SKY-HIGH TERROR

Waikato Times, Volume 126, Issue 21082, 8 April 1940, Page 4

SKY-HIGH TERROR

By RALPH TREVOR (Author of “The Ghost Counts Ten,” “Murder for Two Pins.”

CHAPTER XVIII (continued) Bidston smiled. It was the smile of a man supremely confident. “Because, Mr Burke, mine being an honorary sort of job I did my books, not regularly, but whenever I can find the time. Sometimes I allow a week or more to pass before I enter them up. I know the amounts to put down to each member. It was Monday night that I entered the last lot up.” Burke looked disappointed. “But how about the pay-in to the bank?” he questioned. “I understand that the rules of the club say that it must be paid in not later than mid-day on Saturdays. If that is so, and the amount normally paid in is in the neighbourhood of £l3O, how is it that yesterday, at ten minutes to three, you paid in £275 10s?” “That is just as easily explained, sir,” Bidston answered. “You must know that we’ve been working hard these past few weeks getting The Mendip ready for her test flight. I put the money safely away at home, intending to bank it when I had the opportunity. I might say, too, that in order to keej) matters straight I have frequently paid out of my own pocket the subscriptions of those men who have been temporarily financially embarrassed. It’s a complicated affair, sir, and so long as my books are straight—which I think you have admitted—l must say that I resent the implied suggestion that I have been doing anything I should not have done.” Burke felt that Bidston had him there. While in his heart he was confident that there had been certain irregularities, he knew that it was useless to pursue this line of inquiry further. He just couldn’t prove anything, and that was all that mattered. “I’m afraid you’ve got hold of the wrong end of the stick, Bidston,” he said, suavely. “I’m not accusing you of anything, but you have to appreciate that in an investigation of this kind everything has to be taken into account.” “I do appreciate that,” said Bidston, with a gesture of magnanimity. ‘Now let us come to other events,” Burke persisted, with his well-known relentlessness. “I have a report that a man answering roughly to ycur description was seen on Sunday morning in the company of a particularly tall man in Reudelshaw H’gh Street. What have joa to say about that?” “I say it is a lie,” answered Bidston. “I was at home on Sunday morning. Didn’t go out until the afternoon.” “Ah!” exclaimed Burke. “So you did go out on Sunday afternoon! Was it by any chance on a bicycle, Mr Bidston?” “A bicycle?” The incredulity in Matthew Bidston’s voice was wonderfully simulated. “Why, I haven’t ridden that old bike of mine for years.” Burke glanced across at Sergeant Mather, who was busily engaged in taking a note of the interview. Their eyes met in complimentary understanding. “Sorry, Bidston,” said Burke. “Someone must have made a mistake when they told us you were seen riding a bicycle. Perhaps, unbeknown to yourself, you have a double.” Matthew Bidston jumped at the suggestion like a trout to a fly. “Now you mention it, Mr Burke, I’ve heard that before. It happened about eighteen months ago. Someone told my wife I’d been seen in a certain pub when all the time I was working overtime at the factory.” Burke passed a tired hand across his face. “I think that will do for the present, Mr Bidston,” he told him, and wh«i the man had gone he looked across at Mather. “Well,” he questioned, “what now?” “I don’t know anything about his workmanship at the factory,” commented Mather, caustically, “but he’s just about the glibbest liar I’ve encountered for many a long day.” The Sergeant looked at his watch. “They’re open, Mr Burke. How about a spot of nourishment? Talking’s a thirsty job, don’t you think?” CHAPTER XIX. Fog And Fury on the Island With the bullets from Ivan Kantarf’s gun splashing into the fog behind him, Peter scrambled on and on with not the remotest idea where he might be going. Once the bullets had ceased their spatter he eased up a bit, and tried to recall the direction of the hangar from whence he had escaped. It was true he still possessed his own torch, but he decided against using it for the moment. He felt that once Kantarf realised he had got away it would not be very long before the whole outfit, would be aroused, and a concerted search made for him. Peter didn’t mind that so much. In fact he much preferred the comfort of the stove in the hut to wandering about an unknown island in this thick wet fog. Already he felt himself saturated right through to the skin, and wished that before embarking on the expedition he had had enough sense to put his flying suit on.

What was more important was that the two electrical components he had in his pockets belonging to The Mendip should be put away in some safe place for the time being. If he were caught before he secreted them he realised that all their work tonight would have been futile. The trouble was where to put them. Peter found himself climbing, practically on hands and knees, along a slight rise in the ground, with nothing but the fog and silence around him. Every now and again he strained his ears for a sound, and peered into the fog to catch a glimpse of a light. He neither heard nor saw anything; which gave him the impression that he must be well beyond the arbit of the old hutments and the hangars. Reaching the top of the rise he descended cautiously. Now he thought he heard, somewhere in the distance, the soft moan of the sea. It was just at that moment, as he was climbing downwards for a few feet, that the toe of his boot struck something in the darkness. He heard it rattle on its downwards course with a tintinnabulation lond enough to awaken all the dead in the sea. ‘ (To be Continued.)