The Step In The House

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 476, 4 October 1928, Page 5

The Step In The House

By

Rina Ramsay.

CHAPTER X.—(Continued). A little mouse of a creature.” said ■ss de Stair, “but so fierce!” Im 8 soon as s * le had heard of the Posture from her late uncle’s wlT yer ’ s ** e had guessed who It was no w as masquerading. Nobody but nanne would have dared this and . ae it, Jeanne who knew all about , an d who had disappeared from i * aouse where they had been lodgS about the time the impostor must lav e sailed. j, seemed as if half the pleasure in r inheritance of old Harry Dodds's < u was owin g to the triumphant that she had routed Jeanne. *. n these days Johnny Adams strutno U* 1 his nose in the air, as said. He had proved himself and sharp. He had been rath * n his resistance to the er appealing charm of the girl ou ° disappeared. How dangeron? u charm had been to him was y known to himself, but when he . oa ®ht of it he took a big breath he remembered he had been pre- . from some tremendous peril. haa° Se — 9u PP°se for an instant he ha!i ! na<ie love to her! Suppose he tn, , an ded himself with a wife who , ae d out to be not only under a to h* Bus Pleion—one that would stick “ er all her life and poison her

social value —but a penniless fraud! In Johnny's opinion, he had had a narrow escape. He could not do enough to show his appreciation of that fact, and of the newcomer, who, by her timely appearance on the scene, had saved him. He even abased himself before his aunt, admitting that she had been very wise in her stern refusal to have anything to do with the other one when he begged her to. And the aunt, appeased by his humble apology, announced that she was going to ask this one to tea. The aunt had her plans for Johnny. She had a poor opinion of him in general, but she wanted him to be prosperous. It would never do for him to throw himself away on any slip of a girl who would entice him into extravagance, even if—which for a moment she had dreaded —he did not destroy himself by getting attached to a suspected murderess. But if Johnny were wise—and in this instance he actually seemed inclined to show his sense —he would make certain of having the management of old Harry Dodds’s big property in his hands, by securing the real heiress. He had everything in his favour; he it was who had rushed up to her in London and made everything easy for her. The old man's solicitor, who

had been acting for the impostor, might lawfully have made difficulties, been hard to convince, disputed every inch of her claim, thought the aunt. The law, she knew, could be very mulish. But no, he had taken her up, had piloted her through the initial steps, -was toiling day and night in her service. ... In high satisfaction, Johnny’s aunt prepared to receive the approved lady in her house, and polished up the silver. Johnny himself escorted his client to the aunt’s door, and brought her in. He had almost the air of a showman. Miss Adams had not herself realised how far she had indulged in her inclination to provide pleasant gossip, by inviting one by one her particular friends to meet Miss de Stair, until she heard the rap, rap, raps on the knocker, and began with some apprehension to count her cups. Who had she not asked? she began to wonder uneasily. And, indeed, it looked as if she had left nobody of any importance out. But Miss de Stair, in spite of her state of mourning for her poor murdered uncle, took it most graciously. She sat in the chair of honour, exhaling some unknown scent, very substantial, very fair and obliging. She was good-looking, the company decided, in her massive way, and there w r as a promise of security for the flighty Johnny in her large calm.

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She sat in the middle of the room and allowed all to look at her. She did not shrink from their interest in the least. But then she had nothing to hide, of course. There was a chatter of approval for everything she said. Her very proper sentiments, the reasons she had for deciding to come over; the extraordinary way she had been persecuted by the defeated adventuress whom the very first intimation of her arrival had put to flight. . . . It was all wildly interesting to the select inhabitants of the town. And Johnny Adams leaned against the piano—because there was no chair in the house left for him to sit on; even the small cane-seated chairs in the servants’ room had been brought down to accommodate the crowd—and smoothed the sleek hair hack from his forehead and surveyed the scene with an air of proud satisfaction. He was usually desperately hard to catch for one of his aunt’s tea parties—he frankly hated them—-but this was not a plain occasion—it was in a way his triumph. All these women, he was quite conscious, had at one time or another shaken their heads over him. One of them, the pompous old thing in the corner, had once unhappily come across him when he, on his way back from the war, had celebrated his rare luck in finding a winner a trifle too well. He could still picture her awful look and how, on a perfectly fine day, she had opened her umbrella in his face, to shut out the sight of him. And he had been quite steady on his legs

too, he fancied. Just a little hit rol- j licky in his walk. i She was not glaring at him now. The vicar’s wife had for a long time * been in the habit of looking down her J nose at him. She had nothing to - complain of, the tiresome woman, ex- 1 cept that he was very irregular in at- - tending church, but she too had joined ■ the chorus of disapproval. Now she . had already asked him to give a reci- ; tation at her Mothers’ Union party! 1 Johnny was terribly tempted to do it; ' he could see himself on the platform, : and the mothers stopping their ears. Not knowing what she was letting herself in for, she beamed oh him from afar. But what gave him the most satisfaction was the contemplation of Mrs. Burton, the brewer’s wife, who sat on the sofa with her two pretty daughters one on each side of her. That woman had shooed him away from her girls in the rudest, most inexcusable manner a year ago, w-hen he was just beginning to take notice and consider that a wife with a little money might be more agreeable than an aunt. He remembered as if it had been yesterday the terrible occasion when he had kissed Doris at a dance, and Doris, flattered, the silly little fool, by his attentions, had split on him, and Mrs. Burton had called at his office and forbidden him the house. He had suggested she might overlook it if he proposed formally to Doris, and she had No cold Is “NAZOL" proof. The best family protection. Prompt, pleasant, powerful. 60 doses Is 6d. —6

made it quite clear that would be a deeper crime than the other. And there sat Mrs. Burton, with a squashed look, and the two dull daughters were gazing with envy at Harry Dodds’s heiress, who was looking so favourably on him. . . . For Johnny Adams the whole afternoon was gorgeous. The women balanced their wretched little teacups on their laps and listened like mice to Miss de Stair's condescending account of her journey. She told how kind Johnny had been to her when he came to see her in London. And the others looked at him in admiration, as if he were a noble knight-errant, who, singlehanded, had routed the enemy. “I can’t think how she could have dared to personate you,” said the vicar’s wife. “Oh, she is the most audacious woman,” said Miss de Stair. “She would do anything.” “Yes, indeed,” said Johnny Adams’s aunt. “I am afraid there can be no doubt about one terrible thing she must have done.” They all knew what she meant, and they all agreed with her. There was a general shudder. “My poor old uncle,” said Miss de Stair. “I can hardly bear it when I think of him at her mercy.” “She must have been very cunning,” said Mrs. Burton. “She was,” said Miss de Stair. “We were great friends over there for quite a while before I found her out. She managed to discover all about me, and I was so innocent I never guessed how she would use her knowledge.

. . . Mercifully, I had left my papers | in a leather bag in charge of my landlady, who was honest, and she did not J get them. When I came out of hospital she had disappeared. I never imagined where. She thought I was j dead, you see. And, would you believe it?”—she paused, and her voice took on a thrilling key—“she must have planned to get me out of the way. There was a fever epidemic on the town, and one of the girls in the boarding house had the fever.” She ; dropped her voice still lower. “I I

' found out afterwards that Jeanne took the girl’s sheets and put them on my bed.” “How wicked,” said the vicar’s wife. She had heard the story before, in the confidential seclusion of Miss de Stair’s bedroom, but she felt she ought to lead the condemnation. “She hated me, you see,” said Miss de Stair. “I was a kind of rival. We always—l mean she always tried to injure me in every possible way after | we quarrelled.” (To be Continued.)