The Courage of Love

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 933, 28 March 1930, Page 5

The Courage of Love

Author of “ Loyb’b Harvest,'* “The Road ho Love," “The Way to Win,’-' etc..

COPYRIGHT PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

MAHAME AIBANESI

CHAPTER XV. [ Martin Joyce devoted close thought to the story of Diana’s disappearance which Mrs. Waverley had given him. By the influence of his strong commonsense, he braced up Hugh to a very satisfactory extent. The knowledge that such a fine brain was working with him to solve the terrible problem with which he was confronted brought not only comfort to Hugh Waverley, but let a glimmer of hope creep into the grey and desolate outlook. About a week after Joyce had come into their lives again, he had dinner with them in their lodgings. Hugh, on his advice, had been to see his firm, and had agreed to take on some work that was in London. He would go back to Rexbury and the old abbey as soon as he really was better physically, and easier in his mind. It was wonderful how the friendship and the calm practical outlook of Marj tin Joyce stimulated Waverley. Never- | theless, as the days went by, Joyce ! felt that he could not solve this probI lem of the girl’s disappearance singlej handed. And he resolved to fall back ; upon the skill of a certain doctor I friend of his, who combined with his very fine attributes of a physician certain qualities which might also have been described as being hypnotic, and also of a detective nature. Without saying anything to Hugh or to his mother, Martin Joyce got in touch with Dr. Bravington, and he at once interested the physician in the story he had to tell. Like himself, Dr. Bravington at once determined that if all had been above-board ! and straight, there would have been j no necessity, for this man Town ley to ( I have abducted Diana, which was what \ ! he really had done. ! “It’s most unfortunate,” the doctor! ! said thoughtfully, in discussing the; ! matter with Joyce, “that Mrs. Thorp, i did not take someone into her con-, fidence. I understand she was a very I i-eticent and difficult woman, and 11 ! suppose her dignity and her pride j - were so badly hurt that she felt she 1 could deal with this matter singlehanded. Also, I cannot understand bow she could have let the gill go to meet this man by herself.” “Well, her meeting with this man seems to have knocked her right off her ordinary strong-willed stand,” said Martin Joyce. “However, it’s no use going into what Mrs. Thorp ought to have done; what I want you to do is i to help me to find out, if we possibly j can, where Diana Ladbroke is and ! what is happening.” j The doctor agreed. I “Unless, of course, he has taken the I girl to the other side of the world, i I think you and I and Waverley toi gether must come across some clue j to this man Townley’s actions and ! whereabouts. before we have gone very far. Of course, I know people can be lost in London, but it is extraordinary how the truth comes out, I iust by some little chance or some false move on the part of the person who wants to be hidden. It seems to me ridiculous,” said Dr. Bravington after a little pause, “that the people at the hotel in Middleston cannot give you some sort of helm Have you ever inquired of the staff at the hotel whether they had had any conversation with the chauffeur of this Tran Townley?*’ “Yes Hugh did all that, said Martin Joyce. “He left nothing undone i His anxiety has been terrible and if we are not careful of him he will i ruin himself. See here Bravington, we must guard against hi» bieakmg i down in health, and what is much more serious,, causing his mother great buck him up in a little j while,” said Dr. Bravington, “and as

you have said already, work is the best thing possible for him. Who has that letter that was addressed to Miss Ladbroke by her father?” “It is in Hugh’s possession. She left it behind her when she went that day to Middleston, and her aunt gave it him as being the only piece of evidence on which to work up any theory, or any explanation.” “Can I see that letter?” inquired Dr. Bravington. “1 am sure Hugh will show it to you. It’s a very affectionate, loving letter, but it gives very few details about the man whom he desires his daughter to regard as her future guardian. Could you find time to come round this evening to Mrs. Waverley’s rooms? I think Hugh will be there, unless lie’s, out wandering the streets, as he does so frequently.” The meeting between Dr. Bravington and Hugh Waverley brought a feeling of liking and confidence in each man for the other. Dr. Bravington sat turning over the letter which purported to have been written by Diana’s father, and had been given to her by her aunt the night before she disappeared. As Joyce had told him, it was a very tenderly-worded, affectionate letter, and it spoke with the most pronounced, and even enthusiastic, manner of the writer’s friendship and trust in Cyril Townley, who, according to this letter, had proved himself the most devoted and loyal friend. “Does anyone know where James Ladbroke died?” queried the doctor, after a while. Hugh shook his head. “His sister knew nothing. She had imagined, of course, that he had been dead for a number of years.” ! “What was he doing out in Western | America?” j “His wife had inherited some property out there, so I was told,” Hugh J said, “and although it appears to have j been a worthless business, Ladbroke j had gone out there because he had j given his wife a promise that he | would see into this property; and ap- | parently, too, he had been so stricken with grief when she died that he was glad to go out into the wilds, as it were, and be lost to all who knew him, even to separate himself so entirely from his child.” The doctor nodded his head, and went on with the task of reading the letter through and through. “Mrs. Thorp accepted this letter as being written in her brother’s handwriting?” he queried. “I presume so, though she told me she had not. of course, read the letter until Diana had given it to her, and put it into her hand the morning she left to go to Middleston.” “Well, to my mind,” said Dr. Bravington, and he spoke, decisively, “this letter is nothing but a tissue of lies. Let us get to the truth about James Ladbroke’s death, and then we shall get at something like the truth of what is happening to his daughter, Joyce.” Dr. Bravington turned to the journalist, “this is where you must come in. Newspapers have their uses But we must go to work very cautiously. Have you time to go down to Rexbury? How is that unfortunate Mrs. Thorp?” “She is getting gradually much weaker,” Mrs. Waverley remarked. “I saw her daughter, and though she was not a particularly sympathetic young woman, she did seem to be thoroughly upset about all that had taken place. If you like I will go to Rexbury.” said Hugh’s mother. “It is only very natural we should be anxious to have direct news of Mrs. Thorp, and ! if there is anything you would like me to find out for you, Dr. Bravington, I ! can do it.” I “Yes, I am quite sure you can,” said i Dr. Bravington, with a warm glance at

her. “I think that’s a very good idea When can you go?” “Tomorrow,” said Mrs. Waverley.

And as a matter of fact by noon the next day she alighted from the train at Middleton, and chartered a car to take her out to Rexbury. Hugh had wanted to go with her, but she urged him to go on with his work.

“It will only upset you, my dearest, ailcl you can leave things safely in my hands.” She arrived at the Thatch House as it happened, only a few hours after Agatha Thorp had passed away. She did not see Susan Thorp, but she was able to be very kind and comforting to the boy William, and also to poor Ellen, the maid. It was from Ellen that she got the information that a strange gentleman had called two or three days before, making inquiries about Miss Diana. She described him as being very thin, and tall, kindly in manner, but she also explained that he seemed considerably upset by the news she gave him of Mrs. Thorp s condition and more particularly when he heard of the disappearance of Diana.

“Of course this may mean nothing,” Mrs. Waverley said, when they met again that same evening on her return.

But Dr. Bravington on the contrary disagreed with her. “You have brought back very important news, Mrs. Waverley,” he said. “Now, Martin, what we have to do is to concoct an advertisement, not very long. We must advertise for information from anyone regarding the late James Ladbroke, who was supposed to have died about a year ago out in Western America. I should advise it being published in “The Times” and all the leading morning papers, and in the evening papers as well.”

Very promptly, Martin Joyce took out his stjjlo pen and notebook, and scribbled a*rough outline of the advertisement. He had seen the look of something like excitement that had flashed into Hugh Waverley’s face. “It may be too late,” he said, “to get these in tomorrow’s issue, but they will be in the day after.” “Now if that doesn’t bring something,” Dr. Bravington said, as the two men walked away that night, “well, to use an old expression, ‘l’ll eat my hat.’ I tell you, Martin, there is something very queer—something very ugly going on in connection with this business.”

Martin Joyce put a question to his friend here.

“You don’t think they have done anything to the girl? You don’t think thej' have put her away?” “On the contrary,” the doctor answered, “she must be extremely valuable to them. Now if this strange man who called at the Thatch House the other day, and according to the servant, was so distressed at not finding Diana Ladbroke, sees that advertisement, we shall get probably at something like the truth.” In the advertisement Joyce had put that information was to be taken to a certain firm of lawyers in the city, and he had arranged with these lawyers to communicate with him the very moment anything likely should happen. It was not therefore more than a few hours after the papers had appeared with the advertisement, that he was rung up the firm of solicitors and informed that there was a gentleman in the office who was most anxious to come in contact with him.

“Keep him there,” said Martin Joyce. “I’ll be down immediately.” He did not pass on this news to either Mrs. Waverley or Hugh for the immediate moment, but he managed to scribble a few words to Dr. Bravington, who would find it when he returned to his house after his morning round of patients.

As he got into a taxi, and was driven to the firm of lawyers, Martin Joyce accused himself of being a dunderheaded ass.

| “Of course, I ought to have thought iof this advertisement,” he said to j himself. “It doesn’t need a very brilliant mind to realise that this is probably the one way to get at the truth.” When he reached the lawyers he : had a few hurried words with their., and then he was taken to a room in : which a very tall, thin man was standi ing looking out of the window. They i looked at one another for a moment in j a questioning sort of way, and then

they both smiled and stretched out their hands. “My name is Martin Jo3 r ce,” the journalist said, “and 1 am responsible to a large extent for putting in that advertisement which, I understand, has brought you here today. I am a journalist, and I was called in to work on this mysterious disappearance of Miss Ladbroke by the man who loves her, and whom she loves. His name is Hugh Waverley. May I ask your name, sir?” “Call me Gresham for the moment. That’s not my name, but I want to go a little farther on this path I am following before I disclose myself. You ask for information regarding James Ladbroke? I can give you that information, Mr. Joyce.”

Gresham paused here, and then he said;

“I was Ladbroke’s closest friend. We worked together, we suffered together, and we rejoiced when the day came that all necessitous suffering was at ail end. 1 loved James Ladbroke,” said the man called Gresham, and there was deep feeling in his voifce. “We were like brothers, perhaps even closer than brothers. He saved my life some years ago when I was lying with a broken leg out in an almost inaccessible part of that western country, then we drifted together and became comrades and fellow workers. He was a lovable man,” Gresham added, and the note of emotion in his voice was deeper now. Joyce had seated himself on the edge of a table, his pulses were thrilling, and his heart was beating very quickly. “Did he talk to you about his daughter?” “Oh, constantly. He was fretting about the child, and all the time when we were struggling to make both ends meet, and working on what had been proved to be a worthless mine, putting not only our little bit of money, hut our life’s blood. Into the work, his one thought was his daughter. He had adored his wife,” said Gresham. “I have seen her picture. She must have been a very beautiful woman; she was a singer, and very cruel mischief had been made to separate them.”

Joyce asked a question here. “You met her, Mr. Gresham?

The other man shook his head. “She was killed in an accident, and that was the only explanation for what Ladbroke did, I mean in rushing away from England and leaving his child to the care of his sister. His one ambition was to make money for this girl, Diana. And when our luck changed, and prosperity in the fullest sense was his, he was like a mad man. We were to come home to England almost at once. The things he planned for this girl! It was almost like a fairy story! You see, Mr. Joyce, though the mine was worthless, Ladbroke had other property,” Gresham explained. “The property that came to him from his wife included a cow ranch, but Jim could .not keep it up v and he was just about to sell liis land, when oil was discovered on it. And that is where this man, who calls himself Townley, came on the scene. He and another man, Henry Burke. Evidently they must have known something about the existence of oil on Ladbroke’s property. Anyhow, they appeared on the scene, as I have just said, but fortunately not bqjtone Ladbroke had been able to register the existence of this oil on his ranch property and settle the whole property on his daughter Diana.”

“Ah'” said Martin Joyce. “Now we are getting a little nearer to things! You said just now,” the journalist added, as he took out a cigarette and lit it. “the man who calls himself Cyril Townley, what do you know about him?” “Only this. He is as bad a man as ever walked this earth!” said | Gresham. He did not speak violently ! but in a very quiet way. “A cruel scoundrel. I’ll make the story very j brief, Mr. Joyce. Ladbroke was killed j —shot, and by this man. He thought | he had killed me, too, and he aud j Burke left me for a dead man; but I I was rescued, and gradually I was i brought back again to life. Very | slowly, 1 am sorry to say, because ! one bullet had injured a lung, and I I am only half the man I was. When j I was released from hospital I made ! inquiries, and 1 was told that Ladj broke, of course, was dead and burj ied; that the oil fields were in full

swing, and that though the property j was known to have been settled by j the dead man on his daughter, the I whole matter was being managed by I this man Townley.” CHAPTER XVI. Martin Joyce was listening keenly. “HoW did that come about?” he Queried. ‘‘l mean how did it happen that Townley got into such a position?” Gresham shrugged his shoulders. j “Jim was the most confiding creature; he trusted everybody, and Tow'nley was so plausible. I happened to have to go to the nearest town to attend to a matter of my own. and was away about a fortnight or three ■weeks; when I came back, to my vexation, I found that Townley and Burke were established as close friends to James Ladbroke. They had no use for me, Mr. Joyce, and I certainly had no use for them! I did my best to open Jim's eyes to the danger of allowing these men to be so close in his confidence, but my efforts were unavailing until one night came when Ladbroke, himself, made the discovery that I was right, and that these men were, in fact, what I said they were, utter scoundrels.” “And then?” queried Joyce. He was deeply interested. “Well there was a scene; it had evidently been staged so that the quarrel should take place at a time when there was no one else near Ladbroke but myself. I was shot down very quickly, but not before I iealised that Jim had been murdered.” Gresham -was silent a short while and Joyce remained silent, too. “They thought, of course, that they had finished me,” Gresham said when he spoke again, “but I was picked up by some cowboys who happened to come riding near me. They found I was still alive and with their usual rough, good-hearted patures, they conveyed me first to a ranch house, and then I was taken under the local doctor’s orders, to the hospital in the nearest town.” Gresham gave a deep sigh here. I “If only I could have been in a j condition to have come actively on j the scene, time would not have been | given to these two men to have j worked the nefarious scheme which, undoubtedly, they have done, and I which looks like being crowned with j success. You see, they had to get j possession of Diana .Ladbroke,” Gres-j j ham said vei'y quietly. “I don’t know | what they have in their minds beyond I | that, but they certainly meant to get! ; possession of Ladbrpke's daughter.” i i “And they have apparently succeeded in doing this!” said Joyce! ! rather bitterly, “but I don’t quite ; ; see ” | He broke off as the other man ; spoke quickly. 1 And Townley himself had taken the keys of the furnished house round to the agents, and had paid up a cer- ' tain amount of money by way of not ; continuing to occupy the premises. | He explained that it was necessary that he and his friends should go abroad immediately, and as they had been very careful tenants and had paid I everything they required, the agents \ made no objection. So that within about twelve hours that house in the northern suburb was vacated, and the two men, the housekeeper and Diana, had been driven rapidly away. Before going Townley had got into communication on the telephone with the doctor and had told him also that he would be going - abroad. Having ascertained what still ■ j remained to be owing, he left this money in au envelope to be given to '':the doctor by the agent when he dei posited the keys. He did not want 1 ! to have anyone on his track—that ! | was why everything was paid up to - i the last penny. To be Continued Tomorrow.