Flotsam

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 105, 25 July 1927, Page 12

Flotsam

Coralie Stanton and Heath Hosken.

Authors of “ The Real Mrs. Dare, ” The Men She Never Married ** Sisord and Plough,” &c., £c.

To have Flotsam, t.e., goods float?ng on the water; Jetsam, i.e.. goods cast out of a ship during a storm, and WUsam. i.e., goods driven ashore when ships are wrecked. These wrecks were called by the vulgar. Goods of God’s mercy. (Ancient Charter of Dover.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS CHAPTER I.—John Bolton kneels on the shingle beside the animate form of a lad who has just been rescued from drowning. The sailor who has brought the boy from the shipwreck can give no information about him. Later, inquiries proving futile. John Bolton carries the lad to his motor, covers him with rugs, and drives off. The boy refuses the stimulating drink that John offers and wants to go. This request is refused. Questioned the lad states that he is Jack King. He and his father were bound for South America. Complains of feeling sick and collapses. Arrived at Saye Castle. John Bolton s home, Mrs. Manton. the housekeeper, undertakes to get the boy to bed. but he fights, kicks, bites, struggles, and makes off. John Bolton catches him and he capitulates by fainting. He is got to bed and Dr. Goring is sent for. About six in the evening Mrs. Manton seeks her master and informs him that Jack King is a tjirl,—a young woman about eighteen Dr. Goring says the patient must be kept perfectly quiet for a few days. John Bolton communicates with the steamship offices in London. Scotland Yard tells a sordid story. The girl's father is really Michael Dennis Croft, company promoter, whose gigantic failure has engulfed the savings of millions of hard workers. His daughter, Jacqueline, is penniless. CHAPTERS I (Continued) and Xl. John Bolton writes to his fiancee, Lady Maud Genge, tells the whole story of Jacqueline, and asks her to help him. He has his first interview with Jacqueline. She reveals herself as a striking-looking girl, full of character. She has taken the news of her father's death quietly. Lady Maud Genge, in the .Swiss mountains, reads in the paper of the death of Dennis Croft. She talks it over with her maid. Clarice. Later she muses over her past life, her runaway marriage, her divorce, her father's accession to the peerage. A letter comes to her from John Bolton, giving her the history of the arrival of Jacqueline, and expressing a wish for her presence and advice. Lady Maud gives her maid orders to pack. She is returning to England. She spends the nighi at Folkestone after crossing the Channel, and in the morning hires a car and motors to Saye Castle. John Bolton is not there to meet her, but Parker, the butler, and Mrs. Manton, welcome her The housekeeper gives her the latest news of the new protegee, and says how fond the master is of her. CHAPTERS 111 and IV.—Lady Maud wanders round the gardens and comes upon Jacqueline. She gets into conversation and tries to win the girl, apparently succeeding. Maud discovers that Jacqueline is well educated. John Bolton arrives about five o'clock. He is pleased that the two women are friends Lady Maud goes back to her hotel, where John dines with her that evening When they are taking coffee the subject of Jacqueline is introduced. His fiancee refuses to be dragged into mothering her. When John asks her to do this she says, "Not She leaves the ultimatum w ith him that he loses her if he keeps Jacqueline.

CHAPTER XI. (Continued). Dr. Goring—a fooligh, moss-eaten country doctor. Heavens above, Clarice, aren’t you old enough to put all this backstairs talk on its proper level? You are keeping something back from ne. You know you are. There must be something else. Now, out with it. I’ve no patience with you.” “I’m sorry, my lady, there is nothing else I can tell. It’s an instinct more than anything else.” “Y’ou don’t think it has anything to do with Mr. Stone?” “Oh. no, my lady.” Or anyone else?” asked Maud meaningly. Clarice dropped her eyes. “No, no, ray lady,” she faltered. They might torture her before she would say what was really in her mind. Maud gave her a swift look, and nodded enigmatically. If you are keeping anything back from me, Clarice,” she said, "you’ll be sorry for it. That will be enough for the moment. And not a word of all this to a living- soul, you understand? I must go back to the others, or they’ll all be setting up a hue-and-cry after rtfe.” “Oh, my lady, I can’t tell you how sorry I am for you—for you all.” Maud turned and strode out of the room, and Clarice burst into tears. “Well, here’s a pretty kettle of fish,” Maud exclaimed, rushing into the dining room. "Our little Miss Jack is lost. She’s disappeared. My maid has been looking for her all the morning.” Of course everyone treated the announcement with incredulous amusement, everyone save two men, to whom

the news meant more than met the eye.

Stone exhibited just the right amount of concern, and he knew that Maud had her eyes on him all the time, and was wondering when it would be possible for him to have a few words in private with her.

Bolton was frankly alarmed, and he showed it.

"I say, Maud, what do you mean? Are you joking?” he inquired anxiously. "It’s no joking matter,” she answered. “Our little Miss Jack is missing.” And for the benefit of all concerned, or otherwise, she briefly stated the facts, and then attempted to turn the conversation adroitly into other channels. After all, there was nothing very alarming in a girl not turning up for lunch. Why make a fuss about it. She had in all probability gone for a walk, and miscalculated the time. She would reappear later in the afternoon. But she did not appear later in the afternon. And when at dinner time there was no sign of her, or word from her, and all the servants were excitedly agog and wild rumours were flying about, the disappearance of Miss Jack assumed greater importance. It was a long time before Bolton had an opportunity of a word alone with Maud. Stone got the first chance. He was brutally frank.

“I don’t for a moment supose that I am the cause of it,” he said, "but you may as well know that, at the ridiculous hour of seven o’clock this morning. I proposed to Miss Jack and she turned me down.”

"I thought as much,” said Maud ruminating. “Was there a scene?” "Nothing out of the ordinary. She turned me down and called me names and dashed away. But I feel I owe it to you to tell you.” “You didn’t use the knowledge I gave you?” “I did not,” indignantly exclaimed Stone. “Nor am I ever likely to. Please understand that. You must have a pretty ugly opinion of me to ask such a question.” “I haven’t a particularly good opinion of you, my dear Martin; but on this occasion I believe you.” “Thank you. And, by the way, I have just been telephoning London and find that I must get back to-night. It is very urgent. I’m awfully sorry.” "So am I. And I’m sure John will be terribly disappointed,” said Maud coldly.

He left it at that, and bowed respectfully over her hand. "You seem to have made a ptetty mess of things,” she said. “But I ought to have known.” Then came Bolton.

"Look here, Maud, dear, what’s to be done about this?” he asked, when at long last he found it possible to talk to her without the presence of other people.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she answered with a careless shrug of her slim, girlish shoulders. “YVhy all this commotion? Why all this fuss? The girl will turn up all right. Leave her alone and she’ll come home and bring her tail behind her.”

"That’s all very well; but you know what a wild, irresponsible young thing

she is. I confess frankly that I am genuinely alarmed.” “Your face betrays that fact, my dear. You really ought to exercise greater control.” “Has Clarice told you anything?” he asked. “Yes, lots of things—lots of most disturbing things.” "I see. May I know what they are?” "You ought to know, surely.” She was in no mood to spare his feelings. But she was at her old game of playing with fife. "She did not tell you, then, that she came upon us in the rose-garden just before breakfast and saw and heard things which she was not intended to see or hear.” “You mean you and Jacqueline?” "Yes.”- * Maud’s thin nostrils dilated. Her lovely eyes shot out darts of flame. “Ah! so that was what she was keeping back,” she breathed. "I might have guessed as much.” “She did not tell you?” “No; but I knew.” "But you don’t know all.” "I know quite enough, thank you,” she answered coldly. “Pray leave something to the imagination. I require no details. Then this writes the end as far as we two are concerned ?” "I’m awfully sorry, Maud.” “Not at all,” she answered. “You can’t help it, I suppose. It might have happened to me, justs in the way of things. Only Ido think you might have been a bit more sporting.” “Maud, I’m a brute. I hate myself. I can’t tell you how I hate myself. But it is fate.”

"Fate be bothered! You’re just a man, like the rest of them. Well, John, I'm sorry and I’m disappointed. I’m particularly sorry for you, because you see there seems every reason to suppose that Miss Jacqueline Croft has committed suicide. In which case, you see, you have rather thrown away a woman who. is genuinely fond of you, and was quite willing to make you a good wife, for a—well, de mortuis nil nisi bonum.” /

She waited to see the effect on him, but it was disappointing. “I think,” he said, “that you can dismiss the idea of suicide. I have been going into all the circumstances, and I have made a discovery. All that boy’s kit which she wore in the “Queen of Peru”—all of it, stockings, boots, cap, and the rest—has disapappeared. It was there yesterday. It is not there to-day. It takes very little reasoning to asume that Jacqueline has gone away in the things she came in. It is just like her.”

“Thank God!” said Maud, with a surprising change of voice and manner. "Oh, I hope you are right. Does Clarice know? I must rush and tell her. Oh, John, I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

"So am I. old girl. But that doesn’t mean that we’ve found her. I’m going to waste no time in trying to trace her. I must inform the police without delay. Do you happen to know whether she had much money?”.

"I haven’t the remotest idea. I am inclined to think she wouldn’t have a penny. She never had any need of money here.” "Just so, and I hope you’re right, because she couldn’t get very far away without the wherewithal to pay Tier travelling expenses. But just think of it, Maud darling—that poor child absolutely alone, destitute, starving perhaps. And all through my unpardonable folly. Oh, my dear girl, I don’t deserve to live.”

“Don't talk such nonsense, John. I admit you behaved like a fool. No fool like an old fool. And I think you might have had the common courtesy, to put it mildly, to have informed me that you wished our engagement to end before precipitating this thing. It was hardly fair on either of us, was it?” (To be Continued.)