The Mysterious Masquerade

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 659, 12 January 1933, Page 14

The Mysterious Masquerade

ky • • •

J. R. WILMOT

CHAPTER XX. Molly Meets Roger.

Molly Carstairs felt that ehe was, for the moment, making a success of life. She dropped with ridiculous ease into the role which she had been forced on to play, yet nevertheless she was thankful that Major Carstairs had comparatively few friends in London. When a man has been absent from England the length of time the major had, it was only to be expected that there should have been some crumbling of the cement of friendship. For this the girl was devoutly thank ful. When it was all over and done with; when the exposure had been made complete, she would have to drop back once again into that nonentity that had been her lot before this amazing thing had happened. In all probability she would be forced again to seek her livelihood in London, and the fewer friends she made during the course of her masquerade, the easier it would be. She had no desire to see herself pointed out as “that impostor” who had tricked a man into the belief that she was his daughter. So when the major returned home from his luncheon appointment with Sir Hugo Gatling and intimated that he had invited Sir Hugo and a young man to dine with them at The Trocadero that night, Molly was none too well pleased. And when she had asked the name of the young man and had been told that his name was Barling —Roger Barling, it took every ounce of her selfcontrol to prevent Major Carstairs from noticing the panic that had leapt in her brain at the mention of the name. But during the afternoon she grew calmer, and after a pleasant afternoon tea in the lounge, the panic had passed away altogether and had left in its place a sensation of pleasurable and quite exciting anticipation. Molly knew that the ordeal before her would be one in which she must have all her wits about her. She had not forgotten that memorable afternoon when he had “cut” her as he had emerged from Paul Silver’s “office.” He had been surprised to see her there; she kenw that, but she had been nevertheless not a little hurt at his manner. And in that moment she felt that she would be justified in causing him some small amount of discomfort himself. She knew that she would be the very last person he would ever anticipate seeing; and to learn that she was Major Carstairs’ daughter would probably complete liis emotional rout. They drove together in a taxi cab to The Trocadero, and Major Carstairs kept telling himself that Molly looked even more attractive than he had ever seen her look before, and he smiled wisely to himself. He knew it had all been designed to impress the “young man” he had mentioned, who was to be present. Molly had conjured up all Eve’s art. Roger Barling arrived ten minutes before the appointed hour and sat down in the lounge with an illustrated magazine to await their arrival. But the magazine did not interest him. His mind had sobered somewhat from itis. turmoil, and he scanned the entrance eagerly. At last he saw them—at least he recognised the major. One could have picked out that straight military figure anywhere, but the girl beside him with the deep blue ermine-edged cloak had her face slightly averted. But as they crossed the lounge Roger wanted to dive behind the pages of his periodical defences, for he could see her face now. It was his Molly Carstairs. Molly greeted Roger Barling with one of her sweetest smiles, but there was no hint of recognition in her eyes as he bowed before her. He was telling himself that there was something subtly different about her —something more sophisticated than there had been on that occasion at “The Cygnet.” She had greater poise; her laugh had more assurance, and Major Carstairs was quite obviously exceedingly proud of her. He wanted to be brazen and suggest that he was certain they had met before, but he could not bring himself to the point of saying so. Besides, he argued, “obviously she doesn’t wish to remember that affair, and I’d better respect her wishes for the moment, but I m going to find out something before the night’s through, or my name’s not Roger Barling.” At dinner Roger found himself with Molly on his right hand and facing Major Carstairs. It wa 6 a jolly little meal and if Roger had imagined it would have been characterised by some restraint, he was doomed to disappointment. Molly chattered away with an inconsequential air which puzzled Roger not a little, while Sir Hugo and the Major appeared to be continuing their reminiscences which had been begun at lunch. When the meal was over and the strains of the dance band in an adjoining room reached them, Major Carstairs suggested that perhaps Molly would like to dance. It was a nicely toned hint and Roger took it. Ever since he had seen her entering the place an hour before lie had longed to get her alone. He wanted very much to tear aside the veil of mystery that seemed to surround her. So they danced, and to Molly memories came back of the first dance she had had with Roger Barling at the Cygnet Club. During the foxlfot neither spoke as if from tacit consent, but when it had finished and Roger had led her away to a discreetly secluded corner and lowered her into a deep basket work chair under the palms, lie turned to her from liis own chair and asked: “Why is it, Miss Carstairs. that you appear to be making it seem that we have never met before?” The girl flashed him a curious glance, then her lips formed a smile. “Have we?” she countered, innocently. “You know quite well we have,” he told her. with a trace of anger in his tone. “What does it all mean? When we met at the Cygnet you told me that you hadn’t a relative in the whole wide world, that you were out of a job, and you agreed to let me help you. Now I discover that first of all you are the niece of a man named Silver, and tonight you are Major Carstairs' daughter. If I am wrong I hope vou will correct Molly listened to the accusation fearfully. From the first moment she had met Roger Barling she had divined that he was a persistent, obstinate young man, else she would never have dreamed of telling him her troubles. But now there was more than a hint of suspicion in his mind and she realised that at all costs she must place him on firm ground--give him no cause to suspect her*

For a moment she was silent, cudgel* ling her brains for a story that would ring tolerably true. Then inspiration came to her aid. She smiled. It was a smile of adequate understanding of the young man’s perplexities that made him "feel suddenly conscious of the possession of an inferiority complex. “It is quite true what you say,” she smilingly assured him. “Every word is quite true. If you ask Major Carscairs he will tell you that I am still suffering from loss of memory; that there are a great many things in my life I cannot clearly recall. “The day after I met you at the Cygnet I was stopped by a policeman, who told me I was ‘ wanted.’ I was taken to a police station, and Mr. and Mrs. Paul Silver came to claim their lost niece. So you see at the time I met you I had no recollection of my veal identity. I was suffering from a loss of memory. That would account for any story I might unwittingly have told you. To all intents and purposes that night I was what I represented myself to be a lonely young woman with no one to care for her. But now, of course, you will see that things have changed. I wasn’t wholly without relatives even though I imagined I was at the time. Roger listened to the explanation eagerly. It certainly rang true. Ke had heard of people losing their memories and being utterly unable to “place” themselves or events that had happened. But there was one puzzling feature to the case, and that was Major Carstairs. . “But how about your father ? Hadn t you remembered him?” She shook her pretty head, sadly. “I didn’t know anything about him until Mrs. Silver told he was returning home from India.” “I’m sorry,” he apologised, “more sorry than you know. I’ve behaved abominably. I had made up my mind that you had deceived me. It was a bitter blow to my pride and to mv assessment of character. When I saw you that day at Lawn House . . • well, I didn’t know what to think. _ Id had rather a nasty passage with Silver and I wasn’t quite myself. Besides, Id left a note for you at the address m Chelsea and . . . well, I thought you might have answered it.” This was a shock for Molly. Paul Silver had told her that there had been no message left for her. “I never had your letter,” she tola him, quietly. “You see, I’ve never been back to Chelsea since that day I set out and was taken into custody.” “Things are certainly a lot clearer now,” he told her, brightly. “Shall we have this dance?” Molly nodded happily, and the next moment when she felt his arm around , her she forgot the ache which was in her heart. CHAPTER AXI. The Other Molly Carstairs. Molly Carstairs had not risen early the morning following her renewed acquaintance with Roger Barling. She had, in fact, lain awake half the night turning over and over in her mind the stupendous problem that now confronted her. She was convinced of one thing—that Roger loved her, and that she loved him. No words of mutual adoration had passed between them; they would have been unnecessary. When the heart speaks the tongue is not infrequently dumb. She had not lied to Roger—not deliberately lied. She bad said: “If you ask Major Carstairs he will tell you that I am suffering from a loss of memory.” That had been true. She had taken her cue from that, and it had served her well. Yet the deception must still persist, and when that deception was finally revealed, as it must someday be revealed, she would lose Roger—she knew she would lose him —and that would be the hardest part of it all. Molly did not mind for herself. She could disappear into the maelstrom of life, but there would always be an emptv place in her heart that no one but Roger could ever fill. If only she could tell him the truth! As the hours of the night sped by she debated earnestly with herself whether such might not*be the wisest course. She felt that Roger would believe her; that Roger would understand the desperate situation in which she had been placed. He had hinted that he disliked Paul Silver intensely. He had not offered a reason for this, but she had already guessed. Roger would protect her as he had offered to do that night when he believed her to be a friendless in the heart of London’s millions. But there was always the danger that perhaps Roger might not want to understand. He had told her that the reason for his nonrecognition of her at “Lawn House’ was because he imagined that she had deceived him. That pointed to the conclusion that Roger hated deception of any kind and that he could never condone it in anyone to whom he had become attached. Then there was Major Carstairs. Molly hated to think of that hour of disillusionment that must dawn sooner or later. He was happy now —happy in the. thought that he had been at last reunited to his daughter. So far what she had done was largely with the object of causing him as little pain as possible, and in the hope that one day she would seek out a private inquiry agent and set the wheels of investigation revolving in that direction. She was conscious that it might be a hopeless task. .After that, her fate in the lap of the gods. Major Carstairs had breakfasted tvhen Molly emerged. “Late night,” he laughed, wagging a finder at her, “don’t seem to he suiting one little person of my acquaintance. Molly smiled also. “I don’t know why I should have been so sleepy,” she told him, “but it was awfully jolly, wasn’t it?” “Well,” he mused, “I think you might have invited me to have just one dance, don’t you think. I told young Barling about it afterwards in the cloak room. Seemed quite upset, poor fellow. Of course T was only joking, and when he asked me whether l thought you’d like to oro out dancing with him again, T said he might ask you. I’m afraid my little girl is slipping away from me.” Mollv coloured prettily. “There you go, lea; ing to your conclusions again, rhe smiled. “Of course I like Mr. Barling very much, but—l don’t think I shall ever marry him.” “Stuff and nonsense,” protested the major. “Of course vou will. He’s just the right type; though I think he ought to do something for a living," he added, seriously.

Mollv attacked her breakfast heartily while Major Carstairs told her of an appointment he had at the War Office, and that to-night he had promised to address a meeting in connection with ‘some All-India League.” “So you see, my dear,” he intimated, apologetically, “I’ll have to leave you to your own devices unless I phone young Barling.” “Please, not that,” Molly protested. ‘There are heaps of things I want to io—shopping and all that.” “All that” consisted primarily in I 1 hunting out tlie smartly appointed office jf Mr. Frank Millsomc, private inquiry »gent, of Temple Court. (To be continued daily.)