The House in the Way

Taranaki Daily News, 4 September 1935, Page 13

The House in the Way

By

CHAPTER ONE. A GAME OF CARDS. "Who’s the rabbit?” The man who leaned negligently on the bar in the saloon of The Whip Inn put the question without any real show of interest. The barman looked puzzled. “Rabbit?” he echoed. “What rabbit? What do you mean?” The first speaker smiled tolerantly, but did not enlighten the barman, whose name was Frederick, but who answered —usually fairly promptly—to the sobriquet of Harry. For years the barman at The Whip had been Harry, just as all the girls had been Florries and Lucies. Harry was, in fact, the patronymic of the bar-keeping profession as far as The Whip was concerned. Harry was not to be put off. “Yessir, vrhat do you mean by the rabbit?” he reiterated. ' The other straightened slowly. Fully six feet tall, with a pair of shoulders that sloped ever so slightly, he gave the impression of tremendous strength. He was rather slimly built and carried not one ounce of superfluous flesh. He might have been taken for a middleweight boxer in fighting, trim, certainly he was in perfect condition —that perfection that is only achieved ’by rigid self -discipline; in the service; away from the haunts of civilisation—or. in prison. His age might have been put at anything between twenty-five and thirty-five. His face was lined and around his steady grey eyes were wrinkles that might or might not have been caused by passing years. The really competent observer would have guessed that he was still young, and that his years had been crowded , with adventures that were not always pleasant—and he would have guessed rightly. Guy Chichester was barely thirty, but he had seen more of life than had the majority of mejt who carried twice his years. At last he condescended to answer Harry’s question. “I asked ‘Who’s the rabbit?”.’ he said deliberately, “and when I say ‘rabbit’ I mean that young fool over there who is being very cleverly fleeced by those three sharps. He nodded towards a table in the corner of. the otherwise deserted room, where four men sat playing cards. Harry looked shocked. "Fleeced! Sharps! Mr.—er—Chichester,” he exclaimed, and when he hesitated over the name, Chichester eyed him suspiciously. "I’m sure you must be mistaken,”. he said. .“It’s only a friendly game of solo, with a little on it to make it interesting.” “Humph!” Chichester left the bar and strolled across to the card table. He was only vaguely interested. A silly young idiot was being taught the folly of playing cards with strangers—even with strangers who sniggered self-con-sciously when the question of stakes was introduced, and who confessed that they liked a little flutter now and again just to make life interesting, especially as they were four men together. It did not take Guy long to recognise the fact that at least one of the players was an expert in the gentle art of dealing cards just as he desired them to be dealt. He was dealing now. The young man was anxiously watching the pile in front of him. He could scarcely wait until the deal was finished befcre picking up his hand. As he did so, his eyes brightened and his already flushed cheeks assumed a deeper hue. He fidgeted, impatiently awaiting his turn to call, and it was plain he was holding a good hand. His hand was good, very good. Good enough, in fact, to justify a high call. In ordinary circumstances, in ninetynine cases out of a hundred, it was a certainty. This was, however, the hundredth case. The dealer had seen to that. The youth almost succeeded in getting home his call. "Almost—not quite—and his companions murmured sympathetically. as they accepted his further contributions to the little piles of .currency at their .elbows. Only one of the four appeared to be losing more heavily than the youth, but Chichester knew that he was merely keeping the victim company. It was a very bare-faced swindle, and anybody but one very unversed in the ways of the world would have seen through it. The youth—whom the men addressed as Frank—obviously was very green, and Chichester felt sorry for him, although he was quite prepared to let events take their course. He was a great believer in experience as a tutor. Yet he was puzzled. The men—at least two of them—were not the kind of cheap tricksters one expected to find playing cards in a public-house, even if the inn did happen to be near to a wellknown racecourse. They were experts at their trade. Chichester had met their kind before, in the best hotels and the best clubs in Europe, and in a good many places in the East. Truly, often their stay in such exclusive circles was rudely cut short, but that was because of the result of their activities, not because they were detected in cheating. Men of the calibre of those at the table were very seldom detected. They knew their trade far too well. Chichester wondered why experts such as these were wasting their time taking a few pounds from a youth who obviously was not too well off. He felt that he had stumbled on some very deep game and his interest quickened. Still he did not interfere. He had no wish to draw attention to himself. If certain people learned of his presence at Westbury he knew that his task would be made much more difficult, if not positively dangerous, and so he soon left the room with the intention of taking a stroll before turning in for the night. Chichester strolled much farther than he originally intended, for there was a moon and the early spring night was quite warm. The quiet of the deserted country lanes strongly appealed to him and it was not until he saw the light of a house just ahead that he realised how far he had walked. The house, he knew, was fully two miles from Tire Whip. , , As he strolled along, debating whether he should turn back-or walk a further half-mile to return by another road, he fancied that he detected a movement in front. A little nearer to the house, then a voice called softly: “Is that you, Frank? Where have you been? I have been worried about you.” It was a girl’s voice and as it came to him over the still night air, Chichester was conscious of a thrill such as he had never before experienced. For one brief second he tried to imagine that such a voice, sweet arid clear, mildly troubled, solicitous, was calling for himBecoming practical again,' he answered quietly, "I am sorry, but I am not Frank." The' girl gave a little involuntary cry, and he hastened to ' reassure her. “I am quite harmless,” he said, ‘ and I think I may be able to set your mind at rest about Frank. A young man who answers to that name was playing cards in ’ the very comfortable parlour of The Whip when I left about half an hour or so ago. - m “I am returning there now, he continued. “Can I deliver any message for you?” “Yes. please. 1 wish you would. Then she paused. “No, I am afraid I

Colin Hope

Author of the “ Phantom Killer.”

must go to him. Did you say he was playing cards—for money?” She was troubled, but Chichester could not repress a smile at her words. “No,” he answered, “I didn’t say he was playing for money, although I ; think, as a matter of fact, there were some little stakes in the game. I don’t think I should worry if I were you, he certainly was having very bad luck while I was there, but I don t think he will lose more than a few pounds if he plays all night. It should teach him the folly of playing cards with strangers.” . “Only a few pounds! The girls voice betrayed her rising anxiety. A few pounds. We can't afford to lose a few shillings. Oh, dear, what can I do? Women had never interested Chichester There had been a time when he had’ been sought after by the opposite sex. Rich, of excellent birth, and good to look upon, he had been regarded as very eligible, but those days were done. Those who mentioned his name at all usually did so quietly, at the same time raising their hands with gestures that ■were meant to betoken either condemnation or a sort of hopeless sympathy for a fallen star. Now for the first time in his life he felt awkward—gawxish—in the presence of one who seemed but a simple country girl. Her distress bothered him and he wondered if he had better tell her the truth about the card party. “Perhaps I can help,” he ventured at last. “I could tell your brother that you want him, you may be embarrassed if you go into the inn.” “No, I must go. You do not know Frank. He is stubborn and he may resent interference. I can manage him, but he is difficult. If only he would She stopped as if in fear that she was saying too much, and Chichester guessed that he was on the point of witnessing the exposure of some family skeleton. Some little trifle, really of no account, but a very real bogey of the first magnitude to those immediately concerned. He did not press his offer of help, for he had no wish to risk a snub, and so contented himself with muttering some platitude about being pleased to do anything in his power to help. Then he filled and lit his pipe and walked on with the girl'in silence. It was not until they saw the lights of The Whip just ahead that either of them spoke again. “I hope you do not think me ungrateful for your offer of help, the girl said. “Really, I do appreciate it, but I am afraid. Everything and everybody seems to be against us, and Frank is so helpless, so silly and careless, that I have to be doubly careful.” “I understand. I can only repeat my offer to help if I can. I expect I shall be staying at The Whip for some time yet, and anything I can do for you will be a privilege. Are you sure you would not like me-to send this young man out to you?” ■ “Yes, perhaps it would be better. 1 hate the thought of going in like some fishwife dragging her man from the' public-house before he has time to spend the week’s housekeeping money. I had better warn you that Frank is likely to be stupid. If he tries to make <i scene, please overlook it, for my sake. She hesitated, embarrassed over the last three words, and Chichester was thrilled as never before. “Don’t-worry, I am used to handling people who try to be awkward. I will send him out.” • The four men looked up together as Chichester entered the room, and he sensed hostility in the glances of at least three of them. He gave no sign that he knew he was unwelcome, but strolled nonchalantly over to the card table and stood waiting while the hand was played; Then he bent down to the youth and told him quietly that his sister awaited him. A flush of annoyance suffused the youth’s cheeks. “What on earth does she want? he asked petulantly. “Tell her I will come home when I am ready.” Chichester "was not anxious to provoke a scene. The young' man’s stupidity irritated him, and he felt a very strong desire to'chastise him in the way that little boys are usually chastised. Instead he said quietly: “It was difficult to persuade your sister not to come in here to ask you to go home. She is very worried. I think you had better go.” “I say I’ll go home when I am ready, the boy repeated. "Do you think I am still a child, to be ordered home before -dark? I am quite old enough and quite capable of looking after myself without any assistance from my sister —or from you, Mr. Nosey Parker.” This was more than Chichester was prepared to stand. His voice was still quiet, but it was icy, deadly, when he replied, “If you were a man I’d knock you down, but as you’re only a child I am going to bend you over my knee and chastise you with this”—he unbuckled his belt as he spoke—“unless you are out of this room in two minutes. At this there was a general movement. Chairs were pushed back and it looked as if Chichester would have his hands full, for the three other card players seemed distinctly antagonistic. The tension was relieved almost as quickly. One of the players—apparently the leader of the trio—laughed suddenly. “I guess we are all getting rattled over nothing,” he said. It s about time we all went home.” He pulled his watch from his pocket, and gazed at it with well-simulated surprise. “Gracious, it is nearly eleven. I must pack off at once, I don’t know if you chaps are staying any longer.” , Guy was not deceived. The man s apparently careless words conveyed an order to his confederates. The party was to break up. There was a danger of trouble and the last thing these men wanted to do was draw attention to themselves. This suited Chichester, for he, too, was anxious that his presence in the district should not be noticed. At the same time he was very much on his guard. The very fact that these men deliberately avoided a conflict told him that he was opposed by no mere gang of hooligans. He had clever men to reckon with, and he was more worried because he had no idea what then business was. Frank was still truculent, but without the support he had expected from the other card players, he did not feel inclined to stand up to Winchester. “All right,” he grumbled, “I suppose I had better toddle along. Goodnight, you chaps. You must let me have my revenge to-morrow.’ “That’s the spirit,” answered the man who had suggested the break-up of the partv. “I always admire a good loser. You’ll have your revenge all right. You certainly have had bad luck to-night. Cheerio.”

(To be continued).