The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 338, 25 April 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

OTTWELL BINNS

CHAPTER IX. —Continued. Jocelyn recognised the menace in his tones, but gave no sign of tlie fact. „ “You will do as you please, she answered coldly. _ , Half a minute later Dorian Paxton was in the street. Wrath was uppeimost within him, and he was vowing black vengeance in his heart. A score of yards from the house he saw an empty taxi and signalled to the driver. The man acknowledged the signal and manoeuvred his vehicle toward the footpath. As he did so a large closed car flashed past, and Dorian Paxton caught sight of a face that he knew. Instinctively his eyes followed the car and he saw it draw «P outside Miss Ambrose’s house, and as it did so the occupant stepped out. “John Lancaster, by all tbat s holy!” As he muttered the words to him self his face was a study in amazement. He watched the millionaire eater the house. “He can't be the man,” he thought, and yet ” . The certainty of the incredible •bing gripped him, and as it did so malice shone in his eyes, and his face wrinkled with a grin. T-ien he became aware of the waiting taxidriver, who was watching him curiously. He stepped into the car and drove to his chambers in Jermyn Street. When he reached there, he Paid the man, and was entering the house when a man stepped forward and accosted him. ‘‘Are you Mr. Dorian Paxton, sir?” *T am,” he replied. “What do you want?” “I should like a word or two with *°u, sir.” said the man respectfully. Dorian Paxton glanced at him searchingly. The man was smartly dressed, but his voice was rather common. He could not guess what the man was. He might be a tailor's dun, or

“I am rather busy, just now,” he said brusquely, “another time if you like ” . , “The matter is really very important, sir,” answered the man, handing him a card. Paxton looked at it, and Ins face became a mask as he read; INSPECTOR BROOKE New Scotland Yard. “Very well,” he said shortly, “though I can't imagine what you want see me about. Please come this way.” He led the man to his chambers, waved him to a seat, offered liim a cigar, himself lit a cigarette, and then, looking at his visitor, said laconically, “Well??” . _ “It’s that mysterious affair at carlow Gardens, sir. You were a friend of Bierstein’s, I believe?” Dorian Paxton blew a cloud of smoke before he replied. “Well, scarcely a friend; Bierstein had few enough who would call him that. I was acquainted with him, as we had done a little business together, and he was kind enough to introduce me to his club at Johannesburg when I was there a couple of years ago. How did you know?” The inspector evidently had no need for concealment, for he was quite frank.

“In going through his papers, I stumbled on an old letter from you. It was the only paper of a friendly

nature that I did find, and as the case fairly gravels me, for except the marks the sjambok made upon his body there isn’t a clue of any sort, I thought I’d just slip along and have a talk with you. You knew him, you’d chinchinned with him at one time, do you know if he had any enemies, if ” “Lots!’’ Dorian Paxton laughed harshly as he Interrupted. “Bierstein was rather ruthless in business, and left enemies behind him as a ship leaves a wake in The inspector’s eyes gleamed. “I understand that,- sir, and I came here to-day in the hope that perhaps you would be able to suggest some man or men who, owing him one, might have got square this way.” Dorian Paxton seemed lost in thought for a minute,, then he shook his head. “I don’t know anyone; though someone there must have been. But as I have told you, I was no more than an acquaintance, and Bierstein was not the man to take others into his confidence. I should think that ySu. would be much more likely to find clues of that sort in Africa than here.” * The inspector nodded. “We are making inquiries there, of course. But I am disappointed that you are not able to help me. Somehow after reading that letter I had built my hope on you.” Paxton looked surprised. “I can t think why you should have done, hut, of course, I’m awfully sorry not to he able to help you.” The inspector rose. “I won’t waste your time any longer, sir.” Dorian Paxton showed him out of the room, and returning mixed himself a stiff glass of whisky, and after drinking it sat looking thoughtfully into the fire for quite a long time, and finally muttered to himself: “That business at Carlow Gardens may come in very useful, after all.” CHAPTER X. When Jocelyn Ambrose had told her old lover that she hoped before long to become the wife of another man* she had said more than she intended, and perhaps more than she herself believed at the moment. But the utterance was a revelation of the direction in which her thoughts were tending, and before a month had passed, helped

by the gentle persuasion of her aunt, and the combined Influence of gratitude and a very real liking for the man himself, she consented to become the wife of John Lancaster. The wedding took place a month later, and very much to Jocelyn’s disappointment her brother was not able to be present. Two days before the ceremony a letter, accompanied by a small parcel, reached her.

“Dear Jocelyn,—When this reaches you I shall he at sea on my way to the Cape. I am awfully sorry to have to go away like this, but needs must when the devil drives —or, rather, when fortune smiles. “There is a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood ’ you know the hackneyed lines. Well, the tide is at the flood with me, so I have to take it, and no doubt a few years will see me joined the despised ranks to which your intended husband belongs. Sis, you’re lucky. John Lancaster is one of the best, and I hope you properly appreciate the fact, and in any case you’ll have to drop letting-off at millionaires! Oh, Jocelyn, what a falling-off is there! . . Here’s a pendant to adorn yourself with. You’ll wonder how I managed to scrape it together. That’s part of my secret, but you can lo<*k on it as the first fruits of my coming fortune All my love, Sis, more than the usual wishes for good luck, and "may the world go well with thee.” It must. Pat. “P.S. —Don’t forget what I’ve written above. John Lancaster is pure bullion, and though he has the Midas-touch, it doesn’t affect his heart.” Jocelyn Ambrose both laughed and cried a little over this letter. Pat and she, because of their birth tie, had been more to each ether than are the average brother and. sister, and while she was very disappointed that he was not able to give her away, she was delighted with his warm appreciation of John Lancaster. In the weeks of the honeymoon, spent abroad, she proved that hei brother’s judgment was altogether right, and she returned to the great bouse which he had purchased in Park Lane, happy as any wife, with the light of the honeymoon still on her, could be. And it was then that the first

shadow fell on her happiness. Thera was an accumulation of letters awaittag her, and she spent her first leisure hours In reading and answering them At the very bottom of the pile was one with a type-written address, the contents of which piqued her curiosity, for it contained only a single blank sheet of writing paper, to which a newspaper cutting had been gummed. She began to read, and as she did so her face flamed. “Apropos of the withdrawal of The Mississippi Miss’ after the hundreth performance, people in the know are wondering what a certain well-known actress will do, now that her rich friend lias lapsed into the conventionality of matrimony. When one s tastes are far from simple, the sudden cutting-off of sources of supply must be very embarrassing, hut perhaps our fears are without foundation, and the source will still continue to flow. We are sure we hope so.” The title line of the paper had been cut out and pasted at the end of the cutting, and as she read it she knew it for one of the most scurrilous rags in London, a paper whose speciality was scandalous gossip. She turned the paper over to see if theie were any indication of the sender. There was neither name nor mark. She examined the envelope carefully. it had been posted at the G.P.O. and the typewriten address told her absolutely nothing. She read the scurrilous paragraph through again, and the implications of it pressed themselves on her mind. Had she by accident read the words in the paper in "which they had appeared, she would have passed them by unheedingly. without perceiving they had any personal interest for her. But the fact that the cutting had been sent to her gave the words a new significance. It was impossible to resist the deductions she was meant to make. The rich friend was her husband, and the well-known comedy actress was Vera Vanity. The reference to “The

Mississippi Miss” gave her the clue to the latter, and as the name suggested itself, her mind went back to that evening when she and her aunt had gone with John Lancaster to the theatre, and she recalled words that he had uttered then. “Vera Vanity is always splendid, both on the stage and oft.” She remembered the surprise she had felt then, and John’s answer when she had asked him if he knew her. “Yes. I have known her these seven years. She is quite an old friend of mine.” She recalled his further confidences, all tending to the actress’s praise, and indicating a rather close friendship, and as she did so her heart felt a dismal foreboding. All that she knew pointed to the truth of what was hinted in that wretched paper, and the fact that someone should have drawn her attention to the paragraph proved to her that there were others who recognised the situation, and who no

doubt would make it a matter of gossip. “And I was so proud of him,” she murmured to herself, “so proud! Never was a girl more so, and I know I was beginning to love him. But now—” She felt miserably angry, angry with the unknown person who had sent her thajt disquieting scrap of paper, angry with her husband for exposing her Iso this anonymous insult. She debated with herself what she should dos and without having reached a decision, that evening accompanied her husband to a fashionable gathering at a great West End house. There the second shadow fell, a shadow beside which the first was as the light of dawn. She had been in conversation with the hostess, and was turning away with the intention of joining her husband, when a wellknown voice accosted her. “My dear Mrs. Lancaster, allow me to offer my congratulations and good wishes, if it is not too late.” The blood was in her cheeks as she turned to find Dorian Paxton regarding her with eyes smilingly enigmatic. *But though the meeting was an awkward one, her voice betrayed nothing of the embarrassment which she was feeling. “Thank you, Mr. Paxton. It is never too late to give one good wishes.” She was already moving away when the man spoke again. “That is true, Mrs. Lancaster, but even the good wishes of friends cannot stave off the ills that threaten, always.” There was something arresting in his look and in his tones, and his

rather cryptic words filled her with sudden apprehension. “What do you mean?” she asked 1 quickly. “What ill can threaten?” Dorian Paxton caught the note of apprehension in her voice, and checked a smile. He looked round the rather crowded room and said quietly, “This is scarcely the place to discuss secrets. We might lie overheard, and what I have to say is of such a nature that for your husband’s sake it is essential that such a contingency should be avoided. It would be most unfortunate for him and through him for you.” Jocelyn Lancaster was startled. There was a gravity in his ones that sounded like a menace, and for a brief moment she stood there hesitating what course to pursue. Then she I called her pride to her aid, and replied austerely, “I cannot think what you mean. If you know anything that threatens my husband’s welfare 1 should prefer you to communicate the fact- to him rather than to myself.” Again she turned to leave him. but before she could do so, Paxton spoke once more. “I shall not do that. As you must know, Jocelyn, I have little cause 'o . trouble about his welfare, since he ha 3 ‘ robbed me of yon, quite apart from the fact that John Lancaster and l i have not been friendly. But your welfare is another matter. Though you are lost to me your well-being is still mv interest, and 1 advise you to list* n . to me, to give me an opportunity oi ' saying that which I wish to say. 1: may save you from a very great sho ’ later on. For your own sake I implore , you not to refuse.’ 5 (To be continued i.