“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 15 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 XIV. (Continued). “Pamela! I must request you not to sing at this hour of the night. It’s not decent. Besides —anyhow, please shut up. Bring your traps along this way —quick and quiet. The engine came to- life, the boat trembled and moved forward. Presently the noises of the boat’s motion doubled—as if echoing back from some large surface —and the engine stopped again. He heard a hail. He heard a bang. Someone above his head said “All fast.” A bump on the boat’s side rattled his teeth in his head. She stopped.

Brocklebank scrambled to his knees, gently turned the key in the door of the flat, and pushed it open an inch. He pulled out one of his revolvers. A bulkhead light shone in the passage. It was empty. He squeezed through. The door at the end of the alleyway was closed. Gun in hand he crept aft to it and, with his left hand on the handle, listened. Animated talk was going on outside.

“Anything in reason, Henry,” Harri-son-Clifford was saying, "but I absolutely refuse to let Pamela try to get up that ladder. Either you have a proper gangway shipped or we stay where we are.

“But it’s a mere nothing, George—and we’re in a hurry. Pamela —you aren’t going to jib at that?” Worth’s voice, agitated.

“I’m certainly not going to climb a rope ladder to oblige you, Henry. Why should I?”

Pamela’s voice, with a hint of amusement in it.

“Well, I hate to coerce you, Pamela or you, George," said Worth. “But we’re in force and you’re not—eh?” Worth broke off to answer a hail. “What’s that?”

Brocklebank strained ears to catch the reply. The voice was distant; he heard detached words—“came up without lights . . . less than a quarter of a mile . . . hurry . . “Now then, Pamela,” said Worth. “Look slippy. If not, Norrie and Briggs will sling you up.” “You don’t dare, Henry!” “Don tI? You see! Here, Briggs, Norrie ” Brocklebank pushed the door wide open, and took a second gun from his coat pocket. Norrie and the man whom Brocklebank had last seen as a shadow rolling down a grassy bank were coming out of the darkness under the tall black side of a ship towering above the starboard side of the boat. Brocklebank stepped out. On the port side clustered in the well of the boat were Pamela and her uncle, Worth and Stubbs. Brocklebank’s voice rasped—- “ Norrie and Briggs will stay where they are!”

“Good God!—you?” cried Worth.— "Hold your tongue. Worth!" said Brocklebank. "I’m in command here. Briggs!" he barked, “let that line alone if you want to live. Come here—pronto!” Briggs shuffled the three steps to

“Pass in, Briggs. Make any disturbance and you’re for it.” Briggs slunk past him through the bulkhead doorway. First door on the left, Briggs, and shut it after you. Norrie, come here. First door on the right and shut it after you. Mr Harrison, have the goodness to lock them in . . Rovigo! ... I see you. Leave the engine alone. Come here!”

A figure which had been stooping behind the wheel rose and approached. “Pass in, Rovigo,” said Brocklebank. “Second door on the right. Hurry, you skunk, hurry! Mr Harrison—lock him in too.’’

Uncle George, without a word, returned to the well. “Pamela,” Brocklebank turned to hei, take this gun, and keep Mr Worth covered—unless Mr Worth will give parole.” Put your guns away, Brocklebank." said Worth. “What do you want?” “First—hail that man on the Persimmon and tell him if he casts oil he’ll be shot.” All eyes were raised to the rail of the ship where, under a hurricane light a man stood with the end of a line in his hand and several heads showed gazing down into the boat. “Steady on there!" cried Worth. “They're coming round the stern now, sir ”

“Avast everything!” roared Brocklebank. Two hands stand by the ladder."

“Aye, aye, sir!” “Now. Worth—you’ve got about a minute before the police come aboard. Heie are my terms: you can go on board the Persimmon, and take Mr Harrison-Clifford and his niece on condition that you take me as well, and that you leave the police to deal with these fellows. Yes or no—quick!” “How can I, Brocklebank? They're in my employment.” Yes, or not!" Brocklebank insisted. “You needn't worry a damn about being chivalrous. The police want 'em foi lots of things. Anyhow, you can't help yourself. Here they are. Do you want to board the ship or not'-’” “Yes.”

"Then hold your tongue and leave to me.”

Brocklebank reached the stern sheets just as a hail came from the the water, and a launch without lights came alongside with a swirl. “Ahoy—motor-boat! What motor boat is that?” "Make fast. Mr Weston, and come aboard.’ said Brocklebank. “Mr Brocklebank—that you, sir? Want any help?” "No. Come by yourself. Mr Weston." A boathook hitched on the gunwale. An athletic figure in uniform came over the side, and stood in the cockpit . . .

“Well. I'm jiggered!” said Weston when Brocklebank had hurriedly

given him the facts and outlined his plan. "You think that’s safe, sir?”

“Absolutely, if you send my message to Lord Brownwood, and if you’ll pull in those three damned rascals for something or other. I don’t want them on the trip.” "Righto, Mr Brocklebank. We’ll find enough in their lurid past to keep ’em quiet anyway.” “You understand that the essence of the thing is to let everything go on as if nothing had happened? Not a whisper of failure, and not a hint that I’m on board?” "That’s all right, sir.” “Then come and be introduced to the passengers.”

They went amidships to the well,

where four people stood silent with a row of faces looking down on them from above.

“This,” said Brocklebank, "is Mr Weston, of the Thames Police. Mr Worth, Mr Harrison-Clifford, Miss Harrison-Clifford.” Weston saluted politely. “I understand you have orders for

the steamer Persimmon, sir,” he said to Worth, “and that you and this lady and gentleman propose to join her as guests of the captain?” “That’s so," Worth answered.

“You hired this boat to bring you off?” “Yes.”

“I presume you have passports and

embarkation permits, and everything's in order. I’m not concerning myself about that. But I wish to see the captain, and if you’ll go on board now, I’ll follow you. Baggage?” “These few things,” said Worth, pointing to the half-dozen cases on the deck.

“Ahoy, there!” Weston called. “Send down a sling for the baggage.”

When the sling was lowered it was Weston who neatly rove it about the bags and called out “Heave!” And it was Weston who summoned one of his men to help him steady the ladder as the white-faced Stubbs timorously faced' the ascent. Harrison-Clifford next, and then Pamela, who went up nimblest of them all. Brocklebank next. Worth was about to go. Weston detained him.

“Before you leave, sir, I want a note of the names and identities of the persons embarking.”

Weston produced notebook and pencil and stood where the light of the hurricane lamp fell on his paper. “Myself,” said Worth. “Henry Worth, of 215 Capel Court; Mr Charles, Ferraby of the same address. It’s a business address, officer," as Weston looked doubtful. “Mr George Harri-son-Clifford, of Bystock House, Caterham; Miss Pamela Harrison-Clifford, his niece, who lives in Nottingham Gardens, Chelsea; Mr William Brocklebank—but I’m afraid I can’t—”

“Ah, yes," said Weston, shutting up his book, “I know all about Mr Brocklebank. Now, Mr Worth, if you’ll go up ”

"What about the boat, officer?” This boat? Oh, you can leave it to me, Mr Worth. I shall look after the boat and after Mr Briggs, too. Make your mind quite easy about that!”

CHAPTER XV. When Brocklebank turned out of a spotless bunk in the morning, so much as he could see of the world through his porthole looked cheery. It must be the Channel and not the North Sea, for Brocklebank’s berth being on the port side of the ship, and the sun being almost dead astern, the ship was undoubtedly travelling west.

Brocklebank had expected that, but what' he had not expected was that she would be travelling so fast.

Calculating her speed, he put it at eighteen knots. Pretty hot stuff, the good ship Persimmon. A little more than his fancy had painted her. It had not been possible to see much in the darkness when they embarked. With George and Pamela, and Stubbs, he had waited at the gangway while Worth and Weston talked below. Then Worth had come on board, spoken to one of the two officers who looked curiously on at this unconventional embarkation, and first Pamela and then George had been invited to go to their rooms. Stubbs was taken off next Brocklebank, asked to go, decided to stay where he was for the present and worth shrugged his shoulders and acquiesced.

Weston, having adjusted things to his liking on Mr Briggs's boat, nipped up the ladder and informed the world that he would see the captain. He returned in five minutes.

Mr Worth,” said he, “I wish to have a word with Mr Brocklebank in private,” and he led Brocklebank aside “A queer go, sir,” said he. “This is an American ship, and I've no right even to be on board. Captain very polite and all that, but just a bit nifl'ed: seems to wonder what the devil the Thames police have got to do with him.. Ive not asked to see papers or anything. Just explained that I don't like Mr Briggs's face, and got away with that. Sure you want to go on Mr Brocklebank? Shan't I take you back?”

Brocklebank was sure he wanted to go on; all the more so because of what Mr Weston told him. He watched Weston go over the side, and said to him in a loud voice as he reached M" Briggs’s deck.

Be sure to let Lord Brownwood know where I am. Weston." “Aye, aye, sir," said Weston. !To be Continued).