OUTPOST IN CHINA

Wairarapa Times-Age, 10 July 1940, Page 10

OUTPOST IN CHINA

By

VAL GIELGUD.

Author of “Africa Flight” and Part Author of “Death at Broadcasting House.”

CHAPTER XXVI. Queerly enough, the girl’s first instictive movement was to thrust her hand across the bulb of the torch. She could guess what she must have looked like at that hideous moment. She had no desire for Leslie Dale to see her looking like the survivor of a train smash ... •‘What on earth are you doing?” she stammered out helplessly. Leslie swung her up in his arms, and held her closely. ‘•Looking for you,” he said curtly. "What else should I be doing?” She lay still in his arms. The inferno of noise, and flame and panic was still in full roar all about them. But Leslie seemed—as usual—to know what he was up to. It was heaven to be able to rely on someone else for a few minutes, even if they were likely to be one’s last . . . Leslie began to push his way along the street back towards the Vice-Con-, sul’s house. “Chalmers has a pretty good cellar, I gather,” he said quietly. “We may as well help him use it. j By the way, Sheila, what on earth were you doing out in the streets with next to no clothes on? Did you panic —or were you just being modern?” He could feel her shiver. “If you want to know,” she whispered, “I was trying, to get to you.” “I see.” The suspicion of a smile softened the grim set of Leslie’s jaw, as he moved doggedly forward with his ourden. By every law of common sense and normality they should have been trampled underfoot, or blown to pieces half a dozen times in the course of that short journey. But fantastic good fortune was their friend—aided by the fact that, in addition to carrying Sheila Havelock, Leslie Dale had a pistol ready in his hand, and showed no sign of hesitation in using it when necessary: once on a maddened dog, which sprang at his throat; twice firing over the heads of coolies heading a frantically rushing crowd; once deliberately through tne head of a Chinese soldier, who was improving the shining hours of the raid to slash off the fingers of a woman whose rings he coveted as she lay writhing on the ground. During that half-hour of horror and fear and desperation, Sheila Havelock learned her lesson as she would never have learned it in a hundred years of peace. She achieved a sense of proportion. She saw the futility of the individual, who can be so absurdly splashed and disintegrated by a few ounces of metal, whose houses can go up in smoke and flame under the action of men as distant from and disinterested in their victims as the inhabitants of another planet. And she realised that the conflict between herself and Leslie Dale was not. as she had imagined, an equal battle of principle. She was fighting for her vanity and her own selfishness. She had believed that he was doing the same thing. He was not. His job in Tan Fu was certainly his own choice. But it was partly his choice because it was in itself worth doing. The work you do, in short, is worth more than the individual who does it. Leslie’s work had to be done—if not by himself, by another.

If Sheila never went back to civilisation, civilisation would not be a penny the worse, though a few dressmakers would miss being a good many pennies the better! Yes, Leslie was. right. But as he lurched and staggered at last down tne stone steps and into the candle-lit obscurity of the Vice-Consu-sal cellar, she wondered whether she might not have lost her chance for ever. She lay back in the chair in which Leslie had laid her gently, and huddled the remnants of her clothing round her. thanking fate that the lighting was not better, and that Chalmers was not there. "Stay quiet a minute. Sheila. We're all right here, unless we get a direct hit, and the whole infernal show caves in! Tell me, are you hurt? Or were you just sent sprawling?” “I’m only cut and scratched a good bit,” said the girl, and tried to smile. “I wish I could have some soap and a powder puff, or some cold cream!” “The ruling passion strong in—airraids, eh?” grinned Leslie. "I’ll go and see what I can find for you in a minute. But I oughtn't to be able to find anything—bar the soap. Old Chalmers is a bachelor." He moved towards the cellar steps, but Sheila started out of her chair in a panic. "Don’t leave me.” “I shan’t be three minutes. And think of having a lovely clean face!” “I’m scared. Leslie —I can’t stand it. if you leave me—l really can’t.” He went back and stood beside her. one hand gripping her elbow firmly. “Steady.” he said gravely, as if he had been gentling a favourite pony. “This isn't like you, you know.” She shuddered violently. “I don’t think I’m like me any more,” she said shakily. "I’ve seen things. Leslie. I didn’t know things could happen like that.” "Imagination isn’t the average person’s strong point.” he said slowly. “If it was, you couldn't start the futile absurdity of wars, or the sort of cruelly to children and animals that makes you sick when you see it!" "I know,” said Sheila, "at least I know now. And I think I know now why you fell you had to stick to Tan Fu.” Leslie turned away, and groped in his pocket for his pipe. After which he seemed to take an unconscionable time to get it lighted, and drawing pro- ■ perly. "That’s all right." he said at long last. “I’m glad you realise I wasn't just being obstinate. I know I must do the job I can do.” "You’re the finest man I’ve even met.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

Leslie, except that you think you've got to run everything down about yourself but your efficiency." “I think,” said Leslie, giving the conversation a new turn, “if I may mention the fact without immodesty, you'd better get another frock from somewhere as soon as this raid's over!” “I won’t let you put me off,” the girl went on. “We were both fools that day in Tan Fu. Partly we were salving our consciences over poor Gerald. Partly we were wrought tip and stupid after the business with Wu. We needed a shock to pull us together—haven't we got it?” And as if in answer there came five heavy explosions, sounding almost as if they were directly overhead. A shower of plaster fell from the ceiling. “You mean —?” asked Leslie Dale slowly. “I mean you never wanted to see me again,” said Sheila shrewdly, “and I don’t blame you! But what happened today—when we were really up against the end of the world? You went to me. I tried to go to you. It looks, doesn't it, as if somehow we are rather important to each other?” They looked into each other's eyes for a little without speaking. And above ground the bombs, and the futile sputtering anti-aircraft fire, roared unregarded and without significance. CHAPTER XXVII. A sequence of full-blooded words announced the return of Chalmers. The Vice-Consul came down his collar stairs after much the fashion of the bull at the proverbial gate. “And where the so-and-so did you get yourself to, Dale?” he demanded explosively. Then he saw Sheila, and took off the hat which, for some reason best known to himself, he was wearing. “Luckily I ran across Mrs Havelock in the street,” Leslie explained. Chalmers sat down, and mopped his forehead. “Bad business —very oad,” he jerked out. “No place for a woman. Mrs Havelock, if you’ll forgive my being so old-fashioned. I must really insist on your getting away down river tomorrow.” Leslie frowned. “I can’t bolt off like that,” he said. “Another forty-eight hours can’t make any difference surely?” “I beg your pardon,” snapped Chalmers. "They may make all the difference! This raiding may go on every few hours for several days. I'm evac-’ uating all English women and children. Luckily one of our gunboats has turned up out of the blue, so it needn’t affect you, Dale, one way or the other. Mrs Havelock will be quite safe under the White Ensign.” “And you think she’s going without me?” "Or that I’m going without him?" Chalmers stared. "Is it shell-shock, or a touch of the sun?” he asked rather plaintively. "I was -under the impression that —er, you ’ weren’t so deadly keen on each other’s company,” he concluded delicately, and coughed. Leslie and Sheila laughed. “You can evacuate us all right,” said Sheila, “but not down river. I’m going back to Tan Fu.” “Sheila!”

“Well, of course.” “But I can manage to take you down to Shanghai so that you get a holiday at any rate ” “A little time ago," said Sheila patiently, “we quarrelled because you wanted to stay in Tan Fu, and I wanted to go to Shanghai. Now we’re risking quarrelling again because I want to stay in Tan Fu and you want to go to Shanghai. We mustn't quarrel ail the time, Leslie dear, even if we are going to be married!” "If you’re not pulling my leg," observed Chalmers helplessly. “I should like to offer you my congratulations.” “Thank you,” said Sheila. “I’m still not sure ” Leslie be-1 gan. “Oh yes you arc, Leslie. After all, it would never do not to give Pat James an opportunity to turn us off—and Janet a final chace to disapprove of me! It is a bargain?” He stooped and kissed her, while the Vice-Consul regarded his befouled shoes with acute concentration. “Bargain no," said Leslie Dale. “Job to be done —quite definitely, yes!” And he kissed her again. THE END.

“PRIVATE WAR”

A RELENTLESS CONTEST. When financiers quarrel, the consequences are often disastrous for one or the other party. Reckless men have operated against one another on the Steck Exchange until one of the contestants has been driven to suicide or to bankruptcy. Money "wars" are generally ruthless and remorseless. In such a situation the well-known novelist. Mr R. A. J. Walling, has found the inspiration of a remarkable story. A young Englishman in New York, down on his luck, sees a man draw a pistol. His is able to rescue the intended victim, who turns out to be a financial of large international enterprises. \ This man. unable to reward his rescuer in any other way. commissions him to go at once to Marseilles to meet | his daughter, and conduct her to London. For this service he offers handsome pay. Actually the young Englishman is being drawn into the private war. and. thereafter lie becomes a combatant. I He becomes fair game for the other I side, as he finds just before he reaches I the French port notorious for its criminals, and where even a ruling monI arch has been struck down. Nor docs I the menace abate when he readies I London with the pretty envoy of her father. Pamela Harrison. The "war"

- continues even on British soil. The “Wairarapa Times-Age” has scs cured Mr Walling’s striking story for I. its readers, and tomorrow “Brocklc- .. bank’s Adventure." will begin its run r in the "Wairarapa Times-Age.” Order s your copy now and make the acquain- - tance of "Bill" Brocklcbank—one of - the most likeable characters Mr Walls ing has ever created —as lie makes his s first appearance in the Paris-Marseilles r j express, on his way to take charge of " Pamela.