“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 1 August 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 IX.

(Continued). Sir Henry turned the key in the lock and swung open the door. The two followed him into the hall. "Now, sir,” said he, “show me what happened.” Brocklebank went to the corner of the short passage leading to the dining room. “Your man was ahead of me—a few feet. I’d get as far as this when I was hit. That’s all. Then —do we go upstairs?” “Just a moment. You say there was a light in the dining room and the suggestion was that people were here?” i "One person, at any rate,” said Brocklebank, “or the man wouldn’t have been conducting me here —unless,” as the flaw in his story suddenly struck him, “that was part of the trap ?” “Humph!” said Sir Henry. The scepticism in his tone deepened. “Let’s go upstairs . . . Which room?” he ask- ■ ed, as they reached the bedroom corridor. Brocklebank led the way there. And then he had his own surprise. The bed on which he had lain in his clothes was re-made and the eiderdown placed upon it. The apoplectic sceptic walked over . and stared down on the bed. | “And this is where you say you were ' lying?” I He jerked round to Brocklebank. I “This,” said Brocklebank, “is where I t lay.” j “Humph!” said Sir Henry. “And then you went all over the house, ch?” Just show me where.” They went into the corridor. “This door was just open,” said Brocklebank. “I looked in. The room was empty. The other doors were closed. I did not try them.” “Why?” Sir Henry exploded. “Naturally: how was I to know who might be there? You’re forgetting my rather unpleasant experience, aren’t you? I wasn’t keen on getting another pigeon’s egg on my head. I crept about as silently as I could. Went downstairs first ” “Well, show me, sir.” “I opened the door, and went outside.”

“Very well —go on.” Brocklebank fastened back the door “I saw the stables over there, wondered whether some servant might be about, and went to explore.” “Explore again,” said Sir Henry. In the yard . . . the car stood there. The chauffeur, sitting on the running board, watched the procession as it followed the wall . . . “I found everything locked up except this garage. I looked in. It was empty,” said Brocklebank. Sir Henry looked over his shoulder, passed him, and went it. He stood for a moment at the corner where Brocklebank had propped Mr Norrie. He walked to the window sill and picked up what was left of the garden line. He gazed for an instant in Brocklebank’s eyes. “What next?” “I went back to the house, came to (he conclusion that it had been abandoned. went through it room by room, and found that I was right. No one there. I took the liberty of having a bath. And then I felt hungry, and prospected for food.” “You did, did you? I fear you must have found my hospitality somewhat lacking in warmth, sir.” “I found only a few scraps of biscuit at the bottom of a tin in the pantry, and two glasses of water ” “Show me —show me!” said Sir ryIn the pantry . . an empty biscuit tin. “Humph!” came the ritual word. In the kitchen, nothing—not even a glass on the table. “It’s as if you’d never been here,” said Sir Henry. “But I was. The place has been cleaned.up since. That’s where I sat and had my —er —breakfast ” “Mr Brocklebank, it seems to me you can’t prove that you were ever in this house at all! Or that the whole thing wasn’t a dream, or a hallucination. Tolefree, can you make sense of it?” “Not a penn’orth,” said Tolefree. “Still I believe Mr Brocklebank’s telling the truth., There are certain little indications, Sir Henry. By the way, Mr Brocklebank, I think you told me you left here what you thought would be a suitable payment for the breakfast you took?”

“Gosh, yes! I’d forgotten that, Tolefree. Unless it’s been cleared away as well, you'll find a shilling on the corner of the table where I sat.” Brocklebank pointed. Sir Henry took two steps, peered, picked up a coin, looked at it suspiciously. “But you might—no. you couldn’t have " “What?" asked Brocklebank. "No —I apologise. Never mind. 1 accept the evidence. You haven't been near that corner since we came in. Well, Tolefree —why didn’t they take the shilling when they cleared up?" "Pretty plain, isn't it? A shilling can be marked. If I were on a secret job in such circumstances, I should certainly be wary of coins left about so casually." "Yc-es? I suppose you would, Tolefree." Sir Henry handed the shilling back to Brocklebank. "Well, sir," said he. "that’s conclusive. And what the devil does it all moan. Tolefree?” "Seems to me that your house was being used for some unknown reason by unknown people who were anxious not to have their presence broadcast. Mr Brocklebank interrupted them. They pannicked, and took a violent course with him in a hurry, but were sorry for it afterwards. Your servant must have been in the game, whatever it was. They probably left him to watch Brocklebank off the premises and then clean up." “But why? Why here? Nothing taken that I can see. Nothing valuable for them to take, anyway." "Thai’s a question I can't answer. Sir Henry, but come to the dining-room a moment," said Tolefree. “You'll be able to read clearly enough what happened, though why—that's another question." He moved out from the kitchen. Worth and Brocklebank followed him. In the dining-room . . . "It's quite clear," said lie, "as you perceive, that at least five people were hero, and that they had a meal."

“Where's your evidence?” "Why, here,” Tolefree pulled out the ' chair Stubbs had occupied. "Look at ’] the floor. Your man tidied up, but he ! didn't sweep the carpet. You’ll find . I there the remains of a meal. It's | rather dark, but—wait.” j He took out his torch and switched the light to the floor. Three specks of white showed, just visible and no more. Sir Henry’s face grew redder as he crouched to look. | "Might be anything.” said he. i "It's only one thing, Sir Henry.” I Tolefree picked up the white specks,■ placed them on the shining table, ■ shone his light close to them. "Breadcrumbs. Fairly fresh. Wait —on that one a trace of yellow. Mustard. The man who last sat on that chair ate I sandwiches—or a sandwich. Under j four other chairs you'll see similar evidence. Come round. The wrathful proprietor of Wolston Manor bent to look at a few microscopical crumbs under each of the four chairs. "Sandwiches,” said Tolefree. solemnly. "And—beer. Undoubtedly beer.” I Sir Henry frowned at him. 'Yes, and | bottled beer,” he continued, “un,'doubtedly bottled. The beer was livei ly, for it frothed over and was spilt | on. the carpet. Down here, Sir Henry, i and smell —” Tolefree was on his knees, putting his nose to the ground. Worth was beside him, his neck bulging over his collar, endeavouring to get his nose down too. "No doubt about it, Sir Henry. They borrowed you dining-room for a supper party. And then, for some reason or other, they had a rough house. Come here and I’ll show you. They went to the doorway, and Tolefree directed his torchlight to the carpet there and went to his knees again. “Spot of blood,” said he. “Someone was hurt. Yes —by jove! and it’s still damp.”

He showed a stain on the finger he pressed into the carpet. Sir Henry Worth seemed nearer to apoplexy than ever. When Tolefree got up he stood with bolting eyes in a purple face, regarding his dining-room carpet. “Police!” said he at last. “Brocklebank or no Brocklebank, I’m going to call in the police!” “Of course, I expected you would, Sir Henry. But,” said Tolefree, pocketing his torch, “is there any need to drag in Mr Brocklebank —at any rate, for the present? He’s anxious to be kept out of it until he can see Sir Arthur Ackerton. And you’ve evidence enough of unlawful proceedings without him.” Sir Henry’s face turned gradually from purple to red as he thought this over. “Well —perhaps,” said he. “But if • they can't get on without him—” “Oh, then ” said Tolefree. “But I guess they’ll get after the little squirt ' and scon discover- the company he's been keeping and what wickedness they specialise in.” Tolefree looked cut over the silent, deserted lawn to the thick fringe of trees. “Just the : place for a .bunch of conspirators to be sure of an absolutely private meeting.”

The perquisition of Wolston Manor t came to a sudden end. “I’ll think it over, Tolfree”, said j Worth. “Let you know tomorrow what I’ve done. Much obliged to you for ’ putting me wise. Wait till I get hold of Mr Benson, that’s all! Now —where 1 shall I take you two? L Tolefree and Brocklebank left the ! car at the corner of the lane. They . refused to put Sir Henry Worth to the ; trouble of taking them back to London. , Here he was 20 miles on the road to ' Eastbourne. They would find their . way to the station and return by train. They walked towards Woldingham. ' “Now,” said Brocklebank Now perhaps Tolefree would try to make sense of the farce. Why all this I play-acting? Made Brocklebank feel a i fool if he didn’t look one. Tell 13 lies to the dozen? Was it just to spoof this old pot-belly into believing him the world’s best detective—with his crumbs and his blood-spots that he knew all about beforehand? And how did all this help him, Brocklebank, on the road to Pamela? "You can bet Sir Henry Worth would have been only too delighted if we'd told him the exact truth—but that if we had 'twould have been goodbye to our chance of coming up with your friends before Thursday.” “What!" cried Brocklebank. "No mistake. Brocklebank. I’d wager my watch Sir Henry Worth knew ex-1 actly what was going to happen in his dining-room last night—up to the point where you came in and upset .the apple cart. I'll bet now that he gets after his little squirt all right—not to hand him over to the police, but just to discover from him what did happen after | you turned up." "You mean—he’s in it too?" The astonished Brocklebank stopped in the road. Tolefree nodded. "To this extent — that he means to be in it if it conies off. but will be completely out of it if it don’t, I know my Worth." ; "Well, I'm damned!" said Brockle- l bank, as they moved on. 1 "Oh yes—and he knows me. That impulsive, sanguinary manner of his makes a jolly good bluff to cover a 1 cool, calculating financier. My dear ( chap, a man such as Worth looks to the naked eye would never have | screwed Wolston Manor and a RollsRoyce out of a reluctant world. The ( joke is that Sir Henry Worth was nover more disgusted in his life than when I told him on the telephone of the outrage at Wolston Manor. And ‘ he's agonising to know just how much . I know, for on that depends the ques- j tion whefher he's going to get a share I of the .£106.000 boodle or not. "I didn t see " Brocklebank bc-i gan. 1 (To be Continued).