Her Hidden Husband

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 667, 20 May 1929, Page 5

Her Hidden Husband

Serial Story

By

Arthur Applin

Author of "The Dangerous Game” “The. Greater Claim” j "The "Woman Who Doubted ” die., <£c.

CHAPTER XV. (Continued) “If she takes my advice she’ll leave it where it is,” Jim said curtly. He wondered afterwards why he cared what Violet Markham did with her money. It she preferred to trust this stockbroker fellow instead of him he couldn’t help it. But after the hint she had given him about his past it wasn’t likely she would want to take his advice. He took a cab to Chancery Lane and *ent to the offices of Pyke, Collard and Pyke, the solicitors to whom his father had articled him 17 years ago. They lay at. the back of a big, gloomy building; the passages cool and dark like those leading to ci vault. Here nnd there a light gleamed dully through dusty electric globes. In the outer office behind a low wooden barrier clerks sat on high stools in. various uncomfortable attitudes; seme scribbling on foolscap, others turning musty ledgers. The shelves above their heads were piled high w ith old files so thick with dust they *ere hardly recognisable; piles of foolscap documents in faded blue and dirty white tied with red tape—it looked as though the accumulation of oeuturies lay forgotten there. He learnt from a youth with thin Untidy hair falling over a pale face that Mr. Pyke senior had retired from business. Mr. Robert Pyke was ens*§ed; perhaps he would like to see fbe managing clerk, Mr. Mason? Jim nodded: he was shown into a small room as gloomy as the outer office. A desk stood in ono corner; bred looking chairs were arranged round one wall, and against the other ha boxes piled to the ceiling with clients’ names painted on them in *“ite. He was hoping to find his own Jame among them when a voice from behind the desk asked him to take a sear.. Pulling out the least tired looking chair lie sat down, facing a very old juan who looked as if he had been born in the chair in which he sat and bud never left it. He worn goldrimmed glasses over his . Napoleonic n °se, which looked down over a long upper lip and a thin, cautious mouth. A. bigh white collar jealously guarded bis scraggy neck; the rest of him was black. “Mr. King, I believe? What can I jjo for you?” He placed his long, thin baads together. , f really wanted to see Mr. Pyke, but I hear he has retired. I daresay y °u will remember me,' though. ei Pect you were here 17 years ago?” I was here 52 vears ago,” the old replied, boring him with his e yeß. Jjm said: “Good lord —how awful l” i m very proud of the fact, sir.” Of couise—l really meant it. ®«emed rather dreadful to have been one place all one’s life.” To the modern mind perhaps. • • •

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But I ought to remember you—the name is familiar. You’re not the son o'i Mr. King, of Barton House. Taunton? . . . Well, -well —I ought to have recognised you. My memory is as good as ever it 'was, but my sight is failing I must admit, and there are Kings aud Kings, you know, sir, and not many of the right ones left.” He gave a hollow laugh at his own joke. “I was an articled pupil here ‘‘l remember the day your father brought you up. One of the old school, your father. . . . Doesn’t seem so long ago, but I’d never have known you You’ve changed—evidently you found the life you wanted.” Again the hollow laugh echoed through the room. “Many’s the time l caught you reading travel books hidden beneath Mr. Steven’s commentaries! Ah, and I remember now. when you failed to pass your intermediary for the second time you flung your books across the ofliee —you always sat by the window because you wanted air you said—and you came in and told old Mr. Pyke that you wouldn’t be a lawyer, not for anything in the world; and you were going abroad to make your fortune. I hope you succeeded: The old man took off his glasses, polished them, and replaced them. Jim shook his head: he told him as much as his imagination dared about his life out East as a rubber planter. “I have lived off the map so long, away from civilisation, that 1 ve forgotten everything that happened before I ran away. Now Im bome * thought I would like the old firm to act for me, and frankly I wanted to refresh my memory. . Air. Mason showed no surprise, but asked how he could help him. •■To be frank 1 11 come to the point at once. First of all-1 left this office voluntarily—l wasn t kicked out, or ! anything of that sort. , Mason raised his bushy e>eb ',T "Good gracious no. Mr. King to think ! of such a thing.. It would have i broken your father s heart. His oniv son voii were the apple of his eye. ! Why 'just bef ° re he died reme “ ber | him coming up and telling me h„w i well you were getting oil. What put \ such an idea iuto your head. | “ve lived too long out East ’ Jim said slowly. "I come back and find mvself a stranger ill a strange -world, rye got to pick up the threads of life again this side, and I must he certain that they are not tangled or bioken.

I met someone the other day who hinted that there was some disgraceful episode in my past, and that was why I left England.” The managing clerk ruhbed his fingers together as he looked thoughtfully at King: “A nasty suspicion of blackmail about that. I’ve had some queer and ugly cases through my fingers lately. You say you didn’t, make a fortune?”

“No, but my friend. Markham, did. He was killed you know just as we were starting on the voyage home.” Mason nodded sympathetically, advised Jim not to worry and if he was troubled again to come to him. “You left England with a clean sheet, and I know your family well enough and you, while you were here, to know you couldn’t do a mean or underhand thing.” Jim got up; he gave a great laugh which echoed strangely through the quiet offices. A clean sheet—that was all he wanted. Now he was free — free to live, to work, above, all, to love! He heard Mason ask what his plans were for the future. “I’m going to get married,” he cried. “A girl I met on the boat coming over; she’s the best woman in tjie world!” “My experience teaches me that is the woman every man marries,” Mason said dryly. But he got up and, lioldiug out his hand, congratulated Jim. “I hope we shall have the pleasure of acting for you when you draw up a settlement. A serious business —marriage, sir.” "You shall. I w-ill see about it at once.” . . . His first intention was to drive straight to Bayswater and tell Fete. He was so happy he wanted to sing as his taxi threaded its way through the crowded Strand. London looked auite different to him now —a gay and lovely citv. He felt in sympathy with all those people rushing to and fro on the pavements. Only the future mattered now for it could be built on the foundations of an honest past. . . But as his taxi turned into Piccadilly Circus he changed his mind, and told the driver to take him to Abingdon Villas. He decided he would first of all see Violet Markham, and ask what she meant by the ugly hint she had given him. “Blackmail!” olu Mason had hinted —that hardly seemed possible. But there was something wrong somewhere, something sinister, I about her threat. He was going to I find out what it meant. CHAPTER XVI. The servant informed Jim that Mrs. Markham was not at home. As the cab had stopped outside the little house he had seen her for an instant at one of the windows, and he was tempted to say he would wait until she was disengaged, but he reminded himself of the conventions of which he knew nothing, so giving his name, he walked up Kensington High Street, and took a bus to Piccadilly. He wondered why Violet had refused to see him; she could hardly have learnt to dislike him on such a short acquaintance, but it might be that for some reason he couldn't fathom she feared him. Anyway, he didn’t fear her now, nor any living creature —only perhaps himself a little. It was a queer sensation as if there were some hidden force within him waiting for an opportunity to express itself. Discovering there was a matinee at

the Ingenue Theatre he Avent to see Vera. Though he had made several attempts to meet her after returning from Somerset, she had always found some excuse for avoiding him. “I hate inquests—specially on lo\*e affairs,” she laughed, when he was shown into her dressing room. “Awfully afraid you might think I was being magnanimous or something Aveird —but I was really awfully relieved when I heard the truth from Pete. What a lovely girl she is! You are a lucky man, Jim!” “You’re a wonderful woman,” he said, whole-heartedly. “You must have found 1 it jolly hard to believe ” “I did and still do,” she interrupted, handing him a cup of tea. “But suppose you hadn’t —well, forgotten things —it would have been ghastly if Ave’d gone on pretending. Probably I have changed just as completely as you have—only I don’t know it myself. But that’s enough about the past. Tell me

jour plans. We’re going to be friends aren’t Ave? —even though we've gol to start all over again. I’m playing lead in the new show at nearly double my present salary. When are you go ing to get married ?” “At once —the moment Pete can gel her kit.” “Trousseau, you mean! Well, clon’i hurry her Jim. Remember the hap piest time in a girl’s life is not mar riage, but getting married.” Since she knew his secret, Jim tolc Vera about Violet Markham; his visii to the solicitors that morning and the joy he felt at discovering he had done nothing in his past of which he neec feel ashamed. “I could haA*e told you that,” Vert laughed. “There are lots of things could tell you about the past—more perhaps, than it would be good for yoi to know. But, seriously, Jim, if eve you are in trouble and your memor; wants refreshing, come along and IT i help. But I’ve got to do a quid ; change now, and since we’re onl;

friends, better clear out! The best of luck and be quick and find yourself.” She hadn't meant to say that. When he had gone she took his photograph from the Avail, looked at it thoughtfully and sighed. There were some things which baffled even women’s instincts and Jim King was one. It didn’t seem possible that a man could so completely lose his identity. The East and the work he had done out there would account for the physical change but could a shock alter a man’s character so completely? She talked the matter over with Denny for she had taken a genuine fancy to Pete, and in a way she felt responsible for Jim. Denny tvas obviously prejudiced by his love for Pete; now that she was finally lost to him he wanted to forget the whole affair and lie refused to discuss the matter. When Jim told Pete about his A'isit to the lawyers she received the news of liis having nothing to fear from the past without the least surprise. In her OAvn mind there had never been the shadoAV of a doubt concerning his past: indeed, he Avas almost disappointed at her calm acceptance of Avhat to him was such an important discovery. “Darling, don’t you knoAv that no matter Avliat you have done or what you have been, I should love you just the same,” she said. “I love you for yourself.” He crushed her in his arms. “I don’t knoAv how 1 love you but I know without you life would have no meaning of reality for me. Ever since I landed in England I have felt like a ghost groping its Avay through a graveyard trying to get back—. But that’s all over iioav —l’m a man again, and I want to live every moment of my neAv life. So you won’t keep m« waiting, Pete?” She pressed her cheek against his; suddenly shy—great joy makes a woman veil herself. “I expect there will be a lot of things for both of us to arrange and think about, Jim —” “Yes, . after we’re married,” lie laughed. “Scores of things! That’s how we’re going to spend our life What about next week; could you be ready?”* She looked at him then; she coulc hide no longer from happiness; hei cheeks Avere rosy, her eyes like stars “Darling we’re living in London, no in Fairyland. One can’t —” “I can!. A special licence, the: away while the old home is beinj got ready for us. We don't wan to travel any more, do we? Bu somewhere in the mountains —tin Alps, in France, say—and the hills.’ climb the peaks, hide from the in quisitive world and enjoy the hospit alitA r of the peasants—and the hills.’ She reminded him she was a womai and that she must have clothes am not for her own pleasure alone. Re membering Vera’s adi'ice, Jim sai< be would giA r e her until the end of th month; she could fix the exact da; herself and tell him the followin; evening when he was going to tak her out to dinner and a dance aftei wards in order to celebrate their er ■ gagement officially. They met at the Ambassador [ Restaurant where Jim, Avith the hel : of the maitre d’hotel, had ordered ■ perfect little meal. Pete was wearin

a new frock which might have been ; made by Jean Patou, but which under ] Vera’s guidance she had bought in Soho. “You look divine!” Jim whispered. ' She said she had spent a hectic:] day; Vera had rung her up and ; offered to help her with her trousseau. “She has been a perfect angel; she knows just the right places and she has exquisite taste. too. We’re going to spend a wonderful week together—shan’t have a moment for you, Jim!” She smiled and he asked if it was to be the end of the week. She shook her head and said the first day of the new month. Jim drew’ a long face; | it was an awful time to wait —and he’d be worrying all the time. He : : didn’t know w’hat about —just worrying till she was safe in his arms and they were safe in the arms of the French Alps. She found an envelope lying in her serviette on the table. “Don’t open it.” Jim said awkwardly, “its just a : cheque. J want you to have, well, just wliat you most want yourself; what perhaps you always dreamed of having when you got married. Don’t i look at it —just put it in your bag then look at me and let’s talk of — life!” Careless of who saw he leant across the table and took her hand and kissed it. “Oh, my dear, my dear —what a wonderful thing life is; what a priceless possession when one crowns it with love.” It was ten o’clock before they went on to dance at the Savoy; nearly three hours over dinner! Though they hadn't really known what they ate or what they drank they knew it was ; food and drink provided by the gods, j

and now as they passed through the pretty entresol of the Savoy the music of the gods met them —the band was playing a dreamy waltz. They walked down the steps hand in hand like children bent on discovery but as they reached the floor Jim stopped. Bosworth and Violet Markham came toward them; they had been dining, there and were just leaving. “This is nice!” Violet gushed, taking Pete’s hand. Jim noticed hers was covered with rings. She was wearing a long double | row of peals around her neck; her ! sleeveless dress, cut low at the back, heavily beaded, swung with suggestive i luxury about her knees, i She told Jim she was so sorry she ; had missed him when he called the other day. “If only you had been a little earlier you would have found i me.” “Just called to see how you were and to know if there was anything ! could do for you,” he said brusquely “Mr. Bosworth was asking my advice j on your behalf.” ! Bosworth nodded. “Though we didn’t quite see eye to eye, it won'i be wasted. I suppose you young people are going to enjoy yourselves dancing?” Pete nodded as she slipped her arn through Jim's. “To celebrate our en gagement; we’re going to be marriet lon the first of July.” “How splendid!” Violet said quickly “Let me congratulate you both—an< j yet. people say there is no romance left in the world.” “Isn’t there!” Bosworth boomed; li< i looked at Violet. “We know bette J than that.”

But she interrupted him. saying they i were spoiling a good dance. Jim i watched them out of sight over his ! shoulder, then he took Pete in bis arms, and they glided across the floor. “Jim, I’m so happy—hold me very tight or I shall think it’s a dream. It lis real, isn’t it —we’re both here? Listen, I’ll tell you a secret —I’m terribly proud of you; you’re so different from other men . . . where did you ! learn to dance?” “I didn't know I could till now.” he replied vaguely. He was thinking of Bosworth. He i didn’t want to, but the follow s face haunted him. He felt he wasn’t straight; it seemed obvious he was after Violet Markham’s money, and Jim was wondering whether he oughtn’t to do something about it. Markham had told him to take care of his girl. But he was only human and Bosworth faded from his memory as he remembered that he had found his girl and there wasn’t room for anyone else in his heart but her. Violet and Bosworth had got into their hired Daimler and were being driven along the Strand. He v.a----1 criticising her frock. "It’s smart enough. I admit, but it shows too much 1 leg, my dear. For instance, when you ■ sit down ” l Violet smiled; his opinion about her {clothes didn’t affect her. She liked • him to notice her and the air of proI prietorship he assumed was rather i pleasing. ‘ They’re very nice legs.” she purred. “I rather thought you had s 5 weakness that way, specially where ’ chorus girls are concerned.” (To be continued daily)