Under The Shadow

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1074, 11 September 1930, Page 5

Under The Shadow

By

Elizabeth York Miller.

Author of “ Conscience,” “ Carry On,” “ The Brass Box,” etc., etc.

CHAPTER XXVI (Continued) It was easy enough to infer that Bevans had known all along who had shot Sir Lionel Hurst. Chator, himself. knew now, but he was consider*bly mystified as to how a man confined in a madhouse could have obtained the important knowledge. The room in which Chator waited was Bevans's private sitting-room, and except for the barred windows, was cheerful, comfortable and even luxurious. There was plenty of evidence about to prove that the famous specialist was not considered to be dangerous either to himself or otherß. wor instance, a set of brass fire-irons decorated the hearth. Chator stared at them a little uncomfortably'. He was used to dealing with desperate criminals, but in common with most normal people shared a great distaste for the society of those unhappy creatures whose brains are diseased. Yet, as Dr. Anstruther, the pliysi-cian-in-charge at The Laurels, had known to remark, it was often difficult to believe that Sir Ridgewortb Bevans was anything worse than a brilliant genius suffering from overwork and wrong-headed ambition. In about five minutes the little man appeared, accompanied by the cheerfnl young nurse. She remained in the foorn, 9ea ti n g herself unobtrusively to , ■ upon a rose-coloured jumper, which was about half-knitted. . T® Chator's relief, Bevans seemed lea more cheerful than he had been , to expect. The curious eyes slowed and there was a slight pom®9 s ’ty in his manner as he invited , '’lsltor to be seated, i J knew You would be coming, and know why,” he said. “Treat me , s one man to another and I may tell - On what you wish to find out. But y ° u share the vile prejudices and of this charming nurse, men my lips are closed. Even that pretty gt r i there imagines me to be j ßane - Personally, I consider it very - ngerous to her own mentality to k ere - She lacks the bovine tl required of successful at-w-hii ntß ‘ You will observe that due she is strong and muscular her oiour is a little too high. She has ; I’ucely physical tendency to hys- - which in time will react on the i , n ” us system if she remains too •rL m tkis atmosphere . . i .J e nurse went on knitting without . U P or pay ing the slightest atntion, but Chator was forced to bserve that her colour became even

a little higher and her lips were compressed. “But that is not what you came to see me about,’* Bevans went on with icy courtesy. “I regret that we cannot have complete privacy. For the sake of science I am virtually a prisoner. I suppose that to a certain extent what the papers say is true. The hand that gave Lady Hurst freedom

from the man she didn’t want to marry was neither her lover’s nor that of the other man who had a grievance against Hurst, but a woman’s. Olive Gilder killed him, to be exact.” Chator nodded. “And she shot herself. Is it true that she is not expected to live?

"She died in hospital this morning,” Chator replied. “The best thing that; could have happened. Did she confess?” The official nodded. "Then f will tell you what site confessed —that she only intended to threaten Hurst, but his apparent indifference enraged her and she shot before she realised what she was doing. She shot herself because she feared that the police constable was there to arrest her for murder, not merely to question her about the ownership of a dog. She did not care to be taken alive and stand trial.” “That is what she said,” Chator agreed. “But, Sir Ridgewortli, how could you possibly have known all this?” The little gnome-like man shrugged his shoulders. “If I told you how I knew all of it, I would betray professional confidences. Adrian Westraore was my patient, if you remember. So, also, at one time, was this unfortunate Miss Gilder. On the afternoon of the day he was murdered, Sir Lionel Hurst came down here to see me—” “Ah!” Chator exclaimed. “Between three and six o'clock, was it?” “Yes, he arrived at four and stayed about an hour. That was the time in his movements you could not account for. The people here did not know who he was. Only I knew. He had received a letter informing him that the Gilder woman had no hold over the late Mr. Wesmore’s estate; that she was, in fact, the wife of Legree, his ex-trainer. The writer of the letter—which was anonymous—also informed him that I had knowledge of this, having attended Olive Gilder in Cannes several years ago, when she was engaged in some lawsuit in which the fact of her marriage had to be proved. I remembered the woman well, for she had interested me. “To cut the story as short as possible, I advised Hurst to pay her no more money, and his reply was to the effect that lie did not object to making her a parting gift of ten thousand, but if she made any trouble he would give her nothing. He said he had wired to Legree to come and see him, and that the Gilder woman had an appointment for a little later.” “Why didn’t you offer this evidence before!” Chator gasped. The little man grinned, and spread his hands with an expressive gesture. “Because I am a lunatic,” lie replied. “I beg your pardon.” “Not at all. You would not have listened to me.” “But, Sir Ridgewortli, liow did you know that Legree had gone to see his wife and left the dog with her?” “I didn’t. It just struck me that the disappearance of the little brown dog was too picturesque to be overlooked. And see how- right I was—for it was the dog who really saved Legree’s life. The woman would never have spoken. I’m sure.” Chator felt considerably humiliated. He, himself, had had the clue of the torn cheque, but had not acted upon it. The evidence against Legree, in conjunction with the man’s panicstricken flight, had seemed too strong. “Perhaps,” he said, “you know who sent the letter to Hurst, telling him of

this previous marriage of Miss Gil- ' der’s?” The madman’s eyes narrowed. “It might have been her sister,” he ; hazarded. “I remember her at Cannes ; —a handsome, dark girl, perpetually , at loggerheads with Olive Gilder.” \ CHAPTER XXVII. In November Enid and her cousin ; went to Italy. She had seen David only once since 1 that day they had parted with mutual j promises which neither seemed likely i to be able to fulfil. When Legree was ! captured, David felt he might venture j

' to see Enid without adding to the I scandal which had attached itself to j them. But the visit was brief and had not I ; been a great success. He still found j . it hard to forgive her for having mar- ; ried Hurst, although she was a widow j without*ever having been a wife; and ! the presence of Adela Montrose increased the awkwardness of a situai tion which at its best was not easy. I Bobby Curtis, not quite cured of his ; infatuation for Enid, maintained a cold ; attitude; Adela had been silent, and I Mrs. Hargreaves frankly disapprov- ■ ing. Enid herself—excited beyond : measure at seeing him—had felt the i chill of his own grief and disappoin;- | ment. She felt that he must despise her; j ■ that he must believe she had chosen ; to marry Hurst for the sake of money alone. It was at Mrs. Hargreaves's sugges- j tion that they went abroad. The older woman was worldly-wise j l and very far-seeing in her own way. j

She had never approved of Enid’s girlhood romance. In her opinion, David Lennox was a worthy young man, but j no fit match for such a girl. For Enid’s good—as Mrs. Hargreaves saw it—she began subtly to prove to the young widow that great wealth has its advantages. In Rome they met friends of her own youth, i and very soon Enid found herself possessed of a palace and a whole 1 retinue of servants, and Mrs. Har- j greaves induced her to entertain in a ; quiet way. Before she knew it, Lady Hurst was ; the fashion. They went to Paris, where a French

motor-car and a French maid were i added to the entourage. Also a great many new clothes. Spring found them on the Riviera, ! and they returned to England in May in Lord Delaport's yacht. Delaport was the richest bachelor peer in the United Kingdom and . Cousin Mary saw no reason why. if Enid did marry again and forfeit her own fortune, it should not be to somebody like Lord Delaport. Always at the back of Mrs. Hari greaves's mind was the conviction that Enid was made for great things. But at the back of Enid's mind was quite another ambition. Old Ways, j at least, belonged to her, and by selling off all but the house and imme- ' diate grounds, she believed that she ! could run the dear old place quite ' easily on a thousand a year. : Scarcely had they returned to Lon- ; don before, to her cousin's secret : dismay, Enid began ro dispose of I things bit by bit. First went the

j motor-cars, and then the flat in Park Lane. The house in Bedford Square j followed suit. It was unfortunate at This time that poor Cousin Mary was called out or ! town by the illness of a sister, and ! while she was away Enid accomplished \ several important matters. For one : thing, she established herself in a modest suite of furnished rooms, and ' for another called a directors' meeting I of the various companies which rep- ; j resented her interests. All the time a great anxiety dwelt in her heart. Suppose these sacri- ' | flees,' which Cousin Mary would call "’madness, were for nothing? She re- ’ ■ membered Hurst had said *o her once ; —so very long ago now it seemed—that she could never endure poverty j Would Old Ways and a thousand a ■ year spell poverty? Very likely, foi !one brought up as she had been. 3 j tTo o« Concluded Tomorrow*)