The Half-Closed Door

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 699, 26 June 1929, Page 5

The Half-Closed Door

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J.B. Harris-Burland

Author ot “ The Black Moon." “ Tho Poison League.'' “The White Rook," Ac. Ac

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. •'HAPTERS I to 111.—Airs. Dearden talks common sense to her daughter, Alary, but Alary declares she will not f lv * up Dick Pelling. Though Dick won honours during the war, he has only two hundred a year, and Alary’s mother her daughter to marry happily. Hhat did he do before the war?" Mrs. ■Hibberd, a. pretty, young widow', lives in that delightful and exclusive London Kuburb known as Mexham Hill. She Has only one maid, but her aristocratic enable her to join the elect, entertains three of her own pals one night in May who are not of Her Mexham Hill circle. These three men belong to a gang of crooks, and hUM® Croad (alias Mrs. Hibberd) acts as 1 heir guide and friend, unseen in that rapacity by the outer world. Her hushand, Arthur Groad. is the leader of the Rang. They are planning a big diamond burglary, and in order to effect this Airs. -Hibberd is undertaking to become ento Charles, son of the wealthy Sir William Rlindon. The men inquire •bout the Bov. hut Susie Croad acts on T b* defensive for him. Mrs. Hibberd’s inaid, Bessie, arrives, and the three men depart. Dick Pelling. the one clerk in tb* office of Messrs. Blindon and Co., diamond merchants, receives a visitor !n the person of Mrs. Hibberd. He

recognises Susie Croad and asks her what she wants. She is waiting for Charles Blindon, who is to meet her there at live o’clock. CHAPTERS 111 (Continued) & IV. — Susie Croad tells Dick Pelling that she is Edltli Hibberd, engaged to be married to Charles Blindon. Pelling wants to know when Arthur Croad died. Mrs. Hibberd says: ‘ Two years ago, in Paris,” and adds that he has left her a little mojiev. She says she intends to make good, and also lets him know that he and she are in the same boat. Dick Pelling* known formerly to the gang as the Boy, tells Susie Croad about himself, but does not mention Mary Dearden. Charles Blindon arrives, and takes Mrs. Hibberd into the inner room. Sir William enters later on, and Charles and Airs. Hibberd, emerging into the outer office, discuss the diamonds, and safes, and safety. Thev leave bv motor. Pelling prepares for 'the night. Mary Dearden and her lover, Dick, are sitting in Kensington Gardens, discussing their own affairs. Marv tells Dick that her mother knows nothing of his past. He does not confide this to Mary, and the girl, in sudden fear, begs him to marry her at once. Another couple are sitting near them, and Dick and Alary overhear them. Felling notes what they are saying about having got the three, but the fourth es--1 ‘aped them. He decides to take the ! bull bv the horns, and speaks to feandervon as a war comrade, afterwards intro- | cluein| him to his sweetheart. He finds that Sanderson is a detective by pro- | fession. CHAPTER IV. — (Continued) “No, sir; I didn’t talk about it—out tlieve. Wouldn’t have done me any good—we’re not liked, and that s the truth of it. Why. there is the I chap, sir, coming; along there b> the . fountain; big fellow with a bullethead and a light suit. I reckon he 11 come up and have a chat. In y°' duce you to him if you like, sir. And you’ll see that criminals are pretty well like other men.” Felling glanced at Jimmie and recognised him. Then he rose to his feet, and kept his back toward his ! ° “We must be getting along, Sandt erson.” he said. “We were just going when you came up. We must have a long chat some evening. W ill Scotland Yard find you? “Yes, sir,” said the detective. They shook hands, and Dick Pelling and Mary moved away from the nath across the grass. But Jimmie s sharp eves had seen and recognised him. and there was an ugly scowl on Jimmie’s forehead, as he saw rhe Boy” talking to Detective-Inspector Sanderson. , Dick Pelling quite unconscious

| of the effect he had produced upon the I roughest and most ignorant member of the gang, but as they walked quickly away across the grafes he had i an uncomfortable feeling that Fate I was doing its best to drag him back ■ into the society of his old associates. In less than a. week he had met Susie i Croad, had seen “Jimmie,” and had actually had a chat with one of the men who had been engaged in the Bextable affair —one of the men who had helped to trap his confederates. I Sanderson’s name had not appeared in ; the trial at the Criminal Court, and I Pelling was rather shocked to find out that his favourite sergeant had taken part in these proceedings. And yet there was something humorous about that. But there would l>e nothing humorous in a meeting with “Sam” or “Peter” or "Jimmie.” He never wished to see either of the three again. Susie Croad was out of the business, was making good, was going to marry a rich man. He had nothing to fear from Susie Croad. But he must avoid the three men if possible. They had played the game so far as he was concerned, but he could not let any one of them come back into his life —even to thb extent of a few words and a shake of the hand. He had almost forgotten the presence of Mary Dearden and did not realize that he had been silent for more than a minute until she said, “Dick, dear, you mustn't let this worry you.” "Worry me?” he muttered, and then he laughed and remembered. His mind went back to the point where their conversation had been interrupted by the detective and his “young lady.” “Perhaps you are right,” he said. I “Perhaps we had better get married j at once. If I seem to hesitate it is only because I am thinking of you, dear. I don’t want to come between you and your mother. And. of course, we shall have to rough it.” “I don’t mind that, Dick. A workman’s cottage will be good enough for me. and I have heaps of clothes—enough to last me for years.” “In spite of the changes of fashion,” he laughed. “Well, Mary, I am in your hands. But I don’t want you to embark on this perilous adventure —it is that, isn’t it? —just because you were suddenly frightened. Are you still afraid?” “No, Dick. I don't know what it was that frightened me—but I think we'd better get married.” He was silent for a few moments. ! He knew little —less perhaps than : most people—about “influence” and ! “invisible currents of thought.” But it did occur to him that his own fear of his past life had, in some way or 1 other, stirred the brain of the woman ; he loved. i They parted at one of the northern I gates of Kensington Gardens. “Today week." he said, “at half past twelve. I'll fix everything up.

We must live in my rooms until I can get a house.’’ “It will be the happiest day of my life,’’ she whispered, “I hope not, dear,” he said with a smile. ' “That day will only be the beginning of happiness.” They shook hands —they could not even kiss each other in that public place—and Pelling strode rapidly away toward the Broad Walk. As he paused to light a cigarette, “Jimmie” came up to him. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, “but could, you oblige me with a match?” Pelling handed the man the box, and Jimmie talked while he lit his pipe. “Glad to see you again, sir,” he said. “Hope you’re well.” “Quite well. Jimmie, thanks. You’ve been out in France, eh?” “Yes, sir, and you?” “Oh, I’ve done my bit too—over four years of it.” “Ranks, sir?” “Ranks first, and then —well. I was a captain for the last six months.” Jimmie, who had flung match after match away, said: ‘Settling down now, sir, I suppose?” “Yes.” “Well don’t forget as your old pals didn’t give you away, sir.” “I’ll never forget that, Jimmie. You

were bricks. I hope you’re going to chuck it. The war, eh? Opens one’s eyes a bit?” “Yes, sir. Teaches a man as he can kill without being hanged for it. Don’t you get up to any more tricks, sir. It don’t pay.” With this cryptic reply and without waiting for Pelling to speak again, the young brute took his departure. Pelling strolled on alone. “Surely,” he said to himself, “the devil is in this business. It’s as if . one couldn’t get away from it.” CHAPTER V. Dick Polling's two rooms were in a small mean street that branched off the Fulham Road. There were days when such rooms could have been had for ten shillings a week. But during the shortage of accommodation that followed the war the landlady asked treble that sum and had a hundred applicants for the miserable apartments. She had selected Dick Pelling because, to use her own words, she “liked the look of him.” The rooms were unfurnished, and he had bought his own furniture, at an exj orbitant price, out of the money he had received as a gratuity. It was • i little enough—even for a bachelor : who had “roughed it.” As a home for a newly-married couple, it was | pitiable: It only had one merit — ; the merit of comparative permanency, j Pelling had forced a yearly agreement ■ out of the landlady, to be terminated ; by three months’ notice on either side. It. was to this poor littlp home that ! Dick Pelling brought his bride —a i young girl who had been accustomed

to a bedroom almost as big as the whole house. And Mary, seeing the rooms for the first time, said: “It’s a jolly little place, and we can't be turned out of it.” She was even enthusiastic about the gas-cooker, which was a very prominent feature in the sittingroom. “That makes us independent,” she exclaimed. “And I’ve got a certificate for cooking.” “It’s the baths,” said Pelling gloomily. “There is a bathroom, and we’ve the right to use it. But there’s i no hot water.” “Oh. we don’t want hot water in j this beautiful weather, Dick,” she { replied, “and by the winter we shall | get thoroughly used to cold baths—we shall slip into it gradually.” She was determined to make the best of everything. She had never

5. entered the rooms before until she ' crossed the threshold as a bride. She 2 | saw at once that the skilful - hand of 5 j a woman could effect marvellous imf j provements. But she was not going | to talk of that just yet. She wanted t j her husband to think that he had i j done the very best he could with the - ' materials at his disposal. He took her in his arms that held \ 6 ; her very close to him. He 1 had no j -- ; illusions about the hard fight that lay i before them, but he was supremely S happy. He had won a very great vie- i 3 tory against stupendous opposition, j s He had overcome Mrs. Dearden’s ob- i jections by sheer capacity for fight- ' a ing. The same dogged determination e that had won him honour in the war 11 had proved itself quite sufficient for | - this domestic combat. He had made Mrs. Dearden see things with her own p eyes, had persauded her that he was ! r not the same young fool who had - squandered a modest fortune, and had _ given her an account of those days of poverty that had moved her to pity ' rather than anger. In other words, he had completely won her heart, and [e | in spite of Mrs. Dearden’s lecture to n j her daughter, her heart usually got I | the better of common sense, in- a ;s J conflict that lasted for any length of t. ! time. And now, as he held that slim. : boyish body in his arms, he forgot lt I that his victory had not been alto- , 1 gether won by force of will and I c harm of manner. There had been II j a suppression of the truth, and he »- ’ had thrust all thought of it from his v- mind. le “We shall be happy here, darling.” be whispered. “And very soon—n | everything will h*» different.” _ j “1 don't want it to be different, you

i deal'! Why, if we hadn’t a roof over | our heads, I’d go singing along the I road with you, hand-in-hand.” That was true enough. It was no mere empty boast, born of a desire | to show that she wanted nothing but her husband's love. She would have j been happy anywhere —just then, i Rags would have been the same to j her as the finest clothes that money j could buy. As for food, a crust of dry bread would have been enough | for her dinner. The wedding ceremony had bepn j quiet enough. Only a few intimate i friends had been asked to the church ' and the reception afterward in Brix- ! ham Gardens. It had been decided i that there was to be no long and ex- \ pensive honeymoon, although Mary's ' brother had offered a cheque for the ! purpose. “I have to stick to my ! work.” Felling had said simply, ‘‘and ! neither of us wants a chaDge.” And Dearden had thought this so “jolly ; sensible” that he had given the i cheque, after all, and added it to his I wedding present of a hundred pounds. (To be continued daily)