Contraband

As she set them down she suddenly grew tense. She had caught the sound of cautious footsteps on the stairs. Gregory could not have got back so soon she felt sure.

A second later a key clicked in the lock. The door swung open and she saw the Limper standing there with two other men behind him.

Before she had time to scream he stepped into the room and had her covered with his automatic.

'So we were right, he said. 'The wife of the garage man in Birchington only overheard you say the word "Gloucester" when you knocked him up, but, as I had some of Sallust's letters from when we searched him on the marshes, I had a hunch you'd said Gloucester Road, and we'd find you here.'

Sabine stared at him with wide distended eyes; then backed slowly away before him. 'What d'you want?' she whispered, tonelessly.

'You,' the Limper smiled. 'The Big Chief's a light sleeper.

He heard the crunching of your feet on the gravel, looked out of his window, and saw you making your getaway from Quex a few hours ago. It wasn't difficult for him to find out from which garage in Birchington you got a car. He telephoned me at Ash Level to come up and get you.'

'Get me,' breathed Sabine, her face gone ashen.

'That's it,' said the Limper slowly. 'He was afraid that because we bumped off your boy friend you might have ratted on us and told tales to the police. We can't afford to have that sort of thing happening, you know, and it's lucky for you that you came here instead of going to Scotland Yard. Why did you come here, though as Sallust is dead?'

'I I thought I might get some of his papers, find out just how much he knew, which would have been useful to us,' lied Sabine.

'Who let you in? I got in with the keys we took off him the night before last but you couldn't have. Who let you in here?'

'His servant Rudd. He doesn't know yet that his master's dead and he knows me because I've been here once before. I said Sallust had telephoned me to come but he might not be here for an hour or two. Then I sent Rudd off to bed.'

'I see; so that's the way of it, but if you had this bright idea of collecting Sallust's papers why didn't you tell the Chief what you meant to do?'

Sabine suddenly straightened herself. 'I am answerable to him and not to you.'

'Got the papers?'

'I'd just finished searching the place: there is nothing here that matters. He evidently keeps any notes he has somewhere else.'

'Right then. We'll be moving. I don't believe your story and I doubt if the Chief will either; but he's mighty anxious to see you again and put you through it. Come on; get downstairs to the car.'

Sabine hesitated only a second. Gregory would be returning soon now. How could he possibly overcome three armed men if he was taken by surprise by them on entering his sitting room. They believed him dead, but if they found that their last attempt upon him had failed they were capable of shooting him out of hand, and they had silencers upon their automatics. The thought of trying to explain her movements under the steady gaze of Lord Gavin's cold soulless eyes, terrified her; but Gregory's life lay in the balance.

When he drew up before the house a few minutes later a large car was just disappearing round the corner of the street. Upstairs he found the bags packed and ready; but no sign of Sabine. He called aloud for her but there was no response. The flat was empty. With a bitter, hopeless feeling of distress he suddenly concluded that, for some incomprehensible reason, she had changed her mind and left him once again.

20

The Terrible Dilemma

For a moment Gregory tried to cheat himself by the thought that she might have slipped out of the house on some errand but even the dairies and fruit shops were not yet open. If she had wished to telephone the instrument stood there on a low table. He could think of no possible reason which might have caused her to leave the flat; except that she must be so frightened of Gavin Fortescue that her courage had failed her at the last moment and she had decided to go back to him.

He threw himself down on the sofa and dropped his head between his hands. While Sabine had been with him he had been buoyed up by the joy of her nearness and the need for new activities with the world opening wide before them both as they flew towards the rising sun out of England. Now, the terrible strain of the last few days was beginning to tell on his iron constitution.

Except for the packed suitcases and the crumpled bed, where Sabine had been sleeping when he arrived, her presence there might have been a dream. He was faced again by exactly the same problem as that with which he had battled on his way back from Scotland Yard an hour and a half earlier. Should he risk wrecking the whole of the police campaign by going down to Quex Park and either cajoling or forcing Sabine to cross the Channel with him, before she was arrested, or must he take a chance upon being able to get her out of trouble later; so that the police might have a free hand to round up the whole of Gavin Fortescue's organisation in one swift move.

If smuggling only had been concerned he would not have hesitated for a second but have gone to his car and driven down into Kent right away. It was Sir Pellinore's insistence that Gavin Fortescue's fanatic hatred of Britain would lead him to use his fleet to import numbers of agitators and saboteurs, without the knowledge of the immigration authorities, which perturbed Gregory so seriously.

Of course, that, might not occur until September but, on the other hand, the events of the last few days had probably rattled Gavin Fortescue badly. The affair with Wells in Deauville, just a week ago this coming night, had informed him that the police were on his track; the Limper's capture of two spies on Romney Marshes, that they were hot on his trail. It was doubtful if Sabine would be able to get back to Quex Park before he was up; so he might well suspect that her midnight absence had been caused by a journey to London to lay any information against him.

The thought of what would happen to her if that occurred made Gregory momentarily feel sick and giddy; but Sabine was clever. On the journey back her quick wits would surely devise some plausible explanation to meet Gavin's inquiries if her absence from the Park had been discovered.

In any case, it seemed that so shrewd a man as Gavin Fortescue would have seen the red light and would, therefore, bring his operations to a close, either that coming night or the next; before the new moon came in. On one or other of them the chances were he would land those men, who might do such incalculable harm to the peace and prosperity of Britain,

Between the two necessities for preventing that dire calamity and saving Sabine from prison Gregory rocked mentally as he sat with his head buried in his hands. It was the most distressing problem he had ever had to face and he could reach no definite decision.

At last he got slowly to his feet and began to ease his clothes from his sore back and chest. The police net would not close until the following night at the earliest: that fact alone seemed reasonably certain. Therefore, he still had a good twelve hours in front of him before he need make the final plunge one way or the other.

Ordinarily he was a man of quick decisions, but in this case he felt the old adage 'sleep on it' was true wisdom. A few hours of blessed oblivion would recruit his strength for whatever desperate part he was called upon to play that coming night. He would keep his appointment with Marrowfat at the Yard at 11 o'clock that morning, and only then, when he was in the possession of any further information which the police might have obtained, decide definitely upon his future plans.

Five hours later he entered the Superintendent's room, punctual to the minute; spick and span again and ready to cope with any situation.

Wells was already there and Sir Pellinore arrived almost on Gregory's heels. Marrowfat nodded a cheerful good morning and, as they sat down, pushed a telegram across his table towards them.

'They'll be out again tonight,' he said. 'Though we're not quite certain where, yet. It looks as if they mean to use a base we haven't tumbled to.'

Gregory picked up the telegram. 'How did you get this?' he asked.

'Usual way,' the Superintendent grinned. 'We tipped off the Post Office to let us have copies of any telegrams which came through for Mitbloom & Allison.'

Gregory read out the message: 'Mitbloom 43 Barter

STREET LONDON E.I. TENTH 21 33 COROT.'

Wells held a slip of paper in his hand. 'According to the key you worked out last night from Ariel's songs, that means:

'Full fathom five thy father lies; His time doth take.

Doesn't seem to make sense, does it?'

Gregory sat thoughtful for a moment then he said: ' "Full fathom five thy father lies" sounds like another base, as you suggest. Somewhere on the coast, I suppose, but where goodness knows!'

"I take it to mean some place where the water remains five fathoms deep even at low tide,' said the Superintendent. He spread out a large scale map of Kent and all four men bent over it.

'In that case it can be nowhere on the seacoast,' Sir Pellinore remarked, 'but there are plenty of places round Sheppey or in the channel of the Medway, running up to Chatham, that are quite close inland and never less than five fathoms.'

'That's about it, sir,' Wells nodded. 'There's any number of quiet spots among all those islands; but which is it? That's the question.'

'Why should they mention the depth of the water?' Gregory spoke thoughtfully. 'I wonder if Gavin Fortescue is employing fast motor boats as well as planes to land his cargoes. It's a possibility you know; when the contraband is of a heavy nature.'

'That's a fact,' agreed the Superintendent, 'and the second number, 33, should give us the nature of the cargo, shouldn't it? It doesn't offer much to go on though; "his time doth take". Time, is about the only word in it worth thinking about.'

'Bombs with time fuses, my friend,' announced Sir Pellinore quietly. 'They would certainly constitute weighty cargo.'

'By jove, you're right, sir.' Wells backed him up. 'They're landing a cargo of bombs at some place in the Thames Estuary where the Channel is never less than five fathoms deep at low tide.'

For a moment they stood silent round the table, then the Superintendent said: 'If only we knew the place I'd pull them in tonight. Since Lord Gavin caught Mr. Sallust and Wells he must know we've been watching some of his people; although he's probably not aware yet that we have the Park under observation. He may decide to quit any moment now and, as the new moon's on the 12th, this may be the last cargo he'll chance running.'

The grip of Gregory's muscular hands tightened a little on the arms of his chair. The Superintendent was no fool and summed up the position precisely as he had himself a few hours before. That made it more imperative than ever that he must make up his mind what he intended to do about Sabine.

'You might raid the Park and get Gavin Fortescue tonight in any case/ suggested Sir Pellinore. 'After all he is the centre of the whole conspiracy.'

The Superintendent shook his big head. 'I'd rather work it the other way sir. If we nab him first it may prevent him giving some signal which is the O.K. for his men to run their stuff; then we'd lose the bulk of them. Far better let them land, take them red-handed, and bring in Lord Gavin immediately afterwards.'

'Have you had any news from the Park?' Gregory inquired.

'Nothing that's of any help to us.' Wells looked up quickly. 'My man Simmons rang up early this morning to say Mademoiselle Sabine had slipped off on her own round about midnight; telephoned from Birchington and then hired a car in which she drove away towards London. She turned up there again this morning though, just before eight, in a different car and three men were with her. The Limper was one of them.'

Gregory remained pokerfaced at this piece of information. So she had gone back to Gavin Fortescue. But why had three of the others been with her? It flashed into his mind that perhaps she had not gone back to Quex Park of her own free will and that they had been sent to get her. But if that were so how had the Limper and his men discovered where she was. It was more probable, he considered, that Sabine, having no car of her own, had taken the early train to Canterbury and then telephoned for them to fetch her.

While the rest were poring over the map of the Thames Estuary and discussing the most likely spots where a landing might be effected at low tide Gregory began to wonder if Wells had passed on the whole of the information which had reached him in the early hours of that morning. It was possible the police had traced Sabine's car from Birchington to Gloucester Road and that Wells was concealing the fact. Knowing something of the efficiency of the police organisation Gregory thought it highly probable. If so, they were aware of her visit to his flat and assumed already that he intended to double-cross them. He would have to be extra careful now as the chances were that they were watching him; just as they had on the day he had spent with Sabine in London.

'I'll think it over,' said the Superintendent suddenly. 'Maybe we'll raid Quex Park tonight; maybe not. We'll phone you later in the day as to what we've decided.'

'Fine,' replied Gregory with a cheerful smile, concealing his inward perturbation that row, suspicious of him, the police did not intend to let him in on any further plans they might make.

'Let me know too will you?' Sir Pellinore said quietly. 'If there's going to be any fun I'd rather like to be in it. That is if you have no objection.'

'Certainly, sir. It will be a pleasure to have you with us/ Marrowfat assured him.

On that the conference broke up; Sir Pellinore and Gregory leaving the room together.

From Scotland Yard they crossed Whitehall, entered St. James's Park at Birdcage Walk and, turning left, crossed the Horse Guards Parade towards Carlton House Terrace.

The fine spell was over. London had had her week of summer and, although the weather continued warm, grey clouds hung low overhead. The Park looked dry and dusty; the flowers had wilted in the recent heat wave. Most of them were fading and, as the gardeners had not yet had time to clear the beds for fresh, varieties, many of them presented only a tangle of overgrown greenery. A spattering of idlers lay sprawled upon the tired parched grass and here and there a handful of children played within sight of their knitting nursemaids. The atmosphere was heavy and depressing.

Gregory and Sir Pellinore did not exchange a word as they walked on side by side until they reached Waterloo steps and were ascending them towards the terrace.

'You'll lunch with me?' asked Sir Pellinore. 'That will pass a little of the time while we're waiting.'

'Thanks, I'd like to. D'you think they'll raid Quex Park, tonight?'

'I haven't a doubt of it. Marrowfat is not a fool and Gavin Fortescue must realise by now that the tide is running swiftly against him. He's probably making his preparations for departure at this moment. If the police don't rope him in tonight they will have lost an opportunity which may not recur for months to come.'

'In that case I may not be with you.'

Sir Pellinore grunted. 'I had an idea that might be so. You're a clever feller, Gregory, and I doubt if they spotted anything at the Yard but I know you so well. You're worried about that young Hungarian baggage, aren't you?'

'I am,' Gregory agreed. 'Damnably worried. If they pull her in with the rest of the gang she'll be sent to prison.3

'Her sentence will be considerably reduced on account of the fact that she enabled us to come to your assistance the other night.'

Gregory shrugged impatiently. 'That's no consolation. It might be for a down and out who's been used to sleeping in dosshouses and queuing up for charity grub. But think of a girl like Sabine in prison. Every month she gets will be like a year in hell. Have you ever visited a women's prison? I have. The smell of the place alone is enough to make you sick. Sour, sterile; cabbage soup, disinfectant, soapsuds all mixed up. Think of the irritation to her skin from the coarse garments they'll make her wear; how her stomach will heave when she has to swallow the skilly to keep herself alive, and her hands with broken nails, red and raw from the wash tubs and floor scrubbing. Think of the ghastly creatures she'll have to mix with too. It's well known that women criminals are ten times as vicious as male crooks. They'll torture her every moment of the day from sheer loathing of anyone better than themselves…'

'I know, I know,' Sir Pellinore broke in. 'I would do anything in my power to save her from that if I could; but even my influence is not sufficient to secure a free pardon for her unless she is prepared to turn King's Evidence.'

They did not speak again until they had entered the house and were seated in the big library overlooking the Mall; then Sir Pellinore rang the bell.

'Tell Garwood to send up a magnum of Roederer '20,' he said to the footman who answered his ring, then he turned back to Gregory.

'Nothing like champagne; only possible drink when you've been working overtime and are worried into the bargain. Gives you just the right fillip to carry on without doping you a hair's breadth. The twenties are getting on in age now, of course, but they're still grand wines if they've been well kept and, in my opinion, the Roederer was the best of 'em.'

Gregory nodded. 'It's been well kept all right if you've had it in your cellar for the last ten years.'

'Yes. Nothing like leaving good wine to rest quietly in the same temperature till you want to drink it. I always buy 'em when they first come out and forget 'em till they're drinkable.'

Garwood arrived, portly, priest like: preceding the footman who carried the double bottle in a bucket of ice and two large silver tankards on a big tray.

'Shall I open it, sir?' the butler asked. 'It hasn't had long on the ice but coming from the cellar it will be at quite a drinkable temperature.'

'Go ahead,' said Sir Pellinore, and the two tankards were filled till the bursting bubbles topped their brims.

'Good thought of yours to order a magnum,' Gregory remarked. 'Wine always keeps so much better in magnums than in bottles and in bottles than in pints. The only trouble with a magnum is, it's too much for one and not enough for two.'

Sir Pellinore brushed up his fine white moustache and smiled. 'Plenty more where it came from. We'll knock off another with our lunch if you feel like it.'

The servants had left the room; yet both men displayed curious reluctance to speak again of the topic which was really occupying their minds.

Gregory drank deep and sighed. 'How much better this stuff drinks out of a tankard,' he said slowly. 'The same thing in a footling little glass wouldn't be half as good.'

'You never said a truer word my boy. Think how horrid tea would taste in a port wine glass, or burgundy in anything except a big round goblet, just half full, so that one can get the aroma. Brandy too although, curiously enough, all the other liqueurs lose their flavour in big glasses and are better in thimbles provided one has the thimbles refilled often enough but champagne's a tankard wine, not a doubt of it.'

They fell silent again until Sir Pellinore said, at last, with a swift look at his guest:

'Well, what're you going to do?'

'Go down and get her out before they raid the place tonight.'

'Risky isn't it? Hundred to one they're watching you.

Some flatfoot in a bowler probably kicking his heels outside this house even now.'

'I know, that's the big difficulty. I can get rid of him all right. I've played tip and run before. Any tube station or big store with several entrances will provide the means for me to throw him off my track; but the devil of it is that these blokes know me. Another of them will pick me up on the station if I go by train or one of his pals will spot me if I motor down. I dare not move till after dark and we have no idea what time that clever old elephant Marrowfat will get to work.'

'You're taking a pretty nasty risk you know,' said Sir Pellinore quietly. 'Obstructing the police in the execution of their duty, aiding a known criminal to escape from the country, and all that sort of thing. You'll be a sitting pheasant for three months in prison yourself if you're not darned careful.'

'I know it. But what the hell! I've got to get her out of it somehow, haven't I?'

'Of course. I should feel just the same, but you've got your work cut out and I'll be devilled if I see how you're going to do it. Got any sort of plan?'

'No. I'm absolutely in the air at the moment and I'm not liking the situation one little bit. I'll tell you just how I stand.'

Gregory refilled his tankard, sat forward in the deep armchair, and told Sir Pellinore how things were between himself and Sabine; ending up with an account of her visit to his flat on the previous night.

When he had done Sir Pellinore looked unusually grave. 'From what you tell me the situation is worse than I imagined. You don't even know if the wench is willing to quit, so maybe you'll have to get her out of Gavin Fortescue's clutches against her will, as well as clear of the police.'

'I'll manage somehow,' said Gregory doggedly.

'You won't act too early and make the police campaign abortive, will you. It's frightfully important they should smash up Gavin Fortescue's organisation. Without any flag wagging it means a hell of a lot to the country that they should.'

'Don't I know it,' Gregory agreed. 'If it weren't for that

I shouldn't be here but snooping round the Park at Birchington by this time.'

Garwood appeared to announce that lunch was served.

Sir Pellinore stood up. 'AH right. I know I can leave the whole question of your private interests to your discretion/

Over luncheon they talked of indifferent things but neither had any real interest in the conversation and long periods of silence intervened between each topic that was broached. The air was electric with their unspoken thoughts.

It was after lunch, when they were well into the second magnum, Sir Pellinore having decreed that no liqueurs should be served, that a call from Wells came through.

Milly had been on the telephone to him from a call box in Birchington. She reported that Sabine and Lord Gavin Fortescue had had high and bitter words that morning after breakfast; 'a proper scene' was the way she phrased it, and Mrs. Bird, who had butted in on their quarrel inadvertently, described his little lordship as having been 'positively white with rage'. Half an hour later Sabine had been taken up to her room and locked in. She was virtually a prisoner there but Mrs. Bird had been allowed to take her lunch up on a tray and reported her to be pale and silent.

Milly's real reason for ringing up, however, was that she had overheard a scrap of conversation which she thought might prove useful. She had been passing an open window of the downstairs room in which Lord Gavin and the Limper had been sitting after lunch. She had heard Lord Gavin say: 'Tonight at Eastchurch Marshes I wish you to…' That was all, and she had not dared to linger, but had slipped out of the Park to telephone Wells from the village right away.

In the library Sir Pellinore got out a big atlas, and soon discovered Eastchurch Marshes on the south coast of the Isle of Sheppey. The river Swale separated Sheppey from the mainland of the North Kent coast and a tributary of it marked Windmill Creek, just below Eastchurch Marshes, ran up into the island.

'That's it,' said Sir Pellinore, placing a well manicured, square nailed finger on the spot. 'You'll see that apart’ from sandbanks, the Swale and Windmill Creek still carry five fathoms of water, even at low tide. That's the place they mean to make their landing and Wells said just now that the police will concentrate there after dark tonight.'

Gregory heaved a sigh of relief. 'Thank God they'll be busy then and that the place is well over twenty miles from Quex Park, apart from being on the far side of the Swale. While they're on the job of rounding up the gang I'll have a free hand at the Park to get Sabine out of it before they come on there.'

'They'll probably surround the Park as well,' suggested Sir Pellinore.

'Perhaps, but it's a big place and well wooded. Marrowfat said himself this morning he wouldn't attempt to pull Gavin in until he mopped up the rest of the bunch. That should give me a chance to get clear of the house before they raid it.'

Sir Pellinore nodded. 'I told Wells you were here and he asked me to pass it on to you that the Flying Squad are leaving London for Queenborough at seven o'clock. Do you intend to come with us?'

Gregory shook his head. 'No. I've got a perfectly good excuse in the gruelling I received yesterday. I'd be grateful if you'd tell them I'm absolutely played out; so done up that I can't appear in the last act after all. If you'll give them that message, when you turn up at the Yard a little before seven, I can throw off any shadows they put on to my trail well before that and be down in Kent again. I think I'll leave now to get busy with my preparations.'

'All right, my boy.' Sir Pellinore laid a kindly hand on Gregory's shoulder. 'Please remember me kindly to your very lovely lady. It would break my old heart too, I think, to see such a gracious child sent to prison; and she will be unless you can prevent it. If I can do anything to help you know I will'

His eyes were troubled as he watched Gregory go, a lean bent figure, from the front door to which he had escorted him a few moments later.

Sir Pellinore had been right in his guess that the police were covering Gregory. He spotted two big men chatting together on the corner as he turned down past the Carlton Club into Pall Mall. Their boots were not unduly large and they both wore soft felts instead of bowler hats, but Gregory was quite certain that they were plainclothes men. He did not bother to throw them off his trail since he assumed, with good reason, that another couple would be watching his rooms as well. Instead, he walked as far as the Piccadilly tube quite openly and when he reached his flat he was not at all surprised to see that the shorter of the two men was only a hundred yards behind him.

He had planned to repack his bags, collect his car and set off at about six o'clock, twisting through the streets of South East London to throw any following police cars off his track; then to drive by a circuitous route through Tonbridge, Cranbrook, Ashford, and so by byroads, northwest to his destination. But Rudd was waiting for him in his sitting room, hard at work polishing a brass ashtray cut from a 5.9 shell case: a souvenir of the old days of the war. He immediately produced a note which he said he had found half an hour before on the hall mat. It was unsigned, but Gregory realised at once that it had come from Gavin Fortescue, for it read:

Dear Mr. Sallust,

It seems that in spite of the almost foolproof precautions which I took to prevent your interfering any more in my affairs you are still active and impertinently curious.

This is to inform you that Sabine is once more in my care and to warn you, very seriously, that if you presume to lift one finger to interfere further in my business the matter will be reported to me by my people who have you under observation.

.If you value Sabine's happiness, as I have reason to suppose you do, and by happiness please understand that I refer to her capacity for ever enjoying anything in this world again, you will not only refrain from troubling me further yourself; you will also use your best endeavours to persuade your friends at Scotland Yard that, for any reason which you care to invent, it would be wiser for them to defer any visit which they may contemplate paying to myself, or my various bases, for the next few days.

If you fail in this, you may be quite sure that you will never see Sabine alive again.

21

The Trap is Sprung

When Sir Pellinore Gwaine-Cust arrived in Superintendent Marrowfat's room at Scotland Yard that evening at seven o'clock he was naturally a little taken aback to find Gregory there. He hid his surprise under an affable greeting to the Superintendent, Wells, and some other men who were present; assuming, quite rightly, that some new occurrence had caused Gregory to alter his plans completely.

Gregory sat silent in front of the Superintendent's desk puffing a little more rapidly than usual at a cigarette. Lord Gavin's letter had shaken him worse than any other incident that had occurred in his decidedly exciting career.

For an hour he had wrestled with himself once more; turning over in his mind again and again all the possibilities which might develop from the alternative sequence of actions he might take. Sabine was now a prisoner and he had not the faintest doubt that the soulless, deformed, little monstrosity, round whom the whole conspiracy centred, meant to 'kill her out of hand if he had the least suspicion that his warning had been disregarded.

In the face of that all Gregory's courage had temporarily ebbed away and, single-handed as he was, he had felt that he simply dare not risk raiding Quex Park. Lord Gavin would almost certainly be protected by his gunmen; Sabine was a prisoner in an upstairs room and in addition the situation was horribly complicated by the presence, outside the Park, of members of the police force who would have been told off to watch for him.

Later, he had. been sorely tempted to throw discretion to the winds, go in bald-headed, and chance what might happen; but in his saner moments he realised that the odds were so terribly against him that it would be sheer madness to do so. If Sabine were taken by the police it meant that she would receive a prison sentence; but by making a premature move he would place her life itself in jeopardy.

Cursing the necessity of deferring personal action, he had decided that his only hope now lay in leading the police to suppose that he was completely loyal to them. Lord Gavin could know nothing of the projected raid on Eastchurch Marshes; by participating in it Gregory saw that he would at least learn of all new developments at first hand. Such information might prove invaluable and he just trust to his judgment, once the raid was made, as to the best moment to slip away from the police and act independently. He had brought Rudd with him to Scotland Yard knowing he could rely upon that loyalist's cooperation in any circumstances; now he sat listening intently, but saying nothing, as the big Superintendent outlined his plans.

Marrowfat's oration was brief. With a map spread before him he pointed with a stubby finger to various places on it. The Kent constabulary were cooperating with them; special levies drawn from Rochester, Chatham, Sittingbourne and Maidstone would take up their positions on Sheppey Island directly dusk had fallen. The Thames River Police had also been called in. With launches manned to capacity they would slip down the north coast of the island after dark, rendezvousing near the Ham Fishery buoy in the deeper water a couple of miles or more to the north of Shell Ness. Sound detectors would be on board some of the launches and they would lie in wait there until the motor barges of the smugglers passed south of them up the channel of the East Swale; upon which they would move in and close the mouth of the river. The Superintendent's own party, consisting of some Special Branch men, Sir Pellinore, Gregory and Wells would leave by car immediately and, crossing the West Swale to Sheppey, rendezvous at Queenborough. Small arms and ammunition were then to be served out.

A quarter of an hour after Sir Pellinore's arrival at the Yard the little crowd of muscular big chinned men shouldered their way out along the passageway from the Superintendent's room, down the stairs, and into the waiting line of swift supercharged cars.

Gregory had brought his own car for his own perfectly good reasons. He got into the back with Sir Pellinore; leaving Rudd to drive it and a plain clothes man beside him to decide on the route they were to take.

As they ran out of the courtyard behind the others Gregory found his thoughts distracted from Sabine for a moment by admiration for the police organisation. There was no fuss or bother; no disturbance of the traffic. The fleet of cars did not form a procession, but separated immediately, all taking different prearranged routes down into the City and through Southwark, on the south side of the Thames, to the scene of their midnight activities.

They were at Queenborough before half past eight and, having already had his instructions, the plainclothes man beside Rudd conducted them to the police station which served the docks. Wells and Marrowfat had just driven up but there was no sign of the squad of Special Branch men who had left the Yard with them.

Sir Pellinore and Gregory got out and followed the Superintendent into the station. In the private office there he introduced them to the Chief Constable of Kent and a number of local officers from Chatham, Rochester and Maidstone. Standing in front of a large scale map, which hung upon the wall of the plainly furnished room, the police chiefs spent half an hour discussing the positions which were soon to be taken up by their various bodies of men on both banks of Windmill Creek and along the southern coast of the Isle of Sheppey.

A local Inspector who had reconnoitred Eastchurch Marshes that afternoon gave them a brief description of the terrain where the landing was expected.

'We shall proceed to Eastchurch village,' he said, 'and leave our cars there; parked out of sight in garages for which I've already arranged. We shall then go on foot down the byway leading south from the village. It's about a two-mile walk through low-lying unwooded country. There's a little cultivated land here and there; but it's mostly marsh which is waterlogged in winter. However, fortunately for us, it's dry enough to walk on without any danger of being bogged this time of the year.

'You'll see from the map the track I'm speaking of doesn't run right down to the water so, at the bend, just at point 13 which marks a slight rise in the ground, we shall turn right and cross the fields for about five hundred yards until we strike that second track which actually leads to the creek. That's probably the road they'll use. That, or the third track half a mile to the right again, which ends at the creek where it's marked "Hook Quay".

'The only buildings between the second and third tracks are a collection of empty tumbledown sheds near Hook Quay and a new cottage on the river bank about two hundred yards south of it which was only built a few months ago. The cottage is inhabited but, as the people who live there may be in with the crowd we're after, I didn't like to risk rousing their suspicions by going near the place when I was having a look round this afternoon.'

The whole party then left the station and, piling into four cars, drove off along the good road to the north of the island until they came to the little village of Eastchurch.

Having garaged the cars they began their walk, crossing the railway line at Eastchurch Station half a mile south of the village, and proceeding after that into the gathering dusk which had now descended upon the lonely stretch of country before them.

They left the lane at point 13 and struck across the low-lying ground with its coarse tufts of high marsh grass, found the road to the east and turned south along it, until they arrived on the banks of the creek; a sluggish stream set between sloping muddy levels.

The opposite bank was about a hundred and fifty yards away and, although scores of police were now lurking in the neighbourhood, not a soul was visible in the failing light. The only life apparent in that desolate waste was an oyster catcher pecking in the mud and a few screaming seagulls which wheeled overhead.

The Chief Constable's party turned inland along the bank towards Hook Quay, making a detour to avoid passing within sight of the new brick cottage which the local inspector had described, and arriving just before ten o'clock at the cluster of empty sheds.

It was dark now and producing their torches, once they were inside the ramshackle buildings, the police made a thorough investigation of them.

They were quite empty but showed signs of recent use. Their windows had been boarded over so that no lights could show and gaps in the wooden walls had been pasted over with brown paper. The earthen floors showed marks where heavy cases had been thrown down upon them and in two of the larger sheds cartwheel tracks were visible.

'It looks as if they work things differently here and store the stuff instead of getting it away immediately,' Wells remarked. 'Although, of course, a fleet of lorries may come rumbling down the lane outside to meet them when they turn up.'

'1 doubt it,' replied the Superintendent. 'A dozen lorries rumbling along the Ashford road or anywhere behind all those coast towns in Thanet wouldn't call for special comment. But here in Sheppey it's different. The roads don't lead anywhere so convoys passing in the middle of the night, even once or twice a month, would be certain to arouse some inquisitive person's suspicions. They wouldn't dare risk that. In my opinion they store the stuff here and local farm carts come along later to collect it. The carts probably deliver the goods to some other depot on the west end of the island, south of Queenborough, where it would be easy to transfer them to the railway with so much goods traffic passing from the docks there up to London.'

Gregory drew Rudd outside and into a smaller shed near by where they were quite alone together. Kneeling down on the floor he spread out his map and shone his torch upon it.

'See where we are now Hook Quay?' he said in a low voice.

'Yes sir,' muttered Rudd.

'Right. Think you can find your way back to the village?'

'Easy. Straight up the track that leads from here. 'Crorst the railway at the level crossin'. Turn right along that second-class road south of the one we come to Eastchurch by for half a mile and there we are. Simple as kiss me 'and.'

'Good lad.' Gregory patted his arm affectionately. 'Now I want you to fade out when no one's looking. Go back to Eastchurch, collect the car, and drive it to the farm marked "Old Hook" on the map. That's just halfway up the track between these sheds and the railway. I daren't let you bring it nearer in case the people here catch the sound of the engine, send a man to investigate, and finding it's my car tumble to what I'm up to. When you reach Old Hook turn the car round and park it at the roadside, facing north, ready for an instant getaway. If one of the local coppers who're playing hide and seek all over the countryside tonight ask what you're up to just say you're acting on Superintendent Marrowfat's orders. We must risk their disbelieving you and coming over to report. When you're through, leave the car and join me here again to let me know everything's all right. That clear?'

'You bet it is. I'll be back under the hour sir.'

Rudd slipped out of the hut and vanished in the darkness. Gregory folded up his map and rejoined the others. Just outside the largest shed Wells was standing; peering down at the small wharf which jutted out from the bank into the sluggish stream.

'What about having a quiet look at that cottage the local man mentioned,' Gregory suggested, coming up behind him.

Wells nodded. 'Righto. It's very unlikely anything will happen for an hour or more, so we've plenty of time.'

The two left the shed together and made their way cautiously along the bank of the creek. Six hundred yards from the shacks they came round a sharp bend and saw a light directly ahead a little way in front of them.

'That'll be it,' muttered Gregory. 'I'll bet the earth whoever lives there is in this thing.'

Picking their way carefully they approached nearer to the small two storied house. It had no garden, only a back yard filled with rubble that the builders had left, and no road or lane led to it. The light came from a downstairs window; covered by a thin cretonne curtain.

'I'd lay any money that Gavin built this place,' Gregory went on, 'and I'm pretty sure I can tell you why he picked this site, well away from either of the lanes, too.'

'All right, let's hear your theory,' Wells whispered.

'The sheds at Hook Quay are round the bend of the creek so no light shown there could be seen for more than five hundred yards down stream. That's probably why Gavin chose it as the actual landing place, but it has one drawback, they can't signal from it. Now this place is right on the bend of the river. A light in the upstairs room of the house, on its far side, could be seen for five miles at least, right down at the entrance of the Swale. That's how they signal to the incoming fleet of luggers that the coast is clear, or if there are any suspicious looking people about, and the smuggler boats had best hang off for a bit.'

'That's sound enough. I see they're on the telephone too,' Wells remarked, jerking his head towards a stout pole only a yard away from them. 'That in itself is suspicious; seeing it's only a jerry-built place miles from anywhere. It must have cost them quite a bit to get a line brought down from Eastthurch Station; far more than ordinary people who lived in a little place like this could afford.'

They were crouching behind a pile of debris, left by the builders, about thirty yards from the cottage. 'I wish we could get near enough to look in at that window/ Gregory said thoughtfully; but Wells shook his head.

'Too risky. If they spotted us they'd be on the telephone to warn their pals the game was up before we could get inside. Now we've seen all there is to see I think we'd best get back to the others.'

In one of the sheds Sir Pellinore, the Chief Constable, Marrowfat and the rest, were gathered, seated on the dry earth floor busily engaged in eating a picnic supper. Producing their own packets of sandwiches Gregory and Wells joined them.

When they had finished Sir Pellinore, who had refused offers of various drinks, produced a large medicine bottle from his pocket, removed the cork, and took a long pull at it.

'Not allowed to drink with my meals,' he lied cheerfully, winking at Gregory, 'gives me such awful indigestion. That's why I have to take this medicine.'

Gregory kept a perfectly straight face as he listened to this barefaced lie. He had often seen that interesting medicine bottle before. Whenever Sir Pellinore was compelled to accept an invitation for dinner at a house where he distrusted his host's choice of wines the medicine bottle always travelled with him. He left it outside in the hall and sent for it after dinner; having first pronounced his glib tarradiddle about suffering from indigestion. The medicine it contained was in actual fact an ample ration of his own impeccable Napoleon Brandy.

At eleven o'clock they switched off the shuttered electric lamps they had brought with them. The Chief Constable and his party remained seated in the darkness of the shack, except Marrowfat, who went out to check the final dispositions of the Special Squad men he had brought with him from the Yard. One of these sat in the doorway with a boxlike apparatus before him and a pair of telephone receivers clamped over his ears. It was a small portable wireless set.

Soon after Marrowfat had left them Gregory got up and strolled outside. He waited for a little on the edge of the wharf keeping a watchful eye upon the end of the track to landward. He was desperately impatient now for something to happen, so that he could submerge his gnawing anxiety for Sabine in the necessity for action, but he scarcely moved a muscle when a familiar figure sidled up to him out of the darkness.

'All present and correct sir,' came Rudd's husky mutter.

'Fine. Keep close by me from now on and be ready to bolt for the car the second I do.' Gregory turned and walked slowly back to the shed with Rudd beside him.

As reports came through that the various forces on the north Kent coast and in the island of Sheppey had taken up their positions, the man at the wireless spoke in a low voice to a stenographer who sat beside him, his pad held under a boxed in light. Before eleven most of the land contingents had already reached their stations and the river police now reported themselves ready at their rendezvous by the Ham Fishery Buoy.,

After that they spoke little. To Gregory the period of waiting seemed interminable. He tried to keep his mind clear and alert, but he could not free it from the thought of Sabine, and fruitless speculations as to where she was, and what might happen to her in the next few hours.

At length a message came through from the river police. Their sound detectors had picked up the motor engines of a numerous convoy moving in the direction of Clite Hole Bank northeast of Herne Bay. A little later another report gave the convoy as directly south of them, off Pollard Spit at the mouth of the East Swale, and the river police stated that they were now moving in.

At a quarter to twelve the little group who waited in the darkness of the shack estimated that the smugglers must be entering Windmill Creek itself; then a message came through from the river police that they had closed the mouth of the Swale and were running up it.

Five minutes later a report came by wireless from another police post, a mile away at the entrance of the creek, that a fleet of six motor barges were proceeding past them at that moment without lights. The Superintendent's party stirred into activity.

'They may land here,' Gregory said in a low voice to Wells, 'but the centre of the trouble's going to be at that cottage. Let's get down there.'

'We've got it covered by a dozen men,' Wells answered, 'but I think you're right and I'd like to be in at the finish.'

They put out their cigarettes and hurried along the bank. The light in the window of the cottage had disappeared, but they turned inland, skirting it at some distance and on reaching its farther side, saw that Gregory's surmise was proved correct. The upper window made an oblong of bright light; naked and uncurtained. The only thing that marred its symmetry was the outline of a black cat seated, apparently, upon the sill inside.

For a few moments Gregory watched the cat. It remained absolutely motionless and, as he was standing only about twenty yards from the window, he suddenly realised that it was not a cat at all; but a black silhouette in the form of a cat, either painted or stuck on the lower section of the window. It was a sign which would arouse no suspicion in a casual passer-by but, with good glasses, it could probably be seen miles away down the river as a black outline against the rectangle of light. Obviously it was the signal to the smuggler fleet that all was well.

As he crouched there peering at it the soft chug chug chug of motor engines came to him out of the darkness from the river. He crouched lower, pulling Wells down beside him, so that their forms should not be visible against the skyline. Rudd, just behind them, was already on his knees.

Six large motor barges chugged swiftly by and rounded the corner of the stream.

'Will Marrowfat pounce on them the moment they land?' Gregory whispered.

'No,' Wells whispered back. 'He'll give them a chance to unload some of their cargo and wait until the river police close in behind them.'

The noise of the motors grew less; then ceased. Silence settled 4gain over the low, apparently deserted, stretch of country. It was broken only at intervals by the faint sound of men's voices, drifting on the night air, as the first barge was moored against Hook Quay and the others came up alongside it.

Wells and Gregory waited with what patience they could muster. The Inspector knew that one of his men was squatting ten yards away to their right, another down on the river bank to their left, and that a dozen more were hidden in the marsh grass close at hand all round. Touching Gregory on the elbow he began to make his way stealthily towards the creek where he took up a fresh position from which he could see the front door of the cottage.

They had hardly reached their new post when two men came along the little used footway leading to the group of shacks. From the lower ground Gregory could see them in the faint dusky light sufficiently to recognise the taller of the two, who dragged his leg a little, as the Limper.

A new sound came from down the creek, the rapid throb of other, more powerful, motor boat engines. The Limper caught it at the same second as Gregory, and paused, silhouetted for a moment in the lighted doorway of the cottage, listening intently.

Suddenly the shrill blast of a whistle pierced the muted roar of the engines. Marrowfat, lying in wait behind the shacks, had heard the approaching police boats, as well, and sent his men into action.

22

Desperate Methods at Windmill Creek

The Limper dived into the cottage. The Superintendent's piping blast was still shrilling through the night when Wells's whistle took up the note, and springing to his feet, he leapt up the bank.

Instantly a dozen forms, hidden before, came into view; racing across the coarse grass and broken rubble towards the cottage. The Inspector reached the door first; his men were close behind him. Gregory had charged in at a different angle, making for one of the downstairs windows. The glass shattered and fell as he bashed at it with the butt end of his borrowed police pistol.

The door was bolted; the police were throwing their shoulders against it to break it down. Gregory and Rudd had stripped the lower window frame of its jagged glass, parted the curtain, and were peering into the room.

The Limper, two other men, and a thin pinch faced grey-haired woman, were inside. The Limper was bawling down the telephone.

'Drop that!' yelled Gregory, pushing his head and shoulders through the shattered window. 'Drop that or I'll drop you!' He thrust his pistol forward aiming for the Limper's body.

The crook spun round, still clutching the instrument, and stared at Gregory; but the police had broken in the door and were crashing into the room.

The scuffle was short. By the time Gregory had left the window and walked in through the door the Limper and his companions had been overpowered.

When a brief silence fell again they could hear shots and shouting coming from the direction of Hook Quay Marrowfat and the rest were already on the barges. The police were there now in such overwhelming numbers that the smugglers had no possible chance of escape.

Immediately order was restored inside the cottage Wells said abruptly to his men: 'Take these other two and the woman into the next room.' Then he faced the Limper.

'Now then, we've got you. You'd best come clean. Where were you telephoning to just now?'

The Limper's sullen face displayed only anger and contempt.

'You go to hell,' he snarled. 'You've got me, and I know it, but you won't get the Chief.' He turned his sneering eyes on Gregory.

'As for you! you've asked for all that's coming to you. That is if you care about the girl. It's she who's double-crossed us: given away somehow the place where we meant to do this job tonight. But, blast your soul, I had time to phone;" so she'll be for the high jump. I'll go to prison but you can go and buy a wreath for her.'

Gregory's brown face had gone a shade paler. He did not reply. Instead, he snatched up the telephone and, a moment later, got the operator.

'This is police business,' he said, 'urgent! The last call that was made from here only a couple of minutes ago what was it?'

There was a short pause then he turned to Wells.

'Thank God! There's an intelligent man on the end of this line. This brute called the Quex Park number and said: "21. 35. 19". He repeated it twice before we got him.'

In a second Wells had out his notebook. '21, "Full fathoms five thy father lies” that’s here, 35, "Shake off slumber and beware"19, "The watchdogs bark: “two lines of warning; that's evidently their code signal for an extreme emergency.'

Gregory dug his nails into his palms. The warning had been given. Quex Park was over twenty miles away as the crow flies. If Gavin Fortescue believed, as the Limper obviously did, that Sabine had given the information about the night landing which had enabled the police to lay their trap her last hope of any clemency from him would be gone. ] might be giving orders now for her murder before he away safely to France.

Little beads of sweat stood out on Gregory's forehead as he realised what a colossal blunder he had made. He should have gone straight to the Park and chanced everything instead of coming here with the police in the hope of obtaining knowledge which would improve his situation later. By waiting for the police launches to come up Marrowfat had unwittingly bungled the affair, and allowed the Limper time to telephone, wrecking all Gregory's hopes of a successful raid on Quex Park.

While he stood there, sick with anger and apprehension, one of Wells's men had been running over the Limper and emptying the contents of his pockets on to a kitchen dresser. Among them was a buff form.

Wells snatched it up. It was a telegram, despatched from Birchington that afternoon to Creed, Poste Restante, Rochester. He read out the numbers on it: '44. 32. 27'.

The Inspector glanced swiftly down the lines in his notebook and said: '44, "On the bats wing I do fly"32, "Open-eyed conspiracy"27, "Seanymphs hourly ring his knell".'1

Gregory stepped forward. 'That means the fleet of planes are out again as well as the barges and "openeyed conspiracy "good God! Gavin guessed the game was up this afternoon so he's risking everything on a last throw to land his bunch of communist agitators tonight.'

'That's it,' exclaimed Wells, 'but where? "Seanymphs hourly ring his knell" gives the place all right but it's one we haven't had yet.'

A new light of hope lit Gregory's eyes. If the planes were coming in at that moment with the most important cargo of all it was almost certain that Gavin Fortescue would be there to meet them. He would have left Sabine at Quex Park, so although a warning had been sent there it could only be telephoned on to him, and he might be many miles away on some desolate stretch of coastline to the south or east. Perhaps, when the warning reached him, he would leave the country at once with the returning planes without risking a return to the Park to deal with Sabine. On the other hand he might have taken Sabine with him; in which case her situation would be every bit as desperate as it had been before. In a sudden spate of words he voiced his thoughts to Wells.

The Limper laughed. 'That's right. You're clever enough and a hell of a lot of good may it do you. The Chief'll get out all right while you're batting your head about seanymphs. And you bet he's got Sabine with him.'

Rudd, who was lurking now in a corner of the room, said quickly: 'Seanymphs. That sounds like mermaids ter me. I reckon the old man's at some bit of a pub called the Mermaid, or the Mermaid Tavern, or the Mermaid Arms. Must be a local of that name somewhere round abart this coast.'

'Good for you,' nodded Gerry Wells. 'Run along to the shacks will you. Tell the Superintendent we've got our man and ask him if he can come along with the local inspectors if he's mopped up the crowd on the barges.'

Rudd departed at the double.

The Superintendent had already dealt with the main body of the smugglers. Rudd met him with Sir Pellinore and the Chief Constable already on his way to the cottage; so that no more than three minutes elapsed before they all crowded into the little room.

In a few brief sentences Wells told his superior of the call they had traced, the telegram, and its interpretation. Marrowfat spread out his map upon the bare deal table, but he shook his head angrily.

'Mermaid Tavern! Mermaid Arms! must be dozens of pubs with names like that scattered round the Cinque Ports and the North Kent coast.'

'That's right,' sneered the Limper. 'I'll bet you fifty quid you don't pick on the right one.'

The Chief Constable consulted with his principal officers from various districts who had pushed their way in behind him. Marrowfat proved right: each of them added to the list by some little house or teagarden hotel called the 'Mermaid', in towns and villages as far apart as Hythe, Broadstairs and Whitstable.

Marrowfat and his colleagues acted with amazing promptitude. In less than five minutes the Yard Squad had been disbanded and told off to accompany local officers to twenty different places on the Kent Coast; where a 'Mermaid' tavern might prove the key to Lord Gavin's secret rendezvous.

Wells was left in charge of the Limper while the Superintendent's party hurried off to Canterbury; which he had selected as the most central place for their new headquarters.

Five minutes after their arrival the little kitchen living room of the cottage was empty again, except for Gregory, Rudd, Wells, the Limper and the two officers who held him.

Gregory stood there staring at the floor. He was faced once more with an appalling choice of courses and if he selected the wrong one Sabine's life would prove the forfeit.

With the whole of the Kent constabulary in a ferment of activity there was little doubt that they would discover the new base within the next half hour. A fleet of aeroplanes might land at a quiet spot unobserved upon a normal night but they could not do so with hundreds of police out on the watch for them all over the county. Should he wait until news came in, over the humming telephone wires, which 'Mermaid' Tavern or hotel was the focus for the aeroplane landing; or should he make direct for Quex Park on the assumption that the Limper was lying and Lord Gavin had left Sabine there.

The more he thought of it the more certain it seemed that if Gavin Fortescue had made his last throw that night he would surely have already arranged to leave the country by one of the returning aeroplanes himself; therefore he would have taken Sabine to the 'Mermaid', wherever that might be, with him.

How long would the police take to find it? Half an hour, an hour perhaps. By that time it might be too late, or they were lucky enough to arrive before Sabine was murdered and Lord Gavin gone, she would be arrested with the others. Gregory saw clearly now that, somehow, he must find out where the 'Mermaid' was and not only get there, but get there before the police.

He glanced at Wells. 'Can you spare me a moment outside?'

The Inspector nodded and followed him from the cottage into the dark, now silent, night.

'Listen,' said Gregory. 'I want you to do something for me.'

'What?' asked Wells cautiously.

'I want you to call your chaps out here and remain with them while I have a word alone with the Limper.'

'Why?'

'Never mind why. Rudd can remain there with me. The Limper won't get away from both of us and you'll be outside with your men to pinch him again if he did manage to knock the two of us out.'

Wells shook his head. 'Sorry, I can't do that. He's under arrest.'

'You can and you're darned well going to,' Gregory said with a friendly grin. 'You'll be a made man when this case is over, and, in a few years' time, the youngest Superintendent in the force. You've done a lot to deserve that yourself but you owe it even more to the help I've given you. You remember too the night I jumped out of your aeroplane; risking my neck with that blasted parachute. You promised then you'd give me a break later if I needed it and a few minutes' conversation with the Limper isn't much to ask.'

'You win,' smiled Wells. 'I'll call the boys out and post them by the windows. In you go.'

A moment later Gregory was facing the Limper across the kitchen table. Rudd stood, a silent spectator, in the comer.

'Now,' said Gregory grimly, 'you're going to tell me the place indicated by that phrase "seanymphs hourly ring his knell". I've got no time to waste so be quick about it.'

"The hell I am!' the Limper sneered.

Gregory pulled the table to one side. 'Rudd, you'll stay where you are,' he said quietly, 'and see fair play.' Next second his left fist shot out and caught the Limper in the stomach.

The Limper had already raised his arms to guard his face. He doubled up under the unexpected blow. Gregory's right fist jerked like a piston and catching him on the ear sent him sprawling to the floor.

'Now, are you going to talk?' rasped Gregory, standing over him.

For a moment the Limper lay gasping for breath upon the ground. Suddenly he dived for Gregory's legs, clutched him below the knees, and sent him hurtling backwards. But Gregory kicked out as he fell. The Limper lost his hold and the two men rolled in different directions.

Both staggered to their feet and stood panting angrily as they faced each other. The Limper was much the bigger of the two, but Gregory was far more agile. He feinted, then hit out again, and his fist crunched on the Limper's nose.

The Limper staggered as water gushed up into his eyes, blinding him momentarily; but he shook his head and charged in like a bull, raining a hail of blows upon his smaller opponent.

Gregory grabbed at the edge of the table and fell. The Limper came down on top of him and kneed him in the stomach.

For a second Gregory squirmed under him, white with agony, then he buried both his thumbs in the flesh of the Limper's neck, gave his head a sudden violent twist and rolled from under him.

Clear of each other, they stumbled up again, bleeding and breathless. The Limper charged but, quick as a cat, Gregory leapt to one side and dealt him a terrific blow on the side of the chin as his head shot forward.

The floor shook under the weight of the Limper's body as he fell sideways on it. He muttered something then lay there, face downwards, on the boards.

'Now will you talk,' gasped Gregory. 'If you don't, I'll beat you till you're dead. I've got to know and the life of such scum as you isn't going to stop me.'

The Limper pulled himself up on to his hands and knees. 'You devil,' he croaked, 'I won't. You can do your damnedest.'

'You will. I'm going to make you.' As the Limper came rocking to his feet Gregory caught him another frightful blow full in the mouth, sending him crashing backwards into a corner.

He lay there moaning; blood trickling from his broken nose and the corner of his mouth.

'Talk, damn you,' shouted Gregory, his eyes blazing. 'If you don't I'll murder you.'

Groaning, the Limper feebly shook his head.

Gregory seized him by the collar of his jacket and threw him over on his face. 'All right,' he muttered. 'Rudd, get me that clothes line.'

Rudd jumped to obey. In spite of the Limper's renewed struggles they soon had his wrists tied tightly together behind, his back with one end of the stout cord. Then, between them, they hauled his heavy body across the floor.

'Take the other end of the line and put it over that big hook on the door,' Gregory ordered Rudd. 'This bird is going to squeal if I have to break both his arms to make him do it.'

Rudd ran the cord over the hook, which was about five feet from the floor, keeping the loose end of the line in his hands.

'Right, heave away,' Gregory said tonelessly.

Rudd obeyed with a will. As he drew the line taut the Limper's pinioned wrists were drawn up behind his back until his arms were stretched to their limit and began to bear the weight of his prostrate body.

'Go on, heave I said,' shot out Gregory mercilessly.

As Rudd threw his whole weight on the cord the Limper's shoulders came off the ground with a jerk and his head hung down towards the floor between them. He let out a sudden gasp of agony.

'Are you talking?' asked Gregory, with a sudden quietness.

'Let me down let me down,' moaned the tortured man.

'Not till you talk,' said Gregory pitilessly, 'and I haven't finished yet by half.'

As the Limper remained silent he strode over to the gas stove; picked up a wax taper and lit it.

In two strides he was back beside the hanging man. He pushed the lighted taper a few inches below the Limper's face for a second then withdrew it quickly.

'See that?' he asked. 'You'll tell me the truth about that message or I'll burn your eyes out.'

'Good God, sir, you can't!' exclaimed Rudd, suddenly paling. 'It-it's fiendish.'

Gregory swung on him. 'You fool! My woman's life depends upon my loosening this brute's tongue and I mean to do it.'

Rudd shuddered. 'Sorry, sir. Looked at like that o' course you're right.'

Gregory thrust the taper under the Limper's face again,, nearer this time, but only for an instant.

Suddenly he let out a wail and cried: 'All right, I'll tell you.'

'Go on,' ordered Gregory, holding the taper ready, so that he could push it under the man's face again if he regained his courage; but the Limper was broken now and he sobbed out in gasping breaths: 'You-you got the message wrong it wasn't sea nymphs or mermaids. "Knell's" the key word in the sentence. That means the Bell tower Quex Park. The planes are landing in the Park itself tonight, but-but they'll be gone before you get there blast you!'

'Let him go,' snapped Gregory.

Rudd loosed the straining cord letting the Limper's body fall to the floor with a bang. They pulled it from the doorway and rushed outside. Wells was standing about fifteen yard away from the cottage.

'What've you been up to?' he asked dubiously.

'Never mind. Your man's inside, or what's left of him,' Gregory panted. 'Bell was the word, not Mermaid. I give you that in return for what you've done for me. Think it out.' With Rudd hard at his heels he dashed away into the darkness.

23

Where Sea-Nymphs Hourly Ring His Knell'

Side by side Gregory and Rudd dashed along the half obscured footway to the shacks at Hook Quay. The police were still moving there and taking notes of the contents of the barges. A group of some thirty prisoners, heavily guarded, stood by the wharf ready to be marched away to the main, road where a fleet of police vans would now be waiting. A car was parked at the end of the track which led inland and Gregory recognised it as the long low sports model in which he had previously seen the Limper; evidently it had brought him and his companion, half an hour earlier, to meet the barges.

They hastened past it at a quick jog trot and away from the creek towards Old Hook. Another four minutes and they were in the car Rudd had parked there ready for their getaway; hurtling over the uneven track towards the level crossing and the road.

'We'll never make it, sir,' gasped Rudd when he had partially regained his breath. 'By road, Quex Park's near on forty miles from here. Can't do that much under the hour; even if we take a chance on being pinched by speed cops.'

'God knows if we'll be in time,' Gregory groaned, 'but we'll be in Quex Park under a quarter of an hour bar accidents.'

'Go on, sir, that just ain't possible.'

'It is, you big sap. You don't think I was ass enough to rely upon the car alone do you? Before we left London I telephoned Heston and had a hired pilot fly my plane down here in readiness for us.'

'S'truth! Mr. Gregory, you're a wonder, but where is it?'

'Parked on the racecourse halfway between Queenborough and Sheerness. That's the only decent landing ground I could think of for the hired man to fly it to. We'll be there in less than a couple of minutes.'

They had already crossed, and recrossed, the railway and were roaring down the straight of the second-class road to the south of it. A moment later they swung north on to a better road.'

As Gregory pulled up he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. To his satisfaction, but momentary amazement, he found that it was only ten minutes past twelve. The smugglers had attempted their landing at a quarter to and all the excitement which had ensued, together with their brief journey, had occupied no more than twenty-five minutes.

They flung themselves out of the car at the entrance of the racecourse and dashed in through a gate beside a tall deserted stand. Some bright flares were burning in the open space before it which picked out the silver wings of the waiting plane.

The racecourse keeper and a couple of his men met them near the plane and began quick expostulations but Gregory brushed them aside with the terse explanation: 'Police business. No time to talk.'

A rapid handshake with the hired pilot; then Gregory and Rudd scrambled on board. The engine stuttered and burst into a" roar. Another moment and the plane taxied forward sailing into the air. It banked steeply and swung away east by south, over Sheppey Island, then across the entrance of the

Swale. They picked up the land again near the Reculvers and headed dead for Quex Park.

The twenty miles of air were eaten up in less than seven minutes and, as they zoomed towards the tree surrounded enclosures that were now so familiar, Gregory was sorely tempted to land upon one of the grassy stretches which he knew lay between the coppices. Next second he caught sight of lights right in the centre of the Park; Gavin Fortescue and his people were still there. To bring the plane down anywhere near them would give the alarm prematurely.

He banked again, cursing the heavy clouds that obscured the stars, as he sailed low over the black belt of trees fringing the eastern end of the Park. Then he switched on his landing light and planed down towards his old landing ground outside the gates.

They came down with a horrible bump which made their teeth rattle in their heads, bounced up, sailed on and hit the ground again. There was the sound of rending fabric as the plane crashed to a standstill. One of its wingtips had caught a pylon bearing the electric cables of the grid system.

'Gawd!' exclaimed Rudd, grabbing the zip fastener of the emergency exit at the top of the cabin.

'To hell with the plane,' Gregory shot back flinging open the door, which fortunately had not jammed, and tumbling out.

Rudd was after him in a second, and they were running again, towards the lane. They had landed within a hundred yards of the east gate of the Park. Gregory seized the ironwork and pushed it violently. The gate swung open. They slipped through, jumped a fence that divided the drive from the fields, and ran on over the ground which Gregory had covered in his first visit.

Panting for breath they reached the coppice where Gregory had lain hidden, thrust their way through it, and came out upon he other side into the open space before the house.

Gregory gasped with relief as he saw no sign of imminent departure about the fleet of planes. A few men stood near them but many more were gathered in little groups, talking quietly, in front of the house. They were waiting for something; Gavin perhaps, but orders might be given for the pilots to fly their machines back to France at any moment. There was not a second to be lost.

Gregory shouldered his way back into the undergrowth and, with Rudd following him, crossed the drive; then slipped round to the back of the house. The front windows had been lit but here all was dark and silent.

At the far end of the building they turned again, stole swiftly between the outhouses, and came to the servants' quarters. Gregory drew his gun and approached the door. It was unlocked; so he entered it and tiptoed down the passage to the housekeeper's room. That was in darkness too but, as he thrust open the door, a faint whimpering came from one corner.

Pulling out his torch he switched it on and flashed it in the direction of the sound. Milly was crouching there wide eyed and shivering. She did not recognise him behind the glare of the torch which blinded her and thrust out her hands as he approached seeking to fend him off.

'Don't be frightened,' he whispered. 'It's Gregory Sallust and Rudd.'

With a little sobbing cry she sprang up and flung herself towards him grabbing at his coat with her hands.

'Oh thank God it's you/ she wailed. 'Terrible things have been happening here terrible. They're killing people and if, they find me they'll kill me too.'

The muscles in Gregory's cheeks twitched in a spasm of fear. Killing people: that meant Sabine. He was too late after all. But he must keep his head and quiet this hysterical girl. Perhaps she was mistaken.

'Steady Milly he said gripping her firmly as she clung to him; shivering with terror. 'Pull yourself together my dear and tell us about it. Please! It's frightfully important we should know everything without the least delay. Where's Mrs. Bird?'

'They they locked her in her room,' Milly sobbed, 'about twenty minutes ago and II daren't go up and let her out in case I meet some of them on the stairs.'

'Who have they been killing then?' His voice trembled a little.

'Gerry's men. Poor Mr. Simmons and-and his two friends. I crept out to-to let them know what was happening and I found them in a heap beside the drive. Oh it was horrible!' Milly burst into a sudden hysterical wailing and, fearful that her cries would draw some of Gavin's men to that wing of the house, Gregory muffled her face against his chest.

'Steady now! steady, for God's sake/ he pleaded. 'Finding them like that must have been a frightful shock. But try and tell me what started the trouble.'

For a moment the girl's slender shoulders shook with uncontrollable sobbing, then she choked back her fear and stuttered: 'We-we've been worried all day: ever since that awful row Lord Gavin had with Mademoiselle Szenty this-this morning. I telephoned to Gerry…'

'Yes, I know that. Gavin locked her up in her room and you were able to tip us off about hearing him speak to the Limper of Eastchurch Marshes. That was fine work, but go on. What happened this afternoon?'

'Nothing; nothing much. We sat about wondering what was going to happen. Half a dozen strange men turned up about tea time and one of them asked Aunty the quickest way down to the post office because he had to send a telegram. After dark they all set out in different directions from the house to-to patrol the grounds, I suppose. It must have been then they caught Simmons and his friends at their different posts. Aunty wanted me to go up to bed at half past ten but I wouldn't because I thought I might be useful to take a message. You see, I didn't know I didn't know then that poor Simmons was dead.'

'It was brave of you to want to do that,' Gregory said quickly as the girl showed signs of collapsing into another fit of hysterics. 'You're going to be brave again now, aren't you and hang on to yourself until you've told me all you can?'

She gave herself a little shake and stared up at him with tear dimmed eyes. 'Two of the men came back to the house. The others stayed in the grounds I suppose. It was half past eleven when Aunty left me here to go and have a look round outside. When she came back she said that three bright lights were shining from the top of the steel mast above the Bell tower. There have never been any lights there before as far as we know. She-she said she thought we ought to let Simmons, or one of the others knowin case they hadn't seen them so that they could telephone Gerry at Scotland Yard.

'I slipped upstairs to get a coat, because it's turned so chilly, and it was from my bedroom window that I saw the men in the grounds were walking about with torches. They seemed to be laying out lines or something.'

'What time was this?' Gregory asked.

'Just on twelve.'

'They were setting up them flares for their planes to land by,' murmured Rudd.

'Go on,' Gregory urged the girl, ignoring the interruption.

'I was just coming down the stairs again when I heard the telephone ring. It stopped and, almost immediately afterwards, one of Lord Gavin's men came running out of the room below. He leapt up the stairs three at a time. I've always been terrified of these people; before he saw me I'd slipped back on to the landing and behind a heavy curtain. He rushed past me and I was just coming out from behind the curtain when I caught a glimpse of the other fellow. He was standing in the hall staring up the stairs so I stayed where I was.'

'I reckon it's well you did,' Rudd muttered. 'That telephone call must have been the one the Limper made; warning them the game was up.'

'After a moment,' Milly went on breathlessly, 'the first man came back to the landing with Lord Gavin. They all seemed terribly angry and excited. The man at the bottom of the stairs called up to them "that-that slut of yours has squealed on us". The two men started swearing then in the most frightful way. But Lord Gavin banged his stick on the parquet floor and silenced them. Then he said he said something like this:

' "You stupid fools. Why do you waste time blaspheming. Nothing is lost yet. We only have to keep our heads. The police spies who were set to watch us here have been dealt with. Sallust, Wells, and the Flying Squad, if they have called it out, are miles away on Sheppey Island. We're safe here for a good half-hour. The planes are due at 12.15, so they will be in any moment now. Once they've landed their human freight will separate. Arrangements have already been made for that. We shall leave again by them immediately for France. Go and get Mrs. Bird now. She knows nothing of what's been going on but she might prove troublesome. She's still up because I saw a light in her room only ten minutes ago. Take her up to her bedroom, truss her up, and lock her in there. Then, on your way downstairs, you can deal with the Szenty woman. Tie her up too and take her out to my plane. Get a large stone and lash it to her feet. We'll drop her overboard when we're halfway across the Channel,"' Milly moaned. 'His voice was icy terrible but that's what he said as well as I can remember.'

'And then?' snapped Gregory. 'Go on, quick.' 'I remained there till they had dragged Aunty, struggling up the stairs, past me. Directly they'd gone I rushed down and out of the house by the back way. I hadn't understood then what Lord Gavin meant when he spoke of the police spies having been dealt with. Then I found them all in all in an awful heap there in the driveway only fifty yards from the house. I heard aeroplanes coming in as I stood there, feeling sick and faint, and saw through the trees that a lot of bright flares had been lighted on the lawn. II was so horrified at the sight of those dead men I don't know what I did next. I think my brain must have gone blank but I suppose I ran back here. The next thing I knew was that I was crouching in the comer shivering with terror when you came in and flashed your light on me.'

'I wonder why they didn't lock you up too,' Gregory said suddenly.

She shook her head. 'I don't think they even know I live here. Aunty got Lord Gavin's consent to my boarding with her when she took the place but he's so queer about her never having visitors we were afraid he might change his mind afterwards. That's why I've always kept out of his sight. They've been here very little until the last few days and I've never met any of them face to face.'

Gregory's sharp questions and Milly's stuttering replies had occupied no more than a couple of minutes, but time had slipped by while Gregory and Rudd were running from the plane, and later creeping round the back of the house. In spite of their well organised getaway from Hook Quay over half an hour had elapsed since they left Wells staring after them as they raced off into the darkness.

It was now twenty minutes to one and, from Milly's report of what Lord Gavin had said when the Limper's message came through just about midnight, the planes had been due to arrive at a quarter past twelve. They must have been there then for over twenty minutes and would be leaving any moment now.

From Gregory's glimpse of the lawn through the trees, before he had entered the house, he knew that fifty or sixty men at least were gathered there. He might find Gavin's plane and get Sabine out of it but someone was almost certain to spot him and the odds were hopelessly against his being able to get her away safely.

He almost wished that he had surrendered to the certainty of Sabine's arrest, given the police the information which he had beaten out of the Limper, and enabled Wells to concentrate the forces of the law here; but it was too late to think of that now. Standing there, grimfaced and silent, he racked his brain for some refuge to which he might take Sabine if only he could deal with the pilot of Gavin's plane; but every second was precious and he dared not wait to formulate any complicated plan. Suddenly he turned to Milly.

'Do you know if there's a spare key to the Bell tower?'

She nodded towards the sideboard. 'I think there's one in the drawer on the left. Aunty keeps all the keys in there.'

Rudd wrenched the drawer open. Gregory shone his torch down into it and Milly snatched up a heavy old-fashioned key from among the rest.

'This is it.'

'Right,' said Gregory. 'Rudd must come with me; I need him. We don't want you mixed up in the fighting but are you prepared to act like a little heroine?'

'I I'll try,' she stammered.

'Bless you! That's the spirit! Now this is what I want you to do. As they've been signalling from the Bell tower the door of it is probably open already. You know the Park and the path round the back from here, across the drive, up to the tower through the wood. That's well away from the lawn so it's unlikely you'll run into anyone. If you hear any of these people you can hide in the woods till they've gone past. I want you to get to the tower, see the door's open, and put this key into the lock on the inside on the inside remember. That's what's so important. Think you can do it? Gerry'11 be mighty proud of you if you will.'

That reference to Gerry Wells was just the psychological touch needed to give Milly renewed courage.

'All right,' she said, throwing up her head.

'Well done!' Gregory squeezed her arm. 'Directly you've got that key in the door go in among the trees and hide there until the trouble's over; get as far from the lawn as you can. Blessings on you my dear.'

The three of them left the house together. Milly to skirt its back and make her way through the dark shrubberies; Gregory and Rudd together, past the museum buildings and the conservatories, into the coppice which lay to its right front; at the far end of which, they knew, lay the hangar that housed Lord Gavin's plane.

For tense moments they stumbled through the undergrowth, not daring to show a light, then they emerged cautiously from

behind the hangar into the open. Two hundred yards away, on the far side of the lawn, they could see the dark bulk of the other coppice with the Bell tower rising from it. No lights showed at its steel mast now. Its purpose of guiding the planes in had already been served.

Gregory peered out beyond the angle of the hangar. Bright flares still lit the lawn. The planes reposed before them in an irregular row. One or two men, the pilots probably, stood near each but the majority were gathered in a solid crowd on the gravel sweep before the house. At the open front door Lord Gavin's small hunched figure, supported by two sticks, was silhouetted against the bright light of the hall. He was evidently giving the foreign agitators, whom he had imported, his last instructions before they dispersed to spread anarchy in the great industrial areas.

His plane was already outside the hangar; its nearest wingtip no more than a dozen yards from the spot where Gregory crouched. For a second the wild thought entered his head of attempting to make off in it; but the men by the other planes were within such easy range it seemed certain he would be shot down before he could scramble on board and get the machine into the air. Besides, he was not sure yet that Sabine was in the plane. If she were not he would have bungled things for good and all.

He turned to Rudd. 'Got your pocket knife handy?' he asked in a quick whisper.

'Yes sir.'

'Good. We'll need it to cut her free if she's there. Don't wait to be shot at but shoot first if they try to stop us. Ready now? Come on!'

Going down upon his hands and knees he came out into the open and crept swiftly towards the waiting plane. Now, he blessed the friendly darkness and the clouds that hung, low and threatening, obscuring the stars. The nearest men visible in the flickering light from the flares were a good fifty yards away.

With a last crouching sprint Gregory reached the body of the plane and wrenched open the door. The light on the far side of it came through the windows sufficiently for him to see the interior of the cabin. A long bundle lay in the after part of it behind the two rear seats. It was Sabine, a cloth wound round her face, her arms and ankles lashed with rough cords and a couple of weighty iron bars fastened to her feet; trussed ready for Gavin's men to heave into the sea once they were well away over the Channel.

Swiftly but cautiously Gregory and Rudd drew her limp body out and laid it on the grass. Rudd's knife bit into the cords. Gregory unmuffled her face, pressing his hand lightly over her mouth to prevent her screaming before she realised that it was he who was manhandling her.

Another moment and they had her on her feet, limp and half dazed, supported between them.

'Think you can run, my sweet?' Gregory said softly.

She flung one arm round his neck. 'Mon dieu! those cords, they almost stop my circulation,' she whispered, 'wait, I will be better in a minute.'

'Hang on to her,' Gregory breathed, removing her arm from his neck and gently passing her to Rudd. Then he went down on his knees again and, creeping forward a little, peered under the nose of the plane. Its pilot, who had been hidden by the bulk of the machine before, was standing within seven yards, his back turned, looking towards the house. A murmur came from the gravel drive and then the sound of crunching feet. Lord Gavin had finished his address to the red servants of evil and the crowd in front of the doorway was breaking up.

There was not an instant to lose. Gregory dived back behind the plane and spoke to Rudd. 'They're coming; you'll have to carry her. Fireman's lift and gun in your right hand. Too late to make a detour, we'll have to chance a dash across the open.'

Rudd stooped and threw Sabine across his strong shoulders as though she had been an infant. Without a word he plunged forward straight for the Bell tower. Gregory followed, walking swiftly backwards, ready to fire instantly they were spotted and covering Rudd's retreat.

Rudd had traversed sixty yards before they were seen; then a cry went up from one of the men by the flares. In a second Gavin's pilot swung round with a drawn pistol in his hand. He fired from his hip and the bullet sang past Gregory's head; but Gregory had had him marked already. His pistol cracked, the man's knees gave under him, and he crashed forward on his face.

Gregory ducked to escape the bullets of the men by the flares. As he did so a series of sharp coughs told him that they were firing at him with pistols which had Mauser silencers attached. Suddenly he sprinted forward, covered fifty yards before he stopped, swung round, and fired again. One of the men by the flares staggered sideways with a scream.

The lawn was full of racing figures now. The scattered group by the house was surging forward in a long irregular wave. Lord Gavin still stood on the doorstep, waving one of his sticks and shouting something which Gregory could not catch. Rudd had already covered two thirds of the way to the Bell tower when Sabine cried: 'Put me down! I can manage now.'

He slipped her from his shoulders. She stood rocking for a moment then began to stagger forward while he turned and fired at the nearest of the running men. The man ran on, Rudd fired again. The fellow spun round and fell.

Rudd's intervention gave Gregory another chance. He bounded forward. Both of them fired twice into the mass of shouting figures that were thundering across the grass, then they turned and ran on together.

A bullet ploughed up the ground at Gregory's feet, another whistled past his ear, a third hit the gun in Rudd's hand, knocking it out of his grasp.

Gregory halted and emptied the remaining contents of his automatic into the oncoming mob. Rudd lurched forward, grabbed up his pistol, and dashed on again. Next instant he came up with Sabine. She was now no more than twenty yards from the Bell tower.

Jamming his now useless automatic into his pocket Gregory pounded up beside them. Each caught Sabine by an arm and half carried, half dragged her towards their goal.

'Come on! Come on!' shrilled a treble voice and Milly's form loomed up by the tower. She was holding the door wide open for them.

'Good God!' gasped Gregory as they dashed through the entrance. 'Why didn't you hide as I told you to?'

She shook her head. 'I had to stay and help if I could.' Then she flung her frail weight against the heavy door and banged it to. Rudd grabbed the key and turned it in the lock.

For a moment they remained there panting in the close musty darkness. Sabine was lying on the ground; Gregory leaning against the wall as he sought to ease the strain of his bursting lungs. He pulled his torch out of his pocket and flashed it on. Rudd and Milly were standing just behind the door.

'Get back, you fools!' he shouted. 'They'll be shooting through that door!' Rudd grabbed Milly and thrust her away from it into a safe corner.

Sabine was on her feet again. She snatched Gregory's torch and turned in on the door; then she sprang forward and shot the bolts at its top and bottom.

'That's better!' her voice came huskily. 'They could have blown in that lock.' As she spoke a bullet crashed through the door splintering its woodwork. She swung round towards Gregory.

'Why why did you bring me here? It would have been safer to have hidden in the coppice near the hangar. You could have carried me there without bringing this hornets' nest about our ears.'

'I thought of that,' he replied swiftly, 'but there are dozens of them. When they found you missing from the plane it wouldn't have taken them five minutes to beat the coppice for us. We'd have been caught with no protection.'

A thunderous beating came upon the door. Shots thudded into its stout oak panelling; one clanged upon the metal lock. Gregory remained leaning against the wall. He only shrugged now at this fresh clamour and smiled in the darkness.

'Don't get scared any of you. That door's old and solid. It'd take them an hour to break it in and they can't spare the time. They know every policeman in Kent is on the lookout for them and that they'll be caught if they don't get away from here before one o'clock. It's five to now.'

Sabine stretched out a hand and grasped his quickly. 'Mais non,' she cried. 'Gavin believes all the police are concentrated miles away on Sheppey Island. He's killed the men who were set to keep a look out here. There is no one to give a warning of what they do and the village is too far for anyone there to hear the shooting. Gavin will send for saws and cut the bolts out of their sockets; or get a battering ram for all that mob to break down the door. He thinks he is safe here for an hour two hours yet. If help doesn't arrive soon nous sommes tons morte.'

While the battering outside continued Rudd was flashing his torch round the lofty chamber. From holes in its wooden ceiling ten ropes dangled; the last few feet of each covered with a thick wool grip. They looked like a group of inverted bulrushes.

'All right,' said Gregory with sudden decision. 'If we've got to summon help after all we'll use the bells.' He sprang forward and caught at one of the ropes bearing down his full weight upon it. A loud clang sounded high up in the tower.

Rudd seized another rope and Milly a third. The noise outside the door was drowned in a horrible cacophony of vibrating sound. Without rhythm or music the great bells above their heads pealed out in horrid irregular clamour clash boom dong bing which seemed to shake the very ground on which the bell ringers stood.

Sabine ran to Gregory and shouted in his ear: 'The lights on the steel mast! The controls are in the next room. I will make signals with them.' She dashed away and a moment later was tapping at the instruments S O SS O S SOS.

Rudd now had a bell rope in each hand and was swaying from side to side as he pulled them alternately with all his vigour. Gregory tugged at first one, then another until the whole peal of ten bells was in motion; thundering out a vast and hideous discord which could be heard over half Thanet.

After a couple of minutes Gregory left Rudd and Milly to keep the din going, rushed up the narrow winding stairs in a corner of the chamber until he reached a long slit window cut in the thick stone wall, and peered out.

From it he saw that the attempt to force the door had been abandoned. Gavin Fortescue was standing near the flares; waving his sticks and evidently ordering the pilots to their various planes. As Gregory watched, a new commotion started. A car roared up the driveway and halted in front of the house. Dark figures sprang out of it. Another 'car and then another came in sight.

The bells were so deafening that he could not hear the coughing of the silenced automatics, but stabs of flame, piercing the darkness near the museum building, told him that a battle was in progress between the reds and the constantly arriving squads of police.

He glanced at his wrist watch and saw that it was one o'clock. The bells could not have been pealing for more than five minutes. How could the police have got here so quickly, he wondered, but he did not pause to think of possible explanations. Instead, he leapt down the, narrow stairs, yelling for Sabine, and waving his arms to stop Rudd and Milly tugging at the bell ropes.

As they ceased their pulling he shouted: 'The police are here! Quick! Open that door, Rudd. I've got to get Sabine away. We'll use Lord Gavin's plane while they're fighting it out together.'

Rudd wrenched back the bolts. Milly unlocked the door and tugged it" open. All four of them ran out into the half-light which came from the flares.

The bells were still clanging faintly behind them, but now they could hear the sound of shots as the waves of police, descending from fresh cars and lorries which were arriving by both drives every moment, dashed into the fray a hundred yards away. Lord Gavin had disappeared. The backs of his men were now towards the tower.

As Gregory and the rest burst out of its entrance there was a crashing in the undergrowth behind them. A body of police who had been sent to take the conspirators in the rear were just emerging from the coppice.

Someone called upon Gregory's party to halt, but he took no notice, urging Sabine on beside him. They raced across the open lawn towards the hangar, but, as they reached it, another phalanx of police emerged from the opposite coppice and Marrowfat's voice boomed out into the semidarkness. 'Halt there you, or I fire.'

They were caught between two forces; as the" police who had emerged from the Bell tower coppice were hurrying up in their rear. Another moment and they were surrounded.

With a sinking heart Gregory realised that the game was up.

Beside Marrowfat loomed the tall figure of Sir Pellinore, the bulky form of the Chief Constable, and the tall but slighter Gerry Wells.

As Gregory halted he gulped in a quick breath, and then stared at the Inspector. 'How did you manage to turn up here so quickly?'

Gerry Wells grinned. 'When you tipped me off about Bell being the word instead of Mermaid I tumbled to it at once that meant the Bell tower at Quex Park. It took me five minutes to phone Canterbury, so the Superintendent could concentrate the others when he go there, and you'd obviously sneaked your car round near Hook Quay. You had the heels of me but I didn't lose much time, once I got started, and the others seemed to have arrived here altogether.'

Milly stepped forward and touched his arm. 'It's been terrible,' she murmured. 'But I feel safe, now at last because you're here.'

Most unprofessionally he put his arm round her slim waist. Marrowfat stepped quickly up to Sabine.

'Mademoiselle Szenty,' he said gruffly, 'this is an unpleasant duty but I have no option. I arrest you as a confederate of Lord Gavin Fortescue upon the charge of having been an accessory to an attempted murder.'

'But you can't,' cried Gregory. 'It was she who saved our lives by warning Sir Pellinore that our murder was to be attempted.'

'I'm sorry,' Marrowfat shrugged his vast shoulders. 'Of that charge, of course, the lady will doubtless be able to clear herself; but there are others. Three of our men were done to death here in the Park tonight. Whether she had any hand in that I don't know but, in any case, she is heavily implicated in the importation of contraband. Suitable charges will be presented in due course. I proposed to hold her on this one for the moment.'

The scene was quieter now. Three hundred police had rounded up Lord Gavin's agitators and saboteurs. Not a single plane had got away. The wounded were being carried to ambulances that had arrived on the heels of the police from Birchington, Westgate, Margate and Herne Bay. A score of Inspectors were questioning the captives and taking down material for charges in their notebooks. Sir Pellinore, the Superintendent, Wells, the Chief Constable, Gregory, Rudd and the two girls stood apart, a hundred yards from the shifting crowd on the far side of Lord Gavin's plane.

Suddenly there was a movement in the undergrowth near by. A flash of light streaked past Rudd's face. Milly screamed as a knife caught her in the shoulder.

Gregory guessed the thrower instantly. It was Corot, whose fanatical blood lust had tempted him into this last bid for vengeance; the knife had probably been intended for Wells. Milly collapsed against the Inspector, sobbing, as he swiftly drew out the knife and dabbed at the wound. His eyes blazed with a murderous desire to get to grips with the apache but, supporting Milly as he was, he could do nothing.

It was the Chief Constable who, nearer to the coppice than any of the others, dashed into the undergrowth swinging his heavy stick high above his head. He had caught sight of Corot's white face, gleaming there, within a second of the knife being thrown. His stick descended; catching the murderous Frenchman a terrible blow right across the eyes. Corot went down moaning among the bushes. Sir Pellinore and Marrowfat had already started forward to the Chief Constable's assistance.

Gregory's distress that poor little Milly should have been wounded was almost instantly displaced by the wild thought that the ensuing commotion had given him one more chance.

Sabine was standing close beside him. 'Get into the plane,' he muttered swiftly.

Without a second's hesitation she turned, tore "over to it, and threw herself in. Hard on her heels he scrambled up beside her. Rudd sprang to the door of the cabin and slammed it after them as Gregory pressed the self-starter.

Wells was facing in their direction but he was supporting Milly. He was quick enough to see that he had the one perfect excuse for not attempting to interfere.

The Superintendent realised what had happened only a moment later and swerved out of his heavy trot, towards the bushes, in the direction of the plane; but Sir Pellinore grasped the situation at the same instant.

He seized the Superintendent by the lapel of his coat. 'A great day sir,' he said swiftly. 'I must congratulate you.'

'Dammit, let me go,' boomed Marrowfat, but his voice was drowned in the roar of the aeroplane engine.

'You must lunch with me,' shouted Sir Pellinore above the din. 'I'll have the Home Secretary to meet you.'

Marrowfat thrust his great hands forward and tried to push Sir Pellinore off, but the older man showed unexpected toughness.

'Must tell the Monarch,' he bawled, his mouth glued almost to the Superintendent's ear, 'His Majesty will probably honour you with some decoration.'

'Let me go, sir,' burst out Marrowfat his face gone purple. 'Let me go or I'll arrest you for interfering with the police in the execution of their duties.'

'What's that! I didn't hear,' Sir Pellinore yelled back. The plane ran forward; a hundred faces turned towards it but no one was foolhardy enough to try and stop its progress. It turned into the wind, rose, bounced once, then sailed close over the heads of the police and their prisoners.

'Next week,' Sir Pellinore shouted a little less loudly; as he clung still to the frantic Superintendent. 'I'll let you know what day the Home Secretary can lunch with us. You must bring Wells; splendid feller, Wells. Sallust shall join us too if he's in England.'

Rudd was grinning from ear to ear as he waved after the departing plane. It lifted above the housetop missing its chimneys by no more than a dozen feet. A mile of land spread below it and then the sea. Gregory placed his hand on Sabine's.

'Where do we go from here?' he asked. 'You can bet the plane's fuelled to capacity.'

'I don't mind,' she whispered, letting her head fall on his shoulder. 'This last week we've been drawn into a strange and terrible adventure, but now, thank God, it's over.'

'That's where you're wrong,' he laughed, as the plane zoomed away over the water. 'Our real adventure has only just begun.'