THE KAHM SYNDICATE

Waipa Post, Volume 48, Issue 3477, 9 June 1934, Page 9

THE KAHM SYNDICATE

CHAPTER XIII. Someone was climbing the stairs of the building slowly and with evident effort. With the irregular fall of feet sounded the staccato " tap, tap " of a walking stick, the slight scrape between each "tap" indicating that the owner was leaning somewhat heavily on it. For a imomlent Oliver Manx tensed, his hand going to the girl's shoulder. Then he laughed. It was eight o'clock, and even in Darlinghurst blocks of flats, people are about and busy at that hour. Yet his laughter was forced and insincere. There was that in the slow footfalls that drove to his sub-conscious mind warnings of dangers and menaces.

The secret agent shook himself mentally, and reached past the girl to open the door. With a quitek movement the Grey Cat squirmed from under his hand and turned to face him, leaning her shouldei* against the door, her left hand raised to his chest to push h:hi back. "listen ! " She barely breathed the word. " Listen ! That step ! If he comes here—" "Who ? " The man spoke in bewilderment. The girl's manner unnerved himi strangely. He laughed forcedly. "Why, my dear ? Wjhat has the man on the stairs to do with this flat, and—" His shrugged shoulder indicating the direction of tfre room they had left the gangsters bound in finished his sentence. " Then you don't know ? " Through the eye-slits in the full mask Oliver Manx could see that the girl's e#es were full of questions. "Haven't you heard that step before ? " The footsteps had reached the head of the stairs. For a space during which one could count twenty there was no sound beyond the door. Then the monotonous " tap, tap" of the stick re-commenced, now accompanied by a strange dragging sound. For the. moment the secret agent was at a loss to interpret what he heard—then he understood. The man outside the door was lame, one of his feet dragging at each second step. " He may not be coming here." Oliver Manx unconsciously lowered his voice to a whisper. "If he is—" The Grey Cat hesitated. "If he is— He.must be—he can't be going anywhere else. But — no, no ! We must get away ! "

" But—" Oliver Manx stood firm against the pressure of the girls hand on his chest. "But—what of him ? He's only one man—and lame ! " •His thoughts had turned to the two men he had left bound in the sittingroom of the flat. They were men in the heyday of their strength and vigour—and he and the girl had conquered and bound them. Outside the hall door was only one man—and his footsteps tokened him old and lame. What had they to fear from him ? Tap—pause—tapi—pause. Slowly, draggi'ngly, inexorably as Fate the footsteps drew nearer and nearer to the door behind which the man and the girl waited. The two within the hall of the flat listened, their breathing bated and soft. Suddenly the secret agent thrust his hand over the girl's shoulder, pressing down the safety-catch of the lock of the door.

"That only delays—give us time," whispered the girl. "He will—riotthing we can do will make him stay." The footfalls outside the door had halted; a hand pressed against the woodwork of the door. The pressure on the door relaxed, and then followed a long pause, broken at length by the shrill tring of the electric bell, almost above their heads. The sudden sound, coming out of an almost uncanny silence, made them start involuntarily. The ' girl's hand on Oliver Manx's chest tensed, pressing him back from the door into the hall. Slowly the man retreated. Again the bell tringed in double sets of. sounds; the frequent, irregular shrilling of the bell indicating impatience. " Should we have left the door on the latch ? " asked the girl, her voice little above a breath. "But—if he had come in—"

"Who?" The secret agent strove to shake from him the elements of fear.-the girl's tones had laid on him.- " Who ? The man outside the door;? Who- is he ? What have we to fear from him ? Let me open the door." This girl shook her head negatively. Impatiently Oliver Manx pushed her to one side. (She resisted, suddenly bringing up the gun she still held, and thrusting the muzzle against his chelst.

"Keep back," she whispered. " You cando no good that way. Stop, I tell you ! lam going to be sacrificed to your impatience. If only you knew—"

iA key grating in the door-lock cut short her words. She turned to face the door, the hand holding the gun dropping to her side. The safety catch held, and the door was shaken violently. Crouching, so that no shadow' of his body should fall on the glass panels of the door, the secret agent crept forward and braced his body against the door, helping the latch to hold it against the intruder. " Tap, tap, tap ! " The stick in the

SERIAL STORY (In 15 Instalments.)

By AIDAN DE BRUNE. (Copyright.—All Rights Reserved.)

hand of the man outside the door thumtoed the floor impatiently. Again the key in the lock was twisted angrily. " Come ! " The girls' hand on his shoulder, her voice in his ear so close that her breath fanned his cheek, made Oliver Manx look up. She bent and caught at his hand, drawing him upright. " Come ! I know a way ! " Reluctantly, the secret agent allowed the Grey Cat to draw him up the hall of the flat. She opened a door and drew him into a room. It was a bedroom. When he had entered, the girl pushed the door close; then stood, listening, against the slender opening she had left. On the hall door of the flat sounded a strange, irregular tapping. Automatically the secret agent counted the strokes of the knuckles beating against the glass panel. "Tap, tap; pause; tap, tap; pause; tap, tap, tap, tap."

Three taps, a pause, two taps, a pause, four taps; repeated again and again. His brain registered the signal. Again and again the taps came, always in the same sequence, never varying in tone or tempo. Again and again the man counted them; the regular beat, the pauses, drummed on his brain, creating a queer, hypnotic numbness.

•" Grey Cat! " He spoke in a whisper. "This can't go on. We've got to do something. Think, girl! There is only one man out there, and he's lame. Surely—" " Listen ! " • The girl raised her hand for silence. The tapping had stopped. In its place had come a strange grinding sound. For the moment the secret agent was puzzled; then he understood. The man was forcing the hall door with a Jemmy. Tensed, the two stood behind the bedroom, door waiting. A moment, and the hall door gave with a slight rending sound. A long pause, and suddenly the Grey Cat pushed the door she held almost shut, turning swiftly and facing Oliver Manx with her back against the woodwork.

"He's forced the door," she whispered. " Now he'll find them ! " Gliver Manx nodded. He listened to the "tap, tap" of the walking stick, now resumed in the little hall of the flat. There were no hesitations in the sounds: they came up the passage directly towards the room where the two bound gangsters stood, one on each side of the big chair. With a sudden movement Oliver Manx pushed the girl to one side and opened the door wider.

For a moment he listened; then opened the door still wider. Now he had recovered from the sense of futility the girl's fears had cast over him. He had his plan fixed. He would follow the mysterious intruder to the room where the gangsters were, and capture him', tie him up, and with the help of the girl escape from the building. Then all that remained was to bring the police to the place. The " tap, tap" of the walkingstick suddenly ceased. Very cautiously Oliver Manx thrust his head through the opening of the door and looked into the hall. A', man's bent form was standing outside the closed sitting-room door. There the man waited for a few moments, and then turned to the door opposite—the room where lay Lyne and his wife unconscious.

"Wait here." The secret agent spoke over his shoulder to the girl. He did not want her with him, in what he proposed to do, fearing a- fresh access of terror of the intruder. " Wait here. I am going to get that man ! "

Before the Grey Cat could answer he had slipped through the door opening into the hall, drawing the door almost shut behmd him. Moving with the utmost caution, he went up the hall to the room into which the unknown had disappeared. To Oliver Manx's relief he found that the man had left the door off the latch. A few seconds and he had opened the door sufficiently wide to peer into the room.

The man was at the bed, bending over it. When the secret agent first saw him he was examining the man curiously. He lifted one eye-lid and bent lower to examine the eye-ball. A. subdued chuckle and a nod,- and the unknown turned from the bed and went to the dressing table. A short search and he found what he wanted, returning to the bed with a bottle of smelling salts in his hand. He held the strong aromatic under the man's nose.

Lyne stirred uneasily, and the unknown moved the bottle to follow the insensible man's nose. Presently Lyne sneezed, and rolled over closer to the woman. The unknown straightened, and chuckled again.

" Lfjne ! Lyne ! " he called in a well-modulated voice. "Wake up! What are you doing in bed at this hour of the morning? "

The man grunted; his body wriggled and tensed; but he did not make any intelligible answer.

" Lyne ! Jack Lyne ! Wake up ! " The voice, though low, held a firm command. "E-er-h ? " The unknown man stepped back a

pace from the bed and watched the semi-ccnscious man, leaning heavily on his stick, and at intervals chuckling lowly. Again he spoke: " Jack Lyne ! Wake up ! " The man on the bed strove for consciousness. Again the unknown spoke in that strange, low, commanding voice:

"Jack Lyne ! You know me ? What are you doing in bed at this hour of the day ? What has happened to you and Lil ? You have no business to be idling here ! " The gangster on the bed opened his eyes, staring vacantly up at the commanding figure standing beside him. He strove to sit up, but fell back inert against the pillows. The unknown made no attempt to assist him. "Where are Archibald and Morris ? " The unknown demanded cold]jy. " I understood they Avere to be here at seven o'clock, and have with them that man —'Oliver Manx." That man—Oliver Manx ! The words held so much malice and hatred that the secret agent shuddered involuntarily. Impatiently he waited for the man to turn, so that he could see his face. Something about him appeared familiar; yet he could not place him. His voice sounded familiar; yet it held an intonation that was strange. He couldt not place the man, give him a name —yet name and place were all but on the tip of his tongue. If he could get a glilmpse of the man's face, and recognise it; if he could give him a name; then he would have moved another step forward towards the solution of the bewilderments that had enfolded him during the past few days. If he could identify the man, couple him with the two crooks who were waiting for arrest in the sitting-room, then he believed that the major part of his work of tracing down the gangsters who held the Three Districts in thrall was accomplished. If only he could see the man's face ! But the unknown resolutely kept his back to the door. Sooner or later he must turn; then would be the moment for the secret agent to act. In stinctively he glanced from, the unknown to the man on the bed. Neither man was formidable, in a physical sense —and he had his gun, still with two bullets in the magazine ! He would overawe them, bind them, and place them with Archibald and Grosse in the sitting-room until he dould bring the police to the flat. He knew that if he acted rightly he should at once enter the room and make the two men prisoners. That was his logical action, for, at the moment, he had them at a disadvantage. Yet he waited—waited for something more to happen before he played his hand in this game. The man had spoken of Archibald and Morris. Morris ! Who was this Morris ? The man in the sittingroom with Archibald was Grosse. Grosse and Archibald had been with hiim all that morning, from the time he had surrendered to the gangsters on the roof of the next-door building. Then, who was this Morris ? 'Morris ! A newcomer in this web of crime he was endeavouring to unravel. Morris ? The unknown had spoken of Archibald—and Morris. He had not mentioned Grosse. Yet Grosse, up to that point, had been an important factor in the mystery. Grosse had come to him at Mart Deelings lodging-house; Grosse had interviewed hita at the garage in Unwin Street; Grosse had trapped him on the roof of the next-door house, and had brought him through the secret passage to the flat. In no way had any other person than Archibald intervened. Yet this unknown stranger, who spoke with authority, mentioned Morris ! Who was this new man in the problem ? Abruptly Oliver Manx turned his attention to the man on the bed. He was speaking: • " I—don't —know."

" You don't know ? " Another effort, and the man on the bed sat up. For a* moment he glanced about the room, tiredly: then his eves fell on the woman, st : Hl unconscious, beside him. He turned to her quickly.

" Lil ! Lil ! Whats the matter ? Lil—"

"Let her alone." The cool, level tones of the unknown stilled the man's startled cry. " She's drugged, as you were. Who drugged you ? " " I don't know!" For a space Lyne stared up at the man standing beside the bed. " What do you mean—drugged ?"

" That is obvious." " But—there has b'een no one here this morning." " Who was here last night ? " " Pat and Gerty—and Slim. Slim came in unexpectedly. Lil had asked Pat and Gerty to come up for a game of bridge—■" "At what time did they come here ? " " Round about nine. Slim drifted in close to midnight."

" When did they leave ? I suppose you had plenty to drink ? " " That wasn't drugged." Lyne slid from the bed, and stood, weak-kneed, beside it. He passed his hand wearily across his eyes, swaying uncertainly. " God, my throat ! ' He lurched forward, making for a table on which stood a- carafe of water and some glasses on a tray. Ignoring the glasses, he lifted the jug of water and drank thirstily. "The drinks weren't drugged," he declared, confidently. " No ? "

"No." Lyne nodded affirmatively. " I know that. You see, Lil and I have been up this : morning—" " This morning ! You're sure ? " " Of course I'm sure. Lil and I got

up this " "At what time ? " The cool, commanding voice broke in impatiently. " Just about six. I woke first, and my getting out of bed woke Lil."

" Well ? " " Lil went into the kitchen to make some coffee," the man grinned. " You see, we didn't want to eat—l had a rotten throat."

" In other words, you were well shot last night ? " "We had a drink or two." Lyne spoke sulkily. " Beer only." " Until SI I'm came Slim doesn't appreciate beer. What did he bring with him ? "

"That's right. Slim doesn't come visiting empty-handed. He had a couple of bottles of Scotch. I forgot them."

" Where are .they ? " The man grinned again. "We keep all defunct marines in the kitchen." " So that's why you wanted coffee early this morning—and nothing to eat."

"We weren't shot, though. What's half a dozen of beer and a set of whisky among five ? " A long pause, during which the unknown remained motionless, leaning on his stick, and evidently considering the information he had extracted from the gangster. He spoke suddenly, as the man turned to the woman.

" Let her be. You say you were up at six, and that Lil made some coffee. Where did you get the—white coffee, I suppose ? " "Of course. Lil doesn't like black, unless after dinner."

"Where did you get the milk from ? "

"Out of the bottle. The milkman leaves it in the service hatch."

"So your milk was drugged." The unknown pondered a moment. " I suppose I have to consider you're under suspicion—but who from?" "The milk?" Lyne considered the man standing by the bed gravely. " Drugged ? " The unknown did not answer; he did not even move his head in assent. For almost a minute he was silent, Lyne sitting on the edge of the bed, looking up at him, a bemused frown on his forehead; almost fear in his eyes. "What orders did you receive for this morning?" "Grosse telephoned me last night that they'd caught Joe Kline in the Rumble Street dump, and were bringing him to ... to next door. He said they were arranging a fake burglary in my fiat—that I was to go into the sitting room at eight o'clock this morning, where I'd find the burglar. I was to shoot to kill. . . Say, why am I the goat every time? There was that Hirton Street affair. I only just got away with that. Now they're using my flat " "Your flat? Do you know the time ? "

Lyne swung round to look at his watch on the bedside table. "God! It's after nine—and Grosse said eight o'clock!"

"Where is Grosse " "I don't know."

"Go in there." The unknown pointed to a door, behind which was evidently a bathroom. " Put your head under the tap. There's a lot we've got to find out—and at once. Something's missed fire. Hurry!" Grumbling under his breath, Lyne turned to the door indicated and passed through it. In a couple of minutes he returned, his head wet and rubbing it with a towel. This he tossed on the bed and went to the dressing table. Finding a comb he roughly straightened his hair. The unknown waited, leaning heavily on his stick. At length he spoke: "Ready?" "Yes." "Have you a gun?"

"Of course." A sly grin came on the man's thin lips. " I don't go about without Joey. 'Tain't healthy!" "Then follow me. The unknown turned slowly and faced the door—and Oliver Manx. The secret agent gasped his surprise. (To Be Continued.)