The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 341, 30 April 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

= By

OTTWELL BINNS

CHAPTER XII. —Continued. “I do not think so,” answered Jocelyn quickly. “The question of the motive that urged you to assault Bierstein is of some consequence to me if it is not to you—particularly 4s I already have a hint of it, and find it so unworthy that I do not wonder you have no wish to speak of it.” “Jocelyn,” cried her husband protestingly, “what on earth do you mean?” For answer his wife crossed to a small Sheraton bureau and, opening a drawer, took out a piece of paper and handed it to him. It was the paper with the cutting gummed to it, which had come to her anonymously. “That is what I mean,” she said. John Lancaster took the paper wonderingly, and as he glanced through it his face flushed and his brow grew dark. He read it through a second time, and when he looked up the blood was gone from his face, and it was drawn and white. “Where did you get this wretched thing? he asked. “I did not know that you patronised such a poisonous rag. 4: Nor do I,” interrupted his wife. "I have never bought a copy of that paper in my life. That cutting was posted to me just as you see it there:It must be obvious to you what conclusion it was intended that I should draw.” “It was a mean, dirty, miserable thing for anyone to do!” cried Lancaster hotly. “I do not think it was very honourable or noble myself,” answered Jocelyn, smiling bitterly. “But the action °f the sender does not vitiate the truth that is hinted at there. It makes no difference to the facts of the case, nor does it alter the fact that Isaac Bierstein was not unknown to Miss Vera Vanity, and that on her account you and the man you thrashed were bitter enemies. You will see that as your wife to me the question of motive is all supreme. T know how you admire Miss Vera Vanity, and other people know it; indeed I am informed that it is common gossip ” “But, Jocelyn,” Lancaster broke in stormily, “surely you do not believe what is hinted at in that lying rag? Vou can’t believe it, dear! It is too Preposterous! Surely your faith in me goes beyond lying tattle of that sort. Surely you know that I love you and you only, that besides you there is not another woman for me in all the world? Throw that scandalous scrap in the fire—where it belongs. Brush it from your mind as you would a smudge from your hand. Vera Vanity is nothing, never has been anything to nie, but a friend. Let your heart

speak and you will know that what I say is true.” Jocelyn Lancaster was more moved than she would have cared to own by her husband’s appeal. She shook with the stress of her emotion, and for a moment it looked as if the man had won. Then suspicion asserted itself once more. “Oh, I wish I could believe you,” she cried, “but you yourself make that impossible. You tell me that you went to thrash Bierstein, but you do not tell me why you went. Even that I could pass by; but I cannot pass over your sending Pat so secretly to Africa. You must explain that. You must tell me ” “Jocelyn,” broke in her husband, “I cannot tell you that. The secret is not mine, it is Pat’s, and I think he does not know that I am aware of it. I cannot tell you, for my own honour’s sake, for the sake of your peace of mind ” “Then I shall never believe in you again. You pile words on words and tell me—nothing. Never in his life did Pat keep a secret from me, but you. my husband, you ” She stopped suddenly, and. overcome by her emotion, broke into a flood of tears. For a brief time her husband stood watching her, his face very grim; then he turned and silently left the room. CHAPTER XIII. Miss Vera Vanity, of the Medoc Theatre, was not an early riser; and was, indeed, a very frank opponent of the cult of the early bird. “The early riser may catch the worm,” she w r as wont to declare, “but I don’t live on worms. I am a bird of the night and make my bread under the stage moon. You can’t regularly make people laugh at 10.30 p.m. if you get up before 10.30 a.m., and I am not going to try. Bed is as essential for an actress as for an invalid —the more of it the better.”

Holding such a theory and frankly living up to it, it was not to be wondered at that morning callers, instead of receiving the stereotyped “Not at home,” not infrequently were told by the homely housekeeper who -was the dragon of her flat, “Miss Vanity bain’t up yet,” and left to recover the shock of the news as best they could. John Lancaster himself had that experience, not by any means for the first time, on the morning after his return from the Continent. Calling at 11 o’clock he was interviewed by the housekeeper, who the moment she set eves on him shook her head. “What!! Not. yet, Martha?” he asked, with a smil6 as he interpreted

for himself the meaning of the shak ing head.

“No, Mr. Lancaster. She was very late last night, poor dear. I’ve just took in her morning tea.” “Then just tell her I am here, that I want to see her particularly, and that I will wait!”

“As you please, Mr. Lancaster; only I do hope she won’t keep you long. The young women of these days never seem to think a man matters at all, and that they can keep them standing about till his shoe soles be worn out. Now, in my young days ” John Lancaster knew all about Martha’s young days, or at least as much as he wished to know, and though there was a smile on kis face he did not hesitate to interrupt her ruthlessly. “I haven’t the slightest doubt of it, Martha, and you can wager your life that the rising generation will say the same of the generation following. It began with Eve and it will go on that way until the end of the story. Now, just pop in and tell Miss Vera.” “Yes, Mr. Lancaster. And I’ll tell her to hurry up." “If you think it will quicken her, Martha, you can tell her anything you like,” laughed the millionaire, and as the housekeeper moved away he picked up the morning paper, and began to scan it with careless eyes. Half a minute later the housekeeper returned. “It’s all right, Mr. Lancaster. Miss Vera won’t be very long. And she’s fine an’ cheerful this morning. Just listen, sir.” From one of the rooms in the fldt came the sound of a voice, singing. It’s rich tones John Lancaster recog-

nised at once for the actress’s. He listened and caught the words. They were simple in the extreme. “In Bibberly Town a maid did dwell, A buxom lass, as I’ve heard tell; As straight as a wand, just twentytwo, And many a bachelor had her in view. Ri fol de ral diddle, ri fol de ral dee, What ups and downs in the world there be.” He smiled as he recognised it for a West Country folk-song, long gone out of fashion; and he wondered what the world would do if Vera Vanity some day took it into her confidence and sang to it the simple songs she really loved. Perhaps it would smile too, out of pure delight, or, what was more likely, it would laugh and wink knowingly, and tell itself that this was just another of Vera’s poses. For somehow the world never seemed able to associate reality with actresses. Always it He was still following the thought so started when the door behind him opened, and Vera herself entered the room. She was clad in a long clinging robe of pinky hue. girdled like a monk’s, her feet, were in slippers built for comfort, not for elegance, and her naturally curly hair had very evidenly been rather inadequately attended to. Her face was fresh and rosy, and her eyes, dancing with laughter, testified to perfect health. “Too soon again, John Lancaster. { But I’ve had mercy on you. And. ! as I’m in no hurry for breakfast, I j really am glad to see you. I hope you are well.”

“Quite, thank you, Vera. And I have no need to ask you how you are. One look at you tells that you

“In the pink!” she laughed. “I know that, you would have said that if I hadn’t, for this gown is irresistible. But how is Mrs. Lancaster?” John Lancaster’s face grew suddenly grave. “It is about her I came to see you, Vera. I want your help.” “My help. John! With all my heart.

But what is it? You are in trouble, I see.” The millionaire nodded. “Some,” he replied, and then asked quickly; “Vera, have you seen ‘The Whisperer’ lately?” Vera Vanity shook her head. “I never read it. I have no patience with papers of that type. ‘The Whisperer’ is no better than a pest, and its office ought to be fumigated by a sanitary man.” “Then possibly you won’t have seen this —unless a copy of it has been posted to you as it was posted to my wife.” He handed to her a copy of the paper from which had been taken the cutting which had been forwarded to Jocelyn Lancaster. “The paragraph I mean is on the second page. I have pencilled it.” He watched the actress while she read, and saw her face flame. When she looked up her eyes flashed with indignation. “Beasts!” she said. “Of course this is meant for me—John —for me—and you!!” “Yes,” he answered quietly. “I have no doubt about it. Neither has Jocelyn.” “She has seen it?” asked the actress quickly. “It was she who drew my attention to it. Someone had thoughtfully sent, her a cutting of it.” Miss Vanity whistled softly, and then asked: “What does she say?” “There is trouble —grave trouble because of complications, which make it almost impossible for me to be frank with her.” “What are the complications?” “Well, to begin with, she knows that I w"s at Carlow Gardens on the night when Bierstein was murdered. Exactly how she har learned it I do not know; but sbe has learned it, and someone must f»ave told her. She found a sjambok, and between that and a handkerchief which T managed to leave behind me. she has reasoned her way to the conclusion that I thrashed Bierstein, and that I was the man who killed him. As you know, 1 did thrash Bierstein, and

for the reason that you know also, but . I cannot very well tell the reason without seeming to confirm that scan- ■ dalous paragraph, and, though I did not kill Bierstein, I —er ” “You know who did,’* said the actress quietly. “I have not said so," answered the millionaire slowly. “I should not like to say so much, and I have never mentioned the man I suspect to any one.” “Then mention him to me, John,” said Vera, promptly, “name, address and station. I promise you not to run to Scotland Yard without your permission." “I do not need ypur promises, Vera. I know I can trust you, and I'm going to tell you the facts. That night, as I left Carlow Gardens, after giving Bierstein the thrashing of his life, 1

, met a man on the doorstep. His face was toward the little light that came I from the hall, and mine was in \ shadow, so that I am quite sure jhe could not recognise me !in any way. His face was quite clear j to me, however, and it was the face lof a stranger. But a few days later i I saw the face of the man again—in a photograph. The photograph was on a table at the house of my wife’s aunt, and it was a photograph of her , j twin brother —Pat Ambrose.” » “Great Jupiter!” cried the actress. I ‘ 1 “What a complication. But are you | quite sure” ■ I “I am certain. I have seen him • since, and I know I am not mistakeu.” j “And you think that he ” [ ! “The conclusion is almost an un- : avoidable one. You see he was entering the house as I was leaving. Bierstein was found shot in the draw- { ing-room where I had left him. and | where he would be when Pat Ambrose | entered the house, if Bierstein did not answer the door, and he was in no j condition for that when I left him.” (To be contini’-2d)