"Held in Ransom,"

Wairarapa Daily Times, 4 December 1926, Page 7

"Held in Ransom,"

-BYGERALD CUMBERLAND. Author of “The Cypress Chest,” “Set Down in Malice,” “The Prisoner,” etc., etc.

(COPYRIGHT.)

CHAPTER VI —Continued. She gave liiin a tjulek, anxious look as though to satisfy herself that his health had not been materially injured by the experience of the night. “I have everything—except any liberty. ’ ’ •‘lt is not in my power to give you that —1 sincerely wish it. was. May I sit down?” “I beg your pardon!—please do.” He noticed that she was trembling, as though front weakness, and for a moment a. feeling of pity arose in hint for this strange woman who had so disastrously come into his life. But he crushed the feeling at once. ‘‘Yon are satisfied?” he asked. ‘‘Satisfied'?” she echoed. ‘‘l do not understand.” “Satisfied with what you have done! Your schemes are prospering, Princess?” There was a note of contemptuous irony in her voice. “Ah! You will never understand, Mr Mi-ehelle. It is impossible for me to explain. But if I had met you—yes, if I had met you years ago, before I. was trapped into this kind of life-, 1. should not lie the base woman I am now.”

' •‘Perhaps not,” he said. “You see,” she said, speaking with difficulty, and yet with haste, as though to get her words out before he could interrupt, “you see, both ray parents died when I was a tiny child. 1 was brought up by by father's step-brother a hard, cruel man who ill-used me. I was clever and pretty, so 1 was trained by him to help in his—”

“Must you tell me all this?” lie asked, interrupting her. “I want to —I want to explain how 1 came to —to be what what I am.”

“Why should you explain ? Do you want, to excuse yourself? But, really, I am not in the least interested.”

“You refuse, then, to help me, ( Mr Michelle?”

“I—help you? But how is that possible?”

His interest was not generally arou s ed.

“I don't know,” she answered; “but there may be a way. 1 lay awake till last night trying to think of ways and means of escaping from the clutches of this gang that has me in its power. You see, Mr Mi-ehelle, I was brought mp in crime—trained in it; 1 thought crime every hour of every day —I breathed crime through my nostrils. I have never lived anything except a criminal life. But. I have always disliked it—and now that I have met you, 1 loathe it.” •

“Let us understand each other, Princess. You say that since you have jnet me, you have changed. Why? Why should you change? You hardly know me.” “I cannot tell why. But there it is. There’s something fine in you—something noble—-” Prank began to feel acutely uncomfortable all the more so as lie knew instinctively that she meant all she said. “Yon mustn’t say things of that kind,” lie objected. “I have a very English sense of humour. What I don't understand Is — feeling as you say you do, how could you, only a few hours ago, bring yourself to inflict that.ghastly torture on me?” . “I hardly know. But 'be patient with me while I try to tell you. You see, I live always in fear of death—of something worse than death —well, the penalty is terrible. I was afraid —fear had got into my nerves into the very core of my being. And, besides, in the early hours of this morning ] did not feel towards you quite as Ido now. You fought and nearly killed Gaston —that made me—that aroused my admiration. Then you were -so courageous when you were tortured —you bore your suffering so finely. And when you told me that you hated me as something evil —that you had nothing but contempt for me—L felt that you were light, and i. wanted to be different. 1 long to earn your respect, Mr Mi-ehelle.” She spoke in a voice that trembled with seriousness. He looked at her gravely for a few moments before rcplying.

‘‘l don't understand women, Princess,. I suposc no man ever does understand them. But even you must: recognise that the present situation is ridiculous. You wait until you haveforced £IO,OOO out of me by the most •brutal methods, and then you come for help to the very man you have victimised.” “I was afraid you might say that,” she murmured. “Well, it’s reasonable enough, isn't it.’ I suppose your messenger is on his way to London already?” “Yes. He left early this morning.” “And Miss Stansmorc —where is she?” “She is safe in London. No harm has come to her.” “You swear that?” “Yes—l swear it.” “How, then, was she compelled to make that wild .appeal for help into the gramophone?” “1. don’t know, Mr Mi-chelle. Probably they threatened her.” “The scoundrels! Oh, 1 could kill you when T think of what incorrect child must have suffered. -No—l feel no pity for you, Princess. In helping to kidnap .Miss Stansmore, you have .struck at my very soul. How can you believe that' it is possible for me to help you? And if I could help you—what means is open to me? But I must have some proof of your sincerity before I begin even to consider the matter.

.She sighed painfully and rose to her feet.

“Do you think too harshly of me, she implored. “Perhaps -before long 1 shall be able to help you; that would be proof of my sincerity. If I can do so, I swear to yo-u that I will. And now, farewell! I shall not visit yt*u again unless you send for me.”

She turned to him a countenance so full of hopeless despair, so appealing in its tenderness, that Prank half-rose from his chair as though to comfort her. But the thought of Audrey’s sufferings rushed over like a wave, and he sank back again with a gesture of dismissal. CHAPTER VII. AY lie n Audjrey Stansmore receive* the fatal telegram in Pont Street on that May evening, she had not even a momentary suspicion that it was not a genuine message from Frank. Why should she be suspicious? True, it was Prank’s custom, to telephone if he had any urgent message to give her. But he might very well hate been pressed for time, and a telegram may oe written in thirty seconds, whereas to telephone may easily eat up live minutes.

She ran upstairs, singing as she went. She was already dressed for the evening, so that there was little to do before leaving. After giving an order to the housemaid and writing the note to her Unde, that we have already read, she put on a cloak and opened the front door. As she had hoped, there was a taxicab in sight; it was, indeed, coining slowly towards her from Sloatie Street, the driver obvio-us-lv on the look-out for a fare. She signalled to him; having driven up to the side of the pavement, he .stopped, and Audrey jumped in, congratulating herself on so quickly Obtaining a cab. The call turned into Sloanc Street and went along Knightsbridge and by the side of Hyde Park, but at Hyde park corner it turned towards Victoria. “Drive straight, oil, please,” said Audrey, leaning forward in the open taxi. “Sorrv, miss, but I’ve run out of petrol. I can get some at Victoria —it won't take a minute.” She looked at her watch; there was .plenty of time. “All right,” she said. At Victoria, the catb suddenly turnwav; il was a culde-sac, and, save way; it was a culde-sac, quite ml, save for two men standing talking together, quite empty. The cab stopped at a door; the driver, hastily alighting, disappeared. On tlie instant, before Audrey was aware of what was happening, the two men entered the taxi. Hi absolute silence, one of them pressed a handkerchief against her mouth, whilst the other men held her arms to prevent her struggling. The thick, sweet smell of chloroform stoic - over her senses, clouding her sight, her hearing. Soon she was unconscious. Deftly and speedily they carried her through the doorway. The whole business from •beginning to end, was done in less than a minute.

AVlien Audrey slowly regained consciousness, .she was lying on a sofa in a sordid, half-furnished room. It was some minutes before memory came back to her. Then, suddenly, the recollection of the struggle with the two men rushed upon her like something evil, she stared about her in horror. A gaunt, white-faced woman was sitting near.

“It’s all right, miss,” she said; “it’s all right, so long as you behave yourself. But try to kick up a row, and —well, you’ll be -sorry for it.” Though Audrey both saw and heard, it was many seconds before she understood.

“But what has happened?” -she said at length. “Why have I been brought here? Oh —oh —I am afraid. She felt an almost ungovernable desire to scream, but she checked herself. She was accustomed ho self-con-trol, and she despised the weakness that finds expression in screaming and tears. “Lie still, miss,” said the woman, not unkindly. “I promise you no harm shall come to you so long as you’re quiet.”

“But why —why has this happened?” {jsked Audrey, trying to rise. But, as she moved, a, crippling sensation of sickness overcame her, and she lay down again, bewildered and afraid. “You’re going away for a few days —that’s all. There’s no need to upset yourself. Jn a week, at the latest, you 'll be borne again. ’ ’ “But I don’t understand! I didn’t know such dreadful things as this could happen. Oh —let mo go. Please letmo go! My .uncle will pay you well if vou will.” . (To be Continued.)