THE CLUE

Sun (Christchurch), Volume III, Issue 827, 4 October 1916, Page 2

THE CLUE

arD [All rights reserved.] zM

By OLIVE WADSLEY lllillilJS

Author of " The Flame "

CI I AFTER NX.—(Continued.) LOVE AND JFALOUSV. They sat down together on the little touch, and, though it went on raining and snowing outside, and the lire went on smoking, they were as happy as if it had been a summer's day in Arcady. For them, it was; they had one another, and that was enough. Neither of them spoke of poor Tony, though he was in both their minds once, when Val said, "I've loved you ever since I saw you first." lie rushed on into another sentence, cursing himself as he realised all those words implied. "And I've been beastly jealous of Rinde," he added vehemently. "Jealous, you?" Doris laughed tenderly. "Shall I tell you a secret? I've teen jealous, too' " "You!" Val said. lie even released her from his arms for a second to look at her directly. "You, jealous! I think I've never looked at any other girl, never even wanted to. I can swear it, I " "Who do you take out to dinner, then?" Doris asked. "You must have looked at her! " She was smiling, but she was very young really, and anxiety underlay that smile. She could not forget Rinde's description of Val and the "very pretty girl." And the question she asked was about the one girl Val could not very easily explain. He could not say with absolute truth, "The girl was Lulu Conway, Tony's friend, and I was taking her out just once because she seems so lonely." That explanation was utterly barred under the circumstances; and, again, he could not simply say, "Oh, she's a friend of mine," because then Doris would have reason to think —well, to think things utterly different from what they were. He did the one fatal thing a lover should never do —he hesitated. Doris saw the shadow on his face. ' "It's quite all right," she said very quietly. '.'l do not really wish to know, Val." There was pain as well as love in her voice, and Val felt both these things in his own soul. Re caught her closely to him. "Look here, beloved," he said, "I was tryiug to do someone a decent turn. I—l was sorry for them, do you see, and they —she, I mean —was down on her luck. That's all. Rinde told you, I can swear, lie did, didn't he?" Doris nodded. "I do trust you," she said, leaning her cheek to his, "I do indeed. I'm sorry I asked." "You'd a perfect right to ask," Val said. "Of course you had; h«t, as it happened—for a. reason I can't tell you now, darling, but which I will some day —it was a bit difficult for me to answer you.

" Burnt Wings, " &c,

nent, ho burst into a shout of pleasant laughter. "If it isn't old Val!" he said cheerily. "Where do yon blow in from, old top? I say, help me to heave these beastly sweets together a bit, will you? I don't think ther're damaged, only spilt about a bit." Val helped to rescue the chocolates from the ground where they were lying, it is true, well embedded in countless wrappings, but, nevertheless, in a split box.

"Fancy it being you and me that made a squash of it," Tickey said gaily, if ungrammatically. "But I'm jolly glad to see you, old thing. Come along and pick a bone with me —what?" As has been said, he had been Val's fag at Eton. Val really liked him; he was so irrespressibly young and carefree, and jovial and straight. "Eight. Thanks very much," he said.

They repaired together to the Carlton to pick the afore-mentioned bone, which consisted of a heavy lucheon of four full courses, a good cigar, and a. weak whisky and soda. "A little' bird's bin whisperin' secrets to me," Tickey said with a knowing smile, "about you and another —a fair lady. Now then, own up."

"Dun'no' what you mean," Van answered lazily. "I haven't the slightest idea!''

In reality he was rather chagrined that Tickey should have heard the great secret, as he guessed he had done. For Doris's sake, and as a tribute of loyalty to Tony's memory, they had decided to keep their engagement entirely secret for several months, and already, though how Val could not, conceive, news of it appeared to have leaked out. "That's right," Tickey said, grinning harder. "Flay the blessed innocent, my lad, only you don't deceive me!" He blew out a cloud of fragrant blue smoke. '' How 's Doris Blairavon getting on ?'' he inquired, gazing ostentatiously at the ceiling. "Ever see her now, Val? Or have yon ceased to be friendly?" "I' believe Miss Blairavon's quite well," Val said casually. "I see her sometimes, y'know. Lord Blairavon's not. very fit, I think."

"Oh, it's the father you're interested in," the incorrigible Tickey pursued, "not the daughter! Sorry 1 made a mistake! "

It is never wise for a lover to hint at a mystery. There should be, in first days of love, no possible secret between two lovers. Youth demands everything; age is wiser, and asks no questions.

Even while Val 's kisses raised a sweet, storm in her heart, Doris was wondering what it was ho could not tell her. Then Val's question drove all thought of auv other woman from her mind, for a time. "When shall it be, sweetheart?"

"It ean't be just yet," she said, her hands linked in his. "Because—because of poor Tony, Val. I've got to tell you something. I want to. It's this. I never loved Tony as —as I ought to have done. I've known that ever since—ever since I learnt to love you. T did love him, in one way, but I wasn't in love with him. Ho and I just got engaged, I think, because it seemed so natural that we should. I'd never seen anyone else, and Tonv was the heir, you see, and father wished it, and I was very fond of Tony. Val, sometimes I've thought too, that Tony didn't care for me in the way we care. I mean he wasn't in love either." Val drew her more closely into his arms.

"Slop it, Tiekey," Val said suddenly. "Look bore, I am, as you have heard or guessed, I don't, know which, engaged to Doris, but, as you'll readily understand, remembering poor old Tony, we can't make our engagement public for a good time yet. Don't take the talk of it all over'town, there's a. good chap." ' • Not me,'' Tiekey said earnestly. I say, I'm awfully sorry I ragged you about it; I'd forgotten about Tony Warrington, or I shouldn't have. I'll tell vou who I got the news from. Yon know the Morrises? Lilah's a cousin of mine. She has a rotten time, poor kid. She told me. Her maid's a sister of Doris's maid, or something. Servants know everything, and tell it, that's my opinion." "1 wish you'd tell Mrs Morris that we want to keep the matter private for a time, will you."' Val said. "Sure. I say, that's a pretty girl, Val. 'Who is she'?" They were strolling up Pall Mall to finish'their excellent cigars. _ . Val threw his away as he raised his hat. "Introduce us/' Tiekey said, sticking his elbow hard into Val's ribs. 'Be a sport.'' Val was forced to say to Lulu:

"Miss Conway, may I introduce my friend, Lord Wyckham, commonly known as Tiekey? He used to be my fag at Eton. He knew how to behave in those days.''

"Darling," he said gently, "don't let's bother our heads about, things that arc all over and done with, but I do thank God with all my heart that poor only Tony's death didn't kill, too, all your power of loving."

"And docs in these," said the graceless Tickey, "when there's a reason for behaviour. You watch me behave with Miss Conway, and you'll award me a first prize!" They walked, the three of them, into the Green Park.

Her words had made a very heaven cf relief for him; all his scruples about loyalty to his dead friend were laid to rest by her words, he felt now that his right to love and be loved again, was utterly assured; he could love without a faint feeling of shame waiting always to catch him when he, as it were, faced his own life frankly.

Val listened idly to Tickey's chatter and Lulu's replies'. They were discussing a working woman's life, and Tickey held forth on the subject at great length, while Lulu laughed at him. He seemed to her a very" pleasant, happy soul; she liked his open,cheery face and his doggy gloves, and even his hat, thrust well on to one side of his head.

"And Val," Doris said, "I—there's another thini* I want to tell you. I know how—how Tonv died."

"You know, darling?" Val said; a lightning survey of the facts as he knew them gave him no elucidation. "How did you learn?" he asked gravely-

"That night, when the newsboys shouted, I somehow guessed, and then, at that dreadful inquest, 1 knew if it had been really murder that no jury would have given such a verdict. I knew Uncle lan had somehow pulled the strings, and that T was to be spared, and—l can't, explain, all along, after the very first Jiout, I knew."

It was Val's great chance to explain about Lulu Conway, and he missed it. !fe was too much absorbed, too happy to remember.

At the turning near Downing Street she said that she must go. "I'll walk a bit with you." Tickey said promptly. "So long, Val." With a smile Val went off to his office. Tickey was a nice boy, Lulu was a nice girl; they would come to no harm together. He had begun to go regularly to the office now. It had dawned on him that it was essential he should work diligently. He threw himself into the business now, for Doris's sake, and Doris assisted him by begging him on every occasion not to work too hard! He was making a little headway, and the head clerk did not spare him. He would be of use to the firm in time. As he had come in rather late, he stayed to do overtime —stayed copying out dull stuff for a whole hour when he might have been with Doris, because he loved her so much better than himself that he wished to work for her

"Don't let's talk of it again," he said tenderly. "Only, I'm glad you l;now everything, darling." After tea, when it was time for him '■■ i) go, lie took her in his arms again; then depths, depths he had never known his heart possessed, were stirred at her touch, by the sound of her voice calling his name.

f 'Oh, Val," she said, as they kissed good-bye, "if it had been you who had been taken from me, I—l couldn't have lived myself."

CHAPTER XXI. A MYSTERIOUS MESSAGE. Tickey Wyckham, only son and heir of Lord Stevenage, and a genial young man to boo), ran into Val, literally out.side Barbellion's in Bond Street. Tickey was emerging, armed for a joyous theatrical fray wiih two enormous boxes of chocolate; one fell with a crash to the ground, as ho collided with Val. The flow of language, as, his hat over •his eyes, he strove with his hands to remedy tins defect, and clasp lis gloves, hat, and the remaining box of chocolates, was choice. When at: last, at the expense of a dropped cane and one glove, which was practically ruined for ever by a chance passer-by planting a well-muddied boot; upon it, he was able to look about him, and encountered the amused ea.-.e of his much cursed nppo-

When at last he had done, he put on his overcoat and hurried out. It was quite dark, and the air was bitterlv cold. The thought of the flat and Doris and tea made him take the, long street at a run. lie looked about for a taxi. There was none visible. "Dash!" lie said irritably as lie hurried on. lie had to walk into Cheapside before he could get a lift, and then it was in an overcrowded 'bus that slid and skidded dangerously along the narrow road. Val was ruefully conscious of the lateness of the hour. He would have scarcely a moment alone with Doris that evening. She had an aunt dining with her, and, though he was to dine too, as long as their engagement was a secret a dinner offered few chances of stolen happiness.

ITe did get a. taxi at Oxford Circus, and offered the man an extra tip to hurry; after that the taxi strove to achieve annihilation, it seemed to him, at every "island" and every corner, it went round on one wheel generally, with the driver hooting demoniacally At Queen's Gate a. tyro went _wjth a bang like a cannot shot, and. leapt out, paid his man, and looked-for another taxi. "What an evening! "he groaned. "What a talk about "virtue rewarded! I wish I'd left that beastly office at a reasonable hour, and got my taxi off the rank as usual!" (To be continued.)