THROUGH THE SILENT NIGHT.

Waikato Times, Volume 110, Issue 18392, 28 July 1931, Page 4

THROUGH THE SILENT NIGHT.

SYNOPSIS OF OPENING CHAPTERS. CHAPTERS I, 11, & 111. —Dolores smith, curtly dismissed by her step - lather, takes him at Ills word ami disappears out of Ids life for ever. She carries with her a packet her mother gave her before her death, On the point of leaving’ she hears the electric bell of the front door, und darts out at the back. Outside the garden gate she mounts her bicycle and rides for dear life, and, making her way to Bungalow Town, Ilnds a deserted, furnished bungalow that she can enter. She passes the night there. Meanwhile her step-father prepares himself to receive an expected visitor. She arrives. The papers which he had promised, and which she had come to claim, are ready, but he lias a condition. Before she takes possession she must promise to marry him. She unhesitatingly refuses. He threatens to disclose her father’s forgery, and she, at bay, defends lierseir with the poker. A crashing blow, and he falls, never to rlso again. sho takes the papers. She hears footsteps outside, rushes to the back premises, and gets clear away. A young man and a policeman have a look round, enter and llud the murdered man. The young fellow gives his name a 3 Cyril Kynaston. While Doris lies sleeping at the bungalow the tenant enters, writes a few lines, and leaves her In possession. She partakes of 6ome food she ilnds; examines her mother's packet, discovering a letter and some Jewellery. She partly reads the former, hut, hearing a rootstep, she crams all into her dressing-case. Seeing ills note, slic reads it, and scribbles a reply. She cycles to the station. in the train she notices a young man on the platform who appears to be interested in her. Then she sees on a newspaper placard: “Murder of a Moneylender at Brighton.” CHAPTERS IV. to Vl.—As the train hears her away Doris thinks of the young man on tho platrorm. Ho looked trustworthy. Sho changes into the London train at Brighton. The guard puts her into a compartment with • another young lady. The two soon fall into conversation, and become friendly. Doris conl'esses that she la running away from her stepfather, and has nowhere to go. Marcia Leighton invites her to come and stay at the flat with her mother and herself. Doris accepts. Arrived at Victoria station Doris,thinks of her bicycle. She leaves this In tho left luggage office and the two girls walk to Marcia’s home, The Hon. Mrs. Leighton receives Doris kindly. Marcia shows her mother that she has obtained tho promissory notes and then burns them. She and Doris go on a shopping expedition, and call for Doris’ bicycle. James Diversion lets himself out of tho bungalow, and passes Hie rest or tho night in his car at the graago. Early in tho morning he makes Ills toilet, and meets his friend in the High Street. Cyril Kynaston says he wants to call at Jim’s'bungalow, but Jim says “Not yet.” After mid-day the two drive there. Cyril mentions the murder which had taken place the previous evening. CHAPTERS VI (continued) and VII. — Cyril gives Jim details or the murder. Jim tells t how he round a girl asleep in his bungalow. Her address was on her,, bicycle. Cyril gives ids bit of Information to tho police. He tries to find the girl he saw at the station, journeys to London, lunches, and takes his stand at tho entrance to the cloak-room. The two girls arrive shortly after five. Having claimed tho bicycle they move away, Cyril following a short distance off. Marcia notices him, and challenges him. He admits that he wants to speak to tho other one. Doris is surprised, hut understands when he informs her that her stepfather has been murdered. Cyril Kynaston odors his friendship and assistance. CHAPTERS VII (Continued), VIII, and IX.—Doris agrees to meet Cyril Kynaston in Kensington Gardens. Mercia Is surprised and a little suspicious. Doris purchases a paper and reads details of the Brighton murder. Suspicion has fallen upon the absent daughter. Marcia comes In for a chat.’, The next day Doris is left to amuse herself. She has her mother’s jewels valued, and accepts £6OO on tho pearl nocklace. • Once more at homo, sho turns to her mother’s letter, and Ilnds tho last page is missing. She is sure she left it in the bungalow. Sho goes back to tho placo where she had slept, and Is in the kitchen when she hears footsteps. Terrified sho rushes away.

CHAPTER X.—(Continued,) Kynaston was leaning on the door, watohlng her. 'She met his eyes. How long had he been 'there? Doris felt as If he had been reading her thoughts. "Isn’t it a bit of luck, 'Miss Smith; Jim knows Mrs Leighton. He's been meaning to go and call for ages, so now he must, and he’ll have to take me. You don't mind, do you?" Doris shook her head. "No, of course not,” she found herself saying. “Jim’s awfully keen to help you.” He lowered his voice. “Oh, it Is kind of him.” Elverston joined them. "I think we ought- to decide on a sort of plan of campaign, don't you? I rather think Cyril Is right 1; you are as safe with the Leightons as anywhere, Miss Smith; don't you think so?”

Doris shrugged her shoulders. " I suppose I am.’ "You see, the police won’t look for you under your step-father’s name ■of Smith. They say openly that they don’t know your name.”

“Oh, but they’ll find it,” broke in Doris. ".Besides, they are tracking me already. I saw them. “Where?” “At Shoreham.” “Shoreham!" both men exclaimed in amazement.

“Yes, I went down there yesterday afternoon.’’ She paused and looked at them, hesitating. It must bo told now. She had not meant to say anything, but it had slipped out before she know what she was saying. To havo gone down alone to the bungalow and foroed an entrance would certainly alter Mr Elverston’s opinion of 'her, if nothing else did. ißut there was no help for It, she must be frank.

"What did you go for? Wasn’t it rather risky?" Cyril asked, noticing the puzzled look In her eyes. "I didn't think there was much risk. But it was awful she burst out with a boyish expression. "I don’t know' what you’ll think of me, Mr Elverston. You see, I dropped part of a letter there—at least I am almost sure I did." She stumbled in her oonfusion, obviously genuine.

"I quite understand," said Jim at last. “But I wish I’d known. I could have gone down and looked instead.. It was a very plucky attempt on your part, wasn’t it? 'Ho looked at 'Cyril, who nodded emphatically. “And it's very hard luck you were stopped at the moment you got into the sittingroom." 1

He paused, and no one spoke for a moment. “Would you like me to run down myself and have a look?” “That’s Just what 1 was going to suggest," Ills friend put in. "Then you’re late, old chap; I've suggested it. What do you say, Miss Smith?”

Doris looked at him with parted lips, her cheeks Hushed with excitement. “Oh, I wish I could come, too. But that's silly, of course. Oh. if you only would. That letter means so'much 'to me. You see, I would rather like lo know who I am," she added, with a little pathetic laugh. , “Then I'll go now," Jim answered energetically. Doris got out of the car. "We shalll have lo walk home, after all, Miss Smllh. It's an awful fag." Cyril said (llppanLly. ■His friend made the usual reply as he started the car. “Oh, shut up! 1 will telephone you to-night. Miss Smith. The Leightons are on the ’phone, aren’t Ihe.y? Very well, will you he in after dinner?" "Yes, I am sure lo be. Oh, thank you so much. Good-biol"

(By WILLIAM GUIDOTT.)

Author of “What Della Dared," Ac., &o [Copyright.]

The car slid off at as quick a pace as was permissible in the .Park, and they watched it In silence until It disappeared from view. Doris gave a little involuntary sigh. “I must go home to lunch." "Can we go somewhere quiet and lunoh together? Will you?" Cyril asked. But Doris insisted. She felt a longing to be alone and think things out. The friendship of these ttvo men, so absolutely genuine, apparently, and so unexpected, touched her. Why should Diversion take all this trouble for her, a complete stranger? And Kynaston—he . She refused to allow her thoughts to pursue their oourse. This was silly; she was imagining things like a romantic school girl. They walked on in silence. "There's my bus!" she exolalmed, “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?" It was cheek, my suggesting lunch."

"Angryl How could I be?" Doris answered.

Then you’re glad .we met?” "Of course, I’m glad she said simply. “Very glad?"

Doris felt her cheeks flushing. She held out her hand. "I’ve missed that bus, and now I must have a taxi or I shall be late. Good-bye 1"

Cyril stood on the path and watched till she was out of sight.

Marcia looked at Doris somewhat curiously at dinner that night. 'She had been out all* day with her mother, and many times she had wondered what the two had talked about at the meeting Doris had so frankly told her she had arranged. Had they been discussing her? Was this frankness merely a blind? Her doubts and fears had returned with redoubled intensity. She watched the frank, charming face of her guest with covert suspicion. But when the girl raised long lashes so simply and swetly at her in reply to her question, she felt she was both mean and stupid. “You enjoyed your morning?” she asked.

“It was lovely in the gardens. I’ll you all about it some time," Doris laughed, “though there’s not much to tell." Marcia smiled. The tone sounded frank and genuine. Surely she had been tormenting herself unnecessarily. ■But ever at the baok of her mind was the memory of 'that night. The haunting memory of that terrified rush through the deserted kitchen and down the dark little lane from that silent thing lying on the study floor. Would she ever forget It? Would she ever feel sorry for what she had done? This curious absence of regret tormented her. She must be Inhuman to feel no sorrow, but only horror and fear as to whether they would find out. Yet he had deserved his fate. She had acted In self-defence. Suroly -no one could blame her?

She passed her hand over her forehead, with a little gesture of pain. "You look awfully tired," Doris said kindly, "I’ve only got a hit of a headache—thanks. Have you finished? Let’s go into iho drawing room, I don't think I shall wait up for mother. She may bo very late. She's a very cnergetlo person, Isn’t she?" Doris smilingly took her arm, and they went across the narrow hall. She was turning over the music on the piano Idly when the 'telephone bell rang, "I wonder If tnat’s for me. I m expecting a call," she said quickly. Marcia did not look up from her paper. "Do go, please 1" Doris took up the receiver. "Yes, I am Miss Smith. Who Is It? Oh, you!’’ The voice at the other end sounded faint and clear.

"I’m at Brighton. I ’think I’ve got what you want —it’s just one sheet of ordinary notepaper—lt was under the lounge—you must have dropped it when you were sitting there. I’ll bring it to-morrow when we call, and If I don’t get an opportunity to give it to you then, we’ll fix up another time. Will that do?"

"Oh, yes; and thank you so much.” “Wait a minute 1” Jim went on. “I found out what the police were doing in the bungalow." Doris gripped the ball-table. “Yes?”

"They wore only looking for someone. There have been a lot of robberies going on down there, and they wanted to search one of the bungalows. The agent gave them my keys by mistake.” Doris gave a sigh of relief. “Then It wasn’t for me?" she said, with a little relieved laugh. "No —no. They evidently don't know anything of that part of the affair. Don’t worry. Good-night 1 They’re going to cut up off." "Good-night, and ’ever so many thanks 1" Doris answered quickly as the operator’s voice broke In unsympathetically, and cut the communication.

CHAPTER XI. Hospitality was almost a disease with the lion. Mrs Leighton. She would gladly have filled the little flat with guests each day of her life. Invitations so easily slipped from her lips. She really did try to keep them back, but In the old days there had been no need, and use had become second nature. There was not an atom of selfishness In her whole nature; she fully appreciated 'Marcia’s elforts to run the little home and keep as free from debt as possible. "I have no head for domestic matters, darling," she used to say whimsically. “ Dive mo a big mansion and heaps of servants and money, then you will sec what a clockwork household mine would be. But I don’t seem able to think in pennies; they become pounds so dreadfully quickly. I’ll do my very best to live down to it all, only you must take the reins." Tills had been some long while before, when disaster had so nearly overtaken her efforts at economy, and Marcia had hold the position ever since, while Mrs Leighton had allowed her hospitalities to he mildly and lovingly scolded down to a fairly reasonable point. 'When they had first moved into the fiat she used •to express such plaintive wishes “to become really useful instead of, as heretofore, merely ornamental," and would wander round with a diaphanous duster in her delicately-gloved hand, giving futile dabs at the ornaments utterly Inadequate for removing a speck of dust, much less the usual accumulation of a London atmosphere. "Your mother is hopelessly unpractical,” her uncle had said sternly to Marcia, when for Hie second time

he had been asked to disentangle the family fortunes. "Your father was •the same where money was concerned. I ’call it little short of criminal lo plunge his family Into poverty for the sake of his friends and his own pride. Oh, I know he was generous," as Marcia bit her lip and raised a stormy faoe of protest. She had loved her father dearly, and these aspersions wounded her deeply, "but this sort of thing can't go on. You ought to live In the •country', but I will make you an allowance, and you really must keep within It.” So that was how they came to settle at the flat.

Mrs Leighton sat in the drawingroom placidly smoothing on her gloves preparatory to sallying forth to one of her many engagements and talking lightly of her many little interests. The bell rang, and Doris’ heart gave a queer little throb as Cyril Kynaston and bis friend were ushered in. There was just one instant’s blank expression on Mrs Leighton’s face, then she beamed sweetly on Jiip as he bent over her hand. "How many years have I been a neglected woman?” she 'said reproachfully. "Ten—or is It twelve?”

"Is it as much as that? Mrs Leighton, you must have made a mistake, because you are just the same as ever, not a day older." "Flatterer 1” Mrs Leighton made room for him beside her. “But how is it you have disappeared so completely from us all this while?” “Travel, dear lady," said Jim, smiling Into the pretty, kind eyes. “I have been to and fro In the world; one never stays long In one place these enlightened times, and my car and I have, gone many miles ‘together since 1 came from abroad." “You have a car?" How nice to be able to enjoy life like that, and it Is so nice to have a friend with a car.” Jim’s lips twitched with suppressed amusement at her naive confession; of course, he leaped gallantly into the breach.

“ It will give me untold pleasure to have tne opportunity to ■" “Now, that is perfectly sweet of you." A little breathless laugh escaped her as she went on talking trivialities. "I work so hard. Do look at those photographs of my girls just come. I shall keep them in the morning room as a rule, but Doris was helping me to frame them. They are over there on the piano.” “Mrs Leighton is president of the Institute l'or Reclaimed Girl Criminals,you see," explained Doris gravely, as jim went over to examine them. One. or two in A sort of uniform, one or two quite well dressed—but what was tills? He bent nearer What a lovely face* Absolutely impossible lo belong to that of a criminal, re-el-aimed or not. The line of that ■cheek; Hie .refinement of the lips. The power’ and 'character in the carriage of Ibe small head—impossible 1 Jim stood gazing and gazing, while ‘the soft voico behind him meandered on and on "Tills is exquisite, lie slid—dcnly said, Interrupting with unusual brusqueness: “I can’t understand how —I can’t believe —” (To he Continued.)