MURDER IN THE PROCESSION

Wairarapa Times-Age, 23 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.

Mosson was immediately attentive. “Tell me about it,” he„ invited. "Wait a minute! Come along with me in the car while I run home to get some luggage together. Can you spare the time?”

“That’s all right, sir. I’m quite free at While they threaded their way through the stream of traffic, Dick told how he had dwelt on the problem of secreting a firearm about a camera so that it could be used unobtrusively. Several methods seemed feasible. It might replace the central lens, be protruded from the box, or, as he had first suggested, make up one of the battery of lenses.

Major Mosson’s objection to the latter method had ’influenced him until he began experimenting. Then he found various difficulties to overcome in fixing a pistol anywhere else. “The lens turret,” he explained carefully, “is a disc about the size of a soup plate, with a central spindle. It can be rotated until the lens you want to use in is line with the orifice and shutter mechanism. Parts of the disc not in use overlap the box in most in instances.”

“That’s exactly why I though it out of the question. The butt of the pistol, would certainly be visible.” “Not if it was hidden in a false bottom so that instead of the lens overhanging it covered a built-on piece hiding the gun.” “Go on. It's a devilishly ingenious notion.” . '

“Well, I got hold of an old camera, and fixed one up, only my gun’s a toy from a sixpenny store.” “How about firing?” Mosson inquired. “It’s all very well to stow the thing away, but somewhat different to put it to use?’

“Easy as A.8.C., sir. An extension trigger and there you are. The lens is suitably adjusted so that it is in focal line with the viewfinder and you have all the advantages of a first-class sighting device of great accuracy. There-is a very slight difficulty in using the left hand to work the trigger while keeping the right hand going at the film winding handle, but it can be done. “As well as keep the camera accurately aimed?” “Yes, I think so. For a second or two it would mean leaving go of the panning grip . . .” “Long enough to throw off the target.” Cartwright was slightly disconcerted. He was forced to admit the criticism. “No need to look blue,” Major Mosson added. “The main lines of your theory may be right. Many thanks for all the trouble you’ve taken. There are other ways of detonating besides using a trigger—electric relay, for example. “Off my track, Major. I don’t know anything about it.”

But Mosson did and he was .seeing real daylight at last. With an apparatus such as Cartwright had sketched there would be no insuperable difficulties in the way of adding a relay mechanism to ensure firing by pressing a button, which could be conveniently arranged where, there would be no need to interfere with the usual processes of operating the cinematograph. "Thanks again,” he said to the gratified young man. “This may be of invaluable assistance.” He realised how helpful it was to know how the crime might have been accomplished By confronting a suspect with such intimate details it was almost certain he would imagine it meant that all the truth was known. With such a beginning the end came in sight. It was in a much more optimistic frame of mind that Mosson landed in France, although a particularly rough crossing had not been at all soothing. Paris, which he reached in the afternoon, hadn’t the gay appearance of its reputation. After the bunting-hung streets of London it seemed singularly colourless. London had been so gav over the festivities that it was difficult to think of settling down again to less picturesque realities. The French authorities had exerted themselves to good purpose. Brule’s dossier was ready for him. He had never fallen foul of the law and was apparently well thought of by his employers. For three years he had been with the same film company, coming to them after serving an apprenticeship with a concern of similarly high repute. “But, m’sieur,” remarked the Surete official. “There is some mystery about his parentage.” “Mystery, eh! How is that?”

A shrug of the shoulders and a knowing came in reply. “Madame was in occupied territory during the greater part of the war, m’sieur. Of her husband we know nothing. Her maiden name of Brule was retained.” "You mean this lady was unmarried?” “Mais non, m’sieur. That I could not say. It may be she did not wish to use his name.” “Can you not find out the true facts?” “She is dead these five years.” “Ah! No records of a marriage?” “We have no trace. You must know that beyond our lines things were very upset, which may explain much. Once more I can only repeat that Desiree Brule kept to the name of her parents." “Desiree . . Desiree . . Where had he heard that before in connection with Ihe case? Revelation came in a flash. It was the signature to the letter which Private Marley had been looking at when surprised by Parminster, at which the officer had snatched, something of very private concern . . . and written in French. “Pierre Brule —unknown quantity, Pierre Brule —unknown quantity.” Major Mosson fitted that queer refrain to the rhythm of the French train | pounding its way eastwards. And “Desiree, Desiree, Desiree Brule" was the song when they rocked uncomfortably over the points. Opposite him sat a French detective, placed at his disposal by the Surete. The man confessed to the most unFrench name of Schweitzer, insisted that his family for generations had never had any connection with Switzerland and asserted with a baffling mixture of pride and defiance that ho was a Lorrainer. None of these self-revelations really interested the Englishman, who was more concerned with Schweitzer’s competence as a detective. One advantage was that he spoke excellent English, which saved Mosson

from relying on an indifferent knowledge of French. Not that there was much conversation between them. Mosson was deep in thought most of the time trying to make sense out of the fresh facts that had recently come to light. It seemed best to pay a personal visit to Villers Marteaux, where the Brutes had been residing for some years., Not only would it save time, but might possibly lead to important discoveries of a nature that would not be appreciated at second hand. Assistant Commissioner Caythers had concurred when spoken to by long distance telephone. “You’re doing well,” he had remarked approvingly. “Stick to that end of the case until you’ve, sucked it dry.”

That was why the two police officials had travelled all through the night. Villers Marteaux turned cut to be one of those little townships of some four thousand inhabitants that in a more thickly populated country would be of scant importance. Here, however, it was .in the nature of a tiny capital of a wide agricultural district. The people, as Mosson quickly found out. were peculiarly suspicious of strangers, a characteristic of borderbred folk the world over. He had good reason to bless the choice of Schweitzer as a companion, for the Lorrainer was at home in these parts and could get a hearing when it would have been extremely difficult for the foreigner. At the local police headquarters they drew blank. Nothing whatever was known of the Brules. Better luck rewarded them at the post office, where a rural deliverer remembered some people of that name who at one time lived in a comfortable cottage right on the outskirts of the town. “A lady and her son?” Mosson asked hopefully. “That would be correct, m’sier. I do not remember a husband, not from the time they came here.” “You knew them well?” “I did not. Nobody was intimate. The Brules, mother and son, kept themselves to themselves. My own acquaintance was in taking letters to the cottage. Sometimes it was necessary to knock at the door to collect unpaid postage due. The English, it seems,. are careless in stamping letters, often putting on too little.” “There were, then, many letters from England?” “Not many, m’sieur, but regular.” “How often?” “One a month, perhaps. Yes, definitely I should say, one a month. And on very thick paper, which made the weight too great to be covered by the stamps. In France we make use of very thin paper to get the best value for our money. But the English—ah, they do not concern themselves with little things like that.” Major Mosson let him ramble on without interruption. From this casual conversation he was learning much that was of interest. Possibly the letters. of luxurious stationery came from Parminster. He certainly received letters signed “Desiree,” and naturally there would be replies. One thing seemed pretty certain, that there was a connection between this French family and the English officer. What ii was must be his immediate business to establish. A visit to the cottage and a chat here and there with the neighbours carried the quest a stage further. Madame had been in the habit of settling her accounts monthly. She did not appear to be in straitened circumstances, but to the contrary, lived in rather better style than the simple people round about. Because both she and her son maintained a studied reserve they were not very ponular. This was not altogether due to ’the local attitude towards newcomers, for they had lived long enough in the same spot to have overcome this. (To be Continued.)