Our Serial Story

Taranaki Daily News, 8 April 1925, Page 10

Our Serial Story

“DEREK CAMPBELL’S QUEST ” By

FRANK GILBERT.

(All Rights Reserved). Synopsis of Preceding Chapters. Derek Campbell, formerly a journalist, is living a quiet life in a peaceful country cottage with his mother. “It seems so quiet that nothing could ever happen here!" says a visitor; when the latter leaves Derek goes on writing in the garden and presently hears screams. His mother’s clothing has caught fire! He 'beats out the flames, and then dashes oft' for the doctor who lives five miles away. Derek waits on the main road in hope of stopping a passing car. Presently one is seen approaching. He appeals to the driver to stop. The car slows down, and its occupant takes a good look at Derek, who begs him to fetch a doctor for the dying woman. The man brutally refuses, spits in Derek’s face, and drives on. Derek is amazed. He vaguely remembers seeing the man before, but who is he? Then comes along another car whose occupant kindly goes back for the doctor. Derek returns to the house, but his mother is unconscious, and when the doctor comes he says if he had been called ten minutes earlier he could have saved her life. Derek is broken-hearted, and realises that it was the callous refusal of the man in the first car he stopped which resulted in his mother’s death. He is resolved to avenge her, and determines to seek out the man. But who is his enemy? Derek suddenly realises that the man is none other than a master criminal known as Richard Burton, whose activities before the war both in England and on the Continent were recorded in the Morning Telegram and Wireless by Campbell himself, who succeeded in tracking Burton to a town in France. When about to be arrested Burton contrived to escape, and it was believed he fled overseas, but no one knew this for certain. The coming of the war caused the matter to fade from the minds of people. Now Derek realises that the return of Burton signifies, most probably, a recrudesence of crime on a vast scale.

Derek goes to London and calls on his old chief, the editor of the Morning Telegram and Wireless. VVliile they are talking, the proprietor, Blair, comes in. and Derek recognises the man who ! kindly went for the doctor the previous | day. W hen Blair learns who Derek is I he offers him a post as special coinI niissioner on the paper, and asks Derek" to call and see him the following day. Derek asks for time to decide. 'Derek goes out, and, watching Blahleave a few minutes later, sees a man lurking in the shadows following Blair. Decides to return to office, and read up files about Burton’s activities in prewar days. Next morning Derek opens newspaper, and sees announcement of his appointment. He is very angry that Blair should have taken his consent for granted, and goes in a great temper to call on Blair. ■CHAPTER 111. When Derek was admitted to the luxuriously furnished hall of Blair's bouse the boiling rage which, held him reached its highest pitch. The butler, an experienced and imperturbable fellow, on reading Derek’s name on the card proffered, glanced up i appraisingly at him, and then said in tones of severe dignity: *'Mr. Blair is expecting you, sir, and perhaps you will be good enough to step upstairs.” Derek found himself a minute later on I a thick, pile-carpet approaching Blair, Who sat at a roll top desk dictating to a typist. ‘■lla! Campbell," he said breezily. “Let me congratulate you on your new appointment!”, . He dismissed the typist and held out bis hand to Derek at the same time, causing the angry speech which Derek bad intended to make to die on the young man’s lips before it was uttered. There was- something so magnetic, so intensely friendly, and so amazingly warm in this welcome that Derek could but shake Blair’s hand and murmur his thanks. “I’m glad you’ve come,” went-on Blair, “and I like a man who is puetual, too! Now have you come to have that good chat we promised each other last night?” Derek nodded. “Good, well fire away. I want to hear something about yourself.” Derek, thus addressed, felt impelled to talk, and by skilful questions, deftly interjected, in a very short time Blair had arrived at an accurate estimate of the man seated before him. “Well,” he said at length, “I thought I. was right in sizing you up when I first saw you. You are a man I can trust, and I am going to trust you. It’s something I can’t do with every man; in fact, there are surprisingly few I would care to trust with what I am going to say now-, and I am going to be perfectly frank with you at the outset. I am going to let you into a secret that no other friend of mine -shares. Will vou accept my confidence?” “If you consider me worthy," replied Derek, “I will—and you may count on my keeping it a secret.” _ “Good!” exclaimed Blair. “Well, in the first place I am British born. I have knocked about this jolly old world of yours a lot. I’ve helped to grow tea in India. I have known what it is to be a waiter in a Milan restaurant. I’ve earned my living in a South African diamond mine. I’ve not been ashamed to work on a five-thousand-ton-tramp in a Pacific typhoon. I’ve done all this to get experience to enjoy lif§, I’ve never eared to settle dbwn for long, and yet all the time I've had an unquenchable ambition which has ever beeuJßffre me like a beacon light to guide my footsteps. I started life as a half-starved, squalling babe in a Lambeth slum. I lost both my parents before I was ten years old and I had to make my own way. But I made up my mind that one day my name would ring up and down this land. I determined I would one day own a newspaper, and I felt I would make it worthy of all the best traditions

of British journalism. One day I got an 1 offer to become the assistant superin- | tendent of a railway in South America. I I accepted, and presently found myself in a one-eyed, little village and seaport I in one of those funny little republics which spring up in a day and live per- | haps a week, perhaps a year. One never know-s how long. It is in such places that there comes a realisation of all the stability of old England. I knew very little •■Spanish in those days, and almost the only man who knew any English at all was a half-breed who was drinking himself to death. He took, however, a great liking to me and when he was sober he would do all he could to make life bearable for me. It was no easy ■ task which he undertook, for uncertainty j seemed the principal characteristic of i the place and its inhabitants. The latter took but scanty notice of me, and the only folk I ever talked to after hours were Pablo, the half-breed, and the landlord of the hotel where I lived. The .latter seemed most anxious, however, to see his money, week by week. He was a curious fellow, as clever as the deuce, and always plotting and scheming. Sometimes he would be away for months at a time, but Pablo said he always came back. This hotel was his headquarters, and no one seemed either to know or to care where he went. When he returned the whisky would flow freely, and one could be certain that some fresh trouble was brewing. One day I .chanced to come across Pablo quarrelling with Evans, as the landlord fellow called himself. Pablo, I ■ gathered, was accused of theft by Evans, and he protested his innocence so I energetically that I believed him. Moreover Pablo alleged that Evans had tried j to rob him of some specially valuable possession. Things looked dirty, and I had to draw my shooter to prevent Pablo being shot.- Evans never forgave me, while Pablo, on the other hand, vowed eternal gratitude to me. I was in a very awkward predicament, for Evans had a powerful following in the town. 1 stuck it for -a while, but things got too hot, and. I could see I shouldn’t be long for this world if I didn’t soon , beat it.” It wasn’t that I was afraid, but I wasn’t strong enough to fight assassins, which is really the only term for the inhabitants of that town. And. of them all Evans was the worst. Well, 1 decided to clear, land the only man I told was Pablo. He was terribly upset, and said that if I went his life wouldn’t be worth a moment’s purchase. I could see he was in earnest, and I wanted him to come with me. He agreed delightedly, and set about getting ready. But in some mysterious way the news of our intended departure leaked out, and [ when 1 went to pick up Pabld at his j lodgings to hurry aboard a steamer which was just sailing I found Pablo lying with a knife in his back.” lie was not dead, and a wonderful light came into his eyes when he saw me.

“Go quickly,” he said, “or they’ll get you. But as I bent- over and examined his wound, he said: “No, I am too far gone for you to help me. But there’s one thing I want you to have. Pick out the third floor board under the bed. Prise it up gently, and give me the packet you see there. It’s very old -and very valuable. It has been in my family for centuries, and dates back to the days -of the Incas. Keep it jealously, but beware of Evans, for if he thinks you have it he will not rest till he has gained it and your life will be in peril. Here! take it—its Pablo’s dying wish!”

'He fell back dead as he gave me the packet. 1 hesitated -a moment, but I could do nothing for him so I made my escape. The ship had just sailed as I made the wharf so I had to swim out to it. I was just in time, for, as I dived, a shot rang out-. I got aboard in safety, and a week later 1 was on my way to a prairie farm in Saskatchewan, where .1 had a friend who had once given me a standing invitation to visit him. From the day Pablo gave me the little packet my luck changed. Everything I did turned to success. 1 got into journalism in Crfhada and the United States, and a year ago came over to England. What 1 have done here is pretty generally known, and I owe it all to this.” As Blair finished his narrative he ’took from a drawer in his desk a- little case, covered in dark leather. Then snapping open the top he revealed an exquisitely carved ivory image lying on a bid of dark velvet. It was a wonderful piece of work, and as Dereks e_.es ic. ; u „ i ■ ■' not suppress a ioud cry of admiration. “How splendid!” he exclaimed. “Yes, it is rather fine,” agreed Blair, adding. “And I treasure it more than anything else in this world.” “But,” , ventured Derek hesitatingly, "Is it quite safe here? Aren’t you just a little bit afraid of having it stolen?” “Well," replied Blair, “as a matter of fact 1 have never shown it to anyone since I’ve been in this country, and I take every possible precaution to ensure its/safety. Up till yesterday I believed there was no one else in England who knew of its existence.” He stopped, and Derek repeated wonderingly. “Up till yesterday?” “Yes, till last night I was certain that no one -knew I had it. My meeting with you convinced me that I must no longer cherish any illusions as to its future safety.” “But you don’t suspect < me. Sir, surely?” asked Derek, half indignantly. “Oh, no,” replied Blair with a smile. Then, becoming suddenly grave, he went on: “You remember telling me of your meeting with the man you called Burton?” Derek nodded. “Well, Richard Burton happens to be none other than an old acquaintance of mine— a man who hates me probably more than anyone else on earth—and I take his presence in this country to be a grave menace to my safety.” “You mean, Sir,” asked Derek, “thatRichard Burton is the same as Evans, the South American hotel-keeper?” “That's exactly what- I do mean,” replied Blair quietly, “and that is precisely why I asked you to come and see me. At the same time as you tell toe of your determination to make Burton pay for his callousness out there on the London ißoad I become aware that this man could be none other than my adversary. Now I am not a coward, neither 'am I superstitious, 'but all the same when I left the Morning

Telegram and Wireless office last night, I experienced some sense of being followed, and when I got up this morning it was with a sense of impending tragedy. 1 can’t explain just how or why, but I don’t feel comfortable, and I can’t tell you how glad I -am that I’ve got your help in trying to track down this fiend. I took an instant liking to you immediately I saw you, and I was wonderfully glad to meet you again last night. That was why I made you that offer, and although I’m afraid I took somewhat of an unwarrantable liberty in taking your consent for granted, I do hope you didn’t mind that announcement in this morning’s issue?”