THE JUMPER

Waikato Times, Volume 125, Issue 20907, 12 September 1939, Page 5

THE JUMPER

By JOHN CREASEY

GHAPTER XVII. A Sensation At half-past eleven Richmond Hill was comparatively deserted apart from the few people who had been amusing themselves at one of the many small cafes on either side. There was no more than a sprinkling of people about when that affair, which was to be the sensation of the next morning's paper, occurred. Three times in as many seconds stabs of flame came from the direction of Richmond Bridge; but for the Jumper's promptness in banging the door to and bellowing to his men to keep down, one or two of the police must have been hit. As it was the Jumper felt a bullet nick through the cloth of his coat, and he told himself that if it was humanly possible, Brigham must-be caught! Brigham did not allow himself any time for thinking of the remarkable precautions which Rick Mayhew had taken to make sure that his confederate was not captured. Later the Jumper admitted to himself that Mayhew had proved himself a past master of the art of crime, had been prepared for every possible emergency. For the moment, however, the Jumper had no thoughts for anyone but Brigham, and he saw the fat Australian jump from his cab and go rushing towards Richmond Bridge, which wan perhaps thirty yards away. Shooting or no shooting the Jumper meant to follow him! He darted forward in Brigham’s ■wake—one glance at the man had convinced him that Smith was certainly Mayhew's accomplice—and the very fact that he was moving helped him to evade the bullets. The scene was crystal-clear in his mind's eye. Perhaps fifty people were within a hundred yards of the shooting, and

Thrilling Detective-Mystery Serial

with one accord they pulled up in their tracks and stared. Here and there a woman's voice was raised in a scream, and occasionally a deeper voice could be heard. Twice Dawlish heard the high pitched shrilling note of a police whistle. Traffic had pulled up, and the squealing of brakes had added to the din. But there was one way in which the commotion helped Dawlish. The direction of the shots was more easily discoverable, and Brigham—apart from the special agent, the only man within sight who was moving—could be followed without difficulty. Dawlish had suspected where the shots had been coming from, and now he knew. A high-powered saloon car was standing about ten yards away from the approach to Richmond Bridge. The flames were stabbing from its window, and Dawlish could see the head and shoulders of the gunman as each flash illuminated him. Obviously Brigham knew where to run for he was dashing along, an odd, almost comical figure, towards the car—a Daimler. Dawlish saw one thing very clearly. He could undoubtedly run twice as fast as Jonathan Brigham, but Brigham had a considerable start, and would reach the saloon car first. Once he was inside Dawlish would have an impossible task to catch him up on foot. He knew, moreover, that the only object of tlia. shooting was to hold off pursuit. It had long been the Jumper’s habit to act almost as quickly as he thought, and this was no exception. No one who saw him move would have dreamed that this had come at the end of one of the most exciting and physically exhausting days that the Jumper had ever experienced. He was nearer the cab in which Brigham had travelled than his own, and he did not propose to lose time by going back. He reached Brigham’s cab, and eyed the startled driver. “Police,” he snapped. “Do you drive, or shall I?” Never seed anyfTnk like it!” said the cabby, a hefty fellow, muffled up in the London taxi-man's usual blanket of clothing. “I’ll take you, boss!” Dawlish had often had occasion to be thankful for the pluck and quick wittedness of the London cabby, but he had never had such good reason as now. He had been prepared to drive himself, for he did not believe that the police were justified in ordering a man to risk his life, but it was much better from every point of view that he should be free from the task of controlling the wheel. He jumped on to the running-board, and the cabby prove-d that he was a man of action by letting in the clutch immediately. It was not a perfect start, and Dawlish was jerked severely, but his eyes were gleaming with satisfaction when he saw that Brigham was only just climbing into the Daimler. The gunman obviously knew what to expect. He continued to fire at the taxi, and three times in as many seconds bullets whanged against the m(Aal wings of the cab. Luckily for the Jumper it was a modern vehicle with fairly low wings, and the tyres escaped without damage. The Devil To Pay And then the firing ceased, for the Daimler started off! The Jumper had no idea where it would lead to, but he did know that if he succeeded in catching up with the other car there would be the devil

to pay! But he guessed why Mayhew had to be quite sure that he kept away from the police, for if he once fell into their clutches he would end on the gallows. Any attempt made to get him or to prevent the mysterious scheme from materialising would be met with gun-fire. The Jumper went into battle with a smile on his lips. The Daimler raced over the narrow bridge, bumping and shaking up and down, and the cab followed at less than fifty yards behind. More than ever the Jumper was thankful for the fact that the taxi was a new one. Its engine was powerful, capable of sixty miles an hour, and although the Daimler would probably be able to go at an even greater speed, while they were in traffic, the taxi would be more than capable of keeping its quarry in sight. The Jumper allowed himself time to glance backwards, and what he saw made him chuckle. The crowd, which had been startled into immobility, had suddenly felt itself released. When that danger from flying bullets was practically non-existent the people were rushing forward, with little or no idea of what direction they were taking. The helmets of several policemen were plainly visible, and even above the roar of the cab's engine the high pitched hum of traffic reached the Jumper's ears. But there was something else; a second taxi was following, and he caught a glimpse of the cadaverous features of Tomkins at the wheel! Obviously the driver of their cab had preferred to relinquish the wheel rather than risk death, and Tomkins was driving with Sutton in the back. One thing was certain: Dawlish could rely on having help at hand. There was yet the possibility, of course, that the Daimler would' escape, but the Jumper was inclined to look on the bright side of things, and he told himself that it was not likely Brigham would succeed in getting away. The Daimler swung left towards Twickenham, and Dawlish —who knew the road fairly well—told himself that the driver knew the road very well. There was not likely to be much traffic in Richmond that time of night, and once the car was through the town a straight road led into the country lanes ahead of them. The Jumper used his gun for t'lie first time. Flames stabbed out, and a bullet hummed towards the Daimler, followed in quick succession by two others. The Jumper had no idea whether he had succeeded in hitting the rear of the car, but one thing was certain; he had not touched the tyres, for the Daimler was moving as fast as ever. And the gun-man in it was at work egain. That mad dash through St. Margaret’s and Twickenham was one which was likely to linger for many years in the Jumper’s mind. The few people Whom they passed stood and stared in stupefaction at the drama which was being enacted before their eyes. First the Daimler, racing at over fifty miles an hour, with an occasional stab of flame from the gun in the passenger’s hand; then the taxi, racing at terrific speed, and the man on the running-board clinging with one hand to the door and firing with the other. It was a duel in speed and accuracy. One thing the Jumper knew: the driver and the gun-man in the Daimler had no fear of death, and his own cabby was proving a bulwark in time of need. It seemed impossible that the chase could last much longer. Three times in less than two minutes the Daimler pushed its nose past a car going in the same direction and then swung round perilously to avoid on-coming traffic. The lamps of these approaching cars glowed like eyes of evil, ahead of the Jumper and his driver, hut the taxi-man proved the saying that a London cabby was equal to any emergency. If that was true, so was the Daimler’s driver capable of anything that might develop. Hidden Messengers of Death In and out of t'he traffic, speeding all the time at fifty to sixty miles an hour, the two cars raced on. The shooting was spasmodic, for there were times when the swaying of the cab or the Daimler made it impossible for either gun-man to take reasonable aim. But twice the window-glass of the cab was pierced by a bullet which drilled a small, round hole in the safety-glass. From time to time the bang, bang of a little leaden messenger of death echoed against the metal wings, and the Jumper found it almost impossible to credit that they had travelled so far without their tyres being punctured. He knew what would happen if the man in the Daimler scored a bulls-eye. If either of the front tyres of the taxi were punctured the cab would be sent skidding across the road, and the speed at which they were travelling would mean disaster. But the Jumper did not think of it. What occurred to him as likely was t'he probability that before long they would-- crash head-on with the traffic coming in the opposite direction. Time and time again they squeezed past cars of all sizes by a hairbreadth, but be knew that in one respect at least they had an advantage over the Daimler. Oncoming cars would be warned of trouble by the first road-hog, and by the time the taxi reached them they would be well over on their own side of the road. The Daimler was taking risk after risk, but suddenly it reached a stretch of road along which nothing was coming, and then its engine deepened into a low-toned roar, and the distance between the two cars seemed to increase in front of their very eyes. The Jumper knew very quickly that the Daimler was out of range of his revolver. He relaxed a little, and although he was still standing on the running-hoard, the wind streaming past his face and almost blinding him, his hair ruffled, his coat-tails blowing behind him, lie contrived to re-load the automatic. “Enjoying yourself?” he bellowed to the driver. “Reminds me of Flanders this do,” yelled the other, as cheerful as ever. “It ain’t ’arf a gime, mister 1” “ ‘Game’s’ the word,” said the Jumper still cheerfully. “What speed can you get?” For a moment he thought that the driver had not heard him, for the man did not immediately reply. As it was the Jumper felt hoarse even now from the constant bellowing. But he was quickly disillusioned, for the cabby’s voice came again .raised in triumph. “There y’are, boss! Sixty-five!” Despite the speed, the man took his hand off the wheel and pointed in triumph to the speedometer. It was possible, the Jumper told himself with a grin, that the man was overjoyed at an opportunity of breaking the speed limit with impunity. But there was not much time for thinking ol' that. The speed of the cab must have exceeded that of the Daimler, for suddenly they were within shooting distance again, and the firing started afresh. This time bullets were coming from the small window at the rear

of the Daimler, and the Jumper's lips tightened. He realised that the man ahead of him would have a more direct aim now, and that the chances of scoring a hit had increased. But there was one way in which he could turn this development to his own advantage. Before, it had been practically impossible to fire at the gun-man him- ( self, for t'he fellow had been inside j the saloon, firing with his arm stretch- j ed out of the window. Now part of j his body would he immediately behind j t-he rear window and the Jumper took i careful aim and fired. Twice the j bullets spat out. and nothing happened, j Then another shot came from the man j in the Daimler, but the stab of flame i wavered, and the bullet went upwards. . The Jumper's heart leapt! The man I had been bit, and the direction of his shot had been altered because of it. J lie did not think that Brigham was | likely to start firing, and he told him- ) self I hat it would now develop into a / battle of speed, and nothing else. * And now they were through King- j ston, somehow contriving ‘to escape , collision. They hummed along the j road which stretched before them, \ like rockets through the darkness of the night. J

CHAPTER XVIII. And Then Disaster The chase had been fierce enough throuigh the lighted streets along which they had travelled, now they were going through the dark countryside it grew even more desperate. Speed was the only thing that counted, ! and the Jumper noticed that the i driver of the Daimler kep-t his head- | lights on at full strength all the time, I never dimming them, no matter what | might be coming towards him. The : taxi had practically nothing to worry ! about so far as collision was concerned now, for the Daimler continued to I clear the way. J The taxi in which Tomkins and Suti ton had been travelling was now ouL of sight. The .Jumper had not seen 1 it for thirly minutes or longer. He j knew that it was an older cab, and no j longer was he confident that he could : rely on having help, no matter what j happened ahead. He had to fight this j out on his own, and failure or suc- ’ cess would have to be determined by | himself-—and, of course, tfie man in j the Daimler. The Jumper knew little enough of J Jonathan Brigham, but from what lie

had seen of the man he imagined he would not cause much trouble. He wondered what the Australian was feeling like now. He had just told himself that by now radio messages would be flashing to the nearest town and that a police cordon might well be stretched across the road when they reached it. For ten minutes or more only Dawlish, still clinging to the cab with one arm, had used a gun. And then the firing from the Daimler started again. Three shots— And then disaster! The near-side front tyre of the cab exploded with a deafening report, and the wheel swung out of the driver's hands, leaving him helpless. The nose of the cab turned towards Die hank, and Dawlish realised in a flash that unless he moved quickly he would be crushed lie 1 ween 1 lie side of Hie cab and liie hedge lining the road. Gone was their hope of catching the Daimler: lie would lie lucky if tie escaped from this alive. (To Be Continued)