HALF-CLOSED DOOR

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 711, 10 July 1929, Page 5

HALF-CLOSED DOOR

By

J.B.Harris-Burland

Author of Th« Black Moon " • Th« Poiton League/' *’ Whit® Rook," Ac.. Ac

CHAPTER XIV (Continued) , 1 doubt if 1 can keep the boys back or eT *& a fortuight. We’re gentlemen—you and I —and we can restraiu ourselves. But Peter and Jim are a ,l * Primitive in their ideas. I’ll do I can. But we must have some'mg on account —today fortnight. I’ll !ne€t >’°u at the same place. Here’s k 'ffleone coming toward us. Keep •"tf wits about you. One can’t be ! J° careful. It’s * you I’m thinking i m j n no danger.” ‘Pe man who was w alking slowly them was tall. That much !, l>e seen as his body was silagainst a patch of the river. as he came close, Pelling saw that p limped, as though he were very '"'i. Indeed it seemed hardly likely ?*aej COuld be soing as far as And as Pelling saw that limp, he afraid. t Sanderson,” he whispered to his “Possibly, Sanderson. , leave the talking to me if he to us.” thirty seconds elapsed beman Mas within a >’ ar d of j,,. . He barred their way, and ':". ed a lantern in their faces. T m o®’ 0 ®’ sir?” he said to Pellinß. *,■ sorry ' sir. I didn't know as it •a* y ou tjJ 0 "' 11 nsver get as far as Putney ■jjj taat limp,” laughed Dick Pellnot going so far, sir. I just Pagin' 1 ?’ * D ,be Police boat, and 1 ‘<l come ashore and stretch B, Y a bi t until they come back.” •’*l J an<l looked at Felton, who 011 a Hll e way, as a man - ; ta:n; e g Te done under the circumdid you pick up that one, “Oh k queried 'itth,: k ,i ust as ked me for a light *t » er „ ’ Pelling replied, “and as Hlk.rt 6 F°' ng the same way, we “Hon-*!? 116 together.” hr." “ e hasn’t got your watch, i*nghed B in llis pocket and sain. "Mothing missing,” he Befor. o at s wr °ng with the chap?” ton n . Sanderson would replv Fel•M calL' Wenty yards away, turned “ out, "Good night, sir. I'll

be getting along, or I'll miss my train.” “Good-night.” Felling answered, “and thank you for your company.” Then he turned to the detective. “A wrong ’un, eh?” he said. “One of the worst, sir, but I don't think he’s come down to picking pockets yet. I was only joking about your watch. Xow if you were a rich man. sir, or a man that was worth plucking—l suppose he didn't try to be very friendly, sir?” “Oh, no, Sanderson; he seemed pleasant enough, but no attempt to strike up an acquaintance. A gentleman. I should say.” “Yes. sir, once. He was one of the men in the Bextable affair. He got five vears for that. But it takes more than five years to knock the stuffing out of a chap like Sam Felton. You’re out late, sir.” “Yes, It's the only time I get for a walk. I had lo see a friend in Putney, and thought I'd walk along to Hammersmith, and take the train or bus back from there. I’m not used to office life yet. I want to be out in the air.” "Like to come back in the boat. Sir. We could drop you at Putney pier, or lower down if you liked. “No, thanks, Sanderson. I might get you into trouble.” Pelling replied, and then, anxious to make it quite evident that he was not going to meet Felton further on, lie laughed. W f.'' it would be rather jolly,V be said. A new experience for me. Tie haven t blen on a boat together since 1917, eh?” They began to talk about some litSe incidents that had happened during the last year of the war. laey did not speak of big events, but of such trifles as fellow soldiers love to Te e n me minn r tes later the boat took s. d sjrstA 1 nick Pelling said very little. He P finger on it could not say for certain j

that he had done or said anything to rouse Sanderson’s suspicious. And after all, Sanderson was a friend. Sanderson had served under him. There were strong links between them. If It had been some strange detective; well, that would have been another matter. CHAPTKR XV. When Richard Felling softly entered his bedroom, his wife was still asleep. He put the candle behind the water jug so that the light of it should not fall in her eyes. Then he began to undress. From time to time he looked at her sleeping and yet not happy in her sleep. She moved her position and flung out a slim white arm toward him. He thought she must be half awake, and he came closer to the side of the bed, expecting her to speak to him. But, even in the dim light, he could see that her eyes were closed. And then there came a faint whimpering sound from her lips—a noise such as a child might make. The fingers of her hand clenched, and she drew her arm sharply back so that it lay by her side. For a few moments there was silence, and then there was a low cry of pain, and she began to sob very softly and pitifully. ‘‘What is it, darling?” he whispered. The answer came quite clearly. “Dick,” she said. “Why don't you tell me the truth? We can fight them together, you and I.” “Why don't you tell me the truth?” That was so obviously an answer to Felling's question that for a few moments he was quite deceived. He even said, “What do you mean, Mary dear?” And then, in the silence that followed, he realised that his wife was still asleep." He could only hear her quick breathing—the breathing of a woman who had been suddenlv frightened by something. He leant over her and kissed her. Then he moved to the shabby little dressing-1 table by the window. He looked at his face in the dull mirror, and it was the face of a man who had seen a ghost. "She knows,” he said to himself, and then a few moments later he said. “She does not know.” Something had frightened her. some suspicion had arisen in her mind. She knew that all was not well with him. Some- I thing she knew. But how much? Had he betrayed himself by his conduct, by some chance look, some careless ! word? He was certain that he had ; not betrayed himself, as certain as a man can be who has kept guard over his tongue, even over his thoughts. ;' Then someone must have told her—not the truth, but enough to rouse her suspicions that he had something to conceal. Peter? Jim? Sam? It must be one j i

of these three scoundrels. It could not possibly have been Susan Croad. She was his friend, and, besides, she would not play the game so low, even if she bad wished to hurt him. Yet what object could the gang possibly have in poisoning his wife's mind? Their sole object was to get money, and to have their share of '’’9 diamonds. For the present, at any rate, they would, if they were sensible, do nothing to injure him. Of course, it was just possible that they might have decided to bring pressure to bear on him through his wife. But in that case they would have laid all their cards on the table. They would have said to his wife, “We want so and so from your husband. If we don’t get