“MAN FROM THE AIRPORT”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 23 December 1939, Page 10

“MAN FROM THE AIRPORT”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

LESLIE BERESFORD.

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

CHAPTER VIII. Continued. If he had once toyed with that idea, just to teach her a lesson, he had no such inclination in the face of this unexpected development, now being forced to an issue. He wanted that issue faced and settled without making it necessary for Paula to discover the identity of the real heir. He thought that could be managed by confiding the truth to Mr Wallingford. His legal adviser and friend would then cooperate with him in cornering the two blackmailers and warning them off. Mr Wallingford would then convey to Paula that the whole thing had been a fraud, no other legal claimant existing.

That was Peters purpose, when, after when, half an hour later, walking back to friends in talk with Pamela and her father, making his way to the aerodrome to arrange for a machine to be ready early in the morning to flying him to a landing-ground in Devonshire near to his destination.

As he passed the hangars, he noticed the private plane recognisable at once as owned by Paula. She had evidently returned from her London visit. It struck him as significant that she should have done so just as the German and the man, Tucker, had arrived too. They had probably discovered she was due here, and were on the spot to press their demands urgently. That he was right in this was proved when, half-an-hour later walking back to Lea House, something prompted him to take the road which passed the gates of Sunnyside. The great place, distant in its considerable grounds, was brilliantly lit, as it mostly had been since his own arrival here. He knew Paula entertained there freely the noisy set of spongers who had attached itself to her and her money. He wondered what her thoughts were now that she was faced by the probability that it was not, in fact, her money.

Then, just as he was passing the gates, there emerged from these, two men talking. Peters could not see them in the darkness, out of which came only the sounds of their voices, and the round glow of a cigar which one of the was smoking. Nor could they see him, for which he was glad, keeping in to the side of the road and remaining there perfectly still 'in the blackness, giving them time to pass him on their way to the village.

Naturally, however, he was bound to hear what they said. One, in the guttural English of the German, the other, in the precise mincing tones of the little clerk. Tucker, whose voice Peters had last heard at Otterbridge. “Of course, she knows that we’ve got her tight,” the German was saying with a chuckle. ‘She’ll part all right, my friend, and quickly. You noticed how she looked when I said the real claimant is in England, and would be only too glad of his luck if she forced us to go to him?”

“And all the while," cackled Tucker, the solicitor's clerk, “the fool’s out in that god-forsaken New Brunswick, refusing to take what’s his own! Well, he can stop there!” Peters, inwardly amused let the men and their voices drift down the road, unaware how far wrong they were at least in 'that belief. CHAPTER IX. The village of Barnsley-on-the-Moor proved a delightful little West Country beauty spot, considerably out of the beaten track. It lay even a little wayoff the motor road, amid some woods and a vast purple stretch of moorland. A few cottages, a couple of farms, some houses no doubt owned by country people, an inn, a vicarage and—next to this—the very old Church of St Jude’s, with its square tower.

Just the sort of church and village, Peters told himself, to which a runaway couple might go for a “quiet marriage. At least, he supposed so, for he had never felt sufficiently romantic to consider marriage, runaway or otherwise, so far. He became suddenly aware, however, that —not longer compelled to be an air pilot- the time had arrived when he might let romance enter quite freely into his life.

He found himself considering this after lunch at the picturesque old inn. though not with any idea of haste. Peters Penetrators had to be well on the market before he could do more than consider it. Opportunity, even then, would be an important factor. That might certainly come easily enough, as it mostly did to men with money.

If he married. Peters told himself, it would be a matter quite apart from money. The kind of money-cradled girl that Paula Accrington was w.oukl never get past his better judgment, however lovely. Yet, Peters found himself ironically, just at that moment, thinking how lovely Paula was. A pity that her beauty was only physical.

To forget even that, he rose from table to set about the business which had brought him here. A few minutes later he was sitting in the vicarage study with,a typical country parson. an elderly man with a pleasant and kindly manner. When Peters, having introduced himself and explained that he wanted to look up the old marriage registers, had laid his duplicate marriage certificate before the vicar, the parson expressed surprise.

“Why!'’ he exclaimed, having glanced at the document. "What a strange coincidence, my dear sir! I’m perfect- ( ly certain that not many weeks ago—l ly certain that not many weeks ago—l, had an inquiry about this very marriage. 1 remember quite well tinning

up the old register and finding the entry for the good man who' applied to see it."

"Is that so?” Peter was a little startled, and asked a question: "What sort of a person was he?" "Well—let me see. I certainly don’t know his name, for he did not give it. 1 understood he was inquiring on behalf of a relative of his. He had with him a document which—it was a letter, 1 remember —mentioned that this had been a secret marriage. That particularly interested me at the time, especially as the good man mentioned that a very considerable inheritance depended on his relative being able to establish the legality of the marriage.' Peters realised that, of course, he need not be surprised to be told this. It was natural that, before actually forcing the issue with Paula Accrington, the Greman and the clerk, Tucker, would want to verify the contents of that letter.

“As a matter of fact,” Peters said to the vicar, “the story is quite true. You can see from my possession of that duplicate certificate that I am an interested party. I am indeed more legally interested that your earlier visitor. I am. in fact, a descendant of that

secret marriage. ‘Dear me!" breather the vicar, grown quite fussed with excitement. It would be seldom his quite life was disturbed by such echoes from an outside world. "And you want to inspect that entry yourself, I suppose?” he asked, rising from his table.

"If you don’t mind,” Peters followed him to the door, adding that he was ready to pay whatever fee was asked, and apologising for causing so much trouble. The vicar assured him that it was no trouble at all, but a pleasure, and led the way from the vicarage to the vestry. All the way, he talked about the church and its history with pride and enthusiasm, pointing out the ancient architecture of the rather large vestry, beneath which some steps led down into stone vaults.

It was here that, choosing a key in the vestry, the vicar unlocked and from a bunch picked from a cupboard opened a huge chest of wood, metalbound. This contained a number of what were clearly old, heavy registers. After a moment, he chose one, bringing it to a table under a light he had switched on. “Here we are!” he said cheerfully, glancing once more at the date on the certificate Peters had passed him. and rapidly turned over the pages of the register, till suddenly he stopped, and stared down at a page.

‘ln the name of goodness, what is this?” Peters heard his voice raised in great distress. “Why look, my dealsir. Look. The entry has gone—” Peters hastened to the vicar’s side to examine the register. He saw that there had been apparently four entries on the page. The third was missing, however, that part of the page having been neatly cut away by three strokes with what must have been a very sharp knife, for it cut into the next two or three pages below as well. “What a terrible thing!" the vicar gasped. "Quite deliberate, of course. But —how, by whom?” ’ “I should think, vicar, there could be onl yone answer to that question.” Peters suggested drily. “Your earlier visitor of three weeks ao, unquestionably. Has anyone else examined this register since?"

"No one. In fact, for years and certainly since I took this living, that chest has rarely been unlocked. It was opened when I took over, and once since then for an inquirer. “That is all, except for three weeks ago, since when I have not even been d'own in this vault.” "Which settles the question, doesn't it, padre? It must have been the man who was here three weeks ago.” “There certainly doesn't seem any other explanation," the puzzled vicar admitted, but looked doubtful. -‘All the same, I dont see how it could be possible. I was here examining the book with him, the whole time

“Waiat . . .” He began suddenly to reflect, and a flash of remembrance lit his trou bedlyees.htidu-hrflffi.pt HT H his troubled eyes. "That is, after all, not strictly true, I’m afraid. I recall now that the verger called down to me from the vestry that the time for evening service was approaching, and he asked me was approaching, and he asked me a question about some small detail. 1 did, it is true, go up two or three of those steps to speak to him — "During which time—it could scarcely have been more than a minute —" he went on —“that man would have been alone. He had been taking notes of the entry, and when I came back he has closed the register, apologising for keeping me so long, especially as service was about to begin." "And that. I suppose, put you off examining the register, where it had been open, before putting it away," Peters suggested.

"I very much fear I was in rather a hurry, and so merely put the register back in the chest, which I locked, thinking no more about it. 1 was rather a hurry, and "So merely but the register back in the chest, which I locked (hinging no more about it. I was so as to get into my surplice." rather anxious too see my visitor off. "And he took with him that neat-

ly cut entry of marriage, vicar, on which —I may tell you —a fortune hangs, and —perhaps more," Peters said.

(To be Continued.)