The Mischief Maker

Waikato Times, Volume 113, Issue 18879, 24 February 1933, Page 8

The Mischief Maker

SYNOPSIS. Sir Timothy Standlsh leisurely up the drive to The Haven, known locally as “The Madhouse o Asylum.” Eighteen years ago the gate or this place had opened and closed upo Edmund Raike, Sir Timothy’s bi other-in l3V “i will see the patient,” Timothy or Dr. Brooks, the resident meat cal superintendent. . For some time the two men who we meeting ror the first } lm e in 18 y e stood eyeing each other in silence. Y come at last, Timothy. ve ars spent every minute or the eigdmem y in hating you. But I can forgive, you’ve come at last.” “I came to tell you of jour > J 1I “You damnahlc devil! mlschiel are you planning now? . . . Listen, othy Standlsh. By the aid or God, 11 get out or this living tomb. When la. call on the Devil you serve to help jou you’ll need him.” . , . nr Michael Sinding is the adopted son or Parson Quaile. He is in love with Mar garet Standlsh, but Sir Timothy is opposed to the match. , crin Basil Quaile is the Parson s own son, whose wastrel ways Michael shields out or love lor the Parson. Sir Timothy tells Margaret that her cousin, Jimmy Raike, is returning to them from abroad. . . Titus, Sir Timothy’s servant, is misshapen and weak-minded, and is the bu or his master’s cruel Jests. He hugs to himseir a hatred that thrives the more ror want or expression. But the Hiougm or what lies inside his coat pocket calms him. A letter, addressed in a womans fine handwriting to Sir Timothy Standlsh. A letter twenty years old. T tus> an never opened it, but he invested It wmi great and secret importance. It hau Become a talisman, the symbol o the gieat triumph that would one day he his. ElTlce Brown, a girl whom Michael has helped to Ilnd work as an artist s model, had previously been a nurse at me Haven,” but sympathy for Edmund Raike. whom she believed 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 Railto out or “The Haven.” Jimmy Raike arrives in town prior to continuing his journey to Arden Hall, lie wonders what motive Sir Timothy can have had for recalling him. Michael, to his astonishment, receives an invitation from Sir Timothy to spend i week or two at Arden Hall with Jimmy. Jimmy believes his father is dead.

CHAPTER XlV.—'(Continued.) "I’m sorry, sir, I —l wish it had been you—that you were really my father.” " I could ask for no greater joy than you have been to me,” said Simon Quaile, simply. “ But I am shrinking. There is something else, the part which Is harder to tell. Your father came to stay with Edmund Raike before he departed on what was to be his last expedition. Sir Timothy Standlsh had been married just a year to Raike’s sister. Your father met her and was constantly up at the Hall. No one knows the whole truth of that story. But there can be no doubt he fell madly in love with her. After she went Sir Timothy became a changed man." " She ran away with my father?" demanded Michael, in a strained voice. “ That Is what was said at the time.” said Simon, very gently. "But no on except Sir Timothy knows the real truth. He found his wife dying In London some years later. All that is known is this. Edmund Raike was leaving for India. Your father transferred his things to the Inn at Little Arden. And then Lady Standlsh vanished, and the day after your father too disappeared. Nothing more was heard of them till the news of his death a year later. And shortly after that Sir Timothy found his wite dying of starvation in a London attic..” There was a long silence, and then Michael spoke through tightly clenced toeth: “So that wasjt?” Simon for him. He could see that he was badly hit. He knew Michael’s way of taking nasty medicine. “What will you do?” he asked, with the purpose of driving Michael to face the Issue once and for all, for now if ever, he could help and strengthen him in the light. Michael must not be allowed to fight alone. “What will you do ” he repeated. “ I don’t know. I don’t know-,” in bitter desperation. “ I’ve got to think; to sort it all out.” “ You can hold your peace or you can go to him and tell him.” “ I’ve got to think,” said Michael, as though he had not heard. “ My father stole his wife. I want to take Margaret. Oh, my God, it’s hard.” “ Only you can decide whether to tell him or not.” “Tell him! Oh! I’ve got to tell him," said Michael harshly. “I know' that. But it’s going to be—he’ll want to strangle me, and I don’t blame him.” “ Dear by, dear boy !” Simon Quaile put his arm about Michael’s shoulders and hugged him tightly. “Courage, Michael 1 Courage always wins." “ Sorry to make such an ass of myself." Michael achieved a ghost of a smile. “I can’t and xvon’t give Margaret up.” “ In spite of Sir Timothy ” “ Oh, I know it seems like kicking a man when he’s down, lie’s gone through it once. I hate the idea of hurting him again. But Margaret must come first.” “And what of Margaret? You must tell her.” And noxv Michael faced the worst. What of Margaret indeed? Knowing the truth, could she even bring herself to deal her father such a blow? Not tender-hearted Margaret; no, she would suffer and sacrifice her own happiness rather than that-

“ yes. nr course, I must, tell her,” said Michael, with a crispness that veiled black misery. “She shall decide.” CHAPTER XV. In the afternoon Michael went- for a long tramp. He had long since learnt that the open air, tlie fragrant countryside, and the glow of physical exercise arc the llncst. things in the world to soothe 'a troubled mind. Worries and problems seem to recede and achieve a truer perspective. Life is no longer a mirror held close to tlie mind, but a wide and sweeping landscape changing every moment and bringing something new with every slep one takes along the road. And so Michael returned, not cursing fate nor fearful of the issue, but calmly ready to face whatever might come. Sir Timothy’s hatred might be ■terrible; Margaret might choose to break her own heart and his rather than defy her father; but that was not the end of the road, it was beginning. One just had to keep steadfastly on and never give in. It was almost dark when ho started back from Arden Hall. Rut lie was not the only latc-comcr. For Elliott's old Ford passed him on the road and pulled up, and Jimmy popped his head out. “Want a lift. Michael?’’

BY ALAN GREY. Author of “Conscience Money," "Patricia’s Chauffeur," Etc. (An enthralling story, full of thrilling incidents.)

"No, I’ll walk on,” said Michael. “ I’m too late for dinner, anyhow.” “ See you later then.” Jimmy suddenly remembered something. “ Oh, by the way, I’ve.got a note for you. May as well give it to you now In case I forget later." Michael saw with astonishment that it was addressed In Effle Brown’s handwriting. He had thought Effle was staying in the vicinity of The Haven. “Where on earth did you get this?” he asked. "I met her in town," said Jimmy, and if Michael had not been so occupied in wondering about the note, he might have noticed a certain stiffness in Jimmy’s manner. “ Thanks,” he said absently, and began to tear open the letter. “ I’ll be along in five or 10 minutes.” The ancient Ford set off with a tremendous shudder, and Michael in his anxiety to learn at once the contents of the note, began to strike matches and read it piece-meal. “Dear Michael,” it ran, “It comes off to-night. No time to warn you. Jenks has had an unholy row with the Superintendent and leaves to-Aorrow. I had to rush to town at once, but it’s all right. John Withers was splendid. And you needn’t worry, you won’t .be dragged into it at all. We are taking him straight through! to Sir Thomas Watkins, the specialist. In terrific haste, Effle.” Michael heaved a sigh of relief. He had feared it might be an urgent summons to return to London to fulfil his part of the agreement. Insstead of that, one of his difficulties had been smoothed out. lie turned along the lane Intending to cut through the sbrubery instead of entering the park by the main gate, and was within a hundred yards of the door in the -wall when he became aware of a car standing beside the road with engine shut off and headlights dimmed. There was nothing remarkable in that, and he would have passed without even a glance of curiosity. But before he was alongside, a familiar voice hailed him. “Chubby Withers I” he exclaimed in astonishment. “ What are you doing here?”

Withers came forward into the light, and it was at once obvious that he was desperately agitated. “The devil of a mess, Michael, the devil of a mess.” Then, perhaps realising that this was hardly lucid, he added, “It’s Edmund Raike.’’ “Yes, I go ta note from Effle not five minutes ago. Have you failed or what?" “Worse than 'that. I wish to the devil we had failed,” said Withers, and kicked the tyre nearest him viciously. “Do you mean they spotted you?" “I don’t know and I’m damned if I care. No, it isn’t that. The whole think went like clockwork, as a matter of fact.” "Then you got him out? You’ve taken him to London?” “Not yet.” "Oh, you mean you’ve got him in the car now?” “No—he was in the car." “Then where is he?” demanded Michael in exasperation. “God knows," groaned Withers. At that Michael took him roughly by the shoulders. “For God’s sake pull yourself together, Chubby. Listen, I’m talking about Edmund Raike.” “Oh, I’m not mad or drunk,” retorted W’ithers bitterly. “And are you telling me you had him safely in that car?” Withers nodded miserably. “And he’s not there now?" “No, lie’s not there now.” “And you don’t know where he is?” “Not the remotest idea.” Michael dropped his hands from the other's shoulders. “Good God!” Then, more quietly, “What happened?” “The car broke down. Oh, I dare say I was a 'thrice-damned fool, hut I don’t see what else I could have done. He seemed too exhausted and ill to move.” “What exactly did you do?”

“We were stranded. It meant walking on to a garage to get a spare spring for the make-and-break on the magneto, or else hiring another car, and I didn’t want to risk that. In any 'case it was one or both of us, and I hadn’t the heart to take him, he looked so desperately ill.” “You left him alone in the car and walked on?” “There was nothing else for it,” pleaded Withers. “I got back about half an hour later and there was no sign of him anywhere.’’ “And do you know where you so conveniently left him?” said Miohael, with a bitterness he could not oontrol. “Right on the doorstep of the man ho once tried to murder, of the man who had him put under restraint." Chubby Withers was too miserable to do more than curse under his breath. “He may have been re-taken," he suggested, with a flicker of hope. “lie isn’t armed, that's one good thing," muttered Michael. “And If he’s as sick as you say he can’t do much damage.” “No, he’s not armed," agreed Withers, and then a sudden doubt assailed him and ho thrust his hand into his overcoat pocket. His jaw dropped. Ho. began to search feverishly in every pocket. “It’s gone.” “What lias?” “The revolver, the one. you lent me. I had it in this pocket, and I remember now throwing this coat on the scat when I got out to look at the engine. It, may have fallen out.” lie ran to the car and-switched on the interior light, but though they searched thoroughly and removed every cushion, the missing revolver was not found. “He’s got it all right." said Michael, grimly, "it wasn't loaded, I supose?" “No.” “Thank the Lord for that. Rut I'm wasting lime standing here talking. I’m going up to the Hall." “I'll come with you.” "You’ll stop here,” said Michael, grimly. “There may be just a chance and. if there is, you ought to be here ready (o pick him up and make a dash for it.” “But it’s all my fault,” insisted Withers. “If there's any trouble, I’m not going to pass it on to you." “You can’t prevent that," said Michael, “if that gun is discovered. And there’s no need for you to ask for I rouble." “Hut it’s my affair, not yours. I'm damned if I'm going to slink out of it and leave you to face the music.” (To be continued.)