"Deringham’s Daughter,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 7 December 1928, Page 7

"Deringham’s Daughter,”

POPULAR LOVE STORY BY A POPULAR WRITER.

STELLA M. DUBIXG. Author of —“Love’s Privilege,” “Between the Devil and the Deep Sea,” “Malicious Fortune,” “Disin lierited,” etc.

CHAPTER XXVI. —Continued. By the stone steps were boats, their blue-jacketed owners loudly competing for custom. At the top of the stone steps stood a warder, another was higher up the pier, and both wen* watching the people coming off and going on the Jersey boat. .But both had an eye for the stone steps, and the little craft rocking at the foot. Was it' one of these very warders whose clothes fitted him all too loosely at this moment, Deringham asked himself. Was it his money that his twitching lingers were even now nervously chinking at the bottom of his trouser pocket? Suddenly lie stood still, his nerve had failed him, he could not pass that watchful warder at the top of the stone steps. “Ault,” he said, “for Cod’s sake talk —or something. I’in afraid I’m going to faint.” “Don’t be a fool,” said Ault, rough]v, “go on, straight on. Down the steps. If you funk it now I’ll kill you. Your wife’ll be nice and waxy, old chap, being kept waiting like this!” This for the benefit of the open-eared warder. “There, that boat’ll do! Here, you fellow, take my bag. Down you go, look out now. ,Jovo but it’s a lovely morning.” It was done, how, Deringham would never know, but he had walked past the watchful warder down the steps, into the boat. The man shoved off: with maddening deliberation, slowly the strip of dirty green water broadened between the dancing boat and the pier, whereon stood tlie warder, scrutinizing so keenly the passengers making their way on to the Jersey boat that he had only a secondary interest in the criminal escaping under his very nose in another direction. Deringham fell against the stern only half conscious. Ault kicked him savagely, and the pain, for it was his injured ankle, brought him round once again. “Where to, sir?” asked the waterman, and he leant \m his oars and the boat rocked idly. ‘‘The boat out there,” said Ault sharply, and set his teeth and clenched his hands to hold them from knocking the leisurely rower over the thwarts and seizing the oars himself. .But ihe verv leisureliness of the boat s movements prevented the dawning of suspicion in the warder’s mind. It danced along over the blue water, stopping occu.sioua 1 ly• whilst Ault s bag and rug were readjusted, for the waves farther out were a. little choppy, and the spray came over them. It changed its course more than once according to the whim of its owner, to whom there seemed to be no occasion tor hurry. but at last, at last it rocked in the strip of black shadow at the lee side | of the “Good Intent.” The waterman shipped his sculls and dexterously caught the rope llting to him. Two of the crew dropped a swinging rope-lad-der. “Dp you go,” said Ault huskily. »■ * j— i can’t,” Deringham spoke with white lips. ‘ ‘ .My ankle! ’ “You must,” said Ault grimly, .and somehow Deringham went. Bag and rug were handed up, and Ault paid his gondolier and sent him contented away. Were they really, roallv on the deck of the “Good Intent,” and would it never, never get under way? The sailors moved about, bare-footed and cheery, busily loosening sail-blocks and fetching up the anchor. At last, at last, inch by inch, yard by yard, the mailsail rose, the canvas llaoped as the yacht came round into the wind, the ripple of the water proclaimed that she was moving, the shores began to slide. Deringham could have shouted aloud at her first little dip us a- wave slid under her. “Ami now —what.’ he asked as Ault looked in at the door of the tiny cabin where lie sat. “Lisbon, of course,” was the cautious reply. ‘‘\o, by heaven, you don t! Devingham rose from his seat and fell back, again with the sharply indrawn breath of acute pain. “There won’t be a square yard of water safe by this time to-morrow. We’re going to Cherbourg straight. But her about.” “But my dear fellow—” •‘But her about. We’re going to Cherbourg! ’ ’ “But it’s madness! Every port will be watched before we can get over. “ port! Who is going to a. port! I’m not. '‘•But Cherbourg is a port.” “I’m not going there! There s a little cove a few miles east where one could hide half a dozen yachts. A man doesn't live the life I’ve lived the last ten years without being prepared for emergencies. ’ ’ “And afterwards—when you get there. You’re not safe in Franco, you know you are not. And you can t get out of France except by train, and every train will be watched.” “Not the train 1 mean to go by. I 11 bet you anything I’m in Marseilles under twenty-four hours.’’ ‘ ‘ Marseilles! ’ ’ “I’m going to Marseilles.” “Then why not go by boat?” Deringham looked at him, some astonishment in his eyes. “I can’t understand you at all,” he said, quietly. “ You move heaven and earth to set me at liberty, you manage it triumphantly, and if you think I’m not grateful you little know the Inferno you’ve got me out of. And now you are counselling a procedure that is of all procedures the most dangerous. What chance, have we in the Channel against the steam cutters that will patrol every coast by this time to-morrow! Our only chance is to run for it nowbefore it. is suspected that I may have got away by sea. You take a risk out of friendship for me that not one man in five thousand would have taken and now vou want to keep me where I must

lie caught. To get me across now, at once, is the only way to set me on the road to safety. Why rescue me at all if—” “Do you think I’ve done the rescuing?” “Yes. Of course L thought so. Who has if you haven’t?” “C.urew, ” said Ault with a grin. The next evening Carew sat- oa a mossy stone under Mrs Cripps’ one appletree smoking. It, was not altogether a success in the way of apple-trees, for the sea winds had twisted it, and its fruit seldom reached maturity. But it was blossoming bravely enough to-day, and the bees were yet busy among the scented rose-and-whito of its incomparable bloom. They hummed about Carew's head as lie sat and kept up an accompaniment to the insistent question: how long, how long would it be before he would dare to pack his belongings in his sea going chest and tell XI i s Cripps that he had at last, got a ship to his liking and was indeed sailing for Valparaiso? It had seemed safer to stay quietly where he was and make no move to leave Portland until the excitement of an escape from the prison had a little died down. It might not have been impossible to have left Portland, but, he told himself, if any j suspicion altaclied to him with regard to “Payne's” escape he could not have hoped to eTude the police altogether. It seemed safer on the whole to stay quietly where he was and await developments. So fur there had been none. It had not occurred to anyone to connect his stolen bicycle with the absconding prisoner for whom an exhaustive search was still being kept up. lie had mentioned his loss to no one. If Rosie did not mention it, either, it need never be known. If a week passed and nothing happened might, lie, dare he leave Portland? He craved to hear what had been the result of Deringham’s desperate adventure, but it had seemed safer to arrange with Ault that there should be no communication. He ached to know if anything had happened to Elinor and her mother, for it was on them that suspicion would fall first, bill lie dare neither write nor go to them. He could only wait, wait in maddening helplessness and intolerable inaction. The gate clicked suddenly in the evening stillness. A man in a grey suit with a shewd eye and a genial mouth was coming up the path. Carew rose, for (he stranger turned in his direction when he saw him sitting under the apple tree. “Captain Bevan?” lie asked. “That same,” answered Carew eordiaHy. “I hear you've lost a bicycle, said the stranger pleasantly. “Had it stolen from outside the Hose-in-lland.” ■ •Vos” agreed Carew, and he felt that his colour was fading, “lost it yesterday. ’ •’ “Have you taken any steps to have it traced? Spoken to the police about it ? ” ‘ “No I haven’t bothered. It was an old bike. 1. didn’t care.” “Well, that was rather a pity—for you. Because the bicycle lias been traced. It was found in the bicycle slu'd of the George, at Weymouth.” “The George,” echoed Carew, dreadfully aware that he did not sound nearly so much surprised as he would have' liked. “How in thunder did it get there?” “That’s what we want to know,” said the stranger quietly, “and it. occurred to me that you might, perhaps, be able to tell us.” “Me!” said-Carew under his breath. A little Hash woke up in the shrewd eyes watching him, a little Hash of kindly contempt. Was there ever a clumsier criminal! With a sudden gesture lie laid his hand on “Captain Bevan 's”' shoulder. ‘• Roderick Bevan Carew,” he said, “1 arrest vou in the King s name for aiding and abetting the.escape of a prisoner from Bis Majesty s Gaol at Port land.' ’ CHAPTER XXVII. “ Dearest, it is only seven o clock. ’ “Then why are you up so soon?” “j couldn’t sleep,” confessed Elinor with a. sharp breath that ended in a smile. Her mother turned a little weariiv on her pillow. ’••I have boon awake nearly all night,” she said, “expecting it, think-, ing about it, and when it is nearly here I go to sleep,” with a. touch of self-reproach. “You will bring it to me directly it comes, Elinor?” “Thai moment.” The mother smiled at her darling. Even the fact that she was enveloped in a long blue overall could not destroy the girl’s grace and charm. “What are you doing, sweetheart'?” she asked. “Cleaning up,” replied Elinor brightly. “Xow, mother, lie and rest. I'll bring in your breakfast in half an hour—and the letter, too.” (To be Continued).