“THE TURN OF THE TIDE.”

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17189, 5 November 1923, Page 10

“THE TURN OF THE TIDE.”

“ STAR ” NEW SERIAL.

By

FRED M. WHITE.

CHAPTER IX. Though it was not quite five o'clock on that sunny a!ternoon in early March when Ellis had met Vera in the little wood, Patricia had lighted the lamp in the sitting room of the cottage and had given her lather his tea. He sat before the lire gazing into the coals, with an expression on his face that seemed to Pat to lie something new. As a rule, he remained perfectly silent for hours together, us if in a sort of sleep, but there was a queer alertness about him just then that pleased Pat, and at the same time somewhat disturhed her. And more than once since the luncheon things had been cleared away lie had /spoken to her of things in lire |»a.si which he had deemed to he long ago forgotten. And, strangest

thing ol all, lie liud just asked lor a book. “Oil, do you really think you could follow it?” Pat asked. *Do you realise, dad. that you haven’t looked at a book tor two years ? 1 should say it was more than that.” ‘•ls it?” Langley sa?fl. with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Ho had displayed more command over his powers of speech than lie had done since his seizure, and Pat was conscious of a little glow of hope as she looked at him. “ Is it. all that time really? Still. I think I could follow something l ght. and if you want to go out, my dear. I shall be quite all right. '* “Well. I should like to get out for half an hour. I want to go as far as the old place and see Vera.” “ Quite right, quite right.” Langlev observed. “ She is a real nice girl, is Vera. And she comes to see me nearly every day, when you are in that hateful city. But perhaps you won’t be there much longer, Pat, things may happen ” Langley’s voice trailed off into a mumble, and Pat looked at him a little anxiously. Hail he got something at the back of his mind, she wondered, or had lie guessed something of tha relationship between herself and CfeofLey Rust? Then his glance caught her questioning gaze, and he began to e>pcak again. Never mind about me.” lie said. It was only a little thought that was passing through my mind. Put i on your hav and go out. my child- J 1 shall lie quite all right.” ( A minute or two later Pat was walking through the shrubbery leaning to j the .Moat House. At the bottom of j the driver she came upon Vera on her i way home. “ Oil, so you have been out too?” j she cried. ” 1 was just going up to the house to see you. W here have you “ Shall I tell you the truth?” Vera | asked. ”My dear Pat, 1 have been carrying on with a young man. it is a dreadful confession, of course.” j “in other words, you have been j with Mr Liiis. Vera, do you think j that is quite frank on your part?” Oil, 1 don’t know,” \ era said. io blame as anybody else.” “ V'liat precisely do you mean by j that?” Pat asked. “ Well, my dear, if that young man ! of yours had not brought .Jack to ( the Moat House I shouldn’t have known him. and in that case we shouldn’t have fallen in love with one * another. Besides, it isnt’ fair, it isn't | really. What is the matter with .lack, and why shouldn’t 1 love him if I want ‘‘>? Oh. I know what l owe to the man I rail my father, but he is not really my father, and that makes all the difference, you see. Don’t preach, Pat : 1 have had such a happy afternoon- Now, come along and have a cup ol tea with iiie- You have already had it? Well. 1 don’t think much j of that for an excuse.” They entered the house together. * and crossed the wide, him hall 7 every inch of which Pat knew, as she knew j her own hand. There were few clays I together without her being inside the old home, but the feeling of regret and the sense of desolation at her heart was nearly as keen now as it had been | on the day when she first turned her ! back upon the home where she had j ,>et? n born. Perhaps Vera had divined | something of this as she made Pat i j comfortable in a big armchair by the i j drawing-room fireside and rang for ! tea. “ on are a wonderful girl. Par.” j she said “ 1 wish I had vour self- i command. Now, if it had been me, I should have bated you every time T came into the house. T don’t think T could have come into the house at all. Pat. do you understand how it over came about -T mean the circumstances that, loci to your father losing all his money?” “ 1 never had the heart to ask.” Pat sighed. “ Resides, it would have been quite useless if T had. From the moment when T found mv father lying senseless in the library till the present moment, lie has never been, in a fit state to explain. T know that when his affairs came to be examined there was nothing left except a bundle of shares in some bankrupt company,. Mr ( root was very kind, and did his best, but it was hopeless from the first. You see. my father had been wildly gambling for years, though after they became friends T believe that Mr Croot did Ins best to restrain him- Of course. 1 learnt a great deal about this sort of thing when I went into the city, and learnt something of business, but T would much rather not sneak about it-”

‘■Bhe lay back in Tier chair with the I dainty old Worcester teacup in her hand, one from a set of which she had i used many a time in that same spot ; in dispensing old-time hospitality. She ; was grateful, as always, to notice that nothing had been changed there. The [ same silk window curtains, the same , Persian carpet on the floor, and the : •Janie old cabinets filled with priceless ••china, standing against the panelled i walls. All over the house’, every well- : remembered article was just as she had i left it. and in the library the cM : Dutch cabinets with their secret drawers still stood a« they had done for the | last two hundred years. “ Doesn’t it almost make von hate ■ me?” Vera asked. ; My dear girl Pat smiled—” I think 1 have heard you say the same j thing fifty times. And, besides, it is a great consolation to me to know j that all these things T love so well are ■ still here, within a quarter of a mile j of the cottage door. Better than that I thev should be scattered far and wide. and perhaps some dav when you are I married to Jack FHK—ns you will be. I sooner or later T am sure—and Air } ('root decides that a smaller house will bo more comfortable for him, T may be mistress here again.” “ All. wouldn’t that be delightful !” Vera cried. “ And why not? You are not very confiding, Pat. but T am in I love myself, so I can read the signs I in others. And when Geoffrey ltust has completed his probation, he will he quite rich, won’t he?” “ Well, that is our dream,” Pat said, looking thoughtfully into the lire. ‘' It 1 may b° only a dream, but it is a very plea«fng one. Still, we are getting on 1 j a. Io! too fast- Geoffrey ha« not even i, •"•' Oh. you humbug.” Vera cried. “ 7 i suppose you learnt all this caution iu

the city. Now, 1 think -ivhat’s that?” I Outside someone was approaching the | house and walking rather noisily upon 1 tho neatly-gravelled drive. Then a blue coat topped by a helmet appeared. ' and vanished past the drawing-room windows in the direction of the front “A policeman.” Vera wont on with mild curiosity “ Now T. wonder what lie wants here this peaceful Sunday j afternoon ?” At that same moment, seated at his desk in the library, ('root was uneasily asking himself the same thing. A vivid recollection of what had happened on the Friday night filled him with a vague sense of impending trouble. But lie rose coolly enough and went into the hall, when summoned by a servant to see tho tmw'el- I come visitor who was standing stiffly j on the door mat. ‘‘ T beg our pardon, sir.” the constable Raid. *‘ But 1 am afraid I ' am come on rather unpleasant busi- . ness. I believe that you have a house- ) maid here called Ada Avory.” Croot was suddenly conscious that a weight had been lifted from his mind. ! This could not possibly concern him. | “ Really, J don’t- know,” he said. ' "I don’t take much interest in tho j servants. T will aslc rny daughter.” I Vera came out into the hall nt the ! sound of Croot’s voice. ‘‘Oh, yea,” she said. ‘Of course. I The third housemaid. She has been j with us some little time. Don’t you | remember, dad. it was -Mr Ellis who | found her for me?’* Croot nodded vaguely. It was no j further business of liis, so lie went j back to his work in the library. “Is there anything wrong?” Vera ' asked. ‘' Well. I can’t, exactly say, miss.” j the officer replied. “But this girl’s I father left his lodgings in Wapping j on Saturday morning and he hasn’t been seen since. He is an old sailor, who was employed on the ThaYnes as i a night watchman on barges that arc | filled with goods. A rough and ready | man. I understand, and none too sober I on occasion, beyond which there is j nothing against him. He may have ] gone off on a jag. miss.” “A jag?” A’era echoed. ” What 1 do you mean ?” “ Reg pardon, miss,” the officer I said in some confusion. “I meant to ! say a spree. A drunk. They does sometimes. On the other hand, it might be serious. So the landlady, tells us all about it so the sergeant' she comes to us this afternoon and .sent me down here after we, pad found cut that Ada Avorv was employ. She might know where ho. is.” “ Do you mean that you want to see her?” A’era- asked. ” That’s it. miss. If it isn’t too much trouble.” A'era disappeared for a moment, to return n little later with a rather pretty, intelligent looking girl whose face whitened and whose eyes filled with tears ••. hen she heard what the officer had to say. She shook her head when lie asked her if she had heart or seen anything of her fathe> during the last two or tlircc days. “ No. indeed I haven't.” she said. " What do you want me to do? Oh, don’t tell me anything has happened to him.” •J am not suggesting it.” tha policeman said with gruff sympathy. “ He might have picked up some old friends and gone off for a. nay or two. Being a man living my himself in lodgings, he had no call to tell anybody he was going.” “ But father isn’t a bit like that.” the cirl urszed. •• In that cast, he would have been certain to have written to me. Besides, I always get n. I letter from him on Saturday morn- | digs.” “Then you had one yesterday?” A'era asked. “ No. I didn’t.” the girl replied. “ Oh, I must go at once and see about it. Something must have happened.” A'era was full of practical sympathy at once. “ I don’t want you to do anything in a hurry, Ada,” she said. “ Perhaps you are making yourself miserable i for nothing. And besides, you can’t I gain anything by going off to-day. and I 1 am quite sure the police are doing all they can. Now. why nor wait till to-morrow, and 1 will get Jordan to run you down to AA'apping in rue small car. You must go and see Mr Ellis. Jt was he who recommended you to me. remember.” A'era turned to the stolid figure in blue.. • I think that will be the Lest way,” | she said. “'Mr Ellis, who is a friend of mine, writes a great deal for the 1 newspapers. He spends a lot of his time in the East End of London, along I tho river, where he has lodgings, and j lives just like all the rest of them. I He knows this poor girl’s father quite well, and I think you will find him exceedingly useful. Ada. you give the policeman Mr Ells’* address, anil no doubt he will see Air Ellis, and tell him that you are coming down tis AA'apping to-morrow morning.” AVith that the constable departed, and the tearful housemaid went off to her own quarters. The drawing-room door being open all this time, Pat had been able to hear practically the whole of what had been taking place. (To be continued.)