FIDDLESTRINGS

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17699, 20 November 1925, Page 12

FIDDLESTRINGS

“STAR” SERIAL.

By

JOHN HASLETTE VAHEY.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. -(Continued.) Assuming a thread of connection between these various onsets of illness, there was nothing to account for (.cuts seizure in the box at the Empirean, indeed he had received a letter before he started out. In the music-hall itself he had been watching a sand dance by a coloured man. But coloured performers were not rare on the halls. The fact remained that Mrs Van Suyd had only appeared to exert an influence over Gent from that day when she had witnessed his attack, when she had seen him collapse after receiving a missive which she had afterwards rather strangely omitted to mention. Morris went that evening to sec Mr Swade. lie had some business in connection with the company to discuss, ‘'lander had surveyed a further area, marching with the boundaries of Gcftt’s concession, and had cabled asking permission to secure the mineral rights. Swade intended that Gent should take a share in the new venture. Thcv arranged that provisionally. " 1 shall tell him myself,” Swade ended. 44 I am taking Lucie down on Friday. I expect my sister, Mrs Van Suyd, has left.” “1 don't think so. sir.” Morris replied. Miss Mervyn wrote me yesterday that they were staying on. .Mr Swade frowned. He took a turn about the room, then came back to Morris. M} r sister is her own mistress, of course, but I think this proceeding is most unwise -most* unwise. The doctor ordered rest for him. Guests in the house were the last things he would have recommended. And why the il does she drag that young scamp Harry down there?” He* seemed as if he were speaking to himself, but now addressed himself more definitely to Morris. “Will you tell me in confidence, Mr Morris, if you think Miss Mervyn has anything to do with this 44 On the contrary, sir, Miss Mervyn agrees with you.” “ I don’t mean that. I am asking you if you think my nephew is—er—well, a prospective suitor." Morris looked grim. “I think so. I am sure of it. If you’ll excuse me saying so, sir, I am convinced that Gent has given him permission to ” 4 ‘ I see,” Swade interrupted with annoyance. 41 Now, Mr Morris, you and J arc not children, with a pleasure in keeping useless secrets. I gather from Lucie, and I formerly heard it hinted by Gent himself, that you and Miss Mervyn—eh ? ” Morris flushed. “ I can’t speak for Mi ss Mervyn, sir. I admit that I had hopes. I have rather quenched them since Miss Mervyn had this large income settled upon her.” “Then you are foolish.'” said Swade. 44 When I married, Morris, I was a stockbroker’s clerk, and my wife had a good deal of money. If a man is truly in love he can never be called mercenary, with justice; if he isn't in love he’s blameworthy, even if he marries a poor woman. Rut let’s drop that. Personally I have too much respect for Miss Mervyn to allow this to go on. The boy is hopeless and useless, no husband for any decent woman. If X find an opportunity this week-end, I shall speak to Gent about it.” 44 1 shouldn't, if I were you, sir,” said Morris slowly. 44 Mr Gent is very moody lately. Even his attitude to me has altered.” Mr Swade’s clear piercing eyes came to rest on his face. 44 Moody? Your expression tells me that you take it seriously. What precisely do you mean by the term? I shall regard anything you say as strictly confidential, but I cannot forget that Gent is going to marry my daughter.” 44 That makes it rather more difficult for me, sir. I am not sure of my facts. You will perhaps observe better .for yourself when you go down. I don't like to abuse my position No, I sec. I won't harry you. But I admit that your remark seems to imply something very serious indeed.” Morris shut his lips tight. Swade line! it in his power to help him against his rival Harry \ an Suyd, but ho was not going to be disloyal to his employer for the sake of assistance with his love affair. Swade nodded approvingly. “Thank you, Morris. As you say. I shall see lor myself.” “How is Miss Swade keeping, sir?” Swade shrugged. ‘Tolerably. She is much worried, of course, though happy just at the moment *to feci that she will see- him again.” He Irowned again, then forced a smile. hen. you marry, Morris, don’t desire an only daughter.” Morris smiled. “I hadn’t thought of it yet.” Swade put out his hand. “Well, I’m much obliged to you fur coining. 1 shall think over what vuu have said. Good night.” ‘‘Good night.” said Morris. lie shook hands, and escaped. He was glad Swade had not pressed him to say more. nr. Lucille and her father were to have arrived at Great erheek on Friday, leaving London by an early morning t raiu. On that morning they received a telegram asking them to postpone their visit. The events which led to tin's sudden message were not for some time after definitely understood by those who took part in them. There had been so much confusion that it was only alter a good deal of common consultation that they were able to piece things together and to assemble the events ii,i chronological order. 1 he days had been hot and sunny, a jlry wind had blown pretty persistently throughout the Thursdav, so that by evening the roads were white and dusty, the moors hard as iron. Otherwise the day bod been very bright. A cheese-paring of a moon was due about one o’clock that night. At half-p.ast ten it was very dark. Betty fled early from the weariness of the dav and the boredom of the Van Suyds’ society. They turned in at eleven. When they had gone, Gent

went into the library and sat there for a little, his head bowed on his hands. Googe was not in the house. He had leit at live o'clock to walk ovei the moor path to Shenfield, live mi.es away. His wife knew' that he was troubled in his mind, and wished secretly to send a telegram to Morris, asking him to come down. He told no one else, not even Betty. He had begun to suspect that his master was not in his right mind, and was afraid to make Bitty anxious. Gent got up presently and left 11 ic library. Since his stay was likely to be prolonged, be had engaged a tootnian, who had just left the service of a neighbouring squire. Meeting him in the hall now, he asked him if Googe had come back. He was told that Googe had not yet returned. Airs Googe was talking with the cook in the kitchen. Gent ■went upstairs at once. He slipped quietly into* the Googes’ room, and, after listening for a moment, turned up the light and looked eagerly about him. There was little in the room to hold his attention, but after a moment his eye fell on a half-open penny exercise hook that lay on a little table, on'top of an old-fasliioned Bible. Ho pressed the pages open, and studied some broken or corrected sentences that were written there, his face darkening as lie lead. Googe had obviously been trying to compose a telegram to Morris. Gent muttered an oath, looked at the book again, and went to turn out the “I knew* be was spying!” he said, with a muttered oath. He did not go hack the way lie had come, but descended by the back stairs which descended into a cross passage, with a- door at the end giving on the wide, tiled stable-yard. A row of wooden bat pegs wore on the wall. He put out bis hand in the darkness, felt for and found his tweed cap and put it on. Then lie Avent out. Airs Googe heard the back door lightly opened and shut. Thinking it might lie her husband returning, she left the kitchen and wept into the passage, turning up the light. No one was there. She glanced up at the row of pegs, and noticed that Air Gent’s cap had gone. She had seen the cap in its place that afternoon, when she had gone into the yard to iced the pigeons. She was slightly anxious about her husband, but not definitely alarmed yet. fcJheniield was an hour, as her husband would make it by short cuts, an hour and a half otherwise. He knew the moor paths by day or night. Surely lie had met a friend, or had been asked into some house for a chat. She tunned back, went up the stairs, and so to her room. She undressed slowly, got into bed, and blew out the candle. She rarely used the electric light -with which the room had been fitted. She fell soon into a light doze, but wakened again, rather uneasy, a bare half-hour later. An old clock ticked regularly in a farther passage, but there were no other sounds. The house seemed to slumber heavily. She got out of bed, relighted her candle, and sat down on a chair. The night was warm. She sat there, listening for every sound until twelve o’clock. The chime from the clock over the stables startled her. She went uneasily to the window, and stared out into the dark. She did not like to disturb the house by moving about at that hour, but her uneasiness was difficult to repress. Perhaps she thought of that other night, years ago, when Googe had not come home, when they had found him on the moor, unconscious, after the thunder storm. The candle was guttering in the light breeze that played in through the window. Passivity became intolerable. She took the candlestick in her hand, wrapped a shawl round her shoulders, and went very softly down the back stairs to the ground floor. She had the thought to look up again at the row of pegs. Gent's tweed cap hung there in its place. She passed along to the door, unlocked and opened it, and stood on the threshold looking anxiously into the gloom. • Halfpast twelve struck as she stood there. She was very certain of that when they, interrogated her later. It was a fact engraven upon her memory, for she had thought how very late it was for Googe s.till to be absent, and the stable clock had seemed to her excited fancy to boom out, 44 Late? Yes, halfpast twelve.” When she closed the door again, after a few minutes’ vigil, she was thoroughly alarmed. She closed the door and went to the cook's room. Cook was a good-natured soul, she wouldn’t mind. -They could call up the footman, too. and perhaps ask him to go a little way along the moor path to look for Googe. The awakened cook agreed willingly that something ought to be done. She dressed hastily and accompanied Mrs Googe to knock up the footman. William, presently precariously dressed, and yawning hugely, appeared. lie was a good-humoured fellow, if only half awake. A short consultation followed. 44 Do you know the ways your good man would come?” cook asked. 44 That I do.” said Mrs Googe. 44 He'd always cut over by Henley Force, by Knagg’s Farm.” William looked at them inquiringly. 14 Well, ladies.” he said politely, ‘‘what about a light for us. eh?” 44 There’s a good lanthorn in the kitchen, and I put a candle in it yesterday,” said cook. “ Then we’ll be bound to have it.” said William. 44 What moon there is will be a little runt of a moon, and next to no good.'” They left the house by the rear two minutes later. William leading the way with the lanthorn, they slipped across the big tiled yard, and out by a small swing gate to the beginning of the path that led across the moors. 41 I hope my goodman hasn’t had an accident, and him unable to cry out, dear soul,” said Mrs Googe. Cook assented. 44 Indeed. I hopes not, Mrs Googe. It’s a terrible thing for them as has no tongues, so to say, just like a babby that never can say when it’s uncomfortable.” They went on. A minute later they found Googe. lie lay face downwards on the path. (To be continued.)