"CRASH!"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 14 October 1939, Page 12

"CRASH!"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

ARTHUR APPLIN.

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

CHAPER IV. Johnny wondered if he was ever going to get to the bottom of the iron staircase; it twisted and turned, and every turn brought him alongside a window and behind every window he knew there was someone sleep—or lying awake; someone speculating as to the identity of the visitor Miss Pearkes was entertaining in the diningroom.' and listening for the sound of voices or any movement. Anyone who happened to look out and see him would take him for a cat-burglar.

Luckily it was a particularly dark night; a mass of black clouds had been hanging over London all the evening, now it was touching the tops of the houses He noticed the lights in the streets were blurred and indistinct. He could not see the garden, and only realised he had reached it by falling on the gravel path. He ran quickly across the damp turf, narowly missed a flower bed, and found the encircling wall. He remembered the door leading into Pembridge Road was close to a large acacia tree. The tree suddenly loomed up out of the gloom and hit him. He swore under his breath, and swore again loudly when he found the door locked. Climbing the wall without much difficulty he listened before dropping down into the street; the lights of a taxi appeared as he reached the pavement; it was on the other side of the road, crawling. He waited till it was swallowed up in the fog, then walked quickly up the road into the main street. Here he took a taxi from the rank, telling the driver to take him to the Hotel Mannificent and to hurry. At Lancaster Gate they drove into an impenetrable blanket of fog; visibility disappeared entirely. Johnny jumped out, paid the man and dashed into the tube. At Marble Arch he crossed into Park Lane by the subway. It took him 10 minutes to reach the hotel. He glanced at his watch as he went in; it was just after midnight. He need not have rushed, for the “Lovelies”, were just giving their second show arid there would be no chance of getting hold of Peggy for another half-hour. He found a table near the curtained alcove. The “Lovelies” had commenced their first dance. He watched Peggy closely. The music got on his nerves, and at the same time excited him. He wanted to think —he could only feel. And now that action was delayed his imagination got hold of him and sent his thoughts spinning down blind alleys. He could only speculate—how absolutely futile! But he loved Peggy, and obviously she had got into some sort of mess. He wanted to convince himself that, as he had told Miss Pearkes, there might be nothing more than a failure to report to the police and notify a change of address; but he was certain it was more serious than that.

She was living at the boarding-house under one name, appearing here in another. Actresses did that sometimes; but why did she pretend she was working at a newspaper office? He started as the music stopped and the girls ran past him to change for the second dance. Peggy saw him, but she pretended not to recognise him, though when she came back she gave him a fleeting smile. He called the waiter, asked for paper and an envelope, and scribbled her a note: “I must see you before you leave. Something has happened at Pembridge Gardens, and it is essential you should know about it before your return. Johnny.” He addressed the envelope, “Miss Peggy Penshurst," slipped it with half a crown into the waiter’s hand, told him to' take it to her dressing-room and ask the dresser to see she got it immediately her turn was over.

He emptied the glass of wine he had ordered, nibbled the inevitable sandwich. then lit a cigarette. He didn’t want to watch her now. but he simply couldn't help it. and was glad he could only see her in profile. It was not the moment to worry about the clothes she wore —or didn't wear —and he wondered why suddenly such trifles because terribly significant. Every now and then his eyes wandered to the audience —fat, fleshy, soulless; that was all those men and women saw —flesh! He had a horrible feeling that Peggy belonged to them —that they had bought her. As if it mattered now what they thought or felt! But. god! how he hated them, and he knew he hated them because he was afraid. She looked so defenceless. He threw his cigarette away and lit another. He remembered something she had said to him on Bunday afternoon: that, for all he knew, she might be a “little bit o’ fun" or a crook . . . quite well able to look after herself! Would she be one of the “Lovely Lovelies" if she weren’t? At last it was over; but the audience wanted more, and the girls were recalled twice to bow their acknowledgements. Peggy ignored him. He waited impatiently while the band played a couple of fox-trots and then a Viennese waltz. The floor was crowded: people heaved about on it like primaeval beasts emerging from the swamp. It was now quarter-past one; he signalled to his waiter and asked him it ho had delivered the letter. “Oh yes. sir. It. is against the rules, of course, but I gave it to the dresser and she directly promised the lady should have it directly she cam? off. They generally come back to the ballroom, sir. to have a little refreshment and dance with any friends who may be present.” Playing it pretty low. Johnny thought. The waiter was hoveringwanted another half-crown. And then the curtains parted and the girls began to come back, each one wearing a conventional evening frock. Peggy was the last to appear. She was in black velvet and he noticed she was the only girl who had no jewels, with the exception of a pair of long, jade carrings. Her skin, in the shaded light, had the quality of old marble. lie thought she was going to pass his table, but as he got up she stopped. He said: “Will you dance this?" As he put him arm round her waist and his

that she was trembling and he received a shock of apprehension. hand touched her bare back, he felt He didn’t know what the band was playing as they moved across the floor: it didn't matter. For the first few moments nothing seemed to matter. Apprehension gave place to a marvellous sense of exhilaration: ho was only conscious of movement and music, and a subtle perfume that reminded him of trees . . There was an acacia tree at the bottom of the garden at the boarding house, and at the top of the wall surrounding the garden a few pieces of broken blass . . There was a scratch on his hand . . “Did you get my letter, Peggy?” She looked up, and as their eyes met he saw she was scared —terribly scared —and her fear increased his sense of apprehension. He tried to fight it down for he didn't want her to think he was suspicious. He wanted to appear quite cold and calm, so that she would trust him. It was going to be damnably difficult, holding her in his arms . . the music and perfume .. . that little hoarding house off the Bayswater Road seemed suddenly far away and unreal: the Colonel and his wife, poor little Pansy Jones, and Miss- Pearkes with her wispy grey hair . .It was halfpast one now, and she was still sitting in .the dining-room with the officer from Scotland Yard ... the music stopped for an instant: people began to leave; when it recommenced, the floor was half-empty. Johnny said: “Shall we sit down?” “Let’s dance this —if you don’t mind.” He heard himself laugh. “I don’t mind it, if I can dance it.” Did that always happen, he wondered, at some great crisis? You suddenly find yourself talking and behaving quite normally ... he was conscious of tension and strain so great that it was necessary to relax; but the queer thing was, how easy it became —almost to easy, because he felt that at any moment something might happen, that either Peggy or he would say something or do something decisive. —and irrevocable. Peggy said: “Ybu have only got to feel like the little dog you imagined when we went for a walk in the Park, if you want to dance this.” “Rush round barking arid wagging my tail?” They both laughed then. Johnny held her closer. He began to wonder if he were a little intoxicated: it could not be the wine, though the chief had done them well at dinner, and he had drunk the best part of half a bottle since: but he- was intoxicated, or he would not have gone on dancing with her when every second might be precious. Here was a moment in his life —a life dedicated to “stinks, poisons and explosions"—which might never come again. He was dancing on the brink of a precipice with the woman he loved. It was terrific—so long as they continued dancing. And then she said: “Will you please tel'l me what happened?” He took her back to his table; she asked for a cigarette. He struck a match for her and leaned across the table. “When I got back to the board-ing-house, Miss Pearkes met me in the hall. She told me there was a man waiting to see you in the dining-room —an officer from Scotland Yard. All she knew, apparently, was that he had come to make inquiries, and had insisted upon waiting until you returned.” She leaned back in her seat and blew a cloud of smoke between her lips. Through the smoke her face looked bloodless, but she said calmly: “What else?” “He didn’t say what he wanted; but obviously he wants you,' and very badly.” Johnny waited, but she did not reply. “You must know what he wants, Peggy.” Again he waited. She puffed al her cigarette: “You must tell me. quickly. There is no time to be lost.” She said: “We can’t talk here.” “There is nowhere else.” “Outside!” “In the street? Are you going back to hear what this man wants?” She half rose from her seat, then she sat down heavily, her elbows on the table and her face between her hands. The cigarette dropped from her lips on to the table. “No! no! I can’t go back !” “Why not?” She didn’t reply. She did not move. Her hair had fallen forward over her face. If she continued to sit like that, hunched up over the table, she would attract attention and people would wonder what had happened. Still, they would probable only think that it was a lover’s quarrel! He smiled grimly, wishing it were. Though he had rushed back to warn her, deep in his sub-conscious mind he had not believed anything serious was wrong. Now he knew that it was serious. She was wanted by the police . . . Every day the newspapers recounted tragedies—romantic, dramatic, sordid. You were so accustomed to reading about them that they loft you untouched. You thought nothing like tha.t could ever happen to you. And now, here he was. sitting at a table in one of London's most luxurious restaurants, facing tragedy. And, he guessed, a pretty sordid one. And only yesterday he had walked with romance beneath the trees in the Park! (To be Continued.)