"AFRICA FLIGHT"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 February 1940, Page 10

"AFRICA FLIGHT"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

By

VAL GEILGUD.

(Author of “Announcer’s Holiday,” "Beyond Dover,” Etc.

CHAPTER XX. But Larrimore was in no mood to avoid the issue any longer. "Oh have it your own way, and like it!" he exclaimed fiercely. "And remember that you've asked for it! They found Sothern’s skull because that was all that was left of him after the jackals had dug him up. When they found his skull, they also found that he’d been shot through the left side of the head." "And what does that mean?’’

Hubert Manson supplied the answer. “Antony wasn’t left-handed. George," he said, gravely enough. Janet Manson gave a little stifled cry. and Sir George demanded that they should all stop talking in riddles. “The Professor’s hit the nail on the head in one,” said Larrimore contemptously. "That’s the advantage of a trained scientific mind. Sothern couldn’t have shot himself, with the bulletwound in the position in which the French found it. It’s a physical impossibility.' Therefore someone else shot him. Therefore it was murder Who saw him last? Yours truly. Therefore I shot Sothern, Q.E.D." “You mean —that’s their theory at the Yard. Obviously some prowling Arab- ——’’

“But why did I tell that yarn about finding him dead with a pistol in his hand?"

Sir George waved a large podgy hand, as though brushing away an intrusive but unimportant fly. "Why? No doubt you had your reasons, my deal - fellow. How should I know?”

“Yes,” said Larrimore grimly, “there were reasons.

"Of course —or you wouldn't have done it.”

“Exactly.- That’s why I did do it." “Of course.” Sir George at last was smiling his relief. "Well?” “I tell you, Sir George, I did it. I killed him. I shot him dead.” It seemed to Carol as if endless aeons of years passed before she heard her father stuttering out, “I won’t believe it.” Though she had suspected the thing for weeks; though the fear that her aunt suspected it also had been her nightmare; though the barrier the secret had built between Rupert and .herself had been a daily increasing agony, now that the murder was literally out in the words of every day, she could not persuade herself that they told the truth. And looking round the group of scared bewildered rather foolish ’faces, sne saw the same incredulity stamped upon each of them. It was left to Nigel Kerr to say what each one of the expedition felt, and at that moment felt most genuinely for their leader. “None of us believe it, Larrimore,” he said firmly. “You know we'll all stand by you, just as we know who pulled us out of that mess in the Sahara.”

Larrimore achieved a smile, as he looked at the young pilot. “Very good of you. Kerr. But one of you believes me. I know.” And he looked at Janet Manson. The latter did not move, and Larrimore turned on Carol. “You know, Carol, don’t you?” ne said. “That’s why you’ve been so quiet and unhappy since we’ve been back. In your heart you’ve known all the time. Why have you stuck to me, as you have?" “I told you. Rupert., that I loved you.” Larrimore laughed. “To the gallows’ foot and after? It’s not in human nature!” "It’s in mine," said the girl simply. And Larrimore had the grace to look away. But Sir George Manson remained persistently undefeated. It may have been that his motive was not unconnected with the fair fame of Associated Airways. It may have been that he was genuinely touched by the misery on his daughter’s face . . . “The whole thing's utterly absurd and preposterous!” he said with a fine false breeziness. “I refuse to hear another word about it tonight. If the charge is pressed, Larrimore, it must be met. You'll see my solicitors in the morning, and we’ll get you the best man at the Bar. All this splashing about "

Unfortunately no one was paying any attention to this superb example of the Englishman not knowing when he is beaten.

“Why did you kill him?" Janet Manson asked gently.

“I confess,’ added her husband, “it would be interesting to know the exact reason leading up to the act.”

And Larrimore told them. He told the whole story of that journey, as it had never been told in the official report, or in his letters to Sir George Manson. He made that worthy—who had never been uncomfortable in his life —experience the ultimate of fear, of thirst, of heat, of dust, of the torture of imminent and agonising death. He told them of the toiling marches under the merciless sun, across the limitless expanses of the desert. He made them see Sothern weighted down with his absurd pistols and ammunition bandolier, plodding wretchedly in the rear —and occasionally—very occasionally at first, then more and more frequently—taking a furtive swig at his waterbottle; at first just moistening his cracked lips; then slowly increasing the amount, gulp by gulp; till the fatal oasis was reached, and he realised that he must get at Larrimore’s water, or face the consequences of his madness. He told them of that dreadful whispered quarrel under the palm-trees with the shadows from the moonlight all about them, and Carol sleeping in peaceful ignorance on the father side of the little group of trees. He showed them Soihern’s last desperate throw.

when he look map and compass and water-bottles, and made off in to the night; and his own primitive stalk—the hunt for nis own life and the life of the woman for whom he was responsible—which had to end in the other man’s death .... "Yes! Had to. Sir George! Can you face that? 1 had to!” said Larrimore quietly. "I killed him, and I was dead right to kill him. It was you, Carol, and the others here, and myself—or Antony Sothern. And in circumstances when it was the survival of the fittest with a vengeance—and Sothern had broken the rules, and proved himself unfit to survive. I was right. I know it. But the law won’t recognise that rightness. And I don’t expect you people to —not here, with civilisation and sofa-cushions all round you!” He broke off, his face working. There seemed nothing more to be said. Janet Manson whispered to her brother-in-law, and they all moved awkwardly towards the dining-room door, leaving Carol and Rupert Larrimore alone by the piano. Only Nigel Kerr suddenly broke away to go, back and wring Larrimore’s hand hard. Larrimore looked up suddenly, and held out his hand.

"Cut along, Carol dear. Wish me luck?” "I want to talk to you, Rupert.” “Your dinner'll get stone cold." “I still want to talk to you." He moved irritably. “Can it do any good, Carol? I've had rather a grilling day of it already.” “You wouldn't be scared of me. would you, Rupert?” Larrimore forced a smile. “The fish is not rising” he said. “I'll be frank. Carol. We’ve nothing more to say to each other. Goodbye.” Carol did not show any sign of following the others into the dining-room. Nor did her-glance waver ever momentarily.

“You really mean,” she said slowly, “that we’re all washed up?”

Larrimore winced at the latent scorn in her voice. “What else?” he retorted. “Nothing’s been the same since El Fayoum. You began to suspect me —why on earth couldn’t you have put it into words? It might have - given us the the ghost of a chance! Now you’ve built a wall a hundred miles thick —”

“No Rupert—be fair! How could I face such a beastly idea? And it was so—so unjust to you. I know what you went through on that march. No one else knows. No one else can ever know!” Larrimore made her a little stiff bow. “You' know, Carol, because you did your share. So you had to know. I can’t imagine how you stuck it out as you did.” “Yes,” said the girl quietly, though there was a choking sob in her voice. “I though we'd proved that we were the .right people to adventure together after all. We’d done it. I’d learned the realities of adventuring, as you wanted me to. Rupert, you ought to have told me the truth.” Larrimore shrugged helplessly. “Well, I didn't tell you—and you wouldn’t accuse me of it. And here we are us separated as if the Atlantic was between us. Better face it, Carol, and let me go!” “The only thing I can’t face, Rupert, is that you haven’t admitted to the truth even now.”' Larrimore’s hands came out of his pockets, as if by a .spring. “What do you mean. Carol?” “You want me to put it into so many words?" “I certainly do.”

“Very well. I can't understand poor Tony's shooting. I can’t forgive you for killing him for the reason you did." "Then," said Larrimore coldly, “you’ve not learned your lesson after all. Just why did I kill him do you think?”

The girl flushed, but kept her voice steady.

“Because you were still jealous of him,’ she murmured. “You admited as much in the plane. Yoq took your chance, and your excuse, in primitive circumstances ”

She broke'off in amazement at. the sound of Larrimore laughing. It was noisy hearty laughter, but there was singularly little mirth in it.

“So you haven’t learned your lessons. Carol,” ho said at last. "You still reduce everything in an adventure to the personal. Now get this into your pretty head once and for all! I didn’t give you a thought, when I shot Antony Sothern down, except as a mouth that needed so many pints of \yater. His relations with you never entered my head. He had committed an unforgivable crime. That was all. The man who steals water on a desert march has to die. There’s no choice. <To be Continued.)