MARKED DOWN FOR KILLING

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 60, Issue 211, 14 June 1940, Page 7

MARKED DOWN FOR KILLING

By SYDNEY HORLER.

CHAPTER. XII. “WHY THE NEW CAR?” “I thought I would . . • will you be wanting the ear—the new cal’?’' she went on, without batting an eyelid. Tiger was equally mask-like. “It’s a beauty, don’t you think? Rill offered me the pick of the new hunch.” % “What’s happened to the old one? You told me nothing about, the exchange. Tiger leaned towards her. “Is it possible that the wife of my bosom is developing the habit of asking unnecessary questions?” “1 think it’s a lovely car, darling,” she compromised. She knew from the expression on her husband’s face that Tiger was in no mood that morning in spite of his bantering manner, ,to be “put through the hoop,” as he termed it. He was up to something she knew; there was a mystery about the new car, but as he had not decided yet to give her, his confidence she would have to be content with drawing her own conclusions. That was the worst of being married to - heaven and the other place and the latter always seemed to materialise when she felt most happy. “Good! How did you like the show last night?” Tiger’s manner had changed; the tenseness had gone out of his voice; he was like a schoolboy again.

“It was quite amusing,” she answered; “but I do wish that these modern actors would learn to talk instead of mumble . . .”

It had been an awkward lmlf-an-hour or so, and once again Tiger felt pangs of conscience. But, dash it, he couldn’t tell her the truth—how could he possibly say that he had' been obliged to take up the old Standish custom of slug-hunting because the son of a man he had been forced to kill was out for his own blood. It just couldn’t be done! The only j thing was to be as speedy as possible in hunting this rat Carlimero out, and sending him to join his parent. He certainly didn’t wish to die himself. As he strolled down St. James’s Street, exchanging greetings with a man every dozen yards or so, he felt that life had never been so pleasant. The old joie de vivre was present in quite large quantities at that moment.

So it was that when he reached his favourite club, the Junior Corinthian, he beamed expansively upon the chief liall-porter. The latter in turn looked as though he had just received the Accolade.

“Good niorning, Mr Standish,” he said, with the smile he reserved for his special favourites. “Good morning, Latimer; I should like your opinion of this one.” Taking out one of the pipes that he had purchased at Louis’s the previous afternoon, he drew the porter to one side and waited for the verdict, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful grain, Mr Standish,” was the reverential comment, after a couple of minutes of rapt inspection. “I’m glad you like it—put a little whisky in the bowl for a few hours before you start on it,” and to the amazement of the servant, I he had passed on. In the big rack outside the smokingroom he found a note. Opening this he read.

“Will you please ring up Whitehall 00113 immediately?” Twenty minutes later, pretending to curse the fate which was sending him out into the cold, cold world instead of allowing him to bake in front of the huge smoking-room fire, Tiger found himsfelf in very familiar surroundings. How many times had he passed into this secret room of the Director of Q.l? “What’s the idea, Old Fright?” lie asked of Bellamy. “Didn’t you tell me to get into touch with you . at. your club,” was the affectedly indignant answer. “Certainly! But dash it all, I don’t expect to be rung up by you at all hours of the day and night! I had scarcely got into the place before I had to sfiend twopence dialling you. What do you want, anyway?”

“YOU FELL FOR HIS SCHEME” Sir Harker Bellamy leaned back in his padded chair. “I want a.report—I want to know what’s happened to you since I saw you last.” ‘Oh you do, do you? Well, let me tell you that a| good deal has happened —there’s been another schemozzje.” The keen eyes di the older man glinted. “Do you mean to say that Carlimero has made another attempt on your life?” “If you prefer the stilted language, the answer is ‘Yes.’ At least, I suppose it was Carlimero, because it happened very shortly after I paid him a visit at the Ronstadtian. Embassy yesterday.” Bellamy jumpe’d up in his chair. “What fool thing have you done now?” he demaned angrily; “you’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” “I should scorn to have such a hobby,” was the complacent answer. ‘Do you mean to say you actually visited him at the Embassy?” “I’ve already told you so.” “And did ho receivo you?”

“Well, if it wasn’t Carlimero it was a life-size portrait of him. Look here, 8., I’m scarcely the type of fellow to allow a Caronian mess like Carlimero to send flowers to mv wife, especially when they’re accompanied by loving messages.” “Did he do that?”

“Yes, Carlimero did send flowers to Sonia, and it got my goat properly. So I went along to the Embassy, and gave him a general outline of what he must and must not do in the future.’’ The amazed expression died on Bellamy’s face. The Director of Q.l. sat down again and began to All Iris pipe. “You’ll never curb that impetuosity of yours, I suppose?” he remarked regretfully as he struck a match. “I don’t suppose so—-why?” Bellamy shook his head.

•3 Story of British Intelligence Service.

(COPYRIGHT).

“Don’t you Realise that sending those flowers was a very cuiining move on Carlimero’s part?” “I’ve got a brain that’s lai’gely composed of bread and milk—enlighten me.”

“That he wanted to meet you face to face so that he could study you at close quarters.” “Well, he had his opportunity.” “But don’t you see, Tiger, that you fell for the scheme?” “All I know is that the fellow insulted my wife, and I had to warn him that if he did it again, he’d be sorry.” “Did he threaten you in any way?” “Not exactly. Ho just pointed out the elementary fact that I was on ltonstadtian soil and that if anything happened it would be entirely my own fault.” “Exactly.”

“Curb the moanings; they’re getting monotonous. On the other hand, I told him that several important members of the British Government were fully aware that I’d made that call and that if there was any sticky work in prospect, then all sorts of international complicatiolis might ensue and the balloon would go up with a vengeance. It was amusing to watch the blighter’s face.”

“It must have been a very amusing scene altogether,” was the acrid retort. “The main thing, however, is that you got away safely.” Tiger gave him yet another jolt. “There never was any risk, you old cockroach! And now I want to ask you one or two things. 'Do you know; anything about a Professor Lablonde, who lives at a house called Fairlawns in Parkside, overlooking Wimbledon Common?”

“What’s this got to do with Carlimero ?”

“It may have something, or it may have nothing,” went on Standish; and then, to the accompaniment of an occasional chuckle from his listener, he proceeded to tell the story of his previous night’s adventure. “I’ll have inquiries made at once,” promised Bellamy, when he had come to the end.

“Thank you—but remember, if there is anything in it, the pigeon is still exclusively mine. Understand?” “Go away—l’m very busy,” was his Chief’s retort. SCRATCH OF WARNING. The new car was certainly a. joy to the-ey© as well as a poem on wheels. If she had 'not had that gnawing anxiety at the back of her mind, Sonia would not only have been very proud but very pleased with her husband’s latest purchase. But her previous intuitive feeling that there was some mystery about this hasty exchange of cars (in the ordinary way, Tiger never did a thing of that sort without consulting her) was more than, confirmed by her first look at Benny Bannister’s face as he opened the door of the car.

“Good morning, madam,” he said in his official chauffeur’s style.

“Good morning,, Benny. Wei shall have to get you a new uniform to match the new ear.”

She felt almost ashamed for. being so cattish as she watched the expression of dismay come into Bannister’s face.

“Yes, madam,” was all he retplied, however; “where would you like to go first?”

Having given the address of her tailor, she leaned back and gave herself a penance. For being so naughty that morning she would promise not to ask another single question either of Tiger or Bannister until she had been: awarded their confidence.

It was twenty minutes before the luncheon bell was due to ring when she returned home. Her husband, the butler informed her, was not yet in, and feeling, as she always did, an intolerable! ache when he was away from her for long, she went into the morningroom, overlooking Chapel Street, and picked up an illustrated magazine:.

She looked at her watch.. Unless he came in soon, lie would be lunching at his club. And that would mean, in turn, that she would not see him. again until dinner. The ache returned. Was she a fool to give this one man all the devotion that was in her heart? She didn’t think so.

A peculiar sound, frequently repeated, drew her attention to Richard the Lion. The half-Persian cat was certainly behaving in a very curious way; thei noise she had heard was caused by his sniffing at the top left-hand drawey of the Chippendale desk at which she was accustomed to sit when doing her correspondence. The cat was showing distinct'signs of anger, and his fur was ruffled.

“What’s the matter, darling?” she asked, getting up and crossing to him. What is it, then?” For the' first time since he had been a member of the Standish family, Dick spat at her. She was so surprised that she could only conclude that the animal was ill. “'P'oor old Dick! What’s the matter?” she repeated. ‘He looked at her in such. a. strange manner that she was forced to the conclusion that there was something in that top drawer which had roused his fury. What could it be? She knew from experience that Richard the Lion was a super-intelligent cat —he had evidenced this on too many previous occasions for her to have any doubt on the subject—and, anxious to' ease his mind, she put out her hand to open the drawer.

At that moment, shei drew it quickly back again for the very sufficient reason that Dick had clawed her. This was getting beyond a joke, and she severely reprimanded him. Matthews,, the parlour-maid, happening to enter the room at that moment, Sonia told her to' fetch the iodine, and then asked if she had given the cat anything to upset him ? “No, madam, was the reply; “he had Ills usual meal this morning, and, so far as I know, he has not been given anything by the cook since'.” “Well, there’s something very wrong with him: he not only spat at me just now, hut did this,” and she showed her wounded hand. “It’s so unlike him.” “Oh, madam, wlmt a. naughty thing to do,” returned the parlour-maid. “I’ll get the iodine at can’t be too careful with a cat’s scratch.” Sonia, was sucking the wound and looking reproachfully at,, Dick meanwhile, when the door opened again and Tiger burst in. “Thofight I wouldn’t get here for lunch,” lie cried, in his breezy way. “Old Satterthwaite wanted me to feed

at the club but T —why, what’s the matter, old dear?” he broke off quickly. “And what’s the matter with His Royal Highness here?” “I don’t know,” his wife answered, “he clawed me a moment ago—l’ve never known him to do such a thing before.” (To be continued).