MASTERS OF THE PARACHUTE MAIL

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 60, Issue 47, 5 December 1939, Page 7

MASTERS OF THE PARACHUTE MAIL

By PETER BENEDICT

(Copyright).

A Gripping Romantic Story of Modern Methods in an ancient Smuggling Trade.

CHATTER XV. WHO IS MERE COLIBRI? “I thought about it a whole heap,” said Peter reflectively, “and so did'Superintendent Barker. "We went about for a week muttering cabalistic phrases from it, and made it mean at least a hundred different things. You remember the full text?” He repeated it, very softly, “Quoting you: 9:5 loc. 4: no need await confirmation. Any queries through No. 4. Mere Col.’

“Where shall I see you to-morroAV?” she asked as they parted. “1 don’t quite knoAv. I’ll ring you up first thing in the morning.” She agreed sleepily, and said goodnight to him with a contented mind. But she Avas hardly prepared to be nAvakened by the ringing of the .telephone hell at quite such an unearthly hour —for q Mayfairish, blase courtship such as theirs avos supposed to be as half-past eight in the morning. She had slept heavily, and aAVoko to the shrill sound Avith a suddenness Avhich Avas startling. She reached for the instrument without getting up. Not Peter’s voice, but the peremptory squaAvk of a parrot saluted her ear. She almost dropped the thing in her atonishment; almost, but not quite. Perhaps it Avas the flashing out of a vivid dream which kept her mind so open and receptive uoav. Anything could haA r e seemed ordinary and real after that Avild other-worldly experience. She replied to the unseen parrot sweetly that yes, this was Eleanor Vandeleur.

“I tried to think what it could refer to, myself. But of course, .1. soon had something else to think about, didn’t I? What did you make of it? ‘Quoting you.’ Well that’s simple enough, isn’t it? The airman was merely a junior member of the organisation. He took his orders from here in England—we might say, from our friends here in London.”

“What makes you so certain,” asked Peter, “that the ’plane was not English?”

“Where would be the sense in that? The whole thing is to avoid the Customs same as me.’

“So sorry, my dear,” said the parrot shrilly, “to call you up at this unearthly hour. But you get about so extensively, don’t you, that it’s really difficult to he sure of finding you at any particular time in any particular place. I thought I’d be sure for once.” “You bet I get around'all I can,” said Miss Vandeleur demurely. “That’s Avhat I’m here for. But—oh, the fool I am, of course I knoAv Avho it is. Lady CoAvle! Yes, but you see, I’m still in bed, and only just awake —if I am awake.” • Both end's of the Avire chuckled, though Lady Cowle’s chuckle was more of a screech. Something in Peggy s mind nagged that she had forgotten it; something important, something significant. She knew it Avas there, but she could not get hold of it. And in the meanwhile: “I want you to come over this afternoon,” said the parrot which Avas Lady CoAvle, “and take cocktails Avith us. Filthy things, but what Avould our village idiots do at five o’clock without them? One can at least change one’s dress for the occasion, and that fills up 'half an hour or so. What Avith one thing and another, AVe just manage to fill up the day.” ‘ “I’m one of the village idiots,” said Peggy. “I like them.” “You’ll like my beautiful’piano hotter. I promised to play for you, and I have a hunch—l mean a hunch, don’t I?—that you don’t believe I really can. And there’ll be a few elders here, perhaps worth even your young Avhile to cultivate for, say—ten minutes. I promise you vintage Avine.” “I’ll come,” said Peggy, “sure I’ll come. May I bring Peter?” His name made so beautiful an Americanism that with difficulty she restrained _ herself from repeating it thoughtfully into the mouthpiece. “Oh, by all means bring him along. He’ll probably be bored. My appeal is to the very young, or the very old. But why should you care if he’s bored? Bring him along?’’ “At five!” said Peggy. “At frve. A rivederci 1”

He smiled, noncommittal but contented, leaving it to her, as to a star pupil. “Well, go no.” “Well, these runs have been a regular feature for some time, according to your own department. With each run—and, remember, no cargo has ever been captured until this upset at Abbott’s Ferry—the airman confirms his orders for the next run. How he gets them is another, and an entirely different worry. At any rate lie has always received them successfully; well, he drops with each cargo a repetition of the orders issued to him for the next, thus making sure there can he no misunderstanding. Does that make sense?’’

“It does, and I agree. Well, having accounted for ’‘Quoting you,’ see what you can do with the rest. What about 9:5: loc. 4?” “I don’t know. There must be several things it could refer to. The date would be necessary; so would the hour . . . unless the hour ivas permanently understood, and after all, it would have to be fairly elastic, wouldn’t it? Taking it this refers to the next run—a mere matter of important routine to them; they always thought things out well, didn’t they? - There wasn’t much room for hitches. What about loc. 4? Couldn’t it mean location number 4? Of a prearranged list? They wouldn’t risk too many nights in the same spot. Besides, I neA'er heard aeroplanes in the night before, over the moor there.

“They Avould probably have half a dozen or more well-chosen places ready and knoAvn to all members, so that they could ring the changes on them as required. So simple when you just have to Avrite ‘loc. 4,’ and you’re perfectly understood. And next month Avill ho September, the ninth month. What if it means: ‘Landing another cargo on September the fifth at place number four on the list. All set this end. If there’s any hitch at your end, send information and await uoav orders through No. 4. Signed. Mere Col.” ” “Why shouldn’t it?” demanded Peter of the empty air betAveen his thoughtful face and the creamy ceiling. “Why shouldn’t the obvious be the true, when they had' no possible reason to fear any interference?”

That was a nasty one, blit she contented herself with saying a mild goodbye, and ringing off. And with the click of the telephone upon its stand the machinery of her mind slipped into position with a spontaneous leap almost equally audible, and she knew what had been worrying her. She sat up in bed, and for a moment was seriously afraid for the first time. Then she got up in a great hurry, and dashed through her toilet with no end but speed in view. By the time Peter at length rang her up she had been poring for a solid hour over her most cherished books of reference, a comprehensive study of North America, with maps, and the record catalogue which had stood her in such good stead before. Peter Milne and Eleanor Vandeleur took cocktails at Lady Cowle’s charming old Queen Anne house in Coleridge Square. The company was fairly small, but select, as indeed, this redoubtable old woman’s parties generally were. It was noticed, among the frequenters of these lofty places, that the great old lady went out of her way to be nice to the American girl, and spent the greater part of an hour talking to her, which was an exceptional performance for a girl, and especially for an American.

“Are you calling my deductions' obvious?”

“I am, and so they are, or I wouldn’t have reached the same conclusions myself in something like the same time. Superintendent Barker spent days trying to make the whole thing mean something much more complicated, and I must say lie succeeded in evolving several messages equally plausible. But after all, why shouldn’t it mean what it seems to mean? They could not guess it would ever go astray. They took all due precautions and a few over; but why should anyone human assume that this slip of paper should go astray, and fall into our hands? I’m sick of trying to find secret meanings. Let’s play a hunch.”

“Let’s! All we have to do is get into their inmost circle, ask to see their list of locations suitable for dropping drugs by parachute, ask for a regiment of police and a few dozen army searchlights, and wait for the lid to blow off the copper. Simple!” “I wasn’t, being as obvious as all that,” said Peter meekly. “I was merely thinking—Oh, blow! I can’t get it clear yet. Como on, and let’s dance. I’ll tell you what I mean, as soon as I know myself.” He heaved himself out of the cushions and held out a hand to her. Taking it, her brows knit in a worried frown, she murmured, half to herself: “Mere Colibri—Mere Col— Would you say that was the same person? 1. mean the password to the maviajuana, and the signature to the orders?” “I’ve been considering that. It may not he a person. It may be a convenient password, as it was in the Green Scorpion. Did you ever think of that? ’

The interest which Eleanor’s undoubted beauty had aroused, her severe but daring clothes—Sylvia Milne’s new gown and hat trimmed with startling bottle-green plumage —had enhanced, and her vigorous personality had made stable, now became redoubled by Lady Cowle’s obvious liking for her. If the old lioness could hear to hold animated conversation with her for one hour by the clock, it stood to reason there must be something in her lovely head besides bone.

Corrie separated Peter from Peggy almost as soon as they entered the house, and ivas caieful to be nice to him, paying rather more attention to him, indeed, than he thought natural. Her talk was all of Miss Vandeleuv. Grandmother was charmed with her. What part of America did she' hail from? And what were her people? Commonplace stuff he might have thought it, if Peggy had not so earnestly spent the entire morning and afternoon working out with him a full and vivid account of her childhood, parentage, and life in the United States, complete with dates and maps.

“I did, hut I don’t. I mean —it sounds like a person; and the two must be the same. And if it is a person, then it’s a woman —” PEGGY STUDIES HER PAST. “The female of the species is more deadly than the male. That,” he said, drawing his tired partner gently into the circle of liis arm on the edge of the half-deserted dancing floor, “refers to the genus detective, too —ama teur and professional.” They danced the onestep out. Peggy was surprised to find how tired she was, and was not sorry when he observed the increasingly recurrent phenomena of her yawns, and laughed at her, and took her home to the Malbro. It had been, at any rate, a fruitful sort of day. They were a good day’s journey nearer to ,their objective, and had lost no ground themselves, since Peggy’s bona-fides had not been in question. But it all seemed a little like a dream as she lay half-asleep against Peter’s shoulder in the taxi.

She had not told him what she feared ; she merely implored him to take her seriously and help her to concoct the story, since his knowledge was much greater than hers. And again and again she had impressed upon him that each of them must know it by heart, without one tiny discrepancy. And he had taken her seriously, because lie had learned that it paid, that in all her madness there was method and to spare. Poor Peggy bad said, in reply to all appeals to formulate her suspicions : “No, please, don’t ask me. It’s too

impossible and silly, and I expect to be proved a fool; but I’ll tell you all about it when I know the end of it myself.” Having made this his own argument on at least one occasion, he had been unable to quarrel with it in her. In consequence, here he was, being pumped with great tact and charm by Come, envied by all lier admirers, and chaffed by a young man who entered late, and was made much of, and who finally reached Peter’s circles to be introduced as Leslie Graham, though Corrie addressed him constantly as Gray. (To bo Continued).