The Mischief Maker

Waikato Times, Volume 113, Issue 18878, 23 February 1933, Page 4

The Mischief Maker

BY ALAN GREY.

SYNOPSIS. vsir Timothy Standlsli made his way leisurely up the drive to “The Haven, known locally as “The Mqdliouso or me Asylum.” Eighteen years ago the gates or this place had opened and closed upon Edmund Ralke, Sir Timothy’s brother-in-"l will see the patient,” demanded Sir Timothy or Dr. Brooks, the resident medical superintendent. _ For some time the two men who were meeting ror the first time In 1 8 years stood eyeing each other In silence. You ve come at last, Timothy. God knows lve spent every minute or the eighteen years In hating you. But I can forgive, now you’ve come at last.” . „„„ “I came to tell you of your son, “You damnahlo devil I What mlschlel are you planning now? . . • Lmen, nmothy Standlsh. By the aid of God, ill get out or this living tomb. When I do, call on the Devil you serve to help you—you’ll need him.” Michael Slndlng Is the adopted son or Parson Quaile. He is in love with Margaret Standlsh, but Sir Timothy is opposed to the match. Basil Quaile Is the Parson’s own son, whose wastrel ways Michael shields out 01 love for the Parson, Sir Timothy tolls Margaret that her cousin, Jimmy Ralke, is returning to them from abroad. Titus, Sir Timothy’s ‘Servant, Is misshapen and weak-minded, and Is the butt or Ills master’s cruel Jests. He hugs to himself a hatred that thrives the more for want or expression. But the thought of what lies inside his coat pocket calms him. A letter, addressed In a woman s fine handwriting to Sir Timothy Standlsh. A letter twenty years old. Titus had never opened it, but he Invested It with a great and secret importance. It had become a talisman, the symbol o r the great triumph that would one day be his. Effice Brown, a girl whom Michael has helped to find work as an artist’s model, had previously been a nurse at The Haven,” but sympathy for Edmund Ralke, xvhom she bslieved to be no more mad than she was, lost her her job. She confides her story to Michael, who promises to help. They plan to get Edmund Ralke out of “The Haven." Jimmy Ralke arrives In town prior to continuing his Journey to Arden Hall. He wonders what motive' Sir Timothy can have had for recalling him. Michael, to his astonishment, receives an Invitation from Sir Timothy to spend a week or two at Arden Hall with Jimmy. Jimmy believes his father Is dead.

CHAPTER XIV. When half-past ten struck and Michael had not yet put in an apearance, Margaret began to feel a little anxious. From his vast exerience Jimmy felt called upon to reassure her. “It’s the morning-after-the-night-before, old girl. You wake up feeling you’ve swallowed a cinder track. Believe me, the beauty of a crisp dawn means nothing when you feel as Michael will this bright and happy morning.” “ You’re too bad to joke about it, Jimmy," Margaret was shy of confiding 'her absurd fears to him. She hesitated a moment, and then asked, with forced oasualness: “Did you hear anyone moving last night—outside your room, I mean? “As a matter of fact, I though I did,” answered Jimmy, equally casual in his manner. “ I was just dropping off to sleep, so I didn't bother.” “ I was wide awake,” said Margaret. “It was like the shuffling of feet in the corridor. I listened hard, and was beginning to think I’d been mistaken, when the door began to open slowly. I was too scared to breathe.”

“Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy, in high glee. “How perfectly thrilling I Burglars, spooks or' what? Who was it—the family ghost?" “I don’t know. It was too dark to see. I made one grab for the light switch, and the door closed at once. I called out then, but no one answered.”

“Sure it wasn’t imagination?” “Quite positive. I don’t suffer from that sort of panlo, but last night, honestly, I was scared stiff. I locked the door and tried to explain it away, but it was a long time before I could let myself go to sleep.” " I wouldn’t let it worry you,” said Jimmy, with a reassuring grin. “ The door may have been off the latch. Perhaps a cat strolled in and changed its mind." “And politely closed the door after it,” retorted Margaret, scornfully. “ Oh, well, it must have been the famly ghost," said Jimmy, in a tone of finality. Margaret, however, was not to he laughed ut of her fears. She could contain her anxiety no longer.

“ Jimmy, do run up and see if Michael is all right.”

It was not difficult to read her train of thought, and Jimmy, though lie roared in great amusement, needed no second bidding. If the truth were told, he was looking forward to giving Michael the benefit of his wide experience in the treatment of thick heads.

As he had expected, Michael was still sleeping soundly. A gentle shake proved quite ineffective, so Jimmy tried rougher methods. Even so, It was some time before Michael became conscious of the aggravating disturbance and tried to frown it away.

“ Wake up, Michael, wake up!’’ roared Jimmy, and Michael opened his eyes and blinked at him stupidly.

“ How’s the head?” Jimmy ■waited with delighted anticipation for the groan, but Michael only stared. “Head? What head?" ho muttered drowsily. “ What head Well, I ask you. Yours, you old rip; your delightfully muzzy old head.” "What’s up with my head?” grumbled Michael, still half asleep. ‘•‘Ah! That’s more like it. I know the feeling well enough.” Michael stared at him blankly. “My head’s all right. What the dickens are you raving about?” It was Jimmy who groaned for the sad waste of sympathy. “ Do you mean to say you feel perfectly all right? No head-ache? No lime-kiln throat? You don’t want to drink your bath-water? Well, I’m damned. You must be a bally robot. If I’d been as sozzled as you were lust night “Sozzled! What on earth do you mean?” And not till then did it dawn on Jimmy—lie had quite overlooked his own diagnosis—“not drunk, but drugged.” Hut Michael was beginning to remember things, lie stared at the grinning Jimmy in alarm. "How did l get here? 1 don’t remember coming to bed last night. I was waiting for your Uncle in the library." “ That's where we found you.” “We?” Michael’s alarm grew tenfold. “Margaret saw me?” “Urn." Jimmy’s tone was most aggravalingly casual. “We had to carry you up to bed.” “ Margaret thought—look here, Jimmy, you said just now I was sozzled last night. Hoes Margaret know? Does siie believe I was—” "Drunk?" supplied Jimmy, helpfully. “ Why, yes, mind drunk; paralytic in fact.''

Author of “Conscience Money,” “Patricia’s Chauffeur," Eto. (An enthralling story, full of thrilling incidents.)

lie had to laugh then at the look of blank despair on lace. Margaret would put him out of his misery soon enough; meanwhile, it was all very amusing.

“ Don’t worry too much, old man,” he advised, sagely, and proceeded to rub in salt. “ Margaret’s waiting for you. I believe she has a few words to say. 1 won’t spoil it for her. Stiff uper lips, old man, face the music and all that sort of rot. I’ll tell her you’ll be down in two ticks.” Chuckling to himself Jimmy ran down the stairs tw at a time. "Ho’s all right," .he told Margaret. "When I let him know you were waiting here for him—er—well, he simply leapt out of bed and made a dive for the bathroom. I do hope he remembers to wash his neok.” He had no sooner given Margaret this reassuring) information when his own affairs suddenly forced themselves upon him with decided unpleasantness. Sir Timothy Standlsh sent for him, and for an hour he remained olosetted with his Uncle. When he came out, t)ie merry grin he usually wore was missing. Indeed he had the look of a man who Is swearing hard under his breath. In the hall he ran into Michael, and would have passed with no more than a quick nod; but Michael stopped him. “ Where’s Margaret? Have you seen her?" “ Margaret,” repeated Jimmy, “No Idea. She’s somewhere about, I expect.". He Jammed on his hat violently, and strode out. In a little over half an hour, he was doing the last 100 yards to Arden Woodside station in fine style. He lost a perfectly good hat in the struggle; he had no time to get his ticket, but he caught his train very neatly—by the last handrail on the last compartment. Meanwhile, at Arden Hall Michael had given up looking for Margaret. She was avoiding him, and it was not difficult to understand why. How was he to know that the thrill of the coming reconciliation had driven her torun away from it simply to make it all the more wonderful? Michael must search for her. He would come to her a little crest-fallen perhaps. Her surrender would be the more complete, her confession of blame the more extravagant. But Jimmy had given him no hint of this. He could only judge that she was too disgusted to face him. If he followed and found her, what could he say? He coutd tell her of the conclusion he had come to, that her father had deliberately drugged him to try to make him appear a drunken sot? It was too much to expeot her to believe that. Far better to offer no excuses at all, but just respect her desire for solitude. Later, perhaps, there might be an opportunity of clearing himself without bringing Sir Timothy into it. He set off through the park and out along the lane to the Vicarage. And there he found Simon Quaile pacing : the lawn with hands behind his back. “ Ah, my dear boy." The old man’s face brghtened as Michael came in through the wicket gate. “ Martha has turned me out. She wants to clean my study, bless her. I won’t be able to find anything for a week." He could see at once that something was wrong, so he talked on merrily for some minutes. Michael took his arm, and they sauntered up and down the lawn. The expected silence came. “Is everything well at the Hall?” asked Simon gently. “ Oh, quite, thanks."

“ Margaret well?” “ Yes, quite well,” Miohael hesitated, and then took the opening with characteristic dlreotness. “ I came to talk about Margaret and me. ■ I must know the truth, sir. You remember you spoke of something that might come between us.”

“ I’m glad you have asked,” said the old man quietly. “It would have been hard otherwise, and I think you ought to know. 1 have been tempted to keep you in s ignorance and take the responsibility, but I have no right to decide for you, even though the decision may be painful for you, my boy.” “ If It has to do with Margaret,” said Michael quickly, “ I may as well say now that nothing, nothing on on earth will make me give her up.” “Dear boy, I know." Simon Quaile sighed heavily. “ Then what does it matter?”

“It will make it harder for you? Michael. I am putting a high wall in your way." " An odd wall more or less won’t make a great deal-of difference,” said Michael, gloomily. Simon Quaile sat down upon an old stone seat beneath a laburnum bush and drew Michael down beside him. “ Have you ever wondered about your father?" he asked. The question took Michael completely by surprise, but he answered at once:

“No, I haven’t, or at least only vaguely. I suppose I ought to have done, but I have never thought of him as real.”

Michael always Jl'bbed at the Idea of displaying sentiment. He would have liked to add. " I never wanted any father but you.” But Simon Qualle understood, and gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “He was in many ways a very fine and courageous man. You must have heard of the famous Jermy Gordon.” “ The explorer?” “ lie was your father." “My father 1 But how could lie be? My name Isn’t Gordon.” “It is. Michael Sinding Gordon. Sinding was your mother's name. They were not happy together, Michael. It was no one’s fault; just a mistake. They were quite unsuited lo each other, lie was a man of commanding nature and strong possessive instincts; your mother, a very lovely and gentle creature, resented his primitive nature. She did not, understand him. Eventually lie left her, and two years later'died in Tibet. Your mother was then living in Cornwall. She had adopted her own name again, and everyone thought Mrs Sinding was a widow. But she told me. You see, 1 loved her, Michael. We were lo have married, iml God willed it otherwise.” Michael was silent. This quiet revelation of tragedy, because it was so quiet, and the sudden realisation of Ihe deep love that had been given to him all these years, rose before him like a wave and swept him away headlong. All be could do was to seize the hand on bis shoulder, and grip It hard. •'lie gave me yon, Michael,” said .Simon Onaile, in his husky whisper, and looking into bis eyes, Michael marvelled at the serene beauty that shone there so steadfastly. (To be continued.)