“RENTS ARE LOW IN EDEN”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 7 March 1940, Page 10

“RENTS ARE LOW IN EDEN”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

PETER BENEDICT.

CHAPTER XVIII. (Continued.) Everyone saw him at once, and instantly the feeling which the case itself could no longer stir, seemed to gather about him like a cloud. There was seen to be some astonished consultation between Strang and Ronnie Beresford, and then Lyddon disentangled himself from the discussion, and followed the attendant from the court.

Councillor Washburn was called, but no one paid very much attention to him; no one, that is, but the few who were being paid to notice everyone and everything. One or two among the public did remark in him more agitation than had appeared throughout in either the plaintiff or the defendant; but without caring a pin why he should be concerned over an action which 'seemed to concern him personally, only in a very minor way. “You were responsible for the sale of the three fields to Mr Probert, were you not?” asked Wyndham. The unhappy councillor admitted that he was.

“Had you ever heard of the Richard Poole sale? Or had it ever been suggested to you from any quarter that the whole of those three fields did not belong to the Council?" “No, never,” said Councillor Washburn vehemently, and mopped his forehead with a silk handkerchief raised in a plump, dimpled, shaking hand. “How long had the fields been in the possession of the Council?” “For five years, all but a few weeks. They were bought from John Kerwin, at the Home Farm.”

“You were not in office at the time; but were you then a member?” “Yes. I remember the purchase perfectly.” “Was the farmer Kerwin aware of any such story as that which we were told yesterday about the hedge and the strip of the large field? Had he ever heard of the Richard Poole claim?”

The answer to this question was never made; for Lyddon Strang had come quietly back to his place, and was talking in a low and agitated voice to Ronnie Beresford; and at this point their coloquy had become so obviously lively that it had drawn all attention, even the judge’s, from the matter in hand. The judge leaned forward and asked across the court: “What is it, Mr Beresford? Has anything happened to affect the case?” “Ye-S|,” said Ronnie Beresford and rose to his feet, with every eye in court upon him. “My client has authorised me to withdraw the entire case, at her own responsibility.” In the excitement, which followed it was some moments before any noticed the immediate and most spectacular, result of this pronouncement. The defendant had cried: “Catherine!” aloud, as he sprang to his feet with the rest; and that in itself was startling enough. But the most dramatic gesture had been provided unobserved by Councillor Washburn, who, upon the word ‘withdraw,’ had quietly and completely fainted.

CHAPTER XIX. Adam Probert and Lyddon Strang left for Court- Brandon by the same train that afternoon. Adam was aware of it, for he had seen Lyddon enter his first-class compartment a few moments before the train drew out. For two very different reasons they were each of them anxious to get home as quickly as possible, Adam to his neglected work, and Lyddon Strang to the bewildering Catherine, who had suddenly thrown down the walls of Forli, and left attackers and defenders gasping.

“If only,” thought Adam Probert, “one could really get inside that mind of hers!" And he supposed that the intensity with which he watched and envied Lyddon Strang was due -to a detached curiosity in keeping with what he had always considered his proper character. The ability to satisfy that curiosity, to take Catherine Court aside and ask her point-blank: 'What does' all this mean? —that was what he lacked. Lyddon Strang could do it; and that was why Adam envied him.

So, at least, he told himself, and at the same time wondered, with the analytical interest he applied even to himself, whether he was being entirely honest. The end of it was that ne sat back in his corner with a resigned smile, shrugged his shoulders, and opened his book; and whether Catherine was so easily banished from his mind only himself knew. He saw Lyddon Strang leave the station at Stanchester. There was inevitable business to which he had to attend in town before he went on to Catherine's arms. It struck Adam as typical of him. There was almost half an hour to wait before the next train left for Court Brandon, and he half-ex-pected to see Strang return before it was due out; nor did human curiosity account for the impatience for which he had bargained even in this cold and precise person. But Lyddon Strang did not come. He had telephoned Catherine from Stanchester that lie was arriving later in the afternoon. So it was Adam Probert who was first to reach Court Brandon.

He found something of a conference going on in the little office among the new houses. Kenworth, eyes gleaming behind his spectacles with excitement and triumph, was disclaiming any foreknowledge of Mrs Court's intention. Mickey Dennis sat in his accustomed place upon the desk, and not even the apprehension he felt for his own position could deprive his face of the glow of conquest on Adam's behalf. ' Bran Galway, the architect, of the

Probert estate, sat on the one spare chair with a book in his hand, and a cigarette between his lips,, and looked from one to' the other of them with some amusement, but not very keen interest.

“Then how," demanded. Mickey, "did she get the tip? If you let nothingdrop, then who was it? When she came to me, she already knew half of what I could tell her. Where did she get it from?’

Said Adam, coming unnoticed into the doorway: “That’s what I want to know?”

They swung round as one man, and in silence watched him come in and close the door.

“Hullo, Bran!” he said abstractedly in passing, and came to the table, and dropped gloves and hat upon it, and extracted and lit a cigarette before he spoke again. “Well, now I’m here is someone going to tell me what it’s all about?”

“I only wish we could,” said Kenworth, pushing his spectacles up on to ■ his forehead. “Mickey here knows the end of it, but where it began we can’t imagine.” “It's over, anyhow," said Mickey, with a spurt of triumph. “What does it matter how or why?” Adam watched the smoke curling upward slowly from his cigarette, and said: “It matters a great deal to me. And I want to know at least all you can tell me before I do anything else. What is this mystery? Did Mrs Court come here and ask questions?” “No,” said Mickey. "She came to me in Stanchester.” “And what did you tell her?” “What do you think? What I've wanted to tell her all along, from the day you played your scene with her about that glade she owns. I told her you were making nothing out of the settlement, and I told her who the people in the houses were, and I told her every other thing I could speak of. about the recreation ground, and the buses, and the whole boiling. She asked me, and she got it. What did you expect me to do?” “Just that!” said Adam, with a tired but angry sigh. “I suppose it’s no use arguing with the issue now; it’s done. But why you couldn’t respect my feelings, and put the woman off with half an answer, I can’t imagine.” He added, raising his eyes to Mickey’s face with a speculative smile: “I suppose it’s no use trying to fire you, either; you wouldn’t go.” “I would not,” was his reply. Mickey Dennis leaned forward, still anxious in spite of his chief’s humour. He perceived that Catherine was where she had no right to be, for ever uppermost in Adam’s mind, shutting out all other interests behind the barrier of her presence.

Mickey said, protestingly: “But seriously, what does it matter? It’s her affair what she chooses to do." “Perhaps,” said Adam and got up restlessly, and walked to the office window; it was still broad daylight, and the stillest hour of the winter afternoon, and he saw the heads of the trees against the sky shadowy black beneath their sparse leaves. The red tiles of his house roofs running upward one above another no longer gave him any untroubled pleasure. “But I don’t like this surrendering without a word it isn’t like her. And I wanted to see the end of it."

“You have seen the end," said Bran Galway. “A bad anti-climax, then." He shrugged his shoulders in sudden, savage resignation, and asked. “What's been happening here while I’ve been away?” “Oh, everything’s gone smoothly," said Kenworth. “We’re lifting those tree-stumps further up the lane almost any time now, if you'd like to see them go up."

Some positive interest came back to Adam’s eyes. He turned back to tne room. “You’ve got Doth ends of the lane covered, of course?"

“Oh, yes, with men and notices. Though there’s never anything on the lane at this hour. And there’s no midway opening into it between here and the farm, not even a field. They're very minor shots, but you never know, of course. Let’s go and have a look at Britten put ’em up, shall we?’’ They went, all but Bran Galway, who had business in town, and had already put in a longer time than he had meant to give to Adam's affairs that day. The tree-stumps, one of them older by far than the invasion of the valley, lay rather more than a hundred and fifty yards from the white gate in the lane, and well away from the nearest houses, some few yards within the hedge. The one was the broken remains of an elm of terrific age. which had blown down on its own account some four years before. The remaining three Adam had had felled, and the raw boles of them stood up yellowish white among the grass. Two of the four were togeiner, and probably joined under the soil, the other two stood a dozen yards or more apart, and needed each a charge.

They saw the first shot go up as they approached, a charge nicely calculated. The old elm stump exploded in a flurry of soil and splinters, and a cloud gathered and hung where it had been for several minutes. Britton met them with a satisfied grin.

“There goes one of 'em. Glad to see you back. Mr Probert. and ah settled so well. Seems it fizzled out. after all These women!" (To be Continued.)