1938-02-18 — Page 20

THE CHINA MAIL FRIDAY SUPPLEMENT, FEBRUARY 18, 1938

"FOOTSTEPS"

(Continued from Page 1)

deep. The red glow of the coals showed like the setting sun in a fog.

The moonlight was wavering. And the footsteps, now show and steady, quiet and purposeful, were coming nearer.

The atmosphere became in- tense.

I was horribly cold and pulses hammered.

my

Yet I was hardly aware of it. The other presence crouched beside me governed my senses.

The fear and fury of another were growing to a frenzy.

Yet the room was empty.

and Only the footsteps, slow steady, purposeful and quiet, were coming nearer.

My whole being was tense în suspense.

Then, the horror culminated. That which unseen crouched beside me, had gone.

The footsteps had ceased. Yet in the room, in spite of the silence, my heart echoed one word.

There was death in the room.

And again the footsteps pass- ed back towards the door, slow and steady, purposeful, yet with a new dragging motion in them as they halted by the bedside.

The moonlight lay in patches on the polished floor.

The red glow of the coals fad- ed to ashen grey.

slow,

Yet dominating all thought of action or environment came the message of the footsteps, steady, purposeful, which led me up an uncarpeted staircase into an attic at the end of a narrow

passage.

I

The door had been closed. opened it

yet at the moment fear was mingled with doubt.

These were the servants' quar- ters, and even if the household had fled to the lodges, Hendrix was the exception, and might, if hé slept near, very naturally re- sent such intrusion.

on

Yet I entered the room large well-furnished attic, with

the strips of carpet

bare boards.

But I hardly glanced around them, for. the footsteps had ceased.

Through a tiny window in the eaves the monlight stole in. saw quite plainly the bed, wash- stand, chairs.

I saw something else too or shall I say some-one?

A figure, shadowy and fantas- tic, materialised enough for me to see a hand wards.

Then-nothing.

pointing down-

Only the footsteps, slow, steady, purposeful, in retreat.

I went forward and noted that in the board was a thin line de- noting a place where some sharp instrument had sawn it.

For some time I fumbled about, but I was resolved not to leave my quest. Resolved not to be haunted some-

by footsteps which would surely follow till their owner's will was obeyed.

There was a chill in the air. Fear was here. And

thing beside Fear.

At that moment I experienced what I definitely hope may never be experienced again.

It was

wordless

message from the unseen world, master- ing my wishes with an insistence. which in itself was terrifying.

a

I knew, though I saw nothing. felt nothing, that I must get out of bed and follow the lead some unseen presence.

of

And the presence repelled me. It was sinister, cruel, yet withal pitiful. I had to obey.

Again the footsteps sounded. slow, purposeful, steady.

I climbed out of bed, conscious of chill, conscious of horror.

The breath of crime was here. Though the moonlight lay on bare boards, I knew something which had not materialised lay .there.

Murder!

The sweat broke-over-me Cur ious as it may seem, I did not even think of Alma, or the rea- son for my being here.

The presence of criminal and victim overwhelmed everything.

Again the footsteps sounded, slow, purposeful, steady.

They were out in the passage, I was glad of that. Glad to leave that room behind me.

Down the passage I walked. Keen as my sense of the ridi- culous is, I saw nothing to smile at in a man of thirty-four wan- dering about at midnight down the passage of a strange house because he dreams he hears foot- steps.

Footsteps!

Will the echo of them ever cease to vibrate in my brain?

I was walking down the pas- sage with no remotest idea where I was going. I had only my pyjamas on, my feet were bare, and the winter's night was cold.

.

I raised the board and found as I expected, the folded paper which contained the confession I own I dreaded to read.

.

Conscious now of cold and a certain collapse of nervous force, I managed to reach the library, and, after drinking a strong dose of stimulant, I turned on the gas, glad not to be dependent on lamp- light, and forced myself to read the closely written page.

One glance had told me this was not the writing of Sir Rey- nold, and, as I read, I under- stood.

The woman attendant. Martha Mixton had written this before leaving the Manor.

She confessed the crime, of which she had been guilty, with a curious note of challenge.

"I never meant to hurt the woman." she wrote. “I came home earlier than I meant to. Sir Reynold had just left the room, and her ladyship was lying on her bed working up towards one of her frenzies. As I went in she sprang at me

I was tired, irritated, in a bad mood but before Heaven I never meant to do it. Now I'm going, I'm leaving England. No one will hear of me again, but I am putting this un- der the board in my attic just to ease my conscience, though I reckon they'll know without this that I done her ladyship in. But I'll die rather than be took. I'll die first."

"So-Alma would win her hap- piness.

The grim bogey of tragedy would be lifted aside.

I did not return to bed.

You may guess the reason: for

I knew who it was now crouch- ing beside me, crazed, fear-stric- ken, listening as I listened to the

· footsteps

Footsteps coming nearer, slow, steady, purposeful. Alma was over at the Manor as soon as the first grey light broke over a white world.

Together we went to London in search of Terry.

It was Terry and Alma who went alone to the prison to set free an innocent man

H

I have returned to Scotland after attending my sister's wed- ding. She insisted I should give her away.

· She made a radiant bride.

As to Sir Reynold, I made a friend of him without difficulty. His was the gratitude which counts.

We found that Martha Mixton had died of influenza and pneu- monia almost directly after leay- ing the Manor.

▾

No doubt her crime killed her. Who shall judge? At least, after death she could not rest without trying to atone.

There are kiddies' footsteps racing up and down the passages of the Manor now.

Luckily neither Alma nor her husband fear ghosts.

And those mysterious footsteps are silent so they say.

For my part I own I dare. not risk a visit to the place, for fear of my fear.

I doubt if I could endure lis- tening to those weird footsteps, steady, slow, purposeful, coming nearer, nearer.

whilst un- seen forces flood the atmosphere till the mystery of the hidden life pleads for a hearing.

I confess I .. am afraid

CABBAGES

AND KINGS

Puts Us At Ease

Watching our loan club trea- surer planting his spring bulbs,

I Apologise First Fogs, I read, cause more illness than any other kind of weather. Season of mists-and chemists.

* * ** Workman (on scaffolding): "What are you making all that "to-do for? The brick wasn't on

your head half a second.

* * *

"The

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says an advertisement.

I don't believe in bringing the best stories into the home.

* * **

Asked And Answered

"Where are the giants of pre- sent-day boxing?" asks a sports writer. Well, one of them sat in front of me at the cinema last week.

*

* Teacher: "If I subtract 24 from 94, John, what's the difference?”

John: "That's what I say who cares?"

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