NO WOMAN'S LAND

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 July 1938, Page 10

NO WOMAN'S LAND

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGH

BY

JANE ENGLAND

(Author of “Sjambok,” “Trader’s License,” &c.)

CHAPTER VIII. (Continued.) “Sorry for the delay,” he said blandly, but there was someone here, sir Couldn't be my natural self. Lool-: here, I’m sending Hudson back to Salisbury. He’s ail zeal, Mr Easy, pure zeal But I have an idea that he’s got it in for Fellowes; and, anyway, he’s done the most outrageous things. Invaded some people called Hastings and tried to bully the girl—the Howard girl. He’s taken a lot of native chit-chat ai its face value without trying to check up on it, and he’s started a scandal.”

“Is there anything in this murder idea at all?” asked Sinclair. “Don’t know yet. Maybe there is. But I don’t think it’s Fellowes. I’m sending Hudson back to Salisbury tomorrow morning. I don’t want it actually taken as a disciplinary action— I mean, I don’t want him degraded or anything—yet.” “Don’t you like him?” said MajorSinclair, in an interested tone. ■ “I like him so much,” said Wentworth, “that I am taking a personal interest in him. I think that the loneliness of the veld is weighing on him. Get Weir out quickly, will you? If there’s a bullet hole in Howard, nothing on earth can stop an inquiry, but if there’s no bullet hole, well, we can just string along.”

He hesitated a moment, and then added “Dear Scotland Yard, if you’d be good enough to put through an inquiry to the Surete in Johannesburg as to the whereabouts of a man called Engleberg, whose sister was murdered at Bloots Mine by a man called Dennis Howard, and who committed suicide at the same time . . .” “What is this humour?” asked Sinclair. “I’ll put through inquiries, of course, but what is all this .Surete business?”

“In a dull life,” said Wentworth gloomily, “I like to think of the fun they must have at Scotland Yard, and the Surete always sounds so impressive.”

“Wentworth,” said Major Sinclair, “please restrain your misplaced humour. And send Hudson up.” “By the way,” said Wentworth, “about the Howard girl. I don’t know these Hastings people, but I gather that Carfrae and Hudson between them grabbed her away from them, and so far as I can gather they intend to try and arrest her as an accessory. Well, of course they can’t do that, and I expect by now that the Hastings have chucked their hand in. So now I am asking advice. Shall I, in my own inimitable way, force Mrs Carfrae to look after the girl? I mean, as you know, the Howards were regarded as outcasts and pariahs all round by the good and charming people in the district; only the Bohemian Hastings have done a thing for her. But owing to the brilliant detective work of Corporal Hudson, she’s been removed from the Hastings. Perhaps to their relief.

Sinclair chuckled hoarsely. “By all means get Mrs Carfrae to continue to look after the girl . . if you can. Anyway, I’ll get Weir to come down. He won’t be pleased.” “Very good, sir,” said Wentworth politely, and put down the receiver. Brown was back at the door. “I’ve been hup the hil and down, sir,” he reported. “Well, go hup the hill again,” said Wentworth, “and stay there. You’ll hear all about thing later.” “Corporal Hudson, sir, said that he was going over to M’Taki’s, sir,” said Brown.

“You run up . . . hup the hill, and give. Corporal Hudson this chit from me,” said Wentworth. He scribbled on a letter pad, signed the note with his full name and rank, and gave it to the trooper. “Get a move on,” he said, “and scrummage some scoff for me by nine o’clock.”

“Very good, sir,” said Brown, who saluted smartly, and went out of the hut.

“I wonder,” . thought Wentworth, “whether Carfrae has a line from his office to his- house.” He wrinkled up his eyes for a moment, and remembered that he had seen a wire running like a dark thread against the translucent sky from the Carfrae’s house, and he came along. He picked up the receiver of the telephone,and called Salisbury again. “Give me the Magistrate’s private house in Klinter’s Dorp,” he said. “You’re only twenty yards away from it," said the exchange pertly. “Did I deny that?” asked Wentworth. “Put me through please.” He listened, and heard exchange ring three times. And as he waited for a reply, he thought, “Now I ' wonder whether these Hastings are by any chance sticking to this, girl or not. If they’re not, I’ll have to go to the Club. Thinking things over, I’d just as soon that she doesn’t stay with that Carfrae war horse.”

Then Major Carfrae answered. “Hello,” he said. “Who is that?” This is Sergeant Wentworth, sir. 1 was wondering if, by any chance, you knew whether the Hastings were still in town or not?”

“Ah, Wentworth. Yes ... As a matter of fact, they are here. Why? Is there any news, Sergeant?” “No, sir. But Major Sinclair is sending down the doctor, and I was thinking that the exhumation had better take place tonight. “Get it over-quick-ly, don’t you think? Well, in that case, if the Hastings are willing to take Miss Howard back with them, it would be better, don’t you think? Less chance of her hearing anything, and being upset?”

“Very sound, very sound indeed,” said Carfrae. “If you like, I’ll ask Hastings to step along, and have a word with you.”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Wentworth mildly.

He put down the receiver, pulled his nose, and sat down in Major Carfrae’s magisterial. chair. CHAPTER IX

Dolly lay flat on her back and stared tip at the canopy which she had rigged up over her bed. The canopy was her one effort at making Bloots comfortable, and she had only done that because she disliked the sawdust falling down on her at night. She had been so determined that Bloots was only a temporary resting-place, and so anxious not to do anything that might suggest for one moment that it was permanent. She felt very wide awake, and she was almost sure that David, who lay on the other bed without a canopy, who also awake. But she didn’t want to speak to him, because the only things she could think of to say were tiresome, niggling questions. Why had he agreed, without a word to her, to take Nella Howard back with them, when she was so neatly landed on the Carfraes?

It made everything very difficult, she continued to think; though- it had been very funny, remarkably funny, to watch the anxiety of the Carfraes. Because, after all, it seemed that there was to be no questioning, so that Mrs Carfrae’s kidnapping of Nella had been a grave error! And a pity that David had come back from talking to that sergeant, and said blandly, “Well, we'd better be getting along. By the way, as it seems, there are no questions to ask Miss Howard, she’d better come with us. We’U put her up for a day or two.”

Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped; but it certainly made things difficult. Her thoughts became blown smokily backwards and forwards as a candle flame is blown in a draught; and suddenly sleep snuffed them out. Dolly awoke unusually early, troubled by the memory that Nella Howard was in the house.

It upset the morning procedure, which was simple. At seven-thirty, Jacob brought a tea-tray, knocked stealthily at the door, and put the tray down on the floor outside. At seven-thirty-five, after a few drowsy exhortations to David, who pretended not to hear them, she got up; and yawning like a cavern, opened ithe door, took up the tray, and shuffled back to bed. She then poured out tea. At approximately eight-thirty, she got up again. Then she washed in cold water, ran a wet comb through her short, dark hair, and went out on to the verandah where breakfast was laid. The sunshine poured through the chinks in the reed blinds, and there was always a lizard panting quickly on the wall. Breakfast consisted of coffee. Jacob made very good coffee. In fact, it was a curious phenomenon that Dolly, whose housekeeping was peculiar, managed to get far better work out of Jacob than the other women in the district managed to get out of their boys. Their boys seemed perverse beyond all words. They gloried in breaking things, in being stupid, and in being utterly useless. Possibly the fact of being banged with a frying pan dulled their intelligence. But Jacob, untroubled by a string of instructions, could make - coffee, cook well, could set a table decently; and, miracle of miracles, actually thought of things that he might do without being told first!

She lay and watched the beam of sunlight that pierced the room from a small high window, watched it grow longer and more golden.

“It’s all very complicated,” she said aloud, in a tentative voice, so that David could ignore it if he liked.

.“What is?” said David. “Well, feeding this girl. I expect she eats breakfasts.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised.” “Well, what will she eat?” “I dunno: Eggs, probably.” “Do you think those comic hens have laid any?” “I dunno. Ask Jacob.” “I haven’t got any bread, nor any marmalade, nor bacon, nor . . .” “Don’t be crass. The girl has probably lived on mealie porridge.” “I hope you’re right,” said Dolly gloomily. , Jacob knocked stealthily, and before she could get out of bed, he padded away.

Dolly sat up with an energy engendered by fury, and rushed to the door. She flung the door open. The tea tray was set down as usual, and across the side of the living-room, outside Nella’s door, was another tea tray. “Isn’t he a pet!” said Dolly. “Who?” “Jacob. He’s given her tea.” She started across the hall, wondering whether Nella was awake. Well, if she wasn’t awake it would be much better to let her sleep. Nothing was so revolting as being awakened ito drink tea. She picked up her own tray and returned to bed. “You lazy devil,” she said to David.

Nella was wide awake. She had been awake since sun-up. She had wakened with a shock, with that frightened groping that attacks one in a strange room.

She was wearing a pair of silk pyjamas that belonged to Dolly. The feel of them was unfamiliar, even frightening. Some people wore such things, but she didn’t. It was all wrong for her to be wearing such things. They didn’t belong to her. Nothing belonged to her any longer. What .was going to happen? She couldn’t even imagine what was going to happen. Though the farm was hers. At least, she supposed so. Three thousand acres of veld. Her father had often said, when he sat with his elbows on the table at night, he head lolling forward. “Well, anyway—the land’s there; that’s there anyway.”

“It’s my land,” she said aloud, but in a half-whisper, “it’s my land, and they

can’t take it away from me. They can’t stop me living on my own land. They couldn’t stop Daddy, though they hated him, and they can’t stop me. If the Hastings would lend me some natives, or some money to pay some natives, I could have a hut built in a day. And there are the cows. They weren’t burnt! I could milk the cow's, and I wouldn’t need to hire a piccanin to herd them. I could eat pumpkins and eggs and tomatoes —and there are the plantains down in the grove. And I could sell a calf now and then to the Store in Klinter’s Dorp. I’m not afraid being on the veld alone: Not in the least. I’m not afraid, but I would have to have a gun. I could buy an old Army rifle for a few pounds. Old Jack could get me one. But I haven't got a few pounds. I might be able to borrow a few pounds!” Jacob knocked stealthily on the door, and her heart gave a desperate choking leap. She listened intently, but nothing happened, except the sound of bare feet padding away across the floor. She couldn’t imagine what it had meant, that knock; and she simply couldn’t bear to go to the door and find out. She was in a strange house with strange people; and she was as suspicious and alert as a savage. What sort of things happened in this house? Sweat sprang out in shining beads across her forehead, and on the bridge of her nose. She hugged her knees