Evening Star Newspaper, February 28, 1932, Page 80

10 b —e— THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHI MATCHED PEARLS—A Story of Theft, [ T'his Is One of The Star Magazine’s First- Run Stories--a Complete Tale From a New Writer ——and the Climax Is a Thriller! e LL ashore that's going ashore l l The megaphone aroused Pene- lopz Allen, who stood, a lovely, forlorn little figure, leaning over the rail. She straightened and waved good-by—to the world in general, a gallant gesture that masked her real heartache. The faces on the pier became an indis- tinguishable blur. As the boat moved -down the river, Penelope stood in the damp air, try- ing vainly to swallow the lump in her throat, aghast at the thought that Bart had not come! “He's probably on a new clue concerning the Sterling rcbberyv. He can't be really angry?” Her lips quivered. Bart Meade, ha- fiance, and she had quar- reled. She had criticised bim in no uncertain words for his neglect. She had told him that he was only interested in affairs concerning his business and his absurd hobby of private detective work. She had finally told him that she was going away, going abroad, to give him plenty of time to study his collection of pictures of possible suspegts, bis stories of stolen jewels and thieves and robbers. Well, he had let. her go. And without even a word of good- by! Tears of self-pity misted her eyes. She turned around so that no one could see her emotion and made her way to the almost de- serted bow. It was windy there and too cool. But she felt that she must pull herself to- gether. A man suddenly appeared at her elbow. Penelope looked up into sloe black eyes just now filled with apology for startling her. She noticed his slightly foreign look. A vague recog- nition stirred in her mind, a surety that she had seen him before. A quick look took in his well-groomed appearance, his cosmopoli- tan manner. “I beg your pardon!” he stammered. «please don’'t go!” Penelope hastily said. “1 was just leaving.” She brushed by him, with a groping sensation in her mind of try- ing to place him. But she quickly forgot him as she found the steward and located her room. NAPPING open her steamer trunk she took out a becoming gown and hastened to dress, resolved to rise above her trouble. Pulling off the emerald ring which Bart had put on her finger but three months ago, she tucked it away in the pocket in the bottom of her trunk. “He'll be sorry,” she said to herself soberly as she went to the dining salon, “as I al- ready am.” She was assigned a seat at a table for two along the wall. She set aside the bud vase with its single perfect rose, interestedly looking around at the gathering crowd. Suddenly her gaze was drawn to a man in the doorway. The steward beckoned to him. Penelope saw, with quickened interest. that it was the man whom she had encountered on deck. He was assigned te the seat opposite her. “Might as well introduce ourselves since we're to be fellow travelers,” he said conver- sationally. “I'm Verne Taylor.” She was conscious of the feeling that he dMn’t look at all like that prosaic name. He should be a count . . . or an earl . . . some titled foreigner. Again she was aware of vague recognition. “I'm advertising agent for Reade & Mc- Naughty,” he continued, picking up the menu. “I'm going to Paris on business for the firm— a new branch office.” “I'm Penelope Allen, private secretary to Sterling & Johnson. I'm having a protracted vacation for three months. I had planned to ge to Vermont to rest but—circumstances changed my plans. . . . ” “Your first trip abroad?” His eyes were studying the face of the girl opposite, noting the wide, blue eyes dominating the pale, velvety contours of a face whose distinction set her apart. He was conscious of the appeal of unshed tears that gave her a pathetic sweet- ness. “Will you let me show you about? I've crossed any number of times. It's an old story to me.” Penelope smiled. “That’s nice of you. Thanks,” she replied. It wasn’'t until they had found two isolated steamer chairs and had taken possession of them that Penelope again thought of Bart. He seemed to be receding with the shore line. “I'm not going to mope,” she thought defiantly. 8he brushed aside a truant lock of golden hair and turned animatedly to her companion. “T Jove the wind,” she said, her eyes shining. “R seems to blow all worries away!” HEY talked of New York, of mutual ac- - quaintances; of the theater, of art, finding that they had many interests in common. He was & delightful conversationalist, with a keen sense of humor, and was seemingly a well read, well educated man. ‘While he talked, Penelope studied his profile, Srying in vain to think where she had seen him. “Dc you know Bart Meade?” she suddenly msked. “He is associated with Horace Sterling, the Wall Street man.” was silent for a moment. He seemed to ta place him. “Meade?” thoughtfully. “¥es, I think I do. He's keen on secret serviee i en amateur way, isn’t he? . . . A tall, good- Jooking fellow . . . rather stout . . . gray gt “Yes,” a catch in her breath, “that’s Bart.” “I know him slightly. It's queer that I never met you any place. But I don't go about much when I am in New York.” “Where is your home?” “Mostly in Paris. I have a villa two miles out. I'm French on my mother's side—Ameri- can father.” “lI see. You know, Mr. Taylor, I have a vague recollection of seeing you somewhere. I just can’'t place you.” “That so?” interestedly. “I'm sure I've never met you before. If I had,” looking her full in the face, “I'd recall it. You know, I think you are one of the loveliest girls I have ever met.” Penelope glanced up swiftly. Perhaps it was the moonlight. Yet she was conscious of a little thrill as she met his eyes. She was strangely at ease in the presence of this maa who was only a stranger to her. Her worries began to fade like the line of the horizon under the hazy moon. To her it seemed to cast a path of light over the water—a magical path that led to an enchanted place somewhere, far away. “An enchanted moon—and an enchanted sea!” she whispered. Her companion leaned toward her. “A night for love!” he replied. Her mood passed. She rose quickly. She felt an exhilaration, a breathlessness she could no! explain, “I think I'll g> down now,” she said slowly. “Sec you in the morning!” The boat was beginning to roll slightly. She sat down by her opened trunk to finish un- packing. Bart’s picture stared reproachfully bacl: at her. She hastily turned it over. “I'll not start thinking!” she said impatiently. “Bart’s too cold and unemotional to thrill a girl—as some men can.” The next morning as she seated herself for breakfast she glanced at the table at the left. A beautiful girl there was intently looking at her. Verne Taylor slid into the seat oppaosite with a murmured greeting She was aware of the girl’'s lock even when she avoided looking her way. She felt that the girl was listening to their conversation. “That girl looks as if she thought she knew me!” said Penelope. “She stares at us all the time.” He carefully turned his head, casting a sur- reptitious look at the averted fact of the girl she indicated. Then he smiled into Penelope’s eyes, his own warm with admiration. “You can't wonder, can you?” he murmured “Or didn’t you look into the mirror this morning?” Penelope blushed, suddenly confused. She did not reply; but all that day the memory of the girl kept coming into her thoughts. HAT night she went into the longue. She was surrounded by men who wanted her to dance. She was a little intoxicated by her sudden popularity. She suddenly found that it was good to be alive . . . to be young, vibrant, beautiful, popular. Verne, a little sulky, claimed her later and, staying close by her side, warded off two or three college boys who resented his usurpation of the prettiest girl on board. Penelope smiled sweetly, bantered with them, but refused to dance with any one else after Verne had come. Alone in her cabin at last, hanging the tulle gown she had worn on its perfumed hanger, Penelope laid her face against its fragrant folds, her eyes misty with happiness and glamour. “My gown that brought me happiness!” she whispered. “Oh, I wonder if it is real love that is coming to me at last? Bart could never make a girl thrillingly happy as I am tonight. He is too cold, too unemotional, too prosaic. I want happiness—Ilove.” Later, much later, she opened her door to speak to a steward. She was restless, keyed-up, unable to sleep. She intended sending him for a bromide. She saw a couple talking earnestly down the corridor. The girl was crying in a hopeless sort of way. The man, after a hasty glance around, drew her into his arms. She stood immovable, listening to the conver- sation that was carried on in low tones. “You know better, Marie,” said the man's voice soothingly. “Why can’t you be sensible and not let your jealousy make trouble?” “But you make love to her!” she waliled. “You are in love with her.” “I don’t love her!” angrily. “Don’t you understand? I am trying to keep any one from connecting us together—you know why! As soon as we get to Southampton——" “I can't stand it, Toni! T just can’t!” He forced her head back, showing the long lines of her lovely throat, a petulant tone in his voice. “For God's sake, be sensible!” He kissed her hard on the mouth. “It's not love, nor even admiration. dear,” he said thickly. “It’s diplomacy. You know I'm crazy over you.” They went on down the corridor, the girl clinging to his arm. Penelope sat down on the edge of her bed, her face deeply troubled, her confidence shaken. “It couldn’t have been,” doubtfully. “It just couldn’t have bcen Verne! The girl called him Toni . . But who were they talking about? He can’t make a fool of me, protesting love, pretending he doesn’t know that vamp, denying ever having seen her before But the light was so dim. I must have been mistaken!” She finally undressed and lay for hours thinking over the words she had heard, trying to believe it was not Verne or even that girl. Still her common sense was warning her. “He's really a stranger! I don’t know who he is. or what, only what he's told me. Any- w#y I must not get a crush on him seriously.” In her dreams Bart came to her, his hand- some, rugged face disturbed. He was holding her in his arms, making love to her so thrill- ingly that her pulses were throbbing when she awoke. fecling his hot kisses, such kisses as Bart had never given her. “I wish Bart were whet he was in my dreams!” she thought. “I want to be loved like that!” She hid her face with its sweet, shy blushes in the pillow. THE morning brought her a new eagerness, an anticipation, a resolve. “I will ask Verne this morning,” she thought. The bright sun, the dazzling azure sky, the activity on board seemed to dissipate her uneasiness as she dressed and went down to breakfast. Verne was not there. She seated herself and in a moment he came, looking very handsome and distinguished in white flannels and blue coat. “Good morning!” he called gayly as he seated himself. “I stopped to speak to the purser a sec'!” “Are you sure it was the purser and not the girl?” she coolly asked. “Girl! What girl?” in a mystified manner. “I saw you last night. I really think that when I asked you if you knew her you should have at least said yes. I don't like to have people tell me fibs. It was you?” giving him a long, searching look. “What in this world are you talking about, Penny—or——" flushing a little. “That's all right,” quickly. “I want you to use my first name.” “But what are you talking about? I didn't even stop for my smoke last night. I went at once to my stateroom as soon as I left you. No,” in answer to her accusing look, “I'm not fibbing. I don't know.” “But I saw you,” she persisted. “I heard you and her discussing me. If you did mean " Her eyes suddenly filled with tears. He stretched his hand across the table and laid it on hers with a quick pressure. “There’s no girl here or anywhere in the world that I am interested in but you, Penny,” he protested hotly. “I don’t pretend to under- stand it, but—well, I'm simply crazy about you.” Then a strange thing happened. As she was staring into his face, her gase held by his magnetic eyes, aware of accelerated bheart- beats, of a fluttering of the nerves, she knew him, with a strange clarity of vision! The ship was coming to life with the activity of the day as she brushed through the crowd, her eyes wide with excitement. But Penelope stopped for nothing, making her way as if dazed to her room. “It can't be—it's not possible!” she gasped, as she closed her door and leaned weakly against it. “I will not believe it.” Ever since she had met this man, far below the strong fascination he had for her had been this innate distrust. In her heart she had known that he had lied about knowing the girl. But she had been so much under his domination, her senses so enthralled, that she had suppressed that feeling. She resolutely turned her thoughts away from her intuition and new-found knowledge, resolved to forget it, to smother it. She resolved to be happy and carefree and not to let anything spoil this trip. He came to her stateroom an hour before the first call for lunch. She joined him, her face no Icnger pale, her eyes bright and full of dancing laughter. “I'm glad youre all right again,” he said earnestly. “I was aftraid you were going to be sick,” he said, taking her coat and book from her. “You're a good sailor, Penny!” Penny! Each time he used that little pet name that Bart had used her thoughts flew back to New Yorj and the hurt that he had given her. He h¥d sent no message. In her heart she was sure that he had intended to show her by this method that he no longer cared. She had not put Bart’s ring on again. The little white band around her finger where it had been was reminiscent of past joy. “Fll mail it to him as soon shore,” she had thought when away. “Oh, well . . .” stifling are queer that way. Work comes cially if they ride their hobby as Bart his. I wonder if he has solved the myste of the stolen pearls? I wonder if he has ai new clues? That work of ferreting out tho things is fascinating, I'll admit!” - HE promised Verne to dance that night. selected a gown of gentian blue chiffon, delicate tracing of gold thread spraying o the bodice and down the skirt. It brought o the blue of her eyes and the gold of her h making her beauty breath-taking and ethe Verne’s eyes quickened as he met her. “Beautiful! he whispered ardently. lope, you are the most ravishingly lovely I've ever seen!” Flushing at the ardency in his eyes, looked away with a tremulous little Jaugh. girl was very near and must have heard words. In a gown of flame color, her beau was striking, exotic. Penelope was sure, heard a sneering laugh as she slipped into the crowd. “There’s that girl again!” she exclaimed wij annoyance. “She’s always snooping aroum Verne, don’t you know her?” “Cross my heart, Penny!” making the gestu “I don’t see Why you let her trouble you. s;;t]e;ak to l:::e captain about her. Now, d will you me say to you what I wani last night?” He led her to a secluded . away from the throng. He drew her gen toward him, looking into her eyes, his black with emotion. “I love you.” “I don’t know,” she replied confusedly. it'’s too soan.” Her eyes were beseeching