"BEYOND DOVER"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 26 May 1939, Page 10

"BEYOND DOVER"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

VAL GIELGUD.

(Author of “Death at Broadcasting House,” etc.)

CHAPTER XXII. (Continued). “Well?” "Your name is Nigel Craven?” “Yes,” “Why did you come to Styria?” “I am a close personal friend of this lady’s. I believed her to be in danger in this country. I came to get her out of it if I could.” "You have royalist sympathies?” “I had not political leanings either way, till your treatment of us gave me emphatic ones.” “That sort of answer won’t help you. Mr Craven. You were carrying guns when you were arrested?” “I was carrying a small automatic pistol with a single clip of cartridges, if you call that arms!” “Why—in a peaceful country?” “Is Styria a peaceful country. Captain Dragutin?” “In fact' you knew the rising was likely to take place? You were in the plot?” “No.” “Do you deny meeting members of the royalist party in Paris?” “I met one, who I believe has since betrayed that party!” “No one else?” “No.” “You can sit down.” Dragutin leaned over towards the other members of the court, and whispered to them. Then he sat down, andwrote on a piece of paper. The quill pen squeaked abominably. “Miss Martin, he said abruptly, looking up, “your case is too obvious for discussion, or comment. Is there anything you wish to say?” Sally jerked up her chin, but did not speak. She was engaged in flexing every muscle she had, so as to be able to stand up in a moment or two without staggering. “Mr Craven, your case is a little difr ferent. But I’m forced to the conclusion that either in spite of your denials, you were in the royalist plot, or else you are an English, spy.” Dragutin once more got to his feet. He rammed both thumbs through his belt, and licked his lips. ’ “The sentence of this court,” he said, “is that you shall both be executed by shooting at eight o’clock this morning —it is already after midnight—in the courtyard of this Palace. Lieutenant Tankosic will arrange for and command the firing party. Would you prefer to spend the remainder of the night together or alone?” “But this is mad !” shouted Nigel. “You can’t ” One of the guards jabbed a rifle into his side and knocked the breath out of him. Dragging nimself erect again he saw that Sally was standing up, quite straight and still, facing Mirko Dragutin. “Together please, Captain Dragutin,” she said quietly. There was a silence, and' Dragutin dropped his eyes. “As you wish,” he said, at last. He put on his beret, saluted, and turned on his heel.

CHAPTER XXIII. “You'll forgive my not getting up, Mr Lutyens,” said Hugo, in reply to the latter’s self-introduction, “but I’ve had rather a long ride.” “Of course,” murmured Lutyens deprecatingly. “It’s been the very deuce of a job locating you.” “You’ll join me in a glass of wine? Hardly a vintage growth, but not bad,” And Hugo held out his cigarette case across the table.

“I’ll smoke a pipe if I may,” said Lutyens, and took one out of his pocket and proceeded to polish it on nis sleeve. “Of course. By the way, i think I prefer to be known as Hugo Brandon, if it’s all the same to you, Mr Lutyens. I've grown rather attached to the name.”

"Just as you like, Mr Brandon,” Basil Lutyens’ face changed, grew serious. “I expect you’d like to see some credentials. You can take my word for it that this letter is genuine.” He took a folded sheet from his pocketbook, and handed it over to Hugo. The signature was one sufficiently well-known in every country of the civilised world.

Hugo's expression did not alter. He returned the letter to Lutyens and leaned back in his chair. "Well?” he asked.

“Mr Brandon,” said Lutyens gravely, “I’m afraid I’ve bad news for you. Your game, if I may speak vulgarly, is definitely up. Von Auffenburg has had to face a mutiny by some of his own troops and has fallen back on Bratza. Martial law has been proclaimed in the Capital. The Styrian Fleet is preparing to bombard Torcula unless the Air Base surrenders; and an ultimatum from the Danubian'Alliance is being drafted this evening. Italy and Germany have backed down —you know, I imagine that their support was contingent on your immediate and bloodless success.” “Then that,” said Hugo, “appears to be that.”

“Not only appears to be. but is. You made two mistakes, Mr Brandon. It was stupid to have involved that queer young woman in your affairs. It made people question your discretion and your respectability. But it was fatal to have put yourself in the hands of Casimir Konski.”

Hugo moved impatiently. ‘lsn’t it a little late to give me good advice?” he asked. "I might retort that Miss Martin practically thrust herself into the business through a ludicrous chapter of accidents. I might add that Konski was my mother’s choice, and that Lye always distrusted him profoundly. But if, as you say, the game is up, what’s the odds?” Lutyens drew heavily at his pipe. "My Government.” he said, “are anxious that the crisis should be liquidated with as little in the way of disagreeable incident, certainly as litlle bloodshed, as possible.” Hugo laughed. "Are you offering to help to get me away safely?” he enquired. “Are you following Bannockburn's admirable precedent in the case of my mother? Or is it that it would suit your Government to keep the legitimate aspirant to the Styrian throne as it were on tap in case of possible developments in the event of which he might come in useful?” “A little of both perhaps,” said Lutyens. “But seriously, Mr Brandon. The sooner you’re out of the country the better. If you stay fighting will go op. Innocent people will suffer in

a hopeless cause. You may be trapped yourself —after all, you're still a young man.” "Anything else?” “Yes,” said Lutyens. “The mutineers who stabbed von Auffenburg in the back have got hold of Miss Martin and her friend Mr Craven. They’re led by an enthusiast called Dragutin and a lunatic called Radko Tankosic. I'm afraid there may be a tragedy, if we’re not careful.” “I thought as much. Where are they?” “In the Summer Palace at Bratza, Mr Brandon.”

Again Hugo laughed; it was a disagreeable sound in the quiet of that peaceful orchard. “You’ve done this, haven’t you, Mr Lutyens? Of course you have. You sent Craven to Styria to try and spike my guns by influencing Miss Martin. And now you come to me to help you to get them out of the mess!” “Yes,” said Lutyens firmly, “I do.” What’s more you will. I can’t get them out of the Summer Palace. But I can arrange for the escape of all three of you, if you can handle the essential preliminaries. The pilot who flew Konski from Torcula to Bratza didn’t get back. He had to make a forced landing, and one of my agents made contact with him. I can have that plane ready for you at any rendezvous you care to make-with me at any time tomorrow you choose.” “Tomorrow?”

“If Craven and the girl are to be rescued, it must be done tonight. Von Auffenburg’s taken the bit between his teeth. He knows he's done for, but he’s determined to have Dragutin’s blood first or know the reason why. If he attacks the Summer Palace in the morning—and he will —Dragutin and Tankosic will be up against it. They’re not the type to consider their prisoners, and I can’t exert pressure on them officially through the Republican Government. I’ve tried. They say that communication with Dragutin doesn’t exist.”

"My God!” said Hugo fiercely, “how can you sit there calmly and talk to me like that ” and he made a hopeless little gesture with one hand — “what can I do? I’m alone as you see.” ,

Lutyens leaned forward. “Listen,” he said. “Von Auffenburg’s troops are scattered all over the country between here and Bratza. You’ve only to get hold of a reliable troop of cavalry, reveal your identity, surprise the Palace in . the small hours, and the trick’s done.”

“And then I suppose I bolt in your convenient aeroplane, leaving the men to be fusilladed! No thank you, Lutyens. Even diplomatic usage should have its limits!”

“So should the public school spirit,” said Lutyens angrily. “We can’t leave those two to their deaths ” “And the British Government to face another crisis in foreign affairs — quite.”

Basil Lutyens did not reply to that last shrewd tnrust. He knocked out his pipe against the heel of his shoe, and got up from his chair. “D’you think I wouldn’t give my eyes to be able to come with you on a cutting-out expedition for two?” he jerked out after a moment. “This darned job of mine—but it’s got to be done, and it prevents me having any excitement at all! I don't care how you do it, Brandon, but I trust you to get it done. Where shall the ’plane be?” “How early will it be light enough for the pilot to make a landing?” “Six at any rate.” "Very well. Let me think a minute.” Hugo took a pencil from his pocket and began to make a hurried sketch on the tablecloth. •‘You see the position of the Palace, and the lake. ‘There’s a belt of trees here and here. Between the two there is, or used to be, a clearing. I believe it was intended in the old days for an archery field. He ought to be able to come down and get off again from it, if he’s a good man. Anyway it can’t be more of a gamble than the rest of the’ infernal business.” “I'll guarantee that he’s there for you. But how are you going to manage the rest of it?” “Heaven knows, but I’ll think of something. Goodbye. I’ve no time to lose, and I’ve a tired horse.” Lutyens held out his hand. “Thank you,” he said. “Are you sure there’s nothing else I can do?” Hugo took the outstretched hand, and shook his head. “I don’t think so unless you care to pay for my meal," he smiled. “D’you know,” said Basil Lutyens, ■'l’m sorry you didn’t bring it off.” “Then, it’s a pity,’ said Hugo ironically, “that we didn’t meet earlier on in this round, isn’t it?”

He walked quickly into the inn, where he surprised the landlady a good deal by asking for some hot water; the loan of a razor; an old infantry private's tunic, which he saw hanging on a hook in the passage, and had belonged to her husband; and a short length of red flannel, together with scissors and a needle and some black thread.

Sitting on the edge of a very hard bed in an upper room, and busy sewing a red flannel armlet on the private’s tunic, he saw Basil Lutyens walk briskly l out into the road. For a moment he sat still, with a kind of dazed horror creeping over him. It was as if he watched through that window his own life walking away fom him down the white dusty road in the company of the neat Englishman in his flannels and brown shoes. He had a violent impulse to wrench open the window and cry out. Instead he proceeded slowly' and carefully to shave off his moustache. (To be Continued.)