When Love Rules

Waikato Times, Volume 104, Issue 17447, 6 July 1928, Page 3

When Love Rules

(Copyright.)

BY WILLIAM GUIDOTT.

■CHAPTER XIII.— (Continued.)

Lady Greatorex looked him full in the eyes.

“Because I want vou to.’’ “Why?” “Because you could inform your friend the lawyer at' Marseilles. They could be arrested, tried, convicted for that affair in France, not for this one. Like that there would be no scandal, and you could avenge your friend.’’ She rose and clutched his arm with a dramatic gesture. He shook the hand off roughly, and she fell back a step watching his face. “Avenge!” The tone was full of disgust. He paced the room. “Now, you listen to me! I don’t care about your so-called revenge. The past is dead and—buried,” the word came haltingly, “and I may or may not give your confederates up. Do they know I am here?’’ “No,” she said weakly. “Why do you call them—?" “Did they see you come here?” “No—no one.” He thought a moment, then went on in a calmer tone. “As I say, I don't know if I shall help you by giving them up to justice, or even if I want to help you, but I might make a sort of arrangement with you—a bargain, shall we say?” “A bargain?” she murmured, looking out of half-closed slanting eyes. Then with exaggerated indifference she sat down again facing him. “Oh, well, what is it? I may as well hear it, anyway,” she said, in an artificial bored tone. Tennant ignored the sneer and came straight to ihe point. “You inherit all Sir Anthony Greatorcx’s money and property.” “Of course,” she raised her eyebrows superciliously. “Therefore, you own the house Mrs Fairfax lives in.” “Naturally.” “You will give it to them?” “No. Why should I?” “I say you will, and you will also settle on them the same income they enjoyed during your husband’s lifetime.”

Lady Greatorex’s reply was hardly couched in the terms one would have expected from a lady of her rank. Tennant smiled and shrugged his shoulders. “Let us talk in ordinary English.” “That was ordinary Etfglish, and you jolly well understood it, too!” she exclaimed furiously. “It was perhaps a, trifle exotic shall we say, and really there was no need for it, as you will admit when you arc calmer. To do what I say will be better than going back to Marseilles, summoned as a witness and a

former accomplice—a nice position for Lady Greatorex, eh? To say nothing of what might come out concerning the present affair, after all it was Elise’s brother who killed poor old Sir Anthony, and you were her accomplice—l mean in the other affair. Oh, it will look very black, very black indeed, and I’m not sure even that you won’t be arrested. One never knows what they will attempt to prove. You sec you brought Pierre over from France —”

“Who says so?” She started up her voice full of anger and fear. “Didn’t you tell ame so? Oh no, it was Reid the chauffeur, of course, only Reid —I sec, hut will they—?” “That's enough—that’s enough! What’s the good of going into all that? You’re not frightening me, don’t think you are, and anyway it’s all lies, and they couldn't prove anything—” she hesitated, not waiting for him to speak, hut rather to collect her thoughts and appear to the best advantage. “Look here, supposing I do what you say—make over that money to these Fairfaxs and the house — suposing I do it, what then?” Tennant thought a moment. “I should lake no proceedings against you or anvone, unless—” “Weil?”

“Unless someLhing fresh should come out about this affair, which would force me."

“There is nothing more—nothing, I swear,” she burst out. “I swear I was and am in absolute ignorance about it—l don’t know why Pierre Vaudran killed him. "Why, what had I to gain? Nothing—and everything to lose.”

Tenant watching her, judged that at least that statement was true. Old Sir Anthony would have died in any case in a year or two, and the money in all probabilily have become hers. “So you accept my terms then? he asked, looking full at her. “How can I he sure you will keep your word?”

“You can be sure, just as you can be sure I will give tbe lot of you up if you don’t do as I say. Also, if in the future you get up to any more little tricks, shall I call them, I will still give you all up.” Lady Greatorex bit her lip, furious and helpless, but concerned. She felt the colour mounting to her cheeks in hot patches of scarlet over the natural pallor which she had for once allowed to remain, as being more suitable to a young and recently bereaved widow than the rather vivid tint she usually employed. She nodded in silent acquiescence. “I take it then that it is settled,” he said, quietly. “I shall expect to hear from Mrs Fairfax to-morrow, or at the latest the day after, that all is properly and legally arranged.” She nodded again, hardly breathing her assent aloud., Then, as she replaced her handkerchief in her bag, her hand touched the unread letter she had picked up when leaving the Court. “I have a letter here from my lawyers, perhaps it might be just as well if I read it. I may have to go to town at once.” She slit it open, and holding it carefully so that he could not see the contents, scanned it. Tennant had risen and was standing slaring across the garden. Had he been watching her he would have been startled by the sudden look of terror which swept over her face. She caught her lip between her small white teeth as she read: Dear Marian, —Expect you will be surprised lo hear from me again. I landed a week ago. I can’t stop out there any longer. It seems safe enough to come back now. You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself. Come up to see me directly you get this, it’s ur~;nt. I shall expect you this afternoon, and shall wait in— Then followed an address of a small street off the Edgeware Road, with directions how to get there from Baker Street, a few minutes’ walk, the writer said, and he ended up with a reiteration of his wish to see her, so strongly put that she could not mistake the veiled threat it contained. The writer’s initials stood out clearly He had not signed his full name, and the letter was typed, even the signature. John Martiu* her

Author of “Through the Silent Night,” “The Shuttered “What Delia Dared,” etc., etc.

“To come? Why to me? The house is not mine, or going to be mine.” The inference she had made was obvious. “Oh, isn’t it? No, of course not, how stupid of me. Forgive me, won’t you? I forgot for a moment you were only a friend of Mrs Fairfax's. It shall be sent to her then. Good bye!” Tennant hardly touched her hand. He did not like to insult her in his own house, or he would have refused to take it altogether. “I think I shall go straight on to the station. Do you think I might go as I am?" she asked. “As you arc?” he glanced at her in surprise. “Yes. You see I’m not quite dressed in the conventional way for a widow, am I?" “I don’t think that will matter,” Tennant answered drily. “Don’t you?” she echoed. “I’m so glad, no more do I.” She settled the smart little black hat on her gorgeous coloured hair with deft fingers, and gently pulled at the lace meshes of the very chic veil, drawing its loose folds becomingly over her regular clear cut features. Then leisurely she .took up her handbag and moved across the room. But at the door she turned and faced him once more with wide, open, innocent eyes, and in the sweetest voice asked gently: “Shall I have the house and the income tied up—in Trust, don’t they call it?—so that Both will eventually go to Miss Fairfax—Alys, such a sweet name—she would be quite well off one day like that, wouldn’t she? You would prefer it, too, perhaps. Tennant had his hand resting on a heavy book, and with difficulty refrained from giving xva> to the desire to throw it at her.

“Do as you think fit,” he scowled furiously, “so long as you carry out what we arranged.” “Very well,” she nodded with a little smile. “I will arrange that Alys gets it. I thought you would he pleased. Good-bye, Mr Tennant, I have enjoyed our little chat so much.” 'To Ue continued on Monday.)

'brother, was not going to run any risks, and wisely too, for there were very good reasons why he might want to lie low. It was more than rash, it was mad for him to return like this. London was not safe. Why had he come? The letter terrified her. She sat there quite still, her face white and frozen. Though he was her brother he hated her, as she did him! And he had good reason to, she knew that, for the last time they had met she had betrayed him to the police, fearing lest they should think that she was implicated in a gigantic scheme of fraud in the midst of which he was taken red-handed. In mad terror she had done it, but also in revenge, for he had always lived on her, bullied and beaten her, since she was a child. He had served his time and then to escape the Marseilles affair had fled. What did he want with her, what could he want? The questions rushed madly through her brain. The answer came quickly. It was not revenge, it was money. That

could be the only reason he had sent

I for her. Money? Well, she had, or would have, plenty of it now, but as for giving it away—she would think about that. She pressed her handkerchief to her bps and relaxed the rigid expression of her while face, parting her lips into a little smiic as Tennant turned at last from ihe window, wondering at her long silence. “Such a stupid bothering letter,” she murmured, “and I shall have to go to town immediately in answer. It is Rawson, the you know.'". She folded the typewritten sheet and carefully stowed it away in her hag with hands which she forced to be Arm, though the fingers trembled, then she rose. There was no hurry, nothing but grace and composure in her movements, and Tennant noticing it complimented her inwardly for giving a very passable imitation of a great lady as she calmly rose, extended her hand, and spoke: “I will see Rawson to-day, then, about that little affair. Shall I send the deeds to you? They are called deeds of Gift, aren’t they?” The careless impertinence of her tone was perfect.