THE GREAT LAROCHE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 57, Issue 245, 28 July 1937, Page 7

THE GREAT LAROCHE

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P P | By SYDNEY HORLER. I

£ 5: P P :: Copyright. :: P ® ®

CHAPTER VII

THE MESSAGE.

It was a tense moment. 'Whoever the unknown might be on the other side of that strange, below-the-watar room, he was a friend; ox*, at least, it would appear so. Peter, after listening, almost gave a shriek of joy. It was his sister! For this was the message he “decoded” fronx the Morse taps: “This is Susan. I have been keeping track ol 1 you all clay in my Moth. I heard all that Laroche said and I

am now going away to get help. Keep your pecker up, old son. Love, Sue.”

Sue! But how in tne deuce had she got there? What was she doing so flagrantly disobeying orders like that? For some time she had. been itching, he knew, to be put on to “something worth while,” to use her own words, but Bellamy—and quite rightly so—had refused to listen to her. She wasn’t old enough for one thing ; a mere kid. As a matter of fact, he had done his best to put Susan off the idea of joining the department in any capacity at all, but it was no good ; she just had to get a kick out of life (hence the Moth machine) ; and when he had remonstrated with her she had merely smiled back and said: “Greedy boy, do you want to hog all the fun?” The tapping had ceased for some seconds before either of his two companions spoke.

Then: “What was the meaning of those taps?” asked the girl. Peter turned to look at her. “It was a message from a friend—another member of the British Intelligence. Our Secret Service isn’t composed entirely of fools like myself, you know.” The taunt went home.

“I have been sorry ever since I said that, Mr Renton; I hope you will forgive me.” “Gladly!” he replied, and thought, if the circumstances had been different, how easy it would have been for him to try to make her forget all her other worries. But in the meantime . . .

“Has your colleagile gone to get help?” asked Marve, “and if so will he be in time?” “Of course!” was the answer. It was his duty, as he saw it, to keep up th& pai'ty’s spirit. * * * * In the meanwhile, Susan went on her way through the darkness. It was a very unpleasant journey; she felt numbed to the marrow and thoroughly uncomfortable in many other inspects. If this was working for Q. 1., then she wished the other members of the department joy of their job. A moment later she was reproaching herself for harbouring such sentiments. She had asked for excitement, hadn’t she? Very well, then, what was the good of grousing now tliat it had been thrust in her way ?

Besides, thei’e was no time to he lost in self-reproach; her brother and the man who meant so much to England were close prisoners in that horrible below-the-water place and the sooner they were got out the better it would be for everyone concerned. She had to get back first of all to her clothes and then to her machine. Unless, of course, she was fortunate 'enough to run across a telephone in the meanwhile. But that seemed extremely unlikely. She had covered pei'haps half the distance between the houseboat and the spot where she had left her clothes when she pulled herself up short. What was that noise behind ? Someone appeared to be following her. Good Lord! It that was so, she would have to hurry! Then a sense of strategy took the place of this first resolution. Stopping, she slithered to the ground and remained still. As a reward, for this, she heard something or someone crashing heavily past at a distance of not more than six feet. Who was it? Someone from the houseboat? Had she been seen? She realised quite well that a man like Laroche, especially in the present circumstances, when he had so much at stake, was not likely to stand on ceremony. If she were captured—then she would share the same fate as the others, or perhaps a worse one . . . It all came back to this ; she must get to her clothes as quickly as possible. Cautiously raising her head, she listened for further interruptions—but none came. Then, she reassured herself; the man who had walked past was just some country yokel going home and choosing the river-bank instead of the highroad. Yes, that must be it. Three minutes later she had reached the dip where she had left her clothes and, with a maximum of haste and a minimum of care, she was putting them on. All the while a message was hammering itself through her brain. It was this: “Be quick! Be quick! Your brother may ho dead. . . !” Now she was out on the road that ran alongside the rivei-bank. Away oyer there to the right was the field in which she had descended. Would the Moth be all right ? Had some fool meddled with it in any way ? Her heai't beating wildly, she started to run. But she xvas not able to get very far. From behind there came a sound of running footsteps; on that lonely country road they took on a menace that was positively sinister. Half turning, she saw that three men were pursuing her—and that the one in ifront xxms holding a revolver. It was this man who called. “Stop, you fool, or I’ll plug you,” were his words.

Stop ? when everything depended on her. No! Instead, she swerved violently in case the man should carry out his threat and shoot, hut in doing so her right foot tripped over a stone in the road, and the very speed at which she had been travelling sent her crashing to the ground. The force of the impact, indeed, knocked’ all the breath out ol her momentarily. And, before she could scramble to her feet, the pack were on her. The man holding the revolver regarded her sardonically, whilst his two companions occupied themselves with holding her arms.

“Been doing a bit of listening in, eh?” His tone was rough axxcT had a cruel edge to it. “Veil, we have a very good way of dealing with listeners in . . . So, my dear,” as she glared defiance at him, “you are not going back to the houseboat, although I’m thinking it would do you a lot of good to see what is going to happen to yoyr brother. You are coming somewhere else —with me!” A disfiguring leer accompanied the final words. Susan’s splendid nerves enabled her to reply: “I hope you realise what yoxi are doing? This sort of thing is punished rather severely in England, you know.” He leered at her again.

“Now I’ll tell you something,” was the reply; “you are old enough to have heard the saying ‘first catch your hare’ I suppose?” She continued to look at him. He had a hal'd, bestial type of face; she could expect no consideration from this man. That was evident. What position he. occupied in the Laroche organisation she did not know, of course—but one thing was evident: he was the master spy’s confidante and had sufficient power to act on his own authority. “Here is the car,” announced one of the other men.

Coming nearer was the sound, of a powerful car being driven at a high speed. Another few seconds and it came into sight round the corner. It drew up with a grinding of brakes and stopped opposite the group. “I am afraid we shall be obliged to put some handcuffs on you, Miss Renton,” announced the leader. The next moment Susan felt her- wrists cruelly imprisoned. She wanted to struggle, but knew it would be useless; the only thing to he done now was to submit to fate and to wait until the luck might change. But as she thought how near she had been to victory a choking sob rose into her throat.

“Into the cai*, we must get away!” oi'dered the man in charged. IShe was hustled into the back seat of a big limousine and then the car started off at a terrific* speed.

CHAPTER VIII.

AT Q.l. Meanwhile, consternation prevailed in a certain room in a cul-de-sac off Whitehall. A small gathering of very distinguished people had been called; Sir Barker Bellamy'was acting as an unwilling host to the Minister for War, the Foreign Secretary, and the Prime Minister, in addition to several lesser State officials.

Brian Hathaway, his Majesty’s Secretary of State for War, broke the silence which had fallen on the group by looking across at the chief of Q.l. and indulging in another tirade. “But surely to God, Bellamy, something can be done? Don’t you understand what must have happened?” The Prime Minister coughed, but his younger colleague refused to be restrained. “This disappearance can mean only one thing,” continued Hathaway, “it ”

Bellamy cut in. “I’m not quite such a damn fool as you seem to think,” he said icily. “It means of course that Paul Marve is in the hands of the Ronstadtian Secret Service.”

“Exactly,” said Hathaway. Thei’e was another silence. This was moi'e significant than any of the talk that had gone before. Every man present was thinking of the awful potentialities that lay at the back of Bellamy’s admission. They had met there to be presented to the man whose invention was declared to be the most ter-l-ible war weapon that the world had ever known. Once this was in the possession of Kuhnreich. the Dictator of Ronstadt. all modern civilisation was in peril; indeed, it was true what Grayston, the Foreign Secretary, had said a few minutes before : “The entire world go up in flames.” The Prime Minister fidgeted with his collar, a habit of his when agitated. “You have heard nothing from Mr Renton?”

“Nothing,” admitted the man to whom the question had been put. “The surrounding country is being seai’ched?”

“Evei'y inch of it.” “There does not appear to he anything more to be discussed, then —at least* not for the present,” announced the Premier. “We can only wait—and hope for the best.” This side-tracking remark, so characteristic of the man who said it obviously irritated the more energetic Secretary for War. “Every policeman—every soldier in the Home Counties come to that—should be mobilised and put on this search,” he declared. The Prime Minister shook his head.

“That would create the utmost confusion in the public mind,” he replied, “and besides the newspapers would he sending their reporters. No, Hathaway, I am afraid that suggestion cannot be adopted.” “But something will have to be done.” The War Minister came back to the attack with considerable heat. “That is unless we are prepared for this country and everyone in it to be blown to the devil within a week of war breaking out.”

At the murmurings of protest and indignation that came from his listeners, Hathaway added: “I am convinced that the whereabouts of this inventor, Marve, is easily the most important circumstance at present in our national life.”

The head of the British Government did some more fidgeting xvith his collar. “We can but wait. Well, what is it, Stephenson?” he demanded as his principal private secretary was seen crossing the room towards him. “I beg your pai’don, Prime Minister,” was tho answer, “but this has just arrived at No. 10, and I came over with it straight away.” It was noticed that the Prime Minister’s face took on an additional pallor as he re-read the paper which had been handed to him.

“When do you say this came?” “Only ten minutes ago, sir.” “Who brought it?” “A Post Office special messenger.” “Is that all you know, Stephenson?”

“Yes, sir.” “May I butt in?” inquired a gruff voice, and Sir Harker Bellamy thrust out a hand.

“H’m!” ho commented after he had' conned the few typewritten words on the single sheet of notepaper which he had taken out of tho Prime Minister’s nerveless fingers.

“This is bad,” he admitted": and as the others stared at lain, “I am afraid gentlemen, our worst fears are realis-

ed—Marve is in the hands of England’s worst enemy.” “His name,” demanded Hathaway, hoarsely. “’Laroche,” was the answer. THE AMAZING IMPERSONATION The time was five minutes to midnight. In that beneath-the-water room the three prisoners sat gripped by despair. Neither of them had spoken for several hours. Petei' Renton’s thoughts were particularly bitter; paralysing fear besieged him; if Susan had got away and had established connection with Q.l. help from Bellamy would have arrived long before this. There could be only one conclusion; his sister was sharing the same fate as himself and had fallen into the hands of the enemy. Yet if this was so, why had Laroche not arrived to make the announcement ?

Up above in tho saloon of the houseboat Laroche was raising his glass to toast the visitor he had been impatiently expecting. Oscar von Staltheim briefly ixodded his acknowledgment.

“I am sori'y I could not arrive before,” he said in the guttural tones Laroche knew so well. “But we at the Embassy are kept exceptionally busy,” he said; “you realise that for yourself.”

Laroche nodded, waiting to hear more. •

This soon came. “You have the man Marve, safely, you say?” His companion smiled in what he considered to be justifiable triumph. “What I promise to do I generally accomplish—you should know that, von Staltheim,” he returned. “Yes, I have the man, Marve, and two lesser fry in the persons of a girl who calls herself his niece and”—here his eyes glistened—“a young Bi'itish Secret Service agent who has given Ronstadt a good deal of trouble in the past. For instance, a few months ago he returned bo this country after spending no fewer than three months investigating the rearmament campaign along the Caronian frontier. I shall be reluctant to give the young man up.” The military attache smiled grimly. “You have done well, Laroche, and it would be churlish on my part to deny it. And now,” rising, “I will relieve you of all your responsibility.” Laroche stared. “I don’t quite understand,’’ he said. “It is easy to explain. Directly your message arrived at the Embassy, I got into communication with Pe. Kuhnreicli was delighted ’ ’ “Natui’ally.” Yon Staltheim ignored the comment. “Shortly afterwards, I received this special message from His Excellency. Shall I read it to you?” “If you like.” Beyond giving the other an unequivocal stare Von Staltheim did not answer, but taking a paper from his pocket, read: “My best thanks. Laroche should be complimented. You have my special orders concerning Marve. Shall expect you in Pe within twenty-four hours.—Kuhnreich.”

“You see, there’s nothing to he done, except to obey. His Excellency appears to he resolute on one ipoint—the man must be taken to Pe immediately. I have a fast machine waiting.’’ “You go by air?” “Yes. And now ”

“One minute,” intei’jected Laroche. “The agreement, I believe, was that I was to be paid the sum of twenty thousand English pounds. Correct 'me”—his voice was dangerously polite —“if I am wrong.” Yon Staltheim did not debate the point. “The money is waiting for you at the Embassy.” 1 But the other did not appear to be satisfied. “It would have been more convenient, for me, at least, if you had brought it with you,’’ he remarked. It xvas then that the man xvho claimed to represent the xvoi’ld’s most poxverful Dictator lost his patience. “Silence!” he roared. “Do you realise to xvliom you are speaking?” “To the Ronstadtian military attache at the Court of St. James’s, Major Oscar von Staltheim. Yes, I knoxv,’’ he retoi’ted. “Good! I thought just noxv that you must be mad! Do you understand that I have the special confidence of Kuhnreich?” “And I”—here the speaker smiled provokingly—“have the special confidence of”—he paused again—“myself.” Von Staltheim breathed heavily. “Please inform me exactly xvhat you mean by that?” “It means that Kuhnreich or no Kuhnreich the man Marve does not leave this houseboat until I receive my payment—txventy thousands pounds, the original price, plus another hundred for being forced to lose my temper. You can take it or leave it, Von Staltheim.” There was a moment’s pause. Then came the decision.

“Very xvell ” “Does that mean you have brought the money?” “I am not accustomed, even in this admirably-policed country, to carrying txventy thousands pounds about xvith 'me. But I have a cheque hook,” and ’he pulled it from his pocket as 110

spoke. (To be continued.)

The characters in this story are entirely imaginai'y. No reference is intended to any living person or to any public or private company.