"BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 10 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).

Brocklebank had one lightning thought that this crude fellow with the rasping voice might indeed be a terror to nervous little boys. Then, with a mighty heave, Brocklebank humped him into the air, turned over and fell on him. The Terror gave a grunt as Brocklebank’s knee threatened to go through to his solar plexus, but managed to wriggle away. Both rose to their feet. Brocklebank saw a shadow, it was not much more, and let drive. He connected with a face. The shadow yelled, leapt into the air, and vanished over the bank towards the house. The whole thing had passed in five seconds.

The sound of an opening door and a call of “Briggs!—what’s wrong?” sent them flying down to the edge of the dyke. “Case of Hooky Walker, don t you thing, Mr Tolefree?” said Allen. “Yes, back to the car—quick!”

And now they were hoping against hope that whoever Nipper Cox might be, Briggs would attribute his downfall to that celebrity, who interested them only as showing that other people besides Tolefree and Brocklebank were curious about the nocturnal proceedings at Mr Briggs’s house. So far as they could judge from the observations of the next two days, the Nipper Cox theory held good. At any rate, Worth remained at the cottage. ; Tolefree and Brocklebank themselves dared not risk visiting the marshes by day. They stayed at Gravesend, watching in the papers the eccentric behaviour of Staras, of which they learnt that by Thursday afternoon not less than a quarter of a million shares had changed hands in less than a week, and that in spite of the plentiful supply in the market they kept obstinately high. Tolefree got in touch with Lord Brownwood, who said he might have important information for him tomorrow and remarked how deeply interesting was a certain letter which he hoped to restore to its owner in due course.

Neither Brocklebank nor Tolefree, creeping to the bank after dark, had been able to catch even a glimpse of Worth’s prisoners. With Allen it was different. He was known to none of the parties, and by means best known to himself, he contrived a daylight watch.

“Der Tag!” said Tolefree when Thursday came. By midnight they would know the terms on which the private war was to end. Allen was out in the marshes where they had rendezvous with him at dusk at the inn on the roadside. But before the time of the rendezvous there was a telephone call for Tolefree from Lord Brownwood. "Brownwood wants me urgenty —insists that go to see him at once. He now has that important information. Says it's about what’s likely to happen tonight, and it's vital- —”

“Well —why not?” “But I can’t possibly get back here till after eight.” “Never mind that, Tolefree, I can go out to hold the fort, ana send Allen back to bring you along. He’ll get you there not long after dark, and they’ll do nothing till then. If they do. I’ve still got those guns, and supposing it comes to a show-down ”

“Whatever you do, keep the guns in your pocket! I really don't like leaving you, Brocklebank; you're such a holy terror for getting into hot water! But I suppose I really must go to Lord Brownwood instead of telling Lord Brownwood where to go to.”

Undoubtedly it was Brocklebank’s genius for getting into hot water that precipitated the sortie of the besieged, and gave Tolefree and Lord Brownwood so many 'agitated moments. He set off, walking, at five o’clock, met Allen at the inn at seven, and sent him back to meet Tolefree on his return to Gravesend. He then continued his walk to the dyke. The dusk had fallen to dark at eight o’clock when he arrived at a point where he could see the cottage without risk of rousing the suspicions of Mr Briggs. Brocklebank got into position, looking forward to a wait of half an hour or more for Tolefree. The light from the lower window, seen at a distance of thirty or forty yards, shone as usual on the small roughly paved space in front of the cottage.. They had watched it last night for from three to four hours. Then it had illuminated the figure of Norrie, standing at the gate, until between 11 and midnight another light sprang up in a window above, and the lower one was extinguished aftei- Norrie had gone. Then the upper light went and the place was left in perfect darkness. Tolefree had barred any attempt to get in or even to communicate with HarrisonClifford and Pamela. They were to be satisfied with the knowledge that uncle and niece were there. His assumption. which seemed correct, was that Worth had a guard mounted as long as the house was astir, that when the inmates went to bed Norrie was shifted to the inside of the house, and Rovigo left outside —probably to sleep in or near the car. Worth’s object being to prevent communication with dangerous people like Brocklebank. “Thursday from midnight,” he had said to Stubbs. Brocklebank slid into the dip in the bank in the full expectation of another vigil till midnight. But differences began to develop at once —even before he got here. Not only was the light in the downstairs window as usual, but there was a light upstairs as well, and he perceived movements of shadows across the blind. Further. Norrie was not on his post at the gate. Brocklebank had hardly begun his watch when a loud racket shattered the silence of the marshes: the car starting. A bright light shot up. the door opened, and Norrie became luminous in the glare. The car moved forward down the road, passing below and close to Brocklebank as he lay

prone and breathless. Brocklebank began to be tempted. The enemy’s forces had now been reduced by half. In the house were certainly no more than two of them — Worth and the Terror of Nervous Little Boys. What a joy it would be to see the debonair and casual Henry looking into the muzzle of a pistol, and the Terror holding his hands above his head and sweating with fright! And it could be done so easily. It simply ought to be done. If he did it, he would incur the wrath of Tolefree. But who was Tolefree, anyway? He (Brocklebank) was the principal and Tolefree the agent . . . Of course, he couldn't do it. He would be breaking faith with Tolefree . . .

But what was there to prevent him from having a closer view of things? No Norrie! —no Rovigo! —a clear road to the lighted window —and perhaps a peep at Pamela? Brocklebank took his first step into hot water by descending the bank on the forbidden side, and thence to the shed which served as garage. From this point he could see into the lower room. There were three peofple—[worth and George and Pamela. To them came at intervals two other people, bringing clothes and other things and dumping them on the table beside two suit cases. They were a down-looking, man with a sticking plaster on his cheek whom Brocklebank took to be the Terror —and the nondescript weasel! He had clean forgotten Mi- Benson. The enemy’s strength was not so .much reduced after all. Worth in, the intervals between ramming things into one of. the suitcases was gesticulating to George and Pamela. What he heard rather than what he saw precipitated Brocklebank right into the hot water. “Well—l shan't go unless I'm carried!”

Pamela’s voice, raised high, came distinctly through the stillness. “Good, Pamela!—nobody’s going to carry you any more unless it’s me!” Had he pronounced this ungrammatical sentiment aloud? Brocklebank never knew. He had instinctively made a step outside the shed, with the impulse to hold up the whole crowd regardless of consequences, when “Hist!”

He stopped in his tracks at the sound behind him. It came from the recesses of the shed. He whisked round. “Guv’nor —come back here ”

Brocklebank collided with a man who stepped for a moment into the light from the window. He was not much bigger than Allen. “Hi —steady! That hurts,” gasped the man, as Brocklebank seized his arm.

"Who are you?” muttered Brocklebank.

"My name’s nothing to you, guv-nor —but I’m called Cox.”

Nipper Cox! . . Brocklebank let him go.

“Sorry, Nipper,” he whispered. “Sorry, Nipper," he whispered. “Eh? What are you guv’nor—the police?” “Not a bit of it,” Brocklebank whispered. “But I can’t stop to talk. Look here, Nipper—you aren’t too friendly with Briggs, are you? Now tell me—what are they up to this evening?” “Dirty work, guv-nor. But there's too many of ’em for you to tackle. Come along out o’ this, and I’ll show you. You're the chap that put the Terror to sleep, ain’t you. If you ain’t the police, I reckon you’re friends o'’ that lady and gent wot they got hid up. This way, guv’nor. I’ll show you.” Brocklebank stepped a foot deeper into hot water. He followed Nipper Cox. around the back of the shed, up over the bank, and down to the edge of the dyke. There he checked with a big hand on the man’s arm. “Now Nipper Cox,” said he. “not a step further before you've told me a few things. Why have you been spying on Briggs?” “Because the dirty tyke’s up to no good, an’ I don’t approve of ’im.” The form in which Nipper Cox’s virtuous indignation was expressed surprised Brocklebank. He released the shrinking arm. “I guess he doesn't much approve of you either —eh?” “No, ’e don’t. An’ why? Because I’m small an’ honest, an' he’s a bully an’ a crook. You ask the river police." “Ah? —river police? What have they got to do with Briggs or Briggs with them?”

“Always up to some dirty games on the river; you’d be astonished, guvnor, at what goes on upon the river “Yes —I daresay. But I’m in a hurry, Nipper Cox. You don’t like Briggs and he don’t like you. You think he’s up to no good. Tell me what he’s up to.” “'E's goin’ to do a slant with them swells. You come along o' me. an' I'll show you, guv’nor.” Nipper Cox made a move along the dyke. “Wait, Nipper!” Brocklebank commanded. “You said they were too many for me. How many are there?" “There’s Briggs, an' that little swine Benson, an' the toff he's workin’ for, an’ there’s the two blinders that came with the car. Five of ’em altogether.”

“But the two with the car went off just now "

“Aye—an’ you can't tell when they'll be back."

Brocklebank paused thinking for ten seconds. He might try to enlist this fellow and chance a rough house. “Come on, guv-nor," the little man was urging him. “Just time enough to show you; they can't move till 'igh tide.” “What —you think they're going to move that way?" "I don’t think—l knows," said Nipper Cox. "What time is high water?” (To be Continued).