"DEATH GOES BY 'BUS"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 24 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 XIV. Continued. Maxley winked. "Our friend did not clear out from his usual haunts, as you put it." "No!” "No,” snapped the officer triumphantly. “Play that over on your board and see what you make of it.’ Such a challenge was not to be disregarded. Mr Sharpe asked for five minutes. Actually he began to unknot the ravel in about twelve seconds. “A woman, in the case,” he mused. “And a wife right at the other extreme of the country. Nothing new in that. Must be the obvious solution. Anything against that, superintendent?” “Not a thing, sir. You're doing nicely.” “Good! Then suppose he had no business to be in this part of the world se far as his firm was concerned. Thai would mean that, after the murder, his name would be in the newspapers and rods would be in pickle at home and at Messrs Sillingway and Marlowe's. How’s that?” "Too smart. We had to scour around for days to find out that much. I suppose you’re going to tell me the rest as well.” . "No, I finish at the impending storms in Eastbourne and London. Anybody with a murky past might well get the wind up. Presumably Young sought refuge with the other woman, which means that he went into hiding almost on your doorstep. What happened when your men found him? Poison, or bullet, I suppose.” "Bullet,’ agreed Maxley gloomily. “Don’t you ever leave anything for other people to tell you?” "Often. Sorry to deprive you of your hour of triumph, but you did put me on my mettle, you know!" “Let it pass. I should have known better. You can’t be a police officer and a blooming thought-reader rolled into one. Want to come along to the hospital to interview him?” “I’d be delighted if Young had been taken to an institution.” Maxleys jaw dropped. “Here, come off it,” he said. “You couldn’t possibly know all the trimmings without being told.” Morrison Sharpe looked modestly at the tips of his shoes. “My dear superintendent,” he said, “you gave me all that information yourself. That wicked grin and the hesitation before suggesting going to the hospital revealed your determination to take one rise out of me." “Then you do indulge in guesswork after all!” ‘Nothing of the kind. That was an exact piece of deductive reasoning. But please let us make a move. Where is your latest victim?” "Number seventy-three Upper Lorriston Road.’ "What?" It was Mr Sharpe's turn to laugh, for his chaffing remark about Huntley Young’s refuge being next door to the police station had been almost accurate. Although not exactly on the doorstep the house was only round the corner. Perhaps it was the safest place in which to have sought concealment. Apparently it was a neighbour who had given Young away. This woman had had her suspicions before. The commercial traveller had always pretended that he was a married man called consistently away from Netherton on business. But neighbours do not take such things for granted. The informer had heard Young's voice through the party wall. What puzzled her was that she never saw him. although at nights she had an impression he went out—probably for exercise. With the bus mystery a general local topic it was not to be wondered at that she eventually decided to pass her suspicions on to the police. And Huntley Young, it appeared, took fright at once, with the result that he was. at that moment, lying in a serious condition. “Let us," remarked Mr Sharpe, “go and have a look round.” CHAPTER XV. Huntley Young’s confession was entirely sordid. All he had to tell related to his illicit love affair. Down in Eastbourne lived a wife who trusted him implicitly, imagining that his work kept him so long away. Bigamy had nothing to do with it. Young was too cunning for that, or too fearful of the possible consequences. Whenever he could manage to slip away to Netherton he neglected his work, and for years his employers had no idea anything of the kind was going on. As for Mrs Young, the mere notion that her husband was anything else but a paragon of virtue had been enough to arouse smiles of conscious superiority. On the day of the murder he had been on his way to his "second home.” Tragedy intervened, the inquest thrust him into the limelight, and he decided to lie low. Then the police became inquisitive. and he went right off the rails. "Seems straightforward enough to me." Maxley observed, when they withdrew from the sick chamber to talk things over. "Quite satisfied, eh?" "Aren’t you?” he parried. "The story hangs together. Besides. I've been able to do something outside your powers." "Meaning take a check! Oh, you're welcome to that, advantage. What a pity you misuse it so frequently.” “Mr Sharpe!" “Now don't get on your hind legs. Superintendent." , “You think we haven't had the' truth?” The little man shook, his head impatiently. “That's, going too far But

I certainly believe that there is a fair amount of falsehood mixed up with the facts. Personally. I don't think they amount to much in the long run. only it sec-ms necessary in a case like this to leave nothing to chance." "Turn the blighter inside out." growled the officer. "If you care to leave it to me I can get what we waqt without being all that ruthless. You see,” he added maliciously, “I've been able to do something outside your powers.” Maxley glared suspiciously. “What’s that?” “Psycho-analyse the witness immediately after tne crime—before you knew, at police headquarters, one had been committed.” "Pah!” snorted the Superintendent. Leading the way into the bedroom he looked as if lie would vent his displeasure on the hapless ■ invalid. “Mr Sharpe wants to ask you a few more questions," he remarked. Huntley Young looked up with a frown. "Am 1 obliged to answer them,” he asked. “No." the Superintendent admitted. "At present you can please yourself either way. I’m not even giving the customary warning about anything you may say being used in evidence.’ “That is to say we are indulging in a little friendly chat?" Morrison Sharpe stooped over the bed. "Quite friendly on my part,” he added. "Surely you’re as anxious to clear up this murder mystery as any of us?” "Of course I am." “Then avoid letting your case be drawn over the scene like a red herring." "Well, what do you want me to say?” "Only where you spent the night of Monday previous to the shooting?" “Monday night? That would be the sixteenth, wouldn’t it?" "You’re playing for time," exclaimed Mr Sharpe sternly. "What’s a date. I’m referring to the night before the murder, and that's clear enough reference for anybody,” “Why, you Know quite well. We went all over it on the bus when you made me think back to the beginning of the day. Don’t you remember how successfully the experiment turned out ..." ‘l've a record of it here," said Mr Sharpe untruthfully, tapping a lump in his pocket that might have been a notebook, but actually wasn't anything of the sort. "How would you like to go all over it again to see if you’ve missed anything out?” “I —it's a long time ago. and . . .” “Then let me refresh your memory. My own is good enough. Oh. no, we won't bother with consulting the notebook. Work backwards from your taking a seat in the bus. You had been followed aboard by a number of people. Remember that? Carry on for yourself.” "Let me see! I —l’m not well, you know. This bewilders mo." "Sorry, Mr Young. Cruel to be kind is my motto. You'll be glad to get out of being suspected of the murder as a direct result of my efforts." "What? Surely you don't think that I —that I . . ." "Hush, please! That’s what they all say. Superintendent Maxey has made one arrest. That, ought to reassure you. Come along. Back to the market place where you bought tobacco and a newspaper . . .” “Well, the bus was waiting at the terminus when 1 got there.’ "Having just strolled over from your hotel. By the way, what was the name of it?” "The —the—. No. I’ve quite forgotten.” “You told me previously you stayed at the Golden Lion. Is that correct?" "How stupid of me. Of course, that was the place. It’s in the market quite close to the bus stop." “Yes. isn’t it. So nice and handy. Carry on with the hotel details.” Huntley Young grew more and more confused. Making a desperate effort he advanced some information that was obviously forced. It was the false move for which his tormentor had been waiting. “You’re quite sure the waiter helped you with your luggage?" "Quite sure. It is a point I’m definite about." "Which waiter —the same man who attended you at breakfast?" "That's the man." Mr Sharpe struck shrewdly, having waited until this vulnerable spot was uncovered., “There are no male waiters at the Golden Lion," he exclaimed coldly. ‘That invention let you down a few days after you made it." "So. I've been led into a trap!" "Without a doubt,’ admitted Morrison Charpe. Maxley thought his flitting smile was one of guileless innocence and ho wondered how such an expression could be conjured up after so unkind a piece of cross-examination. Huntley Young, on the other hand, considered the look to be one of fien ’- ish malevolence and the softly spoken words cut like a knife. "Why," asked the Superintendent, coming forward a few paces, "did you pretend to have stayed at the Golden Lion.” "It was the first place 1 could think of." Mr Young was recovering his poise. “Eh!" ejaculated Maxley. falling back on that startled snap he invariably I used when things did not proceed ac- j cording to his expectations. This turn-1 about caught him unprepared. After! listening to untruths for so long, the! sudden transition to bland truthfulness was most disconcerting. i (To be Continued) ,