"SECOND TIME WEST"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 3 September 1938, Page 10

"SECOND TIME WEST"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT

BY

T. C. BRIDGES

(Author of “Watching Eyes,” “Seven Years’ Sentence,” etc.)

CHAPTER IX. —(Continued). With an effort he calmed himself and tried to consider his chances. His thoughts were not comforting. True, Slatter would presently begin to wonder why he and Joan had not turned up, but what could he do about it? Jim had not even told him the name of his hotel though he had mentioned Haskell to him. Plainly there was no hope from Slatter. Later, Haskell and Trant would begin to wonder why he had not returned. They might even come in search of him, but that would be too late. Fame would have finished him long before they turned up. Jim had no illusions about Fame. Fame had certainly not gone to all this trouble and expense for nothing. He must have paid good money for the rent of this pent-house and the services of the two killers, to say nothing of a substantial bribe to the liftman. He realized plainly that Fame could not afford ro let him go. This was New York, not London, New York in whose: underworld murders are done daily without penalty, where a mere bumping off is thought little more of than the theft of a wallet. Add to that the fact that Fame hated him with a bitter and deadly hatred, and the outcome was obvious. He would be killed and left here while Fame moved on to New Mexico. His body would not be found until the lease of the pent-house was up. And Joan —what of Joan? Now that he had got down to bed-rock, so to speak, Jim knew definitely that Joan’s fate was more important to him than his own. The most bitter part of dying would be the knowledge that Joan was left without money or friends. He lay still. From far below the roar of New York’s tremendous traffic came to his ears, muted by distance. The afternoon sun shone brightly through the one window of his prison. It was probably the last sunlight he would ever see.

Yes, here was Fame. There was no mistaking his quick yet heavy steps. The footfalls came across the leads, the door opened and Jim’s enemy was standing over him. “So you walked into it once more,” the man said, and his lips parted in a smile. But there was no smile in his green-grey eyes. Jim noticed that he was quietly dressed in a dark grey flannel suit and that his nose, though it would never be quite what it once was, had resumed normal proportions.

“Of all the bom fools I ever run across you take the biscuit,” Fame went on. “I thought as you might get out of that London house, but I hardly reckoned you’d follow us to America. Still, if you did I guessed you’d come by the Berlin so I had a man watching for you at Southampton. He cabled me you was coming so I fixed up for you.” He stopped and laughed, and the laugh grated on Jim’s raw nerves worse than the man’s voice. “You think you’re the only one as knows how to use money,” Fame went on with a sneer. “You with your cables and agents! I had to use a bit myself, but it’s money well spent, for it’s rid me of you and your foolishness for ever. Yes, Joan got your cable delivered just like you said, but Signal saw the woman taking it into her cabin, and next night Joan slept a bit sounder than usual and Bignal got it for me, then put it back again. After that it was easy. Knowing as this was the first place you’d come to I rented the pent-house and fixed up things xne way you’ve seen. Pete and Louie know their job, and neither of ’em tells tales out of school.’” He broke off. “Yes, you may glare at me all you like, but that won’t do you no good. I’m fed up with you, and I’d bump you off this minute if it wasn’t that there’s, a safer way of finishing you. You’re going to finish yourself, Sir James Chernocke.” He chuckled again. “Here’s the scheme. I lift you off that couch, put your head up against the stove and turn on the gas. Then when you’re finished I come back and take the ropes off.” He took a letter from his pocket and held it in front of Jim, so that he could see it was addressed exactly in the same way as the previous letter which he had had that morning. “That goes in your pocket,” he said gloatingly. “In it Joan says that she doesn’t love you. She can’t marry you. Think of the headlines! “Wealthy English' Baronet Commits Suicide for Love of Beautiful Western Girl.’ The public will eat it!” Once more the big brute chuckled. It was plain he was visualising the headlines of which he spoke, thoroughly enjoying the idea of not only murdering his enemy, but also blasting his reputation when dead.

The veins in Jim’s head felt as if they were bursting. He would have given everything he possessed, even life itself, to be free for a single minute. ne struggled so convulsively that he fell off the couch on to the floor. He got no pity from Fame. “In a hurry, are you? All right!" He stooped, and grasping Jim by the shoulders dragged him across to the stove. He laid his head as close as possible to the front of the stove and turned on the jets full. He closed the window. It was a sash window and fitted firmly. He pulled a rug across the floor so that it would fall against he door. Then he stopped a moment. “You’ll have just about time to remember it don’t pay to run against Murray Fame,” he said viciously, and. turning, went out closing the door behind him and locking it. The sickly sweet taste of the gas was already in Jim's throat, but he was not going to die without a struggle to save himself. Even with feet and hands tied he was able to roll, and with desperate effort worked himself over in the direction of the door. He managed to push the mat aside and lay with his, lips as close as possible to the bottom of the door. But this penthouse was new, the door fitted so closely that hardly any air could pass. Jim felt it was vain hope, and that his efforts could only prolong his life for a few minutes.

He looked round the room for anything sharp on which he might saw the cords off his wrists but there was nothing. It ws maddening to know that he had a knife in his pocket, which he could not by any possibility reach. Wait! There was something he could reach. His wrist watch. Good heavens! Why had he not thought of it before? He banged in against the floor, breaking the glass. With the gag in his mouth, it was impossible to hold the glass between his teeth, but he managed to wedge it into a crack between two floor boards and began to saw the cord with the sharp edge. Given time, he could have done it, but now the gas having filled the up-

per part of the room was mixing with the lower layer of air and, do what he Would, Jim could not help inhailing it. His head began to swim, his eyes felt as if they were bursting out of their sockets, then the glass fell out of the crack and he had to wedge it again. It was only his fierce resolve to live — that and his natural strength and magnificent health —which gave Jim strength to continue until the first cord snapped, and in a trice his hands were free. Snatching out his knife he cut away the cords that held his ankles then, without waiting to remove the gag, staggered to his feet, reached the the window and, falling against it, broke a pane with his elbow. Never before had Jim realized how decilious was the feeling of filling his lungs with fresh air and, as he took one deep breath after another, his head cleared and his strength came back. In a few moments he was almost himself again except for the feeling of sickness from the gas he had already swallowed. The first thing he did was to cut the gag away, the next to cover his mouth and nostrils with his handkerchief; then swiftly crossing the room, he turned off the gas. The door, he knew, was locked, but he could get out of the window. He was on the point of doing so when a new thought struck him. He did not know where Joan was; Fame did. Why not then wait for Fame, catch him unawares, knock him out and force him to give Joan’s address? The mere thought of getting another smack at Fame made him tingle all over. Jim was not a revengeful person, but what he had been through at Fame’s hands during the last half hour and what Joan might endure in the future, filled him with an old anger which was much more dangerous than mere rage. At the same time Jim realized clearly that at close quarters he was no match for the huge American, especially as he was still nauseated with the gas. So he looked round quickly for some weapon. But a gas stove needs no poker and it was with dismay he recognised that there was nothing in the room except a chair which he could use against his enemy. It came to him that it might be wiser to clear out and wait below for Fame. He could call on Slatter, he could even ring up the police. Fame had tried to murder him. He had a case against him. He heard a sound. Steps. It was too late. Fame’s head was visible above the opening of the stairs. Three quick, quiet steps took Jim to the door. He stood with his back to the wall, on the latch side of the door. The few seconds before he heard the key turn in the lock were long as minutes, then, as the door swung open, Jim drove a blow with all his strength at the angle of Fame’s jaw. His fist smacked home with a force that jarred Jim’s arm and sent the man’s big body crashing against the half open door. He slid down and lay flat on his back on the floor. He ought to have been out. but was n’t yet the mental shock, the surprise of being attacked by a man he had fully believed to be dead was so great trat for the moment Fame was paralysed. There was fear as well as amazement in the eyes which stared up at Jim. (To be Continued.)