The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 354, 15 May 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

OTTWELL BINNS

CHAPTER XXIII. When Miss Vera Vanity made her appearance at the Medoc on the evening of her visit to Jocelyn Lancaster, she received a vociferous welcome from all parts of the house. As she stood there smiling and blushing at this evidence of the regard in which she was held, her eyes swept the stalls, and among all the faces visible to her, picked out two. One was that of Dorian Paxton, the other that of Pat Ambrose. Both were smiling a welcome, but Pat Ambrose alone felt that his had personal recognition from her. After the first act, when she returned to her dressing room, two notes awaited her, and used as she was to such missives being sent round to her, she looked at them fareiessly. The handwriting of the nrst was unknown to her, and she glanced from It to the second, and Instantly a look of interest came on her face, as she recognised the handwriting as that of Dorian Paxton. She °Pened it and quickly read what it contained. Dear Vera: Congratulations on your recovery from your indisposition. May I come round between the acts, or if that is impossible shall we to-night have pl e litt£e supper we had arranged? Please do not refuse, as there are things of importance I want to say to you. Ever yours, __ Dorian. i she read it through, she tarfe tllou Shtful for a moment, hesiand then tore it into small to th S ’ and threw it away. She turned « jf v 6 second note, and opened it io “°« any £eeliu & curiosity; no ttlmir ** was £rom °ne of her many heav„ ' vll ° was prepared for behalf* w£la t sacrifices on her ; c j. • There would be nothing new e!1( j ’ perhaps the name at the smiled AS s£le read, however, she Dear Miss Vanity, OU , B ® 6 1 Quickly claim the privido wh , T lendshi P. and am daring to of a„; at . fdould not have dreamed nister’R B th- We had not met at my forviv! thls afternoon. You will further mt j f hope, and fo/jive the Pronose audacity that I am about to almost «.! expect to go to the front I tram any .moment, and before I go l’affaire a r!’ ttle £alk with you about verv , Not perhaps a over eer£ul subject to discuss to stretch Te bUt . lf you wiU so far friendship, » prlvile Se of so new a Stateful ’ 1 sha U be everlastingly Yours very sincerely, Pg . Pat Ambrose, but on the friendship “new,” s*B my is at least as old nr st sight of you at Cape-

town. You laugh and shake your head; but it is the solemn truth. She smiled again at the postscript; then after a moment’s thought she sat down and scribbled a brief reply. Dear Mr. Ambrose, Such audacity should win you the V.C., as I hope it will shortly. L’affaire Bierstein is interesting if not cheerful, and is a sufficient excuse for eating a supper together. If you will wait at the stage door we can use my own brougham. Au revoir. V.V. In the short wait after the second act, a uniformed official carrying a note in his hand walked down the gangway between the stalls, and Dorian Paxton and Pat Ambrose, each unconscious of the other’s presence, watched his progress with expectant eyes. The man moved quickly as if quite sure of his man, and as he passed him Paxton experienced a sharp disappointment, and bent forward In his seat in order to see who the recipient of the missive might be. As he caught sight of Pat Ambrose’s face he gave a start of surprise. He had thought that he was In Africa, and it was no pleasure to learn that he was at home, where possibly he might spoil a game which so far had gone well, very well. As he made the discovery, he was conscious of a keen curiosity. Who > was the writer of the note which Ambrose had received? He looked round. The official who had brought the note was already half-way toward the door. He made a sudden decision, and leaving his seat, hurried after the man and caught him before he disappeared. He touched the man on the shoulder, and as he swung round said smilingly, “Would you like to earn half a sovereign, my man?” . „ _ "No objection at all, sir, answered the uniformed one, touching his forehead in salute. Paxton felt in his waistcoat noc-tet, and dragging out a small gold case extracted ~ therefrom half a sovereign holding it between his finger and “That note you delivered Just now to Mr. Patrick Ambrose —who was it from?” , , For a moment the man hesitated, but the sight, of the half-sovereign so easily to be earned was too much fur him, and his cupidity easily routed whatever scruples he may have had. “From Miss Vanity,” he said with a smile, “and it’s the first time 1 ve ever known her send a note round to the front. That young gentleman must be a special friend, as she s very strict about these things. \ frown settled on Paxton s lace ag he* handed the man the half-sovereign, and, as the man turned to leave, he spoke to him again. “One moment. I am expectm t , a word from Miss Vanity myself, as I

sent a note round to her, and as I may be called out of the theatre any mo ment, I am rather anxious to get Miss Vanity’s answer before I leave. You could take a message round for me, I suppose?” “It is against the rules, sir. Notes handed in at the stage door are one thing; messages from the front are

different, and the management is very particular.” Paxton glanced at the “sovereignpurse” -which he still held in his hand. “I should be prepared to pay for the service rendered.” “Very well, sir. If you will give me the message, I will see what can he done, sir.” “Just say to her that, as Mr. Paxton may have to leave the theatre before the end of the performance, he would like an answer to his note.” “Yes, sir.” As the man still lingered, Paxton opened his purse once more, another

half-sovereign changed hands, and then the man hurried away with z. smile upon his face. While he waited the man’s return, the frown upon Dorian Paxton’s forehead deepened. He could not understand what Pat Ambrose was doing in England; nor could he understand how it came about that Ambrose should hear from the actress, while he himself had been ignored. Perhaps, he tried to assure himself, Vera had not yet read his note, or, if she had, had not found time to answer it. On the heels of this a less consoling alternative presented itself. Possibly the actress did not mean to answer it; in which case she could not mean what she had said two days before, but had been deliberately misleading him. The frown was very pronounced and there was an anxious look in his eyes as, after an interval of five or six minutes, the messenger returned. “Well?” he asked, as the man stood hesitating. “There is no answer, sir!”

“No answer!” Paxton’s manner was almost explosive. “No answer! What the deuce do you mean? Did you give Miss Vanity my message?” “I did, sir,” answered the man, preserving the face of a wooden image. “I gave it her myself, and that was all she said. ‘No answer,’ just them words, and not a dot more.” Dorian Paxton turned abruptly away, and walked sharply toward toward the entrance. The uniformed one watched him go, and the wooden face broke into a' grin. “Another o’ them!” he said. “Lor’, what fools there be in this world.” * * * At the end of the performance Pat Ambrose made his way to the stage door, and for the first time in his life took up his position among the gilded youth whose special weakness is chorus girls. He was not particularly proud of the society in „wTiich he found himself, but managed to extract a little amusement from his observation of the species which abounded at the stage door of the Medoc. For the most part they were of the usual type, differing nothing from each other in dress, demeanour, monocle, cane and vacuity of countenance. But among the dudes who waited there was a man who puzzled him. Obviously he did not belong to the class of stage door waiters. He was of middle age, stout, and well-dressed, and instead of the monocle characteristic of the men about him, he wore a pair of pincenez. Pat Ambrose observed him with some curiosity, wondering what he was doing there. The man never moved, except now and then to turn toward the stage-door, when voices or little bursts of feminine laughter announced the approach of women for whom some of the men were waiting. Stolidly the man puffed at his cigar, and, as Ambrose looked at him, once or twice their eyes met. The second time this happened the young man had a thought that he in turn afforded an interest to the middle-aged stranI ger. and smiled to himself as the idea j crossed his mind. He was still smiling when an extra

bustle at the stage-door announced the emergence of someone of importance. The next moment Miss Vanity appeared. There was a little movement of the gilded youths, and an almost unanimous raising of opera hats as she crossed the footpath to her brougham, nodding smiling recognition at Pat Ambrose, and, to the envy of most of the iookers-on, as soon as she was seated she made room for him by her side. The man in the pince-nez did not raise his hat; nor was he among those who pressed forward to see the actress as she emerged. Instead, he deliberately moved into the shadow of an electric standard, and from that point of vantage, seeing but unseen, watched the actress and Pat Ambrose enter the brougham. As soon as they did so he moved quickly from the shadow of the standard into the street, dodged round Miss Vanity’s brougham, and stepped quickly into a taxi which was next in line. He gave a nod to the chauffeur on the box, and, as the brougham moved off, the taxi followed in its wake. The restaurant to which Miss Vanity was accompanied by Pat Ambrose was one of the best in London, and notwithstanding the war, and the absence of so many men at the front, it was well patronised, gay with music and light and laughter, for there were many there inclined to follow the ancient exhortation, “Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they are withered.” Men were there who laughed, though on the morrow they must exchange this gaiety for the grim struggle against the German hordes; they laughed, not in unconsciousness of the sternness of the issue to which they were committed, but in order to keep up the courage of their womenfolk, and the women smiled bravely back, giving no hint of the fear which already was clutching at their hearts. The actress looked round on the scene, and a pensive look came on her face. “I wonder,” she said, “how much of this is real, and how much pretence.” “Can’t say,” answered Pat with a smile, “we British are always shy of making a signboard of our emotions.” “And yet the emotions are there,” replied Miss Vanity quickly. “The women keep brave faces, but underneath —-well, there are all the fears and the agonies of apprehension that women can feel. They don’t show it whilst their men are about, but after-

wards, when the men are gone, they sometime:: give way pretty badly. You can see that kind of thing at Waterloo Station any day just now.” She broke off for a moment, and then added: “I think the women have always the hardest part to play in war. It is always easier to do things than to wait —just wait —for news that we dread before it comes, and that breaks the heart when it arrives.” Pat Ambrose looked at her approvingly. “I daresay you’re right. Miss Vanity. But what a serious person you are. I am sure your admirers at the Medoc would never recognise you just now. Hallo!” Miss Vanity looked quickly at him to find the cause of this sudden exclamation. “What Is it?” she asked. “Have you seen someone whom you are acquainted with?” “Not exactly that,” he answered. “Look at that table by the pillar on the right there. There is a man by himself, and he was waiting outside the theatre when I was. I got an odd idea that he was interested in me, and just now when I spotted him he looked as if he were watching us.” Vera Vanity looked in the direction indicated, and instantly recognised the German of the Euston Road, Scharzberger. A thoughtful look came on her face. “I think,” she said, “that you are quite right in your idea that he is watching us; and he must have followed us from the Medoc. He is a friend of Dorian Paxton’s, and he was an acquaintance or friend of Isaac Bierstein's—whose affair we came here to discuss.” Pat Ambrose looked at the German and whistled softly to himself.

“There’s more in this than meets the eye,” he said. “I wonder why the fellow is watching us?” “I can guess.” “So can I,” replied Pat Ambrose. “Paxton and he are afraid of you or me, or both of us. It seems to me that the sooner we discuss l’affaire Bier-! stein the better. Please tell me all \ you know, Miss Vanity. I gathered j from what my sister said that you | knew rather a lot.” Rapidly the actress gave an outline of all she knew and of all she had disdiscovered, glancing from time to time at Scharzberger, who, having finished a light supper, sat sipping his wine and smoking a cigarette, apparently interested in everyone, excejtt the man and woman whom he had come there to watch. Pat Ambrose listened without interruption until the actress had finished her story, then he said: “What do you suppose is Paxton’s game now?” “I don’t know. I suspect that he is a spy. He is very short of money, I am sure; that attempt at blackmail shows that; and his acquaintance with Scharzberger and Isaac Bierstein points to the other thing.” “And it’s practically certain that he killed Bierstein,” said the young man thoughtfully. “Yes! What do you think we ought to do?” “There is only one thing to do,” answered Pat, firmly. “And that is to go down to Scotland Yard and lay the facts before them immediately.” “Immediately ?” | “This very night,” was the reply. ! “There is no saying what awful harm that precious pair may be doing if, as | you think, they are in the pay of the ; German Secret Service Department.”

“Well, if you will accompany me—” “I shall insist on doing so," answered the young man with an air of authority and proprietorship which made the actress break out in a little laugh. “Then we will go at once, if you like, and leave Scharzberger here if we can.” Apparently to do the latter presented no difficulty. So long as they were in sight Scharzberger showed not the slightest interest in their departure; but the moment they had passed the rotatory door, he rose quickly to his feet, and left the restaurant by a side entrance, and as the actress’s brougham made its way to New Scotland Yard, it was followed at a discreet distance by the German’s taxi. A few minutes later, Dorian Paxton, smoking a cigarette in his rooms, was startled by the advent of Scharzberger in a very excited state. (To be continued