NO WOMAN'S LAND

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 July 1938, Page 10

NO WOMAN'S LAND

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT

BY

JANE ENGLAND

CHAPTER XXIII. (Continued.)

“Well, that’s fine,” said Mrs Marshall, and glanced out of the french windows. She could see Nella and young Fingall walking about. They appeared to be measuring things. “They’re marking out rose beds and things,” said David in explanation. Mrs Marshall looked at him. “I’m not quite sure,” she said, “whether you are a very acute and kindly or a very self-centred young man,” she observed. David grinned at her cheerfully. “Time alone will show,” he said. «= a * * In Klinter's Dorp, Wentworth sat in a rookie chair until twelve o’clock; then, as there was still no sign of Brown, he got up and went down to the club. There was no one there except Mrs Carfrae, who was looking at the English papers in the lounge, and the secretary, Bennet, who was looking liverish and thinking regretfully about the night before. “Good morning!” said Wentworth politely, to Mrs Carfrae, who nodded coldly in return, and went on reading. “Hullo, Bennet!” he said. “I’d like to have a word with you, if I may.” “All right, old man!” said Bennet, wearily,' and as he got up he instinctively held his head with his hand. His head rattled with pain, and he walked cautiously towards the ! small room, which he called his office. “Have a hair of the dog!” said Wentworth, drily, who knew all the symptoms. “Couldn’t face it, old man! I’ll have some milk.” _. “All right! Well, look here, Bennett, can you possibly recollect what happened on the night that old Howard died? Think if you can.” Bennet moaned. “Was it that afternoon that the Hastings brought the Howard girl into the club?” he said. “Yes,” said Wentworth acridly. “That must have been epoch-making, but it’s afterwards I’m asking about. Have you any idea when the news got into this dorp?” “Well, it didn’t get here until late,” said Bennett, vaguely. “I mean, Hudson brought it back with him. He came in here, and he ” “Oh, did he?” said Wentworth. Bennet moaned again. “Oh well, forget that,” he besought. “I know he wasn’t a member, but, after all ” “Well, never mind,” said Wentworth. “He came in here, and then what?” “Well, he told us that old Howard was burnt out, and hinted that —well, if you must know, he hinted that Fellowes had had something to do with it.” “Ah, well,” said Wentworth, pensively, “he’s out of the Service now. But surely you got some news before he came back? I’ve always found that in a small place like this news gets round quicker than a veld fire. I mean, when the native came in with the news.” “Oh, but he didn’t get here,” said Bennet feebly. “He met Hudson out there. Hudson hadn’t been in camp.” “Oh!” said Wentworth, and tugged at his nose. Later he strolled down the hot street until he came to the store (which was virtuously closed on the Sabbath), but he went round to the back, and found Hudson sitting in his shirt sleeves on a narrow stoep and polishing a revolver. “Hello, Hudson,” he said. “And how’s trade?” “Am I getting the police contract?” asked Hudson. “Provided you keep the prices right, and don't 'make your accounts quite so fantastic as Smith did,” said Wentworth .“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. How do you like civilian life?” “Better than the something, something, Rhodesian Police,” said Hudson. “By the way,”' said Wentworth, referring to the night of Howard’s death. “How soon did you get that note telling you what had happened?” “About nine,” said Hudson, as he squinted down the barrel of his revolver. “And you went straight out?” asked Wentworth. “Yes. What did you think I’d do — go to bed and leave it till the morning? But don’t come and bother me about it. I’ve told you who did it, and what happened. Getting round to my ideas now?” “I’m wondering why the devil you wanted to come down here.” “Well, wonder on,” said Hudson, in his rudest and most aggressive manner, “maybe I though that it might amuse me to buy this store, and find how polite some people can be who wouldn’t speak decently before. You would be surprised to find what a difference it makes to people when they owe you a little money.” He put the revolver down by his side, and grinned unpleasantly. “You’ve no idea how much the Howards owe. I’m afraid that I’ll have to ask that girl to pay up.” “If I were you,” said Wentworth, “I wouldn’t go round to the Hastings. They don’t like you —much. And if you want any money—well, there are always the courts, you know.” “I know a better way,” said Hudson, “and pulled at his small black moustache. “Hudson,” said Wentworth suddenly, “dont start anything, or you’ll be sorry.” “Or some other people ' may be. Look here, Mr Wentworth, you can get out of here. I don’t like you, and you’ve no right on my premises. I’m a law-abiding tradesman.” “I thought you wanted the camp contract?” said Wentworth, in a most inappropriate, but winning tone, and slouched away. ( Hudson looked after him, and shouted "I’d keep an eye on the canary

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

that’s perching on the Howard land, if I were you.” “He’s no business of mine,” said Wentworth. “He may be of yours. Why? Do you want me to look up his financial status?”

“I don’t want you to do anything but keep ,out of here,” said Hudson. Wentworth grinned and went away. * * # *

Sinclair’s fortnight was drawing to its close; but he had an idea now that Sinclair might be disposed to let things linger on for a bit. Still, since people were curious, it would do no harm for them to think that he, Wentworth, was rather stumped. He went into the office and put through a call to Major Sinclair’s private house. He had only just finished talking when he heard the sound of a horse cantering up towards the house, and he went out expecting to see Brown. He wanted very much to see that little man. It was not, however, Brown, but Peter Drew on his black horse. Drew pulled up outside the hut, and looked at Wentworth, with his queer, green-grey eyes. His expression was unfriendly and derisive, and yet troubled. “Good morning,” he said. “Good morning,” said Wentworth. “Is this a social call, or is it business?” “Business,” said Drew, “I have no great affection • for the police.” “Fortunately,” said Wentworth, “we do not crave for love . . only for law and order.” • * * * “I came to ask you something,” said Drew. “Has anybody seen anything of Old Jack lately?” “Now you come to mention, it, no,” said Wentworth. “But that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Often, we don’t see or hear of him for months.” “Do you know when he was last seen?” said Drew. “No, I don’t. Why?” “I do. It was on the day of Old Howard’s death, and he was on Howard’s place.” Wentworth stiffened. Then he looked gloomily at Drew. “Are you laying an information?” he asked. x ■ “Oh, far from it, I’m giving you some information,” said Drew, “I liked Old Jack .... alack, poor Old Jack! You’ll find his body, what’s left of it, behind the kraal.” Wentworth pulled his nose, and his eyes became hard. “How do you know that he was on the Howard’s farm on that particular day?” he asked. “A native told me,” said Drew, “and a native that I can trust.” “Can I see the native?” “Yes ... if you can find him. The last I • heard of him was that he was down at Beesten’s mine, but he was heading north then. His name is M’Wara.” Wentworth noted the name down, and then stood up. “What have you done about Old Jack?” he asked. • ' “Put two natives from the kraal on guard, ’ and come over to you,” said Drew. “Well, we’ll get ovex- there,” said Wentworth, “and you’d better come with me. I’ll start some Black Watch boys on their way, as we’ll catch them up.”

“All right,” said Drew. “Then I’ll wait for you at the Club.” ' He" stood up, and Wentworth saw that he was very .tall and had an insolent, aggressive way of holding himself. Also his face was very bitter in repose.

“I’ll be about half an hour,” said Wentworth.

CHAPTER XXIV. Wentworth stood out in the hot sunshine and read the Burial Service over what remained of Old Jack. Drew stood a pace or two behind him, very straight, with the sun glinting on his hair, and his face drawn. There was also two Black Watch boys. When the service was over, the two white men went silently back to their horses. Drew’s sjambok dangled from his wrist like a dull black snake. “He was shot,” said Drew. “Must have been the shot they heard in the kraal that night.” Wentworth slanted a non-committal glance at him. “Where were you that night?” he asked. Drew bent down to tighten his horse’s girth, and when he’d finished he stood upright and regarded Wentworth with a glimmer of amusement. “About five miles away, I should say, towards Fellowes' farm.” “Did you see the fire?” said Wentworth. “I did. I also heard the shot.” “Then why the blazes didn’t you do something?” Drew shrugged his shoulders languidly. “I thought the fire might have been the veld, and I wasn’t a farmer to rush round putting it out. And the shot might have been anything. I don’t at once suspect murder if I hear a shot in the night in Africa.” “Well, why didn’t you let us know that Old Jack had been round that night?” Drew’s face hardened. “Why should I? I didn’t know what the old boy had been up to. Anyway, this lets Fellowes out quite'conclusively I should say. He might have fired the hut, but he had had no time to bury Old Jack.” “You seem to know a lot about it,” said Wentworth. “Don’t be crass man. Everybody knows about it.” “I’d just as soon,” said Wentworth gloomily, “that they didn’t know about this for a while.” (To be Continued).