RED FOR DANGER

Taranaki Daily News, 14 January 1935, Page 13

RED FOR DANGER

By

LINDSAY HAMILTON

(Author of “The Gorgon,” “The Black Asp,” etc.)

CHAPTER 17. THE METAL CYLINDER. For the past hour Timothy and Jill had been comparing notes. Her adventure, while it lasted, had been unpleasant enough. The moment after she had called out to Timothy from the yard, she had been seized by the throat and carried bodily indoors, struggling but unable to cry out. They had kept her tied to a chair and blindfolded, not even allowing her to see the note Timothy had written. Apparently the scheme of a conditional exchange of prisoners had only been arrived at after heated discussion. Jill had heard nothing of what was said, but the sounds of dissention were unmistakable. It wag significant, so Timothy thought, that the conference llad ended in complete harmony. “Then I was carried up bodily,” said Jill, “and when the cloth was removed from my eyes someone gave me a little push and I found myself just inside the drawing-room of the Recluse.” “Up, did you say?” said Timothy. “It felt as though I was carried upstairs; then through door after door till I was set on my feet.” “You’re sure?” “Positive.” “Do you see what that means?” cried Timothy. “There must be some way into the hotel from those top rooms. And now I come to think of it, that would account for their cutting off my ’phone so deuced quickly. But the immediate question of what was to be done took precedent of all other considerations. “The fact is, we’re in a bit of a hole,” said Timothy seriously. “Tight jammed in, so to speak.” “It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” Jill agreed. “Not to mince words, the moment we leave this hotel we’re for it, and we’ve got to go, whether we go now or in the morning. Personally I prefer to see what’s coming to me> What do you say? Stall we wait till morning?” ■. “You’re the skipper,” said Jill, and in spite of the nearness of peril the imps were dancing in- her eyes. "Mr. Carter told me so.” “Then we’ll wait,” decided Timothy, '‘‘and to-morrow morning we’ll get to Medway somehow, and be damned to KI. and his cronies.” He ■ would have persuaded her to use big bedroom while he occupied the settee in the office, but Jill would not hear of it. "I’m sure we’re safe to-night,” she declared. “I shall sleep like a top. I’m tired. Aren’t you?” Instead of retiring to rest at once, however, Jill wrote busily in her own room for nearly two hours. When she had folded the manuscript neatly she enclosed it in a stout envelope and sealed the flap liberally with sealing-wax?. For the rest of the night she slept far more soundly than Timothy, for he was troubled by dreams of violent conflict. At six o’clock he gave up the attempt, which was perhaps as well seeing that the bedclothes were on the floor and he tangled up in them. When Jill joined him at breakfast, looking very fresh and full of vigour, he had made all the arrangements necessary. “I’ve ordered a car from Luxury Motors Ltd. and asked for George. They know me there, so there s no chance of falling into a trap.. There was one hitch, however, though Timothy attached no significance to it: Sam could not be found. — “It isn’t, the first time he’s overslept,” Timothy informed her dryly. “Nocturnal habits, I suppose. I’ll leave instructions for him to take the luggage round to my fiat.” It was a perfect morning as they walked down the steps of the Recluse Hotel to the waiting limousine, where George, a pleasant red-faced youth, stood beaming a welcome. An. air of profound peace and security hung all about the Square. In the trees opposite a few sparrows were twittering. The very thought of violence here in the broad light of day seemed an outrage. The Square was deserted. They entered the car and drove to the offices of ‘The Planet’ without encountering the least suspicious sign of an enemy. And here Timothy met in the flesh the man whose name Jill so often had taken in vain—Mr. Carter. He was not at all the kind of tyrant Timothy had expected. Nature had given him a mild, retiring temperament, and the struggle of the daily round had sharpened it to a needle point of irritability. His chief concern was not for Jills safety, but for her copy. “It will be the biggest scoop "The Planet’ has ever brought off,” said Jill confidently, “but you’ll have to wait.” “Yes, I’ve heard that so many times before,” Mr. Carter retorted plaintively. “We ought to have it now—things are aS dead as ditchwater.” “It won’t spoil with keeping,” said Jill. “We want Lord Medway. Do you know where he is?” “He has gone to White Gables for a rest—touch of ’flu or something,” said Carter. I “I promised to drop in on him someday,” said Timothy musingly. “I hard- 1 ly expected it to be so soon.” Jill’s eyes quizzed him mischievously. ’ “What an unexpected pleasure in store for Sylvia.” Mr. Carter was growing impatient, it they were going why didn’t. they go, and not waste his valuable minutes. “You going?” he hinted broadly. "Good-bye.” Instead, Jill placed a bulky packet on the table beside him. ; “Put it in a safe place,” she said. It is not to be opened on any account unless—well, unless I am missing for more than three days.” Her serious tone impressed Mr. Carter, but he had thrown overboard such timewasting qualities as curiosity long ago. “Very well,” he agreed. “.Now, if you don’t mind . . . yes, yes ... . goodbye, Mr. Gale - - - ’morning. Miss Tempest.” They left him, if not in peace, at least free to fray his nerves in other directions. When they reached the car the chauffeur was stooping over the en-

gine. He raised a hand to his cap to acknowledge Timothy’s brief instructions. Timothy got in beside Jill. Neither had spoken since leaving Mr. Carter. “I know what you’re thinking,” said Jill, her eyes alight with challenge. “That I don’t keep my word.” He would have interrupted but she went on fiercely: “I made a bargain for my life, and I’m keeping it. But if I’m killed, the bargain no longer holds.” “You’re wrong,” Timothy answered with unusual gentleness. “You’ve done a very wise thing. I’m infinitely glad. I was silent because I was admiring you —I find new ways of doing it every day —it’s becoming a habit.” For once Jill did no respond witn flippant banter, The car threaded its way through the conjested traffic into broader thoroughfares. So far everything had gone with astonishing smoothness. Timothy had fully expected that the attack, if it was to come at all, would come before they reached ‘The Planet’. That it had not done so seemed a very favourable omen Nevertheless, it was too soon to take anything for granted. He kept his eyes darting ahead and into every side-turn-ing, glancing occasionally behind to sea if any car was following. But as time passed and they reached the open country he was at last convinced that KI. was not concerning himself in the least with their movements. Watford now lay some miles behind. Jill had not spoken for some time. She had fallen asleep, he discovered, and her head lay against the back of the seat at a very uncomfortable angle. He gently worked his hand, and then his arm, under it, and presently her curly copper hair spread in a rippling shower about her shoulder. A smile, half amused, half tender, curved his lips. What a lovable child she looked asleep! He hoped she would not wake up yet awhile. The softness of her cheek was a delicious temptation, but it might disturb her to move. He had no inclination to move. He realised all at once how very tired he was. His eyes ached for sleep; his head had become an unbearable weight. In an effort to drive sleep away he sat bolt upright and in this position his eyes focussed themselves on the chauffeur’s neck. Something about that neck began to puzzle him, but it was too big an effort to think it out . . . funny that George’s red peck should have lost its ruddy look should have grown longer all at once and . . . well, that was George’s look-out, not his . . . con J found his neck—horrible sight a neck, .anyway. Timothy’s eyes closed. His head rolled from side to side with the movement of the car. A few minutes later it pulled up, but neither Timothy nor Jill stirred in their deep sleep. The driver came furtively to the door and looked in ... it was not George, but a stranger. The car had halted in the middle of the road at the brow of a short but steep hill. From the point of view of the picturesque the view ahead left little to be desired: the broad ribbon of road seemed to run right into a charming rural picture framed between the trees whose branches met overhead at the bottom of the hill. The picture itself showed a silver ribbon of river in the foreground with meadows beyond and wooded uplands in the hazy distance. But no motorist worthy of the name would have spared an eye for the beauty of the scene while negotiating that short steep hill. For that 4ow stone wall at the bottom could only mean a dangerous corner. It was not to admire the scenery that the strange driver had pulled up. There was a quick efficiency about his movements that suggested a pre-arranged purpose. He was doing something to the steering arm under the front axle. Now he took from under the driver’s seat a steel 'cylinder with a length of flexible tubing attached. He dropped it in the ditch at the side of the road and covered it with leaves and clods of earth. That done, he ran swiftly to the car, released the hand-brake and stood back in the road. The car began to run down the hill, slowly at first, but gathering speed at every yard. The driver had taken cover in the ditch. From there he watched its headlong course and waited for the crash of splintering glass and crumpled steel and the final plunge as the river opened to gulp down the twisted wreckage. , CHAPTER 18. THE BENEVOLENCE OF SEPTIMUS DANVERS. When Septimus Danvers abandoned, the “bucket-shop” business for health reasons—a prolonged course of prison diet, he feared, might ruin his constitution—he set about his next venture with a nice consideration for the finer feelings of his clients. The majority of human beings who are afflicted with pecuniary embarrassment shrink from the inquisitive gaze of their fellows with a morbid sensitiveness. Danvers, though never likely to contract this fell disease himself, was nevertheless a man of large sympathies and understanding. He chose a site, therefore, well-tucked away from curious eyes to which the most timid of mortals might approach without fear of betraying the secrets of his harassed soul. Within the office the atmosphere he strove to create was one of discreet secrecy combined with business-like philanthrophy. His clients must feel at once that they had come to the right place; that their wavering indecision had been foolish and their fears groundless; they must see for themselves how simple and pleasant a matter it was for Mr. John Giles to set their worried minds at rest and send them rejoicing on their way. . . , Nothing is so easy to restore as a be‘lief that the end of the long lane is in sight and all is right in this best of good worlds; that business can be run on humanitarian lines, and who better than Jahn Giles at demonstrating the fact. (To be continued).