“BROCKLEBANK’S ADVENTURE”

Wairarapa Times-Age, 21 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 XVI. (Continued). “Awkward is hardly the word, indeed. Imagine my surprise and horror when Tolefree informed me that not only was the Dakota going to try to land agricultural implements, but that another ship, the Persimmon, also had a cargo of agricultural implements and would probably arrive at the same place about the same time as the Dakota, and that by some incalculable freak of destiny this was the very ship that you and George and Pamela ana Bill, to say nothing of Charles Ferraby had chosen for a cruise in the Mediterranean. I was simply thunderstruck.” “You would be,” said Worth.

“The idea that so many friends and acquaintances of mine might be innocently involved in so nasty a business and I powerless to help them—terrible! Until Tolefree sugested that we might try to intercept the Persimmon and prevent her tom getting into perilous waters. You can t overestimate whal you owe to Brocklebank for having confided in Tolefree that he was taking this trip and giving the names oi his companions, or to Tolefree for his persistence and ingenuity in getting you out of the mess.” "I shan’t try,” said Worth. “So this, Ackerton. is the story that will go on record?”

"If there is any need for a record. But 1 hope there won’t be. You may be delighted to know that Lord Brownwood has already been informed by a code telegram of the failure of this lamentable plot, and no doubt the City will learn that Korlovitch is a wash-out, and all the Stara shares will soar to profitable heights before settling day. I think we might be content with that, don’t you?

"Well, Ackerton—if that’s all ” “Absolutely all.” "I'll wish you good morning.” And Worth strode out of the saloon. ‘Doesn't stand fire well,” said Ackerton.

“You’re wrong,” declared HarrisonClifford. “He’s courage itself, Ackerton. This is a fearful blow to him, not because his father will lose a fortune, or for any personal reason at all—but simply because he’s failed Korlovitch, and it’s the first time Henry’s ever let anybody down. I’m glad enough. 1 told him from the first I should do my best to down him. But I can’t help feeling sorry for Henry.” “George—you’re an incurable old Quixote. Bill, take warning. You tend towards Quixotry, doesn't he. Pamela?” ‘

“I call it Banditry,” said Pamela. “Well, same thing. Now, I can’t keep the authorities waiting any longer. Tolefree—ready? What a tale you'll have for Brownwood!” “He’ll be more interested in Mr Brccklebank’s, I think," said Tolefree. t’He gave him some advice last week, and he'll want to know how it's been followed.”

"What was it?” asked Ackerton

“To keep an eye on Miss Pamela."

“It’s not like Brownwood to give superfluous advice. Who could help keeping an eye on Pamela?”' Ackerton bowed. “Well —we shall all meet in London.”

They drifted out. Ackerton drew Brocklebank aside.

“What’s your programme, Bill?” “We think of landing at Marseilles.’

“Ah—Marseilles; just as a memoryreviver, no doubt. Have you told Pamela about Cinderella’s slipper?” Ackerton twinkled.

“No—but I guess I’ve identified Cinderella, and I guess I like her even less than the Yellow Dog."

“So do I. Bill; but as between the pious crook and the profane, what is there to choose? Continue to keep an eye on Pamela, and prevent Don Quixote from tilting at any more windmills. See you at Woldihgham some time.”

At the head of the gangway, Ackerton stood for a minute wishing Harri-son-Clifford good-bye. Brocklebank found Tolefree and Pamela together. “Pamela,” said he, "you must get to know this chap. But for him. we’d never have had our cruise. Only don t keep any secrets from him. It can’t be done.”

“He’s just told me some about you. Bandit. You’re a more desperate character than even I imagined. He says you're a four-gun man! But I’m not afraid of you." "Wait till we get to Marseilles," said Brocklebank. "Tolefree — remember me to Allen. And tell him I've given up his profession for good, so he needn't fear'any rivalry from me. "He wouldn't anyhow," said Tolefree. "He was nearly inconsolable about missing the great schemozzle at Clay Cottage, but he perked up when he heard that the police had pinched Norrie and Company on a charge of attempted smuggling ” "Now, Tolefree " So ended the private war in which Brocklebank enlisted that Saturday afternoon in Park Avenue. It was fought on a serious issue and at a great cost. But not a shot had been fired till the last day, and then not in earnest and only one by a third party! Only once during the voyage did Brocklebank make any effort to rationalise the fantasy. They were passing through the Straits of Bonifacio, having dropped the churchwarden at Naples the day before —a fierce and angry churchwarden who went home overland to face a loss of ten thousand pounds. Pamela strolled to the starboard rail and he followed her. Dark eyes looked mischievously up to his grey ones as she pointed to the mountains coming down to the sea. "Corsica!" she said. "That's the place for you. Bandit.” "I’ll swim ashore if you’ll come. 100. Pamela; but on the whole. I prefer Port-Miou. "Don't look like that. Bandit! You

make me think of Mr Prilenko when

you look like that. That was just how Mr Prilenko looked when he was making that date with me.” “Damn Prilenko!" said Brocklebank, heartily. "You only mention him to annoy me. Gosh, Pamela—l can’t believe it! All this hasn’t happened. It’s a dream. Look at those two over there!”

He pointed to Henry and George, lolling side by side in deck chairs and chopping reminiscences. “Henry's quite recovered his equanimity, hasn’t he?” “It’s amazing!—two sane men thinking they could carry on a private war as if it were a sort of game in which they'd sworn not to hurt each other, breaking every law they chose, and keeping it so dark that no one in authority could see anything. You simply can’t rationalise it.”

"And why. Bandit? Because you’ve got your premise wrong. They aren’t two sane men. They're both insane. Where Henry’s concerned. Uncle George is just maudlin. And Henry’s the mad type that would rather be in a scrape than not. Uncle George happened to disapprove of this particular scrape. But he had to let Henry try it out. A sheer gamble. Henry sort of i bet him he couldn’t find out the way the thing was to be done. Uncle George bet him he would, and if he did he was to be at liberty to siend the evidence to the people who could put the extinguisher on the plan, but not to give Henry away. Both were at liberty to employ anybody or any dodge they liked. Uncle George employed me and you; Henry had a rather deleterious gang—but he says that was Ferraby’s fault for finding the wrong men. But, as yqu say, Bandit, it's amazing that they should ever have thought they could get away with it.” "Are you sorry they tried, Pamela?" "Can’t say I am Bandit, but, for heaven's sake, don’t go squishy here!" Next day the Persimmon anchored in the basin of La Joliette. They saw Worth off from the terminus by the night train. "Well, George,” he said, from the carriage window; “I give you best.” “No, Henry,” said Harrison-Clifford, “as between us, it’s a drawn battle of pop-guns. The heavy artillery settled it.”

“Still, if I were you, George, I'd steer clear of the respected parent for a bit. He'll be untouchable. Good-bye, George!—good-bye, Pamela! Brocklebank, I wish you knew Peter Korlovitch. You’d be sworn brothers in a day. Good-bye!” “And now,” said Harrison-Clifford, as they turned into the hotel, “what’s this about a place on the coast—something with cats in it?”

“Port-Miou,” said Brocklebank, “is strongly recommended by a friend of mine—l want you to meet him. Pamela’s simply dying to see it. Thinks it’s exactly the sort of place where se'd like to spent the best holiday she ever had." "This is a private joke between us, Uncle George,” said Pamela. “He thinks I’m afraid to go there —and I'm not.” THE END.

REMARKABLE HUMAN STORY

MAN WITH A PAST. In "Second Chance,” Holloway Horn tells the story of a man with a past. Hs past is not a long one, for although prematurely grey, John Fingal Ferguson, is only thirty-five. But it is a past to stir the curiosity of some with whom he comes into contact, and to bring almost to ruin the chance to make good which was afforded him. Here, as in most of Holloway Horn's stories, we meet some of those loveable characters which have earned the tribute of “charming people.” "In them, perhaps, lies the appeal of this author’s work. In his preoccupation with the "bad lots" and "crooks" and ‘twisters,” he does not forget that they are the exceptions. He recognises that the everyday folk of the world are really loveable people, and he delights in portraying them in his stories. ‘Second Chance" begins in the "Wairarapa Times-Age" tomorrow.