In The Flashlight

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 611, 13 March 1929, Page 5

In The Flashlight

By

Bernard Rowthorne

Author of “The Jewels of Sin,” “The Shadow of the Yamen,’’ Etc., Etc.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS ~ CHAPTERS I and ll.—Cars ton and -Meliord are seated in the saloon of a yaoht. Carston is threatening Melford with the fact that Otto Freedlam is stiU i alive, and Is anxious to learn the whereabouts of his old-time partner, Owen Oldstairs. Melford, driven into a corner, j admits tacitly that he is Owen Oldstairs. i -Margaret, his daughter, comes ror a book, and departs almost immediately. Car- i ston made it plain that, as the price of ket*ping Melford’s real identity secret, he ' must be allowed to marry Margaret. The j girl's father tells Carston about Noel and i Donald Mayhew. How that both broth- j ers loved Margaret, but she loved Noel 1 He went to German East Africa, and three i months later was reported missing. They j are in a rough sea, and while the men I are talking there is a violent lurching of ! the vessel. The second officer comes to say that the propellor shaft has snapped. There is great danger of driving into Corrievrechan Race, with Jura ahead The men take to the boats. Melford is tei rifled, but Carston shows a manly front, procuring life-belts. Carston and Margaret get away in the first boat. This is w recked. Carston, a strong swimmer, saves both Margaret and himself. They are thrown on to the wet sand of an inlet. CHAPTER IV.—Continued. “But you do not think much of that chance?” “It is a possibility—nothing more,” he answered, quietly. Margaret Melford sat silently staring into the fire with eyes that were very sorrowful, and Carston watching her, knew that she had given up her father for lost. After a little time she moved, and then broke the silence. “I suppose I owe you my life?” “Yes,” he answered, directly. “1 suppose you do.” “How did you manage to get ashore? The seas ” She broke off and gave a shudder, then began the sentence anew. “The seas were very terrible.” “They were pretty bad." lie agreed.

“When the boat struck the rock and tilted, I hung on to you. What hap pened for the next few minutes J scarcely know. You, I think, were unconscious, and I thought that you were dead. But 1 clung to you on the off chance, and we were swept forward on a giant wave. I waited for it to break and engulf us; but it did not do so, and suddenly, and ! most unexpectedly, I found myself in quieter waters where it was possible to attempt to swim. The thing seemed to me miraculous at the moment and for a time I wondered if ; were dreaming, but I know now that the great wave swept us into an inlet i of the coast, where the full force of the storm was not felt. You can see the cliffs between which it lies from the window there. Anyway, I kept on swimming, doing the best for you that I could, and presently we were thrown upon the sand together “Oh!” cried the girl suddenly, “I remember.” “You remember?” he asked in a puzzled voice. “But you were unconscious?” “Not all the time,” she answered quickly. “I revived for a little time while I was upon the sands; and 1 saw ” She broke off, momentarily visioning again his strong figure, with raised fist, defying the raging waters, then she ended lamely, “I saw the — the sands and the cliffs and after that I suppose 1 fainted. I remember nothing more until I found myself in your arms.” “In my arms!” He echoed the words with an intensity that brought the swift blood to the girl’s pale face. “Yes!” he continued, “Yes! I was glad to have you there. Glad to be able to serve you, and having wrested you from the sea to be able to carry you to a place of safety.’ He thrust his arms out quickly, and Margaret thinking he was going to take hold :of her, shrank back. But he made no attempt to do so. “In my arms, Ihe said, with soft fervency. “Yes! I To the end of my days I shall be glad that you have rested in them —been j saved by them.” ! Margaret did not speak. She stared jat him in wonder, fascinated. His I eyes were glowing. His strong, brutal face was quick with soft emotion; and her own face flamed at the sudi den realisation that this masterful 1 man, to whom she owed her life, loved her. She had a momentary feeling of panic. She did not know what to do; what to say; and she was a little appalled by the knowledge that had surprised her. She turned her eyes to the fire, and sat ! there dumb and embarrassed till the man’s laugh broke on the stillness. “They’re pretty strong arms fortunatelv for both of us, and with a trick of taking the things they want, and last night he interrupted himself and quite plainly changed the words that had been on his lips.

“Last night they served me very; well. Don't you think so, Miss Mar;garet?” Margaret did not know what to say, how to avoid the issue presented, and answered in a low voice. “I am very ! grateful for what they did for me!” ’ “Grateful!” he said, enigmatically, j "l am not sure that 1 want your gra- i titude. Miss Margaret. There is! something beyond that, something j deeper ” He was interrupted by the opening | ! of a door, and the clash of china. The I : old woman who had mothered Mar- ! | garet on the previous night entered j the kitchen with a tray. After giving Carston a greeting, she began to lay the table for breakfast. The girl to her intense relief saw that she was laying for four, and rejoiced that a tete-a-tete meal was to be avoided; for. while still under a sense of obligation to the man who had saved her life, in the last few moments she had grown almost afraid of him. That he would have declared his love but I for the intervention of their hostess, she was convinced, and the necessity of replying to him would have been appalling to her. As the woman laid ’ the table she watched her closely, determined that if she left the room - she herself would accompany her, ana ; so avoid any chance of Carston re- ' suming their intimate conversation. The hostess, however, did not leave 1 the room; and when her husband ap- ' peared carrying a bowl of milk, Carston swung round, and walking to the window, stood surveying the stormy I scene outside. Margaret stared at the tall form by the window, squaret shouldered, uncompromisingly erect, 5 and in her eyes, for the moment, he i appeared massive as fate. Watching } him, she divined that John Carston was not a man to be turned easily . from his purpose; and remembering

his glowing eyes, the look on his face, the fervency of his voice, she was conscious of a little catch of fear at her heart. What was it he had said? “They’re pretty strong arms—and with a trick of taking the things they want.” She did not question that. The man was masterful, imperious, with a suggestion of uncompromising ruthlessness that, as she considered it, increased the fear in her heart. She was, as she knew, deeply obliged to him. She owed him her life, and if he pressed his claim upon her, she herself would have to be ruthless in order to escape him. As she sat there with the farmer and his wife busy at the table, one or other of them in the room all the time, she found herself wondering if she would be able to stand against Carston’s strong will, and then, glimpsing the grey seas beyond the stretch of land, in the thought of her father she forgot the man whose form half-blocked the window. What had happened? Had her father survived, or had he gone down in those wild seas? Her eyes filled with sudden tears at the. thought that he was lost. Only by a miracle had she herself been saved, and what hope was there “Lassie, ye’ll be ready for the breakfast?” The farmer’s wife was speaking to her, while she looked at her with kindly, understanding eyes. Margaret pulled herself together and brushed the tears from her eyes. The woman saw the action, and moving toward her, put a hand upon her shoulder. “Puir lassie!” she said, in a voice gentle with sympathy. “T ken wha ye are. thinking of. but if ’tis the will o’ Heaven above ’tis liae use cryin’ oot against it ” Margaret’s tears welled again, and brimmed over, and quite suddenly she bent her face in her hands and broke into open weeping. “Great Jove!” The exclamation came from Carston. and something in his voice made her look up. She saw that he was leaning toward the window, his whole bearing that of a man intent upon something that has unexpectedly drifted into his ken. A second later he gave a shout. “Margaret! Here’s your father coming across the fields!” In an instant she leaped from her chair, and ran to the window. As she looked forth she saw seven men stumbling across the sodden pasture field to the left of the house. Two of them supported another man who seemed on the verge of collapse, and in whom she recognised her father. A heartfelt cry broke from her lips. “Oh. thank Cod. Thank God.” The next moment she had thrown open the door and was running across the farmyard with Carston at her heels. One of the men with Mr. Melford was the yacht’s captain, and after

greetings and congratulations were s over, he explained the party’s escape fl from death. c r CHAPTER V. » a “We got away from the yacht all s right, and three minutes later were { caught in the south-going current, and a so escaped Corrievrechan. Then a ? headland loomed in the moonlight, y and I was certain that there we were up against fate. A big sea broke on us that washed three men out of the boat and snapped half the oars. We were half-swamped, tossed here and j there like a bit of flotsam, the while , we baled for our lives. I don’t think j any of us had a spark of hope; and I know I was staring at the foot of the headland which was all in shadow, when the boat whirled sideways, then rode on an even keel, forward, with 3 the headland on our right. We were 1 in the grip of some current swing- t ing up a sort of ness, and, when we found that, we rowed for our lives. Five minutes afterwards we grounded, s and were rolled over: but we escaped 1 the undertow, and all managed to ! -s

scramble on to the sands. We couldn’t find any way up the cliffs, and so crouched together In a hollow in the rock beyond the tide mark trying to get warm; a dog’s game for seven men drenched to the skin, I assure you, sir. With the light we found a goat’s track up the cliff, but had no end of a fob to get Mr. Melford up it. Anyway we’re here, safe and sound, and you and Miss Melford ” “Yes, but twelve men are lost!’’ ! “It’s sailor’s luck!’’ said the captain, sombrely. “We must do what we can, Marler. I want to get Melford and his daughter away; and what is to be done here I must leave in your hands. You need spare no expense.” “I know that, sir.” “Then I shall leave you to look after tilings. When I’ve breakfasted, ! I’m going to look for a conveyance j that will get us to the railway.” "Right, sir!” To Margaret and her father. Car- j ston explained his plans; and before) he left the farm, had a word or two j with Mr. Melford alone.

“You’re pretty shaken, Melford ” “You’re right,” said Mr. Melford. “I am. Last night has added years to my age.” Carston continued as if he had not heard him. “But you'll not have forgotten what we were talking of when the shaft broke?” “No —no.” “You will remember that I said in order to save you from being ivorried by Freedlam I should expect you to persuade Margaret to marry me?” “Yes! I—l have not forgotten, but “But what. Melford?” “Well. Carston. you're forcing me to do a brutal thing. You see, as T

’ told 3'ou, she still thinks of Noel j ; Mayhew ” i “A dead man! Pooh! The quick j are always more than the dead! I’m; not afraid of a man who is rotting in ! the jungle. But you can save your self-pity, Melford. What I want to say , to you is something that will be a relief to you. For the present I don't want you to approach Margaret at all. 1 I [ “You don’t want me to i “No! I'll do it off my own bat, keeping you in reserve:, of course. Y’ou see Margaret owes her life to me, and she knows it; as I have taken care she should. I am sure I can count . upon her gratitude, and gratitude may r lead to a more fervent emotion. Indeed I’m pretty sure it will; and with | the start I have and my own strength j of will. I hope I shall be able to do j without your help." Mr. Melford was immensely re- j lieved. No man cares to appear in , | an evil light to his children, and to i , i feci that now he was saved from . ! either confession or exposure was like ; ’ j a load lifted from his heart.

“I am sure I hope so,” he said fervently. “I would rather not—er —persuade Margaret in a matter of this sort.” (To be Continued. )