OUR SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, 10 April 1928, Page 14

OUR SERIAL STORY

“LOVE’S STOWAWAY"

By JOHN L. CARTER

Righlt Rttervta:

CHAPTER XII. CECIL ON THE SCENT. The sudden disappearance of John D. Briant’s niece had created a great sensation in New York. Indeed, owing to the vigorous newspaper publicity, the Old Sixty-four dock had become quite famous, numerous ghouls and rubbernecks visiting it each day to speculate as to whether Miss Molly Briant had, in reality, walked off the end into the river Hudson.

Cecil, Lord Belden, had set out entirely Confident in his ability to find her. He would have nothing to do with the general opinion that she had committed suicide. She was not that sort of girl, he asserted. Nevertheless, for all he caused old Briant to spend money like water —upon detectives, and posters, and every device that might be expected to repeal her whereabouts—he achieved no result. It was as though the earth, or rather the river, had opened and swallowed her up for ever. It might naturally be expected that Cocil hated John D. Briant with an incurable hatred, but this was not the case. His one thought was to find some w r ay to solving the mystery. And. in this connection he certainly got considerable satisfaction out of John D. Briant’s ability to provide all the money that was needed for these various activities.

The sensation proved a God-send to the press, in a very flat time, but it was noticeable that there were.no more spicy paragraphs to the effect that Lord Belden had been out to marry money. Indeed, all the world knew that he was suffering agonies over the loss of the girl he loved. At the back of Cecil’s mind were nameless, dreadful fears, fears of what would be worse than death for poor little Molly. Had she been seized, by some hateful denizen of New York's underworld, and shipped off to some gilded sink in Buenos Aires or some other place, to be at the kindly mercies of some lecherous millionaire with a penchant for innocence and beauty. He had heard of such thing happening, yes, even in his native Scotland. Or, worse, was she a prisoner somewhere in the foreign quarter of the City! And yet, if only she were, and her captors w’ere to offer her to ransom. Yes, he would rather that she were dead, a thousand times, than that she should be condemned to a life that would be worse than any death.

Cecil invoked tho aid of everyone who could be of the slightest service to him in his search, and it was not surprising that he should early seek out Mr. Rogers of Angel’s Travel Bureau, who was the last person to speak to her at any length. He also called regularly at Mr. Knapp’s office in the hope that he might have returned from that trip to the Clyde. “It’s a strange thing, sir,” said Mr. Knapp’s head clerk, on one occasion, “but we’ve never had a word from the boss since he sailed three weeks ago. I can’t think what’s happened. He alw'ays cables us when lie reaches land, in case we might want to communicate with him, vou understand.”.

“Row long is he oveiitfie!” asked Cecil.

“Well, at the very least, my lord, he must be a week overdue,” said the clerk, shaking his head. “It’s Very' strange indeed, in my opinion.” That set Cecil thinking, and he went straight on to see Mr. Rogers.

“Well, my boy, and what can I do for you!” Mr. Rogers greeted him. “Mr. Rogers, I want you to help work out a little idea that’s come to me,” said Ceqil. “I suppose theft’s nothing in it. Still, it will work out better if I’ve got somebody to say it out to, you understand.”

“Go straight ahead,” said Mr. Rogers, leaning back in his chair.

“Weil, we know that Miss Briant has not been traced further than the Old Sixty-four dock,” began Cecil. “Has it ever occurred to you that she might have boarded some vessel.”

Mr. Rogers shook his head and looked up in some surprise. “By Jove! that’s an idea!” he cried. “It’s an unusual idea, though.” He rubbed his chin. “Do you mean as a sort of stowaway !” “I don’t know what I mean,” confessed Cecil. “It certainly is a fact that Mr. Knapp's yacht Beryl sailed that same evening." “By Jove, so it did!” cried Mr. Rogers.

“Well now, I have just called at his office,” went on Cecil, “and they tell me that the Beryl is a week overdue at her destination.”

Mr. Rogers nodded his head thought fully.

“I’d like to think that she had stowed away,” he said. "Besides, Knapp’s all right—straight as a die. Oh, George Knapp would give her a square deal.” “I'm glad of that,” said Cecil genuinely relieved. “Now what do you think about my theory, Mr. Rogers! I don't want to begin to hope, if you think there is no chance.”

Mr. Rogers shook his head, unwilling to commit himself.

“All I can say is, it would be like her, if the boat was going to the Clyde, suddenly to make up her mind to join it. don’t you think!” said Cecil. “Yes, 1 think there’s just a possibility that she did it,” agreed Rogers. “Otherwise, why has she never been seen after going on to the Old Sixtyfour dock!”

Cecil's face had brightened considerably. “And, after all," he said, “a small boat like the Beryl being a week overdue means nothing, do you think, Mr. Rogers! They might have had engine trouble. A small yacht is not supposed to be as good a time-keeper as a thirtythousand ton liner.”

Mr. Rogers nodded. “Besides, she set out in villainous weather,” he said. “I have by no means given up hope of the Beryl.” That made Cecil jump from his chair, seize Roger’s hand, and grip it heartily. “Mr. Rogers, I’m going to begin to hope,” he cried. “I haven't dared to hope for more than a fortnight now.”

“I'll get in touch with our agents over there, and we shall get a cable immediately there is any news of the Beryl.”

And with that the tw’o men parted.

Four terrible, age-long weeks passed, but there was no news of the Beryl. Cecil’s hopes steadily sank. Still, he made no attempt U; return to his

tish home, even though his mother had written him urging him to go back. In her letter she told him that his old friend, Lady Cleave, was staying with her at Belden, and was eating her heart out for him. This Lady Cleave was a charming widow of only twenty-three, in whom Cecil had been mildly interested at one time—that was, until she suddenly took it into her head to set her cap at Sir Hamer Cleave —or, as the world said,—at his money. And then she had dropped Cqcil completely. Cecil wrote telling his mother that he could not possibly return. He never mentioned Lady Cleave. Actually he had not the slightest desire to see her ever again. As for his mother, he was aware how keen she was on his making a wealthy marriage—and, knowing how hard up she was, he tried to excuse her. Still, lie did not admire her for trying to interest him again in Stella, w-ho was no longer a fresh young girl, but another man’s widow'. Stella was the daughter of Hooghley of Chicago who had made a cool ten millions out of the Great War, a rogue if ever there was one. He carefully said nothing about his love for Molly to his mother. That was his owm affair, and a sacred secret, he considered.

And now the papers began to comment upon the fact that the Beryl was greatly overdue. Various suggestions as to the possible cause of the Beryl’s i.on-arrival in the Clyde were offered; that the engine had broken down; that she had collided with some other vessel in the heavy fog; and, that she had been driven ashore. It was to be remembered that the most destructive northerly gale that had been experienced for many years had been raging at the time.

Cecil still did his utmost to keep up hope. He evolved all manner of mad schemes, the majority of which he scrapped almost as soon ■as they were conceived. Suppose, for instance, the Beryl's engine had broken down, as was, apparently, unlikely, and the yacht had drifted before the gale, almost direct south, why should it not be still afloat with no water left —and so on! More than once he was on the point of urging old man Briant to equip a horde of fast motor-boats to scour the mid-Atlantic in search of the yacht. Each time, however, it came upon him how very tin likely it was that they should chance across the Beryl, or, indeed, that she should have drifted so far. No, if anything, she had foundered.

And yet, he felt convinced that that was not possible, at least, not if little Molly were really on board. But, no doubt that conviction was born of his inability to admit the possibility of his .never seeing her again. She was more than life itself to him. She was the one thing needed to make him complete. And now, at last, came the astounding piece of news, that a dingy, bearing the “Beryl” had been discovered stove in and jammed tightly on a submerged spike of coral, some thirty miles off the coast of Florida. That news alarmed, infuriated Cecil.lt was so bafbing. It suggested so much, yet told so little. True, the newspapers said plenty—they very quickly had their theory cut and dried —obviously the Beryl had become unseaworthy, and Mr. Knapp and his crew or three had taken to the dingy, which had struck upon this submerged spike ■of coral, the Beryl’s survivors eventually being washed off into the sea.

Cecil's first step was to find old Briant.

“Have you seen the news about the Beryl!” he cried excitedly.

Old man Briant nodded. “That looks like the end of that theory, anyhow, he said, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“On the contrary,” objected Cecil, “I want you to charter the fastest motorboat there is to be got for money, aul come with me and let’s patrol the coasr, We might even scour the islands:”

Briant shrugged his shoulders and pursed his lips most depressingly.

“In the first place, to scour all those islands, we’d have to cover an area of fifteen-thousand square miles,” lie said. “It'd be much worse than looking for the proverbial needle in the iay-st:iek.'’ But Cecil would not listen. “We've got to do it," he insisted, “and we’ve got to start this very day.” “But, my dear young man,'' said Briant. “Surely the fact that i.lie dinghy has been found—the Beryl had only one boat, so the papers say—is sufficient proof. The papers say it happened seven miles from the nearest island. Granted, my niece was a fairly good swimmer, but you don’t mean to tell me that she could swim all that way. Think of the sharks alone—they tell me they simply abound in tjiose waters.”

(The characters in this story are entirely imaginary, and no reference to living persons is intended). (To be Continued).