THE WAY OF DANGER

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21882, 18 August 1934, Page 13 (Supplement)

THE WAY OF DANGER

By DAVID WHITELAW Author of "The Little Hour of Peter Wells," "The Mystery of Furze Acre. no. «*., civ,

A THRILLING SERIAL

CHAPTER IV.—(Continued Ronnie drew in great breaths of it, glorying in. the exorcise after tho cramped journey in tho bus. It was not long beforo he had left the lights of Zerran behind him and wns alone on tho great headland that formed the further arm of tho bay on which the village lay. He seated himself on a boulder and looked across to the tiny cluster of lights. Somewhere near should be that Wolf's Crag of which ho had that afternoon been reading, tho place where Old Dan Tregellan had lived in sin and died calling alike on God and Devil. The romance of his surroundings caught at Ronnie's imagination. The great rocky headland, the scent of the rain-drenched heather, tho song of the sea —all as it had been more than a hundred years ago, when Old Dan's men had run their cargoes. Perhaps from the very boulder on which he was now seated, falso riding lights had been shown to lure storm-tossed vessels on to the jagged rocks below. Then Ronnie Slade camo back to earth, both physically and in his thoughts. Slipping from his granite seat he lay prone in tho heather, creeping cautiously to tho edge of tho cliff and peering down to where a little arc of sand showed a pale sickle in the watery moonlight. Something down there was moving. Ronnie could see shadowy shapes dark against tho beach. It was all vague—unreal] tho mass of tho cliff with patches of dead black that were the mouths of caves. Now and again lights would appear, pass hither-tbither like will-o'-the-wisps and go out. It was almost as though Old Dan and his ghostly men had returned to visit tho scenes of their former villainies. And then a sound that was anything but ghostly, the muted " chug-chug " of a throttled-down engine. A tiny, yellow light seemed to slip away from tho shore, and as it rounded the headland and rcachod open sea tho watcher on tho cliff saw that it was a boat, a longish craft, tho details of which at the distance ho was unablo to make out.

become the solo link of possible communication with Brcnda, and he must not lose tou^li. One thing emerged clearly from tho self-conference that took place on the soa wall. Definitely the vicinity of tho One and All had become a danger zone. If he wanted to keep his presence in Zerran as secret as possible he must give Pendour and his friends a wide berth.

He had noticed, he remembered, while the motor bus had been held up by engine trouble 011 tho hill above the village, a dilapidated board near a cutting in the moor, that had borne tho inscription: " Teas, Apartments." How l'ar back was it, Ronnie wondered. But whother one mile or five, there was nothing for it but to tackle the journey. Tho walk would give him time to think; perhaps during it he would be able to arrive at some way through tho fog of mystery that seemed to be hemming him in on all sides. Ho had his story pat on arriving at Trowenth Farm, ns 110 found the place to be called. He had been hiking through from St. Ivos, he said, and had been delayed by tho storm and had missed tho bus back. Could ho havo a room and a little something to eat? He could. Mrs. I'olglazo welcomed this lato straggler from the summer tourist trade that was her main means of support. Also he could have supper.

Ronnie had a good meal. Ho was tired, but not altogether displeased at tho turn his duel with JakotJollins had taken. Wero it not for his gnawing anxiety concerning Brenda's whereabouts Ronnio told himself that he would bo thoroughly enjoying himself. But if ho wanted to be of servico to Brenda ho would have very carefully to watch his steps.

More than once during the evening ho had considered the advisability of inquiring at tho Zerran Post Office whother a telegram addressed to Miss Freyne had been claimed, but he had hesitated. Everything would, ho knew, bo broadcast in so small a community and could not fail to come to tho ears of Jake and the Tregellan thug. That night Ronnie leant his elbows on the ledge of his bedroom window, and looked out over the dark waters of tho Atlantic. For the first time in many months he thought of certain physical jerks that had been drilled into him by his instructor when training for tho school boxing bouts. How did they go? Ho expanded his chest, threw wide his arms in tho first movements. One . . . back. Two . . . back. Three . . Walking in ordered paths, was he? Holding Nurso's hand and afraid to go 011 the grass, was he? Half-baked kid, eh? He'd show 'em . . . Jake and Dan and tho whole bunch of 'em . . . CHAPTER V As one rising through the waters of a dark sea to the upper air, so Brenda Freyne came back from a realm of confused dreams to the knowledge of the world around her. She was in a bed. a four-poster with canopy and heavy funereal hangings in a room where, in the pale light that came through the one window, everything seemed to be shadowy and unreal as though they were still part and parcel of hor dreams . . . almost as though she were dreaming some dream within a dream.

He watched it till it was out of sight, then looked down again toward tho beach to sco that the arc of sand was now deserted. He could see the black openings to the caves, tho fringe of surf oa the sand, but the men had gone.

And then came unmistakable sounds that they were making their way up the cliff face. Ronnie threw himself back from the edge, burrowed deoper into the foot-high heather and waited. There was no time to make his escape from the approaching danger, all ho could do was to worm his way into what security the undergrowth offered, covering his face so that it should not show in the moonlight. His imagination peopled tho cliff with figures of long ago, men with swarthy skins and rings in their ears, bearing bags of silks and kegs of brandies on their shoulders . . . preventive men . crouching behind boulders, lying prone in the heather even as he himself was lying. He could see nothing, -but he could hear" the crunching of feet on loose stones, the tearing'of the bushes as the men clambered their- way to the top of the cliff. And then a few words spoken not three feet from where he lay. " Scuttled like a frightened hare. Saw him looking from the carriage windows as I stood on the platform. Guess he.'s back in London by now, hiding his fool head under the bedclothes. . . . Trust Jake to handle halfbaked kids like that."

For a while she lay motionless with closed eyes vainly trying to arrange into some sort of order tho confused welter of impressions that surged within her. Vaguely she called to mind tho storm, the lightning playing on the ruined walls of the mine, the coming and going of the men with their mysterious burden, her own terror and her frenzied rush through tho wind and rain. Sho had fallen, she remembered, and then above tho storm noises, she had heard that cry of terror. Tho girl raised herself upon her elbow and peered a little fearfully into the shadows of the room. Then she got up and, crossing to tho window, held aside the curtain and looked out.

The voice died away. Ronnie waited a few minutes and then cautiously raised his head. The cliff was clear, he could see the stretch of it reaching to the dip that led down to'tho village. He sat up. •

An expanse of moonlit sea and, away to the right, a streak of pale saffron on tho horizon. At first, Brenda could see little more than this, but leaning out she could see the mass of rock that she recognised as the headland that lay to the west of Zerran towards Porthmedda. The window was small and deep set in an embrasure of granite nearly a loot in thickness. Below her, tho wall dropped sheer to a narrow slip of cliff, shelving sharply to its jagged edge. A suspicion that had been growing in the girl's mind at that first sight of the sea slowly became certainty. Leaning farther out she could make out a corner of crumbling ruin which sho know to bo the mine in which sho had suffered so hideous an ordeal.

So his friend Mr. Collins had come once more into-the-picture. Good! No neede for Ronnie Slade to tie a knot in his handkerchief to remember Mr. Collins. He thought of the great, hairy fist that the man had exhibited, and now he clenched his own and held it out in the moonlight. It wasn't so big as Jake's but it was a pretty useful ball of muscle and sinew. Besides, unless he had forgotten all he had learnt at school, there was science behind it. Ronnie Slade owed, that fist of his an apology. Twice in succession had it won him the Old Baronian light heavyweight shield, and the only use he had put it to lately was gripping a racquot at squash or tennis. He felt the old light of battle glowing within him. There had been a peach of an uppercut—" one up from the cellar," his boxing instructor used to call it, and Ronnie wondered whether he had forgotten it. He figured out mentally the exact spot on Jake Collin's ugly jaw with which he would like to connect. He rose from his bed of heather and made his way slowly back to the village. Caution suggested giving the One and All a wide berth, but there seemed to be nowhere else he could go. And then as he approached the tavern ho saw that the bus had returned after all, and that it was waiting before the porch with engine running. In the glow of the oil lamp from within the bar he could" see Jake Collins standing talking with Sam Pendour, the landlord, and as Ronnie stood watching, a third figure swathed in a belted leather coat joined them. Although at tho distance ho could not quite bo sure, Ronnie saw that tho figure in the belted coat bore a strong resemblance to Young Dan Tregellan. Tho watcher stood back in the shadow of the sea wall and saw Jake enter the bus and tho driver mount his seat. For a few minutes the man in tho leather coat stood talking in tho po r rch with Pendour, then disappeared into an outhoflse, emerging again, wheeling a motor bicycle. Ronnie heard the starting of the engine and tho shoutings or good nights. Then ho stood watching a small red tail-lamp zigzagging its way up the crooked little High Street until it morged into the night. Ho took his seat on the granite sea wall and went into conference with himself. After what he had witnessed from the cliff top he had beon thinking hard. Carefully, incident by incident, ho went over in his mind the happenings of the last, few days. Ho started with Brenda's story told in tho Cheapsido teashop, then his arrival at the Golden Lion, the warning note he had received, and tho unwarrantable interference of Mr. Jako Collins in his affairs. But whero all this linked up with the main object of his visit ho could not quite see. How was ho to help Brenda, who, by this time, must surely havo engaged the attentions of Mr. Collins and his comrades? It was all to tho good that his enemies should think him to be in London, but that advantage would bo of short duration. For all ho knew, the driver of the bus from St. Ives might have told Jake .of the young gentleman he had brought to Zerran. In a village so small his presence would soon become public property. In tho morning he must return to Penzance to find if there had been any reply to his wire. The Golden Lion, in spite of the dangers surrounding that hostelry, had

Closing the window again she turned back into the room. In the dim light sho saw that the furnishings wero oldfashioned and massive—a huge mahogany wardrobe, a tallboy reaching to the ceiling and the high carved posts of tho bed supporting the canopy that had seemed to Brenda so funereal. On a chair beside the bed lay tho clothes sho had been wearing when sho left Zerran, neatly folded and, as sho found when sho lifted up her" woollen jumper, quite dry. Sho glanced down at tho sleeping garment she was wearing and gave a little gasp of amazement when she saw that she was in pyjamas, garments of the finest woven rose-coloured silk that most certainly did not belong to her.

Sho went over to the door, softly turned tho handle. It was, as sho had expected, locked. Then back to bed . . .

there was nothing to bo gained by catching one's death of cold, and ouo can think better in the warm.

Brenda's first thought, to hammer 011 the door and demand an explanation, gave place to a saner resolution. Lying there gazing at tho palo path of sky framed in her window, sho gave herself up to considered thought on the situation in which she found herself. She was a little frightened, perhaps, but definitely thrilled.

It had been early evening when sho had taken shelter in the mine; the darkness that had filled it had been rather of the stprm than of the night. Tho fact that her clothes and shoes were dry, taken with tho palo light sho had seen in tho sky over the headland told her that it should be somewhere about five in tho morning. Brenda was far from being a coward, but a little chill "bf fear took her as sho realised that sho was in the house 011 tho rock, knew that here was tho heart of tho mystery that had brought her to Cornwall, that, whether she wished it or not, she was cast for a far bigger part in tho drama of Noel Cotsford's affairs than she had dreamt of.

To the girl's mind there that in Mr. Noel's letter to Mr. Bristow that had admitted of no delay. She had seen tho look in the man's eyes as ho had gazed down into tho courtyard of Tenby Mansions: sho had heard him speak of murder. Sho had known then that he was going into some danger, some unknown dangor, and the letter to Bristow had told her that ho would bo looking for help that she alone know would now not bo forthcoming. Sho blamed herself for not leaving tho letter at Wigmore Street to await Mr. Bristow's return. But Mr. Noel had told her to give it to no one but Bristow himself —and sho had not thought the matter of such dread urgency as she now know it to be.

And., then suddenly to her recollection, a ray of sunshine in the darkness, cnine the thought of Ronnie Slade's telegram that she had found awaiting her in Zerran. Sho leant out over the chair by the bed and felt in the pocket of her tweed coat, where, in her notecase, she had placed it. together with Noel Cotsford's letter to Bristow.

( copyniGßT)

But the pocket was empty. Her bag, too, in which she carried nothing but the usual feminine trifles was nowhere to be seen. The dawn had come quickly and now Brenda rose and dressed herself. She felt that whatever lay before her could be better met and dealt with, shod and in tweeds, than in rose silk pyjamas

The situation was taking shape in her mind. The man with the jaw like a prize-fighter, the man who had been watching Tenby Mansions, the man whom Noel Cotsford, judging from his letter to Bristow, had tracked to Wolfs Crag—this man or somo of his associates had seen her run from the mine and fall senseless in tho heather. What, she asked herself, had happened then? Had the man recognised her as the girl ho had seen leave Tenby Mansions and whom ho had followed down Knightsbridge? Was she being held prisoner in this house, the first 6ight of which, on her walk from Porthmedda, had filled her with such misgivings? And what had become of Mr. Noel? Fear had her in its grip.

All tlieso questions would have to bo answered. Then a courage born of dcspei'ation came to Brenda's assistance. Sho crossed again to the door, beat npon the panels with hor fists, and kicked afc them with the toes of her sturdy littlo brogues.

Sho paused. Surely that was someone outside in the corridor. Tho slither of slippered feet that approached the door —stopped. Glancing down, Brenda saw that tho handle was being slowly and gently turned. Then footsteps again, retreating this time. They passed into silence. Brenda called loudly, redoubled her hammering on the door. Then waited.

Minutes passed. Brenda could almost hear the beating of hor heart. Sho was picturing to herself tho house on tho rock as it had appeared to her tho morning beforo. It nad seemed, then, as though the sun had been darkened, as though a cloud of mystery bung about the gaunt old building. Unmentionable things could take place _in such a house. It was a fortress behind whose granite walls the forces of evil Could plot and counterplot and defy tho world.

Sho went again to tho window. No help from that quarter. No sign of life save a few gulls planing < on outstretched pinions and uttering their plaintive cries. Far out to soa a tramp steamer, looking like a toy boat on the broad Atlantic, was beating her way up toward the Longships—isolation, complete—terrifying.

Then from behind her Brenda heard the scroop of a key in a lock. Sho turned.

The man she had seen beneath the archway at Tenby Mansions had entered the room. He was shutting the door behind him, turning the key. " You are feeling better, I hope, Miss Freyne." Tho voice of the man came to her as a shock. It was low and melodious and bore just a suspicion of an American accent. An educated voice, but, coming from so big a man, unpleasant by reason of its very softness. A hateful voice.

' For a moment Brenda was at a loss how to answer. There was something go strange, so bizarre in all this, something that froze up speech. Sho sank on to the edge of the bed. " I don't understand," she said. " How did I come to —to this place?" The man smiled. Brenda remembered tho snarling curl-back of tho lip she had seen as tho man had peered into her face under the Knightsbridge archway. *' : "■ "* .

" You lost your way in tho storm. Miss Freyne. One of my men found you lying half dead in tho bracken out there on the cliff. I did what I could for you."

. " And believo me, I'm thankful. But I'm all right now. My friends will be worrying about mo. How soon can I get back to Penzance?" " That depends." " Depends on what?" " On certain matters which wo will have to talk over together. I hope you will consent to bo my guest hero for the present." The slight pause before the word guest, the damnably silken way in which the word was uttered, carried their own unmistakable meaning. Brenda rose to her feet.

" I'm grateful for what you've done," sho said. " But I have reasons for wanting to get back to Penzance." " And I, Miss Freyne, have reasons for wishing you anywhere but in Penzance." She looked at him in amazement, edged back toward the window. Tho man went on:

" And while we're on the subject of reasons, Miss Freyne, may I suggest that your reasons for wishing to be back in Penzance have to do with Mr. Noel Cotsford?"

" Where is . . . what have you done with Mr. Noel?"

The man shrugged his broad shoulders.

" That, I'm afraid, is my business. You have been unfortunate in stumbling on to something which does not concern you in the least. My organisation is a delicate piece of machinery and it doesn't do to throw monkeywrenches into the works. That's what you are doing, Miss Froyne. That's why I must insist on your remaining as my guest in Wolfs Crag." For a moment sho did not speak. Then:

"How do you know my name?" sho asked.

" You happen to be a small cog in the machinery I told you about just now. But pardon me, my name is Tregellan, Daniel Tregellan. This house has been tho home of tho Tregellans for generations. Wo have always prided ourselves on our hospitality, Miss Freyne. Our guests aro well looked after."

" Is it usual to go through their pockets on arrival? Or to lock doors on them?"

She saw the dangerous look that camo into the man's eyes—but it passed at. once. When Tregellan next spoke tho voice was soft, caressing as before. " I have taken tho liberty, Miss Freyne, of having my breakfast sent up here. Ono can speak better over tho coffee. I'd liko to placo all my cards on the table and I'm sure we're going to bo good friends. Have I your permission?" The girl had turned away and was standing at tho window. Sho spoke over her shoulder. " It seems that I have no choice in the matter," she said. " By which remark," answered the master of Wolfs Crag, as he turned to tho door to admit a woman bearing a tray covered with a white cloth, " I judgo you to bo a young lady of perception. I rather think, Miss Freyne, that you and 1 aro going to get on quite well together." **«*#*

Manchester was at its very worst when, in the early hours of the evening, Inspector Carron stopped stifflegged and weary from the Euston train on to tho platform of London Road Station where, in answer to the wire he had sent from London, he found Inspector Hanway, of the Manchester police, waiting for him. Tho men saluted. They were strangers, but the brotherhood of the Force soon changed all that. By the time the car that Hanway had waiting reached Mulshill Road Police Station tho two men might have known one another for years. Hot coffee and a good cigar soon thawed John Carron into comparative comfort. Seated in tho inspector's oihco, he learnt all there was to learn of the tragedy of the Rochdale Canal.

(To be continued daily)