“HE WHO FIGHTS”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 74, Issue 110, 12 May 1931, Page 10

“HE WHO FIGHTS”

serjal story

(BY

LORD GORELL)

CHAPTER XXV.—(Continued.) It was all 100 pilifully clear Io her. Pierre Anatole, that foolish, reckless man, self-sufficient in his own powers of violence, had forgone her assistance once too ol'len. He h id paid lhe price. She felt no shred of sorrow, but she was swept, through and through by a sense of humiliation. He. her husband, had allowed himself to b.e out-generalled a second time by that evil, alien tiger, Henri Gregoire. The first she. could not have prevented; this second, and fatal, failure she ought to have foreseen. The scrap of conversation she had overheard by means of the uplifted floorboard after Pierre had left.his three associates together recurred with horrid significance to her memory; Gregoire had been warned I She, Madame Anatole, was to blame: never had it crossed her thoughts that in a physical encounter. man to man, her husband’s great fists would not prevail. Gird at him, torture him, distrust him as I she pleased, that at least had been an article of cardinal belief in Her. And j she had let him go to ills death. She forgot, then, lying stretched across the bed, that she had used all her shrewdness to prevent his going, that he had tricked her and gone- in her despite. She was the clever one, she should have guarded him successfully, even against himself; that was her code, and she had allowed it to be broken. Unvisited by any tender thought, scornful of regret for her slaughtered husband, unmindful even of the consolations of her widow’s portion, Madame Anatole abandoned herself to her own acknowledgement of humiliation. Evon as her fingers sought consolation in playing with the glorious reward she had won for her own hoarding, she pilled herself profoundly and felt true satisfaction only in the few hot tears that she managed to force out of her staring eyes to roll in bitterness down her bloodless cheeks. It was very many years since she had wept; she had not known that she still retained the power to weep. She spared one grim thought to Pierre io wish that in some supernatural way the information of her continued ability could be conveyed to him. CHAPTER XXVI A Matter of Chance* M. Lucien Guitard look special pains to make himself ready for the interview in which ho counted upon being publicly felicitated for his brilliance by an English colonel. It was regrettable that he had brought away with him on his holiday only his second best suit and none of his medals; but at any rale he had a new pair of orange-coloured leather gloves. He donned these proudly at least an hour before it was time to start, pomaded his hair, restored to his moustao*K>is as much of a military twist as possible, and felt that he would creditably represent his great and gallant nation. He was inclined to be pettish with Ramonet who declined to make any additions to his toilette until he reflected that Ramonet’s drabness would throw his own distinction into higher relief. Shortly before half past ten he took his seat in the car that Barbara had brought round: there he sat, erect and impatient. The party started later than he wished, but sooner than was really necessary in consequence, Barbara driving and Mrs Dallington, Guitard, Ramonet, and Pearson inside. Mrs Dallington, for all her indolence, was never one to miss being forward in any excitement, and from Guitard’s exposition of his annoyance on the previous day she felt that her services as an interpreter might be of value. Thej stopped in the village to collect Sergeant Tuxworthy who clambered in l beside Barbara with an awkward consciousness of his last meeting with her, which she did her best with gracious humour to allay; and then, with lhe full load, took the long hill out of the valley. They reached the head quarters of .he Devon constabulary without a litch and in good time, find were shown into a wait-ng-room whilst Sergeant Tuxworthy went to report. Guitard strode aggressively up and down, twisting his moustaches, Ramonet composed himself on the least uncomfortable of the chairs, Mrs Dallington, Barbara and Pearson conversed together in low tones. They were not kept waiting long. Sergeant Tuxworthy was right in saying that Lt.-Gol. Morpeson had been a friend of Col. Frayne, Christopher’s father; tlie\ had been subalterns many years back in lhe same regiment 'and, though they had seen little of one another for a decade before the latter's death, Lt.-Col. Morpeson retained a warm memory for his friend and a dim recollection of a cheery little fellow of five or six, his son. That son, on the turning wheel of circumstance, now lay under the accusation of murder and his father’s old friend was the official on whom responsibility for his capture would be laid. Colonel Morpeson heard with hope and relief the information telephoned by Tuxworthy and was eager to give it credence, if possible. Moreover, he spoke a little French and understood a good deal: Guitard was fortunate in his interlocutor. I Tuxwortfhy briefly repeated what he knew and Pearson corroborated it. Then to his vast gratification Guitard ’ was called on to slep forward and I speak for hirnself. Never, as he said t afterwards with tears In his eyes to 1 Madame Guitard. never had he been so worthy of his own intelligence. With nervous eloquence and a wealth of gestures he related the whole of his reflections, from lhe start of his holiday to Dial hour. There was much that was wholly irrelevant, but the Colonel was a man of experience; he knew better than to interrupt: instead, he bent his whole attention to Hie. task of comprehending Guitard’s rapid French. And, irrelevancy and vanity apart, Guitard was a born narrator. He flourished his credentials with an air I hat quadrupled their testimony; ho waved the letter from his chief in Paris with animation: he handed both Io Col. Morpeson with the courteous grandeur of an ambassador. The documents were authoritative and Incontrovertible: with heightened interest C'lL Morpeson made him proceed.

Obedience was not naturally Guitard’s forte, hut in this case the injunction was superfluous; he spokefta continuous flood for many minute tising Ills actions and making plain tc all not only his conclusions but the processes by which hr had arrived at them. , . When he had al, length talked himself into a momentary silence, Col Morpeson sat very thoughtfully considering the facts as now revealed. He wished to believe, but his training made him cautious: after all. much ol what he had been told was conjecture only and not proof. He felt with a sigh that it was as yet insufficient to enable him to absolve Frayne from responsibility. “ You know this man, Gregoire then?” he asked slowly. “ But yes, assuredly, in Paris we know everybody: it is our vocation.” “ Yes, yes, in a general way nc doubt: but in particular?” “Monsieur,” replied Guitard with complicity, “ we know our little rascals with the exaclilude.” “What I was thinking,” went on Col. Morppson with a smile, “ was this. There's not much of it left natural!:.. but perhaps you should identify it, if you can, whilst I. ask this lady here and Mr Pearson a few questions. You would be willing?” “ Perfectly; it is my duty.” “ It is necessary, 1 think that you should make sure that this man Brown actually was the Gregoire you were after.” “ But, certainly, there is no doubt, but I shall be delighted. Come-, Ambroise.” Guitard left the room, guided by a police officer and followed by Ramonet, who was thinking heavily that this would indeed be something to tell of on his return home. Col. Morpeson then proceeded closely to question Mrs Dallington as Io her meeting and talk with Madame Anatole, and then, satisfied with her account, turned to Pearson and asked him if he had anything to add as to his own activities. Pearson cleared his throat and in his slow way fully justified his retention by Mrs Dallington. “ Yes, sir,” he said. ” I think there can be no doubt at all that that Mr. Guitard is right. His methods are a bit haphazard to my thinking, but he's got there this time. It seemed to me that, if he was right, then obviously this fellow, Anatole, couldn't have found his way to the bungalow without some one seeing him. it was evening and he was a stranger. Also he’d got to get away again. So I spent all yesterday afternoon making enquiries. I asked at a number of the farms and other places between the bungalow and the railway station and at the station itself, and with some result. I’vo found at least two men who can say that a big foreigner with enormous moustaches asked them the way to Mr Mortimer Brown’s bungalow on Tuesday evening, and he was seen at the station earlier the same evening.” “ Tuesday evening, that's the. night of the fire,” remarked Colonel Morpeson, thoughtfully. “ Good enough.” “ And more than that, sir, lie was seen again afterwards; he was a figure that couldn't be overlooked. He’d a return ticket to London: the ticket collector remembers his arrival on Tuesday evening by the 6.5 p.m. down train and a porter saw him getting into the 12.10 p.m. up train on Thursday.” “On Thursday? What was he doing on Wednesday, then?” “ I can’t say, sir. Lying up, possibly. It looks as if he’d hardly get clear in the early hours of Wednesday and had waited on the moor till dark.” “ Then we let him slip through our fingers.” “ You were all watching out for Mr Frayne, I understand, sir, and I gather this man’s half again his size.” “ H’m, that needs looking into. But you've done well, Mr Pearson. You’ve corroborated M. Guitard’s brilliant . guess-work pretty substantially.” “ Yes, sir.” At this moment a police superintendent entered with an air of briskness and, bending over the table, whispered to his chief. “What’s that?” asked Col. Morpeson, starting with interest. “Yes, certainly. In here at once.” The superintendent saluted and retired. “ This is rather unexpected,” remarked Col. Morpeson thoughtfully. “ I don't quite know what to make of It. Sit down over there, if you please, and listen. I’ve a visitor who is probably not expecting to find you here.” The door opened and Madame Antole was shown into the room. She was more angular and grim than she had ever been: in all else she was unchanged. Though she had no longer anything to fear, her eyes searched first the face of the grave man at the table and then every corner of the room—not till death would she lay aside her circumspection. Her glance met Mrs Dallington’s; for a moment she wavered. So she had been right, as usual; the Englishwoman was, as she had thought, even now betraying her. Then she remembered that that was no longer of any consequence. Swiftly, with a histrionic effort for which later she gave herself much credit, she crossed the room, seized Mrs Dallington’s hands, and cried, “Ah, it is you, my kind friend!” Mrs Dallington had never felt herself in so uncomfortable a predicament in her life. Here was the foreigner who had given her her confidence, returned inexplicably at the very Hine when, believing that she had fled, Mrs Dallington had revealed all—and just at the precise moment when Hie guilt of lhe foreigner's husband had been established. Worse, she was still treated as deserving trust. It was a I horrible situation for a woman naturally sensitive and sympathetic: she could only murmur in a very embarrassed voice, “ You I —l—l thought you had gone away.” “1 go to London: I And I have enough money just for that,” answered Madame Anatole, deeply enjoying the other’s embarrassment: how right she had been I “Then why come back? Why come here ?” “Ah, I come here to demand justice!” Madame Anatole whirled round and faced Col. Morpeson dramatically. <To he eontlmted.j