THE LOCKED ROOM

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 689, 14 June 1929, Page 5

THE LOCKED ROOM

SERIAL STORY ]|

By

E. Clepham Palmer.

CHAPTER XX.—OLIVE THINKS OP A JOB. “How did you know it was Mrs. Tuddenham singing?” “It was the same voice I’d heard at ‘The Cedars.’ ” Felscombe stood up. “Before we go there’s one other thing I’d like to be clear about. Where is Mrs. Tuddenham now—at ‘The Cedars’ or Winchester?” “Winchester,” said Bassett. “My sister is at ‘The Cedars.’ ” "Good. Then I suggest, Widhurst, that you and I go down to Winchester tomorrow afternoon.”

When Felscombe and Widhurst called at their flat In the morning they found Olive dressed to go out. “I'm just going to find a job,’’ she said brightly, as she shook hands. “A job? What job?” . demanded Felscombe. Olive smiled. “I’ve been discussing it with your housekeeper. Mrs. Sparks, and she thinks I ought to do quite well as a mannequin. She’s a dear old thing.” Felscombe walked impatiently across the room and seized a tin of cigarettes. “A mannequin!” “But why not, Mr. Felscombe? Mrs. Sparks says I’m rather pretty.” "Rather!! I like that!” “And she says that a pretty girl can always get a job to show off dresses in the big shops. I believe 1 should rather like it. It must be jolly to wear beautiful dresses that one can’t afford to buy oneself. Fancy wearing a hundred-guinea dress!” Felscombe turned desperately to his friend. “For heaven's sake, M idhurst. uut your foot d wn. We can’t

mu&it jjui j uui allow this sort of thing.” “Might I suggest,” said Widhurst, “that Miss Western would be better to wait till Miss Ashton comes back? I’ve no doubt that she'd be able to think of something more . . . more suitable.” Olive laughed, while the two men remained gravely standing by the tit eplace. “You’re both awfully funny and awfully kind: but what else can I do? You see. I'm not qualified for anything. I never suspected to have to earn a living. I always thought these things arranged themselves—somehow. They always used to. But it’s all different now. And I rather like it. I feel free —for the first t ( me —•> She hesitated, and then added gaily. “I wonder if I could walk gracefully enough for a mannequin' May I try? You can be the judges.” With her head thrown back and a little smile on her lips she walked slowly across the room. As she turned she looked at the two men still

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standing gravely by the fireplace. The smile left her lips and found its way to her eyes. Slowly, with the grace of a fawn, she walked back to her chair by the window. Theu she turned challengingly to the judges. “How’s that? Do tell me! Was I too stiff? D’you think I shall do?” The two men looked helplessly at each other. Then Felscombe threw his cigarette into the grate, and Widhurst took another out of the tin on the mantelpiece. “I can see,” said Olive, “that you don’t think I should be a success. And yet Mrs. Sparks ” “Mrs. Sparks,” protested Felscombe. “She’s no right to say anything. What did she say?” “She said that she thought I’d do splendidly. She quite cheered me up.”

‘‘Of course you’d do splendidly,” protested Felscombe. “Too splendidly!” •*Oh. I’m so glad you think that,” said Olive, quickly. “Mrs. Sparks wasn't quite sure whether I wouldn’t do better in what she caled a beauty chorus. She seemed to think my hair ” “What did she say about your hair?” “Well, she really made me feel rather | vain. She said it was pretty, and just the right colour . . . and all sorts |of other things. And she was sure I was pretty enough to get a job in a j chorus —if I could dance. I wonder if I could?” She looked up expectantly. Felscombe threw another cigarette , into the grate. “Of course,” she went on brightly. ; “I could always get a job as a cook

bur Mrs. Sparks didn't think I was very suitable for that. She kept on saying I ouj\it to be a mannequin. She said she'd love to see me in a preety dress.” “I shall have to talk to Mrs. Sparks,” said Felscombe grimly. “Ob. please don’t. She was so aw-

: fully kind. She offered to come with Ime if I didn't like to go alone. She i said she wasn't afraid of anyone. ! Well, good-bye, I must be going now. Thank you ever so much for letting . me stay here last night." She held : out her hand. Felscombe refused to take it. “Miss | Western,” he said, firmly, “we can't allow you to run away like this, I feel i —apart from anything else—that I’ve : ! a certain responsibility. It’s largely ; i due to my interference that you had ' to leave ‘The Cedars.’ Mr. Tuddenl | ham knows that I’m interested in the 1 extraordinary position there, and his ? behaviour to you is one of the re--1 [ suits.”

“Oh, I’m sure y’ou needn’t feel that. Fie was alway’s rather dreadful — really! ” “But I do feel it,” protested Felscombe. “I feel it very strongly. I beg you to let me do what I can. For a few days I want y r ou to take things easily’. You’ve had a very difficult time. Later we can discuss

these —these tilings in which Mrs. Sparks appears to be so interested. In the meantime you can do us the greatest possible service by coming for a motor ride into the country.” She turned and walked to the window. “It’s a beautiful day’,” she said slowly. “Will you come?”

For a moment she remained standing in silence by the window. Then she turned quickly and said, with a new seriousness. “You’re very kind. I think I must come. I can’t resist this sun.” She hesitated, and then added, with a smile: “But I must, really find a job tomorrow.”

On their way to fetch the car Widhurst suddenly’ turned to Felscombe and said, almost angrily, “Why don’t you marry' her?” “Marry her! What on earth do you mean?”

Widhurst relieved his impatience by’ walking quicker. “For heaven’s sake, don’t start posing again. It’s as clear as daylight that y’ou’re. in love with her.” “In love! My dear fellow’! How many more times must I tell you.” “And she knows it.” interrupted Widhurst, brusquely’. “She knows it as well as I do.”

“You interest me. What makes >'ou say r that?” “This morning you gave yourself away. Any girl could tell. Your indignation when she said she was going to find a job, the way you.kept throwing excellent cigarettes into tlie fire, your jealousy’ of Mrs. Sparks—it was all as clear as daylight.” “You interest me more and more. This is all news to me.”

“Nonsense! You know’ as well as l do —as well as Miss Western does--that you’re in love with her.” “My’ dear Widhurst! Don’t be angryr with me. What d’you suggest I should do?” “Ask her to marry you!”

Felscombe made a gesture of dismay. “But that needs audacity, conceit. courage, recklessness—all sorts of qualities that I’m not conscious of possessing.” “Humbug! Look here, Felscombe, if y’ou don’t, I shall.” Felscombe stood still on the pavemeut and looked indignantly at his friend. “You! My dear Widhurst, try to be a little reasonable.” “Wliat d’y'ou mean?” “I don’t wish to hurt your feelings, bui . .

“But what?” “Oh. nothing, old man. At least, it occurred to me . . .” “What occurred to you.”

He hesitated. “Well, it seemed to me that Miss A.shton might have | something to say.”

“I’ve already' proposed to Daisy’ at least a dozen times,” protested Widhurst. “There’s no need to . . . overdo that sort of thing. Anyhow, I tell you frankly that unless you ask Miss Western to marry you within a week . . . Wliy’. she’s the prettiest, the most charming The fact is, Felscombe, you're a fool.” Felscombe laughed. “So you really’ think I’ve given Miss Western the impression . . .?” “Ol course, you have. Why didn’t you let. her get a job as a manuequiu ?” “It hardly seemed suitable You yourself ” “I lcnow! It. annoyed mo as much as it annoyed you. And why did it annoy’ us? Because we're both keen on , her. We both hated the idea, of letting her go. Y’ou knew aud T knew that after she’d been knocking about London for a day’ or two some other wretched man. ... It would be bound to happen. And you don’t want it to happen, do y r ou?” “I admit,” said Felscombe, slowly’, . that it would annoy me to find that some other man had the audacity’ to expect Miss Western to marry him.” “Exactly! That means you’re in « love with her. So am I.” ; “Oh, y’ou! Y'ou are alway’s imagin- > ing.” > “You can sa,y what. y r ou like, but I mean it. She’s wonderful. The way she walked across the room! The light in her hair! What a fool you are, Felscombe! But I’ll give y’ou the l first chance. It isn’t easy’—but I will. After all, you—y’ou discovered her.”

“You needn’t consider me in the least. I’m certain she’d refuse you.” Widhurst turned indignantly. “Because she’s keen on y r ou?” “Not at all. I’ve a higher opinion of Miss Western. But it’s clear that all you admire is her prettiness. I rather think she's not the girl to be attracted by’ that sort of admiration.” I “It isn’t only that. It’s more than! that.” “It can’t be. You’ve only seen her twice.” i “Twice! Once is enough. Haven't s you ever heard of love at first sight?” j “l r es. but it’s all rubbish. it sim- . ply' means that her preMiness attracts I you. I'm always sorry’ for very | pretty girls. No one really’ likes them, j Why you yourself—what did you rave j about? The colour of her hair, the I way she walked across the room. . . . ilt won’t do, Widhurst. You’re nor ir. ! love with her. Y'ou're fascinated by I her beauty. That's a very different i thing.” “Fantastic nonsense!” “Y’ou may say so. but you’re wrong. You know how I’m cursed with good looks. You know how every girl collapses and thinks she’s in love with me. You know that I’d give a lor to be five feet four and ugly instead of ] six foot three and good-looking. . . H ! Y'ou may* laugh, but it’s true. Only the I really plain men can know what love I is ’” i “So you're going to let Mi*s Wesi- ‘ ern get a job, and you're going to led | some other man ”

“I don't know'. Why should we assume that anything we can say will j make any difference to her? Anyhow, our immediate business is to take her for a ride and to pay a second visit to that very interesting house outside Winchester."

“I believe,” protested Widhurst, “that you're more interested in this wretched mystery than in Miss Western.” “I am,” said Felscombe, as they entered. the garage. W’dhurst laughed. CHAPTER XXI. —THE JOY RIDE Olive frankly surrendered herself to enjoying the ride. As she stepped into the car she turned to Felscombe at the wheel and said gaily, “Please go as fast as you can. It’s months since I saw the country—and I’m tired of being a prisoner in London. Let's hurry up before the sun goes in.” Felscombe needed no pressure to go fast. Tn a few minutes they had reached Putuev Bridge, after what appeared to be a series of the narrow est possible escapes, and soon they were tearing down Kingston Hill at a speed which drew a protest from Widhurst.

But Olive revelled in it. “This is just what I've been longing for,” she cried, as the wind swept her face. “What a beautiful car! Do let it go! Faster!”

Felscombe smiled. “You’ll get us in trouble. We’re doing over forty now. Did you see that policeman ?” “Never mind! He’s miles behind now. How far is it to the country? We can go slowly then —can’t we? Very slowly. And may we get out to try to find some flowers? I’ve been

living, you know, in a garden without flowers.”

Felscombe turned quickly. “I know! We’ll stop as often as you like. We’ll leave the car and go into the. fields. You shall have all the flowers there are. No one needs them more. We’ll fill the car with them.”

“May we? I'd love to. Y’ou see, I’ve been a prisoner so long. I feel now as if I were escaping—from something dreadful. Must we go so slowly. I’m sure someone must be following us. I can’t believe we’re goiug fast enough. There's a car just behind! Faster! Faster!

Suddenly Olive stood up and looked round over the back of the car. “I wonder who it is! It can’t be Oh, I do hope it isn’t But they can’t possibly catch us. We’re gaining ’’ Felscombe put his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry! No one’s following us. I know that car. It’s from the same garage. We’ll let it pass if you like.” He slowed down, and in a few moments a big closed car swept past. “I’m sorry,” said Olive, as she sat down. “I'm awfully sorry. It was very silly of me. But it’s so difficult to believe that I’m free ” “Don’t worry. Nothing can happen. We're going to have a good day. Till we get to Winchester we re going to forget all about ‘The Cedars’ and everything else ”

“If you take many more corners like that,” protested Widhurst, “we shan’t get to Winchester at all. D'you know. Miss Western, that Felscombe’s j the most reckless driver in London?” j “Don’t take any notice of him,” said ; Felscombe, as he pressed the aeeel- ! erator and the car leapt forward along

the straight, stretch to Esher. “He’s far more reckless than I am. He’s landed me in the ditch twice.”

“When you know him better,” said Widhurst, “you’ll discover that ho handles the truth very Stead y, old man. there’s a limit here” “Surely not? Well, we’re through now! The country at last. Aliss Western. But no flowers! Shall we keep going a bit?” “Yes, rather! We’re not really out of London jet. This isn’t the real country.” They climbed a hill, and turned a corner. “Ah! this is better. Please slow down, Mr. Felscombe. We’re going much too quickly past these trees. Look at them! Just like the illustrations in a fairy story! What would you call that wood? ‘Barrie Mansions?’ No, that’s not good enough. Do suggest a better name. And may we stop, please? I’d love just to walk into that wood.” The car skidded along the road and pulled up with a jerk. Widhurst smiled as he opened the door, and continued to smile as he looked at the track made by the skidding tyres. Olive jumped out, followed by Felscombe. Without waiting to discover what amused Widhurst they started to walk toward the little pinewood on the heath about a hundred yards from the road. It was not until they reached the wood that they realised ! they were alone. | “I am afraid there aren’t any ! flowers,” said Felscombe. “But surely there must be some primroses? You don’t say there ; aren’t any primroses? There must ! be.” (To be continued daily.)