“STRATOSPHERE EXPRESS”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 6 April 1940, Page 10

“STRATOSPHERE EXPRESS”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

ALROY WEST.

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

CHAPTER XVIII. Continued. Manclli came round the last bend and slackened speed. At the same instant, the man whom Storm had observed some distance behind Manelli came out into the open and raised his weapon—the type of sub-machine-gun frequently used in America. Storm praying that his aim would be good, flung the piece of stone. At the same time he shouted: "Down, Manelli!” Two things happened very quickly. Manelli, quick-witted as usual, flung hihself sideways and thus gained the protection of a shrub. The stone crashed against the path and came up, striking the intruder on the leg. It was not a hard blow, but it was sufficient to put him off his aim. The gun spluttered, and then there was silence. The man peered about him, clearly undecided what to do. The problem was solved for him, because Storm heard the vicious crack of a revolver. The man ducked his head and then raced down the patch. Storm realised that pursuit would be futile since the man would, obviously have a car waiting outside. He turned round to see who had done the shooting. Manda was standing in the window, the revolver in her hand. “I told you to keep out of the way!" Storm cried. She laughed at him. ‘‘A woman’s privilege is to disobey,’ she declared. Manelli hurried across to Storm. “I am very grateful,” he said, with a flashing smile. “I feared that I had been followed, but I did not know that the man was so close.” “Wise for you to get indoors as quickly as possible,” Storm said. “Yes, yes.” They climbed in through the window and then closed it behind them before going in search of Bessiter. They found him using the telephone. He put the instrument back as they came near him. Storm thought that his expression was rather grim. “So you’re back, Manelli. Had trouble?”

“Yes. Plenty. And somebody tried to shoot me as I came up to the house. Storm here saved me.” “Be a lesson to you. Take more care in future.” It was characteristic that he had no word of praise for Storm’s action. “Do you want Mackley?” Storm asked. “No. Close the door and we'll hear what Manelli has found out.” The swarthy little man glanced at Manda. “It may, perhaps, give some pain to Miss Williams,” he said gently. “She can stand it,” said Bessiter. “Fire away!” Manelli perched himself on the corner of the table and lit a cigarette. He blew a smoke ring before speaking. Bessiter shuffled impatiently, while Storm crossed to where Manda was sitting. “Of course,” Manelli said, “the official view is that Macready perished because of some engine trouble, or because he was flying too low.” “In other words,” cut in Bessiter, “the officials couldn’t account for it.” Manelli smiled. “Exactly,” he said gently. “There was, unfortunately, very little evidence. The fire destroyed so much that it was impossible to make a very thorough investiation. I soon realised that there was not sufficient there to give me any clue, so I proceeded to Macready’s home and made a few inquiries.” He paused to blow another smoke ring. “Go on,” Bessiter urged. “There was only one line I could adopt. I had to discover if Macready had any visitors, or if any strangers had been seen about. Fortune favoured me, and I was able to discover that Macready had given a man some odd jobs to do—including the painting of the hangar were the plane was kept. Macready had sufficient ground for him to be able to use his own place as an aerodrome.” “I knew that,” said Bessiter. “Macready was wealthy—he was a different type from Mackley, my new man. Macready would only have piloted the stratoplane and assisted with some of the details because of his interest in aviation. Mackley will pilot the plane because of the pay. Manelli flicked the ash from his cigarette.

‘■l won’t weary you with the details of my search, but I managed to run my man to earth. He proved to be a squat Dutchman, Van Loon by name. I palled up with him and plied him with drink. Then I put forward a plan. “I wanted quick results, so I ran considerable risks. I had a theory, and I banked everything on it. I knew of three aeroplane accidents —and there was a man who might have had an interest in each one. There was the most recent one —Macready. There was the other one, when the monoplane had been tampered with. And," he drawled, “there was one other.” “I don’t get that," said Bessiter. “What other was there?" “Quite a time back," said Manelli. “when Malcolm Williams and young Rush crashed.” Manda looked up. her face suddenly white. She sprang to her feet and darted to Manelli’s side. “Was my brother —?” she didn’t finish the question, for he slowly nodded his head. Bessiter moved forward. “Was that deliberate?” he roared. “Yes,” said Manelli. "There was no incident about it. The machine was tampered with.”

Manda turned away, so that her face was hidden. Bessiter made a move as though to comfort her, and then thought better of it. He pushed Storm back. “Go on, Manelli,” he ordered. “So I made Van Loon think that I knew about the accidents, and that I wanted something similar done on my behalf. As I have said, 1 plied him with drink and he became talkative.” He thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a thin sheaf of papers. “I have a fairly good memory,” he announced, “so these may interest you.” He passed them to Eessiter. “I copied his story down as soon as I could and then hurried to join you. I couldn’t deal with Van Loon, but I hoped that his ‘hang-over’ after the drinking would bemuse him too much. Evidently, though, he managed to recall something of what had taken place, and communicated with Lovac. I’ve been dodging ever since.” Manda came back and stood by Storm. He noticed that her head was held high. “And it was Lovac who engineered things?” Bessiter shot out. Manelli flashed his teeth again. “No. Although some of the things have been done on his behalf.” “Then it was Dickin.” Manelli shook his head. “He knew about some of it, though,” he added. Bessiter stepped forward and gripped Manelli’s shoulders. “Then who, in the name of all that’s wonderful, was it?” Manelli flicked his cigarette. “Purcelow,” he said softly. CHAPTER XIX. Bessiter leaned back in his chair. Several days had elapsed since Manelli had revealed who had been employing Van Loon. They had been days of unprecedented activity. Storm and Manda felt that they had been cast aside by a powerful tidal wave. Bessiter was never at home. He seemed to be darting all over the country. There were occasionally glimpses of Manelli, always showing his teeth in a smile; of Mackley, passing strong fingers through a mop of red hair; and of Larkin, his face lined with worry but his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. Storm and Manda were forgotten. Bessiter had no immediate use for them. There were whispers of this and of that. Purcelow had been warned by Van Loon and had vanished, even as Dickin had disappeared. Rush had not been murdered —it was a clear case of suicide. Something in life had proved too much for him. The weakest to the wall. That was the rule of survival.

The four engines of the stratoplane, each one fitted with a new .type of super-charger for work in rarified atmosphere, had been brought out from their hiding place and fitted to the ever-growing structure. Certain tests had been made, and Larkin had announced that he was satised Mackley was poring over charts and diagrams. And now there was a lull. Bessiter was leaning back in his chair, a cigar stuck between his lips. "We’ve been kept out of things,” Storm complained. “I thought I was supposed to be a help.” “You are a help. But you’ll help in my way —not your own. I kept you in reserve, that's all. And you’d better bear in mind that 1 run this affair — not you.” Storm grinned. “All right! No need to start imagining that Im the enemy. I only wanted to lend a hand.”

“You'll .lend a hand, all right," said Bessiter grimly. “Shall I?” the girl asked. “There’ll be something for you to do before long. But stop bothering me! You're like a couple of kids! I'm doing the talking—see?”

Storm nodded. “That would be more like old times,’ he declared. Bessiter scowled at him.

“I made a bad mistake,” ho snapped at them. “That’s what I’ve been paying for the past few days. When I took over the Essex Street factory from its last owners, I kept the staff on. I should have slung ’em out. I didn’t like any of ’em. I don’t believe in liking people, They ain’t worth it. I only like one person—that’s myself. “We’ve been finding out a few things. Both Dickjn and that rabbit Purcelow were against mo. Both were in touch with Lovac. But Lovac was cunning. He didn’t employ them until it became imperative. All he offered to do was to pay for results. When I laid that trap, I argued that if any two of the three suspected men were working against me, they would compare notes and take no action. In other words, if you were able to turn up at each of the three places without anything happening. it would mean that there was more than one person against me." “It might have meant that nobody was playing you false," Storm said. Bessiter glared at him. “After that thing being sent in the consignment to the secret works? Use your wits!” “Somebody else might . . ." “Fiddlesticks! You’ve got a mind like a flat tyre! I knew who had the opportunity of doing a thing like that. And don't interrupt again! This is my show. (To be Continued)