“MAN FROM THE AIRPORT”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 15 December 1939, Page 12

“MAN FROM THE AIRPORT”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

LESLIE BERESFORD.

Author of “Mr Appleion Awakes,” "The Other Mr North,” etc.

CHAPTER IV. Continued. He took his place by her side to see for himself what was causing the disturbance, the strange hush which was broken now only by the frightened little exclamations of women. A number of blue-uniformed policemen made a startling and grim contrast to the brightness of women’s frocks. Terry laughed. “I knew it was bound to happen,” he said. “Your road-house has been raided.” Paula swung round on him in a sudden and tense anger. “My road-house? I’ve told you, Terry, that I’ve nothing to do with this place.” Chin in air, golden head flung defiantly back, she moved ’ straight towards the motionless bunches of people who had earlier been dancing, and now were gaping at the policemen in alarm and confusion. One of the policemen stopped Paula- as she was making for the cloakroom. “Not just yet, miss,” he said, in his brusque voice. “You keep right here with the rest. We can’t have any stray lambs leaving the fold.” “Why—what’s the matter?” she asked, with the most innocent of voices and expressions. She was not answered by the policeman, but by a man in evening-dress, who emerged from the bunch of dancers.

“Miss Accrington, 1 believe?" he asked. “Of course.” she answered, staring at him disdainfully. “I am Detective-Inspector Hayes," he bowed stiffly. “Really? I don’t know that I’m interested. Why should I be, anyhow?” she laughed. “Perhaps it would be better, Miss Accrington, if we discussed that elsewhere," suggested the detective. The onlooking crowd stepped back as he began 'to move towards the suite of rooms which were the o’ffices of "The One-Eyed Moon.” Paula followed him, xVlth Terry Carlton at her heels. He caught her by a wrist, whispering. “Listen, Paula. If there’s going to be any trouble ” “There isn’t,” she interrupted him. “It’s going to be real fun.” The private office had already been invaded by police, who had the German manager with them. A smug smile curled his lips as Paula and the others entered and the door was shut bj’ the inspector. “I’m sorry to interfere with your pleasure, Miss Accrington,” the latter remarked. “I understand from the manager here, Mr Luttner, that you are in fact the real proprietor of this place." Paula sat down in a chair rather apruptly,- though she appeared quite coo] and collected, even smiling, her blue eyes gazing at the inspector. “One of those cases where the police make mistakes,” she said. "I don’t know what Mr Luttner has told you “It is not what I have told him. Miss Accrington,” the German’s gutturals broke into her chill, liquid voice. “The police have been making separate enquiries. They have discovered that a good deal of your money is behind the ■One-Eyed Moon.’ I could not very well deny that, could I?” “Why should you?” she flashed at him and the others, then added: “All the same, that doesn’t make me ressonsible for the place and what goes on in it, does it?” “The magistrates will inform you on that, point later, Miss Accrington, when the case comes up,” the inspector intervened, adding that there would be a police charge for maintaining an establishment where the law was being broken as to drinking and gambling. “And what would be the punishment," she asked, “always supposing that I were proved to have had anything to do with such a stupid business?”

“That would depend on the magistrates,' he answered. “A fine, of course “Oh. if that’s all, it doesn’t matter," Paula laughed. "Meantime. Inspector, what do you want with me? Have Ito go to prison? That would be an experience, anyhow." “Don’t talk such appalling bunk, Paula!" remonstrated Terry Carlton, forcing his way forward. "There’s not much real fun in appearing at court on charges of this sort. If that rotten German’s let you down, without you knowing it ” “Oh. what does it matter, Terry?" she laughed, gesturing him back, and turned to the inspector. “Well. Mister Inspector, why don’t you produce the handcuffs?" she asked.

“Nothing so dramatic as that. Miss Accrington, I'm afraid." the inspector retorted mildly. “All 1 want you to do is to come with the others to the station, so that you can be' formally charged.” With which he flung open the door, and beyond this one could see that the uniformed police had meantime been rounding up everyone, and they all looked like a flock of helpless sheep, wondering what next was to happen to them. CHAPTER V. Paula's expression of cynical amusement was largely a pose. She was. in fact, inwardly afraid. She had asked for excitement, and she was certainly getting it, though not in the way which she had expected. She had never for one moment anticipated that Emil Luttner would have betrayed her financial interest in "The One-Eyed Moon,” as unquestionably he had done.

It was so, unexpected, and yet of course she should have had the sense to foresee it. She should have realised that he was the sort of man to prey upon her craving for eternal excitement. to take her money, and then to let her down. In this case, he seemed to have done it effectively. How effectively she realised to its full after he had left the witness-box during the court proceedings. Once again the name of Paula Accrington appeared in the newspaper headlines, with nothing to her credit in the story below. She read this, and the newspaper comments, as she took the breakfast her maid had brought her to her bedroom in the big Accrington town house overlooking the south side of Hyde Park. The headlines read badly, but the letter press read even worse. Paula read every line of the last, laid the paper on one side, and sighed. She had been let down by Luttner, standing accused before all the world of something which really was not her intention. It was her money which had involved her.

Her money, too, had been the bone of contention between her and Terry Carlton. She rather liked Terry. She wasn't in love with him —no! She admitted that to herself. But it had flattered her vanity to capture him from Constance Willard, to whom he had first been practically engaged. And now, the courtcase over, Terry had indicated that he was arranging for a few Press paragraphs, announcing their engagement to be at an end. “Sorry, Paula,” he had said. "But I simply can't have my name linked up with this sort of thing. Besides, after all it’s quite clear you lied to me about that Luttner person.” Useless for her to argue, nor had she attempted it. And now she flung away the paper. The less she thought about it, apparently, the better. She rose from her bed, slim and sweetly pretty in apple-green pyjamas, braided with old gold. She went to the telephone, taking up the receiver, after dialling, then waited for a voice to speak to her from the other end of the wire.

“That you, Mr Wallingford” she asked, as a gruff voice reached her ear eventually. “Oh, I am glad you're back from the States ” She stopped for a moment, then laughed. “I’m sorry! Canada, was it?” she said. “Did you have a gay time? What? Just business, you say? Well. I suppose you made a lot of money. Anyhow, I want to see you on something important. Have you, by chance, read this morning's papers?” She stopped again, listening, and this time she did not laugh. “Listen. Mr Wallingford,” she said. “I’m really not to blame, honestly. That man, Luttner, swindled me. And you've got to have him on the carpet for me. You've been the family solicitor since the year one, you know —" She broke off, listened, and then laughed. “Yes, Mr Wallingford. I know you’d do anything you could for me,” she said. “Pm going to leave it in your hands. . . .No, no . . she went on. “I'm off to my country place for the weekend. What about coming down there with me tomorrow, so we can talk things over?” Once more she waited, listening. “I’m going down by air,” she said. “My plane's at Gatwick. I’m motoring there to pick it up and go on. Can’t I call for you, Mr Wallingford?” “Sorry, Miss Accrington,” answered the voice at the other end. “Couldn’t be done. I must be in town all the rest of today. But —as it happens —I have a —a client of sorts to meet at Beaconsfield tonight—staying a stone's throw away from your house. If your impatience will keep till I can look in on you . . .” It had to do so. Paula presently rang off. The maid came in, and she bathed and dressed. Yet she had no satisfaction in studying her mirrored reflection. It held, she knew, beauty. Unquestionable beauty. Wasted beauty, too. It hadn’t held Terry Carlton.

She had been far more surprised about that than she had let him see. She had been even more amazed about Emil Luttner, and the way he had let her down. He had indeed rather fascinated her, or she would never have been inveigled into financing that, road-house. Now —through Emil Luttner—she had lost not only money, but something of social standing. The horrible newspaper publicity given to the case had placed her right in the limelight, and not favourably where the public was concerned. Not that 'Paula worried much about that. She counted herself in a class and a set which was far removed from the common herd. At this moment, she worried most about Terry Carlton. She knew him sufficiently to be sure that he would keep his word. On top of the scandal about “The ‘One-Eyed Moon" would come the story in the newspapers that their engagement was broken. She was not too much worried either about the breaking of the engagement, as its effect of her social circle. It would be the third of her broken engagements. Only-—this time — it had been broken by the man, and that angered Paula. Nor was she so much in love with Terry—although, from her point of view, he was quite a dear boy—that she felt any urgent need to repair tlie damage done. She would never do that, she knew. But now, in the face of this crisis, she saw herself as she really was. (To be Continued.)