S-O-S

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 153, 30 June 1934, Page 11 (Supplement)

S-O-S

lif| \ | Author or 'The Spieler's A /A /. I Web,'' The Dream Gin, ▼ 1/1/ \l 'Sporting Chance,' etc. *—1 wi Willi I'm ii in [TiTTr**™"'" 1 ' 1

CHAPTER VIII. A Queen of Clubs. tactically everyone who moved hi the 'night life of London "knew" the woma-iv who went under the astonishing nanie of "Ma" Lake. To be more precise, if they had not actually met her, they had heard about her. For "Ma" Lake had become something like an institution j n the Metropolis. There wet e various reasons for this. To begin with, s l lo had crossed from New York with all international reputation. This \ircinan, who retained ;v considerable potion of the beauty which had made \i Br world-famous as a show girl in ZeidUv's Burlesques when she was 20 years younger, had developed dissipation into one of the arts; it was "Ma's" boast that sh 0 made life gay with song, love and laughter. The laughter was apt to be on the loud and brazen, not to say raucous side —but no matter. She was the night club queen of the world, and when she moved look, stock and barrel, from Broadway to Windmill Street, Piccadilly Civcus, that section of modern civilisation, which declares that the day does not begin until midnight lias struck, metaphorically flung its hat into the air, and prepared itself for a good time. Interviewed by the newspapers, the night club queen, whose quaint cognomen of "Ma" Lake went to oddly with her still remarkable statuesque beauty, declared that her sole reason for switching her locale was because she wanted a change of scene. But certain writers of scandal columns in transAtlantic newspapers could have told a different story. They knew their "Ma" Lake. They knew, in consequence.

something of the truth, too, but not all. Six months before, "Ma" Lake had sat one night in her private office in her latest Broadway night resort. Outside flamed a sign: "The Silver Virgin" —"Ma" had a genius for picturesque titles. To the night club queen had come an emissary, who, after closing the- door quietly behind him, had snooped across the floor and had lowered hie head so that his mouth was on a level with her small, jewelled car. "Ma," he said, in an awed tone, "one of Searpio's men has called." She had sat up at that. To Scarpio, crime czar of New York, she, like all her kind, had been forced to pay tribute. A good deal of money had been passed over by her. In return, Scarpio had rendered her certain privileges —which need not be entered into here —but which had been profitable to her business. But for some time past she hud been considering the very important question of whether *he should marshal her forces and show a little independence. It was a. nerve-shattering thing to ( \o —but "Ma" had not risen to her present position without the possession of strong character. After receiving the news, she hnd sat back in her chair for a few moments thinking. Her lieutenant, in the meantime, was evincing every sign of nervousness. "Better not keep him waiting. Ma," he said, his drug-ridden body twitching. "What are you afraid ofi" slio sneered. "Afraid? Didn't you hear me right, Ma—it's Luigi. one of Scarpio's big boys. He's waiting I tell you!" , "All right," she replied, contemptuously; "show him in." A slit-eyed, olive-skinned Italian, wearing a lightish-grey, felt hat, pulled well down on one Hide, sauntered in, looking like an attractive but . evil animal. He did not trouble to remove his hat. "Hullo, Ma," he drawled, keeping one hand ill the right pocket of his overcoat; "how are tricksV" This woman, who, almost alone amongst her kind, had no sense of physical fear, gave him back stare for stare. "Hullo yourself, Luigi —what's on your mind?"—using the current slang of the underworld. "I've just seen the Big Shot, Ma— and he isn't too well pleased with you." The speaker rolled the cigar lie had just lit round his full lips. Her first inclination had been to burst into a torrent of aiigry words, but she repressed this, and pointed to a chair. "What's eating him?" nhe inquired. The man lolled into the seat. "Remember that Mainland guy?" he asked. The night club queen did some rapid reflecting. Hector Mainland had been a Texas millionaire whom Scarpio had sent to her to be given a good time. According to his lights, the oil king might have declared he received good value for hie money —it was only when ho got back to the palatial ranch that served him as a home that he realised he had been robbed of 200,000 dollars. "Yee, I remember Mainland," she replied. "How much did you get out of him. Ma 1" So that was it. Caesar demanding an accounting. Scarpio was suspicious that she had not come through with the full amount which he declared was. duo to him. "Yeah; the Big Shot ain't too pleased with you, Ma—he's had a letter from Mainland. The guy says, you've got two hundred grand out of him." "He's a liar!" "I shouldn't be surprised," came the easy drawl; "but I've just come to tell you this, Ma; it's time for you to move on, baby. Broadway is no place for you from now on." "Iβ that what Scarpio savs?" "Yeah." She bit her lower lip. This.was a sentence passed on her by a. court against ■ which thero was no appeal. Scarpio's word was law. It was gangeter rule in Manhattan —and it was terribly efficient. If the man she had eerved had really come to this decision, she could only etay on in New York at the peril of her life. "The Big Shot suggests you go to London," went on the emissary, "you'll be hearing from him in a day or so, . . . Well, good-night, Ma"—and, cigar cocked in the corner of his mouth, and the felt hat pulled even lower, Luigi. gun carrier for Scarpio, sauntered out of "The Silver Virgin" and into the teeming crowds thronging the sidewalks of Broadway.

LXV

The woman whoi-c fate had been dc?icled shrugged her still beautiful white shoulders. After all, it might have been ivorise—Luigi might have had orders to kill her, and, in that caee, she would long since have been dead. Eugh! Horrible- thought! In fancy, she pictured Hodker poking his twitching face round the corner, and then screaming like a hysterical girl. She rose and looked at herself in a full-length mirror on the other side of the room. Yes, ishe. was still beautiful —marvellous how well she lasted. There were few lines in the handsome face, her ligure might have parsed, but for its unfashionable bigness, for that of a woman ten years younger, and the flesh of her shoulders and bosom maintained its line texture. Many a young fool. . . . She smiled at the thought. Strolling back to her desk, at which sho transacted businees like any banker or stockbroker, she lit a cigarette and concentrated her thoughts once again on the event of a few minutes before. She knew Scarpio. There was only one reason why he had not sent Luigi to finish her. That was because he wished her tstill to be useful to him. She had not long to wait —not more than 48 hours had passed before Luigi camo again; at this time, Scarpio remained in his impregnable citadel just off Park Avenue, rarely venturing out himself. "Yeah, 'baby, here I am," the messenger announced; "I've seen the Big Shot, and this is what he says." He proceeded to tell in his drawling tones a story that made even the eophisticated night club queen prick up her ears. It was so fantastic, so incredibly bizarre, that only one. country in the World —America—and only one man in it—Scarpio—could have sponsored and inspired it. Hero were the salient facts: Lady

Deniso Hart, daughter of the Earl of Duiilievod, liad recently startled New York by Jier beauty and grace whilst on a visit. "The Big Shot took quite a shine to this fenime," J,uigi proceeded to relate, "and so he sent a polite little note saying how lie would he glad to meet her. And what do you think happened? Why, the girl turned him down. Yes, Scarpio—turned him down flat. Well, you can imagine what the Big Shot felt. And this is where you come in, baby doll. You've got to get over to London and make arrangements for Scarpio not to be disappointed twice. He was disappointed once, when the Lady Dcnisc slipped away out of America two days earlier than he expected. If that hadn't been so. he would have had her safe and sound by this time. Hell, what a rage he was in." "Let me get tliis clearly," "Ma" Lake said. "I am to go all the way to London because Scarpio has fallen for this girl "That's right, baby. Tt doesn't sound) exactly sensible to the ordinary person, j I know; but once the Bier Shot's set his mind on anything he's just got to have it. You know that." "What am J to do? Kidnap her?" "That seems to b- the sense of it. But you'll get further detai. I've come to-night just to sort of prepare your mind. In any case, ; ou've got 48 hours to clear." And such was the power of the crime czar that within the stipulated time "Ma" Lake lad shaken the dust of Manhattan oil' her sli'l trim feet and was aboard a Cunarder. Arrived in London, she had found that the marvellous organisation of Scarpio, which by this time was practically world-wide, had furnished her with a new staff. At the head of it was a man named Bosanquet. A gentleman, Bosanquet —until he was riled, and then he was plain wolf. For he was that most dangerous of all characters, an aristocrat gone wrong. Used to his kind, however, she had been able to bring him to heel whenever he had threatened to show his teeth, and the result was that they had got on splendidly together. In fact, Eugene Bosanqueff elicited her admiration; he was what she called a "good guy." A master actor, in addition—Mis imitation of a clergyman was worthy of a great artist. And there was nothing smallminded about Bosanquet; he excelled as a bishop. "Ma" Lake found in London far less scope for her activities owing to certain laws than had been the case on Broadway. But, a person of resource, she had overcome most of the difficulties. The premises in Windmill Street, Piccadilly Circus, had served mainly as a blind; it was here that slie recruited her clientele, but the real night life waA only to be seen in the great mansion she had rented on the borders of Ilampstead Heath. This house, once the residence of a world-famous millionaire artist, quickly became the rendezvous of the-great and the near-great, the famous and the infamous. (To be continued daily.)