THE SHADOW of a DREAM

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 263, 27 January 1928, Page 5

THE SHADOW of a DREAM

'Ey

Charles Procter-

Author o» ' a Splendid Butterfly." “The Woman P>y».* "The CocKweti Combine* 'An Innocent Adventure** Ac. Be

CHAPTER XI. (Continued) Monica's heart was throbbing with excitement and an unusual nervousness which was not exactly fear, and she *aa trembling slightly. But she succeeded in controlling herself with an effort, and forced herself to speak calmly. "What right have you to interfere?” ane asked with assumed hauteur. “Weil, I happen to love you,” Jervis explained with a quaint smile. “And I don’t choose to let you marry a c rook like Geoffrey Valentine, if I can prevent it. if you cared for him it would be different, Monica. Did you ask him about your father’s money?” I did, and. discovered that you have plotting to get possesion of it.” replied Monica defiantly. Jervis’B face flushed slightly. his Prows drew together, and his eyes flashed. “That's a lie—a lie that Valentine told I guess,” he exclaimed in altered “I don’t want your money. I wouldn’t touch a cent of it! You’ve to trust me, Monica. I swear that ***** I told you yesterday is true. This carriage must not take place!” was strangely stirred, and rjat, moment she felt that she could PJMt him, that he was speaking the but some little demon prompted i of use to believe him and to defy ■k do you propose to prevent it?” «« asked coldly. en> t quite decided—-Yet,'* ansrea Jervis, calm again, and drop•i* back into his customary drawl, ‘could pound Geoff Valentine into rn*s* y ; Ulras h *uni until he was a vmi 1 , case * °r I could run away with 1: 1 reckon it would be easier to h q , awa y with you—save trouble. You thnftl Wan *. a sce ne or trouble with k j ves yours, I reckon, so to better make up your mind come away quietly.” ica i be mad!” exclaimed Monienlv ♦^ ffri *’bt, for she realised sudy “* a * Jervis was in deadly earn--8Do??’ 1 ar *i quite sane.” Jervis redded quietly. “You can’t possibly ?ouH„ y .? Ur by marrying a crook \ care for. and who is marry - —for your money, and the best

thing you can do is to run away. 11l take care of you. find you a home, and look after you until you are willing to marry roe. I can wait, and I won t worry you, but I’ll act as ■watch—dog. He paused, regarding Monica searchingly as if seeking to read her thoughts. "And if you don t come willingly. I guess I’ll have to take you. he added, grimly, after a pause. "Either that or smash up Geoff Valentine. Which is it to be, Monica; Monica knew not what to lay, and stood silent, still gazing at him naif fearfully. Jervis’s question seemed to bring back to her something which she wished to remember, but could not. something which was now like the mero shadow of a dream. Actually at that moment she was trying to tear down the veil which hid the past from hep—but she failed. It flashed upon her suddenly, however, even as she sighed despairingly, that the idea of mfrriage with Geoffrey Valentine was truly 1 repugnant to her and she would welcome any chance of escape. “What do you want me to do. she aS "L,eave These S people and come away with me." answered Jervis Promptly thVifuJh about Valentine, and then —well, then you can use your own discretion. 111 hring a motor round at once if °u uke and take you away, take you anywhere you like. Or you can come aW ?o, a notn^'‘said Monica, tremulha'Yes.Snline S o 1? clock." breathed Monica. an |hr^oorquUesUri, n Watch.ng trl e, t - and both from Geoffrey and sed and crammed a minute if'she wlfhufrying - f t e ra Tn rn for London‘some ne -tier, and she promises—run She nn a uie e°ve e of he? marriage -and Knew Sot what was before her.

.HARTER XII- —A SINISTER c HAI J sLIGGKSTI OaN.

v'-.ientine. still feeling and Geoffrey t ‘ u leased with himself, reloohirS " e ]t „renmout!i from London In'ume for dinner, to And his mother

in a state of almost hysterical anxiety. Her thin face was white, she was biting nervously at her lips, and wringing her hands as she paced agitatedly to and fro. “It isn’t my fault, Geoff,” she ejaculated, as he entered. “You need not blame me.”

Geoffrey stared at her in bewilderment. She was far from being a nervous woman—indeed, he had always credited her with having nerves of steel, and never had he seen her in this nervous, half-hysterical state, although he had often seen her passionately angry. “What on earth is the matter?” he inquired, then started suddenly as a suspicion flashed through his mind. “Where’s Monica?” he added. “You

“She’s gone!” burst out Lady Valentine despairingly. “Gone! ” “Gone!” echoed Geoffrey, the colour draining out of his face, and his jaw drooping. “Gone?” he repeated, staring stupidly as if unable to grasp her meaning. “But how—what the deuce —where ?”

His expression changed suddenly, the blood rushed to his face, his eyes blazed, and lie sprang forward and gripped his mother’s arm.

“What do you mean?” he ( cried, shaking her savagely, his face contorted, his lips curling back from his teeth like a snarling cur. “Out with it! Have you gone back on me? Where’s the girl?”

His mother gave vent to a gasping cry of fear, but recovered herself at once. His violence and fury seemed to calm her almost instantly, and indignation took the place of nervousness.

“Let me go at once!” she ordered, her fine eyes kindling, and flung him off. “How dare you treat me in this fashion? Sit down, you blundering fool, and control yourself.” Geoffrey’s hands dropped to his sides at once, and he recoiled from her, but he continued to glare at her angrily. “It is your own fault,” continued his mother in her acrid voice. “You had no right to take chances and to go away to London to-day while that

man was In Bournemouth. v You phould have waited, kept your eye on Monica, taken no risks until she was your wife. You have yourself to blame for the fact that she has run away on her wedding eve—that Jervis O’Neill has robbed you at the eleventh hour?”

“Where has she gone?” asked Geoffrey hoarsely. “What has happened?” “I only know that Monica has gone,” answered Lady Valentine, drawing a long breath. “It is for you to find out what has happened. I never let her out of my sight all forenoon, as you know. We had lunch together, and afterwards she went to her own room to rest. I lay down, too, and when tea was served Monica did not appear, and I found she had gone. I

discovered that O’Neill had called, ard she saw him in the lounge, then about ten minutes later she went out carrying a handbag.” “Gone away with him. after all—cheated me!” muttered Geoffrey, more to himself than to his mother. Then his fury blazed out again. “Curse O’Neill, and curse her, too!” he snarled savagely. ‘Why—why didn’t you watch her—stop her? What do you think you are paid for?” “I have not yet been paid,” his mother snapped back at him. “You have only paid expenses up to now, and it seems that I am to be deprived of my £5,000 through your neglect and lack of foresight, although I have done my part. I undertook to persuade Monica to marry you—not to act as a policeman, or to guard you and her against Jervis O’Neill, who seems to be a much cleverer rogue than you are. I wash my hands of the whole affair.” Geoffrey tugged at his moustache,

and scowled at her morosely. His nimble brain was working quickly, and he was trying to find some way to save himself from disaster. Savagely, if silently, did he curse Jervis O’Neill for having robbed him of .'lonica, and probably of her fortune,- just when both seemed to be safely in his grasp. “Look here, mater, it’s no use quarrelling,” he said - suddenly, in altered tones. “Something has got to be done, and it’s useless blaming each other for what has happened. Do you realise what this means to me?”

“It means, I suppose, that if the girl has gone off with this American you have lost everything. He isn’t likely to let you keep the securities you have belonging co her, and you will have to

give up everything.” “It means more than that. Where <jo you think I got the money we have been spending so freely this last week or two? How do vou imagine J got the money you have been spending on dresses and jewellery, and hotels and motors?” “I suppose you mean that some of it was Monica’s money?” responded his mother, with a shrug. “Still, a great deal was spent on the girl, so I hardly think that can trause any trouble, particularly as she knows no more than this man O’Neill has told her.” “The only trouble is that in order to realise some of the securities it was necessary for me to forge her signature to certain documents,” said Geoffrey calmly. “I couldn’t get her to sign without giving the game away, and if O’Neill gets busy the forgery will be discovered. It’s only a matter of a couple of thousands, but it might mean five' years for me unless Monica

is prepared to let the matter slide. I’ve half a mind to realise the rest now — everything—and clear out of the country.” His mother dropped into a chair and for some minutes gazed at him fixedly and in silence. “You fool!” she exclaimed at last, in a low voice. “You would ruin everything. The securities could be traced, and you would certainly be caught. You would get penal servitude and I should be ruined. To bolt now would be the most dangerous thing you could do ” “I might get away,” said Geoffrey, without meeting her eyes. He sat down, produced a cigarette, and lit a match with fingers that trembled in spite of his assumption of composure. “You don’t suppose I’m going to give up a fortune and beg for mercy because I’ve had a thousand or so, do you?” he added, without looking up. “No, I don't see why we shouldn’t have the money;” his mother answered, bending forward and speaking scarcely above a whisper. “The girl doesn’t

know anything about the securities beyond what O’Neill has told her—and I don’t suppose he can prove anything.” “He can get proofs from South America —from old Moncrief’s lawyers —but that would take at least three months. There isn’t any immediate c anger.” “Meantime, if anything should happen to Monica—particularly before she narries O’Neill —we are her only relatives, and the money—all of it —would he ours by right. Twenty-five thousand pounds, Geoff! Ours—all of it—if Monica should die!” Geoffrey Valentine drew a long breath, and raised his head to glance it his mother furtively as she paused suggestively. There was a scared look in his eyes, and his face had paled. “Do 3’ou think it could be managed?” he asked hoarsely. “It would be a big risk, and O’Neill ” “It might be manaeed so that he would be blamed if there were an: suspicion of foul play,” whispered Lady Valentine, her thin face white as

death, but her eyes burning fiercely. “You say you are desperate, and it is worth the risk. An accident—it 20uld be planned so that no possible suspicion could attach to us—and we have three months at least in which to manage it. Even if Monica does marry O’Neill—and I hardly think she will, for she seemed genuinely scared of the man. and doubtful ” “We might get }*er oack,” interposed Geoffrey hastily, wiping his forehead nervously. “Perhaps there is time vet. They may not have let Bournemouth, and I might manage to see Monica and persuade her to come back. I’ll try. I’ll go at once. It would be easier, and —and less risky to marry her than—than the other way. I’m not really afraid of O’Neill. I’d rather try to put him out of the way than ” He broke off, instinctively glancing round the room as if he feared there might be someone other than his mother within hearing, although they were in their private sitting-room, and the door was closed. (To be ConHnued.>