The Girl at the Gables

Taranaki Daily News, 29 April 1931, Page 10

The Girl at the Gables

— Sy-

HERBERT GALWAY and ANN NEVERN.

CHAPTER XXl.—(Continued.) “There, there, my lamb I He’ll come back again. He’s p’raps just, gone away for a bit of a holiday and p’haps forgotten to write ’ome to ’is people. He’ll turn up soon, no fear. My first ’usband was always doin’ some-think of that kind. I got used to it in time, and it used to amuse me, it did reallyl” Phil did not hear half that was said, but a man . standing just outside the kitchen door heard! James Bantry had come downstairs for a glass of milk for his friend and had reached the door just in time to overhear Phil’s confession of love for Jack Preston. He stopped suddenly as though invisible barriers prevented ■his nearer approach, and his blood turned' chill as he thought of the sorrow he and Dreever had brought

to this precious girl of theirs—this girl who had filled their . dark lives with sunlight. He dare not enter the kitchen. Instead, he went back upstairs and told Dreever what, he had heard. .Reuben sat staring moodily ahead, with his chin resting on his cupped hands, .while Bantry went'slowly to the window;and looked out over the downland that stretched before his eyes. The open sweep of untrammelled country brought peace to his soul. “What shall we do with Preston, Jimmy?’.: asked Reuben presently. . “Can we get him back to Graylands some way or other? I’m glad I did not kill him?’ He murmured half to himself: “Sometimes I wish I could get rid of this feeling of revenge against my brother. I believe then I should be sane always. It’s torture to know that any moment I may be all wrong again.' -What shall we do with young Preston, Jimmy? You haven't said.” ■ ■ , , < Bantry turned to him at last. . .'“Carry him back or lead him to Graylands as soon as he Is strong enough. AVe can .do it between us. Weill lead him home, and then they’ll keep him till he’s better. „ That’s the only thing I can think' of." ■“lt’s risky,- old man.” “Yes,‘ I know; but it’s more risky to allow him to wander'about here in the state he is.”' “But it means waiting, and I want to do it now,” ~ „ . “My poor old chap, said Bantry sympathetically, “we can’t do it immediately. “It’s impossible.” “Yes,”-was the impatient reply, “and- when the time comes, perhaps, we may riot be sane enough to do what you suggest, and ’’• “No, no; I don’t agree! There s no reason why. one of /is shouldn’t be all right. We’ll manage it. I daresay.” Bantry succeeded In calming his friend for a time, but Dreever still felt he could not wait to carry out the suggested scheme. However, there was no doubt that, for Phil’s sake alone, if pot for theirs, Preston must’ be taken home soon; and their arrival at •that decision furnished a., large: measure of comfort. 'Mrs Jarrow had made Phil a cup- of tea. ‘ ’ “Come along; you must have one as well, cried the girl, going in search- of the necessary ’ crockery. “Now don’t you bother! 11l see to it, and I believe I shall be glad of ft. . A cup o’ tea is a mighty re-

fresher. My ’usband reckoned a glass o’ stout was better,, but stout is inclined to fatten to my way o thinkin’. There’s Betsy Rye. n . ow “"ber ’-usband is. cowman at Sweet’ Apple. Fai‘m— —' , . _... ut “Oh, Jarrow!’ broke in Phil, i met Sam’s sweetheart as I was coming home, and when you spoke or Sweep Apple Farm it me— I wasn’t listening very much but Bessie said that two madmen who had escaped from an asylum had been traced to Marshfield. You remember it was in the papers and ——” She stopped suddenly as Bantry •entered the kitchen. “Hello, Mr .Bantry!” she greeted him lamely as she rose to her feet. “Are you feeling better now? What can Ido for you?” “Nothing, thank you, Miss Sutton,’ he said with grave courtesy, but Phil noticed that his face, was deadly pale- • “I came for a glass of milk for Mr Dreever,” he went on quietly. “Pardon .my eavesdropping, but you were saying something about’, those escaped* lunatics. Where . did you hear that. story?" “Oh, just a maid’s tale that I was telling Mrs Jar/ow. I don't'attach any importance to it. Madmen don’t escape much these days! And even if they , did, we shouldn’t, worry so long as we have you and Mr Dreever to take care’Of us. Should we, Mrs Jarrow?;”’ : '""' ■ ■ The jug of milk fell from the man s hand and shattered on the kitchen floor, while his left hand was bleeding profusely through the glass he had crushed and splintered by the force ot his agonised grip. “Oh,.,my goodness, sir! See what you’ve 'gone’and done! There now, i’m that lazy or I would have been up and done it for you!” “My .nerves are to pieces, Mrs Jarrow.- My apologies to. you and Miss Sutton. I’m afraid I shouldn’t be much of a protector, child," he added to,Phil. “Oh, men*.are so clumsy, smiled the cirL “Now let me wash your poo/hpod. You ought to have allowed me to sec to the milk.” ■ “They spoil us,, the gcnelemen do, said Mrs Jarrow. “Never have I been with two such men as you and Mr Dreever, sir; no, never!" A smile lighted up Bantry’s face. “Women, God bless them!" (he thought). Dreever and he were indeed blessed to have fallen into the hands of Philomel Sutton and Kate Jarrow. Women as they were meant be. angeis : —with no selfish thought of reward. “There!”. Phil interrupted his reflections as she finished the neat binding of his hand. “Not so bad for an amateur, is it?” “Wonderful!” he murmured. “Drink this now.' sir,” said Mrs Jarrow as she placed a steaming cup of lea by-his side. “I’m sure you can do with it after the shock of that nasty cut.” t Bantry never forgot that scene. Phil sitting beside him, his bound hand resting in hers; Mrs Jarrow offering a cup of tea with a smile on her plain, motherly face; the shining dresser, the copper pans, the cat on the hearth—a normal man’s life. He sighed. He saw that the housekeeper had put the milk ready for Jiim. After he had drunk his tea he

would have to go—shut out of this Eden —the homely kitchen, with its shining brass and clean atmosphere. “Thank you, Mrs Jarrow,” he said as he rose to his feet, “and thank you also, my dear,” he said to Phil. “My nerves are steady now.” Ae he went slowly up the stairs Mrs Jarrow called after him: “Doni you get worrying about them madmen, sir. We’ll be all right here, with you and Mr Dreever.” Bantry did not reply. “He’s a bit deaf at times, I think? said the housekeeper, turning to Phil. “I don’t believe he heard me.” “Perhaps not,” replied the girl, looking into the heart of the tiro, trouble, deep trouble, in her sweet eyes. CHAPTER XXII. Dr. Sherwell experienced a strange feeling of suspense as he walked up the drive of The Gables the next morning, after the telephone message from Superintendent Tadworth. He had nevei- before seen the house, and was intensely curious to know if Martin' Dreever had taken any precautions against a possible visit from the man he had put away, and whether, he had been threatened. He had no knowledge of his late client beyond the fact that he appeared affluent and had made no objection to the ample fees asked for the residence and treatment of his supposed friend —whom he had described as William Holbeck —at Moor House Mental Establishment. Since the man’s escape along with James Freeman a few months ago he had heard nothing from Dreever. and a new complexion had been put on the former’s incarceration. The doctor began to think that Holbeck's repeated statements that Martin Dreever was his brother and that he had put him in the asylum for his own diabolical ends, were something more than the ravings of a madman. Reuben Dreever, gazing unhappily into,the front garden, saw Dr. Sherwell walking slowly up the drive. For a moment he stared transfixed with horror. What did it mean? WhaT did they know? And, above all, how did the asylum authorities discover their retreat? Trembling with fear, and on the verge of collapse, he staggered to the stairs and called Mrs Jarrow.

“If anyone comes for me,’’ he almost shrieked, “tell them I’m not in —gone away—out of town—anything you like! Not in! Do you hear?” Greatly wondering and not a little alarmed, the housekeeper had just time to signify that she heard, when the bell rang.

Grouching on the ’ landing,. Reuben heard the familiar voice ask for “Mr Martin Dreever,” heard the faithful Mrs. Jarrow respond as instructed. Some -: conversation took place, the purport of which he could only guess, and he thought the caller ’would never go.

Digging his nails into'the palms of his clenched hands the unhappy man gnawed at the sleeve-of his jacket to repress ths desire to scream. Why couldn’t she shut the door and send his enemy away? Why should they continue to argue after being told that he was not in?

The door closed just as his resistance broke down. He peeped from the landing and ran madly up the stairs again. Ae he looked through the window a peal of maniacal laughter, broke from him, and he danced about in delirious frenzy. Dr. Sherwell heard the diabolical cachinnation he knew so well. “Good God!” he muttered as he recognised the sound. “He’s there I" Without further hesitation he hurried'back to the police station. When James’ Bantry rushed into the room after hearing his friend’s raving he found Reuben Dreever crouching on the floor, a shivering mass. “What’s the matter, old man?” he asked. “Everything — everything’s finished!” “What do you mean?” “Sherwell has just been to see my brother!” “Sherwell! How on earth —has he gone?” “Yes,” groaned Dreever, wiping the beads of perspiration from his brow and rising slowly to his feet. “I sent word that he was out of town. But I don’t think that he believed it. He stood at the door talking to Mrs Jarrovy for some time, and—l can t go back there, Jimmy,” he concluded in a pleading tone. “Don’t let them get us again!” “We’re not -going back!” was the grim reply. “But our time is sure to be short now. Let’s do what we can first. Go into the office and get all the books ready, will you? While you are there I’ll see what Jarrow has to say about the visitor.” Like a man recovered from a long illness Reuben Dreever went slowly up the stairs to the little room and sank heavily into a big chair, completely exhaused. “Who was the caller?” Mrs Jarrow?” asked Bantry pleasantly. “A gentleman who said his name was Dr. Sherwell, sir; and he asked to see Mr Dreever.” “Did he say where he had come from?” “From Moor House, I think he said, sir; and he wanted to see Mr Martin Dreever, he said, about a patient of his.” • “Did you tell him Air Dreever was out?” “Oh, yes, sir. I said he had gone up to town.” “And then what did he say?” “He asked me when Mr Dreever would be back —which was rather awkward, sir, for one who has always been truthful, as you might say, because I knew Mr Dreever was in, sir." “Don’t let that lie on. your conscience, Airs Jarrow,” smiled Bantry. “It’s purely a conventional fiction — and perhaps he knew all the time.” “Well, do you know, sir, I believe he did. He seemed as if he didn't want to go away, and he asked me so many questions that I began to ask myself why doesn’t the man go? and then I says to him, ‘lf it’s anything important,’ I says, perhaps he might leave a message for Air Dreever.” “That’s right! Tell ’em to leave a message.” (To be Continued.),