"CRASH!"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 17 October 1939, Page 10

"CRASH!"

COPYRIGHT.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

ARTHUR APPLIN.

Author of “Adventure for Two,” “Winning Through,” “Cold Cream, etc.

(Continued). CHAPTER IV. They went up four flights of stairs and down a dimly-lit passage. Peggy did not speak until she had locked the door of her room. "You got it all right? No one saw you?” He pulled out the case and gave it to her: “Hope you don’t mind, but I had a look round, and found your passbook and bank-book, and here are the pyjamas and toothbrush, and some stockings and handkerchiefs I thought might be useful. She took them, holding them in her hands against her breast: “I can’t say anything . . but I shan’t forget.” “We are going to meet again,” he said. “I don’t know. I don’t suppose it will interest you . . but, I think that I do love you a little, Johnny!” He came closer. She held up her face, and he kissed her mouth. Then he went quickly. When he reached the staircase, he ran down the softly carpeted steps. Peggy locked the door, pushed the jewel-case under her pillow, and dropped the other things on the settee. She stood before the mirror and undressed. Glad he had brought the pyjamas. She got into bed, pulled out the jewel-case, and opened it. It was empty! CHAPTER V. Johnny gave a sigh of relief as he clambered into his room from the fire escape. Before switching on the lights, he carefully closed the lower part of the window and drew the curtains across it. Luck had been with him, and the fog had helped. As he pulled off his gloves, he noticed a drop of blood at the base of his thumb—he had cut himself on the broken glass on top of the wall. He sucked the wound; it was not deep enough to be noticed—except by Pansy Jones, who saw everything, sometimes saw things that did not exist! He rolled up his gloves and threw them at the back of his drawer; then carefully brushed his overcoat.

He stopped suddenly and held his breath, as he distinctly heard someone moving abou,t in the house. The sound came from the room adjoining his—Peggy’s room. Evidently the detective had got tired of waiting and was making a search. He wondered if poor little Pearkes was with him, and what they would find. He ought to have thought of that possibility and made a thorough search himself, in case Peggy had left anything compromising lying about. He switched out the light again and undressed in the dark . . Nasty word that compromising! He got into bad and listened to the curiously muffled sounds next door; the detective was evidently making a pretty thorough search, confound him!

At last he heard the door close quietly and a key turn in the lock. Well, that was that! . . But he could not sleep. Reaction came. Had he made a fool of himself —and of Peggy? He lit a cigarette, but discovered he could not get any satisfaction from smoking in the dark . . There was not a man in the world who, if he had told him what he had done, would not say that he had behaved like a fool. He heard the church clock strike four. He hoped poor little wispy Pearkes was getting a bit of sleep . . . And then he saw her standing by his wardrobe, going through the pockets of his' great-coat! He awoke with a start, and found it was half-past eight. When he came into the dining-room, the Colonel glanced at him over the top of his paper. “You are behind time, young man. aren’t you? . . I suppose you have heard what has happened?” “The British Empire has crumbled at last, I suppose? But that happens every day in your paper.” “Your ‘girl-friend’—that is how you modern speak of your ladies nowadays, isn’t it? ”

“I should hardly describe Miss Strong as a “young lady,’ ” Pansy sniffed.

“Come off it!” young Roberts, the medical student, cried. “You have got chronic ‘catitis,’ Miss Jones. You ought to see our psychology specialist about it!"

Miss Peares nervously rattled the tea cups, and said she thought it would be better if they refrained from discussing Peggy Strong at present. As casually as possible. Johnny asked what was wrong. ' "She didn’t come home last night—that’s all," Mrs Phillipson said.

“She would have been a fool if she had tried,” Johnny replied. “The fog was as thick as pea-soup.” He hurried through his breakfast walked quickly to the Metropolitan Station, and took the tube to Victoria. Before going to the Continental departure platform, he went into the florist’s and bought some roses and mimosa.

It was nearly a quarter to 10 when he passed the ticket barrier. He walked slowly up the whole length of the train, looking into every compartment, then back, carefully scanning the crowd waiting to see friends off. Then he stood by the barrier and waited. He watched the hands of the clock slowly creeping round —began to grow anxious. Could anything have happened? Nothing to delay her at the hotel. Peggy had only to put a few things into her dressing-case and jump into a taxi.

At exactly 10 o'clock the first part of the train moved off. He began to feel he was attracting attention, standing there with his bunch of flowers, and it occurred to him that every Continental train which left London was always watched by officers from Scotland Yard . . . Perhaps at the last moment, Peggy had got the wind up —or perhaps she had fooled him . . A real

crook, who, finding he had fallen in love with her, had just made use of him! Clever, if she had . . for he knew he could not possibly give her away, since he had made himself her accomplice. He saw the guard waving his flag, he heard the train give a warning whistle, then, very slowly, it began to move. He waited until it was out of sight, until the platform was deserted. There is nothing more desolate or cold than a railway platform after the departure of a train—yet it required an effort to move. He felt so infernally desolate himself.

At last he pulled himself together, hurried out, and took a taxi to the office. Only when he was going up in the lift did he realise that he was still holding the flowers he had bought for Peggy. The smell of the mimosa suddenly made him feel sick; it conjured up a quiet blue sea, a clear sky, and mountain sides clouded with olive trees.

He sat down at his desk, turned over his papers, and glanced at his notes — it was going to be damned difficult to concentrate. There was quite a number of formulae to be checked over. He tried to make his mind a blank, to achieve a mental “black-out” of everything that had happened during the past 24 hours. It was generally quite easy, for he loved his work; always it came before anything else —but not now. It was not a bit of good—he simply had to find out what had happened. Picking up the telephone, he asked to be put through to the Hotel Magnificent. When the telephonist at the hotel exchange answered him, he gave the number of Peggy’s room. There was a long delay. At last the clerk said:

“I’m sorry—there is no reply from Miss Penshurst’s room.”

“Do you know if she has left the hotel?” .

“I really couldn’t say. She only took the room for the night.” Before Johnny could speak again, he was cut off.

A shorthand typist came into • the room with a note from old Britton. Britton was a man w'no never could send a verbal message, but insisted on everything being typed. Johnny glanced at it. The odds were it was quite unimportant, but it meant he would have to go down to the laboratory. “Tell Mr Britton I will be with him in five minutes.”

“Very good, Mr Harcourt.” All the women in the secretarial department belonged to the public-school-girl type, physically and mentally well developed, and quite certain they had solved all the problems of life —at cocoa-parties in their dormitories.

“What lovely flowers! Would you like me to find a vase for them, Mr Harcourt?”

Johnny found himself comparing her accent with Peggy’s warm, rather husky voice. “No!" he replied sharply.

He checked off the first formula, then went down to the laboratory where Britton worked. They had not been together five minutes when the telephone bell clanged. Britton calmly took the receiver off and put it on the table, then walked back to his bench.

“I have repeatedly told the clerk I will not have telephone calls, put through here when I am at work,” he said. “Now, my boy, this is a very interesting little problem ” But Johnny was listening to the muffled ringing of the bell. “It may be important,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll see what it is.”

He crossed the laboratory and put the receiver to his ear. Britton’s voice followed him protestingly: Johnny did not listen. The call was for him; someone speaking from the Magnificent. He got a shock as he heard a man’s voice asking, with a curiously clipped accent:

“Am I speaking to Mr Harcourt?” “Yes. that it my name. What do you want?” “I am Michael Brooke. I shall be glad if you will come round to the hotel and see me at once.”

Johnny glanced in Britton’s direction, but the old man was holding a test-tube up to the light and paying no attention.

“I don’t know your name,” Johnny said; “what do you want?” He tried to speak calmly, but he was scared. He had a dreadful suspicion that they had caught Peggy. If so, of course they suspected him. It might be a trap.

There was a distinct pause before the man at the other end said: “I am the Director of the ‘Lovely Lovelies.’ I think you have seen their performance and are interested in—in their production.” “Well?”

“You may remember that I saw you talking to Miss Penshurst outside her dressing-room door, the night before last, and I believe you attended a party given for some of the girls last night in the hotel.”

Johnny did not reply at once. It was quite obvious now that something had happened to Peggy. Either the police had traced her. or this man had found out that something was wrong. There flashed through his mind the picture of a man coming down the corridor outside the girl’s dressing-room —a man carrying a malacca cane and walking with a limp. If Peggy had been arrested, why didn't tell him so? And then it occurred to him that it must have been Peggy herself who gave Brooke his name and address. “Won’t you tell me why you want to see me?” he said, trying to speak in a normal voice: “I am not really interested in the “Lovelies.’ Miss Penshurst happens to be a friend of mine —that’s all." “Exactly!" Brooke's voice suddenly became incisive. “That is why I want to see you. If you are really her friend, you will waste no more time

but come here at once. I may add that, if you refuse, you may* find yourself in a very unpleasant position.” Johnny caught his breath; now he knew what had happened! The pearls Had been discovered and Peggy had given him away. He didn’t blame her —couldn’t help herself. His help had been voluntary. If she were a crook . . He laughed—it would be rather queer to find himself in the dock an accomplice of the lovely Peggy Penshurst! The end of his career. He heard a movement at the end of the laboratory—old Britton was looking at him. "You are wasting a lot of precious time with that infernal instrument. young man! Not only your time and mine, but your employer’s. A woman, 1 suppose?” Johnny was rattled. He put his hand over the receiver for a moment, "Well, why not?" he retorted. Why the devil should he always allow himself to be bullied by this old man who was continually sucking his brains? Johnny had brains, and the firm knew it, and he would have to use them now, to protect himself—and Peggy. "Well, why not?” he cried. “I spend all day long and sometimes part of the night, over stinks —and one can’t live by smells alone!” Britton grunted. Johnny heard Brooke’s voice saying: "Hullo? Hullo?” He put the receiver to his mouth: “All right! ’ I will be with you at lunch time, say about one o’clock.” He replaced the receiver and rejoined Britton.

(To be Continued.)