The Shadow Crook

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 585, 11 February 1929, Page 5

The Shadow Crook

By

Aidan de Brune

(Author of *' Dr Night,” “The ! Carson Loan Mystery,” “The Dagger and the Cord.” etc.) (COPYLIGHT.)

CHAPTER XVI. tou stay there, my friend!” The suddenly stretched arm of the detective prevented the caretaker approaching the bed. For some minutes Mason stood silent, carefully scanning the room. There was nothing unusual except the disturbed bed. So far as he could see, nothing else had been disturbed. He crossed to the door of the bathroom and examined thp bottom of the bath. It was dry. He turned to the towel rack. The towels "ere dry; so also, were the soap and brushes, in their respective trays. With a perplexed shrug of the shoulders he returned to the bedroom. “Let’s get this straight.” He swuilg

round to face tile caretaker, still where he stayed him in the door. “First, what’s your name?”

“Anstey. Charles Anstey.” The man gave a little gasp. “I'll swear i had nothing to do with it!” “With it?" Mason snapped back. “■With what? With this bed? Come on. what’s the story? Suppose you knew Mintos did not return last night, so allowed some friend to use the room, eh.”

“No one's been in ’ere, to my knowledge.” The man spoke quickly. “I told yer th’ place was ready for Mr. Mintos’s return. If I’d lent th’ bed, d'yer -think I'd ’ave left it like that, all day?” There was force in the statement. Mason wandered round the room searching for a clue to the puzzle, but Lite room appeared absolutely innocent of any. Only the disturbed bed was suspicious. “Who did this room—this morning. I mean?” “Dunno. I’ll ask th’ wife. She tells th’ womin wot ter do. I looks after the public parts ov th’ buildin’.”

The Inspector nodded and the man left the room. Mason carried a couple of chairs to the doorway. He would not let anyone into the room until he had solved this strange puzzle. There was the telegram from the Shadow Crook, bringing him to this Hat—to this room with the disturbed bed. The telegram had come from the Shadow Crook, but it had been signed with the name of Samuel Keene. The telegram referred to Abel Mintos —but he was laid up at Rose Bay with a broken head! What was the connection between the three men and that room? In Mason’s mind there was no doubt that the telegram had been dispatched with the one object of bringing him to that fiat. For what purpose? To view a disordered bed? There must be some other reason?

into the mystery surrounding the three men and the disordered bed intruded the two letters he had found on the desk in the study. Anstey had stated they had not been there the previous evening. Who had written them and why had they not been posted. Anstey had been in the flat the previous evening, and they had not been there. He had stated the rooms had been entered by one of the women employed in the building. How had she come to miss the bed? There appeared only one probable explanation. Mintos had not been seriously injured hv the attack of the Shadow Crook. He had recovered during the night and had stolen out of Etheringham’s house. He had come to the flat and written the letters. Then, possibly overcome by faintness, he had tumbled into bed. and slept. Waking early in the morning he had gone back to "Avonlea."

Such an explanation would fit the disordered bed and the letters. But, it negatived any reason for the telegram. It was plain the Shadow Crook had sent the telegram with the intention of forcing the Inspector to go to Ray Hill Court. For what reason? To find two unposted letters and a disordered bed? To find Abel Mintos in his flat when he was supposed to ha an invalid, at “Avonlea?” No: neither explanation would fit in with the

known methods of the master criminal! ' How could he reconcile the facts? Mason slumped into one of the chairs and drew out his pipe. Perhaps a whiff of tobacco would make for a solution of the problems. The door opened and Anstey ushered in his wife. She was a buxom woman with a keen, jolly face, now set in anxious lines. Immediately she entered the room she sat down heavily in the chair Mason placed for her. “Mrs. Anstey?” The Inspector pocketed his pipe. “Yes. Good! Mr. Anstey tells me you have charge of the women cleaning out these flats. Yes. Who attended this fiat this morning?” “I did.” The ample bosom of the caretaker’s wife heaved tumultously. “Charlie’s a fool. I told him so, this morning.” “Humph!” Mason eyed the pair, questioningly. There was something here he had not guessed at. “You came in to dust the place, I believe. Why? Mr. Miutos had written to inform your husband he would not be home for a week?” “Rule ov th’ ’ouse.” Anstey interposed. gruffly. All flats have to be attended to every day, whether occupied or not, ’less th’ tenant undertakes to do ’is own cleanin’.” “So? That’s the reason you came here, Mrs. Anstey. Did you enter every room?” “I dusted th’ place, and properly. Mister Inspector.” The woman spoke shrilly. “I do things properly. I’ll let you know.” “You entered every room?” Mason patiently repeated his question.

“I dusted th’ dinin’-room an’ all. an’ then went to th’ study. I dusted that an’ then th’ . . .”

“You noticed the unposted letters on the blotting pad on the desk?” “I did.” Mrs. Anstey hesitated a moment. “I meant to take th’ stamps from th’ drawer and stick ’em on and get Charlie ter post ’em. Seems as’ ow Mr. Mintos ’ad forgotten ’em when ’e went out, yesterday.” “You had seen them yesterday? After Mr. Mintos left the flat?” “No.” The answer was decisive. “I 'aven’t been in th’ flat for a l’ew days, until this mornin.’ ” “You came into this bedroom?” “Yes, and dusted it. Them womin ain’t too careful wi’ th’ duster. There was dust everywhere—shockin.’ I’m just waitin’ ter tell Mrs. Moore what I think ov ’er.’’ “The bed was made then?”

“Ov course!’’ Mrs. Anstey swelled with indignation. “D’yer think I’d have left th’ flat wi’ th’ bed unmade? We ain’t like that, are we, Charlie?” The Inspector took a turn up and down the room. The puzzle was becoming unsolvable. The bed made, yet the letters lay on the desk! Almost he could accept the woman’s version of what had happened, bending it with his theory connecting Abel Mintos with the mystery. The Jew had come to the flat and written the letters. He had left the flat —and during that time Mrs. Anstey had come in with her duster —returning, later, and lying down in the bed. But what was the reason behind those actions? The Jew was supposed to be confined to his bed, at “Avonlea.” “What of that, Anstey? What of the letters?” “The letters were not on th’ desk last night.” The man answered, doggedly. “I told you I wrote a bit ov a note ter Mr. Mintos, at th’ desk. I’d ’ave noticed ’em if they’d been there, woudn’t I?”

“You did not. unthinkingly, push the letters from the pad to the desk, to make room to write? Mrs. Anstey, you are certain the letters were lying on the blotting pad this morning?” Both caretaker and his wife nodded their heads. Again the detective looked around him, perplexedly. The letters were not there the previous

evening. They were there in the morning, and then the bed was undisturbed. But for Anstey’s positive assurance Mason would have been inclined to believe that Mintos had written the letters before he set out for i “Avonlea” and forgotten to post them.

With a word of thanks he dismissed the woman and turned his attention to the room. Warning the caretaker not. to stir from his seat, the detective circled the flat, again peering, into the bathroom and making certain the bottom of the bath was bone-dry. Thoroughly mystified, lie returned to the bedroom. For some time he stood looking down at the disturbed bed. Had the occupant lain there through the night or for a few hours that morning? The impressions of the body seemed to speak of a long sleep. Night or day? If the caretaker and his wife had told the truth, then the letters had been written independent of the disordered bed. Someone—the handwriting on the envelopes suggested Mintos —had entered the room, written the letters, and slept in the bed. Again the detective bent to the crumpled sheets. He traced the impression of the body. It was short and wide. Just tile kind of impression Mintos would have made.

“Come in, Anstey.” Mason nodded to the waiting caretaker. “Have a careful look around the loom and tell me if anything is missing.” He sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the man circle the room. It was accomplished in a few minutes. Anstey returned to his chair by the door, shaking his head negatively. “Nothing more to do here, then. ' Mason rose to his feet. “The thing’s a mystery. All I can gather is that one or more persons beside Abel Mintos possess keys to this flat.” “That’s impossible.” The man spoke positively. “There’s four keys in all. Two ov ’em belong to th’ ’ouse an’ two Mr. Mintos ’as. That’s all.” “Haven’t lost a key at any time, have you?” the inspector asked the auestion as he walked out of the flat toward the lift. “Tenants sometimes forget to return keys when they leave a building.” “Not with this flat.” The man grinned. “Mr. Mintos came ’ere when th’ place was being built, an’ ’as been ’ere ever since. ’E’s got ’is keys, all right, 1 knows. One’s locked on ’is

keyring, and th’ other’s locked up in ’ iß desk. I saw ’im puttin’ it there.” “What of the other tenants of the building?” The inspector asked the question, drawing back from the open door of the lift. He remembered he had stained his finger when examining the list of tenants when he came to Mintos’s name. There were four more floors in the building. “Th’ names is on th' doors.” A glance of impatience crossed the stolid face of the caretaker. “Best tiling ter go down an’ ’ave a look at th’ list! I don’t fancy climbin’ .those stairs.” The lift dropped swiftly down the well, and in a few minutes Mason again stood in the caretaker’s office before the list of tenants. Almost at the foot of the list he came on a naum he knew.

“So Alec Branston lives here?” he looked over his shoulder at the waiting man. “That’s the man on ‘The Mirror,' isn’t it? Out all night and comes in with the milk in the morning.”

“That’s 'im. Queer sort of chap. Alius laughing. Laughs when ’e comes in dog-tired in th’ mornin’, laughs when ire goes out to work when other people is gettin' ready ter enjoy themselves. Thumps a typewriter most ov th’ afternoon, an’ eats when th’ fit takes ’im. Know ’im?”

“Quite well.” The detective spoke ' untruthfully. He had only met the newspaper man a few times in his life. Mostly what he remembered of tile j fellow was the unruly crop of jetblack hair crowning' his head. "Suppose he’s up by this time. Well, I’ll go up and have a word with him.” He went up to the top floor. As he left the lift he could hear the "thumpthump” of a typewriter, rapidly worked. It was unnecessary to search the tickets on the doors. Mason crossed the landing and knocked. A few moments, and footsteps crossed the small hall; the door swung open. “Sight for sore eyes!” the newspaper man stepped hack with a welcoming gesture. “Come in, inspector. Can’t keep the police out, although the place is in disorder. What’s thrown suspicion on the select Ray Hill Court?”

“What makes you think Raj 7 Hill Court is under suspicion by the police?” Mason laughed as he hung his hat on the hat-stand in the hail. “Then am X?” The journalist extended his hands as if for the cuffs. “I happen to know you did not know where I lived the last (ime we met. Y r ou must have gone to the ‘Mirror’ for my address.” “There are others in this rabbitwarren,” the detective smiled again. “F’instance ” “Abel Mintos! ” The newspaper man uttered an ejaculation of surprise. “I never thought of him. Still, he’s been living here for quite a time. Put. in whetr the place was built. I’ve been told, as one of the fixtures.” “And you?” “Oh, I’m a sort of annexe.” Again the light lilt of laughter trilled in the reporter’s voice. “Roam the streets at night and sleep under the tiles during the sweet morning hours. Say, what’s the trouble with friend Mintos? I tried to make up to him when I first came here. Heard he’d lived an adventurous life among the cannibals of the north and the wild pearl-divers. Directly I mentioned them, he froze — cold as if he’d been in a refrigerator all night. And a man like him should have some good stories about him.” There was deep regret in the newspaper man’s voice. Mason laughed, it was hard lines for a writer to have a man of stories near him and only extract ice.

“Been out to-day?” The detective asked the question suddenly. “Out?” the reporter glanced at the clock. "No. not yet. Have to go and feed in a minute. Got up at 1.30 to tea and toast, and it’s nearly six now.”

“Is it, by jove?” The inspector looked at his watch. “So it is. Well, see you later.” He turned from the room and went

to tlie lift. Brans ton stood at the I door of his flat watching the detective drop down to the ground floor. As he passed the fourth floor Mason’s finger suddenly sought the stop button. He had glanced at the outer door of Mintos’s flat and noticed it stood ajar. Had Mintos returned, or had the caretaker forgotten to pull the door shut? He pressed the fourthfloor button and ascended a few feet. The door was ajar. For a moment the inspector hesitated, then pushed it open. If Mintos was at home he could make it appear this "was his first visit to the place. The caretaker would not tell of his previous examination of the flat.

He turned to the door and knocked loudly. Beyond the door the rooms lay cold and dark. Mintos had not returned. Mason walked quietly forward and peered into the dark study. There was no one there. He turned back and closed the hall door. It was well not to attract attention.

A few strides and he came to the study. Immediately he walked across the room to the desk and picked up the two letters. He placed them in his pocket alongside the folded sheet of blotting paper. Then he turned to a careful examination of the flat. Suddenly he turned with a start. He was not alone in the flat! Some instinct froze him to where he stood, every nerve in his body tensed to listen for the recurrence of the faint sound his sub-conscious mind had registered. For some minutes he stood listening. He could hear nothing. Yet he was certain there was someone about. He had just persuaded his strung nerves that he had been mistaken when the slight grating noise

came again. There was someone in the flat w r ith him. Mason drew his lips back in an ugly snarl. He would teach this person not to dog his steps. He snapped off the light of his torch and stole back into the hall. There was no one there. A careful searching glance around by the ray of his torch and he turned to the dining room. That also was empty. He crossed the hall and looked into Mintos’s bedroom. The bed was still disordered and there was no one in the room. He returned into the hall and walked across to the door of the study. Something drew his attention to the door. He believed he had shut it when he came out of the room. Now' it stood half-open. Was anyone in the room? Again came the queer slithering sound. The inspector recognised that it came from within the study. Pausing a moment, he pushed the door cautiously open. A short wait and he sprang into the room with a shouted command to “stand.” Something heavy hit him over the head, and he sank down to dreamless oblivion. CHAPTER XVII. “How do you feel now, old man?” Mason opened his eyes to see Alec Branston bending over him. “Keep down, you idiot. You don't think you can waltz about the place after a crack over the head?” “Crack” The inspector rolled his head uneasily, to see he was lying on the floor of Mintos's study, a pillow" under his head and the floor for yards around sopping wet. "What happened? Did something fall on me, or was I . . .” “Sandbagged? Yes.” Branston grinned down on the man. “A real

live sandbag and a policeman's head! First time I’ve heard of the connection. Thought the sandbag wouldn’t act, or the opposing head would prove too solid. Oh, well, if you must! Here, put your arm over my shoulder and hang on.” With some difficulty the newspaper man dragged the officer to his feet and assisted him across the room to one of the deep lounge chairs. When he had made him comfortable, he crossed the room and picked up tlie sodden pillow, surveying it ruefully. “D.on’t know what Mintos will say.” Branston held the pillow up, the water dripping from it. “Looks to me, Mason, as if you’ve got two of the attributes of a good ‘cop.’ A thick skull and full immunity to water. Never be drowned, that’s a fact, or I'd have sent you to the ‘ever-ever’ before you opened your eyes again.” (To be Continued)