ADMIT ONE

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 157, 6 July 1931, Page 15

ADMIT ONE

btf 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 snatching 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 that he is being mistaken for a "crook" of the same name. Resolved to see the adventure through, he goes with, the girl, JUDITH FELSTEAD, to see a man named STEVENSSON, who is expecting the "crook," CRANE. His impersonation is discovered when the other Crane is announced. Philip manages to escape from Stevensson's house. From the taxi bearing him to the West End he suddenly sees Margery Ferguson again. He persuades her to dine with him. During the meal lie learns that her father is in the hands of Stevensson and his gang. Realising that Margery, as well as her father, is in danger, he persuades her to seek shelter in a convent. He resolves to rescue her father, who is being held prisoner at Mandling, in Kent. CHAPTER VIII. The Prisoner. He stumbled -weakly toward tlie door, this man who had been a prisoner for the past week. Faint through want of food, his nerve broken by actual physical torture, George Ferguson would have excited the pity of any observer. His manner was distraught; several times during the previous hour he had wondered if he were going mad. His actions now were those of one whose brain was rapidly becoming unbalanced. Clawing at the door until the blood oozed from his broken finger nails, he kept up a continuous cry: "Let me out! Let me out!" It seemed as though Fate had decided to answer the appeal, for the door suddenly opened. Ferguson, unable to save himself, sagged forward; but, before he reached the floor, his body was caught in a pair of strong arms. "Now, then—pull yourself together, you fool! You're wanted downstairs." Resistance was out of the question , ; he could Only obey the command by shuffling feebly forward as the other held his left arm in a vice-like grip. Down the broad staircase, skirting a wide hall, at the other end of which could be seen the heavy front door of the house, the two went. Outside a room on the right, his guard halted to tap lightly on the door. "Gome in," said a cultured voice.

The prisoner might well have deluded himself that he was merely dreaming this scene and not living it. Even in this age of sensational crime, what ordinary person would have credited his story?—that he had been kidnapped in broad daylight, taken to a country house in Kent, and there kept a prisoner by a gang of crooks, who, through him, were intending to gather a harvest of several million pounds ? "Come on," ordered his captor again. He was hustled into a large pleasantlyfurnished room. The initial impression was one of comfortable ease. On the hearth a wood fire blazed, and, at a table sufficiently near for the warmth to be appreciated, sat two people. It was the woman at whom Ferguson stared. Fashionably dressed, she might have been taken at first glance for the usual Mayfair matron, whose hours were crammed with social engagements. She had good looks to commend her, and a soigne air. This much, the casual observer would have noticed. It was not until one looked closer that it was realised that this woman was very different from others of her class. There was a cold callousness in her eyes, a fixed determination about her firmly-moulded chin, and a suggestion of "cruelty 'in her tightly-closed mouth.

Ferguson felt his knees give beneath him. This was only the second time he had faced her, but he knew this woman to be a terrible creature. A remorseless, devouring monster, utterly without scruple. She, surprising fact though it might be, was at the head of the gang who were determined to break his will. "Well, Ferguson, I hear you are still proving obstinate." The conversation was started with these words.

He moistened his dry lips. "How long are you going to keep me here ?" he demanded.

"So long as we require your services, mv man."

"But you can't do that!" "Can't Ave?" The sneer was palpable. "We appear to be doing it, anyway. ISTow, listen to me, "Ferguson: You'll stay here until you do the work which is required. That's quite clear, I hope?" The words stunned him. He knew the woman to be speaking the truth. He had already proved her to be implacable.

"You arc the one man in the world we need at the moment," she continued. "No other engraver, that we know of, at any rate, possesses your ability. If there was such a man, we might get him to help you." The man with the ascetic face, seated by her side, smiled at this pleasantry; and it was he who now continued thL , - talking. ; ■ "Bα sensible, Ferguson; if not " The sentence was completed by the woman.

'•'—lf not," she said, "there is your daughter, of course." A gasping cry came from the throat of the tormented man. He flung himself forward. "Leave my girl alone, damn you!" ho cried; and "then: "Where is she? Tell me!" Into the hard, beautiful face of the woman stole a smile. "We are looking'after her for you. Do what I want, Ferguson, and no harm will come to her." He found courage of a sort. He believed this was an attempt at bluff; Margery would be on her guard. "I won't make any more," he stated. "That will be very foolish of you." The speaker now pressed a bell, and, to the servant who appeared, said the ono word: "Badoglio." Ferguson screamed. At the thought of that horrible Italian. . . . He was still cowering when a man of gigantic build entered the room. Swarthy faced, his deep-set eyes glowed as he looked at the man who he imagined was shortly to be delivered over to him. "You sent for me, Empress?" Jr. , asked.

"Yes, Badoglio. Our friend over there , is being insolent." Badoglio turned.

I see to him, Empress?" "In a minute, perhaps. . . . Now, Ferguson-, this is my last .• word. - You get to work on those new notes, orßadoglio

will give you a little more of Ms attention. . . . Paugh!" she added, "the fool has fainted." Simon Stevensson turned to his superior. "With all possible respect, Empress," he said, "we must not allow the fellow to die." "Die! He won't die. But his spirit must be broken. Time presses. He must get busy. When he comes to, 1 don't think he'll make any more difficulties. And now, I must get back to town. You'll stay here, of course. By the way, what about that girl of Ferguson's 1" Stevensson parried with the truth. The Empress was not in the mood to hear disagreeable news. "Thompson is keeping an eye on her; there'll be no trouble in that direction," he replied. "The man, Crane, wanted to come down here this morning," he added quickly, "but I thought it beet to fix up an appointment at your house." "Quite right. What time did you say?" "Six o'clock." She looked at her jewelled wristwatch. ' "I must hurry, then." Tall, beautifully proportioned, regal, majestic, she made an impressive exit. Stevensson lit a cigarette. Daring crook that he was, he was lost in complete admiration of this woman under whose banner he had enlisted. Although for the past twenty years Mrs. Aubyn St. Clair—the name by which Mayfair society knew her—had made a vast yearly, income through crime, she had never been arrested. She was a born organiser; a woman of extraordinary brain power, she was paid large sums to plan coups for various criminal gangs. That had been her living until five years ago. Then, deciding that she would enter business on her own, she had enlisted the services of three or four specialists. One of these had been Stevensson himself.

The smoker smiled at he recalled the really extraordinary position the woman was now in. Respected by the world whilst living her existence in the West End of London —an existence which appeared to be entirely above reproach or suspicion—she was yet known to the underworld as the greatest woman criminal of her generation. How long her luck would last he could not tell; but, when the climax did arrive, he knew it would provide a tremendous sensation. Would he be there at the finish? He shrugged his shoulders at the reflection. In any event, at the moment he was well placed; in the confidence of the Empress, he obeyed her orders and reaped a rich personal harvest. His complacence was somewhat disturbed by the knowledge that he had withheld certain vital information from his chief that morning. He had done eo for two reasons; the first was a sense of protective loyalty to Judith Felstead; but the' second had been actuated by fear.

What the Empress would say if she learned the truth he did not know, but he had impressed upo'n Crane, the American, the desirability of eaying nothing about the contretemps which had occurred the night before.

Back in the room which constituted his prison, Ferguson battled his way sowly back to consciousness. But when recovery came, he wished that he might have remained in complete oblivion. Margery!

Was that damnable woman deceiving him, or had his daughter really fallen, like himself, into these devils' hands. "Well, which is it to be?" Looming over him, and grinning obscenely, Badoglio asked the question. His strength was gone, his resolution beaten down. How could any man, tortured as he had been, hope to put up a fight? "Leave me alone," he pleaded.

"You shall have food and drink—those are rny orders," replied the Italian; "and when you are rested, work. You understand ?" Feeling utterly exhausted," the prisoner nodded.

(To be continued daily.)