THE STORYTELLER

Waikato Times, Volume 94, Issue 14770, 8 October 1921, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE STORYTELLER

THE CAHUSAC MYSTERY ——» BY K. AND HESKETH PRICHARD. (Authors of Roving Hearts. Don Q, Yammer's Duel, etc.j 1 CHAPTER X.—IDEALS. The cutting from the Gas-Lamp consisted of .; few venomous sentences embedded .n masses of verbiage. M. De Sarson knew his world; and, though L’Oeil now represented a faction with which he no longer openly identified himself, be still hold the controlling strings in his hand. Before Hie world he was officially connected with another newspaper. But L’Oeil continued to offer him a safe outlet for damaging onslaughts on foes —or friends. The Gas-Lamp’s attention had been cleverly directed to the pamphlet— I from the point of view obtaining on this side of the Channel one could not describe L’Ocil as a newspaper—the' moment being opportune, for the subject of its articles jus,t then was being neat.lv medicated to appeal to the British palate, and the Gas-Lamp was templed lo give translations of the lurid ‘historiettes,’ the calumnies, the unsavory personal items; and, finding that scurrility gained favour in certain quarters, it continued to serve up these vitiated gleanings as a weekly

dish. From this period, one is obliged to add —not without shame —its circulation went up by leaps and bounds. The point of importance to Cahusac in the article given him by Lady Madesson was embodied in a few paragraphs. It was asserted that the flagrant hypocrisy of certain Powers was nowhere more monstrously apparent than in the pretended purity of their diplomatic methods. As an instance of the accuracy of this statement, L'Oeil implored its countryman to recall the case of a rising young diplomat who had —it might at this distance of lime be admitted —been the secret friend of a country not his own, and whose untimely murder in Hie streets of London had for some twenty years remained a mystery. L'Oeil, however, was now in a position to prove that he had been assassinated. Why had this young man lost his life? Who had most to gain by his removal? It was hardly necessary to answer such a question. Farther on there was a reminder that (he son of tile diplomat had elected to follow his father’s profession. At this point Hie subject

was dropped. Next morning Malcolm Cahusac visited Detching a) his chambers, and, with a word or two of explanation, gave him the long slip of paper. Detching unfolded it, and read it slowly to the end. With cadi iine Ids face grew harder and more set. Atlength lie laid it across ids knee and smoked on for some moments, then raised the slip and read parts of it again. Meanwhile Cahusac sat opposite, stem and brooding. 'I say,’ Detching said abruptly, breaking silence, 'are you in love?’ Cahusac had been wrapped in thought; the question must have touched his reverie at some point. He looked up, and the loneliness of the man leaped suddenly into his eyes. ‘1 think I should be if —if it were not for . that, or the chance of such as that, coming up against me at any time’—lns glance fell on the paper slips—‘who knows?’ ’How did you hear of the business?’ ‘From Lady Madesson last night.’ Detching sat up with a jerk. ‘She would fight your battle for you! A woman whom a man could adore I’ ‘Perfectly. A woman whom many men have adored.’ Detching seldom used bad language. He considered it to be a waste of energy below the dignity of a reasoning creature; but he said somcttiing now ttiat sounded double-shotted. ‘There's a queer vein of Puritanism somewhere in Hie bed-rock of your , character,’ lie went on cynically. ‘Don't let it influence you against facts.’ Cahusac shook his head. ‘You’re wrong there, old man. My Puritanism, If I have any. is a thin veneer: and' — he hesitated—’Lady Madesson happens to know it.’ ‘Alii’ Retching's red-bearded face scowled contemptuously across Hie fireplace. ‘And yet?’ ‘And yet she is not I he ideal woman.’ ‘Hang ideals! She has touched you. You acknowledge it- ' And she’s just the woman you want. Besides. It’s not to be denied that she is perhaps the most beautiful woman in London, too, which is saying a good deal. You are blind, Malcolm! T wish I had half your chance.’ ‘Yes. I suppose she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. As for rnv chance, if [ had any, you’ro welcome to it.’ ‘fd say “Thanks" if It were yours to give, but unluckily it isn't. Seriously speaking, you've a dangerous and difficult game to play, and you'll want money. Besides, she's got a head worth two of ours. I tell you. taking you all round, f don't know a fellow who wants a wife worse Hum you do. Keeping all Ibis worry |o yourself wall turn you sour if you don't look to it.' YVhat does it matter?’ Caimsac’s irritability was new. ‘Could 1 a Si; any woman to bind herself lo me with all that behind me?’ ‘Why not?’ 'Come now, would you allow your sister to marry a man whose father bad been accused more or loss plainly of betraying his country in this foul way? Would you allow her to marry a man whose own career must be definitely checked, if not ruined, by the reaction of such rumours? If I could take steps—if I could have those papers up for libel, for instance—it might be a different matter. But you know how I stand. You know that 1 am powerless, that I can prove nothing. and may never lie able to clear up the unhappy business unless chance befriends me and I can get my hand upon the man: but beyond the fact that it was tie who stole Hie letters I have n'i clue.’ The harshness of Cahusac’s voice was new to ids friend, who pondered j for a minute. ‘What you say might apply lo the Lancely girl.’ he said, roughly, ‘because of her relations, who think they run Hie British Empire upon lines made from their own family tree. But Hie other —-why not?’ ’Why not? Because there sits in Paris to-night a man who is wrecking me with pen and paper. After a long silence I have readied a tresh development in Hie plot. These articles in | L’Oeil emanate from some obscure ■ source in Paris. f must find out that I source, and put a stop to the para- i graphs, if I can. I cross to-night.’ Detching stretched hims«!f. ‘All I rigid.' he said. 'Lest us go.’ 1 ‘Not you! Why should I drag you | over ? ‘Because you arc a fool, and would : swamp without me,' 1

Cahusac laughed with some relief. The tension of the earlier part of the conversation was relieved. 'Besides,' went on notching, ‘I know a man called Huson who is Paris correspondent to a couple of English and American dailies, lie ought to he aide to give ns a lead.’ Cahusac made no answer for a moment or two. His face was rigid with some disagreeable, baffling thought. Detehing saw the quiet eye* lower to fierceness. After Ihe long waiting, Cahusac looked as if tie had found his enemy. Tt is well 1 hat tie has held himself in reserve,’ thought Detehing, ‘for, now that, the time has perhaps arrived to strike, he has the strength to strike home.’ Then he added aloud, ‘By Hie way, how comes Lady Madeson to he mixed up in this?’ ‘Only a woman’s curiosity,’ replied Cahusac. ‘She scented a mystery, and began to put two and two together She appears to have made it her business to find out all she could from every one who would 1 alk about it. And a good many people have been doing that latterly, as you know,’ he ended, with some bitterness. ‘And I bet you she has come to some sort of conclusion. Why, man, speak out; what is it?’ ‘Yes, you’re right; she has an idea.’ Cahusac smiled rather incredulously. ‘She says De Sarsan put her closer on the track than anybody. To use her own words, “No person could know so much unless he were a close friend or an enemy.” ’ ‘Quite so. Go on.’ ‘Well, he is not my friend, and she insists she lias reason to think that be is rny enemy.’ ‘You have reason to think the same,’ said Detehing, eying his companion askance.

‘I suppose so. He might have something to do with these newspaper attacks.’

‘More than possible. Go on.’ ‘He has always been suspected of being a secret agency man. He was in London at that time. He told me himself ttiat tie was acquainted with my step-mother—you heard him last evening. In short, Lady Madesson believes him lo be the originator of these paragraphs.’ ‘Of course! What a woman;’ almost groaned Retching. ‘ldeals! Hung it all, man, what are ideals to a reality like that? Handsome, icvcllheadcd, and clever, with love enough and money enough’ ‘T o make the man who wants her egregiously happy. That’s true,’ Cahusac said, impatiently turning off the other’s meaning. ‘Let it rest for Hie Present.’ ‘All Hie same, she may be the woman

to save you, in spite of yourself. Now, I have a trilling detail to mention lo you, which gives me Hie idea that Lady Madesson has made the most extraordinary guess at some thing near the truth. Do you recollect my telling you of a foreigner 1 met when going down Park Lane on that memorable evening? He stood lighting a cigar under a lamp-post. I could not see his face, for he wore a soft hat putted over his eyes; but f saw ids right hand, which hold a match, very clearly. 1 noticed that he had a curious malformation of the little finger; the nail was singularly lung, and half the width of an ordinary nail. If 1 had not been a doctor I don’t suppose I should have remarked it.’ ‘Well?’

‘I saw that nail again at Mrs Wcstaway’s last night, and the hand that carried it attracted my eye because it twitched when you inquired if De Sarsan remembered the house.’

‘Look here, Detching, you don’t mean that De Sarsan —=— c Why have you not told me lids before?’ Cahusac’s voice was low and strained, and a vein suddenly stood out upon Ids forehead.

’For the very excellent reason I Mainover before have 1 had the pleasure of meeting De Sarsan.’ ‘Good heavens! Then the chances are that De Sarsan is the man! At any rate, he is probably the only soul alive who knows the whole truth about that last night at Park Lane, for whoever stole the letters must have been the man who was bound to get hold of them for his own sake—at any cost. So he ventured far.’ ‘Give him rope enough.’ said Delching after a moment’s silence, ‘and lie must inevitably betray Ids knowledge.' ‘No, that must never be permitted.'

‘lt would fix Ids identity.’ ‘Yes; but at what a cost! I am not prepared to pay it, Detching. Lady Cahusac’s story must never he known. Well, we must, cross to-night. Once 1 get hold of his agents 1 can lay my hand upon him and bring pressure to bear.’

Retching looked round as if mentally picking out Hie articles lie meant to lake with him on his journey, and asked lialf-abstraclcdly, 'Do Sarsan lias baled you all these years; why should tic Just at this time ctiance Ids tactics of silence?’

A slow liush crept up under Cahusac's skin. ‘He wishes to ruin me. that is all.’

‘Now, why at this particular time? You have not been interfering with ids little games, have you?’ ‘Apparently 1 have,’ Cahusac answered shortly.

‘in what way? fm not particularly curious, don't you know; but 1 must have this straight if 1 arn lo be of use.’

'll will not, I hope, be necessary for you to do anything but introduce me to Huson.’

‘No, I hope not. Yet it seems to me we can't bo sure we arc booking a bee-line passage to the end we’re endeavouring to arrive at. And knowledge may be useful—even to me, who only want to look on, I assure you, if the thing goes propitiously.’ ‘lf you wish lo press the question, then, I have reason lo believe that Ue Sarsan has dared to Hunk of Miss Lanceley as a—a wife.’ Hie is rather oldish for her, to he sure. Vet’ Cahusac said nothing. Retelling ventured to whistle softly. It is not to be supposed that tie had gathered no hint of Hie subject, presented to turn m so disjointed a manner by Cahusac, but tie chose to make it appear so. ‘Malcolm,’ he began, with the air or one trying to face a preposterous notion with some sfiow of tolerance, 'you do not mean to tell me that you you have for an instant thought of Hie same lady in the same light?' 'Had it been possible for me lu think of any one in Hint light ,' might have done so; but—l need no!, repeal myself.’ ‘Oli, Cord !’ Ciisrdmc turned on him holly, ‘What do you mean, Relching?' 'Eh? Nothing.’ ‘Alice Lanceley is pure and sweet and good. Wo can't say as much o.r —for every woman.' Cahusac laughed angrily, 'it, strikes me that Lady Madesson has made, one tn&n appreciate her.' ‘That’s <mough, Malcolm; i oaa t

help yoiir being a fool, but I can help you tahking about it. One (Jang at least you will do. You will go to see Lady Miadessou before wc start?’ ‘No,’ obstinately. 'No? "Though she may have valuable I hints —-e\ien information —to give | you?’ '1 hope we’ll lie able to do without | either.’ 'No man; can ever do as well without i a woman's.help when that woman hapI pens to hr,- such as Lady Mudesson. You're off:’ Well, we'll meet to-mgiil 1 at Charing Cross.’ Cahusac gol as far as the door, and stopped, Tm going to Park Lane lo Mrs Westeway’s,' he said in an odd, tieflafll voice, ‘i may never see Alice again, in line same circumstances. I’ve denied rny.u'lf many good tilings during Hie course of my life. J’rn hanged if I deny myself this one!’ 'What in the name of reason are you going to —-say—lo do?’ ‘Nothing! That is the irony of the situation.’ He was gone, and Detehing stood in the centre of |he room, skill staring' at the closed dtxir. CHAPTER XL—THE SYMPATHY THAT CROPS. Why did John marry Kitty? John, with tils strong, single-hearted nature, lakes unto himself and adores as the one jewel of earth —for a limited period until his eyes are opened—the simple-minded, soft-hearted girl who loves him devotedly, but not one whit more Ilian she would have loved James or William or Turn, had any one of those very commonplace young men become her husband and been decently kind to her.

Philosophy and social science, and the many specialised forms of study which wo have brought to bear upon mankind, after all these years, have, taught up nothing reliable about the master passion. We love still according to no rule, after the lines of no theory; reason has no say in the matter, and expediency is out of court. A man loves from the eye, a woman from I fie heart; but equally by chance, so to sneak.

At 2i 1, Park Lane, Cahusac found Mrs Westaway. She had once been a pretty girl, and was stiTl pleasant to look upon; naturally good-humoured, well-meaning, and impulsive, but somewhat warped by contact with the world. She received Cahusac with an air of gloom.

‘Oil, my dear boy, you may well ask what is the matter! Have you heard of Wit’s wickedness? We all knew he was frightfully in debt, and it now turns out l,hat he has been raising funds on the strength of a promise made him by Alice that as soon as she got tier fortune into her own hands she would make it over lo him to satisfy Ids creditors! To complete Hie mischief, Alice vows she will keep her word. Have you ever heard of anything so Utterly unprincipled?’ Mi’s Westaway shook out a fold of her soft laces impatiently, and, leaning back among her cushions, looked ul Cahusac for sympathy. ‘i cannot believe that Wil intended’ Tin not speaking of Wil. We all know, delightful boy as ho is, that he would swindle his 'own grandmother out of her last sixpence, only she happens to he well aware of his little Ways. Not ul all! I mean Alice.’ Cahusac smiled strangely. You brought her up, Mrs Westaway.’ ‘Malcolm, 1 have known you from a boy, and 1 said from the beginning that you were at the bottom of this!’ Cahusac stared at her.

Y’es, i said it was Just like one of Malcolm Cahusac’s quixotic notions. You may ask Wil if I did not.’

‘1 assure you 1 have never exchanged a single word with Alice on the subject; but one may be permitted to respect tier point of view.’ Mrs Westaway resumed her seat with some air of relief. ‘I am glad to hear you haven’t —more glad tnun i can say. she quoted cases of people who had kept vows made for them when they were babies—kept them to their own hurt. She mentioned no names, and I am sure I don’t know why I thought of you,’ she went on, not noticing the mingling of embarrassment and elation which crossed Cahusac’s face.

'But don’t you think she is right?’ He put the question in Iris usual indifferent tone. ‘Bight! Certainly not! Of course one should be truthful and upright, and all Hie rest of it; but when it conies to Hinging away your whole fortune to Hie Jews, and living on your family, because you happen to have been silly enough lo make a stupid promise before you knew to what it pledged you, well then i am of opinion that no one but n fool would do such a tiling, ft is quite as criminal lo sponge upon relations as to decline to I'ullH a ridiculous and illegal arrangement.’ The servant opened the door, ana Mrs Westaway added hurriedly, ‘Here is Alice, f will leave you with tier, and fur goodness’ sake persuade tier to he sensible.'

Alice came into Hie room, and greeted Cahusac with that air of dignity and slight reserve characteristic of her race and class. It is a trick of manner, perhaps, and may not represent any inborn quality; but it invariably stands its possessor in good stead. Alice’s reserve was discounted on this occasion by a deep blush when she became aware of Hie identity of Hie visitor. ‘I did not, expect to see you,’ she said, ‘at Ibis hour.’ ‘I happen lo be my own master just now,’ Cahusac answered. ‘1 am going to Paris to-night.’ ‘To Paris! How odd! Wil is going too, with M. dc Sarsan.’ Cahusac’s face altered. She was watching it anxiously. ‘I know you don’t like M. dc Sarsan,’ she went on rather hurriedly; ‘but lie docs influence Wil.’ ’For good?’ Cahusac did not want to ask the question—it was a stupid and priggish one at best; but lie was more disturbed at this meeting with Alice than ho would have cared to own. 'I think I can prove it to you. Has not Aunt Ella asked you to try to make me lake a sensible view of my obligations as regards my promise lo Wil?’ Cahusac flushed holly am] foolishly as he acknowledged that she had. Alice’s smile took on a utile turn of sadness which stirred him still more strongly. ‘She asks everybody. I wish she would not speak of our affairs so much and .so openly. it is very painful.' H urn afraid no apology of mine will mend the matter; hut I can say that i did’hol venture lo think of offering you my advice,' lie replied with the quick iiufliness of a man in love.

Alice was Hie type of girl who is readily hived; the type uf girl, suitiiatured and innocent, whom most men fall down and worship, and who, with their gentle dignities mid stainless lives, have been Hie home-treasure for whose sake Englishmen, under Hie name of England, conquered Napoleon. Half the race have their lives brightened and (heir romances translated from heaven lu earili by such as these. Her eyes of childlike blue grew misty with reproachful I Cars. HCr iCsi’.rves were only skin-deep. Slid answered frankly, Hf you hail oared w offer your advice and help i should have been glad—and gralfifui.'

This was an attack at close quarters of a kind to which Gahusac was not accustomed. He stammered iu tus answer. 'I have found it difficult. Wit avoids me lately.' ‘As I said, you dislike M. de Sarsan.' she went on, not noticing his interruption; ‘hut 1 have had no one else to lie Ipor to advise me. He agrees wild me that I must make over rny money to Wil’s creditors.’

i ‘Agrees with you?' Gahusac repeated in surprise, while -in his mind he won- | dcred what game the man was now | playing. 'Yes; did 1 not do well lo trust him? I Besides, 1 have no one else.’ She rose and crossed the room lo the window, for the tears were failing al lasi. There was a second s pause, ana then Gahusac followed her. lie looked al her in silence, shaken throughout his whole being by the love he bore her—all dreamy hopes and gossamer thoughts, as she was! The living appeal! And these appealing girls rarely appeal in vain. Not intellectual, not strong, not capable, but fulfilling at one period of their existence a very ordinary ideal; yet a man's ideal for all that. Such she was, sweet and helpless and appealing, fair and dear. He looked al the soft coils of hair upon her white neck, rather astonished at himself perhaps, yet thrilled ana elated. He knew in his heart even then I hat there were thoughts and depths of soul that she could never share. Not (he rarest girl in the world is she, yet most men prefer her. She is so different from themselves; she owns all the converse qualities. She is restful, trustful, and knows nothing of the mysterious discontents of spirit, the weary ambitions, the unanswerable questions of life. Mamages may not be made in heaven; some courtships arc, at any rale. ‘You know I would have helped you if I could—if 1 had knowm!’ he found himself saying, almost unconscious of the words, so filled was he with the sense of her presence. She turned towards him as he spoke. ‘You don't know how lonesly I am!’ There was no artifice in the plaintive assertion. ‘1 have many relations, but they don’t understand. They are all against us—against Wil and mo. Now M. de Sarsan has undertaken to manage everything for me. And you

This is the sort of thing that generally lias but one result. Gahusac knew so much, and was sufficiently himself to recollect ‘it. T am sorry to hear that,’ lie said in a firmer tone. ‘I think you had much belter have put your affairs in the‘hands of one of your family.’

Two turquoise-blue tearful eyes reproached him. It was almost more than a man could hear. T am very unhappy,’ she said, 'i don't know what to do. M. de Sarsan is our only friend; he has been very kind.’

Gahusac felt the check of the lasi sentence. He longed to speak, and to speak out; to tell tier he loved her; and, man-like, he longed lo show her how mistaken she was in her opinion of Dc Sarsan; and yet in all fairness lie must be silent. Her very weakness held him back. In her innocence she might some day have learnt lo love him, but lie could not ask tier lo share the uncertain future ahead, in which it might well bo that calumny would triumph against him. If lie told her all, he believed that, in her unworldlincss and pity, she would take no ( count of possible trouble or shame, but gladly Wnk her life with his. Was ever lover in so hard a case? lie wondered. The one comfort of me moment was that Dc Sarsan, with his wiles and’ covert designs, was also to be away. T am boring you with my silly talk,’ she exclaimed suddenly, he had kept siJencc for so Jong, T am sorry i spoke of myself. And yet, you know wlial it is lo be lonely and unhappy too.’

He met her eyes, and in his she saw a dumb look of pkin which she never forgot. 'Do you remember once you offered me your friendship, Alice?’ he broke out. ‘And what I told you then I tell yon now once more. I dare not take your friendship, I cannot be your friend, while I stand as 1 do to-day, in face of I cannot tell what reverse of fortune.’

She suddenly put out her hands to him. The action was so natural, so wistfully kind, so eloquent of -the unuttered cry, ‘Let me stand by you, let me comfort you!’ that ho could hardly crush back ttic answer which burned so near his lips.

It was the moment. He was on itie path where one loses count of time. As long as there arc two upon it they wander, taking no heed of distance, tt is only when one is left to return alone that the way grows very dreary and very long.

‘A man's fate is stronger than his will and his desires sometimes,’ ho said tenderly. ‘lf he can break free, then lie. is Ills own master, to do as he pleases. But until I hat moment lie must be bound by his honour.’ He had taken both Ihe slender outstretched hands in his own, pressing them hard in his emotion. She drew nearer with a timid movement. T don’t understand you; but I am so sorry for you, Malcolm.’ The red lips quivered, and tier very loveliness translated tier speech into comfort lo Cahusac’s cars. He could not iook longer al the sorrow and supplication of her face.

‘The future holds all my hopes—my life,’ he muttered, as if to himself; then, seeing the marks of his rough grasp upon her white fingers, he suddenly bent his head and kissed them once and again wilh passion. He was gone. She remained very still, one hand holding the other for many minutes. Then, blushing deeply to the brows, she kissed the place where his lips had been. ‘1 care for him very much,’ she said softly. T wish I knew what trouble be fears will come to him. , But I am sure lie e,arcs for me—and lie is very unhappy.’ (To be continued on Saturday.)