"ADMIT ONE"

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 153, 1 July 1931, Page 17

"ADMIT ONE"

Sy Sydney Horler

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS PHILIP CRANE, a young aeroplane designer, comes to London on holiday. At Waterloo Station he saves a girl,' MARGERY FERGUSON, from death by snatelling her from beneath a large car; On arrival at the Mid-Western Hotel, where he has suddenly decided to stay, he is surprised to find a letter addressed to him there, although no one could have known of his intention to stay there. He is further mystified by finding the letter is written in code. That evening an unknown girl calls on him in connection with the strange letter. He realises fuat he is being mistaken for a "crook" of the same name. CHAPTER IV. { Flight! For a moment there was a tense silence. Then this was broken by the sound of 'a laugh. Philip knew that Stevensson was expressing his satisfaction at the denouement. Crane no longer hesitated. A Rugbyfootballer, he was always fit; and his speed must have startled the man. at the door, for he made no adequate defenco when the other rushed at him. Perhaps the presence of his double was totally unexpected; in any case, the quick thud of fists against his face caused him to give ground. One tug at the door, and with it flying open, Crane was half-way to the street. Hβ caught a fleeting glance of the girl, Judith, staring at him from a doorway in the hall, as he rushed past her. Before he could reach the main door, however, the man-servant who had answered the bell barred the way. From behind came a snarling voice: Stevensson's, without a doubt. "Stop him, Lessing! Stop him, I say!" The man-servant darted a hand to the pocket of his immaculately fitting coat. But even in the act of drawing a revolver, Crane had performed a second crashing feat. The two went down amid a flurry of arms and legs. Confused as he was by his fall, Philip maintained his self-possession. Surprisingly enough, now that he was faced by the first real peril of his life, he remained astonishingly cool. Perhaps, he was able to reflect, his Rugby football was helping him out. He played scrum-half for

Truro. Hβ was soon on his feet —and, when he stood up, the revolver he had snatched from the hand of the servant was facing Stevensson. "Keep away, I warn you!" he shouted. And the two men and the woman at whom the words were directed obeyed. His left hand fumbling with the door, he found the handle. One quick turn, and he was out on the steps! of that solid-looking suburban house which he knew now to be the headquarters of a dangerous gang of criminals. A bang of the door, a few further flying footsteps, and he was in the Bayswater Road. Chance now lent a hand. A taxidriver, noticing his haste, looked at him inquiringly. Philip gave the first address that came into his mind, a resaurant in Coventry Street. It was just as the taxi, caught fast in a traffic jam, had reached brilliantly-lit Piccadilly Circus, that he saw her. The very girl! Unbelievable and yet—true! The girl he had dragged from beneath the wheels of the green car. What an amazing piece of luck! She was standing on the kerb only a yard or so away, staring straight in front of her. Wrenching open the door of the taxi, he stepped out on to the pavement. "You!" she said, breathlessly, as he reached her side. "Yes," he replied; adding quickly: "I've got a taxi here. I want you to come with me. To talk. . . . Why,

you're-ill!" "I'm afraid," were the words that came trembling from her lips. It was late —some time after midnight. But what did this new Philip Crane care? This was London, not Truro. . The prospect of escorting a strange woman he did not yet know passed into the commonplace. He put a hand on her arm, and she did not resist. "Where now?" asked the taxi-driver in a surly tone. He had been afraid his fare wag a bilker, and his temper had not fully recovered. "Somewhere quiet," he was told; "somewhere where we can have a meal by ourselves, and be able to talk without being overheard." The mechanical Jehu chewed the end of a luxuriant moustache. "W'ot you want is Cima's, Greek Street," he said. And made a swerve such as only a London taxi-driver can make. Five minutes later, a broad-faced maitre d'hotel, himself the proprietor of his little restaurant, was giving the couple a warm welcome. "Somevair qui-et?" he repeated; "mais, oui; this way, monsieur." He preceded them up a narrow flight of stairs, and into a small room on the right that was evidently reserved for small and essentially private dinner parties. "No one will come here, monsieur. And now — ?" producing a menu. "I leave everything to you." Once they were alone, the girl turned to him with a quick, impulsive gesture. "I don't think J ought to have come with you," she said. "Why not?" "Because —well, aren't you a perfect stranger?" With a quickness that might have startled his Truro friends, Crane held up a reproachful finger. ' "How can you say ' that?" he said. "This is the second time we've met." The'-next moment he was sorry he haduttered the words, because a shudder passed through the girl's slim body. Instinctively, he put out his arm and drew her to him in a protective way. "Yes," came the faltering answer. "I'm sorry I forgot. But I didn't mean it that way. I meant . . ." "It doesn't matter," he said. "You're here, and I've been given a second opportunity of talking to you. Won't you be content with that?" Looking up into his face, she nodded. Then, and before another word could be uttered, the waiter entered carrying the first course of the late supper. Crane was developing observation. He noticed during the meal -'that the girl, in spite of her evident .fear, ate as though food for some time past had been a; stranger to her. He wondered at it;-and, wondering, was given .the explanation. 'Tins is the first'meal I have had. today," she said. "If I am ravenous, you must forgive me."

He laid down his knife and fork, and, reaching over the table, touched her hand. "You can trust me," he said. "I want to help you. I am determined to help you. Won't you tell me your story?" "All of it?" «Ye, s —but especially the part which has made you afraid. . . But, first of all, drink another glass of wine." He filled her glass with Burgundy, and waited until she lifted it to her lips. "More," he urged,' "it will do you good; bring back the colour to your cheeks." It was with a little shaky laugh that she laid the glaes down. "I didn't think I should ever meet a man like you,", she told him, "I didn't believe there was one left in the whole of London." "But I come from Truro," he replied, hoping that the feeble' jest would bring a second smile to her lips. "Truro? That's in Cornwall, isn't it?" "Yes, I came up to-day on a holiday.'^ Her face became blanched. "You must go back," she said, "you must not stay in London —at least, you mustn't be seen with, me." "But that's all rubbish!" "No." And, this time, it was her hand which reached across the table. "It's a matter of life and death. You saw that for yourself this morning. . . That man meant to kill me!" He wondered if he should tell her, and then decided that he would. "London is a wonderful place," he eaid, "you would scarcely believe me, I suppose, if I told you that, less than an hour ago, I was talking to that same man—at least, I believe him to be the same man." "Stevensson ?" ■ "Stevensson." "But—how?" "I wae taken to his house in Bayswater Koad." "By whom?" "A woman. Look here, suppose I tell my story first? But are you strong enough to hear it?" "Yes—quite." "A little more wine, then—and I will." She took another deep sip of the Burgundy, and sat back in her chair. "Stevensson is a criminal, I suppose?" he started. "No, don't answer yet. Let me go on. Before I met you to-day, I had asked the porter at the station to recommend a hotel. He told me of the Mid-Western, and, because I didn't trouble twopence where I went so long as I was reasonably comfortable, I took his advice. Well, when I got there, the most extraordinary thing happened; I was taken to a private suite of rooms—" "Are you eo rich as all that?" she asked. "Rich!" He laughed scornfully. "No, I'm not well off—just an* aeroplane designer—and riches don't come the way of my kind." "Then there was some mistake?" "I soon realised that. But the complete explanation didn't dawn on me until some time later. That was after the hotel clerk -had given me three letters addressed to 'Philip Crane Esq., Mid-Western Hotel, S.W. 1. , " "I know," she put in quickly, "there was another Philip Crane." He smiled at her. "You see," he remarked jestingly, "how much good that wine has done you. Yes, you're right, there was another Philip Crane—a crook In the employ of the man Stevensson. By a most extraordinary chance, thie man. who had crossed from America, had reserved a suite of rooms at the MidWestern Hotel. When I turned up I was taken for him." "But the letters?" asked' the girl eagerly. "They were written in some kind 01 code, and, of course, were Greek to me. But that they contained some instructions to the other Crane, there was no doubt. For, when I got back to the hotel at ten o'clock to-night, there was a girl waiting to see me—or rather, the. man I was supposed to be." "That girl—describe her." There was a feverish excitement about her manner now. Wondering at her agitation, but anxious not to give her any .further cause for worry, Crane hesitated. But she persisted. "Tell me," ehe said, "did she have wonderful red hair?" "Yes," he admitted, "as a matter of fact, she was quite a striking-looking person altogether." , A startling comment came from his companion. , "She's a devil!" she exclaimed, "thejr are all devils. . . My poor father (To be continued dailly.)