“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 5 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 X. (Continued). Enraged, resentfully, he would not carry his grievance beyond that certain ry his grievance beyond that certain point. No impatience in Brocklebank, no subtlety in Tolefree, during the strange ten minutes they spent in his dining room, would make him. Farley bore no grudge against Brocklebank ' for “knuckling in.” though if Brocklebank had kept out he would not now have been a prisoner in his own house and the business ■ would have gone off as slick as a ; whistle. Save for their miscalculation ! of Brocklebank, the scheme was perfect. Wolston Manpr empty and at their disposal—Mrs Farley and her servant sent away from Ladywell Park leaving Farley’s house as a secondl line of defence in emergency—every-I thing timed to a hair. But when Brocklebank happened at Wolston Manor in so unexpected a fashion, it J , looked for a while as if the game was 1

up. And "That was a nasty crack, Brockle- ! bank. I hope you aren't feeling it too badly?” Thus Farley, surprisingly. “Better,” said Brocklebank. “I'm just a bit curious to know how I got it.” It was just as he had guessed. While they 7 were arguing and disputing in the dining room, Benson had fallen to wondering about Norrie’s continued absence, wandered round the place looking for him, and found him lied up with Rovigo in the garage. “Of course, he untied them, and when you unlocked the door to let George cut they were there waiting and knocked you sprawling—or at least Norrie did: he hit you on the point with his left, and over the head with his right. Henry was furious. He hates violence —nearly blew Norrie’s head off. But naturally 7 it was all up with George and Pamela. We made you as comfortable as we could. Pam-| ela tied up youi' head. Then we left in two cars, and came here. They've kept me in that damned cellar all day. I understood George and Pamela were locked in a room upstairs. I heard | some movements when it fell dark, and I believe Henry and Charles went off with them.” “Yes, Farley!” cried Brocklebank. “But where? —where?” “I can't tell you. And if I could I wouldn’t. You know that, Brocklebank." “Then, the police-——" Tolefree suggested. “Police? Don’t talk through your hat! Even if the police could find him, George would send ’em packing. The police count for nothing in this.” “I mean that the police would trail your friends for us in next to no time, and that's all we want —to discover where they’ve gone.” “I daresay. Well, you'll get no help from me,” declared Farley. "In that case, I think. Brocklebank, we'll be moving on,” Tolefree said.

“No doubt Mr Farley will inform his friends how grateful he is to us for liberating him.” "Ng!” cried Farley. "Damn you. I know Brocklebank thinks I’m dirt. But I'm not so dirty as that. I'm not taking sides against them, but I'm certainly not doing another thing to queer you, Brocklebank, I’ve had enough. You can believe it or not. If you’ve settled Norrie, then I stay here.” "Norrie! gosh!" Brocklebank exclaimed. “I'd forgotten him.” "I fear,” said Tolefree, "Mr Norrie will catch cold if he camps out on the grass much longer. But we must leave Mr Farley to deal with that. I should think he could now make any terfns he liked with his whilom gaoler. For us, Brocklebank, time presses— ■” CHAPTER XI.

Brocklebank, getting out of his taxi at Felton's Hotel at half-past one in the morning, was admitted by the Ancient One. who asked whether he would require anything more tonight, sir. But all Brocklebank required was a long sleep. To undress and lie between sheets was the nearest thing to a dream of Paradise. Before leaving for Gravesend, Tolefree had reconciled him to a night of inaction by various comfort- | ing reflections about Pamela. That Pamela was a resourceful young woman; That she was in danger of nothing more alarming than a temporary restraint cf liberty; That it was still a long way to Thursday; That her thoughts in durance vile were probably running fondly on her Bandit. But, above all, that he. Tolefree. had resolved, if Gravesend yielded nothing to take warlike and decisive action tomorrow, however unpleasant the results to any eminent persons whatever. Brocklebank did sleep. He slept for eigiit hours. It was half-past nine before he yawned himself into the bathroom. At half-past ten he was looking up at the outward face of No. 14 Nottingham Gardens, Chelsea. Looking rather dubiously. This was a large house in a row of like houses, all let out in flats. “Was you looking for somebody, sir?” asked the elevator man. “Yes," said Brocklebank. "Not sure! this is the right house, thougn. But, wait——" He made a desperate plunge 'Here she is—Miss K. Emmerson. Know if Miss Emmerson’s in'.'" “Oh. yes, sir. Miss Emmerson never goes out in the morning. Take you up?” "Thanks'" said Brocklebank. The signature of the pencilled note to Pamela certainly began with a K—for Katherine, or Kathleen, or some such thing, if it wasn’t just a nickname. He might be going' to make an ass of himself; but "Third door < n the left, sir—Miss Emmerson's Hat.” Neck or nothing! He pressed the bell-push. ,

Inside, Miss Emmerson (he presumed) banged a door open and shouted, I “Is that the Stores? Put it down. I’m i not dressed. I'll take it in presently,” i and banged a door fast again. :, Fortunately Miss Emmerson was a J quick dresser, or a sketchy one, or she ; urgently needed what the Stores had not sent, for in less than three minutes t Brocklebank heard her approach the door carolling. t It opened to frame for him the pic- • ture of a young lady with her rather ; reddish short hair in charming disi order, a cigarette between her fingers, : ; and a dressing-gown flowing insufficiently round ner to conceal a suit of . black silk pyjamas. “Hello, Kat!" said Brocklebank, in his neck-or-nothing mood. "I'm a bit : early, eh?” | “You’ve certainly said it!” declared Miss Emmerson, pulling the dressing gown round her slight figure. “Which J are you? Where did we meet? Not ' last night—l'm positive you weren’t I there.”

■. Brocklebank admitted that he wasi n't —much to his regret he could not | get there. Miss Emmerson was puzzI led. I "And what do you want?” | “Talk with Miss Emmerson.” The red head shook vigorously. I "It concerns Pam ” i "Pam!" exclaimed Miss Emmerson, 1 stiffening into alert attention. "And the awful man who persecuted I her. Miss Emmerson.” ! “Pam? What’s happened to Pam? j Come in, will you?” ■ ' Brocklebank found himself in a I painter’s studio —and from an easel in | the middle of the room, Pamela was i looking at him. Pamela in embryo, ; Pamela all grey and black and white and vague; but unmistakably Pamela. “Gosh—Pamela,” said he. “Who did that, Miss Emmerson?” “Guilty," she answered, giving him a curious glance. “Better take a chair. | And to begin with —who are you?” “William Brocklebank, of Ault in Gloucestershire, late of New York—which of course means nothing to you; and any way I’m of no consequence whatever. I happen to have met Pamela ” “Where?” she shot at him. “At Marseilles.” “When?” “On Friday night. I met her there at the request of her uncle and escorted her to London. We got here on Sunday afternoon.” “What's that?” You mean to say that Pam’s in London?—and hasn’t come home?—or let me know?” Miss Emmerson’s arched eyebrows expressed an extremity of scepticism. Brocklebank jumped at her questions. “Home?—here?—is this Pamela’s home?" Miss Emmerson's blue eyes looked very straight into Brocklebank’s. "I am not going to answer questions. You're not sufficiently explained. I like the look of you Brocklebank bowed with mock cere-

mony. “But why did you come here?” How did you know of this place? Hear of Me? What do you know about Kat and Pam? All that comes of your question.” "Which question?” "Didn't you ask whether this was Pamela's home?” “Miss Emmerson—-I'm entirely at your mercy. There are three things I came hoping to learn from you. First —the thing I’ve asked: Is this Pamela's home when she’s in London? Next, has any letter from abroad been delivered for her, within, say, the past fortnight? And last, but it will seem extremely absurd to you ” "No doubt. 1 expect it will. But what is it?” Its this? What’s Pamela’s sur-

name? Miss Emmerson's reaction to this was sudden if not surprising. She locketed to the door and flung it open. "That's the way out, Mr William Brocklebank,” said she. "I observed it as I came in." Brocklebank sat still. "I also noticed that you have a telephone in the hall. Stay there near it, if you wish.” “Ah—the telephone,” exclaimed Miss Emmerson. "Now I know—it was you who telephoned here "for Pamela this morning.” Brocklebank shook his head. "No — didn t know you had one." Aient you here trying to pry out something about a letter?” Brocklebank started and his jaw dropped. Of course! you can’t put it across me Mr Brocklebank.” I implore you, Miss Emmerson, not to attribute evil designs to me. Pamela's in danger. I'm the only person who can get her out of it. And I can’t do it without your help. I mentioned just now an awful man who'd been pestering Pamela. You know something about him——” -Well ” "You know Pamela went on a journey to the Levant or thereabouts three or four weeks ago “Well, well—?” "I don't know whether she told you why she went, or why I was asked to intercept her on the way home. But 111 tell you this: that man and his associates were dogging her steps. After Marseilles I contrived to keep them off

-What?——" "Yes. It sound fantastic. But she's new in their hands. I'm in this position, Miss Emmerson. Dy a chapter cl accidents and a miscalculation on the part of her uncle, I've never heard Pamela's real name. I know her as Miss Pamela Harrison—" “Ah!—you know as far as that!" "Yes—but. it's not far enough. I'm trying to trace a girl whose name ! don t know. Hopeless—you agree?" (To be Continued).