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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
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RGL e-Book Cover
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"OUVRY," said Mr. Murdoch, "you drive a car?"
"Yes, sir," Jack Ouvry answered, and tried not to show his surprise. It was the very last question he had expected when called into the inner office, and wondered rather uneasily if his chief objected to a junior clerk being a motorist.
"You have a small car of your own?" continued the other.
"Yes, sir." Mr. Murdoch nodded and fingered the papers on his desk. Jack thought how worn he looked and noted how grey his hair had grown.
"You know about this Birkendale Contract?"
Again Jack felt a shock of surprise but hid it and answered promptly.
I know it's a big thing, and that you are tendering, sir."
"I am." Mr. Murdoch paused and his tired face hardened. "Between ourselves, Ouvry it's a matter of life or death to this firm to get it. The estimates are just finished, and I believe my bid will be the lowest. But I believed the same with regard to the Rylstone Contract and I was underbidden. And I lost the Langley Bridge in the same way. Only by a small margin in each case, but that was enough. Do you know who got those contracts?"
"Skardon's," said Jack promptly. "Skardon's had them both."
"And they'll have this one, too, if we are not careful," said his chief, grimly. "There's a leak somewhere, and if it's not stopped it will sink the ship. The fact is, Ouvry, I dare not trust the post. I wonder if I can trust you."
Jack reddened.
"I hope so, sir," he said, curtly.
"Oh, it's not your honesty I'm talking about. You wouldn't be here if that wasn't above reproach. It's your discretion. Can I trust you to deliver the documents to Mr. Franklyn?"
"I'll have a jolly good try, sir."
Mr. Murdoch pursed his lips.
"I'm going to let you try, but don't think it's easy. Skardon's have no scruples, they'll spend money like water to get this contract. Every employee of his firm is watched. Now listen. I don't want you to go by train. I suggest that you should start off in your car as if on holiday. Make south for Brighton or Eastbourne. As soon as you are sure you are not followed you can turn north. But keep to by-roads. And remember, Eric Skardon is the man you must look out for. Have you ever seen him?"
"No, sir."
"He's easy to recognize. Middle height, big nose, grey eyes, bull neck, fairish hair, but the one thing about him you can't mistake is his left ear. The lobe is missing."
Jack nodded.
"That's a pretty good trade-mark." He grinned. "I suppose I have a free hand sir?"
"Two if you want them. Don't worry about a fine for assault. Hit first and talk afterwards. I'm backing you to the limit."
"Thank you, sir," said Jack. "And when do I start?"
"Now." Mr. Murdoch opened a drawer. "Here are the papers fastened in this body belt. Go into my private room and put the belt on. Then go out to lunch. After lunch get your car and start. By the way, have you a pistol?"
"A sort of a one, sir, but I much prefer my fists."
The other's eyes rested a moment on the sinewy frame of his clerk. Jack Ouvry was not a big man but he had the broad shoulders and slim waist of an athlete. With his clean-cut face and clear grey eyes, he had a distinctly dependable look.
"That's one reason why I chose you for this job. Here's money. Don't be afraid to spend it. And if you get this thing through you may, as the lawyers say, hear of something to your advantage."
"Thank you, sir," said Jack, as he picked up the belt and went into the inner room. When he came out Mr Murdoch was still in his chair.
"Good luck to you, Ouvry," he said as he shook hands. "But look out for Eric Skardon."
"I'll do that, sir," said Jack, and next moment the door closed behind him.
JACK grinned happily as he left London behind him. The sun shone, the two seater was running like silk, and he was intensely proud of the trust his chief had placed in him.
"My chance at last," he remarked as he slowed a little and cast a glance behind him. So far he had seen nothing suspicious, though, while he lunched, he had an idea he was being watched. There was nothing in sight except a motor cycle which was coming up behind him, and he accelerated again. A mile farther and he noticed the motor cyclist was still just the same distance behind him.
He began to smell a rat, and dropped to twenty-five. So did the cyclist, and Jack's suspicions grew. But he wanted to be certain. A cloud covered the sun, rain began to fall sharply and Jack saw his chance. Hidden by the downpour he switched his car into a by-road and drove fast up it. When the shower had passed there was no sign of his pursuer.
But Jack did not flatter himself that he would get rid of the man as easily as that, and spotting a convenient gate leading into a rough pasture, got out, opened it, drove the car in and hid behind the hedge. Then he waited. Ten minutes later the cyclist, a tall, dark man, came roaring past. Jack chuckled softly.
"Pertinacious beggar, but I think I've cooked his goose." He waited till the fellow was out of sight, then drove his car back to the main road and turned north. Presently he left the main road and made away towards Maidenhead.
He had escaped one danger, but that was only a beginning. Finding he had lost his quarry, the cyclist would, of course, seize the first chance of telephoning headquarters, then the hunt would he up. So Jack avoided Maidenhead itself and twisted north along by-roads in the direction of Aylesbury.
For two hours nothing happened; then as he was crossing the Chilterns near Wendover he saw his petrol-gauge reading was low and stopped to refill his tank. He had purposely taken plenty of petrol for the whole trip so as not to have to pull up at any filling station. He had just finished the job when a closed car came along and pulled up.
"Can you direct me to Little Kimble?" asked the driver. Jack gave him a quick glance, and did not like his face. Still that was no reason for refusing to answer his question, especially as the man appeared to be alone.
"You ought to have turned left a mile back," he said. The driver unfolded a map.
"I don't see how I missed that turn," he said, frowning. Evidently he expected Jack to come forward, and look at the map, but Jack was wary. He glanced round, and that was just as well, for a second man, who must have slipped out unseen, by the far door, was sneaking round the back of the car.
Hit first, talk afterwards. That had been Murdoch's advice, and Jack look it. With one jump he was on Number Two, and his fist socked home on the fellow's jaw with a jar that Jack felt clear up to his shoulder, and which laid the other out as senseless as cold mutton. But before Jack could turn the driver was out, and on him. The man, charged, head down, and wrapping his long arms round Jack's body, drove his knee upwards at his stomach. Jack went down in agony, the other on top of him.
But Jack was not done yet. Somehow he managed to get his right hand into his coat pocket, and pull out his pistol. Thrusting the muzzle into the other's face he pulled the trigger. There was no report, yet a heavy bullet could hardly have had a more instant effect. With a howl of agony the man released his hold on Jack, and covering his face with his hands rolled in the road.
"I'm blind! I'm blinded," he screamed.
"Serve you right if you were, you dirty dog," growled Jack, as he got slowly to his feet, "But it's only ammonia, and you'll see again in less than half an hour. I wouldn't have done it if you'd played the game, but I'm not going to stand for being kicked in the stomach." He limped to the ditch, wet a handkerchief, and brought it back to the sufferer.
"Next time we meet you won't get off lightly," were his last words as he climbed back into his car.
"So much for Act Two," he said as he let in the clutch. "I wonder what the third will be?"
JACK had left Buckingham behind him before anything else happened. Then in a quiet lane beyond Stowe he saw a small car standing at the side of the road. The bonnet was open, and a girl was examining the engine.
She looked up hopefully at Jack's approach, and Jack saw a charming oval face with very clear grey eyes under a neat hat. He saw also, that the girl was rather tall, slim, and very well turned out.
"Surely not one of the Skardon crowd," said he to himself as he slackened up. "Still one never can tell." The girl stepped out to meet him, and he had to pull up.
"My engine has conked," she told him. and her voice matched her appearance "I've been here half-an-hour, and you're the first person to pass. I wonder if you can tell me what is wrong." Jack gave her a second look, decided that her distress was genuine, and got out.
"I'll have a look," he said, pleasantly, and got to work. Within a couple of minutes he had located the trouble.
"The magneto spring is broken. Have you a spare?"
She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
"Well, she won't go till a new one is fitted," Jack told her.
"And I'm twelve miles from home," said the girl ruefully.
"Which way?" Jack asked.
"I live beyond Towcester," she said.
Jack looked at her a third time. She was charming—a gentlewoman if ever he had seen one. He made up his mind swiftly.
"Towcester is on my way. I can drop you there at a garage, if that's any use."
"All the use in the world," she said gaily. "We deal at Ansell's. He will send for the car." The next few miles of Jack's journey were the pleasantest of the day. Stella Kane, for that was the name she gave him, was much more than pretty. She was both clever and charming, and talked delightfully. It seemed no time at all before they were at Towcester. When they reached the garage Stella did not get out at once, but glanced at her wrist watch, then turned to Jack.
"It's five and I'm longing for my tea. I'm sure you want some, too. Do let me offer you a cup." Her smile was charming. Jack would not have been human if he had refused.
"That's awfully nice of you," he said frankly. "But I've a long way to go and I can only spare half an hour."
"You can drink quite a lot of tea in half an hour. We'll go to the Chequers. Just wait one minute till I see Ansell then you can drive me up."
The Chequers was a nice old-fashioned place, and tea was served in a low-ceilinged, raftered room where polished brass winked pleasantly. An excellent tea with savory sandwiches and scones with Aylesbury butter and jam. Jack was hungry enough to enjoy his meal thoroughly, and the minutes flew fast in Stella's delightful company. Jack had never met a girl who appealed to him so intensely, and began to wonder how he could possibly meet her again.
Owing perhaps to the showery weather they had the room all to themselves, but just before Jack's half hour was up a man came in.
"Hullo, Stella," he exclaimed. "I never expected to see you here to-day. I thought you were at home."
"So I would be only my car broke down, and this kind gentleman gave me a lift." She did not offer to introduce Jack. The other nodded.
"Well, I hope they're treating you properly," he said, and passed on.
Jack had been watching the man keenly. He wore the leather helmet and coat of a motor cyclist, but he was certainly not the man Jack had dodged earlier in the day. He had been tall and slim; this man was shorter, broad in the shoulder, powerfully built. But his eyes were grey, and for a moment Jack's ever ready suspicions boiled up. Could he possibly be Eric Skardon? Certainly he answered to Murdoch's description.
A moment later Jack was smiling at himself. There must he hundreds of men of stocky build with grey eyes and if this one was a friend of Stella Kane, that at once exonerated him. Jack glanced at the clock. Half-past five. He got up.
Time for me to go, Miss Kane, its a business appointment so I know you'll understand."
"Of course," she said, readily. "Well you've been awfully kind, and I'm really grateful to you. Good luck, and a pleasant journey."
Jack hesitated.
"You'll be all right?"
"Quite. I shall wait here till Ansell brings my car." She gave him her hand and Jack had no excuse for staying longer. Yet as he went out his spirits were low and he felt inclined to curse his job. But for that he might have given her his name and asked if there was a chance of meeting her again.
He had left his car in the yard behind the hotel, a narrow place surrounded by a high wall. The first thing he saw as he came into the yard was a man leaning over the two-seater and apparently examining it closely. It was the same stocky man whom he had seen inside. He was no longer wearing his helmet and the very first thing Jack saw was that the lower part of his left ear was missing.
"No you don't, you dirty thief!" he exclaimed as he sprang forward. The other straightened and swung round. There was an ugly glint of anger and surprise in his grey eyes.
"What the devil are you talking about?" he answered, harshly. "Can't I look at a car in my own yard?"
"Don't bluff—it's no good!" said Jack, crisply. "You see, I'm wise to your dirty tricks!"
"I don't know whether you're crazy or drunk," retorted the other, "but nobody's going to call me a thief without getting it in the neck. Put up your hands!"
"Hit first and talk afterwards!" For a second time Murdoch's advice came back to Jack. He felt he had already done too much talking. He leaped in, hitting as he came.
Luck was with him, for the other man, not expecting such a lightning attack, failed to guard that first terrific smack. Jack's fist landed on his jaw, and next instant the other was on his back on the gravel, as completely out as if a mule had kicked him. Jack stood a moment looking down at him.
"So much for Eric Skardon!" he said bitterly. He glanced round. There was no one about, and apparently there had been no witnesses to the brief affray. He climbed into his car and drove off, feelingmore upset than he ever remembered feeling in all his 26 years. It was not Skardon he was worrying about, but Stella. The idea that a girl like Stella Kane could have lent herself to such a deception made him perfectly sick.
IT would have gone ill with anyone who had tackled Jack Ouvry during the rest of the day, but no one did. He finished his journey without the slightest interference, and just after ten that night reached Birkendale, delivered the tender to Mr. Franklyn at Oak Bank, his private house, took his receipt, and went to a hotel to sleep.
Soon after lunch next day he was back in Mr. Murdoch's office, relating his adventures. But there was no zest in his story. He had done his job; his success did not seem to matter. Life was drab and dull compared with what it had been twenty-four hours ago. The treachery of Stella Kane had hit Jack very hard. His chief listened in silence. He did not say a word until Jack came to his arrival at Towcester and his encounter with Eric Skardon. Then he broke in suddenly.
"Eric Skardon!" he repeated. "You say you knocked out Eric Skardon?"
"Yes, sir; but it was just the luck of getting in the first blow."
"It couldn't have been Eric Skardon."
"It was, sir! He answered exactly to your description. A bull of a chap with grey eyes, big nose, fairish hair, and the lower part of his left car missing."
The older man's eyes widened.
"But Eric Skardon is down with 'flu. I got the news not an hour after you left."
"He made a pretty quick recovery sir!" said Jack, drily.
Mr. Murdoch shook his head.
"It's impossible. He is in a nursing home in Hendon. He was taken there the night before last. He is very ill."
Jack drew a long breath.
"There couldn't be two of him!" he objected.
"There must be, or rather you have been deceived by a curious resemblance.'
"But the car, sir!"
"I can't help that. It wasn't Skardon. That's definite." He laughed. "Under the circumstances, Ouvry, I think you had better keep clear of Towcester for some time to come."
A queer glow shone in Jack's eyes.
"On the contrary, I'm going back there my first free day."
"To apologize?"
"Yes, sir."
"I wish you luck," said his chief, drily. "To-morrow is Saturday. You can take the day."
It was barely eleven next morning when Jack stopped his car at the Chequers and went in. "Who owns this place?" he asked of the porter.
"Captain Fred Beverley, sir."
"Is he a square-set youngish man, with part of his left ear missing?"
"That's it, sir. Do you want to see him?"
"I do."
"I think you'll find him outside, either in the yard or in the garden." Jack thanked the man and went out. Sure enough, Mr. Fred Beverley was in the yard in his shirt sleeves, busy on a car which Jack saw was the same make one horse-power as his own. At sight of Jack he came forward.
"Oh, so you're here again," he remarked, grimly, and Jack did not half like the look in his eyes.
"It was all a mistake," said Jack quickly. "I've come back to explain."
"You can explain after I've finished with you!" answered Beverley, and Jack seeing there was no help for it, waded in. But this time the result was different, and though Jack put up quite a good show, the elder man's science was too much for him. A crashing left reached his chin and the world went black.
When Jack came to he found himself on a sofa in a small room that looked like an office. Beverley was standing over him with a queer look, half-grim, half worried, on his square face.
"Pasted you harder than I thought," he growled. "You've been out for five minutes."
"It was a devil of a sock," agreed Jack ruefully, feeling his jaw. "You've got a useful left."
"Used to be boxing instructor in my regiment," Beverley grinned.
"Then I was darned lucky to knock you out the other day."
"What did you do it for?" asked the other.
"Sit down and I'll tell you," said Jack. It was almost comic to see the changes of expression which crossed Beverley's face as he listened. When jack had finished he was grinning broadly.
"Gosh!—I don't wonder you socked me. Of course, you thought the whole thing was a plant."
"Can you blame me?" Jack asked.
"No, I can't; and just to show there's no ill-feeling, you'll stop to lunch and we'll split a bottle. I own this pub, and there's still something worth while in the cellar."
"I'd like to," said Jack, simply. "Only I've another job to do before I get back to town."
"What's that?"
"Apologize to Miss Kane."
Beverley chuckled.
"That's easy! The Kanes live only three miles out. I'll drive you over there to tea. Now have a nip of this whisky, and we'll totter in to lunch."
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.