“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 9 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 XII. iContinued).

That was it —by way of Rovigo to the lowest depths of stupidity in Briggs. And if the delicate business was brought off it would be in spite of these people and not because of them. Mr Worth said he had stipulated at . the beginning for no violence, but ■ when they sent the foreigner to New . York to watch a man named George, the first thing he did was to try to shoot George. And when Mr Norrie was sent to look after a young lady named Pamela the brightest idea that he could think of was to dope her and then to get terrified by—Mr Allen

hesitated to quote the words used by Mr Worth. “Out with it!” said Tolefree. Well, he said Norrie was terrified by that hunk of beef and brawn, Brocklebank. Tolefree grinned at the chesterfield, and Brocklebank grinned back. Mr Stubbs refused to accept responsibility for the gang that Farley had got together; he put it all off on

Farley. He thought Brocklebank was stumbling about in the dark, and though that fellow Tolefree, whom he’d dragged into it God knew how, was anything but a nit-wit, he’d come in too late. The next subject of conversation was a letter, which Mr Worth said was the whole cat’s whiskers. Mr Stubbs did not seem to understand this classification —

“Mr Stubbs is a pious churchwarden,” said Tolefree. “Why should he know of the cat's whiskers?” Of course not, Mr Allen admitted; but it didn’t matter. The point was that the man named George nad been bluffing when he suggested that Mr Brocklebank knew where the letter could be found. Clearly Mr Brocklebank Jcnew nothing about it, and as long as George and the young lady named Pamela couldn’t get at it, they needn’t worry. What they did have to worry about was the telegram from New York “Ah!” Tolefree exclaimed. “Allen—the telegram from New York is the cat’s whiskers, not the letter. Remember everything now, for dear life.” “Very good, sir. Fortunately, the telegram was read out by Mr Worth, and I was able to memorise it. Unfortunately, however, he did not mention the name of the sender or the addressee.”

“No matter. What did it say?” It said: "Ship will arrive on schedule. Too much curiosity about ship in London. But may be because British registration. Wise to omit call at Marseilles.” “Sat it again, Allen. Sure you've got the last sentence right?” "Quite certain, sir.” “The words ’wise to omit,’ —you didn’t mishear that? It wasn’t ’We shall omit’ ?”

"No, sir; distinctly not. And Mr Worth made it clear: he said, 'Of

course, we will.’ ” “Eureka, Brocklebank!” cried Tolefree, and Brocklebank answered, “Yes, you were right.”

The next topic was the prices of Staras on the Stock Exchange. It seemed that Mr Stubbs had sold a large block at a high price yesterday. Mr Worth was also interested in Staras, but apparently not personally, because a person referred to as “the old man” was carrying out the transactions of which he spoke. He also had sold a large block at a high price. It was expected that by Monday week the price would have dropped considerably—

“Monday week? Are you sure of that, Allen?” “Absolutely, sir. Monday week is settling day.” “I know. But are you positive you heard that right? No mention of Thursday?” “Not a word about Thursday in that connection, sir, though there was in another.”

“Eureka!” cried Tolefree, and again Brocklebank said, ‘"Yes—by gosh, you’re right.” “Well, Allen, if that was all about the Stock Exchange ” “Except that Mr Stubbs said he should buy at ten shillings and he'd advise Mr Worth to do the same, as that would give them the hundred thousand.”

“Can't you see Charles refusing to be greedy. Brocklebank?” chuckled Tolefree. "What brought up the subject of Thursday, Allen?” After the Stock Exchange had been exhausted Mr Stubbs said he had a train to catch at 4.15. As they left. Mr Worth said, "Thursday from midnight; don’t forget, though I think you’re doing a dam’ silly thing, Charles.” Allen saw Mr Worth drive away with Norrie beside him and Mr Stubbs in the back seat. He then descended to the garage, and made a bee-line on his bicycle for the railway station, where Norrie waited in the ear while

presumably Mr Worth saw Mr Stubbs of! by the train. The rest of Alien’s Odyssey was pretty hard work—tracking a motor car through the eastern end of Gravesend out into the flat marshy country behind the embankment of the river, keeping it in sight on a misty afternoon, and trying not to attract attention to himself. Towards the end he missed it. He laid down his bicycle and mounted a bank to look over. On his left, a , quarter of a mile away, and probably near the river, he saw the smoke going up from a cottage chimney in the midst of a clump of willows, and the catstanding there, black against the misty green. As he looked it moved in among the trees and was lost to his view. From the slight elevation he had a more intelligible prospect of the country than from the road. He could hear the hooting of steamers. and he fancied he saw the masts of ships passing slowly across the horizon. though that might have been only

fancy, it was a hazy horizon. The essential thing in the prospect for Allen was the run on the bank on which he stood. It ran in a dead straight line towards the river—north by east from him.

He wheeled his bicycle into the field —a marshy meadow —behind the bank, and hid it among the sedge. He walked behind the bank till he reached the latitude of the cottage. Then climbing and hiding behind a tuft of grass he could see three men who stood near a shed that now sheltered the car.

One was Mr Worth with a parcel under his arm; another was Norrie; the third was a dark featured man whom he had not seen before —and a villain-out-looking man at that. “Rovigo—no other. Brocklebank," said Tolefree. “No doubt," said Brocklebank. They were not near enough for Allen to hear what they said, talking quietly. He saw Mr Worth gesticulate, saw Norrie go off to a gate among the willows, saw Rovigo walk with Mr

Worth to the door of the cottage, then leave him and go round to the back, saw Mr Worth open the door, heard him say in a hearty voice, “Hello. .George!—brought you some books." I The door closed. Norrie stood leaning on the gate. Rovigo was invisible. “I I then returned to Gravesend.' Thus [ Allen arrived at the end of his report. I "You’ve done a good day, Vidocq. But we can’t let you off yet.” “I didn’t expect you would, sir. You'll be wanting me to show you the way to Marsh Cottage, the residence of Mr Jimmy Briggs.” “So that’s where Mr Briggs enters? How did you pick him up, Allen?”

“A few discreet inquiries in the road, sir. I was informed that Jimmy Briggs was a bit of a terror, and that nervous little boys would do well to keep away from him.” “It must have been a big man that dared to say that to you, Allen, with —ah —impunity, as you might put it yourself?” “He was, sir—not quite so big as Mr Brockjebank, but very nearly. A hulking great fellow in a public house, where I called to take another glass of lemonade, being a little warm with

riding. Tolefree pinched Mr Allen’s ear as he rose—his favourite endearment. “Sit with Mr Brocklebank in the car and guide him to. the nearest point on the road you think safe. We're just going to reconnoitre. But first, we’ll have to change quarters. I think. You got the impression the Royal Victoria is the rendezvous for Worth and his friends, didn’t you?” “I should say so, sir. You remember, however, that the last word of Mr Worth to Mr Stubbs was Thursday, and I assumed that they were not going to meet till then. Though naturally, Mr Worth may have other friends."

“You can bet he has. We'll shift to some—ah —inconspicuous hotel and fix up rooms. Then en route for Marsh Cottage.” That Allen, sitting at Brocklebank’s elbow, could guide him through every twist and turn of the road without an error— was further testimony to his doubtless approaching eminence in his profession. The night was dark, and the mist had thickened, but Allen guided them along the foot of the bank, to the cottage, and hit it almost exactly. Brocklebank and Tolefree had agreed that on no account should their presence be revealed even if the opportunity offered (which wasn’t likely) to get in touch with HarrisonClifford and Pamela. They were to assure themselves that Allen had made no mistake, to survey the ground, and to discuss action afterwards. Allen was to ascend the bank first, spy out the land, report whether he say any evidence of a guard. They waited in silence while he vanished over the top.

CHAPTER XIII. At midnight they dropped Allen out of the car at Gravesend Station. Got it all taped off, Allen?” said Tolefree. “Take as much sleep as you can. But get to Watling Street at halfpast nine, attend to the correspondence, put everybody off, and be there to. meet us at one o’clock. Wait if we aren’t on hand.”

“Very good, sir. Good-night, Mr > Brocklebank.” Allen plunged into the I station. "Well!" Tolefree exclaimed, when they had reached his room at the King's Head. "That was a jolly near thing.” “Damn the follow! Hope I didn't hurt him,” said Brocklebank. “Do you?" Tolefree sounded sceptical. “What a hope! I’d as soon be hit by a cannon-ball. But don't worry. He may have a sore head, but it’ll do him a lot of moral good. Nasty, suspicious. prying fellow. What was it he called you?” "Cox—Nipper Cox, I think," Brocklebank grimaced. Tolefree looked up appraisingly at Brocklebank’s beef and brawn. "Nipper Cox—champion featherweight of the British Islands, who knocked out Bully Briggs, the Kentish Terror, in one round. Nipper, I don't wonder you get yourself disliked.” “Afraid I lost my temper, Tolefree. Pity it happened before we'd reconnoitred worth a penn'orth of peanuts." It had happened, in fact, before they got a sight of Mr Briggs cottage. Alien had come down the bank to whisper “All clear!" and to say there was a light in the lower window of the house and voices could be heard. The three of them had crawled up to the top. some paces apart, with Brocklebank at the end of the line. Only a momentary vision of a lighted window had crossed his eyes when his shoulders wore pinned to the ground, his nose was rubbed in the grass, and a coarse voice ' growled. "Got you. Nipper Cox! Second night you've been prowlin' round rny house, and what in hell d’you mean ; by it?” ; , [To be Continued),