THE SCARLET TERROR'S RETURN

Evening Post, Volume CXXII, Issue 22, 25 July 1936, Page 20

THE SCARLET TERROR'S RETURN

(Chapter Four of a serial story by;■ Cavell Nichol, City.)

BANG! The staccato report o£ the Scarlet Terror's automatic reverberated with deafening intensity through the library of the manor where Peter Ross and Bill Foster were staying. And it was.at the exact moment when the hammer went home that Bill gave his friend a hearty push which sent that worthy to the thick carpets on the floor. Peter gave an agonised gasp. as the bullet tore a furrow along the top of his shoulder as he fell to the floor. But it had missed a vital spot, and of that Peter was thankful. Bang! Bang! Two shots from the Terror's gun sent him flat to the floor $gain. White with rage the crook fired once more, chipping the leg of an expensive chair close to Bill, who had dropped immediately the man had fired.

Drawing his own gun Peter fired at the light overhead, and darkness descended on the trio like a curtain. The figure of the Scarlet Terror was ' silhouetted against the lighter background of the sky for a moment but was gone in a flash, running like a deer through the spaeio ( us grounds of the manor.

A bound brought Peter to the shattered window. He sighted a dim figure in the distance and fired carefully. He had missed, for the figure disappeared, heading strongly for the drive. "Listen," panted Peter in the darkness, "he's got that bike by the gates. I expect. If we can run him down we'll have him in no time. You run down to the gates. I'll get the bike." The two were off like the wind, Bill hareing it for the gates. Peter tearing for the garages. A minute later both were roaring out of the driveway in pursuit of the Terror once more. In the distance a red tail-light showed and, with terrific bursts of speed, overhauled the machine hand over fist.

"Gosh," bawled Peter, "it's a motor-car. This can't be'the Terror." A shot stirring his hair proved that it was, and from then on the boys were careful.

"Fire at his tires," bellowed Bill, "it's the only way. We'll only get shot if we approach much closer'"

Another bullet ripping a strip out of Peter's left gauntlet proved that, but they were going at a high speed now and shooting at an invisible target was practically impossible. Bill had the satisfaction of seeing the red light disappear as his bullet found its mark. A village swam past at terrific speed, both machines racing swiftly towards the water front. Suddenly the Terror's coupe gave a fearful jump, heeled over sickeningly, and skidded about fifty yards. Peter, coming on not far behind, saw that the crook had struck a heavy arm for changing points of the railway line which ran close by. He avoided this by skilful swerving. Crash! The motor ended its headlong career against a goods shed, dashing through one side as though the wall had been matchwood.

Bringing the bike to a standstill Peter and Bill were about to dash over to the wrecked machine when a gun spoke, the whistling bullet missing Bill by an inch only.

"He's far from dead yet," Peter hissed, crouching behind another shed. "We'll have to think this situation out."

He peered found the edge, saw the cowled figure looking over the car's side, and fired. The Terror ducked with a curse.

Rat-tat-tat! Bill and Peter jumped. They couldn't help it. "G-g-gum," stuttered Bill, "he's got a machine-gun." The Scarlet Terror had. A Thompson sub-machine-gun lay in his hands ready to send a leaden hail into the lads he had sworn to get. Peter's face hardened grimly. What could they do against a Tommy gun? Peter had to match wits with the Terror, and plan after plan he dismissed as too daring or practically impossible. But after a time a plan struck him and he thumped one fist into his palm. "Got it," he exclaimed jubilantly. "Listen to this, Bill." As he listened Bill's face creased an a grin and he nodded with satisfaction.

"Safe as houses," he chortled. "Okay, let's get on."

He peered round the shed, fired a shot which splintered the windscreen. Instantly the deadly chatter of the machine-gun split the night air with its staccato bark, and bullets thudded into the wood beside him. How long this continued he could not say, nor did he care. He was obeying Peter's instructions.

After Peter had told Bill what to do, he disappeared into the gloom, circling round behind the Terror. He knew that to rush the man would end his life and also Bill's. Strategy was needed here, and Peter had all the nerve for carrying, his plant: out. Now he wormed his way between barrels coming up behind the Terror, who still thought that both boys were ahead of him. '

. His face was a mask of intense hatred as he gripped the gun, ready to pour out a burst should a head appear round the corner. Imagine, then, his surprise when the cold nose of an automatic was thrust against his temple and an equally cold voice commanded him to raise his hands.

He turned with a ferocious snarl, bitter curses issuing from his lips as he saw-Peter. A thought flashed in his mind to turn the sub-machine-gun on this lad.

"Don't," snapped Peter coldly, contemptuously. "I'd hate to shoot you, Mr. Terror, after the warm receptions you've given us. Come on, drop that gun and step out of the car. We've got you where we want you." The heavy gun thudded to the floor, and a few minutes later the Scarlet Terror was on his way to the lock-up. He had met his match in Peter Ross and Bill Foster. "Another menace over," mused Peter, late that night. "I'd been wondering, Bill,- why it took so many years for the brother* the Scarlet Terror to fisd out that his brother died." "Yv. fcßiean that he's just decided to g«* 'jfter us despite the fact that his brothet &ss been dead all these years?" replied Bill. Peter nodded "I asked the Inspector Walls," went on Bill, "and he says that this Scarlet T;*ror was in' America serving a term of imprisonment at the time the original Terror was killed. After the sentence had expired he came right over there to get us. That was why he took such a .long time about it.' Pete nodded, and plunged once more into "A Tale of Two Cities." Once more their dreary existence prevailed. THE END.