To the Rescue
It was not until the following Thursday afternoon that Villiers, as
head of the informal Mutual Advancement Syndicate, received a reply
to the joint letter to "Joystick".
As Villiers had expected, the letter gave no clue to the nature of
the proposed undertaking, but consisted of a brief intimation that
the advertiser would be pleased to interview Messrs. Villiers,
Beverley, and Claverhouse at Richborough Chambers at 3 p.m. that day.
"We're progressing," he observed, as he handed the letter to Bobby.
"Now comes the fun. Will 'Joystick' take a rise out of us, or shall
we pull his leg? Let's go round and rout out Claverhouse."
"He'll be at his one-horse show garage," said Beverley. "Better look
him up at lunch-time."
"Won't give him enough warning," objected Villiers. "We'll tackle him
at once and let him know how things stand. 'Raise steam and prepare
for immediate action', eh, what?"
They happened across Alec Claverhouse just outside the motor-works.
He was about to take a 60-h.p. "Odouresque" out for a test run.
"Cheerio!" he exclaimed. "Any luck?"
"Read this," replied Villiers. "My festive friend, you'll have to
pipe down this afternoon. Thursday's 'Make and mend', you know."
"Not in this rotten show," said Claverhouse. "The civilian equivalent
to the Adjutant bird in these works is a regular Cossack for granting
time off. I haven't a great grandmother to bury, nor is there a
football match on this afternoon, so honours are even on that score.
What do you think of this little lad? Guess I'll knock sixty out of
her on the road."
"In that case," remarked Beverley, "you'll get run in by the police
and sacked by the firm, so before you do find yourself in the cart
why don't you apply for leave?"
"I will, sure," replied Claverhouse, throwing off his leather-lined
coat and tossing it into the coupé. "Hang on half a tick, and I'll
tell you the result of the poll."
He disappeared from view, leaving Jack and Bobby to admire the
workmanship and general "get up" of the powerful "Odouresque".
In less than five minutes he reappeared, beaming and smiling.
"It's all O.K.," he announced. "I cut the rotten red tape and saw the
manager. While I was about it--'in for a penny, in for a pound' stunt
you know--I asked if he had any objection to you fellows coming with
me. Said he hadn't, as long as the firm hadn't to pay your funeral
exes; so hop in and let's get a move on."
Nothing loth the two chums boarded the car, Villiers sitting by
Claverhouse while Beverley reclined in lordly fashion on the back
seat. Almost imperceptibly, in response to a touch of the electric
starter, the powerful car glided away.
There was no doubt about it. Claverhouse knew how to handle a
high-horse-powered engine, and before the car had traversed the
length of the crowded High Street, and had adroitly negotiated the
narrow Bargate, both Villiers and Beverley had abandoned the mental
visions of finding themselves either in a mortuary or in an
infirmary.
Alec kept the car well retarded until he reached the outskirts of
Southampton, then opening out slightly he soon covered the somewhat
hilly road between the seaport and the cathedral city of Winchester,
but never once did the needle of the speedometer point above
twenty-five.
"Don't think I was boasting about the sixty," remarked Claverhouse.
"There's a fine stretch of open road ahead. Then you watch her rip.
Keep your eye on the speedometer. It's the only indication of the
rate we're doing."
Presently the chalky highway ascended a long hill that forms part of
the North Downs. Ahead as far as the eye could reach was a desolate
stretch of unfenced road with a wide expanse of undulating grass-land
on either side--straight as a die in the direction but interrupted by
a number of gentle gradients.
"Worthy Down," announced Alec. "Four hundred feet up. Now she'll
rip."
Rip she did. Swiftly the needle rose from thirty to forty-five.
"All serene?" asked Claverhouse, only this time he did not turn his
head. His whole attention was centred upon the road, yet so silent
and well protected was the car that he could speak in an ordinary
tone and be heard distinctly.
"Quite," replied Villiers.
Fifty, fifty-five, sixty, sixty-five, seventy.
The "Odouresque" was travelling. The wind whistled past the screens,
the chalk road blended into a vague, swiftly-rushing riband of white.
Everything within fifty yards was indistinct, like a badly-focused
photograph, while for a mile behind the car a dense cloud of dust
eddied in the back-draught of the swiftly-moving vehicle.
"Look out, old man," cautioned Villiers. "There's a cyclist ahead."
"Yes, I see him," replied Alec, gently retarding the terrific
momentum. "'Fraid he's spoiled my record."
"Motor-cyclist," corrected Jack, as the approaching machine breasted
one of the intervening ridges and disappeared in a dip of the road.
"Wonder if anything would happen if a bike going at, say, forty,
passed a big car doing seventy? If----"
He broke off. Simultaneously Claverhouse throttled down and applied
the side-brakes.
Before the car could be brought to a standstill it had surmounted a
slight rise and was on the down grade leading to another ascent half
a mile or more away. Right in the hollow was a confused group of
figures which resolved itself into a motor-cyclist bravely defending
himself against four rough-looking men. The cycle lay on the grass a
good ten yards from the road and a fifth ruffian was already
beginning to ransack the contents of a case strapped to the carrier.
At first sight Villiers thought that there had been an accident, and
that the motor-cyclist had collided with a group of pedestrians, but
he was speedily undeceived. It was a case of highway robbery.
Unfortunately, from the footpads' point of view, the rascals had not
bargained for the approach of a car at seventy miles an hour. Lying
in wait for the solitary traveller, they had taken the precaution to
see that the straight road was otherwise deserted when the object of
their attention approached. Nor were they aware of the presence of
the swift, silent car until it appeared to leap from the ground
within a hundred yards of them.
"Look out, chums!" shouted the fellow standing over the fallen
motor-cycle, and acting upon his own warning he promptly took to his
heels.
The others also fled, but not before one of them was held by the
attacked motor-cyclist. It looked as if the fellow would be made a
prisoner, for the other held on like a leech, until the ruffian drew
a knife and struck.
"After them!" yelled Beverley, taking a flying leap from the car.
Villiers was a close second, ignoring Claverhouse's suggestion to
take the car in pursuit.
As it was the chase was futile. The assailants, young, agile, and
strong in wind, scattered in different directions, steadily
outdistancing the three new arrivals, hampered as they were with
heavy coats.
"Pity we didn't stick to the car," remarked Alec regretfully, as
puffed and pouring with perspiration they made their way back to the
victim of the attack. "I bet we would have run at least two of them
to earth. Fine sport it would have been, and the grass makes good
going. Hallo! He's up again."
Claverhouse indicated the unfortunate motor-cyclist, who, holding one
arm below the elbow, was ruefully contemplating his steed.
"Hurt, sir?" inquired Villiers.
"Scratch," replied the other with equal laconism.
Then, as if the presence of his rescuers was unnoticed, he fumbled
with the fingers of his uninjured arm until he succeeded in opening
the leather case on the carrier.
Apparently his investigations were satisfactory, for, closing the
lid, he turned towards the three chums.
"Thanks, awfully, for your timely assistance," he exclaimed. "It was
very remiss of me not to say so before, but my head feels a trifle
dizzy. I'm afraid I haven't quite got the hang of things yet."
"Let me bind your arm," suggested Beverley. "It is bleeding rather
badly."
"So it is," admitted the stranger. "I hardly noticed it, but it's
tingling a bit now."
Villiers helped him off with his motor-cycling coat and jacket and
rolled up his sleeve.
"Clean cut," announced Beverley. "Any first-aid gadgets in the car,
Alec?"
"Trust me for that," replied Claverhouse. "I'll fetch the wallet."
"Any suggestion as to the cause of that attack?" asked Villiers.
"Can't say," was the non-committal reply. "I'm sorry they got
away--very."
"So am I," agreed Villiers sincerely. "According to the papers,
robbery with violence is on the increase. One of the after-results of
the war, I suppose. Going far?"
"Southampton," replied the stranger. "I have an engagement at three."
"So have we," added Beverley. "Is your bike all right?"
Examination proved that it was rideable, although the front wheel was
slightly buckled and the exhaust-lever cable had snapped.
"You'd better come in the car," suggested Claverhouse, when the
bandaging operation was completed. "One of my friends can ride your
bike."
"I'd be eternally grateful," replied the motor-cyclist. "I'm not much
of a hand at this sort of game, but with this wretched railway strike
on, what is a fellow to do?"
"It's no use hanging on to the slack," observed Claverhouse, moving
in the direction of the car. "Jump in and let's get along. First stop
Winchester, I presume?"
"What for?" asked the stranger. "Not on my account?"
"But surely," said Claverhouse, in astonishment, "you are going to
inform the police?"
"A waste of valuable time," objected the other. "No, if you don't
mind dropping me in Southampton I'll be doubly obliged. I'll take
that attaché case with me, if you please."
"Good enough," agreed Claverhouse. "Beverley, dear old soul, you're
riding the bike, I believe?"
"That is so," admitted Bobby.
"And," continued Alec, with a grin, "you think you'll hang on to us?
You'll be dropped, old son, for a dead cert. So don't you think it
would be just as well to ask this gentleman's address? Where shall we
put you down, sir?" he asked, turning to the stranger.
"Richborough Chambers," was the unexpected reply.
"Well, I'm hanged!" exclaimed Villiers. "That's rummy--very. Do you
happen to know of a fellow who, for certain reasons, calls himself
'Joystick'?"
A faint smile overspread the man's bull-dog features.
"I am 'Joystick'," he replied.