In The Flashlight

Waikato Times, Volume 98, Issue 16125, 25 October 1924, Page 14 (Supplement)

In The Flashlight

I! THE STORYTELLER

(Copyright), published by arrangement with The Ger eral Press, Ltd.

By BERNARD ROWTHORNE /;*. *. J. Author of “The Jewels of Sin,” “The Shadow of the Yemen," etc., etc,

Synopsis of Previous Chapters. g

cause I am resolved that you shall marry no one but me." He lifted a protesting hand -as Margaret was about to reply. "No'!:' he said passionately. "Hear me out.' I know vou will think my words a presumption", but, after all, I have some claim on your gratitude—on your love. I hale to remind you of it; but nevertheless, it is the fact that but for me you would not have been here at this'moment. Vou would have been drifting up and down with the tides of Argyle, or as amerc battered piece of flotsam in the Race of Corrievrechan. You know it; and you do owe me some consideration; and for that consideration I jflcad. I love you as man never loved woman before. I am aflame for you, and— and, well, I will not be denied. I Will win you in spite of Donald Mayhew, who let his brother die, I will win you in 6plte of yourself. You shall love me—you shall give yourself to me " "Never I" interrupted Margaret, appalled by the surge of his passion. "I —♦— '* « He laughed scornfully. "You are very confident," he said, "but you do not know me yet. lam acccustomed to winning things I set my heart on, and do you think I will be turned aside from the supreme desire of my life? I echo your own word—never 1 I will fight for you, win you, set you aflame " "Oh!" cried the girl. "You are insufferable. I will not listen any longer. I shall leave you. You had a message for my father, you said. Tell me what it is, that I may go." Carston checked in his passionate utterance, gave a sudden, sharp laugh. "You are afraid to listen," he said, "I will not keep you here against your will, no, but another time, when you have asked Donald Mayhew how his brother came to die, you will listen to me. You -'' " "The message?" said the girl cold-

Chapters I and ll.—Garston and Mel-, ford are seated in the saloon of .a.; yacht. Cars-ton is threatening Mel-; ford with the that Otto Freed- ; lam is still alive, and is anxious to learn ihe whereabouts of his old- j time partner, Owen Oldstairs. Melford, driven into a .corner, admits tacitly- (that he is •• 'Owen ,01dstairs. Margaret* his daughter, comes for a book, and departs almost imm.edi-; ately. Carston made it plain that,: a's the price Of keeping Melford'Si real identity secret, tie must.-be al-, lowed to marry Margaret. Th» ; girl's father ..tejls Garston about: Noel and Donald ; Mayhew. How, she loved Noel. He went to Ger-, man East Africa, and three months later was reported;missing. 'They; arc in a rough sea,, and while the: men are talking.toere is a violent lurching of ,thc -vessel. The se-. cond offlcer comos to say that the propeller shaft has-snapped. There is great danger of driving into Corrievrschan Race, with Jura ahead. The men take to-.the.boats. Melford is terrified, but Carston chows a manly front, procuring life-belts. Garston and Margaret get away in the first bonf. This is wrecked. Garston, a strong swimmer, saves both Margaret and himself. They are' thrown on to the wet sand of an inlet. Chapters 111 and IV.—Carston. carries the unconscious Margaret Melford as he tries to find a place of-shelter. When she r''urns to consciousness he still insits in carrying her. They crouch for a rest be-. hjad a stone wail. Then they . resume their journey, Margaret still being carried. They are hospitably received by an old highlander and his wife. The old farmer goes to the shore to investigate, but only comes across the bodies of three sailor lads, and a boat, battered to pieces. Margaret makes her appearance after a night's rest somewhat refreshed:,. '.She is about to hear a proposal:from Carston when the guid wife enters with the breakfast ■ tray. Carston, looking out of the window, tells- Margaret that her father is coming across the fields. She rushes to meet.' him. with Carston at her heels. " CHAPTERS V and VI. —One - of the men saved with Mr Melford was the yacht's captain. He relates his story of the shipwreck. Carston approaches Melford again on the subject of Margaret. Afterwards father and daughter discuss the matter, but Margaret still loves Noel-Mayhew. A week later Donald Mayhew finds Margaret Melton taking his mushrooms. He is about to propose to her when they are interrupted by Carston. Carston manages to get rid of Donald, and after trying to find out how they stood .to each other, he tries to blacken Donald's character with regard to his share in the disappearance of Noel Mayhew, his own brother. Margaret declares she .will never believe it, never)

ly. "The message—oh, yes!" Carston laughed again. "It is a ,very short one. Please, tell your father that I withdraw what r said on the morning after the wreck; and that I trump with Freedlum.'" . £

"You trump with—with " "Freedlamf F-r-e-e-d-1-a-m I Mr Melford will understand." "I will convey your message," answered Margaret, then without another word turned on her heel and began to walk towards; the stile.

• CHAPTER VII. As Margaret Melford made her passionate declaration of belief in Donald Mayhew's innocence, a. swift look of jomprehension come on Carston's jtrong face. "Ah I" he said slowly, in a tone that made the girl look at him questioningly. -—•-. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her face aflame. Carston smiled, but made no direct reply-to the question. "You will never believe?" he asked carelessly. "Never!' 1 cried Margaret, with conviction.

As she did so Donald* Mayhew hurried to jpip her, and as he helped her over the stile saw the signs of* agitation in her face.

"What is the matter, Margaret?" he asked quiekly. "Has Carston been annoying you?" "Yes," sheV&nswerM frankly, "he has annoyed' me very "much;" "In what way, Margaret? He's a fellow I don't like." ~.-; "And you have cause -for your dislike," replied the gJrK "More cause than you are aware of, I fancy." "Indeed?" asked Mayhew, struck by a certain significance in her tones. "What do you mean, Margaret? Please be explicit. Has* the' bounder been saying things about me?". "Yes! Dreadful things—things so shocking that I scarcely like to repeat them."

Carston looked at her, then he glanced at Don. Mayhew pacing to and fro at the further side of the hedge. Ho thought he understood the situation very well. The girl had transferred her affection from one brother to the other, a quite natural proceeding, apart from the Jure of Mayhew Court; and as he saw Margaret's face flush, be was shaken by a spasm of .Jealous anger. "You will not believe?" he said sharply. "Then ask Mayhew what happened. Ask him why he did not reveal the fact of his succession at the court martial? I think you will And that he will have some diifllculty in explaining that interesting omission."

"But you must, Margaret. Or I must follow Carston and force him to tell me. I can see from your face that I have cause to know what he has said. If you won't tell me I will follow him and choke the truth out of him." • "' '

Margaret was stung the tone in which ho addressed her, and replied indignantly. "I shall ask him nothing, but I shall tell him what vile charge you make against him, that he may be forewarned against "

"Do!" broke in Carston, with a laugh. "And note the effect when he hears what men who have a suspicion of the truth arc saying about him. I think you will And the result of your observations pretty convincing." "I do not think so," answered Margaret, though she was a little shaken by Carton's apparent confidence. "And I cannot think why you should say these things to me. If you have charge to make against Donald Mayhew r"

Margaret hesitated, stopped, and looked back. The tall figure of Carston was receding across the field, and the sun shone on something which reflected its brightness, dazzlingly. It was, as she guessed, the butt of the gun, and as she saw it a panic feeling surged in her heart. If Donald followed the man, if he forced him to speak, there would be trouble; and in the heat of the moment wild things might be done. At all costs she must prevent them meeting at this moment, and avert the possibilities imminent in the situation. Swiftly she turned to her companion, her mind made up. "It was in reference to Noel," she began, hesitated, and then added haltingly, "and —and—to the way he died."

■ "I say these things to you that you may know the kind of man Mayhew is, and the—^cr-—er —questionable means by which he has made himself Master of Mayhew Court. I have no intention whatever of letting you go blindly into marriage with " "Into marriage!" as she cried the words Margaret Melford's face was scarlet witli indignation. "What — how ! •'

As she spoke she saw Donald Mayhew's face grow suddenly scarlet, then almost as swiftly the blood receded, leaving it ghastly pale. "Yes?" he cried hoarsely. "Yes?" For a moment the girl did not speak. She was appalled by the expression on his face, by the sudden look of apprehension which had come in his eyes. The suspicion which Carston had sown quickened to strong life, and when she broke the brief silence her attitude towards Donald Mayhew had suffered a swift change; and there was an almost accusing note in. her voice.

"Yes—into marriage with Donald Mayhew," retorted Carston with a hard laugh. "You need not pretend that that is a matter outside consideration. That young man's attitude as I came up the field betrayed a good deal to observant eyes, and I am not blind."

"Apparently not!" retorted the girl, a flash of scorn in her eyes. "But may I remind you that the relations between Donald Mayhew and myself are no concern of yours, that your interference is a gross impertinence, and that "

"Steady, Miss Margaret," interrupted Carston sharply. "It will be better not to say things that you will presently regret. And you are very much mistaken in the assertion that the relations between Mayhew and yourself do not concern me. The direct contrary is true. They ore of Ihq deepest concern to me." "I do not see why," said the girl, austerely. "No? Then I will tell you," replied Carston with a sudden change of voice. "It is because I Jove you, bc-

"He said that you were in the neighbourhood when Noel was ambushed; that you knew of his desperate situation, and that—that you left him to die, knowing that you would inherit Mayhew Court!" "It is a damnable lie!" cried the young man, adding 6tormily, "I wiU make Carston eat those words, or I will wring his vile neck. The scoundrel " He checked himself sharply, and then cried appealingly, "But you do not believe him, Margaret? You cannot believe me guilty of so vile a thing?"

The girl remembered the look she! had seen on his face, the undisguised apprehension in his eyes. "I do not know what to believe," she said. "It seems too horrible even to think of. But —but " she broke off, and a sudden, sharp distress shook her. "Oh!" she cried, "I loved Noel! If you were in the neighbourhood whydid you not go to his help?" She did not know it, but again the note of accusation was in her voice; and the man was painfully conscious of it. His face flushed, and a hard look came on it. "Listen," ho said, "and I will explain. It is a scoundrelly thing that Carston should have raked up this charge, without telling you that the thing had already been investigated and that I was fully exonerated by a court-martial at Hie time." , "But lie did tell me," said Margaret. "Then why should he repeat, the vile charge? Why should he tell you of. it, when he knows that my utter innocence was established? Why should you believe the blackguard, Margaret?" "I have not said that I believe him," answered Margaret. "I "No. you have not said it in so many

words. But your attitude betrays the fact. Your manner, your tones arc an accusation, if not your actual words. There must be something else to account for your attitude, something that, I ought to know, Which I demand 1 shall be told." "Yes I" said the girl simply. "There is something else, something which vou did not tell the court-martial." "Ah!"

The exclamation broke from Mayhew almost involuntarily and his face was deadly white, whilst there was an expectant look in his eyes, as he faced the girl and waited for her to speak. "Mr Carston said that you djd not inform the court-martial of the fact that you were Noel's heir; and that if you had done so it would have put a different complexion on the affair." As she spoke she watched her companion closely, and saw him flinch, whilst a look of something very like despair came in his eyes. For quite half a minute he stood without speaking, staring across the fields, a set look on his face, then he turned to her.

"Margaret," he said hoarsely, "you do not believe " "The particular accusation is not a matter of faith," interrupted the girl, "it is a simple matter of ruet. Did you inform the court-martial of the fact that you were Noels heir?"'

"No," he answered quietly. "Why not?" "Because there was no need." "You knew perhaps that >t would have made a difference ju the finding of the court?"

"It might have done," he agreed, patiently. "Though I beg of you to remember that I was exonerated en the facts."

"Yes!" she cried, almost distraught. "Yes! That is-what Mr Carston said. But this one thing which .might have made a difference you kept back. Wuy did you do that?" "Because I did not want the question raised at all, because I knew how ready blackguards like Carston would be to suggest evil motives, and how some man of evil mind would mate this very scoundrelly suggestion of Carston's."

The girl looked at him in surprise. "You admit that?" she cried. "You own that it was in your mind at the time?"

"Yes," he answered. "It was almost inevitable that it should be. Tills is not a charitable world; and when I had to face the court-martial, I was forced to consider all eventualities. I expected to be questioned upon the matter, but no question was asked, and " "But you did not tell them?" "No! Why should I?" The girl stared at him distractedly, the suspicion deliberately sown by Garston blazing in her heart. "Oh," she cried. "I do not know why you should; and I am afraid to think why you should conceal it!" "Margaret " he began, and laid a hand upon her arm. "No!" she cried. "Do not say any more. I must think. I—Oh, I do not know what to believe I" Before he could speak or divine what she was going to do, she turned swiftly and began to run across the field.

"Margaret!" he cried after her, without making any attempt to follow her. "Margaret!"

But the girl did not look round; and with a bleak look on his face, he stood watching her until she was out of sight. Then he turned and stared in the direction in which Garston had gone, and into his eyes came a flame of indignation.

"I might have expected it," he murmured aloud. "But when I meet Carston, I will make him eat his words, or " The threat went unfinished, but a hard look mingled with the bleakness on his face and his jaw was set with determination.

, CHAPTER VIII. kiout the time when Margaret Melford had run to meet her father, as saved from the sea, he came across the sodden cotter's field in Argyleshire, a British surgeon stood beside a. cot in the military hospital at Nairobi, in East Africa. He was looking down on, the emaciated form of a young man who, for tlie moment, was wrapped in profound slumber, and after watching his patient for a moment, he turned to a bronzed young lieutenant of a native corps. "He's had the blackwater fever, and it's something of a miracle that he is still alive; but I think we shall pull him through, now." "I'm glad of that," said the lieutenant simply. "It was no end of a job getting him here. You know who he is?"

"No," answered the surgeon quickly. "Do you?"

"Yesl He's Noel Mayhew of the Nairobi Rifles."

gate, out of it came a withered old black, and dropping on all fours literally crawled to my feet. Abject wasn't the word; and it was easy to guess that the Huns had been there

"They were pretty ruthless in their government," broke in the surgeon.

"They were swine," said the lieutenant with some heat. "I've seen things that they did —women's backs half flayed with whips of rhinoceroshide, children who " "I know," interrupted the other. "Tell me about my patient, Corflcld." "Right-ol" answered Corfleid with an apologetic laugh. "I was forgetting that you were out here all through the scrapping. Well, the long and short of the business was that we went inside, the old savage hopping at my side, and talking fifteen to the dozen, and gesticulating like a monkey that had chewed the wrong sort of nuts. He talked the dialect that I wasn't familiar with, but suddenly I gripped a couple of words used down in the M'ssente district, and that could mean nothing else than 'white man.' I listened more carefully after that and then guessing the old boy was trying hard to tell me something, I halted the boys°and made them listen to what he was saying, in the hope that one of them would get, the hang of it. "I had luck. One of the boys tumbled to the patois instantly, and after a minute h'i shouted out

'"Bwana, he say there be a sick' white man in his village, for whom he has cared like a mother—a white man with trouble in his head, who has been here many moons. '"A white man," I gasped unbelievingly, 'ln this hole?" "I looked round the abject place. It was incredible to me that any white man could elect to stay there; and I was guessing that it must be some crazy German missionary, when the old heathen at my side gave a shout, and pointed with skinny forefingers. I looked in the direction he indicated. Out of one of the huts had reeled a skeleton-like figure, with nothing on but a waist-cloth, and a battered pith helmet. Ho came towards me, stumbling, shambling, a sort of frightful scare-crow to look at; and as he came nearer I saw that though he was baked brown by the sun, he was a, white man; and the next minute I. knew he was an Englishman, for, as* he caught sight of my uniform, a light of intelligence came in his vacuous eyes, and he shouted like a man delivered from hell. '"Thank- God!'

"A second later he collapsed, and sprawjed in the dust like a dead man, and I thought his number was up. But it wasn't. After a bit he revived, but it was two days before he was able to tell me who he was; and then he couldn't tell me how he'd got to that forsaken hole, whilst all that the old chief could tell me was that ages ago, the man had appeared suddenly out of the forest, possessed by a devil, that had only recently left him; that he had been very sick, and that he had been there ever since. "I doctored him as welt as I could, and brought him. along by forced marches, afraid all the time that he'd die on my hands; and I'm thunderin' glad to have got him here safely, where he'll have his chance. It makes me ill to think what he has gone through; I wonder if there are any more poor devils lost as he was?" "It is just possible," said the doctor. "It was easy enough for men to get lost in the bush. He's one of the lucky ones." "Lucky! The Lord deliver me from such luck!"

"Oh, I don't Know. It is better than "

An English orderly coming up the ward, and halting the regulation two yards away from the surgeon, caused him to break off his remark.

"Well, Smithson," he asked, "what is it?"

"There's a lady here, sir, who says she must see the officer who was brought in last night; says that he is her husband, sir." "Husband?"

"Yes, sir I She's in a great taking, says he's back from the grave an' all thai sort of thing, sir." The surgeon looked at the sleeping man in the cot and then whistled softly.

"I'll have a word with her," he said. "You'd better come, too, Corflcld. She'll ,want to know things*, I expect." "Right-o! If I must."

The orderly disappeared, and the two officers walked down the ward together. In the room beyond they found a tall, dank woman of a flashing handsomeness, walking up and down in a state of great excitement. As his eyes fell on her, the surgeon whispered a single word to his companion —"Creole!"

The lieutenant shaped his lips to whistle, but no sound* came from them, "You haf my husband found?" she cried excitedly. "You haf him found alive?"

"The man who was in command of the party that was annihilated down Kenia way,?" asked the surgeon, with mounting interest. "Yesl How he escaped be doesn't know, indeed he appears to have no recollection of anything that's happened during the last three years. There's a scar of an old wound on the back of his head that may account for that. I got what account of him I could from the chief of the village where we found him, but " "Where was that?" interrupted the surgeon.

"If Lieutenant Noel Mayhew is your husband ■ "

"But yes—that is he 1 Oh! I must see him at once," she cried, shaken by excitement.

"Walguru, down Onyango way, a frightful sort of hole, crawling with fever. We'd been marching through a sodden forest for days, a place that might have been the very wood of death itself. It was so deadly silent that it got on my nerves, and even my blacks never spoke in a tone above a whisper. One or two men were down with fever, and I was dosing myself with quinine until my head spun, for I was pretty certain that if fcwent down badly the whole expedition would go to pieces. We were all in a state of jagged nerves and worried to death with tiny leeches that got on the men's legs, when suddenly through the utter stillness there sounded the roll of a tom-tom that brought us up all standing, so utterly unexpected was it. "If it hadn't been that the men had heard It too, I should have said that I was suffering from some sort of hallucination, for in the death-like quiet of that stinking forest one heard all sorts of sounds in one's head, sounds that had no external reality, you understand." "I know," said the surgeon. "Anyway the tom-tom wat. real enough, and as we had not stumbled on a village for days we began to shape a course in the direction from which the sound came. Presently we stumbled on one of those forest tracts, green as grass, made- by the padding feet of generations. We followed it, and about four in the afternoon came on one of those bushman villages that you find all over the shop in this country. It was set in a rough clearing, and had a stockade of pointed stakes, a puerile sort or thing, that a score of English schoolboys could have rushed out of hand. As things turned out there wasn't any need for that sort of thing, for as we marched towards the stockade, a ,man naked, but for a wisp of grass round his middle, saw us, and ran inside, and in a jiffy the pliice was just a shrieking bedlam, and before we reached the

"I am afraid that is undesirable at the moment, madame," said the surgeon quietly. "You must understand he is very weak, and just now he is sleeping. To waken him would be to take a risk that I cannot sanction "

"But I can wait!" cried the woman. "I can wait. Now that I know that he lives I can be—oh, so patient. I had hirn thought lost for ever, and now "

She threw up her hands in an expressive gesture, and the surgeon nodded. "I understand, madame. You can wait if you so desire. I have a room that I can put at your disposal, if you will come with me." Turning, he led the way, and whilst the Creole followed him, Lieutenant Corfleld watched her go with thoughtful eyes.

(To be Continued)