VICTORY FOR LOVE
"Are you really married?”
Odette asked because she simply h
i
CHAPTER IV
Hr. Warner upon meetific the
post man others to deliver .ntu let
ters to Mrs. Mat in-in, owner of the
Pole Stai1 House. One of these let
ters is from the lJritish K'overn
ment onleiiiur her to hold herself
ready to take evacuees unless she
prefers to take care of; dependent
relatives. Mrs. Maturin is nuteh
upset over these orders, hut duti
fully mails an advertisement to
the London Times otferinc accom
modations for four people “in a
hotel far from military objectives.
John Wynter reads the ad and de
cides to co to Pole St;ir House.He
tells his chief about it and de
parts. Monsieur Victor, a Fi'ench
mait, arrives at Pole Star House.
Odette Hannan visits Jim Frazer,
the lanie eohhler.
“’t on ve cot a brother a prison
er, miss?" Jim Fraser was cauc'hl
Otf truard. < tdeite Hunan, and he
had thoucht she was spy. A
hrother at Knnkirk ami now a
prisoner of war! Ills damueed foot
he can to stall arid ache; he sat
down suddenly oil his wooden
“Whrtt's the matter? You look
all in anyhow!" Odette Hannan
came nearer to peer into the white
“1 don't know. Miss." said Jim
grazer steadily. think it was
thmkinc o| anyone heiny a prison
er ol war. When you've been one
yourself you know wliat it means.
"Yes, 1 know." Odette was pres
sing: in the waves of her yellow
hair with tremblinp hands. “It pets
me like that sometimes. Well, if
you’re all right, I'll pet alonp.”
W hen Netta saw Monsieur she
knew what she had imapined about
him was eorreet, and in some way
she felt friphtened. Her preelinp
was diffident and restrained.‘‘Well
how nice of you to come.” Netta
knew her voice was queer, hut she
could not help it. She led the way
into the eharminp heather-colored
sittmp loom, feelinp as if her
hands and feet were too larp'e.
Rather fussily she dtupped up two
"Pei mettez." Monsieur, who had
remained in the hall to take off his
coat ami hat. now ‘entered, fully
icsoived to exert himself and be
pleasant whatever it might cost
him. Look i np extremely well
groomed, he seized a third chair
by its cushioned back and smilinp
1> invited Netta to sit down in it.
"Oh, thank you very much,
Merci beaucoup." Netta Sat down
with a jerk. “Pas de quoi," said
Monsieur pracefully..
"She talks French quite well
said Joan chattily. She was think
inp that Netta looked very nice
and that Monsieur knew it. lie
and Netta were talking' away in a
mixture of French and Knplish
and Monsieur had lost that ex
pression of profound melancholy.
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Monsieur went up into the vil
[ lage this morning,” Joan cut in
suddenly.
“But yet,” Monsieur explained
“f bpught some shoe laces, and on
the way home 1 met a very charm
ing young lady. TreS exotique,”
ended Monsieur, smiling
“Exotic.” Joan was pondering.
“Oh, yes, that must be Odette
Hannan,” she said. “I like her too
and think she’s lovely, but Netta
“No, I don't care for Odette
Hannan,” Netta said, “but that's
because 1 don't trust her. What is
she doing here to begin with?
There’s something so odd about
that. I agree that she had a shop
in London and was bombed out of
it, but she is quite young and she
could easily go back. She could
drive an ambulance or something,
“Yes, I agree that there is
something odd about Odette Han
nan but. yll the same, 1 like her,”
said Joan. And then they all be
gan to talk about Odette Hannan.
For the moment Monsieur for
] got. the horrors lying crouched be
hind his mournful brow. These
two charming women, the one so
naive and so eager, and the other,
she with the copper head and the
strong resolute mouth. Three was
courage behind that resolute!
mouth with its firm lips. Lips mad
for love, thought Monsieur dryly.
How was it theyhad missed it?
"And now for a nice evening
with lovely fires,” said Joan as
i she and Monsieur walked home.
| She barely bad time to tit the key
in the lock before the door was
i opened.
“The lady arrived, mum.” said
Grace agitatedly. Shutting the
‘door she stood there looking dis
t raided.
“Arrivefl But she wasn’t corn
ling until tomorrow!”
“She said she said today, mum”
“She didn't.” Joan suddenly
fell hostile. Or did she? “Oh, it's
; my fault,” Joanciied. “1 made a
muddle of the dates. Grace, what
is she like?"
“Very much tiie lady. mum.
Seemed to think she ought to have
been met at i he stat ion."
“So she ought" Straightening
her hat, Joan groaned. “I'll go see
her arid get it over.”
Mis. Manvers-I’ollock was a lu
i dy accuSunned to make her pres
ence Jell, so she proceeded to Uo
so as soon as stie stepped from the
train and found that there was no
one to meet her. But alter all tire
inconvenience of finding a taxi—
She found Graces welcome
| charming. So was her own bed
room; eveil Mrs. Manvers-I’ollock
could tii.d no tault with that. And
lire tea was dilghtfully arranged!
in a very pretty drawing room by
| a lovely fire—this also an unex
pected pleasure. Therefore, when
•/"an, looking up into Mrs. Man
vers-l’oilock’s hard, long face and.
! wondering how on earth sire would
j he able to bear her, almost abject- )
ly apologized. Mrs. Manvers-l’ol- ,
lock said unexpectedly, "Oh. well,
let's forget it.” Unexpected, be
cause Mrs. Manvers-Polloek gener
ally drove home any advantage she
might happen to have But as a
matter of fact she was agreeably '
surprised with Pole Star House.]
I “Have you any other visitors? I)o|
sit down, won't you?’ said Mrs. I
Man vers-Pol lock graciously.
“No, thanks very much. I|
should sit down if I wanted to,“
said Joan simply. “Yes, we have
one other visitor and are expecting
la second. A Frenchman—a Moii
Isieur Victor.”
“Free?"
explained i
mi. no, no pi
Joan hastily.
“1 mean Free French.“
"Oh, I see," Joan chuckled.
•How funny! 1 thought did you
mean did 1 take him for nothing?
'> es, I expect he is a Free French
man; [never thought of asking
him. Would lie be loose like this if
he wasn't?"
“He might be. He might be a1
spy."
" \ spy! Oh, no! Not Monsieur,’’
chuckled Joan. Wait until you see
him; you'll know in a minute that
I he isn't one."
j “How?”
"Well. I don’t know exactly
how,” said Joan awkwardly. “Oh,
dear, 1 must go and take "off my
.hat; wove been out to tea, Mon
sieur and 1 have. Such fun: we
i Joved it. Something quite new for
him to scramble up a hill to a tiny
cottage and have tea with a novel
ist.”
“What novelist?” inquired Mrs
Manvers.Pollock, deciding that for
a woman who ran a hotel Mrs.
Matin-in was too much at her ease.
Netta Jackson. She wrote ’A
Knight in Mufti.’”
“A dreadful hook!” exclaimed
Mrs. Manvers-Pollock. “Dirt. I
never read dirt on principle.”
“I see.” And then with a plcas
ant word or two Joan excused her
self. 1 his hard-faced woman had
hunted for all the improper bits
and missed the lovely ones! Later
m the evening with Mrs. Manvers
Pollock settled at her Patience
can s and Monsieur in the library
reading “France Libre”—she ask
eo Dr. Warner what he thought of
Monsieur.
.. “f s|'ouI(l soy that he had gone
Hu ougli a good deal. If he wishes
to tell us, he will. Don't probe.”
“No, no, of course I shan’t. But
it’s all too easy,” Joan commented
“Things will go wrong when the
new man comes I feel they will.”
“Oh, let’s forget about the pay
ing guests,” said Dr. Warner
lightly.
“Will they spoil things?” asked
“Spoil what?” Suddenly feeling
reckless, Dr. Warner held out his
arms. “Don’t make it difficult for
me darling.” he said. “You know
exactly how I feel. Try to be con
tent with that for the moment
anyhow.”
“Oh. I am, I am.” With a rush
Joan was in his arms.
John Wynter arrived at Staple
ford. 20 miles due west of Battle
Point, at about half-past three in
the afternoon, and steered his car
into the edge of a little narrow
lane. It was well concealed be
cause it was one of the approaches
to the huge military airdronie that
had recently been built among the
guise and heather. A wonderful
airdrome, camouflaged almost to
the point of magic. . Crushing out
his cigarette he slipped his hand
under the cushion of the seat and
pulled out a blueprint. Yes, he
could get in away to the left: he
had his pass and that would admit
him without any difficulty. Push
ing the blueprint into an inner
nocket, he pulled out the ignition
key and got out of the car. It
took only a minute or two to dis
connect it and then, pulling his hat
a little lower over his eyes he
started to walk up the hill. The
lane got narrower and he had to
flick his way through a1 couple of
giant elm tree roots, sprawling
across the pathway. He would lin
ger and smoke for five minutes or
so and remember the joyous days
of his youth when on an afternoon
like this lie would set off with a
bag of buns in his pocket and hunt
for rabbits and got ha«k. as it was
retting dark, and then have a gor
geous late tea with his mother,
whom he adored. Happy, happy
davs. thought John Wynter, re
membering that mother whom he
had lost when he was fifteen,
whose, loss he had never really got
Am! as he stood there his
thoug'hts took another turn.
Strange things had happened when
he was a boy: since he had grown
up he recognized them as all
pointing to the fact that he more
or less possessed a sixth sense. A
sense had been almost alarmingly
valuable to him in his profession.
But why was it invading him now?
Someone: something in his vicin
ity. Danger ... it was connected
with danger. Shifting his hand
round to his hip pocket be felt the
snub nose of his automatic. No,
not personal danger; he took his
hand back again and then he look
ed upward. The boughs were thick
above his head although leafless.
In one place there were leaves; a
thick mat of them caught among
the twigs. Quite a good protection
“Hallo!" A white laughing face
gleamed down at him. The young
lady, whoever she was. had had a
fright. The airdrome; John Wyn
ter felt inclined to hurst out laugh
mg. So simple; how things fell in
to his lap! Red-handed! And it
might have taken him weeks . . .
months.
“Hallo, what’s the game” John
Wynter took off his soft hat.
"Why, it's a mania of mine.
Look, I’ll show you now that you
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| have caught mg.” Lithe as a cat
in her gray flannel slacks and
jacket to match. Odette Hannan
John Wynter looked at the
came down hand over hand. Like
a gray shadow with the cap pulled
down well over her ears. “It‘s birds
—I simply can’t resist them. I
watch them through these.” Odette
patted the field glasses, swinging
by their strap. “I photograph them
too when I can, but I mayn’t now
because of war, besides this is
near the airdrome. Oh you are a
stranger and I oughtn’t to have
told you. Never mind; see my
book of birds. Aren’t they heaven
ly?” Talking rather fast in her
husky voice. Odette pulled a little
hook out of her coat pocket; col- j
ored pictures; song birds.
pictures appreciatively. Also H
gave him time. Had he been cor
rect or hadn’t he? If he had, she
was very accomplished; her spon
taniety was sublime. “Yes, charm
ing,” he said “I’m sorry I frigh
tened you.”
“Frightened me!. You didn’t.”
Odette’s voice was charming.
“I really thing I must have a
try,” said John VVynter. With the
easy spring of an athlete he had
swung, himself up to a lower
branch. He would go up as far as
she had gone and see ,what sort of
view' she got. Superb of course. He
saw' the tarmac and a Sunderland
flying boat being wheeled out of a
“Well,” Down on the ground
again he smiled. “Not so bAd for
one of my age.”
“Did you see the airdrome?”
“Heavens above. I forgot to
I look!” John Wynter gave a great
I shout of laughter. “Never mind,
| it doesn’t interesst me. Besides I
must get on my way; it’s getting
late.”
“Where are you going?” Odette
, flushed.
“I’m going to Battle Point. Do
you know it?"
! “Why, I live there.”
‘‘Do you really?” Why did hia
I heart suddenly turn over in hia
breast, wondered John Wynter,
despising himself because it had
done so.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
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