"DEATH GOES BY 'BUS"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 18 November 1939, Page 10

"DEATH GOES BY 'BUS"

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. COPYRIGHT.

BY

LESLIE CARGILL

(Author of “The Yellow Phantom,” “The Arrow by Night,” etc.)

CHAPTER X. Continued. “I was, Sergeant . . .1 was. Another example of taking things for granted. Besides, we weren't interested in the initial stages. Our Intention was to prompt his brain to function over the more important parts of the journey. We did that all right. Since then I've done a bit of thinking, and what conclusion do you think I have reached?” “The Lord only knows.” “It is that the attempt at telling a plausible tale failed. The Golden. Lion is near the Market Place, so he would have been looking at it while waiting for the bus to fill up. That is no doubt the reason ne chose it. That little bit about the waiter asking for the room number for the purpose of booking the breakfast was a flagrant impossibility . . .” Maxley interrupted testily. “Arc you pretending to have made all this out by psycho-analysis?”

“Partially, and by resort to one othei useful faculty.” “What?”

“Using my eyes. Oh, yes, and something else; my tongue. You see, they don’t employ waiters at the Golden Lion—only waitresses." The superintendent muttered an impolite expletive. “You sit down where you were last Tuesday ,and we’ll talk some more. Who was nearest you?” “John Smith —immediately behind.” “I'll take his place and Matthews will act for Young.” The prepared cushions were carefully disposed just as Withers announced it time to be on the move. A moment later they were sweeping out in the tracks of the ill-fated expedition of a week previously. At intervals they halted, going through the pantomime of accepting fresh arrivals or putting down people, as nearly as these incidents could be recalled.

Sometimes Mr Sharpe was able to indicate a stopping place the conductor had forgotten. He was keenly alert. Having been one of the party he was able to visualise more than the police officers, and several things occurred to him from time to time. One of them was the consistently stiff back of the driver. Previously he had kept stooping down. Now he was like a ramrod. But there was no popping on this occasion. “I suppose,” mused Mr Sharpe, “I suppose” mused Mr Sharpe, “he was trying to adjust the control.”

“Clap your hands to indicate the occasion of the shot,” directed the officer. At the appropriate time this gruesome reminder was forthcoming, and almost immediately Carter slowed down according to his instructions. There was the little copse on the near side, and the spot where they had carried Caleb Wainwright. "Now,” exclaimed the Superintendent, “we’ll see what vjc shall see.” Mr Sharpe was outside before anybody, peering into the driver’s cab. The others took no notice of him. although Carter looked somewhat perturbed.

“The control, sir?” he repeated, in response to a question. “For the magneto, you mean? Here it is; on the steering column.” “Then why did you keep stooping last week?”

"There is a blob of mud on the butt" Matthews pointed out."You've sharp eyes. I’d noticed it. Now that is very peculiar indeed. It was dry and hot last Tuesday, and we haven't had any rain since. I should have expected the heat to powder that substance and it would have blown away.”

Pulling a large lens from his pocket he stooped down and examined the mark intently. Mr Sharpe watched him with interest. He had always been under the impression that real policemen acted in a much more prosaic fashion. That glass was almost melodramatic.

Extending a careful finger Maxley gently touched the discoloured spot. Rising, he held his hand to catch the full benefit of the light and stared hard, Then he rubbed the index finger against the ball of his thumb. “Wait here,” he ordered, and blundered through the thicket until they heard his steps clatter on the hard road.

“What do you think he has found?” asked the Sergeant.

“If you also possess a magnifying glass you might see for yourself.” Mr Sharpe suggested. “Being without, I can only guess that the mud is wet. Somebody heeled that little killing toy within the last five minutes.”

“But there’s no sludge. Look at the ground.”

“Here? Yes, that’s bone dry. But there is a leak in the radiator of our bus which make a little puddle. See, my boots are clean enough.” He lifted his feet alternately for inspection.

Carter lost countenance. He jerked his head to make sure they were alone. “For God’s sake, sir, keep that to yourself. I—it wasn’t anything to do with the murder.” “Nor the engine trouble?” “To be strictly honest it wasn’t. Here. I’ll show you if you promise not to say anything.” “Now my man. you know I can’t do that. Justice must be served.” “Then I’ll not tell.” Without further ado Mr Sharpe loaned in at the open door. s From the ground his head was hardly higher than the driver’s Jcnees, so there was no necessity for him to stoop to see the little cupboard let into the scuttle. Unceremoniously pushing aside a leg that sought to interpose, he pressed back the catch and peered inside. “Tut-tut!” he said reprovingly. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself." Harry Carter hung his head. “I suppose I ought,’ he agreed. “But I’m not really.” “Very ingenious,” commented his persecutor. “But also very reprehensible.” “No, sir. If I didn’t suffer so dreadful with the spasms I wouldn’t do it.” “What a very unoriginal excuse. Dickens attributed it to one of his characters, although I imagine it was old then.” “Promise you won’t let on, sir! My job wouldn't last five minutes if it was known.” “Under one condition; that you destroy that ,er, gadget and substitute a less picturesque treatment for those, er. spasms.” “On my honour, sir—right now.” A bright object went sailing through the air. to drop with a tinkle of breaking glass in the far-side hedgerow. CHAPTER XT. Matthews found the revolver —a fivechambered affair such as are sold for a few francs in Belgian gunshops. It looked very clean and spick-and-span to be lying there after all those days. One wondered instinctively how it came to be overlooked in the extensive search that had been carried out. but among fallen leaves it could have passed unnoticed. The ill-assorted quintet stood around in a circle looking down at the thing as it glinted evilly in the sunlight. “Don’t touch it.” warned Maxley. as one of them made a movement as if to pick it up. I This time the superintendent was in

his element. Clues like this were what he liked. From such concrete "finds" he could build up a working hypothesis instead of taking part in nebulous discussions. Now, also he became talkative, like a preacher, who had come upon a suitable text after vainly seeking a tag on which to hang his discourse.

"About thirty yards from the bus,” he was saying, "and suggesting a very hurried concealment. It is strange that our men didn’t spot it earlier, but I’ve walked over things before when i was deliberately looking for them.”

“We can't expect footprints,” the speaker continued. “This beech mast won’t hold ’em. But somebody trod on the gun. Perhaps the person who placed it there, intending to drive it out of sight. On second thoughts that isn’t likely. He’d have made a better job of it.”

Carter and Matthews followed suit. Less willingly Withers brought his left sole into view—then the right. Adhering to the latter was a patch of damp clay. “I—l must have walked over the revolver without noticing it.” he said hesitatingly.

Before there was time to reply Maxley was back with news of the leak. He seemed rather annoyed to learn that this momentous discovery was already known. Picking up the weapon carefully with a protecting handkerchief, he placed it in a pocket, observing, as he di'd so, “We’ll turn this over to the finger-print section.” Nobody but Mr Sharpe saw Withers wince. Taking advantage of a convenient moment when the search was continued he took the bus conductor aside. “Take my advice.” he said softly, and tell the truth before you get in a mess.” “I don’t know what you mean!” “Oh yes you do! That was your gun.” “How the devil do you know ... I mean . .' .” “You mean exactly what you said. You’re far too ingenious to make a good liar.” “All right. I’ll confess. It is my gun. I bought it in Ostend a year ago when I was on holiday, but I haven’t been able to get any ammunition for it in this country. I swear I didn’t kill Mr Wainwright.” “Then why put your property in a place like that?” “Because I was frightened, sir. Everybody who was on the coach that dreadful day is having to go through the hoop. They’ll be searching our houses next, and I knew if they found I had anything of that kind it would be a job to explain it away. You see. I’ve never had a permit.” “Better a small fine that suspect of murder." . “Please, Mr Sharpe, don’t make it any worse. Fetch the Super over, and I’ll tell . . .” Maxley listened incredulously. “Sounds too foolish to be true," he said. “Apparently the calibre tallies.” “You must believe me.” ‘H’umph, the only reason that prompts me to is that the yarn is too ridiculous to invent.” “It’s gospel.” “Very well, leave it at that. I warn you that you’ll get into trouble if you’re not careful. Such a mad trick could seriously interfere with the proper administration of justice.” The detective was not inclined to accept too much on trust. “What do you make of it?" he was asking Mr Sharpe a little later. The puzzle-expert knew that a big compliment was being paid him in thus seeking his opinion. "This is really outside my scope," he confessed. "Personally I don’t, think Withers is the guilty party. As for the gun. why. he placed it there without a doubt.’ “For the reasons ho gave?" ’Possibly! Anyway, f shouldn’t take it for granted That implement may pay for careful examination.’ (To be Continued) .