"The Jackal"

Manawatu Times, Volume LVI, Issue 7062, 23 January 1933, Page 9

"The Jackal"

(BY J. LINDSAY HAMILTON.)

CChapt. XlX.—Continued.)

“Good heavens! What next?” exclaimed Doono tn mild astonishment. “Gak of somo sort, I suppose. You’l have thought some other ship would have run into it too. There’s no report of it here, it reads like tho dream of a drug-maniac.’’ “It’s a queer story as it stands,” said Jerry. “I want to know more about it-” He handed Doone a slip of paper. "’Phone that number, ask for Q 7 and demand information in my name. They may not give it to you, but I shall get it all the same. Will you? Thanks, old chap. Oh, ono other thing. Jacques was In London •yesterday. I want the report of his movements. If they won’t give you it, ask them to wire.” Ilalf-an-hour later Jerry arrived at the ornate residence of Sir Alan Cunningham. A gilded footman' received him with an air of supercilious inquiry, and on learning his business was with Sir Alan, became at once coldly officious. “No visitors except by appointment.” It wanted only this to tempt Jerry to a bold 'move. lie smiled blandly, and producing a visiting card scribbled in pencil on the back of it. If it meant nothing to Cunningham, no harm would be done, but Jerry rather suspected that that pencilled “J.l” would cause a considerable flutter in the dove-cote. “There are more things in heaven and earth. Horatio, than your philosophy has ever dreamed of,” he quoted solemnly. “This is one of them. Take this to your master, draw his attention to the—cr—mystic sign, and you shall see the miracle unfolded before your eyes." The footman was not visibly impressed, but he took the card and departed. Five minutes elapsed before he re-appeared and with a condescending “Come this way, sir” led Jerry into a room furnished like an office. A bespectacled, nervouslooking man rose to meet him. “Ah—-er-—won't you take a seat, Mr—er—Winton, isn’t it ” "Winter.” “Of course, of course, yes. Mr Winter—l beg your pardon. Sir Alan will see you in a few moments.” Jery made himself thoroughly comfortable as though prepared for a long wait, and offered the nervous secretary a cigar with a most affable smile. “He’s overworking himself,” he observed with a nod towards the door of the inner sanotum. “Somebody ought to do something about it. He hasn’t been at all well lately—on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I should say.” ‘Sh! —shl For goodness sake.” The secretary’s agitation was quite painful to witness. “Don’t say a word to him about his health. Just now it's like a red rag to a bull.” “Oh, quite, quite," agreed Jerry.* 'A trifle irritable no doubt.” From the secretary’s expression Jerry shrewdly suspected that “Irritable” was hardly the right word, and “trifle" quite inadequate to describe Sir Alan’s condition of temper. But the opportunity for further discussion was denied him. The door of the Inner room opened and Jerry saw Sir Alan Cunningham for the first time in the flesh. He was a stocklly built man, broad in the shoulder, perhaps in his youth something of an athlete, but high llv- j ing and lack of exercise now told their tale in ample waist girth, the puffy chocks. In spite of the fulness of his face, it looked drawn and haggard. “Will you oome in, Mr Winter ” The harsh voice seemed strained to an unaccustomed effort at cordiality; the smile in the eyes, too, was sustained only by an effort of will. “I don’t see callers except by appointment," he began as soon as the door had closed behind Jerry. “A man in my position has no time to waste on every Tom, Dick and Harry with a grievance or some fool scheme for making millions. But I know your name. Your uncle—er —once did me a great service. Now, Mr Winter, what can I do for you ” A very clever evasion thought Jerry. ills visitor must not be allowed to suspect the “flutter" caused by that pencilled symbol. “Oh, I just called in for a ohat,” said Jerry calmly. Cunningham's eyes narrowed. His fingers played Incessantly with the card Jerry had sent Into him. “My time Is valuable, young man.” “And possibly short?” “What do you mean — cl Cunningham was getting angry. “If you've come here to waste my time—here, what does this mean anyway, this mumbo-Jumbo on your card? What is It—J.l?” he demanded contemptuously. “I thought you might be induced to enlighten me," said Jerry meekly. Tho explosive outburst that followed, seemed to Jerry unnecessarily violent. “I wouldn't get angry,” he urged. “I haven't come to asy any favours. I'm really here to to do you a,good turn.” Cunningham made an effort to control himself and asked with laboured patience: “Will you kindly say what you have to say. You are wasting my time.” The constant reiteration of the phrase was too much for Jerry. He grinned broadly. “No, saving your time. At your age it would amount to a life sentence." His mildness of manner suddenly vanished. “Cunningham,” he raped out, "you escaped a flring party once—got a knighthood instead they tell me." The colour drained from Cunningham’s face; his eyes flamed across at Jerry in pitiful agitation. His lips framed one word, but dared not utter it. Jerry repe;sed it aloud for his benefit. “Yes —Dreissler.” Cunningham’s head dropped forward in his hands. “My God I” he groaned aloud. “Shall I never get away from itl” Jerry began to flay him unmercifully With cold unemotional words. Not a vestige of hope did he hold out to him, not a loophole of escape. He was reserving that for the end, but, as it happened, Ills plan was not to mature.

Instalment 18.

At it was he might nave spared his breath. Sir Alan Cunningham Was staring at him dully, uncomprehendingly. All but his own mental torture for the moment had ceased to exist. “Dreissler held you and now it’s The Jackal. He Is forcing your hand. You wanted to draw out and found you daren’t—that Indisoreet lettfcr, friend Cunningham, eh?’’ The staring eyes became focussed on Jerry, and the light of intelligence slowly dawned In (them. With that came a sudden rush of blood to his face till the veins stood out like purple cords. He drew in a great breath and held It. For one tense moment the two remained motionless, while the angel of Death whispered between them. One moment Jerry was facing a blind ter-ror-stricken animal with murder glaring from its eyes—the next, anticlimax —the commonplace had ousted Drama. A knock on the door, that was all; in one sense not all, for the newcomer who strolled in with such precious smiling insolence was Jaoques. “Hello, Cunningham, hello, Winter. You here? I didn’t know you two were friends. Sorry to interrupt a friendly chat, but my errand is of some importance. Thanks, Winter, so good of you to understand.” Jerry had given no sign of moving, but now he rose and regarded the interloper with a particularly engaging smile. “Friend Cunningham is not too fit. Be kind to him,” he murmured. “Get out, you—you—” Cunningham’s fury was quite beyond the scope of words. “Get out, and keep your nose out of my affairs." “Wish I could oblige you,” sighed Jerry, and passed into the secretary’s room. “You were right,” he told that enduring individual sorrowfully, “he is a trifle irritable." Once away from the precinots, Jerry decided to walk hack by way of Enderby and cross at the bridge. He had taken Scroggins with him in the morning, so there would be no need to concern himself about the punt. The walk would take him some miles out of his way, but he wanted solitude. He had some hard thinking to do. Though the interview had not ended as he had hoped, even though he had in some ways weakened his own position and considerably added to his risk by boldly declaring himself, he was yet not dissatisfied with the morning’s work. Suspicion was now confirmed as truth. Cunningham was in it up to the neck. Jacques, too, was coming more into focus. As luck would have it, at Enderby he ran into Eric Doone just returning from Market Appleton. His news was soon told. “I got your wire off, Jerry, and ’phoned your mysterious Q 7. Quite an agreeable sort of chap. He was quite willing to give all the information he could, but that wasn’t much-; tho sort of things that will be in the evening papers. The Dresden was fifty miles off the shipping route when it ran into that gas cloud. The wireless operator had reported an S.O.S. and she was steaming full speed to tho spot. Incidentally the operator vanished as soon as the ship touched port.” “Bribed, I suppose," said Jerry, “or one of the gang. There would be confederates on board, of course." “As a matter of fact a notorious Chicago gunman, Duggan, was on board, and half a dozen of his cronies." “Any suspicion attached to them?” “There was nothing to implicate them.” "Of course not. They would pitch their gas-masks overboard. And what about Jacques?” “Jacques’ business was not in London,” said Doone slowly. "He went to Southampton and was seen in a dockside public house with Duggan.” “Great workl” cried Jerry with intense enthusiasm. “To-night we’ll see how the wharf looks by moonlight, old boy. Have a cigar.”

CHAPTER XX. Helen's Letter.

It was ten o’clock before Helen put in an appearance. Her packing was already done, and she was dressed In a travelling costume. Now she went in search of Anna to make the necessary excuses. By great good fortune she had received by the morning's post a letter from Grace Wendover, her dearest friend, begging tier to come at once and stay the few remaining days before she departed on a long trip to America. Anna would understand at once. In their earlier intimacy-Helen bad spoken often of Grace. It was understood that she was to spend a week with her friend before she sailed. And now, owing to unforseen events, Grace would be leaving almost immediately. Uncle Eric might be more difficult, but Helen hoped that she would toe relieved of the necessity of verbal explanation. He was usually up and away before ten o’clock. She would write him from London. Fortune favoured her. Eric Doone had Just gone; Jerry was nowhere to be seen. She found Anna alone in the garden. “What I Going to-day—this very minute?" exclaimed Anna. “My dear, I can’t believe It." Helen gave her the letter to read. “I am so sorry, so sorry. But, of course, you must, I suppose. Oh. dear, what shall I do without you?” Helen was not deceived by the extravagant expression of regret. In spite of the sweetly pathetic tone, an amused smile seemed to lurk In the corners of Anna’s mouth. “It is rather sudden,” 6aid Helen. “Will you explain to Uncle Erio?” “What a pity you missed him. He has only just this minute gone.” “He will understand. I will write him from Town to-night.” "Why not now, dear?” suggested Anna. “And let me give it to him as soon as he returns. Don’t you think that would be best? Run and do it now, Helen darling. I’ll give Rudolph his orders while you are doing it." , .(Tone continued.'