Boy's Cinema (1933)

20 The door of No. 6 was locked. Big Shot knocked. "Who's there?" called out someone from within. Big Shot did his best to make his voice sound deep. ', "It's me—Speed Hall," he said softly. The ruse worked. The key grated in the lock, and the door opened a little ■way. That was all Big Shot wanted. !lle shoved it open the rest of the way, und charged into the room. He took in the scene with one glance, Kelly was sitting at a filthy table, his head on his arms, groaning. The man who had admitted him was the only other person present. The man swung round on Big Shot with a snarl. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Get outa here, or I'll——" In that moment Big Shot was thank- ful for the fact that Marian possessed a Jap chauffeur. He motioned to Marian •to go to Kelly, and threw himself with ,great glee upon the gangster. There iwas a brisk flurry, a howl of pain, and the gangster hit the floor with a crash, his shoulder dislocated. Big Shot turned to Marian. "How is he?" he asked. "I think he's been drugged," said Marian. "He's in a terrible state. He can hardly stand." "Well, he's got to enter in that race to-day," said Big Shot, "even if we ^lave to carry him all the wa}' back, t'.ive me a hand, and we'll get him down to the 'plane." One on each side, they supported |Kelly between them, and got him to the 'plane. Then, while Marian did her ibest to revive him, Big Shot, opened his ithrottle, took off, and headed back for Los Angeles. Flat Out ! IT was barely half an hour before the big race was due to begin that they circled over the flying field again. Big Shot dropped low, brought the DH4's nose to the wind, and landed. Yama, the Jap chauffeur, met them. Big Shot scrambled out on to a wing, leaving Marian to help Kelly. lie grinned down at Yama triumphantly. "I worked that collar-bone trick on a guy," he said. "He was twice my weight, and he went down like a chicken. How go things?" The Jap pointed to the starting line. " They are getting the cars out of the pits," he said solemnly. "Me think there not too much time. Mister Kelly have to make great haste." Big Shot looked anxiously at Kelly. "How is he?" he asked. "Bad," replied Marian. "He can hardly stand. I don't know what it is they gave him, but it's made him terribly ill." Big Shot took charge of the situation masterfully. "Yama, help Miss Marian get Mr. Kelly into one of the hangars, then go for a doctor. I'll go and get the car on to the track, and when he's fit bring him out to it." He sprang- to the ground and ran across to the pits. There was a mighty worried ex- pression on his face as he glanced over the powerful racing machine to make sure that all was in order. Kelly was in a serious fix. If he couldn't race, and Mr. Martin saw him in that condition, there would be another dismissal for drunkenness. No one would believe that Kelly had been doped. Big Shot dropped his huge goggles over his face, got into the driving seat, and ran the car gently out on to the track. He slid the throttle over a notch en' two so as to let the engine get hot. May 6th, 1933. BOY'S CINEMA The minutes slipped by. He watched anxiously, wishing that Kelly and Marian would hurry up. A quarter of an hour passed—twenty minutes— twenty-five. The track was cleared of people, and the starter stood by with his gun. Big Shot half stood up in his driving seat, hoping that Kelly would come at the last minute. Then he saw Marian. She was stand- ing by the timekeeper's box, and her whole attitude was one of despair. Big Shot's heart went into his mouth. The starter raised his gun. No one had recognised that Kelly was ncjt there— the figure of Big Shot, in his voluminous overalls and large goggles, had passed the scrutineers without challenge. Bang! Big Shot acted on blind instinct. Something of the racing strain that had been handed down by his father and grandfather came to the surface in that instant. He rammed out his clutch, and felt his gears jar. Automatically he released the hand brake, and the car shot forward, only a few seconds behind the others. Gritting his teeth, he changed into top. The picture of a car disappearing over the banking at Bridgeport was before his eyes, and he shuddered. Then he remembered all that Kelly had done for him since. Kelly and he had been inseparable—pals all along— and it was a pity, Big Shot reckoned, if a guy couldn't do a little thing like this for a pal! The ground flashed below him. He heard the frenzied roar of his engine, and felt the eddies of wind that got behind the screen and lashed into his face. The race would be a gruelling one. Two hundred miles an hour were the speeds expected to be reached. Two hundred miles an hour! Nearly three and a half miles a minute! Big Shot felt sick, and closed his eyes. He opened them again abruptly, re- membering what he was doing. He glanced at the track, then lowered his eyes to his speedometer. A hundred and fifty! And every other car was ahead of him now. They were all beating him—leaving him standing! He gritted his teeth and pressed his accelerator hard to the floorboards. The banking at the first turn swooped towards him with incredible speed. He eased a little, and took it high up, his car canting over to an angle of fifty degrees. He was round, and dropping down the banking ready for going into the straight. His foot went down again, and the powerful car leapt forward. The speedometer showed two hundred. When he saw that needle, hovering at a reading he had never seen in any car before, fear seemed to vanish. The lust for speed and yet more speed had him in its grip. He roared down the track, straining every nerve, taking advantage of every dip in the track to increase his engine speed. Two hundred and ten! He slid past two cars that had been ahead of him, and yelled with delight to himself. The banking again. He took it at a fearful pace, and knew momentary fear once more as he heard the squealing protest of his tyres, but, somehow, he hung on and came round safely. He passed another car, and yet another. Then he swooped past four all in a bunch, and that brought him into second place. He was driving like a demon, and seemed to bear a charmed life. He hardly troubled to ease up at the bank- Every Tuesday iligs now, but shot round them at speeds that made the spectators gasp. At last he came into the straight that led past the pits. Someone came out on to the truck and waved a yellow- Hag. The last lap, and the car in front was yet three lengths ahead! Up to now Big Shot had not paid too much attention to it, but now he glanced at its number. It was Speed Hall's! Big Shot's jaw came out aggressively. Speed Hall's, was it, eh ? He'd show- Speed Hall what was what! The car in front kept its lead as they reached the banking again. Hall ran his car to within ten feet of the top and kept it there, intending that Big Shot should not pass him. A gasp of horror went up ^from the spectators. Big Shot, holding to a steady hundred and seventy miles an hour, crept past his tail and edged him- self into that narrow ten feet between the other car and the edge of the bank- ing. A fraction of an error on the steering-wheel, and he would either crash into Hall or disappear over the edge. It was a bold move, but it had ex- actly the effect Big Shot wanted. Speed Hall lost his nerve. He eased up quickly on his accelerator and dropped further down the banking so as to give more room. Big Shot swooped ahead. In vain Hall tried to make up his lost ground. He plunged off the banking into the straight hard upon Big Shot's tail. Big Shot sensed that he was behind, and grinned. He fed his engine the last ounce of gas it would take, and kept steadily on. The pits again! And a flag—this time a white one! He had won! He roared past the crowds waiting for him, slowing gently the while. A quarter of a mile along the track he stopped, and spectators swarmed round him, completely shutting him away from view of the pits. He saw Marian and Yama. Between them they had Kelly; better, but still pretty weak. Big Shot stared hard at Kelly's overalls and goggles, and then looked at Marian. She closed one eye. The crowd was pressing in. He skipped out of his driving seat and helped hoist Kelly into the car. No one seemed to notice very much, or, w if they did, they didn't care. They were too busy yelling' themselves hoarse. Big Shot climbed on to the tail-piece, and leaned so that his mouth was close to Kelly's ear. "Can you drive her back to the pits?" he asked. "Yes," said Kelly. "But I can't do a thing like this. You won that race, and " "Don't be a sap," Big Shot advised gently. "If anyone gets to know that the car was driven by an un-nominated driver, it'll be disqualified, and the vic- tory will go to Speed Hall. He was the guy who had you slugged. Besides, it would be letting Marian down." Big Shot was right. Kelly saw that. He drove slowly back to the pits. Half- way there, Big Shot slipped into the crowd and broke into a run, dragging off his goggles as he went. He reached the pits just before Kelly did, and welcomed him with a cheer! Marian and Kelly made him best man. They could do no less. (By permission of Butcher's Film Service, Ltd., starring Wally Reid, Jun., Dickie Moore, Phyllis Barrington, Paul Fix, J. Farrell MacDonald, Eddie Phillips, Otto Yama, J. Frank Glendon, and Kit Guard.)