WINGS OF ROMANCE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21982, 13 December 1934, Page 23

WINGS OF ROMANCE

(COPYRIGHT)

By ANTONY MARSDEN Author of "Tho Six-Hour Mystery.** "Thieves' Justice." "Man in the Sandhills." etc. —T '

SWIFTLY-MOVING STORY OF LOVE, MYSTERY AND ADVENTURE

CHAPTER Vll.—(Continued) At one point only was Lou's chain of luck in danger of breaking down; Lou had no inkling that the car was not Larsen's own property. In point of fact, Larsen had " borrowed " it, 011 the evening of Tessa's abduction, from an owner whom Larsen knew to be abroad for the weekend. The theft entailed no risk; as Larsen's plans had been framed he would have finished with the car. and could safely abandon it, before the owner, returned. But the miscarriage of the plan, and Lou's purloining of the car, upset this neat arrangement. Meanwhile, a further complication had ensued —the owner electing to return before his time, missing the car, and promptly informing the police. Thus, by the time that Lou got to work in the Breen Mews flat, the car was already traced and the Notting Hill police awaiting the return of its " borrower." All things considered, then, Lou had no reason to complain of the way fortune had treated him. Long before midnight he had finished his search of the flat. He had no further use for the car that night, and so unconsciously refrained from running into the trap that awaited him. Next morning, about the time when Jerry and Tessa I called on Goodbody, he had alighted from a Piccadilly bus and was turning into Jermyn Street. Quickly and unobtrusively, his cap pulled over his eyes, he arrived at a block of office-flats and ran upstairs, as one well-knowing his way. Reaching the topmost landing, he rapped sharply at a brass-plated door; then, pushing open the letter flap 7 gave a peculiar whistle. After a moment's pause the door opened; Lou stepped in; the door was closed behind him; in the dark hall he turned, and found himself facing Larsen. The big man eyed him grimly. " So you're back, eh?" " Why not?" But Larsen seemed disinclined for argument. Leading the way into a plainly-furnished office, he sat" down and motioned Lou to a chair at the other side of his desk. " Well?" " I've news," Lou announced. Larsen was ominously calm. " I know all the news 1 want about you, already,!' he began quietly. " Hand out that wallet!" "Why?" " Because I'm boss here. That's why." " The one who's boss," sneered Lou, watching Larsen narrowly, " is the one who gets hold of the formula." "That wallet, sharp!" he advanced savagely, and the little Cockney, for all his half-hearted bluff of defiance, shrank back. " Awright, awright! Here you are." From his breast pocket ho pulled out the little leather note-case, with its tell-tale initials " P.L.M." The other snatched it from him; but it had been ripped up along the seams, and fell to bits in his hand. He turned on Lou, menacing. "And the paper?" Lou sneered. " That wants some knowing, don't it? There was no paper there 1" " That's a lie." "Think so?" Lou rose now, and faced Larsen doggedly. " See here, now, Mr. Boss, as you call yourself; we got to have this out. If I'd ha' found that formula, would I be here this morning? For Gawd's sake, guess again! In Gay Paree, along of 'Mr. Greer —that's where I'd have been, waiting for you to come along and make yourself mighty nice to me. I tell you, I've not seen the thing—and why?" He leered cunningly. "Because you've got it yourself! That's what I've come to talk about. I want that formula, Mr. Boss. Or, if it's all the same to you, I'll be content with the 5000 quid what old Greer was to have paid for it. That five thousand's still floating round without a home, so to speak. Well, I can find a home for it. Get me?" Larsen stood staring at him, too blankly astonished for rage. " Have you gone off your head?" he gasped. Lou smiled evilly. " No, 110. No-o, no! Just looking after number one, same 'as anyone elue. Same as you'd better do, Mr. Boss, if you don't want the cops to know what old Mycroft ran up against!" ' Larsen was speechless. At length, in a hoarse voice that was no more than a whisper, he spoke. " So that's the game, by heaven ? You're not content with leaving me in the lurch down there, but you've the infernal brass to come back here —blackmail —doublecrossing me—!'V And suddenly, as though something had snapped in him, his self-control gave way and he leaped forward with murder in his eyes. " You rat —!" Lou, caught all unprepared in his too bold assurance, had not so much as time to raise a hand in defence before the big man's, fingers closed round his throat. This way and that—dragged, shaken, worried like the rat he was—he squirmed and twisted vainly in the agony of his fear. His face grew dark and swollen, his eyes bulged from their sockets. His struggles weakened and ceased. This was* the end; his anguish was slipping into unconsciousness; he saw death glaring at him from Larsen's flaming eyes. . . . But in the nick of time—no more — the big man's fury spent itself. In a revulsion of disgust—of fear, perhaps, at what he had so nearly done— he loosed his hold at last and let Lou slip to the floor. And while he lay limply there, much nearer dead than alive, Lou presently heard his voice. " Get up or I'll finish you! " But Lou could not rise. By and by he rolled over, and stared up mutely at his assailant in deadly fear. Larsen spoke: " Now, my lad,' listen to me. If you've got back you senses, you know I we 11 enough that we're together in this. You say you'll go to the police; and you'll be run in for complicity. If I swing you'll swing, too. . . . Speak, damn you! " " Yes, Mr. Larsen " Slowly and painfully, the whispered answer came. " I —l was only bluffing you . . . just joking, I was." The fear of death had cowed the wretched man; half senseless still, he had no thought but to disclaim his blustering threat for the pitiful bluff that it was. Larsen went on: "We sink or swim together—you've got that, 1 hope? But we're not sinking. .Mycroft has had. an accident. Last night his car ran down a bank — and overturned —and he's dead. . . . Damn you, are you listening? " " Yes, Mr. Larsen," came the faint answer again. " But you know nothing about that. Nor do 1. The last we saw of him was when he drove away from the house. They've found him by now, I daresay. But it's long odds there'll be no murder verdict. . . . There'll be an inquest, naturally; and —if we're rounded up—

(To bo continued daily)

we'll be cross-questioned, like hell. That's why I'm telling you what happened—and what we don't know." " Yes, Mr. Larsen. You know best about that." " Now about the formula. Greer failed to get it. You failed. I went to Breen Mews late last night—and I failed, too. . . . You believe that? " " Yes, Mr. Larsen." "No, damn your sou! —you don't! You think I've got the thing. I know it's still in the flat, and that the woman will sell at our own terms if she can only lay hands on it—because she's scared. She only wants to clear herself, and the paper's no use to her. You don't believe a word of this, but I'm going to convince you—oll, for God's sake, get up and don't lie there like a fish 011 a slab! " Weakly, Lou struggled to his feet and stood trembling while Larsen went on: " She's going to search again this morning, and I'm to ring her up. I'd have done so before, only you arrived. I'll ring now, and you can take the second ear-phone and listen in for yourself." Without further words, he called for a number; presently the two men heard Brenda Gower's voice. " You're alone? " Larsen asked. And at once: " Have you fount} anything? '.' " Not yet," the answer came. " You're still looking? " " Yes. But I'm almost through. You'll ring me again? " Larsen glanced at his watch and reflected rapidly; in his own mind he had a sum to work out —how early Mycroft's body was likely to be found; how soon the police, having traced the registration of Mycroft's car, might be expected to turn up at the Breen Mews flat to inquire into Mycroft's movements. " I'll give you a short hour — I can't wait longer than that." " If I've not found it then, it isn't here," she replied. " All right. Do your damnedest! You've no news of him? " " Not a word! You? " " I haven't seen or heard of him since he drove off yesterday." Larsen assured her glibly, and rang off. He turned to Lou. "Well? You've heard?" " Yes, Mr. Larsen." " Good! Here's some money to go on with. And now —get out! " The little rat was shuffling toward the door, still fingering his neck, when Larsen recalled him sharply. " The car? You drove it to Southampton, eh?" " Yes." " Where is it now? ' Lou hesitated. If Larsen meant to disappear, as he guessed, if he himself got nothing else for his pains—at least the car was an asset. " I left it there," he lied. "It's at a garage 111 " All right. Never mind where it is. It'll do well enough. Beat it! " And Lou went. Larsen remained for a few moments at his desk, deep in thought. Then he reached for the 'phone again and asked for a Hounslow number. "Air Park? . . . Mr. Longford speaking. Have my machine filled and run out of the hangar, please! And warm her up; I N may be needing her to-day —in a hurry. . . . Thanks." He rose passed through to an inner office, and opened a little door that led out to a balcony; from this point the iron staircase of a fire escape wound down to the yard behind the buildings. Irving the little door ajar, he returned to the other room, and sat where a mirror, clamped to the window-frame, showed him the street below. In the strong sunlight that beat in on him this still September day, his face was drawn and haggard, and he looked what he was a dangerous, a desperate man.