The Green Bungalow

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 414, 24 July 1928, Page 5

The Green Bungalow

BY A POWERFUL WRITER.

By

Fred M. White.

Author of " The Crimson BEnd." ” The Cardinal Moth.” “ The House on the River.” Sic., ftc.

CHAPTKR XlV.—(Continued). “I could not stand it any longer,” Nettie said. “To begin with, there Avas always the suggestion that I was more or less in disgrace. It was not my fault that my mother ran away 'vith a man that her parents did not approve of. And why should I be blamed for it? Oh, I know my mother died when I was quite a baby, and that mv father followed her soon afterwards, but why vent the family displeasure upon me? And there is an air of mystery about the whole thing. Whenever I asked my aunt to tell me about my father, she became quite .Kid, and declined to discuss the subject. And do you know, quite lately, I met a woman who reminded me strangely niy mother’s earlier Photogmphs. She is quite middleaged, but the likeness is there all the *>ame. It puzzled me tremendously, and I only realised it when I was coining down here in the train. Tell me. Mary, have you known Mr. MacSlendy very long?”

I have never met him before,” badv Fishbourne explained. “Mr. Snute I know quite well, of course—indeed, he used to come to my father’s nouse in America before I was marne(h He was a great sportsman, nnd that is where the sympathy comes t Q between Fishbourne and himself, 'believe he asked if he could bring ; r - Macglendy down here to discuss '°® e important business. Why?” Oh. really, 1 can’t tell you,” Nettie said vaguely, “but there is something •'bout him that I distrust. He repels ni o. and lam sure he is both hard and er nel to his wife.” ‘ls that the woman you are talking about?” Lady Fishbourne asked, “the 'oman who is so like your mother?” ,^ es >” Nettie said: “she sent for me, mid almost implored me on her knees 0 p ve up my post with Mr. Shute. I jOel there is something wrong between jnose two men. and all the more so because if Roy Harley had not met them ” that’s that?” Lady Fishbourne tried. “Roy Harley? Do you mean to rnf T^ at you have seen him lately? I know you were staying in the same house with him in Scotland not int J ons ago ’ i ust before he came ‘to his money, and a little bird whis- *° ,^ ne at you had been more _ that’s not quite true,” Nettie whish ecl w hh a heightened colour. “1 e alw ays been fond of Roy, and he

left the house where we were staying because, because ” “Yes, because Walter Prest was there, and Roy thought It -would be more honourable not to stand In his way. I know all about it, my dear, because I met Roy just, afterwards at the Seatons, and he took me into his confidence. That was only a few days before his godfather died and left hint all that money. Am I to understand that you met him again after you had left your aunt’s?” “X met him quite by accident in Brighton,” Nettie confessed. “Mary, t never cared for anybody else, and when he told me everything from the time he left the north till he came into his' money, I believe I was the happiest girl in England. We had arranged to be married almost at once, when a dreadful thing happened. I really must tell you—l must confide in somebody, and, seeing that you know so much, I know that Roy won’t, mind.” It was close and intimate in there, with the shaded lights, and the flicker from the fire, and there was an expression of sympathy on Lady Fishbourne’s face that invited Nettie’s confidence. Without further hesitation, she told the whole story of the card drama in the Green Bungalow, without suppressing anything. “But it’s monstrous,” Lady Fishbourne cried, when at length the recital was finished. “I have only known Roy Harley since I was married, but I would trust him implicitly. He couldn’t possibly have done such a thing. We must have it investigated. Don’t you see, my dear child, that there is nothing to gain by all this secrecy? The thing must be fought out publicly, and Roy’s character cleared. If he were guilty, as Walter Prest seems to think, then, of course, he must leave the Army. But I decline to believe it. There is either some extraordinary mistake here, or Roy has been the victim of some vile conspiracy. I should not like to suggest that Walter Prest knows anything about it.” “I am sure he doesn’t,” Nettie said. “He would never stoop to anything like that. But he seems to be certain that Roy worked the deception in a moment of temptation.”

“But, my dear Nettie, where is tile temptation? He did not need the money. He had seen you, and you had come to a perfect understanding, before this dreadful thing happened. Why, at the present moment, we are hoping to get Roy down here. I know my husband has written him one or two letters to Brighton without any response, but perhaps that is because he is too miserable to reply. If you don’t mind my telling Jim some of the story, I will get him to go over to Brighton to-morrow in the car, and bring hack Roy by force if necessaiy. Yon won’t mind my doing that?” “Oh, I don’t know,” Nettie said helplessly. “I hardly know what to do for the best, and for the last day or two Roy has been keeping out. of my way. Oh, I do hope, Mary, that he is not doing anything desperate. But wouldn’t it be rather strange if he came over here and stayed in the same house with two men regard him as a detected card cheat?” “Yes, that might be awkward,” Lady Fishbourne said. “Still, something must be done .and I shan’t he happy till I see Roy again. I’ll mention it to Jim when we go to bed to-night.” In due course, Fishbourne listened to his wife’s story in silent astonishment. Then he burst out vehemently. “What infernal rot,” he cried. “Good Lord, fancy talking of Roy Harley as a card sharper! Tell you what it is, old girl, I’ll make some excuse to get away to-morrow morning, and run the car into Brighton. If I don't bring Harley back with me, it will be my own fault. It wouldn’t he a bad idea if we could have him over here am confront him with these two chaps and thrash the whole matter out. I am not going to let it stay where it is.” It was at abbut eleven o’clock the following morning when Shute and Nettie were at work in the small library and Macglendy was disposed of that Fishbourne set out for Brighton in search of Harley. The afternoon passed and it was drawing near toward dinner time when the car pulled up in front of the house. There was a certain frown on Fishbourne’s face, and a moody look in his eyes as he strode into the hall where Lady Fishbourne awaited him. “Is there anything wrong, Jim?” she asked. Before making any reply, Fishbourne looked round the hall and satisfied himself that he and his wife were alone. “Very much wrong, I am afraid,” he said. “Roy has disappeared. He hasn’t been seen for days, and the matter will be placed in the hands of the police. Even the yacht has vanished. I don’t know what to think about it, but I am very much afraid that Roy has done himself a mischief. Still, if I were you I wouldn’t say anything about it to Nettie until we can be quite sure.” j “How dreadful,” Lady Fishbourne whispered. “But surely it is too early to give up all hope yet.” CHAPTER XV.—A HELPING HAND The kind-hearted owner of Fishbourne Towers had set out for Brighton more concerned over Roy Harley than he had cared to confess to Lady Fishbourne. To begin with he had in his pocket a letter from the manager of the Metropolitan Hotel calling attention to the fact that Mr. Harley had not been seen in the hotel for a

day or two and that he had sent no instructions as to liis belongings. He apologised for troubling his lordship, but, as a friend of Mr. Harley’s, would he interest himself in the Otherwise, the manager felt it his duty to consult the police, a thing he hesitated to do. Lord Flshbourne drove straight to the hotel and interviewed the manager in his office. The latter had not much to say, but that little was very much to the point. “I thought your lordship ought to know,” he said. “Mr. Harley has gone, leaving everything behind him, and no message of any kind. His yacht has gone, too. It is very strange.” “I didn’t know that he had a yacht,” Fish-bourne said. “You see, Allison, Mr. Harley has only quite recently come into money. Of course, you knew that he was a friend of mine, and therefore you were quite justified in writing to me. Do you happen to know what sore of a yacht it was?” “Oh, quite a small affair,” the manager said. “And hired at that. Mr. Harley told me in his friendly' way that he had come into a fortune and tht he was going in for yachting and that, meanwhile, he had chartered a small schooner. Three hands could manage it quite well. Also I understood from the gentleman that he held a master’s certificate, as years ago he sailed his godfather’s cutter.” “Perfectly true,” Fishbourne said. “He has probably gone off for a day or two and has not troubled to let you know.”

“I don’t think so, my lord. He hasn’t even taken a suit of pyjamas with him; even his purse was left in his bedroom. And that is not everything. The night of the first day that he came here he walked into this office and sat down for a chat. He seemed to be very pleased about something and hinted to me that an event had happened to make him very happy. Something to do with a lady, from one or two little things he said. The next day he was just as correspondingly depressed. Indeed, I never saw so remarkable a change In anybody. And then he vanished. I don’t like it, my lord, I don’t like it in the least, and that is why I ventured to write to you, knowing that your lordship was a friend of his.” “And you want me to act, Allison, 1 suppose?” “I think so,” the manager said. “I have said nothing, and I don’t think there is any need at present for publicity, but perhaps it would be just as well to let the police know, so that they can make a few inquiries, and keep the matter out of the papers. Of course, the staff is beginning to talk. With a large body of servants like ours you can’t expect anything else.” Fishbourne listened gravely, for the more he thought the matter over, the less he liked it. He would go to the police station presently, but, meanwhile, he would prefer to think out the situation while he was having his lunch. There was the usual crowd in the coffee-room, but Fishbourne managed to get a seat near the window, .where he could see what was going on on the front. He had nearly finished his meal and was about to turn to his coffee, when someone crossed the room and accosted him in a friendly fashion. “It’s a long time since we met,” the newcomer said. Fishbourne looked up in astonished displeasura, “Er—Hilton Blythe, I think,” he said. “You are quite right, it is a good many years since we met, and I am rather surprised that you should address me in so public a place.” “I have every excuse for it,” Blythe said, without in the least changing colour. “But I think when you have heard what I have got to say you will be quite ready to excuse me. Oh, I don’t want to sit down and talk here. There is a little writing-room at the back of the big smoking-room, looking on to the lounge, and if you will give me a few minutes there, I promise you that I won’t waste your time. Moreover, I have no favours to ask.” Fishbourne looked up at the slim,

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perfectly-dressed figure before him, j and realised that this was no pre- j datory errand on the part of the man with whom he had been friendly : enough in the old days. “Very well,” he said coldly. “I will follow you.” A minute or two later the two men were seated in the privacy of the j little room. Quite at his ease, Blythe had crossed his legs and pro duced a gold cigarette case from his pocket. He did not make the mistake of offering it to his companion. “Now, look here, Fishbourne,” he said easily. “You will forgive me for calling you by the old name, won’t you, because one never can quite forget the past. In the ordinary course of affairs I should have passed you without recognition, and yet I know, in spite of everything, that if I w r as in desperate need of a friend, you would come to me if I .only asked you.” “That’s true enough,” Fishbourne said. “I wrote you to that effect when you disappeared from our midst and elected to take up your present —er —profession. I was one of the few w'ho always recognised that you were not entirely to blame—but we need not go into that. What is it you want to talk about?” “Well, in the first place, Roy Harley.” “Oh, really? Why are you interested in him?” “I don’t think we need go into that, Jim. I—l beg your pardon, but really, the sight of seeing you sitting opposite me . But I am, interested in Harley. Never mind why. He is one of the cleanest boys I ever met, and, as I found out quite by accident, he j is interested in a girl that I know I something of.” “Now, that's a ver.y strange thing,”

Fishbournc said. “Allison nere seems to think that that is the cause o£ all the trouble. He is under the impression that Harley was engaged to some lady and that they had a quarrel ” “Ah, there he is wrong,” Blythe replied. “Now. X dare say, you will be rather surprised to hear that the lady j in question is at present staying under j your roof.” Fishbourne smiled non-committally. He knew a good deal of this, of course, from what his wife had told him, but what really astonished him was the discovery that a man like Blythe should have so much intimate information. Perhaps Blythe saw what was passing in his mind, for he bent forward and laid a hand on Fishbourne’s knee. “Now. I want you, for the sake of j old times, to be quite candid with me.” he said. “By a sort of amazing ; accident, Nettie Frond is at present, under your roof. I believe she is there in her capacity as secretary to a guest of yours called Mark Shute.” “Well, I can admit that much,” Fishbourne said. “My dear fellow, I want you to admit a great deal more. I feel sure | that both you and Lady Fishbourne j were delighted to see Miss Frond again, and I am equally certain that ' she took you both, or your wife, at any rate, into her confidence. Now. did she teH you that she was engaged j to Roy Harley, and also, that he had got into some serious trouble over a game of cards?” Fishbourne hesitated for some little

time before he replied. He was feeling somewhat out of his depth in thi web of intrigue, and very inclined to doubt the wisdom of confiding in Blythe. But then he knew the other to be not wholly bad, and he could see that his companion was in deadly earnest. And in that quick, incisive way of Blythe’s, tne latter had a shrewd idea of what was going on in the other man's mind. “I think you had better tell me,” Blythe said. "There are things going on in this world that an honourable nature such as yours cannot grasp. There is a deep conspiracy here in which even you are more or less involved. In my peculiar walk of life. I am up against some of the keenest wits in the world. I mean, men who live by their wits, and who have no bowels of compassion whatever where money is concerned. I hope I shall never be quite as bad as that, though I have sunk very low. These men are my : companions, frequently my oonfederates, if you like, and they look up to me with a certain amount of respect as the head of my profession. Now. I don’t want to betray them to the police unless I am compelled to do so, and if you will leave this matter | to me I think you will be wise, beE cause I am going to clear Roy Harley's | name, and make it impossible for the breath of scandal to touch him. But j I must do it in my own way, I must do it in a fashion that will compel Walter Brest to admit that he was mistaken. If I am right in that young man’s character, he will be only too pleased to have the chance to do so. But I must do it in my own way, and ; in my own time." “But if anything has happened to ! Harley ” tTo Be Continued.)