TALES OF TO-DAY. A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES, BY GEORGE R. SIMS, Author of 'Rogues and Vagabonds, 'Three Brass Balls, 'How the Poor Live,' 'The Lights o' London,' &c., &c. VII. A MISSING HUSBAND.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 360, 17 April 1889, Page 4

TALES OF TO-DAY. A SERIES OF SHORT STORIES, BY GEORGE R. SIMS, Author of ' Rogues and Vagabonds, 'Three Brass Balls, 'How the Poor Live,' 'The Lights o' London,' &c., &c. VII. A MISSING HUSBAND.

'Bv Jove, Jack, old follow, you've been a lucky dog,' said Tom Yarborough, as the last of his friend's guests departed and he | was left alono with him in the smoke-room of his charming 'Queen Anne' house at Hampstead. Jack Smedley gave a little sigh. ' Yes, Tom.' he said, ' I suppose I ought to consider myself lucky.' 1 You suppose ! Why there can't be much supposition about it. Five years ago. Tack, things were rather different with you.' ' They were, but I think I was happier then. Moneys a jolly nice thing, Tom, but like all other luxuries it costs a good deal to acquire.' ' Well, you have acquired it, so you ought to be contented. If you are not, I don't know who should be. Look at you. Barely thirty, strony, handsome, a universal favourite with the men as well as with the women, you've a lovely little house in town, a charming place at Brighton, >our phieton and Mr? Smodley's | victoria are che smartest turn-outs in the Park, jou'\e the best of health and the , best of luck, you're going to be taken into partnership by the biggest firm in the city, your wife's the prettiest and the jollie&t little woman in the world, and By Jo\e, old man, it almost takes my breath away to think what a lucky chap you are !' Jack Smedley let hie friend run on, without replying to Ir'm. He sat back in the big easy chair and smoked his cigar with a look in his o- e3 that told of thoughts far away, find there crept over his face a shadow that few who knew Jack Smedley's face would have expected to see there. Hit- friend noticed it, and it puzzled him. ' What's the matter, Jack ?' he said ; 'aien't you well to nig-ht?' kOh ye«, I'm all right. I've been a bit worried lately. You see this partnership is a big a flair, but to tell you the truth ib will rather tie my hands. I can't refuse it, because iIV a certainty.' 'Refuse it? I should think nob. You ought to be put in a lunatic asylum for thinking of such a thing.' Either Jack Smedley didn't like the conversation, or he was tired of talking, for he rose and gave Tom a delicate hint that he would be glad to bid him good night. ' You'll excuse me now, old boy, wont you ?' he said. ' I'm a bit tired, and I've a lot of letters to write before I go to bed. To-monow will be a busy day for me in the city, as I have to meet the accountant and the lawyers with regard to the deed of partnership.' 'I understand. Good night, old chap. Shall I say good night to Rose ?' ' She's gone to bed, I think. I'll say good nighb to her for you.' ♦ Well !' said Tom Yarborough to himself as he walked across the Heath in the moonlight, ' that's tho way of the world. If five yeard ago, anybody had told Jack Smedley that he'd one day be taken into partnership with Morton Brothers the richest fiim on the Stock Exchange, he would have jumped up to tho ceiling with delight, and now that it's troing to happen I'm hanged if (he doesn't look more like sinking through the tioor with annoyance. What would I give to be in his shoes !' Jack Smedley — handsome Jack Smedley, as he was called by his friend- I—had1 — had lost his father when he was a lad. The Smedleys were what is popularly called ' a good old county family.' Jack's father had, however, brought the family to erief. He had squandered a goodly inheritance in leviathan gambling transactions. Horse 0 and cards had been his weakness since hi.« youth, and at last they had brought him where they had brought many a richer and many a better man beforo him — to ruin. The old homo was broken up, the old Hall pold, the estate realised to satisfy clamorous creditors, and then the bankruptcy court having given a final touch to thr picture of ' utter smash," Mr Smedley with hi^ wife and only son came up to London, and were lost to view in a little house in a mean and melanchaly feide street in Notting Hill. Then, after a year or two of useless regrets for the stormy past, the elder Smedley shuttled, off the mortal coil, leaving hi& widow the local tradespeople's bills to settle, two quarters' rent to pay, and a growing lad of fifteen to clothe, feed, and provide for in life. Jack came home from school to hi? father's funeral, and he never went back again. He and his mother had to make a fight for life. The mother's friends did » little for her, and she managed to get a little house of furniture together and to let lodgings to city clerk&, and .so to make both ends bread and cheese. Jack, thanks tn the same people — people who had known the Smedleys in their ' better days ' — w«p lucky enough to obtain a situation in the office of a stockbroker. He was really only a superior errand boy at first, but ho wap paid ten shillings a week, and that was a wonderful he'pto the widow in her struggles wifh the landlord and the rate collector, not to mention the baker and the butcher. Jack was a handsome boy and an amiable boy. He had been a favourite at school, and he was soon a favourite with his employers. He was quick, bright, and iiiflu -trious, and always a gentleman. After he had been in the oflice two years he was a clerk and had £75 a year, and when he was twenty-one he was a superior clerk and had £150. It was just when he came of ace that hi** mother died, and then Jack, having wound up her little estate went into lodgings, and started, in the elegant phrase of the period, ' entirely on his own hook.' Fortunately for young Smedley, before ! his independence, his loneliness, his hand- j some face and his charming manners had led him into the dangerous by-paths of London life, he fell over head and ears in love with a pretty young lady, who lodged with her mamma in the same home. Rose Leacroft was a lady. Her papa had been a Lieutenant in the Navy. He had died of malarial fever in some dreadful foreign seaport, and left his wife and little daughter about £150 a year. Mrs Lcacroffc liked the handsome young stockbroker they called Jack very much indeed. He was a gentleman, and his family were ' known,' and Mrs Leacroft thought a great deal of family. People who come down in the world generally do. It is a great consolation to them in their poverty to know that no shabbiness, no short commons, no indignity on the part of landlords or tradespeople, can rob them of their birthright. They may be noor, but they are ' well born.' Their clothes may be the worse for wear, they may ride in omnibuses, and they may not always have butcher's meat for dinner, but still they are ladies and gentlemen by birth. When Mr& Leacroil found that Jack Smedley was a ' real ' gentleman, she

smiled upon him, and was gracious, and she discovered that her * people ' had in some years gone by known some of his ' people,' and she was able to tell him whom his great aunts married, and what relation he was by marriage to several people who occasion ally figured in the list of presentations to Her Majesty and among the guests at the balls and receptions of the season. And when Jack and Rose discovered that tliey were in love with each other, Mrs Leacroft was glad. Mr Smedley was a rising young man. He was sure to attain a good position in the city, and though a business man he waB * the ccion of a county family.' It was not a very long courtship. Six months after they were engaged Jack and Ro«e were married, and they took a tiny little house in the Camden Road, and had one little maid-of -all- work, and were very economical, for they had determined to save all they could, and never, never to get into debt or to launch out beyond their means. It was a happy little home, and it grew happier as Jack's position improved, and they had a big arrown-up servant, and the little drawing-room began to fill with elegant nick-nacks, and Rose had prettier and more expensive dresses, and they could give modest little dinner parties, and take their holiday comfortably at the seaside, not in lodgings, but at the best hotel. Then they moved to a bigger house, and had stalls at the theatres and at the opera, and a hired brougham took them and brought them home, and they soon began to taste the pleasure of being ' well-to do.' Everything prospered with Jack after his marriage. The firm had been pleased with him before. They were delighted with him now. Ho was married, and that removed the last drawback to their complete confidence in him. A handsome young fellow of one-and-twciity is not so desirable as a confidential clerk as a young mirried man of the same age. So perfect was the firm's faith in Jack that, m hen the head clerk started in business for himself, Jack took his plane, and from that moment was absolute. He saw tho principal clients, managed the biggest jobs, signed cheques in the firm's name, and took over the entire command of the ship ; and the partners, who were growing old and had made their c pile,' gradually left the business moie and more to him, until at last they did as he told them, instead of telling him what he was to do for them. And finally, things going on so well, they took longer holidays than usual and didn't mind about being away both together. 'Mr Smedley was now practically tho firm, and clients asked for no one el^o. If one of the partners was in and saw a client, the client just said, • How d'yo do ?' mid then said he would wait and see JMr Smedley. When things were in this delightful position Mr Smedley was very different from the Jack Smedley of old days. He was as handsome and amiable as ever, but not so economical. He had a beautiful house in town, and his wife had her horses and diamonds, and they gave s;rand parties and had launched out in a life which was a costly and extravagant; one. Everybody knew that Jack didn't do it on his salary. You don't live up to £5,000 a year on £1,000. But tihere was no mystery about it. Jack, with his intimate knowledge of the markets, had made coup after coup on his own account, so it was said. Why, it wa« common gossip that during one panic he had made over £30,000 in American rails, and out of the electric light boom while it had lasted he had cleared another £20,000. One clay it was a week before the dinner party referred to at the opening of this narrative — tho partners came up to town smiling and bland, and when they arrived at the office they invited Mr Smedley to favour them with a few moments'conversation in their private room. They told him that in consideration of his talents, and his long un:l faithful ser\ico, they had determined to take him into partnership. Of course Jack thanked them effusively — dream of his life — never repay their kindnes-.s, etc. Then they went into details, and explained that as there was to be a partnership everything must of course be done in a propei way, and so an accountant would | come and go through the books, and put I everything straight, so that they might j make a perfectly fair and business-like I *tart as between themselves and their new and junior partner. 'Quite right,' said Jack; nnd it was a -ranged that the accountant should come [ in on the following Monday to get the accounts straight, and then the deed.% should be drawn up and the partnership should be settled. The night of the dinner party was the night before the accountant was to commence his labours. On the following morn- ■ ing 1 Mr Smedley packed a portmanteau and kissed his wile, telling her he had to go out ! of town to see a client of the firm's, who [ vas ill and wanted to sell out his shares in I various undertakings and invest in Consols, He didn't go to the office, and the partners were afraid he wa3 ill, and sent up to his house. Mrs Smedley, astonished, wrote a note to say he had gone out of town for !■ the firm. [ Then the partners were astonished too, and couldn't make it out, and didn't until the accountant struck them speechless with horror and amazement by informing them that theie was a sum of nearly £50,000 I which was not properly accounted for, and | which he wanted to know aboi^ before he could balance. This led to a closer investigation, and then there was no doubt as to the motive of the confidential clerk's disappearance. He had embezzled during tho last five years about £50,000, and the otter of a partnership had necessitated a thorough balancing of the books, and that balancing he had not thought it advisable to honour with his presence. Jack Smedley's disappearance was a nine days' wonder on the Stock Exchange, and then it was forgotten. The partners whose confidence Jack had so shamefully abused felt bound on public grounds to take some steps in the matter, and they determined to prosecute him, and the police issued advertisements, and a reward was offered for his apprehension. But not the slightest trace was ever found of the fugitive. Poor Rose at first utterly refused to be" lieve that her husband had gone off so un" ceremoniously. Day after day she expected that he would find some means of communi eating with her and letting her know where he was. She gave up everything to her husband's creditors without a murmur, and went back to live with her mother, hoping against hope that she would hear something of Jack, that he would let her know where he was, and give her the means of joining him. But the weeks grew into months, and still there came no sign, and presently a year had gone by and she was still in utter ignorance of her husband's whereabouts. Sho felt that he had treated her very i cruelly ; the shame was bad enough, the ( terrible suspense was worse. She didn't even know if he was alive or dead. At last she mado up her mind that he must be dead. He might hq.ve committed suicide — drowned himself, perhaps- -and this was

the reason that since the days of his flight the silence had remained unbroken. She wondered often what could have induced him to turn dishonest. She had never asked for a luxury, though she had accepted it when it came. And Jack himself had always appeared quite contented and happy in the days when they practised economy. Year succeeded year, and still no news came, and then Rose abaudoned her last hope, and made up her mind that on this side of the grave she .should see her husband no more. Then she determined to accept an offer which she had from an old friend of her family, a wealthy widow named Moncrieff, and accept the position of companion to her. Rose's mother had died the year previously, and she had no one to consider but herself. Mrs Moncrieff was about to take a long continental tour, and the change of scene and the excitement would be the very best thing possible for Mrs Smedley, whose health had suffered under the long harass and suspense she had endured. On the evening that was to be her last in the lodgings she had occupied since her mother's death, she was busy packing her boxes, when the landlady came up to say that a gentleman wished to &cc her. It was so unusual for anyone to call upon Mrs Smedloy, that tor a moment a wild idea flashed across her mind that it was Jack. But the hope was slain the moment it was born, for the landlady added, 'He says that his name's Yarbor'Ugh, ma'am.' 'Tom \arborough,' said Rose to herself, 'whatever can he want? I suppose he's heard that I'm going abroad and has come to say good-bye.' She came downstairs to the parlour to see her visitor, and found Tom in a state of great excitement. 'I—lI — I hope you won't mind my calling on you so late !' he explained. ' but I've only just found out wheie you lived. I've some news for jou.' 'I know what it if,' gasped Rose, 'you — you've seen Jack.' 'Yes, I believe I have.' The next minute Tom had dashed out into the hall and was yelling for the landlady. Rose Smedley had fallen down in a dead faint. When the landlady and Tom between them had brought her round and Rose was calmer, Tom told his story. He had been dining with some friends on the previous evening at a little town some thirty miles fiom London, and after dinner they had made up a party to go to the local theatre. Tlia piece was nob up to much and the company was only a small travelling one, but the voice of the man who played one o f the parts instantly arre&ted Tom's attention. He listened and listened, and the more he listened the more the idea haunted him that he was listening to Jack Smedley. He borrowed a pair of opera glaspes and scrutinized ohe actor carefully, but the ' make up ' effectually concealed the man's real features. And yet there was a look about the eyes and upper part of the face that confirmed Tom's impression that he was in the presence of his long-lo&t friend. The actor's name was given in the programme as 'Mr J.Wilson.' As soon as the performance was over Tom made an excuse to his friends and went round to the stage door. He saw the stage door-keeper and asked if he could speak to Mt Wilson. ' I'll see, sir. What name '!' 'Say Mr Yarborough.' The man took the message, and promptly retnrned to say that 'Mr Wilson was engaged with the manager, and could not see anybody then.' Tom was not to be put off so easily as that, so he said he would wait outside. As he was turning from the door, a young lady came up from the stage, dressed for the street. ' Oh, Mrs Wilson,' said the doorkeepor, ' there is the gentleman as wants to see your husband.' Tom turned and looked at the young lady. She was very pretty and about four and twenty. ' I beg your pardon,' said Tom. hesitating and wondering" how he should get. out what was on his mind without making a mess of it. 'I only wanted to ask Mr Wilson a question.' 'Perhaps I can answer it,' replied the young lady, looking at Tom with a searching glance. ' I—cI — cr — I'm afraid not. I'd sooner wait for him.. I shan't detain him a minute.' ' I'll go and see if he can leave the manager for a moment,' said the young lady and she went down the stairs to the stage again. Tom waited and waited. The actors and actresses passed out, and presently the fireman came upstairs. ' Seen Mr Wilson ?' said the stage doorkeeper. • This gentleman'? waiting for him. ' ' Everybody's gone,' replied the fireman. ' There ain't anybody in the house now.' 'How long has Mr Wilson been gonethen?' ' I don't know the company by name, but there ain't nobody left in the house, I can tell you that,' was the reply. ' Ah,' said the stage doorkeeper, ' then it's no use you waiting. Mr Wilson and his wife have gone through the front.' Then Tom at once jumped to the conclusion that the young lady had told Wilson that he (Tom) was still waiting, and they had both slipped out the front way to avoid meeting him. And this convinced him that his surmise was correct, and that the actor with Jack Smedley's voice was Jack Smedley himself ! Tom Yarborough blurted out his story, for he was full of it. It was not until he saw the effect of his narrative upon poor Rose that it occurred to him that he bad done an unwise thing. 'I don't believe it, Mr Yarborough,' she exclaimed, her eyes tilling with tears. 'I won't believe it. My husband was cruel to leave me in doubt and suspense all these years, but surely he would not venture back again and run the risk of detection — and — ' She could not bring herself to say what was in her mind, which was that wicked as Jack Smedley had been to her, he would not be so wicked as to come back to England calling another woman wife. But her curiosity was excited. The idea that her husband was alive and near London revived all the old feelings of doubt and anxiety which she had after a lapse of years conquered. ' Tom,' she said, presently, 'I must see this matter out. I shall go down to this place. Will you come with me ?' ' Certainly,' said Tom, feeling that he was 'in for it,' ' but — cr — hadn't I better go first and make sure ? You see, I may have beon mistaken after all.' • No, I'll go myself. I can't rest now till I know the truth.' Mrs Moncreiff started for the Continent alone, Ro&e explaining that important business of a private nature would detain her in town for a few days. The next evening, accompanied by Tom Yarborough, Mrs Smedley went to the theatre. It was a different play — the bill had been changed, but there was no Mr Wilson in the cast. Tom went round to the stage door and interviewed the stage doorkeeper again. Did he know if Mr Wilson was in the town still, and could he give him his address ? Tom was referred to the acting manager, who said that Wilson, had nut been, to rehearsal that morning, and on sending to

his lodgings it was found that he and his wife had taken their luggage and left the town. It was a very extraordinary thing to do, as a week's salary was due to them, and the manager couldn't understand it. Tom Yarborough understood it and Rose understood it. Jack Smedley had ventured back again, believing that his crinae was forgotten and that in the strolling actor no one would recognise him. Directly he had been told that a Mr Yar borough wished to sco him he knew that he was discovered, and he had fled, taking with him the woman who called herself his wife. But even now there was no proof that these surmises were coirect, and Rose couldn't leave the matter where it was. 'Mr Yai borough,' she said, 'I am determined that I will find this actor who calls himself Wilson, and see for myself if he is my husband. I can't rest now until I know the truth, however terrible that truth may be.' Tom Yarbovough went back to London ; he had his business to attend to, but Rose went to the hotel and stayed in the little town. She determined to find out from the company and from the landlady of Mr Wilson's lodgings what kind of man this Mr Wilson was. She went next day to the lodgingp. The landlady could tell her very little. Might she see the rooms ? Certainly. They were poorly furnished, dull, uncom-fortable-looking rooms — small parlours divided by a folding door. They were what is known in the profession as • theatrical diggings, 'and they changed their occupants almost week by week. Some of the tenants were caretul, but some were not, and the general appearance of the apartments bespoke rough usage and neglect. Rose looked about the rooms in vain for any sign ov token by which she might know that the last occupant had been her husband. She didn't know what she had expected to find, but she had a vague idea that she might light upon a clue in some shape or form. Finding nothing, Rose Smedley began to ask questions of the landlady. What sort of looking man was Mr Wilson ? How old did ho appear to be, &c, &c. The landlady couldn't say much about her last lodger. She had so many coming and going that they were pretty near all alike to her, and she saw very little of them. But she did notice Mrs Wilson ; she noticed her particularly because when she came to pay the bill, and to say they were going away, she seemed nervous and frightened, and her manner attracted her attention. Rose felt a sharp pang of jealousy as she listened to the landlady's description of the young woman's personal attractions. For the first time it ocemred to her that even if she traced her husband he was utterly lost to her. This girl, whocalledherself his wife, had usurped her place, and all that was left to her now was to prove the fact of her husband's treachery, sue for a divorce and be a free woman again. Gradually she began to see that that was what she ought to do. Why should she spend the rest of her life bearing the name of a man who had treated her so infamously ; who had committed a criminal act, and left her without a word, only to come back again after many years with another woman as his companion ? Yes, she had another motive in finding John Wilson, the actor, now. Love was dead, and revenge had taken its place. But how was she to find the man ? She had no clue, not a single thread to guide her. The man had left no address at the lodgings ; no one there had the slightest idea as to where he was going when he left. Rose went back to the theatreand saw the manager. She explained that the Mr Wilson who had so mysteriously disappeared was, she believed, afiiend of her family's, and she was very anxious to discover his whereabouts. The manager was polite, but he knew nothing of VYilson ; he had engaged him for the tour, v Inch commenced about a month previously. Wilson had answered an advertisement, and had applied for himself and his wife. ' Have you the letter ?' said Rose. She thought to herself that she would recognise the handwriting, and that would set her doubts at rest. The manager couldn't say, probably it was destroyed, but he would look among his papers and see. He was absent for about ten minute 1 , and then he returned. ' I can't find the letter,' he said : * bub I've found a photngroph he sent with it.' ' His photograph !' cried Rose. ' Let me see it. I shall know it at once.' ' No, not his photogi-aph —the photograph of his wife.' He placed in Rose's hands the photograph of a young woman, and Rose looked at it with mingled feelings ot curiosity and repugnance. The landlady was right. The girl was certainly pretty. There was a look of delicacy and refinement in the features, and the eyes weie very large and beautiful. May I — may E keep this ?' gasped Rose, as with a deep sigh she lifted her eyes from her rival's face. ' Certainly, if you wish it. And now I mu3b ask you to excuse me. We are playing a new piece to-night, and I'm wanted on the stage.' Rose thanked the manager, and left the theatre with the photograph of Mrs Wilson in her pocket. She had made up her mind what to do. ' I shall know this woman again,' she said to herself, ' wherever I see her, and when I do pee her I shall not be long befere I find out whei'e this man is who parses as her husband.' Five minutes after Mrs Smedley had left the theatre, a gentleman arrived and sent in his card. There were two words in the corner which procured him instant admission. Those two words were ' Scotland Yard.' The gentleman explained his business in a few words. He wanted some information about a Mr Wilson, an actor in the company. ' Why, there's just been a lady here on the same errand,' said the astonished manager. ♦ What's Wilson been doing ?' ' A lady !' exclaimed the Scotland Yard gentleman. * What was she like?' The manager told him. ' So,' thought the detective, ' Mi's Smedley's heard of it too. Well, between us I fancy we shall find him ; but she rnusn't know I'm going to help her, or it might upset the applecart.' Tom Yarborough had done a very foolish thing. He had gone back to the city and mentioned that he believed he had seen Jack Smedley acting at a theatre. He did it innocently. He had quite forgotten that the reward of £1,000 for Smedley's apprehension, which was issued at the time his frauds were discovered, had never been withdrawn, and that the warrant was still in the hands of the police. Someone who owed Smedley a grudge in the city— a former clerk of the firm he had robbed, heard the news and went straight away to Scotland Yard with it, and a detective went down at once to the town where Yarborough thought he had seen the culprit at the theatre. And so it came about that after a lapse of years, during which Jack Smedley's crime and his mysterious flight had almost dropped out of remembrance, Tom Yarborough's chance visit to a little provincial theatre suddenly set the hounds of justice once more on hi? track. (To be Continued.)