THE WAY OF DANGER

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21888, 25 August 1934, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE WAY OF DANGER

By DAVID WHITELAW .. te .. t Author of "The Little Hour of Peter Wells." "The Mystery of Furze Acre. No. 15, etc., etc,

CHAPTEE VlH^r-(Continued) • She rose to her feet staring into the "darkness that was like a bfack wall before her eyes. There was no good staying where she was. Once having roleased the woman Bess the hue and cry would be out for the fugitive. And having made sure that she had not left the house there would bo an intensive search made for her. She moved forward, slowly, hands outstretched beforo her toward where she thought the door •to be. " f But the place was larger evidently than she had imagined from the hazy impression sho had obtained of it by the faint light through the grating Twice, three times did her outstretched hands encounter the cold stone of tho wall, and at tho third time she felt along its surface as tho surest way of reaching her objective. But there must have been so:tiie other outlet that she had missed in her previous survey. For soon she found that she was once more in a passage, and that she could touch the walls. The floor sloped downwards and now and again she came to steps down which she carefully, featfully felt her way.

the water under cover of tho darkness. }3ut that was going on rather fnst. There was as vet nothing to connect Hertzog with tho murder of his friend except Hughes' remark as to tho firms of Cotsford and Hertzog being rivals. Ifc was a link —but nothing more than a link. Then John Carbon put into operation the first move of the campaign he had mapped out while at breakfast; Ho crossed the alley and entered the office and asked to see Mr. Hertzog. Tho clerk behind the little grillo over the counter was sorry, but Mr. Hertzog was not in Manchester at tho moment. Did he know when Mr. Hertzog would bo back? The clerk did not . . . but perhaps Mr. Pollard, tho manager, might be'ablo to inform Mr. Carron. Mr. Pollard, tho inspector saw at a glance, could certainly impart tho information if ho chose, but it was equally apparent that Mr. Pollard did not choose. Mr. Hertzog was out of town, he said, but he, Mr. Pollard, might bo able to attend to any business that—and Mr. Pollard consulted the card that had been brought in to him—Mr. Carron had to put beforo him. . The visitor leant forward and took from Mr. Pollard's blotter the privato card he had sent in by the .clerk and substituted his official one. Mr. Pollard adjusted his horn-rimmed . spectacles and gave a little gasp. He looked up, his pale eyes blinking behind tho big lenses. " From Scotland Yard?" lie asked in a small, thin voice. " Precisely, Mr. Pollard. From Scotland yard." For a moment the two men eyed one another. Then: " And in what way can I serve you,Inspector Carron?" "By answering a few questions. First, I would like to know if a Mr. Bristow •—David Bristow —has been here lately?" " Bristow ... 1 do not know anyone by the name of Bristow." " My friend may not have used 'that name. He had others. Mr. Bristow was a friend of Air. Noel Cotsford." " Of London?" " Of London. Your firm and Cotsfords have had dealings together, I believe., Mr. Bristow came to Manchester on business, so far as I can figure it out connected with Cotsfords. I thought it possible that he might have called on you." " I'm afraid not, Mr. Carroll. Why should you think that?" " Very well, then. Now I'd like you to tell me where I can find Air. Hertzog, and when he is expected back in Manchester." " Mr. Hertzog is away. I am not at liberty to tell you where —Of when he is returning." " Why the secrecy?" Mr. Pollard creased his thin lips up into a ghost of a smile* " Why tho questions, if it comes to that? I'm afraid that 1 do not feel disposed to answer them. I have my private reasons." Inspector Carron shrugged his shoulders and put up tho bluff he had

And then the walls receded from her fingers, and fthe was alone in the darkness of the unknown. To her imagination gaping holes waited for her. Sho could feel that the air here was fresher and in it she thought she could taste the tang of the sea. Cautiously, fearfully, she went forward. The darkness enveloped her like a sable cloak. She tried to remember how Wolfs Crag had looked from the outside—its dimensions, its position relative to the sea.

Her thoughts turned to the old mine in which she had undergone such an ordeal of terror tho previous night. She had read somewhere of how the tunnels and workings of the Cornish tin mines passed sometimes for,a mile or more out under the bed of the sea.

She thought of the room she had left and how futile it would be for her to go back. Behind her was danger, the whole of Wolfs Crag must by this time be searching for her. Nothing for her but to go forward, forward into the darkness of the unknown. Here, too, might lie danger—but what choice had she? The air, at any rate, seemed to be getting fresher and fresher. Behind her was disaster. Beforo her —perhaps a chance. / CHAPTER IX. It was close on four when at last Inspector Carron said good-bye to his colleague, and stood at the entrance to the Midland watching Hanway's figure merge into and become one with the Manchester fog. Then after giving orders as to his waking At eight O'clock he went to bed and slept like a log. A pale, watery sun was struggling in between the curtains of his room as he Bat the next morning, propped up on pillows, sipping his cup of tea, and thinking over the events of the previous night.' Carron had seen death in many forms, but nothing Sad impressed him quite so much as that still, Bheeted figure of his old friend lying on tho slab of the mortuary. To think that Dave Bristow, his companion in many a man-hunt, should have come to such an end! It was only the thought that perhaps be might be allowed the satisfaction of avenging that death that kept John Carron up to concert pitch, and afforded him a certain grim comfort. With a shrug of hie shoulders bo dismissed sentiment from the matter oiico and for all. Time for that Avhen tho work that was facing him should be finished. As hie shaved he indulged in bis usual habit of discussing bis cases with himself. He nodded to bis reflection in the shaving mirror. " It's fitting in, John —fitting in nicely. Hanway's a good fellow, but I think we'll handle this on our own—eh, John? —just you and me. Nothing like working alone." He made a clean, decisive sweep with the razor. " First of all. we're going to take a little stroll along the canal bank and give the once-over to those warehouses wo saw last night—and particularly that occupied by our friend Hertzog." John Carron wiped the soap from his face, and passed into tho bathroom. Above the hissing of the faucets his voice could be 'heard going on with his self-communing. He was warning up to his work.

prepared. » " As you please, Mr. Pollard. Mr. Bristow, as it happens, was seen in the alley out there near your office, and if you do not care to answer mo here and now you may be more disposed to answer the coroner at the inquest." "Inquest . . .?" - " That's what I said, Mr. Pollard. I propose to call both you and Mr. Hertzog at the inquest on the body that was found as you perhaps know not so very far from your premises in tho Rochdale Canal out there. Good morning, Mr. Polllard. Your subpoena will come along in the course of tho morning. And I don't think that private reasons are going to cut much ico with tho coroner."

John Carron walked toward the door. Slowly, so as to give the man seated at the desk ample time to call him back —as he know he would. Mr. Pollard spoke as the inspector placed his fingers on the handle. " One moment, Inspector. I'd like a few minutes to think this matter out. I have a duty to my employer." " And to yourßelf as a citizen, if I may say so, Mr. Pollard. Tako j'our time." The manager of Hertzog's motioned the inspector to the seat ho had a moment before vacated. " What you say, Mr. Carron, exactly describes tho dilemma in which I find myself. Please sit down. You'll find cigars in that box." Inspector Carron leant back in his chair and lighted the very Choice cigar that he had carefully selected from Mr. Pollard's silver box. Through the thin haze of fragrant smoke he watched the man on the farther side of tho desk. Pollard was toying with a ruler, a heavy ebony affair, and Carron, for all his assumption of ease, was quite ready for him. He had memories of another caso where he had been interviewing a man whom he was about to arrest for forgery. It had been a heavy, bronze paper-weight On that occasion that had stood between John Carron and eternity and tho inspector had been just in time —only just. Not that ho had any serious thought that the small, spectacled man seated before him was meditating any physical assault. Edward Pollard was not cast in an heroic mould —but it was as well to be prepared. No doubt poor Bristow had considered himself quite safe—■ but they* had got him. Then Carron saw that the manager was speaking. " I'm in a very delicato position, Mr. Carron," ho "was saying. " I'm not at all sure that I'm not glad you've come. There's been a lot of things worrying me lately and it's been getting a bit too much for me. Perhaps if you will ask me those questions you say you wish to put to me I may be able to answer them. I'll do my best to do so." " Very well. Here's question number one. Have you had any dealings lately with a man named Daniel Craig? That's the name ho went by in America, where, by the way, he's badly wanted by Malone of tho New York Homicide Squad. He is a biggish fellow with a whitish face and a lip that curls up when ho talks. You can't miss that snarl—it's 0110 of tho things that Dan can't disguise. Does that recall anything to j'Our mind, Mr. Pollard ?" A moment's hesitation then: " There was a man answering to that description here last week. Today week, it was ..." "With Mr. Her tog?" " They caine here at night just when we wore closing. A shipment of silks came up the canal at tho same time." " Where from?"

" Old Hughes said Hertzog tvas a rival of Cotsfords. There's been dirty \rork somewhere in this silk trade, and poor Bristow's been helping Noel Cotsford to get to the bottom of it. Pretty desperate crowd when it means murder for anyone hutting in on 'em." He rubbed himself vigorously, swathed' his dressing gown about his athletic figure, and .faithfully performed his daily dozen. Then he rang the bell ancj asked for the morning papers. Ho glanced through them, but, beyond the report that the body taken from the Itftchdale Canal had not yot been identified, there was nothing bearing upon his particular case. He took up the receiver of the bedroom telephone, called down to the hotel office, and asked for the line to London to be cleared for him.

" That you, Jim . . . Carron speaking . . . yes, from Manchester. Any* thing from Malone? . . . Hold hard till I get a bit of paper." Ho drew toward him one of the newspapers, and found a blank space on the margin. From the table beside him he took up a pencil. " Okay, Jim . . . fire away!" For perhaps three minutes he scribbled pn the edging of the newspaper. Into his face, as ho listened to what the Yard was saying, came the look of a man who is on the scene of something big. Intense excitement, held in check so that he should not miss a word of what was being said. Then: " Thanks, Jim. Go along to Cotsfords and ask for Mr. Hughes. Get the address of Noel Cotsford's secretary . . . follow the girl up. Hughes says she's on holiday. Miss Freyne, I think the name is. Also of another of the staff who left suddenly . . . shipping clerk. Stand by about one o'clock. . . . I'll ring you and give you the latest dope. Good-bj-e." John Carron sank down oil to the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. Then he carefully read over the notes lie had scribbled while thfe Yard had been speaking. . . . "Name in New York, Daniel Craig. Supposed to be Cornish. Known in underworld as ' Snarl.'. Escaped Tombs last April. Last sight of early June; when last seen in Chicago. Thought to have left America. Wanted this sido for murder Lefty Benson, Detroit."

" That's one of the points that's puzzling me. It wasn't one of our ordinary consignments from Belfast or Lyons—l generally check over the stuff arriving, bub this time Mr. Hertzog . . . Well, I thought he purposely kept mo away. I may be wrong bub that's the impression I got." " 1 guess you're about right. And these goods were treated in the ordinary way—warehoused. I moan*'" " Not quite in the ordinary way. They're in the warehouse certainly, but not with tho ordinary stock. Mr. Hertzog took tho key away with him when lie went to—when ho went away. 1 feel a traitor, talking about Mr. Hertzog's business like this; but, well, Inspector, .L haven't slept for two nights. It was getting me down." .

" One: the sudden exodus from Cotsfords, John," he said to - himself. " Two: this Dai) thug Over ncrfe Three: Bristow'n murder. It's linking up, John, but I'm d'&mned if I can see daylight. But we're 1 going to," as ho rose and began to dress. We're going to before we're many hours older." The warehouse and offices of Adolf Hert7,og, silk merchant and importer, occupied a position at the corner where the little alley he had passed ctOwtt with Hanw'ay the evening before joined the tow-path of the canal. Cariron stood for a moment taking in the points that lie missed in the darkness. Eertzog's yard he could see by raising himself on his toes and looking over the coping of the wall, reached down to the fence separating it from tho .water. Thi» fence at the end was low and it would have been an easy matter for anyone to topple a body over into

Carron rose from his seat and walked over to the window. He stood watching a big green and brown barge edging its way through the lock. Then he turned:

(COPYRIGHT)

A THRILLING SERIAL

"You'll find this is about the best day's work you've done for a long time, Air. Pollard. And now I'd like to see that silk." " But—"

"In for a penny, Air. Pollard, in for a pound's my motto. You've got to burn your boats. There's a mystery hero that's got murder tacked on to it, and you can't monkey with murder. The inquest on poor Bristow is fixed for Alonday, and if you want to keep out of hot wator you'd better be able to say yon gave tho polico all tho liolp you could. I suppose you've got a passkey? If you haven't—well, there's precious few locks I can t handle." Ho walked toward tho door. With a little sigh, either of resignation or of relief, the managor rose and prepared to follow him.

" Perhaps you'ro right, Inspector, I'm glad to got this off my chest. There's a letter you ought to know about, too. Air. Hertzog gavo it to me when ho went away. If ho did not show up hero at this warehouse by Alonday morning I was to Bend tho letter to Scotland Yard. So you're only a day or so ahead of your time."

Carron wheeled round. "Scotland Yardl That sounds interesting. I'll take a look at that letter, Air. Pollard. It may save the life of your employer." " Save Mr. Hertzog's life! How d'you mean?"

" Alen don't leave letters like that to bo sent on to the police if they aren't going into danger. Guess Air. Hertzog wrote it as a sort of sheet-anchor —life insurance, if you like. But we'll take a look at that silk first. The letter can wait."

Together the two men left the office and passed through a passage into the warehouse. Carron saw about him huge piles of bales reaching at places almost to the rafters. Windows looked down on to the waters of tho canal, and here and there were openings through which showed winches and derricks. Men were at work loading the bales on to trolleys and trundling them away to unknown destinations, and they looked curiously at tho two men as they passed, from outside came tho rattle of crane chains and the sounds

of canal life. Pollard led the way

through room after room until he came to a door, which, selecting a key from the bunch on his chain, he opened. He held the door for Carron to enter, and following him, closed it behind them.

it was a small, closely-smelling room, with neither window or opening save that of the door by which they had entered. On the floor, heaped one ci: the other, were some dozen bales, smaller than those in the other rooms through which they had passed. Po-lard waved a hand toward them. "These are the things I spoke to you about, Mr. Carron," he said. "The things that have been keeping me awake at night." Inspector Carron walked over to one of the heaps, and taking out his penknife, slit an opening in the burlap covering of the topmost bale. Pollard, watching him, creased his hands one in the other nervously. For the first time in his uneventful life of close on 60 years Something out of tho way was happening—something akin to the ad\entures in th 6 thrillers lie was so fond of reading in the evenings in his little home in Salford. Protest at this attack on his master's goods did not for one moment enter his jpind. Inspector Carron had taken tho affair in hand, and that was all to be said on the matter. Edward Pollard had become a mere spectator in a drama that was being enacted. Ho watched the detective tear aside the wrappings and dig his fingers deep into tho softness of the contents. Swathes upon swathes of rich ambercoloured brocades were dragged ruthlessly out and lay coiled on tho dust and grime of the floorboards. Then Pollard saw tho inspector pass his hand into the opening and probe deep, feeling around in the recess of the bale, and heard the little hiss of indrawn breath. "What is it, Inspector?" the voice was thinner, smaller than ever. Carron smiled, grimly. "Devil's work, Mr. Pollard." As ho spoke he drew out a small glass container which the manager saw was filled with a white powder. Another and another until, arranged on tho top of the bale, were some dozen or more similar bottles. The inspector pointed to them as he turned to the pale-faced man watching him. "Enough there, Pollard, to send a hundred poor devils to the asylum—or the gallows. Wo knew tho stuff had been coming in in big lots—that's what JBristow must have been after. Lock this muck up and I'll put a seal on the door. Then we're going to have a look at that letter Mr. Hertzog left with you. And not a word of this to a soul, Pollard. Get me?" Mr. Pollard nodded his bead, slowly. No need for any denials on his part as to complicity in this crime that had been unearthed. If ever a man was stupefied, atrophied into mute terror that man was Edward t Pollard. He locked the door and without a word watched while Inspector Carron pasted a strip of stamp edging across the keyhole. On it he wroto his initials. " That'll do for now, Mr. Pollard. We'll come up again and. seal it up." Ho motioned for the manager to precedo him along tho passage and when they had onco more entered the office and tile door was shut behind them, Edward Pollard crossed tho room to the safe.

Swinging back the great iron doors ho took from one of the shelves a letter. This he handed to Inspector Carron and stood, still with that nervous creasing of hands, looking at him as ho read the address: To the Chief Inspector, Scotland Yard. Now John Carron was certainly not the Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard but ho took a chance. This was too big a thing to admit of delay. Ho inserted a finger under the flap. Pollard, watching him, saw the eyes widen and the mouth open a little as though in amazement. With a short grunt that might mean anything he held the letter out for the manager to read. Pollard adjusted his spectacles. "This is to inform the police thab I, Adolf Hertzog, of Bridgewater Lane. Manchester, am to-night taking a journey that may be my last. I have been party to a certain fraudulent deal which has landed me in far deeper waters than I anticipated. It's my first step in crime and I am going to-night to try to straighten things out. It may cost me my whole fortune to get clear —or it may cost mo my life. If, as I hone, I can buy my freedom from the devils with whom I have associated myself, I will be back in Manchester by Monday. But they've got a grip on me like a terrier 011 a rat. If 1 do not return by 10 o'clock that morning I have instructed my manager Edward Pollard, to send this at once to Scotland Yard. 1 shall have failed and will ho in great danger— i or I will be dead, in which case I will have tho satisfaction of knowing that my death has unearthed one of the greatest conspiracies of the age. The way of tho transgressor is indeed hard, and it's the first step that leads to the debacle. When this reaches the hands of the police I wish them to get into touch at once with the Cornish Constabulary and look for me—or for my body—at a house called Wolfs Crag, which ■is situated sonlewhere on the northern coast between the villages of Zerran and Porthmedda. And for God's sake make haste." Edward Pollard allowed the paper to slip from his nerveless fingers and flutter to the carpet, whero it lay unheeded at his feet. He blinked stupidly through his big glasses.

"What . h . what are you going to do about it, InspectorP" John Carron looked at his watch. He pointed to thei telephone on the desk. "Ring up and ask for connections to Penzange. Say it's the police inquiring. If they say they can't offer anything wo may have to find a fast car." "We?"

"That's what I said, Pollard. Your gov'nor seems to have got himself into a hell of a jam and I want you to come along and help me get him out of it. Besides there's a lot of things yon can tell me on the way that may be useful. Got any revolvers about the placo?" Edward Pollard's near-sighted eyes opened to their fullest extent. "Me!—revolvers?" he stammered.. "What would a man like me be doing with revolvers?" The inspector laughed. "I thought perhaps in games such as Mr. Hertzog has been indulging in, revolvers might be kept on tap. They were somewhere handy when my friend Bristow was killed. Get your coat on. Pollard. Guess this is the first murder hunt you've been on, eh?" CHAPTER X . Ilonnie came to himself to find that ho was sitting propped against the jutting rock, that someone was bathing his head with a damp handkerchief. For a few minutes ho sat there dazed, trying to piece together the disjointed fragments of memory that were dancing a devil's dance in his brain. Then a voice in his ear:

" Lucky we was passing, Mr. Blade. Just in time, seemingly, wasn't we, Dick? Thore'd have been murder done in a few minutes."

Ronnie raised his eyes. Looking into them were the smiling blue ones or Syd Polglaze. And beside him a fine upstanding fellow who was near enough like the old coast-guard to suggest near relationship. " Got me by a trick, Mr. Polglaze. Kidded me he was down and out. D'you know the swine?" " Never set «eyes on him before, sir. Guess that'd bo one of young Dan's men, eh, Dick?'

The younger man nodded. Dick Polglaze was evidently a man of few words. Syd Polglaze was looking along the stretch of cliff in the direction of Wolfs Crag.

* Ran like a hare into its furrow. Feeling better, sir?" 5 Bonnie rose to his feet. On the path

lay the small black automatic that his late opponent had evidently dropped in his hasty flight. He picked it up. An evil looking, stubby little weapon on the small silver plate of which Bonnie read Fredman, 67 East 56th St. N.Y. He hefted it in his hand; there was considerable comfort in the feel of the compact little shooting-iron in the palm. That he had never fired an automatic in his life was but a detail.

He slipped it into his pocket. He had felt that he had been unwise, on seeing the man dodging from boulder to boulder behind him, not to have armed himself in some way. Surely his meeting with Jake Collins in Penzance should have put him wise to the calibre of the men opposing him. But now that Providence had rectified his stupidity and remedied his oversight, Bonnie felt considerable confidence in the outcome of the issues before him. One could do a gfeat deal at the point of an automatic.

" Thanks, Mr. Polglaze. And you, too —" He paused inquiringly. " My son, Mr. Slade —Dick." " Thanks, both of you. And now I'm going up to Wolfs Crag. If you two men care to come along with me I don't say I wouldn't be glad of your company. But I don't want to drag you into—well, I fancy there's going to be a spot of bother up there." The two men looked at one another. Syd Polglaze spoke. " You ain't from the guv'ment by any chance, are you, sirP" " Good lord —no. Why?"

" Nothing to do with the customs, eh ? Because there's been funny things going on lately up to Wolfs Crag and down there in the cove. I've been keepin' my eyes open." Running cargoes, d'you mean? Bonnie's thoughts went back to the boat he had seen slip away into the night, of the dark figures of men about the cave mouths. . »Syd Polglazo screwed up his hps ana nodded wisely. " I wouldn't go to Wolfs Crag, sir, not if I was you. Leastways not just now." , . , " But I must. There's a girl disappeared from the Tinner's Arms at Porthmedda who . . . well, it's a long story and I can't tell you now. But I've found her bag in tho heather near Wolfs Crag and I was just wondering what to cio about it when that thug started his games. Seems to me that the Crag is a likely place for making inquiries." " Young lady disappeared, eh? Take it from ihe, sir, there'll be a young man disappeared too if you don't watch out. Come on back to the farm. The missus'll put a bit of plaster on that cut of yours. ! Then if yon like I'll tell you something about Wolfs Crag and the precious Dunch of crooks which hang up there. There's more ways of getting into a place than in through tho front door. Safer ways, too." " You mean . . . ?" " Never you mind what I mean. Mr. Slade. Come on, Dick, catch hold of Mr. Slade's other arm." Ronnie suffered himself to be led away towards the road where the jingle in which Syd Polglaze and his son had been driving stood waiting with the old pony nibbling the grass ftt the roadside. Tho old coast-guard's words had intrigued him. There was behind them a meaning that he told himself it would bo worth while waiting to hear. Besides, he was feeling jit&t a, little bit shaken. A rest and the bit of plaster Polglazo had spoken about Would be all to the good. ~ , He looked back as the old pony lumbered into action. The sun was low down in the west over the sea and against its glow Wolfs Crftg stood Otit blank and forbidding, perched on its pinnacle of rock. Tregellan in those old days had indeed chosen wisely. It was a stronghold, impregnable, almost, as the castle of some medieval baron. Twilight was drawing her faerie veils over the moors as the jingle turned into tho cart track leading tt> Trewenth i Farm. Ronnie took one parting glnnea at Wolfs Crag and his hand tightened on tho butt of the little black automatic. That very night he would come to grips with that towering mass of evil. Single-handed if necessary; a David facing a Goliath. An hour later, the cut he had sustained in his fall on the path sponged and plastered, Bonnie lay back on the sofa in Svd Polglaze's little sitting-room and listened to what tho old man had to tell him. . " Threo months ago, middle of July it was, when young Mr. Tregellan entile back from America and opened up the old place. Hadn't been a soul living in Wolfo Grng for nigh on ft dozen years. Remember tho day, missus, when you and Mrs. Curnow went up yonder?" Mrs. Polglase turned from her ironing and spoko through the open kitchen door. " I nevor forget it, Syd. Dust and dirt and beetles.' " I went up there myself, Mr. Blade, Syd Polglaze went 011, "to havo a look round. Old furniture, some of it going right back to Old Dan's time, almost rotting awav and carpets all nibbled with rats. But the women got it shipshape in time and we all thought wo was going to llftve a good neighbour. Sort of squire who'd give us blankets in the winter and such Jiko and start a cricket club for the young chaps." " And ho didn't turn out so good, eh?" "Rotten, sir. We blames his wife for that. Stuck-up hussy with a painted face and gold hair. TJsed to see her sometimes in Zerran picking her way in her high-heeled shoes over tho cobbles. And then she went to live in London most of the time and it was then that I began to cotton 011 to what was going on up there in the Crag." (To be continued dally) 1