EBONY TORSO

Wairarapa Times-Age, 12 September 1939, Page 10

EBONY TORSO

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

(By

JOHN C. WOODIWISS.)

CHAPTER XI. (Continued). “No, I don’t think so, sir,” replied the man. "We saw ’im dodge round i behind that chimney-stack there, just now, with two men after ’im, but that | was the last we’ve seen.” The detective waited anxiously to see if there was any sign of the chase; but though he could hear an occasional shout from the climbers, nothing definite occurred, and he was at last joined by Carlingford, who had been released from his bonds and was thirsting for vengeance. “Got him?” he questioned anxiously. “No, not yet,” answered the Scotland Yard man tersely, his eyes glued to the line of roofs. “Giving ’em a good I run for their money by the look of 1 ’ things. Hello, look here.” The last exclamation was caused by a figure which had moved from the dark shadow of a line of chimneys and darted across to a new shelter as its place was taken by that of a uniformed pursuer. - , “He’s still up there, Carlingford,” cried Hopton, forgetting all animosity in the thrill of the chase. “They’re bound to get him now . . nothing can stop ’em arresting him!” “Bit optimistic, aren’t you, Inspector?”

A quiet, sarcastic voice broke in upon the conversation, and both officers swung sharply round to find Sir Hallard Costigan standing behind them, monocle in eye. “Personally, I think you’ll have the devil’s own job to get him down from there,” he commented abstractedly. “I think it’s so dangerous in fact, that I’ve rung up the fire brigade to stand by with a hose in case we’ve got to bring him down that way.” As he finished speaking there came a spurt of flame from the roof, followed by a dull report, and one of the pursuers was seen to fall forward on the slates.

“You see?” the Commissioner explained. “He’s armed, and we’re going to have endless trouble in dislodging him. You’d better call off the men, and try to bring him down with the hose or a gas bomb. We daren’t risk valuable lives like this, Hopton.” “Very good, sir,” agreed the Detective, doubling away to give the necessary instructions.

But by the time he .reached the roof he found that the deformed gunman had somehow taken advantage of the confusion caused by his unexpected atack, to scramble along the line e< roofs and conceal himself so effectively that not a sign of him could be found. The wounded constable was being carefully lowered through a sky-light, while his brother officers were, busily securing the buildings in search of their agile and desperate foe. Half an hour passed in abortive search, and at last it became almost certain that Red Dave had given them the slip and got off.

Hopton had rejoined Sir Hallard and Carlingford when a mobile officer elbowed his way through the crowd and saluted..

“Excuse, me, sir,” he reported, “a call for all cars has just gone out from headquarters. Grey sports car’s' been stolen from the park in Linfield Street, only a few yards from here, by a small, hunch-backed man, who held up the attendant with a pistol. Last seen proceeding in the direction of Wimbledon. Number of stolen car GA1249.”

“Very good, officer,” replied the Commissioner. “Get busy,” and as the man saluted again- and hurried avzay, he went on excitedly: “It’s our man right enough, Hopton; I want to see the end of this—my car's handy you’d better come too. Carlingford, and leave Morrell in charge: there’s no time to waste.”

In an incredibly short space of time the Commissioner’s high powered car containing Sir Hallard, his driver, and the two officers, was hurtling through a series of intricate streets towards Wimbledon: its crew eager to be in time for the desperate chase which must inevitably follow.

By a stroke of good fortune they picked up a police car at the Plough, Clapham and, by almost superhuman feats of steering on the part of the man at the wheel, managed to keep behind it. They followed it through Wimbledon, Surbiton and Esher, and had almost reached Byfleet, when they were held up by a crowd of people grouped round an overturned car at the roadside. Both cars pulled up smartly and the Commissioner and his subordinates jumped out and joined the throng round the capsized machine.

There were already several police on the scene, and Sir Hallard quickly recognised Inspector Mitchell, chief of the mobile section examining the wreckage. Mitchell turned arid ’saluted as he came up. “Good evening, sir," he said. "Nasty smash here."

One look sufficed to assure Sir Hal,lard that this was the stolen car, number GAI 249.

“What happened to the driver?” he inquired. "Have you got him?" "No, sir, two of our cars picked him up near Surbiton . . had a devil of a chase after him and eventually had to 'bump' him. The sports car went over, but he was thrown clear and got away into that copse of trees. There's a whole crowd of officers and civilians after him.” "But the fellow's armed and a desperate criminal.” protested Sir Mallard. "No, sir, we picked up his gun on the road; it must have slipped out of his pocket in the smash.” "Which way did he go?” asked Hopton sharply. "Over to the left, and into that wood." directed the mobile officer.

“Come on, Carlingford,” cried the Scotland Yard man, leadmg the way up to the bank. "We’ve got to be the death!”

It was inky black in the wood, but the two men ran cautiously forward, guided by distant cries' to the pursuers ahead of them, until they came up with the main body of police who were extended in a long line which pressed relentlessly forward, guided by distant cries to the pursuers ahead of them, until they came up with the main body of police who were extended in a long line which pressed relentlessly forward, covering every inch of the ground with conscientious thoroughness. The two Inspectors joined in the hunt, and had covered several hundred yards when the beam from the officer’s lamps picked out the crouching figure of a man behind some blackberry bushes and he .gave a warning cry. . The monstrosity must have seen the game was up, and with a half human yell, he leapt from behind the cover and 'ran swiftly away. “Come on, lads!” yelled the officer, charging after the fugitive. “Don’t lose sight of him again. The canal’s just ahead: we’ve got him ,fair and square this time. He can’t escape!” They surged on, never losing sight of the hunted criminal, until the trees began to thin out and they could dimly see the gleam of water ahead. The dwarf had seen it too, and paused irresolutely as if desperately searching for a way of escape . . then he swung round to the right and leapt forward like a stag.

' “Good gracious!” yelled the officer, as he realised the fugitive’s intentions. “He’s making for the electric pylon over there! Look out, you fool, you’ll get electrocuted!” But the warning came too late, for the dwarf darted on and, leaping upwards, caught at the iron girders of the pylon which towered above him, carrying the electric power cable across the canal. He scrambled up it, like some fantastically malformed spider, the rays of the officers’ torches focussed on him. It will never be known whether he intended to get across the canal by this perilous bridge, or if his aim was deliberate suicide; but as he reached th? point immediately below the line of huge insulators, he paused and, holding on with one hand, half turned and shook his disengaged fist in a gesture of fierce defiance at the crowd of baffled, yelling pursuers at the foot of the pylon. Then with a quick movement, he swung himself upward and gripped the wires abov'e his head,. There was no flash, but the body writhed in mortal agony as it received the terrific charge of electricity, and then hung lifeless and inert. It was all over in the flicker of an eyelid. “Well,” remarked Carlingford grimly, as he turned away, “that saves the hangman a job.”

It was some time before the unfortunate man’s, body could be got down and the police were able to examine it. Apart from a long burn on the face and the extreme contortion of the facial muscles, the corpse appeared to have sustained little visible injury. It was only on closer examination that Hopton realised how dreadfully malformed the unfortunate creature was. The spine was frightfully bowed, and the arms so unnaturally long that they added to the fellow's simian appearance. Even in death the dwarf seemed malicious, for his lips were drawn back as if in a snarl of hate. They placed the body on an improvised stretcher and carried it back through the wood to the ambulance. CHAPTER XII. The same night, Sir Hallard Costigan, Hopton and Carlingford had an interview with Galesbourne. The prisoner was brought in by a warder and 'sat at the end of a long table. He looked white and ill and was obviously suffering from the terrible nerve strain of the past few weeks. Sir Hallard began the conversation. “I understand that you’ve made a request to see these two officers and j make a statement in their presence, Galesbourne,” he said, fixing his monocle in his eye and subjecting the prisoner to a detailed scrutiny. “Yes, Sir Hallard,” replied the sham padre in a low tone. “I’ve quite realised the game’s up, and I’m particularly anxious that my friend Miss Ferrier and Mr Smith should be cleared from all suspicion of murder.” “I see,” nodded the Chief. “But, before you begin, it’s my duty to warn you that everything you say will be taken down and may be used as evidence against you at some future date. Perhaps you’d prefer to see a solicitor before making your statement?” "No thank you, sir,” said. Galesbourne with a decided shake of the head. "I prefer to settle things up now.” "Very well." agreed the Commissioner. "We're all attention," and he signed to the constable vzith a note book in front of him. to take down all that followed. "In the first place, Sir Hallard,” began the prisoner, "I am a very wronged and embittered man. lam the son of Mr Francis Young Galesbourne by his second wife, Mary Brownlee, who was a servant in his employ. Mr Francis Galesbourne therefore had two children, myself and a son by his first wife, who afterwards became the Rev Charles Galesbourne.” “Go on,” nodded the Commissioner. "My father deserted my mother in Australian, and I was born at Melbourne, where she died, and christened me Thomas Kendall Brownlee, after I my mother's maiden name.” "I managed to scrape a good education but had to fight for existence alone.” (To be continued,)