The Girl at The Gables

Waikato Times, Volume 108, Issue 18157, 23 October 1930, Page 4

The Girl at The Gables

SYNOPSIS. Philomel Sutton, who lives with her Aunt Amelia, sees an advertisement for' a lady chauffeur wanted by Mr Martin Dreever, The Gables, Marshfield. In a mental hospital in the West of England are two men, who are great friends, and have periodical attacks of insanity, but curiously enough never at the same time. One is Reuben Dreever, who has been placed there by his brother Martin; the other is James Bantry. These two make their escape together. Reuben’s one idea is to have his revenge on his brother, who is a moneylender and miser. He is known all over for his meanness and merciless treatment of his. victims. The two men make their way to The Gables, and, taking Martin prisoner, lock him up in a room' on the fourth storey. Reuben then impersonates his brother, taking his name, and lives at The Gables with Bantry. They advertise for a lady chauffeur. Philomel arrives at The Gables. Whilst driving her .employer's car Phil collides with the car of Jack Preston, son and heir of Sir James Preston. The incident causes a “breeze" between the young people, but really is the commencement of a charming love affair. Reuben and Bantry, by their acts of charity and benevolence, completely alter the opinion formerly held of Martin Dreever, and they help each other during attacks of insanity, but always, hanging over them Is the thought of what would happen should they both have an attack at the same timel

CHAPTER XVIII, (Continued). “Yes. Excuse me!" There was a footstep on teh narrow stair, and with a muttered imprecation Bantry hurried to meet Mrs Jarrow, who was dutifully bringing the early breakfast up the forbidden approach! “I thought I locked that bottom door,” he said with some asperity. "It should have been." "It was because it was open that I came up, sir. I thought that as you were perhaps tired——” “Of course, it was very kind of you, Mrs Jarrow,” resumed her employer, mollified by the woman’s obvious sincerity; "but if you put things on that little table on the landing there it will be quite sufficient.” “I’ll remember in future, sir,” she replied as she handed him the tray and went down the stairs again,, glad to escape to her own part of the house. James Bantry waited until she had reached the bottom,' then he remounted the private staircase, locked the door behind him, and went back into' the room; carrying the tray. : ‘This is kind of you,” cried Jack Preston. “I’m as hungry as a hunter." "That’s a good sign. You had a bad accident, you know. Y’ou were found unconscious in the road and brought in here.” . "I don’t remember. • anything'..of it. I only know my head’s jolly painful, and I’m afraid I don’t know who to thank for all this.” “My name is Bantry,” was the. quiet |-reply, but behind it-was a surging flood of hope—hope of a new way out of the dilemma in which he found himself. But he was not sure. “May I ask you for your name?" he enquired. “My name? Oh, yes! It’s—it’s—er —.” He broke off into a youthful giggle. “Do you know, I can't think of my own name! Fancy a chap forgetting his jolly old patronymic—what?" The other man’s 'heart leaped with joy. One of his fears had been dispelled. Jack Preston had no idea how he came by his injuries, and could not insist oh his freedom for the reason that he was at the same time l ignorant of his own identity. How long that condition would last depended on a great many things, and nobody could with certainty prophesy. . Sufficient for his purposes, however, was the knowledge that he and his friend were safe at present from the consequences of the latter’s fit of madness, and they must make the most of it. 1 “You must have had a pretty hard knock to cause loss of memory,” commented Bantry sympathetically. “I suppose you can’t say what hit you?” “Not the foggiest notion! In fact—and this is the most peculiar part of the whole business—l can’t, even remember what I was doing when it happened. Y’ou found me in the road?” he concluded in a perplexed tone. ir Yes, unconscious in the road, not far from here.” “Well, it’s jolly decent of you, Mr—• er—Bantry, to take me in like this. Particularly as I don’t know who the devil I am.” “Try to think. It‘may come back to you." “So I am. I’ve been trying it ever since I woke up, but my head aches so terribly when I try that I think I’ll be like Brer Rabbit -and lay low any .say nuflln till the' wound itself is healed.” “That’s the best way undoubtedly. Get well again first, and then we shall soon know about the other business. You must, of course, make this your i home until you find- yourself. We j shall be' only— ; —” | “You are very kind!” burst out Jack ! Preston impulsively. “Very kind in- , deed! And if lam ever able to re- j pay—— ’’ j Bantry smiled deprecalingly. “Say nothing about it, my boy. It is only what anybody would do. And in any J case, memory or no memory, a blow j like that is not cured in a day. I j make but one slight stipulation. This I is a nursing home run by myself and | partner, and we reserve only this j suite of rooms for our own use. Y’ou | " may have the run of them with plea- 1 sure, but the rest of the house is devoted to resident patients and the domestics. Y’ou must consider yourself our guest, and we are grateful for the privilege. I must leave you now,” he concluded. JTry to sleep again now you have had some food, and I’ll see you again before long.”

(To be continuel.)

As James Bantry entered the room o which Reuben Dreever had retired, ;he latter awoke and sat up in bed. Well?” he asked.

“We’re safe,” was the quiet reply, “at least for a time. He has lost his memory and is grateful for our kindness.” Bantry laughed bitterly and added, “I saved him and lost my own soul. And I’m the damnedest hypocrite that ever encumbered the earth!”

CHAPTER XIX. Sir Richard Preston was busy in his study the following morning. He had been Lo London the previous day on business, and with the intention of confirming an impression he had

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| BY HERBERT GALWAY and ANN NEVERN. g (All Rights Reserved.) j|

formed regarding some leases he • pressed the hell at his side. , “Ask my son to come - hern for a • few minutes. Benson, please,’’ he remarked as the servant appeared. “Yes. sir.” The man was walk--1 fner towards (he door when he turned abruptly. “I’m sorry, sir: I forgot. • Mr John has not, eome back yet.” • . “Come back! What do you mean?” “He went out, T believe, the day before yesterday, sir, and he’s not back yet.” “Have you an idea where he was going?” “No, sir. I didn’t see him leave the house: but perhaps one of the girls might, know.” "All right. Ask about it and send the girl to me when you find out who it Is.” But, the maid could not give any more helpful information. She had seen Mr John go down the road in the afternoon as though going for a walk, but she had no idea where he was going. Indeed—as she truly remarked —it was not her business'. “Quite so,” said Sir Richard, “hut he usually lets me know' when lie intends stayin'? the night anywhere. He had no luggage—no case of any kind?” “Oh, no. sir. He didn’t even have a raincoat with him. and J’m not. quite sure whether he had a walking-stick or not." “And he went in which direction?” ■ “Straight down the road, sir, as if he w'as going to Marshfield." Sir Richard looked thoughtfully through the window'. “Most remarkable thing," he muttered. "Anyhow, thanks—er—Derwent. I see you can’t shed much light on it. Let me know if you should happen to hear anything. One never knows. News comes in many ways.” “Yes. sir,” replied Selina Derwent as she bobbed herself out of the room. Sam Morris (the chauffeur at Graylands) talked it over w'ith Bessie Read when he met her the same evening. “I don’t like the look of it at all,” he said. “The young master always tells me when he’s likely to be away the night. In fact,.” he added with pride, ’“many’s the time I’ve met him when he was at Oxford and taken him to London for what, he used to call a binge with some of his college friends, an’ that’s what makes it so mysterious.” “P’raps he’s eloped with'the young ladv at The Gables.” sriggled Bessie. Sam Morris stopped suddenly. “Dang it! The girl at The Gables! I’d forgotten her 1 He’s very sw r eet in that quarter, I know. And I don’t blame- him,” he added reflectively. “I’ve seen her, and she’s one o’ the prettiest—’’.a ' " • “She’s not the only girl," pouted Bessie with a hint, of jealousy. “P’raps you’re'in love with her yourself!” Sam gave her a bear-like hug. “Now' lass, don’t be daft, 1 One o’ the prettiest, J said. There’s only one prettier, an’ that’s you. But I’ve got, eyes in my head, an’ don’t see w'hy I shouldn’t say anvthing’s pretty if'it is —no matter whether it’s a girl, a horse, a dog, or even a car. B.ut j there’s only one girl for me all the time, Bessie. Because the quality happens to be in love like the rest of us needn’t make you an’ me jealous. But you’ve set me thinking, lass. That young woman is one o’ the quality, although she drives the car for that, old skinflint at The Gables, and I shouldn’t wonder—” "Neither would I. She called at the shop the other day, and when I told her that Mr Preston w'as engaged to Miss Elphinstone she w'ent pale first, then when she saw' me looking at her she turned a fiery red like a beetroot 1” “You can bet there’s summat between ’em then. And I’m not so sure —not at all sure,” concluded Morris slowly and with a wise shake of the head, “that the young master will marry Miss Elphinstone after all." “I’d like to see ’em make, a match of it,” affirmed Bessie decisively as her thought flashed back to her recent interview with Phil.