He Who Fights

Taranaki Daily News, 10 June 1931, Page 14

He Who Fights

By

LORD GORELL

/ CHAPTER XVIII. — (Continued.)

“Verv well. I will send you some. You are French and I love your beauMful eount’rv. Do not hurry away from here; that might make the peoask questions; « are « people >erv suspicious, we Englisl . flay you have a headache, yes. Xou Stay hi your room, and to-morrow you fabSk’lo London; Is not th.l sot Will send you the money this even

in Madame Anatole, sighing with relief that her blunder was being lul ' n ° d y her address into a profitable adventure, acquiesced. The two women parted with mutual expressions of regard. Madame Anatole retn cd to hei room- she could do nothing to help SeJJe From Mrs Dallinglon’s words It seemed evident that no suspicion had as vet attached itself to the manner of Gregoire's unfortunate demise. ?n a few djs they would be together tach with more money than they had had; neither would disdose that. But, Whilst Pierre would believe his ciolngs unknown to her, they would be plain and hers unknown. Madame Ana<.ole did her best by such thoughts to climb back from self-abasement to her normal grim superiority. Airs Dallington, momentarily as foiwetful of the two Frenchmen with whom she had started for the village as they apparently were of her, walked on in profound thought to the village post-office. There she sent off a long telegram to a well-known private enquiry agency instructing it to send down their best available man to report to her personally and secretly that evening. This done, she first sighed, then ‘smiled, then, falling again into profound thought, she returned with a quick step to Great Tor Lodge. : Mrs Dallinglon’s steps were quick, but her mien was unusually composed. She was not merely weighed down with thought to a degree unprecedented for her, she was also in consider'able perplexity. That strange and angular woman at the inn'was cruellooking, furtive, and in all respects the exact opposite of what in Mrs Dallington’s view was admirable.; but she had trusted her.

MrS Dallington was in a dilemma; ' unless Madame Anatole had good cause to be afraid, then those who ■were enlisted on the side of Frayne were not relieved from the burden of his responsibility. They had got him clear of the moor, for the moment he was free from imminent risk of capture; but, though that was much, though it was enough to set Barbara singing, it was'far from being enough for ? Barbara’s mother. As things were, even supposing Frayne managed to lie hid permanently, he could never return. He must change his name or at least his country, and, if Barbara was constant, the charge that robbed him of all he had previously known, robbed Mrs Dallington. of her daughter. . .. ‘T’m too old to emigrate, ’ she said to herself half humourously, "and, besides. I’m too fond of London. I thought I was adaptable, but I’m not." But could she, even to clear frayne, betray the husband of the stranger who had trusted, her? True, the woman had done so with the utmost unwillingness, and in ignorance of the death that was over-shadowing all; true also .that, if Mrs Bailing ton’s leap of hope were right, that husband was a murderer —which Frayne, in mind at all events, was not. Neither reflection quite smoothed over the scruples Mrs Dallington felt. And M. Guitard, what of him? Did he know nothing, as Mrs Dallington had taken it upon 'herself emphatically to assure Madame Anatole? Was his visit an impudent accident or was he there by design? During the mile of lane that lay between the village and Great Tor Lodge, Mrs Dallington thought as she had never had occasion to think in all her easy, happy life before. As she turned in at her gate, one of the main subjects of her thought came into view with his friend; they were walking down the lane towards her, Guitard talking volubly as ever and Ramonet listening, tolerantly. it was a small occurrence, but it was to Mrs Dallington’s Train of thought as a match to a candle; light came as it were of Its own accord where a moment before there had been shadows. She waited for them to come up with a teasing smile on her face. Guitard anticipated her question. “Ah, Madame,” he exclaimed, advancing with a profound bow, but we have been desolate! Twice did I take the grave Ambrose round-the churchyard and still Madame comes not. I say to him, we have missed h er \ve search, we hurry back, no Madame I In despair we -walk up the hill but that is very melancholy a Sed house. I <>o/ot like rums, so I bring Ambroise back again. "I’m sorry.” said Mrs Dallington impenitently, "it was my fault. I was longer than I intended. lam glad you did ri®t wait about too long for

With renewed excuses and apologies they went into lunch. Barbara had stayed at Pengley Park with S all Y> Mrs Dallington regretted her absence but did not allow that to daunt her. During the meal she was . viv . (1 ? y a j I t , i self- M. Guitard was enchanted, and even M. Ramonet laughed out loud mnrp than once at her sallies. The meal ended, Mrs Dallington detached M? Guitard from his stolid comwith the dexterity of long jSe. «nd walked with Him towards the deck chairs on the lawn. She down and Guitard was preparing X nult and leave her, as he supposed, tn her usual occupation of indolence when she said lightly: “You are very for M - Guitard ’ Y ° U renew, my French, and my youth <lS “Madame,” replied Guitard, bowing, “the one is perfect, and the other is m despair of Mademoiselle, your true,” answered Mrs Dalto was asked carelessly, but it nevertheless embarrassed Guitard. “If your kindness, , “will extend to another day—- “ Willingly. Will you have oom-

pleted your little business then, d’you think?” No tone could have been more negligent, but it caused Guitard to check himself in the middle of the effusive acknowledgment of her first word that he was beginning. He straightened his back, shot a questioning glance at her, noticed that she seemed about, to fall into a doze, and decided that its form was accidental.

"Business?” he said deprecatingly. "It is never completed, but I am on holiday for a little while, it pleases me to say.”

"It is disagreeable to mix business and holiday?” “Assuredly.” There .was a pause. Guitard -began to move away.

“Are you going up again to see the ruins, M. Guitard?” murmured Mrs Dallington, half opening her eyes. “It may be I shall pass them,” he answered slowly. “They do not. interest me, but the moor is beautiful, is it not, beyond?”

“It is a pity that M. Mortimer Brown is dead, is it not?” “I—l do not understand, Madame,” replied Guitard, no longer moving, but looking at her closely. “He was an interesting man,” murmured Mrs Dallington, "I came to know him quite well.” Her tone was just a shade too indolent. Guitard no longer thought of leaving her;’ he returned to her side, drew up a deck-chair and, placing himself in it, said quietly, “Madame is charming; I have long known it; she is intelligent also. What did you know of M. Brown, Madame?” “He had an English mother,” murmured Mrs Dallington sleepily; she was enjoying herself very much, her light had not deluded her.

“Diable!” exclaimed Guitard. “Yes, that is unusual, is it not?” “Madame,” said Guitard with dignity, perceiving at last that he was undoubtedly being played with, "you are indiscreet.” “I?”

“Yes', Madame, you. You make mock of me, Lucien Guitard. That is not well. I know too much.” “What do you know?” asked Mrs Dallington, roused to attention by a new note in his voice.

“Nothing, nothing,” lie replied airily, pleased at the efiect he had made. “Madame is charming, she is also, as I have said, intelligent, very intelligent.” “In what way?” “She knows M. Brown.” “Yes, and—?” “And she walks on the moor at night,” added Guitard significantly. Mrs Dallington sat bolt upright, her cheeks flushed slightly; the reply was thoroughly disconcerting to her. M. Guitard could mot* fail to notice the effect, he was enchanted at his own astuteness. Glancing at him, all Mrs Dallington’s annoyance dissolved, she divined the. thought passing through his mind as he sat twirling his moustache gleefully, and she burst Into sudden laughter. “M. Guitard,” she said with that impulsive yielding to intuition: that made her? so irresistible, “you are a very clever man.”

“They tell me so in Paris,” he answered, wreathed in smiles. . “And I an\ charming and very intelligent; they tell me so in London , as well as in Paris.”

“They have right, then.” “Very well, we must 'combine forces. Together we are invincible, separate we shall interfere with one another.” “I am not sure that I comprehend,” said Guitard, looking at her doubtfully, with an appreciation he could not conceal. . ■

“Listen, then. You are on holiday, you and your friend, M. Ramonet. You receive orders by letter, very exasperating. You are told to go to Broadcombe and make enquiries, is it not so? Ah, but your friend, Mrs Dallington, lives at Broadcombe. You will visit her; it is more agreeable than going to an inn, and much more natural. You will not give her time to tell you she regrets; you arrive, therefore —” “Madame is undoubtedly very in'telligent,” murmured Guitard. “And charmipg —intelligence without charm is unfriendly. And I am your friend, M. Guitard, even though you do not trust me.”

“Madame!” “It is) so—or you would not have followed me. last night.” “I was curious,” confessed Guitard. “It is my business to be curious.”

“I forgive you. I have need of you, and you have need of me. M. Gregoire—” ■ “Ah,, you'know that also?” “You see.”

“Madame,. I am at your service. You have the intelligence quite French; I, Lucien Guitard, have said so.” “And I am at yours. Only, M. Guitard, you will be generous, will you not?” , “It is .my great virtue.” “On your honour?”

“Madame, I pledge you my word.” “Good.ithen listen.” Without playfulness or evasion Mrs Dallington proceeded to place before him the whole story of Mortimer Brown as she knew it from her first chance meeting with him up to the escape of Frayne. In one particular only was she reticent : she did not disclose all that had taken place on that very spot between Brown and herself two days previously. Guitard listened with great attention; he was a changed man in his immobility and in the stern, professional alertness that drove out all his ordinary vivacity.

“He is an unfortunate, that M. Frayne,” he said. “To kill Henri Gregoire was a good deed, he deserves a reward and not punishment. Gregoire has kiied more than one in his day. You had right, Madame. I was on holiday and they sent me orders, never do they leave me alone! They had the word that he was hiding here; they tell me to make sure that it was he, and, if it were, then to make the application to your police for the extradition. He is wanted In Paris, is Gregoire. It seem to me necessary that I come here very quickly; I do not want him to learn of me, naturally. So I

(To be continued.)