THE GREAT LAROCHE

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 57, Issue 248, 31 July 1937, Page 9

THE GREAT LAROCHE

I SERIAL STORY s: I Sr S*

| By SYDNEY HORLER.

ss ?s :: Copyright :: ?s ul A\\\\\\V\\\\V\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\VAV\\\\\\\\V El

CHAPTER XI

SUSAN IS SILENT.

By th© time the car reached Whitehall, there was not a more bewildered young man than Peter Kenton in the whole of London. For one thing, he was still tortured by the thought that his kid sister had come to an awful purler somewhere or other. Then again, Elsie Norris was regarding him by this time as a sort of Sir Galahad, and the experience was very embarrassing.

But quickly action took the place of thought; directly the party had been ushered into the private room of Sir Harker Bellamy, the crnief of Q.l. locked the door. Then, after nodding to the Frenchman, .and saying, “I am giad to see you, Jacquard—your people have been telephoning me about you—thank you very much for what you h. ve done,” he looked at Renton. “Tell me as briefly as possible,” he said, “exactly, what happened.” When Renton had concluded his story, Bellamy shrugged his shoulders. “Well, it all turned tout pretty well; it seemed,” and turning to Paul Marve, he went on: “I am instructed to offer you the sincere apology of the British Cabinet, Monsieur Marve, on the unfortunate occurrences of to-day. I hope that you will not bear us any ill-will . . . Good Lord!” he went on to exclaim, “What’s the matter with the man?”

For the inventor, instead of replying, had slumped forward in his chair. Elsie Nome rushed forward, sank to her knees, 1 and took one of her uncle’s hands.

“Barling,” she cried, “what’s the matter Are you ill?” Then she shrank back, for the inventor was looking at her as though she were a stranger.

“Keep away! Get away from me. I won’t have you'near me!” he cried loudly. “Everyone is wanting to steal my invention—but no one will have it! It is buried here!” and he struck his forehead a violent blow with his clenched hand.

As was perhaps only natural, Bellamy looked inquiringly at Jacquard and his own agent.

“Is he normally like this ?” he asked the latter. Renton shook his head. “No, he was perfectly sensible on the house-boat.” “Was he tortured there?”

“No. But perhaps the strain ” “Yes—that must be it,” summarised Elsie Nome. “Its the strain that’ has

dene this terrible thing to him. Oh! what shall I do?” she went on, turning to Renton with a look of appeal. But it was not the young British agent but Paul Marve who continued to hold the stage. He had now jumped fiym his chair and was waving his arms wildly at Bellamy. “You, tod, are an enemy,” he declared; “but L will beat you all—yes, I will beat you all!” As though the recent outburst had

bean too much for his physical strength - the speaker now glared wildly around him and then tottered across the floor. Before anyone could help him, hei had slithered to the carpet. The three men stood looking at each other. Then Bellamy delivered his verdict. “The poor devil’s lost his reason!” he said. “Now what shall we do?” The Frenchman behaved with the characteristic courtesy of his race. “I feel that I should not be here,” he said. “Too long have I stayed already. I appreciate the courtesy you have shown me, Monsieur Bellamy, but now I must go. Perhaps you will be good enough to keep me informed of this poor man’s condition.” “Certainly.” When the Frenchman had left them together, Renton turned to Bellamy. “It’s a case for medical attention, isn’t it, sir?” Without waiting for an answer, he crossed to Elsie Norris and patted her on the shoulder. The girl’s body was shaken with sobs. ' “Don’t worry—-he’ll be all right,” he said, although he felt himself that tne words were almost empty of meaning. “Yes—l’ll ring up &ir Robert Pertwee,” replied Bellamy. * * * * It was an hour later. The stricken inventor had been taken to a West End nursing home and Elsie Norris ha o been accommodated at an hotel nearby. The night’s work, so far as Peter was concerned, was practically over. Yet still he stayed with his Chief.

“It must have been Susan sending me that Morse message,” he stated; “and where in the deuce is she now?”

Bellamy opened a drawer and out a sheet of paper. “I told you over the ’phono that half the Cabinet had been worrying my life out,” ho stated. “Here is a message which was delivered at 10, Downin g-street for the Prime Minister whilst the meeting was in progress. ' He held it out to the young man, who read.— My dear Prime Minister, This is just a line to let you know that a certain person by the name of Paul Marve is now in ny hands. You can inform Sir Harker Bellamy with my compliments that I shall take good care that he remains in such safe keeping.—l ire, your obedient servant, Pierre Laroche. Renton knew why Bellamy had given him this note. It was the easiest way of telling him that bo believed that, whilst one captive in the person of Paul Marve had escaped, the ex-priest had secured another. And, Merciful God, that other was Sue, his sister. * * * * How long that nightmare journey had taken, Susan could not tell; it was sufficient that an end had come at last. After driving through countless mean streets (was she in the East End of London?) the • powei ful car had stopped outside a dark, gloomy-looking building that looked as though it might once have been a small factory. “If I can trouble you to get out, young lady,” said a sarcastic voice. Her legs were stiff from the long drive; she felt chilled and dispirited. The handcuffs made her feel giddy as she attempted to walk—but in spite of all these handicaps, she was determined to keep her nerve. This was the real thing! She had pleaded with and implored Sir Harker Bellamy to send her out on a-job which would test her qualities—and now such an opportunity had been forced on her by fortuitous circumstance. Was she going to squeal? Certainly not!

Something of this resolution must have shown in her face when, after being thrust down a flight of dark steps to stagger at the end of these into an underground room, the one window of which she noticed instantly had iron bars outside, Susan saw staling at her in the uncertain light cast by an evilsmellilig oil lamp, an old woman who burst into a cackle of silent laughter as she closed the door behind tho prisoner. “Good evening, my dear; you must try to be content with what you find here—because if you’re sensible you may not be kept very long.” They were cryptic words, but Susan’s pride would' not allow her to ask for an explanation. That would come quickly enough, she sensed. As a matter of fact, her head was still reeling with tlrei astonishing events of that day: it was almost incredible that sue had lived through those experiences. It was even more incredible that in England in this year of 1936 a girl could be treated with the brutality that had been shown to her.

“So long as you promised to behave, nothing much will happen to you,” went on the hideous old hag, “but you’ll have to be sensible. . . Here, let me take off those things round your wrists.” The speaker hobbled toward her, and in the most matter of fact way produced a key from beneath her dirty apron—and a moment later Susan was rubbing her wrists which the handcuffs had chafed She had the use of her hands and arms once again! But the old woman’s eyes were keen, in spite of the abominable life she must have led. She hissed a warning immediately. “Now you listen to me,” she said. “I’m giving you this straight. You come in ’ere lookin’ as though the earth belonged to yer, as though you’d already made up yer mind not to do what a certain person wants you to do . . . Well, I’ve known others like that—-and where did they end up, ©h? Not in a nice place, I can tell yer 1”

There was so much evil meaning at the back of the hag’s words that Susan felt her whole body go cold. To what vile den had «hei been brought P And what were the things that were expected of her? Oh, to have heard Peter’s voice at that moment! To have been able to see him come through that door! It was only when she realised how vain was this dream that fear —real fear—for the first time seeped into her veins. Yet nothing was to be gained by cringing, she felt sure. This terrible beldame'—and thoso who employed her —would merely interpret that as a sign of broken spirit. And rather than give these devils that satisfaction she would die . . .

So, instead of imploring for an explanation of the sinister words, she sat on a hard kitchen chair and waited —she knew not for what.

“If you’d only been nice and pleasant, I’d have brought you in some supper—but now you can go without!” snapped her wardress. “He’ll be in soon . . A high-pitched laugh,

dreadful to hear, followed the announcement. Still the prisoner gave no sign of having heard. She sat motionless, heir face still proud, her rvhole attitudi

expressionless. She might have been turned to stone. This Spartan-like attitude roused the old woman to a further exhibition of temper. “You wait!” she said. “After you’ve been here a few days—and you know what you can expect when you leave—you’ll be different, I’ll warrant !” With that, she ambled to the door, pulled it viciously open, passed through, and slammed it to again. The last that Susan heard was the sound of a key clicking in the lock. Alone! Alone with thoughts that racked and .tortured her. And it was not merely to herself that she gave consideration. The result of her having been taken a prisoner would bo visited by the most terrible consequences for other people, her brother, chief of all. Like most girls of her generation, Susan Renton had not given a great deal of thought to religious matters, but now, in the extremity of her position, she fell on her knees and began to pray. V * * * In a room at tho top of that dark flight of steps, a man was listening to what this fiercely-gesticulating hag was telling him. “Leave her to me—l’ll teach her a thing or two,” concluded the woman, after she had told her story. But the man, lighting a fresh cigar from the stub of the one he had been smoking, thrust the suggestion aside. “Get out!” he ordered. “I’ll go down and see her myself.” But five minutes elapsed before he rose from his chair. To Edward Horst 'as he was known to the underworld of London and other capitals) it represented a time of exhaustive thinking, -ret recalled the days when he had worked with Pierer Laroche and had been one of his chief lieutenants. Then—three months ago—had come the break; the ir evitable break because his growing power had built up his pride to such an extent that he felt he wanted to be a chieftain on his own account and to pay subservience to none. To no one, that was, except those men across the seas yvho paid so well for reliable information concerning England’s air, naval, and military secrets. In any case, he had long since grown tired of Laroche’s arrogance. The man imagined himself to be a god. So the severance had coma. Laroche himself had affected indifference—so the word had drifted through to Soho—and this particular form on contempt had seared Horst’s soul. With this result: he had redoubled his efforts to ascertain what fresh plans Laroche had in mind with the fixed determination to put- a spoke in the wheel if- the opportunity occurred. It was a great stroke of luck that ho had heard about the houseboat on the River Hamble and of the secret room which Laroche had had built for the purpose of retaining any prisoners that he might capture. Providing one pays well enough—and Horst at this time was well supplied with money —it is, surprising how much information can be obtained. Accompanied by three members of his gang, all of whom he knew he could trust, he had gone down to Hampshire that night to spy out the land. W T ell hidden, he had watched the three prisoners taken aboard the house-boat. The fact that he had been able to recognise one of these—Peter Renton, the young British secret agent— assured him of the identity of the other two. Laroche had brought off a big coup; he had snatched the inventor Marve and that crazy idealist’s niece from under the very nose of the British In telligence! Yet there was nothing to he done about it. Laroche had too heavy a bodyguard on that damned houseboat for there to he any chance of success if he attempted to storm the place with his three lieutenants. Yet he was reluctant to leave. He.io was a golden opportunity to secure some valuable booty and to score off the man who was now his bitter enemy at one and the same time. It was whilst he. was watching the houseboat that ho saw an apparition that made him rub his eyes; a girl dressed in a bathing costume emerged from the water and started to half run, half walk 'away from the house-boat. The light was bad, but yet he was able to recognise in this girl the sister of Petei Renton. Instantly his mind supplied the solution to what first had appeared a mystery; she had tracked her brother’s captors, and was now on her way to get help. To a man like Horst a- quick change about it always possible; lie did not mind very much what swam into his net so long as it promised to he valuable. He would have liked, of course, to have taken Peter Renton and the inventor Marve away from Laroche and to have kept them prisoners in a hideaway of his own; but, as that now appeared impossible, he was content with securing another “bag.” This girl was not only attractive in herself and therefore of potential value to certain people with whom he frequently had dealings, but she was also engaged in a very important department of the Bri-

tish Secret Service. She would have information that could bo sold. . „ * * * * Edward Horst smiled evilly as he walked down the dark steps. The girl rose as he entered tho room. “J. hope you have come to give mo an explanation,” she said resolutely. Yes, she was a fine young animal, ho decided, as his avid look took in all her spirited young beauty. “I have come to make you a proposition my dear,” lie replied; “sit down.” “J prefer to stand, thank you.” “As you please. But before I go any further, I think I should give you this warning; it won’t pay you in the long run to maintain your present attitude. I have the whip band—a fact you appear to forgot—and I intend to use it. Is that quite clear ?’ ; She stood silent. “All right—but I have warned you.” He himself took the only chadr in the place and straddled his leg across it, leaning his arms on the back. “Your name is Susan Renton, isn’t it?” “Yes.” She did not see that there could be any harm in admitting that much. “And you’re employed in some capacity in the Q.l. branch of the British Secret Service?” She made no reply to this. “And you’re the sister of Peter Rem ton who is also employed in that Department?” Again no reply. The man’s voice became menacing. “You won’t gain anything by maintaining that attitude,” he said. “I’ve got a proposition to make to you and if you’re a sensible girl you’ll agree to my terms.” (To he continued.) The characters in this story are entirely imaginary. No reference is intended to any living person or to any public or private companj\