“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 30 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 VIII

If Lady Ackerton had been at home Brocklebank might have had a little chat with her about her neighbours, with an occasional reference to Ackerton’s absence and possible whereabouts. But as Lady Ackerton was in Scotland he made for the railway station to catch the nine o’clock train to Canon Street. Stribling. That was his man —John Stribling the solicitor in Bishopsgate Street, friend and adviser of his father in the old days, and a crony of Ackerton’s as well. Mr Stribling had just arrived at his office when Brockelbank put his head in at the pigeon-hole and asked a clerk to take in his card. •'Bill! Is it you? Thought you were in America?” Things did not look too promising when Brocklebank began to ask questions about Ackerton. For Mr Stribling had seen very little of Sir Arthur since he retired from the City. ‘■Retired. Good lord—has he retired?” exclaimed Brocklebank. Oh, yes—these three years. Got ou unexpectedly. It was all a bit mysterious. Still, he seemed to be prospering. Travelled a lot. “So I've heard," said Brocklebank. | “You wouldn't know what he was doing in the Mediterranean—or Algeria, I for example?" ! Mr Stribling wouldn't. Was he in the Mediterranean? Brocklebank believed so. "Ever hear of a man named Farley?" asked Brocklebank. "No, Bill. What about him?” “Nothing much. Only he's a yellow dog.” Mr Stribling didn't think Ackerton had much use for yellow dogs. “You know Ackerton’s place in Surrey, Mr Stribling. Have you been much about the district?” Mr Stribling had been about the district. But, no—he did not know a very secluded old house which “What’s' it all about.' Bill?” Brocklebank pointed to his pigeon’s egg. "This," said he. “I want to know wno gave it to me and why.” Mr Stribling adjusted his spectacles to look at the egg. “I’ve had a very queer experience. Mr Stribling. Too long to tell you. You’re a busy man ■” “Very,” said Mr Stribling. “And I’m in a desperate hurry to get busy. Can you tell me of a private detective who’d help ferret out a lot of funny things on slight evidence?” “Private detective! My dear Bill, if you’ve been attacked and injured, why not the police?” “But that’s just what I can’t do. A purely private business, at any rate for the present. I may be driven to the police as a last resort, but now —no.” "Don't like private detectives—as a rule," said Mr Stribling. "Only one man I know. But I should say violent assaults were rather out of his line.” “It's not only that ” “His speciality is business enquiries in the City.” “Business!” said Brocklebank. "He might be the very man.” “I’ll ring him up, Bill.” Which was how Brocklebank made the acquaintance of Philip Tolefree at his dingy office in Watling Street. "Very good of you to see me, Mr Tolefree,” said he to the alert man with the dark eyes on the opposite side of the table. “You’re a private detective I’ve never been in a private detective’s office before. Three hours ago I was thinking of going into the business myself.” “Ah? Well—don't let this deter you. Mr Brocklebank. I'm nothing so grand as a detective —just an inquiry agent as a side-line in the uneventful life of an insurance agent. Were you thinking of detecting as a mission in life, or just a little enterprise ad hoc, so to speak?" Brocklebank caught the twinkle in the dark man’s eye. "Fact is, Mr Tolefree. I’m in a quandary. and I want to be helped out," said Brocklebank. "If I can help I shall be delighted. What is it? Business? Or private trouble leading to a rough house?” "Only very shadowy business ” "Shadowy? You don’t mean shady? There’s a nuance- "

“Well —I wouldn't be too sure about that. But as to the rough house, no doubt in the world. It’s a rather long and complicated story. Can you listen?"

"Make it as long as you like," said Tolefree. “The more detail the better. You don't mind my pipe? Will you smoke?”

"Afterwards,” said Brocklebank. Tolefree looked at his watch. Halfpast ten . . . When he turned back his cuff for the next look it was a quarter to twelve. "So, Stribling sent me along to you," said Brocklebank. "What d’you make of it? And will you take it on?"

"Mighty queer yarn." Tolefree remarked. "But what do you want me to take on?" "To find out —oh. everything. Especially to get at Harrison and his niece before Thursday." Tolefree shook his head. "Police work." said he. "The police would do it for you in twenty-four hours, most likely. Better let me call Scotland Yard." "No!” cried Brocklebank. "You must see 1 can't. Don’t you? I bluffed them last night. Threatened to blow up the whole thing. And it worked. But Harrison doesn't want it that way. and Harrison’s paid me two thousand dollars. He’s pitted himself against them, win or lose, catch-as-catch-can rules. If Harrison hadn’t under-estimated their intelligence department, he’d have won already. Even now. if he can recover that damned letter, they’ll give him best. There’s something pretty intimate in the past of Harrison and the man called Henry---that's plain, and it's preventing Harrison from

jumping the last step. You see, Mr Tolefree, I’ve taken his money. I'm really out of it. Only I mean to see it through.” “Yes. yes. But how fantastic! If Harrison loses his private war, as he calls it. he’ll have been accessory to a felony—l'm supposing that what they’re doing is unlawful ” "The pious Charles said it was only business.” Tolefree took a turn up and down the room. "To be frank, Mr Brocklebank, I will act for you only on one of two conditions: that immediately I smell any recognisable scent of a criminal conspiracy. I abandon the case. To be still more frank. I don’t see any reason in the world why you should bother with it. Unless “Yes —unless?” “Miss Pamela ” "Well, I’m interested in her, if that’s what you mean." “Naturally. But on your own showing she and her uncle are'safe enough. Just held up for a few days. If they can’t shake off the enemy by Thursday, he'll have shaken himself off by Friday.” > Brocklebank tapped ashes out of his pipe. “That's cold logic." ho said. “I admit it. But you didn’t see Pamela slung over that filthy pug’s shoulder. You didn’t miss by half an inch the fellow that was trying to get into her room. You didn’t make an ass of yourself bybeing lured away from her at Felton’s. You didn’t get a smack on the head that raised a pigeon’s egg ” Tolefree made a sympathetic noise. “All true—but I’m only pointing out that you must be prepared for what you call extremes.” “I’ll take the chance,” said Brocklebank. “Come in. Go as far as you can. Is it a bet, Mr Tolefree?” “All right —so that you accept my conditions. Now, let’s sit down and rationalise it—plot out what we know and don’t know. First—whom de wo know? I can put down only one name, and that is Sir Arthur Ackerton—if, indeed, he’s in it?” “Up to the neck,” growled Brocklebank. “Too many coincidences not tc believe it.” “Well—Ackerton. I’ll put him down. But I can’t see him in a crooked game. However, whether he's in the Atlas Mountains or elsewhere, he's no use to us now because we can’t get at him. Who else? Apart from Ackerton, there are four principals, Mr Brocklebank and you don’t even know the name of one, except Farley. Not one!” “Charles ■” “He’s the man you knew at Marseilles as Stubbs, of course?” “Not the least doubt.” “Yes. But there are a hundred Stubbses in the London Directory, and I’ll bet a fiver not one of ’em is your churchwarden. He' signed in the hotel register, as that, but no one called him Stubbs last night—at any rate in your narrative ——” “Didn't they?" Brocklebank frowned. “By gosh!—l believe you’re right.” Tolefree said he would put down Farley as a real name because it was used by Ackerton as well as by the gang. But looking for Farley would be looking for a needle in a haystack. A mere underling of the man called Henry. “Harrison is a nom de guerre. Stubbs almost certainly an alias. Henry is a Christian name—at least I suppose so?" “It does occur as a surname,” said Brocklebank. “I agree. But we should waste time chasing Henrys. There’s a plentiful lack of clues on the surface. The trouble is time and space. Time —because Thursday’s only three days off. Space because, of course, the vital clue’s a thousand miles away somewhere in the Levant, I suppose. And we’re confined to London ..and the county of Surrey. But that house—” “Ah —I guess the house is our mark,” said Brocklebank. “Possibly. But you know, you're mighty squeamish for a —let's say for a conspirator.” “How d’you mean?” "Well, seems you never asked anyone a question about that house. And I’ll bet you never opened a drawer or looked at a letter, or did anything that would have put you wise to the house and its occupants.” “Not much lost by that. I can take you there in an hour." "But you won’t! And I'll tell you why. Let’s try to get behind the minds of Henry and Company. They had an unlooked for bit of luck last night when Norrie and Rovigo got clear and knocked you out. It put them on top. It enabled them to muzzle Harrison and the girl till Thursday, though they had to shift the scene of operations in a hurry. But why, Mr Brockelbank. were you left free to come and go as you liked? Have you thought of that?" “Not very clearly." "And not only left free, but tenderly cared for —your wound dressed and al] that? I expect Miss Pamela insisted on that —probably did it herself.” "Ah!” said Brocklebank. “You think so?" "Well, it looks that way to me. I don't suppose Mr Norrie did it." Tolefree grinned. "But if you reflect, why didn't they make sure you weren't in a position to make things hot for them? They could have taken you along with the rest —Harrison and the girl and Farley—if they’d liked." "Yes, 1 suppose so.” “But they didn't. They left you free. Or apparently free." “Apparently ?” !To be Continued).