1937-08-06 — Page 11

THE CHINASMAIL FRIDAY SUE

RICE PUDDING COLD

(Continued from Page 1).

eleven. It was only about himself that his memory was at fault. He couldn't remember who he was, what he was doing in the sex. All he knew was that he was picked up in a shirt and

a pair of trousers. Something had torn the little dise from his wrist. The past had been completely blotted out and he was ashamed.

It was that queer sense of shame which drove him to run away. They took him to some, place where the shell-shocked, nameless ones were re-educated -by milking cows and then by playing football and finally by jabbing bayonets into the sup- posed entrails of straw-filled sacks up to a proper conscious- ness of their position in Chris- tian civilized society. Colonel Mort Davis didn't like this, and the Mort Davises always had a talent for avoiding things they didn't like. He disappeared, dis- appeared from the surface of life.

As time went by the nagging certainty that he didn't know who he was turned into. a demon of furtiveness, and set him against the rest of humanity, who had nothing to be ashamed of. He be- came a man with a grudge. - He was still tall, still handsome, very much like his father might have been before. stockbroking softened him, blurring his out. lines with inactivity and good living. George Mort Davis wasn't blurred a bit. He was lean and lined and shrewd, and always furtive. You could guess by look- ing at him that he wasn't quite honest, as indeed he was not. It

was

not often the world, the world of the Mort Davises, had oppor- tunity of looking at him. He sank deeper below the surface and only made sporadic appearances. One day he snatched an old lady's re- ticule by the. Cathedral in Nor- wich. Some weeks later he frightened a girl in the half-lit station approach at Arundal. He hadn't quite a frank enough eye for the confidence trick, but he developed a technique of cadging for lifts in cars, not by looking wiserable but by pointing at the

· front wheels as if something was wrong with them. He used to stop the better class cars and when he had directed them to a garage he disappeared again, and a bag or a suitcase disappeared with him. In fifteen years he had built up quite a new personality for him- self, and it was very different from the one he had forgotten. In fifteen years he had dived very deep indeed. If he was able to burgle he burgled. If he was re- -duced to begging he begged. By the time he was thirty-five there was not much that Colonel Mort. Davis stuck at There was, only one thing at which he boggled. That was rice padding

That was one aversjoft he could never explain. The other was his

on to Londo

ifteen

house

never atent heari

the Cromwell Road tur ly by some wareho

close to Hammersmith that the van slowed sufficiently in a dark enough place for him to drop off without being noticed.

It was raining when he found himself in West Kensington and about six o'clock of a winter's evening. He didn't know his way about London at all, but he start- ed to walk east.

It was nearly eight o'clock when Henry Smith turned vaguely into Hans Place at the Harrod's end and the gray car containing Mort Davis and Frances Mort Davis sidled pleasantly out of the other He was impressed by the expen- siveness of the houses and want- ed to burgle one. Then he came to the Mort Davises house and saw that the cook and the man- servant and two housemaids were climbing up the basement steps in a body. From the shadow of a doorway he watched the two maids go off giggling arm-in-arm, the cook make her way grimly in the direction of her bus, and the manservant lock up and walk 2way in a dignified manner. There were no lights in the house, so he walked up the three steps that led to the front door and pushed it. It opened.

Captain Mort Davis, D.S.O, M.C., walked in and closed the door quietly behind him. He listened, and couldn't hear any- thing but the murmar of London to which he wasn't accustomed, so he switched on the light. There was no one about and he was in a pleasant ball with a Georgian staircase and a little Queen Anne table with a silver salver on it. There was a door to the left,

and went through, switching on which he opened very gingerly

the dining-room the light as he did so. He was in

..

This was a very charming din- tug-room. The fire was alight. the switch which he had turned on worked two shaded electric candles on the table, and in the pool of light and carved maho- gany were two silver dishes on a hot plate with a small spirit stove. alight underneath. The whole room was filled with the scent of it. He lifted up one of the covers. There was a plate with three pieces of roast beef, some baked potatoes and a piece Yorkshire pudding.

He looked round the room a bit There was a large oil-painting of Frances Mort Davis over the fire. You could see that she had been beautiful woman. He

it for a little while and fou that it increased that sense

hat was

ways

very

most as

ook off the feeling and went on eating. The beef was excellent. The

Yorkshire pudding Was slightly underdone. But he ate it lifted the other cover. it was a dish of rice

pudding-

He made a gesture of distaste and pushed it from him. He didn't like rice pudding.

Rice pudding Rice pudding- He stared at it. The feeling of reminiscence was strong on him again. Rice pudding for a treat -In a sudden access of fury he took the rice pudding and hurled ity A dish and all, on the floor beside him where it fel with a tremendous crash.

The noise of it startled him to his senses. He stood up, terrified. listening There was only the dull rear of London. He looked about him swiftly, filled his poc- kets with forks and spoons and tip-toed to

the door looked about and let himself out.

It wasn't till after eleven that -the gray car came home, and then Mort Davis walked round and kicked all the tires and said to Frances: "That's funny, do you

said

wha

ne game or other

cadging lift.

There was something

ous about Frances Mort

She had a hand her throat and she was staring at her husband with wide, "Hallo,

at's up?"

aid Mort Davis,

“MD,” she said, “did-you see his face?

"It was, George's"

That fel

it was exactly like

He walked up to her firmly and put his arm round her shoulder.

Come on old girl," he

"This Seorge business is getting on your nerves. The best place for you's beddy bye-byes. I wish to God I'd never let you do it. Come on now."

He led her up the steps into the hall. She stopped with her

see anything wrong with thoshand on the dining-room door.

wheels?

ing-"

That fellow was pointe

“No,” he said, “you're not ing in there"

Equal to

fine liqueur '

"I can tell

White Horse

blindfold! And to think that it side

I used simply to ask for whi White Horse is just like a fine liquem

Agents

at