THE GIRL OPPOSITE

Southern Cross, Volume 27, Issue 31, 8 November 1919, Page 13

THE GIRL OPPOSITE

PUBLIBHED BY BPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

i COPYRIGHT).

CHAPTER XXXI. THE SWAYING OF THE BALANCE. Quaking- and sobbing she bid her face on his breast. “Oh, my dear, my dear,” he said, “vvhv did you run away?” “f was frightened; I saw him; I knew he meant to take me.” “But without letting me know ! Dearest!” “Wasn’t it better? Why did you follow me? How did you know? “All in good time. I have something to tell you. Kydd has confessed. It w-as he who murdered Gerald Wood ford.” “But tell me,” she said, her great eves shining. * She led him into the sitting-room, a dainty little white room that was sweet with the odours of the garden, and there he told her briefly of his interview with Kydd, and how he had . wrung the confession from him. She listened like one in a dream, her hands King listlessly in her lap. “kydd!” she echoed; “he did it; it all seems incredible.” “But true, darling. I have his confession here. All your worries are over cit last. 1 ’ He put his hand in his breast pocket only to search it with a look of alarm. The confession was not there “Leonard!” He was smiling again. “For the moment I forgot. For greater safety I left it in my kit-bag in the London hotel. But it’s all safe and sound, and all true. Yoq poor darling, .what you must have endured!” A curious little whimper played about her lips. He did his best to kiss it away. “And what I have yet to endure.” “There is nothing now. His confession frees you utterly, completely. And as to the future, -.hit shail .be my care.” “But even to prove my innocence will involve a raking up of the whole deplorable scandal. Can’t you see how impossible it all is?’-’ “How impossible? I don’t see anything impossible about it. Once you are my wife no one will dare —besides, we have the proof. There’s no denying that.” “But don’t you understand, dear, the whole dreadful story, the tragedy of mv life, on everyone’s lips. How could I bear it? How could I bear to think that my friends knew? I couldn’t face it. dear, I couldn’t face it. I must go away—quit England.” ”As my wife, Margaret.” “As your wife I should love to go. If you only knew how I long for peace and love. But can’t you see it with my eyes? There would always be this dreadful thing hanging over us. You might even wonder if you had made a mistake.” ' “I shall not even wonder, because I shall not have made a mistake. S»ch a thought—how could you think of it? My dear, I love you, and I want you more than I ever wanted anything in my life.” She nestled closer to him, as in his arms she found that sorely-needed haven which her storm-tossed spirit had sought so long and so strenuously. “I’m afraid,” she murmured. “Of wfliat?” “Of it all—everything—the future. Can we lift the shadow, banish it utterly? People will know and think and wonder. Remember, I’ve passed through a great deal.” “Unscathed,” he said. She shuddered. “Who will believe? You know what the world is? Does a woman pass unscathed through such- an ordeal?” “Your sort of woman, Margaret.” “But who will believe? Don’t you see, dear, I would rather pass out utterly into the darkness than that anyone should be able to sneer at you.” ® “But no one will be able to sneer at me, and even if it were so, what would I care? I’m not going- to marry the world.” “A rather poor world, Leonard,” she said, wistfully. “On the contrary, to my way of thinking just the richest of worlds. If you only knew how proud I shall be

BY CARLTON DA WE, Author of “The Admiralty’s Secret,” “The Prime Minister,” “The Shadow of Evil,” “The Grand Duke,” “Straws in the Wind, ” Etc., Etc.

to live in it, to own it, to know that is is mine, wholly, completely.” He took her face in his hands and gazed earnestly into her eyes. “I don’t care a rap. what the world says, or thinks, or does. I want you—-just you.” Her mouth quivered, her eyes shone 1 gloriously. He kissed mouth and eyes, and held her close to him. She could feel his heart beating against her own. This man’s heart was beating for her! “Almost you tempt me,” she whispered, “ and I do so.want to do the right thing for once in my life.” “And you think that leaving me in a state of intolerable wretchedness can be the right thing? Why, darling, that would be the wrong thing—the wrongest- thing that you have ever done, that any woman could do.” “But you don’t understand,” she said. “I am not doing what I wish to do, but what I think is right. You wouldn’t like them to look askance at your wife, to be able to raise the finger and mock at her? And that’s what they should do, and I should be miserable,, and you in despair.”“I should be in despair if you turned from me,” he said. He caught her by the shoulders and held her firmly. “Margaret, you must get rid of this absurd idea of sacrifice, because it’s just not going to happen. Not alone is it unnecessary, but I will not permit it. You hear, I will not permit it. Now that I have found you I have not the remotest intention of parting with you again. Do you understand that —do you understand me at last? My selfinterest, forbids it. I’m not of a selfsacrificing nature.” ... , “Oh, but you are,” she interjected.

“Not in this. I’m a man of the extremes! commonsense when self-inter-est is at stake, and having found you I’m going to keep you by me just as tightly as the law —and love — will bind you. Darling, you can’t beeak away, even if you wish. I have wound about you innumerable chains of a most determined love, padlocked every link, and thrown away the keys.” He forced a smile from her lips. It was sweet to hear him talk like this, wonderful beyond expression that she should be loved so greatly. She knew, too, that she loved him, passionately, yearningly. Her eyes grew luminous with love and the delight of being loved. After the tempest of her life the thought of this calm was almost unendurably exquisite. Yet she would not hesitate to forego it if thereby she might enhance his happiness. That for a moment she should seriously contemplate such an act of madness was inconceivable to his practical man’s sense. Yet there are people who do these insane things, who martyr themselves, who sacrifice themselves for an idea. Your materialist scoffs, mutters “nonsens*e,” and turns aside in disdain, and knows that that at which he is scoffing is the greatest force in the world.

To what lower depths of selfabnegation her fear for him would have led her it was impossible to say. She was in that mood which leads to the very excess of sacrifice; bue even as her lips were forming a further protest, there came a sharp, peremptory knock at the door. Both started to their feet, their eyes searching each other’s questioningly. “Who’s that?” she gasped, for with her there, was always the terror of the unknown.’ If it should be Leonard !”

She clung to him trembling. He pressed his arms around her and drew her close. The fear was in her eyes; she listened like one who expects to hear judgment pronounced, the voice of doom.

He, scarcely less startled, wondered. If it should be! Well, there was nothing greatly to fear. Fate had done its worst, had played them both many a trick, but they were going to beat it in the end. Again came the summons, this time with more peremptoriness. If it should be! Many fancies came to him in those brief moments, thoughts impracticable, all flashed through his mind. He looked around as if he would seek a way of escape. Could the man,- incredible in prescience and activity, - have discovered their whereabouts and followed them?

“Some tradesman?” he suggested. “Tradesmen never knock like that,” she whispered. He slipped from her side and stepped across to the large projecting window, through the curtains of which he glanced cautiously. When he again turned to her she knew it had happened. “It is he?” she whispered. “Yes.” “Leonard!”

He took her hands, which had suddenly grown cold, and patted them to give her confidence. “It’s all right,” he added. “He had to come sooner or later. “There’s nothing to fear.” He turned to the door. “Where are you going?” she asked. “To let him in.”

A protest rose to her lips, but she checked it. It was the end, the end she,had long expected. Madness alone could have dreamed of any other. Like one in a trance she watched him go, like one who hears voices in a dream she heard them speaking in the hall. Behind Leonard’s broad shoulders she caught a. glimpse of Kenley’s sallow face and intolerable moustache. As he advanced it seemed to form the words: “I arrest you, Blanche Marborough, on the charge of murder, and I warn you that- anything you may say will be taken down as evidence against you.” CHAPTER XXXII. WITH THE SHINING SUN. She reeled, convulsively clutching the table for support. Then with an effort she straightened herself. “I am ready.” Leonard was at her side, his arm round her. With a little choking sob she nestled to him. Gently he led her to the sofa, tenderly he seated her. Then he turned to the inspector a face from which all anxiety had vanished. “I must explain,” he said. “You’ve made a great mistake, Kenley.” “Then this is not Blanche Marborough, or Margaret Ingleton, or whatever she calls herself?” “On the contrary, the identity is not denied. She is both Blanche Marborough and Margaret Ingleton, but she did not murder the man whose name you do not even know.” “She will tell me.- It is my duty also to warn you, Mr Tenterdon, that you are playing a very dangerous game, and that if you are not careful you may be very sorry for yourself. From the first I suspected you to know more of this matter than you cared to admit, and I have not forgotten to keep my eye on you.” “You’re quite right, Kenley, I know all about it from the beginning.” “Let me warn you, that’s a dengerous admission.” “Not now. The danger’s past.” “It looks to me as though it was just beginning for some of you.” “Come, come, Kenley. you’re not a bad sort at bottom, and I have really a most profound respect for your abilities. You throw pebbles with extraordinary dexterity, though you do not always hit the target.” “Often enough to score,” he 'said, grimly. “You shall score better still, and I’m going to help you. With my aid your reputation will increase with leaps and bounds; your astonishing brilliance become the envy of admiration of all.” “Thanks,” he added drily, “but so far I have managed to get along quite comfortably.” “You shall glow like a house on fire.” - : The inspector looked a little uncertain. He did not know quite how t.o take this beaming, self-confident young man. The woman’s attitude was sound

•enough, and condoled him infinitely. She had collapsed into that state of limp inanation which was natural to one in. her position, and rightly to be expected; but the pose of this other was conducive to wonder and just a little doubt. None the less, he admired the pose, the true fighter appreciating the fighting qualities of his enemy. “Perhaps it would be wiser to re-, serve this self-glorification for a more fitting occasion. ” The reproof, uttered in a decided sarcastic tone, had no effect on Tenterdon, who continued to smile with perfect assurance. “What occasion could be fitter than this? lam going to exalt you, Kenley; make you envied by every policeman, in plain clothes or uniform, who tramps in and out of the Yard. Incidentally your reputation will flash through the provinces like a meteor. You are going to unravel the great Jersey Street mystery.” "Thankj, but I think I have already unravelled it.” “That’s your vanity, Kenley, the besetting sin of all clever men. As a matter of fact, you are at present perpetrating the greatest mistake of your life.” “We shall see,” the other answered, in that grim, confident way of his. “Can there be a\doubt of it? Why, you don’t e,ven know the name of the murdered man.” "I know something better—who committed the murder.” Tenterdon laughed. “Apparently not even the remotest inkling. It is really astonishing how a clever man like you can go astray, and, if left alone, make a fool of himself. But I’m not going to leave you alone, Kenley, though you alone shall have all the honour and glory. But I want to bargain with you.”“I thought so.”' ; Again came that queer, dry smile. “I want you to promise that you will do nothing rash as. regards this lady if I can give you convnicing proof of her innocence.” “I can easily promise that. The proof, of course, must convince me.” “Quite so. First then, the name of the unknown was Gerald Woodford.”, "How did you come by this information?” “She told me.”

“Ah 1” “He was manager of the theatrical company in which she had at one time played. He was murdered by a member of that company.” Suddenly remembering»*his promise to Kydd he hesitated. Yet was not this that very circumstance which freed him—her danger? Kenley marked the hesitation, and a slow smile crept under his moustache. “Quite so,” he said, in that lazy, irritating way of his. “And what was the name of the mysterious member of the company?” “Kydd—George Kydd.” "Quite so. Of course you have proof of it?” “The man’s written confession.” Which you can produce?” “Which I have in my possession.” "And can produce?” reiterated the. officer. There was an ominous pause in which Tenterdon shuffled a little uneasily. Kenley’s black eyes, now narrowed to pin-points, never left the other’s face. “The fact is, I haven’t it on me. I left it in my hotel in London.” Kenley’s mouth screwed up in the most exasperating fashion. “Perhaps we had better send this — lady—to get it. Gome, sir, you mustn’t try me with that sort of green fruit.” “It l s a fact, Kenley, all the same, and you’ll be sorry if you doubt me. I’m telling you the absolute truth; believe me, I am. Just give us a little time and I’ll run up to town and fetch it.” “I’m afraid the scheme is irriDractic-

able.” “Remember your promise.” Both men looked at Margaret, who was staring at them with resigned wistfulness. “The promise holds good,” said the inspector. , * He had no doubt that Tenterdon was trifling with him, and was rather amused at the thought that he, J. G. Kenley, should be bluffed, or that anyone should attempt to bluff him, with with what he called “green fruit.” But Leonard eagerly took him at his word. “A bargain’s a bargain, Kenley. I know you won’t go back on it. I’ll go off at once and return by the first train available.”

He went over to her. “Margaret, dear, don’t be afraid; I shall not be away long, and I have positive proof of what I say. Courage, darlnig, it’s going to be all right.” He turned to Kenley. “I have your word, inspector?” “But this is nonsense —quite irregular—absurd.” “Think what it means to her. You have no wish to be vindictive?” "None whatever. But if you at-

tempt to make a fool of me——” “Can’t you see that I’m as serious as death?”

“Well, time flies.” Tenterdon had to wait something like half an hour for his train, and then it proved to be a slow one, which stopped at every station. But arriving at Waterloo he skipped into a taxi and was quickly whirled to his destination. Securing the precious document, he went out and sent Margaret a telegram saying the train by which he was returning. He had to wait so long that he had thoughts of hiring a taxi for the journey, if one could have been procured, which was by no means certain. Added to this there was the possibility of a breakdown on a lonely part of the road, while even, if all went well, he might not be able to save time. Therefore the train, slow as it was, would be preferable. Though he had Kydd’s confession securely stowed away in his pocketbook, and knew it to be true, he yet began to experience some doubt as to its effect upon Kenley; for improperly attested, how could it be received as evidence ? This he had known from the first, but had not seriously considered the matter from a legal or ■ technical aspect. What he had wanted principally was to get a signed admission from Kydd, believing that the knowledge of the existence of such a document would entirely free her from all further persecution, and hoping that it might never be called into requisition. But would it satisfy Kenley? At the station he bought a handful of the evening papers, but so engrossed was he with the new fear that had sprung on him that something like half the journey was accomplished before he opened them. Then his eyes wandered up and down the column in a desultory fashion, until he caught a looked again to be sure. Then he began eagerly to read : ECHO OF THE GREAT PIMLICO MYSTERY. MURDERER’S CONFESSION AND SUICIDE. The letters seemed to cut all sorts, of fantastic capers. Bewildered he’ read on:— Our correspondent at Folkestone wires the sequel of the great Pimlico Mystery. Early this morning the body of a man, which has since been identified as that of George Kydd, lately living at Hill street, Folkestone, was discovered in the harbour just off the breakwater. Investigations prove this man to be no other than the perpetrator of the Jersey street crime, which for so long has baffled the authorities at Scotland Yard. Indeed, it is understood that a confession to this effect has been received by the chief constable, and is now being inquired into. Our readers may recollect that in the so-called Pimlico mystery, a man, name unknown, was murdered in a lodging-house in Jersey street, and that the coroner’s jury returned a verdict of wilful murder against Blanche Marborough, the woman inhabiting the apartment in which the crime was committed. *

He read it over and over again, his heart beating tumultuously. Next, he feverishly searched the other papers for fear there might be some mistake. But they all had it, the comment being couched in pretty much the same language.- Here, then, was her justification, proof of her innocence. She was free 1

Like a madman he tore away from the station, the papers clutched tightly. She was free! —she was free! He wanted to shout it as he ran. He was not sure that he did not announce it to each person as he passed. The world was trembling with glory. Kenley met him with that calm imperturbability so characteristic of the great J.G. “Look!” Tenterdon cried, thrusting out the papers. “Read this ! Where is she ?”

She came slowly towards him, her eyes wide with wonder. He caught her inihis arms.

“It’s all right,” he whispered; “everything’s all right.” “What am I to read?” asked the inspector. “The suicide and confession of George Kydd. There it is in every paper.” He almost shouted the news. “This seems pretty conclusive,” said Kenley, after he had read the an’ nouncement, “and if it proves correct, I offer you sincerest congratulations, Miss Ingleton. Still ” “But there is no ‘still’ about it,’l Tenterdon. said. “It’s gospel, every word of it.”

“I hope so, for both your sakes; but until the matter has been definitely cleared up——”

“Quite so, Inspector. I give you my word of honour that neither Miss

Ingleton nor I will move from here until you give us permission.” ”1 exact no such hard terms,” said Kenley, with a smile. “I even think that if Miss Ingleton would prefer to return to her home in Folkestone it might be wiser. Her servants and her friends may wonder what has become of her.” . Leonard stretched out his hand and grasped that of the detective. “You’re a brick, J.G. You know’ where to find us when wanted?” “Quite so.” “And I say, old chap, I’ll let you know when the wedding’s coming off.” “Thank you, sir. If you will permit me I should like to send you a greeting.” “We shall be more than delighted to receive it.” Timidly Margaret came forward and held out her hand. “I bear no ill-will, Inspector,” she said. “My duty, miss; you understand.” “Perfectly.” When Kenley had gone, Margaret turned to Leonard with shining eyes. “What should I have done without you?”, she whispered. “I don’t know,” he answered gaily, as he drew her to him. But what I do know is that never again am I going to do without you.” THE END.