It had shrunk to two rooms in a shabby little house in n. narrow little street off the Fulham Road. The picture was rather smudgy, but Sude Croad could easily have recognised Bide Palling, even if the letterpress underneath had not informed her that this was “The marriage of a distinguished soldier who won the D.C..M. and the M.C. for two signal acts of valour in the war.” Susie Croad had fini.Jied her breakfast and had seated herself in her little garden, when she opened the paper and realised that something had happened which affected her own life. Years had passed since Susie Croad—now known to her very respectable friends at Mexham Hill as Airs Hibberd—had seen a picture in the illustrated papers that had so interested her. The last had been far uglier than this—just Jimmie and Sam and Peter in a row with a spiked railing in front of them. But it had not moved her to anything like the same extent. As she caught sight of Polling’s face, she pressed her iips tightly together, and a hard, cruel look came into her eyes. He had not t-fld her ot Hus-—that he was going to be married to this chit of a girl. Airs Croad held the paper close to her eyes, and she seemed to be more interested in the girl than in the man. Alary Bearden,’’ she said aloud. Then she lit a cigarette, and her fingers trembled as the match flared out and she held the flame against the white cylinder that quivered between her lips. “Well, no doubt the girl was betterlooking than the snapshot had made her. She seemed a queer little boyish creature with big eyes. Of course, she had monev. Dick Felling could not have afforded to marry anyone without money. “Aiiss Alary Dearden,” laughed Susie Croad. And then suddenly she rose to her feet, crumpled up the paper, flung it on the grass, and went indoors. Her garden—the back yard, as she called it—was no place for the display of emotion. It vas overlooked Lv half a dozen houses. And at Mexham Hill a woman in tears would have almost caused a scandal. The emotional side of human nature was just a little cramped at .Mexham Hill. The i best people showed neither anger nor sorrow nor joy in the presence of their fellows. One could laugh, but not loud. One could mourn, but only with calm dignity. Su.-io Croad, originally rather primitive, had found this discipline excellent, and it even promised to be a verv useful asset in the future. Her present mood, however, brooked no restrit tions. She was furious with Felling ior having married, and all the more turn cus because there was no earthly reason why he should not have done so. She vas a married woman, and she had no claims on a man whom she had not even seen for live years, until that encounter in the offices of Blindon and Co. let the memory of “The Bov'’ had always been with her, and but for her influence over the others he would certainly have been given away to the police. Ho had, of course, flirted with her, as voting men will flirt with an exceedingly ’bwu;tiiu' and attractive woman. But he had never been serious in hi,- rather open lovemaking. And he had not fallen in Eve him then, sho laid on!-.- seen the poyibiiity of falling in love with him. It was during the long years of the war llinl .she had thought of him more tendcrly. And then there had been that meeting at the office. Tt soon; ai to her now. as :-he - at alone m her drawing loom and stared through the open French windows at the green patch of lawn, that it was that - c Men : meeting, and the change in him—the change from a foolish boy to a war-hard-ci.c-d man Hint .had done the mischief. I bo seed might have been sown long before, but it was not until then that the pbaiiu of love opened its blossoms to the sun. She had fallen in love with him. and since then she had made up her mind to do everything in her power to attract him. She had pictured to herself a scene in which she would tell him that she eoifid not marry Charles Blindon—another m which she would confess the truth, ami swear to run straight if only he would he!]-, her. That she already ’had a husband did not seem to matter to her at ali. Croad was near the end of his da vs. No one couid live Croud's life for ’another three years. She had begun—so qiucklv had her mind moved - to look upon Richard Felling as the man who would one day give i ; her the only real happiness she had ever known, in her life. And now lie had j married, and there was Ills portrait in the paper, fluttering about somewhere in the garden. The portrait of the woman (no—the woman who was probably just a silly girl ; like the dozens of girls that placed tennis at the Mexham Hill Club! * A young girl with a boyish figure, and no doubt a comfortable dowry! A simpering girl, bending her head to avoid the confetti that had been thrown at her ! And tho bitterest thought of all was that neither of them had given her any '

1 cause for auger. Neither of them had annoyed her in any way. tdie had no light to the just and awful fury of a woman scorned. This “love” of hers was purely a creation of her own brain. If she injured him or the girl he had married, she would be the vilest sort of woman contemptible in his eyes for ever. And her own conscience—even women who steal have a conscience—-would ;ive her hideous torment. And yet, as she sat there, she longed . „ .torture both the husband and the w . 1!e ' -And there was nothing impotent a->out her rage. She had an instrument of torture in her hand, and could use it w nenever she chose. At any moment she could send Dick Felling to prison, but that would be too crude and clumsy a . vengeance for a woman of intellect. Lear after j-ear she could hold her knowledge like a whip over his head, and watch him writhe at the sight of it. And she could fill the wife’s mind with suspicions. Oh, she could hurt them both make their lives one long, slow agom . that he could strike back mattered not at ail. All her life she had seemed to be in a prison cell. b-ae thrust out her arms on the cushion* Hie sora and buried her head between them. How easy it would be to ruin the lives of these two young people. And yet- looking at the ‘matter from the point of view of a woman who had not entirely lost lmr .- elf-respect—how hard. If only he had really made love to her, and had thrown her over for this gill, how different it would have been. it just came to this. Was she willing to go clean down into the depths to satisfy her longing—that intense longing to destroy the happiness that might have keen her own, if she had only had a little more time given to her? At that moment it seemed to tier that she would set the world in flames to bring about trie ruin of two innocent ]' ves - -And yet, even then, she was not incapable of reason. Possibly her mood oj madness might pass. And she fancied that it would pass. If only Dick Felling had done something that would make him a fair target for her arrows ! Unreasoning fury would soon die because it had so little‘to feed upon. But. given a cause of offence, it would live. CHAPTER VI. Hick Felling, who rose an hour later than his wife because she had had to get up early and cook the breakfast, came into the sitting room, and picked up the oiiiy letter that had come for him bv the morning post. The handwriting was large and childish and the name of the street had been mis-spelt. Alary, still busy with two kippers that were frizzling on the gas stove, smiled at him and said, T expect that's from one of the men in your regiment.” “Mery likely from Sanderson, he said, tearing open the envelope. “I sent him our address and asked him to drop in one evening.” He took out the letter and read it. It was not from banderson, nor even from anyone in particular, for the writer had not signed his name. “Sir,” read Reding. “The less you 'ave to do with perlice, the better. ' It doesn’t do for you to git too thick with ’em. and you knows vhv.” 'that was all—just these few words on a dirty half sheet of paper. Felling crumpled it up and put it in his pocket. If there had been a fire in the room he would have burnt it. Alary placed the breakfast on the table, and sat down opposite to him. He praised her eo diing, praised the toast and the coffee, and then began to talk of a new job that had been offered to him. There would be no increase of salary, but there would be a chance of rising to a really good position, if he showed his employers that he was worth the money. ‘Was tile letter from Air iSanderson?” queried AJaiy. when she had listened to him for a little while. “No, dear. It was nothing of any importaui e at all.” She asked no more questions. She knew that it was something lie did not wish to ta.k about. Otherwise he would have shown it-to her, even if it had been ju.-t a cir; alar. The incident, trifling as it was, depressed her. No doubt tile letter was, as lie had sail, of no import ance what-wer. Still he could so easily have handed it to her. She felt that they were old married folk already—a fortnight after their marriage. That was just how a husband would behave when he had been married for a rear or two. She watched him carefully during that hurried meal, and found him just the same as he had always been. He did not seem to be worried or different- in nnv wav. He kissel her passionately befoie lie left tho home at nine o'clock. But he left her with something to think about until his return. Dick la lling wan more annoyed than frightened by the ni.-.-snge. He had n-> doubt whatever that it had been sent him by .Jimmie, who hid seen him talking to Detective Inspector Sanderson. No doubt, Jimmie, thinking over the matter for tlnvc weeks, bad magnified the trivial in- i lent. And yet it was odd that Jimmie should have troubled himseif about the matter. It. was not Jimmie, but be, Dick Felling, who had reason to bo ugraid of the police. Jimmie had served his sentence and was a free man. But it was irritating t-o think that Jimmie or any other member of the gang, except Susie Croad, took any further interest in him. They had all behaved so decently to him over that Bextablo affair. And now — he wished them just to leave him alone. But this letter was evidence that they did not intend to leave him a’one. He reached the office at a quarter to fen. At ten o’clock, to the moment, Sir William and his son arrived. The office was the at the back of the building and the big car had deposited them at the

entrance in the mam street. cnuries Blindon had a fresh sweet-smelling rose in his buttonhole. Sometimes he was rude and sometimes he was familiar. He had chosen this particularly hot morning to be both rude and familiar. ‘‘You have the married look already,” he laughed, when his father had passed into the inner room. "Finding it ;sn t ad lavender, eh?’’ “It’s not all buttonholes and white spats,” Felling retorted. ‘You'll find that out later on.” “I’m not fool enough to marry on two hundred a year,” said Blindon. "And I may as well tell you, Felling, that my father and I do not approve of your marriage. It puts temptation in a man’s path, and you hold a very responsible position.” Dick Polling would like to have thrashed the fellow, but he shrugged his shoulders and turned his back on him. It was an unpleasant beginning to a day tiiat was going to be a very busy one. There was a continual stream of callers, and Felling had to get the firm's accounts ready for the auditors. Sir William was grumpy, and Charles Blindon was most objectionable. Pelling was glad when they both left at five o’clock. He lit a cigarette and leant back in bis chair and rested one hand on the window sill. “I’m fed up,” he said to himself. A few minutes later he began to put things straight for the night. The private detective passed the window, nodded to him and smiled. And then, following close on the heels of the detective, came a huge form, moving very slowly—-limping along with the aid of a stick. It was Arthur Croad. (To be Continued).