Death Devil's Bridge by Robin Paige Page A

taunting one another like school-boys.”
    â€œThere’s a great deal of competition among them,” Charles replied. “They’re convinced that the entire future of the British motorcar industry rests on the outcome of tomorrow’s chase. It would be a wonder if they didn’t bait one another.”
    â€œI suppose,” Kate said thoughtfully. “And then there was that awful Harry Dunstable.”
    Awful, indeed. An amply upholstered man with elaborate side-whiskers, dressed like a coach driver. “He tried to sell me a package of shares in his Daimler company. Or, failing that, a Daimler itself. The man is a peddler, pure and simple.”
    Charles unbuttoned his shirt, looking grave. “Ah, yes,” he said. “The distasteful, disgraceful Harry Dunstable. If we get through the weekend without murder being done, I shall be very surprised.” He glanced up with a crooked grin. “Only joking, my dear.”
    Kate put down the hairbrush. “Who is he?”
    Charles sat down on the bed to pull off his shoes. “A promoter with a reputation for questionable dealings. He snaps up promising patents and licenses, then uses them to lure investors to buy stock. He has floated the British Motor Car Syndicate for a million pounds—a million pounds, Kate! Mark my words, the man will end in jail—if someone doesn’t kill him first. He’s a dangerous man.”
    â€œDangerous because—?”
    â€œBecause he now has control of virtually every major automotive patent,” Charles said grimly. “He has cornered the market, so to speak, but his companies are simply bubbles. When they burst, and they will, there will be nothing left to do but import motorcars from France and Germany.” Charles’s voice had become angry. “Dunstable is hated far and wide, and for good cause. He will kill the British automotive industry before it is born.”
    â€œBut isn’t there a British inventor who could design a British car?”
    â€œI have encouraged Royce to enter the field, but he is currently otherwise engaged. And he hates promoters. If he could develop a partnership with someone he liked, someone who could sell the motorcars he developed—” Charles shrugged. “But that’s not going to happen for some time.”
    â€œAnd this disreputable man—Dunstable, I mean—is a friend of Bradford’s?”
    â€œOne of Bradford’s creditors,” Charles said. “Bradford bought stock in an earlier speculation, and is still paying the piper.” He looked up and saw Kate’s face, and smiled. “But my own dear, why are we bothering ourselves with such a sour subject?” He held out both hands. “I shall have to go out at eleven and see to the inflation of the balloon, which will continue all night. But come to me now, love, and let us see if we can find another, sweeter business to occupy us for the hour until then.”
    A few moments later, they discovered it.

9
    A man in the world must meet all sorts of men, and in these days it did not do for a gentleman to be a hermit.
    â€”Framley Parsonage, ANTHONY TROLLOPE
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    A ten that same evening, in the Marlborough Head in High Street and Mill Lane, Lord Bradford was hosting a late supper. The Head occupied a half-timbered building that had been constructed by a wool merchant in the 1430’s, Dedham Village (which lay on the King’s Highway between the trading towns of Ipswich and Colchester) having once been the site of a thriving colony of weavers. The building’s term as a wool market ended when the Civil War dealt the local wool trade a death blow. For a time it was taken over by the village apothecary, until, after the Battle of Blenheim in 1704 it was transformed into an inn and named for the first Duke of Marlborough.
    The Head’s large parlor, its plank floor covered with a red carpet and its plaster walls hung