Her Hidden Husband

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 655, 6 May 1929, Page 5

Her Hidden Husband

Serial Story

By

Arthur Applin

Author of *■"The Dangerous Game,” “The Greater Claim / *'TKe 'Woman Who Doubtedt£c., «£-c.

Copyright

CHAPTER 111. (Continued.) As King walked aft he saw the girl again. She had left her chair and was leaning over the stern rails, watching the water churned by the propellers sliding away into the moonlight. Without a moment’s hesitation he joined her. He couldn’t go back to the stateroom. He had a queer sort of feeling that he might meet memory there, discover the past. And after what happened he wasn’t ready for it yet. He didn’t want to talk to the other passengers. Something, instinct probably, told him just what they were: planters, merchants, government officials with their wives. They all stared at him more with curiosity than with sympathy. The girl looked up as he stood b? her side. He saw now that she had light brown hair and a finely tapered body. She gave him an immediate feeling of peace; it was no longer necessary to play a pa A; to pretend to be anything but what he was—a traveller from the unknown going into the unknown. “You gave me quite a shock wheu you crossed the deck just now,” she said. “I was afraid you were too dangerously injured to leave your bed for many days. You must be awfully strong to have got over a crash like that so quickly.” The quick breathless way she spoke was attractive. He was glad she didn’t condole with him on his accident or congratulate him on his escape. “Just luck,” he said. “But I wonder why?” “Perhaps you’re wanted.” He smiled grimly: "Not that I know of.” She laughed, and her mouth reminded him of something —of something out of a dream, all colour and movement. “There are people waiting for you at home—you’re going to England, of course?” “Are you?” She nodded. “I've only been away three years. I left when I was nine teen to seek adventure as secretary to an uncle living in Singapore. But it came to nothing, and now I’ve got to go back and start all over again.” “That’s just what I've got to do — start all over again.” There was silence for a few minutes. They both watched the silver stream rushing into space; listened to the creaking of the ship, the wind in the rigging, the propellers. The night brought all these sounds into harmonious rhythm with itself. “You mean because of your friend’s death?” the girl said. King looked into her eyes. She met his as a man would have met them. There was a sureness in them, sincerity; yet lurking somewhere in their depths the eternal mystery of her sex. Again King felt that curious glow warm his body. “We’ve met before!” he said impulsively. She shook her head. “We have!” he insisted. “It might have been years ago, or centuries. Don’t you believe people come back? They remember nothing of the past until suddenly out of it someone comes, just as you’ve come. . . . Don't begin to think that crack on the head J got has sent me off the deep end. I've got a sort of

feeling as if I’d killed Markham. And that I died with him, but my soul had come back and got into some other fellow’s body. I was quite alone in a strange world until I passed you sitting in the deck chair, and you looked at me with recognition in your eyes. . . . You’ve got eyes that see through the flesh, you know. Wonderful eyes!- ” He checked himself abruptly. “Are there many girls in England like you now?” “Scores of them, I expect. But I don’t think there are many men like you. You will find it changed and rather lonely perhaps, Mr. King.” He moved closer and laid his hand on hers: “So you do know me?”

“Someone told me that was your name. You are James King, aren’t you—a rubber planter from British North Borneo?” “If you say so I am. T wish you’d tell me what I’m going to be though. I believe you could. Tell me your name.” “Pete Marchmont.” He smiled: “That’s a good name, ‘Pete.’ I’m glad I’ve found you. Do you think you could help m£ to find myself—before we get home?” Again a silence. The moon was falling on to the horizon, but the stars were blazing. The deep green sea reflected them. “I’ll try,” Pete said. “But it will be rather like the blind leading the blind. Now my uncle is dead. I’m alone in the world, so I’ve got to go back to London and find work in the city.” She heard King laugh. Ft reminded her of the roar of some creature in

tlie jungle. “You don’t know what loneliness means. You've got yourself and all that self has built and created since you were born. You’ve got your life—all you’ve ever done and felt and thought and suffered, which you can carry about with you like a snail carries a shell on his back into which he can creep when danger threatens or storms come.” She nodded, watching him. He attracted her strangely, this big-bearded man, cleanly built with an air of breeding about him, yet untamed—unlike other men. “Yes, I’ve got that; but so has everyone—so have you.” King wasn’t looking at her now; he was looking at the countless worlds reflected in the sea of the little world in which he had no part yet to which he belonged. “I’ve got nothing but a name,” he said in a low voice. “I’ve forgotten everything but that. When they tip my friend Alarkham into the sea to-morrow my last link with life will go with him.” He started as if realising he had said too much, and laid his hand on hers again. “You won’t give me away, will you? If people knew they’d think I was mad, but I’m not —I’m quite sane. I’ve just lost myself, and I’m utterly alone.” He saw her grey eyes looking at him. “Not now. You’ve shared your

secret with me. I’ll keep it. And isn’t it rather fun, Mr. King, this adventure into the future without any past to hold one back, or influence one? It’s like a real romance.” They gazed across the quiet sea into the mystery of the night. “Romance! Perhaps that’s something I’m going to find when we reach London. Perhaps it’s waiting for me out there beyond the horizon. ... Is it worth holding on for, do you think?” Pete moved away. “It’s tne only thing in life worth fighting for!” lie followed her. “Can’t we fight for it together?” CHAPTER TV. King hadn’t slept all night: he was too excited. He felt as if he had just been born into the world—an extraordinary sensation, for here he was a fully grown man with all his faculties,

except memory. Like the newlyborn he had no past. Lie lay, revelling in this sensation, counting the ship’s bells. Lie was no longer afraid, for there were only moments of panic which by the exertion of his will he found he was able to dismiss. That girl with the grey eyes he had talked to on deck had robbed him of fear, for she had shown him the past didn’t matter at all in comparison with the future. . . . He wasn’t sure now that he wanted to remember. She had taken away from him that feeling of loneliness. It was going to be a terrific adventure, this voyage home, and when he got there the discovery of the world—his world! Now and then he laughed out loud as he lay on his back looking through the porthole which as the ship rolled showed him racing green waves and a steel blue sky hung with innumerable lights. He waited impatiently for the first sign of dawn for he wanted to begin to live at once. He wanted to meet his fellow creatures, to get to know them, to love, them perhaps; to work with them—and for them—a terrific adventure! To know all those people he had seen lying about in deck chairs or walking up and down. As soon as daylight came he got up. He found his body was sore and stiff and his right hand and arm painfully swollen. He sat on his bed and again went carefully through all the possessions his suitcase contained. “You’ve got to know yourself, James King,” he said. “You’ve got to know yourself inside out. You’ve got to have something more than a name, a couple of suits of ready-made clothes and a bank account. You’ve got to have a character before you can do anything or make yourself respected and loved.” , He bundled everything back into the suitcase, shut it and dropped it on to the ground. Then he rang for the steward. Fear suddenly returned. No one, least of all that girl, could love a man as innocent as a newlyborn babe, as ignorant and as helpless . . . “Bring coffee and fruit and prepare a bath for me. Then I want you to help me dress—my right arm’s not working.” He listened to himself giving orders with a keen sense of pleasure. He wasn’t even surprised at the steward’s quick obedience. Where, he wondered, had he learnt to give orders and command men? At a quarter to eight the doctor came and looked at him. He made a sling for his arm; together they went on deck and walked aft. A large number of passengers were standing in groups around a space which had been cleared and a rostrum raised level with the rails. Here the remains of Alfred Markham rested, shrouded by the Union Jack. King heard the signal from the bridge to reduce speed. The captaiu approached, spoke to him, and they took their positions on either side of the rostrum; a little distance off the ship’s officers, behind them the passengers now forming a semi-circle. He looked at them, wondering why they were there. They were looking at him—wondering, too, perhaps. He felt an uncontrollable desire to laugh; neither he, nor they, nor the captain of the ship, nor the padre in his vestments with book in hand, already intoning the burial service, knew who the dead man was. Lie heard silence come; it came like a rush of wind. The ship’s propellers ceased revolving. He heard seagulls screaming overhead, saw the swoop of their white wings against the sun. He heard the padre’s voice: “Our beloved brother, Alfred Mark- ! ham—” He took a step forward; the | moment had come! He saw the platj form being raised: the padre lifted his : hand, scattered ashes on the dead. In

another instant his last and only link with the past would be gone, buried deep in the ocean. “Beloved brother!"—he remembered now—remembered he had loved him. lie saw a picture of vast swamps and jungle; of two men standing together, two white men in a world of steaming darkness, working and fighting shoulder to shoulder, struggling toward some goal, reaching it triumphant—and then —then memory ceased. “Dust to dust, ashes to ashes ” “Wait!" he cried, “tor Heaven's sake ” His voice was drowned by the sea splashing its green lips as it swallowed the dead man. He ran to the side and leaned over. Almost instantly the propellers began to revolve again. He saw a shower of fine spray and through it a rainbow shining. He saw the gulls swoop down and hover ; above the place where the sea had received Markham. The propellers raced at full speed; a bugle rang out —for breakfast; the hire feet of iascars pattered along the deck; voices of passengers laughing. Everything was normal again, but King remained clutching the rails. He had been too sure of himself that morning, believing he could face the future and mould it to his heart’s desire without any knowledge of the past. Now be had seen the past shot | —a lump of senseless: clay—into the I se«*i! He felt someone touch his shoulder. Slowly turning his head he saw a white hand lying there. He let go of the i rails and stood up; Pete was looking at him. “I know what you’re feeling." she | said. “I wish I could help you.” ! “You’re the only person who can. T was telling you last night that l was

alone in the world but I only realised what that meant just now when they tipped him into the sea. I almost wish I was down there, too ” She took his arm and led him toward the upper deck: “He’s not down there really, you know; he’s with you still. I feel he’s walkh% beside us now." He caught his breath and gave her i a quick glance. “Do you think he j remembers or do you think be is like j me—beginning all over again?" She : didn’t reply. “Before he died he tried ; to tell me something—asked me to | look after his girl—he was married, j you know.” He walked with her as far as the saloon, where he left her: he didn't feel ready to face a crowd yet, and anyway he said he wasn’t in the habit of eating breakfast. “How do you know that?” she asked with a smile. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m ; beginning to find out I know lots of things; for instance I know how to read and write Malay! But knowledge doesn’t lead anywhere; the links with life are missing.” “It would be rather fun if you could find them during the voyage home.” He looked at her eagerly. “When you’ve finished breakfast will you come up on deck? Let me start the first day of my life with you. I haven’t forgotten what we said last j night; you meant it, didn’t you? i We’re going to be friends. We’re I going to find romance!” I She didn’t reply. He watched her | cross the room; he liked the way she walked, proudly vet carelessly. She was different from all the other people there. She took her place

at a table beside the young man he had seen her talking to on deck, and he felt a queer sensation in his breast —a hot, uncontrollable feeling. He laughed as he turned away and went into the barber’s shjop, wondering if it was an old or new emotion. wondering what it meant. When he went on deck again he had a couple of chairs placed on the lee side of the ship near the bows. Pete was a long time coming. While he waited he smoked one of the cigars he had found in his suitcase. It brought Markham very near to him again. For a moment he had an extraordinary feeling, as if it were Markham himself enjoying the fragrance of the Borneo weed. When eventually Pete came she was with Robert Denny. He chatted a little while they strolled off to play quoits. King placed a cushion for Pete’s head and stretched himself on the chair beside her; he had had the chairs placed as far apart from the others as possible, but now’ they were alone he didn’t know’ what to say. He was wondering what chance he stood against other men—men like Denny, who could talk about the world and the people he had met in it; the things he had done and the places |he had seen. Every man’s mind was a great storehouse full of w’onderrul treasures which he could produce at will, but his was as barren as a desert —he had nothing to give. Pete began to turn the pages of a book. “Would you like me to read jto you You can't do much with your arm in a sling." He leant toward her suddenly interested. “Is it a story about people?’’ tTo be continued daily)