"ADMIT ONE"

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 184, 5 August 1931, Page 12

"ADMIT ONE"

b 3

Sydney Horler

CHAPTER VI. Stevensson is Angry. “Who was that gink?” The question, asked in a strong trans-Atlantic twang, made Simon Stevensson frown. He thrust his monocle into the right eye, and stared at the speaker. ‘‘l wish I knew,” he said: “You noticed he was the living image of yourself?” “There was some resemblance, sure,” was the reply; “but, tell me, who is he? 1 don’t fancy guys going round looking the dead spit of me.” ‘•We’ll have Judith in,” said Stevensson, seating himself. There was no need to summon the girl. Almost before the words had left liis lips, she had appeared in the doorway. "So ho got away,” she commented, in a snarling tone. The look she gave Stevensson was charged with contempt. “Come in and shut the door,” was the curt order; “and don’t start any hysterics here, because I’m not in the mood for them.” “Not if the Empress knows about this?” The taunt, hot-flung, brought a smear of scarlet to Mtevensson’s pale cheeks. But quickly he recovered himself. “I seem to have the impression that it was you who brought the fellow here,” he said; “and it will be you who will have to make the necessary explanation to the Empress.” “Can he talk,” drawled the visitor; “let’s get the works on this guv. At the present time, I don’t know whether he's the Emperor of Siam, or AI Capone’s newest brother-in-law. . . . Say, kid, where did you pick the gink up?”* Judith Felstead gnawed her lip. It was a bitter humiliation to know that it was she who had been responsible for this debacle. Of course, there had been extenuating circumstances. But the Empress was not the woman to listen to these. “I’ll tell you all I know,” she said sharply. “1 got orders from Stevensson to meet you at the Mid-Western Hotel to-night at nine o’clock. I was given your photograph and told that von would be in a private suite. I waited over an hour, and then a man came in who was so like you I thought there could be no possible mistake. It’s true he didn’t speak with an American accent, but lie explained that satisfactorily. And he said he’d just shaved off his moustache. Oh, don't look at me like that!” she exploded; “how the hell do you think I could know he was a wroim

She swung round on Stevensson “What do you think he is? A dick?” “What else could he be?” asked the other, with a frown that chilled the heart of tlie listener. She stamped her foot. “So much for your judgment,” she said daringly, snapping her lingers; “that fellow s just a fool—no more a detective than I am.” **Say, sister, why do you think that?” asked the American. -Isn't it easy?” she retorted; “do you think, if he'd been a detective, he’d have come here on his own? Why, by this time, the house would have been raided” “There’s something iu that.” admitted Stevensson. “There’s a hell of a lot in it,” she went on, more confident now. “It’s just one ot those coincidences that the storywriters talk about. Nothing so very wonderful in it, after all, perhaps; Crane 1S comnion name in England.” . 'Tes,'. returned the American, “but it’s a bit out of the ordinary for two fellows to be dead ringers of each other, ■and to have the same name as well Anyhow, we’ll stop talking about that gink—for tlie time being at any rate. I want to go on to the Mid-Western; I reserved a suite by wireless from the boat. Can you tell your piece in ten minutes?” he asked turning to StevensThc latter nodded. “Sorry tin’s should have occurred,” Jie said, “but you can rest assured that it won t do you any harm. If you’ll excuse me just one minute more, 1 am at your “Certainly.” The visitor reached for the box on the desk and lit a cigarette He waited patiently until Stevensson’ m hose voice could be heard telephoning outside, returned, occupying his time by easting appreciative glances at the flam, jng-liaired beauty who, apparently, was an associate of his from now on. serious, as lie seated lihuself? 1 ** 1

ou " ou t mind, Crane—especially after what has just happened—if I ask you to convince us that vou really are the right man?” he asked.

3he visitors seemed about to explode jnto an oath, but his anger quickly molted into a smile.

Not at all,” ho said. “Here you <u *-■. lie took a number of papers from a pocket-book, and passed them across to the other.

Stevensson, after examining them critically, handed them to the girl. I don’t think we need have any more doubt, Judith, ’ he said. It seemed as though he was anxious, after the recent storm, to conciliate her.

The papers were quickly returned. “No reason at all to worry,” she commented; and, as if to spread the conciliatory spirit smiled across at Crane. “Now, we’re all sitting pretty,” said Stevensson, using an idiom with which he knew the visitor would be familiar, “Ihe idea is this: The Empress—what a woman” he broke off to exclaim—“lias made every plan to flood Europe with false paper. The man she’s got hold of an Englishman called Ferguson—is the cleverest engraver that perhaps the world has ever known. He’s kicking up a little trouble at the moment, but we needn’t trouble about that. The Empress, as you’ve probably heard, has a way all her own when she wants a thing done. “Where you come in, Crane, is this: Directly the stuff is ready, you’ll cross to the States and circulate these bogus notes throughout America. Not only that, but you'll establish headquarters either in Chicago or New York—whichever you prefer—and act as our distributing centre for America. How does that appeal?” “O.K.—if the stuff’s all right. It all depends on the craftsmanship of this fellow, Ferguson. I needn’t tell you people that the police and the secret service people generally arc very wideawake now to ‘bad’ paper.” “This man can do miracles,” asseverated Stevensson. “All right; I’ll take your word for it.” Looking at Stevensson, the speaker was surprised to see a heavy frown gather on tlio man’s face. “Anything wrong?” he asked. “L don’t want to create any further bad feeling,” said Stevensson, “but you should have been at the Mid-Western Hotel at nine o'clock to-night.” “Yes—-J. know. 13ut I was kept.”

“Where?” “Southampton. I haven’t told you yet, but the boat was boarded by detectives, and I bad the devil’s own job to get ashore. If 1 hadn’t found a friendly steward, who lent me his clothes, 1 might have been nabbed. I don’t know how it happened, but a description of me was circulated and wirelessed across to the English police. I realised that all the trains for London would be watched; so I lay low in a poor part of the town, and eventually got away by motor. I had to pay that steward two hundred dollars —but it was worth it. Anyway, that’s my explanation for being late. And that’s why I came straight here before going to the hotel.” “Hell!” cried Stevensson. “This upsets things. The Empress sent several letters to you at the Mid-Western. They were all written in the code —but if that other fellow hands them over to the police there may be trouble. They’ve got some pretty sharp brains at Scotland Yard now; and, although the code, as you are aware, is intricate, one never knows. . . .” “In that case, perhaps it would be better if I didn’t go to the Mid-Western. I shouldn’t say you need worry about those letters if they were written in the code.”

“But I am worrying,” repeated Stein them. You’ve heard what the Enimpress is—self-willed, impetuous, refusing to take anyone else’s advice? Well, she would send those things. She said she wanted you to know exactly what was expected of you from the start. But I have a cautious nature; that was why I asked Judith to go along to see that you received them quite safely.” “I was waiting for you over an hour,” put in the girl. “Sorry, sister. If I’d have known you’d been at the other end, I'd have squeezed the last mile out of that automobile.” With the -words, lie rose, stopping at the door, however. “Wliat about that other gink?” he asked. Stevensson was quick in his reply. “You’ve no need to bother about him,” he said; “you can leave that to me—he’ll be attended to. That was what I telephoned about just now.” “And the Empress?” asked Crane. “When do I see her?” “I'll arrange something for to-morrow. Can you be here at ten ?” “Yes—ten, it is. Good-night.” “Good-night, Crane.” “Good-night,” added the girl. When lie had gone, Judith made a comment. “You didn’t say anything about the girl ?” “No,” admitted Stevensson; “that fellow strikes me as being weak in regard to women. That will be your department niv dear. .. . Going?” "It's late—and I’ve got a call to make.” “Where?” Judith l'elstead drew near the man, and spoke tensely. “I shan’t be content,” she said, “until I know that girl is still in her lodgings. If she saw you in your car to-day, she may have become frightened and run “She wouldn’t go to the police,” sneered Stevensson. “You don’t know what a girl will do when she’s really terror-stricken,” replied Judith; “anyway, I’m going round to—where’s the address?” The other took a small book from a drawer, and flicked the pages. “17a, Wyvern Mansions, Tadcaster Road, Pimlico,” he read out. “But do vou realise the time? Calling there at this hour will only make her suspicious. Besides,” as though suddenly recollecting, “there's no need. Thompson has been watching the house for some days.” “Then, why doesn’t ho telephone?” Stevensson broke off, as a metallic buzz was heard outside. *'l guess that’s him now,” he concluded.

It was not until a minute and a half had passed that he returned to the room. “There’s hell to pay over this,” he said tensely; “the Ferguson girl has met the other Crane. Thompson’s been shadowing them all night. He picked her up at Piccadilly Circus, went with her to Cima’s in Soho, and, after that, took her to a convent-place.” “She must have told him the story,” inter jected Judith. “Yes. And this means that she’ll be safe. Wo shan’t be able to get hold of her. You can’t rush your way into a convent.” “She can write letters, though. Do you think she’s been with that man all tlio evening without telling him something? Where did he go after he’d left her at the convent?” “He returned to the West End. There, Thompson lost sight of him. There’s a chance bo may return to the MidWestern.” “That’s not very likely.” “Well, anyway, continued Stevensson, in a tone of deep annoyance, “I’ve got three men out searching for him.” “Doesn’t sound very hopeful.” “Damn you. don't be so pessimistic. It was your fault from the beginning; you ought to have been able to tell tiie difference between a swell crook and a simpleton.” “Easy enough to talk. And I’m tired. Good-night.” Stevensson softened. “It’s all right, kid,” lie said; “don’t you worry. I was a bit hasty just now, I know.” He put out his arm as though to draw her to him, but she evaded the attempted caress and walked swiftly away. The banging of the door coincided with the curse which fell from Stcvensson’s lips. His thin, ascetic face was red with anger—and when Simon Stevensson was angry, it boded no goodwill for anybody. (To be continued da ilyJi