THE UNHOLY THREE.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 17863, 3 June 1926, Page 16

THE UNHOLY THREE.

BAFFLING IN MYSTERY, SPARKLING IN ROMANCE, ASTOUNDING IN ACTION.

[By

TOD ROBBINS.]

[New Zealand Rights by arrangement with Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Pictures, exclusively.]

INSTALMENT SIXTEEN: “You lied to me always, Tweedledee.” It was Mrs O'Grady who spoke. She was seated in her accustomed place beside the window. “Yes, Tweedledee,” she cried, “you have lied to me—always you have lied! Once you told me that we would go out into the world as to a dance: that we would take ‘Adventure by the hand; that I would be free—free like the wind. But has it come to pass? Ah, no! I am forced to sit here day after day an old woman, knitting 1 I did not leave the circus for this. There I had more liberty; there I had the kind wooden demon who told me what to do.” “Cousin Ilarry” rose to his full height. “Echo,” he said meoacingly, “do not speak so to Tweedledee.” But Mrs O’Grady rising, continued unheedingly. “Yes, you have lied to “You have taken advantage of poor Echo, who has never wished you any harm. At night you have shown him drops of blood; before the morning they have crystallised into precious stones. Blood is precious—precious! That is why Nature hides it so carefully beneath our skins. Each drop will turn into a garnet, or a ruby of it is rich enough. When Hector M’Donald’s uncle left this morning, you whispered in my ear; ‘That man his rarest rubies flowing through his veins.' How could you know that, Tweedledee?” 1 The child frowned impatiently. “Be silent. Echo! ” ‘No, I will not be silent! I am the voice and I shall speak! You have stolen my kind little wooden demon, and you will not give him back to me. Without him, I cannot understand you, Tweedledee. Why did you ask me to find out what size shoes M'Donald wears? I am afraid for him, Tweedledee! I would not have you take a single drop of his blood—no, not if it turned into the most sparkling ruby in our treasure chest. Why is Hercules making stilts? Ah, you will not answer me! I smell blood! It is coming—coming in a torrent of precious stones. I am tired of precious stones. Because of them, I will no longer obey you, Tweedledee.” “What, you will no longer obey our master!” cried the giant. He strode over to Mrs O’Grady. One of his huge hairy hands gripped her throat. “I will wring your neck, so!” he growled, tightening his grasp. “Say the word, Tweedledee, and this voice shall be silent forever.” But the child shook his small round head. “No, no, Hercules. Echo still has work to do. Not yet—not yet!” One bright spring day in the latter part of April Hector M Donald left the dingy little room on Thirty-fourth Street for the last time. That morning the rent had come due, and the young man had found himself in an embarrassing, penniless condition. Nothing remained to take to the pawnshop—nothing, with the exception of the gold headed cane that had belonged to his father. This M'Donald had reserved as a last resource, hoping to raise enough money on it to pay his Way out of the city. Finding himself at the end of his rope, he had determined on this course of action after careful deliberation. Surely in a suburban town he could find work more easily than in this overcrowded money market. Besides, if he had to buckle down to eomcrcialism, it was better to go to some place where he was unknown; where his literary ambitions and failures could not be ridiclued, and he himself be exposed to the cutting, embittering phrase, “I told you °M’Donald had not eaten for fortyeight hours, and, feeling very dizzy, he leaned on his cane as he walked along. Everything seemed strange and distorted to the young man. . ... “Come,” he said to himself, this wall never do! I must pull myself together I’ve felt this way before after dining too well, but, when I haven’t dintd at all, it’s ridiculous. Why does a poor man drink, when to starve is so much less expensive? Ah, there s the parrotshop at last. Don’t elude me, friendlv door knob. . . Ah, I have you When Hector entered the bird-store, he heard the old lady’s voice issuing from the room in the rear. Approaching, he found the door ajar, and saw a sight through the aperture which quite convinced him that his faculties were not to be relied upon. There, in the middle of this tiny room, with -drooping head to escape the rafters, stood ‘Cousin Harry, grown at least a foot taller —or so thought Hector—while Mrs O’Grady sat in one corner, an interested spectator, clapping her hands together and crying out in a shrill voice. “Well done, HerCU As M’Dondld stood there, wild-eyed from astonishment, the giant started walking about the room; and every time he made a step forward the young man heard a wooden thud. Finally he glanced at “Cousin Ilarry s feet, and realised the truth with a sigh of relief. What he saw was not beyond the scope of reason after all. The giant had not grown a foot taller in a single night. No, he was merely standing on stilts—peculiar stilts 'that ended in little wooden feet which resembled boot-trees. “For heaven’s sake!” cried Hector, “what’s this, Mrs O'Grady?” The old lady started violently and turned towards the open door; while “Cousin Harry” wheeled about so suddenly that he almost lost his balance. ‘Why these stilts?’ continued M’Donald. “Isn’t he tall enough without them?’ , , , , “Oh, it’s you; said the old lady. “What a start you gave me! It’s only ‘Cousin Harry’ practising.” “Practising for whatr “Practising? Why. practising to walk on stilts, of course.” “Well, you see it’s this way,” said “Cousin* Harry,” slowly and laboriously, like a stupid child repeating a lesson. “I’ve got a chance to join a circus and be the giant in the side-show. They want me to be eight feet tall. I'm not. quite big enough to suit some of them, so I'm learning to walk in these things. They won’t know the difference, when I get shoes on.” “Oh. I see,” said Hector And then turning to the old lady: “Where is ‘The Silent One?’ Is he going to join the circus too?” “Who? Willie? Oh, no, sir. He’s been adopted. The old gentleman sent for him this morning. What a fine new home, he's got. I took him over myself. What a beautiful garden your uncle has under his library window. Willie is sleeping in the library

until a nursery is fixed up for him. He can smell the flowers when the window’s open. It’s beautiful, beautiful!” “Who adopted him?” cried Hector. “Not Uncle Tobias?” ‘The very same, sir. He called on me the other day, and was so kind and pleasant-spoken. ‘I like that baby. Mrs O’Grady,’ he said. ‘Let me have him, and I’ll guarantee to provide for him all his life. 11l bring him up like a gentleman, Mrs O’Grady.’ What could I do then? I couldn’t stand in little Willie’s way, even if I do love the child and hate to have him leave Hector remembered the day when the old lady had stared so intently through the shop window at the flying piece of paper and had expressed such a different attitude towards little Willie; but now he very wisely held his tongue. Anything she said at any time, he reasoned, was merely the mad impulse of the moment. “You look sick and worn out, sir,” she continued in a motherly fashion. “Won’t you have some tea and toast? I was just going to make some when you canie in.” “I haven’t had anything “to eat in two days,” said Hector, sinking down on the lounge. “I’m kind of dizzy, Mrs O'Grady.” “Good heavens! Take off those stilts. Harry, and make a fixe in the stove. Why haven’t you eaten anything, Mr M’Donald ?” “All my money’s gone,” Hector answered simply. “The last of it went Tuesday. I was on my way to the pawshop with this cane; but I felt too weak, and so I thought I'd drop in here and rest for a moment.” “And rest you shall, sir. Take off those shoes and lie down on the sofa. You'll be more comfortable there. That’s the way.. Take those shoes and clean them, Harry. They’re not in very good shape, sir. Why did you put these nails in the sole of this one? They make a cross, don’t they? That’s strange! ” “Yes,” said Hector, drowsily. “You see the sole was coming off—was deserting me in my time of need —so I tacked it on with a cross of nails for luck.” By this time “Cousin Harry’” had taken off his ; stilts, and, rolling up his trousers about his enormous ankles, he proceeded to make himself useful. First he took Hector's shoes out of the room, and then coming back immediately busied himself over the stove. Boon the kettle was steaming, and a small sirloin steak was in process of cooking. Finally everything was in readiness. “Cousin Harry” pulled a small table in front of his lounge; the old lady placed on it a napkin, knife and fork, and, last of all, the steaming steak itself. “Now, sir,” said she, “you can begin.” But her invitation was unnecessary, for M’Donald, quite changed from his old fastidious self, literally pounced on the meat and devoured it like a hungry wolf. “This is awfully kind of 3'ou, Mrs O’Grady,” he said at last, looking up from the plate on which nothing remained but a few boiies and red splashes of gravy. “That steak was wonderful. You must excuse me, if I acted like a cannibal.” “Poor boy,” said the kind old lady—and there was genuine solicitude in her eyes—“poor boy, you were hungry. Now you must have your tea and toast. See, they’re all ready for j’-ou.” Hector, nothing loath, drank the warming beverage as though it were nectar, and devoured at least a dozen pieces of toast. Then, feeling drowsy, he let himself fall back on the lounge, and closed his eyes. “That’s right,” said the old lady, “try to get a little sleep if you can. I'll tell ‘Cousin Harry’ not to wake you when he comes in with your shoes.” With her finger to her lips, she tiptoed out of the room. And then M’Donald felt himself carried away in the swift, silent river of sleep. It came suddenly and swept him off, bearing him away to the drowsy sea of dreams. Even in a half conscious condition, he realised that this sleep was unnatural. He struggled ! against it weakly, but found the tide too strong for him and the shore of wakefulness too far away. It was as though a heavy black curtain had fallen before his eyes; as though he were lying beneath a mountain of soft, downy feathers. He could neither struggle nor cry out. He was helpless. Once the black curtain lifted a trifle: and it was then that he had the strange dream, which perhaps was no dream. He seemed to be looking at the objects in the room through half-closed ej'es. There were the empty dishes on the table, the kettle on the stove, and the old clock ticking out the seconds. “Cousin Ilarry” was gone, but the kind old lady was here. What was she doing? Ah, she was rummaging in a box beside the window. Now she was drawing out of it a little figure—a little figure of wood. Now she was placing it on the mantelpiece. What could it be? Why, it had legs like a goat, and the head of an old man! Now she was on her knees before it with outstretched arms. But why was her voice so filled with joy? “Oh, I've found you! I’ve found you! ” cried the old lady. “I’ve found my brain!” And then a strange thing happened—even for a dream. The little figure sitting on the mantelpiece—the little wooden figure with legs like a goat and the face of an old man—spoke. “I have your brain,” it squeaked, “and you have me. Ask, and I must answer. Tweedledee has led you into strange paths since last we met, my master.” “Strange paths,” echoed the old lady in a voice like a sob. (To be continued.)