THREADNEEDLE STREET.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 61, Issue 3, 15 October 1940, Page 7

THREADNEEDLE STREET.

CHAPTER XVII

VERITY IS MISSING

“Hullo, inspector?” Bellew was obviously agtiated. “I suppose you vo come about tins queer message Hem Corsica?” ~ ~ “What message is that? Both Ma - chancl and Money were puzzled q 1C financier's behaviour. “You don’t know then? Bellew retorted, his lace tense, lvo jus iac a telephone message from Corsica. fcSome sort of official was speaking, thought it might be the police. ‘And the message?” “it seemed to be from benoi Sequetros. A bit vague, but—something about not) making a return flight from there—a whole party oi them, went, perhaps you don't know—“l’ve just been telling the inspector sir. What’s the matter themnP Engine trouble again?” “Iso. It seems that they can t find either Verity or young Bnncep. Apparently tne two must, have wandered awav from the others 1 after landing, and they hadn’t shown up when the message was sent.” As he was about to make some impulsive comment, Money, felt a linn warning pressure from the Frenchman s lingers on his arm, so left the other to do the talking. • , , “That’s quite easy for people to do, m’sieur, get lost, in a place they don t know. Doubtless, if he really has become anxious, the Senor Sequetros will have called in the help of the local police?” n “1 think lie must have done, the message reached me in some official way. Why l on earth the girl wanted to go wandering off-—” “I wouldn’t let that worry you, Bellew,” Lord Otterbank thrust in brusquely from a background °f equally reassuring murmurs. _ Likely enough, they’ve turned up again before this, and you’ll be finding that seaplane back here with the whole party any minute. You know what young people are these days. Must get some sort of a thrill out of life.” '‘Maybe you’re right, Otterbank. Bellew looking apologetically at the rest, shrugged, was clearly struggling to control anxiety. “1 ought to be accustomed to that wild daughter of mine by this time. But Corsica's no place for a young girl to be losing herself. Sleething with bandits, I’ve always been told—” • The French inspector laughed, the French police and Government have long since made a clearance of such undesirable persons. If mad’moiselle is in Corsica, she cannot remain very long lost. However, it might be as well perhaps if I make a telephone inquiry at the prefecture as to what may be known there of the matter.” Money suggested that they should go to his quarters in that nearby groundfloor wing of the Chateau where he had a telephone extension from the main switchboard in the entrance-hall. “A queer coincidence, don’t you think, Marchand?” he suggested when they were alone. “Happening so soon after that rumour about Miss Bellew being used as a hostage for her father?” The inspector was obviously worried, but the jangle of the ’phone put an end to further exchange of ideas for the moment. Marchand began to. talk briskly in French, explaining, asking questions, listening for long, belting periods. When at last he hung up. he was clearly none too satisfied in-mind. There was little fresh information, he explained. The seaplane had apparently came down close to shore in some isolated little bay. The first the authorities seemed to have known about it’s arrival was the appearance of Sequetros, with the Corrigans, at a village inland. They had reported there to the police that two who had

By LESLIE BERESFORD. ::

A Serial Story of Money, Adventure and Love.

(Copyright),

landed with them had strayed away from them, and asked for help to find them. ' . 'Marchand, who knew Corsica well, indicated that the countryside between the little bay and the inland village was very rough and quite the sort of area where strangers: mighty completely lose themselves. An organised search was in progress, lie said. ‘■WHERE DID YOU GET IT?” “If this disappearance has anything to do with, the other business,” Marchaiul went on, “the people behind it must have known that Miss 1 Bellew was going to Corsica, how she was getting there, when and where she was landing. Otherwise, how could they have been there is conveniently to make it appear that she had lost herself?” “And not only herself but young Princep,” Money shook his head. “No it doesn’t seem to make sense. So far as I know, the trip was only arranged by chance this morning. That’s how it seemed to me from what young Princep said. Then, owing to engine-trouble, it was postponed until to-morrow. Later that plan seems to have been changed unexpectedly. So that apart from the pilot, he is a friend of Sequetros, I beliove, and Sequetros himself and the Corrigans, nobody could'have known the details'.” “Unless the trip was not really so much a matter of chance as it was allowed to appear!” the Frenchman intervened. ( “You mean that —< Sequetros —<? ’ Money asked excitedly, then shook his head again. “No, that doesn’t seem feasible either, though I always have had my doubts as to Sequetros — and the Corrigans too for that matter. You see, it’s not as though only Verity Bellew were lost. Princep’s in the net, too, and—lie’s in the Corrigan’s charge, heir to millions. They’re being paid to take him round Europe on an educational tour.”

‘A picture in words, mon vieux, which has to be hung in the right light to be seen properly!”• the Frenchman mused, then seemed to waken as from a trance, and laughed. “Well, we needn’t perhaps hang the picture yet. Better to await more definite news from Corsica. Meanwhile let us hand up another picture, a picture which we shall fetch out of where it has been stored for some time. We shall have to clean the cobwebs off it before wo can quite see what it is about. It is a picture of the Blue Train on her way south. There is great excitement. The communication cord has been pulled. The train has made a most noisy stop. Some wealthy m’sieur from liouen has fallen—or been thrown —on the line. 1 see there one young man with red hair J ) "*

“Why drag that old and unfinished picture out of the dusty attic, Marchand?” '(Money demanded. “Perhaps so that the painting of it may be finished. There was a man on that train, who—though lie has many names, and looks like many different people—is always one and the same person. Ajid he is secretly known by one name, though openly he never answers to it. The name of—Faroche.” “I have never so far met anyone able to say who that Faroche is, or what he is like—”

“But we’ve got to find someone able to supply that information” the inspector remarked. Though wo don’t know anything definite, we’ye some idea that this Faroche, who has an amazing organisation behind him may be—l do not, as yet, say is, you observe? —in touch with these big people who wish to force the hands of M’sieur Bellew —< through - his daughter—*’ ’ Money sat down abruptly, a light of intense interest in his eyes.

“Now I come to think of it,” he said slowly, “that wouldn’t be at all surprising. It would be a big business, needing the most clever handling.” “There isn’t a racket, from drugs to murder for insurance money, lie isn’t behind. And all the police of Europe are after him.”

“Not all the • police of Europe, Marchand. There might be ohe police force, which has a gangster mind, to whom this Faroche is a friend in need. He may even belong to it—unofficially. If I use the word —poletzei—” “Nom d’un vom!” he Frenchman shrugged, “the French police have long recognised that. If now we could only prove that without doubt—•” “Here is something in that direction,” Money remarked, and brought out from an inner breast-pocket the typed warning David Bellew had received in that morning’s mail. He held this up to the light, so that the water-mark became visible.

manufacture?” he shrugged. “Well, we know that is where M’sieur Bellew’s hammer-blows hurt most. But it is no more than a passport without a visa. We positively must have that visa—•”

He stopped on an intake of the breath and Money saw that he was staring down at something which had fallen on to the table from the leather case out of which he had just taken tho warning.

The inspector excitedly “Where did that come from?”

'Money realised that it was the little round buttonhole disc which ho had originally found in London in a drawer of the desk used by Hilery Draper. “Where did you get it?” tho Frenchman urged, more excited than ever. “This is important—or do you know that already? Are you seeking to bluff me and have I caught you out? That buttom is most certainly to do' with Faroche—”

Money explained how ho had come in possession of the button, and that he had not considered it of importance. Marchand explained that similar buttons had appeared before. One indeed had been in the coat worn by the wealthy Rouenais in the Blue Train mystery of a year since. One had been found in the handbag of the woman spy just arrested in Paris. It was the inspector believed, the sign of mutual recognition, between members of the Faroche organisation,. “It may be the visa to our passport!” he told Money, who (reminded the other that it had obviously been the property of Hilery iDraper.

He related the incident of the missing sheaf of business papers, suggesting to' the inspector that he surely had enough evidence at least toi de-

(To be continued)

tain and question, Draper. Them his mind turned -to more immediate troubles.

“No sign yet of that seaplane. Maybe I ought to go over to Corsica, and be on the spot, to find out what’s happening father than loaf around here, more or less in the dark——” “You’d he just as much in the dark over there, my friend). And you couldn’t find out more than the police there are doubtless doing now. Have patience.” “At least we ought to tell Mr Bellew of this new development, Marchand—”

The telephone jangled once more, and Money lifted the receiver. “It’s the Old Man himself. He.wants me. You’d better oorne- along, too, hadn’t you?” lie suggested. “I think not,” the. other replied. “I must he busy at headquarters in case of developments. As for saying anything to M’sieur Belew —for the moment, I would mot. Let us await fresh news from Corsica, which I shall let him and you know immediately I receive any. No need to worry him miore than necessary.”

Bellew was pacing his room anxiously. It was a relief to Money that Marchand had decided against telling him of the threat to Verity. So far, he looked on the present position as worrying only ini case Verity might be hurt.

However, his anxiety reached a more fretful and indeed fearful pitch as the hours passed from evening to night with no fresh message from Corsica, nor from Inspector Marchand, such as Money had anxiously been expecting. Nor, though lie tried twice, could Money get in touch with the Frenchman by ’phone to the prefecture. Nobody there seemed to know where he was.

The characters in this story are entirely imaginary. No reference is intended to any living person or to any oublio or private company.