THE RAVEN

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22457, 29 June 1936, Page 17

THE RAVEN

By LIONEL HAMILTON

SYNOPSIS An urgent telegram from his undo, Midas Leo, brings ltoger Trentham motoring into Surrey 0110 wild March night. Within n few miles of The Towers, his uncle's place, he narrowly escapes collision with a Daimler tearing madly along without lights. Shortly after there is an explosion, and a bridge is blown out of existence. On the other sido a car is drawn up, with two men beside it. One of the men shouts across to Roger, asking him if he will try to follow the Daimler and find out wher'o it goes. Trentham, always game for anything with a kick in it, agrees.

CHAPTER 1. —(Continued) "All right!" Trentham bellowed. " I'll try it!" He turned quickly toward the car, but another bellow from the men on the far side of the stream stopped him. " Stop for nothing," came the cry. " We'll telephone about the bridge." Roger waved his hand, and then was seized with a suclden idea. He cupped his hands again. " Telephone The Towers, please. Advise Midas Lee that Roger. Trentham is held up " It was a long shot, of course, for he had 110 guarantee that the others knew The Towers, or even Midas Lee. But both men waved quickly, and he told himself that they know the district. Ho turned round again, hopped ipto the seat and manoeuvred for a turn. The road was narrow and slippery, but lie contrived it without too much trouble. Without another look behind, he trod on the accelerator and made for Guildford.

A dozen thoughts flashed through his mind as he went. On the surface, the situation was absurd. He had no business to be tearing through the night to chase a car, which ho certainly would not recognise, even if he saw it again, and which had at least a four-mile start on him. Then he grinned to himself. Years beforo he had asked for a job which would give " anything with a kick in it." This looked likely to give him any number ol Kicks. There was a fascination about the mystery into which he had been drawn that made his blood race and ins eyes gleam.

He reached Guihuord without any trouble. A policeman was standing on the bridge, obviously watching the river, making sure that it did not rise too quickly and flood the houses on the river banks. He pulled the car up and snapped a question. " I'm after a car, officer. Some friends of mine have left some important papers behind, and I want to catch them." The policeman grunted. He was a tall, lean man, with a drooping moustache, from which the rain dropped in little beads. He looked thoroughly miserable. , " That'll be yon crazed fool I pulled up ton minutes back. Thirty miles an hour or more with no lights - "No lights?" Roger thrilled at the words. He knew that the car had ceitainlv run into Guildford. " Aye. Maybe you'll remind your friend, sir, that it ain't every constable as would have -taken his apology." " I certainly will," Roger said, untruthfully. . . He slipped a two-shilling piece into the man's hand, and then slipped in his'clutch. The policeman was pleased, and wished him a corial good-night. Roger went on. . Although the car had slowed down to thirty miles an hour through the town, it was probably touching fifty on the deserted country roads. Trentham trod on the gas. His car responded gamely, and for half an hour he roared along, with the speedometer touching fifty. Villages loomed up t<> him and dropped behind. Half a dozen times he saw a patrolling policeman waving at him, but he had started the hunt and ho meant to keep in it. He went on and on. He slowed down a little as he nearerl Esher. There would be too many policemen about that small township to take chances. He reached the road roundabout, tossed up in his mind whether to take Kingston or to go straight on, and then decided that the Kingston bypass was his most likely bet. He swung toward that triumph of road-work, and he thrilled as the car hummed along the smooth surface.The by-pass, he told himself, was his last chance of catching up. Once the chase reached Kingston, there were so many possible routes to London that it would be too much to expect that he would take the right one. He had passed a dozen or more cars since he had left Guildford, but all of the small variety. There was very little traffic on the road toward the Metropolis, although a constant stream of cars was coming away from London. As he approached the end of the straight road, he told himself that his drive had been for nothing:. Then his lips tightened! Drawn up on the London-Portsmouth road, opposite the Robin Hood Gate of Richard Park, was a black-painted car! It's nose was pointed toward London. There was a strong likelihood, of course, that this was a different car; on the other hand, it was possible he had been lucky. He slowed down as he approached the car, which was being refuelled from a single pump which constituted a " garage,' and, as the car began to pulled up opposite the pump. The garage-haiul approached him slowly, looking even more doleful than the policeman in Guildford. " Two gallons, please," Roger said quickly, " and I'm in a hurry—" "Wot, anuvver of 'em?" the man shrugged his shoulders and the rain dripped from his oil-skin cape. But he was quick enough with the petrol. Roger had little doubt but that the email had referred to the preceding car when he said " annuver of 'em.' He made sure, and the garage man pocketed a large tip in surprise. "Crickey!" he muttered. "They ain't all so close wiv' their cash, an' that's'the trufe." " Good-night!" grinned Roger. The car was still in sight. It was

travelling fast, but his car was capable of catching it easily, now that the distance had been reduced to less than a quarter of a mile. Trentham kept that distance until they reached Kingston, and then he closed up on the other car.

It turned toward Putney. It was on one end of Putney Bridge when Trentham was on the other, and lie saw it turn right just past the (.rand Theatre. Kulham, Chelsea, Sloane Square, all dropned behind. Victoria, Grosvenor Gardens, Hyde Park CornerRoger Trentham felt his pulse racing. He had nearly achieved the impossible, hut he knew that the most difficult part of his job was in front of him. It was no easy matter to trail a fast-moving car through the comparatively deserted streets. Ho was within twenty yards of the car at Piccadilly Circus, however, and cut across to Shaftesbury Avenue, still within easy reach of his quarry. Then he saw the big car slow down. It stopped opposite a, well-lit nightclub, one which had only recently opened, for Roger Trentham had not known of its existence before, and he told himself that he knew his London as well as most people. He drove past, without looking at the Closed car, and pulled into the curb opposite the Denver Club. A commissionaire' hurried toward him with a great umbrella held out against the rain.

(COPYRIGHT)

AN ABSORBING TALE OF CRIME, MYSTERY AND ROMANCE

" Just what I wanted," said Roger. " Hold it for a moment, will you?" Partly sheltered by the umbrella, partly by tho commissionaire's bulk, he watched the occupants of the car hurry into tho club. A tall, thick-set man went first, followed by—

Roger whistled to himself when he saw the second occupant. It was a girl!

CHAPTER 11. J CAIILISS LENDS A HAND "What's the name of that club?" Trentham asked the obliging umbrellaholder. The man grinned. "That's tiie latest hot one, sir. The Cat and Fiddle." "Has it been open long?" "About five days, sir —and it'll surpriso yours truly if it's open more'n another five before it's raided." "One of that kind, is it?" Roger said. "Well—l've just seen some friends of mine going into it. I think L'd better warn them, don't you?" The man laughed as Roger tipped him. "Keep an eye on mv bus, will you?" asked Roger. "1 won't be long." "I'll see as how no one runs away with it," the other said, with another grin- . . Roger went quickly to the Cat and Fiddle club, turning the collar of his mackintosh against the rain. It was, ho reflected, costing him a lot in tips that night. Rut it was worth it It had been worth it from the first moment. Roger Trentham disliked monotony. He had left his uncle's house because of it, thus taking the chance of losing a fortune of several hundred thousands of pounds. He had looked for adventure in almost every corner of Europe, and ho had never drawn back when it had called. In that time he had met hundreds of types of people, men and women, rogues and honest men, women of high degree, and women who plied the oldest trade in tho world. But, he told Himself as he hurried towards the Cat and Fiddle, he had never seen a profile like that of the girl who had entered the club with the tall, thickset man from the Daimler! There had been something about the girl's face, in the moment that he had glimpsed it, which had attracted him. She had been beautiful; that was beyond question. But there had been something else, something which ho could not define, about her. As he reached the doors of the Cat and Fiddle lie told himself that the girl had seemed reluctant to enter. And then ho told himself that it was a case of the wish being father to tho thought. Ho did not want the girl to enjoy visiting the Cat and Fiddle with her companion. He did not want to associate her with men of the type who could —and had — blown the hump-backed bridge into smithereens I

It was absurd, of course, but then the whole affairs of the evening had been tinged with absurdity—absurdity which was very close to tragedy. There was something about the evening which told Roger Trentham that he had, unwittingly, bumped into something very different from the usual run of crooks and crime. There was a high stake, somewhere in this game. What it was he could not even guess. He could not even be sure that it existed.' But he felt it in his bones.

A commissionaire, less cheerful than the man at the Denver Club, greeted him respectfully enough. Roger went in, stripping off liis mackintosh and handing it to the waiting attendant. As lie did so he caught a glimpse of the big man entering the dining-room of the club. As the doors opened, a flurry of music came through, lowpitched, haunting; and through the glass Roger could see a crowded floor, with swaying couples gliding alone it, packed together as close as sardines. "And this," he commented inwardly, "is what they call enjoyment, Pahl" "Have you any introduction, sir?" asked a clerk. Roger shook his head, and said that he didn't known an introduction was necessary. "Only for full membership," he was assured quickly. "If you will kindly sign here, sir—" Roger took the pen and bent over the register. The possibility Hashed through ihs mind that it might be wiser to sign a false name; he acted on the idea quickly, and signed himself as "John Chance," with a fine flourish on the final letter. The clerk watched him with an impassive face, then motioned to the commissionaire. A moment later Roger Trentham was ushered into the dining-cum-dance room of the Cat and Fiddle club. There was nothing about it to suggest that it was in any way different from the Denver Club, further along the Avenue. But it did not take him long to see that wine was being served, freely, although it was turned midnight. He grinned to himself. There was a freemasonry among servants; tho commissionaire of the Denver Club had obviously got his information straight from the horse's mouth. But he was not interested in the legality of the practices at the Cat and Fiddle". As a waiter took his order, lie looked round the crowded room. He was sure, if he set eyes on the profile, he would recognise tho girl who had left the Daimler. ' After five minutes, he told himself that the girl was not in the room. Nor, from what he could see, was the big man. who had been with her. Yet they had actually entered the Cat and Fiddle —and the man had entered this very room. Roger frowned to himself. Even as lie scowled a cheery voice sounded in his ears. "Hallo, Roger! 1 didn't know you entered for this kind of thing. Another dark horse, eh?" Trentham looked round quickly. No waiter was in earshot; no one had overheard the man's remarks, apart from a few patrons at the near by tables. He smiled, and beckoned the man to his table. As lie did so ho winked. . .. . A wink, according to L'reddie Larliss. was as good as a nod. He was one of the many people who acted like a buffoon, but who was actually sharpwitted. He looked a picture of bland good-fellowship, although his grin was rather vacant and the monocle dangling from his left eye created the impression of a dandy. But both his eyes widened at Roger Trentham's wink, and lie slipped into the vacant chair with a whispered: "What's the matter with you, old son? Keeling out of your depth or something?" "Shut up," said Roger, quietly. "First —my name's not Trentham. It's John Chance. Got that?" 'Yes, Mr Chance," Freddie grinned. Ho was tho gossip writer on the Evening Star, a man who was reputed to know everything and everybody and whose gossip paragraphs, although often risque, wore never malicious. "I'm looking for a man and a girl," said Roger, "who came into this place five minutes or so ago, hut who aren't in the room now. Any idea where they might have gone?" Frcddio whistled, and his monocle dropped from his eye. "You don't mean tho big man with the girl whose profile looks like —" "That's enough," said Trentham, with a grin. Ho felt annoyed because Freddie had noticed the girl's profile, but he felt pleased in a far greater degree because tho other had seen the recent arrivals. "Yes. Any idea where they went?" (To be continued daily)