THE LOCKED ROOM

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 690, 15 June 1929, Page 22

THE LOCKED ROOM

SERIAL STORY |

By

E. Clepham P almer.

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER XXl—(Continued) “It doesn't look like it. There’s nothing but heather, and were too early for that. We’ll come again .. . later on . . . when the heather’s out.’’ Olive looked up quickly. “Oh, please don’t talk about ‘later on.’ I want to forget about ‘later on’ . . . and everything else —except today. I want to enjoy today . . . just today. Isn't it beautiful?” She threw her head back and looked across the heath. "Shall we go along this path?” said Felseombe. "Yes, we must. It looks such a friendly little path. I’m sure it leads to some beautiful place.” After walking for a few minutes — almost in silence —they came to the end of the path, an abrupt end. "Oh, how disappointing,” said Olive. "It i3n*t such a nice path as I thought. May we try another? I’m sure there’s one somewhere that leads. . . "Of course there is,” said Felscombe. “Let's try that one over there. . . .” When they returned to the car Widhurst looked severely at them. “Do you know I’ve been waiting here nearly an hour?” “Nonsense!” said Felseombe, taking out his watch. . . . “Good heavens, Miss Western, he’s right!” After driving a few miles along the road they came suddenly on a lake glistening among pinewoods. The water broke in little ripples on the i grass bordering the road. Olive quickly put her hand on Felscombe’s arm. “Do stop!” she cried. “We can’t possibly pass this. Look at the sun on the water! I’d love to have a swim. Can’t we? And there's an inn—just in the right place.” She hesitated, and then looked up at Felscombe as the car stopped with a jerk. “May we have lunch here —sitting by the window in a room looking over the lake?” Felseombe looked at the inn and the lake, and then at Olive. “It’s rather early. I thought we’d lunch in Guildford. But if you’d rather ” She turned appealing to Widhurst. “Don’t you think this is a perfect place?” “Yes, I do,” said Widhurst stoutly. “I agree it would be a sin to lunch anywhere else.” Felseombe stopped the throbbing engine. “Very well. Let’s get out. This is your day, Miss Western. You’re in command. We'll lunch where you like, and well dine where you like. You’ve only to give us your orders, and we ll carry them out to the letter.” “I’m afraid I'm very selfish,” said Olive as she jumped out of the car, “but I really couldn’t pass such a beautiful place.” She looked up smilingly at Felseombe. “Do forgive me. We’ll go as fast as you like afterwards, and I’ll shut my eyes when we’re coming to anything specially pretty.” A new expression passed over her face. “You see,” she added gravely, “I haven”t seen anything beautiful for so long. Just to stand in the sun. . . .” Her eyes glistened. “We’ll stay here as long as you like,” said Felseombe, hurriedly. “We’ll staly a week, a month, two months. . . .” Olive looked gratefully at him. “I’d love to, but I’m afraid it’s all too good to last. It’s no use trying to make things last, d’you think? Some people seem to be able to, but I never know how they manage it. I’m always afraid to try.” "Nonsense!” protested Felseombe. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t stay here. We’ll get a room for you.” He walked toward the entrance to the inn. Olive hurried after him. “No, no! I was only joking. I couldn’t possibly stay here. It would be too —too risky. I should be afraid of finding in the morning that it wasn’t so beautiful as I thought.” Felseombe paused in the porch and . looked down severely at her. “You know, Miss Western,” he said slowly, “this won’t do at all. It seems to me I that you're afraid of being happy. You ! suspect that you may be disillusioned ' at any moment. You haven’t the—j the courage to take risks.” j For a moment she remained silent. I Then she said quickly: “But we’re spoiling it already. We’re talking ! about it when we ought to be just eni lfying everything. Already the sun is different. It isn’t quite the same as when we stopped.” "You’ even suspect the sun,” protested Felseombe. She smiled. “No, it isn’t really that. I mean that it’s no good grasping at anything.” “I don’t agree,” Felseombe replied to Olive. “You should never let anything beautiful escape . . . You find this place beautiful. Very well! We’ll grasp it with both hands. You shall stay here as long as you like. You shall have the best, the sunniest, the prettiest room. When you get up in the morning you shall see the sun on the lake across the road. You shall hear the birds singing—” “Oh, please don’t. Mr. Felseombe! I’m sure it would never happen. I coukl never be so happy as that.” She took his arm and drew him away from the porch. Widhurst walked quickly toward them. “What on earth are you people arguing about?” “Miss Western refuses to be happy. Although this is the best place she's seen for years, I can’t persuade her jto take a room here. She’s afraid that the lake -wouldn’t look the same in the morning. She daren’t take the risk of finding when she gets up that the sun isn't shining. For heaven’s sake, Widhurst, see what you can do!” Widhurst looked from one to the j other. Then he smiled mysteriously, j “It’s no good looking like that,” protested Felseombe. “Say something! Persuade Miss Western that the thing to do is to take a room here for a week at least! Give her the courage of her convictions!” Widhurst continued to smile. “I’ve no doubt that Miss Western knows best.” "Nonsense! She refuses to stay—although this is exactly where she ~ ! ought to stay. Can’t you see that she i completes the thing—that she is ; exactly what the artist has left out?” 1 Widhurst looked apologetically at Olive. “Don't take him seriously. He i sometimes gets these attacks.” ! “You may smile, old man, but you’re j wrong. What's worse, you’re blind. ! There’s something missing on that j lake, along that path through the

woods at : the window there. You j know as well as I do —” “That Miss Western completes the j picture?" “Exactly. It’s her duty—her artis- j tic duty—to stay here.” Olive laughed. “It’s very nice ot j you to say so, but I’m afraid, as Mr. j Widhurst says, that it's really—-” "He knows nothing about it. Take no notice of him.” He hesitated, and j then hurried to the cal'. “At any rate,” he added, as he took out a | camera, “let us make the thing complete—if only on paper. Be good | enough, Miss Western, to stand in the sun by the lake, just there by the silver birch. Good! Now look round—Excellent! That’ll do.” Widhurst turned quickly to his friend and said in an undertone: “I’ll give you another chance this afternoon. If you haven't proposed by five o'clock I shall —” Olive led the way into the inn. CHAPTER XXII.—THE WINCHES- ! TER HOUSE It was a merry meal in the room looking over the lake. Olive accepted Felscombe’s challenge. She consented to be happy. Sitting by the window with a shaft of sun playing on her golden hair, she seemed like a schoolgirl just home for the holidays. She insisted that everything was perfect. When Widhurst suggested that the soup was cold, she declared that it couldn’t be better. When Felscombe complained of the wine, she protested that it was the best of ail wines. For an hour she was as gay as the sunlight that danced on the walls. “Must be really go?” she asked, when Felscombe called for the bill. “I can’t believe that today is like an ordinary day. I’d like to call it ‘The Day That Never Came to An End’ ” she hesitated —“but did you notice that? The sun has left us! Look! There’s a cloud —the first cloud of the day. I wonder what it means? I hate clouds.” She looked up nervously at Felscombe. “Will you promise me something? I’ve been so happy that I can't help thinking that something’s going to happen. I can’t believe that we can go on for long like this. It was all so different at ‘The Cedars.* Will you promise not to leave me alone till we get back to London?” “You’re beginning to worry again. There’s not the slightest reason why you should. Nothing can happen. We’ll just run down to Winchester.” “Must we go to Winchester?” “Yes. I want to try to see Mrs. Tuddenham. But we shan’t be there more than a few minutes. Then we’ll go where you like. We’ll just potter back along the road, and you shall tell us where you’d like to dine." “You’re very kind —too kind. But sometimes, you know, when I remember how we met, I wish—how can I put it?—l wish that we’d met in the ordinary way. I’d feel more more easy about it all. You see, we met very unexpectedly, didn’t we? And I’m a little afraid that we shall part unexpectedly.” She hesitated, and crossed to the window. “And yet I don’t know! Look! The sun’s out again. Let’s go quickly before another cloud comes.” The two men looked at each other as they hurried to follow her out of the room. In the car Olive seemed to recover iter confidence. Felscombe drove slowly and several times they stopped so that she might gather flowers. Once Widhurst insisted that he should stay in the car while Felscombe and Olive explored a meadow in search of purple orchids. When they returned he looked significantly at his friend. “Don’t be grotesque!” protested Felscombe in an indignant, undertone. Just before reaching Winchester, Felscombe suddenly pulled up the car. Through the trees they could see a big rambling house standing behind an ill-kept lawn. “Is this the place, Widhurst?” “Yes. The gate’s 50yds further on. What are you going to do?” (Suddenly Olive stood up. “Listen!” From the house came faintly the sound of a woman’s voice singing plaintively. They listened in silence till it died away. Felscombe turned to Olive and noticed that the colour had left her face. “That was Mrs. Tuddenham?” "Yes. It’s one of her favourite songs. I’ve heard her sing it dozens of times. It isn’t a happy song, but she always used to say that it made her feel better. I wonder —” “Yes?" “I wonder why she sings it now? She must be unhappy. She always sang It when she wanted cheering up. Perhaps I could see her.’ Widhurst jumped out of the car. “The first thing to do is to find out whether Tuddenham’s there or not. I suggest that I go up to the house and ask if I can see him. If he’s there X can easily make some excuse. If he's not, then you and Miss Western can go along soon after in the car and say that you want to see Mrs. Tuddenham.” “A good idea. Nip along at once. We’ll wait here.” In a few minutes Widhurst returned. “It’s all right,” he called out as he approached the car. “There’s no one there except an old woman and Mrs. Tuddenham. You’d better drive up at once.” A few minutes later Felscombe pulled up in front of the foi'biddinglooking door. He noticed that the paint was peeling, and that the -whole house was in a neglected condition. In response to his knock, a greyhaired woman, wearing a dirty apron, reluctantly opened the door, and stood inside still holding the handle. “Can I see Mrs. Tuddenham?” said Olive. “What name, please?” “Miss Western. I am Mrs. Tuddenham’s niece.” “Sorry, miss, but my orders are that no one’s to see Mrs. Tuddenham. It’s | doctors orders. She ain’t well, you see. ; She never leaves her room, not even to take a walk round the garden.” “But 1 wouldn’t disturb her. I’m sure she’d be glad to see me.” “I daresay, miss, but orders is orders. It’s as much as my place is worth to disobey the master.” “When d’you expect Mr. Tuddenham?” asked Felscombe. “Can’t say, sir. He may_ be here any minute, or he may not. You never know, sir.” “Is Mrs. Tuddenham any better?” asked Olive. (To be Continued daily)