HERITAGE

Taranaki Daily News, 17 September 1934, Page 13

HERITAGE

BY

HEDLEY RICHARDS

CHAPTER 12 (continued). . When Mary had declared she could not eat or drink anything more, Miss Price asked timidly if she would like to go to her room, and she assented. “We dine at seven prompt; you’ve just an hour,” said her host as the two ladies left the room. It was a rambling old house, and when Mary made some remark to that effect. Miss Price said:

“Yes. it’s too big to be homelike, but Daniel likes it and that’s all that matters. I hope the rooms will suit you,” she added as she opened a door and they entered a light cheerful bedroom, prettily furnished in white and blue, with a dressing-room to match. “They’re lovely,” Mary exclaimed. "My brother has had them refurnished, it was all done in a week. Anyway you won’t be afraid of ghosts,” and she shivered and looked over her shoulder in the same frightened way that she had done downstairs.

“I don’t think I believe in ghosts—do you?” “Yes, I think that some who are dead follow you, and follow until they get their revenge; but I mustn’t talk this way; my brother wouldn’t like it; he says I’m morbid, maybe I am, but I’ve reason,” then she went towards the door where she stopped abruptly. “You’ve no sin on your mind, you’ve no reason to fear either the living or the dead.” Then she opened the door and passed out. ■ “Well, she’s a cheerful sort of person; one would think she’d murdered someone. Come in,” she called out in answer to a knock, and a bright trim looking maid entered. “If you please, Miss, the master says I’m to wait on you. If you’ll give me your keys I’ll unpack your things.” For a second Mary hesitated, then she felt that Mr. Price would rather she let the girl wait on her. The maid noticed her hesitation and spoke quickly. “I’m quite used to waiting on ladies, I was in London for a while and I used to help the young ladies; they said I was very clever at hair dressing,”- and, she glanced admiringly at Mary’s hair. “I'm sure you will do very well. Here are the keys,” and as the girl went into the dressing-room where Mary’s trunks stoodi she threw herself into a chair near the window. Three-quarters of an hour later she went downstairs. She was wearing a gown of a soft clinging material; it was cut low at the front, and the lovely white skin looked even whiter in contrast to the black. A footman opened the drawing-room door for her, and she saw her host standing with his back to her looking out of the window. He turned quickly, “I hope you didn’t think my sister’s greeting rather cold; she is not a demonstrative woman.”

"I am quite sure she means to be kind, but she is very nervous.” "Nervous—yes, I cannot understand. She didn’t used to be.” "I believe she thinks the old house is haunted.”

Mr. Price laughed. It wasn’t often he did, but this seemed to amuse him. “I think the Dyers who lived here were a peaceable lot.” At that moment the gong sounded and Miss Price entered; she wore a purple satin gown trimmed with soft white lace, which softened her face a little.

"Come, don’t let’s keep the dinner waiting,” said the master of the house as he offered Mary his arm, .and they crossed the hall, followed by Miss Price. It was a dainty well served dinner, but there was no ostentation nothing to show that the master of the house had grown suddenly rich and wanted to display his wealth. He talked about the time he was sheep farming in Canada. Evidently he didn’t care who knew he had made his money and worked hard for it. At last Miss Price rose, and Mary followed her into the drawing-room, and as they seated themselves near the fire she remarked that May nights were often cold.

"Yes, but I don’t mind cold.” Then Miss Price’s tone changed, and leaning towards Mary she said: “Does this dress look all right. For nineteen years I’ve worn black, but my brother asked me to wear colours, and I feel strange in it.” ' "You look very well, it is a handsome dress. Whatever made you wear black all that time? Did you lose someone very dear to you?” She shook her head, and a look that was 'almost agopy came into her face as she said: “I’d a terrible trouble, it nearly broke my heart, the world turned black in a day, and I put my coloured clothes away. I’d done with brightness.” She stopped abruptly, then a moment later - she said: “God grant you may never know such bitter trouble as I have known, and do know.” then, as the door,, opened, she said: “Not a word of what I have said to Daniel.”

CHAPTER 13.

WANTED.

“Mr. John Dalrymple,” said a clerk as he opened the door leading into Detective Brown’s private rooms.

If ft had been a lesser person the clerk would have inquired if his Chief would see him, but being disengaged he knew that he was safe to show a Dalrymple in at once. The detective rose to his .feet and bowed, thinking that the young man was very unlike his father, and speculating as to what he wanted.

Jack didn’t leave him long in doubt. “I believe my father sometimes employed you?” he said. “He did me that honour,” the detective answered, wondering what was coming next, then he added: “Won’t you sit down, Mr. Dalrymple?” Jack seated himself and the detective sat down too, on a chair facing him. "Did my father know anyone named Drury?” Detective Brown was startled, but he was used to hiding his feelings.

"I believe he did,” he said, not seeing

- (Author of “The Telegraph Call,” “The Deputy Avenger,” etc.)

any reason for refusing to answer the question. “I thought so, I found a slip of paper with ‘Drury’ written on it, then I remembered that the afternoon before he died the telephone bell in the library rang and I answered it, and a voice said: ‘l’ve got Miss Drury’s address.’ When I spoke I was told that the person at the other end had got the wrong number. I found out that my father was in the habit of employing you if he wanted anything finding out, so I guessed you were the speaker. Now I want you to tell me two things. What did my father know of Miss Drury?” And, secondly, I want the address?” The detective deliberated for a moment, then he said: “I don’t know what the late Mr. Dalrymple knew of the young lady, it was her mother whom he had known in the past. He had read the notice of her ! death in the paper and he wished to ' know if she had anyone on board with her. I found that her daughter, Miss Drury, had been with her. When your father heard that, he said he wanted wanted Miss Drury’s address, which I obtained.” “I see—so that was all, bunkum about you having got the wrong number. I thought as much.” “Well, you see, sir, Mr. Dalrymple said I was to go quietly to work, that he didn’t want the past raked up. Naturally I concluded he would prefer it was kept from his own family.” “Did my father say anything more?” “Not a word, sir, I was going to ring him up again when I heard of the murder. Will you allow me to express my sympathy with you.” “Thanks, now please give me Miss Drury’s address. I was introduced to her in Liverpool by a friend who had come over .in the same boat. We travelled to London together and I wish to renew the acquaintance.” The detective opened his desk, and he took out of a pigeon hole a piece of paper, and writing a few lines on another, he handed it to Jack, then he replaced the other paper in his desk. “Of course the young lady may have left there now.” “If she has I shall want you to find her,” Jack said. Then he wished Mr. Brown good morning and departed. “It’s strange they should both be interested in the girl,” thought the detective. At that moment the telephone bell rang, and. as he, asked who was there a voice said: <? “Carey, solicitor, Lincoln’s Inn.” "All right, sir.” *T want you to find the certificates of birth of Mary, daughter of Hugh and Leslie Dalrymple. She will probably have been registered by a woman named Drury.” “All right, sir, I will attend to it at once,” then as he put the receiver down, he thought: “Talk about coincidences, this is queer. Hugh Dalrymple, and—” taking from a shelf a book containing names of landed gentleman he turned to ‘D’ and saw that Francis and Hugh were the sons of John Dalrymple Esq., but that Hugh was the second wife’s son. “I suppose there’s been money, and the millionaire has wanted it all. I fancy I shall find that this Mary Drury is really Miss Mary Dalrymple. That young fellow is really in love with her. If they marry it will probably save a lawsuit,” he reflected. Meanwhile Jack had taken a taxi and on arriving ,at the Burleys, he asked to see Miss Drury. “She’s not here, sir, she’s been gone quite a bit,” said the maid.

“Do you know where she’s gone?” “No, sir, but the missis may know.” “I should like to see your mistress,” he said.

“Please step in,” and the girl showed hiip into the drawing-room. It was a very ordinary room, and not tastefully furnished, but to Jack it was interesting. Mary had lived here, and in Imagination he saw the beautiful girl moving about.

He was brought back to the present by the opening of the door, and saw a tall elderly woman. “You wished to see me?” she said stiffly.

“Yes, I am John Dalrymple. I—” but he got no further; her face became pale and she put up her hand saying: “What have you come for? A Dalrymple should never dare to cross my threshold.” He looked at her in amazement.

“I don’t know what the Dalrymples have done to you. I came to see your niece. Will you tell me where she has gone?”

“I don't know, and if I did I shouldn’t tell you. Will you please go.”

Jack looked at her, and he believed she was telling the truth, so he moved towards the door, then, as he opened it he said: “Good morning,” and in a few minutes he was in the cab driving back to the detective’s. He listened to what Jack had to say, said he didn’t anticipate any difficulty in finding Miss Drury, and sent Jack away feeling happier, without telling him anything about the commission he had received from Mr. Carey. Two days, later Jack received Mrs. R.eay’s address, and was told that she had gone there. Full of hope of again seeing the girl with whom he had fallen so deeply in love, Jack drove there, but again he was doomed to disappointment. The servant told him Miss Drury had been gone a few days, and she wasn’t sure where it was, but it was to some grand place. Her missis could/ tell him the name, and asking him to wait in one of the sitting-rooms she went to tell Mrs. Reay. Now the good woman had been instructed by Mr. Carey not to give Miss Drury’s address to anyone, but to send whoever wanted it to him. The lawyer had taken this precaution because he did not want Richard Dalrymple to know she was in Devonshire near the Court, as he didn’t trust that young gentleman; so when Jack asked for it she said she was sorry she couldn’t give it —but Mr. Carey, of Lincoln’s Inn, knew where the young lady was, and he had better see him. (To be continued).