MARK 1702

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 58, Issue 88, 24 January 1938, Page 7

MARK 1702

SERIAL STORY

BY EARDLEY BESWICK.

:: Copyright ::

CHAPTER X.

COINCIDENCE. Hendringham thought. “There was a fellow I heard about who was sacked from the toolroom a few weeks ago. I seem to remember that he was supposed to have set up for himself. Crowder was talking about it—seemed to envy him.”

“Can you get Ills address?” “I might, through Crowder, if 1 knew where he hung out.” “Anyone you could ring at the Works?”

“Sutcliffe, the wages clerk, only he’d probably report to old Mench.” He hesitated a moment, looking awkward. “Perhaps Miss-Silva ne could get it for me,” he said with an air of indifference.

“Does she work by herself?” He nodded. “Office next to the Director’s.”

“All right. You’d better get on with it. There’s a ’phone box down the street that’ll be more private than the one in the hail.”

Hendringham rose and, with an assumption of unconcern, made his xvay casually out of the room. From the doorway he caught sight of the little creeper-covered door by which they had entered from the yard, and it appealed to him as a less public exit than the one through the main hall. The yard was congested with cars. Cope’s big tourer conspicuous among them. The sight of it reminded him of a parcel of parts they had brought from the toolroom and stowed ssomewhat carelessly on the floor between their feet. At once he became alarmed for their safety, and going over, he scrutinised the interior of the car. The parts were not there.

Excitedly he turned back to the dining-room, cursing his own and Cope’s carlessness. In the low dark passage a man was standing as if hesitant. They almost bumped one another, and, apologising, he registered the impression that the fellow had been looking for him. A glance into'the dining room confirmed him—that there were now only two men sitting at the table by the service screen. Puzzled, he went across to Cope's table and, boiling with impatience, had to wait for his friend to finish an argument with the waiter over the vintage year of a brandy. Apparently Cope was maintaining that the hotel’s best was a year or two too young. The dispute was at last postponed by Cope ordering a glass with which to make a test for himself. When the waiter left he turned to Hendringham with “You’ve been quick.” “I had a look at the car. Those parts have gone!” “My dear chap! Wl/at made you think I’d left them in the car?”

“Didn’t you?” “Geoffrey, I’m almost hurt by your lack of confidence.”

“I’m damn sorry, old man. I seem to he going to pieces a bit, but I. didn’t see you shift ’em.” “I trust you wei-en’t alone in overlooking it. I did not wish anyone to see me doing that, as a matter of fact. Those three fellows by the screen, or at least tffere were three until one of them went out to sleuth you, won’t have missed giving the old ’bus the once-over, you may bet your 'boots.” “Know who they are?”

“No more than that they bear solid English names and are staying at this solid English hostelry. Funny thing is, though that if they’ve been truthful, they all come from widely distant towns. Yet they drink together and eat together as if they'd been brought up together. Possible, of course, but I fancy it’s a mistake in tactics. I attribute the peculiar potency of that vile apertif that so nearly laid you low to one or other of them—you know the waiter stopped at their table with drinks on his way to ours. He put the tray down for a moment too. But the really interesting thing is that Mr Marsden has room Number 16, Mr James room Number 18, and Johnny Cope room Number 17. Sandwiched, eh ? Apparently Mr Marvel couldn’t get a room nearer than the floor above, but the one he's got’s directly over mine. Neat, isn’t it?” “What an ass I’ve been! I’d better get that telephoning clone now.” “That’s the idea, but don’t blame yourself. After all, I haven’t been blown up twice within the last eighteen hours. You’re doing pretty well to be walking about at all.” He looked at his wristwatch. “Give you precisely seven and a half minutes.' he said. with, a subtle smile.

He ’phoned from the street cabinet. Through the glass, door he could see one of the men from the hotel take up a waiting position within a minute of his putting through his call. Though satisfied that nothing could be heard outside, he spoke unwontedly close to the receiver as soon as he got the Works exchange. Miss Silvane answered promptly. On learning his requirements she told him to wait while she made inquiry in the Wages Department. In a couple of minutes she was back with Ijhe address. The essentials had been performed, and there was still at matter of two minutes of the second three he had already secured from the operator.

“Has everything been all right?” he asked, determined to make t iull use of the minutes.

“Well, only more or less.”

“Mench been on to you?” “I’m afraid you’ll have to get in touch witli the purchasing department about that.” “What on earth do you mean?” “It’s useless trying to get information from me about that matter. You’ll have to get on to the Purchasing, I tell you.” “But, my dear girl! Oh, I am a fool! I understand now.”

“Tm glad you understand at last, but I think you’d he wiser not to bother any of the secretaries in future. It’s only a traveller asking about the steel contract, Mr Mench. I’m trying to choke him off.” The last words were fainter, and all Hendringham had time tor was: “Goodbye, my dear. God bless you,”-before the line went dead. Back again in the now deserted din-ing-room he explained this incoherent conversation to Cope. “Mench must

have come into her office,” he said. “Anyway, without any warning she began to tell me off for trying to nose in on a purchasing matter. Pretty clever of her, eh?” “She’ll make an intelligent woman. It’s not often so much horse sense accompanies so, much attractiveness,” said Johnny Cope. “Now since the conversation has taken yon two minutes less than I gave you, and I confess 1 shouldn’t have been surprised if it had taken you ten minutes longer, I reckon we’d better get in touch with your Mr Crowder.” He finished his brandy, making a doubtful shake of his head, and rose.

VISIT TO MR EVANS. At once the waiter hurried forward, polite inquiry contorting all his normally suave features. Cope shook his head a little gravely this time, and murmured to the man m passing; “A little short of bouquet, and a trifle on the fiery side, I’m afraid.” From his manner no one would have imagined he had a problem on his mind more serious than the date ot a brandy. The waiter seemed immensely impressed.

As they emerged under the creepercovered doorway into the now less congested yard Hendringham saw liis companion raise his hands to feel about the narrow leafy ledge of the> porch. The hands came down with the parcel of defective parts, rie dropped it carelessly on the floor of the car, and wriggled into the driving seat. “So that’s where you stored them! Funny I never noticed you do it.” commented his companion as they settled down.

“Not funny at all, seeing that 1 chose a moment when not even you were observing me. Those blokes probably credit us with having already dealt with the parts, and if that is the case they may not ne so keen on scouting after us this trip. To tell you the truth I’m beginning to want a few uninterrupted hours. We seem to have crowded rather a lot into this morning, and I’m finding it decidedly wearing.” He steered dexterously into the sunny street, ran through the market square, and took the London Road. “Here, this isn’t the way to Crowder’s address,” his companion remonstrated. “Several quite impressive buses about Shalbridge this morning,” was Cope’s only response. '“Did you see that blue one with the disc wheels parked in the market square? There might he a round the houses racemeeting coming off.” Hendringham had pot observed the car, and said so, and they drove on in silence until, at a garage on the side of 8’ straight stretch of road, they pulled up for petrol. They had hardly stopped before a. long blue car, a little battered, hut obviously going less -than half out. “That’s the one,” said Cope. “Looks a powerful bus.” “It probably is. If I’m not mistaken it won the Grand Prix at Montiheiy a couple of years ago, only I fancy it was driven by a better man on that occasion.” He hustled the attendant, paid for the petrol, swung in a wide sweep about the garage pull-in, and, opening out, streaked hack into the town. “Now whereabouts is that address?” he asked as he slowed into the traffic. “Better take the first on the right. That will bring us out somewhere near Maude Street.” Ignoring the advice, Cope pulled up beside a traffic policeman and inquired the way to Maude Street. His companion was silent under the snub he imagined to receive. “By the way, officer,” said Cope when he had been instructed to take the first on the right, “there’s an old blue Minotaur’ll be along in. a minute or two. Open racer with two fellows in it. You can’t miss it. If y° u can find it in your heart to hold them up a minute or two longer than normal I shall he delighted.” He thrust something into the policeman’s discreet palm. “Bit of a bet on, he explained genially. Hendringham ceased to imagine that he had been snubbed when he saw the policeman wink with sympathetic understanding. “Two problems solved,” remarked Cope happily as they drove along. “First I wanted to make sure he was tracking us and second 1 had to provide for his being held up at a spot where his speed would not avail him. I’ve done ninety-five in this old thing, but he’s done a hundred; and twenty In his, so it wouldn't have been a race anyway.” He bore off, following his directions, through a tangle of streets. They found Crowder’s cottage easily enough, but the man himself was not at home. His wife, a tidy, matronly little woman, suggested they would probably find Ins at Bert Evans’s.” “Isn’t that the man who set up foi himself?” Hendringham asked: impulsively, recalling the name. “That’s him, sir. My husband otten goes along to give him a hand when he’s got a moment to spare.” They thanked her and, following her instructions, reached a narrow lane that ran between the sides of some cottages and came out into what must once have been a stable yard. From onb of the dilapidated sheds came the sound of machinery, and a painted board on the door announced the occupation of Albert Evans to he tha tor Machinist. Turning to fine limits. The impression they received from the interior of the shed was that Mi Evans’s business was less urgent at that moment than he might have been expected to consider desiiable. The single line of shafting was running light, the belts on the loose pullies, and there was little or no wotk discernible on the tables of the idle machines. But to Hendringham s experienced eye it was by no means a bad little plant, the machines, though far from new, being of excellent makes and scrupulously cared for. Crowder ivas sitting on a bench smoking a cigarette and talking with the man with a dark complexion and little proprietor, a worried-looking little bright Welsh eyes. The two sprang off the bench at the sight ot the visitors. Crowder at once recognised them .and when lie had introduced them to Evans, who wiped as oily palm along the leg of his overalls before shaking hands, they quickly got to business.

(To ho Continued.)