"CRASH!"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 18 October 1939, Page 10

"CRASH!"

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. |

BY

ARTHUR APPLIN.

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

CHAPTER V. (Continued). It was just on one o'clock before he got away. He dashed out and jumped into a taxi. He had not had time to make any plans, or come to any dedefinite decision. And now as he drove along, some wretched formula of old Britton’s continually went through his brain. When the cab stopped at the hotel, he got out and stood for a few moments on the pavement, taking deep breaths of air. Of course, he had behaved like a complete fool the previous evening. He had known it at the time, but then it had not mattered. He had really rather enjoyed everything, even the fog—the dark little garden at the bottom of the fire-escape —the acacia tree, and the bits of broken glass on top of the wall —the few mad. delightful hours of romance. He walked into the hotel, prepared now to face reality—the sordid facts of life—and then he stopped suddenly, as he saw Michael Brooke slowly limping across the lounge towards him. Was not Life just what one thought? Damn it all, you could create anything, by thought alone; romance, beauty, truth. Brooke’s tone was decided: “Mr Harcourt could, I think?” “Yes. How do you know me?” Michael smiled: “You introduced yourself the moment you stepped into the hotel. Will you come upstairs?” They walked to the lift. CHAPTER VI. Brooke opened the door of a room on the first floor. Johnny went in. He was prepared for anything now — quite sure of himself, and the part he was going to play. He had but one thought again, and that was Peggy. And then ,as Brooke closed the door, he saw her, sitting in front of the fire. He had not been prepared for that. For a moment, he was unbalanced, though he only saw the top of her her head, and her hands lyjjig on the arms of the chair. “Here is Mr Harcourt,” said Brooke.

Slowly Peggy pushed her chair back and got up. It was Peggy of the board-ing-house now, in her coat and skirt, cotton stockings, and useful shoes. Johnny smiled —it was extraordinary what a difference clothes made, and perhaps the way she did her hair. A stranger coming into the room would never have believed that she was Peggy Penshurst, the most beautiful of all the “Lovelies.” Coffee and liqueurs were on the table. While Brooke poured them out. Johnny had a chance of studying him. Intelligent, of course —but he could not get. much further than that. Something a little sinister, perhaps. Nevertheless, Johnny distinctly felt he was a man to be trusted—and feared. “Will you smoke a cigar?” asked Brooke. “Thanks. I would prefer a cigarette." Michael gave him one and courteously lit a match for him. “Please sit down." He himself leaned against the mantleshelf, close to Peggy. “Now, Mr Harcourt," he said, speaking quietly, in a rather low voice: “I am going to be brief, because there is not much time to spare; and I hope you will be frank.” “Certainly. I have nothing to conceal.” Brooke looked at him. He had rather curious eyes; you could not be sure of their colour. They were piercing—eyes that were accustomed to open spaces, that could see into the far distance.” “That’s good. I told you on the phone that I was the director of the ’Lovelies.’ I suppose I can say I created them. Heaven knows why —a premonition of what was going to happen to me, perhaps . . I am very fond of Peggy—we are old friends. She told me this morning that you helped her last night, by going back to her room in Bayswater and getting a case containing a valuable pearl necklace. You brought it here, and after spending a few minutes at the party, went upstairs to her room, and gave it to her there. She undressed and got into bed before opening the case —when she found it was empty. No one handled the case but you?” “No.” “The pearls were there when you found it?” “I can’t say—l didn't open it.” Peggy said: “It was wrapped up in a piece of paper when you found it?” Johnny nodded. “No one in the board-ing-house knew of the existence of the necklace; if they had, no one would have looked for it where I had hidden it. The pearls must have been in the case when you found it, Johnny.” He emptied his liquer before replying: “Are you suggesting—l mean, do you think that I took it?” "Unless someone picked your pocket in Mario’s room last night—which is highly improbable, not to say impossible.” Johnny thought a moment: “Mario certainly took my coat and hung it up in the hall; but there was not time for him to have opened the case and taken out the pearls. Anyway, how could he have known they were there, unless —” He glanced at Peggy—“ls he in any way connected with the mystery concerning you?" She shook her head. “Never met him in my life before." Brooke slowly bent over the fire and deliberately knocked the ash off his cigar. There was silence for the space of nearly a minute, then Peggy said: "You’re sure you didn’t open the case, Johnny?” "Certain! 1 gave it you just as I found it, in paper tied round with a bit of twine." Brooke smiled; he was relieved —if Johnny had taken the pearls, the chances were he would have given himself 1 away in that minute’s silence by say-

ing something. He would not have sat there quietly, waiting for further questions. Peggy got up and began to walk up and down the room. She stopped in front of Brooke. “Michael, what can have happened?” she cried desperately. “I must find them, do you hear, I must find them. Turning round, she faced Johnny. “If you didn’t take them, someone in the boarding-house must have. Do you think the police searched my room before you got back last night?” “I am certain they didn’t” Johnny said. “Nothing was disturbed when I found the'case. But soon after 1 got into bed I heard someone moving about in your room, obviously making a pretty thorough search.” Peggy dropped into the armchair again, and buried her face in her hands. She began to cry, silently; her body was shaking, but she made no sound. Brooke drew Johnny to the other end of the room. “How much do you know about this business?” Johnny didn’t hesitate now, but told him all he know. When he had finished Brooke nodded and said: “I could get nothing out of her. We can’t even be sure if if wasn’t all invention.” “I’m certain she wouldn’t lie!” Brooke smiled. “That’s because you are in love with her! Listen, my dear fellow, I know women better than you do; we can’t apply our standards of morality, and all that, to them thank heaven! I, too, love Peggy! You needn’t worry about that —when I crashed and broke my leg, my nerve was broken as well. A woman hasn't any use for a man who is lame, mentally as well as physically.” “That shows you don’t know all there is to know about women.”’ Johnny could not hide the bitterness in his voice. Everything seemed to be slipping away from him; not only had he failed to help Peggy, he had lost her! Brooke slipped his hand through Johnny’s arm: “We’ve got to find out the truth before we can do anything further.”

“If you’re going to cross-examine and torture her. you can leave me out of it. It’s fairly obvious that she is shielding someone.” “If she is, it’s a man!” Johnny turned away; Peggy was still sitting hunched up in the chair, her face hidden in her hands; her attitude was one of despair. Johnny faced Erooke again. “It makes no difference to me! I’m going to save her. At this moment the police are combing London for her; they shan’t get her, at any rate not until she’s got to Paris and seen this—this man.” Brooke smiled; Johnny was beginning to hate that smile; it wasn’t altogether cynical or superior— a mixture of both, with something else behind it. “How do you propose to get her to Paris? We’ve left it a bit too late.” "If I could only borrow or steal a plane, I'd fly her over!” Slowly, in his quiet voice with its queer clipped accent, Brooke said: “I could arrange that for you . . When did you.learn to fly?” “About two years ago, but had to chuck it—expense; and my job took up all my spare time." “Well, you can have mine. She’s locked up in the hangar alongside the bungalow I built just before I crashed. You can smash the thing for all I care; but Peggy must realise the risk she is taking—not only of your crashing her, but of what may happen if you succeed in reaching France. The odds are that you’ll kill her, and It was Johnny’s turn to smile now: “That’s what I mean to do! Crash, and kill Peggy!” Brooke showed no surprise, beyond a slight wrinkling of his forehead. He looked at Peggy. She was sitting upright now, staring at them; her face was flushed, her lips parted. “I don’t care what risks I take,” she cried. “Get me out of this; get me to Paris so that I can see my —so that I can explain what has happened, and then come back and find the pearls.” . “They mean more to you than life,” Brooke said. She hesitated a moment and then came over and stood in front of them. “Yes —I think it amounts to that!” Strangely beautiful she looked now; Her beauty was spiritual rather than physical,. Brooke said: “You won’t tell us to whom the pearls belong, or how they came into your possession?” “No; not yet.” Brooke nodded. “All right. You’d better go to your room and lie down and leave us to arrange everything. And we’ll have’to get you some clothes —you can’t risk being seen as Peggy Strong.” She held out both her hands to them. “I can’t say anything . . but I ■want you to realise—" she was looking at Johnny—"that I am a thief, anyway in the eyes of the law!" Brooke said nothing but went to the door and opened it. Johnny said: "For me."nothing matters-but you." She turned away quickly and went out. Brooke pulled a couple of chairs to the fire, unlocked a drawer in the bureau and took out a bundle of maps. "Now then, we’d better arrange details of the escape—and the murder! Of course, I know what you intend to do; but unless you’re a damned fine aeronaut, that's what is amounts to. I’m not worrying about your own suicide!” “You needn't,” Johnny replied. “Of course you understand that it's Peggy Strong I’m murdering, and not Peggy Penshurst? What happens to me afterwards doesn’t matter.” CHAPTER VII. They were locked in Michael Brooke’s room; the floor in front of the fireplace was covered with maps. Brooke was crawling about on his hands and knees with a box of pins, a pencil and a note-book. He had fast-

ened two of the maps together, and into them he was sticking his pins. They looked rather pretty, like rows of telegraph posts. Now and then he stopped to use his protractor and dividers. “We are leaving a lot to chance,” he said, looking up at Johnny, “but that can’t be helped in the circumstances. The weather report this morning is in your favour. Now, you have got the position of the bungalow and the hangar quite clear in your mind? You have a clear run of 200 yards over a perfect surface—or it was. After that the ground becomes rather lumpy, and ends in a small ditch and a low thorn hedge. If the wind is right for you, you will have no trouble at all. You will pick up Taddenham village a mile east —church tower, early Norman. Here, take the note-book and Check off each point as I tell you.” The clock on the mantlepiece struck half-past two. Johnny was beginning to get anxious and a little impatient. “That's quite 0.K.,” he said. Something had happened to Brooke. In the last half-hour he had changed —developed an entirely new personality. He was no longer the director of the “Lovelies” —they had ceased to exist for him; so had the hotel, and the clamorous city outside it. “Now, listen!” He put his hand on the arm of the chair and pulled himself up, then dropped into the chair with an oath. “Sorry! I had forgotten my infernal leg!” He stared at Johnny, frowning. “I believe I could do it, you know!” (To be Continued.!