"ADMIT ONE”

Star (Christchurch), Volume XLIV, Issue 190, 12 August 1931, Page 14

"ADMIT ONE”

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Sydney Horler

CHAPTER XII. Whittle to the Rescue.

Still swearing beneath his breath, Whittle waited. It was useless, he decided, to attempt to rush through the gates, which were rapidly dosing. There must be men on the other side, although he had not been able to see them. He had only caught sight of a flying figure which he knew must be the young fellow who had said his name was Crane. The latter had got away with a good start, but lie had been able to keep track of his movements by the sound his feet made in the silence of the night. One thing was certain; if Crane was captured, lie would /probably be killed. Though he had no definite information about the occupants of “The White House,” the hint which George Melton had given was sufficient for him; here was the headquarters of a gang of crooks who would stop at nothing to gain their ends. Still, he had come there for a certain purpose—and this was strengthened now by the action of the young Englishman. Although he had tried to persuade Crane not to enter the grounds, he himself had resolved to get into the place, by book or bv crook, before the night was Waiting sufficiently long to endeavour to catch any sound coming from the other side of the gates, he took from his pocket what proved to be a light, pliable, silk ladder. He flung the top of this up so that it caught on two Of the spikes of the gates. Then, swaying slightly, he mounted to the top, drew the ladder over to the other side, and descended in the same way. There was a brief hesitation whilst he debated whether he should leave the ladder on the gate, or replace it in his pocket. He decided on the first alternative. If pursued, he would be able to save in this way several valuable seconds. Stepping remarkably lightly for a man of his build, he crept forward in the darkness, his right hand holding tightly a noiseless automatic. There were six bullets in that gun, and if he found it necessary, lie was prepared to use them all. He had gone perhaps 20 yards, and was fumbling to get clear of some kind of shrubbery into which he had stepped, when he heard a voice, tense and dramatic, behind him. “Come on, you fool; he’s in front—l heard him.” Whittle’s life had made him a quick thinker, and this faculty was considerably strengthened in an emergency. He did not require much mental churning to decide now that he had been mistaken in the darkness for a companion of the speaker. The latter, of course, must be one of the men placed in the grounds to act as guards to the house. He whispered back in a strained “All right—l’m coming.” Pie had to take the risk of liis voice being something akin to that of the supposed second guard. If the first man evinced any sign of suspicion, he would have to deal with him with his gun. But, as it happened, the words were received with nothing more alarming than a peremptory: “Well, don’t waste any more time, then.” Stepping oil his toes, as agile as anv ballet dancer, Whittle moved forward. He had pulled his hat well down over nis eyes, hut either the clothes he was wearing, or his frame, must have been different to what the second man lia-d expected, because, when he was within a couple of yards, t}ie other ' started forward. “Here !” He said no more. Whittle, moving quickly forward, hit the man clean on the point of the jaw before any further words could escape. The blow was shrewdly aimed, and the fellow went down like a log. The detective waited. There might be another near at hand. But no attack came. Instead, from somewhere in front proceeded the sounds of a sen file. Ciane being attacked? He moved forward rapidly. Philip opened his eves wonderimdy. It was the American detective bending over him, and not an enemy. “How did you get here?” he asked slowly. If you hadn’t rushed off like a younw fool, we’d have been together,” was the reply; as it was, I found my way here by luck—and she helped me, like the lady she is. But there’s no time to waste talking—we’ve got to get away mv lad. How are you feelino- now?” Whilst saying the words, the detective hauled the other to his feet. Crane looked round blinking. "Someone gave me”some crack on the head with something that felt like a slecige hammer,” lie said. “But.” thrustmg out a foot and gingerlv trvinw it “FI! be all right. Look.” Although lie walk- u ” stea< * l *ty» Crane proved lie could “Good! Now, then, steady; it’s a wonli iV 7 10 t ! l ° se f «! loW8 in that room I tell t 'ou?” f an * Vth,ng al, eady. Quietly By this t : me, they were making their way through the undergrowth to the gates. Cr ‘™ rt y° u over?” whispered “Not a chance,” said the American-wi!-i < + >a i e f °‘ oioorgencies of this kind.” Whilst he v.-as talking, he wondered if the rope ladder would still be where he had left it—hanging from two spikes of the gates. If not, their retreat would be cut off with a vengeance. But Lady Luck, who bad been his guiding star so far that night, still proved loyal to him. When they reached the gates, casting quick glances to ri-dit and left to see if the two men he had put out hod been substituted by others the rope ladder was visible. "Lp with you,* he urged. Crane merely waited to steady his aching head for a moment after tile recent exertion. Then, without questionng the order lie started to climb. He was only halt way up when an urgent whisper came from below. “Hurry, man!” he heard Whittle say. Por the American detective, on guard. r,d sc 11 a number of figures rush from die house. Somehow or other, the alarm must have been given to ilie occupants f that 1 hied room. Evei-y second was valuable. “Get a move on!” he called up amtin. He was in a ticklish dilemma. The d’e-r wou’d not curvy the weight of and 1,a..v h„ d reached

The world, which took but six days to .. . is iiivi- to take six thousand to make out. —Sir Thomas Browne.

the top. Moreover, if he started to climb, they would both present admirable targets to their enemies. He decided to send the opposition a warning. The bullet from his noiseless automatic sped into the night. But the aftermath was heard di«* tinctly; a hideous scream shattered the silence. . . Charles Whittle realised that if he had not actually killed a man, he must have mortally wounded one. After this, it would be war to the knife. Glancing up, he saw that his companion had now reached the top. “You’ll have to jump,” he said. “I’m eoming up myself.” “Righto.” A few seconds later came the sound of a heavy thud on the other side of the gates, Crane obeyed this second order. With astonishing ability for a man of his bulk, Whittle clambered up the fragile ladder, reached the top, and then, without hesitation, hurled himself into space. It meant the risk of a broken leg, or, at the least, a sprained ankle. But he had to take that chance. In another minute or so, hell would be let loose. By the time he had regained his feet, Crane was liy his side. “What was that scream?” asked the ! younger man. “Never mind—we must get away. They’ll .be searching for us.” Without any further words, the detective plunged ahead. Whittle raised his glass. “Here’s how,” he said. They were sitting in Mrs. Hamble’s own private sitting room at The Jollv Sailor. Late as it was, a hot and beau-tifully-cooked meal was before them. A monstrous beefsteak, fresh from the frying pan, flanked with a huge dish of boiled potatoes, and another of Brussels sprouts, stood on the white tablecloth. A quart jug of beer completed the repast. “An’ there’s some apple tart to follow, gents,” had been Mrs. Hamble’s parting words. “You’re not saying anything,” went on Whittle. Crane smiled. “I’ve got so much to say, I don’t know where to begin,” he confessed; “just give me a couple of minutes to think, will you?” He laid down his knife and stared into space. Really, this business was more like a dream than actual life. The past hour —that was until lie and his surpris-bigly-found companion had gained sanctuary in The Jolly Sailor—had been a nightmare. Four men had poured out of the mechanically-controlled gates, curses hot on their lips. The fugitives had waited, crouched on all fours, in a belt of thick woodland until the search party had turned oil' sharply to the right; and then, at a nudge from Whittle, who had once again resumed the generalship, this recruit to adventure had risen and, with what remained of his strength, had started forth towards safety. But the danger was not yet past. They had moved too soon. A shout— and a flurry of rushing footsteps behind told them of hot pursuit. “You go on,” Whittle had said; “I’ve got live more shots in this gun.” “Five?” Philip had repeated; “did you use one, then?” “Yes, had to. Now, no more talking, boy; you get on.” Crane had refused. He couldn’t leave the man there. Whittle had said he was a detective—but there was murder in his eye, he felt certain, as he glared into the darkness ahead. “No, I stay here,” he had replied. And then what seemed like a miracle had come to pass. When the searchers /ere almost on them, something appeared to distract their attention, and they turned off once more—this time to the left, Another ten minutes, and all was still. “I think we can go on now,” Whittle had said. And noiselessly, but speedily, they had departed. Arrived at The Jolly Sailor —and how thankful Crane was to see its glimmerbig lights shining so hospitably in the gloom!—lie had to undertake the job of introduction. “Mrs. Hamble, this is a friend of mine. I met him unexpectedly whilst out for a walk to-night.” How weak it laid sounded! “Mr. Green wants to know if he can put up with me here for a few days.” “If it's quite convenient to you, madam,” put in the American detective, very much on his best behaviour, and speaking in what he imagined was rustic English. “I’ve heard a iot about Maudling.” It Mrs. Hamble had any suspicion, her broad, homely face showed no sign of it. “I must say we’re getting quite famous down here,” she responded, with a smile. “Mr. Padden,” turning to Crane, “you seem to have a good many friends who’re fond of Mandling—first of all, there was your Mr. Smith, and now, there’s your Mr. Green. . . . As .it sappens,” she went on addressing her remarks to the American now, “I do ’ave one more room vacant. It’s small, but perhaps you won’t mind that?” “I’d sleep in a barn, if needs be, Mrs. Hamble,” said the American, anxious to please. “It’s a shame, disturbin'"- you at this time of night.” “Not at all. I’ve always found the best of gentlemen ’as somewhat peculiar ways. . . . A>y luggage, sir?” “My bag’s at the station, Mrs. Hamble.” “I can send Joe down for that. Now, perhaps you’d like a bit of a wash? In tne meantniie, 1 can prepare a bite o’ food foi \ou. Anything particular you’d like, gentlemen ?” “I don't mind what it is—that’s how him Try I am,” confessed the American anything you like, Mrs. Hamble,” supported Crane. (To be continued daily.)