"SECOND CHANCE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 10 September 1940, Page 10

"SECOND CHANCE"

BY

HOLLOWAY HORN

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

CHAPTER IX.

(Continued"). “She doesn’t know. And for the time being she won’t know,” Mary said. “I’m glad you’ve told me. Now what’s the bad news?” “John is leaving Mossford.” “Why?” “He’s leaving Trevowe’s.” “But he was getting on so well there!” Mrs Gaddesden protested. “The fact is, Mrs Gaddesden—this is going to be a shock to you—but I’ve been in prison.” Mrs Gaddesden sat down rather heavily in a chair: “Prison!” she echoed, incredulously. Ferguson nodded: “It was a financial case. It is a long story—Mary knows about it; she had read the reports of the case—and even now I’m not altogether ashamed of it. What I did was done to shield other men.” “I’m sure it was,” wailed Mrs Gaddesden. “But why are you going away like this?” “The whole thing has come out. The people at Trevowe’s know that I’m a gaolbird. I simply cannot go back there. I’m going to London tomorrow.” “You poor man! All the time I’ve known you had been through something terrible. I could see it in your face.”

“And I’m going to wait for him," said Mary, slipping her arm through Ferguson’s. “You know, your mother will be upset!” Mrs Gaddesden insisted. “Not until she knows. And she won’t know until John comes back for me!” Mary said calmly. “Well, all I can say is that I hope it’s for the best. If there’s anything 1. can do you’ve only to ask me; you both know that! I . . No, of course not. I was going to suggest a cup of tea, but you’ve just had one!” Mary met Ferguson’s eyes and smiled: “Isn’t she a dear!” she said. On Tuesday morning Ferguson was late at the office for the first time since he joined the staff of Trevowe’s. He had no desire to meet any of the men with whom he had worked and at ten o’clock he knew that the great majority of them would be in their own offices. Mr Mumford was not in his room when he got there, but his secretary was. “Hallo, dear!” she said cheerfully. “I told Mummy you were coming in. How are you feeling?" “I hate leaving!” he said. “I’ve been thinking things over,” she said quietly. “You’d never be happy here again. I think it’s for the best all things considered.” They were interrupted by Mr Mumford. “I’m sorry about this business, Ferguson,” he said. “Very sorry indeed. Miss Donovan told me. You’re sure you’re doing the right thing?” "There is no alternative. I can’t work with all these people now that they know.” "I see that. And so did Mr Trevowe.” “Does he know?” Ferguson asked quietly. “I’ve just been phoning to him,” Mr Mumford said. “He’s distressed to hear about it. What he said was that we were to leave it to you. If you stay on I shall see that no one dares offer any discourtesy to you. Apart from my own feelings in the matter, I have Mr Trevowe’s express order.” “It’s good of you, and it’s good of Mr Trevowe. He knows the truth about the other affair, of course. But, in the circumstances, I must go. Everyone in the building will know. I could never hold a position of any authority, and I should be living on tenter-hooks. Mr Mumford nodded: “I quite see your point of view,” he said. "Mr Trevowe instructed me to pay you the balance of this current quarter’s salary." “That’s exceedingly kind of you both,” Ferguson said. “If you make out the cheque, Miss Donovan, I will sign it,” he went on. “Number two account, please. You're returning to London, Ferguson, I hear?” “Yes. My past may not tread so heavily on my heels there. ’ “It is bad luck. Apart from anything else, I'm sorry because you were becoming one of the useful men here. Look here, Ferguson, I don’t often do this kind of thing, but if it would help you, give me as a reference. I’m not bound to mention how long you've been here, unless the question is directly asked, and I can certainly say that you have given every satisfaction and that we are sorry to lose you.” “Thank you very much, Mr Mumford.” His secretary placed the cheque in front of him, and he signed it. “Well . . . good luck!” the old man said and held out his hand. “Good-bye . . and thank you,” Ferguson said as the two men shook hands. “I’ll go and see him off," said Mary Donovan, who was a very privileged person in Mr Mumford's office. She took his arm as they went down the stairs. “You’re asking for trouble, Mary,” he said. “How?” “We might meet anyone.” “What of it? I'm not ashamed of you. And you’re not ashamed of yourself. You’re getting the six-fifteen?” “Yes. There are one or two things. I want to do in Mossford before I go." “I shall be in the booking-hall at five-thirty then.” They reached the main entrance. "Now listen to me,” she said firmly. “I’m perfectly certain that everything is going to be all right.” Her eyes were on his as she was speaking. “So am I,” he said. “And I love you!” "God bless you, my dear!” he said brokenly, and turned away. He knew that it was absurd, but as he walked along he felt that people

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were watching him, pointing him out, talking about him and he hurried away from the part of the town in which Trevowe’s was situated. His immediate business was at the police station and with the exception of the Station Sergeant, perched on his high stool, the place was apparently deserted. "Hallo! What do you want?” the Sergeant greeted him. “To see Inspector Garrod.” “Anything wrong?” the kindly sergeant asked. He knew all about Ferguson. “Yes. It’s leaked out. I'm going back to London.” “What a pity!” You were doing so well at Trevowe’s!” “Well —that’s how it is.” “The Inspector’s in his room. I’ll tell him. This way,” he went on a moment later. “Come in, Ferguson," the Inspector called. He was sitting at his desk and rose as the visitor came in. “Sit down," he said. “All right, Jones,” he nodded to the Sergeant. “Have a cigarette?” he began and held out his case. “I'm sorry to hear about this business. It's that nasty little brute. Wilson.” “Yes.” “Oily little swine! Mary told me about it. So you’re going back?” “Yes.” “I can understand it. As far as we are concerned- —officially, I mean —all you need do is to report to the nearest station when you get to London. There’s a form here to be filled in. Where are you staying in town?” “I don’t know. Tonight at one of the little hotels near St Pancras.” “Wilkin’s is good. Just outside St Pancras. And cheap, look here, when you fix on digs let me know and I'll drop a note to the local station.” “That’s very decent of you,- inspector.” “You’ll be all right!” he said genially. “So Miss Donovan said,” Ferguson said with a smile. “I don’t think Ive ever been so grateful to a human being in my life as I am to her.” Garrod nodded. “I know,” he said. “She’s as good as gold. And where she’s concerned I don’t bear you any ill-will.” “I’m glad.” “She wouldn’t have had me in any case, much as I wanted her.” “I’m a lot of good to a girl!" Ferguson said bitterly. “That’s just the point, Ferguson. You’ve got to be. That’s why I’m ready to do any mortal thing I can to help you.” “I shall write to her when I get away. It’s hopeless! This kind of thing will dog me for years. It’s ninetenths pity for me, I’m afraid, where Mary is concerned.” “You don't know her. She’s loyal —more loyal than any man or woman I’ve ever known. You know what Mr Mumford thinks about her?” Ferguson nodded. “That’s typical. What do you think of doing in town?” “I’ve got a few pounds by me. It won’t last long, of course. And I’ve still got a few friends, but I'd rather keep away from them. I ran into Mr Trevowe accidentally.” ■ “You musn’t gel morbid!” the Inspector said. “Hundreds of men make good even after a worse break than you had.” “But the dice seem loaded against me. I feel that I should have made good here if I'd had a chance.” “I wish I could have got my hands on Mr Teddy Wilson!” the Inspector said, grimly. “I don’t love him either. I shall find some job, I suppose. You fellows are very good, you know.” “Not one of us dare give you away. You know that? I didn't even tell Mary—even when she was practically certain of it.” “I know. I've had nothing but consideration from the police.” “I’m glad to hear you say that. It would, certainly be true of most of us. Well, here’s the form. Just fill it in; it’s quite simple.” “What about the address? I don’t know what it will be.” “Put in ‘To be notified later.’ ” He signed it in full: John Fingal Ferguson Hallett. "Rather a mouthful, isn't it?” he said with a smile as he passed the form to the Inspector. “You’ll still call yourself Ferguson?” “Yes. I'm not going until this evening.” “Well . . good luck, old chap!” Garrod held out his hand. “As far as Mossford is concerned. I’ve got none but the happiest memories. Wilson doesn’t belong here, of course.” “His name's Sternberg, isn’t it?” “Yes. He’s a wrong ’un —but he’s never been in prison,” Ferguson said, with a smile that cloaked his bitterness. “That’s true of a good many people. I’m afraid. Keep smiling!" Ferguson lunched at Number Five and in the afternoon he and Mrs Gaddesden packed his belongings. He had augmented his scanty wardrobe since he came to Mossford and was generally in a better state to face a period of unemployment. Mrs Gaddesden was inclined to be tearful. “You can always have a bite and a bed here,' she assured him at the parting. “You’ve been very good to me," he said quietly. “You . . you never spoke about your mother, Mr Ferguson. I've ofter wondered.” “My parents are both dead. They were dead before . . it all happened.” She nodded understanding!}'. "Are you all right for money?” “Quite,” he assured her. “If ever you get hard up you will let me know? I shall worry otherwise. I’m comfortably off and have a few pounds to spare for a friend.” (To be Continued).