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AUTHOR OF “THE BLOOD THAT DRIPPED ON THE DOORMAT,”
“THE SCREAM IN
BELGRAVE SQUARE,” “THE VAMPIRE OF BODGER’S ALLEY.”
Synopsis of Previous Chapters.—The Hon.
Lord Baldwin Berkeley, a young Guardsman, has fitted out an expedition to reach
the North Pole by airship
Walter Wellman’s attempts to fly over
the Pole in an airship were big news in 1907–1909.
. While playing centre-half for Woolwich ArsenalWoolwich Arsenal, often known as The Arsenal, one of the most successful clubs in English football, based in North London.
he saves the life of Her Grace the Lady Marjorie Stagg-Mantle, who, for a girlish freak, has dressed herself as a referee, and is in danger of being lynched by the mob. She is also loved by Marquis the Senior Subaltern Luke Lockhart, Berkeley’s superior officer. In an earlier chapter Lockhart has murdered the colonel of the regiment and hidden his corpse in Berkeley’s portmanteau. The body is discovered, suspicion falls upon Berkeley, and he is about to be ragged by his fellow-officers.
A Way they have in the Army.
The Ragging Room at the Guards’ ClubEstablished in 1810, a London Gentlemen’s club for
officers of the Coldstream Guards, Grenadier Guards or Scots Guards, traditionally the most
socially elite section of the British Army.
“Bring out the motor-oil and jam,”
said Lockhart, lighting a cigarette with a wax vesta,
Wax vesta: matches that can be ignited by friction
either on a prepared surface or on a solid surface.
and a cynicism only equalled by that of the cruel smile which split his face into two exact halves.
Berkeley had heard the words almost unconsciously. Then the fighting blood of a hundred dead and gone Berkeleys stirred in his veins. “Thank you,” he said with flashing eyes; “I use pomade.”
Scarcely had the speech left his mouth than two of the younger subalterns came forward, staggering beneath the weight of the huge motor-oil and jam jar, without which no Guards’ Regiment travels nowadays. In a second Baldwin had made up his mind. Striking out left and right, he felled his captors to the ground.
“Bar that window,” thundered Lockhart.
Too late! Already Baldwin was on the sill. To spring thence to the top of a passing hansom was with him the work of a minute. The next moment Pall Mall pedestrians stood astounded at the sight of an avalanche of Guards’ officers pouring from the window on to other hansoms which waited obsequiously beneath.
“A sovereign if you save me!” gasped Baldwin, to the cabman.
“Right, sir,” replied the cabman, in a
curiously musical voice. And, turning up the Haymarket, he lashed his willing
horse down Piccadilly. The other cabs followed in a long line, each occupant
yelling imprecations. And then began a chase which the Hon. Lord Baldwin never
forgot. Down Piccadilly they sped, on, on, and ever on. At Hyde Park Corner
he was twenty yards to the good, at Sloane Street only fifteen. Down Sloane Street
they thundered. It was the pace that killed. Lamp-posts as they passed them
seemed to be literally standing still. At Clapham Old Town Baldwin had
increased his lead to twenty-five yards, and six to four against the field was
freely offered by sporting policemen. At
DulwichWodehouse puts in a plug for his old school.
his pursuers were a mere cloud of dust in the distance. At Penge they were nowhere to be seen. It was safe, he thought, to stop. He felt in his pocket for his fare.
“Keep your gold,” said the cabman, in his strange, musical voice. “I did it all for you, Baldwin. All for you.”
Baldwin started in amazement. It was
Marjorie. In a property nose,Prosthesis used in theater to reshape the nose,
and a Harry Tate Harry Tate: Ronald Macdonald Hutchinson (1872–1940), Scottish music hall comedian known for his erratic gag mustaches.
trick moustache; but still Marjorie.
(To be continued.)
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