The Hidden End

Waikato Times, Volume 100, Issue 16781, 26 April 1926, Page 3

The Hidden End

Coijyrtebt. (Published arrangement Wlti) the Geaorsl Press, Ltd.)

SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

CHAPTERS I & ll.—Mrs Wormesley, on the .verge of bankruptcy, seeks the help and advice of the Karl of Wymerin. He proposes that his war*, the daughter or the late Robert Alwen should meet Mrs Wormesley's son, Bertram, with the likelihood of marriage between them. Dorothy Alwen's income runs into live figures. Tyhis pact takes place at Wymerin House, an historic London mansion, on.the night of a large reception. In order that Mrs Wormesley should know who is likely to be her future daughter-in-law the Earl sends his ward to her with a costly jewelled fan. Dorothy Alwen, about a fortnight later sets off to pay a lengthy visit to Redwings, the Wormesley's country residence. A young man travels in the same compartment. There is a slight accident lo the engine, and the young man alights. So does Dorothy. The Irain resumes its journey and the two arc left behind. They make each other's acquaintance at the village inn. Leonard Guthrie acts the spy. The next day both continue their journey and, travelling apart, alight together at their destination. Mrs Wormesley and her daughter, Oonah, meet them at the station. Oonah introduces her fiance, Sir David Ormathwajte, to Dorothy Alwen. • Oonah informs the other three that she intends to set her cap at the Earl of Wymerin. Dorothy becomes acquained with Bertram.

CHAPTER IV.—-(Continued.)

"You evidently believe in 'soliludes-r.-dcux,' " lie said. "Let me perish rather than fail to be in the fashion!" She laughed; nobody, as a rule, took Bertram Wormesley's remarks very seriously. In (he drawing-room beyond David was singing "I Arise from Dreams of Thee" and Dorothy supposed that lie thought of Oonah. "Wonderful voice that fellow's got," Wormesley murmured after a brief .silence. "Arc you fond of music?" "Yes," she said. "Do you know?" —she sal up and looked at him, round-eyed— H think I'd do almost anything for someone with a beautiful voice; it hypnotises me."

"That's all right," lie laughed, "just as long as Ihe 'Someone' isn't my sister's fiance; if it were, of course, I'd be under the painful necessity of interfering."

"I'd better give up saying what I think," she cried. "People insist upon understanding something quite different from what 1 do by my words." "Thai," lie said, still "smiling, "is because, though you've grown up physically, you've treated vour thoughts as Little 80-Peep's Sheep treated their tails—you've left them behind you. Apart from that, however, it's always a sound thing to say' what you don't think rather than what you do; it's a hab.T we all acquire in our journey through the world. We learn how lo tell a lie prettily." The conservatory door opened once more, and Guthrie came in.

"Good-night, Miss Alwen," lie said: "it's high time 1 made my udieux. Good-night, Wormesley." "Good-nlgnt," Dorothy answered coldly, while Wormesley, excusing himself, went Lo sec liio last of his guest. Gulhrjc smiled as he walked slowly down the drive. "The lime will come when she'll not dare to use that chilly tone with me," he said, and gently palled the pocket h: which lay a memorandum or the four'convents whose names Dorothv hud supplied. CHAPTER IV. Prom the Redwings' drive Guthrie entered a small wood which provided £■ short-cut io the village. On the further side a girl stood, hesitatingly; lie recognised her as Dorothy's maid. Guthrie was not Ihe man to Jet the grass grow under his feet. With a kindliness of manner which he knew well how to assume lie turned to the lencly pedestrian—

"You're afraid to go through the wood by yourself?" he queried. "Let me accompany you. It won't take more than live minutes. Come." Rosalie, who appeared to be shocked when Dorothy travelled alone in Ormanlhwaite's company, apparently found nothing to cavil at in this arrangement.

".M'sieur is vcr' kind," she said. "M'sieur will derange himself?" "On the contrary, .M'sieur will have an excuse for remaining out longer on a. beautiful night," Guthrie contradicted her, holding the gate for her to pass through. "And you'll probably be glad to get to Redwings more quickly."

"Zen m'sieur know zat I am from Redwings?"

"11l a small village," Guthrie answered carelessly, "people know everything about their neighbours, and where a pretty girl's concerned they take trouble to find out a little more." The Frenchwoman smiled; Guthrie noted it, and went on: "For instance, 1 know that you're .Miss Ahvcn's maid, and that you arrived here a fortnight ago in terrible tribulation because you'd lost your mispress." The girl laughed. "Oh, yes; But I did make myself what you call conspicuous zat day! 1 had such fear. Sir David, he was in zc train wiz ma'm'sclle, and when it break down he take himself for a promenade, and zen ma'm'sclle she go, loo; and I zink 'llcin! Itosalie, mon enfant, zey 'ave arranged a meeting"— I know not zen who Sir David is—and I zink 'Zay 'ave come all ze way from London togezcr, and now zcy lake zcinsclv.es for a promenade; if is not comme il faut, rnais, pas du tout'; and I fear zc anger of ze Earl, '/.en rr.a'm'selle she say: 'Rosalie, gel yourself a cup of lea'; but instead of zat 1 .just get hack into ze train, and somehow—l. know not how—l go to sleep, and when I wake zc (rain he move, and 1 know not where I am. Zen when 'e slop I. go to my ma'm'sellc's carriage, and she is not zero. 1 am desolee, for Sir David lie is not zero neizcr! Ma'in'sellc she arrive ze next day, and so do Sir David, and zcy do meet each 'ozer at strangers—strangers, m'sieur." "Well!" said Outline. "To-nigh I," she. repeated, "I am out, and I pass zem walking togezcr, and I keep in ze shadow where zey see inn not, for a wish not to be found; and I 'ear Sir David say, 'Do you like me?' And zen he say, 'if .you do, why throw you away ze rose 1 give, you from ze train window'." And ma'm'sclle she say: 'You was so different at 1c dejeuner zat morning from what you was ze night before, 1 zink you waz angry wiz me, so i throw 'or away.' Zen, afterwards, Sir David 'e | say: 'I zought you ze most beautiful I woman 1 'ave ever seen,' and zen I am I able to go away, and I 'ear no more." I "You'd heard enough, hadn't you? ! And if I were you I'd keep my know- ! lodge lo myself. Sir David's an engaged man, and Miss Alwen a very I young and unprotected woman; it

(By BEATRICE BIDDLE) Author of "Hearts and Diamonds," "A Curious Experiment," "Invisible Fetters," &c. &c.

They had reached the end of the wood. Guthrie slopped where the trees si ill held him in shadow.

Afterwards he thrust it into his pocket, walking up and down the room, it was evident that he was thinking deeply. At last he throw back his head, glanced about him combatively, and subsiding into an ancient but comfortable armchair began to smoke. "The fellow can do no harm," he murmured, evidently referring to the writer of the unwelcome letter. "He's in Virginia, ill and penniless; I'm in England, in excellent health and with wcll-lilled pockets. I daresay the job I've lo do won't take very long, and if it be successfully accomplished I'm a made man: if not—but 1 won't think of that: he who contemplates failure courts it. Success; I will it lo be mine !"

lie fell into a reverie: then his thoughts grew more coherent again. "Site's no Alwen —I dare swear it. But proof; give me proof, and 1 hold Ihe Earl—and her—in the hollow of my hand. She's beautiful and she's cold. Coldness in a beautiful woman makes a man's blood boil." He smiled. "But she won't always be cold to me. 1 think not; oh, I think not. If I only knew who she is! It' 1 could only fathom the Earl's motive in making her wear a dead person's shoes! It's a risky game, and it must have started long ago, for she's wholly unconscious of fraud—anyone can see that. She must have been an Alwen in her own eyes since babyhood—say, for the last nineteen years at least. It's just nineteen years since that other child whom she represents died. Oh, if 1 only had proof! The Earl's a canny man, they say. Shall I be able to learn anything from him, I wonder? I'd determined to play a wailing game, vet —"—he pulled a letter from his pocket—"lf he should, by ill-luck, manage to reach me my chance would bo gone. After all, 1 must act, and act quickly, I've a good deal to go upon—my story should interest the Earl, and so, perhaps, put something in my pocket, even all unfinished as it is. I'll see; but I mustn't spoil the. chance of my lifetime for the sake of a little caution. Lord Gaylus, 1 think you and 1 must meet." He read Ihe letter once more, and i was about to light a match and burn it when, hearing someone at the door, ho thrust it back into his pocket. (To be continued to-morrow.)

would do them a great deal of mischief if the tale were to get about." "M'sieur is not displeased?"

Culthnc iiid a smile. "No," lie said. "I'm sorry. Still, I don't see anything at all incriminating in what yo,u've told me; but I suppose you're quite sure of it all ?" "Mais oui, m'sieur; I am dcsolee; I am certain."

"I should like you to keep that story from all ears but mine," he said. "1 wouldn't willingly see a young girl's reputation soiled." Ho held out his hand, and the Frenchwoman found a banknote in her own as she emerged into the Redwings drive. Guthrie walked thoughtfully back to Ihe village. "J wonder what's put that woman's back up," he mused. "Whatever it is it's luck for me if I can only manage lo make proper use of her." On the mantelpiece of his sittingroom at the inn was an envelope adorned with many postmarks and many addresses. Guthrie glanced at it casually enough at first, then, as if suddenly awakening to its importance, picked it up and tore it open. The letter it contained was not long, but he seemed lo find difficulty in,deciphering it. while with each moment his expression grew more disturbed.