DANCING BEGGARS

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIX, Issue 21278, 3 September 1932, Page 13 (Supplement)

DANCING BEGGARS

By E. BRETT YOUNG

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued) Til© rain had stopped at last; but the night was dark, and I had to switch on my torch pretty often on our way up the stony lane. There was no light in Bethune, and I felt that Keynes was awake and listening. I wondered if I should ask him if anyone had passed that way already, but Janes guessed my thought and discouraged it with a touch on my arm. I concluded that his trust in Keynes was not quite so complete as ho had pretended. I wondered too, if the man would stalk us as we were stalking Brookes—if. indeed, the doctor was not already asleep in his bunk aboard the Dido. I looked back once or twice and listened, but, there was no sound of following footsteps. There were two lighted windows in the farmhouse, one bohind the front door arid the other upstairs. The lower window was curtained, but the upper was bare, and when we reached the hedge that enclosed the farmyard, T could see a ring of light on the ceiling. Many minutes passed. I began to wish that I had not come. The night was turning cold, and I shivered in my unclerical flannels. u I've had enough of this," I whispered to Janes, and a dog barked once and was silent. Janes pressed my arm with his fingers and made no other move ment. Then several things happened. A figure appeared, framed in the upper window, stood for a moment and vanished—a stocky, shapeless figure, seen in s.lhouttc, but when it turned away, I could see the unmistakable outline of a peaked cap such as I was wearing myself. Then tho light went out, and a moment later several shadows caino and went upon the curtain of the lower room. Then the lower window too was darkened; the front door opened, and a stream of light lay along the flagstones of the yard. Behind the capped figure on tho threshold I could Pasco himself and somebody in an apron who might have been either Nancy or her mother. I heard a " Goodnight " in Pasco's voice, and other in a woman's, and somebody said, " It's stopped raining, I think." Then Mrs. Pasco's voice: " Pray God it'll all come right." A wave of tho hand from the visitor and the door was shut aga.n. But I had seen enough of the person who had cornp out to know that it was not Dr. Brookes.

We crawled up to tho pump with nothing to sparo and Janes said disgustedly " Fill her up " to the lad who ran out to us. The boy stared suspiciously and hesi tated for a moment. It struck me that he must know the rector's car and did not know me, and I began to turn hot. I think he had already mado up his mind to ring up tho police station, but it happened that he was saved that trouble for the local inspector strolled up with a companion while ho was still at tho pump handle. I did not like this much better. 1 had met the man once or twice, but I did not know whether to hope or fear that he remembered me. 1 decided to hope and said: " Good evening, Mr. Dingle " as coolly as I could. He stared for a moment and then suppressed a grin. I had forgotten my check cap and soft collar.

" You'ro from Polblaze, sir, aren't you? I hopo tho canon's quito well." I said that he was. I did not add that he quito possibly had an apoplectic fit coming to him within tho next half hour. The inspector glanced at tho pump which registered twenty gallons. 1 don't think he was yet quito happy about mo. "Going on, sir?" he asked. " No, no, going back," I said. " Just an improvised excursion." It occurred to mo then that even if I got the car back unheard the full tank would betray mo. I 6hould have to spill tho stuff somewhere. Inspector Dingle looked at me thoughtfully. The man besido him, a lean and melancholy fellow, seemed to be filing mo for future reference. Tho inspector lowered his voice. " This gentleman beside me," ho said, " is Mr. Duckham. He'll be out to Polblaze to-morrow, and I reckon there's no harm in tolling you, sir, that he's come from Scotland Yard to assist Mr. Blarney." The inspector winkod earnestly. " Between ourselves, it's time that business of yours was cleared up, and Mr. D is the man to do it." I nodded uneasily to Mr. Duckham, whom I could not think well met. Ho appeared to be working out an amusing chess problem on my cap. Janes was fidgeting besido me. " We'd better be getting back," he said. The garage man was turning off his lights. " We were just in time," said Janes. " You'd havo been all right," tho inspector told him, " there's a new petrol place round tho corner that stays open all night." Janes pressed tho starter, and I took the hint to begin to turn the car. " Better drive on round the corner," said Janes calmly. " There's more room to turn." I did as I was told and put on a spurt as I took his meaning. There was still a chance. If wo had wasted another minute in conversation we should have been too late. As we turned tho corner a large car moved away from tho new petrol station, hesitated at tho choice of ways, and took the London road.

Farmer Pasco's visitor passed within a yard of me as I crouched under the wall; then climbed a stile on the other side of the land and took the field path that leads to the rectory and the church. We followed along the field path. Our quarry was invisible, but we had no reason to fear that he would give us the slip. The rectory was in darkness. Tho Rector goes to bed early and sleeps soundly " 4 cr motoring exploits that would leavo n»j a nervous wreck. As wo reached his gate we heard footsteps on tho hard road. The man had passed the rectory and was going toward the church. After a moment the sound of footsteps ceased and, as w« turned into the road, the flare of a match showed the reason. The stranger had left a motor bicycle under the Rector's garden wall and was lighting tho lamp. "We've lost him," I whispescd, turn ing to Janes, but. Hp nudged me fiercely and told me to watch. The wind was still blowing gustily from the sea and tho cyclist was having trouble with his matches. He leaned closer to the lamp, striking one match after another and, as each flared up, I had a momentary glimpse of the bent face. It seemed vaguely familiar, vaguely a young face, but each spurt of flame was so brief that recognition was caught lagging. Instinctively I moved forward, but I felt a restraining pressure on my arm. " We mustn't be seen," Janes whispered. "All right. Only it isn't Brookes." " I know. It isn't Yalina either." "No. I believe it's some village lad that I know. Let mo speak to him and chance it." " No." The acetylene lamp spluttered and caught. I saw, with the utmost clearness a mouth and chin and the buttoned up collar of a leather coat of the kind that motor cyclists wear, and then the figure was rn shadow again, and the liiiht streamed unimpeded along the uneven surface of the road. " Who is it ? " Janes breatlwd, " I don't know, but look! " An answering light, as it seemed, sprung out forty yards along the lane, and I saw the outline of a car outside the church yard gate, tho red rear lamp toward us. So tho Rector, I thought, was not in bed after All, I had not known that his ruling passion took him out at night. The car purred and slid off in the direction of Carno. Its' beam swung and vanished rbund the bend. The motor-cycle remained. I could just see tho leathcr-ooatr-1 onp standing beside it. Then it bun? l into deafening song. The rider waddled beside it and sprang on, and it was gone tho way of the car. " And that's that," I said nloud. " The Rector has gone for a joy ride and the mysterious youth had gone home to bed. We'd better follow his example." Janes stood irresoluto in the middlo of tho road.

",A f '.er him," said Janes. "But don't catch him." 7 hosiiatcd. " Are you sure it's our DI&J ?" " Not yet, but I believe it is. I think I got his number up by the church and if you can get near enough to see it again—" That was easy, I said. The rector's car leapt forward and, before we had left tho outskirts of the little town, our headlights picked out the figures on tho man's rear number plate. " He's ours," said Janes. " Now drop behind again." I let the fugitive gain on me nntil his rear light was a red dot in tho distance. " We've lost the cyclist, though," I grumbled. There was a clatter on my right and a leather coated figure in a peaked cap swerved into the beam of my lamp. Tho cyclist fell into place behind tho leading car. My lamps, I mean the rector's lamps, picked out a milestone with its legend: " London CCCXIX " Janes relaxed beside me. " Thank God we're in full tank," ho said. CHAPTER VII MOLLY The carburettor whispered; tho tires hummed, and I was happy with tho quiet happiness of the hunter who knows that his quarry cannot escape him. The speedometer needle was steady as a rock at forty. It was sad to think that wo should have to stop, sooner or later, and turn back. I communicated this thought to Janes. " Obviously," he said, "Wo are on an island." " Still, there's no point in going too far," I sighed. " As to that," said Janes, " tho further we go tho more point there is in going on." I was ready enough to believo it, but I begged him to explain. " Obviously," said Janes again. "If our man lived close by thero'd bo nothing very remarkable in his being up at Polblaze Churchtown after dark. Even if ho'd stopped at Carno ho might be nothing more than an eccentric who liked a night ramble in hilly lanes. Since it looks as if he comes from tho other end of the country it's not. unfair to speculate on his business. I'm slow to think evil but if he crosses into Dovonshiro my suspicion is liable to bo aroused. I shall be even moro suspicious of the cyclist. The motorist may be a casual visitor but tho cyclist certainly spent at least an hour at Pasco's farm."

" I suppose so,'.' he admitted. " You're sure it was the Rector ? " " Who elso would be up hero with a car at this time of night'! " " Don't adc me," said Janes crossly. Still I wag puzzled, for I had imagined that I knew the Rector's habits, and nocturnal prowling was not one of them. I had a bold impulse. Why not go to the garage and look ? The Rector's garage was one of those portable eyesores that look like an overgrown hencoop. He had stuck it up—indecently I thought—just inside his garden gate, and we had not to trespass far to discover that its double doors were shut. " But not locked," said Janes, swinging one open. "The torch, Goose." I turned the beam on to a darkly gleaming fender and a glitter of nickel and glass. Janes swung the other door open. " Can you drive ?" he asked. Something unnjgenerate and, I am afraid, quite unclerical rose to me and seemed to tickle "my ribs from the inside. I temporised, but I was lost already. "Can't you?" 1 said. " Probably. I don't know until I try. I had a motor-cycle once, but it deserted me at a corner." Then I had floated—or so it seemed—into the driver's seat, and there was Janes beside me. I found a knob and six cylinders whispored amiably to one another and tires crackled on the gravel. Janes switched on the lights as we slid by the church. There was a bare chance that the other car would have turned off before reaching the little town, but it was not likely. Janes kept on shouting to me to hurry until he suddenly bade me go slow and the lamps of Carno lay below us with a red rear light trickling down the straight hill and the cycle only 30 yards ahead of us. I slipped into top gear and the engine hesitated and died. I had run out of petrol. Probably there was a reserve supply, but I should have to stop to search for the tap. I resolved to coast down the hill and trust to the car's momentum to carry me as far as the petrol pump in the market place. Then there would be noth. ing for it but to go back to Polblaze, for the car ahead would have turned behind the church with a choice of three hidden roads. I explained t'.is to Janes, and he took it well. " It isn't your fault," he said. " You deserve better luck, but it's no use howling.

" Wo don't know that," I objected. I reminded him that we had not been there more than thirty minutes. "Didn't you hear tho cyclist eay that it had stopped raining ?" " That was a woman's voice," I said. I liked to catch Janos tripping. Still, the deduction seemed fair enough, for it had stopped raining just as wo left my lodgings in Polblaze. " In any case," I said, " the cyclist seems to bo ono of tho party. I'm equally suspicious of both." " Perhaps you're right," he said, and went on to tell mo what ho knew of Detectivo Duckham. " Duckham's a good man," ho said, rather grudgingly, I thought. " lie's not brilliant, but he hangs on, and he doesn't miss much." " Do you-think he'll find a clue?" " That depends," said Janes, "on whether there is a clue. Slow down, Gosling. Somebody's stopping." I jammed on tho brakes clumsily and nearly shot through tho windscreen. We fell to a crawl. Tho red light was stationary a hundred yards ahead. At the same moment, twenty yards nearer us, the motor cycle wavered and camo to a halt. Janes formed his plan quickly. "Since we're not following them, we must pass them," he said. "Go ahead speedily and try to see all you can." We could not see much. The motor cyclist seemed to be tinkering with his engine. I had only a vaguo glimpse of the people in tho car, but I got the impression that one of them was standing up. We rounded a curve and I turned into a side lane, switched off the lights and got out. Three minutes later tho car droned by the corner. Whatever their trouble, it had been quickly remedied. Then the motor cyclist rounded the bend. 110 had been equally fortunate. " En route!" said Janes. I looked at my instrument board before we backed out on to the road. Wo had covered twenty miles since leaving Carno, and wo had taken exactly half an hour. After a brief and joyous spurt "I fell back into my place in the procession^ " Do they know we're following them ?" I asked Janes. " It's a question' of conscience," he answered. "Of course they know that j we're behind bat from what I've booh

Author of "Tho Murder at Fleet/* "* Undergrowth," ** The Medlar Tree, etc., etc. AN INTRIGUING DETECTIVE MYSTERY

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of motorists they have a way of blinding along in batches with a leader to set the pace. They've no reason to suppose that the car that followed them out of Carno isn't away ahead. 1 don't know what they think about the cyclist. He may bo a friend of ttieirs but he didn't join thom when they pulled up. We'll see if ho does so this lime, for I'm hanged if they aren't stopping again." The second stop was so exactly a repetition of the first that my memory hardly distinguishes them. Again the motor cyclist came to a stop and became interested in his machine, and again we found a by-road ahead and waited for the race to be resumed. My second glimpse of the people in the car confirmed the first without adding anything to it. Again it looked as if the driver were standing up and crouching over the dashboard. And the pauso was just about as long as it had been before first the car and then the motor cycle got into their swing again. We had now come forty miles from Carno and it was after midnight. I felt my onthusiasm ebbing. " We're going too far," I said. " I hate to let them get away now, but we must be back by daylight. It's my only hope." I knew now how a vampire must feel on its night out at the chilling thought of cockcrow. Janes wouldn't hear of turning back. " Wo can bo home in an hour in this 'bus," said the tempter. " Probably another twenty miles will be enough," " What makes you think so? All right, I'll give you twenty miles." "I'm only guessing. En avant!" At the end of exactly twenty miles by the speedometer, again covered in exactly half an hour, the enemy stopped once more. This time he took me unaware and I rounded a corner right on top of him. Instinctively I jammed on the brakes and pulled up level. A man poked his head out of the window.

' Sorry," said a cheerful voico with an Oxford accent.. " I don't usually pull up on a carve, but this was compulsory." " Anything I cap do to help V said Janes, who doesn't know a spanner from a feeler guage. " Not a thing, thanks. Run out of gas, that's all. Luckily I carry a spare tin " " Wise fellow!" said Janes genially. " Buzz on, Goose. You may now drive as fast as you like." " Home ?" I asked.

" Oh, not just yet," ho protested. " How about doing a real sprint for just another twenty miles ?" We did. Janes watched the speedo meter. That is why I believe tho Rector when he claims to have " got ninety." I thought that Janes had allowed his suspicion to be too easily allayed by a cheerful voice and a pleasant manner, but I was well pleased to be quit of the cha6e at tho price of another twenty miles. We covered them and I pulled up. " Goose, you're right," said Janes. " I've had enough and I want to stretch my legs before we go back. Turn tho car into that cart-track and come for a walk " The road ran between low stone wallf and thero wasn't a tree in sight. I did as ho suggested and turned off the lights. I was cold and rather stiff and glad to stamp up and down the hard road. Janes held his watch close to his eyes. "Wo may as well wait," he said, " until our friends go by. That is if they go by. Personally I don't think thrv will, but wo shall know in about eighl minutes. I wonder whore we arc." I made a rough calculation and guessed that w« should have crossed into Devonshire somo way back. This must be a northern shoulder of Dartmoor. I thought, sniffing the odour of wet peat and the burnt roots of heather. " One minute more," said Janes; " if I've guessed right." He took my arm, and I thought his fingers shook a little. " Listen, Gosling, I know no more than you what it's all about, but I'm gambling on our friend stopping just about here. Hoaven knows why ho should, but he seems to make a habit of pausing to take ( thought at every twentieth mile." " Then you don't think ho was really j out of gas'! " j "Is it likely, seeing that ho stopped to fill up in Carno ? A car liko that ought : to do at least a hundred miles—even two, on a full tank." " It might bo engine trouble," I said, as I climued tho stone wall after him. Still, I had never heard of a car that struck work every twenty miles, and covering the interval in halt an hour. We heard the car coming before we caught tho gleam of its lights. I peered through a cranny in the wall. It swept toward us, slackened speed and stopped barely ten yards away. I followed Janes along tho inner side of the wall. The driver was leaning over tho dashboard, but the raised window prevented mo from seeing what ho was doing. A moment later I know that ho was not alone for ho spoke. " This is a condemned nuisance," he growled. " Slow but safe," came a muffled voice from the car. " It's better than taking chances. Where's that confounded cyclist ?" " I don't know. You'ro infernally nervous, Oliver. Still think we're being chased by wicked men I" " I didn't say we were." Oliver seemed to bo suffering from a cold in his_ head. " I said it looked very much like it." " Well, it doesn't matter," said the Oxford voice. " They've dropped off now, and we're nearly home. Start her up." A starter buzzed and tho car moved forward. " Good-bye," whispered Jauos, " I'll got back when I can." He slipped over the wall, hung for a moment on the back of tho car like a street urchin stealing a rido, and then pulled himself on to the wide top of the petrol tank at tho rear. Tho red light dwindled and I was alone. I looked at my watch in the starlight. I might still, by driving furiously, make Polblazo Church town before the earliest risers were astir. I did not like leaving Juiics, but I knew that ho'd be furious if I tried to follow and, anyway, tho whole thing was a wild gooso chase. Tho conversation that we had heard seemed innocent enough, if unenlightening, and we had met tho perverted fato of listeners. It sounded as if the man with the cold had some kind of obsession a highway robbery complex, and had to turn every so often to make sure he wasn't being chased. It sounded idiotic, but Oliver might, for all I know, be an idiot. Perhaps a mental case in charge of a doctor who had taken his degree in Oxford. But what was he doing at Polblazo Church, nearly a hundred milos from his Dartmoor home? And what had happened to his faithful rearguard—for _ that is what I had presumed the cyclist to be? The question was soon to be answered, for I was not more than a couple of miles nearer home when I encountered 1 the cyclist again. He had come to grief once more. I had a momentary vision of tho leather-coated figure and the peaked cap bent over the machine. I stood on the brake. From the first moment of this absurd pursuit I had been more interested in tho cycle than in the car. All along I had been tormenting my memory to give up something more than that flash of half-recognition that had come to mo beside the rector's gate. Now was my chance to force it into tho opon and learn whether Pasco's mysterious visitor were a stranger or one of my own folk. I ran back along the road. (To be continued daily)