Post Office Box 28 SMITH BLOCK | Insurance and Property Management The Outstanding Locale for High Wages, Ideal Living Surroundings and Business Opportunities in B.C. Today. LAKE COWICHAN, B.C. Long-distance Telephone via Duncan. RIVERSIDE INN LICENSED PREMISES DINING ROOM IN CONNECTION WHERE PERSONAL SERVICES MAKE YOUR STAY ENJOYABLE A GOOD PLACE TO FISH ALL YEAR ‘ROUND Lake Cowichan Norman Taylor, Proprietor BOATS FOR HIRE r) Vancouver Island, B.C. LATE FOR LUNCH FOR ONCE, beautiful Cora Langden did not trouble to analyze her feelings. Indeed, she no longer felt, except in a dead, cold way which destroyed her reason and filled her with a desire to destroy the man she loved. Pretty Peggy Barton, that adorable, frivolous purveyor of delectable morsels of gossip, had wrought the transforma- tion last night at bridge. “IT must say, Cora, 1 admire your hubby’s choice in women. What a gor- geous blonde I saw him with on Monday night. But, then,’ she added sweetly, “Basil is such an attractive man to be a lawyer.” Her delicate poise was prooi against betraying the alchemist’s thrust. Her grace and exquisite refinement ample for the role of hostess, but the poison spread through her veins corroding every cell and fibre. It sometimes happens that way. “Her eyes were open,” she told her- self. She knew now, why Basil had lately been evasive about his business af- fairs. Little things she had passed up fell into place. The aura of suppressed excite- ment about him, and his almost boyish attempt to conceal the true nature of his nocturnal visits. Then, he had phoned to say that he would not be home. “Don't worry, darling,” he said, “we are near the windup of an important case. Will see you at lunch tomorrow.” “Of course, my dear,’ Peggy rambled on, “it must have been one of his clients, but he was hurrying her along to a taxi as if he had a date with a parson.” She laughed gaily at her little joke. So it is that a pebble can cause an avalanche, a speck of dust change the destiny of a nation, a word annihilate faith. The emotional turmoil of her lonely night had been replaced by a coldness which chilled her heart and drained her brain of human sympathy. She thought EIGHTEENTH EDITION with the mind of a robot. A devilish, clever robot, which whispered persuas- ively that Basil must die. PLANs to Porson HusBanp It was so easy. Just one of those white tablets she had kept by her when nurs- ing on the dread battleground of Bataan. She remembered, as in a dream, how she had feared mutilation of her lovely body, and worse... Just one tablet in a tea-bag placed in the pot in readiness for lunch. She went mechanically into her room, reached into the recesses of her powder drawer and took out a glass container. Her heart was pumping freezing liquid, for the reflection in the mirror revealed two black pools in a frozen face. After the grim task was finished, she looked on her handiwork. Nothing had been forgotten. The pickles he enjoyed so well. The baked ham and his favourite salad bowl. The cheese with the piquant tang. His large blue cup, and the dainty china pot with the tea-tags hanging out. Everything stood out vividly against the snowy-white cloth in their cosy breakfast nook. And—a note to tell him not to wait, she might be late. Quickly she gathered up her valuables, rouged her icy face, put on her stylish hat, selected a light coat, and went out. She had no plan. Something mechami- cal was in charge. She just walked— walked without consciousness of time. After a while she knew, in a vague man- ner, that she was in the business section of the city. Faces went by as if on a strip of celluloid. Faces that talked and laughed in a faraway fashion, against a background of a low persistent buzzing like the hallucinations of ether. Someone called her name but she did not answer. Time and place had no meaning, only the inexorable purpose of the robot. [It took her into a crowded bus depot and she sat down. A big, fat man was mopping a perspiring forehead with a large handkerchief, and a little woman with a worn face wiped sticky chocolate off the hot hands of a chubby boy, but she felt only a dead cold like a robot should. The big man said resignedly, “The bus leaves for ’Frisco in fifteen minutes. I'll be glad when it’s rollin’.” The little woman replied in a thin longing voice, “Tt’s a long journey, Matt, I wish we were there.’ She knew then, why the robot had brought her there; she was going to San Francisco where a dear friend lived. She got up and went over to the ticket office. She moved with the crowd and climbed on the bus, and presently it was rolling. The passengers were animated and ex- pectant with thoughts of people going on a journey—seeing and hearing new things. Some sad at leaving, others glad at going, but she did not feel or hear— except in a distant, disembodied way. | | LAKE SERVICE GARAGE HENRY R. NASH, Prop. 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