The Great Anvil
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CHAPTER XVIII. For weeks Carruthers had lived in a world where, as if seemed to him, nothing happened. All his efforts to trace Mary had failed, as had his efforts to fiixj Arthur "Welland. He had employed a private inquiry agent in both cases, but so far without result.
The one consoling factor in his life during this period was the faithfulness and fairly-proved friendship of Oliver Pratt.
"We’ll find Mrs. Carruthers yet,” the latter said over and over again. •'Don’t you fret, sir. Whether you meet Welland or not doesn’t really matter, and, in a way, I hope that you don’t. He deserves shooting, I know, but it’ll be best for everyone if he keeps out of the way.” "He seems to be doing that pretty successfully,” Carruthers remarked.
"I’ve an idea, Pratt, that we’re missing opportunities by being here. If that fool who's supposed to be acting for me doesn’t come along with some information soon, then I think we’ll dodge back to Apple-Warley.” Thei'e came' an afternoon when a visitor reached the house at Baxington; a visitor whom Carruthers welcomed with enthusiasm.
If you’re glad to meet me again,” Basil Felton said with a laugh, “then believe that I’m every bit as glad to meet ycu. I’d have been down before, only there seemed such a heap of things for me to do in town. How’s the world going, Carruthers?” The older man frowned.
"If you’ll light your pipe and let l’ratt give you a drink. I’ll tell you a story,” he said. “It’s a story that I’d willingly keep to myself, but though it affects me very deeply, I didn’t hear it till it had been common property for months. You know how I loved my wife, Felton?” "Of course I do! I didn’t quite understand at the time, but I understand now.” "What does that mean?”
Again Felton laughed. “Well, I suppose you’ll find It hard to believe,” he said, “but the inevitable has happened. I always dreaded the day when I’d fall in love, but it’s come.” Carruthers nodded once or twice, and a smile softened the grimness of his mouth. “Good luck,” he exclaimed. “When did you meet her—and what’s she like?”
“I can’t tell you all that now,” the other replied. “I’ve got to hear your story first. But, though she doesn’t guess that I love her, and though I can scarcely hope that she’ll ever care for me, I do know that she’s the most wonderful cirl in the world. There’s a touch of romance about it, too, because our first meeting was unconventional. We happened to be tel-
Author of “ The Best Gift of Alt,” “ The Bishop's Masquerade." Ac., &C----low-passengers in a bus one night when it broke down, and we had to walk nearly a mile before we could find anything else to take us along. "She’s the shyest, sweetest soul I've ever met, Carruthers. But I’m not quite so shy, and in a perfectly straightforward way, f fixed things so that we met again. If I could describe her to you, I would. Her hair; her eyes; her voice—but I’m not going to go on.
"It’s a funny thing, and I’ve only thought of it now, but her first name is the same as your wife's. She mentioned that she’d been staying in the country for a while, and —I’d like to think that she’d go back there, for she doesn’t look as well as she should. I’ve tried to get her story from her, but she just smiles in that half-sad way, and ” , Carruthers leaned forward. Mary is her first name,” he commented. “What’s her second?” “Sinclair,” said Felton. The word had scarcely left his lips when a hand shot out and gripped him by the throat. , , So unexpected had the attack been that Felton knew the hurt of those strong fingers for moments beiore he moved. Then he wrenched away the other’s hand. , “Good heavens, man! What s this , he exclaimed. “Here! Pratt! Pratt! "Coming, sir,” Pratt called Irom the. lobby. , . . . ‘ Entering the room at a trot, he glanced incredulously from his master to Felton and back aagin. Carruthers s shoulders were rising and falling sharply, and his lips were twitching. “What’s the trouble, gentlemen? Pratt asked. It was Felton who answered. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called you. It was a mistake.” Still the man hesitated. He wished to have from his master either .an explanation or an order. “You needn’t wait, Pratt,” the latter said. “Something which Mr. Felton told me made me lose my head for a moment. I’ll make the thing clear to you later on. Leave us now—and I think you’d better go upstairs, and pack my case and your own. We may be going to London this evening. I’ll know about that presently.” The silence that settled In the room after Pratt’s exit was broken by Carruthers.
“I’m sorry, Felton,” he began. “Perhaps, after all, it’s a pity that I didn’t tell my story first. That would have saved me from making a fool of myself, and it would have saved you irom a moment of pain.” Still fingering at his throat, Felton laughed ruefully. “That's all right,” he returned, “but naturally, I don’t understand. There isn’t any likelihood of your going for me again, is there?” “No, but it’s an amazing thing that you, who are my closest friend now-
atlays, should come to me and tell me that you’ve fallen in love with my wife.” “Your wife? What’s all his. Carruthers? It sounds like insanity to me.”
“Yes, I suppose it must. But personally, I’m getting accustomed to these insanities. Here’s my story of what has happened since you and I last met. When you’ve heard it, you’ll forgive that attack of mine.” In utter bewilderment, Basil Felton listened to that deep voice speaking calmly of things so strange as to be scarcely credible. “What is there that I can say?” he remarked when Carruthers had finished. “All this that you have told me sounds unreal.” “Oh, it is real enough,” Carruthers answered. “I could not blame you if you thought that ,a touch of madness had come to me. Yet somehow or other niv brain has kept steady. The Miss Sinclair, with whom you say that you have fallen in love, is really Mary Carruthers, my wife. If this is a bad knock for you, Felton, then just consider the knocks that. I have had.” “Yes,” the other murmured; “I don’t know where you have found the strength to bear them all.” “Neither do I; but we must not waste time thinking about that. I am going to ask you to do something for me, but first of all there is a question that I have got to put.” “Well?” : “Has the past half-hour, and what you have learned during it, made a difference to our friendship?” “You mean?” “I mean that in all innocence you confided in me that you had fallen in love with a. woman who is mine. Is that love going to turn you into my. enemy?” For four or five seconds Felton hesitated. Then he laughed. “Good Lord, no!” he exclaimed, and the cheerfulness of his tone was sincere. “You know liow it is with me, old man. I have told you often and often that I am a sort of will-o’-the-wisp when it comes to romance. I do not mean that I am not genuinely fond of Mary—if you will let me call her that. I am. What I said before holds good—l think that she is the sweetest and gentlest girl I have ever met. But what you have told me rules me definitely out where she is concerned. If I may have her friendship in the future, then I will be proud. But I want yours, too, and I want to give you mine.” “We will shake on that,” Carruthers said, and put out a hand. “You said that there was something you wanted me to do for you,” Felton prompted. “I think that I can guess what the something is. You want me to take you to your wife?” “Yes —and to take me now.” “To-day?” “To-day. I know that there is a train from heer at 5.25. If we get that we will be in town just before seven. You have Mary’s address, of course?" “Oh, yes,” said Felton. “Should I send her a wire saying that I mean to call?” “No,” Carruthers answered. “We’ll chance finding her in. If you sent a wire with the Baxington postmark, she’d be bound to suspect, and almost certainly she’d disappear again. You never mentioned me to her, did you?” “No,” Felton answered. “I don’t think that when 1 was with her, I
talked about anyone, except her and myself.”
He rose, and, walking across to the door, opened it. “I’ll sing out for Pratt,” lie announced, “and tell him that we re all going to leave by the five-twenty-five. But there’s one thing that I’d like to say first. You’ve been very frank with me, and if it’s any comfort to you to have my opinion about your wife and that rotter, Welland, then here it is—l’m dead certain that Mary never really cared for him.
“I grant you that she must have been infatuated before she’d have reached the point of running away, but it was infatuation only. I don’t pretend to be very brainy, but knowing her and having heard your story, I’d bank on it that she’s kept away from you because she believed that that would be in your interests.” “W.e’ll find out all about that very soon now,” Carruthers remarked. “But, thanks, Felton. . It’s good to know that I’ve got you standing by me.” AYhen they reached the house m which Mary lodged, it was to be told by her landlady that Miss Sinclair was out, but was likely to be back at any moment. “Then, if we may, we’ll wait for. a bit,” Felton said. “When Miss Sinclair comes in, will you tell e _L please, that Mr. Felton has called Don’t say that there’s anyone with me This gentleman here is an old friend of Miss Sinclair’s, and he wishes to—to take her by surprise.” They w.ere shown into an upstairs sitting-room, and though they heard the outer door of the house being opened and closed once or twice, and heard, too, footsteps on the stairs, it was not till more than half an hour passed that the landlady came to them. She seemed dissatisfied and ill at ease. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you won’t be able to see Miss Sinclair to-night,” she announced. “Why?” The word came from Carruthers sharply; so sharply that the woman bridled. “It’s my fault, sir,” she answered primly, “but though Miss Sinclair’s a lady, and I’ve taken her money week by week while she’s lodged here, I make bold to say that she’s treated me always as though I were a friend. I know nothing about her, except that I like her, and that I’ve been sorry for her because she’d always seemed so unhappy.” Again it was Carruthers who spoke. “Please go on.” he said. “It’s vitally important that I should meet Miss Sinclair soon. When will I be able to do that?” “I don’t know, sir.” “You don’t know?” “No, I don’t.” “Is Miss Sinclair in the house now?” “No.” “Has she been here since we came?” “Yes.” “Then ” “A moment, if you please!” the woman broke in. “I don’t understand why you’re putting all these questions, or what business it is that you have with Miss Sinclair. But I don’t mind telling you what happened when I mentioned that Mr. Felton was waiting for her with a friend. (To he Continued.)
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Bibliographic details
Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 376, 9 June 1928, Page 22
Word Count
1,975The Great Anvil Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 376, 9 June 1928, Page 22
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