SERIAL STORY MARK 1702

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 58, Issue 85, 20 January 1938, Page 7

SERIAL STORY MARK 1702

BY EARDLEY BESWICK. :: Copyright. ::

(CHAFTER VIII (continued).

ANOTHER “SAMPLE.”

Johnny Cope seemed not to see the hand. “Some mistake somewhere. My name is Mulligan, S. F. Mulligan, nicknamed Safety First, of course. Senior Assistant Inspector to the controller of Munitions, at your service.

1 came down last night to tell you that your firm are handling their contract disgracefully, and with full power to

cancel it at my discretion.” The assured,, aggressive attitude seemed to disconcert the hairy little

man. The whole thing puzzled Hendringham, too, but it flashed across his mind that Cope was merely parodying the other’s abrupt change from affected non-recognition to over-cordiality and that, whatever his object, he was not likely to be unjustified. He watched Mr Mench recover something of his normal aplomb.and heard him say, as if resigned to the situation: “I sincerely hope you won’t find it necessary to do anything so drastic, Mr Mulligan. Perhaps if you will be so good as to sit down I can explain some of our difficulties.” There was not even a. flicker on Johnny Cope’s face as he seated himself and listened to what the other had to say. “I regret,” began Mr Mench slowly, as if searching for ideas, “I am nof au fait with the immediate position, the fact is I’ve had a very urgent inquiry to deal with this morning. Perhaps you know something about it, Mr Mulligan? It’s for a new pattern of gas-mask, very large quantities of them, too.” He looked up at Cope inquiringly. “Do you. mind a moment’s digression while I have the details still in my mind?” he asked. The other nodded. “Carry on,” he said. “It will be interesting to learn how you have spent your morning anyway.” The director shot a sharper glance at him and bent to open a drawer, “I have a sample here,” he said. “I put it away just before you came in. These things are very confidential, you know, and I was aware I was to expect such distinguished company. There are one or two points about the design that don’t seem quite right functionally to my mind.” From the drawer he took a particularly hideous specimen of mask and a pile of official-looking papers. “It’s a question of how the thing is going to be put on,” he explained. “Now I can

. put it on anyone else quite easily. Peril hfips Mr Hendringham will permit me , to demonstrate?” “He’ll do nothing of the kind,” ' snapped Cope. “Very good.” The little man seemed not in the least perturbed by the J abrupt refusal. “Then perhaps I can manage to demonstrate on my own per-

son. After all, that is the crux of the matter. You see, with the buckles " made in the way they are on this sample it seems impossible . . .” His voice became muffled into partial inaudibil- . ity as he manoeuvred the thing over his face. “Ah, my glasses,” he said, \ removing it to relieve himself of the slightly tinted spectacles he wore. “One get 9 so used to them that . . Again his voice became muffled. . “Smash the window quick, Geoff!” cried Cope, jumping to his feet.

MR MENCH SAYS FRIDAY. Hendringham was perhaps a little slower in obeying than would' have been the case if he had enjoyed a normal night’s rest. He saw Johnny Cope pounce on the director and force his head down over the desk, his bony fingers tearing at the mask. Then he lost sight of their struggle, plunging across the room intent on pushing his shoulder through the wide, glass pane.

The glass went splintering into the yard, and by now he had grasped the situation sufficiently to thrust his head out and take a deep breath of the warm, clean aii; before turning to the interior again. Outside the sun was brightening a quiet corner of the yard where flower beds improved the prospect from the directorial window. Inside, when he turned from the peace and charm of this scene, Cope was rising triumphantly, his face obscured by the mask, while over the desk lay the limp figure of Mr Pan do! fins Mench. With a swing of his arm Cope urged him to stay beside the window, and from there he watched the lanky figure of his friend bend to search in the open drawer from which the mask had been taken. Presently he saw him straighten up and stroll complacently to his side. He was holding the gas mask to his face with one hand still and he kept it there for a space.

His first words when lie did at last remove it were: “I hope J’ve impressed on you with the help of this neat little beauty aid that even such ugliness as mine isn’t the limit of what can be done.’' Leaning his arm on the window ledge, he indicated the prostrate Mr Mench with a swing of his head deskwards. “Nbatest trick 1 ever did see,” he remarked 1 in a tone of supreme admiration. “He’s got a cylinder of some foul but odourless stuff built into that desk, and when you open the draw you turn the tap on. You needn’t open it, of course, for any purpose except to demonstrate a gas-mask, through the goggles of which you can safely watch your visitors passing out. The only mitakc he made was, as you probably observed, that he tended to rush the thing a little. Bit rattled by my nonsense, I’d Jike to think.” “Is he dying?” “Hardly. Just wants a stimulant and his blood re-oxygenating, I should imagine. As soon as the stuff’s a bit • more diluted with this nice country air, I’ll see what I can do for him. We want to learn what date he’s aiming at, remember.” He moved slowly across he wall,

sniffing audibly. “Worst of it is the stuff’s got no smell,” he remarked, as lie opened a second window from which a gentle breeze, now that there was a path for it, ruffled the papers on the desk.

“Splendid. That would make things quite safe.” Cope was feeling in his waistcoat pocket, drawing out the little metal case that contained his hypodermic outfit. “Give me a hand, Geoff. We’ll have him beside the window,” he instructed.

Together they propped the limp little man across the sill, where his hairy cheek lolled comfortlessly on lough concrete. Cope felt his pulse, turned back an eyelid and then bared a fat arm that was almost as hirsute as his face. “Like Esau, hairy from his waist up, or have I got it wrong?” remarked the wielder of the restoring needle as he forced its point into a selected spot. “Keep him propped up a minute, Geoff. If the stuff’s what I think it is he won’t take long to come round.” And he did not. In less than five minutes his eyelids flickered and he stirred in Hendringham’s arms, whereupon they supported him back to his chair. “Hope ho isn’t sick,” the physician said. “The little dose I got made me retch considerably.” They watched him anxiously, but no such calamity arose. The little director wagged his head sleepily, opened his eyes, and then abruptly sat up, gazing stupidly at the two of them. “Did I understand you to say Thursday for the sample, Mr Mench?” The question was fired at him with all Cope’s at times commanding insistence. “Friday, not before that. Not before Friday,” .was the half-automatic answer, and Cope nodded seriously at his companion. Mr Mench, as if the effort had been too much for him, closed his eyes and once more slumped in his chair. They waitqd. When his patient once more straightened in his chair, this time with every appearance of complete wakefulness, Cope was ready for him again. “I can’t understand why you should insist we can’t have the thing before Thursday,” he said in a tone of severe disapproval. “Mr Hendringham here seems positive we can have it to-night.” “Thursday? Did I say Thursday? Excuse me, gentlemen, I must have dropped off. I’ve been suffering a good deal from insomnia of late.. Have I kept you waiting long ” His self-con-trol was once again perfect. Henrdingham could not help admiring him. He might not have retained the least memory of recent events. Perhaps he hadn’t.

“Oh, not in the least. You just nodded once or twice, but even Homer nods; we have that on classical authority, you know,” Cope encouraged him. Mr Mench ignored the flippancy. “1 can’t think,” he said, “how Mr Hendringham hopes to keep his promise if he really is serious when he says you can have a sample to-night. After all, it’s hardly our fault if the original sample was destroyed. I feel the Controller s departnmt must accept the blame for that themselves.”

Hendringham winced internally. It was quite obvious from one point of view that the explosion had placed Mr Mench in a strong position. Before he could answer, however, Johnny Cope said amiably: “Well, I’m not here to bandy accusations. Otherwise I should want to know who was responsible for the intro-cellu-lose.”

The response was a shade too perfect. “Nitro-cellulose ? My dear sir, what are you inferring?” “Well, it might have been something else. Of course there was celluloid in the tubes, wasn’t there, Geoff?” He spoke musingly, as if making a genuine effort "to probe a technical mystery. Hendringham rose to the hint. “Thick celluloid, both of them,” he confirmed. For the moment the director s recovered aplomb again deserted him. An almost despairing look brought wrinkles to the corners of his eyes' and beneath his beard his full lips, still slightly blue, parted like those of a huit child. “You don’t mean to say . . .” he began, and then checked himself. “Am I to understand that you had explosives on you when you entered the testroom?” he asked Hendringham, who at once tried to look more awkward than he felt and dropped his head guiltily. ' “As a matter of fact, I’d put them on the bench. If they’d been any nearer I don’t suppose I should have been alive to-day. Anyway, how was I to know they weren’t dummies?” he said petulantly. He was beginning to enjoy this. Johnny Cope held up an admonitory hand. “I fancy it would be wiser to keep all this until tlie inquiry, he was saying, but at that moment there came a knock at the door.

(To be Continued.)