MARRIED OR SINGLE

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20456, 8 November 1934, Page 14

MARRIED OR SINGLE

s' Author of X. ' “Through Deep Waters,” “Against v the Wall,” , \ etc. /

By

K. F. Brodrick

CHAPTER XXJII. The next day Rose and youhg Miles, Mr. Fleming and Sylvia set out for a walk across the fields, and finally made their way towards the river, which ran like a shining silver ribbon through the meadows of Silvester in the direction of the neighbouring town. The party, gaining its banks, walked on beside it. Rose and young Miles went briskly ahead, and soon Sylvia and Fleming were far behind. It had been fine when they set out, but after a time clouds gathered and drops of rain fell. Before long it was raining hard, and Fleming, looking hastily round, suggested to his companion that they should make for a broken-down shed which stood at the end of the field through which they were walking and, battered though it was, offered a shelter from the storm.

Sylvia consented —it was indeed the only thing to do—and, hastening on, they were soon in shelter, and she was sinking, panting, on to an upturned box to regain her breath. There was not a sign of Rose and young Miles.

For a few minutes. Fleming stood silent at the entrance of the shed, watching the grey veil of rain sweep over the fields and river, then he looked sharply round at his companion.

“I rather wanted to get you away from the others, me dear,’’ he began familiarly, ‘‘because I've got something a bit special to say to you, and it seems to me that I might as well say it here —right now,” he told her engagingly. Sylvia jerked round in surprise towards the speaker, and, as she did so, John's scornful words came back to her: “But, my dear kid, you don’t think he came for nothing?” Was that true? Had this horrible little American really come on a special mission, and was she to hear about it now?

“‘A bit special?’” she repeated now in a startled voice. “What on earth can you mean, Mr. Fleming?” He began to smile. “Well, it’s only just about a little boon I want to ask, mo dear —”

“Perhaps, then,” came from Sylvia curtly, drawing her head up a little, “you will come to the point, and tell nie what it is.”

“You mayn't quite—cotton to it.” “I can tell you that —can’t I?—when I know what it is.” For a moment the man remained silent, as if deliberating how to put his request into suitable words. That did not, however, take long, and he continued, and as he did so, came further into the shed and stood beside her.

“I’ve a friend —a writer chap,” he informed her steadily, “who is mightily interested in queer sort of stones, especially when they’ve odd stories attached to them, and he wants to know if you’d let him have the loan of that tasty little opal of yours for two or three days—not longer, on my honour. So what I want to ask is—will you let him have it —and will you get it for me?”

Sylvia, startled beyond words at the man’s audacity, shrank back, and her face paled.

“But of course T can't .do that,” she was able to say shakily at last. “For one thing, Mr. Fleming, it isn’t mine to lend. Tf your friend wants the loan of it, you'd better go to my father about it. It’s his property, and it’s valuable, and it is lie who must say whether he would grant such—such a preposterous request. ' I can have nothing, anyway,” she finished proudly, “to do with it.”

Montague Fleming smiled in a superior kind of way.

“But I’m not going to do that, me clear. For one thing I know real well Sir George would never grant such a preposterous request, as your high and mightiness chooses to put it—and also I have chosen to come to you—because I know you can't possibly refuse me.” “Cant I, though?” cried the girl hotly. “We’ll 300.” “YVe will, as you say. see,” returned the man in a firm and deliberate voice. “And T have a weapon in my hand, n:y lady, that can't possibly fail.” As lie spoke, he came nearer, and put a hand on her shoulder. “What if I say that (if you don’t do as I ask),” he went on in a sickening whisper, “that I’ll go straight to your father and tell him about you and John Hadfield—and about that jolly little kid which you and lie visit so secretly? Gee!—it wouldn’t be the very prettiest tale to tell i man about his daughter—would it, now. me dear?”

Violently shaking off his lian.l, Sylvia rose to her feet, and, tottering to' the trail and leaning against it, she turned to face him. She had become as white as death, and her whole body, was trembling with agitation. tl ‘‘ You fieml —y°" fiend!” she cried. “ Yo " , know —y°« know— that the— the the tale you so disgustingly infer—isn’t

Fleming laughed ironically. ‘■But my policy, me dear, isn’t to bother if a tale is true, but to work on (he assumption that I know of ears very receptive to hear it, and not only to hear it, hut to believe every word of* it. Your father,” he went on darkly, “is growing very suspicious about you and Hadfield —and I could tell him how you were at that hotel together, how he escorted you to England, how you were hidden ail those months, and how, after lie takes this country house so ns to be near you, you begin visiting the kid together. That’s a. good talc, which would hang real nicely together, and T mean to use it—without any dainty scruples, either—if you don’t get that opal for me, for I’m—going to have it, me dear.”

Sylvia looked across .it the man wildly.

“This, then—this is what you came for?” she panted. “Perhaps,” was the cool answer. “Anyway. there—you have a nicely worked - out little plan, and eo let us hear what you say about it, my lady.” Standing in front of her, he gazed fixedly into her agitated face. “You —villain!” choked the girl furiously. “Well, go then and tell —your disgusting story—tell Daddy anything. I don’t care,” she went on desperately. “I don’t—l don't. You can't prove the truth of it, anyway. I’m certain of it.” “I think I can,” came from the man Across the gloomy shed. “And better keep cool about it. There’s no—hurry,” lie went on calmly. “The rain may keep us here some time yet,” was his remark, as they listened to the drops pattering down on the i - oof above them. “So there’s time for you to think the thing out carefully, and I fancy you will come to the conclusion that to lend the opal for those three days would be the easiest way out for all of us.”

Sylvia, pulling herself together a little now, looked at him with piteous wonder. “But how could I tell you’ll really bring it back?” she said shakily. “And what would Daddy say—what would lie—when he—he saw that it was gone!” “I have arranged all that,” said the other quickly, feeling he was making, at last, some little impression. “And you need have no real fears, Miss Wharton, if you grant this, little request to my friend. I have been able to get a very nice little copy of the opal made which we could put in the place of the other whilst it is away. It was made from a drawing I made the first evening I was here. Now, come, look at it.” As he spoke, Fleming drew from liis pocket a small jewel case. Touching a spring, the lid flew back, showing an imitation opal, which to those who were not connoisseurs might easily be mistaken for the Wharton opal itself. Amazed ,Sylvia looked at it, then turned trembling away. “All the same, I can’t get it for you, she’ whispered hoarsely. “I can’t —touch it. I daren’t. You know,” she went on, her eves filling with still greater fear, “that—l daren’t. You know—you—know what thev say about —it.” “Poof,” thrust in Fleming with an incredulous laugh. “Heavens above, you don’t really believe all that crazy stuff, do you? Why. you vourself admitted it was all nonsense only yesterday.” “Nevertheless —I can’t do it,’ said the sirl miserably. “And 1 think you’re wicked —horribly wicked—to ask me to. How I wish I’d never let you come here! John Hadfield warned me against you. and I suppose,” she went on wildly, ‘‘he —he knew the sort of—man you are. He ‘•Oh—so lie warned you, did he—in one of your mysterious evening visits to him. I suppose?” came mockingly. She turned on him with blazing eyes. “How —dare you drag Mr. Hadfield into this horrible business again,” she cried furiously. Her intense indignation knew no bounds. “Mr. Hadfield lias done a lot —in liis friendship for me.” she faltered. “And, never, never till I die can I forget wliat' I owe him, but—l won’t have him dragged in the mud like this, I tell you. I'd rather die. I'd rather you killed me here and now. I would indeed.” she thrust in. breaking down utterly at last, and sobbing helplessly. “My dear kid,” came from the other, smoothly. “I don’t want to kill you. i»o T. I wouldn’t hurt a hair of your pretty little head, and we won’t have to use this unpleasant story. Gosli! —of course we won’t. Xo, no, my dear, just you go and do as I ask, and'we won’t have to say anvthing at all—will we, now?” The girl looked up hastily with a tearstained face. It would have been a relief to her outraged feelings if she could have shot the man there and then. “How—l hate —you!” she cried vehemently. “Hating doesn't do any good—does it. deary? —and not very much harm” said the imperturbable Fleming, priding himself that on the whole, his plan _ was working well. “And—look, the rain is nearly over.” Sylvia made a frantic movement towards the entrance to the shed, but. as she moved. Fleming’s hand came sharply down on her shoulder. “That opal is to he in my possession to-morrow —midnight, —he breathed in her ear. “I shall wait up to get it. You mustn’t —fail.” he went on in a threatenin" way. “Remember.” CHAPTER XXIV. The following afternoon Sylvia, with voung Miles and Rose, walked over to the “Pines” in order to have tea with Hadfield and his sister, who was staying with him. At lunch time it had heen found that Sir George had driven oyer to the golf links and had taken ricming with him. Hadfield was leaning over a gate at the end of his garden waiting for the little party to come up, and he loosed rather searcliinglv into Sylvia's eyes as ho greeted them. Her white face and unhappy expression disturbed him, but he could say nothing to her then, and he led the 'three to the house, where, on the verandah, his sister was sitting with her boy. Sylvia had met this sister before, and the'two greeted each other with friendliness. Mrs. Lancaster liked Sylvia, and had a secret longing to see her brother fall in love with her. In spite of John’s being older lie would make a girl a perfectly splendid husband, she thought with admiring affection, and Sylvia would be a charming wife. Perhaps, after all. it was only a question of time, for, if she were not mistaken, John was fond of her already. This belief had been confirmed l»v a

talk she had had with her brother that day after lunch, which had ended in liis proposing that she should ask Sylvia to stay with her at a bungalow she had taken lately at Merton-on-Sea. There was not much chance of saying a word about this to Sylvia, for young Miles and Rose seemed here, there and everywhere that day. full of jokes and laughter in which Mrs. Lancaster and her young son were only too ready to join, but, just for a minute or two after tea, John was able to hold the girl back as they wandered along the garden paths to the river in company with the others. “Look here, Sylvia,” he said very softly in her ear, “just a word. Without telling her any unnecessary things. I have asked my sister to invite you clown to her bungalow at Merton. 1 want you to accept, my dear. It will give us time to consider —other things. I can’t bear to think of your staying on at the ‘Towers’ now things are as you say. 1 feel convinced that you must get away—for a bit, anyway. Sylvia, dear.’’ he pleaded gently, “you There was a moment’s silence, and as he looked at her closely he saw, to his horror, she was trembling, and that tears were in her eyes. “Sylvia.” lie cried in distressed tones, “what is it, my dear? Is there anything fresh about that poisonous little Fleming? Come—tell me.” The girl flushed crimson. “It’s all right,” she told him in a shaking voice. “Quite all right—really—really. And I think it’s awfully kind of Mrs. Lancaster. And Merton—why—it—it would be lovely.” “I say,” cried John’*? young nephew, popping round a. corner, “I’ve seen a whopper trout—just you two come and look.” (T.» be continued daily.)