“STRATOSPHERE EXPRESS"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 15 March 1940, Page 10

“STRATOSPHERE EXPRESS"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

ALROY WEST.

(Author of “Messengers of Death,” etc.)

CHAPTER IV. “I should like to have seen, more of the place where you are having the stratoplane constructed," Storm told Bessiter as they drove away from the vicinity of the concealed factory. Bessiter grunted. “I've something better to do than become a guide,” he declared irritably. “We’ve a ticklish bit of work in front of us. And you must keep your mouth shut. Don’t argue, and don't appear surprised. I’m going to discover who was responsible for sending that case containing an explosive.” “Then you never suspected Rush?”

“Of course not. He hates me, very probably; but he’s too scared to work against me."

“Why did you question him?" “Because it reminded him that I think of everything—and everybody. If he thinks I'm watching every step he takes he’ll be mighty careful where he’s putting his feet. I have to rely on him for several things and I believe in taking precautions.” “But a minute ago you said. . .” “I know I did! Rush wouldn’t work against me—but he might become slack. He can't do any damage because he's a prisoner. He’s never allowed to leave that place. When he comes up to have some fresh air he’s watched. Nobody has the slightest chance of getting into touch with him.” “Why not have had One of your trusted men?” Bessiter scowled. “Because I picked on Rush,” he said in a tone which clearly indicated that the matter was closed. Storm, still curious about many things, tried another angle. “Seems queer to me going to so much trouble over your diagram of the upper atmosphere. I should have thought an ordinary diagram would have done quite as well.” Bessiter laughed. “After seeing it you’d put it down as a cranky whim on the part of a scientist, wouldn’t you?” “Yes, I expect I should.” “And that’s just what you are supposed to think about it,” Bessiter declared in triumph. Storm frowned. “Do you mean that it is something else as well?”

But the only answer he received was a shrug of his employer’s shoulders. “Anything else you want to know?” he was asked a few minutes later.

“Yes. Why do you ring for admittance at your own house? I should have thought you'd have carried a key with you.”

“You’ve plenty of observation,” said Bessiter cuttingly, “but one can’t say the same about your brains. I've told you that I’m surrounded by enemies—especially at my ordinary factory, where we’re bound now. I can’t guarantee that my pockets will never be picked. So I don’t give anyone the slightest chance of taking an impression of my key.” Storm didn’t say anything. He felt rather subdued. The car reached the suburbs, passed through them, to the inner belt of slums which encircle most of the big towns, and then reached the region of great factories. There were miserable streets with a few dirty shops, a large number of grimy houses with doors opening on to the pavements, and brick walls which seemed to have no ending. At times there would be breaks in the walls where’ great wooden doors badly in need of paint, concealed an entrance. Bessiter pulled the car up at one of these grimy entrances and beckoned to Storm to get out and open the gates. A man stood inside the yard which was revealed. He gave one glance at the car and then moved forward. “I’ll close them, sir,” he said. Bessiter drove the car in. and then joined Storm. “There’s a more imposing entrance,” he explained, “but I always have an idea that it’s watched. This one may be, for all I know. But. knowing me, they’d expect me to go in at the front —and when you know what people expect you to do it’s as well to do the opposite thing sometimes. Prevents both them and you from getting stale. “I'm going to take you up to my room and then I shall ask certain people to come in. It's all carefully timed —like everything I do. There will be a telephone call for me. You mustn’t seem in the least surprised whatever takes place. And if you aiy asked to be in three different places at the same time, don't start to argue. Understand?” “Perfectly,” said Storm. “Good, come along.” They had to go up a narrow flight of stairs and along a dingy passage to reach the main corridor. Bessiter swung a door open and pushed past Storm. “In here." he ordered. Storm followed him through the outer office, where three girls were busy at typewriters, to the inner room. “Sit over there and look at one of the papers,” Bessiter ordered. After pacing up and down for a few seconds, Bessiter pressed a bell. One of the typists came into the room. “Take this letter," Bessiter snapped. The instant the girl was in her chair he began to dictate. He spoke quickly, so quickly that Storm wondered how the girl managed to get it down. Bessiter finished as abruptly as he began. “Thai’s all." lie snapped. "And I want Dickin. ’’ “Very good, sir." The girl hurried away. “I don't know which I dislike the most," Bessiter told Storm, “girls or men as typists. A man is slower, more' accurate and has a better memory, a] girl is quicker, more careless and for--1 gets quickly. I want speed, accuracy,

and forgetfulness. So I put up with girls, who can give me two of the three. That one who went out would not give a damn if anything happened to me. All she thinks about is the dance she’s going to tonight. And she’ll glide about the floor in the arms of a perfectly divine imitation of a film star. She’ll bo thrilled to bits—and yet the sap wouldn't bo able to rescue her from a burning building.”

“That girl at the other place seems different,” Storm declared.

“I should hope so! She’s the best of the entire bunch. If I was a marrying man I’d have her. But you needn’t scowl. I expected you’d fall for her. I don’t mind if you do—but you’re not marrying her until this affair is finished. I’m not having my plans messed up by a couple of simpering lovers!”

“I hardly know the girl!" Storm protested.

“That’s the trouble. If men knew girls properly marriage would go out of fashion. It’s that half-way stage that does all the damage. Ah! Dickin!”

“Yes," said the man who had just entered. Storm had seen him before. He was the short, rather sharp-featured man who had been at Bessiter’s house. He seemed as sulky as ever. “There were just a few details' with regard to that metal sheeting. I don’t think it’s reached perfection yet. I'll tell you what I want. Come over here.” As Dickin crossed to Bessiter’s desk Storm took up the newspaper again. Evidently this was part of the scheme. He was not interested in the conversation between Bessiter and Dickin. It was very dull and technical. But he stiffened slightly when the telephone bell went.

“Yes” said Bessiter, taking the instrument in his hand. “Oh! Yes. . . The details of the new wing construction? . I don't think so. Wait a minute; I'll see.”

Storm, watching from behind the newspaper, saw Bessiter place the instrument on tne table and pull a sheaf of papers from his pocket. Dickin showed no interest whatever. He halfturned and stared out of the window. But Storm had an idea that he was listening intently. “Ah!” Bessiter exclaimed.

He took the telephone again. “I have got it,” he announced. “I can’t understand how it happened. I must have picked it up by mistake. . . Yes, yes. Of course. . . When do you want it?. . . Tell you what, I’ll give it to Storm. . . No! I don’t want him to come out there. What? . . . I’ve reasons, that’s enough for you. . . Fix up a place where you can meet him?. . . That's a good idea. . . Which? ... I see. That will do nicely. . . half-past seven tonight? .. . Right. He’ll be there.”

Bessiter replaced the instrument. “Storm,’’ he said. “I want you.” “Very good.” Storm crossed to the desk. He noticed that Dickin had turned round.

“I brought some papers away with me. There’s nothing bulky, and they contain a few details of the new wingconstruction, and Larkin—that’s the man in charge of this particular job wants to get an experimental model constructed tonight. I want you to meet him and hand him the papers. You’ll know him again, won’t you?”

Storm had never even heard of Larkin, but he nodded his head. “I’d know him again,” he confirmed.

“Right. But don’t feel proud about it. I selected you because I wanted somebody who could remember things. Now I’ll show you where you’re to go. It’s a lonely place, but you needn’t let that trouble you. Better see it on the map. You'll get it fixed in your mind then. I don't want you to get asking people to direct you.” He opened a drawer and unrolled a map. Then he pointed to a particular street. “Thai’s the place,” he said. Storm looked at it carefully and quickly worked out the route to use. “I’ve got it,” he said, raising his head suddenly. He was' in time to see Dickin move slightly. “Good. Seven-thirty tonight. Understand?" “Yes.” “1 11 give you. the papers later on. Thats all. You can go back to your newspaper now." Storm returned to his old place. Dickin and Bessiter talked together lor a short time, and then the former left. Bessiter glanced across at Storm. “Did you notice what I noticed?” he demanded. “I though Mr. Dickin seemed interested," Storm replied. Don t Mr. him. He did seem interested. I shouldn't be all that surprised it you were to encounter him tonight. Or somebody coming from him. He d hardly be fool enough to turn up in person." Bessiter shrugged his shoulders. You'll have to let them capture you- thats all. I said you’d have to run risks. Want to back out—go back to trudging the streets?” You know the answer," Storm snapped. "Good." Bessiter reached for the bellpush. "Now we'll have Manelli. You've seen him before, also." Manelli was the Clapper, swarthy one. When he came into the room. Bessiter began to talk aOoul certain of the instruments for recording particulars of the upper atmosphere. There was an identical interruption over the tele- | phone, an absolutely similar conversation. except that the time of the meeting was half-an-hour later, and the | place was some quarter of a mile away from the first. (To be Continued.)