Catching Up

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 243, 4 January 1928, Page 5

Catching Up

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Henry C. Rowland.

Author of * The Dear Eccentric." “ The Pedlar.* "Duds." &c.. &c. >'

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS ..Chapters I and II. —It is Mrs. Grenfell Ormes’s At Home day. Mr. Orme returns home and views his daughter, Isabel, among the guests. He notes the daring nature of her costume, or rather, the lack of costume. Afterwards he owns to wife and daughter that he is worried over financial matters. He tells them that Jerry Homing has just missed being a millionaire. A friend of his, named Hazard, hailing from Kansas, came of age a short time ago, and, being in the thick of the fighting, made his will. His four beneficiaries were: Jerry Heming, a Lieutenant Steele, Raymond Wagner, his buddy, and a Salvation Army girl. Now he has got through the fighting, and on the day the armistice was signed, he refused four million dollars for his patch of prairie said to be floating on a sea of oil. The Ormes go to the Opera Comique. Lieut. Calvert Steele, A.E.F., is now In Paris on fur’ough. He goes alone to the Opera Comique and sits in the next box to the Ormes. He sees Isabel, recognises the face, but cannot recall how and where he has met her. He suddenly recollects. It was on the beach at St. Jean-de-Luz; he, a boy of twelve, rescued a pretty, little girl from death by drowning. That was Isabel. Chapters 111 and IV.—Lieut. Calvert Steele has an appointment with his company commander, Captain Gerald Heming, to meet him in front of Fouquet’s. They discuss the affairs of Private Henry Hazard, the two of them being his coheirs, along with Agnes, the Salvation Array girl, and Raymond Wagner. An American officer, bearing the insignia of major, walks up. He requests their presence to report to the chief army intelligence officer. They have to account for themselves the previous night. Private Hazard has been murdered in bed at his hotel a little after midnight. The intelligence officer. Major White, and Calvert Steele call on the Ormes. Answering the questions of the intelligence officer, Isabel provides a perfect alibi Calvert Steele. Major White departs. Mrs. Orme. her daughter, and Steele, converse. Calvert tells them that Gerald Heming is unable to prove an alibi, and has been ordered back to camp pending investigation. Agnes was companion to Lady Audrey Chatteris, and was in that lady's villa at the time of the murder. Raymond Wagner was out in camp. Calvert has an invitation to attend the Ormes’s At Home. Chapter V, VI. and Vll.—The provost marshall tells Lieut. Steele that Hazard’s case is purely an American affair He details the nature of the wounds over Hazard's heart. He asks Calvert whether Heming had ever shown any love Interest in Agnes. Steele admits that V*ey all flirted with her more or less. Afterwards Calvert goes to interview Heming, whom he finds in a hard and feckless mood Jerry asks Lieut. Steele to go to the station to meet his sister, just arriving from England. In *ooks she is a combination of Venus and Diana. Lieut. Steele decides to interview the American lawyer, Mr. Douglas Darker, to whom Heming had taken Hazard on the mornng of the tragedy. barker receives him courteously and jney discuss Hazard and his affairs. The jatvyer owns that he thinks a woman is at the bottom of it, and he begins to ask questions concerning the woman, Agnes. The telephone bell rings. Mr. marker says that Agnes has made an appointment, and is here now. j nes ex Plains that Wagner, Hazard, y, nfl she were together on the night of Me murder. Both men were drinking. ‘“e saw Hazard to his hotel, and Pay- . °nd on the train back to camp. The lawyer warns her that if she talks of this sne will be accused of the murder.

CHAPTER IX. ‘‘No,’’ Calvert answered. “Not yet.” She turned her head and their eyes met. Isabel looked quickly away, her bosom apparently finding the jersey covering a little stifling. “It does me," she said. “Why shouldn’t it?" Calvert asked. “Why shouldn’t it you?" she parried. “Victory must be complete to give me that.” “Isn’t it complete?" “Did you notice that the Victory symbolised on the Arc as we passed under it was not an old fool with a treaty scroll or a field marshal with a medal, but a lady with a wreath? I’m waiting for the lady with the wreath.” “I don’t believe that you will have to wait so terribly long," Isabel murmured. Calvert did not answer. He felt that the time had not yet come for the only answer which his heart dictated, and that no answer was infinitely better than an insufficient one. They crossed the wide sweep in a vortex of flashing vehicles and paused on the other side to look down the long stretch of the Avenue du Bois, thronging with its glittering parade of people. “I suppose," said the girl slowly, and speaking as it seemed as much to herself as to him, “this is without question the most brilliant crowd of the most brilliant city of the world at the most brilliant hour in the world’s history.” "Yos,” Calvert answered, “and I am watching it with the most brilliant of them all.” As Ileming’s sister, Juanita, was due to arrive at the Gare du Nord that evening at about seven—wind, tide and strikes permitting—Calvert went immediately after breakfast to Heming’s little apartment on the Rue Pergolese, which, with the aid of the concierge and a charwoman he succeeded in putting in order for the expected guest. The steamer train, which arrived almost on time, was crowded, but Calvert had no difficulty in picking out Juanita Heming from her brother’s description, which, if anything, was underrated. She was a vivid blonde, with hair which would have invited the accusation of artificial colouring but for its brilliant lustre; long eyes of a light shade of amber made the more striking by straight black brows and lashes. When Colvert sighted her she was being very much looked after by three or four young men whose smart clothes and alert faces suggested business travellers. Calvert made himself immediately known, and the girl’s eyes gave him a friendly and approving survey. “Captain Heming is laid up in camp Nothing serious. Sort of nervous letdown—call it shell-shock. I’ve got his apartment all ready for you, and we might go right there and come back later for the trunks.”

“Why not make one job of it?” said Juanita. “I’m dying for a cup of tea. We might go into the Terminus Cafe, and then come back and get my things.” Calvert agreed to this, and when they were seated and the order given he asked: “Did your brother send for you. Miss Heming?” “Yes; he wired very briefly, saying: 'Need you here. Come immediately.’ I had a bit of luck, as one of my friends who was crossing on this boat postponed her passage; so I got her cabin. It took a little doing about my passport, but I managed it." “Do you know anything about the inheritance?” Calvert asked “Inheritance?” Her striking eyes opened a little wider. No, what inheritance?” Calvert explained the whole affair in detail, omitting nothing, not even the interview of the morning. He had become immediately convinced that here was a very alert-minded young person from whom nothing need be withheld. Juanita listened without a single interruption, her light amber eyes sparkling with excitement. When Calvert had finished she did not offer any immediate comment, but appeared to be thinking intently. “We're going to clear him, Calvert “Of course,” said Juanita. “He s simply got to be cleared. All that money couldn’t pay for going through Hf with people whispering behind your “Of course, if it was an Apache, said Calvert, “it is pretty hopeless, but Harker doesn't think it was. •Neither do I. An Apache would h-ive had a real weapon, and besides, the Paris Apache almost always does his work outdoors or in a ttell-knottn it wasn't a common thief or „Lrnorket either. Neither was it anybody 'Vho went there to see Hazard

and took advantage of his condition to kill and rob him. Robbery was not the motive. It had to do with the inheritance, and since Hazard was not killed by Jerry or you or Raymond or Agnes, then it stands to reason he must have been killed by somebody who had a very hopeful interest in one or you four—or else—or else somebody body who did not know anything about the will at all, or that he had made one. In other words, his next of kin. “I hadn’t thought of that,” said Calvert. “Do you know anything about them ?'* “Hazard told Heming that they were meaner than coyotes. He said that Joseph’s brethren were philanthropists compared with his, because they sold Joseph into captivity and gave him a chance to get ahead. That’s the reason he was in such a tearing hurry to make his will. He’d hardly have told them about it until everything was nailed down tight.” “There was an awfully big fortune involved,” said she. “Perhaps they had reason to know it to be even greater.” “Your suggestion hadn’t occurred to me,” said Calvert, “but I shouldn’t be surprised if it had to Harker. It is very possible that he has already started to investigate these people over there and find out something about their movements. You think then that it was somebody already in the hotel?”

“Yes. You say Hazard had been there two days. You don’t know why he put up at such a place?” “No; he didn’t say.” “This person might have steered him there.” “But that would indicate premeditation, and in such a case the assassin would have provided himself with a weapon. It is also probable that he would have learned about the will.” “That’s so,” Juanita admitted. ‘Well, I must talk to Jerry Hist; then I want to meet Agnes and get some sort of a lino on her. But I don’t want her to know who I am, or that Jerry’s sister is in Paris.” She reflected for an instant “I’ll go out to see Jerry to-morrow morning; then in the afternoon I'll go to the Villa des Lilas and ask for Lady Audrey.” “She is leaving for Romorantin at one o’clock.” “Precisely. I'll go there about three on the off-chance of seeing Agnes. Can't we lunch together to-morrow at about one?” “Of course.” “Well, then let’s say clicz Henry— Place Vauban at one. I hope you don’t mind taking me on as colleague in this case.” “On the contrary,” said Calvert, “I need a lot of help. Besides, there’s nobody more interested than yourself.” “Then it’s understood. What’s your first name?” “Calvert.” “Then I’m going to call you Calvert, and you must call me Nita. Now, let’s go get my luggage and we’ll go up to the apartment, and then-after that if you’ve nothing to do we might have dinner and go somewhere and dance.” Calvert took Nita back to her brother’s apartment at two o’clock in the morning. He had discovered incidentally when her luggage was examined by the customs that she was abundantly supplied with money, as on opening her beaded bag to get her keys it appeared bulging with a rouleau of crisp banknotes, which from their size and colour were of five hundred francs each. All of this was very puzzling to Calvert. Nita appeared devoted to her brother; showed a sincerity of affection in reference to him which was not to be questioned. Yet here was Heming at the end of his pecuniary scope, now under restricted liberty pending further Investigations of a murder case of which the burden of suspicion fell upon himself, while his loving and only sister arrived in Paris carrying carelessly in what looked like a twentyguinea beaded bag a roll of several thousand francs, and gave herself up immediately under Calvert’s escort to an evening of frolicsome gaiety. One thing he was forced to admit—that Nita was the focal point of admiration wherever they happened to find themselves She had changed into a demi-toilette of flame-coloured chiffon over a saffron silk, which gave her a softly shimmering effect precisely suited to set off the metallic coppery sheen of her hair and tawny eyes which held a golden light like champagne in the brilliant illumination of restaurant and cabaret. She wore no

jewels except for a string of amber beads and a topaz ring. Calvert, a good dancer, had never met with a partner whose step and balance seemed more perfectly adjusted to his own, but then he felt that Nita’s elastic resilience would give that Impression to any partner. On returning to the Cecilia, Calvert i found on his dresser a little note which read as follows: “Dear Lieutenant Steele: Just after leaving you this morning I discovered something which I feel that you should know immediately. Lady Audrey and I are leaving to-morrow noon, but unless I hear from you to the contrary I shall be in the Rose Garden at Bagatelle at ten, in the little kiosk on the rocks. 1.0. CHAPTER X. Calvert was at the place of rendezvous a good half hour before his time. # As tiis sentimental system was at that moment as susceptible as one of the flowering shrubs swelling to burgeon, he started slowly to make the circle of the place before returning to the kiosk, in which at this moment some children were playing. He followed the winding path slowly, passed the charming relic of the ancient abbey with its beautiful door, stood on the little bridge and watched the black swans deploying their fluffy cygnets, followed the wall round, and passing the house and stables, which seemed always to preserve their charming atmosphere of occupancy, came to an old gardener who was trimming and tying up, and examining his grafts on damask trees, and hardy eglantine, and chatting with some pretty children and their pretty mama. The roses bordei'ing the little plots and along the brick wall were in full bloom. At the far end_ there was a sort of tropic jungle banked with rhododendrons. The air was filled with the exquisite fragrance of double violets, mingled with the perfume of jasmine at the corner of the wall. Feeling almost light-headed, Calvert glanced across the little stretch of lawn and up at the kiosk, where his eye was caught by a flutter of white, and he saw a pongee-silk riding coat and little tricorne hat peeping from behind a pillar. Isabel also was some minutes ahead of her rendezvous, and as Calvert approached he thought she herself looked rather like one of the crimson Jaci queminots. Exercise and excitement and something else perhaps had spread a vivid colour over the semi-tropic beauty of her face, and she offered him her hand a little shyly. "You must have been surprised to get my note,” said she, “and to be asked to come away out here.” "You couldn’t have picked a more lovely spot,” said Calvert. “Isn’t it? I adore this place, but that’s not the reason I chose it. I had a special object. There is man I think you ought to see and try to learn something about, and at eleven o’clock he ought to be trying some ponies on the polo field just across the drive. His name is Howard Townley, and he is a racing man, but a professional now, and occupies some sort of position—head trainer or the like —for the Martell stables at Chantilly. He does some horse dealing on his own account, and he is coming here to show some polo ponies to an English officer named Harrod.” Calvert smiled at her eagerness. “And what particular interest has this horsey chap for us?” he asked.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps he hasn't any. But I think that he is Agnes’s best beau.” Calvert’s eyes opened very wide. “Good for you!” said he. “I found it out by accident,” said Isabel. “After you left me yesterday I was crossing the Chaussee de la Muette, and being so near his home I thought I could risk giving Jock a run, so I slipped his leash, and after he had torn about for a few moments he dashed up to a girl who was sitting on a bench with a man. I couldn’t understand Jock’s-not coming when I whistled, because the girl was hidden by a parasol. So I went over there and found that it was Agnes. She seemed very embarrassed, and introduced her friend, whom I remembered having seen talking to father at the Grand Prix at Longchamp. He told me that he knew my father, and later I asked papa about him.” “Did Agnes seem embarrassed?” Calvert asked. “Rather more than that. She was badly rattled. She told me afterward that she had known him about a month.” “How did she meet him?” “I did not ask her, nor did she volunteer it. Papa says that he knew him slightly before the war, and that he was one of those turf hangers-on that nobody knew much about that were usually to be found round the Jockey Club and Automobile Club and Henry’s Bar. He said that he had a sort of an idea that Townley was a gentleman born tvho might have bet away his inheritance and taken up the track as a means of livelihood.” “What's his description?” Calvert asked. “He’s tall and well-built in a rangey athletic way, with a rather handsome high-featured face and cold blue eyes. He has a little moustache waxed at the ends, and speaks with one of those exaggerated English accents, rather like an actor.” “A nice sort of chap for Agnes to

be meeting up with on the sly,” said Calvert. Isabel nodded. “She knows it too. She came in to Lady Audrey’s right after me and asked me not to say anything about it to Lady Audrey, to which I agreed. She told me that Mr. Townley had been - captain in the British quartermaster’s department during the war and looked after the supplying of horses, selecting those for the different branches of service—cavalry and artillery and transport—and the care or sale of those horses which had been crocked in some way, patching them up for service or selling them to farmers, and all that sort of thing. She told me also that he was the nephew of a duke, but she wasn’t quite sure the duke of what. Papa didn’t know anything about that.” “No,” said Calvert. “I imagine not. Did she tell you that he was coming out here to-day?” “She said that he was out at the polo field every morning, and as I was coming through the Bois I saw him riding down the Avenue des Acacias with a stable boy who was leading a couple of ponies.”

“I think you are a very able scout,” said Calvert. “I’ll go over there presently and have a look at him. Are you riding alone?” “Mr. Minturn’s groom, Auguste, is with me. Mr. Minturn likes to have me exercise his horses. Auguste is a nice old thing. He had a little twinkle in his eye when I told him I wanted to stop for a moment and look at the roses. He said, ‘Don’t stay too long, Mademoiselle, or they will get jealous.” “He is right,” said Calvert—“that is, about their getting jealous; but you have a few minutes to spare, haven’t you?” For Isabel had risen from the rustic seat. “Well, I can give you five more. Have you learned anything else?” “Not about our case,” Calvert answered, reseating himself at her side, “but a good deal about myself.” “What are you going to do when you come into all this wealth?” “Give a lot of it away. Y'ou may tell Lady Audrey she can count on my support.” “That’s very good of you. I don’t see how there could be a finer charity.” “Then,” said Calvert, and his grey eyes sought and held her blue ones, which there in the shadow looked a deep indigo—a warm dense colour, like that of hot Gulf Stream water against the side of a ship, “I am going to your father and present all my credentials and say to him, ‘Sir, ” —his voice deepened a little and took precisely the tone of a subaltern preferring a request to his colonel —“ ‘I have the honour to ask your permission to pay my addresses to your daughter.’ ” - The wave of colour which flooded Isabel’s face would indeed have verified the old groom’s privileged speech. She looked down at the polished toes of her riding boots. “I rather like your military method,” said she. “It makes me feel better about this.” “I rather hate the Agnes way myself,” Calvert answered. “What do you think your father will say?” The long dimple showed at the corner of her mouth. “He will probably answer: ‘Sir, your request shall be duly investigated, and —if approved—duly endorsed and referred to Mrs. Orme for her consideration.’ ” “That sounds like the easiest part of it, said Calvert. “So far as I know, my record is a clean one. I have never been in love but once before.” “Once before?” He caught a flash of blue between the black lashes. “Yes—that was at St. Jean-de-Luz about twelve years ago.” “Honestly?” “Honestly and truly, Isabel. I swear it on—on —on what is dearer to me than anything in the world. This ” He reached for her hand, which was resting on one knee, raised it, and stooping down brushed the back of it with his lips, then looked, at her with shining eyes. “Do you think that if I am lucky enough to get my official request approved at headquarters the rest is going to be terribly hard?” Isabel looked away. “Hadn’t you better get your official permission first? Besides, you've got such a frightfully important task just now. It seems scarcely right to think of anything else. Do you believe it

possible that this man Townley could have had anything to do with the crime?” “It wouldn't be fair to make even a guess,” Calvert answered. He had not looked her hand, but Isabel now drew it away, glanced at her watch and rose. “I must go now,’’ she said. “I’ve got to get back and change and meet Lady Audrey at the station at twelve She means to ask you for tea as soon as we get back. That ought to bo Monday, but one never knows for certain nowadays with these strikes. We may not succeed in getting to Romorantin at all.” * Calvert started to walk with her to the gate, but Isabel raised her hand with a debarring gesture. “Don’t come out,” she said. “Auguste doesn’t believe for a moment that it s the roses, but it can do no .harm to let him think it might be.” “Wait a moment,” said Calvert. He sped down the bank across the lawn to where the old gardener, now alone, was talking to his flowers as he pruned and tended them. "If you please,” said ne, ‘your prettiest rose for the prettiest young lady in Paris.” The old man chuckled, then glanced up at the kiosk. “You are right,” said he. Then, oui, oui, oui, the young gentleman is right. To be young and to have fought through the war »nd beat the Prussians, and then to be in love with the prettiest young lady in Paris—he could not be anything out right. I shall give you the only Du Barry which has yet flowered—the queen of this garden.” And so self-communing he went to another plot and clipped a wonderful rose with a very long stem. and straightened his aged back and handed the flower to Calvert with a military salute: ‘There, Lieutenant, may mademoiselle be pleased.” (.To be continued)