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Read Ebook: The Salving of the Fusi Yama: A Post-War Story of the Sea by Westerman Percy F Percy Francis Hodgson E S Edward Smith Illustrator
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Ebook has 1431 lines and 63364 words, and 29 pages
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."
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 attach? 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.
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