"CRASH!"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 October 1939, Page 10

"CRASH!"

COPYRIGHT,

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY

ARTHUR APPLIN.

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

CHAPTER IX. At quarter to ten next morning. Johnny was shown into Michael Brooke's room at the Hotel Magnificent. He had expected to find Peggy there —glad she was not. He felt ashamed that he could be jealous of Brocke, and at such a moment; but he was, and there were times when vague suspicions floated through his mind. .There were not many men in Brooke’s position who would put themselves to so much trouble, take so many risks, and go to no end of expense, for the sake of a dancer. He must be very keen on her —keen . . . that was probably the right word! Brooke was still in his dressinggown, had apparently just finished breakfast. “Expected you earlier,” he said. “I think I have everything quite in order. Are you ready? Where’s your kit?”

“Can’t be bothered with anything but what I am wearing.” Brooke shrugged his shoulders. “You'll find a coal and helmet in the hangar, and if you take my advice you’ll use them. Now listen, this is the programme: You will leave Liverpool Street for Taddenham by the 12.45 train. Twenty minutes sharp walking will get you to my place. Here's a rough plan I have made for you — bungalow, hangar, petrol clump. You will have nearly an hour to overhaul the plane and fuel up. You won't be disturbed —I have arranged that —but of course, you needn't make yourself conspicuous. I am bringing Peggy down in my car. but I shall drop her outside the village, where a narrow lane leads to the bottom of the grounds. Half-past two is the latest moment you ought to leave. You’ve seen the weather report, of course? Anyway, I have got it from Croydon; wind absolutely in your favour, visibility poor. If you lose your way, fly on as far as the Somme Canal and get your bearings from that; but remember you will only have about a quarter of an hour to spare, before the light goes.

“Right!” Johnny said. “Thanks!” Brooke looked at him with that rather irritating smile. “I am not making a present of Peggy to you." “Don't get rattled, my boy. But I would like to know —if you don't destroy yourself with the 'plane—what you intend doing?” “Oh, just carrying on with my job. In my spare time 1 mean to find out what happened to the pearl necklace.” Brooke held out his hand. “Well, good luck. I don’t suppose I shall see you again!” Johnny grinned. “You are a pessimist, aren’t you?” “A realist ... By the way, last night Peggy missed her entrance at the show, and didn’t come on until the second dance. That, of course, was according to plan; so was the row I staged afterwards in the dressing-room, when I sacked her. So she will be quite safe, if she gets to Paris, in carrying on- with her job. Peggy Penshurst, late of the ‘Lovely Lovelies’ . . If we have baffled the police—as I think we have —I shall rather enjoy it. Has it ever occurred to you that about the first game children play is hide-and-seek —and it is the last game we play, too.” "Yes!” Johnny replied. “But look' here —if Peggy and you are seen leaving the hotel together after that row

"Hadn’t you better hurry off to your office? . . .And don’t be tempted to go up and inquire how Peggy slept! . . . She will be leaving here before midday, in a taxi to Victoria Station.” Without another word, Johnny went. Brooke had succeeded in making him feel rather an ass. Brooke had taken everything out of his hands. In a few hours, he had conceived and planned Peggy’s escape, with the assurance of a master criminal. There was not a single detail he had left to chance. Makato’s suggestion that Peggy might be a spy flashed through his mind again, just as he reached his office, and was wailing in the chief’s room to ask for leave of absence, and a ghastly thought came to him; it grew with horrible rapidity, until it took entire possession of him: Would any sane and ordinary man take the risks and make the sacrifices that the alleged impressario, Michael Brooke, was taking, without some very strong motive? ... a motive far stronger than love—and that could only be fear! Was Brooke sending them both out to their death in a 'plane which he knew could never reach France? CHAPTER X. The car stopped at the bottom of a narrow lane outside Taddenham village. Michael looked at the clock on the dash-board. “We are behind time’ Get out. and I'll give you your suitcase. Hurry, while the road’s clear." She put her hand on his arm: '‘l don’t know what to say. Michael." "When a woman doesn’t know what to say, it means she has nothing to say.” "Why have you done this for me? I am not worth it." "You are worth just what you think you are! Stop being trite, and conventional. You know, Peggy, I always looked on you as being more original than lovely. This love business has robbed you of your originality and made you beautiful. Good-bye!” She looked up the winding lane, wondering where it was going to take her—whore and how this strange adventure would end; then she looked at Brooke again: "I have never really understood you.” "That’s why you ought to have loved I me. Anyway, you have done your job well. Now. for God's sake. go. be-/ fore —" 1 She turned to open the door. He) pulled her back roughly, put his arm round her and kissed her; then he

pushed her out of the car, dropped the suit-case to the ground beside her. and slamming the door pushed the engine into gear, jammed his foot on the accelerator and drove away.

Peggy looked at the powdery dust rising between the bare hedges. His going like that frightened her. She had kept her nerve until this moment, but now it was deserting her. Picking up her suit-case she walked up the lane. She had to walk slowly in her high-heeled shoes. The ground was broken by cart-tracks and covered with stones. She was shivering with cold as she reached a five-barred gate and saw on the other side of the thorn fence a large shed and, some distance behind it, a low bungalow. The gate was padlocked. Climbing it, she dropped on the other side, found an opening in the fence, then walked as quickly as possible across a wide flat field.

She could see now that the doors of the shed were closed; not a sign of Johnny anywhere. She stopped a moment and listened —not a sound. The absolute silence and lack of all life was eerie. A queer place for Michael to have built a home for himself, in which —as far as anyone knew —he never lived. A sudden impulse to run away seized her, but she went straight on, walking very fast. The shed seemed a terrific distance off. She was not accustomed to walking in the country in high-heeled shoes. She stopped again, breathless now, and looked back with an uncomfortable feeling that she was being followed. It was rather strange, the abrupt way Michael had left her; having risked so much for her sake, he might just as well have assured himself that Johnny had reached the bungalow safely, and, that everything was ready for her escape. /.'

She went on, walking slowly now. Suddenly she felt dead tired, mentally as well as physically. She had been living at high pressure for a long time, and just when she wanted it, her nerve was giving way. A line of rooks flapped dismally against the sky . . Now the shed was within a few yards, and she saw that the padlock had been removed. Someone was inside: she heard muffled sounds. Boldly going, up, she opened the doors, and as they swung wide apart she saw Johnny. He was standing just in front of the plane, wiping his hands with a piece of waste. They looked at each other without speaking. Johnny’s hair was ruffled, his face and his bare arms smeared with grease. He looked rather nice, she thought. “So you got here all right?” she said; then she laughed: it was extraordinary the silly thoughts that entered one’s head and the stupid things one said in moments of tension. Johnny looked round for a clean grease-rag, rubbed his face and his arms. "Oh yes, I got here all right. How are we off for time? I've been too busy to keep an eye on the clock. You gave me rather a shock when you came in—didn’t recognise you. Clothes were all right, eh?” “Wonderful! Everything Are yuo ready, Johnny? Can we get off at once?" “I think so.” He pulled out his watch. "Yes, we shall be running it rather close. Give me your case.” He put it in the passenger cockpit: “Here’s something I forgot to send you yesterday.” He gave her a hand-bag which exactly matched her frock. “It is fitted up—all the gadgets you want. Now give me your old one. We will leave all your bits and pieces in it. except the passport.” “But what are you going to do with it?” she asked. “There’s my cheque-book-some letters—the latch-key of the boarding-house ” "Exactly! Thai's why I want it. You mustn't have a single thing that belonged to Peggy Strong. If even your handkerchief has initials or a laundry mark, chuck it overboard when you are flying across the Channel. And—excuse my mentioning it, Miss Penshurst—if you have kept any of Miss Strong's under-things, you had better burn them when you get to Paris.” She turned away, smiling. "That’s all right; Peggy Strong couldn’t afford to send her things to a laundry,” she said. "Where do I get in?” “You don't get in yet.” He produced a dingy-looking canvas bag: “See that post, three-quarters of the way down the field? I want you to hoist this up. It's the wind-indicator, you know. 1 will start the engine and warm her up."

It took Peggy 10 minutes to get the thing hoisted and return. Johnny was pulling on Brooke's flying-coat and helmet. He had wheeled the ’plane out of the shed; the engine was running.

“Everything seems 0.K.,” he shouted. "Thank God! —the wind's blowing straight across the field into the hangar.. Get in!” He gave her a hand. "Watch where you step, and for heaven's sake don’t put your foot through the wing." He .went back to the shed and closed the doors, leaving the wrench padlock on the ground. Jerking the chocks away from the wheels, he climbed in and opened the throttle. The engine "revved" smoothly enough, and the oil-pressure rose normally as they began to taxi across the field. Everything 0.K.! Bid. at the back of his mind there was still an uncomfortable feeling that Michael Brooke might have had some sinister and ulterior motive. Anyway, it was too late now. He opened the throttle wide, pushed forward the stick, and watched 1 the speed-indicator while the needle crept up to and over the red line. He felt a wonderful sense of elation, knew that nothing mattered. Flying speed! “Don't try to get up too quickly!” he remembered the instructor’s warning. "Don’t try to get up too quickly!" i There was the thorn hedge. He pull-

ed the stick back very slightly; the response was almost too quick. They were off the ground now. The low thorn hedge and the high hedge behind the lane had both disappeared; there was the church tower. He turned his head and grinned at Peggy. t She raised her hand in response, and then huddled down in the cockpit. Good girl! She was all right. Everything was all right now! This was what he had wanted all his life—adventure: high adventure! It was not the moment to get excited about it, though. He remembered Brooke’s warning about avoiding prohibited areas, coastguard stations, and aerodromes. He climbed steadily, but slowly, and in about a quarter of an hour had reached the height he wanted. He looked down. Gosh!—how funny the earth looked —like a jigsaw puzzle; and neither he nor Peggy belonged to that puzzle now—perhaps they never would again. But that didn't worry him; he hoped it didn’t worry her. Now he was over the Thames estuary, flying through the fringe of the yellow blanket which hid London from sight. Everywhere else visibility was good, except for a dark smudge on the eastward horizon —looked like dirty weather on the other side. Then suddenly a complete change came over the atmosphere; for an instant he could not think what it was, then he realised that the sun had gone out, just as if someone had switched off an electric light. He glanced at the clock on the instrument board —barely an hour left if he was going to land in daylight! CHAPTER XI. The forest of Crecy! And, how marvellous —just where it ought to be! There could not be any mistake, but his eyes were aching, he was feeling a bit tired, and there was a pale, smoky haze over The English had won a great victory at Crecy once —now it was his turn! He could hardly miss the main road that lead into Abbeville—two main roads, with the forest in the middle of them. He carried on, descending slowly, until he had picked up both roads and the triangle they made where united outside Abbeville. He was well past the forest now. Almost directly beneath him were a small village, a cross-roads and a church; to the right, a narrow branch railway; definitely, this must be Neuilly I’Hopital.

Shutting off his engine, he raised his hand and waved, so that Peggy should know that it was all right. He had not had much time to think of Peggy—he was not going to think about her now; his only thought was the landingground. He came down in S-bends, trying to determine the direction of the wind from the smoke. Clear in his mind was the sketch that Brooke had made. There was the landingground. on the other side of the crossroads —a wide-open space, grey in the gathering dusk. At 500 feet he saw a little column of smoke rising from a chimney and blowing straight down towards the church spire of Millencourt. He banked steeply, circled the field once more, and came down.

Into the next three seconds was packed eternity. It was almost impossible to judge his distance from the ground. With every nerve at tension he waited; felt the wheels touch. The ’plane rose, touched again, and again. He suddenly thought of a greyhound in action. Well. Michael Brooke might criticise his landing, but as he taxied quietly to a standstill he sat back with a sigh of relief .... Very good—for a chemist! "Johnny!" He “came to" at the sound of her voice. Heaven knows where he had gone, but for a fraction of a second he seemed to have lost consciousness. He stood up, steadied himself, and got out. helped Peggy to the ground. She held on to him a little while, swaying unsteadily. (To be Continued.)