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“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

COPYRIGHT.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

By

R. A. J. WALLING

CHAPTER 111.

(Continued.) “What a hope. Bill! You might as well look for a fair-haired woman in a dance room," said Sir Arthur Ackerton. “There’s a million black cars and a million grey-haired men. I’m one of ’em. Will I do? What did you want with him?” “Oh, a look-see. I didn’t mean to speak to him. But if I had spoken 1 should have told him just this —that what he was waiting for wouldn’t turn up.” “How disappointed he would have been, Bill! He’d have had his pains, whatever they were, for nothing, then'’ Anyhow. I shouldn’t trouble about him any more if I were you.” “I don’t think I will, Sir Arthur.” “Good, good! Still keeping a tab on the Yellow Dog?” “Yes, Sir Arthur; perfectly.” i “Better still, Bill. By the way, if you should run across that young i Frenchman, tell him to keep his wea-, ther eye lifting for two or three days. I will you? Now, I’ll be moving on. ; Good-night Bill.” Brocklcbank stood back and the car slid off towards the Corniche. I CHAPTER IV. | Ackerton? An insoluble puzzle . . . | Impossible, thought Brocklebank, | that Ackerton could be in league with the parties to this outrage. Impossible that he was the man who had met Farley on the avenue and taken him into his car. But not perhaps impossible that Ackerton was one of Harrison’s enemies in his private war? Or that Ackerton enjoyed playing an innocent like Bill Brocklebank on a long line for his own amusement or profit? “Push off, and stand by half a mile ouS,” he told Guichard. “I’m going forward to speak to the mademoiselle. The boat moved away from the jetty and pointed towards the winking light-houses on the horizon. He found the girl reclining on the ben?h when he entered the cuddy. She sat up, looked better, said, “Well, Mr Brocklebank, any luck?” He sat on the deck to avoid bending double. “Napoo,” said he. “Wash out the grey-haired man. We shan’t find him now." “Does it matter two hoots?” “No—it don’t matter a nickel to me. I should have thought you'd be curious about it yourself, though.” "Well, I am. But my chief sensation isn’t curiosity; it’s sheer discomfort. Eternally grateful to.you, Mr Brocklebank, and all that—but admit there are cheerier places on earth than this, won’t you? I’ve been thinking so hard about that nice hotel of yours ” “So’ve I, Miss Pamela. The sight of an hotel—” “A really nice hotel —bath, lashings of hot water, clean, cool sheets —” “A cup of wine, a loaf of bread, etcetera. But, Miss Pamela, before we take a ticket for paradise, let’s have a show-down. What’s to happen about these thugs? Our friend Farley gets away with it, I suppose?” “Does he? Surely not, Mr Brocklebank. He gets away with nothing he wanted, though he must have spent quite a bit of money on his dud notion, thanks to you.” “No thanks to me,” he said brusquely. “I’m paid for my pains—and handsomely. Do you know Sir Arthur Ackerton?” "You mean Sir Arthur Ackerton, the whilom financier? Yes; I just know him. Why?” “Oh, I met him in Marseilles. He’s an old friend of my father’s.” “In Marseilles? Looking for another million, I suppose. And was he to be part of the show-down, Mr Brocklebank?” “Yes, he was. But naturally, if you only just knew him—impertinent of me to ask.” “Not at all.” She threw back her coat, turned to peer through the little porthole above the bench. “It’s hot here. Where are we?" “Just standing off waiting for orders.”

“Orders!” She faced him with raised eyebrows. “Orders from ?” “Me,” said Brocklebank. “And I, of course, take them from you.” “After a show-down? I see . . Well, Mi’ Brocklebank, this is all I know — that my uncle's over his ears in an affair which he insists above all things on keeping quite secret. What it is I’m not supposed to know. He told me I might have adventures, and as there’s nothing in the world I like better than an adventure —except a nice hotel and hot bath and a clean bed “Miss Pamela, I assure you ” “Just a moment. I undertook this journey for him with the understanding that whatever happened I wasn’t to squeal. And that’s all there is to it." "Miss Pamela. I know your uncle wants secrecy. Only a jumble of things made me wonder whether he’d quite realised what might happen to you —here in Marseilles, for instance. Now. about the hotel ——” ■ "Ah!" said she. “I said there was a snag. There is—a bad one, unless by some miracle you carry your passport about with your money?” “I don't. It's in my handbag locked in,another bag in the cabin." "You perceive? Although we might with Guichard's help sneak into Marseilles without a passport, we couldn't get into England—or even out of France. Somehow we’ve got to get that document off the Camillo Cavour." “Well, let’s go and get it now." Brocklebank stared at her a moment. "My dear young lady you may have been missed." “Why should I be missed? I’d gone to my room for the night." "Perhaps you haven’t been missed. But we must face the chance that you have. Then there’s the deuce and all

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

to pay. In the middle of it we turn up with you in a motor boat, and, unless we tell the forbidden truth, no earthly explanation to give of how you got there. Can’t be done —we wouldn’t get away for a week, and I’m bound to deliver you to your uncle in London not later than Sunday. Whereas, if we can get the passport without a fuss —by the way, is it in the name of Harrison?” “Only partly. There’s a Harrison m it —and that’s good enough for foreigners.” “But I hope you’re known on the ship as Miss Harrison?” "Yes —uncle’s nom de guerre, as he calls it. But why do you hope? What does it matter?” “Just this —that when Miss Harrison’s missed from the ship and the police and everybody get all het up about it, Miss Pamela will be able to show her passport to any inquisitive person without turning a hair. The passport’s the thing—by hook or crook. A quiet little burglary, perhaps? You agree?” “Of course.” “Then stay here for another quarter of an hour, Miss Pamela, and we’ll ichance our arm. Think you could I smoke a cigarette?” I Brocklebank’s aim was working clearly now. Going aft. he found Jacquot at the wheel and Guichard sitting in the cockpit close to Farley. Having told Jacquot to run for the Joliette Basin and repeat the manoeuvre of getting alongside the ship in silence, he said: “Mr Farley, we’re going back to pick up your friend. So far as he knows, you’ve carried out your orders. We return for the express purpose of taking him off: you act accordingly. But I’ve another motive for going back, or we turn you over to the police on all sorts of charges, including kidnapping and doping. That understood?” “I've told you I know when I’m beaten.” said Farley. If there was a watch at the stern of the Camillo Cavour, he took no notice of the white boat gliding by. She slipped alongside the gangway, which was still down. Brocklebank stopped her way with a hitch of the line. He took out his revolver and waited, motionless. Their experience of the night was immediately and exactly repeated. “S —s —t!” from the head of the ladder. “S —s —t!” said Brocklebank. A shadow passed obliquely down the side of the ship and stopped on the grid. “Here!” whispered Farley. “I’m coming /aboard.” “All right.” Brocklebank gripped his arm as if to help him, pressed the gun against his side and said in his ear. “If you make a sound you're a dead man. Move on.” Brocklebank pushed him towards the cockpit to the narrow seat beside Farley. “Keep ’em both covered, Raoul. Mr Farley, I shall rouse the ship at the first sound either of you make. Then you can explain to the captain if you like.” Brocklebank stepped to the cuddy, entered and closed the door. “We’ve got him, Miss Pamela.” “The faithless steward? Good. And now?” “There’s only one way. No guard on the gangway, so you can go on board. I’ll follow. Go straight to your cabin, and we’ll rescue as much of you kit as we can. Now ” He handed her out and guarded her along the deck to the gangway. “Go up first,” he whispered. It had seemed a queer thing, that ship without a watch, and especially without a guard on the gangway. He stole up half a dozen steps behind the girl. A well-plucked girl, this, as she proved when the absence of a guard was suddenly explained. He saw her stop and stand rigid at the top of the ladder without making sound or sign to him Brocklebank joined her. Propped sitting against the bulwark, with his legs stretched out on the iron deck, was a man with his head hanging on his left shoulder. Brocklebank felt himself stiffen with a jerk.

He pressed the girl's arm. She stood aside and he stepped softly down, bent over the man, picked up his hand, felt for his pulse. “Same medicine,” he whispered. "Never mind him. Now—your cabin, quick!" She turned forward into the alleyway with Brocklebank at her heels, and opened the second door. A light was on. He stepped hurriedly in after her. closed the door, slipped home the bolt.

“Quiet!” he said. “Someone at the end of the alleyway. Listen!” They stood together in the middle of the cabin, he with an anxious, frowning face, she with her lips parted in a smile of excited amusement. A quick footstep. It stopped at the door. Brocklebank looked round. There was no possible hiding place. A cabin wardrobe —but it would not hold his great bulk. Someone coughed outside.

Brocklebank looked up. saw curtains drawn across the front of the top bunk. He pointed. Then he saw that Miss Pamela was in convulsions of inward merriment. She tiptoed to say in his ear. "It’s the captain. Your character's hopelessly compromised. Mr Brocklebank!" Brocklebank’s sense of the ludicrous was not uppermost at that moment. When two or three laps came on the door he swore under his breath. "Better open to him!” said he. "Wait!" He grasped the edge of the top bunk, swung himself up. and disappeared behind the curtains. Tap!—tap!—tap! And a voice—“ Miss ’Arrison, are you awake?” (To be Continued).

Permanent link to this item
Hononga pūmau ki tēnei tūemi

https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WAITA19400720.2.110

Bibliographic details
Ngā taipitopito pukapuka

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 July 1940, Page 10

Word count
Tapeke kupu
1,798

“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE” Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 July 1940, Page 10

“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE” Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 July 1940, Page 10

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