Evening star., 1941-03-01

ing on future developments; or,
perhaps, never.
Toward the mysterious and men
acing caller, she felt mingled anger
and fear. How had he obtained the
Housekeeping number, theoretically
known only to the servants, herself,
Sir John, and a few trusted trades
people2 Perhaps, the call could be
traced She flashed the operator.
.. Waited . In vain :. Sorry,
madam, you should have called
sooner. We cannot trace the party
now"
She turned away: walked slowly
to her bedroom. She wished there
were some one she could consult
some one besides Sir John. Even
Aunt Wick, as she and Sir John both
called the Hon. Victoria Weathers-
bee, who ordinarily formed the third
member of the Sanderson menage.
But Aunt Vick-really Sir Johns
aunt. not Brinda's-was nursing
her fall asthma ON the Riviera. Be-
sides, Brinda realized with faint
sympathetic smile, Aunt Wick
wouldn't be of much help. Some
thing had stopped in Aunt Wick
when, first her husband, then her
two sons, we're killed in the World
War. She was still little confused
about the present conflict and, be-
fore leaving for the Riviera the pre-
vious week, had expressed the an
chronistic hope that "the Kaiser
wouldn't get within glin-range Of
Paris so soon this time :.
Scouts London Bombing.
Entering her room, Brinda
switched on dim blue light beside
her dressing table, so that she would
not have to close the blackout cur
tains. Then she opened the window
and looked out over the sleeping city.
Would London never be light
again? Must life be circumscribed
forever by darkness and apprehen-
sion? She wished-as she had
wished once or twice before since
war was declared-that she could
be a man: not forever, perhaps. but
a man long enough to be In the
midst of action; pacing the bridge
of a destroyer or hurting through
the sky In a combat plane. How
much better to seek danger than to
sit and wait for it. After all, it was
the women who had the hard part
in this war.
Far overhead planes droned dis
mally. A searchlight stabbed the
sky. Toward Croydon anti-aircraft
guns barked furiously. A bombing
raid at this time? Impossible! The
enemy would never dare to bomb
London! Yet 1t was too dark, too
overcast, for observation planes to
be up What then? She shivered at
the picture that flashed into her
mind A picture of parachutes
dropping from that unseen plane
and drifting down, down, down into
the quiet English night.
1t was all wrong. 1t was like
some nightmare of her childhood.
In India, when she would awake
frightened in the arms of her native
nurse, tense with sense of the
stalking death in the encircling
jungle. ...
g. What happened to Mara?
Shame, disgrace >. death :"
The menacing words-the evil, ca
ressing voice! She could still hear
it as she hurried her undressing, in
order to be quickly in bed and, as
soon as might be, asleep.
Yet, oppressed as she was with
a sense of almost tangible peril, 1t
did not occur once to Brinda to heed
the anonymous warning.
Sir John Rises Early.
Like most old army men, Sir John
was an early riser. In spite of the
strenuous events of the night he
was up at 6, had finished his morn
ing walk in the park at 8, and, 80
minutes later, was at his desk In
the intelligence office.
Henley had been well liked, and
his tragic death had cast shadow
over the office.
AS Brinda swept through the long
hall-like ante-room leading TO Sir
Johns private office, whole platoons
of male eyes popped hopefully to
attention.
1t was the first time that Sir John
made an exception to his rule and
permitted her to come to the ofi1ce
She should have been thrilled with
delight, but the motive of her visit
was too serious. For this one day
she would belong to the Secret Serv-
ice, work as one of them, searching
In the files In order to see whether