The Girl a Million Knew

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 55, 11 April 1914, Page 4

The Girl a Million Knew

(By HEKBEBT SHAW, author of "The House of Many Secrets," etc.)

[Copyright.]

CHAPTER XXVlL—(Continued.) THE VERY LOST GUEST.

It was soon made plain that the collection of candles was, luckily, to be no more than a temporary expedient. The electrical staff were already at work repairing the effects of the accident. As only enough candles had been hastily gathered to light one room well, it w r as quickly decided that the room thus singled out should be the cardroom, and in a very few minutes roulette and baccarat were in full swing. Amid the bustle and excitement of the mishap, the strange intensity of Norman Fox's recital of the plot of-'his play was forgotten by those who had heard it, and had witnessed its effect upon their hostess. When the electric lights, .went -up again, half an hour later, it was the signal for school-boyish cheers and laughter from all except the gamblers, already too intent upon their game to take notice. Then it was that Florence Kent looked round for Norman Fox. | But unobtrusively, without farewell, re i had slipped away. "No, thanks," said Leila. "I'm tired as a dog, but I won't stop here. I'll get along to my own place." All the guests had gone. Standing by one of the card tables, with its disorder of cards, which had" -overflown on to the floor, Leila looked unusually | white. She was smoking a cigarette, I with quick nervous puffs, : as women | smoke when their nerves are on. the strain.

"You'd much better stay here." Her mother looked at her keenly. " It's horribly late, and you look as though you couldn't drag one foot after the other.''

Leila shook her head decisively. "I couldn't breathe here, "she exclaimed. "I've lost seven hundred pounds, if I've lost a penny. I don't know why it is, but if people are rolling in money they're always the owes to\vin. That wretched German bounder must have-lOU's of mine for five hundred at least. It's disgusting." Florence Kent laughed. \

"You don't look very bright and happy, either, if we're talking about looks. What was the excitement in your crowd before the .i'ights wewt out?"

A grey shadow passed,, across the elder woman ? s face. Bnt she was dis.inclined to talk of that now. Against hope, she clung to the idea that what Fox had said was to be explained by coincidence alone.

"It was nothing of importance," she answered.

''l. don't believe you," her da\xghter r»torted. ''You looked like a ghost. But it doesn't matter. I'll go in your room and get my things." Left alone, Florence Keufe passed a hand wearily across her face. The ticking of the clock wasf-aboiuinable. It reminded her of another night when the ticking of the clock had been like little nails hammering into Iter brain —the night Durham Kent had died. She and Leila had settled Christine between them —the girl was removed from their path. Everything was going

well. And now that frightful danger of the dead man's last letter had appeared again, more hideous than ever. It was worse than if a dead man's lips had spoken those last words. He hated her, his wife, and she had given him full cause. So, in his hate, he had made devilishly sure. The words were -written, not spoken, and well Florence Kent knew that those written words had power to wreck her —to destroy her utterly. Her face was the face . of an old woman, as once more she asked herself what Norman Fox, the playwright, had meant,~and what he knew. In her old days on the stage-she had known him well. They had been in touring companies together. There had never been much liking between them. Was there anything in that bygone time to explain the almost" fierce pleasure with which he had filing his story direct <at her, in front of her guests? . i She shuddered again at the recollection of that moment. She was suddenly awakened out of her miserable contemplations by a shrill, scream from Leila. Heavens! What had happened? Pulling herself together, she rushed from the room. In a state of semi-collapse, Leila sat huddled on a chair before the mirror of the dressing table. The cause was plain. In the mirror she had suddenly caught siglit of a man's face, the face of a man who; had been concealed behind the heavy curtains at the back of her. He was standing now in the centre of the room, his monkey-like features twisted into a grin at the effect of his sudden appearance. Florence Kent, after a glance at her daughter, walked boldly up to the intrude]'. "Who are you?" she demanded. ''And how did you get in?" The little bullet-headed man was as composed as herself. Still grinning, his hand went instinctively to his forehead in recognition of a superior. i "Scrubb Jones, thank you, lady. I'll I be honest with you, ma'am. I was j hanging abaht when that there aceiident happened, so I just slipped in good land quick. I'm the last guest of %he j ! whole lot, lady," he added, ludicrously. j Without a word, Florence Itent j moved to the door. | The tone of the intruder changed. i "Here, lady, what's your game? "he | asked, quickly. I "I'm going to call somebody up to i take charge of you till the police come, j you little rat,'" she exclaimed con- | temptuously. ! "Then you jest listen," Scrubb Jones [shot at her, with such a marked and [confident authority that Florence Kent turned. "Or, ef' yer do, while ye're ! abaht it, you might give the police a j tip from me.'' I "What do you mean?" I "It's easy, lady. Jest tell 'em from ! me that I've got a job for 'em. Ask | 'em if they ever made any enquiries | how Mr Durham Kent died, on a night ! in his house at Englefield some time j back. Mr Kent, he who was your husband, lady. Get on to your blooinin' police, and ask 'em that, and say Scrubb Jones was there, sun I p'r'aps ; I he'll tell 'em, if they're very gootil"

CHAPTER XXVIII. The Man Wfeo Knew. A dreadful silence followed. Collapsed in the chair, motionless since her cry of fear at the appearance of the intruder, her head fallen a little forward, Leila was like a stiff and I grotesque dummy in which life had j suddenly stopped. Neither her mother nor Scrubb Jones took any notice of her. Then the little man, dwarfish and evil, looked into the greyish face of the elder woman, muttered again, defiantly: "You'd send for the police, would you? I'd like to see you try it on, that's all." With a great effort Florence Kent roused herself to action. Going over to her daughter, she shook her by the shoulders, 'and Leila opened vacant eyes. "Wake up!" she commanded. "There's nothing to be afraid of. Here, sit in this armchair. You'll be better there. And drink this." When she ■ had made the girl comfortable, she turned again to the man Jones. The interval had been helpful to her. It was with something of the old peremptory manner that she now addressed him. "Your name's Jones, you said?" The man nodded and grinned. "Well, Jones, perhaps you'll explain what ypu mean by your wild talk about the night at Ehglefield when my poor husband died." Scrubb' Jones grinned again. '' An' p 'r 'aps you won't be so bloomin' 'aughty spoken," he retorted, with a mimicking mockery of her own tone in his voice. ' "First it's the police, and then it's bloomin' orders. I ain't here for no orders, let me tell you strite.'' What are you here for, then?" she demanded. "Money," replied the man, decisively. "An' what about her?" he demanded, with a jerk of his thumb to where Leila, slowly recovering her full senses, was listening intently. ' 'l've got a secret, I 'ave, and d 'yer think, after all the job I've 'ad to find yer, that I wants somebody else sharing of it? You bet your precious life no!" Florence shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "She's all right. She's my daughter. I'll tell you what it is, Jones —you're such a time coming to the real reason of your visit that I'm inclined to think you're only bluffing. It's time you caine to the point, my man " Scrubb Jones interrupted her with a raucous laugh that seemed to ride over her strained nerves. "Bluffing, am 1?" He snapped his lingers. "You pour me out a drink," lie ordered, lolling back in his chair, "and you'll soon tumble how much of it is bluff." Hotly indignant at his insulting tone, Florence Kent nevertheless obeyed. Scrubb Jones watched her with twinkling eyes. He was enjoying himself hugely. Another roar of laughter came from him as he took the glass from her shaking hand and drained >t at a gulp. '•Now you've begun to treat meproperly, I'll tell you properly," said he. "You ptill me up quick if I'm spinning lies to yon. .1 was down at Englc- . field that night for my health —and something else. Dashed if I mind telling you," he added with an assumed frankness. "You're cue of us, by Jiminy; you're a crook, if ever I set oyes on one in my puff. 3 'm a burglar, lady. I've got some mighty pretty silver things what of rights belongs to you. Darn me, but you shall have 'em back if your heart's set on 'em." His voice dropped to a wheedling; tone.

"]STow I arsts you plain—ain't I treating you fair and square? "I'd marked your house for a long time before that night. When the governor of the place was ill —poor fellow —it was just the right touch for yours truly, Scrubb. They don't bother so much about my perfession when somebody's just on the tip of croaking, do they ? I 'll put it short, for I see you 're getting mighty anxious. I gets hold of the stuff all right, and pretty stuff it was. But then my brain givjs a bit of a jump what tells me it would be a good plan to hang round. For why, you says?" "I don't know what you're driving at," interrupted his hearer, coldly. "You will," returned the man. "I'm coming to it right away." He leaned forward, and at the impressiveness of his voice Florence Kent 's face was grey and tense, as if set -in marble. '' There was so much going on in that there house that night that I says to myself, ' You stand by, my lad; there's something up here.' There was women crying and running about like terrified-,. cats — frightened out of their little lives. There was a man a-dying, though the

doctor had said he was a lot better. And, sure enough, he died. There wa3 a girl as you got out of the way—her that was his daughter. Sure enough, he died. There was murder in that house that night, lady. An' now you know.'' Again that confident, uncouth laugh. "Guess I'll get myself another drink. This sort of thing is trying."

For the second time he drained the whiskey-and-soad at one draught. Putting the glass down, he cocked his odd-shaped head a little on one side and spoke again. "You was free enough with your words a moment ago, lady. You're not so happy now. Ain't you going to say anything, or must I do all the ehinwagging in this act? If you've anything to say, get along with it. It's your turn, I reckon." His small eyes fascinated her. This duel between the intruder and her mother fascinated Leila, too. She had recovered herself now. Her oval face supported in the palm of her right hand, she watched both of them with a fixed intentness. How would it end?(To be Continued on Monday.)