MURDER IN THE PROCESSION

Wairarapa Times-Age, 14 November 1938, Page 10

MURDER IN THE PROCESSION

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

COPYRIGHT.

BY

LESLIE CARGILL

(Author of “Death Goes by Bus.”)

CHAPTER IV. —Continued. “You speak remarkably good English,” Caythers remarked, steering clear of an awkward subject. “Thank you, sir. We were taught by an Englishman and I have improved on it since coming to this country. Also I speak French and German.” : “Rather unusual accomplishments!” . “My master intended to travel and to enter the diplomatic service. Some of his favoured servants were trained for this purpose.” “Were you also taught to climb?” “Mountains, sir? No, that was not included. We have them in Baltnia, but “Ladders, I mean.” Malask looked genuinely puzzled. The attempt to take him off his guard signally failed. “The loft above this buliding,” Caythers went on. “Do you go up there often?” . , “Very rarely.” “When was the last occasion?” “Oh, I can answer that accurately. It was on the day of the big procession. “Indeed. For what purpose?” “I wished to take a shot. It was ideal for the purpose.” Both his listeners stiffened to attention. “To take a shot ... to shoot whom?” Caythers’ query brought a slight grin to the man’s face. “You do not understand the technicality,” he answered. “I have a little cinema camera for taking moving pictures.” So that was the simple explanation. A promising line of investigation had gone hopelessly astray. There was nothing more to be done at the legation for the time being.

“Moving pictures indeed,” the Captain exclaimed disgustedly in relating to the matter to Major Mosson. “And he actually wanted me to look at the thing.”

“Why didn’t you? It would have proved his point.” “I suppose so. Perhaps I’ll take advantage of the offer later. Of course he could have indulged in the more dangerous kind of shooting as well while he was up thei-e.” “Queer that you should mention movies,” remarked the Major. “I’ve been to see some this afternoon and would like you to go along as well.” “Not in my line, old man. Besides there’s too much work to do connected with this case.” “But this show does concern it.” “How’s that?” “Newsreel. Illustrates the actual moment when Parminster was hit. Take my word for it, you may learn something surprisingly useful.” The Gloria Picture Theatre was one of those pretentious buildings dominating the rapidly growing suburb. At the sight of it Captain Caythers moaned ostentatiously. “Was it necessary to bring me out all this way to see a twelve minute newsreel?” he demanded. Major Mosson nodded. “Unfortunately nobody thought it worth while to make an earlier inspection,” he replied. “The first runs in the big theatres finished days ago.” “So I suppose. And presumably we have to sit through first what was new at the eginning of the year.” For the next hour the two high officials of Scotland Yard revelled in the synthetic adventure of a crime story. “Grand stuff,” commented the Assistant Commissioner when it was over. “If only we had cases like this in real life I’d never want to retire.” Neither of them seemed to realise that they were concerned in a matter that in drama, mystery and romance was of far greater import than any scenarist’s invention. The screen of the, newsreel did not bring it home to them. A job of work was all in the day’s routine and not a thing to be thrilled about. Following scenes of a big motor race, the opening of an infant welfare centre, and the start of a double transAtlantic air flight, the film settled down to well-photographed incidents in the procession. Once again they glimpsed the'splendour of that pageant-like occasion and could hardly avoid reacting sympathetically to the enthralled interest of the audience. The tragic death of Sir Vincent Parminster was given a separate section to itself, hailed on the caption as a “News Special. ”A hush fell over the people as the proud figure of the General came into view at the head of his detachment. Caythers and Mosson leaned slightly forward to watch more intently. They saw the old man give a' start and then make an effort —heroic in its obvious attempt to carry on at all costs —to pull himself together. Gradually the sway became more pronounced until he was nothing more than a pitiful heap upon horseback. Next came the police-offi-cer to lead the grim burden aside, while the rest of the cortege moved along without seemingly taking the slightest notice. The cameraman had also included snaps of the crowd, and it was noticeable that few seemed aware of anything wrong. “That’s enough for me,” whispered Caythers. Not until they were in the street did he speak again. Then it was to remark that a copy of the film should be obtained for detailed study without delay. “You were right about it being a possible help,” he added. “But it would have been better had Parminster not exercised such rigid control.”

,“How do you make that out?” “Well, if he’d toppled down immediately there might have been an indication of the direction the bullet came from. Experts can deduce quite a lot from that sort of thing. All we know is that it came from somewhere at the rear, without being sure of the actual angle. You noticed that he did not turn round. By gad, Mosson, I’ve a greater respect than ever for- the man’s physical bravery. It takes a lot to overcome instinctive movements.” “I was more interested in the queer sort of smile on his face. What did you make of that?" “Almost as if he knew the whole truth and though it ironically amusing.” , „ , Mosson agreed. “Pity we don t know as much,” he added. “There is another thing which may be worth attention. We’ve been told the band was playing the march “Colonel Bogey” at the time of the shooting and Superintendent

Mcyne actually had a theory that the reports synchronised with a particular passage. But the band was playing an entirely different march according to the sound version.” “That’s a tribute to your powers of observation,” remarked Caythers, “but of no particular value. I spotted the same thing and came to the conclusion that the sound isn’t actuality.” “What do you mean?” “Come along to the studios and we’ll find out.” “Thought you didn't do routine work?” “Like you I happen to be getting personally interested in this sleuthing. Incidentally I'm fascinated by anything to do with the cinema, so this opportunity is not to be missed.” They found the Gramonta Film Studios buzzing like a beehive. Men and women dashed about as if there was not a moment to be lost. In the office of Mr Max Schmidt, a symphony of telephone bells played incessantly during their interview and messengers hurried in and-out at inconvenient intervals. Accustomed to the calmer atmosphere of Scotland Yard, the visitors were ingenuously impressed, for they had' always thought this sort of thing more incidental to screen big-business than to real life. Mr Schmidt’s rich transatlantic accent was another sheer joy. They had previously found some amusement in getting to see the great man, a succession of underlings having passed them on to gradually increasingly important personages until- they were approved for the Presence. “Sure,” he agreed readily. “Have as many copies as you like. Why didn’t you come sooner?” The Assistant Commissioner had no answer. He could hardly say that nobody- had though the news pictures worthy of note until attention had been drawn to them as a casual incident. Being an everyday sort of thing they had been taken for granted. Yet quite a number of police officers must have attended cinemas and seen the screening of the K essential sequences. “I got a suggestion,” Mr Schmidt went on hurried as if afraid his time would be wasted by the question being taken up. “Get a peek at the rushes.” “Eh?”

“The whole works! Our men take miles of film. Only the best bits are used. I’ll give you a chit for the cutting room. Get ’em to make a print of anything you want. How about a projector? We’ve a thirty-five millimetre portable you can have at headquarters. Good! It’ll be there before you get back. Keep the operator as long as needed. He’s paid on a long hours basis.”

The visitors were hustled out courteously though expeditiously to find the cutting room a much more restful place. Here, they were promised copies of all the scenes taken in the vicinity of Trafalgar Square,''especially those showing Sir Vincent Parminster. “A most satisfactory afternoon,” Captain Caythers summed up. “It has given me another brain wave. We’ll gather up films from all the agencies represented. There are sure to be variations and, who knows, it may lead to something worth following up.” ‘

“What about thanking me for setting you on the right road?” asked Major Mosson quizzically. “Of course I do. You’ve been a real help more than once, and I’m jolly glad you emerged from that stuffy office of yours to do a spot of genuine police work.” “And I’m delighted to discover you don’t know all the strings worth pulling.” “We’re only human, old man, but we don’t miss much in the long run.” Schmdit had been as good as his word. The portable sound apparatus had actually arrived before them and hurriedly printed copies of the films turned up in time to permit an inspection that evening. Only then did they remember that in the excitement they had omitted to inquire about the march not being “Colonel Bogey.” Fortunately the operator sent from the studios was able to enlighten them. “As there are only a limited number of vans equipped with recording apparatus.” he explained, “most of the shots are taken silent and fitted with appropriate sound sequences afterwards — ‘dubbing,” as it is called. There isn’t any sound track on these films, printed from the original negative, so you can take it for granted they were all unsynchronised.” The next stage was to get similar help from the other newsreel concerns represented at the procession. Some of them were from abroad, which necessitated waiting. With the British companies it was much simpler. And here a stroke of luck eventualised. An officer who had gone to the At this point the Assistant Commisoperation returned with the announcement that a girl in the cutting room had some information to give. As it appeared to be of interest she had been invited to come along and tell it directly to the higher officials. Phyllis Huhne had the rare combination of good looks and brains. Captain Caythers liked the way she carried herself. She remained perfectly selfpossessed without adding any suggestion of pertness. Apparently she had thought of bringing her discover to notice a few days previously, but was doubtful if others would appreciate her point of view. In the course of her work it was necessary to examine thousands of feet of exposed film, much of which never appeared before the public. Included among the procession sequences was a remarkable view of the assassination of General Parminster, which had been regarded as too grim to be included in the ordinary newsreel. With her trained eye and expert knowledge of film technique it appeared that the police might be considerably helped in their investigations if they inspected it carefully. At his point the Assistant Commissioner became slightly disappointed. He had expected something more obviously valuable—perhaps even a glimpse of tne murdered taking aim, or slinking away from the scene of the crime Phyllis Huhne shook her head when he suggested something of the kind. “I’m afraid you don’t fully grasp my meaning,” she said. “I could explain better if you would see the picture, which I’ve brought along with me in

case you have the necessary projector. If not it can be seen in our private theatre.”

“We’ve got all the stuff here, Miss Hulme. But please remember we have already seen scenes of the actual tragedy. Presumably yours are similar. In this he was mistaken. This was soon apparent when the flickering figures appeared on the screen. It was odd to watch the silent movement of the people, who went their way to the accompaniment of only the steadily whirring machine. ‘Cold, I’m sorry to say,” the girl remarked. “Oh, probably you don’t know that that means without synchronised sound. No recording apparatus was present at the time, only the photographic cameras. Now watch .’’ At the beginning of the reel of the scene was shown from an agle in which the procession was seen approaching. Then it switched over to the backs of the figures. “Now that's a very odd shot,” went on the young expert. “Naturally there isn’t a gread deal of interest to be got by taking like that. Observe how the cameraman has focussed directly on the General, picking him out for special attention. Notice, too, the short distance the crowd seems to be away. That’s because a telephoto lens has been used. It causes foreshortening.” “Certainly there doesn’t seem any particular reason for concentrating so long on that particular view,” agreed Caythers. “No, unless you like to think it was in anticipation of something unusual happening. And here it is.” (To be Continued.)