DEATH TO THE RESCUE

Evening Star, Issue 20060, 28 December 1928, Page 8

DEATH TO THE RESCUE

A SHORT STORY [All Rk;hts Resekved.] [By A. G. Gheenwood.] J'hiisie stood on (be topmost step in a shaft of sunlight and waved her handkerchief. Owen, looking back from the, acacia ontsVc No. 6, Commelin road, which every morning put an end to his protracted farewells, tool: off his hat and waved in return. She looked like a fairy, ethereal enough to poise on a spray of wild rose. The youth of her and bloom and dainty beauty wore still a wonder to Owen Fell. That transport of astounded joy when hist be realised that she cared for him had never evaporated. He did not realise that Faisio’s beauty dwelt with the common dreams of her sisters. She asked no more of life than they—Alice, the eldest, the plumber’s wife in Walthamstow, with her five children, and Susan with her tiny house in Willesden, and her husband, the railway guard. Owen was a dreamer. Other men had wives, women to cook and clean and mend and bear them children. Owen was different. He had Faisic, a fairy with lingers, slim and smooth as satin, and filbert nails so carefully looked after, a being to be protected, f rom whose eyes of aznro all the ugly things of life must bo concealed, and from whose path all that was rough and wearisome must be removed. It became an obsession, this screening of his beloved doll., He shared no worries with her. Apparently he had no worries. She could do no wrong. No. 18 Commelin road was the only house in the street where a charwoman worked daily. Faisic’s fingers must not bo soiled. He would have had' her lolling on a gilded throne if he could have had his way. And Faisie, waving from the top step, envied wistfully Mrs Webb at No. 19 opposite, standing at her window making her youngest born wave _ a podgy hand at the prosaic Webb setting off for the station, with another curly head at her hip. Owen Fell hurried on. He realised to-day what an important part in the drama of his life the acacia outside No. 6 played. Here every morning his smile died away. Here the lines crept back and settled deep about eyes and mouth

and forehead. Hero he seemed to collapse, Ins knees sagged, his shoulders sloped and bowed. Here, coming home in the evening, he made that sempiternal effort and threw off his cares, making ready to meet her, to thrill at the caress of her satin fingers, to quiver—still astounded—because she cared, because she perched herself on his knees, was so fragrant, so altogether wonderful. On this morning tho callapso was very complete Tilings had gone from bad to worse For the twenty months of their married life hardly a week had pa seed without adding to his debts. By devious ways he had staved off disaster. Nov be seemed to have come to the end of his tether. In the train nauseated by tho timeworn pleasantries of Maw, the stockbrokers clerk, and Collins, the insurance agent, he hid himself behind his paper. To read it was utterly impossible. His debts stood between. Old Mr Halstead, Owen Fell’s principal, did not usually arrive at the office till nine-thirty. Owen had the first half-hour of the day to himself. Ho hung np his coat and put on the older one that hung behind the door, snapped on his rubber cuffs, and stacking Halstead's letters on bis chief’s desk, wondered if once more he dared approach him. Helstead, the estate agent, was rich and single, a thin and frigid bachelor, with lew friends and no relations. Fell ho liked and trusted. Fell appeared to be—and was, if debts were excepted, —so eminently respectable and reliable. A month after Fell’s marriage Mr Helstead had called. Faisie won his heart. If Fell stayed late at the office after that it would be:

“Pack up, Fell. Off' you go. Can’t have those sunny eyes dimmed.” But Helstead was mean. That was indubitable. He was almost a miser. He dressed in the shabbiest clothes, and had the meanest rooms in tho meanest street in Earl’s Court. Helstead had looked very glum when Fell had previously asked him for a loan, so glum that Fell iiad repaid him two days later at great inconvenience. Fell bit. the calloused skin at tho, corners of his finger nails, and stared gloomily out of the window. Someone rapne-i nn the glass-paiinellcd door. “Hallo! Helstead not up vet?” aoc yet, sir,” said Owen, recognising Frank Goodwin, the solicitor, from the floor above. “Tell him Flying Bat for the twothirty,” said Goodwin. “Say 1 got it straight from Mike. Don't forget. ' from Mike.’ He’ll understand. It’s a dead cert. Thirty to one- I’m puffing my last, bob on it. Don’t spread it about. Flying Bat—-the two-thirty. Right. Don’t forget.” t Halstead only gambled occasionally. Generally Owen was let into the secret. Nearly always the old man won. Then Owen would carry home some oysters or a pheasant or a slice of salmon to Commelin road. uwen i'ell spread out his paper. Flying Bat—yes, there it was. Thirty to one! To have a tenner to risk. Throe hundred pounds! To have, say, fifty pounds and win fifteen hundred! Owen Fell never gambled. He never had any ready money. He longed to raise some. By to-night all his financial troubles might be over. Ho could buy’ Faisie the coat ho had Jonged to buy her. I lying Bat. . . The telephone bell whirred. Foil took off the receiver, “ Helstcad’s speaking,’’ said he. “ Unit yon, Fell!'' Helstead here. I’m not coming up. Fee had a. bad night. I’m going back to bed. Open tho correspondence.” “ 11 there's anything big run down and mo,” “ Yes, sir. Mr Goodwin has just looked in. Says Flying Bat’s a certainty for tho two thirty. . . . From Mike, sir.” “Does he? Flviug Bat? I must risk a trifle. Little Mrs Fell all right? ” “ Quite, sir, thank you.” Helstead rang off. ' Owen Fell sat down at his chief’s table and slit open an the envelopes with Holstead’s steel cutter. The first letter he drew out contained in its iokl.s a bundle of notes. “Dear Helstead,—l expect you’re going to the Bainpfyldc sale. I’vc had

'"c '-ij the Jacobean dresser for years. Bid up to enclosed amount (idOil), please, if von aren’t going yoursell, let your clerk nip down, will yon f In haste, yours.—Kcnmeth Carey.'’’ Notes. Owen Fell bngcml them and counted them. At lirst no dishonest notion tinged his thoughts. He loaned back in Helstoad’s revolving chair. Something seemed to snap in his head —a governor. His thoughts seethed and ho lost control of them. Flying Bat. Thirty to one. One hundred pounds, it would become three thousand pounds. Halstead's luck was phenomenal. Ho was going to risk a trifle. Notes The Bampfyklc sale was four days away. To he free from the mountain of debt! To pass under the fretted acacia without that dreadful metamorphosis. Not to wake beside sweet Fai.de and sweat with fear in the darkness. Not to feel that terror of the future, wondering what would become ol her, the house sold up, the inevitable penury Perhaps even Hclstead would rid himself of a clerk who had proved himself so criminally irresponsible or so wickedly reckless. Out of a job. No character—except a spendthrift’s Flying Bat . . . One hundred pounds. He was mined, anyhow. For a week or so he might stave off absolute disaster. But disaster must come. Flying Bat. . , . He felt suddenly stifled, and pushed back his chair. As the roar of the truffle crashed in when ho opened the window, Owen Fell went suddenly very white. His face grew wet and livid. It was theft. Obviously, it might mean salvation. Otherwise But it might mean salvation. Otherwise Faisio. . . , Ho could not bear to think it out. The screen would fall. The shock would be ghastly. Ho could see her blench and wince and grow old and careworn before his eyes. She could not love the man who had deceived her. She could never trust him again.

Flying Bat. And old lid staid seemed always to win. It would only be a loan. He could repay Uio money immediately —directly the race was won. If Flying Bat won, . . . He opened the other letters and read a,nd re-read their simple contents bcfor lie could understand them. He could not steady his thoughts. They kept reverting to Flying Bat and that wonderful I 'means whereby one hundred pounds became three thousand. Maw, the facetious stockbroker’s clerk* was always betting. He could telephone him. Ho hesitated. He became jsuddenly aware that ho was shaking hprribly that his teeth clicked together, and that his heart was swelling—(swelling as though it soon must suffofate him. Nojharm in asking Maw. He rang U P- ! . | • . Flying Bat. The twothirty,” “ Hurt touch it. Locking Bolt’s the boy fpr you, Fell. Put a drop on through me. My man’s good for a milliot.” ‘‘ I’le just had a windfall,” said Fell. How easy it was to lie! Why did people hesitaje? ‘‘ Maiden aunt’s left me a hundred pounds. No. Flying Bat’s my fancy.) Would ho be good enough for three thousand P ” He had not meant to make the bet. He had meant to find out if it were possible. But the matter seemed taken

I out of Iris control. He found himself arguing with Maw. He would not back | Locking Bolt. Yes j that was flat. And then Maw ■ “ I’ll ring you up in a few minutes and tell you if you’re on. How about the money? I’ll bo passing the office about noon. Shall I call in ? ” “Right.” said Owen Fell. “ You’re on,” said Maw, ringing up hall, an hour later. “Twenty-five to one. Couldn’t get more.” “ Eight,” said Foil again Ho sat stunned. It was useless to attempt to woilc. Ho was only the j shell of a man. All within him was turned to surging liquid, fire. His head and eyes ached intolerably. Bub he had done right. He kept telling himself that. If ho had to do it all over again he would do just us he had clone. He could nob drag Faisie down into the gutter. Better anything than that. Better bo “ crook.” How ghasly it sounded. Ho fitted tho word to bis daily life Waking “crook,” kissing Faisie “crook,” travelling “ crook.” He shivered. The morning seemed interminable. At twelve Maw looked in. “ Good tip of yours. The price has slackeend to tens now, my boy! ho ejaculated. “ Oh, you old siiake-iu-the-grass, you neve- let on you betted!” Owen Fell bought, a handful of papers. Only in the ■ early editions of the evening papers did he find any reference to Flying Bat. He road eagerly. At lunch he could not cat. His mouth was ever-dry. At two-forty-five lie waited at the office door for a paper boy. The telephone bell jarred. Ho went to it. “ Flying Bat's won! Just, throough on the tape. Oh, you lucky old dodger ! ” Maw spoke. Not till then did Owen Fell realise the paralysis of terror that held him. All of him relaxed. Pentup blood gushed warming and vivfying, pent-np breath swept cool and refreshing, his heart romped. . . . What an escape! What a daring fool he Had been! Ho couldn’t go through such torture again for a million pounds. Thank God! Two thousand five hundred pounds. It was incredible.

And Faisic—the I'nr coat. _ A ring—that solitaire diamond to glint on her matchless lingers. Dainty underclothes, such as the ladies’ papers portrayed, which she had scofled at and he had longed for her to possess. An hour afterwards he sallied out and bought a paper to read the details of his triumph. And ho ionnd in the Stop UPress: “ 2.3o—Objection lodged to winner,” and further down : “ 2.30 Objection upheld. Pace awarded to Locking Bolt.” Owen Fell passed under the acacia. But still ho slunk hurriedly on, his furtive eyes on the pavement, his little shrinking soul in them, terrified, broken. He had locked up the office, with Ins office coat hung behind the door. He would never see it again. Ho was a, thief. Faisic opened Hie door. He stumbled in and she shut it behind him, staring at him in fear. “ Ovic, what is itf ” He stumbled on into the tiny dining room. She followed him, stood a moment at the door while his bloodshot eyes stared into hers and filled again with that look of devotion, then swept forward with a little cry, sank on her knees between his, and wound her arms tightly round him. “ You’ll hate me,” cried Owen Hell. “ You, who could have married anybody. ...” Ho caught both her hands and stared down at them—her lovely hands of which ho was so preposterously proud— I caught them and clung to them and kissed them, begging for forgiveness, utterly unmanned, too ashamed ‘to meet her eyes, incoherent, in a, tempest of grief and fear. 11 You never told me, dear,” she. said ! quietly, latei on. “You never hinted at it. I’ve boon extravagant. I’ve always thought wo lived extravagantly. There was so much 1 eould have done. I ought to have insisted upon knowing mores 1 wasn’t in your confidence, Ovic. ...” . “ 1 wanted to keep all the ugly side turned away. . . .” She nodded. . , “A wile ought to know. Hut its 100 late for that,” she said, drawing his head down to hers. “ We’yo got to settle what’s to bo done. Will Mr Helstead— prosecute ? ” He looked at her in amazement, then buried his face on her _ breast, and through that gently heaving cushion he felt and heard the even beating of her heart. Those beautiful, steady fingers cooled his forehead and clasped his burning hand. . Afterwards they sut sido by suio ui the darkness on the little sola in the drawing room, her arm upon his bowed shoulders, hand clasped, at first nigjng him to conlcss, then unconvinced, but acquiescent in his plans lor flight. She did not know—could not know—be kissed those ignorant satin lingers. Ho knew best. Confession meant gaol. She did not understand. How could she—his dear doll? That night the Fells left Copimelm road, and Mr and Mrs Percy White found lodgings early the next morning in Hansume street, Woolwich. And now Faisic discovered the real value of the curtain. She was useless. Modern industrial Hie has no place loi the shielded, the unskilled, the ignorant. She knew nothing and could do nothing. So when, very soon, the little ready money they had was spent, she, 100, erected a curtain, and went scrubbing, telling Owen Fell that she had found a clerical job. The barque of the Owen lolls was wrecked, was rapidly submerging, before Faisic, mutely despairing, realised, that to his escape from the penalties of his crime her husband owed the greater part of bis degeneration. While ho doped himself at the Ran some Arms she made her decision, and at last took her courage in both hands and travelled to Mr Hclstcad’s office in the city A clerk opened the glass-panelled d °Mr Helstead? He was dead. Died a year ago— quite. Air Goodwin, the. solicitor upstairs, knew all about A: was Mr Helstcad’s executor. I aisie climbed up. ~ . . Her haggard eves were fixed on Her rough red lingers, twining in cod miscrv in her lap, as _ she coutesseU, seated before the solicitor’s table. .. “ Jt’s killing him, body and soul, • she ended piteously. “He’s escaped paying. He's got to pay-sopieone s „ 0 l to pay. Could 1 ? Weeks and weeks T’ve suffered, wondering, not daring to come. .... , , , . , ■ Frank Goodwin leant back in in* chair. "My old friend Mr Helstead died the morning of the day your husband disappeared,” ho said quietly. Ho was a much richer man than we supposed. He left considerably oyer seventeen thousand pounds. Mr Fell robbed no one but himself—and you. At ten that morning Mr Helstead jay dead. By his will he left everything he possessed—excepting my legacy of a, hundred pounds—to Mr and Mrs Owen Fell.” ' I live opposite the Owen Fells. Before lie sets off to his office I’ve seen him day after day take her two hands and bend over them, his face in their cup, kissing her lingers; and before Owen told me his story, 1 wondered, for I’d seen the fingers of Faisic Fell.,