BARBARA’S ADVENTURE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3831, 16 August 1927, Page 81

BARBARA’S ADVENTURE.

Bv

Marces Waterford

(Copyright. —For the Otago Witness ' Barbara was bored. Her father and stepmother had left her alone in the quaint old farmhouse while they had gone off on the spree to London for a few days. Thft stepmother was quite a recent innovation. For years Barbara and her father had lived by’ themselves at Old Halcombe, she looking after the house and dairy, while he tended the farm. She had come to regard Ohl Halcombe as her own property. She loved the old fashioned farm house, the huge barns and cow sheds, the rolling fields | which stretched away for miles on either side. Then, too, there were the cattle, the poultry, and the pigs. She had watched them grow, had tended them through illnesses, and knew them all individually. To have remained mistress of Old Halcombe for the rest of her days would have suited Barbara ideally. Marriage did not enter into her scheme at all. Her father and the f-’-ni were quite sufficient a responsibility for her. It was not that she lacked opportunities. Bobby Porter, son of the wealthy old cattle dealer who lived at Barn Cross, had been most insistent and persevering in his attempts to make her change her mind. There were others, too, who had hovered around, and it was only her own uncompromising attitude towards men as a whole that kept them from making their declarations of affection. The thunderbolt had come most unexpectedly. Her father had been to Bath for the day to attend to some legal business connected with old John Parker’s estate, of which he was an executor. The executorship had given him a lot of work, ‘ and this had naturally brought him frequently into contact with the. widow Parker, a sprightly young matron of 35. Barbara knew this well, but her father had given her no cause at ail for apprehension in this direction. When, therefore, he had returned from Bath that day and quietly informed her that he was going to marry Kathleen Parker, the shock almost stunned her. “ Of course, you’ll stay on here just the same, kiddy,” her father had added, “ you’ll be company for each other, and she’ll be glad of your help in the house, and all that.” Barbara had said nothing in reply, but had turned and rushed wildly unstairs to her bedroom. She knew it would not be the same. She would no longer be mistress, but would be ousted from her position by Kathleen Parker—the hateful cat.

However, the marriage bad taken place, and the intruder had taken possession of Barbara’s father, Barbara’s farm, and everything that had been Barbara's. The next thing that had happened was that both Barbara and her stepmother realised that the grown-up daughter was no longer wanted at Old Halcombe, and that it would be best for her to go as soon as possible. But where to go was a Question not easily answered. Bobby Porter had come forward again, but had been rebuffed. The stepmother was very annoyed at this, and had told Barbara she was a fool. Marriage was apparently the only way out, but the girl was determined to marry for love, and not merely for convenience. Barbara sat in he bedroom and stared moodily at her reflection in the mirror. It was a favourite attitude of hers—having a heart to heart talk with vourself, she called it. “ I do wish somebodv would come and take you away,” she said plaintively to the mirror. “ There must be at least one nice man in the world somewhere—tall jmd dark and strong—a man who’d be I most awfully fond of you—a man who’d I want a lot of looking after. Oh. dear! I’m afraid he’ll never come to Jld Halcombe, it’s so out of the way.” Barbara yawned, got up from the table, and looked out of the window. She was finding it difficult to keep herself amused. Somehow she had lost all interest in the farm—it was no longer her farm. At last she put on an old hat, went downstairs, and out of the house. Outside she turned her steps towards Halcombe Hill behind the farm.

At the top of the hill wef-e a few trees, and among them a wooden sfat whence the main London road could be seen winding like a big white ribbon thr-‘*jgh the pasture land on the other sire. Climbing up the hill, Barbara made her way to this seat, and prepared to idle away the two hours before supper time. It was a fine place for day dreams. Occasionally a motor car would pass along the dusty road, and Barbara would weave a romance around it and the people in it. Almost opposite her seat there was a small copse on the other side of the road. The only’ people in sight were four men walking. When they caine abreast of the copse they left the road, and entered the wood. Barbara watched them, and idly wondered what their business could be. For some little time she- saw no more of them, and had almost forgotten them. Then, from the other direction, she saw a motor car approaching. It was being driven at a high speed, and was raising clouds of dust. As it approached the copse the four men emerged, and planted themselves in the middle of the road. The car slowed down, and Barbara saw that it was a long, power-ful-looking two-seater, and that the driver was the only occupant.

The car, slowed down to a walking pace, had almost reached the four men, when tb e driver suddenly wrestled with his gears and with a roar from its exhaust the car suddenly shot forward again. The four men scattered to the sides, but as the car passed them they leapt for the running hoards, two on each side. One of them hit the driver hard on the head with some instrument, while another seized the controls and brought the car to a halt. The whole thing happened so quickly that Barbara gasped with amazement. As if hypnotised, she stared at the scene before her with wideopen, horrified eyes. The men lifted the driver from the car and laid him on the grass at the side of the road. One of the men then emptied the motorist’s pockets, after which they picked him up and carried him into the copse. The four came out again, entered the car, and drove away. Barbara's first impulse was to dash down the hill to help the wounded motorist in the copse, bit on second thoughts she turned in the opposite direction and ran back to the farm. Hurriedly’ she opened the garage door and got out the old Ford car. Driving furiously tlirough Halcombe village she at last reached the main road, and a couple of minutes later had drawn up alongside the copse. Inside the wood it was all gloomy and dark. Barbara walked slowly through, peering among the trees for traces of the solitary motorist. At last she came across him lying in the thicket and moaning. He was quite a young man, dark and clean shaven, and dressed iii a suit of well-cut tweed. Well-kept hands and finger nails indicated refinement, but at the same time they looked strong and capable. On the left temple were a nasty bruise and cut.

Having lived all her life on a farm, Barbara was by no means a weakling, but it was ail she could do to drag him out of the wood and lift him into the car. This done, she climbed up into the driving seat and drove swiftly but carefully back to the farm. Here one of the farm hands helped her to carry him inside and put him on a couch in the large, coo] sitting room. During the war Barbara had worked as a V.A.D., and the experience then gained now stopd her in good stead. Quickly she bathed and dressed the wound, and did all she could to make her patient comfortable. Her reward came when at last his eyes opened and he gazed wonderingly around. The first thing he saw was a businesslike apron covering a more flimsy blue dress, which in its turn seemed to be covering an attractive girlish figure. Investigating further he found this to belong to a fair-haired b]uc-eycd, freshcomplexioned girl who was standing looking down on him and smiling: He said afterwards that it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen in his life. His first thought was that he had wakened in heaven or Paradise. He smiled back at her.

“Well, how are you feeling now?” she asked. Her voice was soft and musical, and in perfect keeping with the picture before his eyes. He put his hand up to his head and found it swathed in bandages. “ Where—what ?” he queried vaguely, s and then his memory returned, and he sat up with a jerk, only to wince at the pain in his head.

“ You’re all right now,” soothed Barbara. “ Just lie down for a few minutes and then you’ll feel better.” His aching head forced him to obey her, but did not interrupt a flow of questions. “ Where am I ? Where’s my car ? How long have I been here?” He spoke in a sharp staccato manner, and was obviously’ in a state of extreme agitation.

“ If you’ll promise to be quiet for a few minutes, I’ll tell you all I know,” said Barbara calmly. He listened carefully to her tale without interrupting. As soon as she had finished he made another attempt to sit up, but with more success than formerly. “ I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for your help,” he said, “ but I must ask you to excuse me now. I must get on the track of those devils at once. Every’ minute is valuable.” “But you can't go tearing off like that,” said Barbara firmly’. *' You’re not fit enough yet. . You’d only faint and be worse off than ever. Besides, they have a fast car. How can you hope to chase them on foot? You had Finch better stay’ here until .yon are a bit stronger, and I’ll send a man down to the police station at Barn Cross. What was I the number of vour car?”

“No, no,” objected the man, “this is’ not an affair for the police. It is already quite complicated enough without having the police butting in.” Barbara looked at him, puzzled. Was he a criminal? She had an idea that people who evaded the police were necessarily’ engaged in some nefarious enterprise—and usually they’ are, of course. Somehow, thought Barbara to herself, this man did not look like a thief or a murderer. There was nothing furtive about him. His keen grey eyes had looked unflinchingly into hers, and his whole bearing was that of an honest, fearless man. “Why’ can’t you go to the police?” she asked, “Had you stolen the car?” “Good lord, no!” he replied with a smile. “ The car is mine, but there is more in this than the mere loss of a car.” He rose to his feet and began to feel through his pockets. Finding nothing in them, he frowned, then turned to her again. “ They’ve cleared me out prettyefficiently,” he said, money, watch, papers, everything. I shall have to turn to you for help again, so perhaps 1 had better explain things a bit. I’m sure I can trust you—that is, if you will allow me to?”

“You can trust me,” replied Barbara simply.

“ Well, it’s like this. Aly name is Morton—Paul Morton- —-and I am in the foreign Office. The Foreign Secretary is spending a few days in Bath, and I was taking down to him some secret despatches which required his urgent attention. These despatches contain rather startling information, and it is essential that no word of them should become known. Outside the Foreign Office, the only’ people who know of their existence are the representatives of the foreign Power which the despatches concern. It would be to their advantage tq prevent them ever reaching the Foreign Secretary’, and the four men you saw were their emissaries. In my pocket I carried a wallet containing dummy papers resembling the originals. They will not realise the fraud until they go through them, carcf’ lly’, and meanwhile the real papers are hidden in tbe car itself. Therefore, I must regain possession of the ear as soon as possible. It’s no use going to the police. In the first pla.ee they would take too long to get to work, and, secondly, I do not want to advertise the fact that I am after the car. Those men are by no means fools, and if they found the police were making frantic and clumsy attempts to find the car, they’ would naturally’ put two and two together, rip the ear to pieces, and get hold of the real despatches. Have I made myself plain?” “ Quite,” replied Barbara.

“As far as I can see,” continued Alorton, “my one advantage is this. They’ think they have put me out of action for several hours at least. They gave me a nasty crack on the head, took all my money, and if you had not come along I should have been hors de combat for some little time. It therefore seems to me just possible that if I follow them up at once I shall catch them napping. They’ may have stopped for a me>.l nt the next town—that's Barn Cross, isn't it ?”

Barbara nodded in reply. “ In that case I’m going to ask you to be so good as to lend me your car. You will not only he doing me a good turn, but will be rendering a service to your country —valuable service, too.” “That’s all right,” said Barbara cheerfully. “ I’ll take you myself. You're not strong enough to go careering about the country on your own.” “I say, that’s jolly sporting of you!” said Paul Alorton, looking at her with undisguised admiration. “ Nonsense,” snapped Barbara, as she turned and went out to get the car ready, but she could not restrain a blush that crept up her neck and over her face. She was annoyed with herself for this display, and fervently loped that Paul Alorton had not noticed it. In less than a minute she had the car ready at the door, and Alorton hauled himself into the seat at her side. He was still feeling very’ shaken. They’ moved off down the drive, and as soon as they reached the open road Barbara pushed the old Ford for all it was worth. Alorton found himself admiring her nerve and the capable way in which, she handled the car. It seemed to him that everything she did, she did well, and he began to compare her with other women of his acquaintance. She was so fresh, so vigorously healthy, and there were no signs of languor or boredom about her. That was more than could be said for most of the women he knew in London.

It was dusk when they reached the first straggling line of cottages on the outskirts of the small market town, and Barbara slowed down a little. With an effort Morton brought his thoughts back to the problems of the lost despatches. As they turned into the High street, Barbara stopped outside a little sweet shop on the corner. “ I’ll just ask Mrs Jones whether she has seen anything of your car,” she said. “ She’s the biggest scandal-monger in Barn Cross, and the whole day long she sits looking out of the window. It’s rarely that she misses anything.” Morton smiled as he watched her enter the shop, and make a small nurchase as an excuse. In less than a minute she tripped out again.

“ We’e in luck,” she exclaimed. “ Mrs Jones saw the car arrive about half an hour ago, and she says it stopped at the King’s Arms.” “ You’re a wonderful firl,” murmured Morton, but she affected not to hear. The King’s Arms Inn was an old posting inn. A big, arched alleyway led to the stables and coach houses behind. On one side of the alleyway was a door leading into the coffee room, while on the other side was a door leading into the bar parlour. With the advent of the motor car a part of the old coach houses had been transformed into a garage. Barbara drew up at the side of the road a few yards from the entrance. They both got down and walked into the alleyway of the inn. There in front of them they saw the long bonnet of Morton’s powerful, grey car. They walked quietly up to it. An ostler was sweeping at the other end of the yard, but he took no notice of them.

“Quick,” whispered Barbara, “get in. Can you manage .by yourself now?” “ Yes—thanks to you.” Barbara ran round to the front of the bonnet, and with a heave of her strong young shoulder she set the engine running, and quickly stepped out of the way. The car began to glide forward, and as he passed her Morton caught her hand in his. and raised it to his lips. “God bless you,” he murmured. At this moment the door of the coffee room opened, and Barbara could see four foreign-looking men about to step out.

“Quick, quick!” she called. The car glided swiftly into the street, and then there was a sudden roar from its exhaust as it shot like a bullet down the broad, straight High street. The four foreigners crowded out into the road, and cursing and chattering in some foreign tongue, they watched the car disappear into the night. Unnoticed by them Barbara slipped into her Ford, and quietlv drove off in the opposite direction. The four men slowly’ walked back into the inn.

He came back to her the next evening. She was sitting in her favourite seat on the top of Halcombe Hill when she saw the long, grey car appear from the direction of Bath. She stood up and waved her handkerchief. Morton waved his hat in reply, and steered his car into the side of the road. Leaving it there, he climbed up the hill to her. “ I’ve come to say thank you for all that you did for me yesterday,” he said solemnly.

“Oh ! That’s all right,” replied Barbara hurriedly, “won’t you sit down?” He sat down by her side, and threw his hat on the grass. Now,’ he said with a sigh of comfort, “ won t you tell me all about vourself?”

There s nothing to tell,” she replied, and then proceeded to talk of her father, of the farm, and of he r stepmother. Morton listened without comment. When she had finished there was a long pause. J} V ? come to the conclusion,” he said suddenly, “ that I ought to have someone to look after me.

“ Perhaps you ought for a time.” agreed Barbara. “ That’s a nasty cut you ve got on your head, but it will soon be, better, I hope.” 1 was not thinking of my head particularly. I want someone to look after me m a more general sense of the word. <( A sort of housekeeper, perhaps?” Not exactly. I—er—it’ s rather difficult to explain. What I was going to ask you was—er—would you take on the job ?

. “ I don’t know that I could take on a job if you are unable to explain what the job is.

“''Vliat I mean,” said Morton deliberQ g , 1S ’ ’ you m .v wife?” Oh!” said Barbara faintly. The tellmv. ’ . £wept ovcr her f ac e and neck. ’’ ftv have you asked me, of all people’” Because vou are the most fitted ” He caught her hand and tried to draw her .. v ’ looked <way over the valley. , m i Ia ? 1 have a,rea dv made up mv quietly 1V tO marry f ° r loVe ’” she said

<< lord!” exclaimed Morton, .here s plenty of that waiting for yon ‘f you 11 only come and take it.” iwnJ” t o at c ‘? se ;’ s l ie murmured. “ perher m nd Sl i 6 al .’ owed h’m to draw ner into his embracing arms.