02. Steeley Flies Again by Captain W E Johns

Author:Captain W E Johns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-01-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VIII

The next seven days were, I think, the slowest and at the same time the most miserable that I ever remember. Brian spent most of the time dashing to and fro between his office in Fleet Street and my flat, where he slept, but I never went outside for fear a message or a ’phone call came during my absence. Torn by indecision and anxiety that was aggravated by the inaction, I paced up and down my room or sat at the window overlooking the street, forming plan after plan, only to discard them as the insuperable barrier of silence imposed by Steeley barred my path which ever way I turned. Maybe I was foolish to worry myself to such an extent, but the bond of sympathy that existed between me and the only friend I had ever known, now strengthened by the knowledge of his tragic love affair, was something beyond my control. Anyway, there it was.

But everything must come to an end, and my weary vigil was no exception. The seventh day came, and passed, but there came no word from Steeley.

Brian came in about half-past five in the evening. “Any news?” he asked tersely.

“Not a word,” I answered morosely.

He tossed an evening paper on to the table. “They’ve found the body of the Breguet pilot.

“Who have?”

“The French coastguards; it was washed up near Brest.”

“And what do they say?”

Brian shrugged his shoulders. “The only thing they can say. The machine is presumed to have been lost at sea. The story appears in most papers under the headline of ‘Another Air Mystery’; but without giving away anything, I managed to persuade my editor to run a para, questioning this, pointing out the possibilities of foul play. That should put my stock up as a discerning reporter when the truth comes out, as it is bound to some time. Sooner or later we shall have to lay information at the right quarter.”

“Yes, I suppose we shall,” I agreed moodily. “And a nice row there’ll be because we didn’t speak right away.”

“Well, the seven days are up; what are you going to do? Have you made any plans?”

“Yes, I’m going down to Scotland Yard to see Wayne, and if possible, Raymond, the Assistant Commissioner,” I told him decisively. “Any objection?”

“No,” he said slowly, biting his lip. “I suppose there’s nothing else we can do. Looks like a bad business for poor old Steeley, I’m afraid.”

“Come on, let’s get it over,” I muttered desperately, making for the door, and picking up my hat on the way.

In ten minutes we were there, and my card took us straight into Wayne’s office.

“Wayne,” I began without preamble, “I’ve got some very serious news for you—so serious that I should like the Assistant Commissioner to hear what I have to say.”

“About Delaroy?” he queried, with surprising shrewdness.

I nodded.

He did not look particularly pleased at my request to see Raymond. No doubt he would have liked to have handled the thing himself, but he spoke on

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