Boy's Cinema (1935-39)

12 Collins stood away, frowningly. " I'll search every hole and corner! It stands to reason Oakley will make for here—where his boy is. He don't trust you any more than I do." "Got a warrant, I presume?" Duke queried. "It's usual—when you come bursting into a man's private house." "I've got a warrant, Duke." Inspector Collins answered crisply. "Here it is." He showed a blue paper taken from his breast pocket. "Where's the boy?" "Asleep in bed," Daisy told him. "Come up and look." "You go, Banks," Collins ordered. "I'll have a little chat with the barman downstairs." A sharp little noise sounded from the yard. "Hallo, what's that?" He ran to the window, jerked it open, and leaned out. The moon was bright again, throwing silvery patches here and there on the shabby little garden with its stunted bushes. A cat suddenly yowled and spat at some other male feline hidden in the shadows. Collins closed the window. "All right, Banks—only cats. Creep upstairs with Mrs. Oakley and see if the kid's in his bed. Don't wake him." Ten minutes later the policemen were ready to go. Banks had reported Mickie fast asleep; the barman hadn't been able to tell them anything: "Because there's nothing to tell, in- spector," said Duke in his slow un- ruffled voice. "Oakley isn't here. If I even get a glimpse of him, I'll ring you." They called again in the morning, as soon as they had watched Duke and Louis off the premises. Daisy greeted them with a sneer: "Come to bully me now?" "We want a talk with the boy," said Collins. "Oakley has been tracked to within ten miles of hero. He may have got at Mickie for a minute or two." "Bullying kids is about your weight, inspector," said Daisy. " All right, come on up! I'll see you don't frighten him." Mickie was in his room, ready dressed for school. "Here's two nice, kind gentlemen come to see you," Daisy announced. Collins put out a hand. "Well, Mickie—how are you?" "All right, sir—thank you." "Seen your clad, lately?" "No, sir." "He was asking about you," said Col- lins. "Only the other day." Mickie asked: "Was he. sir? When?" "I told him you were growing up a lot, Mickie." The boy felt Daisy's hands on his shoulders. Banks was watching them both with cold, keen eyes. I 'ollins let go Mickie's fingers. "Haven't you a message for your dad ?" he inquired. "I'll be seeing him soon, sir." "How d'you know that?" Collins de- manded quickly. "He promised us when ho went away that he d soon be home." "All light, old son—wo mustn't make you late lor school. Good-bye." Again he shook hands; then nodded In Hanks. "We'll get along. Good-bye, Mrs. Oakley." The Kendalls Arrive JUST outside the port, iho beautiful white yacht Trident was steady at. ils moorings. In the saloon were three people—a tall, cleanly shaved American; a grey-headed be-spectacled older man. and a palely handsome woman. The oldish man was saying: " Don't go ashore, Irene. There's a i hill wind—and a day's rest aboard is what you need." September mh, 1936 BOY'S CINEMA She turned to the other man. "Shall I lie down, Paul?" Her husband said tenderly : "Yes, dear, do. Walter's right—the wind is cold." She assented listlessly. "I do feel tired. Yes, I'll lie down." Her husband opened the door for her to pass into her sleeping quarters. He watched her go, sighing to herself. W T hen he turned to the older man, he nodded his head as if answering some inner question. "She'll never be right until she for- gets," he said. "If ever she can for- get." "Time will show," the other tried to comfort him. "She has no idea why we have put in here ?" "Not a word has passed my lips," Paul Kendall answered. "If this fellow is only one more speculator on our un- happiness " "He is," came the quick decision. "Jackie is dead. I hate to say it, Paul, but I'm your doctor and a doctor has to tell the truth. I would advise you not to see the man." One of the crew was at the door. " There's a gentleman come aboard, name of Duke. He says he has an ap- pointment." Duke, heavy and quiet, had followed to the cabin. He glanced from one to the other: "Mr. Paul Kendall?" he inquired. Kendall answered: " That is my name. This is my medical adviser, Dr. Walter Merian. You can speak before him." Duke stepped into the cabin and closed the door. "I take it I'm dealing with gentle- men who won't tell the police?" he asked. "Not that I've anything to fear; I'm just a go-between." "Only Dr. Merian and I have seen your letters," Kendall answered. " Well, sir, you'll have to act quickly if you want your boy—-" "If I want him!" cried Kendall pas- sionately. "If you can bring him back to us—you can have anything you ask!" Duke had been eyeing Merian and sensed that the doctor was against him. So he played his trump cards, the cut- ting from the Sunday newspaper with the artist's picture of what young John Kendall might now look like—and the photograph of Mickie. Ho drew them from an overcoat pocket and placed them on the table. "See for yourselves," he said. Kendall studied the boy's photograph with misty eyes. It meant his wife's happiness and perhaps her life—that their son should be found. He straightened up. "It may be John." "It is," declaied Duke. "The fellow who kidnapped your baby is a sailor— that's how he got away without a trace. He brought the baby to England, mean- ing to claim the ransom. But he's a violent man and quarrelled with a sailor over something—and killed him in a fight. So he got caught and put away. Manslaughter. Duke gestured towards the newspaper cutting. "I saw that picture and I knew at once that Jim Oakley was a liar when he claimed to be lather to young Mickie. So I got into touch with him, Mr. Kendall. I'm not married, but I can guess what your feel- ings are." Merian put in • "You know where this boy is?" "I do. And I can get him. There's Daisy Oakley to dial with and a young fellow who's related to her. Oakley was given ten years, but he's broken gaol." "I must sec the boy," said Kendall. "If he is my son "—he checked himself Evtry Tuesday at a warning sign from Merian—" if lie's my son, I shall not fail to know him." Duke lifted his bowler hat and wiped his forehead. Then put on his hat again. "This is ticklish work, gentlemen, for me. If Oakley should get to know—my time on earth would be over! I can bring the boy to you to-night." His greedy eyes fixed on Kendall as he lighted a cigarette. "The money will be ready," came Kendall's promise. "It is here now. All in bank notes." He went to a safe built in the cabin wall and drew out a small attache case. This he opened and placed before Duke on the table. The s." ,'ht of the neat bundles of notes was almost too much for the conspirator. He took up a couple of bundles, but Kendall's fingers closed round his wrist. "I must see the boy and be dead sure," he said. "I was only going to count them" Duke muttered, dropping the notes. Duke stood away from temptation. "After dark to-night," he told Kendall, "I'll bring the boy and collect the cash. Then we'll get away—before Oakley gets us. France or Italy." He gave Merian a curt nod, lifted his hat to Kendall, then moved to the door, opened it, and went without a backward glance. "A crook," said Merian. "If evei I saw one!" " Puss ! Puss ! " CLOUDS obscured the moon and theie was a hint of rain in the air. Oak- ley, on leaving the tug cabin, spoke gruffly to Aunt Euphy: "You're sailing to-night?" "Eleven—or just after. I want (o catch the ebb tide." "And it'll be safe for me to bring Mickie?" "Safe as I can make it, Jim. But I don't know anything about you—or your plans. I don't want to—I've kept clear of the police all my day*.'' The man paused on the ladder, look- ing down at her. "I'll never be able to thank you, Euphy. You're a great pal." Aunt Euphy, busy at her woik. only grunted. "Back at eleven, or you'll be left!" Oakley slid off the ship and along the jetty like a shadow By devious ways he brought himself to the Harbour Bar, climbing the wall at the back. Then he scaled up the stack pipe like a big monkey, and drew himself on to the roof. Some kind of a rumpus was going on in the bar below—he could hear shouts and thuds and groans, then presently a police whistle shrilling. He lay Rat on the tiles under the deeper gloom of the chimneys, listening and wondering. A policeman came running—only one —which puzzled him. Voices were car- ried up to him in a lot of talk, indis- tinguishable. Then things quietened; the policeman was heard to go—the bar- man calling a grumpy "good-night'' after him. At ten o'clock the bar closed and the little public-house became dead quiet. Oakley moved from his cramped posi- tion and drew along to the skylight of Mickie's attic. He softly drew it up and slid under it into the dark room. He called, whisperinglv : "Mickie! Mickie, old lad—it's me. Daddy. Only me!" Silence reigned in the pitch darkness Oakley tiptoed to the bed and put out a hand. The bedclothes hadn't I turned down, no one was there. Oakley's heart stood still a moment as terror gripped him. Something very wrong had happened. He re- (Continued on pp.ge 26)