"CRASH!"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 13 October 1939, Page 10

"CRASH!"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT!'.

BY

ARTHUR APPLIN.

Author of “Adventure for Two,” “Winning Through,” “Cold Cream,” etc.

CHAPTER 11.

(To be Continued;

She was getting up. but he stopped her. "Not yet. I said I loved you and you’ve got to do something about it!” She looked at him then, a fleeting glance, but he saw her more clearly than he had never‘seen her beforebrilliant, and warm, and beautiful. “Sorry, but I can’t do anything about it. I'm not for you, Johnny, nor for any man.” She reached the revolving doors befor he overtook her. “You can’t put me off like that,” he said. “I love you and I’m going on loving you until you promise to marry me.” She began to walk very quickly; her lips were parted and there was colour on her face now. “It's nice of you to want to marry me, but I'm not that sort of woman—l. mean I can't marry, and anyway I’m not a lovable woman.” “You are! You want love, just as , much as I do. Everybody wants it, but people are scared of it." “You've very young, aren’t you! Very well, I'm scared and perhaps you'd be scared if you knew me. For all you know I may be what the Colonel calls “a little bit of fun. ’ or a crook. You can't judge by appearances.” “I don’t,” he grinned. “I made up my mind long ago that you weren’t the least like you looked; and I'd love you whatever you were and whatever you did." “Hero's my bus. Good bye.” He stopped her as she dashed across the pavement. "I'm seeing you back in a taxi." “I’m not going back —I’m going straight to the office.” ! She jumped on a bus as it moved off, and waved her hand. Johnny watched the bus out of sight, then turned into the Park and walked across to the Bayswater Road. It was dark. Lamps threw queerly-shaped pools of light on the path, and the branches of the trees as they swayed cast ungainly black shadows, which ran ahead of him, and ran after him. Rather grim—like life . . . like Peggy’s life! He tried to picture her shut up in a newspaper office —or was that.newspaper a subterfuge? Was she just a shadow he was chasing —a shadow in a pool of light? CHAPTER 111. Phillipson overtook Peggy as he was walking up the Bayswater Road on the way to his club. “Enjoyed yourself yesterday afternoon?” She started at the sound of his voice. Both he and his wife seem to make a habit of trying to surprise her, coming upon her at unexpected moments in the house, or lurking on the landing when she came out of her bedroom. Phillipson accompanied her to the top of the road, suggested she should stroll with him through Kensington Gardens. “I’m going to the bank,” she said, “and then back for my afternoon nap.” She turned left in the direction of Notting Hill Gate. Phillipson crossed the road, and waited while she went into the bank. When she came out, she was carrying her bag tucked tightly under her arm. She turned left again and Phillipson kept her in sight until she diasppeared into a jeweller’s shop —over which hung a pawnbroker's sign. Phillipson kept her in sight until she disappeared into a jeweller’s shop—over which hung a pawnbroker's sign. Phillipson smiled, clicked his false teeth, and retraced his steps. Long ago he'd discovered that she had an account at that bank. One day when he’d been trying to arrange an overdraft there he had seen her paying in eight pounds in cash! And now she had drawn out her savings and taken them to a pawnbrokers. Very interesting. When he reached the entrance to Kensington Gardens, opposite the Bayswater Road, he waited until he saw her coining back, her bag still tucked tightly under her arm. She turned down the road, walking very quickly in the direction of the boarding house. It was nearly half-past seven before he returned home; he mot Johnny in the hall, looking very resplendent in a boiled shirt and tails. “Hullo, where're you off. young man? Dinner and dance, I suppose—hope you've found a nice girl. Not many about today!” “Silly old fool." Johnny thought. "Dining at the Magnificent with my chief; and he's not likely to provide a girl, nice or otherwise.” "But you'll see The Lovely Lovelies. Rather hot stuff, I should think, judging from a photo I saw.” “Disgusting," Mrs Phillipson said, as she made her way to th edining-room, appearing suddenly from nowhere. "How decent people can tolerate a lot of half-dressed girls exhibiting themselves in public, I can’t imagine." "You've evidently forgotten what they used to tolerate in the good old days when the Colonel was a young man,” Johnny retorted: "fat women in pink tights, and red nosed men in baggy trousers singing about mothers-in-law, booze and babies!”

The front door banged behind him. The Colonel twirled his moustache. “Peggy Strong left yet?” "About 20 minutes ago; shut herself up in her room most of the day as usual."

The Colonel glanced round to make sure they weren’t observed. "I followed her this afternoon. She’s the girl all right!" When Johnny reached the Magnificent he found he was right about the party; middle-aged men connected with business, and their wives; but the food was good and the wine even better. He wished Peggy had been there; he hadn't been able to keep her out of his thoughts all day. He did his duty by dancing with his hostess and each of the other women in turn. And then the cabaret came on.

He caught his breath. They were beautiful, absolutely different from the ordinary type of girls who appeared in these shows; there was an air of breeding and distinction about them, and each one was allowed to express her own personality. “Quite charming! If I were a young man—!” Johnny’s hostess said. They began to sing; their voices were low and alluring. Then slowly the song wove itself into the pattern of a dance; their feet hardly moved at all, their bodies expressed the rhythm of the dance, their hands and arms, and even their eyes, interpreted the music. There was one girl who caught and held Johnny’s attention. He remembered her as one sometimes seems to remember a city one visits for the first time; her colouring, her form, certain movements were all familiar; and the bronze hair brushed straight back from her low forehead. The dance increased in tempo, it made you think of wind in the forest, trees swaying and bending, their branches shivering in fearful ecstasy . . . And then with a sudden crash the movement ceased and there was silence.. The audience drew its breath, forgot to applaud. The unexpected is often paralysing. Then someone said: “It's wonderful what they think of nowadays, isn't it?" Johnny groaned inwardly. Yet there was truth in the banal remark. It was wonderful how people thought nowadays; how out of their thoughts something lovely was created. Who the devil, he wondered, had thought of and created the “Lovelies?” Where had he seen her before? It was only of one girl he was thinking; it was only one girl he had really seen. That wonderful bronze hair and those appealing eyes with mystery in them, and the long, sensitive hands . . . Now the girls appeared again, wearing the dresses that he had seen illustrated in the folder.

“Really a little too modern, don't you think?” the woman on his left giggled. “They might leave something to the imagination.” “Depends on your imagination!” Johnny replied sharply. He felt suddenly on the defensive; the silly woman would have said a Greek statue left nothing to the imagination—yet without imagination it would have been only a lump of marble. But all he saw was' the girl with the bronze hair and the mysterious eyes, which were like a veil behind which she hid. His imagination was running riot, for he was trying to convince himself that she was Peggy Strong. One movement of the dance brought the girls right up to his table, which was on the edge of the floor. He tried to make her look at him, but she would not. He was convinced, {and he was shocked —but at what, he’ didn’t quite know. At her deception? That was only natural, living in a Bayswater boarding-house. But it was a queer place to hide, when, with her beauty and the publicity she received, she might have had half London at her feet . . . Or was he shocked because he realised now that the discovery had placed her right out of his reach. Or was he just jealous because every night she exhibited herself to a sophisticated audience of men and women, eager to have their jaded appetites whetted by a new sensation.

The lights went up. The “Lovelies” had finished their turn until midnight. Everyone was applauding noisily. As the girls disappeared through the curtained alcove at the far end of the room, Johnny got up, asked to be excused for a moment, and, hurrying round the circle of tables, slipped through the curtains. At the end of a a corridor he saw two of the girls standing outside the dressing-room door. He hesitated a moment, and the one he was certain was Peggy Strong turned. “Forgive me,” he said. “I recognised you. and I simply had to come and speak to you.” "Haven’t you made a mistake?” "If course, I haven't! I was almost certain, the moment you came on, but now I know. You are Peggy Strong.” She smiled and began to close the door. In a mirror he saw the reflections of another girl, and an old woman helping her out of her costume. “You have made a mistake,” she insisted. "That is not my name. I am Peggy Penshurst.” He stepped back, but kept his hand on the door, so that she could not close it: "Sorry if I made a mistake in the name,” he said, and then, lowering his voice, he went on: “But I haven’t made a mistake in you; I couldn’t Peggy.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If you are found here, you will get me into trouble. If you do like me. don't you understand that you have made a mistake and you have never seen me before?”

A man was coming down the corridor He camo slowly, walking with a limp and supporting himself with a malacca cane. Michael Brooke, the creator and director of “The Lovelies!” “I understand,” Johnny said; “I quite understand . . But listen, Peggy; I shan't ask any questions. I just want you to know that you can trust me. He turned away, went quickly through the curtains and back to his own table.

It was half-past eleven when Johnny got back to the boarding-house, his chief—who lived in Holland Park — having given him a lift in his car. He noticed there were lights shining from nearly all the windows —rather unusual at that hour. As he entered the hall little Miss Pearkes came out of the dining room.

“Oh. is that you. Mr Harcourt?” she said, in a nervous, high-pitched voice. "Glad you have got back in good time."

“Why? Anything wrong?” “Oh, no!” she replied, with a forced laugh. She shut the dining-room door, glanced up the staircase and came closed to him: “Oh no, not really! . . . If Colonel Phillipson or anyone questions you—you know how curious people are . . ?” “Better tell me,” Johnny said. “Then, if I am questioned, I shall be prepared| Who have you got in there?” He nodded towards the dining-room. “It’s —it’s a gentleman from Scotland Yard. I really don’t quite know what he wants. I have never had the police in my house before. It seems he has been sent to make enquiries about Miss Peggy Strong. I don’t know what she has done —but he wants to know how long she has been here, where she came from,' where she goes to work —and, you see. I can't tell him anything because I didn’t ask for references. If there is anything wrong I shall get into trouble too. Its bad for the house . . I told him she wouldn’t be back till two or three o’clock and he could return in the morning; but he wont go. So it looks as if it must be something serious, doesn't it?" “Oh. I don't know!” Johnny spoke carelessly. He felt for his case and lit a cigarette. “Came from South Amerisa, didn’t she? May be about her passport—or she has probably forgotten to register. Foreigners have got to report to the police regularly, you know." “But she’s not a foreigner, surely?” “If she came from South America, you can bet your sweet life she is . . I wouldn't worry. Nothing wrong with Peggy, I am certain. Good night.” He turned upstairs, took the last flight slowly and quietly, left his bedroom door ajar and sat down on the bed. He had relieved Miss Pearkes’s fears, but his own were increasing with every second that passed. If it were not serious the' police would not be sitting downstairs in the diningroom until three o’clock in the morning . . It almost looked as though the officer poor little Pearkes was entertaining had a warrant for Peggy’s arrest! That didn't bear thinking about

Johnny glanced at his watch. He could just get back to the Magnificent in time for the second show, and then he could get hold of Peggy and warn her. It was no use worrying about what she had done, or why the police wanted her. If he loved her, it didn’t matter —or did it? Definitely, it didn't matter. If he loved her. And he did. He had known subconsciously, the first time he saw her. He went to the head of the staircase and listened. If he went out of the front door, Miss Pearkes would be sure to hear him; and, in any case, the detective was sitting behind the window and keeping his eye on the entrance through the curtains. He remembered the fire-escape that led into the back garden, from which there was a door communicating with Pembridge Road. Putting on his hat and pulling on his gloves, he opened the window cautiously, closed it behind him, and went down the iron staircase .

(To be Continued.)