THE BLACK PILGRIM

Waikato Times, Volume 124, Issue 20739, 24 February 1939, Page 5

THE BLACK PILGRIM

By George Stanley

STORY Xll—(continued) The train drew up, after a rambling journey, at, the small wayside station, and the woman descended. The Black Pilgrim followed, and by pausing a few minutes in the shelter of the box-like waiting-room while he lit his pipe, gave her time to pass from the station. £hc proceeded to the outskirts of the village and then, t.o his astonishment, he saw her produce a key from her pocket, and open the door of a little bungalow. She- passed inside and the door closed. Intrigued. The Black Pilgrim walked on until he had gained a five-barred gate, leading to a field. Perching himself upon the gate, he found that he could keep observation upon the entrance to the cottage without being seen. He had sat there, smoking his pipe, for some time when, to his surprise, an ancient Ford car drew up at the bungalow. From it emerged the figure of “Iron Annie.” She opened the gates leading into the drive at the side of the bungalow and sent the car in, closing the gates after her. For the next hour, the hidden watcher remained thinking over the artfully contrived bolt hole of the female criminal, then the pangs of hunger asserted themselves. He made a detour and, gaining the village by another route, entered the local inn. Ordering some lunch, he stood chatting with the landlord over a glass of beer, while h* 3 awaited the meal.

Carefully he led the conversation round to the local residents, until he mentioned the little bungalow and the ancient Ford.

“A rum bird, that person,” commented the landlord. “Comes down here off and on. Says she is on the boards. Variety turn or something. Looks more like a strong man at the circus to my mind. Drinks a lot, too. So does her maid. I’ve heard the two of them shouting at each other like two lunatics. I bet they get drunk to-night. They always do the first night they get here. Kind of celebration after a tour. I suppose. Name, sir? Her name is Florrie Barlow. Here's your lunch, sir.”

The Black Pilgrim thought over the conversation while he ate his lunch, until ho finally decided that it might be worth his while to listen in if the two strange women were likely to quarrel. Accordingly, in order to prevent gossip from the landlord, he arranged to call back for tea and, seeking the local estate agent, put in a little time in inspecting some of the local properties. During his tour he gained further information about •‘lron Annie” and her bungalow. He returned to the inn for a late tea, allowed himself to be drawn into several games of billiards, and left the house some time later. Sauntering along the road to the station, he entered a side lane as soon as he was secure from observation, and turned across country until he had gamed a position among a clump of bushes from which he could keep watch upon

He remained quietly smoking until the blackness of the country night itad descended, then he stole forward to the bungalow. Skirting the building he approached the rear, where a hglit shone from one of the windows. A. badly fitting blind gave him a fair view of the two women sitting within at the table. They had a bottle of spirits between them, and from the expression upon the little woman's face, it appeared as if she was already the worse for drink.

Although “Iron Annie” gave no visible signs of the drink that she had taken, both her voice, and the voice of her companion, rose, as they continued talking.

“You're scared, that’s what up with you!” said the little woman.

“Nellie Fallows, I'll ring your cursed neck, if you're not careful," answered “Iron Annie.” “I'm scared of nothing. Where is this job you're talking about?” “It’s near Croydon—we could run over there in the car in a shake,” said the little woman, Nellie Fallows. “I’ve ad my eye on it for a week or two. The" bird that lives there only comes down for week-ends. She's got pots of money and a lot of jewellery, too. She came into a fortune a little while back. The papers made a splash of it. Lot of stuff about the worry of millions of money.”

“I remember now,” answered “Iron Annie.” “What’s the good of that to us? She’ll have crowds of servants hanging about.” "No, she won't, clever,” snapped Nellie Fallows. “She's got a place in Town where she ’angs out. But she goes down to this ’ole for the weekends, every Friday night, and does everything for herself. A bit potty, I reckon. That’s what’s up with her.” “Where is this place?” asked “Iron Annie,” as she poured herself another stiff drink of the gin which the bottle contained. “It's at Hurley Oaks Way, near Croydon. The place is called The Lone Pine. Its all on its ownsome, too. Money for Jam, if you asks me.” “All right. Then Saturday night we’ll see about this flash bird!” chuckled “Iron Annie.” “We’ll run the car over to-morrow and have a look at the place. Saturday night just after twelve, I’ll give her a socker! Why should she have all that money? Tell me that!” “Quite right,” answered Nellie Fallows, with a drunken leer. “We’ll teach her to have millions. You pig, you’ve soaked up the last drop! I’m going to bed.” The Black Pilgrim waited no longer. Stealthily he crept from the garden and, hurrying back to the station, was fortunate enough to catch a train within a few minutes, which took him back to Town. During his journey he sat smoking, meditating upon the conversation which he had overheard, and when at last the train ran into the terminus, his quick brain had already mapped out his plan of campaign. On the following morning, after a : visit to Hurley Oaks Way, he adopted j his usual procedure in communicating | information to Scotland Yard, and! telephoned to Inspector Barney Rye from a public call-box. • | have some information for you. \ Inspector." he said. “You ar*\ 1 ; take it. still keen on getting this ! horrible woman "Iron Annie"? s-ince she injured that child I have been J l,iKing .m interest in her. and 1 hope to hi> able to deliver her into your hands. You have Mneerprinl.-*. 1 f know. Now. if you will !-e ivjd> m , a fast police car at Hurley Police j wtAtion zn next Saturday night from ■

A story of a modern Robin Hood.

just before midnight, as soon as I have secured this woman I will 'phone you at Hurley Police station. At the same time will you arrange for the local police at Tuppingham, to be ready in a ear to raid a house in the locality, where they will ITnd much of the properly which this woman I has stolen. You know my information is reliable. Don't l'orgel. I Saturday next —round about midnight jat Hurley Police station. Also the ! Tuppingham police to be ready. I Good-bye.” I lie rang off and was quickly away from the telephone-box. Boarding his car he sent it speeding from the dangerous vicinity. Dusk was deepening into darkness when, on the Friday evening, he rang the bell at the door of The Lone Pine ; at Hurley Oaks Way, and stood waiting, wondering what kind of person he was to see. He heard footsteps in the hall, then the door opened, and both The Black j Pilgrim and the girl who stood in the doorway stood staring at each other for a moment. Then, a flush of crimson deepened the colour in the girl's charming face. "Oh!” she said, softly. “You! 1 had begun to fear that I should never see you again. Come in!” The brown eyes of The Black Pilgrim smiled as he entered the hall of the small house, and followed the girl into a cosily furnished room. "Do sit down,” begged the girl. “Y'ou are a most annoying person, you know. You saved me from that horrible pair. George Bennett and his sister, and did everything for me. then when I wanted to thank you. I couldn’t find you anywhere. i owe you twenty pounds, too. Y’ou can't escape me this time!”

She smiled at her companion and. for the first time in his experience, that strange adventurer felt the thrill which comes perhaps once in a lifetime, perhaps never. “The peculiar thing about it is,” he said, "that I didn’t know that you lived here. Once again your money is destined to prove a trouble to you.” In a few words he explained how he had come to call at the house, and when he had finished the girl's face blanched.

“I’ve read about horribio woman,” she said. “She nearly killed a child. She deserves torturing!” “Unfortunately they don’t do things like that nowadays,” said The Black Pilgrim. “It was through people like her that I became a modern edition of Robin Hood. There are too many loopholes in modern laws, and people are too lenient with such ghastly characters as ‘lron Annie.’ But that is beside the point. What I want you to do is this ”

He outlined his plan, and when he had finished the girl nodded her head.

“Of course I’ll do anything you wish,” she said. “How could I refuse? But there is a condition—you don't escape me again. You must promise to come and see me in Town I’ve very few friends; except for my solicitor's wife, who is rather old, but a dear, I know nobody. As it was through you I kept my money, you ought to have an interest in my affairs.” They discussed the matter until at length The Black Pilgrim agreed with his charming companion's suggestion, and she promised to comply with his conditions. Accordingly, upon the Saturday evening when he arrived at the house, she admitted him herself and watched him carry a long, bulky package into her bedroom. Then, after warning him to be careful, she left the house and made her way to her car, and was driven back to Town.

As soon as she had left, The Black Pilgrim set the stage for the final scene.

It was just after midnight, when the latch upon the back window clicked back and the ominous figure of “Iron Annie” stole into the house, to enter the bedroom of the lone inmate.

She saw a figure sleeping peacefully, with the shaded light of a bedside lamp shining upon the bed. Down smashed the weapon which the horrible woman carried, and even she was astonished as the wax head of the figure which occupied the bed shattered into pieces at her blow. Then, before she would recover from the shock, a stern voice snapped: “Up with your hands, “Iron Annie’!”

As The Black Pilgrim had anticipated, the biff woman paid no attention to his warning, but sprang like a tiger at the masked man who confronted her. The pistol which he carried belched smoke twice into her face before she fell forward clutching at her throat. In a few minutes The Black Pilgrim had lashed the hands and feet of the unconscious woman and, seizing the telephone, was giving the necessary details to the Hurley Police station. He replaced the receiver, removed his mask and made for the door, nut as he approached, the small figure of a woman rushed madly from the house. The Black Pilgrim opened the garage of the house and, starting his car, sent it racing from the spot. Far up the road an ancient Ford car driven by Nellie Fallows was speeding away, with one thought in the mind of the driver: Revenge, on the man whose face sue had seen, and who admitted that he was The Black Pilgrim; the man who had caused the arrest of the one person in life for whom she had any affection —"Iron Annie." (Another Episode To-morrow)