The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 351, 11 May 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

OTTWELL BINNS

CHAPTER XX.— (Continued.) She had experienced a sudden whim to post the letter herself. She would trust, it to no other hands. It was her soul's cry to her beloved, and to send it, she herself would do all that was possible. She carried it to the nearest post-office, registered it, and with the little slip of yellow paper that formed the receipt held tight in her hand, turned homeward once more. Her heart felt, lighter now, though new fears were already rising. Her missive of love was on its way, but 'voulri it ever reach its destination? fclie knew that in the hurried assembling of an army, the postal ser'iue at the front would be far from Perfect at first. Days might pass—'reeks, and the letter not. come to her husband’s hands. Then there were tne chances of war itself. Many men would die, and John—her heart stood at the thought—John might he among them. War, she had once heard a soldier say, always took the best, and John was of the best. She knew it now, in the background of her heart had always known and she was terribly afraid for um, afraid lest he should die, and not know she loved him. In this mood she reached her home, just in time to meet the Countess °I Barcliffe coming down the steps. The peeress’s face broke into a smile as she saw her.

“Oh, here you are, Jocelyn. Your juan said ‘not at home,’ and I didn’t Relieve him, and I insisted on seeing J-ou. A good thing I did, or I should nave missed you. But you look distl c kihl. What is the matter?” . .he broke off and looked at Jocebns white face inquiringly, then understanding came to her. “Oh, I remember! How stupid of me. Your 'usband, of course, has turned soldier. «arcliffe told me, and swore, my dear, )es, positively swore, because he liimWas not a soldier, and was too m to become one. I can understand that you are a little upset, but .ou must not allow it to overcome John Lancaster, like every man ho can fight to-day, is happy to be ie to serve his country, and though 6 is away from you, you can go him if you choose.” What do you mean, Nora?” asked ocelyn, as an eager light leaped in her eyes. h C . oun * e ss noted that sudden Tightening of the beautiful eyes, and •miled. “Ah, my dear, you are like e rest of us, I see. Your husband v as Sone—and now you miss him as .ou never thought you would. That js the way with us women. But , er ® is no particular reason why we ould converse on the steps, is there? °ur man is in an agony of curiosity.

His right ear positively stretches this way.

The peeress laughed, and Jocelyn, smiling in spite of her hidden misery, led the way indoors and to her boudoir, and as the Countess sank into a comfortable chair, she herself stood and faced her.

“You were saying that I could go nearer John, if I choose to do so. What did you mean, Nora?” The Countess smiled. “You are very eager, Jocelyn, and I do not wonder. John Lancaster is a man to treasure, if a woman has ownership rights.” Jocelyn said nothing, and gave no sign of the spasm of pain the lightly spoken words gave rise to. She simply waited for her friend to explain, and made uo attempt whatever to hide her eagerness.

“It is this way, my dear. You know my niece, Mary Abingdon. Well, like the rest of us, she is smitten with the desire to be useful at this time. I tried to rope her ou to my committee for looking after soldiers’ wives, but that isn’t sufficiently romantic for her. She wants to look after soldiers themselves, which is easily understood when you remember that her fiance is at the front, and she’s determined to have a private hospital of her own in France. She’s money enough of her own to do it, and she has all kinds of help promised, while the War Office has given consent. But even in France one must make one’s acknowledgment to Mrs. Grundy, and I want a chaperone for her. I can’t go myself. I'm wading shoulder high in work, but someone I must have.” “You want me to go with her?” asked Jocelyn, quickly. "Yes! It is Mary’s own suggestion that you should. She says that you can help her to superintend, to keep an eye on accounts, and incidentally on her. She’s under no illusions. She can't nurse, knows nothing whatever about the business, but she has a couple of doctors and a nursing staff who can do that: while she, as she urges, can keep up the supply of cheerfulness which will be better than ointment. What do you think about it, my dear?” “I will go,” said Jocelyn quickly. "I am very glad that Mary thought of me. I shall be grateful to be allowed to help.” “Thank goodness!” said the Countess, rising. “Then that is settled. I must go now, for, like the Apostle, I am in labours more abundant. You had better come round and dine with us this evening, so that Mary and you can go into details. We may expect you? Yes, then I will tell Mary.” She moved toward the door, and as Jocelyn rang the bell, she turned

and looked at her, an understanding smile on her face.

“My dear Jocelyn, what a thing it must be to be in love with one’s own husband, when one is anxious merely to breathe the same air.” Then she left, and for a long time afterwards Jocelyn sat with a pensive look upon her face. It was quite true what the peeress had said. She knew it now. She loxmd John Lancaster with all the strength of her nature, loved him so much that even had he been guilty of what she had lately suspected it could not have permanently sundered them, and in the background of her mind xvas a shadowy fear that she had mfi.de the discovery too late. Her husband had gone at duty’s call, and there was no assurance that they would ever meet again. For the next two or three weeks, she was x’ery much engaged, but whenever she had been out, on her return her first inquiry was for the letters. There were many for her in those days, but the one she looked for did not come. She grew heartsick with the fear that it would never reach her, never he xvritten. She had read the paper diligently and from the wives of friends highly placed had inside news of the great fighting retreat toward Paris, and of the turn of the tide in the valley of the Marne. She knew that Colonel Cholmley’s regiment had been engaged not once, but many times, and as those first casualty lists so long delayed began to dribble through, she made herself almost ill with apprehension, for she knew that it is so often the way of fate to dash joy’s brimming cup from the hand before we can drink it. Then- one day she returned home to find a letter in her husband’s handwriting. She seized it as a starx’ing man seizes food, and hurrying to her room tore it open. It was x*ery short, was written in copying pencil and quite evidently in a hurried moment. “My dear Jocelyn,—Just a line to

let you know that I am still alive and well. This is a terrific business, and I have scarcely a moment to spare. From the time we left Southampton until now it has been one incessant round of fight and march — march and fight. Our lot have been knocked about more than one likes to think of. but we’ve given more than we have received, and here on the Marne we’re rolling the Berliners back to their native land. The men are worked to death, but for all that they’re just as gay as larks, and as acting-major, I know the’re the right kind of stuff.

“I’ve nothing to tell you about myself, except that I’m safe so far, and on the whole enjoying the struggle. I suppose there is something primeval in every man that makes such enjoyment possible, amid the thousand hazards of war, and after all to struggle is to live. “I shall have to hurry. I am wanted immediately, as a new movement is projected at our end of the line. I trust you keep well, that you are busy I have no doubt, and that you have me often in remembrance I hope.—Yours ever, John.” When she reached the end of this obviously hurried note tears welled in her eyes. Evidently the letter which she had written to him on the day of his departure had not reached him. or if it had lie had preferred to ignore it. She moved toward a little table, on which she had placed a large panel photograph of her husband, and for a moment she stood looking at the frank strong face, the quiet eyes with their steady gaze. Then she fell on her knees in front of it, and pressed it to her lips. “Oh, my man,” she whispered, “how could I doubt you? How could I think what I thought? . . . Why did I let you go like that ?” CHAPTER XXI. When Dorian Paxton locked the door, and turned to Miss Vera Vanity with the evil smile upon his face, he was a little surprised to find that apparently she was in no wisq, disturbed by his unusual action. There was a smile on her face also, and her voice was quite steady as she replied. “My dear Dorian, you do the thing very well. Your action just now as you turned that key reminded me of John Hare locking the door in the famous bedroom scene in the “Gay Lord Quex.” But really I can't see the

necessity. If I knew anything about your precious letter—it must be a precious one to make you behave like this—l could understand your action, as it is I think you might unlock the door again and ask your man to bring in a cup of that delicious Rose Pekoe of yours.” Paxton looked at her steadily. There was a nonchalance in her manner that seemed utterly natural. The threat of the locked door, the unspoken menace of his demanour had apparently left her quite undisturbed. She smiled as his eyes met hers, and once more he began to doubt. “Vera, this is not a joke! T must have that letter. It is of vital importance to me! ” “And of none at all to me,” she answered flippantly. “If you want it you will have to look elsewhere. You say it was in that book. It was not there when I glanced through the book when I got home, that I will swear.” Dorian Paxton saw nothing evasive in this statement, and her manner was convincing, yet somehow he was not convinced. She was an actress, it was more than possible that she was acting now, and he determined to prove the matter further. “You mentioned a red Russian leather pocket-book just now. Vera. How did you know that Bierstein had one?” The woman saw the trap and avoided it easily. “My dear Dorian,” she said,

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shrugging her shoulders “I was the man’s wife; and that pocket-book was the one in which he kept his secrets. It never left him. I simply couldn't help knowing about it.” “Did you know that he had lost it?” “You yourself suggested that just now, and hinted that Scharzberger had found it. That seems quite likely. As for knowing anything about it, remember, I hadn’t exchanged a word with Isaac Bierstein for nearly two years.” Her manner was straightforward, her answer apparently truthful, and without giving away more than he wished, Paxton could not pursue that particular line of inquiry further. He stood there in a quandary, and the actress proceeded to improve the advantage she had obtained. “And now, Dorian, do be sensible. You can’t possibly take the word of a blackmailer against mine. And Scharzberger is that. His name is on those letters, and I recognise him as the man who was at the address on them when I called there. Besides, why should I go poking among your papers? What is there among them that would interest me? Love-letters, I perhaps?” Her laugh rang out clear and silvery, i Plainly, she was not inclined to take | the matter seriously. Paxton stood | there the picture of doubt and unI certainty, and had not made up his | mind what to answer when there Icame a sharp knock upon the door. | Paxton turned the key. and as the door opened Scharzberger pushed his way into the room. The German looked at the actress, i sitting apparently quite at her ease, i then he turned to Paxton and spoke sharply inr his native tongue. Paxton shook his head, and the German grew

vociferous, waving a fat hand in the ! direction of Miss Vanity. The actress i watched him, and the beating of her ; heart quickened. Scharzberger was I terribly in earnest, and his presence ' in the room seemed to have become a deadly menace to her, particularly as Dorian Paxton showed signs of weakening under the other's eloquence. She j felt that it was time to leave —if she could. She rose to her feet quite ! calmly, and interrupted something he | was saying in German. | “I am afraid you will have to excuse j me, Dorian. Your friend Scharzberger 'does not appear to like me, and my chauffeur will grow tired of waiting.” | “No, no!” answered the German, be- ; fore Paxton could speak. “Your j chauffeur, he vill not be tired like i dat, for vhy—he is not vaiting for ; you. I send him away.” i “What?” Her pulse beat more quickly as she i crossed to the window* and looked down into the street. Her brougham | w r as not there, and as she realised that ' it was gone fear clutched at her heartj strings, and her face was paler as ! she turned and fronted the two men |in the room once more. The Gerj man’s eyes smiled maliciously behind i the pince-nez. It was possible that |he saw* she was annoyed by the ab- ; sence of her chauffeur, but more than ; that no man could have guessed from | her demeanour. “But why did you send him away?” ; she asked in a voice that betrayed her annoyance. “It was no business of yours, and I want him.” “No,” answered Scharzberger smil

ingly, "you make mistake there. You not vant him —and I tell him so. You stay here a long time—perhaps yon never leave her. Dat is yet to tell.” The tear she had felt took a firmer hold of Vera Vanity's heartstrings, hut she controlled her nerves wonderfully os once more she addressed herself to Dorian Paxton. "Dorian, send that lunatic away. He makes me tired. Supposing you aro j both in the same mind, and that for i some reason which to me is quit'obscure you propose to detain me hem for a little time, how will you do it? You forget that I am a popular star" favourite, and that I am due at the Medoc Theatre at eight o'clock, and that if I am not there I shall be missed. [ My chaufTeur knows that I came here, that he left me here, and the first inquiry made of him will bring the police thundering at your door.” “Police! You talk of police!” I | Scharzberger cried. “Vat did I say?" t he asked, swinging round to Paxton. : “She know, she vill tell, but we must - not let her. We must kill ” 5 f Before he finished the sentence, 1 Paxton’s hand was on his mouth, j 1 "Shut up, Scharzberger, you fool!” (To be continued)