"SECOND CHANCE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 September 1940, Page 10

"SECOND CHANCE"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

HOLLOWAY HORN

(Author of “George,” “Two Men and Mary,” etc.

CHAPTER VII . (Continued). “You came to Messrs Murray Brothers from a financial corporation —from, in short, a bank, a believe?” “Yes.” “Would you have hidden similar irregularity on the part of a colleague in the bank?” “In similar circumstances I think I should.” . “You think you would?” “Yes. Both Foskett and Trevitt are married men with young children.” “And you think that the fact that a man has children—even young children—justifies him in robbing his employer?” “You twist everything I say! “Answer the question!” His lordship ordered. “No, I don’t. But if such a man has acted foolishly one hesitates to do anything which would ruin him, if there is a chance of his saving himself.” “If the position had been reversed, would these men have risked their position and livelihood to save you? “I don’t know.” “You were in a position of trust.” “Yes.” “And you betrayed that trust?” . “I was a case of conflicting loyalties. Loyalty to my employer and to the men I was working with.” “You falsified your accounts?” “Yes.” “That is—you betrayed your trust?” “To that extent, yes.” “You do not contest his evidence?” “No. It was true.” “When he pointed out the irregularity in the first place did you lie to him?” “I had to attempt to bluff him.” “Again out of the kindness of your heart? Out of your love for Trevitt and Foskett?” “Not altogether.” “What do you mean?” “By that time I was in the mess as well.” “Exactly.” And, at this point, Mr Jerome, according to the “Daily Courier” account “resumed his seat.” Twice Mary Donovan read that cross-examination. She could undeistand exactly what he went through, understand that the motives behind his conduct were just what he had said they were. And they had sent him to prison for it! / The page in front of her dirmhed for there were tears in her eyes. She closed the pile of papers and dabbed her nose with her powder puff, without which, apparently, in moments of emotion, the modern woman is lost. “Thank you,” she said to the librarian. “Did you find it?”

“Yes, thanks." On her way back to the bus she had to pass the Police Station and as she did so Inspector Garrod came out. The constable on duty saluted him, for he was a man of consequence in the Force.He pulled up when he saw Mary. "You’re late!” he said. "Yes. I’ve been in the library for the last hour."

"Oh? Did you find it?” “Yes. You should read it yourself. George. That poor man!” “Usually I don’t wast much pity on them," he said. “Nine cases out of ten they get what was coming to them.”

“I know. I’ve heard you before. But he’s different. What he did, was to shield someone else.”

“A good many of them say that.” “But in this case it’s true. I’ve read the cross-examination and I know him.”

“Look here, I’m in a great hurry, Mary. But is Friday, okay?" “Perhaps. I’m not certain.” “I shall call for you at eight o'clock, my girl." “Right-ho. We’ll see.” “Are you going to tell him that you know?”

“No. Of course not. One day he’ll tell me.”

“You know, Mary, you mustn’t let your natural sympathy run away with you,” he said anxiously. “That’s what people want, George. Sympathy. Understanding. If these beastly lawyers had understood him. they would never have sent him to prison.” “Perhaps not. But in any case, keep Friday open. I shall be at a loose end. if you don't.” “All right,” she smiled and hurried on. "You’re very late.” her mother greeted her when she reached home. "Yes. And hungry, as usual.” “Your aunt has been here for tea this afternoon, Mary.” “I'm glad. It must be a bit lonely for you.” “She was talking about Mr Ferguson.” “Then she shouldn't." “Why not?" her mother asked in surprise. “Because Auntie’s talk is nearly always gossip." “Well, for once, my dear, you’re wrong. She didn’t say anything about him that he himself might not have heard. Now come and have the soup while it’s hot." “It’s good soup!” smiled Mary. “What did she say about him?” “Only that although he's been with her quite a time she knows no more about him than the afternoon he came.” "Why should she?"

“I don’t think I should like a man living in my house and know nothing about him. He never has any letters, even.”

“That’s surely nothing to do with Auntie!”

“No. But it’s odd. Usually a man has got a mother or a sister or somebody who writes to him.” “Apparently he hasn't. What’s Auntie going to do about it? Invent one for him?”

“Why be so cross? You don’t get snappy if I talk about George. He’s open and above board. He’s told us about his mother and his brother in the Civil Service.”

"George is all right," said Mary. “1 should think he is. Most girls would give anything to get hold of him. Why, in the local paper only this evening I see that the Chairman of the Bench congratulated him on his work.” “He’s done very well.” “Every other policeman in the town salutes him.”

“Even if he’s in private clothes. That was good soup.”

‘And I’ve got a chop for you. I know those midday meals. And I want it eaten up!” “You know, Mother, you make me feel like a kid of six again.” “It doesn’t seem so long to me when you were a kid of six—as you call it. And then I could make you see reason.”

“Mean you can’t now?” “Meaning just that. You’re falling in love with this man Ferguson.” “Nonsense, mother.” “I know. And George doesn’t like it.” “Of course he wouldn’t —if it were true.” “It is true.” “I’m sorry for him. And I think he needs friendship and sympathy.” “Is he married?’ Mrs Donovan shot the question at her daughter. “I don’t think so. I’ve never asked him.” ‘You shouldn’t have to ask a man. “Well, I haven’t," Mary smiled. “This is a good chop,” she added. “I don’t think it’s fair! You’re playing fast and loose with George.” "Indeed I’m not. I shall not marry him, and I’ve told him so. If he isn’t satisfied with being a friend he knows what he can do.” “Of course it’s your life that’s in front of you," said Mrs Donovan, rather surprisingly. “That’s just it, mother,” Mary Donovan said quietly. “It’s my life that’s in front of me.” CHAPTER VIII. Ferguson had reached home —as he was coming to think of Number Five — at the usual time/ on the evening that Mary Donovan had traced his case in the files of the Courier. He was tired, for he was working really hard at the office, fully aware that he had to make good in the second chance that life —in the person of William Trevowe—had offered him. His evening meal was ready and Mrs Gaddesden having given up her rather irritating attempts to fathom the obscurity which hid the earlier part of his life was chattering pleasantly when the bell rang. “Now who can that be?” she said and paused as if to consider the matter. “Better open the door and find out,” he suggested with a smile. "I will,” she said. A minute later, she returned. “There a lady to see you, Mr Ferguson.” "A lady? To see me?” “Yes.” “Who is it?” “It’s I,” said a voice from behind Mrs Gaddesden and Lucia Desmund came into the room. Ferguson had risen and stood watching her in silence. “Good evening, John,” she said. “Er . . . good evening.” “Won’t you ask me to sit down?” “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry. You rather took me by surprise.” “Would the lady like a cup of tea?" Mrs Gaddesden asked. “I should love one,” said Lucia with a quiet little effective smile.” “I had to look you up, John,” she went on when Mrs Gaddesden had left them. “Why?” he asked coldly. “For old times’ sake. We’re at the

local theatre.” “I know. I saw you. . . .” “We’ve never met since . . .’.’ “Since, that day at the Old Bailey. I saw you in court. I hear that I have to congratulate you. I’m afraid I haven’t done so before.' “What on?” "Your marriage.” "Oh, that,’ ’she said, and laughed. Mrs Gaddesden came in with the cup and saucer. “Thank you, Mrs Gaddesden,” said Ferguson. "There’s nothing else you’ll be wanting?" "No, thank you.” “Ring if there is,” the wise woman said and left the room, shutting the door behind her. “You’ve a very comfortable place here. The last time I had tea with you was at your flat in Red Lion Square.” “I remember it.” “Well, how am I looking?" she demanded. "Much the came.” “You’re looking younger.” “Thank you. Do you mind if I continue with my meal? Perhaps you'll have some of that cake?" “No, thanks. I’m dieting. But you go on. You don’t bear me a grudge because I’m married?” “Not in the least.” "You’re not interested.” “No. Why should 1 be?" She shrugged her beautiful shoulders: “You used to say you were fond of me.” "Curious, isn’t it?” he said with a smile. “That wasn’t very gallant of you.” she said, angrily. “Look here. Lucia, what is jt you want?” Ferguson asked as he helped himself to another fillet of plaice. “I wanted a chat with you.” she said quietly, with head slightly averted so that her profile was in evidence. “You know, you amuse me.” he said. “What made you marry that nasty little rat-like husband of yours?” | (To be Continued).