"FREEDOM FOR TWO"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 10 May 1940, Page 10

"FREEDOM FOR TWO"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By*

MARGARET WATSON.

CHAPTER X. (Continued). They dined. She had hoped than, he would leave her alone long enough to permit her at least a view of the slope below the window. If only she had examined it in the ample time she had wasted in trusting him! But before he went away to dress he called Mrs Smith to her, so tnat she was not alone for a second. Only her mind was free to wander. If she could only slip through that open window, she believed it could be managed. Her dress was dark, without a touch of light colour upon it; and the dusk was already creeping in and filling the panes of the window; and the motor boat must be moored at the jetty, if only she could reach it. Even if the drop from the window turned out to be sheer, it might be done. She had tackled some dives almost equally high, though with some ground for security on the score of the depth oi water below them. Well, she had lamented life’s dullness, this was the answer.

"It would help the atmosphere,” said Jon from the doorway, "if you changed your dress, wouldn’t it?” "I haven't/ brought another dress with me.”

“There must be dozens of Dagmar’s,” he said indifferently. “Thanks, but—do you know. I don't care for the idea of wearing dead women's dresses.”

She went upstairs, however, to wash her hands and straighten her hair, and was attended at every step, like a persistent shadow, by the housekeeper. She could not reply upon a single moment of loneliness; so much was plain. Dinner was an odd experience. She sat facing her enemy across the shining table, and talked and laughed with him as she had talked and laughed on a night in Dalgano, many weeks previously, before ever he became a monster. Behind her gaiety her mind was raging round and round like a beast in a cage, from one possibility to another, and from one problem to another. She had lost everything, her own security, Martin, her life with him, her faith-in him. She was Erica now, playing a lone hand. That was a queerly comforting thought; it made so many things easier. Risks mattered nothing at all now that she had no one for whom to save and preserve herself, and no one but herself to please. She could risk death quite cheerfully, oecause life, while still not to be shirked, was much less lovely. She would find Martin if she could, would help him to the limit of her power, but she would never live with him again. Things had changed oddly since the beginning of that day. “Has Dagmar really gone?” she asked.

There was a possible ally. Why had she not thought of it before? Dagmar loved Jon. or at least, valued her position with him; she would be glad to help her unwilling rival from the field. “Oh. yes, Dagmar never says a thing unless she means it. She left the island an hour ago.”

"And will she ever come back?” “No. She makes up her mind once and for all.”

"Oh, I shouldn’t lose sight of her altogether. She may be useful again when I’ve gone.” He smiled. "You will not be leaving me again.”

“Probably you thought the same of Dagmar; yet you’ve lost her; as you'll lose me.”

This time he laughed; he was quite sure of himself. He would not trouble to be civilised much longer,, and it was getting late. She must do something quickly, before it was too late. They went back into the lounge which looked out upon the sea. The window was a square of grey now in the blackness as Erica went in through the doorway. For the one second, or possibly two, in which he would grope for the electric switch she would be invisible. Her mind registered that fact in one desperate burst of activity, and drove her into instant action. She jumped for the wire which ran beside the window, and tore it from the plug.

Through the darkness she heard him exclaim, quite softly, with what was almost a laugh, the ring of it springing swiftly nearer as he ran to recapture her. But she felt oddly calm aS she slipped through the open window into coolness of the night; almost as if the issue did not rest with her at all, but with some destiny which she could do nothing to change. Her shoes rang on rock. There was a narrow ledge which was scarcely a path, running parallel with the house walls along the edge of the cliff, and below that she half saw, half felt the rush of air from a broken, precipitous slope which plunged headlong into the water. She ran to the right, still helpless, still without the slightest idea of what she must do. acting by instinct only; and a stone started under her foot, and went bounding down towards the sea. carrying an avalanche of stones and soil after it. Then she screamed, and running recklessly fast, found an alcove in the wall, and crouched in the shelter of it to recover her breath and her self-control. Not until then, did she realise that the stone had been her salvation: for she could hear, close upon her heels of its descent, the voice of Jon crying her name in terror: “Erica! Erica, darling!"

He was not following her, but standing—she could see him clearly—upon the edge of the rocky slope, staring down into the darkness. Several times he called, once he appeared to abandon his fears, and moved a few paces towards where she stood pressed into the I angle of the wall. Then the dread re-1 turned upon him, and he ran back to

call her name again. There was something curiously moving about that frightened voice, calling down in so haunted a tone towards the sea. She held her breath, and watched; and watched; and presently he put a hand down to the rock beside him, and sprang to a lower ledge, and on out of her sight, with the ease and grace of an animal..

She knew then that she was safe. She went on along the pathway, circling the house without haste, and came at length to the peaceful gardens above the jetty; and there before her, innocent and unguarded, the motorboat swung gently with the sea, and far off beyond the harbour the lights of Stockholm rose golden. She was free; and let the rest of her troubles wait their turn. She had a little money in her handbag, which, thank goodness, she had carried in her hand all day; it was not very much, but it would at least keep her for a few weeks, and after that she could find some work to do. She was her own master now, and no one’s responsibility but her own. She could give music lessons, perhaps. But first to get away from this terrible island. She stole down cautiously through the trees, and ran across the ringing boards of the ’jetty. The boat swung as she clambered into it. The engine purred, and a gap of sea began to widen between herself and Jon Bernstorn. CHAPTER XII. Martin Hirst came back to his hotel on the third day after his departure, and in an inconspicuous style, carrying one arm in a sling. He went up at once to the rooms where he supposed Erica would be waiting for him, and was extremely embarrassed, puzzled, and frightened when he walked into the arms of- a ponderous lady from Berlin, who had taken the rooms two days previously. From her voluble and indignant German he retreated upon the manager of the hotel. The manager was Sorry, but he had understood that Mr Hirst would not require the rooms any longer. The bill had been paid, Mr Hirst’s baggage was still waiting to be sent for, and the rooms had a new tenant. Martin, listening with furrowed forehead, demanded urgently: “Then where’s my wife?” The manager shrugged his shoulders. It was all very embarrassing. He could only refer Mr Hirst to the clerk who had witnessed madame’s departure; and the clerk, devastatingly informative in a very few words, could only state bluntly that Mrs Hirst had left the hotel in the company of another man, taking with her only one small case; that the man who had taken her away had paid her bill, and had stated in his hearing that the rest of her belongings would be fetched a little later on.

Martin listened to this brief story with averted face. Its truth he had no reason to doubt. What a fool he had been! What a stupid fool, to rush off upon that ridiculous man-hunt and leave his own treasure unguarded. She had threatened to go. She had said: “I may not be here when you get back.” Yes, but she had said that only out of ail angry desire to frighten him; he was as sure of that now as he had been at the time. And yet, she was really gone. Erica was gone with another man.

Martin felt the pain of his hurt arm for the first time. The stress of combat had kept him from feeling any consciousness of it during the last two days, though his companions had been alarmed enough for him. A little more to the right, and he might have been dead —like that poor wretch of a policeman who had taken the rest of the charge in his body. He almost wished he could change places with him. He felt horribly ill, but it was not a sickness for which there was any cure, he looked round him, from the manager to the clerk, who watched him with guarded, inquisitive, half sympathetic eyes. They knew, of course, that his wife had deserted him. Probably they were quite sorry for him. That was a humiliating thought. "Who was the man?” he asked. "I did not know him.” But Martin caught the slight hesitation, and the swift glance which passed between them. '

“That’s a lie. Who was he?” He sounded so formidable that the clerk hurried to reply this time. After all, there could be no point in keeping it back, lor no doubt the runaways were out of Stockholm by now. "Mr Bernstorn —your friend.”

Who else could.it have bcen?Hadn't the fellow, now that he came to think of it, made a dead set at her from the moment they met? "He came here and took'her away?" "Yes, on the morning after you left, Mr Hirst."

“She was not —you don’t think she had expected him to come?” “Yes, sir. She rang him up.”

So it had been planned and arranged between them. There was no need to pry any further: he saw it all with pitiless clarity. But whose fault was it that he had lost her? Who had surrounded himself of his own free will with so many secret activities that she could not get near him? Who had found her jealously of his far too many and too persistent friends almost amusing at times? Who had allowed himself to leave her alone for —was it possible —three days, neglected, almost, forgotten, and all for the sake of a hair-brained adventure which had turned out to be a sordid tragedy? (To be Continued).