THE HAND AT THE WINDOW.

Otago Witness, Issue 3995, 7 October 1930, Page 76

THE HAND AT THE WINDOW.

By

Lilian Quiller Couch.

'( Copyright.—For the Otago Witness. ) “ You will prosecute at once, Sir Cyril ? ” Mr Derwent faced his client across the waiting table. Sir Cyril Maitland rose and walked to the window. “ No,” he said at last, with a nonchalant smile, “ not yet. You say he is running Maitland Bp.ll as an hotel?” “ Yes. I understand he detests society, prefers his colonial ways, always had a wish to run an hotel, and now * darned well means to do it.’ A saturnine fellow who came with him is his manager, and did most of the talking.

“Well,” said Sir Cyril, “I think I’ll take a run down to the home of my ancestors and see how he does it. It will be amusing.”

“Under another name?” “Yes, for the time.”

Next day Sir Cyril drove through the avenue of beeches and looked long upon the stately house in which his father had been born, ■■■• Colonial born himself, life had not been all hardship, but for his father it must often have been very hard and sad. Self-exiled from home, parents, brothers, by reason of his impetuous marriage to a girl-actress, and resentful of criticism; tlien, later, bereft of wife and home at one blow, and left with only his motherless boy for company, the sadness had bitten-in. Sir Cyril had loved his father, had treasured the few chance references to England, parents, brothers; and now all were dead; and this was the home his father had loved. A sinister-looking man came forward as he left the car. “ This is the Maitland Hotel?” asked Sir Cyril. “ Yes, sir.” “ You are ? ” “ The manager. The proprietor is Sir Cyril Maitland.” “ Indeed! ”• raising his brows. “ Yes,” said the manager, .with a tightlipped smile. “In these days- ”, “In these days ?” queried Sir Cyril. “ Well, sir, a man feels free to follow his liking. Sir Cyril is a colonial, and has no fancy for trying to play the English squire on a beggarlv rentroll.”

“Then you may’ be able,’ said Sir Cyril, ignoring the confidence, “to let me have a large room with a good view. My luggage is in the car.” “ We have good air, good fishing, good golf ”

“ A good rest is what I am out for,” said Sir Cyril quietly. “ I’ve been travelling.” “ Certainly,, certainly. While you sign the visitors’ book.l will give orders for the room.”

He looks a eyafty brute, thought Sir Cyril. Then he turned to the visitors’ book. “Mr Charles Masters ” was the name he wrote, and there was a gleam of half-sleepy interest in his eyes. “ I’ve yet to see the gentleman who annexed my pocket book—and my name,” he thought grimly. Several days passed before “ Charles Masters ” saw the proprietor, and when he did he was distinctly surprised. Instead of the rough, overbearing man he had expected, he saw a dissipated-looking unhealthy young man with, seemingly, a shy, furtive manner, as if anxious to avoid intercourse with anyone.

“If he weren’t too young I should diagnose ‘shell-shock,’ thought Charles. Someone had addressed the young man ns “ Sir Cyril,” so there was no doubt about it. “ How on earth did he get my note case?” pondered Charles. “And why did he conclude T was no solution appeared to this puzzle. Meanwhile he w ' = nmu®*>d the game.”

But before long the game began to seem less. amusing though no less interesting to “ Charles.” Beneath the fraud which he knew, he felt something sinister. The “ manager ” was so arbitrary in spite of his general suavity, the “ proprietor ” so uneasy and surly. “ Charles ” smoked his pipe, wandered alone a.bout the grounds, and thought over the strange situation. And then a small incident attracted his attention. Having no wish for the continuous company of other guests, he had formed the habit of taking his afterdinner coffee in a small, secluded garden at the more deserted side of the house, and, chancing to glance up one evening from his book, his eye was caught by a high, wide-open window, along the sill of which lay a beautiful, inert hand. The sight scarcely entered his consciousness at first, and he returned to his book. But when he glanced up over the house again,: there, motionless still, was the hand; length he did not look away. There seemed something uncanny about the stillness, and he watched. He

watched till the light became dim. “ I’m a fool,” he said at length to himself, “ it is probably some kind of glove-stretcher,” and he rose to go indoors, but when lie looked back the hand had vanished.

The incident was forgotten by the next morning, and when “ Charles ” sat over his coffee the following evening his face was graver than usual over other matters. “I must take steps soon, 'I suppose,” he thought. “First a fight, and then—this—a lonely house. If only ” his memory went back to one momentous day—the day on which his note book had been stolen. But that was the day, also, on which he had seen the face which had haunted him since, so appealing, so beautiful. It was at that rascally race meeting, at a wicked little place named Shadder. He had been passing through, and stopped from careless curiosity. Then he had caught sight of a girl’s face. She had been unconscious of his gaze as she sat alone on a high dogcart. Then, later, she had endeavoured to climb down, had slipped, and he had quickly stepped forward and saved her from a fall. He felt her warm hand, received a shy, gracious acknowledgment—and that was all. She had walked away, he had continued his journey, and the next thing he knew he was waking from unconsciousness in a hospital. He sighed now as he remembered; then rousing himself and glancing up over the old hall, he was almost startled to see again the beautiful hand and arm lying over the sill. “ Hullo. Is this some trick ? ” he thought, “or a sign ? Well, at any rate, it’s no business of mine.” But his eyes kept wandering back to it, till, feeling annoyed, he rose hurriedly and went indoors.

But the next evening he went back to the deserted garden. In the still evening it was very peaceful, but he felt an odd restlessness as he glanced up at the open window. There again was : the hand. “ She must be hidden behind the curtain,” he thought, “ perhaps waiting to see some guest attracted.” And determinedly he opened his book and seemingly became absorbed in it. But from beneath the shelter of his fingers he watched the hand unceasingly. And at last, to his astonishipent he saw a piece of paper fluttering slowly down. His eyes followed it, and when he looked up. again the hand i was gone. .

Unhurriedly “ Charles ” walked to the paper, picked it . up, and returned to his chair. . Then he spread it but and examined it with mild curiosity. It was blank. Not a line of pen or pencil on either side. . For some minutes he smoked i and meditated, half-puzzled, half-annoyed. Then, without thought, he laid the paper on his knee. At first his eyes, though fixed on it, were unseeing, his brain concerned with the motive for these odd doings, but suddenly he realised that here and there the paper was dotted with minute holes, and lifting it, he scrutinised it more closely. Then, stirred by a growing curiosity he held it to the light of thd sunset. And then, clearly there stood out before his eyes the electrifying word, “ Help,” pricked on the paper by a pin.

Just for a moment a sense of the unreal held “ Charles,” then he dropped the paper. “Some flirtatious maid having her joke,” he thought scornfully, and he continued to smoke in silence. But before he left the garden, with a half-contemptuous smile, he took the paper, and after a moment’s pause wrote “ How ? ” Then picking a stone from the path, he wrapped it in the paper. “My colonial training should be equal to this,” he thought, and with a dexterous swing of his arm he sent the missive straight in at the open win dow.

On the following evening a halfamused interest took “ Charles ” to the little garden again. The other hotel guests were faithful to the terraces and the showier grounds, and as usual the place was deserted. . Glancing up casu ally, he saw at once that the beautiful, motionless hand was again at the window, and again he went and surreptitiously watched it, and again it was still as death. At last, however, came the slightest movement, and again a fragment of paper fluttered to the ground.

As before, “Charles” strolled across and picked it up, and the hand disappeared. This time he knew what to look for, and, placing the paper on his book, he traced with his pencil the dotted lines. Then clearly stared back at him the message: “I am prisoner Exercise, lower leads, eleven. Forgive Help.” : ' “ Well!” he thought, “ Of all the-——' And this is the twentieth century,: in a civilised land! And what on earth: have I to do with it all! -Probably a mental case. And Fm to help it to escape. Letter dropped from window by unknown lady is one sort of a joke, perhaps, though not in my line, but this 1”

“ Charles ” crumpled the paper, and went for a stroll. He wanted to think. What if it had been any of the other guests in his place? They would ignore it, of course. Of course! • And yet—ll o’clock found him at the deserted side of the old hall; looking up at the possibilities of the “ lower leads.’ “To a man with a steady head it should be possible,” he decided, as ne sought for possible footholds. “If 1 can shin up, ..and stretch across to that ledge, I could be near enough for speech.” A soft “ S-s-sh ” interrupted his thoughts, and looking up he saw the outline of a face looking down. With a scramble and swing he reached the top of the coping, and asked cooly, “ What can I do for you, madam ? ”

“ Oh, you can first forgive me,” she said, in low, trembling tones, and in an instant “ Charles’s ” coldness vanished. Quickly taking an electric torch from his pocket, he lifted it to her face. “You—” the exclamation escaped him; his heart beat tumultuously. What astounding thing was this?

“ You don’t know me,” she said, in a whisper that was almost a cry. “ But I am desperate. I had to appeal to someone. I am kept a prisoner.” “ Why ever ? ”

“ Because—because—I know a guilty secret, and I will not promise to keep silent. Can you—will you—help me to escape?”

“ course! ” There was no hesitation in Charles’s ” mind now. Gone were his suspicions of the joking chambermaid, of the mental case. His eyes looked tipon the face he had longed to see again, and Sa «’ brightened, troubled, desperate. To-night—to-morrow—whenever vou will!” •>

“Oh, bless you for that!” “Are you a guest? Have you somewhere to go ? ”

“ I am the sister of the proprietor.” “ Good heavens!” exclaimed “ Charles,” ‘ but ”

“ He is weak, and in great fear himself, and—and——”

“ He is Sir Cyril Maitland, isn’t he?? " he asked deliberately. She hesitated. “ The proprietor—my brother —oh, I can’t explain. He is not really free either, but I—l am in peril. ' < {t J^ re ,y ou °f age?” he asked quietly..

Then I will help you down openly.’ Oh, no, no! It must be secretly. It would be dreadful for mv brother. Oh, I couldn’t ”

t{ Seeing her terror, he said soothingly: It shall be as you wish. Do vou fear jour brother?” 1

“I fear for him, and I fear— : I think I k begin to guess,” .said Charles.’ “ Well, to-morrow, I understand, everyone, including your brother and the manager, is going to Bardon races. Your chance is rosy.” “Races! ” she groaned softly. “ And yet,” he said quietlv, “it was at a race meeting I saw' vou first, and I can’t regret it.” “Saw’ me!” Her astonishment almost made her exclaim aloud. a hideou b raw place called Shadder. You stumbled, and I caught you. Y T ou thanked me, and—l have never forgotten you.” But how wonderful! ” she whispered breathlessly. “How amazing! But it was an aw’ful day, too.” “ For me, also, for my pocket was picked, and later I was smashed a bit in a car collision. It laid me low for months.”

t So it was you who helped me, then! ” “ You rewarded me with thanks.” “And you will help me now?” “ I shall again be rewarded bv the honour.”

“Oh!” she whispered again. “It is wonderful! ” There is such danger before me, and yet I feel happy. Ss-h! ” she broke off. “My exercise time is up. My guard is coming.” She drew’ back, and noiselessly “Charles” slid to the ground.

“ I seem to be in for an adventure,” he thought, as he strolled back to the house. “And what a jolly old tangle! ” But the pulses of the nonchalant Sir Cyril Maitland were throbbing, and a new lightness had come to his heart. “He is a devilish-looking fellow! ” thought “ Charles,” next morning, as he sat at breakfast and watched the manager, serving him by fear and for servants. “ I shall be thankful for his absence.”

The majority of the guests were driving to Bardon, and were arranging about luncheon baskets. Now and then ‘ Charles ” caught a glimpse of the proprietor, too, looking furtive and sullen as ever, and seeming to take but little pleasure in the “sport” before him. With assumed indifference “ Charles ” carefully noted . each start. He: had spent half the night in laying his plans, and he would not risk failure by impatience. “ Whatever happens I : have the whip hand,” he consoled himself, “ but I’d rather bring it. off as she wishes.”

After lunch the hotel was silent and deserted. The' servants were feeding

and gossiping at the other end of the house, and “ Charles ” began to carry out his plans. “This may work,” he mused, as he secured a small heavy packet and made his way to the sunsteeped garden. Wrapped in a £5 note was a short, heavy clasp-knife for weight, a pencil, and a message: “ Bribe if possible, and be on leads at six prepared for journey. The coast is clear.”

With practised deftness he sw'ung this in at the open window, then strolled to the garage to prepare his car, and to his room to prepare his luggage. “ Charles ” -was in the adventure sure enough. Apparently the beginning of his path was to be easy, for the packet had done its work. The servants detested the manager, serving him by fear and for high wages, and whatever arguments or promises the terrified young “ prisoner ” had made, the result was that by 6 o’clock she was crouching on the leads wrapped in a travelling coat. She was trembling, but she smiled bravely down at him.

“ Good,” he said softly. “ Don’t be frightened. I shall throw up this rope; tie it with several knots round that single chimney, then gently lower yourself over the edge. It is "a short "drop. We shall not strain it for many’ moments. Almost at once you will be in my hold. My car is waiting. Can you do this ? ” “ I will do anything,” she panted, and she held her hands to catch the rope. Then followed the breathless pause, while she forced her shaking fingers to tie the knots, and he waited. And then he saw her hurriedly climbing over the edge. Then, holding the rope, she shut her eyes, and slid.

“ Oh. It is too heavenly to be free,” she panted as she stood in his clasp, safe on the ground. “ But quickly, quickly. If I am caught now they will never forgive it, and next time ”

“ No, no,” he assured her, “ you are safe with me.”

But even as he spoke the sound 'of a returning car fell upon their ears and they stopped in dismay. The girl’s face became ashen. “ Charles ” caught her by the arm. “It is all right. No one knows you.”

.But “ Charles ” reckoned too optimistically, for as they hurried to the waiting car they suddenly found themselves face to face with “Sir Cyril.” Blank amazement was his first expression, but furious anger quickly followed. “ What do you mean by this ? ” he stormed, seizing her violently' by the arm. Charles with a far stronger grip silently loosened the brutal hold. “ This lady is going for a drive with me,” he said. “Indeed she is not!” he declared, “Indeed she is!” “ Sir, do you realise that I am her brother? Do you know that I am Sir Cyril Maitland ? ” “ Charles ” paused, then, looking him full in the face, he said-quietly, “ I know you are not.” The effect of these words was ghastly. The girl uttered a terrified cry. But the man’s face was horrified, and he fell back clutching at the wall for support. “ You—you traitress,” he gasped, springing at the girl; “What have vou told him ? ” “ Nothing,” 9 he declared. “ Liar! ” he hurled the word at her. “ There was no need to tell me,” said “ Charles.” “Oh God!” cried the other. “I can’t face it !” “ Look here,” said Charles. “ I have no time to lose. Your best course is to help .me. I began to guess many things, but just tell me—it will be better for you—why you did this.” “ I oWed him money, the brute.” “ Your manager ? ” “ Yes. Then —I found a pocket book.” “ You found it ? ” Tes, and letters telling of an inheritance.” But wasn’t the owner, perhaps, alive ? ” r “ No, he was dead, lying in a shantv. He had been shot—everything stolen but the pocket book on a shelf, and ” “ The pickpocket himself, I suppose. Well ? ” 11 “ Devlin came up ” “ The manager here ? ” "Yes. I owed him monev. He snatched the pocket book, read the letters, said I’d killed the man, and he forced me ” The poor, weak-willed fellow broke under the strain at this point, and cried piteously. “ I see,” said Charles, “ so vou took another man’s heritage?” “ The letters proved,” protested the shaking man, “that he was the last of his line. He had lived all his life in the colonies.” <c We will hear the details later,” said “ Charles.” “ Meanwhile your sister has put herself in my care, and .1 am taking her away at.once —” “ You will do no such thing.” The words, full of cold fury, fell upon their ears and they, turned to see the murderous-looking face of Devlin. " I am about to do it,” said “ Charles ” coolly. “ Sir Cyril Maitland forbids it.” “He does not.” “ Mr Masters, my power in this hotel is greater than you think. What I say, goes. This lady will return to her room.” “ She will not.” “ She will. And I shall ask Sir Cyril, here, to back-up my authority.” “ You are talking to Sir Cyril.” " What do you mean ? I orde- you to leave the place.” “ You cannot.”

“ Why cannot I? ” “ Because the place is mine, I am Sir Cyril Maitland, and you are an unhung knave. This lady goes with me, anq shall hear from my lawyer.” Sir Cyril led the half-fainting girl to his car and lifted her in. Then, without a backward glance at the* two men, standing as if stricken to statues of Cowardice and Demoniacal Fury, he took his place at the wheel and drove her away from the scene of freedom.

Please tell me your name,” said, '-’i f Cyril after a few miles had been covered and the girl beside him had regained some calm.

“ Mary Darton,” she replied. He drew the car in beside the hedge and turned to her. “Then, Mary,” he said with sudden deep earnestness, “I am taking you now to the safe care of my lawyer and his wife. But I want to say that I have - carried your face in my memory and yourself in my heart ever since that day at Shadder. Tell me—can you tell me—if I may hope, even a little, to have you for my wife ? ” Mary Darton looked back at him, the slow colour rose, beautiful, to her brow. “ You may,” she said slowly with suddenboldness. “ I know you may—hope—everything.”