"SECOND CHANCE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 6 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). “I often wonder. You’d gone. You let me down and I was disillusioned and depressed. 1 thought he could help me in my work —he was an agent at the time.” “He’s been many things in his time.’’ “And still is,” she said bitterly. “When this tour is over, I’m through with him.” “That’s your affair, isn’t it?” She nodded. “You’ve changed,” she said. “Of course I have. A man cannot go through what I’ve been through without being changed. It makes him see things and people more clearly—far more clearly,” he added. “Meaning me?” “If you wish to place that construction on what I said, I cannot prevent you.” “But you were fond of me . . once. “I thought so at the time. I see you’re still wearing the ring I gave you. Remember how that infernal lawyer kept on about it?” She nodded: "I nearly screamed,” she said. “Not you!” he smiled. "You were enjoying it!” “John,” she protested. “That’s the beastliest thing I’ve ever had said to me.” “It isn’t true?” he asked. “No!” “Then I did you an injustice.” “You never wrote to me . . afterwards.” “One’s literary activities are limited . . . there,” he said, with a smile. “But you could have written.” “There was nothing to say. You were sitting in court with the man you married shortly afterwards and his attitude towards you was, even at the time . . . proprietary.” “He doesn’t matter. I’ve only loved once in my life.” “I know that. You were in love with yourself, Lucia.” “I wouldn’t have come here tonight, if I had known that this would be your attitude,” she said angrily. “What did you expect my attitude to be?” “A reasonable one," she said quietly. “I know that judged by ordinary standards I’m a washout where you are concerned —that I didn’t stick to you—but I’ve only got one life and it all seemed too hopeless!” “I don’t blame you.” “But you do! I can see that you do! And yet I loved you,” she went on more quietly. “I’ve always loved you.” “You said that very effectively, Lucia. But you didn’t ‘put it across,’ as you say on the stage.” “Ah, well!” she sighed. “I know. The smash didn't do me any good; you realise that?” “In what way?” “People thought that I was the cause that you had wasted the money on me.” “You know that I didn’t” “But people thought that I was behind it. I was cold-shouldered. My contract at the Imperial was terminated. They paid me, of course —they had to —but they wouldn’t give me another job.” “But you had another job in London. Someone here saw you in it.” “I was an understudy and appeared a few times only at the end of the run. No, your smash finished me as well. I thought it would at the time.” “I’m sorry.” “And it led me into tne greatest mistake of my life—marrying Sternberg. “But you knew what you were doing. You knew he was a wrong ’un.' “But he’d pulled up. He was going straight at the time. And I thought he could help me.” “In any case he’s never been in prison,” said Ferguson bitterly. "Well, that’s that,” he went on as he got up from his chair. "Mrs Gaddesden looks after me wonderfully well.” “And if she’s listening at the door — as she probably is—she’ll be pleased.' “I’m quite certain she isn’t. By the way, shouldn’t you be on the stage now?” “Yes. But I’m sick of it all. I told Teddy that I was coming to see you and that he could play the part himself if he wanted to. The understudy’ll be glad of the chance, anyway. Any way. And she’s quite good.” “Life’s a funny thing, isn’t it?” he said as he sat down by the fire. “Very funny!" she said quietly, almost as if she were speaking to herself. “I’m working in this town, as Sternberg had probably told you.” She nodded: “He’s in a very ugly mood about you.” “Why?” Agam she shrugged her shoulders: “I don’t quite know. Something to do with an emerald necklace.” Ferguson smiled. "Apparently he was behind the burglary at Murray’s house that weekend.. One of his varied activities." "He’s through with that sort of thing now.” “I think he’d better be. Has he given up drugs, too?.” She looked round startled. “She isn’t listening, is she?” “No. She’s probably rather annoyed that you are here, though. It wouldn't seem quite proper to her.” "Oh that." she said contemptuously. He glanced at his watch. ‘You’ll appear at the second house, I suppose?” "I don’t know. The houses are rotten here, anyway. It’s the infernal pictures! The people are spoon-fed. They can’t stand an interval even if it’s only a few minutes. You mean to stay on here?” “I hope so.” “Pretty dull, won't it be?" “I've got used to dullness,” he said with a smile. “Poor boy!” she murmured. “I used to think of you.” “Sez you!”

“I wish you wouldn't adopt that stupid, cynical tone. I hate it!” “Sorry. I suppose I am cynical. But surely it’s understandable?” “Not with me. Your smash did for me, too, remember." “Particularly with you,” he insisted. “There are genuine things in life, though. Genuine, loyal people. People worth while.” “Will you believe me when I say that I wish I had waited for you?” she asked quietly. “I do not. It’s incredible to me that I ever did. You’re as beautiful as ever, but I seem to see more clearly. And beauty—superficial beauty, anyway—just doesn’t matter. There are other things far more important.” “She thought over this a moment before she said: “It was my husband who suggested that I should come here tonight.” “Why?” She shrugged her shoulders: “I fancy he thought I could get the hiding place of the emeralds out of you.” “Why do you tell me this?” he asked. “Because I’ve made a strange discovery tonight.” “Oh?” he said doubtfully. “Yes. You won’t believe it. You'll probably laugh. But I love you. It is funny, isn’t it?” 1 “It’s certainly a strange statement.” “You don’t believe it?” “I don’t quite why you should lie to me. I can’t see any object in it.” ■‘‘ln the old days you were just like a dozen different men I knew. I thought you were going to make money and that was all I wanted.” “I gathered that.” “But you're not the man you were. You're a different person.” “To a great extent,” she said. “What a swine I was,” she added with a sudden bitterness. “I’ve no hard feelings, Lucia. I didn’t expect you to act other than you did.” “I should have stuck to you! If I’d loved you then as I do tonight, I should have.” “This is all very embarrassing,” he said, uneasily.' “Yes. The tables are turned, John. In the old days you loved me, remember. Ah, well,” she went on as' she stood up, “I may as well be going. You’ve got your revenge, if you wanted it.” “I didn’t. As far as the hiding place of the emeralds is concerned, I don’t know anything about it.” “He’s got a bee in his bonnet that you do.” “Well, I don’t —I assure you.” ‘Good-bye!” she said. “I hope that you have better luck. Don’t think worse of me than you must.” “We’ve both been perilously near the rocks, I'm afraid,” he said. “You’ll miss them.” she said. “And I'm glad you've found loyalty in someone else. You always were loyal. Who is she?” “No one in particular.” “There is,” she said quietly. “And I’m glad. It's funny that I should have come here tonight to try and bluff you into telling me where the emeralds were and ended up by giving Sternberg away.” “It is,” he agreed. “There will be a first class row when I get back.” “I’m sorry about that. But in any case you couldn’t have succeeded, because I really don’t know anything about them. If I did I should hand them over to the police." She watched him quietly for a moment. “I shall remember you like you are now,” she said. “Here in this room. Good bye, my dear.” She returned to the door and he followed her into the little hall. He opened the door for her and she passed out into the misty night without a word. From the open door he watched her as she hurried away until the bend of the road hid her from his sight. Quietly he closed the door. In a way, the act was symbolic. Mrs Gaddesden came in to clear away a few minutes later. “So she’s gone, I see," she said. “Yes.” “She looked like an actress,” she went on with an almost inaudible sniff. “She is an actress,” he said. “She’s the leading lady this week at the Theatre Royal.” “An old friend of yours, she said she was.” “I've known her several years,” he said non-committally. "It takes all sorts to make a world,” she said, at which he smiled, but reremained silent. Lucia Desmond's face was white beneath her careful makeup as she hurried through the dismal streets and she reached the theatre before the first house was out. She had some time to herself before her husband came in. "Well. Any luck?” “Not a bit," she said. "He wouldn't tell you?" “Of course, he wouldn't," she snapped. “I told him why I had come, if you must know.” “What d'you mean?" he demanded in an ugly tone. "What I say. I told him you’d sent me to bluff the secret out of him.” "What for, you fool!” “Because I felt like it. And because it was a particularly dirty trick, even for you." "What’s bitten you? You were all right when you left here." "I’m sorry for him. If ever a man in the world had a rough deal, he’s the man." “Rubbish! He was a fool. And he’s I paid for it like fools always do.” “Don’t boast too soon. Knaves can come a mucker as well,” she said. “You trying to make a row?" he asked. “Not particularly.” (To be Continued).