The Awakening of Theodore Wrenn,

Wairarapa Daily Times, 22 February 1935, Page 7

The Awakening of Theodore Wrenn,

(COPYRIGHT.) PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY JAMES RONALD, (Author of “The Secret of Hunter’s Keep,” “The White Card,” “The Monocled Man,” etc.)

CHAPTER Y. —Continued. With the suddenness of a flash _of lightning, inspiration came to him. The plan which ho conceived almost took his breath away by its daring simplicity. He turned it over and over m his mind, and at last decided to adopt it. Perhaps it would not work, but m that case, the position would be little the worse, and there still remained iecourse to the law. It was past the closing hours of banks, but Theodore’s greatest, almost only friend, was Samuel Marbury, manager of the branch bank with which ho transacted all his financial business. Theodore had two minutes ’ conversation over the telephone with his friend, ton minutes more in Marbury’s private office, and was shortly in possession of a thousand pounds in five pound notes, in exchange for which he had given a batch of war bonds as security. Ho deposited the money for safety m the ancient iron safe at his office, and the following morning called at the Mayfair fiat of Diana Marquis at the unheard-of-hour —for the actress of half-past nine. The French maid received him with wide, surprised eyes, and said in tragic tones that “Mam’selle” never rose before eleven at the earliest. Theodoro explained that his business was urgent. “By-the-way,” he added, with feigned anxiety. “I wanted to bring Miss Marquis some flowers.” “Mam’selle loves flowers,” she whispered, “all her friends breeng flowers,” nodded comprehendingly. “But I didn’t know what kind to get.” “Oh, carnations, m’sieu!” the girl confided. “Mam’selle loves carnations. They aro her favourite flowers, always.” Theodoro nodded abstractly, as though deep in thought. “I wonder,” he began hesitantly, “after vou have announced me to Miss Marquis', would you mind slipping out and getting some carnations?” The girl shook her head. Mcini ’sellc would not like me to, she whispered. “She would be veree angry.” Theodore produced two crisp five pound notes. “Miss Marquis will never know that you havo left the flat. l r ou will be back before she wants you for anything. “This” —presenting one of the crisp notes, “is for the carnations. And this” —presenting the other —“is for your trouble. ” The maid’s eyes lit up with cupidity, and she took the notes and tucked them away among the mysteries of her underwear. She showed Theodore into a tiny sitting-room adjoining the actress’s bedroom, and went into the bedroom to waken her There was a short, low-voiced colloquy, and ten minutes later the girl passed through the sitting-room again. “Mam’selle weel see you in a few minutes,” she said to Theodore, and added in a whisper: “I go now to get the carnations;”

Theodore had little longer to wait before the actress appeared. She was in a negligee even more revealing than the one in which she had received him the previous morning. “You’re an early bird, Mr Wrenn,” she said, masking her peevishness#'with a dazzling smile. “If you earned your living between the hours of eight p.m. and midnight, you wouldn’t pay calls in the early morning.”

Theodore’s expression was dutifully contrite.

“I am sorry, but I have a great deal to do this morning, and I wished to conclude my business with you as soon as possible. I have brought you the money—in cash.”

She smiled again. “That was very thoughtful of you, Mr Wrenn. If you wait a minute I’ll get your promissory-note.”' She left the room, and Theodore experienced a moment of anxiety, fearing that she would discover the absence of her maid. The actress returned directly, however, with the paper Theodore had signed on the previous day.

He gave her the money and received the document in return. His satisfied expression was a masterly piece of acting of which Theodore had not realised he was capable. It deceived the actress into believing that her plan had succeeded and that he had accepted the false pearls as genuine.

She stifled a yawn. “I am glad I do not do much business with lawyers,” she said. “1 am afraid I could not stand such impossible hours.”

They laughed together. “I mustn’t detain you any longer,” said Theodore apologetically. “You probably wish to return to bed.” “I do,” she replied frankly. She rang a bell to summon her maid. Hoping that this step in his plan would not fail him, Theodore shook hands with Diana Marquis and left the room, closing the door behind him. In the hall he spoke a few words in a fairly loud tone, to deceive the actress, if she were listening, into thinking that he was speaking to the maid. Then he opened and closed the door of the flat a little noisily. lie remained, however, on the inside. He waited for a few moments, then noiselessly tiptoed across the hall, and gently opened the door of the little sitting-room. It was empty, but the door of the actress’s bedroom which led off it was open. Crossing the room silently, ho looked in cautiously, and was rewarded by seeing Diana Marquis, with her back toward him, putting the bundles of five pound notes into a cm n ll W all safe. One of the wall panels stood back on hinges, indicating the method by which the safe was normally concealed from curious eyes.

About to close the safe, Diana Marrniis heard a step behind her, and wheeled round abruptly. Theodore Wrenn stood behind her with an apologtic expression on his face. He was regretting exceedingly the necessity for intruding himself in a lady’s bedroom, but the rudeness was unavoidable. As nuick as a flash, she turned to shut the safe, but Theodore had anticipated the move, and thrust her aside gentlv, interposing himself between her and the hiding place.

“What do you mean by this intrusion?” she demanded in a voice that quivered with rage. “I want the Eavenal pearls,” he

replied quietly. “I gave them to you yesterday;” He shook his head politely. “You gave mo imitations. I want the real necklace.”

Suddenly she flung herself upon him in a furious onslaught, biting and scratching like a wild cat. It took all of his strength to resist her Avithout fighting back. Blind fury had lent her physical strength Avliich Avas almost OA’crwliclming. When at last her frenzy had worn off, and she lay sobbing and panting on the bed, Theodore felt sick and faint.

He staggered rather than AA r alkcd to the Avail safe, and found the necklace after a feAV moments’ search. Slipping it into his pocket, he left the room. On the Avay doAvnstairs, he met the actress’s maid, who Avas carrying a large bunch of floAvers. “See, m’sieu, the carnations!” she said, holding them up. “Mam’selle Avill love them.”

“Give them to her,” said Theodoro calmly, “aa-Bli my respectful regards.” He proceeded doAvn the stairs. Bcloav, an awkward situation a Availed him. The burly commissionaire, avliosc massive presence lent impressiveness to the hall of the building, barred Thedore’s Avnw Avith a belligerent expression upon his face.

“Excuse me, sir,” he growled. “But a lady on the second floor ’as ’phoned doAvn to say that you ’ave abstracted a pearl necklace from her flat. I shall ’ave to hask you to accompany me liupstairs for a Icav minutes.” “I refuse to do anything of the sort,” replied Theodore.

He produced his professional card, and handed it to the commissionaire, avlio inspected it critically. “In that case,” said the man uneasily, “I shall ’ave to call a cop. In the meantime, I can’t. alloAv you to leave the building, sir.” Theodore had an unpleasant vision of the results Avliich might ensue if the majesty of the IaAV AA-ere invited into the affair. Unpleasant publicity Avould result and his professional reputation Avould certainly suffer. The situation Avas decidedW awkAvard.

It was further complicated by the appearance on the scene of the furious Diana Marquis, in her skimpy negligee. She pointed a shaky accusing finger at Theodore.

“That’s the man!” she cried in a A r oico Avliich trembled Avitli rage. “He stole my necklace. Search him at once. He put it in his side pocket.”

The commissionaire eyed Theodore uncompromisingly.

“What is it to be?” he demanded. “Shall I call a cop, or Avill you return the lady’s property?” Accepting the inevitable, Theodore put liis hand in one of his pockets and dreAV out a gleaming necklace, Avliich the actress triumphantly snatched from him.

“Well, Miss Marquis, it’s up to you,” said the commissionaire, favouring Theodore with an ugly look. “Shall I call a cop, or are you going to let ’im go?” The actress laughed shrilly.

“Let him go,” she said bitterly, and added: “Better luck next time you go in for burglary, Mr Wrenn!” Theodore left the building quietly, and took a taxi to Chancerv-lane. In his dusty little office he sat down at his desk, and put a hand in one of his pockets. With a suppressed chuckle, he drew out the Eavenal pearls and laid them on the smooth surface of the desk.

“I wonder how long it will be before Miss Marquis discovers that the pearls I returned to her were her own excellent imitations?” he pondered aloud. CIIAPTEE YI. The following day, Theodore lunched with his cousin, gave him the Eavenal pearls, and received in return a cheque for the money he had paid to the actress. “That’s a load off my mind,” said Sir Anthony, when they had concluded the business. “You know, I was half afraid that she wouldn’t give them up. ’ ’ “So was I—at one stage of the proccedinglv,” said Theodore dryly. Sir Anthony directed a shrewd glance at him. “You had some trouble with her?” “‘A little.” ‘‘ I expected as much. But I knew you’d be able to deal with her. You’ll see Naomi Dean as soon as possible?” Theodore nodded: “At once.” “Good. The woman’s a nuisance. She’s just the wild, impulsive type that would make trouble. And nothing must interfere with my marriage to Anne. Nothing.” Theodore rose. “I’ll do my best,” he said. “Good day.” With that he left.

Miss Naomi Dean lived at number nine Potiphar’s Mews, which was a converted stable in an alley near King’s Bond, Chelsea. She wrote poetry for high-brow magazines, and little stories which were very highly praised —by her friends.

At eleven o’clock sharp on the morning after his meeting with Sir Anthony, having previously apprised Miss Dean by letter of his intended visit, Theodore rapped on the emerald green door with a brass knocker provided for the purpose. He heard a snatch of a song in a language foreign to him, sung in a rich but untrained contralto, which broke off at the sound of the knocker, and in a moment or two, the door was opened by a tall, dark girl in an orange-coloured smock. She held the door slightly ajar and looked through the aperture at Theodore, eyeing him from head to foot. Her glance eventually came to rest upon his black bowler hat, which she regarded -with marked distaste. Theodore raised the offending headgear. “If you are Miss Naomi Bean, I wrote you yesterday.” She nodded slightly and opened the door a little further.

“I’m Naomi Dean,” she admitted, and added suspiciously: “You’re not a bill collector?”

“Oh dear, no.”

(To be Continued)