OUR NEW SERIAL THE YOUNG ARCHDUCHESS

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIII, 17 May 1922, Page 3

OUR NEW SERIAL THE YOUNG ARCHDUCHESS

(By

WILLIAM LE QUEUX)

CHAPTER XVII. (Continued). He shot a direct question at the two white-haired men. “You know all about Miss Torella?” he asked. Augustus spoke in his smooth, suave accents. “We know something of Miss Torella, a ward of the Colonel’s.” Basil pondered. He thought of the old saying that there are always two people to whom to tell the truth—your doctor and your solicitor. Had the Colonel revealed the secret of Geradine’s identity to these two honourable men? If so, they would be as close as wax. He left the subject and returned t° the main point. “Now, I want you to fake charge of this case youselves as the dear old Colonel’s trusted agents. I want you to brief Hawksley for the defence, and” —he made a significant pause— 1 ‘ I want you to brief me as his junior.” The elder Mr Sirimble made a pn> testing moveemnt and spoke a little incoherently. “ A most distinguished son of a most distinguished father-— delighted, I am sure. But I know SilRichard is a queer kind of man; he wants his own juniors.” “ Leave that to me.” said the young man confidently. “ Hawksley is an old friend of my. father’s. I am one of his favourite juniors. Besides, you can choose whom you like.” The younger Scrimble broke in with his slow, wise smile. “You have a private interest in this case, apart from the professional one, I take it, Mr Long?” “ You are quite right, sir. I have a very keen professional interest in it. To Hawkesley it will be one out of twenty briefs, and to every one he devotes a portion of his mind. From my private interest, I shall give every ounce of my brains and I shall coach up Hawkeslev.”

The senior of the two brothers rose and grasped his hand. “ My dear sir, Hawkesley and you will have the briefs.” He turned to his smiling partner. “ John, we will keep this, case in our own hands. Wc will not hand it over to Grim woods.” On that same day Vincent was in a somewhat irritable mood. He liked events to march quickly, and they were going very slowlv. He wanted to bag the leading spirits of “ The jjlack Cravats,” and so far they would not .play into his hands. He had enjoyed a long interview with the somewhat grave Renoir and his equally grave sister; he had exchanged a few commonplaces with the young Archduchess who, he knew, did not feel too friendly towards him, He felt lie was somewhat out of place in this environment. His thoughts went rushing back to certain agreeable mornings in the Market Harborough roads and lanes. On a certain morning, from some provocative instinct, Mabel Somers had dropped her bangle. From the trivial incident had come the tragedy of her married life. He walked leisurely down frotn Onslow Gardens, through Kensington Gore, down Piccadilly. And then a very dar-

ing thought came into his head. Mrs Somers was staying at Claridge’s. Should he call and see Mabel Somers? He was shown into the lounge. Mabel

was alone, reading. She looked up, her cheeks flushing. Was the flush due to annoyance or pleasure? Vincent was not quite sure.

“ What a surprise !’ she said. There was just a little flutter in her voice. “ What a perfect stranger! You might have given me a little notice, just a postcard or something.”

Vincent made up his mind then that .she was pleased to see him. “If I had sent you a postcard to tell you I was coming, you might have gone out to avoid me. You see, I thought I had better take the bull by

the horns.” Mabel laughed happily. She was beginning to enjoy her freedom, the absence of her. suspicious and tyrannical husband.

Vincent soon accommodated himself to the position. There was evidently

here no tragic wife, bewailing the wreck of her married happiness, but a

very smiling, charming woman who was quite prepared to make the best of the present conditions.

“ I say,” he said,' speaking a little awkwardly for a man who was remarkable for his self-control, “ I can’t say how awfully sorry I am for all that has happened. I ought to have been more

on the look-out.” Mrs Somers sighed. “It all happened from the fatal morning when I dropped my bangle. Do you remember?” Vincent remembered that morning too well. “ I hope you won't think me awfully impertinent if I suggest you dropped that bangle on purpose. You know, I saw you do it.” Mrs Somers had the grace to blush a little. “ Oh, of course you are frightfully clever. You told me you were a sort of private detective.” “You really wanted to talk to me then?” “Oh, I suppose so,” was Mabel’s answer. “ I was frightfully fed up with the Market Harbourough people and the good-looking man coming our way was quite a. sensation.” “Although he wasn’t a member of our own class?” inquired Vincent sarcastically. “ Rubbish,” cried the unconventional Mabel. “Of course, I knew you weje a gentleman the first time I saw you. If I had not been certain of that do you think ” She paused a moment. Vincent ask-

ed the question with his eyes and later with his voice. “ Finish it, if you please/’ She whispered very softlv. “Do you think I should have gone to the trouble of dropping m y bangle?” Vincent looked at her intently. She was certainly a very beautiful young woman. “It’s a bit of a tangle,” he said slowly. “ A deuce of a tangle, isn’t it? Unless—unless ” She looked at him sharply. “ Unless? Are you suggesting something?” ■ His glance fell before her own. “ You like me, don’t you dear?” “Yes,” she said simply. “I am quite sure I like you very much, but I could not bring myself to do what you are thinking of. lam not that sort of woman.” “ Forgive me,” said Vincent. “ With the natural selfishness of man, I fear I was only thinking of myself.” She looked up at him with radiant eyes. “ I don’t really believe you are as bad as you paint yourself. When it came to the actual point, you would think of me before yourself. My husband doesn’t believe I am wholly bad, but circumstances are against me, and his pride is wounded. He has taken the utmost precautions to shield me as far as he can. I never loved him, but he’s not a bad sort.” You never loved him?” questioned

Vincent eagerly. “No, never—-one of. those marriages one drifts into —money, parents, and all the rest of it. You know what I mean?” Vincent rose from his chair. “ All very hopeless, isn’t it?” She rose. “ Very hopeless, but come and see me sometimes. We might be awfully good friends.” “ I don’t think I could ever be only friends with you. Lovers or nothing,” said Vincent. As he spoke a boy came up to Mrs Sqmers with a telegram. She tore it open and her face blanched. The yellow paper fell from her hand and fluttered on the floor. “My husband is dead, killed in a motor smash,” she whispered. “Oh, please leave me! I never loved him, but it is a terrible shock. And I have always been so light and frivolous. Please leave me!” Vincent understood very well the extraordinary moods of women. He held out his hand. “ I quite understand. Perhaps I may come and see you, say a week or ten

days hence?” She answered with a wan smile. “ Yes, please, leave it till then. I will write.” Continued in to-morrow’s Advertiser.