The Great Avnil

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 377, 11 June 1928, Page 5

The Great Avnil

Rowan Glen.

CHAPTER XIX. “Oh! I know that I wasn't supposed to mention that, but I did. The thing was out before I rightly knew it, and I’m not going to say now that I'm sorry. I just happened to remark that Mr. Felton had a blind gentleman with him, and, when she heard that. Miss Sinclair seemed to be struck all of a heap, as you might say. She begged me not to let you know that she’d come back. She’s promised to tell me all about it some other time—but she’s gone.’’ “Gone?" Felton repeated. “Yes, sir. She put what she could into a case, then paid me what she owed and a bit over, and went away. I don’t, know whether she’ll ever be coming back, but even if she does, or if she writes to me, no one will hear about it unless she wishes that " Carruthers rose. “Thank you," he said quietly. "You're another of those who, from the best possible motives, have prolonged my sufferings. Mr. Feltou will give you mv name and address, and he’ll tell you that if at any time in the future you can help me to hud the lady whom you’ve known as Miss Sinclair, I'll see to it that you’re treated handsomely. "He'll tell you, too, that Miss Sinis a married woman—that she is my wife."

The landlady’s mouth opened, but at first no words came from it. To her subsequent stream of questions Felton answered shortly: “There would be no point in explaining everything now*,” he said. All that Mr. Carruthers asks you to ho is to inform him at once if his comes back here, or lets you know where she’s to be found." Outside the house Felton put a nand into the crook of Carruther’s arm.

Buck up!" lie urged. “We’re oound to find her soon. and. anyhow', ■°M T caQ cou nt on my help." Thanks." the blind man answ'ered. t know that. Felton, and I’m gratehu: can’t get to my home to-night, ut i hope that you’ll come down w r ith to-morrow, and spend a day or two ..1, We niake our plans." , do that," he was promised. r att, go to the street corner, will i’^ 1 ’ an<l tlie firs t taxi you see? i m g° lnff to take Mr Carruthers for a & hour."

On the second day. after Carrutheis to Baxington, the private dethere 6 W k° ni * ie had employed arrived

was sitting with Carruthers t the time, and when Pratt announced ‘*lr. Morris to see you, sir,” Feltou and introduced himrzelf. We were: just talking about you, *. Morris." he remarked, “and I hope *°u w °n’t mind my caying that Mr. yarruthers has been growing a little hfcpatient." ‘That wasn’t how I put it," Carnithers amended. “What has been happening to you. Morris? I realise that I am not your only client, but jhy case was urgent, and I certainly icoktd to have some results before ’his. I take it that the fact that you are here means that you have got news ■at last?"

The visitor glanced at Felton, and Bhtugged his shoulders. “My job is not quite so easy as you seem to think, Mr. Carruthers," he said. “i have not been neglecting your case, if that is what you are

Author ol “ The Best Gift of All,’ 11 The Bishop', Masquerade," Ac., Ac

hinting. I only wish it was a simple matter to find one particular person out of the eight millions or so in Lon don. If that was the way of things, then I’d ”

“Hurry, man,” Carruthers ordered. “What I want to know is whether you have found the lady calling herself Miss Mary Sinclair?” “Not yet,” Morris answered, “but I will. I have had only three failures in tho last two years. But if I have not got my hand on Miss Sinclair yet, I have discovered the whereabouts of Mr. Welland.” “Well, that is something,” Carruthers remarked. "Where has Welland been- —and where is he now?” “He has been abroad, sir—in France. He came back only the other day, and he is staying now in Apple-Warley.” “Good,” Carruthers exclaimed. “1 will go there. Don't interfere with him. Morris, but if he should leave AppleWarley within the next few days keep me posted as to his movements Aud now Mr. Felton will tell you where Miss Sinclair was living till a couple of days ago. That should help you ” It was not till some days later thar Carruthers went from Baxington, and when he did so Felton did not accompany him. “I have got to be in town,” the latter explained, “but I hope that you will get Pratt to write to me if anything big happens. In any case, you will let me know when you are passing through London again.” “I will do that,” Can mers said. “Meanwhile, I am going to advertise, for about . twentieth time, .'or Mary. I won't know tk ; real truth till I have spoken to her, for it is ten to one that Welland lies.”

Prior to leaving Baxington, Pratt, at Carruthers's dictation, had written a note to Nurse Robinson at the Quarrenford Cottage Hospital, and within an hour of reaching Wilkinson’s Hotel, Carruthers learned that she was waiting for him in a private sittingroom.

“I felt that I had to come to you at once,” she began. “As it happened, I was off duty to-day, and I can get a train back to Quarrenford in about three-quarters of an hour from now. You said in your note that you wanted to meet me again, and to talk to me.”

“Yes,” Carruthers admitted, “I did want to do that, though I'd no idea that you'd take the trouble to come here. You see, I'm trying to rope in the services of every friend I’ve got, and it’s quite possible that you may be able to help me.” “In what way?” she asked. “At the moment it’s not possible to be definite,” he replied. “But you’re resident in Quarrenford. and. though that’s seven miles from Apple-Warley, it’s likely enough that you’d get news of my wife if she should chance to come to the district again. You want to help me, don’t you?” Her face was flushed, and the warmth of this flush irritated her strangely. “You know that I do,” she answered. “I would fight for your happiness, as I’d fight for my own.”

"Thank you for that. You know Mx\ Arthur Welland, don’t you?” “Yes. I met him first in Quarrenford —after he'd sent that note to you. I’ve spoken to him four or five times since. It is because of him that you’re down here?” “Yes. As you know, I want a word

with Master Welland, and, the sooner we meet, the better I’ll be pleased.” “Be careful!” she pleaded. “I’ve no love for Mr. Welland, but I’m thinking of you when I say that if you do anything rash, the consequences might, be —terrible.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to try to kill him,” he said. “All I want to do is to drag the truth from him. When I’ve got that. I’ll know better how to act in other directions.” Gladys Robinson pushed her chair back, and, rising, slipped a hand into one of Carruthers’s. “I must go now,” she told him, “but you’ll come to Quarrenford to see me?” “I promise that gladly,” he returned. “If I’ve never told you in actual words how greatly I value your kindness and your friendship, then let me do so now. It’s when speaking to someone like you that I feel the loss of my sight most keenly.” “Poor eyes!” she said softly. “I wish you could use them again. I don’t mean just so that you could see me, but so that at least one cause for misery would be taken from you.” A moment or two she waited, watching him yearningly; then, with a final word, turned and went from the room. She had intended to call at the house where Welland lived when in AppleWarley, but that proved to be unnecessary.

When she was no more than fifty yards from the hotel, Welland came

from a tobacconist’s shop, and, notic- j ing her, raised his hat and smiled “What brings you so far away from i your base, nurse?” he asked. "I V haven't seen you in Apple-Warley for*.' months —and that was when I didn’t ' know your name, and you didn’t know mine.” “There’s no reason why I shouldu/t be frank with you,” she returned. “I came across to see an ex-patient of i mine who's very anxious to meet ’you I again—so anxious that lie's marie a special journey on your account.’ ’ “You don’t mean Harvey Car- j ruthers?” She nodded. "Yes. He'?, here! again, and I'm afraid that he means I

to give you a bad half-hour. If ! Harvey Carruthers had his sight—" She paused, and Welland coloured. “I wouldn’t fear him, even then,” he said. “I know, of course, that, as the Americans say, he’s wise to things now. I heard that yesterday. But he’s not the type to lose his head." “That’s exactly why he may be dangerous," the nurse pointed out. “Look here, Mr. Welland. I want to talk to you, but I’ve got to get to the station. Will you walk with me there —or part of the way?" “Delighted!" he answered with airy politeness. “D’you want to get confidences —or to give them?" They had gone some yards before she answered. “Perhaps there might be a little of both,” she remarked. “And please forgive me if I say anything that sounds impertinent. As I know now, the story of your romance with Mary Carruthers was never kept secret. You didn’t care who knew that she was ready to run away with you. “You rather gloried in the publicity’, didn’t you? Of course, I’ve learned all this recently. Till Mr. Carruthers was in hospital, I hadn’t heard of you nor of him.” Tie laughed, but the laugh was not spontaneous. “I won’t admit that I wanted to be in the limelight," he said. “I never wished to advertise myself as a bold,, bad wrecker of homes, if that’s what you mean. But it’s quite true tliaA I didn’t care what people thought: Or said. I care even less now." “Don’t you think," she went »on, “that you are foolish to try to k eep the romance going now that Mr. Carruthers knows that his wife is a7ive?” He looked at her sharply. “All my life I’ve been doing • foolish things," he returned. “Shall w e leave it at that?” “As you wish,” she answe/.ed. “But I rather hoped that you’d trust me. I’m going to trust you. Fr/i going to tell you that I’m fond of that man whom I nursed. “Very fond,” she admits d. “He likes me, too, though how well I don’t know. I wish that you and I c/ JU ld help eacli other, Mr. Welland. There! If I were a good deal younger than I am, or a good deal oldez I mightn’t be speaking like this.” A faint whistle ca’jie from his lips. “I think I understand," he said. “To put it bluntly 7 -, yo/j’re in love with Carruthers, and yevj wish that he was the widower you first thought him." “I wish,” she 'spoke, and looked straight in fronC of her while she spoke, “that yo/j could induce him to divorce his wifin. Where is she now?” Smiling, he shook his head. “I’d like to return your candour,” lie said, “but, honestl; I daren’t. A little later on, perhaps, I may come to you, and be quite re ady to answer any questions. Bur meantime I’ve got to be wary.

I don't pretend to know a great deal abont women, but I do knowMhat women in love are capable of the most amazin/g impulses. Some of them are rera,«dy to sacrifice all their own prospects of happiness for what the no\*el<7ttes call ‘love’s sake.’ i "Htjw am Ito be sure that if I gave you -all the information 1 could about I Mary Carruthers, you wouldn’t take i £k<? first opportunity of passing the ! news on to her husband?" | “I wouldn’t do that,” she answered. T’Be reasonable! Do you think I want fto help him in his search for her? I ji don’t.” Suddenly she paused. "I mustn’t take you further than this," she said, “but remember that I’ll be interested to hear what passes between you and Harvey Carruthers