EBONY TORSO

Wairarapa Times-Age, 24 August 1939, Page 12

EBONY TORSO

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

(By

JOHN C. WOODIWISS.)

: CHAPTER 11. (Continued). ’ “It’s my belief that Fred was killed ■ by an evil spirit.” she said slowly. “That black statue was at the bottom ’ of it, in my opinion; that dreadful ebony torso!” “I’m not prepared to accept that possibility, until I've dismissed every other, Mrs Scutt,” retorted Hopton with determined emphasis. “But I still have one or two questions-— “Very well!” she cried hysterically, but please make ’em as short as possible: "I’m weary of the whole ghastly business!” “Had your husbana many visitors during the last few weeks of his life?” he enquired, ignoring her outburst. “People who came here to visit him?" "No, Inspector, he wouldn’t see anyone except Mr Galesbourne, and a man called Prout, an old Spiritualist friend.” “Only those two people?” "Yes. sir. He was very violent at times . . raving and cursing . . . and his few friends couldn’t stand it. You never knew how you’d find him.” “Now, please answer this question carefully,” continued the Detective. “Do you know of anyone who had a grudge against your husband? The sort of grudge that would be a motive for taking his life?” "Not a soul!” she answered decidedly. “Fred was a very quiet man and didn't know many people.” "I see. You’ve known Mr Galesj'bourne for some years?” "Yes, by sight. Inspector. Everyone knows him round here. He’s a wonderful man . . always helping the sick and the poor; that’s why I asked him to call and sec Fred; I thought Mr Galesbourne might help him.” “How long ago was that?” “About six months, now,” she replied promptly. "He often looked in.” “And this man Prout?” “Oh, he’s an old friend; we've both known him for over 20 years.” “He lives near here?” “Thirty-four, Kennington Greenlane,” she answered. “And were you in the house tnis morning while Mr Galesbourne was with your husband?” “No. sir, I took the opportunity of running out. to do a little shopping while Fred had someone sitting with him.

“Were you out long?” “I got held up in the grocer's, sir,” she admitted. “I had rather a lot of shopping to do and only got back as Mr Galesbourne was trying to get poor Fred to open the door after he'd come back from the Vicarage.” “So that your husband was alone in the house at the time of his death?” he asked. “Yes, sir, I suppose so," she agreed, beginning ,to cry. “I see,” nodded the detective. Mr Galesbourne tells me that, on his return from the Vicarage, he lot himself in again.’ How did he do that?” "We always left a latch-key on the hall table, sir, it’s there now. I suppose he used that.” she suggested. As Hopton came in through the gate again, he met Inspector Carlingford, who had finished giving his orders and had came in search of his brother officer.

•'Well,” he said, with ill-concealed sarcasm, “finding out. any more ironmongery we've missed?” “Not at the moment,” replied Hopton, completely ignoring the sneer. “I want some more particulars about this Father Galesbourne.” “Fire away, then,” nodded the other. “What d'you want to know?” "How far away is his vicarage?” “Not more than three hundred yards," replied the Divisional Inspector. “Next to the Church . . St Lukes.” "Is he married?" “No. he's a celibate; that moans . . .” “Yes, I know exactly what it means!” interjected the Scotland Yard man sharply. “Who else lives at the Vicarage?” I

"Only old Smith, his manservant, and a woman who comes in every day’ to scrub and tidy up," replied Carlingford in a sulky tone, “and there's his secretary, Miss Olney, who's only there in the mornings for an hour.” "He's been ill recently, hasn't, he? — Galesbourne, I mean?” "Yes. nervous breakdown, followed by loss of memory." "Do you know if he's been under proper medical treatment?" inquired I Hop ton. "Yes—Doctor Graveley. The doctor tells me he's been very ill.” Carlingford assured him. “Thank you.” said the detective, noting down the answers. “I’ve done all I can here, and I’m going to the 'Yard' now. to think out the next move. See you again Uns evening." and nodding curtly io his disgruntled confrere, he climbed the kitchen stairs and left the house. Hopton spent most of the day in the neighbourhood of St Luke's and night had settled in before he returned to Scotland Yard. He was verytired and went up to his room to think over the results of his day’s work. Ho opened a drawer in his desk, and took out the photograph of the strange footmark on the snow-covered sill of the room in Little Street which Carlingford had given him. For some time he examined it* closely with his lens and leaned back with a decided shake of the head. "Dash it, this spooky business won't I do,"'he muttered savagely. "It's a lotj of bunk. If this thing ..." , His soliloquy was cut short abruptly by the buzzer of the telephone, and he; took up the receiver with a sigh:— I “Well? Inspector Hopton speaking.”! "Oh, hello, sir. it's Morrell.” came the; voice from the other end. "Inspector/ Callingford's just rung up to leport a t

new development in the Scutt murder.” “Well?” Hopton's voice was tense with expectation. “A woman and two kids were nearly scared to death this evening in Ritson Lane, quite close to where the murder took place, by something they describe as an enormous monster which suddenly appeared out of space.” . “Anything else?” "Yes, sir. They say the thing vanished as suddenly as it appeared.” “Vanished?” questioned the Detective in an incredulous tone. “Yes, sir. I’m bringing you Inspecto Carlingford's full report at once.” “Right you are.” Hopton put up the ’phone and leaned back in his chair again. He gazed abstractly at the photograph until he was interrupted by Morrell, who entered with, the promised report. "Oh. Sergeant,” he said, taking it from his subordinate. “I’m returning to Lambeth almost immediately. • I want you to get Superintendent Ellis of Kensington and ask him to make inquiries as to the whereabouts of a Mrs Clara Abershaw, who had a flat quite recently, near West Kensington Station —she's a Spiritualist, I understand.”

"Yes. sir," replied Morrell, making notes of the meagre facts. "I’ll 'phone at once. Is that all, sir?” “That's all!”

CHAPTER HI. Divisional Inspector Carlingford was in a triumphant mood. This new tragic development had fully vindicated his theory that supernatural agencies might be at the root of the murder of Frederick Scutt, and it delighted him immensely to think he had scored a definite point against Hopton, Scotland Yard's most brilliant officer. No sooner had he received information concerning the apparition in Ritson Lane that he ordered a police cordon to be thrown round the district, and having carefully questioned the officer who gave the alarm, proceeded to direct operations personally. It was a miserable foggy night, and the neighbourhood where the tragic event had taken place was not at all inviting, for it consisted of a network of poor streets and lanes, badly lighted and mostly consisting of store-houses and small factories, while numberless dark corners and crannies made exploration a nerve-racking business in the face of the story the police had heard. Carlingford was by no means a timid man, and had an excellent record for tackling sundry tough characters in the district; but the supernatural was quite another matter and, for that reason, he took one of his most reliable officers, Detective Sergeant O’Mara, with him. O'Mara, a Dublin man, although he had been in England for years, had never lost his attractive Irish accent. He was big and fair with blue eyes and the muscles of a Hercules, which made him particularly useful in case of trouble.

The two officers made a tour of inspection round varigus points where their men were posted, satisfied themselves all was in order and settled down in a convenient doorway near Ritson Lane to wait for possible developments.

1 “It's a wretched noight to be out on, - sorr," commented the Sergeant, scrapz ing the slush from his soles on the I edge of the step. “This damp gets - roight into yer bones.” “Um,” nodded Carlingford ruefully. “It's the fog: I think it’s getting [ thicker.” . > “I think it is that,” agreed the Irishman. "Real dorty noight Ihai's wha . it's going to end in if I'm not mistaken." “I only hope we’re rewarded by getting something for our trouble,” remarked the Divisional Inspector. "Oime afraid it’s only a cold we’ll be gettin’, Inspectorr,” grinned O’Mara mischieviously. “You were sayin’ just now that this monster, or whatever it is, vanished into thin air. Surely the good woman with the kids must have been dhrinkin’ to see a thing loike that?" "I don't know what to make of it, Sergeant," said Carlingford doubtfully. "It’s a queer story altogether." "Some queer things do happen, ye know. Did ye ever hear of the Banshees, Sorr?" inquired the Sergeant meditatively. "I've read about ’em," nodded his superior. “Sort o' ghosts, aren't they?" "They are that,” replied the Sergeant. "Ghosts that come' whimperin' and cryin’ to every member of the family when one o' them passes away." "It's a good yarn," grinned the Inspector. “Me own family, the O’Mara's have a banshee, Inspector," remarked the Sergeant proudly. “Not that it’s ever condescended to visit me. however; but 1 suppose it's the uniform that droives it off."

"Maybe,” tigreed Carlingford as he peered up the street in an abstracted manner. "Ah, but I’ve met a many as it has visited, Sorr," the Irishman informed him in a lone that showed he was not altogether a sceptic. “'Tis a most unpleasant experience, too, they tell me.” The Inspector was just going to make some facetious reply, when he suddenly saw something which made* him grab his companion’s arm with a half audible “Hush!" that brought instant silence. The indistinct shape of a man had suddenly appeared from the pall of fog. a slow-moving, suspicious] figure in a long coat and bowler hat. that slouched across the dim smudge of light from a gas lamp and was gone as suddenly as it had come. “See that?" whispered Carlingford. "I did so!" was the excited reply. "Lot's get a closer look at that chap.” "Roight. sorr.” agreed the Sergeant. “Come on!” (To be Continued.)