“HE WHO FIGHTS”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 109, 11 May 1931, Page 12

“HE WHO FIGHTS”

SERIAL stora

(BY

LORD GORELL)

CHAPTER XXIV (continued,. She looked around her; there xvere several rooms on the landing. Advancing boldly, she tried the door of the nearest; it was empty and a glance showed her that her choice was wrong. She closed the door quietly and opened the next. This time she had made no mistake: on the dress-ing-table lay Pierre’s hat. That was of no interest except as a verification of the room; she was looking for something rqore substantial and, well acquainted with the habits of her husband, she had no doubts whatever where to look for it. Like most men to whom the nefarious acquisition of valuables is a business, Pierre had made it an invariable rule never to carry on his person either sums or articles for the possession of which he could not readily and plausibly account: the moments when—except as a matter of principle—he would seriously have objected to being searched were few and very carefully chosen. And again, like many of his associates, he had an almost touching belief in the efficacy of very simple hidingplaces. Madame Anatole was certain that if as the result of his visit to Dartmoor lie had acquired any spoils of value they would be thrust into a slit in the mattress of his bed. 11 look her exacllv forty-three seconds to locate a small linen bag so se-oreted. She drew it out with such practised dexterity that no one could have told afterwards that the bed had been touched, opened u. swiftly, and found to a transport of delight with herself that It contained, first, a. number of English bank-notes, and secondly, a little wash-leather bag crammed with jewels—diamonds and precious stones flashed enlrancingly back to her as she allowed herself one brief scrutiny under the light. Then wash-leather and linen bags were lost to view In the bosom of her dress. Not Pierre Anatole nor all the rogues in France would set eyes on either ever again—that, she thought to herself with a quick jerk of her head, at least was sure. She was moving to the door when her eye caught sight of the edge of a little travelling photograph frame, hitherto obscured by the hat flung on the dressing-table. Like a hawk she pounced on it. This was delight indeed I She dared not take it —-that would have betrayed her presence, but avidly she studied it. A simpering young thing carelessly signed “A toi, Loulou,” and she memorised the photographer’s name and address, of Paris—she would find out the original. Glowing with gratification she carefully replaced the photograph and drew the hat partiaMy over it, leaving everything exactly as before; she would have liked to look for further evidence of delinquency, but her native caution prevailed—it would be foolish to Jeopardise her triumph by lingering in the room a moment longer than was absolutely essential. In another second she had switched off the light, opened and -closed the door silently, and was once more on the deserted landing. Then she stole down again, and, still unobserved, regained the street. , CHAPTER NW. Humiliation. Madame Anatole's first action on ! quilting the hotel was to make sure as her powers of penetration made possible that her entry and departure had attracted no curious eyes. She walked with deliberately slow steps a dozen yards from the side-door and then stood still, apparently gazing into a window, actually taking stock ot every one and everything. Satisfied at last that she was entirely unobserved, she crossed the road and again squeezed her angular body Into the niche in the wall. All was well; through the -steaming windows of the restaurant she could just make out the arch-decelver; he had finished his hors d'oeuvres and was beginning on his soup. He was still alone; but it would be long yet before he rose. There was time, therefore, for the measure that caution dictated. Madame Anatole took careful note of the hotel, restaurant, and street, then she quitted her post, did violence to all her economic principles to the extent of engaging the first laxi she encountered in the adjoining street and was driven to her lodging. There, with that lack of originality which, is the weakness of even the most astute, she concealed -the linen bag and its most precious contents in a slit in the mattress of her bed, re-entered the waiting taxi, and was driven back to he spot at which she had engaged it. Her English was nil. hut her elevation .if spirit was such that she successfully overcame all the difficulties of instructing the driver by energetic signs, and even was carried to the un - precedented pitch of forbearing to wrangle with lym over the fare. She was back at her post of vantage before the unconscious diner had arrived at his dessert. Madame Anatole was now mure than happy; she was radiant. That she did not look it was owing to -the fact that she was not cast by nature for radiancy. For some -minutes she was 100 happy to do anything 'more than gluat over her victim. Then it occurred -to her to notice that he was still alone. That was disappointing; it removed a tithe of her triumph, though it in no way lessened her grievance; but it could not be helped. That being so, she would gain nothing by wailing, and she at last had leisure to realise lli.il she was very hungry. She derided lu go in innocently, as though she were a chance, lonely woman desiring dinner; she would see Pierre, recognising him. choke him before the company with the sense- of his shortcomings; ami she would be forgiving—and for the moment. 11. would be. the richest of comedies; he would be so exquisitely imrornfor! - able. Madame Anatole crossed the lit lbstreet, and, passing along the tew steps necessary, came level with the commissionaire al the main door of the restaurant, and then slopped a moment, as though she were perusing the menu posted up outside and trying to make up her mind whether tn enter and dine or go elsewhere. In reality she j was chousing the table. Io which wilh an appearance of weary dejection sh-- | would make her waj; it must no omj

| not too close to Pierre and yet It I must be in full view of him. So would (she best extract all the comedy pioI vided by the situation. I Several tables were vacant; with deliberation she turned her eyes from the one that she fancied most fittingly fulfilled her requirements to the man for whom the little comedy was to bo enacted. He was engaged at that moment, in leaning forward across his table in order to choose with the particularity of a gourmet the largest pear I on a disli of fruit being held out to him by a bored waiter. Madame Anatole’s first th ought was of renewed anger at his selfish combination of greed and extravagance; but that was exceedingly -short-lived. Almost before it was fully formed, it yielded place to a 'terrible doubt. For the first time since he had swum into her ken that evening the light fell upon the face of the man she had so steadily pursued; with a gasp of fury Madame Anatole realised that she had been mistaken by a singular resemblance. Whoever the diner was, he was not Pierre Anatole, her husband. He had the same great moustachios, the same general appearance, but now that her eyes were at last able to see him. clearly, she was under no further delusion; lhe contour of his nose was different, the hand he was closing on the selected pear, though largo and powerful, was not the great fist of which Pierre was -so boastful; the shape of his head, hitherto obscured by his hat, was less square. Madame Anatole, running her gaze rapidly over him, reached this point in her analysis with nothing more In the turmoil of her mind than a sense of deepest chagrin—she bad followed a stranger 1 Then as swiftly as it had arisen, the turmoil began to shape itself. She had robbejl a stranger; that had been uninteutiona'l, but it had been a very fortunate mistake. It had yielded a treasure-trove beyond her dreams that she had,jio i/itentlon whatever of restoring to any owner, wrongful or rightful. What had once passed into her possession, even under a misapprehension, remained with her. But how had she coinc to make such a mistake in the first place? Was she growing less acute in her old ago? That was a thought not to be endured. How, then, had she been so deceived? Instantaneously with the question came the answer—Pierre’s hat!—it was Pierre’s! That admitted, of no doubt. She had recognised il unmistakably in the glare of the streel. lamps. But, more than that, she had held it in her hand for a moment as she moved it to disclose and again to reconceal the photograph. Indirect as her attention to it had been she had noticed on the brim the faint outline of a spot that she had laboured hard to eradicate before she and Pierre had left Paris. He had wanted a new one and she had declined to permit the extravagance. Pierre's hat, then, undeniably. Pierre’s hat in the possession of a man who resembled him with sufficient superficiality to deceive even her in half-light! This was more than strange; a feeling not far removed from horror stole over Madame Anatole’s fierce heart. AVas he a stranger after all? Madame Anatole glued her eyeupon the diner, and, as she did so. Inattention was monfentarily directed t the - entrance" into the restaurant of some new-comers. These brusheu aside Madame Anatole standing in all her angularity like a veritable column of stone just beside the door, and talking and laughing, passed inside. The trailed man looked up from his i pear in idle curiosity; he did not see Madame Anatole’s white face presseii against -the glass of lhe little sidewindow by the door, but his was turned directly towards her; and a the same -moment, just as the door | was closing, she heard his voice calling to the waiter Io bring him some coffee. Madame Anatole had spent so much of her life in -the dual arts o: watching and listening that she had cultivated a memory that was naturally for faces and voices. As her eyes searched fho diner’s face and her ears drank in his accents, knowledge flood ed her. She tottered back a -couple of paces, as though pierced by an arrow, and muttered, in a low lone too choked by emotion for any one Io have distinguished the sound, the singleword, “Gregoire /’ The next instance she had beaten down by sheer force of will the almost overwhelming flood of thought. I The commissionaire, who now’ had hi- I pontifical attention drawn to the odd. | elderly foreigner who had apparent I. decided that she did not after all fane? the restaurant over which he presided, approached her with the idea of recommending it grandiloquently; then, observing how pallid and strained she seemed, he descP/iidcd from Ids air oi hauteur and asked tier friendly enough if she were ill. Madame Anatole understood no English, but the tone in which he spoke and his look conveyed his meaning. She drew herself up with astonishing acidity, withered him with a glance of such vicarious, hut concentrated ferocity that the man step ped quickly back as though he had in - advertently trodden upon an adder. ' and then she walked rapidly awa'. saying to herself with a hiss, “111! The poor English fool!” She had disappeared round the cor- 1 ncr of the little street before the com : missionaire recovered himself sufii- , ciently to scratch his head in blank I discomfiture, and wonder what llu i devil was up with lhe old thiim lh,L i she should lake his well-intentioned ■ inquiry like that. Madam' 1 Anatole regained her lodg 1 ing without incident, and, going | straight up the narrow stairs to her ' room, locked the door and flung her- j self al her bed. fi ) be continued.)