“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 July 1940, Page 10

“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

COPYRIGHT.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

R. A. J. WALLING

(Author of “The Man With the Squeaky Voice,” etc.)

CHAPTER I. (Continued.)

The white-haired man seemed to - have difficulty in getting down to 1 business. There was a lot to be ex--1 plained. Particularly why, having just escaped violent death, having at his ' mercy the man who tried to murder ' him, and at his command a witness of ’■ the attempt, his first and most urgent I impulse was to remove both himself [ and his witness from the scene. . Glancing from the window to Brocklebank, ; guessing at Brocklebank’s reactions, he waited for him to open the subject .... But Brocklebank could play possum with the best. The white-haired man finished his tea, turned away from the window, set down the cup. He produced a packet of cigarettes. "I never met a less inquisitive man,” said fie, pushing a chair towards him. “No?” said Brocklebank, seating himself. “If I may say so, I never me. a less communicative man.” A smile passed over the rosy face. “Don't you think we might stop being so excessively British?” “I do,” said Brocklebank. “By jovc—by jove!” exclaimed the white-haired man. Brocklebank raised his eyebrows at this display of excitement. “You give me an idea, young man! But never mind that. For me to speak—you're right. Before I do, will you answer a question or two?" “Depends on the questions, Mr " “Yes, yes. Of course. You’ll see they’re no unreasonable. The first is: Were you there by chance this afternoon?” “Absolutely the merest chance.” He stated the motive of his walk and his route. “Never saw me before? Never heard of me? Don’t know who I am?” Brocklebank thrice shook his head “Didn’t know that fellow you laid out? Never saw or heard of him before either?” “Certainly not,” said Brocklebank. “I’m walking along the street. I see you hail a taxi, and I’m wishing I could afford a taxi myself. A man steps out from the corner almost on my toes and points a gun at you. I bump up his arm. He snarls and jumps round to attend to me with the gun. It’s either’ him or me for it ” “And you instantly and scientifically put him to sleep!”. He sighed. "I envy you that punch. And that's really and truly all there is to it?” “I must admit to a consuming curiosity to know what it’s all about.” “Naturally—naturally. Why don't I tell you what it’s all about? But that’s just the point—l can’t. I can only thank you for saving my life.” "Please don’t.” “Do you care to tell me your name?” “No reason why not. I’m William Brocklebank ” He paused and looked up expectantly. . “Thanks, Brocklebank,” said the white-haired man. “I’m going to be frank. I can’t tell you my own name. I can give you the name I carry here, but it’s a mere nom de guerre. The few people who know me in New York call me Harrison. I sign as George Harrison. My passport’s in that name. But it's a cloak. I tell you that candidly. It sounds fishy ro you?” “Not necessarily. All accroding to the reason why you wear the cloak.” “Good. The reason is that for some little time past and to come my own name’s dangerous to me —not for any disgraceful cause, Brocklebank. I beg you to believe that. You saw me this afternoon in a danger that I’d never dreamed about —” “Our friend with the gun, then, must have got inside Mr Harrison’s cloak?” “He probably knows nothing of Harrison. I had no idea he was in New York, or that anyone suspected me to be in New York.” “But you know him?” “I never saw him before, but I've heard of him.” “The police ” Brocklebank suggested. “Wouldn't the police have been able to dispose of him if you’d—” “Quite so. And why didn’t I? That’s biting your curiosity. I’ll tell you directly as much as I dare. For the moment the answer is that to have ' called in the police would have been to uncloak Mr Harrison. And that's , the last thing in the world I want. ■ Before I go on. answer a few ques- . lions about yourself. William Brocklebank, an Englishman, age about 26 or j 27 ? “Near enough.” “Yes. Good education—probably a public school ?” Brocklebank nodded. , “Travelled a bit. Speaks French?” • “I had two years at the Sorbonne,” ■ said Brocklebank: “Has been in New York how long?" ( "Just over tour years." "Now I'm going to be personal, j Well-educated young Brocklebank, ( witn all that background, after four , years in New York—in business?” . “Real estate —with a man named , Waechter in Fourth Avenue, just be- j low here.” j "Arc you with him now?” “No.” "I suppose you got squeezed out in ; the depression. Any objection to tell- . ing me about it?" ‘ Brocklebank had no objection. In a j few brusque sentences he related the , state of his fortune. “And when you’ve spent your last [ hundred on the voyage home, what then. Brocklebank?” “Oh —Kismet. If nothing turns up j here before I go and nothing turns up j in England when I get there I’ll go A and live with my mother s down in Gloucestershire and dig her ‘ garden for her." I “Yes? I wonder. I wonder." Harrison had a habit of repeating himself.’ ] "What d'you wonder about?" I .. “Whether a couple of thousand would be any use to you before you

I start agricultural operations.” Brocklebank stared and frowned. I "Mr Harrison —you aren't thinking by any chance that I’d accept a gift of money from you, are you?” "Steady, steady!” said Harrison. 'Do I seem such a fool as that? Of course I don’t think so. But you're out of a job. If I could put you on to’ a job. How would that strike you?” "If it wasn't a fake job—another cloak, shall I say ?” Harrison broke into his attractive smile. “I must think how to put it. You're just a bit inclined to go off half-cock, aren’t you? Well, listen to me, and listen through, and don’t decide till I’ve said all my piece. Smoke another?” Brocklebank lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. "No more questions about what happened down there this afternoon.. if you ask I can't answer 'em. But I want a commission —urgent one —undertaken at once, and I’m willing to pay two thousands dollars for it and carry all expenses. A simple matter —anyway, for a man of your temperament with a punch like that. Any particular cause for hanging about New York?” Brocklebank promptly signified that there was no cause whatever. “Could you be at Marseilles by September 20.?” “Marseilles? Gosh!” Brocklebank started forward in his chair. “Straightforward job; just to meet a young lady who'll arrive there on the 20th or the 21st and escort her to London and deliver her to me at Felton’s Hotel —you know it?” “Yes —a place in a cut de sac off Pall Mall.”

“That’s it. Deliver her to me (her not later than the 24th. What about

“No, Mr Harrison. You haven’t said enough.' Why does a girl want an escort from Marseilles to London? Who is she. Why am Ito deliver her to' you? And above all, why do you propose to pay me two thousand dollars? And has this anything to do with the —er —cloak?”

“Whoa!” exclaimed Harrison, raising his hands. “The girl's my niece. In a journey alone from Marseilles to London, she might be in danger. With an escort, she’ll be safe. I think her safety well worth two thousand dollars at the present rate of exchange.' He smiled. “If you accept the commission, I shall give you the most precise instructions. If you don’t, I fear I've said as much as I shall say. Think it over a few minutes. Pardon me while I go to the telephone.” For all his pride two thousand dollars made-an important sum for a man who had only two hundred and they melting daily. Yet Brocklebank had a suspicion that for his own peace of mind he had better refuse. A man who lived under an assumed name and went in danger of his life at street corners, was likely to be an uneasy employer. Wisdom would say goodbye to Mr Harrison. Yet the laws of probability would certainly deny him another chance like this. A visit to Marseilles at someone else’s expense, perhaps an evening with Guichard, a jolly bout of an evening, the acrid smell of old Guichard’s estaminet, the strident joyful noise of an accordeon the hectic joyful motion of a dance, the familiar broad accents of the waterside, bouillabaisse for supper—ah!— A girl—his niece—an escort to keep her out of danger on the long run from Marseilles to Calais. A mysterious commission. And yet, what was that old tag in the ZEneid about the blending of chance and valour? Two thousand dollars was two thousand dollars, and Marseilles was Marseilles And grasps the skirts of happy chance, And breasts the blow of circumstance — The lines were washing about in his head when Harrison came back. "Well?” said Harrison. “I’ll do it,” said Brocklebank. "I knew you would. What happychance can do!—take you to Battery Park this afternoon, bring you to the very spot where that dago hid, make you use a French phrase! My dear Brocklebank, it’s preordained, written in the book of fate. Let's sit down and work it out. I shall tell you as much as I can. You’ll be glad to know —or will you? —that our friend's not much worse for the medicine you gave him.” “You've heard that! How?" “By telephone. We created quite a little disturbance clown town. Police busy looking for the taxi. Mr Rovigo extremely peeved by their determination to keep tab on him till they find the pugilist who put him to sleep ” "Rovigo?” said Brocklebank, wondcringly. “Did I mention the name? Didn't mean to. But it don't matter. He's only a minor star in a constellation of crooks directed by clever brains and a daring spirit. But that's not to worry you. Don't want to drag you into a private war. By and by, perhaps, I'll tell you an interesting tale. In London. For the present, you take a commission from me on the terms I've stated. You meet Pamela at Marseilles and play dragon to her till she reaches Felton's. I pay you two thousand for your services, and I give you a thousand for expenses.” "What! It's extravagant." said Brocklebank. “J don't think so. Ever try to take care of a,girl for two or three days? My dear chap, when you’ve paid your fares and got her to London, there J won’t be much change out of a thous- . and dollars.” A man who talked so light-heartedly of dollars "Means nothing to me. Brocklebank." He seemed to intercept the thought. I i ' I've got plenty.” I (To be Continued),