OUTPOST IN CHINA

Wairarapa Times-Age, 8 July 1940, Page 10

OUTPOST IN CHINA

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

VAL GIELGUD.

Author of “Africa Flight” and Part Author of “Death at

Broadcasting House.”

CHAPTER XXIII. The twenty-four hours immediately ensuing did little to clarify the situation for him. Of Sheila he saw nothing. for Janet James immediately took charge of the girl, forgetting everything except the fact that she was a woman and a woman who had suffered what on any count must have proved a fearful shock. The missionary himself had hurried over to help Leslie get the house in order, and attend to Gerald’s burial.

With James, Leslie had had something of a dispute. The padre refused to countenance Leslie's insistence on the hanging of Gerald's murderer. He quoted • scripture, and was not pleased when Leslie retorted with “an eye for an eye.” He maintained that the execution would do no good, and might justify Wu in taking measures by way of retaliation. But Leslie was not to be moved. He snatched four hours sleep in his clothes, and rode off into the sunset, his jaw set like granite, his brain in the most exasperating confusion.

During his ride he came to the conclusion that the missionary was probably right. But when he reached Wu’s camp the guard's body was already dangling from the branches of the nearest tree, and the General greeted him with the blandest of smiles. “Your escort will be ready for you at ten " in the morning,” he assured Leslie.

And there was nothing for the latter to do, but express his satisfaction, and ride back to his house in an extremely 'bad temper indeed. He slept badly, when he got back, weary to death though he was. He was alone in the house, for Sheila was sleeping at Janet's, under the merciful oblivion of morphia. Leslie was not a fanciful man, but somehow he got the impression that Gerald Havelock dead possessed an influence which he had never had during his life. As he tossed restlessly on the bed which had been Gerald’s, Leslie could have sworn that the boy was still somewhere about the house. He cursed himself for a fool He counted sheep. 'He did a crossword puzzle in a three months’ old magazine. But still he could not sleep; still he thought of Gerald, and blamed himself on Gerald’s account. Though he did not know it, Leslie Dale was at long, last completing his education. It had waited for a long time, that completion. In proportion it was proving unpleasant. Finally he fell into an uneasy slumber, troubled with fantastic nightmares,and it was a little after nine in the morning when he awoke. He dressed and shaved hurriedly, and was amazed when at last he entered the sitting-room to find Sheila sitting there. A novel Jay open on her lap. She looked tired but calm. But her eyes were big, as if unshed tears were not very far away.

“You oughn’t to have come over,” he began awkwardly. “Pat and I got everything fixed. I was going to put your things in a bag and call for you in an hour or so ”

Sheila broke into a hysterical laugh.

“Don’t Sheila, please! It’s all right, my dear ” "All right,” she repeated. “You’re wonderful, Leslie. Wonderfully mat-ter-of-fact?”

“Surely,” said Leslie, “it is a matter of fact?”

Sheila stopped laughing. “You think it awfully odd of me to think of it as a matter of sentiment?” she demanded. “I don’t want to be brutal,” said Leslie quietly. “I know the thing’ must have been the most ghastly shock for you. But are you going to let Gerald dead mean something to you that alive he never meant at all?” Sheila winced as if he had struck her.

“You mean I’m not sorry, Leslie? That I don’t care that Gerald died in that horrible way? You’ve evidently a high opinion of me!” “High enough to believe in your essential honesty—yes,” said Leslie firmly.

“It was appalling, coming like that,” Sheila went on. "Il might have been a judgment. I don’t think I realised before,” she said slowly, “how hard you could be.” “Am I hard. I don’t know. I’ve never been unoccupied enough to have time to take myself to bits. Try and think of the thing from Gerald's point of view. After all, he died well.”

“Better than he lived you mean?” said Sheila with a mirthless little smile. "No Leslie. That’s humbug if you like to pretend that he was lucky to get the opportunity. Any fool can die with credit given the chance.” “Yes. But most of us aren't given the chance! Nowadays everyone believes that nothing in the world is worse than sudden death. Which is a bit odd when you see how must people live. You say that any fool can die with credit. It certainly takes a clever man to live with credit under modern conditions!" “I’m thinking about Gerald,” said Sheila impatiently, “not life and death.” “I know you are. And you’ve got to stop, Sheila. We've got to think forward not back. Between us we helped to spoil his life. I know that. 1 suppose, by bringing Wu hero, I helped to get him killed. But it’s no good our being sorry. The best we can do is to make a success of our lives to balance things up.'’ But Sheila was not to be comforted by his clumsily assumed air of casuistry. “I don’t care if it's any good being sorry or not. Leslie. I am- sorry. 1 was an utter brute to him!" “You couldn’t help it!" “I didn't try!” Leslie shrugged helplessly. To argue with a woman in this mood was a' hopeless proposition. And in that moment her mood seemed to change, for she became elaborately practical.

“What do we do now exactly?” she asked. “We meet Wu’s escort at the outskirts of Tan Fu. They'll frank us as far as Chungking. I must make a report on this affair to the Consul.” “But the river route is open down stream from Chungking surely? Why can’t we go down to Shanghai?” Leslie put his hands in his pockets, and looked down at her indulgently. ‘■You can if you like,” he said, rather as if addressing a child.” You're forgetting that my leave’s over. 1 came back to take over charge of Tan Fu. I’ve signed on for another year at least, with an option of renewal of the contract on either side.” Sheila's book fell to the ground with a thud.- Under her make-up her face looked suddenly ghastly. “Do you mean," she said slowly, i “that you have to stay here —in Tan ' Fu —for another year?” CHAPTER XXIII. I “I always liked you, Leslie, once I 1 got over your strength and silence,” said Sheila to Dale as they stood by the window of the bungalow. “But lately I have come to associate you with getting away from this beastly hole. I’ve stood here at the window, day after day while you were away, and looked at the river, and dreamed —dreamed of the boat bringing you back. You meant escape to me, Leslie —everything that that word means.” A curious expression had come over Dale’s face as he listened to her. She did not recognise it. Eut General Wu might have done. “I want you to be happy,” said Leslie, frowning. “If that’s true,” said Sheila, “you must take me away from China. Why don’t you get a job in England?” Dale stepped closer to the window. The morning mist was shredding away under the sunlight. Smoke curled over the angled roofs of Tan Fu. The river flashed like a streak of molten gold. A file of coolies padded down the road. He looked across the millet fields and the river to the jagged hills behind whose silhouette General Wu was no doubt sleeping the sleep of a quiet conscience . . . “So I’m to give up this job, break my contact with Harwood and Greer, and take you home?” he said, without turning round. “Please, Leslie.” Dale picked up from the desk the long Chinese dagger which had lain there ever since Gerald had brought it back from his office, the day when it had skewered Wu’s first written demand to his blotting-pad. He ran his fingers slowly along the thin wicked blade, looked out once more towards the distant red hills, and turned round. “I’m going to be blunt too. Sheila,” he said. "I’ll see you hanged first!” The girl gasped. It was as though a pail, of cold water had been flung over her without warning. “I’m sorry if that sounds rude,” Dale went on. “I only wanted you to understand once and for all.” “Perhaps,” said Sheila, making a great effort and pulling herself together, “you’ll explain a little more clearly and less forcibly.” “I thought.” she added, “that you prided ■ yourself on your rather old-fashioned chivalry!” “My dear Sheila, there are other oldfashioned virtues, even if you haven’t heard of them. One is doing your job. and I’ve got mine to do. I know that to you it may seem unimportant and even silly: just buying and selling to a lot of Chinese, and making old Wu keep a civil tongue in his head. But it's got to be done, you know. It’s being done all over the Empire by people who don’t make much song about it. And I happen to do it rather well. So I like doing it.” “I—I—” Sheila stammered. “Listen to me! I won’t argue it with you. Go home! Try to forget Tan Fu Try not to think of me.” “Leslie!” “Wait! Go back to Bond Street and Ascot and hot baths and permanent waves.” Sheila looked at him. It was as if she was trying to stamp the picture of his face finally upon her memory; the little pulse beating angrily in his right temple; the firm mouth; the lines from the corners of his nostrils to the corners of his lips; the “rays"' about his eyes; his small neat ear . . There was no doubt of the magnetism of his vitality. In her turn she went to the window and looked out over the roofs of Tan Fu. But where Leslie Dale had seen the familiar surroundings of a land over which he had ridden and shot, of a town he had helped to build, of a people he liked and understood; Sheila Havelock remembered only discomfort and loneliness, evil smells, indifferent food, and the ever-present menace of primitive danger from beyond the river . . . She shuddered violently and turned round, holding out her hand. “Goodbye, Leslie,” she said. ' (To be Continued).