The Splendid Sacrifice

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 215, 30 November 1927, Page 5

The Splendid Sacrifice

By

J.B. Harris-Burland.

Author of: ** The Half-Closed Door,** Taint.” " The Poison League?'*

CHAPTER ll.—(Continued,). But the young man was not to be denied. He knew that one cannot dangle the bait too often in front of the fish’s nose. He moved some papers which he had laid carefully on the top of the jewel to hide it from the general public, and then his face grew very white. The jewel ha,d vanished. Mary and Joan, engaged in conversation, did not see his face, nor did they see a raised hand—a signal to another man who was standing by the entrance to the shop. The first information that anything was wrong reached them in the shape of a plaintive female voice: “Why can’t .1 «o out—l must go out. I have to catch a train.” And then a man's voice said angrily, ‘“Open that door at once, please. What’s all this nonsense?** The dozen customers in the shop turned and looked at the door. An elderly man with a white beard came forward, whispered to the young man, and receiving an answer, said:— “Ladies and gentlemen, a valuable piece of jewellery has been stolen from the counter during the last three or four minutes. I am sure none of you have it in your possession, but I ask you to allow yourselves to be searched, just as a matter of form. If anyone objects—of course—well, we are in your hands, ladios and gentlemen.’* No one did object, except the lady who wished to catch her train. Joan seemed to regard the whole matter as a huge joke. Mary was cold and con‘emptuous, as the female searcher Pawed her about. It seemed to her that the whole business was feeble and' unsatisfactory. She knew that they would have carried out the job very differentlv in a police station. Of course, the eminent firm of jewellers aid not want to call in the police. These affairs had to be kept out of the papers, >f possible. Very likely, if the jewel were found, no prosecution would fol-

But nothing was found on the persons of either men or women. They J ere simply asked to leave their addresses and names, and then the proprietor of the shop apologised pro-

has escaped,** he said, “but you have helped us to find him. I can Ih * a< ** es and gentlemen, that m 55. bly a ®k y°ur pardon—a mere for—no one more glad than I am jfj* nothing has been found—if the fly who has missed her train will *flow me to pay for a car to Dorking too pleased." . Tho door opened. Some of the stmEi * eft aiK *' hardly noticed the waT ly naan in a blue serge suit, who low prete nding to look into the winf ' glanced at every one of their 2nnH Others remained to purchase "filL and stlow that there was no ill thini?i^ er an experience, don’t you laughed Joan, as they made littlft back to their hotel—a quiet the Strami a street branching off h ad A ,r ott f n Show,” Mary replied. “If I’d nva-,. e - . ewel 1 could easily have got avv ay with it." Was nothing about the affair in 3av« i? rrow s newspapers, and Mary dther ll n .° furt h er thought. She had matters to occupy her mind. They

had been a -week in London, and on several occasions Joan had insisted on going out by herself, would not say where she was going, and had been absent form the hotel for three or four hours. Mary had once tried to follow her sister, but she had lost the trail. She was certain, however, that Joan was meeting this man she loved—this “rotter” who would not work. On the evening following the visit to the shop. Joan again went out by herself, and did not return until after midnight. There had been an attempt to rebuke Joan and it had failed miserably. “I can do what I like,” Joan had said angrily. “I’m not tied to your apron strings, and I’m not married yet.’* It had been impossible to deal with this kind of Joan, but the next morning Joan had come into her sister’s bedroom and had burst into tears, and asked for forgiveness. She had that readily enough. Then followed another morning of shopping, lunch at a restaurant in Soho, and then more purchases of clothes, and tea at one of the “Scarlet Runner” shops., They returned to their hotel at six o’clock, their arms laden with parcels. As they entered the rather dingy hall the manager of the hotel came forward and bowed. “Would you two ladies kindly step into my office,” he said. “A gentleman has called to see you.” He held the door open and the two girls entered the little room. Mary gave a start as she saw the white-bearded proprietor of the jeweller’s shoo. He was seated at a table, and another man was standing with his back to the fireplace—a tall thin man with a closely-clipped brown moustache. The manager closed the door and leant his back against it. He was a small stout man with a fat, pleasant face. He looked worried. The jeweller tugged nervously at his white beard. “Some mistake,” he muttered, glancing up at the two girls, “no doubt some mistake.” The tall thin man stepped forward and laid a glittering jewel on the table. “All,” said Mary, “the piece of jewellery that was stolen yesterday.” “Precisely, madam,” the detective answered. “May I ask which of you two is Miss Joan Eden?” “I am,” Joan replied sharply. “I hope you don’t think I stole it.” “It was found in your room, madam —hidden away among some of your underclothes. Perhaps you would tell us how it got there.” For a few moments there was silence in the little office. The detective scrutinised the faces of the two girls. Joan’s was red, flushed and angry. Mary’s was white and hard and calm. “Come, come,” said the detective, “you know this is a very serious matter.” “I know nothing about it,” Joan replied. “Ho you think I stole it? Why, I was searched yesterday at the shop, and my sister was searched. How dare you say that I stole it!” “I said nothing of the sort, madam. But I’ve an idea that a friend of yours might have stolen it, got clear before the jewel was missed, and then handed it over to you.” Mary shuddered. That was the truth, no doubt. This man whom Joan loved —this “rotter” —was the real thief. But the jewel was in Joan’s possession. It was just as bad as if Joan herself had been the thief. Indeed, it was worse. Sir Richard would certainly not marry a woman who was in league with a thief, and loved the thief sufficiently to shield him. “I know nothing about it,” said Joan doggedly. “Come, Miss Eden,” faltered the old jeweller, "live got the jewel back, and that’s all I want- I know there are some young ladies who can’t keep "heir hands off pretty things—just the madness of the moment. Tell us the truth and there will be an end of the matter. I don’t want to prosecute.”

Hope came into Mary’s eyes, but it died away again as she saw the hard smile on the detective’s face. “Sorry, Mr. Hagon,” he said, “but this matter is in our hands now. Now then. Miss Eden, tell us the name of your confederate.” “I tell you that I know nothing about it,” Joan persisted. “You’ve made a mistake —a horrible mistake.” “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me to the police station.” “I don’t want to prosecute,” pleaded the jeweller. “Then you shouldn’t have come to us, sir,” was the curt reply. “You’ve got to go through with it now.” He turned to the manager of the hotel. “Will you please call a taxicab,” he said. “There’s going to be no fuss. We’ll just drive off quietly. Mr. Hagon. you must come with us, and.” turning to Mary, “you, too, madam, would like to accompany your sister?’-' Mary nodded. She could hardly have spoken clearly at that moment. The horror of the whole business seemed to have paralysed her. Joan did not seem to realise the situation. Joan was angry and indignant, and

almost in tears. But she, Mary, saw the swift ruin of her sister’s life. There would be no marriage, so far as Sir Richard Pynson was concerned. Joan would be driven to desperation. Very likely she would go off with this scoundrel whom she loved. That would be worse than anything—far worse than imprisonment. It would be a life-long punishment for Joan. “We shall want you as a witness.” said the detective to the manager of the hotel. “You’d better come along with us and sit by the driver.” Th manager protested; Mr. Hagon protested. But the law, in the person of the detective, had the whip hand of them all. The cab drove off. Mary and Joan sat in the best seats. For all the passers-by knew to the contrary, it might have been a party bound for a restaurant. In after years the memory of this drive often came back to Mary Eden, and she laughed at it. It was so utterly commonplace and ridiculous. But she did not smile as they went slowly through the crowded streets. E n the driver did not know that he was taking them to a police station. The detective had named the corner of a street. And there they alighted, and the driver growled at the smallness of his tip—just like any ordinary driver—and argued about the fare. Mary, standing on the pavement, and waiting while the driver was being paid, whispered to Joan. “Hon’t give in. I’m going to get you out of this. Hon’t tell the truth. Anything—anything—will be better than the truth.” “You think I stole it?” said Joan, in a low voice. “No, but that man—that’s worse. Let me manage this job.” She walked up to the detective, who had finished his short argument with the driver. “Look here,” she said, “you’ve got hold of the wrong person, my friend. I took the jewel. You can let my sister go home.” The man smiled. “I suppose one of you took it,” he replied, “but I don’t believe it was you.” “Hon’t you? Well, it was. My sister is going to marry a man with twenty thousand a year, and she's no need to steal. I’m poor, and I wanted the money. “I hid it among my sister’s clothes,” Mary continued. “I was a coward. I meant to let her stand the racket if the wretched thing was found. “H’m!” said the detective. “Well, I can t contradict you. Miss Eden. I must take you at your word.” “Can my sister go back to the hotel?” “Yes.” “Call a cab, will you?” The detective beckoned to a driver, and the man drew up at the kerb. Mary called out: “Jackie, you can go home.” m Joan camfe forward with a dazed look in her eyes. . “Go home?” she echoed. “Yes, and wait there until I return.” Joan turned to the detective. “What’s the meaning of all this?” she asked, but before the man could reply, Mary said: “I’ll tell you all about it after dinner. lam going on to explain —to prove to them that you couldn’t possibly be the thief. Jump in Jackie —that’s a good girl.” She caught hold of her sister's arm, and half-pushed, half-helped her into the cab. Then she closed the door, and leant through the open window. “It’s all been a mistake,” she said in a low voice. “I'll tell you all about it later on. She gave the driver the address, and the cab moved out into the traffic. She turned to the detective. “I suppose it’s not far to the police station,” she said. “I don’t feel as if I could walk very far.” (To be Continued.")