THE INNOCENT IMPOSTOR

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22544, 8 October 1936, Page 20

THE INNOCENT IMPOSTOR

CHAPTER XV (Continued) Cora loaned out. The small courtyard was ablaze with light from the windows surrounding it. Hurriedly she looked along at Leverson's room, then breathed a sigh of relief; the curtains were drawn closely over the window. She let dpwn her prefious message until it was opposite John's window, then she swung it lightly backwards and forwards, so that it tapped three times. There was no response. She waited a little while, then she swung the penknife to and fro again, and this time she hoard his window being opened wide, and the next moment she saw John's head and his broad shoulders. He looked up at her. If only she could go to him now! But it was useless. If she attempted, Slick might take Leverson at his word and shoot her. If only she could tell him the danger she was in! But if she did ho would do something rash and endanger both their lives. Ho smiled up at her and she smiled back, wondering if it was the last time she would ever see his dear face. Then she pulled herself together. " I'm getting morbid," she told herself. "Of course we shall meet again—this tiijie to-morrow 1 shall be with him." He took the note and read it, then he looked up at her and nodded. She blew him a kiss and ho waved his hand by way of reply; the next moment he was

gone. " He's got the message," Cora said. " They will go and reseue her to-night."

" Wonderful!" Sophie said. " Now we must esoape as soon as possible. Mademoiselle, I am frightened of Leverson; he will not let you go easily. The sooner we are out of this place the better."

" We'll go first thing to-morrow morning. We'll say we want to go out shopping early. Mr. Harcourt will bo waiting for us in the lounge. We will go off together. I will try and get hold of Mr. Wendell, too."

"And then what will you do?" Sophie asked.

" Go straight to Scotland Yard. Such people as the Leversons are a menace to society. I shan't be happy until they are under lock and key." Sophie still looked unhappy. " I wish I had a gun," she said at length, and Cora laughed. o " I'm glad you haven't!" she said. " You might do a lot of damage with it, you know. Run along to bed now. It is 11 o'clock. In another 11 hours at the latest we shall be safe and free! Leave your door open if it would be any comfort to 3'ou." "Thank j - ou, mademoiselle!" Sophie said.

Resolutely Cora banished her fears. " This time to-morrow I shall be safe!" she told herself, and soon she fell into a happy sleep.

John Harcourt did not -waste a moment of time He telephoned to Fairhaven, and, fortunately enough, found him in. He told him the glad news. "Get out your car, bring your man along with you and a gun, if you have one," he said. " Meet me at the Piccadilly corner of Park Lane." " I'll be right there."

John was glad that at last the time had come for action. He hated the idea of Cora being helpless in the hands of that brute Frank Leverson. He would have hesitated even now to go forth on this rescue expedition if he had not realised that Cora was now supposed to be in bed, and presumably she would be safe until the morning, when he would most certainly have her safely by his side. Besides which, Philip Wendell and Sophie were with her, and Wendell had a gun.

So it was with a feeling of relief that he set out. Fairhaven was as excited as a schoolboy. As they drove along John told him that they must go carefully, or everything might be ruined at the last moment.

They found St. Dunstan's Studios. Number 13 was a large house with a big portico jutting on to the pavement. There were three brass door-bells at the side of the pavement, only one of them marked, the lower one. It bore the name " Brunovski." " That must be the famous Russian dancer," John Harcourt said. "I knew he lived somewhere in this district. Look here, 1 don't think it would be a bad idea to speak to him first and try and find out how the land lies."

Fairhaven was impatient. He was all for storming the place at once, but he could see the force of John's arguments. At least it would get them inside the building without having attracted the attention of Joseph Leverson.

They rang the lower bell. A tiny little man with a pointed beard and masses of curly hair, attired in a shabby old dressing gown, came out into the hall and undid the inner door of the portico and then the outer. "Can 1 do anything for you, gentlemen," ho asked. His English was well nigh perfect. "We wanted to make a few inquiries—" John began, then he saw a look of alarm come over Brunovski's face. The Russian distrusted these three men who came late at night to make "inquiries" of him. "It's about some people who live here—at least we think they live here." Sudden illumination came to the old man. It might bo about the people on the top floor. They were very mysterious—and then there was that note. The American had said that his housekeeper's little girl had been playing games, but there had been no sitin of a child.

"Won't you come in ? We can speak better inside," ho said. He offered them tea, served in Russian style, and John accented, much to the annoyance of Fairhaven, who was in a fever of impatience.

"I am afraid you will find it rather difficult to believe our story, Master," John said, using the affectionate name that his admirers had conferred on the famous little man, who beamed at John. "You aro a balletomane?" he asked. "Yes," John said. "I have had the pleasure of seeing you dance many times."

"Ah! many years ago—now 1 teach. Life is sad; I am lonely, but it is nice to know that I am not forgotten." "You will never be forgotten. No history of the Russian ballet is complete without mention of you," John said. After that Brunovski, who had the naive vanity of a child, was in John's pocket. He listened to the story with interest. "But yes! Then it must bo true! A letter was dropped in my courtyard—it was on thin *paper, written with bright red crayon. 1 thought it was a joke." "What did it say?" Fairhaven nskod anxiously. "It said that the writer was being kept in the top flat against her will, that her name was Myrtle Simpson, that she wished the finder of the letter to go to the police." "And you did nothing?" Fairhaven asked indignantly.

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"indeed I did," Brunsvski said with dignity. "I went straight up to the top flat; 1 demanded to see the master when the servant opened the door. He was very polite, ho told me he was sorrv 1 had been worried, but that his housekeeper's little girl had been playing a game. He said she was a very imaginative child. I had a good look round the studio. 1 could see nothing wrong; everything was quiet. But now —1 wish that 1 had done something more." he added. "How stupid of me!' Fairhaven heartily agreed with this latter remark, but he could not help feeling glad that Brunovski had done nothing in the matter and that Myrtle | would owe her rescue partly to himself. "How many people are there. - '" John asked. "Three men and a housekeeper, as far as I. know. One of the men is a chauffeur, a great hulking brute of a fellow!" "And you have not seen a young lady?" "Never," Brunovski answered. He further told them that the upstairs studio had a door similar to his own, opening on to a wide landing. Ihey then made their plans. Fairhaven would go upstairs and knock on the outer door; John and the chauffeur, who was armed, would keep in the background. Brunovski would stand in the hall below and go for the police if John shouted out to him to do so. Quietly they ascended the stone staircase; they did not want the enemy to have any inkling of their approach. A surprise attack was what they aimed at. . " Heady?" Fairhaven whispered. John and the chauffeur were one on each side of him, back in the shadows. Then Fairhaven knocked on the door, and assumed an American accent. "Quick —Frank Leverson has sent me with a message! Look slippy and open the door!" he said. The next moment the door was opened, and' they did not waste any further time. The three of them plunged in through the doorway. It was Bassett who had opened the door to them, and the chauffeur seized him and bound up his hands with a length of rope that he had brought with him, while John made a running Rugby tackle at Joseph Leverson, who had risen from his seat by the fire and stood there with his mouth open, too surprised to draw his gun. John brought him down beautifully, and the chauffeur came to help bind up the victim. (To bo continued daily)