S.O.S

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 148, 25 June 1934, Page 15

S.O.S

Sydney y Horler. |/\[

L I Author of 'The Spider's 1 Web,' "Hie Dream Girl,' \ J 'Sporting: Chance,' etc.

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

JAMES THORP, a Secret Service man, who is on the verge of ,1 nervous breakdown, is advised by a specialist to rest lor lliree months in the country. Shortly after the consultation he receives two letters. One is from his chum. DICK VIVIAN", a popular novelist, who is going abroad, and who offers him the use of his bungalow, The Hutch, at I'lyinchurch, near the Kentish coast. The other communication is from the head of the Danton gang, which Thorp's department lias been "up against" for some time. In this letter he i» bluntly advised to "clear out" if he values his life. In the face oC this challenge he is reluctant to leave his work, but nftev a recurrence of his indisposition he decides to accept Dick's offer. He takes up residence at The Hutch and is alone. Mrs. Pilchard who looks after the bungalow, having "one to her home, when an SOS message is : broadcast.

VENETIA DELVEY, according to the message, is missing from her home. Later, whilst reading, he hears hurried footsteps outside and a knock at (he door His late caller is a girl who asks if she may come in. From the broadcast description lie recognises her us Venetia Delvey

CHAPTER 111. Turning round, he caught sight of the girl on the point of falling. "It's my ankle," she explained, when lie got to her. "I'm afraid I've sprained it. Forgive me for being such an awful nuisance." "Not at all," he replied, conventionally. "Let rue help you." But the effort was too much for her; she went white to the lips. Without more ado, Thorp stooped and picked her up in his arms, depositing her gently a few moments later in the easy chair he had been using himself. "No, don't talk," he advised, as she looked at him, mute thanks in her eyes. "I'll get you something to drink." Across the room was the bottle of brandy he had brought down from London, but had not yet opened. Quickly pulling the cork, he poured some of the spirit into a glass, and returned. "This is brandy," he exclaimed; "it will do you good." He was glad because she made no demur, taking the inch of stimulant at a gulp, and doing her best to bide the expression of distaste afterwards. It's horrible without soda, I know— but you looked as though you really wanted it." "I did," she confirmed; "but," meeting his gaze frankly, "I can't continue to bo such a bother." "With that ankle, I'm afraid you'll have to be." There was a story behind this visit, and he hoped she would tell it. But the explanation did not come immediately. "I was in a car, you sec," she started, "and had to get away—why, I haven't time, to explain now; and what does it matter, anyway?—but I ran and ran and ran. It was the cross-roads that saved me; I slipped down a dark lane, and they decided to divide and go the other ways. Then, when all was quiet again, I started to run onco more, and after a time I saw a light. Oh, how "•lad I was! It seemed to beckon me, to tell me that I would find refuge—and so," putting a hand up to her face, "I took the chance. • But I caught my foot between two stones just outside, and— You must think I'm an awful nuisance." "Not at all." A tiny twinkle showed in her brown eyes- . , . "You're rather astonishing, you know," she said gravely; "you stand there— ,. She broke off to inquire: "You aren't a gentleman detective, by any chance? One of those people we read about in stories?"

"I'm afraid not." Was she getting at anything? Was this story of hers— goodness knows, it sounded improbable enough!—just a mere concoction? One further look at lier face, however, put aside the suspicion. "Well, you look exactly like one. Here am I, telling you what must sound the most preposterous nonsense, and you don't move an eyelid! How do you know I'm not lying?" "I'm quite sure you're not." And, if placed on oath in any court of law, lie would Lave said exactly the same thing. "It's rather wonderful of you —" She stopped suddenly. For the second time that night, a knock sounded on the door of "The Hutch." The Church Militant. Thorp stood like a cocker spaniel getting the scent. "Do you know anything about that?" he asked. "Perhaps it's a friend of yours," she

replied. "No; I have no friends here—as a matter of fact, I only arrived this afternoon. The only person I know in the place is the woman who coraee to cook my meals— and she isn't likely to be returning at this time of night. Suppose you make another guess." His look was friendly, but searching. She faced his scrutiny bravely, however. "I was afraid of it," she said; "I expect it's the- man I ran away from. Tjook here," putting a hand on his arm, "I can't bring you into this. Let me get out —there's the back way." He laughed, quietly. "With that ankle! Don't be silly!" There ca?nc a louder knock. As she felt fear seeping further into her soul, she looked up at this man whom Fate had made a chance protector. She. liked tho look of him—she liked him more now than she had done at their first meeting; and even then, she had believed Luck had been kind for once. "It seems that you'll have to leave this to mo." "Oh, but —" "Xo, no more argument!" Some of the biirden went from her. Here was a man of affairs; a man who could direct and control. A man of resolution—a man of experience. Thie was. not the first time he had been faced with danger. That was very plain. A man of resolution. Sho had earnest of this a moment later, for, stooping, he picked her up. "And now?" she asked. "Sh-h!" he said, as though speaking to a child; "didn't you promise to leave this to me?" He was across the room by this time and pushing open the door with the sole of his foot. She saw a wardrobe, a mannish-looking dressing table, a bed . . . But sho made no demur. Her trust in this man was high. He carried her to the hed, laid her gently down, took the eiderdown from the rail, and laid it over her. .'.. '•.Ihat.w.ilLkeep you from being cold," he said; "I hope it won't take long. But, remember, if it does, one thing." "YcsJ" , . ... _

"You're my wife—and you're not very well." She gasped at the audacity of it. "Your —wife?" "My wife," he replied, steadily, "and," already on his way to the door, "you're not very well." She could not let him go like that. "Just a. moment/' she called. "Yes?" "li"—if I'm right in my guess, it's a man outside—a man who is pretty terrible. Oh, why did 1 bring you into this? I didn't mean to, you know; 1 just blundered blindly on." "Don't we all do that?" he told her, "isn't life itself just a series of blunderings on ? There must be a purpose in it somewhere—" He broke off to smile in the way she had liked from the beginning. "So don't worry; and, remember, you're- my wife—and you're not very well." With that, ho was gone. She could only lay back beneath the warm eiderdown and speculate what would happen within the next few minutes. But she had not much fear; this stranger had banished that, even though Bosanquet was terrible—a person any man might

As for Thorp, he, too, had his thoughts. Half an hour before he would have hated this affair just as much, if not more than the girl he had left behind. But within the last few minutes had come a change—a change so strange that he could not begin to decipher the

meaning of it. He only knew that his usual gravity, accentuated ten-fold since his visit to Harley Street, had given way to a lighter mood; in fact, he felt almost buoyant. He smiled as he remembered his awful nerve of a moment ago. His wife—why, he liad almo.st kissed her. He wished he had; how lovely her skin was. He had reached the door by the time he had come to this point in his reflections. There came a third knocking—the loudest of all yet. "Who is it?" he asked. "Just a poor wayfarer." The voice was cultured, as the girl's had been— but, unlike hers, it held a drawl instead of a crispness. But he remembered the girl's words. "Tell me your name," he demanded. A cough tame from the other side of. the door. Then: "This is the Bishop of Wadborough. My dear sir, I merely ask for a little Christian guidance. You see, I have lost my way—" It was curiosity, more than anything else, which made him open the door. And, although like most modern young men, religion had become more or less a vague thing with him, there were decencies to be observed. A bishop who had lost his way— Outside was a giant of a man. But he seemed authentic enough; he certainly wore the habiliments of a bishop, down to the apron and gaiters. His height must have exceeded six feet, although he was well past the fifties. He had a round, cherubic, rubicund face, framed by some silvery white hair that had gone very thin. This, Thorp could see because the caller was holding his hat in his hand. Tho Secret Service man had been taught to size up his fellow creatures in a split second, and there were many things that he noticed in that first instant of meeting. He remarked, for instance, that the hands of the visitor were so large as to be almost monstrous, although finely shaped and well cared for. He observed also that, in his prime, the Bishop of Wadborough must have been something of an athlete, for the "raiters could not hide the muscular development of tho calves. Add to this a veritable barrel of a chest, and he decided that here was a member of the Church who, if occasion demanded, might bo very militant indeed.

"As I was saying, my dear friend, I am afraid I have lost my way. It has been a most vexatious business. I am cold and . . . covld you—T"

Although tlie request was not completed, its intent was obvious; the Bishop of Wadborough was very inclined to take St. Paul's advice and to imbibe a little wine for his stomach's sake. Without waiting to be asked, his right reverence stepped past Thorp and into tho room. From out of tho darkness came a voice—but this time it was a woman who spoke. "Father!" The Bishop of Wadborough turned. "Dear me; that's my daughter. I had really forgotten her. She's in your garden, I believe." Tho situation wa« becoming every minute more interesting. Thorp, still | standing with his hand on the latch "of tho door, watched a feminine figure emerge from the blackness outside. When ehc came sufficiently near, ehe disclosed herself as a smartly dressed woman of about thirty. Almost a fashionable beauty, he decided, as the bishop stepped towards her. "My dear Stella, this gentleman—l don't know your name, sir—" "Kobinson." "Yes; Mr. Eobinson has been good enough to offer us shelter —brief shelter, of course. Telling him I was completely exhausted, he has—yes —volunteered to give us temporary rest." "That's wonderfully kind of you, Mr. Robinson." A pair of eyee that, in spite of their beauty, seemed to hold sonic mysterious quality, looked at Thorp. "Please come in," he said. What else was there to do? Besides, ho wanted to see this thing out. Already, he had an intuitive feeling that drama, if not yet present, was on its way. And he felt like welcoming it. Curious, this violent change; threequarters of an hour before, had drama stepped out of its path to meet him, he would have turned away with a cynical smile. He had had enougn drama during the past three years, God knew.

(To be continued daily.)

INFLUENZA-SLIGHT EPIDEMIC. Influenza 1s much in evidence, and caution is necessary. Sufferers should go to hed and remain there until feverisbness departs: Wliere symptoms cause anxiety, medical aid sliould bo sougrltt. As a precautionary measure the use of Baxter's Lung Preserver is recommended. Tills splendid specific reduces fever and eases sore tbroats and hacking , cougrhs.