RED FOR DANGER

Taranaki Daily News, 16 January 1935, Page 11

RED FOR DANGER

By

LINDSAY HAMILTON

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

CHAPTER 19 (continued.) “How long have I been here?” Timothy tried to sit up, but his head swam dizzily and he sank back again. He had seen by the little clock on the mantelpiece that the hour was half-past twelve. “Thank goodness,” he murmured. “I was afraid for the moment—” “Now look here, Gale you’ve got to stay where you are—doctor’s orders, and I’ll see you obey them,” said his late Colonel sternly. “You’ve had a pretty bad knock on the head and if it hadn’t been wood from the neck up you wouldn’t have got off with nothing worse than slight concussion.” “I’ll be all right presently,” said Timothy. “When this dizziness wears off, I’ve got to go on, Colonel—l must, orders or no orders—it’s a matter of life and death.” “If it’s waited two days it can wait a bit longer.” “Two days!” cried Timothy, aghast. “Do you mean—? Oh, good Lord! Timothy made another effort to get up. “Oh, curse this fat head of mine.” “I’ll do more than that,” threatened the Colonel fiercely, “if you don’t lie down.” “But—” “No buts about it. What is it you want to do? Can I do anything?" “I’ve got to get to Lord Medway," said Timothy, gritting his teeth in a determined effort to overcome his bodily weakness.' “Well, if it's any relief to you to hear it, Miss Tempest telephoned to White Gables last night as soon as she recovered her senses. She’s like you, damned obstinate, only more so. What the fuss is all about I don’t know.” “Well, that’s something,” said Timothy with a sigh of relief. “She told me to tell you he’s very ill with the ’flu. So you couldn’t see him in any case.” “That’s a relief,” said Timothy. “You couldn’t have given me better news.” Colonel Clinker’s laugh rang out like the rattle of a machine-gun. “I’ll tell Medway that when I see him. Glad he’s got the ’flu, are you? You’re a nice considerate pair. Wilmot is here, by the way. He’ll be in presently to see you.” “Not Tony?” “There’s only one that I know of,” said Colonel Clinker. “Fine chap, Tony,, but damned lazy—oh damned.” Timothy shared his late Colonel’s chuckle. These two knew something of the real Tony Wilmot beneath the thin veneer of the engagingly frank philanderer. “Miss Tempest says she is coming, too. Against Doctor Manning’s orders. But that girl—she’s a snorter, my boy, a regular stunner. You’ve got a handful if—” Timothy burst into spontaneous laughter, but it ended abruptly. “You’ve got it wrong, Colonel,” he said quietly. “We’re pals, pretty good pals—partners, in a sense. But nothing more—no chance of it.” “Then all I can say, my boy, is that your taste is damned bad—damned bad,” retorted Colonel Clinker bluntly. “Most women are Just women—good looks of a sort and feminine charm—and that’s enough for most men. But girls like Jill Tempest don’t hang on Christmas trees. Why, damn it, if I were ten years younger I’d run pff with her myself.” The mental picture of his late Colonel abandoning life-long vows of celibacy and playing the cave-man to Jill seemed to afford Timothy some amusement. “It’s not my taste that’s at fault,” he remarked ruefully. “Ha, here they are,” the Colonel warned him. “I’ll leave you. Look out for Tony. He’s a devil with the girls. ’ Jill came in on Tony Wilmot’s arm and Colonel Clinker rushed across to offer his assistance. Jill gave him a swift smile of thanks, but her eyes flew at once to Timothy, and the bright colour came into her cheeks. “Greetings, Timothy,” she said softly. “Mr Carter has been dreadfully anxious about you.” Colonel Clinker could not be expected to read the sweet significance of that. He turned in the doorway. “Oh, yes, I quite forgot. You’re an object of considerable interest. We’ve had to discourage some of them with a shot-gun. Scotland Yard have been inquiring after you among others. It seems to me you’d better not be in too big a hurry to get well. Tony will tell you?* ' “I say, Colonel, old lad,” Tony broke in placidly. “Sorry to bother you and all that, but do you know anything about g as? " “What sort of gas? _ “No, not that sort. I mean the stuff they stick in cylinders.” . “Oxygen! Poison gas? Acetyline? Which?” “Something like that. What about Carbon Monoxide? See what you think of the one I left with Barnett. I sat down on the bally thing when I fell in the ditch this morning.” “Ha! I will,” Clinker exclaimed sharply. “Just what Manning thought, but couldn’t account for. See. you later.” Here was another mystery. Timothy resolved to have them all cleared up. “Would you enlighten a chap?” he demanded of Tony. “What’s it all about? What happened?” “Just what I wanted to ask you, said Tony blandly. “Do you know, Jill?” “Not the foggiest. ■ I fell asleep in the car and woke up in Colonel Clinkers house. There was a smash a little way up the road, but how it happened or why, I don’t know.” “You hit the wall at the bottom of the hill,” said Tony, “and the car hung over the river by two spokes of one wheel and a pair of splitpins. The Colonel and I heard the crash as we were coming down the drive and hoicked you out. They’re busy dragging the river for the

chauffeur. But, do you know, somehow I don’t think that chappie was as fond of water as all that. And since finding that cylinder—” “Yes? What about it?” demanded Jill with quick curiosity. “I found it in the ditch at the top of the hill.” Suddenly they understood. So, apparently, did Tony. “You were both unconscious for some time. Concussion doesn’t altogether account for it. You don’t either of you look particularly tired of life. If anyone but the chauffeur had done it that wouldn’t account for the crash. I’m afraid you’ve been keeping bad company, my lad.” “There must be some other, solution,” said Timothy wrinkling his brows. “I’d stake my life on George. He—” “You didn’t stop on the way, I suppose?” The explanation flashed through Timothy’s mind at once, and from the expression Jill wore he saw that she was had jumped to it—a change of drivers must have taken place while they were in ‘the Planet,’ offices. So Grimshaw’s warning had been justified. Even though they had expected an attack or a ruse of some kind, they had been caught napping as easily as if they were a pair of babes. Only sheer good luck had saved them. Jill moved over and took a seat on the bed beside Timothy. He noticed that she limped and his face twitched as though he felt the pain. She laughed. "It’s nothing at all,” she told him lightly. “My knee got a twist. You took the brunt of it. I expect I used you as a buffer.” “That was very evident,” said Tony, and grinned shamelessly. “We had a job to disentangle you. He was clutching you as if he never intended to let you go.” “I’m glad of that," said Timothy. “Nice old buffer,” retorted Jill flippantly. Timothy’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t improve,” he told her. “Anyhow, that wasn’t quite' what I meant.” When Timothy had done justice to a light meal Tony Wilmot looked in again. He brought with him the current issue of the Planet. “Bad business about Somerset Manfield,” he observed conversationally. “Shot in the back by a crazy fanatic. Not expected to live, apparently.” Timothy snatched .the paper with a haste that was positively rude. A bitter exclanfation escaped him/ It was true—no room for a doubt. K.I. and his gang of assassins had struck their first blow. But was it the first? Tony continued to make casual conversation. “I don’t take much interest in politics as a rule, but it seems to me Somerset Manfield’s death is going to let loose giddy blazes in India. They say he was the one man in Government that had guts enough to stop the rot before it set in in earnest. Sir Arthur Blunt was thrown from his horse yesterday in the Row and died a few hours later. They say he’s the man behind the scenes who has kept old England off the rocks of bankruptcy. Anyhow, the pound has gone wallop.” Tony kept up his idle chatter for some time, but Timothy had no ear for him. Sir Arthur Blunt too! It might be an accident, but—one thing was certain; he must loose no time in warning Lord Medway of his danger. “Look here, Tony, I’ve got to get on to White Gables,” he said earnestly. “You’ll help me, won’t you?” “Leave it till the morning,” Tony counselled. “That chauffeur fellow has friends staying at the Blue Boar. I should hate to be run in for manslaughter. I’ll run you there in my car before the lark is up. How’ll that do? Timothy was forced to admit that the plan was better than his own. Eager as. he was to be off, he was not at all sure that he could master the dizziness that attacked him still when he tried to sit up. A few hours of sleep would make a lot of difference. “Miss Tempest had better stay here,’ Tony suggested. “Colonel Clinker will be delighted to have her.” “Then don’t tell her,” said Timothy. That point being settled satisfactorily, there was a halt in the conversation, which Tony broke presently with a casual question: “Ever thought of writing a blood-ana-,thunder?” . ■ , . „ “Writing! Me!” Timothy exclaimed as though accused of a crime. , “You’ve got the imagination,” said .Tony. “A regular- gold-mine under that red roof of yours, my lad, if you only knew it. ’Straorjiinary.” . . “What the deuce are you driving at. “Hidden talent,” said Tony. “While ( you were in the land of sweet delirium —my hat! the stuff you came out with! Talk about detective fiction and black melodrama. If you could only remember it, what a blood-curdling yam it would make.” “Did I—say much?” “Rattled it out like a machine-gun. Horribly mixed -up, I’ve no doubt, but you’ve got the ideas all right. Timothy was tempted to give Tony one hint, but his scrupulous sense of honour forbade it. He said nothing at all. Tony, for all his sleepy goodnatured air had been watching him keenly under drooping eyelids. “I’ll toddle up and ’phone Sylvia Medway,” he said. “She’ll be glad to know youhe better.” But Tony did more. When he had finished speaking to Sylvia he put a trunk call through to London and carried on a rather pointless. and gossipy conversation with Major Grier. , “Hello Major, old lad. Haven t seen you for ages. Thought I’d ring you up. How’s the jolly old work going on. Wearing yourself to a frazzle. What about a rest?”—and so on and so forth. It would have needed a close and

shrewd observer to have detected the special significance wrapped up in the last few words. They were: “The fishing is pretty good. See you to-morrow if I’m in Town.” (To be continued).