MURDER IN THE PROCESSION

Wairarapa Times-Age, 22 November 1938, Page 10

MURDER IN THE PROCESSION

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT COPYRIGHT.

BY

LESLIE CARGILL

(Author of “Death Goes by Bus.”)

CHAPTER IX. —Continued. “That lets out the Baltnian crowd,” the Major asserted, only to find that his certainty was not entirely shared by the Assistant Commissioner, whom he sought out to announce the glad news.

"Professor Elmington will not commit himself as to the angle of entry,” was his trump card. “And you’ll agree he is the foremost authority.” Mosson refused to be damped. “Show him our whole collection of films,” he advised. “They ought to give him something fresh to go on.” Elmington came to scoff and remained to praise. “I had seen some of the news films,” he observed, “an even had a notion they might prove of value. But without your latest efforts they could not have been of real use. Yes, 1 am inclined to agree that your murderer was up there.” “And what about the Baltnian Legation?” Caythers inquired. “Right out of it. Parminster would have had to be half inclined to his right or penetration would have been somewhere near the left shoulder blade. As can be seen from the films, he sat his horse squarely.” With pencil and paper he demonstrated his meaning so clearly that even Caythers was impressed. “You’ve given me renewed hope,” he confessed, “to say nothing of a heap of extra work.”

Mosson groaned inwardly, knowing what that portended. Once more the machine would start to-grind. Individually and collectively every man who had been anywhere near a cinema would be subjected to a process of mi-croscopic-like examination. His action motives and private life would be dissected. It was an aspect of police procedure that seemed rather revolting to the dabbler. Yet how else could progress be made? Inevitably the innocent must suffer concentrated interrogation lest the guilty escape. Fortunately it was not his job to assist in this, and he was glad enough of it when he found that Dick Cartwright had been through the mill. “Fairly turned me inside out,” was his rueful comment. Two of the biggest plain-clothes bobbies I’ve ever seen scraped the marrow out of my bones. Oh, yes, they did it very nicely. Proper gentlemen, although I must say I felt as if I must be the murderer myself before they’d finished.” “Don’t bother abou it, my boy,” advised the Major.

“No malice, sir. No bones broken. We parted the best of friends.” “That’s the spirit.” He wondered if his own investigation would have had better results had he this trained knack of getting right inside other people’s personalities. “I rather admire those chaps,” Dick went on. “They knew what they were up to and got quite a lot of information out of me.”. “How’s that?”

“Jolted the sluggish old memory box. It’s surprising what a lot you can recall with the aid of a few good kicks—not real ones, of course, but downright keen questions that act just the same." “Well, you may as well tell me anything I’ve missed.” “Sorry, Major, but you don’t seem able to give the right sort of prompting.” So that was the difference between the Investigation Department and the amateur. Knowing what to ask was the great thing. But Dick had been doing some hard thinking all on his own. A vague idea had occurred to him which, however far-fetched, was not beyond the realms of possibility.. Until recently he had been convinced that working a camera and firing a pistol could not be done simultaneously. Now he was not at all sure. Somewhere or other he had read that the machcine-gun of a fighting plane was synchronised with the propeller of the machine. If that was the case why no apply similar ! principles to the cinematograph? Firing through the shutter was not necessary, although that might be practical. But there would be no need for that. All that was wanted was a connection between the trigger of the weapon and the camera mechanism.

Mosson had asked if such an apparatus could be rigged up and he had replied in the negative. No, on second thoughts the inquiry had not been so direct. It had taken the form of suggesting that a man busily engaged in photography would have his hands too occupied to do anything else. And they had taken it for granted.

“Something’s on your mind.” Major Mosson spoke with gentle encouragement. “Do you think you could get it off?”

Leading the Scotland Yard man to a cine-camera already rigged up on its tripod, Cartwright began to elaborate his theory, warming up as he sensed the keen attention of his listener. A series of lenses was mounted on a moveable disc that could be adjusted so that the appropriate combination was brought into action. Among them was a telescopic lens of impressive appearance, large enough to camouflage a pistol.

But Mosson shook his head. “Impossible,” he pronounced. “Without having your expert knowledge I’d say at a glance that it couldn’t be done that way. Now if you hid it in the box part here . . .”

“The. light would get in and that would ruin the film.” “If the camera was loaded!" “You mean . . . ?” “That somebody was only pretending to take pictures.” Cartwright objected immediately. From his own knowledge he knew that every operator had exposed a great deal of film at the time the murder was committed.

Except Ifan Malask, of course. Eagerly they went back to the enlarged amateur record, scanning it carefully, only to find that the representative of the Swedish concern was definitely out of action at the important moment. “There’s no doubt that’s him next to me,” Dick asserted. “You’re as busy as two to make up,” Mosson said innocently at which the young man flared up. “Are you going to suspect me as well?” he demanded angrily. “Of course not. You’ve disarmed, suspicion in half a dozen ways, to say nothing of-having no motive. By the way, you’re quite sure about the impracticability of fixing the weapon in the box part, I suppose?” “Almost certain. Providing the

light-tightness could be assured there would still be the shadow of the interior obstruction thrown on the film. At Scotland Yard Mosson treated himself to another screen show. In the middle of it Captain Caythers came in to make facetious remarks. For once the Major was unresponsive. Viewed in the light of fuller knowledge he had spotted something which had not previously been noticeable. In one particular place the picture gave a queer spasmodic jump. An eerie feeling crept down his spine, for he felt sure now that this denoted the very moment when the trigged w. pulled. “Aren’t you getting a trifle tired of these films?” the Assistant Commissioner asked.

“On the contrary, old man, I find them more fascinating than ever.” “All right, you carry on your waj and I’ll carry on mine.” “Found anything fresh?”

“Not yet. We’ve had a go at all the available men who were on the platform. Friend Malask is back in Sweden and I’m specially keen on having another chat with him.” “I shouldn’t worry. He wasn’t working a camera, only looking on.”

“All the more reason to learn what he was up to with such a priceless opportunity.” “You’re barking up the wrong tree again.” “What do you mean?” “Can you bring yourself to sit through another special performance here and now?”

“At a pinch.” When the film gave that quiver Mosson gripped his companion’s arm. “That,” he said, “marks the fatal instant. The pistol was attached to the cine-camera, which wobbled through the explosion.” ■

“Is this a joke?” “Anything but.” As thoroughly as possible he explained the theory first expounded by young Cartwright. “This appears to me to be confirmed by the movement shown on the pictures.”

“Then why hadn’t we noticed it before?”

“Because we weren’t looking for it. What is an extra jolt here and there? Only when we seek a sinister explanation does it strike you forcibly as an essential fact such as we’ve been hoping to find for the last fortnight.” Captain Caythers sprang to action. Cartwright must come to the Yard immediately. Probably he could identify the section of film and say who was responsible for it?” While he barked crisp instructions into the telephone Major Mosson waited patiently, by. “You know,” he commented mildly when the excitement began to die down, “I can tell you who was responsible for the section.”

“Why in heaven’s name are you holding it back?”

“No opportunity since you started off like a jumping jack. It happens to be a very distinctive portion, and rather significant ...” “Never mind the lecture. Who —who —who?” “The Frenchman . . .Pierre Brule.” ' “Damn! Sure to be somebody difficult of access. Where is he now?”

“Paris is the headquarters of his company.” “Good! The Surete people are a smart crowd and can soon find out all there is to know about Monsier Brule. Somebody ought to go across and have a talk to the man.” “How about me?”

“Not your job, you know, but as you’ve met Brule, we’ll stretch a point. Catch the night boat.” “Why not fly?”

The Assistant Commissioner regarded his interrogator, suspecting his leg was being gently pulled. Mosson’s serious composure reassured him. “Not so much hurry as all that,” he observed. “Give the Paris police time to get their information. They’ve a wonderful system, but it’s bound to take more than a few hours unless our friend has passed through their hands, which is too much to hope for.” “Any special instructions?” “Only to use your discretion, and remember whatever you do manage tc find out that we haven’t got the man on this side of the channel.”

“What exactly, am I expected to do?” “Talk to the man. Catch him on the hop.” "Hasn't that line of approach been tried already?” “Plenty of times. Only when one is sure, however, can it be applied effectively. Take this instance as an example. Up to now we have been groping about in the dark. But allowing for Brule being the guilty person he’s sure to give himself away if directly taxed. Once he realises the secret is on the verge of popping out he’ll break down all right.” “So that’s the secret of police work!” “Got it at last ,old man.” “Suppose I’m not completely convinced does that make any difference?” “It might. But presumably you are.” “With reservations.” “Good heavens, man, it is your own theory. To all intents and purposes it seems cut and dried.” “Leaving out Ifan Malask. Don’t forget he was the one unoccupied man up there.” “Aren’t you forgetting the evidence of that jolt in the film attributed to the firearm recoiling?” “I'm keeping that very much in mind.” “Then why bring in Malask again?” “Because Brule may have started involuntarily, causing the jerk. Isn't it possible he heard something, rather than did something?” The Assistant Commissioner considered the point thoughtfully. I hadn’t thought of that,” he admitted. “If so I guess he’d have told us.” “Not necessarily. You know yourself that when immersed in a task an interruption can occur of momentary importance and be completely obliterated from all recollection.” “That can happen, but I suggest that an emergency would bring it quickly enough to the surface. Brue might have so lost himself in his work as to carry on and then forget anything had happenedfi only to find the impression very clear when he learned about the tragedy.” “M’m. There’s something in what you say.” “Another thing—why should Brule hear the report and nobody else? He wasn’t standing next to Malask, was he?” “No. Young Cartwright was in be-j

tween.” “Then that settles it.” “Perhaps!” Mosson was still reluctant to take matters for granted. “Some men,” he pointed out, “have an abnormally acute sense of hearing.” “Others are wilfully obtuse. Clear off to France and leave Malask to me.” “All right. If you want me to take a trip to Sweden afterwards I’ll be delighted. Meanwhile I’ll march up to Brule and say, ‘Why did you shoot General Parminster?’ and . . .” “There might be worse opening gambits,” commented Caythers. Dick Cartwright was coming into Scotland Yard as Major Mosson went out. They came face to face at the main gates. “I wanted to see you,” the cameraman greeted. “Sorry to be in such a hurry. I’ve a train to catch. “Can’t you come along to the studio, sir?” “Afraid not. Is it anything important?” “Perhaps not, only I thought you might be interested. Yesterday you said it wasn’t feasible for a camera lens to be used for masking a pistol.” “So I did, although pointing out at the time I didn’t pretend to be an expert.” “Well, I am, although that may sound boastful. When it comes to cameras I'm in my element. As a bit of an experiment I’ve rigged up a dummy apparatus that would do the trick.” (To be Continued.)