THROUGH THE SILENT NIGHT.

Waikato Times, Volume 110, Issue 18394, 30 July 1931, Page 4

THROUGH THE SILENT NIGHT.

(By WILLIAM GUIDOTT.)

CHAPTER XII. Marcia's ’heart stood still I She 'felt like a sleep-walker suddenly awakened. She could not even put out her hand to take the letter. It would have been quite a natural thing to do, but she was afraid. Her thoughts raced through her aching head. What could the old woman have to write about? She had seen her so recently there was nothing for her to say. If she could only see what was Inside It. With a tremendous effort she tried to collect herself. There was soemthing she had to do. Why couldn’t she remember? Suddenly her brain cleared. She was about to grasp the letter, when the drawing-room door opened and Mrs Leighton came out. “Oh! there you are, dear child; I was just going to speak to Mary for a moment about dessert. Never mind, I daresay it will be all right. She nearly always forgets something and we starve in the midst of plenty. I have ’heard that somewhere, in church I fancy, or else at a theatre; 1 can’t quite remember which. Is that a letter for me? Oh yes, it’s from nurse. I’ll take it with me. Thank you, dear. Mr Diversion ib staying to dinner. Mr Kynaston had an engagement. Shall we go in now?” A dull wonder possessed Marcia as to how she was to get through the next couple of hours. Every inch of her brain was seething, but a strange calm reigned over her nerves. The calm of desperation. Mrs Leighton was a charming hostess. She had the happy knack of making any guest feel as if he or she were the guest of the hour. The most of it all was she really meant it. She was interested In everybody and everything. She liked Jim. There was something fresh about him that she enjoyed. The ripple of small talk around, her pleased her senses. Marcia tried to avert her eyes from the fateful letter lying beside her mother’s plate, but they kept flashing back to it, and it was one of her unconsciously wandering glances that directed her mother’s attention where she least wished it to go. “I must just peep into this budget from nurse,” she said, smilingly. “Will everybody excuse me?” And she broke the seal. Marcia hit her lips. The suspense was awful. Mrs Leighton seemed so slow. She was now glancing lightly over the first page, and laid it.down on the table beside her, helping her.self deliberately from the dish which had now reached her side. Marcia sat next to her, her eyes frantically devoured the small portion of .-.the letter within her vision. It, seeified harmless enough so far. But she knew of old that the writer would always keep her tit-bits for the'end. She would not think of writing, any outside news before she had 1 punctiliously inquired after everyone’s health! Yes, it had cornel She knew itl She gripped her hands under the table to keep herself from protesting out loud. “Nurse says she has no news, and then goes on to tell me that all Brighton is excited over the murder of some man named Smith." Aarcia gave a little gasp. It was not what she had feared. The name Smith meant nothing to her. Mrs Leighton’s placid voice went on reading. “A money-lender, she says.” A little frown wrinkled her smooth bbtnv. "I’m so glad! Oh 1 I don’t mean that really. I mean I’m glad he was only a money-lender; they‘are such horrid ’people. At least sometimes they are. Anyhow it is nothing to make a fuss about.” "When does she say this murder was committed?” Jim spoke quite quietly, without raising his eyes from his plate. Doris, wide-eyed, and apprehensive, gazed at him. “Let me see —ah, yes, here it is,” went on Mrs Leighton, little dreaming how three hearts in the quiet dining-room were heating with different emotions. “Last •Monday." Jim lifted his eyes. He and Doris exchanged glances. “Last Monday,” repeated Mrs Leighton musingly. “I’m trying to think what happened last Monday. “Oh! yes.” Here she turned brightly to Marcia. “You went down to "

“Mother.” Marcia’s voice was arresting. “Don’t keep on about those dreadful things. Why, don’t you see what else there is. ‘ Nurse Agatha is a fool, she . I’m sorry, mother, but she is such an old gossip. Do go on dear, I—l hope she has something more interesting to write about than that." “Really, ’Marcia, darling, you have quite made me lose my place; Where was I? Oh, yes. Well, she thinks .you wore not looking at all well when you loft her in the morning; that was why she wrote. You didn't rest properly she says, beoause you cried out something In the night and she got out of bed to go to you. When she looked Into your room you seemed asleep, but your eyes were open, only when she spoke you closed them and lay quite still. How funny of you, Maroia. I know you used to talk In your sleep when you were a child, but only If you had been very naughty, ana I had given you a good scolding.” Maroia felt the world tumbling about her ears 1 Mechanically she •olntched at the table. •Doris was leaning forward with her bright eyes fixed oil Mrs Leighton’s face. Jim was watching Marcia, with grave wondering eyes. The girl seemed on the verge of a collapse. Ills heart went out to her. “She 13 very anxious about you," went on Mrs Leighton’s voice. She was sublimely unconscious of the warring of the senses going on around her. “She says you were all right when you first came to sco her, only you Insisted on going out to some concert. When you came hack she thought you must have •taken a chill. You were so white, and shivered so, that she packed you straight to bed with a hot drink. So sensible of her; only I can’t realise iwhy you should be so foolish as to ■risk a cohl Just for a concert. I wouldn’t, even for Caruso. To [Marcia her mother’s voice sounded ever so far ofl. A rushing sound was in her cars. Jim longed to be able to change a conversation that seemed in some strange way to frighten her. There was evidently something that loomed large and fearsome before her. That something must have a connection with Ihe nurse —and Brighton. It required all Jim's tact and experience In pilot the conversation into safer channels. He was amply rewarded by seeing the colour gradually returning to 'Marcia’s lips. A faint sigh escaped her. As she pushed

Author of “What Delia Dared,” &c., &o. [Copyright.]

her hair from her forehead, Jim noticed with his keen glance that a glisten of moisture lay on her brow, but the crisis had passed. It was with relief he saw Mrs Leighton fold the letter and replace it in the envelope. But the subject was not quite safely shelved yet. Mrs Leighton was pondering, and she looked sharply at her daughter. She was about to re-open the letter, when Marcia leaned forward, and with apparent playfulness took it lightly from her. “No, mother, dear, I won’t be talked about any more In public. You know I am never ill, and nurse Is an old fidget. I’ll write and tell her so from you. Shall I?" She turned, smiling, to Jim with a defiant challenge in her eyes. When she chose to exert her powers, Marcia could be very brilliant. She chose to exert them now. No one would have thought she had nearly fainted a few moments ago. Her pallor was replaced by a crimson glow. Doris looked at her with real admiration. She was a revelation in this mood. Mrs Leighton was reassured. Coffee was served in the drawing-room, and with an assumption of carelessness, Marcia tore up the letter and tossed the pieces into the fire. Her heart gave a bound of relief as the flames reduced them to ashes, but another qualm of terror soon followed. What had she called out that brought the old woman to her room that night? ' Was it articulate, or merely the smothered 1 sleeping cry of a disturbed mind? Nurse Agatha had always shielded her in her childish troubles, and if she had known there might be anything to hide now, she would have cut off her right hand before she had written that letter.

What had she cried aloud in the night? • She looked across at her mother, and for the first time a feeling of Impatient longing for a stronger companion came over her. Mrs Leighton was the picture of gentle satisfaction. Her sweet face was flushed. The rings on the hand that held her coffee cup flashed in the firelight. Her head was slightly turned in the direction of the others. Marcia’s eyes followed her mother’s. Jim was seated beside Doris. It was the first moment he had been able to speak to her alone. He was bending forward. Marcia saw Doris start. What was he whispering to her? What had he to say to Doris alone? Had she but known all he had said was, “Can you meet me for tea tomorrow? I want to give you the letter I found in the bungalow.” . Her Involuntary start and glance round gave Doris the uncomfortable knowledge that Marcia’s eyes were fixed on her. She felt herself flushing. "I’d forgotten all about it. Yes, I am very anxious to see it," she said hurriedly. There was something hard in Marcia’s eyes that startled her. Did she suspect anything? What.a bombshell it would be to this peaceful household if it came out •that they had been entertaining a girl “ wanted by the police ” instead of the usual “ angel unawares." Doris had a keen sense 'of humour. It had helped her many a time. She trlfed to think what Mrs Leighton’s attitude would be. She was such a dear; she would probably say she was very clever to have escaped for so long, and what should Mary pack for her to take to prison with her. 'Prison 1 ! How horrible to have thought of that! She forgot Marcia, and turned again to Jim, gathering comfort from his presence. He smiled at her. “Well?" he said inquiringly. “Why? What? Oh, yes; at the Pagadoa, at four o’clock, if that will do.”

“Right; I’ll be there.” Jim took her empty cup and went over to Mrs Leighton. CHAPTER XIII. Doris passed a restless night following that rather disturbing evening. Although she steadfastly tried to carry out her resolve to put the dangerous situation she was in right out of her mind, the thing was really hardly possible. She had decided, and rightly, that there was practically no choice for her but to await calmly what the future might have in store, since she had decided that it would be only bringing useless trouble on herself, and now on her friends as well if she went back. She could not help the police in finding her stepfather’s murderer, nor could she give them any information with regard to him and his life or possible enemies. But yet, if she stayed on at the Leighton’s they might find her there, and then she would repay her friends’ kindness to a stranger by exposing them to the very disagreeable scandal of being connected with a murder trial, for she would be tried, of that she felt sure. That was—if they found her. It was true she might leave them, run away again and hide, but she could not face going out into the world alone. To leave the only friends she had at such a time was more than could be faced. The situation, she suddenly found herself thinking rather shyly, was complicated by Jim Elverston and his friend, above all, by the latter, though even to herself she would not perhaps have owned that.

The next afternoon in the charming bedroom, which seemed already to have become hers entirely, Doris sat Idly, glad of the rest, for these last few days had been more tiring and anxious than she had ever Imagined or expected any would ever be for her, and she knew that she would yet need all her strength, both of body and mind, in the near future. On her lap was lying her step-mother’s letter. The contents of the two untidy half-sheets she almost knew by heart, the third she was to read that afternoon when she met Elverston. It was hardly likely that lie would have been mistaken in the piece of letter he said he. had found, and she felt certain of seeing it at.'last. The last words of the second sheet in front of her burned in her brain and fired a very natural curiosity. “Your name, of course, Is not Dolores Smith, hut is the same as your father's. His name ” and there it broke off tantalisingly.

Marcia had brought her in the morning paper, but she had notf looked at. it yet. She felt a little puzzled about her too. The glance she had caught, with that unaccountably hard look in the eyes, what did it mean? Instinctively she seemed to recall now that there bad ben a touch of fear in the girl's attitude, and again the same at dinner. But after all, if was no good worrying over these apparently unimportant things. Tire paper in her hand recalled tier thoughts, once, a^aju

to her own affairs. She took it up, and as usual searched for any fresh news of the “Brighton Murder Mystery," as it was now called. Interest in it had diminished very cw-.sider-ably. After all it wasn't so very sensational, and the public mind was vivaciously devouring the facts of the ease of the man who had murdered his five brides in a summer-house, and had narrowly escaped murdering a sixth. After some little search Doris came across a small paragraph. She started as the headline caught her eye: "A Clue to the Brighton Murder Mystery. The police are said to be busy investigating an important clue to this mysterious case. One or two things have lately come to light which were at first unsuspected. Amongst others the murdered man’s solicitors have made a definite statement that the girl living at 3, Hill Crescent, although stepdaughter, bore the same name as her stepfather, being known as Dolores Mary Smith. They could not state any details as to her real parents or their name.” (To be Continued.)