“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 27 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 VI.

(Continued.) “Pamela wouldn’t touch dirty money, Henry. And what’s more, you’re wrong, she hasn't got the letter. That letter’s within a few miles of you now. But you couldn’t get it in ten days or a hundred years. Could they, Pam?” “Certainly not.” The first words Pamela had spoken. Her low voice thrilled Brocklebank. “But you’re not just stealing a letter and illegally detaining me and Pamela. You’re robbing innocent people of large sums of money.” A gesture of disdain from the man at the head of the table. “No use appealing to you on that score, I know,” Harrison went on. “You’re a born bandit ” Pamela’s head turned quickly towards him. -Yes —a corn bandi}. You're perfectly amoral. I like you. Henry, and we’ve been through some marvellous times together. But 1 entirely disapprove of your philosophy ” "All right, George, cut out the sermon. You and I’ve been through this before.”

“I’m not preaching to you. But here s I Charles—a highly respectable man, and j a churchwarden for all I know. Look, here, Charles—you can’t approve of this.” j Brocklebank could just see the greyhaired man. His voice came deep as Harrison's. “Look here yourself. George,” he said; “you amaze me. Simply can’t understand why you get up on your Jiind legs about an ordinary I business transaction. We have a thing I to sell. We’re going to sell it. And you talk of robbery! "That's pretty good for a churchwarden!" exclaimed Harrison. "We’re two astonishing people, no doubt, Charles. If that’s your morality, damned if I don’t prefer Henry’s. Farley—you don’t approve?” Brocklebank through the aperture caught sight of Farley’s profile as he turned. “I see nothing wrong about the deal,” said he, “though I can’t say I like some of the preliminaries.” Harrison sniffed. “Who wills the end wills the means,” he declared. “Don’t like your line any better than Charles’s. Now listen to me, you fellows. If you get away with it—mind, I say if! —what is it you're doing? Go into it with your eyes open. It's a devil of a job, and you run the risk of stiff terms of pe'nal servitude, the lot of you.” “Pish!” said the man at the end of the table. “You’re absolutely Wrong. We’ve not done a single thing against the law. And if we have, it was an understanding, George, that we were to fight this out between us. Either we won or you . won, and it wasn't anyone else’s concern. Talk of penal servitude! —I know you too well.” "Don’t know that I’m called on to live up to that, Henry. I didn't bargain to be shot at by that damned dago, nor for any low-down tricks on Pamela.” “I've assured you that I knew nothing of Rovigo’s break, and he’ll answer for it.” “Well, you’re right," said Harrison. "I take no steps in any case. But I’ll tell you what’s coming to you. I suppose you’re going to keep me and Pamela prisoners ’ “My dear George—!" "Nasty word, but it's no good mincing language. Prisoners —till you’ve put over this scheme. You’re going to get a lot -of money by fraud ’’ "You certainly don’t mince language. George,” boomed Charles. "I object to fraud. This is legitimate business." “It don’t matter to me what you call it, Charles," Harrison replied. "It’s fraud —a downright swindle and a dangerous one.” "But you’ve no cards, George, Better come in with us." "No and be damned to you!" said Harrison. The man at the head of the table rose. “In that case, I’ll ask you and Pamela to retire. We’re going to have a council of war. and the presence of the enemy is undesirable. Ring that bell, Charles.” Himself, a slim, well-dressed man, strode to the door, opened it, spoke to an invisible person. "Show this lady and gentleman to their rooms. Good night George. Good night Pamela. I hope you'll be comfortable. You can go home, you know, if you care to tell me where that letter is." (Pamela passed him without a word. Harrison followed. The door closed upon them. The three were left in the room. Brocklebank stepped away from the window to survey the house and calculated the strength of Henry’s forces and his own chances if he risked action before Norrie and Rovigo were I missed. He took his resolution and stole back. Farley was raising his voice in a tone of complaint. “I don't know whether you’re aware of it, Henry, but your suggestion is an outrage, and your tone an insult!" Farley sat where he had been all the time. The man who had sat at the head of the table was standing behind Pamela’s chair, looking like a thunder cloud. “Can't help it, Farley! What I say goes. You're under guard from now onwards. 1 hate violence. But you're a fool. What did you expect—that I’d sec you go over to the enemy and do nothing about it?" "I tell you for the tenth time it’s a lie!” “I in sorry to say 1 don’t believe you. Norrie doesn't lie for nothing. You had a gang on the boat with this man Brocklebank in charge of it. You pretended to take the girl to Charles, and Charles waited hours and you never turned up. Next thing, you go back to the ship, and Norrie himself’s kidnapped. Even on your own showing you

let Norrie put that, girl on board without as much as a whisper of warning. If you're not a traitor, you're a yellow dog, and I've no use for either. I don t want to hurt you, but I’m running no risk. You know too much, and theres too much at stake. We mean to get cut while the going's good. Till then you'll be under the care of Norrie and Rovigo” Farley sagged in his chair. "There’s no arguing with you, Henry, if you’ll take the word of a thug like Norrie against mine. What docs our pious friend Charles say about it?” “I agree with Henry,” growled Charles. “The evidence is all against you. You could at least have warned Norrie. And you’ve jeopardised a great stroke —a very great stroke of business." "You’re a damned old hypocrite!" cried Farley. “If that’s all either of you have to say. what are you going to do with me now?” “I’ll consider that.” said the younger man. shortly. “First I want to deal with the Brocklebank- fellow. Rovigo’s a long time —” Brocklebank’s moment. He parted the curtains, stepped over the sill, and stood behind Farley's chair with his two revolvers pointed at the two men facing him. “Don’t move!" said he. “Do 1 understand you want to sec me?" Farley leaped up and round to face the intruder, stared at a big man in a chauffeur’s coat and hat, but then met Brocklebank’s eyes, cried out, “Good God!” and sank back into his seat. Charles, at the lower end of the table, had turned a sickly white. He sat perfectly still, his eyes agape in his large, pasty face. But he spoke in a rumbling voice: “Put that thing away, young man—it might go off!” Brocklebank took no notice of him save to make a half. lunge with his left-hand pistol which caused a further deterioration of Charles's complexion. “I’ve made no mistake?” said he. “I understood you, as I came in, to say you wanted to deal with a person named Brocklebank. My name’s Brocklebank. Perhaps you'll explain your interest in me?” Henry arched his eyebrows. “I should think,” he replied, “that if there’s any explaining to be done it’s rather up to you." “A matter of opinion," said Brocklebank. “But I guess you’re wrong for several reasons. I hold one in each hand and others in my head. You’re going to do all the explaining there is. I call your bluff. Either you all do as I direct, or you’ll only have one chance to regret it. Now, Mr Farley, go and search that person for anjj weapon he carries.” Bocklebank nodded towards Henry. "Farley, if you come near me—!” "Yes?” inquired Brocklebank, sighting his right-hand gun, “what then? Anyhow, Mr Farley, do it, and do it now. I'll guarantee no harm to you. Now, Mr Farley—at once!” The expression of loathing on Henry’s face as Farley approached him brought a smile to Brocklebank’s eyes. “I do this under compulsion, Henry,” Farley protested. "Yellow dogs always do —and traitors always say so!” Farley jerked his head up. “Very well —if that’s your line, Henry, I shan't trouble to apologise. You can give me your gun, or I’ll take it.” "Don’t touch me! Get back to your master.”

Henry whipped his hand behind him. “Stop!" cried Brocklebank. “If you touch, your pocket I fire. Hands in front —quick." Henry obeyed. “Save me the humiliation of being touched by this." said he. “I carry no gun. I never carried a gun in my life. Come and see for yourself." Brocklebank held his eyes for a moment. “No,” said he. “I take your word for it. Mr Farley, return to your seat. Charles, have you a gun?” “I? Gun? Of course not,” said Charles. “What should I want of a gun?” “I’m sure I don’t know. You. sir,” —he turned to Henry—“is it within your knowledge that Charles is innocent of guns?” “Yes,” said Henry. “I take your word for that too. Charles, I see there’s a key on the inside of the door. Please lock it. MrFarley, please close and bolt the window, and sit in front of it. Now, gentlemen. we can behave like rational human beings.” Brocklebank dropped his pistols into the pockets of Mr Rovigo’s coat. “You spoke of dealing with me. I’m prepared to be dealt with, but I dictate the terms of the deal. Let’s sit down and consider it. Charles, kindly move up to the end of the table; I prefer your seat.” Charles moved up. "You’re a cool customer, Mr Brocklebank,’' Henry said as he slipped into his former place. "Really? As a matter of fact, I feci unusually heated. But what makes you say that?" "Because you’re hopelessly outnumbered, and if we don't carry guns, there are others who do.” Brocklebank sighed. "1 thought we’d done with the detestable subject of guns. As to numbers. I'm prepared to take any risk of being out-numbered. Listen to a bit of sound advice, sir. Come to my terms.” “Well —state them," said Henry, quietly. (To be Continued).