EBONY TORSO

Wairarapa Times-Age, 19 August 1939, Page 12

EBONY TORSO

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

(By

JOHN C. WOODIWISS.)

CHAPTER I. Detective Inspector Hopton gazed cut over the snow-covered expanse of roofs from the window of Kensington Road Police Station while Superintendent Ellis anxiously waited for an answer to his question. ‘Tin afraid I can't give you the exact details just now.” said the C.I.D. man at last, ‘‘but I’ll look up the information you want the moment 1 get back to the Yard.” ‘‘Very good." agreed the other, ‘'l'm anxious to put a stop to this outbreak of forgery as soon as possible; it's becoming a nuisance and we feel certain that all the cheques come from the same source."

Hopton nodded, but any further comment was interrupted by the telephone on the Superintendent’s desk which began to ring harshly. "Dash the thing!" muttered Ellis, taking off the receiver. “Excuse me a moment: Hello . . yes . . Ellis speaking!" Hopton had picked up his hat preparatory to Having his colleague, when ihe latter stopped him. "Yard wants you." he announced, handing over the ’phone to his superior. "I fancy it’s another murder job." The detective turned up his eyes in an expression of mute annoyance, put the receiver to his ear. and began to speak:

"Hello!" "That Inspector Hopton?” “Speaking!” It was Sergeant Morrell’s voice which asked the question: “You're to go to Lambeth Station at once, sir; it’s a murder ease.” "Oh. Lord!" muttered the detective.

“Inspector Carlingford's out of his depth, and the Assistant Commissioner wants you to get'there as soon as possible,” Morrell went on.

“Very good; i'll go right away. Anything else?” asked Hopton. "No, I think not, sir; you’ll hear all the gruesome details on arrival.” “All right. I’ll be getting along; good-bye." “Good-bye, sir.” The Inspector snapped on the receiver again with a grunt of annoyance. "No peace for the wicked,” he sighed. “I’ve got to report to Lambeth as soon as possible on a murder job!” “Well, it's nice sharp weather for you,” commented Ellis facetiously. "I find it hard enough to keep warm in here.”

"Not enough to do," grinned Ilopton, making for the door. “Cheerio, and I'll get Sergeant Paget to ’phone those particulars about the forgery business as soon as I’ve a moment to spare.” “Very good.” nodded the Superintendent rising. “So long . . and good hunting!”

Half an hour later the detective was scraping the congealed snow from his boots before the roaring fire al Ihe Lambeth Police Station while Divisional Detective-Inspector Carlingford, a big man with a red face and sandy hair, went over the chief incidents of the case.

“Well, Ilopton, this looks like being a real corker,” he began, taking a pile of papers from his desk and flattening them out before him.

"I suppose that’s why I’m here?" suggested the detective with a chuckle. "But, go on.” “Well, to begin with,” said the Divisional Inspector, referring to his notes, "Police Constable Maggs was on point duty at eleven forty-five this morning, at the junction of Mayford and Streatham roads, when a boy came dashing along in a very excited state, and asked him to go to 84 Little Street, 5.W.8., as a man had been murdered."

"Eleven forty-five?" asked Ilopton, taking out his pocket-book, and writing down the time.

“Yes, eleven forty-five exactly,” repeated the other. "Very good, go on."

"Realising from the lad's rather jumbled statement, that something serious had happened, the officer accompanied him to the address mentioned. where he found that a man. Frederick Davis Scutt. aged 55. had died under very unusual circumstances." “Urn." nodded Hopton.

"A doctor was sent. for. and the constable immediately telephoned to me.” continued the Divisional Inspector, in a flat, official voice. “1 went along 'at once, and arrived al about the same time as the doctor, who examined the deceased and satisfied us that death had been caused by strangulation. Great violence had been used, and there were also several curious scratches and punctures on the throat, suggestive of the marks made by the talons of some large animal or bird.” Inspector Carling ford paused and raised his eyes to his brother officer's face lo see Imw he was reading to the story.

“That's certainly out of the common.'' remarked Iloplon, with growing interest. “Talon marks, you say?" “Well, that was the doctor's opinion, and mine," said the other impressively. "The deceased was dressed in pyjamas and was lying in bed . . “Was the bedding disarranged? Any sign of a struggle?" Hopton broke in. looking up eagerly. "No, nothing particularly rmtiecable." Carlingford assured him. “Scull wasn't, a big than, and his murderer, whatever it was. must have been extremely powerful." “Whatever it was?" [lopton’s eyebrows shot tip as he emphasised the pronoun. “1 don't follow you."

"I'm coming to that point," nodded ihe Divisional Inspector gravely. "But I want to take the events in their logical order, so as to make myself perfectly clear."

"Very good, go on." "There were no visible injuries on the dead man. except these deep scratches on the throat-; but his face was very contorted . . as if he'd seen something horrible and was scared stiff." "I see," agreed the detective, making .mother note.

"Apparently, the last person to find him alive was a parson, the Reverend Mr Gal.esbourne, of St Luke's Church. Stockwell, who called in to see him the same morning. I've got Mr Galesbourne in the wailing room to tell you iiis own story."

“D'you know anything about the gentleman?" asked Ilopton. “Oh, yes. my dear chap; everyone knows him in Lambeth. He's been at St Luke’s lor years. Wonderful man. too. Done no end of good in the district. A real worker, you know.” "I see. And you'd met him before?"

“Yes, quite frequently," returned Carlingford. "He’s helped the police in a good many cases. Always working among the very poor, and that sort of thing.” “He’s more or less above suspicion, then?" suggested the detective. “That's for you to decide, but I should'certainly say he was," remarked his colleague. "He's got an absolutely unblemished record in the neighbourhood.” ■

"And have you any suspicion as to the person responsible?" “Well, the deceased man was a shady bit o’ goods," remarked Carlingford, with a doubtful shake of the head. “I must admit he hadn't been in trouble with the police for some time; but he’d done two- ‘stretches’ for blackmail in the past. Since then, he’d managed to steer clear of gaol; but it’s possible he may have been at his old tricks again. You see, he was mixed up with these fortune-telling games.” "Professionally?” “I don’t know if you describe that sort of tomfoolery as ‘professional,’ but he made his living by it,” replied Carlingford, turning over his papers. “He was connected with the local Spiritualists for a short time; but I understand they found he was bogus and kicked him out.” "You mean he was a fraudulent medium?” questioned Hopton.

"I think he became unbalanced with all this psychic stuff," returned Carlingford. "But perhaps you'd better hear what Mr Galesbourne's got to say; he’s been waiting some time.” “Yes. perhaps it would be as well.” agreed the detective. “And then I’d like to see the house where the murder took place.” “Very good,' nodded the Divisional Inspector, rising and going lo the door. “I'll get ihe padre."

In a short, time he returned with the Vicar, a white-headed, aesthetic-look-ing man wearing a long cloak over a black cassock, dark trousers and black boots. He shook hands cordially with the famous detective.

"Good-morning, sir," began Ilopton. as he took a quick, appraising glance at the newcomer, “Won't yon sit down, please?”

"Ah, thank you. Inspector," smiled the parson, taking a chair. "I’ve often heard of you; but quite frankly, I never expected to meet you in such . . er . , tragic circumstances."

"Yes, I've no doubt this business has upset you. sir," replied the other, as he made a mental note of his visitor's careful, rather drawling voice. "Indeed it has,” sighed the Vicar. “I'm not so young as I was, and my nerves are not, well . . er . . so able to stand up lo these sudden shocks since my breakdown last year.” "Oh, you've been ill. sir'.’" enquired the Detective. "Well ..er . . rather overworked, you know, Inspector. A poor parish, like mine, is a continual source of anxiety. So much needs to be done, and yet there's always a shortage of money to do it with. It's heartbreaking at times, as Inspector Carlingford will tell you."

"That's true," nodded the Divisional Inspector, sympathetically. "But now, perhaps you'd tell Inspector Ilopton, the facts concerning Mr Scutl’s death, sir?" The parson cleared his throat.

"Well, Inspector, to start, with, you probably know this unfortunate man’s record." he began deliberately. "Of course. I'd rather not speak ill of inc dead . . "Quito so," agreed Hopton. "but in a case like this there's no option.” "Exactly. You sec, this man was really in a very poor way. He’d been a whisky drinker fur many years, and suffered from fits of intemperance which left his. nerves in a bad stale." "D.T.'s?" questioned Ilopton. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that, Inspector, but lie had queer delusions which were partly attributable, I imagine, to" drink and partly to dealing in occult matters." "You mean Spiritualism?" "No, something far more objectionable. The fellow had been dabbling a good deal in what he called Black Magic—-at least, that was how he ex-I pressed it." “1 see. sir. please go on." (To be Continued.)