THE HEART OF A GIRL.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXX, Issue 3528, 20 May 1912, Page 3

THE HEART OF A GIRL.

BY HENRY FARMER.

Author of “The Money-Lender,” "12a, Quiltry Street,” “Bondage,” etc. (Published by Special Arrangement.) COPYRIGHT—ALL RIGHTS RESERVED ■ CHAPTER IV. (Continued). There was no need to quit the Town HalTto reach the police-station, and presently Qneenie found herself rn a room with Joynson Palmer and a couple of police-inspectors. Quite mechanically she noted an array of highly-polished handcuffs and legchains over the mantlepiece. A window in one wall looked out on the station hall. It was the inspctcors’ room, and the door opened into a corridor on either side with cells. There was a faint odor of disinfectants in the arr.

“Beg pardon, miss,” said one of the .inspectors, “but you mustn’t discuss tho rights and wrongs of the case with Mr. Stanmore.”

He said something under his breath to his colleague, who quitted the room. His feet rang echoingly oil' the stone dags of the corrid'or. Joynson Palmer strolled’ to the window looking out into the station hall, stared out, and blew, rather than whistled, a tune from comic opera. Somehow it afforded his human feelings relief. Though he was a. solicitor, he possessed themQneenie fancied she- heard the sound of a key being turned. Footsteps were echoing again from the corri dor. She stood facing the door, and she saw the man she loved become framed on the threshold, the inspector of police immediately behind him. It was a strained moment. Both required all their courage, but eyes met eyes fairly and squarely. There was no melodramatic protestations. Stanmore’s very stride, the poise of his head, and the squared shoulders, were eloquent of a determination to show a brave front and keep colors flying, and if Queenie’s heart throbbed with something akin to physical pain and for a moment she was in trouble with her lips, she was, nevertheless, inspired by the same determination.

Neither of them was hampered by a sense of false prudery. Inspectors and Joyson Palmer, his back turned and indulging in a silent kind of whistle, did not count. Stanmore’s arms closed round her; lips met. 'There was a silence, hearts and thought en rapport. Emotions found wordless expression. The past as well as the present and the veiled mystery of the future had a place in both their thoughts. The night, four months ago, when they shaped the future bravely, seemed but yesterday —the drive in' the taxi-cab, the spot where they stood together cloaked hv the shadow of a tree, and the walk home. And now—and the unknown bevond ?

Hilary -Stanmore spoke first: “How can I thank you for coming, Queenie! 1 had Beryl’s telegram, and then I saw you in court.” Fate might make him bankrupt, but two tremendous assets, her love and faith, could not be taken from him. The knowledge of this was like a moral tonic to the man, and though he was bearing himself pluckily enough, he needed it. He was not going to depress her now, but he could not forecast the future. Imagination plays its most devilish tricks during wakeful night-watches, arid he • had not closed his eyes during the past night in a police-station cell. If he were found- guilty, it meant penal servitude- — and a long sentence at that- The blow had fallen, like a bolt from the blue, within two months of the date that was to have given a greater measure of freedom to the woman he loved unselfishly as well as with the selfish passion of young, eager blood, that was to have ended her present, slavery, both business and doinestic slavery. But if anything happened to him, it would mean a continuance' of • her present wretched home-life and drudgery, unless either a miracle happened in the shape of Mr. Gordon Price ' making enough money to- support his family decently, or she married. And if- they found him guilty, what right had he, however sure he might be of her love and faith at this moment, to retain a lien on her freedom.

Hilary Stanmore was not the kind of man to meet trouble half-way, but to do that is another matter from looking -possibilities squarely in the face. He was not the kind of man to tear his hair, wring his hinds, and proclaim his innocence with melodramatic effusiveness; but lie was innocent, and had endured the tortures of the damned as the case progressed in the magistrates’ court and tho evidence agianst him had become more and mo,re circumstantial. He had been quick to- recognise, the two most deadly points against him—the inky finger-print and the fact- that the lock of the strong-room door- was a combination one. The ciphers to which the dial had to be set were changed continually, and were only known to hfmself and the chief clerk. When tho code was changed it was his habit to write down the combination of figures as against forgetfulness in his private diary, which he

kept locked up. The diary had been found intact, and, granted that the man had drugged him and stole his keys had obtained access to his diary —which in itself argued a highly improbable knowledge of whero'to look lor it—it'was hardly likely that a few pencilled figures would have carried their true significance. The police theory was that the robbery was a joint affair, and that, though there was . obviously a confederate, Roy Stannard, the accused man’s alleged half-brother, and his description were inventions on the part of Stanmore; that Stanmore himself had opened the strong-room before submitting to the bound and gagged. On the other hand, the weak point in the police ease, and giving color to Stamores assertion of a conspiracy, was the discovery of a few hundred pounds’ worth of banknotes concealed in the' manager’s bedroom. It seemed hardly credible that ail intelligent criminal brain would have been guilty of such clumsiness. At the same time, the police were endeavoring to strengthen this point by searching To rproof that Stanmore had some immediate pressing need for some such amount.

He still held Queenie’s close to him. Her hands were on his shoulders and her face upturned to his. One of the inspectors was keeping a watchful eye on them. Some six to seven thousand pounds were loose somewhere; There must bo no whispering or anything of that sort.' One could not be too careful. Nothing must change hands for instance. Not so long back the: London police were in trouble over a prisoner who obtained poison somehow and committed suckle in his cell. “You left them all well at home?” continued Stanmore, seeking refuge Tehind commonplaces. “Yes, Hilary, yes,” she answered, anti also fell hack on the same ruse. “I should have been hero sooner, only the fog was had; in fact, I thought I never should get here!” Her voice trembled a little. “I shall stay on, of course,” slit* continued. “And I suppose I shall — I shall be able to see you—continually before—well, the trial?” Hen hands, still on his shoulders, wore shaking badly, and she wished fiercely that she could have controlled them. She did not want to betray weak feelings to him, but she drew closer to him, and her hands slipped from his shoulders round his neck, as if she were suddenly conscious of some ugly bogey behind who was threatening to drag him away from her. “Queenie, it’s only a- matter of a fortnight to the assizes. Don’t misunderstand me—but I would rather you went home in the interval. I I don’t want- you to neglect your work. I know what they are at Voile's."

His face seemed to -go old and lined suddenly. He was not meeting' his troubles half-way-,- but a. verdict of guilty meant penal servitude. “And, though our letters will be read, wo can write to each other. Queenie.” In tho ordinary course of events another two months would have seen them on the eve of their honeymoon. Thoughts of this distracting kind were flashing through both their minds.

"I shall stay here. I want to be '—must be —near you, Hilary, even if I can't see you often!” “Money? I've known times when it has been everything.” Michael Thorne had said on the previous night, “money or the want of it! - ’ “Queenie, I would rather you went back in the interval. I’m very confident my innocence, will be proved completely; but I ” His voice broke. A picture of her mockery of a. home, of the double strain of her life, bad become vivid—almost as vivid as it appeared to him in the wakeful night—and unsteadied him.

“But it’s impossible to say -whatwill happen quite.” “You know this, Hilary,” she whispered, her voice tense with passionate emotion, “that nothing will change me. If— I should wait for you ! I should wait- for you!” Joynson Palmer, staring. through into the police-station-hall, tried to clear his throat without making a noise over tho operation. “You would, you would? It had to come from you, Queenie! I had no right to ask that of you !” “Let me say ‘it now !”

All consciousness of surroundings, of jxdiec inspetcors, had fallen from her.

“Let me say it now, Hilary. lam yours always!” “God bless you!”

Surroundings were not. Lips again met lips, and there was another silence, broken at last by a faint rumble.

■A. “Black Maria” was- rolling into tho police-station yard, the grim Government omnibus, for which no fares were charged, that plied between the' police-court and the county gaol, where prisoners sent to trial were consigned. One -of the inspectors coughed— a. cough that brought surroundings and Joynson Palmer and inspectors again into focus.

“Get back to London to-morrow, Queenie,” -said Stanmore, very quickly, “to please me. I really wish it— I really wish it, beloved!” He was not showing the white feather. Ho was looking possibilities in the face, and- he would have been scarcely human had he not flinched; •but ho 1 was speaking from the unselfishness of his heart. He was thinking of her future, not his own, at-this moment. ' 1“It will be heard.”

Her voice broke. The inspector was coughing again, this time a- peremptory kind of cough. All her

strength and courage seemed to be escaping from lier- Her limbs r\ 01 e taken with a great trembling and her knees seeme-d to be going weak under her. “But to please, me, Quoenie ! “Then I will, I will.’’ The inspector touched Stanmore on the shoulder. He had coughed twice. All this was very touching, but it could not be permitted'to go on for ever. “That's my plucky Quoenie!’’ Hilary f?tanniore had forced a smio to his face now. “But I shall be at the trial."’ “I’m sorry, miss, but time’s up.” interrupted the inspector. “And I am yours always.” “God bless you! Good-bye. vrnly for the present, heart's own! Only for the present. I shall come out clear yet!" Jovnson Palmer blew his nose violently. The man and woman for a moment seemed to have become one. Then there was a breaking away; the woman stood alone, and footsteps, quick, hurrying footsteps, were echoing from the .stone-flagged-. corridor. A. door slammed noisily. . (To be continued daily.)