“BROCKLEBANK'S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 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 XIII. (Continued). “A quarter past nine, guv-nor. You come an’ see what their game is—an' then it’s up to you.” “Lead on, then, Nipper. How far?” “Ten minutes there an’ back. Just along here we can nip up the bank an’ get on quicker.” Within five minutes they came to the end of dyke and bank, where the higher embankment against the river rose in front of them. Here they were in darkness and silence except for the lapping of the tide on the mud; the misty marshes stretched behind them. “Down there,” said Nipper Cox. “Can you make her out?” Brocklebank stared, saw shadows which might have been anything. “Nip down, guv-nor. Lemme go first.”

Brocklebank followed him. The tide was creeping up towards the stern oi a large boat sitting on her keel now high and dry. “They’ve been at ’er for days, toon • in’ up 'er engine, gettin’ oil on board, an’ stores —fer a long trip, I reckon,’ said Nipper Cox. “An' the trip’s going to begin this tide, guv-nor, or my name ain’t Cox. You seen ’em gettin’ ready to leave." “Gosh, Nipper——!”

“Aye—you can bet that’s the game guv-nor. You’ got about ’alf an hour to make up yer mind.” “Look here, Nipper,' said he; "you'd like to take a rise out of your friend Briggs?” “Wot 'you fink?” asked the Nipper. "Right! Well, listen to this. My two friends are coming from Gravesend by car. and they'll be here any time now. You get out to the road and wait for ’em—tell ’em what you've told me, and bring 'em along here. If you aren’t above a bit of a scrap ’ “Scrap, guv-nor?—no scrappin’ for me —not with that lot. They don’t put enough on the Queensberry rules. I don’t fancy a bout- with a chap that wears a knuckleduster, like that dirty tyke Norrie.” “Ah! a knuckleduster!—so that was it?” said Brocklebank softly. .“What was, guv'nor?”

“Never mind, Nipper. Well—if you don’t want to come into the jamboree, keep out. But get my friends down here before Briggs and his party start, if you can. Look slippy, Nipper. It’s worth a packet to you. my friend, if you bring it off.” “It’s a bet, guv’nor,” and Nipper Cox was away in the darkness, leaving Brocklebank standing on the shingle with the bow of the boat in front of his nose.

He had half an hour to make up his mind what to do if by some ghastly mischance Tolefree should be late. The startling suggestion of Nipper Cox was borne out by Pamela’s exclamation. Worth meant to remove his guests from the cottage to some unknown destination by means of this boat. It radically altered the outlook. He had no time to guess at Worth’s motives AU he knew was that Pamela did not want to go. If he could help it, he did not mean her to go.

The first idea that came into his head was that in about ten minutes he might make it impossible to move the boat that night. Finding the engine carefully covered and locked, and even the tool box sealed with an inviolable padlock, he entertained for a moment the mad notion of scuttling, her; but that might be dangerous to Pamela and her uncle if after all he failed to prevent their embarkation.

When he dropped over the side again, the fast rising tide had reached the propellor. That gave him an idea. A good long line, wound carefully round, the propellor and the shaft would do the trick. In three turns of the engine Mr Briggs’s boat would be jammed without the remotest chance of shifting her till the next tide.

But the door in the bulkhead was locked. No gear had been left about the boat. He was feeling about in a locker under the cockpit seat when his heart gave a big jump, and he realised that he had squandered all the time there was. Voices—close at hand, and not the voices of Tolefree and Allen. Whispering voices “Steady! ! Back a stroke. Bill . . . Gimme that boathook . . .” A bump made the vessel waver —she was almost afloat. "I’m going to have a look round Fred ...” Brocklebank rose and stood aside just in time. A pair of seaboots landed on the locker, and the face of the man who wore them was within inches of Brocklebank’s own; he could feel his breath. The next instant Brocklebank’s left arm was round him pinning him tight. Brocklebank said in his ear,

“Call the other man on board. If you say a needless word. I’ll throttle you!" He was a small though wiry man. Brocklebank could have eaten him. “Now," whispered Brocklebank. releasing his muzzle. “Here, Mr Weston—come aboard." he said.

There must have been something unusual in his voice.

“Iley, Bill—what’s up? Seen a ghost?”

A second pair ol sea-boots thudded on the locker.

“Get down—stay there—l’ve got you covered!" said Brocklebank. “Now, who are you, and what’s the game?" “I’ll dam soon show you!" Mr Weston did not seem the least bit intimidated. “You’re the baby that’s got to answer the questions. Hi! Dick Martin, come aboard. Tie her up . .

A dazzling torchlight flashed into Brocklebank’s eyes, flitted round the cockpit. He saw uniforms, keen, clean-shaven faces. The light went out. “Struth!” said the man he had clasped. wriggling away from him. "You

must be Mr Brocklebank!” “I am. And you -?” “Thames police, sir.” “Police. Who told you anything about me?”

“We know about you from headquarters, sir,” .said the man who had been called Weston. "Didn’t expect to find you on this packet, though. Just scouting round, we are, on instructions. Our orders are that this boat’s likely to go out on this tide, and we’re to let her go. If you know anything about her programme ” The speaker stopped and listened. “Gage!” said the man called Weston. “Yes —they’re coming Hard —how many?”

“That’s two . . . three . . . four five . . .”

Brocklebank had heard nothing but a belated curlew calling.

“We've got to go, Mr Brocklebank. Are you staying?” The h’alf-hour had passed, and Brocklebank had not made up his mind.

“Wait a moment," said he. “Do 1 understand you're not to interfere? They’re to be allowed to get away?" "Yes —for a special reason."

“But—you’re watching?” “Yes, sir —we're watching. Our boat’s a quarter of a mile upstream. Strict instructions to watch and not to interfere —unless ” "Unless what?”

“Unless they play any hanky-panky with you, sir. That was the order—came through an hour ago ” The curlew called again. “Can’t wait longer, sir.” Brocklebank made up his mind at last.

“I’d stay,” he said, “if there was any place to hide.” “That’s easy if you really mean it. There’s a big flat under the cowling right forr’ard— —” “You know the boat!” Brocklebank exclaimed.

“Yes —and her owner, Mr Brocklebank. Get busy, Bill! You others drop off. We’ll be there in two ticks. Come on, Mr Brocklebank. If there’s any trouble, sir, four quick flashes — you're got a torch? —good!’—four quick flashes will bring us alongside. Our orders are to stand on without lights half a mile astern. Got it, Bill?” In three minutes from the arrival ot the first pair of sea-boots on the locker, Brocklebank was in hiding. In another minute he heard the little splash of ours, and then silence came again. He did not put on his torch. The one glance as the door opened had shown him a small empty flat with a wooden deck in the angle of the bow, which might have been designed for a chain locker. It was not four feet from the deck to the cowling overhead. He sat on the deck and could touch both sides and the roof. Cramped quarters—but it would not be for long.

A half-conscious process of reasoning had finally made up Brocklebank’s mind for him. Tolefree had missed the boat either by accident or by design. The fact that Brocklebank would be on watch alone and might be in difficulty had moved Lord Brownwood, in acting upon his' important information, to make arrangements for aid to Brocklebank if he needed it.

The boat grated, bumped, and lifted with the -tide. Brocklebank sensed the subtle indications of a vessel afloat. He heard a dragging of gang planks; ne felt a gentle swaying as feet passed over them. He next heard a key in a lock, the snapping open of a door, and immediately upon that, Worth’s voice: “Go right in, Pamela. Second door on the left. You'll find a switch inside. George—first door on the right A burst of engine-noise, a violent vibration of the fabric, the casting off of a rope, a swirling of water, the sense , of movement. The boat was heading downstream, away from Gravesend and Tilbury towards those winking lights which marked the channel through Muck Flat. Gong to sea CHAPTER XIV. As Brocklebank shifted his position to get more comfort, he suddenly saw a thin bow of light in the darkness, close to his eyes. His hand touched the wall dividing the chain flat from the rest of the hull, and cut the bow in two. What he had thought to bo a bulk head, was an ill-fitted wooden partition. Between the partition and the curve of the hull the light was coming. The port side of the boat . . Worth had said to Pamela, “Second door on the right, and switch on the light. The bow was showing from Pamela's cabin. Brocklebank spent some rapturous minutes contemplating the various means he might employ to get in touch with Pamela and give her the surprise of her life. He thought rather well for a time of letting himself out of the flat, and risking any encounter that might occur outside in the process of letting Pamela know of his existence. Finally, he turned his back on the door again, pulled his coat over his head, and in the security of a lightproof tent ventured to put on his torch while he indited a letter to Pamela on a sheet of his pocket book. “Bandit here," he wrote. It was pretty shaky writing owing to the vibration of the deck "Bandit here, but wishes to stay out for the time. So we won't talk. Everything going Al. Letter found. Uncle George winning the war, hands down. Pass this back, for safety. Think hard about the delights of Port-Miou. I am. “P.S. —Did you make them carry you on board." Brocklebank folded this missive int > a flat spill and switched off his light. He poked the spill behind the partition and waggled it about. Nothing happened. (To be Continued).