Her Hidden Husband

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 673, 27 May 1929, Page 5

Her Hidden Husband

Serial Story J

By

Arthur Applin Author of "The Dangerous Game.” "The Greater Claim" "The Woman Who Doubted ” &c., &c.

Copyright

CHAPTER XXII. Her teetli were chattering, but the ghost of a smile parted her lips. The first thought of the man who professed to love her so deeply was for himself. She turned a little to look at him—a huge dark form outlined against the light filtering in bars through the shuttered window. She had never really loved him; in the early days he had flattered her, fascinated her by his attention. What a fool she had been to marry him. Fear forced her —-fear lest he discovered her secret. Also she had felt that there might be safety in marriage; she could escape from “Jim King,” change her name, lose her former identity. “What are we going to do, Tom?” She asked the question to gain time, for at once her brain began to get busy trying to find some means of escape. “Nothing! We’re caught like rats in a trap. You realise, don’t you, what you’ve done?” He moved toward her - , threateningly. “You’ll tell Markham the truth ” “That I alone am guilty?” She kept her eyes on the fleshy, self-indulgent face. Her brain was working very quickly now. She knew she could expect no mercy from her husband. He would be just—-but his justice would be harder to bear than the selfishness and cruelty of a man like Bosworth —he would only think of saving his own skin. If she could help him to do that ? She got up and rang the bell. "What’s that for?” Bosworth demanded. “To tell Edouard to have the car ready at once.” “You don’t think you can get away like that?” he said, rvalking to the window and pushing the shutter open a little way. “Look!” Markham was sitting by the side of the road sharpening the point of a long thick stick. With every movement of his hand the knife-blade gleamed. “You don’t think he'll let you get away, do you?” Violet closed the window. “I’m not thinking just of myself, but of you. If we can get into the car and drive out from the garage, how can he stop us? He could follorv us to Marseilles, but he couldn’t, prevent us going oa board the boat.” She drew closer, putting her hands on Bosworth’s shoulder. “He hasn't proof—he can't have any proof yet.” Bosworth looked at her. She was Ino longer attractive. She had pow-

dered her face hastily, and patches of powder lay on her chin and forehead. I-ler hair was untidy; and her head strained back; her neck looked thin, the sinews standing out in hard lines. "That’s not the way. Wherever we went now he would know and follow us. He’s only got to put the machinery of the law into motion, and we should be caught.” He pushed her away. “No —anyway, my conscience is clear. Remember you deceived me as well as your husband.” The servant came into the room, and before Violet could speak, Bosworth told her to take the breakfast tray away. Violet stood peering through the shutters at her husband. He was still sharpening the stick with his knife. “He will never believe you were innocent, Tom.” she said softly. “You didn’t really fool me, dear. That’s one of the reasons why I married you because you guessed my secret. Oh, it was the money you wanted —I’m not a fool; Alfred will know that’s the reason you married me, too . . . But I do love you and I’m frightened.” “I’m not surprised!” He began to finish dressing. “I’m frightened for you,” she continued, speaking in a still lower voice. "Remember Alfred has lived all his life out in the East among savages, head-hunters. He never was like other men, he was a law unto himself. Out in the East he held life cheaply'. . . . Suppose he were to take yours ” Bosworth laughed, but his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his waistcoat. “I can look after myself. He’s not in Borneo now'.” “1 don’t trust him. Why did he follow us? As you said he could have put the law- in motion . . . Tom. don’t go alone with him anywhere. I love you; yes, though you don’t really care for me —I love you.” He stared at her as he picked up his hat and put it on. It didn’t matter to him whether she loved him or not but it flattered his self-esteem. She might help him to save his own skin. It was true what she said, too —Mark- j ham wasn’t- likely to believe he was i innocent. He walked to the window, j flung it open, pushed back the shut- ■ ters. He was beginning to feel a little afraid. He looked across the valley to the hills; not a human being in sight anywhere. Civilisation had trodden lightly here and passed on.

He felt it was a place where strange things had happened and might happen again. “Shall we go down together?” he said. Violet was Rearching in her suitcase for something. She didn't reply until she had found it: “I hate him and he knows it. The sight of me will only serve to madden him.” She thrust out her hand: it held a small black object—an automatic pistol. “Take this —please! Just in case—for self-defence. . . . Tom, I don’t trust him. Why is he sitting out there, brandishing that knife before my eyes?” Bosworth hesitated, then slowly took the pistol and dropped it carelessly into his coat pocket: “Oh, all right. . . . but remember I shall have to tell him the truth.” “I don't care what you tell him. I love you—that’s all 1 know now. Tell him anything only—only get rid of him, Tom; there's still a chance ” When he had gone she locked the door. Going back to the window she stood behind the curtain so that it hid her from anyone outside.. She saw Bosworth cross the road. Markham didn't move till he reached his side, then he slowly closed his knife and put it in his pocket, and picking up his stick, rose. She couldn't hear what either said —very little, for presently they moved away. Down a narrow path across the bridge which spanned the river and over the undulating ground that led on to the mountains. They disappeared quite suddenly in a fold or the ground. She waited awhile but they didn't reappear; nothing living crossed her vision save a long line of black birds

flapping their way lazily toward the south. She finished dressing, rang for the maid and told her to have her suitcase put on the car and inform Edouard he was to be ready to start at a moment’s notice. Pulling a chair up to the svindow she sat down and waited. CHAPTER XXIII. The sua was almost vertically overhead. Violet still sat at the window straining her tired eyes to the mountains. They had no beauty for her: they were inimical. The sky against which they stood in hard lines was like steel. Puffs of wind came in hot gusts, but sbe was cold and her hands as she twisted her fingers together felt like ice. For the second time the servant knocked at the door to ask if she could make the bed and tidy the room. Violet got up and went downstairs. Madame met her in the hall, smiled, wished her good-day and asked if they were staying the night. Violet shook her head, and clinging to the iron rail of the stone steps descended to the garage, passed quickly through it across the road, and sat on the parapet of the bridge which spanned the river. On her right she could see a little cluster of houses—the village of Lus; she turned her back on it and again fastened her eyes on the rising ground which led to the first peak in the range of mountains. She didn't know how long she had been waiting—so long that the thought came that perhaps neither of them would return. In that case she would be free; she shivered for she was too much afraid to find relief in

the idea. She tried to pray, but her mind refused to concentrate on anything. It had room for nothing but fear—fear of the unknown. If Bosworth killed her husband he might be afraid to return ... if he had killed him? When she had put the pistol into his hand she knew she had put that suggestion into his mind. Panic had prompted her, nothing else; the thought of murder had never entered her heart, she assured herself, as she covered her aching eyes with her hands. The people at the inn would, begin to suspect something; the chauffeurs must know. If Bosworth came back alone, or Markham, they would be certain to question .... As she removed her hands from her eyes she saw rising up against the steel blue of the sky a man's figure. A mile away or more: it might have been a shepherd or a farmer. She stood up. At first he hardly seemed to be moving, but gradually, she realised, he increased in size; he was coming directly toward her. She hadn't strength to move or she would have run away. It was Boswcrth or her husband, she couldn’t distinguish which yet. The sunlight played strange tricks and her eyes had grown weak with watching. (To be continued daily)