Four Flush Island

Taranaki Daily News, 22 March 1935, Page 13

Four Flush Island

(by

L. C. Douthwaite)

CHAPTER V (continued.)

“I guess that’s about what it amounts to,” he agreed. “I suppose that Stagsden, if it was Stagsden you met, didn’t give you any idea where he was hanging out?” His father looked at .Natalje with an expression that combined amusement and resignation. . . “My son,” he explained, “is inclined to be more precipitate in action than in speech/* Natalie smiled at him, but replied directly to Kit. “I didn’t inquire,” she said replying to his query, “he was not the type of whom I cared to ask leading questions.' Mr. Champneys glanced at his watch. “And now, young lady,” he said, “its time I was back at the office. If you hear anything further from Stagsden, or receive any further communication from the leader of the white collar bandits, let me know at once.” CHAPTER VI. LEMUEL PLATT. Mr. Gripstock returned from Yorkshire on the following day, and Natalie lost no time in handing in her resignation. As not only was she the most efficient secretary within his experience, but incidentally the cheapest, he appeared to be rather depressed about it. From that day forward, though sha luxuriated in the amenities of the Bloomsbury Hotel, she did not dip too deeply into her cheque. She felt that with the uncertainty ahead it would be well to conserve her resources. Besides, there would be an outfit to buy, and she had no idea what to purchase or what it was likely to cost. With an unaccounv able and repudiated thrill she thought that probably Kit Champneys would be able to advise her about it. In the meantime, as had been arranged over the luncheon at Simpsons, she ignored the letter from the Alaskan and Hudson’s Bay Districts Development Corporation. But as she was resting in her room after dinner on the following Monday evening, a chambermaid informed her that a. gentleman was inquiring for her at the office. Once again the little thrill that had come to her when she considered her outfit quickened her pulse. There was just the possibility her visitor might be Kit Champneys. “Say I’ll be down in a few minutes,” she said, and went over to the dressing table to powder-box and brushes. When she stepped out of the lift and cast a quick look about her there was no sign of Kit. She walked over to the office to make inquiries, but before she could speak a voice said: “Excuse me, miss, but am I speaking to Miss Wayne?” She turned to discover one of the grossest individuals she had ever seen; a man whose eyes were so incredibly small and black, and that were sunk so deeply in fat that they reminded her of snakes lurking in holes in a mound. His cheeks were of incredible flabbiness; the angle of the jaw joined forces with his chins in a series of undulating curves that lost themselves in some quivering eerie below. His mouth was a worse feature even than his eyes, for while the upper lip was long and thin, the lower one was indecently full and moist, so that the combined effect was one of cruelty. His outstanding ears were distinguished By being completely devoid of lobe. He must have seen how, instinctively, she shrank from him, for he raided ingratiatly a bulbous hand and took' a mincing step towards her on feet that were too small for his body. “My name’s Platt, miss,” he said smoothly, a tone she liked as little as his appearance. “I’ve taken the liberty of calling to have a chat with you regarding a letter ...” Natalie interrupted; something about the man seemed to put her good manners out of action. “If your letter had interested me, I should have replied to it,” she said. “As it didn’t Eve no wish to ‘chat’ about it.” The air of indulgence with which he shook his head, and the way his chins quivered with the action made her dislike him more than ever. “You're a business young lady,” he said with a wide smile that did not extend to his eyes, which were busily weighing her up, “and you must know there’s never no harm in hearing what the other side have to say. And in this case, miss,” he added, and his voice had lost its benevolence, “it’s going to pay you to listen.” Natalie considered a moment. There was the possibility that in his anxiety to buy the property he would disclose a hint as to what lay behind the offer. “Very well,” she said coldly, and led the way to a settee was careful should be within view of those passing in and out of the hotel. He seated himself with a grunt he only half succeeded in suppressing. Natalie sat down on the other side of the small coffee table. There was an array of cigars protruding like organ-pipes from Platt’s waistcoat pocket, and from one of these he bit the end, and the method he adopted to discard it was eloquent of his origin. He struck a match. “Please smoke,” Natalie said from behind the cloud.

His bulbous lower lip drooped quickly; the cigar remained suspended in mid-air. Then, aS quickly, he fell back upon his benevolent smile. "Say, that was a pretty bad break of mine," he said. “You must excuse me, miss. I'm a busy man, with all kinds of things on- my mind. Bigger deals than ever you’d dream of. So sometimes I forget I'm with a lady." "While your recollection remains unclouded perhaps you’ll tell me as quickly as possible what you want,” she said. "Ah—you're one that likes to get down to brass tacks,” he said admiringly. “Well, it suits me; time’s money . . He relapsed Into momentary silence. “What price would you consider for that little island of yours?" he said at last, as if

unable to think of a better opening. “Upon whose behalf are you inquiring?” Natalie asked. “Your own, your company’s, or the extremely impertinent ypung man who thrust himself upon me in an Oxford Street restaurant a few evenings ago?” Again his cigar hovered midway to his mouth. “Fresh, was he?” he said conuniseratingly. “To bad. But to tell you the truth, miss, Mike’s just a bit of a rough-neck. Heart of gold, mind you, an’ all that, but—no education, if you get what I mean. What I’d call one of nature’s gentlemen . . . Say, did he manage to get you goat, miss?” he asked after a further pause for mental adjustment. i It was a subtle question. To have answered it would have implied common ground between them. She let it pass. “I take it that it is Stagsden you are acting for?” she said. Another meditative pause. “Yes and no,” he said. There was both cunning and barter in the renlv, the spirit she detested. She half rose from her chair. 4< l don’t know what that means,” she said coldly. “In any case it’s immaterial, because I’ve no intention of selling my property, • I believe you. left your hat at the desk.” As she looked down at him she saw all the pseudo-benevolence die out of his face, and that the omission left him sheer brute. It came to her that this man was far more dangerous than Stagsden. She read in him an inherent wickedness. “Sit down!”

The words were said quietly, but there was something in their quality that made her obey. “Listen, miss,” he said. “There’s a little syndicate that wants that island of yours, and they’re prepared to pay a fancy price. It covers thirty acres, and they’ll bid as high as two hundred dollars an acre. That’s just about five times as much as prices run. around those parts.” “Why the altruism?” asked Natalie levelly. Platt waved his hand. “Don’t let that worry you,”, he said. “We want the land; you have it. You say you’re not struck on sellin’; that may be true or it may only be clever. It don’t matter either way; the big idea is you got the strangle-hold. Thats O.K. with us; we’ll raise the pot to the limit.” He held her with his eyes, and there was something so implacable in his glance that involuntarily she shuddered. “But we gotta have that propTlere was threat, definite if intangible, and it aroused her fighting spirit. This time as she rose from her chair the action was final. “I don’t understand what you intend to imply,” she said. “Whatever it is, I’ve no intention of being driven into selling. That being the case I wish you good-night.” As she made her way to the lift: “Just a minute, Miss Wayne.” Involuntarily she hesitated, then took a few steps towards him. Puffing .quietly at his cigar, he studied her impersonally. ~ , “That your last word?” he said when she was within speaking distance. “Is it necessary to repeat myself?” she replied. He shrugged his unweildy shoulders. It was the action of a reluctant butcher on slaughtering day. His expression, however, negatived that reluctance. “Well, I guess you’ll have your bluff .called all right,” he said, and lurching heavily to his feet, turned away. The interview disturbed Natalie more than she cared to admit. Though not frightened easily she admitted to a feeling not far short of fear for Lemuel Platt. She did not mention her experience to Mr- Champneys, however, until a few days later when, having cleared up the affairs of her legacy, he summoned her to receive the cheque and title deeds, the latter of which she thought it wiser to leave in his care. When he heard what she had to say concerning her interview the lawyer looked grave. . . “I don’t suppose there’s anything in it, he said at length, “though there’s an atmosphere about the business I don t like. I must think it over.” Three days later he telephoned, asking her to call. “I hope you won’t resent my interference, young lady,” he said after they had shaken hands, “but I’ve talked the matter over with my son here, and well, we’ve taken certain steps. Just as a matter of precaution, you understand.” Natalie smiled. Her heart warmed to this courteous large-hearted than who had proved so willing to identify himself with her interests. “What exactly is the interference you've been guilty of?” she inquired. “Through my son,” he said, returning smile for smile, “I’ve arranged for that guide he spoke of. He’ll meet you at Gurgen’s Landing. Although, as you know, he’s an Indian, Kit tells me he s essentially trustworthy.” “It is that particular kind of interference,” Natalie stated, “that no girl can have too much of.” “Then everybody’s happy,” said Mr. Champneys. “And now, what about your kit?” “He’s not my Kit,” Natalie protested (but not aloud). “How would it be if you had expert advice?” “It depends who the expert is, Natalie said, mentally stamping her foot for the colour she felt rising to her face. “My son here,” said Mr. Champneys. Kit stepped forward. (To be continued.)