POWER-HOUSE MYSTERY.

Franklin Times, Volume 9, Issue 770, 26 September 1922, Page 5

POWER-HOUSE MYSTERY.

(By DONAN COYLE). “There is another of these mysterious advertisements in the Times, Holmes,” said I, as the last notes of Bach’s fugue in B the waded and d ! ed 1 away. r “Why do you call them mysterious. my dear Watson?”, said the great detective, laying his violin on his chair and applying some resin to his liow. "Tsu me they are quite aifnidei Imjiiee you read that paper aSSiduohit?Qp\Yatson. Have you 'ahy‘ idea ;tjr what time- the office closes?” ‘‘Five .o’clock.” said I, “Does ttiat afford yenf any clue to the mystery?” I added .eagerly, for I knew Sherlock Holmes’ peculiar methods of unravelling baffling; problems, and was aware, that he never wasted a question. “Mystery again. Watson.” said Holmes, with a slight frown. “I assure you there lias been no mystery in Pukekohe since Lake McCarthy vanished on the very day that the ValuerGeneral went to see, it. The unexpected discovery and inexplicable disappearance of that great sheet of water is; I confess, more than I can understand. In fact, it is the only occurence in my long career that has defied my powers of intuitive reasoning. I fear we have spoiled my record by coming to Pqkekohe. However, Watson, I expect a visitor, and. would like a few minutes to think before he comes few minutes to think before he comes.” Holmes loaded the old black briar the Man with the Twisted Lip had given him with a couple of ounces of Havelock tobacco (he cannot obtain his favourite shag in Pukekohe) —and was soon enveloped in a noisome cloud., ' “Come in, Sergeant,” he said presently, as a tap came at the door. The , Sergeant of Police entered, looking - very tired out and worried. “This is my faithful friend and biographer, Dr. Watson,” Holmes went on, with an affectionate smile in my direction. “Sit down, Sergeant. I was just telling Watson I expected you.” The room was murky with smoke, but the Sergeant could discern the arms of a chair, and seated himself. Instantly there was a load rep oft; and the police-officer sprang three feet into the air with a wild yell. Holmes reached for his 'fiddle, and examined it with tender solicitude. “It’s all right,” he said cheerfully, “only the bridge down. It was entirely my fault in leaving it lying about so carelessly.” i ■ ' ; “I must apologise for-my excited behaviour, Mr Holmes,” said the Sergeant.. “The fact is my nerves have completely gone to pieces since I have been trying to unravel this terrible power-ohiiSe mystery.” “Mystery again,” Sherlock Holmes to himself with an inscrutable smile. “Get the Sergeant some whisky, Watson,” he added “Now,” he went on as the Sergeant sat down his glass with apparently recovered composure. “How can-'T assist you?” “The fact is, Mr Holmes, the force 4? completely baffled. The Mayor Ksaows the miscreant who has blown lip all these engines, but he will not lake us into his confidence—and so . “Softly," interrupted Holmes, “why do you say the Mayor knows him?” “He says so in the advertisements, Sir.” 1 “I do not read them so,” replied Holmes. “He says ‘a person not altogether unknown.’ Suppose he were to mean not unknown to me.” The sprang up from his chair with a relieved look. “Oh — Mr Holmes —can ypji pul us on to him?” r “You would like lo make an arrest, Sergeant?” “I would arrest the Devil himself, sir, if he was implicated.” “So you shall, Sergeant, before twenty minutes past live to-morrow.” “I am afraid not, Mr Holmes. He is too busy in Ireland to. come to Pukekohe.” “Well, if you follow my directions you shall lay the culprit by the heels. Whether lie turns out to be the Devil b ®' or no’ will be determined later. Be at the corner of the road by the power-house at 5.15 to-morrow, and have your men concealed nearby. You had belter be dressed as a lady. Ah, your moustache—you would not care to sacrifice that —well it will not be necessary. You have a -Mounted Constable of a most lady-like manner and appearance, A dab of powder, a touch of rouge, and a smear of a lip-slick, and he will defy detection. You and the other constable had better conceal yourselves in the concrete culvert. You must get into position before dawn. It will be a long wait, but the reward will be certain. Watson and I will be at hand to help, but I do not anticipate any very desperate resistance. Good night. Come Watson, we’ll get to bed."

, .A. At 5.12 on Saturday afternoon Holand I carelessly approached the A tall, graceful lady was wheeling a perambulator along the road. “See,” whispered Holmes, “he has. actually borrowed a real meat baby. Who shall say the New Zealand police are without resource?” We strolled slowly past. A boy of thirteen or so came whistling -along from the direction of the town. Holmes’ face sudenly grew tenso, As for me, my every nerve was tingling. The boy’s hands were grimly, and on his face were smudges of printer’s ink. In his hand he lielcr-,9. piece of string about, four feet long. . pn each end was a large coa konreeh As he drew near the pole ' ' ‘he corner a sudden look of determination came over his face. Holdjng his singular looking weapon by the middle of the string like a South,..American bolas he whirled it round sharply several times and released it Suddenly. Swiftly and truly it sped towards the cable and the reels spun round and round till the string was wholly wrapped round. Like a streak of light Holmes sprang upon and hirn, his revolver flashing in his hand. I was scarcely behind him jn grasping the other arm. drawing my own weapon as I did so. The ' “lady” let go the handle of his perambulator, drawing his baton from his sleeve. From the culvert crawled the sergeant and constable. It was

so sudden that the miscreant lost his nerve and offered no insistence. “Wot’s this here?" A rhovin-’picture stunt?” he asked with a weli assumed aspect of innocence. “The Devil,” ejaculated . the Sergeant. / “Yes, the printer’s devil from the Times,” replied Holmes quietly.

“You see, my dear Watson,” said Holmes, as we sat over our afterdinner smoke that evening, “it is all amazingly simple. 1 To get to the bottom of these little affairs you have only to find a motive in connection with a man sufficiently unscrupulous Now, if ever you had been a member of a County Council you would have known that newspaper editors are the one absolutely unscrupulous class of criminals we have. All other ruffians have their moments of decency, but editors never for an instant lapse from their heinous sinfulness. Then, as to motive. Think of the extra two-pences every time he is able to announce ‘Another Engine Smash.’ And now as to his instrument. _ A more simple criminal would have employed the reporter, or the book-keep-er, or the master-printer, and been detected even by the ordinary police. But an editor is the deepest and most crafty of %vil-doers. Probably no one in the world but myself would have suspected an innocenl-loolcing child like that. After all lam glad we came to Pukekohe. But i\c will get l away by car early in the morning, for the Mayor is sure to be grateful and to wish to thank us publicly at a meeting of ratepayers. So pack up before you go to bed.” “And Lake McCarthy?” I enquired.

“That,” said Holmes gravely, must, I fear, remain the one failure in my long and creditable career. But if you love me, Watson, do no(; publish anything about it until I have died again for the second time.”